Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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ARIZONA AS A HEALTH RESORT. FOUR ,MONTllS OF SUMMER AND THE RESX OF THE YEAR SPRING. The Best Results are to be Attained for Consumptives by Tenting on the Desert Itseli-Those who Brave the Midsumu mer Heat are Said to Derive the Great est Benefit. The extreme aridity of Arizona, whic:: has caused the downfall of many a well laid agricultural scheme and made the sun-kissed Territory notorious, is one o1 its great merits' as a health resort, : ays the New York Sun. It is a generally accepted theory nowa days that the white plague is to be stamped out only by the segregation of its victims and an absolutely out-of-door life for them. The first condi:ion is manifestly impossible in the crowded city and the second is feasible only where mother na ture is most beneficent, where the sun never goes Into hiding for months at a time, where the breezes are not too wanton and where the night air is as dry and free from vapors as the day. All these conditions for the absolute cure or the amelioration of consumption are to be found at their best in the Southwest, particularly in the Salt River Valley, Ariz. Within its area of 500,000 acres, fruitful as the Garden of the Gods, so soon as irrigation is a-plied, there are miles of desert where the climatic conditions for the relief of all pulmonary troubles are perhaps unexcelled in this country or abroad. Here the transition of the sea sons-and there are but two, four months of summer and the rest of the year a per petual spring-Is slow and gradual. The ski*s are a cloudless blue, the air so sweet that It can almost be tasted, and the average h'umidity so low as to be incen ceIvable to the sweltering resident of the coast and lake regions. For December and January the mocking bird warbles his clear-throated epithalam ium to his brown mate in the cotton woods-the full orchestra of red-winged blackbirds follows the lead of its sable precentor who sits up on a pepper bough and conducts his followers through a chlorus of Wagnerian melody, the shirt waist girl swings in her hammock as com fortably as in an Eastern June, atd. the small boy beats the sides of his burro or Indian pony with bare brown feet. Pic nics are the order of the day. In Febru ary the almond orchards, which rim the desert's northern edge, burst into a mass of pink white bloom, the pomegranates are budded and the blossoming orange groves send forth their fragrance for miles around. In the colder lands the invalid would be shivering in furnace-heated rooms, fearful of every draught. Here he spends his days and often his nights in. the open, the starry heavens his canopy. The nights throughout the winer are cool, sometimes cold. There was one week last January when ice formed in the water bucket in the tent, and a hot stone for the feet, night caps and bed socks were more than welcome. Blankets are a necessity all the winter. Yet with the rising of :the sun genial spring again asserts itself. This diference of temperature between night and day Is possibly the one exception to perfect climatic conditions. Forewarned, however, is forearmed. and with plenty of bedding and warm nignt garments there is no danger of taking cold. It is a strange thing about this desert life, that it has a charm which grows with acquaintance-and one who has spent some time In the desert is said to be never quite happy elsewhere. The summers are hot. There need be no reservations aVout that statement. For days last July the ther mometer registered anywhere from 99 de ree to 117 degrees right along-but the absence of humidity made the heat much easer to bear than the close, muggy de vitalized air of New York and Brooklyn. There were no sunstrokes, no heat pros trations. Ranchers went about their work iuffering no inconvenience. - Although the majority of health-seekers turn their faces to the seacoast of South er California or the pines of Prescott for midaummer days those who brave the heat and remain are said to derive the greatest benefit at this season. The .Intense heat seems to heal the lung tissue and destroys the germs. Sufferers from kidney trouble or rheumatism also make their greatest gain in summer. . While nearly every ranch in the valley stands ready, for a consideration, to open its doors to the Invalid, the best results are to be attained from tenting on the desert itself. The ranches must be Irri gated at stated intervals. The desert, no man's land,, Is dryness itself. Although the camper, assured of squat ter sovereignty. may set up his canvas es tablishment where he will, the qeustlon of a convenient water supply leads him to select a site near a ranch. A quarter will pay for a barrelful of wash water hauled each week on a stone boat from the Irri gation ditch, while two bits more will keep the swinging olla, or M~exican water jar, filled and provide water for cooking from some adjacen. well. Other suppjlies are also readily obtained. The Indians bring in from the reservations wagon loads of mesquite and iron wood, which they retail for- $1 75 or $2 a load, while the same amount will buy dry almond. fig and apri cot wood from -thte orchards which have, died for lack of water. Faggoting parties are also popular, and he who will can gather for himself the flotsam and jetsam of the desert. Fruits may be obtained at the orange groves and adjacent orchards at a reason able price and of delicious quality. The ioll-call of native fruits includes oranges, grape fruit, lemions, apricots, peaches, pears. pomegranates, figs, grapes, necta rines, plums, berries and melons galore. Rich Jersey milk may be obta-ined at the ranches for five cents a quart. butter for twenty-five cents a pound, honey-delI cious as the famed honey of .Hymtettis fiteen cents a pound. Ice, artinicial, can be obtained at any of the towns at sixty cents a hundred. The markets of Phoenix supply the best beef and mutton in the world at live and let live prices. Groceries are high, owing 1o the freight rates, but the stores would be a credit to any city of New York State outside the metropolis. Ani accurate account of living expenses 3c,.pt durrg the last year for a family of three adults and n child showed an aver age of $40 a month for table expenses, $6 for water, servIce and laundry; oil and repairs. $2 33, and fuel. $3 50. While the table expenses seem dispropor tionately high. It must be borne in mind that hyper-feeding and the generous provi sion of the most nourishing meats and foods are a large factor in the recovery of the consumptive. For the person addicted to tihe use of ham, bacon and canned goods the outlay would be materially