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FACED DEATH MANY TIMES. Lad Who Has Been la Peril Frequently Bat Still Lives. Edward Dempsey, son of a once not ed oarsman, has been near death's door thirteen times, but the portals are still closed to him. He is thirteen years o'.d and has walked hand in hand with death for every year of his life and never flinched. Saturday morning ho met with his thirteenth accident, but that he has passed the hoodoo number Jn safety is affirmed by the physicians at the Jefferson hotel. The boy was riding hla bicycle down Chestnut street when he ran into a trolley car at Eighth street, striking his head against the Iron part of the fender on the rear of the car. Leading his wheel he walked to the hospital, not know ing until he arrived there that he had received a fracture of the skull as the result of the accident. The doctors say he will recover. He cheerfully bears his confinement and seems concern d only in the baseball scores. Edward's father, Patrick Dempsey, who is now employed in a hotel on Eleventh street, below Chestnut, was prominent years ago as an oarsman and coach. When the family lived at Falls of Schuylkill some years back the boy was concern ■ed in more accidents than a hospital ambulance. Once he shot the falls of Wissahickon creek in a frail rowboat and it was a common occurrence for him to fall overboard while rowing and swim ashore. This remarkable lad has been the victim of a gasoline accident, was hit by trolley cars ga lore, chased by the angry subjects of his practical jokes and in may othei ways made the hero of incidents of which he was too modest to keep acs count. But the boy survived his thir teenth accident, probably the most serious of all, and the physicians are certain that he will be ready for an other one next year.—Philadelphia Press. FAILURE OF SILK CULTURE. Attempt* to Introduce It lu Virginia Were Unuccmfal. In parts of Virginia, especially in tho vicinity of Williamsburg, there are many mulberry trees —the result of a fad introduced in the colony in the early days. For a century and a hali the people made ineffectual attempts to produc their own silk in order to escape the commercial tyranny of the French merchants. Charles I and 'Charles II both favored the enterprise, and encouraged it by promising re wards. By the direction of Cromwell, tho House of Burgesses passed a law requiring the planting of one mulberry tree in every ten acres of 'and in the colony. There was also a law per mitting only counselors and herds of families to appear in gold lace and for bidding everybody to dress in silk clothing unless the silk was grown in Virginia. The experiment was fully tried, but was unprofitable. In 1655 400 pounds of silk were sent to L n •don; jn 1668 300 pounds were sent as a present to Charles 11. These are the largest shipments known in the rec ords. Occasionally a few pounds went along with a cargo of tobacco. The worms did not thrive. The industry languished and was finally abandoned. In 1730 It was revived,when a colony of French Huguenots came over, but the only result was a lot of picturesque old trees with knotted trunks and gnarled branches. Keeping a Boarding House. It would be difficult to cast a stone in New York without striking a boarding house or lodgings. Some exceptionally tony people arc engaged in the business of providing food and shelter for home less individuals of the human race. Among the keepers of swell places are numerous widows of Southern soldiers, the destruction of whose property in the civil war burdened their families with distressing poverty. They managed to come here and get a start, and many have made comfortable fortunes. The widow of a noted general opened a house in Twenty-first street, near Broadway, <omc twenty-three years ago, and of fered Southern beds and board for $6, 58 and sio a week. Notwithstanding she had been born in the purple, sho worked like a slave, and after ten years •of drudgery had saved enough money to buy a house in a cross street east of Central Park. Here she raised her prices to $25, S3O and $35 a week, two meals a day, and had as many boarders as she Could accommodate. She is to-day a rich woman, with a son and daughter in high society.