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SUNDAY MORNING.
Mystery of Mont Cenis.
I had chosen the Mont Cents route
from Turin to Paris, and congratulated
myself upon having found a traveling
companion who seemed, congenial. 1
did not know his name, but, curiously
enough. I had come across him two or
ihree times in the course of my trav
eling in Italy—once in Venice, once in
Florence, and in a little village on the
Italian Riviera, where we had lunched
together on macaroni and risotto, with
a bottle of rough, red Italian wine be
tween us.
1 greeted him. therefore, almost like
an old friend, and bestowed mvsclf
and my belongings in the. compart
ments where 1 saw that he had already
established himself.
For our other companions we had a
French abbo and a little meagre look
ing English lady travelling alone; and
we four and our luggage filled up the
carriage so completely that we did our
best to keep out any other travelers.
I had occasion to lift his suit case
out of myg'way. and sew that It was
marked “Edmund Justicen, N. Y.”
I called ‘hiii! my friend, but of course
' knew absolutely nothing abont him.
except that he seemed to have leisure
and a fair amount of money at his dis
posal. He was a shy and silent man.
with refined and scholarly tastes; but
he seemed oppressed by a kind of mel
ancholy, as though something lay heav
ily upon his mind. Yet he was only a
young man, not 30, should think, with
a decidely pleasant appearance. He
was of middle height and good figure,
well and suitably dressed; and his
face, although a little thin and gravo.
was a striking one with fine features
and the soft beautiful eyes of the born
dreamer. His hands, too, betrayed the
artistic temperament. They were long,
narrow, with thin white fingers, point
ed at the finger tips.
A long hot day drew to its close, and
I W'as sorrov to observe that we should
qoon be able to sec very little of the
exquisite scenery through which we
were passing. The lovely valleys
down which the rushing torrents leap
ed, the distant mountain tops, the pine,
covered hills, would soon be lost in the
darkness of night. What I also regret
ted w'as that as there was no full moon
we might possibly see very little of the
entrance to the great Mont Cenis tun
nel, which we should approach most
probably about 11 o’clock at, night.
During the evening a good many
of the passengers had hung about the
corridor windows, walking up and
down gazing at the scenery, but as
night came on one by one they dropped
back into their seats, and in most cas
es began to partake of the evening
meal, which, if wise, they had brought
with them. But Mr. Justican seemed
to have made no provision for eating:
he had neither sandwich nor fruit, ami
he declined a share of mine or of the
red wine which 1 offered him.
“Thank you very much,” he said to
me. But I believe we come to a station
soon where there is a buffet at which
1 can get everything I need."
"Monsieur is mistaken," said the ab
be, in the corne”. “At least 1 know of
no station where wo stop for any
length of time until 3 or 4 in the morn
ing.*’
"I think I shall bo able to got some
thing before then,” replied Mr. Justi
oan with a polite bow to the abbe.
And shortly after this he, too. went
into the corridor and began to pace up
and down, as though he wished to
stretch his cramped limbs after so
many hours in a railroad carriage.
Ho stayed for sonic time; saw his fig
ure pass and repass the window, but
at last I saw It no more and conjec
tured that he was either chatting to
the conductor or smoking at the fur
ther on 4 of the corridor.
By this time it had grown quite dark,
the train was moving at a snail’s pace,
!or we were mounting a very steep in
cline. and prepared myself for my
night's rest though wondering a little
at the continued absence of try vis-a
vis.
However. I scon dropped into a fair
ly sound slumber, and did not wake un
til the gray dawn, when I became con
scious that an official had entered the
carriage ami was trying to arouse me.
The abbe and the French lady seemed
to be wide awake, but the corner op
site my seat was stil vacant.
“Monsieur is a friend of the gentle
man who sat there?’’ the blue coated
man demand with a somewhat anx
ious expression of countenance.
“Not a friend, I have seen him two
or three times before, but 1 cannot be
said to know him. Where is he, by the
way?”
The man looked at us silently. I
learned afterward that he had already
made the tour of the carriages, but it
was not all at once that the state of
things made itself clear to us. The gen
tleman whose luggage was labelled
Edmund Justican was apparently no
longer in the train, every corner of
which had been searched in vain. He
was gone—absolutely gone—and only
the grips remained behind, with the
exception, as. we now noticed, of a
black bag which he seemed to have
carried in his hand.
