Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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^ ^ ^ ISSUED SEMI-WEEKL^ " ^ l. m. orist's sons. Publishers, j A Jautilj Beirspaper: Hor the ^romotion of the political, iocial. Agricultural and (Commercial Interests of the {People. {rK^?L*KVVVvkAX,K ESTABLISHED IK55. ' YORKV"ILLE, S. C., Fit lDAY, yOVEMldER t), lltOH. NX). Hi). jETHEL'S I Jiy ETTA a y CHAPTER I. k Please, will you show me the way home?" The small, childish voice was nearly lost in the rattle of cars and vehicles up and down the great street, and the tramp and jostle of the crowd on the sidewalk; but Ethel Guenther, who had Just gathered up a dozen yards or more of magnificent Persian silk in her delicately gloved hand, preparatory to getting into the carriage, turned suddenly: "Au revoir," murmured Mac Vaunce, m lifting his cap. Miss Guenther bowed. "We shall meet at the reception tonight," hesaJd, throwing a dark, smiling glance at her over his shoulder. Her splendid eyes flashed their de4 fiance full in his own. What words could express half as much? He turned on his heel. "Please, will you show me the way home?" softly petitioned the small voice again. xIt was time for Miss Guenther to notice it, for the owner had pressed close to her side, and one daring little hand laid hold of the Persian silk as if it had been the cheapest of prints. Ethel looked down and saw a tiny figure in a gray cassock, and a little, upturned face, framed in a mass of long, brown curls, and so pale and delicate in color that it seemed as if the sunshine had never touched it. A lovely face, but a frightened and bewildered one. Mac Vaunce had gone. Away from him. Miss Guenther could act herself. She took the little snow flake of a hand from the silk into her own. "Where is your home?" The child gave the street and num<-?iimcvimr r\ tKo fair nufrinlnn tu CI, WlIIAf) lilf) laoi VW VIIV 4?M> pv?v* ???*... Not a fashionable street, but a highly respectable one, and Miss Guenther was in a democratic mood. "How came you to be lost?" P "I was with the other children." answered the little voice, "and?and somebody came between us, and I can't find any of them now." The small voice sounded as if its owner was getting ready to cry. "And don't you know the way?" The look that crossed that pale, meek fiface Ethel never forgot. "Oh. but I am blind, you know," said the child. Blind! Her large eyes were wide open, and blue as harebells?beautiful eyes, with nothing but a vacant shadow in their depths to betray the dreadful truth. "Nea never let me go out alone," pleaded the little trembler. "Oh. please take me to Nea." The gloved hand holding the child's tightened round it. "What is your name?" "Daisy Halstead: Nea calls me ? KlfwRnm." 1 ."I will go home with you," said Miss Cluenther. Aunt Dllloway looked out of the carriage. , "Ethel, my dear, what are you do ing? We have five calls to make." "You can drive on," said Ethel, curtly: "I am not going." Aunt Dllloway sank back among the velvet carriage cushions, dumb with astonishment. Miss Guenther stepped from the curbstone and went off across the street, leading that strange waif. What was to be done with such a girl? ^ The child belonged to the canaille, of M* course, and might have disorders about |W her. It was really dreadful. Ethel saw the matter differently. The street and number that little Daisy had given were at no great distance; if she could escape five calls with Aunt Dilloway in this manner, it was rather fortunate than otherwise. The child was beautiful as a picture; no wonder that passers-by turned to look after them. Miss Guenther drew down her rich lace veil and walked on in silence. Somehow the sensitive little heart at her side instinctively felt for the cause of that silence, and grasped it. * "Are you sorry that I am blind?" she said, timidly. "Yes," answered Miss Guenther. "Oh. I was born so," said the sad little voice. "I never saw any one? k not even Xea," adding reflectively, "I wish I could see Nea." 