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HomeMy WebLinkAboutExeter Times, 1898-8-4, Page 60000 Fpg... THE "Weil, yeti see," orie leasan , umphantly. "Tell me a, few of you thoughts, please, mother ?" "Olt.my dear ebild, do be geiet" th =Other entreated, "Oh. my God!" sh taziduntler her breeth. There wa aornethine in her race, that did SIIIOSICe child, for tune at lest, hliza beth drew up et pring by the. •road aide, end broaeht out a lunela-basket and gave the ilttle girl something to eet. She did not eat herselt, eixt at abeently flecking at a weed with Ler whip, tied watching Captain pluueing ais epee dove irite the trough. Plea - tient climbed out to get a drink, put- ting her lige against the west" woad - aa PiPe. from whien a single spark- ling threed of weter fell into the great bellow log. They coul dhear Orate ene whetting a seytae in a field !higher up ox the hill, above the woods, stile senshine sifted, down throagh the Wok foliage, and the yellow flow - of the raoakey-wee, just on the edge of the trough, caught it, and Rifttered We a jewel, Captain stamped a little ammag the wet StOUCS and mud, and pulled at the reins; and Elizabeth said, "Well, go 'long, Q - . The borse started. In a ateady jogging trot, keeping oerefully on the shady eide of the road, A fresh wind had sprung up, and &long the horizoie few weite ()loads. bad heaped themsel- ves into shining- domes, but the sky was exquisitely and serenely blue. Mlle creek had, widened into a little narrow river, deep and brawn, and fringec1 with syeamores; men were haying in the raeadows aad in the orchards on the M11 -sides, and the hot =tell of newly eut grass was in the air. Elizabeth Day drew up before a mile- post, and leaned out of the buggytry- ing to read the nearly effaced fig- ures. Its only three miles more, Pleasant," she. said, breathlessly. "ellen we get some dinner in Old Chester?" Pleasant asked, with anx- iety. "Why, my dear child, you've just !had some dinner. Still, there is more in the basket if you went it. You an eat it while I get out and visit with the minister. You must be a good girl, Pleasant, and wait outside in the buggy. I'll Eta Captain." "I'll held the reins," Pleasant de- clared; "he won't try and run If you hitch him and I hold the reins. Captaiu is a good 'old horse — good Captain! good boy!" she -continued, ganging over the dash -board to stroke is blatk taih Captain switched it, with Mild impatience, and Pleasant drew back, offended; then tried slid- ing off the seat "Bat the dash -board geta in. the way of my knees," she complained. Her mother did not no- tice her. The little warm body press- ing against leer, tumbling over her, the audden embraoes, the bubbling words, the overflowing emtivity and restless- ness, were like the touch of foam against a rock. "Mother," Pleasant began, "one of my thoughts was, whose little girl would I be if you hadn't married fa- ther ? Would I live with him, or would I live with you?; It's very interesting to have thoughts like that," said Plea - ant. . "It's very foolish," Elizabeth said, glarply; and again the child was sil- enced, looking sidewise at her mother, not knowing whether she had. been eaug,hty or not. It was nearly twelve when they e reached Old Chester.. Pleasant was quite cheerful again, and bubbling r over with questions. Mrs. Day was pale, and. her whole n body tingled and trembled. How fa- p miller it was/ The stone tavern with h the wide porch; that had. been her m window, the one in the corner: the had sat there, in the painted. rocking -chair, when Peter told. her he wanted to ,e marry her. And that was the church; e right beyond it rw-a.s the minister's it Loose. She remembered that they had walked across the green in front of t the church to go to the rectory. It euddenly came over her, in a wave of terror, that he might be dead, that bid maxi! S,he took out the whip, and he struck Captain sbarply; he leaped for- t] ward, and the jerk fairly knocked the breath out of Pleaeant, who was in he middle of a question. Elizabeth telt, poor woman, that she could not near one instant's more anxiety; if he were dead—ob, what should he do? FIs had. been an old man, she remem- bered. Captain went briskly dawn the street