— Nczu York Press. The population of the German Em flre Includes 3,000,000 who use the olish language. Rush Travers' Caprice. BY BELL BLOSSOM. "Thirty years of age, possessor of a handsome fortune and a handsome face, and already become cynical! Se riously, Hush, I would advise you to become a hermit. I think a few months so spent would raiise you to the appreciation of your blessings. Take it into consideration, old fel low. Au revoir!" And Harry Withers, touching his hat, hurried off at the corner of the street the two friends had approached together. Rush Travers walked on alone. The words to which he had just listened had been lightly, jestingly spoken, but somehow they had hurt. Was it true that he was ungrateful? Did the heart never cry out, in its emptiness, even when filled with the favor of fortune, the good will of men, the caressing smiles of women? Did not the two latter hang upon the former? What man, what woman cared for the man and not the outward surroundings which he owed to chance? The one true heart on which he might have leaned was stilled forever. Ten years before, in the first flush of his young manhood he had lost hl3 mother. There now remained for him but a cherished, idolized memory. Ills father had died in his infancy. He had neither brother nor sister. At 25 he had fallen in love with a woman whose falseness he had dis covered in time to save the wreck of his life, though scarcely of his happi ness. He stood alone in the world —alono on his richly-freighted bark. Could all Its treasures atone for the realiz ing sense of desolation the world im parted ? "Will you buy my violets, please, sir? Oniy a dime, sir." It was a sweet, pitiful, pleading voice—a sweet, little pitiful face, look ing at him from beneath the brim of a tattered hat, thrust on to a mass of bright, chestnut curls. Children were Rush Travers' weak ness. At any time he could take into his arms a crying child and hush its sorrow. He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew therefrom a piece of silver, which he placed in the tiny, out stretched palm; then, from very idle ness, he walked on, questioning tho little girl, who ran beside him. "Poor little waif. How singularly pretty she is," he thought. "What is your name?" he asked. "Pansy, sir," she answered. "Mamma used to say it was the color of my eyes." He looked down with a smile in the purple depths, half shaded by the long lashes, upraised from tho brown cheeks. "Where Is your mother?" he asked. "In heaven, sir." "And your father!'' "He is dead, toe." "With whom do you live?" "With a woman who is kind to me, and whom I pay by selling my flow ers. lam all alone in the world." Alone in the world! Who can real ize as he, the pathetic eloquence held In the simple avowal? But If to him the word meant so much—to him in the pride and strength of manhood, and position, and wealth—what now meaning did it gather when it includ ed dependence, and poverty, and wom anhood? A sudden thought came to him. It was almost an Inspiration. He looked once more, earnestly, searchtngly, into the little, upturned face. Tho child was beautiful; the eyes were large and truthful? the mouth showed character, which might be molded for good or evil. "Pansy," he said, scarcely conscious of his own intention until the words had escaped hint, "you say that you are alone In the world. So am I. Sup pose I make you my little girl? Do you think that you would be happier?" "Do you mean that I am to live with you, and bring you the money for my flowers? OTi, I should like that very, very much." "I mean that you should live with me, yes; but you will not sell flowers then, though you shall have all that you want." The child looked up in wondering amazement. She could not compre hend the words, but Rush Travers had not uttered them lightly. What he should make of the little waif's future he had not determined. It should greatly depend upon herself; but while he lived she should never again be friendless. It was an easy matter to gain the consent of the woman with whom she she lodged. The sum he put into her hands would more than requite her for any loss she might suffer through Pansy's flower selling. From the woman, too, he learned something more ahout the child's history. Her parents were artists; the mother had eked out a scanty living by painting flower pictures on wood, after her hus band's death, which had occurred be fore Pansy's birth. Then, when the little girl was about six years of age, two short years before, she, too, had laid down the weary burden of life, and the child was left alone. Of his new whim Rush Travers said nothing. It leaked out, however, among his fashlonrthle acquaintances that he was Interested in a little child, but all supposed it some relative, and looked upon It as a passing caprice. He wished that it should be so. He did not want curioua eyes prying into the past of one whose future he in tended to make his care. The world saw little of Mm in these days. It almost seemed to him like coming home, now that he knew little feet would run to welcome him, little arms clasp themselves ahout his neck; or later, a little curly head rest on his shoulder, while the lids drooped over the pansy eyes, in happy, care less slumber. The old housekeeper alone shared his secret. She had abused him round ly at first, as was her privilege. Was he not to her as her own boy? Pansy had crept into the kind old heart; and in the night she had risen from hei own bed, and stolen into the room ad joining hers, to see that the clothes were carefully tucked ahout the littll form. It was a new thing to the child, this watchful care, but she grew