IN THE SHADOW
OF SHAME
By Fitzgerald Molloy
Copyright by E. Fitzgerald Molloy.
Syuopstß of Preceding Chapters
Olive liuinbartoti, after the le.vjal depuration from
her brutal liushund, becomes u successful aut hoiess
lives quietly with her daughter, Veronica, in
n< ton Road, St. John's Wood, London. Bsr bDM
baud see ret I > return* to London and by letter makes
further demands fur money. Her cousin, Valerius
ttalbraith, a man «>t independent Wealth* who hits
heen In love wit li her since early vouth, call# to any
; iie.vell beioreHturtiucon a trip to ICffypt. A t«»rt
n!"hf. later (dive iJuinoarton Is found in her library
fn.hi 1 1 L" a dfurserover the dead body of her husband.
;?he N > uspected of the murder and fa arretted.
Infectives »iiv put ou the ease. George iiontock,
the publisher, oners to aid Mrs, Dumbarton.
CHAPTER VT.
The murmur of a restless crowd, the
shuffling of feet, the noise of jurymen
taking their places, the whispering of
newspaper reporters, the quick tread of
policemen passing to and fro, the rustle
•if lawyers' papers, and the banging of
doors ceased; an absolute silence fell
upon all as Olive Dumbarton took the
place assigned to her in the Coroner's
Court. In front of the unhappy woman,
•.\l;> was dressed in black and heavily
veiled, sat her solicitor, George Coris,
l:e idi- her George Bostock, with Dr.
Q : . Mid his son. Her daughter and
the servants were in an adjoining room,
it being considered desirable that each
witness should be examined out of the
hearing of the others.
After the preliminaries, including the
call of the roll of jurors, the identifica
tion of the deceased, and the statement
regarding the cause of his death given
bv Dr. Quave, the coroner addressed the
jury. These proceedings, he said, were
held to inquire truly not only how the
man David Dumbarton came to his
death, bin likewise to enable the jury to
decide, if possible, by whom that death
bad been caused.
He would lay before them as briefly
and as plainly as possible the statements
of this case.
"It Is, therefore, uiy ituty to commit you."
: In? deceased, David Dumbarton, h'd
.'in; eighteen years ago married a lady I
;-!mut live years his junior. Though their
domestic life began in happiness, it was
soon overclouded by misery. After a
period on which it would be too painful ]
to enter, David Dumbarton deserted his
wife, only to strive to rejoin her when
-lie had earned independence and fame
by her industry and talents. A compro
mise was then arrived at between hus
band and wife. For a certain sum he
consented that a legal separation should
be granted her, and having received this,
he left England, promising never to mo
lest her.
Unfortunately for himself, this prom
ise was not kept, for after a little more
than five years' absence he returned to
London and immediately wrote a letter
which would be read in ihe course of
evidence, a letter, as they would see,
j which contained more of a demand than
a request.
The next and principal fact was that
on the night of the 21st of September
David Dumbarton entered his wife's
house in the Ilexton Road, St. John's
Wood, and was there found dead at her
feet, they being the sole occupants of
the room where the tragedy occurred,
while the knife which undoubtedly caused
his death was seen in her hand. They
, would hear the evidence, and it would
be for them to decide whether the case
should be sent to another court or not.
Then Olive Dumbarton was called.
111 a low tone, and without hesitation,
she answered the questions addressed to
her by the coroner, in this manner tell
ing the story of the scene which ended
in her husband's tragic death. Then
came the queries that touched the case
more closely, to all of which she replied
simply, clearly, ingeniously.
The inaid was next summoned, who
deposed to hearing her mistress cry out
as if she had been struck, and soon after
hearing a man's voice call for help,
whereon she had rushed to the room
from where the noise proceeded, there
to see Mrs. Dumbarton with a knife in
her hand bending above the deceased,
who was lying 011 the floor. Witness
then ran out of the house in search of
a policeman, with whom she returned.
Veronica, Martin, the policeman, Dr.
