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Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound to re store their health by the many genuine and truthful testimonials we are con stantly publishing in the newspapers. If you have the slightest doubt that Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegeta ble Compound will help you,write to Lydia E.PinkhamMedicineCo. (confidential) Lynn, Mass., for ad vice. Your letter will be opened, read and answered by a woman, and held in strict oonildence. A woman isn't necessarily Industri als because she has a busy tongue. Its Tendency. “Mayme has a very open counte nance, hasn’t she?” “Yes, and one that Is very hard to •hut up." Proved. “Her father thinks a great deal of you." “Huhl He refused me her hand In marriage." “That proves It.” Rays of Humor. From underneath the war cloud lit tle Cashes of humor escape now and again. Two Irish sergeants, brought wounded to Paris, are reported as say ing that they did not know exactly where the battle was, but they had Just been “fighting at Copenhagen.” They probably meant Compelgn, but It made no difference in their willing ness to fight. The Paris Figaro pictures as a com mon sight on the streets two men reading their respective newspapers through to the end, and then exchang ing a Figaro for a Matin, and absorb ingly rereading in tho second newspa per the identical official announcement whloh they had read in the first. Life retains its shades of fun even In the darkest shadow of trouble. inventor of the Airbrake. Who really Invented the airbrake? Certainly the automatic airbrake, the one that has proved practicable and ot permanent value In modern railroad ing, waa tbe product of the late George Weetlnghouse’s Ingenuity. His patent for the automatic brake was taken out In 1872, superseding the non-automatlo or “straight” Westinghouse airbrake patented In 1869, and later tbe West lnghouee vacuum brake was Invented. But, as In tbe case of most other In ventions, there are several claimants for originality in this field. Thus, Mme. M. Drouane, daugheer of M. Debruges of Paris, claims the distinc tion of priority for her father. The New York Times has a letter from State Senator William P. Fiero of White Plains containing a patent office declaration by his grandfather, Henry Miller, of a “new and useful improve ment In the application of steam and compressed air to the purpose of op erating railroad brakes,” recorded Jan uary 2, 1855. Mr. Miller was doubt less a pioneer In the progress of air brake Invention. Keep Down Uric Acid Urlo acid la a poison formed Inside onr bodies in digesting certain foods, especially meat, and by the burning up of nerve and muscle eells during exertion. 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Y. >w WUAL1ULU' 'i ■ ggggBBSS Alta® of L IraordiR ary Bss^sictisa The Marshal 2?yMary Raymond Shipman Andrews Author jjie perfecf Tribute, efa _ Corrrinht, The Tlohh*-Aterrfll C_ CHAPTER XXXVII—(Continued). "You know I am not abusing our Francois," Alixe protested. "Why, Pie tro, my father believes and 1 believe, that if affairs should so happen that he has his opportunity he may yet be one of the great characters in history. My father says he is made up of inspira tions, illuminations—and limitations.” "Yes,” said Pietro thoughtfully. “He has the faults of brilliancy and fear lessness. He Judges too rapidly. If he were afraid ever—if he saw the other side of a question ever, his judgment would be safer. It may well happen that he will be one of the great men of Europe; it may also happen that by some single act of mismanagement he will throw away his career—or his life. God keep him safe!" Pietro said simply. And Alixe echoed it—"God keep him safe!” And then, "I am going to write him. Pietro—about us. My father knows where to reach him at Boulogne. I am going to say Just a word—that what he has fished for all his life is true. It will get to him the night be fore the battle.” "Are you sure you are right, Alixe?” Pietro asked doubtfully. "Sure," said Alixe buoyantly. “Give him my love, then," said Pietro. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 20 feet, a letter grasped In his hand, and stood waiting. "Sire!” he said. Prince Louis flung out his hand with i a gesture of impulsiveness strange to his controlled manner, yet not out of drawing to those who knew him well. ' Ah, Francois," he cried. "Let the titles go for tonight. Say, ‘Louis,’ as on that day when we first saw each other; when the four children played together in the old chateau ruins. I have a great desire to hear soma one who loves me speak my name, simply as friend to friend. With all those good fellows”—and he tossed a wave of the hand to tho door which the con spirators had left him—“with my of ficers, it is necessary to keep up for mality—I realize (,t. But you, my in spired peasant, are different. You stand in no class; you would guard my dignity more quickly than I, myself. I can trust it to you. The memory of my mother’s voice calling me 'Louis’ is in* your heart; call me so, then, tonight, my friend, as if we were indeed the brothers we once had to be for five days.” And Francois smiled his ra diant. exquisite smile and answered