Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, April 17, 1908, Image 1

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^ ^ ^ ~ ^ ISSUED SKMI-WKEKL^ . l. m. qrist'S sons, Publishers. } % jfamitj Beicspaper: <gtr the promotion of the political, Social. Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the people. {IEsinglecorVrivE centoVAXCI! ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE, S. O., FRI DAY, APRIL, 17, 1908. NO. 31. i IMII HI aiyiuiyiuiuiyiymM I 01 I i | By CLARENCE PiiUwiwiiiiwiiuiiiiiwwwii'ni PART THIRD. IN THE TRACK OF A WOMAN oj DESIRE. CHAPTER XIX. A Call Obeyed. Mrs. Elsie Barron-Senn, in company with her companion, went abroad soon after the financial affairs of the former lady were partly settled. You ? ?~ ? -v ? u onnnnnnompnt ftf may remriiiuci mc ? >?>< ?>....... ? that fact which Mr. Prier, usually wide-awake and alert, allowed himself to go to sleep over. Mr. Lyman, the man who replaced Mr. Senn in the actual management of Barron's Boomville Rank, was left in full control of all Mrs. Senn's affairs, and was directed to report regularly. And thenMrs. Senn needed a change of scene; it was not strange that she wished to lie as far from her husband as convenient; if was not remarkable that she decided upon a quiet trip through, or residence in. Europe. Although?to tell the truth?I fancy that Mrs. Senn's companion had much more to do with this trip than had Mrs. Senn herself. Elsie had grown into the habit of doing as her lady friend desired: she had done so for years: she had been ooit-argued, overruled. outgeneraled, coaxed, or coerced and in some way. conquered, when ever she had put her will up against that of the woman who had been hired, years ago, by Mr. Barron, to take charge of the education of his daughter. and who had ended by becoming ?>ne of the family?to all intents and purposes?and not an unimportant one. Naples had been selected as the residence of these two ladies. They lived a very quiet and retired sort of life; they did not go into society, more than to call upon a very few friends, in an informal sort of way, and re"a'"? in?Armai r>nii? from them in re turn: they did not go to the theatre or opera; they .might, for all the gayety or dissipation in which they indulged, have been residents of a nunnery instead of dwelling in Naples. It was fitting that one so recently bereaved of her father should abstain from gayety: Elsie Barron's marriage to Mr. Senn was still another reason to keep her from social life. As she used the fact of the character of their employments and amusements as an excuse for their journey and the selecting of Naples as a residence. I suppose Mrs. Senn believed the selection to be her own. I think, however, that in this, as in most things, the other woman had had her way. Do not misunderstand me. Mrs. Senn was not a weak woman, nor a dependent one. We have seen her do that which no one not of vigorous will and inflexible determination could possibly have done. But. to the strongest, loves come with an argument which is unanswerable: and Elsie Senn had loved the beautiful companion of her earliest years?the woman who had - - . . .1.. i L-n,uv]. TailgUl Iter llir ursniuiugn ?'i (< ....v.... edge?the one who had advised her more, comforted her more and encouraged her more than any other ever had?the one whose voice had never fallen upon her ears with any other than tones of sweetness and tenderness?the being on whose face she had never found any other look than the most winning of smiles?had loved her with an unfaltering and unchanging love. She loved strongly?passionately. In just that way had she loved Aldrich. Fate had builded a barrier between her and him which love could not pass. And so, she had turned to her friend and companion with a stronger and deeper feeling than had h?-en in her heart for her before. She love<] Lurline Bannottie with all her heart and soul and strength. They were sitting alone in their private parlor. They had not been living in Naples so very long, for it was only February now?well along in February?and yet their rooms seemed like home. "I could be happy here for ever," said Mrs. Senn: "1 sometimes hope 1 shall never have to cross the sea again". At these words. Iairline turned toward the young lady with a smile. "I don't know." she said slowly: "I should like to see Boomville again, though I scarcely think I ever shall." Indeed! Man proposes. And God? have you ever let that smile slip from your lips long enough. Miss Lurline Bannottie. to think slowly and seriously of Him? A servant tapped at the door, and came in with the lights and with the mail which had just arrived. "A letter for me," said Mrs. Senn. "from Mr. Lyman. Listen to what he ys: " 'Business is good. All the investments are turning out well; even the doubtful ones leave us noimng 10 regret. Confidence is fully restored. The deposits are larger than ever before, and the opportunities for safely using the large sums intrusted to us. and at rates which insure a fine margin of profit, were never better. I think there are no details which 1 need trouble you about. Any commands k which you may give will be attended to without delay, and any questions you may ask will he answered immediately." Isn't that a nice letter. I.urline. and isn't it fortunate we have so excellent a manager as Mr. Lyman is. and ? what is the matter. Lurline? Who is your letter from? Have you bad news?" Miss Bannottie had uttered no cry. There was no pallor in her beautiful face. Her hand did not tremble. There were no tears in her eys. But she was crumpling the envelope, the one which had contained her letter, into a shapeless wad in her hand. She was staring at the letter she had received - ?as one might imagine she might have stared if she had seen a ghost, that is. if such pretty women as she are ever haunted. And her smile, without which Klsie had never before seen