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The Searchlight Published Every Saturday —by the— SEARCHLIGHT PUBLISHING CO. To insure attention, all communica tions must be accompanied by the real name of the writer, not necessa rily for publication, but as a guaran tee of good faith. All communications should be plain ly addressed: The Searchlight, Savan nah, Ga. We will not be responsible for the views expressed by correspondents. The Searchlight will be delivered at one dollar for the campaign. RATES OF ADVERTISING MADE KNOWN ON APPLICATION. G. B. WHATLEY, Editor and Publisher. No crop but corn produces the in come that the dairy cow does. The es timate of the value of dairy products lor 1905 reaches $665,000,000. The far mer’s hen competes for precedence with wheat, poultry products aggre gating half a billion dollars in value. Some interesting experiments have been made to ascertain which woods last the longest. It was found that birch and aspen decayed in three years, willow and chestnut in four years and elm and ash in seven years. Oak, Scottish fir and Weymouth pine decayed to the depth of half an inch in seven years; larch and juniper were uninjured at the end of seven years. Some one with a taste for figures, says the Youth’s Companion, has been computing New York statistics on the basis of the minute instead of the year. Two hundred and twelve let ters are written every minute. A fire breaks out every forty-eight minutes, and the fire loss is at the rate of $25 a minute. Every ten minutes the police arrest some one for drunken mess; a pauper is buried in a potters’ field every two hours, a new lawsuit is begun every ten minutes. > A remarkable increase in the num lofier of students attending the twenty- ic re ported by the Journal of Education. The matriculated students now num ber 42,390, an increase of 13,273 over the attendance of ten years ago, or nearly 50 percent. The University of Berlin leads, with 8,081 students; Bonn has 2,908 and Heidelberg 1,443. The faculty of law is the best attend ed, having increased from 4,975 to 12,139 in the decade. One of the most remarkable facts attendant on this great progress is the rapid, continu ous decrease in the students of Prot estant theology. Within the last ten years these have diminished from 4,347 to 2,186, while the students in Catholic theology have increased from 1,079 to 1,680. One of the scientific surprises of re cent years is the discovery that we are often surrounded with substances —decaying meat, fish or wood —that may be shining with a faint, ghostly light from a covering of minute self luminous plants. So generally over looked is the phenomenon that one of the latest students of the subject, Dr. Hans Molisch, for two years vainly in quired of dealers for luminous meat, but on beginning investigation at home found that 87 percent of beef and other flesh glowed spontaneously after being kept in a cool room for two or three days. The luminous meat seems to be everywhere present, due in all cases to a single species of bacteria. The same investigation has found lumi nous decaying leaves in tropical for ests ,and has proven that many fallen leaves of oak and beech in Europe shine with a soft, white, steady light, the luminous fungus in this case being unknown. With one or two possible exceptions, all luminous plants are now known to belong to two species of fungi, filamentous and bacteria about 30 species of bacteria and half as many of other fungi having been recognized as luminous. The luminos ity differs from that of animals in per sisting for days, months or even years instead of lasting not more than a few seconds or minutes, but a modern the ory is that in both cases the light is due to chemical' action of oxygen and moisture upon the hypothetical sub stance named photogen. sJlfilie Boycott I® on Carol^e O Bl SUSAN KEATING GLASFELL. ELL, if girls aren’t the meanest! ’ D O His sister dried her eyes Jx and looked up. “But not all girls, Will, and perhaps these girls don’t ” “Oh, that’s right,’ stand up for ’em, after they’ve treated you like dirt all summer! For downright meanness and hatefulness give me a lot of girls. Why, a crowd of fellows would no more act the way this crowd of girls has done than—-than ” And he stopped hopelessly, as if the thing was beyond comparison. “Well, of course, boys are different.’’ “Yes, they are! When a fellow who seems to be the right sort moves into a town, do the fellows of that town let him alone —snub him for three straight months? Don’t you think it! They give him a show—they’re civil to him, and if he turns out to be of their kind, then he’s one of the crowd, and that’s all there is to it.’’ “Well, that does seem to be the fair way. And I don’t know—l don’t know what it is I’ve done. I haven’t done anything; you see, I haven’t had a chance. I suppose”—Caroline’s lips were quivering again—“that they just don’t like my looks.” "Nonsense! Why shouldn’t they like your looks? It’s just their meanness.” “Will! Will!” There was a note of tragic excitement in his sister’s voice. “There they come now—turning the corner. They go past nearly every day. They have picnics and—and things.” Will seated himself on the railing of the veranda anil looked hard at the five laughing girls who were coming toward the house in an old-fashioned carryall. “Don’t seem too interested, Will. Don’t—don’t look at them like that.” “Why can’t I look at them?” he re torted, savagely. “Guess if I want to look at them there’s nothing to prevent it. They’re not so much to look at. anyway.” The "crowd” of girls drove by with not a glance toward the big