VO" xxxvii
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U - JACKET*. CAPES ASP U BS -TO buy elsewhere is jjk
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UNDERWEAR. * $
| For Men, Women and Children. £
Men's heavy fleeced underwear 50c.
Mci.'i nuiural wool underwear it.w. (T.
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Women's line wool underwear 11.00 ai dtl •—•- (0f
Children's underwear in cotton and wool at less prices than elsewhere, g
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handsome damasks. You might as well have t !*;• new- Uoi icpuoi
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just two sample val ".est ll<*avy cream damask. 04 '
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BUTLER, PA., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 10, lOOG
11 JOHN TOPP, PIRATE!
i —• —— •• —» • ? >Y*
! By Weatherby Chesney and Alick Munro. I V
• T
? oopvnionT. lson, by weather by chesney and aijck mtmio. t •'*'
l LLLUSTUATIUNS DT n. C. COCLTAB. J
« • 'vj - « «, •.* • <<> - « 4 <f ' <•" >• ' 1 <«-» * <•-
CHATTER IV.
Three days had passed since our ad
venture in Don Miguel's house, and as
I had I 11 no more about the broken
crucible I began to hope that if there
had been a storm it had blown over
But on the fourth morning, after
breakfast, my father told me to follow
hiin Into his study, and I guessed that
an uncomfortable half hour was in
store for me. 1 was not wrong.
"John." said my father, "what were
you doing at Don Miguel's house three
nights ago?"
"I went to see Inez." I replied, trem
bling, but defiant.
"Do you often go?"
"Yes. father."
"Why?"
He was looking at me so gravely, and
he spoke so quietly. I knew he was
very angry. I thought, however, that
the boldest course was the best, so I
spoke the ptaiu truth
"Because Inez is my sweetheart."
"Your sweetheart? H'ml" and he
stared at me harder than ever
"Yes. father." I said twirling mj
tap ni my n? i vousiy, "and —and
I want to ni:i 11 y ir ."
"Oh. is that so? I. >v old are you?"
"I'm in my ciK-iiruth year."
"Quite tri:< m ,: ' if-" - - Your state
ment*, a.' e : > n'.iiv rtliable, John. It
Is your hi • : >■ I point. But 1 may re
mind : if i ; ••• ii.ue that you
celel.luted nir > ; • '!". i birtiiday
just a in.ni'.h Yoa'd forgotten
thai for tiie moment!"
"No. faiher."
"No? Well, just for the sake of argu
ment we will say you are 18. Rather
young to marry, isn't it?"
"Yes. father." I ausw. "Ed, "but"—
"Never mind the 'but,' John. You
are 100 young to marry, and that's one
point against you. llow do you pro
pose to support a wife? Pardon my
asking; it's a very pertinent question."
"1 thought perhaps that you"—
"Well, out with it. John. You thought
perhaps that I"
"That yoa would set me up in some
business."
"Good! 1 was afraid that you were
going to 'suggest that I might share
my income with you, hut I'm glad to
find that I misjudged you. Let me
see. What sort of business should you
prefer? A fisherman's? You shake
your head. A poacher? No? Well,
I'm afraid 1 can't think of anything
else for which you are suited. It is
very sad. but really I don't think you
can support a wife at present. Point
number two. John!"
"But, father"—
"Wait a minute. 1 have two more
points to urge yet. and then you can
have your say. I'oint number three—
the lady is a foreigner. Point number
four—l have other views for you. Now
let me hear what you have to urge on
your side."
"1 love Inez."
"Ah! And"—
"She loves me."
"And"—
"Nothing else."
"Well. John, they are both, no doubt,
very cogent reasons. 1 shouldn't ad
vise you to trust too much to the sec
ond. by the way. but 1 am afraid they
are not sufficient. Now, sir. listen to
me. You are nn idle, good for nothing
scamp, and from <■■ -ry side I hear
nothing but bad reports of you. You
ami your companion in mischief, Alex
ander Ireland, are a disgrace to the
town. Don .Miguel tells me that you
utterly ruined an experiment of his
which had taken months of constant
work and had cost him a large sum of
money. He had just brought it to a
successful conclusion when you caused
him to spill his precious liquid on the
floor, and he demands that 1 shall
make good the damage. What do you
say to that?"
