text: ApwSi 4 ,(• {???tt* I '-V' 4. V, f.V4 •i* S*-v fc" ti, m**** IpP^ M&f, s® «v fll &€*<•%.*•1 **Jr~ €k !^vi & 0&S3KT, „t ft T* :. & DffLORERUNEARTH HUGE BUILDING IN CAVA grande, Arizona BUILDING OFF PEOPLE W) BUILT IT O A MOTHERS' HOME ?C: 01ENTISTS of the Hudsonian Institution are excavating, restoring and placing on exhibition down on the desert plains of Arizona the homes of a prehistoric people who lived there, are grouping those homes into villages and cities, and going still further and showing the lives of an empire of people who lived in these valleys centuries ago and irrigated them as they will again be irrigated when the government of today has completed their reclamation. An American Pomologist is destined to result from these restorations. The restorations were begun at the old Casa Grande ruins, which have been a show place since white men first went to the Southwest. Of the hundreds of ruins that are watered throughout the region, these the best preserved. In the story of vanishing race they had probably been the stronghold of some stubborn chief, whose people had held out for hundreds of years after their fellows had perished. Great walls stood gaunt upon the barren plains when scientists first visited this section. They still stand, but little worn by the passing of two centuries, and form the basis of the thorough investigation that is now going on. The principal buildings in any given village occur in groups. In each of these groups there is one great mitral building which evidently must have been the seat of government and the residence of the ruler. Near it are the places of worship when the people evidently met to perform their ceremonies to their deities. There were immediately adjacent other houses of considerable size that were unquestionably the houses of members of the ruler's family or of other prominent personages of state. There was an adjacent open space evidently used as a playground and possibly as a parade ground for the drilling of soldiers. Certain it is that the open spaces are bad something to do with the ceremonies of the people, for they were always toward the rising sun from the houses of worship, and these people paid homage to the sun. Then, finally, around this group ran a great wall that shut it in, gave it protection from intruding rivals in time of war and privacy from the rabble in times of peace. Within this wall was all that pertained to the affairs of the ruling families. Outside of it were built the homes of the common people, some of them sufficiently large to leave a mark on the plain. The Casa Grande ruin attracted first attention when restoration was considered, because it was the best preserved of all the ruins. It stood on a mound, as do all the important ruins. The presence of these mounds as the site of ruins is partly due to the fact that high places are chosen on the site of the ruins. The women of Japan, especially those in Japan, are mostly women. In observing the woman in Japanese society, it must be borne in mind that what appears on the surface is mostly the reverse of actual conditions, writes J. Kussell Kennedy. A correct estimate of the social relationship of man and woman in Japan cannot be formed without a careful study of home life, which to an alien is very hard to understand, or even to see. Reports sent abroad by foreign observers have mostly been founded on what could be seen and judged according to our standards. For instance, when a husband and wife are seen walking on the streets, the latter is almost always the parcel bearer and the husband goes free-handed, generally a few steps ahead of his wife, as if she were his servant. In going into house or room, it is the husband who enters first and the wife follows him. The seat of honor is always occupied by the gentleman. The Westerner is apt to infer, therefore, that women in Japan are not duly respected, and are under the iron hand of man. Nothing could be further from the truth. There are exceptions, of course, but the Japanese woman is so educated that the less she can show of her influence. ence over her husband the better for that influence and for her own standing. The model type of woman is she who exerts her influence by "the mute eloquence of duties well performed." Women there are who would be just as outspoken and demonstrative of their influence over men as their kinsfolk of the West, but such in Japan belong only to the lower classes. The higher the station of life, the more humble and modest will be the demeanor of the woman. The mannish woman receives just as much contempt as the effeminate man. The subdience, the Japanese wife generally presents to an outsider is no reflection of the treatment she is receiving at the hand of her husband. On the contrary, the more womanly a wife appears, the greater the amount of influence she exerts over her husband and also of respect she commands from him. In most cases, the woman is the soul at the household. She is held responsible for the health and education of the children, not only before they are to attend the school, but afterward. But the living moral and sentiment are principally the result of the mother's daily effort. From the beginning, Robert Burns, the lingering star, with lessening ray, that loves to greet the early morning. Again, thou usher'st in the day, my Mary. From my soul was torn. O Mary dear departed shade Where is thy place of blissful rest? See, thou thy lover lowly laid? Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast? That sucreu luur can I forget. Can I forget the hallowed grove. Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports post Thy image at our last embrace Ah little thought we 'twas our last I Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green: The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, Band and children is too great to allow Of personal pleasure to the exclusion of duty. The wife so inclined is sure to become a subject of remark by her neighbors. SISTER, JOHNSON'S DEFENER. The Early Home Life of the New World's Champion. The mother of Champion Jack Johnson has been a resident of Galveston for forty years and is the mother of nine children, three of whom are boys. Her husband, who was an honest and respected negro, died a year ago. Mrs. Johnson heard the news of her son's victory the other night about midnight and she said it was not a surprise, for Jack had cabled her the day before that within another day he would be the world's champion and she knew that he was certain of victory, according to a New York dispatch from Galveston. The old lady is a very intelligent darky and is highly respected. She says she is responsible for Jack being lighter, although she had intended that he use his power only to defend his rights. She said Jack was a tall, slim boy until he was about 16 years Old, when he began to take on flesh and develop his muscles. Up to the time he was 14 years of age, he was a coward and wouldn't fight. "He was eternally getting into trouble with his playmates," his mother said, "and he always got the worst of it. His sister was his chum and she had to defend him and do all his fighting. I had no time to be bothering settling the children's fights and I told Jack if he got licked again I would give him another whipping, because he was getting old enough to defend himself. Sure enough he got whipped by a smaller boy and I gave him a licking when he came home. "But I never had reason to whip him again. He developed confidence and muscle and he was soon the champion of the east end and there were some tough boys in that neighborhood. He always said he would reach the top of the boxers' prize list. "I am not so proud of his being a prairie fighter, but I am proud that he stands at the head of his profession. He was no better nor worse than the man he was to a good son and a good son. The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing West proclaimed the speed of winged day. Still over these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression deeper makes As streams their channels deep wear. My Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy blissful place of rest? Sees thou thy lover lowly laid? Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast? He provides well for me and for his sisters and brothers. Johnson, bought property in Galveston and California since entering Upon his career and sends money home regularly. Eleven years ago, a local sporting club brought him out and the first professional he defeated was Tom Scanlon, who came from Hot Springs to fight him in 1898. Though Johnson was a Galvestonian, the spectators were with the white man. Hone Vacations. Uncle Sam, generous in giving vacations to his two-legged servants, is hereafter to allow thirty days' leave to the Post Office Department horses in Washington, according to the Post Office Department. The animals are to be sent, a few at a time, to a fine, rich pasture in Maryland. "Every employee of the government," says the chief clerk in the Post Office Department, "receives thirty days' annual vacation and thirty days' sick leave, if necessary. I see no reason why the horses we use in the business of the department ought not to receive a rest, or a vacation, and hereafter I am going to send each of the horses away for a thirty days' period of rest. We can spare many of them in the summer, which is the time they will appreciate rest from the hot asphalt and welcome the green grass of the country and the shade of the trees." Fitting Into Practice It is often pleasanter to theorize than to perform. A young law student, says a writer in the Philadelphia Inquirer, was making a study of certain processes of his future profession. He showed an inclination to sit in the house and speculate idly, instead of doing some of the domestic tasks which stood waiting. "Deduction is an interesting process," declared the youth to his father. "For example, there is a heap of ashes in the yard. That is evidence that the family has recently had fires." "Well, John," interposed his father, "suppose you pursue your studies a little farther-by going out and sifting that evidence." Most of the things people tell you are of no earthly benefit, according to the fact that deserted buildings catch the drifting sands of the desert and great, falling walls of adobe and material bulk to the mound. Then there was the practice of building one house on the ruins of its fallen predecessor, and so each generation of ruins added height to the mound that now remains. The Casa Grande Itself was a four-story building composed of terraces. It is not positively known that the first story was ever occupied, for it appears that the walls for it were built up and then filled with earth and thus used as a foundation for the stories above. The first story or foundation was of the same height as the surrounding heavy wall. Each story above it was smaller than the one below, giving the whole the appearance of a terraced pyramid. The manner of getting from one story, or terrace, to the one above was by means of ladders on the outside. The first terrace ran around each story and formed a promenade, or lookout, as a lounging place, as the occasion marked. The ground plan of this main building shows five spacious rooms, it was probably a building of twenty rooms in its prime, which is no small structure for any civilization of the date in which it was erected. All of the buildings of the different groups are similar in construction