BEE PUBLISHING COMPANY. Labor Omnia Vincit.
VOL. VI. NO. 35.
ROCKINGHAM.
“IN GOD AYE TRUST.” Nil Desperandum.
N. C., SATURDAY. SEPTEMBER 6, 1879.
Wheat.
MAY.
So many shades of tender green
Are rippling, shimmering, pulsing, with de
light,
Soft, cool and billowy, like the glimmering
sheen
Of some gi-and river in the morning light,
Thrilling with hope, its life is fair,
Its joy is full, all through the lovely May
It simply grows and waves, nor tries to bear
The coming burden of the harvest day.
JUNE.
Steeped in hot sunshine, lightly swing
'Hie long bright stalks, whoso bearded heads
hang down
Beneath their fruitful burden, which the
spring,
Departing, laid upon them as a crown.
Sweeter and graver life has grown,
The green just touched to gold by deep’ning
June,
Warm, bright with glowing, with its mellow
ing tone
Flecked with the shadows of the afternoon.
JULY.
In serried ranks the golden sheaves
Gleam faintly in the sunset’s fading red,
While some reluctant blackbird slowly leaves
The fruitful gleai for his quiet bed; I
Andjhus, with fill fruition blest,
The wheat stands reaped. I', hath no more
to yield,
And thankfully, before he seeks his test,
The weary reaper gazes o’er his field.
—Cornelia Seabring.
THE CHILD SFY.
His name was Stenne, little Stcnne.
He was a “ child of Paris,” thin and
pale, and was ten, perhaps fifteen years
old, for one can never say exactly how
old those children are. His mother was
dead, and his father, an ex-marine, was
the guardian of a square in the quarter of
the Temple. The nurses and babies, the
old ladies who always carry their own
folding chairs, and the poor mothers, all
that small world of Paris which seeks
shelter from vehicles, in those gardens
that are surrounded by pavements, knew
Father Stenne and loved him. They
knew that under his rough mustache,
which was the terror of dogs and dis
turbers of benches, was hidden a kind,
tender and almost motherly,.smile, and
that in order toping’i^-ggfiB^Dy had
only to say to the good^H
“ How is your little
For Father Steeff^ov^BB^^wle son
so much!
He was so happy in the afternoon
when, after his school, the little boy
would call for him, and together they
would make the rounds of the paths,
stopping at each bench to speak to the
habitues of the square and to answer
their good wishes.
But when the siege began everything
was sadly changed. Father Stenne’s
square was closed and filled with pe
troleum, and the poor man, condemned
to an incessant surveillance, passed his
life in the deserted, upturned paths,
quite alone, not permitted to smoke, and
only seeing his little son late in the
evening at his home. You should have
seen his mustache when he spoke of the
Prussians. Little Stenne, however, did
not complain of this new life.
A siege! Nothing is more amusing
for such urchins. No more school, no
more studies! Holiday all the while,
and the streets as exciting as a fair.
The child ran about all day till night
fall. He followed the battalions of the
quarter to the ramparts, choosing those
that had a good band. Little Stenne
was well posted on that subject. He
would tell you very glibly that the
Ninety-sixth band was not worth much,
but the Fifty-fifth had an excellent one.
Sometimes he would watch the mobiles ■
training, and then there were the pro
cessions. * * * With his basket un
der his arm he would join the long files
that were formed in the dark cold winter i
mornings, when there was no gas, be
fore the butchers’ and bakers’ shops.
There, with their feet in the wet,
the people would nj^ke acquaint
ances and talk politics, and, as he was
Mr. Stenne’s son, everybody would ask
him his opinion. But the most amusing
of all were the afternoon games, especi
ally the famous game of galoche, which
the Breton mobiles made the fashion
during the siege. When little Stenne
was not at the ramparts or baker’s shop
you would be sure to find him at the
square of the Chateau d’Eau. He did
not play, however; it needed too much
money; he was satisfied in watching the
players with all his eyes.
