Newspaper Page Text
* i ~ issued semi-weeklt. LM.&RIST & SONS, Publishers, j % ^teurspaper: 4or (he promotion of (he jjolitiral, Social, ^ricultural, and q|oniTnet[nal gntyrqsts of (he |eojle. "established 1855." yqrkville. s. o., wednesday, jtjjste 6, 1900. jsto. 45. A DREAM AND ITS BY REV. CBA8 Author of "In His Steps, What Wou Philip Stn CHAPTER VII. As the engine drew near the scene of the wreck a great crowd could be seen standing about the track. Before the train came to a stop Robert Hardy leaped down from the cab and struggled forward, uttering cries of which he himself probably was not conscious. The accident had occurred upon a bridge which spanned a small river in the vicinity of Baldwin, near which town Mr. Hardy's brother lived. The engine, mail car, two day coaches and two sleepers had crashed through and, falling a distance of 50 feet, had partly broken through the Ice of the frozen stream. To add to the horror of the disaster the two sleepers had caught fire, and there was absolutely no means to fight it Mr. Hardy caught confused glimpses of men down on the ice throwing handfuls of snow upon the blazing timbers In a rrantic attempt to drive back or put out the flames. He fell rather than scrambled down the steep, slippery bank of the stream, and then the full horror of the situation began to dawn upon him. The baggage car and tender had fallen In such a way that the trucks rested upright on the Ice, and the position of the timbers was relatively that of the train before It had left the track. One day coach lay upon Its side, but had broken completely In two as If some giant hand had pulled It apart, leaving the ragged ends of timbers projecting toward one another In such curious #i>ciliUn that 11 tha tron onrk nf thp (i(ir laouiuu iuav ia iuv v?? v v. ?~v v^> had been pushed toward the middle the splintered beams would have fitted v Into place almost as If made on a pattern. The other day coach had fallen upon one end, and one-third of the entire coach was under water. The other end, resting partly against the broken car, stuck up in the air like some curious, fantastic pillar or leaning tower. Mr. Hardy was conscious of all this and more as he beard the groans of the Injured and the cries of those begging to be released from the timbers under which they had been caught But his own children! Never had he loved them as now. The crowd of people had increased to a mob. The confusion was that of ter ror. Mr. Hardy rushed about the wreck searching for his children, a great throbbing at his heart as he thought of their probable fate, when the sweetest of all sounds, Bessie's dear voice, came to him, and the next minute he had caught up the child as she ran to him and strained her to his breast as In the old days when he had carried her about the house and yard. "Where are Will and Clara?" "Oh, father, they're here, and Will wasn't hurt much more than I was, but Clara has fainted, and she is lying down over here!" Bess dragged her father out across t the ice to the edge of the bank, where a number of the victims had been laid on the cushions of the seats, some dead, some dying. There lay Clara very white and still, with Will bending over her, himself bleeding from ? ? ? ? ?~ f Ka Kao il n rial BeverilJ nuuuus auuui LUC uluu uuu hands, but still conscious and trying to restore his sister. Mr. Hardy kneeled down in the snow by his son's side, and Will, seeing him there, was not surprised, but he sobbed excitedly, "Oh. she is dead!" "No," replied her father; "she is not." Clara stirred, and her Hps moved, but she did not open her eyes, and then her father noticed that a strange mark lay over her face. How Mr. Hardy succeeded in carrying the girl to the top of the bank; how he left her there in the care of brave hearted women while he went down into that hell's pit to rescue victims imprisoned and groaning for help; how Bess related the accident of the night and tried to explain how she was not hurt except a scratch or two, because she fell between two car seat cushions that were jammed around her and protected her from injury; how the excitement grew as it was discovered that the dead and dying would number more than 75 instead of 10 or 12, as Burns had telephoned; how finally Robert Hardy and Will and Bess and Clara, with other victims, were taken back to Barton, where a great crowd of anxious, pale faced people was surging through the station and over the track: how James Caxton was first to board the train down by the shops at the risk of his neck as In the rainy darkness he swung himself on the dead run up to