BREAKING THE WISHBONE
“Another Year of Prosperity”
FRONTIER THANKSGIVING
Only One Gobbler for Forty Hungry Troopers to
Make a Feast Of
“Boots and saddles!”
What stirring strains were those
bugle notes as they echoed and re
echoed up the canons and through
the tall tamaracks at Camp Watson,
a typical frontier post whose barrack
buildings were of solid logs, located
in the part of the beautiful Blue moun
tains where the hostile Snake Indians
ranged and disputed with gory hand
the advances o£ the white man.
The little garrison at Camp Watson
had had hard work all the fall hunt
ing hostiles far and away even to the
Owyhee, and now looked forward
with keen appreciation to Thanksgiv
ing day, which the next sun-up would
bring, and the frontier feasting it
would bring with it.
“It will be to all the boys at least
a taste of home and mother,” said
Major W. V. Rinehart, post command
er. as he instructed Lieutenant Tom
Hand to lighten labor and give his
men all possible liberty.
So the company game hunters had
been out on the near-by ridges and
brought in dozens of big, fat grouse,
three deer and an elk, and the com
pany cooks had given it out that they
would try their hands on mince pies
provided some commissary fire-water
were rustled up for flavoring.
Everything looked promising for a
fine feast.
But the two hunters who had
brought in the elk also brought the
news that half a mile away they had
found the fresh tracks of an Indian
pony, and the telltale sign showed
that his rider had been spying about
Camp Watson. The tracks, two miles
away, joined the trail of a large party
which had headed southwest. In the
trail were the familiar footprints of
many mules.
Then dashed into camp young Fred
Wilmarth, whose • tough cayuse had
brought him from Fort Dalles, more
than a hundred miles away, with the
news that the hostile Snakes had raid
ed down the John Day and captured
horses at the Maupin and Clarno
ranches, and bu.-ned Jim Clarke’s
house.
The rough-riding raid of the Snakes
had been very successful, for at Mud
dy Creek they had captured Henry
Heppner’s entire train of pack mules,
and that energetic pioneer had to fort
up in the rocks, and after esoaping
with his scalp and reaching The
Dalles, had to begin business all over
again.
“Boots and saddles!” soon sounded
at Camp Watson. Such news always
brought that stirring call.
Thanksgiving thoughts were laid
aside; they would have to keep for
another year. Capt. Boutelle’s troop
ers were quickly mounted. Their
trailer was Donald McKay, whose
grandfather was John Jacob Astor's
partner, and his grandmother a prin
cess of Concomly’s Chinook tribe.
Away went the troopers just as the
westering sun went behind a cloud
which broadened and blackened and
soon began to patter down in rapid
raindrops.
It was to be a swift pursuit and a
sudden striking of the enemy, and so
every trooper traveled light, except as
to ammunition, which was 150 rounds
to the man. And big 50-caliber cart
rides they were in those days.
Not a superfluous ounce was car
ried on the horses; there,was no pack
train, no impediments; merely a few
hardtacks stuck into saddle pockets
comprised the commissary; the ene
my had food—capture it.
A good trailer was Donald McKay,
and the footfalls of his trained cayuse
told him in the dark the kind of
tracks he was stepping in. Where a
small party of the hostiles had
branched off to the northwest Donald
knew their number and guessed their
object.
Silently the pursuit continued. Day
light could not be much further away
than over the next divide. Suddenly
in the darkness just ahead, what was
that? The yelp of a coyote? If so,
it would soon be followed by a chorus.
No. It was the bark of the coyote's
close cousin, an Indian dog.
Soon it was followed by another
bark, and bang! A bullet zipped past
the troopers.
Then came the defiant war whoop,
telling that the Indians had put none
but Americans on guard that night,
and that the warriors were stirring
and ready to meet the United States,
the great nation with whom they were
at war.
Quickly the troopers accommodated
them. There were volleys from both
sides, a dashing cavalry charge
through the camp, a reassembling by
bugle call on the other side, and
another rush through.
It was blind business in the dark,
but the Indians gave shot for shot as
they scattered around in the sage
brush and posted themselves in ra
vines.
As daylight came, the troopers
closed in on the camp, and what
warriors remained in it died defiant.
The camp was a medley of willow
pole wickiups and tule-matting wind
breaks shaped like the modern hats
worn by women. When the soldiers
got full possession they rather ignored
the scattering shots that came from
the ravines, for they would rather hive
the bees that were left than kill them.
