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?- ^ " ' _ _ ISSUED SEJWCI- WISEIKXV^^ l. m. grist s sons. publishers. % Jamilj Seirspaper: J|ur the promotion of the political. Social. Agricultural and Commercial Jnterests of the people. {,r' single cops". pive cents. EsrABLisiiKU 1855. YORKVLLLIt), S. C., T UESD A^^WlhMbEft l 7." l ')OH. TSTO. 92. iw 111 m IIW in mi'MU'm finunrrtmc ? "?HS HI i By OPI] i Copyrighted 1896, by Wm. I By Permission of La i an m m m *" mumiami J CHAPTER II. The month was April, a ad the day l was biUne, wun no oiotcii in tne say. ^ 'in< Couituy was routfii, toe road was B peouy in tne bottuina and ninty on tne hi.io, o?t ti.ere was a leaping joy every wntre; in tne woods wnere the blue-jays wtre shouting, down me brancn where the wooupecker tapped in an oaa tree's sounding board, it mutt nave been a low 'imaging ambition to oe tnrined with tne prospect of tcacning scuool, or was it buoyant heaitn tiiat made me happy? 1 eased m down my trunK, and b^jlshly tnrew stones away otf into an echo.ng bohow. A raboit ran out into tne road and stopped, and with a stone I knocked it over, tenderly I picked it up, feit its ^ buttering neart, and groaned inwardly when tne little heart was stilled. 1 called myself a murderer, an AngloSaxon brute, to kill a harmless creature merely upon a devi.ish impulse, and In the graveily ground I began to dig a grave with my knife, and I was so mucn taken up with this work and I with my grief,' that I heeded not the approach of a wagon. . "What are you doing there?" some 1 r?n<? fnllpA f I looked up. A farmer had stopped L his blowing horses and was looking at me. "I'm digging a grave," I answered. "Diggin' a grave? Why, who's dead?" "A rabbit." He moved uneasily, and gave me a searching look. And I saw that he took me to be insane. "I killed the poor thing." 1 explained, "killed it out cf mere wantonness, and I am so grief stncken that I am going to do the best I can for the poor thing?go" ing to give it a Christian burial." The man laughed. "I wish you would kill the last one of them," he said. "Set out as nice a young orchard as you ever saw last winter, and the devilish rabbits killed 'every one of the trees." "Then I am not so much of a murderer after all," I replied. "I might have known that rabbits are not altogether harmless. How far do you go on this road?" "About ten miles." "Will you let me ride with you?" ^ "Yes, be glad to have you." ^ I put the rabbit into his grave, raked the dirt on him with my foot?hardly ?* e^i-icHan.iiiro WAV. I admit?placed I my trunk into the body of the wagon, and took a seat beside the man. And there was something about him that at once interested me. His hat was off and the breeze was stirring his grizzly hair. His nose was large and thin, and when he turned his face square upon me, I saw that his eyes were gray and clear. He wore no coat, his shirt sleeves were rolled back, and though he I must have been more than fifty years old. I could see that he had enormous strength in his arms. And he was look'ng at me admiringly, for he said, "you must be pretty much of a man." "I am not a child except in my lack ? of wisdom," I answered. "Gad, you talk like a preacher. Which way are you going?" "Over to Lim Jucklin's house." He gave me another look and remarked, "that's my name." "You don't tell me so?" "Didn't you hear me tell you so?" "Yes, but " r"Well, then, I did tell you so." "I am delighted to meet you, sir. I am a school teacher, and I hear that one Is wanted In your neighborhood." l He looked at me from head-to foot, ^ and replied: "I shouldn't wonder but B you are the right man. "What's your ^ name?" I told him and after a few moments of silence he asked: "And kin to the Luke Hawes that fought In the Creek war?" "He was my grandfather." "Ah, hah, and my daddy fit with him ?was a lieutenant In his company. Let's shake hands. Whoa, boys." He stopped his horses, got up. shook down ' the wrinkled lees of his trousers and reached forth his hand. "You are a stranger in North Caroliny," he said when he had clucked to his horses. * "Yes. I am a stranger everywhere you might put It," I answered. "I am from Alabama, but the people made so much fun of me In the community where I was brought up that I am even a stranger there." "What did they make fun of you about." "Because I was overgrown and awkward.." "Whoa, boys! Let's shake hands again. I got it the same way when I A was a boy, and I come in one of never I gettin' over it." I We drove on and had gone some dis tance when he asked: "Do you know tall about 'rtthmetlc?" | "I at least know the multiplication table." "It's more than I do. Get up there, boys. And down in my country they think that a man that don't know a.l about 'rithmetic is a fool. I have often told them that there wan't no record of the fact that the Savior was good at Aggers, except Aggers of speech, but they won't have It that a man is smart unless he can go up to a barn ^ and cover one side of it with eights and sevens and nines and all that sort of thing. I've got a daughter that's quicker than a flash?took it from her mother, I reckon?and I have a son * that's tolerable, but I have always been left in the lurch right there. But I can read all right, and I know the Book about as well as the most of them, but that makes no difference down in our neighborhood. The pace down there Is set by Old General Lundsford. He knows all abort Aggers and everything else, for that matter, but Aggers is his strong holt. He owns nearly ( everything: is a mighty Tlstocrat and don't bend very often: lives in the house that his grandfather built, great hig brick, and n^ver had no respect for me at all until I wallowed him in the road one dav about thlrtv odd years ago. And along about ten years after that he found out that he had a good wwwiwwwwiwui hi hi n? m i Hi IN I* E READ. i H. Lee?All Rights Reserved. I ird & Lee, Publ;-Hers. \ >HlilH t?lit?iaili?l>i?lilUiMIM> Ml IIIMII deal of respect for me. What do you Knuw auout game chickens?" 