and Elizabeth was so weak with mis- ery and apprehension she could scar- cely stop him at the parsonage gate, SOUL3 night tbat she arid Peter had otoorl up r ; to be married, The furniture bad been , moved, About, and it wes aaylight zn e ; stead of lamplight, and through the e •open ewindaw she could see Pleasant aaegina over tae dash -board etroking Oantaini who was nibbling at the grass y the path, "I suppose don't remember me, sir ?" she said. "Pro. afraid I don't," he coefessed, trailing. "An old men's memory isn't good for mixela you know.'" She tried to arena too, but her fece felt stiff, "You maeried us, sir; my rime ia Day. Peter Day is my Imeband," Dr. lavender reflected. "laity? The eame is famillAr, but I don't recall— Let me see; 'wheat waa it ?" "It's twelve years ago next month, sir," Elizabeth said, and added 'where re came front, andwita a little pride in her veice, .that tier husband wee well , known in Upper Chester. "Why, you must lia.ve heard of Peter They she 'But Dr. Lavender did not commit himself. He bopea ttr. Day was well. And was that little girl in the buggy. hers? Had she other children? And all the while be looked at her with his keen, twinkling brown eyes. "I came to see you," Elizabeth began, in a wavering' voice, "because—because so thought you would. give me some ad - vier)." "I find it's easier for me to give ad- vice tban for people to take it," he an- swered. good-humoredly; but now she did not even try to ;smile Itro in greet trouble, sir; I—I though you were the only person who could help me. I've thoufeht of com- ing to see you for the last year." "Have you had any dinner ?" demand- ed De. Lavender, looking at her over his spectacles. "a; don't want any, sir. I only want--" 'You want food,' he declared, nod- ding his head; and called Mary, and bade her- bring in dinner, and fetch the little girl. "Yes, you inest have some food; the advice a one empty stom- ach to another isn't to be trusted. Coxae 1 you'll feel better for a cup of tea." Then he stopped and put his veined old hand 912 her arm. "You haven't the worst trouble in the world," he said; "be sure of that." Afterwards she wondered what he meant. What tiouble could be worse than hers? But he said no more about trouble. He made his two visitors sit down with him, and he listened to Plea- sant's chatter, and talked about his bee -hives, and. promised to show her his preMous stones, and let her give his shaggy little dog Danny a crust of bread. Then he asked her whom the was named after. "Why, after mother I" said Pleasant, astonished that he did not know. "Mo- ther's front name is Elizabeth, but father said he named rae Pleasant be- ca.use mother'a eyes were pleasant, and her voice was, and her face was, and "Pleasant, you must not talk s much," Elizabeth protested, much mor tified "My husband is such a kin man, sir, he says thinks like that,' she explained. But Pleasant, exerted by the strange- ness of the occasion, could not be re- trained; she was babbling over with nformation—Captain, and her two rothers, and. mother's garden, and ether's dog, .71na, that had a grave in he orebard, and a really marble tomb - tone that said, "Jim—a good friend." 'He died before I was born, so I don't emember him very well," she said; ut father had given ro.other a new dog amed Fanny; and he had given her, 'meant, a duck, for her own, which etched chickens. "And their own other can't raake 'em swine!" Pleas- nt informed her hearer, excitedly. Father said I mustn't try to teach m, though I would just as leave, be- ause it would worry mother. Would worry you mother ?" "Pleasant, dear, I think you had bet- er go out and sit in the buggy now—" -For fear Captain will run away ?" uggested Pleasant, eagerly. "She talks a great deal, sir," Eliza- th apologized. "She's our only lit- e girl. and I'm afraid we spoil her." Perhaps Dr. Lavender had gained what he wanted from the h' d ; he made no protest at her dismissal, and she went rolicking out to clim.b up in- to the buggy and alt in the sun, chat- tering to Captain, and weaving three long larch twigs together to make a wreath. Mrs. Day and the minister went back into the study. Her heart was begin- ning to beat heavily. She sat down where she could look