BRAHMA.

Dear Marquise—Ho, ho! Your devotedTalleyrand.

THE SUBTLE VERSES IN WHICH EMERSON GAVE EXPRESSION TO THE MYSTICISM INVESTING HINDU RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY.

The four stanzas composing Emerson's poem "Brahma" afford perhaps in the smallest compass the best example of the Concord philosopher's subtle mode of expression with a meaning so elusive as to require careful thought on the reader's part to render it intelligible.

There is a pleasing vagueness which the music of the lines imbues with a nameless charm. Here, more than anywhere else, Emerson has caught in a few simply written stanzas the very essence of mysticism—strange, fleeting, and yet full of suggestiveness that shifts and shimmers like the shadow and the sunlight of which the poem tells.

The interpretation of the poem is to be found in an understanding of what Brahma really means in the Hindu religion and philosophy. It is not a personal divinity; but rather the creative force of the universe, an all-pervading presence, bringing power, devotion, and holiness, unlimited by time or space, and signifying soul and spirit. Hence, Brahma views with equal unconcern both life and death, both doubt and faith, both shame and fame. Those who attain to a true conception of this ideal have no need to think of heaven, since heaven is everywhere.

If the red slayer think he slays,Or if the slain think he is slain,They know not well the subtle waysI keep, and pass, and turn again.Far or forgot to me is near;Shadow and sunlight are the same;The vanished gods to me appear;And one to me are shame and fame.They reckon ill who leave me out;When me they fly, I am the wings;I am the doubter and the doubt,And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.The strong gods pine for my abode,And pine in vain the sacred Seven;But thou, meek lover of the good!Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

If the red slayer think he slays,Or if the slain think he is slain,They know not well the subtle waysI keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near;Shadow and sunlight are the same;The vanished gods to me appear;And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;When me they fly, I am the wings;I am the doubter and the doubt,And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,And pine in vain the sacred Seven;But thou, meek lover of the good!Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

BY SAM DAVIS.

The story which is published herewith under the title of "The First Piano in Camp" originally appeared several years ago in the Virginia CityChronicle, and was then named "A Christmas Carol." Its literary merit, quaint humor, and pathos were at once recognized, and in the course of the next six months it was republished in scores of newspapers throughout the country. It next reached England, and from there its popularity spread to the Continent, with the result that it was translated into nearly every European language.In several cases newspapers in reprinting the story failed to give the name of the author, and, believing that it had originally been published anonymously, a number of persons asserted that it had been written by them. These claims were quickly disproved, however, and in the numerous collections of specimens of American humor in which it now appears due credit is given to Sam Davis, who was brought up in the same atmosphere which gave life to the genius of Bret Harte and Mark Twain. Mr. Davis was for several years editor of the Virginia CityEnterpriseand the Virginia CityChronicle. He is now the State Comptroller of Nevada and the proprietor and editor of the CarsonAppeal."The First Piano in Camp," as here printed, is taken from "Little Masterpieces of American Wit and Humor," edited by Thomas L. Masson, and published by Doubleday, Page & Co.

In several cases newspapers in reprinting the story failed to give the name of the author, and, believing that it had originally been published anonymously, a number of persons asserted that it had been written by them. These claims were quickly disproved, however, and in the numerous collections of specimens of American humor in which it now appears due credit is given to Sam Davis, who was brought up in the same atmosphere which gave life to the genius of Bret Harte and Mark Twain. Mr. Davis was for several years editor of the Virginia CityEnterpriseand the Virginia CityChronicle. He is now the State Comptroller of Nevada and the proprietor and editor of the CarsonAppeal.

"The First Piano in Camp," as here printed, is taken from "Little Masterpieces of American Wit and Humor," edited by Thomas L. Masson, and published by Doubleday, Page & Co.

In 1858—it might have been five years earlier or later; this is not a history for the public schools—there was a little camp about ten miles from Pioche, occupied by upward of three hundred miners, every one of whom might have packed his prospecting implements and left for more inviting fields any time before sunset.

When the day was over, these men did not rest from their labors, like honest New England agriculturists, but sang, danced, gambled, and shot one another, as the mood seized them.

One evening the report spread along the main street (which was the only street) that three men had been killed at Silver Reef and that the bodies were coming in. Presently a lumbering old conveyance labored up the hill, drawn by a couple of horses well worn out with their pull. The cart contained a good-sized box, and no sooner did its outlines become visible, through the glimmer of a stray light, than it began to affect the idlers.

Death always enforces respect, and even though no one had caught sight of the remains, the crowd gradually became subdued, and when the horses came to a standstill the cart was immediately surrounded. The driver, however, was not in the least impressed with the solemnity of his commission.

"All there?" asked one.

"Haven't examined. Guess so."

The driver filled his pipe and lighted it as he continued:

"Wish the bones and load had gone over the grade!"

A man who had been looking on stepped up to the teamster at once.

"I don't know who you have in that box, but if they happen to be any friends of mine I'll lay you alongside."

"We can mighty soon see," said the teamster coolly. "Just burst the lid off, and if they happen to be the men you want, I'm here."

The two looked at each other for a moment, and then the crowd gathered a little closer, anticipating trouble.

"I believe that dead men are entitled to good treatment, and when you talk about hoping to see corpses go over a bank all I have to say is that it will be better for you if the late lamented ain't my friends."

