Newspaper Page Text
S The Al Big Gun Ship 1
g. Target Practice, Not War, Suggested the ?
New Type. é
é By Walter §. Merriwether. -‘é
oot T I 8 popularly supposed that the running fight which followed
: ® the sortie from Port Arthur provided the first hint of the all
o big gun ship. It wiil therefore come as a surprise to many
x to know that the value of the all big gun ship had been rec
- % ognized prior to the outbreak of the war in the East, and
:-M«(ub‘lnb-:n:"" that the type itself had been evolved not from any informa
:::::mzi tion furnigshed by Japan, nor in Great Britain, but right here
Cpepriedeaiopigp in America, The way it came about is an interesting bit
of unwritten history.
The idea of the type originated in target practice. Up to a few years ago
theré was practically no target practice in our navy. The result of this lack
of practice showed at Santiago, where there was only about 2 percent of hits
made by the American fleet. The Spanish fleet was destroyed, but while
America was cheering in its millions its navy defenders were soberly think
ing of that very small percentage of hits. As a result the navy went at tar
get practice in a serious and thorough way. Then for the first time was in
troduced the practice of firing at Jong ranges. The discovery was soon made
that range finders are of little use—the gun itself had to be depended upon to
get the range. The next important fact educed was that a variety of calibres
brought much confusion, as in the fall of shots the markers were unable to
distinguish one from the other. Here was another matter of essence. The
bigger tlie gun the flatter the trajectory, and with two or more different cali
bres firing at the same time it was found to be impossible to distinguish be
' tween them, and consequently impossible accurately to estimate the range.
Then it began to dawn on the navy that the solution was a ship carrying
big guns only, and as a result the jplans of the United States ship Feasible
find the United States ship Possible were drawn by Lieutenant Commander
Homer C, Poundstone, one of the progressive young officers of the navy.
These plans were submitted to the general hoard and were approved by that
body. Thus originated the type that so many nations are now so feverishly
constructing., But it was not until Great Britain had launched her Dread
nought and Japan’s Aki had gone overboard that this country set about the
“ building -of the“tom‘ Dreadnoughts which are now under construction, |
7/ . v
Women and the
Ballot 9
ITS SO S, T
By Ellis Meredith. %
e — HAT does the possession of the ballot mean to women?
Much or little, according to the woman, just as it means
: w much or little to the individual man. Dauty is always largely
a matter of personal equation. Many men and women carry
S their obligations lightly. They pay their debts when they
: '2T get ready, or are compelled by process of law, and curfew
ordinances are enacted for the benefit of their children,
J And right at this point may be found one of the funda
’ mental differences between men and women in politics. The
man whose boy is brought home by the policeman or truancy officer may be
intensely interested in politics,—national politics. He may be rabid on the
subject of the tariff, and hardly know the name of his alderman. The woman
who is interested in politics begins at home, and has a vital interest in the
quantity and purity of the water supply. She wants to know why the streets
.are not kept clean, and she is willing to help. It was the women of Denver
_who prevailed on the authorities to park Twenty-third Avenue, put up anti
expectoration signs, and provide garbage cans and drinking fountains at the
street corners, Denver's politics are unquestionably dirty, but Denver itself
is a clean city. To be sure, the smoke consumer ordinance is not enforced,
nor the Sunday and midnight closing ordinances, because Denver is run upon
the principle, so highly lauded, that “municipal government is business, not
politics,” and there is a very perfect arrangement between the administration
and many of thé leading businesses of the city. Anything that can be done
for the city without incommoding them can he accomplished, but business
must not be interfered with, so the all-night saloon flourishes.—From The At
lantic.
g On the Bleachers &
g | By R. L. Hartt. g
N the bleachers, however, there is much the same talk as
among collegians, though mauthed less gently, and abso
lutely the same pe}&eg in the cosmic importance of sport.