her face?her smile was gone now?undoubtedly gone?utterly blotted out or JUA>UUJILiaHL?lUU*lL?lUU*UAiy IH ^^ ? BOUTELLE. I mrmmnmmmmmm m mm \ swallowed up or swept away. It was little wonder that Mrs. Senn cried out as she did. "X?no. not very bad news. I?I , must fro away for a little time?a few weeks, perhaps, to?to?to London." "To London Why?what " "Business, my dear," said Miss Ban- , nottie. her smile back again, as she rose and kissed Elsie; "only a little . business, which you would neither ( understand nor be interested in. My j only sorrow in the matter is in hav- . ing to be away from you. But it will i not be for long?not for long ' "But why may I not go, too?" j Miss Bannottie shook her head. 1 "TM.ot io linrw.uuiblo f must ?TO at once, anil " "At once? How soon?" I "As soon as I can get away. Send out to see how soon that will he. I must go up untl pack a few things for i my journey." "But may I not go up and help you?" "No?no. You attend the sending | some one for the information I men- , tioned. I must go this very night if . possible. I think my letter has been < delayed, and that I am late already." ( "And you will return ?" . "In a few weeks, dear." ] "And you will write?" , "Whenever business permits, if it , does at all." \ And then, while Mrs. Senn remained , to give the necessary directions to the ; servants, Miss Bannottie hurried from the room, and 1 And almost fainted just outside the j door. She leaned against the wall for . support, her hands trembled so that , she could scarcely hold the letter she had received; her cheeks grew pale, , as pale as they will be when she is . dead, perhaps; her black eyes shone like hellish fires in the semi-darkness; ] as for her smile, if you had never seen her until then you would have doubted If she had ever smiled, or ever ( would. ( "Pshaw!" she cried, shutting her , teeth over her lip until it bled: "is this really you, Lurline Bannottie? Are , you really frightened because that scoundrel has threatened you? Have ( you never met other difficulties, that you should tremble and grow faint at } this? Threatens, does he? Threatens, this man who owes everything he Is , and has?his life, even?to you? Do you fear him? Let him..fear, rather. , As for you. go to him?go as he demands. And then?watch your oppor- ] tunity?take every advantage in your , own hands?play out the drama in ] your own way?and in it be as merci- j less as he is." , She paused. She drew her hand wearily over her face. And then, as , though it had been another who had been speaking before, she gave her- . self an answer. . "I will do it," she said. 1 And then she stood up. straight and , firm. The smile came back, as the tide j comes up the beach after earthquake j shock has driven it away. Her hands no longer trembled. Her steps no longer faltered. She walked? shall I not 1 rather say she gracefully floated?up the stairs. She burned the envelope. Then she read the letter again: i "Miss Lurline Bannottie: Every- ; thing has gone wrong. The worst has come?unless it is more fitting to keep that suDerlative for use in recording ' and celebrating your expected arrival. I "I must see you, and at once, for I , am going away for ever. And, as I [cannot go to you, you must come to I me. And you must come at once. "I can imagine your pausing there j to say you cannot come. But I know , better. There was never a thing mentioned yet that you couldn't do? if you would. < "Perhaps you'd like to say you will , not come: don't you do it: don't you dare do it! You must come! If I know 1 anything you would wish me not to i tell?anything you'd like a chance to j hire me not to tell, come! "Be at the bridge, a half-mile south of town, at midnight, on Saturday, March 4th. I will meet you there, i Fail me. and take the consequences. "I shall not sign my name; I think any one should be careful how he uses his name: but let me tell you it will be the worse for you if you dare to pretend, even to yourself, that you don't know who T am and what T mean." She burned the letter then, as she had burned the envelope. ' <>h, you wretch, you scoundrel." she whispered, as she watched the hits of paper blaze?blacken?disappear; "how I hate you?hate you?hate you. How I wish you were as easily disposed of as your threats." * ** Miss hairline Bannottie made her journey to London in the very shortest time in which it was possible to make it. and yet she had been in a fever of excitement?in a chronic hurry. so to speak?all the way. Surely the business oil which she came mi)SI he very important. She had said she hated the writer of the letter whose call she had obeyed so immediately. Was it not likely she feared him as well? She came to London. Hut her journey was not yet done. She remained only long: enough to see a member of a oeftain firm of bankers. From him she drew some money?a very large sum indeed if she expected to remain in London, and consequently where it would be convenient to see him frequently?but a small sum if her plans were such as they might be: of him she inquired for letters, but there were none for her. And then she took the first train for Liverpool. Nor was Liverpool the end of her journey, any more than London had been. Her first question on her arrival testified to that fact. "What steamer sails first for any American port?" she asked; "and how soon? and for what place?" She was informed that a steamer sailed for New York almost immediately. She secured passage and went on board almost at once. For reasons which will be obvious a little later, if they are not already. I shall conceal the name of the steamer and of the captain under fictitious designations. I desire to assure the reader, however, ?..,at the Pond Lily was one of the most comfortable and swiftest of the many fine steamships then plying between Europe and America, and that Captain Dennis was one of the most able and popular of officers. These