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YOL. XXVII. PITTSBORO, CHATHAM COUNTY, N. C THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1901, NO. 7.
I g I D xl I Bill V V fi ll! lilt 11111 1111 ft II- llllll "II 1 I t M II II II II
Copyright 18W y Eobebt B sneb's Sons.
CHAPTER XVI.
Continued.
We have seen a great deal of your
Holdenhurst clergyman, the Rev Mr.
Evan Price, since you were here. I
hardly know which is the greater flat
terer, you or he. Your uncle admires
fcini very much, and has invited him
to New York; he says he is a "smart"
man and ought to. leave the Church
and become a stockbroker.
"With kindest regards, hoping to see
you to-morrow or the next day at
latest, as well in health as when we
parted, believe me to remain, dear Mr.
Trueruan, very sincerely yours,
CONSTANCE MARSH.
"Let me see that letter, please. Er
nest," said my father, when I had fin
ished, reading.
I handed the letter to ' my father.
"Poor boy!" he said, after he had
glanced through it; "don't be cast
-down; you have seen nothing of the
world yet. There are thousands and
thousands of English girls as good as
or better than this fair American.
Cheer up. Everything is for the best."
j CHAPTER XVII.
TO THE WEST.
O the weary days and sleepless
nights that succeeded the departure
of uncle Sam from Holdenhurst:
Never in my life before had I beea so
utterly depressed and wretched. Ev
ery Cay some incident helped to con
firm the overthrow of my .aspirations
'and increased my restlessness. In com
pliance with the earnest fleading ol
my father, I had written if brief note
to Constance Marsh assuring her of
toy unalterable regard that was the
word he suggested, s exactly suited
to the occasion but regretting the im
possibility, owing an unfortunate
incident, either o?. falling upon her in
London, or inviting her to Holden
hurst. To that note came no reply; nor
could I in reason expect any, though
each morning I scanned the mail wiih
hopeless uriosity. About a week
afterwards, my father received a letter
frcra the Rev. Mr. Price, announcing
Ms preferment to the living of Ali
Saints.North Brixton, and consequent
resignation of the vicariate of Holden
hurst Minor. Mr. Price also stated
that as he was not to take up his new
duties ' for three months, he bad ac
cepted an invitation to visit America,
as he had long desired to study tht
catthods and manners of American
divines, and that, being much pressed
for time, he regretted his inability -o
return to Holdenhurst to preach a fare
well sermon to his parishioners, so had
requested a friend to forward his ef
fects to London which I afterwards
learned was accordingly done, the said
effects consisting of two cricket bats,
a fowling piece, a fishing rod and
tackle, a tobacco jar and several pipes,
a shelf-load of French novels with the
margins annotated in the reverend gen
tleman's own hand, and some dozens ol
slifpers. Yet a few days later, anc
while I was still smarting under this
intelligence, I noticed, quite accident
ally, an announcement at the bottom ol
a column in the Times that Mr. Sam
uel Trueman, the American financiei
accompanied by Mrs. Trueman anc
Miss Marsh, had sailed for New, York
from Liverpool the 5ay before on
board the Cunard ste&aijhip Etrurla.
Though his discAiitent was by nc
means equal to rslne, my father was
not without grve anxiety. The reno
vation of Holdenhurst Hall, and the
numerous ?31 extensive improvements
in progress on the estate were now
fast approaching completion. The work
was admirably done, and both house
and grounds assumed an aspect in
comparably superior to what they hac
presented at any former period o!
their history. My father acquainted
me with the fact that he had very
little money at his banker's beyond the
five thousand pounds which his brothei
had given him, a sum quite inadequate
to pay for the work done, and he
feared that he would be obliged tc
renew the mortgage which had so re
cently been extinguished. 'With some
temerity he f&rmally inquired ot
Messrs. Knight and Faulkner what
would be the amount of their demand
on the completion of their contract,
and was informed by that firm thai
Mr. Samuel Trueman had satisfied
their claim in full on a certain date
"which we found was the very daj
my uncle was last at Holdenhurst
This circumstance was a victory foi
nie.who had held, contrary to the opin
ion of my father, that uncle Sarc
would keep his word, and honorabl5
pay for the work he had ordered, to be
done, notwithstanding his denuncia
tion of his brother. - , -'.." i'.
