After Passing through VVazira- !
bad and Lalamusa on my jour- j
ney from Amritsar, to a coun- i
try changed from flat plain
to irregular humps and hil- |
In,ks of mud, I p’a.ssed mud towns,
ind here and there accumulated stores
. ereat mud-colored logs near the
railway-river-floated from the hill j
forests of Kashmir. Then, as in a j
■world of crumbling fossil cities, all r.ho |
"'ray desiccated land was dust, writes
A Hugh Fisher in the Illustrated
London News.
j reached Peshawar a little oefore
dawn and got out at the Cantonment
and not at the city station. In the
Nation master's room a group of
.reat-coated men with rifles crowded
round a fire. The city station had |
been raided only one week before, and
although the cantonment was “safer
than houses,” there was an invigorat
ing air of excitement The wide, tree
bordered, and well-kept roads, and the
white cherry-blossom in orchard and
garden, made me think of English
parkland in spring.
When I entered the city through the
Edwardes gate, the Kissa Kahani—the
Peshawar Lombard street—took me
to the Kotwali, a large, whitewashed
police station, with its own wide gate
way leading off at right angles into
the silk market and the older parts
if the city. The wide, open space
jetween the Kotwali and a raised oct
igonal rest-place (a memorial to Col.
E. G. Hastings, C. B.) was a daz
iling and crowded scene. On long
ines up and down one side, myriad
ikeins of silk, brought from Bokhaha
md China hung out to dry in the
mn; and opposite to these was a
ow of money-changers' stalls, each
rith its large pile of rupees and oth
ir coin3 (really a mud-cone covered
inly on the outside with silver).
Then at the back, behind the silks
in one side and the money-stalls on
A more modern type of native doc
tor was one trained at the medica
school at Lahore whom I met at i
Peshawar dispensary. Here he sav
an average of 200 patients a day. eye
and throat being the most frequent
causes of trouble. Antiquated no
tions of medical treatment, however,
still find favor with many of these
northern people, and a young Afridi
boy was pointed out to me at the
government high school who had just
returned "cured” of lung disease by
being wrapped in a freshly flayed
sheepskin for some hours'
City Very Ancient.
Peshawar is a very ancient city,
but has no monuments of antiquity
within it3 precincts. At a little dis
tance, however, at the mount called
Shah-ji-ki-Dheri, are the remains of
the great Buddhist memorial which
was built in the reign of King Kan
ishka, when Peshawar, then called
Purushapura, was the capital of his
kingdom. The remains of Kanishka's
building were discovered in 1909 by
Dr. Brainerd Spooner of the Indian
archaeological suyvey, and in an in
ner shrine of the building (which
must have had a diameter of 286
feet) was found a metal casket con
taining a crystal reliquary in which
were thre» small fragments of the act
ual bones of Buddha.
The IChyber, at the time of my visit,
had not yet been reopened after a
military expedition, and when I ob
tained permission to enter the pass,
the large Sarai at .Tamroud was fill
ed with Kabulis with carnal caravans
waiting to go through with the sup
plies of salt, tea and hardware for
which they had exchanged the silk,
fruits and carpets they had taken
to Peshawar
The wind blew strongly along the
sweeping curve of the entrance to
the pass, and the hard, well-made
road wound in and in to the nar
I Fort in Khyder Pass
iwere the lines of bazar
i many strange wares from
n and Central Asia,
stranded Dreadnoughts,
to the right at the Hast
'fial, the street leads pres
ie famous Gor Kkatri, now
nunicipal offices, but for
8 occupied by the romantic
a- Paolo Crescenzo Mar
bile, governor of Pesha
Ranjit Singh. From the
* building I could see all
at-roofed city and the sur- 1
country. In the distance j
e rose Mount Tartara, and j
er a dip in the nearer hills |
e position of the fort of j
*’hich Mr. Spender has so
ribed as looking like a
readnought guarding the en
the Khyber pass,
at I found myself in the
he ‘ Hakims" (native doc
stopped with my compan
k t0 °ne of the Hakims sit
e raised floor in his shop,
)ws of strange bottles and
To a question as to the
arged for advice and med
Hakim answered: "A
So to the patient’s house;
! sick man come himself
P. only the medicine do 1
‘ for; and the cost of that
rupees." “That would
a great deal if the sick
a poor man," I said, think
otation had probably been
“r Possible needs of my j
•he illness Is serious.” said j
n>on, he will be able to !
