Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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ARIZONA AS A HEALTH RESORT. FOUR M OX Tits OF SUMMER AXD IRE REST OF THE 1EAR SPRJXO. The I if* it Kesutts are to be Attained for luniumptlvpi by Tenting on the Desert Itself? Tho?e who Itrisve the Midsummer Heat are Said to Derive the Greatest Henetit. The < x:n me aridity of Arizona, which ; ha- caused the d wnfall of many a weli)?i'i agricultural scheme and made the sau-kissod Territory notorious, is one of its si* at merits as a health resort, says the New York Sun. It is a generally accepted theory nowadays that the white plague is to be ?i ?... ?..i.. i?. ,y,.-, ^..,.rj.c?.i?ion of its I .-..inijcu uui vi..j .... .... ? victims and an absolutely out-of-door life , t->r th- m. The first condition is manifestly , impossible in the crowded city and the second is feasible only where mother nature 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 , lrom vapors as the day. j 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 applied, 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 seasons? and there are but two. four months of summer and the rest of the year a perpetual spring?Is slow and gradual. The I .-kies are a cloudless blue, the air so sweet j that it can almost be tasted, and the average humidity so low as to be inconceiv tble to the sweltering resident of the i coast and lake regions. For December and January, the mockingbird warbles his clear-throated epithalamium to his brown mate in the cottonwoods?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 chorus of Wagnerian melody, the shirt waist girl swings in her hammock as comfortably as in an Eastern June, and the small bov beats the sides of his burro or Indian pony with bare brown feet. Picnics ar. the order of the day. In February th? almond orchards, which riin the desert's northern edge, burst into a mass of pink white _ bloom, the pomegranates are budded arid 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. Thepo was one week last January when ice formed in the water bucket in the tent, and a hot stone for the feet, night eaps and bed socks were more than welcome. Rl:ink>'ts are a necessity all the * winter. Y t with the rising of the sun genial spring again asserts itself. This d.ffvrence 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 nig.'w garments there is no danger of taking cold. It is a strange thing about this desert life, ;hat It has a charm which grows with acquaintance?and one who has spent some time in the desert is said to lie never quite happy elsewhere. Ttie summers are hot. There need be no reservations about that statement. For days last July the thermometer registered anywhere from 99 degree to 117 degrees right along?but the absence of humidity made the heat much easier to bear than the close, mucgy de vitaliz?d air of Now York and Brooklyn. There were no sunstrokes, no heat pros- f trations. Ranchers went about their work suffering no inconvenience. Although the majority of ?a?'.th-seekers turn their faces to the seacoasi of Southern California or the pines cf Prescott for midsummer 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 .issue and destroys the germs. Sufferers f *om kidney trouble or rheumatism also n ake their greatest gain In summer. While nearly every ranch in the valley stands ready, for a considerAj*. to open Its doors to the invalid. the^Bt results are to be attained from tenting on the desert itself. The ranches must be irrigated at stated Intervals. The desert, no man's land, is dryness itself. Although the cami>er, assured of squatter sovereignty, may set up his canvas establishment where he will, the qeustion of a convenient water supply leads him to select a site near a ranch. A quarter will pay tor a Darrenui 01 was a water nauieu each week on a stone boat from the irrigation ditch, while two bits more will keep the swinging olla, or Mexican water jar. filled and provide water for cooking from some adjacent well. Other supplies are also readily obtained. The Indians bring in from the reservations wagon loads of mesquite and iron wood, which they retail for $1 73 or $2 a load, while the same amount will buy dry almond, fig and apricot wood from the orchards which have died for lack of water. Faggoting parties are rjso 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 reasonable price and of delicious quality. The roll-call of native fruits includes oranges, grape fruit, lemons, apricots, peaches, pears, pomegranates, tigs, grapes, nectarines, plums, berries and melons galore. Rich Jersey milk may be obtained at the ranches for Ave cents a quart, butter for twontv-flve cents a pound, honey?delicious as the famed honey of Hymettis? fifteen cents a pound. Ice, artificial, can be obtained at any of the towns at sixty c*nts 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 to the freight rates, but the stores would be a credit to any city of New York State outside the metropolis. k i>: durir.g the last year for a family of threo adults and . (hild showed an aver- \ ago of Si'! a month for table expenses, $f> for water, service and laundry; oil and i repairs, ?! 