the platform of the coach; how Mrs. Hardy met her children and husband; how there was sorrow In many a home In Barton that night and for many days to come; how Mr. Hardy finally, a little after midnight, entirely exhausted by the events of the day and night, fell asleep and dreamed the scene all over again?all this and a great deal more might be of Interest concerning one of the most remarkable railroad accidents that ever occurred in this country, but would be out of place In this narrative. For It is all rue. exactly and literally, only the detailed horrors of It no pen can describe, no words can tell. Mr. Hardy woke about 8 o'clock rested. but feeling very lame and sore from his exertions of the night. His first thought was of Clara. When he went to sleep, the girl seemed to be 3 CONSEQUENCES. . M. SHELDON. Id Jesus Do?" "The Crucifixion of ong," Etc. resting without pain, only that strange mark across her face made them all anxious. It was not a cruise, but If lay like a brand across the eyes, which had not opened since her father found her lying by the frozen stream. James bad insisted on staying in the house to be of service, and Mrs. Hardy had felt grateful for his presence as she watched for returning consciousness from Clara, who still gave no more sign of animation, although she breathed easily and seemed to be free from pain. Every doctor and surgeon In town bad been summoned to the scene of the accident. But Mr. Hardy felt so anxious for Clara as he came in and looked at her that he went down stairs and asked James if he wouldn't run out and see if any of the doctors had returned. "Yes, sir; I'll go at once. How Is she now, Mr. Hardy?" James looked him in the face with the look that love means when it is true and brave. "My boy," replied Mr. Hardy, laying his hand on James' shoulder, "I don't know. There is something strange about It. Get a doctor if you can. But I know there must be many other sad homes today in Barton. Oh, it was horrible!" He sat down and covered his face, while James with a brief "God help us, sir!" went out in search of a doctor. Mr. Hardy went up stairs again and, with bis wife, knelt down and offered ^ a prayer of thanksgiving and of appeal. "O Lord," said Robert, "grant that this dear one of ours may be restored to us again. Spare us this an- * gulsh, not in return for our goodness, ^ but out of thy great compassion for our sins repented of." Will and Bess lay in the next room, . and now that the reaction had set in they were sleeping, Will feverish and restless, Bess quiet and peaceful, as if nothing had happened out of the usual ' order of things. "Where is George?" asked Mr. Hardy as he rose from his prayer. "I don't know, Robert He started * down to the train a little while after you did. Haven't you seen him?" "No, Mary. God grant he may not"? * Mr. Hardy did not dare finish his thought aloud. c His wife guessed his thought, and to- * gether the two sat hand in hand, y uiawu very uem uy lueu uiuiuai uuuble and by all the strange events of that strange week, and together they talked of the accident and of Clara and James and their eldest son, and then Mrs. Hardy said as she trembling drew her husband's face near to her: "Robert, do you still have that Impression concerning the time left you here to live? Do you still think this week Is to be the end?" Mrs. Hardy had a vague hope that the shock of the accident might have destroyed the Impression of the dream, but her hope was disappointed. "My dear wife." replied Robert. In nrtf IKo land Hanht In m t? ^ IUC1U ID UVt UiC 1VUOV uvuuv IU uij "OJi, she fs deadl" mind that my dream was a vision of what will happen. There is no question but that after Sunday 1 shall not be with you. This Is Wednesday. Iiow lightninglike the days have flown! How precious the moments are! How many of them I have wasted In foolish selfishness! Mary, I should go mad with the thought If 1 did not feel the necessity of making this week the best week of my life, only I do not know what Is most Important to do. If It had been seven months or even seven ' weeks, I might have planned more wisely. Oh, It Is cruelly brief, the time! But I must make the wisest possible use of It This accident so unexpected, has complicated the matter. I had not reckoned on It" How many of us do reckon on accidents? They always come Into our lives with a shock. Yet it seems possible that a man who lives very close to God every day might be so ready for everything that not even the most terrible catastrophe could make much difference to his plans for daily life, least of all deprive him