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—' TWO GIRLS.
n . ns a girl who always said
TI !PrC fte , V as very hard;
ller t he one thine she wanted most
jVoin 11 was debarred.
She mlwhvs was a clouded spot
TANARUS, f e -P'here within her sky;. W
J t ° h r : „g was ever quite just right,
e used to say, and sigh.
, , her sister, strange to say,
lot was just the same
r mid something pleasant for herself
tf v dav that came.
J' Ue, things tangled up sometimes,
C Vnr iust a little while;
"ptliing ever stayed all wrong,
Bo ghe used to say, and smile.
e nnp s ; rl sighed and one girl smiled,
all their lives together;
eome from luck or fate,
1 V on* clear or cloudy weather
rri reason lay within their hearts,
V L\ colored all outside;
n .fe chose to hope and one to mope,
U And so they smiled and sighed
—Pure Words.
FOiIGOTTEN OF MEN.
- By W. Bert Foster.
He sat, a little dried figure of a
n W ith a face like a winter apple,
. the sunniest angle of the debtors’
ci, rt. The much hacked armchair
which he occupied had evidently seen
service in its better days at the desk
f some good-natured official. His
thin hair showed in silver streaks
between the rim of Ills battered hat
and the frayed collar of his coat. His
other apparel corresponded with the
hat and coat; he was shabby, but not
unkempt. The shiny coat was
brushed speckless; the old shoes,
rudely patched by the prison cobbler,
a-ere polished; his face was cleanly
shaven. Old Jimmy’s neatness was
a source of wonder to his comrades in
debtors’ row.
He was a patriarch of the constant
ly changing company who idled daily
in the court behind the workhouse.
They called themselves “boarders”—
a pleasantry at which each was ex
pected to laugh; but after a time the
laugh grew hollow, and the jibe was
a mockery.
Some idled away the dragging
hours at dominoes, or wrangled nois
ily over the quoits at the further end
of the court. There were those, how
ever, who walked the court incessant
ly -for exercise,” they said; but it
was the exercise of the caged creature
used to the wild freedom of the for
ests and plains.
Old Jimmy was past both stages
of the experience. As the nonchalance
of the first few weeks gives way to the
lash of anxiety which drives a man to
and fro like the captive beast, so the
latter had, in old Jimmy’s case, grad
ually grown into a gentle apathy.
Old Jimmy had been in the debtors’
prison five years. The grave and the
prison door successfully shut out the
memory of a man, and five years is
a long time for one's friends to re
member. He had no kin and few
friends when the prison door closed
upon him and he had been forgotten
long since.
But there was one who had not.
He was not quite “forgotten of men.”
The pitiful spite of the man who
had sent old Jimmy to this place, and
the pitiful stubbornness of the debtor
himself, still kept him here. NSome
times newcomers asked the patriarch
why he did not “take the oath,” and
always brought a flush
to his withered cheek and an expres
sion to his eye that few understood.
He felt that it would give his enemy
more satisfaction for him to obtain
his freedom in that way than it did to
keep Uni shut up; therefore he re
fused the proffered means of escape.
The officers were all friendly with
old Jimmy. He never made any trou
ble and he was useful in “breaking
in” newcomers. Sometimes they mar
velled that so quiet and unobstrusive
a man could be so stubborn.
“What would you do if you got
c ’it, Jimmy?” somebody asked.
"I'm sure I don’t know,” replied
the patriarch, gently. *1 had begun
to find it hard to get w’ork because of
mv age when I came in. It would,
I suppose, be much harder now.