"We'll open the box. I don't take back what I've said, and if my language don't suit your ways of thinking, I guess I can stand it."

With these words the teamster began to pry up the lid. He got a board off, and then pulled out some rags. A strip of something dark, like rosewood, presented itself.

"Eastern coffins, by thunder!" said several, and the crowd looked quite astonished.

Some more boards flew up, and the man who was ready to defend his friend's memory shifted his weapon a little. The cool manner of the teamster had so irritated him that he had made up his mind to pull his weapon at the first sight of the dead, even if the deceased was his worst and oldest enemy. Presently the whole of the box-cover was off, and the teamster, clearing away the packing, revealed to the astonished group the top of something which puzzled all alike.

"Boys," said he, "this is a pianner."

A general shout of laughter went up, and the man who had been so anxious to enforce respect for the dead muttered something about feeling dry, and the keeper of the nearest bar was several ounces better off by the time the boys had given the joke due attention.

Had a dozen dead men been in the box their presence in the camp could not have occasioned half the excitement that the arrival of that lonely piano caused. But the next morning it was known that the instrument was to grace a hurdy-gurdy saloon, owned by Tom Goskin, the leading gambler in the place. It took nearly a week to get this wonder on its legs, and the owner was the proudest individual in the State. It rose gradually from a recumbent to an upright position amid a confusion of tongues, after the manner of the Tower of Babel.

Of course, everybody knew just how such an instrument should be put up. One knew where the "off hind leg" should go, and another was posted on the "front piece."

Scores of men came to the place every day to assist.

"I'll put the bones in good order."

"If you want the wires tuned up, I'm the boy."

"I've got music to feed it for a month."

Another brought a pair of blankets for a cover, and all took the liveliest interest in it. It was at last in a condition for business.

"It's been showin' its teeth all the week. We'd like to have it spit out something."

Alas! there wasn't a man to be found who could play upon the instrument. Goskin began to realize that he had a losing speculation on his hands. He had a fiddler, and a Mexican who thrummed a guitar. A pianist would have made his orchestra complete. One day a three-card-monte player told a friend confidentially that he could "knock any amount of music out of the piano, if he only had it alone a few hours to get his hand in." This report spread about the camp, but on being questioned he vowed that he didn't know a note of music. It was noted, however, as a suspicious circumstance, that he often hung about the instrument and looked upon it longingly, like a hungry man gloating over a beef-steak in a restaurant window. There was no doubt but that this man had music in his soul, perhaps in his finger-ends, but did not dare to make trial of his strength after the rules of harmony had suffered so many years of neglect. So the fiddler kept on with his jigs, and the greasy Mexican pawed his discordant guitar, but no man had the nerve to touch the piano. There were doubtless scores of men in the camp who would have given ten ounces of gold-dust to have been half an hour alone with it, but every man's nerve shrank from the jeers which the crowd would shower upon him should his first attempt prove a failure. It got to be generally understood that the hand which first essayed to draw music from the keys must not slouch its work.

It was Christmas eve, and Goskin, according to his custom, had decorated his gambling-hell with sprigs of mountain cedar and a shrub whose crimson berriesdid not seem a bad imitation of English holly. The piano was covered with evergreens, and all that was wanting to completely fill the cup of Goskin's contentment was a man to play the instrument.

"Christmas night, and no piano-pounder," he said. "This is a nice country for a Christian to live in."

Getting a piece of paper, he scrawled:

$20 REWARDTO A COMPETENT PIANO PLAYER

This he stuck up on the music-rack, and though the inscription glared at the frequenters of the room until midnight, it failed to draw any musician from his shell.

So the merrymaking went on; the hilarity grew apace. Men danced and sang to the music of the squeaky fiddle and worn-out guitar as the jolly crowd within tried to drown the howling of the storm without. Suddenly they became aware of the presence of a white-haired man, crouching near the fireplace. His garments—such as were left—were wet with melting snow, and he had a half-starved, half-crazed expression. He held his thin, trembling hands toward the fire, and the light of the blazing wood made them almost transparent. He looked about him once in a while as if in search of something, and his presence cast such a chill over the place that gradually the sound of the revelry was hushed, and it seemed that this waif of the storm had brought in with him all the gloom and coldness of the warring elements. Goskin, mixing up a cup of hot egg-nogg, advanced and remarked cheerily:

"Here, stranger, brace up! This is the real stuff."

The man drained the cup, smacked his lips, and seemed more at home.

"Been prospecting, eh? Out in the mountains—caught in the storm? Lively night, this!"

"Pretty bad," said the man.

"Must feel pretty dry?"

The man looked at his streaming clothes and laughed, as if Goskin's remark was a sarcasm.

"How long out?"

"Four days."

"Hungry?"

The man rose up, and, walking over to the lunch-counter, fell to work upon some roast bear, devouring it as any wild animal would have done. As meat and drink and warmth began to permeate the stranger he seemed to expand and lighten up. His features lost their pallor, and he grew more and more content with the idea that he was not in the grave. As he underwent these changes the people about him got merrier and happier, and threw off the temporary feeling of depression which he had laid upon them.

"Do you always have your place decorated like this?" he finally asked of Goskin.

"This is Christmas eve," was the reply.

The stranger was startled.

"December 24, sure enough."

"That's the way I put it up, pard."

"When I was in England I always kept Christmas. But I had forgotten that this was the night. I've been wandering about in the mountains until I've lost track of the feasts of the Church."

