I don't like to be very ill—just ill enough to make her,
(My grandmamma) say softly, "Child, I'll fix you some stewed Quaker."
It's sweet and thick and very nice, and has molasses in it,
And lots of vinegar and spice; you want it every minute.
And being medicine, of course you sip and say it's dandy.
Just only think! it's medicine, and tastes like taffy candy!
Now castor-oil and squills, and stuff that wrinkles up your forehead,
And puckers up your mouth, and gags and burns, are simply horrid.
I don't mind being ill at all, if darling grandma'll make her
Nice dose she used to make for pa when he was young—stewed Quaker.
HIS WHEEL SAVED HIS LIFE.
The bicycle has proved useful as a life-saving machine in many instances, but it remained for John O'Hara, of Broome Street, in New York, to discover how good a bicycle is as a means of escape from a mad dog. John is a well-grown lad, and is so fond of bicycle-riding that he goes on wheeling trips through the streets of the Fast Side. All of these streets are crowded, but probably no one of them is so jammed full of pedestrians and push-carts and peddlers' wagons as Forsyth Street. Experts say that no other part of the world is so thickly populated as this neighborhood, so you can easily imagine how difficult it must be to go wheeling a bicycle through it.
John O'Hara was enjoying a pleasant spin on the smooth asphalt pavement of Forsyth Street, near Broome, at noon the other day, when he noticed the crowd scattering right and left, and diving into open hallways and down cellar stairs. Presently he heard a cry of "Mad dog!" He wheeled around and turned to flee to the southward. As he hurried away he looked back over his shoulder, and saw a big white dog galloping after him, its red tongue lolling out, and yellow foam dripping from its open jaws. As the dog ran it turned and snapped viciously right and left. The cries of the crowds on the sidewalk warned everybody on the pavement, so that there was a clear field ahead of O'Hara for several blocks. He pushed hard on the pedals, and sprinted away as hard as he could. If he could only be sure of plenty of headway he knew he would be safe. The dog was not running very fast, for his gait was uncertain, and he wavered from side to side.
If O'Hara had turned out into any of the side streets he would have been safe, but in the excitement of the moment he did not think of this. His one idea was to run ahead as fast as possible. Now and then the carts and wagons in the street were slow in turning out, and O'Hara had to slow up. In this way he ran five blocks, now gaining on the dog, and now almost overtaken. At Canal Street there was such a jam of vehicles that the bicycle rider almost had to stop. The dog galloped ahead of him, snapping at the wheel as it went past. O'Hara might have even then turned northward for safety, but he was too excited, as probably most of us would have been in his place. He kept straight ahead, and as the dog fell in front of him, the wheels of the bicycle passed over its neck and stunned it. Away went O'Hara at full speed, and a policeman, fortunately near at hand, shot and killed the dog before it could recover. Probably this is the first time that a bicycle was ever used as a weapon as well as a means of flight from danger.
TWO BRAVE MEN.
It has frequently been asserted that no fortifications of masonry could resist modern ordnance, and this is doubtless true so far as heavy siege guns are concerned. But in the recent war against China the Japanese troops found on several occasions that with their light batteries of field and mountain artillery they were unable to make any impression upon the heavy stone defences of some of the walled Chinese towns. The gates, especially, seemed able to resist any amount of bombarding, for the masonry was much thicker and higher at these points, and frequently there were three and four heavy iron-bound oaken doors to be broken open before an entrance could be effected. The attacks on these walled towns furnished occasions for a number of brave deeds on the part of the Japanese soldiers, who proved themselves to be reckless in the display of courage, and absolutely fearless in the face of the greatest dangers. One of the first occasions of the kind was at Kin-chow, a good-sized town surrounded by a very high stone wall with only a few gates. The Japanese artillery had been firing at the principal gate for an hour or so without effect, and the infantry had made assault after assault against the perpendicular walls without being able to dislodge the enemy, who were well screened behind battlements and embrasures. At last the commander of the attacking force decided that the only way to get into the town would be to blow open the gate with dynamite or nitro-glycerine. It was all very well to decide upon this, after looking at the heavy doors from a distance through field-glasses, but it was an entirely different matter to put the explosive in place and set it off.
