Newspaper Page Text
It was a dingy, uninviting place, but
the centre of interest twice each day.
This railroad station consisted of a
narrow platform small house,
where the station agent, telegraph
operator and baggage master, ail in
one, had his offices. Dust and sand
lay all around. The long road twisted
its way into town and contrasted un
favorably with the straight, smooth,
shining rails that led up and down
from the platform, as true as an ar
row, until they met in a tiny point,
one where the sun rose everv morn
ing. and the other just where it
dropped beyond the horizon in a ball
of fire each night.
Once in a while the telegraph instru
ment, half hidden behind the desk
and a strong wire screen clicked hesi
tatingly, and then ran on in n chatter
ing sort of way that was friendly, even
if one did not understand what it
meant.
Seated on the settee near the open
door were two persons. One "'as a
youth of perhaps 18 summers, tall for
his age. and his face, neck and arms
tanned to Indian hue. He was as strong
as an ox in build. His head was
crowned with a shock of sandy red
hair, and his clothes were old and
ragged. His face wore a placid ex
pression except when he spoke; then
his eyes brightened, and they grew as
keen as a squirrel’s. He sat watching
the ticker behind the wire screen,
chewing a straw, while his companion,
a girl of 16, looked from the open win
dow up the track, expectantly.
Soon there came to their ears the
familiar sound that creeps along the
rails, growing louder and louder until
it beats a rhythm. It was the signal
of the approaching train, and both
arose and went out on the platform.
The girl was well formed, but poorly
clad; her face told a tale of hardships
and suffering, yet the features were
good.
The engine passed with steam es
caping and brakes grinding, and at
last stopped short just beyond the
roadway, puffing r.s though exhausted
with its long run. It was a good sized
train, composed of freight and passen
ger coaches. Toward the latter the
youth and girl made their way.
“Do yer see him?” asked the girl,
and the hand that held her brother’s
trembled.
“No, I don’t an’ I won't believe in
him till I do. either,” he replied.
There were but few that alighted
‘rom the train. One was a stranger,
t was easy to discern by his eastern
appearance. Three or four were citi
zens returning from a trip to the next
own 40 miles up the line. There was
mother, and on one at first seemed to
notice him. He was not exactly a
tranger, if appearances counted for
mythlng. His manner was peculiar,
lis whole make-up was shifty. His
yes were restless and his gait was
mlting. He glanced from left to right,
hitting his gaze quickly from one to
nother, as though trying to fathom
ust how far he might walk down that
latform without being stopped. It
vas plain to see that he was anxious
o get away from the crowd.
The girl saw him first, and broke
rom her companion with a glad cry.
•he went straight up to the stranger,
nd placed her hand gently on his
rm.
“Is this dad?” she said.
He started like a frightened animal,
lis grizzled face turned paie for a mo
nent, then he found his voice.
“Reckon ’tis. Is this sis?”
The voice was not unkindly, and for
nßwer the girl slipped her hand into
(is, and turned to find her brother,
le was standing just behind, silent
nd steady, watching the pair.
“Dork,” she exclaimed, “this is dad.
Vhy don’t yer shake?”
Dork, or Dorsie. shoved a big brown
aw toward his father. It went out
rankly, but his keen eye was search
tg the other through and through,
'he elder man’s eyes took on that pe
uliar look again, and his hand was
ffered hesitatingly. This seemed to
ettle Dork, for he blurted out,
“Why don’t yer grip it? What yer
'raid uf?“
The new comer’s face flushed scar
et, but he made no reply to the ques
lon.
The girl led the way to the rear of
he station, where a pony was attached
o a dilapidated wagon. The drive
ome Avas uninteresting. It was pret
y straight until you came to tile
iver. then it wound around, and made
or fhe town in zigzag fashion; be
ond the town were the foot hills of
he towering range which seemed so
ear. yet were miles and mi’es away.