And they knew that the bulk of the
women and pappooses had escaped to
the ravines. The firing showed that
the hostiles’ strength had been re
duced. So had the number of troop
ers, and the wounded horses, unable
to respond to the bugle call, neighed
pitifully from where they had gone
down in the charge.
The wounded were being looked
after and their misery eased where
that seemed possible, when Donald
McKay took the floor, and, in stentor
ian tones and Snake dialect, told the
hostiles they had better cease firing
and surrender; otherwise the soldiers
would kill the last one of them.
A defiant answer came rolling back,
and just then an Indian woman hold
ing up a baby rushed toward the sol
diers, saying she would surrender to
save her child. A shot followed from
the gulch she had left, and her own
husband became her murderer. He
was stalking out to secure the baby
when a bullet from McKay's carbine
ended his career. This baby boy was
afterward raised by a pioneer cattle
man named Altnow, and became the
most expert vaquero on the great Pine
Creek Range.
After a twenty-minute parley the
hostiles were given their choice of
extermination or surrender, and final
ly chose the latter. Sulkily they came
into camp, what was left of them,
thirty warriors with guns, while as
many more lay dead and dying around
the camp. Dead soldiers were there,
too, six of them, and ten wounded.
Strapping fellows in the very flower
of youth, laid low on that Thanksgiv
ing morning, a sad sacrifice to the
cruel war waged in the winning of
the West.
A sorry-looking camp it was, but
there was meat in it, for the Indians
had killed and dried most of Henry
Heppner’s mules, and they had several
sacks of dried crickets and cowse and
camas, and a little flour stolen at An
telope. And this was all they had to
offer the guests who had intruded on
them.
But where Indians can live, soldiers
can exist, and the late Thanksgiving
breakfast was nearly over when—
“Gobble! Gobble! Gobble!”
Those were the words which came
from the adjoining sage brush, and
quickly Capt. Waters had surrounded
the sound and brought in a big gobbler
that the Indians had staked out. One
of his tall feathers, painted white,
caused him to be recognized as a for
mer resident of the Clarno ranch,
which nestled under the shadows of
the high Cold Camp country. The boy
Frank Clarno had painted the feather,
and soldiers passing there had no
ticed it.
That turkey furnished a feast for
those forty troopers that Thanksgiv
ing morning. There were no cran
berries, but a sage hen was inserted
into his Interior for flavoring, and he
was browned on the embers, and there
was a taste for several and a whiff of
the fragrance for all. There was one
wishbone, which the mule meat had
not.—Los Angeles Times.
A THANKSGIVING /WE DLEY
Some farmers have conceived the
idea that the silo is too expensive a
structure for them to have on the
farm. The men that bold such an opin
ion have not investigated the matter.
A well-built, permanent silo can be put
up for about $1.50 per ton of capacity.
That is a cost of $300 for a silo that
will hold 200 tons of feed. This amount
of feed will supply 20 cows with all
the silage they should have, even if
they are big cows and are fed the year
around. If the farmer is to build a
barn that will hold hay for twenty
cows, even for a winter, can he build
it for $300? Not at all. He would
have to invest very much more than
that sum in a barn to hold the hay
for that number of cows. So we see
that silage is the cheapest thing pos
sible to feed if we are to consider
the cost of the structure that contains
it.
The farmer that intends to largely
increase the number of his cows will
have to put thousands of dollars into
a barn structure if he intends to con
fine himself to the feeding of hay for
roughage. It will be far easier for him
to extend his stables and build a silo
than to construct a stable sufficiently
high to hold the hay. When a man is
freed from the necessity of providing
for bulky feed he can then construct
his dairy stable with the one object of
getting cleanliness and light. He can
build his stable long and low and se
cure a flood of light from three sides.
His structure does not have to be
heavy, as it must be if it is to sustain
a heavy superstructure.
A silo is thus not expensive, and
moreover it is a great encourager of
the development of dairying. It solves
the problem of how a dairyman can
make a living off from 60 to 100 acres
of land, That is going to be the great
question in the not-distant future, for
the farms are already being cut up
into smaller ones.
If any man doubts whether or not
it will pay him to build a silo let him
look into the cost and benefits, by
actually getting estimates on the cost
of construction.
To Cure a Sucking Cow.
