The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 16, 1896, Page 27

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL. SUNDAY, AUGUST 16, 1896. 27 —at second lodge from the road beyoad the lake. Dorothy Dee was a dear little girl, With shining blue eyes and heir all a-curl; Lips always smiling, knew never & pout, But now all these statements must be turned round about. e fl&jth(tfr\ Profe ot Shining blue eyes with big tears are wet, Some dreadful thing must have happened our 5 pet; g £ g 5 The story is told of a famous mathema- Lips all & quiver with grief and woe, tician that he was frequently guilty during What a sheme a wee girlie such trouble should | his courtship of walking the greater part know. | of a mile with the young lady of his choice Very much troubled was Dorothy Dee, | without speaking. One evening she took Just as unhappy as ever could be; | advantage of his absent mindedness to Her lovely new doily, her sailor boy Jack, | play him a trick. She slipped her hand Fell to the sidewalk with oh sucha whack. { from bis arm and hurried home a nearer | way. He continued to hold his arm in | the same position, waltked up the steps of | her father’s house and rang the bell,waen, to his astonishment, she herself opened | the door. He stared in an incredulous manner and exclaimed, “Why, S—, how ‘ in the world did you get on that side of the door?'—Tit-Bits. And his head all in pieces was lying around, Some on the sidewalk and some on the ground; Even Aunt Lizzie, so very well skilled In the mending of doils, was sure Jack was killed. Without any doubt the dollie was dead, Why a doll couldn’t live without any head; Never mind, said her grandma, don’tcry any | more, { g o 8 A new head will make him asgood as before. | 5 But, 0, my grandma, said Dorothy Dee, | th LaILA 95 Orr"j‘( tfj' A sweeter child there could not be, | © You can meke my dolly all mended and new, | But my poor little heart is broken too. China has sometimes been called “the land of opposites.” The name seems to be well applied, in so many ways are Chi- And we know that with us you are sure to | Nese customs precisely contrary to those Sigros: ? | of the rest of the world. We blacken our Grandma found a new heart for Dorothy Dee. | shoes; the Chinaman whitens his. We Los Angeles, Aug. 8. VIRGINIA ADaMS. | shake hands with each other; he shakes At S T vy hands with himself. We uncover the 3 { head as a mark of respect; he keeps his ow l)LA(;n | head covered, and if be wishes to appear o | extraordinarily polite takes off his shoes. 5 . | In China it is the old peopie, not the CD’Z(HY(’IL wv(tf. | young, who iy kites, playpmarbles. walk | on stilts and let off firecrackers. We live, | cook and eat on the lower floors of our | houses and sleep upstairs; the Celestials | generally do the opposite, In dating let- When boys and girls nowadays have | ters we write the year last; they put it anything to say to their friends who are | first. Black is our badge of mourning; far away they sit down and write a letter | white is theirs. We pay our doctors when in plain English, French or German, as | the case may be; but before you are able 1 to write you have to learn how to make | some twenty-six letters and how to com- bine them into words, so as to tell your| friends what you are thinking about. This | is calied sound writing. Now there is another kind of writing— | picture writing it is called—in which there | is no alphabet, and instead of words some picyure of the object is used, as, for ex- | anfple, instead of the word c-a-t we would | have a drawing of the animal. This kind of writing was used by all people in the early days of the world, and in most countries it is so,0ld that!it has ago been forgotten, but here in | America the Indians bave practiced this | old art until very recently. Not long szo 1 saw a photographic | account of Custer’s famous fight on the Little Big Horn. It was drawn by Red ! Horse, a SBioux chief, who took no small part 1n that fearful battle. A queer and curious record it seemed to me, but the Indian read it with as much freedom as ! could have read the newspaper story. The following letter, written by an i dian girl to a friend whom she wished visit her, will give you a very good idea ot this kind of writing, which, it is likely, your own ancestors used thousands of years ago. This will not seem very plain to you, I| LR Next day, with her face all shining with She clasped 1n her armga new sailor bo; BY DB. HARVEY B. BASHOURE. long A Western Delegate vy [From the Inland Printer.] | | f | we are sick; they pay 2s long as they re- | main well, but as scon as they fall sick | the pay ceases until