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establishedTSSS; YORKVILLE, S. C., TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1904. NO.92
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? LITTLE
I A ROMANCE OF TH]
GREAT LORD HAWKE"
J CYRUS TOWN
Author of "Commodoro Paul Jooei."
w-or tho S
CI 1
Copyright, 1901, by D. Aj
; CHAPTER XVI.
RECOGNITION.
RAFTON still lay on the
great bed in the upper
y I chamber, although It was
the evening after the day
of the battle and the visit to the chateau.
He had been promptly put
there again by the faithful Jean-Re<
naud when his bearers had reached
the house, and after a quiet night and
a long day of perfect rest he felt
much better. Dr. Arnoux, who had
called to see him in the morning, had
reprehended him severely ior am excursion
of the day before. Although
the surgeon had been filled with generous
admiration at the devotion and
courage Grafton had exhibited in behalf
of de Vitre in the chateau, he
had strictly forbidden him to rise
again from the bed for some time at
least With the remembrance of his
* unfortunate collapse in the chateau
at the trial of de Vitre, the Englishman
was inclined to heed his advice.
Indeed, he could do no less, since his
uniform, as a further preventive, had
been taken away by Jean-Renaud under
thq orders of Mademoiselle de Rohan.
1
The tedium of the day had been relieved
by two short visits from the
mistrefs of the household. Had she
consulted her inclination only, she
would j^not have left him for a moment,
but she did not dare trust herself
long in his presence. Yet bare
hospitality, the consideration due a
sick man whom fate had thrown upon
her hands, constrained her at least to
inquire as to his health and to super- |
vise in person the meager arrangements
which the straitened circumstances
necessitated by the rigorous
siege of Quebec permitted her to make
for hA comfort
Her visits had been brief, however,
and while they lasted she had deliberately
stood in the shadow of the
bed-curtains, so that no opportunity i
for a fair look upon her face had been
- > vouchsafed him?a thing be was
mirsung lur *uu jrei wuivu uv. lun ?vterly
unable to bring about. Indeed,
his thoughts had been so busy with
her personality and her image, that
the tiipe, which might have dragged
as only time can linger, leaden-footed
in the sick chamber, had passed be- '
fore he noticed it
Yet he was very dissatisfied with
the situation. There was something
about the young demoiselle which
moved him powerfully, something he
" could not explain. The thought o:f her
betrothal to de Vltre filled him with
a certain jealous dismay?he could not
exactly tell why. It was hardly possible
he could be in love with her him- |
self, a girl he had seen but a day
since! He seemed to have known, or
to have met her before, though. How
was it? De Couedic! And yet
But what could he do? Nothing.
He was master of himself now?in the
full possession of his faculties, with
no excuse of weakness, wounds, or
fever, that is?and there could be no
possible reason for so personal an appeal
to her as he had made when in
ieverea coniusion ue aau uskcu uci
If she loved de Vitre.
During the day he was attended
by a strange servant, and saw neither
Jean-Renaud nor Josette, either of
whom might have enlightened him
had not both been kept from him by
the orders of their mistress. The conversation
between the two, therefore,
on the occasion of these two visits was
necessarily brief; confined on her part
to inquiries as to his well-being, his
needs, and desires, and upon his part
to expressions of gratitude for her
kindness, and earnest deprecations of
the trouble he was giving her and her
household.
As for her, every time she approached
him she longed to declare
herself. With the passionate abandon
of a French woman who loved literally
for the first time, who found
herself in the actual presence of a
long-cherished ideal, before a realization
of her girlish and maidenly
dreams, she would fain have thrown
herself upon his breast?into his
arms. She longed to gather him to
her heart and lavish upon him tnose
treasures of affection which all tne
gallantry, courage and devotion or de
Vitre could not evoke. And all this
In the face of the keen jealousy she
suffered over the locket he wore, and
the resentment she felt, in despite of
the precautions she took to prevent it,
tnat ne naa noi recugmzeu nei?wmcu
was unreasonable but essentially feminine.
