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NO. 49.
v.u. aa vi. rilTSBORQ, CHATHAM COUNTY, N. C, THURSDAY, JULY 21, 1904.
!Holdehhurs;i?i
1 -r " 'fr
Copyright fee by Kobmt Bosses ftoSf
CHAPTER IX.
BECALLED TO SVTtOliK
As soon as breakfast was over tin-
He j?a:u left bis house to go to Capel
Court, aunt uertruae reurea to her
room to attend to ner correspondence-,
and Miss Mars'i and I were left alone.
Where shall we go this morning,
Ernes c?" asked Miss Marsh; "I am
tired of the park. and. we have driven
all over Kensington more than nee.'
Miss Marsh had lately learned to
sddiess rae a Lrnest, which had
greatly delighted me, and determined
me 'ioueeforth to call hti Constance.
Whichever way you please, but if
It is agmniole to you we will go to
Bicliiivond. We have plenty of time,"
1 said, consulting toy watch, "it is
barely 10 o'clock, and we do not lunch
till 2. I was never there but I have
often heard that Richmond is the most
beautiful suburb ef London."
' Sy all means," replied Hiss Marsh;
"1 will order the carriage and get
reaay at once.' And she rose instarit-
iv and tripped lightly from the room.
American ladies prepare their toi
lettes with a despatch quite Unknown
to their English sisters, though cer
tainly with no less care and elabora
tion, and I had only written a telegram
to :;;y father, acknowledging the re
ceipt of his letter and promising to re
: to it that evening, when Miss
Mars'a again entered the room fully
eviippea ior a arive, no DUtton or Mer
dove being left for me to fasten.
I looked up at her with some sur
prise, xou are soon returned," I ob
served.
"Too Mon?" sua asked, fixing upon
me.lJr steadfast eyes.
"No, how could that be?" I said, and
I drew her arm through mine and led
per downstairs.
'Good morning, Mr. Ernest," ex-
k'sirned a. voice belonsinst to a tall
f '.-m which stood in the shadow of
; hall door; "I am fortunate in not
i.::w:ig just missea you," ana turning
p'n! I beheld the Rev. Dr. Evan
1 :-icc.
I ' Pray, don't let my unexpected pres
l .i?e startle you," continued the Vicar
o Holdenhurst Minor; "I bring no ill
new. Being summoned to London on
b-jsiuess which may eni In my ap
pointment to the curacy of All Souls.
Korth Brixton, your father has asked
r.ie to call here to say that he would
like you to return home at once for a
lay or so. He would like you to catch
the train which leaves St. PancraS at
11.45, and travel via Cambridge."
This information annoyed me great
ly. I could not find it in my heart to
keep away from my father when he
3esircd ray presence, though to forego
uy visit to Richmond with Miss
Marsh was a bitter disappointment to
me. For a moment I stood in doubt
bow to act.
"Of course you will go," remarked
Miss Marsh.
' I fear I must," I replied, in a voice
rhich but ill concealed my vexation,
but I will return to-moiTow or next
lay at latest. I am sorry to leave you
a this abrupt manner, and I am sure
my father would be the last to desire
ueh a thing without very good reason
'or it."
We adjourned to the drawing-room,
Thither Miss Marsh invited Mr. Price
o accompany us, an invitation which
'e accepted with great promptitude
bd courtliness. He was a man of
.ne presence and considerable tact,
"ifted with the power of talking inter
minably but interestingly about every
hing in general and nothing in partic
Jlar. Indeed, nothing was more ad
nired by the feminine world of the
wo Holdenhursts than the genial af
abilify of the Rev. Evan Price. This
landsome and gallant cleric had not
een in the house ten minutes before I
pamed that he was to have an inter
flew with the Bishop of London at
fulham at 3 o'clock, until which hour
e was at leisure (which being inter
preted signified that he intended to
stay until them); that after the said
Dterjeiew he would return to pay his
espectsvto Mr. Samuel Truman in
)ther words that he would come back
0 dinner. When I quitted the draw-ug-rooni,
leaving Mr. Price and Miss
Marsh together, I was more depressed
ban I had ever been before, and halt
egretted that I had not decided to re
gain. I felt like a runner who, hav
Qg kept ahead of his competitors in
1 long racef faints when near the goal
ind sees the prize he regarded as his
wn seized by other hands. I am al
most ashamed to record how the tears
Parted to my eyes, but I forced them
ack, summoned all the courage of
Dy nature not at that time very much
-ami. after a severe mental struggle
ell into a strange mood compounded
?f pride and fierceness.
