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I ISSUED SKMI'WKKKLT. l. k. oeist's sous, pibiiihwt. ( S 4amiIS ??nsgaji?i[: 4or ?romofion of <h< foltfital, goqial, ^jri^uKutal and Commercial Interest* of tfy | established 1855. ~ ~ ~ YORKVILLE, S. C., FRIDAY, APRIL 18, 1913. ISTO. 3,1." ! THE BAGJ UNCL i By GHARL1 [This "Story of the Bagman"! Uncle,' told by the Jolly bagman?nowadays ' called "commercial traveller"?to Mr Pickwick and his friends as they all sat about the taproom Are, is one ol the most characteristic and famous ol the short stories which are imbeded in the narrative of the "Pickwick Pak pers."] "He was a wonderful man, that uncle of yours, though," remarked the landlord, shaking his head. "Well, I think he was; I think I may say he was," answered the oneeyed man. "I could tell you a story about that same uncle, gentlemen, that would rather surprise you." "Could you?" said Mr. Pickwick. "Let us hear It by all means." The one-eyed bagman ladled out a glass of negus from the bowl, and drank it, smoked a long whifT out ol the Dutch pipe, and then calling to Sam Weller, who was lingering near the door, that he needn't go away unless he wanted to, because the story was no secret, fixed his eyes upon the landlord's, and proceeded: The Story of ths Bagman's Uncle My uncle, gentlemen, was one of the merriest, pleasant est cleverest fellows that ever lived. I wish you had known him, gentlemen. On second thoughts, gentlemen, I don't wish you had known him, for If you had you would have been all by this time in the ordinarycourse of nature, If not dead, at all events so near it, as to have taken to stopping at home and giving us company, which would have deprived me of the inestimable pleasure of addressing you at this moment Gentlemen, I wish your fathers and mothers had known my uncle. They would have been amazingly fond of him, especially your respectable mothers, I know they would. If any two of his numerous virtues predominated over the many that adorned his character, I should say they were his mixed punch and his after-supper song. Bxcuse my dwelling upon these melancholy recollections of departed worth; you won't see a man like my uncle every day In the week. I have always considered It a great point In my uncle's character, gentlemen, that he was the Intimate friend and companion of Tom Smart, of the great house of Bilson and Slum, Cat cation street. City. My uncle collect* ed for Tiggln and Weips, but for a long time he went pretty near the same journey aa Tom; and the very first night they met, my uncle took a fancy for Tom and Tom took a fancy for my uncle. They made a bet of a new hat before they had known each other half an hour, who should brew the best quart of punch and drink it the quickest. My uncle was judged to have won the making, but Tom Smart beat him in the drinking by about half a salt spoonful. They took another quart apiece to drink each other's health in, and were stanch friends ever afterward. There's a destiny in these things, gentlemen; we can't heJp it. In personal appearance, my uncle was a trifle shorter than the middle size; he was a thought stouter too, than the ordinary run of people, and perhaps his face might be a shade redder. He had the jolllest face you ever saw, gentlemen; something like Punch, with a handsomer nose and chin; his eyes were always twinkling and sparkling with good humor, and a smile?not one of your unmeaning wooden grins, but a real, merry, hearty good-tempered smile, was perpetually on his countenance. He was pitched out of his gig once, and knocked head first against a mile-stone. There ne lay, ana i nave iieai u iuj um.ic oaj many a time that the man said who picked him up that he was smiling as merrily as if he had tumbled out for a treat, and that after they had Wed him, the first faint glimmerings of returning animation were, his Jumping up in bed, bursting into a loud laugh, kissing the young woman who held the basin, and demanding a mutton chop and a pickled walnut Instantly. He was very fond of pickled walnuts, gentlemen. He said he always found that, taken without vinegar, they relished the beer. My uncle's great Journey was in the fall of the leaf, at which time he collected debts and took orders in the north: going from London to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from Glasgow back to Edinburgh and thence to London by the smack. You are to understand that this second visit to Edinburgh was for his owr: pleasure. He used to go back for a week, Just to look up his old friends: and what with breakfasting with this one, and lunching with that, and dining with a third, and supping with another, a pretty tight week he used t( make of It. I don't know whether an> of you, gentlemen, ever partook of i real substantial hospital Scotch breakfast and then went out to a slight luncl , of a bushel of oysters, a dozen or s< of bottled ale, and a noggin or two ot whisky to close up with. If you evei did, you will agree with me that li requires a pretty strong head to g< out to dinner and supper afterwards. TJut hlcgg vnnr hpnrt and evebrows all this sort of thing was nothing t< my uncle. He was so well seasonec that It was mere child's play. I hav< heard him say that he could see th( Dundee people out any day, and wall home afterwards without staggering; and yet the Dundee people have as strong heads and as strong punch gentlemen, as you are likely to meei with, between the poles. I have heart of a Glasgow man and a Dundee mar drinking against each other for fifteer hours at a sitting. They were botl suffocated as nearly as could be as certained at the same moment, bu with this trifling exception, gentlemen they were not a bit the worse for It. One night, within four-and-twent: hours of the time when he had settlet to take shipping for London, my uncli supped at the house of a very oh friend of his, a Baillie Mac something and four syllables after it. who lived ii , the old town of Edinburgh. Then were the balllie's wife, and the bail lie's three daughters, and the baillle'i grown-up son, and three or four stout bushy eye-browed, canty o'd Scotcl fellows that the baillie had got togeth er to do honor to my uncle, and hell to make merry. It was a glorious sup per. There was kippered salmon, am Finman haddocks, and a lamb's head and a haggis; a celebrated Scotch dial gentlemen, which my uncle used to sa: always looked to him, when it came t< table, very much like a cupld's atom ach; and a great many other thlngi besides, that I forget the names of, bu very good things notwithstanding. Th lassies were pretty and agreeable; thi baillie's wife one of the best creaturei that ever lived; and my uncle ii thoroughly good cue the consequenc of which was, that the young ladlei tittered and giggled, and the old lad; laughed out loud, and the balllle an< the other old fellows roared till the: were red in the face, the whole morta time. I don't quite recollect how man; tumblers of whisky toddy each ma: drank after supper, but this 1 know that about 1 o'clock in the morning th baillie's grownup son became insensi ble while attempting the first verse o "Willie brewed a peck o' maut;" am he having been for half an hour be fore, the only other man visible abov the mahogany, it occurred to my unci ^ CI dAN'S ,E'S STORY s d ai g( 01 IS DICKENS. ? w __ Ir bi ti ' that it wan almost time to think about lii , going, especially as drinking: had est tl in at 7 o'clock, in order that he migrht bi ' g^t home at a decent hour. But think- u] i lngr it migrht not be quite polite to go w ! just then, my uncle voted himself into w i tne