Of course there was quite an uproar
when this fact became known. It was
suggested that Justican had committed
suicide, or again, that he had had a
quarrel with someone and had been
flung out of the carriage. In any case
it seemed terribly certain that bis body
would be found near the rails at some
point we had traversed since 11 o’-
clock, for if theTe was one thing of
which the officials assured themselves
it was that he was no longer a passen
ger by that train.
But, curiously enough, the search
icas without result. Every inch of the
line was explored, the tunnels were
searched and the embankments care
ful} - surveyed, but there was no trace
to be found of any accident. No dead
body, no stain of blood, no shred of
clothing could bo discovered to tell its
iwn tale. Edmund Justican, if that
were his name, seemed to have van
ished as completely as if he had been
a denizen of another world.
For some time I continued to take
an interest in the strange disappear
ance of the traveller, as did the rest
of the world, for the papers were full
c.f the mystery. Other sensations pre
sented themselves, however, and tile
Justican disappearance was forgotten.
I made up my mind at last that 1
should never know the sequel of the
stranger’s story and that his disap
pearance was one of tile mysteries of
life which are never explained.
When I was next in the south of
France, some three years later, 1 had
almost forgotten the occurrence, and 1
was only reminded of it by means of
the evil chance which caused me to
miss a train and have to wait for a few
hours at Culoz.
Well, as this place is known by
name don’t think that it has many
foreign visitors, and, as I had some
hours to wait, 1 strolled through the
village, admiring the quaint green pot
tery which I saw in the iittle shops,
and wondering whether I had time to
a.tain the heights on which the great
chateau was built or to explore the re
cesses of its park.
As 1 strolled past the house and up
one of the green lanes, which were
suggestive of England rather than of
southern France, 1 came across a pret
ty little scene of domestic felicity.
There was a tiny red house built in
French fashion, with its back to the
view, surrounded by a garden full of
roses and other sweet smelling flowers,
with a pot of herbs behind and a little
enclosure of land, evidently well tilled.
Everything about the place breathed
of bumble prosperity.
There were great beehives in a cor
ner of the garden, and. a dovecote on
the side of the wall, and on the porch
sat a pretty, dark-eyed young wo
man in peasant dress, who was at that
very moment lifting up a black eyed
child of about two years old, in its
queer blue blouse and black cap, to be
kissed by a man who wore the sabots
and blue blouse of a French laborer;
but who, as 1 noted immediately nad
curiously fair hair, and looked very un
like ihe ordinary Frenchman.
There was a stil smaller child in a
wooden cradle at the door, and the
young woman pointed to it reproach
fully. as much as to sav that her hus
band had not given sufficient attention
to the little one, whereupon with a
laugh the man stooped over the cradle
and at that, moment l caught sight of
his face.
I held my broani and stared in blank
amaze, for the fair haired man In the
peasant dress was none other than Ed
mund Justican.
I stood outside the hedge still star
ing, when the woman at the door
caught sight of me and said some
thing to her husband. He looked
around at me and paled suddenly.
Then he put his finger to his lips as if
to beg me to keep silence, transferred
the 'child to its mother’s arms, and
walked slowly down the garden path
to the gate, looking steadily at ine ail
the time.
“Monsieur wants something?” he
asked in French, or rather in the patois
of the district, which is generally diffi
cult for an Englishman to acquire. I
was too much taken aback to answer
m anything but English.
“Is it you. after all?" I said. “Don’t
you remember me? 1 was an old ac
quaintance of y.jurs!”
“1 have no acquaintance with mon
sieur,” said the man. looking me quite
calmly in the face. But the more 1 ob
served him tne certain I became
that he was the vanished Justican.
“Perhaps you don't know me by
name,” I went on bluntly, “but you
must remember that we lunched to
gether at Venice, that we visited the
Pitti Palace in Florence together, and
that we were traveling in the same
compartment on the journey from Tur
in. when you so mysteriously disap
peared ? I do not come as an enemy,
Mr. Edmund Justican, and I have no
wish to inquire into your secrets, but
you must allow me to express my plea
sure in seeing you alive and well.” I
noticed that the color came back to
his face as I spoke, and at the end
he smi%d slightly and lifted his cap.