It was with some difficulty that 1
corru-i.vetf to speak to Miss Marsh alone
?forc I ieft, but I succeeded in doing
iiKd again assured her of my regret
th:i unexpected interruption of our
f irair-ements, and I laid special" em-
.:asis ou the great pleasure it would
f -6 ua to return to Kensington at the
(aiiieit possible moment, at the same
ti:ue- desiring her to inform my uncle
nd aunt of the hasty summons I had
N-Sn cd from my father.
Miss Marsh, was. as gracious to roe
th. most exacting lover could ex
IRaSf
RY
Walter -bloqmfield,
pect or desire, waiving my apologies
as unnecessary promising to convey
my message-, regretting my sudden
departure-, hoping for my speedy re
turn, and permitting me to retain her
hand in mine longer than is custom
ary 111 the farewells of mere friends.
She also suggested that i might write
to her if I did not return in two days;
a suggestion which I assured her I
would most certainly adopt; at the
same moment resolving to do so un
der any circumstances, t would have
given the world if only I might have
kissed her, but i did hot dare to do so.
Uttering a final farewell, i regarded
her with great earnestness for a few
moments, then released her hand and
hurriedly left the house:
The course of my life seemed to
have Changed entirely in fourteen
days. Never before had my muid been
filled by so many or such ecLflicting
ideasi Before my imcle came to Hoi
denhurst t had been idle and careless;
now hiy head ached from considera
tion of affairs of which t could con
ceive fid satisfactory issue. One thing,
however, was clear to me. In only a
few days I had grown to love Miss
Marsh with a devotion more intense
than I had supposed my nature per
mitted; and short as our acquaintance
had been I would have asked that
ladys before obeying my father's urg
ent call, to become my wife but for
that formidable barrier between us
her wealth. Her eyes' speechless mes
sages, an occasional phrase or word
from her lips or rarer still, her gentle
touch, had assured me that my suit
would accord with the dictates of her
own heart. But my pride was as great
r- my love, and I felt strongly that I
could never ask a woman of enormous
wealth to become the wife of the por
tionless son of an impoverished squire.
Without commercial training, and with
no natural aptitude for business, there
tvas absolutely no hope for me to raise
myself to her social plane by any ef
fort in my power to make, and in bit
terness of spirit I alternately cursed
her wealth and my poverty. Visions
of the perfect happiness which might
be mine were either of these difficul
ties removed served only to increase
my depression. As my uncle's car
riage sped toward St. Pancras, Brown
ing's remarkable line,
"Money buys women."
kept ringing in my ears tormenting
me like an evil sprite. Then there
was that smart young cleric, the Rev.
Evan Price. WrIth the Rev. Evan
Price I had very little to do, and our
communications had always been of
the most friendly character possible,
but heaven, how I hated him now! and
with what fiendish delight t was con
templating his extreme poverty when
the thought that he was probably at
the point of greatly increasing his in
come and of residing permanently in
London promptly punished me for my
uncharitableness, and I winced. In
the chaos of my ideas I did not forget
Annie Wolsey, the unfortunate play-'
fellow of my childhood, whose youth
fulness had always prevented me re
garding her as an aunt; nor did I for
get my grandfather, anxious and
alone, as far from home as could be;
nor my indulgent father, now expect
ing my return, but I do not much
doubt that these considerations were
of a minor sort, and that the central
figure in my mind which occasioned
my cerebral disturbance was Con
stance Marsh and no other. "
My uncle's horses were good ones,
and soon conveyed me to the Midland
terminus, but I had no time to spare.