One especially, a great fellow in a blue
workman’s blouse, who only played
with five-franc pieces, excited his ad
miration. When he ran one could hear
the coins jingling under his blouse.
One day as he was picking up a piece
tl.a - had rolled under little Stenne’s
feec. (he great fellow said to him in a
low tone: “That makes you wink,
hey?. Well, if you wish, I’ll tell you
where they’re to be found.”
The game over, he took him to a
corner of the square and proposed that
he should join him in selling newspapers
to i he Prussians—that he would make
thirty francs for every trip. At first
Stenne was very indignant and refused,
and what was more, he remained away
from the game for three days—three ter
rible days. He neither ate nor slept any
more. At midnight he would see great
heaps of gaioches piled on the foot of his
bed and five-franc pieces moving over it,
bright and shining. The temptation
was too strong for him. The fourth day
he returned to the Chateau d’Eau, saw
the large fellow and was overcome.
* * * * *
They set out one sunny morning, a
linen bag thrown over their shoulders
and their newspapers hidden under their
blouses. When they reached the Flan
ders gate it was yet hardly dawn. The
great fellow took Stenne by the hand
and approached the sentinel—a good
civilian with a red nose and kind air
He said to him, with a plaintive tone:
“ Let us pass, my good monsieur. Our
( her is ill and papa is dead. We are
going to see, my little brother and I, if
we can’t find some potatoes to pick up
in the fields.”
He cried, and Stenne, who was
ashamed, lowered his head. The sen
tinel looked at them a moment, and
then, giving a glance over the white,
inserted road, “Go quickly,” said he to
hern, moving aside; and then they were
n the road to Aunerville. How the
large fellow laughed!
Confusedly, as though in a dream, lit
tle Stenne saw the manufactories trans-
ormed into barracks,their tall chimneys,
which pierced the fog and seemed to
reach the sky, fireless and battered.
Now and again they would see a senti
nel and officers who were looking far off
through their field-glasses, ana their
small tents, wet with snow, which was
melting before dying fires. The large
fellow knew the way, and would take
short cuts over the fields in order to es
cape the outposts. But suddenly they
came upon a large body of sharpshooters
too late to escape them. They were in
their little cabins, hidden in a ditch half
full of water, and encamped along the
Spissons railway. This time, though
the large fellow recommenced his tear
ful story, they would not let him pass.
As he was lamenting, an old sergeant,
white and wrinkled, and who looked
like old Father Stenne, canxe out of the
post guard’s cabin.
■■ Well, little ones, don’t cry any
more!”said he to the children, “ we will
let you go after your potatoes, but before
you leave, come in and warm yourselves
a little. * * * He looks frozen that
small boy there!”
Alas! It was not with cold that little
Stenne trembled; it was from fear, from
shame. * * * In the post-house they
found some soldiers gathered round a
small fire, a real widow’s fire, by whose
blaze they were thawing their biscuits
on the end of their bayonets. They
crowded close together so as to make
room for the children. They gave them
a drop of wine and a little coffee.
While they were drinking, an officer
came to the door, called the sergeant,
spoke to him in a low voice, and then
quickly went away. “ Boys?” said the
sergeant, as he came back radiant,
“there will be tobacco to-night. * * *
We have found out the Prussians’ pass
word. I think this time we will take
back from them that Bourget.”
Then there followed an explosion of
bravos and laughter. They danced and
sang and swung theirsabers in the air.
Profiting by the tumult, the children
disappeared^ Having passedihe breast
work nothing remained t^ be crossed but
the plain, at 7 the end of which w^-a
long xvhite w^ll filled with loop-holes.
