The Baltimore County union. [volume], November 24, 1906, Image 1

About The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909

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VOL. 57. WHOLE No. 2185.
j&ijcrcfc Lauras.
GROVE FARM
FALLS ROAD,
North of Brooklandville, Md.
PRIZE WINNING—
Guernsey Cattle,
Berkshire Hogs,
Shropshire Sheep,
Colored Muscovy Ducks,
White Wyandotte Chickens.
FOB SALK—
BULL CALF, dropped May 2d, 1906, out of
Clare of Poplar Grove, 3d. „ .
BULL CALF, dropped March 19th, 1906,dam
the unbeaten cow “Lillie of Poplar Grove.”
Both by imported bull, "Spotswood’s Cock
of the Walk.”
THREE FINE BOAB PIGS, bred at Bilt
more. N. C., and the pick of about 40 pigß,
Just (this date, June 23d,) fit to wean.
Apply to JAS. McK. MERRIMAN,
B. F. D. Cockeysvflle. Md.
C. A P. Telephone -Lutherville 43k.
Oct. 6—y
fijli M fn
_ Oakleigh Station, Md. & Pa. R. R.,
2X Miles from Towson.
Constantly on hand
A LARGE STOCK OF MULES,
TO SUIT ALL PURPOSES.
Jqati —ALSO— mMmftm
Coach, Driving, : TTftTinrn
Saddle and : : ■ II K S KS
General Purpose liUIIUUU
FOR BALE OR EXCHANGE.
WHORSES BOARDED-a
C. & P. TELEPHONE.
DUANE H. RICE, Prop’r,
TOWSON, Md.
Oct. 13—ly
LOCUST VALE STOCK FARM
Has always on hand w|
100 HEAD OF MULES
J*eP"For all purposes. welßhlng
from 900 to 1,400 lbs.
Also, fine lot GENERAL UTILITY HORSES
for farm use.
Also, fine COACH TEAMS, TROTTERS, SAD
DLERS, Runabout, Combination and High
Knee-Acting COBS.
HORSES HANDLED AND BROKEN.
&r*Horses boarded during the winter.
E. COX, SOliTcO., Prop'rs
Successors to E. E. McCleary,
TOWSON, Ml,
Persons coming from Baltimore will take
Towson car. Both phones. (Bept.22—ly
gXiejccXlanjcuuß.
BASTA^m^OIS^STAND;
REBUILT SINCE THE FIRE.
NEW HOUSE FULL of NEW GOODS.
Wm. D. Randall,
410 East Baltimore Street,
Near Holliday Street, BALTIMORE, Md.
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALER IN
STAPLE AND FANCY
Bg
-AND FINEST BRANDS OF
VIMS, LIQUORS and CIGARS,
CANNED GOODS, Ac.
BEST FACILITIES for supplying goods at
MOST REASONABLE PRICES, and with the
greatest dispatch. ~ .
* A call respectfully solicited, and taUtfaction ai
to price* ana quality of good* guaranteed.
Mch. 81—ly j,
PARR BROS.
DRUGGISTS
COVANSTOWN, Md.
Great Rheumatic Cure, Rheumigo.
Price 600. Cures it In all its forms. Send for trial
bottle. No benefit no pay. Judge for yourself.
gSTYour wants solicited for Pure Drugs and
Chemicals.
Choice line of Hair Brushes, Combs, Perfumery,
Proprietary Medicines, eto., at reasonable prices.
Proscriptions Properly Compounded.
We also carry a line of Glass, Putty, Ready
Mixed Paint, Oil, Turpentine, Lead, Colors in
Oil, Paint Brushes, etc., Hardware. Nails, Locks,
Hinges, Files, Chisels, Knives, Whips, Rakes.
Poultry Wire, Shovels, Hoes, Spades, etc.
49-Quotations cheerfully furnished.”#*
FARR BROS., Govans, Md.
Apl. 28—ly
KEHFGL & ARHIGER
h TAILORS •
14 N. Charles Street,
Next to new B. &O. Building, BALTIMORE.
SDRS FHOE {20.09 DP.
Nov. 17—ly
TREES, SHRUBS
AND
Ornamental Plants.
VEGETABLE PLANTS
-IN SEASON.-
Rmtoi Floral and Nursery Co.
BUXTON, Md.
June 2—ly
J.T. KAUFFMAN* SON,
Harness, Saddles,
and stable supplies,
408 ENSOR STREET,
Oppo. No. 6 Engine House, BALTIMORE, Md.
C. * P. Telephone.
June3ltDec.l6
For “The Union.”
LINES
Suggested by the Proposed New Building, to he
Erected at a Coat of $500,000, for the
Young Ron’s Christian Asso
ciation of Baltimore.
BY EDWIN HIGGINS. -
An open door,
A helping hand.
