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0 I88"CraD IBXCX-WXXKL^ l. m. grist's sons, publisher., j 31 Jfamilp Ueuisgaptr: Jfor the promotion of the ?olifiitaI, Social, Agricultural and (Commercial Interests of the {people. { ter,^gi,k corVVivii cknt?vam* 4. established 1855. YOUKVILLE. S. C., TUESDAY, JULY '28, 1008. N"Q. 00. k- + 4- 4* 4* 4* 4F 4* 4? 4* 4* |? 0J|,j^J J ByETTA ^ $? *f* f' *$* ^ 'f* *f* 'f3 ?$* *$* 'f4 1 CHAPTER XIV. I The Letter. "I want new ribbons for my muslin ^ gown, Bess?pale blue, mind. I will wear no other. I hope you may be able to get them. There is nothing nice to be had, you know, at Cape Desolation." Rose, nestled in old Caleb's armchair, was watching Bess, as the latter moved about the living room, making ready for a walk. "Blue ribbons for that oily flsh+ house?" replied Bess. "Isn't that a bit ridiculous, you vain little Rose! Come with me to the village, and you can make the purchase for yourself." "What! tramp two miles over the -*-*-1? ? XT/n* T f" A nH Pntjp _ rocKS in mis sun; nui *. shuddered and closed her eyes?generally speaking, she was an Indolent little thing. But suddenly a thought struck her?stung her into quick life. "Perhaps you will meet Mr. Hume in the village. I've a half-mind to go. It would be so pleasant to see him ^ again?to have him walk home with J one over the cliffs. But no! I should surely tire myself, and then I might not dance well tonight, and I want to do my best?I want to look my best, ror Air. nume naw prumtscu iu bums V~~ to our dance. You need not frown, Bess. He must be a nice person, or Mr. Harold would not have brought him to the cove." "Rose." said the elder girl, gravely, "you are a foolish, thoughtless child"? "Oh. don't stop to scold," laughed Rose, "but go at once, or you will be late for dinner, and I want you to fix my dress, you know, I cannot bear to ? touch a needle myself. If you do meet Mr. Hume, tell him to be early at the fishhouse tonight." ' Bess Hillyer transfixed her cousin with a look as she exclaimed: "Rose, don't forget to look after your husband while I am away. He is down on the wharf. It is hardly safe for him to be wandering1 ther* alone. Go at once and find him." "Oh. yes?of course," answered Rose; and as soon as Bess's step died in the distance she lay back in old Caleb's chair and fell asleep. Meanwhile Bess was tramping off toward the village with a free, elastic tread. The salt wind blew in her face; the sun. growing fervid as it approached the meridian, beamed lovingly upon her. She was a part of the strong, k glad morning?a thing as buoyant and full of life as the gulls circling about the little harbor, or the green wares drenching the cliffs with wind-blown orine. In the first turn of the road stood the Hillyer tomb. Repairs thereon had long ago been finished, and Its Iron door sealed against all intruders. There were reasons why Bess Hillyer, strong as she was, always shuddered now at sight of that mortuary spot, and passed it with averted face. Certain memories, more dreadful than I ashes of dead men, rose there to con" front her. This morning, she turned aside before reaching the tomb, and, with the solemn purpose of avoiding it, left the highway for the wilder path along the cliffs. Once she stopped on a beetling headland, and looked off upon the immensity of violet-green Atlantic. How she loved it! Bess had entered life upon the sea. The graves of both father ' and mother were in these beryl-tinted gulfs. Again and again she had sailed around the world with that same father; his cabin had been the home of her childhood?his charts and coml passes and books of navigation the objects of her earliest interest Shipwreck, hair-breadth escapes and perilous watches she had shared with him? had been his companion and helper always, "Bless the girl!" Captain John Hill yer had been wont to say. "She's good at everything?from sailing a ship to making her own little gowns." As Bess stood now, looking out on the vast expanse of waves, memories * 1? "1 rlavc tha f fPP ?T1rc1 OI llltr UIU lUllllg , ? life of her childhood rushed upon her? filled her eyes with tears. She thought of that last dreadful voyage, when she had brought the old ship, masterless, into port, and taken her small patrimony and her aching heart to Uncle Caleb's cottage, there to abide, like some bird whose flights were over? whose wings had been suddenly clipped. "Dear, beautiful sea!" murmured Bess, kissing her hand to the long leagues of sparkle and foam. "I have loved you all my life?I shall love you till I die." Then she continued her tramp to the village. The ribbons desired by Rose were found in a tiny shop kept in one of the cottages; after which Bess started ^ for the postofflce in Ira Berry's gro' eery. "Somebody's a-writing to you from Boston. Miss Hillyer." said Captain Ira: and he passed her a letter sealed with a crest, and exhaling a faint odor of violets. It bore the postmark of the city he had mentioned, and was addressed in a strange hand to Elizabeth Hillyer. Bess took it with a thrill of curiosity. She did not know?had never known?a single person in Boston. As he stepped from the grocery door, intent upon studying the writing on the ?nvelope. she came face to face with Jack Harold. He was red as a lobster, and decidedly out of breath?as though he had been pursuing something from afar. "You are going home," he stammered. "Permit me to walk with you. Miss Hillyer." "Thank you?no," she answered, in her plain, honest way. "I wish to be alone. I have received a letter, which I am curious to read." He looked disappointed. "I will not speak a word to disturb you. Is your letter from a very dear friend?" with a ring of jealousy in his voice. "I have no very dear friends, Mr. Harold. Pardon. I fear you would disturb me, however silent you might keep." | 4- 4* 4* 4- 4* 4- 4- 4- 4* 4*4* 4t ? v~-^~" J