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LIFE.
Onr Hfe, our life is like a narrow raft
Afloat upon the hungry sea;
Hereon is but a little space,
And ail men, eager for a place,
Do thrust each other in the sea;
And each man, eager for a place,
Does thrust his brother in the sea.
And so our life is wan with fears,
And so the sea is salt with tears.
Ah, well is thee, thou art asleep 1
. Ah, well is thee, thou art asleep I
Our life, our life is like a curious play,
Where each man hideth from himself.
“Let us be open as the day,”
One mask does to the other say,
When he would deeper hide himself?
“Let us be open as the day.”
That he may better hide himself.
And so the world goes round and round,
Until our life with rest is crowned.
Ah, well is thee, thou art asleep I
Ah, well is thee, thou art asleep!
—The Path.
THE ROOM-MATES,.
BY JOHN B. RAYMOND.
Henry Hadley and John Ashton
roomed together for six months, but
never exchanged a word. There was
quarrel between them; they were
deaf mutes; they were normal, every-day
young men, and one, at least, longed
ardently to hear the other’s voice.
It came about in this way: Hadley was
a reporter on the News-Herald, where he
had filled a certain round of dry-as-dust
assignments for years and was not much
liked by his associates. He had a tend¬
ency to drudge; he wore faint “mutton
chop" side-whiskers and turned up the
bottoms of his trousers when it rained.
But he was really a capital fellow, aDd in
spite of his prosiac exterior he had a
little romance of his own. He was en¬
gaged to be married, and Alice Tyler
was a girl of whom any one might well
be proud. She was the niece of a friend
of Hadley’s, and when he proposed to
her, after a long, despairing courtship,
he was astounded to find himself ac¬
cepted. It seemed incredible that such
a perfect creature could ever be his own,
but after he had somewhat recovered
from his transports his practical nature
asserted itself, and he began to retrench
his expenses in preparation for the event.
Thus it was that he eventually answered
an advertisement for a room-mate.
It so happened that the other occupant
of the room was also a reporter, although
a very different stamp of man. John
Ashton was a meteoric genius. He was
a waif from dead and gone Bohemia.
His forte was the strange, the odd, and
the grotesque, and his startling and un¬
looked-for strokes had gone far toward
making the Chronicle famous. In his field
he was invaluable, and he had long since
killed his chance for promotion by merit¬
ing it too much.
pulJlished The Newt-Herald, as everybody knows,
is in the afternoon, while the
Chronicle is a morning daily, and Had¬
ley, who hod made bis arrangements
through the landlady, was disappointed,
when he awoke early on the first day in
his new quarters, to find that his room¬
mate, who had let himself in sometime
during the night, was then asleep in the
little alcove opposite his own. He had
promised himself much pleasure from
the society of a man whose work he so
much admired, but the pale, handsome
face and slight form, relaxed in the lan¬
guor of deep sleep, prompted and him to
dress as quietly as possible slip out
without awakening the other.
! It turned out, to Hadley’s infinite
chagrin, and probably to Ashton’s secret
amusement, that this was no mere acci¬
dent. The former went to work early
in the morning and his duties ended
when the big presses threw out the first
copy of the last edition, at about dusk.
Ashton, on the other hand, arose a little
after noon, lounged about until dark,and
left his desk any time between one and
three o’clock at night. Consequently,
when he reached the room he invariably
found Hadley asleep, and when he awoke
he was the only occupant. ■ And vice
versa. Several things conspired to main¬
tain this fantastic relationship. Their
offices were remote from one another.
Their work was essentially different. It
did not make common resorts or mutual
friends. So it easily chanced that by
day they never met.
Such was the curious train of events
which had carried them through one
summer and into an autumn that brought
to Hadley many a miserable heartache.