"That you won't do it," 1 answered,
for I knew my father.
"Well, no. I don't consider that he
was engaged on lawful work, so 1 shall
refuse to pay. But that is not the
point. Your conduct is simply dis
graceful, and I have resolved to put a
stop to it. 1 have obtained a sizarship
for you at Clare Hall, Cambridge, and
you shall start off there in two days."
"But I want to go to sea," I cried.
"I choose that you shall not."
"Am I to be a parson, then ?"
"Certainly. Have you any objec
tion ?"
"1 hate the work!" 1 said sullenly.
"Oh, that's unfortunate, but I'm
afraid 4 can't alter my decision. Now
go and remember I forbid you to speak
to Don Miguel's daughter."
"But, father"—
"This discussion is at an end."
Thus it happened that two days aft
er the conversation with my father I
was on my way to Cambridge, con
demned to fit myself by hard study
for the calling of a parson.
My father was inexorable. The life,
he said, had proved a congenial one to
my ten brothers and must, therefore,
be the best for me too. I combated
*Mhut I want to go to tea," I cried.
the theory vigorously, but without pro
ducing any effect ou his uiinil, so I had
to submit and go.
My father bought me a rough little
galloway and having escorted me to
the town boundaries and seen me fair
ly started on the road to York gave me
a paternal blessing and a not too heavy
purse and then turned back home.
It was the last time I saw him, for
when years afterward 1 returned to
Whitby he was dead. lie was a good
father to me, though in those days 1
used uot to think so. But he lived by
rule himself, and so he would have
had the rest of us do the same, and
from that effort on his, part arose what
ever there \va% of trouble among us
From what I have seen in the case of
other families I should imagine that we
Vieve not in this veswt w-'
It was with a heavy heart thumping
beneath my jacket that I rode slowly
along the queen's highway. I was
separated from my sworn shipmate; 1
was going to a life that in the pros
pect I loathed, and I had not been al
lowed to see my sweetheart even to say
goodby; sufficient reasons, all of them,
for gloomy thoughts.
My meditations, however, received a
somewhat rude interruption. I had let
the reins fall on my horse's neck, and
he was jogcring along quietly with very
little guidance from me, vben the
sound of something moving in the
hedge at the side of the road made
him swerve violently to the other side
and start suddenly forward. I was
taken unprepared, and, being an un
skillful horseman at the best of times,
was deposited with more violence than
grace on my back in the middle of the
road. I lay there for a few seconds
dazed with the shaking, and when I
got up and looked about me to see
what had caused my uncomfortably
rapid dismount, there was Alec stand
ing looking at ine, with his face all
twisted up in the effort to look con
cerned, when as a matter of fact he
was shaking with laughter at my un
digaifiod maneuver.
""Hurt. Jack?" he asked at length,
with exaggerated solemnity.
"No." 1 answered shortly. "Was it
you who frightened my horse?"
"1 suppose no. but as you're not hurt
it does uot matter."
"Doesn't It? It only means that I
shall have a pretty chase before 1 catch
hi 111 again. That's uothiag. is it?"
"'Willie lias caught him." said Alec.
"Willie Ti'elialion here too?"
"Yes. Oh. Jack, you did look ridicu
lous. To see your bij;. lumbering car
cass roll over the horse's tail was a
sight for little fishes. Don't be angry,
but 1 can't help laughing."
•"Oh. pray go on." 1 answered loftily
and turned to take my horse from Wil
lie Trehalion. who had come up while
we were talking.
When 1 saw that his face, too, wore
a comically deprecating look of amuse
ment. I was just beginning to lose my
temper with them both, when the
thought of the ludicrous figure 1 must
have presented struck me forcibly. My
anger suddenly melted, and I laughed
as heartily as either of them.
"Come. Master Topp," said Willie
when we found our breath again; "bet
ter to laugh even if the joke's ag'in
yourself than to wear that glum face
you were carrying before we came an
upset your gravity. You might have
been attending your own funeral by
the look o' you."
"Did you give Inez my message?" 1
asked, turning to Alec.
"Yes. and very nev-ly fell foul of
the Spaniard in doing It."
"What did she say?"
"She cried."
"But the message. Didn't she send
me a message?" I asked impatiently.
