"b
BABY’S CAT. -~
“’ant to see me. hey, old chap?
Want to curl up in my lap——
Do yer Jim ?
'3 See him sit and purr and blink.
Don‘t yer bet he knows I think
Lots of him?
.grlu
Little kitten. nothin‘ more,
When We found him at the door,
In the cold.
And the baby, half undressed,
Picked him up. and he was jest
Ail she’d hold.
' FW-h w r-
.. Ll
.
r Put him up for me to see.
And she says. so cute. so ya she,
"Baby’s out."
And We never had the heart
For to keep them two apart
After that. i
.- t.
.3223
5-;
:2 I .
Seems if I must bear the bent
Of her toddiing little feet,
, ‘Round about;
r Seems to see her tucked in bed,
‘ With the kitten’s furry head
Peekin’ out. . .4 c.
9‘."
if}
Seem if I could hear her say, .i 2',"
In the cunnin’ baby way a
That she had: ‘
“Say goodnight to Jimmie. do,
002 if 00 fordetted to
He’d feel bad.” ..
Miss her dreadful’ don't we, boy?
Day don’t seem to bring no joy
With the dawn:
Locks ’5 night was everywhere,
But there‘s glory over there
Where she’s gone.
-~- Seems as if my heart would break,
Bur. i love yer for her sake.
, Don‘t I. Jim?
See him sit and purr and blink;
_ Don‘t yer bet he knows I think
‘. Lots of him?
' ~~J0e Lincoln. in Good Roads.
Alli-t—(JKEN CHAIR.
Jacques ran rapidly up the five
stairs and stopped on the landing of
the sixth floor.
There he stood a moment between
two doors which faced each other,
gazed longingly on that on the left,
took out his key said opened that on
the right; turned once more toward
the door on the left, heaved a deep
sigh and slowly entered the room on
the right. .
Once inside, he removed his coat,
donned a smoking-jacket, placed a
chair near the wall, took his favorite
position astride it and, leaning over,
applied his ear to the partition, evi-
dently anxious to hear from the other
side. Then he lighted a cigarette and
watched the smoke as he blew it into
fanciful shapes toward the ceiling.
He had already smoked several cig-
arettes and repeated the listening
operation many times when his face,
dark until now, suddenly brightened.
He could hear some one moving. “She
is in!”
A‘clatter of knives and crockery was
now heard.
‘: “She is getting her dinner!”
And leaning still farther forward he
strove to catch every move of his un-
conscious neighbor.
Never seeing her he still felt happy
to feel that she was living there so
near him. ,
That he saw her no more was indeed
a cruel fact and a cause of much grief.
At one time he used to see her almost
every day. He would plan accidental
meetings so cleverly that they really
appeared a pure favor from a kindly
fate. They were the result of much
scheming, no doubt, and it required a
great deal of patience to bring them
about._ For instance, Jacques would
watch for hours in front of the house
to» see her coming home. As soon as
he caught a glimpse of her approach-
ing form he would quickly run up the
stairs, wait an instant to give her time
to reach the house, then slowly go
down as if chance alone brought him
thus to meet her as she was climbing
up to her room. Unfortunately at that
important point his self-posSession
would always desert him. Her mod-
est, unconcerned mien as she passed
by so upset him that he would find
himself bowing awkwardly, casting
down his eyes and feeling like a bash-
ful schoolboy.
After such failures he would remon—
strate with himself severely, vow to
be less timid next time, practise grace-
ful bows, invent pretexts for address-
ing her and study subjects of conver-
sation. But all preconcerted arrange-
ments would tumble confusedly to the
ground the moment he stood near her,
and the consciousness of defeat but
increased his nervousness- One day
he clumsily dropped his hat and then
he determined to never see her again.
“Thus,” thought he, “I may at least
avoid making a bad impression, as I
can’t make a good one."
Her name was Charlotte; he had
learned that somehow, and her oc-
cupation that of a seamstress. She
generally was out all day. She was a
- good, honest girl, to that he could
swear, for he knew she'often worked
late into the night. How he admired
the brave, beautiful girl who alone in
the world had so well resisted its
temptations!
He wondered when and how he be-
gun to love her! She had come to this
house the year before. At first he had
noticed she was pretty but for a long
time had given her no further thought.
Then by degrees thisvsentiment had
entered his heart and finally possessed
his whole being. How had it come?