A shadow had somehow fallen across the
honest fellow’s love affair. It was hard¬
ly to be defined in terms; that was the
worst of it—it was so intangible; so dif¬
ficult to say just what was wrong. There
was a change in Alice. She was silent;
she was distraught; her tears came and
went like April rain. Yet she protested
that nothing wa3 amiss, and met his
well-meant questioning with an impa¬
tience that surprised and frightened him;
for he did not know very much of wo¬
men. and her asseverations sounded to
his ears like confessions in disguise.
Above all, he felt a cumbersome unfit¬
ness to cope with the situation. It was
like a plow-boy essaying to probe a sen¬
sitive wound, and at length he feared to
speak lest he should precipitate some un¬
known crisis.
Thus it was, when at dusk one autumn
day he walked from the office to Alice’s
home to pay one of his customary visits.
It was an indolent evening, suave with
the spell of Indian summer, and through
the dreamy haze that wrapped the city and
even the hum of traffic sounded faint
harmonious, like a choir of giant insects
at the approach of night.
vague reverie as he walked on, and
he stopped mechanically before the house
he did not ring at once, but sat down
upon a little bench just within the
and masked by lilac-bushes.
The narcotic calm of tho scene and
hour had lulled him' into serenity, and
night fell unmarked, until, at length, a
familiar voice broke in upon his medita
tions. He recognized it on the instant
as Alice’s, but it was mingled with
deeper tones that were unfamiliar to him.
Although no words had yet
themselves from the tangle of sound,
seemed to him that one voice was urging
and one remonstrating. Presently they
came nearer and stopped by tho gate.
“Oh, I cannot! I cannotl” some one
cried. It was Alice’s voice, and
there was not a jot of the spy in Hadley’s
nature, something in the intonation held
him spell-bound.
“But why not?” said the other voice,
a melodious baritone—low, persuasive,
thrilling. “But why not? It was a
ditional promise; the conditions
changed and that is-”
“No; it is not that,” broke in the
girl. She was speaking quietly, but
pathethic little quaver ran through her
words. “Oh, can’t you understand! He
is honest and true, and I cculd not break
his heart!”
A moisture sprang on Hadley’s fore¬
head and very slowly he opened and
closed his hands. There was pause, and
then the pleasant baritone again:
“Are there no rivers in Damascus?
What of my heart, Alice?” Hadley
beard no more. Something seemed to
suffocate him. His breath went no
further than than hi3 throat, and the
dusky web of lilac-branches danced in
black and shapeless phantasmagoria be¬
fore his eyes. He was dimly conscious
of a patter of feet, a wave of perfume,
and gush of yellow light as the hall door
clashed open and shut, and then he knew
he was alone again.
Alone! A hideous sense of loss, and
bitter,hopeless desolation, such as he had
never felt and never dreamed of, over¬
whelmed him. He did not think; he did
not dare to think. He staggered to his
feet, opened the gate and passed thing out.
To run away, to elude this as if
it was some sentient, palpable pursuer,
was the first impulse that possessed him,
and he hurried on, blindly, stumblingly,
he cared not where. How far he walked
thus he had no means of knowing, but
when he stopped it was on a thronging
thoroughfare, before the window a great
emporium, aquiver with electric lights.
He drew a long breath and pulled dial him¬
self together. An illuminated that
punctured the gloom of the upper air
marked after midnight, and a faintness
began to assail him, a deadly reaction
that turned his knees to water. The
careless, alien crowd jarred on him, the
barbaric spendor of the windows smote
upon his brain; he wanted to be alone,
and preseatly he saw the open doorway
of a cafe and entered.
A few people sat at tables here and
there, and on ono hand were the cur¬
tained doorways of a row of little rooms
pr stalls. He walked instinctively
toward one of these and drew the
drapery aside. A man within, who was
musing, apparently, over a bottle and a
half-eaten meal, turned at the sound,
and the room-mates looked one another
in the face.
Ashton was the first to recover him¬
self, and sprang up with outstretched
hand.
