Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, August 13, 1902, Image 1
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established 1855. YORKYILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, AXJGUST 13, 1902. NO. 65.
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V
By 8IR WALr
Copyright, 1900, by Sir Walter Beasant.
^ - CHAPTER III.
OREAT NEWS FOR LYNN.
II^jm N the evening of the day
EH* I before I was to sail
Wf: . -1 . Vstipuiiu VIVWI* auu *
JIL were vva'^lng through
the narrow street they
call State lane Into the
great market place,
" where stands the
Crown Inn. The room appropriated to
the Society of Lynn, which met every
evening all the year round, was that
on the ground floor looking upon the
market place.
The society or club, which is never
dissolved, consists of the notables or
better sort of the town, the vicar of St.
Margaret's, the curate of St. Nicholas',
the master of the school, my own father,
Captain Crowle and other retired
captains, the doctor, some of the more
substantial merchants, with the mayor,
lome of the aldermen, the town clerk
and a justice of the peace or two. This
evening most of these gentlemen were
already present.
Captain Crowle saluted the company
^ and took his seat at the head of the
table. "Gentlemen," he said. "I wish
you all a pleasant evening. I have
brought with me my young friend.
Jack Pentecrosse? you all know Jack?
the worthy son of his worthy father.
He will take a glass with us. Sit down
beside me. Jack."
"With the permission of the society."
1 said.
Most of the gentlemen had already
before them their pipes and their tobacco.
Some had ordered their drink?
a pint of port for one. a Brown Geosge
full of old ale for another, a flask of
caDary for n third, and so on. But the
captain, looking round the room, beckoned
to the girl who waited. "Jenny,"
^ he said, "uobody calls for anything tonight
except myself. Gentlemen, It
tnust l>e a bowl or half a dozen bowls.
Tell your mistress, Jenny, a bowl of
the biggest and the strongest and the
mwum of T* nt,
sweetest. Gentlemen, you will drink
with mo to the next voyage of the Lady
of Lynn."
But then a thing happened. News
came which drove all thoughts of the
Bady of Lynn out of everybody's mindThat
toast was forgotten.
The newB was brought by the doctor,
who was the last to arrive.
Doctor Worship was a person who
" habitually carried himself with dignity.
"Gentlemen." The doctor laid his
hat upon the table and bis cane beside
It. Then he took his chair, adjusted
his wig. put on bis spectacles,
and then, laying bis hand upon the
arms of the chair, he once more looked
around the room, and all this in the
most important, dignified, provoking.
Interesting manner possible. "Gentlemen.
I have news for you."
Captain Crowle made answer, speaking
in the name of the society. "Sir.
we await your pleasure."
"My news, gentlemen, is of a startling
character. 1 will epitomize or
abbreviate It. In a word, therefore,
we are all about to become rich. All
w you who have houses or property In
this town, all who are concerned In
the trade of the town, all who direct
the Industries of the people or take
care of the health of the residents,
will become, I say, rich."
The doctor pulled out a poeketbook
from which he extracted a letter. "I
have received." be went on. "a letter
from a townsman, the young man
uamed Samuel Semple? Samuel Sempie,"
he repeated, with emphasis, be
cause a jook or uisuppoiuimeui ieu
upon every face.
"Saru Semple!" growled the captain.
"Once I broke my stick across bis
back." He did not, however, explain
why he had done so. "I wish I had
broken two. What has Sara Seuiple
to do with the prosperity of the town?"
"Mr. Sara Semple." the doctor continued.
with emphasis on the prefix,
to which Indeed the poet was uot entitled
In his native town, "doth not ask
for help. lie Is not starving; he is
prosperous; he has gained the friendshin
or the patrouage of certain per
f sons
of quality. This Is the reward of
genius. Let us forget that he was the
sou of a custom house servant, and let
us admit that he proved unequal to the
duties, for which he was unfitted, of a
clerk. He has now risen. We will
welcome one whose name will in the
future add luster to our town."
The vicar shook his head. "Trash!"
he murmured. "Trash!"
' "Well, gentlemen, 1 will proceed to
read the letter."
rER I* EH A INT.