Quave and Detective Inspector Mack
worth having been cross-examined by
Mrs. Dumbarton's solicitor, he proceeded
to state his defence; and he, being rec-
ognized as one of the cleverest men in
his profession, the jury settled itself to
hear him with expectation and interest.
The case before them, George Coris
said, in a low, earnest voice, and with
plain, impressive manner, was one of the
most extraordinary that had ever come
before that or any other court; extraor
i dinary not merely because of the interest
| it had created, but because of the cir
cumstances under which the crime had
been committed, and of the suspicions
which these same circumstances cast
upon an innoent woman. Inasmuch as
none of those who gave evidence had
! actually seen the blow dealt to the de
ceased by which be had lost his life, their
I testimony was therefore entirely circum
stantial.
| There was no need to dwell upon the
j unhappy married life led by the deceased
j and his wife, save to point out the vicious
career he had followed.
If a man could not only alienate the
affections, but injure, deceive anil aban
don his wife, his best friend, the mother
of his child, how badly could he behave
toward others of his sex? lie had for
years led a wandering and misguided
life among companions as reckless as
himself; and, what was more probable
than that he had been guilty of one of
those wrongs which the law is slow, if
not powerless, to punish, but which,
touching men 011 the tenderest points of
their affection and of their honor, they
are sure to avenge.
Here was the probable key to the mys
tery surrounding the crime. Some man
who considered himself injured beyond
endurance had sought and found revenge
for his wrongs. It was lawful to pre
sume that while approaching his wife's
house the deceased had met with the
avenger, when to seek help and refuge
David Dumbarton had rushed through
the garden and into the presence of his
wife, who, 011 his asking for aid, had
drawn from his breast the knife with
which an unknown hand had stabbed
him.
The whole bearing of the case would
point to such a conclusion and to the
innocence of the woman who was the
unhappy victim of suspicion. As she had
stated, she neither knew nor suspected
that he would call upon her that even
ing. Had he desired to have an inter
view with her, there was no reason why
he should not have gone to the hall
door instead of rushing across the grass
and flower beds to enter by an open
window.
Then, as regards the knife by which
the murder had been committed: The
servants in their cross-examination had
sworn that they had never seen it be
fore the night of the tragedy. It was
surely impossible to think the weapon
had been bought and secreted by this
lady for the purpose of assassinating her
husband at such a time and under such
circumstances as would favor the deed.
No; the knife belonged to the person
who had struck the blow to avenge him
self for wrong perpetrated by the de
ceased.
Indeed, there was not sufficient motive
apparent for suspecting this injured wo
man of committing this horrible act.
Nothing could have been more easy than
for her to have obtained a divorce had
she so wished. There was no neces
sity for her to seek freedom by causing
his death. Mrs. Dumbarton was a wo
man of blameless life, and all who knew
her could bear witness that hers was
not the wicked, depraved and malig'
nant heart that had conceived and car
ried out such a crime.
There was no necessity to say more to
any enlightened body of men, and he
would ask the jury, as men of judgment
and lovers of justice, to return a ver
dict which would free this suffering
lady.
fleorse Coris sat down at the conclu
sion of his speech with a sense of satis-
I faction at having done his best for his
client, but likewise with the knowledge
that his case was weak and his arguments
inconclusive. «"
The coroner then summed up the evi
dence. Evening had come before he had
finished his remarks, and the jury had
retired to consider their verdict.
Olive Dumbarton, sensitively conscious
to all that went on around her, pre-
PICTORIAL MAGAZINE AND COMIC SECTION
served a calmness that she felt was un
natural, her emotions were frozen, the
tide of her life seemed to stand still.
Those around her, George Bostock, her
solicitor. Dr. Quave, betrayed their ex
citement by their restlessness arid by the
anxious manner with which they re
garded her. It was a relief to her and
to her friends when the jury once more
entered the court.
In another moment the foreman of the
jury declared that they were unanimous
in their opinion that David Dumbarton
had met his death by being stabbed in
the breast, and that the fatal blow had
been struck by bis wife.
