tated inside.
—
THE TOYS OF
YESTERYEAR.
Pray, where are the toys of the Yester-
The jumpingjack with its flaring red,
The fuzey dog and the antlered deer,
The drum with Its sticks and tuneful
a
The Noah's ark with Its wooden crew,
The bullding blocks with the letters on?
The child has toys that are bright and
new,
But, where, pray where, have the old
friends gone?
Somewhere in the attic in corner dark
The jumping jack and the split drum ile,
wooden crew of the Noah's ark
And the tin of the battered infantry.
There, half by the rubbish and dust com
cealed,
The fuzzy dog and the wooden deer,
The building blocks with their colors
pee
Half off; and the stringless top is here,
Pray, where are the toys of the Yeater
V
year,
The gaudy dreams with their colors gay,
The castled hopes that were passing dear,
The joys of our boyhood's merry lay?
The man has toys that are bright aud
new,
On the wreck of dreams new dreams up-
rear,
But where are the hopes of the flaring
hue
That were our toys of the Yesteryear?
Somewhere In the darkness the dead
dreams fade,
The broken idol and shattered vase,
The castled hopes in their ruins lald
Come here to a common trysing place.
Half hid by the rubbish and dust of days
The wrecks of unnumbered dreams are
here
That made us glad in a hundred ways,
And these ave the toys of the Yeste~
year,
Collier's Weekly.
A FUSS, AND
RUAN RNNL RL RARE aaNet nas
By HADDIE 'T"MAHON. i
RERRRRREREREREREEARERRERRERRERRRNNRENRRNRNR
THE RESULT.
It was a spring day, not an ideal,
but a real one, with a bitter penetrat-
ing wind that would have done credit
to a day in midwinter. The usual ro-
with much rubbing of hands and
stamping of feet, that it was ‘“‘fine,
healthy weather,” and Cynthia Des-
~ mond regarded him wrathfully as she
passed him at the entrance to the
London railroad station. A good day
for a brisk country walk, but decided-
ly not one on which to undertake a
three hours’ railway journey without
even a stop to get a hot cup of tea.
With this dismal project before her,
Cynthia was not exactly in the best
of tempers. She was not miserable of
course—that would be too absurd—but
things in general were inclined to be
irritating.
Despite the fur-lined travelling coat,
which reached almost to the end of her
short skirt, she gave a little shiver as,
dressing case in hand, she crossed
the deserted platform and stepped into
an empty car in the waiting train.
‘And to think,” she said, planting
her dressing case on the seat beside
ker, burying her hands in a huge fur
wuff, and addressing her sister who |
stood at the car door, “that it is all
through that abominable Miles that I
am to freeze in this car by myseli
for three mortal hours; and, worst of
all, leave home for a month or more
and miss the Altons’ dance and all the
“It is horrible,” agreed Dolly Des-
mond, sympathetically. Truth to tell,
Dolly was of the opinion that the “‘abo-
minable Miles” in question had an
equal right to apply the adjective to
Cynthia, for in their recent quarrel
there had certainly been “six of one
and half a dozen of the other.” “Bat,”
she went on, soothingly, ‘though it
won't be the same as being at home,
you are sure to have a good time with
Bdith”"—the married sister to whom
Oynthia was going. “And you know
you said that to stay here now would
_ be unbearable.”
“So it would,” declared Cynthia. |
“The further away I am from Miles
the easier I shall find it to cultivate a
‘spirit of peace and thankfulness.”
“I think he might have gone away
for a while under the circumstances.”
remarked her sister.
“Perhaps he couldn't get away just
now,” said Cynthia quickly, unwilling,
woman-like, that anyone but herself
- should abuse the man she loved or
had loved—she put it in the past tense |
now,
“Perhaps not,” agreed Dolly, who,
wise in her gengration, knew that to
agree with Cynthia in her present
mood was worse than useless. “Good-
by, darling. You'll be off in a minute
@now.”
“Goodby!” answered Cynthia, a little
tearfully, leaning out of the window
for a farewell kiss. “Take care of
mother and keep the boys in order and
enjoy yourself, and don’t, don’t be
gilly enough to get engaged to any
man, be he angel in masculine form!”