diminished. Tents may be rented for from $3 to $7 a month. acc rding to furnishing-but the majority of camipers prefer to own their canvas homes. These can be bought in any of the larger towns, new or second hand. They are all put up with siding and board floors, and are usually screened from the Intrusive fly-and also furnisched with a f!y or second cover. The stage settings and furnishings may be as luxurious or as simple as individual taste -and the pocket book demand. A stove, two or three chairs, a dresser or makeshift-and one learns to be an expert in the matter of makeshifts on the desert or frontier-a bowl, pitcher and pail of tin, agate or paper--these are the necssaries. Luxuri'E in thie way of rugs. hammorks. book shelves and pillows, pliows,'pillows may be added ad lib. When light housekee ping is carried on-and this is the general scheme-cooking utensIls. dishes, a screen cupboard and an icebox must be added to the list. A horse and some sort of cart or wagon it. Nor is this an extravagance, for horse fiesh, and pasturage are both cheap, and the whole establishment can usually be sold at cost when there is no longer ne cessity for their use. A good solid moun tain pony which w,s a delight under the saddlo and a family friend in front of the two-seated "Democrat." with harness, whip and all complete, cost the writer a trifle less than $50 and was so:d at the end of :he year for $47. Pasturage on an ad jacent ranch c%: S1 50 during the winter, ;1 in the sumncr. Neither barns nor sheds are a necessity for the horse, but a brush shed or Indian vataw is an alt-important adjunct to the tents if one would be comfortable. Under its kindly shade the hammock is swung, the table set, the water jar hung, nearly al' the operations of daily living carried on. These vataws are copied after the In dians'. They are made of stout cottonwood poles, covered with brush and leaves held in place by the all-pervasive bailing wire, which plays such a beneficent part in all the operations and vicissitudes of Arizona life. The question is often asked: Is not the desert life monotonous? To this the answer is: That depends. To one who loves the procession of the seasons, the rugged mountains, the purple buttes, the bending sky and the all-pervading sense of infin.ite freedom, a life so near to nature is fraught with tremendous benefit, spiritual and ma terial. For the rider of lihbies-and a bobby Is a good thing to tare an invalid's mind off his ills-there is an endless variety of sub jects. The myriad mounds left by the pre historic peopl-es invite to archaeological re search, with the certainty of finds of the old Aztec pottery-if nothing more. For the botanist, geologist. mineralogist, ornitholo gist and entomologist there is materia:. rich and rare. For the ethnologist there are the Indians and Mexicans, to say nothing of stray representatives of every nation that on the earth dot-h dwell. For the artist and the photographer there are skies and lights and shadows and sub jects to be found nowhere else. For the sportsman there is small game a plenty and for the one who simply wants to rest and let the world go by-a peace unspeak able. It goes without saying. that no one should take up the desert life if in a phy sical condition that demands the attend ance of a doctor, or a hurry call upon the druggist. For such the town. Neither should one coma hither -without money, thinking he can soon earn a living. There is no light work for invalids. Grown strong or at least familiar with the lay of the land, there are various occupations that may be taken up if one can command the capital. Chicken raising, bee culture, vegetable and alfalf% growing-melon rais ing or a stock farm-will each furnish a good living. This, however, comes later-and there must be means to :ive on in the interim. If possible, every invalid should have some member of _s own family with him. While scores of men and occasionally a woman come alone, the chances of recov ery are much greater when there is no danger of homesickness. All these condi tions met with, a two-years' residence in tents on the desert has demonstrated the fact that almost without exception there is marked gain and often complete cure. In cases in which the cure has been begun in time many have been able to return to their homes entirely well. Others, appa rently-. recovered, have deemed It wiser to cast their fortunes with the Territory, and have given permanent setting to their 1&res and penates. Three only, out of one colony of one hundred who had come for their health, returned home to die. With this showing the desert tent life for con sumptives seems to need no further com mendatIon to prove Its efficacy. A LUCKY BOOK AGENT, He Meets with a. Warm Reception as the Result of Mistaken Identity. There is a farmer living just north of Evanston and a book agent somewhere in the cosmopolitan desert of Chicago, each of whom feels that he is the victim of a cruel circumstance, says the Chicago Chronicle. Last week the farmer iiad a note from a nephew to say that the boy would visit the farm on Thursday. Uncle and nephew had not met for tifteen years, and the old man drove to the station In his most comfortable coat, that he might welcome his sister's only child. But the young man failed to come. After wait ing until the last -passenger had disap-1 peared the old man drove away, disap pointed. The book agent enttered Into the ,lrama tis personae early L!e r'ext morning. Looking over the top rani of the barn yard gate he called. "Hello, uncle.'' The book agent never got such a recep tion before in all his life. The farmer flung the gate wide open, seized the agent's hand, and pressed a whiskered kiss on the Ironclad cheek. "Say, this must be Heaven," murmured -the agent, following the farmer into the house and explaining that everybody 'at borne was as well as could be ex pected. Not till -the agent was full of a boiled dinner and attempting to sell a book did the farmer begin to see a dim light. Charged wIth Impersort.ting the missing nephew, the agent explained that he greeted all elderly strangers as "uncle" that he even had a few almost real ones in South Clark street in Chicago. When last seen by the farmer the agent was still running, and when the real nephew does come he may find an electric current in the latch-string. WEEAT 2N K4ESA5, Thouandls of Bushels Piled on the Open tod Walting for Transportation. For the first time in its history, says L~esie's Weekly, Kansas has more wheat than It kcnows what to do with. Not only are -the granaries and blns running over with grain, but -the elevators are filled and the farmers are still bringing It to market by hundreds of thousands of