house, on the veranda of which Will and Caro line Stuart were sitting. “They do have awfully good times,” said Caroline, wistfully, "and they seem awfully fond of one another.” “1 guess I’ll go up and write same let ters,” she said, a few minutes later. “I like to keep my letters written up, because—well, you can see that it’s been pleasant to get them since I’ve been here.” Her brother looked after her darkly. “Poor Cal! She never did a mean thing in her life. Why any one should want to snub her is too much for me. “O mother,” he called, as a pleasant faced woman came round the house, “can’t you come here a minute? I want to talk to you.” She took the chair he offered her. “It does seem good to have you home, Will, and I’m more glad for Caroline’s sake than for my own. She has had a pretty hard summer of it.” “That’s what I want to get at. What under the sun’s the matter? What do those girls mean by lining up against Cal?” His mother shook her head and raised her hands hopelessly. "Will, girls are queer,” she said. “I can’t understand it. Why, if they’d let Cal be one of them, they’d find her the jolliest and best of the lot. When she first came here in the spring she saw right away that they were the ones she would like to know, and she was so pleased to think that there would be nice girls for her to have a good time with. The first night we sat here on the porch they went by laughing and talking, and Cal looked after them for lornly. and I remember I said to her, ‘Never mind, Cal, you’ll be one of them in a week,’ and she said she supposed of course they’d call—or do something, but they didn’t, and that’s all there is to it. They simply act as if Cal wasn’t in town.” “Well, of all the mean, contemptible, petty ” And then words failed him. “In addition to everything else,” said the boy, after a few minutes of silent fuming, “these five estimable young ladies are acting pretty silly in snub bing Caroline. Cal could give those girls* all sorts of a good time, and she would love to do it.” “Os course she would. When she saw how big the house was, she said to me first thing, ’lsn’t it lovely, mother? We can have people here all the time.’ And your father bought that automobile for no other reason in the world except that he thought it would be pleasant for Cal to take peo ple out in ” "Well, mother.” said Will, quietly, “it’s just a clear case of snub, isn’t it?” Perhaps the whole thing would not have happened if just the week be fore the Stuarts moved to Elmwood Marion Foreman had not read a story about some people who were “vulgarly rich.” No one in Elmwood was “vul garly rich,” and as Marion's imagina- tion was such that she was bound to fix the phrase on some one, it descend ed upon the people who were expected in a few days to move into the big house. That night she asked her father all about the new family. “Why, really, Marion,” he said, after she had put a half-dozen questions to him in rapid succession, “I can’t ac count for this sudden interest of yours. I can’t say that I know a great deal about the Stuarts. The man, so I am told, made a great deal of money last when the little crowd of five girls was making fudge at Kitty Benton’s, she told them all about it, half-unconscious ly attributing to the unfortunate Stu arts the qualities possessed by the peo ple in the story. “There is a girl,” she informed them, “and I think she is about our age. I suppose she will attempt to buy her way into our crowd. She will wear better dresses than any of the rest of us, and she will think that just because she has more money than we have that it is her place to lord it over us. Now, we must show her that the old fam ilies of this town are not going to suc cumb to mere wealth. We must be quite oblivious to her guady display. It is fortunate we understand the situ ation before she comes, for now she will be given no opportunity to hu miliate us.” All of this made a deep impression upon the four other girls. Marion, be cause she was the most imaginative of the crowd, had become in a sense its leader. She had a peculiar, quick way of assimilating the tilings she read, and that made her companions feel that Marion had attained to a very deep understanding of life. The first day Caroline Stuart walked down the main street of Elmwood, they felt their suspicion that she would attempt to “lord it over them” to be confirmed. Her gown bore the marks of a city dressmaker, and she walked very straight and carried her head very high. That was partly because she had been taught to do so at school, and in part because, feeling timid with so many strange eyes upon her, she sought refuge in dignity. Her impulse was to look with friendly interest at the five girls as she passed them, but feeling shy, she looked straight ahead instead. “Well, of all the airs!” gasped Marion. “It is evident that she feels miles above us!” sputtered Kitty Benton. “We will not trouble her,” comment ed Doris Morton, with dignity. “It’s just as I told you,” insisted Marion. “Now the only thing to do is to let her absolutely alone.” They did. When she passed them upon the street they were deeply ab sorbed in one another. They studied the art of passing her house wuthout knowing it was there. When she be gan driving in her pretty pony-cart they regarded it as a personal affront. The strange part of it all is that they were in truth kindly girls, and would have felt very badly indeed at Ute idea of hurting any one’s feelings. Their attitude had grown upon them to such .an extent that with the coming of the big red automobile, the first to be seen in Elmwood, the ignoring of Caro line Stuart