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The Banner-Democrat. (Lake Providence, East Carroll Parish, La.) 1892-current, December 11, 1897, Image 1

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn88064237/1897-12-11/ed-1/seq-1/

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Vbe LNAnnerU n * d.
I think of death as some delightful journey
That I shall take when all my tasks are
Though life has given me a heaping meas
Of all best gifts and many a eup of pleasure,
Still better things await me further on.
This little earth Is such a merry planet,
The distances beyond it so supreme,
I have no doubt that all the mighty spaces
Between us and the stars are filled with
More beautiful than any artist's dream.
I like to think that I shall yet behold them,
When from this waiting room my soul
has soared.
Earth is a wayside station, where we wan
Until from out the silent darkness yonder
Death swings his lantern and cries, "All
I think death's train sweeps through the
solar system
And passes suns and moons that dwarf
our own,
And close beside us we shall find our
The spirit friends on earth we held the
And in the shining distance God's great
Whatever disappointment may befall me
In plans or pleasures in this world of
I know that life at worst can but delay me,
But no malicious fate has power to stay me
From that grand journey on the Great
Death route.
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox, in the Pathfinder.
030003 3033300 000OO 0030
was always pointed
out as a "self-made
r man," and was ap
parently well satis
fied with his own
handiwork, for con
tent radiated from
his full face and
from his figure,
which had lost its
youthful muscle
under creeping
waves of flesh. Mr.
Jaueway had satis
fled his ambitions
as far as it is possi
ble for a man to do it. Fortunately
for his content, those aspirations were
of the kind that are most often real
ized. He had a handsome wife and
three bright children; he was Presi
dent of the State Bank, an institution
known to be founded on the rock of
sound finances; he had been Mayor of
Shewanee, and was a member of the
Legislature. So much of earthly
glory had fallen to his share.
When he read the obituary of an
other self-made man, he always nod
ded his head sagely, as much as to
say, "I know how it goes; I started
with nothing myself." In fact, Mr.
Janeway's election to the Legislature
came of the admiration the electors
had for a man of the people. When
his constituents hired a band and
whent to congratulate him, they found
him ready with a speech. He said:
"Fellow citizens, I will not try to
hide from you my deep gratification at
the result of the election. I wanted
to be elected. I have wanted a good
many things, and I've generally goti
them, but not without working. I
started with nothing; I did chores for
my keep; I went to school when I
. could,1eok'etl:up a penny here and a
- pen *I did ary honest work that I
ual ad. And where am I now?
President of a bank, ex-Mayor and a
a member of the Legislature. I thank
you, friends, for your votes, yet I feel
that I have won my own way; that I
am one, a private perhaps, in the
great army of self-made men."
He bowed and retired amid loud
applause. In another this speech
would have provoked criticism, but
one of the privileges of the self-made
man is to praise his maker without
Mr. and Mrs. Janeway had but just
come from a visit to their own house,
which their architect assured them
was in the purest style of the Gothic
renaissance. But they were sure, too,
which seemed to them of far more im
portance, that it was theinest house
in town and quite eclipsed Mrs. Mor
gan's red brick mansion.
They were to move into it at once,
and Mrs. Janeway went about the old
house planning what should be left
behind as not coming up to the artistic
standard of the new place. "Come
here a minute, Madison," she called
from an obscure entry back of the
dining room.
Mr. Janeway laid down his paper
and went to her, followed by Florrie,
their yongest child.'
"What is it, my dear?" he asked.
"Hadn't I better pack this away
the frame's so shabby that it isn't fit
for the new house?" She pointed to
a faded photograph hanging in a dark
corner. It was the likeness of a'plain
woman, with a broad month and eyes
widelj separated. The hairwas parted
and drawn back from the forehead
like two curtains; a watch chain picked
out in gilt encircled her neck, and her
lips and cheeks were touched by car
mine, giving the face a ghastly pre
tence of life.
Mr. Janeway stared at it meditative
ly. "I hadn't noticed it for a long
time," he said.