“At present,” laughed Dolly,
: playing all her dimples, “no one seems
eager to tempt me from the chaste
paths where I wander ‘in maiden
meditation, fancy free,’ but should any
daring person so endeavor I'll remem-
Por your warning.”
She stepped back from the edge oi
the platform, there was the usual
amount of shouting, and the train be-
gan to move. Suddenly there was a
desperate rush, the door of the com-
partment was violently wrenched
open, and a young man was precipi-
dis-
“] beg ydur pardon,” he gasped
rather breathlessly, dropping into the
seat opposite her. He recovered him-
golf, took off his cap and flung it on
the seat beside him, took a glance at
the slight figure opposite, and realized
blandly that he was sitting facing the
girl who, a few days ago, had given
him back, with the fervently expressed
wish that she might never see him
again, the ring he had with such tender
* triumph placed on her finger only six
months before, the little ring that was
resting against his heart now.
“I need hardly say,” he remarked,
stiffly, supplementing his former apo-
logy, as he met the haughty gaze direct-
ed at him through the white automo-
bile veil which was swathed around
her hat and tied beneath her small,
determined chin, “that I am as an-
noyed as you ca be at this unfortu-
nate accident. Of course you quite un-
derstand that it was not my fault?”
“I suppose not,” with icy ungraci-
ousness.
“You could hardly suppose,” he went
on, indignantly, a slight angry flush
A or , How unkind
er fun!” | ;
| never attain.
rising on bis cheeks, “that I should
seek a three hours’
you."
tete-a-tete with
“Certainly I should say it would be
| the last punishment for our sins that
bust old gentleman—which of us does | either of us would choose.” was Miss
not know him?—was telling his friends |
Desmond's soothing reply; after which,
taking up the magazine with which
she was supplied, she became appar-
ently immersed in its contents, and ob-
livious of the fact that the world,
much less the small railroad compart-
ment in which she was sitting, con-
tained such a person as Miles Ovenden.
Pulling a newspaper out of his pock-
et, with a certain suppressed vicious-
ness—a man's feelings are never under
such good control as a woman’'s—he
followed her example.
Half an hour passed slowly by, and
then Cynthia moved her book a quar-
ter of an inch to one side and took
a surreptitious peep at the faultlessly
clothed length of limb and clean-
shaven, resolute young face opposite.
What a detestable, bad-tempered fel-
low he was, but how good to look at.
She had always been proudly confident
that her Miles was beyond comparison
with any other man. Her Miles! A
little pain shot through her heart as
she remembered that he was her Miles
no longer, and she went back to her
book with a small, weary shiver. It
was getting colder. Engrossed as he
apparently was in his paper, Miles
noticed that shiver—he knew Cynthia's
horror of and suffering from the cold.
and sarcastic she had
been; a man can stand almost any-
thing from a woman better than sar-
casm; but how like a flower was her
small, haughty face rising out of its
frame of rich furs. How sweet was
the shadowy droop of those long
lashes, how bright the gleam of the
waves of hair that showed between the
folds of the now turned-up veil. From
her dainty shod foot and slender ankle
to the topmast wave of the veil she
was perfect, with the inimitable grace
and style which some girls possess and
which others, though their dress al-
lowance be three times as large, can
He did not like automo-
hile veils—at least he used to think
be did not—but Cynthia, Cynthia was
different from all other women; she
would look exquisite in a sack, and
how could he ever have been fool
enough to think, much less to say,
automobile veils did not suit her.