through the open windawand see Pleasant, and the light fell full on her pretty, worn face. She was rolling- up the corner of her pocket -- handkerchief, and. then spreading it out on her knee and smoothing it with Shaking fingers. She did not once raise her eyes to his fa "It's this way, sir; I wanted to ask you—Ithought rd oome and the you, because you married us, and you are a stranger to us, and you are a minis- ter,—oh, I thought I'd ask you what —I must dol" Dr, Lavender was silent. "There's somethin.g I've got on my mind. It's just killing nae. eItag some- thing my husband don't know. If h wasn't just the best husband in the world, it wouldn't kill me the way it does. But, there never was anybody as goocj asPeter—no, not even a minis- ter is any better than him. We've been married twelve years, and I ought to know. Weil, it ain't only that he's just the kindest man in the werld— it's his being so good. He isn't like other men. He don't have the kind of thoughts they do. He don't under- stand some things—not any more than Pl, cies. Oh, Peter is so good— if he only wasn't so good!" She was red and then wbite; she held her shaking lip between her teeth, and looked out at Pleasant. "It seed as if you could help me Lf I told you ; 0,nd yet now it ceeeme as if there wasn't any help anywhere." "There is help, my friend" She seemed to grasp at his words. "Oh, sir, if you'll tell me what to do --Well, it's this; you see, you married s Peter end me sudden]. didn't really know anything about me; be fall in love 'with nee, Steeling me in s, Well, before I met Peter—that's what I want to tell you—" "Donot t 11 ." "Don't tell you?" She looked. at hint k le a bewildered Way. "Is there any reparation to make? le a there anythiee to be set rigbt?" g cl 4••••*.i. V. "Will you be quiet, Pleasant, and not get out of the buggy?" Elizabeth said. She pulled the weight from under the seat and fastened the catch into Cap- tain's bit. He put his soft nose against her wrist, and she stopped, trembling, to pat him. Then she went up the path between the garden borders; she and Peter had walked along that path. Oh, dear, the was beginning to aryl She could not speak to the minister if she was going to cry. She had to w-ait and wipe her eyes and let the tremor and swelling of her throat subside before she rang the bell and. asked if she ;night see Dr. Lavendae. . "He's going to have his dinner in about fifteen minutes," Mary said, sourly. She did not mean to have the rectory meals delayed by inconsider- ate people arriving at twelve o'clock. "And she'll worry the Iife out of him, anyhow," Mary reflected.; Mary had seen too many tragic, faces some to that door not to recognize this one. "Who's there?" demanded Dr. Lav- ender from the study; and then came peerieg out into the hall, which was dusky, because the vines hung low over the lintel, letting the light filter in green and soft across the three - %old. When he saw the strenge face he came forward to welcome bar. Re had on a flowered dresei.ng-gown, and his speotacles had been pushed back- aucl rested on his white later, which stood up very stiff and straight, "Corr* in," he said, abruptly; and Mary, feel- ,jAgheeeelf lacerated, retired, mutter - hag, to the kitchen.' Mrs. Day followed the minister into the tautly, but when he elosed the door behind her and pointed to a eltair, and said; theerfully, "And what can I do for ,yon, ineeanit1" she could hardly find ber Voice to answer him. She was coresolous ore sense of relief abet the room did hot look as it did the TR T oismantomutimomitivirinnonnifilArl *Pm Sian PA X 0 eiitlin aaaaree a. at 0 0 0 0 0 AP 0 13 SA 0 / / 0 1 OP IP . i , / g , • X X lkilliBilseiegalland2ailltibasuames8061011414110 && Il & atolasesemstenozosomosozolosonosomoselesososozoessooesesesouszosszezommimusseemeonamsoo • ' : GRANDE ISLAND AND SUBIG BAY TAKEN BY DEWEY. A despatch to the London Daily Mail from Kong Kong says it is now known that Admiral Dewey ordered the correspondents at Manila not to give the full story concerning' the interference of the German warship Irene with the insurgents in Subig Bay, for fear of arousing- feelings in the United States, which might Iead to complications with Germany. The correspondent adds