6
THE PROUD HERO.
'He rede instate before the crowd
That lined the thoroughfare;
He heard the cannon booming loud.
He saw the hats in air.
He heard the music rising high,
He saw tha flags above;
He heard the people rend the sky ' _
Hurrahing out their love.
"T
He rose, responsive to the cheers,
And bared his stately head.
And while the plaudits smote his ears
Below his breath he said:
•"They greet me with huzzas to-day.
And should I. then, be proud?
■Cre night some newer hero may
Be worshiped by the crowd.
"Ay, but there's one at home whose eyes
Are dim with happy tears"—
4Lnd, proud, he heard her constant sighs
Above their fickle cheers.
—B. E. Kiser, In Chicago Times-Herald.
■jjpP|gs;s , pe-'
lIM© 3
HARR^^L^RBS
Copyright, ITJ9, by J. B. Llpplncott Com*
par./. All rights reserved.
, CHAPTER VIII.
1/ea.ving the physician's office, Holbin
Bade his way through the streets,
where excited crowds weTe discussing
the approaching conflict. He went to
his room. It is true he had gained no
profitable information coneerning the
unknown, yet—and the thought con
aoled him to some extent —he had made
two important discoveries: Brodnar
was his enemy, and the shooting had
really occurred. But who was the man,
and why should Brodnar seek to shield
him? For the first time then it dawned
upon Holbin that Brodnar was the
friend who came to the reftcue of the
wounded man and bore him away.
Everything corroborated Louise, and
if Louise spoke from a clear memory,
then Frances had been observed ten
derly parting from the man she loved.
This mental conclusion filled him with
rage, despite the fact that he did not
and could not believe the girl guilty of
aerious error. Common sense told him
also that Brodnar would not have been
a party to a scandal and the protector
of a guilty participant. It was a bad
hour that Holbin gave to his dilemma
in the privacy of his own room. In
his doubt and distress he thought often
of his mother, who had Richmond so
ciety at her finger ends, and whose
clear, incisive mind could pierce the
njretery if it could be pierced. But he
hesitated at this stage. There were
other secrets besides that which
baffled him, and he was not prepared
to admit the presence of Louise in
Richmond.
But why not Frances? No explana
tions were necessary there; and she
•was young and, of course, easily
frightened. He wenit at once to her
room, and upon the plea of urgent
necessity forced his way in. He found
her with her cheeks wet with tears and
Instantly full of resentment. She re
mained standing while he was in the
toon).
"I hare a matter of great importance,
Frances, to discuss with you in private,
and much as I dislike to be guilty of in
trusion there seems to be no help for
it." She had regained her calmness Vy
• desperate effort.
"To you,Mr.Holbin,l am always Miss
Brookin, and there cannot possibly be
any subject in which we ane jointly in
terested so important as to necessitate
immediate discussion."
"I am sorry if I shall appear abrupt,"
he said, "but there is a subject, and
there is no time to waste. Night be
fore last a man sat in this chair, you
kneeled in front of him, and someone
fired through the window, wounding
him in the head. The ball glanced into
the plastering back there, and the man
was carried away by Dr. Brodnar, who
Is now treating hiin in his rooms. I de
mand the name of that man and your
reasons for admitting him into this
house."
"Mr. Holbin!"
Frances, although forewarned, was
hut a girl, and could not keep the tell
tale blood from her face.
"Do not attempt to deceive me. Give
me the name and your reasons."
"By what right do you demand this,
air?" Her voice steadied as she looked
him fearlessly in the eyes.
"By the right which your father's
will confers. For if you take one course
■under that will, this property is his
widow's, my mother's; and if you take
the other —"
"In the meantime," she said, coldly,
"I have several years in which to de
cide, and during those years neither
jrou nor your mother can drive me
from this house."
"Drive you, Frances!"
"Miss Brookin!"
"Come, this is folly! I am, whether
billing or unwilling, the present head
of this family, or at least this house
hold. All Richmond will hold me re
sponsible for everything that happens
here contrary to propriety, and I must
insist that you explain this most re
markable occurrence. Do not force
me to ask assistance of the police, and
thus make the matter public." The
girl did not flinch.