He unfolded It and began with a
sonorous bum:
"'Honored sir.'" He repeated the
words. " 'Honored sir.' The letter, gentlemen,
Is addressed to myself?ahem,
to myself. *1 have recently beard of a
discovery which will probably affect
in a manner so vital the Interests of
my beloved native town that 1 feel It
my duty to communicate the fact to
you without delay. I do so to you
rather than to my esteemed patron,
the worshipful the mayor, once my
master, or to Captain Crowle or to
any of those who subscribed for my
volume of miscellany poems, because
the matter especially and peculiarly
concerns yourself as a physician and as
the fortunate owner of the spring or
Tell which Is the subject of the disjovery.'
The subject of the discovery,
gentlemen. My well?mine." He
went on: "'You are aware as a master
in the science of medicine that the
curative properties of various spas or
springs In the country?the names of
Itath. Tunbrldge Wells and Epsom are
familiar to you; so doubtless are those
_ C tt? A nn/1 C?4- maa
Ui nuufpsitau auu oi. vuauo, ucaici
London. It now appears that a certain
learned physician, having reason
to believe that similar waters exist, as
yet unsuspected, at King's Lynn, has
procured a jar of the water from your
own well?that In your garden'?my
well, gentlemen, In my own garden?
'and, having subjected It to a rigorous
examination, has discovered that It
contains to a much higher degree than
any other well hitherto known to exist
in tliis country qualities or ingredients
held in solution which make this water
sovereign for the cure of rheumatism,
asthma, gout and all disorders due to
ill humors or vapors, concerning which
I am not competent so much as to
speak to one of your learning and
skill.
" This discovery hath already been
announced in the public journals. 1
send you an extract containing the
news.' I read this extract, gentlemen."
It was n slip of printed paper cut
from one of the diurnals of London:
"'It has been discovered that at
King's Lynn, In the county of Norfolk,
there exists a deep well of clear water
whose properties, hitherto undiscovered.
form a sovereign specific for rheumatism
and many similar disorders.
Our physicians have already begun to
recommend the place as a spa. and It is
understood that some have already resolved
upon betaking themselves to
this newly discovered cure. The distance
from London is no greater than
that of Bath. The roads, it is true, are
not so good, but nt Cambridge it Is possible
for those who do not travel in
their own carriages to proceed by way
of barge or tilt boat down tlie cam ana
tbe Ouse a distance of only 40 miles,
wblcb in the summer should prove a
pleasaut journey.'
"So far." tbe doctor informed us, "for
the printed intelligence. I now proceed
to finish the letter: 'Among others, my
patron, the right honorable tbe Earl of
Fylingdale. has been recommended by
bis physician to try the newly discovered
waters of Lynn as a preventive of
gout, lie is a gentleman of the highest,
rank, fashion and wealth, who honors |
me with bis confidence. It is possible
that be may even allow me to accompany
blm on his Journey. Should be do
so I shall look forward to the honor of
paying my respects to my former patrons.
He tells ute that other persous
of distinction are also going to tbe
same place, with the same object, during
the coming summer.'
"You hoar, gentlemen?" said the doctor.
looking round. "What did I say?
Wealth for all?for all. So. Let me continue:
'Sir. I would with the greatest
submission venture to point out the
importance of this event to the towi
The nobility and gentry of tbe neig
borhood should be Immediately made
acquainted with this great discovery.
It may be expected that there will be
such a concourse flocking to Lynn as
will bring an accession of wealth as
well as fame to tbe borough of which I
am a humble native. I would also submit
that the visitors should find LynD
provided with the amusements necessary
for a spa. I mean music, tbe as
sembly. a pumprooin, a garden, the
ball and the masquerade and the cardroom.
clean lodgings, good wine and
fish, flesh and fowl In abundance. 1
humbly ask forgiveness for these suggestions.
and 1 have the honor to remain.
honored sir. your most obedient
humble servant, with my grateful service
to all the gentlemen who subscribed
to my verses and thereby provided
me with a ladder up which to rise.
" 'Samuel Semple.' "
At this moment the bowl of punch
was brought In and placed before the
captain, with a tray of glasses. The
doctor folded his letter, replaced It in
his pucketbook and took off bis spectacles.