'Anri who is Nea?" asked EthJl. "Don't you know him?" said Daisy, s<. thoroughly surprised that Ethel's gravity trembled for the moment. "He sees for me?he is my brother, and I live with him." "Oh!" "Dear Nea!" said the tender little voice. Ethel revolved the name Halstead 'A over in her mind. She had certainly V heard of it before: It seemed strangeIv familiar. "What did the lady in the carriage <all you?" asked Daisy, evidently anxious to discover who her protector was. RR was. Miss Guenther smiled down at the f:,ce upturned to her, forgetting the sightless eyes. "Ethel." "Ethel what?" curiously. "Guenther." Daisy pondered. "I like your name: Xea will like it, too. because you have been so kind to ^ me." "Little Daisy, do you know home v hen you reach it?" She laughed a real hanpv. childish lanirh. and sprang up the steps. It v was a quiet place, and the house had an old. respectable look. Some one had iust gone un and left the door ajar. T'aisv pushed it wide onen. The stairs lievond looked dark and narrow. "Will vou go up with me?" said Palsv softlv. It was a bit of conrtesv on the part of the chl'd. b"t Miss Ouenther could n*'t he sun nosed to know that she had T evert' nook and comer of the old place i?v heart, and ronld en about it with on rev stens in her blindness than Miss rtiientber could have done with h?r ^ jr*'o*'t hez?l ?>ves wide onon. so she ? went tin with Ttatsv. Ttirop flights; rood heaven! where was the child leading her? Lovers. i ^ I "Little Daisy?" "Oh, here we are now," said Daisy. She opened a door of the landing, still firm in her allegiance to Miss Guenther's hand. On the door was a sign, painted in simple black letters: "Erne Halstead, artist." "Nea!" called the blind child, softly. It was a studio, long, narrow, and filled with a delicious, mellow light. A carpet of dark, rich crimson covered the floor. Two or three chairs, a low sofa, a rack of drawings, an easel, and a stand of flowers in the window, with a crimson curtain trailing above them, a low easy chair and footstools for Daisy, and here and there an exquisite gleam of coloring from the framed paintings on the walls, made up the features of the room. Everything: was pretty and harmonious. A figure sitting at the easel humming a snatch of song rose up at the sound of Daisy's voice. It was a tall figure, and shapely as an Arabian's. For the face, all that Miss Guenther saw was a pair of firm, red lips, shaded by a tawny brown moustache, and two quizzical eyes, brown and bright as a falcon's. Daisy ran into his arms. Here was a situation altogether unlooked for and surprising. A faint carmine stain rose up on Miss Guenther's creamy skin. She stood on the threshold in her magnificent dress, with her Veil thrown back, and her dazzling face fully revealed to Erne Ha (stead's gaze?only a moment, though. His low bow was answered by a nonchalant little nod. "Mr. Halstead." said Miss Guenther, "T am happy to return this daisy to *-ou. She will explain the matter better than I can. Good morning." Without waiting for a word of response. not even hearing Daisv's goodhv. Miss Guenther turned imperiously end ran downstairs without stooping to take breath. That carmine stain had l lossomed out gorgeously on her cheek. Halstead. indeed! No wonder the n?>mo had heen familiar to her?the city was full of his fame. In descending the second flight, Ethel came in contact with some one ascending in a pace very much like her own?a dark man, with a sprig of heliotrope in his button-hole. She recoiled, sickening a: the faint perfume cf the flower. From that day she hated it. "I beg your pardon!" said the voice of Mac Vau'nce. She swept by him in silence, and, never looking back, made the remainder of the way and reached the sidewalk breathless. Then a ridiculous sense of her retreat and of the whole adventure seized Miss Guenther. She laughed like a school girl, her hazel eyes fairly dancing. There was nothing now to do but go home, since Aunt Dilloway and her calls were extinguished; so Ethel left the quiet place. A petted belle, a proud, untamed creature, and the idol of a morose father who hated all the world but her? courted, flattered and admired?was it a wonder that, in spite of her eighteen years. Ethel Guenther knew next to nothing of real life and its lessons? w nat a pny 11 is ami suwi ?i?norance should ever be broken. Directly she was on the thoroughfare again. But a few blocks had been passed when a quick step echoed behind her. She walked on rapidly, knowing- who It was even before his dark shadow fell slantwise at her feet. "Are you running away from me?" said Mac Vaunce. She looked at him