"If you will promise me not to be
tray my secret,” he said, specking Eng
lish—how well I remembered his re
fined and languid accents —“1 will not.
refuse myself the pleasure of convers
ing a few moments with a countryman
of my own. You are the first American
I have spoken to for three years, but
I shall be glad of your kind assurance
that you will give no account of your
discovery to the newspapers, or to the
authorities. Not that i have any occa
sion to fear them.” ho said. "I am not
a criminal, but the revelation of nsy
true name and identity with the men
who disappeared from the train in
which you were travelling would causa
me considerable inconvenience ami j
perhaps endanger the happiness of my |
home.”
“I will keep your secret faithfully," \
1 said. “But in return will you tell me j
how and why you are here?”
"Certainly,” he said. “And I give you j
my permission to tell it to the world !
after my death, or if you care to do so :
in twenty years from this time. There !
will be no difficulty then about letting ;
the truth be known. The fact is, I have j
from my boyhood been placed in mv
congenial circumstances. 1 do not
know whether 1 can express to you
the loathing with which the life of
civilization of modern cities fill me,
end has always filled me since I came
to years of maturity. 1 suppose I have
the soul of a recluse—a hermit, though
not, as you see. of a celibate. My wire
and children are the greatest joys ot
my present life, but in order to gain
this haven of peace I was obliged to
cut myself adrift from the world and
all my earlier associations.
’’l nad made Finette’s aequainmueei
some time before you met me ir, Italy
and was convinced that my only
ctianee of happiness lay in marrying;
her. Unfortunately I had a relative, an
unde, who was a. severe, uncompromis
ing man, with a Calvinistie turn and
a conviction that a man would be eter
nally lost if he did not apply him
self to business. 1 hated hint, but at
the same time 1 acknowledged that he
had a complete mastery over me when
ever I was in his presence. He even
contrived that 1 should engage jmyselt
to his daughter, a woman ten years
older than myself, as hard and dry as
her father, and quite capable of suing
me for breach of fromie.e of marriage
it I dared to terminate the engage
ment. Under those circumstances 1
took refuge in flight. But flight was
useles. I received letter; from time to
time showing that my whereabouts
was known, and finally i was told that
my uncle and his daughter had re
solved to follow me to Italy, and insist
that the marriage should take place
immediately. I was forced upon desper
ate courses, and you yourself know
what I did.”
"Upon my word I don’t!" 1 inter
polated hastily. "1 suppose you mean
you gave them the slip. But how did
you leave the train?”
“My dear sir.” said Edmund Justi
ran, "don’t you remember the snail’s
pace at whiAt the train was crawling
up the hill? 1 simply opened the door
and stepped out. I made my way from
the railway line to a place whore 1 was
not known, concealed myself for some
nays among the peasants, and adopted
as far as 1 could their dress and habits.
Finally 1 made my way (o Finett’s na
tive village and persuaded her to cast
;n her lot with mine. You may have
observed (hat 1 took my handbag with
me. which containeif a very fair pro
portion of my fortune in a portable
form. We married, bought this little
homestead and here we live with our
children, our garden and cur animals,
as happy as the day ;s long. Thank
God, I shall never see a city again!”
1 stared at the man. for such an ex
pression of feeling seemed to me ex
traodlnarily bizarre. But I could detect
no sign of insanity in Edmund Justi
can’s tone.
"And do you never regret your
friends?” I said. ’’Surely the relatives
of whom you speak must have suffered
some anxiety on your account?”
"1 took a very simple precaution,”
said Edmund Justican. smiling, with
the air of a man who had triumphed
over fate. ”i wrote) to them beforehand
telling them of mv intention to commit
suicide. That is probably why they
made no search for me, and concluded
that I had carried out my threat.
They had no affection for me, but
they envied me my money, and I had
no compunction for the deception I
practiced.. All that I ask is that you
will not let them know.”
