THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Scale Ounce Over Forty Years.

Sealer of Weights and Measures Robert J. Hongen, of Weissport, Pa., in testing a scale used by one of the leading merchants for the past forty years, found that it allowed seventeen instead of sixteen ounces to the pound.

The merchant says he must have lost considerably through this scale, but is glad that it operated in favor of his customers.

Family of Twenty Children.

Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Anstine, natives of the Pigeon Mountains, near Spring Grove, Pa., are the parents of twenty children—eight boys and twelve girls. There are no twins or triplets among them.

Mr. Anstine is fifty years old and his wife is forty-five. They live in the remotest part of the Pigeon Mountains, in a small hut having but four rooms. The oldest child is twenty-four years old. The whole family is hale and hearty despite the limited accommodations of their little house. They live mostly by money earned from wood-cutting in the forests.

Famous “Houn’ Dawg” in Bad.

The “houn’ dawg” is doomed. The hills that now resound with his throaty bellow are to be dotted with sheep and subside in silence, believes Doctor A. J. Hill, who has assisted in preparing a legislative “tin can” to tie to the sagging tail of the kicked-around hound. The dogs are blamed for the high price of mutton and the low price of sheep in the State of Missouri.

Doctor Hill and other interested landowners have drafted a law which provides that all dogs in the State shall be taxed, and that the tax money shall constitute an insurance fund to reimburse sheep owners for their losses by dogs.

Wisdom Teeth; Why so Called.

The so-called wisdom teeth are the last two molars to grow, and they have no real connection with the possession of wisdom. They take their name from the time of their arrival, from twenty to twenty-five years, at which age the average person is supposed to have reached years of discretion.

Cutting one’s wisdom teeth means simply arriving at the point of completeness in physical equipment, and has no direct relation to mental equipment. The possession of these teeth is no guarantee of wisdom. They grow at about the same age in people whether they are wise or not.

Walnut Tree Forty-six Years Old.

Colusa, Cal., is laying claim to having the largest California black walnut in the world, but the dimensions of the Colusa tree do not come up to those of a tree that is growing on F. W. Schutz’s farm on Sycamore Slough, six miles northeast of Arbuckle, also in Colusa County.

Some time ago an account in newspapers first brought this monster tree before the reading public, and it received much attention throughout the State. The agricultural department of the State University wrote Schutz about it, stating that information sent by him would be used in a book that the department is compiling.

In answer to the request of the university authorities Mr. Schutz has taken accurate measurements of the tree, which are as follows: Circumference one foot from the ground, twenty-two feet, eight inches—below this the roots appear above the surface of the ground, making the tree about twenty-six feet; circumference nine feet from the ground, nineteen feet nine inches; height, 102 feet; width of shadow at noon, 120 feet.

The big tree is forty-six years old, having been planted in 1868 by D. Arnold, a Colusa County pioneer.

Virginia’s Oldest Cow Dies.

“Old Nancy,” said to be the oldest cow in Virginia, is dead. This cow was fifty-two years old when she expired with the old year, thus turning the recent holiday into a day of gloom for her owner and others. When young, the cow’s color had been a blood-red, but for more than twenty years her hair had been turning white, until at the time of her death her hair was as white as the snow that covered the ground.

Her owner, John Adkins, of Big Laurel, Va., was only one day older than Nancy, and at his marriage the cow—then being over twenty—was a wedding gift from his father, who said: “Keep Nancy until she dies, John, for she’s a good old cow.”

In recent years her owner has been offered good round sums for the aged animal, but he invariably refused, with the remark: “No, no; I’d just as soon think of parting with Martha—his wife—as to allow old Nancy to be toted around the country with a show.”

Emigrant from Erin Dies a Millionaire.

The story of the hunt for gold is ever a story of toil and privation, often a tragedy. For the one who strikes it rich, thousands are lost in the oblivion of poverty and ill fate.

