Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

YORKVILLE enquirer. ISSUES SEMI-WEEKLY. l. m. grist's sons, publishers. } % Kantilg Hemspaper: Jjor the promotion of the political, Social. Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the people. { tf'R8^ole'c!U\VfiAvkckot?VANCE' established 1855. YORKVILLE, S C.. TUKSDAY. MAHCI-r 3~ 1908. ISTO. 18. 1*11 n 111 HI ninyitnimny>y? TOPOT IF X ?Z& i>wl, 01 By CLARENCE wmwiwwiwrwwiwwi'wi in CHAPTER VI. To Another Day. "It will be a better day tomorrow;" Senn had said that. It was no new thing to say. Humanity has been saying it for these thousands of years? that and that other thing which Senn said?"Tomorrow is a long way ahead; a long, long way into the future." Humanity will have it for its lot to say these hopeful and unhappy things for thousands of years yet: by the bed of sickness, by the open grave, by the routes where armies have trampled and burned and plundered, by the loved ones who have gone wrong, in sight of the evil which has prospered, by throne and in hovel, in palace and in prison, on the victor's car of triumph and at the gallows and guillotine?everywhere and at nil times the shadow has fallen and will ever fall. Thank God for the faith that can bear and believe, though "tomorrow is a long, long way into the future;" thank God that "it will be a better day," in some coming tomorrow. Gilbert Senn went directly to his room. That was a remarkable thing for a man to do who had found it a| pleasant thing to rob his benefactor, betray his best friend, wreck a woman's life, and?puzzle the best detective Boston boasted. It would have seemed quite the proper thing for a man in the habit of stealing money by the hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time to have put on some sort of disguise, and have taken a look about town to see what portable property might not be properly protected. Gilbert Senn did nothing of the sort. He went at once to his room. He re tired at once. He went promptly to sleep. Why? How can I tell? The money was back in Donald Barron's safe; nothing could alter that fact. Donald Rarron's daughter was his wife; no doubt could exist regarding that. There was an array of facts that the world would know tomorrow. They were definite and unmistakable; they were rather to his advantage than otherwise. The facts which were to his disadvantage seemed certain to go no further than Donald Barron. J. B. Prier and Mrs. Gilbert Senn. Authorities tell us that the condemned prisoner sleeps better than the accused who is on trial; it is possible that the man who is to hang tomorrow would sleep soundly tonight if he were only certain there would be neither pardon nor commutation nor reprieve to come between him and a sounder sleep tomorrow night; how can I tell? Gilbert Senn slept soundly. He slept almost dreamlessly. He slept until the day had fully come. And if he moaned once or twice, if there were signs sometimes of brief dreams stirring about his head and through his sleeping senses, was it not true that he was not yet the partner of Donald Barron? Had he not spoken correctly of tomorrow? ********* Mrs Gilbert Senn slept well that night, too. Gilbert Senn's wife beyond any question; her education and religious belleT such that divorce was an unthinkable thing to her: her father saved; her personal freedom for the future assured. There was perhaps, no reason?if we accept the theory that certainty brings calm and repose?why she should be wakeful or dream-haunted. It Is true that she crept to the door of her father's chamber, crept timidly anil noiselessly, anil knocked softly there, when she was about to seek her rest. No matter that girlhood had gone; no matter that youth had flown: no matter that young womanhood was to her past, every night since she could remember she had kissed her father's lips before she went to her rest, except when absent from home without him; w hv should this night, the first night of her unloved and unlovely wifehood, be an exception? \Ve feel kindest and tenderest toward those for whom we have done most. She, having given herself, a living sacrifice, for her father, loved him better than she had ever done before in all her life. So she went to his room. So she knocked. So she tried the door. So, linding the door unlocked, she entered. But he had not yet returned. She went away, never loving him better than now. but without the benediction of his good-night kiss upon her lips. She meant to remain awake; she was fully determined that she would; she must see her father before she slept, so she said to herself: but she was sleeping soundly when the old banker crept softly to her door, some hours later. and listened. Let her sleep, wife but no wife; the heroine and the victim of devoted selfsacrifice; let her sleep, for she will need strength and vigor to face her future. Her better tomorrow, coming, Ood grant, lies beyond many sunrises of hope?noontimes of weariness?sunsets of despair. iJ*#****## It was late, of course, when Mr. Barron and Mr. Prler returned from the bank. The former went In at once. He was in a great hurry. He was very anxious to see his daughter. He felt that he should rest easier after he had told her the story of the evening's work, and placed her In possession of the means of opening the bank-safe. But. as has been said, she had long been sleeping when he came In. and he K.nid not find It In his heart to wake her t<> the realities of her situation and her sorrow. Mr. Prier did not go In. I can ring the hell when 1 am ready." he said, as he shook hands with Mr. Barron at the foot of the steps, "and a servant can let me In. I want to think a little, and smoke a little, and I find I can do either better when I am on my feet than when I am sitting down: I find I can do either better when I am outdoors than when I am in the house. And"?here Mr. Barron closed the front door from within?"and I guess I'll watch a little, too." He drew the collar of his overcoat up high