"Who is that lady, papa" Florrie
asked, looking at the picture as if she
saw it for the irst time.
"Why, Florrie, that was my first
wife," he answered, surprised that she
had not known it before.
"Was.he my mamma, too?"
"No, no," he replied, hastily. "She
was Sarah Deeiung."
"Wan't she any relation to me?"
the child aid persitently. She
was but eight years oed soad the rami
fcations of kinship weesyet amyster'y
to her.
"Of course not" her mother sid,
rethor sharply. 'Your papa ws mar
tied to ha ihen he woe veIr yout
She turned to her husband. "Madi
son, shall I lay this picture away?"
Mr. Janeway looked at her atten
tively. Was it zeal for an artistic en
semble, cr was it a lurking jealousy
of the woman who had come before?
"Pack it away, if you like," he said,
turning away. "It is shabby."
Long after his children and wife
were sleeping Mr. Janeway sat smok
ing and thinking complacently of his
success. He, Madison Janeway, had
began with nothing, and at fifty he had
won the things he had longed for at
twenty. The opening and closing of
the door attracted his attention. He
looked up.
A woman walked across the room
a plain woman, with an honest, ugly
face, and a short, thick figure.
"Who are you?" Mr. Janeway
asked, frowning at her intrusion.
"Don't you know me, Maddy?" she
He was startled when she called him
Maddy-it was more than twenty
years since he had been called that.
"Are-you-are-you-but you can't
be Sarah," he stammered. "She has
been dead these many years."
"I am Sarah," she answered. "You
have changed, Maddy."
"Yes-yes. "We are apt to," he
replied uneasily. "But you look just
the same." He said this to see if she
would account for her presence.
"The living can only see the dead
as they were in life," she returned.
"You sold the farm, didn't you?"
Mr. Janeway felt as if a reproach
lay in the observation. "Yes, I sold
the farm," he said. "I needed the
money to put into other investments."
"I worked hard on that place," she
said, crossing her hands--very rough,
worn hands. "I worked hard there
those years" I tried to save all I could,
"You were a good wife, Sarah," he
replied, "and both of us had our bur
dens, I guess."
"And it was my money that bought
the farm. You had nothing when you
came courting me, did you Maddy?
And you said that my being thirty
years old and you being just of age
made no difference."
"Yes, I suppose I said that, and I'm
sure I always tried to be good to you,"
he said in answer to that unspoken
reproach that seemed to lie behind her
unspoken words. "I tried to treat
you well."
"The money that came to me just
before I died from Uncle John must
have been a help. I left it and the
farm to you, Maddy." Her dull eyes
seemed to force him him to acknowl
edge his debt.
"Yes-yes, Sarah. I know that I
owe much to you. Without your help
and money I should have had a much
harder time getting on my feet. Yet
I think I should have succeed in any
case." Mr. Janeway could not for
bear offering this tribute to his self
esteem. "However, I gratefully ac
knowledged your aid, Sarah."
"You have another wife, now, Mad
dy, and children," she said, "but I
was first. I believed in you, and I
worked for you, oh, so willingly. I
knew that you were different from me.
I knew that you had hopes that stupid
Sarah could never understand. I
knew that I was your companion in
your work, but not in your hopes. I
knew that we were growing further
apart every year that we lived to
gether. I knew that while I was get
ting to be worked out and middle-aged
you were only coming in your prime.
I knew that it was best that I died
when I did-before I came to be a
drag on you. Yet, Maddy, before her
and your children I think you ought
not to shame me, for I was your faith
ful wife, the wife of your youth, and
I gave you all I had to give--my
money, my love, my toil."
Before Mr. [Janeway could answer
she was gone, and he sat alone.
The next day, however, he took the
old photograph down town and ordered
for it a gorgeous frame. When it was
returned he hung it in his library,
where it looked strangely alien between
a St. Cecilia and the Arabian Falconer,
bought at the instigation of the archi
Florrie, with a child's quickness, no
ticed the fine gilt frame that surround
ed the ugly, good face. "What have
you done to the lady?" she asked.