"I w’ill most certainly not. lot (hem
know, ’ 1 answered. "But 1 am glad
that i have met you and solved a mys
tery which often tormented me.”
“I am serry for tin:, trouble 1 may
have given, ’ said Edmund Justican
with a glimmer of a. smile in his
dreamy eyes. “But I have achieved
my end. Will you not come back to my
cottage and let my wife offer you her
simple hospitality? She is quite a
child of nature, and sweet and lov
ing as an angle!” ,
j “I should be charmed,” 1 answered
j with real regret. “But I am afraid
j my time is (co short. 1 shall have to
| run-to the station If I mean to catch
| my train. I hope we may meet again. ’
: “Au revoir, then, and not goodb.v,”
said my old acquaintance with a smite.
We, shook hands and i saw him turn
j back with an eager face to the wife
i and children whom it was evident he
j so tenderly loved. I hoped tiiat. 1 might
one day return and make their ac
quaintance. But fate lias not led me to
southern France again, and that is the
last, I ever saw’ of Edmund Justican,
the story of whose strange disappear
ance I am now, after* a lapse of twenty
years, at liberty to-.give to the. world.
1 can only hope that he has never tired
of his paradise.— City Inde
pendent. v
Wnfrhc* in Japan.
After a year’s absence, John Kelly
returned home recently from Japan,
disappointed in his heart, and hun
dreds of cheap watches in his trunks.
He had gone to Japan with a little
private cargo of watches of low price,
expecting to sell them at a handsome
profit to the natives. But he found, in
o'okio, in Yokohama and the other
towns he visited, that the natives had
factories wherein they made large
quantities of timepieces as good as his
own in quality and much lower in
price. These factories w r ere owned by
wealthy Japanese, but their foremen
were Americans who had been brought
out, at big salaries, to run the plants.
Mr. Kelley was not long in learning
that it was useless for him to try to
compete with the native watchmakers I
of Japan. He repacked bis trunks, I
therefore, and returned home hurrid
ly.—Philadelphia Record.
* I
Well F(|nlp|>ri.
“There’s tne most ignorant nun !
ever met. He thinks that Julius Cae
sar was Emperor of Germany.”
“What a charming historiial novel
he could write.”—San Francisco Town
Talk.
THE BRUNSWICK DAILY NEWS.
A Japanese Woman Banker.
Mrs. Asa Hirooka of Osaka, the
founder and ac.ual guiding spirit of the
famous banking firms of Kajuna, is an
eminently successful financier and
business organizer. This woman not
only tided her vast establishment, over
the difficult restoration days, but was
one of the pioneer coal miners in Ja
pan. She also takes a keen interest
in educational matters, is at present
promoting a university for girls, and,
by way of giving practical encourage
ment. employs many educated girls at
Iter banks, and has lately opened anew
department, which she has placed ex
clusively in the hands of women.—
Philadelphia Press.
The Button ArtiHttc.
Very odd and pretty arc jewelled
buttons with gold attachments. Those
in green amazontte with pearl centres
are the prettiest of all. but the mother
o’ pearl buttons, which boast, o.uite a
variety of stones for the centres -rub
ies, turquoises, sapphires and what
not —are also much in evidence, and
fashioned in crystal arc treaied in the
same manner.
Another curious and artistic button
hears tile head of a girl in high re
lief, and set in a framework of silver
or gold. The profile is set off by a
large hat, the brim of which extends
a little beyond the circle. The effect
of monotony is very cleverly avoided
by this simple device.
New Skirt Wrinkle.
In new dinner dresses one notices
more than ever the tendency to make
the skirt very long. Sweeping trains
that absolutely wreck all chances at
moving about in the drawing room
are wound around the limbs of the fair
wearer, giving her the tall statuesque
pose which is so much admired.
The t wisting of the skirts about tho
limbs is a fashionable fad and direc
tions for doing it are thus given by
a modiste.
“Walk into the drawing room,” says
she. “and when you have reached your
station, stand perfectly still a mo
ment. Now turn slowly around and
the skirt will twist of its own accord.
You have now the fashionable statue
pose which commenced with Bern
hardt and has traveled into the world
of fashion.
The Vojjne of Towrierml Hair.