"No." said Alec innocently. "Did
you expect one?" And then, seeing
my look of disappointment, he added
quickly: "There, Jack, I won't tease
you longer. She didn't send a mes
sage, but she did better; she gave me
a letter for you."
Now. I don't intend to tell what was
in that letter. It was the first one 1
ever received from my sweetheart, and
it kept me happy for the rest of the
Journey. Need I say more?
They waited patiently till I had fin
ished reading, and then Alec asked me
what my plans were.
"Cambridge, I suppose." I answered
ruefully.
"Parson?" he asked, with a mis-
chievous grin.
"So my father says."
"Are you quite resigned to your
fate?"
"Resigned!" 1 cried impetuously.
"No, but now that I'm separated from
Inez and you 1 don't much care."
"I am your sworn shipmate. Jack.
Don't forget that."
"I don't forget it. Alec," 1 said, tak
ing his baud.
"Pardon me; I think you do."
"How?"
"You say that we shall be sepa
rated."
"Well, so we shall. Cambridge and
Whitby are surely far enough apart."
"I'm coming with you."
"Alec! Do you mean it?" I cried in
delight.
"Never desart a sworn shipmate,
Master Topp," put in Willie Trelialion
sententiously.
"Yes. I'm coming," said Alec, "but 1
don't mean to turu parson for all that."
"Wish 1 needn't," I grumbled.
"Why need you?"
"Father's commands. What else takes
me to Cambridge?"
"Why go to Cambridge at all? 1 don't
mean to."
"What?" 1 cried. "I thought you said
you were coming with me."
"So 1 am, but not to Cambridge."
"Where, then?"
"London."
"To London! What for? 1 don't un
derstand you. Alec."
"London is a port."
"Well?"
"Ports contain ships. Ships go to sea.
We go to sea. It's simple enough.
Why, Jack, you don't mean to say you
are willing to give up our plan of a sea
faring life without a struggle."
"No," I said, "but I hadn't thought
of running away to sea."
"Why not? You'll never go in any
other way if your father is set on put
ting you into the church. Now is the
time to take our fortunes into our own
hands."
"But, Alec"—
"Will J*ou do it?"
I thought for a moment before I an
swered. A vision of the dull round of
books and lectures that was waiting
for me at Cambridge rose before my
eyes. 1 had just succeeded in throw
ing off the bondage of one schoolmas
ter, and it seemed to me that I was on
my way to put myself into the power
of seven others worse than the first.
That thought decided me. "Yes," 1
said, "1 will go with you."
Now, during this discussion 'Willie
Trehalion had been darting question
ing glances at us out of his solitary eye
and rubbing his fur cap reflectively
backward and forward on his bald
pate with his hook, a habit he had
when anything exercised his mind.
Now he spoke.
"Masters." be said, shaking his head
vigorously, "it won't do. 'Tis ten thou-
I sand shames that a lad like you,
I Master Topp. should be mad? a parson
I in never wear iron except 'o cut his
I uicat with, but don't go ag"in your fa-
ther, lad. No good ever came o' <luiu£
that. You'll be a gould hunter some
day, sure enough, an Master Ireland
here a Spaniard killer, but wait till the
proper titiie comes. Making a scholar o'
yourself 11 do you no harm, though
they do say, "Better go to sea on a Fri
day than sail under a captain as has
book learning." Seems to me, though,
that it's the man as is to blame an not
the learning, an nobody can deny that
scraps o' Latin scattered through a
bold speech'll do a lot to hearten men
up when they're down. So Willie Tre
halion's advice to you is to obey your
father's orders just now, an if you
keep up a stout heart an wait for your
chance to come to you you'll slip the
cassock an live to rob the Spaniard
yet."
This speech of Willie's was a damper
on our enthusiasm. We knew that he
was thoroughly loyal to both of us, and
his advice was on that account worth
consideration. We argued the matter
out. and in the end it was decided that
I should continue on my road to Cam
bridge. while the other two went br.ck
to Whitby. 1 promised to wait a day
or t-ivo at York, and Alec would mean
wtiiie try to get his guardian's consent
But finally, as he was short handed, he
agreed to take us.
to accompany me to Cambridge. If he
succeeded, well and good; if not, he
would still join me at York, and we
would carry out our original plan of
going to sea.