scornfully. "No: I do not always obey my instincts." His eyes seemed to narrow and darken. He smiled. "I should be sorry if I believed they ever led you to shun me." "Which they do," said Ethel, with a flash. "But, Ethel?" She crested her head. "Your guard duty must be very pleasant." she said. "That is a wicked temper of yours," Miss Ethel. "Thank you." His provoking smile vanished. His voice grew indescribably tender. "Ethel. I cannot afford to quarrel with you?you know it." She knew nothing very clearly just then, except that her detestation of the man was intense. "I did not intend to intrude upon you?pardon me. But these Halsteads ?well, I will tell you about them some time. If you believed in destiny, I should tell you also to believe in them." Miss Guenther looked splendidly indifferent. "What are they to me?" He shrugged his shoulders. His eyes were averted from her. "Nothing, perhaps; but this Erne Halstead is a remarkable fellow. He has had a singularly unfortunate history. too." Miss Guenther elevated her brows. Then Mac Vaunce knew him. "And that child?" she condescended t<? ask. "A half sister," said Vaunce. "Poor Erne! he is devoted to art and Daisy." "Why poor?" said Miss Guenther. "Did I say that?" he rejoined, smiling. "The word slipped me unawares. I think you must have heard of these Halsteads before." "Of the brother as an artist?yes." "But otherwise?" "No." His eyes met hers, sharp and alert under drooping lids. "That is singular." "Singular?" "In one sense, yes." "You are pleased to be very obscure." "I?" She interrupted him with an impatient gesture. The conversation, interesting or not, was closed abruptly. Drawn up to the opposite curbstone stood a carriage and a pair of bay I horses, just as she had left them. J "I must hid you good-morning. Mr. Vaunce; Aunt Dllloway is in waiting opposite." A monument of patience they made; the sleek coachman, sleeker horses, and, above all, the sleek old lady inside the carriage, exceedingly comfortable among its cushions, waiting for her arrant niece, without any very definite idea whether she was ever to see her again or not. She had sat there ever since her departure. Aunt Dllloway leaned out as Ethel and Vaunce crossed the street. "My dear, how you frightened me! Do come home; I am quite ready; my nerves are too much shattered for calls. Mr. Vaunce. will you persuade her?" "If my persuasion could but avail me?" whispered his low, deep voice in her ear; "if it could, Ethel, when I tell you how dear you are to me!" She was in the carriage, her face turned from him, her head erect and queenly. She never deigned him a glance. The black coachman touched his horses, and Mac Vaunce was left on the crowded pavement watching the carriage rolling rapidly away. CHAPTER II. "My love, you must hurry; your father is really savage." Aunt Dllloway turned up the gas till the dressing-room was flooded with light, and looked helplessly at Miss Guenther and her maid, Marie. "What is the matter, Ethel?" "I have lost my pearl bracelet. Aunt Dilloway, the one papa gave me at Christmas. That other box Marie." "Why. my dear!" cried Aunt Dilloway. "Isn't it wicked? I can never keep a bracelet." The toilet table was covered with the contents of a dozen rummaged boxes. Mistress and maid looked hopeless. Aunt Dilloway, who had a prejudice against foreigners. and French women in particular, eyed Marie suspiciously. "My dear, here is a bouquet Mac Vaunce left for you." she said at last to Miss Guenther; "you must take it, to please your father; he's in a dreadful way tonight." Japonicas, tea roses, English violets and ivy, sweet as if all the life of a tropic summer's heart had dripped into them: it was an exquisite offering. Ethel laid it carelessly down. "My opera cape. Marie." Marie flung it over the lovely I chf?iiin?