of his reason, as It has so often done. Robert Hardy was Just beginning to realize dimly that life Is not one thing, but many things, and that Its importance Is the Importance which belongs to the character of God himself. He began to) talk calmly with his wife concerning what he would do that day and was still talking about It when James came In with a doctor, who at once went up stairs. He was Just fron the scene of the accident and bor marks of a hard night's work. HI first glance at Clara was hard and pro fesslonal. but as he looked he grev very grave, and an expression of seri ous surprise came over his weary face He laid his hands on the girl's eyes am examined them, raised her hand am Jropped it upon the bed again. Then turning to the father and mother, h< 3aid gently: "You must prepare yourselves for i terrible fact resulting from the acd lent to your daughter. She has suffer id a shock that will probably rende; her blind as long as she lives." Mr. and Mrs. Hardy listened, pal faced and troubled. It was hard t think of the girl, so strong willed, si passionate and yet so capable of nobli impulses and loving desires, as all be lfe shut up within the darkness tnus tt was bitter to think of this for her What would It be to her when shi iwoke to the whole consciousness o: t? The doctor spoke again slowly 'There is another thing you ought t< )e prepared for. In rare cases like thii t happens sometimes that a loss 01 iearlug accompanies tne loss of sight' Then, after a pause: "And with thi oss of sight and hearing it is posslbh he peculiar shock has deprived you] laughter of the power of speech. I d< lot know yet whether this has happen id, but I prepare you for the worst" "Blind and deaf and dumb!" mur nured Mr. Hardy, while his wife sa lown and buried her face in the bed :lothes and sobbed. It seemed terribh o them. The doctor, after a little further ex imination, said nothing more could b< lone at present gave directions foi :ertain necessary treatment and de larted after giving a look at Will ant Jess and prescribing for them. Mr. Hardy went down stairs ant [Uietly told James all that the docton lad said. To a man living on th< rerge of eternity, as Mr. Hardy was here was no time for evasions or th< jostponing of bad news or the utter mce of soft speeches. James took the news more calmlj han Mr. Hardy thought he would. Ii vas evident he did not realize all tha vas meant by it. "Can you love Clara under these con lltions?" asked Mr. Hardy, lookinf it James with a sympathy that th< roung man could not help feeling. ? nru? l# - "les, sir; more imiu ever. ?*uj, u ihe not more in need of it than ever?" "True, but what can you do with i lelpless creature like that?" "Gold help us, sir! If she were mj vife now and were dependent on me lon't you think 1 could care for hei enderly, better than any one else li be world?" Mr. Hardy shook his head. "This h i hard blow to me, James. I don'i enow just what to say yet But it li lossible the poor girl may not have t< tuffer all that. Let us hope the doctoi s not Justified in his supposition. In leed, he said he could not tell for cer ain that loss of hearing and speed vould follow. If it does, I cannot sec iow Clara can retain her reason wher ihe recovers from the shock. James, ] >elieve you are a good fellow. I have lot forgotten my own courtship. 1 vill not stand in the way between yot md your love for Clara In anythln* lgbt and reasonable. I bad hopec ve might have a good talk togethei >ver the matter. This accident ha* nade it Impossible for a time at least )ut I confide in you as an honest, tru< nan. We must wait for events to tak< ihape. Meanwhile let us pray God t( five us wisdom and lead us Into th< vay we need to go." James Caxton listened to Mr. Hardj vlth a feeling of astonishment Thi* vas not the Robert Hardy he hac mown all his life; this was a nev nan. For a moment his own hope* ind fears were almost lost sight of Ii he thought of the great change in th< ,'lder man. In a tumult of feeling h< vent home after begging Mrs. Hard] o send him word If Clara becam< vorse or if there were any service h< lould render the family. Robert went back up stairs, when lis wife sat by the side of the Injured jlrl. "Mary," he said, "I must go down t< he shops. You know 1 left word wltl iVellmun to do what be could In th< ifflce until 1 could get down, but thli iccldent haa made It Imperative that ] ie there myself. There are details th< nen cannot attend to. I cannot do anj nore here, and 1 must do what I cai 'or the sufferers. God has been mercl !ul to us, dear. Our dear ones ar< spared