W. PIERCE. J ^ ^ *f^ ^ ^ He changed color. "But there's something I must say" ?he began, then stopped. It was Jack's miufrwtiina that his POIime-A alft'flVS failed in the presence of the sailor girl. He was keen enough to see that she had not the smallest suspicion of his passion. "Then say it, please," she answered, with a resigned air, "and let me go my | way." "Not here!" faltered Harold. "Take me along the cliffs with you. I am jealous of that letter, which is so important that I must be dismissed without a word. From whom does it come?" "I do not know," scanning the postmark again. "My mother had kindred in Massachusetts?yes, in Boston; but they are strangers to me, and, I dare say, do not know that I exist." "Perhaps some absent cape lad has taken it into his head to attempt a correspondence." suggested Harold, with forood lierhtness. "I know few cape lads," she replied, somewhat coldly, "and none who would presume to write to me." She hurried off down the street. He followed, growing desperate as it became evident that she meant to leave him. "One moment!" he panted, just at her shoulder. "Since you'll give me no better chance, I must tell you as best I can. I'm awfully in love with you, Miss Hillyer! Don't answer me now," as she turned upon him a look of blank astonishment: "think of it a little, and tonight I will come to the fishhouse dt nee. I will see you there." He was gone before she could open hor iinu Thmie-h hp had visited at the cove for weeks, she had never regarded him as a possible lover. Bess Hillyen's fancy did not "Lightly turn to thoughts of love." More surprised than pleased, she set her face toward home. Soon the small village was left behind her. She took the cliff path, and there, in a little hollow, with no living thing to behold her, save a lonely crow flying over the windy waste, she opened the strange letter, and read as follow: "A few years ago, in searching the genealogy of the Bllicott's, I discovered your existence. Without much trouble I have traced you to an obscure fishing town on the coast of Maine. You are the daughter of Elizabeth Ellicott, and the grandnlece of my late husband, exGovernor Ellicott?in fact, the only person of his blood now living. I cannot say whether you know anything about your mother's family connections or not?probably not, for many years ago there were dissensions among the Ellicotts, and a younger branch drifted from the elder into poverty and obscurity, and all communication ceased betwixt the two. Your mother was an offspring of the impoverished branch. Two things only I know about you, Elizabeth?you are still young enough to educate properly, and the blood of the famous Ellicott's flows in your veins. I am a childless old woman, rich, unhappy, and without heirs. Come to me! I offer you a luxurious home, the gratification of all your future wishes, and a fortune that is reckoned 1 ? T ~ ~ nroffp on/1 uy minions. i nope juu aic picnj a>.u tractable: but even If you are neither. I shall welcome you for the sake of the Ellicott blood. I ask only that you will devote yourself to my comfort and pleasure while I live, and at my death all that I possess shall be yours. You will see that a great opportunity. is now knocking at your door. If you conclude to accept it. inform me, and I will instruct some trusty person to take you in charge and bring you directly to my house." The name and residence of the writer followed: also a postscript, in which Elizabeth Hillyer was urged to carefully consider the proposal above made, and to reply at her own convenience. Bess folded the delicate, violetscented sheet, and slipped it back into the envelope. She had never heard much about her mother's people, but the little that remained in her memory corresponded exactly with this letter. And now she was invited to leave her poverty and obscurity and become the heiress of the Ellicott millions! Without the quickening of a pulse, she went on to the cove. Twelve o'clock was striking when she reached the cottage. She gave giddy Rose her ribbons, and then, finding that nobody knew anything about Andy, she fared forth to seek him on the beach, and came back to the noon dinner, leading the poor unfortunate as though he were a child. Not a word * * 1 ' 1 ? 1 f . n A Tl'll inh aid sue say uuuui me iununc had been offered her, until Uncle Caleb arose from the table and stepped out into the porch to light his pipe. Then, beckoning to Rose, she followed him, sat down at his knee, and quietly opened and read Mrs. Elllcott's letter. Dead silence succeeded the reading. Poor Andy had flung himself down in the sun a few yards away, and, with hands clasped over his head, seemed to be dozing. It was Rose who spoke first. Scorching tears filled her eyes. Her lovely face was convulsed with those two unworthy things?envy and jealousy. "Oh!" she gasped, "why couldn't I have been born Elizabeth Ellicott's daughter and this rich woman's relative? There is nothing for me in the world?everything is for Bess! And I love ease and money, and pleasure and fine clothes, a thousand times more than Bess does. Oh?oh. you cannot go?you shall not go, Bess, and leave me here alone with I'ncle Caleb and that dreadful Andy!" She tiunp herself on the floor of the porch, and bepan to cry. with all her mipht. I'ncle Caleb dashed down his pipe indignantly. "Shame. Rose?shame, you spoiled baby! Who desarves a fortin', who desarves ease and plenty, more than Bess? Nothing would suit me better than to see her a real heiress. The place that the Lord has put her In hitherto she's managed to fill well. No doubt she'll go right on doing the same thing. 'Tween you and me, Rose, she's certain sure to suit this Mrs. | Ellicott; and as for her leaving ?i3, gracious mercy! why not? What airthly right have we to keep her, now that something better offers? We've got no claim on Bess?she's a free woman, at liberty to act for herself?as I hope she will." Rose sat up quickly, her violet eyes drowned in tears. "I know I am wicked," she mur rnured, ashamed, yet still mutinous. 