But she had controlled herself like
an American. The marquis himself
could not have been more coolly and
coldly polite than she. As for Grafton,
he had not yet, to use his own
expression, "got his bearings." Never
in his life had he been so moved by
? the presence of a woman as during
the last two days. He could hardly
reason about it clearly in his present
condition. But at last he thought
that the explanation of this infatuatoin
must lie in his weakness and her
beauty, for with singular fatuity he
had not succeeded in discovering any
other reason for his interest.
In the first place, owing to the precautions
Bhe had taken, be had not yet
nad that clear, full sight of the girl
ior which he longed. She bad always
FRANCE C
E DAYS WHEN "THE
WAS KING OF THE SEA
(SEND BRADY <
1 "Raoben Jamei," "For the Freedom aJ
a," etc.
^ \
iple^oa k Co., New York.
oeen In a half light, o. concealed in
some shadow, or with face turned
away, when she had been with him.
He might have looked upon her carefully
In the hall of the Chateau Bt.
Lculs, but his mind was bent upon
other things then, and his physical
weakness and the resulting collapse
had possibly Impaired his judgment
as well as his visiot.
Besides all this, she had informed
him that her name was de Couedic,
which appellation told him nothing,
but had actually thrown him entirely
on the wrong track. By no possibility
could he have imagined that the Counts*'??
Ho Rnhnn whom he had left a
child a few years before In the Chateau
de Josselin In Brittany, would be
found now inside the walls of Quebec
in America.
Josette he had scarcely seen since
he was wounded, and he paid no attention
to her anyway in the presence
of Anne?one does not look at the
m^on when the sun is by. The same
might be said of Jean-Renaud. The
sergeant had not impressed himself
very deeply upon Grafton's consciousness
when he had been held a prisoner
at the chateau, and the changed uniform
and dress, together with the
lapse of time, had prevented his being
recognized. Anne had been very
careful not to call the names of her
two servitors in his presence after she
had recognized him, and during the
da.y he had not seen either of them.
Luck, too, was against him. Indeed,
how could he have recognized in this
glorious specimen of glowing womanhood,
the thin, undeveloped little girl
of other days?
Anne de Rohan was now 18 years of
age and in the first flush of beautiful
womanhood. Of medium height, with
a figure which combined the lovely
proportions of her American ancestry
with the daintihess and delicacy of the
women of France; with a clear, cool,
pale yet not pallid face, exquisite
features, scarlet lips, proudly, ay, even
Sgag3B^...J
"I UNDERSTAND."
disdainfully elegant In their graceful
carves; deep blue eyes, so deep that
they were almost violet when filled
with feeling or glowing with passion,
and the whole framed In her midnight
hair; she was indeed a rarely beautiful
woman. The performance of her maturity
was indeed greater than her
childhood's promise had been. Only
a prophet might have seen the one in
the past, or a seer recognize the other
in the present
A strange concatenation of circumstances
had brought the girl to New
France. After Grafton's departure
from the chateau de Josselin she had
drooped and faded. She was growing
loo rapidly, thought the marquis and
those who advised him, who never
suspected the real reason for her ill
, health. She actually had pined for
' the young man who had left her behind
and yet had taken her childish
heart with him. But of this, of course,
the said nothing, so the wise men concluded
that she had studied too hard,
vad been too closely confined, and so
on. The physicians who were consulted,
after the simple remedies of the
time had proved unavailing, finally
recommended a sea-voyage.
As it happened, the marquis had
just then been summoned to the King
*o take part as a commander in one
of the campaigns of the Seven Years'
var, his experience and ability being
too valuable to allow him to be negTVa
*v1 A
| jclicu. iuc uiu mail, iuciciuic, uau
taken advantage of the departure of a
heavy French squadron, carrying general,
the Marquis de Montcalm, his
suite, and some troops, to send his
grand-daughter to Canada under the
charge of the general, an old friend,
who had been appointed to the supreme
command in New France. An ancient
relative of the house of Rohan lived in
affluence and ease in Quebec, and to
her the marquis consigned the young
countess.
