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fant mortality. The members careful ly watch the milk supply, and visit homes to give hygienic Instruction. Something new in the nature of aquatic sports is the shipbuilding race between private yards and the navy yard to see which can build the best battleships in the shortest time. The trolley line has enormously in creased the radius of urban existence, and makes its own field of effort, as it extends. It should be made as abso lutely safe as it is swift and conven ient. English society and Government is founded on feudalistic notions. The nobleman on his estates is still almost as important a personage as he was in the days of chivalry. He is the grand patron of the neighborhood, with the immunities of a thousand years of feudalism, states the Kansas City Star. What is the plural of metropolis? Euphony rebels against metropolises. An Australian paper solves the diffi culty thus: "The mutual jealousy of Melbourne and Sydney prevents cither of these fine cities becoming the Com monwealth capital. Why not, then, select one of the small metropoli of the States?" The innovation is not justified by any rules of grammar, and illustrates the inconvenience of press ing Greek words into English moulds, remarks the London Chronicle. Fortunate indeed are the college ath letes of this generation. In rowing, in oascball and in football, in sports and exercise of almost every imaginable kind, their opportunities are far more generous than those which were avail able to the students of earlier days. Both outdoors and indoors most of our institutions of learning provide hand somely for the physical culture of the young men and women who are seeking an education. Princeton is building a gymnasium which will cost $250,000. American universities and colleges believe in sound bodies as well as sound minds, observes the New Turk Tribune. The London Times deplores the back- | ward condition of electrical enterprise in Great Britain, as it has been made apparent through the report of a Com mittee on Legislation, appointed about a year ago by the Institution of Elec trical Engineers. It says: "There are a few who rather glory in our back wardness, and try to persuade us that other nations have lost money by going ahead. But, however the fact may be explained or regarded, it is universally admitted. In the use of electricity for traction, for lighting and for the economical supply of power for manufacturing purposes we are far behind other nations. So much is this the case that when any demand arises for generating machinery and plant it is found that there has been no pre vious demand of such a kind as to produce manufacturers witli the requi site appliances and experience. An electric railway or tramway company has to import machinery from America or Germany because it cannot be sup plied at home, or, if supplied at all, is produced with extreme slowness. Things are, no doubt, improving iu .lint respect, though it is not alto gether agreeable to reflect that the improvement is largely due to Ameri can enterprise." Motor vehicles of high horse power are destined to play a more conspicu ous part in the busy world's affairs than the mere ministering to a taste for novel diversion. Their chief utility is as instruments of trade and com merce, and to the citizen of the future a private automobile for mere exercise at high speed may be as rare a sight as a privately operated locomotive, lu France, where this agency of trans portation has been closely and care fully studied, there is a steadily in creasing tendency to apply the new form of vehicle construction to practi cal uses. The French Government lias recently arranged for the extensive employment of automobiles for trans portation in tlie uncultivated Sahara Desert. 11l Madagascar which is un der French control, It is predicted Hint commercial affairs will bo speedily rev olutionized liy the general Introduction of motor vehicle transportation. In the Philippines United States mails are already delivered from town to tqwn by strong and swift automobiles. Pcrto Rieatis may now travel from Ponce to San Juan by motor vehicle for < nc-lialf the eost of former con veyance, and iu much less time. It is in this field that the horseless carriage will vlndieate its right to continued existence, observes the Philadelphia Record, rather than 011 the erowded highways of highly civilized communi ties. THE OLD COUPLE. Over the soft young grass The skies that smiled above I'saw the old couple pass. Were old as Eden and love; 61owly they walked and stood And of all the fprest trees Close to the budding wood. In the woodland families, Surely it seemed they were stung The oldest were most fair By the thought of how fair and young And wore the happiest air. The whole earth looked beside The aged stars in 'the blue A gray old bridegroom and bride. In the beauty of spring were new. No! for the flowering mold And the aged hearts in the wood Beneath them was centuries old: By the spirit of spring were renewed. —Ethelwyn Wetherald, in Good Housekeeping. 