Quite a Name Changer

1895

There is a woman living in the Sinnamahoning valley, Pennsylvania, who was born an Orr, and by marriage she has in turn changed her name to Barnes, Calahan, Rix, Enos, Robinson, Elder and now Bailey.

Each of her six dead husbands had been a soldier in the late war, and she married the first one in 1863, when she was 17. It is hardly fair to say, either, that those husbands were exactly six, for not one of them had all of himself left when he succeeded to the title of husband to this admirer of the military. Three of the husbands had only one leg apiece, one had only seven fingers, besides being short a leg, another wooed and won the widow with one leg and one arm, and the sixth was minus an eye.

Her present husband is not a veteran of the war and has all his legs, arms, fingers and eyes. Mrs. Bailey is not yet 49 and is the mother of 12 children, two each by her soldier husbands. — New York Tribune.

Old Soldier Choked and Robbed

New York, 1895

Abram Raynor, a veteran of the late war, was waylaid and robbed near Hempstead on Wednesday night. Raynor, who lives at Rockville Centre, drew his pension of $36 that day.

—The Long Island Farmer, Jamaica, NY, Feb. 15, 1895, p. 12.

Boomed The Peanut

1895

A MERCHANT SAYS THAT IS ONE OF THE THINGS DONE BY THE WAR.

An Enormous Increase In the Peanut Crop Due to the Old Soldiers — A Steady Demand, No Longer Limited to Fourth of July and Circus Days.

"I don't suppose there are many people who know that the ever popular peanut came originally to this country with the first cargo of slaves that landed on our shores," said a dealer in nuts and fruits, but such is the interesting fact. The peanut is a native of Africa, and in its wild state is as full of oil almost as a fat possum. Cultivation and change of soil have greatly reduced its oleaginous quality, although the nuts raised in North Carolina secrete enough oil yet to make them in demand in France, where they combine with their African progenitor and cotton seed to make a great deal of the olive oil we find in our restaurants and groceries.

"And I don't believe there are many people outside of those who have it who ever heard of the peanut habit. You don't like raw peanuts, do you? I thought not. No one does until he acquires the habit, and then he wants his raw peanuts just as regular as he wants his tobacco, provided he chews or smokes, and if he has the peanut habit the chances are he is not a tobacco chewer. The funny part of the peanut habit is that it prevails only among veterans of the late war who served either in Virginia or Tennessee or North Carolina. These are the states where the bulk of the peanut crop is grown.

"Perhaps you can remember how things were before the war. If you can't, I will tell you that the peanut then was chiefly a holiday luxury to the great mass of people in this country. The day when the circus was in town, or when the county fair was showing its pumpkins and four minute horse trots, or when the great and glorious Fourth of July had come around again, were about the only occasions when the popular yearning for the peanut was in any measure satisfied. On these memorable occasions the nut was shucked and masticated until it couldn't rest. It was only in the towns and large villages that the favored few could have peanuts with them always. Before the war there wasn't a peanut roaster in the whole country outside of the big towns and cities, and the rural dealers bought their stock already roasted and delivered to them in big, coarse bags. Today every crossroads from Maine to California has its peanut stand and its wheezing steam roaster, and the great American nut has no better standing on circus day or Fourth of July than it has on any ordinary day of the year, except that there is greater concentration of energy as to its shucking and chewing on these red letter days.

"Now, then, a large proportion of the soldiers who went to Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina were from the rural districts of the north. So when they got among the peanut patches they were, metaphorically speaking, right in clover. At first they roasted at their campfires the peanuts they pulled from the patches, but it wasn't long before they not only acquired a taste for them raw, but actually preferred them that way. The result was that the boys discovered after awhile that they hankered after their peanuts pretty nearly as much as they did for their tobacco, and after they got home they brought the longing with them. What has been the consequence? The demand for peanuts increased so much immediately after the war that the crop didn't begin to supply it. Wide awake farmers saw the point, and garden patches where peanuts had been grown for nobody knew how long were abandoned for broad fields, which were planted with the popular nut, and today Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina are growing something like 8,000,000 bushels of peanuts a year, a result due almost entirely to the civil war and the contracting of the peanut habit by the soldiers of both armies.