A writer in an unidentified exchange
eays: ‘‘As all dairymen know, there
Is probably no greater nuisance on a
dairy farm than a cow or a heifer ad
dicted to the habit of sucking herself
and other animals in the herd. It is
not only the loss of the milk that is
sustained, but it would seem that one
such animal would induce others to
contract the habit. We have had our
share of trouble with heifers sucking
themselves and others of the dairy
herd. The fact of our having trouble
in this respect has perhaps been ‘for
the best,’ since in endeavoring to cope
with it we have finally been enabled
to hit upon a very practical means of
breaking the habit in every instance.
The method is so simple and easy of
application as to put in the shade a
number of devices on the market, and
what is better, it is entirely satisfac
tory. Proceed this way, and you will
have fixed for good the most persist
ent sucker on the farm. Insert In the
sucking neifer’s nose an ordinary bull
ring. Just before inserting the ring,
slip on it two common iron harness
rings—of course, the harness rings
are to suspend loosely after the bull
ring has been inserted. This is the
trick of it. By adding more than one
loose ring, the animal can in no way
prevent them from dropping in the
mouth when it attempts to suck. Brass
bull rings can be purchased in almost
any hardware store for twenty-five
cents each, and the common iron har
ness rings cost but a few cents per
dozen.”
Building a Milk House.
The milk house is the product of
the modern farm and especially of the
modern dairy farm. Fifty years ago
the man who built a milk house was
looked upon as an aristocrat. It was
thought that he wished to imitate the
princes of Europe who have their own
dairies and their own milk houses. In
later years it has become recognized
that the milk house is a very great
help and that it costs little. We haye
some milk houses which could not
have cost more than $50 and yet are
neat, serviceable and even ornamental
in appearance. The location of the
milk house should be away from the
barn and away from the house, that
the air may be pure around it. If
there is a living spring on the farm
through which cool water flows all
the summer, it should be located near
the spring or should have the water
piped to it. The building of such a
house is the equivalent of adding a
room to the cellar of the house, for it
takes out of the cellar all the milk
and leaves that place for other uses.
There is no reason why the milk house
cannot be kept perfectly clean all the
time. This does away with the great
objection to farm butter, which objec
tion is that it has the flavors of all
the vegetables which have been stored
in the cellar.—John Stinson, Bureau
Co., 111.
Making Butter on the Farm.
We hear a great deal about cream
ery butter making. Nearly all the
articles that appear in the agricul
tural papers have to do with creamery
butter making. At nearly all of the
great dairy conventions where butter
making is discussed it is the-butter
making of the creamery. This is be
cause the butter-makers in the cream
eries are students of their business
and are always eager to discuss it. It
is exceedingly rare that we hear a
discussion of farm butter-making. We
would like to take up the matter in
these columns and have our readers
who are making butter on the farm
give us their experience. We know
that to-day more butter is being
made on the farm than in the cream
ery and that there is mor§ need of in
struction in farm butter making than
In creamery butter making.
In Colorado the laying down of
peach trees in winter has been prac
ticed for some years with complete
success.
Gray Wild Geese.
Gray wild geese are now quite ex
tensively raised in about all parts of
the United States. They are consid
ered among the most practical of all
the goose breeds for farm use. The
flesh of these geese is fine in texture
and has a rich flavor. This makes it
most acceptable for table purposes.
The geese are good layers compared
with most other geese. One thing that
strongly favors this breed is that the
birds are hardy. This is doubtless due
to the fact that they have not been
under the conditions of domestication
long enough to have become non-re
sistent to disease. Their old wild
habits enabled them to live under the
severest of conditions. Those that
have them say they are very easy to
rear.
The gray wild goose has a small
head and small bill, sharp at the point.
The neck is long, slender and snaky in
appearance. The back is narrow but
long, and is arched upward from neck
to tail. The breast is full and deep
and the body long and slender. The
wings are long, large and powerful.
The head of the goose is black and a
white stripe nearly covers the side ol
the face. The breast is gray, and the
under part of the body is white. The
wings are dark gray. The tail feath
ers are glossy black and the thighs are
gray. The shanks, toes and webs are
black. The eyes are black.
The standard weight of the full
grown gander is 16 pounds; that of the
adult goose 14 pounds; young gander,
12 pounds; young goose, 10 pounds.
New breeds of turkeys are not as
frequent as new breeds of common
fowls, yet there is more need of new
breeds of turkeys than of any other
kind of farm fowl.
Unknown Poultry Diseases.
