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About The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 6, 1903)
Wetland HA Tale of the Early S ettlsrs I! cf Louisiana ! :: by austin c. burdick : CHAPTER H.-(Contlnued.) "Here, Simon," ottered the marquis, turning towards hit nephew, "don't you remember Goupart 8t, Denia? our young Goupart, who used to come and shoot my game, and frichten you with hl gun and pistols?" "Ah a yeir ald Simon, arising and imiling with an effort M. Bt. Denis, your humble servant, air. We are happy to tee you among na once more." - Goupart St Denia had once Uved Tery near to St Julien's country residence, and among ail the youthful visitors he waa by far the moat welcome. Hi fath er waa a count and a gentleman, and Goupart was a wbole-aouled, noble boy. In those days, Louia and Louiaa were merry children, and the atont Goupart used to play with them hour after hour and day after day. And In those daya, too, he used to carry the lovely little gril In bia arms, and he oaed to tell her that sortie day she should be his wife; and then she would laugh and clap her little dimpled hands, and sometimes she would pinch b'l cheek and bos his ear, and tell blm she should be stronger, and could punish him more severely when she be came bla wife. But those days were gono now, and while Goupart bad only put on rery little more manhood, Louise had grown from a thoughtless child to be a very beautiful maiden. "But how Is It, Goupartf asked tho marquis, after the party had become calm. . "What brings yo here Into this wilderness T' i "Of a truth, my old friend, I came to seek my fortune," returned the young man. 'Ton know my father lost his all In his meddling in the affairs of Spalu, and when he died, three years ago, I found myself not only alone in the world, but nearly penniless. The little estate at Sezanne, in Lower Marne, was the only thing left 1 sold It and after paying off all demands, I found myself the owner of the enormous sum of ten thousand francs. What should I do? That' would not last me a month If I remained amongst my old associates. The last of my father's wealth he lost in Law'a great Mississippi scheme; and now that I was left alone, I was not long In turning my eyes hither. At New Orleans, I heard that a Marquis Bricn St. Julien had set tled np here somewhere. I think I must hav been craay for awhile after receiv ing thla information,- but when I did real ly come to mysolf, I started, and here 1 am." ' "But didn't you know that we were" here?" asked the marquis. "Why, no. I thought yon were In Canada." I "Yes here we are!" cried the old man, joyfully, "and now we will live over some of the buppy days again." . "Ay," added Goupart, "and forget all the dark ones." ' After this, the conversation turned up on affairs In the native country, and for three hours the marquis kept bis visitor answering questions and retailing the news of the past six years. It was at a late hour when they separated, and with tnars in bis eyes, Brion St Julien called npon heaven to blcsa his young friend. There was something ill Goupart's pres ence that had called up the brighter daya of his past life, and be was happy In the hope that he might keep the youth a long while with him, v Louise retired to her chamber, and for a while, only a bright joy seemed to move her; but gradually her thoughts seem to take more serious turn, for her counte nance changed to ft sober, thoughtful cast, and with her bands clasped upon her bosom, she bowed her head, and thus she remaluod for a long while, the color of her face changing like the deepening twilight. But there was one more whom we have seen affected by the young man's pres ence. Simon Lobols retired to his cham ber, and for some time he paced up and down the apartment with quick, nervous strides. His face showed that he waa ill t ease, and the clenching of the hands aeemed to speak of ft war within. "What brought him here!" he muttered to himself. "Now we'll have more boy's play and monkey-dancing, and It will all end In hla falling In love with Louise. And If he does so, and should ask for her hand, I am simply sure that, the old man would te'l him yes. But what does she want with the young popinjay T I'll be ahead of him. Aud if I should be he who treads upon me may tread npon dan gerous ground! Let them bewarel" CHAPTER III. The morning of the next day dawned brightly, and at an early hour, Goupart and Louis were astjr. The latter took his friend all over the buildings, showed him