"Naturally the returned soldiers' loud call for peanuts soon placed the nut within their reach, and that of the rural population to the further limit of Way Back, and the nut ceased forever to be simply a holiday luxury. The floor of the backwoods grocery is now littered nightly with the shucks of peanuts hot from a revolving roaster as thickly as it ever was on the Fourth of July in the olden time, and the old soldier can get his supply of raw peanuts at Way Back Corners just as fresh and regular almost as if he were still on the old camp ground, yanking the nuts from their native soil.

"While the Virginia peanuts are the best, their popularity was threatened a couple of years ago. Consumers began to complain of their having a peculiarly disagreeable taste and smell, and they did too. What caused this was a mystery to the trade for a long time. Finally it was learned that sometimes the shells of a growing crop are discolored by a prolonged spell of wet weather, and, as one thing that recommends the Virginia peanut as a favorite in the market is its clean, white, glistening shell, a process of cleaning the damaged crop was invented. In it certain chemicals were used that impregnated the meat of the nut while cleaning the shell. When this was discovered, the artificial cleansing of peanut shells was discontinued until the difficulty in the process could be remedied, which has been done.

"Norfolk is the greatest peanut center in the world, about 1,000,000 bushels being handled there during the year. It is a pretty sight to see a peanut plantation when the vines are in blossom. The blossoms are a bright yellow and the vines a vivid green. No, the nut does not grow from the blossom. As soon as the blossom appears, though, a fine branch forms on the vine and shoots down into the ground. The peas, as the nuts are called on the plantations, form on the shoot beneath the ground, like potatoes. When the crop is gathered in October, the vines are plowed up, and the nuts hang to their roots. Vines and all are piled in cocks in the field, and in 20 days the nuts are ready to be pulled off, placed in bags and taken to the factories. There they are cleansed of dirt, assorted into different grades and polished in revolving cylinders, when they are ready for the consumer, whether he is the old soldier with the confirmed peanut habit or the lover of the nut smoking hot from the roaster." — New York Sun.

Wounded 48 Times In One Battle

1895

One of the most remarkable characters in the United States is an old soldier known to the G. A. R. men of the east as Comrade Chase. Chase served in a Maine battery during the war and carries other scars of nearly 100 wounds, 48 of which were received in the single battle of Gettysburg. During the "period of conflict" he is said to have received more wounds than any other man who fought on either side and lived to tell of his marvelous escapes and exhibit his numerous scars in proof of his wonderful story. — St. Louis Republic.

An Unpleasant Sound

1895

Short Story of the Civil War Told by an Old Soldier.

"I was certainly more or less scared a number of times when I was in the army," said an old soldier — "in fact, I think soldiering in time of war is a more or less harassing occupation anyway, but I never was any more scared than I was once for a minute by something that had nothing to do with fighting whatever. This happened once when I was on picket in Virginia. The post was in a piece of woods. It was bad enough in the daytime, but at night, when you couldn't see anything at all, it was worse. It seemed as though it got darker and darker and stiller and stiller, and it seemed as though it would never end.

"Suddenly it was busted wide open by the awfulest sound I ever heard. Scared? Well!

"If you've ever felt the feeling that a man has before he actually gets under fire, when he's lying back somewhere in reserve and pretty safe, but hearing the crackle up ahead, and seeing the wounded brought back, and thinking that pretty soon he's got to go in himself, why, you know what it is to have one of the most unpleasant feelings a man ever had, but there you know what's coming. This came with a shock. I think it was the worst scare I ever had. It came right out of the air square overhead and close, too, where I hadn't been looking for anything, the frightfulest, most unearthly sound I ever heard, and all I could do was to stand there in the black dark and wait. A minute later it came again. What a tremendous relief! A screech owl! I'd never heard one before, but I knew now what it was." — New York Sun.

Dilworth Family Tagged By Murder

1916

NEW YORK LAWYER FIFTH IN LINE TO BE SLAIN.

Mother of Man Murdered in East Tells of the Series of Violent Deaths.

KANSAS CITY, Missouri — The murder of Dwight P. Dilworth, a New York lawyer, formerly of this city, while driving his motor car thru Van Cortlandt Park in New York City, is the last of a series of five murders in the Dilworth family that began in Civil War times. All of the deaths have been caused by assassins. Three of the murdered men were uncles of Dilworth and the other his father.