to us. Oh, when 1 heard Bes lie's voice in that hell's pit It seeme< ;o me God was taking pity on me 'foi :he burden I am carrying this week \nd if she had been killed I do bellev* [ should have gone mad. Pray for me iweetheart!" And with a kiss and embrace Rober eft the house, and even In the sorrov >f all her trouble Mrs. Hardy felt t *reat wave of joy flow through her a :he thought of a love come back t< ier, and as she went to the wlndov ind watched the tall, strong flgun jwlng down the street she almost fel i girl again and wondered If he woul( urn around and see her there and tosi jIs hat to her as In the old days. Yes lust before be reached the cornei ivbere be had to turn be looked bad jp at the window, saw his wife stand ng there and took off his hat, with i smile, and she waved her hand at bin ind colored as when her Robert use< :o do the same thing whiie he wai jourting her. "Two fools!" somebody says. Yes :wo children of God who have seei lis face and learned what all this lif< neans. He found much to do at the shops rhe accident necessitated special work It looked to him as if he must be dowi there all day. There was almost a pan c In the planing rooms. The air wqj tieavy with the horror of the night be fore. Owing to the wreck there wai more need of work In the shops that a ever, but along toward noon Burn e came Into the office, pulling a long fac s and asking Mr. Hardy to step acros the yard and talk to the men, who hai 7l threatened, Burns said, to do mischie ' if they were not given th'e afternoon t go down to the scene of the disastei i Mr. Hardy, with a sinking heart, r?s ^ and followed Burns Into the planln; l? rooms. He told the foreman to get th 0 men together in the center of the roon They stopped their machines and gat! ered in the largest open space betwee: *' the planers, and Mr. Hardy addressee w them: r "What do you want? Burns tells m there is dissatisfaction. Speak out s a that we may know what the troubl 5 Is." 3 9 There was an awkward pause. Thei p one man spoke up: "We think the company ought to givi us the day off." 3 "What for?" asked Mr. Hardy mildly f Under any other circumstances hi would have told the men they mlgh . leave for good If they didn't like tb< j pay and the company. He had dom 3 just that thing twice before, but thing I were different now. He looked at thi ? men in a new light. He was a nev 3 man himself. Besides, it was lmpera j tive that the work in the shops go on p The company could ill afford to losi , the work just ut this particular time All these considerations did not bllm Robert to his obligations as an office of the company. He was only anxioui t that no injustice should be done, so hi said, "What for?" mildly and quietl: ! and waited for an answer. The spokesman was not quite read] with an answer. The directness of thi j question and the mildness of it alsi surprised him. Another man spoke up "Our friends were In the accident J We want.to go see them." "Very well. How many men ha< . relatives or friends in the acciden j who are Injured or killed? Let then % Btep forward." There was a moment of Inaction [ Then three men stepped out Mr. Har 4JI tl?fl ? Instantly Mr. Hardy stepped up bctweei the two men before Burns could rise. dy said: "You may go If you want to Why didn't you ask for leave off if yoi wanted it? What reason have you t< suppose the company would refusi such a request? Now, what is th< trouble with the rest? The compan: Is not in a position to grant a holida: at this particular time, and you knov it Come, be fair, men! I can't sbu down the shops all day to let you g< and see a railroad wreck. Be reasona ble! What do you want?" "We want more pay and freedon from Sunday work," said a big fellow tbe Norwegian who ran the bigges planer In the shop. He had more thai once proved troublesome to Burns, bu he was a remarkably Intelligent an< skillful workman, and tbe foreman ha< endured much Irritation on that ac count. Mr. Hardy replied, still speakini pleasantly, "The matter of more pay ii one we cannot well discuss here now but I will say to you and all the res that as far as It Is In my power then shall be no more Sunday work de manded"?"while I live," Mr. Hard; ? nA<nf r\P coring Kill Vi< J WHS UU tut: JJUiiiV vt o*ij> lug, w u< j said Instead, "of the men in the shops.' "Still, that Is not the question," re > plied the man In an Insolent tone. Mr j Hardy looked at him more closely an< saw that he had been drinking. Sev eral of the workmen cried out: } "Shut up, Herman! Mr. Hardy b< right! We be fool9 to make row nov i at this timeT' , A dozen men