cnair, mixea anon er giass, rose 10 <ti ' propose his own health, addressed him- T 1 self in a neat and complimentary w speech, and drank the toast with great hi enthusiasm. Still nobody woke; so my st uncle took a little drop more?neat pi this time, to prevent the toddy dls- hi ; agreeing with him, and laying violent 111 i hands on his hat sallied forth Into the til street. tli The balllie's house was In the Can- 'e ongate and my uncle was going to the other en dof Leith Walk, rather better M than a mile's Journey. On either side w of him there shot up against the dark Pf sky, tall, gaunt, straggling houses, with dl time stained fronts aid windows that ^ seemed to have shared the lot of eyes | In mortals and to have grown dim and 01 sunken with age. Six, seven, eight a | stories high were the houses; story n( piled above story, as children build ^ with cards?throwing their dark shad- ftt ows over the roughly paved road and 8t 1 making the night darker. A few oil c? lamps were scattered at long dls- 8,1 tances. but they only 1 erved to mark 8e the dirty entrance to some narrow ,n close or to show where a common stair w 1 communicated by steep and Intricate 1 windings with the various flats above. t0 Glancing at all these, things with the 11( air of a man who had seen them too c? ' often before to think them worthy of 8? much notice now, my uncle walked up the middle of the street with a thumb I in each waist-coat pocket, indulging til 1 from time to time in various snatches la of song, chanted forth with such good hi will and spirit that the quiet, honest ar folk started from their first sleep and th lay trembling In bed till the sound nc died away in the distance. tr; When my uncle reached the end of gr Leith Walk he had to cross a pretty wl large piece of waste ground which in separated him from a short street m which he had to turn down to go dl- br rect to his lodging, tfow in this piece wi of waste ground there was at that uj time an enclosure belonging to some ar wheelwright, who contracted with the th f/\r kn nnrrthooa t\f aM f>f\ 1^/SiVUIVC 4VI 411V |/UIV1MMV V* VIM ??wornout mail coaches and my uncle co being very fond of coaches, old, young th or middle aged, all at once took it into wi his head to step out of his road for no sa other purpose than to peep between loi the palings at the*e mails, about a In dozen of which he remembered to have to seen, crowded together in a very for- ne lorn and dismantled state inside. My 1 uncle was a very enthusiastic, em- th ph&tic sort of person, gentlemen; so uj: finding that he could not obtain a th good peep between tne palings he got over them, and setting himself quietly ot down on an old a;tie tree began to pe contemplate the mail coaches with a at great deal of gravity. M: There might be a dozen of them, or bi there might be more?my uncle was th never quite certain upon this point, ne and being a man o'. very scrupulous th veracity about numbers, didn't like to th say?but there they stood, all huddled axi together in the most desolate condition imaginable. The doors had been torn lo< from their hinges and removed, the as i linings had been stripped off, only a shred hanging here and there by a dl rusty nail; the lamps were gone, the In poles had long since vanished, the br Ironwork was rusty, the paint worn hi away; the wind whistled through the. hi chinks in the bare woodwork and the wi rain, which had collected on the roofs, fr. fell drop by drop into the lnsides with of a hollow and melancholy sound. They yo were the decaying skeletons of depart- ar ed mails, and in that lonely place, at ha that time or night, tney looKea emu ve and dismal. P< My uncle rested Ms head upon his to hands and thought of the busy, bustl- af lng people who had rattled about years before In the old coaches and were ta i now as silent and changed; he thought wi ' of the numbers of people to whom one 01 i of those crazy, mouldering vehicles w< had borne, night after night for many in : years and through all weathers, the , anxiously expected intelligence, the th I eagerly looked for remittance, the se t promised assurance of health and safe- ui . ty, the sudden announcement of sick- th , ness and death. co 1 Gentlemen, my uncle used to say m that he thought all this at the time, th but I rather suspect he learnt it out 01 i of some book afterward, for he distinct- th ly stated that he fell into a kind of be s doze as he sat on the old axletree m looking at the decayed mall coachs, he , and that he was suddenly awakened hi I by some deep church bell striking two. th i My uncle woke, rubbed his eyes and he 1 jumped in astonishment lo i In one instant after the clock struck de i two, the whole of this deserted and m auiet spot had become a scene of the sc i most extraordinary life and animation, th The mail coach dcors were on their at hinges, the lining was replaced, the ai > ironwork was as good as new, the w ' paint was restored, the lamps were 01 i alight; cushions ar.d great coats were on every coach box, porters were "I 1 thrusting parcels into every boot, th ) guards were stowing away letter-bags, f hostlers were dashing pails of water d< r against the renovated wheels; numt bers of men were rushing about, fixing > poles into every coach, passengers arrived, portmanteaus were handed up, m , horses were put to, and in short it ) was perfectly clear that every mail ai I there was to be off directly. Gentle} men, my uncle opened his eyes so wide > at ail this that, to the very last moi ment of his life, he used to wonder th ; how it fell out thr.t he had ever been fii i able to shut 'em again. n< , "Now, then," said a voice, as my et t uncle felt a hand on his shoulder, th 1 "You're booked for one inside. You'd in \ better get in." th > "I booked!' said my uncle turning bi ? round. gl "Yes, certainly." ly t My uncle, gentlemen, could saynoth- hi i, Ing, he was so very much astonished. 01 The queerest thing of all was that, al- Gr f though there was such a crowd of per- c< 1 sons, and although fresh faces were it e pouring in every moment, there was no 3 telling where they came from; they hi ;, seemed to start up in some strange ?? i manner from the ground or the air, t and to disappear in the same way. fe - When a porter had put his luggage in w b the coach and received his fare, he d< ;. turned round and was gone; and be- th H fore my uncle had well begun to won- rt - der what had become of nim, half a w [> dozen fresh ones started up and stag- la - gered along under the weight of par- 01 i eels which seemed big enough to crush t! I, them. The passengers were all dress- di i ed so oddly too?large, broad-skirted e< y laced coats with great cuffs and no ir a collars; and wigs, gentlemen?great ei - formal wigs with a tie behind. My w s uncle could make nothing of It. tt t "Now. are you going to get In?" said e the person who had adressed my uncle s before. He was dressed as a mail guard p! s with a wig on Ms head and most w i enormous cuffs to his coat, and had oi e got a lantern in one hand and a huge ir s blunderbuss in the oiner. whit... .ie was rr y going to stow away in his little arm- si i chest. "Are you going to get in. Jack a y Martin?" said the guard, holding the tl 1 lantern to my uncle's face. b] y "Hello!" said my uncle, falling back b] n a step or two. "That's familiar?" f< r, "It's so on the way-bill,' replied the si e guard. w "Isn't there a Mister before it?" said f my uncle?for he felt, gentlemen, that ei d for a guard he didn't know to call him ir - Jack Martin was a liberty which the e postofflce wouldn't have sanctioned if r< e they had known IL tl "No; there Is not," rejoined the guard oolly. "Is the fare paid?" Inquired my ncle. "Of conurse It Is," rejoined the guard. "It Is, is It?" said my unole. "Then ere goes?which coach?" "This," said the guard, pointing to n old-fashioned Edinburgh and Lonon mail, which had got the steps own and the door open. 