Presently his eye fell upon the piano.

"Where's the player?" he asked.

"Never had any," said Goskin, blushing at the expression.

"I used to play when I was young."

Goskin almost fainted at the admission.

"Stranger, do tackle it, and give us a tune! Nary man in this camp ever had the nerve to wrestle with that music-box." His pulse beat faster, for he feared that the man would refuse.

"I'll do the best I can," he said.

There was no stool, but seizing a candle-box, he drew it up and seated himself before the instrument. It only required a few seconds for a hush to come over the room.

"That old coon is going to give the thing a rattle."

The sight of a man at the piano was something so unusual that even the faro-dealer, who was about to take in a fifty-dollar bet on the tray, paused and did not reach for the money. Men stopped drinking, with the glasses at their lips. Conversation appeared to have been struck with a sort of paralysis, and cards were no longer shuffled.

The old man brushed back his long white locks, looked up to the ceiling, half closed his eyes, and in a mystic sort of reverie passed his fingers over the keys. He touched but a single note, yet the sound thrilled the room. It was the key to his improvisation, and as he wove his cords together the music laid its spell upon every ear and heart. He felt his way along the keys like a man treading uncertain paths, but he gained confidence as he progressed, and presently bent to his work like a master. The instrument was not in exact tune, but the ears of his audience did not detect anything radically wrong. They heard a succession of grand chords, a suggestion of paradise, melodies here and there, and it was enough.

"See him counter with his left!" said an old rough, enraptured.

"He calls the turn every time on the upper end of the board," responded a man with a stack of chips in his hand.

The player wandered off into the old ballads they had heard at home. All the sad and melancholy and touching songs, that came up like dreams of childhood, this unknown player drew from the keys. His hands kneaded their hearts like dough and squeezed out tears as from a wet sponge.

As the strains flowed one upon the other, the listeners saw their homes of the long ago reared again; they were playing once more where the apple-blossoms sank through the soft air to join the violets on the green turf of the old New England States; they saw the glories of the Wisconsin maples and the haze of the Indian summer blending their hues together; they recalled the heather of Scottish hills, the white cliffs of Britain, and heard the sullen roar of the sea, as it beat upon their memories, vaguely. Then came all the old Christmas carols, such as they had sung in church thirty years before; the subtle music that brings up the glimmer of wax tapers, the solemn shrines, the evergreen, holly, mistletoe, and surpliced choirs. Then the remorseless performer planted his final stab in every heart with "Home, Sweet Home."

When the player ceased the crowd slunk away from him. There was no more revelry or devilment left in his audience. Each man wanted to sneak off to his cabin and write the old folks a letter. The day was breaking as the last man left the place, and the player, with his head on the piano, fell asleep.

"I say, pard," said Goskin, "don't you want a little rest?"

"I feel tired," the old man said. "Perhaps you'll let me rest here for the matter of a day or so."

He walked behind the bar, where some old blankets were lying, and stretched himself upon them.

"I feel pretty sick. I guess I won't last long. I've got a brother down in the ravine—his name's Driscoll. He don't know I'm here. Can you get him before morning? I'd like to see his face once before I die."

Goskin started up at the mention of the name. He knew Driscoll well.

"He your brother? I'll have him here in half an hour."

As Goskin dashed out into the storm the musician pressed his hand to his side and groaned. Goskin heard the word "Hurry!" and sped down the ravine to Driscoll's cabin. It was quite light in the room when the two men returned. Driscoll was pale as death.

"My God! I hope he's alive! I wronged him when we lived in England, twenty years ago."

They saw the old man had drawn the blankets over his face. The two stood a moment, awed by the thought that he might be dead. Goskin lifted the blanket and pulled it down, astonished. There was no one there!

"Gone!" cried Driscoll wildly.

"Gone!" echoed Goskin, pulling out his cash-drawer. "Ten thousand dollars in the sack, and the Lord knows how much loose change in the drawer!"

The next day the boys got out, followed a horse's track through the snow, and lost them in the trail leading toward Pioche.

There was a man missing from the camp. It was the three-card-monte man, who used to deny pointblank that he could play the scale. One day they found a wig of white hair, and called to mind how the "stranger" had pushed those locks back when he looked toward the ceiling for inspiration on the night of December 24, 1858.

George Washington as the Farmer of Mount Vernon—The Dress, Manners, and Personality of John Hancock—Men Whose Names Live in Their Inventions—The Strange Story of a Revolutionary Spy and a Silver Bullet—Treasure Trove in Unexpected Hiding-Places—Political Routes That Have Led to the White House—With Other Items of Interest from Various Sources.

Compiled and edited forThe Scrap Book.

System of Crop Rotation Made theWheels Go Round Smoothly onWashington's Plantation.

As military leader and statesman, George Washington is the great figure in our history. His greatness as a farmer is not so generally appreciated. Yet as soon as the Revolution ended he turned his attention to agriculture with a keen eye to improve his estate.

Finding that the cultivation of tobacco exhausted his land, he gradually substituted grass and wheat, as better suited to the soil. He began a new method of rotation of crops, drawing up an exact scheme by which all his fields were numbered and the crops assigned for several years in advance.

