5T. VALENTINE.
Vot rose. nor tender eglantine,
S'or Illy, nor the columbine,
But from the prairie's rolling mead
I send a spray of Iron weed
I'o greet you as my valentine.
Blue-veined the lilies are. I Know.
And darkly red the roses glow.
But I have sent the ironweed,
Uncouth and harsh, whose dusky seed
The palms of unseen sowers sow.
Vot rude my emblem, If you find
VIy meaning here, though faint outlined.
For struck from sudden clash of
thought
No purer fire can bo wrought
Than flint-steel spark of mind to mind.
Vay, as you touch It time shall bring
A glimpse of low horizon-ring.
And dreamy sweep of pliant breeze
That undula*>s o'er grassy seas—
I’he rustle of the wind’s broad wing.
From my rough hand to lay In thine
* send this offering—I is a sign
Of love until my la1 ?st breath
Of Iron faith that hoi Is through death—
A sunburnt Western valentine,
-Ernest SlcOaftey in the Woman's Home
Companion.
MISS NANCY'S FIRST VALENTINE.
By MARIK BOTHILDA.
Miss Nancy Larkins, up to her for
tieth anniversary, had never received
a valentine; moreover, the lady had
always declaimed against such ‘ senti
mental nonsense.” Perhaps the for
mer clause of the foregoing proposi
tion may explain the reason for the
latter, and then, again, the latter pe
culiarity may have been a case of sour
grapes. Her friends were divided in
apinion.
The village gossips had dubbed her
‘old maid,” sometimes alluding to her
as “peculiar," both favorite epithets
which wise people bestow upon those
who venture to disagree with public
opinion.
She lived with an orphan niece,
somewhat secluded, seldom left home
to gad about, never gossiped with her
neighbors, and positively refused to
attend the weekly reunions of the “L.
S. C„” which initials she sarcastically
interpreted to mean "Ladies’ Scandal
Club,” instead of the authentic one of
"Ladies’ Sewing Circle.” Miss Nancy
is cold and unsympathetic, so the vil
lage gossips said, but regardless of
consequences, she audibly sniffed her
contempt at their pet traditions and
amusements.
There was one, however, whom her
cold, forbidding exterior could not de
ceive. Her next-door neighbor. Colo
nel Watson. He had traveled, he had
seen the world—and women—and was
able to look deeper than cork-screw
curls and a tip-tilted nose to find the
jewel that others were too obtuse to
see.
The colonel had settled in the vil
lage some three years previous to this
story, with a young daughter. His
garden adjoined that of Miss Nancy;
in fact, he could look over the fence
and see that maiden—a thing he often
did—whenever she came out to trim
her rose bushes, loosen the earth
around her pet plants or “shoo” the
chickens out of the lettuce patch. So,
also, she could look over the fence
and see the colonel—a thing she often
did slyly, for he was a comely person
to look at—and see him fussing about
his garden. There was generally a
“good morning." or a mere nod, as is
customary with close neighbors, but
there was no lolling on the fence or
gossiping. The acquaintance went no
farther than circumspect formality.
What their ehiers lacked in cordial
ity. the two girls made up in close
intimacy. It did not take three years
for them to become chums, and their
constant chatter about the affairs of
each household, put both the colonel
and Miss Nancy in possession of every
little secret. Trifling confidential com
munications by his daughter, small
scraps of information concerning Miss
Nancy, and his interpretation of vil
lage tattle, which he treated like
dreams as always meaning the con
trary, created in the colonel's breast a
warm regard for the woman who pos
sessed the courage of her own convic
tions and the bravery to live her life
She looked over toward the colonel’s
• garden.
In her own way regardless of the am
bitious desires of the public to man
age it in their way. He had also dis
covered certain peculiarities of Miss
Nancy which were not generally
known. It appeared that she had been
feeding and clothing a poor woman
and her two children while the hus
band and father was lying sick in a
hospital in a strange city. He had
also followed her at a distance one
Christmas eve, when she was carry
ing a heavily laden basket of good
and cheerful things. He would have
been glad to help her carry the bur
den, but he was afraid of being
snubbed, the brave colonel that he
was. When he saw her deposit her
basket at the door of a humble dwel
ling, and, after tapping gently, scurry
away to avoid being caught in such a
shameful act, he stared in astonish
ment, and his heart went pit-a-pat lest
she should catch him in the act df spy
ing upon her.
Had he not heard the Widow Mul
lins sing her praises, with tears in her
honest eyes?