1 know I ought to rejoice in Bess's good luck: but I can't?I want it myself! I want a chance?I never had one," piteously. "Mine, as you both know, crumbled like dead men's bones, before I could grasp it." "Whose fault was that?" said the old fisherman. "Uncle Caleb," interposed Bess, with calm determination, "I shall not go to Mrs. Ellicott! I will write at once and decline her offer. I cannot leave you? I cannot leave Rose and Andy. I do not see how any of you could get on without me here." "Well, I'm blessed if I stand in your way, and you my dead brother's girl!" cried Caleb, with increasing vehemence. "Why, such an opportunity will never come to vou on airth again, child!" "Never!" echoed Andy, waking suddenly, and withdrawing his hands from his head. The poor fellow had a way of repeating other people's words, Rarrot fashion, at odd times. But nobody heeded him. "I will accept nothing, Uncle Caleb, that I cannot share with you and Rose," said Bess, in a resolute voice. "You two are now my nearest and dearest. Here I stay, till you drive me from you." smiling bravely. "After all, who is this Mrs. Ellicott, that I should wish to exchange your home for hers? A stranger, and nothing to any of us?perhaps a very disagreeable person." "But think of her millions, Bess, my dear?think of her millions!" urged old Caleb. "And she is a solitary woman. You're the sort of girl to make yourself of prime importance to her. Let me see. She had a son?one, only one. "Now," pressing the tobacco thoughtfully down into the bowl of his pipe, "what was it that I heard about that 'ere son?" The two girls waited for his memorv to revive. From the beach the laugh of little waves rose softly. Andy sat in a listening attitude, with vacant eyes half closed. "I heard," continued Caleb, looking at Bess, who was his favorite, "leastwise, I read in a newspaper, two years ago, how that son died?got killed in a railroad accident. He was the last male Ellicott. 'Twas his death, I s'pose, that left the old dame without heirs." "How sad!" said Bess. "An only son!" "Yes, 'twere hard lines, sure enough. I'd like right well," wistfully, "to have you come in for that property, Bess. Why, what girl in her senses could refuse It? It's flying in the face of Providence! Mrs. Ellicott will dress you In silks and diamonds. You'll ride in your carriage, with sarvants in plenty, and when she dies you'll be rich as the Queen of Sheby." At this graphic picture Rose uttered a fresh cry of envious misery. "I will kill myself, Bess," she hissed through her little, white teeth, "if such splendid things fall to your lot, and I have nothing. I am prettier than you ?T oin v/rwun cor hv a VPar. No. no. VOU could not be so cruel as to accept riches and happiness, and leave me here at Hillyer's Cove, to bear my burdens alone?to eat my heart out!" Was there no struggle In Bess Hillyer's mind at that moment? She was but nineteen, and the future which the unknown Mrs. Ellicott offered her was brilliant enough to turn an older and wiser head. Could this simple Maine girl resist the enticement of it? "Go Bess!" urged Uncle Caleb, dryly. "Go, Bess!" echoed the voice of Andy Gaff. He had roused himseli a second time. Uncle Caleb laughed. "Lord! hear the poor critter! How sensible he can be at times! One would think he knew what we were talking about." Rose glanced scornfully at the inert figure, and sodden, soulless face of her husband. "He! He knows nothing. Don't go, Bess?don't listen to anyone but me. Don't break my heart!" Bess Hillyer clasped the pretty, selfish creature suddenly in her arms. "My decision is made," she said, cheerfully. "You need say no more, Rose. I will never leave you while you and yours need me. I will not be bought. It shall be you to whom I devote my future, not a strange, rich woman. who has no claim whatever upon me. I belong to you, and to poor Andy." "How good you are!" said Rose, smiling through her tears. "You always find self-sacrifice easy. Perhaps you are quite as happy here as you would be with Mrs. Ellicott." "Very probable." "Will you let me take that grand dame's letter in my own hands?" purred Rose?"let me keep it till you write the answer?" Bess laughed. "What! you mistrust me, silly Rose? You fear that I am 6ecretly longing for *"* ' - f Hint T m o \r vof me nesnpots m r^gyiJi?ma.?. * n.a..r J-change my mind? Be at ease. If you like, you shall help to write my answer to Mis. Ellicott." She put the letter in Rose's hand. The younger girl turned it over in helpless fascination. "Oh," she sighed, "it is dreadful, after ail, to let so much money escape one's grasp! How I wish that you were Rose, and I were Bess! I know what my answer would then be! You might all go down on your knees to me?you might die together, and I would walk over your dead bodies to clutch this Ellicott fortune. Yes, indeed!" with a shrill little laugh. "See how wicked I am?what a contrast to dear Bess!" The sailor girl looked earnestly, pityingly into Rose's flushed, feverish face. "If it were possible, poor child," she said, gravely. "I would transfer this great chance to you. You sh >uld be Wocc nnri I would be Rose." "Do you ruean it?really?" Rose cried, with a queer gleam in her lovely eyes. "Indeed I do. But you are not of the Edicott blood?you would not be accepted in my stead." Her eager face fell. "I know. Oh, the pity of it! And if you do not take the money, Bess, to whom will it go?" "I do not know; and why should I care?" replied Bess. "Let us not bother ourselves further about Mrs. Elllcott or her fortune." "It's a heap to lose!" grumbled Uncle Caleb. Rose crushed the letter In her two pink palms, and so holding It, fled lnj to the house, and up