Have not vanquished footbal] uraves been known to weep?
o %fipe. when a victorious eleven were sucdding their mole-
L 3 sklns am'fs profaine exultings, their trainer buist into the
‘ dressing-room, liited a reverent hand, and cried, “Silence,
boys! Now everybody sing, ‘Praise God from whom all
blessings flow!”” which they did in perfect solemnity. When
such excesses occur among seekers after wisdom, why scorn poor Micky for
&:‘_::; ‘.':“‘“:' o T §£}g~y_\£§ occupation of a serious people? }lfs micro
coiinds refuses E:zmitil%fiéé to s od? interaata The 10708, now at practice
down. below—they are lions, heroes, sublime demigods, in Micky's eyes. Pity
him, then, for his failure to identify them; “beneath the cupola,” Paris is
equally at a loss to identify its Forty Immortals; as Monsieur le Ministre ap
peals to Madame la Marechale, so Micky appeals to 'Rastus Jones, and 'Ras
tus to a truckman, who in turn invites elucidation from a freckled office-boy.
There are loud assertions, louder contradictions, as is scarcely surprising, so
extraordinary is the fa=iily-resemblance that pervades the profession. Al
ways the lithe, nimble figure; always the shaven face; always the bold nose
and assertive chin. Later, when the game is on, we shall know the artists
by reference to the score-card.—The Atlantic,
Reßywetifs WYY e
Sixty Years in a
y Yea
Russian Prison
ssian Priso
. L A S
By Dr. E. J. Dillon. é
—1 T esian of today, who, without leaving his church, preaches
unorthodox sobriety, truthfulness, honesty, and clean living,
A attracts his fellowmen and makes them better than he found
them, 1s complained of by the priests, and whirled away to
soemeedl {he cloister prison. There he is no longer thrust into a
“stone sack,” as in olden times, but immured in a bare, nar
row cell, the walls of which are slimy with ooze. The one
e little light aperture has three window-frames—two iron
gratings, and a pane of semi-opaque, greenish glass, He Is
denied pen and paper, is forbidden to talk with the guards, receives no let
ters nor writes any, and forfeits his very name, in lieu of which he has a num
ber. In a word, he is dead, and is waiting only to be buried. From time to
time a priest may enter his cell and exhort him to abandon his “error,” but
after the first few months even this opportunity of hearing a human voice is
taken away, and he is left with only such hope as death may fulfii. And some
of these obscure martyrs have waited long for that mereciful end. One man,
named Shubin—an “Old Believer,” who in essentials was“a member of the
Orthodox Greek church,—Fpert sixty-three years of iz life in the fortress
of splovetsk Monastery.
LOVE LIES IN THY SILENT SOUL.
AR
I'd sing my =ong of thee, love, as nome
hath ever sung, W
So mime it were, sO. thine it were,
No oth:ir hlvart had dreamed of It since.
primal man was young; ¥oo
With passion’s plea ?'mrgt‘wmy:’
Yet epirit-awed, myster outi” T 4
A hymn to love's high ecstasy from stress
of living wrung: Sy
A song of human love divine &
And consecrate with God's own Wine,
Ah, did not e'er the soul of love
Elude the farthest goal of love, .
My =ong were paean glorious as none
hath ever sung! % ‘;&‘
But love lies in thy silent zoul more
deep than song may go, Sdae: £
So far it is, a bar it is sl
To even winged spirit-words, Yea, nione
but God may know Wiy & 4
Thy holy place, the deep of love, = &
\Vhf‘-nw- dreams# rise as from sleep of
ove, T i
To gleam and beckon in thine eyes, u;’
fleetest promise show
‘Of drowsing wonders deep within,
And sacred Fuerdnns yet to w?il. i
Till these t¢ha'l be thy gift to me;, =
Thy treasure poured out swift to me,
Sweet, love lies in thy silent soul more
deep than song may go! S
~Edna Kingsley Wallace, in Putnam’s.
I] NSR SRS RS SN/ ]'—'—'_____—__-,__—"fi'—.
3 :__—‘——“-”—“‘:::__"*_-—_—tj
|
,’ The ’
‘ i iy
| Indian Herd Boy |
I e
=T “"“‘—_“‘“‘“—‘—"‘fg
I! ’W_. it m_‘*‘*'—ml
| The Englishman cams> riding over
| the fields at sunset, He had been out
(1o a canal, where the peeple were
| wrangling over water, and he had
' made the peace and was tired of strife.