the defenses, and would nave passed out through the northern gate had not the marquis joined them just aa they came out of the stable leading two horses by the bridles. "How now, you young rascals!" cried the old man. "Are ye going to run off with jny horses!" "Not at all." returned St. Denos, with merry laugh. "We were going to let the horses run off with ns. But we won't go now, unless you'll go with us. Here, Louts, hold this animal of mine while I help your father to saddle his; for I know he'll love to su'iff th fresh air befor breakfast" . ;. The old mm joined In the plan joyful ly, and ere long the three were galloping off over the country. They laughed and shouted tuerrlly on the way, and the for est rang with the echoes of their glad voices. When they returned to the house, ihey found Louise npon the plana, her face radiant with smiles. 8imon tabols bad been spectator of the morning s sports; and when the party aat down to the table he waa silent and moody. Several times he tried te hide hla emotions, and finally be so far suc ceeded as to engage In quite an animated converaation. After the meal was done, Simon took the first opportunity te call the marqule one aide, and aa he said that ns wished to have few momenta of private conversation, the old man retired to hla library, whither Simon followed him. "Now, what Is Itr asked 8t Jullcn. a fUr they had both become seated. It waa seme momenta before the nephew replied; but at length he aeemed to collect hla mental force, and he com menced: "M. St Julien," hla voice trembled at Brat but It grew more steady aa he went on, "I have now been in your fam ily a long while, and my attachments have become strong and fixed. Six years ago yon placed your children under my charge, and I have done all I could for them." "I know I know, Simon," ntterrd the old man. "and I have told yon thou sand times how grateful I waa." "lea, sir aod your gratitude has been a choice blessing to me. But remember the hours I have spent with tnose two children " "And haven't they been happy hours, Simon r : t "Indeed they have, sir, been very hap py ones. But alas! the thought has often been with me of late must they all end In misery now?" "How, Simon? misery?" uttered the marquis, In astonishment "What mean youi? Do you fear that I am going to tdrn yon away?" An instantaneous flash of defiance pass ed over the younger man's face, but he revealed none of the feeling that bad given It birth. "No, no," he replied, "I did not fear that Yon do not understand me. Re member, sir, that Louise St Julien has grown op under my care that I have seen each opening beauty as it has grad ually expanded itself Into life, and each bud of promise I have seen blossom Into the full rose. She has now grown to be woman. Think yon I have seen and known all thia unmoved? No, air. My heart has been caught In the snare of her charms, and I am but as an outcast now, if I possess her not for mine own. You understand me now?" Brion St Julien understood, but he made no reply. He started when the truth first broke upon him; and when Si mon ceased speaking he arose to his feet and commenced to pace the room. The nephew watched him for a moment, and then, In a tone as soft and persuas ive as he could assume, be resumed: "Heflect calmly upon this, my lord. Re member, you are growing old; your chil dren are yet young " "Too young for this, Simon," whisper ed the marquis. "And then I am not old, either. I am but fifty-five that's all." . "I know," pursued the nephew, "but Louise is not young. Her mind Is that of a woman." "But you are one year over and above double her own age," suggested the par ent; "almost old enough ay, fully old enough to be her father." "And yet I am not old, nor have I yet reached my prime; only five-and-thlrt years. But what of all this? Speak plainly, air, and let me know your mind. Only remember that I have not sought your daughter's society. It has been forced upon me, and I could not avoid the result. Ah, sir, I cannot think you will refuse me." Now, to speak the troth for the mar quis he bad not the fullest confidence in Simon Lobols. He knew that his nephew would work well for pay, but he had long doubted the truth of bis heart the pure ness of his motives; and what was more, i e had moments when be almost feared him. This latter emotion was ft sort of dim, vague working of mind, without point and without shape; but yet it worked, and bad its influence. "Simon," be said, "when I left France, I left all the rotten, useless