"I am not afraid that you will do
that, Mr. Holbin; you have too much at
•take. I)r. Brodnar, besides, has told
you that he was in this room, and
Richmond will want to know wh3 - , if
there is anything wrong afoot, you do
not hold him tesponsible. No one has
been in this room —until now—except
by my consent, and if any crime has
been committed, the criminals are
probably better known to you than
myone else. I am totally in the dark;
i have no idea why anyone, especially
a woman, should attempt to shoot a
frtfad of mine here."
*A woman! Who told you a woman
did it?"
"My own eyes. I saw her tracks; and
now. sir. who told you? Was it the
woman?"
ilolbia laughed silently.
"Yon p'ay that as though it were
trump," he said. "Perhaps no woman's
tracks have ever been there but yours.
It is your garden."
"Onl3\ I saw them before I mada any
tracks there," she said, quietly.
"I don't question your honesty, Miss
Brookin, but others might; and if peo
ple were disposed to judge you kindly
they would simply suggest that you
had a powerful motive." To this she
disdained a reply. She had picked up
Brod.nar's letter from the table and
moved away, seeing which he said per
sistently: "You will please answer my
question. I dislike greatly to annoy
you, but my duty is imperative. Your
secret will be safe with me; and I
must protect the name of my future
wife —that you will admit."
"Your wife? Have you supposed for
a moment, sir, that I shall ever become
3'our wife?" Frances came back and
stood before him. "Why, Mr. llolbin,
there is not wealth enough in Virginia
to bring about that!"
"Miss Brookin"—and Holbin sank
his voice to th<* most courteous of
tones, and met heT glances without em
barrassment—"why is it that you dis
like me?"
"I have not given the matter a
thought, sir. I simply accept the fact."
He was silent a moment, his eyes cast
down.
"You hate mj - mother," he said, sad
ly and bitterly, "and I am included; I
understand that. But admitting that
you have cause to hate her —and I do
not—you have none to hate me. Con
sider the injustice. Let me say now—
I did not expect ever to say it, but a
man is no man who will not defend
himself—let me say now that, so faT
from having cause to hate me, if pro
found respect, if sympathy for your
loneliness, if genuine affection and the
tenderest love count for anj thing with
a woman, j'ou have more than sufficient
cause to think well of me." Frances
looked upon him with amazement,
touched in spite of her resolution. He
was not slow to perceive this. "My
mother," he continued, "is not from the
world's standpoint a lovable woman,
but she is—my mother; and I am her
son. She is self-willed; but she is just.
Shall I admit it to you? She has made
my life unhappy; she has been the
cause of my living abroad —"
"Who was Louise, then? And why
should the mention of her name—have
killed ni3' father?" She covered her
face with her hands, and gave way
gently to her tears. He waited a few
moments until she regained her com
posure.
"There are turned down pages in
the lives of all men. Miss Brookin —
and in the live 9 of some women. An
other time I shall tell you the his
tory of Louise, and let you judge me
if 3'ou will. But I swear to you now
as though I stood in the presence of
God, that I did not lead her off by
means of a mock marriage—l did not!
You may not understand it, but there
are times when the man is not alone
to blame in these matters. He is in
volved through his chivalr3 - ; and in
tr3'ing to protect a woman he some
times ruins both the woman and him
self. I have sinned, but if you knew
how I suffered you would pity, not
blame me. Complete reparation was
impossible—but I have done m - best;
and to-da3 - my life is as free from
evil as most men's."
In no other way could Holbin have
so touched the girl's heart. At the
moment she did pity him. Recent
scenes in her own life rose before
her as he had spoken. Che turned
to him, generous and impulsive.
"Forgive me if I have misjudged
you." The words surprised and
alarmed her. He was not slow to see
his opportunity and take advantage
of it.
"If you misjudged me, it was nat
ural; for never was a man more un
fortunately situated to achieve the
dearest wish of his heart than I am."
"Your dearest wish—" she began.