That had been the beginning of this
miserable quarrel—such a silly, sim-
ple thing to wreck two lives. He had,
with all a man’s tactlessness, called
her veil a ‘‘horrid-looking arrange-
ment,” when she, as Dolly said, “rath-
er fancied herself in it.” She had re-
plied with the obvious home truth that
at any rate, it was fashionable and
respectable, which was more than
could be said of a certain disreputable
old brown ceat beloved of Miles’ soul,
but the bane of her life; to which he
had injudiciously made answer that
women never could understand the
possibility of a thing's being fashiona-
ble and unbecoming. Cynthia then
expressed her surprise that he had been
folish enough to propose to her, seeing
that nothing she ever did, said or wore
sleased him-—a remark decidedly un-
just and untrue. And he retorted that
the same idea occurred to him with
regard to her acceptance of his pro-
posal. After which things went from
had to worse, until Cynthia found her-
self walking away with head held high
and a vivid spot of carmine blazing
on each cheek through the white gauze
of the luckless automobile veil, and
Miles, left alone, gazed blankly at the
small ring lying on his palm, and tried
to realize what had gappened.
And thus it had come to pass that
both these young people were flying
from each other, the vision of the
blissful “lived happily ever after,” to
which they had looked forward with
such glad confidence, receding from
both with equal rapidity.
How foolish and childish it all seem-
ed now. His eyes travelled to Cyn-
thia’s small left hand, and noted with
a sense of loss and hopelessness, the
forlorn little wrinkle in the third
finger of her gray glove that marked
where her ring had made a bulge, a
bulge that he had often fondly kissed.
Involuntarily she shivered again and
decided that she could not bear the
cold much longer.
“You are cold,” he said, his pity
for her evident suffering and the over-
whelming desire to do something for
her, making him speak. “Won't you
take my rug?’
“Thank you,” she answered, in a
tone that was as cold as her small
hands, “I would rather not.”
Angrily rewrapping himself in the
rejected rug, he told himself that he
was a fool to lay himself open to an-
other snub, and decided *"4t she might
’
freeze now before he would speak
again,
For a while they read on in siisnce;
then, dropping her paper, she pushed
both hands into her muff and lifted it
up to her face, pressing the warm fur
against her cheek as she leaned one el-
low on the window ledge and gazed out
at the flying flelds and hedgerows, It
was getting darker too, The shadows
that, when they started had been so
clearly defined on the vivid emerald of
the fields, were all merging now into
the soft dusk that crept over the land.
The twilight shadows were, she
knew, creeping, too, Into Miles’ gray-
blue eyes, darkening them in tho way
she knew so well. The winter sun-
shine no longer touched with bright
ness the close waves of his well
groomed head.
Against her will, she turned her
head and looking at him, but meeting
his eyes, looked away swiftly, and be-
gan nervously to pull off her gloves
and chafe her hands. How cold it
was! She wished now that she had
accepted the rug. When one is half
petrified, one's pride is at a low ebb.
“Cynthia,” he burst out, flinging
down his paper, all his bitter resolu-
tions not proof against the sight of
her silent misery. “I wish I could do
something for you!”
At that moment there flashed into
both their minds the remembrance
of the last time she had complained
of the cold, when he had taken her
into his warm arms and kissed and
chafed her hands, and as their eyes
met each knew the other's thought.
“Cynthia,” he said again, softly,
passionately, leaning across her
eagerly, “do you remember?”
“I remember nothing,” she answer-
ed, with a haughtiness that was but
the veil of her utter weakness.
“You are right,” he agreed, drawing
back quickly, “it is not worth re-
membering!"¥
Her eyes were full of tears as she
turned over the pages of the maga-
zine she was beginning to hate. She
had read every bit of it. No, here was
something she had not noticed before.
only a little verse of Omar Khay-
yam’'s:
“If in this Shadowland of Life thou
hast
Found one true heart to love thee,
hold it fast;
Love it again, give all to keep it
thine—
For Love, like nothing in the world,
can last.”
It was the last straw. All the pent-
up love and misery in her heart
welled up and brought the tears to her
eves again, but she squared her small
chin and turned a few more pages in-
differently. He should not see that
she cared. She noticed that he had
finished his paper, and resolving not
to be outdone in stiff politeness, to
show him that she could trust her-
self to talk easily to him, she offer-
ed him her magazine in exchange.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting
the offer and opening the magazine
at the page where Omar's verse was
marked by a big tear drop. Cynthia
had been crying. He read the beauti-
ful words, then looked across at her
with his whole “true heart” in his
eyes,
“Surely,” she cried, miserably,
must be nearly there?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered al-
most apologetically, his thoughts go-
ing back to the time when an entern-
ity alone together would have seemed
but as five minutes of bliss. “We"—
@onsulting his watch—"have an hour
and a half vet.”