>rc?nvpr the sheenv satin dress. One parting look into the mirror at the radiant figure, the young head, crowned ^vith its lustrous hair, and the young face, hazel-eyed and scarlet-lipped. "There! I believe I am ready," she said. Mac Vaunce's flowers were left to wither on the toilet-table: Miss Guenther went down. A door was standing open at the foot of the staircase, and inside, with quick, impatient steps, paced a genI tleman in an Indian silk dressinggown, with iron-gray hair, and a strong face, gray-eyed, thin lipped. Mr. Guenther turned at the rustle of her dress. # "At last, papa." she laughed, making a gay gesture: "how are you going to pass this dreary evening all alone?" "Somehow, I dare say." His eyes bent gloomily down to the carpet. She went to his side and laid her lovely arm across his neck. "Look at me," said Ethel saucily. He took her pearly face between his two hands and kissed her forehead, still keeping his eyes away. Then he sat down in his easy I chair and drew his hand nervously across his brow. "Where are Mr. Vaunce's flowers. Ethel?" "I gave them to Marie," boldly. He wheeled around, with a pale, bitter face. "You hate him, don't you?" She drew back a step, and stood up tall and regal before him. "I do not love him," she said. "There, go!" he cried, impatiently; "1 would rather you would go; you will be late." "But papa?" He stepped back, looking over his shoulder half fearfully. "Ethel, if anything should happen ?mind! 1 don't say it will, but if it should?pshaw! what a fool I am! ? there, good-night." He shut the door behind her. Aunt Dilloway was waiting in the hall; they went out to the carriage. Just as it was turning from the door a figure passed them in the full light of the street lamp and ascended the steps, watching them with a backward glance. It was Mack Vaunee. Ethel sank into a corner, as if to escape the light, and shivered. "What can possess him to call at this time?" cried Aunt Dilloway; "not a soul there but your poor papa." Dear Aunt Dilloway would have opened her eyes very wide had she known it was this last circumstance that provoked the call. What a gala night that was! Mrs. Oleander's gilded salons were crowded to overflowing; in fact, they always were on such occasions. The amiable lady was much given to patronizing the arts; and the lions of the day. and the elite, agreeing that her boned turkey and champagne were above reproach, aired their point-lace and broadcloth quite freely in her salons. Aunt Dilloway was a wallflower, but Mrs. Oleander knew the value of such belles as Ethel Guenther and she greeted her rapturously. "My dear, you are charming! I am delighted. They are just forming a quadrille." "I do not care to dance," said Ethel. "Xot dance? Oh. it is impossible! My dear Halstead?" A gentleman standing by the window close at hand, the centre of an . animated group, turned at a tap from her fan. "Allow me to present you to Miss Guenther?1 believe you have never met before." and aside to Miss Guenther. "a wonderful genius! That lovely picture in the Art Gallery is his? has studied in Rome, you know." Neither said whether they had ever met before or not. Miss Guenther felt his hand close firmly around her own. "I began to think you would not come," he said. Then he had been waiting for her. She opened her little silvery fan, delicate as a butterfly's wing, and fluttered it languidly. "You were very kind to think J about it at all." % "Daisy bade me bear her love to Miss Guenther. I was waiting to relieve myself of the message. You dance?" "Rarely." "May I ask to be favored ?" She hesitated; then laid her hand on his arm. and Aunt Dllloway watched them moving down the room together. vaguely wondering who that tall fellow was?handsomer than a dozen Mac Vaunces. Aunt Dilloway's meditations upon tin- subject were interrupted a little later, by Mac Vaunce himself pushing by her and in the next set Miss Guenther found him as her vis-a-vis. She was dancing again with Halstead?as lovely a vision as his artistfancy ever conjured up. There was not a gleam of color on the white of her satin and lace, except one scarlet rose, hundred-leaved, and heavy with fragrance, rastenea carelessly on the embroidered bodice. A Hush like the reflection from the passionate heart of the flower, stained her cheek; the soft, fragrant hair that almost touched his shoulder was but a shade darker than the eyes? the vivid red lips were half-parted, the lashes drooping?she never looked once at Vaunce. "Were it not for that rose." he whispered, as he passed her in the changes, "you would be an angel." Halstead turned. "Mac! is it possible? You come as the crowning glory of the whole." Vaunce flushed. "I was detained by business, old fellow." "Important?" "Very." Halstead was laughing at him with those keen, handsome eyes of his. Somehow, in that moment, it flashed