They directed their steps toward this,
stopping ^ery now and then and mak
ing believe to look for potatoes. “Let
us return; don’t go any further,” little
Stenne said all the while, but the large
one only shrugged his shoulders and
went on. Suddenly they heard the
click of agun being aimed at them. “Lie
down,” said the large boy, throwing
himself on the ground. When he was
down he whistled and another
whistle answered him over the snow,
and they went on, climbing on their
hands and knees. In front of the wall,
and even with the ground, two yellow
mustaches under greasy caps appeared,
and the large boy leaped into the ditch
beside the Prussians. “That is my
brother,” said he, pointing to his com
panion. He was so small—little Stenne
—that on seeing him the Prussians began
to laugh, and one of them was obliged
to take him in his arms in order to lift
him over the breach.
On the other side of the wall were
large breastworks, fallen trees and black
holes in the snow, and in each one of
these was the same yellow mustache
and greasy cap, and there was great
laughing as thesoldiers saw the children
pass by.
In a corner was a gardener’s house,
casemated with the trunks of trees, the
lower part of which was full of soldiers,
who were playing cards and making
►soup over a clear, bright fire. How
good the cabbages and the bacon smelt,
and what a difference to the sharp-
shooter’s bivouac! Up stairs were the
officers, and they heard them playing
on the piano and opening champagne
bottles. When the Parisians entered the
room a hurrah of joy greeted them.
They gave up their newspapers, and the
officers gave them something to drink
and made them talk. They all had a
proud, hard look, but the large boy
amused them with his Parisian gayety
and his gamin slang. They laughed and
repeated his words after him, and seemed
to Shallow with delight in the Parisian
mud he brought them.
Little Stenne, too, would have liked
to have talked and to have proved that
he was not stupid, but something em
barrassed him. Opposite to him, sit
ting apart, was a Prussian, older and
more serious than the others, who was
reading, or rather seeming to read, for
he never took his eyes off little Stenne,
and there was in his glance both tender
ness and reproach, as though this man
might have had a child of little Stenne’s
age at home, and as if he were saying to
himself: “I would rather die than see
my son doing such a thing,” and as he
looked at little Stenne the boy felt as if
a hand was clutching at his heart and
keeping it from beating. To escape the
anguish he began to drink, and soon
everything turned around him. He
heard vaguely, amid loud laughs, his
comrade making fun of the National
Guards, of their way of going through
their drill, he imitated an assault of
arms in the Marais, and a surprise at
night on the ramparts. Then the large
boy lowered his voice, the officers ap
proached nearer to him and their faces
grew more solemn. The miserable fol
low was telling them about that night’s
premeditated attack, of which the sharp-
shooters had spoken. Then little Stenne
rose, furious and completely sobered:
“ Don’t tell that fellow, I won’t have
you.”
But the other only laughed and con-
tinued; but before he had finished the
officers were all on their feet, and one
of them, showing the door to the chil
dren, told them to “ Begone!” and they
began to talk hurriedly together in Ger
man. The large boy left the room as
proud as a doge, clinking his money.
Little Stenne followed him, holding
down his head, and as he was passing
the Prussian whose look had so dis
turbed him:
“Not nice that, not nice,” and the
tears came into his eyes.
Onde more in the plain the children
began to run and return toward Paris
quickly. Their sacks were filled with
potatoes which the Prussians had given
them, and with these they passed the
sharpshooters’ encampment without any
trouble. They were preparing for the
night attack. Troops were arriving
silently, and were massed behind the
wall. The old sergeant was there, busily
engaged arranging his men with such a
happy look. When the children passed
near him he recognized them and smiled
kindly at them. Oh ! how badly that
smile made little Stenne feel. For a
momentghe felt as if he should burst out
crying and say to them: “Don’t go
there. * * * We have betrayed you.”
But the other boy told him that if he
spoke a word they would be shot, and
so fear kept him silent.
At Courneuve they entered an aban
doned house to divide their money.
Truth ^compels me to say that the
divisi^ was honestly made, and, when
he heard the fine crowns sounding under
his blouse and thought oUthe future
games of galoche, little St^me#thought
his crime was not so dreadful after all.
Brit when he was alone, the unhappy
child—when at the gates of the city the
large boy left him, then his pockets grew
heavy and the hand that had been
grasping his heart held it tighter still.
