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* I? ??? ??-?? ,. , ..... I I I ? 1 I ?-g . ? ISSUED SEMI-WEEKLY. _ . .1 ? l. x obist's sous, Pnbinheri, j % ^amilg Jraisjagtr: Jor Iht promotion of Iht gatilital, Social, ^griiullural, an! Cannmijtial gntywlt of ftoylt. {ro'SJi?J.AIICI' ESTABLISHED 1855. ~ YORKVILLE, 8. C. FBIDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 19Q5. TvTQ. 10. ' D'ri 2 By IRVING Author of " Ebon Holden." *' D L ? fOopyriifet, im, bj Lothi CHAPTER XX. It w.os a fine house?that In which I spent many happy years back in my young manhood. Not, indeed, so elegant and so large as this where I am now writing, but comfortable. To me, then, it had an atmosphere of romance and some look of grandeur. Well, in those days I had neither a sated eye, nor gout, nor judgment of good wine. It was I who gave it the name of Pairacres that day when, coming out of the war, we felt its peace and comfort for the first time, and, dumfounded with surprise, heard my mother tell the story of It. "My grandfather," said sb;, "was the Chevalier Ramon Ducet d, Trouville, a brave and gallant ma.i who, for no good reason, disinherited my father. The property went to my uncle, the only other child of the chevalier, and be, as I have told you. wrote many kind letters to me, and sent each year a email gift of money. Well, he died before the v*ar?it was In March?and, having no children, left half his fortune to me. You, Ramon, will remember that long before you went away to the war a stranger came to see me one day?a stout man, with white hair and dark eyes. Do you not remember? Well, I did not tell you. then, because I was unable to believe, that he came to bring the good news. But be came again after you left us, and brought me money?a draft on act WE HALTED. PEERING AT THE GLOW THAT NOW SPRINKLED OUT THROUGH MANY A PIN-HOLE APEftTURE. count For us it was a very large sum, indeed. You know we have always been so poor, and we knew that when the war was over there would be more and a-plenty coming. So, what were we to do? 'We will build a home,' said I; 'We will enjoy life as much as possible. We will surprise Ramon. When he returns from the war he shall see it, and be very happy.' The architect came with the builders, and, vofla! the house is ready, and you are here, and after so long it is better than a fortune to see you. I thought you would never come." She covered her face a moment, while ' my father rose abruptly and left the' room. I kissed the dear hands that long since had given to heavy toil their beauty and shapeliness. But enough of this, for, after all. it is neither here nor there. Quick and unexpected fortune came to many a pioneer, as it came to my mother, by inheritance, as one may see if he look only at the records of one court of claims?that of the British. "Before long you may wish to marry," said my mother, as she looked up at me proudly, "and you will not be ashamed to bring your wife here." I vowed, then and there. I should make my own fortune?I had Yankee enough in me for that?but, as will be seen, the wealth of heart and purse my J mother had, helped in the shaping of < my destiny. In spite of my feeling, I know it began quickly to hasten the life-currents that bore me on. And I say, In tender remembrance of those very dear to me, I had never a more delightful time than when I sat by the new fireside with all my clan?Its number as yet undiminished?or went roistering in wood or field with the younger children. The day came when D'ri and I were r to meet the ladies. We started early that morning of the 12th. Long before daylight we were moving rapidly aown-river in our canoes. I remember seeing a light flash up and die away in the moonlit mist of the river soon after starting. "The boogy light!" D'rl whispered. "There't goes ag'in!" I had heard the river folk tell often of tbis weird thing?one of the odd phenomena of the St. Lawrence. "Comes alwus where folks hev been drewnded," said D'ri. "Thet air 's what I 've hearn tell." It was, indeed, the accepted theory of the fishermen, albeit many saw in the boogy light a warning to mark the piece of forgotten murder, and bore away. The sun came up in a clear sky. and soon, far and wide, its light was tossing in the ripple-tops. We could see them glowing miles away. We were both armed with saber and pistols, for that river was the very highway of adventure in those days of the war. ui.er aarKiiess amuiig iue uig ucc trunks on a muffle-footing. After a moment or so we got a spray of light. We halted, peering at the glow that now sprinkled out through many a pinhole aperture in a fairy lattice of pine needles. My heart was beating loudly, for there was the promised lantern. Was I not soon to see the brighter light of those dear faces? It was all the kind of thing I enjoyed then?the atmosphere of peril and romance?wild youth that I was. It is a pity, God knows, I md I * BACHELLER arrel of the Blessed Isles," Etc. ? J dp Px hittMna Qowp?yj ' Don* Jes* like this kind uv a boss, aid D'ri. "Got t' keep whalin' 'im all the while, an' he 's apt t' slobber 'n rough goln'." ! He looked