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The Saguache Crescent
Saguache , Colorado
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August 15, 1901     The Saguache Crescent
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August 15, 1901
 

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In the little hamlet of Central Val- .ley, among the rolling hills'of Orange ~ounty, N. Y., lives Gem Thomas Es- ,trada Palms, patriot, scholar and dip- Ilomat, and who it is not improbable ;will be the first president of Cuba. He ~s a man of unusual intellectual at- tainments and looms up conspicuously ,among the great men whom Cuba has produced. Gen. Palma was born in Bayamo, Cuba, and was educated at the Uni- versity of Seville, In Spain. On the outbreak of the war of 1868 he re- turned to Cuba to take part 'in it and was elected president of the republic 'Which the patriots proclaimed. Unfor- ~tunately he was captured and was con- fined at first in gloomy Morro Castle, but later was taken to Spain and in- carcerated in a-castle in Catalonia, near Barcelona. When peace was pro- claimed Gem Palms was released, but as he refused to take an oath not to bear arms against Spain he wes denied the privilege of returning to Cuba. His property was also confiscated and he was reduced to penury. Later Gen. Palma came to the United States and opened an institute for boys in Central Valley, where he continued teaching until the last rebellion, when he be- came the head of thq~ Cuban Junta and removed to New York. As the head of the Junta it was his duty to raise the sinews of war. Vast sums of money passed through his hands and though there was no one to whom he should render an account not one cent clung to his hands. He is as poor now as before the war, and perhaps poorer. With his business acumen and lin- guistic ability--Gen. Palma speaks five languages--he could easily have ac- cumulated wealth, but he has sacrificed everything to his dear pearl of the Antilles. Recently Gen. Gomez visited him at Central Valley, when the future of Cuba was discussed. Gen. Palma mod- estly prefers that Gomez be selected as the first president of free Cuba, and with equal modesty the grizzled Gome~. insists that Palma be selected. The feeling in Cuba in favor of Palma is strong. Gen. Palms at one time lived in Hon- duras and was postmaster general of the republic. He married a daughter of President Guardiola, and now with charming wife and six children he is living happily at Central Valley, the dream of his life---Cuba freed--having been fulfilled. GEN, PALMA. EASY TO HUMBUG THEM. New York Is the Country's Great Center for All Kinds of Fakir~ New York, says a writer, furnishes the easiest kind of picking for the grafters who profess to manipulate the supernatural and the preternatural as a house paintsr kneads putty. The town is perennially packed and Jammed with them, and not only do .they all make good livings, but many of them become lollingly rich within a few years. The establishments main- tained by numerous of these cheerful Workers are almost unbelievably splen- did-Fifth avenue itself is not free from them. Simple or involved, trans- Parent or mysterious, their trickery catches on and.brings in the money. They have devised Innumerable varia- tions of the old-time schemes to be- fool the superstitiously inclined out of their change, but the wise New- Yorkers "go to" their humbugging ~raetlces, money in hand, as the Vicar of Wakefleld's boy Moses went to the purveyors of the green spectacles. In a burst of emotional confidence the champion of them all, the unbeat- able Madame Blavatsky, once re- marked to the writer, that the deni- zens of New" York were world-beaters when it came to gullibility, and the ever-delightful Blavatsky was right. The puffy, grimy hag, with unclean finger nails, who yesterday professed to tell you whether your future hus- band or wife was going to be of light or dark complexion, and who delivered these pronunciamentos at a dollar a throw, in a room reeking with the evil aroma of cabbage, or onions, is to- morrow the sumptuous fat person de- livering the same inscrutabillties at the rate of $20 for a 10-minute seance in a West Side mansion, the hall of which is sprayed by rose water from a fountain. No matter where or how these un- scrubbed delvers in the "occult" hdld forth, the New-Yorkers seek .them out and hand them money. Only a few weeks ago a fellow a~lvertised, with an amount of gall that would have en- abled him to take cities in other ages, that he had the power of