Mrs. William P. Dilworth, mother of the man murdered in New York told about the hand of fate that has pursued her husband's family and that has almost wiped out the masculine line of the family. Mrs. Dilworth has been visiting her sister, Mrs. Chas. Clark of this city.

"It began during the Civil War," Mrs. Dilworth said, "when George Dilworth, a lieutenant in the Federal Army, was shot by a 'sniper' while he was delivering a message. He had never been injured in battle, and the war was then about over. He was killed while on a mission of peace. We never learned who killed him. That was the first of the series of fatalities that nearly wiped out my husband's family.

"James Dilworth, a ranchman in Montana, was the next to die. He had upbraided one of his cowboys for failing to cut some hay, and that night the cowboy half crazed with liquor, waited for James and killed him. Thomas Dilworth walked into a hotel at Fort Scott, Kan., one afternoon to attend a meeting.

"Two men were quarreling and one drew a revolver and fired at the other. The bullet missed the man shot at and struck my brother-in-law. He died immediately.

William Slain by a Robber.

"My husband, William P. Dilworth, was next. On Thanksgiving morning, ten years ago, he went to his store to open it. We were living in Oklahoma City then. He was counting his cash when a man walked in the store and commanded him to throw up his hands. There never was a Dilworth living that could ever raise his hands above his shoulders, and my husband was killed as a result. The man who killed him is now serving a life term in the penitentiary.

"The only one of my husband's family now living is Richard Dilworth, a minister in Pennsylvania. He escaped death by a miracle. He was a missionary in Alaska years ago, and was a very bitter enemy of the whisky element. He always talked prohibition. After an extremely bitter attack on liquor in a small mining town one night he was waylaid and assaulted. He was left for dead. He was found by friends and recovered."

Mrs. Dilworth has always feared the fate that seemed to follow the family.

"We often talked about it," she said, "and often wondered who would he next. I would laugh at the boys and tell them it was only a string of coincidences, because I didn't want them to worry.

"But down in my heart I was always sure that it would follow us, and it has."

Mrs. Dilworth, the wife of Dwight P. Dilworth, was visiting in this city when her husband was slain in New York. She was accompanied here by her 3-year-old son, Dwight P. Dilworth, Jr.

Mrs. Dilworth has no idea who killed her husband. She said he didn't have any enemies that she knew of and had never received any threats. She said the young woman who accompanied him probably was either one of his clients or a friend of some of their friends. Dilworth's funeral and burial was at Fort Scott, Kan., Friday.

Mrs. Dilworth left immediately afterward for the East to settle Dilworth's business affairs and help the police in the puzzle of the Golf Links road tragedy.

Like Cliff Drive Slaying.

The murder of Dwight P. Dilworth while motoring with a young woman in a lonely by-path in Van Cortlandt Park in New York City, according to accounts in New York papers, has many of the aspects of the shooting of motorists on Cliff Drive in Kansas City a year or two ago. The circumstances leading up to the attack on Dilworth were identical with those of the Cliff Drive cases.

For weeks a band of young men have been haunting the road which was the scene of the New York crime, terrorizing motorists, but, despite this, the road has not been properly policed, according to the New York papers.

Within 400 feet of the road is the Mosholu Parkway, a much traveled highway, and locally known as "Lovers' Lane," yet no one heard the shots that killed Dilworth. A railroad watchman near the scene heard no shots and was informed of the crime by Miss Mary McNiff, Dilworth's companion, who came to his shanty to seek aid. The road is a secluded one and has been the scene of a number of robberies recently, the last one occurring a week before the murder.

The story of Miss McNiff has been substantiated by police investigation and they are positive that she knows nothing more of the murder than given in her first statement.

Two theories are being advanced by the police as an explanation of the mystery of the murder — one that the two men were highwaymen, and the second that Dilworth was murdered by enemies who were responsible for the large number of similar casualties in his family.

--------------------

Three Arrested as Suspects.

NEW YORK. — Police engaged in solving the Dilworth murder case arrested Bernard Decio, 21 years old, near the scene of the shooting. Tony Gadina was arrested in Mount Vernon following a hold-up there, and George Teyden, who was with Gadina at the time of his arrest, also is held.