facts would be indorsed by thousands of travelers if I were to give the real names. Miss Bannottle would, perhaps, have found time for rest after arduous beginning of her journey, had not the elements seemed to be in league against her. With fair weather and a prosperous trip she would have found it possible, I presume, to have slept at night in her stateroom, and to have read, with some degree of pleasure, on deck, in the daytime. But there were head winds against them almost from the very first; the nights were filled with darkness so dense that nothing could be seen at the distance of the length of the vessel: and when they were once fairly put on the ocean the weather was such that it was decidedly imprudent and unsafe for passengers to attempt to spend much time on deck. So Miss Bannottie remained below most of the time, chafing at the delay, bothering even so amiable a gentleman us Captain Dennis with her oft-repeated questions as to how far they had come, and how many days more would be necessary to reach New York. She could not read: she could not sleep: she could not remain quiet in one place for long at a. time. She walked nervously up and down for hours at a time, giving some of her own nervousness to others of the passengers who watched her. She would sit down for a few minutes, from time to time, and calculate over and over and over again just what time she must reach New York, just what time she must leave New York, just when she must do this, just when that, or? fail to reach the rendezvous appointed at the time mentioned, midnight on Saturday. March 4th, 1871. "If I don't." she muttered desperately to herself, and sometimes despairingly. "what will he do? Will he dare ?dare Oh, God, yes: he is a coward, craven, but in my absence he will dare do anything?anything igainst my happiness, my peace, my safety." Sometimes she crept up, for a little time, to the slippery and storm-swept leek, and looked away over the waste >f wrathful waters through which lhey were fighting their way. Sometimes the clouds parted for a time, a diort time, and the lights from beyond tnem snone nown inruugn una upon the vessel, upon the sea. and up_>n her. Were it morning', she never tinned to look behind her at the sun is he sprang from his watery couch ind rose slowly into the flying clouds md tossing mists so near the horison's edge. In the evening she watched' the sun?sometimes?as he slowly withdrew from the world?her world? is hope seemed withdrawing from her: tiow far away he seemed?how distant the bounds of the sea?how menacing the clouds which folded about him as tie dipped below the tossing waters in the west: must she go on thus for all Jternity, regret behind, fear before, and i feeling in the present which she had neither the power nor the will to anilyze? This was the fantastic question she found shaping itself in her Drain, time after time, as the days went by. There was regret behind tier; the regret one feels whose plans liave somehow gone astray?whose purposes have failed?who finds God's providence too strong and too good for their desires. Fears for the future, die had them: the fears which recognize the fact that the human will is Unite, no matter how wickedly one may scheme and plan; such fears as irise in the mind of one who suddenly discovers that treachery may be false to its friends?that it may betray fellow-treachery. for safety or for rerenge. In the present?don't ask me. [.inline Bannottie did not ask herself what name would describe the emotion in her soul: but, I can assure you, it was not remorse?it was not remorse! Usually she was alone on deck, alone except for those whose duties took them there. Many were sick in their rooms; many were full of fears of the dangers on the deck?dangers to health from cold and dampness?dangers to life?even, from washing waves, rushing winds, and the reeling vessels; many who wore not ieariui were prudent?so she usually had the solitude of the sea to herself when she went above. And yet?there were two or three men who always followed her with their glances wherever she went, and who found courage to go on deck, sometimes, because she did. These J men did not know Lurline Rannottie; | they had never spoken to her; and I even the uncoilventionality of an ocean voyage?and a stormy one at that? did not seem to promise them an acquaintance with this self-absorbed young woman who had most likely not noticed them at all. They saw her pale cheeks; they saw her nervous thoughtfulness; and they said to themselves that she was in trouble and that they were ready, if they only might, to spend time and money in her behalf; they were ready to fight for her; ready to do anything honorable which she should desire done, and for which she would give a pleasant word in return, and I am not sure that one or more of them would have left "honorable" out of the question altogether, had she - " o..,ilo lllC asked it. i iiey suw un .v. ?.,.v everlasting' smile which neither worry nor danger nor regret nor fear?no, nor the emotion I have not explained, and which she did not explain to herself?ever stripped from her cheeks and lips or brushed from her eyes?so far as these men knew. They saw her smile, and they were ready to fight ? to tight any one?to tight each other? to kill and maim and cripple?if by so doing they could see that smile shine for them. Rich, talented, successful, happy; this was the history of some of these men. And more titan one of them was planning how he might make her acquaintance, how he might improve all the opportunities an acquaintance would offer, how he might win her love. More than one was saying to himself that with her life would be heaven?without her, an utter failure. These men were in love with Lurllne Rannottie, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they were in love with an ideal J.urline Bannottle who had never existed?a woman whose soul