Wood County reporter. [volume], August 27, 1896, Image 3

About Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923

Image provided by: Wisconsin Historical Society

                
PETRUCHiC.
By A. M. McMillan.
CHAPTER I.
James Lee was a most respectable
man. He was perfectly at home in the
ten commandments, and kept them to
a comma. He was enlightened, too,
and women, whose husbands did not
believe in the intellectual advance
ment of the sex, whom he took down
to dinner at suburban parties, envied
Mrs. Lee, and wondered she did not
care to go out with her husband. In
dress he was irreproachable; his shirt
front was always a shirt front and
never a badly inflated balloon. As an
after dinner speaker, he was happy,
and his little volume of essays entitled
“By the Way and Otherwise,” gave him
just a suspicion of the glamor of au
thorship.
At twenty-three, being in the receipt
of an income of £3OO, James had taxon
unto himself one Sylvia Moore to wife,
and had said to her, “Thou shall have
no other gods before me.” Sylvia, sev
enteen, an orphan, penniless, with
careless guardians, pretty, with a peach
like bloom, soft gray eyes and masses
of waving dark hair, fresh from a
boarding house with its dreams of an
earthly paradise, followed James into
his suburban villa and took up life’s
burden.
There, in the course of the next sev
enteen years, were born eight children,
the youngest a puny thing, living but
to die in an hour. During these years
Sylvia’s life had been one long task.
The yearly income was still £3OO, an 1
James was the only member of that
household who felt it enough. Sylvia
had made and mended, brought the
children into the world and kept them
quiet; had cooked, washed and was
responsible for the perfection of her
husband’s linen. At thirty-four she
was no longer a beauty. The peachlike
cheeks were sallow, the gray eyes less
soft and bright, the once rounded fig
ure was lean and angular and the dark
hair was now gray. In return for this
her husband had given her iiis name,
food, clothes sometimes, hard words
often, and, of course, he had made Jier
the mother of his children. Good
times, companionship, sympathy,
laughter, books, music and sunshine
were for other women.
Sylvia was no fool, and many a long
night, as she trod the nursery, with
the perpetual baby, she had pondered
over the inequality of the sexes in a
marriage such as hers, and had asked
herself a thousand times if the names
“wife” and “mother” were an adequate
return for the pangs, the monotony,
the loneliness, hardship and utter
wea; ’.ness of her life. Many a time she
owned that, all unwittingly, she had
sold herself for a mess of uncommonly
thin and bitter pottage, and felt that
in a woman’s pennilessness and de
pendence lies the secret of her endur
ance. At 34, then, came her first
breathing space. The two eldest boys,!
now' 16 and 15, had already gone out
into the world, and a cheap boarding
school had been found for the eldest
girl. The last baby, too, was dead, and
Sylvia had time now to sit by the fire
of an evening, sew leisurely and think
much.
So she sat one evening, ever and
again casting glances at her husband,
who sat opposite, looking languidly at
the evening paper, preparatory to going
off to his own particular sitting room,
the drawing room of the house.
“What are you staring at?” he de
manded. catching her eyes fixed on
him.
“I am merely wondering.” she said
slowly and meditatively, and not reply
ing to his question, “if men are realty
entitled to the best of everything.”
“Don’t be a fool if you can help it!”
he said witheringly, and expecting to
see her subside, as she usually did.
Sylvia threaded her needle afresh.
"By the way." she said presently,
with seeming irrelevance. “Mrs.
Brownlow called today for a moment.
“Ah! did she?” complacently. “Well,
and what did she say?”
“Just what sihe always says—that she
envies me being married to you,” said
Sylvia, with seeming simplicity.
Mr. Lee bridled, puffed himself out.
and then, seeing an unusual look in his
wife’s eyes, disguised his feelings in a
fit of coughing.
"She wants you to go there to dinner
on Monday next,” Sylvia went on.
“I don’t think 1 have any engage
ment that evening; no. I have not. Did
she say who is to be there?”
Sylvia’s heart beat a shade faster.
“1 only know one other!”
“And that is”
“Myself,” quietly.
“Yes. 1,” returned his wife. “Mrs.
Brownlow, as she always does, said,
‘I suppose it's no use asking you? 1
wish we could tempt you.’ ‘You can.’
said I; ‘I shall be delighted.’ ”
Sylvia looked at her husband, who
returned her look with consternation.
“I am sure she doesn’t want you,” he
said, bluntly. He could think of noth
ing else to say.
“I am sure not." said Sylvia, cheer
fully. “but I have never been to a din
ner party in my life, and I do want to
see what it's like.”
“Surely you will not force yourself
on a woman who does not want you,”
he replied, weakly.