Colonel Thomas Cruse, who died at the age of seventy-nine, in Helena, Mont., recently, was one of the lucky few who leaped from poverty to affluence thirty years ago. He discovered the Drum Lummon Gold Mine, north of Helena, sold it to an English syndicate for $1,500,000, retaining one-sixth interest, and shared in the profits of $30,000,000 which the mine has produced.

Mr. Cruse was twenty years old when he left County Cavan, Ireland, to seek his fortune in the mining camps of the West. He roamed around various diggings in California, Nevada, and Idaho, blew into Virginia City, Mont., in 1865, when Alder Gulch was at the height of its glory, and later struck the placers around Helena, where fortune smiled upon him.

Drum Lummon drew its name from the locality in Ireland where Cruse was born. Before it had a name it had a romance redolent with the ill luck of the original finder. He was a little, wiry Frenchman named L. F. Hilderbrand, who drove an express wagon to Deadwood long after Tommy Cruse put Drum Lummon on the mining map. In the very early days Hilderbrand prospected 28 in Montana. A stumble on the mountain side caused him to chip off a piece of a bowlder which was so rich in gold quartz that his eyes popped in the excitement of riches in sight. He and his partner began to look for the lead from which the bowlder sloughed off.

Unfortunately, Hilderbrand and his partner undertook to roll out of the way the great bowlder which gave them a clew to wealth. By one of those queer capers of blasted luck which prospectors fear, the bowlder moved too quickly and rolled over and crushed the arm of Hilderbrand’s partner. Being without money and needing medical attention, they left the place, trudged to Helena, where the partner was under the care of a doctor, and Hilderbrand went to work in near-by places to earn money to pay the bill.

Some ten years later, Hilderbrand, still at outs with his luck, and weary of roaming, reached the spot where the bowlder sent his hopes skyward. The bowlder had the appearance of an old acquaintance, but the surroundings were changed to a bewildering extent. Before his eyes was a monster hoisting plant raising rich ore from a shaft hundreds of feet in depth, while in the gulch a huge stamp mill was at work. The bowlder occupied a place of honor in front of a building. Hilderbrand touched it, patted it affectionately, and tears filled his eyes. Presently through the mist of his tears he read the sign: “Drum Lummon Mine, discovered by Thomas Cruse.”

During the period of development, when hard luck pressed Cruse to the verge of abandonment, some one advised him to strike Sam Ashby for a couple of hundred. Ashby was a money lender in Helena who knew how to sweat the coin when put at work on good security. Cruse put the matter of a loan up to Ashby. All he got, however, was a fine line of free advice, coupled with the money lender’s assurance that he would rather throw paper money into the furnaces of his satanic majesty than loan it to such a “shiftless fellow.”

Years after, when Cruse’s day of prosperity came, one of the early visitors to the “Thomas Cruse Savings Bank,” just started in Helena, was Sam Ashby. The fortunes of Cruse and Ashby had been reversed. Cruse was flush, Ashby empty of pocket. Cruse led his would-be customer to the door, and, in the underscored language of the West, assured the customer that he would rather throw his money into the furnaces of his satanic majesty than to loan it to such “a shiftless fellow” as Sam Ashby.

Soon after his bank was started, at the age of fifty, Cruse decided that he had enough capital to support a wife. Miss Margaret Carter, sister of the later United States Senator Carter, became Mrs. Cruse. The wedding, in 1886, was the greatest social event in the history of Montana’s capital. It was a celebration for all the population.

Cruse arranged for an open house and free drinks with every saloon in Helena. Tradition has it that the whole male population of the town got drunk at the bridegroom’s expense, and it took a week to sober the people into a working condition. The jamboree was the greatest ever pulled off in the treasure State; no one attempted to rival the score.

The joys of wedded life were of short duration, however. Mrs. Cruse died within a year, leaving a baby daughter, on which the father lavished his affections and means.

What Count John A. Creighton was to Omaha, Thomas Cruse was to Helena. Every public enterprise, every promising industry, drew his support; benevolent and charitable movements commanded assistance from his purse. He was the chief contributor to the building of the Catholic Cathedral of Helena, which was dedicated on Christmas Day, the Methodist Hospital, the Young Men’s Christian Association, and the Young Women’s Christian Association shared in his bounty, and his liberality in supporting the local club kept Helena on the baseball map.