It has been left to the smart Pari: -
ienne to revive the vogue of pow
dered hair. It is not the white pow
der which was once scattered so freely
over the locks which composed the
coiffures of our grandmothers, but
colored powder.
The finished coiffure is hut ligatly
dusted with the new delicate-tinted
and perfumed powder. The effect is
much like the reflection thrown on the
hair by a colored veil, and the novelty
Is certainly not without its attractions.
A pale pink was the first color used,
though now many shades of pink have
been pressed into this service, and,
with very few exceptions, it. is blond
hair that receives this fine veil of col
oring. On dark hair a deeper-toned
powder, almost crim-on in color, is
sometimes to be seen, but a peculiar
bronze shade of powder is tho most,
daring.—New York Journal.
TANARUS! Touch of Volvfit.
Velvet brooches on satin and silk arc
very old, but after all, it was doubtless
ly the remembrance of them that in
spired the designers to accent their
finest silken creations with touches of
velvet.
These touches add wonderfully to
the beauty and effectiveness of these
exquisite warp-print and embroidered
lengths. Indeed, evening silks were
never so lovely, as one gleans from
a line to be shown shortly. The voi
vetv softness of Nature herself is thus
gained in the sinking of a. shadowed
part of a flower into a deep-toned vel
vet. Exactly the same service is ren
dered the delicate foliage—a crumpled
leaf, say, showing a bit of its pale, dull
underside done in velvet. High lights
of velvet show up even more beautiful
ly, the curl of a rose petal done in
rniroir velvet, of a pale, shimmer/
pink, for instance.
But a look tells more than a column.
So see for yourself when the time
comes.
Autumn Glovm,
The prescribed rule of fashion is to
wear quite a loose-fitting glove on the
street and a smaller size for dress
afternoon or evening.
For first \Vear in the autumn the
white glace kid glove leads all others
in favor. Fashion nredicts that the
present vogue of white costumes for
women is to continue some time, so
that white gloves will be the proper ac
companiment for them for all occa
sions.
After white gloves, tans. modes,
beavers, slates, browns, pearls and
cream are in favor in the order named.
Black, of course, is always standard.
Single-toned self-colored embroidery
is in best taste for the backs of gloves.
Paris points or a modification of them,
is the preferred design, although the
lower-priced gloves sometimes haeq
just, three single rows.
Three clasps appear upon some of
the more expensive headwear, but as
a usual thing two clasps are the rule.
Those of goodly size in white pearl are
much liked for white gloves.
Sixteen-button-length gloves, both In
suede and glace, are to be very fash
loii',,'i this coming winter. White
and black are to be most used, al
though a few other pale pastel tints
will have a certain vogue. This re
vival of the long gloves of five or six
years ago is due to the short sleeves
so popular now.
A mocha glove, in gray, with a white
silk lining, will be the choice of those
desiring an extra warm glove. Fur
topped gloves and mittens are no
longer worn.
For evening wear lace mitts will be
worn to a certain extent, but will not
be so popular as suede gioves. The
newest ones are made of lace in the
various kinds in fashion at present.
Those in renaissance are particularly
effective, as are those of French filet.
—Philadelphia Record.
A Hat Bin'll Biography.
“Listen,” said Hie Hatpin, “and I
will toll you the story of my life.”
The listener groaned. “Oh, don't,”
he said: "it will be entirely too much
for me.”
“I insist upon telling you," contin
ued the Hatpin. ”lt’s interesting, I as
sure you. Hark to the voice of the
prophet (profit)—for it was profit, I as
sure you again.
“1 started out in a fashionable hat
on Fifth avenue, and being of steel,
with a firegilt covering. I was not.
worth much, and was a bonus on the
headpiece.
"We —1 mean my Lady Gay and I
Hoveled far and wide. Why, 1 went
to Europe with her once. But she was
careless, and she left me sticking in
the curtains of her cabin.
"The stewardess found inc and used
me to hold oysters over the grill iron.
"That was only two of my adven
tures. though. Later on I went West
and landed in a boys' boarding school.
"Now, you'd never think I'd have
much of a career there, but that was
my most useful period. The steward
ess had a nephew in Mme. Le Barge’s
academy, and there I became the
stick on which marshmellows were
held to the blaze of the lamp flame.”