started for their ma chines to go to work again, whili " Burns went up and laid his hand oi 7 the Norwegian's arm and said to hln roughly: "Quit off now. You've been dipplnj } that beard of yours Into a whisky bar rel. Better mind your pegs or you ge your walking papers." T "Mind your own, Burns," replied thi ' big man heavily. "You be something i of a beard drinker yourself If you ha< the beard." Burns was so enraged at the drunk ' en retort that he drew back as If t< 7 strike the man. when the Norweglai 1 smote the foreman a blow that lai< * him sprawling in the iron dust In } stantly Mr. Hardy stepped up betweei 7 the two men before Burns could rise 3 We have spoken of Robert's intense 1 horror of the coarse physical vices. I seemed totally wrong to him that i 3 workman should degrade himself wltl ? drink. Besides, he could not tolerat r 6uch actions In the shops. He looke* : the drunken man In the face and sal< sternly: 1 "You are discharged! 1 cannot at 1 ford to employ drunken men In thes< J shops. You may go this Instant" 9 The man leered at Mr. Hardy, raise* his arm as If to strike, while the man ager confronted him with a stern look > but before he could do any harm twi & or three of the men seized him an* hustled hlra back to the other end o l the shops, while Burns rose, vowlnj , vengeance. i The men went back to their ma - chines, and Mr. Hardy, with an anx 3 lous feeling' of heart, went back lnti - the office, satisfied thnt there would b s no trouble at tbe shops for the rest o i the day at least. He felt sorry thatji \ 9 bad been obliged to discharge Herman, e but he felt that he had done the right s thing. The company could not afford d In any way to employ men who were f drunkards, especially not Just at this o time, when it began to be more than . plainly hinted that the result of the e accident on the -road was due to the g partial Intoxication of a track Ino spector. i. That accident was a complication In i- Robert Hardy's seven days. It was de mandlng of blm precious time that he d longed to spend In his family. At one time In the afternoon as he worked at e the office Mr. Hardy was tempted to 0 resign his position and go home, come e what might. But, to his credit be M said, even in his most selfish momenta formerly be had been faithful to his 1 duties at the office. At present no one could take his place at once. He felt 0 that his duty to the company and to the public demanded bis services at the a time of a crisis in railroad matters. t So he staid and worked on, praying as he worked for his dear ones and s hoping, as no bad news came from home, that Clara was better. He had been to the telephone several times and 7 had two or three short talks with his wife, and now, as it began to grow \ dark in tbe office, just as the lights jj were turned on, the bell rang again, and Mrs. Hardy called him up to tell him that the minister, Mr. Jones, bad r called and wanted to see him about a some of the families that were injured in the accident in the foundry room. 8 'Tell Mr. Jones I will try to see him y at the meeting tonight." (In Barton the church meeting fell on Wednes' day.) "And tell him I will have something to give him for what he wants. , How is Clara now?" "No change yet. Will is suffering some from nervousness. He says he j had a horrible dream of the accident t this afternoon. Bess Is about the same. Her escape was a miracle." "Has George come home yet?" "No. I am getting anxious about * him. I wish you would Inquire about him at the Bramleys' as you come up to supper." "I will. 1 must leave very soon. This has been a terrible day down here. God keep us. Goodby." TO BE CONTINUED. TESTKD HIS STRENGTH. Charley M. was at home from college, spending his summer vacation. The M.'s were people fairly well to do, and Charley was passing the forenoon very comfortably on the cool and shady veranda. Down by the barn yard fence, In a neglected place, a crop of strong, healthy weeds had sprung up and flourished under the summer sun. Left unmolested In the rush of work on the farm, they were fast becoming a blot on the otherwise orderly premises, and that morning Charley's father?the i "old man"?had sallied forth and was now making a vigorous assault upon >. the patch. j Suddenly he left off his work and y came up into the yard. Taking a e broomstick which happened to be lean* e lng against the veranda, he laid it on - rrraaa than nrna^ tn Phorlov and f wc 5IUOO1 fcUWU itiMuvva ?v ? ? ? p said: 7 "Git down here and Bee If yon can t pull me over that stick." 