about his ears. He pulled his hat HUJiLULULHUiUU lIUlLULilUmttU AN EFTS1BI1 I BOUTELLE. t ninnnnniinwniwii hi m hi m i down low. He thrust his gloved hands deep down into the outer pockets of his ovem>at, and commenced his weary vigil. To walk?to watch?to wait; to wait ?to walk?to watch. That was what the steady tramp of his feet seemed to say to his heart and brain as he moved up and down?up and down?up and down?in front of the house of Donald Barron, and in front of the grounds belonging to it. "To walk?to watch?to wait!" Why? J. R. Prier. Esq., the great detective, couldn't have told you himself; he didn't know. He only knew that he felt like doing that, and J. R. Prier was a man who was in the habit of letting his impulses help him. In fact, there were certain principles regarding his business which he always followed, but never talked about. "Follow your instincts, when in doubt," and "Let your reason explain later, if it needs more time," were two of them. We may call Mr. Prier wise or unwise, and his principles sound or faulty, according to the clearness with which we understand and appreciate the delicacy of the connection between body and mind and the mysterious mutual influences of minds upon each other. Mr. Prier felt like walking and watching. He did it. Any one, of course, could have done the same. But niosi men wihiki imvi- iu uhu si/uv to bed. Why didn't Prier go and walk near the bank? I don't know. Prler didn't know. Reason told him that there wouldn't be any necessity for his walking there and watching there: but reason told him he was a fool for staying out such a terribly cold night at all. Impulse led him toward the bank: Impulse led him toward Gilbert Senn's lodgings: impluse invited him to remain near the Barron residence. Among such a variety of eontlictlng impressions it was surely a delicately adjusted mind which appreciated fully their relative power and value, and a giant will which held him to what he did. The air grew colder and colder. The wind became stronger and fiercer. The [snow was swept in eddying whirls about his feet, or hurled into his cold face. But he walked up and down all I night long, forgetting that he needed sleep, forgetting weariness and cold, forgetting everything except the one event in the past which had baffled his skill?the puzzle of the present?and his faith and resolution for the future. How bright the stars were. How fast the world dipped its ever-falling horizon toward the east: how fast new stars sprang up there, like knots of storm-tossed foam on the sea-beach. And. one by one, constellation after constellation, they fell away from his watchful eyes, going?going?going, going to bless other nations and other peoples, falling: into night beyond tlie rising rim of the line which bounded Boomvllle's world. Did Frier learn anything? Tell me whether you ever came to a now day knowing only what you knew the day before, and I will tell you. Did In* gain anything? Tell me how much the tree which shades your door grew last night, and I will answer. Was his instinct or impulse or impression right? Is the instinct of the plant which forces its black toes deeper into the soil, and stretches its green fingers higher and higher toward heaven. right? Tell me. and I, in turn, will tell you. Truth to tell, he saw nothing, heard nothing, found nothing. Not a dog barked. Not a belated outcast oat skulked along in shadow of fence or shrub-row. Not a window was raised in the Barron mansion. Not an outer door opened nor closed. No one went in. No one came out. The stars grew dim. They faded out. The tardy sun rose reluctantly in the frigid air. It was morning. It was a new day. A better one? Who can say? "My vigil has amounted to nothing," he said, as he stretched his cold and cramped limbs, and stamped vigorously on the sidewalk in an attempt to get more warmth into his chilled feet. He looked up. The dim light which had shone in one of the rooms all night long, almost a mockery to him with its hints of warmth and comfort, burned tlitre still. Had his vigil amounted to nothing? He wondered, vaguely, in whose room that light burned. Did some one keep watch within, as he outside? Who? Why? In the day when he knows, he will not count this night a lost one! "I dare say," muttered this keen student of human nature, "that Gilbert Senn and Elsie Senn and Donald Barron are all as far removed from my wakeful and restless mood as it is possible f<ir any one to be. To the doubting. sleep Is a coquette." Ve^y likely. Miss I.urllne Bannottie, her knees upon the floor, her elbows upon the I..: il Iw.?. fo/?o nroocod nlnvA to tllf* will dow that she might peer through the nearly closed blinds, had wakefully watched the great detective all the night. "How thankful 1 should he for strength; I can face the exigencies and perplexities of a new day. and feel no ill effects from my loss of sleep and lest. Another, with equal or greater need, hut with less physical power, might find nature's demands too strong, and wakeful work impossible." Thus said the wise detective. And. doubtless, truly. Her bowed head upon the windowsill. her senses fast locked in slumber. Miss Lurline Rannottie had forgotten in the morning the work and watchfulness of the night. "To walk?to watch?to?to " she murmured. And J. R. Prier came up the steps to the door and rang the bell. *** ****** Did you ever think, reader, of history or of fiction, of the many things to which those who write must put their pens only with reluctance and in sorrow? Is it pleasant for a Frenchman to write of Waterloo? Can a true Englishman write, with a steady hand and a happy heart, the tale of vain watchfulness and weary waiting at Khartoum? So with me. I think of the events which followed one another, so rapidly and so strangely, in the lives of the man outside?and his friends and foes. While much is bright, some is dark; I would gladly leave out some things which I must tell. I would find pleas-, ure in saying that