"Gentlemen, you have heard my
news. Captain Crowle. may I request
that you permit the society to anna
with me to the prosperity of the spa?
the prosperity of the spa?the spa of
Lynn?"
"Let us drink It," said the captain,
"to the newly discovered spa. But this
Samuel: the name sticks."
"We must have a committee to prepare
for the accommodation of the visitors."
"We must put up a pumproom."
"We must engage a dipper."
"We must make walks across the
fields."
"There must be an assembly, with
music and dancing."
"There must be a cardroom."
"There must be a long room for those
who wish to walk about and to converse.
with an orchestra."
"1 will put up the pumproom," said
the doctor, "in my garden over the
well." The
captain looked on meanwhile,
whispering in my ear from time to
time. "Samuel is a liar," he said. "I
know him to be a liar. Yet why should
he lie about a thing of so much impor
tance? If he tells the truth, Jack?I
know not, I misdoubt the fellow, yet
again he may tell the truth. And why
should be lie, I say? Then one knows
not?among the company we may find
a husband for the girl"
"It only remains," said the doctor,
"that 1 myself should submit the water
of my well to an examination." He
did not think it necessary to Inform the
company that he had received from
Samuel Semple an analysis of the water
stating the Ingredients and their
proportions as made by the anonymous
physician of London. "Should it prove,
of which I have little doubt, that the
wi'ter is such as has been described by
my learned brother In medicine, 1 shall
Inform you of the fact"
It was a curious coincidence, though
the committee of reception were not Informed
of the fact that the doctor's
analysis exactly agreed with that sent
to him.
It was a memorable evening. For
my own part I know not why, during
the reading of the letter my heart sank
lower and lower. It was the foreboding
of evil. Perhaps it was caused by
my knowledge of Sumucl, of whom I
will speak presently. Perhaps it was
the thought of seeing the girl whom I
loved, while yet I had no hope of winning
her, carried off by some sprig of
quality who would teach licr to despise
*r ftilnn/lfi mnotnr mnrl.
UUl 11 1UUUO, 1UV UJUUIC1 ftuuftt
ners, young and old. I know not the
reason. But It was a foreboding of
evil, and It was with a heavy heart
hat I repaired to the quay and rowed
myself back to the ship in the moonlight.
They were going to drink to the next
voyage of the Lady of Lynn. Why,
the lady herself, not her ship, was
about to embark on a voyage more perilous,
more disastrous, than that which
awaited any of her ships. Cruel as is
the ocean, I would rather trusj myself
and her to the mercies of the bay of
Biscay at its wildest than to the tenderness
of the crew who were to take
charge of that innocent and ignorant
lady.
CHAPTER IV.
- MOLLY A.VD I.
EPgT"?1T pleases me to recall
(flp> the tall form of my
B father, his bent shoulI
ders. his wig. for the
most part awry; his
round spectacles, his
thin face. In school
he was a figure of fear,
always terrible, wielding the rod of office
with Justice rhadamauthine and
demanding, with that unrelenting alternative,
things impossible in grammar.
In school hours he was a very
Jupiter, a thundering Jupiter. Our
school was an ancient hall, with an
tlitiKup rnnf In which his VOlCe I
rolled and echoed backward and forward.
As to Molly, 6be had the misfortune
to lose her father In infancy. He was
carried off, I believe, by smallpox. He
was a shipowner and general merchant
of the town and was commonly
reputed to be a man of considerable
means. At his death he bequeathed
the care of his widow and his child to
his old servant, Captain John Crowle,
who had been in the service of the
house since he was apprenticed as a
boy. He directed further that Captain
Crowle should conduct the business for
the child, who by his will was to inherit
the whole of his fortune, whatever
that might prove to be, on coming of
age after subtracting certain settlements
for his widow.
