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PAGES 17 TO 20.
K I I -
THIRD PART.
LIFE OIJILLSIS,
Odd Specimens of Architecture
Perched High Up the Slopes
in Pittsburg.
THE WINDS AND FRESHETS
Often Occasion Surprises Yhen Resi
dents Rise in the Morning.
HOUSES OSE STORY HIGH IS FROST
Else to the Dignity of Fire Stories and a
Mansard m Kcar.
BIED'S-EIE VIEWS Of TEE TWO CITIES
tWEHTEX TOR THE eiefatcii.i
OU haTe seen homes
like eagles' nests? Of
course you have. Or,
if you are nut sure
about it, just loot out
of the windows of the
Pcnn avenue cable
cars, or the Pennsyl
vania llailroad trains,
some day, at the face
of the rock-ribbed hill
scaled by the Pcnn In
cline. It fairly makes
one's heart stand still
Xtn kpi frail board shan-
mies poised in midair
Bfrom 200 to S00 feet
-In Eagle's Xcsl. above the Pennsylva
nia Railroad tracks.
Same of the early morning fogs this week
liid them entirely from view, and -when the
clouds arp low they are often vague and
grotesque 'in outline to a person walking
along Liberty street. Serpentine paths,
aarrow and perilous, come from their aerial
doorways down to the lower regions.
MUST AXCnOR EVERYTHING.
A spool of thread dropped from the lap of
a housewife sitting on the porch of one of
these hillside dwellings is lost forever, as it
docs not stop rolling until it reaches the
muddy putter 250 feet below. It used to be
a common thing for a man up there to go to
bis coalslied in the early frigid morning and
find his 25 bushels of coal of the prcviovs
evening all gone. Stolen? Bless you, no.
It had simply rolled down the hill.
During winter nights the high river winds
usually prevailing at those elevations are apt
to play havooyith all outbuildings. The
endi ot coalsheds have been frcquentlv torn
away by the gale, and the floors being built
at an angle o 40 the coal at once started
its dowoward trip, distributing itself iu the
snow the whole distance of th hill.
rXXCES ARE GIVING WAY.
But that don't often occur now. The
coal sheds still give way, but the wary
householder has profited by experience, and
lias his coal dumped in Iron; ol his resi
dence. The whole house will haTe to go
before he loses that fuel again.
.Inst west of the Penn incline you may
sec a row of frame dwellings where the
ieuces have nearly all tumbled down. The
steep slope was too much for them. There
is a constant slipping of earth that carries
everythinc before it unless solidly braced
with good stone foundations. The boards
and timber from these fences are scattered
all over the hillside, giving it a most
scraggy appearance. On Bismarck way
Airs. John Murphy lives in one end ot a
small double frame house. She told me
that the other end of the dwelling, in which
her neighbors reside, has slipped a little
farther down the mountain every freshet. It
has polled her end of the domicile down
with it.
a queer community.
It's a queer community of houses up there
It woulu baffle the powers or a Fourth ave
nue real es:ate agent to describe some of
these structures it placed in his hands for
sale. About the best thing he could do
would be to get a photograph of one of the
passenger cars on the Mount "Washington
Inclined Plane, and hang that up in his of
fice as a faithful sample of the houses he has
for sale.
Oaeof those inclined plane cars you know,
is low in the front and tremendously hich in
the rear. The object is to let people stand,
sit or lie on a level while they usually are
on a terrihe slope One tenement -house
alone will serve as an illustration of this
principle of architecture. On Crescent
street, ia the community mentioned, the
property of a Mr. Boya, is a substantially
built double frame. .
some punny looking houses.
fronting the street it is only one-story in
height with a mansard roof. In the rear, cr
i routing the Allegheny river, it is four sto
ries in height, or five stories, counting the
Above Pcnn Avenue.
ground floor. And the whoie honse is of
the ordinary depth from front to rear. This
is one of the most solid and commodious
structures on the hill.
I saw another, which was one of the poorer
type. It is just cast of the incline, front
ing Crescent street, it appears to be only a
shanty, no higher than the average back
yard stable. But in the rear you stand
achast at seeing it rise to a height equal to
that or The Dispatch business building.
Close to it is a house which preserves only
the one-story height in all its length. That
Iias been done in this wav. The door of the
front section leads out upon the roof of a
second edition. The rear door of that, in
turn opens out upon the roof of the third
section. Prom the rear ot this you step out
upon a roomy porch, large enough, indeed,
to be called a yard. Under it is the wash
house and a coal cellar. It looks like a
series of huge steps.
COWS UP THERE, TOO.
The hill at this point is 325 feet high.
Along the summit runs Arch street. Prob
ably 100 feet below it is paralleled br
Crescent street, and this in turn ia paralleled
4. h
" m
by Bismarck way, 75 feet lower down. These
last two streets are not very well paved,
although the grade itself is a blessing to
the residents. The hill is thus terraced for
convenience sake. '
Bnt here and there you find clinging to
bare rocks, or to slippery clay, away out of
the line of either of the streets, the domiciles
of the poorer classes. The inmates of these
have either worn queer little paths, or built
steps of native rock, in order to make up for
municipal neglect The strangest thing I
found up there was a stable containing two
cows. I imagine when the owners let the
bovines out for an airing tbey first anchor
them with ropes to the pillars of the Penn
Incline. Still, the value of real estate in
Evcrylhi ng Must be Anchored.
the clouds is steadily advancing. Mrs.