bushels. Thc 'long dry weather was, in a sense, a bonanza for wheat raisers. Much of the grain was so heavy that it fell to the ground and would have been lost had there been wet weather. But with the long hot clear days every straw could be gathered, most of Ithe farmers running the threshing machines into the field and haul lg the grain from thie shocks to the ma hne. The grain has all been of the best ouaty and the yield from twenty -to thir -fve 'bushels per acre. Not less athan 80.000,00 bushels will 'be gathered. and the high price is giving the farmers a fine in As the strings of wagons came to mar ket in 'the wheat belt the railroads were swamped. They could not furnish cars and the elevators were soon filled to over towing. Even in the small stations etwenty to thirty teams were waiting to be un loaded all day through -the latter part of the threshing. The buyers finally began piling the grain on the praric. Great heaps of 30.000 to 50.000 bushels have been stored on the open sod and there they will remamn until such time as cars can be secured in which to ship -the grain. The sun does not hurt t., no one can steai it and so little rain falls during the summer that there s practIcally no danger from that source. Some enterprising buyers have secured circus tents and placed them over the piles. making curious features of the praIrie landscape. The Boston Transcript (Rep) points out ht the demand for the ship subsidy scheme does not proceed from the alleged neficiaries theory. "Subsidy or no sub sidy, the ship building interests of the cuntry do not appear to be in a languish ing condition.' remarks the Transcript. "The law of supply and demand does not case its operations to await legislation. ani just now~ the ship builders do not seem t be worrying much about the future." The real benefits would be confined to a limited clique, which, with the assistance STYLES IN MEN'S DRESS. FASHIONS THAT WILL BE POPU LAB THSFALL AND WINTER. Sombre Colorings and Neat Effects-Day and Evenlg Skirts-Wrinkles in Col lars-Very Few Chantes from Last Year. (From the Haberdasher.) The coming autumn and winter season will differ but little in the sartorial sense from that of last year. The changes have been very few, and in the main represent some slight modification of or departure from standards that have become very familiar. Men's dress is being held down to very conventional lines. The run of color that was the distinguishing feature of last year is to be curtailed and color will not be prominent in anything that man wears. Sombre ton- in overcoatings and suitings and very nea color effects in cravatings and shirtings will form the most prominent and distinguishing feature in the mode of the coming season. I have observed in looking over the new goods for autumn that all that Is called new, paradoxical though it may seem, is really old. This is the modern tendency in all things related even in the slightest de degree to art. The painters are drawing on the old schools for inspirations, design ers are revelling in the art of the seven teenth century, house decorators are copy ing old interiors and furniture and the ar chitects are drawing Inspirations from the Greek and Roman schools. In dress we are modifying or changing fashions that have been in vogue before. The culross, the wing collar, the skirted greatcoats and the new narrow-tip shoes are mere revi vals of old-time favorites. STYLES IN SHIRTS. In shirts I look for very few changes and practically no innovations. For dress the plain linen bosom shirt, with slightly rounded or square link cuffs attached, will be the best form. The bosoms will be as wide as the chest of the wearer admits. The stitching will be of moderate width. Some of the dress shirts will have very fine ribbed pique bosoms, but I do not think that this style will be as generally accepted as the plain bosom. There will be three stud holes in the bosoms, two of which will show in the waistcoat open ing. The shirt for wear with the evening jacket will be the same as that worn with the swallowtail coat. Some shirt makers show a fine pleated shirt for wear with the jacket, and no doubt it will te quite pop ular with the younger set. The colored shirts for day wear show with plain bosoms and the patterns are noticeably neat. The figures are printed on mado plans or on satin broches or percales.. The former fabrics are given more attention In the finer shops than percales are. The figures are neat geometricals In black, dark blue, reds or lavender: stripes are also displayed. They are narrow and widely spaced. Pleated colored shirts will figure quite prominently for wear with business suits. The plain neglige with a centre pleat and made of madras or of fine flannels will also be worn. The flannels are designed for neglige and come ir rather neat stripes. COLLARS AND CRAWATS. In collars the three new styles are the wing, poke and straight stander. These are in both wide and narrow ,titching. The wide stitched wing collar is not as sightly as tlat with narrow stitching, owing to t4, liability of the edge, where the wing bends, to swell and gap. The wing collars have well balanced, moderate spaced wings, the bottom of the wings forming a straight line. in cravats all of the forms are large. The culrosses will be very broad and soft. the ascots wide of end and free of lining. The best four-in-hand ,will have a wide cnd and be graduated to a two-inch width at the knot. Ties, if sold at all, will be of the batswing shape. For evening wear there is a new tie. It is cut perfectly straight and has square ends. It is of uniform width throughout. When tied it shows a square, flat centrepiece and the ends stand out striight and come to the edge of the shirt t-osom. In clothes I find indicatior s which point to the usual fight of the tailors to force new fashions. In the first :lace, we will have the annual cr~y for color in evening dress and for the freedom from blacks and whites in ,day dress. All of tnis I do not thi'!k will'amount to much. The best tailre are making trousers rather wide, 'out avoiding the peg-top form. The trous ers are about seventeen and one-half inches at the knee and fifteen and one half at the bottoms. tThey will hang per fectly straight from the hips. For even Ing dress the white waistcoa: will be given a very prominent place. These will be made both single and double-breasted and will have buttons covered with the mate rial of which the waistcoat is made. In evening dress coats there will be no change worth recording. That ga~rment is a staple fixture and it seems impossible to improve upon the existing sttandard. The frock coat will be practically the same as last year. The evening