Willmar tribune. [volume], December 01, 1909, Image 7

About Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
The probability that this was the
last of that comet is conceded by
such cautious astronomers as Prof.
Young of Princeton. It is an authen
tic record, valued because it is about
as near the history of Biela's comet
as we will ever get. It is certainly
lost, and it is thought that we have
nwa£
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\zoxossr /*\ir
HE astronomers announce
that Halley's comet is ap
proaching the earth at the rate of a million
miles a day. As Halley's is the most splen
didly attractive (otherwise the most alarming) of all
our regular comets, they add that we need not fear
that it will strike the earth, because it will not come
closer to us than 13,000,000 miles.
This is the scientific schedule, but that does not
keep any one who wishes to be inspired with proper
awe on the approach
of our most remark
able comet, from ask
ing what might take
place if, for any rea
son it leaves the scien-
tific schedule, as Biela's comet did
Mhen it did the most remarkable
thing thus far known in the history
of the solar system since men have
begun to watch the sky. That is,
after coming back over and over on
schedule time, until it was supposed
to be as regular as the earth itself, it
split in two, underwent final ship
wreck somewhere in the heavens, and
according to the last supposed to be
known of it, fell on earth several hun
dred miles southeast of El Paso, Tex.
the last trace of it on earth now in a lump of nickel-iron which fell in Mexico.
when supposed fragments of the lost comet (called "Bielids" after the as
tronomer, Biela, who disco*ered it) were being watched for and expected to
fa.l in a shower somewhere on earth, if they were not burned to vapor by
heat from friction as they were being whirled through the earth's atmosphere
in falling. Although Halley's comet has been coming back regularly every
76 or ,7 years since it is supposed to have appeared with its tail filling the
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42
«a*te%sw«^_7'
through the sky as they fall.
Surpose we were to capture Halley's comet
&tnd it weie really to fall, what would become
Of the eaith or of the comet?
That is a fair question for all who wish to
Keep a proper scientific awe of our finest reg
ulai comet It may offer something to take
the place of the unscientific awe which used
to send thousands to their knees, remember
ing their sins and praying for pardon as soon
as Halley's comet began to spread its magnifi
cent tail across the sky. In other words, it
nude them try to think, which was, no doubt,
tbe best thing a comet could do for them.
Another important question is whether Hal
ls y's comet will bring its magnificent tail back
with it, restored to its ancient and awful
splendor If it does not, the world, learned
«nd unlearned, will be disappointed, for a
comet without a tail is not awful or sublime
enough to be worth growing either enthusias
tic ri repentant o\er. We cannot tell about
the tail It may come back with the comet,
reduced 30 per cent, or it may finally be lost
altogether or increased back to awful magnifi
cence, streaming across the sky in such a
spectacle as can be hoped for on earth only
tnce in a lifetime
If it recovers its tail in its full historic
splendor, Halley's will be too magnificent a
comet to be lost, according to &ur ways of
looking at comets. It is not a «nird-rate as-
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WITH AN EXPERT'S JUDGMENT
City Man Visiting the Country Knew
What Would Bring the
Needed Rain.
The farmers of a small but thriving
tillage in northern New York are a
pious set of folk, so recently, wben
iay after day passed without rain or
a sign of it, they assembled and de
flated thay must meet in the village
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sky before the fall of Jerusalem, it may end
tinallv as Biela's comet did, falling in a star
shower on earth, or on some other planet, or
into the sun, or scattering through space
around the sun in masses perhaps of nickel
iion, unseen on earth, unless the earth cap
tures them out of space and sets them blazing
19°9
tronomer's comet, like Biela's, but a comet for
everybody, with all mankind interested in it.
It may set all the gongs in Asia beating while
we are watching it through telescopes. Mil
lions who do not know enough to be fright
ened at the idea of its striking the earth may
find it awful enough to make them try hard
to think, with results which, while they last,
may seem to them the most awful they ever
felt in their lives.
