Indiana State Sentinel, Indianapolis, Marion County, 15 August 1894 — Page 3

THE INDIANA STATE SENTINEL, WEDNESDAY MORNING. AUGUST 15, 1891

A

THE HAPPIEST

Th doctor 5ii not have an easy time tt It In that East End parish where he iaJ bought a cheap practice and settle J 3own with his youth. h!s aspiration, his kill, to fight the battle of life. Hi. youth feemed to flip from him In his first year , of -work, his aspirations changed their nature, his kill developed. He acquire! vast experience in th05-? poor homes where he fought valiantly against disease, the result of Intemperance and vice and poverty and Ignorance disease of which the victim was often an Innocent sufferer. The sins of the father were visited upon Infants the sins of bygone generation on brave girls and well-meanin young fellow the sins of children on patient women and hardworked men. Ir. Murray was a thinker bis well &3 a worker. He mlgat have easily become morbid in that dreary place, where there was nothing beautiful to charm the mind, and little enough to charm ih eye or the eir. But he did not become morbid. He had the remembrance of a happy country home where his boyhood had been passed, he had the thoughts of his dear old mother who lived there still, and the lessons Fhe had taught the boy had not left him In Ms manhood; above all. he had thoughts of another woman her letters, sometines the promise of herself before Ion 3. When he walked through the muddy Street to his solitary house he did not let his mind dwell on the room he had Jut visited, where three children lay 111 in one bed. shivering with cold, and with n one but a drunken mother to ttenl to them, and give them such food as was provided for the family by a lazy father whose earnings, scanty enough, wer chiefly "pent at the Royal George. He did not let himself meditate on the details of his case when he had left them: that would have unfitted him for his work. No: he tried to imagine what borne would he like when Norah was wally there, when the rpenlnjr door would disclose her to him. coming out to welcome him and draw him Into the warm room where there would be flrelifLtu and lamplight and herself. He pictured her in a white robe. In a Mue robe, in a robe of warlet. just as the weather might suggest. He pictured the look of her sitting-room; the flowers h never had flower, but there must bt flowers rh.sr? N'orah was. He pictured the shining of hr eye., the smile on her hps. the flu.-h on her cheeks. She w.i? always bright, and always gi-ntl. and always tender, and always wll. To hirn health wa.- beautiful, as it can only be (o those who have the deformity wrought n mind and body by sickness constantly before tlu-m The abundant Hfe and itallty of the Irish girl were In thenielves'a chirm to the somewhat stern young Scotchman. She brought warmth and light and sweetness to him, to his life. to Millwall. Pn brought that now. What would iL I. by-and-by by-and-by -when He re.vhd home. He lt himself Into h unl'.phrel hall. The house felt cold. H set hl lip togthr and thought, 'Fly und by." H lud aside his urn-?r-Sli. tooU 'off his po.u. strode Into the eir.-ly f u r n i r.h ed , rather uncomfortable ürrinor-rooTi and rang f."r dinner. A midl-ag'M woman presented herir. "OS '" h slid. "I'm sorry the flre'F tut. sir." "Never mind." said Murray. "I shal. hiv to go out agnin after dinner, 1 ex-r-ct." "Oh! that remins me, 5lr. An H gentleman ram ;o s you. lie wanted you to cV.'. upri his wife. Rur he raid you wasn't to trouble tonight if f? be you vjs tired." At this unwonted censid--ration for an individual wh was supposed by the peo- ! nbout him to h? quite independent of weariness of mind and body, 10 have no ve?d of sl"p, to require no tim for n-als. and to b? always at th bc.-k and rail of every baby with bronchitis. every yd w-man with hts. and even" b-y with njuries, th doctor raised his eyebrows. "Who was it. Mr. Hawkr?" "He wis unbeknown to mc, sir; but he was a repe.-t-iblt-'ookjng gentleman, piite clean, and a nice f tee to him .1 "It of grav whiskers, too." "Did he' leave his nain?" "Yes: I lild It on your consultin'-room tabic. Ik- pencilled it on the bi.-k of an nvelope I had In my porlft. I'll bring It In with your chep." The chop mads its appearance. It was a strag'lnr. limp, purposeless-looking chop, sodden in the grevsy water that passed for gravy, and accompanied by a viciously hard, yellow potato, the dcadllness of whi.'h to any but the most perfect digestion was evident to the doctor. He pushed It on one side und attacked the chop, which exhibited a muscular development, a firmness or an obstinacy "jf which one mlht well have considered U incapable. However, the doctor again murmured, "By-and-by." and grappled with It so far as to dispose of a gr?at quantity of the Iran: the fat, which was of a bilious complexion, he left to Its own devices, and It merged Its existence lu that of the gravy. The chop was followed by an apple-tart. Mrs. Hawker called it an apple-tart; but any respectable pastry would have shuddered at the mere suggestion of relationship. A t) bhe apples, they were well, the question was. "Where were the apples?' Dr. Murray felt himself justified in drinking a little of the whisky his mother had sent him. I am afraid he did not say his grace. Perhaps he was too honest a man for that. Mrs. Hawker came to clear away. She bore a fragment of paper in her hand. "I'd forgo: this." she said. The doctor looked at It. In ill-formed but fairly legible letters he saw the word 3: "Pleese com at vour convenane. "JOHX TEJIPLM, "14 Plevna-st.. "top." It was not a cheerful night. But within what was there within? And every day must bring Its duties Besides that, "at your convenance" was so delightfully agreeable after the usual messages that reached him. He went Into the hall again, pulled on his coat, took his umbrella, put on his hat as badly as doctors usually do. and bangd the front door behind him. It was drizzling. The air was cold. The mud was sticky. There was neither moonlight nor starlight a yet. The feeble rays of the street-lamps made but slight Impression- on the general darknes. There were several people about In the streets, however: they were so little less comfortless than their homes. Women shuffled by with thawls over their heads, sometimes babies at their breasts. Outside th public-houses, of which the doctor passed three in the short distance he traversed, stood groups of men (they were men with no work, and consequently no money, or they would have been inside): here and there boys and girls were playing in the corners. Their play was rough, noisy, unlovely, u was accompanied by much thrill screaming and some foul language. By-and-by the doctor came to a narrow street which seemed to be less well lit. noisier, dirtier than those through which .he had already passed. He had several patients in this road, but he did not exactly know where 14 wa. He went right up to the nearest door and peered: that was 11. He crossed over, presuming the numbers were odds and evens. He. found 14. His knock brought a fat. untidy woman to the door, and several dirty, largeeyed children into the hall. As the children and herself were at the time In the enjoyment of what they considered health. Mrs. BIckle did not feel it Incumbent to be extra polite to the gentleman whom the light of the candle she held revealed to be the doctor. She knew him by sight. She said. "Wai?" interrogatively. "Mr. Temple." said the doctor. "Up stairs, please, Mr. Tem-ple Mr. Temple! The doctor to see yer." Mrs. BickJe held the candle, and she. &od.la fcWjJrfA jtateheß. lis realise

MAN IN LONDON.