Stories have come to light of Dilworth's life. The police were told he had a wide acquaintance in theatrical circles. They were also told of Dilworth's fondness for women, which ended in his forced withdrawal from a firm here.

That Dilworth was well known along Broadway and in its resorts became known when "Dolly" Rogers, an actress, said she had introduced Dilworth to Mary McNiff, who was his companion on the night of the crime.

Jealousy of some of Broadway's women is being put forward as a possible cause for the murder.

"Dolly" Rogers, however, expressed the opinion to detectives that "Dear old Dwight" might have been murdered by private detectives frightened out of their caution while trying to "get something on him."

A new witness is a woman who claims to have seen "a woman in a large hat" running from the scene of the crime just after the shots were fired.

Miss McNiff was in the district attorney's office three hours in the afternoon retelling the story of the crime. She could identify none of the three men now under arrest.

The autopsy showed it was possible that only one pistol was used, instead of the two Miss McNiff said she believed she saw. The body had three wounds. The first was a mere chin-scrape.

Miss McNiff said Dilworth phoned the apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Corwin, where she lived, asking that the Corwins and Miss McNiff go for an automobile ride, the girl said. Mrs. Corwin was out of town, she said, and as Corwin was ill she consented to go with Dilworth alone.

Wife Denies Reports.

Mrs. Dwight P. Dilworth still has absolute confidence in her husband. Statements that Dilworth was fond of other women and bohemian companions were indignantly denied by his widow. She declared it absurd that Dilworth ever returned to his home in Montclair, N. J., in an intoxicated condition, or that he ever associated with women other than relatives and friends of the family outside of business hours.

"It is absolutely ridiculous," Mrs. Dilworth declared. "My husband never came home intoxicated and I knew all his women friends. But even if it were true, do you think I would tell it? Do you think I am such a fool as to try to blacken my husband's name after he is dead? I do not believe a woman killed my husband. and I know nothing on which to base such a belief."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 4.

Makes Odd Funeral Request

1916

Wealthy Man's Ashes Buried With His Two Wives.

WASHINGTON, Pennsylvania — James S. Stocking, 77 years old, former legislator, county clerk of courts, Civil War veteran and one of the wealthiest men of this city, was buried under the provisions of his will, which are extremely unusual. The portion of his will relating to his burial follows:

"I direct that my body shall be cremated, and no religious services shall be held on my body, ashes or grave. I direct that my ashes shall be divided in two parts and placed in two strong and air and water tight urns, one to be buried in my first wife's grave and the other in the grave of my second wife."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 11.

Army Jokes With a Moral

1901

"During the civil war," said an ex-army officer, "the authorities for some reason were anxious to move troops up the Tombigbee river. Word was sent to the engineer in that district asking what it would cost to run up the Tombigbee. That official got gay and reported that the Tombigbee ran down and not up, a joke that promptly landed his head in the basket, as the matter was serious.

"At the bombardment of Charleston it was extremely desirable to bring to bear on the city an extra heavy gun called by the men the Swamp Angel. The gun took its name from the swamp in which it stood, and to move it through that boggy morass was an engineering feat of extreme difficulty. However, the commanding officers were determined to have the gun brought within range of Charleston and issued orders to that effect. At the same time they sent word to the engineer having the matter in charge of requisition without regard to trouble or expense for anything necessary to accomplish the desired object. His first requisition called for men 26 feet 6 inches in height. Another officer promptly took the matter in charge, from which it can readily be deduced that it is not a paying investment to make jokes in the army at the expense of your superiors." — New York Tribune.

Youthful Soldiers

1920

J. H. Monroe, famed after the Civil War as "The Drummer Boy of Shiloh," is dead. He enlisted in the Northern Army when 10 years of age and his death recalls the fact that the war between the States was largely fought by boys under 21.

Soldiers of 16 were common and "The Drummer Boy of Shiloh" had his confederate counterpart in George S. Lamkin, who enlisted in Mississippi at 10 years of age, was seriously wounded at Shiloh and twice again at Chickamauga. He was living a few years ago at Nashville, Tenn.