The extent of his farming operations appears in the following account, printed many years ago in theMaine Cultivator:

The farm of General Washington at Mount Vernon contained ten thousand acres of land in one body—equal to about fifteen square miles. It was divided into farms of convenient size, at the distance of two, three, four, and five miles from his mansion house. These farms he visited every day in pleasant weather, and was constantly engaged in making experiments for the improvement of agriculture.Some idea of the extent of his farming operations may be formed from the following facts: In 1787 he had five hundred acres in grass; sowed six hundred bushels of oats, seven hundred acres of wheat, and as much more in corn, barley, potatoes, beans, peas, etc., and fifty with turnips.His stock consisted of one hundred and forty horses, one hundred and twelve cows, two hundred and thirty-five working oxen, heifers, and steers, and five hundred sheep. He constantly employed two hundred and fifty hands, and kept twenty-four plows going during the whole year, when the earth and the state of the weather would permit.In 1786 he slaughtered one hundred and fifty hogs for the use of his family and provisions for his negroes, for whose comfort he had great regard.

Some idea of the extent of his farming operations may be formed from the following facts: In 1787 he had five hundred acres in grass; sowed six hundred bushels of oats, seven hundred acres of wheat, and as much more in corn, barley, potatoes, beans, peas, etc., and fifty with turnips.

His stock consisted of one hundred and forty horses, one hundred and twelve cows, two hundred and thirty-five working oxen, heifers, and steers, and five hundred sheep. He constantly employed two hundred and fifty hands, and kept twenty-four plows going during the whole year, when the earth and the state of the weather would permit.

In 1786 he slaughtered one hundred and fifty hogs for the use of his family and provisions for his negroes, for whose comfort he had great regard.

Pen Picture of the Revolutionary StatesmanShows Him Garbed Gorgeouslyin a Blue Damask Gown.

Our revolutionary heroes were not all plain-garbed farmers. Indeed, not a few of them were rather dandified—which is not surprising, inasmuch as men dressed more showily in those times than they dress now.

John Hancock, whose bold signature is so prominent among those of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, was addicted to rich apparel.One who saw him in 1782 says that he then had the appearance of advanced age, though his years were only forty-five.

He had been repeatedly and severely afflicted with gout, probably owing in part to the custom of drinking punch—a common practise in high circles in those days. As recollected at this time, Hancock was nearly six feet in height and of thin person, stooping a little, and apparently enfeebled by disease. His manners were very gracious, of the old style; a dignified complaisance. His face had been very handsome.Dress was adapted quite as much to the ornamental as useful. Gentlemen wore wigs when abroad, and commonly caps when at home. At this time, about noon, Hancock was dressed in a red velvet cap, within which was one of fine linen. The latter was turned up over the lower edge of the velvet one, two or three inches.He wore a blue damask gown lined with silk, a white stock, a white satin embroidered waistcoat, black satin small clothes, white silk stockings, and red morocco slippers. It was a general practise in genteel families to have a tankard of punch made in the morning and placed in a cooler when the season required it.At this visit Hancock took from the cooler standing on the hearth a full tankard, and drank first himself and then offered it to those present. His equipage was splendid, and such as is not customary at this day.His apparel was sumptuously embroidered with gold, silver, lace, and other decorations fashionable among men of fortune of that period; and he rode, especially upon public occasions, with six beautiful bay horses, attended by servants in livery.He wore a scarlet coat, with ruffles on the sleeves, which soon became the prevailing fashion; and it is related of Dr. Nathan Jacques, the famous pedestrian of West Newbury, that he passed all the way from West Newbury to Boston in one day, to procure cloth for a coat like that of John Hancock, and returned with it under his arm on foot.

Dress was adapted quite as much to the ornamental as useful. Gentlemen wore wigs when abroad, and commonly caps when at home. At this time, about noon, Hancock was dressed in a red velvet cap, within which was one of fine linen. The latter was turned up over the lower edge of the velvet one, two or three inches.

He wore a blue damask gown lined with silk, a white stock, a white satin embroidered waistcoat, black satin small clothes, white silk stockings, and red morocco slippers. It was a general practise in genteel families to have a tankard of punch made in the morning and placed in a cooler when the season required it.

At this visit Hancock took from the cooler standing on the hearth a full tankard, and drank first himself and then offered it to those present. His equipage was splendid, and such as is not customary at this day.

His apparel was sumptuously embroidered with gold, silver, lace, and other decorations fashionable among men of fortune of that period; and he rode, especially upon public occasions, with six beautiful bay horses, attended by servants in livery.

He wore a scarlet coat, with ruffles on the sleeves, which soon became the prevailing fashion; and it is related of Dr. Nathan Jacques, the famous pedestrian of West Newbury, that he passed all the way from West Newbury to Boston in one day, to procure cloth for a coat like that of John Hancock, and returned with it under his arm on foot.

Hancock was a rich man. In 1764 his uncle, Thomas Hancock, left him about eighty thousand pounds and the control of a large mercantile business. His position as a colonial aristocrat emphasized the importance of his defection from British allegiance. His patriotic services are well remembered, but it is true, also, that he was somewhat vain and somewhat jealous.

McAdam, MacIntosh, and Guillotin Examplesof Men Whose Inventions TransmitTheir Names to Posterity.

Many common words have been derived from proper names, just as many proper names have been derived from common words. The LondonGlobecites several instances of men who have been immortalized by the application of their names to inventions.