I used to think that all poultry
diseases were known to our scientists
and that all one had to do was to gc
to a center of information, as to a
medical college, a veterinary college,
i doctor or a veterinarian, to be in
stantly told what a certain disease
might be. But after having tried a few
times to find out things I did not know,
I am convinced that there are among
our poultry at least numerous diseases
that no one knows about—so far as
being able to name and accurately de
scribe is concerned. I recently saw
a paragraph in a paper to the effect
that the poultry of England is so bad
ly affected with tuberculosis that a
commission has been appointed to in
vestigate. Now, it may be that tuber
culosis does exist largely in the fowls
of England, but it is more likely that
it exists to a limited degree and that
many of the unknown diseases are
counted tuberculosis, just as is the
case with hog cholera.
I frequently hear of mysterious
diseases existing in the flocks of my
neighbors. A few years ago they used
to say that cholera had broken out in
their flock. That was the easiest way
to explain something that was not
easily accounted for. Generally the
causes lying at the foundation of the
trouble were bad feeding and exposure.
In the future we shall know more
about poultry diseases, but it will be
after the men with the microscopes
have made a study of all poultry dis
eases and have located and named
the germs that cause the contagious
and infectious ones.
Some of the unknown diseases are
simply troubles arising from the in
terference with the respiration of the
fowls or with the perspiration. The
latter is certainly the cause of many
evils. If we will build our poultry
bouses on dry situations and keep
them dry and clean, with no drafts
permitted in the sleeping places of the
fowls, we will have less trouble with
unknown diseases.—Sylvanus Banks,
Champaign Co., 111., in Farmers’ Re
view.
Eggs Good or Bad.
Mrs. J. S. Martin, a South Carolina
reader of the Farmers' Review, writes
to ask how to tell good from bad eggs.
There is but one method that need be
used and that is candling. This is
practiced in all the great egg-buying
establishments of the country. The
candling is done by placing the egg
between the eye and a bright light.
Candles .were first used to give the
light for this work, hence the name.
Now electric lights are used and the
work is done with great rapidity. Light
must be allowed to reach the eye only
through the egg. This leaves the
whole inside of the egg clear to the
vision. If the egg is transparent it
is good. If a cloud has begun to ap
pear in one part of it, it is not bad
but stale. The larger and thicker the
cloud the farther is the egg from being
frish- A common lamp can be used
for candling. It can be placed in a
box from which a stream of light is
permitted to emerge just the size of
an egg or a little smaller. The eggs
can be placed over this hole one at a
time and inspected. Of course, the rest
of the room should be dark at the
time, or the eyes of the one looking
at the egg should be protected from
all light on the sides. The better the
eye Is protected from such light the
better able will it be to tell what is
the condition of the inside of tie egg.
A little practice in this ir.< will
give a good deal of ski1'. wers'
Review.
Strawberry plants should not be
covered till the ground la frozen.
EJTTETIIEJVCES OF A JIATV'RALIST
■ Richard Bell in his new book, “My
Strange Pets,” tells of the solan
geese, which in Great Britain in by
gone days, used to be salted and dried
for human food: "Many years ago
these dried geese found their way
to the lowlands of Scotland anci were
used as an appetizer. A small por
tion, when eaten before meals, was
supposed to tickle the appetite. In
this connection I have heard a good
story. A worthy farmer in the neigh
borhood gave a dinner party and
when the dinner was in progress he
asked one of his guests if he would
have ‘another portion,’ upon which
the guest remarked, ‘I think I will, as
I et a bit o’ solan goose afore I left
hame and it has made me very hun
gry,’ upon which his neighbor said:
I dinna believe in these solan geese,
for I et a haill yin afore I cam’ awa'
and I dinna feel a bit the hungrier.’ ”
A correspondent of Mr. Bell’s gives
the following information about one
of his favorite specimens: "T’le
£outh American boas are most easily
tamed. My present boa, which I ha.®
had about two years, invariably sleeps
in my bed, round my feet. He is per
fectly clean, lies still and very st!d« m
disturbs me; occasionally he crawls
to my face to lick it. I frequently ta -e
the python to bed, but at present » -
is timid and if she cannot find my
feet in the night becomes scared a 1
walks out of bed, curling herself on
the floor. The evil result is that she
becomes cold.”