He did not understand Sylvia in this
mood.
“Then surely you will never think of
going where I am not welcome.”
“Kindly leave me out of the question.
lam different. You know you hate go
ing out.”
“Well, you have always said so.”
said Sylvia, “but then, as I have never
tried it. I have formed no opinion on
the subject.”
"But I do not want you to go. I
shall be seriously displeased if you
think of it.” said her husband, losing
his temper.
“Well, you know, James, once that
threat would have had weight with
me; but now However, if you can
give me one satisfactory reason why
you don’t want me to go I may recon
sider the matter.” said Sylvia, lightly.
“I don’t wish it: that ought to be
enough.”
“No reason at all. Why don't you
wish it?”
“I will never condescend to argu
ment with you,” loftily.
“That means you have nothing to
say. Monday, then, and don’t forget
the hour is half-past seven,” And Syl
via began to fold up her work.
James stared at her in wonder.
“Sylvia !”
“Now, don’t roar at me, James.’
•'’Where is your duty to me?” he de
manded.
“Where yours is to me, doubtless.
But really, if you shout like that Sarah
will hear you!” And Sylvia took a
book from her work table and
opened it.
“Men have sometimes murdered their
wives for less.”
“Don’t James! Melodrama does not
suit you—you are too respectable.”
There was a brief pause.
“See if my fire is bright,” he said
presently, trying to gather a shred of
authority.
“Ring and ask Sarah. lam tired.”
James was completely nonplussed.
This was anew Sylvia, and he did
not admire her. What did she mean?
“I knew I have been weak about
her,” he said, as he withdrew with
wdiat dignity he could, “but I w r as not
prepared for this.”
Meanwhile Sylvia, left by the break
fast room fire, was trembling at her
own temerity. Like James, she did not
recognize herself in this woman who
spoke so glibly on her own Uehalf.
Many a time in her married life had
such thoughts and such w T ords trembled
on her lips, and had been stayed by
sheer dread of the consequences. Now.
somehow, probably because her physi
cal health was better, she felt com
pelled to assert herself. A sudden
longing for the youth that had been sd
brief, and for the freedom that she had
had, filled her heart. It was as though
the smoky blackbirds, piping to each
other among the short lived buds of the
suburban gardens, were so many voices
calling her to be young again. She
felt, too, that her interview' wdth her
husband had played on the borders of
tragedy, and now she half smiled as
the commonplace pushed the tragic
aside. What could she wear at that
party?
Evening gowns had not come into
her domestic economy. The few' pretty
things she had had on her marriage
had devolved on the children. She
turned over in her mind the contents of
a shabby old purse, where lay her slen
der savings, and felt she might allow'
herself £2 for dress on the great occa
sion. She had grown handy wdth her
needle, and she knew' a little dress
maker who w'ould help her. This
grave question settled, Sylvia moved
about the room, tidying and arranging
things. Presently she stood in front of
the faded, battered cottage piano. She
looked from it to the music cabinet, full
of dusty, old fashioned music. With
listless fingers she turned over the yel
low pages and read her own name,
“Sylvia Moore,” in a half childish hand,
here and there. This she played at
the breaking up party at Christmas,
and that at midsummer. There was
“Sweethearts.” She remembered a fav
orite schoolfellow giving it to her on
her sixteenth birthday; and she remem
bered, too, how in the days of her en
gagement she had sung it softly to ner
self, and thought tenderly of James
Lee.
Could she sing it now? With a timid
hand she opened the little piano and
set the music before her. Would her
voice come? Since her marriage it had
only crooned lullabies. Trembling she
tried the symphony. How stiff her
fingers were! How did it go? When
she began to sing her voice frightened
her—it was so hoarse and strange. She
dropped her face in her hands, and the
next moment tfears would have glit
tered on the yellow keys. She straight
ened herself up when the door opened.
* “Sylvia, understand once and for all,
the house must be kept perfectly quiet
when I am in it. At night, at least,
there can be no necessity to indulge in
these hideous noises.”
“1 am sorry if I disturb you James;
but 1 don’t see how you can reasonably
object to my keeping up my music,
when you have so often told Mrs
Brownlow that married women owe a
duty to society, and should keep their
accomplishments from growing rusty.”
and she turned to the piano.
“ ‘Give me a flower, dear love,’ he
said.”
“Sylvia!”
“He spake with a tearful sigh.”
“Sylvia! do you hear me?”
“That day he was going across the
sea.”
James came striding to her side.
“There must be no more of this!”
“And this was his last good-bye.”
James seized Hie music. “I will not
suffer this!” he said furiously.
“I am afraid Mrs. Brownlow has too
high an opinion of you, James. She
saffl today, what she liked about you
was your equable temper,” said Sylvia
provokingly.