Forever more
Here, X wonld stand,
A beacon light,
A sheltering arm.
In storm or night
To save from barm;
In token of the Loving Hand
Pierced for all of every land;
The pierced hand is Mercy’s spring;
It’s crimson stream doth pardon bring.
Here I would stand
A helping hand;
Forever more
An open door,
A voice of song
Mid city’s throng;
A radiant light
To lead aright;
Ne’er to grow dim
Lead up to Him.
BURNING THE MORTGAGE.
BY C. A. STEPHENS. ,
At exactly eleven o’clock on New
year’s morning there was a carious
ceremony at “the old Edward’s place”
in Maine. The word ceremony, in
fact, but faintly describes what hap
pened. It was more like a jubilee,
with the semblance of a barbaric rite
added. All the Edwards kith and
kin were there, with a goodly num
ber of their friends and neighbors.
At the farther end of the garden,
in front of the farmhouse, there is a
knoll, at the top of which a mossy
ledge crops out. On this ledge there
was a pyre erected of dry wood, pitch,
and rolls of curled birch bark —a fine
pile of it. At the center stood an
iron rod, set in a hole, drilled in the
ledge, and here an old oppressor of
the Edwards homestead was burned
at the stake !
This sounds so savage that I make
baste to say that the old oppressor
was not an animate form of flesh and
blood, but merely an effigy.
The effigy was a masterpiece in its
way, the very simulacrum of rapacity,
with a face like the fabled Harpies,
and hands like talons, hugging to its
breast a folded, yellowed paper.
That yellowed paper was a mort
gage, which had rested on the home
farm for one entire generation.
The history of that mortgage is so
much like thousands of others that it
would hardly be worth relating if, at
the last moment, a noble effort to lift
it had not been crowned by success.
The story of that effort is one I like
to tell.
The Edwards farm adjoins the one
where I lived when a boy. There
were three hundred acres of tillage,
pasture and woodland, with a well
built two-story house and two large
barns. The Edwards children
Chester, Thomas, Catherine, Eunice
—were my youthful neighbors and
schoolmates.
In those days the farm was well
tilled, unencumbered and prosperous’;
but in an evil hour a traveling agent
cajoled Jonas Edwards, the father,
into buying the State right to make
and sell a certain newly patented au
tomatic farm gate, for the sum of two
thousand dollars. Edwards had a
thousand dollars in the savings bank ;
he drew out this and raised the other
thousand by mortgaging the home
stead.
It was the old story. The much
vaunted gate proved a gate to trouble
for Edwards. He was never able to
sell it. But if the gate proved illu
sory, the mortgage was tangible. The
farmer spent the remaining fifteen
years of his life paying interest on it.
Thoughts of the mortgage were
said to have sadly embittered the last
moments of his life. He had his sons
bring in the “model” of that patent
gate and burn it. “Never play the
fool as I’ve done,” he said to Chester
and Tom.
After his father’s death Chester
Edwards “went home to live,” as
people say in Maine. The family
then consisted of his mother, his
sister Eunice, who was an invalid
from spinal curvature, and his moth
er’s brother, Uncle Horace, who had
lost a leg in the Civil War, but for
some reason did not draw a pension.
Chester began by selling off the wood
and timber on the old farm, thereby
paying the accumulated interest. He
then embarked in the dairy business,
but did not prove a successful farmer,
and daring the fifth season lost almost
his entire herd of cows from tubercu
losis. Becoming discouraged, he gave
up and set off suddenly for the Klon
dike gold region.
A nephew then carried on the farm
for a year, but did not remain.
Meanwhile Thomas, the younger
son, had become a Methodist minis
ter. He was unable to do anything
toward reducing the mortgage.
‘‘The mortgage will get the old
place now, and no help for it,” the
neighbors said.
But there was still another mem
ber of the family to be heard from—
Catherine, the younger daughter.
Largely by her own efforts, Cathe
rine Edwards had graduated from the
State normal school, and obtained a
position as instructor in another nor
mal school at a good salary. We
imagined that Catherine would aid
her mother and sister, but never sup
posed that she would come home to
care for them there.
But after Chester left, Catherine
never hesitated for a moment. She
resigned her position, bade farewell
to all prospects of advancement as a
teacher, and came home.
She had saved seven hundred dol
lars. With this she paid a year’s in
terest, had the leaky roofs repaired,
and hired such help as was necessary,
indoors and out. Yet what could
she do with that old farm and its
mortgage ?
That season, however—l9o3—the
old place quietly put forward one of its
natural assets.
Our county is in what is known as
“the apple belt” of New England.
Apple trees spring up everywhere
here, and if grafted and trimmed,
soon bear well. Although a cripple,
Uncle Horace Flint had been in the
habit every spring of hobbling about
from one young apple tree to another,
setting Baldwin scions and trimming
the trees. He had not thought his
work amounted to much, but he liked
to be doing something.