jacket will not be made at all by smart tailors, it is now a ready made. "Cheap John" article, and may be banished entirely from the wardrobe of a gentleman. A new coat sorr ething like the evening jacket will be made. It will have a breast and side pockets and silk-faced shawl collar and will close with two but tons. These coats are designed for home and club wear and are worn with single breasted waistcoats and trousers of the same material, white shirts, black ties and ether lace or button shoes. They're just handy dress coats to wear down to dinner or to hang around the house or club in. NOVELTIES IN DRESS. One of the best tailors on the avenue will introduce several nove ties this com ing autumn. One of these is an evening suit made of dark gray cloth. The collar i of the shawl pattern, faced with gray silk. The trousers and walstcoat are made of the same material as the coat. The suits are designed for wear at stag affairs, about hotels and clubs and for the theatre when women are not to be in the party. Another new idea is a house suit. It will b made of a heavy rep silk and lined with sIlk. The colors are v'ery brilliant. The trousers are made like pajama trous ers and fasten about the waist with a broad bit of ribbon, with large silk tassels at the ends. The coat is cut double-breast ed and has large pockets. The suit may be worn with a s~Ik shirt. It is just for wear in one's room. In overcoats the long Chesterfields and the skirted coats will be very popular. The skirted coat will be worn in the evening as well as during the day. These are cut like the "'Paddock"~ and have well flared skirts. The "Rkagtan" will only be in rain proofs and in coverts. The cov'ert coat will be very popular. It will be cut full and quite short. Sack suits will be made on lines that, while conforming to the lines of the body. do not accentuate them. The military jacket is passe. The newv jackets will he lose and will have perfectly straight backs. In shoes the principal departure is in the shape of the toe. The latest model snows the fat last with the outswung sole, but the tip is brought in to a much narrower roint than last year's model. Low shoes will be worn during the autumn and on pleasant days during the winter, but many look upon the low shoe as a niere winter fad. The patent leather shoes with kid tops will be the formal footwear. Shoes will be very plain for dress, and quite elaborately trimmed for negtige and busi QUA 2-ECH.NICAL SiCHUOL&. They Furnish the Best Bridge Builders, Tool Mtakerx and Railway Constructors -in the Worid-Eropeato lethods Have been Adaptetl Rather than Atdopted.' (From the Brooklyn Eagle.) Merchants and statesmen to-day con gratulate themselves upon the wonderful spread of this country's commerce, tNt greatest any nation has ever seen. Bul they do not, perhaps, realize that the na. tion has advanced in another way that i4 possibly the true core of our national suc. cess. This is the extraordinary advanct in scientific learning, as shown in tht universities, professional and technica schools and in everyday life. If this raDic moulding of America Into a scientific na tion does not fully account for the com. mercial victories, it has at all events con tributed largely to them. So pronounced has been the developmen1 of these universities and schools that non at the beginning of the century they sur pass those of Europe. And yet surpassec is by no means the right word. There i. no institution in Europe resembling ther or organized on quite the same plan. Tht scientific school of America in its grasl of what really constitutes practical, exten sive training has no counterpart in the world. It turns out suentists that are al the same time worlmen of the highes1 type. The univc:#lties and technica: schools of England and the Continent, ex cellent as many of them are, have not ful ly caught the spirit and trend of the time The tree of the new American scientifik education is being known by its fruit. Il has brought a new sort of workman int< the field of labor, and European indus try stands by, w:ndering why her repre sentatives cannot do as well. The explanation of it is all very simple however. American technical educatiol had its first beginning fifty years ago Within the past twenty-five years the sci. entific professionaltschools have been see ing their true development. Now the com bined results have beqome so great thal they are apparent all over the world. "The earliest technical schools," wrott Prof Mendenhall, president of the Tech. nological Institute ot Worcester, Mass. ir his monograph on "Scieitific, Technica and Engineering Education in the Unilec States," prepared for the recent Paris Ex position, "those of a hundred years ag< or more, almost without exception, gt-e% out of the industrial demands of the local. I Ity in which they- -were founded. One o1 the best examples is the famous School 0: Mines, at Freiberg, which has enjoyed e long and illustrious career, and many o. the earlier European schools belong to thi same class. To these and the more mod ern schools of science and technology th( United States are greatly indebted, espe cially on account of the generous wel come that has always been extended tc American students and for the inspiratior with which many of them have returned to take their part in the wonderful edvuca. tional evolution Which the last half cen tury has .witnessed. "But in all cases European methods havg been adapted rather than adopted, * * and while the nearl.y 100 schools of- scienc4 and engineering scattered over the Unite( States have many points of resemblance there is much individuality, particularI3 among the.stronges-t and best, and it is be lieved that their several types represet important advances in the direction 03 scientific and technical education." This matter oi scientific training fol youth makes but a conservative, quie claim, though yet a substantial one. H might have pointed to some of the result oi these "believed to be important ad vances." American technical school grad uates have come t: be the'bridge builder: of the world. There are no steel makers no tool makers in Europe equal to th< cool, keen young scientists in Americar shops and mills. Nor has the Continen and England such a race of railway con struction engineers. Only this summer th4 Massachusetts Irstitute of Technolog3 held examinations in.London for the younj Englishmen of scientific tastes, who, t< learn what they wanted to fit them foi the scientific world, found their only re course an American school. And, in th< field of medicine. four distinguished physi clans and surgeons of this country arn now touring the world at the request o: foreign doctors