James swallowed audibly six tim#s.
“I shall lock the piano!” he said, be
ginning to bluster.
“Not tonight, anyhow, as the key has
been lost since Freddy swallowed it
ten years ago.”
A word of one syllable, the banging
of the door, was her husband’s reply.
“I don’t think Mrs. Brownlow would
think that dignified,” said Sylvia.
CHAPTER 11.
Early on Monday afternoon Sylvia
shut herself up to make her grand
toilet. She and the little dressmaker
had contrived quite a presentable gar
ment. of a soft gray material, cheap,
but lending itself to graceful folds, and
with just a touch of pink round the
slightly open bodice. It was her fancy
to dress without once looking into the
mirror, so, until she stood complete, she
had no idea what a success she was.
Excitement had recalled for a time her
peachlike bloom; her eyes had again
grown soft, and even her fast graying
hair was becoming. As she gazed at
the unwonted picture she made, she
felt that her lost youth had come back.
One thing spoiled her satisfaction in
her appearance. Her cloak was old
and bad seen much service among the
babies. Ah. well! that could not be
■helped. Wrapping it round her, she
went down to the breakfast room to
wait her husband’s return.
During the week that gentleman had
done little but ruminate on the situa
tion, which had not been alluded to by
either, and today he had decided on
the master stroke. Directly he came
home he sought his wife in the break
fast room.
“I have just called at Mrs. Brown
low’s,” he said, with ill concealed tri
umph, ’'to tell her that neither of us
can join her this evening.”
“You have done what?”
“I have told Mrs. Brownlow not ro
expect either of us tonight. Of course,
even you will not think of going now, ’
he added, as she did not speak.
“No, ah, no; at least, not there,” said
Sylvia, so quietly that she astonished
herself and disgusted her husband.
"But, as we have at least part of the
evening before us, I think we may
spend it not unprofitably here.” She
threw off her cloak and seated herself.
James looked at her. He had been
prepared for a row, tears, recrimina
tion, and, indeed, as he was primed for
a fight, reception like this put him
sadly out of his reckoning. However,
his turn would come later.
“I must have something to eat.” was
all he said.
“Please tell Sarah.” said Sylvia. "1
don’t think there is anything nice in.
I dined as usual with the children at 1.
and we had boiled mutton. If Sarah
hasn’t eaten it, there should be a little
bit left. That and some tea will do, as
no doubt, you intend to join Mrs.
Brownlow’s party later; and she is al
ways carqful of your comfort.”
He pulled the bell sharply.
“Sarah, please bring the cold mutton
and some tea for Mr. Lee.”
James was livid.
Till the distinctly frugal meal was
placed on the table nothing more was
said. Sylvia came to the table and
poured out a cup of tea forher hus
band. Her heart beat quickly and she
shivered as she did so; for she knew
that after tor ’ght life was not to be the
same to her, and she realized that "he
moment had come when she must de
clare herself free or forever hold her
peace.
“Yes,” she said presently, as if in
reply to something he had said, “the
time has come for a little plain speak
ing between you and me, not as hus
band and wife, but as man and woman
—a very different thing.
James affected to select a piece of
mutton with extreme care.
“You have, Mrs.- Browmlow tells me,
a pretty taste in history, and I w r ant
you to look over mine with me.”
Sylvia spoke quite easily and dispas
sionately flow, as if she was stating
the affairs of someone else.
“As you know,” she proceeded, “I
was seventeen when you married me.
I regarded you then, and for a week or
two. as a god, I thought you also, for a
week or two, the wisest and best of
men, and, if a trifle selfish, not more
than a man should be. ’
James did not relish the glance his
wife gave him.
“Don’t let us have much more of this
damned nonsense!” he said.
"I can remember yet how frightened
1 was the first time you swore at me,”
said Sylvia. “What a goose I must
have been! I believe, funny as it
seems, if I had sworn at you you would
have respected me mere. But that’s
only a parenthesis. I don’t think I
quite found you out till our first baby
came,” she went on. “I remember how
weak I felt and how I longed for sym
pathy; and I remember, too, it was
about that time you began to feel the
want of frequent change.”
“If you can spare time from these in
teresting reminiscences,” he said, in a
tone which had often made Sylvia
wince, “I should like another cup of
tea.”
She refilled his cup. "As time went
on I realized that I was nothing to
you but a convenience. You were a
good, a moral young man; you wan ed
a housekeeper, not a companion, i
was more submissive more respectable,
and less expensive than a mistress;
hence my elevatidn to the honorable
position of your wife.”
“Are you mad?”
“Not now; but I think I must have
been mad all these years to let you
treat me as you have done, to let you
crush me and destroy ray identity,’’ she
said sadly.
