The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 15, Number 19, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 7 September 1922 — Page 2

The Big-Town Round Up

“HAD ENOUGH?” SYNOPSIS—A foreword tells this: Motoring through Arizona a party of easterners, father and daughter and a male companion, stop to witness a cattle round up. The girl leaves the car and is attacked by a wild steer. A masterpiece of ridlnsFon the part of one of the cowboys saves her life. Then the story begins: Clay Lhidsajt, rangerider on an Arizona ranch, announces his intention to visit the "big town," New York. On the train Clay becon.es interested in a young woman, Kitty Mason, on her way to New York to become a motlon-pieture actress. She is marked as a fair prey by a fellow traveler, Jerry Durand, gang politician and ex-prize tighter. Clay provokes a quarrel and throws Durant from the train. On his first day In New York Clay is splashed with water by a janitor. That individual the range-rider punishes and leaves tied to a Are hydrant A young woman who sees the occurrence invites Clay into her house and hides him from the police. Clay’s “rescuer" introduces herself as Beatrice Whitford. Lindsay meets her father, Colin Whitford. He meets Kitty Mason by accident. She has been disappointed in her stage aspirations. Clay visits her. Kitty is insulted by a customer. Clay punishes the annoyer. Outside, he is attacked by Jerry Durand and a companion and beaten insensible. Clay's acquaintance. with Beatrice Whitford ripens. His "side partner” on the Arizona ranch, Johnnie Green, comes to the “big town.” The two take an apartment together. Word comes that Kitty Mason is in trouble. Clay goes to the rescue and is helped by Annie Millikan. He comes on a party of “gunmen," obviously waiting for his appearance. Clay “gets the drop” on the thugs, locks them in a room and escapes. With a theater party, which includes the Whitfords, Clay meets Kitty Mason, friendless and penniless. He leaves the party to take the girl to his apartment. Beatrice resents Lindsay’s interest in Kitty. The two men part in anger. Hurt and indignant, Beatrice practically proposes marriage to an old admirer, Clarence Bromfleld, wealthy man-about-town. Their engagement Is announced. Durand’s gang kidnaps Kitty. Clay appeals to Annie Millikan, who tells him where the girl is likely to be found. There Clay has a hard gun and fist battle with Durand. CHAPTER Xll—Continued. He rushed again. Nothing but his temper, the lack of self-control that made him see red and had once put him at the mercy of a first-class ring general with stamina and a punch, had kept Jerry out of a world cham1 s«-i t / A He Threw Away His Science and His Skill in Order to Destroy the Man He Hated. pionship. He had everything else needed, but he was the victim of his own passion. It betrayed him now. His fighting was that of a wild cave man, blind, furious, damaging. He threw away his science and his skill in order to destroy the man he hated. He rained blows on him—fought with head and knee and fist, was on top of Him every moment, controlled by one dominating purpose to make that dancing figure take the dust. Clay was cool, quite master of himself. Before the fight had gone three minutes he knew that, barring a chtnce blow, some foul play, or a bit of bad luck, he would win. He was covering up, Jetting the pugilist wear himself out, and taking only the punishment he must. But he was getting home some heavy body blows that were playing the mischief with Jerry's wind. The New Yorker, puffing like a sea lion, came out of a rally winded and spent. Instantly Clay took the offensive. Ba was a trained boxer as well a fighter, and he had been taught ho?» to make every ounce of his weight count. Ripping in a body blow as a r'eirt, he brought down Durand’s guard, a fliraight left crashed home between the eyts and a heavy solar plexus shook the »an to the heels. Durand tried to close with him. An uppercut jolted him back. He plunged forward again. They grappled, knocking over chairs as they threshed across the room. When they went down Clay was underneath, but as they ■truck the floor he whirled and landed ob top. The man below fought furiously to regain his feet. Clay’s arm worked like a piston rod with short-arm jolts against the battered face. Gasping for breath, Durand suddenly collapsed. « Clay got to his feet and waited for him to rise. His enemy rolled over and groaned.

