The Growing List of
Women Who Marry
Men Many Years
Younger Than Them
selves Seems to Show
that Charms Are No
Longer Certain to
Wane Beyond Forty
Five and Even Fifty.
New York.—Is there ever a time In
a woman’s life when the possibility of
romance is dead? Is her heart ever
steeled to Cupid’s shafts? What is a
woman’s prime of life, anyway? These
are serious questions. They have been
asked since the beginning of time;
doubtless they will be asked to its
end. But never has an answer been
more frequently demanded than right
now in this twentieth century. Prac
tical as it is, these times are far from
being shorn of romance.
In youth, in age, woman’s power of
loving seems always just the same.
One day we have maidenly May mar
rying hoary-bearded December. Next
we have mustached May the blushing
bridegroom of motherly December. It
is all the same—the only safe answer
to the question is that there doesn’t
seem to be any woman in the world
who can finally put aside romance for
the more practical things of life.
And who could have given more
prominence to this very thing thatj
Miss Ellen Terry, premier Shakespear
ian actress of two continents. She
has recently taken to herself a third
husband—James Carew. They were
married on March 22 last in Pittsburg
by Justice of the Peace Campbell.
Terra’s Youthful Husband.
The Pennsylvania law requires cer
tain questions. Young Mr. Carew said
he was born in Indiana and was an
actor by profession. He owned up to
32 years, but he looked younger. Miss
Terry told that she had been married
twice before—divorced once and wid
owed the second time. She gave her
birthday as February 27, 1848.
Romance has always played a part
in the life of Mrs. Charles T. Yerkes
Mizner. When as the beautiful Mary
Adelaide Moore of Philadelphia she
met Charles T. Yerkes he was not the
multi-millionaire that he was when he
died. He had been out of the peni
tentiary but a little while; still the
golden-haired girl loved him and he
loved her. They were married.
Wealth came faster and faster.
Mr. Yerkes became one of the fore
most traction men of this country and
Europe. He had a beautiful Chicago
home, but Mrs. Yerkes wanted another
in New York. So the multi-millionaire
built another one—a great brown
stone pile in upper Fifth avenue.
He died on December 29, 1905. With
in a month along came a handsome
six-foot Californian, Wilson Mizner by
name. He had a way with the women
that was wonderful, and in the Golden
West he had left a reputation as a
lady’s man which would be hard to
duplicate.
He had known Mrs. Yerkes for
about a year. He called to express his
grief at her sorrow. Here again pity
was akin to love. His sympathy was
so apparently genuine, his solicitude
so tender that the widow was touched
very deeply.
Admits Mistake in Marriage.
Young Mr. Mizner himself felt the
call of Cupid. From commiseration he
turned to courtship; he won an easy
victory after a whirlwind attack on
the citadel of the widow’s heart.
Within a month after Mr. Yerkes’
death they were quietly married.
But here the romance died a-bom
ing. Mr. Mizner soon shook the dust
of Fifth avenue from his feet, and
Mrs. Yerkes-Mizner declared that it
had all been a mistake.
But now the case of Mizner vs. Miz
ner is even before the court.
Death alone robbed Mrs. Frank Les
lie of a fourth marriage. When the
Marquis de Campallegre, a Spanish
noble, died in Paris recently, Mrs.
Leslie—that is the name by which she
tboose3 vo be known—told to her
friends i.at she had promised to be
. his bride. Her trousseau had already
been made in Paris, the wedding set
for ctrly this month.
the late Oscar Wilde. She divorced
this husband because he was too much
of a spendthrift, among other things.
Romance has always played a fore
most role in the life of Patti, the di
vine. New York has known her these
50 years and more, but Europe has
been the place whore she has ever
fallen prey to Cupid's darts.
The great diva was born in 1843,
the morning after her mother. Mme.
Barilli had sung Norma with great
eclat. In 1861, Patti, at the tender
age of eight, was also singing, but her
real debut was in this city in 1859.
Her singing made a furore; her suc
cess was instantaneous.
Seven years later she met the Mar
quis de Caux, cf an honored French
family.' They wore both in love and a
marriage was arranged by no less a
personage than the Empress Eugenie.
Won Heart of Diva.
Then in 1871 she met the tenor, Er
nesto Nicolini. For Patti he changed
the whole current of the diva’s life.
Signor Nicolini was a singer of no
very remarkable ability. The great
songstress loathed the man, who per
sisted in following her all over Eu
rope, though there was a Signora Nic
olini and several little Nicolinis.