Having bought my ticket, I sought for
an empty compartment, for I felt
averse to staring at strangers, after
the manner of English travelers, for
three hours; while to listen to conver
sation In which I was not interested
would have been simply unendurable.
There being no compartment without
passengers I selected the one which
contained the fewest an old lady, at
tended by a young maid. In my ab
straction I left my Gladstone bag on
the platform, where, after the train
was well in motion it -was noticed by
my uncle's groom, Avho contrived to
thrust it through the window so that
it fell on the floor at the feet of the old
lady, causing her to shriek appallingly.
I apologized for the clumsiness of
the servant, and for my own f orgetful
ness, which had caused the incident,
but despite all I could say, and the
careful ministrations of her maid, the
old lady continued to roll her eyes, to
pant, and to utter strange sounds, un
til at last I thought she had suffered
tsome serious injury. When she per
ceived that I was really alarmed the
old lady recovered herself with sur
prising suddenness, and remarked
that the bag had not touched her, but
that it nearly fell on her feet, in whicti
case it would have been impossible to
tell what might have happened. She
then requested her maid to hand her
a certain flask. This command was
more easily given than obeyed, for the
flask, it appeared, was at the bottom
of a closely-packed portmanteau,
which had to be emptied before the
article wanted could be got at. The
lady scolded her maid terribly because
of the delay, and when the maid tlm-.
idly ventured to observe that the flasks
had been the first thing to be placed in
th.9 portmanteau in accordance -frith
her own repeated itijunctioiisi went
into a violent passion, and declared
that she never had and never would
allow a servant to answer her; When
at iast the flask was Obtained the old
lady at once applied it to her lips, the
odor of brandy pervaded the Carriage,
and her rubicund ; features relaxed
into a smile.
It was not long befonTthe old lady
exhibited symptoms of an indention to
open h conversation with me, but i
checkmated her by taking from the
Gladstone bag which had occasioned
this flutter a thick folio Volume of
niantiscript the book 1 had found in
the cbpper box -when i was getting cut
the Hbidehhurst deeds for uncle Saim
t had brought this book with me to
London, intending to carefully exam
ine it and read so much of it as was
English during my stay in my uncle's
house"; But if i could find ho convex
nient opportunity to do sd at Holden
hurst while uncle Sam and aunt Ger
trude wer6 there it is certain t could
riot in London, with Miss Marsh in
the same house engrossing all my at
tentioni and the book had not only
been in my possession for nearly a
fortnight without being opened, but
had narrowly escaped being iost. Set
tling myself comfortably in a corner
of the Carriage I determined to study
the volume until i arrived in Bury St.
Edmund'Si and thus keep off any ad
vances the tyrannical old lady might
make toward a conversation, and di
vert my thoughts from my affairs.
The manuscript was still very damp,
and great care was necessary in sep
arating the leaves without tearing
them. It appeared to be nothing more
than the commonplace book of my an
cestor Roger Trueman (for so he and
others of his period wrote our family
name). The handwriting was large
and distinct, but tne letters, though
uniform, were quaint and peculiar
they approximated more nearly to
modern than ancient forms. A large
number of pages were devoted to rec
ords of chemical experiments, with
notes of the results, and here and there
a few lines in some Eastern language
of which I was ignorant even of the
name, though I guessed it was Turk
ish, from the writer having lived in
Turkey. I examined each page in reg
ular succession, and found that they
were all of similar character, until I
had exhausted about 200 pages, or
nearly a third of the book. vThe pages
were now filled with close writing,
unbroken by paragraphs, and -the
headline, "Record of a Wasted Life:
Roger Trueman, his history; written
with his own hand, A. D., 1671," ab
sorbed my attention, and I became ob
livious of the voluble tongue of the
old lady lecturing her maid, and, how
ever uninteresting it may be to other
readers, read with absorbing interest
what I copy in the three following
chapters
CHAPTER X.
feECOED OF A WASTED LIFE!