’>y WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE

“Had enough?” demanded the westerner. No answer came, except the heavy, irregular breathing of the man on the floor, who was clawing for air in his lungs. *l’ll ask you once more where Kitty Mason is. And you’ll tell me unless you want me to begin on you all over again.” The beaten pugilist sat up, leaning against the wall. He felt ashamed and disgraced by his defeat. Life for him had lost its savor, for he had met his master. “She —got away.” “How?” . “They .turned her loose, to duck the bulls,” came the slow, sullen answer. “Where?” — “In Central park.” Probably this was the trqth. Clay reflected. He could take the man's word or not as he pleased. There was no way to disprove it now. I He recovered his revolver, threw the | automatic out of the window and walked to the door. “Joe’s tied up in a back room,” he said over his shoulder. Thirty seconds later Clay stepped into the street. He walked across to a subway station and took an uptown train. Men looked at him curiously. His face was bruised and bleeding, his clothes disheveled, his hat torn. Clay grinned and thought of the old answer: “They’d ought to see the other man.” One young fellow, apparently a college boy, who had looked upon the wine when it was red, was moved to come over and offer condolence. “Say, I don’t want to butt in or anything, but —he didn’t do a thing to you, did he?” “I hit the edge of a door in the dark,” explained Clay solemnly. “That door must have had several edges.” The youth made a confidential admission. “I’ve got an edge on myself, sort of.” “Not really?" murmured Clay politely. “Surest thing you know. Say, was it a good scrap?” “I’d hate to mix in a better one.” “Wish I’d been there.” The student fumbled for a card. “Didn’t catch your name?” Clay had no intention of giving his name just now to any casual stranger. He laughed and hummed the chorus of an old range ditty. CHAPTER XIII Johnnie Comes Into His Own. When Clay shot <-ff at a tangent from the car and ceased to function as a passenger, Johnnie made an effort to descend and join his friend, but already the taxi was traveling at a speed that made this dangerous. He leaned out of the open door and shouted to the driver. “Say, lemme out, doggone you. I wantta get out right here.” The chauffeur paid not the least attention to him. He skidded round a corner, grazing the curb, and put his foot on the accelerator. The car jumped forward, sweeping down the wet street, now and again skidding dangerously. It swung into Fourth avenue, slowing to take the curve. At the widest sweep of the arc Johnnie stepped down. His feet slid from under him and he rolled to the curb across the wet asphalt. Slowly he got up and tested himself for broken bones. He was sure he had dislocated a few hips and it took him some time to persuade himself he was all right, except for some bruises. But Johnnie, free, had no idea what to do. He was as helpless as Johnnie imprisoned in the flying cab. Os what Clay’s plan had been he had not the remotest idea. Yet he could not go home and do nothing. He must keep searching. But where? One thing stuck in his mind. His friend had mentioned that he would like to get a chance to call the police to find out whether Kitty had been rescued. He was anxious on that point himself. At the first cigar store he stopped and was put on, the wire with headquarters. He learned that a car supposed to be the one wanted had been driven into Central park by the police a few minutes earlier. Johnnie’s mind carried him on a straight line to the simplest decision. He ran across to Fifth avenue and climbed into a bus going uptown. At the Seventy-second street entrance Johnnie left the bus and plunged into the park. The impish gods who delight in turning upside down the bestlaid plans of mice and men were working overtime tonight. They arranged it that a girl cowering among the wet bushes bordering an unfrequented 1 path heard the "Hi—-yi—yi" of Arizona and gave a faint cry for help. That ■ call reached Johnnie and brought him 1 on the run. A man beside the girl jumped up ’ with a snarl, gun in hand. 1 But the Runt had caught a sight of 5 Kitty. A file of fixed bayonets could ’ not have kept him from trying to res--5 cue her. He dived through the brush f like a football tackler. ' A gun barked. The little juan did not even know It. He and the thug 1 went down together, roiled over, 1 clawed furiously at each other, and ' got to their feet simultaneously.. But 5 the cowpuncher held the gun now. 1 The crook glared at him for a ny>m’ent, 1 and bolted for the safety of the 1 bushes In wild flight. Johnnie fired once, then forgot all » about the private little war he had 1 started. For his arms were full t>f a s sobbing Kitty, who clung to him while r she wept and talked and exclaimed all “in-a-brea^b.-• — • *• r “I knew you’d come, Johnnie. I r knew you would—you or Clay. They left me here with him while they got