But Nicolini was persistence itself.
He was a friend of the Marquis de
Caux, who fdund out one day how
matters stood. He forbade the sing
er the house. This made the diva fu
rious. He also refused to allow his
wife to sing. This was the last straw.
They separated; a divorce was Anally
But the marquis suddenly passed
away. And now Blrs. Leslie has sail
ed for Europe to join the marquis’
family.
Many Times Married.
Mrs. Leslie was the beautiful Miri
am Florence Folline of New Orleans.
Her Arst husband was E. G. Squler,
afterward United States commissioner
to Peru, from whom she separated.
She then married Frank Leslie, the
rich publisher. After his death she
became a bride for the third time,
marrying “Willie” Wilde, brother of
was the daughter of Leonard Jerome,
Wall street man, recanteur and bon
vlvant. Lord Randolph Churchill, one
of England’s foremost politicians,
made a trip to America and fell in
love with the clever New York girl.
Their marriage in Grace church was
a notable event.
The pair returned to England. Lady
Randolph’s tact and cleverness had
much to do with her husband's suc
cess in statecraft, as all England
knew. Lord Randolph Churchill died
in 1895, leaving his wife $250,000.
Four years later at Cowes Lady
Randolph met young Lieutenant West,
son of a family that had much pride
but little money. It was love at first
sight between the comely widow of
52 and the young officer of 25, young
er than her youngest son.
The marriage of beautiful “Kitty”
Dudley to Leslie Carter, millionaire, in
1880 proved unhappy. They were di
vorced in 1889, and the young ex-wife
with the glorious Titian hair went on
the stage, where she achieved not
only fame but fortune.
Breadway is still talking about her
marriage last summer while in Boston
on an auto trip with a party of friends,
it was all very sudden. Young Mr.
Payne, only a trifle older than Mrs.
Carter’s sen, Dudley, proposed one
day; they were married almost the
next.
Take Mrs. Frances Hodgson Bur
nett, for example, author of “Little
Lord Faiintleroy” and other success
ful works for old and young. Mrs.
Burnett was Miss Hodgson in 1873
when she married Dr. S. M. Burnett at
the age of 23. A quarter of a century
later they were divorced; two years
afterward Mrs. Burnett, then a woman
of 50, fell in love with Stephen Town
send, Englishman, physician, author
and actor. They were married in
1900.
Then another literary romance had
its culmination when that talented
writer, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, mar
ried Herbert Ward. She was the gift
ed authoress, her genius matured at
ELLHf
jJLjeu'/T
ITSS.ZdNGZ&r
USS. Friz SOW
F?rZHZ25f
obtained in 1884. The Nicolinis were
made twain, too.
Then Patti and Nicclini were mar
ried. It was then Nieolini grew in
the estimation of the world. He loved
his new wife devotedly. He was the
lover-like husband always.
And Patti loved him, too. When
Nicolini fell ill of cancer of the tongue
no one could nurse him but she. When
he died she was inconsolable.
Then came the Baron Cederstrom. a
young Swedish nobleman, 35 years
old. They met at Pan, ten years ago.
He fell heels over heal in love with
the woman with the wonderful voice.
What care he—or she for that mat
ter—about a little difference in age?
They were married, Craig-y-Nos was
sold arid the. happy pair retired to a
new castle in Norway, where they
dwell jet, happy as larks.
Churchill Won Prize.
Another international love match
with London for its focus wa3 that cf
Lady Randolph Churchill and young
Lieut. Cornwallis Webt. But in this
case the bride was the American, the
bridegroom the British subject.
Miss Jennie Jerome-was one of the
belles cf New York 40 years ago. She
44. He wa3 the Andover theologue of
27, eager to enter the ministry.
Professor Phelps of the seminary,
liked the enthusiastic youth, and he
invited him to his house. There Mr.
Ward met the authoress. He was fas
cinated by her brilliancy.
Gradually i;he young student’s aspi
rations turned from the ministry to
litature. Miss Phelps was his inspira
tion. What followed was—love. Their
friends were amazed. They were mar
ried in October, 1888.
To-day Mrs. Ward is 62 yearB old
and Mr. Ward is 46.
And in the news of only a day or
two ago comes the announcement of
two more such marriages. In Worces
ter, Mas3., Mrs. Antoine Kielbasa,
widowed three times, possessed of
$1,000,000 and 46 years old, married
Martin Moneta, ten years her junior
and a poor photographer. Here in
New York Mrs. Ada Jaffray McVickar
announces ljer engagement to Herman
P. Trappe. Mrs. McVickar has five
sons, two of them married. Mr. Tappe
is 30.