The verdict was received in profound
silence, broken by the coroner's voice as
he proceeded to explain the difference
between murder and manslaughter, with
a view to helping them to their decision
as to which form of crime had been
committted by Olive Dumbarton.
Without quitting the box, the jury
gave it as their opinion that the case
before them was one of manslaughter.
The coroner then, turning toward the
black-robed, immovable figure which was
the center of all observation, said:
"Olive Dumbarton, the jury have in
quired into the cause attending the de
mise of your husband, and have come
to the conclusion he met his death at
your hands. It is, therefore, my duty
to commit you to the next assizes, to
be holden at the Old Bailey, there to
take your trial upon that charge.''
CHAPTER VII.
It was late one evening—while Olive
Dumbarton and her daughter were in the
drawing-room, when Valerius Galbraith
was announced. Roth started at sound
of his name, and, looking up. kept their
eves fixed on him with something of sur
prise in their expression, for even in
that first glance they saw how changed
was the man before them from him who
had parted from them little more than a
week before.
The freshness and buoyancy which had
been his chief characteristics had given
place to an expression of pain and anx
iety; bis prominent blue eyes, which had
ever sparkled with pleasure, were now
clouded bv grief; lines were for the first
time visible in his face, that sedulous
.-are of his personal appearance which
formerly gave the impression of elegance
was now conspicuous by its absence, and
he looked every year of his age.
"Olive!" he exclaimed, grasping her
extended hand in both his own.
"I knew you would come back, and
I am glad you have," she said.
"Of course T returned the moment I
heard of—of this terrible affair," he re
plied.
"I sent a tclepram to Paris the day
after it happened."
"I had left bv then. It was in Brin
disi I first read of bis death. You can
imagine the shock I received. I have
hardly slept since. Then I came back as
soon as I could, and only reached town
a couple of hours ago."
"I suppose you have heard all?"
"All that the newspapers could tell
me "
"About the Coroner's Court and the
verdict?" she said, in a troubled voice.
"Yes, yes," he answered, struggling
with his emotion. "It's terrible to think
that yon should suffer thus—you who
would not injure any living tiling; you
have already endured so much."
"Tell me, Valerius," she said in a hesi
tating voice, "did you at first, even for
a moment, think T was guilty? - '
"You guilty?" he cried nut. "Never,
never! T knew you were innocent."
"Ft makes me almost happy to hear
you so, to know that my friends
don't helieve me guilty. You are aware,
of course, that circumstances are all
against me?"
"So I gather. Rut let me hear all."
"There is little to tell that you have
not already read," she began by saying,
and she went over the details of the
case which _ were ever present in her
mind, dwelling on the narrow compass
which surrounded the case, and seemed
to fasten the guilt upon her.
"Then there's no absolute clew?"
"Not that I know of, at leant," Olive
Dumbarton replied.
"Except the knife," suggested Ver
onica.
"The knife?" Valerius repeated, turn
ing toward the girl.
"I had forgotten that,'' Olive remarked.
"Mackworth, the detective, hopes it may
help him to discover the owner."
"But is there nothing else togo upon?"
he asked.
"Nothing at present," Olive answered,
and something in the sound of her voice
and in the expression of her face be
trayed the depths of that despair to which
at moments she was driven,
"Ah, Olive,'' he said suddenly and ve
hemently, _ as if carried away by an ir
resistible impulse, "if you had listened to
me long ago, how much pain might you
and I have been spared; how much hap
piness might we have known?"
"Valerius," she exclaimed, reproach
fully.
"Forgive me. I don't know what T
:am saying to-night. I did not mean to
blame you now, least of all, when you
suffer most. I cannot control myself to
night, but t will leave you at once. God
knows I have no desire to add to your
vexations, flood-night."
I "Good-night," she replied, holding out
her hand.
As he took it in his own a quiver
passed through his frame. lie turned
from her almost abruptly, but before he
reached the door Veronica entered and
Said:
"Doctor Quave cannot come to-night,
mother."
"Very well, dear."
"But Quinton j s here," Veronica Said,
somewhat shyly, "and says he would like
to see you, mother."
"In the dining-room."