'Stop?here re the other passengers. Let them et in first." As the guard spoke, there all at rice appeared, right in front of my ncle, a young gentleman in a powder1 wig and a skyblue coat trimmed ith silver, made very full and broad i the skirts, which were lined with ackram. Tiggin and Welps were in te printed caJlco and waistcoat piece ne, gentlemen, so my uncle knew all le materials at once. He wore knee reeches and a kind of leggings rolled p over nis sua siocKings, ana snoes ith buckles; he had ruffles at his rista, a three cornered hat on his head id a long taper sword by his side, he flaps of his waistcoat came half ay down his thighs, and the ends of s cravat reached to his waist. He alked gravely to the coach door, illed off his hat and held it out above is head at arm's length, cocking his ttle finger in the air at the same me, as some affected people do when ley take a cup of tea; then drew his et together and made a low grave >w, and then put out his left hand, y uncle was Just going to step forard and shake it heartily when he ircelved that these attentions were rected not toward him, but to a >ung lady who Just then appeared at ie foot of the steps, attired in an d- fashioned green velvet dress with long waist and stomacher. She had > bonnet on her head, gentlemen, hlch was muffled in a black silk >od, but she looked round for an lnant as she prepared to get into the tach, and such a beautiful face as ie discovered my uncle had never en?not even in a picture. She got to the coach, holding up her dress 1th one hand, and as my uncle alays said with a round oath, when he Id the story, he wouldn't have be?ved it possible that legs and feet uld have been brought to such a ate of perfection unless he had seen em with his own eyes. But in this one glimpse of the beau :ui race my uncie saw tnat tne young dy had cast an imploring look upon m, and that she appeared terrified id distressed. He noticed, too, that e young fellow in the powdered wig, it withstanding his show of gallany, which was all very fine and and, clasped her tightly by the wrist hen she got in, and followed himself lmediately afterward. An uncomonly ill-looking fellow in a close own wig and a plum-colored suit, earing a very large sword and boots > to his hips, belonged to the party; id when he sat himself down next to e young lady, who shrunk into a rner at his approach, my uncle was nflrmed In his original impression at something dark and mysterious is going forward or, as he always id himself, that "there was a screw 3se somewhere." It's quite surprlsg how quickly he made up his mind help the lady at any peril if she teded help. "Death and lightning!" exclaimed e young gentleman, laying his hand >on his sword as my uncle entered e coach. "Blood and thunder!" roared the her gentleman. With this he whipid his sword out and made a lunge my uncle without further ceremony, y uncle had no weapon about him, it with great dexterity he snatched e ill-looking gentleman's three-corred hat from his head, and receiving e point or nis swora rignt tnrougn e crown, squeezed the sides together id held It tight. "Pink him behind," cried the 111aking gentleman to his companion, i he struggled to regain his sword. "He had better not," cried my uncle, splaying the heel of one of his shoes a threatening manner. "I'll kick his alns out if he has any, or fracture s skull If he hasn't" Exerting all s strength at this moment, my uncle renched the Ill-looking man's sword om his grasp and flung It clean out the coach window, upon which the lunger gentleman vociferated "Death id lightning!" again, and laid his ind upon the hilt of his sword in a try fierce manner, but didn't draw it. jrhaps, gentlemen, as my uncle used say with a smile, perhaps he was raid of alarming the lady. "Now, gentlemen," said my uncle, king his seat deliberately, "I don't a.nt to have any death with or withit lightning In a lady's presence, and e have had quite blood and thunderg enough for one Journey. "All right!" cried the guard with e lantern, mounting into his little at behind. Away they went. My icle'8 thoughts were occupied with e young lady who sat in the farthest irner of the coach, with her face uflled closely in her hood: the gensnian with the sky blue coat sitting tposite to her, and the other man in e plum colored suit by her side, and >th watching her intently. If she so uch as rustled the folds of her hood, > could hear the ill looking man clap s hand upon his sword, and tell by e other's breathing (it was so dark ? couldn't see his face) that he was oklng as big as if he were going to svour her at a mouthful. This roused y uncle more and more, and he re>lved, come what come might, to see le end of it. He had a great admirion for bright eyes and sweet faces, id pretty legs and feet; in short he as fond of the whole sex. It runs in ir family, gentlemen?so am I. All of a sudden the coach stopped, lello!" said my uncle. "What's In le wind now?" "Alight here," said the guard, letting )wn the steps. "Here!" cried my uncle. "Here," rejoined the guard. "I'll do nothing of the sort," said y uncle. "Very well?then stop where you e," said the guard. "I will," said my uncle. "Do," said the guard. The other passengers had regarded ils colloquy with great attention; and ndlng that my uncle was determined >t to alight, the younger man squeez1 past him to hand the lady out. At ils moment the ill looking man was ispectlng the hole in the crown of his tree-cornered hat. As the young lady rushed past, she dropped one of her loves into my uncle's hand, and softwhispered with her lips, so close to Is face that he felt her warm breath l his nose, the single word "Help!" entlemen, my uncle leaped out of the >aeh at once with such violence that rocked on the springs again. "Oh! you've thought better of It, ive you?" said the guard, when he iw my uncle standing on tne grouna. My uncle looked at the guard for a ;w seconds, In some doubt whether It ouldn't be better to wrench his blunerbuss from him, fire It In the face of le man with the big sword, knock the >st of the company over the head 1th the stick, snatch up the young idy, and go off in the smoke. On secid thoughts, however, he abandoned i<a nton as hoinc A shndp tOO mplo ramatic in the execution, and follow1 the two mysterious men, who, keepig the lady between them, were now itering an old house in front of hich the coach had stopped. They lrned into the passage and my uncle llowed. Of all the ruinous and desolate laces my uncle had ever beheld this as the most so. It looked as If it had nee been a large house of entertainlent, but the roof had fallen In, In lany places, and the stairs were :eep, rugged and broken. There was huge fireplace in the room Into which ley walked, and the chimney was lackened with smoke, but no warm laze lighted it up now. The white jathery dust of burnt wood was still :rewed over the hearth, but the stove as cold, and all was dark and gloomy. At length the two strangers advancd a little and the conversation began i earnest. "You don't know this is a private )om; I suppose, fellow," said the geneman In sky blue. "No I do not, fellow," rejoined m uncle. "Only if this is a private root specially ordered for the occasion, should think the public room must t> a very comfortable one;" with