Who now shall dare to say- what a
woman’s prime really is, or when she
can forget romance and Cupid’s call?
irfEMIST’S CURE FOR LOVE.
Hydrochloric Acid After Meals Made
Lovesick Women Recover.
The gray-haired, spectacled young
physiological chemist sighed with re
lief, • lighted a big German percelain
pipe, perched himself on a desk in the
deserted lecture room and spoke.
“Golly!”—a ruminative puff-pufflng
—“I never thought that I and my test
tubes and precipitates and other stnfT
would ever be called in to help cure
cases of lovesickness. Yes, sir; hearts
broken by malicious shots of Cupid
have been mended by me, or rather
through my advice.
“Funny role for science, eh? But
why not? If science is to be worth
anything it must be of help in practi
cal life, although my colleagues would
consider me a heretic for that opinion
"—the chumpal"
“Well, but the story?”
i/'“0,fyesr.the story!- Quite a simple.
’ One* 'ydt bdd-*and very modern*. my
Laxt'.weekl adapted ,ijyt a
physician who conducts a high class
sanitarium not far from New York.
Place for women, you know; for
wealthy neurasthenics.
“The physician wanted to ascertain
why two of his patients failed to as
similate their nutriment. As I do in
all such cases I Inquired into their
history.
"Two unhappy wemitn, young and
fair presumably, for I never met the
ladies. Two sad stories- of love. One
was a wife deserted by a rapscallion
husband, without whom^had she only
thought so—she was :!ar better off.
But the trouble was that she did not
think so. The other was a girl disap
pointed because some young flirt of a
boy had married another
“I found that the failure tp assim
ilate nutriment was die to the fact
that there-had been no flow of hydro
chloric acid in the alimentary tract of
either <>f the patients. The physician
said ths.t they were moping and pining
themselves to death, literally wasting
away. Medicine was useless, It seem
ly , dl4 net digest;. thejy
g, as the old phrase rgQj, Qf
broken hearts. *
“And just why? For this reason—
well—their
Kllfc Tu.i
mark
was
accountable for what is called inhibi
tion cf certain glandular actions con
trolling the flow of hydrochloric acid.
“I said to the physician, says I:
‘Give ’em hydrochloric acid after
meals, about so much.’ He did so.
R^gult: The heart-broken ladies began
to digest their food.
“As their bodies received nourish
ment some ol' the strain on the mind
caused by malnutrition was eased;
consequently there was less morbidity,
less gloom; this betterment.of physi
cal condition, removed. the inhibition
of glandular function, the bodily hydro
chloric acid,flowed again; that great
specific. . .
“Time aided the good .cause, and in
due course of time the heartbroken,
lovesick patients recovered tohe and
went out again into the world.
“Do you know I feel rather proud
of that Job? ' But I wonder, 1 wonder
what the ypung women would Bay if
tief' kiletfT Have i sallied the' ro
mance ot love? - Well,'I w«y no; love,
like 911 other thingilrtta9st, %tii be
the better for the light of truth—and
that light shines from the workshops
of science, my boy. Teel" *
(Copyright, by Joseph B. Bowles.)
It stood over the mantel in the oaK
paheled dining-room, a portrait by
Gainsborough ftf a slender dark-eyed
girl in a white satin gown, with a
necklace of milk-white pearls about
her softly rounded throat. She was
pulling the petals from a red rose and
smiling roguishly out of the frame.
I had always been in love with her
from the time I used to spend my
schoolboy holidays at the manor until,
as a young man I ran down to Ker
sey for week-ends, ostensibly to see
my Aunt Elizabeth,, in reality to spend
most of the time before the great fire
place in the dining-room, blowing rings
toward the ceiling and dreaming as I
watched Marianne dropping the petals
of her crimson rose.
“I am going to hive a house party
on the 25th of June,” wrote my aunt,
“and you must not fail me, my dear
Reginald. I shall refuse to take no
for an answer.”
This was of the nature of a sum
mons to Windsor castle, and I dared
not disobey. Besides, I did not alto
gether object to a house party at
Kersey manor in rose time. However,
at the last minute I was delayed, and
it was not until the evening of the
26th that I drove up the oak-lined ave
nue in the soft moonlight. My aunt
met me in the great hall.
“They are having tableaux in the
music-room,” she said. “Will you come
there as soon as you have changed?”