While all who are intelligently interested
in comets will want Halley's back regularly,
tail and all, as something to think about, there
is a chance that it will lose its tail and also
a chance, very remote now, that it may be
shipwrecked finally and lost in space. It is a
"chatice" on-y until the law is learned. The
chance is worth discussing only in the hope
of learning more of the law. Can a comet
lawfully get out of its regular path and be
pulled down finally by the earth or some other
planet? That is a question of law and as far
as we have learned the law the answer Is that
it can.
We do not know much yet about the law.
All we are beginning to find out dates from
the night in January, 1846, when Prof. Challis
looked through his telescope at the Cambridge
observatory and could not believe his eyes.
The spectacle he saw in the heavens was too
astonishing to believe. It was Biela's comet
split into two distinct comets. Such a thing
had never been heard of or imagined as pos
sible. But in some way it had actually oc
curred. Had the comet exploded by its own
forces? Had it come in reach of the attrac
tion of one of the planets and been pulled
apart? What must become of a comet after
being thus split in pieces? Could it come
church and pray for rain, which was
needed for the growing crops, after
which each would adjourn to his bed
side and offer individual prayer.
In the village at the time was a
city man whose boyhood had been
spent in a small city, and who was
then resting for a few weeks from the
arduous labors of metropolitan life.
"Praying don't do no good," be ven
tured, wben he heard of tbe contem-
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plated collective and individual pleas.
"It's a matter for the church, all
right," be continued, despite looks of
scorn meant to wither his gaze. "I
ain't saying nothing against the
church. But you don't want to go
about this matter in a sorrowful way.
"You fellers need rain, and you need
it badly. But you don't get it by
prayer unless you do something after
ward to help things along. I dont
belong to your village church, but I
went to church when I was a young
ster, and I learmd the art of rain-
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within range of the earth and be captured and
pulled down to the surface? If so, would It
jar the earth in its orbit or set the planet
on fire?
All we will ever have in the way of a final
answer to these questions as they belong to
the complete and final loss of Biela's comet
is given officially now in the records of Mex
ico in the statement recorded by Senor Jose
A. Bonilla, director of the astronomical ob
servatory in the state of Zacatecas. In No
vember, 1885, it was supposed that between
the twenty-fourth and twenty-ninth of the
month the earth would pass in space through
or near the fragments left by Biela's comet.
As they were then called "Bielids," it had
been concluded that they were a swarm of
hundreds of thousands or perhaps of mil
lions of small masses of meteoric matter, per
haps weighing from an ounce up to a ton or
more. It was feared that if the earth passed
through them and drew them to the surface in
daylight they would not be seen at all, but
would either burn up in gas or else fall in a
few scattering stones on distant parts of the
earth. This may have occurred in other
places, but on a ranch near Mazapil, in the
state of Zacatecas, one of them (or a mass of
nickel-iron belonging to some group of the
same kind) was seen to fall and recovered at
once by the owner of the ranch, who made the
deposition taken down in Spanish by Senor
Bonilla and translated by William Earl Hid
den, to close the last chapter in the story of
Biela's lost comet:
"It was ab« ut 7 o'clock on the night of No
vember 27 (1M5)," said the ranchman in his
deposition, "wKT»n I went out to the corral to
feed the horse? Suddenly I heard a loud, siz
zing noise, exactly as though something red
hot was being plunged into cold water and al
most instantly there followed a somewhat
loud thud. At once the corral was covered
with a phosphorescent light, while suspended
in the air weie small, luminous sparks, as
though from a rocket. I had not recovered
from my surprise before I saw this luminous
air disappear *nd there remained on the
ground only sufh a light as is made when a
match is rubbed. A number of people came
WHAT MIGHT TAKf
idPfaAfcf I MAkbfjYi
SMIPWRftKib
'A* BltbAS WAS
W!BIEUDqfl88S
SUPPOSED fRAGMEHT
OFWEL/f$ COMET
making then. If you will let me get
in your ranks for a few days I'll getmaster,
rain for you. But well get it by a
general rejoicing."