John Murphy tells me that two years ago
her husband paid 5300 for their irame house
and now they are trying to sell it for $700.
OUK HILLY CITY.
But all the numerous hills in Pittsburg
are not as ragged as this. It is an" exception
to find them thus. Their mountainous char
acter give them all that rugged appearance,
bnt like well attended terraces, scores of
paved streets and avenues scale their slopes.
Homes are frequently preferred on the sum
mits, and with many people the higher the
altitude the happier tbey are. For this rea
son I once heard this city dubbed "a city of
hill-climbers."
"The great hills of Pittsburg are directly
responsible for the beauty of the women
M
ar Gfrf c
lw
'aw s .s-,7, v v -!S-y0Mn
TWO VIEWS OP A TYPICAL HILLSIDE HOME.
here." remarked an eminent doctor on one
occasion. "It is the constant climbing of
remarkably steep streets whichdevelops
them, rounds out their forms, and gives
healthy color to their cheeks."
I have secured some curious data on this
subject For instance, Herron Hill is the
geographical center of Pittsburg. It is 528
feet high. Add to that the 700 odd feet at
which Pittsburg stands above sea level, and
you have a total altitude of over 1,200 feet
around the promenade of Herron reservoir
an elevation boasted of by many of the
mountain summer resorts.
STEEP STREETS FIGURED OUT.
"Well, on the streets leading to the summit
of this eminence live at least 25,000 people.
Hail ways ascend two of these avenues, and
before traction power was applied to them it
required three horses to pull each camp
the slope. The giving way of brakes in
coming down used to be one of the dangers
residents of "the Hill district" were heirs
to. To some extent there is the same hazard
low. In the distance of seven blocks which
these cars traverse on the lower end of
Wylie avenne the grade is exactly 93.4 feet
On a hill which the old horsecars used to
climb in going np Center aveune, the grade
is 125 feet in a quarter of a mile. On Filth
avenue the grade is still greater. What is
known as "The Hump" has a rise of 45.26
feet between Smitbfield street and Wylie
avenue. And thai is the most important
thoroughfare in the city for both foot and
wagon travel. From this point Fifth ave
nue rises 139.94 feet to Van Braam street,
not more than'a third of a mile distant
A BALLOOIT SENSATION.
Bnt here's another: Penn avenue, the
second most important thoroughfare east and
west in Pittsburg, is 23L80 lect higher at
the gate of St Mary's Cemetery (or Fortv
fifth street) than it is at Thirty-third stree't,
..,! 4t,APa io .inltf HftH l mill clrnlnnt H1l
ami tucic a vmj . Diiaiguti JUll
between the two points. It was a striking
fact that before cable cars were introduced
there, the majority ot passengers in the
tedious horse cars were fat men and women,
for whom it was a physical impossibility to
walk up the ascent
Brownsville avenue scales Mt. Oliver on
the Southside, which is 310 feet high, and
yet the grade of that street in its winding
course of one and one-half miles is not
greater than that on Penn avenue just
given. A drive up Brownsville avenue is
quite thrilling, having the sensation in it of
gradually rising in a balloon far above the
lower world.
As may be imagined, the views to be ob
tained from Pittsburg's eminences are grand.
On any perfectly clear day the hazy blue of
Cnestnut Ridge in the Allegheny Moun
tains can be seen from Herron Hill, and the
Hictnn hv lilr linA TiottrAAn a ti-n ht.
H.v.u -j .... .Vw ....,... ,, .tiu places
is probably SO miles. The experiment of
building sienal fires on the mountains has
been broached once or twice, but still re
mains to be tried.
BEAUTlrUL VIEWS EVERYWHERE.
From Herron's apex the best bird's-eye
view of the sister cities is commanded. It
takes in both the closely-built up sections
and the suburban wards, with their charm,
ing bits of sylvan scenery. On Mt Wash
ington yon can only see the business portion
of Pittsburg and Allegheny, but the vision
is awe-inspiring. A famous writer looking
down from the edge of that hill made the remark-that
"Pittsburg looked like hell with
the lid off."
But beyond the flaming mill chimneys and
blazing iurnaceswhich at night time make
fiery processions miles in length, there lie
myriads of gas and electric iigtrts too nu
merous to even think of counting. They al
ways reminded me of wide acres of ox-eyed
daisies.
From Highland Hill, in the East End,
which is 350 feet high, the windings of the
Allegheny river through a vast extent of
farming laud may fa followed without a
glass. L..E. Stofiel. .
FARMING IN ENGLAND.
Quiet and Conlentment Reign and
Life is a Continual Dream.
EACH CLASS SEEMS TO BE HAPPY.
The Peasant in the Field, at His Cozy
' Home and at the Tabic.
WAGES AND TI1E COST OP LIVING
rCOKR&SrOXDEXCE Of THE DISPATCH.!