“we
“Your watch has stopped she in-
sisted, irritably. “I'm sure you could
see the lights of X—— if you looked
out.”
“I'll try, if you like,” he said, good-
naturedly; and, raising the window,
he put his head out into the darkness.
“No,” he affirmed, “I cannot see
them.” He drew his head in sud-
denly, and, pulling down the window
again, sat down with one hand
pressed to his eye, the acute agony
caused by a speck of coal dust on the
pupil making the tears course down
his face.
Cynthia watched him for a moment
doubtfully; then her pride went down
before the pity and motherliness
which, at the sight of a man or child
in pain, wells up in a woman's heart,
and she crossed to his side, producing
a cobweb of a handkerchief.
“Miles,” she said softly, shyly
placing one small, cold hand on his
forehead, “let me get it oui for you.
Look up!”—as he moved his hand
from the injured eve. “Yes, I see it.
Now keep quite still. There!” "—tri-
umphantly bringing forth the speck
on the peint of the fragile handker-
chief—"it's out!”
“Thank you, dear he said, with
tender passion, catching and keeping
her two hands, handkerchief and all.
“No, I will not let you go, Cynthia—
my Cynthia!”
“No,” she contradicted, with lips
that were a little tremulous, looking
down at the bare third finger of her
left hand—'not now.”
“Yes,” he insisted, bringing forth
from its hiding place the little ring
she had so scornfully flung back to
him, and slipping it on—"now, and al-
ways, Cynthia” — pleadingly — ‘you
will forgive me, and always wear any
dearned veil you please!”
“Miles,” she answered, softly, as his
arms went round her, “you will for-
give me, and wear your old brown
coat whenever you wish?”
The express rattled on, and the twy,
settled so cosily in the corner of one
of its cars, were very silent for a
1
while.
“Are you warmn, now, sweet-
heart?’ asked Miles, tenderly, after
a little.
dreadfully quickly the train Is going
now, Miles!”
“Too quickly,” he agreed, ruefully.
“Never mind,” she said. “Tomor
row I will explain to Edith, and you
can settle with the friends you in-
tended visiting, and we will go back
and spend the whole long, happy
spring and summer together.”
“Oh, Cynthia!” he breathed, with
awed, boyish gladness—"this and
every future spring and summer and
winter, until the end of life!”
“And after,” she supplemented,
softly.
“And,” he repeated, earnestly,
reverently, “God helping me and you,
my good angel, beside me, after’
New York Weekly.
A WOULD-BE OTHELLO.
Angry Moor Tries to Put His Harem
To Death.
According to the Figaro of Paris the
French government finds itself face
to face with a new phase of the
Moroccan question.
When a few months ago a Tangier
merchant went to Paris he took with
him three of his prettiest wives and
a native servant as chaperon. He es-
tablished himself in a flat on the Left
Bank of the Seine, and at once set
out to see the city. The harem fin-
ally became weary with solitude, and
by the aid of the servant procured
European costumes and set out to see
the sights on its own account. Mo-
hammed Ben Ferma, the husband,
however, discovered the truth and be-
came angry.
In order to prevent a repetition of
the escapade ke took away from his
wives their European clothes and had
an iron-barred cage fitted up in one
of the rooms in which he placed his
wives when he went out. Again the
servant betrayed his trust; for 20
francs a locksmith furnished a dupli-
cate key, and once more the three
members of the harem enjoyed their
liberty. But it was not to last.
One night Mohammed returned to
the flat earlier than usual and found
the cage empty. He awaited his
wives’ return. When they came in
he proceeded to try them according
to the law of the “Koran,” and sen-
tenced them to death. Suddenly the
neighborhood was aroused by awful
screams.
When the police burst into the flat
they found Mohammed preparing to
bowstring his wives. He was annoyed
at being interrupted and turned upon
the rescuers, fighting like mad. It
took six policemen to subdue him.