The career of Mr. Cruse was linked in many ways with the active lives of several former Omaha residents. A year or two before Cruse struck Alder Gulch, Patrick Gurnett, Mrs. Gurnett, and three young children started from Omaha with a bull team in a caravan which occupied six months in covering the distance to Virginia City, Mont. Cruse and the Gurnetts probably became acquainted there.

In subsequent years, when the Gurnetts became ranchers in the Missoula valley, south of Helena, Cruse’s poverty as a prospector was frequently relieved by the food reserves of the Gurnett homestead.

Frank J. Lange, son of an Omaha family of pioneer grocers, is the active manager of Cruse’s Savings Bank, and has been confidential associate and adviser of the millionaire for years past.

Another man, Harry Cotter, married Cruse’s daughter, Mary, who died a year ago last November. Cruse and Cotter did not pull together, and the death of the daughter widened the breach, which continued to the gold miner’s end.

Put Nickle in Slot, Get Paper Raincoat.

Have you ever arrived in your old home town in a pelting rainstorm, all dolled up in your Sunday best, and been compelled to pass up a quarter to the local bus man or linger around the depot until some good Samaritan with an umbrella is kind enough to escort you to the abode of your family or friends?

Have you ever noticed a flock of pretty but scolding maidens in a downtown doorway or the post-office entrance, or the vestibule of a movie-picture place wildly calling for umbrellas, raincoats, newspapers, brother’s, or best beau’s silk handkerchief, or anything to prevent that lovely seven or ten-dollar hat from being ruined by the sudden shower?

If you are a masculine reader, have you ever been compelled to “cough up” from three to six dollars in order to get your fair Dulcinea home from play or dance when it is raining pitchforks and black cats and the rubber-coated man on the box has suddenly become so stiff and lofty—in his price, at least—that occasionally one doubts if he can be touched even with a ten-spot bill or a ten-foot pole?

If you have ever passed through any of the above-enumerated experiences—and what man or woman has not—forget it; deliverance is at hand. The hour of the hastily impressed newspaper, the borrowed umbrella, or the painfully extracted cash loan from the hotel clerk or elevator boy is to bob up unserenely no more, for the paper raincoat has taken its place alongside the egg sandwich, chewing gum, and insurance policies placed before the public in vending machines.

The man or woman who drops a nickel for a package of gum to aid in the digestion of his nickel-in-the-slot meal, and then pays a quarter to another machine for a policy insuring him or her against the consequences, may 29 soon get a raincoat from an adjacent machine as a result of the ingenuity of a woman, who has obtained a patent on a paper raincoat, said to be waterproof. She plans to manufacture the coats in large quantities and distribute them in specially devised vending devices.

It is to be presumed that the feminine raincoat will be provided with a cute little hood, or capote, as they say in French, and possibly the masculine garment will have some attachment that will be quite eskimo and save the wearer’s two-dollar derby from gaining an inch or two in circumference. All hail, hoch, also hear-hear to the paper raincoat! Bah to the never-present, disappearing, eye-destroying, pestiferous umbrella.

“Corpse” Smokes in Hearse.

Panic was caused along the road between Jefferson and Chapel, Ohio, by the spectacle of what apparently was a corpse sitting upright in the middle of a hearse and serenely puffing a cigar.

The “remains” which had indulged in this unseemly performance were Will Hodge, of Jefferson. Hodge had attended the funeral of an aunt at Chapel. On the long trip home after the interment, Hodge started riding beside the driver of the hearse.

The intense cold soon chilled him to the bone, and he obtained permission from the driver to get inside the glass case. Here he soon got warm, and, to add to the comfort of his journey, he lighted a cigar. Rural folks along the way were terrified.

Toss on Raft Four Days at Sea.

Twelve of them, ten men and two women, were out there on the Atlantic for four days, tossing on a sea-made raft, and no one in New York knew of it until Charles Olsen, the mate, a six-foot, fair-haired Swede, came in on the ward liner Monterey and told the story.