and ex panded under it like some beautiful flower. No one detected her in an untruth. She avowed her faults boldly. Sho laughed, she sang, she cried, as other children; yet about her was a singular charm, a half-sadness, strangely un like the carelessness of childhood. Thus two years rolled away, and again Rush Travers determined to go abroad. Pansy must be educated, too; but he knew now what he meant to do with her future. The child was dear to him as his own, and his own she should be. He would give her such an education as his own daugh ter should have had, had he possessed one. He would make her a brilliant woman. She should be worthy of some man whom he would choose for her husband. She would never know lone liness more, and in the fullness of her life's promise he would forget the emptiness of his own. "Uncle Rush," she called him. The past was already to her like a dream. She parted from him in bitter tears when he left her at her new home, the school at which she was to be edu cated. Little did Mme. Arnaud dream that she was receiving among her select and fashionable pupils a street flower girl. Was this girl not the niece and ward of the aristocrat? She had never welcomed a pupil with greater pride, nor did the years, as they came and went, lead her for one moment to suspect the truth. Among all this fair bevy of girls none so fair as she who owed the smooth outer current of her life to Rush Travers' passing caprice. The deep blue eyes had borrowed even more of the pansy's purple tint; the bright rose flush of health was on her cheeks; the rich carmine nature's brush alone can paint was upon her lips. In the sunny waves of the chestnut hair played gleams of rippling gold. Her hands and feet were small, and dainty. Her figure had developed into exquisite grace. The eight years of study had marked themselves upon the lovely face in its bright expression and sparkling in telligence. Rush Travers might well be proud of her to whom he had given his proud old name. In all this time he had seen her but once—but once he had returned to his native land. In the twilight he stood awaiting her in Dime. Arnaud's private room; but, when the door opened he started at the radiant vision which entered. She threw herself upon his breast, with a glad sob, then started back. "Uncle Hush," she said questioning ly, "you are. not glad to see me?" He had recovered himself by then, and welcomed her warmly; but some thing had arisen between them her womanly perception was first to recog nize. Already this meeting, to which she had looked forward with such glad ness, was marred. From all sides, that night, Mr. Travers was met with congratulations on the beauty a.vd brilliance of his ward, who had received the first hon ors of her class. Was the old cyni cism growing on him, that he turned from it all as though weary? For the first time, glancing casually in a mirror, he discovered that the thick, brown hair was streaked with gray, and the sight hurt him. Why? He neither asked the question nor answered it. There was no doubt now of Pansy's future, he told himself, as, having thrown open his hospitable doors, the world flocked there to welcome this new aspirant to its honors; but, al most to his surprise, he found that he could not remain quietly in the background, a spectator. Women still smiled upon him, still murmured sweet nothings in his ear, or uttered gentle reproaches at his obduracy. Was he never to be lured from his solitude? Some one soon would steal from him the bright new star which now lighted him heme. Would he be content to leave it in darkness? Thus they whispered in bis ear. Why should he resent it, rather than welcome it? Had he not planned for ',ber a brilliant marriage? Already it was assured to her if she would ae ;ept it. Why, then, did he rejoice as one and another retired, heavy-heart ed. from the lists? He grew to hate the world anew. Now and then would come a quiet evening, when, sitting alone in his li brary, she would steal softly in, as she bad done so often in the old, childish days, and sitting on a stool at his feet. | lay her soft, velvet cheek upon his hand. Would she come to him thus, one ' day, and tell him that at last she had given away her heart? And would he be strong enough to give her his bless- i ing? | Ah, he had learned his own secret now. One evening they went together to a brilliant gathering. A murmur of ' admiration ran through the room as she entered it, but something in it all ] wearied her tonight. i ( She refused the many eager claim ants for the dance, and stood wa'tch- ( ing the gay scene, surrounded by a little court, when, looking up, she saw . Rush Travers' eyes fixed on her face. ! , With a sudden impulse she moved i swiftly to his side. I, "I am tired, Uncle Rush," she said. 1 , "The garden is thrown open. Will , you take me there with you for a lit- ' 1 tie while?" j ] He drew the little gloved hand in his arm and together they passed i through the French window into the 1 < lantern-lighted space beyond, Neither i spoke, when, as they were in the shad- i ow, voices reached them. JI "A beautiful girl—yes. 