transmuting the baser metals into gold, His ads. appeared in all of the yellow Journals. They set forth that he could switch any old thing in the .metal line into gold that would be 'accepted at the mint. Now, di~cult as it is to believe, this man of the monolithic nerve promptly had more business than lee could begin to take care of. He charged his customers very high fees, and told them that the process re- quired several weeks in its operation. lie got their money in advance, and then when he had accompllslled a goc~d ~flean|nE-up, he dissOlved into the mad- ding crowd, after having tacked on his office door a most sardonic sign in ridicule of his dupes. It might naturally be supposed that if the shrewd New-Yorkers who hand- ed their money to him in lumps had the sense they were born with, they would have wondered why this mar- velous metal-transmuting fellow didn't buy up the first Junk pile he ran acrom~ and turn the metals of that into the Yellow pay-dirt for his own benefit. How Fast Caa We Travel7 The announcement that a company has been formed in Germany to build a system of electric railways on which it is expected that passenger trains will be run at a speed of from 120 to 150 miles an hour suggests the marvelous possibilities of the immediate future in the way of rapid transit. Even at the rate of transit to be achieved under the German system a remarkable transformation will be effected in the methods and customs of civilized life. With trains moving at the rate of 150 miles an hour, all the region about New York within a radius extending to Albany would be brought within range of suburban residence. Boston would be brought within less than an hour and a half of New York, Wash- ington with a little more than that time, Buffalo less than three hours, Chicago six hours, and San Francisco less than a day. What such marvelous achievements in passenger transporta- tion mean for the industrial and com- mercial interests of the country can be faintly imagined. When it becomes possible, for example, for a New York man to make the round trip to Chicago within twenty-four hours, and have a considerable period of time for busi- ness Included, it may be readily conjec- tured that the commercial interests of the country will be affected by the change to a very large and serious de- gree.~Leslie's Weekly.- B~lnc~ to the I~mt" A Yorkshire miller, noted for his keenness in financial matters, was once in a~boat trying his best to get across the stream which drove his mill. The stream was flooded and he was taken past the point at which he want- ed to land, while further on misfortune again overtook him to the extent that the boat was upset. His wife, realiz- ing the danger he was in, ran frantic- ally along the side of the stream, cry- ing for help in a pitiful voice, when, to her sheer amazement, she was sud- denly brought to a standstill by her husband yelling out: "If I'm d'~wned. Molly, dunnot forget that flour's gone up two shillings a sack!" A popular style of trimming for the street and everyday hat is the draped silk scarf. FOR BOYS GIRLS. SOME GOOD STORIES FOR OUR JUNIOR B EADERS. A ~./oman in Kansas ~kes Her Llvln by Fashionlns Dollies free Little Girls from Corn Hasks--SomsthinM About 4apancse Schoolboys. A Small 1Roy's Complaint. Why can't boys get to be men 'Thout taking time to grow? And what's the good of baby shoes And skirts, I'd like to know? W'ny can't I have some reg'lar pants, The kind with pockets in? And what's the good of horses, when They are all made of tin? o As~d why do folks' most always say, "~Look out! .... Be careful, dear:" iv~, not much fun to be a boy, ~Vhen people are so queer! Japan.s Schoolboys, The American schoolboy, pursuing ~(s studies in well-built, well-ventilat- ed and well-warmed schoolhouses, may congratulate himself on his freedom from the disadvaatages and perplex- i~les attending schoolboy life in Ja- p,~n. Japanese schoolhouses of the eiementary and intermediate grade~ are flimsy structures, provided with windows in which paper takes the place of glass. They are usually two stories high. The upper story is reached by a steep flight of stairs, wl~ch, by the removal of wooden pan- els, is open to the air on one side during school time. On shelves in the lover hall the pupils deposit their wooden clogs or geta--the Ja~anese street shoes. In his home. like his elders, as in school, like his fellows, the Japanese schoolboy wears his tab~--double-soled stockings which have a separate place for the great toe. So~e of the boys, however, go about