man's ascent of the narrow, winding stair. The house being only two-storied, he had not far to go. Mr. Temple, who had apparently Just started to meet him. stood waiting till he reached the top. "Sir." he said, "I take this kind of you." Dr. Murray could not at flrst discern his face, but the tone of his voice struck him pleasantly. It seemed to accord with the "at your convenance." "In here, please, sir." The man led the way Into the room. Dr. Murray bad seen many of such rooms rather, he had seen many mueh worse rooms. This was small; it gave evidence of poverty; It was barely furnished. But it was a bright room. Exactly why it gave the impression of brightness It was Htfl.-ult to say; perhaps because Mr. Temple was In It. That was the conclusion the doctor came to afterward. There was a small Are in th grate. A lamp was on the round table. There was a chair only one chair which was put by the bedside. In the bed lay a woman. Mr. Temple introduced her briefly, "My wife." The woman turned her eyes In the direction of the doctor. That was her recognition of his presence. "I thought I'd like you to step round and have a look at her." said Mr. Temple. "I've feared she isn't quite so well today. There ain't much the matter. Is there. Lucy? but I fancied ft'd be a. comfort to me if you'd see her." 'When Mr. Temple said there wasn't much the matter, it has to be borne in mind that he has been wont to see her for five-and-twenty years like this. "She had a stroke, and Hie has bcn paralyzed ever since," said Mr. Temple simply. He did not pjak in a particularly sad voice, or as if he pitied her or himself. The doctor looked at Mrs. TempleIt would have leen difficult to say what her age might hae Ken. she was such a wreck of a woman. Fiio was. as a matter of fact, ten years younger than her husband, and he was going on for seventy. She was i-rfeetly helpless. She could not move any part cf her body without aid; she had even lost the us of her hands. Her face was drawn to one side by the paralyze muscles, and thus distorted was bereft of any beauty it might have possessed. Speech was difficult to her. and the few words she uttered were scarcely articulate. There was. no light or color In her face; only h r eyes diowed that she was a living woman. They looked straight out. blue and clear and shining, vivid against the parchment ''kin. the scant white hair. "I fancy." said Mr. Temple, "she's had a bit of a chill. ! what I will, this room's draughty, and she naturally feels th cold. Shj never c unplains. but I know she fels thu eld. Don't you, Lucy?" She mu!tred something. "yes." said Mr. Temple, "she does. You may be sure if she owns to it there's reason. The only thing we ever quarrel about is that she won't ever say what ails her. unless I worry it out. She's an obst. iate w.man. is Lucy." The Met cf applying such aword to the poor creature would have seemed ludicrous to the d h tor if It hadn't been for Temple's tone and the look in the eyes of his wife as siie turned them in the direction of the old man. They always were turned In his direction when he was In the room. That was -ne of the things the doctor found out before very lone. "Who attends to her?" ho inquired, when he ha J Ui-kel Temple a few questions Hni wrltrn a prefription "Why. I do. sir." stld Temple. "I wouldn't 1 t any "n el? toii'-li her." "Pi you mean yon do everything?" "Why. yes. sir. Mho should if not me? She's my wife. 1 used to be a bit clumsy at Mrs:, but I've hid tlnv to learn. I manage pr-'tty fair now. don't I Lucy?" Again thj grateful, devo'ed eyes shone upon him. The doctor had seen how a wmin could look when she loves. There were times when th? remembrance of Fhin!n:r, long-lashed. upturned eyes thrilled him almost to pain, but would N'orao e er look at him like that? He rlcaml his throat before he spoke again. "But you go to work. What than? Is she alone?" "Why, she is. sir. so to speak. T wouldn't leave her If I could help it. But I a'.wtys commend her to the Lord before I go out. and He ai;i't never failed us jet." The doctor hid a. man's hatred of cant. But he had sufficient insight by now Into the character cf those with whom he dealt lo know that thes wards were as simple and sincere as those which had preceded them. "I get up early of a morning, you see, sir," said Temple, "and make our breakfast nnd attend to her. Then before I start for work I'm In an engineer's employ I just boards her up in bed so she can't fall out. I'm back at dinner-hour, and we have It together. Then, when I leave work, my evening soon- passes. There's usually a bit of cooking to be done, and washing up. and the room to be seen to. An invalid must have things clean about her; it isn't agreeable to U and look at anything dirty. I like Lucy to keep bright but there! she always Is; and if occasionally she gets down I soon cheer her up. don't I. Lucy. Me and Siinnv together. Sunny that's our bullt'ilnch. he's asleep now. covered up. you see, I won't disturb him. But by day he's that lively; Hp chirps and talks away to Lucy; he's company for her, Sunny i. bless his little heart!" He told the story of his great unselfish life without any Idea that It was either the one or the other. Indeed, he would have been surprised if the doctor had followed his Inclination to wring his hand and tell him he was proud to make his acquaintance. And the doctor did not know the extent of his selfsacrifice. He could not, even if he had known, realize at once what it nn-nat to the tired working-man to rise early in the cold winter mornings that everything might be ready for the day before he started off; the room was tidied, the fire was lit, the breakfast was made, and Lucy fed. before he touched a morsel. Other men have their wives to attend to thern. roughly perhaps, but to some extent kindly. Temple, however, received no help. He even did some of the washing that money might be gavel from the laundress. He gave Lucy little luxuries. When fhe had beef-tea he ate the tasteless meat from which all nourishment had been extrated and he enJoyed It the more the more tasteless it was. for then he knew It was likely the beef-tea was good. If she protested It was useless; she had given up protesting long ago. He did it, and she took it. as a matter of course. But she was not ungrateful. His reward. Ah. he had his reward He loved her better than lie had ever done In her days of youth and health and beauty. And waht does true love ask but the opportunity to serve' And she? What she felt for hirn it would take a better peh than mine to describe: rather. I defy any pen to describe lt. I believe the angels who looked Into the garret could not understand It. for angels do not suffer nor need the tender ministry of man. They do not know what it is to be a burden where one would fain to be a burdenbearer, and yet to find not gloom nor reproaches but chivalrous devotion. Only he who gave the heart of woman Its needs and Its powers could have understood, how this one regarded her husband he. and here and there another woman made wise by suffering. The doctor went away with a promise to call the next day. Mrs. Temple's indisposition was so slight that it was evident that her husband must have observed her very closely to have noticed Its symptoms. As a matter of fact the eympathy between them was so Intense that he seem always to divine her thoughts and sensations. She seldom spoke. But they scarcely needed the medium of speech: and fpeech la inadequate to express the highest feelings. Those who are privileged to taste the supreme Joys of existence keep silence. When Dr. Murray had gone, the old man got ready for the night. He was cbUge.d jo retira Jx.Avfce aevjtt DosaUle.