Willie demurred to this, but in the
end he agreed to the compromise. And
then we parted. He gave me to wear
round my neck a charm which he had
brought from the Barbary coast, a cer
tain preventive, he assured me, against
witchery of all kinds. Then we stood
in the road, joined hands and sang
three times the verse of Willie's sea
song:
Sail «way.
Hack away.
Plunder I IStamp with foot.]
Gather all the valuables you can, etc.
And thus we parted.
On the third day after this Alec join
ed me at York and announced that his
uncle, who was his guardian, had given
him leave to accompany me. So to
Cambridge we went, and the paternal
authority was not defied.
In the end. however, it made little
difference, because, though Alec made
good use of his opportunities for ac
quiring knowledge, 1 did nothing but
amuse myself in the town, with the re
sult that by a prolonged course of riot
ing and idleness made Clare Hall too
hot to hold me.
I had not been in Cambridge two
months when the inconvenient atten
tion of the university proctors made it
necessary for me to leave hurriedly,
and as I had to go Alec said he would
not stay either, so one night we fled,
with the proctors' men after us. We
eluded them, however, by swimming
across the river and without getting
into more than an average number of
scrapes on the road made our way to
London. Three days in this city suf
ficed to exhaust our small stock of
money, and there was only one course
left open to us. Fortunately, it was
the one we both most wished to fol
low.
In a low roofed tavern parlor in Wap
ping we entered into conversation with
a gnarled old shipmaster, whom we
found drinking strong ale with a toast
in it and crunching raw onions as
though they were aromatic sweet
meats. To him we confided our wish.
"Want to go to sea, eh?" he growled.
"Well, it's a dog's life at first and not
much better after; rancid salt pork to
eat, and not a savory morsel like this
here onion to be had for love or money;
hard work, hard knocks and scurvy;
that's what you'll get. If you're extra
strong, you may stand it; if not, better
steal a sheep and get comfortably
hanged ashore."
And so he went maundering on. But
finally, as he was short handed, he
agreed to take us as ordinary seamen,
promising promotion when we deserv
ed it.
On that very night we were entered
on the books of the brig Surrey Hills,
and our life of adventure was begun.
CHAPTER V.
The brip, Surrey Hills was engaged In
the Venetian trade and did the double
voyage twice a year. Her owner was
Master Sinimonds of the Cheap, and a
good servant she had been to him,
having fought her way backward and
forward between London and Venice
against the united forces of wind,
waves and picaroons for nearly five
and forty years, as the evidence of
many a scar on the timbers of her hull
and on the faces of her crew could
prove.
Our first voyage out was a thorough
ly prosperous one. Even the dreaded
bay of Biscay was for once as quiet as
the most timorous landsman could
have wished. Arrived at Venice, we
bartered our homely English goods for
a cargo of fine glass and iron work
from the workshops of the Water City
and for curious stuffs and perfumes
which its traders had brought from
the far lands of Ind, Araby and
Cathay.
During the voyage home, too, our
luck stuck to us. We had a fair wind
the whole way, and the words "Trim
sails, the watch!" hardly once fell on
our ears. Wonderful good fortune,
this, but it cost our captain the greater
part of his crew, who declared that
the ship was bewitched—and I was
more than half inclined to agree with
them.
This was the reason for their fears:
When we were lying at Venice, our
captain went to a Finn who dealt in
charms and for the sum of 19 ducats
bought from him that which would
raise a favoring gale. It was wrapped
in a skin case marked all over with
cabalistic designs whose meaning none
of us understood. What it contained I
cannot say, for no man on the brig
dared to risk his eyesight by gazing at
the wizard's charm after its maker
had warned him to keep aloof. But
this I know, that while that bag was
nailed to the masthead we never want
ed for a fair wind to waft us home.
Yet there- were signs that the Eye
above saw with anger the magical
device that eased us of the just labors
of sea working. Almost every night
while wf» were in the more southern
latitudes; pale blue lights would fly
down tt« us out of the darkness and
perch *rt yardarm or masthead. They
were Ccrpos Santos —holy bodies—and
we iuefl that they had come to threat
en and not so protect, for when we
greeted them \yitb a psalm they held
their places as though they did not !
hear a word of our singing.