'Rush Trav- : ers' caprice' they call her. There is ' some mystery about her. For my part, 1 I don't believe she's any relation, and ' I think the man's in love with her. | 1 You know the old story about him?" ; But they heard no more. Pansy felt 1 the strong quiver which ran through \ him as he drew her away. "Oh, Uncle Rush," she murmured, "I ' am so, so sorry." "Sorry for what?" he answered, al- 1 Etost harshly. "For keeping my secret so poorly that it is a football for the , world? For selfishly gloating when j other men were unsuccessful in gain- j ing the treasure 1 so madly covet for | , my own? It is true what they say, i Pansy—true, but it shall be so no 1 , longer!" I , "True, Uncle Rush! You mean that , you love me?" "Yes, my darling. But do not let it : frighten you. I have not forgotten ' , that I am almost an old man, while you are on the threshold of your young life. You shall marry some good, I : noble man, Pansy, and I shall be happy in your happiness." "I shall never marry," the girl an swered, softly, "unless—unless —oh, Uncle Rush! I never guessed my own secret, but I know it now. Whom could I love but you? When other men have I wooed me, I have thought of you; and beside you they seem so powerless to 1 win ort? beat of my heart. How could they, when already it belonged to you? Was the gift so small that you would , ' not claim it?" But he sealed the sweet, questioning ' lips with the first lover's kiss which , had ever rested there. " 'Rush Travels' caprice," they called it, darlingT" he whispered. "But we. j wrong—lt was Rush Travers' in spiration!"— Saturday Night. QUAINT AND CURIOUS. A curious criminal law exists In Greece. A man who is there sen tenced to death waits two years be fore the execution of the sentence. Saddles, in some form, are of the greatest antiquity. Under Tiglath- Pileser 111., the Assyrian cavalry was provided with them and the early Romans used a cloth, hide or skin, which was, no doubt, very similar. The largest tree in the state of New Jersey is a white oak situated three miles north of Mickelton, Gloucester county. Its dimensions are: Height, 95 feet; diameter of trunk three feet above the ground, 7 feet 10 inches; spread of branches, 118 feet. This tree antedates the settlement of the colony. A monster lathe has just been made in Philadelphia. It is 86 feet long, and its total weight Is 135 tons. It has been constructed for preparing the 32 huge granite pillars to be used in building a new cathedral, each pillar ( weighing 160 tons. It has eight cut ters, and the granite block is reduced 24 inches in diameter at one pass over its length. A new hotel which Is to be built in New York City will have many inter esting electrical features, among which will be a system of electric ser vice elevators, or movable pantries, fitted with electric heating tables. They will be run through every apart ment, thereby insuring rapid service and hot food to guests taking their meals in their rooms. A remarkable contrast to the map in precious stones which lately aston- l ished Paris is the railway map on tiles put up at York station by the Northwestern company. It is made of white tiles, the lines being marked j In black and burnt sienna. It is about ( six feet Bquare, and each tile is eight. inches square. The company intends , to have similar maps at all Important stations on its own system. A curious instance of the way 1b which two or three long lives can bridge over the chasm of several cen- I turies is given by Muller himself in his lately published autobiography. | He there relates that he met at Ox ford the centenarian scholar. Dr. Routh of Magdulen college, who had known a lady who had seen Charles I. walking in the "Parks," which de rive their name from the disposition of the royal artillery during the civil war of 1640. Three lives thus served to connect two periods separated by ' some 200 years. CHEESE - MAKING FACTS LITTLE KNOWN DETAILS ABOUT THE FAMOUS BRANDS. Eren the Prosaic Subject of Dairying Has Interesting Features—Kochfort la Not Made of Cow's Milk—A Peculiarity of the Edam Cheese. We have a cow in this country for every four of the inhabitants. This liberal allowance makes us the largest producer of dairy products in the world, in spite of the fact that we do not seem to have the average Euro pean's appreciation of the food value of milk and its products. We produce more than any other country in the world simply because we have a very much larger population than any other Important dairying country, but in some of the older European lands two or three times as much milk and cheese are consumed per capita as in the United States, says the New York Sun. We import large quantities of foreign cheese. It is probable that many of our citizens who are