3 He held In his hand a small chain, In - each end of which was Inserted a stout stick to serve as a handle. Then the j tug began and developed Into quite a , spirited contest But at last Charley t succeeded In dragging the old man j across the line. t "There, that'll do," he said, dropping 1 his end of the chain. "I guess you've 1 got strength enough to pull them - weeds down there by the barn." "I never said a word," said Charley, I telling the story afterward, "but before 3 noon there weren't any weeds left , standing."?Youth's Companion. I OUTWITTED BY HIS COACHMAN. The carriage horses of Chief Justice f Marshall were exceedingly, thin, and 3 his family told him that It was cur' rently hinted that Jerry, the colored - coachman, exchanged too great a pro : portion of the horse feed ror wmsay 3 for personal use to allow the horses - food enough to keep them in a good and creditable condition. The Judge s went to the stable and directed .Terry's 7 attention to the poor appearance of the horses, told him of the rumor - about his exchanging oats and bay for e whisky and thereby depriving the i horses of their necessary supply of 3 food and spoke of the sleek, fat team driven by his neighbor Brewer. y "Laws, Massa John," said Jerry, . "It's the natur' of the animals I Look t at Mr. Brewer hisself, sah, a short, fat, greasy gen'leman, that ain't seed e his boots after his feet was In 'em for 9 yeahs, while you, sah, is tall and roun j shouldered an sees your feet all de time youse walkin, an look at his . coachman, thicker through than he is 3 long, whiles I'se only skin an bones! ! Of course his critters is fat, while 3 yours Is thin. It's their natur', Massa . John; it's their natur'. They belongs 3 to the fat kin. and we all belongs to de lean kin. It's natur'." e "Perhaps that Is so," said the Judge t reflectively and walked away as If well a satisfied with the explanation.?Chicak ero Inter Ocean. J W - B ^ MAtrlinony and Music. Captain Becker, an official of the 3 Kongo Free State, won the affection of many of the natives In a very curious '* way. He bought a good loud playing e barrel organ and allowed the natives to turn the handle. The captain was 3 very anxious that the people should be married In accordance with the Christian religion, and when it was o known the organ would be played at 3 all such marriages the Increase in the f number of Christian weddings was re? markable. Things were generally arranged so that one wedding took place - each day, in order that the organ - might be hoard regularly. It turned d out afterward that several couples had e been married twice, In order that the f organ might be played at their nope tials.?Sussex News. ^ 2UiscfUnnc0u$ Reading. THE CUMING AGE UF ALUMINIUM. Doom of the Copper Industry Foreshadowed and the Ultimate Downfall of Iron. Nicola Tesla In The Century Magazine. The coming age will be the age of aluminium. It is only 70 years since this wonderful metal was discovered by Woebler, and the aluminium industry, scarcely 40 years old, commands already the attention of the entire world. Such rapid growth has not beeu recorded in the history of civilization before. Not long ago aluminium was sold at the fanciful price of $20 or $40 per pound ; today it can be bad in any desired amount for as many cents. What is more, the time is not > far off when this price, too, will be considered fanciful, for great improvemonto ara nnaaihla in thft m?f,hnd? nf its manufacture. The absolutely unavoidable consequence of the advance of the aluminium industry will be the annihilation of the copper industry. They cannot exist and prosper together, and the latter is doomed beyond any hope of recovery. Even now it is cheaper to convey an electric current through aluminium wires than through copper wires; aluminium castings cost less, and in many domestic and other uses copper has no chance of successfully competing. A further material reduction of the price of aluminum cannot but be fatal to copper. But the progress of the former will not go on unchecked, for, as it ever happens in such cases, the larger industry will absorb the smaller one; the giant copper interests will control pigmy aluminium interests, and the slow-pacing copper will reduce the lively gait of aluminium. This will only delay, not avoid, the impending catastrophe. Aluminium, however, will not stop at downing copper. Before many years have passed it will be engaged in a fierce struggle witb iron, and in the latter it will fiod an adversary not easy to conquer. The issue of the con test will largely depend on wnetner iron shall be indispensable in electric machinery. This the