“Do you know what you have been
saying?”
“Perfectly; and 1 have something
else to add. I am tired of my long
slavery.” Sylvia rose. “I am giving
notice,” she laughed. “Tonight I
throw up my situation as your bond
woman,” and she laid her wedding ring
on the table before him.
He looked from it to her. He rose —
“Not so fast,'*if you please,” he be
gan, feeling that he was about to play
a winning card. "As to what you have
said,” contemptuously, “with a single
exception, it is not worthy of notice
from any sensible man. The exception
is this;” and he pointed to the ring.
“In renouncing this you renounce the
children.”
“I know,” said Sylvia, choking back
the sobs that were Struggling for utter
ance. “I know tha - . children are sup
posed by men to insure their wives
remaining at home under any circum
stances, unless, perhaps, they are so
unfortunate as to fall in love with other
men; but it does seem difficult for a
man to believe that he himself may
make even a woman's children but a
poor crown for a martyrdom. Had it
been possible I would have stayed for
the children.”
“Your religious convictions” —
T do not think?, James, I need delay
my departure to discuss the religious
aspect of .the question with you. It is
growing late, and I must go.”
“Yes, you must go, and, remember,
you can never come back.”
“Believe me.” she said, solemnly, “I
never will come back.”
“May T ask how you propose to live?”
he asked tauntingly. “Is there in your
case another man whom you love, and
whose morality does not demand a
wife?”
Sylvia, in her soft gray gown, and
with her strange new air of dignity,
crossed the room, opened the door, and
looked back. Her husband’s eyes met
hers. So they stood for a moment; then
his eyes fell.
The door closed.
James Lee holds the comfortable be
lief that the verdict “while of unsound
mind” was correct, and he finds Mrs.
Brownlow, now a widow, in expensive
and becoming mourning, an unspeak
able consolation.
“How are we going to handle this
darn fool book of poems by Bluebubby,
the society leader, without offending
him?” asked the literary critic.
“Praise the binding,” replied the edi
tor-in-chief. —Philadelphia North
American
VINTAGES OF MEXICO
HOW THE NATIVES MANUFAC
TURE THEIR BEST DRINKS.
PULQUE, MESCAL, TEQUILA.
All Are Intoxicating and Have Medic
inal Properties —How They Became
Known —The Wonderful Maguey
Plant—MPked for Its Rich Sap—
Pigskins Used for Receptacles.
The special drinks of Mexico are
pulque, mescal and tequila. Properly
speaking, pulq e is the national drink.
In Consular Reports for July Thomas
T. Crittenden has a very interesting ar
ticle regarding the. manufacture of
pulque in Mexico. In order to supply
information as to the character of the
drink he reprinted an article taken
from the Deutsche Zeitung von Mex
ico, the editor of which. Professor
Adam E. Schulte, has dealt generously
with the salient points about mescal
and tequila. Mr. Crittenden supple
mented his own report on pulque.
The mescal plant, a near relative of
the maguey, the juice of which fur
nishes the celebrated pulque, differs
in form from the latter in so far that
its thick leaves possess a bluish tint
and grow almost perpendicu'4 •, while
those of the pulque plant bend their
leaves from above downward.
Both plants yield a revenue for the
happy possessors thereof which can be
called princely. And both grow in
poor, dry soil exposed to the rays of
the sun, and extract from the soil,
first the uncommonly high alcoholic
contents in the flesh of the heart of it,
similar to the saccharine matter of the
sugar cane, and the latter a direct
sweetish-sour juice which collects in
the heart of the plant and is collected
from it by means of a very sin pie
sucking apparatus, operated by the
mouth of the peon; but not in such a
manner that the sap enters the lips of
the same, as is believed by so many,
who object to drinking it on that ac
count. From these siphons it is
emptied into skins and brought to the
hacienda and subjected to a cei tain
process of fermentation lasting from
two to three hours. Then the juice,
now called pulque, is transported as
quickly as possible to the places of
consumption, for its drinkability dees
not last longer than a day, and it be
comes then unsalable. As tastes differ,
it is necessary that pulque be actually
imbibed in order to be able to judge as
to its flavor. The best pulque resem
bles in looks thick green-fodder milk,
and as it contains much sediment, it
necessitates the shaking of the bottle
before drinking it, that not too much of
the former be swallowed at one gulp,
or indigestion, weakness of stomach,
aye, even for consumption, it is said
that pulque acts very beneficially, and
the numerous credible persons who
have given their testimony in uroof of
this, cause the fact to hardly admit of
any doubt. Still less can its nutritive
qualities be doubted when beholding
the thousands and thousands who sub
sist almost entirely on pulque, tortillas,
frijoles and chile, who are robust and
quite strong. Unfortunately, the ex
cessive drinking of it, owing to its
cheapness—a tumblerful costing but 1
cent —causes much drunkenness. Thus
the sight of drunkards is one of the
most frequent occurrences; this the
more so as pulquersias are dissemin
ated as thickly as beer saloons in many
foreign cities, and the quarrels result
ing in consequence often cause in one
day more than a hundred arrests, with
most of these prisoners wounded.