"The wish to make you my wife,
Frances; you will think it a ver3* nat
ural wish under the circumstances
surrounding us, I am afraid, and yet,
whatever may have been my mother's
interest in 3'our father's will, I knew
nothing whatever of it. Why, I have
been here a few weeks onl3'. And
do 3 - ou suppose for one moment that
I could share in any property extort
ed from you b3' such strange circum
stances? I am not the heir, if you
refuse to marr3' me, but I may help
you, and I will. My dear girl, upon
the <?<•** 3'ou are 21 if I am sure that
you do not wish to take >our property
with the encumbrance of a husband, I
shall in writing decline to marry
you."
"Oh, Mr. Holbin!"
"For the rest —this miserable mys
tery—you are answered already. If
I believed that you were in any way
compromised, I would not admit that
I love you—!"
"Please! please do not—!"
"I could not even remain in this
city and doubt 3'ou. But as a man
who has seen many a woman the
innocent victim of mistakes and bad
advice, I am bound to use every en
deavor to protect your own and my
mother's interests. This Dr. Brod
nar—"
"He is my friend! Don't speak ill
of him!"
"I speak ill of no one. But I warn
you that he is absolutely unfit to
advise a girl. Headstrong, opinion
ated, arrogant, he stakes everything
upon his own judgment, and when
such a man loses, he loses for others
besides himself. Frankly, I have seen
men b3' the ten thousand until one
man's face an3'where indicates the
moral tribe to which he belongs; and
I tell 3'ou Dr. Brodnar may be true to
one friend at the expense of an
other —"
"I cannot listen if you accuse him."
"I shall not accuse him. I shall
onl3 112 say that I now demand nothing
of 3'ou, but I ask 3'ou as a man whose
tenderest solicitude is for you to In
form me of the m3'sterious occurrence
Ila this room. Will j-ou?" Frances
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JUNE 6, 1901.
was jrnbarrassed; but she looked up
at length with a kinder look in her
face than he had yet seen.
"There it nothing 1 may tell you,"
she said, "but this: I am sorry, sin
cerely sorry, that I have misjudged
you, and I think you are generous and
kind to me."
"For that I thank you. And row
again forgive me for having troubled
you to-day—the matter seemed a
pressing one. Will you—will you still
insist on the 'Miss Brookin?' May I
not sometimes say 'Frances?'"
"It matters little," she said at
length. But when he was gone she
reviewed her action with growing
wonder. "What possessed me—what
influenced me to yield so much?" she
asked herself over and over. She was
too young to know that a mystery
was involved in that question as old
as the human race.
CHAPTER IX.
The momentary happiness which
his unexpected impression upon
Frances brought to llolbin soon gave
place to jealous rage. It was impos
sible for him to rest satisfied. He
told himself that the war was on;
that he had been wonderfully success
ful in his contact with the secret foe,
and that victory was still possible.
He went forth blindly into the city, j
seeking information of an unknown <
wounded man, but, of course, no ex
planation was forthcoming, for the
reason that no one knew of such a
man. At dark he sought the police
man whose beat was nearest the
Brookin residence.
Pistol shot? Oh, yes; be had heard
pistol shots every night since the war
fever came on; the town was full
of excitement. And the officer re
membered also that recently a car
riage had been twice driven furiously
upon his street near daylight—the in
cident had impressed him because the
hour was that in which the city was
usually quietest. He had been un
der the impression that the carriage
belonged to Dr. Brodnar, and he had
satisfied himself with the reflection
that some sudden illness had made
the speed necessary. "Why," he
asked, "is there anything wrong
afoot?" Raymond assured him that
there was not and passed on, leaving
the officer convinced to the contrary.
AllthefactsHolbinhad gathered now
confirmed Louise, but he had reached
the limit of his powers except in one
direction. "Mammy" was the last wit
ness, and he hesitated long because
of her relation to Frances. Finally, in
desperation he privately summoned
her to his room. The woman stood
looking curiously at him as he
charged back and forth across the
floor until he paused and confronted
her.
"You are called mammy, I believe,"
he said, sternly.
"Yes, sah!" Mammy was startled
and amazed.
"You are, of course, aware that you
now belong to my mother, and that
I have charge of all her property."
"Huccum, sah, I b'long to yo' ma?
I done b'long ter ole miss, an' she gi'
me 'specially to Miss t ranees!" Mam
my adjusted her glasses and looked
at him anxiously.
"That makes no difference, woman.