35. and fuel, $3 50. While the table exje nses seem dispropor- 1 tionately high, it must be borne in mind ] tliat hyper-feeding and the generous provi- : sion of the most nourishing meats and foods are a large factor in the recovery of 1 the consumptive. For the person addicted to the use of ham. bacon and canned goods the outlay would be materially diminished. Tents may be rented for from $3 to JT a 1 month, according to furnishing?but the ' m i.iority of campers prefer to own their canvas homes. These can be bought in any of the larger towns, new or secondhand. They are all put up with siding and ] hoard floors, and are usually screened fr>m ' th-- intrusive fly?and also furnished with a fly or second cover. The stage settings and furnishings may lie as luxurious or as simple as individual taste and the jiocketbo >k demand. A stove, two or three chairs, a dresser or makeshift?and one learns to h.- an expert in the matter of mak shifts on the desert or frontier?a howl, pitcher an l pail of tin. agate or paper?these are rite nec- ssaries. Luxuritff in the way of as. hammocks, book shelves and pillows, p.iiows. piiiows may be added ad lib. When iiah: housekeeping is carried on?and this i< the general sch-me?cooking utensils. 1 >h?s. a screen cupboard and an icebox mus- be added to the list. A horse and some sort of cart or wagon are esteemed essential parts of one's out tit. Xir is this an extravagance, for horseflesh an.l pasturage are both cheap, and the whole establishment can usually be soil at <-.i-t when there is no longer necessity f..r their use. A good solid mountain ponv whi. ii was a delight under the saddle and a family friend In from of the two-seated "Iiemoerat." with harness, whip an i a" ( mpi te. cost the writer a trifle less than and was sold at the end r.f ' If. v. ir f.r ilT 1 >.i <T lira Ire on .III ad jacent r.uieh r.?s: fl .*>i> during :h.' winter, Jl in the summt r. Neither barns nor sheds are a necessity for the horse. l>nt a brush shod or Indian vataw is an ail-important adjunct to the tents if one wouid be comfortable. I'nder its kindly shade the hammock is swung, the table set. the water jar hung, nearly all the op? rations of daily living carried on. These vataws are copi .1 after the Indians'. They are made of stout Cottonwood poles, covered with brush and leaves held in place by the all-p. rvasive bailing wire, which plays such a b neticent part in ail the operations and vicissitudes of Arizona life. The question is often asked: 1? 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 infinite freedom, a life so near to nature is fraught with tremendous benefit, spiritual and ma- 1 terial. For the rider of hobbies?and a hobby is a good thing to tak an invalid's miftd off his ills? thiTe ;? an endless variety of sub' ""a T">ya rr.i-ri-i.1 m.ltm.t* Iff: tlV till- lire historic peopks invite to archaeological research. with the c-rtainty of finds of the , old Aztec pottery?if nothing more. For the botanist, geologist, mineralogist, ornithologist and entomologist there is material rich and rare. For the ethnologist there ari the Indians and Mexicans, to say nothing of stray representatives of every nation that on the earth doth dwell. For the artist and th photographer there are skies and lights and shadows and subjects to be found nowhere else. For the sportsman there is small game a plenty? and for the one who simp'v wants to rest and kt the world go by?a peace unspeakable. It goes without saying that no one should take up the desert life if in a physical condition that demands the attendance of a doctor, or a hurry caii upon the druggist. For such the town. Neither should one com.- hither without money, thinking he can soon earn a living. There is no light work for invalids. Grown strong or at leas: familiar with the lay of the land, there are various occupations that may be taken up 'f one can command the capital. Chicken raising, bee culture, vegetable and alfalfa growing?melon raising or a stock farm?will each furnish a good living. This, however, comes later?and there must be means to live on in th.- interim. If possible, every invalid should have some member of his own family with him. While scores of men and occasionally a woman come alone, the chances of r covery are much greater when there is no danger of homesickness. All these conditions met with, a two-years' residence Jn tents on the desert has demonstrated the fact that almost without exception there is marKen gum ??? uuru v v... ?. In cas s in which the cure has been begun in time many have been able to return to their homes entirely well. Others, apparently recovered, have d.emed it wiser to i cast their fortunes with the Territory, and have given permanent setting to their lares and penates. Three oniv, 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 consumptives se^ms to need no further commendation to prove its efficacy. A LUCKY HOOK AO EST. Be Meets with a Wnrin Reception ns 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 we^it the farmer had a note from a nephew to say that the boy would visit the farm on Thursday. Uncle and nephew had not met for fifteen 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 waiting until the last passenger had disappeared the old man drove away, disappointed. The book agent entered into the dramatis personae early the next morning. Looking over the top rail of the barnoillerl "Hello, uncle." The book agent never pot such a reception before in all his life. The farmer flung: the pate 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 home was as well as could be expected. 