5( . An Estimate Reversed, j It •was a hot afternoon—a very hot August afternoon. The passersby walked with great deliberation. Some of them carried umbrellas. Others car ried their coats or hats. There were not many of them altogether. Randall Clark. In his cool gray serge, his canvas shoes and Ills light straw hat, passed his fellow pedestrians with a somewhat jaunty stride. lie didn't carry an umbrella and he didn't carry his coat. In fact, he felt the heat but little. He had experienced some rough service under a much more ardent sun, and, in marked contrast to the lieople sweltering about him, he kept his miud off the temperature and permitted no thermometer reading to increase his personal warmth. He walked along Idly, and yet with a certain briskness of gait that Beemed to indicate an object in view. But be had uo object beyond the desire to se cure a chance to exercise his thoughts without fear of distractions. This was a favorite occupation of Itiindall's. He found he could think to much better advantage when strolling along. Just now he was thinking hard on the ma trimonial problem. For seveu-and twenty years he had escaped this wor rlment. Now he was its victim. That he was in love admitted of little question; but he felt he had himself well In hand and with power to with draw from temptation if need be. Tile question was, should he withdraw, or should he continue to bask In the singe ing tlauie of Miss Emily Tabor's eyes, and presently, when opportunity came, put his fate to the momentous test? He told himself that Emily Tabor was a beautiful girl, a refined and highly Intelligent girl, a girl of charm ing tastes and many accomplishments. But did she have a heart, and was it the sort of heart that Is quick lu sym pathy and faithful In love? Wus it, In fact, a pulsing, human heart, or was It merely an anatomical necessity? Randall feared it was of the latter genus. She was so cold, so statuesque, so perfect—such a calm and almost im perious product of the school of finish ing which her social class so greatly admired. Randall doubted if he could be happy with her. She was his ideal in every thing save human sympathies. These he feared she was quite lacking. He took a coin from his pocket aud held it between his thumb and fore finger as he strode along. "Heads, I go; tails, 1 stay," he said and flipped the coin into the air. He caught ot in his open palm. "Heads," he murmured, and slipped It back into his pocket. He was striding up the avenue now aud there were very few pedestrians In sight. He would go ou and stop at Jack Manning's home and leave a note saying he had decided to go with him on that long trip among the Florida lakes. Then he stopped. There was a baby carriage, a dainty affair of wicker, curves and open work, standing close to the fence. It was the face of the baby that stopped him. The hot sun was shining directly upon it. It was red, very red, and the eyelids were half closed, with a strip of white eye hall showing benealh. Randall caught the handle of the carriage ami quickly turned It Into the limited strip of shade beneath the trees. He saw that the child was overcome by the heat and that something must be done for it Immediately. He looked up and down the street. Nobody was in sight. He glanced along the row of houses. There was no sign of life about them. What should he do? Go to one of the big, front doors mul ask for assistance, or hustle the child to the nearest drug •store? He pushed the carriage along In the shade for a moment while he tried to think what it was best to do. Then a light step sounded behind htm. He turned quickly. It was Emily Tabor—Emily Tabor In nil her snowy summer fineries. She did not smile at what might have seemed to some girls his ridiculous position. Her face was as grave as his own. "What is It, Mr. Clark?" she quickly asked. "Somebody left this baby to broil in the sun," he answered, "and I'm afraid It's ill." "The poor little dear," murmured Emily Tabor, as she gave the child a hurried glance. Then she strengthened up and added: "Bring it right to my aunt's hoUBe, Mr. Clark, I'll hurry ahead and open the door." She ran back to the second gate and then up the walk to the great entrance way. Randall turned the carriage and followed her as fast as he could. When he reached the porch he lifted the baby on Its pillow in a careful, though somewhat clumsy, fashion and walked up the steps. Emily met him at the doorway with outstretched