usages of society behind me, and here I resolved to form a world of my own. First among the miserable falsehoods of old society, I meant to cast away that . plan which makes the marriage of the child a work of the parent. When my child is old enough to marry, she is old enough to se lect her own husband; and until she is old enough to use her own judgment in that respect, she is not old enough to per form the duties of a wife. Upon the mar riage of my children may depend the whole weal or woe of their earthly fu ture. Such being the case, I must leave them to choose for themselves, only hop ing that they will seek my counsel, and listen to my advice, so far as my judg ment Is good." """What am .1 to understand by this, sir?" asked Simon, not able to conceal bis chagrin. "Simply that Louise may choose her own husband." "But you will exercise some authority? You will speak in my behalf?" "First, I would know if the girl chooses you." "But but you might Influence her choice." "Not now, Simon." "Yet you will speak one word?" "Why so soon? Louise is young yet Why, bless you, man, there's some time yi t some years ere she'll be of lawful age." "Not quite year, sir." "I mean ere she'll be able to do busi ness aa an heiress. Let the matter rest now." "No, no I cannot I cannot live In doubt I must know what my fate Is to be." "But what Is to be gained by this haste? Louise must be free yet unless she may reciprocate your own love." "Ay," cried Simon, hotly and passion ately, and speaking now without thought or consideration; "but bow long la thla to be so? How long before this new fledged popinjay may seize ber with the fire of his eye, and influence her to love him? He Is here, and ha is likely to stay here while" "Simon Lobols!" spoke the marquis; sternly and quickly, "you know not what yon say. Beware, air, or I may tell you a truth that shall grate upon thine ear, "Speak, air speak!" uttered the nephew, still under the Influence of pas sion. "Let me hear all. "Listen," Interrupted the marquis, "and you shall hear. I took you to my home penniless. Only remember you this: the Count St. Denis was one among the few, very few, true friends I ever had; and hla only son has Inherited all his father's good qualities, all his noDleness of soul, and all bla virtues. And mark me, I love Goupart St. Denia. Yet I will speak one word more since you have brought the subject up; and I hope thia may be the last time that need shall arise of alluding to the subject When t came here, you begged that I would take yon with me. I offered you salary of tour thousand franca ft year In money, besides your liv ing, to com and keep the bare account of my business, and three thousand more to teach my children. Thus far you have done your duty well. Have I not don miner1 There was aomethlng In th took, the tone, and th words of th speaker, that struck ft transient feeling of aw to Si mon's soul, and In moment he conceal ed all traces of his anger. He found that there was much of the old blood yet left In the old noble, and that hot words would only serve to blast his own hopes. So h assumed repentant tone, and with more modest look, he said: "Forgive me, sir. I meant not to speak 111 of any one, but my tongue ran away with me. Out of my deep love tor your noble child sprang dreadful fear when I saw St. Denis come. But may I not speak with Louise? May I not ask her to be miner "Of course you may." "And if she says yes?" "Then I should simply bid her follow her own wishes." Simon Lobols thanked his nncle, and then left the room, and when he waa alone, hla hands were clenched and his brow waa dark. CilAPTEU IV. All that day did Simon Lobols watch for aa opportunity to speak alone with Louise, and it waa not until towards venlng that he gained the wished for opportunity. She was standing In th hall, her brother and Goupart having gone down to th river, while th marquis was somewhere among the black., giring di rections tor the next day' work. Siiuoa touched the maiden upon the arm. and ha. fnllnar him intft the StUdX. as he wished to speak with her mo ment The beautiful girl smiled a reply, and laughingly tripped along by hia id to the designated apartment "Louise," be commenced, in a very soft winning tone and he could speak very aweetly,. too, when he chose "I want you to listen to me candidly, now, and weigh well what I shall say." "How now, good master?" cried the happy girl, with a merry twinkle of the eye; "am I to take ft lesson for not get ting one to-day?" "No, no. Listen, and