would have been correctly indexed by Lurllne Bannottie's face. They saw the smile her face wore; they looked upon the curve of cheeks and chin and lips; they caught, sometimes. the warm glances from her deep, dark eyes; they saw her high, broad forehead; they noticed her elas- . tic step; they admired her long, strong lingers, with their tapering whiteness; ! they But why multiply words? Lurline Bannottie had been drawing , men after her in that way all her life. ( She had been admired, loved, raved j over, fought for. She had gone her way, unscrupulously and carelessly, , deliberately seeking the admiration which was no more than a passing pleasure to her and the love which she eared only to scorn and mock at. Most . men had loved her, when she willed it. Many had worshiped her, when she ( had only permitted and tolerated it. Her regrets?her fears, and whatever other feeling dominated her?surely ( these must have been keen and strong j to make it possible that she had awakened such passion as had sprung to ^ warm life in the hearts of some of her fellow passengers?while she neither ( knew nor guessed it. I They had done no more than many , men had done before them. They had ( watched and admired, as I have said. They had summed it all up in one , word of reverential awe and unswerv- , Ing loyalty: "Angel," they had called I .oi-l in a T-lnnnnl tie en eh to himself, i each unknowing that another had ( breathed the word in confidential privacy to his own heart, each unknowing that "angel" ceased to be an original designation for this woman with the sweet face and the strange name, long, long ago. And they worshiped?a face?a form ?an animal: they loved the woman who should have lived in such a body. They forgot the omnipotence of God; They did not remember that He can make a face on which a smile shall be a mask: they forgot that the curves of muscles may mean cruel strength instead of tenderness: they failed to recollect that the fire in an eye was not necessarily kindled in heaven: they overlooked the fact that the giant intellect stirring behind the broad, high brow may be the evil genius of all on whom it exercises Its strength: they did not stop to think that a strong, light footfall may mean treachery; they did not go from their admiration of a woman's dainty hands to the question. "What have they done?" they forgot that God may give the body of an angel to a devil. And so?they loved her. And so?she did not guess it. Although it had been the way with men as long as she cared to remember, and perhaps longer. They loved her, and they did not stop to think of asking her from whence she came?where she was going?nor whose call she was obeying? nor why! To be Continued. THE REAL COWBOY. No Longer an Animated Battery?But a Bronco Buster Still. It is quite true that the cowboy of today is not a college man, nor one at all familiar with the manners and customs of polite society, says Out West. Neither does he go about his daily task with a brace of six shooters slung at his hips and a repeating rifle held in the crook of his arm. Barbed wire fences, steam railroads, police courts and penitentiaries have rendered such appurtenances super Annus. And immediately arter pay " day he does not swoop down upon the nearest town, shoot put the lights and take part in a gun fight or two. For the $.10 or $40 a month which he receives a strict attention to the duties of his job is expected, and in these days of strenuous competition a job is a precious thing. The life of the modern cowboy is as full of hard and monotonous work as that of an eastern farmhand, and there is very little difference in the intellectual and social standing of the two. Though thousands of cattle are grazed on the plains of the southwest, very few are shipped direct from the range to the market. The places of individual cattle kings have been taken by great stock companies which own numerous tracts of range land in various parts of the west. A few years ago a dry season in southern Arizona meant the death of many cattle and very frequently the financial ruin of their owners. The OKI linitTS Sllll It'll Millirn in uuvuih walked for incredible distances on the carcasses of dead steers. .But all that is past?they do things differently now. Let a dry year come upon the southwestern ranges and the cattle are hustled on board a train and transported to the cattle com- < panics' ranges in Colorado or Mon- i tana or Dakota, where the season is i good and the feed abundant. I No long drives of hundreds of miles in search of new range as in the old < days. Simply a day or two of round- < ing up. then a few hours drive to the ( nearest shipping station on the rail- < road. Then perhaps a day in town i for the cowboys and back again to the 1 home ranch and the regular grind. | Though the cowboy is not a college | graduate he is by no means an ignor- i am us. Usually he is American born : and fairly well read, taking the same < active interest In current topics and politics that other American citizens do. As a general rule he has been raised in the section in which he is employed and is of youthful appearance, j He differs very little from the average American working youth, western I dialect stories to the contrary not- l withstanding. In all cowboy bunkhouses there is ; a pile of current magazines, the contents of which are devoured with avidity. And one is not infrequently treated to the amusing spectacle of si youthful cowboy becoming so enamored of the kind of punchers pictured in modern fiction that he purchases a pair of utterly useless sixshooters, commences to walk with si swagger and to imitate the dialect of Red Saunders. Hut if marksbanship is no longer a qualification of the oowpuncher horsemanship is. The modern cattleman Is as proud of his ability to ride anything on four legs as was ever the bronco buster of bygone days, and this is the first fact impressed upon a tenderfoot. |Hi$crUanrous heading. FOR BRYAN AND A HAIR CUT. Robertson Hasn't Been at the Barber's Since 1896. If Bryan or some other Democrat Is elected president of the United States this year says a Macon. Mo., letter, Uncle Thomas Benton Robertson of this city will immediately hike to a Larber shop for a shave and a hair cut. Then he will draw on a Quincy bank for $100 which has been lying there to his credit since 1896. When Mr. Robertson read Bryan's "cross of gold" speech that stampedsd the Democratic convention in Chi 1 ? moe 1 it ... UfM Un? (Via ;mjo HI n?" inr?