It was most fortunate for the child
that her guardlau was the most honest
person lu the world. He was a bachelor;
he was bound by ties of gratitude
to the house which he had served; he
had nothing to do and nothing to think
about except thewelfareof the child. At
19 Molly was a flue, tall girl, as strong
as any man, her arms stout and muscular,
like mine; her face rosy and ruddy
with the bloom of health, her eyes blue
and neither too large nor too small, but
fearless; her head and face large, her
hair fair and blowing about her head
with loose curls, her figure full, her
neck as white as snow, her hands large
rather than small, by reason of the rowing
and the handling of the ropes, and
by no means white. Her features were
regular and straight, her mouth not too
small, but to my eyes the most beautiful
mouth In the world, the lips full and
always ready for a smile, the teeth
white and regular; In a word, to look
at. as fine a woman?not or tue delicate
and dainty kind, but strong, tall and
full of figure?as one may wish for. As
to her disposition, she was the most
tender, affectionate, sweet soul that
could be imagined. She was always
thinking of something to please those
who loved her. She spared her mother
and worked for her guardian. She was
always working, at something. She
was always happy. She was always
singing. And never, until the captain
told her, did she have the least suspicion
that she was richer than all her
friends and neighbors-nay, than the
whole town of Lynn, with Its merchants
and shippers and traders all together.
I recall one day when Molly and I
were children. It was in the month of
December lit the afternoon and close
upon sunset. The little maid was about
8, and I was 10. We were together as
usual. We had been on the river, but
It was cold, and so we came ashore and
were walking hand In hand along the
street they call Pudding, lane, which
leads from the Common Stafh yard to
the market place. In this lane there
stands a sailors' tippling house, which
is, 1 dare say, In all respects snch a
house as sailors desire, provided and
furnished according to their wants and
wishes. As we passed, the place being
already lit up with two or three candles
in sconces, the door being wide
open and the mingled noise of fiddle,
voices and feet announcing the assemblage
of company, Molly palled me by
the band and stopped to look In. The
scene was what I have already indicated.
The revelry of the evening had
set In. Everybody was drinking. One
was dancing. The fiddler was playing
lustily.
We should have looked on for a mln*00
Mi/
ute and left them. But one of the
Bailors recognized Molly. Springing to
his feet, be made a respectful leg and
saluted the child. "Mates," he cried,
" 'tis our owner! The little lady owns
the barky. What shall we do for her?"
Then they all sprang to their feet
with a huzza for the owner and another
for the ship, and, if you will believe
it, their rough fo'c's'le hands in half a
la in ute had the child on the table In a
chair like a queen. She sat with great
dignity, understanding in some way
that these men were in her own service
and that they designed no harm or affright
to her, but only to do her honor.
Therefore she was not in any fear and
smiled graciously. For my own part, I
followed and stood at the table, thinking
that perhaps these fellows were
proposing some piratical abduction and
resolving miracles of valor If necessary.
Then they made offerings. One man
pulled a red silk handkerchief from his
neck and laid it In her lap, and another
lugged a box of sweetmeats from
his pocket. It came from Lisbon, but
was made, I believe, in Morocco by the
Moors. A, IhU'dpWtf a gold ring on his
finger?everybody knows the extrava
gancles of sailors?which he drew on
and placed in her hand. Another offered
a glass of punch. The little maid
did what she had so often seen the captain
do. She looked round and said,
"Your good health, all the company,"
and put her lips to the glass, which she
then returned. And another offered to
dance, and the fiddler drew his bow
across the catgut. It is a sound which
Inclines the heart to beat and the feet
to move whenever a sailor hears It
"I have often seen you dance," said
Molly. "Let the fiddler play, and you
shall see me dance."
I never thought she would have had
so much spirit for, you see, I had
taught her to dance the hornpipe. Every
boy in a seaport town can dance
the hornpipe. We used to make music
out of a piece of thin paper laid over a
tortoise shell comb?It must be a comb
of wide teeth, and none of them must
be broken?and with this Instead of a
fiddle we would dance In the garden or
In the parlor. But to stand up before a
whole company of sailors! Who would
have thought It? However, she Jumped
up and on the table performed her
dance with great seriousness and st
gracefully that they were all enchanted.
They stood around, their mouths
open, a broad grin on every face. The
women, neglected, huddled together In
a corner and were quite silent
When she had finished, she gathered
up her gifts?the silk handkerchief?It
came from Calicut ?the sweetmeats
from Morocco, the gold ring from I
know not where. "Put me down, If
you please," she said. So one of them
gently lifted her to the ground. "I
thank you all," she courtesied very
prettily. "I wish you good night and
when you set sail again a good voyage."
TO BE CONTINUED.
The Boy Wai Benefited.