the doctors restore | them to health. On this last point, by the way, which plan is the wiser—the Chinamen’s orours ? —Youth. =2t o/ know, but the one who received it under- | stood it just as weil as the letter you write | I to your friends—perhaps a little better. | The straight lines running througn the ()(kj‘ al\:\ flj’. picture represent the paths of the locality— public bighways or streets you may call e them if you like. On-the right are shown 0, silly little ducklings 2 At play amid green peas, Youw'll perhaps be cooked and eaten three small lakes or ponds. The rudely drawn bear in the upper Some dsy with such as these. “What’s this?” one duckling chuckles, left-hand corner is the signature of the writer, her coat-of-arms, so to speak, and Posdh & abell Tndi e 4 eering a ell. ndicates that she is a member of the; 1f you knew his language Would you like to teli? bear family. The figure of a mullet below stands for It would seem so cruel. Let him wonder then, the person addressed—a man of the mul- Ducks can’t read the future let family. The three crosses are the girl and two Any more tnan men. —Selected by Emily Halling. friends—crosses because they are Chris- Novel q:oyh“ons. tians. The two triangles indicate the wigwams, and the figure in the one is the Indisn In a little more elezant English the in-| Thorougkly gild, all over, a five-cent viiation would read: Miss Bearinvites Mr. | wire strainer; shape a large handful of Mullet to meet her two Christian iriehd:lcurhd hair into a ball, cover it with a sizn for hand and tells the visitor at which wiewam be is,to call. AN AUGUST OUTING Edited by MARY W. RICHARDS. piece of coarse pink, yellow or blue cheese- cloth drawn smoothly over one side and tacked together on the other; add another cover of cream-colored, figured lace net with a pretty figure on the smooth side. Push the rough half of the ball into the strainer, so that only the smooth, flowered surface can be seen, and tack it in place with a needle and fine thread close to the round frame of the strainer; then finish with a knot of ribbon on the handle and another on the hook at the bottom. This makes an attractive cushion, handy for all kinds of fancy pins. The loosely woven covering will freely admit, without defacement, pins of large size.—Youth’s Companion. Boys and girls who planted trees on last Arbor day and have since watched them | grow will be glad to learn that there is a | streng sentiment, favored and encouraged | by the Agricultural Department of the | United States Government, for the ob-| | servance in the public schoois of the | country of one day as “Bird day” as Arbor day is now observed. | The little feathered songsters of our for- ests and fields offer deiizntful opportuni- ties for study and observation, and it is too | bad that s0 many wide-awake American | boys and girts do not know more about | tbem. But the idea of the advocates of the day is partly a practical one; as Arbor day seeks to preserve our forests, so Bir | day will seek to preserve the lives of the little denizens of the forest. It will so interest the boys in the ways of the birds that they will never again throw a stone or let fly a bullet at one of | the innocent creatures, and so touch the | hearts of the girls that not one of them | will ever wear a bird’s feather on her hat. And that would be a very good thing, | wouldn’t it, if “bira day’ did nothing more than that? . et Vaal( o Ttme, : Oh, vacation time is almost done, And the days go flitting by, From spring and mountain the children come From play ’neath & summer sky. With sparkling eye and ruddy cheek, Kissed brown by a summer sun, The children all come trooping home For work must be begun. They’ve wandered o'er the fields and woods, They’ve played in mossy nooks, And learned sweet lessons of Nature's life .They'd never learn from books. But lessons and tasks are here once more, And schooldays have begun, Then to work, to work, with merry hearts, For the year will soon be run. For the years are fleet, my children dear, And the days go flitting by, And agein will come vacation time And play 'neath a summer sky. CORNIE L. BARTLETT. He Walkes .A(fofl' éa';afa. Dr. Gerhard Rohlfs, one of the pioneer explorers of Africa, died recently in Ger- many. He was a rather curions char- acter. Half soldier and half scientist, he was excellently fitted for the difficulties he encountered in his journeys. Born in 1831, he enlisted as a soldier at 18, ad- vancing to the rank of an officer before he graduated from college. He after- ward studied medicine, and in 1855 en- listed as a military surgeon in the French army, going through the campaign of Algiers in