fond of imported cheeses with world famous names are not acquainted with even the broad, general facts concerning their manu facture. Some of these facts, collect ed here, may show that even the prosaic subject of dairying has inter esting features. It has also its secrets that are very carefully preserved. Imi tations of a number of famous cheeses are made in various countries, but are very imperfect as well as spurious. The broad facts of the manufacture are known, but there are essential de tails that are not understood by out siders who try to reproduce them. Few people who have not been to Switzerland understand that one of the greatest resources of the is the Alpine pastures where hunfffifes of thousands of cows are driven every summer after the grass is well started. Far up among the mountains the herd ers live, tending their herds and pro ducing tons and tons of cheese. There are nearly 2,111,101 acres in these Al pine pastures. All winter the cows are fed on hay In the valleys with no change In their diet till the sun warms the grassy slopes into life. Then they begin to climb the mountains. At first they graze in the pastures of the "voralpen," for the high meadows of the "mittelalpen," in the cooler and higher altitudes, are not ready for them till the season lias considerably advanced. Gradually they are driven to the higher pastures, where they graze all summer; they do not leave these heights, watered by the melting snows from the glaciers, till frost com pels them to seek lower altitudes; then they descend as slowly as they had climbed the slopes in the spring, and finally find their way into the stables among the valleys, where the farmers were cutting liny for them while they were feeding on the uplands. While on the pastures they are tend ed only by the herdsmen hired by the cow owners in some hamlet to take care of the animals and make cheese from the milk they yield. At each of the stages on the slow journey up the mountain there is a hut in which the senn or herdsman lives. It contains the cheese-making apparatus; most of the milk is made Into cheese, though butter is also a considerable product. As soon as the senn steps out of his door in the morning he blows his Al pine horn, usually made of birch bark, and his little herd, obedient to the nccustomed call, come tip to the hut to be milked. The senn leads a solitary but very industrious life, for his time is fully occupied in milking, keeping the cows on the range and making the cheese and butter. About once in two weeks supplies are sent up from the village and the butter and cheese are taken down the mountain to be di vided nmong the owners of the cat tle. A good deal of cheese is also made in the vnlleys, but a large part of the Scliweizer kase, known and relished all over the world, is made by those herders during their solitary life In the mountains. Perhaps many of the consumers of Rochfort cheese Imagine that It is made of cow's milk. The fact isj, how ever, that genuine Rochfort is made entirely of ewes' milk and is a dis tinctive product of a very small dis trict at Rochfort, among the lime stone mountains of the Cevcnnes in the south o£ France. The art of mak ing Rochfort cheese was perfected there at least nine centuries ago and It has been handed down through many generations. The most peeuliar feature of its manufacture and the one which accounts for the distinctive qualities of the cheese is that it Is "ripened" deep under the surface in natural limestone caves with which this region abounds and in which the temperature is low and equable the year round. In no other place can the | cheese be made to take the real prop erties of the Rochfort. Caves have been excavated in other places for the 1 purpose of making cheese identical in characteristics with the real Rochfort, j but the real article has never yet been produced away from its native home. ' In some years about 10,000.000 pounds ' of Rochfort cheese are made from the milk of 400,000 ewes. I The round Dutch product known as Edam cheese has one peculiarity that I Is shared by few other cheeses in the ! world's markets. The factory meth ods of cheese-making have been so far perfected that, as a rule, factory ! are regarded as superior to home-made cheese in the same district. Practicnl i ly all the cheeses exported from Cana ■ da, the largest cheese exporting coun try in the world, are factory products. Enormous quantities of Edam cheese are made both in factories and at the I homes of the Dutch peasant farm ers, and nobody can detect any dif ference between the factory and the , hokne-made product. It is Edem cheese wherever it Is made in the district that produces It, this district is con- fined to the region north of Amster dam and, west of the Zuider Zee, a re gion of polders or reclaimed lands, rich in grass and noted for its dairy farms and its famous milkers. Some body who was much impressed with these cows yielding seven gallons