the stair to the little room which she shared with Bess under the eaves. And as she went her eyes burned like stars, her heart beat inadly, a strange, wicked purpose took form and life In her quick brain. ^ nAoalKIa " cho milttprAd. xl 11 *? ul c i/voiaik/iv, uiiv , "Bess would transfer to me this offerl of a fortune! Oh! oh! can such a thing be made possible?" CHAPTER XV. The Fishhouse Dance. The moon was rising above the gray, gloomy sea. A heavy surf broke on the beach, filling the air with a briny mist, very detrimental to Rose Gaffs muslin gown and new ribbons, as she daintily picked her way, in the wake of Uncle Caleb and Bess Hillyer, down j the path leading to the fishhouse. The old building seemed fairly clean, but certain odors in the atmosphere be trayed its original uses. Kerosene lamps burned here and there; the j moon, too, thrust long shafts of light througrh the windows and doors. Some one had strewn the floor with beach sand. Rose looked Into the place with eager, seeking eyes. The benches ranged against the wall were already filled with maids, matrons and cape fishermen. On a win dow ledge sat the fiddler, tuning his ( jovial Instrument. Rose's fair face fell. , "He Is not here, Bess," she whls- ( pered, In keen disappointment. , "Who?" said Bess. "Why, Mr. Hume, of course. He said he would come. I promised him the first dance." And she looked ready to cry. "You foolish child! Never mind Mr. Hume. Go in and talk to those cove people?your neighbors and friends." "Those cove people!" echoed Rose, disdainfully. "I have nothing to say to them?they can say nothing to me that I wish to hear. I despise them all!" She sat down on the nearest bench, her rare, delicate beauty looking strangely out of place In such humble surroundings, and continued to watch the door. Presently the fiddle uttered a preparatory shriek. There was a rush for partners. At the same moment two blown, breathless figures appeared on the threshold of the tollhouse Rose, regardless of appearances, ran to meek ! them. "Oh, Mr. Hume, I feared you were'' not coming!" she said. "Have I kept you waiting?" Hume 1 answered, regretfully. "As usual, the wind Is blowing a gale out on the cliffs. I feared we should never reach these halls of dazzling mirth. Jack has been ' repeatedly whisked off his legs; and ' as for myself, why, there's nothing left of me worth mentioning." Neverthe-^1 less, he caught her briskly round the ( waist and whirled her Into the dance. 1 A wild rush of feet on the sanded floor, 1 a giddy swish of feminine draperies, a most unpleasant cloud of dust shaken ' out of the worm-eaten timbers by the 1 galloping dancers, and the flshhouse ' ball had fairly begun. Bess Hlllyer leaned against the wall ' and watched her cousin with anxious, < disapproving eyes. ! The young girl was flying around in |1 the arms of Hume, like a bit of thistle 1 down. A soft pink palpitated in her l oval cheek; her yellow hair clung in f disheveled rings to her white forehead; her dark eyes shone languorously. I "You are among these cape folks," ' said Hume, Involuntarily, "but not of < them." She gave him a grateful look. ! "Quite true. You, at least, under- 1 stand me. At times I am mad to es- < cape from my life here. I long to run ' away, and leave everything. Would I 1 be justified in doing so. do you think?" i He was a little startled by the earn- i estness of her tone. < "Oh, now you jest!" he answered. "You could not run away from your ' uncle and Miss Hillyer and?yourhus- I band." 1 She heaved a great sigh, but did not i answer. Her golden head reached Just j to his shoulder: his arm clasped her. i both hearts beat high. Hume danced < well on all occasions, and with this < girl in his embrace, how could he do I otherwise than surpass himself? She i was as light as air, as soft as velvet. Her beauty, even while it left his heart ! unmoved, intoxicated him like wine, i Bess might watch the pair indignantly 1 ?might make ineffectual signs for | them to stop?neither heeded her. i The fiddle struck up a merry waits. 1 In the midst of it something dropped , from a little velvet chatelaine bag which Rose wore at ,ier side?a letter, i scented with violets. As Hume picked ] it up he glanced involuntarily at the | address. Where had he seen that writ ing before? With a frightened cry, ] Rose snatched the envelope away. "Oh, it was foolish of me to fetch it here." she said. "It belongs to Bess? it holds her fortune. Don't stare. I mean it. There really is a fortune ' folded in this bit of paper, and Bess > has only to put out her hand and taKe 1 it." "Wonderful!" smiled Hume, never ' dreaming that the fortune of which i she spoke had once been offered to himself. 1 "Tonight," said Rose, "I am playing 1 that Ress is in my place, and I In ? hers. Being dreadfully envious of her 1 good luck, I am making believe, as children say, that it is mine for a ' time. But," with a faint grimace, "it is unsatisfactory business." "I should think so." he answered. > She had once reproved him sharply for his curiosity. He ventured no I questions, and she did not seem inclin- < ed to make explanations. She pushed the letter back into the chatelaine bag, I and the waltz went on. Meanwhile Jack Harold had made his way to the bench whereon the sailor girl sat. I "Heavens!" he grumbled, "what ca- < perlng! And this dust of many generations, mingled with the oily odors j of long-dead fish?how good it is for one! I am quite choked. Come outside, Miss Hillyer, where we can 1 breathe." With a start she remembered the i words that he had said to her at tne postofflce. Unresisting, he drew her to the door and out into the moonlight. 