"Aren't you going to pack her away
like mamma said?"
"No; the picture is to stay here.
Do you remember who I said it was?"
"Yes; it was your first wife."
Mr. Janeway took her on his knee.
"Florrie," he began soberly, "when I
was a little boy I was very poor, as
poor as the Galts"-a family celebrated
in the town for ill luck and poverty.
"I went to school when I could, but
that was mighty little for I had to work
most of the time. Sometimes I'd get
get most discouraged, but I had to
work just the same. One year Iworked
for a man named Deering. He had a
daughter, and when she found how
much I wanted to go to schopl:she lent
,me some money-money she had saved
by pinching and scraping. After awhile
her father died and she married me. I
had nothing and she owned a good
farm, but she married me. In six
years she died and left everything to
me. She gave me my start She was
a good woman and believed in me when
nobody else dif. The other night papa
dreamed that he saw her and talked to
her, anil it made him feel ashamed that
he had seemed to forget her."
Mr. Janeway felt that he waru mak
ing a handsome reparation,. h.t he was
amanwhoaimedto do right. Itwas
necessary to his ae'f-esteem.
The child wrigglet I from his arms
and walked away, with an awed glance
at the pieture.
Mr. Janeway stared at it musingly.
"Are you sa~Sdled now, Sarah?' he
caught himself saying. "Pshawl
That dream holda to me still," he ex
elaimed, "bst saybow I've done her
justie." '
that the photograph quite spoiled the
effect of the library and begged that it
might be banished to some back room,
Mr. Janeway was firm, and the dull,
good face of his first wife kept its
place between the St. Cecilia and the
Arabian Falconer.-Chicago News.
Our Prickly Plant.
All the thousands of varieties of
cacti are at home only in America.
They belong exclusively to this cour
try and are found nowhere else, ex
cepting one variety, which Greece
knew and named cactus. These
strange plants are unlike anything
else in nature and in the United
States the varieties range from the
giant candlestick cactus of the Arizona
desert, which grows sixty feet high,
to tiny half globes no bigger than a
marble. Arizona and New Mexico
produce nearly all our cacti, Utah and
California sharing the glory. Mexico
and South America have many plants.
Sixty years ago there arose a cactus
craze which bade fair to rival the
famous tulip craze of Europe. Col
lectors in America and Europe went
wild over this peculiar plant and as
high as $150 was paid for a single
specimen. The best-known members
of the family is the night-blooming
cereus, though the commoner century
plant is well known. Cacti are inter
esting because of their odd shapes.
Nearly all have showy blossoms.
The cacti are children of the arid
lands and do not like moist climates.
Every cactus is a reservoir, storing
water for its needs, water which is
often the salvation of dying humans
in the desert. In a bad year the cacti
pull the cattle through, "the prickers"
not seeming to hurt them. Those
who have seen the vision of the dry
desert transformed by the spring
rains have seen one of the loveliest
sights in America. The gray sand is
instantly transformed, carpeted with
millions of tiny wild flowers, starred
here and there by the brilliant bloom
of the cactus.
From some varieties of the cactus
many things can be made-food, drink,
rope, paper and cloth, needles, thread,
fishhooks, pins, fences, candles and
even houses.--Chicago Daily News.
A Monster Tortoise.
A tortoise weighing 560 pounds is
almost large enough to satisfy any one
in search of curiosities.
This is the weight of the monster
tortoise which the Hon. Walter Roths
child has imported from Mauritius and
placed in the London "zoo." The
new arrival is supposed to be about
three hundred years old, though its
history can be traced for only 150
years, during which period it was
owned by branches of the same family.
The tortoise is five feet six inches from
head to tail over the curve of the shell.
It eats cabbages and coarse vegetables
and is very fond of carrots. It is not
possible to say whether it has attained
its full size. This is by no means the
heaviest of these creatures known.