The only thing which could have; de
livered me Gut of the ptiable conditio
into which I had fallen at. this period
(except, of course, the removal of its
cause) was rigorous employment of
my faculties. Though I did not lack
discrimination to perceive this truth,
I could not benefit myself thereby.
haing no power to exert my will. My
timt was spent in aimlessly wander
ing about the house and grounds, or
sauntering in the libiary and taking a
book at random from a shelf -i the re.
opening it, reading a few lines, closing
WALTER BLOOM FIELD
. again, and returning it to its place,
I became pale and haggard, and my
evident want of the usual attributes oi i
youth was noticed and remarked upon
by my father's friends, who were at a
loss how to account for the change
which had come over me.
Though the days seemed long and
wearisome, and the nights almost in
terminable, yet time passed away with
more apparent swiftness for being
uir.rked by no particular event. It was
the early springtime when I first be
held the girl whom I had fondly hoped,
to win for my own, from whose sweei
companionship I had been ruthlessly
severed by the strangest of events;
and that , never-to-be-forgotten season
had merged into summer, which in its
turn had declined and died, and now
the autumn was at hand.
One glorious September morning 1
was listlessly gazing through the win
dow which led out on to the veranda;
my hands clasped behind me. From
that spot It was I last beheld my uncle
Sa,ui as he stood in the roadway con
templating his Birthplace, and my po
sition induced a train of thought which
could hardly be said ever to be absent
from my mird. "PshaW? I muttered,
turning suddenly round amj. waiting
ruickfy away; "I aiT a very fool.
Here am I pining miserably, wasting
my life in unproductive thought. If
action based on Impulse be bad, surely
prolonged contemplation out of which
no actio: i grows must be worse..
Though Constance Marsh can never
be mine; though my father and uncle
can never be reconciled; I will not con
sume my days in useless self-affliction.
I will travel; I will go to Amer
ica; perhaps I will call on my uncle;
perhaps "
"Father," I asked, a minute later,
as I stood by his side in the study,
where he sat examining an account
book; "do you know what next Sun
day will be?"
My father looked up at me, and his
face wore a puzzled, querulous ex
pression. "Yes, my boy," he replied,
and as he spoke I observed that his
hair had grown very grey of late; "I
have not forgotten it. On Sunday you
will complete your twentieth" year."
"It is of that I was thinking," I said:
"And I have also thought that a
change of scene would be good for mej
As you know, I have been very
wretched, since that affair with uncle'
quite unable to fix my attention on
any matter save that from which I
would gladly divert it. If you can bear
the expense, and do not object to my
leaving home for awhile, I think I
should like to travel for few
months."
My father looked up sharply. "Why
don't you speak plainly, and say out.
right that you are tired of your father
and long to be with your uncle?" he
asked.
"Because if I said so I should lie,"
I retorted warmly; "and that is -what
I never did yet. I have told you my
opinion of my uncle, .and I think as
well of him now as ever. But that cir
cumstance, does not diminish . the af
fection and respect I bear for you.
And I may tell you, that I have aban
doned all hope of ever being anything
more to Miss Marsh than I am at this
minute. Indeed, it is to confirm me
in my present mood that I seek the
permission and means to travel."
"I take it as most unfilial, most un
kind in you, Ernest," continued my
father in an injured tone, regardless
of the declaration I had just made,
-'that in all these months that have
elapsed since your uncle was here youl
have never thought proper to ask me
to show you the proofs of his perfidy,
though I volunteered to do so at the
time. You stated then (and now you
reiterate) your belief in you uncle's in
nocence. What is the inference? That,
your father is careless in a matter oil
the utmost gravity, on which the honor
of his only brother wholly depends."