quietly. “But yes, my brother—Louis.” And went on, ‘‘I believe I shall not sleep tonight, Louis. I believe I am too happy to sleep." As one reads a novel for relaxation in the strain of a critical affair, Prince Louis caught at the distraction of this side issue. The next morning was planned to the last detail; there was nothing to do till daylight, yet he could not sleep at present. Here was a romance of some sort. He sank back on the cushions of the couch of Lieu tenant Aladenize’s smoking room and put his feet up luxuriously, and slowly lighted a cigar of Havana. ‘‘Tell me,” he ordered, and the gentleness of appeal was in the order. “Sire”—tho young man began—and corrected himself. “Louis," he said. Tho Prince smiled dimly. “Since our landing I have known that a wonder ful thing has happened to me. It is”— he spoke lower—“it is the love of the woman who is to me the only one in the world.” Prince Louis, extended on the couch smoking, a picture of expressionless Inattention, missing not an inflection, cast his mind back rapidly many years. There, a vague memeory now, he found a picture-of a spirited, white-clad, little girl framed in the ruins of the old castle; of a boy stepping to her side to champion her sudden embarrass ment. The heavy-lidded eyes turned a kindly glance on the erect figure in its new uniform of an officer of the For tieth. THE NIGHT BEFORE. Out in the dark, In the harbor of Boulogne the whip Edinburgh Castle lay rocking in the wind. Prince Louis Bonaparte, who had chartered her, and the handful of his followers who had flailed with him on her from England had disembarked quietly at twilight, and in small companies had succeeded in entering the town and the quarters of the officers who were, in France, the nucleus and the hope of their attempt. In the rooms of Lieutenant Aladenize, the host of the prince, a short council had been held to go over once more the plans which had been discussed and settled by letters for weeks al ready. The work was carefully ar ranged; there was almost nothing to be changed, and the little company of men who were trying so large a fate, scat tered, with grave faces, with quiet good nights to the prince who might tomorrow night be their emperor, to the prince for whose sake they might tomorrow night be any or all ruined men or dead men. Charles Thelin, his valet of many years, unpacked his highness’ belong ings busily in Lieutenant Aladenize’s bedroom; the prince heard—subcon sciously attentive to small tilings—as the servant moved about, yet he stood lost In his thoughts, as the last of ficer left him. One hand lay on a tablo littered with papers of the expedi tion; the gray dull eyes were fixed yet on the door that had shut out his friends. There was no hint of waver ing In the poised mind; there was no shadow of doubt of his destiny, yet the man was very human, and tonight great loneliness seized him. These good fellows who were risking their lives and their fortunes for him were devoted to him without doubt, yet what did it amount to? That they hoped for ad vancement though him, it would be absurd to resent; one and all they be lieved that he woidd be emperor; they knew that he would be grateful; their fortunes were made if tomorrow should succeed. They had much friendliness for him—he realized that under his father s taciturn manner he had his mother's gift of winning hearts and that his followers loved him—In a way. But what did it amount to—love of followers for a prince? He longed to night for something more personal and suddenly, with a pang, he knew what he wanted—like the homesick lad who had cried himself to sleep at the Tuil leries 25 years before, he wanted his mother. i congratulate you, mon ami,” he said gently. “Is it by any chance the delightful little Mademoiselle Alixe of the old chateau?" Beaupre turned scarlet. He was a marvelous man. this Prince Louis. How had he guessed? "She loves me— I have here a letter in which she tells me that she loves me. Will his high ness read it?" With an impetuous step forward ho held the paper toward Louis Napoleon. “I thank you,” the prince said grave ly. He read: "Francois, what you have wished all your life is true. The good fairies have granted one of your wishes before the battle. That they will give you the other two on the day of the battle is the belief of your Alixe.” And below was written hurriedly, "Pierto sends his love.” The prince gave back the letter with a respectful hand; then looked at Francois inquiringly. " ‘What you have wished all your life,’ mon ami?” Fran cois laughed happily. "One must ex plain. if it will not tire his highness." And he told, in a few words, of that day when his self- restraint had given way and how, when his guard was down and he was on the point of telling his lifelong secret love, some spirit of perversity— but Francois did not know it was an angel—had caught Alixe, and she had accused him of wishing always that she might love Pietro. And how, meshed in that same net of hurt reck lessness, he had answered in her own manner—“Yes,” he had said, “it was that which had been the wish of his life—that Alixe might love Pietro!" And Francois laughed gaily, telling the simple entanglement to the prince, the night