bare-footed, although the temperature of a Japanese schoolroom in cold weather would cause decided discom- fort to an American schoolboy. The classics, as we understand the term. are not studied. The ancient literary woi~ks of China take their place, and occupy the same prominence in the Jal:snese curriculum that Homer and VlPgil occupy in ours. The American schoolboy who finds it hard to conquer Greek and Latin still has less cause for lamentation than his Japanese brother. In the study of the Chinese elassics, the Jap- anese boy has to memorize several thousand Chinese "ideographs" or word-characters, since they are con- stonily in use in Japanese literature and in the daily newspapers. After having mastered their significance, he must learn their correct Chinese pro- munciation, for which separate study is required. To make matters worse, these ideographs, when printed, differ from those of the same signlflcgnce when in script, and to learn to write them properly Is deemed essential for every well-educated Japanese. The llfe of the Japanese schoolboy has its compensations, however. At certain seasons of the year he takes long country tramps with his schoolmates and teachers, and it is no unusual thing to see a school returning in pic- turesque procession through the streets of a city, covered with mud and due*,, trudging sturdily along with knapsack on shoulder, after an ab- sence of several days, and a Journey the length of which would cause an Am4~rican schoolboy to whistle in as- tonishment.~Youth's Companion. ~[ystery of l~ony's Taft. N~body knew what was happening to Dot's tail. Every morning it was shorter than it had been the morning before. Dot was a beautiful little sor- rel pony. She belonged to Alice, who loved her better than anything in ~he wor':d, except Prince. Prince was a gre~t St. Bernard dog, and the family called Alice, Dot, and Prince, "The Three Friends." Dot came to Alice In ~his fashion: One morning her ma~ma told her that she was to spend the day with her little friend Caroline. After she left, a man from Mr. Dor- lan~'s big stock-farm appeared with a rough-looking little colt. Jim, who took care of the horses, filled a great tub with warm soap-suds. Into this he lltut the colt, and scrubbed her, and rubbed her, and then combed and brushed her coat until it shone like satin. At supper-time that night there came a ring at the door-bell. "You may go, Alice." said her mam- ma, and Alice, Jumping down from her chair, scampered through the hall. The fatally followed in time to see her open the door, and find there a pony all sad- dled. for riding. Alice's Joy bubbled over in hugs for the family and hugs for Dot, as her new pet was lmmedi- ate|y named. Dot and Alice had many adventures. Once they were following the Jersey wagon in which sat Alice's mofher, and in which were stored all the Saturday purchases. Presently the wagon stopped. "Come, Alice," said her mamma, "get. down from Dot. We are going in to call on Mrs. Brown and Caro- line." It was getting late when they started do~fn Mrs. Brown's walk to Dot and the wagon. ~. "Dot will be hungry, mamma," said ~Alice. "It's her supper~time." When they reached the gate Alice began clapping her hands. "0b, mamma, look! look!" she cried. Her mamma did look, and there, with her pretty head well in the back of the Jersey wagon, was Dot, eating her fill from a big bag of granulated sugar! When Christmas came, Santa Claus brought Alice a beautiful tre~, with all sorts of nice thi~gs on it f~ her, and three ears of corn. a yellow one, a red one, and a white one, tied together with a red ribbon, for Dot. Alice clapped her hmids in delight, and ran from the room as quick as a flash. Before any one realized where she had gone, the door flew open. and in she came, leading Dot right up to the Christmas tree to receive her gifts. Now, is it any wonder that the whole family were troubled when Dot's tail began to grow shorter and shorter? And the strange thing about it was that nobody could find out how it hap- pened. Finally her father told Alice that she would have to watch DOt every day and see where she went and what she did. So, for a day or ~wo Alice and Prince followed DOt every- where, but all the pony did was to nib- ble at the grass. One afternoon Alice went to a party. When she came home. she ran out tO Dot. "Oh, mamma, mamma:'" she cried, "it's shorter!" Whenever Alice watched, nothing happened; when she went away, the tail was shortened. What in the world could it mean? All Alice's lit- tle friends came over to help her watch. They made Dot's life misera- bit, following at her heels and meas- uring her tail, but nobody solved the mystery. As for Alice, she was very unhappy. . "Dot tries to tell me, mamma," she said, "but she can't. And her tail's getting shorter and shorter. I'd love Dot Just the same if she hadn't a tail, but as long as she has one, I'd like her to keep it." "I tell you. Alice," said her brother Tom, "suppose you hide and watch Dot." Sb Alice ran to the lot and hid be- hind a great oak tree. There was Dot nibbling the grass, her shortened tail hanging down untroubled. Alice watched on. By and by she gave a great jump and rushed from behind the tree, waving her arms and crying: "Shoo! Shoo!" .