Mr. Rothschild imported one eighty
years old which weighed 870 pounds
and was still growing when it died.
These great tortoises were at one time
very numerous round the Aldabian
group, but the number is now greatly
reduced.-Chicago News.
Water Drinking,
To keep in health a person should
drink from two to four quarts of water
each day. The system requires to be
cleaned and its organs flooded with
water. Besides its cleansing efficacy,
water absorbs effete matter and car
ries it through the system. The purer
the water the greater the power of ab
sorption. Some diseases of the kid
neys have been known to yield to gen
erous drinking of pure spring water,
Beer, tonics or alcoholic drinks cannot
take the place of pure water. In many
cases kidney and liver troubles have
been traced to the use of beer or alco
holil drinks. It has been ascertained
by the medical experts that rheuma
tism, local heart trouble, indigestion,
painful swellings, eruptions, liver and
kidney disorders are caused mainly by
general or local impeded circulation.
The best tonic and blood purifier is
Nature's own medium-pure spring
water.-Hygienic Magazine.
The Hairs of the Head.
Those who are thirsting for the
knowledge.of the average number of
hairs on the human head will now be
able to satisfy their longing. A num
ber of savants have just been counting
a square inch of sairs on the heads of
several persons, and have come to the
conclusion that the average number is
1066 hairs. By measuring the sur
face of the entire head it will be easy
to calculate thenumber of hairs on the
average pate. Another set of "hair
scientists" have made different calcula
tions. According to them a head of
fair hair is made up of 146,006 hairs
(the six at the end of the round figure
is fine; it might almost be reckoned
among the hair-splittings); a dark head
produces 105,000 hairs and a red poll
only 29,200. The reason for this di.
ference is that fair hair is of the finest
and red hair of the coarsest quality.
*£ A Couatry Without a Rallroad.
To railway builders out of work
Alaska offers a great if not an inviting
field. With a territory ten times as
large as New York State, it has not a
mile of steam road or of any other
kind of road. Thousands of citizens
of the United States are ready to emi
grate thither long enough to pick up
what gold they want, and yet our
Government has not built a single
railway for their accommodation. The
only transportation line into the gold
-eldb is owned by selfish capitalists,
non-resident at that, who expect to
make a pro. out of the indigent gold
seeker.--BSW2y A.ge.
The most agerous waatq in the
world.for the passage of ships lie offthe
east eoat of England, Olap Ushant, in
1z0sw and Oase Olaiatwna in B3pia.
Some Remarkable Experlences-.Former
Schoolmate Recites a Story..Wllllam is
Acquainted With a Modern "Old Mor.
"Old Mortality" was one of Walter
Scott's most interesting characters.
This long-bearded, venerable man
spent all the latter years of his life in
going about from cemetery to cemetery
in rechriseling and remarking the
marble slabs that covered the graves of
the dead. Not only that, but he clean
ed them of the mould and stain and
set them up square and level and did
it out of respect for his dead kindred
and friends. Nearly fifty years ago I
visited Laurel Hill, the beautiful home
of the dead of Philadelphia. and the
first thing that greeted me at the en
trance was a brown-stone statue of
Old Mortality working on a weather
beaten marble slab. A little dried up,
spectacled old gentleman with a pea
jacket on and the big pockets filled
with chials and mallets and brushes
and old rags. Maybe he is there yet.
I don't know, but I thought of him
the other day as I was wandering
through the silent city of the dead in
Myrtle Hill at Rome, Ga. It has been
about forty years since I helped to lay
off that cemetery, and people have
been moving there ever since and a
good motto to place over the gate
would be "For men may come and
men may go, but I go on forever."
An old time friend was with me, and
I can't help but think of him as "Old
Mortality," for he has been nursing
and cherishing that graveyard for over
thirty years and has made it a place of
beauty and a joy forever. He has long
since made reputation as an able law
yer and a learned judge, but I know
that he never took as much interests or
real pleasure in anything as in beautify.
ing and adorning that lovely and ro
mantic place. He has spent hundreds
of dollars there out of his own pocket.