“Whin Mickey bruit his leg last win
ter, an’ I wor thot bad wid the asthmy
I couldn't wurruk, the two of us’d a
been in the poor house but for thot
same Miss Nancy. Whin I kissed the
hand of her an’ said: ‘May the good
Lord bless ye, Miss Nancy, niavour
neen, an’ may ivery hair of yer head
be a mould candle to light ye to glory.’
she scowled at me till I wor scairt.
But ’tis the warrum heart she has,
alanna, an’ ’tis angered she is whin
tould of it.”
These and many other little tell
tale incidents affected the sensitive
heart of the colonel, and he sought
opportunities to make a closer ac
quaintance with the lady who was evi
dently fanning Into ar bright ilame the
dying embers in his bosom. But the
fates were against him until a bril
liant idea occurred to the youthful
minds of the two girls, a little scheme
of their own, over which they had
many a giggle. They had noticed the
colonel looking over the fence furtive
ly when puttering about his garden,
and his bow, and "good morning,” and
they had also noticed the staid Miss
Nancy peeping out of the corner of
her window which overlooked the
garden of her martial neighbor. In
In fact he eoul(> look over the fence.
fact, they caught her in the act one
day, and her explanation, ‘‘I do believe
it is going to rain,” did not deceive
them In the least. They saw the be
ginning of a romance and. girl like,
they schemed to help it along.
Valentine's day was approaching,
and this gave them an idea and an
opportunity to conspire against their
elders with safety. They knew that
Miss Nancy had never received a val
entine, and that she was a violent op
ponent of such sentimentality.
“And do you really mean to say
that you never got a valentine, Aunt
Nancy—not even a small one—when
you were young?” Lottie asked the
question. She had reached the ma
ture age of nineteen years and had
a collection of those tender missives
of all shapes and sizes which were
the envy of her less fortunate friends.
“Never,” sniffed Aunt Nancy with a
scornful toss of her head. “I’d like to
have seen a young man dare to send
me one of the silly things when I was
a girl. I never could see any sense
in Valentine’3 day.
“It is positively infamous, girls. Do
you know that St. Valentine had noth
ing to do with the absurd custom, and
it is a shame to fasten it upon him.
Are you aware what it means?” The
girls shook their heads. "I thought
not, most girls do not, or they would
scorn the horrid things. It began in
an old heathen custom of celebrating
a festival on the 14th of February on
account of the return of spring. The
birds at that time began to prepare
their nests, twittered on the tree
limbs, where th-iy cuddled up close,
sat on the house tops and rubbed their
little beaks together, or chased one
another about. In the dark ages, flirts
and lovers, called ‘galantines,' sent
love letters to their charmers on that
day, and we call the day ‘Valentine’
because it sounds like the name which
means a flirt, a gallant. It is wicked
for Christians to have anything to do
with it.”
Lottie looked over at Mabel, the
Colonel's daughter, and slyly winked.
“But, Auntie," persisted the girl,
“you had lovers when you were young,
didn't you? They were queer lovers
not to care enough about you to send
you one."
Miss Nancy’s corkscrew' curls flut
tered Impatiently.
“I never had a lover, child. I
wouldn't have the idle fellows hanging
around me, so they kept away because
I wasn’t silly enough to suit them.
Pooh! the idea of running around to
dances and parties and sitting in dark
corners with their arms around my
waist! That was something I never
fancied. I shudder when I think of
such e. thing.”
When Mabel went home she told
her father all about Miss Nancy's
views on the subject and her learning.
“Dear me, she must be a blue stock
ing.” was all he said, adding, however,
so that Mabel did not hear it: “She's
a fine woman all the same.”
Bright, and early the postman came,
and as he was obliged to deliver what
ever Uncle Sam hands him to deliver,
whether acceptable or not. he handed
Miss Nancy a missive with a sus
plelouB edging of lace around the en
velope. The girls snickered and ran
away, watching, however to see whu’
Miss Nancy would do with it—she sel
dom received letters, and this was
something unusual. Turning it over
and over suspiciously, she looker;
around furtively and put it In the bo:>
om of her dress without opening it.
By and by she went up to her own lit
tle room and opening it, this is what
she read:
“This heart 1 present to Miss Nancy,
Dare I hope that some day she’ll be
mine?
For her I have long had a fancy,
i confess it in this valentine.”