that year. Africa interested him very much and an uncontroliable de- sire prompted him to penetrate to the in- terior of the “'dark continent.”” All alone, disguised as a Mussulman pilgrim, he crossed the Sahara through ite entire length on foot, a journey w hich took him wwo and a half years. In 1864 he started upon an exploring trip throuch the snow- covered range of the Atlas Mountains. He thoroughly acquired the languages of the countries he traveled through and trans- lated into German some very valua- ble Arabian manuscripts and acquaint- ed science with an immense terri- tory which before him no Euro- pean had ever seen. In 1868 Rohifs went with the English army to Abyssinia, and in 1869 he undertook tq bring the pres- ents of the King of Prussia to the Sultan of Bornou. He fell sick on this journey and transferred the gifts of the King of Prussia to Dr. Nachtigal, who hus since achieved for himself a reputation asan Af- rican tiaveler. Later on he took part in an expedition through the Lybian Desert and several other minor scientific expedi- tions. He was appointed German Consul- General at Zanzibar, but recently sickness compelled him to seek his fatheriand. Rohlis deserves great credit for his work in the interest of African exploring, aad his descriptions of bis 10_!1!1:0&: are full of life and interesting detail. was a very quiet man, and no one would have sus- pected in bim oue of the modern heroes of science, ¥ VALLEJO, Cal., Aug. 2, 1896. Dear Editor: We have been taking THE Cary for a long time and like it very much. This is my first letter to THE CALL. I am 8 years of age, and I go to the convent school, and I am in the third reader. Ihave a dog named Scott and s little kitten that we call Kitty. Ihave & little baby sister 5 months old. I would like to see my name in next Sunday’s CALL. Your new friend, JOSIE CORCORAN. BAN FRrANCISCO, Cal., Aug. 4, 1896, Dear Editor: This is my first letter to TEE CaLL. I like the children’s page very much. Every Sunday after breakiast I always read the paper. I am 11 years old and go to the Richmond school, and I am in the sixth grade. I am going to try to write a story and hope it will escape the wastebasket, and I will write the letter also. Your littie Teader, JESSIE OGILVIE. HEALDSBURG, Cal., Aug. 4, 1896. Dear Editor : 1do notknow which was the happiest day of my vacation. They were all happy days. Ilivecn a vineyard where I can eat as much fruit as I want, play when I feel like it, and do everything to make me con- tented. Mamma lets me do as I please as long asIam a good girl and do not do anything wrong. My sister goes to the North Cosmo- politan School in San Francisco.’ Hoping other children enjoyed their vacation as well as T did, I remain your triend, EMILIA NARDINL BENICIA, Cal., Aug, 6, 1896. Dear Editor : 1am a little boy 6 years old. I have three brothers and two sis- ters. I go to school, and this year I was promoted to the second reader. My last year's teacher was Miss Driscoll. My papa takes THE CALL and likes it very much. I guess my letter is getting rather long, so will close. Hopingto see my letter in nextSun- day’s CaLL, I am your little reader, BENJAMIN RANDOLPH. MOKELUMNE HILL, August 2, 1896. Dear Editor: This is my first letter to THE CALL, and I hope I will see 1t in next Sunday’s paper. 1 am very anxious every Sunday to get THE CALL, because it has such nice stories init. Iam going to write a 8tory next time if this is printed. We have a pretty dog and cst. | Our dog’s name is Duke and our cat's name is Dick. I will be12 yearsold the 14th ot August. Iam afraid my letter is getting too long, so I will stop. Your little reader. SHIRLEY BURCE. POINT AREN4, Cal, Aug. 4, 1896. Dear Editor: As 1 have seen many letters from various parts of California, but none from Point Arens, I concluded to write one. We have taken THE CALL for a long time and like it very much. I never wrote 10 THE CaLL or any newspaper yet, and Lhardly know what tosay. I will be 12 years old to-morrow. Igo to school all the time. I'go to the Point Arena publieschool. Iam in the sixth grade. Our school started on July 20. We had only three weeks' vacation, but in winter we have three months. I will close, as it is getting very late. Hoping to see my letter iu print next Sunday, 1remain your little reader, AGNES LANGLEY. Juas, Juao County, Utah, Auzust 10, 1896. Dear Editor: Seeing so many letters in the paper I thoughtIwould write too. My papa takes THE WEEKLY CALL and I like it very much, I wish there were two pages of Child- hood’s Reslm. I am 11 years old. Well, I will elose with three cheers for the editor of the Childhood’s Realm. ADA ADANS, P. 8.