Of the plague of caterpillars that
overran the Scottish lowlands in
1“85: ‘‘The caterpillars marched in
armies straight ahead and the conse
quence was that when they encoun
tered ‘sheep drains'—which are open
drains about eighteen inches deep
and eighteen inches wide at the # p—
they tumbled into them in such num
bers that their dead bodies dammed
up the water and they might have
been taken out in barrow loads.”
JVEWS‘BOyr HAT) HIS 'REVENGE
' Did it ever strike you that when it
comes to waiting for revenge a news
boy, the same apparently impatient
little street gamin, is the most patient
being on earth?” remarked the one
who was pulling at the cheroot. “Well, :
I m here to tell you that it is so, and i
you 11 believe it when you hear this
story,” he continued. “In my town
there used to be one of the crustiest
old bachelors that ever lived. Some
people said he was a miser, but
whether that was so I don’t know.
At any rate, he was the stingiest ever
“One morning he bought a paper
from a newsboy and handed him a
coin. It w-as a ten-cent piece, and the
boy didn’t look at it, but pocketed it
and turned away. The old fellow
waited for his nine cents and suddenly
saw the boy darting across the street
to dispose of another paper. He called
a policeman and had the little fellow'
arrested for the theft of the nine cents.
The boy explained that he hadn’t no
ticed that the old fellow cate him a
dime. But it availed him c ’hlng
Through the influence exerted b-. l.:s
accuser the boy was sent to th* b j
of correction for two month*. He
swore vengeance on the < . . man and
about eighteen months laur his op
portunity came.
"It was during a heavy rain- .trie.
The streets were veritable river* and
at one corner barefooted newsboys
had constructed a walk over boxes.
Among the boys was our little ftitnd
and among the crowd at the cortex
waiting to pass was the crusty . J
bachelor. The old fellow - ar ■ ! to
cross, the boy saw him and immediate
ly recognized him. Stooping for a s-c
ond he moved one of the plank* \vs- n
the old man stepped on this [ lank it
slipped from him and he was eivtn a
splendid ducking. T'm even wid da
guy,’ grinned the boy. 'Now I'm la> in’
for de judge dat sent me up.' '—New
Orleans Times-Democrat.
MOLTEJi LAVA AJVZ) FLOOD
“Strange things have been happen
ing in the South Sea islands,” writes
a Sydney correspondent of the Chi
cago Daily News. “In Samoa a vol
cano has broken out, which belched
forth a torrent of molten lava three
miles wide clear to the sea. Fortun
ately, the land over which the tor
rent flowed was a desert and, though
the sight was singularly impressive,
very- little harm was done. From the
Marshall islands, however, comes a
different tale. There was a terrific
hurricane swept over the atolls and
islets of which the group is composed,
and Jaluit, where most of the Euro
pean settlers reside, was washed by
an enormous wave at least six feet
high, which suddenly transformed
that islet into a lake in which the
natives with their families swam for
their lives and the native houses
floated about.
“At noon the day of the hurricane
at Jaluit the sky was pitch dark, ex
cept for balls of fire which occasion
ally lit up the scene. Breadfruit and
cocoanut trees wer knocked down
and piled up as high as houses. The
mission building, by far the finest in
the Marshall group, was reduced to
ruins. Large masses of rock and
coral washed up from the lag >n
1 were strewn about here and there.
Of the magnificent wharf which the
Germans had erected at a cost of
much labor and money, not a trice
remains. Over seventy natives were
killed by falling trees or were drown
ed and, with the exception of the Ger
man company's large store, Jaluit
was almost, entirely destroyed.
“European residents took shelter
successively in a bowling alley, an
oven, a bathhouse, a bar. and eventu
ally in a store and managed to sur
vive. The new steamer. Germania,
with the utmost difficulty succeeded
in riding out the storm. Altoe- - >-r
they seem to have had a pretty rough
time at. the Marshall group.”
FASCIJVA TlOff OF THE VESE'RT
The Sahara is not at all as popular
belief pictures it, a vast plain of mov
ing sand, dotted here and there with
fertile oases, somewhat like a leop
ard's skin, says Scribner's. From
Tunis westward it is a vast depres
sion of sand and clay not much above
sea level, in some parts perfectly
level, in others hilly, with low depres
sions containing water saltier than
the sea, which generally evaporates,
leaving a coating of brilliant crystals,
which appear like snow in the dis
tance.