His own lot, with its Italian marble
monument to the memory of his wife,
is a marvel of exquisite beauty. I saw
where he had righted up and placed a
new foundation under the monument
of the wife of a far distant friend.
Within the last year or two he has
been to Macon and reformed and re
newed the monuments that mark his
parents' graves. He has been to Eaton.
ton and worked on those of his broth
ers and sisters who died in the long
ago, and has placed tombstones over
the graves of his grand parents. He
talked to me feelingly about some ne
glected graves of our friends who
sleep in the old graveyard at Rome
that nobody cares for and is well nigh
abandoned. "When I get through
with them," he said, "I shall feel sat
isfied and take a rest from this busi
ness and endeavor to be ready for mi
own funeral." If he is not Old Mor
tality now he will be if he lives long
Well, I like that. We all like it;
that is to say, all kind-hearted, re
flective people. Some people are
afraid of a graveyard, especially young
people, who have a horror of death,
but it is a foolish fear and wears off as
we get older. When I was a youth at
a country school there was a braggart
sort of a boy named Baldwin who said
he wasn't afraid of ghosts. Jim Lin
ton yet him a dollar that he wouldn't
go down to the rocky field that night
and cut a sassafras bush that was near
an old grave and bring it to the house.
The money was put up. Just about
dark Jim slipped around and hid be
hind a rock pile that was near the
bushes that had grown around the
grave. When Baldwin got there and
was about to cut the sassafras Linton
said solemnly in a deep bass voice,
"Beware! that's my grave," and Bald
win ran home with Jim after him and
like to have fainted at the door.
When I was the little mill boy and
had to pass a country graveyard on the
way and happened to be late in get
ting my grist from the miller it was
a strain on my youthful courage to go
slow by the sacred mysterious place.
But go fast you can't on an old sway
back mare with a bag of meal under
you. For three or four years I was
on the lookout for a ghost in the twi
light, but I never saw one and I
reckon it helped me later on, for my
wife lived near the village graveyard
and when I was courting her and
kneeling at her shrine -I had to pass
near it every night or two and it was
a test of my love and my devotion,
for neither rain nor darkness intimi
dated me, which proves that love is
stronger than fear. Some moonlight
nights when I was a little premature I
have walked inside of that time-honor
ed place and sat upon the tombstones
and perused the epitaphs and the
epitaffy for it is a redeeming trait in
our humanity to speak well of the
dead, especially upon their tombs.
I don't believe in visible ghosts, but
some strange things have happened
since the Witch of Endor called up
the ghost of Samuel. One night in
Florida a number of us were giving in
our experience when my old college
friend, McKay, took his turn. He is
too old to prevaricate or exagger
ate. He traveled in Europe with his
wife and educated his children there,
and for eight years lived in Italy or in
the cities among the Mediterranean,
staying sometimes several months in
one place. On arriving at Dreaden he
songht for a pleasant house to rent and
found one on a hill in the nsubarba, a
large, massive, rock-built mansion of
the olden time. He and his wife and
daughter were pleased with the place
and rented two rooms. The- rooms
were high and large and had s hearvy
cornice about four feet below the ceil
ing. On this cornice and just over the
mantel was a portrait of a man. It
waaauo oi1ulsnt aid the maaa
the iling. There was a piano in the
front room and a set of fine old-fash
ioned furniture. The landlady was a
sad featured old woman. The first
night of their domicile Mr. McKay
and his wife and daughter sat up
quite late and the piano was tried and
found to be in perfect order. When
they retired the lamp was shaded and
left dimly burning. About midnight
there was a racket up about that por
trait and it was seen to break loose
from the ceiling and turn over edge
ways along the cornice to the coiner
of the room and then came down with
a crash. Why gravity didn't make it
fall down by th  n-iiel was the mys
tery. Next morning the servant came
and removed the portrait. Next night
after they had retired a heavy screen
that was between the bed and the
window galloped around to the foot of
the bed and fell with a crash. The
landlady came in the morning and re
moved it and said but little in expla
nation. She seemed troubled. The
next night Miss McKay, who was
gifted in music, played till quite late
and after she had closed the piano and
joined' in the conversation with her
parents there was an awful crash in
the piano behind them. It sounded
like every'ing had been violently
broken by blows from heavy bludgeons
and the blows were several times
repeated and with crushing force.