arms. He put the child in them. " Come in this way," she said, and led him back to the library. "The maids are all out and so is auntie. But I've got a piece of Ice here and some wet cloths." She gently laid the baby D the coucta and knelt beside It- "Break up the ice," she said. "Crush it as small as possible and make a compress out of it." He did as she told him and she put the ice to the child's head and pressed wet cloths to its face and tiny wrists. "Wouldn't it be well to run for a doctor?" asked Randall. And he wondered at himself for de ferring to her opinion. "No," she answered, without looking around. "I want you here. I think I'm quite competent to handle the case. I've had some experience in practical nursing, you know." But he didn't know. Pull down the shade a little," she commanded. "And now take off my hat, please." He was lucky enough to grasp the proper lint pins and a moment later tenderly laid the mass of gauze and ribbons on the table. There was a short period of silence. Rundall stood a little back of the girl and looked down at her as she knelt by the child. Then the stillness was broken by a querulous cry from the child. "The dear is coming around nicely," said the girl. "What a pretty baby it is! There, there, sweetheart, every thing is all right. Raise the shade, please, Mr. Clark." When Randall turned back she had risen with the babe in her arms, its head pillowed on her breast. Then she walked slowly up aud doWn the apart ment humming a little lullaby, and presently as she sang the babe looked up In her face and smiled. "Isn't It a dear?" murmured the girl with her face bent close to the child's. "Mamma," cooed the little one and put up Its tiny hand and touched her cheek. And Randall Clark, standing back a little, thought he had never seen a picture that would compare with it. And his heart swelled In his breast. "Is there anything I can do?" he softly asked. "Look ut tlie pillow," she answered, "and see if there are any initials on the slip." He bent over the lace-trimmcd case and scanned It closely. "The letters are 'L. U.,' I think," he said. "They are a little obscure. If they are not 'L. R.' they are 'S. 8.,' or perhaps 'Y. I'.' There are so many eurlycues about them, you know." The girl paused a moment and con sidered. "How stupid!" she suddenly cried. "Why didn't I guess it before? It's Lydia Bobbin's little boy, of course. Why, he's just the image of Lydia." "Iddy, Iddy," cooed the babe. "There, did you here that?" cried Emily Tabor. "Isn't he sweet and bright?" "M-m-mamma," gurgled the little fellow with a great display of red gums and scattered white teeth. Tlie girl bent quickly and kissed him, whereat he gurgled again, and, launch ing out wildly, caught a tress of the beautiful brown hair in his chubby fist. "Please go to the telephone—in the hall, Mr. Clark," snld the girl, "and call up Mrs. Robbins—Mrs. Coleman Robbins. Tell her thnt her Jamie is here and waiting to be called for. But don't alarm her." "I'm afraid I shall do it clumsily," said Randall. But he obeyed. She could hear the murmur of his voice for a little while and then he suddenly renppeared in the room. "I seem to have disturbed her dread fully," he said "and I'm sure she doesn't believe a word I say. I think she imagines It's some kind of a plot to lure her away from home and then rob the house. Can't you speak to her, please?" "Why, yes," said the girl, as she promptly proceeded to the 'phone. "There, put the receiver to my ear. please. Is this you. Lydia? Don't you know my voice? It's Emily Tabor. I'm at Aunt Gresham's. Yes, Jamie is here and he's all right. Ho was picked up on tlie street and brought in here. Deserted? Yes. No nurse in sight. He's all right I say. Yes, yes. Listen." She held the baby close to the 'phone, "Mamma," she murmured softly. "Mamma," cooed the babe. "There, Lydia, did you hear that? Yes, of course he's a dear. Certainly. Come over and get your little man as soon as you please. Good-by." Rnndnll hung up the receiver. "I think I'd better go," he said. The girl laughed. "That's true heroic modesty," she said. "You are afraid to face the grat itude of Lydia Robbins." Her voice grew grave. "She'll never know just how much she has to be grateful for," she softly added. "To you," said Randall with equal gravity. "Tlds sounds like mutual admira tion," laughed the girl again. "Be sides. auntie would never forgive me | if I didn't invite you to stay to dinner. I She wants to meet you. Will you stay— I that Is, if you have no other engage ment." I "I hare no other engagement," Ran dall briskly asserted as be settled bim. self in an easy chair. She let the loose strands of her glorious brown hair brush the baby's dimpled cheek. "I understood you were to go with Jack Manning on his long trip through the Florida interior," she softly said. "Never bad any such idea," said Randall Clark.