who are anxious to learr accurately of the .advances of this brancd of the science in the New World. Out of many significant instances these have been picked. The number might bt greatly added to, with only the advantag' of emphasizing the, point. That which ha: the most pronounced is, however, the turn in of the tide. Thirty ytears ago, and ever well onto very recent years, the Americar student of any kind of science found it part of his education to go to the school: abroad for as long a period as his pocket book could stand. His education was no thought complete till then. And it wa not, for scientilic training in this countra was not formed. Now the student has n: need to go. As he takes his degree he Iu far beyond what the schools of Europt teach. And year following year, in in creasing numbers, young Europeans ar' coming over here to grasp the traini that our universities are giving and t< absorb the technique and the thorougi practicalness that are making Americar scientists masters of men. "Adapted" was the word Prof Menden. hail used in speaking of European meth. ods and the Arrerican unsiversites, "rathea than adopted." But it has been very mued more than that. Brushing traditions asidi these institutions of learning went lonj ago to the root of the matter. Year b: ear they have been building up theil equipment, strengthening their courses Questions "f finance and whether it woulh all pay - y have politely laughed at Money was needed for this and for that Well, the chiefs would see that I. was obh taed. Machinery was necessary. A once the great manufacturers were lait under contribution, and they sent as gift: machines worth .thousands. The technical school presidents knew how to arouse the sympathetic under. standing of men of means and fore. thought. Benefactors for this and for tha crowded in, their gifts were chronicled ir the news of the day, commented upon af vast, the figures added up and admired But no one saw the significance. Year after year students came out o: courses of engineering, of medicine anc surgery, of chemistry, of electricity. o marine engineering, of agriculture anc forestry and went into workaday life IHitherto the scientific college man had not been held in very high regard. Manu facturers had wanted men who had grows up in shops, "practical" they called them no "book learning fellows, who were al theory and clean clothes and hands." But even the most old fashioned soon came t< appreciate that these "fellows," too, cam< from "shops," "shops" in the colleges tha had a wider variety of machinery in act. ual use than could ever be found in single factory. They grew to see that ,th< new "theory man" was broader, of more intelligence, willing to learn about a cas< in point and able to grasp it more quickly They devised economies and improvement whenever they were given a chance. Then ould make one man do the work of two The old time foreman was a child befort Then, one after another, the far seei manufacturers chuckled. They hac bridged the gulf between capital and laboi and found real master workmen. Thel ga'e these men more swing and powei and kept on the lookout for more youths from the technical schools. They came t( see that the product from these institu tions was getting better every year. The technica! .3chools and universities ad won their point. They realized the growing demnand for their men. Thcay t'e doubled their efforts, added to theis - uree consnlted with the freateet and the most progressive manufacturers as to what their needs were and built up more perfectly their equipment. Not alone did they reach out for machinery, but the newest and the best. They had at last created a new market for rrIn. If a concrete, striking instance is wanted of this, Sibley College or Cornell Universi ty may be taken. That institution has a very famous railroad course. The "orders" that come to the college each spring for graduates are greater than Sibley can possibly supply. She cannot turn out enough men to meet the demand. Twice as many as she graduates each year could be assured of positions. For the railroads say simply: "These are the men we want; they are the men that will rise with us or with some other company. We can not now get too many of them." And so the demand is spreading out in many another branch of science. The American technical schools are turning out the product. It is these men that in later years do the inventing and the great pieces of executive work and make the discoveries. Is it any wonder that the youth of England and the Continent are commencing to come to this country for technical training?. THE fHER3MIT OF CAPE MALEA. Why he Lived and Died oti a Stupendoun Cliff, Within Sight and Sound of the Ocean. There is one feature of Cape Malea that rarely fails to attract the notice of the most careless voyager doubling It by day, a touch of human tragedy and pathos, belonging In point of chronology to our own time, but in universal inter est to all ages. At the extreme pitch of the cape a atupendous cliff rises sheer from the fretting waves for about a hun dred feet. rhen comes an irregular plateau or shelf, of perhaps two acres in area, the mountain rising again abruptly behind it to a height of about 2,000 feet. This plateau is apparently In accessible, and yet, perched upon a huge bowlder in its centre, a mass of rock de tached from the mountain ages ago, is a house. It is rudely built of wooden fragments ingeniously fitted together, but its outlines convey at once the idea of its designer having been an Anglo Saxon. It must be firmly built, too, for it Is exposed to the full fury of wind re bounding from the mountain face, and the observer instinctively wonders why, If a house must be built on that shelf, so terribly exposed a position was se lected. Then if dhe be fortunate he will hear its story, s'ays E. T. Bullen, In the London Spectator. About twenty-five years ago there was a. young sailor who, by dint of hard work. integrity of character and firmness of will, reached at the age of 26 the summit of his ambition-becoming master of what would then be called a good-sized steam ship, some 900 tons registet. Upon this accession to good fortune he married the girl of his choice, who had patiently waited for him since as boy and girl sweethearts they parted on his first going to sea, And with rare complacency -his owners gave him the Inestimable privilege of carrying is young bride to sea with him. How happy he was! How deep and all embracing his pride, as, steaming down the grimy Thames, he explained to the light of his eyes all the wonders that she was now witnessing for the first time, but which he had made familiar to her mind by his oft-repeated