He was from the city, and conse
quently was looked up to by the folk
who had never left the farms. So he
was told he could take hold of the
matter.
"If I don't bring rain," he an
nounced, "then yon can go ahead with
your prayers."
Then he set to work. He went to
the printer in the village, who was
running towards me from the neighboring houses and
they helped me to quiet the horses, which had become
mueh excited. We were afraid of being burned. We all
asked what could be the matter. In a few moments, when
we had recovered from our fear, vre saw the light disap
pear. Bringing lanterns, we found a hole in the ground
and in It a ball of light. We retired to a little distance,
fearing it would explode and harm us. Looking up to the
sky, we saw exhalations or stars which went out without
noise. We returned after a little and found in the hole
a hot stone we could barely handle. This, on the next
day, we saw looked like a piece of iron. All night it
rained stars. We saw none fall to the ground, as they
all seemed to be extinguished while yet high up."
If this stone, the only one known to have reached
the earth out of the "rain of stars," is
all that is left of Biela's comet, there
is 10*4 pounds left of it in the shape
of a mass of iron ore, showing such
"pits" from contraction after great
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heat as the telescope shows in a
much larger way on the face of the
moon.
As this was considered the most
distinguished visitor that had ever
reached the earth from infinite space,
it was presented as a mark of his
distinguished consideration by Prof.
Bonilla to William Earl Hidden, as
one of the most distinguished Ameri
can mineralogists, who was also an
authority on meteors and meteoric
minerals. Analysis showed that it
was 91.26 per cent, iron, 7.84 per
cent nickel, 65-100 per cent, cobalt,
30-100 per cent, phosphorus, with
traces of sulphur, carbon and chlorine. Mr.
Hidden wrote its history in the American Jour*
nal of Science. In the century Magazine of
August, 1885, he answered the question, "Is
it a piece of a comet?" by summing up the
evidence ic connection with the known history
of Biela's lost comet, since it split in 1846 and
returned as two comets in 1852, to disappear
finally in what were supposed to be a swarm
of "bielids.*
"At the time of the fall of this meteorite"
(in Mexico), Hidden writes, "it was 10 hours
after the maximum number of meteors was ob
served. The earth was meeting with only the
stragglers of the train. It cannot be doubted
that the cosmical dust proceeding from the
disintegration of Biela's comet wholly envel
oped the earth and was seen as meteors from
every part of it. Such was the magnificence
of the celestial phenomena in some parts of
the eastern continent that some people be
lieved there would be no more stars left in
the sky."
Biela's comet had returned regularly in a
period of a little less than seven yeads until it
underwent complete shipwreck in the heavens.
No one ever expects to see it again. The end,
as far as known, is this star shower in the
night the Bonilla bielid was picked up in Ma
zapil, to give us the best knowledge we Aave
of what may be expected when a comet falls.
Biela's lost comet does not compare with
Halley's, which must have billions of stones
or small and large masses of matter, probably
nickel-iron, in its magnificent head. If it were
shipwrecked by Jupiter, by the earth or by
any other planet, these, if they were drawn
close enough by the planet to break the hold
the sun has on them, may do a number of
interesting things.
They might revolve around the earth at a
distance, collecting in such a ring as that of
Saturn, which is supposed to be composed of
an infinite number of such stones, or they
might whirl closer and closer in revolving
around it until finally the largest of them,
which do not burn up in the atmosphere by
friction, must fall as this* bielid fell in Mex
ico. The hope of getting a beautiful earth
ring, such as that of Saturn's, by capturing
comets, is very small, if only because comets
have not matter enough in them to make it.
also the wagonmaker and the post
and had some bills printed an
nouncing a picnic of the Sunday
school for that day in the next week.
"I never knew it to fail," he said.
All arrangements were made for
the picnic. But of course, following a
custom never deviated from, when the
day of the proposed jollification and
rest came around the event had tc
be postponed.
There was the hardest rainstorm
the village
hn«i
York Times.
ever known.-—Ne*
•YNOP8I8.