ItOMFORD, ESSEX, October 17. Jefferson
Davis during the last years of his life once
said: "The material welfare of a country is
always found in a good peasantry." It that
be true England must be a very wealthy do
main, for nowhere during a traveling ex
perience of many years and of many miles
in many countries have I ever seen so con
tented and independent a class of laborers,
as the men who till, and the men and women
who tend and reap the crops of the United
Kingdom.
The ordinary firm laborer in be United
States knows no such degree of comfort and
pleasure as his brother who works upon
English soil. Only in the most favored
localities of our own co"untry is the farm
laborer so well housed and looked alter as in
this, which I had always been' taught
ground its workmen to the bone, that the.
few might have and the many might waiter
suffer. This may be true of some industries
here, but it certainly does not apply to the
agricultural laborer.
AN INTERESTING STUDY.
Taking three widely separated and typ
ical sections of Southern, Northern and
Middle England, I have investigated the
subject by actual contact with the people
and by mingling in their every-day lite. It
has been a delightful study, for there is no
more interesting character of his class in
existence than the English peasant as you
find him at home, stolid as he may be. He
generally has pleasaut surroundings. His
wife is neat, tidy and industrious, while his
children are cleanly, pretty and above all,
heaitny.
His uumble home is a bower of beauty,
no matter bow poor he may be. Uis wile is
a good housekeeper, not only in the econ
omies but in the decoration ot his home.
and no matter how unsightly or old his
house may be, it is always'made attractive
by pretty white curtains at the windows
and boxes of flowers on the ledges. In fact
posies are everywhere. There is always an
attractive little flower garden in front and a
vegetable patch behind the abode of the
humblest peasant who is willing to work,
and dirt and untidiness are practically un
known where there is industry.
LIKE EASTERN PENNSYLVANIA.
Just at this moment I am surrounded by
one of the richest 3nd most beautiful
stretches of farming country I have ever
seen. It is south of London, in Essex, one
of the prime agricultural counties of En
gland. The only acres in fertility, beauty
of landscape and perfect culture" that can
compare with it are between Philadelphia
and Barrisburg in the counties of Chester
and Lancaster, along the line ofr the Penn
sylvania llailroad. If the farms in that
garden spot were smaller, the homes of the
rich larger, and more beautifully surrounded
with flowers and shrubbery, the roadways
lined with the pretty little" homes of the
wortingmen, one might readily mistake the
one for the other.
But rich as that single section of the
United States is in all that makes agricul
tural life worth the living, it furnishes no
such evidence of comfort for its farm labor
ers as does this, and indeed most other sec
tions of England where the soil is tilled at a
profit Eomford is a beautiful little town,
quaint and old, where 10,000 people live,
with as much satisfaction as in anv place I
have ever seen. Quiet and contentment
reign, andjt is so secluded in its rural dig
nity that almost all of the real typical con
ditions of English countryside life, hish
and low, can be found within easy reach
of it
CONTRADICTS COMMON REPORT.
I have been traveling over the magnifi
cent roads which lead out of it in every
direction for a week, mingling with the
peasantry in tue helds, and at their own
homes, and cannot possibly reconcile what I
see on every hand aiid hear from nearly
every lip with the romances of poverty and
sadness that I have so often heard at home,
and read of in our newspapers. To those
who have considerable of this world's goods,
this is especially true, jind as to the country
families, whoown the land, and let it out to
tenants, or till it themselves, nothing can
be more perfect in the way of rarallife, than
the manner in which they live.
Their homes are beautiful beyond descrip
tion, and their existence one heydey of com
fort and delightful association." Their otflv
concern is to give directions to their bailiff,
who ordersall the operations and manages
all the men who do the work. This leaves
the day open for driving, riding or visiting,
and as-ease and pleasure is the ambition of
the ave'rage Englishman from the highest to
the lowest, there is nothing to be wished for
on that score. All life seems complete and
nothing wanting. There is no struggle for
dollars or rush after position, such as we find
at every crossroads in America among those
who seek to accumulate.
CLASS LINES CLEARLY DRAWN.
Everybody's place is so fixed and reliable
that it is acknowledged by everyone and
cannot be disturbed. All seem perfectly
contented.
"Whatever else may be said of this view of
life, it produces good laborers in all
branches. The gentleman farmer is a curi
ous character to an American. He gener
ally lives in a handsome house, has his
carriages, horses and servants, which he en
joys, while the men whom be employs earn
his living for him. He pays little attention
to the details of his farm operations, and
gives all his directions through the arm
bailiff, whom he holds responsible for work
and returns.
He has no particular position with the
county lamilies who own land and till it
themselves, bnt he belongs to the next grade
below them, and usually enjoys their re
spect and is quite a dignitary in the village
-
PITTSBUKq-, SUNDAY,
rjear which ho lives. Of course he takes
rank above the tradesmab, because of the
old aristociatic idea that land and servants,
pr slaves ia the far-off time, are the badges
of position.- As things never change in this
land where all is complete, the gentleman
farmer takes his place in the great range of
classes as an interesting figure of every-day
existence.
WAGES AND HOURS.