sea stories during the few bright days between voyages that he had been able to devote to courtship! The ship was bound to several Mediterranean ports, the time be ing late autumn, and consequently the most ideal season for a honymoon that could possibly be imagined. Cadiz, Genoa, Naples, Venice, a delightful tour with not one weary moment wherein to wish for something else! Even a flying visit to old Rome from Naples had been possible, for the two officers, rejoicing in their happy young skipper's joy, saw to it that I no unnecessary cares should trouble him, and bore w:.Illing testimony, in order that he should get as much delight out of those halcyon days ais possible, that the entire crew were as docile as could be wished, devoted to ':heir bright command er and his beautiful wife. I Then at Venice came orders to proceed to Galatz and load wheat for home. Great was the glee of the girl-wife. - She would see Constartinople and the Dan ube. Life would hirdly be long enough to recount all the wonders of this most wonderful of wedding trips. And they sailed with hearts overbrimming with joy as the blue sky above them seemed welling over with sunlight. Wind and weather favored t'bem; nothing occurro. to cast a shadow over their happine:i until, nearing Cape Maiea at that fatal hour of the morning, just before dawn, when more collisions occur than at any other. time, they were run into by a blundering Greek steamer coming the other way, and cut down amidships te the water's edge. To their peaceful sleexi or quiet appreciation of the night's sal' vern splendors succeeded the overwhelm' ng flood, the hiss and roar of escaping steam, the suffocating embrace of- death. In that dread fight for life all perished but one-he so lately the happiest o:1 men-the skipper. Instinctively clinging to a piece 'of wreckage, he had beerl washed ashore under Cape Malea at the ebbing of the scanty tide, and his strong physique, reasserting itself, enabled him to climb those rugged battlements and reach the plateau. Here he was found gazing seaward by some goatherds, who, in search of their rrimble-footed flocks, had wandered down the precipitous side of the mountain. They endeavored tC persuade him to come with them bacb to the world, but in vain. He would live, gratefully accepting some of their pool provision, but from that watching place 'he would not go. And those rude peas ants, understanding something of his woe, sympathized with him so deeply that without payment or hope of any they helped him to build his hut and kept him supplied with such poor mor sels of food and drink as sufficed for his stunted needs. And there, with his gaze fixed during all his waking hours upon that inscru table depth wherein all his bright hopet had suddenly been quenched, he lived until quite recent years. "the world for getting, by the world forgot." a living monument of constancy and patient, un complaining grief. By his humb'e friends, whose language he never learned, he was regarded as a saint, and when one day they came upon his !!feless body, fallen forward upon its '.-ees at a little glazed window through which he was wont tc look upon the sea where his. dear one lay, they felt coufirmed in their opinion of the sanctity of the hermit of Cape Malea. 1.15CO.LX'sn.IrTIPLACIC To be Ulitiieud a. an A'ylum foi Inebri4tee. Down in the Blue Grass region of Ken tucky, on rhe same farm where Abraharr Lincoln was 'born and spent his boyhood day~s, says the Chicago Tribune, the Si Lukes Society, of Chicago, is to esta' lish a home for the inebriates of -the South. A large hotel, small cottages and com modious dIwellings W'ill he erected by the socity, an d, though the land is in the South, the negro will be made as welcome a's the white. The Lincoln farm is In the town .ol Hodgenville, fifty miles south of Louis ville. and consists of 110 acres of pasture 'land. On -It is a spring or mineral waaer, the fame of Thich Is great below the Mason and Dixon line. It was owned by some prominent Methodists of fthe Siu-th, among them the Rev J. W., Bingham. Some time ago its owners decided to, do nate its use to charity, and they, enost the 't Luke's Society as the organization Ibest suited 'to carry out their plans. The farm w'ill 'be turned into a sanita rium, planned much after tha: now run by the socdety at Nos 1.710 to 1,71S Indiana avenue. On It will he taken only those whc are addicted to drugs, liquors or tobacco. The treatment is to be similar to that given at the Chicago H-lspi:al. While the offieers of the society are 'busy trying to get the Lincoln farm in shape. they are also at work estahlishmrg a b:'ane'. within the 0ook County jail. There prison ers known to -be victims of the drug, li auor or t~obacco habit are aiven over to Dr Miler 'and his assistant, Dr La Grange. The latter devotes all his time to -them and a lie n sme muarters with them. THE HEART OF MONTROSE BEQUEATEED BYTHEMARQUIS TO HZS 2LECE, LADY3A1ER. Gruesome Relic of a Valiant Scottish Hero and how It was Mysterioualy Lost Little Hope of the Ultimate Recovery of the Relic, but After the Lapse of One Hundred Years the Heart of the Graham 1ay Once Again Roat on scottish Soil. (From Chambers's Journal.) Alas that no one knows where-but somewhere, certainly-the heart of valiant James Graham, Marquis of Montrose, awaits the collector of curiosities! Tossed among bits of armor, old china, bric-a brac, in some old curiosity shop in the north of'France; possibly now carried to Paris or London, it may lie in some old lady's lumber attic; or, trampled years ago into the ground of a back garden in Bou logne, Pierre and little Marie may turn it up any day with their spades. "Qu'est-ce que c'est donc," this little old, beaten, egg-shaped box of stcel? Why, Pierre and Marie, it holds, if you only knew it, the dust of a Scottish hero's heart, and the case itself was fashioned out of his good steel sword. Montrose knew Merchiston Castle, Edin burgh, well; it was, in fact, a second home to him in his boyhood, for his sister Mar garet had married Sir Archibald Napier when Montrose was 6 , 7 years old, and he spent much of his' ti.e with them. The Napiers had, besides, a town mansion within the precincts of Holyrood House; but t6 little Montrose, brought up in the country, the oid castle, with its barns and out houses and granges, was no doubt a more attractive holiday home than a dull town house in the fashionable Cannongate. One can fancy the little figure, in its clothes of "green'camlet" or "mixed par gone" and "cloak with pasments," wan dering with his bow and arrows about the parks, or, maybe, escaped from his watch ful "pedagog." Master William Forrett, imperiling himself, boylike, on