"Ask him to come here. You remem
ber Quinton Quave," Olive said to her
cousin as Veronica quitted the room.
"Yes, very well."
"He has taken his degrees and gives
great promise of lieing a very clever
doctor. He and his parents have been
most kind to me since—since—that ter
rible night."
Valerius remembered that Dr. Quave
and his son were among the first who
had come upon the scene of the tragedy,
and he felt interested in seeing the young
man, with whom, on his entering the
room, h«' shook hands.
(To be continued.)
FEATS OF
DEPRIVATION
There are three alive who have
gone without food for thirty-three days,
and one who has denied himself any
nourishment for forty-five.
The latter record holder is Herr Sacco,
who has publicly fasted in Vienna for
forty days and nights, in London for
forty-five and in Pan's for forty-two.
Inclosed in a ventilated glass chamber,
so as to be under observation all the
time, watched day and night by wit
nesses, he took no food for 10.S0 hours.
In that time the aye«gc jtitjn would have
taken about one JnjrKire<i_ and thirty-five
1 meals. ........
' However, this* iVnot a real record for
complete abstinence, for Sacco allows
himself plenty of mineral water and ci
garettes, .which are in his contract.
WITHOUT FOOD AND DRINK/
Going entirety without food and drink
is a very different thing, and the aver
age strong man's limit, In-fore death
j overtake* him, is tinder six days. The
| record for a trained "faster." allowing
nothing at all to pass his lips during the
trial, was made at San Francisco in tScj6
Iby John Culpepper, a British subject,
who was most carefully watched dur
| ing the fa c t. He undertook, for a stake
of sl,ooo, to hold out for ten days, with
$250 for each."day o.ver that limit. Me
did not give in until the end of the elev
enth day, and it is not likely that any
human being will ever hold out so long
again.
The greatest length recorded of en
forced starvation, by ship-wrecked men
or castaways, belongs to an Irish seaman
named Mulcahy, who was c;:st adrift in
an open bo; t alone, at the foundering
of the bark Pamela, in the Pacific, eight
years ago. It is certain that he had no
j food or water with him, and he was
picked up seven and a half days later by
an American ship.
SLF.EPI.ESS FOR SIX HUNDRED AND SEVF.NTV
TWO HOURS.
Existing 011 food and 110 liquid is a
very different thing from taking liquid
and no food, as Sacco did. The former
trial is much the worse of the two, and
the record time for which any man has
held out in such a ca«e is fourteen days.
Cramer, a German, did it once at Mu
nich.
The average length of time during
which an ordinary person in a healthy
state can go without sleep is seventy-four
hours, anil this has been found the limit
that men can reach in emergencies, siu'li
as disasters at sea and imminent peril
tli3t make it absolutely necessary not to'
relax vigilance. Between seventy and
seventy-five hours is the record, and the
toughest man can keep awake 110 longer,
and will fall asleep, even though his life
depends 011 wakefulness.
A Frenchman named Deroulede, in
one of the Paris hospitals, is recorded
to have suffered twenty-eight days and i
nights of complete wakefulness, but at
the end of it he died of exhaustion, and
so the record cannot stand. There is
one man, of twenty-nine years, now liv
ing in England, who has never slept since
he was born: his case has frequently
been described in the papers and by doc
tors, but this example is strictly a
"freak," and cannot be compared with
ordinary records.
Fidgety peiple will regard with hor
ror the achievement of Angela de Silva,
a Spanish girl who, partly for stakes and
partly as an advertisement, remained in
a sort of cage at the Argyll Rooms in
l.ondon, some nine years ago, for fifty
five days and nights without moving
hand or foot, or changing her position,
seated 011 a chair. She was attended and
fed by her sister, and Various wagers
having been made on the performance,
she was kept a watch over, day and
night, by independent witnesses.
WORSE THAN PEN At, SERVITUDE.
There is no great merit in the per
formance, perhaps, but it is an excep
tionally trying one. The notable point
was that the lady was not in a trance
of any kind, but in full possession of her
senses.