, In this particular community the regular
farm hand receives from 53 to S5 a week,
the average being about ?4, with extra pay
during harvest and haying vtime, when not
only the peasant, bnt his whole family add
to the economy of his household by earning
money in the field. Wages are graded from
the shepherd, whose work is never done, to
the dairymen, the men who look after the
stock and the land man, who is supposed to
know all about preparing the ground for
planting and reaping the crops. These, of
course, arc the highest-priced workers, and
besides their wages, frequently get rent
free, not only for the houses in which thev
live, but for a half acre or more of ground
for a garden or pasture. In localities like
this, where gardening for the London mar
ket is carried on, laborers by the piece will
make from S7 50 to S10 a week, but this
takes long hours and hard labor.
Except in harvest time, nhen extra pay is
given and extra work is exacted, the ordi
nary hours are ten, but in the winter months
eight, and even seven hours' labor is the
rule. The English peasant, like the lord,
will have his time for rest and to eat, no
matter what comes or goes, and a nap in the
middle of the day is not unknown, especially
if they aie doing work by the job, which is
frequently the way it is let out in this
country.
THE COST OP LIVING.
The average waees here is, saw, 54 a week,
but rent is low. The laborers get from a
five to a seven-room house, with garden
enough to raise vegetables for his tatriily,
for from 50 to 75 cents a week, and in some
localities as low as 32 cents a wees;, and in a
few as high as SL. In fact, rents are so
cheap that I cannot see where the landlord
gets his return for his investment, buthe
undoubtedly does.
Taking this as a perfectly fair sample of
the higher agricultural communities of En
gland, it is but fair to look at the less
layored localities. Going south from here
30 miles, I find that the wages run from
J 75 a week to ?3 50, while mechanics labor
lor 4. But in those places the cost of living
is again lowered, and the rental of a house
with garden runs from 36 cents to 0 cents a
week, which about makes the score even.
Both in these lavored agncultural'communi
ties, or in the darker places, such as may be
found in our country iu greater abundance
than here, the economies practiced in the
peasant's household are entirely unknown
to our working people. At many, if not
most, seasons of the year the family are all
producers.
THEY TAKE LIFE EASY.
A national habit affects the rich and the
poor alike, and one of the most interesting
things about a peasant's career is the man
ner in which he follows as nearly as possi
ble in the customs of those who can live at
their leisure. Ho one here likes to get up
early in the morning, and no one cares
about breaksast The peasant is no excep
tion to the rule. He gets up early in the
morning, leaving the lolks iu bed, takes a
piece of bread, a glass of beer or milk or
cold tea and goes off to bis toil. If he is
far away he takes his breakiast and lunch
with him, consisting of bread, bacon, a bot
tle of beer or something else to UnnK.
Between 9 and 10 he stops a halt hour,
cats and drinks whatever he has, and this
to him is the same as the rich people's
late breakfast About 1 he stops again,
eats the balance ot.what ho has with him,
if too far away from home for his wife" to
send one ot the children to the fields with
something fresh. He then quietly resumes
his work, to return home at night to find
ready for hima substantial meal of nieatjl
vegetaoies, urcau, ana, as a ruic, an me
beer be needs. In fact, beer seems to be the
mainstay of the laboring classes wherever
you go.
TALKS WITH THE PEOPLE.
The other day I found a peasant in the
field eating his lunch, and taking things
exceedingly easy. When I suggested that
one of onr laborers would think his diet
a very light one, he said: "Yes, my brother
who has gone to America says that a man
will not go to work there iu the morning
until he has a shilling's worth of meat in
his stomach."
An hour after I left him, I stopped at the
home of a cottager by the roadside lor a
glass of milk, which was only an excuse to
talk with the good woman who presided
over the place in her husband's absence,
and probabl quite frequently when he was
at horn.-. She said: "Good girls about the
house usually get "from 15 (?75) to 25
(5125) a year, according to the work thev
. do and how smart they are. Cooks get 30
a year (5150) according to how they please.
A servant who is fit, and wants to work, can
get a good home and good wages as a rule,
but many of the young women are wild to
get off to the city where they get harder
work: and less wages than at home."
But the picture is not all a rosy one. I
have always found that hired labor is under
the most favorable conditions now and then
harshly treated. Many of the peasants"
houses'are oyercrowded where the families
are large, but they are never so overflowing
thas the homes arc not pteasant, even if
the depths of the household reveal unpleas
ant truths. Another thing of interest is
that you can find very few of them who
would even consider the question of a trip
to the New World, where such golden prom
ises are made to the ear to be harshly broken
to the hope. Frank A. Burr.
WOMEN WITH MUSTACHES.
A. Recipe for Getting Kid of tho Surplus
Hirsute Adornment
riiarmacentical Era.
Depilatories are Very dangerous remedies
unless kept in the hands of very careful
persons. They are liable to not only take
off the offending hair, but also the skin as
well and leave ugly sores to heal and form
scars. The Turkish women are said to be
very proficient in the use of depilatories, as
they have no hair on their bodies, with the
exception of the head. Nearly all forms of
depilatories depend upon some form of
sulphides of the alkaline earths.
Probably the safest among the effective
ones is made from the ordinary quick lime.
It should be slacked with tu o parts of water
and then 'saturated with .freshly made
sulphuretted hydrogen. This mixture must
be used within a few days after it is made.