that when the details of the affair transpire it will be seen that the incident was more serious than first appeared. As soon as the American warships appeared at the entrance of Subfg Bay, the Irene slipped her cable and steamed out, leaving her anchor at the bottom. BULACA r 0.7 ifft BAY OF MANILA tvs' /7•E r, No, she said, -with a sob; "oh no! nothing can Make it right." "Then it is not necessary for me to know, to advise you. Let us say, for the sake of argnmezit, that it's the worst thing that could be. Now,. my deer Mrs. Day, the worst thing that could be differs for every one of us. It might be murder for one person; it might be a lie for another person; it might be the preaching of the gospel for somebody else. But say it's your worst. Do you doubt your husband's forgiveness?" "I dent think he'd even call it for- giveness," she said, after a pause, twisting and untwisting the corner of her handkerchief with trembling fin- gers. "Peter just—loves me; that's all. But it woula—oh, it would hurt Peter so 1" "You have a good husband, I am sure of that," he said, quietly. "And your question, as I understand it, is, shall you tell him some grievous fault, e ooramittecl before you knew him? I can say at once"—Elizabeth looked ghastly—"that you ought to have told him. before you married him." "So I ought to tell hira now," she a said, in a whisper. NOW take yotir suffering; bear it, sanc- tify it, lift it up; let it bring you -new- er to your Saviour. Bub do not, do not, eut it on shoulders where it does not belong. Do not stab your bus - band's heart by weakly, selfishly—sel- fishly, mind yout—telling him of a, pa.st with erhic,h it is too. late now for him to concern hinaseld." She drevr a Long breath. "But you don't know what, it was. It you knew—" "It does not matter whet the sin was. In Atbat matters is, what your love is." "But I am afraid—oh, I am afraid that in my heart I don't want to tell him. Oh, I may be deceiving myself if I call it a duty nob to tell him 1" 'No, you. are not deceiving yourself. You don't want to tell hien because it is your instinet to spare him. Per- haps, too, you have the instinct to spare yourself in his eyes. But silence does not really spews you—don't you know that 1 It only spares him 1 Sit - nee is agony to you sometimes. Well, isn't that I know it isn't. For his sake Don't you love him enough for that'? You talk about penance—my friend, ach silence will be worse than any pen - aloe of the Roraish Church!" She clung to his hands, crying now unrestrainedly. "And I am not to keep , to keep thinking I'm deceiving him?" "My child, you are not deceiving hira. • He thinks. you are a good woman: you are. Look back over these years and see what wonderful things the Lord hath wrought in you.. Go down on your knees and thank Him for it. Don't deny it; don't be afraid to own "Do you -want to tell Wm'?" "Oh, sometimes it seems as if I'would die tf I didn't thk she said "It -would be g' tell Pet"? I'm not such a relief. I think, if he knew it I could forget it. I lie awake nights thinking and thinking how I oan tell him till my mind's sore, I often think to myself that I'll tell him as soon as he wakes up." She stopped, and swallowed once or twice, and press- ed her lips together as though to force bac* tears. "And then, again, I feel as though I would die if I told him. Why, Peter thinks am about perfect, I believe. It sounds foolish to Bar that, but it's true, sir. It would be like—like I. doe't know what—like stab- bing him. a don't mean he'd be unkind to me, or anything like that. It isn't that that scares m.e But it would be like putting a knife into him. But perhaps that's part of my punishment," the ended, wretchedly. "Mother," Pleasant called from the garden path "may I go and see the minister's -bees?" Dr. Lavender went to the window d toldy a e mig . "But you must not toucb ethe hives, remember," he cautioned her. And then he came and sat down again at his table. He took off his spectacles and put them into a little shabby case; then he passed his hand over his eyes once or twice. " 'Part of your punishment,' You would not wish to escape any part of of course? There is a great sat-. isfactlon in panishrnent " A quick understanding came intro