The listener laughed outright at this.
"Pretty warm work, eh?”
"Don’t interrupt,” went on the Hat
pin. "Wait until you hear the rest of
my history.
"Front Mme. Le Barge’s 1 went on
the maid’s new corn flower hat as far
as Denver, and there I became the
tack that held up a poster girl on the
wall of a law student's room. Useful
career?”
“Well, I should remark,” said the lis
tener.
“Nor was that all,” continued the
Hatpin, gravely, “From Denver 1 went,
lo New York in a private car holding
together a sliaw] bundle that was the
pioperty of a traveler. I like traveling,
but no sooner had I arrived in New
York than 1 fell into the condition
of letter opener in a downtown office.
That man took me home once—l had
such a line head, you know —and there
they used me to spear olives out of a
long necked bottle.
"Not satisfied with that, the next
thing they were doing was fishing out
their postal cards and the ads from the
mail box. Tor the flat owner had lost
the key, of course—did you ever see
a flat: owner in New York that had a
1 mail box key?
"Positively I thought 1 had reached
the limit —when they lost me down the
airshaft and the laundress tried to stab
tile policeman with me when he was
only taking her to the patrol wagon.”
“You wound up in New York as well
as started out here?" commented the
listener.
“Yes —-onldn’t stand it anywhere
else—l’d rather have taken this fall in
life than live away from Little Old
New York,” concluded the Hatpin,
complacently.—New York Herald.
ffo
The double skirt appears among the
new winter models.
Pekin effects are much favored
among autumn silks.
A steady growth of the plaid vogue
i: promised as the season advances.
Among the new and stylish outdoor
bodices the Siberian blouse is most
effective.
Persian silks and brocades are both
prominent among the dressier silk un
derskirts.
Avery decided increase in fullness
is a salient feature of the smartest
winter wraps.
Cravat, cuffs and belt of plaid silk
give a brightening touch to many new
black taffeta silk-waists.
The new plaid waists are cut on the
bias in front to insure a narrow waist
and broad shoulder effect.
Masses of flowers, generally in con
juunction with lace, are among the
newest trimmings for evening bodices.
Alternate strips of Russian lace or
embroidery and ribbon or velvet are
used in the construction of anew sepa
rate blouse.
Shirt-waist suits in mohair, zibeline,
cloth, poplin, taffeta and ecru velve
teen are offered for the popular-priced
winter house gowns.
Neckwear generally grows more and
more elaborate. The new all-over col
lars, stocks, boas and shoulder capes
are all intricate creations.
A pendant and tassel mode is just
beginning to manifest itself in the
trimming world, and it Is predicted
that it will become a craze in a short
time.
In the jargen of the smart re t all
separate waists and shirt-waists are
blouses, and a “blouse shop” is a store
devoted exclusively to the making and
sttie of blouses.
fsG/ ROR
M ’ rcHis
To Economize VTIlh
Left-over yolks of eggs if put at
once into a tumbler of cold water will
keep Iresn and soft for several days.
If dropped into a cup and covered the
yelks would be unfit for use the sec
ond day. The left-over whites of eggs
may be made into macaroons, kisses
or used for meringues. The whites of
V.vc eggs with a quarter of a pound
of sugar r.nd the same quantity o'f
almond paste will make two dozen ma
caroons. Where hard-boiled yolks
are wanted it is much better to break
the eggs, separate carefully the yolks
from the whites and drop the yolks
into water that is Doiling hot; cook
slowly for 20 minutes. In this way
the whites are saved for another pur
pose.—The Delineator.
Tlainty Potato I Malic*.
Potatoes are a part of almost every
meal, and to make them appreciated
they should be served in as many dif
ferent ways as possible.
Potato Cakes—Take equal quantities
of mashed potatoes and Hour, half
that of lard or good dripping, one tea
spoonful of baking powder, half a
teaspoonful of salt and one egg. Rub
the lard into the flour, add salt and
baking powder, then the potatoes. Mix
with the egg. Bake from 15 to 20
minutes.