Care must always be taken to see that the
paste does not cover more surface than it is
necessary to free from hair. It is also a
wise precaution to spread but a small space
at a time and when this is deprived of hair
treat a fresh portion of the surface.
WATES CXOCK-AT CAHTpiT.
Tho Trosiac Tlmo Itccor'ler That Has Been
Going for SCO Tears. "
Jewelers' Weekly.
The famous clepsydra, or water clock, at
Canton, China, that has been keeping time
for 560 years without loss or irregularity, is
an affecting monument as viewed by a rev
erent or sentimental tourist To the cold eye
of reason it is only a clumsy arrangement of
four stone jarsplaced one above another,
and arrauged with troughs from which the
water rnns drop by drop from one pot to an
other. In the lowest and smallest jar a wooden
float supports a brass rod that is lined and
marked with Chinese characters, and as the
brass rpd rises through the cover of the jar
the course of tho honrs is seen. In this
temple of the water clock, perched highon
the city wall, the priest sells time candles
that record the passage-pi the hours as they
burnt
OCTOBER 26, 1890.
WILDWOOD CHARMS.
Fair Daughters of October Who Cheer
Up the Dying Forests.
FLOWERS AMID FALLING LEAVES.
Pretty Golden Kod That Tints the Glades,
and Modest Bluets
THAT DOT THE- SEEKING HILLSIDES
IWBITOiT ron THE DISr-ATCn.5
s- ? -.O- HE winter is ap-
c$s r!l?s proaching and
azr&
7 vr - wy-n-k
fyiJ!fl "ilonvAo inilTinne
; -Sifj-g
Vi
't. : uJ---'srvsN. ! i w-f ...
t'li S t . . r X"-"
rvUUV
of leaves, in all
the hnes of death,
are fluttering to
earth in thewoods
these, October
days. The solt
breezes that come
with a moan from
the southwest,
bear with them a
scent of sweet
fern and the few
wild flowers that
are still with us.
Was there ever
anything more
The Daisy.
fragrant? But zephyrs that are as balmy
to-day as the breath of a forest nymph in
the cheering warmth of the sunny autumnal
skies may before the night is cone be
changed to wild, warring winds, laden with
gusts of beating rain, and the same trees
that stand so immovable now may be toss
ing weirdly to and fro iu the grasp of the
storm demons that roar and shriek through
their baring branches.
Such is October.
Such is the month that year in and year
out, reads the death warrant or decree of
exile to so many of those bright things that
have made the past six months glorious.
TWO nARDY SONGSTERS.
As day follows day the sun drifts slowly
and steadily in the direction the birds have
taken long before; but hold: I will not say
that, for although the first of the feathered
The Wood Violet.
darlings started toward warmer zones at
least two months ago. the occasional chirp
of a chewink or.veery in the thickets indi
cates thatall the birds have not yet departed.
' " jStot lor longhowe ver.
At last there will come a day when the
sky will be clouded over with a dull, gray
gloom, except' at one place where a long
golden bar of light lies along the horizon.
It is then we will hear the veeries and
chewmks for the last time.
But we will not be left entirely alone.
The very first day that we listen in vain for
the merry tunes of the sinners named, lo!
there comes the little snow bird with all his
noisy twitterings to join his almost sole
companion, the chicadee, in holding a
chilly sort of vigil over the departed year.
Some few other birds will remain with us,
but we will not see much of them.
OCTOBER WILD FLOWERS. '
Now, who would think that this would be
a good time to go after wild flowers in the
neighboring woods? And yet it is. While
the carpet of dead and withered leaves
grows thicker under foot every day, there
are certain of onr native blooms that have
just now reached the fruition of their
growth.
In nearly eery corner of the crooked old
fences that abound in the suburbs, one can
see clump upon clump or colden-rod. Its
rich tints are fading now, but it still has a
claim to that beauty which has made it the
-pre-eminent candidate iu the race for the
honor of being this country's national flower
that is, if we are ever to have one. There
is not the slightest donbt it has advanced
the best argument so far, not alone from the
fact that it is a pure native of the land but
Mm
1 Pretty Golden Hod.
llfjZ --.
1
ftxffl
v 'far l&'M i
''If
that it is one of the grandest and most beau
tiful of wild flowers. Its wealth ' of color
vies with the sun in brilliancy and lights
up the surroundings with life and Are ai a
time when everything is beginning to put on
mourning.
IT GROWS ON YOU.
The golden-rod is one or those flowers that
improve on acquaintance. When first met
with you are not likely to be much taken
with it Its bloom seems to be too yellow;
its general appearance that of a weed, but,
as time goes on, you observe how well its
rich glow mellows into the golden mists and
purple shadows of the autumn and you
wonder how the landscape "could do without
it
Just at this time it is turning into the soft
est of reds, tipped with silver, and if gath
ered will make the most charming of
bouquets, lasting through his month and
next You will find other wild flowers at
the same time, but not in such variety as
earlier in the season. Enough, however, to
make up some very pretty combinations.