For some minutes Mr. McKay and his
wife and daughter looked and won
dered and said nothing. Then he got
up and approached the piano and in
spected it closely. Then he ventured
to open it and found every string and
every key in order. The next night
about midnight there was a pitiful wail
of a child crying in the room. The
lamp was turned up and a search for
the child was made. Sometimes it
was in one corner, then in another,
then up on the cornice and then out in
the hall and away off, but its cry
was distressing, as though in great
anguish. The landlady was rung fox
and came and when asked about the
child said there was no child in the
house, nor did her neighbor have any
children. "Madam, did you ever hear
the crying of a child in this room be
fore?" She said she had, but it was a
long time ago, and he learned from her
hnat anurng the war witn NIapoleon mte
inmates of the house were all murdered
for harboring some traitors. The man
whose portrait fell and his wife and son
and a little child. She thought that
maybe the haunts had left the house
by this time or she would not have
rented it.
"Now," said my friend, "this all
happened just as I tell you and my
little wife will say to you that I have
not exaggerated it." We looked at the
little woman and she said "it was just
that way." Of course they moved the
next day.
Do I believe it? Yes, I believe Mr.
and Mrs. McKay; more than that my
mind is not satisfied.-BILL ARP, in
Atlanta Constitution.
Mrs. Margaret Oliphant Was One of
the Prolific Novelists of the Day.
The death of Mrs. Margaret Oliphant,
which occurrtd in England not long
since, has removed one of the most
prolific and versatile writers of mod
ern times. Ever since her first novel
was published, when she was 21, she
has had a place in the hearts of a very
large class of readers. She was an
exexding'ly rahpid writer, turning out
w'ilh great regularity.a three-volume
novel every year. She published over
forty works of ticion in addition to
numerous biographical and historical
works. Beside, she was a frequent
contributor to the periodicals and was
the editor of a series, Foreign C:assics
for English Readers.
.1-rs. Oliplhnt was 70 years old when
she died and was born in Midlothian,
England. Her maiden name was WilT
The Worst Boy in Sobool.
He was about the w~ort boy in the
eebool and the teacher had punished
him again and agata until she had be
gun to consler him in the light of a
natural enemy, and she felt tbat the
boy's feeling for her must be almost
one of hatred. So it was in the natum
of a surprise when, in view of t p
proaching holiday separation, er
oys of the echoel brought, to her desk
little gifts of remembrance, to have the
had boy approach with some hesltatloa
and place a box of candy on her desL.
"But I don't thinkl I can takre lt,
Tor," she said. "You have been too
bad a boy; you have seemed to do
everything yenou could to dblease me."
"Oh, please take it, Miss Blak,"*
for the bad boy in eaQ sting onet
"I workes after sehoolhoers to get the
maoney to get it." o a
Aind someone felt t~ coming very
near the e or ace then, for"the bad boy
sdas a poor boy wadbad notsdo many
leasrea a bte theat be cokld be ex
gecteu to csderte him te l
Creameries and Good Roads.
The Mankato (Minn.) Free Press
rays that the establishment of cream.
eries is becoming a potent argument
for good roads. The daily trip to them
with the milk must be made regardless
of mud and wet or if the mud be ankle
deep,-for milk is a perishable prodnct.
Then, even when the road is dry, the
milk, of course, is injured by the
churning received on the journey over
the rough roads. The farmer is,
therefore, beginning to perceive the
direct money value of road improve
ment. The Free Press adds that the
creamery is becoming the focus at
which better roads centre.