We recognize no will in this house
that conflicts with my mother's! I
Jb-' fp
Owi
MAMMY STAGGERED AND SANK
UPON THE EDGE OF A CHAIR.
want you to answer my questions now
and conceal nothing, or it will be an
unfortunate day for you, old as you
are! Where were j - ou night before
last?" Mammy was astounded. No
one ever addressed her in such a man
ner. She had long been a privileged
character. True, sinc« the coming of
the second Mrs. Brookin she had lost
much of her prestige, but she still
held sway over the servants; and in
the wing she reigned supreme.
"I was out to see my daughter what
i 3 hired to Dr. Prodnar, an' her hus
band, he b'longs ter de doctor, sah,
an' tends de horses."
"When did you return?" Mammy
looked critically at her questioner and
waited. "Answer me!"
"Oh, I come erlong back nex' day,
sah."
"At what time—at what time?"
"Long 'bout daylight, I reckon,
sah."
"Where was your Miss Frances
when you came?"
"Where was Miss Frances? Where
you reckon Miss Frances gointer be
'bout daylight but in bed?"
"In bed, was she?"
"Yes, sah; an' sleepin* like er fed
kitten. What for you askin' me 'bout
young miss?"
"Answer my questions. Where did
you* daughter's husband spend the
night?"
"life spen' de night, wid de doctor,
'course —comin' an' goin' to sick folks
des like 'e always do!"
"Did he have the carriage out?"
"Course he lied de kerridge out!"
Holbin walked the floor, more and
more disturbed. He adopted a more
gentle method.
"Mammy, how long have you been
with this family?"
"Ole marster—way back yonder—gi'
me to ole miss when she was born;
an' ole miss gi' me ter Miss Frances,
sah. Been hyah alwaysl"
"Nothing on earth could te7?pt yo*
to say or do anything that wouid en
danger your young mistress, of
course."
"No, sah. Ole miss say, day &ht die:
•Mammy, take cyur my chile;' an' I
hole 'er han' an' promise."
"Do you know that I am to marry
your Miss Frances?"
"Fo' (Jod! Who tol'you dat?"
"It was in her father's will. But
you are not to speak of that —not a
word, even to her. The time will
come, mammy, when I shall rely
upon you to help me take care of her
and make her happy. Will you help
me?"
"Yes, sah. You can depen' on mam
my night or day. But, marster, when
you goin' marry Miss Frances? She
ain' nothin' but er chile now."
"I know that, and that is why I am
consulnng with you. 1 am going to
tell you a secret. Will you keep it?
It is to help her."
"Yes, sah! I ain' goin' tell nobody,
sah."
"Do you know what happened in her
room night before last, mammy, while
you were away?"
"What happen dere. sah?"
"A man was shot in there and des
perately wounded."
"Hush!" The woman's dismay was
genuine; so was lier curiosity. She
leaned forward eagerly. "Who dat
Klone shot 'iin?"
"I don't know."
"Who de man got shot?"
"I don't know that. Was there noth
ing wrong about the room when you
came back?" Ho saw the quick intelli
gence in her face; and then the Af
rican cunning and secretiveness re
turned.
She shook her head.
"No, sah. Warn't nothin' wrong
when I come." Then, his last
card.
"You know more than you will tell
me; but I cannot waste any more time
with you, niammj'. If your mistress is
arrested before morning you go back
to the country for life."
"Take up mv Miss Frances!" Mammy
staggered and sank upon the edge of
a chair.
"Yes. The man who was shot in that
room is dead."
"Dead!"
"Yes. And I can do nothing. Every
body hides the facts from me."
"Young marster, you don't mean
dey gointer tek up ole miss's chile?"
"I can't say positively. If I thought
so, I would have her out of this city in
six hours, and you with her."
[To Be Continued.]
A BABYLONIAN BRICK.
Record of A Domentlc Incident Pre*
served In One of the Per
ishable Tiiblets.
It is marvelous what a mass of de
tailed information has come down to
us in the form of perishable brick tab
lets inscribed, or rather stamped be
fore firing, with minute and compli
cated inscriptions and preserved in the
buried libraries beneath the mounds
of the Tigris and Euphrates valley.