The story opens with a scene at a box
party. Miss Henrietta Winstantley, sis
ter of Bishop Winstanley overheard
Banker Ankony propose to Barbara Hem
ingray, whose brother Dan was in his
employ Dan was one of the town's pop
ular young men. He showed some nerv
ousness when Attorney Tom Twining told
him Barbara refused Ankony. Ankony
the following day, summoning Twining,
accused Dan of looting the bank. Twin
ing refused to prosecute Barbara per
suaded Ankony to postpone starting
prosecution Twining learned of the en
gagement of Ankony and Barbara. He
congratulated both He visited Miss
Hemingray and found her almost in
tears He told her he had loved her, but
feared prematurely announcing his af
fection. By actions alone she told him
she reciprocated. Mrs. Anson Dines,
wealthy widow, proposed a marriage by
proxy with Bishop Winstanley. The lat
ter consulted with Twining. The bishop
had been paying attentions to Miss
Streeter. Dan consulted Twining, say
ing his sister was determined to marry
Ankony, declaring she actually loved the
banker, though he could not help believ
ing she was making a sacrifice to save
him from jail. Miss Winstanley, find
ing a pressed rose in the bishop's book,
scented a love affair. Mrs. Dines sailed
for America. Miss Winstanley informed
Twining that Mrs. Dines was intent upon
stopping the marriage of Barbara and
Ankony. Mrs. Dines arrived and Ankony
immediately set about to sail with Bar
bara for Europe the following day, in or
der, it seemed, to avoid Mrs Dines Mrs
Dines confronted Ankony with evidence
of his peculations while attorney for the
late Mr Dines. She told him that if he
persisted in marrying Barbara that day
that she would prosecute him Finally he
agreed to her proposition that he should
give up Barbara as the price of Mrs
Dines* silence. Ankony notified Barbara
of the necessity for breaking the engage
ment. Dan was informed also.
CHAPTER XI.—Continued.
"Everything's all right at last, Tom,"
he cried. "I don't deserve It, but I'm
down on my knees giving thanks for
it, just the same, and if ever—" he
lowered his voice, looking over my
shoulder at some one who was ap
proaching—"if ever I get any of you
into such a muss again, may I be
hanged! Oh, it's been awful! You'll
never know. But it's over, thank God'
And now it's up to me to make good
And that's what I'm going to do, old
man. Who is this confounded fellow
coming? I wanted to talk with you a
minuje, but I'll look in after dinner,
if you're to be at home. There's a
deal to tell you," and he was off.
An ecclesiastical-looking gentleman
mounted the steps with me, inquiring
for the bishop, while I went in to
Miss Winstanley.
She was flushed and smiling and
bright-eyed.
"Did you think I had forgotten you?
Bless you, no. But there has been
so much to do. We only left Barbara,
poor child, an hour ago. There were
messages to be sent for her, orders
to countermand, and—"
"Then she isn't going with him?" I
broke in.
"Oh, did you think—is it possible
you gave her credit for so little—"
"If she loved him—"
"She caught me up sharply. "Of
course she didn't love him. I always
told you that, but you would go on in
your stubborn unbelief in my intui
tions, you foolish, foolish fellow. My,
but she was gallant, though! She had
me almost bewildered at first but
the moment she found that she could
have done with all pretense and that
her fancied obligation to Ankony was
at an end, then how she changed! It
was pitiful to see her. One under
stood the terrific strain she has been
under. I'm not pretending to say
whether or not she cares for you, Mr.
Twining—that's for you to find out for
yourself, you know—but I think it is
only fair to tell you that she never
has cared for Ankony."
"Thank God!" I devoutly murmured.
She patted my arm and made funny
little dabs at her eyes with a dot of
a handkerchief.
"She is going out of town to stay
with some friends until the storm of
the broken engagement has blown
over, she, told me. They go to-mor
row, she and Dan. He will stay with
her a fortnight, until she is a little re
covered, for in spite of her wonderful
courage and poise, she is tremendous
ly undone by all this."