this and this happy event took place, instead of that and that sad one. But I must be a faithful chronicler; I must tell what happened, and as it happened, not because I love pain much, shall I pain you, but because I love truth fully. Did Donald Barron sleep? Let us apply our theory. Ought he to have slept? His money was recovered: it was safe: his name would ho untarnished; Ins honor was secure. But his daughter?she was the unloved and unloving wife of an adventurer. the wife of a man so had that his soul had never shown its blackness until he had. as it were, boastfully bared his breast and opened his very heart, cry hip: "Look; I have deceived you all: behold the manner of man I am; hate me and despise me. if you wish, but dare not to refuse me aught." Gilbert Senn had told him that he had no wish to ever see Elsie again. But Gilbert Senn had been the very soul of honor, exact to a penny, scrupulous and careful and painstaking. And Gilbert Senn had outdone infamj at last. Might he not again? Elsie was his wife. He had power to put a continent?an ocean?half the world, between her and the loving father, for whom she had done so much: the law was on his side; the power was his. And, on the other hand, he had said he would not do it; he, the man whose life for ten long years must have been one long, living lie. Tomorrow he must face him. Tomorrow he must see him hand out the contents of that once stolen tin box in payment of the obligations which would come from the hands of fright ened creditors and depositors. Tomorrow ho must watch the careful accuracy with which every item would be entered upon the books, watch the matter-of-fact sang froid of audacious hypocrisy?until he would almost go mad. Tomorrow he must make the articles of agreement regarding a partnership with Gilbert Senn, make them in the presence of witnesses, make them with a smile upon his face, and with friendship in his tone. Tomorrow?tomorrow. Who had said it would be a better day tomorrow? It could not possible be true. Tomorrow he must face the world as well as Gilbert Senn; he must see men hurry in for their money, looks of suspicion on their faces for him; he must listen to congratulations on the marriage of his daughter: he must hear men ask wonderlngly of one another whether it was possible that Senn had money with which to help the bank through its great crisis. Sleep? When he has worn himself out: when he can live no longer without slumber; when he must lose the consciousness of his woes and doubts, for a little time, or go mad: then he may sleep. Until then? Ask me whether lost souls, with the shadow of eternity lying dark about them, can sleep! Sleep in the tires of hell! The hours* of torture which Donald Barron passed! Who can count their miseries and their doubts? Now leaving his bed. to stumble across the room in the icy darkness, that lie may look up at the star, beyond which is God and His peace, and wonderlngly down at the endless and tireless walk of the great detective?the detective who has so great a reputation, but whose very presence has seemed to be a bane and a curse to him and his house, Now going out from his room, scantily olad, to listen again and again at the door of his beloved Elsie, that he may know whether her breathing is perfectly regular. and unbroken by sobs and moans. Now back to his bed again, to wrestle anew with the questions he cannot answer, and the feelings which he can neither conquer nor control. Thus lived Donald Barron for long hours; thus he fought this battle which he had found in his journey along the road of life; thus lie toiled and struggled with himself until he was weary and worn with the agony of it all. And then? Slowly he sank away Into slumber. Slowly the dreams came about him from their mystic homes in Ills mind. ' T-? J _ 1^4 fall ll'itru'ui iilf, icttuci, auu ICI inv; ivii this as I must?as it happened. We shall find little of dreams after this night has gone.) It seemed to Donald Barron that he was very sick; he could hear some one tramping up and down outside the room?or outside the house?some one who was undoubtedly watching with him, or for his death. He tried to call for his daughter; she was too far away; his voice faded into silence half way clown the cold, dark hall, at the end of which It seemed to him she was sleeping. Then the dream changed; he had died; he was in his coffin, not in a trance, not with resuscitation possible and further life a hope, but dead?dead ?undeniably dead?though In some strange way he was conscious of death all the time, conscious of his own state. They lowered him Into his grave; how dark?how terribly dark?it was, and how cold! Tears fell upon his cofflnlid. There was the sound of weeping above him. Some loving fingers let a handful of dust scatter slowly through the dark stir above to fall softly on the glass above his face. It needed not sight to tell him who thus cared for the dead; the tears came from Elsie's eyes?the "dust to dust" from her frail, loving1 fingers. Then something else fell upon his coffin, something not warm and moist like a daughter's tears, something not drifting dryly like love's gift of the dust of oblivion; something which fell slowly, and with a crisp rustle. a little at first?then more, and more, and more, until the air was full of the noise of its fall! Money! Money! Bank hills! Money by the handful. falling from the hands of Gilbert Senti! Stolen money! His money! Money which alone stood between his daughter and starvation! Would they not see it? It could do him no good in his grave. Would they let it be wasted? Was it so dark as that! Alas, yes! They piled the soil in above him, ^ above him and his money, and he was dead, and could not say a word, and? Donald Barron awoke. Do you remember what happened to j him, only two nights ago, when his j bank was robbed? It was a terrible j, experience through which he passed t then. It was as nothing to that which j he was called upon to endure now. ^ More than twenty years before, a t '--4 ?