*w inr> iiri i 111 iii'iir and shouted "Glory!" His couain, Charles Win field of Quincy,- III.. suggested there might be a slip between the cup and the Nebraskan's lips. "Don't you believe it," said Robertson. "That' man's going to be presiient. I'm so sure of it that I will agree here and now never again to shave or jut my hair until he or some other Democrat is president." "Pshaw!" said Winfield. "you're jnly talking, but I'll give you $200 the day a Democrat is elected and tvlll deposit $100 to your credit at Julncy." Robertson was only fit! then and ivas tall and a fine looking man. He ivas more than ordinarily careful ibout his personal appearance, and Winfield didn't think he would run the risk of becoming a freak. But the Bryan admirer accepted :he challenge, and has faithfully kept his compact through all the defeats >{ the "inspired son." He hopes Bryin may be elected this fall, but he ooks rather wistful when he discuss?s his chances. When Bryan was here a couple of fears ago he learned about his mar yr rrieno ana maue an earnest cuun to have a chat with him after the neeting, but Mr. Robertson had gone pome and that pleasure was denied :he perennial candidate. Allowing one shave a week at 10 :ents and eight hair cuts a year, Mr. Robertson figures he is $S6.40 to the food for the twelve years, but he con'esses he would greatly enjoy the luxjry of lifting the boycott against the aarbers. He keeps his hair from nuking him conspicuous by wearing t plaited on top of his head. His widowed daughter, with whom tie lives, earns 50 cents a week for attending to this feature of his makejp. The hair has grown out long and aright, like fine silken threads, and flistens over'the patriot's shoulders ike a silver sheen. He's as proud of t as a village belle over her golden resses, and yet he hopes that he will joon be able to part with it and keep lis vow. "I've been a Democrat all my life, is my father was before me," said W-j Robertson. "My first vote _was last for Stephen A. Douglas for presdent, and I don't recollect ever havng scratched a Democratic ticket, nunicipal, county, state or national ixcept once, when a good neighbor ind friend ran for sheriff on the Republican ticket. I voted for him and le was elected. With that solitary jxception the record is absolutely ilear. "It was a little funny the way I lame to make this pledge. The counry was wild over the money question, ind after that speech of Bryan's I bought he had a walkover. If I had peen a betting man I would have put ip a big sum on him. but I had ?nough sporting blood in me to back iiy judgment anyhow. "Say. you read the papers pretty . lose: What's the chance for our get;ing our man in? About time, don't ifou think?" Mr. Robertson was born near Quin y. III., in 184ft. His parents move<l 0 Missouri two years later and set.led in Knox county. Since 1857 be las been the owner and operator of 1 portable sawmill, and is in that busness now. He is as strong as any of the stalwart fellows who work for him. A 'ew years ago he had a wrestling bout n which he defeated one of the bigjest and most powerful men of this own. He is inclined to imagine that lis long locks have something to do ivith his strength. "If you get this story up right, and lon't stretch it too bad," said Mr. Robertson. "I'm going to send Mr. Bryan a copy of the paper and ask tiim if it isn't time I cut my hair. I'm ?oing to put it directly up to him." HOUSE FOR NAPOLEON. Wilder Mansion, In Bolton, Mass., Was to Have Sheltered Him. Of the great country estates of Massachusetts there is none more famed n historical connection than the Wilder mansion, on Wactaquottoc Hill, in the township of Bolton, says the Boston Herald. It was here that Napoleon was to have sought refuge had he decided to attempt to escape to this country; it was in the mansion house of this estate that Lafayette at one time made his headquarters, and years later the spot was selected as the future residence of President McKinley, out never so occupied. It has been the lbode of several millionaires and tbe scene of innumerable festivities of raided natures. Another new chapter in the long history of the old place is soon to be opened, with the entrance of new occupants of wealth and position. It is admitted that within the last few days the estate has been placed in the hands of prominent Boston bankers for disposal, and it is understood that several prominent bidders have appeared in contest for the title to the property. A little more than ten years ago the Wilder mansion became in a day the most talked of residence in New Eng land. ii was repuncu, nun facts to substantiate the tale, that President McKinley would become a resident of Bolton and that he would occupy the Wilder mansion. At the times negotiations were completed to the extent of transferring the property to the name of J. VVyman Jones, a brother-in-law of the late Marcus A. Hanna. Mr. Jones admitted that he was acting in the interest of President McKinley. As in the earlier history of the famous estate, there was subsequently a change of plans, which robbed Massachusetts of the chance to acquire another world-famous resident. The Wilder mansion is a quaint old structure, built over a hundred years ago, and several times remodeled. It stands on the west side of the hill road