"Surely you don't wish to open that
question again!" I exclaimed in dis
may. Tprtainlv I do." continued my
father. "You tell me you wish to .
travel at your age a natural desire, 5
which I heartily approve and will pro-'
vide money for. But you cannot leave
here with my good will until you have
heard and seen the things by which
I justify my attitude towards your
uncle. Having heard and seen 'them,
you will be at liberty to retain or
abandon your present ideas respect
ing the robbery.? -
i'There is nothing I am less willing
to be convinced ; of than my uncle's
guilt, but let it be as you say," I as
sented; and, taking a chair, I seated
myself close to the desk.
My father at once thrust his hand
into his pocket, drew forth three coins,
and laid them in front of me. "See,"
said he; ,"there you have three Vene
tian, sequins. Do me the favor to ex
amine them."" '
I picked up one of the coins; it was
of go.'d, and as large 'as ahelfpenny,
but much thinner. On one side was a
representation of a shield, with the
words,, "Sanctus '. Marcus '. Venetus
-'-V. and on the other side a cross,
with the words, "Petrus Lando; Dux
' -Venetair The coins, which
were la excellent coadiHgn. were ex:
actly alike. Having scrutinized eacn
very carefully with the aid of a read
ing glass, I handed them back to my
father, who paused, as If .expecting me
to make some comment, but I remained
silent
"Pierto Lando," said my father,
"was Doge of Venice from 1538 to
1545; so you will agree with me that
abundance of sequins such as these
must have been in circulation in Ven
ice when your ancestor, Roger True
man, was there a century' later."
I nodded assent, and my father con
tinued:
"I am informed by John Adams
(than whom a more faithful servant
never lived) that your uncle, on the
first day of his return here, seized
the opportunity while you and I were
preparing for dinner, to descend, unob
served by us, into the crypt. It seems
he asked old John for a lighted lamp;
and John, at loss to know .what your
uncle wanted with it (for it was broad
daylight, as you know), with .pardon
able curiosity, observed his move
ments, and was surprised to find that
he went boldly down into the crypt.
So little conscious was old John that
he was playing the part of a spy that
he soon afterwards followed your un
cle, and found him sTandTngT lamp
in hand, in front of the Abbot's Cell,
probing between the bricks with a
pocket knife. John asked your uncle
if he could assist him in any way, Who
thereupon turned upon him in great
anger and alarm, cursing him for a
meddlesome old fool. A. little later
your uncle gave old John two sover
eigns, and told him not to think ser
iously of what he had said; that he
liked to express himself emphatically."
The incident Impressed our old servant
as a strange occurrence, but aroused in
him no suspicion of foul play. When,
however, on the occasion of his visit
here with his wife, your uncle was
observed to go down into the crypt
a second time, and to remain there the
greater part of one night, old John
feared that some sinister design
against my interests must be afoot;
yet he dared not again follow him.
and refrained from reporting the cir
cumstance to me lest, my brother hav
ing gone there with my permission,
I should resent the imputation which
the giving of such information would
necessarily imply."
Again ray father paused, as if ex
pecting me to remark upon his narra
tive; but I uttered no word, and he
went on:
"On visiting the crypt next morning
flohn found that sufficient bricks had
been removed to allow of entrance
into the celL and entering there him
self for the first time he ..observed
that the place contained several very
heavy chests. Concluding that it was
merely curiosity which had Induced
your uncle to visit the crypt John did
not go down there again until the day
before you went to London, when the
chests were all empty, and he. picked
up two of. these sequins just outside
the cell. The third sequin was found
by a housemaid in the bed room oc
cupied by your uncle and aunt, and
was brought by her to me."
A long silence ensued, which oth
of us seemed unwilling to break. At
last I said:
"And you are satisfied that uncle
Sam stole those sequins?"