“Why, my dear fellow I” he exclaimed,
“Am I indebted to insomnia for this
pleasure?” Hadley toot his hand absently, but
did not at once reply. What was there
about that voice, with its plausible, vi¬
brating timbre, that thrilled him so?
“I have been a little troubled,” he
said, hesitatingly, “and tried to—walk
it off.”
“Ha! And came in here, I dare say,
to drown it in drink, as the proverb
goes. My word for it, trouble is the
thirstiest thing on earth, I tried to
drown a small sorrow in drink once, and
when I was under the table there was the
sorrow, sober as a judgo. But I’ll tell
you something, Hadley, it won’t stand
feeding. The proper thing to drown
sorrow in is mutton chops and fried po
tatoes. Suppose wo put it to the touch.
Waiter!”
“Hold!” said Hadley, who burned to
stop this badinage, “I am not hungry—
not in the least. Lot me sit down a mo¬
ment and think.”
He sank into a vacant chair and gazed
at the other with a sudden, haggard in¬
tentness. A thought had just occurred
to his distracted mind. Why was not
this man, so bright, so versatile, so self
contained, so en rapport with the great
world and its usages—why was not he the
very man of all men to give him counsel
in this predicament? in distress.
“Ashton,” he said, “I am
Will you give.me your advice?"
Ashton smiled grimly. shop
“You have come to a good for
advice.” he said. “My whole life is
more or less a warning. However, if I
can be of any service to you, blaze away.
Out with it, my boy 1"
But Hadley did not find the story so
easy to tell.
“I am engaged to be married,” he
said, at length.
“Hoi ho!” cried Ashton. “I forsee
a stern parent with a prejudice against
literary characters.” Then something
in the other’s face checked him, and he
dropped his tone of levity. “Forgive
me,” he said, gently. “What is this
trouble of yours? You need not men-
tion the lady’s name, of course. Make
it a hypothetical case.”
“Oh, no 1” said Hadley, “I can on
fide in you. She is the best girl in tin!
world. Her name is Alice Tyler.”
Ashton was leaning over the table
toying with a glass, but at the words he
rose involuntarily and fixed his eyes upon
the other with strange and challenging
regard. Hadley paused for a moment
with a dim and troubled conscience that
he had touched some hidden spring;
but only for a moment, and then, slowly
and incoherently, he told Ins story,
Ashton sank back as he proceeded and
heard him in silence to the end.
“Do you know this man?” he asked,
when it was done.
“No,” replied Hadley, gloomily,
“What does it matter who he is?”
Ashton did not reply; ho seemed lost
in thought.
“Hadley,” he demanded, suddenly,
“do you really intend to marry this girl?
But pshaw?” he continued, “you are too
honest to be a trifler. And this fellow
—why, a thousand to one he is amusing
himself looking for a new sensation, and
has no more use for a wife than he would
have for a bishopric. You must have
saved some money, have you not?”
“Yes,” said Hadley, rather surprised;
“I* have a few thousand dollars in bank.”
“Well,” sighed Ashton, “this is a
world of fact, but we can’t all grasp it.
Some men are made for homes and some
are not. I might have ten would time9 your find
income, and the last chapter
me a vagabond. I tell you, Hadley, you
have no real rival. This is a shadow
that has already passed, and shadows
leave no trace.”
“What shall I do?” he asked.
“Do? Why, do nothing. For heaven’s
sake don’t distress the girl with questions.
I tell you this belongs to the past. For¬
get it. Bury it. Act as if nothing had
happened, and all will come right in the
end. If I were you I would make it con¬
venient to be away for a few days. Sha
will miss you, depend upon it, and you
can begin where you left off. Can’t you
arrange to go away?”
“I think so,” said Hadley. “When
had I best go?”
“Go to-raorrow. You will come back
a new man and find her eager to welcome
you.”
Hadley reflected a moment.
“I will take your advice,” he said.