Farragut held a midshipman's warrant at 10. Andrew Jackson joined a body of dragoons and fought in the Revolutionary War when he was 13. Oliver Hazard Perry became a midshipman at 14. John Paul Jones went to sea at 12, and Lord Nelson boarded a 64-gun man of war when he was 12. Buffalo Bill was an Indian fighter and buffalo hunter at 12.

The World War is not without its heroic figures of tender years, but with the exception of the German armies, the gaps of which were filled with mere boys toward the end, it was a struggle on the part of men who had reached maturity. As the world grows wiser, childhood is looked upon as a state which is best to prolong as long as possible and children make better men and women for being longer aloof from the realities and vicissitudes of life.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1920, p. 6.

Old Men in Wars

1920

The World War has been called a young man's war because young men filled the ranks, but it was also an old man's war because old men were in command, hardly one of the distinguished military leaders having been under [45] while most of them were over 50. Foch, Joffre, Pershing, Haig and Hindenburg are all in the neighborhood of 60.

Among the government war leaders, Lloyd George, Clemenceau, Wilson and Orlando are all of mature or advanced age, Hoover alone among the great managers being as young as 45. The same was true of the Boer war, all of the distinguished Englishman in command at the front (with the exception of Kitchener), as well as in charge of the government at home, ranging in age from 60 to 70. On the Boer side Kruger was 70, the same age as Von Moltke when he won the Franco-Prussian war. The poet-warrior d'Annunzio is 56.

Going farther back, however, we find a different story, says the St. Joseph (Mo.) Gazette. Grant was most successful at 40, Sheridan at 33, Stonewall Jackson at 37, "Jeb" Stuart at 28, Lee being the chief exception, with 54 years to his credit when he took command. Nelson was 39 at the victory of the Nile, Wellington 34 at Assaye and the Duke of Cumberland only 25 when he became commander-in-chief.

Napoleon was a renowned military figure while yet in the 20's, as were Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great and other warriors of ancient times. Although the present is supposed to be preeminently the age of young men, the more recent wars have witnessed a majority of men of advanced age in supreme command both at home and in the field.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1920, p. 6. Note: The "45" in brackets was supplied by me, since a number is missing in the original article. It's just a guess.

Uncle Sam Pays Old Debt

1909

SHERIDAN, Wyo., Oct. 6. — Uncle Sam has finally settled the forty-four-year-old claim of $4.26 of James Baker. The money was owed to Baker for service in the Sixteenth Iowa Infantry during the Civil War, and his claim had to await its turn in Washington for adjustment.

Baker says he will not cash the check from Uncle Sam, but will have it framed as a relic of his soldier days.

Early Days of the Great War

1905

"The volunteers," said the captain, "went into the army in 1861 with queer notions of military service. In the first year of the war I heard men well informed on general subjects contend that a commanding officer could not compel his men to march in the rain or to fight on Sunday or to make a campaign in winter. All these things they declared were in the army regulations, and if any general dared to disregard them there would be trouble.

"Before our company had been six months in the service it had made several forced marches in the rain, had waded rivers on three different occasions, had fought its bloodiest engagement on Sunday, and the boys had revised their army regulations to read, 'An officer may do with his men what he pleases, providing always that he licks the enemy.'

"At Stone River a captain of the best disciplined company in the regiment ordered his men, retreating in line, to stop and pull out a gun carriage jammed in between two trees. The captain and two men stepped out and the company went on. The captain and his two helpers were prisoners in five minutes, and word came to the company that the captain had sworn he would have them all punished for disobedience of orders as soon as he was released from prison.

"In due time he was released and returned to the regiment in a new uniform. He came up with the column just as the men had been ordered to throw up intrenchments, and when he reached his company the men were as muddy as so many ditchers. They suspended work only a minute to give the captain a cheer. In that minute the wag of the company asked: 'Where is the captain, Cap?' This forced the issue, and the captain, laughing, said the joke was on him. In fifteen minutes he was working as hard as his men, but his new uniform was a sight to behold." — Chicago Inter Ocean.

Boyhood Chum of Andy Carnegie Passes Away

1915

"Thirty" Comes to "Dode" Moreland, Veteran Telegrapher, Once Captured by Mosby.