Prof. Sayce is able, for instance, says
the London Saturday Review, to tell us
from one of these tablets how "a wid
ow brought an action before the royal
judges to recover her husband's prop
erty. She stated that after their mar
riage she and Ben-Hadad-Nathan had
traded together and that a house had
been purchased with a portion of her
dowry. This house, the value of which
was as much as 110 manehs, 50 shekels,
or £ 62 10s., had been assigned to her in
perpetuity. The half-brother now
claimed everything, including the
house. The case was tried at Babylon
before six judges in the ninth year of
Nabonidus, and they decided in favor
of the plaintiff," for a woman's dowry
was her own property. This might be
an extract from the law reports of the
Times, and other details of ancient
Babylonian and Assyrian life are not
less precise. "In the reign of Ammi
zadok three men rented a field for
three years on terms of partnership,
agreeing to give the owner during the
first two years one gur of grain upon
each acre. The whole of the third har
vest was togo to the lessees and the
partners were to divide the crop in
equal shares on the daj' of the harvest."
This seems a pleasant kind of agree
ment, worthy of imitation. The third
year free of rent must have been de-
Lightful.
Mimicking; the Queen.
Few people are perhaps aware how
thoroughly Queen Victoria enjoyed a
joke. A gentleman in waiting, whom
we will call Mr. B , distinguished
for his imitative powers and dramatio
talent, was a frequent visitor at both
Windsor and Osborne, One day the
queen, looking with a certain auster
ity straight into liis face, demanded:
"Now, Mr. B , I am perfectly well
aware that when my back is turned
you imitate me. I wish to see how
you do it this minute!" Poor Mr.
B fell straightway into the royal
trap, crimsoned, faltered and utter
ly lost his countenance. "Ah!" ex
claimed the queen, "I see I was right.
You ought to be ashamed of your
self!" and then added, laughing as
heartily as any schoolgirl: "But,
mind you, don't do it again."—Lon
don Chronicle.
Ilia Wise "Saw."
The bishop of Ripon, Dr. Boyd Car
penter, as becomes the only Irish oc
cupant of an English see, appears to
be the wit of the Episcopal bench.
When about to lay the foundation
stone of a new vicarage at Wakefield
not long ago he was invited by the
architect, who handed him the trowel
and the line and plummet, to becoms
"an operative mubon for a few mo
ments."
"I cannot," answered the bishop,
"lay claim to the title of an oper
ative mason, but I am certainly a
working Carpenter."—Chicago Times-
Herald.
DISCOVERY OF BOTTLED BEER.
A "True I'ierr of Hintory"—Tlio Hap
yy Adventure of n Iteverend
KIIKIINII FiNhcrinan.
A great deal of controversy has
been going on of late regarding the
origin of "bottled beer,"and the fol
lowing' piece of true history will
therefore be interesting, as it is little
known, says the London Globe.
In the middle of the sixteenth cen
tury Alexander Nowell, 1). 1)., was
head master of Westminster school,
a prebendary of the abbey, and the
possessor of a charming- country res
idence, named Redhall, situated near
Clitheroe, Lancashire, whither he was
wont to retire during- the holidays.
Now, Dr. Nowell was a stanch Prot
estant, so when Edward VI. died and
Queen Mary succeeded to the throne
he thought it prudent to forsake the
cloister for Redhall Park, having a
very shrewd suspicion that if he did
not trouble might befall. The doctoi
was an enthusiastic and expert an
gler, and, thanks to the well-stocked
trout streams running through his
Lancashire demesne, he had every op
portunity for indulging' in his favor
ite pursuit.
One line May morning, then, saw
Nowell preparingg his rod and tackle,
and, as it promised to be a scorching
hot day, he, before starting out, took
the precaution of filling a large stone
bottle with home-brewed ale. The
sun rose higher and higher in the
heavens, the fisherman got warmei
and warmer, and the stone bottle
became more and more of an incum
brance. He, therefore, determined tc
leave the bottle in a safe place until
he felt ready to enjoy its refresh
ment, and what could be more suit
able for the purpose than the hollow
of an old pollard tree, overhanging
the water, ensconced in which the
stream could gently lave the bottom
of the jar and keep the contents
fresh and cool. Hardly had this been
done when he heard a voice calling
his name, and, looking around, saw
one of his servants, his features agi
tated with terror. "They've come,
sir! They've come!'" the man cried.