ler fa.oe. "I know what you mean. I've Thought sometimes I'd like to be a. Ca- tholic and have penanoes • I could beat myself to death, and call it bap- piness1" she ended, passionately. "Yes; you must not shirk your pun- iehm.,nt," he raid, slowly. "But there's one thing we must find out; does your husbanti deserve any punishment?" "Peter!" she cried* "Why, he never d'd • g g in is li e . "Then have ycht any x ight to make him share your punishment? , Youay that if he knew this old sin ofeyoara you could forget it; but would 'be for- get it? You would pa.y a grea.t price for forgetfulness my dear friend, if you took hen into the shaslow whieh you walk. Have you ever thought you might be selfish in not .being willing to beath r is weight atone?" "What ?" she said, breathlessly— "not tell him?" "Listen," he said, with a sudden stern dignity; he was the priest, in- stead of the kindly old man; "you have Sinned beele ago. I don't know" how - 1 don't want to know. Bat it is pass- ed„ and there is no reparation to make, Xott lave shined, atid suffertsd for your in; you liaare asked. your Heavenly ra- ther' to forgive en you.. But still you, sutler. WOinall Yea, and Ile has forgiv- be thenkfal that you ean suffer; the worrgt trouble itt the world is the trouble that does not know God, and does teat suffer. Without suob nowledge there is no suffering. The ease of 61 in the lattona soul is the pprehension of Alralghby God, Your alvation has drawn nigh unto you! it to yoursele—that would be ingret- Rude to your Father hea.ven. I In- stead, thank Him that you are good! I And now listen : charge you bear the burden of silence,because you love your i husband, and he s good." , Elizabeth looked, et him., rapt, ab- ar e I am not to be 'afraid that; it I is for ray own wickei. fear that I tim not tellingNo him? ! it isn't that, isn't that! I know it isn't. For his sa —for his sake—" "Yes, for his sake" 13ut he looked at her pityingl Would this comfort of deliberate chosen pain be temporary? "Try," h said, and think that you 'stand h tween him and pan; take all the mi ery yourself; be glad to take it. Don' let it reach him." nIf I think of it that wee," she said breathlessly, "I—I can love it!" "Think of it that way always." He made her sit down again, an COST OF ELEPHANTS. Much Timed la the Siamese Malay States as Beasts of Burden. It Is somewhat interesting to cora- are the weights carried by elephants In the timproducing districts of the Malay peninsula with those used. bathe long journeys and,. mOuntainous country of the Lao states. In the pen- insula the distances are *seldom more than at most three or four days' march, and the elephant is expected to cerey as muck as 900 or 1,000 pounds, besides his mahout and howde.. The latter is often a mere- brace of panniers, slung together so as to reet one on eaah side of the backbone, and-oovered sometimes with alight barrel roof" of bark. A good tusker which will carry 950 pounds will fetch about £50, and a female wthioh can bear 800 pounds is worth about £45. In the Mao states, where journeys of ten days or three weeks are frequent, the average weight hardly exceeds 3e0 pomade or one-third of what is usual in the peninsula The pieces in various parts of the country vary considerably. When we were on the Me Kawng and in Muang an In 1893, a good tusker could be had for £2 and. a female for £24; at Chieng Mai, where good teak-hauang eLphants are in great demand, a tusker xna,y £50 to £100, according to her strength and ability. In the Siamese Malay states there are probably about 1,000 domesticated elephints, all told. and in. the Lao coun- try probably over 2,5000 animals are working at the present xaoment. That these animals breed in captivity in Siam is due to the fact that a large number of them spend the greater it ,,part of their time holiday making in it the jungle. When there is no work for , Ws beast, the inahout takes him out to la nice, cool, green bit Of forest and !leaves him there to enjoy himself. There is no expense connected. with his 7e 'upkeep, for he looks after himself. Ile • , has a hobble of rattan round his feet • 1 tb dissuade him from wandering too t far, and a wooden bell round his neck, 1 by the tone of wJaaoh the