I expect I am much better off
erp * an d as long as lam here I know
that there is at least one of my fel
owmen outside who thinks of me.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across
is face. “Yes, yes,” he repeated, “I
ex Pect lam riiiT t ' ar here.”
sunshine to
|U ’ ‘ ! ' s grave and im
‘ssive as usual; but memories were
j . li! i ng within him that had not trou
‘eti him for months. It was the
anniversary °f his entrance upon
aison life and—but who can express
e feelings of a soul whose limits
a 'e been the bare gray walls of a
/ ISOn hen for so long a tune? Per
na Ps not the soul itself,
v ' vra Pped in thought was he that
jT 1( * not notice the sudden hush in
a- V ° mt ’ or hear the firm, quick step
It was only when a hand
u .' ~ ( . oa his shoulder, that he looked
hiln himself stood beside
Jimni y. I’ve got news for
sha-*> cheer y voice rang out in
con* 1 ntrast to bhe hum of subdued
aji *ersation that had before filled the
had >’ ol me ’ uty? ” The old man
faco ' n and 00^e( l into the officer’s
( slowly dawning surprise.
news*-’ 8 ' The best kind of
tone" r en in a lower
; You’re going out.”
“T?T g ? ing -~ out? ”
Tl hat ' 8 it ' my *nan. ,!
fore V man his lips be
shook Peaking again and his voice
“Ot' U sure * t>s me * deputy?”
l augha?, UrS l 1 am! ” The deputy’s
to ten f ln fi led the court. “I came
Verily jL°u myself * old man. Why, I
y tQllev e you’re not glad!”
Old Jimmy’s face had pared ami
his voice still trembled.
‘ W hat—what has happened, sir ?M
“To him?”
Old Jimmy always spoke of his en
emy in that way and the official al
most unconsciously adopted the term
The patriarch nodded.
I couldn t tell you. Simply the
money for your board hasn’t come, so
that lets you out. Go get your traps
and come along.”
The old man's tear-filled eyes
blinked slowly. He stammered, but
did not move, as though he failed yet
to comprehend the wonderful thing
that had befallen him.
“Come, man, hurry up!J’ exclaimed
the deputy', more brusquely'.
As though to punishment, with
head low on his breast and pallid
cheeks, the patriarch crossed the
court. Some of his comrades, wh
had listened with interest to the con
versation, crowded forward to bid
him good-by; but he w'ent on as
though he did not see them. In a
daze he entered the grim corridor
and walked unsteadily to his cell.
There were a few articles of clothing
and a book or two he prized. These
he placed in his shabby old bag and
joined the deputy at the cage.
The officer on duty shook hands
with him and wished him good-by.
But old Jimmy scarcely realized what
it all meant. The sudden change in
his placid life had quite bewildered
the old man. He could not, as yet,
adjust himself to it.
He followed the deputy upstairs
and sat down in the office while the
necessary papers w'ere being filled
out. One of the clerks came and
whispered to the officer. The latter
turned good-naturedly to old Jimmy;
“I can tell you what’s happened,
Jimmy,” he said. “He’s dead. Went
off day before yesterday, this young
man tells me. Must have forgotten
you, Jimmy, or he’d made provision
for such a contingency 7 ', eh?”
“Yes, he has forgotten me,” re
sponded the old man, strangely. “I
—am —forgotten. ”
It was growing dark outside. The
papers on the deputy’s desk rustled
softly. Old Jimmy leaned his head
upon one claw-like hand. In a few
moments he would be free. Free!
Twenty years before that would have
meant much to him; there were a
wife and children then. Five years
before it would have been welcomed,
for then the horror of the prison was
fresh upon him. But now—
He looked down atHhis shabby
clothing. He remembered his empty
pockets. The night was cpming fast.
The deputy rose and motioned to
him.
It’s all right, Jimmy. I’ve made
account of your release.” He shook
the withered paw of the old man
warmly, and led him to the door. A
moment later the discharged debtor
stumbled down the iron steps.
The sun had gone down. From
witiiin sounded faintly the monoto
nous tramp of the men from the shops
going to their cells. He was alone
in this outer world —tne world he had
not seen for five years. Hi§ friends?
They had forgotten him long ago.
His enemy? He, too, had forgotten,
for there is naught but forgetfulness
in the grave.
He leaned his bared head against
the cold granite. A great unuttered
and unutterable cry filled his soul.