Through the walls-as it were.
the attraction of the woman one feels
living near.
she in?
until all our thoughts are of her.
Be it asqlt may, Jacques had not the
least doubt as to the nature of his
feelings for Charlotte. Had she al-
lowed him to speak, and admitting
such a possibility, had be but had the
courage to address her, his declara.
tion would have been short and to the
point:—— .
“Mademoiselle, .I love you; will-you
be my wife?" would have been the
speech to convey all he thought, fell
and desired.
It is
At night we wonder, Is
In the morning, Is she up‘:'
But, then, one cannot offer one‘s
empty hand to a woman! Jacques
was poor. He was a painter—one of
those aspirants whose wealth is still
a matter of hopes and dreams. Just
at present he found no sale for his
canvas and in order to pay the last
quarter’s rent the room had been re-
lieved of several pieces of furniture.
In fact. a bed and a chair were about
its sole ornaments. Upon this chair
our young artist spent his evenings,
ever on the alert and interpreting
every movement of the unconscious
girl in the next room. The rustling
of her dress, the Imoving of a. chair.
the noise of the dishes, all Spoke of
her occupation at that particular mo~
ment.
“She is laying the cloth—ski.» is
”:iearing up—she is sitting down—nos:
she is going to sew. I wonder wt:
she thinks of me? Does she Sl.‘.:~:1.:3_'l
I am so near? If only she kuew_l:=o'-.v
I love her!”
Often he felt tempted to attrac
attention, even though it were
but again the fear of displeasing
held him back. .
“And yet she must think of me
sometimes. She knows I live here. Size
cannot help seeing the light through
my ever—gaping door. She must be a
little curious, being a woman. She
must notice I am always in.
Perhaps I did attract her at-
tention in spite of my blunders;
on account of them, perhaps.
her
i
L
qui-
a).
her
Poss--
~sibly she knows I love her and is e}:-
pecting an avowal, and, seeing I dare
not speak—who knows (so much may
be expected of women)? She may some
day drop her work, cross that landing,
push open my door—which I never
shut—enter my room and say: “Since
you will not come I shall!” Ah! but
that might be a long time coming!
Still straddling his post of observa—
tion he would ruminate on the many
devices presenting themselves to his
mind in order to hasten matters. To
slip a note under her door? He had
often thought of that, but would she
read it? And supposing she did,
would not the first passionate word of-
fen'd her and cause her to tear up his
missive, in anger? "l‘o get some one
to speak for him? Whom? They had
no mutual friend. Decidedly none of
these means were practicable and the
only thing to do was to wait. .How
long?
i ll =1:
It was getting late, very late. Char—
lotte, still at wbrk, began to sing to
keep from falling asleep. Jacques
kept time, following the rhythm by
rocking himself to and fro, which
.went very well when the movement
was slow, but when it quickened with
the spirited passages of the song the
game became a dangerous one and
taxed the poor old chair beyond its
capacity for gymnastics. '
The whole modern repertory was re-
viewed. Now came “Faust.”
“Ah, if he were here!” ‘
“But he is there!” Jacques almost
cried. In turn came selections from
“Rigoletto,” “Travatore,” “Barber of
Seville,” et cetera. Hours flew by and
Jacques never tired of listening to this
concert. Charlotte herself must have
wearied, for presently the programme
altered. Romances and reveries suc-
ceeded cavaterias and operatic airs.
The vibrating tones of her voice were
subdued to suit the low, sweet melo-
dles‘ which followed her former efforts,
one of the soothing effects of the
change being to lull Jacques into
slumber, though even in his sleep he
kept alive to the music and followed
every note uttered by the fair singer.-:
All at once Charlotte, who probably
decided she must keep awake at any
cost, started into a lively song, “La
ValSe des Roses,” by Oliver Metra,
one of those wildly delirious waltzes"
which would make the dying long for
the use of their feet.
Jacques must have been dreaming
and dreaming he was waltzing, for en-
folding his chair he started, whirled
two or three times and then both
madman and chair fell to the floor
with a crash. There was a dreadful
commotion; the floor shook. A scream
rang through the air but it did not
issue from Jacques’ lips.
It would have been impossible for
him to utter any sound. He had fall-
en on his face, split his forehead open
and fainted.
When he came to himself, a few
hours later, “ he was lying upon the
bed, his head was bandaged and a
woman sat near watching him.