We younger ones gazed at the onions
with wonder anil little more, but the |
older seamen were strangely disquiet- j
ed. and as soon as we dropped anchor
in the Thames and the wages had been j
paid more than 50 of them left the ship
for good. I would have followed them,
for 1 trusted to tlu'ir older experience
in such things, but Alec, as usual, ridi
culed my superstition and said he
meant to stay, so I had to stifle my j
qualms and stay too.
We were rewarded for our boldness, ]
for the captain not only appointed us
to officerships and housed us in the
after house, but undertook to teach us
all the mysteries of navigation and
seamauship. so that at the end of the
voyage we were either of us competent
to take the command of a vessel our
selves. And thus in the event it proved
that our captain's deal with the devil
was the beginning of our rapid rise in
the calling we had chosen.
We stuck to the Surrey Hills for sev
eral voyages after this, until at last we
suffered so much in a brush with a
couple of piratical rascals from Sallee
that, though we beat them off after a
tough battle, the ship was so much
knocked about that on our return home
she was pronounced unfit for another
voyage And so we were out of a
berth. Alec would have shipped from
the Thames again for foreign parts at
once, but I suggested that we should
have a little fun on shore first. We
staid a few days, therefore, in London,
and then, finding that our money was
melting much too fast, we started to
walk around the south coast of Eng
land.
After a few unimportant adventures
we arrived in time at Bristol, and there
the emptiness of our purses compelled
us to take ship once more. We got
berths ou board the Severn at Bristol,
but our vessel had not got clear of the
red waves of the Bristol channel when
—opposite Bideford if my memory
does not fail me—an accident happened
to her which gave us another step up
the ladder of fortune. Our captain
died of a stroke, and Alec, who had
been a deep sea pilot, stepped into his
shoes, and 1 became the second in com
mand. So far, at least, we could not
grumble at the way fate had treated
us.
Our cargo was a mixed one for Yigo
Bay, and after a good voyage out we
landed it there and took in Spanish
wines in return. While the lading was
going on we had plenty of time to
spend on shore, and in one of our ex
cursions we had an adventure.
A sailor is always fond of a ride on
horseback, and as Alec and I were no
exceptions to the rule we had hired a
couple of very fair mounts and went
for a ride into the country. We had
left the town about half a league be
hind us, when we met a carriage con
taining two men and a girl. One of the
men had his arm round the girl and
was holding her fast, as though to pre
vent her from jumping out, and as we
passed she gave a cry and waved her
hand to us, whereupon the man who
was holding her swore at her and call
ed to the other to whip up his horse.
"Something wrong here. Alec," I ex
claimed, but Alec had already turned
and was riding hard after him. I fol
lowed. and after a chase of about a
mile we came up with them. We whip
ped out our pistols and shouted to them
to stop or we would fire.
"Now." said Alec when they had
pulled up, "out you get, both of you."
Yielding to the eloquence of the two
cocked pistols, they obeyed.
"You with the reins, hold the horse's
head. If you move a yard farther on,
I shoot And you other scoundrel,
hand the lady out Quickly, now!"
They were unarmed or at least had
no firearms, so they had to do as they
were bid. As soon as she was out of
the carriage the lady turned and faced
the two ruffians with a defiant sneer
hovering round her mouth, and they
cowered under her glance like whipped
curs. Alec made them get in again
and drive off at once, daring them to
turn their heads as long as they were
in pistol shot.
When they were gone, we turned to
the lady for an explanation.
"How can I thank you, gentlemen?"
she exclaimed.
"Speaks English!" I muttered. "And
a pretty girl too! Wonder what those
two scoundrels were up to!"
"Madam," said Alec, with a courtly
bow, "we are only too glad to have the
good fortune to serve you. Where may
we have the pleasure of escorting
you?"
"Madam!" she laughed. "You need
not to be so ceremonious. Captain Ire
land."
Alec stared with astonishment, but I
had recognized the voice.
"Inez!" I cried in delight.
"Ah, you haven't forgotten me,
though Alec Ireland has," she said, and
I saw that she was glad.
"Forgotten you?" I cried. "No. How
could I? But I thought you were in
Whitby."
"Apparently it has not been worth
your while to inquire. I left Whitby
more than a year ago."
"I never heard it."
"Did you ask?"