H broughtvarm water to the bedside and washed the hands and face of his wife, and tied on her night-cap. In the morning he would perform her foilet again, and do her hair for her. And he took pride in dodng It. as he said, "as stylishly as a hairdresser." Then he arranged on a chair, so as to be within reach, a candle In a tin candle-stick, a glass of water and a biscuit. After that he fetched In a large prayer-book and the bible and read the psalms and the second lesson for the evening, and afterward prayed. He thanked God for the many mercies vouchsafed to them that day. for food and power to work, and for a home. He remembered those without these blessings, and begged that they might receive them. He commended himself and his wife to God's keeping during the night. Then his day vas over. In the night Mrs. Temple was thrlsty. She did n,ot disturb t husband; but he awoke, lit the rsndle, and held the. glass of water to her lips. Dr. Murray kept his promise; to call. He got Into the habit of looking in on the old couple pretty frequently. He wrote and told Xorah about them, and one day she sfnt Mrs. Temple some flowers, and the simple actj gave such happiness that It was repeated, and during the winter the garret was never without a chrysanthemum or two. The stalks would be cut and the water changed till the flowers were deal; they were never thrown away till there was not a petal left. For Mrs. Temple it was impossible for the doctor to have any feeling but sympathy.but for the old man he conceived a positive affection. His unvarying good spirits, his pluck, his beautiful mind, his simple Intelligence, and his unaffected piety had an effect on the doctor which resulted in reverence. And the old fellow loved him. He saw so few people that it was a great pleasure to hive some one to talk to who was as well Informed and Interes-tlr.g as the doctor. But no familiarity ever lessened his respectful attitude toward the man he considered . one of his "betters." The only time wh-ri they came t" any danger of a quarrel was when Temple broached the subject of payment. The doctor refusal to send in a bill. "Sir," said Temple, "I asked you to call, and I meruj to pay you for your time and trouble. If so be you'll look In friendly we rhall be honored, shan't we. Lucy? But when you come professional you must be treated as such." The doctor protected, but Temple was firm. "Sir," he said (he usually began his sentences with, this term of respect), "I can't pretend to be a rich man, hut I know I can afford to pay you as well os many poor folks you attend. You get your living through attending to the poor, and it can't b? agreeable work always, and it's right you should be paid. Besides, there is that dear young lady to be considered. Xo, sir; let me have your bill and settle it honest. If the day come when I couldn't, then it 'Id be time enough for me to receive charity." And bo the doctor sent In a very modest bill, and It was duly paid. But he made a point afterward of always giving it to be "clearly understood that hi.-i visits were "friendly." And, indeed, he could do nothing for Mrs. Temple. All that medical skill could do for her had been tried long ago. But the doctor could see that the chill she had had was the forerunner of a gradual decline. To say she grew more helpless would be scarcely consistent with truth, but it was evident she was failing. Her interest In things seemed to flag. She lay for hours with her eyes closed. She took less food. Sometimes Temple had to finish the beef tea himself or eat the grapes, and they tasted bitter In his mouth. But be gave no sign that ho thought her worse; mid. Indeed, the change was so gradual n.s to bo almostimperceptible. The spring ame. There wer no more fops. Hven hare the subtle spirit of hnjv penetrates. The air was sweet in the early morning when Temple went to his work. He would sing he walked. Sunny's cage was put m?ar the window, anil h chirped to his mistress. He told her that the sky was blue, that somewhere the fields v ere decked with cowslips, that violets were blowing in the woodland places, that the trees were murmuring together as they decked themselves in young green leaves. All this was pleasant to think of. tout It was pleasanter to think that John would soon be home. When Sunny chirped loudest she knew the time was drawing nearer. Perhaps she thought of other things; for she and John talked together sometimes of the country to which by-and-by they would go, and where there shall be no pain. She was not In a hurry to go. She was happy here, for love had given her a foretaste of heaven. But she was ready to start; and they had sent a little messenger to awa.lt thern thirty years ago. She had thought then the time, would be long before she saw the child again, but John had made it bhort for her. The spring brought hope to the doctor. He knew that Mrs. Hawker's reign was drawing to an end, and that the "by-and-by" would soon be here. It had been a hard winter. Strikes had brought added poverty to many a home, and the infant sickness and mortality had been terrible. And th?n there had been the influenza! But he had battled on, working all day and sometimes half the night, and kept himself brave with the thought of Norah. And now it was April. And on the 1st of June! He called on the Temples befor he went away. They had known that his marriage was approaching, but not exactly the date of it. "I am going off for a month," he said to John. Then reddening. "When I come back I hope to bring another friend to see you." "Sir!" The old m.tn looked at him. Then, grasping his meaning, held out his rough yet gentle hand. "God bless you, sir! You couldn't tell me anything that would make me more rejoiced. The dear young lady! We seem to know her now. already, but we shall really see her, and love her, I am sure." "Oh, yes." said Murray, "you'll love her, Mr. Temple. Everybody does." "Lucy, did you hear? The doctor is going to fetoh the dear young lady." The woman unclosed her eyes. She looked at the doctor, and the drawn face seeemed flooded with sweetness. Her lips moved. "She says. 