"The other afternoon," said the maa
In the box otBce of a theater, "a boy
came to me and said, 'Are these any
good?' and I took from him two front
row seats for that ulgbt which had
been torn luto a huudred pieces or so
and then cleverly pasted together
again. 'Oh. yes. my child. But how
did this strange accident happen to the
tickets?'
"The boy replied: 'Why, papa came
home with them Inst night and showed
them to mamma, nnd he seemed to be
In such good humor somehow that
mamma thought It would be a good
time then to tell him how she owed
over $100 for provisions. She told him
of It, but he got so mad that he said
that every night now he wouldn't come
home till after 12 o'clock, and he told
me for heaven's sake when I got married
to look out for a sensible woman.
All the time mamma laughed, and he
was getting madder, and so he said she
wouldn't go to the theater with him
after that, and he tore the tickets up
and rushed out somewhere alone. H?
ain't back yet either, but mamma don'%
care. I picked up the pieces off the
carpet and pasted them together, and
If you'll exchange the tickets for matinee
ones 1 guess I'll come down on
Saturday with some other fellow and
take In the show.'
"I gave other tickets to the candid
kid, and he walked away very well
pleased with himself."
flisccllancous failing.
THE AUTHOR OF DIXIE.
Uncle Dan Eramett Is Now In Feeble
Health.
In a little frame house that is hardly
more than a hut, just over Cemetery
Hill, near Mount Vernon, O., Daniel
Decatur Emmett, the author of the famous
song, "Dixie," is spending the
closing years of a long life. He is now
quite feeble.
The aged minstrel's wants are few,
his tastes are simple and he looks upon
his little home as a palace. The diminuitive
house stands in the centre of an
acre plat of ground. It faces the east,
and the "front yard" slopes gently but
unevenly down to the dusty north and
south road, over which the stage
coaches made regular trips between
Mount Vernon and Mansfield when
"Uncle Dan" was a boy.
The house has but three rooms?a living
room, a bed room and a kitchen?
and then there's an attic, which Mr.
Emmett calls the "flies." The furniture
is of the simplest kind. Most of
it is old fashioned, but it is dear to
"Uncle Dan's" heart, although his wife,
who is his second, and much younger
than he, would prefer something more
pretentious.
The furnishings, too, are antiquated,
and the walls are well nigh bare; but
the cottage is not untidy, and within
has an air of homely comfort. Chickens
wander at will about the yard, and
through the kitchen and living rooms.
They are not allowed to Invade the
bedroom. The cat and the dog, animals
treated right royally by neighbors and
visitors, for the sake of their master,
live on terms of amity and equality.
In winter "Uncle Dan," domicile looks
bleak and uninviting. In summer it
stands unshaded from the glare of the
sun. It is only in the spring and tall
that the surroundings have the appearance
of comfort. But "Uncle Dan"
is supremely happy in this humble
home.
"I've roamed a great deal," said he,
"and I've made lots of money and spent
it. I ought to have taken care of it,
and maybe now" (with a droll twist
of the mouth and a wink) "I'd be a
trust magnate. But really, I love my
little home, and the only bar to my happiness
is that sometimes I hear the distant
barking of the old wolf that terrifies
old age; and then too, people think
and say that I ought sometimes to
dress up."
"Dressing up" is really about the only
thing that Daniel Emmett really
dreads. A few years ago a noted minstrel
manager, A1 G. Field, who was
about to tour the south, offered Uncle
Dan an engagement. The old minstrel
was to ride in a carriage in the parade.
He was to wear a dress suit of evenings,
and appear on the stage after the
first part and be introduced as the author
of "Dixie." All the remainder ot
the day was to be his, with money to
spend in moderate sums, his salary to
be paid him at the end of his tour.
TTncle Dan accented the engagement.
and in his fine clothes carried himself
as the gentleman that he always is, no
matter what his dress: but when he
came home at the end of the season
with a fairly snug sum of money in
his pocket, he very promptly discarded
all the tailormade clothing with which
he had been provided and returned to
the "hand me downs" he had previously
worn.
And had it not been that household
expenses consumed his funds and left
him without money to replenish his
wardrobe, these good clothes would
probably be hanging in his narrow
"clothes press" today.