Paris seemed no longer the same to him;
the passers-by regarded him severely, as
if they knew from whence he came, and
he heard the word “spy” in all the
sounds of the street and the beating of
the drums along the canal where The
troops were exercising. At last he
reached his home, and, glad to find that
his father had not come in, he hurried to
his room and hid the crowns that were
weighing so heavily under his pillow.
Never had Father Senne been so good-
humored and joyous as he was that
night on coming home. Good news had
been received from the provinces; the
country’s affairs were going better.
Whilst he was eating, the old soldier
looked at his gun hung on the wall and
he said to the boy, with a hearty laugh:
“ Hey! my son, how you would go after
the Prussians, if you w/re old enough!”
AlLut eight o’clockJtiiey heard the
sound of a cannon. is at ^Auhervil-
li^; they arefightingat Bourg^MKlaid
the old man, who knew where^^the
forts were situated. Little Stenne grew
pale, and, feigning great fatigue, went to
bed, but not to sleep. The cannons were
thundering continuously. He pictured
to himself the sharpshooters going at
night to surprise the Prussians, and fall
ing into an ambuscade themselves. He
recalled the sergeant who had smiled at
him, and saw him stretched out there
in the snow and so many others with
A Maori Dance.
This extract is from a New Zealand
letter in the Philadelphia Ledger: In
th^evehing the natives treated us to a
haka, or dance, in honor of the governor.
It took place in the carved house I have
already spoken of, the weird, grotesque
carvings of which added to the strange
ness of the scene. There were about a
b mured dancers ranged in five rows,
the front one Consisting of about twenty
young women" gorgeously appareled in
tight-fitting red or white calico bodices
ard flaming-colored rugs, worn like
SWben the governor entered they
Coim with the most awful noise,
or yelling, laughing, and in some
2(71 way imitating the noise of the
; of tin cans, the barking of dogs
pid hand-clapping. The dance
lasted about an hour; it was curious
aid as a novelty amusing, but rather
monotonous. There was but little
mX^ment of their feet. It consisted
chiefly of swaying their bodies and arms
al^ut, going down on their knees, imi-
taing rowing and gathering crops, slap
ping their own legs and then their
neighbors’. The men then took the
pLce of the women and went through
vA'y similar performances. The whole
dince was accompanied by noise that
wbuld have put pandemonium to shame.
T&sjfunded like a mixture of beating of
t
dog fighting, gigantic snoring and
1. full; deep bass rumbling in the
. At times there seemed to be a
kirni of rhythmic song, interspersed
x’^’- yells and short, sharp cries of
“Hue, hue!” “Ha, ha!” “Pakeka!”
The young women winked and grinned
and twisted about beyond what was
strictly correct, but they seemed to enjoy
t.U really hard work of the dance most
thoroughly. There was always a chief
running up and down, dancing and de-
clriming, in the foreground, bidding de
fiance to all the world apparently, but
in reality, I believe, merely suggesting
that he would like to drink his excel
lency’s health. Far the most comical
fixture of the dance was a naked little
imp who stood in front of the first row,
exactly opposite the governor, and imi-
ta-ed playing the fiddle with his little
thin arms, all the while thrusting out
h$ tongue, rolling his eyes nearly out of
his head and making the most fearful
faces and contortions. A little girl who
tried to do the same had not nearly the
same real genius for making herself hid
eous and grotesque. At last a liberal
supply of beer was promised them, the
dance came to an end, and the governor
departed amid an uproar, if possible,
'nori awful than before.
him!
The price of all that
blood xvas hidden there under his pillow,
and it was he, the son of Mr. Stenne—of
a soldier— His tears choked him. In
the adjoining room he heard his father
walking to and fro, and then open a
window. Down in the street the rappel
was sounded; a battalion of mobiles
were getting ready to start. Then there
was no doubt about there being a real
battle goingon. The unhappy boy could
not keep back his sobs.