and in material used. All are built of the earth of the surrounding country, and are not dissimilar to the adobe houses that the Mexicans of the same region are building today. They were roofed with dirt supported by rafters covered with layers of the arrowweed from the river bottoms that are today used in the building of the shacks of the Plomas, who live in the vicinity. While the Casa Grande ruin is in itself of the greatest interest of them all because it is the best preserved. It is in no way a remnant of a greater civilization than hundreds of others in the Gila and Salt River valleys. NEVER USED A TELEPHONE. A London Judge's Somewhat Slain A London Clarity to Fame. The cable tells that a certain London judge boasts that he never has used a telephone. We forbear to give his name, because it is incomprehensible that such a splendid blockhead occupies even a subordinate place upon the London bench, the Brooklyn Eagle says. It is farthings to sovereigns that this Southwark Judge eats with his knife and never has used a napkin at his meals. Indeed, in some of the high-priced London restaurants, Englishmen are not served with napkins unless they especially order them. Then they are notified that they will be charged "tuppence extra" for the luxury! Most Americans are supplied with serviettes without inquiry, but the napkin is always charged in the bill. Why should one marvel at the dull stupidity of a Southwark judge when there is not a telephone used in the Bank of England? Indeed, the number of telephones used in New York is almost double that installed in "dear of London," don't they know. The few Englishmanacs still permitted to live among us ought to affect the same sort of primitive customs. They ought only to shoot on St. Stephen's day and to install the Hocktide games of Hagerford. And, in view of the constant discord that are occupying so much space in the newspapers to the detriment of real news from all parts of the world, someone among them ought to revive the Dunmow Flitch, a pretty thought under which a filch of bacon was bestowed upon each married couple that had contrived to live together for a year and a day after the wedding without a quarrel. Some broad-minded philanthropist who is shocked by the growling frequency of divorce should transplant this pretty custom to our land. We already have the "guys" on Thanksgiving day. The "mummers," a diversion for aged mendicants, will doubtless appear upon our thoroughfares before many years. It is so delightful to imitate the customs of "that dear old England." They are "a droll people," those English! That's what the French say, and they understand their neighbors across the channel much better than we do. Athletics in Public Schools. The public schools are supported by the public. They exist for the purpose of giving free education to all boys and girls, and to fit them for the duties of citizenship. In pursuance of this end, the stimulation of physical development is valuable as an accessory, but this must never be allowed to be regarded as the prime object of public school education. In private schools, each institution may fairly decide the question of the importance of athletics as it chooses. Parents who do not approve of athletics have the privilege of sending their children to schools where athletics are not exacted—and there are some such. The question of athletics in the public schools, however, is quite a different matter. It appears to be the desire of the public, who support the schools and for whom they are conducted, that athletics shall have a place. But that place must be secondary to the main purpose of popular education. A Prospective Shelter. A well-known Senator was asked why some politicians were always making such a howl about the preservation of our forests. "Oh," he replied, "they probably never know just when they may have to take to the woods."— From Success Magazine. There are lots of Labor-saving devices, but there will never be enough to make the loafer popular. PREVENTING THE ENORMOUS FIRE LOSS. By C. M. Goddard. The total fire loss in the United States for the past thirty-three years amounts to the sum of $511,000,000,000, with "I want to know," said the Trifler. "I just want to know how long he is going to be—that's all." He seated himself comfortably as he spoke—that is to say, as comfortably as the limitations of office furniture permitted—In the only armchair in the room, and, crossing his legs, directed a gracious smile at the Typist, who sat with the fingers of one dainty hand poised impatiently over the keys of the typewriter at the other side of the table which divided them. "I am sorry I cannot tell you," replied the Typist, gazing pointedly at a heap of unanswered letters before her. "I do not know how long Mr. Calthrop will be exactly." "Ah," observed the Trifler in a mediative tone, "there are so very few things—are there not?