be sober, for I would be serious. Yon know how our lives have been spent here for the last six years, and how we have moved about in our little world here in the wilderness. You have been my constant companion. Then Simon introduced the same speech, word for word, that he had made to the parent in the morning, about the expand ing beauties and budding promises, and he ended thus: "And now womanhood has come npon you with its loveliness and goodness all nobly developed, and my heart has become captive, and is all your own" . . . Qlmnn nraat A11fltn. I am glSO UWU 1 lit" u i ' - - - you love me!" said the maiden, with a bright smile. "tra inn Tnins?" the tutor cried eagerly. "O, and will you be mine?" "Be yours? Be your wnair "My wife, most lovely girl my wife!" Louise St. Julien gazed for some mo ments into Simon's face, and then burst into a long, loud laugh. ' "0, you do not mean so? You are not in earnest?" she uttered, for she could not at first realize it "Mean it? Do not, say yon? Louise, I do mean it!" This unexpected turn had thrown him entirely -from his studied plan- , "Mean to auk me to' be your wifef spoke the fair girl, giving each word ft particular emphasis, and speaking with a pause between every one, as mougu would have no misunderstanding. "Most assuredly I do. I love you as the very core of my soul, and I cannot Inaa Wll tlAW JTnw mi. I heln loving you? How should I be with you thus as I have been, and not love you.' u. oiess ed oue, you will not crush me now!" "It doesn t seem possible! sne uuereu. "Wake up, Simon; shake yourself, and see If you have not been dreaming this! I be youra wife? Why, you are more fit for my father. Don't speak so any more, Simon, for you'll frighten me." "And can the love or a true naa iuiiu ful heart frighten you?" he asked. "Most assuredly not. You may love A a a mn nil a a mil nlp&se as an only 1UO S0 . rf - cousin ought to love, or as a father ought to love, or, yet as a faithful teacher ought to love a dutiful pupil; but if you talk of marriage to me any more, I shull certainly think you are crazy, and then, of course, 1 should be irignieneu. or folks. Don't talk so to me any more, or I shall. surely think your brain Is turned. (To be continued.) DEER JACKING WITH TUGBOAT. Unique Chance That Came to a Maine Lad Who Was Ont for re it. So far as Is known the first Instance on record of a fleer being jacked by an nman.inlna tllirtinnt linilTWIlfid Oil tl6 last day of open time this year on the shore of Fort Point cove at the mouth of the Penobscot River. The cove te a general exchange for shipping bound up or out of the river. It Is here that the ocean tugs drop their tows for th river boats to take to Bangor and here thejt come for the ice barges ready for sea. The country In the vic!n!tyjf the cove Is Bparsely settled and on the western side begins the vast range of forests which extend for miles across Hancock and Washington counties. Deer are plentiful farther back, but are rarely seen near the shore. It was not for a deer that young Jud son Perkins loaded up his father's old musket with a handful of slugs and went down to the shore after school.' It was a seal upon which Judson bad Intentions. The small river or bay j seals are plentiful In the cove and are a great pest to the fishermen In robbing their nets and weirs of the choicest of the catch. A boy Is considered to have won his spurs when he hag shot a seal, for its shyness Is remarkable. The crow Is dull in discovering the presence of danger compared with a bay seal. And so It happened that Judson was down on the shore with a gun that afternoon. After waiting and watching In vain for his quarry, he started for home In the darkness. He was only a few steps from the shore when a big tug shot In by the point and played her searchlight upon the fleet of schooners and barges at anchor there. Then the big ray search ed along the shore until it caught Jud son full In the face. Turning about to avoid the blinding ray, he looked to ward the woods and saw a sight which rooted him to the spot for an Instant There In the path of the big, white ray, with head and antleis above a small busb, stood the finest buck deer seen In those parts for years. The deer seemed fascinated, standing with gleaming eyeballs and quivering nostrils, trembling. . Judson quickly re covered his wits, raised his gun and fired. At that moment the light went out, but at the report back It came and flickered back and forth like a dog look ing for a scent Had the men on the