leading from Lancaster "old common" to Bolton centre, almost at tlie crown of the highest rise, although this road does not scale Wattaquottoc's extreme height. Sampson Vryling Stoddard Wilder, the founder of the Wilder mansion, was born in Lancaster, May 20, 1780, and his family tree sprang from the Puritan stock which settled the place. The Wilders emigrated from England and came to Boston in 1639. About the year 1800 Mr. Wilder, having met Talleyrand in Boston, and being sent to France to look after certain business interests, obtained through his friendship special privileges from the French government. He made the acquaintance of many prominent men of thp dav. and Dreserved among his mementos are many personal letters I which were written by them to him. He represented the United States on the occasion of the marriage of Emperor Napoleon, then in the height of his glory, to the Archduchess Marie Louise. In 1823 Mr. Wilder returned to Bolton to settle down. The following year was made memorable by the coming of I^afayeUe to America, and the reception given the latter by Mr. Wilder at the Bolton mansion was the event of the century for that community. The programme was arranged by the host and thj then Mayor of Bolton, the Hon. Josiah Quincy, the elder. It is a well established tradition that the Wilder mansion was selected as an asylum for Napoleon after his defeat at Waterloo. Napoleon delayed in taking advantage of the offer until too late. Passage had been engaged for him on a vessel that was to bring him to America, but he waited in a desire to provide for his faithful friends until he was compelled to give himself up as a prisoner of war. THE LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEER. And the Grim Monster at Whose Throttle He Sits. Why should a locomotive engineer he a fatalist? I have been asked the question time and again, says a writer in the Chicago Tribune. There is only one answer for the question. That is for the reason that everything in the life of the engineer .points to the necessity for philosophy if the engineer is to pursue his line of work with a steady hand and nerve. Ordinarily when the layman stands beside a great stationary steam engine working under heavy pressure he is startled at Its power. In the hot, close atmosphere of the machinery room,, filled with sliding pistons, great flywheels and rumbling shafts whirling and flying overhead, he begins to appreciate the latent power that is encompassed within its mechanism. If he will stop to consider that the locomotive engine is mounted to travel 50, 60 or 70 miles an hour, while at the same time operating under a steam pressure of 220 to 240 pounds to every square inch of boiler surface, he may get some idea of the position of the engine driver who holds the throttle. Layman that he is, he feels his insignificance as compared to the giant boiler which is anchored fast to its foundations of stone, steel and cement far below the surface. If the design of that boiler were to travel a mile a minute while he was looking on his sense of its power and insecurity would be grentlv ovacerprated. Anything that might interfere with the physical flight of this great boiler through space is at once a double menace to the engineer He is responsible for everything in the operation of this huge boiler, while in its working its whole foundation changes with every fraction of a second marked off by his watch. Not the best stretch of track on his division is proved and safe. An open switch, a flaw in a rail, a careless telegraph operator, a sudden washout of bridge or culvert?any one of these things may send the engine driver into eternity without a moment's warning. Tt may be that his engine is a type having a driving rod plunging up and down and forward and back squarely under the seat which he must occupy in holding the throttle hour after hour. The snapping of a crank pin on a great driver may send the flying steel bar crashing up through the engineer's seat and mean death in an instant. Or flying at a mile a minute and having to take for granted a great deal concerning the condition of the water in the boiler, the menace of the superheated steam itself may be something which he can only take for granted, while he turns blindly to his ["luck." Feeding water into the locomotive boiler through automatic injectors while holding- to a fast schedule leaves the engineer dependent upon their workings. They may work or they may fail. Low water in a boiler is one of the greatesi dangers that confront the engineer, and if the condition shall escape "his attention for any reason and the balking injectors suddenly pump cold water to the supeYheated surfaces, the likelihood of an explosion menaces him. What a locomotive boiler exploding cannot and may not do never has been determined. A few weeks ego on one of the mountain divisions of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad in West Virginia the boiler of a great freight engine was pulling it on a sidetrack. It tore away from the en?! or?r1 inm no/1 1 DA foQ f Klin* llliJUiiini&.