They stopped before rv rude shack,
lot many of the houses in the vicinity
'ere what one would call comfortable,
ut this was perhaps the least so of
ny. The girl sprang lightly to the
round. Dorsie was already unhitch
tg the mare. Just as the elder man
as about to alight there came a pat
er of hoofs, and around the bend in
he road came a horseman. He would
ave gone by Aithout stopping had
ot the girl, who was truly happy in
he return of her father, called out
s she pointed to the wagon,
“Bill, that’s dad. He’s jes’ come,
ome in an" I’l! interduce yer.” ,
Bill pulled up short and half bowed
i token of the invitation: then he
arked himself up in the saddle, and a
ook came over his countenance that
vasn’t pleasant to witness.
“Oh. it’s you. is It? So you’ve come
ack? Well, keep with them children,
het s all. an’ yer safe.” And away
he rode as if Satan was after him.
The girl looked surprised and curi-
? ua - Dorsie said nothing, but hustled
AN INCIDENT.
BT tIKOROE WESTON TOWNSEND.
I the maze into the stable quicker than
was necessary.
At supper the new comer was as ill
at ease as ever. He played nervous
ly with his food. The girl carried on
a conversation concerning incidents
long since passed. Dorsie ate in si
lence. bv.t when she reached a certain
point In ber talk, both her listeners
showed some fasten ct.
"Ma sed jes' 'foie rlh- died,” and
here her voice trembled, “thet of yer
rhud ever come aroun'. ter give yer
her part of ther money. She was fair,
she was. It's quite er oile fur us—
mor n SBO. Sh sed. she did. thet Dor
sie was ter hav’ S2O. an’ me, bein’ a
gurl an alone, ter hav’ SSO, an' fer yer
to hav’ what was left. We’ve allers
kept it tight ‘n under ther chimley
shelf, jest waitin’ fer ver cornin’, fer
ma sed you'd be back some day, sure.
We used $2 onct. Was hard pushed,
warn't we. Dorsie?”
Dorsie nodded, but his keen eyes
were watching his father. The father
spoke, and it seemed an effort to
speak steadily.
'Tve gut nuff fer me. Youse can keep
it in thet ther chimley. 1 don't want
it.”
The girl was silent. Perha;,3 she
cared less for the money, although it
was needed, than for one little word,
some little show of interest from this
man whom they welcomed home as
father, in her and her departed
mother. Surely he would ask some
questions about her last illness —bow
they managed to live, and the priva
tions they had gone through with.
Disappointment was plainly written
on her face as she arose from the
table, crossed the room and from a
shelf took down a faded photograph.
She mechanically brushed it with her
apron and placed it before the man.
“She had thet there taken nigh on
ter three years ago. It’s purty good,
only she looked allers more pleasant.
She was cheerful —and good, too.”
Dorsie gave a furtive glance at his
sister and saw that her eyes were
swimming with tears. He never
could talk or boar to hear her talk of
their mother. The father shuffled his
feet on the uneven floor, carelessly
glanced at the photograph, and say
ing he would take a look about,
slouched out at the open door.
When Dorsie returned some time
afterward, he found his sister at the
table, her head on her arms, crying as
if her heart would break. Dorsie felt
badly enough, but when it came to ex
pressing himself, he simply could not
do it. so he started for the door. Then
he hesitated, turned and looked at the
forlorn figure and went silently over to
her, placing a big brown hand on her
shoulder. He stood there until her
sobs subsided, then he spoke.
“It’s tough, sis. He’s a poor un. an’
I hope he won’t, stay here. I can’t
breathe when he’s in ther same room
with us.”
He stopped and. looked around the
cabin undecidedly. He wanted to say
more to comfort her, but he’d said
considerable for him. He waited.
She lifted her wet face to his.
“Oh, Dork, ef he’d only sed jes’ one
leetle word ’bout ma—jes’ a leetle
somethin’ kind —it would seem easier.
But he’s so hard, and he looks so
orful.” And she hid her face again
and sobbed aloud.
She must have dropped into a weary
sleep, for an hour after she still sat
with her arms on the table, her head,
Avith its tangle of brown hair, resting
upon them The shadows were deep
ening, and just as the moon was rising
above the sandy stretch that lay in
front of the doorway, a man stealthily
crept through the open door, crossed
the creaking floor, and approached the
mantel shelf. A muttered oath, fol
loAved by a half stifled cry of exulta
tion, then something was knocked
from the shelf and fell to the floor
with a crash.