* fnlWl I very exceneni pnyaiuiun nau uun^u very frankly to Mr. Donald Barron. He had told him some very plain facts about a weak and diseased heart and y a faulty circulation; he had told him . what he might and what he might not ^ do, with safety, at his business and at his table. It was not pleasant, old though he was, to wake there with the t blood stagnating in vein and artery. ^ with the memory of that well-meant j warning vividly present with him, while he could but admit that day by day, , for years and years, he had practically forgotten it. The closing words of the v long, and perhaps somewhat dry and prosy, talk the doctor had given him. ^ seemed sounding In his ears: "Avoid Q all excitement, anger, passion; unless ^ you are temperate and wise you will be found dead in your bed some morning." * "Do you know what it is to stand ^ face to face with death? Has fire or . b water or railway wreck or tempest ever ^ shut you away, for a little time, from ^ hope? If experience can help you, you j ?Do rt'An may unuersiauu n<>? u\>uaiu ft?lt when he awoke In the gathering: j brightness of the early morning of the ^ new day: if experience of that sort has happily passed you by, I fear you must ^ go with this narrative without fully n comprehending Donald Barron's feelings and thoughts. ^ He had feared death, two mornings ^ ago, when he had found his powers _ chained down against the sovereignty of his will for a little time. Now he knew that death was certain. In the ^ same way have countless others feared . in folly until certainty was a revelati<,n. sl It was very hard to die so. But, then, ^ death is always hard when it comes to ( the man whose mind has not gone down into the darkness in advance of the mere physical. And, hard or not. j it is inevitable. His hearing was wonderfully acute. ^ His daughter's breathing, slow and regular. and as peaceful as when she was ^ an infant, fell upon his ear. So near, and yet so far. How he loved her. How well he had tided to care for her. How bravely and unselfishly she had e done for him all that it had been pos- a sible for her to do. If she could only come to him now; if she could only ? sl raise him up in her strong arms; if she could rub his cold limbs; if she ^ could only dash cold water upon his ? face and chest; but no?she slumbered e on?and he was dying! a Outside, the great detective walked w up and down. Watching? Watching! t( But death enters silently and unseen. e' Waiting? Waiting! It will be strange c news he will hear in the morning. He 0 has taken a great interest in this case, a phenomenal Interest; if he would only w take it into his queer old head to run up to his employer's room to tell him 11 the result of his night of thought and c' study; but no?he still tramped on with * p the same sad monotony which had sounded in his steps all night?beating the same message, with heel and toe. "to walk?to watch?to wait: to wait? ^ to watch," and Donald Barron was d.v- v ing! c: He could not move. He could not speak. Kiss and blessing1?Elsie must " live without them. And the secret of c' the combination of the safe In his bank s' ?it must die with him. The stars, growing dim now, shone In at his win- ^ dow, and lit up a very pale face where s' very dim eyes looked motlonlessly at the ceiling?and at the future. 11 His hands and feet were like lead. ^ The circulation was falling him. His *lungs struggled vainly; they were lock- t( ed fast against the life-giving air. His n heart beat no longer. His brain was going?going. How he struggled. It was useless. e What were the words they would say over him, one day not far away? They n came to him, slowly and laggingl.v, it seemed, for he could not think now as he could once?not as he could when a he awoke In despair that Ollbcrt Senn c should put his money into his grave Cl with him?and the words of hope for ^ the dead made his prayer for the dy- n ing: "I am the resurrection and the 11 life, saith the Lord: he that believeth K in me. though he were dead, yet shall *' he live " N And what was that? Who stood by n his bed? Was it a phantom of a dying biain. or the first clear sight of a freed ' soul? w His daughter had not come. The ? great detective had not guessed his S( need. No door had opened. Did his wife?the dear woman he had followed 8 to her last resting-place under the sunkissed flowers, long years ago?did she Cl stand by his bedside now? I do not know. Until you lie where he did, you 0 cannot. Did his hand move? P No. It was only a lost breeze of the ri wintry morning, stirring the snowy sheet on which his whither fingers lay. Elsie Senn has given herself for a 11 father's honor! What has she gained? v Clod knows! " The future will show! r' As for Donald Barron, starlight and v sunshine are alike to him. It may be night?or it may be morning: lie can- P not know. To watch?to wait?no more ? \> for ever! In another world than this, he has his better day! h To be Continued. j c Rain has never been known to fall c in Iquikue, Peru. fi In Constantinople it is impossible h to communicate with any one by mail. S Instead, one must send a servant with t the message or so oneself. It has been suggested in England r that motor cars should be provided II with cowcatchers and the suggestion is e favorably received outside of autumn- g bile circles. ii Xf The most curious vegetable in the p world is the truffle, since it has neither u roots, stem, dowers, leaves nor seeds, p In some parts dogs and pigs are trained t to dig for it, the animals being guided o by their sense of smell. <] ittiscfUanrous iteadintj. SEA FIGHT WITH JAPAN Yankee Navy Had a Hot Brush During Civil War. Every one who has followed the srulse of the battleship fleet to the 1 3acifjc has an opinion as to the likeihood of war with Japan, but few j enow of a naval battle that actually ook place between Americans and rapanese. The reason for its being { orgotten is that it happened in 1863, he crisis