Steel Country Roads.
The steel country roads with which
the United States Department of Agri
tulture is now experimenting, accord
tng the Engineering News, will practi
sally be constructed as follows: The
lesign calls for an inverted trough
shaped steel .-rail with a slight raised
bead on the inside and an eight-inch
tread and seven-sixteenths inch thick.
These rails are to be bedded in gravel
:aid in well-drained trenches and the
rails are to be tied together at the
ends and at the middle. On grades
,he rails will be indented to prevent
the horses from slipping. The ad
vantage claimed for these steel roads
.a the reduction of traction from forty
pounds per ton on macadam road to
eight pounds on the steel rails. The
materials for the heavier type of steel
?oads of this design will cost $3500 in
small quantities. The amount of ma
terial required is less than 100 tons
per mile, and the lines can probably
,e built for $2000 per mile. The
.ighter types only cost about $1000 per
nile, but this does not include laying
3f grading or road bed.
Practical Good Roads.
A Good Roads convention was held
at Cannon Falls which was notable for
the practical manner in which the sub
ject under consideration was handled.
Np city speakers were imported to en
lihten the farmers upon the theory of
road building and to suggest legisla
tion looking to future large expendi
tures fc costly roadways; but the
neighbors assembled proceeded to
show how the roads could be greatly
improved with the means already
available. The main point brought
nut was the necessity of thorough
surface draining by effective ditching.
The roadbed must be rounded so that
the water will run off, but the best
material-for surfacing depends upon
the locality and the character of the
soil. If the road surface can be kept
dry, any locality may have good roads
at comparatively small cost all the
year round.
Incidentally, the subject of wide vs.
narrow tires was taken up, and David
Valentine, a practical road builder,
stated that he had used both wide and
narrow tired wheels, and his experi
ence was such that if he were to pur
•hase a new wagon he would not take
a narrow tired vehicle if he could get
it at half price, as he could haul dou
ble the load, with the same expendi
ture of power, on a wide tire. Where
the roads are dry and hard there can
be no doubt of the superior economy
,f a wide tire, not only in the matter
if hauling the load, but in preserving
,he roadway.-Minneapolis (Minn.)
I Inexpensive Road ImprovementS.
The farmers of the country are grad
aally going over to the belief that good
roads are for their personal benefit and
there is a decided change of sentiment
along this line in many of the States.
One of the chief obstacles to reform
has been the fear of the farmers that
the cost of highway improvements
would fall chiefly on them and as they
feel that they are already burdened
heavily enough they resist the passage
of good-roads laws with their local in
fluence and their votes often tothe de
teat of these worthy projects. New
Jersey has a law now in force, how
ever, that illustrates how properly this
burden can be divided between the in
dividual and the community so that it
falls lightly upon the farmer. This
law apportions the cost of all road im
provements as follows: One-thirdJs
paid by the Stste, one-tenth by the in
dividual beneficiary of the improve
ment, the owner of the abutting prop.
erty, and the remainder by the county
in which the improvement occurs. Re
duced to a scale of thirtieths the State
pays ten parts, the individual three
parts and the county seventeen parts
Stated in still another way the various
burdens are more easily appreoiated.
The average cost of repairing a road
with a macadam finish is about 8000
a mile. Of this sum the countywould
pay $1700, the State $1000 and the in
dividual $300. It is tobe remembered
that the $300 in this case is usually
divided among several persons, ia few
properties in this section of the coun
try extend for much more than a quarter
or half a mile along a highway, and
tax is assessed on the owners on eeh
side of the road. . Thus it will fre
quently occur that the individual will
pay directly for a rst-lass road in
front of his property and for a miie
adjacent such a small sum as $40 or
$50. To besure he pays as well his
ihare of the county tax ad i less
proportion his prt of the Stae tax,
but these burdesns are eomparativelt
light and ,easily borne. Thes ima
provements in New Jersey are onder
taken on the petition of the ownmers of
the abLtting property. BSueh laws as
this, ifeopiedin other States weald
probably result in oan immediae be
terment of the country road Ia every
section, an improvemeat, of satd
benent to millions of pebple.-WeWb
ington Star. -
Ted Battersy, a Liverpool (Eamisd)
athlete, ran to the aummitof Mout
Snowdon from Tianberin fit-tr
minutes and bek in thirty -eigih. hi
is thp quickest time ever ue ne, sad I
was the $W fa at s l.