PITTSBURGH, Pa., Dec. 16. — Theodore ("Dode") Moreland, aged 72, a patriarch among telegraphers here, and a boyhood friend and fellow-worker of Andrew Carnegie, the multi-millionaire, died in a hospital here as the result of an accident which occurred several weeks ago.

Mr. Moreland, like Carnegie, became an operator for the Western Union Telegraph Company and it was while following this work that the two renewed their boyhood friendship. Later they served as members of the Signal Corps during the Civil War.

At one time during the hostilities Mr. Moreland was captured by Mosby, the famous Confederate guerrilla leader. Mr. Moreland's mount was a better horse than that of Mosby, but the telegrapher was surrounded by rebels. Mosby, after detaining Mr. Moreland for some time, contented himself by "swapping" horses with the Northerner and then permitted him to ride his inferior mount back to the Federal lines.

After the war, Mr. Moreland and Mr. Carnegie drifted apart, Mr. Moreland continuing to make dots and dashes, while Mr. Carnegie made millions.

Several years ago, however, when Mr. Carnegie chanced to hear again of his erstwhile fellow-worker, he ordered that a pension of $50 a month be paid him. This was done for some time, tho the pension for some unknown reason ceased two years ago.

Mr. Moreland continued his work at the key until he had reached the maximum age of 70 years, when pensioned by the Western Union Company, being one of the first operators in Pittsburgh to be retired.

Advice to Outdoor Sleepers

1915

Two of the light-weight army blankets are warmer than a single six-pound blanket. On a cold night the camper sleeps in fresh underwear and socks, trousers, sweater, Mackinaw, German socks and moccasins. (It is no hardship, then, to get up and replenish the fire.) With the half-ax a regular backlog fire can be built and plenty of night wood laid in. Don't use wood that snaps and shoots out embers. If a snowfall is anticipated, cover the tent-frame with evergreen boughs and thatch with browse (evergreen twigs). This will also effectively screen the tent from sparks. Then build the fire as close to the tent as safety permits. If you know how to manage one, it may be within four feet.


1900

A Curious War Relic

W. C. Freeman, a commercial traveler, whose home is at 811 Mulberry street, has presented to Robert M. Scranton a ring that carries with it a realistic suggestion of the civil war. Mr. Freeman, who was a member of the Seventh Pennsylvania cavalry, took it from the finger of a dead confederate in front of Petersburg, Va., in 1863. The ring is made of hardwood, is fashioned handsomely, and has a gold top in semblance of a sunburst. — Scranton (Pa.) Republican.

General Grant Proved Poor Prophet

1915

General Grant showed himself a poor prophet in an autograph letter which was sold recently. He wrote the letter to his father from Camp Yates, near Springfield, Ill., where in May, 1861, he was drilling recruits.

"My opinion is that this war will be of short duration," he wrote. "A few decisive victories in some of the Southern ports will send the secession army howling and the leaders in the rebellion will flee the country."

The letter sold for $92.50.


Eating to Grow

A certain Columbus, Ohio, newspaper man is proud of the precocity of his 5-year-old niece. As typical of her mental agility as well as her capacity for humor, he tells the following:

"We were visiting recently at my brother's home. When dinner was called the child politely but firmly announced that she had no idea of dining and would remain away from the table.

" 'Why, Mildred, you must eat three full meals a day if you are ever to grow up and be a lady,' remarked my wife, who happens to be a woman of substantial proportions.

"Carefully surveying her gratuitous adviser, the little miss said: 'Auntie, do you eat four meals a day?' "

"Patriots' Day"

1900

The State of Massachusetts has a holiday which, although it is but seven years old, has attained great popular success. It is called Patriots' day, and is celebrated on April 19th, in commemoration of the battles of Concord and Lexington.

In Massachusetts this holiday has a special reason for its existence, aside from the fact that Concord and Lexington are within the limits of the state. It takes the place of the old Fast day, which fell by custom on the first Thursday in April. The transformation of Fast day into a day for baseball, fishing and merrymaking was a perversion of what was intended to be "a day of humiliation, fasting and prayer." The people were not willing to give up the vernal holiday, and the celebration of the anniversary of Concord fight gave an opportunity for retaining it. A bill has been introduced in Congress to make April 19th a national holiday.