"Unfortunately, I am," he replied,
bowing his head. "I wish to Heaven
I could have arrived at some other
conclusion. But it was not possible;
the evidence was too clear and ad
mitted of no alternative."
"The evidence is not clear to me.
Might it not be that some person other
than uncle Sam is the thief old John
himself, for Instancer-and that he is
diverting suspicion of the real thief
to your brother?"
"Ah, my boy, I have thought deeply
of all that," said my father, shaking
his head sadly. "John Adams is an
old man who believes he is without
a relation In the world. He was in
your grandfather's service when he
was quite a young boy, years before
I was born, and has always shown
himself truthful and honest. He does
not want for money, for not long ago
he told me that he had 000 in the
bank, the result of his lifelong econo
my and self-denial. Now that he is
old, and visibly nearing the close of
his life, it is quite improbable that
he would go out of his way to rob
me of a large sum of money which
could be of very small use to him.
Besides, he was always an admirer
of your uncle Sam; he frequently asked
me for news of him, and expressed
much pleasure when informed that
he was coming to England. And
these are the circumstances of the
case, all of them pointing orie way.
Did not your uncle himself speak to
me about the treasure very soon
after his return here? a subject not
mentioned by anybody for I don't
know how many years. And what of
(he sequin found by Phoebe on the
floor of your uncle's bedroom? And
haven't we seen what has been th
effect upon John of the whole affair?
Why, it very nearly killed him; and to
this day he goes about the houses the
shadow of his former, self. He has
aged terribly. .'Dr. Thurlow was re
marking to me only yesterday how
rapidly he is breaking up."
"Still I am not convinced," I said;
' but you make me doubt, which be
fore I did not." :
, To be continued. - - .
Literary.
"Better were I dead!" moaned the
poet.. .- '
"Don't be silly!" the woman, his
wife, exclaimed. v ' '
"But how else am I to get myself
nuecdotalized in the literary publica
tions?" ho demanded, turning on her
fiercely.
vSlie shivered, . How, -indeed?
Puck. - -. -
I GOOD
ROADS.
Some Sensible Beinarkg.
OLONEL J. H. BRIGHAM,
sjsS Assistant Secretary of Ag-
f riculture at Washington-,
is not only a giant in size.
but he is a big man in prac
tical common sense. In a recent speech
at a good roads convention he said
some things that everybody ought to
read. Among other good things he said:
"I see no reason why the general
government should not appropriate a
certain sum of money to be expended
in this great work. Of course, the
States, counties and local communities
should be expected to co-operate. A
little aid from the general Government
would be a wonderful encouragement
to all the people.
"I hear a number of speakers here
saying that we must stir up Congress.
Now, I want to impress you with the
idea that we must first educate the
people. When the people are in favor
of national aid in building good roads
Congressmen will be in favor of it
and not until then. They are not go
ing ahead of the people.
"When one of these great popular
movements gets started it acquires,
wonderful momemtum. I heard a story
of two farmers who stood beside a
railroad for the first time. On the
track stood an engine with a long train
of heavy cars. Said one farmer to the
other: 'Jim, she'll never be able to
start it. It isn't possible.' Finally the
steam was turned on, and, with much
puffing, creaking and groaning, the
great train began to move, very slowly,
then faster and faster, until finally,
with a whirl of dust and a roar like
thunder, it swung out of sight around
a distant curve. Then the farmer,
drawing a long breath, remarked: 'Jim,
by the Eternal, they'll never be able
to stop it.' So will it be with the good
roads movement. Once let it get thor
oughly started and nothing, will be able
to stop it or stand before it till its
great work is done.
"I see no reason why the general
Government should not reach out its
strong arm and help the people of this
country get better means of communi
cation. I want to see this movement
pushed with all the energy that is char
acteristic of the American people.
When we undertake to do anything in
this country we do it, and do it well.