boat been a little nearer they might have seen a boy standing over a big deer and gazing at It as if he could hardly believe his senses. As soon as he was sssnred that the deer was really dead he ran to the house as fast as his legs could carry him, but had desper ate work to make the hired man under stand that It was a load for the steers and drag. Judson In probably the only hunter In Maine who ever shot a deer with the aid of a 000-ton steel ocean going tugboat Pill a Big Dnck KgR. A wanderer from the flowery king dom recently died In Melbourne. It transpired at the Inquest that he bad been treated by a Chinese physician, who gave blm pills each the size of a duck's egg. There were said to be forty dlfere-nt Ingredients In the medi cine, Includlug blood, grasshopitors, ashes, bone dust clay, dates, honey, sawdust and ground-up Insects. The Memory. Scientists have discovered that th memory Is stronger In summer than In winter. Among the worst foe of th memory are too much food, too much physical exercise, and, itrangrly enough, too mncb education. The Dramatic Cms. Mr. Fljit Our friend Epicurt has got out a new cook book. v Mr. Fljit That nice; la it going t be dramatised J Ohio Stat Journal I . ML I HEN one speaks of romance coupled with the contents of the coal scuttle, the connection .may seem somewhat remote. But It i Isn't There are wonders and beau ties of vegetation concealed In the coal, I with the glory and fervor ana sun shine of days that dawned when the 'earth was young. And while these marvels are not apparent at a casual ' glance, they are not so deeply hidden as to be visible only to the learned mineralogist working In his well equipped laboratory. A little manual dexterity readily acquired,' a micro- j scope, and a modest amount of study, FIG. 1 FOSSIL CAL AMITE STEMS. are all the preparation needed to en able one to unfold a record not made by human hands, and to reveal beau ties of rare excellence. And there is history concentrated to a degree which comprehends the activities of i millions of years in the piece of min eral you may hold between your fin gers. Coal tells much about the earth we live on and delve into, and all It Imparts happened long before there I was a human being in existence to I take note of the terrestrial catastro phes compared with which the niight- Sjr tt Jm ? i ft. l vx.rf me "gp '' - r,t ri.i WHERE THE ROMANCE OF COAL lest upheavals of present times sink into absolute Insignificance. Coa Is a mineral. It is carbon. It is about the only source of carbon on earth available, for the extraction of metals from ores, and their subsequent transformations. Millions of years ago it grew, in the literal sense. That period of the earth's existence is styled the carboniferous. Man wasn't due for millions of years. There were few vertebrates of any sort on land; One of the first to make his bow was a chip shaped like a frog and as big as a small ox. And be was amphibious; HO. 2 MODERN CALAMITE AMD CLUB MOSS. that is, not particular whether he swam In the water or moved about on land. He bad relatives, aud the whole tribe went by the general name of labyrjnthodants the name being of di mensions to correspond with Its bear ers. Then there were scaly, alligator like reptiles, and the smaller fry In cluded tree lizards, land snails, large scorpions and spiders, cockroaches, beetles, huge May-flies, and other marsh Insects. Among things In the seas were the oyster, and fishes to which the armored sturgeon of to-day bears some resemblance. All these left their trade-marks, so to speak. In coal. But this Is In a manner digression. There were trees In those days. Not the sorts we now have, but those of less complex structure. They were tall some of them over 200 feet, and cor respondingly thick. They have left descendants, -but puny ones horse tails, club mosses, ferns, are common Instances. The construction of these trees tells ns that the earth was a very damp place those days. There was water everywhere, and In abund ance. Even the air was habitually saturated with It The sun was hot and the combination made things grow. Figure 1 shows at It right a fossil root-end of a catamite or horse tall of the coal period, and figure 2 a modern horse-tall, actual size. Com parison speaks for Itself. Club mosses were abundant In varieties many of which are extinct These mosses grew 190 feet or more tall, and scattered myriad of seed spore and spore cases; season after season this con tinued, until deep and dens layers were formed around th roots. To-day we get coal that la more or less com pletely built np of the resinous spore the bituminous sort frequently ! wet its brilliant and glossy appear-1 ill E 111 - -' .,..,.;.,.,.u:l.::.:,,: ....,,..,.,,1. J V .fit fi . Wonders and Beautes of Vegetation, and Remarkable Chemical Combinations ite vealed; Sunshine of Days When the Earth Was Young Concentrated in the Bright Black Lump! Upon Whose Energy a World Depends. 