“Forgotten of men! Forgotten of
men!”—Portland Transcript.
Trying to Beat
the Gambling Bank
By ARTHUR HEWITT.
The charm of roulette at Munte
Carlo is apparent, the fascination and
excitement are bound to hold you as
they did me during my lucky days.
Then, too, there is the gorgeous
beauty of the rooms themselves, the
crowd of people all intent on the
play,%iftnd the prodigious sums of
money in view—the unified ac
tivity, the action of combined thought
in one direction. Each plays upon
the senses until (I care not how
strong your ordinary will) you fall
prey to a temptation beyond your
power of resistance. To be captain
of your own soul in this place is in
deed an arduous feat. I saw the
strong and the weak alike enthralled
—people of many lands; and I think
there were more women than men.
Some played the game with definite
system, some in the most erratic
manner. The same fate overtook all.
At roulette, roughly, the
wins three per cent, of all the money
staked. As you play, this hard math
ematical fact is establishing itself
against you. You may win at the
first, indeed many times. All your
winnings first get back to the bank,
and then your pocket will pay at
least this subtle three per cent, for
aHyour fine sport of many days. It
ii?,so simple, need I even explain,
when the company which runs the
place yearly reaps profits to the tune
of over one and a half million pounds
sterling? /■
The fateful zero takes your money,
mathematically, once in thirty-six
spins of the wheel; in the long reck
oning it always appears and each
time the bank rakes in the stakes. —
From ‘‘Monte Carlo and Its Game,”
in The Bohemian Magazine.
Asking the Impossible.
“Have you any alarm clocks?” in
quired the customer.
“Yes, ma’am,” said the man behind
the counter. “About w*hat price do
you wish to pay for one.”
“The price is no object' if I can get
the kind lam after. What I want is
one that will rouse the hired girl
without waking the whole family.”
“I don’t know of any such alarm
clock as that, ma’am,” said the man.
“We keep just the ordinary kind —
the kind that will wake the whole
family without disturbing the hired
girl.”—Chicago Tribune.
MARKING TIME.
Floral Time-Piece—Sun-Dials—Hour Glass —Clocks and
Watches—Harrison’s Chronometer —Clock-Striking.
By DF. R._ SHELTON MACKENZIE. - - '
The earliest and most authentic of
all historic records informs us that
after the creation of light' and its
separation from the darkness, “the
evening .and the morning were the
first day.”
After this the work of creation was
completed, including animal life, at
the head of which is the human. It
may be safely taken for granted that
some measurement of time, other
than that general division of light
and darkness, took place after this.
In the Polar regions, where there
Is a night of gloom, almost of dark
ness, during xveeks and even months
at a time, the darkness w’ould not
constitute what we call night, nor
the light be held as day.
When the world was in its prime,
the early inhabitants would natur
ally regulate their periods of repose
and labor by the appearance and de
parture of the sun.
Modern science has observed other
methods. Naturalists and poets saw
and remembered that certain flowers
were regular in their hours of open
ing and shutting, and Linnaeus
turned this to account when he ar
ranged his “time-piece” of these beau
tiful creations.
When the earth became peopled,
what more natural than to divide the
day into periods, through observing
the various lengths of shadows
thrown by objects. Hence, no doubt,
the invention of sundials.
The drawback, however, w r as that
the dial would not show the time on
a cloudy day. It may be added, as a
fact not generally known, that there
also were moondials, to tell the time
at night.
There were water clocks also, from
which the fluid fell, drop by drop, and
the time, by day or night, was ascer
tained by noticing the depth of the
water below.
These water clocks (technically
called clepsydras) w-ere in use among
the ancient Greeks and Romans, and. L
from time immemorial, among the
Chinese.
The Greeks are said to have ob
tained them, as early as 530 B. C.,
from the Babylonians. Nearly 400
years later the Romans divided their
four night watches by means of the
clepsydra.