Souffle Potatoes —Take some good
sized potatoes, wash them as for roast
ing, cut a slice off one end to allow
the potato to stand upright, then put
them into the oven to roast for an
hour. When sufficiently cooked, take
them out of the oven and cut off the
round end; take out the inside of each
potato with a teaspoon, put into a
basin, rnix with a little pepper, salt,
better and an egg. When well mixed,
put back into the potato skins and put
into the oven to make them hot.
Potato Balls —Mash and pass
through a sieve three or four large
mealy potatoes. Mix with them a
beaten egg and its weight in powdered
sugar; flavor with nutmeg and grateu
lemon rind. Make into balls, dip into
beaten egg and breadcrumbs and fry in
fat till a golden color. Serve very hot.
Baked Potato Puff—Rub enough
boiled potatoes through a wire sieve
to fill a large breakfast cup. Put. this
quantity in a basin, add to it two ta
blespoonfus of melted butter and
whisk and beat these till the potatoes
look white and smooth. Beat two eggs
till very frothy; add to them four ta
blespoonfuls of milk or cream. Mix
with the potato; season well; put into
a buttered fireproof dish or small
dishes—one for each person looks dain
tj. Bake in a quick oven till deli
cately browned and puffy. Serve at
once in the dish in which they were
cooked.
French Fried Potatoes—Peel some
potatoes and cut in finger lengths, not
too thick; cover with ice water, and if
they are old it is better to let them
stand two hours. Drain, wipe dry and
fry in boiling fat, not too many at a
| time. When they are a nice brown,
lift, the basket from the fat, sprinkle
with salt, shake the grease from -them
and remove with a skimming spoon.
Drain on paper and serve at once.—
Washington Star.
t
Houftttltolri IliritH.
Cold (ea, without soap, is good to
remove stabis from varnished wood.
Parsnips, it is contended by scient
ists. possess almost the same virtues
claimed for sarsaparilla.
A wet cloth wrapped around a milk
jar or bottle will cause the milk to re
tain its sweetness longer.
Benzine will take out old grease
spots in the kitchen floor. Do not use
it when there is any light around.
Never hang a mirror where the sun's
lays will strike upon it. They act
on tiie mercury and cloud the glass.
Spots on paint which cannot be stir
red by soap and water will vanish tje
neath a rag dipped in washing soda
or ammonia.
Verdigris on brass and copper can
be removed by salt and vinegar. Wash
oii with soap and water and polish
with wh'ting moistened witli alcohol.
A great deal of danger from fires,
as well as many disfiguring stains
upon wails and woodwork, will be pre
vented by a standing rule that none but
safety -matches are to be brought into
the house.
There is nothing children love much
better than small furniture, made for
them. Little chairs they often have,
but low tables are more rare. Mothers
should "isit the kindergarten to see
how they are enjoyed.
An artistic conceit in the form of a
shade for a princess lamp consists of
three rows of slender fern leaves fash
ioned from delicate green silk. Tiny
crystal pendants are attached to the
bottom row of leaves.
A carafe that may be taken apart
and cleaned is one of the latest time
saving devices. Persons who have the
old sort will fine that the inner wans
may be -Jeansed with a solution of soda,
or ammonia and plain soap and water.
Why a Man MmuNln’r.
There are two things that should
keep a man from worrying: If he have
no reason for worrying there’s no use
worrying; and if he have a reason,
there is no use.—Los Angeles Herald
NOVEMBER 16
SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY.
The muscles of "a beak ar*
stlonger even than those of the eagle.
The macaw, a species of parrot, can
< asily bite through nails and wire. The
ivory-billed woodpecker of the south,
a giant among its kind, often rips off
'hips four or five inches square.
Lieutenant Bertholf, U. S. N., has dis
covered two hitiierto unknown seal
rook-Ties cm Karpa island, In the, £hu
magin group, south of the Alaskan pe
ninsula. and 700 miles from the old
staling grounds. This will help to
make up for the falling off in the Prib
i!ol supply.