“What! you here, mademoiselle?”
“Certainly, monsieur, I heard such
a noise in this room last night, I fear-
ed some terrible tragedy was taking
place. I came quickly and found you
lying upon the floor unconscious. It
is all right now; there is no danger.
In a few days no trace will'*rema.in
but a slight scar. But, tell me, how
did you happen to fall in such an ab-
surd manner with your chair?” '
Jacques made no reply but blushed
uneasily.
Women are quick in seeing a pas-
sion they inspire; Charlotte soon read
Jacques’ heart. They chatted quietly
until breakfast time. The first step
was taken. The ice broken.
easy to wait now! .
They are now married and happy.
Charlotte does not work by the day
any more. Jacques has reached that
happy state of things which comes to
sold quite easily, bginging enough to
provide for the demands of their un-
pretentious mode of living. .
Two things have been and are still
a matter of wonder and comment
among their friends. On their mar-
riage day the “Valse des Roses” was
played on the organ and a. conspicuous
place in their drawing-room is filled
by an old broken chair, so weak and
rickety that Charlotte had‘ to fasten
it together with ribbons in order to
make it stand.
-,
How
all who strive and his paintings are,
' been stopped some twenty miles fron
the bedside of a consumptive daughter
and now must go home to tend a grand
child that was suddenly stricken down
I thought.
the greatest trials in life.
present an imagined evil, yours is if.
the real.”
even road in the gloom of that wile
and swampy country, the spectral pines
retreated endlessly to the rear, reveal
ing an occasional star appearing in the
north, that seemed to gaze in admoni-
tory silence upon me.
ing darkness that I could make out ob.
jects near me with some distinctness
At one time I noticed that the old wo.
man was uneasy in her sleep; the ac-
tion of 'her hands
thing exciting.
shawl, but the movement was
perceptible.
the window, and I obserVed this unea-
siness when I turned my glance in-
side the stage.
figure when a. suspicion darted through
my mind that sent the blood to my
heart.
why was this not—but pshaw!
money was simply a magician conjur-
ing up visions and spectres of the
night. ‘
stopped. The slumberer started and
awoke.
ure seemed to change in
Every line of the cumbrous body was
full of vigor that ill-compared with
the air of exhaustion which had previ-
ously characterized it.
by the entrance of a. freshpassenger
wh0se deep,. heavy voice had already
indicated a powerful physique. He was
a formidable looking customer.
great height compelled him tostoor
on his side.
' emergency. He had an aggressive air,
Asrnlxon Willi-ill.
B Y PAUL PHOIHEN.
I had'scld my mill, and was on my
way home. It was evening when ‘
reached Liz'anville, where I took tin
stage. An old woman was my SOll
companion. She appeared to be on!
who had seen much trouble in life, ant
at the present time she seemed weigh
ed down by some special care.
was rather a large woman
somewhatibent, and quite unwieldly
in her movements. She was evidently
used to hard work,‘ for when I tool
her arm to help her in, although it Was
under her shawl, I could feel tin
strength of one well used to the la
bar of house and farm, so. COlanl
with women of that region. Her dres:
was shabby, and her face was covered
by a black veil, which was disturbec
but once to my knowledge, and that
was when I had been looking out in
to the darkness, and saw it drop whet
I turned back my head. She was very
hoarse, and any attempt to respond tc
some passing remark from me woulc
set her into a violent fit of coughing
Weighed down by her troubles as sin
was, I saw that she should be left It
herself, and so I said but little.
The country through which we wen
riding was a dreary one, and picture:
of road—agents, and the cleaning out o;
my five thousand dollars, not to speal‘
of a worse fate than robbery. would
occasionally'come up to my imagina-
tion. I wasn't nervous, but the con
sciousness of the tempting bait I car
ried with me was sufficient to awakei
certain apprehensions in spite of my
self.
Three months before this. a stage but"
S l: 9
here, and one of the passengers whc
had attempted resistance was. shot
Why might not this one be the me:
to take its turn? ~
_I could but wish that a vigorous mar.
was sitting in the seat opposite it
place of that helpless old wbman. As
faras I could learn, she was to stoi
at a crossing two miles this side of my
destination, where her son was to take
her home in his wagon. I should have
four miles of it alone, though, to teli
the truth, I felt more lonely with suct
company as this than if I had been by
myself. -
Finally she appeared to fall into a
doze, her bowed head and swaying
body indicating a long flight intc
dreamland. She had been watching at
with diphtheria.