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 impersonating 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 tlnd an electric current in the latch-string. If HEAT JX K A SS AS. Thousands of ItusheU riled on the Open hod Waiting for Transportation. For the first time in its history, says I^eslie's Weekly. Kansas has more wheat than it knows what to do with. Not only are the granaries and bins running over with grain, but the elevators are tilled and the farmers are still bringing it to market by hundreds of thousands of bushels. The long dry weather was. in a sense, a bonanza for wheat raisers. Much of the grain was so heavy that i; fell to ihe ground and would have been lost had there been wet weather. Hut with the long hot. clear days ewry straw could be gathered, most of 'the farmers running the threshing machines into the tield and hauling the grain from the shocks to the machine. The grain has all been of the best nuullty and the yield from twenty to - iS- 1 -l" 1 * Vof than tniriy-nve uiimui? .- n ? sO.'JuO.oot bushels will be fathered, and the high price is giving the turmers a fine income. As the strings of wagons came to market in the wneat belt tiie railroads were swamped. They could not furnish cars and the elevators were soon tilled to overflowing. Kven in the small stations twenty to thirty teams were waiting to bi unloaded all day through the lartt r part of the threshing. The buyers tinallv began piling the grain on the prarie. Great heaps nf t<> S),wi bushels have been stored nn the open sod and there they will remain until such time as cars can be secured in which to ship -the grain. The sun does not hurt it. no one can steal it and so little rain falls during the summer that there Is practically no danger front 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 that the demand for the ship subsidy scheme does not proceed from the alleged beneficiaries theory. "Subsidy or no subsidy. the ship building interests of the country do not appear to be in a languishing condition," remarks the Transcript. "The law of supply and demand does not cease its operations to await legislation, and just now the ship builders do not seem tc be worrying much about the future." The real benefits would be confined to a limited clique, which, with the assistance Df the politicians, arc- making all the demand. STYLES IN MEN'S DKESS. FASTI JO\S THAT WILT. TIE FORI'. LAR IBIS FALL AM) M ISTER. Sombre Coloring* nnd N'eat FfFccts?Day and KTenliig Kklrti-H rlnklt'S In Collam?Very Few ( liinje* from Lmt Year. (From the Haberdasher.) The eominp: 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 bteome very familiar. Men's dress is being held down to very conventional lines. The run of color thai was the distinguishing feature of last year is to be curtailed and color will not be prominent In anything that man wears. Sombre tones in overcoatings and suitings and very neat color effects in cravatings and shirtings will form the most prominent and distinguishing feature in the mode of the t uning 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 till things related even in the slightest dedegree to art. The painters are drawing on the old sonoois for inspirations, designers are revelling in the art of the seventeenth century, house decorators are copying old interiors and furniture and the architects 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 revivals of old-time favorites. STYLES IN* SHIRTS. In shirts I look for very few changes i and practically no innovations. For dress | the plain linen bosom shirt, with slightly i rounded or square link cuffs attached, will j v. ^ form Tho hnsnms will as 1 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, hut 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 opening. 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 be quite popular 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 madoplans 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, rods 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 in rather neat stripes. COLLARS AND CRAVATS. In collars the three new styles are the wing, poke and straight stander. These are In both wide and narrow stitching. The wide stitched wing collar is not as sightly as that with narrow stitching, owing to the 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 cuirosses will be very broad and soft. the ascots wide of end and tree 01 lining. The best four-in-iiand will have a wide tnd and be graduated to a two-inch width at the knot. Ties, if sold at all. will be of the batswlng 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 straight and come to the s edge of the shirt bosom. In clothes I find indications which point to the usual fight of the tailors to force new fashions. In the first place, we will have the annual cry for color in evening dress and for the freedom from blacks and whites in day dress. All of mis I do r.ot think will amount to much. Tfre best tailors arc making trousers rather wide, but avoiding the peg-top form. The trousers are aboi^t seventeen and one-half inches at the knee and fifteen and onehalf at the bottoms. They will hang perfectly straight from the hips. For evening dress the white waistcoat 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 or wnicn ine waistcoat is mime. m evening dress coats th? re will be no change wM-th recording. That garment Is a staple fixture and it seems impossible to improve upon the existing standard. 