of the civil war, and the exdoit in faraway Japan was lost in the oar of battles at home. Even in the ecrctary of the navy's report for the ear 1863 the modest account of the lero of this story is tucked away at he end under the title of "Aliscellaleaus," but President Roosevelt once aid of this ficrht. "Pad this action aken place at any other time than ^ luring the civil war its fame would lave echoed r.ll over the world." To understand how Americans and 'apanese happened to be shelling ach other while the two countries r /ere supposedly on friendly terms it it lecessary to go bacK to Commodore ^ I. C. Perry's visit in 1853-54, which pened Japan to the civilized world, n 1858 the Japanese prime minister igned the completed treaty for Jaan, with Commodore Tattnall's sigature representing the United States: ut " this act of friendliness to the Initcd Stutes meant only civil war ^ or Japan. Though for 1'5U years s apan had been at peace, the embers * f rebellion had long been smolder- . ng, and the question of foreign in- ^ ercourse only fanned them into ame. The shogun on "tycoon," uner whose authority the treaty was iade, was the practical ruler of Ja- j an, for the mikado kept a mysterlus, god-like seclusion which cost im actual power in government. t ipposed to the shogun were feudal lans of Chiosu and Satsuma?the ' tost powerful in the empire?who ated the foreign devils and longed i revive the ancient authority of the likado by ousting the shogun. The Igning of the treaty was made the Ignal for barring the two-handed ivord In n oriisade of natriotism. In I860, the year when the first ^ apanese embassy arrived in Wash?1 igton, the minister who signed the v reaty was assassinated, and from x tiat time on tiie islands were in an v proar. Foreigners were killed and ^ >gations burned by individuals and y roving bands of outlaws; but in une. 1863, the mikado was persuadd to issue an edict serving notice to 11 foreigneers that they must leave a lie country', and closing all the ports e f the empire against the world. The * hogun found himself caught be- f) veen the authority of the mikado on a ne side, the guns of the treaty pow- j, rs slgi the other. His request to be t Mowed to resign was refused, and he li as forced to play his difficult role d ) the end. As soon as the Imperial J* diet reached the Chlosu clan their g hief decided to begtn warfare on his b wn account, and began at once to artify the Strait of Shimonosekl, ^ hich lay in his dominion. e Meanwhile the danger to Amerl- i ans in Yokohama had already be- j] r?me serious in April of the same J ear, and our minister sent word to p aptain McDougal of the Wyoming, lat his guns were needed to protect merlcan lives and nronertv. Mc lougal, who had been cruising in a ^ ain search for the Confederate ruiser Alabama, brought his ship to okohama, where it became a refuge P ir American residents until safe * uarters could be found for them on n io re. v On the 11th of July word came P lat the American merchant steam- v flip Pennhroke had been tired upon a ithout warning in the Strait of Shi- * lonosekl, and rumor had it that she " ad been sunk with all on board. Ale- v >ougal had already received orders H i return to America, but. being a a lan whi knew his duty when he saw ^ . he weighed anchor and arrived off 2 fie eastern end of the strait on the a veiling of ihe 15th. The great Inland sea of Japan nar- P ows at this point to a channel about firee miles long and from one-half ^ i one mile wide. A small town lies s t the foot of the hluffs, which so ontrols the channel that it has been h ailed "the Gibraltar of the Japanese v tediterranean." Through this chan- v el the tides rush and swirl, conceal- v lg shoals and sunken rocks so dan- " emus that the place has long been 11 amous for shipwrecks, yet it is a I' ery impoitant waterway for com- ^ lerce. c Captain McDougal, therefore, had r i face the problem of succeeding n ith his armament of six guns. Op- * osed to him were three armed ves- s ?ls. mounting eighteen guns, with a * Iring of batteries mounting thirty uns, which he could not reach from f' tie narrows. Without charts, all he ^ ould depend upon was the fact that " fie Lancefield, which was the largest 11 f the enemy's vessels, drew as much n ater as his own. The two Japanese ^ ilots that he had aboard proved ^ ather worse than useless. At b on the morning of the 10th fie Wyoming got under way. Sig- 1 a I guns announced her entry into ?' ha straits, and as soon as she came * ithin range the batteries opened I1 re, to which the American made no 1 eply until the real knot of the straits '' as reached. There lay the larger s atteries commanding the narrowest t art of the channel; beyond, in more s pen water were the three inen-of- t 'nr. all heavily manned, with their 1 rows yelling defiance. These ships s . ere the bark Daniel Webster, the ? rig Lanrick and the steamship ancefield. till oddly enough Ameri- a an vessels purchased by the Chiosu ^ lansmen. In the batteries, too, were c ne eight-inch Dahlgren guns, which h iad been presented by the United " tates to Japan, with little thought of a heir future use. v As McDougal approached the nar- t ows he noticed near midchannel a I1 Ine of stakes, which he rightly guess- " d had been used by the Japanese z uliners to gauge their aim. Accordugly in spite of the jabbering of his " lilots, he steered his vessel close in e inder the batteries. This shrewdness c irobably saved the Wyoming, for the atteries at once opened a tremend- 0 ius fire, which would have sunk a R lozen vessels in midchannel, but v which simply tore through her rigging. She soon cleared the narrows and bore out into more open water, I where she could hit back. "All right!" sang out McDougal, "we'll go in between those vessels and t take the steamship!" At this point a i fresh battery of four guns opened a i raking fire on the Wyoming, which i inswered with a single shell so ac- 1 ;urately aimed that it tore the entire 