Trances are very different affairs, and
the principal one recorded lasted nine
weeks. The subject was an English lady,
Miss Naomi Smythe, of Norton, who lay
in a state of complete unconsciousness
during the whole of that time, and was
visited by over a dozen distinguished
medical men interested in the case.
Nourishment was artificially given, as
the trance naturally caused much anx
iety for the life of the patient, who, how
ever, -was finally restored to conscious
ness and recovered. In this case life re
mained almost suspended throughout the
nine weeks.
But apart from trances, all Europeans
are easily beaten at tlie game of remain
ing motionless, by an Indian fakir or
"holy man," named Chimdra Dalf, of
Benares, wbo was strapped in an up
right position to an open framework,
eighteen years ago, and has never moved
a limb or been released from his bonds
to this day. ire is daily fed and tended
by his "disciples."
WHERE jiAtt BEATS ANIMAL.
All warm-blooded life is supposed to
perish in a temperature of 85 degrees
below zero, and the majority succumb
a long way short of that. A strong man,
if sufficiently clothed, may just exist at
such a temperature, but only just. How
ever, a Russian named Karkoff, in one of
the few experiments of this kind tried,
actually survived an artificial tempera
ture of op degrees in the St. Petersburg
laboratories, after several Arctic species
of animals had proved themselves unable
to stand it. In the Arctic regions the
lowest natural degree of cold ever regis
tered is 74 degrees below zero. In such
cold fts this a piece of iron will burn the
flesh as if the metal were white-hot.
Too Much to Say
"For goodness' sake, Dorothy," ex
claimed mamma impatiently, "why do
you talk so much?"
"I guess," replied the little girl, "it's
because I've got so much to say."
An Irishman asked a Scotchman one
day why a railway engine was called
"she." Sandy replied, "Perhaps it's on
account of the horrible noise it makes
when it tries to whistle."
NEW IN SUMMER ORNAMENTS
Belt Buckles of Carved Rose Gold a Novelty
They Hive a Smart Tom-It to the Sum
mer Costume—Silver Collar Slides and
Sets of Enamelled Studs for Tailored
Waists—Season's Vogue of Chatelaine
Bags.
Among the things which add a smart
touch to the summer wardrobe is the
belt buckle and hack ornament made this
year of rose gold colored almost to a !
deep orange tint, shading toward old!
rose. These buckles, clasps and orna
ments are designed in beautifully carved |
patterns representing roses and other I
flowers and in conventional designs.
The other day a woman who hung over !
a_ counter on which these goods were i
displayed, trying in vain to decide be- |
tween two equally beautiful sets, finally
ended in taking both.
One had a buck ornament fully five
inches tall by (wo and one half inches
broad and a double front clasp less than
three inches tall and about four inches
wide, both done in a rose leaf design.
The other set had a front clasp about
two inches deep and live inches broad,
end a back ornament of irregular shape
almost four inches square, both in a
raised design dotted with miniature
roses.
A second smart adjunct useful as
well as ornamental, is the collar slide of
silver, as thin almost as the featherbone
which they replace. The slide is finished j
at the ends with a tiny rhinestone or!
pearl screw head, which alone appears
on the right side of the collar. Thus, I
supposing half a dozen slides are used
to hold up one collar, a row of pearls
or rhinestones will appear at the top and
bottom of the collar.
Lest He Go Hungry.
Miss Mary S. Anthony, who is con
tinuing the work of her distinguished sis- '
ter, the late Susan B. Anthony, said re
cently apropos of marriage:
"It is selfishness, boorish selfishness,
that, more than anything else, lies at the
root of unhappy unions. Sometimes it
is the wife who is the selfish one. Some
times it is the husband. 1 think you'll
."!>rce with me, though, that it is the hus
band more often than the wife.
"A happening of a day or two ago pre
With Your Name j ust ihe Thing
COMRR THOUSAND
■ LI CJ& POCKET BOOKS
/ \ I Going to OiVe Them Away
l m I ill- JI e ?i est n F arm i Paper '"the World—"The Metropolitan and
J v yttt**, »*PS I Rural HOfTie. Before I was a publisher, I was a farmer. Now lam intensely
A"/ iMLi SJ • interested m Doth. I believe farming and publishing are the greatest and best businesses
I? > -fW Igoing. Sometimes I even think fanning beats publishing.