~ hopé-tifis letter will be published. It would please me very much. BAN FRANCISCO, Cal., July 30, 1896, Dear Editor: This is my first letter to THE CaLL. My father has taken THE CALL for over sixteen years. This vacation I went to sea with my father, who is captain of the schooner Peerless. We went down to San Pedro on the steamer St. Paul and from there to Tacoma and back to San Francisco with my father. Now, dear ediier, my letter is getting too long, so I will close. Hoping to see this printed I remain your little writer, HENRIETTA C. JOHNSEN, Aged 13 years, ANTIOCH, Cal., July 30, 1806. Dear Editor: Asschool begins next week I wouid like to write you a few lines. Isend you a few of my drawings to decorate the Childhsod’s Realm with. Hoping they will be acceyted. Your friend, K. WALLRATH. SAN FRANCIECO, July 20, 1896, My Dear Editor: 1 have often read tia “‘boys’ and girls’ "’ page and like it very much. My papa gets THE CALL every day downtown. I go to the Hancock Grammar School and am in the fifth grade. My teacher’s name is Miss Gleason. My little sister is writing, too. She i3 6 yearsold. Ihavea baby sister 2 months old. Iam 11 yearsold. Thereare four chil- dren in my family. I will close my letter, hop- ing to see it in print in the Childhood’s Realm. Your new friend, BESSIE AHLERS. HaYWARDEN, Towa, July 29, 1896, Dear Editor: To-day I will write about my pets. I have four cats, two kittens and two old ones, & dog and three pups and a horse, I am 9 years old and I was promoted from the third to the fourth grade. When I was in the .third grade my teacher’s name was Miss Maria Ross, and next year the teacher's name will be Miss Elsie Orcutt. The last day of school we had speaking. I was absenta good deal of the winter, but I studied at home so as to keep up with the class. Your loving friend, RAYMOND RoBY. N. B.—Please put this letter in if you have space. R.R. 8AN FraNcisco, July 31, 1896. Dear Editor: I am going to write a letter about vacation. Ilike vacation well enough, but I do not like such a long one. How shall I begin to tell you about my good times? Iwent to San Rafael aday and I went through the three tunnels, which were new to me. My aunt and my uncle and two little cousins were down Fourth of July. Ispent the restof my time in Alameda with grandma. I can nardly wait for Monday to come. Hoping to see my letter published in THE CALL, I remain, ~ALICE MCGOVERN, 9 years old. TEMPLETON, Cal., July 26, 1896. Dear Editor: Not having seen any letters in your columns from this part of the country, I thought I would write you one, I like to read the chitdren’s page very much. I long to see THE SUNDAY CALL. My father takes THE DAILY Cans and likes it very much. I am 10 years old and go to the Templeton public school. I hope to see my letter published in the next SuNDAY CALL. Templeton is a small, quiet town. I will now close. hoping my letter will escape the waste-basket until it is set in type. A friend of THE CALL, CARL BERGGREN. AXTIOCH, July 30, 1896, Dear Editor: As Isaw 0 many little letters printed in THE SUNDAY CALL I thought Imight just as well write a few lines, too. My sister Elsie wrote one about three weeks ago, which was the first letter from Antioch, The *Child- hood Realms” are very interesting to read for us children. I bave two more little sisters, and they enjoy looking st the little pictures and bearing the stories after they come home from Sunday-school. We are living cn & small farm close to town. My sister Elsie enjoys herself mos: of the time in the poultry-yara between her little ducks and chickens, which she calls her pets. This is my first letter to THE CaLL, and I shall be much pleased to sece it published. Your little friend. Ipa M. VON BARN. SAN PABLO, CONTRA COSTA COUNTY, CAL., % August 5, 1896. t Dear Editor: My uncle takes THE CALL and I 1ike to read the children’s page every Sunday, so I thought I would write you a letter and see if you would publish it. I have one little sister, and her name is Lulu. She lives in San COASTING. Little boy and girl, do you ever coast Down hill on your bikes like me, While the breezes swift they almost lift You off as they rush so free? 1 start at the top of the highest hill, And then, like the wind, with gles I sweep right down from ilic mountain’s crown Till I come to the edge of the sea. And [ sing and laugh and shout for joy, For it’s fun you’ll all agree— But you’d better not try that plan, for | Just coast in my dreams, you see. C. D. S. Francisco with mamma and papa. Ihave a pet calf and I call her Daisy. I have two dogs. Their names are Chippy and Chief. I think I shall try the puzzles this time. I shallclose now, hoping this