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tut? Hi T f Lost Books That Caused Tragedies T T THEN Thomas Carlyle had fln- YY ished the first volume ot his French Revolution." a work which had cost him months of in cessant toil and the verification of thousand^ of facts and references, he lent the manuscript to John SCuart Mill. Surely, that philosopher had one of the worst taeks ever alloted to a mortal man when he had to tell the "Sage of Chelsea" that the price less manuscript had been thrown into the fire by a careless servant, and, "only a few charred leaves—still to be ’ seen in Cheyne Row, Chelsea—re mained to tell the tale. $ir Isaac Newton wag the victim of a similar catastrophe, but the “friend" responsible was not human, but canine—his favorite litle dog. He left him in his study alone, and when he came back tound that he had * "chewed" the mathematical calcula- , tions of many strenuous months. Many accounts pay that Newton took it very calmly, but the truth is that it preyed upon his mind to such an extent a? to cause much temporary mental aberration. Byron’s “Memoirs.” One of the great losses to literature wap the burning of six books of Spencer’s "Faery Queen." which the poet is said to have left in his house in County Tyrone* Ireland. A re bellion broke out and the place war burned; and not only did the poet's youngest child perish in the flames, b'ut, it is said, also about as much of the great poem as we possess at present. All lovers of Byron are aware that this erratic genius found time in hie short adventurous life to write his memoirs, and that on his death these passed into the hands of his friend Thomas Moore, who. exercising a dis cretion committed to him, promptly consigned the manuscript to the flames. No doubt the writer of "Irish Melo dies" had very good and highly prop er reasons for taking this decisive step, and it is quite likely that the publication of the memoirs would not, for obvious reasons, have been pos sible for many years after the poet’s death; yet as succeeding generations have been brought face to face with the peculiar complex genius of Byron, with its lofty moods and its many dark places, they have felt need of -the light which only the records writ ten by a vanished hand could have supplied. 'Despondent Strindberg. Since the death of Auguste Strind berg, the famous Swedish noveliyt and dramatist—who, by the way, had much in common with Byron—many of his works have been translated into the English language and are already the center of heated contro versy in literary circles. It is possi ble, therefore, that the Dowerful. If somewhat misanthropical writings of this Swedish recluse may be read and treasured by generations to come. But all his works will not go down to posterity , for it Is said that in a sud den fit of despondency Strindberg himself destroyed a number of his manuscripts, which, through lack of time or inclination, he never wrote again. The Joys of Motor Boating Startling Facts Concerning This Universal Sport, Based on Articles in Motor Boating Magazine for May By GARRETT P. SERVISS. T HE joy of motion! How it has 1 been heightened by the autocar, the aeroplane and the motor , boat! Heightened-not merely because the motion has been rendered swifter ! and more sensuous, but because the driving power has been almost spirit ualized. The little motors are like mysterious gnomes, and one never tires of seeing them miraculously doing the work of giants. It goes far toward ; satisfying the universal longing of ! humanity to be able to accomplish things by simply willing that they be done. A measure of the delight that these new forms of locomotion afford is shovyn in the astonishingly rapid spread of the use of the motor boat. I confess my surprise in viewing the chart, published in the May number of Motor Boating Magazine, which ex hibits the distribution of the 256.950 motor boats now in use in the United States. More than 50.000 of these are in the J MldcT • V.’eJtern States, a thousand 1 miles or more from the ocean, and there are even several hundreds in the mountain States of the Far West! Wherever there exists a little lake, or I a navigable stream, the pleasures of motor boating can be, and are, en joyed. The motor boat draw's little water, and is very powerful and flexi ble in ;ts movements, so that it would seem to be an interesting ex periment to try it in some of the wild canyons of the West. On the Pacific. On the Pacific Coast the charm of the motor boat appears to be more universally appreciated even than in the East, for I find, from the same authority, th^t California and its i neighbors have twelve of these fairy craft to every thousand of the popu- 1 Women and girls as well as men are keen for the delights of motor boating. Do You Know Thai— K ING ALFONSO is credited with forming a collection