\ * '4l *. And now—just to show you how I feel toward farmers, I want to give five thousand of
V 5 them each one of these Pocket Books. If you are a farmer, I want to give you one. I want
V r V' give you one of these Pocket Books so you cun ;how it to your friends and say. 14 My friend
i Kills, publisher of the greatest Farm Paper in the world, gave me this." Then you and your
| ,e r.,. s Wl . think me and my paper—'lhe Metropolitan and Rural Home—that goes to half
- :SBs&W a million farmers every month, and you will say among yourselves, ,4 That Ellis must be all
A Vi right. I want to read his paper and see what he t-ays in it." These Pocket Books, lam going
Jlk V to pve you, are made from genuine Rubber Covered Cloth. They are just the thing to carry
N aiuable papers—such as notes, contracts, Fire Insurance Policies, weight receipts, etc., as well
A'' fold up tlat and tit your inside coat-pocket—just the kind of Pocket Book
'/**» fTow you don't pay anything for the Pocket Book. It's FREK. I send it to you postpaid
an " 0.°5 * ask you a cent. But to show that you are willing to be just as liberal with me as I
i 5, m w , y° u ' 1 w 4 *? l >; ou 1° g ® nd me 20 cents for The Metropolitan and Rural Home for a year.
""U t sav, 'that s what I expected. \\ ait b minute and read the rest. You haven't got
t<> the most liberal part of my offer yet. Read thi * announcement all through. I would do as
mu ? h \°* y° u » if you were me and I were you. If you will do as I ask, I will have your name
iiikl a«ldre«s printed on tlie inside of your Pocket IJook, so, if it gets lost, it will be returned
CHARLES E. ELLIS to you at once, When I send it to you, I will also send you some sample copies of The Metro
po.itan and Kural Home and I will continue to send the paper to yon for Three Months. Then
If yoti don't like it, just say so and I II send you l>aelc t«mr ?0 rents and stop your subscription and you may keep the Pocket Book for your
trouble. That gives you the paper three months FREE-to say nothing of the fine Pocket Book. Now—what do you think of that for
an offer?
A Great Big illustrated Magazine FREE
mln<J you. The Metropolitan and Rural Home is a great blf? Magazine Paper. It is printed in clean, plain type on nice paper and there are lots
of pictures every month. I just mention these things because they are extras—it's the stock, dairy ana farm news, and good stories, that
make my paper the best farm paper in the world.
If you don't tell me at the end of the three months to 6top the paper, of course, I*ll keep yotir subscription—enter your name as a regular
subscriber and send you The Metropolitan and Rural Home for a Full year.
Now I'm sorry I haven't g«<t more of these Pocket Bocks, but there are tmly 5,000 to give away, so Voti'fl ha veto hurry a little if you want
one. They are such good Pocket Books, that they'll go like wild fire and you Ought to stop rigfr here, fill in the order blank ami mail it to
me at onee, po as to be sure and get one of these Pocket Books. I puf. that blank in here so you needn't hunt for paper and ink unless you
want to. Cse a lead pencil, fill out the blank, enclose twenty cents (stamps or silver) and mail it to me just as quickly as you can. Do it
right away, so ilie Pocket Books won't be gone when 1 get your subscription.
CHASm Em ELLIS, Publishes*?
22-24*26 North William Street
Metropolitan and Rural Home Subscription Dept. iss,
£- New York City
F K£ §T SET POCKET
MT Mm i» Maes Sign This and Sena to Me At Once
K - Fi I,iS ' A^ ew Y °/ k - I>ur , ! ?j r: S £S, c l,2? < V. Tl i o ro,.ol«tan ami Rural H0,,,,. f„ r a year unless I tell vou to stop it at the end of
three months. Also send me one of those I RKK Pocket Hooks with mv name printed ( nit. 1 enclose "0 cents (silver or st imnsl which vou
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Sign Address
Sets of shaded enamelled studs are pro
vided to finish the front and cuffs of
1 lie new white tailored blouse waists.