1 There she paused, confronting the Inevitable In the form of Harold and his 1 spectacles < "Miss Hillyer," he began, "what I said to you this morning I repeat tonight?I love you! Have I sought an answer too soon? Would you like a longer time to consider"? "No, no," she interrupted, hastily; "I have had time enough." There were tears in her dark eyes as she looked at him. "Mr. Harold, I am very, very sorry!" "You mean that you do not love me?" apprehensively. mere was no coquetry m ccsa ?iiiyer"s nature. She nodded promptly. As she stood there In that rain of moonlight, she seemed to Harold as sweet and strong as the balsam firs of her native coast. "Don't take It to heart." she pleaded; "there are many women '.n the world? your world, which Is very far removed from that of Cape Desolation?lovelier, more attractive women than I, you know. "I know nothing of the kind?I believe nothing of the kind!" he answered, vehemently; and in spite of his insignificant figure and spectacled eyes he looked really tragic. "Miss Hillyer ?Bess! Let me ask you one question: Do you care?have you ever cared for any other man?" Was It the moonlight, or did her brave young face grow suddenly pale? "Yes," she answered, sadly but firmly. There was a moment of astonished silence. "Pardon me," stammered Harold. "I try In vain to think of a probable rival. Who, amongst the natives of this cape, could have won your heart?" "It is "hot necessary for you to know anything further," she replied, with quiet dignity. "I answered your question, simply to show you the hopelessness of your own case." He held out his hand. "Goodby." Miss Hillyer?If Hume asks for me, tell him that I was obliged to go home." "Good-by," she answered, gravely. The next Instant she was alone. To bo Continued. MECHANICAL VIOLIN PLAYER. Rftnlam the Human biwki v-mpyn??v Fingers on the Strings. Kubellk is reported as having listensd with astonishment and chagrin to the new automatic player on exhibition during his lar-t visit to Chicago, says the Literary Digest. "They have sven stolen my fingering!" he exclaimed. La Nature (Paris), which relates this incident, reflects on the likelihood ft the new device's supplanting the jiuman performers and reducing our Colin virtuosos to the ranks of the unemployed. It describes the new indention and comments on it as follows: "The violin is hidden in a cas; that resembles, in a general way, that of x typewriter, being fitted with a keyboard. The key?, which are actuated by electro-magnets, replace the fingers )t the violinist's left hand. They touch the strings of the instrument at determinate points, and modify, according to the requirements of the piece, to be >xecuted, the number and intensity of Lhe vibrations impressed on the strings by the automatic bow. "This bow is formed of movable iisks on nivots. whose movements are price of 6,000 francs (J 1,200) will repei, it least for some time, the givers of rustic entertainments." Hats Off to This Girl. Since women have entered the business world like a tidal wave, there Is i good deal of questioning going on as to how they are treated. Half of them complain that men are rud?. The others declare that all men ire angels of politeness. Some clever people have been trying to sum up the situation, and they believe that the girl to whom "hats are iff" In the business world, is the one iv ho: Doesn't wear clothes that attract unpleasant attention. Doesn't ogle every man she meets when she is asking him a business question. Doesn't put paint and powder on her face instead of plenty of water and cold cream. Doesn't think it Is clever to use the latest slang. Doesn't let men call her at any time without the prefix "Miss." Doesn't make Intimates in tne commercial world, but Is courteous to every one. Doesn't listen to gossip and private affairs and doesn't tell any of hers. Doesn't expect every man to wait on her and take the time to listen to her love affairs. Doesn't say a man is rude merely because he Is abrupt. Boy saving by proxy Is usually a failure. W A Japanese man, who claims to be 170 years old, Is said to be the oldest man in the world. letermined by electro-magnets. A small electric motor, inside the case, furnishes the power. Finally, flexible t>ands, similar to those of a mechanical [flano player, are used to direct the iction of this steel Paganlni. "The execution is not displeasing to those who have heard the automatic virtuoso execute its music, whether classical or popular. "It must not be supposed that the instrument is content with imitation? with repetition by note. No; it exsccutes with both nicety and verve. It puts Its whole soul' into its music. It raries Its effects in an astonisning manner, and renders the slightest nuances of the cnmnoser. It executes saslly the most difficult passages. "Finally, it has this enormous advantage over the human violinist?it has at its disposal, we may say, an unlimited number of fingers, which it can use all at once. It can thus play both air and accompaniment at the same time. It goes even further since it executes duets on one instrument and with as much harmony and volume of tone as if two violinists were playing together. It may be understood that professionals have welcomed such a rival as this with a vague feeling of disquiet. The organizers of chamber concerts hail with enthusiasm the advent of this [iocile executant. In the hope that It will lower the present fantastic prices if professional violinists! "But the hour has not come when the humble country fiddler will find himself supplanted by the virtuoso; its ittiscellanrmts grading. MOSQUITO EXTERMINATION. Surgeon General Wyman Gives Some Timely Advice. Surgeon General Wyman, of the public health and marine hospital service, is giving some timely advice on the subject of the prevention and destruction of the mosquito. He considers this one of the most important matters that could come before the people of the country at this time, and urgently begs them to heed his advice. The habit of the mosquito in feeding on the blood of man and other animals, the surgeon general says, the Irritating character of Its bite and the more or less vague suspicion that it is connected In some way with the propagation of disease have always given the mosquito a certain and economic significance. But the demonstration of recent years of the essential part played by this insect in the propagation of filariasls, (elephantiasis,) malaria, yellow fever and dengue?diseases which annually cause much human suffering and many deaths and. Incidentally, an economic 'ooo n?