before the battle. “One sees how she is quick and clear-sighted, my Alixe,” he said. "For she knew well even then it was not that I wished.” He stopped, for in the quiet contained look of the listener an intangible some thing struck a chill to his delicately poised sensitiveness. “What is it, Louis?” he cried out. “You do not think I mistake her—mistake—Alixe!” Prince Louis saw the dawning of conternation. Rapidly he considered. Was It well to take away a man’s hap piness and courage just before a fight? He lkinembered some words of Francois spoken three years before, worlds whoso dramatic bareness had struck him. "When a knight of the old time went into battle,” the young man had said, "he wore on his helmet the badge of his lady, and the thought of her in his heart. A man fights better so." Very well. This blind knight should have his letter, with the mean ing ho had read into it, for his lady's badge, and he should fight tomorrow with the thought of her in his heart. The letter suggested another mean ing to sophisticated Louis Bonaparte, but there is no need to hasten the feet of unhappiness. The resonant French | voice spoke at last in an unused ac cent of cordiality and the Prince lied, with ungrudging graciousness. “Mistaken, my Francois! Not at all. The little billet-doux breathes love for you in each line—there is no question! But, mon ami. you have not finished your story.!’ So Francois explained ; about the fetter left with Lucy Hampton and its premature sending. “That has reached her now—she knows now that X love her, she knows what has really been my lifelong wish ! —she has hurried this,” and his hand I crushed his note tenderly—“she has ! hurried this to me before the fight— i that I might know her love also—that] ! I might tight before for you, my ; Prince—Louis—with that joy in my heart." Prince Louis, his head thrown back, his expressionless eyes watching the rings of smoke which he puffed from his mouth—ring after ring, mounting in dream-like procession to ' the low ceiling, considered again. Somewhere in the chain of events of this love affair his keen practical sense felt a link that did not fit—a link i forced into connection. Vaguely he dis cerned how it was—something had happened to the Virginian letter— . there had been a confusion some where. To him the four words of nc univveen nortense and this youngest and dearest son had been close, and this was the first great event of h s eventful life In which her clear mind and charming spirit had not played Its part. Before Ills attempt on btrnsburg, now three years ago, he had prepared two letters, one In case of success, one of failure, to be sent off post-haste to the queen. 111 at Arene herg: tonight there was no one to write to, no one to whom his success or failure meant more than to himself. A1J.that warmth and eager hopefulness which had outlasted danger and exile and illness and ago, had gone from earth, and the body of Hortense lav in the little church of Revil. near Mnh maison. Iho Kmperor-to-be dropped into a chair, his head fell and his o\it stretched arms rustled amid the plans of fortifications, and the writing under his cheek was wet. The weakness was only for a moment, and quietly, as he did everything, the prince pulled him self together. He sat erect and list with enelln T*8 brllshing clothes with energy in the bedroom, and through another door there came a hglit sound of a paper turned, of a gay song sung softly. And a &.BU2v» iTTrirTTr THE BUGLE-CALL. The gray dawn of a Sunday morn ing began to break over the sleeping city of Boulogne, yet earlier than the dawn anxious eyes opened to watch, and men’s hearts beat fast to meet it. Scattered in lodging houses and bar racks Louis Napoleon’s followers were waiting before daylight for the part they had to play. No man among them was as quiet, as little nervous as the prince, yet his as well as every gallant heart of them felt a throb of relief with its bound of excitement when a trumpet from the Austerlitz barracks, the barracks of the fourth artillery, Napoleon’s own regiment, suddenly sounded. It was the signal, and in a moment the Prince and his escort were mov ing down the dark street toward Col onel Vaudrey’s quarters, toward that ringing note not yet died out from the pulsing air. One could see a little bustle through the drowsy place—a head out of a window here and there, blinking puzzled eyes to see what the unusual summons, the early trumpet note might mean. But a handful of men in uniform was no sensation in the garrison town and the good citi zens went tack to their morning naps. The city was tranquil when Prince Louis reached the barrack gate, and the soldier blood in him rushed in a tide when he saw 60 mounted artil lerymen posted at the entrance, and beyond, in the yard, statue-like, war like, silent, the regiment formed in square. If the fourth artillery fol lowed its colonel, if the day wrent well, this was the core of his army. Colonel Vaudrey was in the center of the square; the prince marched quietly to him and as he came, with a sharp simultaneous clatter that was the music of heaven to his ears, the whole regiment presented arms. In the glowing light the soldiers w’ho fronted toward him could see that the colorless face turned grayer, but that was all, and quickly Colonel Vau i drey spoke to his men. | “Soldiers of the fourth artillery,” he | said loudly, "a revolution begins today under the nephew of the Emperor Na ■ poleon. He is before you, and comes to lead you. He has re turned to his land to give back I the people their rights, the army i its greatness. He trusts in your cour I J*ge, your devotion to accomplish this glorious mission. My soldiers your colo nel has answered for you. Shout then with me ‘Long live Napoleon! Long live the emperor.’ ” The terse soldierly words were hard ly finished when the regiment, strongly Bonapartist always, carried off its feet by the sight of the prince, by the honor of being the first to whom he came, caught up the cry, and the deep voices sent it rolling down the empty streets. Louis Bonaparte, standing erect, mo tionless, impassive as always, won dered if a pulse might beat harder than this and not break. He held up his hand, and rapidly, yet with lingering shouts of enthusiasm, the tumult quiet ed. The regiment to its farthest man heard every word of the strong tones. "Soldiers,” he said, “I have come to you first because between you and me there are great memories. With you the emperor, my uncle, served as cap tain; with you he won glory at the siege of Toulon; you opened the gates | of Grenoble to Mm when he came back from Elba. Soldiers, the honor of be ginning a new empire shall be yours; yours shall be the honor of saluting first the eagle of Austerlitz and Wag ram. He caught the standard from an officer and held it high. "It is the sign of French glory; ijt has shone over every battle field; it has passed through every capitol of Europe. Soldiers, rally to the eagle! I trust it to you—we will march today against the oppressors, crying ‘Long live France.’ ’’ One who has not heard a regiment gone mad can not know how it was. With deafening clatter and roar every sword wras drawn and the shakos flew aloft and again and again the men’s deep voices sent up in broken magnifi cent chorus the great historic cry to which armies had gone into battle. “Vive rEmpereur! Vive Napoleon!" The souls of 1,000 men were on fire with memories and traditions, with a passion of consecration to a cause, and as if the spell of the name grew strong er with its repetition they shouted over and over, in tremendous unison, over and over and over. “Vive Napoleon! Vive rEmpereur!" It was necessary at last for the quiet slender young man who was the storm center to raise his hand again and with a word, with the glimmer of a smile to speak his gratitude—to stop the storm. There was much to be done. The Fourth artillery was but one of several regi ments to be gained if the victory were to be complete. Colonel Lombard was despatched to a printing office with proclamations to be struck off; Lieu tenant Laity hurried away to his bat talion; a detachment was sent to hold the telegraph office; the tumult once quieted, the yard was a scene of effi cient business, for all this had been planned and each officer knew his work. In a very few moments the of ficers of the Third artillery who were with the prince had hastened to their quarters, another had been sent to arouse the Forty-sixth of the line, at the Place d’ Alton barracks, and shortly Prince Louis himself was on his way to the same place. Through the streets of the city, no longer empty, he passed with his officers, and the people poured from their houses and joined and an swered the shouts of the soldiers. “Vive l’Empereur!” the soldiers cried. “It Is the nephew of Napoleon,” and the citizens threw back, “Vive ’Em pereur! It is the son of the honest king of Holland! It is the grandson of Jose phine!” picaocu »u uuse nuuut me small figure in its Swiss uniform of a colonel that for a moment he was separated from his officers, and Colonel Vaudrey, smiling for all his military discipline, was forced to order his mounted artil lerymen to clear the road. Every mo ment an old soldier broke out of the mass and embraced the eagle which Lieutenant de Querelles carried proud ly high above all this emotion; the sol diers’ eyes flashed with success; the*! prince’s heart beat high for joy to know that he had not misread the heart of army or people. When the column passed the gendarmerie the guard turned out and presented arms, shout ing, “Long live the emperor!" So he went through the streets of Boulogne, Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, eight long years before he came to his own, and marched in triumph and acclamation to a failure. And close by his side, his look as ra diant as the prince’s look was contained and impassive, marched always Fran cois Beaupre. The hard-earned mili tary knowledge, the patient toil of preparation had come into play, and in 100 ways the man had been useful. With no exact rank as yet, but ready at any moment, eager for the hardest task, never asking for rest, quick wit ted, resourceful, officers, as well as prince, had developed a habit of turn ing to Beaupre for service after ser vice. And always they were met with glad consent which encouraged them to ask more until the prince had said: “It is the case of the willing horse; I will not permit