The hours of these water clocks
w'ere counted for the morning, their
first hour commencing w'hen the
hands of our time-pieces indicate 7,
and their sixth hour being equivalent
to the twelfth by our clock.
When the Christian era was begin
ning this mode of counting time
would appear to have been in vogue
in Palestine, and wherever a Roman
was stationed this was the
method of dividing their night
watches—relieved four times both in
summer and winter. 0
In the ninth century Haraun A1
Raschid, the Caliph of the Saracens,
embassy to Charlemagne, and
one of his gifts was a beautiful clep
sydra.
The simple instrument generally
known as the hour glass, measured
the time by the running out of sand,
instead of water. King Alfred the
Great noted the time by the gradual
burning down of candles colored in
rings.
It is not known -where wheel and
weight clocks were first made, but
they were in use in the eleventh cen
tury—about the time when William
of Normandy invaded England, and,
having conquered it, declared himself
its sovereign ruler, and divided large
districts of it among his soldiers.
It is pretty accurately known that
the pendulum—or little weight which
hangs below the works of the clock,
swinging to and fro —was first used
in the middle of the seventeenth cen
tury.
It may here be stated that the
word pendulum is derived from the
Latin pendere, to hang, and that
clock comes from the Anglo-Sason
clucga, which means a bell, or a
clock, in the Gaelic, Danish and
Welsh languages.
Having mentioned King Alfred’s
“time-candles,” it may be as well to
say that, for his daily use, he had six
tapers made, each twelve inches long,
and each divided into twelve parts or
inches.
Three of these parts burned for
one hour, and the six tapers, lighted
one after the other, would burn for
twenty-four hours. But as candles
were liable to be wasted by draughts,
in houses where glass windows -were
not, Alfred had lanterns made to pro
tect his.
Among Shakespeare’s numerous
anachronisms is the mention of the
striking of a clock in the ancient
city of Ephesus.
By-the-way, the fact that Shakes
peare’s plays are tesselated with such
% grant mistakes or misstatements is
the best answer to the theory that
Francis Bacon, the great lawyer, -was
author of said plays.
Choice examples of the clockmak
er’s skill are the miniature time
pieces which bear witness to mucn
patient ingenuity, and are more in
teresting than dials twelve feet in di
ameter, covering works of a propor
tionate size, on the towers of
churches and of city halls.
For example, the miniature time
piece carried by Louis XIV. of I ranee
was so small that it was set in one
of that luxurious monarch’s finger
rings. -
Doubtless, this time-toy could be
reproduced in the present time, u
“it would not pay.” The expense o
producing the delicate Lilliputian
machinery necessary for the con
struction of such diminutive w 7 atches
would be very great. As the French
proverb has it, “the game is not
worth the candle.”
Yet even now marvels of miniature
time-piece construction are by no
means uncommon. In the shop win
dows of many jew'elers, in numerous
great cities, proofs of this are visible.
One, which I had .in my hand
and heard w’ith its gentle but unde
niable tick, tick, tick, was a gold
Geneva watch, so smalt that one of
our little silver five-cent pieces
would entirely cover its face.
• Assurance w'as given that it was
“a good 'un to go”—in a w'ord, that
its miniature works w’ere as perfect
as any of the huge hunters that rest
ed heavily in the fobs of a bygone
generation.
In fiction, the w r aeh has occasional
ly flourished. In this connection, it
is scarcely necessary to go beyond
the watches of the elder Mr. Weller,
of Pickwickian memory, and the re
doubtable “turnip” of Captain Ed-
w r ard Cuttle.
It is in an early chapter of “Mas
ter Humphrey's Clock” that the elder
Mr. Weller’s ‘‘immense double-cased
silver watch” with a key of corre
sponding magnitude, is introduced.
After winding it up, applying it to
his ear to ascertain that was still go
ing, Mr. Weller “gave it some half
dozen hard knocks on the table to
improve its performance,” and de
clared that falls and concussions only
improved its going.
Captain Cuttle's horologue re
peatedly mentioned in “Dombey and
Son”—is introduced as being “so big
and so tight in his pocket that it
came out like a bung.”