She had remained in New France
with this estimable lady ever since her
arrival, for two reasons: One, it had
been difficult?well-nigh impossible,
indeed, on account of the number of
English ships cruising to intercept the
traffic between Canada and France?
to get away; and the other, as the
marquis was still engaged in the French
i army, she would have no place to which
j to go, no place where she could have
| lived so comfortably and safely if she
, returned to France. The marquis was
1 determined thaUhe would_not throw
her Into* the hotbed of dissipation and
intrigue of which Louis XV. was the
focus, in Paris or at Versailles.
Her health, much benefitted by the
voyage, was soon oompletely restored,
and with her great beauty, her ancient
name, her powerful grandfather, the
great estates to which she was sole
heiress, she became, as childhood gave
way to womanhood, the undoubted
belle of New France. The officers of
the army, the sea officers from the various
ships or squadrons which from
time to time arrived from France, the
young Canadian noblesse, all laid their
hearts at her feet She could have
chosen any one from among them,
but as yet none of them had succeeded
In touching her heart. Most of them
she liked and the society of many of
them she enjoyed.
Among the many she had met who
had paid court to her, the man she
most liked, and who was, in fact, perhaps
the finest among them, was the
young sailor to whom, in fear of her
love for Grafton, she had Just engaged
herself. She had refused his suit many
times before, but with undaunted gal
lantry he had persisted in his attentions.
How her grandfather, the marquis,
would regard the engagement upon
which she had so suddenly and capriciously
entered was problematical.
In fact, she felt that he would disapprove;
but while she was wholly
French in her training and in her ideas
she was not for nothing the daughter
of an American mother. She combined
a determination to exercise a certain
liberty of choice as to the disposition
of her heart and person with the stubborn,
inflexible will power of her
grandfather. Therefore, she could
meet the certain antagonism of the
marquis with two weapons?his own
and her mother'a She trusted also
that he might be won to her view; she
was sure he would rather see her
dead than have her marry an Englishman,
an enemy, and she hoped, when
she explained to him that in utter
despair she had thrown herself into the
arms "of the one to escape the promptings
of her heart, which would fain
have thrown her into the arms of the
other, that he would acquiesce.
She had no one to advise her, poor
child! The ancient relative to whose
care she had been committed, had died
a few weeks since of the cares, anxieties
and privations brought about by
the seige. An ordinary French girl
would have gone to a convent under
the circumstances, but Anne possessed
a certain amount of self-reliance and
independence, and she resolved, for
the time being, at least, to remain at
her own house with old Jean Renaud
and Jo8ette. If the English were driven
away she made up her mind that at
any hazard she would take ship for
France. If, on the contrary, the English
captured the town she would probably
be sent back a prisoner. So she
awaited the issue of the campaign, in
the meantime busying herself with
caring for the sick and wounded.
It was evening. She stood by the
dormer window looking out on the
street. Grafton watched her closely
from the bed. She had stopped a moment
to inquire for him, her third and
to be her last visit that day, and
then, attracted by a commotion outside,
she had gone to the window.
A little cortege filled the street below.
Some soldiers bore upon their
shoulders a rude wooden box. Over it
was laid the golden-lilied white flag of
France, and upon the flag a handsome
sword. A half-dozen men, holding
pine torches whose flickering, wavering
flames cast an uncertain illumination
over the scene, walked by the makeshift
coffin. Immediately behind came
a few priests, and then Monsieur do
Ramesay and his staff, and a little huddle
of townspeople?the idle and the
curious.
There were no strains of martial
music; there was neither blare of
bugle nor roll of drum, nor tolling
bells. There was no ceremony, no
pomp; there were no women even.
Anne leaned her head upon the casement,
her tears falling softly. Her
body shook with sobs. Grafton stared
at her keenly and curiously. There
was a strange pain at his heart when
he saw her weep.
Presently the funeral procession
passed the window. The lights from
the torches, almost at a level with her
face in the window of the low-studded
old house, threw it into high and bright
relief. She was oir ner guara, not
thinking of herself or even of Grafton,
for the moment It was the first time
that he had been able to see her well.
Suggestions of the truth came across
him with a sense of shock, and yet
he did not quite recognize her. He
was not sure. It could not be.