that my right-hand man be worked to death—it must stop." Today, however, Francois, had a def inite duty of responsibility. While the prince marched, gathering strength at every yard, thdough the town toward the Place d’ Alton at its farther side, Colonel Couard of the Third artillery had gone to proclaim the great news to his regiment and to hold them ready. In case of success at the Place d’ Al ton, Beaupre was to go back and bring them to join the prince.In case of fail ure they were to be his reserve. The Place d’ Alton barracks lay betw;een town and ramparts, to be reachced from the town side only by a narrow lane; but the ramparts commanded with a large open space the yard where the soldiers assmebled. If the prince entered from the town side, from the street—Faubourg Pierre— only an es cort could go with him. If he went by the ramparts the whole enthusiastic Fourth artillery might be at his back. This then was the route chosen. But as the prince and the regiment and the swinging shouting mass of citizens made its way toward the quar ters, suddenly, too late, the officers about his highness saw that some one had blundered. Somewhere in the van a man had lost his head, had forgotten, and the compact inelastic procession had been led toward the approach from Faubourg Pierre, the narrow lane at the side toward the city. It was a ser ious mistake, yet not of necessity fatal, and at all events they must make the best of it. The prince could not make a dramatic entrance at the head of a shouting regiment, but for all that he might win the Forty-sixth. He did win the Forty-sixth. Some thing had happened to the officer sent to arouse them—another slip in the chain—and instead of being drawn up in the yard they were getting ready for Sunday inspection, but they flocked to the windows at the noise, they rushed into the yard at the name of Napoleon. An old sergeant of the Imperial Guard ran forward and kissed Prince Louis' hand, and the reserved face lightened— he knew the value of a bit of sentiment with Frenchmen; he was not wrong; in a moment the line regiment had caught up the cries of “Vive 1’ Emper eur!”. raised by the artillerymen, and the earlier scene of the Austerlitz bar racks was being repeated here. Prince Louis, pale and composed in, the center of the road of voices, the seething sea of excitment, heard a word at his ear and turned. '•Qiro > * lo c 11 a c- d T 1,-I your majesty’s other regiment,” Fran cois said, and the prince answered quietly: “Yes, It Is success. Go, mon ami.” In a moment the messenger had thrown himself on the horse of an artil leryman and forced a way through tho recoiling mass, down the lane, and out to the Faubourg Pierre. In the free street he galloped the horse, through the windings that he had learned with this moment in his mind. The Third was drawn up waiting, and j a shout like a clap of thunder greeted i his news. Buoyant, proud, he took his place by the colonel at their head, and gaily the joyful march back began. The sun had come from behind the clouds of early morning and shone ' gloriously on glancing steel on the bril j liant swinging line of the regiment. Low branches of trees brushed Fran cois' shoulder as he rode and the touch I thrilled him, for he knew by it that this j was true and not a dream, and he, ' Francois Beaupre, was leading a reg ! lment of France to France's emperor, j The glory, the joy of his happy life, cul minated in those bright moments. Suddenly a man galloped from a side street, in front of the advancing troops, ————■——M——.» he stopped, saluted, called a word. II! was not a day to take anything for granted; Colonel Cpuard halted the regiment. i “The arsenal,” the man gasped. "They have taken Monsieur de Persigny prisoner. Monsieur le General Volrol is on his way, but he is distant. It is a step from here. The Third artillery could arrive# there before him—they would surrender—Monsieur de Persigny would be released”—he stopped breath less. The colonel turned an Inquiring look on Francois. As ihe prince's messen ger. as the man whom he had seen clos est to the prince's person, he deferred! to him, and Francois realized that ho must make, and make quickly, a mo mentous decision. T#ie arsenal was immense and lightly guarded. De Persigny had been sent with a small force to take It, for the; ammunition it held might at any mo ment be of supreme importance. It seemed that the detachment which guarded it had been underrated, for it had made prisoners of De Persigny and his men, and this aide-de-camp had alone escaped. If they were to bo rescued, if the arsenal was to be gained for the prince, this very moment must be seized. General Voirot, royalist, the commandant at Boulonge, was on bis way with reinforcements and tlia Third might well hold the arsenal against him nut not gain it from him, with his whole being con centrated Francois thought. The or ders were plain—to lead the third artil lery to join the Prince on the ramparts. But there are times in history when to obey orders is treachery. Was not this moment heavy with the right or wrong of his decision, one of them? Was it not the part of a mind capable of great ness to know and grasp the flying sec ond of opportunity? Would not the