of objects associated with the various at- . tempts against his life. Among other items he possesses the teat of a feed ing bottle with which an attempt was made to poison him at the age of J eight months; the walking stick with which a discontented servant tried to brain him; pieces of the bomb j thrown at him in Barcelona: the skeleton of one of the horses killed by the bomb attempt in the Due De- Rlvolt. Paris; and fragments col lected in the street after the ex plosion of the infernal machine hurled at the royal carriage on his wedding day. A curiosity of nest building that is probably unique has Just been discov ered at one of Messrs. Chisers & Sons' farms near Cambridge. Within a short distance of the jam factory six fruit baskets were tied together and hung t in a cart shed, where a number of j men are often at work, in every one of these baskets a bird has built its nest, and in two cases the nests have j eggs. The builders include black birds. song-thrushes and missel-1 thrushes, and as the baskets are be ing left alone, it is hoped that each , mother will hatch out her brood. I * Mr. William Augustus Gordon Hake, j who is now 102. is easily the oldest 1 living Knglish barrister. He is a cousin of General Gordon, lives at Brighton, which seems to make a specialty of residents who have long passed the allotted span, and has still sufficient vitality to brush aside in fluenza and bronchitis and little trou bles of that nature. The curious in these matters will be interested to learn that he attributes his long life and good health to abstemiousness and plenty of exercise. A Poisoned Arrow. A pharmacist in Pasadena had a s<r»i-B-er call in and ask for a bottle of * "Pm afraid 1 can’t let you have it without a doctor's prescription, he an- swered. , „ r "Why not ’ Po l look like a man who would kill himself?" “I wouldn t ho far as r o sa> that, sir; but if 1 looked like you I should be tempted." I F parents cannot do Justice to children after they ate here, there can scarce ly be any fulfilment of duty to them In bringing them here. By "justice" I do not mean .luxury. Money in abundance is not good for children, and it is well for them to learn self-denial in some directions. Your son may not be able to own a motor car or a saddle horse, a* does your neigh bor's son. and yet he can be quite as happy as the wealthier lad; he may have to deny himsvlf many luxuries If lie would save money for a trip to the mountains or seashore, and he may have to economize carefully to make his al lowance <all you can afford to give him), supply all his needs. He is none the worse, indeed, is rather the better, for all these facts. But he is no better for not having clothes that are decent enough lor him to wear in the circle to which he was born; Vie is none the happier for being denied the education to which his In tellect entitles him. It is a sad thing for an ambitious and bright lad. with intellectual tastes and thirst for knowledge, to have to en ter an office as soon as he is out of grammar school so that he may earn the money that is needed at home. He can be young but once, and in relinquishing e education that he wants to take, or which you should insist upon his tak- g, he is letting slip opportunities iiich he can never recall changing, perhaps, the whole current of his life id entering the race handicapped from . outh up.. Is there any duty that compels so many children to be born that this state of affairs is a necessity? Are, not par ents performing their duty more when they have u\o or three children whom they can feed, clothe and educate prop erly than in having seven or eight, to not one of whom they can do justice? Of course it is a high ambition to hear children with the Idea of training them to he such good men and women ..hat the world will be better for their having lived in it. That is the ambi tion which all may feel for their sons and daughters after they are here. How many parents have their children with hat special ambition in mind? Finally, may u not be that we OWE • duty to the children themselves? Are hey to he left out of the reckoning? Arc we to rush them In numbers into i sphere in which they cannot develop the best that Is in them7 Should we feel no hesitation in ushering them into family already so full that we wonder rom week to week how all the mouths are to he fed anjl all the bodies clothed? W v ho that looks at the "little moth- •rs" carrying one child and leading an- it her. burdened with Weights and re sponsibilities far beyond their years, old before .their time, dare say that the parents of these little burden-bearers fulfil any duty to God or man in bring ing a child into the world every year? Some one must suffer for it. and in this performance of what some people deem a duty the sufferers are not only the parents but the innocent