The young trees were scattered
about the fields and pastures, along
fences and in the borders of the wood
land ; and there were far more of
them than the neighbors knew of.
The year 1903 was an “apple year.”
Every young tree on the farm was
bending down under its load. A'great
crop with the farmers of the apple
belt is far from being an unmixed
blessing, however. They rarely get
more than a dollar a barrel for their
apples. The barrels cost them thirty
five cents each, and as the expense of
hauling them is ten or fifteen cents a
barrel more, there remains but fifty
cents to pay for picking, sorting and
barreling. If the farmer does this by
hired labor he may clear ten cents a
barrel, or he may not. For Cathe
rine, therefore, a crop ol seven or
eight hundred barrels of apples on
the trees meant little if gathered, bar
reled and sold in the usual way.
“It seems a shame,” one neighbor
said to her, “but it will be about as
well for you to let those apples har
vest themselves.”
Against such waste of nature’s
bounty, however, Catherine’s New
England thrift revolted. She began
to look into the apple problem ; and
the result of her study of it is worth
recording.
She purchased no barrels, and the
only help she hired was a boy to push
a wheelbarrow. She herself, with
Uncle Horace and Eunice, went out
to the trees to gather up the fruit.
The boy wheeled the apples in, two
bushels a load, and stowed them in
bins, built up in two rooms in the
house, where, later, they could be
kept from freezing by means of a
stove in the cellar beneath.
Catherine had thought this all out
in advance, and she had sent off for
four “evaporators,” payment for
which used nearly all her remaining
money.
Carelessly dried apple, on strings,
brings no more than six or eight
cents a pound, but nicely sliced,
“evaporated”apple always commands
a much better price. She had resol
ved to put that whole crop of Bald
wins into evaporated apple.
But to peel, slice and dry seven or
eight hundred barrels of apples is a
long task. It was in securing inex
pensive “help” that Catherine prov
ed herself a skillful organizer of labor,
as well as a public benefactor.
In almost every rural neighbor
hood, village or small town there is
sure to be some old “aunty,” “grand
ma,” or widow in indigent circum
stances, who has outlived the most
of her earthly ties, and must go to
the “town farm,” or subsist on suf
ference with some grudging relative.
Life grows very dreary to these old
persons. There seems to be no place
for them. In cases where a few hun
dred dollars can be raised for them,
they sometimes go to an “old ladies’
home.”
Within three miles of the Edwards
homestead there were two of these
old souls, “Aunt Netty” Stiles and
“Grandma” Frost, who were by no
means helpless or feeble, but had
merely outlived their welcome on the
earth.
Catherine first made the old farm
house dining-room cozy and warm,
and then invited Aunt Netty and
Grandma Frost to come and sit with
her mother and Eunice and slice ap
ples. She offered them seventy-five
cents a week and board. Moreover,
she took them all into her confidence
and told them her plans for saving
the old homestead.
Uncle Horace peeled the apples on
a paring-machine, and the old women
sliced them. Their tongues ran ;
they were as chipper as crickets.
They had not had so good a time for
years. Catherine had to look to it
that they did not overwork. They
produced more sliced apple than the
four evaporators would dry. Uncle
Horace had to contrive a fifth drier
over a large stove out in the wood
house. Two more forlorn old women
from the town farm came on foot,
begging for work. They were
taken in.
Apple-drying went on from the Ist
of October till the middle of January,
and the whole crop was dried. Before
March Ist Catherine had sold the en
tire output at eleven cents a pound.
The result was an object-lesson to
every apple farmer in that locality.
She received fifteen hundred and sixty
dollars; and owing to the skill with
which she had managed, the entire
expense of drying the apples were less
than a hundred and seventy dollars.
There was also this other curious
result: the old women did not want
to go home. In fact, the two from
the town farm cried when the last of
the apples were cut.
Then Catherine determined to keep
them all over for the next season.
She bought a lot of yarn and set them
to knitting socks and woolen gloves.
In fact, she had started a happy old
women’s home before she knew it!
And the number of applications which
came to her from homeless old women
and from those who had aged rela
tives on their hands whom they wish
ed to be rid of would have been
laughable, if it had not been pathetic.
But for the time being Catherine could
do no more than keep those whom
she had.
The year 1904 also proved to be an
apple year ; and again the whole crop
was put into evaporated apple, two
other old women having been admit
ted to the “circle of slicers.”
By this time, too, Catherine had
come to realize the possibilities of her
new business. All the apple trees
were carefully looked after, and two
hundred young trees set out. She
planted, too, a hundred and fifty plum
and pear trees, and an acre of black
berry shrubs ; for now her design was
to make a new venture, canning pears,
plums and berries in glass jars. In
fact, it would not surprise me if a
few years hence this neglected old
homestead were producing five thous
and dollars’ worth of fruit annually.
TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1906.
Catherine appears to have solved
two important problems in social econ
omy : first, how to make a run-out
farm pay a handsome profit; and, sec
ond, how to utilize and make happy
a class of homeless and forlorn old
women who seem to have no place in
the world. With their wages in
their pockets, and the prospect of
home and companionship ahead, it is
quite remarkable how those old wo
men have cheered up.
Of course there were many expen
ses for the first two years. The house
and outbuildings had to be repaired ;
and it was not until this present
autumn —three years from the time
she came home —that Catherine saw
her way clear to pay off the mortgage
and free the old place from its twenty
years of bondage.
THE TRUTH ABOUT ANGORAS.
There are three possible sources of
profit in Angora goats —the fleece,
their wonderful ability to clear brush
•and their natural increase from year
to year (about 50 per cent.) Then
their value as food cannot be ignored,
for Angora mutton is pretty good if
you cau forget that it is “goat”—or
else not let the other fellow know it.
They also fertilize their pasture
lands, and the skins, although infe
rior to the common goat, can be used
for leather.
They really possess little value as
milk producers because what is gain
ed on milk is lost on fleece. Milking
keeps the goats from growing, and if
they are worth having at all, their
mohair will produce more annually
than their milk. The common milch
goat is unquestionably their superior
in this respect.
The one fact that even their malign
ers can’t deny is their ability to clear
waste brush laud and convert it into
pasturage. Given brush briers,
weeds and pasture land, the Angora
will take the former in perference, as
they are browsers by nature and
thrive much better on rough wild
land. They will eat almost any kiud
of scrub stuff and even the poisonous
weeds. By this constant browsing
on the leaves the brush soon dies.
Practically every kind of vegetation
that grows from Maine to Florida is
food for them. And they will thrive
on ranges where sheep would starve.
The first thing, then, for a farmer
to determine is whether this charac
teristic of eating everything in sight
is an advantage or a detriment. If
their browsing is going to destroy
young timber in localities where tim
ber is valuable and the cleared land
practically worthless, they are cer
tainly a serious detriment. It’s a
question of forestry or goating.
Don’t try both in the same lot. In
order to direct their energies where
they will be appreciated they will
have to be fenced in on a limited
range. Then comes the question,
Will the cleared land be worth as
much as the bare cost of the fence?
This doesn’t mean an ordinary fence
that will turn cattle, but something
they can’t crawl under, climb over
or butt through and in the West a
fence that will not only keep goats
in, but the wolves and wildcats out.
—Claud E. Miller, in “Farming."
GRUMBLING HUSBANDS.
The publication by a London news
paper of scores of letters on “Grum
bling Husbands” draws out scores of
other letters on “Nagging Wives.”
The husband who sulks or swears at
the breakfast-table, the wife who
overcooks the mutton and undercooks
the potatoes, the woman who is ex
travagant and silly, and the man
who is stingy and exacting, fill the
printed columns with their unlovely
faces; but no one seems much the
happier for the discussion.
The truth lies deeper than any
single experience is likely to drive.
But good cooking on the part of the
wife and cheerful paying of bills on
the part of the husband, economy
and generosity each in its place, tact
in the training of children, success
in earning a good income, and a
thousand circumstances likes these
will not insure domestic happiness.
Even Dove, the magician, cannot do
that, although he promises blithely
to do so.
Skill in the art of living is the es
sential for a happy home —and it
must be possessed by both husband
and wife, even though in varying
amounts. It is exactly like skill in
playing the piano or running a com
plicated machine —to be acquired by
practice, and to be preserved by prac
tice.
An irritable word, unregretted, or
a glum silence is an offense against
the art. Unselfishness is the very
root of it. Courtesy is its fair blos
som. The woman who has skill in
the art of living would as soon think
of turning a drove of swine loose in
her dainty home as of letting out
there a black herd of reproaches and
criminations. The husband would
bring thieves and outlaws under his
roof as soon as fault-findings and ex
actions.
In any large view of life these
flaws in its most intimate relations take
on their true hideousness. Neither
a cooking-school nor a college course
can cure the disease of which they
are the symptoms. That can be cur
ed only by a heart-stirring realization
of that divine order by which tides
and stars and systems move in their
appointed course, and by which dis
cords and contention meet their ap
pointed end of misery and wreck.
Squire Hamilton, one of the best
known members of the Main legal
profession many years ago, once sat
at a meagerly laden board. The di
ning-room had been newly and splen
didly furnished, whereas the dinner
was very slender. While some of
the guests were flattering the host on
his taste in decoration, Sqire Hamil
ton said, “For my part, I woul drath
er see less gilding and more carv
ing.” ______
It is easier to apologize for self as
sertion than for neglect.
THE SEWING WOMAN.