future alone can decide. While it is impossible to tell when this industrial revolution will be consummated, there can be no doubt that the future belongs to aluminium, and that in times to come it will be the chief means of increasing human performance. It has in this respect capacities greater by far than those of any other metal. I should estimate its civilizing potency at fully 100 limes that of iron. This estimate, though it may astonish, is not at all exaggerated. First of all, we must remember that there is 30 times as much aluminium as iron in bulk available for the uses of man. This in itself offers great possibilities. Then, again, the new metal is much more easily workable, which adds to its value. In many of its properties it partakes of the character of a precious metal, which gives it additional worth. Its electric conductivity, which, for a given weight, is greater than that of any other metal, would be alone sufficient to make it one of the most important factors in future human progress. Its extreme lightness makes it far more easy to transport the objects manufactured. By virtue of this property, it will revolutionize naval construction, and in facilitating transport and travel it will add enormouslv to the useful perfor mance of mankind. But its greatest civilizing potency will be, I believe, in aerial travel, which is sure to be brought about by means of it. Telegraphic instruments will slowly enlighten the barbarian. Electric motors and lamps will do it more quickly; but quicker than anything else the flying machine will do it. By rendering travel ideally easy it will be the best means for unifying the heterogeneous elements of humanity. STORIES OF COINCIDENCES. They Account for Some Things That Seem to be Entirely Inexplicable. New Orleans Times-Democrat. "Luck and coincidence explains away many a mystery," said one of a group of late workers in a Royal street cafe the other night. "I remember a queer story along that line," he continued, "which I once heard from the elder Herrman. In his earlier per formances, as you may recall, ne maae a great feature of a very clever 'second call,' or mind reading act. He would request people in the audience to select small articles, which would then he described by a blindfolded assistant on the stage. As a matter of fact, Herrman really gave the cue to the description in the way be framed his questions; but it was very dexterously done and not one person in a thousand 'caught on.' One evening, as he told me the story, he was giving an entertaiument in an Ohio citv and was just returning to the stage alter the mind reading specialty, when an elderly man suddenly jumped up at the other end of the house. 'If this thing is genuine,' he called out in a loud voice, 'I want you to tell me what card I am thinking about at this moment.' The man was a wealthy merchant and known as ' somewhat of a crank on spiritualism. Of course, Herrman had no idea what ' he was thinking about; but he replied, 1 without hesitation, 'It is the deuce of clubs,' his intention being to turn the laugh on the old fellow by some bit of repartee when he declared the guess was wrong. But, to the magician's intense amazement, the man raised both hands in the air and bellowed,'Correct! by thunder!' This miraculously lucky and wholly unexpected hit made a pro- i found impression on the audience and no doubt converted many people to a i belief fn the reality of mind reading. Herman told me that the proprietor of the theatre, who was an old personal < friend, was very cu 'ious to know how I the thing was done, and when he was finally informed in confidence that it was mere luck he declined to credit the explanation. It was too simple to suit him." "Coincidences certainly do play an important role in every day life," commented another in the party, "and I dare say they have for the, pivot on which many an efcent of the first magnitude has turned. One case of the kind came under my personal observation when I first went into business in New Orleans. At that time there was a large mercantile house in the same block, that did an extensive business with planters up the river. As usual in that trade, they operated on a credit basis, and occasionally they carried some formidable accounts. The largest of these at the period at which I speak was against a planter who had formerly been very prompt pay ; but who baf7 latterly pleaded bad luck and , allowed the majority of bis bills to run over for several seasons. The firm believed him to be good, and although the amount involved mounted away up into the thousands they decided not to press him, in full confidence that the * money would ultimately be paid. "One day the planter came to New Orleans on some business, and while be was still in town a member of the firm chanced to go over to a notary's nAI>u. or, rm viuv/g tu gvv uu uvauu tt ivu^vuiuuv vu some legal papers. As he eDtered the office he overheard one of the clerks in an adjoining room ask another whether he had completed 'that plantation transfer' to Col. 