Last year the only four states that
produced asphaltum were California,
Colorado, Texas, and Utah. Indian
Territory also contributed some.
The government reindeer farm near
Fort Clarence, Alaska, in the vicinity
of the lower Yukon, now has more
than one thousandanimals, and they
are multiplying rapidly. The herd
was started five years ago. None of
the animals have been utilized as yet
for any purpose, although it is said
that some of them may be put to ser
vice in transporting the mails. The
Boston Traveler now suggests that a
certain number of the deer be sold to
the seekers after wealth in the Klon
dike. The revenue derived from their
sale, it is argued, would reduce the
heavy expenses attending the main
tenance of the rest of the herd, and
they would be the greatest possible
aid to the miners.
The crime of kidnapping is com
paratively rare in this state with refer
ence to children, observes the New
York Sun, most of the cases in the
law reports relating to the carrying off
of grown persons. The guilty parties
in the Conway case at Albany, have-'
rendered themselves liable to im.
prisonment in the state prison for a
term not exceeding fifteen years, un
der section 211 of the Penal code, the
second subdivision of which declares
that a person is guilty of kidnapping
who willfully "leads, takes, entices
away, or detains a child under the
age of 16 years with intent to keep
or conceal it from its parent,guardian,
or other person having the lawful care
or control thereof, or to extort or ob
tain money or reward for the return
or disposition of the child, or with in
tent to steal any article about or on
the person of the child." In the early
part of this century the law against
kidnapping was most frequently in
voked in the northern states in behalf
of free persons of color who were un
lawfulfy seized for the purpose of en
slaving them in the South. Of late
years sailors have frequently been the
victims of kidnappers. The offenders
in the .Conway case wheq ascertained
and convicted should be punished
with such severity as to prevent any
epidemic of this form of crime.
Mississippi Valley
Bailroad madntina
msuerpassed : Daily : Serh e
oonnecting at Memphis with
trains of the Illinoia Cen
tral Bailroad for
Cairo, St. Louis, Chicago, Cin
cinnati, Louisville,
making direct connections with through
trains for all points
including Buffalo, Pittaburg, Oleve
land, Boston, New York, Philadelphia,
Baltimore, Riohmond, St. Paul, Min
neapolis, Omaha, Kansas City, Hot
Springs, Ark., and Denver. Close
connection at Chicago with Central
Mississippi Valley Route, Solid Fast
Veetibuled Daily Trains for
and the West. Particulars of agents
of the Y. & M. V. and connecting lines
Wx. Muanair, Div. Pas. Agt,
New Orleans.
Jxo. A. Soon, Div. Pe. Agt.L,
Memphis. '
A . H. Asso, O. P. A.,
W. A. KamroD, A. 0. P. A.,
W. D. Bnurr, Oity Tkl. Agt, Vieksburg,
Between the
North and South.
Oaly direst route to
-uqi St4. s, amle Imm Ce i.
Only direst route to
Jute Vittru, ias od. ,
And al peints in Teas s ad the outh
Double Daily Traias
Past Time
Close Caomwotims.
-Whroush Pullman h**s s. leeer
bewesa New Orleans an Mepir
sam City, st Louis sd Chsie
without chnge, masktag diret couse.
ions with Brat-else Iue to all poiale.
Tbhe great steel bridge ea iag .
Ohio river at Cair eeampleted, unt m
tpi. (freigt and peassager) U
de l s sa easn, aY:.-se -usi....-,
u by fSrry bee*
L. e. PBses.L, ;
i'~.-. -isi~

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