I was thrown into confusion by her
question and was at a loss for a reply,
when Alec spoke for me. "We have
been at sea ever since we last saw
you," he said.
"Ah, then I forgive you!" she re
plied graciously. "But you must come
with me now to my father's house. I
don't promise that he will be pleased
to see you, but as you are my gallant
rescuers he is bound to be polite."
"Don Miguel here, too?" I asked.
"Yes," replied Inez. "You don't sup
pose I lived alone."
"No, but I thought perhaps there
was some one else," I said sadly.
Inez blushed. "Who else?" she
asked.
"Your husband!" I ventured.
"I haven't found one yet."
"Then a Whitby lad has a chance?"
"Who knows?"
And again she blushed, and I was
Just going to say something more when
Alec broke in.
"Where were those two men taking
you?" lie asked.
"I don't know," she answered, with
a shudder. "Perhaps to murder me."
"Do you know them?"
"I refused to marry one of them
the other day."
"The scoundrel!" I cried savagely.
"I wish I'd thrashed him."
"Why, Jack?" she laughed. "He's
not the only one who has asked me to
be his wife."
"Confound their impudence!" I mut
tered.
"What?" she cried mischievously. "I
seem to have recollections of some one
else's impudence, too—at Whitby, for
instance. But I suppose you have for
gotten."
"Inez," 1 replied solemnly, "you
didn't refuse me —at Whitby?"
"Didn't I? Perhaps it is 1 who have
forgotten then. But come, a truce to
this banter. Aren't you going to see
me home?"
"Of course we are," said Alec, "and
we shall be delighted to renew our ac
quaintance with Don Miguel, though
our last meeting was rather a stormy
one. if I remember rightly How is the
alchemy progressing?"
"Oh, he has given that up!"
"In favor of what?"
"Fighting He's a solilier now."
"U'm." 1 said, without thinking.
"That's an honest trade enough."
Inez laughed gayly.
"And the other is not?" she asked.
"I should not have said that."
She looked at me for a minute, with a
teasing smile playing rouud her mouth.
Then she held out her hand to me.
"Yes, Jack." she s?id sweetly; "I do
forgive you. You see, 1 am not quite
sure that you were wrong."
And then she began to speak hurried
ly of other things.
Our reception by Don Miguel was not
a cordial one. but in view of our rela
tions with him in the past it was per
haps hardly to be expected that be
would be overjoyed to see us again.
Our rescue of Inez from the hands of
the ruffians who were carrying her off
gave us, however, a claim on his grati
tude and an excuse for calling very
frequently to see how she was, and as
Inez encouraged our visits we took
every advantage of the opportunity
which chance had given us.
Inez and I had many long walks to
gether through the beautiful country
round Yigo Bay, and on those occasions
Alec always insisted on marching some
10 or 12 fathoms behind us, for my
sweetheart's beauty had won her many
admirers, who were naturally not in
clined to submit quietly to the success
of a heretical Englishman. I had found
favor where they had failed, and but
for Alec's precaution a vengeful dagger
between my ribs would in all probabil
ity have been the reward of my woo
ing.
We saw very little of Don Miguel,
but I don't think either Alec or I felt
inclined to quarrel with him on that
score. I pressed my suit with his
daughter, however, and by the time
our ship was ready for seu I had won
her consent to marry me. I wanted to
do so at once, but the Spanish padres
refused to peril their souls by celebrat
ing so unholy a union as that of a
Spaniard with a heretical Englishman,
and neither bribes nor threats would
move them.
1 li.id to set off to sea, therefore,
without my bride. But we arranged
that 1 was to come back at once to
Vigo Bay, when Inez promised to be
ready to sail back to England with
me. There we hoped the parsons would
tot be so particular.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE SOLDIER'S LIFE.
Only to stand in the red of the fray.
Only to battle for glory, you say;
Only to leap to the bright song of death,
Murrn'ring, "My countryl" with fast flecttaf
breath;
This is the life of the soldier, you dream.
Wreathed with the flag in the battle's red gleam 1
Night on the road, and the mud to his hipsl
Visions of little ones leaning with lips
Just to be kissed through the dream and desire—
Sweetheart and home hearts and love by the Are I
This is the life of a soldier, to fare
Far from the tenderness waiting him there.
Mourn on the march and the war drums ahead.