Uncle Dan declares that the minstrels
of today do not put any real life into
Ko UnH olnolna onH t VlQ t thp NP
gro skits introduced after the olio are
tiresome.
"Back in my day." he said, "we tried
to be as near like the plantation Negro
as we could, and when we sang ballads
we put sentiment and feeling into
them." Uncle Dan admitted that some
of the features of the modern minstrel
performance were pretty and clever,
but insisted that the shows do not now
merit the title of minstrels. They are,
he declares, nothing but a refined imitation
of the old "variety" shows.
Mr. Emmett's last appearance on the
stage was made two winters ago, when
the local Elks gave a minstrel performance,
and Dan agreed to present and
sing "Dixie," his favorite composition.
The opera house was packed from orchestra
to ceiling. The performance
proceeded with great success until the
cue for Uncle Dan's appearance was
given.
As he walked out upon the stage,
straw hat in hand, and, bowing at every
step, the performers and audience arose
and a mighty shout went up. As the
applause died away the orchestra played
the opening bars of "Dixie," .tnd
then began again, but Uncle Dan was
oiiont Ap-jiin the leader of the orches
tra started the world-known tune, but
the writer of it did not respond.
He stood with bowed head and eyes
cast down, as if unconscious of his surroundings.
The interlocutor, himself a
vocalist of no mean ability, began to
sing the words of "Dixie," and was
joined by others on the stage and in the
audience.
Suddenly Uncle Dan seemed to
awake. He raised his head, threw up
the hand in which he held his hat.
stamped upon the stage and burst into
song.
The others ceased to sing, and Uncle
Dan went on through the entire song
with great gusto. His voice rang out
on the lower notes, but trembled and
broke on the higher.
"That's the way that 'Dixie' should
be played," said Mr. Emmett.
"Uncle Dan," as he delights to be
called, Is now growing feeble. He does
not go about as much as formerly, but
when he does he still scorns a vehicle J
and goes afoot. q
He delights to sit In the shade of his t
little house, smoking a short, black a
pipe, while he chats with his callers, t
talks to the dog or cat, or gazes very 1
' thoughtfully Into the west, where, as
the sun goes down behind the hills, be,
yond the Kogosing valley, the shadows
, lengthen until they touch the tomb- 1
I stones and monuments In the preity
, cemetery near by, where the old mln,
strel hopes finally to rest.?New York 1
! Herald. Q
d
THUNDERSTORMS AND MILK.
0
1 Scientific Discussion of an Interest- e
inir Fact.
I t
During serious electrical disturbances t
; in the atmosphere It is well known that It
I beer may become "hard," milk may go k
i sour, and meat may frequently "turn." e
i Considerable speculation has arisen as it
i to the cause of this change. It has o
been suggested that an ozonized state t
of the air due to electric discharge has a
ot.i + u <+ as. tvn n
nuiuciiiJiig iu uu mm ti, ui mat tuc iw?
matlon of nitrous acid in the air is re- b
sponsible for the change. It is how- v
' ever, not probable that the atmosphere *
i undergoes any chemical change suffl- t>
clent to account for the extent to which
certain foods "turn." Moreover, any y
i Important quantity of ozone or nitrous n
acid would be calculated to exert a pre- d
servatlve effect, as both are powerful
antiseptics. C
i It may be urged again, that the phe- 0
nomenon Is due to oxidation by means S
| of ozone, but this can hardly be the b
case, in view of the large quantities of v
i beer and milk that are soured in relai
tlon to the very small quantity of ozone ^
which a thunderstorm produces. In the *
case of meat, at any rate, the "turning" ''
can scarcely be attributed to the action v
i of ozone or of oxygen. The change is l>
probably due, not directly to chemical 0
> agencies, but purely to a disturbance u
I of the electric equilibrium.
It is well known than an opposite n
electrical state is set up by induction, 1
( so that an electrical condition of-the p
Q
atmosphere induces a similar condition, ^
though opposite in character, in the ob- {
Jects on the earth. Persons near whom
a flash of lightning passes, frequently
experience a severe shock by induction, p
though no lightning touches them, and
in the celebrated experiment of Galvan!
he showed that a skinned frog in
the neighborhood of an electrical machine,
although dead, exhibited col:
vulsive movements every time that a
i spark was drawn from the conductor.