ROGER fcBrEMAX, HIS HISTORY; WRIT
TEN WITH HIS OWN HAND, A. D. 1671.
November 12. All men being at all
times like to die, the robust no less
than the sick, it falleth out that but
few men are troubled by contempla
tion of that circumstance; and indeed
I have ever noted, but more particu
larly such as hold by the Mohamme
dan faith, that the inevitable is gener
ally accepted with stoicism or indiffer
ence, and that death by natural pro
gression hath no terrors at all. That
such is my own case this present writ
ing shall testify He who hath ex
ceeded the span of life allotted to man
by the Psalmist; he who for many
years hath lived among a strange peo
ple in a strange land; he who, having
become a recluse, perceiveth now his
physical and mental powers to grow
feebler day by day; who, hoping for
nothing, feareth naught, is not tempted
to lie. He who lies, lieth for his ad
vantage, or for what he conceive th to
be such. To this dictum I will admit
no exception and I have had large
acquaintance of men of divers nations
and qualities, so speak knowingly.
And for what purpose should I record
of myself that which is untrue, seeing
that my earthly course is so nearly
outrun; that certainly this record will
go unread of any until after I am in
my grave, and may perhaps moulder
to dust ere other eyes than mine shall
look upon it? Should I in such circum
stances wittingly chronicle the thing
which is false, then of all lies lied by
lying man from the' first man to the
latest born on earth, this record would
be the farthest removed from truth;
its gross impertinence would at once
astound and appall, and the Master
Liar would pause among his angels
aghast at being eclipsed by his lieu
tenant. I write only to assist my mind
in reviewing past experiences and not
t- convince any man of any matter,
my business with men being past, and
there remaining nothing for me to
gain or lose by them.
To be continued.
Four Captain Lnwtona;
It Is an odd fact that there are now
four Captain Lawtons in the United
States regular army all young men,
not one of whom is related to the late
General Henry W. Lawton, who made
the name illustrious in Cuba and the
Philippines. One Kt these, Captain
Louis B. Lawton, is to be retired for
desperate wounds received in China,
where he distinguished himself not
only for extraordinary -heroism, . but
for sagacious action In a dangerous
situation. After an exceptionally bril
liant service he must now give up his
chosen career, because of those hon
orable wounds. In any other country
extraordinary honors; would await
such a man. Cleveland Leader.
J Paving experiments are to be made
in Havana with vitrified bricks, gran
ite .squares and sandstone blocks,
tUe Charm of tlie Veil.
The European has awakened to the
fact that veils, If not always graceful
find- becoming, are convenient in all
BtyleS. So the veil is an established
mode in fashionable Paris, and its pace
may be said to be officially set two
years and more after the American
women introduced it as a vogue.
Tha automobile is responsible for
many fads; one of the latest is an
elongation of the already long auto
mobile veil. The new veil, to be fash
ionable, must not be less than seven
rards long. A tall woman wears one
even longer, so that the ends float
across the bottom of her dress. These
long veils have wide hems. Usually
headed with a fine needlework stitch.
They are plain for the most part, al
though fashion shows a tendency to
decorate them with big polka dots.
Seen and Hearti by a Womaiii
According to the recent discussion
at the dressmakers' convention in Chi
cago, the stout woman will hot be
really happy this season so far as the
style of her summer gowns is con
cerned. Fullness in the skirts and
large, flowing sleeves are the cry, and,
stout or thin, the gowns must be made
cfter this fashion if one would be up
to date. Redj that bright red
which is such a pleasure to the sight
in cold weather, but too bright
for summer heat, is the correct shade
at present for coat linings particularly
the automobile linings. Strangely
enough, the only reason which seems
to be given for this particular shade
being used in summer garments is the
suggestion that "bright red pleases the
men, and they like to see a woman
wear red."