'Not very much; i shnply know that they are aoout tne bravest things that live." tie gave ine another one of his square Iooks and repl.ed: "There Is more wisdom in sucn taik as that than tnere J c-vuid be crowded into a wheat bin. J But, do you know that people make | tun or me because r aamire a game ! rooster? They do. I don't want to l.gnt em for money, you know; I'm a good church member and ad that sort of thing; I believe the Book from one end to the other; believe that the whale swallowed Jonah, I don't care If its ihroat ain't bigger than a hoe-handle; oelieve that the vine growed up In one night, and withered at mornin'; believe that old Samson killed all them feders with the jaw-bone?believe everything as I tell you from start to finish, but i ll be blamed If I can keep from fight.n' chickens to save my life. And I always keep two beauties, I tell you. Not long ago my wife ups and kills Sam and fed him to a preacher. Preacher was there, hungry*, and the -ther chickens were parading around summers on the other side of the hill, but my wife she ups and kills Sam, a black beauty, with a pedigree as long as a plow line. And, sir, while that man was clawin' of my chicken he gave me a lecture on flghtin* roosters." "You spoke of your son and daughter. Do they attend school?" "Oh, no; they are grown long ago." "Then how is It that the teacher usually boards at your house?" "I don t know; but they do. Reckon they jest fell into the habit. My house is handy, fcr one thing-; ain't more than three miles from the school?Jest a nice, exercisin' sort of walk. Whoa, boys! Sorter have to scotch 'em back join* down here. Saw a man get killed down there one day; horse kicked him, and do you see that knob over there where them hickory trees are? I ,iad a hard time there one night. A lot of foot-burners come to my house >ne night durin' the war and took me out and told me that if I didn't give them my money they would roast my shanks. I didn't have any money and told them so, but they didn't believe me; and so they brought me right over there where them hickories are, tied me, took off my shoes and built up a ..re at my feet; but about thet time they had got me well blistered, along come some Yankee soldiers and nabbed cm. And a few minutes after that j there wasn't anything agin their feet, l tell you, not even the ground. Well, we are gettin' pretty close to home now." "But we haven't come fifteen miles from the station, have we?" ' Well, you had come about five mne before I overtook you and we have come nearly ten since then. These hosses are travelers. Oh, I reckon we've get about three more miles to go yet." The country was old, with here and there a worn out and neglected field. A creek wound its way among the hills, deep and dark in places, but babbling out into a broad and shiny ford where we crossed. One moment the scene was desolate, with gullied hill-sides, but further on and off to the right I could see pcetic strips of meadow land, and further yet, upon a hill top, stood a grim old house of brick and stone. We turned off to the right before coming abreast of this place, and pursued x winding course along a deep-shaded avine, not rough with broken ground ut graceful with grassy slopes and with here and there a rock. My companion pointed out this house, what is '-nown as a double log building, with x broad passage way between the two A n.i?h c<-? Vinrrt nnd smooth "CtUUlIC. il WV 1IU.U M..V. .... ! 'hat it Rhone in the sun, ran down obiquely into the ravine, and at the end f it I saw a large iron kettle overturned, and I knew that this marked the spring. I liked the place, the forst back of it, the steep hills far away, he fields lying near and the meadow down the ravine. I hate a new house. | t new field, a wood that looks new; to ne there must be the impress of fond -ssociation, and here I found it, the | spring house with moss on its roof, he path, a great oak upon which death bad placed its beautiful mark?a bough f mistletoe. "You hop right out and go in and make yourself at home, while I take "are cf the horses," said the old man. Go right on," he added, for he saw "hat I was hesitating. "You don't need in introduction. Jest say that you are VVhut'sname and that you are the new -chool teacher." "But I don't know yet that I am to be the teacher." "Well, then, tell 'em that you are Whut'sname and that you don't know whether you are to be the teacher or not." "But won't you stop long enough to 'ntroduee me?" "Oh, I reckon I mout. Come on. There is \\ ife in the door, now." He did not go as far as the doer; he -imply shouted: "Here's a man. Susan. 'Ie can tell you his name, for blamed f I ain't ilun forgot." CHAPTER III. Into this household I was received with open handed graciousness. Nothing can be more charming than the unconscious generosity of simple folk. To this family I applied the word simple and cut myself with a cool smile at .ny own vanity. Was I not a countryman and as rustic minded as they? 