thoughtfully at the sun a breath, and then trimmed his remark with these words: "Ain't eggzac'ly sure-footed, nuther." "Don't require much feed, though," I suggested. "No; ye hev t' dew all the eatln', but yt can alwus eat 'nough fer both." It was a fine day, and a ride to remember. We had a warm sun, a clear sky, and now and then we could feel the soft feet of the south wind romping over us in the river way. Here ' tmnrr* ll/\w noma nnQ otlno" [ null IUC1B a 1 naiiufT uwic wosuue W the ripples, sprinkling the holy water of delight upon us, or a crow's shadow plowed silently across our bows. It thrilled me to go cantering beside the noluy Rapides du Plats or the wildfooled Qalloup, two troops of water hurrying to the mighty battles of the sea, We mounted reeling knolls, and coasted over whirling dips, and rushed to boiling levels, and Jumped foamy ridges, and went galloping in the rush and tumble of long slopes. "Let 'er rip!" I could hear D'ri shouting, once in a while, as he flashed up ahead of me. "Let 'er rip! Consarn 'er pictur'!" He gave a great yell of triumph as we slowed in a long stretch of still, broad water. "Judas Priest!" said he, as I came alongside, "thet air 's rougher 'n the bog trail." We came to Paleyville with time only for a bite of luncheon before dark. We could see no sign of life on the island or the "Canuck shore" as we turned our bows to the south channel. That evening the innkeeper sat with us under a creaking sign, our chairs tilled to the tavern-side. D ri was making a moose-horn of birch-bark as he smoked thoughtfully. When he had finished, he raised it to bis lips and moved the flaring end in a wide circle as he blew a blast that rang miles away in the far forest. "Ef we heppen t' git separated in any way, shape er manner 'cept one," said he. as he slung it over his shoulder with a string, "ye 'U know purty nigh where I be when ye hear thet air thing." "You said, 'In any way, shape er manner 'cept one,'" I quoted. "What do you mean by that?" My friend expectorated, looking off Into the night soberly a moment "Guess I did n't mean nuthin'," said he. presently. "When I set out t* say 8uthln', don't never know where I 'm goin' t' land. Good deal luk settln' sail without a compass. Thet 's one reason I don't never say much 'fore women." Our good host hurried the lagging hours with many a tale of the river and that Island we were soon to visit, once the refuge of Tadusac, the old river pirate, so he told us, with a cave no v haunted by some ghost. We started for the shore near ten o'clock, the innkeeper leading us with a lantern, Its light flickering in a west wind. The sky was cloudy, the night dark. - Our h03t lent us the lantern, kindly offering to build a bonfire on the beach at 11, to light us home. "Careful, boys," said the innkeeper, as we got aboard. "Aim straight fer th' head o' th' island. Can't ye see it ?right over yer heads there? 'Member, they '8 awful rough water below." We pushed off, D'rl leading. I could see nothing of the island, but D'rl had better eyes, and kept calling me as he went ahead. After a few strokes of the paddle I could see on the dark sky the darker mass of tree-tops. "Better light up," I suggested. We were now close in. 'Hush!" he hissed. Then, as I came up to him, he went on, whispering: " 'T ain't bes' t' mek no noise here. Don' know none tew much 'bout this here business. Do'i* cal'late we 're goln* t' hev any trouble, but if we dew ?Hark!" We had both heard a stir in the bushes, and stuck our paddles in the sand, listening. After a little silence I heard D'ri get up and step stealthily into the water and buckle on his sword. Then I could hear him sinking the canoe and shoving her anchor deep into the sand. He did it with no noise that, 50 feet away, could have Nbeen distinguished from that of the evermurmurir.g waters. In a moment he came and held my canoe, while I also took up my trusty blade, stepping out of the canoe into the shallow water. Then he shoved her off a little, and sank her beside the other. I knew not his purpose, and made no question of it following him as he strode the s' ore with measured paces, the lantern upon his arm. Then presently he stuck his paddle into the bushes, and mine beside it. We were near the head of the island, walking on a reedy strip of soft earth at the river margin. After a few paces we halted to listen, but heard only the voice of the water and the murmur of pines. Then we pushed through a thicket of small fir tr? us to where we groped along in had so little consideration for old D'ri; but he loved me, and?well, he himself had some pleasure in excitement We halted for only a moment, pushing boldly through a thicket of young pines into the light A lantern hung on the bough of a tall tree, and beneath it was a wide opening well carpeted with moss and needles. We peered off Into tha gloom, but saw nothing. D'ri blew out a thoughtful breath, looking up into the air coolly, as he filled his pipe. "Consarned if ever I wanted t' have a smoke s' bad 'n all my born days," he remarked. Then he moved his holster, turned his scabbard, and sat