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 readymade. "Cheap John" article, and may be banished entirely from the wardrobe of a gentleman. A new coat something like the evening Jacket will be maJe. It will have a breast and side pockets and silk-faced shawl collar and will close with two buttons. These coats are designed for home and club wear and are worn with singlebreasted waistcoats and trousers of the same material, white shirts, black tics and either 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 novelties this coming autumn. One of these Is an evening suit made of dark gray cloth. The collar Is of the shawl pattern, faced with gray silk. The trousers and waistcoat 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 be made of a heavy rep silk and lined with silk. The colors are very brilliant. The trousers are made like najama trous ers and fasten about th?- waist with a broad bit of ribbon, with large silk tassels at the ends. The coat is cut double-breasted and has large pockets. The suit may be worn with a siik shirt. It is just for w? ar 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'Vand have well flared skirts. The "Kaglan" will only be in rainproofs and in coverts. The covert 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 th.m. The military jacket is passe. The new jackets will be loose and will have perfectly straight backs. In shoes the principal departure is in the shape of the toe. The latest model snows the flat last with the outswung sole, but the tip is brought in to a much narrower point than last year's model. Low shoes will be worn during the autumn and <in pleasant days during the winter, but many look upon the low shoe as n more winter fad. Th? patent leather shoes with kid tops will be the formal footwear. Shoes will be very plain for dress, and quite elaborately trimmed for neglige and business wear. UL'K 1 ECIIXiCAL SCIIVOI.lt. Tlioy Furnish the Best Bridge Builders, Tool Makers and Hallway Constructors In the World - I'.urope.m Methods Have been Adapted Bather than Adopted. (From tiie Brooklyn KagleA Merchants and statesmen to-day congratulate themselves upon the wonderful spread of this country's commerce, the greatest any nation has ever seen. But they do not. perhaps, realize that the nation has advanced in another way that is possibly the true core of our national success. This is the extraordinary advance in sciontiric learning, as shown in the universities, professional and technical schools and in everyday life. If this rapid moulding of America into a scientific nation does not fully account for the commercial victories. It has at all events con trihuted largely to them. So pronounced has been the development of these universities and schools that now at the beginning of the century they surpass those of Kurope. And yet surpassed is by 110 means the right word. There is no institution in Europe resembling them or organized 011 quite the same plan. The scientific school of America in its grasp of what really constitutes practical, extensive training has no counterpart in the world. It turns out scientists that are at the same time workmen of the highest type. The universities and technical schools of England and the Continent, excellent as many of them are, have not fully caught the spirit and trend of the time. The tree of the new American scientitic education is being known by its fruit. It has brought a new sort of workman into the field of labor, and European Industry stands by. wondering why her representatives cannot do as well. The explanation of it is all very simple, however. American technical education had its first beginning fifty years ago. Within the past twenty-five years the scientific professional schools have been seeing their true development. Now the combined results have become so great that they are apparent all over the world. "The earliest technical schools." wrote Prof Mendenhall, president of the Technological Institute of Worcester, Mass, in [ his monograph on "Scientific, Technical ! and Engineering Education in the United States." prepared for the recent Paris Ex- ! position, "those of a hundred years ago I or more, almost without exception, grew [ out of the industrial demands of the locality in which they were founded. One of I the best examples is the famous School of Mines, at Freiberg, which has enjoyed a long and illustrious career, and many of the earlier European schools belong to the same class. To these and the more modern schools of science ard technology the United States are greatly Indebted, especially on account of the generous welcome that has always been extended to American students and for the Inspiration with which many of rhem have returned to take their par: in the wonderful educational evolution which the last half century has witnessed. "Rut in all cases European methods have been adapted rather than adopted, and while tiie nearly 100 schools of science and engineering scattered over the United States have many points of resemblance, there is much individuality, particularly among the strongest and best, and it is believed that their several types represent important advances in the direction of scientific and technical education." This matter of scientific training for youth makes but a conservative, quiet claim, though yet a substantial one. lie might have pointed to some of the results of these, "believed to be Important advances." American technical school graduates have come to be the bridge builders of the world. There are no steel makers, no