He is now in prison. The authorities
are wondering what to do with the
harem.
QUAINT AND CURIOUS.
The name “whiskers” is applied to
feathery crystals which gather upon
the outside of the wrapping of frozen
dynamite. The “whiskers” are more
“irritable” than dynamite itself.
Some one has been speculating
about the importance of salt to eivili-
zation. The oldest trade routes are
said to have been opened for salt
traffic. Salt determines to a considera-
ble extent the distribution of man. He
was forced to settle down where he
could obtain it.
A market has just been opened in
Paris where the hair of famous per-
sonages is on sale. One may examine
there and buy locks from the heads
of royal, military, political and lite-
rary notabilities. As regards the de-
gree of estimation in which various
notabilities of past times are held,
Nelson is easily first.
From Nottingham, England, comes
the description of a telephone appara-
tus designed to obviate possibility of
decease transmission by the usual
mouthpiece. The construction is such
that the mouthpiece is omitted alto-
gether, and the receiving and trans-
mitting apparatus is combined in a
small metal case, shaped like a watch.
There is some merriment in the Eng-
lish papers over John Burns’ “bowler”
hat. Mr. Burns, heing a laborer and
friend of laborers, shies at a silk hat,
and there is consternation at the
thought that he may wear the pro-
fane thing to the ministerial bench or
the House of Commons. Hopeful
spirits suggest that he may wear it
to the House, but enter the chamber
hatless.
Of coincidences in names a corres-
pondent of a london paper instances
the following examples: There was a
household in Clifton in which there
were in domestic service Mrs. Pidgeon
(cook), Mrs. Partridge (lady's maid)
and Mrs. Howke (charwoman). But
that is trifling compared to the case
of the old chapel at Faversham, where
the Rev. H. J. Rook used to officiate;
Sparrow and Cuckoo were the names
of the deacons in his time, Mrs. Martin
was the chapel keeper. Mr. Lark, Miss
Crow and Miss Nightingale were mem-
bers of the congregation, and the chap-
el was and is, situated in Partridge
lane. At a dinner given by a New
York hostess a few years ago were a
Miss Fish, a Mrs. Waters and a Miss
Brooks, the latter being the noted
sculptor in butter.
Encouraged the Lawyer.
A few years ago George F. Haley, of
Biddeford, was trying his first crimi-
nal case before the Supreme Judicial
Court of Maine, with Chief Justice
John A. Peters on the bench. Mr. Ha-
ley was in the middle of his plea when
2 man in the audience fell over in a
convulsion. The young lawyer stopped,
A CIGAR-SMOKING MA-
CHINE.
DEVICE TO TEST VALUE OF VA:
RIOUS KINDS OF LEAF.
Department of Agriculture Conduct.
ing Interesting Experiments with a
View to Developing Plants Especial-
ly Suited for Cigar Manufacture.
The department of agriculture has
undertaken a task worthy of its vast
organization and complex machinery;
a job that will tax to the utmost the
attainments of the scientists who
have been assigned to it, writes the
Washington correspondent of the
New York Post. The endeavor is
nothing less than the propagaton of
a superlative domestic tobacco, which
may be grown in Texas, Ohio, Connec-
ticut, or South Carolina, and made up
into cigars that the poor in purse may
smoke without being guilty of a mis-
demeanor. Unwilling to endanger
the health and lives of the experts
engaged. in the inquiry, an inventive
genius in the department has con-
trived a cigar smoking machine, in
which the consumption of the experi-
mental cigars may be observed with-
out personal risk. Comparative rec-
ords of the various grades of tobacco
can now be made with absolute safe-
ty. Representatives Longworth and
Grosvenor of Ohio have borne wit-
ness on the floor of the house concern-
ing the quality and dangers of Phil-
ippime cigars. By the presentation of
a box of one hundred Manila cigars
to his colleague, Mr. Vreeland, Mr.
Grosvenor converted the New York
representative to his manner of think-
ing. Mr. Vreeland still has ninety
nine of the cigars to present to doubt-
ers.