When he returned home, at the close
of the week, from a brief visit to a neigh¬
boring city, he mounted the stairs with
an. eager step, but paused, perplexed, in
tho open door. The room was dismantled
of much of its furniture, and looked bare
and unfamiliar. He entered, almost
timidly, and read this legend, chalked
upon the looking-glass:
keep what traps of
MINK YOU FIND. RAVE
MIGRATED. GONE WEST.
GOOD-BYE. GOOD BUCK
TO YOU. •J. A.»
“It was an extraordinary thing,” he
used to say in after-times, when he and
Alice were happily mated. “Here ^as a
brilliant, successful man, with the world
before him, one might say, who pulls up
stakes all of a sudden, goes out West,
goes to the dogs, and inside a year winds
up in a dance-hall fight with a bullet
through his head. No, I can’t say why
he did it; he never mentioned it to me,
although we roomed together over six
months.”— Frank Leslie's.
Frozen 609 Feet Deep.
For many years scientists have been
perplexed over the phenomenon of a cer¬
tain well at Yakutsk, Siberia. As long
ago as 1828 a Russian merchant began to
sink this noted well, and after working
on it threo years gave it up as a bad job,
having at that time sunk it to a depth of
thirty feet without getting through the
frozen-ground. He communicated these
facts to the Russian Academy of Science,
who sent men to take charge of the dig¬
ging operation at the wonderful well.
These scientific gentlemen toiled away at
their work for several years, but at last
abandoned it when a depth of 382 feet
had been reached with the earth still
frozen as hard as a rock. In 1844 tho
academy bad the temperature of the soil
at the sides of the well taken at various
depth. From the data thus obtained
they came to the startling conclusion that
the ground was frozen to a depth exceed¬
ing 600 feet. Although it is known to
meteorologists that the pole of the low¬
est known temperature is in that region
of Siberia, it is conceded that not even
that rigorous climate could force frost to
such a great depth below tho surface.
After figuring on the subject for over a
quarter of century geologists have at last
come to the conclusion that the great
frozen valley of the Lena River was de¬
posited, frozen just as it is found to-day,
during the great grinding up era of the
glacial epoch.— Chicago Herald.
Uniting Aluminum With Glass.
Bradford McGregor, the mechanical
expert of Cincinnati, Ohio, has succeeded
after numerous experiments in uniting
aluminum with glass, and he claims to
be the first who has done so. A large
piece of aluminum with a glass tube in
the centre was turned in his lathe and it
was impossible to detect the slightest
flaw or joint where they came together.
In fact, it appears as one solid mass.
Heretofore, no metal could be made to
unite with glass in which the contrac¬
tion and expansion were the same, and
it is claimed this will create a revolution
in the way of reducing the cost of incan¬
descent lights as it will take the place of
platinum, which costs $320 a pound,
while the new discovery will not cost $10.
—New Orleans Timet Democrat.
SOMETHING ABOUT “DUFF."
ITS IMPORTANT PART IN THE
ECONOMY OF THE FORESTS.
\ Huge Spring Which Retains Wa¬
ter From Rainfalls — Feeding
the Rivers and Brooks.
“There is a monstrous lot of ignoranco
about forestry in this country,” said an
old Maine woodsman the other day.
“Many even of those who want to see
our forests preserved have no intelligent
conception of the part which forests
play in the economy of nature. There
is W. H. H. Murray, for instance, an in¬
telligent man who knows a good deal
about woodcraft, and yet he falls into
the mistake that forests can be thinned
out by judicious cutting of the old trees
without any evil results. As a matter of
fact, such a practice, at least in Maine,
would destroy the lumber industry, as
well as the forests, for it would let in the
sunlight and that would most effectually
dry up the ‘duff.’