We have started out for better roads,
and we are going forward on this line
till we have as good roads as can be
found anywhere in the world."
In these remarks Colonel Brigham
has sounded the keynote of the good
roads campaign. The masses of the
people must Le aroused and educated.
Organization is the principal means
to be employed. Conventions should
be held, and associations should be or
ganized in all sections of the country.
It is not enough to get out a crowd of
professional road reformers to make
speeches and pass resolutions. The ob
ject in view is to interest practical and
progressive men in ail walks of life,
to arouse the indifferent, to convince
the objectors, and to get up a wave of
popular enthusiasm for better roads.
Until this is done, no important results
will be accomplished.
West Virginia Highways.
For many years the natural resources
of West Virginia have remained un
discovered, or, if known, have re
mained inaccessible. Many railroads
have been constructed, and" from the
date of railroad construction dates the
beginning of the" material prosperity
of the State. The railroads of necessity-have
reached only small portions
of the territory; and vast tracts have
been and must remain untouched by
them. Notwithstanding the develop
ment that the railroads made possible,
it was fully recognized that there were
limitations to railroad communication
and traffic. From this time forward,
it was argued, the importance of good
roads will outrank the importance of
railroads in usefulness. There are im
mense tracts of virgin soil ready to
yield their fruits, but large sums of
money are transmitted to other State
to pay for products that could be pro
duced at home. Necessaries of -life
are thus made uncertain and expen
sive, with the result that rural dis
tricts are being deserted and centres
of population congested. It was stat
ed that real estate in the country is
depreciated and neglected because of
the deplorable condition of the public
highways. It was emphasized that
more than $1,000,000 is spent annual
ly in the useless attempt to maintain
the common highways of the State
and to keep them passable, but, as traf
fic becomes heavier, the roads will be
come worse and worse, . even under
this enormous expenditure. These
roads are at all times steep and dif
ficult, and at certain seasons of the
year dangerous and practically impas
sable. The cost of maintaining these
roads is only a -small part of the ex
pense which their condition entails.
Development is retarded, cultivation
is hindered, real estate is impaired in
value, producis a short distance in .the
country 'are practically unavailable,
and it has been found that it is more
economical to import these products
by rail from neighboring States than
to haul them ten miles over such exe
crable roads.- .The cost of living is
thus increased. The cost of transpor
tation hinders cultivation and devel
opment, increasing the price of neces
saries and diverting the-resources .if
the citizens, the total cost of which it
is impossible to estimate, but which
certainly largely exceeds the $1,000,000
which the taxpayers expend in the
maintenance of these adverse condi
Humor
11 o?dv
The Result.
Who sits and waits for dead men's shoes
In which to make his climb
Will leave no footprints of his own
Upon the sands of time.
-. ' Life,
Always.
Hewitt "What is the best business
to which a young man can give his at
tention?" Jewett "His own." Harper's Ba
zar. The Happy Part.
She "Did your uncle die happy?"
He "Well, to tell ;ou the truth, I
didn't notice him, but everybody else
seemed very happy." Boston Traa
script. ,
Never Heard of It. .-
The Supper Cook "Bring me some
cheese for the rabbit."
New Kitchen Boy "Sure, I never
heard that a rabbit ates cheese i"
Town Topics.
After the Operation.
First Physician "Did you get much
out of Stjngyleigh?"
Second Physician (gloomily) "Noth
ing but an appendix." New Orleans
Times-Democrat.
A Deduction.
"He declares that his wife made him
all that he is."
"Quite likely; and I should judge
that she didn't waste more than half
an hour on the job." Harper's Bazar.
Consulting to Profit.
First Doctor "Then wo decide not
to operate."
Second Doctor "Yes. What do you
think we ought to charge him for de
ciding not to operate?" Brooklyn
Life. . '
His Protection. -
"George, dear, is that a bib that the
baseball catcher wears on his breast?"