The cigar smoking machine at the
department of agriculture consists of
simple glass tubes of graduated
lengths arranged with openings into
which cigars areplaced,one above the
other, so that when burning each one
is subject to the same external condi-
tions. The other end of each tube
runs into a bottle containing dilute
sulphuric acid, which takes up obnox-
ious fumes from the outlet. At some
little distance is an aspirator which
automatically fills with water. When
filled a syphon begins to draw off the
water. A check valve is provided to
aspirator is filling. This prevents a
back draft upon the cigars which the
machine is “smoking.” The syphon
attachment is so arranged as to re-
quire thirty seconds for filling the re-
ceptacle and ten second for emptying
it. This results in simulating, very
er’s habit, making a ten-second éaw
through the cigar and a half minute
intermission between the puffs.
These exveriments have heen con-
ducted under direction of Prof. B. T.
Galloway, chief of the bureau of
plant industry, while the machine it-
self is the work of Dr. W. W. Garuer,
an assistant in plant breeding in that
bureau. He conceived
employing the regular flow of a small
stream of water through connecting
tubes by which operation air would
be drawn through the cigars just as
is done by a smoker. In the develop-
ment of this plan he noted every de-
tail effecting the three component
parts of a cigar—filler, binder and
wrapper—and determined to discover
by scientific means just what infiu-
ence each has on a cigar’s value to
the smoker. To make complete rec-
ord of his work, Dr. Garner studies
not only the rapidity of burning, but
the character of the ash and the even-
ness of the progress of combustion.
Each cicar is labeled and numbered,
and the renort of the investigations
gives every detail of the characteris-
tics it has developed in the test.
One series of exveriments recently
completed was made with twelve ci
gars, all alike in their outside cover
of wrapner and binder, and with the
filler alone, respectively, of Cuban,
Texgs, Ohio and South Carolina to-
bacco. All had the same test. The
Cuban filler produced an even burn
others were erratie, the last-named
producing the most uneven burn.
Through the arrangement of the
tubes in graduated lengths, the heat
arising from one burning cigar cannot
affect the combustion of the cicar in
any other tube.
time to discover the shape of the ash
and its_texture, and to keep
ord of this photographs were taken
before the cigar butts were removed
from the smoking machine.
Speaking of the experiments, Dr.
Galloway said:
“Types of tobacco vary greatly on
the same soil. This is especially true
of wrapper tobacco. In order to de-
termine definitely the quality of leaf
to grow to obtain the same type in
succeeding - years we have all the
strains marked by numbers, and keep
a record of the period of growth, the
results of handling in barns, where it
is cured by the sweating process, the
fermentation which gives it its aroma,,
and all such items of interest to the
tobacco producer and scientist. As
the final test we make use of this
machine, which smokes five cigars at
a time, watch accurately the burn of
cach specimen, and if it is good, save
the seed of the nlant listed under
that particular number, put it out
next year, and develop that strain un-
der the best conditions.
“If there is too much lime in the
soil it results in producing a tobacco
which would be distinguished in the
finished cigar by a scaling ash. Then
disconcerted.
“Go on, sir, go on,” said the chief
justice; “yow're giving them fits!” !
“Yes,” she whispeyed happily. “How
again some wranpers will not burn at
all. These we call asbestos wrappers,
prevent air from escaping while the |
accurately, the human tobacco smok- |
the idea of |
on each of the three cigars, while the |
Another test was made at the same |
the rec- |
further growing, but are cast aside
in favor of the plant which has shown
better characterisites, When we find
back to its ancestry, and grow all we
can of that type the next season. This
we keep repeating from year to year
until we get the best kind of tobacco
for cigarmaking purposes.”
“Do you find any ‘black sheep’ in
the tobacco ancestry when you make
these inquiries?”
“Yes, at first a large percent are
black sheep,” replied Dr. Galloway,
| “but we get rid of them without de-
vlay. As the work progresses we get
from 856 to 90 percent true to type. As
a general thing the good specimens
can be developed in three or four
years, if the seed is grown under bag,
80 as to prevent contamination from
other plants of less worthy character-
tistics, When we have developed a
| plant of this sort, we find that it has
a uniform tendency, while others that
have not been specially cultivated
show other defects when put into the
testing machine, Sometimes there
is a lack of balance in the chemical
constituents, in both wrapper and
filler, of the cigars tested, but by
combining the materials in all possi-
ble ways, we can readily determine
the weak part which requires
strengthening in order to bring the
species up to the highest standard.”