'tut I had come from another community, had crossed a state line and the :nes of several counties, and besides I i ?f k to myself the credit of having ead many a cunning book, and therefore these people were surely more slmle than I. Traveling unquestionably athers knowledge, but the man who eads has ever a feeling that he is the roper critic of the man who has simily ot served. Mrs. Jucklln gave me a strong grasp of welcome, apologizing for the lack of order that I must surely find in the house and conducted me to the sitting room, a large apartment, with a home woven carpet on the floor. A turkey wing, used for a fan, hung beside the enormous fire place, and on the broad mantlepiece, trimmed with paper cut in scallops, an old Yankee clock was ticking. The woman shook a cat out cf a hickory rocking chair and urged me to sit down. She knew that I must be tired after my long ride, and she said that if I would only excuse her for a moment she would go down to the spring house and get me a glass of miik, to give me strength wherewith J to wait until she could stir about and I get something to eat. And above all, i must pardon Limuel's abruptness of manner. But really he meant nothing I by it, as I would find out when I should become better acquainted with him. She was a little, black-eyed woman, doubtless a descendant of a Dutch family that had come to the colony at an early date, for she reminded me of my mother, and I know that mother's ( grandfather was a Dutchman. I beg,ged Mrs. Jucklin not to go after the milk, but she ran away almost with (the lightness of a girl. In truth, to think of the milk made me shudder; I couldn't bear the thought cf It. During the hard times at the close of the war, when I was a child, we had to drink rye coffee, and I remember that once the cows got into the rye field and gave rye milk. The coffee and the milk together had made me sick, and ever since then I had looked upon milk with a reminiscent horror. But there she came with It. "My dear madam," I pleaded, "I would much rather not drink it." "Oh, but you must, for I know you are tired out." "But I don't drink milk." "And it is because you can't find any like this. Just taste it, then." The old man came stalking into the room and I gave him an appealing look. "I gad, Susan," said he, "let him alone. Don't you reckon he's got sense enough to know what he wants? Take the stuff away." With a sigh of disappointment she placed the tumbler upon the mantlepiece. "Where's Alf?" the old man asked. "Gone over to the general's to help ijihnut something." "Where's Guinea?" "She's about somewhere. That's her 'n the passage, I think. Guinea?" There was no reply, save of hastening footsteps, and a moment later a young woman entered the room. She was not very tall, but she was graceful, and her dark eyes were dashed with mischief. She reminded me of the woman whom I had seen on the train; her smile was the same, but her eyes were brighter. She had a peculiar laugh, a musical cluck, and at first sight I was glad that I had met her, but a moment later I was afraid that she was going to laugh at me. The old man did not introduce me; his wife did not know my name, and I sought to speak my name, but had lost it Just at that moment and could merely splutter something. I was not much embarrassed, though; I recalled what I had Hrnra the two m?n sav. and behind me was the strong brace of a woman's Vindly regard. "We are glad to see you," said the Tirl, looking straight at me. I replied that I was glad to see her, and then we both laughed; she with her musical cluck and I with a goat-like rasp. It seemed to me. We all drew up about the Fre-place, a hahlt in the country, and It was then that I thought of the ->ren-handed graciousness of the household. Had I correctly caught this girl's name, Oulnea? And with a countryman's frankness I asked If that were her name. "Well, no," said Mrs. Jucklln, speaking for her, "it ain't her sure enough name, but It's all that she goes by. And It came about In this way: A long time ago, when she was a little bit of a girl, she was toddlin' about the vard with a checked dress on, and one of the neighbors lookin' at her said that she looked exactly like a little guinea chicken, and ever since then we have called her Guinea. Her right name Is \ngeline." "Her right name Is what?" the old man asked, looking up. "Angellne," I said. "Well, It's the first time I ever heard >f It." "Now, Limuel, why do you want to net that way? A body would think that you don't know anything about vour own family." "Never heard of It before," said the old man. "You are surely the most provokln' man I ever saw, Limuel. You know 'he very day we named the child and now you pretend?" "Pretend? I don't pretend nothln'. ~an't blame a man for never hearln' ->f the name, can you?" "Mister," she said, turning to me, "nlease don't pay any attention to him. He'd pester me nearlv to death If I'd 'et him. But come, Guinea, we must Hir about and get something to eat." The mother and the daughter went ">ut Into the kitchen detached from the main part of the house, and the old men looked at me and laughed. And ~fter a moment of chuckling he said: "I reckon that I've got two of the fln*??t in the world." "Children?" I asked. "No. game roosters. One's named ^ nomoH Rnh " ^ain <xiiu uic uiuci 0 iuiiivv. "I thought you said that Sam had been eaten by the preacher." "Oh. that Sam was, but I've got another one. I always have a Sam and a Bob. When a Sam dies I get another Sam, and likewise with a Bob. But you know what's a fact? I never allow 'em to fight to a finish. If I did the sport would be gone. You must lever let one rooster know that the other one can whip him, for if you do there won't be any fight after that? you must always keep each one bellevin' that he is the best man. I reckon I've had more than a hundred, but I never let 'em fight to a finish. My folks here don't care nothin' about fun ?they even frown on it, Alf with the rest, and I hold that he ought to know tetter, bein* a man, but so it is. I've jot a chicken house back here, with a high picket fence around it, and I keep it locked, I tell you. Have to, or the preachers would eat up my sport, md this ain't findln' no fault with their doctrine, for I believe the Book frcm klver to kiver. After we get a snack we'll slip off and have a set-to. What do you say?" I hardly knew what to say. I was I afraid to decline, lest I might lose his good opinion, and I was loth to accept the invitation, fearing that I might lower myself In the estimation of the women; but while I was casting about the old man relieved me by saying: "However, we've got plenty of time before us. It's always well to hold a good thing in reserve, you know. After dinner