tool makers in Europe equal to the cool, keen young scientists in American shops and mills. Nor has the Continent and England sucn a race 01 railway construction engineers. Only this summer the Massachusetts Institute of Technology held examinations in London for the young Englishmen of scientific tastes, who, to learn what they wanted to fit them for the scientific world, found their only recourse an American school. And, In the field of medicine, four distinguished physlcTans and surgeons of this country are now touring the world at the request of foreign doctors who are anxious to learn accurately of the advances of this branch of the science In the New World. ^ Out of many significant instances tnese have been picked. The number might bo greatly added to. with only the advantage of emphasizing the point. That which has the most pronounced is. however, the turning of the tide. Thirty years ago, and even well onto very recent years, the American student of any kind of science found it a part of his education to go to the schools abroad for as long a period as his pocketbook could stand. His education was not thought complete till then. And it was not, for scientific training in this country was not formed. Now the student has no need to go. As he takes his degree he is far beyond what the schools of Europe teach. And year following year, in increasing numbers, young Europeans are coming over here to grasp the training that our universities are giving and to absorb the technique and the thorough practicalness that are making American scientists masters of men. "Adapted" was the word Prof Mendenhall used in speaking of European methods and the American universltes, "rather than adopted." But it has been very much more than that. Brushing traditions aside these institutions of learning went long ago to the root of the matter. Year by year they have been building up their equipment, strengthening their courses. Questions of finance and whether it would all pay they have politely laughed at. Money was needed for this and for that. Well, the chiefs would see that 1. was obtained. Machinery was necessary. At once the great manufacturers were laid under contribution, and they sent as gifts machines worth thousands. The technical school presidents knew how to arouse the sympathetic understanding of men of means and forethought. Benefactors for this and for that crowded in. their gifts were chronicled in the news of the day, commented upon as vast, (he figures added up and admired. But no one saw the significance. Year after year students came out of courses of engineering, of medicine and surgery, of chemistry, of electricity, of marine engineering, of agriculture and forestry and went Into workaday life. Hitherto the scientific college man had not been held in very high regard. Manufacturers had wanted men who had grown up in shops, "practical" they called them, no "book learning fellows, who were all theory and clean clothes and hands." But even the most old fashioned soon came to appreciate that these "fellows," too. came from "shops," "shops" in the colleges that had a wider variety of machinery In actual use than could ever be found In a single factory. They grew to see that the new "theory man" was broader, of more intelligence, willing to learn about a ease in point and able to grasp It more quickly. Tney OCVlSeU l'l-uuuuucn aim jiii|<iu<iuirui whenever they were Riven a chance. They could make one man do the work of two. The old time foreman was a child before them. Then, one after another, the far seeing manufacturers chuckled. They had bridged the gulf between capital and labor and found real master workmen. They gave these men more swing and power and kept on the lookout for more youths from the technical schools. They came to see that the product from these Institutions was getting better every year. The technical schools and universities had won their point. They realized the growing demand for their men. Thgy Redoubled their efforts, added to their courses, consulted with the greatest and the most progressive manufacturers as to what their needs were and huilt tip 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 p^n. If a concrete, striking instance is wanted of this. Sibley College or Cornell University may i?e taken. That institution has a very famous railroad course. The "orders" that come to the college each spring for graduates are greater titan Sibley can possibly supply. Sao 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 arc the men v:e want: they are the men that will rise with its or with some other company. We cannot now get too many of them." And so the demand is spreading out in many another branch of science. The American technical schools arc turning out the product. It is these men that in later vears do the Inventing and the great pieces of executive work and make the discoveries. Is it any wonder that the youin OI r.nKI.'IIHl aim me V.u:iuu- III .?,e commencing to rome to this country lor technical training? THE 11LHMIT OF CAFE StALEA. Why ho Lived and Die.I on a Stupendous Clin', Within Sight unil Sound of the Ocenn. 