While the word "macadamize" was rapidly establishing its position in the English language, no less an authority than Jeremy Bentham gave it a helping hand on its way by declaring that "the success of Mr. McAdam's system justified the perpetuation of his name in popular speech."

This is, perhaps, the most perfect example of a spontaneous popular impulse whereby an inventor who had benefited mankind was embalmed, so to say, in his own invention. His name, connected indissolubly with it, was handed down to future ages with a certainty that it would endure as long at least as the language continued to exist.

But, curiously enough, at almost the same time when the great roadmaker was achieving immortality, another inventor, with a no less obviously Scotch name, was treading the same path to linguistic fame.

The labors in the field of chemistry which enabled MacIntosh to perfect and patent a new sort of clothing—and that in a time when traveling by stage coaches rendered it particularly welcome—were almost as prolonged as those which qualified his fellow countryman in a long life to solve the problem of constructing a durable roadway for wheeled traffic.

A third notable specimen of the conversion of a name into a vernacular word may be taken from France, where Dr. Guillotin found himself effectually, though not perhaps very agreeably, immortalized in connection with the lethal implement which still bears his name. The popular beliefthat he perished by the machine which he had introduced appears to be erroneous. This rather left-handed compliment was not paid him by the authorities, but by the voice of public opinion, which insisted that the association of the doctor with his invention should be thus commemorated.

This list might be extended by many names which have become descriptive of their original owner's acts or theories. There is, for example, the case of Captain Boycott. And more recently, of course, people have begun to use the verb "to Oslerize."

Some Insects Talk by Vibrating TheirWings, Others Stridulate, and OthersEmit Sounds from the Thorax.

Insects, like birds and animals, have their calls. But the sounds they produce include the rubbing together of their limbs or wing covers and the vibration of their wings, so they cannot always be spoken of as voices. For that matter, when man knocks at a door, or rings a bell, or snaps his fingers to attract the attention of a waiter, he is communicating by other than spoken sounds—as is also the case when he uses the telegraph. Says an old exchange:

Flies and bees undoubtedly mean something when they hum louder or lower. Landoise has calculated that to produce the sound of F by vibrating its wings, they vibrate 352 times a second, and the bee to create A vibrates 440 times a second.A tired bee hums on E sharp. This change is perhaps involuntary, but undoubtedly at the command of the will, and is similar to the voice.When seeking honey a bee hums to A sharp.Landoise noticed three different tones emitted by insects—a low one during flight, a higher one when the wings are held so that they cannot vibrate, and a higher one yet when the insect is held so that none of his limbs can be moved. This last is of course the voice proper of insects and is produced by the stigmata of the thorax.No music is as familiar as that produced by the locusts, grasshoppers, and crickets, and, although they are not produced by the mouth, they answer as calls, and are undoubtedly a language to a certain extent, and indeed their calls have been reduced to written music.The music of grasshoppers is produced in four different ways, according to Scudder. First, by rubbing the base of one wing upon the other, using for that purpose veins running through the middle portion of the wing; second, by a similar method, by using the veins of the inner part of the wing; by rubbing the inner surface of the hind legs against the outer surface of the wing covers; and, fourth, by rubbing together the upper surface of the front edge of the wings and the under surface of the wing covers. The insects which employ the fourth method also stridulate during night.The first method is used by the crickets, the second by the green or long-legged grasshoppers, the third and fourth by certain kinds of short-horned or jumping grasshoppers. Butterflies have been heard to utter a loud click, and the same is true of many beetles; while the cicada, or seventeen-year locust, utters a most remarkable note or series of sounds.Spiders have often been heard to utter sounds. John Burroughs says in his "Pepacton," that one sunny April day his attention was attracted by a soft, uncertain, purring sound made by little spiders that were running over the dry leaves.

A tired bee hums on E sharp. This change is perhaps involuntary, but undoubtedly at the command of the will, and is similar to the voice.

When seeking honey a bee hums to A sharp.

Landoise noticed three different tones emitted by insects—a low one during flight, a higher one when the wings are held so that they cannot vibrate, and a higher one yet when the insect is held so that none of his limbs can be moved. This last is of course the voice proper of insects and is produced by the stigmata of the thorax.

No music is as familiar as that produced by the locusts, grasshoppers, and crickets, and, although they are not produced by the mouth, they answer as calls, and are undoubtedly a language to a certain extent, and indeed their calls have been reduced to written music.

The music of grasshoppers is produced in four different ways, according to Scudder. First, by rubbing the base of one wing upon the other, using for that purpose veins running through the middle portion of the wing; second, by a similar method, by using the veins of the inner part of the wing; by rubbing the inner surface of the hind legs against the outer surface of the wing covers; and, fourth, by rubbing together the upper surface of the front edge of the wings and the under surface of the wing covers. The insects which employ the fourth method also stridulate during night.

The first method is used by the crickets, the second by the green or long-legged grasshoppers, the third and fourth by certain kinds of short-horned or jumping grasshoppers. Butterflies have been heard to utter a loud click, and the same is true of many beetles; while the cicada, or seventeen-year locust, utters a most remarkable note or series of sounds.

Spiders have often been heard to utter sounds. John Burroughs says in his "Pepacton," that one sunny April day his attention was attracted by a soft, uncertain, purring sound made by little spiders that were running over the dry leaves.

Alertness of Governor Clinton's Men Defeatedthe Stratagem of a BritishCourier on His Way to Burgoyne.