—so very few things in the world that anybody does seem to know exactly." Perhaps it has never struck you how difficult it is to acquire exact knowledge of almost anything?" "No," said the Typist, "it never has." "I thought it probably hadn't," admitted the Trifler affably. "Yet, take quite a common illustration. If you ask a passerby the time, he will either tell you off-hand, or he will glance at his watch—if he is a polite person—and tell you that is it about half-past 3, say, or twenty minutes to 6—as the case may be—whereas, in point of fact, it never is within five minutes of the time he asserts. His watch is wrong, or he hasn't taken the trouble to count the divisions on the dial between each five minutes. What a wonderful thing that typewriter of yours is!" "This typewriter?" She looked up at him with mild surprise. "Why, it is quite an ordinary one." "I suppose so," agreed the Trifler, little regretfully. "And you really can write with it?" "Well, I should not be here if I could not," retorted the Typist "should I?" "I don't know," said the Trifler. "I'm here, and I can't." "Oh, that's quite different. Besides," she guessed at the other two minutes. "For the matter..." Of that," replied the Trifler, meeting her glance with unruffled composure, "what are you here for?" "Wooden barrels and boxes, as evidenced by the weekly display along our curbstones, should be prohibited by ordinance. If equal care were taken to keep our cellars and back yards clean and presentable, as is taken to polish the shining metal work of our fire engines and their equipment, it would do far more to prevent fire losses." GIRL'S DUTY TO APPEAR ATTRACTIVE. By Rev. Philip Cone Fletcher. If I were a young woman, I would try to be winsome. Beauty is a duty. Young women ought to strive to appear to the very best advantage, mentally, physically, and morally. If by the use of the powder puff, the paint brush, and the brow pencil you can make yourself more winsome, you have my consent to use them freely. It is all right to supplement the works of God. To be ugly in an age like this is but little short of a sin against God and self. I take the position that lovers should be sincere and honest with each other. Deceptive courtship means a miserable life. WHERE IS GOD? "Oh, where is the sea?" the fishes cried, As they swam the crystal clearness through "We've heard from old of the ocean's tide, And we long to look on the water's blue. The wise ones speak of the infinite sea. Oh, who can tell us if such there be!" The lark flew up in the morning bright, And sang and balanced on sunny wings And this was its song: "I see the light, I look over a world of beautiful things But, flying and singing everywhere, In vain I have searched to find the air." —Rev. Mr. Judson Savage. The Trifler him defiantly—"what? The Typist colored violently, and her eyes dropped in front of her. "I think that is rather an impertinent question," she said, in a low tone. The Trifler gave an audible sigh. "It seemed to me..." I'm rather a pertinent one," he remarked. In a disappointed voice, "Of course, you know what I'm here for?" "To see Mr. Calthrop—you told me." But he's not in—I told you." "It doesn't matter at all," rejoined the Trifler airily. "I'll wait." The average loss for the last five years of $252,000,000 each on the average loss for the last five years of $252,000,000 each. The annual number of fires in American cities averages forty for each 10,000 of population, as compared with eight for each 10,000 of insulation in European cities. Chicago has a population of 2,000,000 and an annual fire loss of nearly $5,000,000. It is well to consider how to "conserve our natural resources," but it is equally important to conserve our created resources. School children should be taught the results of carelessness with fire railroads should be compelled to refrain from sending out showers of sparks to destroy the property of others' safety matches should everywhere replace the more convenient but dangerous parlor match the common practice of placing ashes have nothing to do for the next hour or so, and this is—er—he gazed round the room with expansive appreciation—"an extraordinarily comfortable office." "Hadn't you better go?" asked the Typist in a low tone. "Go! Before seeing Calthrop? Why, he would never forgive me," protested the Trifler. "I couldn't really dream of going yet. Besides, I don't see that there is any 'be sides' to keep you here," said the Typist. "They say love is hard," murmured the Trifler, with an all of perplexity of abstraction. "I don't understand you!" said the Typist. "I am not in the least surprised at that," said the Trifler amiably. "Very few people do. It has long been my fate to be misunderstood. Yet, I hoped—he paused and looked at the Typist a little uneasily. "I hoped," he repeated—"by the 'exc, there is no harm in hoping, is there?" he broke off to inquire. "None that I am aware of," she replied, with her chin in the air. "Well, then, I hoped you would," he explained, in Italics. "Hoped—I—did?" She affected an admirable bewilderment. "Hoped I did what?" The Tritier spread out his hands with a gentle deprecating gesture. "You compel me to be explicit," he expostulated. "It's so much less embarrassing to approach these—er—premiums in the elliptical manner. Except," he added as an afterthought, "when you have a typewriter handy?" "I have no wish to compel you to be anything," retorted the Typist. "And it is quite time I returned to my work so if you will kindly allow me, Mr. Claveling. She made him a little ironic bow, and was in the act of sweeping past, when the Tritler, with incredible dexterity, caught her by the wrists and drew her back sideways so that she faced him involuntarily. "How dare you?" cried the Typist, struggling to free herself. "I am a man of simply extraordinary courage," he explained. "Now, look here—look nt me—look me straight in the eyes! You know it—and you have known it, you obstinate, willful girl, for months past I love you. Oh, yes, I love you—there isn't the least mistake about that whatever. But what I want to know Is whether you love me? And I have come hero to-day for the pur pose of finding out. And—and I believe —he gave a low chuckle—"I believe I have found out! Tell me—have I?" "Oh, let me go! I don't know what you have found out, or what you haven't!" pleaded the Typist, her cloak of dignity falling suddenly from her and leaving her defenceless and exposed to the arrows of th* one great enemy whom never girl vanquished yet. "Let me go—please I" "I thought so," mumured fba Trifler. "You do." "I