The light was turned low as I
softly entered and stood unobserved
ir. the back of the music-room. There
was a hush over the audience as the
curtain was drawn to reveal a lovely
picture. My cousin. Jeanne, smiled
winsomely out of the frame as the
Countess Potocka in the famous por
trait that is familiar to every one.
The clapping of hands drowned the
little murmur of admiration as the
curtain was drawn over it My cousin.
Jeanne, evidently could not endure the
ordeal of keeping still to be looked at
again, so the encoring died away and
the low murmur of conversation was
resumed.
suddenly tne conversation ceased;
the curtain was about to be drawn for
the next picture, and l turned per
functorily toward the little stage.
I gave a great start and clasped
the back of the chair in front of me.
I could see the sheen of her white
satin gown, the long necklace of
pearls about her sno*y throat. It was
Marianne, but a living, breathing Mar
ianne.
Suddenly the lights flared up, the
buzz of conversation grew louder,
everyone was talking at once about
the tableaux. One or two old friends
saw me and came to welcome me. so
it was several minutes before I could
make my way to my aunt.
“Aunt Elizabeth,” I demanded, pre
sent me, I beg, to the lady of Kersey
manor. Where did you find her? Did
she step down from the frame to-day?
How did it all happen?”
Even as I spoke Marianne came by,
Marianne in her white satin gown,
her shimmering pearls and the red
rose still in her hand.
“Marian," cried my aunt. “Stop a
moment while I present your ccusin,
Reginald.”
I bowed low. I felt that I ought
to have a plumed hat to sweep the
floor before this lady of an olden
time.
“Why did you not come down from
your frame before?” I asked. “I have
waited for you for years, centuries,
aeons, and I have been so lonely,
though I knew you would come at
last, Marianne, lady of Kersey ma
nor.”
She smiled ravishingly and looked
at my aunt questioningly.
“He is our court jester,” the lat
ter replied with a smile.
“But I am not jesting,” I cried,
with mock solemnity. “She is Mari
anne, Marianne of the portrait,” I in
sisted. “Deny It If you dare.”
“Yes, she is Marian,” my aunt ac
knowledged. “But, Marian, the great
great-grandniece of the lady of Ker
sey manor and y®ur distant cousin.”
“Not at all,” I begged to differ.
“She is Marianne herself, Marianne
who sat to Gainsborough, Marianne
who pulled a red rose and flung the
petals at her feet—you are, aren’t you,
'Marianne?”
Aunt Elizabeth smiled indulgently.
“You must not mind your cousin,” she
said. “He is harmless, but I am con
vinced he is quite mad.”
Then some young upstart bore off
my Marianne for the cotillon. If I
could not dance it with her I show
ered her with favors and danced with
no one else. When she mischievous
ly brought me a jester's cap and
bells in one figure, I put it on re
luctantly.
The next morning we walked in
the garden together just as we used
to do in the old days, and I gath
ered her roses. We flung bread
crumbs to the trout that rose greedily
to snatch them, and we pelted the
cross old peacock with flowers, and
then we leaned on the sun-dial, and
Marianne’s taper finger traced the
letters of the carved inscription just
as I had dreamed of her doing. Her
Mir curled riotously, bewitchingly
about her face that was ’flushed like
the petals of a pink rose, as she bent
over the letters.
“Do you know, Marianne,” I said,
“that this is not the first time you
and I have leaned on thl3 sun-dial.
Sometimes it has been ill the pale
moonshine when the garden was
turned to silver and the roses, dew
cfrenched, filled the air with their
perfume, and sometimes we have been
here in tie wintertime when the snow
lay deep on the terraces and the
quaint bay trees and hedges were all
carved from purest Parian marble. Al
ways we have been here together, and
always we will lean togethej on this old
dial watching the sunny hours go by;
Marianne, lady Qt-Ke*»ey i*gnor.^.„
Oho Klwohail “Hut T am
deed mad, madder than the maddest
March hare.”
* ‘‘You may say you are not, but
you are going to be,” I said emphat
ically. “You have got to be. I have
been in love with Marianne,- lady of
Kersey manor, since I went to Rug
by, a little chap in knickerbockers,
2nd I am in love with you and two
things equaling the same thing equal
each other.”
“Not at all,” she said. “It only
proves you are a_ fickle creature.
Fancy what a change of heart to ad
mire my great-great-aunt one minute
and the next to tell a girl whom you
have known only 15 hours that you
care for her. How could I ever
trust you. Cousin Reggie?”