The girl jumped up quickly, just as
the moonlight flooded the dingy room.
She was half afraid, then as she saw
who the intruder was, and that he was
looking at the photograph of her de
parted mother, she forgot her sorrow.
Her father was forgiven. He left the
house soon after, and she stood at
the doorway, watching him go down
the road with a happy smile. Why
should she know that he was heading
for the nearest tavern. He had been
warned to keep aAvay from this town,
but he had something now in his
ragged shirt that he kneAv Avell would
guard him against any serious deten
tion, beside giving to him the amuse
ment he craved.
When Dorsie came home he found
the girl troubled.
“Dork, thet ther money behind ther
shelf has gone. Jes’ mist it as I was
a goin’ ter count out dad’s part. He’s
been here, an’ I was asleep, an’ when
I woke up he was a ’stallin’ by ma’s
pictur, alookin’ at it, an’ I guess he
felt purty bad, too.”
Dorsie’s face grew dark.
“Which way d’he go, sis?”
“Down ther road ter town.”
Dorsie ripped out an oath, and went
through the doorway like an unbridled
colt. He knew just where to go, and
when he burst into the crowd at
Mealey’s place, where the toughest
element for miles around congregated
every night, he saw his father sitting
at one side of the card table, steadily
dealing the pack; the uneasy and
shifting manner was gone. Evidently
this was his element. He tvas per
fectly at home.
Dorsie pushed his way into the
crowd, elbowing the boys right and
left until he reached the centre, and
when the gambler glanced up from
THE WEEKLY NEWS, CARTERSVILLE, QA.
th game it was to look into a well
aimed revolver and see behind its
steady barrel the flashing eyes full of
hatred.
"Toss up thet there cash, ther whul
1 eighty, and be quick, too!”
It was a tight box for the gambler,
for anyone could see that Dorsie meant
business. All his life this man had
gambled, and it was no new thing for
him to be in a place where he must
lose everything just because some one
had the upper hand. So it was with a
smooth tone and with an expression
of injured innocence that he met the
conditions.
“Why, Dork, what’s ther matter?
I’ve gut no money ’cept what’s mine,
and I 'low you'll let me hav’ thet.
What’s up, anyhow?”
The calm voice, the injured air, had
its effect, and ere Dorsie could wink
there was a flash of light straight at
his breast, the whole room swam
around, the lights grew dim. and the
great confusion in the room seemed
to subside as he felt himself sinking
away, just as though he was going to
sleep.
In those days a man had to act
; quickly. By being always ready it
soon became a sort of second nature
to act on the slightest impulse, and
so, when the shot had been fired there
was instant confusion, and the gam
bler went out of a back window and
was astride a fast horse and a good
distance lip the road before “the
crowd” Avere half aware of it. Still,
as quick as he was, the boys never
allowed the grass to grow under their
feet on an occasion like this. It was a
good three miles to the station, and it
was almost train time. Both pursued
and pursuers knew this, and it was
the train or nothing for the fleeing
man. It would be useless to make any
stand, or try to evade his followers
in this open country, but if he could
catch the train as it rolled out of the
station, he was safe.
As though to spur them to greater
exertions, they could hear the locomo
tive’s shrill whistle as it neared the
town. It was dark, with the moon
hidden behind the clouds so it would
be a comparatively easy matter for a
man to throw himself from his horse
and upon the outward moving train,
and get away without a bullet in him,
if —well, of course there was always
an “if” to be considered in such cases.
There was no shouting, no unneces
sary noise, nothing but the quick hoof
beats and the breathing of the horses
as the boys rushed along in pursuit,
but every man had his eyes on that
dark object flying in advance, and
every man knew what would happen
even if the fugitive reached the train
ere they did.
The train wan just gathering head
way as the runaway turned the sharp
turn at the station and his horse’s
hoofs plowed into the sand and dust.