mahout or 1 his little boy can always find him, ' 1 when they go out once &month to i alonoaks. him up and give him some ban - went. out to find Pleasant, leaving b,er with the peace a one solenanly elate at the recognition of the cross on wbith she must a.ganize for the hap- piness of some other soul. "Suppose," said Dr. La:vender, watch ing the buggy pulling up the...hill, "sup- pose I hedn t found her a good woman and a good wife, and a good mother— shouldtT have told her to hold her tongue '1WelleIen thankful it wasn't that kind of a quastion I Lord, I'm glad Thou hest all as puzzled people in Thy wise keeping. Conte, Danny', let's go andesee the bees."--alergeret Deland in Beeper's Monthly. ' ex—ea...et ONE THING. In the courie of a/tedious trial, in- volving the pokaessfon of a stock of goods, man wbo had formerly been enaployed as a travellihg salesman was testifying. ' 'Do you mean to say, sir, asked the attorney tor t he plaintiff, t you can't remember what you carried in your -valise on the trip in question? plied the witteee. -I said that at tbie didn't FAY I couldn't remember, re- late di ay t eras impossible for me to reeolleot everything I carried on that particular trip. Don't evade the qae,stion, eir 1 thun- dered the attorney, I want to know whet was In that valise! Samples, - Sample:is of yshat Mention some par- ticular thing. • Well, said the witness after reflect- ing a moment, I remember. had a sample of a ra.ther inferior hair -dye, ebout the sere I judge, that you, have on your whiskers, sir.ids You xney -stand ns1 gruffly said the lawyer after the noise in the court -room had subsided. GRAINS OF GOLD. The greatest firmness is the great- est merce.—Longfellow. Be ignorance thy choice where know- ledge leads to 'wee—Beattie. .Kindness is wisdom; there is none in life, but needs it, and may learn. Nothing more detestable does the earth produce than an ungrateful man. --Ansonius. If bbnesty did not exist, we ought to invent it as the best means of get- ting rich.--Mirabeau. No man ever did a designed injury to smotbee but at the same time he did a greater to himsell.—Home. There are many' ways of being tri- volous, only One of being intellec- tually great; that le hone.se labor. — Sidrtey Smith. • What right have we to pry into tlie eeerets -of others? True or false, the tale thee is gabbed to us, what con- cern is it of ours 2--Buterer. Nothing sharpens the arrow of sate ca..= so keenly as the courtesy that aoll.stte,s it, No reproach ie like that e -e Motile with a smile and present with a bow.—Chest erfl e I d . Re is the wisest and happiest man, who by corietaiit attention of thought diseovers the greatesi opportunity of doing good, exact breaks through every opposition that he may iniprove these opportunitits,--Doddridge. 'Et doesn't matter lIp some men whe- ther they ride in a carriage or a patrol wagon. MEDI SOLDIER& THE FORCE WHICH WILL BE SENT . F 7X 71:17 oa TFN They VVEn Egyptlau "nd litC494sililiZZ-41111 Start f nor near* The departure of the Sirdar from Care- for 93erber marks the commence- ment of the last phase of tbe Soudan operatiotts, • says the London 'Daily Mail. We are informed that the force under Sir H. Ritehener is now being carnnilteuia organized, fodwitewnseomplete will he o Commaudertin-Chief—Major- General Kitchener, 14,C.113., Ch.,iet.sef.the Statf--Galonel Wingate, cmrto The troops will consist of an Egyptian Dpasiveisdaso ion, alniclowas103aritish. cOm- ,attzer, 0.18, 0,0. ,e8R1.TH1) IS,81VISION. 'Under command of Major-General. LiDgItInA•Gfelteray.Pt' 11%. 5. Robb' Durham First 03rigade- 1Brigadier-General Wauchope, 0.B., G.M.C., oommandiiag, 113rigade Major, Major T. D. O'Snow, Royal Inniskillou, Dragoons. 1.s101Vngabnovuicrknse.iirlie Regiment, Colonel let Lincolnshire Regiment, Lieut,- 1st Seaforth Highlanders, Col. Mw- ray,1, yl: 01Bowt. h, 1st .Os.aomikeronD.c. Righlancleirs, Col. Monett Second 03rigede- 03rigadier-Gtheral the Hon. N. Lyt- tleton, commanding. IBIigfeies deriaftalae. or,Major C. a Court, lti 1st Grenadier Guards, Col, V.Hatton. lst Northenaterland Fusiliers, Lieut. - Col. Money. ancdLaei;od. asvohire Fusiliers, Lieut. -Col, oinn 2nydonle-isflnelael;. rigaile, Lieutt-Col. Ken- Cavalry - 21st Lancers, Lieut. -Col, Martin. One squadron 3xel Hussars. Artillery - 82nd Fielid (Battery, armed. with 15 - pounders. 