Of course Congress has no power to make the observance of a holiday binding on the people; but if the nation were to make the day a holiday for its functionaries and employes, its example would undoubtedly be followed by some at least of the states.

It may be suggested that a day might be found for a vernal holiday which would not commemorate the opening of the great war which gave the country independence. The battles of the Civil War have wisely been left uncelebrated, nor have the anniversaries of battles with other countries been turned into holidays.

On the other hand, it is impossible to celebrate the beginning of national life without celebrating some incident of the great struggle with England; and it would be absurd to suppose — considering how holidays are spent — that animosity toward "the mother country" would be fostered, or would even be intermingled with the sentiments which a spring holiday might awaken.


Medicine to South Africa

The horrors of war in South Africa have been softened by many acts of magnanimity on both sides, and fierce foes in combat have forgotten animosity when moved by the appeal of human needs. Before the relief of Ladysmith a message went from the camp of the Boers to that of the British, requesting, for the relief of men in hospitals, a certain kind of medicine which the Boers' medical department lacked. The request was instantly granted. The Boers' confidence in the humanity of their foes was as touching as it was creditable to the British who inspired it.

— Youth's Companion.

The Story of a Message

1900

Among stories of war, few are more thrilling than those of dispatches carried through an enemy's country. An instance given by the author of "East Tennessee and the Civil War" offers a striking picture of the almost infinite dangers which often attend upon such a service.

During the siege of Knoxville, it was imperative for Grant, at Chattanooga, to communicate with General Burnside. He sent five couriers with dispatches, by as many different routes. One of the messengers was never heard of again. Three were taken prisoners, and the fifth, arriving at Kingston, after a ride of eighty miles, was too thoroughly exhausted to proceed farther.

It was still forty miles to Knoxville, as the crow flies. Burnside must have the dispatch. A few men, to whom the courier applied, shook their heads. Longstreet's forces held the country, the weather was cold, and the roads were execrable. Then it was that a delicate young woman, Mary Love, said she would go. Her services were accepted.

Mounted on a fleet horse, she sped on, now on the highway, now along by-paths, now through the forest, how over the open hills. Suddenly she came upon a Confederate picket, and was taken to the provost marshal. With perfect composure she told him that she was the sister of Doctor Love, a Confederate surgeon at Knoxville, and that she was riding his horse. The provost marshal knew Doctor Love and knew his horse. The girl was allowed to proceed.

Once more she dashed on. After a long and circuitous ride she reached the river opposite Louisville, her native town, crossed the wide stream, and hastened to the house of her brother-in-law. She had travelled thirty-five miles in a few hours by night, but her exhaustion was complete. She fell to the ground, and had barely strength to say that the dispatches must go on.

Mary Love had come in circles, and there were still fifteen miles to go. The men of the household had gone to the war. After a hasty consultation, a boy of thirteen, John T. Brown, offered to complete the journey, and his mother bade him Godspeed.

Wheeler's Confederate cavalry held the town, and pickets were stationed on all the roads. At nightfall, Mrs. Brown and her boy slipped down to the river's edge and scrambled through the dense undergrowth along its bank for two miles. They had passed the picket lines. Here the mother turned back.

The night was bitter cold, but the boy travelled on, picking his way through the darkness and forests. At length he reached Little River, a distance of eight miles. The stream was swollen and he could not cross. He doubled back on his trail for some distance, and made his way to the house of an old friend of his father. The gentleman received him kindly, and early in the morning he proceeded on his way. By daylight he was able to cross the river, and at length reached the Federal pickets. Then, under the charge of a sergeant, he was sent to General Burnside's headquarters, still several miles away.

The general read the dispatch, and learned that Sherman's army was at hand. In a few minutes bands of music struck up, and batteries pealed the news that relief was coming. Little Johnny sat wondering what it all meant. Suddenly soldiers gathered round him, and one of them, catching him up, set him on his shoulders, and with cheers and shouts he was carried down the street. Then, for the first time, Johnny understood all he had done. — Youth's Companion.

Much-Shaken Japan

1900

In 1893 the Japanese government appointed an investigating committee on earthquakes. This committee, which has now nearly completed its labors, reports, among other things, that it seems likely that one part or another of Japan will be visited by a destructive earthquake once in every two-and-a-half years.