'God bless you.' sir. Lucy says, 'God bless you. And when she says it she means it. Ah. we know what a blessed thing married life can be, don't we, Lucy? It's a solemn fact, sir, to take a woman to be your wife. It's a solemn fact. But when the blessing of God rests upon a unloa marriage is a sacrament that brings yDu added grace. It Is, sir. Your faith rows. and your love grows, and your nature deepens. You learn a many thing.?. I'm old and. I've lived, but the part of my life that has helped me to the best knowledge is Just that. I took Lucy. I said I'd 'love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health.' I've tried, and we've been happy. Sir, love does it all. You'll want to comfort her, you'll have to honor her, and If sickness come you'll love her all -the more." From the bed there came a strange sound. It was something between a laugh and a ob. And the doctor turning, looked away again. Her husband's words had moved the wife to tears, but the face was radiant with the Joy in her upturned eyes. Temple laid his hand on hers hers whiah could give no answering pressure. "Sir." he said, "I can't wish you better happiness than I've had. I wish you as much. And I take It I'm about the happiest man In London." Cornhill Magailne. Two I-onK Shot That Tald Well. At Sheepshead Bay on the Fourth of July a French mutual ticket on Jingle, which cost J5. paid the solitary ticketholder 622. One day at Ivy City two Washington correspondents. Towels of the Boston Traveler and Ogden of the Philadelphia Press, paid $5 on a ticket which brought them $640. Snre to Plenae Ulm. Wife "Let'r. go to the Sunday concert." Husband "Urn I'm afraid I won't like It." Wife "Yes. you will. The music isn't religious at all; It's real wicked." N. Y. JY.eeiUy. .

THE FOOD OF FUTURE FOLK.

WHAT POSTERITY WILL FEED IT OX GEXERATIOXS IIEXCE. Prof, nertbelot Derlnres That MUlc, Eggs and Flour -Will He Made In Factories Glass Cowi and Bras Beefsteak Machines. All the ingenious phophets. from Bellamy to Astor, who have foretold the extraordinary conditions of the year 2000 A. D. have omitted to deal with one highly Important, and deeply Interesting question namely, "What Is the man of the future going to eat?" This particular prophecy has now been undertaken, not by an imaginative writer, but one of the greatest living men of science, Prof. Berthelot of Paris, and It may be said at once that but for his scientific eminence and the undeniable facts upon which he bas?s his forecast his predictions would pass the limits of human belief, writes H. J. W. Dam from Tarls to the New York Sun. Marvelous as It may seem, the people of the future, in countless million?, will be fed by means of air, water and carbon. Four simple elements, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen, universally distributed over the earth are to furnish, in chemical combination, all foods now known, other foods not yet known and all the flavors and essences which make eating a luxury. The epicure cf the 'future is to dine upon chemical meat, chemical bread and chemical vegetables, drink chemical wines and liquors and round off his repast with a chemical tobacco beside which the natural tobacco of the present will make a very poor showing. Wheat fields and corn fields are to disappear from the face of the earth, because flour and meal will no longer be grown, but made. Herds of cattle, flocks of sheep and droves of swine will cease to be bred, because beef and mutton and pork will be manufactured direct from their elements. Fruits and flowers will doubtless continue to be grown as cheap decorative luxuries, but no longer as necessities In food Or ornament. There will be no grain or cattle or coal cars in the great air trains of the future, because the fundamental food elements will exist everywhere, and will not require transportation. Coal will no longer be dug, except, perhaps, with the object of transforming it into bread or meat. All the big engines of the great food factories of the future will be driven, not by combustion, but by the underlying heat of the globe. All the wonderful and magical changed which have been promised and rrophesled concerning the conditions of human life in the centuries before us, pale Into insignificance before the strange alterations which are destined to transform our kitchens and our dinner tables, and these are foretold and described, a will be read below, In the dry, exact language of science and based upon undeniable facts, Foods of the Present. The articles of diet now in common use consist almost entirely the precentage of other elements being minute of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen. These four elements, universally existing, are destined, the theory is, to furnish all the foodä now grown by nature, through the rapid and steady advance of synthetic chemistry. Synthetic chemistry Is the special science which takes the elements of a given compound and induce? them to combine and form that compound. It is the reverse of analytical chemistry, which takes a given compound and dissociates and Isolates its elements. Analytical chemistry would separate water into oxygen and hydrogen, and synthetic chemistry would take oxygen and hydrogen, mix them, put a match to the mixture and thus form water. Synthetic chemistry has already progresed so far that several great agricultural industries have been destroyed by its advancement, compounds which were once obtained by plant growth In the fields blng now furrished entirely by chemical laboratories and direct manufacture. In fact, the clear evidence of the present leaves no room for doubt that at ome more or less distant period In the future synthetic chemistry will destroy all the great agricultural Industries, Including the grain fields and cattle ranges of today. No man Is more entitled to act as a prophet in this held than Prof Berthelot. If not the father, he Is certainly the foster father of synthetic chemistry as a special science, and f r nearly fifty years haa been one of the leaders of the scientific army in the invasion of an unknown territory, from whih astonishing results have every now and then been reported. In every way open to a grateful nation. Trance has loaded him with honors. lie is member and permanent secretary of the Academy of sciences, member of the Institute, and grand officer of the Legion of Honor. H is director-general of the higher education, president of the committee on explosives, and in 1S70 was president of the committee on tha defense of Paris. As a cabinet minister he has had an excellent chance to study the people, while as a lifelong chemist he has enJoyed the best opportunities of considering the