A writer in one of the English mag*
azuies, treating of the human nose io
a semi-scientific way, says that itß
Iroper development is necessary iti the
production of the distinctive human
voice. The prominence of the nose
and of tiio lower parts of the forehead,
and the ievelopment of the cavities in
the centre of the face, are all con
cerned in the voice. This we know,
because Hie manliness of the voice
comes vvitn the full development of
these paits. It is a noteworthy fact
that all savage nations where oratory
is a power, have large and fairly well
formed noses.
A farmer near Algoma, Wis., in 1887
plowed up a meteorite, which he has
kept in his possession until recently,
when he gave it to the University of
Wisconsin. It is one of the strangest
specimens ever found. . Its shape is
that of a shield, 10 inches in lengtn
by 6 inches in width and is an inch
thick in the centre. The convex sur
face is smooth, while the concave side
is rough and encrusted with oxide. It
is believed t.iat it moved through the
air with iho convex surface in front.
There are strongly marked lines on
this side radiating from an elliptical
boss in the centre.
A novel experiment will be made at
Hie St. Louis fair, the object being to
keep the grounds and building at a
pleasant temperature during the sum
mer months. A standpipe from 800
to 1000 feet in height w B be erected,
Ihe lower c-nd of it to be 50 feet above
Ihe ground.. Under this and will be
large blowers that will draw a current
ot air downward at the rate of 20 to
30 miles an hour. The volume of air
thus brought down will cover 60 acres
in an hour, and the I‘iHdings and
grounds can be flooded with it day and
night. T,ie air from an elevation of
1000 feet will be from 10 to 15 degrees
cooler than surfnee air.
The comet discovered by Tempel In
1860 was again visible (in tele
scop.es onlyi in September of the pres
ent, year. It was seen In 1869, in 1880,
II years later, and in 1891, 11 years
after ISSO. It revolves In an elliptic
orbit In a period of five and a half
years 12000 days exactly, or five years,
IS3 days) and returned to perihelion
in 1875, 1886 and 1897, but was seen
if none of these years. The reason is
simple. Its orbit is so situated that
in the latter group of returns its dis
tance was about 192,000.000 miles,
while in 1869, 1880 and 1891 the dis
tance was about 9,600,000 miles. The
difference of distances produces an
enormous difference in brilliancy and
accounts lor its invisibility at alter
nate returns.
THE CONQUERING AUTOMOEILE,
It Hat Comp to Stay and !■ Bound to Be
Lowar in Trice.
At present automobiles are too ctW
plicated and prices are too high for
general adoption. The ratio of ma
chines to population in the United
hrates. 12,000 to 78,000,000 say, that is
one to every 6500 persons, does not
at first glance appear promising, but
when we consider that only three
years ago the ratio was one to 1,500.-
000 persons, a very different aspect
is presented; and it may be safely
: (included that with such possibilities
■ 1 demand, the automobile must, of
necessity, grow to meet the measure
li' its grea.ness. American makers
j are quicker to see this opportunity than
are their foreign rivals, as is proved
by prices. Foreign machines are sold
in this country at from $2500 to $20,-
000, tiie record price, paid by a weal
thy New Yorker, for a French ma
chine, while the highest priced Amer
ican machine is *SOOO and hundreds
are in use which cost their owners
irom SOSO to SBOO. A good horse and
wagon may be had for S2OO,
and the automobile must ap
proximate this figure to be
tome popular and give the horse
some nope that at last he can quit
work and live like a gentleman. That
this may be done and still he profit
able to makers is shown in the his
tory of bicycle prices, and in the fur
ther fact that one of the first Ameri
can makers, with the popular idea in
view, made machines to sell at from
S4OO to S6OO, and advanced his prices
later because he could get whatever
he asked—From the Meaning of the
Automobile, by William J. Lampton.-
in Outing.
Die Man anil His Gana.
Once upon a time a man made a
large collection of firearms of all times
and nations, and was very proud of his
curios. He showed them to his
friends, expatiated on their 3everai
merits, and always assured his visit
ors that there was no danger in hand
ling them, for they could not go off,
because they were not loaded. ,}
The fame of his collection reached
the ears of an enterprising burglar
who made a daring entry of his prem
ises in the dead of night and despoiled
biin of his entire collection.
Moral; The fact of firearms being
unloaded is not guarantee that they
will not go oft—New Y’ork Herald, it