“You don’t know what ‘duff’ is? Of
course not; and yet ‘duff’ is one of the
most wonderful of nature’s provisions
for the storage of moisture, necessary
for tho trees themselves and for the lum¬
bermen. Of course you know that all
tree felling takes place in winter. The
trees felled are hauled on the ice of
lakes, ponds, rivers and brooks, or on
the banks thereof, where they can be
easily launched in the spring. From the
time when the ice disappears until late
in June, or into July, the lumberman is
busy on the drive, working his logs to
market by water. Everything in fact
depends on a good supply of water. And
if it fails early in the spring before his
work is done his logs are ‘hung up’ for
that year, resulting in a serious loss to
him. Not only, therefore, must the wa¬
ter be high, but it must continue high
for many weeks; and this is where na¬
ture comes in with her ‘duff.’
“You know how quickly the spring
freshets subside in an open country
where the sun has a chance to melt the
ice and snow. Within a few days, may
be, the earth dries up and the swollen
rivers and brooks subside to their ordi
nary summer condition. But in the
primeval forest it is not. so. Here for
generation after generation trees have
sprouted, grown and died, and each suc¬
ceeding year the great bulk of buds and
leaves which have been fed by the sap
and the atmosphere wither and fall to
the ground. In this way, in process of
time, is found a mass often covered with
beautiful moss, sometimes two or three
feet deep, known to the lumbermen as
“duff.” It is simply a huge sponge,
which absorbs millions of gallons of
water from the fall rains, which is later
most effectually sealed up by the frost,
and is then covered by the winter snow.
If the sunlight should be let in on it by
thinning the trees it would disappear in
one season. But if nature is not inter¬
fered with a most wonderful process
takes place.
“When the spring thaw occurs the
ice, snow and frozen moisture in the
open country are quickly released and
help to swell the running streams.
While this lasts the lumberman gets
.
more water than he needs, but it doesn’t
last long. Then the ‘duff’ appears as
his good angel. On the water-shed of
tho waters through which his drive
passes, there lies this huge sponge, two
or three feet thick and hundreds of
square miles in extent, saturated to
the brim with water, And, as
the heat increases, Dame Nature pro¬
ceeds gradually to squeeze and wring out
this sponge, not in one day or one week,
but all though the spring and well into
July. As a result of this invisible com¬
pression water slowly oozes from under
every rock, leaf and twig, and flows in
driblets to swell the rivers and brooks.
LoDg cultivated after the fields ponds have which fallen are fed from
the to their
low-water mark, the streams fed by the
forest ‘duff’ are flowing full and steady.
There are no snows in the woods; but
the ‘duff,’ which might be called a
mighty lake held in solution, keeps up
the high-water mark for many weeks,
thus enabling the lumberman to get his
logs to market and in other ways serving
the highest interests of man. For what
could we do without rivers, aside from
the lumber question? And how are we
going to have rivers if we allow Nature’s
reservoir, known as ‘duff,’ to be de¬
stroyed? in
“There is a good deal of interest
forest preservatiion nowadays and I am
glad to see it. But I would like to see
it expressed in a concrete form by the
organization of a ‘Society for the De
fence of Duff.’ That would get people
from vague generalities down to actual
facts. What is ‘duff’ ? would be the
first question of the members, and in get
ting the answer to that question they
would come in possession of a heap of
knowledge about forestry that would
very much increase their love for trees
and their desire to protect them.”— Neu
York Tribune.
Crooked Railways Most Popular.
“Nothing wearies a railroad traveler
more than a straight track,” says an old
railroad man. “Any road with fifty
miles of straight track would be shunned
for one with three or four curves in that
distance. I know legions of people who
put themselves out to go by roads which
wind and curve and give a new bit of
scenery every few minutes .”—Detroit
Ftee Press.
An English negotiated matrimonial 40,000 agent claims
to have marriages.
NEWS AND NOTES FOR WO.
Corduroy has come in again.
'The loose-fronted coat is worn.
The season is rich in cotton fabrics.
Beading is in greater vogue than ever.
The chatelaine bouquet is quite the
rage.
The reign of the large hat will con¬
tinue.
Sealskin and Astrakan are being com¬
bined.