Her usually pale cheek flushed a
vivid scariet, but she looked over to
ward the colonel's garden. Lottie
bursting in upon her. she hastily hid
the missive in her bosom.
“Oh, Auntie, Auntie, did you get a
valentine? What fun, a valentine at
last. 1 saw the postman deliver it,
and it looks just like one of mine.”
“No, it is not a valentine,’ said Miss
Nancy stiffly, “it is a letter from a
friend." She blushed again at. the
prevarication, for Nancy was truthful,
tcx) much so. some said. Lottie saw
it and rushed over to Maoel’s.
“She's got it. Mabel, she's got it,
and she says it is from a friend. Come
over and we’ll finish our scheme."
The horrid girls danced in upon
Miss Nancy and actually caught her
studying the tender missive. Witnout
listening to her protestations, they
each gave her a good hug, and seized
the valentine.
“Who is it from?" queried Lottie.
Mabel examined it critically, and
whispered mysteriously in her friend's
ear, loud enough, however, for Miss
Nancy to overhear:
"It looks like papa's writing: it is
papa’s writing.” Ti.en handing it back,
she said aloud: "What a beautiful
valentine. It is actually hand painted.
See, dear Miss Nancy, it is like a
heart, with little pink hearts all over
it and sprigs of lovely forget-me-nots
intertwined. Whoever sent you that
loves you truly, i wonder what it can
be?"
“I know.” said Miss Nancy shortly,
“the impudent fellow.”
Clapping on her hat, she went
straight up to the colonel's front door,
which he happened to open at that
moment to go out. With an indignant
toss of her head and without uttering
a word, she east at the amazed colo
nel’s feet the poor innocent valentine,
and, turning, fled home again with her
heart going pit a pat and her knees
shaking under her. Within an hour,
a special messenger handed Miss
Nancy a plain envelope. Opening it,
the same valentine dropped out, but
written in a bold hand in penman
ship unlike the rest, were the words:
“i accept the authorship of this val
entine and stand by it.”
Miss Nancy, with a woman’s intui
tion, perceived that she had made a
mistake, and in her confusion rushed
up to her little room, locked the door
and dropped the curtain, probably to
keep the impudent colonel out. But
lie wras watching and accepted the
signs as favorable, for he called that
evening to apologize.
“Miss Nancy,” he said, ‘‘permit me
to call you that, everybody else does;
I was amazed that you should even
suspect me of such an underhand act
as sending a valentine when I have a
tongue to talk with and express my
sentiments. 1 saw immediately that
somebody—1 will not say who' he
looked at the two girls sharply, who
blushed and stole away—“but as l
have long held the same sentiments
in your regard, I accept the situation
and resolve to speak my mind, the op
portunity presenting itself. Can you
forgive me. my dear Miss Nancy?”
Miss Nancy evidently did forgive
him, for the neighbors, not so very
long afterward, were astonished to see
the belongings of one house moving
into the other, the girls superintend
ing the matter, the colonel and Miss
Nancy being mysteriously absent on a
trip somewhere.
Home-Made Valentines.
Sometimes the valentines made at
home find greater favor than any one
can buy. Hearts may be cut from wa
ter-color paper and painted red, or
J
Me.^
gilded and a verse written on one side.
By a little ingenuity and folding of
paper quite a packet may be made in
heart shape. A box of candy hearts
is a pretty valentine. Original rhymes
are acceptable and not so hard to
make after all. Cakes neart shaped
may be sent as valentines, and rib
bon bows pulled to represent a heart
are pretty.
Valentine Gifts. *
A heart-shaped cut glass flask for
perfume, or a heart-shaped box with
silver top for the toilet table, or a ring
with a true lover's knot encircling a
whole pearl, a turquoise, or an ame
thyst, which is the February birth
stone, would please a young girl. A
heart-shaped locket with a single pearl
and having a place for hair and a
photograph inside, is a pretty gift, as
Is also a pendant of the same shape
for the watch chain.
The Bow of Orange Ribbon
A ROMANCE OF NEW YORK
By AMELIA E. BARR
Author of "Frland Olivia."’ '% Thou and tho Othor Ona." Eto.
Copyright, 1886, by Dodd, Mead and Company.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Turn of the Tide.
The great events of most lives
occur in epochs. After Hyde s and
Katherine's marriage, there was a
long era noticeable only for such
vicissitudes as were incident to their
fortune and position. But in May,
A. D. 1774. the first murmur of the
returning tide of destiny was heard.