It was some story, too, this simple chronological narrative of the breaking up of the American barkentine Ethel V. Boynton some sixty miles east of Wilmington, N. C. Olsen said it was God alone who saved him and his mates. None of them ever expected to see land again.

“I won’t tell all we went through,” he said, half smiling, “because, in the first place, it would take too long, and then, when I get through, you’d think I was thinking things, especially when I told you how the sharks swam round waiting for us and we beat them off, hitting them on their heads with our paddles.

“Maybe I’d better begin at the beginning like I was reading from the log. So I don’t forget it, take it down right here now that the twelve of us lived for six days on a two-pound can of tripe and three cans of blueberries.”

The barkentine left Mobile December 26th, with lumber for Genoa, Italy, in command of Captain G. W. Waldemar and a crew of nine men. On board was Mrs. Waldemar and her young niece, Miss Gladys Larrock.

“Just at sunrise,” said Olsen, “we ran into a hurricane that came up from the south. It got so bad that we hove to at eight a. m. until midnight. It eased up a little, but came up again strong by seven o’clock next morning. We fired the deck load overboard—had to do it, and do it quick; she was leaking pretty badly.

“About ten-fifteen a. m. up came one of those racers—you know what I mean, three waves chasing one right behind another. It came full at us and swept clean over. It seemed to curl up about forty feet above the deck.

“That wave tore out about thirty feet of our quarterdeck and carried it over. At midnight we were completely water-logged. Next morning, at two-thirty, we shipped another of those racers, and it carried off the forrid house and the fo’c’s’le deck.

“We got kind of uneasy about the two women. They never said a word. If they were scared, they didn’t let anybody know it, and we didn’t let them know we were worried about ’em. At six a. m. we cut away the main and mizzen sticks, and thought for a while we were going to stay above water, but at nine a. m. we knew it was all off.

“About nine-fifteen a. m. we launched the yawl. But what was the use? We just did it on a chance, anyway. That yawl had hardly hit the water when she was smashed to pieces against the side.

“Big sticks of lumber from our jettisoned cargo now slammed the barkentine hard. At ten a. m. the starboard side opened up. That was some day. At eight-thirty p. m. the foremast jammed itself through the bottom; a big part of the foredeck drifted away with it. We were just simply going to pieces. We didn’t know where to lash the women, because we couldn’t say what part would go away next.

“The lumber in the hold was just raising hell. The morning of the next day, at three-thirty o’clock, the stern broke off entirely. At five-thirty a. m. the main deck splintered and so did the after house. A half hour later we made a raft out of the roof of it. We all got onto it, lashing the women. They lay flat and had a hard job to keep from choking, because the waves were hitting us hard.

“At seven-thirty a. m. we sighted the main deck, and started out for it. It took us two hours to paddle. We used pieces of the lumber that drifted to us. When we all climbed on board, we made fast the raft to it. That was the last thing we did, because at eleven p. m., after three days and nights on the drifting main deck, the thing bu’sted to pieces.

“That was the only time the women showed excitement. They didn’t want to get back on that raft. The little gal, Miss Larrock, she lives in Boston, like I do. She said to me: ‘Mate, we will never see Boston again.’ I said: ‘Oh, yes. Don’t you give up, little gal, not much.’ She laughed—it sounded like she was laughing—and she said something she read some time out of a book. ‘Well, mate, we will die with good and true hearts.’

“Well, we didn’t die. The Ward steamer Manzanillo came along at ten-thirty o’clock the morning after the main deck bu’sted to pieces, and we can thank Warner, the cook, that she saw us. He grabbed the code flag R when we left the vessel, and we stuck it up on a piece of lumber on the raft. It is a red flag, with a yellow cross, and they could see it better than most any flag.”

Olsen turned to the cook and slapped him hard between the shoulders. “Freddy, old boy, we never missed a meal, did we?”

Warner winced and acquiesced.