“ What is the matter with you ?” asked
his father, entering his room. Thechild
could bear it no longer;- he jumped
from his bed and threw himself at his
father’s feet. In so doing the silver
crowns rolled down on the floor.
“What is this? Have you been steal-’
ing?” asked the old man, beginning to
tremble. Then, all in one breath, little
Stenne told him that he had been to the
Prussians, and all that he had done, and
as he was speaking, he felt his heart
grow lighter; it comforted him to make
the confession. His father listened to
him with a terrible look on his face;
and when the story was told, he buried
his face in his hinds and wept.
“ Father, father —!” the child tried
to say, but the old man pushed
him on without replying to him, and
picked up the money.
“ Is that all?” he asked. Little Stenne
made a sign thatit was; then the old
man took down his gun and cartridges,
and putting the money in his pocket,
said :
“I am going to return it to them,”
said.he. and without another word—
A Pigmy Painter.
recent exhibition of old and cu
paintings in Holland was a por-
ofOliver Cromwell. It was by no
nuM^ a masterpiece of art, being a
somewhat feeble imitation in style of
Sir Peter Lely, the court painter of
Charles I. of England. Butit was a real
curiosity in its way.
Its painter was Bichard Gibson, other
wise known as the “ dwarf artist.”
Gibson was three feetAwo inches high.
He was born in 1615. While serving as
a page for a lady at Mortlake, she no
ticed his talent for drawing, and caused
him to be instructed by De Keeyn, the
superintendent of the famous Mortlake
tapestry works. The little artist became
very skillful as a copier of Sir Peter
Lely’s pictures, and attracted the atten
tion of Queen Henrietta Maria. She
made him her husband’s page, and mar
ried him to a dwarf young lady of ex
actly his own height, who waited on
her. The wedding of the dainty little
pair was honored by the presence of the
king and queen, and Edmund Waller,
the pdet, commemorated it by a poem.
When Charles lost his scepter and his
head, and passed with his queen out oi
English lines, his little protege lived and
throve. He had painted the king’s por
trait, and now was called upon to limn
that of the protector. Cromwell re-
^rded him with particular and kindly
favor. On the restoration he again
changed coats, and entered the service of
Charles II. He was drawing master to
the Princesses Mary and Anne. But the
wild court of the son of his old master
did not suit the tastes of the pigmy
painter, now grown old. He retired to
private life, and died in 1690. His wife,
after giving birth to nine children, all of
whom attained ordinary size, died
1709, at the age ofninety.
in
without even turning his head, he
went down into the street, and joined
j the mobiles who were starting off in the
night. He was never seen again!—
From the French of Alphonse Daudet.
Do Monkeys Swim ?
A correspondent of Land and Water,
in reply to a question whether monkeys
swim, says: I was always under the
impression that they did not like wetting
their fur or hair, but at Sangur, Central
India, when I was stationed there I had
a little monkey that was exceedingly
fond of swimming and diving. One day
on taking him to the pond at the bottom
of my compound, he jumped off my
shoulder and dived (like a man) into the
water, which was three or four feet
deep: he had his chain on at the time
and when he dived in the chain caught
in some grass or root at the bottom and
kept the monkey down; he was just able
to come to the top of the water. Feeling
his chain had caught, be dived down,
undid the chain, and continued his
swim with the chain in his hand. He
swam just like a man as far as I could
see from the motion of his arms.
Several of my brother officers came to
see him swimming, of which he was
very fond, swimming very quietly, and
cunningly trying to catch the frogs that
lay floating on the top of the water.
$2.00 per Annum, in Advance;
WHOLE NO. 294.
RUSSIA’S MISFORTUNES.
ILife in That Country a Veritable “ Sea oi
Troubles.’’