For the trouble between England and
her American colonies was rapidly
culminating and party feeling ran
high, not only among civilians, but
throughout the royal regiments. Re
cently, also, a petition had been laid
before the king from the Americans
then resident in London, praying him
not to send troops to coerce his sub
jects in America, and, when Hyde en
tered his club some members were
engaged In an a angry altercation on
this subject.
"The petition was flung upon the
table, as it ought to have been," said
Lord l’aget.
“You are right,” replied Mr. ller
vpy; "(hey ought to petition no long
er They ought now to resist. The
Duke of Richmond spoke warmly for
Boston last night. ‘The Bostonians
are punished without a hearing, he
said, ‘and, if they resist punishment,
1 wish them success.' Are they not
Englishmen, and many of them born
on English soil? When have English
men submitted to oppression? Neither
king, lords, nor commons can take
away the rights of the people, it is
past a doubt, too, that his majesty, at
the levee last night, laughed when lie
said he would just as lief fight the
Bostonians as the French. I heard
this speech was received with a dead
silence, and that great offence was
given by it.”
“1 think the king was right,” said
Paget passionately. ‘‘Rebellious sub
jects are worse than open enemies
like the French.”
“My lord, you must excuse me if 1
do not agree with your opinions. And
the fight has begun, for Parliament
is dissolved on the subject.”
“It died,” laughed Hyde, “and left
us a rebellion for a legacy.
“Capt. Hyde, you are a traitor.”
"Lord Paget, I deny it. My sword is
my country’s; but I would not, for
twenty kings, draw it against my own
countrymen,”—then with a meaning
glance at Lord Paget, and an emphatic
touch of his weapon—“except in my
own private quarrel.”
"Gentlemen,” said Mr. Hervey, “this
i3 no time for private quarrels; and.
captain, here is my Lady Capel s foot
man, and ne says he comes in urgent
saeed.”
Hyde glanced at the message. “It
is a last command. Mr. Hervey. Lady
Capel is at the death point, and to her
requests I am first bounden.”
Lady Capel had been edatb-stricken
while at whist, and was stretched
upon a sofa in the midst of the desert
ed tables, yet covered with scattered
cards and half-emptied teacups.
At this hour it was evident that,
above everything in the world, the old
lady had loved her wild, extravagant
grandson. “Oh, Dick,” she walspered,
‘ 1 ve got to die! We all have. 1 have
left you eight thousand pounds—all I
could save, Dick. Arabella is witness
to it. Dick, Dick, you will think of
me sometimes?”
And Hyde kissed her fondly. “111
never forget you.” he answered,
•'never, grandmother. Is there any
thing you want done? Think, dear
grandmother.”
“Put me beside Jack Capol. I won
der—if I shall—see Jack.” A shadow,
gray and swift, passed over her face.
Her eyes hashed one piteous look into
Hyde's eyes, and then closed forever.
And while in the rainy, dreary Lon
don twilight Lady Capel was dying,
Katherine was in the garden at Hydo
Manor, watching the planting of seeds
that were in a few weeks to bo living
things of beauty and sweetness.
Little Joris was with his mother,
running hither and thither, as his
eager spirits led him.
Katherine had heard much of Lady
Capel, and she had a certain tender
ness for the old woman who loved her
husband so truly; but no thought of
her entered into Katherine’s mind that
calm evening hour. Then her maid,
with a manner full of pleasant ex
citement, came to her and said;
"Here be a London peddler, ma
dam; and he do have all the latest
fashions and the news of the king and
the Americans.”
In a few minutes the man was ex
hibiting his wares to Katherine, and
she was too much interested in the
wares to notice their merchant par
ticularly. There was a slow but
mutually satisfactory exchange of
goods and money, and then the ped
dler began to repack his treasures,
and Lettice to carry away the pretty
trifles and the piece of satin her mis
tress had bought. Then, also, he
found time to talk, to take out the
last newspapers, and to describe the
popular dissatisfaction at the stupid
tyranny of the government toward
I the Colonies.
Katherine was about to leave the
room, when he suddenly remembered
a scarf of great beauty which he had
not shown.
“I bought It for my Lady Suffolk,”
he said; “but Lord Suffolk died sud
den, and black my lady had to wear.”
A singular look of speculation came
Into Katherine's face, and as the ped
dler detailed with hurried avidity the
town talk that had clung to her reputa
tion for so many years; and he so
fully described the handsome cavalry
officer that was her devoted attendant
that Katherine could have no difficulty
in recognizing her husband, even with
out the clews which her own knowl
edge of the parties gave her.