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 interest lo all ages. At the extreme pitch of the cape a stupendous cliff rises sheer from the fretting waves for about a hundred feet. Then 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 inaccessible, and yet, perched upon a huge bowlder in its centre, a mass of rock detached from the mountain ages ago, is | a house. It is rudely built of wooden fragments ingeniously fitted together, j but its outlines convey at once the idea I of its designer having been an Anglo- j Saxon. It must be iirmly built, too, for | it is exposed to the full fury of wind re- i , ... an.l | oounuuiK J i um nit; iiiuuiiimii lca%-V'i M..M the observer Instinctively wonders why, if a house must be built on that shelf, so terribly exposed a position was selected. Then if he be fortunate he will ! hear its story, says IS. T. Bullet), in the London Spectator. About twenty-live 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 steamship. some l*!u tons register. 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 his 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 being ftite 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 Hying visit to old Rome from Naples had been possible, for the two olllcers. rejoicing in their happy young skipper's Joy. saw to It that no unnecessary cares should trouble him, and bore willing testimony, in order that he should get as much delight out of those halcyon days as possible, that the entire crew were as docile as could be wished, devoted to their bright commander and his beautiful wife. 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 Constantinople and fht Danube. Life would hardly be long enough to recount all the wonders of this most wonderful of wedding trips. And they sailed with hearts overbrimming with - ?? .V,?? Joy as me Diue sny auuic mrui nvcu.v^ welling over with sunlight. Wind and weather favored them; nothing occurred to cast a shadow over their happiness until, nearing Cape Malea 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 to the water's edge. To their peaceful sleep or quiet appreciation of the night's silvern splendors succeeded thu overwhelming flood, the hiss and roar of escaping steam, the suffocating embrace of death. In that dread tight for life all perished but one?he so lately the happiest of men?the skipper. Instinctively clinging to a piece of wreckage, he had been 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 nimble-footed flocks, ! had wandered down the precipitous side | of the mountain. They endeavored to | persuade him to come with them back to the world, but in vain. He would live, gratefully accepting some of their poor I provision, but from that watching place he would not go. ,-\nu tnose roue (jm?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 morsels of food and drink as sufficed for his stunted needs. And there, with his gaze fixed during all his waking hours upon that inscru- j table depth wherein all his bright hopes had suddenly been quenched, he lived [ until quite recent years, "the world forj getting, by the world forgot." a living I monument of constancy and patient, uncomplaining grief. By his humble friends, whose language he never learned, he was regarded as a saint, and when one day they came upon his lifeless body, fallen forward upon its knees at a little glazed window through which he was wont to look upon the sea where his dear one lay. they felt contirmed in their opinion of the sanctity of the hermit of Cape Malea. J.IXCOLX'S MKTIIPLACB To be Utilized a? nn Aiylum for Inebrietc*. Down In the Blue Grass region of Ken- I tucky, on the same farm where Abraham I Lincoln was horn anl spent his boyhood j days, says the Chicago Tribune, the St Luke's Society, of Chicago, is to estabfish a home for the inebriates of the South. A large hotel, small cottages and commodious dwellings will be erected by the socldty. and. though the land Is In the South, the negro will be made as welcome US ( lie w .mr, The Lincoln farm is in the town of Hodgenvllle. fifty miles south of Louis- | vllle. and consists of 110 acres of pasture land. On it is a spring ?>f mineral water, the fame of which is ureat below the Mason and Dixon line. It was owned by some prominent Methodists of Ithe South, among them the Rev J. \V. Bingham. Some time ago its owners decided to donate its use to charity, and they chose the St Luke's Society as the organization best suited to carry out their plans. The farm will be turned into a sanitarium. planned much after that now run by the society at Xos 1.710 to 1.71S Indiana avenue. On it will be taken only those who are addicted to drugs, liquors or tobacco. The treatment Is to In- similar to that given at the Chicago M ispital. Willie the officers of tile society are busy trying to get the Lincoln farm In shape, they are also at work establishing a branch within the Cook County jail. There prisoners known to lie victims .if the drug, liquor or tobacco habit arc given over to TV Miller and his assistant. I?r La Orange. Tile latter devotes all his time to them and lives in the same quarters with them. THE HEART OF MONTROSE II EQUE A Til EI) II Y THE MA HQ l'I S TO JUS XI EC K, I.Alt 1 X A Vlt.Il. Cructome I!ollc of a Valiant Scottish Hero and how It nai Mysteriously Lost? I.lttle Hope of tli" I'ltlmate Iteoovcry of the Hello, but Alter the I.apsn ol One Hundred Yearn the Heart ol the ( ralimu >1hj Onee Agnlli Host 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-abrac, 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 Boulogne. Pierre and little Marie may turn it up any day with their spades. "Qu'est-ce que e'est done," this little old. beaten, egg-shaped box of steel? Why, Pierre and Marie, It holds, if you only knew it. the ilust of a Scottish hero's heart, and the case itself was fashioned out of his good steel sword. Mor.trose knew Merehlston Castle. Edinburgh, well: it was, iu fact, a second home to him in his boyhood, for his sister Margaret had married Sir Archibald Napier when. Montrose was i> < / 7 years old, and he sDonc much of his ti.'