the battle ments of the castle. But to get to the story of the heart one must leave the life and hasten to the death of Montrose. His sister and broth er-in-law had died long before, and the owner of Merchiston in 1650 was Mont rose's nephew, the second Lord Napier. A great affection existed between Montrose and his niece by marriage, Lady Napier; and as a mark of it he bequeathed to her his heart-a strange, and, if one must tell the truth, an embarrassing, legacy; but looked upon by the lady herself as a su preme honor and a sacred trust. Montrose was executed at the Market Cross of Edinburgh on Tuesday, May 21, 1650. The extraordinary composure and gallantry of his bearing are well attested. An unsigned letter in the British Museum, written by a spectator while the execution was actually going on, says: "I never saw a more sweeter carriage in a man in all my life. He is just now turning off from the ladder; but his countenance changes not." Another account says: "He stept along the streets with so great state, so much beauty, majesty and gravity as amazed the beholders. And many of his enemies did acknowledge him to be the bravest subject in the world, and in him a ,gallantry that graced all the crowd." Clothed in "fine scarlet richly shammaded with golden lace, and linen with fine pearling about, his .delicate white gloves in .his hand, his stockings of incarnate silk, his shoes with their ribbons on his feet," h!s dress was "more becoming a bridegroom than a criminal." After hanging on the gibbet for three hours the body was taken down and the head was affixed to the Tolbooth; the limbs were dispersed to various , places throughout the Kingdom, and the dismem bered trunk was enclosed in a "little short chest" and buried on the Boroughmuir. The Boroughmuir was the usual place of execution and burial for the worst crimi nals; it was a place of evil reputation, lit tle sought during the day and much to be shunned by night. No wonder, then, that some "adventu rous spirits" were required who would steal to that .grewsome spot, raise the hastily and none too deeply buried body, and cut- from it the heart of Montrose. The master of Merchiston was in exile in Holland; it was Lady Napier alone wlo planned the night excursion and saw it carried out. Did her heart fair lier that May night, waiting at the foot of the tur ret stair until her messengers, returning, put in her hands something not seen, but felt, with the square of fine linen all "tricked with bloody gules?" That same square of linen and the pair of stockings of "incarnate" silk showing a still darker stain have remained ever since among the treasured possessions of the Napair fain For a time, then, the heart was safe at Merchiston. It was embalmed and in closed in a little steel case made of the blade o'f Montrose's sword; the case was placed in a fine gold filigree box which had belonged to John Napier, the inve tor of logarithms; and the box in its turn was deposited in a silver urn. Before very long, however, Lady Napier dispatched the casket by some faithful hand to the young Marquis of Montrose, who, with Lord ,Napier and others of the connection, was still ,living in exile in Hol land, and here begins the first part of its adventures, of which, unfortunately, no record now remains. For many years the heart was complete.. ly lost sight of, and any hope of ever re Igaining it had long been given up, when a friend of the Napier family recognized the gold filigree box enclosing the steel case among a collection of curiosities in Hol land. He purchased the relic at once and returned it to Merchiston, at that time the property of Francis, the fifth Lord Napier. There for a second time the heart reposed, but not for long. On the death of the fifth Lord Napier it passed into the keeping of his only surviving daughter, Hester, afterward Mrs Johnston, Some years after her marriage Mrs John ston was on a voyage to India with her husbar'd, her little son, and all their houseold goods, when their ship, which formed part of the fleet under Commodore Johnston, was attacked by a French frigate, and a stiff fight ensued. Mr John ston busied himself with four of the guns upon the quarter deck, while his wife, who had refused to go below, remained beside him, a heroically obstinate figure, holding by the one hand her little boy, and in the Iother a thick velvet reticule, into which she had hurriedly crammed all the things Ishe valued most, including, of course, the Iheart. In the middle of the fight a splin ter struck Mrs Johnston on the arm, wounding her severely. The velvet reti cule gave little protection to its pr~ecious contents, and the gold filigree box was completely shattered, but the inner steel case remained unharmed. It must have been some consolation to Mrs Johnston that, when the attacking frigate retired. the English commodore left the flag ship and came odi board the Indianfnan to offer his thanks and congratulations to the lady and her husband, who had set the crew so galant an example. Arrived in India, it yas easy to find a clever goldsmith, who constructed another gold tiligree box in place of the one broken, also a silver urn like the original. On the outside of the urn was engraved in two native dialects a short account of Mon trose's life and death. The~ urn soon came to be regarded by the natives as something uncanny, and the report spread that it was a talisman, and that its owner '.uld never be wounded or taken prisoner in oat tie. So one is not surprised to liarn that before long the urn and its contents w.-re stolen, and in spite of every effort could not be traced. Mrs Johnston, howev'er, discovered after some time that It had been sold for a large sum of money to a powerful chif in the rteighborhood of Ma It was part of the trainingof the Itt--e boy who had stood beside his parents dOr-a ing the attack on the Indlaman to spend four months of every year with a native chief, in order to learn something of the language and native methods of hunting and shooting. While on a sporting expe dition the boy distinguished himself in warding off the attack of a wild hog; whereupon the chief, to show his apprecla tion of the performance promised, in true Oriental fashion, to give the lad practical ly anything he chose to ask. As this chief was the purchaser of the urn, young John ston naturally begged that the family property might be handed back to him. The chief made a generous speech in re Ply, explalning that when he bought the urn and its contents he had no idea that they were stolen goods, and adding that "one brave man should always attend to the wishes of another brave man, what ever his religion or 'his race might be; therefore