—W. U. Rose in Cleve land Plain Dealer. DIDN'T MISS AN ISSUE. Ret tlie Editor Ilud to l'rint Ills I'aper on Clieap Handkerchiefs. A rare thing in the newspaper line was shown to a Herald reporter by Mr. F. F. Powers, the local commercial agent of the Central ot Georgia Rail way. To speak by the card, it would be well to call the periodical a "news cloth" instead of a newspaper, for the printing had been done on a cotton handkerchief, and why the handker chief was used instead of the usual white paper is an interesting story which Sir. Powers relates. During the winter of 1881 Sir. Pow ers was at Dead Rapids, S. D. The winter was one of the coldest in the history of the State, the blizzard rag ing for months, completely tearing up railroad traffic and keeping the folks a good deal indoors. Fuel and provisions ran low, especially the former, and wood sold as high as $25 per cord. At Dell Rapids a paper was pub lished, The Exponent, and it had an editor who was a hustler. He boasted that blizzard or no blizzard his paper should not miss an issue. The frigid weather knocked railroad traffic in the head, as stated, so It was with diffi culty thnt the editor received the paper to print his publication on. Finally there came a day when the store of white paper gave out, so lie went to printing on wrapping paper, but that also was exhausted in time. The edi tor was not to be daunted. He decided thnt he would try cloth, so he pur chased about a couple of hundred cot ton handkerchiefs and ran them through the press. As the result The Exponent came out. printed on the handkerchiefs, perhaps the only period ical that was ever published that way. —Augusta (Ga.) Herald. Uncle Sum's "Kissing I'ulm." Employes of the Agricultural De partment solemnly swear that there is a "kissing palm" in the greenhouses of the department, and assert that, de spite vigilance, it is impossible to keep young couples from throwing arms about each other's necks and kissing whenever they come within a radius of five feet of this wonderful plant. It has remained for the department which unearthed the "kissing bug," the "cigarette bug" and the mosquito-de vouring dragon fly to bring to this country this strangest of all plants. Officially the palm Is known as the palmetto osculari. It resembles in some respects a gigantic fern. It was brought to this country about a year ago from the wilds of Australia. Tlie story goes that as women clerks in tlie department visiting the green house came within the influence of the palm, gardeners and other employes were astonished to-see them throwing their arms about the necks of their friends and imprinting on their lips' smacks which could be heard all over the greenhouse. Secretary Wilson was incredulous, and at the invitation of Professor Rit tue visited the greenhouse. He had hardly stepped inside when he could tiardly resist kissing a young woman near by.—Philadelphia Record. Aged Author*. The Bookman has been getting to gether a list of authors who accom plished their most important work af ter reaching the age of fifty. Samuel Richardson, for instance, attained his success after passing that age. The first part of "Pamela" was written in two months of the winter of 1739-40, and published the latter year. Boswell had passed fifty when the work that made him immortal, "Life of Dr. John son," was published. After achieving this success he lived for only four years, and died sadly and ignominous ly. Cervantes was fifty-eight when, in spite of his miseries, lie found the op portunity fer completing the first part of "Don Quixote." Daniel Defoe was fifty-eight years of age when he wrote "Robinson Crusoe," and at the same period of life John Locke produced his essay on the human understanding. Milton was fifty-nine when "Paradise Lost" was published. Samuel Johnson was sixty-eight when he began to write his "Lives of the Poets," which has been called the most masculine and massive body of criticism in the lan guage. ntrenßtb of Newgate Prison. The housebreaker who undertakes to raze the famous London prison, New gate, to the ground will have all his work cut out. Lieutenant Colonel Miiman, who lias been governor since ISSIi, is of opinion that it is the strong est built prison in the country. On one occasion, when a doorway had to lie pierced through one of the Inner walls, the wok occupied nearly three weeks; indeed, so stout are the walls that they are almost strong euough to resist modern artillery. In the gloomy prison Colonel Miiman has attended no fewer than twenty-live executions ID sixteen years. Poor, But Honcflt. A writer on natural history, imbued with the usual fallacy that men should imitate the lower animals, points out the example set hy lobsters. The young j lobster naturally comes to the top of ' tlie water, but the very moment he J reaches the age of discretion he sinks | back to his ancestral home. In short, : the young lobster, like the gocd young I man, always "settles down" when ho | should.