' 80 he rode back alone and watcheid
| the sun sink behind the mountains,
' and breathed the cold evening air,
| and loved ‘the dry fields and the bar
i ren scrub of the wide river plain and
| the peace of the loaely stillness. As
| he neared the village he saw a little
ragged boy tending a few bony cows
| which wandered about the fields and
| gought for the rough, coarse grass
| which was the only herbage. “Well,
| little boy, how goes it, and whose cows
' do you tend here?” “Greeting,” said
* the little boy. “One of these cows is
'my own and the rest belong to my
neighbor, who pays me a shilling a
' month. There is no grass for the cat
'tle, and they are hungry; but this
land is always dry, and the cows give
little milk.” “What does your father
do, little boy, and where does he
live?” “My father died some years
ago, when I was quite little, and now
I keep the house. There is my moth
er and my little brother to support,
so I tend the cattle, as we have no
land of our own. That red cow is
ours. She is a good cow, but old, and
gives but little milk. Yet we live,
for God is good.” ‘“Hold my horse,
and let me sit here on the bank. How
can you live on one cow and keep
your mother and brother, even though
you tend these few bony cattle?”
“The neighbors are kind and give me
what they can; but, besides that, §
have the shrine” R, L JEt
“The shrine, what shrine?”’ “There
that heap of stones, with a little flag
flying above it. That is my grand
father’s tomb. He was a very holy
man, and performed great miracles.
The river and the skies cbeyed him,
and many followed him. He was rich,
but now the times are changed, and
we are poor. He used to ride upon
a lion, and it obeyed his will. Now I
fear even to hold your horse, lest it
should bite me. You see, lam a
very little boy and timid.” “You are
the son of a lion, little one, and must
be brave; then you too will ride upon
a lion’s back. Was your father also
holy?” “Yes, he was a holy man, but
poor; and the people followed other
saints; yet he had some followers, for
his father's sake. Of these now but
few are left.” “Have you also got fol
lowers, and are you also holy?” “I
have some followers, but I am not
holy, for I am only a little boy, and
cannot regd or write, and have not
read the floly Books. Yet there are
§ome who remember my grandfather’s
fame, and they come to me and give
me presents, and I pray for th?m.
They come to the shrine to pray, and
T sacrifice for them, and they make
offgrlqg"s, sometimes afl egg, 0* even
a fowl, flow and again a goat. ‘gr?_{ |
to my grandfather for thém, and Le
hears me and remembers fixat I am
his son. So he speaks to the Holy
Prophet, and the good God hef‘rs the
Prophet and gives us our desire. My
grandfather was a very holy man. I
take the offerings for myself and for
my mother and my baby brother, and
thus we find bread. We still have a
list of my grandfather’'s disciples,
but now men go elsewhere, and we
make no new disciples. I would not
if 1 could, for I am a little boy and |
ignorant, and how should I make dis
ciples?”
“But your grandfather made them,
and entered them in his book?”
“Yes, my grandfather made them.
They came before him and begged his
intercession. Then he took a lock
of their hair and cut it off by their
heads and burned it, or dropped it in
running water, and he entered their
names ‘in his book, and he grasped
their right hand in his. So their soul
met his soul, and they were his follow
ers, and he held their hands. How
shall a man's soul approach his Maker,
all sinful as he is, unless a holy saint
hold him by the hand and intercede
for him to God? My father could not
do this, still less ean I, but for the
mewory of my grandfather men stili
come to me. By his father’s virtues
my father did miracles and healed the
gick, but especially those who were
| sick of a fever.” '
. “And you; too, do miracles, little
man, and heal the sick?"”
“My grandfather was a holy man,
and he has heard by prayer. Ido mir
acles at times, but of course they are
only little miracles, for I am only a
iittle boy and ignorant. When men
are ill of fever they send for me, and
‘1 come to them and wave my shawl
over them, and touck them, and prey
to my grandfather, and breathe upon
them. Then, if God wills and they
have faith, the fever departs from
| them, by the virtue of my grandfather.
| T myself am nothing, and can do noth
ing, but he was a holy man, and was
aceepted of God. Quite big men send
for me and believe in me, even men
with white beards, though I am but a
child. Whatever they give me I take
| hceme to my mother, and we are con
tent.”
“Will this be your life, to tend this
| shrine and heal the sick? Will you,
too, become a gaint?”