we'll go over and see Old Perdue and find out if you can arrange with him about the school. He's got the whole thing in charge. General ILundsford has charge or nearly everything else, but he don't take much stock In free schools. He argues that nothln* that's free is any good, and In the main he's about right; "but we've had some pretty good schools here, the 'only trouble bein' to keep the teachers out of the creek. What education my son Alf has he picked up about home, here, but Guinea was sent off to school, way over at Raleigh." "I am glad to see that you thought so much of the importance of training her mind," I remarked. He gave me a troubled look, moved uneasily, as I had seen him move when [ told him that I was burying a rabbit, ran his fingers through his upright, bristling hair and for a long time was silent. And as I looked at him I fancied that he was trying to think of something to say, something to lead my mind away from what he had al-| ready said. I had seen the quaint, half-comical side of his nature, and now i saw that he could be thoughtful, and in his serious mood his face was sti or r and rugged. His beard, cropned close, reminded me of scraps of wire, some of them rusted, and when Me wiped his mouth with the back of Mis hand I wondered that he did not scratch the skin off. Guinea came to the door and told us that the meal was ready. The old man got up, with a return of his comical air, and told me to follow him. The girl continued to stand near the threshold and as I drew near unto her "Tlilo ilnnr waon't f?llt nilltft 3IJC oatu I X lllo UUVt ti mw*? v vw? high enough for you, was It? Look, father, he has to duck his head. The boys may have a time putting him Into the creek." She was now talking to her father, but was looking at me, <=o I took It upon myself to answer her. "Yes, for you have called attention to the fact that my legs are long and the rascals may have hard running with trying to catch me." "Oh." she repl'ed. "but I was thlnk"ng of your strength rather than your swiftness. Come this way. Father has run off and left you." The old man had stepped down out ->f the passage and had gone some distance toward a small house surrounded by a picket fence. "You go with her." he called, look'ng back, "and I'll be there pretty soon." "No telling when he will come now," the girl remarked, walking close beside me. "He's got two of the most spiteful chickens out there you ever saw, and whenever anything goes wrong with him he bolts right out there, pa matter who is here, and makes those vicious things peck at each other. Mother and I try hard to reform him, out we can't." It was Mrs. Jucklin's time-grayed privilege to apologize for the scantiness of her fare, and this she did with becoming modesty and regret. She had not expected company; the regular dinner hour was over long ago, and somehow she never could understand why she couldn't get a meal out of the regular time. But if I would only give her a chance she would reclaim herself. She called my attention to the corn bread; declared that it was not fit to be eaten, and she didn't know what made the stove act that way. But the milk she knew was good, riv, aVio Viq^ fr>rtrntten that I didn't drink milk. Guinea smiled at me and clucked at her mother. "Don't pretend that you like anything Just to please her," she said, when Mrs. Jucklin had turned about to keep a hoe-cake from burning. "All you've got to do is say nothing until she gets through?that, and simply to remember that she enoys it." While we were eating we heard a \oice crying. "Hike, there, Sam; get him down, Bob! Hike there!" "They are warming up to their work," Guinea remarked, and her mother sighed; and then she began to talk louder than was her won't, striving to drown the old man's voice. "It isn't any use, mother," said the girl. 'The gentleman will find it out sooner or later." "And I suppose," said I, "that you think that you may find out my name sooner or later. Please pardon me for not introducing myself. My name is?" "Hike, there, Bob! Get him down, eam! Now you are at it! Hike, there!" "My name is Hawes, William Hawes, and I am from Alabama." "And you have come to teach the chool?" said the girl. "Yes, if I can make the arrangements.' ' But Is there anything very satisfying in such an occupation?" she asked. I felt then that she placed no very high estimate upon my worth, and on her part this was but natural, for among country people school teaching is looked upon as a lazy calling. "I have not chosen teaching as my real vocation," I answered. "Hike, there, I tell you! Hike!" "It is my aim to be a lawyer, to be eloquent, to stir emotion, to be strong in the presence of men. My earlier advantages, no matter how I sought to turn them about, gave me no promise of reaching the bar; I had good pri 'I*.. t try nary training, dui in reamy i imu iu educate myself, and in the work of a teacher I saw a hope to lead me onward." "Came within one of letting them fight to a finish," said the old man, topping into the room. "Limuel, why will you always humiliate me?" his wife asked, placing a chair for him. "Humiliate you! Bless your life, I wouldn't humiliate you. The only trouble is that you are tryin' to make me fit a farment you've got, ruther than to make the garment fit me. I ain't doln' no harm, Susan, and it's my way. and you can't very well knock tiie spots off'en a leopard nur skin an Etheopian. Here comes Alf." The son v.-as a young fellow of good >'/.e. shapely, and with his mother's ' lack eyes. Guinea Introduced me to him, and at once I felt that I should like to win his friendship. The old man explained my presence there. "And now," said he, "I want you to go over to old Purdue's with him after dinner and see If any arrangements can be made. He's goln' to board with us, and I want to tell you right now that he is from good stock; his grandaddy was the captain of the company that my daddy fit in durln' the Creek war, and from what I learn I don't reckon there was ever slch flghtln' before nor since. What are they doln' over at the Ueneral's?" "Nothing much," Alf answered. "They started to plow this morning, but It lg still most too wet." "Was Millie at home?" Guinea asked. "T '1-1-1. ?? t>ii? T onnnnaa untl linnw 1 111 III K SU, UUl A ouppuwv / wm *?