In the case of milk "turning" or of d
beer "hardening" or of meat becoming Q
- tainted, it is probably, therefore, an in- f
stance of chemical convulsion or, it g
i may be, of a stimulus given to bacte- t
i riological agencies set up by an oppo- p
I site electric condition induced by the ^
disturbed electrical state of the atrnos- t(
phere. Although these changes are a
most marked during a thunderstorm, t
yet undoubtedly they occur at other a
1 times, though not to the same degree, n
i when there is no apparent electric dls- t
i turbance. t
But even when the sky Is clear the v
atmosphere may exhibit considerable
1 electric tension. The electroscope con- ^
> stantly shows that a conducting point 6
! elevated in the air is taking up a posl- p
i tlve charge (a sa rule) of electricity, t
i the tension rising with the height of a
the point. This effect Increases toward \
i daybreak until It reaches a maximum a
i some hours after sunrise. It then dl- t
mlnishes until it is weakest, a few v
hours before sunset, when again it rises t
and attains a second maximum some t
hours after sunset, the second mini- t
i mum occurring before daybreak. There b
are, accordingly, constant changes of f
electrical tension going on, changes, g
however, which are more rapid and a
i much more marked during a thunder,
storm and which are quite powerful t
enough to exert an evil influence on n
. certain articles of food or drink suscep- b
tible to change, notably meat, milk and j(
beer or cider. t
i There Is no doubt that the unfavor- c
i able effects on the feeling or well-being y
, experienced by many individuals, such e
. as headache and oppression and nerv- s
ous distress, on the advent of a thun- q
derstorm, have a similar foundation e
and are due to the same electrical dif- b
ferences of potential, the elTect passing o
away as the disturbed condition of the tl
atmosphere or the storm, subsides. k
Thb Great Cork Forests of Spain.
?The cork forests of Spain cover an &
area of 620,000 square miles, producing ^
the finest cork in the world. These forests
exist in groups and cover wide ^
belts of territory, those in the region of e
Catalonia, and part of Barcelona being fl
considered the first in importance. Al- c
though the cork forests of Estremadura l<
and Andalusia yield cork of a much
quicker growth and possessing some excellent
qualities, its consistency is less u
rigid and on this account it does not "
11
enjoy the high reputation which the
cork of Catalonia does.
In Spain and Portugal where the cork 0
tree or Quercus suber, is indigenous, it 13
attains to a great height, varying from n
35 to 60 feet and the trunk to a diame- ^
ter of 30 to 36 Inches. This species of ^
the evergreen oak is often heavily ca- ^
parisoned with wide-spreading branchc1
es clothed with ovate oblong evergreen
leaves, downy underneath and the ^
leaves slightly serrated. Annually, between
April and May, it produces a
i flower of yellowish color, succeeded by
acorns. Over 30,000 square miles in ^
r>nrtiitrni nro devoted to the cultivation u
of cork trees, though the tree virtually ^
abounds in every part of the country.
The methods in vogue in barking and tJ
harvesting the cork in Spain and Portu.
gal are virtually the same. The bark- n
ing operation is effected when the tree t]
has acquired sufficient strength to withstand
the rough handling which it receives
during the operation, which usually
takes place when it has attained ^
the fifteenth year of its growth. After C]
the first stripping the tree is left in this d
uvenescent state to regenerate, subse[uent
strippings being effected at inervals
of not less than three years,
nd under tnls process the tree will conInue
to thrive and bear for upward of
50 years.?Boston Herald.
EDWARD VII AND ALEXANDRA.
Phey Were Crowned Last Saturday
a? King and Queen.
Until the booming of guns announced
hat the crowning of King Edward and
}ueen Alexandra had been accomplished,
says a London cable of Saturlay
night, there lingered in thousands
f minds a nervous apprehension that
ven at the last moment some untoward
event might once more plunge
he nation Into consternation. When
his was passed the unrestrained jubiEition
was as much a tribute to the
ling's personal popularity as it was an
vldence of relief from the tension of the
ist few weeks. So, while the scenes
n the streets were robbed of many of
hose elements that usually accompany
great pageant, they will be long renembered,
perhaps somewhat tenderly
y those who stood on the stands, at
windows and on the sidewalks to see
ting Edward after he had won. almost
rom the jaws of death, his crown.