1 >attery to pieces. I Dashing ahead she came abreast of r he hark at close quarters, exchanged a ^roadsides, then opening almost si- i nultaneously with her port guns on t he brig she fought the two ships at t he same time. The tiring was so 1 lose that the Iciik ruiik of the Wyo- d ning seemed almost to touch vlie o nuzzle of the enemy, and it was in v hese hot minutes that most of the American loss occurred. The Japanese q landled their guns so rapidly that a h? brig alr.ne managed to pour three e (roadsides into the Wyoming as she g (assed. On the latter every gun was ^ vorked to the utmost and every shot t old on the hulls of the enemy. s Out in clear water McDougal r ounded the bow of tlie steamship and t nanoeuvred for a fighting position, r ^hen, ignoring the shore batteries e ind the bark, .McDougal ordered his g 1-inch Pahlgren pivot guns trained I m the steamship. Tloth shells took 1 ffect on her hull, spilling officers ind crew out of her in hot haste. An- f ither from the forward pivot tore s pen her boiler and exploded In the h own a quarter of a mile distant. In- t tantly the boiler blew up, and in a t loud of smoke and cinders the e jancefield went down. Meanwhile e he Daniel Webster had been firing r is fast as the guns could be loaded, t ind the six shore batteries were a con- j inuotfs line of smoke und name, mc)ougal now trained his guns to re- a >ly. In a few minutes the bark was r orn to splinters, and then one bat- t eiy after another was silenced. When u atlsfled that he had destroyed every- t hing within range he turned leis- c ireiy and steamed back the way he p ame. On the way back through the n mi-rows he was practically unmolested li The action on the part of the Wyo- f ming had lasted one hour and ten > ninutes, In the course of which she d ind been hulled ten times, her rig- e ing was badly cut, her smokestack f, ras perforated, and she had lost five p 11 led and seven wounded, one of 0 rhoin died the following day. llut e he Japanese had lost three ships, ^ heir batteries had been shattered nd their casualties must have been p ver 100 men. % The battle was won by the coolness t nd nerve of the American commandr, but a fine feature of the story is c hat while most of the Wyoming's t rew had never before been under p ire, even when the ship was aground { nd the pilots paralyzed with terror he Yankee tars handled their guna Ike veterans. Those were the days', n oo, when a white man caught by the g asurgents, endured the unspeakable leath of the "torture cage," and they " mew that their captain had ordered I hat If the ship became helpless by rounding or by shot she was to be down up with all on board. William E. Griffis, the author of a C ----- ? am V*/ . Hrlnnf n v&fo ? U4l.Il uuima un mc v/nsiik, t ils account of this battle with these . arefully chosen words: "In the antals of the American navy no achieve- C nent of a single commander in a sin- t le ship surpasses that of David Mc- n )ougal at Shimonoeski."?Philadelihia Public Ledger. 11 WHEN PEOPLE FLY. f s charlotte Perkins Gilman Takes a Glimpse Into the Future. J Taking a very modest view of the h romlsed development, admitting that b he carrying of heavy weight seems un- f ecessary and undesirable for airships, n . e can look forward with some safe b revision to such small conveyances as s .ill carry a few people and a few pack- e ges swift and far, says Charlotte o erkins in Harper's Weekly. Small in- A it-irintii machines air-bicvcles. as it /ere, offered a tempting and practical b eld for invention; and here you have o n element of portentious importance. 'I Sehold man winged and engined. buz- s ing off, like a huge cockchafer, to soar r nd circle, dip and rise as he will! v Where, then, is security for private i< roperty? v And where the bonds that shall con- J ne him who has long laughed at lock- r mi t lis? q Must our windows and skylights b'e a arred as those of dungeons? Must our ,'ailed gardens be netted across the top j rith woven wire? Whose fruit-trees n rill be safe when buttering flocks of ^ ttle winged boys?by no means cher- |, bs?may surround them at night and ^ luck delightedly from the outer r ranches? The gentlemanly burglar, t arrying a light kit for noiseless glass ^ etnoval, may pick and choose among uiny windows, and be off before cap- e ure at a moment's fright. Only the v hotgun can reach him. ""Stop?or j, 11 shoot! Hold up your wings! Come q own. you!" This might arrest his a eeing?we cannot say "steps," it must s e "flaps"?his tieelng "flaps"?yet a e ittle bomb thrown at our home would a lake him master even so. When it is ^ o burglar but a Romeo?what, then? r fars?strong bars, as in Cuba, must t e placed at every window; and what t hall bars avail if the damsel be will- q ng, and know the uses of the acid or j he file? In sober sadness there is beore us here, first, a great danger, and a hen a greater good. The increased ossibility of evil is so patent that in j, he end there is but one way to meet j, t. There will, no doubt, bo at first t trong repressive measures, we snail n ry our best to police the air; we shall n tretch and revamp our laws to reach j, liese new offenders; but the field is far c oo wide to cover so. We cannot all (j ulk behind bars and curtains for fear |. f shameless vandals with wings. The eal result, the big result, will be ^ , lifting of the standards of humanity. t Vinged, we must be well-behaved. We a an no longer risk tlie presence of a t arge body of persons, illiterate, un- ^ nannerly, poor to t lie verge of robbery a nd of evil passions. The "lire-bug," j: rho even now succeeds in arson, could ( hen endanger a city with small risk to e limself. Society, so aroused to a sense 0 f the danger of its "undesirable citi- r ens." must once and for all rid itself s if them by the simple process of not aaking any. No longer can the illborn >iiId be left to evil parents?no longer c an we afford to have the child ill-born! u few care must be taken in the