across Mac Vaunce that in the struggle to come the odds might be against him. A soft Spanish walta stirred the air. The circle of dancers widened. There was a tinkle of Moorish fountains in the music, a sound of southern palms sighing?dreamy, delicious. Presently that flake of scarlet fragrance dropped from Miss Guenther's bodice, as if the witching sounds had filled it with life. She did not miss it for a time, then she looked, to see it in Mac Vaunce's hand and he breathing in its honeyed sweetness. "You have lost your rose," said Halstead, pointedly. Vaunce turned?the scarlet flake receded down the room whence he was whirling to the last pulse of music. She waited for him to return, a mute blossom of anger coming out on her cheek. He approached slowly, with the rose between his lips. Hal stead's brow bent?he held out his hand for it. The hand was Ignored. "Take It." said Mac Vaunce in Miss Guenther's ear; "my heart is in it." Her fearless hazel eyes flashed their disdain into his. "Thank you?it is a gift I do not covet?Mr. Halstead?my fan!" A current of blood swept slowly U|. Mac Vaunce's forehead. He dropped the rose and set his heel upon it. "I can wait, Ethel!" He turned away. Halstead placed a chair for Miss Guenther; then went to answer a sign from Mrs. Oleander. Ethel drew a deep breath. "My love." said Aunt Dilloway at her elbow, "you are dreadfully pale? I would not dance again." Somehow Miss Guenther had mixed Mac Vaunce's image and her father's confusedly in her mind; she felt as if the latter were calling to her. "Aunt Dilloway, I am tired!" "My dear, I wish Mac Vaunce was in the Red sea!" Ethel laughed. "Would that help me?" "Certainly. I don't see what your poor papa can be thinking of." Some one leaned over Miss Guenther's chair suddenly, and laid something in her lap. Snow-drops, wet with dew? The gas-light flashed across them and told their secret better?they had been born in the serpent course of an Indian river? milky, spotless pearls?Miss Guenther's missing bracelet. "It was found just outside my door." said Erne Halstead. "I kept it until we should meet?pardon me." "Of all things," said Aunt Dilloway under her breath. Miss GuentheT drew the bracelet slowly on, looking up at him with a surprised face. "I thought it was lost." she said. Erne Halstead leaned over her chair. Aunt Dilloway smoothed her point-lace ruffles in perplexity. "You gave me no chance." said Erne Halstepd, "to thank you for your kindness to little Daisy; let me do so now." Miss Guenther fluttered her fan. with a little smile on her lips, and hoped that Daisy was well. Erne Halstead was pleased to assure her that she was, feasting his artist eyes the while on the white droop of the lids?the long curve of Miss Guenther's eye-lashes. It ended by a tetea-tete on the alcove of the window. He had so many entertaining things to say?so much that it was pleasant for her to hear of the arts?of Rome ?of a thousand current topics, and everything was said with such perfect grace and strength! She caught little glimpses of his inner life?of himself in everything. He was so manly and self-reliant! Drawn toward him in spite of herself, drawn out. too, feeling the hidden iron hand of his will under its velvet glove, Miss Guenther, haughty and petted belle that she was. caught herself looking up to him. half timidly, and the next moment recoiling from him. because she felt him master. "I am sorry," said Mrs. Oleander, interrupting them at last with her gay little laugh, "but Mr. Halstead, Judge Gresham is urgent to see you, and Ethel, you really must be so kind as to sing for us a little while?I cannot allow vi>n to hide here any longer." So Erne Halstead led her to the piano; and went another way in search of Judge Gresham, and they did not meet again till Miss Guenther stood in the hall ready to go. He came toward her with a quick, firm step?Mac Vaunce watched them from the drawing-room door. "Will you allow me to see you again, Miss Guenther?" Mac Vaunce could not catch her answer, she turned away so quickly, but the young artist went with her to the carriage and handed her in. Her hand lay In his one moment. ' 1 i\f" (//?$' - Vs! -sm -V T U ffl //, x i # // / / WILLI The Next President. 1857?Bom in Cincinnati, September 15th. 1874?Graduated from the Cincinnati high school. 