"And is there nothing—"
"Nothing just yet," she smiled.
"Now let me tell you what Dan and
I are going to do. You remember that
I have some undeveloped mining prop
erty in Montana. Experts have given
me a good deal of encouragement over
it, but I have been waiting to find just
the right man to put at the head of
the work. And now Dan is to under
take it. Oh"—at my glance—"it isn't
a philanthropic scheme. The boy
will give me excellent service. If it is
a good thing for him, it's a better
thing for me. And I'm to go out with
him to launch the enterprise. I've
no notion of being in the way when
my brother and his wife return."
"But your brother can't do without
you. You will always be as necessary
to him as his wife."
"Later, perhaps, but not just at
first," she said. "We don't know
much about honeymoons, you and I,
Mr. Twining but I'm sure you'll agree
with me that no man wants even his
beloved sister underfoot at that time.
So Dan and I are off in a fortnight.
"Good!" I approved
don't go well with me I'll come along
May I?"
CHAPTER XI I.
Barbara was away several weeks,
and then one day Mrs. Dines, meeting
me on the street, told me that she had
come back to town and that she was
well and entirely recovered from the
effects of the unfortunate publicity of
her broken engagement
I went to see her that evening. It
was just after dinner, and the maid
told me that Miss Hemingray was go
ing out, but that she would ask If she
would see me for a few minutes.
As we stood talking, Barbara came
down the stairs.
IfflTWEEF*
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the purpose for which it had been de
signed. Her cloak was white too—a
velvety thing that I had not seen be
fore. It became her wonderfully, with
its bewitching folds and curves and
richness. And her brown head, lifting
itself with all its charming poise
above the new loveliness, thrilled me
while the eyes that looked down on
me were more like the eyes of the
Barbara I loved than they had been
for a very long time.
"Oh, you!" she exclaimed, from the
landing where she paused an instant
at sight of me.
"Going out?" I asked, lightly, as If
I were not dazzled and palpitant.
"To a very small affair at the
Averills*. Why not come along?"
"Because I'm not asked. But youtween
will give me a minute before you
go?" I pleaded.
She glanced at the hall clock.
"Yes, I think so. Hord Averill is
coming for me, but it isn't time for
him yet."
"Annie," said I to the maid, "if Mr.
Averill arrives, show him into the
drawing-room and let him wait."
"You are very urgent," Barbara
said, with a rather uncertain smile.
I held open the library door and she
entered. She did not sit, but stood
half turning to me. leaning against
the corner of the table near the fire
place, where a low fire burned. I had
'and if things, You have had to make pretense so
long. Think only of yourself now."
I waited for her reply, but it was
long in coming, so long that my heart
sank.
"If I am to be honest," she began.
"I must tell you that—that—"
"Yes? Don't be afraid, dear."
"That It would be foolish—foolish
for me to—to try to—to care for you,
for I—"
"Don't try to go on." I cried. '1 see.
I I stared Into the Are. 1 had
thought I was prepared!
Presently she began to speak again:
"Won't you let me finish, please? I—
I want you to understand. It would
be foolish for me to—to try to care
for you, because—because—"
"Oh, don't try to ease it for me!"
broke in. "I must learn to bear it.
Forgive me for being so long getting
myself in hand. You're not to blame
yourself, dear. You never gave me
any reason to hope, but I did. I told
myself that I didn't, but I did—even
when I thought Ankony was going to
carry you off the next day, I still
hoped. It seemed to me that heaven
meant you should belong to me, and
that I must have you. But there,
there! don't look at me like that,
and don't—"
"I am going to finish," she said,
resolutely. "Let me go on"
"I wish you wouldn't," I urged.
"My Waiting Is Over," I Breathed.
never seen her half so lovely, nor so
adorable.
"We have abused our friendship and
treated it shamefully," I said at once,
"and now perhaps I am about to
maroon it but I must take the chance.
Forgive me if I have come too soon,
dear, but I can wait no longer. I must
know—now that you are free to tell
me—whether I can ever hope that you
will care for me."