~ For there, nibbling at Dot's tail, was "Orphan Annie" a little calf, which, every once in a while, Jim allowed to go into the lot to feed with the pony. Salt water and plenty of rubbing mad~ Dot's tail grow out again. As for "Or- phan Annie," Jim punished her by put- ting her to graze in a pasture all by herself. "Where she can nibble her own tall if she wants to," said Alice, "but not my Dot's."--Philadelphia Times. Corn Husk Doll-. Adollofeornhusks; did you ever hear of such a thing? And yet there is a woman in Kansas, where the corn grows, who makes a living by fashion- ing these dolltes. When she was a very little girl Miss Nellie Morrlson could make the dearest dolls that you ever saw. She tied the pretty brown husks together, with a round ball at the top for a head, and such a fluff of dainty petticoats. With some corn silk for hair and eyes of tiny black seeds the dollie was done and there was not a little girl in the neighborhood but wanted a whole family like her, says the Chicago Chronicle. Now that Miss Morrlson is a young lady she makes corn husk dolls for money instead of for fun and thousands of little girls all over the country have been made happy by them. Her fame and the fame of her dolls has gone far and wide and the demand for them is al- ways greater than the supply. She is kept busy day and night supplying the demand. She has sent the queer dolls to Germany and France and recently shipped a large lot to England. She says she does not know exactly how many dolls she ha.s made, but the num- ber would run into the thousands. Miss Morrison uses about as many husks as are found on an ordinary ear of corn to make each doll. The cob serves for the body. The face Is cov- ered with a husk and the ~features painted on. The corn silk is used for the hair. The dress is a full skirt of husks, with a shirtwaist and Eton Jacket. A corn husk sash encircles the waist. The hat is a big scoop bonnet trimmed with tassels. In her right hand the doll holds a dainty parasol made of firm straw with a particularly silky husk for a cover. Brave Little Jack, Their names were Jack and Jill. They were not Mother Goose's Jack and Jill. Still, there is a goose in the story--several geese, in fact. They were ,going down the road to school. Jack wore a long play-frock, almost as long as Jim's dress. It made him look a little like a girl. Of course, he didn't like it. but he had to wear it because he would play in the dirt. "What if we should meet the wolf?" suddenly cried Jill "What wolf?" said Jack. "Why, Little Red Ridinghood's wolf!" said Jill. "Pooh!" laughed Jack, "I'm not afraid! I'd Just like to meet hlm~ You'd see what I'd do to him for the way he treated Red Ridinghood!" Just then they saw a goose .coming up the hill; then another goose; then a whole flock of geese. "Maybe we'd better go round the other way, Jill," s~id Jack, "through that field over there." ~Vhy, Jack, I thought you were brave--bray6 enough ~o fight a wolf," said Jill. "So I am," said Jack, though he stam- mered a little; "but this is different. A wolf, hasn't any wings to flap you with; if he had, I'd think I'd be afraid of him." And that is how the geese had the road all to themselves. Very often the people who say they hate conventionalities are those who observe them most. ] ildred re an[on BY THE DUCHESS. CHAPTER XIX.