\r\ollinty fn nAntamnlo ho Q civ en great economic and sanitary importance to the problem of its extermination. The chief of the mosquito tribe, and really the bad fellow of the bunch, Is the stegomyia calopus?the yellow fever breeder?and he is not only to be avoided but slain without compunction. There are other varieties, all of them bad, of course, but that just mentioned is the worst of all, and usually where if is found trouble of a serious nature Is to be looked for. The adult Insect may be carried to considerable distances by winds, but on its own wings it does not ordinarily travel outside of a radius of half a mile from its breeding place. This means that the destruction of all breeding places within this radius of a habitation will practically rid it of all but those mosquitoes which filter in or are brought In by the winds from more or less distant marshes. The "wiggletail" is the larvae of the mosquito in the pupal stage. They never breed In damp grass, weeds or bushes, as has been popularly supposed, but only hide in them during the day. They delight to live in old tin cans, bottles and broken crockery, and in the garbage heap; In buckets, tubs, barrels, cisterns and welis; in flower pots and sagging roof gutters: in street and roadside puddles; In ditches, cesspools and sewers. As long as people will continue to have these convenient lodging places near them, just so long will the mosquito be found. Tho mnamiitn ts. somethlner of an epicure. While Its general food consists of vegetable Juices, unfortunately the female In many cases has developed a taste for human blood, and Indeed a feed of human blood has become Indispensable to some of these for full development of their eggs. After the female has obtained her feed of blood she soon?from a day or two to a week or ten days?seeks a suitable breeding place; here she deposits a variable number of eggs, which depending upon the species, either float separately upon their sides or up-ended and adhering together In Irregular raft-like masses. In a day or two one may look for the "wlggletail." The real work of extermination should then begin If nothing has previously been done, for the "wlggletail" develops rapidly and in a short time the genuine mosquito Is on hand. J - * - M i.AUMtAA1l?lAa flAnaral Stripped OI an in-nniuaiuica, uciiciiu Wyman has made plain Just how every person may exterminate the mosquito, or at least help to do so. Natural collections of water which do or may serve as breeding places should be drained. Where cisterns or tanks are used they should be provided with covers and they should be Inspected frequently to see, If wood, that 3eams are not opened up and cracks formed. Cesspools and vaults should be done away with by providing dry earth closets or a sewerage system. But above all, premises should be kept clean of old bottles, old buckets and anything that will hold the next rainfall. More may be effectively done to make the home clean and healthful by this means than perhaps any other. Then when old bottles, tubs and buckets are collected, do not carelessly throw them over the fence into the now int hut hnvp them hauled off and see to It that they are burned. In that way alone will effective work be done," says General Wyman. "There are many other ways that an effective crusade may be wag-ed against the mosquito, but the first work must begin at home. The time is now approaching when every precaution possible should be taken to see that mos- : quitoes not only do not thrive, but are not even allowed to get into the "wlggletail" stage. "Begin work now." General Wyman ' says, "and don't stop working." CATACOMBS MINED FOR GOLD. i ~ Wk.ro Stand urcwsumc ummimwvi ? Skeletons of Mexico's Dead. The famous catacombs of Guanajuato must yield their dead in order that the gold and silver which lie underneath the underground chambers may be obtained by enterprising Americans, says a dispatch from that place to the New York Press. It was while workmen were excavating for the foundation of the new station of the Mexican Central railroad here a short time ago that a blast uncovered a vein of gold and silver ore of great richness. Two Americans, VV. S. Davis and Elisha Moore, immediately acquired title to the promising mining claim. They traced the vein from the point where it was uncovered in the catacombs and thence down the hill and through the city park, which is situated in the heart of the city. In or der to get out the ore the American owners of this claim will have to con- j duct mining operations throughout the length of the ve'in. The storehouse of 1 the dead will have to be disturbed, and mining carried on in the heart of the city. The long and narrow underground chamber in which many skeletons of i the more distinguished dead are kept i standing long has been one of the most grewsome sights in Mexico. These skeletons were naked until a few years ago, when the municipal authorities decided that their appearances would be 1 improved by draping their bony forms , with a semblance of clothes. The effect of clothing the mummies is to add to the grewsome spectacle rather than to diminish it. At the far end of the chamber is a great pile of human bones taken from the catacombs above and thrown indiscriminately together. Many hair-raising t^Jes are told of this chamber of standing mummies. According to one story, which is now