He slid so aeftlv and easily from his
plunging mare that the pursuers could
with difficulty make him out against
the t'-ain’s dark background. In a
moment more he would reach the
middle coach. He dared not wait for
the last one. as the train’s speed was
increasing uncomfortably now. He
reached out his arm, his ragged and
torn shirt sleeve showing dimly
against the coach. Perhaps he stum
bled —one never can tell what occurs
at such times —but simultaneously
there were two distinct and sharp re
ports, and the gambler had played his
last card.
The tra ! n never stormed. It wasn’t
worth '-bile. The boys gathered
around the huddled up heap in the
centre of the track as the signal lights
on the rear car were disappearing in
the distance. One stooped in a busi
ness-like way and fumbled among the
torn shreds of clothing and recovered
what remained of the stolen fund.
Then the boys held a little conference.
Sis was bending over the cot where
on lay Dorsie stretched at full length.
The boys had just pulled up at the
door. Quietly they gathe-ed about the
doctor.
“Oh. he’ll pull through, but it’s a
mighty close shave.”
Then the leader went up to sis. His
rough features looked less hard than
usual and hi keen eyes glistened.
“Sis,” he said. “Here’s yer money.
He’s gone ter parts unknown, an’
won’t be back right away, either, so
don’t yer worry. We’ll settle with the
doc.”
He dropped into her b~own palm a
wad of bills that must have counted
out pretty rich. The boys never did
things by halves. —W aver ley Maga
zine.
Fontjht Himself in His Sleep.
Lee Moser was an amazed young
man when he awoke from slumber one
morning recently. He was momenta
rily not altogether certain of his own
identity. His head felt big. Blood
covered his face. One of his teeth
was gone. What did it mean? Then
it dawned upon his mind that he had
been giving a fellow a severe thrash
ing in his dreams during the night.
Everything corresponded exactly ex
cept his recollection of his opponent,
who, he had dreamed, was some one
else beside himself. But in reality he
had been fighting himself. His better
self must have fallen into conflict
with his worser self. It was a sort of
Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jekyll case. He had
a vivid recollection of striking his op
ponent (himself) some very severe
blows about the head and face. And
he remembered, too, that he had
knocked a tooth out, but he thought it
was the other fellow r ’s tooth. He is
thinking seriously now of placing a
bodyguard around his bed at night,
hereafter, as he does not wish to do
himself any more bodily harm. —Un-
iontown (Penn.) Genius.
Among the figures returned for
cities from the Italian census taken
recently, are Rome, 502,000; Florence,
190,000; Venice, 151,000; and Bologna,
I 152,000.
JSpSiul™
Slumber Street.
Oil! miles and miles of beds in a row,
Acres of coverlets Avhite as snow,
Pillows and pillows, and sheets galore,
Blankets and quilts by the hundred
store—
All! these are the sights that each night
greet
The children who go to Slumber Street.
Hush-a-byes, hush-a-byes, soft and low;
Rhythmical murmurs, both fast and
slow;
Ditties and hyntn tunes, and ballads
rare;
Melodies gay, and with plaintive air;
Lullabies tender and soft and sweet —
This is the music of Slumber Street.
Visions delightful, happy and gay.
Of wonderful toys and merry play;
Fanciful pictures of rare delight,
Of verdant fields and skies that are
bright—
Oh! these are the dreams the children
meet
Who travel each night to Slumber
Street.
Oh! scores upon scores of weary heads
Peacefully resting in miles of beds!
Each pair of eyelids is closed tip tight,
And each pair of eyes is hid from sight,
Resting bodies and tired little feet—
This is the business of Slumber Street.
—Arthur J. Burdick.
A Dor That Answers Fire Call^.
The city of Lexington, Ky.. has a
fire dog that ans Avers to the name of
“Nice.” For three years Nice has not
missed attendance at a fire and he
can always be counted upon to run
yelping down the street ahead of the
clattering engines. Of course he adds
greatly to the excitement of the occa
sion. Nice tvas taken in by the fire
men several years ago when he came
begging at the engine-house door for
a morsel of food. He was a tramp
dog then, but he is sleek and fat now,
for he has the best of living. When
the telephone bell rings Nice pricks
up his ears and awaits the announce
ment of the alarm tender. His ear is
so well trained that he can tell by the
tender’s words whether it is an alarm
or not. If it is an alarm he rushes
toward the doors and as soon as they
are opened goes yelping down the
street. The Lexington firemen would
not accept anything in trade for Nice.