children them selves. Said a happy grandmother to a friend: I am sure that children are a dut>. .Yhat would my life be without my Idren and grandchildren?" This woman dfd not think deeply enough when she asked that question to appreciate that the tender care she receives is not the result of her having merely given birth to her children. It is the result of her proper training of the children after they are here. Her circumstances were such that she was enabled to do full justice to her one jirl and two boys, so that each char cter was properly developed, email nind well trained, each intellect allow ed to improve and expand. That was vYhere thtis mother did her best work iut if asked if she had her children >tOM A SENSE OF DUTY she would reply truthfully in the negative. She loved children, she wanted them, but e loved them too much to have more of them Than she could care for The Psalmist declared tha. children were a gift from the Lord. Many par ents feel that they are, and they are "ht in declaring that they are bles sings and delights in many homes, mak- life well worth the living Hut hi the Lord Is responsible for send- ng children here, marred before birth inherited evils, and crushed after ”th by pain and want—one can hardly believe; and the statement that bringing ildren into the world under all poll utions and circumstances is the duty every married couple is one to which • thoughtful lover of his kind will agree. * WITHIN THE LAW A Powerful Story of Adventure, Infringe and Love The map, reproduced by permission from Motor Boating Magazine* for May, shoves at a glance how the sport of motor boating has spread over the country, and the proportion of motor boats to the population in # various sections. The hydroplane is the "Ankle Deep,” which has shown a speed of more than fifty mjies an hour. NEURALGIA &ND LAGRIPPE lation, while on the Atlantic seaboard the number is only four to the thousand of population. Then look at the photographs of racing motor boats! They seem to be fairly Leaping from the waves. The danger is minimized because the wafer'll* no t^rrbr th good swimmers, op to those provided with proper floats. And the joy of the swift mo tion rs increased by the whipping spray and salt breeze. Fortunately a motor boat is com paratively a cheap means of amuse ment and outdoor exercise. Almost anyone can own one, and anybody can learn to run his own boat. The cost of fuel and of keeping is small. And no healthier form of sport could well he imagined. If you live in the | country, your own little lake or j warding river will afford you many | pleasant surprises as you glide through its shaded reaches, or into and out of? its hidden bays. If you J are more ambitious, and have a larger j boat, you may make astonishing voy ages on the sea itself, running in to the shores and exploring shallow,! waters where no ordinary boat Would be able to penetrate. You may Ash. you may camp, you may anchor, you may take refuge, almost anywhere you please. A Wonderful Cruise. And all the while you wilj be learn- ing th$ art of navigation and ac quiring skill in the management of marine machinery. You will find out how to lay, your course by the com pass. or the stars, or the buoys and landmarks. You will also learn the art of keeping a log, which in itself is delightful. A ship’s log Is always fascinating: that of a mdtorboat is no less so. It is the diary of adventure. By your winter Are you will take out your log book, with its tarry smell recalling your summer cruise, and live over again your adventures as you turn its pages. In the magazine to which I have referred I have been perusing the story of a motorboat cruise of 2,500 miles along the Atlantic coast in cluding the crossing of the Ever glades of Florida and Lake Okeecho bee. the mere names of which are like a breath of romance. I only wish the writer had told more about that enchanted region, with its cypresses and palms, its tangled waterways and all its tropical strangeness and mag nificence. Such things never fail to stir the imagination. There is a practical aspect of motor boating along the coast which occurs to me. It is capable of proving of great value in the defense of the country by familiarizing a large num ber of persons with short outlines, depth of water, hidden channels, range sights, etc., which might be of •rltical importance in case of war. Every observant motor boatman-may make himself a valuable auxiliary in naval defense. In an" emergency he might become a volunteer pilot of indispensable importance at a crisis. Read Cooper’s story of "The Pilot" snd you will see what I mean. The same observation applies to motor boat exploration along the shores of ♦he Great Lakes. And think how de lightfully this knowledge can be ob tained ! "You didn’t buy that big touring ca,r you were looking at last fall, did you, Hawkins?” said Garraway. "No.” said Hawkins. "1 got a couple of little runabouts instead." "Runabouts?'’ retorted Garraway. "Yep," said Hawkins*"My wife pre sented me with twins. Can’t afford too many luxuries all at once." "I don’t see how you can laugh this way," said the Sheriff, as he attached Dubbleigh's car for a debt owed io Higby. and observed that Dubbleigh seemed highly amused by it. “Oh. I just can’t help it." laughed Dubbleigh. "I only owe Higby $500 and it’ll cost him three times that to run that car six months.” KODAKS fete The Bwt FlntaMng »ert fnlert Mg Thai C*§ Be Produoed. 4 liMy I PMtmUl Flltti Mid entn- P i«te it nek raiuur iuppUm. Quick mall aerrlc# for out-of-town cuatnv«>ra. Sand for Catalog and Price List. A. K. HAWKES CO. 14 Whitehall St., Atlanta, Qa. "Why do politicians wear high hats and frock coats?” asked the person who makes trivial inquiries. "Well,” replied Senator Sorghum, "the high hat and the frock coat con stitute the appropriate attire for occa sions both of mourning and congrat ulation. And every election makes a politician feel a." if he were going to a funeral or a wedding.” "Your flowers in the hall seem flour ishing." , “Doing nicely, thank you." "They evidently get plenty of wa ter; but watering plants is such a task.” "Not for me. The bath room above Copyright. 1.91.3, by the H. K. Fly Com- j pany. The play "Within the Law'" is copyrighted by Mr. veiller and this 1 novelization of it is published by his j permission. The American Play Com pany is the sole proprietor of the ex- i elusive rights of the representation and. performance of "Within the Law" in all languages. By MARVIN DANA from the Play by BAYARD VEILLER. TO-DAY S INSTALLMENT. Aggie took advantage of the pause. ; Her voice was acid.' "Some people are sneaks—just sneaks! ’’ Somehow, the speech was welcome to the girl, gave her a touch of cour age sufficient for cowardly protesta- : tions. It seemed to relieve the ten sion drawn by the other woman’s torment. It was more like the abuse j that was familiar to her. A gush of , tears came. "I’ll never forgive myself, never!"} she moaned. Contempt mounted in Mary's breast. Her Voice Rang With Contempt. “Oh. yes, you will," she said, j malevolently. “People forgive them selves pretty easily." The contempt checked for a little the ravages of her j grief. "Stop crying." she command- ; ed, hafshly. "Nobody is going to hurt ! you." She thrust the money again j toward the girl, and crowded it into the half-reluctant, half-greedy hand. "Take it. and get out." The contempt : in her voice rang still sharper, mor- , dant. Even the puling creature writhed j under tiie lash of Mary's tones. She ; sprang up. slinking back a step. "I can't take it!” she cried, whim pering. But she did not drop the money. "Take it while you have it.” Mary counseled, still with the contempt that pierced oven the hardened girl’s sense of selfishness. She pointed towarJ the door. "Go—before I change wiy mind." Tile girl needed, indeed, no second bidding^ With the money still clutched in her hand she went forth swiftly, stumbling a little In her haste, fearful lest, at the last mo ment. the woman she had so wronged should in fact change in mod. take balk the money—ay, even give hir over to that terrible man with the eyes of hate, to put her to death as she deserved. He Leaped Across the Room. Breed from the miasma of that presence. Mary remained motionless for a long minute, then sighed from her tortured heart. She urned and went slowly to her chair at the desk, and seated herself languidly, weak ened by lhe ordeal through which she had passed. "A girl I didn't know!" she said bewilderingij", “perhaps had never spoken to—who smashed my life like that! Oh’ if it wasn't so awful it would be—funny! It would be fun ny!" A gust of hysterical laughter burst from her. "Why, it is funny I “ she cried, wildly. “It is funny!” Mary!" Garson exclaimed sharp ly. He leaped across the room to face her. "That's no good!" he said ‘severely. Aggie, too, rushed forward. "No good at all!” she declared loudly. The interference recalled the dis tressed woman to herself. She made a desperate effort for self-command. Little by little, the unmeaning look died down, and presently she sat si lent and moveless, staring at the two with stormy eyes out of a wan face. SYNOPSIS. "Mv dear." said the New York man "where did yoU get the new wait- H< wap a stingy'guy and he ress?" ! Fared not for hoots or jeers; "She says she used to be in vaude- | When asked to give to charity ville," replied his wife. j He said: "1*11 give three cheers. "Good. Now we can have honi dinners with cabaret features." "What did they give yo last house?" "Gimme three n.inut turning loose do dog." "I had to k'M »ny dog this morn mg," said the Boob. "Was ..sked the C.ieerF.J Idiot. "Well, he didn't