---(Continued.) "You should not hit a man when he is down," he said, reproachfully. "I don't think you will be long down," returned Blount with an en- couraging nod that somehow made Denzll's heart beat high, though he did not dare to take the words in their under meaning. "And now I must be off. No, thank you, my dear--I can not stay to dinner; I have so many things to attend to before seven. Bu~ tell Sir George I will look him up again in the morning. And give my love to the girls; and tell Mildred ~hat I know, and she knows, there is Imt one man in the world can ever make her happy," He looked kindly at Denzll as he spoke, but the latter would not accept the insinuation conveyed in his words. Mrs. Younge, however, noticed both the glance and the significant tone, and a light broke in upon her. When Lady Caroline had followed Dick Blount out of the room she went over and knelt down by her son. "Denzll," she said, lovingly, "I know It all now. But am I never to speak of it?" And he answered as he kissed her: "Do not let us ever mention it again --there's a darling mother.'" But all that night Mrs. Younge gazed at the girl and wondered, pon- dering many things and blaming, wom- an-like, yet feeling in her heart the while that the choice her son had made was indeed a perfect one. After this Denzil made rapid strides toward recovery, growing stronger, gayer and more like the Denzil they had known in the first days of their acquaintance than he had been for some time before his illness. He could now walk from room to room and take long drives, though Stubber still in- sisted on some hours in the day being spent on the sofa. Miss Trevanion Denzil saw daily, though seldom alone ---and who shall say how much this conducted toward the renewing of his strength ? It wanted but a fortnight of Charlle's wedding day, and Denzil, who was feeI- lng a little tired, and was anxious to attain perfect health before the even~ came off--having promised to attend in the character of "best man"~was lying on the lounge in the library when Mildred came in, "I did not know you were In from your drive," she said. There was less constraint between them now than there had ever been. "Did you enjoy it?" "Very much indeed." "So you ought," she said. "Could there be a more beautiful day?" She threw up the low window as she spoke and leaned out. "The air reminds me of summer, and the flowers are becom- ing quite plentiful, instead of being sought longingly one by one." "Yes," returned Denzil, vaguely, thinking all the time what an exquisite picture she made, framed in by the window and its wreaths of hanging ivy. "By the bye, did you like the bunch I gathered for you this morning? See ~there they are over there." "Were they for me?" asked Denzll, looking pleased. "I did not flatter my- self that they were." "Well, yes, 'I think they were chiefly meant for you," returned Mildred, carelessly. "Invalids are supposed to get every choice thing going~are they not?--though indeed you can scarcely come under that head now.'" She threw down the window again, and came back toward the center of the room. "Mildred." said Denzil suddenly~he had risen on her first entering, and stood leaning against the chimney- piece--"there Is something connoted with my illness, a dream it must have been, that, whenever I see you, preys upon my mind, May I tell it to you? The vivid impression it made might perhaps leave me if I did." "Of course you may," answered Mil- dred, growing a shade paler. "Come over here then and sit down; I can not speak to you so far away." She approached the hearth rug and stood there. "I will warm my hands while you tell me," she said, determined that, should It Drove to be what she half- dreaded to hear, he should not see her face during the recital. "Well, then," he began, "I thought that, as ~ lay in bed one evening, the door opened, and you came into the room, and, walking softly over to my bedside, stood there very sorrowfully looking down upon me. We were alone, I think"--passing his hand in a puzzled manner over his forehead, as though endeavoring vainly to recollect something--"at least I can remember no one else but us two, and it seemed to me that presently you began to cry and stooped over me. whispering some- thing, I forget what, and I took your hands like this"~suitlng the action to the word~"and the~ some figures came toward us, but I waved them back, holding you tightly all the time; and"_here he paused, his eyes fixed earnestly upon the opposite wall, as though there he saw reacting all that was struggling for clearness in his brain--"and t asked you to do some- thing for me then~something that would aid my recovery more than all the doctor's stuff~and you~" "No, no, I did not!" cried Mildred, vehemently, unable lon~er to restrain her fear of his next words, and trying passionately to withdraw her hands. "Yce. you did!" exclaimed Denzll, excitedly; "I know it now. It was not fancy--how could I ever think it was? ~lt was reality. Oh, Mildred, you kissed me." "How dare you?" cried Miss Trevan- ion, bursting into tears. "You know I did not; it