- “I can never beccme a saint, for 1
am poor and ignorant and cannot read
the holy books, and am a sinner and
nothing worth. My grandfather's
tomb I must always tend, and burn
lamps beforé it, and lay rich cloths up
on it on Fridays. When my father
lay dying he called to me and said,
‘When I am dead you may heal the
sick in my father’s name, as I have
healed them, and you must always
tend my father’s shrine. Until you
£row up to man’s estate you shall do
thus; but when you are a man, and
| your beard grows, then go to the holy
{saint in such a place, and ask him,
| “Shall I heal thg sick in my grand
l father’s name as I have done, or shall
I stop and leavé miracles to those
who have learning?” The holy saint
will command you, and his orders you
must obey, whether to heal or o
stop from healing. That is my
father’s order, and so I must do. There
are many years yet to wait, but when
the time comes I will go and do my
father’s bidding.”
“But why do you cough so, boy; it
seems to tear your chest?”
“This cough is nothing. It will be
better in the spring, when the warm
wedather comes.” He coughed again
and again, in a paroxysm of coughing,
and then he spat upon the ground. The
Englishman looked, and saw that ihe
boy had spat bright red blood from
the arteries of his lungs. He remem:
bered the poet Keats, how he had
spat such blood on his pillow, and
looking, had said, “There is my death
warrant.” He climbed upon his horse
and said farewell, and laid his hand
upon the boy’s head and silently rode
away; for well he knew that the little
boy would not be well in the spring,
and that the mother and the little
brother would soon be alone in their
little mud hut, and the shrine must
find another keeper and the sick an
other to heal them.—Westminster J
Gazette. -
}V LONDCN CLUBS.
They Are Practically Social—the Old
Ones, That Is.
As everybody knows, our oldest clubs
were developed out of the original cof
fee houses nearly two centuries ago,
and the newer clubs, as they were
ormed from time to time, consisted
in the first instance of many members
experienced in the older, and so the
good tradition was kept up. This ap
plies at least to the really social clubs,
like White's or the Garrick. It does
not apply in the same degree to the
large, ceremonious, more stately clubs
like the United University or the Ox
ford and Cambridge, where a member
probably knows only a small propor
tion of his fellow members, or to an
eminent political club like the Carlton
where a man is elected for services to
his party. And it does not apply at
all to those clubs which are merely
lat’fi). proprietary concerns for conveni
elice, and which are generally and very
rudely known as “pot houses”—l l}%d
better not give instances——where ad
mission is swift and easy and where
the membership largely consists of
very young men who have not had
time to get into a better institution.
But a really social club even though
i;]fiv'v has the advantage of old exem
plars.
Thus the Bachelors, a comparative
ly recent club, has a character very
like that of White's which is one of the
Very oldest. The tone of the really so
clal club is that of an easy familiarity.
X member going in for his luncheon
B’{ ginner drops naturally into a seat
gieC¢ 10 anower member and starts a
conversation. In the more ceremon
ious club, or in the “pot house,” if he
has not arranged to meet some one or
invited a guest he probably eats soli
tary. In the latter sort men move
in silence and isolation; in the former
there is a general hum of “Hullo! how
are you?” and “When did you get
back?” and “Seen Tommy lately?” and
so forth—and incidently it is difficult
to write your letters or read your
newspapers undisturbed. These are the
real clubs, as the English society of a
hundred years ago, which was like
a great family party, understood them,
and they are the hardest to imitate.
'The others may confer some assurance
of position, like the Athenaeum, or
confer nothing except more or less
dubious comfort, like the—never mind,
but they have not the essential qual
ity and can be imitated anywhere, more
or less.—Town and Count.y,
To Restore Copper Plant Prints.
Fasten the print with tacks to a
suitable board and by means of a
goft brush wash it off very carefully
_with water, in which, to 1000 parts, 50
‘parts of carbonate of ammonia have
‘been dissolved. Then rinse it off care
fully with clean water and repeat the
operation when dry, on the back.
Now moisten the paper with dilute
vinegar (1 part of vinegar to 5 parts
of water) and then wash with a weak
caleiutn clfforide solution (3 parts of
water). Finally rinse with clean wa
‘tfi' and dry in the open air in the sun.