this, m uncle sat himself down in a high backed chair and took such an accu rate measure of the gentleman wit his eyes, that Tiggln and Welps coul have supplied him with printed calic for a suit, and not an inch too muc or too little, from that estimate alone. "Quit this room," said both men to gether, grasping their swords. "Eh?" said my uncle, not at all ap pearlng to comprehend their meanlnf "Quit the room, or you are a dea man," said the ill looking fellow witl the large sword, drawing it at the sam time and flourishing it in the air. "Down with him!" said the gentle map in sky blue, drawing his swor also and falling back two or thre yards. "Down with him!" The lad; gave a loud scream. Now, my uncle was always remark able for great boldness and great preii ence of mind. All the time that he ha appeared so mainereni iw wnai w? going on, he had been looking slyl: about for some missile or weapon o defense, and at the very Instant whei the swords were drawn he espie< standing In the chimney corner an ol< basket-hilted rapier in a rusty scab bard. At one bound my uncle caugh it In his hand, drew it, flourished i gallantly above his head, called alout to the lady to keep out of the way hurled the chair at the man in sk: blue, and the scabbard at the man li plum color, and taking advantage o the confusion, fell upon them both pell-mell. Gentlemen, there is an old storynone the worse for being true?re gardlng a fine young Irish gentleman who being asked if he could play thi fiddle, replied he had no doubt h< could, but he couldn't exactly say to certain, because he had never tried This is not inapplicable to my unci* and his fencing. He had never had i sword in his hand before, except onci when he played Richard the Third a a private theatre, upon which occasloi it was arranged with Richmond tha he was to be run through from behln< without showing flght at all; but heri he was, cutting and slashing with twi experienced swordsmen, thrusting ani guarding, and poking and slicing, am acquitting himself in the most manfu ftnH rloYtormin manner nrtssihlA. al' though up to that time he had nevei been aware that he had the least notion of the science. It only shows hos true the old saying Is, that a mai never knows what he can do til] h< tries, gentlemen. The noise of the combat was terrific each of the three combatants swearlni like troopers, and their swords clashlnf with as much noise as If all the knlvet and steels in Newport market wen rnttllng together at the same time When it was at Its very height th< lady, to encourage my uncle, mos probably, withdrew her hood entirely from her face and disclosed a countenance of such dazzling beauty that he would have fought against fifty men t< win one smile from it and die. He had done wonders before, but now he began to powder away like a raving mac giant. At this very moment the gentlemar In sky-blue, turning round and seelnf the young lady with her face uncovered, vented an exclamation of rage and jealousy; and turning his weapoi against her beautiful bosom, pointed a thrust at her heart which caused mj uncle to utter a cry of apprehensior that made the building rfng. The ladj stepped lightly aside, and snatchlni the young man's sword from his hand before he had recovered his balance drove him to the wall, and running 1 through him and the pannelling up U the very hilt, pinned him there hare and fast. It was a splendid example My uncle, with a loud shout of triumpt and a strength that was Irresistible made his adversary retreat in the sam< direction, and plunging the old rapiei into the very centre of a large ret flower in the pattern of his waistcoat nailed him beside his friend; then they both stood, gentlemen, Jerklni their arms and legs about In agony agony, like the toy-stop figures thai are moved by a piece of packthread My uncle always said afterwards tha this was one of the surest means h< knew of for disposing of an enemy; but it was liable to one objection, 01 the ground of expense, inasmuch as i Involved the loss of a sword for everj man disabled. "The mall, the mail!" cried the lady running up to my uncle and throwlni her beautiful arms round his neck "we may yet escape." "May!" cried my uncle; "why, mi dear, there's nobody else to kill, ii there?" My uncle was rather dlsap' pointed, gentlemen, for he thought t little quiet bit of lovemaklng would b< agreeable after the slaughtering, if 1 were only to change the subject. "We have not an instant to los( here," said the young lady. "He (point ing to the young gentleman in ski blue) is the only son of the powerfu Marquess of Filletoville." "Well, then, my dear, I'm afralc he'll never come to the title," said mi uncle, looking coolly at the young gen tleman as he stood fixed up agains the wall, in the cock-chaffer fashion have described. "You have cut off thi entail, my love." "I have been torn from my homi and friends by these villains," said th< young lady, her features glowing witl indignation. "That wretch would hav< married me by violence in anothe: hour." "Contouna nis impudence: saia m; uncle, bestowing a very contemptuoui look on the dying heir of Fllletoville. "As you may guess from what yot have seen," said the young lady, "th< party are prepared to murder me 1 you appeal to any one for assistance If their accomplices find us here, wi are lost. Two minutes hence may b< too late. The mall!"?and with the3( words, overpowered by her feeling and the exertion of sticking the youni Marquess of Fllletoville, she sunk lnt? my uncle's arms. My uncle caught he up, and bore her to the house door There stood the mail with four long tailed flowlng-maned black horse* ready hamesBed; but no coachman, m guard, no hostler even, at the horse': heads. "You will never never leave me,' murmured the young lady. "Never," said my uncle. And hi meant It too. "My dear preserver!" exclaimed th< young lady. 'My dear, kind brave pre server!" "Don't said my uncle, interruptln) her. "Why?" inquired the young lady. "Because your mouth looks so beau tiful when you speak," rejoined m; uncle, "that I'm afraid I shall be rudi enough to kiss it." The young lady put up her hand a if to caution my uncle not to do sc and said?no, she didn't say anythini ?she smiled. When you are lookim at a pair of the most delicous lips li the world, ard see them gently breal into a roguish smile?if you are ver; near them, and nobody else by?yoi cannot better testify your admlratioi of their beautiful form and color thai by kissing them at once. My uncle dii so, and I honor him for It. "Hark!" cried the young lady, start ing. "The noise of wheels and horses We are pursued. I have no hope bu in you." There was such an expression ofter ror in her beautiful face that my unci made up his mind at once. He lifte< her into the coach, told her not to b frightened, pressed his lips to her once more, and then advising her t draw up the window to keep the coli air out, mounted to the box. "Will you never love any one bu me?never marry any one beside? said the young lady. My uncle swore a great oath that h never would marry any body else, am the young lady drew in her head, am pulled up the window. He Jumped upoi the box, squared his elbows, adjustei the ribands, seized the whip which la: on the roof, gave one flick to the of leader, and away went the four long tailed, flowing-maned black horses, a fifteen good English . miles an hout with the old mail coach behind themwhew! how they tore along! y But the noise behind grew louder, n The faster went the old mall; the fasI ter came the pursuers?men, horses, >e dogs, were leagued in the pursuit. The y