Before the pulque plant offers its
juice to humanity, it must have at
tained an age of from 8 to 11 years,
after which time its productiveness
lasts until it yields from 125 to 160
gallons, sold at the hacienda itself at S
cents per gallon, certainly a fine reve
nue for every plant. Young plants
shoot up at all times, thus furnishing
plants necessary for future harvest.
The genuine mescal plant, or perhaps
more fitly called -whisky plant, needs at
least ten years before it can be (lit.
This is done by cutting the whole plant
just below ihe heart; then the leaves
are cut a-way from the latter about two
inches from the core, they containing
up to that distance the alcoholic sap.
The heart is then split into tw r o or mere
pieces, according to its size, and trans
ported to the distillery on the backs of
mules or donkeys. There have been
found some mescal plants -whose hearts
-weighed 1,200 pounds, and w r here one
plant produced one barrel of whisky.
These -weights are very rare, however.
The first thing seen upon entering
the yard of the distillery is a basin-like
hole in the ground, about four feet deep
and having a diameter of from ten to
Jfteen feet. Upon the bottom big pibs
Sf wood are laid, and upon these large
flat stones. The wood is kindled, and
when the stones are thoroughly heated
the agave hearts are placed upon them i
and remain there for about fourteen
jours, for so leng will the fire last.
The hearts are covered with mats,
sacks and loose earth, and before this
covering is removed at least ten hours
must elapse to give the plants sufficient
time to become thoroughly steamed.
After the mass has cooled off it is
transferred to another basin, similarly,
constructed, but having in the middle,
firmly imbedded, a massive stanchion,
1o which a revolving pole is attached,
moving a heavy, round stone. To the
projecting end two oxen are yoked to
set the whole in motion, to assist
which a boy sits on the inner end of
the pole, provided with a long staff
having a sharp prong at the end, in
case these animals come to a sudden
halt when the ponderous stone bangs
against a big pile of the mescals that
have become stowed in front of it. By
this process the hearts are reduced to
a pulp. A peon walks backward in
front of the revolving pole wuth a rake,
in order to spread the mass as evenly
as can be. The stone is so adjusted
that it may be shifted at will, either
nearer to the center or the rim of it.
That this basin is well cemented need
hardly be mentioned. The meat of the
mescal, after having undergone its
vapor bath, is very sweet, with a strong
alcoholic taste. Before eating much of
it one has enough.
It takes a few hours before the mass
yields sap enough to remove the fluid
into receptacles serving as fermenta
tion store tanks. The reducing process
is then continued with the remaining
plants until the whole has become fit
for use. After the juice has undergone
the necessary fermentation (to assist
which a naked peon jumps up and down
in the vat and this likewise helps to
extract the separation of the still re
maining fibers from the sap) the sap
then precolates through the perforated
bottom of the vat and is fit for the dis
tilling apparatus. After all the juice
that can be obtained by the above pro
cess has been obtained, the refuse is
carried into other basins, covered with
abundant water and left to undergo an
other fermentation; this over, the
fibrous mass is put under a press and
the last drop of the spiritual fluid ex
tracted. This press is of the most
primitive construction, and the last
fermentation lasts about one day. The
fiber thus pressed is then dried and
serves as fuel.
As far as the alcoholic strength of
the tequila is concerned, the same is
about equal to that of common whisky,
and likewise in its effects. If taken
moderately, however, in case of poor
appetite, a few thimblefuls act as an
excellent tonic, and a small dose taken
before retiring at night has a quieting
effect. It is not advisable for a person
to take much tequila, and he who takes
none at all is still better off.
As the foregoing article deals more
specially with mescal and tequila, the
current ideas on pulque are given. This
drink holds a higher position with the
masses of this country than the more
refined vintages. It is impossible to
separate in thought the average Mexi
can and pulque. They must stand cr
fall together. No drink has a stronger
hold on any nation than this on the
Mexicans. By Mexicans is meant all
classes in Mexico, “native and to the
manner born,” other than the full
blooded Spaniards. Pulque is not the
drink of the Spaniard or those of Span
isu descent. They use champagne,
claret, sherry and other imported
wines. Among the peons, men. women
and children drink it with the same
freedom that water is used in the
United States. Pulque and jealousy
cause more wounds, bruises and deaths
in Mexico than all the wars had on its
soil.