“Yes, sir,” continued the mate, “the twelve of us lived for six days on that measly two-pound can of tripe and three tins of blueberries. Freddie, here, opened 30 the can of tripe with his teeth and an old fork. Then he speared a piece at a time on a wire and handed it around three times a day.

“And, by gosh, the skipper looked at every piece that was swallowed. He said: ‘I caution you fellas to go light on that tripe, because we might be a long time here. One of the three cans of berries was given to four of us. We had a three-gallon keg of dirty fresh water with us on the raft, and it tasted fine.”

The Manzanillo landed the Boynton’s crew at Santiago, Cuba, where they were cared for in a hospital. The skipper and his wife and niece later went by steamer to Mobile.

How “Long” is a Kiss? “Long” Meant, Not “Why.”

How long is a kiss? No, not “why?”—nobody so foolish as to ask that—but “how long?”

“As long as you can hold your breath,” somebody has said, but the question which moving-picture censors and actors and actresses are debating now is, how much film a kiss may, with propriety, fill.

“Three feet is the limit,” said a recent ruling of the Chicago board of censors.

“That’s too much,” said Miss Ruth Stonehouse, one of the favorites of the “movie fans.” “No kiss has a right to more than one foot of film.

“You see, when an actress is kissed on the stage, it isn’t because she wants to be kissed, but because the artistry of the play demands it, to indicate emotion on the part of the stage characters. It is utterly impersonal, you know.”

“It is?” ventured the interviewer.

“Why, of course. It isn’t really the actress who is being kissed, but the character she represents. Sometimes an unskilled actress uses the prolonged kiss to convey her idea of a love scene, but if she understands the art of expression, it is unnecessary.”

“But would you limit the real, honest-to-goodness love kiss to one foot?” asked the “cub” reporter anxiously.

“We were talking of the stage,” she replied gracefully. “The kind you mean, my dear boy, are a quite different affair.”

Oklahomans Plan Second Wolf Drive.

A wolf drive on a large scale occurred in the hills west of Greenfield, Okla., a few weeks ago. The ground covered was about twenty-five square miles. The lines were formed at ten a. m. and at the signal shot thousands of hunters began to move in toward the center.

When within a mile of the center, all lines were halted and orders were given by the captains to cease firing until the encircling line could be formed solid, but before this could be accomplished, many wolves escaped. When the hunters closed in, eight wolves were discovered, but five of the eight managed to get away. Many rabbits were killed, however.

There will be another hunt over the same ground and considerable added territory. The circular sent out to all residents of the vicinity says the recent drive was not satisfactory, as several wolves were allowed to make their escape. It is now proposed to have a big wolf drive and barbecue dinner after the round-up to all that go into the lines and help make the drive a success. It has been decided that the captains issue tickets to all men in their respective lines, all able-bodied to take part in some line. The committee asks the hearty coöperation of every man within the adjoining territory to make this drive a success, as it is not a matter of sport only, but an effort to rid the country of wolves.

The drive will cover forty-nine square miles, making each line seven miles in length. “We want to make this drive the most successful of any held in Oklahoma, and ask that you leave all booze at home to prevent accidents.

“All firearms are barred except shotguns, and no shot to be used larger than No. 4.”

The circular further says:

“Each captain will be entitled to four sergeants to help him with his mile. There will be no shot fired from nine a. m. to ten a. m., the time of starting. The signal to start will be given at the southeast corner promptly at ten a. m., each captain to fire his gun, and the sergeants to fire their guns in turn until the signal is carried entirely around the lines.

“All wolves are to be sold at auction, and the proceeds to go to pay for coffee and bread. The meat is to be donated and barbecued on the ground for all who hold tickets. So be sure that you are in one of the lines in order to get a ticket. Ladies are invited to the round-up ground and will get their dinner free.

“No quail to be shot, and all rabbits to be saved and sent to Oklahoma City, to be distributed among the poor.

“Also please remember, no shooting in the center at round-up ground. The drive will be held immediately west of Greenfield.”

Is Champion Hose Knitter.