"Who has come?" asked the amazed
doctor. "The soldiers of Bloody
Mary, sir; they are searching high
and low for you; they are ransacking
your chests; and one varlet has a
piece of paper bearing a great seal
and the queen's name on it." "Has
he" grimly replied Nowell, and, with
out furtner ado —forgetful of his
fish, forgetful of his stone bottle —he
tucked up his cassock and tied across
the meadows. After some days ol
perilous wandering Nowell reached
Chester safely, where an old West
minster boy, named Francis Bowyer,
a merchant of the city, received hin.
into his house and eventually smug
gled him to the continent in one ol
his own trading vessels.
Six years had elapsed; Queen Mary
was dead; Queen Elizabeth was on
the throne, and Nowell was back in
Lancashire. Once again a hot May
morning saw him setting forth to
fish, but this time, fortunately, neg
lecting to take with him a bottle ol
ale. As the day waxed hotter, Nowell
became both tired and thirsty. He
dropped his rod, and his thoughts
drifteil back to that eventful May
morning six years ago, and then to
the stone bottle which he had so
carefully stowed away in the hollow
of the pollard tree. Was the bottle
still there, lie wonoered. He wan
dered down the stream until he
picked out that particular root, and,
kneeling down, thrust in an arm. Out
came the bottle, apparently none the
worse for its long sojourn. Nowell
was very thirsty; the icy coolness of
the stone was most tantalizing. Of
course, thecontents wereundrinkable,
thought lie; still he was very thirsty;
just one cautious sip. The cork,
swollen and damp with age, was ex
tracted, and the bottle lifted to the
lips. Ye gods and little fisnes: What
was this heavenly nectar he was
tasting? Nowell threw back his head
and took a long, deep draught. Could
anything be more delicious than this
amber ale, mellowed by time and
cooled to a nicety? What were tl*>
wines of Rhineland which he had
thought, so excellent during his exile
in Germany as compared with this de
lee iable fluid?
That same night Dr. Nowell sum
moned his whole household in solemn
conclave. Every empty pitcher, jar
and bottle that could be found was
filled with honest English ale, corked,
and then consigned to the cellars.
The doctor had "discovered" bottled
beer; but for some years it was a
still-room secret of Redhall park, un
til at last the discovery was given to
the world, and the popularity of the
new liquid speedily established itself.
!ib« lvn*'TT.
Mildred, who is a wee mite in years
and stature, is the sunshine of a cer
tain home. It is frequently the cus
tom for her father to read aloud from
the daily papers to the family mem
bers when he comes home in the even
ings. His business has to do with the
wholesaling of books, and for that
reason lie is much interested in the
benefactions of Mr. Carnegie in es
tablishing free libraries. These arti
cles he always reads aloud, and
Mildred has come to know in a vague
way about, the philanthropist giving
away so many free libraries. It so
happened that 011 a recent evening
her father noticed an advertisement in
the paper which he thought might in
terest his wife, and fct read it aloud.
The advertisement was headed "A
Picture Given Away Free." Mildred
listened closely, and after he had
finished she said:
"I bet I know who giv's th' pickter
away."
"Who, dear?" queried her mother.
| "Why, Mister Carnejy—'at'a who."
[Ohio State JoumaL
THE SASKATOON DISTRICT.
One of the New Western Canada £>!••
trlet»—The Great Advantagei at
Settlenient Where the Soil t»
of Unexampled Fertility.
During the past year or two a large
Quinber of American settlers (those
going from the United States to Can
ada), have made homes in the Saska
toon district in western Canada. They
have found the climate all that could
be desired, and their prospects are of
the brightest. In writing of it a cor
respondent says:
The lands for sale are choice selec
tions from a large area, and every
farm is within easy distance of a rail
way station. Experience has shown
that this district enjoys immunity
from summer frost, from cyclones and
blizzards. The South Saskatchewan,
flowing through tke tract, is one of
the finest rivers in the country, being
navigable and having aa average width
of stream of 1,000 feet.