The pulque plant is indigenous to
this part of Mexico, often growing wild
on the uplands where for months and
years at times no rain falls, and it is
also largely cultivated in the most
careful manner on the “llanos de
Apam,” a large area of plains lying in
this state and the adjoining state tf
Hidalgo, about sixty miles from ihe
City of Mexico.
In Spain a plant is found, called
“pita,” somewhat akin to the pulque
plant, or Mexican maguey, yet differing
so much in its general features that it
may be termed a distinct genus. The
juices of the pita are unused in Spain,
which fact plainly separates it from
the family of plants in Mexico, whose
flow has been used for centuries, al
most supplanting the use of water in
that part of the republic where the
plant is found.
The plants are transplanted when 2
or 3 years of age with much care, then
cultivated in fields especially prepared
for the purpose, in number, per acre,
from 360 to 680 plants—when 8 by 8
feet, 680 plants to the acre; when 12 by
12 feet, 360. The number per acre is
governed largely by the topography cf
the land and the judgment of the pro
prietor.
Nature requires the plant to be
“milked,” when the liquid is ready to
flow for the use of man, else the super
fluity of juices will cause the growth
of a large stem from the center of the
plant, shooting up some fifteen or
twenty feet, putting out branches at
the top, which blossom in a cluster of
yellowish flowers. These branches are
symmetrical and the effect is like a
lofty branched candlestick.
When the pulque is first extracted,
before the process of fermentation sets
in, it is sweet and scentless and in this
state is preferred by the new beginners
of the drink. The old topers scorn the
drink of that age, calling it “the baby s
drink.” The fermentation takes place
in tubs built for the purpose, and to aid
or expediate the process a little “madre
pulque,” or pulque mother, is added,
which hastens the chemical change.
At times its fermentation is retarded
by a cold spell at the vats, which pre
vents its carriage into the city for a
day or so.
The stock must be renewed daily,
else it becomes dead and insipid,
though it is said a certain powder lias
been discovered which will prolong its
life through the second day. The liquid
ferments rapidly and strongly and the
casks are left uncorked and the pigs’
noses unmuzzled to prevent explosion.
The plant grows eight years before
maturity and the liquid is extracted.
In the growth of the plant, a central
bulb is formed for its coming juices.
This is scooped out, leaving a cavity or
hole big enough to hold a few quarts.
This cavity is made in the bottom and
middle of the plant. The juice exudes
into this cavity, and it is taken out
daily by being sucked into a long
necked gourd, on the siphon principle,
by the Indian laborers, then poured
into the tubs (taken to the fields) and
finally removed to the vats.
Each plant is supposed to yield from
125 to IGO gallons of liquid within its
producing life, which is about four
months. The plants are wholly inde
pendent of rain and storm, and are of
a beautiful deep-green color. The tax
on pulque is collected at the “garritas,”
or gates, before its admission to the
city, and then the liquid is distributed
in the barricas and pigskins on special
carts held in readiness for that pur
pose.
Nothing presents a more ridiculous
appearance than .one of those pig or
hog skins containing about twenty gal
lons when being taken round an<*
through the city, the legs sticking out,
full to the tees, of the liquid, and even
the tail presents its wonted curve when
filled. This is a convenient mode of
handling the pulque, as by simply re
moving a string from one of the feet
the contents are soon drawn.
The young plants are generally re
planted at a distance of such propor
tions as heretofore mentioned. When
the laborer draws the sweet sap with
his rude siphon, made either of a gourd
or a calabash and a hollow-horn tip, he
discharges the contents into a pig or
goat skin swinging at his back. The
agua miel in this stage is like green
water in appearance and taste. Soon
carbonic acid is formed, and it becomes
milky, and resembles in taste very
good cider. The amount of carbonic
acid contained is so great and the de
composition so incredibly rapid that in
a few hours it would become vinegar
if not closely watched. To prevent
this the pulque dulce, or sweet pulque,
is poured into a tinnacal —an oxhide
strapped to a square wooden frame and
capable of holding a considerable
amount of the liquid. These tinnacals
are of various sizes, to meet the emer
gencies of the situation. To the sweet
pulque is added an equal proportion of
milk, and then a slight dose of infu
sion of rennet. This is not enough to
coagulate it. but sufficient to induce a
slight amount of putrescence, as in
cheese. The putrid odor and flavor of
pulque as sold in the pulquerias is due
to the rennet alone, for the belief that
this is caused by the flavor of the pig
skin. in which it is brought to market,
is entirely without foundation.