Out along that little brook, which some one
in days gone by has given the Unprepossess
ing name of ""Sawmill run," and -on the
banKs of the many otheis small streams iu
this yicinity, you will be mefat every torn
by royal masses of golden-red and glorious
asters the latter ranging through the whole
gamut of color from a regal purple to the
most delicate of pinks and creams. They
are in the greatest ahundance, and in some
places literally shut smaller plants com
pletely frojn view.
there's variety, too.
Yon can,- if you will, give varietr to your
bouquet by adding some yarrow. This little
plant, witbitsdull white blossoms, will be
recognized by its resemblance to chrysanthe
mums in miniatnre. Some soapwort gentian,
with its deep bine flowers, will also be a
valuable addition. You are not so lifcely to
find this plant, however, as it is not nearly
so common as any of the others mentioned.
Even tbe well-know dandelion should not
be despised now. Yon will be surprised to
notice how rich is the yellow of its flowers
now by reason of the absence of more
striking ones.
There is another plant, a dainty little
orchid, that is just about to bloom now, and
will be found throughout our woods during
this month a,nd November. It is a species
of spiranthes, or "ladies tresses." The
blooms are waxen white, and arranged
spirally about the stock.
Alder and witch hazel blossoms are now
in full bloom. The former will be known
by its bunch of red and yellowish tassels;
the latter by its lemon-tinted wheels that
m
WrmtM,
N
ms a
The Jleadow Hue.
are to be found growing on the shrubs along
the streams. Splendid big ox-eyed daisies
are still holding forth; also' a very occa
sional violet in the woods. In the early
spring you will find thousands, nay, mil
lions, where yon can one at this late day.
BEAUTY UNAPPRECIATED.
I am confident that most of our city folk
are of the opinion that there are precious
few wild flowers of any account in the
neighboring woods. They have not formed
this opinion from any cood reason, but
I simply because they have never taken the
trouble to investigate their surroundings.
It is left for strangers to tell Pittsburgers
how beautiful the setting of their city is.
Go ont into the suburbs and prove it for
yourselves. Along either of our three
rivers you will see bits that are equal to any
in the neighborhood of the famed Hudson.
The smaller streams present in places every
bit as pretty studies as either of the Paint
creeks at Scalp Level or that aw'ul named
Connoquenessing at Wurtembtirg. The
woods reveal vistas as lovely a sever greeted
mortal eye anywhere. And in the proper
season these same woods are made glad to
the view by the presence of an innumerable
congregation of wild flowers such as ver
vain, harebell, ginsengs, bellworts, silver
weeds and June snecery, to say nothing of
the blue and yellow violets 'and bluets
(houstonia) that greet you everywhere.
WILL THRIVE IN YOUR SAUCER.
By the way, there is a peculiarity about
the dainty little plant last named that is
worth mentioning. It is known to love the
bright warm hillside where it can wink and
blink at the sun the whole day long. You
will find but few down near the water. But,
take a bunch home and place it in a saucer
on the window-sill, and in a short time it
will brace up and bloom bravely for six or
seven weeks. Itjs a beantiful little thing
and there is no trouble in getting it during
May;it will be found growing in great sheets
on the hillsides to the sontbwest of the city.
Whether singly or in groups it is a most
pleasing sight
We must not forget the wild roses, either.
Perhaps most people know them best as
sweet briar. Some of our local woods are
just full of this growth, and but a few years
since it bloomed profusely in the spring
months, but of late the vandalism of our
American youth has so weakened the shrubs
by repeated wounds that iew, if any, bloom
nowadays.
IT GILDS THE HILLSIDES.
Of course everybody knows the common
snapdragon when he sees it, for all of our
hills are dotted with the bright yellow
growth. The mandrake or "Mayapple," as
it is best known, also puts forth a lovely
flower in the early springtime. It is a large
waxen blossom of the purest white, with a
rich orange or yellow center. In any of the
woods, and particularly those to the south
ward of the city, they grow In abundance.
There is one spot within half an hour's
journey of the center of the city that is well
worth a visit by those who love wild flowers.
It should be made, of course, during the
early days of spring the time when wild
flowers are in their glory. The place re
lerred to is a glen or small valley extending
from High Bridge, on the Pittsburg and
Castle Shannon .Railroad, to the borders of
Knoxville. I do not know of any spot in
the county that presents any more charming
bits of natural scenery than this at almost
any time of the year. Through its entire
length a little stream winds its way. Here
and there it tumbles over miniature falls,
one of which is- at least ten feet high. On
either side the slopes are densely wooded.
Beech, maple, ' sumach, oak, dogwood and
crab-apple mingle in disorder.
GARB OP THE SPRINGTIME.
As soon as the snows have melted away
these woods begin to adorn themselves in a
floral way, and even before that at times
you will find in some sheltered nook a
bunch of violets in full bloom.
But, when at last the days of frost and cold
are gbne for good, the violets or "Johnny
jump-ups" if von will have them so, come
trooping ionn in aroves. w ltn tnem you will
find myriads of bluets, liver-worts, prim
roses, etc. At the same time the shrubs, not
to be outdone by tGelr lowly brethren, put
on a garb of blossoms and eventually there
comes a" time when from the neighboring
hilltops the little valley appears to be
foliaged in white and pint, while its
fragrance fills the, air within a radius of
half a mile.