The department has Leen endeavor-
ing to make its investigations suffi-
ciently broad to interest growers of
tobacco in various parts of the coun-
try, and has sent out its experts to
give lectures and hold experiments in
tobacco-growing regions. The results
of these experiments are soon to be
made known in the publications of
the department, and at that time a
full technical description of the cigar-
smoking machine will probably be
ircluded.
PONY TREES A BEAR.
Hunting Experiences of a Young Ore
gon Woman.
Bear stories by the thousand have
been told by Oregon hunters, but it
has remained for a little Portland wo-
man to tell one that eclipses all of
them.
Miss Jennie McLanahan, who re-
sides at 275 Benton street, spends her
| summer months in the mountains be-
| tween White Salmon and Trout Lake,
in which ‘region her parents own a
large ranch. During the warm weath-
| er Miss McLanahan hunts for all man-
ner of game. She is an expert rifle
shot, and is also adept with revolver
and shotgun. Her constant companion
on these hunting trips is a little pony
| named Billie. And Billie is the hero
| of this bear story.
One afternoon last summer, while
| riding along a mountain trail, Miss
| McLanahan shot a grouse. The bird
sailed off into the brush before fall-
lirg. Quickly dismounting from the
i pony, she started to look for the bird.
| She had proceeded but a few yards
{ when a large black bear stepped out
into the trail just a little in front of
| Billie.
The pony sniffed a minute, then
| started helter-skelter down the trail
| after the bear. Bruin made a run for
shelter, but finding that the pony was
gaining on him ran for a nearby tres
{ and climbed among its branches, The
| pony waited underneath the tree until
| Miss McLanahan ran up and killed the
| bear. She had watched the whole af-
| fair, but had been unable to shoof be-
| cause the pony was between her and
| the fleeing bear. That bear weighed
| 600 pounds, being the largest killed hy
her last season.
Miss MclLanahan can skin and clean
her own game, and has many Land-
i some rugs and furs. In the time she
| spent around the McLanahan ranch
lest summer she killed two bears, twe
deer, five wildcats, 20 wolves and four
rattlers, each having thirteen rattles
and a button, besides many smaller
snakes of this species.
One of the big rattlers nearly put an
end to Miss MclLanahan's hunting. She
was searching through the underbrush
for grouse, when she accidentally step-
ped on the snake. It struck at her
and buried its fangs deep into the
heavy hunting skirt she was wearing,
| but before the snake had time to coil
| again she had beaten it to death with
the butt of her rifle.
| On her hunting trips Miss McLana-
han generally carries a .30 calibre rifle,
a revolver and a bowie knife. She has
trained Billie so that she can shoot
him stand while she dismounts and
| stalks game—that is, Billie will stand
| still while left alone if no bears are
in sight. Billie was purchased several
years ago by the huntswoman from a
herd of wild cayuses. She spent weeks
in breaking him and had several hard
falls before she succeeded. —Portland
Journay.
Nobody interfered.
Ex-President Cleveland, says the
Boston Herald, used to fish and shoot
in the Barnegat Bay district. John
Camburn, a guide, says that one cold.
wet night Mr. Cleveland got lost. He
wandered through the rain and dark-
ness, trying to find his party, but not a
house could he see, nor a light, nor a
road.
Finally he struck a narrow lane, and
in due course a house appeared. It was
not late. Mr. Cleveland was cold an(l
tired. He thought he could go no
farther, so he banged at the door
till a window on the second floor went
up and a gruff voice said:
“Who are you?”
“A friend,” said Mr. Cleveland.
“What do you want?”
“I want to stay here all night.”
“Stay there, then.”
And the window descended with a
bang, and Mr. Cleveland shouldered
his gun again and wearily resumed his
journey.
and of course they are not kept for
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from his back while riding, can make
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