Suddenly she turned and faced the
stooping man: “Your scarf take; I
will not have it. No, and 1 will not
have anything that 1 have bought
front you. All of the goods you shall
receive back; and my money, give It
to me. You know that of my husband
you have been talking—1 mean lying.
You know that this is his house, and
that his true wife am I."
She spoke without passion and with
out hurry or alarm; but there was no
mistaking the purpose in her white,
resolute face and fearless attitude.
And with an evil glance at the beau
tiful, disdainful woman standing over
him, the peddler rose and left the
house.
CHAPTER XIV
The Bow of Orange Ribbon.
Katherine sat down and remained
still as a earven Image, thinking over
what had been told her. There had
been a tlino when her husband's con
stant talk of Lady Suffolk had pained
her, and when she had been a little
jealous of the apparent familiarity
which existed in their relations with
eaeh other; but Hyde had laughed at
her fears, and she had taken a pride
in putting hiB word above all her sus
pieions.
It was also a part of Katherine's
just and upright disposition to make
allowances for the life by which her
husband was surrounded. Hyde had
told her that there were necessary
events in his daily experience of
which it was better for her to be
ignorant. ‘They belong to it, as my
uniform does,” he said; “they are a
part of its appearance, but they never
touch my feelings, and they never do
you a moment’s wrong, Katherine.”
This explanation it had been the duty
both of love and of wisdom to accept;
and she had done so with a faith
which asked for no conviction beyond
it.
And now she was practically told
that for years he had been the lover of
another woman; that her own exist
ence was doubted or denied; that, if It
were admitted, it was with a supposi
tion that affected both her own good
name and the rights of her child. Hyde
was the probable representative of an
ancient noble English family, and its
influence was great; if he really wish
ed to annul their marriage, perhaps
it was in his power to do so.
She was no craven, and she faced
the position in all its cruel bearings.
She asked herself if—even for the
sake of her little Joris, she w'ould re
main a wife on sufferance, or by the
tie of rights which she would havo
to legally enforce; and then she lifted
the candle and passed softly into his
r£>m to look at him. She Bllpped down
igTon her knees by the sleeping boy,
and out cf the. terror and sorrow of
her soul spoke to the Fatherhood in
heaven. The boy suddenly awoke; he
flung his arms about her neck, he laid
his face close to hers and said:
"Oh. mother, beautiful mother, I
thought my father was here!”
“You have been dreaming, darling
Joris.”
"Yes; I am sorry I have been dream
ing. I thought my father was here—
my good lather, that loves us so
much."
Then, with a happy face, Katherine
with kisses sent him smiling into
dreamland again. In those few tender
moments all her fears slipped away
from her heart. "I will not believe
what a bad man says against my hus
band—against my dear one who is
not here to defend himself. Lies, lies!
I will make the denial for him.”
And she kept within the comfort of
this spirit, even though Hyde's usual
letter was three days behind its usual
time. On tne fourth day her trust had
its reward. She found then that the
delay had been caused by the neces
sary charge and care of ceremonies
which Lady Capel’s death forced upon
her husband. She had almost a senti
ment of gratitude to her, although she
was yet ignorant of her bequest of
eight thousand pounds. For Hyde had
resolved to wait until the reading of
the will made it certain, and then to
resign his commission and carry the
double good news to Katherine him
self. Henceforward, they were to be
together. So this purpose, though un
expressed, gave a Joyous ring to his
letter; it was lover-like in its fond
ness and hopefulness, and Katherine
thought of Lady Suffolk and her emis
sary with a contemptuous indiffer
ence.
ward" was upon every face.
Alas! these are the unguarded hours
which sorrow surprises! But no
thought of trouble, and no fear of it,
had Katherine, as she stood before her
mirror one afternoon. She was watch
ing Lettlce arrange the double folds
of her gray taffeta gown, when thero
came a knock at her chamber door.
"Here be a strange gentleman, ma
dam, to see you; from London, he
do say.”
A startled look came Into Kather
ine’s face; she asked no question, but
went dixrj stairs. Seen she cam*
back slowly, with a letter In her hand.
She was white, even to her lips. Fully
ten minutes elapsed ere she gathered
strength sufficient to break its well
known seal, and take in the full mean
ing of words so full of agony to her.