This is not the only place of the kind in
this vicinity. I have mentioned it in par
ticular simply because it is so near the city.
As I said before, it is worth a visit, and
whoever does so will be convinced that there
is no necessity for long trips if one wants
pastoral scenery of the loveliest kind.
V . G. KAUFMANN.
ETDIAN BEFOBE THE LAW.
A White Man Gets Oat of a Murder Scrapo
on a Novel Decision.
Judge Bryant has rendered a very im
portant opinion at Paris, Tex., in the case
against Thomas McGhee, charged with
murder. McGhee was a whfte man, but
had married an Indian and was recognized
by the Indians as a citizen, and allowed
their tribal rights the same as an Indian.
Judge Bryant held that, under the
treaties of the United States Government
with the Indians, McGhee was in'Iaw an
Indian and subject to'the laws of his tribe,
and that the courts of thu country had no
nrisdiction over offenses committed by him
upon the person or property of another
Indian,
STAMD FAST?
,CRAIQ
few
W&bfZso
'U3-J
A NOVEL DEALING "WITH COTEMPORARY LUTE
WRITTEN FOE THE WSPATCH,
BY WILLIAM BLACK,
Author of "A Princess of Tliule," "Sunrise," and Many Other
Stories of the Highest Reputation on Two Continents.
CHAPTER XVII.
AND HAST THOU PLAYED ME THIS.
And now in this time of urgency the ap
peal was to Maisrie herself; she it W3S who
must determine what definite bond should
be between them as a safeguard for the fu
ture. Virtually he had her grandfather's
permission to speak to her; and how could
he doubt what her answer would be, in spite
of all those strange and inexplicable fore
bodings that seemed to haunt her mind?
She had made mute confession; and now
there remained nothing for him but to claim
and bear off the fair lily prize.
But when he got up next morning he
found to his dismay that a sudden change
in the weather was like to interfere in a
very practical manner with his audacious
plans. During the night the fwind had
backed to the southwest, accompanied by a
sharp fall of the barometer; and now a stiff
gale was blowing, and already a heavy sea
was thundering in on the beach. There
was as yet no rain, it is true; but along the
southern horizon the lowering heavens were
even darker than the wind-driven waters;
and an occasional shiver of white sunlight
that swept across the waves spoke clearly
enough of coming wet. Was it not alto
gether too wild and stormy a morning to
hope that Maisrie would venture forth?
And yet he was going away that day with
great uncertainty as to the time of his re
turn; and how could he go without having
SHE CLUNG TO
some private speech with her? Nor was
there any prospect of a change of weather
outside; the gale seemed to be increasing in
fury; and he ate his breakfast in silence,
listening to the long, dull roar and rever
beration of the heavy-breaking surf.
Nevertheless here was a crisis; and some
thing had to be done; so abont half-past ten
be went alonz to the lodging-house in Ger
man place. The servant maid greeted this
handsome young man with an approving
glance; and informed him that both Mr.
and Miss Bethnne were in the parlor up
stairs. "Xo, thank yon," said he, in answer to
.this implied invitation, "I won't go up. I
want to see Miss Bethune by herself: wonld
you ask her if she would be so kind as to
come down stairs for just a moment I won't
detain her "
The girl divined the situation in an in
stant; and proved herself friendly. Without
more ado she turned the handle of a door
near her.
"Won't you step in there, sir? the gen
tleman 'as gone out"
Vincent glanced into the littte 'parlor.
Here, indeed, was a refuge from the storm;
bat all the same he did not like to invade
the privacy of a stranger's apartments.
"Oh, noj thanks," he said. "I will wait
here, if Miss Bethune will be so kind as to
come down for a minute. Will you ask her,
please?"
The girl went upstairs; returned with the
message that Miss Bethune would b? down
directly; then she disappeared, and Vincent
was left alone in this little lobby. It was
not a very picturesque place, to be sure, for
an interview between two lovers; still.it
would serve especially if the friendly
chambermaid were out ot earshot, and if no
prying landlady shouiu come along, 'ihe
gale outside was so violent that all the
doors and windows of the house were shak
ing and rattling; he could not ask Maisrie
to face such a storm.
But in a second or so here was Maisrie
herself, all ready appareled hat, muff",
gloves, boa and the furred collar of her
jacket turned np.
"Why, Maisrie," he said, "you don't
mean you are going out on such a morning
it is far too wild and stormy! "
"That is of no consequence," she made
answer, simply. "I have something to say
to you, Vincent before you go."
"And I have something to say to you,
Maisrie. Still," he continued, with some
little hesitation (for he was accustomed to
take charge of her and guard her from the
smallest harms), "I don't want you to get
wet and blown about "
'What does that matter?" she said. It
was not of a shower of rain that she was
thinking. ,
"Oh, very well," said he at last "I'll
tell you what we'll do; we'll fight our way
down to the sea front, and then go ont to the
end of the Chain pier. There are some places
of shelter out there; and there won't be a
living soul anywhere about on suoh a morn
ing. For I am going to ask yon to make a
promise, Maisrie," he added in a lower
voice, "and the sea and the sky will be suffi
cient witnesses."