had become a duty. Perhaps few girls of her age have ever passed as unhappy a summer as Caroline Stuart passed that year. Os a warm-hearted, sunny nature, she was a girl to whom friends were a neces sity. She was so free from any idea of distinctions created by money that the secret of the thing never dawned upon her. She supposed, on the other hand, that the girls did not like her. It was a beautiful day in September, and her young, naturally buoyant heart made her wish to get outdoors and be doing something, even if she must do it by herself. Will and her father had gone in the automobile to an adjoining town, and her mother was lying down with a headache. So she started out alone to drive up the winding river road which skirted the edge of the woods. The country round Elmwood was very beautiful, and Caroline threw herself into the spirit of the day, tell ing herself that some time, in some other place, she would find friends to enjoy the world with her, and that meanwhile she would try to enjoy it by herself. She was succeeding in getting more pleasure out of the drive than bad been hers for a long time, when sud denly she heard laughing voices, and peering through the trees, saw the five girls into whose friendship she had at one time supposed she would be taken. They were spreading a cloth upon the grass and opening some parcels. She watched them through dimmed eyes until they sat down and began to eat. Then, when she could bear it no longer, she whipped up her pony and started I briskly up the W’’ The day had lost its charm. She did not see the woods and the fiver and the soft sky. She knew only that the Jworld seemed a hard, lonesome place, and that her heart was yearning for friends and companionship, for the kind of fun those girls were having. It was very near the same spot that upon her return, a half-hour later, she saw Marion Foreman and one of the other girls helping Kitty Benton down to the river. It was evident that some year in the oil country. He is coming here to live because he has some in terests near here, and then I dare say he thinks it will be a pleasant place for his family. I think I heard some one say that there was a young girl and a boy. I believe they are very nice, sensible people.” “They are vulgarly rich,” commented Marlon. “They are newly rich,” corrected her father, resuming his paper. But in the story the newly rich people had also been vulgarly rich, and Marion refused to separate the ideas in her mind. The next afternoon, thing had befallen her, for she was hopping on one foot, and moving as if it pained her. Caroline guessed at once that the girl had sprained her ankle, and that they were helping her to the big, flat rock close to the river. They did not notice her until she was near them, so near that she heard Marion call to the girl behind, “Os course this had to happen the very day we walked instead of drove!” and then they glanced up and saw her, and looked with studied care out at the river. Caroline drove by, her heart beating very fast. Every instinct prompted her to offer to drive Kitty Benton back to town. But would they accept the offer? Would they not think she was trying to intrude, and tell her in so many words that they did not care to have anything to do with her? Os course they would, and she would not go back. But the idea of leaving any one in trouble when it was within her power to offer help came over her as too dreadful to be considered, and she wheeled the pony sharply round. “I beg your pardon,” she said—her effort to keep her voice steady made it sound very cold—but I believe you have hurt your foot. If you care to have me drive you back to town I shall be glad to do so.” “Thank you,” said Kitty Benton, shortly, “but I think we can get along all right.” Caroline turned her pony and drove quickly down the road. “Maybe it seemed mean,” said one of the girls, as they stood watching the pony-cart. “Nothing of the kind!” declared Mar ion. “Did you notice how' she did it? Why, she never so much as looked at us! Just looked straight beyond us. as if she were talking to—to servants!” Marion and Doris Morton were ap pointed to go into town to get a buggy for Kitty. They had gone about half a mile when, making a sudden turn, they came upon the pony-cart tied to a tree. They saw that it was empty, and just as they were about to pass on they heard a strange sound. They looked at each other queerly, and then they heard the sound again, a deep, long sob that went straight down into their hearts. “She’s crying,” whispered Doris, “crying dreadfully.” Marion looked uncertainly down the road, and then took a few noiseless steps in among the trees. Under a big tree, her face buried in the moss, lay Caroline Stuart, her pretty blue dress much crumpled, her whole body shaken with sobs. Then the real girl in Marion Fore man, the real, true girl that was there in spite of all her foolish notions, swept away all else. Running quickly to the sobbing girl, she sat down beside her, and put her arms round the shak ing figure. “Is there anything we can do? Is there anything at all? We just can’t bear to see you cry like this! Isn’t there something we can do?” Caroline’s grief was too deep to admit of surprise. “I’m lonesome,” she sobbed out, “so lonesome! I can’t bear it! I can’t! I can’t stand it to have you all treat me like this! I want friends! I—oh,-I want to go to your picnics!” “But—but we thought you were so rich!” stammered Marion. “Your house is so big, ai;d the pony-cart and the automobile and—and we thought ” Caroline sat up then, amazement checking the sobs. “Well, what has that got to do