A Pound of Feathers.
A famous old catch-question for un
wary boys is. “Which is heavier, a
pound of feathers of a pound of lead?”
Of course the unwary boys answer,
“A pound of lead.” and then everybody
laughs, for how can a pound of one
thing be heavier than a pound of some
other thing? But the people that do
the laughing are just as much in error
as the boys are. only it is the other
way about, for a pound of feathers is,
as a matter of fact,. heavier than a
pound of lead.
Here is the way to demonstrate it.
With perfectly accurate scale=. weigh
a pound of lead, using ordinary shot
for convenience. With the same scales
Aveigh a pound of feathers, putting
them in a muslin bag for the purpose,
and being very careful that the bag
and the feathers together weigh exact
ly one pound.
Place the shot in one pan of a bal
ance, and the baa of feathers in the
other, and they will presently come to
an exact le\ r el. Thus it seems that
they weigh exactly the same. But a
different state of things is shoAvn if the
balance, with the shot and the feath
ers undisturbed, be placed on the re
ceiver of an air-pump and covered
with the glass bell-jar. When the air
has been exhausted the feathers will
sink, and the shot will go up, thus
shoAving that the feathers are the
heavier.
The explanation is that no account
has been taken of the buoyant power
of the air. which bears everything
up in proportion to the thing’s bulk.
As the bag of feathers is of greater
bulk than the shot, it is supported by
the air to a greater extent than the
shot, and it, therefore, takes more
than a pound of feathers to balance a
pound of lead. In the air-pump, how
ever, there is no such support, and
the difference is at once apparent.
The Kijjht Kind of a Boy.
The other morning Are were in the
midst of a three days’ rain. The fire
smoked, the dining-room was chilly,
and, Avhen we assembled for break
fast. pana looked rather grim, and
mamma tired; for the babv had been
restless all night. Polly was plainly
inclined to fretfulness, and Bridget
was undeniably cross, when Jack came
in with the breakfast rolls from the
baker’s. He had taken off his rubber
coat and boots in the entry, and he
came in rosy and smiling.
“Here’s the paper, sir.” said he to
his father, with such a cheerful tone
that his father’s brow relaxed; and he
said, “Ah. Jack, thank you,” quite
pleasantly.
His mother looked up at him smil
ing, and he just touched her cheek
gently as he passed.
“Top of the morning to you, Polly
wog,” he said to his little sister, and
delivered the rolls to Bridget, with a
“Here you are, Bridget. Aren’t you
sorry you didn’t go yourself this beau
tiful day?”
He gave the fire a poke and opened
a damper. The smoke ceased, and
presently the coals began to glow;
and five minutes afte*- Jack came in
we gathered around the table, and
were eating our oatmpal as cheerily
as possible. This seems A'erv simple
in the telling, and Jack never knew
he had done anything at all; but he
had, in fact, changed the whole moral
atmosphere of the room, and had
started a gloomy day pleasantly for
five people.
“He is always so, ’ said his mother,
when I spoke to her about it after
ward, “just so sunny and kind and
ready all the time. I suppose there
are more brilliant boys in the world
than mine, but none with a kinder
heart or a sweeter temper, I am sure
of that.” —Our Dumb Animals.
Mack llttwk mid thi young Lieutenant.
Black Hawk was an Indian chief,
ruler of the Sacs and Foxes who ln-ed
in the nortlnvestern part of Illinois
many years ago. In 1832 Black Hawk
led his tribe in war against the white
settlers to resist the attempt of the
United States government to move his
people to a reservation west of the
Mississippi river. The United States
sent many soldiers into Illinois to
overcome the red men and several bat
tles were fought. Among the soldiers
from Illinois was a young man over
six feet tall and as awkward as he
was tall. He was Abraham Lincoln,
afterward president of the United
States. In the forces of the white
men was a young lieutenant from the
state of Mississippi. He was only 23
years old, but was bright and alert.