rearing ^ if our people; none can lie allowed to ( ,to\v up evil, because with wings they t rould be too dangerous. r JAPAN TO ITS VANQUISHED. No Mercy For Yellow Peoples It Haa Conquered. Since the beginning of the immigra:ion troubles on the Pacific coast nueh has been written about the clash letween Japanese and Americans beng due to inherent race differences, vipling's line about the East being Sast and the West West has often >een quoted in explanation of broken estaurant windows in San Francisco md fights with splintered bottle ends n Vancouver. But a consideration of he attitude of the Japanese toward thers of the so-called yellow races, leretofore generally overlooked, inlicates that in a dispute on the ethics ir race nhilosophy much depends upon chose bull is gored. The Japanese have already conluered three races of Mongol origin ind now they are coming into close ontact with a fourth, the Chinese, greatest of all the slant ^yed peoples. Yhat will be the political outcome of his clash between two peoples of the amo stock will be decided within the lext fifty years. Now the personal atitude of a Japanese toward a Chinanan, a Corean or one of the conquerd aborginees in the Japanese island :roup Is an Interesting study In the Ight of the newly arisen social probems on the Pacific slope. Before history began to emerge rom Japanese folk lore the primitive ubjects of early emperors fought a titter war of extermination against he Ainos, the aboriginal people of he archipelago. One cycle of Japanse myths says that the early Japanse came from Corea to the southernnost tip of Kiushiu, the lowest of the hree great islands of the present emtire. Wars with the Ainos were as heroic is the fabled battles of Troy in Greek nythology. The hairy folk fell back tefore the advance of the invaders intil within comparatively recent hlsorlcal times they were all driven out if the main inland of Hondo and up nto the bleak land of Hokkaido, the lorthernmost of the Japanese group. There in a land as cheerless as Saklalin, which %is still as much of a AntUf Ion/1 fne (Via Tnnonaoo no V? o i wmivi luiiu iwi IIIC ua|/uiicoc ar? IIIC Northwest Territory is for the Canalians, the remnant of the Ainos, herdd together on reservations, are raprlly ceasing to exist. The Japanese lave not come into clash with them >f late years because there are not nough Japanese on Hokkaido to elow the savages into the sea. The government considers the Ainos ts wards, very much as the American overnment tieats the remnant of he Indians. But it does not try to eduate the primitive men or to teach hem the Japanese language; it simily tolerates them and gives them a air measure of protection. An Aino in the southern islands is ever seen outside of a mUseum or treet fakir's show. In those regions ie is much more of a novelty than an ndian in New York. At one time several years ago a pernanent show ir. Asakusa park, the loney Island of Toklo, kept as its hlef attraction a family of Ainoq and he place was crowded all the time. Children cried with fear when shown he women, with their white tattooed nustaches, and the strange, hairy nen, dressed in rough skin garments. "Come in and see the hairy dogs rom Hokkaido," sang the Japanese pieler at the door. Right at the present time the apanese government is finding its ands filled in the task of desematng another race of the yellow amily, the Aiyu, or natives of Fornosa. As far as anthropologists have ieen able to ascertain the Formosan oi*o o-ot? orn o a naorlv al'ln tf* -TJl Hfi n se as they are to the various tribes f the Philippines; they seem to be part lalay and part Mongol. Their kinship to the Japanese might >e substantiated by their evident love f fighting and remarkable bravery, 'hese Aiyu are of the wildest type of avages, bloodthirsty, tricky and imilaeable in their warfare. The Chinese rere content to leave the whole interf>r jungle of Formosa to the savages /hen they owned the island, but the apanese have started a deliberate irogram of extermination and in a uarter of -a century more there probbly will not be any Aiyu. The street name for Coreans in apan is "Yobo-Yobo;" it is synonymous with the "Chink" or "yellow ielly" that the west attaches to the ow ciuss Chinaman as a convenient icndle. In the popular Japanese estimate the Corean is little better than he dog and more patient as a burden iearer than a horse. This estimate even the white travller who has seen the Corean at home /ill be tempted to affirm unless he las the opportuninty to see the# finer ualities of loyalty, patience and even thin sort of patriotism exhibit themelves. By the admission of the Japanse themselves the Corean is at least distant blood brother, yet no animal m Japan is made to suffer as the Coean in his own land has suffered at he hands of the Japanese. In making his statement it is only fair to add a iialification excluding the high class apanese from responsibiliy. The Corean, coolie and gentleman like, is a great oaf with lamblike eyes ud a soggy spit it, who will stand bemg kicked and beaten without retalition. Because this is so the construclon bosses on the railroads, the barge ?* *1.^ rvn.lio on/1 IVlO OT??n t (UNI Ul in*.