noise was frightful, but above all rose i- the voice of the young lady, urging - my uncle on, and shrieking "Faster! h faster!" d They whirled past the dark trees as o feathers would be swept before a hurh rlcane. Houses, gates, churches, haystacks, objects of every kind they shot by with a velocity and noise like roaring waters suddenly let loose. But still the noise of pursuit grew louder, and f. still my uncle could hear the young d lady wildly screaming, "Faster! fasti ter!" e My uncle plied whip and rein, and the horses flew onward till they were - white with foam; and yet the noise d behind Increased, and yet the young e lady cried, "Faster! faster!" My uncle V gave, a loud stamp upon the boot in the energy of the moment, and?found - that It was gray morning, and he was - sitting In the wheelwright's yard on d the box of an old Edinburgh mall, - -* ? I.L il? 1J - ? A , anS Buiveruiff Willi UH* tuiu mm ncv, nuu r stamping his feet to warm them! He f got down and looked eagerly Inside for 0 the beautiful young lady?alas! thero 3 was neither door nor seat to the coach 3 ?It was a mere shell. Of course my uncle knew very well t that there was some mystery In the t matter, and that everything had pass3 ed exfitly as he used to relate it He remained stanch to the great oath he r had sworn to the beautiful young lady: ? refusing several eligible landladies on f her account, and died a bachelor at L. last. He always said what a curious thing It was that he should have found - out, by such a mere accident as his - clambering over this palings, that the i, ghosts of mall coaches and horses, b guards, coachmen, and passengers b were In the habit of making Journeys i r regularly every night; he used to add I. that he believed he was the only living b person who had ever been taken as a 1 passenger on one of these excursions; < b and I think he was right, gentlemen? t -at least I never heard of any other. i t *1 wonder what these ghosts of mall- , 1 coaches carry in their bags," said the b landlord, who had listened to the ) whole story with profound attention. "The dead letters of course," said 3 the bagman. 1 "Oh, ah?to be sure," rejoined the ' landlord. "I never thought of that" r VILLAGE BELLE'8 BABY l i 9 Part It Played in Giving a Bachelor a Complete Change. \ His chums asked him how he enjoy- \ r ed his two weeks' vaction, says.the ; J New York Sun. "The village belle who was married 1 3 a year ago in the little church of her ; t father and mother and grandfather and srandmother." he said, "return s ed home while I was occupying a room J In her father's house. She was accom| panted on her return by her first baby. I "The house where I had a room was not In any sense a summer boarding i house. It was the home of people who r would scorn to take a boarder. I was j taken in because my doctor knew the I people and asked them to take care of I me for a couple of weeks as a personi al favor. I was told that what 1 r needed was a complete change, and I f rot it I ''The young mother arrived several , days after me. The only time that I t was entirely at home, by which I > mean all alone In the house, was the I ha|I day before the young mother got i "The household went to the train to , meet her about seven hours before i she was due. They acted as If they r believed that the train would get Into 1 town by some short cut across coun, try. Most of the young people of the i village and a number of fathers and r mothers and a few old maids also , closed their homes early In the day t and went to the little station to help . shoo the train when It pulled In. t "When I heard the whistle of the i locomotive I went to my room. Motor j ; cars, buggies or tne oia type, ana peu? pie who preferred to walk soon arriv- ] t ed. The express wagon brought up i ' the rear. It was piled high with great < trunks and on top was the baby w&- I , gon. f "I am no authority on the baby 1 ; question but I question If any kid ever i had such a reception as that one had. i r The grandfather had the baby,' the i a grandmother had the daughter, asslst ed by several of her kin, and most of < i the boys had charge of the baby cart a There were some people In the village l t who failed to be at the station when < the train arrived, but they reached the 1 a house nearly as soon as the others. ' "The reception was on for several f hours. The next morning I asked 1 about the baby. The young mother ' Informed me that her aunt had bor- i 1 rowed the baby for a little while. r "I said I didn't know that mothers i - lent their babies. I reckon I made a t break in saying that for they all I laughed. Just then the telephone turne ed In an alarm. The young mother i answered. Then she appealed to her i 9 mother. The minister's wife wanted a to know If she .could borrow baby i when auntie was through with him. a Of course It was all right, for, as they i r Informed me, the lady was the wife of I the minister who had married the lit- i )' tie mother a year ago. i s "Then there were calls by young women, who were awfully dlsappointi ed when told that baby had been lent, a I got away from the house and took a i f long walk. I met strange people, who i !. seemed to know that I dldn'f belong In i e the town, and when they learned a where I was stopping they asked me a If I had seen the baby. They told me 8 about the wedding; what a pretty 1 < wedding It was a year ago. I won- ' ) dered If she was the only girl who had | r ever been married In the village. Or was she the first who, having married, - returned a year later with a baby? i i. "I think that Kid was loanea 10 every woman In the town, and especially ly to the girls. The little mother would go out to make a call, leaving the i " baby with Its grandma or the nurse, and return to be told that one of the i e girls who was at the wedding had < called and borrowed the urchin. & "I was finally called home suddenly, i - I had been so nice to the baby that 1 ! was taken to the train In the family ? auto; and the little mother and her i mother and the baby went down to i see me off. i "You fellows asked me how I enjoy- i y ed my two weeks' vacation and I have e told you, but?well, yes, I had a complete change. My doctor said that b was what 1 needed." i, _ f ' * ' % Odd Uses of Whalebone.?The noil tlon is popularly held that whalebone k is derived from whales' ribs, although y many persons believe that It comes ii from the tall of the big mammal, n Both notions are Incorrect, n The function of whalebone in tho d life of the whale Is of the utmost importance, says Harper's Weekly. The inner edges of the whalebone plates i. are frayed into Innumerable hairlike t processes, and the whole forms a sort of sieve whereby the whale may sift - out its food from the seawater. It e must be remembered that the food of d this gigantic creature consists chiefly e of minute organisms, crustacea, mol8 lusca, etc., floating near surface. *? aV o When the wnaie opens us muum d and moves along a great multitude of these minute forms of life find their t way In. Then the whale closes Its " mouth, and the water Is strained out through the whalebone sieve and the e food is retained. 