little more than a legend, an American of San Antonio, Tex., who had been to the city of Mexico on a trading expedition during the time that Mexico was carrying on a war against the French Invaders, was attacked by a band of robbers near Guanajuato. He carried a large sum of money, and this was taken from him. His captors believed that he was in some way identified with the French cause, and, in order to bring about his death through terrible torture, instead of killing him outright, they threw him into the chamber of the dead. It is related that the depositing of a body in the vault five days later led to his discovery and rescue. He was insane. His terrible experience had been more than his mind could endure. A FARM WHOSE CROP IS TIMBER. There Are Lands That Will Bring Better Results In This Than Other Things. In every state of the Union there are many tracts of so-called agricultural land, which, owing to their hilly character, poor soli, or numerous boulders, are not suitable for farming. The owners of such tracts are of the spruce, and it is expected that they will begin to come in bearing when the last spruce is cut. In addition to the spruce, hardy catalpa, black locust, elm, boxelder, and sycamore have been planted. It is planned to put the entire sixty acres in forest within five or six years. The owner is wise in planting several kinds of trees Instead of confining himself to one species. His forest will be producing six or seven kinds of lumber, chestnuts. and Christmas trees, at the same time.?The Forester. RECKLESS AARON BURR. The Dramatic Story of His Marriage In Old Age. The story of Aaron Burr's marriage In his old age to the widow of Stephen Ji'mel, who was well known In the early history of New York city, is a dramatic one. Conceive, if you will, the picture of Burr, gifted adventurer that he was, broken in health, branded in the popular mind as the murderer of Alexander Hamilton and returning from a long exile to find himself an outcast in tha city where he had once been the political monarch of all he surveyed and a distinguished figure in society and at the bar. Conceive, if you can, this lamentable old man, smirking through his wrinkles, bowing and prancing rather stiffly because of his rheumatic joints and with his mouth run or pretty piauiuaes, paying t-uun to the widow of Stephen Jumel, herself in the prime of years and health. Remove from the picture its surface incongruities, and you have a bit of pure pathos unequaled in the annals nf foolish great men. But something of his old time power to charm the gentler sex must have stood by him In his years of mental and physical misery, for in this suit for the widow Jumel's hand and fortune he won gloriously, dramatically. Rebuffed repeatedly, Burr finally declared in passionate rage that on a given day he would arrive at the Jumel mansion accompanied by a clergyman, who wouldl marry them on the spot. He would give his prospec tive bride no quarter, no chance of escape from the inevitable. She was amused at the threat and dismissed the old man with more than her usual coldness of demeanor. Burr stuck to his avowal and one July day rolled up in a carriage, and with him was a minister, the same who fifty years before performed the marriage ceremony for Burr and the mother of his daughter, the beautiful Theodosia. There was something of a scene in the old house on this day. There were tears of anger on the part of Burr. Relatives remonstrated; Burr remained immovable. All feared a scandal. The minister, book in hand, stood unobtrusively in the background. There were more tears, more declarations of undying love and tne widow Jumel became Mrs. Aaron Burr. They were married in the great drawing room of the Jumel mansion. Burr squandered with reckless hand the wealth acquired by Stephen Jumel and left for the enjoyment ' of his marital partner. There were many bitter quarrels between the ill mated pair, and they were soon divorced. Burr died in 1836, but madam lived until 1865, dying a recluse and a miser, the money received from the Jumel estate hoarded in an unused chamber. ten at a loss to know what to do with them. Without question, the best use to which land of this kind can be put is to plant It with trees. One of the fundamental principles of forest economics Is. that soil which is not good enough to make the growing of cereal crops profitable should be devoted to the production of wood crops. This does not mean that trees grow better on poor soil than on fertile soil. They will, of course, grow better on fertile soil. But, in proportion to the money Invested, better returns are secured from trees planted on the less valuable land. Most of the cone-bearing trees, and many hardwoods as well, will thrive in soil of medium fertility. All trees, however, do not thrive on poor, sandy ridges, or on hillsides where the soil Is thin. Black walnut, hardy catalpa, and white oak, for their best development, require a deep, ft i tile soil, well watered and well drained, and It la not advisable to plant them where these requirements are not met. An Ohio farmer Is solving the problem of what to do with the worn-out farm. He owns an old homestead of sixty acres, which he Is desirous of keeping in the family. He does not live on the place, however, and farming has been a losing proposition. He has, therefore decided to plant the entire tract with trees. He has already planted 35,000 Norway spruce, set three and one-half feet apart each way, on an area of about eleven acres. These trees will be cut, as they become large enough, .for Christmas trees. Chestnut seedlings will be planted in the spaces left by the removal of WATSON ATTACK8 MR. BRYAN. Populiat Candidate For President Opena Campaign at Macon. Thomas E. Watson, Populist candidate for president, opened his campaign in Macon, Ga, last Thursday night in a speech of one