down quietly, puffing his pipe with some look of weariness and reflection. We were sitting there less than Ave minutes when we heard a footfall near by; then suddenly two men strode up to us in the dim light I recognized at once the easy step, the long, lithe figure, of his lordship in the dress of a citizen, saving sword and pistols. "Ah, good evening, gentlemen," said he, quietly. "How are you?" "Better than?than when we saw you last," I answered. D'ri had not moved; he looked at me with a sympathetic smile. "I presume," said his lordship, in that familiar, lazy tone, as he lighted a cigar, " there was?ah?good room for improvement, was there not?" "Abundant," said I, thoughtfully. "You were not in the best of health yourself that evening." "True," said he; "I?I was in bad fettle and worse luck." "How are the ladies?" "Quite well," said he, blowing a long puff. "Heady to deliver them?" I inquired. ' Presently," said he. "There are? some formalities." "Which are??" I added quickly. "A trifle of expenses and a condition," said he, lazily. "How much, and what?" I inquired, as D'ri turned his ear. "One thousand pounds," said his lordship, quickly. "Not a penny more than this matter has cost me and his majesty." "What else?" said L "This man," he answered calmly, with a little gesture aimed at D'ri. My friend rose, struck his palm with the pipe-bowl, and put up Bis knife. "Ef ye 're goin't' tek mfi," said he, "better begin right off, er ye won't hev time 'fore breakfust" Then he clapped the moose-horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast It made the two men jump and set the near thicket reeling. The weird baryfnno uronf off mnonlnc in tho far wastes of timber. Its rush of echoes had begun. I put my hand to my sabre, for there In the edge of the [gloom I saw a thing that stirred me to the marrow. The low firs were moving toward us, root and branch, their twigs falling. Gods of war! It made my hair stand for a Jiffy to see the very brush take feet and legs. On sea or land I never saw a thing that gave me so odd a feeling. We stood for a breath or two, then started back, our sabres flashing: for, as the twigs fell, we saw they had been decorating a squad of the British, They came on. I struck at the lantern, but too late, for his lordship had swung It away. He stumbled, going to his knees; the lantern hit the earth and went out I had seen the squad break, running each way, to surround us. D'rl grabbed my hand as the dark fell, and we went plunging through the little pines, hitting a mar. heavily, who fell grunting. We had begun to hear the rattle of boats, a shouting, and quick steps on the shore. We crouched a moment D'rl blew the moose-horn, pulling me aside with him quickly after the blast. Lights were now flashing near. I could see little hope for us, and D'rl, 1 thoueht, had gone crazy. He ran at the oncomers. yelling, "Hey Rube!" at the top of his lungs. I lay low In the brush a moment. They rushed by me, D'rl in the fore with fending sabre. A tawny hound was running in the lead, his nose down, baying loudly. Then I saw the truth, and made after them with all the speed of my legs. They hustled over the ridge, their lights flashing under. For a jiffy I could see only, here and there, a leaping glow in the tree-tops. I rushed on, passing one who had tumbled headlong. The lights below me scattered quickly and stopped. I heard a great yelling, a roar of muskets, and a clash of swords. A hush fell on them as I came near. Then I heard a voice that thrilled me. "Your sword, sir!" It commanded. "Stop," said I, sharply, coming near. There stood my father In the lanternlight. his sword drawn, his gray hair stirring In the breeze. Before him was my old adversary, his lordship, sword in hand. Near by the squad of British, now surrounded, were giving up their arms. They had backed to the river's edge; I could hear It lapping their heels. His lordship sneered, looking at the veteran who stood in a gray frock of homespun, for all the world, I fancy, like one of those old yeomen who fought with Cromwell. "Your sword, sir," my father repeated. "Pardon me," said the young man, with a fnsein&tine: coolness of man ner. "but I shall have to trouble you?" He hesitated, feeling his blade. "How?" said my father. "To fight for It," said his lordship, quietly. "Surrender?fool!" my father answered. "You cannot escape." "Tut, tut!" said his lordship. "I never heard so poor a compliment Come In reach, and I shall make you think better of me." "Give up your sword." "After my life, then my sword," said he, with a quick thrust. Before I could take a step, their swords were clashing In deadly combat. 