“You need your sleep, my good soul,"
“We know not who have
Mine is at
As 'the stage rumbled over the un-
My eyes had got so used to the grow-
indicated some-
They were. under her
very
I 'had been looking from
I was gazing curiously on the shabby
and
In}
I had read of such things,
The stage slackened up, and then it
For an instant the entire fig-
its aspect.
I was interrupted in my observatiom
Hie
considerably as he entered, and when
he took his seat by the side of the old
woman, the stage appeared to settle
I could make out‘but little in the
gloom, but this man’sface was suffi-
ciently distinct to show a. resolute
character, fearless and ready in an
and the reserve of a. man who was not
to be made free with. He peered intc
my face from under his ‘heavy‘ brows
and, then glanced at the sleeper by his
side.
I couldn’t quite analyze my feelings
when I found this third passenger
shut up with me. That he was‘a man
not unuSed to violence was apparent
As a bravado or the leader of a vigi-
lance committee he could readily act
his part. Which role would he incline
to? There were still several miles tc
cover, and I was interested.
I did not like the way he had of turn-
ing his eyes on that old woman. l
couldn’t make out in .the dark just
their expression. What struck me as
being rather singular was her utter
stillness after the vigorous start she
had given. She couldn’t haVe fallen
again into a sleep as quick as that. ]
confess to a creepy sensation as .l
viewed this pair oppositeme.
“‘This is a 'dreary ride for any one
who has reason to wish his journey
over," said the new passenger, at last
in his bass voice.
What did he mean?
about my money? Here Was a dccpen- ‘
Did he lino-v. '
, ing- of the mystery. It certainly was1
lbcccming a dreary ride to me. I con-
trolled myself, and pointing to the wo-
man, said,—— '
“One like her might well call it so.”
"How’s that?” '
“Sickness at
death!”
. “Ah!” and he turned a look upon the
unconscious subject of our remarks,the
meaning of which I could hardly fath-
her home—perhaps
, cm.
The northern lights were now shoot-
ing up in the heavens, reflecting a dim
light in the stage. .
A vision of my cheery home rose to
my mind. Mother and children were
pictured in that pleasant sitting-room
talking perhaps of father and his re-
turn.
Should I ever see those dear ones
.again? What if—But my meditations
were interrupted by the heavy voice 01
the passenger.
“Returning home, I take it, sir?”
“I am.”
, “You consider this a safe road, dc
you not?”
“Never heard of any trouble here."
It’s going on around us, though
Heard of the pull last night?”
“The pull?”
“The robbery on the Hanson road,
I mean.”
“Robbery!” I gasped.
hear of it.”
“Oh, yes; it's getting pretty near.”
“Nothing worse, I hope.”
“Murder!” and the speaker's voice
sank to a still deeper tone.
“I did not
The old woman started in the cor.
ner, as if disturbed in her dreams.
I-Ie glanced meaningly at her, and
then directing his thumb that way, he
said,—
“An uncommon sleeper.”
“Tired out."
“We’ll not disturb her.”
“The murderer has a devilish name,”
he said, after a brief silence.
“Which?”
“The last robber—no, not the last
exactly, for the robber and murderer
of all is one man.”
The stage entered a gully thickly
shaded with trees, and when the pas
senger said this in his abysmal voice
my scalp crept over my head. It was
so dark that not even his herculear
form could be seen.
“What was the name?" I asked, in a
hush.
“Left—handed Dick."
The stage went very slowly at this
point, and my ear caught a movemenl
as if the sleeper was again uneasy, and
was adjusting her shawl.
“Why that?"
“He lost his right hand in a fight
and he is a demon with his left.”
“I’d rather tackle a dozen than c
left-hander."
“This man is equal to. a dozen. 1
know he has murdered as many as
that.”
The impression was gaining on me
that the man before me was honest.
He struck me, moreover, as having a
purpose here in this stage known only
to himself, but which I began to sus-
pect. - He acted like one that had seri-
ous business in hand.
“Is there no way of trapping the
fiend? I think if he could come into
your grip, sir, he would fetch up pret-
ty quick."
“Size doesn’t always tell," he return-
ed. Thls fellow is like a madman. He
neither fears nor waits."
“How does he keep it up?"