3 The common uses of whalebone are 3 known to everybody. It Is, however, n put to two uses not generally known 3 even In England, where the fine lntery nal fringes mentioned are employed r In making of barristers' wigs. By rea son of their lightness they retain the i t curl better than does ordinary hair. < Fine whalebone threads are also i - sometimes employed to stiffen the tis' sue In high-grade silks. PRODUCTION AND PRICE. ? _ t< Boa. Jobs L NcLaurtn Talks of ProOferns of the Farmer. ?; CM EXPLAINED STATE WAREHOUSE IDEA. S CC " fli Senator from Marlboro Continual to rt W Hammer at tha Idaa of Securing for m tha Cotton Plantar a Mora Libaral ^ 8hara of tha Prooaada of Hia Labor, m Richmond, Va., April 15.?Hon. John m L. McLaurin, of South Carolina, ad- pr dressed the Southern Educational Wl conference here today on the economic <je problems of the southern farmer. His ln speech which received the close and Interested attention of the big audi- re ence was as follows: ' p|( ne na Gentlemen: tlx 1 was invited by the Southern Edu- tr; catlonal conference to say something on the subject of cotton and cotton la marketing. I suppoae because I am Gi the author of a bill providing for a ga state Inspection and grading with ca state owned and operated warehouses, lat I see a measure very similar ln prin- go clple has been commended to the leg- wl lslature of Wisconsin by the governor th< of that state and I believe that sooner Is or later all of the great agricultural crops will be handled in this way. po There can be no doubt that much of cr< the high cost of living comes from the thi enormous profits that go to the mid- spi dlemen who stand between the pro- ac ducer and the consumer. nil There Is a great deal being said in to the public prints about cheapening the th< cost of living, but I hear very little mi about the profits of productive labor. cr< If the propaganda was less for the con- th< Burner and more for the benefit of the lot producer, the evil would be sooner ad- It justed to their mutual benefit More i pronts on tne rarm wouia attract tnose now in non productive fields, creating all more food and clothing. Our census th< tells a story of a decreasing per cen- efl tage of country population as compar- Th ed to the town, and it is a manifest an impossibility in this free country by bel any fiscal or economic policy, to com- Th pel the farms to feed and clothe a cei constantly increasing urban popula- av< tlon at less and less cost I was born In the early days of the war on a big prl cotton plantation on the Little Pee- a? dee, twenty miles from a railroad, and an am today a practical not a theoretical nu planter, and I can truthfully say, that 19: there is very little net profit in cotton eld at even fifteen cents per pound. tor There is a constant labor shortage, gft because we cannot compete in prices Mo1 with the saw mills and railroads and gn factories, and as a consequence the bal most energetic labor goes where it tlo commands a higher price, leaving us ed the naturally idle and unambitious for of the farm. . ma There is nothing to keep the eper- em gretlc ambitious and educated boy on dh the farm. Rural life commissions may sh< cry "back to the farm," but the coun- PO' try lanes and blooming fields dp not ' attract when the only place where the ov< comfort which wealth alone can bring, vid la In the city where tr&fflc makes gold thi by its very touch. 1 TKIo ata^iis \m fha nnunfpv tn thA Oft] town not only effects the coat of liv- en< Ing, but goes deeper, for history teaches pr< us that a nation draw Its most un- eai Belflah patriotism and purest life from thl the deep wells of a prosperous agricul- all ture. tio It Is not my purpose to discuss the ft* tariff money or transportation ques- soi tions, further than to say that for V9 tip rears our whole scheme of govern- thi ment has revolved around their pro- tag taction and development at the ex- f* pense of both producer and consumer. I < The farmer Is compelled to buy in a? the protected home market and to sell bn In the unprotected open world market, am [ doubt if there Is a great fortune in wli this country whose source cannot be the traced to special privileges conferred wo by legislation. no' Every article which the farmer uses am In his business In addition to protec- prl tlon, Is trust made and the price trust th< fixed. He must either pay or go with- goi out. ' When he comes to sell his pro- be duct, he has nothing to do with fixing for the price, he is a competitor with ev- 1 ery other farmer, and his product is wil forced on the market under a crop mi mortgage and Hen law system and he Sot must take such price as may be offer- twi ed. no Time and again we have tried to paj organize and build warehouses, in pul fact In 1911, we did not lack facilities be Tor storing, but found It Impossible be- En cause our debts were due, and money cai to finance the crop could not be had. ag* There are several reasons why private sui warehouses do not furnish a satisfac- res tory collateral, except for local use, W1 where all of the parties to the transac- Wi tlon are well known. th? 1st. A bank In New York or Boston isn must be sure about the title of the cot- ed ton. How do they know If I present a tht warehouse receipt for one thousand at bales of cotton in a warehouse In < Charleston or Columbia, but that some lan merchant or banker in my home coun- bel ty, Marlboro has a crop Hen for ad- ar< vances and will seize the cotton? un< 2nd. Cotton differs so In price owing am to the grade, how can the Boston man uni know, If I substitute low grade cotton ] and thus cause him a loss. It is the go' constant practice in many warehouses api to substitute cotton, the only care be- pr< Ing to keep the same number of bales, ha A warehouse receipt to be a good his collateral, should specify the number coi of bales, the weight and the grade of th< each bale, and carry absolute title to pr< the cotton in the hands of any bona W11 flde holder. The holder of the receipt be< must receive on demand the identical cot bales or bales described in the receipt, spl This requires such co-operation on the Th part of the growers of cotton as I do del not think will ever come, except by ha invoking the powers of the state gov- ex] ernment. for The state Is not to buy my cotton, it goi Is merely to provide a warehouse me where my cotton is stored and charges aca me so much per bale for storage. api The state is not to loan money, It or merely gives me a receipt which will jm enable me to borrow money in the reg- wil ular way. The state Is not holding cot- got ton, she is providing storage, I am mo holding for my own benefit. j The state in her sovereign capacity, tie Bays In this receipt, that John Doe, has riv one hundred bales in my warehouse, gul and gives the number, weight and yes grade of each with the marks so that mil the Identical cotton named will be de- ate llvered on presentation of this receipt, dlv Certainly there could be no finer col- me lateral in any of the money markets gee or tne woria, Decause couon propeny ar? cared for never deteriorates. It Is also gei the one farm crop, easily ^convertible lor Into gold at a moments' notice. cei A bill embodying: these general prin-? ] clples passed the South Carolina legls- pai lature In 1911, and received the signa- ter ture of the governor. It was carried to before the supreme court and declared wh unconstitutional on account of a pro- ing vision for a bond issue. The court, pei however, emphatically admitted the wil right of the state within the exercise tra of her police powers to build, equip rni and operate a warehouse system such of as I have described. And why not? In doi South Carolina cotton is the basis of ' our civilization. ne1 If trusts and combinations, many of pai which have been declared by the Fed- ha eral courts to be "conspiracies in re- me straint of trade," fix the price of what gr< I consume, Is it not the duty of the a i government to protect me in a fair re- of turn for the products of my4 labor? of Certainly the