's mother. 'You know he wants to take it with him when he goes home tonight,' he added. Col. was the delinquent debtor, and the accidental remark was like ' the revelation of a flash of lightning on a dark night. The merchant said nothing, but transacted his own business as speedily as possible and hurried back. Then he wired his local attorney to institute proceedings, and when the planter arrived home he found , everything tied up with an attachment. He was forced to make a settlement in full, and doesn't know to this day how bis plans were so suddenly checkmated. Five seconds sooner or later in that visit to the notary's would have made a difference of many thousands of dollars to the firm." "I think I can tie that story myself," said one of the party. "Do you remember the recent death of Lewis Redwine, a noted bank defaulter of Atlanta, Ga., whose case created an immense sensation some years ago? Well, when he was placed on trial, Redwine maintained a stubborn silence, and be was convicted and sentenced to five years in the Federal penitentiary at Columbus, O. It'was generally believed that he would break down when be actually started for prison and implicate some people who stood high socially, and the papers decided to send reporters with him to the train. For some reason thoauthorities didn't approve of the plan and arranged to slip him out of town a Hrv in advance of the time officially given out. The train was to leave at noon, and about 20 minutes before that hour a reporter out on other business, happened to use a telephone in a downtown store. While he was talking the wires became crossed and he beard a voice say: 'We have arranged for the train to stop at the outskirts of town today to take on Bedwine.' He recognized the voice as that of a deputy marshal talking to the jailor, and realized in a flash that a scheme was on foot to get the noted prisoner out of the city 24 hours ahead of time. He dashed away from the store, got to bis office in time to draw some money and caught the train. Redwine didn't confess, after all; but that doesn't affect the marvelous luck or coincidence of the 'phone episode." WHAT "TUNDRA" IS. One of the words that the people of the United States will bear a good Htnua thio onmmpp " anirl ft mPIT) ber of the Seattle chamber of commerce, "la 'tundra.' It is the 'tundra,' or where it joins the beach that the easiest gold digging in the world is found at Cape Nome, and everybody will be talking about that before six days, as the first ships have started northward with their loads of gold seekers. The 'tundra,' as everyone knows who has visited Alaskan coasts, is ths low ground lying between the mountain and the beach. It is marshy and covered with grass and moss during thf summer, and it never thaws more than a couple of feet below the surface. While everybody talks about the 'tundra' and knows what it is by sight, not one in a thousand or more knows where or what the word is from. I am free to confess I didn't know myself until an eastern friend wrote out to Seattle making inquiries, and I began to make inquiries'in Seattle. Not a man of all the miners and others I asked could apswer my 9imple question until I found a Rus sian. lie told me ine worn was iui$sian and meant low and marshy land. 'Tundra' differs from 'steppes' in this that 'tundra' is used to describe the low, flat and ordinarily valueless land between two streams and in common along the coasts of Siberia and on the American side of the Behring Straits, all of which is 'tundra.' Steppes' originally meant a sandy desert; but, by long custom, it has come to mean grassy plain as well. I don't know whether the word is in the American dictionaries or not, for I haven't had time to look it up; but I know I haven't heard it a dozen times in my life till the later gold discoveries in Alaska.?New York Sun. Do It Well.?If two angels were sent down to earth, one to rule an empire, and the other to sweep a Btreet, they would have no choice in the matter, so long as God ordered them. So, God in his providence, has called you to work hard for your daily bread ; do it to his glory.