is untrue--a fevered dream ---anything but the truth." "Do you say that?" he said, releas- ing her. "Of course, then, it was mere imagination. Forgive me; I should not have said It, but the remembrance of it haunts me night and .day. This room, too, fosters all memories. Here for the first time I told you how I loved you; and here, too.' you refused me, letting me see how wild and unfounded had been my hope that you also loved me in return. Do you remember?" "Yes, yes, I remember," Mildred answered, faintly, turning her face away. "Over there"--pointing to a distant couch~"we met again, after weeks of separation and oblivion--since you say that past thought of mine was but a dream--and I felt when you entered the room how undying a thing is love. You see this place is fraught with pain to me, and yet I like it. I like to sit here and think, and picture to myself those old scenes again, only giving them a kindlier ending." "Do you still care to recall them?" she asked in a low, broken voice. "I shall always care to .recall any- thing connected with you." he answer- ed, simply; then--"Dld I ever than~ you, Mildred, for coming to my assist- ance on that last hunting day? I think not. I have no recollection of all that occurred, but they told me how good to me you were." "It was the very commonest human- ity," she said. "Of course that was all. You" would have done the same for anyone, I know that. Still I am grateful to you.'" Then suddenly, "Whydid you break off with Lyndon?" "You have 'asked me that question before." she said. "I know I h~tve, and I know also how rude a question it is to ask; and still I cannot help wishing to learn the an- swer. Will you tell me?" She hesitated and then said. slowly: "He discovered, or fancied, that I did not care sufficiently for him; and rte was too honorable to marry a worn- an who did not accept him willingly of her own accord." "When did he make that discovery?" "We ended our engagement the even- ing of your accident." she answered, evasively, and with evident reluctance. "Mildred, if I thought." he began, passionately, trying to read her face, "if I dared to believe what your words appear to imply I might be mad enough again to say to you words that have ever fallen coldly on your ear. I would again confess how fondly I love you--how faithfully during all these wretched months I have clung to the sweet memories of you that ever linger in my heart." She shrunk away a little and covered her face with her hands. "Do you still turn from me. Mildred? Am I distressing you? Darling, I will say no more. It is Indeed for the last time in all my life that I have now spoken, Forgive me, Mildred; I am less than a man to pain you in this way; but, oh, my dearest, ~lo not shrink from me, whatever you do; do not let me think I have taught you to hate me by my persistence. See, I am going, and for the future do not be afraid that I shall ever again allude to this subject," He drew near her and gently kissed her hair. "Good-by," he said, once more,~and then, slowly al- most feebly, walked down the room toward the door. Miss Trevanio~l stood gazing after him, her blue eyes .large and bright with' fear; she had an intense longing to say she knew not what, Oh. for words to express all that was in her heart! ~" Her hands were closely clasped to- gether; her lips, pale and still, refused to move. It was the last time--he had said so; if she let him go now it was a parting that must be forever; and yet she could not speak. Her love, her life was going, and she could not utter the word that would recall him, Al- ready he had turned the handle of the door; the last moment had indeed come ~would he not turn? "Denzil!" she cried, desperately, breaking down by one passionate effort the barrier that had stood so long be- tween them, and held out her hands to him. "My love!" he said, turning. And then in another momapt she .was in ~ls arms and all the world was forgotten. (The End.) A Good Cook, To be a good cook means the know- ledge of all fruits, herbs, balms and spides, and of all that is healing and sweet in the fields and groves, and savory in meats. It means careful- ness, inventiveness, watchfulness, wil- lingness and readiness of appliance. It means the economy of our great- grandmothers and the science of mod- ern chemists. It means much tast- ing and no wasting. It means English thoroughness, French art, and Ara- bian hospitality. It means, in fine, that you are to be perfectly and al- ways ladies (losfgivera), and are t~ see that everybody has sOmething nice to eaL~Ruskin.