87th Field Battery, aamasd with -50- pounder howitzers. Naval rocket party. EGYPTIAN DIVISION. Commander—Major-Gezieeal Hunter, Da S. G. First 03rigade— Lieut.-Col. Lewis, commanding. 8rd Egyptian Regiment, Lieut. -CU. Sillena. 4th Egyptian 'lege., Major Sperkes. 13theSoudenese Regiment, Lieut. -Col. Collinson. Second (Brigade— Lieut.-Col. 1VIeedonalid, CSB., D.S.O., commanding. 2,nd Egyptian Regiment, Major Pink. 9th. Soudanese Regiment, Captain Walter, 10th Soudanese Regiment, Major Fer- guson. llth Soudanese Regiment, Major .Tackson. Third !Brio:tide— Lieut.-Col. Maxwell, D. S. 0 com- manding. 8th Egyptian Regiment. 12th Soudanese Regiment, Lieut. -Col, Townshend. 14th Soudanese Regiment, Major Shekleton. 15th Soudanese Regiment. Fourth Brigade— Now being formed under Lieut. -Col. Collinson, but the composition of this has not yet reached England. Cavalry— Under Lieut. -Col. EBroadwootl Tot - hem. Eight squadrons. Horse Attillery— One battery. One battery lkiaxims. , Camel Corps, 600 strong. Artillery— Tinder Lieut. -Col. Long. Two battalions armed with 6 -cin. Krupp guns, firing 8-1b. shells. Two battalions with automate, Maxim-Nordenfelts, firing 12 1-2 lb, shells. A battery of 40 -pounder Armstrongs is also being formed, which, in con- junction with the !British howitzers, will be used for bombarding purposes. Altogether, the Sirdar will have under his command a tote] of 22 bat- talions of infantry, about 15,000 strong, 1,500 cavalry, -38 guns, 12 Maxims, '700 Ziounted men on camels and horses. This force will be amply sufficient to deal with the Mahdi's forces, and, -starting about the middle of August, ought to reach Omdurman. before Michaelmas Day. Opinione differ as to the amount of resistance which will be met with; but the beat authorities incline to the view that after one .stiffish fight the Arabs will abandon Khartoum. The only tribe tow supporting the nettle is the ;Regorge and when once the,e are driven back there is no doubt that the Jeanne and other tribes will take a bitter revenge on the fugitives for the cruelties they have endured for so many years. BERLIN'S ROUSES. There are abotzt 40,000 houses in Ber- lin. A small number are inhabited by one or two families, but the great ma- jority are divided into several distirtet Iodgiegs. TWO thousand five hundred (=tam from 16 Lo 20 lodgings, 20,000 from 20 to 30 lodgings, and 10100 over 30 lodgings each. Seventy-five thous- and of these lodgings are composed of otie, room only, and inhabited, by no fewer than 270,000 persone CRALKEOLDER, 13illitird players will appreciate a new chalkholdor, which consists of a metal plate to be screwed eri tha to support a piece of ehalk, which is hollowed ont in the centre to receive the tip of the one. T1,11!,OFOR.,1111011.).40Et. THE HOUR WHEN THE HU/3N CHINERY RUNS THE, LOWEST. lits stoppage Threateued tir Not tam Ampoule ley a Sudden Awakening and Consequent Exertion of the Vital or. gensanemarlithie Bads. Very eurieus and interesting is the temporary uneasiness of all night - sleeping humans and animals, at about 3 Waite* every morning. At that hour they give little maims, awaken par - Wally or wholly, and then either drop batik into slumber or into clea,th. Play- sical giants among men, and Rem am - ng animals, have this experience, jest, as do tlie frailest babes or weakest kite' tens. Viewed in any and every light the occurrence is remarkable. Why is it not at midnight, at 1 a.m., 2 a.m., or in the case of late sleepers, why do:L-s 1.-t not COMO at 0 or 7 o'olook ? At the hour of about 3 o'clock ev- ery morning, every nigbt-sleeping man, k women, child and animal is nearer to. deatb, than at any other moment ai all tae 24 hours. It is then that the More active of the vitals some the nearest to stopping or running clown. They °omit So near it that it they tame a breath —an atom—nearer it they would stop. The tbought is one 1 OP ABSORBING INTEREST The rozethieery of life mines within. just a, hair's breadth of stopping at some moment near a a.m. The why of this is explained as follows; The com- posure of the body when lying still produces not only rest, but that same