One of the strangest incidents of the American Revolution is the story of a silver bullet.

The year was 1777. Burgoyne, pushing down from the north, was expecting to effect a junction with Sir Henry Clinton at Albany. The field of Saratoga was still before him. Clinton was pressing up the Hudson Valley from New York. After taking Fort Montgomery, in the Highlands, he sent a letter to Burgoyne with news of his movements.

As the message had to pass throughthe American lines, the letter was enclosed in a silver bullet, coated with lead, and the spy who carried it placed it in his pocket with a few real bullets.

In Dutchess County the spy was captured. His captors found nothing incriminating, and were about to release him, when one of them happened on the bullets, and noticed that one bullet was lighter than the others.

"Why," he exclaimed, "this can never be a bullet; it is too light!"

At this moment the spy snatched the bullet and swallowed it. The incident was promptly reported to Governor George Clinton, commander of the Revolutionary force, and by his direction a surgeon recovered the bullet. In it was found Sir Henry Clinton's letter, which read as follows:

Fort Montgomery, October 8, 1777.

Nous voici, and nothing between us butGates. I sincerely hope this little success of ours may facilitate your operations. In answer to your letter of 28th September, by C.C., I shall only say that I cannot presume to order, or even advise, for reasons obvious. I heartily wish you success.

Faithfully yours,Henry Clinton.To General Burgoyne.

The spy was hanged on a tree at Hurley, a few miles from Kingston.

Mustard-Tins, Bicycle Handle-Bars, Bibles,Nests of Mice, Chimneys, Etc.,Have Concealed Treasure.

Old stockings are proverbially the savings-banks of the poor—and no interest on deposits. To-day, when all towns have their banks, the family hoard is usually more safely placed than in a domestic cranny.

Queer hiding-places are, however, still uncovered. There are savers who will not trust the banks. An English exchange, having collected facts in a number of cases where money has been found in very strange places, presents the following interesting incidents in this way:

A few months ago a dealer in old furniture secured for thirty shillings, at an auction held in a village near Carnarvon, North Wales, an oak dresser, part of the property of an old lady who had just died. On his arrival home he proceeded to overhaul his purchase, when to his surprise he discovered, on the top shelf, a mustard-tin filled to the brim with sovereigns and half-sovereigns.

An old bicycle was not long since knocked down to a gentleman for a mere song. In due course it was sent to a cycle repairer in Hampstead to be put in working order. During this process nine half-sovereigns were found concealed in the handle-bars.

In October of 1899 a gentleman residing at East Dulwich purchased at a local auction-room for a few shillings a parcel of second-hand books, among which was an old Bible. On the following Sunday his wife, on opening this, found several of the leaves pasted together. These she took the trouble to separate, when six five-pound Bank of England notes dropped out. On the back of one of these notes the former owner of the Bible had written his will, which ran as follows: "I have had to work very hard for this, and having none as natural heirs, I leave thee, dear reader, whosoever shall own this holy book, my lawful heir."

On the appraisers of the estate of an old miser, who died a year or so back at Newburgh, searching his house, they came upon an old cupboard seemingly filled with rubbish. This they overhauled, to find in a corner a family of young mice comfortably ensconced in a nest constructed of bank-notes to the value of four hundred pounds.

A mouse was the cause of a still greater find. As an old Paris hawker, named Mme. Jacques, was endeavoring to dislodge one of these little animals that had taken refuge in her chimney, she knocked aside some bricks and laid bare a cavity containing a number of bank-notes, amounting in value to forty thousand francs, which had belonged to a former tenant of the house, who had died seven years previously.

'Tis an ill-wind that blows no one any good. Some time ago an old Birmingham woman, who had the misfortune to lose her leg, purchased a pair of crutches at a second-hand dealer's. Not long after one of the crutches snapped beneath her weight, disclosing a hollow in the wood, within which were secreted twenty pounds in notes and a diamond scarf-pin.

Among a quantity of household effects, forming one lot, that a gentleman purchased some years since at a sale in Kent, was a stuffed parrot. This being of no value was given over to his children, who, after the manner of their kind, proceeded in due course to inspect its anatomy. Curiosity in this case met its reward, for within the bird reposed fifteen sovereigns and two spade guineas of George III—no bad return for the few shillings invested originally in the purchase of the entire lot.

Senators, Representatives, Governors, andOthers Who Have Made Their Wayto the White House.

The road to the Presidency is as uncertain as the course of a Western river. Men have marched to the White House by so many different routes that it seems as if any path might lead to that center of our political labyrinth. On the other hand, any path may unexpectedly present an obstacle to the ambitious traveler.