-? aim jumpcu *?v ?vw clear of a freight car nearby. Striking the ground the boiler rose again for 200 feet and fell in a farmyard, lifting a third time and clearing the farmhouse into an orchard 500 feet from the ruins of the locomotive, among which both engineer and fireman lay dead. Holding the throttle blindly and blindly trusting to "luck" the engineer moves out upon his run his life in his hands. Any one of a dozen conditions may mean his death. He has no control over any of them. In a threatened head-on collision he is at such a height and moving at such speed as to make jumping almost suicidal. His only recourse is fatalism. He will not "get it' till his "time comes." DENVER'S VAST HALL. Where Democratic National Convention Will Be Held. Costing: $5.10,000 seating 12.50C people, containing probably the mosl perfect lientlng and ventilating system of any public building in the world, Denver's monster auditorium will throw open its doors June 27 to welcome the long list of conventions to be held in Denver this summer, among which will be the Democratic national convention. The building is 266 by 200 feet in dimensions and is of the height of a five story building. Its seating capacity is larger than Madison Square Garden in New York, which holds 12,000 people; the great Coliseum in Chicago, where the Republican convention is to be held in June, which holds 11,011 people, or the Mormon tabernacle in .Salt Lake City, which seats 10.000. There are twenty-four exits, including 240 linear feet of exit space, and the building can be emptied in two minutes. Two tlfteen-foot fans at one end of the building send air between steam pipe coils throughout the house. Each coil contains 1,800 feet of pipe. Midway In the auditorium two fans ten feet in diameter will send the air through the remainder of the house. An exhaust fan will draw the foul air from below where it lies on the floor and expel it from the building. In summer the heating apparatus is1 turned into a cooling plant by tilling the cpils of pipe with cold water instead of steam. This system of ventilation. heating and cooling is said to be the most perfect of any public building in the world. One of the great objections to ordinary lighting methods In large buildings is the constant buzzing and snappings of the Immense arc lights which furnish illumination. In the Denver Auditorium fourteen immense cluster lamps will be. set in the celling, giving out a steady radiance of 1,280 candle power each, which will do away with the annoyance ordinarily caused by arc lights. There will also be 10,000 smaller lamps arranged about various parts of the building. The auditorium is constructed entirely of fireproof material and will be the meeting place of scores of great national conventions every year. This is the first time a national political convention has been held in Denver, but the frequency with which that city is chosen by the large fraternal bodies, such as the Elks, Eagles, Knights Templars, the Grand Army of the Republic and other similar organizations, as their meeting place required the construction of an immense assembly hall for their entertainment. "Snow and flowers intermingled in midsummer is a sensational feature that will be seen in Denver at the meeting of the Democratic natiohal convention, which meets there July 7, said jv.resident of JVnver who recently returned from a trip through Colorado. "There are vast fields of snow within sixty miles of Denver, and these will be drawn upon for several carloads each day for the purpose of furnishing a sensational feature to the convention. There are also thousands of acres of flowers from which countless blooms will be gathered and these will be used as a contrast with the snow. "Snow in midsummer is a phenomenon that is found only in Colorado. During the month of July the flower? which grow wild in the Rocky moun tains are seen in their greatest profusion, and the convention hall will he made a bower of loveliness with these. Tt will he the first time in the history of any large assembly In the world when winter and summer meet in the presence of representatives from every section of a great country "There is a large entertainment fund being gathered now in Denver for the purpose of providing astonishing features for the delegates and visitors to the convention. Denver always does things in fine style when strangers are within her gates. When the Grand Army of the Republic met there a few years ago more than $ 1 00,000 was spent in entertainment. When the grand lodge and annual reunion of Elks met there a year later there was more than $80,000 expended. These huge sums are contributed by citizens who believe that to entertain liberally makes the visitor go away and report to his friend? at home that they treat you nicer in Denver than anywhere else in thf country. "The attempt to make the gathering of the Democratic national convention a success from the standpoint of the spectacular and unusual jn en tertainment and hospitality is meeting with great encouragement. The railroads running into Denver have contributed more than $10,000 to swell the entertainment fund and Insure the immense number of visitors they bring to the city the most pleasure and excitement that is possible to crowd into the meeting. "The weather in Denver is unusually cool during the month of July. It will not be more than 70 degrees at any time during the convention. When it is remembered that it is generally close to 90 when conventions are held in eastern cities it can readily be seen that there will be few discomforts attending the meeting." CORN AT $10 AN EAR. Out In Iowa They Raise That Kind and Buy It In Themselves. Ten dollars seems a pretty big price to pay for Just one ear of corn, but out roicfl r?r* vrt vvhlrh hrinfiTS ill ?w na WI^J . V.V,... ? ewn more than that. It Is not uncommon for a man out there to raise corr which he cannot afford to own. Improbable as this sounds. It Is true and the explanation is that prize car: of seed corn become the property of th< agricultural courses where they an exhibited. They are then sold at auction. and the man who raised then does not always feel that he can afforc to bid them in. That was precisely what happened to an Iowa farmer named McCullocl not long ago. He entered a goot many ears of corn in the competitor held at Marshailtown under the management of the state agricultural college. Over 3.000 ears were entered ant one of McCulloch's won first prize. The piize was a $150 water supplj system, so the farmer probably fell that he could afford to hid in the prizt ear for $11.50. But when It came to buying back eighty other ears which he had entered he had to let them go to others. I Those