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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