Senator La Follette hesitated to leave the Governorship of Wisconsin for the Senate, and at the time political experts said pointedly that the Senate was not the road to the Presidency. The ghost of that old superstition is laid by the LouisvilleHerald:

This statement does not bear investigation. Virginia sent two men who had served as Senators, James Monroe and John Tyler, later on to the White House. Martin Van Buren served as a Senator from New York before he became President. James Buchanan, of Pennsylvania, served in the Senate from 1834 till 1845, when he became Secretary of State under President Polk. John Quincy Adams was elected to the Senate in 1803.Andrew Jackson, of Tennessee, was sent to the Senate twice, first in 1797 and second in 1823. He did not become President till 1829. Andrew Johnson, of the same State, was elected to the Senate in 1857, and became President in 1865.Franklin Pierce was a Senator from New Hampshire in 1837. Benjamin Harrison went direct almost from the Senate to the White House, the term which he served in the Senate expiring in 1887, the year before his election to the Presidency.Abraham Lincoln was a defeated candidate for the Senate, and his leading opponent for the Presidency, Douglas, a full-fledged Senator at the time of the election of Lincoln for President. Breckinridge, another of Lincoln's opponents, was Vice-President from 1857 till 1861.Successful soldiers find, it is often said, an easy road to the White House; but not all the soldiers who have been candidates for the Presidency have succeeded. Scott and Fremont both failed of election. So did McClellan and Hancock.Scott was beaten by another soldier, Franklin Pierce, but Fremont was in turn defeated by a civilian, Buchanan. McClellan was defeated by Lincoln, a lawyer, and Hancock by another soldier, Garfield.McKinley had served a long time in the House of Representatives before becoming a candidate for the Presidency. His opponent, Bryan, had also served for a time in the House of Representatives. James G. Blaine, who so often aspired to the Presidency, had, like Henry Clay, also a frequent Presidential aspirant, served with distinction as Speaker of the House.President Roosevelt broke, in 1904, the tradition that no Vice-President succeeding to the Presidency by the death of the actual incumbent could be elected President.

Andrew Jackson, of Tennessee, was sent to the Senate twice, first in 1797 and second in 1823. He did not become President till 1829. Andrew Johnson, of the same State, was elected to the Senate in 1857, and became President in 1865.

Franklin Pierce was a Senator from New Hampshire in 1837. Benjamin Harrison went direct almost from the Senate to the White House, the term which he served in the Senate expiring in 1887, the year before his election to the Presidency.

Abraham Lincoln was a defeated candidate for the Senate, and his leading opponent for the Presidency, Douglas, a full-fledged Senator at the time of the election of Lincoln for President. Breckinridge, another of Lincoln's opponents, was Vice-President from 1857 till 1861.

Successful soldiers find, it is often said, an easy road to the White House; but not all the soldiers who have been candidates for the Presidency have succeeded. Scott and Fremont both failed of election. So did McClellan and Hancock.

Scott was beaten by another soldier, Franklin Pierce, but Fremont was in turn defeated by a civilian, Buchanan. McClellan was defeated by Lincoln, a lawyer, and Hancock by another soldier, Garfield.

McKinley had served a long time in the House of Representatives before becoming a candidate for the Presidency. His opponent, Bryan, had also served for a time in the House of Representatives. James G. Blaine, who so often aspired to the Presidency, had, like Henry Clay, also a frequent Presidential aspirant, served with distinction as Speaker of the House.

President Roosevelt broke, in 1904, the tradition that no Vice-President succeeding to the Presidency by the death of the actual incumbent could be elected President.

Twenty Years Later John Thacher'sProphecy Came True When He MarriedHis Son's Sweetheart.

Thacher is a solid name in American history. Beginning with Thomas Thacher, the minister and physician, who came from England to New England in 1635, there is a long line of educators and professional men; and the cognate branches of the family have also contributed many prominent citizens, including James Thacher, the famous surgeon of the Revolution.

An old copy of the Yarmouth (Massachusetts)Registergives an anecdote concerning John Thacher, son of one of the first settlers at Yarmouth.

He married, in 1661, Miss Rebecca Winslow, of Duxbury, Plymouth County, if we mistake not. On his way home with his new bride, he stopped for the night at the house of a friend, a Colonel Gorham, of Barnstable, one of the most prominent citizens of the town.Merriment and gaiety prevailed, and during the evening a female infant about three weeks old was introduced, and the night of her birth being mentioned, Mr. Thacher observed, "That is the very night on which we were married," and, taking the child in his arms, he presented it to his bride and jokingly said: "Here, my dear, is a little lady that was born on the same night that we were married. I wish you would kiss her, for I intend to have her for my second wife.""I will, my dear, with great pleasure," replied she, "but I hope it will be very long before your intention is fulfilled in that respect."Mr. Thacher and his wife lived happily together until her death, about twenty years later. She left him a large family of children, among whom was a son named Peter.After Mr. Thacher had mourned a reasonable length of time he began to think of getting another partner. None of the maidens, young or old, seemed to please him like Lydia Gorham, the little lady of the preceding part of the story, now grown up, if we may believe tradition, to a fair, comely girl.But there was one impediment in the way. His eldest son, Peter, had shown a predilection for the girl, and the old man was at a loss to decide whether she favored the suit of the sire or the son.The one rode a black horse in his visits, and the other rode a white. There was a kind of tacit agreement between the two that one should not interfere with the visits of the other; so when the father found a white horse tied in front of Colonel Gorham's, unlike the good Samaritan, he crossed over on the other side; and the son, when the black horse was there, returned the favor.Thus things went on till the patience of the elder gentleman was well-nigh exhausted, and he resolved upon a desperate step to decide the matter. Taking his son one side, he said to him:"Peter, are you or are you not going to marry Lydia Gorham?"Peter replied that he had not yet made up his mind."Well," said the old gentleman, "I will make you an offer; if you will give her up and court her no more, I will give you thirteen pounds in money and the pair of black steers. What do you say to that?"The young man hesitated but a moment. "'Tis a bargain," said he; and it is due the parties to say that it was observed by them all with perfect good faith.Whether Lydia knew the bargaining that her charms had occasioned, tradition sayeth not; but she subsequently became Mr. Thacher's wife, and bore him ten children.