"Yes, my love. It keeps his shirt
front from being mussed up when the
ball knocks Ibis teeth out." Cleveland
Plain Dealer.
The Main Consideration.
"Young man, have you stopped to
think where you will go when you
die?"
"Gad, no I haven't even thought
where to go on my summer vacation
yet." Puck.
His Impressive Highness.
Jenkins "I met that new butler of
yours toiay and had quite a talk, with
him."
Nuritch (anxiously) "What does he
think of us? Did he say?" Phil-d
phia Record.
Parting Shot.
Mrs. Cuttem "I'm going away for a
month, Mr. Postmaster. . You may hold
my letters for me, but you might as
well read the postal cards as usual,
and I'd like to have you answer them."
Chicago News. ;
Friendly Suggestion.
"My heart is still untenanted,
sighed the slender summer girl.
"Why don't you write on your card
'Flat to let?' " asked her plump cous
in, who was wearing a broad smile
and a new engagement ring. Chicago
News. , -
In the Fight.
Church "The old General al,.
wanted to be where the fighting was
thickest" '
Gotham "Is that a fact?"
Church "Oh, yes. Why, even when
he went to church he asked if he might
sit up in the choir." Yonkers States
man. Willing to Believe Him.
"It is a generous and helpful world,"
said the multi-millionaire.
"Indeed?"
"Yesr when it was announced that I
desired to die a comparatively poor
man there was a general movement
to assist me in the enterprise." V
ington Star.
In the Tunnel.
Church "Where did your friend get
his black eye?"
Gotham "Tunnel accident."
Church "I hadn't heard of it; when
was it?"
Gotham "He kissed the wrong
woman going through the tunnel."
Yonkers (Statesman.
The Whole Stpiy.
Robert "Has your wife much curi
osity?" .
Richard "Oh, an awful lot. If I
began to tell her what you told me
standing on this eorner she wouldn't
hear a word of what you 'said until I
told her what corner we were stand
on." Indianapolis Journal.
Good From Evil.
"You say you would like to be
tured by brigands?"
"Well," answered Mr. Meekton, "I
don't know that I would exactly enjoy
it. But if some brigand were to de
mand ten or fifteen thousand dollars
before he'd give me up, it might make
Henrietta thiqk I amounted to some
thin g." Chicago . Record-I t erald.
Told Her Secret at Last.
"A woman can't keep a secret," de
clares the mere man.
"Oh, I don't know," retorts the flut
tery lady. "I've kept "my age a secret
since I was twenty-four."
"Yes, but one of these days you will
give it away. In time ycu will simply
have to tell it."
"Well.. I think that when a woman
has kept a secret for twenty years she
comes pretty near knowing how to keep
it" Judge, ,
Scalloped Sweet Potatoes.
Boil six potatoes in salted water till
tender. Skin and slice thin. Put a
layer of them in a buttered baking
dish, and sprinkle with brown sugar;
put on more potatoes and more sugar
till the dish is full. Bake thxee-quar-ters
of an hour. -.----! -
Beets. . .
Wash the beets but do no! pare Ihem.
Boil gently for three-quarters of an
hour, or till they can be easily pierced
with a straw. Skin them and slice in
a hot dish, dusting each layer with a
little pepper, salt and melted butter.
Those which are left over may have a
little vinegar poured over them, and
then they can appear as pickles at
luncheon ere next day. .
Stuffed Beets.'
Six . medium-sized beets, one can
French peas. Boil the beets and skin
them, but leave them whole. Turn
the water off the peas and wash them;
heat with salt and pepper.' Cut off
the stem end of each beet so that it
will stand evenly, and scoop out the
centre. Put in each one a tiny bit of
butter and a little salt and pepper, and
then fill high with the peas. Serve
very hot , : ,
Stewed Tomatoes.
Six large tomatoes, one teaspoon
salt, one teaspoon sugar, one pinch
soda, a little pepper, butter as large
as an English walnut. Peel and cut
up the tomatoes small, saving the
juice; put together in a saucepan, with
the seasoning, mixing the soda in a
teaspoon of water before adding that.