of milk a day called them "ambulating milk springs;" the compliment seems to be well deserved. Edam cheese is made from their bounteous yield of milk; tourists who visit the Dutch market town of Alkmaar may some times see as many as 200,000 of these tittle round cheese ready to be shipped to various parts of the world. A Grate Mistake. "Here," said the widow, rushing into the office of the man who dealt in tombstones. "I refuse to pay you for the old monument you want to palnj i off on me. My poor, poor husband! He had picked up a stick of dynamite and was trying to find out whether it was any good or not when the acci dent happened. Ah me! All we ever . found of him was the left leg. That we placed in the grave with due cere mony. Oh, William! William! It isn't much, but what there is of It is sacred to me." "But, madame," the dealer In mar ble said, "what have I to do with all this?" "What have you to do with it?" she cried. "Haven't your men gone out there and put a slab with 'He Rests In Peace* on it over that leg? People who know anything about the circum stances would wonder whenever they saw the inscription why I didn't have it made 'He Rests in Pieces!' You take that down before to-morrow or I'll hire somebody to do It." An investigation Bhowed tuat the workmen had made a mistake in graves.—Chicago Reeord-llornld. Tlie Reluctant Statesman. "Y'oung man." the rising statesman said to the reporter, "newspaper no k. toriety is exceedingly distasteful to ' me, but since you have asked me to give you some of the particulars of the leading events in my life, I will comply. I do so, however, with great reluctance." Here he took a typewritten sheet from a drawer In Ills desk and handed It to the reporter. "I suppose, of course," lie added, "you will want my portrait, and al though I dislike anything that savors of undue publicity, I can do not less than comply with your wish." Here he took a photograph from a large pile in another drawer, and gave it to the reporter. "When this nppears In print," he said, "you may send me two hundred and fifty copies of the paper."—Chi cago Tribune. Where Gotham'* Nabob* I.ive. We have our "Peacock lane," "Mill ionaires' row," "Millionaires' walk," "Highlands of Fifth avenue," River side terrace," "Vanderbilt corners" and . "Astor court" already mapped out and T i squatted on, and now we are to have 'Steel Trust alley." Only lucky men will live in the alley. By and by there will be "Railway lane," for the nabobs of the trunk line consolidation, where no ghost or goblin will over dare to stroll. Do you remember the supersti tion about a lane? No evil thing that walks by night, blue meagre or smart fairy of the mine, has power to cross a lane. A lane Is a spur from a main road, and therefore forms with it a sort of T, which is near enough to the shape of a cross to arrest such simple folk of the unseen world as care to trouble the peaceful Inmates of the world we live In.—New York Press. No Linnet Like III*. A certain collier possessed n linnet which he always said was the finest warbler and cleverest bird that ever grew feathers. "Enter him in the show," said a friend to the proud owner oue day. He . j acted on the advice, but the wonder- rtl ful bird was passed over by the judges.. "He can't be so clever as you thought he was," said the friend. "Oh, but he is," said Jnek; "in fact, he's a deal too clever. You see, it's this way. One o' my lads at home Is a—what d'yer cnll 'em? —n ventrilo quist; well, that bird listened to my lad till he can do as well ns him. At this 'ere contest instead o' opening his mouth he sung wl' It shut, ns he 'nd learnt, an' them Idiots o' judges thou't it wor t'other birds. See?"—Tit-Bits. Country Cousin* I>o Not Figure. Turks have no family unmes, writes General George B. Williams, In the New York Telegraph. For example: A man named Mohammed has a son named Ahmed aud a daughter named Sophia. The sou will always be known merely as Ahmed and the t daughter merely as Sophia, in the lni- V' ter ease even after marriage. The re sult is that members of families after one or two generations become lost to each other. In fact, the "sisters and the cousins and the aunts'! business is not much exploited in Turkey. One may be talking to two brothers or two sis ters without the fact being made known. There being no family tics no aristocracy. The grand vizier of to-day may have been a camel driver or a servant. His rise is not due to any family influence or connection. Vesuvius'* Deadly Breath. The "pine tree" of Scoria, which has continually erupted from the Vesuvius crater, is seriously dam aging the harvest in the adjoining dis trict, writes a Rome correspondent. The weather has been remarkably windy and rainy and the "pine tree," lashed by the elements, has spread an Immense quantity of powerful acids on the fields and vineyards of tbqj mountain slopes and the ' plains, burning or otherwise damaging the growing crops.