Thé paper will be perfectly white,
},Jflthout the print having suffered any
Anjury.—Scientific American,
ilion S
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; A Quiet Home. .
“l always make it a rule to shut
myself away in my own room for one
hour every afternoon,” writes a
*“Mother of Ten.” *“If1I didn’t, I real
ly don’t know how I should get on
sometimes. I look on that quiet hour
in the afternoon as an excellent in
vestment, for I come down after it
rested, and consequently less worried,
which is good for everybody in the
house—husband, children and maids.
If by any chance I miss it, I find that
everything goes wrong during the
rest of the day, and I'm _dreadful]y
irritable and snappish.”—Home Chat.
Health, the Secret.
The secret of beauty may be ex
pressed in very few words—health,
ease, grace of movement and a proper
mental attitude. The Circle says of
the latter that beauty is permanently
possible only when the mind is right.
It may be possible for a cross, worry
ing and inconsiderate young woman
to be beautiful, but—she will not,
cannot possibly, keep her beauty more
than a few years. Gradually the fig
ure will stiffen, thefacebecome tensed
and wrinkled and the voice ungenile
and unpleasing. On the other hand,
a number of plain women have be
come beautiful through habitual
calmness, hopefulness and loving
kindness. i ;
Simplified Marriage. o
We marry for love, and frequently
stay married a long time without it,
writes Vilhjalmer Stefansson, in
Harper’'s Magazine, while with the
Eskimo the ‘“marriage of conven
ience,” as it is in the beginning, is
never long endured unless love de
velops. Whenever either husband or
wife prefers separation, divorce takes
place. There is a peculiar economie
factor which accounts for this free
dom. An Eskimo wife can leave a
husband without 2 single thought of
‘“How shall I support myself and my
cnild?” for as long as there are food
and eclothing in the community they
will be cared for. Nor does the wom
an suffer in social standing. As a
matter of fact, however, if a couple
are congenial enough to remain mar-
Nut Wafers.—Butter the inside of a granite saucepan,
then put into it a cupful of light brown sugar, a cupful of
granulated sugar and two-thirds of a cupful of sweet cream.
Cook until the mixture forms a soft ball when tested in cold
water, add a cupful of chopped nut meats of any kind, flavor
with vanilla and stir until a ereamy t‘};onsistencyyxa.nd com
mencing to harden. Reheat over hot water until melted,
stirring constantly, then drop in small pats on buttered
paper. . 3
Our Cut-out Recipe
Paste in Your Scrap-Book.
ried a year, divorce becomes improb
able, and is much rarer in middle
life than it is with us. ;
—— g
Homes of Their Own,
The home is the kernel of life,
There is no danger that daughters
will despise marriage and a hcme.
They will take to it only too readily
when the magic hour strikes, but
parents may well deliberate before
they wantonly strengthen a girl’s in
nate tendency to seek a home of her
own. For there is a sweet dignity
of maidenhood and womanhood
which is sacrificed in an inordinate
quest for a husband and home.
With sons it is different. Many
men need to have the home princi
ple fostered and built up. They must
be made not only good hearted, but
must have their nomadic instincts
carefully repressed and taught to cen
tre around the sacred idea of home.
Then, when once the notion of
home and its paramount importance
is fixed in his mind, a young man is
perfectly free to go forth and find a
maiden to share it.—Woman’s Life.
She Sees the Reason. ‘
Notices and warnings on placards
do not begin to make the impression
upon the public that one individual
experience will. Every woman knows
that in all postoffices are cards beg
ging persons to put their names and
addresses on all valuable letters, that
they may be returned in case they
cannot be delivered. One woman, at
least, has seen and disregarded them
for years, but in the future she will
do differently, Last month she had
occasion to send away $lO and put
one bill of that denomination in an
envelope, which she neither regis
tered nor wrote on the back for re
turn. The letter was never delivered,
and the woman was obliged to send
another bill, this time registered.
One day this week her first letter
came back to her after six weeks of
wandering.
She found that she had used one of
her husband’s business envelopes, on
which was stamped his name and ad
dress, and because she had misdirect
ed it in the first place it had come
back to the name printed at the top.
Thus she is in $lO, and when she
sends money again by mail there is
no doubt that the letter will have
her own name on the outside, as well
as that of the addressee.—New York
Telegram,
Slavery of Dress.