There was once a young woman
on a farm who wanted to be indepen
dent, but had heard that girls who
have to pay their board and room
rent and washing in cities have little
left to show for their work; so she
sat down to think the matter over
carefully. She could sew well, if
not scientifically—so she decided to
take a course in a good establishment
in the nearest town. When this was
accomplished, she blossomed forth as
a full-fledged sewing woman.
At first she hired a room in the
town and got her own suppers and
breakfast, with dinners at a restau
rant, and charged one dollar per day
for her services. She was employed
mostly to help with school clothes
for children and the common sewing
of families, since she had no one to
Recommend her, and had to begin at
the foot of the ladder. Her room
cost two dollars per week, her din
ners one dollar and suppers and
breakfasts one dollar more, so that
she fouad herself, at the end of the
first moith, believing all the doleful
stories she had ever heard about star
vation wiges and hard times for
working girls.
About the third month she went to
the country for a week purely to ac
commodate n old friend with her
sewing, and it was while there that
she saw the golden opportunity with
in her grasp. At the end of the week
she had six dcllars, and her board
and lodging h&d not cost a cent.
True, she had to pay for her room in
town whether she was there or not,
but in the country those things were
free as air to the worker, and the lady
of the house was glad to have a little
help without having to drive to town
to a dressmaker. Well, it was not
many days before the room in town
was to rent, the gasoline stove and
small outfit of dishes sent home and
the wise young woman looking for
work in the country. She now has
all she can do, and is making money,
besides having better board than in
town, and not compelled to live
alone in a cheerless back bedroom of
an apartment house.
This little story contains a moral
that many young girls might heed.
Instead of rushing off to town to find
employment, it is well to be sure we
are not running away from our best
chances right at home. Not every
girl can sew well, but most of them
can learn. In these days of fashion
magazines and paper patterns it
would seem that no one need go far
astray in the matter of styles, and
there are few neighborhoods well
supplied with dressmakers in the
country. It is so much easier for
the busy housekeeper to have a help
er in the house than to go to town,
especially in winter, that a good
dressmaker need not lack employment.
One young woman who is very skill
ful with her needle has her time en
gaged months ahead, and she hardly
has time to take a vacation even in
hot weather. Some of her friends
urge her to open an establishment in
town and employ help, but she is
wise enough to stay where she is sure
of a steady income and low expenses.
Of course the first thing to have is
a knowledge of dressmaking, but
there are many other things that en
ter into the make-up of a successful
sewing woman. One busy mother
said she would rather struggle along
alone than to employ a certain young
woman who was very clever with her
needle, because she always looked
with disfavor upon making over gar
ments, though paid exactly the same
as for new ones. Every one knows
it is harder to make over than at
first band, but most mothers have
more or less of this to do every sea
son for the boys and girls. The
dressmaker could and would do the
work well, but she had such a haugh
ty way about her that the poor wo
man would not employ her. Anoth
er thing the sewing woman should
avoid as she does jioison, is gossip,
since few people enjoy being talked
about, and it is vulgar, any way, to
carry doubtful stories. In almost
every home the worker is likely to
see and hear things that .are private
property, and she will soon lose her
her hold upon her patrons if she
talks about their faults and failings.
One of the fine things about the
business is that it requires little cap
ital. Fashion books, neat clothes,
sharp scissors and a well-fitted work
basket are really all the capital re
quired, aside from dressmaking
knowledge and sound common sense.
By sticking to country patrons the
sewing woman can make money, be
among her home people, and enjoy
life a hundred fold more than by
working in a city. —Hilda Richmond,
in Country Gentleman.
A NEW BBEED OF SHEEP.
Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, the
man who inflicted upon the world the
tortures of the telephone, has for six
teen years been engaged in the more
prosaic work of promulgating a new
type of sheep. His evolution is based
upon the selection of ewes showing
rudimentary nipples on their udders.
These have been nurtured and devel
oped until every ewe has four func
tional nipples instead of the ordinary
two found in all other sheep. In
some instances the nipples have in
creased to six, so that Dr. Bell is
qnite sanguine that he will have no
difficulty in fixing a type of quarto
nippled ewes, which, strangely
enough, are almost invariably the
producers of twin lambs, and it is
along this line of investigation that
the doctor’s efforts have been direc
ted. One of the freaks this season
is a ewe lamb bearing eight well
formed nipples. The only inference
that we draw from the doctor’s suc
cess is that he is one man in a thou
sand who has eyes and can see some
thing. The trouble with most of us
is that we do not pretend to see very
much. —Field and Fatm.
The man who matches his socks
and his neckties isn’t apt to take the
time to earn either.
TRAVELED PRESIDENTS.