*v?? that Chid Isn't." "Never mind that," the old man spoke up. "Leave all cuttln' and slashIn' to folks that ain't no kin to each other. You've been to dinner, have vou. Alf? Well, hitch the mare to the buckboard and go with this gentleman over to old Perdue's." To be Continued. pisfctliumms padittg. NEW WOMAN IN TURKEY. She Demands Abolition of the Harem I and the Veil. || In the recent rejoicing at the procI tarnation of a constitution In Turkey, many Turkish women took part, and for the first time In history appeared In public without their veils. They have appealed to the Young Turk party to abolish the harem system, and with It the compulsory veiling of women. The word harem, says the queen, Is Arabic for anything forbidden or not to be touched, and as against the rules of the Koran. Games if chance, witchcraft and portrait making are "harem." In practice the word Is used by Europeans to designate that portion of a polygamist's house, which Is devoted to the exclusive occupancy of his wives and their attendants. Thence It comes to refer to the female portion of his household, while the word may be used by westerners to designate the system of plurality of wives. In Turkey the system has been maintained not only as part of the Moslem religion, but as an Integral part of Mohammedan polity, of which the sultan Is the chief spiritual head, to whom all orthodox Mussulmans look up, and to whom, as the appointer of Sheikh-ul-Islam, all religious questions may be finally referred. Whether the sultans will follow the 'ead of their subjects In this matter IS very ctouonui. ine iictiein sjfaiem 10 so Interwoven with the court life and government of a Mohammedan ruler that It would take a strong man to break through the rule, even If he desired to do so. The etiquette of the harem of the sultan of Turkey, like that of most Moslem potentates, Is very severe, and Is strictly carried out. Each wife has her own suite of apartments, her own and garden and her__(iwn body of servants, male and female. Their wives are not called by their names, but are distinguished as Kadin (or lady) No. 1, arid so on. The title of Sultana Is given only to the mother, sister or daughter of a sultan, consequently It is the Kadin who first gives birth to an heir to the throne who can have this distinction. Should an odalisk, or female slave of the harem, become the mother of her lord's first born son, then she becomes the reigning sultana. Even then she has little influence, this being wielded alone by the sultan's mother, the Sultana Valide, who controls the harem' and exercises considerable Influence in all court and many govern mental matters. THE WORLD'S COAL. How Long It will Last Need Not Trouble Ue. The question of the exhaust'on of the coal supply of the United States Is not one which can affect the present generation or the next, says Harper's Weekly. Yet the American supply is likely to be exhausted before that of Europe, and particularly before Great Britain. Looking at the matter from the point of view of national providence or provision, covering generations and generations, America should beyond doubt be a little saving of its coal. It has been estimated that Penn sylvania has about enough anthracite .oal to last at the rate of production that prevailed last year a little less than 200 years. Proatiy the supply will be exhausted much sooner than , that, unless some profitable substitute s found for anthracite. As to bitum| inous coal In the United States, the [ supply is very great and widespread. It is estimated that it will last, at the rate of consumption which prevai.ed during the last decade something less j than 4 50 years. If the coal supply of the world at large were likely to be exhausted in any such way as to make a consideraI ule drain on American coals for forI eign consumption, the situation might J De regarded as alarming If we could put ourselves In the place of our great-grandchildren. But there is not nkeiy to arrive a time when we shall nave to "teed the world" with coal. In 1880 Great Britain had "in sight," so to speak?although it was an below the ground?an available Loal deposit estimated at nearly 885,0u0,00u,000 tons. At the race of pzouuction and consumption then prevail,ng, the supply would last about years. The coal measures of Lanj .ashire are 9,000 feet in thickness. Moreover, there are many countries which possess coal deposits that nave never been touched. Besidec ihe great coal fields of Europe and .vmerica, as now worked, there are undoubtedly deposits in China, in the r-hilippines, in Australia in South America, in British North America, in Alaska, in the maian arcmpeiagu i and elsewhere. With one circumstance the American people, looking at the matter from the consumer's standpoint, may well be pleased. Europe does not want our anthracite coal, the best fuel, on the whole, that the earth has ever produced. Europe does not understand the use of anthracite, and it is apparently not willing to learn it. It calls on us for bituminous coal, which we can spare more readily. | The assumption that the coal fields of Great Britain and America will be exhausted, even at the end of several uentunes, is founded on the further assumption that heat will continue to be made and power generated in the future much as they are now. Eut our inventors and chemists hold out the assurance that great changes may be looked for in the methods of producing heat and mechanical energy A FAMOUS COMBAT. How the Warspite Fought the Dutch In 1666. The history of the British navy