away from the police. . . . Oh, I’ve been so scared. 1 didn’t know- —1 thought—” “’S all right. ’S all right. HT girl. Don’t you cry, Kitty. Me ’n’ Clay won’t let ’em hurt you none. We sure won’t.” She nestled closer, and Johnnie’s heart lost a beat. He had become aware of a dull pain in the shoulder and of something wet trickling down his shoulder. But what is one little bullet in your geography when the sweetest girl in the world is in your arms? “I ain’t nothin’ but a hammereddown HT haysed of a cowpuncher,” he told her, his voice trembling, "an’ you’re awful pretty an’—an’ —” A flag of color fluttered to tier soft cheeks. The silken lashes fell shyly. “I think you’re fine and dandy, the bravest man that ever was.” "Do you—figure you could —? I —l —I don’t reckon you could ever —" He stopped, abashed. To him this i creature of soft curves was of heavensent charm. All the beauty and vitality of her youth called to him. If seemed to Johnnie that God spoke through her. Which is another way of saying that he was in love with her. She made a rustling little stir in his arms and lifted a flushed face very tender and appealing. In the darkness her Ups slowly turned to his. Johnnie chose that Inopportune moment to get sick at the stomach. “I—l’m goin’ to faint,” he announced, and did. When he returned to his love-story Johnnie’s head was in Kitty’s lap and a mounted policeman was in the foreground of the -scene. His face was wet from the mist of fine rain falling. “Don’t move. Some one went for a car,” she whispered, bending over him so that flying tendrils of her hair brushed his cheek. “Are you—badly hurt?” He snorted. “I’m a false alarm. Nothiri’ a-tall. He jes’ creased me.” “You’re so brave,” she cried, admiringly. He had never been told this before. He susp&ted it was not true, but to hear her say it was manna to his hungry soul. The cab stopped at the house of a doctor and the shoulder was dressed The doctor made one pardonable mistake. “Get your wife to give you this sleeping powder if you find you can’t sleep,” he said. “Y’betcha,” answered Johnnie cheerfully. Kitty looked at him reproachfully and blushed. She scolded him about it after they reached the apartment where they lived. Her new fiance defended himself. “He’s only a day or two prema-chure, honey. It wasn’t hardly worth while explainin',” he claimed. • “A day or two. Oh, Johnnie!” “Sure. I ain’t gonna wait. Wha’s the flatter with tomorrow?” “I haven’t any clothes made.” she Evaded, and added byway of diversion. “I always liked that kinda golden down on your cheeks.” “The stores are full of 'em. An’ we ain’t talkin’ about my whiskers--not right now.” “You’re a nice old thing,” she whispered, flashing into unexpected dimples and she rewarded him for his niceness in away he thought altogether desirable. A crisp, strong step sounded outside. The door opened and Clay came into the room. He looked at Kitty. “Thank heaven, you’re safe,’’ he said. “Johnnie rescued me,” she cried. “He got shot —in the shoulder.” The men looked at each other. “Bad. Johnnie?” “Nope. A plumb 11’1 scratch. Wha’s the matter with you?" A gleam of humor flitted into the eyes of the cattleman. “I ran into a door.” “Say, Clay,” Johnnie burst out, “I betcha can’t guess.” His friend laughed in ambiable derision. “Oh, you kids in the woods. I knew it soon as I opened the door.” He walked up to the girl and took her hand. “You got a good man, Kitty. I’m wishin’ you all the joy in the world.” Her eyes flashed softly. “Don’t I know I’ve got a good man, and I’m going to be happier than I deserve.” • * ♦ • • * * Tim Muldoon, in his shirt-sleeves, was busy over a late breakfast when his mother opened the door of the flat to let in Clay Lindsay. The policeman took one look at the damaged face and forgot the plate of ham and eggs that had just been put before him. * “Yuh’ve been at it again!” he cried, his Irish eyes lighting up with anticipatory enjoyment. “I had a litti? set-to with friend Jerry last night,” the westerner explained. “Another? What’s the trouble now?" “You heard about the girl abducted in an auto from the Bronx?” “Uh-huh! Was Jerry in that?” “He was. I’ll tell you the whole story, Tim.” “Meet my mother first. Mother— Mr. Lindsay. Yuh’ve heard me talk av him.” Mrs. Muldoon’s blue Irish eyes twinkled. She was a plump and ample woman, and her handshake was firm and strong. “I have that. Tira thinks yuh a wonder, Mr. Lindsay.” Clay told the story of his encounter with Durand on the train and of his subsequent meetings with him at the Sea Siren and on the night of the poker party. He made , elisions and emendations that removed the bedroom scene from, the tale. “So that’s when yuh met Annie Millikan,” Tim said. “I was wonderin’ how yuh knew her.”

SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

“That’s when I met her. She’s one fine girl, Tim, a sure-enough thoroughbred. She has fought against heavy odds all her life to keep good and honest. And she’s done it." “She has that,” agreed Mrs. Muldoon, heartily. "Annie is a good girl. I always liked her.” “I’d bet my last chip on Annis. So last night I went straight to her. She wouldn’t throw down ’Slim’ Jim. but she gave me an address. 1 went there and met Durand.” “With his gang?” asked Tim. “No; I waited till they had gone. I locked myself in a room alone with him. He took eight shots at me in the dark and then we mixed.” “You bate him! I can see in in your eye!” cried Muldoon, pounding the table so that the dishes jumped. "You’ll have to ask him about that.” Clay passed to more Important facts. “When I reached home Kitty was there. They had dropped her in the park to make a safe getaway.” “That’s good.” “But Tim—when Annie Millikan gave me the address where Jerry Durand was, the driver of my taxi saw her. The man was ‘Slim’ Jim.” Muldoon sat up, a serious look on his face. “Man, yuh spilt the beans that time. flow’d you ever come to do It? They’ll take it out on Annie, the dogs.” The eyes of the policeman blazed. s ; “Unless we stand by her. First we’ve got to get her away from there to some decent place where she’ll be safe.” Mrs. Muldoon spoke up. “And that’s easy. She’ll just take our spare bedroom and welcome. Sure the girl needs a mother and a home. An’ I don’t doubt that she’ll pay her way.” "Then that’s settled. Will you see Annie, Tim? Or shall I?” "We’ll both see her. But there’s another thing. Will she be safe here?” “I’m goin’ to have a talk with ‘Slim’ Jim and try to throw a scare into him. I’ll report to you what he says.” They took a trolley to the lodging house where Annie lived. The girl looked pale and tired. Clay guessed she bad slept little. The memory of “Slim” Jim’s snarling face had stood out in the darkness at the foot of her bed. “Is this a pinch?” she asked Tim, with a pert little tilt to her chin. “Yuh can call it that, Annie. Mother wants yuh to come and stay with us. You’re not safe here. That gang will make yuh pay somehow for what yuh did.” “And if your mother took me in they’d make her pay. You’d ihaybe lose your job.” “I’d find another. I’m thinkin’ of quittin’, anyhow.” “I don’t think they’d get Tim,” put in Clay. “I’m goin’ to see Collins and have a talk with him.” “You can’t salve Jim trfth soft soap.” “Did I mention soft soap?” “I heard some one most killed Jerry Durand last night,” said Annie abruptly, staring at Lindsay’s bruised face. “Was it you?” “Yes,” said the Arizonan simply. “Did you get the girl?” “They dropped her to save themselves. My friend found her with a man and took her from him.” “I hope you did up Jerry right!” cried Annie, a vindictive flash in her dark eyes. “I haven’t called him up this movin' to see how he’s feelin’," said Clay whimsically. “Miss Annie, we’re worried some about you. Mrs. Muldoon is right anxious for us> to get you to come and stay awhile with her. She’s honin’ to have a HT girl to mother. Don’t you reckon you can go?” “I—l wish yuh’d come, Annie," blurted out Tim, looking down his nose. “I’m an alley cat you’re offerin’ to take in and feed, Tim Muldoon,” she charged suspiciously. “Yuh’re the girl—my mother loves.” He choked on the impulsive avowal he had almost made and finished the sentence awkwardly. The girl’s face softened. Inside, she was a river of tenderness flowing toward the Irishman. ‘TH go to your mother, Tim, if she really wants me,” she said almost in a murmur. “You’re shoutin’ now. Miss Annie,” said Clay, smiling. “She sure wants you. I'll hit the trail to have that talk with Jim Collins.” He found “Slim” Jim at his stand. That flashily dressed young crook eyed Ml |oi|ii J “You Bate Him! I can see it in Your Eye!” Cried Muldoon, Pounding the Table So That the Dishes Jumped. him with a dogged and wary defiance He had just come from a call at the bedside of Jerry Durand and he felt a healthy respect for the man who could do what this light-stepping young fellow had done to the champion rough-houser of New York. ‘The story Jerry had told was of an assault from behind with a club, but this Collins did not accept at par. There were too many bruises on his sides and cuts on. his face to be accounted for in any w# except by a hard toe-to-toe fight. “Mo’nin’, Mr. Collins. I left you in a hurry last night and forgot to pay