A lecturer who has a very fine lec
ture on "The Decadence of Ture Eng
lish," gave this address before a wo
man's club, says the Woman's Home
Companion. At the close of the talk
a very much overdressed wojnan of the
"fuss and feathers" type came up to
him and said: "I did enjoy your talk
ever and ever so much, and I agree
with you that the English language
is decading awfully. Hardly no one
talks proper nowadays, and the land
only knows what the next generation
will talk like if nothing ain't done
about it."
The "Simple life."
We are hearing a great deal now
adays about the simple life, and we
need to hear a good deal more. But
we women all know, don't we? that
it is one thing to establish an ideal
and another to live up to it in detail.
Here, as ever, lies our strength and
our weakness. It is we, f ter all, not
the good Pastor Wagi r nor any
other man, who have to H rk out our
own salvation from the fettvring trifles
that hold us back from our highest
usefulness and happiness. We have to
call upon the strength of our minds to
order these little things so that neither
they shall suffer nor the great things,
but so that they, being in order and
fit subordination, shall add their
beauty to life. To do it we need to
take the broad view. However busy
our hands may be with little things,
our minds must see them in the large,
in the full sum of their little relation
ships. We need to let the life of eter
nal space in upon the confusing clut
ter that distracts us. In that illumin
ation we shall, by slow degrees, find a
place for every genuine duty, put it in
its place and with a firm hand keep
it there. We shall see at once that we
need a large supply of -patience that
We cannot expect to learn how to live
until just before we die, if then; but
that by being steady and still we can
move bn and up a little at a time. The
Comfort will be that we shall move
others up with us Those We Love
Best, Those We Love Next Best and
Those of Whom We Are a Part. We
shall see the righteousness of play and
rest and take our share nay, plan and
look out for our share with a thank
ful heart. And our happy husbands
and children will rise up and call us
blessed. Harper's Bazar.
Value of a Direct Gaze.
The effect of a full, straightforward
gaze on the person to whom one is
speaking Is not, as a rule, sufficiently
considered. And yet there is nothing
in personal intercourse that carries
more weight than a direct gaze. It
is the medium for sympathy, the men
tal telegraphy that brings speaker and
hearer in touch with each other. Every
one has experienced the gene of talk
ing to a person whose wondering
glances betray their part of interest,
but one often fails to analyze the sub
tle attraction of an attentive eye that
stimulates and inspires one all un
consciously while one converses, says
the New York Tribune.
Children should be taught early in
life to look fearlessly and confidingly
Into the eyes of anyone who addresses
them; the habit will be of good ser
vice to them in after years. The pre
vailing idea that shifty eyes betoken
duplicity, however, while a steadfast
regard shows an honest disposition,
is not a correct one. Shyness is re-1
sponsible in many cases for an averted
"3
WOMAN S
REALM
glance, while the bold, bright eye3
of many a young vagabond often serve
only as an aid to deception and fraud,
so that it is hardly fair to condemn
a person who is unable, as the say
ing is, to "look one straight in the
face," and it should be considered
more of a misfortune than an evidence
of tintrustworthiness. People who are
called magnetic almost always, it may
be noticed, have a pronounced visual
power. The interest that they feel,
or profess to feel, in others is inten
sified by a certain concentration in
their regard, which seems to include
alone the person addressed. It is flat
tering and attractive and invariably
affects the other person favorably.
l5eTare ot the BeUMler.
Beware of people who are constantly
belittling others, finding flaws and de
fects in their characters or slyly in
sinuating that they are not quite what I
they ought to be. Such persons are j
dangerous and not to be trusted, says
Success.
A large, healthy, normal mind will
see the good in anoiher much more
quickly than the evil, but a narrow,
belittling mind has an eye only for
faults for the unlovely and the crook
ed. The clean, the beautiful, the true
and the magnanimous are too large
for its vision. It delights in tearing
down or destroying, but it is incapable
of upbuilding.
Whenever you hear a person trying
to belittle another, discard him from
your list of friends, unless you can
help him to remedy his fault. Do not
flatter yourself that those who tell
you of the failings of other people and
criticise and hold them up to ridicule,
will not treat you in the same way
when nil opportunity preseuts itself.