When Walter Gay is going to sea,
Cuttle wishes him to accept it as “a
parting gift, my lad,” adding, by way
of character, “Put it back half an
hour every morning, and about an
other quarter toward the arter-noon,
and it’s a w r atch that’ll So you cred
it.”
In another chapter, he uses the
self same w 7 ords, adding, that if
treated in this repressive manner,
“you’ve a w r atch as can be ekelled by
none and excelled by few.”
In Switzerland, and throughout
Germany, the cuckoo clock is in great
request—particularly in farm houses.
Hour after hour, the shrill cry of
“Cuckoo!” is repeated, greatly to the
delight of children.
Ingenuity and science have been
exercised, time out of mind, in the
construction and improvement of
time-pieces. Navigation largely de
pends on good chronometers.
In the year 1714 very large re
wards were offered by the British
Parliament for a trustworthy instru
ment, of the best order, by which the
longitude could he ascertained with
in sixty, forty or thirty miles.
In 1735 John Harrison, a rural
clock-maker, invented a time-piece
which scarcely ever lost five seconds
in six months. To him, in 1767, w r as
paid SIOO,OOO, as the first prize for
all but an infallible time-keeper.
He invented the going fusee, by
w r hich a watch can be wound up with
out interrupting its movement. To
this uncouth, countryfied, but won
derfully able man, navigation owes
more than words can express.
By-the-w r ay, it is singular that
there is no knowledge of the time
w'hen the strikhig mechanism of the
clock w r as first applied. It was adopt
ed for the use of the clergy, to
arouse them to their morning devo
tions.
Mr. Asquith’s Wit.
At a meeting in Liverpool on one
occasion Mr. Asquith began a sen
tence, stopped in the middle of it, and
took a gulp of water from a tumbler
beside him. The audience roared.
“Ah,” said the Premier, “that’s a
trick I learned of Bob Lowe. ‘lf you
stop to drink at the end of a sentence
depend upon it some other fellow will
pop up to cut you short,’ he said.”
As an example of the Premier's wit,
the following might One
of the first lavygjillsinwkich Mr.
Asquith prominence was
the famous trial of Hawke vs. Dunn,
when the Anti-Gambling League did
their utmost to prohibit betting on
Kempton Park race course. Mr. As
quith appeared for the league, and
argued that the course was “a place
within the meaning of the act.” Dur
ing the hearing various more or less
acceptable theories were put forward
as to what did not constitute a place.
‘.‘Suppose,” said Mr. Justice Wright,
“I were to give you an area marked
by the meridians of longtitude, would
that constitute a place in your opin
ion, Mr. Asquith?” “That, my lord,”
was Mr. Asquith’s instant and witty
retort, “would be merely a matter of
df^ee.” —London Truth.
■ ■ ■ , - - ....
A Surprised Judge.
On getting to his chambers in court
a Paris judge was handed this note:
“Monsieur the Judge—ln the belief
that a judge can form an accurate
opinion only of matters of which he
has personal experience, we think
that it will interest you to be exactly
acquainted with the facts of a case
similar to j|any which are tried b;
you every r . We accordingly have
the honor jyinform you that we have
had muchMieasure in burgling your
fiat to-day “This,” said the learned
judg£, “w obviously a joke.” But
he fourJßhat it was not when he got
home4iftiicago News.
THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE NEWS
By CHARLES FERGUSON.
The remark usually passes without
criticism that the Press is a great
power. It was once called the Fourth
Estate, but no one would describe it
in that way to-day—it is now rather
supposed to be the First. There are,
indeed, sound reasons for believing
that the newspaper is destined to
stand, by and by—if it does not al
ready—in the very focus of social
force.
Genuine democracy is the enthrone
ment of the working intellect. And
under modern conditions the most
characteristic organ of the intellect
is not a school or a library, but a
newspaper. For it is of the very
essence of modernity that the intel
lect is ceasing to be dogmatic and is
learning to take things on the fly—
to shoot without a rest.