1 rushed up to break In upon a tnera, but the air was full of steel, and then my father needed no help. He was driving his man with fiery vigor. I bad never seen him fight; all I had seen of his power had been mere play. It was grand to see the old fighting as if, for a moment, his youth bad come back to him. I knew it could not go far. His fire would burn out quickly; then the blade of the young Britisher, tireless and quick as I knew it to be, would let his blood before my very eyes. What to do I knew not Again I came up to them; but my father warned me off hotly. He was fighting with terrific energy. I swear to you that in half a minute he had broken the sword of his lordshin. who took to the water, swimming for his life. I leaped in, catching him half over the eddy, where we fought like madmen, striking in the air and bumping on the bottom. . We were both near drowned when I>*ri swam out and gave me his belt-end, hauling us in. I got to my feet soon. My father came up to me, and wiped a cut on my forehead. "Damn you, my boy!" said he. "Don't ever interfere with me in a matter of that kind. You might have been hurt." We searched the island, high and low, for the ladles, but with no success. Then we marched our prisoners to the south channel, where a bateau? the same that brought us help?had been waiting. One of our men had been shot in the shouldei*, another - i_-fo' ' I I ' I THERE STOOD MY FATHER IN THE LANTERN LIGHT, HIS SWORD DRAWN. gored in the hip with a bayonet and we left a young Briton dying on the Bbore. We took our prisoners to Paleyville, and locked them overnight in the blockhouse. The channel was lighted by a big bonfire on the south bank, as we came over. Its flames went high, and made a great sloping volcano of light In the darkness. After the posting of the guard, some gathered about my father and began to cheer him. It nettled the veteran. He would take no honor for his dereat of the clever man, claiming the latter had no chance to fight. "He had no foot-room with the boy one side and D'ri t* other," said he. "I had only to drive him back." My father and the innkeeper and D'rl and I sat awhile, smoking, in the warm glow of the bonfire. "You're a long-headed man," said I, turning to my comrade. "Kind o' thought they'd be trouble," I said D'ri. "So I tuk 'n ast yer father t' come over hossback with hef a j dozen good men. They got three more et the tavern here, an' lay off 'n thet air bateau, waltin' fer the moose call. I cal'lated I did n't want no more slid' * ? * it---. 'M ftAHAilv " in over mere u wu>u;, After a little snicker, he added: "Hed all t' wus good fer me the las' time. 'S a leetle tew swift." "Gets rather scary when you see the bushes walk," I suggested. "Seen whut wus up 'fore ever they ir.ed a move," said D'ri. "Them air bushes did n't look jest es nat'ral es they 'd orter. Bet ye they 're some o' them bushwhackers o' Fitzgibbon. Got loops all over their uniforms, so ye c'u'd stick 'em full o' boughs. Jerushy! never see nuthin's' joemightful cur'us 'n all my born days?never." He stopped a breath, and then added: "Could n't be nuthin' cur'user 'n thet." TO BE CONTINUED. He Treated the Cat. "It isn't often that I get out of patience," said a physician, who has, in point of fact, a hair-trigger temper, though he doesn't suspect It, according to the Washington Post, "but yesterday I was tried beyond endurance? worried by the senseless talk of women, who make a fad of being invalids, and worried still worse over the case of a woman who has been smiling at death for months. Just as my office hours were over a lady?a stranger to me? Insisted on seeing me. She was young and elegantly dressed, but she carried a covered basket on her arm. "'I want you to see Toby; he has such a wretched cough.' Here she opened the basket and took out an ordinary black and white cat. " 'I took off his collar to have it mended and I'm afraid he took cold, poor dear! Can't you help him?' "I was mad all through. " "I'm not a cat doctor, madam.' I said. I was going to ask her why. In heaven's sake, she didn't find something better to take up her time than a cat. but she evidently didn't see I was out of patience. " 'But couldn't you do something for him?' she went on. 'We're so fond of him. He was our little girl's pet?the very last thing she ever spoke about.' "Yes. I did! I treated that cat. and, I'm proud to say I cured him." *3 In unions and onions there Is strength. 80CTIIWN COTTON Principal Source of America's Wealth. THERE IS NO SUBSTITUTE. For Moro Than a Hundred Years the Money Sharks of Great Britain and New England Have Fattened on the Industry of Southern Growers?When Our Own Statesmen Begin to Devote Their Talents and Abilities to This Great Commercial Lever, They Will Lay Parpatual Tribute on the Entire World. Richard H. Edmonds, of the Manufacturer's Record In the Youth's Companion. We are accustomed to count the Iron and steel interests as the greatest of all Industries, b\it cotton?King Cotton It may Justly be called?has a right to llspute their claim to supremacy. Pew have ever quite understood 6r appreciated what it means for our southern states to hold a practical monopoly of the world's cotton production. Destroy corn, and you could And a substitute. Destroy wheat, and other grains would "urnlsh bread for mankind. But cut ihort the south's cotton crop by onehalf, and the financial and commercial ?vorld would stagger. Cotton, the South's crown of glory. Is the one staple which enters Into every civilized life; It Is needed In the palace of the king as well as In the humblest