That portion of the land bordering the Japan Sea is seldom disturbed by other than local earthquakes, while the Pacific coast of the country frequently suffers from great shocks originating under the ocean. When a region is shaken by constantly recurring small earthquakes, it appears to be rendered safe against the occurrence of destructive shocks, because the accumulation of stress in the earth's crust at that point is prevented.


Modern Bullets

Sir William MacCormac writes in the Lancet that in most cases the damage done by modern bullets, and especially the Mauser, cannot be compared with that inflicted by the projectiles of the needle-guns or the Chassepôt rifle, weapons employed in the Franco-German War. A similar result is obtained when comparison is made with the work of the bullets used in our Civil War.


Studying A Prodigy

At Indiana University a 19-year-old boy who possesses extraordinary powers of arithmetical calculation is under investigation to determine, scientifically, the nature of his mental processes.

It has been found that a tenacious memory underlies much of his singular power, the rapidity of his calculations depending upon the great quantity of number relations which he has memorized, as well as upon the short cuts that he has invented. — Youth's Companion.

The Regimental Colors

1904

At the bombardment of Fredericksburg, Virginia, during the Civil War, a Confederate soldier was taking sight for a shot at an enemy across the street. Just as his fingers trembled on the trigger a little three-year-old, fair-haired baby girl toddled out of an alley, accompanied by a big Newfoundland dog, and gave chase to a shell that was rolling lazily along the pavement. Major Stiles tells the story in "Four Years Under Marse Robert":

Burke's hand dropped from the trigger. There was the baby, amid the torrent of shot and shell, and on came the enemy. A moment, and he had grounded his gun, dashed out into the storm, swept his right arm round the child, gained cover again, and with the baby clasped to his breast and the musket trailed in his left hand, was trotting after the boys up to Marye's Heights.

Behind that historic stone wall all those hours and days of terror that baby was tenderly cared for. They scoured the countryside for milk, and conjured up their best skill to prepare dainty viands for her little ladyship.

When the struggle was over and the enemy had withdrawn, the Twenty-first Mississippi, having held the post of danger in the rear, was assigned to the place of honor in the van, and led the column. There was a long halt, the brigade and regimental staff hurrying to and fro. The regimental colors could not be found.

Buck Denman stood about the middle of the regiment, baby in arms. Suddenly he sprang to the front, swung her aloft above his head, her little garments fluttering like the folds of a banner, and shouted, "Forward, Twenty-first, here are your colors!" And without further order off started the brigade toward the town. Buck himself describes the last scene in the drama:

"I was holding the baby high, adjutant, with both arms, when above all the racket I heard a woman's scream. The next thing I knew I was covered with calico, and the woman fainted on my breast. I caught her before she fell, and laying her down gently, put the baby in her arms."

Marches Well at 95

1900

The oldest veteran who marched in the G. A. R. parade at Chicago recently was William Taylor of the Fourteenth Wisconsin infantry. He marched over the entire route without facing any ill effects from the exercise. He is 95 years old and a veteran of three wars, having, taking part in the war with the Blackfoot Indians, the Mexican war and the civil war. He is a member of the La Crosse post and is as lively as some of the young boys of 60.


Bees and Peaches

One of the most peculiar suits at law ever brought before any court is soon to be tried in Van Buren county, Michigan, between two neighbors and old friends. One of the men, H. D. Burrell of South Haven, keeps about sixty colonies of bees. The other is a peach grower. A few months ago the latter complained of the former's bees destroying the early Crawford peaches, claming that the bees came into his orchard in large numbers, bit holes in the fruit and rendered it unmarketable for which he demanded $200. Prof. J M. Rankin of the agricultural college and the entomologist of the Agricultural department at Washington will be called as expert witnesses by the defense in a suit for damages.


Galveston Relief

Little has been said, and probably as little thought, of the beneficent work done by the railroads in aiding and promoting the measures set on foot for the relief of stricken Galveston. Thousands of refugees from that city received free transportation to any part of the country, and immense quantities of supplies were rushed forward without charge. This ready response to the cry of human needs characterized all the great railway systems of the country, the express, telegraph and telephone companies. The cash value of the services thus rendered is as impossible to estimate as the amount of human suffering and misery they helped to alleviate.