The intellect of the Old World
never ventured out of doors without
a smooth-wrapped generalization
tucked, umbrella-wise, under its arm,
but the* modern intellect thrives in the
wind and rain, and swims strongest
in the swiftest stream of change. So
then, since journalism is the intel
lectual mastery of moving events, it
must have the supreme place of au
thority in the kingdom which is at
hand. In the social order dominated
by the working intellects the news
paper will be the perpetual spring
and source of democratic government
and law.
You put arc lights on a dark street
and thievery and violence are driven
away. Just so the light of publicity
banishes fraud, bribery, tyranny and
all the menacing shapes of evil that
prey upon the ignorance of men. The
news rules the world. If the world
is badly ruled it is because the news
is seized upon as the property of a
few—is not published for all. The
Rothschilds made a great fortune by
getting the news of the fall of Na
poleon at Waterloo in advance of the
French and English exchanges. When
the Government estimates of the cot
ton crop leak out before the day of
general publication somebody has a
gigantic power of privilege put into
his hands. And millions are taken
from the people in the stock market
because a judge gossips of his news
before he publishes it in open court.
In a thousand still subtler wavs the
people suffer through news monopoly.
There is indeed no social outrage that
Is not founded on fraud. And fraud
in the last analysis is neither more
nor less than the suppression of news.
It follows front these considerations
that the people should take their
newspapers more seriously and insist
upon having the best. The newspa
per is precisely the most wonderful
achievement of modern art and
science. No other work compares
with it in the complexity of its or
ganization or the delicacy and
strength of its influence. The diur
nal pulsations of its power are the
heart beats of our actual society.
Of no other institution may it be
said that so much life goes into it or
comes out of it.
But the life that animates the
newspaper is the life of the whole
people. Newspaper men do not make
newspapers any more than clergymen
make churches or doctors health.
The best newspaper is the one
that publishes the most news. But
news is not published unless it is un
derstood. And nothing can be un
derstood until it has been stated in
an interesting way. And after the
newspaper men have done their best
the people alone can decide what is
interesting to them. Thus the last
word on the subject is that the news
paper is best which is most interest
ing to the most people. If the peo
ple will have more news, and news
of a newsier kind—thrilling news
that will shatter the cake of dull
custom and renovate the flavor of
their lives —they have only to sit up
gtraighter and take more notice.
Emerson said that it is the good
reader that makes the good book.
He insisted that book reading should
be a kind of athletic exercise in which
the reader should wrestle with the
author for the news that he has to
tell. So a newspaper ought not to
be read in a hypnotic doze. You must
•wrestle with your newspaper if you
would get good out of it. Write to
the editor and let him know what
you like about it and what you don’t
like. And consider whether the story
that you read about a fire, a murder,
a ball or a bread line is not something
more than a fact. Perhaps it has an
idea behind it. Perhaps it involves
day will come when people will
read their newspapers religiously.
The newspaper—gathering up the
life of the whole world for you and
letting you into that great.common
life —i g a splendid and beautiful
thing—a kind of
It makes you a part of a universal
communion of suffering and victory
and hope.—New York American.
Vain Pride.
“Well, how do you Jnink this
looks?” asks Mr. Bindenly, coming
into his wife’s boudoir%Yjhile she is
arranging her coiffure. J
“How does -what 100/M” she in "
quires, in tones that by
some hairpins she her
liP “I got this toupe<y*BKer my bald
spot. I’m always cold, and —”
“Why, John J^^^Binderby! The
very idea!”
you were a jßFwho was above such
petty a man becomes
so self-conlcious of his looks it has
really a suspicious appearance.”
Whereupon Mr. Binderby takes off
he toupee and combs the four locks
f hair over his bald spot, and his
-/ife continues to pin on the perfectly
ovely puffs that so enhance her
aeauty.—Chicago Post.
fjiltlisf
Mankato's Good Road.