“As I said before you interrupted
me,” I went on tranquilly, “I love
Marianne, lady of Kersey manor, and
I love you, and two things equaling
the same—”
“Ah, you are getting too mathemat
ical for me,” she said, and ran swift
We Leaned on the Sun-Dial.
ly away down the garden path and 1
after her.
And then began days of uncertain
ty. Marianne teased me and torment
ed me and avoided me, choosing any
little insignificant creature that was
nearest her when I approached. But
I was not discouraged. I had loved her
too long not to feel that some day I
must win out.
By great luck one day I found
her alone in the library and boldly
walked in.
“I want to speak to you about a lit
tle matter of business, if you will
deign to listen,” I said, stiffly to her
back, as she sat at the desk writing.
“Oh, business,”, she said, coldly,
though her lips trembled a bit at the
corners, as though a smile were
struggling through. “Well, be quick
about it. I am immensely busy.” A
frown puckered her delicately pencil
ed' brows as she leaned her head on
her hand to listen.
“It’s about the succession and the
property,” I said, sitting down com
fortably in the low chair beside
her.
“Is this strictly business?” she
asked suspiciously.
“Strictly,” I answered. “It is very
important. You see I am my aunt’s
heir and some day Kersey manor will
belong to me, and do you know It
doesn’t seem to me quite fair. You
have always been the Lady Marianne
of the manor, and you know I feel
as though I were doing you out of
it.”
“Oh, not at all,” said Marianne po
litely, half turning*back to her let
ter, as though she wished me to
hasten. “I have no claim in any way,
you know.”
“Well,” I said, reflectively, “some
how I feel that it’s not fair and I
have a* proposition to make. I want
you to keep on being the lady of Ker
sey manor.”
“Oh, no, March hare,” she said.
“That would be doing you out of
it No, thanks very much, but I
couldn’t think of accepting such a
present from you.” She laughed.
"What does Mme. Grundy sdy? ‘A
young lady should never accept any
gift from a young man, except books,
flowers and bonbons, unless—’ ”.
She stopped suddenly and blushed
adorably up to the little curls on her
forehead and down to the collar of her
frock
“Unless what?” I demanded, but
she laughed and blushed still more.
“Unless?”
“Oh, never mind,” she said.
“I know,” I cried triumphantly.
“Haven’t I studied Mme. Grundy’s
rules of etiquette? Unless they are
engaged or married. Isn’t that It,
word for word, Marianne? That’s the
only way out of it,” I said. “Come,
Marianne, sweet. Ii have never loved
anyone else but you. I have been
faithful to my dream Marianne for so
long and I waited for you, oh, ages
and ages. Pray keep on being the
lady of Kersey.”
The pink stole up Into her face
again, her eyes were roft and win
some as she held out both hands to
me in sweet surrender.
“Well, I suppose I shall have' to,
March hare,” she said, “since you in
sist upon it”
Hatching chickens by artificial
means is almost as old as history.
The art was known before the dawn
of the Christian era, and has been
practiced continuously in Egypt, China
and other oriental countries down to
the present day.
j"
Author says that it is not painful.to
starve to death* but as he- has ’hot
tried i* fiftWUpii thretftii':
It is the ambition of the American
aeronauts who will enter the contest
at Sc Louis next October in the effort
to retain the international cup, which
Lieut. Lahm won last year in his re
markable flight from Paris to the
north of England, to make a new long
distance record. In fact long before
the contest for the international cup,
which is not to occur until October,
ascensions will be made to beat Count
de La Vaulx’s record, St. Louis will be
the point from which these ascensions
probably will be made, and before the
great race it is not at all improbable
that a new goal will have been set for
foreign aeronauts to attain.
One has but to glance at the maps
of Europe and of the United States to
see at a glance how much greater is
the opportunity for a long flight from
St. Louis than from Paris. Whereas a
long flight from Paris is not possible
unless the yind is blowing approxi
mately from' the west, St. Louis is so
situated at the heart of the United
States that a balloon may fly hundreds
of miles before reaching the sea, re
gardless of the direction of the wind.
In fact, the chance of equalling or
exceeding the world’s long distance
record, which is now held by Count
Henry de La Vaulx, is just twice as
great from St. Louis as from Paris.
From the capital of France a balloon
must travel within a segment of a
circle of only 110 degrees, having a
radius equal in length to de La Vaulx’s
record flight, to avoid being carried
out to sea, but from St. Louis the seg
ment of such a circle within which
Count de La Vaulx’s record may be
beaten includes 220 degrees.