From the tinnacal it is poured into
hogsheads by means of pigskins, and it
is transferred to the barrels of the
venders from the hogshead of the
haciendado by means of the same
skins. These barrels are. as before
stated, large tierces or barricas. In
both instances the pulque remains in
the skin barely more than a few sec
onds or minutes before the transfer.
Throughout the Mediterranean region,
where wine is kept for years and years
in pigskins, the effect is only to give a
slight putrescent aftertaste, so faint
that only a connoisseur would perceive
it. The xennet added in the tinnacal is !
the real cause of the putrid flavor and
taste of pulque. This is removed in
private families by means of a chemi
cal substance of a perfectly inocuous
character, and some housekeepers add
white sugar and others the juice of
oranges.
It is a regrettable fact that in the
pulqueshops this beverage is made in
toxicating to a maddening degree upon
some characters by the addition of mar
ihuana. This marihuana is an extrac
tion of what is known in the United
States as the “‘jimson” weed and the
datura stramonium of our home drug
stores. The effect upon the nerves is
singular, and it almost forces men
into physical struggles of which they
are unconscious at the time. The gov
ernment has made and is making every
effort to stop the sale of this noxious
compound. The number of deaths from
fights in pulqueriasis is incredible.
Those whom the poison does not mad
den it stupefies, and in every great fes
tival, particularly when there are pub
lic displays of fireworks, the police
have hundreds of persons to look after
those who are absolutely helpless from
drinking drugged pulque. The venders
at times become so bold in the sale of
this drink they declare they must sell
it to those wanting it or lose their
trade, regardless of the struggles of the
government to remove the evil conse
quences flowing from it.
The leaves of the pulque plant are
long and pointed, with prickles along
the edge. Sometimes these leaves are
very large, and the bunches of them
springing from the common stock are
enormous. The bruised leaves are
made into a kind of paper, rather a
tough, stiff and hard paper, and they
are also used in their natural state as
a protecting thatch for the roofs of the
common huts or houses occupied by the
peons. A kind of thread is also made
from the fibrous texture of the leaves,
and a rough needle and pin is made
from the thorn, and from the root a
cheap and palatable food is made. It
is not a matter of surprise, then, that
the peon class almost worship and
idolize the pulque plant. It is said
that Xochitl, a Toltec woman, revealed
to her race in the eleventh century the
method of extracting from the pulque
plant this drink, which has been ever
since both 11. e delight and curse of the
Mexicans.
RORAIMA, A WONDERLAND.
That Mysterious Country Near the
Schomburgk Line in Venezuela.
Perhaps one result of the Venezuela
boundary commission’s work will he
the solving of the most remarkable
geographical enigmas in the world and
the exploration of what is regarded as
a unique natural wonderland. This
remarkable region is a number of ele
vated and isolated areas of land, sit
uated on what the British call British
Guiana’s southwestern boundary, which
is in the disputed territory. It is cn
the British side of the Schomburgk
line. A British Guiana newspaper de
scribes this region, as far as it is
known, and expresses the hope that the
final settlement of the boundary con
troversy will leave it well within Brit
ish bounds. Should there be another
result, however, the newspaper says,
the region should be made an interna
tional park, something on the plan of
the Yellowstone park reservation.
The region is called by the Indians
Roraima, but the several isolated
areas are known by distinctive names.
Each consists of what might be called
an isolated mountain, but is really a
table land, comprising an area of 100
or more square miles, elevated several
thousand feet above the surrounding
country. Th rocky sides of the moun
tains are as perpendicular as the Hud
son river palisades and entirely bare of
vegetation, and have defied all at
tempts to scale them. The level sum
mits are covered with trees and other
vgetatlon, anil down the rocky sides
fall a large number of cascades of con
siderable size, indicating the certain
existence of rivers and streams on the
mysterious summits, and probably of
lakes that feed the rivers. The sum
mits have been observed with tele
scopes, and are known to be as full of
plant life as the tropical plains below,
but beyond this nothing is known.
Because so little is known of the
condition of these table lands occasion
is given for all manner of speculation
as to what exists there. That the
vegetation is quite different from that
on the plains below the telescope
shows; and that it should be so is quite
natural, as the table lands are 2,000
or more feet higher than the plains.
tVhile the climate of the plains is
tropical, that of the table lands must
be temperate, not only because of their
elevation, but also because of the free
play the wirds have about them.
Of the geology of the region this ex
planation is given; This part of South,
America rose slowly from the sea,
through successive and remote agea.