Beating the call to the battle, the tread
Of legions gone down in the ranks in the Tan.
On to the front, file by file, man by manl
Soldier, so valiant, so brave and so true,
Honor and glory to yours and to youl
Noon on the field and the battle's fierce heat
Flamed to the faces unfaltered that meet
Death in the flash of the shot and the shell.
The crash of the cannon, the red, roaring hell;
Still 'neath the folds of the flag doth he fight,
True to his country and true to the right 1-
Night on the hills, and, oh, the wide eyes
Under the shadow and grief of the skiesl
Night in the hamlets where broken hearts wait
In vain for the heroes that fought against fatel
This is the life of the soldier—some time
A wreath for a tribute, a rose snd a rhyme!
—Folger McKinsey in Baltimore News.
THE TRAIN WAS STOPPED.
And Then the Question Was Who to
Hold Responsible.
"One night last winter," 6aid a Bos
ton man, "I came up from the south
with two friends of mine. They occu
pied the stateroom, and I was lodged
in a section outside. They were In a
hot discussion before, they retired, and
one of them had finally become so
sleepy as to abandon the argument.
I turned finally, as they did, but the
man to whom the argument had been
abandoned did not seem satisfied with
the victory he had won, and when I
left them he was busily engaged In
trying to prolong the talk with his
sleepy companion.
"Shortly after I had fallen asleep I
was awakened by some confusion in
the aisle of the car. The train was at
a dead stop, and then I heard the
voice of the conductor angrily ask of
the porter, 'Now, who In thunder pull
ed that bell rope?* I had a shrewd
suspicion, but deemed it safe to lie
quiet and say nothing. Finally the
train started, and as they could not
find out who had jerked the bell rope
the car assumed its customary night
aspect Presently the stateroom door
opened and one of my friends request
ed me to step In and decide a bet. It
seems that he who was not sleepy was
trying to tell the man who was some
thing to which the sleepy one refused
to listen on the ground that the noise
of the car wheels made It impossible
for him to hear. The other man
promptly rang the bell and stopped
the train, as has already been told.
"The bet of SSO was as to who was
responsible for stopping the train. The
sleepy one said the wide awake one,
because he had pulled the bell rope.
The wide awake one said it was the
sleepy one, because he had averred
that he could not hear what was said
to him because of the rumbling of the
train, which naturally led to the train
being stopped. I decided in favor of
the wide awake man, which effectually
waked the other up also. Which would
you have decided In favor of?" —New
York Tribune.
FUN FROM YONKERS.
Some Pithy Paragraphs Calcnl»ted
to Amuse Ton.
Spriggs— Bluffern's clothes are all
torn.
Griggs—He must have been doing the
town.
Spriggs—Not at all.
Griggs—Well, then, he was out on a
tear.
"1 know a man who always does ev
erything right."
"Oh, nonsense!"
"Well, he has no left hand."
Smith—Those joke writers must be
put to an awful strain sometimes for
subjects.
Brown—Yes; that's when they're at
their wits' end.
"When those cats congregate out on
my back fence and start to yowl at
night, I drop a pot of hot water down
on them."
"That's a sort of concert pitch."
The Editor—That new scribe we've
got is said to be a novel writer.
The Copy Holder—You bet he is. I
haven't found one good sentence In his
work yet
! Griggs—All those young women in that
circus performance last night were as
pretty as pictures.
Briggs—Then it must have been a
, living picture show.
No. 4o
ORCHARD POLLINATION.
Thins* the Commercial Fruit Gro*r«
er Wants to Know.
Self sterility Is not a constant char
acter with any variety of fruit. Thus
Bartlett and Kieffer pears are often
self sterile, but there are orchards of
both which are self fertile. The same
may be said of many other varieties.
No one can separate varieties of fruit
SECKEL PEARS.
[From Kieffer pollen above, from LawTence pollen
below. ]
into two definite classes, the self ster
ile and the self fertile. The best that
can be done is to give a list of those
varieties which tend to be more or less
self sterile and which It would be un
safe to plant alone.