eighty ears brought $204.50; L so that, provided he could have sold the eighty-one ears of corn for what they ! actually brought, $216, he could have i bought his water supply system and > had $66 left. i G. F. Howard won $100 with a single , ear of corn in the same competition : and paid J10 for the ear to get it back. For ten other ears which he entered he i had to bid up to $41.75 for the lot to i get them. Thirteen bushels of the corn that i was entered brought an average of i $39.50 a bushel. Iowa farmers waked . up to the importance of improving their crops by improving their seed. The i consequence is that Iowa raises the i linest corn in the country and is coni stuntly improving the quality and the ' quantity to the acre. , ROMANOFFS' VAST WEALTH. > Richest Royal Family In Europe? ! Sources of Their Income. , The Imperial family of Russia Is the , richest royai family in Europe, and ! derives its wealth from three sources . ?the state treasury, the imperial domains (formerly church lands), and [ the so-called "cabinet properties." The , state treasury provides for the czar as me Nuvereigii, ine imperial aomains , are the Joint properly of the members - of the house of Romanoff, but ad. ministered by the head of the house; . the "Cabinet properties" are the per, sonal possessions of the reigning sovi ereign as such. No data of any kind are available , for estimating the amount of property , held by the czar and other members I of his house in their private capacity i as individuals. It is known to be very j considerable both in land and in gold. . says the Pall Mall Gazette, but is very , rightly treated as a purely private i matter. , The state treasury pays out a mil lion and a half sterling a year for the , needs of the imperial house, principally for the maintenance of the palaces and the officials and servants attached to them. The reigning empress for example has an allowance of ?20,00fl a year, the Dowager Empress the same. Every child born to the czar receives from birth to the age of 21 nearly ?4,000 a year, while the heir to the throne receives annually, in addition to maintenance of palaces, ?10,000. Daughters receive a dowry of 1,000,000 rubles, or ?100,000 when they marry. The figures under this head are comparatively modest, and the total expenditure charged to the treasury is less than 1 per cent of the annual budget, i The imperial domains, the main i source of the wealth of the Romanoffs, i were originally church lands. In the I Middle Ages the church of Russia was not only the repository of all the learning of the land, but itfe bankers and usurers also, and the wealth amassed in the course of centuries was enormous. The Russian church Is not poor now, but the bulk of its vast posses' sions passed to the House of Romanoffs a century ago. The imperial domains comprise 21,328,000 acres, an area larger than all Ireland. About two-thirds of this area is for est, out of which a good revenue Is made; the timber exported from Archangel is known all over the world, while the estate of Bleovezh. that i magnificent forest where are still preserved herds of aurochs, annually provide for sale 2.000,000 cubic feet of timber, another estate In the Vologda i province produces 200.000 of the largest timber trees annually for the 1m! perlal sawmills there. The other third of the area comi prised In the imperial domains, some. thing larger than all Wales, is highly ; cultivated land. The largest vlne yards, producing the best wine In Rus sia. belong to the domains, and about [ a hundred and fifty thousand pounds worth of wine is sold annually from i this source. In the province of Samat ra Is a sugar plantation, the factory t on which produces 1,500 tons of rui gat every year. Mineral wealth is worked in a hunI dred spot; 1,500 flour mills, a thou sand fisheries not for sport, but as an article of trade, a hundred wharves on various rivers and 850 trading cont cerns of various kinds are among the minor undertakings belonging to the ! Imperial domains. But the greater i part of the cultivated area Is rented > to others, 15,000 lots for purely agricultural purposes and 10,000 for the . higher forms of cultivation, fruit, . vineyards, etc. The clear profit derived from these various sources is over two millions sterling per annum. During the past , hundred years, since the church prop, erty was converted to the imperial , use, a sum of twenty-five million sterling has been paid out to various . , members of the imperial house. Under the head of imperial domains is , also included certain capital accumu lated by various emperors, and to this . must be added the five and a quarter millions sterling received from the peasants who were serfs on the Impe, rial domains as the price of their free. dom. I The third source of income is the , "Cabinet properties," which belong to . the reigning czar personally as czar. The only figures obtainable for assessing the value of this, the greatest source of present and future wealth, is the area of the landed property, which is llii.000,000 acres, or about ' the size of France. This property is almost entirely In Siberia, but it ineludes the best and largest of the gold t and silver mines, worked and unworks ed, besides a fabulous amount of un explored wealth above and below the i surface. Copper, iron, platinum and other ores, besides gold and silver, are . only awaiting the opening up of this i unexplored territory, the size of i France, to yield many more millions ? annually. 1 No LIBERTIES.?"Well," said Edith's 1 mother when the child arrived home , from the tea party, "did you have a 1 good time?" i "Yes, thank you mamma." 1 "And did you play nice games.?" k "Yes, mamma." "And did you have a nice tear" "Yes, mamma." 1 "I hope Edith, that you behaved yourself like a little lady. You did r not take any liberties, did you?" t "No, mamma. There wasn't any t cn the table."