"Mademoiselle," he said softly, "you
told me your name was "
"De Couedic. Yes, monsieur," she
answered, with her eyes still fixed upon
the street, though he noticed that she
turned her face away from him.
Was she discovered at last? Could
he suspect, she thought
"I had thought," he continued, then
he stopped.
"Mademoiselle, you weep," he said.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Who passes in the street? Those
lights, what are they?"
"Monsieur, a funeral."
"Whose funeral, mademoiselle?"
"Alas, monsieur, I think It 1b the
burial of New France!"
"Mademoiselle?"
" 'Tls the funeral of the Marquis de
Montcalm, monsieur. He is being
borne to his last rest"
"He was a brave man, Mademoiselle
de Couedic, and he died as a soldier
would fain die, in the front of the
battle line."
"He was my grandfather's friend,
monsieur, and mine. He was so good
to me. I know his wife, his children.
He loved them and longed to go
back to them. But he loved his country,
his duty, his king, more than all,
monsieur, and so he stayed, and now
he will never go back any more."
I She put her face down in her hands
and sobbed bitterly. People are as
little children when they weep. Where
had he seen that bowed head? Heavens!
was It not upon his own shoulder?
Why, the picture was the same!
The moonlight was stealing through
the casement Just as before. She wore
somathing filmy and white. It might
have been that night-robe that had
enshrouded the slender girl. His heart
beat so that it nearly suffocated
him, and yet?de Couedic? It could
not be!
"Mademoiselle," he said, all the passion
surging In his soul quivering in
his voice, "do not weep. By heaven,
I do not know how or why it Is, but
to see you weep tears my very heart!
Can It be that I saw you but yester
day and loved yon, mademoiselle r*
She turned and faced him. The feeling
in his voice, the look in his eyes,
as she stared at him, so pertectly
matched her own she had no will nor
power to withstand any longer. Deliberately
she fetched a light from behind
the curtain and set it down on
the table at the head of his bed; then
she stood where the full light would
fall on her face, and drawing herself
up threw out her arms wide before
him.
"Monsieur!" she cried. "Oh, do you
not know me?"
"Is it thou, Little France?" he exclaimed,
dazed and bewildered by his
thoughts. "Who could have thought
it? How beautiful!"
She dashed away the tears with her
hand. She thought he had not yet
recognized ber, as he lay spellbound
gazing on her matchless beauty. Her
scarlet lips quivered a moment, then
shaped themselves for sound, and from
her full, soft throat came the notes of
the little Breton cradle-song which he
had heard her sing in the garden of
the Hesperides, "Toutouie, la, la!" But
no mother ever sang It to child as she
sang It then.
"Anne!" he cried. "The Lady Anne!
Fool that I was! How blind! I should
have known you! I should have recognized
your footstep even bad I lain
dead at your doorstep!"
"Sir Philip! Sir Philip!", she exJclaimed.
"How could you forget? But
I knew! Oh, my love, my love!"
She sank on her knees at the bedside
again and leaned over him.
I "But you are betrothed to de Vltre?"
he cried in Jealous anguish.
"Ah, Philip, my knight!" she murmured,
"what matters it? 'Tis you I
love, I love!"
She threw her arms around his
neck; their lips met in one long kiss
charged with dreams and ideals of
years. The Joy, the surprise, were almost
too great for him. He closed
his eyes; in his weak state he thought
he would have fainted. It had all come
upon him suddenly with such a shock.
She had known it for two days. He
had been so desperately woundea.
She was the stronger of the two
then and she recovered herself the
sooner. Something assisted her perhaps.
Her throbbing breast as it lay
upon his own was met by the pressure
of something round and hard.
The little locket! It flashed into her
jealous mind in an instant.
"Monsieur Grafton," she said, drawing
away from him with a sudden
change of mood, "you not only forgot
me, you not only did not know me, but
you That locket, sir?"
"Yes. mademoiselle," answered Grafton
simply, for it was impossible for
him to deceive this woman, or to evade
the question.
"Ah! Carrying another woman's
face over your heart and speaking love
to me!"