hour to an audience that taxed the capacity of the Grand opera house. He asked for Georgia's electoral vote and said that rt ucii u ioj/i cncuv!) mc vjuiintiniiiuun convictions of him who casts it You are asked to vote for Mr. Bryan, and yet Mr. Bryan's platform is one which Andrew Jackson would have spurned, and Thomas Jefferson despised. It represents a disgraceful surrender of principle. In 1896, Mr. Bryan claimed to be as good a Populist as Watson. For eight years he wore every shred of clothing which Populism had in its wardrobe. In 1904 he abandoned his Populist raiment and entered zealously into the Parker campaign, which he himself had denounced as a sell-out to the Wall street element of the Democratic party. In excuse of his political apostacy in 1904, he pleaded the majority rule, claiming that as a party man it was necessary for him to bow to its will. But that excuse no longer avails. In Denver he was absolutely in despotic control of the Democratic party. Whatever he wanted done, was done. Whoever he wanted thrown out was bounced. The platform is just what he made It, and that platform is one of the most shameful abandonments of principle that political history presents. The man who in 1896 declared his unalterable opposition to the single gold standard is now a hero of the gold standardites. The man who in 1896 proclaimed the eternal opposition to the national banking system Is now offering props to Insure the permanence of the system. The man who In 1896 professed to be In favor of our constitutional money system has gone over to Wall street, bag and baggage, clamoring for asset currency to be issued by the government and loaned to the banks, with only the faintest possible word of rebuke to those who passed the infamous Aldrich-Vreeland bilL. This Denver platform is not a Democratic platform, unless the mere sayso of William J. Bryan constitutes Democracy. What right has he to demand the support of those citizens who are Democratic in principle, upon such a platform as this? And particularly, what right has he to expect the support of the south? Upon one principle alone can he hope to get it and that Is upon the idea that the south is compelled to vote the Democratic ticket, no matter how offensive in principle the platform may be, nor how much the candidate may Insult Vint* I can understand how southern Democracy may come along' and vote for Bryan, Just as it has swallowed many a bitter dose In the past There appears to be a charm about the name "Democratic" which takes away from southern people their Intelligence, their Independence, their pride. The Democratic party, In one of Its national conventions, declared that It adored the fourteenth amendment Yet the south made no protest at language which should have made every drop of her blood tingle with infinite indignation. The Democratic party has compelled the south to vote for candidates who practice social equality with negroes, and the south reeled blindly, Into the attitude of pitiable humiliation. Mr. Bryan understands the helplessness of the south and exploits it to the very utmost. From the southern states he must draw 156 of the 242 electoral VUltrs illttl air iirucmai | nii3 oui-uvon, and yet he has treated the southern states as a purely negligible quantity. In return for her 156 electoral votes she gets nothing?absolutely nothing. The platform recognizes no interest of hers. But Is the south going to tolerate that line of conduct? Will she not demand of Mr. Bryan that he be as friendly to her as Mr. Roosevelt and Mr. Taft have been? Why should the south be a friend of a man who is afraid to speak out on her side? The platform upon which I stand represents the Democracy of Jefferson and Jackson, applied to modem conditions. Put into law, It would give back to our country the prosperity it enjoyed In the decade preceding the civil war. If the south will follow me in this campaign, revolting against the odious conditions under which she is expected to serve Mr. Bryan, she will at once resume her old place In the sisterhood of sections. She has no Importance now, politically, because she has no Independence. Being- a Democratic asset, which can be counted on with certainty, nobody regards her, pays any attention to her interests, or thinks of her feelings. Let the south become politically uncertain, and she will again become politically great. **" Coal keeps best under sea water. ii necessary ne wouia give mem iu Bryan to defeat Taft. His assaults were all directed at Bryan, however, and his praises were for Roosevelt and Taft. His charge against Bryan of refusing to vote for Crisp for speaker In the Democratic caucus because of his being a Confederate was heard In silence, but his attack on the Nebraskan for his attitude in giving the negroes comfort in the Brownsville matter was repeatedly applauded. Mr. Watson spoke as follows: The greatest purpose of my life now Is to put the south back Into the position of national influence which she held before the civil war, and to bring back the reign of Democratic principles as they were practiced In the 40's and 50'8. The greatest obstacle In the way Is the apathy of the south itself. If the southern people would arouse themselves they could easily throw off the domination of the eastern capitalist, who exploits the southern states through the machinery of the Democratic party. You call voiirselvea T"W>mr,r>r<ifa?An. drew Jackson Democrats?Thomas Jefferson Democrats?and you have never stopped to inquire what are the principles for which Andrew Jackson and Thomas Jefferson stood. You allow ' your editors to do your thinking for you. You allow your partisan leaders to dictate convictions for you. For God's sake, rouse yourselves; assert your individuality, and vote according to the dictates of your own conscience. No ballot is thrown away Xlf Vx An I SArtMkaAnia *Un