No sooner had the old chief. Black
Hawk, seen this young officer than he
took a decided liking to him and the
lieutenant also rejoiced in the friend
ship of the Indian. Black Hawk was
captured and taken to Washington to
be shown the strength of the Avhite
men and later was sent back to his
people, who had been removed to the
reservation prepared for them. The
friendship between the old chief and
the young lieutenant continued through
all these trials until Black Hawk died.
That young lieutenant was Jefferson
Davis, afterward president of the gov
ernment formed by the seceding
southern states.
Tlie Family That Kissed a Coat.
She was the most winsome little
lassie, and she lived in a tiny vil
lage in the very heart of the Blue
Ridge. The sunshine had crept into
the dancing brown curls on her head,
and had lingered there. Her eyes re
flected the blue of the tender skies
that bent above her.
It was such an event in her life to
go with auntie to the big, far-away
city. There were so many wonderful
things that her litUe country-bred
eyes bad never seen. And oh, the
letter that she wrote home!
Elizabeth's family tvere so impa
tient that morning for little black Mo
zell to return fmm the village post
office! They kneAv the letter would
be' there, fer Elizabeth had promised.
Elizabeth's father, the village doc
tor. walked back and forth the length
of the sitting room; her big sister had
a sewing girl waiting for her in the
sewing room; her mother —but moth
ers always have their hands full;
even her big brother put down his
neAvspaper. looked from the window,
and said he must be going; but he
did not budge.
Wasn’t it strange that the letter of
such a tiny girl could hold them there?
Wasn’t it strange that not one of them
acknowledged to another why he
stayed? When little Mozell came run
ning in, bringing the papers and let
ters, they all drew a little nearer to
Elizabeth’s mamma.
It was a sweet letter, that told of a
little girl's joy at her first peep at
the great world. There were loving
messages to her home people, and it
ended, “and kiss the cow.”
“What a child!” her father said,
picking up the letter that had been
written with such care.
“What a baby!” her brother said.
“To think of kissing beauty!” said
the big sister, as she swept from
the room.
But her mother said softly. “The
dear child!”
And then they separated, going to
their delayed work.
Out in the meadow, Beauty looked
up from the tender grass she was
chopping, to find the doctor standing
near her.
“I don’t like to do it.” he muttered,
“but ” He stooped ov-er and laid
his mustached lips on Beauty’s pol
ished horn. He chose the horn be
cause it looked so clean.
Not many minutes later a young
man came hurriedly through the gate,
casting many looks behind to be sure
he was unobserved.
“Kwe!” but he planted a gingerly
kiss on Beauty’s back and beat a re
treat.
It was some hours later Avhen the
big sister slipped out to the meadow,
gave Beauty a hurried kiss, and ran
back.
When Elizabeth’s mamma canto out
to give Beauty a kiss, she threw her
arms about her neck and kissed her
right on the forehead; and tAvo great
tears rolled down her cheeks —her
dear little girl was so far away!
It isn’t en ’•ecord, but Beauty must
have wondered why the family had
suddenly groAvn so affectionate, for at
milking time they all, on one excuse or
another, came to the ntilkingbars.
The little colored girl stood at
Beauty’s head, thinking of the mes
sage she had heard in the morning,
and when the cow lifted her head
and looked around on them with
mildly wondering eyes, she kissed her
right on her mealy nose.
“Child,” Elizabeth's mother asked,
“what are you doing?"
She said kiss her. an’ I jes’ natcnal
ly knows white folks wouldn’t kiss a
cow," the little negress said.
Elizabeth’s family looked a each
other guiltily, and then how they
laughed!—Youth’s Companion.
' '
Usually tlie Chao.
Little Waldo—Papa, what is a li
brary?
Mr. Reeder—A library, my son. is a
large number of books which a man
loans to friends.—Harper’s Bazar.
SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY
In 1889 the production of aluminum
In the United States Avas about •>•>
tons and in other countries 71 toi T'
while in 1900 the United States Jnl
dueed about 4000 tons and other
countries about 7500. Conner tele
graph and telephone wires must ho
twice as heavy as aluminum border
to do the same work, and 6000 tons of
aluminum used for sheathing o- roofs
will replace 20,000 tons of coupe?,
A successful experiment in the use
of single lines for simultaneous tele
graphing and telephoning is reported
from Berlin. The system is employed
by the fire brigade of that city. Each
fire-cart is provided with a portable
telephone apparatus which can be at
tached to the alarm pillars in various
parts of tho city, and ooeraed with
the same Avires employed for tele,
graphing. Experience has that
the switching in of the telephone > u
no way influences the telegraph ser
vice. During simultaneous telegraph
ing and telephoning a slight knocking
is perceptible in the telephone, h,, r
the noise is not sufficient to destroy
the audibility of the messages.
In, the island of Cyprus is a basin
cut off from the sea, although sunk
slightly below sea-level, which con
tains a salt lake from which a con
siderable harvest of salt is annually
obtained in August, when the fierce
summer heat dries up the water, c.
V. Bellamy, who recently visited the
lake called. thinks sea-Abater
percolates through the rocks into the
basin, thus supplying the salt. A
single heavy rain In midsummer has
sometimes sufficed to ruin the salt
crop, and the Cyprians, in orde- to
protect the valuable lake as much as
possible, have constructed channels to
carry off the flood water of ra’ns from
the slopes of the basin into the soa.
Anew machine has been devised
that will utilize in fabrics the flax
waste that has been formerly sold
for the manufacture of naner. Henry
W. Wing is the inventor, and he has
taken the device to Bradford. Eng
land. where most of the flax is spun.
Since the installation of the machine
at Bradford it has been discovered
that the appliance was equally useful
in spinning asbestos and peat moss,
or in fact, any other substance that
has sufficient staple to hold in the
form of a textile. The work of the
machine is so carefully and excellently
done that it is almost impossible to
tell what the original material was
that has been spun into the fabric.
Just what commercial name will be
given to the spun flax waste or what
it will be used for has not been de
termined, but doubtless it will be
found available for many purposes
that reo.uire a coarse, bard fabric.
Avery peculiar bridge is being con
structed over the Mary river, at Mary
borough, Queensland, in that it is be
ing designed so that its surface will
be submerged several times during
the year at the seasons of high floods.
The idea in building the bridge in
this way is to save the material that
would be required to build it 'Sufficient
ly high to escape submersion at high
water. The country on the banks of
the Mary river lies so low that the ap
proaches would have to be extraordi
narily long to be entirely out of the
water during floods, and this would
have involved an immense expense,
so that if was decided to disregard
the floods, and build the bridge for
use during low water, and employ
boats during the comparatively short
time that the water would cover the
bridge. The bridge will clear by 12
feet and six inches at ordinary high
water. The highest flood level is 33
feet, so that at times the bridge will
be submerged more than 20 feet.
Our New Coast- DeSonre Plant.
The United States will shortly pos
sess a plant capable of turning out for
coast fortifications, and complete in
every detail, the world-famed Grusou
turret. Not only is the plant assured,
but work has actually commenced on
the erection of the necessary build
ings. and to such an extent have the
plans progressed that the casting of
the plates for the initial turret could,
if required, be commenced in six
months’ hence.
The raison d’etre of the new indus
try is primarily the recommendation
of the Endicott board of ordnance and
fortifications, calling for emplace
ments for 22 turrets at coast points
of the United States; but in the main
the new plant owes its being to the
conditions which confronted this coun
try on the b-eaking out of war with
Spain in 1898. and to existing condi
tions which make imperative the
adoption of a system impregnable to
gun attack.
The new organization is called the
Gruson Iron Works, and will carry on
the manufacture of all descriptions of
chilled iron-work and heavy castings
requiring special strength and resis
tance for naval and marine work.
The interests associated with the
hew company inc-lude the largest man
ufacturers of chilled iron in AmericP
and the works will be equipped with
everything requisite for the manufac
ture of the largest chilled castings
to which the particular plant for fin
ishing Gruson turrets can be quick
ly added.
The site for the new works is on
the banks of the Delaware at the
little town of Eddvstone, and distant
only a few miles from the citv of
Chester, Penn. This site was select
ed largely because of its tide-water
facilities, and with special reference
to the needs which must arise incident
to the shipment of heavy turret equip
ment. —Harper’s Weekly.