The strap wrist watches are no longer
good style.
There are about thirty women lecturer*
in this country.
Black pearl necklaces draw attention
to a pretty neck.
There is a library exclusively for wo¬
men in Turin, Italy.
Bowling is extremely popular foi
ladies in some cities.
Jackets still show a tendency to be
very snug in the body and very largo of
sleeve.
One old fashion has been revived on
the skirts of evening gowns—that is,
flounces.
It is becoming quite custonary for a
widow to retain her husband’s name on
her calling cards.
Two furs are much combined in win¬
ter jackets. Astrakhan and mink is a
favorite mixture.
Fancy feathers made of lace with a
little sizing to hold them upright are a
novelty in millinery.
Turquois blue i3 much worn, and the
jewels, or rather their imitations, still re¬
main favorites with millions.
In fashionable marriage notices in
some newspapers the name of the bride
precedes that of the bridegroom.
Some of the newest party dresses are
made of cloth, but they are nearly cov¬
ered with gold and silver embroidery.
As far as the fashion in heads'go,
blondes are said to be considerably be¬
hind the procession with brunettes in the
lead.
Fashion report has it that next sum¬
mer’s feminine styles are to be more mas¬
culine than ever, and even more “rak¬
ish.”
The tea gown has yielded to what is
known as the art gown, which is merely
its predecessors over again in a modified
form.
Black velvet hats can be brightened
by adding a few Jacqueminot roses and
a full ruching of black lace around the
brim.
Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt supports and
maintains a country home for orphans
and half orphan girls on Staten Island,
N. Y.
No girl of the period’s wardrobe
would seem to be complete in these days
without at least one “real tailor-made
coat.”
Princess of Wales is credited with
the possession of half a dozen different
kinds of fur cloaks^ and wraps, “all oi
fabulous value.” v
Very light-colored felt hats, much
trimmed with piuk roses or other pale
tinted blossoms and ostrich tips, are
much worn by very “swell" maidens.
A movement is on foot to have young
women admitted as pupils the to the depart¬
ment of tailoring in New York
Trades School for boys and young men.
Black ages any woman past thirty by
deepening the lines in her face. Certain
lines come with time, and time forms
character, but a woman is not obliged to
advertise her age.
The Empress Frederick, of Germany,
has sent two glass tubes with Koch's
lymph to the Lina Hospital in Naples,
Italy, accompanied by a long letter to
the foundress, the Duchess Ravaschieri.
A tall, gaunt, angular, awkward
woman will appear less so in something
light and floating, some soft, clinging
material that will follow every move¬
ment, multiply lines and obliterate
angles.
Mrs. William Morris,wife of the Lon¬
don, England, artist, poet and Socialist,
is said to be the m03t beautiful woman
in the world. She goes out but little,
and is rarely seen by the multitude who
visit her husband.
The scheme to employ good looking
women as bill collectors, adopted by
some of the business houses of New York
City, works almost too well. Several
women married within a fortnight and
four became engaged.
When a widow marries she never
wears white, nor would she wear orange
blossoms. She does not* have brides
mai( j 9< j fc j s no t USU al to remove the
r ; n „ 0 j fi er first marriage; the second
t - 6 j s put 1 on a \ 3070 it.
Two of the best-dre3sed women in
England are literary women—Mrs.
Campbell-Praed and Mrs. Stannard.
Their gowns are tailor-made and cut in
the simplest style. In evening wear Mrs.
Praed affects rich, delicate brocades.
An organization in Rome, Italy, which
calls itself the Roman Arts aud Crafts
Society, has been established to enable
women to dispose of their needlework.
It includes English, American and Italian
ladies, who work harmoniously to¬
gether.
Velvet calf is exceedingly popular for
ladies’ handbags and purses. The former
are now being made oblong like tha
purses. They still have the useful out¬
side pocket, but the handles are of vel¬
vet calf, for the steel rings have gone out
of fashion.