hut of the peasant; it is the glistening sail alike of the royal pleasure yacht and the ship of commerce; it Is the basis of the greatest manufacturing Industry of the world, employing more than two billion dollars of capital, and annually producing an equal amount of manufactured goods, or three hundred million dollars more than the value of the primary forms of manufactured iron and steel; It is the dominant power In commerce; It brings to us from Europe an average of a million dollars every day In the year. And yet how little do we show our appreciation of it. We gin it with the gin made by Whitney more than a hundred years ago; we compass It with machinery a century old; we waste Its substance tnd destroy its vitality; we even sell Its best seed to the oil mills and plant 'he Inferior. Then we wonder why its virility has been weakened and Its produce lessened. But a better day Is dawning. The ablest scientists are seeking" to Im.prove the quality of the seed and the methrw? nt miltlvn linn prnprtfl Are working on better machinery to gin and clean and compress cotton; the world Is anxious to All the south's fields with labor that its production may be Increased, to keep pace with the world's constantly growing demands. Ever since cotton became the greatest power In commerce, European countries have striven to find a source of "Upply sufficient to make them Independent of our southern states. For three-quarters of a century this agitation has been carried on, and as far back as 1840 a large number of expert ?outhern cotton growers were employed by English companies organized for the purpose of developing cotton Interests In India and other British possessions. In that year eight men were engaged In Natchez alone for this purpose. Cotton and tha Civil War. Later on, when the civil war cut >?hort the cotton supply, bringing about Treat disaster alike to the spinners 'nd operatives of Lancashire?cotton 'icing so scarce that It sold at one time ror ong dollar and ninety eenfS a pound 'n New York?the most vigorous efforts were made by English people, as veil as by the government itself, to levelop cotton cultivation In Egypt, Tndla and elsewhere. But the south till maintains a practical monopoly ">f the world's cotton production. Cllmltic conditions, soil, labor and other advantages combine to Insure the permanency of its control of this Indus'ry. The huyer Is always a "bear," arid ~eeks to depress the price of what he !s compelled to purchase. Foreign' 'pinners, and to a considerable extent 'he spinners of New England, have had no interest In the south other than to get their cotton at the lowest possible cost. Naturally, they have been even more pronounced In their bear tendencies than buyers in general, where there Is more reciprocity of Interest. Hence for some years the combined 'nfluence and wealth of the cotton manufacturers of the world have been used to beat down the price of cotton. The propaganda looking to the growing of cotton in other countries Is probably more largely a bear movement to depress prices than a serious attempt to make a commercial success of cot An orrAwino1 olfiAivhoro The discouragement and despondency which existed among southern cotton growers from 1891 until about three years ago was a great barrier to Immigration to the south, either of western farmers or of foreigners, since Immigration seeks the home of prosperity and not of poverty. With an increasing demand for laborers in industrial enterprises and railroad work, the supply on farms has steadily grown "mailer, and the former poverty of the growers, largely produced by the cotton mills of the world themselves, was responsible for preventing an Influx of other laborers. The financial editor of the New York Sun recently, In discussing the Influence of th? mills upon prices, said: For years spinners or their agents hnve had the whip-hand of the southern cotton planters, and have been enabled to keep cotton prices exceedingly low. For years Liverpool buyers made practically what price for cot ton they wished, time and again frustrating the efforts of southern planters to secure a fair return for their toil. Now the dread balance of nature is turned against them, and their undue gains in times past are pitilessly wrested from them. There is this thought, too, that is uppermost in the minds of all those who have looked at the matter from end to end, that it Is highly Improbable that for years to come American cotton will sell at what may be caned low figures, that is to say, prices that will not make the industry a very profitable one for American producers. The advance in price during 1902 and 1903 has generally been discussed as ir tt were a phenomenal condition aue to wild speculation In cotton. On the contrary, there are only two periods in the last hundred years in which cotton haf averaged higher than during these years. Forty Cants a Pound. Prior to 1832 the average price of cotton ranged from about 14 to 15 cents to as high as 40 cents a pound. In 1832-33 the average price in New York for the entire year for what is classed aa middling cotton was 12.32 