Without doubt “Aunt Sallie” Hardly, of Big Laurel, Va., is the champion hose knitter in the world. She has just celebrated her eighty-fifth birthday by knitting a pair of men’s hose. Her hobby has always been knitting. She could knit a pair of men’s hose in two days when she was nine years old. Aunt Sallie thirty years ago began keeping a record of hose knit, and since that time has completed 10,005 pairs, she says. “I believe that in all I have knitted over fifteen thousand pairs, and have hopes of making it twenty thousand before I reach one hundred, which age I believe I will live to see,” she said.

Girl Rifle Team Gets “Defi.”

The girl’s rifle team of the Iowa City High School, Iowa City, Ia., has been challenged by a girls’ rifle team of Washington, D. C., and probably will accept the “defi.” The coach is Professor C. E. Williams, a member of the Iowa university national championship team of other days, and now coach of the national high-school champion five of Iowa City.

Small Pitching Staff Best, Says Old-timer.

Jimmy Ryan, veteran player and one of the best of the famous Chicago Colts, believes baseball is going back to the old days, when five pitchers were all the biggest club would carry.

“At present,” he says, “we find big-league clubs with ten or more pitchers on the pay roll, when three or four are actually doing the work. What is the result? Why, these regulars are liable to be fretty because they have to perform the heavy tasks and at the same time see six or seven men sitting on the bench drawing 31 pay and performing no actual labor in championship games.

“‘Why do I have to do so much and wear myself out, when those guys are having it so soft?’ they frequently say to themselves. And you can’t blame them.

“Instead of a dozen high-priced men stepping on each others’ toes, I believe that the day is coming when six will be the limit any club carries. Manager Stallings, of the Boston Braves, has shown to the present generation that it can be done.

“Back in the eighties, when I was pitching, John Clarkson, another fellow, and myself would do the bulk of the work. And it didn’t hurt us any, either. We were in shape, and had to keep so.

“It was seldom one heard a pitcher say he was feeling bad then, or had a kink in the arm. He had to get out and work or lose his job.

“They can talk all they want to about baseball’s improving. But I fail to see it that way. We could teach the present-day players a lot about the game, and I’m not the only one who thinks so.

“Hard work never hurt any ball player. You see what it did for the Boston Braves! It won them a world’s championship.”

Catches Coyotes in an Original Manner.

A coyote likes to have a newspaper clipping to read before it puts its foot in a trap. This is according to the philosophy of John Harvey, of Riverside County, California, who has about two hundred animals to his credit—by traps, shotgun, and poison.

Harvey’s favorite trap is one of the familiar steel-jawed type with a strong spring at each end. He sets it with his knees, by bringing almost his whole weight on the springs. The spot chosen is usually on plowed or cultivated ground. The flat pan, or trigger, of the trap is covered skillfully with a piece of newspaper about four inches square, and all is carefully covered with earth. Even the six-foot chain and drag are concealed. Then over the place spread a lot of chicken or bird feathers, and any other available animal or fowl trash, such as entrails and pieces of pelt. This proves the undoing of Mr. Coyote when he comes prowling about in the night.

The trapping is generally done in the fall or winter, after the buzzards have migrated, as the bait is also tempting to that kind of “health” birds.

Bars Men Who Drink Liquor.

The Milton Manufacturing Company, an ironworking concern which has the largest plant in Milton, Pa., with hundreds of employees, has posted notices in the plant, barring all men who use intoxicating drinks. Employees who have signed saloon applications for the establishing of saloons, now before the Northumberland County court, must have their names withdrawn from the applications if they desire to continue in the company’s service.

Lost Diamond Mine Discoverer is Found.

The lost locator of Kimberley lost diamond mines has been found. Joseph H. Meyers, for whom a world-wide search was started three months ago by men whom he had interested in a South African diamond-mining proposition, has written to the stockholders of his company explaining his long silence and giving a report on the prospects of the undertaking.

Meyers had been missing since July 5, 1910, and Doctor Fred C. Wheat, of Minneapolis, Minn., last November asked members of the Iowa Alumni Association to “comb all the quarters of the earth” in an effort to find him. Meyers was a graduate at the class of 1888, University of Iowa.