"O Anne!" he cried, "there may be
another woman in the locket, there is
only yourself in my heart"
"Whose picture is there?"
"I may not tell."
"Monsieur will not tell?"
"Nay, I can not 'Tis honor seals my
lips."
He wished he had never given the
promise so lightly uttered in the n
of the Sutherland, but, being given, it
must be faithfully kept.
"The honor of a woman?" she asked.
"Of a man, mademoiselle, of a soldier,
of a friend."
"Explain yourself, monsieur."
"Mademoiselle Anne, I can not, but
I give you my word of honor as an
English officer, the word of an American
gentleman, your mother's land,
mademoiselle, that the lady of the
locket is nothing to me, that I cherish
the face of no woman except your own.
Ever since those days when I was held
a prisoner in the old chateau, since the
hour?do you recall it??when I carried
you in my arms and kissed you first,
I have loved you. I have thought and
dreamed of you alone among womankind.
When I went away from France
I left my heart behind. You have had
it?you have it now."
"But the locket?" she persisted,
while the music of his words rang
sweetly in the most secret chamber
of her heart.
"Forget it."
"Take it off, then."
"I can not"
"Can not? And yet she is nothing to
you, you say?"
"Even so, yet that little thing I can
r,nt Hn r hav# nwnm never to Dart
with it until "
"Ah, monsieur!" she continued bitterly,
turning away. "You see: What
can I believe?"
"Believe only that I love you; trust
in my honor; you will laugh at this,
we will laugh together, when I am
able to tell you some day. In the
meantime have faith in me. Won't
you trust me?" he continued, as she
shook her head. "Twice I might have
died If It had not been for you. Twice
you have called me back to life. My
life is yours, and yours is mine. I will
not be denied." He turned and
stretched out his one uninjured hand.
"Come back. If there is the faintest
feeling of affection in your own heart,
if you know what love is, you must
know 'tis here!"
She hesitated, she moved nearer,
hesitated again. He strove to rise,
wrenched his arm, covered his eyes
with his hand, stifled a moan. That
decided her. He suffered, and she fled
to him once again, a little murmuring
cry, an Inarticulate caress on' her lips.
Oh, the ecstacy of that moment!
We live long years for the emotions
of an hour, the pleasure of a second.
We waste lifetimes in solitary
kisses, and the sum of dreams Is gone
In a single touch.
Anne de Rohan was promised to de
Vitre. She meant to keep her promise.
She was wildly, bitterly jealous of the
woman in the locket, too, in spite of
his assurances, although she really believed
them, and she had never Intended
this. She knew she could never be
anything to Grafton. Her reason, her
sense, told her that this was folly, but
the determination of her mind was
abrogated by the feelings of her heart
Perhaps because she knew there was
nothing beyond she gave way the more
easily to her emotions. The floodgates
were open again, the long-pentup
floods were out once more. Ah,
this time there would be no confining
them again!
She knelt beside that old bed, she
slipped her fair, round young arm underneath
his neck and lavished caresses
upon him. Her bands played with the
curls upon his forehead. Her eyes
looked love in bis, her voice whispeed
SHE KNELT BESIDE THAT OLD
BED.
endearments in broken tones; all her
being went out to meet his. She was
trembling witn ner passion, nervous
at bis touch; she could not be quiet,
she must move or die She hovered
over him like an angel of love and
tenderness. -. ? . He
lay there so white, so pale, so
weak, so happy, with a love that was
as strong as hers looking from his
eyes. His one free hand she held tightly,
pressed it to her breast, kissed it,
fondled It again and again.
And how beautiful she was! One
look in the unfathomable depths of
those great eyes might have told him
the truth before. The sound of that
voice quivering with Joy that was almost
pain should have spoken to him.
How blind he had been?a fool! He
forgot five years of separation and
grieved that he had lost one day! The
past faded away, the future lay in the
distance, the present was their own.
Presently, as the first fierce Intensity
of her passion spent itself, she laid her
head upon his breast and listened in
sweet surrender to the beating of his
heart, hearing that heart throbbing
for her, only for her. The room was
very still. Words were never coined
to express wnai luey ten,, auu uciuioi
spoke.