.ie with them. The Xapiers had, besides, a town mansion within the precincts of Holyrood House; hut to littie Montrose, brought up in the country, the old 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 tlgure, in its clothes of "green camlet" or "mixed pargone" and "cloak with pasmmts." wandering with his bow and arrows about the parks, or, maybe, escaped from his watchful "pedagog," Master William Forrett, imperiling himself, hoylike, on the battlements 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 brother-in-law had died long before, and the owner of Merchlston in 1600 was Montrose's nephew, the second Lord Xapier. A great affection existed between Montrose and his niece by marriage. Lady Xapier; 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 supreme honor and a sacred trust. Montrose was executed at the Market Cross of Edinburgh on Tuesday, May 21, 16.10. 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 nfver 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 inai uracru iiu me nunu. Clothed in "tine 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," his 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 dismembered trunk was enclosed In a "little short chest" and burled on the Boroughmulr. The Boroughmulr was the usual place of execution and burial for the worst criminals; it was a place of evil reputation, little sought during the day and much to be shunned by night. No wonder, then, that some "adventuro?R jiili " \*mm ?rrW*~ffflTTTT stefcl to that grewsome spot, raise the hastily and none too deeply burled body, and.cut from it the heart of Montrose. The master of Merchlston was in exile In Holland; it was Bady Napier alone who planned the night excursion and saw it carried out. Did her heart fair her that May night, waiting at the foot of the turret 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 Napalr family. For a time, then, the heart was safe at ^ r?.rtUl,,fnn T f- n-oc Jln.i in closed In a little steel case made of the blade of Montrose's sword: the case was placed in a tine gold filigree box which had belonged to John Napier, the Inventor 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 Holland. and here begins the first part of its adventures, of which, unfortunately, no record now remains. For many years the heart was completely lost sight of, and any hope of ever regaining 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 Holland. 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, hut not for long. On the death of the lif;h Lord Napier It passed into the keeping of his only surviving daughter, Hester, afterward Mrs Johnston. Some years after her marriage Mrs Johnston was on a voyage to India with her husband, her little son, and ail their household goods, when their ship, which formed part of the licet under Commodore Johnston, was attacked by a French frigate, and a stiff fight ensued. Mr Johnston busied himself with four of the guns upon the quarter deck, while his wife, who had refused to go below, remained beside htm. u herpicallv obstinate figure, holding by the one hand her little boy, and in the other a thick velvet reticule, into which she had hurriedly crammed all the things she valued most, including, of course, the heart. In the middle of the light a splinter struck Mrs Johnston on the arm. wounding her severely. The velvet reticule gave little protection to its precious contents, and the gold filigree box was completely shattered, but the inner stee! 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 on board the Indianman to offer his thanks and congratulations to the lady and her husband, who had set the crew so gauam nn fA.uiii'n-. Arrived in India, it was easy to And a clever goldsmith, who constructed another gold filigree box in place -ji 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 Montrose'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 would never be wound- -1 or taken prisoner in battle. So one is not surprised to Karn that before long the urn and its contents were stolen, and in spite of every effort could not be traced. Mrs Johnston, however, discovered after some time that it had been sold f >r a large sum of money to a powerful chief in the neighborhood of Madura. It was part of the trainins of the little boy who had stood beside his parents during the attack on the lndiaman 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 expedition the boy distinguished himself in warding off the attack of a wild hog; whereupon the chief, to show his appreciation of the performance promised, in true Oriental fashion, ro give the lad practical ly anything he chose to ask. As this chief was the purchaser of the urn, young Johnston naturally begged that the family property might b handed back to him. The chief made a generous speech in reply. explaining that when he bought the urn and its contents he had no idea that they w- re stolon goods, and adding that "one brave man should always attend to the wishes of another brave man, whatever his religion or his race might be; therefore he considered it his duty to fulfil 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 returned home laden with gifts of ail 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. Having rebelled against the Nabob of Arcot, he was taken by English troops, and he and many of his family were executed. When the chief was told he would be put to death he referred to the story of Montrose. 