Merriment and gaiety prevailed, and during the evening a female infant about three weeks old was introduced, and the night of her birth being mentioned, Mr. Thacher observed, "That is the very night on which we were married," and, taking the child in his arms, he presented it to his bride and jokingly said: "Here, my dear, is a little lady that was born on the same night that we were married. I wish you would kiss her, for I intend to have her for my second wife."

"I will, my dear, with great pleasure," replied she, "but I hope it will be very long before your intention is fulfilled in that respect."

Mr. Thacher and his wife lived happily together until her death, about twenty years later. She left him a large family of children, among whom was a son named Peter.

After Mr. Thacher had mourned a reasonable length of time he began to think of getting another partner. None of the maidens, young or old, seemed to please him like Lydia Gorham, the little lady of the preceding part of the story, now grown up, if we may believe tradition, to a fair, comely girl.

But there was one impediment in the way. His eldest son, Peter, had shown a predilection for the girl, and the old man was at a loss to decide whether she favored the suit of the sire or the son.

The one rode a black horse in his visits, and the other rode a white. There was a kind of tacit agreement between the two that one should not interfere with the visits of the other; so when the father found a white horse tied in front of Colonel Gorham's, unlike the good Samaritan, he crossed over on the other side; and the son, when the black horse was there, returned the favor.

Thus things went on till the patience of the elder gentleman was well-nigh exhausted, and he resolved upon a desperate step to decide the matter. Taking his son one side, he said to him:

"Peter, are you or are you not going to marry Lydia Gorham?"

Peter replied that he had not yet made up his mind.

"Well," said the old gentleman, "I will make you an offer; if you will give her up and court her no more, I will give you thirteen pounds in money and the pair of black steers. What do you say to that?"

The young man hesitated but a moment. "'Tis a bargain," said he; and it is due the parties to say that it was observed by them all with perfect good faith.

Whether Lydia knew the bargaining that her charms had occasioned, tradition sayeth not; but she subsequently became Mr. Thacher's wife, and bore him ten children.

Word-Picture of the Locomotive, "StruttingForth from His Smoky Stable,"and the "Man in the Saddle."

A considerable figure in his time, Elihu Burritt has left no very definite impress on American life or letters. Born in New Britain, Connecticut, December 8, 1810, the son of a shoemaker, he became a blacksmith, but his desire for learning was so insatiable that in the intervals of his trade he mastered many branches of study, and especially languages, for which he possessed great aptitude.

His strongest claim to remembrance lies in his work in the interest of peace. The first international congress of Friends of Peace, held in Brussels in 1848, was organized by him. He died in New Britain, March 9, 1879.

Mr. Burritt, the "Learned Blacksmith," made frequent lecture tours. His descriptive power is seen in the following word picture of the steam locomotive:

I love to see one of those huge creatures, with sinews of brass and muscles of iron, strut forth from his smoky stable, and, saluting the long train of cars with a dozen sonorous puffs from his iron nostrils, fall gently back into his harness.There he stands, champing and foaming upon the iron track; his great heart a furnace of glowing coals; his lymphatic blood is boiling in his veins; the strength of a thousand horses is nerving his sinews—he pants to be gone.He would "snake" St. Peter's across the desert of Sahara if he could be fairly hitched to it, but there is a little sober-eyed, tobacco-chewing man in the saddle, who holds him in with one finger, and cantake away his breath in a moment should he grow restive and vicious.I am always deeply interested in this man; for, begrimed as he may be with coal, diluted in oil and steam, I regard him as the genius of the whole machinery, as the physical mind of that huge steam horse.

There he stands, champing and foaming upon the iron track; his great heart a furnace of glowing coals; his lymphatic blood is boiling in his veins; the strength of a thousand horses is nerving his sinews—he pants to be gone.

He would "snake" St. Peter's across the desert of Sahara if he could be fairly hitched to it, but there is a little sober-eyed, tobacco-chewing man in the saddle, who holds him in with one finger, and cantake away his breath in a moment should he grow restive and vicious.

I am always deeply interested in this man; for, begrimed as he may be with coal, diluted in oil and steam, I regard him as the genius of the whole machinery, as the physical mind of that huge steam horse.

BIG FORTUNES FOUND IN DISEASED WHALES.

A Dirty-Looking Lump of Ambergris IsWorth More Than Half ItsWeight in Gold.

Ambergris is one of the most valuable products of the sea. The mariner who spies floating on the waves a grayish mass, fatty in appearance, will, if he knows what ambergris is, betray considerable excitement, for the substance fetches high prices.

Captain James Earle, of New Bedford, Massachusetts, is said to have been the luckiest of all skippers in the old whaling days. From a single sperm whale he realized more than a hundred thousand dollars. It was not the ninety barrels of oil which gave the leviathan its extraordinary value, for that was sold for something like four thousand dollars; but within the whale's vast interior there was found a solid piece of ambergris weighing seven hundred and eighty pounds. This was sold in chunks in all markets of the world for about one hundred thousand dollars.

The finest piece, if not the largest, obtained in recent years weighed one hundred and sixty-three pounds. It was sold in London in 1891.

As to what ambergris is, we may quote the PhiladelphiaSaturday Evening post:

Back to Index Next