Russia’s complicated misfortunes are
possibly unparalleled in the history of
any country. Just before the ‘latest
Turko-Russian war the wretched condi
tion of the people in many of the Czar’s
provinces had brought about extensive
eruptions. Then ative tribes of the Cau
casus could not stand the levies imposed
on them in different shapes by the Rus
sian army and revolted. Being defeated,
they were transported to the northern
provinces of Russia. This proved so
fatal that of the first party of 2,000 exiles
one-half died in the first year. There
are now 770 families, besides
300 single persons, of these Daghestan and
Tersk rebels on their way to exile, and
still more have been doomed to
transportation. The war with Turkey
was resorted to in the hope that it would
raise the old patriotic sentiments and
turn the minds of discontented Russians
from their domestic troubles. This no
tion proved a mistake, and the results of
the war, so far as Russia is concerned,
were unsatisfactory. Over 200,000 men
perished in it, of whom 18,000 are re
ported to have frozen to death, and the
wai expenses amounted to 1,500,000,000
roubles. The Russian Nihilists have
watched each step of their enemy—the
Russian government. Thus the two
hostile powers—the Revolutionists and
Imperialists—have been carrying on
their desperate struggle, each trying to
deal the death blow to the other. In no
agricultural country is the chief product
of the fields—the grain—so much as-
sailed as in Russia. The forces of na
ture itself often turn against the public
welfare. One year the crops are de
stroyed by extensive drought; the next
year by excessive rain, by inundations
and by hail, Then again every year, be
it too dry or too rainy, the fields are de
vastated by clouds of locusts and beetles,
and by swarms of Siberian marmots.
For the last five years the middle and
southern provinces—the very granary of
Russia—haye been one vast nest of de
structive insects. The Russian millions
have a foe yet more terrifying than fam
ine. Epidemic diseases make havoc
every year in many parts of the empire.
The fatality last year from the plague
was small in comparison with that which
occurs every year from other less heard
of epidemics. Several varieties of ty
phoid fever, especially the so-called hun
ger typhus, and cholera are epidemic in
Russia. The young generation is de
stroyed by diphtheria and small-pox to
such an extent that it has been necessary
to call for the aid of the Red Cross socie
ties in dealing with them. The ever-re-
tfurring and extensive fires, cL which we
lave lately heard so much frXm Russia,
should not ?>e overlooked.V Statistics
show that every year no less! than one-
twelfth part of all the houses of Russia
are consumed in flame. Russia will
doubtless go on burning, for the present
Russia is but a huge agglomeration of
combustible material, with hardly any
fire extinguishing engines. In conse
quence of the appalling poverty of the
masses ofthe Czar’s subjects, it has for
many years been impossible to enforce
the payment of taxes upon any regular or
orderly system. The tax collectors re-
sort to the severest measures against de
linquent taxpayers. They are flogged
and imprisoned", their cattle, horses, pigs
and poultry are seized and put up at
auction, and finally the house of the de
linquent is unroofed. These are some of
the points which, for the common peo
ple at least, make Russia a veritable
“sea of troubles.”—Philadelphia Tele.
Tricks of London Booksellers.
A seller of old books in London has
written for the Pall Mall Gazette a con
fession offa few of his sins, which would
gladden the heart of many an American
buyer if the writer gave any evidence of
repentance. “ Anumber ofus,” he says,
crowd into an aucticn-room, where a
library is brought to the hammer, and
buy every article. Here all know one
another, and each one bids for the rest.
There is, therefore, no advance on the
first bid, unless an outsider interferes,
when we soon run the price up beyond
what he cares to give. This trick, re
peated as often as necessary, disgusts the
outsiders and secures the whole stock for
ourselves at far less than its real value.”
When the auction is over they “retire
to a neighboring tavern and repeat it”
among themselves. There the volumes
^o at fair prices, which allows the buyer
forty per cent, for profit on his private
business. “ All being sold, we cast up
the totals of the two sales, subtract the
smaller from the greater, and divide the
remainder equally among those present.”
This is not all; nor is it the most start
ling confession “One of the Craft” has
to make. “We have a good many ways
of enhancing the value of our wares.