he considered it his duty to ful fI1 the wishes of the. brave man whose heart was in the urn, and whose wish had been that his heart should be. kept by his descendants." Accordingly the boy re turned home laden with gifts of all sorts for himself and his mother, and carrying with him the urn and a letter of apology from its late custodian. The -death of'-this liberal-minded chief forms an interesting sequel to this adventure of the heart. HaV Ing rebelled against the Nabob of Arcot,, he was taken by English troops, and be and many of his family were executed. When the chief was told he would be put to death he referred to the story of Mont rose, and said that as there was something alike in the manner of their dying, so he hoped that after death his attendants would preserve his heart, as the heart of Montrose had been preserved, for future generations to honor. The Johnston family returned to Europe in 1792. BeIng In France at the time when the Revolutionary Government compelled all persons to give up their gold and silver plate and jewels, Mrs Johnston entrusted the silver urn, with Its enclosures, to an Englishwoman living at Soulogne, who promised to keep it hidden until it could be safely conveyed back to England; but the woman died soon afterward and from that time nothing has been seen or heard of the heart of Montrose. There would appear to be little hope of the ultimate recovery of the relic; yet stranger things have happened, and it may. be that even after the lapse of one hundred years the heart of the Graham may ono again rest on Scottish soil. UBERCULOUS CoWS DANGEBOUB8 \ - I- -- Prof Eoch's Dictum Controverted in G many as Elsewber". (From the Baltimore Sun.) Prof Koch's dictum that -the tubercu losis of cows Is not transmissible to man' or child is controverted in Germany. as elsewhere, with virtual uia.nimtY. Prof Virchow opposes the vpw of the great bacteriologist and is reinforeed by Pr Johne, professor of pathological anatomy at Veterinary College of Dresden. In his essay, just published, Dr Tohne. says that "it is precisely - the milk of tubeoulOR cows that plays the chief part in cases of tuberculosis among children." Td prove his point the Doctor mentions the case of a veterinary surgeon who injured his thumb while dissecting a diseased cow. Six months later tuberculosis manlfesteA Itself in the scar of the wound, and after-4 ward tuberculous bacilli were found In his; sputum. The surgeon died of consumntion.. and "at the post-mortenl examination, the Doctor adds, "s considerable number of similar bacilli were found In the joint of the deceased's thumb. The conOlusiOn' is "that the bacillus of bovine tuberculosis is a tuberculous bacillus of less intensive power, which Is perhaps less dangerous sa. a germ of infection for normal grown-up humaf beings- of gQod health and streng, powors of resistance, but that it is all the more destructive to the tender ogarm- - of a child or -to the organism of those grown.-up persons who: have weak consti tutions, or who are ill-fed and, theefore, not so capable of resisting Infedtive germs-.' Scientists are Still P uzzled Over the Many. Phases of it-A Charlese Physici's Experences. (From the Cincinnati Commercial) "$leep-walklnS is somethmng better un drstood now than formerly, but '3s7 chologists are . not thoroughly agree4d -In regard to many of the phases," observed a New York physician.' "One of there cent cases, that of a young man out West walking ten miles to visit #Is father,ad of an even more recent. case, that of. young lady walking three miles on a' cold night In her night gown. withourt-.awak cepe theories. It had bee thought ta exposure to intense cold as well as In - tense heat would awaken the sleep-walk er, but in these cases, which arilwell au thenticated, It appears thiat th1i' lfion, while correct, possibly, In qle main, is .not always so. "In my early days, when attendinglecs tures at a medical college in Baltimore, I. with some other medical students, wit nessed one ,of the .famous sleep-w*ll cases that is quted in many of testan ard books. .On night we were passinlg along Lexington street, .where the Len ington street .market is located. One- of our party called attention to a moving figure, clad In white, on, the roof of the market building. It proved 'to be that of a girl about 17 years of age. She had lost a canary bird the after noon before, which was last seen on the eaves of the roof of: the market house. Darkness came on, however,- before a thorough searcil for the bird could; be made, and It was given up. TI9 .girl went to bed, and during the right left -her bed and returned to the mark~et to'use and and climbed to its roof. "This In Itself was not a dif~cult -taskr. for there was a. series of sheds leain to It. She walked -the entilre' length of one side of the market, along the -- treme edge of the roof. At every step It seemed she would step over the edge, and had she done so she would likely' have been killed. "Our party divided up. and one, now the leading physician of Charleston, S. C., climbed to the root and seized the gIrL he awoke the instant he touched her. and It was with the greatest difficulty that he could keep her from falling, for, while in her sleep she appeared to be an expert, she was a very poor climber when a wake. It was a clear case of sleep walking, and had she gone ten feet farther she would have found the bird, which had roosted' for the night in the rain gtter itwhich rand along th rnotes afterward. Sleep-walking is much more feuntha is generally understood, ought at a rule, it is confined to chile dren. I have known of several cases of dults who would take walks in their sleep as often as once a week." SAVED DY THE MASONIC SIGN.. (From the American Tyler.) During the memorable raid that Grant's army made on Petersburg. Va, on April . 15 when Lee's lines were broken, a young Confederate omcer lay on the road severely wounded, and when, without a moment's warning, a company of Federal cvalry rode down towards him at a full galop he saw death staring him In the ffce. H~s first thought was that possibly there might be a Mason among them, and he gave the signal of distress known only to Masons. Then the Federal captain rode qickly to his side, dismounted and part ed the comlpany in the centre, without mo lsting the man in the least. He was nuickly picked up, though a prisoner, and t'ken to the rear and tenderly cared for. and in the course of time entirely recov erd his health. Brother H. W. Mason. of Rockwell. Tex, a prominent physician. i anxious to learn the name and resi dnce of the officer who saved his life In aswer to a Masonic sign, and asks that thsie epublished in all Masonic joul