1 f ance to the presence of this resinous matter. These big club mosses- are termed lepidodendra. The stem or trunk of a lepidodendron Is covered with scars where the leaf stalks were originally attached, and these trunks' are often found standing upright in the coal mines, with their striking scars arranged spirally around their whole length. The Bandstones and shales found above coal strata often reveal fossilized portions and casts or impressions of the scaly bark of these great stems. If we add to the plants already men tioned certain coniferous "trees similar to pines and larches, we will compre hend that the forests of the coal pe riod, although largely composed of what we now regard as Insignificant weeds, were not by any means Insig nificant as forests. On the contrary, everything points to the fact that the forests were so dense as to be almost Impenetrable through the various plant-growths, . Individuals striving with one another to get their leaves ex posed to the sunlight, Just asthe liv ing plants In crowded situations do to day, for sunlight was just as essential to these early plants as It has always been to all plant life. In among the great stems were undergrowths of ferns, many of which are very similar to sorts which flourish to-day. The frequency with which fronds and frondlets of ferns are seen In coal and shales shows how plentiful the growth must have been. The two central ex amples In the top row of figure 3 rep resent cameo and Intaglio pieces, and when closed together these become simply a piece of smooth, weather- "v i ' ?2aei&.tf '''. - IS NOT APPARENT ON SURFACE. .worn stone, with Its secret hidden at the core. Coal can be made to tell Its secrets just, as surely as can the sandstones and shales found near it. It would be useless to look at any casual piece of coal to trace Its vegetable origin, but by cutting a thin piece and grinding carefully between glass with emery and water until it becomes so thin as to be transparent and then submitting this to microscopical examination, we discover something as to its structure. So it occurs, by making sections through all kinds of coal, we are al most 'Invariably able to trace their vegetable origin from the softer vege . table and wood structures, until It be comes saturated and consolidated, eventually losing Its gaseous constitu ents, and becoming converted Into car bonized coal of various states of purity as It nears the stages of the more pure forms of carbon. Given, now, that coal Is consolidated and carbonized vegetable matter, we have yet to find a reason which shall account for these vast beds of coal being burled so deep beneath the sur face of the earth. And more than this, how is it that coal fields are found be neath coal fields, as In South Wales, where no lessthan eighty distinct beds of coal have been r.-cognlzed? Some times these beds are of great thick ness, one of the most noted Instances being the famous bed of South Staf fordshire, England, which was 30 feet thick. We have glanced at the won derful fossilized remains of the vege tation of the Carboniferous period 'aud seen how they Indicate that the for ests of those times developed dense masses of vegetable growth, which, so far as quantity Is concerned, would considerably surpass all forests of the present day. For If the whole vege tation of existing woodlands could be converted Into coal, It would probably not make a coal field of more than two or three Inches deep. Yet the "various seams in some coal areas would iunke a depth of from 200 to 300 feet From this we can estimate that these great forests of the coal period, which de veloped and stored these enormous ac cumulations of carbon, were something almost beyond our Imagination. For at present we know of no source of carbon other than that gathered through the agency of the green por tions of plants and stored in their FIO. 8 COAL SHALES. trunks, roots, branches, eta The green leaf absorb from the atmosphere the carbon dioxide or carbonic acid gas, which Is built np of one part of carbon chemically united with two