A Far-West Fishing Village.
Skamokana is a little town on the banks of the Columbia River, about twenty-eight miles from its mouth. The place is divided into three valleys, east, west, and middle. The principal industries are fishing, logging, and farming. The fishing season begins about the 10th of April and ends about the 10th of August. The fish are caught in gill-nets, seines, and fish-traps. There are streams in the valleys where mountain-trout are caught.
It is very pleasant here in the summer, but it rains nearly all winter. There are a great many salmon-canneries on the river. In the summer we find a great many mosses and ferns. There is some pretty scenery in the town. There are two bluffs seventy feet high. At the bottom of the bluffs runs a creek. The bluffs are covered with mosses and ferns. Part of the town is built on an island. The island and the mainland are connected. Part of this island is covered with sawdust from the mill.
Esther Silverman.
Skamokana, Wash.
Great Caution, and the Lack of It.
Almost everybody has heard of the woman who, when her bed took fire, refrained from throwing upon it the milk in a pitcher which stood near by, because, as she explained, the milk would grease the bedroom floor. So she lost her house and its contents, but she didn't grease the floor.
A farmer living in West Virginia had a hog afflicted with fleas. Some one told him that kerosene oil would drive them away. It was night when he returned home, but he resolved to put the prescription to the test at once. Taking a torch out to the pen, he stuck it in the ground while he poured the oil over the pig. The animal did not relish the treatment. He ran squealing away, and of course ran near the torch. The oil took fire and the pig ran to the barn. That ignited, and the pig, crazed with pain, rushed toward the house, pushed the wood-shed door open, and brought up in the kitchen. Pig, barn, and house were ashes before daylight.
A Peep at a Queer City.
New Orleans is, I think, entirely different from any other city in the United States. You see things here that you see nowhere else, and you hear things on the street that you hear nowhere else. French is heard oftener than English, and Spanish and Italian are spoken a great deal, as a large percentage of the population is made up of these nationalities. The old French people, and a mixture of French and Spanish, represent the aristocracy of New Orleans, and are known as "Creoles." But these have degenerated to some extent, and the younger generation of Creoles, especially the men, are said to be lazy and worthless.
Canal Street, the principal retail shopping street of the city, forms the dividing line between the French and English portions, and I may venture to say, on good authority, that some of the old French Indies have never crossed Canal Street to penetrate into the English part of the city.
One of the first things a visitor goes to see is the old French Market on the river front. This is interesting to a stranger, but years ago it was even more so. The thing that strikes you most is the dirt, which is in great abundance; but you will find that most anywhere in New Orleans, although they are trying to improve it. Everybody that goes to the French Market gets a cup of coffee and a doughnut, commonly known as a "sinker," on account of its great solidity. Frenchmen, Italians or "dagos," old black mammies with their heads done up in bright bandannas, Indian women with herbs and bright baskets for sale—these and many others you see in the old market. A short distance from it are the historic Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral, one of the oldest churches in the United States. Jackson Square has beautiful flowers in it the year round, and a fine equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson graces the centre. I have never been in the cathedral except during service, but I know there are some beautiful pictures there which time has not spoiled, but rather increased the interest one always feels for such things.
The winters here are what makes New Orleans so attractive to many people, and they certainly are delightful. It is a customary thing to see roses in great abundance, beautiful green lawns, and a great many flowers in bloom the entire year; but they don't do so well in summer—it is too hot.
A drive along the principal residence street, St. Charles Avenue, is very delightful on a bright winter morning, for there are so many handsome houses, and they all have gardens beautifully kept. That is a good thing about New Orleans. There is plenty of air; each house has some yard; they are not close together as in other cities. In my next morsel I will tell you about Mardi Gras. Shall I describe a sugar plantation for you?