letter will escape the waste- basket. Yours truly, MaMIE F. EARNEST. NORTH 8AN JUAN, Cal., July 26, 1896. Dear Editor: As 1 have not seen any letters from this small place I thought I might write. My father takes THE CALLand I enjoy the children’s page in the Sunday edition very much. We get the paper Monday. I always try to get the paper first. I am so much in- terested in the children’s page that I am keep- ing the pages. Ishall be looking for my letter in the children’s page. My letter is getting long. Your new friend, Viora FURTH. RIVERSIDE, Cal., July 30, 1896. MY KITTIES. I have two pretty kittens, But they wear 1o mittens. They are black and white, And at night They sleep tight. One 1s big and oue s little. They are alive not of metal. One cau’t catch mice, But i’s awtully nice. Baby Kitty has biue eyes. Both kitties ove mince ples. 1love both kistles and ple, And 50 I'.1 say good-by. sz 1. BUSH, 8 years old. \ | NOwW For. A GOOD THOW A BoY'$ ADVENCURE. In Which He Flees From One Danger to Rush Into Another. BY CHRISTIANA ROSS FRAME IN THE PHILADEL- PHIA TIMES. {Continued from last Sunday.] It was a much longer distance than it looked, out to the flat where the pools were, but I kept oun, qnite foreetting about the *‘little way”’ [ had intended go- |ing. | When I reached the channel I found that it was too broad and deep for me to + attempt crossing. I heard Mac say there was but one piace where it could be forded, and I skirted up and down looking for the spot. So intent was I that I had not heard the far-away murmur of the approaching tide. Suddenly a long, hollow sounded up the chanmel; the air was filled with it, and the very ground seemed to tremble. I knew that there was not an instant to lose; the tide was almost upon me. The black clouds overhanging the bay had fallen lower; a thuuderstorm was coming with the tide. Fear lent wings to my heels. I turned and fairly flew for the shore. Once I stumbled into quicksand, and with difficulty wrenched myself out. But I was no match for the tide. I dared not look behind, but by the deafening roar I knew that it must be very near. Just at that instant a great foam-tipped wave, the advance guard, swept round, carrying me in its onward course like a straw upon the surface. Panting and struggling, I gained the foot of the cliffs, | and, dripping and terrified, gazed blankly at the sheer height. Fortunately a little cleft, up which it was possible to ¢limb, was near. The tide was now beating against the foot of the cliffs, and as I dragged my torn and bleeding feet up to the back pasture toward the great maple in the center, with a ferocious roar the bull came charging towards me. The tree was my only refuce, and by clinging desperately with hands and feet, I reached a position of safety, just as the savage animal came panting and roaring underneath. Round and round the tree he circled, tearing up the earth with his honfs, and snorting with baffled rage. At every movement of mine, his wicked red eves were turned upward. His muzzle was covered with foam, and now and then ashort, sharp yap, like that of an angry dog, sent a feeling of sickening terror ove: me. I had heard Uncle John telling father that the farmer in Clifton from whom he had purchased the bull had been obliged to shoot a number of cattle suffering rom bydrophobia on his farm. A mad dog had been loose in the district, and there was a general feeling of uneasiness among the Clifton farmers in regard to all cattle that had been in open pasture at the time of the dog’s visit. Mr. Yuill had written to uncle to keep a sharp watch over the bull. Uncle had at thattime again warned me not to go near the pasture. The hours of the afternoon crept slowly away; the shower had been very slight, and the sun came out again hot and bright. From my perch Icould see the roof of our house above the orchard trees. When smoke came curling up from the chimney I knew it was 5 o’clock and that Sara was bustling around preparing tea. I had seen Aunt Maria making chicken salad and other delicacies in the forenoon, preparatory Lo having company that even- ing. The hungrier 1 got the more vividly did the tea-table stand forth in my mind’s eye. Once I almost risked getting down. butin an instant the bull stood waiting, and I crept back. The sun went down benhind the Cobe- quid Mountains. Away on the distant ‘marshes, where the men looked like bees moving back and forth, the twilight shadows were falling. The heavy hay- wagons passed slowly round the dike and disappeared behind the nill. It was milk- ing time now, and as I thought of the humming sound of the milk on the bot- tom of the pails and then of the frotn- covered