my bill. What's the damage?” asked Clay in his gently ironic drawl. “SHm” Jim growled something the meaning of which was drowned in an oath. “You say It was a free ride? Much obliged. That’s sure fair enough,” Clay went on easily. “Well, I didn’t come to talk to you about that. I’ve got other business with you this mo’nin’.” The chauffeur locked at him sullenly and silently. “Suppose we get inside the cab. where we can talk comfortably,” Clay proposed. “Slim” Jim stepped into the cab and sat down. Clay followed him, closing the door. “Have you seen Jerry Durand this sunny mo’nin’?” asked Lindsay, with surface amiability. “Wot’s it to you?” demanded Collins. . “Not a thing. Nothin’ a-tall.” agreed Clay. “But it may be somethin’ to you. I’m kinda wonderin’ whether I’ll have to do to you what I did to him.” “SHm” Jim reached for the door hastily. A strong, sinewy band fell on his arm and tightened, slightly twisting the flesh as the fingers sank deeper. Collins let out a yell. “Gawd! Don’t do that. You’re killin’ me.” “Beg yore pardon. An accident. If I get annoyed I’m Hable to hurt without meanin’ to," apologized Clay, suavely. “I’ll come right down to brass' tacks, Mr. Collins. You’re through with Annie Millikan. Understand?” “Say, wot Veil's this stuff you’re pipin’? Who d’ you t’ink youse are?” “Neyer you mind who I am. You’ll keep awaj from Annie from now on—absolutely. If you Wither her —if anything happens to her—well, you go and take a good long look at Durand before you make any mistakes." "You touch me an’ I’ll croak you. See!” hissed Collins. “A gun-play?” asked Clay pleasantly. “Say, there’s a shootln’-gallery round the corner. Come along, i wantta show you somethin’.” “Aw, go to h—I!” The sinewy hand moved .again toward the aching muscles of the gunman. Collins changed his mind hurriedly. “All right. I’ll come,” he growled. Clay tossed a dollar down on the counter, took a .22 and aimed at the row of ducks sailing across the gallery pool. Each duck went down as it appeared. He picked up a second rifle and knocked over seven or eight mice as they scampered across the target screen. With a third gun he snuffed the flaming eye from the right to the left side of the face that grinned at him, then with another shot sent it back again. He smashed a few clay pipes byway of variety. To finish off with, he scored six center sijpts in a target and rang a bell each time. Not one single bullet had failed to reach its mark. The New York gunman had never seen such speed and accuracy. He was impressed in spite of the insolent sneer’ that still curled his lip. “Got a six-shooter —a fohty-flve?” asked Clay of the owner of the gallery. “No." “Sorry. I’m not much with a rifle, but I’m a good average shot with a six-gun. I kinda take’ to it natural.” They turned and walked back to the cab. Collins fell into the Bowery strut. “Tryin’ to throw a scare into me,” he argued feebly. “Me? Oh, no. You mentioned soft music and the preacher. Mebbeso. But it’s Hable to be for you if you monkey with the buzz-saw. I’m no gun sharp, but no" man who can’t empty a revolver in a shade better than two seconds and put every bullet inside the rim of a cup at fifteen yards wants to throw lead at me. You see, I hang up my hat in Arizona. I grew up with a six-gun by my side.” “I should worry. This is little old New York, not Arizona,” the gangman answered. “That’s what yore boss Durand thought. What has it brought him but trouble? Lemme give you something to chew on. New York’s the biggest city of the biggest, freest country on God’s green footstool. You little sewer rats pull wires and think you run it. Get wise, you poor locoed gink. You run it about as much as that fly on the wheel of yore taxi drives the engine. Durand’s the whole works by his way of it, but when some one calls his bluff see where he gets off." “He ain’t through with you yet,” growled “Slim” Jim, sulkily. “Mebbe not, but you—you’re through with Annie.” Clay caught him by Ytie” shoulder and swung him round. His eyes bored chilly into the other man. “Don’t you forget to remember not to forget that. Let her alone. Don’t go near her or play any tricks to hurt her. Lay off for good. If you don’t—well, you’ll pay heavy. I’ll be on the job personal to collect.” Clay swung away and strode down the street, light-heeled and lithe, the sap of vital youth in every rippling muscle. “Slim” Jim watched him, snarling

has two sure claims to fame

Daniel’ Defoe Was Great Editor as Well as Writer of Fiction That is Immortal. Daniel Defoe is thought of by most present-day people only for having written “Robinson Crusoe,” but his reputation among his own contemporaries rested on a great variety of accomplishments, of which producing that now famous book probably came very near the last. He was chiefly noted, in his own day, as a very great editor, the Detroit News observes. Defoe survived three great political upheavals, for he wrote and schemed in the reigns of James 11, William HI and Queen Anne. His fortunes were varied during these troublous times and, as he said of himself, within six months he saw “the difference between the closet of a king and the dungeon of Newgate.” . , „ , One of his greatest friends from boyhood was Samuel Wesley. Wesley and Defoe married the two daughters of • certain Doctor Ajmesley, Defoe’s