Such people are incapable of true
friendship, for true friendship helps
instead of hinders; it never exposes
the weak point in a friend's character
or suffers anyone to speak ill of him.
Qne of the finest fruits of culture
is the power to see the man or woman
whom God made in His own image,
and not the one who is scarred by
faults and deficiencies. It is only the
generous, loving soul who ever at
tains to this degree of culture. It is
only the broad, charitable, magnani
mous, great-hearted man or woman
who is blind to the defects of others
and enlarges their good qualities,
a nrtnnittf f nMnPfltfncr with
people who see the best instead of the
worst in us is worth far, far more
to us than an opportunity to make
money. It increases a hundredfold
our power to develop noble characters.
We are all of us constantly but un-
consciously moulding others by our
thoughts about them. The qualities
you see in your friend and those with
whom you come in contact you tend
to enlarge. If you see only the little,
mean, contemptible side of people, you
cannot help them out of their faults,
for you only intensify and fix them;
but if you see the good, the noble, the
aspiring traits in them you will help
rde,op tiese miei Tuntu tucj
crowd out the base, unworthy ones.
Everywhere, the world over, this un
conscious interchange of influence is
at work, hindering or helping, accord
ing to its nature.
IfrSfSSSSloS
8i
Fine beading will be used to out
line yokes and armholes.
Grannie shawls of embroidered crepe
are to be a part of the summer ghTs
outfit.
Waists made with surplice back aud
front are very pretty and suitable to
wear with shirred skirts.
Renaissance will be very popular as
a trimming this summer. One blouse
has a design of it in its front panel,
with fourteen fine short tucks on either
side.
Many skirts have the fullness laid in
graduated pleats to the knees. The
secret of making these skirts fit .well
over the hips is to run the stitching
midway on each pleat.
A new wrinkle in lingerie blouses is
the use of fine lace edging on tucks,
but care should be taken not to use too
much of it. One blouse tucked in
groups of three had the lace in the last
tuck of each group.
There is no lack of daring in the
veil patterns. Among the latest nov
elties is a veil of rich brown chiffon
appliqued with gilded acorns. A vivid
blue one has a border of lozenges out
lined in dots of dull sage green silk.
Shopping frocks to be in good taste
should be simple. A very pretty one
is shown of open-mesh linen, or deep
biscuit color, with embroidered dots.
The chemisette and tie are of net, and
bindings of crushed strawberry on the
blouse give
color
the necessary touch of
mm
jjoiiseliold
alters
Care of Flatirons.
Flatirons in the average household
are too often sadly neglected. They
are very apt to be left on the back of
the stove, where they can never be
come thoroughly cold, and where in
time they lose their power to regain
heat. Like all iron and steel instru
ments, they possess that peculiar qual
ity called temper. Irons that are heat
ed to a high temperature, and then, as
soon as the worker is through with
them, but in a cool place to become
thoroughly cold, will last , for many
years: Irons growmore valuable with
time, if good care, In some other re
spects, is taken of them. For instance,
they should be kept in a dry place,
where they are not subject to rust or
moisture. Flatirons that have lost
their temper and become rusted or
roughened should be disposed of, and
not left to take up valuable space on
kitchen shelves. New irons cost lit
tle, and it is poor economy to use old
ones that are past their usefulness.
For the Invallcl.N
Orange pulp served in glasses may
be used to introduce either the break
fast or luncheon. For the invalid's
tray the fruit served in this way is es
pecially appropriate. Cut the fruit in
half crosswise, and scoop out the
pulp, rejecting all the seeds and white
fibre. A sharp knife may be made to
aid in the process, so that the delicate
globules may be broken as little as
possible. Sprinkle with sugar and
stand the glasses on ice for ten min
utes. Pineapple syrup from a can of
the preserved fruit may be added to
give zest to the flavor. Jellied apples
are delicious served with whipped
cream. Fill a baking dish with thinly
sliced apples which have been sprink
led with sugar as successive layers of
the fruit have been added. Turn in
half a cupful of water. Fit over a
dish, a cover or plate, which will serve
as a slight weight. Bake very slowly
for three hours. Let the apples re
main in the dish until they are cold.