cotton crop of the im south, supporting directly one-flfth of gp< our population, and affording em- Ed ployment in its manufacture to as ] many more, besides being the chief in factor in maintaining the nation's bal- po] ance of foreign trade, is worthy of en governmental protection, and the con- wil Bervation of its profits demands the coi consideration of wise statesmanship chl and true without regard to section. on We have solved the problem of pro- tai ductlon. Lands planted by my grand- is ither, making about one-half a ba re now producing nearly two bal > the acre. We do not need government exper i teach us how to grow the proverb! :wo blades of grass, wfyere one gre ifore," let them keep the other fello om getting our grass as well as h vn, and the problem Is solved. It Is roblem of distribution, not of produi on. I do not hesitate to say, that If luld be assured of Ofteen cents f< ire years, that at the end of that p< od. I would have my land making I sr cent more than it does now. T1 ech&nical cotton pl?ker renders tt Lrvestlng possible, If only my profl ere sufficient to Justify' the Invest ent ' The attempt of the Federal goverr ent to settle the trust question t osecutlons under the Sherman su is a failure, because they sought 1 troy, not to reguldte. The readln to the act by the supreme court < e qualifying words "In reasonabl nroa T siinnnaa on ami i/i uauv w?m94 & auyyvavi ece of Judicial legislation, absolute! cessary to keep the buaineM of tt .tion from being destroyed by pul ig all of our great captains of indui 7 in prison. So far as the production of cotto concerned, the failure of th tinge, the Alliance and kindred 01 nlzatlona, show that co-operatio n only be effective through legli :ion. Certainly it Is a function c vernment to do for the peopl latever they are not able to do fc emselvea. Nay, more than that, ! a sacred duty. In the fall of 1911, the October r< rt of the government indicated jp of 14,800,000 and immediate! b price fell $80 per bale. In th ring when It was determined b tual count that the crop was slxtee llion bales, the price went bac where It started from. That Is whs ? Inexorable law of supply and de ind does for ua Cotton Is made o sdlt. Start a big scare and knoc 9 price down In October, and th ver it goes the more of our cotto takes to pay back advances. [f the crop had been ten mllllo lea and we were forced to markc of It In two and one-half monthi 5 rise in the spring would only ben t the middlemen who bought it u] is is no exceptional case. There I average difference of 5 per ceni tween the price of October and Ma] at is, the fluctuations are 25 pe it above and 25 per cent below a j rage mean price. [n 1998, the difference between th ce in the crop marketing perlo* i in the summer, taking the hlgi d the low, was $87.50 per bale, a ich as my cotton averaged me 1: 11. Now the planter who sold a ht cent* in October, the same cot i bringing 16 cents in May?is be inlrig to wonder who gets th ther blade of grass" that he mad >w. There is need and use for ever le of our cotton, because produc n has not kept pace with increas consumption. It is not a questlo over-production, it is a question a irketlng and finance?-one so larg< ibracing interests so varied, and in Iduals so numerous, that nothfn >rt of the functions of a soverelg wer can solve the problem. The cotton planters are scatters* ir thousands of square miles, indi lually producing each a few balei it go to make the mighty whole. [ am glad to have, the privilege o rtlclpating in this great confer :e, and I take' this opportunity t jclaim my profound respect for th meet and able men who are makin s great fight for education. I re se that the lack of general educa n and the blight of ignorance is th latest handicap under which th ith ? suffers. . I believe, howevei It It is caused more from povert; in an indisposition to take advan re of opportunity. ' When I see ou sat crop sacrificed year after yeai isk the question, what chanc ilnst the combined wealth am tins of the world have the negroe i poor whites, tolling in the Marcl ads and the August sun, to produo > great money crop which th rid is eagerly awaiting to lnfua n life Into commerce. Assoclatloi d co-operation are the domlnatinj nclples of human civilization, am sir only chance is to act through i rernment, which proclaims Itself t< of the people, by the people am the people. [t is Just here, that we are me th the cry of Socialism. Well, ist plead Ignorance of Just wha sialism means. I know this, tha enty-flve years ago, the policle w advocated by the three politics rtles In reference to railroads am bile franchises of every kind woul< considered rank Socialism. Ii gland. David Lloyd-George 1 *rying forward his measures for oli e pension bills and government In ranee. In this country let on id the message of the governor o sconsln and the bill pending in th sconsln legislature, and he can se i drift of the time. It Is not Social >, It is plain, simple, old fashion justice. I for- one do not bellev it we are drifting in that dlrectioi all. Dur people abhor so-called Social i as much as they love justice, lleve that what the great masse i striving for is a state of soclet; der a government strong enougl d wise enough to insure to eacl it just his rights and no more. I think students of economic ant /ernmental science are too apt t< ply the same general rule to thi >blems of the day; which the; ve deducted from a study of anclen tory and modern European labo idltions. These do not apply li > social and economic revolution ii )gress in this country. Aualogie ;h other nations do not mean much :ause they do not take into ac int the great power born of th< rit of our democratic Institution is is. the only country where thi nocratlc idea in government ha d a half chance for full and frei uression. It is nothing but libert; ' man formulated into a theory o /eminent, but it has in it an ele nt which defies the anylytlca Jpel of the political scientist. It ritual power cannot be measure! defined, we only know that as 1 pels the individual to deal Justl; :h his fellowman, so carried int< /ernment, it makes the ideal com >nwealth. \.8 some animals moved by a sub instinct, cross mountains an< era until they find the habitat bes ted to their development, so 201 ire. ago did your forefathers an< ne seek this continent, feellnj iphetlcally that it was set apart to lne purposes, and still the humbli n and women of Europe eagerl; k these shores. America is thi jam that has haunted counties lerations of the oppressed in thel ig weary search through the tragi' lturles for justice. [n these later days it has come t< ss under our present financial sys n that agriculture has not been abl benefit under tnai co-operuuoi ilch haa developed our manufactur r and monled Interests. It so hap ti8 that the forces which have to d< th the manufacturing, financing am nsportatlon of commodities, hav iltlplled their power at the expens the production, until today the; minate the entire government. The development Of a people 1 irer harmonious, that Is all of th rts do not develop at once. W ve made wonderful progress li iterial things and perhaps thl sat conference is the beginning o ipiritual growth through the powe education. Certainly in the realr political science there is need to proved devices, which will corre )nd with the handiwork of Morse ison and Marconi, tf there has been no more progres applied economics than in applie< titles, we would still be using wood mould-board plows and ginnlni th mule power. We have made lo notlve8, telephones and flying ma Ines, but