cents per pound, reaching in 1834-35 17.45 cents. These high prices continued until 1839-40, when there was a decline to an average of a little less than 9 cents for the year, going steadily on down to 5.83 cents In 1844-45, the lowest point known. From this there was a quick rally to higher figures, running from about 11 cents to 13 cents a pound, up to the war. During the w ar the scarcity of cotton forced prices to unheard of figures, which reached at one time In New York 11.90 a pound. Omitting the war period ana me few years immediately following affected by the war scarcity, the general average of prices between 1849-50 and 1889-90 was from about 11 cents a pound tp 13$ cents, although at times cotton ibid at over 20 cents a pound. In 1890-91 there began a long period of low prices, which for about eight years nearly bankrupted the cotton growers of the south. It is doubtful if during that entire period the south made a dollar on Its cotton crop. In fact, considering the conditions under which cotton was produced, It is quite probable that the net result of cotton production was a large losa These low prices culminated in 1898-99 with an average in New York for the year of 6 cents a pound, which meant that southern farmers had sold much of their cotton at from 4 to 5 cents a pound. . From these low prices there was a gradual rise, until during the next three years the average was a little less than 9 cents, and then In 1902-03 cotton again reached Its normal price for a century, of over 10 centa a pound. The financial difference between low prices and good prices Is indicated In the fact that the crop of 1898-99, of more than 11,200,000 bales, the largest ever produced, except that of 1904-05, was worth, Including seed, $325,000,000 to the growers, while last year's crop of about 10.000,000 bales yielded to the growers $?60,000,000, a difference of 8335.000,000. Can the cotton crop of the south be materially increased? Several causes are operating against the possibility of an early Increase: the boll weevil, the greatest danger which has menaced the cotton Industry, the deterioration of Reed by reason of the best seed having been sold by the tenants and poorer farmers to the oil mills, the deterioration of soil under the tenantry system, and the lack of labor. These are all factors which cannot be Ignored. The boll weevil is a problem for which there Is as yet no solution. We can only hope for Its destruction upon the ground that in this advanced age science will prove equal to meeting the ravages of an Insect when an Interest of such tremendous Importance is at stake. It is the consensus of opinion of the best authorities of the south that there has been a marked deterioration In seed, thus lessening the vitality of the plants, and lessening their ability to meet unfavorable weather conditions which a strong and virile plant would overcome. This can be remedied, but it will take several years to do It. It may take the most active co-operation of the national government through 'he agricultural department, but whether it Involves the expenditure of one million or fifty million dollars Is Immaterial In View of Its Importance. An Example of Increase. The" Industrial development of the south has Increased to such an extent that this section now has sixty thousand miles of railroad against twenty thousand In 1880, and one billion two nunarea ana nuy immuii uuumo invested In manufacturing against two, hundred and fifty-seven million dollars In 1880. This has made such a demand upon the fields for factory and railroad hands that the shortage in cotton labor can only be overcome by prices sufficiently high to tempt men back from Industrial employment to the farm. This is not probable except on a limited scale. The only otner way in which this need for labor can be permanently met Is by the incoming of hundreds of thousands of farmers and farm laborers from other sections or from abroad or by the Invention of a successful cotton picking machine. The abnormally large yield of 1904 was due to exceptional causes which may never occur again. During the early growing season unusually favorable weather gave the plant a good start, while later on a drought of unprecedented length, which extended from New England through Pennsylvania to the far south, created the most favorable season of which there is any record for the opening of the cotton boll and Its picking. The average yield of cotton as it Is picked is about thirty-three to thirty-five per cent of lint cotton, and the balance seed. In 1904 the average of lint ran from thirty-five to thirty-eigbt per cent, and in some cases as high as forty and forty-five per cent Secretary Wilson of the agricultural department thinks the possible cause of this was that in 190), owing to peculiar weather condltwis, the plant did not take up the ifull nutriment in the soil, and that the crop of 1904 absorbed the unutilised nutriment of IMS, as well as that of 1904, thus producing this exceptionally large proportion of lint. Hence the record crop of 1904 stands as' an exception, and does not in any way channre