Following is a conservative list of
these risky varieties drawn both from
experimental work ftnd from the re
ports of over 500 fruit growers: Pears—
Angouleme (Duchess), Bartlett, Clapp,
Idaho, Kieffer and Nelis. Apples—
Bellflower, Primate, Spitzenburg, Wil
low Twig and Winesap. Plums—Coe
Golden Drop, French Prune, Italian
Prune, Kelsey, Marianna, Miner, Ogon,
Peach, Satsuma, Wild Goose and, ac
cording to Waugh and Kerr, all other
varieties of native plums except Rob
inson. Peach —Susquehanna. Apricot
—White Nicholas. Cherries—Napoleon,
Belle de Choisy and Relne Hortense.
Most of these varieties are self fertile
in some places, but the weight of evi
dence shows them to be uncertain.
It must not be inferred that all other
varieties are always able to set fruit
when planted alone. There are some,
however, which have exceptionally
good records for " fruitfulness when
planted in solid blocks, other condi
tions being favorable. Among these
are: Apples—Baldwin, Ben Davis, Fal
lawater, Janet, Oldenburg, Rhode Is
land Greening, Red Astrakhan and
Smith Cider. Plums—Burbank, Brad
shaw, DeSoto, Green Gage, Lombard,
Robinson and some of the common
blue Damsons.
The foregoing statements are made
by Professor Fletcher of Cornell in dis
cussing pollination of orchards In a
bulletin (181) which will find its great
est usefulness among commercial fruit
growers. Professor Fletcher further
says: Let us suppose we Intend to plant
a large block of an uncertain variety
such as Kieffer. There are two points
to be considered when selecting a pol
lenizer for Kieffer or any other self
sterile variety. These are simultaneous
blooming and mutual affinity. Com
mon orchard practice has shown that
the European pears, as Bartlett and
the sand pear hybrids, as Kieffer, will
fertilize each other regularly when
they bloom together.
Some varieties will not fertilize each
other, though blossoming at the same
time. Kerr has found that Whitaker
plum will not fertilize Wild Goose, nor
will Early Red help Caddo Chief.
Again, the pollen of some varieties will
give better fruit than that of others
when used on the pistils of self sterile
or even self fertile varieties. The first
cut shows the comparative size of
Seckel when pollinated with Kieffer
and with Lawrence pollen. Clapp-pol
linated with Kieffer was also larger
than Clapp pollinated with Lawrence
or Louise Bonne. Bartletts crossed
with Angouleme were larger than Bart
letts crossed with Sheldon. In some
cases no difference could be noticed,
yet most of our standard commercial
LOXQ FIELD APPLES."
[From Greening pollen below, from Longfield
pollen above. Marked benefit from croM pollina
tion.]
varieties will be likely to yield enough
better fruit when planted with some
varieties than with others to make a
Itudy of this point worth the while.
Some of the combinations which have
been very successful In commercial or
chards are: Bartlett, with Nells, Flem
ish Beauty, Easter, White Doyenne;
Idaho, with Bartlett; Kieffer, with Le
Comte, Garber; Coe Golden Drop, with
French Prune, Green Gage, Italian
Prune (Fellenburg); Satsuma, with
Abundance, Burbank, Red June; Min
er, with De Soto, Forest Rose, Wild
Goose; Wild Goose, with De Soto, New
man, Miner.
Corn That Mixed.
In my garden 1 grew black sweet
corn on the same plot for three years,
and the following season (the fourth),
I dug it over and planted pure white
sweet corn, and the resulting crop had
black and white kernels on the ears,
says a New Jersey gardener.
Fortune.
The occasion being opportune, we
venture to voice a thought which has
long been near our heart.
"Why is It," we ask, "that as be
tween a drunken man and a sober man
the former is the less likely to be hurt
In an accident?"
The inebriate smiled engagingly.
"Because," he said, "fortune favors
the bowled!"
And this positively, as If the dictum
admitted of no doubt whatever.—De
troit Journal.
Working In Her Own Time.
"It took my servant two hours today
to clear up the lunch dishes," said the
lady who was dining out. "Your girl's
a jewel. She has the dinner dishes all
washed, and It's scarcely 15 minutes
since we finished."
"Yes," said Mrs. Ilauskeep; "she's
got this evening off." Philadelphia
Press.
What She Said.
Ilusband-Didn't you tell that cook I
wanted my breakfast right on the min
ute?
Wife—l did.
"And what did she say?"
"She said that we all have our disap
pointments."—Life.