The Roraima mountains were formed
precisely as was the rest of the land,
and are not th result of volcanic no
tion. Hence they must have been
above the ocean before the surround
ing plains appeared. They stood 2,000
feet above the level of the sea when th©
neighboring tops were but islands in
th ocean. In the course of a period
difficult to appreciate the adjacent val
leys and plains appeared above the
water and became covered with vegeta
tion and animal life. But the isolated
plateaus of Roraima had a tremendous
start of the plains below. Here cornea
the alleged ground for the speculation
that perhaps on these mysterious sum
mits there exists flora and fauna unlike
any found elsewhere, forms of life that
long since disappeared from other
parts of the world, but remained thfr
same on these summits, because unaf
fected by the influences of communi
cation with the outer world. All sorts
of wild guesses have been hazarded
regarding the existence of strange rep
tiles and animals among the streams
and forests of Roraima.
The cascades falling from the sum
mits are among the highest in the
world. One is 2,000 feet high and ia
broad enough to be visible thirty milea
away. It falls sheer, without a break.
The mountains from which these cas
cades fall form the dividing water
sheds of the Amazon, the Orinoco and
th© Essequibo, the three great rivers
of South America, and the waters of
the cascades flow some to one and
some to another of these rivers. It is
argued that to supply these waterfalls
there must be a considerable body cf
water on the mountain plateaus, and it
is natural to conclude that where there
are large bodies of water there are fish
and reptiles. The resulting conclusion
that, because these fish and reptiles
must, have been isolated on the moun
tain tops for ages, they are likely to be
different from any known species, is
regarded as quite natural. The moun
tain plateaus form practically little
countries by themselves, like islands,
but more isolated, because the ocean of
air that surrounds them does not afford
th© facilities for communication with
other islands as do the waters of the
ocean itself.
One of the plateaus, known as Ku
kenham, which is better situated for
observation than any of the others, is
estimated to have an area of 200 square
miles or more. The smallest, which
bears the name common to the group,
Roraima, is estimated to contain SO to
140 square miles.
The story of the mysterious region
is not new, at least to British Guiana.
Tt is many years since any scientific
men were in the region, but chance
travelers and gold prospectors happen
there at odd times, and when they x-©-
turn to Demerara they add their little
store of information and mystification
to the rest.—New York Sun.
PREPARING FOR CONTINGENCIES.
The Young Man Expected to Meet His
Proposed Father-in-Law.
It was 8 o’clock in the magnificent
capital of the greatest republic on
earth, and the gloaming, oh, my darl
ing, had gone glimmering among the
things that were two hours previously.
A gas light burned golden yellow on
the corner of one of the beautiful
streets leading into Dupon Circle, and
an electric light burned silvery white
two blocks down the street, when an
ambulance from the emergency hospit
al stopped in front of a palatial resi
dence in that aristocratic neighbor
hood and backed up to the curb.
One minute, or perhaps less, after
the ambulance had stopped, a hand
somely dressed young man jumped out
over the tailboard and started towards
the steps of the house.
As he did so a policeman, strolling
leisurely around the corner beyond,
observed the ambulance and instantly
sprinted for it.
“Say,” exclaimed the officer, in the
usual chaste and elegant, not to say
Chesterfleldian, manner of an excited
guardian of the peace, “what’s the
row?”
‘ There isn’t any—yet,” replied the
young fellow, with a world of sug
gested possibility in the way he closed
his answer with the word “yet.”
“What’s the ambulance for?” insist
ed the policeman.
“For future reference.” said the
young man evasively.
“That’s not what they are usually
for,” argued the officer, trying to get at
the true inwardness of the situation.
“No,’ and the young man drew
closer and spoke very confidentially,
“no, but it’s different in this case.
You see, I’m going to ask a young
lady’s father for her hand and as the
it might come handy for me to be
prepared for emergencies.”
The policeman gave vent to his ad
miration in a low whistle and waited
until a servant came out and told the
ambulance driver to go back to the
stable. —Washington Star.
EDITOR’S JARGON.
Some of the terms used by editors in
regard to “oepy” or manuscript are
peculiar to the trade, and when ap
plied in particular cases would, to the
uninitiated, appear to be of a violent
and criminal character.
The order to “ ‘kill’ Cleveland,” fop
instance, would, on its face, seem r ,o
partake of treason. The murderous ex
pression, however, would simply sig
nify that the editor desired that an ar
ticle in regard to the chief executive
should be destroyed.
The direction to “boil down the sen
ate” would not mean that the reporter
was to concoct a congressional con
somme, but that the bulk of the report
of the proceedings of the senate should
be reduced.
“Cut Hoke Smith in half. We want
only the meat.” That forcible, restric
tive measures should be used in con
nection with the person issuing such a
mandate would seem only proper. But
the anarchistic expression is mder
stood by the newspaper-man to signify
that an interview with the secretary o£
the interior shall be reduced one-half
of its original length, as the editor
wants only the essential points.-'-
Washington Star.