—London Globe. The Passing of the Athletic Girl By Belle M. Sherman. CnTOUtTU nE dav of the athletic girl Is over. I can hear my golf friend CTOutJtTCr say, "What nonsense!" But it is not nonsense. Even the most tjnjT sceptical, if they will take the trouble to go through the shops or T*irf I dun the leaves of the fashion magazines, will soon become vwf JL convinced. The girl who, in her common-sense shoes and microbe-proof UTTCTCrCTU skirt, has held the centre of the stage so long, to the delight of the physical eulturist and dress reformer, is fading into the flies and a creature of laces and chiffons, ruffles and furbelows, is advancing to the footlights. The only wonder is that the athletic girl lasted as long as she did. She stood her ground bravely in spite of the powerful opposition of the shop keeper and the prospective husband. Weary of the struggle, she now grace fully retires like a politic woman, conscious of, yet not acknowledging her defeat, and gives place to the summer girl of 1902. The girl we have with us this year is the antipode of her predecessor. To be in the fashion, to wear the costumes designed for this season, no girl oan afford to be an athlete. It was all very well, when a short skirt and tailor made shirt waist in the evening at the summer resort was the hall mark of smartness, for a girl to have a healthy coat of tan on face, throat and forearms; but to-day, when Dame Fashion, who is a tyrannical jade at her best, steps in and commands the sheerest of laces, the most diaphanous of materials, tan or sunburn is an impossibility. What need had the merchant to stock his shops with all the fripperies supposed to be so dear to the feminine heart, if these same dear girls never gave the tempting display a second glance? The athletic fad was not good for trade. The woman's tailor, skirtmaker and shoemaker were the only ones benefited. In the course of events the merchant was sure to rebel. Then the modiste had a cause for grievance. Where was her living to tome from if this athletic craze continued? Of what use was it to design ''dreams'* for non-appreciative customers? The "new woman" was her bug bear and she was driven to distraction. The whole army of purveyors to women, in Paris, London aud Berlin, were in despair. They would be bankrupt if the girl of the period continued !o be satisfied with tweed skirts, heavy shoes aud shirt waists. Something must be done. To the relief of the shopkeeper came the "Du Barry" and "Dolly Varden" craze. No sooner had these two plays caught popular fancy than the shops were filled witli Du Barry scarfs and hats and Dolly Varden foulards and organdies. Sunburn and tan, short skirts and heavy shoes lost their attrac tions, and the girls lost their hearts to the frivolities (as far as gowning was concerned) of these two stage heroines. Of course no girl could dress as Du Barry or Dolly Varden were she a fright with freckles and sunburn. So, after many visits to the complexion doctors, the twentieth century summer girl has emerged from her chrysalis u veritable butterfly. Nothing so completely shows the trend of fashion as the radical changes which have taken place in shoes and shirt waists. From the low, common sense heel and round toe shoe we have returned to the pointed toe and Louis XV. heel. Fancy has run riot in the fashion of heels. This return to the unhealthy Louis XV. heel is to be regretted by people of common sense. Even the show windows of the haberdasher shops that cater to women Jisplay a most elaborate collection of the once severely made shirt waist. These bodices are works of art, made as they are of the sheerest lawns and Drgandies and profusely trimmed with fine laces. Perhaps nothing so indi cates the decline of the athletic fad as this new departure in shirt waists. The athletic girl is not the creature of mystery and romance that her sister of chiffons and ruffles, ribbons and laces is. She would be out of place on a veranda, lying in a hammock of a summer's evening, or out in a rowboat on the lake under the moon's rays, and therefore to-day, trader the new regime, she is relegated to the shelf and in a short time will be for fotten. A wail has been sent up from landlords of summer hotels that they ;ould get no men. This dearth was blamed on the athletic girl. It was said that there was nothing to attract a man to a summer hotel where there were no pretty girls to fall in love with. A man is never so happy as when he is miserably in love. The athletic girl had no time for love-making, there tore there was no attraction for the men.