Meyers is a mining engineer, and his wife is said to be an expert in minerals. In 1904 he was in charge of a large mine at San José, Cal., where he befriended an old Scotchman named Sandy McDonald. When the old man died, he showed Meyers a map giving the location of a valuable diamond mine near Kimberley. This map, he said, he had secured from another Scotchman.

Meyers, at first skeptical, finally went to Kimberley, found the mine, and returned with the report that in a few days he had dug out five hundred carat weight of gems. He interested his friends in the United States and secured $25,000 to buy the land. If he had taken it as a diamond claim, he would have had to split the diamonds with the government.

Returning to South Africa, he found that the price of the land had gone up as a result of the discovery of other mines near, and he was forced to return to this country and raise $10,000 more. He was last seen in San Francisco.

In a letter to J. L. McLaury, of Glenwood, Minn., Meyers, writing from Fresno, says he is still blocked in his effort to secure title to the diamond property, but that the obstacle may be removed any day.

Doctor Wheat refuses to discuss the details of the venture, although he said that he was satisfied that Meyers was absolutely honest, and that eventually the proposition would be a success.

King of the Rabbit Hunters.

Stephen Osborn, seventy-eight years old, who lives five miles southwest of Gentry, Mo., claims the distinction of being the champion rabbit hunter—for his age, at least—of northwestern Missouri. He has killed 500 rabbits so far this winter, and is not through yet.

Osborn, who is an expert shot, does his hunting in a buggy which is drawn by a twenty-one-year-old horse. He is accompanied by two dogs. The dogs scare the rabbits from their hiding places; then, after the fatal shot is fired, they bring the dead animals to the hunter, who is not compelled to leave his buggy. Osborn says his best day’s work was forty-nine rabbits out of fifty shots.

Modern Lumberjack a Real Aristocrat.

Should an old-time lumberjack wander back into the neighborhood of Mellen, Wis., searching for old, familiar scenes, and with the possible desire to once again, for a brief time, enter into the old calling for pastime or physical improvement, he would be apt to make a hasty survey of present conditions, and, with a voice softened by disappointment, declare: “No, this is not the same—not at all the same. This may be all right for a minister’s son, but not for me—not for me. Too much like Chicago.”

Last week residents of Mellen had an opportunity to watch a train of new boarding cars switched out into the woods over the logging railroad of the Foster-Latimer Lumber Company. The cars were built in the local car shops of that concern and are the last word in quarters for woodsmen.

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The outfit comprises a “kitchen car,” equipped with the most modern kitchen appliances, such as can only be found in the culinary departments in hotels of large cities; two “sleepers,” equipped with steel double-deck beds, springs, and mattresses, there being no bunks, but regular upper and lower berths, each for two persons and provided with individual ventilating windows; in the roof are also eight patent ventilator stacks. The two diners are provided with individual tables for setting four persons each.

The entire train is comfortably heated by steam heat. The cars are provided with hard-wood floors, neatly painted inside and out, well lighted, and also provided with the latest model gasoline-lighting system.

Set New Roller-skate Mark.

Frank Bryant, of Duluth, and Raymond Kelly, of St. Paul, lowered the world’s record for relay roller skating when they finished their twenty-four-hour grind in Duluth, Minn. The team skated 348 miles and eight laps.

Fred Martin, of Milwaukee, and Frank Bacon, of Detroit, made the former record two weeks ago at the Madison Square Garden, when they rolled off 293 miles.

Bryant and Kelly showed wonderful endurance, by sprinting the last two hours. They are professionals, Bryant being Northwestern champion on the wheels.

Two Days Under Felled Tree.

A Mexican living three miles southwest of Binger, Okla., was chopping wood, when a tree fell on him and held him fast from Friday until Sunday morning. An Indian chief, “Big Snow,” discovered the Mexican’s plight and succeeded in releasing him. There were no bones broken, but the Mexican was badly bruised and suffered much from his long exposure to the cold.