of oxygen. This Is decomposed by sunlight In the chemical laboratory of the leaf and the oxygen la given back to the at mosphere for animals to breathe and again convert Into this same carbonic acid gas, while the carbon la retained and built Into the wood structure of the plant And as all the myriads f plant leaves of the great carboniferous trees were continually catching and rrtoring these particles of carbon from the carbon dioxide of the atmosphere, which in those times, it 'is thought, was in greater proportion In the air than It Is to-day, It naturally follows that great and ever-Increasing stores of carbon were being put by. not as pure carbon alone, but chemically com; blnod in the form of starches, oils, etc., essential to plant growth. But the earth was at this time In a very unsettled condition, and perhaps after these forests had grown and de veloped their trees and dense foliage and undergrowths for long periods of time a slow and persistent subsidence of the land would take place. As this sinking went on the Odes would grad ually wash In among these forests de posits of silt and mud, which would increase as time went on, until the once living and flourishing forest was completely submerged. And so a fu ture coal-bed was laid, which the ever Increasing weight above would event ually along with the natural chemical Influences, convert Into coal as we know It After a time the land would rest again, and the surface would be come suitable once more for plant growth and In the course of time a new forest would spring up, which In due time would once more meet the same fate of submergence. This again would be followed by others until we get coal stratum beneath the coal strat um, each showing the same remark able order first a bed of clay, which represents the soil of the ancient for est: next the coal layer itself, repre senting the accumulations of the once living vegetation, and above this the deposits of sand and mud which have hardened into shales and sandstones. A, second time another layer of clay or soil follows, and over it coal and sand stone, the whole to be similarly re peated. 11 It has been truly and frequently re marked that our stores of coal repre sent so much fossil sunshine of the Carboniferous, period. For the carbon gathered during the sunlight by the plants of this period constitutes the great and chief source of energy con tained in coal, and the heat and light given out duriug combustion is but the warmth and light of the sun's rays absorbed ages ago by the leaves of the strange plants which we have been considering, reasserting Itself as it were, after lying dormant through the countless ages. And as we sit by our fireside and appreciate the glowing embers while reading our newspaper or book with comfort and. ' enjoyment. With our rooms Illuminated primarily from this same source, and our surroundings fur ther cheered by the Innumerable aes thetic and useful products derived alike from coal, such as the lovely coal-tar colors, exquisite perfumes, and the Jet, marbles, slates, and sand stones from the adjoining strata, not to mention the comforts derived from the numerous curative drugs that chemists have learned to compound from the coal-tar products, and even sugar 300 times sweeter than that ob tained from the cane indeed, the won derful products and benefits obtained primarily from coal would require pages for their mere mention; for the Carboniferous strata was a special one, like none before or after, and yielded more for the progress and service of man than all the other systems put together we must see how vast and farseeing are Nature's schemes, and, although these great forests grew ages ago apparently without any special purpose, yet on these the progress and social happiness of man to-day largely depends. Nature is one vast whole Inseparably related and connected. PALACES OF EDWARD VII. Some Facts About HI Former and Present Homes in London. To the many changes lately made at Buckingham palace one other might well, one thinks, be added. And that Is a change of name. True the site was once occupied by the house a duke of Buckingham built therein In 1703. But that occupation does not seem to impose the name of a subject upon a residence bought by George III, rebuilt by George IV and, though disliked by William IV, at once adopt ed by Queen Victoria as her London residence, and now, the fixed head quarters of the king and the prospec tive headquarters, of our kings to be. No wonder that foreign visitors