“He's cunning as the devil. He goes
disguised."
“How!” I exclaimed. “Disguised.
But his handless arm—"
“Oh, that's easily fixed. If he’s a
man he has it in his pocket—"
“If he's a man! How else does he.
80?” .
The stage emerged into the open
country. The aurora was at its height,
and threw its pale light into the stage.
The shawl of the sleeping woman was
suddenly twitched at the hands, and I
noticed that the old black veil was
somewhat awry. I also noticed that
her neighbor had changed his posi-
tion.
“My good woman, I hope your sleep
has rested you,” I slowly uttered,
sharply eyeing her shawl in the gloom.
Her answer was a. violent fit of
coughing.
The stage was moving rapidly, and
it rocked us to and fro. The coughing,
ceased, and a startling transformation
followed.
By an instantaneous movement the
shawl and skirt, the veil and bonnet
were thrown aside, and a. man was re-
vealed, his right arm a. stump, in his
left a long-bladed knife.
“Left-handed Dick!” _
As I pronounced this dreaded name,.l
threw myself into a. position of de-
fence. I was not the object of attack
however. Like a flash of light the_vil-,.
lain struck at the breast ofthe man in
feared. As the deadly knife‘ descend'
ed, the arm was caught in a hum-1*
vise. With fearful oaths he struggled
to free himself. but the giant was on
the alert, and bore down on the assas-
sin with all his weight and power.
The outlaw was not to be easily
overcome. He was truly a madman in
spirit and strength. I now took part
in the struggle, and the fellow was soon
brought under. His arms were pinion-
ad behind him, and the driver: who had
stopped his horses, was directed tc
move on. ,
The road-agent wals’duly disposed of
by his captor, who proved to be the
most daring and formidable sheriff in
lhat part of the country.
I reached my home in good spirits
cind my arrival was a glad surprise. I
said nothing of my adventure till the
next day. You may well imagine that
there was thanksgiving in that house.
. I
Mrs. Todgers—aMrs. Monson‘ wears a
.sealskin sacque, but I’ve never heard
her petticoala rustle yet—Chicago
News.
Skirtand Braided Jacket. '
This skirt and braided jacket
suited to checkered or plain woo-lens,
striped or plain serge, tweed goods,
mohair, alpaca, &c., trimmed Lil..l..il'}'
braid. The skirt is the five-gore shape.
measuring about 4 yards at hem, and
would be used for cutting lining and
material, which make up together, in-
terlining hem all round about 9 inches
up with real horsehair cloth, cut th'
same shape as each gore and stitch?
in with each seam. In cutting ‘ l o '
centre front is placed to a fold. i»:
avoid a scam, the front edge of s..=.;
and back gores placed to selvedge, and
a small gore joined to back-part of sid.‘
gore, as oblong holes indicate. The
front is shaped at waist, side gore fit-
ted with one dart and back gathered,-
-forming placket-hole in centre back or
on left side, as desired.
The coat pattern would be used for
cutting lining and material, which
would make up together and bone at
the seams, the front being fitted with
one dart and hooked invisibly down
middle between the braid trimming,
while between the round side piece and
back a single pleat is made underneath
to fall towards back, in the centre of
which a narrow lap is left, which ma~
chine stitch.
;< l
as; 'A' .
ilk/lion)
« JACKET.
~
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‘I . ‘ “I O ’ 1
pt}: ‘53.: .‘.‘. \\o3.; ;
:‘iagl “ f !
l‘I o
.111
’72"
‘5-
.42,"
1—.-
’
The basque is edged with the trim-
ming, likewise the band collar, this be-
ing mounted over canvas, lined sarcen-
et, and finished at upper edge with a.
frill. The sleeve lining and material
are cut alike, made 'up together, the
wrist faced" up on wrong side with sub
ce‘net and trimmed braid, while the
shoulder fulness forms two single
downward pleats either side of centre,
giving a double box pleat effect on top.
Quantity of 42-inch material, 6 yards;
braid, 18 yards.
E Newest Bike Brake.
' The illustration represents a. bicycle
brake of such construction that the
brake may be applied by the rider
throwing his weight rearward on the
saddle, the dotted lines, as shown in
Fig. 1. indicating the movement of the
saddle and brake shoe as the brake is
applied, while Fig. 2 shows the brake
shoe and its attaching devices partly
in section. The brake shoe is attach-
ed to a. block connected by a forked. -
link and collar with the king post, and
the upwardly extending brake rod is
connected with the rear portion of a
horizontal saddle support extended
through. a sleeve on the upper end of
a connecting post engaging the king
post.