Then turn them out. New York News.
Velio w Fiano Keyi
Many people who keep their pianos
carefully closed find that the keys be
come yellow. Because dust is injuri
ous to a piano it is a common belief
that a piano should be closed when
not in use. This is a mistake. The
majority of pianos made to-day are
constructed so that dust cannot easily
penetrate them even when they are
open. Keys turn yellow from lack of
light, and a piano should be open the
larger part of the time. There is
nothing like strong sunshine for
bleaching yellowed piano keys. Rub
the keys with powdered pumice stone
moistened with water and then draw
the piano up before a sunny window
while the keys are still moist. The
woodwork of the piano should be care
fully covered. This bleaching is a
slow process and may need to be re-
peated. several times before the keys
assume their original color Some
housekeepers have bleached the keys
of their pianos to a beautiful white by
simply letting strong sunlight rest ful-
y on them hour after hour and day
after "aT- .
Bread Ramikins Rub together four
tablespoonfuls of grated cheese, the
one eSg, one .aWespooo ot
melted butter, a little anchovy paste,
salt and pepper; spread on toasted
bread and brow.i in the oven.
Beef Salad Cut into dice half a
pound of lean roast beef; pour over a
little French dressing and let stand
two hours; then mix with one pint of
cooked celery or a head of lettuce torn
in strips; add more dressing and
sprinkle with finely chopped parsley.
Cheese Custards Grate three or four
ounces of cheese; beat three level table
spoonfuls of butter to a cream; beat
two eggs; mix the butter and cheese
together; then add the beaten eggs and
one tablespoonful of milk; beat all thor
oughly; turn into a buttered dish and
bake in a quick oven until firm in the
centre; serve as soon as removed from
the oven.
Mock Terrapin Scald half a calf's
liver after slicing; fry the slices, then !
chop them rather coarse; flour it thick-
ly and add one teaspoonful of mixed j
.mustard, a little cayenne pepper, two '.
hard boil-d eggs chopped, one table
spoonful of butter and one cupful of
water; let simmer five minutes; season.
Veal may be prepared in the same
manner.
Ham Patties Ham patties give an
opportunity to use up scraps of boiled
ham too small to slice nicely. One
pint of cooked ham, chopped fine; mix
with two parts of bread crumbs, wet
with milk, a generous lump of butter,
and any other seasoning desired. Put
the batter in bread pans and break an
egg over each. Sprinkle the top thickly
with bread crumbs. Bake till brown.
Rural New Yorker.
Salmi of Lamb Cook two table
spoonfuls of butter with half a table
spoonful of minced onion five minutes.
Add two tablespoonfuls of flour and
cook until brown, then pour on grad
ually one cup of brown stock or beef
j extract, with a tablespoonful of
kitchen bouquet. Season with a quar
ter teaspoonful of salt, a good sprinkle
of pepper and a teaspoonful of table
sauce. Bay in slices of cold roast
lamb and reheat Serve with peas and
ttint jelly.
An Eloquent Flea. ' " '
ENATOR Latimer, of South
navrtlirm lma nnniA tr the
I front as 0113 of the leading '"
I chamnions of road ' ini4" '
provement. . In - fact, he,
was elected to the Senate, mainly on
that issue. Last fall he mtroauceu
into the Senate a bill for National aid
similar to that which Congressman!,-: V
Brownlow introduced into the House,
and he has defended it ably and clo- "
quently. In an address recently ' de-
livered at the Beacon Society dinner
at Boston he said: - :
"The improvement of the common ,j
roads of the country engaged the at-'
tention of our ablest statesmen from
1802 to 1832, and duiing that period i .:;
about ?14,000,000 was appropriated by ,..,'
Congress for road purposes. AH the
great minds of that period were one In !