Mankato, Minn., has solved tha
problem of finding a durable pave
ment at small expense and one that
can be used on steep grades as read
ily as on a level surface.
First, the driveway was narrowed
to thirty feet, curbed, guttered and
boulevarded. Then it was excavated to
the depth of six inches and surfaced.
Five in.ches of dry crushed limestone
one and a half to two inches in di
ameter was put on and rolled down
with a ten-ton roller. Boiling tar
from the local gas works was applied
until the entire surface was covered.
Then a layer of broken stone an inch
to an inch and a .quarter In diameter,
mixed with coarse gravel, was applied
on the surface in the proportion of
three parts of stone to one of gravel.
This was first mixed dry on a plat
form and then thoroughly mixed
with hot tar and applied on the sur
face two inches thick and tamped
into place to conform with the sur
face of the street.
Dry domestic cement was then ap
plied to the surface and the street
was again rolled. Then a coating of
sand was applied, and the roller
again used. The pavement was al
lowed to stand for two weeks before
the street was thrown open to travel.
The cost was eighty cents a lineal
foot to the property owners on each
side of the street, or rather would
have been had the entire cost been
assessed against them. The street
has a practically waterproof pave
ment six inches thick, and it is im
possible for the elements to attack
the surface. The pavement has now
stood two winters and show's not the
slightest wear. It gives off no dust
in summer, although it is not
sprinkled.—Cement Age.
*•
i r— A Twofold Object.
We hope the day has come when
with the intelligent use of convict la
bor in the only channel of usefulness
that is free from the charge of being
in competition with free labor, i3
about to give the State a good system
of roads.
The working on the public high
ways of the lazy jailbirds who have
been for years accustomed to eat their
heads off in the county prisons will,
unless we are greatly mistaken, less
en the number of petty crimes and
lower the criminal expenses of the
State, w r hile the labor of those con
victs who are sent to the roads will
do wlonders toward the improvement
of the public roads.
This twofold object should be at
tained very shortly now that the sys
tem of road working is fairly under
way. Convicts have been sent from
this city and from Norfolk County to
the roads elsewhere in the State, and
we hope the work will be extended
to this section in the near future.
The Newport News Times-llerald
Is on the right track, when, in dis
cussing the question of good roads, it
says :
“InJJhost of the Virginia counties
enough money has been expended
since the war to have given Virginia
a splendjjd system of dirt roads. But
under the slipshod system of ‘work
ing the roads’ the money has been
wasted, and there is little in the way;
of road improvement to show for it.
The only sensible plan is to have the
work done under a competent engi
neer and to build permanently as far
as the money will go.”—Portsmouth
Star.
Progress of Crusade.
New Jersey is far in advance of
any State in the actual work of road
construction. The law there places
one-tenth of the cost on the State,
one-tenth on the abutting land own
ers, and the remainder on the county,
which is an equitable distribution of
the burdens of construction and
maintenance. The substitution of
solidly built roads for dirt roads soon
effects a transformation in the region
through which it passes, and even the
old topography seems to vanish. Im
proved accessibility tells upon every
farm and adds to its value. Time
and money, which are always equiva
lent, are saved to the farmer and to
all whose business it is to communi
cate with him. Economy is consulted
as as convenience. So far as im
proved laws have taken shape in this
country the French idea is recognized
that the State should bear a consid
erable share of the cost of construct
ing njain thoroughfares, and French
rural be traced in no
small excel
lent public roads. Nownrflt the ru
ral of this country is ex
pected to comparatively
small portion
roads, his the
movement is, quite naturally, chang
ing in its favor. With a dozen or
more States already engaged in tha
reform, the rapid extension of well
made, permanent public highways is
assured. —The Epitomist.
Remarkable Finish.
The deer shooting season in the
AdirondackS has closed with the
unique record of not a man being
mistaken and shot for one of the ani
mals. Frequent warnings combined
with some repressive legislation oa
this subject appear to have accom
plished the desired end. —Boston Her
ald.