industrial changes which affect their condition, many of the great manufacturing advances which have enriched latterday France having been due, directly or Indirectly, to his own chemical researches. Predictions Important and PrnHlcnl. Consequently his predictions In this new field have a very important and practical value, and an interview upon the subject, which he was good enough to accord to th writer, proved to be unique and fascinating of Its kind. T romance and rhapsodize concerning, the future is not very difficult but to accurately foresee and foretell Its conditions Is an accomplishment only to be found among the followers of those sciences- w hich are held to be exact. Prof. Berthelot, by virtue of one of his many scientific positions, occupies a residential suite of apartments in the Institute of France. This Is a great stretch of old brownstone front buildings on the Quai Malaquais, its bare and barren courtyards being paved with many square feet of gray stone blocks. The coldness of the environment, after you have traversed two of these courtyards to the last doorway on the right, Is dissipated by ttie cheery smile of a stout Breton sewing woman, who ushers you without delay through a long, dark corridor to a small dark Ftudy at the end. Here, surrounded by books, which cover the walls on all four sides, sits at his desk the professor. His slender figure, clad in professional black, is somewhat bent by the deep study which has made his fame. But otherwise his sixty-seven years sit lightly upon h.m. His greeting is grave, but entirely courteous and sympathetic, an intelligent curiosity concerning the field of research to which he has devoted his life being all that Is required to arouse his interest and unlock his store of strange and Interesting facts. The Interview is had pursuant to an appointment, and he plunges at once Into the subject, referring to his address of April 5 before the Society of chemical and mechanical industries. "That address," he says, "was In the nature of an after-dinner speech rather than a scientific pronouncement. We dc not use the drier language of science upon festive occasions. I was speaking, however, to an association of chemists, and I believe that all I predicted upon that occasion will In the process of time, say the year 2.000, be actually or approximately the existing state of affairs. I said that new sources of mechanical energy would largely replace the present use of coal and that a great proportion of 'our 6taple foods, which we now obtain by natural growth, would be manufactured direct, through the advance of scientific chemisfy, from their jcoustltuttU leaoaU caxboAJu'rocen

oxygen and nitrogen. I do not only believe this, but I am unable to doubt It. The direction of our present progress Is along an easily discerned line, and can lead to only one end." Meal, Milk and Flour Factories. "Da you mean to predict that all our milk, eggs, meat and flour will in the future be made In factories?" "Why not, if it proves cheaper and better to make the same materials than to grow them? The first steps, and you know that it is always the firs-t rtep that counts, have already been taken. It Is many years, you must remember, since I first succeeded in making fat dlreot from rts elements. I do not say "that we will give you artificial beefsteaks at once, nor do 1 say that we shall ever give you beefsteaks as we now obtain and cook it. "We s.hall give you the same identical food, however, chemically, digestlvely, and nutrively epeaklng. Its form will differ, be-caus It will probably be a tablet. But it will be a tablet of any color or shape that is desired, and will, I think, entirely satisfy the epicurean senses of the future, for you must remember that the beefsteak of today Is not the most perfect of pictures, either in color or composition." This declaration from so high an authority was somewhat staggering. It was an unexpected blow at a tender (usually tender) and long-loved household idol. The common or panien beefsteak suddenly took upon Itself a poetry and a pathos in the mind of the writer, which could only have been born of its prospective superanuatlon. The idea of gla-s cows and brass beefsteak machines was truly scientific, but thre was a lack of poetry In It which was scarcely modified by the hope that the beefsteaks of the future might, could, and would be the reverse of toujrh. "To comprehend whit I mean by the tendency of the time," continued Prof. Berthelot, "you must consider the long evolution which has characterized the development of foods and the major part which chemistry' has played therein. The point Is that from th rarli:tst time we have steadily increased our reliance upon chemistry in food production, and Just e.s steadily diminished our reliance upon nature. Primitive man ate hia food ind vegetables raw. When he began to cook, when he first usd fire, chemistry made Its first Intrusion upon the sphere of nature. Today the fire in the open air has been replaced by the kitchen. Every cooking utensil now usod represents somo one of the chemical arts. Stoves, saucepans and pottery are the results of chemical Industries. So, also, compounds, food compounds, which like sugar, for Instance have been subjected to a more or less complex chemical treatment in thir journey from the field in which they grew to the kitchen in which thy are used. The ultimate result is clear chemistry has furnished the utensils, it has prepared the foods, and now It only reinainH for chemistry to make the foods themselves, which it ha.s already begun to do." Before proceeding to describe -what synthetic chemistry has already done in this direction, the professor said by way of preface: "There is a distinction which I would like to make at this point between the laboratory stage and the commercial stage of any given discovery in foodmaking. Frotn the scientific standpoint the laboratory result is the important one. As you and all the world know the commercial result follows inevitably In time. Once science has declared that a desired end is attained the genius of Invention fastens upon the problem and the commercial production of the result slowly attains perfection by gradually improved processes at less and less cost. Take aluminium, for instance. Once a very expensive metal, its steadily decreasing cost In production is bringing it within the reach of all. The use of sugar