conceding this question to be of the ' j
higest importance in determining the, .. ,
happinness and prosperity of the
American people. It is to-day," as it -was
then, a question which demands tK-ch
the earnest consideration of every
American citizen. The mud tax, levied
on our people by the miserable condi
tion of the common roads, is the most
onerous that we have to pay. It will
astonish you to know that it costs the
people of the United States every year J
more to transport the surplus products -..yjti
of the farm and forest to the shipping. ft
point, than the total cost of transport
ing all the freight, passengers, mail
and express over all the railroads- otzrsd
the United States.. In 1S03 the rail-.- fe -
roads received from all sources a little
nver .R700.000.000.' Everv dollar Of this-
was returned to the people in the em-
ployment of labor, payment for mater
ial, in taxes to the States, and'ln in
terest on invested capital. The one.k
billion dollars or more spent in cost, of
transportation ever the dirt roads was u
a total loss, not one cent being re- jr
turned to the people in taxes or as in---
terest on invested capital. And yet this
is only a portion of the loss caused by
the poor condition of our roads. '"
"In this enlightened age no one ques
tions the stupendous advantages which
follow a complete system of improved
roads. The cost of the work would be
paid by the savings of one year.' On
the improved roads of Europe the cost
of transporting a ton a mile is from
eight to twelve cents, while in the
United States the cost averages twen
ty-five cents. A reductioi of this cost yzl
by one-half would save to the Ameri
can people $500,000,000 per annum. -i v' t
"The practical question which coiv- . ft
fronts us to-day is how is this condi-5
tion to be met and overcome? Upon
whom must the burden of this great '
undertaking fall? We have tried the v
present system which was .inherited ej.
from England, which has not resulted A.
in much improvement in the past 100
years, and in my judgment, will nevei '"- -l
prove a success. - . - x'.-rj
"It is evident that some change in our 4 ?
method of road improvement must be .
adopted. The local community is not '
able to construct roads unaided. Many
of the States are not able to do so, j
and even if they were, there-is a ,feel-:.
ing, which, in my opinion, is justly
founded, that it would be unjust to
require them to bear the whole bur-
den. The consumers of raw material ? ,
and food products throughout- the
United States are equally interested
with the producer in lowering the cost
of transportation, as they, in the end,
have to pay this heavy tax. As this
burden cannot be equitably distrib- :
uted except by placing it on all the !;f -?
people, and as the most remunerative . .
powers of raising revenue, originally ""'
held by the States, are now in the Fed- '
eral Government, it is only by an ap
propriation out of the Federal Treas
ury that the improvement of our
roads can be accomplished with jus- uX
tice to all the people.
"The next question which presents
itself is as to the power of Congress
to make such an appropriation. I think
that the power exists by express grant
in the Constitution. Basing my opinion
on the views of such eminent men
as Madison, Monroe, Gallatin, xWeb
ster, Calhoun, Clay and Adams, and
taking into consideration the legisla
tive history of the country, I hold that
the power is clearly established. The
power has been exercised whenever
Congress thought it wise to do so, and
the only question which is really im
portant is, vhether or not this is a
proper subject for Federal aid. All
that is asked by the bill Introduced
by me is the appropriation of a fund
for road purposes. . The States are to
furnish the right of way, maintain the
roads after they are built, and pay
one half the cost. Congress is not,
asked to Invade the States, but simply ;
to appropriate money as an aid to an t r t
object for the general welfare and, -; ,
happiness of all the people. There .
could be no better investment of the"'
public funds than in road improve-."
ment. It would enhance the value of . ;.
farm lands from ten to fifty, per cent. ,
An increase in value of $3 per acre
would add three billion dollars . to the V'.
wealth of the country in this item;;
alone. The congestion of : business .
during the winter months would dis- - f
appear, -and our people could go to the ??!
markets at all times. In fact the ma- v f
terial advantages which would follow ,
are too numerous to mention and too
great to estimate. ' t ; " ',
"What will we do with the propor . s z
sition? Will . we go on for the next
one hundred years as we have during
the past, or will 'we arouse ourselves ' '
and make 'this question a - burning
issue before the people until the result
- is .accomplished?"
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