is full of pages which are unknown to all but its most diligent students, and many engagements which have helped to make history have passed into the limbo of forgotten things and are never thought of even casually. It would probably puzzle any one to say offhand whether there had ever ^een a naval battle on Christmas day, and yet the victory of Capt. Robont DnKlnann nf tho Wa ranltp T 0 fnnc on December 25, 1666, deserves to be remembered. For not oniy does It hold a unique position In the annals of the navy; but It also preserved tor ring-land tne Gottenburg fleet and Its precious cargo and gave the shattered vesseis of Abermarle's fleet the wherewithal to refit. The Gottenburg neet was a convoy of merchantmen which left Sweden for England every winter with a cargo of spars, cordage and sails. In the year 1666 the sate arrival of the convoy was of more importance, for the engagements of ihe betond Dutch war had occasioned much damage, and repairs were absolutely necessary to most of the ships to make them at all battle worthy. There had been the "Fourdays' Fight" of Rupert and Monk In June and the great St. James' day tight In July, in the former of which the English were more than half defeated and In the latter victorious. This was due to the bravado of Van iromp, who, in his eagerness to engage the English White squadron be-. _ame separated from the remainder of the Dutch fleet under De Ruyter, After five-hours' pounding with the gun-muzzles of opponent ships often -ouching, De Ruyter withdrew, leaving Van Tromp to his fate, but that officer also succeeded, though with great loss, in eluding his pursuers. In the fight the Dutch loss was 20 men-of-war and among their killed and wounded (who numbered thousands), were four flag' officers, Jan Eversten, De Vries, Rudolf Coenders, and Covert T'Hoen. The English losses were not so heavy, but it can be gathered that the fighting was very .severe and that many vessels were severely mauled. The navy board realized that the commander of the Gottenburg convoy that year would need to be a man of resource and energy, for small convoy actions were taking place almost daily, and that he would need to be well supplied with warships. Accord.ngly they appointed Capt. Robert Robinson to the command with his pennant on the Warsplte. A year earlier, when in command of the Elizabeth, Capt. Robinson had fallen In with a convoy-of Dutchmen in the Channel and had captured several, a feat which he had followed up with Opdam. When- the Warsplte, the second of her name was completed e^rly in July, 1666, he was apday fight, when she had only be*m a fortnight In service, she engaged and beat three of the enemy's shl,:* at once. For four years Capt. Robinson commanded the Warsplte, and was then transferred to Greenwich. In 1670 he was in charge of a convoy of merchantmen to Gibraltar, and got them all through the bay in most tempestuous weather. He was knighted in 1673, commanded the Mon mouth at the battle of Barfleur, and reached the rank of commodore In 1678. The ships under his command on the expedition to Gottenburg were the Warsplte, which was nearly new, and the Diamond, 48 guns, Dragon, Constan Warwick, Jersey, St. Patrick, Oxford, Nightingale, with a flreshlp, the Malaga Merchant, all In as good condition as the miserably parsimonious administration of the navy at that time would permit It was on November 23, 1666, that Capt. Robinson and his fleet left England for GotV-v 11 aw V*lo o rrhra 1 iVioro h A found the convoy far from ready to start. Many of the merchantmen had not come in, and others could not get full crews, and on every hand there were delays. It was not until December 18 that they put to sea, and even then their troubles were not all at an end. Two days out they were caught in a furious storm, which lasted until the 23d, and left the fleet, which had originally numbered, without the warships, 72 vessels, with only 60 sail, all told. Capt. Robinson knew well that this was Just the opportunity the Dutch had boen praying for. He dispatched the Dragon and the Constant Warwick, together with the fire ship, to pick up the stragglers they could find and to rejoin the fleet with all possible haste. Eut the Dutch had not been asleep. One of their small vessels had put into Texal to report the approach of the convoy, and the Dutch admiral there sent out on Christmas eve five ships to waylay Capt. Robinson. This squadron was composed of three two-deckers, the Cleen Harderwijk of 38 guns; the Leijden and the Els, each of 36 guns a smaller frigate, and an armed yacht. And at 11 o'clock on the morning of Christmas day the two forces met. Capt. Robinson held his course in line, the convoy being to leeward. The exact order in which ;he vessels met Is not known, but according to the lighting etiquette of the day. the two flagships, the Warspite and the Cleen Harderwijk would tackle each other, the Diamond and the Jersey presumably engaged one each of the enemy's two-deckers, and the Oxford and Xlghtingale, each 20gun ships, attacking the other Dutch frigates. The yacht headed for the Dutch coast, presumably seeking reenforcements, but the St. Patrick chased and captured her, rejoining Capt. Robinson with the prize next day. The effect of the tempest was still foil in thp heaw seas which were running, and consequently the larger vessels were, In the parlance of the day "muzzled", that Is to say, the lower gun ports had to be kept closed. The lower tier guns were thus out of action, and the ships became to all intents and purposes one-tier vessels, but the fight was none the less fast and furious. Two of the Dutch vessels were burning at the end of two hours, and two others, one of them the Cleen Haderwljk, were nearly sinking, totally dismasted. The Dutch commodore surrended when he saw that futher resistance was Impossible, and one of the prizes, Indeed, sank before she could be got to port. The action ended within sight of the English coast off Erlll, and Capt. Robinson stood In for Hollesley bay. Ee- 1 fore he cast anchor he was rejoined fcy the Constant Warllck and the rest 1 of the convoy, e.very one of the ships 1 having been safely gathered together. I He arrived on December 29, with, as 1 he himself In his dispatch states, "the ' Dutch colors and the king's flying." ' The news was received with every ' manifestation of joy in London, and Pepys, who was then clerk to the na- 1 vy board, wrote In his diary under 1 that date: "Then to the office and ' have the news brought us of Capt. ' Robinson coming with his fleet from Gottenburg; dispersed through by 1 foul weather. But he hath light of Ave Dutch men-of-war, and taken ! three, whereof one is sunk, which is 1 very good news to close up the year J with."