Hero Gives His Life to Save Little Child.

This is a story of a brave and heroic youth who sacrificed his own life that a little child might live. The tragedy marked the close of a merry coasting party, and the death toll might have been greater but for the unfortunate hero, Edward Schumacher, aged seventeen years.

Near Dundee, Ill., a fine hill stretches, invitingly long and white in the winter days and nights. For long it has been a favorite spot for coasters, and it was not unusual that the fatal evening found a gay party spinning down the shimmering course. Schumacher sat at the steering lever of the big coasting “bob,” with a small child in his lap. Behind were three other boys and four girls.

“Don’t be afraid, little fellow,” he said to the timid child. “I’ll take good care of you, all right.”

The sled shot down the incline at a furious speed. Half-way to the bottom it encountered a sharp grade and became unmanageable. The steersman lost control for a moment, and the “bob” darted to the side just as a post loomed up a few paces ahead. Collision was inevitable.

Schumacher’s mind worked quickly, and then, without a thought of consequences to himself, he flung the child from him into a deep snowbank. The next instant the sled hurled itself upon the post, with the steersman still at his place.

The child was picked up, unhurt, and of the seven young persons who sat behind, none were injured beyond a severe shaking up, but the boy in whose hands, for a moment, were the lives of all in the sled lived only a few minutes after the crash. But he had kept his promise to the child, even at the cost of his own life.

Is Seventy-five and “Spry as a Cricket.”

There is an old lady living in Harrogate, Tenn., Taylor by name, who, at the age of seventy-five years, is the mother of fifteen children, 108 grandchildren, ninety-six great-grandchildren, and 25 great-great-grandchildren, and she is still as spry as a cricket.

New Line Over Continent.

Work on the latest American transcontinental railroad is nearing completion. “Only a few miles remain to link the Canadian Northern railroad from ocean to ocean,” said R. Creelman, general passenger agent of the Canadian Northern, when on a visit in Chicago the other day. “The last gap, north of Kamloops, in British Columbia, is being closed at the rate of nearly three miles a day, and the final linking of the unbroken line of steel from the Atlantic to the Pacific should take place before the end of this month. It still lacks more than four years of a half century since the Union Pacific and the Central Pacific linked the two oceans, forming the first continuous all-rail route across the continent. In 1885 the Canadian Pacific was completed. The Canadian Northern is the latest of the transcontinentals. The line extends from Quebec through Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto, Port Arthur, Winnipeg, Regina, Edmonton, Calgary, to Vancouver. While the main line is approximately 3,100 miles long, from Quebec to Vancouver, feeders increase the mileage of the system to slightly over 9,000, nearly two-thirds of which has been in operation for a number of years.

“The completed road will be a monument to the enterprise of two famous railroad builders—Sir William Mackenzie and Sir Donald Mann. Their first experience in railroad building came with the construction of the Canadian Pacific thirty years ago. Since 1896 they have been engaged on the Canadian Northern system.”

GREENBACKS!

Pack of $1,000 Stage Bills, 10c; 3 packs 25c. Send for a pack and show the boys what a WAD you carry. C. A. NICHOLS, Jr., BOX 59, CHILI, N. Y.

CACHOO!

Make the whole family and all your friends “just sneeze their heads off” without knowing why, with CACHOO, the new long distance harmless snuff. Sent anywhere for 10c. 3 for 25c. C. A. NICHOLS, Jr., Box 59, CHILI, N. Y.

Tobacco Habit Easily Conquered

A New Yorker of wide experience, has written a book telling how the tobacco or snuff habit may be easily and completely banished in three days with delightful benefit. The author, Edward J. Woods, 230 G, Station E, New York City, will mail his book free on request.

The health improves wonderfully after the nicotine poison is out of the system. Calmness, tranquil sleep, clear eyes, normal appetite, good digestion, manly vigor, strong memory and a general gain in efficiency are among the many benefits reported. Get rid of that nervous feeling; no more need of pipe, cigar, cigarette, snuff or chewing tobacco to pacify morbid desire.