the iituatloa. unaer me poverty resulting from low price cotton. It was hardly possible to tempt Immigra tion to the south, but with a higher range of values for cotton and the prosperity which has come to the agricultural Interests of the south, the problem of securing additional population becomes much easier. There is already a marked movement of farmers from the north and west to this section, am." hem and there in the cotton belt are colonies of Italian laborers, whose work not only In diversified agriculture but in cotton growing haa proved remarkably successful. The old Idea that negroes were essential to cotton production haa long since been exploded. Every year sees ^ a decrease in the proportion of the crop raised by negroes, and the sections in which cotton growing is making the moet marked advance are those in which white farmers are in the largest majority. The Italians have demonstrated thai: foreigners can come into the south as farmers and as farm laborers to their own great financial profit and to the benefit of the south. Turning Population Southward. Heretofore the world at large has had no interest in turning population southward. Now Europe and America alike are deeply concerned in making it possible for the south, by heavy immigration, to meet the world's demands for cotton. Not long ago one of the largest c:>tton mill owners of New England, a man who had never had any Interest in the welfare of the south, except to buy his cctton there, said to the writer: The world faces a cotton famine. A crop of eleven million bales is entirely too small, and come means must be devised by which the south can, within the next few years, Incrwise its production to at least fifteen million bales. I can see only one way In which It is possible for this to be brought about, ? and that Is for t combination of the people of the south, of the railroads, and of all othem interested In this problem, to unite in turning to your Motion a great tide of foreign popula tion to Supplement your labor supply, which is inadequate to meet, the emergency." But he expressed the feeling of thousands of cotton manufacturers in New England, in England and on the connent of Europe. They fully understand that it will be a far easier proposition to Increase the south'* production by Increasing its Laly r supply, than it will be to develop cot on growing In Africa or elMwhere. If they will tu n their attention to this line of work with energy equal to that which they have for yeara given to beating down the price of cotton, regardless of the Improvement of the producer, and will devote to it onetenth of the discussion which they are giving to the uneconomic attempt to grow cotton elsewhere, in competition with the south,' their difficulties will Boon vanish, provided they recognise that unless cottcn brings a fair profit to the grower, they must suffer from a supply unequal to their demands. There Is ample territory for the extension of cotton growing in the south. Millions of acres of good land can be had at reasonable prices. But a small part of the possible cotton growing area of the south has yet been put to cultivation. Moreover, there are about fifteen million acres of the richest cotton land In the world, which could be reclaimed by the expenditure of about twenty million dollars by the national government In leveeing the Mississippi river. The fifteen million acres which would thus be saved from overflow could alone produce almost as much cotton as the entire south yields today. But even without this and without adding new area, better cultivation and more thorough fertilisation will enable the south?once free from the menace of the boll- weevil?to produce a much larger crop on the acreage now cultivated. Given fairly profitable prices, that section which during the last century created the greatest and most far-reaching Industry of which the nineteenth century can boast, that section which for a hundred years has been accumulating experience, which has the climate and the soil, and which has ample transportation facilities by rail and water, will* easily be able to meet the utmost needs of the world for cotton. tir The recent suspension of the issue of the new Springfield rifle to the United States army is being interpreted In some military quarters as indicating that the experiences gained in the war in Manchuria show that the bayonet Is not the useless anachronism it has been thought to be, says the Philadelphia Ledger. Official and unofficial reports tell of repeated encounters between Japanese and Russians in which the fighting was with cold steel, showing that the long range of mod em weapdns ha* not changed the conditions of warfare so radically as had been supposed. The significance of these facts, so far as America is concerned, lies in l.he circumstance that the new army rifle is not only shorter than that of other countries, but is fitted with a short: rod bayonet. In actual reach there- la a difference against the American weapon of from 7.45 Inches to 1 foot 6.8 Inches, the latter comparison being with the French army rifle and bayonet. >