Prince reproach him, if he stupidly let this one chance in a thousand go by, for servile fear of disobeying orders? He had left his Highness safe with two regiments at his back; this other could do nothing at the Place d’Alton bar racks but swell the ranks; here, by a turn of a hand, they might win for the cause the very blood and bones of success, a mighty arsenal, and for themselves honor and gratitude from their Emperor. In Francois’ mind was a touch of innocent vanity that he should have the power to render so sig np' a service, yet no thought at all for himself or for the honor he might gain or lose; whole-heartedly he weighed the reasons why or why not it would be best for the Prince. The aide-de-camp’s voice broke In. “My Colonel, I beg you, I implore you, save Monsieur de Persigny. The Prince loves him—he will be very angry if he is • left helpless—they threaten to exe cut him—I myself heard—I implore you. Monsieur le Colonel. For the rest, it is indeed the moment of fate to win the arsenal.” Francois’ face lit with a fire of de cision. “My Colonel, it is for the Prince—it would be his will— we must not let slip the gift of destiny. To tha arsenal!” And while orders rang out sharply and the regiments wheeled into sliding lines that doubled and parted and flowed together again in an elastic stream toward the looming arsenal, Francois, with a quick word to De Per signy’s aide-do-camp, was writing rap idly on a bit of paper. “You will take this to the Prince at once,” he ordered, and the young offi cer saluted, for he. too, knew, as most of them did, this man's anomalous yet strong hold on Prince Louis. Francois rode again to the colonel’s side, and he did not doubt that he had decided rightly. (Continued next week.) JAP’S CARE IN WAR. General Oku, In speaking of the Japanese victories in 1904, said: “With the Germans in 1870-71 the school master won the victory; with the Jap anese it was the microscope.” Never in the history of modern warfare has a nation gone to conflict with so com plete an equipment for protection against disease as did the Japs in 1904. At the head of the work of sanita tion there was a general sanitary di rector with headquarters at Tokio.; Under him were eight chief sanitary officers of armies. Then followed' chief sanitary officers of divisions. For each infantry regiment there were six sanitary officers, 15 noncommissioned officers, 12 nurses, and 24 bearers. Each regiment was equipped with four sanitary chests and four litters on pack animals (In lieu of the Ger man sanitary wagon). In addition there were a full equipment of di vision sanitarians and supplies and complemental equipment at advan tageous points. Says Major Duncan in the Military Surgeon: "The Japanese leaders un derstood thoroughly the meaning of themaxim, ‘The less the outgo from the army in exhausted and sick, the greater is its fighting ability.’ ” Never in history were private sol diers so thoroughly drilled in sanita tion. hygiene and care of the body. Each soldier was issued a sanitary guide in which advice as to march ing and living could be found. Each soldier carried a first aid packet in which there were a few simple rem edies. After hard marches the men bathed their bodies. From officer to soldier great car was taken with foot wear. They used foot cloths instead of stockings. At every resting place ■water was ready boiled and cooled. Field trains were equipped with great filters. In the trenches and huts the greatest cleanliness prevailed. Great quanti ties of lime were issued to the troops in the field. Rations of rice and dried plums were issued to the men. On the company wagon were fish, dried meat, dried vegetables and condensed milk. The diet at the beginning consisted too much of polished rice, and, in con sequence, a great epidemic of beriberi developed. After this the quantity of meat and fish was increased, and some white bread was added to the ration. During battles the cooking was done in the rear, and warm food was carried to the men in the trenches. From the Atlantic. Among many primitive peoples It waa customary to eliminate epileptics Idiots lunatics, and those afflicted with Incur able Ills; and the practice of putting to death weak, deformed, and sickly chil dren was extremely prevalent. The cus tom among the Spartans of raising only their stronger children will occur to every one; even Aristotle advocates the rule that nothing Imperfect or maimed shall be brought up. And Plato, who elab orated the most rigid eugenic program ever devised, recommends that the chil dren of the more depraved, and such oth ers as are In any way Imperfect, be hidden away in some secret and obscure place Eugenics is by no means a modern sci ence. Primitive peoples took it much more seriously and practiced It more con sistently than we do today. There can be no manner of doubt that the weak de formed, the foolish, the insane and’ de generate of all kinds, have a much great er opportunity to survive and propagate their defects than they commonly had among primitive peoples. By a curious old law dating back to 1779 all the grapes left on the vinea after the harvest at Beziers, France, go to the poor, but no attention Is paid to this law. - " ’v * i 3