Celebrities of all sorts, who are as ser
viceable to us in a way about to be
described as those merely literary, are
dying off every day, and their libraries
disposed of. in these cases we look up
from our stock all likely books, furnish
them with sham plates and autographs
and soon get rid of them at fancy prices.
It is a fact that after Lord Macaulay’s
death thousands o'f volumes which he
never saw were sold in this way as com
ing from his library ”
Trunk Space and the Sexes.
Mr. Bowerman and wife left for the
country yesterday. One could tell that
their trunks were not over half full, as
they were pitched into the baggage car
with a crash. They began packing a week
ago.. When the subject was broached
he said he preferred to pack his own
trunks,, and he didn’t propose to take a
whole month to do it, either. All he in
tended to take along was an extra suit,
and he could throw that in most anyway.
Night before last he began work. It
struck him that he’d better put in an
extra pair of boots as a foundation and
he flung ’em in the corners with his
clean shirts. The shirts didn’t seem , to
ride very well, and he braced them with
two pairs of trousers. Then he stuffed
his Sunday coat pockets with collars and
cuffs and found a place for it, used his
white vests for “ chinking,” and the bal
ance of his clothing just fitted in nicely.
“ The man who takes over ten minutes
to pack a trunk is a dolt!” said Mr.
Bowerman, as he slammed down the lid
and turned the key.
Mrs. Bowerman has been at it just
seven days and seven nights, and when
the husband went up stairs at ten o’clock
she sat down before the open trunk with
tears in her eyes.
“ You see how it is,” she explained, as
he looked down upon her in awful con
tempt. “I’ve got only one part of my
dresses in here, saying nothing of a
thousand other things, and even now the
lid won’t shut down. I’ve got such a
headache I must lop down for a few
minutes.”
She went away to lop, and Mr. Bower
man sat down and mused:
“Space is space. The use of space is
in knowing how to utilize it.”
Removing everything, he began re
packing. He found that a .silk dress
could be rolled to the size of a quart jug.
A freshly starched lawn was made to
take the place of a pair of slippers. Her
brown bunting fitted into the niche she
had reserved for three handkerchiefs
and her best bonnet was turned bottom
up in its box and packed full of under
clothing. He sat there viewing suffi-
cientempty space to pack in a whole bed
when she returned and said he was the
only real good husband in this world,
and she kissed him on the nose as he
turned the key.
“It’s simply the difference between
the sexes,” was his patronizing reply as
he went down stairs to turn on the bur
glar alarm.
When that wife opened that trunk last
night ! But screams and shrieks
would avail nothing.—Detroit Free Press.
THE BATTLE OF ULUNDI.
How tlie Zulus were Defeated in their
Stronghold.
Dr. W. H. Russell sent to the Lon-
I don Telegraph the following account of
i the battle of Ulundi:
“At six o’clock in the morning the
; combined columns of Newdigate and
i Wood crossed the White Umvolosi. As
the forces gathered on the left bank of
the river in all their strength of artillery,
cavalry and British infantry, the Zulu
prediction, that the cradle of the nation
in the valley of the Umvolosi would also
be its grave, seemed certain of fulfill
ment. What could the Zulu swarms,
seen gathered along the spurs, with all
their feline courage and instinct for tac
tics, effect in the face of the army that
with unwonted celerity and precision
moved down Che slopes, and massed
upon the further bank? Koppie Drift,
upon the regular mission road, was the
crossing point.