"It is midnight, beloved Katherine,
and in six hours I may be dead. Lord
Paget spoke of my consip to me in
such terms as leaves but one way out
of the affront. I pray you. If you
can, to pardon me. You I shall adore
with my last breath. Kate, my Kate,
forgive me. If this comes to you by
strange hands, I shall be dead or
dying. Kiss my son for me and tako
my last hope and thought."
These words she read, then wrung
her hands and moaned like a creature
that had been wounded to death. Oh,
the shame! Oh, the wrong and sor
row! How could she bear It? What
should she do? Capt. Lennox, who
had brought the letter, was waiting
for her decision. If she would go to
her husband, then he could rest and
return to London at his leisure. If
not, Hyde wanted his will, to add a
codicil regarding the eight thousand
pounds left him by Lady Capel. For
he had been wounded in his side, and
a dangerous inflammation having set
In, he had been warned of a possible
fatal result.
Katherine was not a rapid thinker.
She had little, either, of that Instinct
which serves some women Instead of
all other prudences. The one thought
that dominated all others was that her
husband had fought and fallen for
Lady Suffolk. All these years she
had been a slighted and deceived
woman.
“To London I will not go," she de
cided. “There Is some wicked plan
for me. The will and the papers are
wanted, that they may be altered to
suit it. I will stay here with my child.
Even sorrow great as mine is best
borne in one's own home.”
She went to the escritoire to get the
papers. When she opened the sense
ltss chamber of wood, she found her
self in the presence of manj^a tortur
ing, tender memory. In an open slide
there was a rude picture of a horse.
It was little Joris’ first attempt to
draw Mephisto, and it had been care
fully put away. The place was full of
such appeals. Among them was a ring
that Hyde’s father had given him. his
mother’s last letter, a lock of his son's
hair, her own first letter—the shy,
anxious note that she wrote to Mrs.
Gordon. Then she began to arrange
the papers according to their size, and
a small sealed parcel slipped from
among them. *
She turned it over and over in her
hand, and the temptation to see the
love-token inside became greater
every moment.
“If in this parcel there Is some love
pledge from Lady Suffolk, then I go
not; nothing shall make me go. If In
It there is no word of her, no mes
sage to her or from her; if her name
Is not there, nor the letters of her
name—then I will go to my own. A
new love, one not a year old, I can put
aside. I will forgive every one but
my Lady Suffolk.”
So Katherine decided as she broke
the sea! with firmness and rapidity.
The first paper within the cover made
her tremble. It was a half sheet
which she had taken one day from
Bram's hand, and it had Bram's name
across it. On it she had written the
first few lines which she had the right
to sign “Katherine Hyde.” It was,
Indeed, her first “wife” letter; and
within it was the precious love-token,
her own love-token—the bow of
orange ribbon.
She gave a sharp cry as it fell upon
tlie desk; and then she lifted and
kissed it, and held it to her breast, as
she rocked herself to and fro in a
passlonato transport of triumphant
love.
(To be continued.)
NEW GUTTA PERCHA TREE.
Valuable Discovery Recently Made In
the Valley of the Amazon.
Up to quite recent date the world
has relied on the rubber tree for Its
supply of gutta percha, and on ac
count of the limited area in which this
plant grows the product has been ex
ceedingly expensive. A short time ago
a gutta percha merchant in the Guia
nas in examining the Amazon region
in South America found the balata
tree growing in abundance near Para
and on the Amazon and its tributaries
for thousands of miles. The Brazilians
had no knowledge of its gum-produc
ing properties and were found cutting
down the trees for firewood and build
ing material. A concession was bought
and the practical work of producing
gutta percha for the market begun.
There Is practically no limit to the
supply of gutta percha on the Amazon
and it can be produced at a fraction
of the cost of rubber. The method of
“bleeding” the balata tree is entirely
different from that used to extract the
gum of the rubber tree and only ex
pert ‘‘bleeders,” it is said, can be
employed. The trees yield many times
as much sap as the rubber trees and
one man can gather as much gutta
percha in a day as twenty man can
extract from the rubber tree. Each
tree will average three and a half
pounds and one competent “bleeder"
can prepare forty to fifty pounds per
day. The gum is fermented and then
dried in the syn, after which it is
ready for shipment.
Fully Covered.
A woman on the death of her hus
band telegraphed to a distant friend:
"Dear Joseph is dead. Loss fully
covered by insurance.”
Nothing more completely baffles one
who is full of trick and duplicity than
straightforward and simple integrity
in another.—Colton.