~ The redoubtable Professor Thomas,
of Chicago University, proceeds with
his dissection of lovely woman ia the
American Magazine, his particular
topic this time being female apparel.
The subject is not a 2 new one. For
sges it has afforded abundant oppor
tunity to philosophers and moralists
‘for heaping abuse upon the heads of
womenkind. But Professor Thomas
has something new to say about it.
From his point of view, the moralists
were all on the wrong tack. The ob
ject of their abuse is a mere helpless
victim, ‘‘only a pawn in the industri-~
al game played by man.”
“Her individual possessor uses
‘her,” says Professor Thomas, ‘as a
\symbol of his wealth, and the cap
taing of industry make her the oe
casion of a market for the costly and
changeable objects which fashionable
‘habits force her to accept. New fash
jons are not always beautiful; they
‘are even often ugly, and women know
it, but they embrace changes as fre
quent and as radical as the ingenu
ity of the mode makers can devise.
Women do not wear what they want,
but wh™at the manufacturers and
trades people want them to want.
The people who supply them also
control them.” §]
The reason for the extreme differ
entiation in the dress of the sexes is
not due to tfe nature of either, ac
cording to Professor Thomas. Man
is naturally inciined to personal dis
play, he says, but he has come to
have more effective means of getting
results, and so he has given up or
nament. Money is now his ‘“‘main
charm.” Woman, on the conirary,.
has to depend on her charm for ev
erything. She is “not naturally spec
tacular,” but “when man had ac
quired a specialized skill which gave
him a mastery of the world and her
person as well” she ‘“began to special
ize the display which he was aban
doning. Restricted in movement,
with no specialized skill, with not
even life to educate her in the broad
sense in which men encounter it, and
limited in her interests by the pro
prietary tastes of man, her occupa
tion is to charm.” And in this oc
cupation she has become so absorbed
as even to forget its original purpose,
She “almost loses sight of man—at
ter marriage, at least—in her inter
est in outstripping other women. Men
would prefer her more simply dressed
but this is her game—indeed; it is
almost her business.” And here is
retribution, for “man pays the bills.”
Underlying the charm of woman’s
dress Professor Thomas iinds two
main principles, namely, its emphasis
of her sex and the helplessness to
which it reduces her. For instine
tive reasons which we do not control
and do not completely understand,
“signs of sex,” he says, ‘“have a very
powerful emotional effect.” Hence
the emphasis of woman’s “most strik
ing anatomical peculiarity, a waist
which measures small in comparison
with the bust and hips.” ‘““The help
lessness involved in lacing, high heels,
undivided skiris and other impedi
menta of women has a charm in the
eyes of man because it appeals to his
protective and masterful instincts.
“It is his opportunity since the dis
appearance of large game and in the
piping times of peace.” ;
' : ~ '“/ =~
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L\ \FAS HioN B
(2 ez
Roses for hats are immense in size..
New coats are very elaborataly
braided.
Modish grays range from deepest
smoke to palest pearl.
The Psyche knot is the favorite
coiffure of the moment.
/- The fringed scarf is as fashionable
for the hat as for the gown.
Pompadour ribbons are much in
demand for evening sashes.
One of the new ideas in evening
wraps is the long ulster of pale cloth
—a cozy garment if not a gzraceful
one,
The “‘two-faced” veil for motoring
is a real autumn novelty. It is made
of two large motor veils of chiffon
of contrasting color, stitched togeth
er at the side hem. In different lights
it takes variegated hues.
Gray, black and blue broadcloth
wraps are lined throughout with gray
or black satin, and many of the new
models. are made by the high Direc
toire belt to display a corset effect,
securing cleverly the slight hipless
lines so much in vogue.
Wedding gowns are changed so that
instead of the heavy velvet train
hanging from the shoulders the veil
will fulfill its old mission and be veil
and train in one. Thus, when the
| veil is discarded the gown is gne that
may be worn for dinners and dances,
l While the Directorie style holds al
- most unrivalled sway, the sheath
ggown is absolutely taboo, and even
the skirts with false slashes, under
;laid with contrasting material, are
frowned upon, though they promised
to be a favorite model earlier in tho
23000 al el N v e