In the sense of having sojourned
abroad even Washington was a trav
eled man, though he went outside
the United States but once. That
was when, in his youth, he accom
panied Lawrence Washington in a
tour of the West Indies, which the
latter made in the vain hope of re
storing his health. But of Washing
ton’s associates, both of his prime and
his later life, many were distinguish
ed foreigners, and his quick percep
tion of the trend of European affairs
was undoubtedly stimulated by his
cosmopolitan acquaintanceship. In
the course of the revolution Wash
ington could draw for information on
the stores of the experience of Lafay
ette, Rochambeau, Count Fersen,
Kosciusko and Steuben, two bril
liant Frenchmen, a gifted Swede, a
famous. Pole and a most observant
German. Washington was visiteH
after the revolution by most foreign
ers traveling in this country. He
did not need to go to Europe, says
the Boston Tianscript. Europe came
to him.
Our second and third presidents,
Adams and Jefferson, had seen mnch
of the “great world” abroad. They
knew it at first hand. Both had
been diplomats and Jefferson at least
a close student of the social conditions
of Europe on the eve of the French
revolution. Madison appears to have
been a home-staying man ; but James
Monroe, who succeeded Madison, was
twice in France —once as minister
and once as special envoy. His name
will ever be associated with the Lou
isiana purchase. He also carried on
important negotiations in Great Bri
tain and Spain, which made him fa
miliar with the society of London and
Madrid.
John Quincy Adams may be de
scribed as travel bred from boyhood.
He was at school in Paris when but
11 years old, and in his subsequent
diplomatic career he acquired a knowl
edge of Europe which few Americans
of his time could rival. London,
Berlin, St. Petersburg were familiar
cities to him. He watched at close
range the great game on the Euro
pean chess board, and when he be
came secretary of state simply moved
from one department of diplomacy to
another.
Martin Van Buren was the next
of our presidents to gain a foreign
experience. He was our minister to
Great Britain just long enough to
feel the whole bitterness of a forced
recall when the senate refused to con
firm his nomination. His martyrdom
helped toward making him president,
however, greatly to the chagrin of
those who thought they had put an
ineffaceable humiliation upon him.
William Henry Harrison was occu
pying a diplomatic post in South
America when Jackson was inaugura
ted, and “Tippecanoe” did not save
him from removal.
Not until sixteen years after Van
Buren went out of the White House
did we have a president who had
known the old world by travel and
residence. Buchanan had been at one
time our minister to St. Petersburg,
and later had represented us at the
court of St. James. Although the
facilities for European travel were
greatly improved after 1850, of all
our presidents since Buchanan, Roose
velt is the only one who appears to
have acquired familiarity with Europe
by travel previous to becoming a
presidential candidate. Europe, in
deed, seems to have been considered,
the resort of ex-presidents. Fillmore,
Pierce and Grant traveled extensive
ly in the old world, and Benjamin
Harrison went abroad as chief coun
sel for Venezuela before the arbitra
tion tribunal. Pierce, Taylor and
Grant are to be included among those
who had been beyond our borders be
fore their candidacies, for military
service carried them to Mexico.
The emphasis which Mr. Bryan’s
friends are placing upon his extensive
foreign travels as a qualification for
the presidency suggests that the oc
cupants of that office have been thus
favored more than would be general
ly supposed, especially the presidents
of the earlier half of the century,
when travel was much less general
than now. No president had ever
been around the world before his
election to office, to be sure, and
there are no immediate signs that a
new precedent will be established.
PISHING A-HORBBBACK.
A somewhat novel method of fish
ing was employed by the “Padding
Sisters,” whose experiences are given
in Outing. They did their fishing
on horseback, using two mounts,
known as Grace and Ginger.
The horse Grace had the added
value of a training in trout fishing,
and fishing was good in the south
fork of the Snake, the trout ranging
from 1 to 2 pounds. Grace would
work across the riffle, up to her sides
in the swift-running water, while her
rider cast a gray palmer with a yellow
body up, down and across.
It was laughable to watch the horse
when a fish was hooked. Slowly,
patiently, cautiously Grace would
amble toward the shore, watching
the frantic attempts of the fish to es
cape, stepping sideways in an effort
to give her rider better chance to
play it, and always sighing in appa
rent relief and satisfaction when the
fish was finally landed.
That horse keenly enjoyed the
sport. Ginger did fairly well, but
had a bored air through the whole
performance. The other horses
would have none of it.
The deep water, the whipping of
the rod, the swishing of the line,
seemed to get on their nerves and
they would plunge and snort and
make for the shore just as a 2-pound
beauty was rising to the fly. The
deep water and swift current made
fishing on foot almost impossible.
“Just before poor old Dooley died
he made his wife promise that she
would not marry again.” “Poor
old chap; he always was kind to his
fellow men.”
GHOSTLY COLONIAL BOXANCE.
In 1648 Nicolas Hervey, a near rel
ative of the governor of Virginia of
that name and a member of the gen
eral assembly of Maryland, received
from London a land grant of 1000
acres lying on the south shore of the
Patuxent, then in Calvert and now
in St. Mary’s county.