so far have not advance* co-operative lines, except for cer n favored classes, and right then the genesis of labor troubles an< le, discontentment of the part of proes ducers. I look upon this talk about the ints itiative. referendum and recall as al nothing save the unconscious working m of the great masses for the enthronew ment of the principle of association is in government It is the crying out a of the people for new methods and c- new machinery to meet new needs I and new conditions. That is all that or the so-called warehouse bill amounts s- to, a practical attempt to remedy an SO evil which has grown up with us. le 2 PERSONALITY. t The Something that Makas 8oma Man Count in tha World. ^ To make the man you are count in to the world for his full value, you must * be more than a man?you must be a * person. On all sides of us we see those a who are content to be merely a slighty ly noble and a more thoughtful order |? of animal. ' Their first care is for \i what they shall eat and wear, and for a comfortable pillow; their last conn sideratlon is bestowed upon an ampler * mind, a wider heart, a truer, tenderer n feeling. They are lost in the mere i- mechanics of living, never discovering the fine art and the beautiful science ir of life. They move on from one day it to the next, as though there were to be no end of days. Their minds are ? ever so slightly fixed on any world but y this, on any time but now, on any life e but this life. They do not aspire, nor y inspire, nor reach out beyond a narrow, pitiful tether, a well-worn ctrit cumference that only leaves a rusty >- circle in the gross where they have ? walked and eaten. Is that the life of e man? Ia that his destiny? Is that* n what he was put on earth to be and to do? ' ; lt But there are some who differ? s, some who stand out clearly and are >- distinguishable?some whose comings and goings change an atmosphere, give t. wings, dissipate our malaria, throw r. light into dark places of our souls, r open wide windows and let In fresh air. These are the people that we look e for many days ere we see them, and, d are wistful after when they have de* parted. What makes the established n distinction?wherein are they to be t marked and considered apart from ~ other featherless bipeds? Who shall g read us the riddle of that mysterious e quality?the union of all qualities? y that we call personality? How shall we detect man from superman, human " from superhuman, moral from angelic, t carnal from spiritual? What Is the galvanometer to register, by the de' flection of a slender needle, the force ' of the spiritual current that we may * read it? How shall we know a person when we ha,ve met one? Does It not j take weeks and days of varied and profound experience to read another " soul aright? May we safely trust the ' earliest casual Impression? t It is possible to waste a whole lot of * time endeavoring to discover some' thing that Is not there in andther human being. We are prone to Ideal * lzatton and hero worship?and It is a ' blessing that such is the bent of our minds. We should be poor, indeed, If 1 we did not believe that others are betSam Knovas tKan nro m s*a A 0 IOI CMIVft U???CI VUMI TTV? IV* V. n . mother has an inalienable right to be' Ueve that her own child is the most . glorious and glften Infant ever con" voyed to earth by an admiring host of . seraphs. The most miserable creature g that encumbers the face of creation j must have someone, somewhere, who 8 attributes to him a more satisfactory d character than he possesses. But is it e a wise plan to spend much time and . trouble erecting shrines and planting e temples to clayfooted idols when we ? know what and where the true gods . are and have once breathed the pure, J free air upon Olympus? "When halfa gods go, the gods arrive." In our 0 blindest and most fatuous illusions we j should be able to retain sufficient keenness of vision to penetrate hyt pocrisy and sham, to read the differj ence between the man or woman who t is real and the one who isn't, to dist tingulsh between the anemic drowser 8 and drifter and the one who is bent 1 starward with a fixed resolve that no j sorrow disheartens, no defeat plows j under, no major violence can overn throw, and the devil himself cannot 8 countervail. a A man like that is a man who counts, who impresses himself, the I coiled mainspring of initial impetus in f many an effort whose central insplrae tlon is hidden, as invisible as steam . ere it condenses. Such a prime mover, such a leverage, Is needed in almost " any community where one may look. e But the respected man is not he who _ invites attention to the uncommon struggle that he has survived and the uncommon fellow that he is today. " He is not heard for his much speaking. 1 He is not always bleating tor the 8 credit and the headlines. He does not y ahnur hla hand: anonvmitv is his COS< genial refuge. He leaves it to the lesser 1 breed to squabble as to whose name , shall be uppermost, whose place shall 3 be foremost. And the woman whose 3 personality tells Is not the vlciferous ? one. She Is not one. men dread to Y meet because she Is deadlier than the male. Her Influence is unobtrusively exerted, but profoundly felt: it flows through deep and quiet channels. 3 What does "Influence" literally mean If we will consider the word, It implies ' anything but explosive violence, ag" gresslve upheaval, rendering dynamic s vulcanology. How wonderfully a wo' man can bring about what she wishes ? by gentle Indirections?as Shakespeare calls them?Instead of by masterful ? directions! \ It is always worth while to enrich 1 our own natures by contact at all pos7 sible points with the life of the world around us?with, what real, live men ! are doing and saying and thinking, as : well as with the memorials of the dead 1 and burled past that lives again in Y its books and In its art. Those who 3 never take in will have nothing to give out They will remain neutral, Indistinguishable, impersonal, and they 7 will be lost in the crowd.?Phlladel* phla Ledger. ) i ' i Jonan's i omo^?i ne site 01 mnc?au g Is almost perfectly level. But adjolnr ing the western wall are two huge e mounds concealing the burial places of V the greatest kings of Assyria. The e lower or southern mound Is occupied s by a mosque and a village of considr able size. c Its name is Nebi Yunus. or the Prophet Jonah, for In the mosque Is s the tomb In which Jonah Is said to - have been buried. The age of the e tomb is uncertain, yet probably It (i dates from long after the Hebrew r prophet's time. However, the place Is - now sacred, so sacred that pilgrims 0 visit It from afar. 1 I rode up the steep, narrow streets e of the village to the mosque, writes a e correspondent of the Christian Herald, y and to the amazement of the natives I dismounted and entered the mosque s yard. A crowd of excited men quickly e surrounded me. 10 a priest i ?>*e plained that I had come to see the n grave of Jonah, and with a motion of s the hand I made It understood that f he would be rewarded. Removing my > r shoes I followed the priest through a i dark passageway. r There he pointed to a wall and said - that the tomb was Just beyond. I s, wished to enter the prayer room from which the tomb Itself might be s seen, but the place was considered far 3 too sacred for my profane feet. How ever, the few Christians who have % been permitted to see the tomb may - look only through a small window In to a dark chamber In which a cloth3 covered mound Is scarcely dlscern able. It Is said that no Moslem even e will enter the Inner shrine.?Los 1 Angeles Times.