It was dark outside. The night had
fallen. Clouds had swept across the
face of the moon, hiding Its splendor.
The sky was overcast, muttered peals
of thunder rolled swiftly through the
chamber. The candle had burned itself
out, It flickered away; the gray
shadows grew into darkness. It was
deep and still there. In that silence
heart whispered to heart In language
which gods and lovers may understand.
Bye-and-bye her arm was
slipped from beneath his head. Had
hours or moments passed, or had they
lived an eternity since the kiss of recognition?
Her head, that had lain so
lightly upon his breast, was lifted.
The sweet lips, whose color he could
dream of even In the darkness, melted
once again upon his own?and she was
gone.
He had not moved or stirred. After
she left htm the sweet Illusion was still
heavy upon him. He could feel the
presence of her head, the perfume, the
fragrance of her hair, the beating of
her heart He closed his eyes In the
darkness. Her lips seemed to brush
his own again?again.
Did he sleep, did he dream? All
night long she seemed to be by his
side.
to rb continued.
The Business Cl^rotman.?A
young man, some years ago, paid his
own way through a New England col
- - - j
lege and a divinity scnooi, anu ^uu
his wife's way through college by selling
clothing at odd times for a large
Philadelphia concern. He had known
nothing of tailoring previously and the
agency he founded went to pieces soon
after he left It. While he was still at
college, alternating the tape-measure
with the lexicon, a personal friend
spoke to an elderly preacher concerning
him.
"It's too bad," he said. "The man's
spoiling a good business man to make
a poor preacher."
The old minister shook his head vigorously.
"You're wrong," was his answer.
"Lack of business ability is responsible
for most of the potential successes
nnd actual failures In the ministry
and there are many of them, I
know," he added pathetically, "for I'm
one of them myself."
Without regard to the particular
church which a man serves, it will
probably be admitted that sound business
sense Is likely to be the foundation
of his practical success and that
lack of It will be a stumbling block.?
Leslie's Monthly Magazine.
ptecrltnntow leading.
THE BRITI8H TRAWLER8.
An Industry to Which Attention Has
Lately Been Directed.
The damage done the British Ashing
Aeet and the loss of life Incident thereto
caused by Arlng on the part of the
Russian Baltic Aeet calls attention to
the fact that trawling for Ash In the
North Sea, is one of Great Britain's
greatest industries. In fact. It Is said
that fully one-half of the product of
the Asherles of the Isles comes from
the trawlers.
The trawling vessels are run by
steam and are equipped for a stay of
weeks qt a time at sea. On board
many of them there Is a refrigerating
plant for caring for the flsh that are
caught from haul to haul. They are
manned with crews picked from the
best English fishermen, hardy men,
who are physically able to stand the
hard work Incumbent upon those who
take up this strenuous occupation.
Such of the ships as are not equipped
with refrigerating plants cruise from
one part of the North Sea to another,
taking the catches to the larger vessels
and off again for their Ashing
ground.
Trawling in English waters is practically
an infant industry and it is but
comparatively recently that steam vessels
were engaged in the traffic. As
late as 1862 the trawler, completely
equipped for service, cost about $3,000
and barely a thousand of them
could be found in English waters. The
introduction of the refrigerating vessel
and the refrigerating car gave impetus
to the industry, as it was found that
the great ^English population could be
given fresh Ash without stint As a
result of this, in 1895 the total money
value of the trawling Industry was
about $13,000,000.
Then came the change of motive
power, and steam vessels were substituted
for sailing ones, in the traffic.
This innovation rapidly reduced the
cost of trawling and incidentally enlarged
the output of the Ashing
KajioiiM It UTfla far Mtltr to
get from one point to another with a
headway of steam and without having
to depend upon varying winds.
It is In the southern portion of the
North Sea that most of the trawling Is
now done, and In the past 25 years
those engaged In the traffic have Increased
fourfold.
From Plymouth the trawlers ha"ve
been In the habit of going to sea each
morning and returning at night with
their catches, but from Hull, where the
ill-fated fleet flred upon by the Russians
belonged, the trawlers remain at
sea for weeks and months at a time
sending the result of their catches In
by the larger refrigerating vessels.