He was a bluff old soldier, who
had fought in the wars in Flanders,
writes Pam Beckwith, in the Balti
more Sun. He was commissioned by
Lord Baltimore’s captain to prevent
the encroachment of the Indians upon
the new settlements. He built him
self a home in a beautiful cove at the
mouth of Town Creek, on a sloping
hill overlooking the Patuxent river
and Chesapeake Bay. The bricks
he used were imported as ballast
from the mother country. Here he
married and lived, respected by all
for many years. He served the prov
ince in the general assembly, and at
his house the courts met. He had
one child, a daughter Frances, who,
growing to womanhood, was wooed
and won by a newcomer to the colony,
George Beckwith, “gentleman and
planter,” as stated in the old records
at Annapolis.
George Beckwith, who had emi
grated to the province but shortly be
fore, was the scion of one of the old
est and most prominent families of
Yorkshire, England. It was a love
match, and it was the custom of the
lovers, in the gloaming of the even
ing, to sit beneath the spreading elm
on the slope of the hill overhanging
the bay. "They had four children, a
son and three daughters, whose de
scendants are to be found in Mary
land and other states at the present
time. Urgent business recalled Beck
with to Yorkshire in 1675, and the
family, friends, neighbors and work
men of the plantation all congregated
at the landing place to bid the hus
band, father, friend and master god
speed.
The vessel, with sails ready set,
lay at anchor in the offing. The
small boat, manned by four robust
slaves of the plantation, with oars
raised, waiting the last word. As
the godspeed were all said, the hus
band, taking his wife in his arms,
said in a loud voice so that all could
hear: “Do not weep, sweetheart,
for, living or dead, I shall come back
to you.”
Months passed away and no word
came from the husband and father.
The disconsolate wife and mother at
dusk each evening took her seat be
neath the elm and expectantly waited
the return of her beloved. As days
passed a visible change took place,
and gradually she became more frail,
and at last was laid away in the little
garveyard a few rods up the hill.
It was not long before a slight and
misty figure was seen, dressed all in
somber black, seated beneath the elm
on the lawn on moonlight nights,
gazing out into the dim distance of
the bay, and as darkness drew on it
would slowly vanish. Whence she
came and whither she went none
knew —possibly back to her resting
place in the little graveyard on the
hill. Months had rolled into two
years when, on a bright moonlight
night, the lights of a large ship were
seen entering the Patuxent. More
and more distinct became the form of
a majestic ship of the sea, with every
sail in place, of ghostly whiteness.
The news soon spread from planta
tion to plantation, and many persons
assembled at the landing place, ex
pecting the sad homecoming of the
husband and father. The ship came
to anchor with all her sails still to
the wind—so unseemly an act that a
shudder passed over the onlookers.
A small boat was seen to leave the
vessel, but with only one figure, a
tall man wrapped in a long mantle
and his broad-brimmed hat, fastened
with a single black feather, drawn
upon his forehead. Motionless the
cavalier stood, until, approaching the
lauding place, the pale, handsome
features of Beckwith were distinctly
seen by all.
An awful stillness fell upon the
visitors at the wharf. None was pre
pared to tell him of the death of his
wife. A gentle wind from the di
rection of the mansion on the hill
was felt, and all, involuntarily turn
ing in that direction, saw approach
ing the figure of his wife. The fig
ure of the husband and father sprang
upon the landing and, clasping his
ghostly wife in his arms, in a loud
voice said: “As promised, sweet
heart, living or dead, I have return
ed,” and as the startled onlookers
looked again, cavalier, lady, boat,
and vessel had all disappeared. It
was shortly afterward learned from
an incoming vessel that George Beck
with had died in London the year
before.
In the long 250 years that have
followed the two figures of cavalier
and lady have frequently been seen
standing beneath the elm, tree, al
ways in somber black, their eyes al
ways directed toward the pathway of
incoming vessels.
The plantation passed into other
hands, and the old brick house, long
since in ruins, was, about 1858, clear
ed away, and the then owner com
menced to build a modern home upon
the old foundations. Hardly had
the framework been placed and
weatherboarded than strange noises
were heard. The building was aban
doned and the house is still empty.
There is an old tradition in the fami
ly that never will the old plantation
home be inhabited until a descendant
of George and Frances Beckwith be
comes the owner. Then the manor
house will be rebuilt and the old
plantation will again bloom in old
time style, taking its former place
among the baronial manors of Mary
land.
“Jimmy’s got a great scheme to
get out o’ school these nice days.”
‘‘How does he work it ?” “He goes
out an’ washes his face at recess an’
the teacher thinks he’s sick an’ sends
him home.”
ESTABLISHED 1850.
GLIMPSE OP MABCUS DAL7.