The agents of the government of
Canada, whose advertisement appears
elsewhere in your paper, and who will
be glad to give full information, tell
me that within the limits of the tract
there are two distinct varieties of soil.
One is a rich black loam; and the oth
er is a somewhat lighter loam, contain
ing a small admixture of sand. There
appears to be no appreciable differ
ence between the fertility of these
two kinds of soil. Both are alluvial
in their characteristics; both are mar
velously productive, and both rest
upon a sub-soil of clay. The advan
tage of this formation is that it re
tains the heat of the day during the
night, and is favorable to the early
maturity of crops. Every kind of
crop will here attain the highest per
fection of cpiality. The land is ad
mirably adapted for stock raising and
dairy farming, as well as growing
grain. Some idea of the richness ot
the natural grasses of the prairie may
be formed from the fact that more
than 200 tons of hay were gathered
within a short distance of Saskatoon
and stored up for use during the win
ter. A growth so luxuriant demon
strates beyond all possible question
the suitability of the land for pastur
ing cattle, and no doubt this important
industry will be largely carried on.
Nature has been lavish in her gifts
to this territory. Not only is the soil
of unexampled fertility, but the cli
mate is delightful and healthy. Such,
is the testimony of every settler, and
this testimony is confirmed by enthu
siastic opinions from every traveler,
explorer, missionary or newspaper
correspondent who has ever visited
this far-famed Saskatchewan Valley.
In former years vast herds of buffalo
came here to winter from the elevated
storm-swept regions south of the
United States boundary line, proving
thereby the adaptation of these roll
ing prairies to the purpose of raising
stock. The land is dry, with sufficient,
but not excessive, rainfall, capable of
early cultivation in the spring, and
free from summer frosts. The con
figuration of the country renders arti
ficial drainage unnecessary, and pre
vents the accumulation of stagnant
pools; mists and fogs are seldom
seen. The days of summer are full
of sunshine, under the genial influ
ence of which crops rapidly ripen.
Autumn is characterized by an almost
unbroken succession of fine weather,
during which the crops are safely gar
nered. In winter it is cold, but ex
tremely exhilarating and pleasant,
owing to the wonderful dryness and
bracing qualities of the air. The win
ter is a source of profit as well as en
joyment to the people, being far
healthier than a humid climate.
Water and fuel, these two prime
necessaries of life, are plentiful
throughout the district.
WOMAN RACES AGAINST TIME.
Charters a Special Train to Cutcb a
Steamer at Sail Praiiclaeo.
(Miss Margaret Windeyer, of Sidney,
Australia had an expensive race to
catch the steamer Sierra, which sail
ed the other morning for the anti
podes. Miss Windeyer was coming
across the continent to take the
steamer, and late in the afternoon of
the day before the steamer sailed she
learned that the train would not
reach San Francisco until three hours
after the boat had sailed.
She was determined to get the
boat. She had to reach Sidney by a
certain date or lose much money, be
cause of some legal contract. "Get
me a special train," she told the con
ductor. A locomotive and one car
brought her to San Francisco from
Wadsworth, just three minutes be
fore the Sierra was to move from the
wharf.
One of Traffic Manager McCor
mick's young men was waiting with
a carriage, into which he hurried the
young woman, and the hack was furi
ously driven to to the wharf. The
haekman obtained five dollars for his
skill.
Smart Answer.
"You fell into the creek with your new
breeches on?"
"Yes, pop. You see, I fell in, so quick
I hadn't time to take them off."
"A smart answer, my son. So suppose
you take them off now."—Philadelphia
Tiiues.
A Sew Munoelo.
"What a peculiar monocle that golfer is
wearing!"
"Yes, that is the very latest. It is called
the hoot-monocle!"— Detroit Journal.
The Cloth of Pall ltlver.
Fall Kiver easily leads all other cot
ton manufacturing centers in Amer
ica. It has about one-fifth of all the
cotton spindles in the United States,
and more than twice as many as any
other industrial center in America. It
makes 843,000,000 yards of cloth an
nually. Every working day its mills
weave more than 1,500 miles of cloth.
If all the mills couia be run on one
piece of cloth the fastest express
train could not travel fast enough to
carry off the piece as it is woven,
since the product is more than two
miles a minute.—-'New England Maga
zine.