—Collier's Weekly. The Real Hobo: What He is and How He Lives By Charles Ely Adams. WO facts about the hobo may serve to dispel a popular error. First, he is, within certain bounds, a patron of literature. 1 I There are very many exceptions to the general rule of illiteracy. !M£ L Second, he spends a very respectable amount of his time in the Ifft- use of water, soap and towels. Aside from the question of special fitness a man is the creature of his opportunities, and this mith in Its scope runs to the last far reaches of Hobo-dom. The dweller in this realm when in the harness obtains but a slight acquaintance with leis ure. He rises early, aud, as he must work, on an average, ten hours a day, he must have more than eight hours' sleep. It Is true that even this schedule leaves him a few hours to himself on working days; but the fact remains that through fatigue and lack of facilities, for tlie appointments of a railroad camp are few and extremely rough, he is unable to utilize his spare time to the best advantage. After supper most of the men retire to the bunk tents to lie on their beds and smoke and talk. Some play cards; others, disposed to be exclu sive, arrange their blankets for a comfortable reclining position and read books and belated newspapers by the flickering light of a candle fastened at the head of the bunk. Sunday, of course. Is the hobo's day of freedom, and he appropriates tlie time to avocations of his own inclination. He bathes, shaves, oils his shoes, boils his underclothes, sews on buttons, takes stitches where needed, gossips, write letters to absent "pardners" and reads. As may be supposed trashy novels predominate among the books of the hobo's selection. However, ns a counterbalance to themes which are altogether trivial and volatile, he relishes the polemics of tlie famous agnostics, being es pecially affected by their sensationalism and eloquence. On his tramps from camp to camp, the hobo addicted to reading burdens himself with a volume or two which, when he has finished, he exchanges with fellow-travelers of similar propensity. A box of old magazines provided by one contractor for the use of his employes proved to be greatly appreciated by the men, the demand for the periodicals being quite extensive and constant. The amount of general infor mation thus acquired by the reading hobo would surprise those gentle person ages of glorious opportunities and cultivation who look upon him as an out landish, clodlike piece of humanity. The existence of a world more polite than he has ever seen, the developments of popular science, inventions and events of national importance, the recurring crises in European diplomacy—all these chiefly through the medium of the newspapers he is aware of and can discuss with a readiness which would do credit to an even more alert mind. Faulty Grading in Our Public Schools By William J. Shearer. rrpjaag! HAT the' marked differences in children, in classes, and in gf J teachers are not properly provided for, either in the amount <• B a and character of the work required, or in the time to be spent 2 ~ a upon the wox-k, Is readily seen when we consider the usual Ik M method of grading and promoting. The course of study for ■aaB the graded school is divided arbitrarily into a number of grades, generally a year apart, and the work for each grade is laid out for the bright, the slow, or the average. Many schools grade the work for the bright. In this case all the rest are dragged over far more work than they can understand. Therefore, many soon become discouraged and drop out of school. Though not generally acknowledged, yet, in renlity, the courses of study in most schools are graded for the slower pupils. This is certainly an injustice to the lnrge majority of pupils who can and should go forward more rapidly. Not only is the progress of all kept down to the pace of the slower ones, but worse than this, the majority of the pupils are drilled into habits of inattention and idleness. So long has this continued that many teachers have come to be lieve that pupils do not differ materially in their ability to cover the course. However, there are thousands of earnest teachers who realize the great injury done to the pupils by such a method of stifling talent. But by far the largest number of schools are supposed to be graded for the "average pupil." At first sight this looks reasonable. But, In truth, can any thing be more absurd than the idea of neglecting the ever-present Individual pupil of flesh and blood, of soul and life aud infinite possibilities, in the attempt j to reach gll, by shaping the work for tljp my thical "average pupil?"