t;piii ;;n. too wc pleased, replied the Boob. Mary Turner, an orphan, employed in Edward Gilder’s department store, is accused of theft and sent to prison, though innocent. Aggie Lynch, a convict friend of Mary’s at Burn sing. sees good "possibilities” for her in the world of crime. Upon Mary's release she is continually hounded and in desperation throws herself into the North River. Joe Garson, a forger, rescues her and keeps her and -Aggie in luxury, though living chaste lives. Mary becomes the lead er of a band of swindlers, robbing only the unscrupulous and keeping always "within the law." Gilder's son Dick meets and loves Mary, who . seeks to wreak vengeance on the c father through the son. A girl who s has been in prison hears of Mary’ 5 charitable disposition, calls on her } and faints from want of nourishment. ! Now Go on With the Story pression of his clear, glowing eyes. Aggie thought that it was her turn to voice herself, which she did with out undue restraint. "F’erhaps we do, but I dunno! I'll tell you one thing, though. If any dame sent me up for three years and then wanted money’ from \$>e, do you think she'd get it? Wake me up any time in the night and ask me. Not much—not a little bit much! I'd hang on to it like an old woman to her last tooth." And that was Ag gie's final summing up of her impres sions concerning the scene she had just witnessed. A Bridegroom Spurned. After Aggie’s vigorous comment there followed a long silence. That volatile young person, little troubled as she was by sensitiveness, guessed the fact that just now further dis cussion of the event would be dis tasteful to Mary, and so she betook herself discreetly to a cigarette and the illustrations of a popular maga zine devoted to the stage As for the mftn. his reticence was really from a fear lest in speaking at all he might speak too freely, might betray' the pervasive violence of his feeling. So. he sat motionless and yvordless, his eyes carefully avoiding Mary in order that she might not be disturbed by the invisible vibrations thus sent from one to another. Mary herself was shaken to the depths. A great weariness.,a weariness that cried the worthlessness of all things, had fallen upon her. It rested leaden on her soul. It weighed down her body as well, though that mattered little Indeed. Yet, since she could minister to that readily, she rose and went to a settee on the opposite side of the room where she arranged her self among the cushions in a posture more luxurious than her rather pre cise early training usually permitted her to assume in the presence of oth ers. There she rested, and soon felt the tides of energy again flowing in her blood, and that same vitality, too, wrought healing even for her agon ized soul, though more slowly. The perfect health of her gave her strength to‘recover speedily from the shock she had sustained. “We Understand.” "You were right," she said at last, in a lifeless voice. "It’s done, and tan’t be undone. I was a fool to let it affe< t me like that. I really thought 1 had lost all feeling about it. but the sight of that girl—the knowledge that she had done it— brought it till back to ire. Well, you understand, don’t you?" •We understand.” Garson said, primly. But there was more than I dimness, infinitely more, in the ex- you'll have to quit seeing young Gil der. The bulls are wise. His father has made a holler." "Don’t let that worry you, Joe," she said tranquilly. She allowed a few seconds to go by, then added as if quite indifferent: "I was married to Dick Gilder this morning." There came a squeal of amazement from Aggie, a start of incredulity from Garson. "Yes," Mary repeated evenly, "I was married to him this morning. That was my important engagement,’’ she added with a smile toward Aggie. For some intuitive reason, mysterious to herself, she did not care to meet the man’s eyes at that moment. Aggie sat erect, her baby face alive with worldly glee. “My Gawd, what luck!" she ex claimed, noisily. "Why, he's a king fish, he is. Gee! But I’m glad you landed him!" "Thank you," Mary said, with a smile that was the result of her sense of humor rather than from any ten derness. It was then that Garson spoke. He was a delicate man in his sensibili ties at times, In spite of the fact that he followed devious methods in his manner of gaining a livelihood. So, now. he put a question of vital sig nificance. “Do you love him?" The question caught Mary all un prepared, but she retained her self- control sufficiently to make her an swer in a voice that to the ordinary ear would have revealed no last tremor. “No.” she said. She offered no final explanation, no excuse, merely state] the fact in all Its finality. Aggie Looked Shocked. Aggie was really shocked, though for a reason altogether sordid, not one whit romantic. "Ain’t he young?” she demanded, aggressively. "Ain’t