1876?Graduated from Yale college, second in the class and class orator. 1880?Admitted to the Ohio bar. 1881?Assistant prosecuting attorney of Hamilton county, Ohio. 1882?Collector of internal revenue of the first district of Ohio. 188.1?Resigned public office to resume law practice. "Good-night!" like a deep strain of music. "You will call?" said Aunt Dilloway, leaning forward. She was delighted with the new acquaintance. He lifted his cap. "Yes?thank you," looking into Ethel Guenther's eyes. So they parted. Rattling home through the deserted street. Aunt Dilloway said, suddenly? "Ethel, he looks like another Halstead I used to know?It must have been his father." Miss Guenther roused herself. "That you used to know?" "Indeed I did." answered Aunt Dilloway, with a flush on her faded cheek, "and I don't mind saying it?I loved him, too." "Well?" "If John Halstead was this young man's father it would be well to renew the family acquaintance. Your papa and John used to be like brothers. I hope the young man will call." Miss Guenther, being totally unacquainted with the genealogy of the Haisteads, could give Aunt Dilloway no information upon the subject. As she entered the hall, a light through the half-open library door told her that her father was still awake. She ran up stairs to throw off her opera rape and then went in to him. He was standing at the threshold of the door, waiting. His pale, worn face. startled her. "Papa, are you 111?" Mr. Guenther placed her in his easy chair and took a turn across the floor. "III? Yes. Good Gcd! this kind of life is enough to drive one mad." "Father!" "Mac Vaunce has been here tonight." said Mr. Guenther,. with the sweat starting on his forehead. "I know it." "Ethel, you must marry him!" She rose and went to his side. "Papa, do you know what you are saying?" He would not look at her. "Yes?I mean it." "You mean that I must marry Mac Vaunce?" He groaned. His head fell down on her shoulders, like a child's. "Ethie. what will become of us?" She smoothed his gray hair, with soft, white fingers. "Father, are you afraid of Mac Vaunce?" He started fiercely. "Afraid of a man that can work my wrv7r~^ ; ^ S?5 / i -J.- > . > s" " -* / ' / V" sy .?/V,? / ' y / ; ? : ft"} 'J . r / , ifWAY YAj V-.v A A/ ; m (fffif .Jlfpl ; Y&r' / /,sf' 1 vs /" [AM HOWARD 188i"i?Assistant county solicitor of Hamilton county. 1886?Married Miss Helen Herron, of Cincinnati. 1887?Judge of the superior court of Ohio. 1890?Solicitor general of the United States. 1892?United States circuit Judge of the sixth circuit. 1896?Became dean of the law department of the university of Cincinnati. I I ruin any day?who will work it If we thwart him?who has stood here tonight and threatened me with everything but the gallows? Yes, I am afraid of him!" Her face was as white as his own. She caught at her chair. "Oh, father!" "And you cannot marry him, child?" "I will do anything but that!" "Anything?" "Oh, yes!" He looked around in the old, fearful way. "I think?perhaps?would it be better, Ethie, never to see ' him again ?" She caught at his meaning. "Yes." "Then we never must." "We will go from here, father." His face grew thin and eager. "Could you?" "I will." "When?" "Now?tomorrow." "Tomorrow. It is all that is left for us?it is to save you, Ethie." She kissed him with a calm face. She could not ask further. "We will go early. You must try to sleep, papa." "We will go where he can never | find us. You will love your old fath-1 er, Ethie?" "Always?that is all." He followed her to the door. She kissed his forehead again, then broke from him and ran up to her own room. A few words to Aunt Dllloway. and she walked blindly to the bed .'ind threw nerseu nown inert* m her shining ball dress. It was all so strange?so sudden and so terribly dark and hidden, too. Her father's favor of Mac Vaunce's suit was explained. Tomorrow! (To Be Continued.) Flies and Disease. To verify his theory that flies and not hot weather are chiefly responsible for the prevalence of intestinal diseases, Dr. Daniel D. Jackson of the Merchants' Association Committee on Water Pollution, has been trapping flies all summer at a station near Prospect Park, Brooklyn, says the New York Times, and comparing the record of his captures with that of last year and with the health department mortality figures. The doctor says he found the relation between the number of flies captured WJl * I wmi/M/ ,'/ .v* />? '/Ar /Jr C v wwffi/ f<" / fflSffi**/-r TAFT. 1900?President or tne unitea amies Philippine commission. 