I here are green, blue, pink and mauve
studs, and unless the smart summer girl
sticks to a distinctive color, the better
plan is to have a set of each, so that the
ruling color in her hat and parasol may
i be matched in her studs.
I Silver chatelaine bags have sprung
| into a vogue somewhat puzzling, consid
ering the comparative cheapness of the
metal. A woman in showing her purchase
( the other day—a five by six inch bag,
' which cost $45 —explained that a gold
I bag, jewel mounted, such as she ordi
| narily carried in town, did not go well
with summer morning costumes.
"We sell almost as many of the Ger
man silver as of the real thing, and to
persons of wealth, too," said a clerk.
"They cost only about one-quarter the
price of the finer silver bags, they wear
well and look almost as smart. The kid
lining in most of them is adjustable, and
may be removed and cleaned."
A novelty in metal collars designed
after the fashion of the strings of pearl
dog collars, is tnade of perhaps twenty
or thirty strands of flexible silver chain
as slender as line wire, fastened at the
front, back and sides against very nar
row, two and one-half inch long silver
bars. One inch wide jeweled collars
. worn with collarless waists are consid-
I ered almost a necessity by some women.
I Few real jewels are used in these col
lars, the better liked varieties showing
gold of open work pattern, alternating
with oblongs and squares of colored
stones.
t scnts a vivid and sad picture of too many
marriages.
"An old couple came in front the coun-
I try with a big basket of lunch to see the
circus.
" The lunch was heavy. The old wife
was carrying it. As they crossed a
crowded street the husband held out his
hand and said:
" 'Gimme that basket, Hannah.'
"The poor old woman surrendered the
basket with a grateful look.
" 'That's real kind o' ye, Joshua,' she
quavered.
" 'Kind ?' orrunted the old mail. 'Gosh,
1 yvuz afeard ye'd git lost.'"
UNCLE SAM'S LAND
Ijjiited States is the largest owner of
real estate in the world, with the single
exception of Russia.
ffie total area of the public land,
states and territories, exclusive of
Alaska —containing 368,030,795 acres—is
'■4H,503,865 acres. Of this area BOS._>QS.-
475' acres have been disposed of, leaving
63.;j208,309 acres the title of which is
still in the government, or its wards, the
Indians. Of this great area, however,
18.",717.208 acres are included in Indian,
forest, military, and other reservations
and withdrawals, leaving 449,491,182
acres of unappropriated, unsold, and un
| reserved public lands, exclusive of
Alaska.
I he government, therefore, has finally
disposed of 56 per cent, and retains 44
per cent of the original public domain.
If there be subtracted from the grand
total still in government ownership all
reserved lands, and taken into account
only lands open to general entry and
disposition, there is still remaining, as
ststed, 449,491,182 acres, or a little less
than one-third of the original public do
main. As considerable areas, however,
of the so-called "reserved" or "with
drawn" lands are subject to entry under
one or more of the land laws, it is a
fair statement to say that a trifle more
than one-third of the original area of
the public domain is still on the market
and to be disposed of.
That part remaining does not compare
in quality with the lands disposed of.
Most of the remaining timber lands of
any considerable value are now reserved
from sale by being included in fore«t
reserves, permanent and temporary, com
prising 130,000.000 acres. The remain
ing portion of the public domain is
largely arid or semi-arid, and the major
part of this is non-irrigable. While un
der improved methods considerable
areas of semi-arid lands will be success
fully farmed without irrigation, there
are millions of acres which can be uti
lised only for grazing purposes.
While it is true that practically all of
the first-class agricultural lands have
been disposed of, it will be seen that tin-
United States -till owns and offers un
der the land laws enough land to make
thirteen states the size of lowa, and in
addition holds for forest reserve pur
poses acres enough to make nearly four
stites the size of Illinois, of which an
area almost three times the size of that
great state is in permanent reserves.