?London Globe. m I FLODDtN FIELD. ' Legends of the Battle and Before the < Battle. J A fact recorded by Tlmbs and others brings home to us In a start- 1 ling way how few generations occasionally separate the present from historical occurrences which as a rule we associate with "ancient history." Scarcely more than sixty years ago, namely, in 1847?and quite possib'.y after that date?a man was able to tell that his father had spoken with a man who as a boy was present on that memorable 9th of September, 1513, when was fought the battle of "Flodden's fatal field." Admittedly this was an exceptional case of compression. involving two lives which , reached the almost incredible though well authenticated ages of a hundred and sixty nine and a hundred i and twenty-seven respectively, but the story is none the less fascinating , and suggestive. And the qua.ntness of the coincidence suits not inaptly , an event which, more perhaps than any other occurrence of similar nature, is illuminated by the gleam of romance. James, the protagonist in the drama, may be considered as in some respects the last hero of the old chivalry, with its faults and virtues. . He had cause of quarrel enough with Henry In the latter's fraudulent retention of the portion due to his sister, James's consort, but the Immediate and determined cause of the .Scottish Invasion was, it is generally admitted the romantic appeal of the beautiful Anne of Bretagne, queen of France. France and England were then at variance and Anne had sent to James a ring and glove, urging him as her "own knight" to march three miles on English ground for the 8a ke of her who cabled him her defender, ft was in vain that Margaret, his own fair queen, sought to djssuadeh.m, plaintively asking wn^nft pifflifritju me qftdBil1 ui wine to her, the mother of his children, , whom he had wedded in her girlhood, i Xor were other dissuasions wanting, seemingly of supernatural kind. A . ghostly concourse was seen moving around the Market Cross in Edin- < burgh?spectral heralds and pursai- 1 vants, "figues that seemed to rise and ] die, gibber and sigh"?and a voice i was heard calling by name king and 1 princes and knights, summoning i *' * ? ** frlhnnfl 1 1 llieili iu appeal ucivi v v*4\> %? #% ? of Pluto" within forty days. At Lin- ] lithgow, when the king was at ves- | pers, a weird, dignified figure appeared clad In strange eastern garb, w*th a pilgrim's staff in his hand and long ! yellow hair flowing over his shoul- i uers. " i "Sir king," said this solemn ap- i parliion, "my mother hath sent me i to thee, desiring thee not to pass at 1 this time where thou art purposed, i ior if thou dost thou wilt not fare < well in thy journey, nor any who pass i with thee. Further, she bade thee i meddle with no women, nor use their \ . Anneal frit" if t h nil riflSf thflU Shall 1 be coniounded and put to shame." ihen the tigure vanished as if. in the words of the chronicles, he had been "a blink of the sun or a whiff of the whirlwind," and an awed whisper ran through the church that he was none other than the Apostle bt. John, who had been authorized to style the blessed Virgin his "mother." And some said that on the night belore ihe latelul fight the same dread hgure was seen to enter the royal tent where the doomed monarch was Sleeping. It is however, only fair to otace that historians incline to attribute both the spectral summons at the Edinburgh Cross and the saint.y pii- | grnn's visit to a pious fraud perpetrated by James's queen and statesmen to deter him if possiole lrom an en- ( terprise which they r.ghuy consider- | ed must end disastrous.y. I Ihe legends of * loouen are not ] limited to the portents that preced- ( ed it. For long tradition averred i that the chivalrous James did no?. : in reality meet his death on the "taial tieiu, where shivered was fa.r < ocotland s spear and broken was her(< shieid." borne said that he had beer j< oetn afterward in palmer's weed si t making the pilgrimage to Jerusa.em, which it is said he had vowed: others , ueciared that "in the twilight, when ( the tight was nigh ended, four tall i horsemen came upon the field, hav- t mg each a bunch of straw on the , point of their spears as a token for y .hem to know each other by, and that these men mounted the king on : a dun hackney and that he was last ( seen to cross the Tweed with them ( at nignfa.l." ^\nd the rumor ran .hat ne was muruered at Home Cas- ' tie. One fact and one alone seems t to give a shadow of reason tor tnese j uouots. James was known to wear a belt of iron next his body, in penifonflnl mamnrv of his father's death, * and on the corpse which was founu . by Lord Dacre after the battle and recogn.zed as the king's there was no such belt. Eut the body was fui.y Identified by many who were well acquainted with the hapless monarch, and historic statements seem to place his death on t lodden Field beyond the possibility of question. It was covered with wounds, as "beseemed the monarch slain" among his lords and knights fighting to the last and falling face to face to the foe. And none can say where now lies the dust of this king so well beloved. But in the Herald's college may still be seen the turquoise ring which tradition affirms is the very ring sent him by the queen of France and as which beseemed the chivalrous knight he was, he wore when he met his death fighting her foes and his own.?London Globe. START OF AN AKII9I. John Opie't First Portrait and What It Cost Him. 