* ,>ra|;ui in aiiu mv nass of ragtag and bobtail Japanese teddlers that followed the path of the onquering army through Corea have riven the peasants in that dreary iind like cattle with a goad. One Corean custom which seems to ritate the Japanese beyond measure is he wearing of the topknot. Although 11 Japanese under the shogunate had opknots and some old men in the inerinr even now wear their hair long nd gathered into a spindling stickike knot on the head, the first thing hat the Japanese did when they seizd Corea after the war was to pass an irder that every Corean court gentlenan. including the old Emperor, hould cut his topknot off. Hecause the rumor passed around mong the mass of the people that the irder was to be widespread there was in rest almost approaching open relellion. Ten years ago, when they had einporary ascendency over Corea afer the Chinese war, the Japanese did nuch to ruin their position by trying to enforce this topknot cutting order. A Corean refuses to be clean and he l refuses to cut off his badge of manhood. Those two things seem to have irked the Japanese masters more than any of the pitiful faults of national and social degeneration that the Coreans possess. The stay at home Japanese knows only two kinds of Chinese: the merchant and the student. For both he has as much respect as he can have for any foreigner although the boy In the street hails every Chinaman with "Chang-Chang." The Chinese coolie such as we .see In America cannot find a footing in Japan, for the Japanese coolie lives as Cheaply as he does and there can be no underbidding on labor. With all their toleration of and even friendship for the Chinese whom they see in Japan, the Japanese accept them with the great reservation that they are barbarians. The writer once mistook a Chinese in the uniform of a student of Waseda University for a Japanese. He was sharply corrected by another Waseda student. | "Can you not tell the difference between a Japanese and a Chinaman?" asked the student. "Why the Chinaman looks so foolish." When asked If he could distinguish a Russian from an American the student had to admit that all white men looked alike to him. The two universities at Toklo and the government military and naval colleges have In all about 4,000 Chinese students in attendance. It flatters Japanese pride that this should be so, but there is little evidence of fraternity between the two bodies of students. The Chinese, like the smaller number of Indian students, live by themselves and follow their own scheme of amusement. The Chinese merchants and money changers who live at the Japanese seaports also follow their own lives, with little or no Intercourse with the Japanese. Many of the Chinese marry Japanese low caste women, but .in these instances the family of the woman will not adopt the son-in-law. At Yokohama, Kobe and Nagasaki there are Chinatowns as distinct as any in the cities of America. When on Chinese New Year there are processIons of Chinese and merrymaking the Japanese flock to the district with as tnuch interest as tourists in San Francisco's old Chinatown. "A Chinaman?" once said a Japanaaa Cni'nrnmpnt to the Writer. "Oh, he is a monkey with a long tail who Is always looking backward."? New York Sun. HISTORY OF THE CHICKEN. Originally Wild Fowl, But Domesticatad For Many Conturiea. Oscar Erf writes in Bulletin 150 of the Kansas agricultural experiment station: To one who Is familiar with the different types of chickens to be found In a poultry show room it seems almost incredible that these varieties should have descended from one parent source. It is, however, thought by scientists that all domestic chickens have been bred from a single species of a Jungle fowl of India. This wild chicken is smaller than the common varieties and Is colored in a manner similar to the blackbreasted game breed. The habits of this bird are like those of the quail and prairie chicken, both of which belong to the same zoological family. From its natural home in India the chicken spread both east and west. Chinese poultry culture is ancient. In China, as well as India, the chief care seems to have been to breed very large fowls, and from these countries all the large, heavily feathered breeds have been imported. Poultry' Is also known to have been bred In the early Babylonian and Egyptian periods. Here, however, the progress was in a different line from that of China. Artificial Incubation was early developed and the selection was for birds that produced eggs continually, rather than for those that laid fewer eggs and brooded in the natural manner. The Egyptian type of chicken spread to the countries bordering on the Mediterranean, and from southern Europe our nonsetting breed of fowls have been imported. Throughout the countries of northern Europe minor differences were developed, the French chickens were selected for the quality of the meat, while in Poland the peculiar topknotted breed is supposeed to have been formed. The chief point to be noted in all European poultry Is that it I differs from Asiatic poultry in oeius smaller, lighter feathered, quicker maturing, of greater egg-producing capacity, less disposed to become broody and more active than the Asiatic fowl. The early American hens were of European origin, but of no fixed breeds. About 1840 Italian chickens began to be imported. These, with fixed types of form and color, constitute our Mediteranean or nonsetting breeds of the present day. Soon after the importation of Italian chickens a chance 1mportion was made from southeastern Asia. These Asiatic chickens were quite different from anything yet seen, and further importations followed. Poultry breeding soon became the fashion, and the first poultry show was held in Boston in the early fifties. The Asiatic fowls importer! were gray or yellowish red in color, and were variously known as the Brahmapootras, Cochin-Chinas and Shanghais, With the rapid development of poultry breeding there came a desire to produce new varieties. Every conceivable form of cross-breeding was resorted to. The great majority of breeds and varieties as they exist today are the result of crosses followed by a few years of selection for the desired from and color. Many of our common breeds still give us occasional individuals that resemble ?nnio of the tvnes from which the breed was formed. The exact history of the formation of the American or mixed breeds is in dispute, but it is certain that they have been formed from a complex mixing of blood from both European and Asiatic sources. Thus we see that the fundamental traits of our modern breeds are the results of centuries of development along certain fixed lines. At Fulbourn, England, the poor are paid 6 pence a piece for regular church attendance.