Two incidents in service in the Abbey
will live in the memory of all who wltessed
them. The first of these, which
eveloped into a dramatic contretemps,
entered around the aged archbishop of
Canterbury. From the commencement
f the service the archbishop had the
reatest difficulty in reading or rememering
the prayers. The book from
which his almost blind eyes endeavored
o read, shook in his hands, and when
e came 10 piace me crown upon mng
Edward's head, his huge frame towerrig
above the seated king, swayed so
iolently that the Bishop of Wlncheser
had to support him, while the Dean
f Westminster put a guarding hand
nder the crown. It was evident that
he Archbishop of Canterbury could
ot see his king's head, and after gropng
around, he was just about to compete
the most important part of the
eremony when it was discovered that
e had the crown with the hack to the
ront.
Slowly he raised it, bu<t too late to
irevent the choir from prematurely
>ursting out with a loud "God Save the
Cing." Amid a tension that had grown
o a hitch of painful nervousness, the
rchbishop finally managed to place
Ife crown correctly upon the king's
ead.
A few minutes later came the climax
f his feebleness. He was kneeling to
o the first homage of all the subjects
f the king, when suddenly he almost
ainted and would have fallen upon his
overeign's knees had not King Edward
enderiy, but firmly, grasped both the
prelate's hands and lifted him to his
eet. The bishops of London, Wincheser
and Durham clasped their arms
round the Archbishop of Canterbury,
he king kissed his wrinkled hand, the
rchbishop's head fell back, his feet
noved slowly and mechanically, and
hus he was more carried than led from
he throne to King Edward's chapel,
/here he was revived.
The tremor which this event caused
iad scarcely subsided when anotner
xquisitely human touch varied the
roceedlngs, and the king was forgoten
in the father. Instead of merely
cceptlng the homage of the Prince of
Vales, King Edward put his arms
round the prince and kissed him, and
hen recalled him and wrung his hand
/ith a manliness of paternal affection
hat brought tears to many eyes. To
hose who were able to see clearly these
wo episodes, the magnificence of the
iejeweled women, the splendor of unformed
men and even the historic
randeur of the coronation offices itself
ank almost into secondary interest.
Tonight the Associated Press learns
hat King Edward was greatly unerved
by the condition of the Archishop
of Canterbury, and that his massty
sat in constant dread of a contreemps,
though outwardly calm, as
ould be judged from the steadiness
fith which he held his sceptre rod
rect during the ordeal. This brave
how, however, did not deceive the
ueen. Throughout the service, and
specially as the Archbishop of Canerbury
became more and more nervus,
her majesty palpably dreaded that
he king would breaK down, wun
een anxiety she constantly turned toward
her husband, watching him inently
throughout the ceremony. Her
raceful dignity and solicitude for King
Idward was one of the most charming
matures of the proceedings in the Abey.
Her majesty's appearance won
xtravagant encomiums, especially
rom the women, many of whom delared
that Queen Alexandra did not
>ok a day over 35.
No stage effect could have equalled
he scene when the cro.wn was placed
pon King Edward's head, the sudden
lumination by hundreds of electric
ghts making the thousands of priceiss
jewels, including those in the
rown itself, to sparkle with dazzling
rilliancy. The instantaneous movelent
of the peers, the placing of their
oronets upon their heads, the choir's
)ud "God Save the King," with its unarmonious
yet genuine refrain from
housands of male and female throats,
onstltuted such an outburst of pentup
hankfulness and rejoicing as even
Westminster Abbey, with all its historj
traditions, never before witnessed.
Until a very late hour dense crowds
araded the main streets of London,
nrough which vehicular traffic was foridden
and watched the illuminations,
'he royal residences, the clubs, the Caadian
arch, the Mansion house and
tie Bank of England, the electric and
as displays of which were particularly
oticeable, were all surrounded by
nousands of persons who for the most
art were orderly.
The United States battleship Illinois
t Chatham dock yard was decorated,
hroughout the United Kingdom the
Ities were illuminated and enthusiastic
emonstrations were held.