Is universal. Sugar has recently been made in the laboratory from glycerin, which I first made direct from synthetic alcohol. Commerce has now taken up tha question and I see that an Invention has recently ben patented by which sugar Is to be made upon a commercial scale from two gases at something like V cent per pound. As to whether or not the gentlemen who own the process can do what the Inventor claims, it is neither my province nor niy desire to express an opinion. It may be that the commercial synthetic manufacture of sugar is a more difficult task than they imagine. I have not the slightest doubt, however, that sugar will eventually be manufactured on th largest scale synthetically and that the culture of the sugar-cane and the beet Tool will lx? abandoned because they have ceased to pay. Look at alizarin. There is one result of the same kind that synthetic chemistry has already brought about." "What is alizarin?" "Alizjuin is a compound whose synthetic manufacture by chemist has destroyed a gr- at agricultural industry. It Ir the essential commercial principle of the madder root, which was once used in dyeing wherever dyeing was carried on. The madder root was grown to an enormous extent In Persia. India, and tha Levant, and spread from there to Spain, Holland and ttie Khine provinces. Continental Europe Uied it in enormous quantities, and twenty years ago its annual import into England was valued at $6,250,000. The discovery was made, however, that alizarin could be manufactured synthetically, and the artificial prodtiction of it has so far supplanted, the natural that the madder fields, so far as Europe Is concerned, have practically ceased to exist. Sn with indigo. The chemists have now succeeded in making pure Indigo direct from its elements, and it will Foon be a commercial product. Then the Indigo fields, lik the madder fiel.is. will be abandoned. Industrial laboratories having usurjed their place. "So far as dye stuffs were concerned, the intervention of chemistry seemed not unnatural. They were chemical products and seemed to fall naturally into the sphere of the chemist. When it came to tobacco and tea and coffee, however, synthetic chemistry appeared to b getting nearer home, invading the family circle, so to say. It appeared, however, that not only are tobacco and tea and coffee to be manufactured directly and artificially, but thera is substantial promise that such tobaccos, such teas, and such coffees as the world has never seen will be the outcome. This promise may be understood In two ways, but tha highest superlative Is the degree in which it Is to be taken, and the development of the point was full of Interest. "Tea and coffee could now b? made artificially," he said, "if the necessity should arise, or the commercial opportunity, through tha necessary supplementary mechanical inventions, had been reached. The essential principle of both t?a and coffee is the same compound. The difference of name between thelne anj caffeine haa arisen from the sources from which they were obtained, but they are chemically identical in constitution. It has often been made synthetically. The scale of manufacture of synthetic ladder is as follows: "Carbon and oxygen make carbonic oxide. "Carbonic oxide and chlorine make carbonyl chloride. "Carbonyl chloride and ammonia make urea, whence uric add. "Uric acid transforms Into xanthine. "Xanthine yields theobromine. "Theobromine yields thelne of caffeine. "Theobromine, y -u remember, is the essential principle of cocoa. Ttius, you see. synthetic chemistry Is getting ready to furnish from Its laboratories the three great non-alcoholic beverages In general use. The tea plants, coffee shrubs and cocoa trees must some day follow the lead of madder and Indigo." "And what about tobacco?" "The essentia! principle of tobacco, as you know, is nicotine, whose chemical constitution is perfectly understood by treating salomlne, a natural glucoside, with hydrogen. Synthetic chemistry has not made nicotine directly as yet, but it has very nearly reached It, and the laboratory manufacture of nicotine may fairly be expected at any time. Conine, the poisonous principle of hemlock, has been made synthetically and it is so close In its constitution to nicotine and s clearly of the same class that only its transformation into nicotine remains to be mastered, a problem which Is not very difficult when compared with otihers .whicJi have been, ficjvedi jTh EAjent

compound from which the nicotine of commerce will be made exists In coal tar." 'And Whnt About Tobacco V "You 'believe, then, that all our tobacco will some day be made artificially?" "To as great an extent as appears desirable. The choicer growths, with their Individual characteristics, from individual circumstances of growth, will be longest cultivated. The tobacco leaf is simply so much dried vegetable matter in which nicotine is naturally stored. Chemistry will first make the nl otlne and Impregnate any desirable- leaf with It to any degree of strength. Later on, if necessary, it will also make the leaf. In some directions It is not difficult to Improve upon nature and the host chemical medium for carrying nicotine might easily prove superior to the natural." Having weajily iwrniltt ed hts beefsteak to be carried by storm, the writer was all the more inclined to defend his tobacco. "But surely," said he. "there Is something more In fine tobacco than merely nicotine and vegetable fibre?" "Precisely. Leaving aside what the manufacturers may add thfre aro delicate fiavoring oils which chemists will also create. Vanilla, a flavoring compound of general use. has always bem obtained until recently from the tonka bean. Now artificial vanillin, ttv ame compound made chemically, threatens to drive the natural vanilla out (f the Kuropean market, and will doubtless succeed in doing so ;ss Its manufacture la perfected. In fact, some of the chocolate and con feet iotK-ry manu fact ur is are already taking it up. All the sscntlal oils will eventually be made direct. Vanillin is very near in its chemical constitution to the aromatic, the distinctive principle, of cloves and allspice." TWO AFHICVW MOVAHCH

