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,