'John Ople, the English painter, Is described in "Coke of Norfolk and His Friends," by Mrs. A. M. W. Stirling, as a man of humble origin who achieved success wholly by his own genius and perseverance. The story of his first effort In that line of art ivhich afterward brought him fame he related to Coke, first Earl of Lei:ester of Holkham, as follows: When a small boy of ten or twelve he was left at home one Sunday afternoon with his father, while his mothsr went to church. The father established himself in the parlor with hi* Bible and told the boy to be quiet and amuse himself. Young Opie, who had procured some paints, took up his position unJbserved in the kitchen directly opposite the parlor door. Very quietly he drew a portrait of the old man bending over his Bible until he had finished everything except the head, V? A v. MMnninty Koolfti/QrH ? ucii lie uugau i U111H115 wuvu ? v. and forward to study his father's tace. The old gentleman grew very angry at these apparent.y senseless interruptions and threatened to punish his son if they continued. This was exactly what the boy wanted, as he wished to paint his father's eyes lit up and sparkling with anger. So he continued his Irritating behavior until he met with the desired result, and his father Justly wrathful, administered a sound thrashing. This achieved, the boy resumed his task eagerly and transferred to his picture the expression which he had just seen upon the face of his indignant parent. When his mother returned from church he placed the picture triumphantly before her; but, although astonished and delighted with It, she thought It her duty to scold her son severely for painting on a Sunday. Young Ople, however, cared no more for the scolding than for the beating he had received In accomplishing his work and only hugged his mother delightedly in his excitement at Its success. His father, coming into the room at that juncture and spying the portrait of himself, was so surprised and pleased at It that he told the mother not to scold the boy any more. Subsequently, whenever the picture was shown, he uied to tell with great relish the story of young Opie's plucky acceptmhce of a beating In order to Insure Its success. HUNTER'S CL08E E3CAPE. Hung For a Long Time at the Edge of a Canyon. Hanging to a narrow ledge of the wall of Wheat Canyon, with a drop of more than a hundred feet below him, Louts rarmoR, so ye*r old of Los Angeles, was rescued from certain death by Chief J. C. Shill of the Hollywood Are department, says the Los Angeles Dispatch. Leamon was exhausted when the rescuer reached him. His hands were torn and bleeding. To hold to his perilous perch he had dug his Angers Into the scale of reck, and the nails had been broken Into the Aesh. His arms, neck and face were purplish from the terrible strain which he had been compelled to undergo to keep from pitching headlong to the rocks of the canyon bed, far below. j_,eamun nau ten eany tii uic muniIng for a day's dove shooting. He shot a. dove and It fell into the soft earth of the wall, a few feet below the ridge, and Leamon started after it. He reached the dove and started to crawl back to the top, when the ground be?an to slide away, and he was carried down twenty-five feet before he gained a footing. The man had been there almost an hour before hln cries attracted the attention of a ptisserby. Chief Shill was notified and hurried to the place with an automobile truck. Ladtiers were placed against the cliff, but Leamon was afraid to let go his hold. Chief Shill then, by a roundabout path, reached the ridge of the canyon. He tied a heavy rope to a tree and lowered himself over the rldge to wnere tne exhausted man hung. Tying another rope about Leamon's body, Shlll lifted him to the ladder and lowered him <ently. It was more than an hour before Leamon had sufficiently recovered to board a car for his home. ANCIENT SCONE PALACE. Modern Improvements In the Crowning Place of Scottish Kings. One of the finest old Scottish resllences Is Scone Palace, near Perth, the ancient centre of the Plctlsh captal, former crowning place of the Kings of Scotland, and now the resilence of the Earl of Mansfield, rep-esentatlve of the ancient family of stormont, says the Queen. Although the old abbey of Scone 'as destroyed several hundred years .^o and the site Is now occupied by i cot " ^ratively modern building, nuch of ancient association has been sreserved and the palace is still a ioble and venerable looking pile, its lull red castellated towers backed :y luxuriant woods and facing over itretches of rolling green park, the neetlng place of the Almond and ray. Ihe great gallery at Scone, which s 100 feet long, occupies the place )f the old hall where kings were :rowned In days of yore, the coronaion of Charles II having taken place here in 1651 and tnat or ine unevaier St. George In "the Fifteen." Anong the valued relics of the house ire the old four post bed used by Tames VI, and another with hangngs of richly wrought velvet, said to lave been the work of the fair but II fated Queen Mary during her im>risonment at Lochleven. Even of later years Scone has been lonored by the visits of royalty, her ate Majesty Queen Victoria hav.ng jaid qui^e a long visit at the palace n 1842, the occasion of her first ,'isit to Perth, and again after the leath of the prince consort. The present earl has done wonders for the jalace in the way of introducing nodern improvements, both within ind without, and bringing the donestic arrangements up to date in :very way.