element of danger se oitempieseet to all machinery left unattended—the ab - seems of a watchful brain. In welcoming the hours of sleep you unconsciously welcome death's most ad- vantageous time Inc conquering you. Every moment you are asleep your phy- sital self is running unwatchecl by the engineer. The supply of coal, food, for the furnace is. withheld. The steam, blood, in the pipes runs low. This neg- lect of the angles room of the body continues until some moment at about 3 am, the machinery all but stops. In the healthy, or fairly healthy body the coming of this moment produces a wild shock to the system, and this shock causes you to unconsciously throw oat your arras and legs, rub your nose violently, moan, take a deep breath and turn over. Your doing all this—or most of it—has literally and of sober truth saved your life. It gave freth impetus to the almost stopped action of the heart, which in turn re- stored the well nigle stopped circula- tion all throughout your body. The MOAN AND DEEP BREATH Quickened the action of the lungs and roused them to their usual rate of speed. The rest that their organs had received by being allowed to run slow —to run almost down—enabled them, with the restarting administered by the 8 o'clock commotion, to successfully be- gin another run, carrying you over the death point and allowing you to re- sume completion of the full period of rest neeessavy to the brain and to the nerves and muscles ot the limbs and. -- other portions of the body. As to what causes this little shook that carries us over the bridge of death, the wisest a the wise know nothing. The theories about it are legion. But they are only theories. The percentage of deaths at this marvel- ous moment exceeds that of any other in the 21 hours, -while the number of old people who die at about 3 o'clock in the morning is appallingly in excess of their death rate for any other. time. In all cases at all critical it is said that the physician secretly dreads the hour, 3 a.m„ a hundred fold more than scarcely any other ineident -in prac- tice, while, to all that lives and breathes it brings the most momentous time of all existence. BIRDS THAT DO NOT SING. 410.0111 • They Ear Outnumber Me leiugielans (woke Feathered Family. Singing is applied 'to birds in the same sense that it is to human beings— the utterance of musical notes. Every person makes vocal sounds of some kind, but many persons never attempt to sing. So 1± is with birds. The eagle scream, the owl hoots, the wild goose breaks, the crow caws, but none of these discordant sounds can be called sing- ing. With the poet., the singing of birds means merry, light-hearted joyousness, and most of us are poetic enough to 'tasty it in the some way. Birds sing most in the spring and the early sum- . mer, those happiest seasons of the year, while employed in nest -building and in rearing- their young. Many ot our ' most musical singers are silent all the rest of the year; at least they utter only bow chirpings. It is natural, therefore, that lovers of birds thould regard their singing as purely an ex- pression of joy in th,e returning spring, end in 'their happy occupetions. Outside of what are properly classed as song birds there are inany species tbat never pretend to sing; 15fact, these fax ottnumber the rausicians. They include the water birds ot every kind, both swimmers and waders, all the birds of prey, eagles, hawks, owls and vultures; and all the gallinacseous tribes, comprising pheasants, partridg- ee turkeys and chickens. The gobble of the turkey crick, the detiatte °row of the "bob -white," are none of them true singing; yet it is quite probable '7 that ail of these sounds are ititeted with precisely similar motives to those that inspire the sweet warbling of the song -sparrow, the Meer whistle of the lollies or the thrilling music of the witiocittheugh. But naturalists have set aPart vaaa. laege group as song birds, and even among these there am many speciee thzit never sing at' ell. lairds are grouped acoording to their exactor/lima tharacteristies, the strueture of their bontt 1511tt, eel, and wings. Arid thug, we have the sOngleSs song Iiirde, looking at the matter from the Stand" pbint. of the clam:frying naturalist.