The. saddle support is pivoted to have
a limited rocking movement in the
sleeve, and as the centre of gravity is
normally forward of the rocking point,
there is no danger of the rider acci-
dentally setting the brake, which is
effected by throwing the weight rear-
)
.7
Jubilant-Baxt-
ward on the saddle. The saddle sup
port has a. series of holes rearward
of its pivotal point, for ‘_ the ad-
justment of the brake rod to give more
or less throw to the shoe, and the
lower portion of the rod has notches,
as indicated in Fig. 2, to permit of .
the higher or lower adjustment of the
brake shoe, the preferred adjustment
being such as will cause the shoe to be
applied to the wheel slightly above its
axis, causing a wedge-like action be-
tween the tire and the shoe.
Bible in Rhyme.
In the library of Glasgow Univer-
\ slty there is a" rhyming Bible, the work
of the eccentric old div-inc, Zachary
Boyd. He conceived the idea of ren-
dering the Sacred Book in rhyme, a.
task which had to some extent been
undertaken by several writers, among
whom may be mentioned the Saxon
Caedmon, and Tate and Boyd’s rhym-
ing version of the Psalms. Zachary
Boyd gave full play to his imagination
and produced a work of abiding inter-
est and curiosity, though it has never
yet beep/primed. '
--5I “'estmlnster's Enoyclopedeu.
twentysix years has been ’the Clerk
_. The best encyclopedia of Westminsgr
ster Abbey is Thomas Wright Who for
of me Works during the restoration‘
of the Abbey church, and there is'noti‘
a stone in the whole edifice that Mr.
Wright does not know -individually.r "
Indeed, he is so familiar with every
corner of the building that he could
easily find his way anywhere in it
blindfolded. There is therefore, a. sin—
gular appropriateness in the pose of
the venerable figure, as Mr. Wright is
represented in the photograph, stand—
ing before one of the doors of the
south transept, with his two master-
keys clasped in his hand.
On your way' to his office in the
Cloisters you will probably pass many
strangers, guide-book in hand, staring.
up at the ancient pile, and seeking in
one fleeting hour to “do” the cathedral, "
demonstrating an effort of . intellect
which strikes you as positively pitia-
ble when contrasted with the store
of knowledge laboriously acquired
through so many years by the subject
of your projected interview.
Mr. Wright’s office is stowed away
in an out-of—the—way corner of the
7",” l' 71"”? ,
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Cloisters and it is surrounded by a yard
filled with blocks of stone and marble
and little heaps of chippings of the
same, with bits of ancient iron and
lead over which an American souvenir-
hunter would go crazy with delight.
Mr. Wright, clad in broadcloth and
wearing a. black wideawake hat, re-
ceives you very quietly, and politely
pushes on one side a litter of working
drawings, T-squares, rulers, and com-
passes, so as to give you his whole at-
tention. One wall is almost hidden by
an array of keys; some rusty and much
worn, and probably as old as the Ab—
bey church attached to the Benedictine
Monastery itself, and opposite these
are several photographs illustrating
different portions of the restored work.
A $79,000 Pile of Ivory.
The biggest consignment of ivory
ever dispatched from Zanzibar is
shown in the accompanying picture. It
was conveyed by the steamship Madei-
ra. to Aden, for New York. There
were altogether 355 magnificent tusks,
weighing 22,301 1b., the whole valued at
no less than $79,000. The firm who se-
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cured this, valuable consignment was
Messrs. Arnold, Cheney and Co., of
New York, who are perhaps the great-
est and most extensive “wholesalers”
in the ivory trade. Their representa-
lives are seen on the top of the pre-
cibus pile.
Australia’s Droll Bears.
The native bear, or Koala, of Austra-
lia, is a. very curious animal as can be
judged from the accompanying picture.
It carries its young on its back where-
ever it goes, even when climbing to a
considerable height on the gum trees.
It lives almost entirely on the leaves
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ii a
. Ausrnnum-chso
of the eucalyptus tree and as ordinary
food disagrees with it, there are very
few- which have survived
owing to the difficulty of providing
them with their favorite menu.
captivity, h
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Norwalk Chronicler