don't," she protested. "Then I can't let you till you da" he remarked Judicially. "I'm very sorry." "Oh—well, then, if you must—if yon insist "I insist," said the Trifler* flnalj. marriage. No woman can be happy with the man w'io has lied to win her. No man can honor and cherish the woman who caught him as the spider caiches tha unsuspecting fly. There are several fallacies about love that ought to be corrected. One is that the first love is the only true love. The first love may be a true love, but it need not be the only true love. Another fallacy is that love is blind. Love can see beauties where the world sees deformities. It is also a mistake to suppose that one can love truly but once. It is likewise false that "true love never runs smooth," then? And an error equally as great as the others is the one which says "true love can never die." Love will die. It is not fed. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE JAPAN. By Prof. Klyokichi Sano. Americans are very complimentary to the Japanese and give them credit for deep, underlying subtlety which they really do not possess. An American merchant who had been living many years in Japan, representing a big New York firm, said: "In business," you find the Japanese tricky, it is your own fault. When you are deaf with them rightly and justly, the little Japs are your best friends, and they with you through life and water. But if you wrong. A nation or humiliation his will go spoil their hearts, everything goes "Sense of honor" to the Japanese mind is as cruel as the steam engine. If it is kindled with the fire, it has no value to him whatever, on the battlefield or at the office desk. That is why a Japanese soldier will climb into an enemy's fort amid a shower of shell and will not show to the back to the foe even in the face of the most galling fire. In the school and family of Japan, they do not use the rod. A reference to a sense of honor and shame awakens the timid mind and spurs on the brave. It is entirely different with the Chinese. The Chinese will go to war or take a dangerous task willingly and stoically. They are born fatalists and not cowards, except as material gain, criminal distinction or luxury makes them so. "Well, then, you—you have." "You mean, you do?" he inquired. "It's—it's the same thing, isn't it?" faltered the Typist. "Practically," he admitted, after an instant's reflection. "The proposition therefore stands thus: love you—you love me. Ergo, we love each other. The proposition, by a logical sequence of ideas, becomes converted into a proposal. Which you accept." "I didn't say so." "Say so now, then," directed the Typist. "Say so now, then," directed the Typist. "What do you want me to do?" she asked temporizing. "I want you to marry me. I hope you don't mind marrying me. It is, I believe, the usual thing under the circumstances." "Marry you!" she gave a low little laugh. "But you know I am only a poor typist, and you—you are—what are you, I wonder?" She paused to reflect. "My friends," he replied, "have most unwarrantably got into the habit of calling me a Typist. A man's friends are rarely distinguished for an exaggerated courtesy in their estimates of him. My enemies"—he considered an instant—"well, I cannot at the moment recall that I have any enemies. In actual fact, I am an individual of extreme earnestness and with an absorbing passion for acquiring knowledge—and other things you among them. Since you left home, a week or two ago, and decided to exist independently in a small though luxurious suite of apartments of your own, you see I could not very well, being a young and giddy bachelor, call upon you, being a young and bewilderingly lovely spinster, at your own private residence, without running some risk of offending the proprieties. And so I was obliged, you understand, to come here to this office in order to—well, to find out what I wanted." "You said you—you came to see Mr. Calthrop!" retorted the Typist a little resentfully. "I shall see him—later." replied the Typist, with an airy gesture. "The fact, Is, I have already seen him. Calthrop. It is a pretty intimate friend of mine, and he arranged to give me a clear hour alone with you in the office this morning he won't be back for the Trifler carefully consulted his watch—"for any other ten minutes at least." "Oh," exclaimed the Typist, "you— you wicked fraud! Then you actually had the audacity to arrange it all with Mr. Calthrop beforehand?" The Trifler smiled with infinite composure, as he folded the post closer. "Actually!"—he replied. —Sketch. Her Favorite Doll. It is always dangerously easy to take a too pathetic view of matters. The English author of "From Their Point of View," Miss M. Loane, tells of a lady who accompanied her on her rounds as district nurse in one of the poorer sections of London, and who was struck by a forlorn little figure tenderly nursing one of her father's boots, wrapped in a soiled pinafore which had been intended to hide the holes in her frock. I knew the little girl. She was the child—and grandchild of skilled artists, and I had seen her so often, standing erect in her Saturday tub that I knew her dirt was superficial, and that no sign of want or ill treatment was observable. But the pathos of the scene was too deep to be complicated by mere common sense, and my friend went home and dressed a doll for her. The child received it doubtfully, with a slight preponderance of pleasure. That day... She broke it, the next day, she destroyed it, and was soundly slapped by her mother. Half an hour later, I saw her, the tear-stains scarcely dry, smiling grimly but sweetly as she hushed her father's boot to sleep once more. TO And some people seem to derive a lot of satisfaction from being misunderstood. 