with it?” “Why—why, you see, we thought that you were—O dear, I don’t know. Maybe we’ve been all wrong. I—l’m sorry.” “Do you mean,” began Caroline, very slowly, “that there isn’t anything in particular the matter with me, that you don’t hate me, and that you actually thought that I didn’t want to have anything to do with you?” But Marion, covered with confusion, was crying herself now, which was perhaps the best thing that could have happened, for they put their arms around one another and cried together. Any one who knows much about girl nature can tell the rest of the story. Off course Caroline went back for Kitty, and then there were more ex planations and more rears, and every body agreed that the whole thing had been too silly for words. Each girl ■ confessed that town in her heart she had wanted Caroline as a friend fore long time, but had not known just how to yay anything about it to. the others. Will Stuart was disposed to think his sister should, refuse to have any thing to do with girls who were so silly- as that, but his mother saw.it differently. “Just see how happy she is, Will, ju?t see how she’s changed, and don’t say one word against those girls. I tell you, every time I hear Cal’s laugh ring through the house I give thanks for joy.” At the end of the first week Marion Foreman told the story to her father— it was truly remarkable that she had kept it as long as that. He talked to her very seriously about how wrong she had been, and she received the lec ture with considerable humility. “Caroline is the finest girl I ever knew,” she assured him. “It comes natural for her to do kind things for people. I suppose,” she added, after a moment of reflection, “this instance goes to prove that rich people are not always as black as they are painted.” “My dear daughter,” said Judge Foreman, “you will find as you go through life that it isn’t money or the lack of it that makes the man or woman. It is the heart that is with in.”—Youth’s Companion. NAMES LIVE: DEEDS A MEMORY Famous People Hidden in Articles or Food and Wear. Many great people have their names perpetuated in the mouths of the vul gar a..d historically ignorant by means of articles of food or of wear. Per sons who dine in restaurants have or dered Nesselrode pudding many times, but not one in a thousand knows who Nesselrode was. Yet Nesselrode was Russia’s greatest statesman in tne first part of the ninettenth century and was as well known to the world then as Witte is now. He lived in stirring times and was a power in Europe. When he concluded the Peace of Paris in 185 G he imagined—and had a right to—that he would never be forgotten. And he is not, for a French cook on that occasion invented a new dessert and named it after him. The achieve ments of the great Chancellor are for gotten and his name narrowed down to the confines of a small, sweet pud ding. The charlotte russe is another effort of French cookery to perpetuate Rus sian greatness. Poor Charlotte of Russia! How the haughty Princess would squirm in her grave if she knew she was remembered only by a piece of spong cake and a dab of whippea cream! Once in a while you see on a bill of fare fish “a la Vatel.” Vatel was the master chef of his day. the great Conde., Prince ~a” ToT . >’e\T : ' King, the fish did not which so distressed Vatel that he mitted suicide. But they served the fish all right—when it came—the sec ond cook dressing it up in a new way and naming it after his deceased chief.. And so on. The list m ght be extended indefinitely. On almost a y bill of fare will bo seen some dish, the name of which has a history. Skipping from eatables to wearing apparel, everybody knows that knitted woolen affair, the Cardigan jacket. Yet how many who wear it ever think «t --the gallant general from whom it takes its name? One cay Wellington met Lord’ Brougham and said to him: “I little thought that after all your lordship’s fame and greatness you would go down to history as the inventor of a wagon.”’ “Neither did I,” replied Brougham, "and still less did I imagine that after all your grace’s victories, posterity would only know you as the inventor of a pair of uoots.” In Wellington’s case the joke was hardly a prophecy, but in the case of Brougham thousands of people knew the carriage to which he gave a name, who never heard of the Chancellor and Prime Minister.—New York Press. A Favored Instrument. The story is told of a newly rich woman who on the occasion of her daughter’s wedding gave a large re ception, for which music was furnished, by an orchestra of twelve pieces. The leader of this orchestra was a violinist who had achieved a social as well as a professional success, and the rich woman evidently wished to recog nize this fact and make clear her knowledge of it. When the evening was half over, the butler approached the musicians, who were having a short intermission, and in his loftiest manner he said, after re ferring to the paper in his hand: “The violin eats in the dining room; the rest of the instruments eats in the pantry.” Knox Was Obeying- Orders. Senator Knox’s physician advised him to give up smoking a few days ago and put him in the same class with Sena tor Spooner, also smokeless after forty years of it. Senator Knox’s physician, happened up at the Capitol and went into the Senator’s committee room to pass the time of day. He found Knox smoking a cigar. “Here, Senator,” ho said, “I’thought I told you to quit that.” “Quit what?” asked Knox in mild surprise. “Why, quit using to bacco.” “Tobacco! Why, my dear doc tor, I am not using tobacco. I am merely smoking a cigar Senator Dol liver gave me-” .