Summoned Home from Their Studies In A me lieu. Two African rulers sailed on th" Cunarder Lucania, ycsorrday for their r.ativa land. Oue went to recover a province wrongly taken from him; the oilnr t strengthen his province, no v.- weakened by a long ajid bitter war. The two arc cousins. Precedence In rank is taken by the younger of the two. i'rluce Mo u !u Maasayuoi. who has already ruled f r nearly two years, whereas his cousin. Prince Besolw, has never mounted the throne that is rightfully his. Prince -Yiomoiu has nal an adventurms history. First trained in the mysteries of tie Origrlbush, a sort of black nrt school of the Vel people. In proof t,f which lie can show a hundred scars of the torture knives, he afterward became Christianized and came to this country. His mother was then queen regent of the province of Jabasea in the. Vi- territory, northeast of Lib-ria. Whi the young prince was pursuing a college course in an institution in Tennessee be received word of his mother's dath. The Panas. a warlike neighboring tribe, had attacked the queen's villa gu. and she had been forced to fie to tre woods. The Jabascans. who are ordinarily a peaceful people, are very brave when aroused, and when they found their queen missing they beat back U Invaders. For tea days they searched the woods for her, and on the eleventh sie was found, speechless from hunger and privation. Two days l.Ur she died. Prince Momolu's eighteen-year-old nephew, who assumed 1he throne In his absence, sent Word to him to come back at once. "The Panas are threatening our upper l-order," he wrote. "A famine is in th-.' Und. The people are crying out for the king to return. Com back and avenge the death of your mother, the queen." The prince returnsJ, collected his fighting forces, and In a fierce battle signally defated the Panas. That was eighteen months ago, but still wandering detach ments of the Panas keep up a guerril.t warfare Meantime th new ruler in structed his people hi agriculture, and succeeded in relieving the famine. He returned to this country on business li.-t year, and Is now going back to endeavor to conclude definitely the Pana wir. Hifirst business on reaching his native land will be to meet in convention th other native kings, prints and chiefs, tho representatives of Great Britain anl tic Liberlan government, and the Pana leader?, to effei-t a treaty 'f peace. Prince Momolu believes that there is a great future before his country. Nor unly Is the soil fitted for cultivation, but it is said that rich gold dcpjiiis lie there. Some day the prince hop'-s t establish government gold mines. The great curse of the country, he says, is the liquor trade, most of the wars arising from drunken quarrels between chief. Th prince is about twenty-eight years old. He is a dark negro, with a high foreh-ad anl an Intelligent face. )n speech anl tr.amcr he U like any well-bred your.g American. His cousin, Prince I'.eso'.ow, Is thirtyfive years cd 1. II his been a student in Williams college and was summoned a short time ago to assume the throw which should have been hU fifteen, years ago. His father was king over a tribe of 10,000 Vfcis, and his mother was the favorite among ".".0 wives. Like his cousin, Princ Besolow is a graduate of the f Irigribush. or Lowsomby, as his tribe calls it. In 1879 his father died, and his uncle, Danlu Saw, beani his guardian. Danlu usurps! the throne!, ani after fifteen years of rulership has become tired of it. The Panas have been very bothersome, and have carried away in raids not only his wives, but even his cattle. He wants peace- anl quiet now, and some time ago he wrote to hU nephew to return and assume a throne somewhat out of repair. So the prince is on his way to his principal village of Benloo. His first efforts will be to foster agricultural pursuits and simple manufactures. Then he will endeavor to educate his people. Both the princes have ambitkms to Christianize the Veis. They realize, however, that is cannot be done at once. The doctrines of the (J-igribush have taken too deep root. The rulers hope to accomplish their end by Christianizing and educating the children. X. Y. Sun. A lUTrr.HMILK WIILI,. It Is In Xorthern IiiUinnn Where IlutteriuIIL: In Inaiilalile. Did you ever see a buttermilk well I mean a well that yields buttermilk? says a writer In the New York Herald. Xo, there nr? no buttermik wdls about here that I know of, but I saw one out In northern Indiana the other day. It was connected with a creamery. Tnere is no market for buttermilk there, and the Inhabitants of the town, who can get all the buttermilk they want f c r nothing by simply going after it, never touch it. I shall never see the thirsty New York crowd around the buttermilk wagons downtown on a hot day hereafter without thinking of that buttermilk well out in Xappanee. As fast as the great revolving churns have precipitated their wealth of golden butter the milky residuum is run off into tne troughs that lead to the buttermilk well. Thence it is pumped up L feed hogs, being distributed by a system of troughs among the pens. Thes? hogs are merely kept to utilize the buttermilk, which would otherwise go to waste, and the fatness of these animals so fed defies words. Very little else is given them. Buttermilk p.rk is said to be superior, especially when supplemented with corn. An Object Lesson. Canada's two provinces. Quebec and Ontario, side by side, present an instructive lesson in the value of good manage ment in public affairs. Quebec, which was out of debt seven years ago, has now a debt of J25.0OO,OO0. while Ontario's surplus is over J6.000.000. Last year Ontario received $379,000 as Interest on her investments; Quebec paid interest amounting to $1.415.000. Ontario Is the more enterprising province of the two. and has more to show for a guarded expenditure than Quebec has for its prodigality. St. Louis Globe-Democrat. Ilnrd Timea Itrilllnncv. . Bride (disconsolately) "Half my wedding presents are cheap plated things." Mother "Never mind, my dear; no one will suspect lt. I have hired two detectives to make themselves conspicuous watchir them." N. Y. Vekly .

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4V