C. P. Connolly, state deputy for
Montana of the Knights of Colum
bus, is writing “The Story of Mon
tana,” for McClure's Magazine. In
the September issue he describes
Marcus Daly and his connection with
the great copper mines of Butte. Mr.
Connolly writes with rare power and
with thorough knowledge. We give
a few paragraphs below.
Inseparably linked with the discov
ery and development of this treasure
trove of the hills is the name of Mar
cus Dale, one of the most remarkable
men who ever came to the west, and
one of the two great protagonists
whose personal feud is a large part
of Montana’s history. Through the
treasure of the Butte hill, Daly was
suddenly elevated from the ranks of
the miuers to the most powerful sway
any individual ever achieved over a
western American community.
No multi-millionaire ever came in
to closer contact with all the ele
ments of a turbid and unblending
population, or exerted such influence
upon them. Around him were his
old companions of the mining levels
of the Comstock in Nevada, whom
he had known in his early struggles.
Daly was big-hearted and generous,
and he assisted these cronies by giv
ing them temporary leases on por
tions of his property, allowiug them
to enter the ground and take out
wealth enough to live in luxury for
the remainder of their days. Often
times he did not know or care how
much they took. These men in turn
emulated the generosity of their pa
tron, and Butte in time became
known for many an odd tale of ex
travagance, and many a touching
story of charity.
Dale was a man of medium height
and stocky figure. A splendid, full
rounded head topped a well-knit
body. His eye was marvelously
clear, and his voice, in conversation,
was low and mellow. His feet were
small and his hands, despite the hard
ships of his early life, were delicate
and sharply as a woman’s. He had
had no early advantages. He was
born in Ireland and left that country
when he was not yet fifteen. He
sold newspapers in New York and
later obtained employment as mes
senger in a mercantile or banking
house in that city, where he saved
enough money to take him by water
to California. From there he drifted
up to the Comstock in Nevada, and
then went to Montana. He would
have forced himself up through pov
erty and obscurity had he never dis
covered the Butte hill. No man was
shrewder in his every-day intercourse
with men. Few knew the real work
ings of his mind —he seemed to divine
the mental processes of others. He
did not belong to that race of poverty
stricken and superior mefr-wbo-ae-——
Balzac said, can do everything for
the fortunes of others but nothing
for their own.
Daly’s ranch in the Bitter Root
Valley, 150 miles west of Butte, was
his favorite hobby. It was six miles
in length and as wide as the valley
that is hemmed by the shadow-drap
ed, crepuscular mountains which rise
sheer and somber into the sky above
it. Here was the famous “Tammany
Hall,” a stable that housed Ham
burg, Ogden, Inverness, Bathampton
and Tammany. Here these turf
heroes were groomed and pampered
like the horses of oriental kings.
Miles of electric light wires and
water pipes connected the different
stables and covered trotting tracks.
Dotting the great expanse of foothill
and prairie were the arbor-shaded
lodges of the foremen and keepers
of the ranch, gemming the fields with
clustering islands of green, and or
namenting the deep vistas of the
driveways. Along these were deer
friths, where the game of the hills
frolicked and sported in heedless cap
tivity. This was the summer home
of the copper king, and here he se
cluded himself from the turmoil of
the mines and entertained friends.
On this ranch he spent millions. A
single irrigating ditch cost him
$ 200,000.
LOST HEB PERQUISITE.
There are people who make a
boast of their timidity, and Mrs. Sta
oleton is among the number.
“I was born so,” she announced
with plaintive pride to a comparative
stranger one day. “I inherit it from
ray mother. She was afraid of al
most all animals. She never travel
ed, and she was in absolute terror of
thunder showers and of high winds
and of hail storms.”
“Dear me 1” said the listener, try
ing to be properly sympathetic. *
“How little enjoyment she must
have had !”
“She was just like me in tempera
ment,” said the timid one pensively.
“She didn’t mind her sufferings so
much if they were only understood,
and she didn’t conceal them.
“Now, I am in abject fear of
spiders, and do you know at a place
I visited one summer a great spider
was crawling up my shirt, and one of
my friends took it off and flung it
away without saying one word to me.
If I hadn’t happened to turn quickly
I should never have known there
had been a spider near me! As I
told her when I recovered from my
hysterics, I should have thought she
would have known better, as she
was well aware that spiders make
me faint. But I think she’ll never-'*
do such a thing again !”
“Say, papa, you was tellin’ Mr.
Crummage ’bout a eagle on th’
wing. Which wing was it ?”
“You don’t understand, Bobby.
It was a soaring eagle I shot. ’ ’
“Did it make him sore when you
shot him, papa?”
“No, no, Bobby. The eagle was
up—up in the air—enjoying a long
fly.” •
“Do eagles eat long flies, papa !”
“Jane, why don’t yott put the
child to bed ” ?