fullness 1 grew thirstier and hungrier. The summer evening was very still; no wind rustled the trees; a lost lamb bleated mournfully in an aajoining pasture. The air was filled with midsummer odors— new-mown hay, wild roses, and the pecu- liar green summery smell of the rushes by the brookside. Then the stars came peeping cut. By this timeI must be missed at home. I knew that inquiries would be made at neighboring houses be- roar | fore any search was started on the farm. Cold, dampness and bunger caused me to become very drowsy, but I tried in every way to keep from falling asleep, fearful of losing my hold or of missing any one that might come near the pasture insearch of me. By and by lights appeared on the marsh, lanterns moving here and there, following apparently the line of the creek and bay. Tbey must have found my shoes and stockings on the dike and sup-~ posed that I was lost in the tide. All night long Isat in the tree, shifting wy position ‘now and then as I became cramped. All night long my guardian stood underneath, alert on my slightest movement. The damp, chill air of early morning set my teeth chattering, and my benumbed limbs were almost unable to keep their place. Then came the glorious sunrise, and the awakening of bird and beast. With loud clamorings the crows flew over my head on their way to the beach in search of their morning repast of clams. Mush- rooms glittered like little knobs of silver in the dewy grass. Away in the distance | men were still moving to and fro by the mursh bank. Taking off my light blouse, I hung it out on the -tree, in the hope that some keen eye might see the signal. Then I crept cautiously back into my former safe position beside the trunk; hunger and sleeplessness had made me so giddy that I dared not look down, but I knew that the mad creature with red eyes and boiling tongue was watching my every move- ment. Oh, that the men would leave the dike and make search of the upland! Again and again I shouted, but the only answer was tne echo of my- own hoarse voice. Suddenly the bull began eagerly snuffing the air, then with a snort of rage he started off to the opposite side of the field and furiously charged against the fence. A howl of terror came from the ad- joining pasture. From my perch I could see Robin, the choreboy, flying with outstretched arms toward home. With all my strength I shouted his name. He stopped and looked wildly round in every direction, but not seeing whence the voice came he turned and flea. I felt sure that when his story had been related, speedy relief would come, and it wasin an incred- ibly short space of time that a large party of farmhands, headed by father with his rifle, came hurrying into view. Their appearance seemed to lash the bull into a frenzy of rage. His howls were terrifying, but a well-aimed bullet 1aid hjm dead beside the fence. It is needless to describe their delight, or mine, over the fortunate ending of such a night of anxiety. My shoes and stock- ings had been found on the dike, and these, with my tracks on the beach, had led to the belief that 1 had been caugnt in the tide and drowned. The creek and marsh had been carefully searched in the hope of finding my body. The weary searchers were breakfasting, when Robin burst into the kitchen with his incoberent story. All started up and uncle, knowing the calamity he feared had befallen the bull, called to father to fétch his rifle. This is the first day that I have been outside since my adventure. Lying here, in the sunny calm and security of the farmhouse garden, it seems almost impos- sible that such eveats could have hap- pened, but wien I moye my weakness and my stift limbs recall' my narrow escape from death, and I mentally register a vow for future obedience. THE END. FOZZLES. 1. What is that which has never been felt, seen or heard and yet has a name? 2. Why is & washerwoman like Saturday? 3. Dropped vowels— Nr trbl trbl tll trbl trbls y. 4. My first is in house but not in cow, My second is in after but not la now; My third is in baker but not in cook, My fourth is in paper but not in book; My fifth is in city but not in town, My sixth is in dress but not in gown: My seventh is in boy but not in girl, My eighth is in baron but not in earl; My whole is the name of one of cur past Presidents. 5. My 1, 6, 5, 4is an animal of the water. My 3, 2,1, 1 is part of a sleeve. My 5,7, 5,4 is an ornamental silk band. My whole is the name of a well-known flower. Names of those who sent in correct answers to puzzles of July 26: Lou Parsons. Eddie Boyle. Ethel Nichols. il 80 % The Thames of England is 220 miles long. The river of the same name in Canada is 160,