1901?First civil governor of the Philippines islands. 1904?Became secretary of war of the United States. 1905?Visited the Philippines with congressional party. 1906?Restored order in Cuba as Provisional governor. 1907?Candidate for the Republican presidential nomination. 1908?Elected president of the United States. and the number of deaths reported substantially the safhe as last year. The fly season opened earlier this year than last, but reached its height In July, as It did last year, and the largest weekly number of deaths from, such disorders reported last year coincided exactly with the week ended August 3. This summer the highest weekly death record was 448, made for the week ended July 18; but it followed two weeks in which the catches of flies were 2,000 each?nearly as high a* the maximum. A noticeable decrease in the number of deaths corresponded with a catch of a much smaller number of flies. Dr. Jackson thinks that the education which the people have had in the last year in regard to the dissemination of disease germs by flies has probably had a share in keeping the death rate down. The Human Dray. The Constantinople correspondent of the Neue Freie Presse of Vienna, says that among the first of the many organizations that marched to the Yildiz Kiosk to express thanks for the constitutional decree were the burden bearers or hamalis. These powerful athletic Turks, for the most part beautnui men, despite their dirty garb, have a well organized society which lays down the laws by which they are guided In their vocation. They come from Asiatic Turkey, where they leave their wives while they work industriously and honestly for a few years, save their earnings and then return to their homes. The bad pavements and the narrow, winding streets preclude the dray in Constantinople, and these men take the place of the dray horse. On long poles they may be seen carrying great bales of goods, pianos, safes and all sorts of heavy property. They are fanatical in their religion and thoroughly Turkish, but it seems that they appreciate the advance toward liberalism, and showed their ability to live up to European methods on the day after the demonstration, when 'they struck for higher wages. x# In the course of a year ground worms will bring to the surface about ten tons of soil to the acre. Xi'/' A cube containing 1,000,000 building bricks, if laid without mortar, would be about 40 feet in each direction. ittisrrllanrotts $fadin(|. CURIOUS LAMAS. Subjecting Themselvee For Yeere to Senseless and Acute Torture. Once in Tibet we passed two young lamas from Kham, writes Sven Hedin lr Harper's Magazine. They did not walk like ordinary pilgrims, but literally measured off the distance with their own bodies. Lying down full length on the ground, they would Join their hand over their heads and read a prayer, then make a mark on the road, arise, join their hands together again over their heads, and, muttering a prayer, take a few steps forward to the mark, to fall full length once ag.iln and repeat the entire ceremony all the way round the mountain. Performed in this manner by "prostration," the Journey took twenty days. The two lamas we saw had only done about half the dls tance, and tney -contemplated doing tne whole journey twice. One of them was to return there after having completed his duty as pilgrim. The other?he was barely twenty years old?was to pass the remainder of his earthly life In a dark grotto on the banks of the Upper Tsangpo. Few forms of self-mortification are of such value as this life spent In the dark, this absolute separation from the world, from one's fellowmen and the t light of the sun. In Llnga-gunpa I obtained much valuable Information regarding this curious custom. In the prayer grotto at that place?a little stone hut at the foot of a cliff?was then a lama who had already been Immured for three years. No ode knew him, no one knew whence he came nor what his name was, and even were one to know his name It was forbidden to mention It before human beings. But they told me that the day he went Into the grotto he was followed In most solemn procession by all the red monks of the monastery, and