are puzzled by the unexplained retention of a former and long lrrevelant appel lation. They ask for the Palais Royal and are met with a blank stare, a shake of the head, or a statement which leaves a proportion of them under the supposition that his mntpatv is the guest of the duke of Bucking bam. ' Scarcely less appropriate would be a cancelling at last of the name of Marlborough house as applied to the new hereditary residence of the heirs apparent Marlborough Is a great name, it Is true; but It Is a name that the present owner has a very natural right to put up on the lintels of the new house he Is' building In Curzon street No disrespect, then. Is Implied toward the great duke of Marlborough who built It In the first decade of the eighteenth century, and gave "Sarah, duchess," the right to point over the way to Buckingham palace and to speak of "Neighbor George." In 1817 It was bought from the Churchills for the Princess Charlotte and Leopold, afterward king of the Belgians. Later Queen Adelaide was Its occupant Her name or his would be at least as apt as that of Marlborough for the house each had Inhabited. But Alexandra house the name of the first of Wales to live under Its roof might' well give the house a title which would also be a welcome private and public commemoration. London Chronicle. , Proof Positive HI I noticed jour wife irtin .- the window sewing this morning. 1 mougui you iojq me yesterday she was UL DIx So she was; but to-dav aho. n the mend. Was there ever a man who could not b successfully sued for breach of promise! ( But for the donkey big ear n eoaidnt appreciate his own music. GEO. P. CROWES Pncoesiior to E. L. Smith, Oldest Established House in the vallej.j DEALER l!S ij. Dry Goods, Grocer. boots ana anoes, 1 Hardware, Flour and Feed, etc. This old-established honse will coJ tinuc to pay cash for all its goods- 1 pays no rent; it employs a clerk, 'bri HnfB not have to divida with J All dividends are made with custonW in me way 01 reasoname prices. Lumbei Wood, Posts, Etc. Davenport Bros Lumber Co. Have opened an office in Hood RivJ Call and get prices and leave orders winch will be promptly filled. Regulator Line STEAMERS Regulator and Dalles Cit 1 Between The Dalles and Portland Daily Except Sunday. Leave Dalles .....7 A. M Arrive 1'ortland 4 P. jj Leave Portland 7 A. J' Arrive Dalles 5 p. Leave Hood River (down) at 8 :30 A. K Arrive Hood River (up) at 3:30 P. M A. w. zimmermanJ ' General Agcn White Collar Lin Portland -Astoria Rout Str. "BAILEY GATZERT." Daily round tripa except Sunday. TIMK CARD. Leaves Portland -.7:00 A. I Leaves Astoria - .7:00 r. Through Portland connection with Steam Kahcotta from llwaco and Long Beach points White Collar Line tickets interchangtibl with O. R. lit N. Co. and V. X. Co. ticket. j TheDalles-Porlland Rout f STEAMERS "TAHOMA" and "METLAKO Daily trips except Sunday. Str. "TAHOMA." Leaves Portland, Mon., Wed.,Frl 7:00 A.' Leaves The Dalles, Tues., Thurs. Sat, 7:00 A.' Str. "METLAKO." I Leaves Portland, Tues., Thu., Sat 7:00 A. Leaves The Dalles Mon., Wed., Fri.....7:00 A. Landing and office: Foot Alder Street. Bt;' phones Main Sul. Portland, Oregon. AGENTS. J 1. W. CRICHTON The Dalles, ft A. K. FULLER Hood River, Of WOLFORD & WYER8. . . .White Salmon, TO HENRY OLM STEAD. Carson, Wat JOHN T. TOTTEN Stevenson, Wit J. C. WYATT Vancouver, Wii A. J. TAYLOR .Astoria, & E. W. CRIdHTON, Portland; Onf Oregon SnorT Lin and union Pacific i j wiaa" 9 Chicago Salt Lake, Denver, 4:80 p. s Portland Ft. Worth, Omaha, Special Kansas City, St. J t:20a. m. Louis,Chicagoand via East. I Huntington. - j At'antic Walla Walla Lewis- 10:30 1. f' Express ton,8pokane,Min f S:15 p.m. neapolis.Bt. Paul, I via Diiluth, Miiwau- I Huntington. kee.ChicagCh&Kaat St. Paul Salt Lake, Denver, 7:35. Fast Mail Ft. Worth .Omaha, 6:00 p. m. Kansas City, St. I via Lonisjchicagoand Spokane Kaau I OCEAN AND RIVER SCHEDUli KltOM PORTLAND. t.-OO p.n All sailing dates subject to change :00. For San Francisco Bail every daya Daily Ex. Sunday S:QU t.m. Saturday Hj:Ui p. m. Catenkla Rirar ttnawra. To Astoria and Way 'Landings. Ix. Sum, t:45a.m. lion., Wed. aud Fri. WlllasuH B. Water permitting. Oregon City, Ke berg, Salem, Inde pendence, Conral lisaud Hay Laud ing. 7:00 a.m. fore., Thur. and Bat. WlUaawrle and Taav kill lifer. Water permitting. Oregon City, Kay ton, A Way Land ing. Lv. Rlparia I 4:06 a.m. Daily exeept Saturday Suit llrar. Rlparia to Lewis ton A. L. CRAIG, J General Passenger Agent, Portias BOAS, Jgeat, Hood Bint. A. H,