Lieut. Frank P. Lahm’s winning of
the international cup last year, with a
record of only 402 miles, is an illus
tration of the difficulty of attaining a
considerable distance from Paris, ex
cept under favorable conditions. On
the day set for the race the wind was
blowing almost directly from the
south and the balloons were carried
to the channel and thence to England.
For Lieut. Lahm to have attempted
further flight would have been to
court almost certain death by being
carried past the coast of Norway and
into the Arctic ocean.
That Count de La Vaulx’s flight of
1,250 miles, from Paris to the province
of Kleff, in Little Russia, made in
1900, still stands as the world’s long
distance record, in spite of hundreds
of ascents made each season since
then and determined and repeated ef
forts of aeronauts to wrest from him
the title of world’s champion, is con
vincing proof of the difficulties in the
way of beating that record in Europe.
In America, on the contrary, the
door to opportunity is wide open. Un
til Count de La Vaulx’s exploit the
long distance record had been held in
this country for. 41 years by the flight
of John Wise and three companions
from St. Louis to northern New York
in 1859, a distance of more than 800
miles. Had Wise’s balloon not been
caught, in a terrific storm and wrecked
it is quite possible that at that time a
record would have been made at least
equal to that of de La Vaulx.
American aeronauts have an added
stimulus for establishing a new record
through the contest for the Lahm cup,
which is to take place some time dur
ing the summer. Various conditions
are attached to the contest for this
trophy, but the main thins is to ex
ceed Lieut. Lahm's record of 402
miles, made last year, when he won
the international cup for America.
If the wind Is blowing directly from
the north or west at the time of the
ascension from St. Louis and the up
per currents correspond with those
close to the earth it will not be pos
sible to exceed Count de La Vaulx’s
record. The balloons will be carried
out to sea on the Gulf of Mexico or
the Atlantic ocean in such circum
stances.
It is not regarded as probable that
a balloon would be carried across the
Rockies from St. Louis because of the
almost entire absence of east winds in
that section of the country, but with a
south wind or even a wind from the
southwest a balloon could be carried
Dot further than into northern Maine
and still establish a new record.
With Canada stretching’ for hun
dreds of miles to the north, the oppor
tunities in that direction are virtually
without limit, and in spite of the
chances of being lost in the wilds of
the northland It is there that the eyes
of aeronauts are turned most hope
fully.
Men who are spending much money
and time in making elaborate plans to
add the world's record as well as the
International cup to America’s trophies
are cheered by the knowledge that the
science of aeronautics has so far ad
vanced that there will be little diffi
culty in keeping a balloon afloat at
least as long as Count de La Vaulx’s
was in the air when he. made his rec
ord flight.
Foreign aeronauts who have en
tered for the international cup race
are eagerly discussing this chance of
establishing a new record. One of
the leading yriters on aeronautics in
Paris recently went so far as to say
that the question of making a new rec
ord from St. Louis Is the feature of
the contest of greatest interest to
sportsmen.
NEWSPAPERS IN CHINA.
Increased Number in Last Decade—
Respect for Printed Words.
“To-day there are more than 20CT
newspapers In China, where a decade
ago there was almost none,” said Wil
liam II. Henry, an attorney of Los An
geles. Mr. Henry returned < recently
from a business trip to Hongkong.
“Since the awakening of the celesr
tlal kingdom began, after the close of
the Japanese war in 1895, there has
been a remarkable growth of public
spirit, which has manifested itself
largely in this growth of the press.
It is an unquestioned fact that the
people over there, after sleeping 40
centuries, are evincing a remarkable
desire for information. At least that
is what the English and American
merchants in Hongkong tell me. They
say that by. another 15 years every
aciers, ui course, on one side of the
paper, in a sort of roll form, so that
a man reading it can tear it off sheet
by sheet and throw it away as he goes
along. The paper is very thin.- The
Ghinese public has great respect for
the printed word, believing what it
sees 4n type to be absolutely true..
Hence it has been too susceptible to
some of the journals, which are print
ed merely in the interest of a propa
ganda, against foreigners. But for the
most part these papers are doing a
great good in the way of educating the
people up to what is going on through
out the empire. Between the railroads
and the newspapers, China is going to
do some waking up within the nest
few years.”
In the cities of northern Mexico
where American commodities ate in
use the native..olla often is replaced
by the tin, c^ns of the Standard Oil
company, The: cjxfiera, .by attaching
two or more cans .to, ihgfr cW
double the quantity possible in thooid
receptacles. - •'.v ,.-V; .• v.
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