"Do you know all that has hap
pened?" she asked. She was as
white as her gown, and her eyes only
half lifted to mine.
"Yes, Barbara. Don't mind, dear.
Part of it I guessed and the other
part had to be told me. But I am glad
that there is nothing for you to tell
me—nothing but the one thing I am
so eager to hear. Yon won't keep me
waiting any longer, will you?"
"After all that has happened you
still want me for—your—"
"More than ever a thousand times
more than ever!" I cried.
"I don't understand how you can,"
she said. She turned her face from
me, leaning heavily on the table, the
soft firelight over her. "Could you
ever be sure of me? I have deceived
you so long."
"You must deceive neither yourself
nor me now," I said, seriously. "I
want the truth, whatever that is. Be
honest. Don't try to be kind to me.
I have been a fool to expect it"
A little sound of pain escaped her.
I pulled myself together with an
effort
"You mustn't worry," I said, dully.
'1 can't blame you. heaven knows! I
wouldn't have you come to me unless
She wore a rather you love me, you know that And I
scrumptious gown of white—one from would rather go on—alone—than have
her trousseau, I imagine, and the hope you give yourself to me through pity"
went over me that it might yet fulfill
She sat down, bending to the fire. I
could not see her eyes, but I knew
they were misty, and the softness of
her voice was indescribable.
"I couldn't try to care for you be
cause—because I have been—have
been fighting for months—to—tr- quit
caring Oh, why—why will you be so
dense?"
"Barbara!" I cried, bending over
her.
She put up a futile little hand be*
us, but I laughed in the rap
ture of the moment and caught her in
my arms
"Wait," she pleaded.
"My waiting is over!" I breathed.
"Oh, look at me, dear one, and let me
have the testimony of your eyes. I'm
afraid of your lips."
"Foolish!" whispered she, lifting
her eyes to mine And then: "But
oh, you are—Tom, Tom' you are
crushing my beautiful new gown, and
it—it did cost such a pile," with a lit
tle breathless laugh.
"There will be plenty of other
gowns," I exclaimed, "but never an
other moment quite like this."
The fire did its best to be up to the
situation it crackled in a sudden
noisy glee and threw enchanting shad*
ows over Barbara's head as I looked
down on it Dan's rheumatic old
spaniel, who haunted the library,
awoke from his nap in the corner at
the moment and, coming to stretch
himself on the hearth-rug, observed
something unusual going on, and, look-'
ing up inquiringly, brushed against
Barbara's skirts to attract her atten
tion.
The maid's light steps passed down
the hall and I heard the outer door
open and a man's voice in the vesti
bule.
"It's Averill," I said. "I shan't so
much mind having to give you up to
him now."
But he did not seem to ester into
the moment with her.
"Oh, it has been so hard," she whis
pered, a little half sob breaking the
sweetness of her voice. "There were
times when I thought I should never,
never be able to stand it," and I felt
her shiver in my arms.
"I know, my brave one," I whis
pered back "I know."
She lifted her head a moment later
and looked at me, and my heart bowed
beneath the shining of her eyes and
the tremulous beauty of her dear face.
"But it doesn't matter now. Noth
ing matters now," she said, thnllingly.
(THE END.)
A Fruitful Potato Plant.
Not satisfied with yielding an enor*
mous output in the regular way, an
Irish potato vine growing in that
garden of C. C. Nail at Luthersville,
Ga., some time ago began to put out
potatoes all along its branches, and
when sent to the Constitution office
the other day, had potatoes as largo
as eggs growing practically all over
the vine.
In a letter accompanying the freak
Mr. Nail states that the vine grew In
his garden, where the land is a mix*
ture of sand and red clay. On tak
ing up the plant, he found that the
industrious vine had not neglected its
regular duty while pulling off its un
usual stunt, as proven by tbe fact
that an unusually large number of po
tatoes were found in their accustomed
place la the ground.—Atlanta Const!,
tutioa.