he good looking, and loose with his money something scandalous? If I met up with a fellow ns liberal as he. If he was three times his age. I could simply adore him!” Tt was Garson who pressed the topi^ with an inexorable curiosity born of his unselfish interest in the woman concerned. "Then, why did you marry him?" he asked. The sincerity of him was ex cuse enough for the seeming indelica cy of the question. Besides, he felt himself somehow responsible. He ha 1 given back to her the gift of life, which she had rejected. Surely, he had the right to know the truth It seemed that Mary believed h. confidence his due. for she told him the fact. "I have been working and scheming for nearly a year to do !t,” she said, with a hardening of her face that spoke of indomitable resolve. "Now, it's done." A vindictive gleam shot from her violet eyes as she added: "It's only the beginning, too." To Be Continued To-rr.orrow. “H OW are you, old sport?” said Jepson to Simcoe. who, sup ported by a crutch and a cane, came slowly down the sunlit street. Sim- was swathed until he resembled a mummy; be moved with .extreme care. When he perceived Jepson he smiled wanly. "I don’t feel very well," he returned wearily. "I don’t seem to get much bet ter somehow.’’ “What are you doing for it?" inquired Jepson. "That has a lot to do with how you feel, you. Now. I’ve got a sec ond cousin whose wife’s mother knew a man who was down flat on* his back with something or other, and he took—*• let’s see, I am not sure that I know Just what it was—but, anyway, it was some sort of medicine that you rub on and take internally, too! I don't doubt but that any druggist can tell you the name of it,* if you tell him what it's for. You get some and try it. and maybe it wdll cure you as quick as it did that fellow. Simcoe held up his thin hands. "No use," he said. "If it’s known to medi cal science I’ve already tried it. I’ve changed medicine once every three or four days for a year or so; l try a new preparation every time I turn around. I think I get worse all the time." "Why don't you hunt up a new doc tor?" queried Jepson. with a sudden in spiration. "Doctors!" snorted Simcoe, for the moment aroused from his lethargy. /Doctors! I’ve haM more doctors than there are men in the Mexican army. I’ve had doctors that give medicine in large doses, and doctors that give medi cine in small doses; I've had doctors that rub and maltreat their patients until most of them either die or get well in self-defense; I’ve had doctors that give various sorts of treatment, and some nat don’t seem to give any at all. I’ve had ’em old and young, male and fe male. white, red. black and tan and yellow all sorts and conditions of doc- u.rs. but none of them is able to make me feci as I ought to feel.’’ "Ever try the baths?" ventured Jep son. "All of them.' said Simcoe. "Sulphur, salt, mud, steam, hot and cold water! hops I've been the whole route. And every new kind of bath does me up worse than the one before. I must be in awful shape, and I don’t know for the life of me what I'm going to do with myself now." ‘I'll tell you, old man," counseled Jepson, after deliberation, "if I were in yor shoes 1 wouldn’t do anything. Maybe no treatment at all is what you need until you get rested up again. Anyway, the things you've tried haven't helped you, you say, and this might.’’ "Not do anything?" exclaimed Sim coe in amazement. "Why, if I took a chance like that I’d probably be dead as a pickled eel before to-morrow. I'm on my way now to see a new sort of medical genius that puts his patients In a barrel and piles hot bricks on their heads. It’s said that he has worked some wonderful cures "But as for me. I don’t hope for very much. It doesn’t seem to he of much use, because the more I doctor, some- the worse I get. and the worse 1 get the more I have the doctor, and the more I doc—” But Jepson had fled. Her Hair Sparkled. It was this health that maoe the; glory of the flawless skin, white with a living white that revealed the cours ing blood beneath, and the crimson! lips that bent in smiles so tender, or} so wistful, and the limpid eyes in which always lurked fires*that some times burst into flame, the lustrous mass of undulating hair that sparkled In the sunlight like an a-yreole to her face or framed it in heavy splendor> with its shadows, and the supple erectness of her graceful carriage, the lithe dignity of her every movement. But at last she stirred uneasily and sat up. Garson accepted this as a* sufficient warrant for speech. "You know—Aggie told you—that j Cassidy was up here from headquar- I ters. He didn’t put a name to it, bn I I'm on." Mary regarded him inqul- | ingly. and he continued, putting tl fact with a certain brutal bluntne • after the habit uf his class. 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