I hatred. If ever he got a good ehaucv at him it would be curtains for the > guy from Arizona, he swore savagely. i CHAPTER XIV i — Johnnie Says He is Much Obliged. Beatrice, just back from riding with • Bronitield, stood on the steps in front of the grilled door and stripped the gloves from her hands. “I’m on fire with impatience. Bee," he told her. “I can lordly wait for , that three weeks to pass. The days drag when I’m not with you.” He was standing a step or two beI low her, a graceful, well-groomed tig- ; ure of ease, an altogether desirable catch In the matrimonial market. His ; dark hair, parted in the middle, was i beginning to thin, and tiny crow’sfeet radiated from the eyes, but he retained the light, slira figure of youth. 1 ' 1 i SK-'' 1 j i It Ought Net to Be Hard to Love Clarendon Bromfleld, His Fiancee Reflected. Yet He Disappointingly Failed to Stir Her Pulses. It ought not to Le hard to love Clarendon Bromfield, his fiancee reflected. ‘ Yet he disappointingly failed to stir - her pulses. She smiled with friendly derision. c “Poor Clary! You don’t look like a ; Vesuvius ready to erupt. You have 1 such remarkable self-control.” His smile met hers. “I can’t go up 1 and down the street ringing a bell like J a town crier and shouting it out to t everybody I meet.” t Round the corner of the house a r voice was lifted in tuneless song, f I Oh. I'm goin’ home Bull-whackln’ for to spurn: I ain’t got a nickel, 1 Aid I don’t give a dern. "Tis when I meet a pretty girl, r You bet I will or try, , I'll make her my little wife. Root hog or die. “You see Johnnie isn’t ashamed to ’ shout out his good b/entions,” she - said. “Johnnie isn’t engaged to the loveliest creature under heaven. He , doesn’t have to lie awake nights for i fear the skies will fall and blot him ’ out before his day of bliss.” j Beatrice dropped a little curtsy. She r held out her hand in dismissal. “Till tomorrow. Clary.” ’ As Bromfleld turned away, Johnnie came round a corner of the house, t dragging a garden hose. He was at- . tacking another stanza of the song: j There’s hard times on old Bitter Creek ' That never can be beat., 1 It was root hog or die > Under every wagon sheet > We cleared up all the Indians, y Drank .. . ’ The puncher stopped abruptly at 1 sight of his mistress. i |i -=■ » “I’d like to ride with you the rest of your life!” 1 1 " (TO BE CONTINUED.) Sugar Once a Delicacy. ? We. are apt to forget how short a i time it is since sugar was regarded I as a costly delicacy, proper to be used ; by the wealthy alone or as a medicine, i In the early colonial days it sold at > about 75 cents a pound, in the loaf, . and granulated sugar was unknown. ; It was with the growth of the custom of drinking coffee and tea that it be- ’ came a food staple. When it was introduced to England in medieval times i it was as “Indian salt.” a rare and >“ precioys condiment, although the art j of boiling sugar was known in India before the Seventh century, and in i Egypt much earlier. The Dutch > brought sugar to Manhattan, and a New York Gazette of 1730 carried . this advertisement: “Public notice . is hereby givZn that Nicholas Bayard, of the City Zs New York, has erected a house for/refinlng all sorts of sugar ■ and sugar [candy, and has procured from Europe an experienced artist in that mystery.”—New York Evening ; Post.

pastor. Samuel Wesley’s two sons were John and Charles, who afterward became two of the most celebrated divines of modern history. Thus Defoe was their uncle by mar. riage. The Game of Whist. All great discoveries are works of time, and the game of whist is no exception to Hie rule. Its merits were not recognized in early times, and under the vulgar appellation of “whisk and swobbers” it long lingered in the servants’ hall ere it could ascend to the drawing room. At length some gentlemen in England who met at the Crown coffeehouse in Bedford Rod, studied the game, gave it rules, established its principles, and then Edward Hoyle, in 1743, blazoned it forth to all the world. A Linguist.— “My oldest son,” remarked Mrs. Blunderby, “speaks several languages quite flippantly.’’

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