yy hü er Pain Cured in An InstantLet Itmlwiay' Bendy Belief be naed on the tirst iiidit nilon of I'nln or ln on I n- tr thrralrnrd villi I)lraa or Mrknrsa, the Cure Will be made before th fnmily doctor lvonld or UioMrily renc-li Ihr liiintr. CCIti:?! THK WORST PATNS In from one to twenty minutes. NOT ONU HOCK after rea !ir. this e.dvertli.mr.t r.eei any one SriTKH WITH ACHES AND PAINS Bor h'wlacle (whher s:v or rervou, toothache. neurrUtf.a rheumatism, lumUsgj, lunj ttnd weakness In the Uvk, s; i. or kidneys. pa.!ns aronnd the liver, pleurisy, swelhng of the J '.r.ta an.l pains cf u'A k'.r.l.--. the application of lladwaVs Itea.ly j;el w ill afford Imm'ut Viie, aril ;ts continued use. !r a few days enteot h permanent cure. A CURE FOR ALL Summer Complaints, A h.i'.f to a t- an--. VI of Tteilv VA'.cf a Ii-::' tumti'er 01 pt.r. rej.;ited us often as ihn d.seiiarces cni-iu-;, anl a flannel ' U'liMt.-.l w.ih Beilv Lell'f pi? 1 ovr He sf-rn :', iu--,i b .ivN will ff-rd Im li-'te relief and tÄ a effect a cur in e,,-s or i : rrl."' . 1 v.. no rv, fholer M rnui. Mil BjucI 'o.To.:.Y::;t of ary Internally A half to n tcu,. ,-nfnl In half a tiitnl.it-r of wui'T v. 1 la a few ni.nuin curt; Crumps. Sjur Stomach, N'flüsi, Y..i:;I':r.r. Il-'i-tUirn. Nervousness. iV.f pieties--. Sek II -a Liehe, Flatulency, atil ai'. iateruil pi in. Prompt Action iu Cholera Morbus. BAST NBW YORK. Ij-'t summer T was Attacke! with ehon mro'i mid after tryirn? mo.'. evryth'n Ait!; :.t 1 t'"fu, iny w t.r.;'.v p-.t your Kea 1y Ke.!--f. vhiih v. n'-lJ over nv "-o.i.n'h, anl tiK-a i:iwr!'y. Th cur v.ms a'..-. i ;-i i:ui;ie ?. 1 t ike pleasure la rocmmiea.rrsT t!v It. It. it. ti any one f.;;'!f,' fro:a pa 'as -.- cn-mps m tne l:nii( r. It n O J t. th?. 'HAS srH'.XFIin.n. 27 Ur.wood-ave. Newark. N. A reent tr.U f Radw.'v's 1..-.lv li:-f f.-r 1 r.ier.o-s has cnI rai - l niy i.ela f .a the t.o-t that your ', It. K." 1 the best remedy f. -r 11? 'n all ct.se" n-'-!'.:1 (in uct.vo s imnUnt. to quicken the clrci lAt.on An.i re-tore the natural warmth of the t,dy. It s'j'.l '.n every fnirvüv al-.vn.vtf rea.lv ti re;;.ve 1 r" nn-1 Umish pain. J. II. DK.NIPOX. Free Fnin. Vc.-Voj car. not claim too mach for ycur lti lwav' Keile ItVcf. l'.Ml'.:!, MANPIN. r,asviil'. M'.ch. !-f:een year ao your meUicin' s wt-ro lntrvducl to ine by a fr!eni .ad I liave not te-n sorry f r It. Tli lCeaiy lte;j' saved me miny aad pain from noft cveryüv'nsr lma. T'nabV. Yonr nmllcJaes rr wor-th H that you cxm for them. Al-HHltT FRANK. T,is.w.iti0a, IK. I pr- nnince your Hea-ly I'eiiof th 'bet pain rome-lv ever inventej. lUve trtl fh.-.n a!'.. Kin"AIU UYAN". New J te-rl.i. J. I d.m't know cf a me,Hc".ne In thj S .t:'h that rtand we 1 upon Us merits a llad-.vav's Kh ly HVef. HOUMlVr KKJilS. Newport. Ky.-)Iav uHf-d your Heady ItU?f in our f.im'ly and have r.lwaya fonnt It to be as r.i a jon siy it is. I recommend It to ever-v one. 1 1 D W A 1 1 1 MAr-'MI N It. Mntnrlii In Ii Aiirimi Vorni". f'nred n ml lre rnlnl, Thor 1 not a rmei;dl assent in thw..rll that wi:i our.- J 'e er :i I .ir'i. jin'l all other tn -tin rial, b'.oou. and oihcr fever, .-.'.let by lti-'w.iy's I - .puckly a. K il .v.iy" It-a ly It Traveler sliou: 1 .liv.ivi cirrv bottle of Uadvuiv's Jt mI- K.-ivf ith thei,,. A few drop-! In wiP-r w 11 pre,-nt Ickneg or pain; fr-m 'hi, .-re , f vurr. It Is berief tlvia Frenyli l.r.mdv or Li it er. a a stiniul.i at. Price 50 Cents Per Bottle. SOLD UY IdtUGGISTS. im - . - ' . 1 ' ' ' T V W'J mmmru ilu ppp p Always Reliable, Purely Vegetable. Perfectly ta-iW.es-, -legrajitly caatd. purge. regulate. purify, U&05 and Mr-;itrthen. lJa.lw.iy' V:ln f -r the cure cf a.! disorder of the stomach. Bowels, Kldi neys. FUldir, .N'citu'j. 1 rswajfys, Liuzztausa, Vertigo. Cosliveiieh.s, PiVa. 22r Klmhall-st-, Philadelphia, Ta., -April 2, lrtl. lr. Itadway & Co. T ft a. bo of row li".la two ti fceks an and I hare wun(Jrl muco low H was that I hava lived l Ion anl never trlM thorn lyor Pom-one jrav ma ona of your aiaxa,na.i'( &,nd I read it thruus'h. I hav used nearlr evry kird of pld, und tier er found any Ilka them. They, suit nie lo the.ieltfT. yours I1EXKY CROVTLIir. Dr. naJway- A. Co. Ft years J tave1een' trouWed with rheumU:n anj dyspepsia, anl 1 came to tha conclusion to try vour" p!'H. I immeilla.te'tr fouritl nrea,t relief trom their use, I feel Lke a new mzn r'.nc I commenced ttktr? then, and vouid not now bt- -without llifm. Tha dro-wsv, floppy feeltni? I uaed to lave haa entirely disappeared. The dyapepsla hu. left me anl my rheumatism is f,vne entirely. I ant e.t!.Ffid if eny one so aToettsd will R-iv Rad way's JnKs a. trial they will surely cure them, for I believe It all comes frotn the ays tern being oat of order the liver not drills its work. U-o. S. !CALL.Y of W Na-viu-st., New York. July "tj, 1&3. Tanenter, Fa., .Tanuary-J. isv. ' M-?mrs. Tt. Iway t Co., New York: (.Jentlemen Please send rne by return , mil one box of your pill, f r which you will nmi Jo cents eneios,M. ilMvintr had a bx iefore 1 we'll i not b withoat them, i hoat them, i i:lv hotUJ Thev nre .".unethintr everv fam: have. Y;rura truiy. T. A- TIT Friitlin l. Muscatln County, I.i. Rr. Rad way We are nsnx your medl-cin-s for typhol. 1 anl malarial fever wtt the preite-t ben--fit. AY hat your Ready Relief und Fills have d ne no one run t'.L DR. JOHN" SCHULTZ. CuMuff. P. O. Cr.inlurn. P. Q. Rid way We n your Ready Relief) 'ills for o'ir family melieirie and fil Kurfi'Atf 1' 11 o'her melic!r. ' many of onr r f- hl r do the i?ame. more Re.iy Uelief than 1 d- tin' Fr. and I them treat I se.l oth?r patent meuicrro-. V1 T.T.T 4M VCTT WV Merchant and Postmaster. I S merket. Fa.. .Inn 1 1Ji Pr. Radway I hava tested your piHa an J Ready Kel:er anj r.n.t t.'iey are all vo-j f..r them. I w.iiM not t without HARRY ilOWRY. c!:t'm th'-m. N "ericas vi He. Ky. Pr. Rndwy I have been iminif your Ready Keilef and 1M1 in my practice with the t.Ast results. I tii ink our Ready Relief without diaifct the 1h t medicine In lis. I aseribe mueh of my fiii-cess in practic to the use of yoar me1iSnes P. Hl'GHiy, M. D. Oherve the following symptoms resulting from diseaes if the d.ireytjve orti-ar.: Crn-' ntlpation. inward p.le. fullness jf b!xd irr th head. acMlty of tlx stomach, nausea, heartburn, distrust of fid. fuKne o weight of the stomach, sour tructationts, Hlnklnt? or fluttering of the heart, chektm? or puffooatins nensation when In a lincr sture, dimness of vision, dots or wei s Wore the f e,ht. fever and dull pain in th head, delUieiicy of perspiration, yellowness of the kln and ctvs, pain in ths s'.ilc. chest, limb, and audden flushes of lieat. burning In the flesh. A few d.vHcs of KAI -WAT'S PII.LS will fre the system of all the alove named disorders. Prica 25c per box. Sold by Druggists or Sent by Mail. Send to PR. RAPYYAY Ä. CO.. Iclc Bo SGa. Sew York. Jvr.Ut i Advice J