when all the ceremonies prescribed In the holy books had been gone through, the narrow entrance Into the grotto had been closed up again. Wo were standing outside it. I asked the head lama whether he could hear us talk. He replied, "Oh no, he can neither hear nor see: he Is sunk night and day In profound meditation," 'How do you know that he Is alive ?r "The food (tsamba) which Is passed In to him once a day through an underground passage is eaten up by the morning, but should we find the dish untouched one morning, then we should understand that he had died." A stream hows through the cave In the day time; by this means he gets water. How wonderful! For days and weeks I could not drive the picture of this lama out of my mind. Never to hear a human voice, never get a glimpse of the sun, never to see the difference between night and day, only to know of the approach of winter by the lowering of the temperature. I pictured to myself the day when he was entombed In the cave He sat there alone and watched them fill up the opening with blocks of stone, the light growing continually less till finally only a tiny little hole was left. Through this he took his last farewell of the sun, and when that, too, was finally closed up he remained in complete and utter darkness. Since that time three years had now elapsed. In another temple, like Llnga absolutely unknown by Europeans, a lama had lived immured in this manner for sixty-nine years. BATTLE FOR THE INDIAN. Government Starts Fight Against the Great White Plague. The Indian department is beginning a fight at Lewiston, Idaho, to prevent the spread of tuberculosis, which Is rapidly decimating the Indians, and two or more tubercular camps will be built on the Nez Perce reservation, where the suffering red men can be treated by Agency Physician John N. Ally, a recognized authority. The fight is not local, as the commissioner of Indian affairs has directed Indian agents to begin a campaign against the great white plague in every tribe in the United States. Doctor Ally believes 75 per cent of the Nez Perces with tiihprmilflr trouble aic auwbvu ** In some stage. The tribe Is decreasing rapidly, despite careful efforts on the part of the government employes, and the battle, which has received Its Impetus from Washington, will be a scientific attempt to remove the cause of the disease. Indian Agent O. H. Llpps expects / to establish one camp In the mountains, where the patients can get ~io\y onH orerplsii The camD JJltrilLJT VI u.* t U?u . will be a model of scientific Improvements over old tubercular camps. A second camp will be established In the valley, where the sick Indians can be treated In winter. Outdoor life and primitive tent homes are to be encour- . aged, although the details have not been worked out. Doctor Ally, who has been at Fort Lapwal several years, has made a close study of the tubercular patients and the causes which are responsible for the spread of the plague. He attributes the general condition to two causes: First, Intermarriage, and second. Ignorance of laws of ventilajtion and sanitation. The Indians are inbreeding so much that they are already paying the penalty for the violation of the law of human nature. The Xez Perces are clean, their I homes are neat, their kitchens and bedrooms free from dirt, but they have no knowledge of the necessity of ventilation. In days of old they lived a care-free, happy life moving from place to place, sleeping under the I stars or in a canvass teepee, securing ! fresh air and obeying nature's hygienic laws without knowledge of them. I Now they live in frame houses, which are poorly heated with stoves and of| ten ventilated only through cracks and crevices. Those Indians who make annual pilgrimages to the Eitter Roots return in the fall witn neaitn resiureu, unless the patient has passed into a hopeless stage of consumption. These trips into the mountains, where the Indians live in a simple, primitive way, are encouraged, as they are looked upon as a benefit not to be obtained In Isolation camps. Almost every Indian family has one member with the hectic flush and the cough that indicates the rapid ravages of the disease. The Indian agent will labor among his people to show them the necessity of treatment, and the cooperation of the patients themselves will be sought.