wise im will not"
row ravine which runs between high,
precipitous sides. At length I reach
ed the Fort Ali Masjid, in the middle
of the pass. It is of tawny yellow
stone, crowning a steeply sloping
squat cone where the pass is at its
narrowest. A breakdown on the road,
through my ponies shying at a sick
camel, kept me in the pass till next
morning, and I slept in a hospitable
military camp which was pitched be
side the road just below a village of
cave-dwelling Kuchi Khels. The wind
—the Khyber wind—strained at every
cord, tearing and ripping everything
that could be torn or ripped and
howled and screamed loudly above the
coughing of the camels. In the morn
ing the battlemented fort appeared in
bright light against a drift of cloud.
Beyond it, towards Landl Kotal, the
silhouette of mountain was black pur
ple, with two growing patches of yel
low where the sun got through. The
loose shale glistened and the low
bushes looked silver-gray along the lit
tle stream that spates in June, when
the snows melt.
Although Alexander the Great en
tered the Peshawar plain through the
Michni pass, the Khyber has ever
been the key to the adjacent re
gions.
Dry Powder Machine.
A machine has been perfected which
pours any dry powder into a paper
bag, folds the bag, makes a paper box
and places bag and a folded circular
within it, pastes on a label and seals
the box at a rate of 1,500 boxes as
hour
’TWflS BY TELEPHONE
_
By CLARISSA MACKIE.
Lydia sat in the library alert to hear
he doorbell that would announce
Dick Fellowes’ arrival or the sharp
whirr of the telephone that might de
fer his coming.
Something he had whispered last
evening had hinted at his errand, and
she was aglow with her honest love
for him; and charming in her favorite
Pale blue gown with a pink rose at her
waist.
The telephone bell whirred and she
neard Biddy's light step as she went
through :.he hall to answer it. Then
she heard the girl’s musical Irish
voice.
"You? What—never. Mick Doolan,
not if I never married all my days!"
and Biddy slammed up the receiver,
and Lydia heard her heels clicking
toward the kitchen.
A little smile crinkled the corners of
Lydia’s red lips. She had heard from
Biddy of the importunities of Micky
Doolan who was wild to marry the
Ford’s pretty maid. Biddy was quite
fascinated by Andre, the chauffeur,
who flirted outrageously with her, and
so poor Micky who was elevator start- j
er in a big office building had been
relegated to the background.
But Lydia soon ceased to think of
Biddy and her love affairs. It was a
pleasanter pastime to dream about her
own. But where was Dick Fellowes
with his story, now?
At ten o’clock Lydia went softly up
stairs and sat with an open book be
fore her which she did not read. Her j
eyes were more often fixed on the bed
side telephone.
“That is all over,” said Lydia tragic
ally as she snapped out her electric
light and crept into bed. That she cried
herself to sleep no one knew but her
self.
Up in Biddy’s chamber under the
mansard roof, another gild was weep
ing into her pillow. The cook had told
Biddy that Andre was keeping “steady
company” with a French manicurist.
“Yes, old Dicky went to Canada on
that hunting trip he talked about,” bab
bled Willie Blair in Lydia’s pretty pink
ear the very next evening.
“Went today?” asked Lydia with a
dizzy look in her brown eyes.
“Yes—grouchy as a bear. too. Flem
ing said Dick's girl had given him the
mitten—you know he was some sweet
on little Alma Raymond?”
“No, I didn’t know it,” answered
poor Lydia with a pitiful attempt at a
smile.
“Yes,” went on the gentle gossip
amiably. “I put two and two together
and the sum I make is that poor old
Dick has been put out of the game,
and that explains his sudden depar
ture.”
“How could he leave business at
this time?” asked Lydia indifferently.
“Prescott is taking his place—Isn’t
this our dance?” and Mr. Blair changed
the topic as they circled the ball room
in time to the dreamy music of the
palm screened orchestra.
When Lydta reached home that
night Biddy let her into the house and
followed her upstairs to her pretty bed
room. Lydia sank down in a soft
chair and extended one little slippered
foot.