Hull now heads the list of trawling
stations and while 50 years ago not
more than a dozen boats hailed from
that part, today the number reaches
Into thousands.
These fishermen use for trawling
purposes a purse shaped net which Is
triangular and flat It has a wide
mouth, which Is kept open by a horizontal
spar, known as the "beam."
The nets are of very large size and
are handled by means of steam engines
aboard the vessels. When it Is desired
to make a haul the nets are lowered
Into the water and are allowed to remain
for several hours, while the vessel
steams ahead at a rapid rate. The
vessel runs through schools of flsh and
they are swept Into the net at a great
rate. While the weight of the net increases
as it fills with fish, the meshes
are of such strength that they seldom
if ever give away.
Handling the catch is hard work and
the work of assorting the fish, which
is done by hand, is very tiring and
exacting.?Washington Post.
M. LE COLONEL BRYAN.
Remarkable Career of the Nebraskan
as Related In France.
Not long ago there appeared in a
paper published in the south of France
an amusing account of the life and exploits
of Colonel Bryan that no doubt
this gentleman fully enjoyed.
The story was written by the Paris
correspondent of a country paper. It
is based, so the writer says, on information
he got from friends of Mr.
Bryan who are prominent in Paris.
A western wag filled the Frenchman
with startling information, and how he
must have smiled when there appeared
the following in cold print:
"M. le .Colonel Bryan first came Into
fame as one of the strange, half-savage
band of cowboys who roamed over the
far west, fighting the Indians and wild
oeasts. Imitating, perhaps, the custom
of the Indian chiefs, each of the cowboys
bore a nickname based on some
of his exploits as a hunter and fighter.
Thus M. le Colonel Bryan's title
among his rough but brave and sturdy
comrades was Silver Bill the Dead
Shot. After the treaty of peace was
signed with the Indians at Chicago in
1896, Colonel Bryan went out of the
cattle business and became one of the
bonanza farmers of the west. He can
now sit on his back stoop, as the rear
veranda is called in America, and look
over his fields of corn stretching further
than the eye can reach In every
direction. As a result of his early
training on the plains, where he spent
months at a time without an opportunity
of talking to another human being,
the former candidate for president
Is extremely taciturn, and can hardly
be persuaded to express his opinion on
the issues of a campaign. He is the
author of a book of adventure called
'The First Battle,' In which some of the
encounters with the Indians of the
Tammany and other tribes are described
at length.
"In the effort to partially neutralize
the strength of M. le Colonel among
the cowboys and Indians who make up
the largest part of the voting west of
the Alleghany, mountains, the Republicans
have M. le Roosevelt for president
M. le Roosevelt Is one of the
leading cowboys of America, and Is especially
famous for once having vanquished
a grizzly bear in single combat.
During the last campaign M. le
Colonel Roosevelt has ridden a series
of horses all over the country, giving
exhibitions of rough riding such as
were seen In Parlr. a year or more ago
under the direction of another American
statesman."?American-Philippine
Review.
COSTLIE8T RAILROAD.
In th? World Is the Now York tub*
way, at $2^X0,000 Par Mile.
Now that he hait been able for a few
days to ride to and from hi/i buaineae
on a railroad which coat more for lta
length than any other In the world,
and which haa the cheapest fare, the
New Yorker. has come to look upon
the new subway as a matter of course.
If he is going up town, homeward
bound, he remarks to his companions:
'Tm going typ the flue." Some railroads
have been constructed at a cost
of 115,000 per ml'e; others have cost
from $30,000 up to $200,1)00. New
York's underground trolley road on
Broadway cost $225,000 iter mile.
These figures afford no comparison
with the expense of constructing the
New York underground railroad.
When It is entirely In operation this
road will be about 20 miles In length.
Its cost will be $40,000,000. That Is
$2,000,000 per mile. About eight miles
are now in operation. The fare is five
cents. When tht remaining sections
shall be opened ,the fare will be the
same. The city of New York has paid
the cost of construction, and the $40,000,000,
with Interest, year by year,
must be repaid by the operating company.