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 Boulogne, who promised to ke! p 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 J of the heart of Montrose. I There would appear to be Tittle hope of I ?Vio ntrimarA 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 once again rest on Scottish soil. TVBEHCULOUS C'oWS VAXGEROVS Prof Koch'* Dictum Controverted In Germany as.KUew'nere. (From the Baltimore Sun.) Prof Koch's dictum that the tuberculosis of cows is not transmissible to man or child Is controverted In Germany, as elsewhere, with virtual unanimity. Prof Virchow opposes the view of the great bacteriologist and Is reinforced by Dr Johne. professor of pathological anatomy at Veterinary College of Dresden. In his essay, just published, Dr Johne says that "it is precisely the milk of -tuberculous cows that plays the chief part in cases of tuberculosis among children." Tol 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 manifested Itself in the scar of the wound, and afterward tuberculous bacilli were found In his sputum. The surgeon died of consumotion. and "at the post-mortem examination," the Doctor adds, "a considerable number of similar bacilli were found in the Joint of the deceased s mumo. nn tuuuuoiuu Is "that the bacillus of bovine tuberculosis is a tuberculous bacillus of less intensive power, which is perhaps less dangerous as a germ, of infection for normal grown-up human beings JT good health and strong powers of resisl^ce, but that it Is all the more destructlveno the tender organism of a child or to the organism of those grown-up persons who have We&k constitutlons, or who are lll-fej thartfare, I Infective germs." TilE MY8 TEll YOF SI.EET- IT A LK1SQ Soient!?t* are St*W"ui*led Over the Many Phase* of it?A Charleston Physician's Experience*. (From the Cincinnati Commercial.) "Sleep-walking is something better understood now than formerly, but psychologists are not thoroughly agreed in regard to many of the phases," observed a New York physician. "One of the recent cases, that of a young man out West walking ten miles to visit his father, and of an even more recent case, that of a young lady walking three miles on a cold night in her night gown, without awakening. upsets many of the previously accepted theories. It had been thought that exposure to intense cold as well as intense heat would awaken the sleep-walker, but in these cases, which are well authenticated, it appears that this opinion, while correct, possio.y, m me <uui?, ia always so. "In my early days, when attending lectures a: a medical college in Baltimore, I, with some other medical students, witnessed one of the famous sleep-walking cases that is quoted in many of the standard books. One night we were passing along Lexington street, where the Lexington 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 afternoon before, which was las: seen on the eaves of the roof of the market house. Darkness came on, however, before a thorough search fur the bird could be made, and it was given up. The girl I went to bed. and during the night left her j bed and returned to the market house and and climbed to Its roof. ' "This in itself was not a difficult task, I for there was a series of sheds leading to it. She walked the entire lengtn ot one side of the market, along the extreme 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. O., climbed to the roof and seized the girl. She awoke the instant he touched her. j and it was with the greatest difficulty | that he could keep ht'r from falling, for, while in her sleep she appeared to be an expert, she was a very poor climber when awake. It was a clear case of sleepwalking, and had she gone ten feet farther she would have found the bird, which had roosted for the night in the rain gutter which ran along the roof, and where it was found a few minutes afterward. Sleep-walking Is much more frequent than is generally understood, i though, as a rule, it is confined to chiii dren. I have known of several cases of j adults who would take walks In their sleep as often as once a week." *>SAVED nv THE MASONIC SIGN. (From the American Tyler.) During the memorable raid that Grant's army made on Petersburg, Ya. on April 2. lMio, when I>?e's lines were broken, a young Confederate otlieer lay on the road severely wounded, and when, without a moment's warning, a company of Federal cavalry rode down towards him at a full galop, he saw death staring him in the I face. His first thought was that possibly | there might be a Mason among tht-m, and - -j .1 Ifn/urn nnlv I he pave tne mk?.h m ui.mv.-i ? ?? to Masons. Then the Federal captain rode quickly to his side, dismounted and partI ed the company In the centre, without molesting the man In the least. He was I quickly picked up. though a prisoner, and I taken to the rear and tenderly cared for. and in the course of time entirely recovered his health. Brother H. \V. Mason, of Rockwell, T< x. a prominent physician, is anxious to learn the name and residence of the officer who saved his life in answer to a Masonic sign, and asks that this item be published in all Masonic Jour* nals.