And truly this was fighting their way, as
they discovered the moment they had left
the house, for the gusts and squalls that
came tearing along the street were like to
choke them. She clung to his arm tightly;
bnt her skirts were blown about her and im
peded her; the two ends of her boa went fly
ing away over her shoulder', while her hair
was speedily in a most untoward state
though ber companion thought it was
always prettier that way than any other.
Nevertheless they leant forward against the
wind and drove themselves through if, and
eventually got down to the sea front Here,
again, they were .almost stunned by
the terrific- tout, for tho tide) was.
J L
- R9YST0jtf.
full up, and the huge, brown, conoave,
white-crested waves, thundering down oa
the shelving shingle, filled all the thick air
with spray; while light balls of foam went
sailing away inland, tossed hither and
thither up into the purple-darkened sky.
So far the driving squalls had brongbt no
rain; bnt the atmosphere was surcharged
with a salt moisture; more than once Vin
cent stopped for a second and took his
handkerchief to dry 3Iaisrie's lashes and
eyebrows, and to posh back from her fore
head the fine wet threads of her brown hair.
But soon tbey had got away from this roar
ot water and grinding pebbles, and were out
on the pier, that was swaying sinuously be
fore these fierce gnsts, and that trembled to
its foundations under each successive shock
of the heavy surge. And now they could
get a better view of the wide and hurry
ing sea a sea of a tawny-brownish hue
melting into a vivid green some way fur
ther out, and always and everywhere show
ing swift flashes ot white, that seemed to
gleam all the more suddenly and sharply
where the weight of the purple skies dark
ened down to the horizon.
"Maisrie," said he, "do you know that I
spoke tn your grandfather yesterday?"
"Yes," she answered. "He told me."
"And what did he say?"
"At first," she said, with a bit of a sigh,
"he talked of Balloray. I was sorry that
came up again: he is happier when he does
not think of it. And, indeed, I have no
ticed that of late be has almost given np
speaking ofth8"possibility of a great change
in our condition. What chance is there of
niS ARM TIGHTLY.
any such thing? We have no money to go
to law, even if the law had not already de
cided aeainst us. Then grandfather's idea
that the estates might come to us through
some accident, or series of accidents what
is that but a dream? I am sure he is far
more content when he forgets what might
have been; when he trusts entirely to his
own courage and self-reliance; when he is
thinking, not of lost estates, but of some
'ballad he means to write about in the Edin
burgh Chronicle. Poor grandfather! and
yet, who can help admiring his spirit the
very gayety of his nature in spite of all his
misfortunes?"
"Yes, Maisrie bnt but what did he say
abont you?"
"About me?" the girl repeated. "Well,
it was his usual kindness. He said I was
only to think of what would tend to my own
happiness. Happiness?" she went on, rather
sadly. "As if this world was made for hap
piness!" It was a strange speech for one so young
fine who, so far as he could make out, had
been so gently nurtured and cared for.
"What do you mean, Majsrie?" said he
in his astonishment Why should yon not
have happiness'as well as another? Who
can deserve it more than yon yon who
are so generons and well-wishing to every
one" "I wonld rather not speak of myself at
all, Vincent,' she said, "That is nothing.
I want to speak of you. I want you to con
sider what is best for you. And I under
stand your position perhaps more clearlv
than you imagine. Yon have made me
think, of late, about many things: and now
that you are going away, I must speak
frankly. It will be difficult Perhaps
perhaps, if you were more considerate,
Vincent?""
"Yes?" said he. That Maisrie should
have to beg for consideration!
"There mieht be no need of speaking,"
she went on, after that momentary pause,
"If you were to go away now, and never sea
us an y more, wouldn't that be the simplest
thing? There would be no misunderstand
ing no ill-feeling ot any-kind. You would
think ot the time we knew you ia London
and I'm sure I should always think of it
as a pleasant time: perhaps something too
good to last I have told you before:-yoa
must remember what your prospects are
what all your friends expect of you and
you will see that no good could come of
hampering yourself of introducing some
one to your family who would only bring
difficulty and trouble."
"Yes, I understand!" he said, and he'
threw away her hand from him. "I under
stand now. But why not tell the truth at
once that yon do not love me as! had
been fool enough to think you didl" v
"Yes, perhaps I do not love you," she
said in a low voice. "And yet I was not
thinking of myself. I was trying to think
of what was best for you "
Her voice broke a little', and there were
tears gathering on her eyelashes, seeing
which made him instantly contrite. He
caueht ber hand again.
"Maisrie, forgive mel I don't know why
you should talk like that! If I have your
love I do not lear anything that may hap
pen in the future. There is nothing to fear.
When I spoke to your grandfather yester-'
day afternoon, I told him precisely how I
was situated; and I showed him that, grant
ing there was some few little difficulties,
the best way to meet them would be for you
and me-to get married at once; then every
thing would come right of iu own accord
for'one must credit one's relatives with a
little Common sense. Now that is my solu
tion of all this trouble oh, yes, I "confess
there has been a little trouble; but here is
my solution ot it if you have courage,
Maisrie. Maisrie, will you give Be yoar
promise will you be Hy wife?"
i i
j