Cook slowly twenty minutes, stirring
until it is smooth. Last, put in a cup
of bread crumbs, or a cup of toast cut
in smail bits. Serve in a hot covered
dish. j , . - -
Apricot Balls-
Spread warm boiled rice half an inch
thick on a floured moulding board.
Have in resdiness a dozen apricots,
peeled, halved and stoned. Put two
halves together and cut the rice in
pieces large enough to wrap around
them. Press into shape with the
hands, roll in flour and wrap each ball
in a little pudding cloth, which has
been buttered and floured. Tie into
shape and plunge into a kettle of boil
ing water. ' The kettle should have a
perforated tin laid on the bottom to
prevent the balls sticking. Keep the
.water boiling constantly and cook half
an hour. Take up, remove the cloth
carefully so as not to break the balls
and serve with any hot sauce.
Codfish Chowder.
Soak talt codfish in cold water over
night, or a little longer, to freshen it.
Put on to boil in cold water. Let
come slowly to boil, and cook from two
to five minutes, according to thick
ness of fish. Pour off the water and
mash the fish fine; and to every cup of
fish add two cups of mashed potato
and a little milk, pepper and butter.
Mash and mix all thoroughly together.
Put on in a spider half a cup of fine
! chopped, fat, salt pork, fry out the fat
' slightly and add one small, fine-
chopped onion. Brown slightly and
then add the. prepared fish and potato,
stirring well to mix in the onion and
pork. When well mixed and heated
through and nicely browned, turn onto
a heated platter and serve.
.'(hovsehgld1
W HINTS
Don't bathe the face while it is
very warm or very cold.
Don't wash the face when traveling,
unless it is with a l'ttle alcohol and
water, or a little cold cream.
Young infants should not be given
Indian meal. For children over one
year it is a fattening and safe food.
Coarsely-ground maize boiled in milk
will work wonders with a puny, ill
nourished child. .
Small scented sachets come for per
fuming the hair. They are made to
place under the coils of hair or in the
pompadour, and give a fait perfume.
They come in both dark and light silk,
to suit the shade of hair.
Doilies and small centre pieces,
especially with quantities of open
work, can be laundered with very little
trouble at home. Castile or any white
soap is the best cleaning medium.
After washing and rinsing in slightly
blued water, stretch them upon a win
dow, taking care that every scallop
and petal is well smoothed, and let
them dry. They will require no iron
ing and look like new.
For - sweetbread croquettes, cook,
cool and mince a sweetbread. Add
enough chopped chicken to make a
fall pint Melt one-quarter cupful of
butter, one cupful of rich, well-seasoned
chicken stock and one-third cup
ful of cream. Season with salt and
pepper, add a beaten egg and the
tnmeed sweetbreads. When cool,
snaps, roll in fine bread or cracker
crumbs, then in beaten egg and again
in the crumbs. Fry in deep fat, drain
and serve with mushroom sauce
A remarkable orchid has been dis
covered in South America.-; From the
centre of the plant,. which is attached
to the branches of trees, a long, flat,
tube-like stem depends. When the
plant is thirsty this tube is lowered; to
find water, and as toon as the tip is
full the tube coils UP in a spiral, carry
ing the water through its length t0:be
distributed on the roots above.
John F. Butz, of Fort Worth, Texas,
is the inventor of an insect extermin
ating apparatus, '.which ),e claims; he
will greatly miminize the present de
struction done by this pest His inven
tion is that of a machine which gen
erates noxious fumes, which the inven
tor claims the insects . cannot . with
stand. The gas is stored in reser
voirs, and the apparatus is driven
through the field infested, lengthwise
of the rows. In' fumigating these
plants the device goes over two rows
at the same time, they being inclosed
in a semi-circular chamber, which is
long enough to allow enough time to
elapse so that the plants may be effec
tively disinfected by .the time they
come out of the other end. This appli
cation would apply, however, to only
small plants.