The rivers from the Aures moun
tains on the north serve to irrigate
the oases of the Ziban: sometimes
they flow above the surface, but often
below it. There is a fascination about
the desert that is indescribable and
which none can understand unless
they have spent several weeks with
a caravan. At times the heat is very
great, but being perfectly dry, it does
not enervate as our humid atmos
phere does at a temperature 40 de
crees lower. Near midday the desert
ippears to be a molten sea .of daz
zling. vibrating light. Now and then
the mirage appears and the tired eyes
of the stranger are refreshed with vis
ons of beautiful lakes near the hori
zon, even sometimes of trees and
moving caravans. Alas! this is a case
where seeing is not believing After
many disappointments of this k:nd.
the camels suddenly raise their heads
and snufT the air through their curi
ously formed nostrils and move a: a
quicker pace, instinct telling them
that water is near. In the far dis
tance a low black line indicated paim
trees, and in a few hours the oasis of
Sidi Okba appeared, distinctly reliev
ing the doubts of those who feared it
was only a mirage. Our dragoman
kicked off his slippers and climbed
very nimbly up a fine palm to get
some of the luscious fruit growing at
the top.
LEA'RfiEV IJ4 COVflT'Ry SCHOOL
In sweet October’s short’ning days.
When comes the purple, smoky haze
Of many an Indian summer morn.
When through the rustling blades of corn
The winsome winds of autumn play—
No trace of winter, cold and gray—
Then fancy takes a backward flight,
Forgotten pleasures come to light,
The fun and frolic, rigid rule.
Of childhood’s joy—the Country School!
The course of study was not high.
But small boys oft were made to sigh,
With eyes upon the dog-eared book.
Not daring otherwheres to look;
“The rule of three” they pondered o’er.
And sadly mused on Webster’s lore;
McGuffey’s Readers were the joy
Of every story-loving boy—
The teacher at his desk and stool
Was tsar and sultan In the school.
But minds oppress’d would soon rebound
When came the call of “fox and hound ;
A nd “townbaH” bad its devotees.
Who scorned all games that proffered
ease;
With laughing eye and rosy cheek
The girls would play at “hid**--tnd-seek ‘
W’hen “books” were called with tinkling
bell
A thirsty crowd stood round the well.
Waiting their parched lips to cool
Before the grind of Country School.
Where are the hoys who played with m«
In long, gone days of “used-to-be”?
Ah, some are deeping, calm and still.
By Salem Church—on Goshen hill'
And some are living, brave and strong.
To lift their voice against all wrong.
And in the pulpit or the pew
Uphold the good, stand bv the true—
Thank God for all—the kindly rule.
And lessons learned in Country School!
—J. S. Cheavens, in the St. Louis Giobe^
Democrat.
FO'R THE ST A MME'RIJVG CHILD
What shall we do with the stam
mering child? has been the lament cf
both parent and teacher. In the
school room he requires double the
amount of time for recitation, he is
hampered and embarrassed by his
abnormal utterance, and through sym
pathetic relations this hesitancy of
Bpeech becomes contagious—other
children are more or less affected by
it owing, of course, to their nervous
temperaments. A few schools have
been established throughout the coun
try with good results and various
methods have been adopted, some of
irhich have ben very successful. One
>f the most successful methods adopt
'd consists of building up a new
state of speech upon a scientific basis,
rhe training embodies the use of
;hree factions of speech, respiration,
vocalization and articulation, associ
ited with strong will and determina
.ion to speak correctly. The pupil is
aught to comply with the rules of
lormal speech. The power of imita
;ion is depended upon as a potent
feature and a valuable aid to fluency
)f speech.
Stammering in most cases crigi
nates m the mind and by overcoming
this nervous mental condition per
sons are said to cure themselves. Nor
mal thinking, then, is taken as a vital
point. Confidence is gained and ei
tended by control. The fact .that a
student enters a school to overcome
stammering will give him confidence
and the ideal or model condition that
he with others is striving for when
truly comprehended in a clear sense
will gradually broaden his confidence
in his ability for normal speech.
The whole training in a school for
stammering is based on the mechani
cal, physiological and psychological
laws which govern the art of speech.
The instruction Is varied according
to individual conditions.
Doubt Word of American.
Referring to the fact that an Amer
ican in England had said that for less
than a penny a mile one may travel
on an English railway in a compart
ment nearly equal to the American
Pu’lman or parlor car, the London
Globe says that a large force or pri
vate detectives has been set to work
to try to discover which railroad th«
American was speaking of.