“ All passed over and reached the high
level ground beyond the river. Some ■
two miles distant rose the steep bowlder-
capped hills, over which, some thirty
years ago, the Zulus hunted the beaten
Boers, associated, therefore, in Zulu
minds with victory and victorious pur
suit. To 5 the right lay lower thorn-
covered hills, wliich extend to the la
goons at the mouth of the White Umvo
losi, Behind and on the left stretched
broken country, scarred with ravines
and valleys, sprinkled with mimosas—
clumping in places into awkward-look
ing cover—and branching euphorbias,
which give the country so striking a
character. Close on the right lay a
gloomy glen, which, from the days of
haka, the Zulus have used for the exe
cution of criminals. Just beyond we
crossed a little stream nearly dry that
winds among the king’s fields—here all
is royal demesne—and supplies the royal
kraals with water. We found ourselves
in view of the amphitheater, where
stand three great military kraals—Nod-
wenga, Udabakaombi and Ulundi. Our
position was excellent for strategic pur
poses, commanding the enemy’s ground
in front, and, except on the left, where
stood the Nodwenga kraal, a thousand
yards distant, affording the Zulus no
rallying point in their disorder. Our
rear flanks, from the nature of the coun
try, were equally protected from sur
prise.
“Here the army halted, awaiting the
impi that was seen surging down the
hills on our left, taking skillful advan
tage of the Nodwenga kraal on our rear,
and emerging from the bush on our right
front. At 8.30 the mounted irregulars,
Tinder Buller, were thrown out on the
rear, left and front), keeping the enemy
in check on these three sides; but, from
an error, the right, Lvhere it was thought
the’ lancers wouldShave acted, was at
first unprovided for. This omission
was discovered, and the mounted Basu-
tos and the native contingent under
Cochrane rapidly deployed in the pret
tiest manner possible, and skirmished
toward Udakaombi kraal, returning the
enemy’s fire briskly, and holding them
pluckily in check. The Zulus were too
strong for such a handful, and the Ba-
sutos, retiring on the right face, came
into action with what may be called
the left horn of the Zulu army.
“ Meanwhile, however, the enemy had
so extended their formation that all
four sides were soon engaged—the Zulus
advancing in skirmishing order, with
great steadiness had unexpected silence.
There was no shouting, clashing of
shields, nor savage demonstration, but
strictly orderly discipline. Our fire was
terrific, and the artillery practice excel
lent, but the determined Zulus advanced
within seventy yards on all four sides be
fore they begun to break, as a further
advance was really impossible. In
about half an hour from the commence
ment of the infantry fire they were seen
falling back in close masses, becoming
rapidly disorganized under the storm
of bullets and shells which poured upon
them, and the-wavering mob broke into
open flight.
“The lancers, now loosened, were
among them, and within a minute were
riding through and through, cutting
them down right and left, while the guns
continued tearing up the flying masses
with their fire. Within an hour the
whole affair was over.
“ The Zulus certainly were from
twelve thousand to thirteen thousand
strong, including the flower of the army.
Seven thousand warriors were engaged.
Prisoners state that they went into
action under Cetywayo’s own eye. Our
troops, young and old alike, behaved ad
mirably; but the firing, considering the
small loss of the Zulus—eight hundred
in all—must have been rather wild. Our
loss was ten killed.”
Swimming Alter an Ocean Steamer.
As the steamer Montana of the Guion
line was leaving her pier in New York a
scene occurred which caused much ex
citement. A sailor appeared three
minutes too late. Tossing his coat to a
comrade, and shouting “I’ll have her
yet,” he jumped into the river, and
when next seen he was fully one hun
dred feet from the pier and striking out
manfully for the fast-receding steamer.
“He’ll never reach her,” “He’ll go
under soon,” were the comments on the
dock. “Bill ’ll get her yet; I know
him,” answered a comrade. The
steamer was well over toward the Jer
sey side, “Bill” in the middle of the
river and all hopes of his getting aboard
that boat were given up by the excited
spectators, when a rowboat was seen to
approach him. Clambering in and tak
ing the oars he tried to head off the
steamer. He succeeded in getting along
side but no rope was lowered to him.
He then plunged, again into the water,
and to save his life a rope was thrown
to him and in a twinkling he was on
desk among his comrades.
Bull-frogs in Jamaica like fire-flies.
Cruel persons who like bull-frogs catch
them by tossing toward them small red-
hot pieces of charcoal. The silly bull
frogs mistake the "pieces for fire-flics,
: jump at them, eat them and are burned
to death.