Nickel fares must do this. If
the cost were represented by five-cent
coins placed edge to edge, there would
be a line more than 150 miles long.
We already know that the cost of
construction will be $40,000,0)0. Equipment
will add $2$,000,000 to this. The
steel beams and girdles in place weigh
124,000,000 pounds. There was excavated
3,260,000 cubic yards of material.
As many as 10,000 men have been
employed on the work at one time,
and the road will give peiminent employment
to 1,000 persons. During the
construction there were fatal accidents
which cost 50 lives.?Leslie's Weekly.
Values of Pood.
In 20 pounds of potatoes there are
3| pounds of nutriment; In 26 cents
worth of fat salt pork there are l|
pounds of nutriment; In the same
value of wheat bread there are
pounds; in the neck of beef, 1| pounds;
in skim milk cheese, If rounds; In
whole milk cheese, a trifle more than
li pounds; in butter, 1| pounds, and
in smoked ham and leg of mutton
about the same; in milk a trifle over 1
pound; in mackerel, about 1 pound in
beef, 1 of a pound; in salt codfish and
beef sirloin, about ft a pound; in eggs,
at 25 cents a dosen, about 7 ounces,
and in fresh codfish, about 6 ounces.
A quart of milk, three quarters of a
pound of moderately fat beef, sirloin
* ?n/l flira AlinnM A t
sieaK, iur luouiiitc, auu u>? ? . -
wheat flour all contain about the same
amount of nutritive material; but we
pay different prices for them, and they
have different value for nutriment
Milk comes nearest to being perfect
food. It contains all of the different
kinds of nutritive materials that the
body needs. Bread made from the
wheat flour will support life. It contains
all of the necessary Ingredients
for nourishment, but not In the proportions
best adapted for ordinary use.
A man might .live on beef alone, but
It would be a very one-sided and Imperfect
diet; but meat and bread together
make the essentials cf a healthful
diet. Such afe the facts of experience.
The adv jiclng science of later
years explains t.iem. This explanation
takes Into account not simply qualities
of meat and bread and milk and other
materials which we eat, but also the
nutritive Ingredients or "nutrients"
w.iich they contain.
The chief uses of food axe two?to
form the material of the body and repair
its'wastes; to yield heat to keep
the body warm and to nrovlde muscular
and other power for the work It has
to do. Dr. At water prepared two tables
showing, fl:"St, the composition of
food materials, the most Important of
which are the nutritive Ingredients,
and their fuel value; second, the pecuniary
economy of food in which the
amount of nutriment is stated In
pounds. Butter has the greatest fuel
value, fat pork coming second, and the
balance of the foods mentioned being
valued as fuel in the following order:
Cheese, oatmeel, sugar, rice, beans,
corn meal, wheat flour, wheat bread,
leg of mutton and beef sirloin, round
of beef, mackerel and salmon. Codfish.
oysters, cow's milk and potatoes
stand very low as fuel xooos.?new
York Herald.
Rat 8tort F*rom Soute. Annex.?
There were a lot of rata In the storage
room of my stable, aid we had
great difficulty in getting at them.
They were shy of all traps and did a
tremendous lot of damage at night
time, lying quiet all day.
At length I put in the room a-square
tin lined box, about two feet deep, and
in it placed some burned cheese. The
rats immediately got Interested in the
cheese, climbed up the outside of the
box. and, having got inside, could not
ascend the slippery tin lining. In
this way we killed a great many.
One morning rny children took a cat,
which was a very good ratter, and
placed it in the box, when; there was
already a good sized rat.
The cat. Instead of tackling the rat,
appeared to make friends with it
They put their noses tcgether and
frisked around, but no harm was done
and eventually the cat jumped out,
refusing to tackle the rat. The children
then put in a keen dachshund,
which immediately snapped at ther?t
and missed It. The rat ran around the
box two or three times, dodging cleverly,
and eventually, by climbing on the
dog's back, adroitly jumped out of the
box and escaped.?Johannesburg letter
in the Field.