For experts in building, the recent
conflagration in Baltimore is as in
teresting as are the .fights between
Russia and, Japanese fleets, for. de
signers and constructors of battleships.
It is said that most of the experts
who have examined the ruins have
concluded that brick and terra ?cotta
are better materials than almost any,
kind of natural stone for resisting heat.
The theory has been advanced that the
spread of the fire was, in many cases,
caused by superheated air driven' be
fore the wind. The air was so hot at
a distance of 500 or 600 feet that it
was impossible to face it. Sometimes
buildings 300 or 400 feet beyond the
limits of the fire, and protected against
6parks, burst, .into smoke and flame
.within, and began to burn from the in
side. Some huge structures had their
iron fire-proof shutters blown open as
if by the sudden expansion of heated
air within them. . - . j V -;;t-"i-
Regular air-soundings, with kites and
balloons carrying registering appara
tus, are now made in the' United States,
Germany and Denmark, for gaining a
better knowledge of the atmosphere
and its problems. On a hill near Vi
borg, in Jutland, a two-story tower,
about thirty feet high, is mounted on
rails so as to be revolved, one, side
being open and kept away from the
wind. It is equipped with register-,
ing instruments, electric motor, . two
windlasses,, etc., for starting kites,
while other buildings contain work
shops, small balloons, . steam engine,
and accommodations for the director
and five assistants. Kites ' are flown
with steel wire of 0.6 to 1.3 kilometer,
and easily reach two hundred yards
in height, but attain, three thousand
or four thousand yards, with difficulty,
and only by, the use of auxiliary kites.
After a recent , break: of . a .wire one
kite,was recovered at a'distauce'of 150
miles. -
Dreary tlfe'of Poor In Russia.' 1
rAs a rule a Russian village is a for
lorn looking place, where the huts of
the poor are made of birch logs, with
upright oak-or pine supports, ceiling
of strips, cf the same birch and walls
lined with crude branches. , In these
huts there are "only two rooms, oae of
which is not for everyday use; but is
kept for best occasions. This room1
houses those sacred images so dear to
the heart of every member Of the
Greek Church, to which belongs the
great mass of the Russian people.
The other room, serves, the purpose
of both kitchen and sleeping room, as
one of the principal ideas of comfort
to these people. Ice and snowbound for
so many months . of the . year, is
warmth. In many of the peasant huts
no beds are used; and the top of a
great stover reaching ' nearly ; to the
roof, is a much sought sleeping place.
Although the conditions make dirt; and
accompanying results inseparable in
the life of tkese peasants, they are de
votedly fond of bathing. The vapor
bath in a crude form may be called a
national institution and a not unusual
picture of a summe' afternoon i the
village pond filled with women and
children bathing. Social Service.
American Barbers in London. '
In an East End police court the other
day a curious case of assault'was
heard. A youngster," it appears, 'was
sent by his father to have his hair cut."
The barber, according to the father,
ran a pair of clippers all over the boy's
head except in front, where he left an
enormous fringe; to mark, his displeas
ure the father gave the barber a sound
thrashing. It is, however, not only in
the East ' ind that barbers-1 show a
great ignorance cf their trade. In
New York or Paris it is the easiest
thing possible for a nan to have his
hair cut properly. t In London it is
hardly too much to say that there are
only half a dozen places where, a bar
ber knows his business. . The average
barber has only one method of cutting
hair, which he invariably carries out,
irrespective altogether of the wishes of
his customers. i ! ' - "
I believe that if an American hair
dresser were to open a dozen shops
iu different parts of London, be would
rapidly make his fortune, provided, of
course, he employed the right sort of
men to cut his customers' hair. Lon
don Tattler.' .
The populatidtt-oi.London includes
about 252,100 more women than men.
In Hampstead there are 159 females
to every, 100 males, ... -