“G%, Biddy, I am so tired,” she said
with a little catch in her voice.
“I’m sorry, Miss Lydia. Shall I bathe
them? I’ll li^ive the basin ready in a
moment.” Presently Lydia was com
fortable in dressing gown with her
pink feet In Biddy’s capable hands.
Biddy rubbed vigorously while Lydia
sat there with closed eyes thinking of
what Willie Blair had said about Dick
Fellowes and Alma Raymond.
It couldn’t be true, she told herself,
not after what Dick had whispered to
her the night before last. A muffled
sdb startled her and she opened her
eyes to see Biddy’s hot tears falling
on her feet.
“Why, Biddy, what is the matter?
Are you in trouble?” asked Lydia sym
pathetically.
Biddy wiped away the tears and lift
ed her reddened eyes. “Excuse me.
Miss Lydia, I didn’t ought to break
down before you but—” her voice
quavered into silence.
...I l n: J A.. O'* T .*nn
tly.
Biddy drew a long sigh.
"Men is deceivers, ma’am,” she
sobbed.
“I am sorry you have found them
so,” faltered Lydia, startled at this
voicing of her own troubled thoughts.
"Yes, ma’am.”
“It isn’t Micky Doolan?”
"Partly, ma’am.”
“And—Andre, Biddy?”
Biddy’s face went into her hands,
reddened and rough with honest toil.
Her shoulders shook with her deep
sobs. "It’s him mostly, Miss Lydia,
begging your pardon for telling you
my troubles, and you that tired after
your dancing all night—but there’s no
body but c-c-c-cook to tell, and she
warned me against him!”
“Tell me all about it, Biddy.”
"There ain’t no more to tell, ma’am.
Andre was married this afternoon to a
swell French girl who works in a mani
cure place on Twenty-third street. He
had the impidence to send c-c-cards to
me and c-cook."
“Never mind. Biddy. Andre did very
wrong to pay attention to you when he
was already engaged, and I know that
under the circumstances you will be
glad to hear that he gave up his posi
tion this morning—father says he is
going to operate a taxicab.”
"It’s so-sc-me eomfort to think 1
won t see his false face no more,”
sobbed Biddy, as she dried Lydia’s lit-,
*
tie teet and tucked them into blue
satin slippers.
“And how about Micky Doolon, Bid
dy? Will you be glad to know that he
has been hired to take Andre’s place
here?”
Biddy’s head was bent over the
basin.
'”Tis him that's worse than Andre!"
she burst out with sudden auger. “A
telling me to my face that lie didn’t
ask me to marry him that night when
1 heard him with my own lips—the
spalpf-en!"
Lydia was startled. "Told you he
didn't ask you to marry him?” she
asked. “How could you make such a
mistake, Biddy?”
” ’Twas by telephone, ma'am. Sev
eral nights ago. 1 answered it and a
voice a« plain as ever was Mick Doo
lan’s said: 'That you Biddy?' 'Shore,'
say 1, and says he: ‘Darlin, this is
Mick. I’ve lost me nerve after all and
I'm askin’ you this way: Will yez
marry me—you know I love youse!’
Just fast like that, ma'am; and says I:
'Not if I never married nobody all my
days!’ and he muttered something and
rung off. And 1 went to the kitchen
and told cook and says she: 'Wake
up out of l hat dream me girrul-’ But
'twas no dream. Miss Lydia, for he
asked me plain as could be.
“Yesterday evening, it being my
night off, he come around and asked
me again, and I says to him: ‘Mick
Doolan, 1 told yez no last night and I
meant it forever;' and the villun up
and swore lie never called me by tele
phone that night, and that when he
asked me to marry him he'd look mo
in the eye. And 1 a,sked him who was
it asking me so intimate, and he says
nasty-like that he’d like to know, for
he'd punch him in the eye. And ho
went away and it's two days and I've
never seen him since.”
Lydia’s face was pale and red by
turns. Her eyes shone like stars.
“Never mini, Biddy, I am sure there is
some mistake. You know Biddy sounds
something like my own name—ami—
perhaps—-I was expecting a message
myself and I never received it.”
Biddy arose and looked down at her
pretty mistress. There was relief and
shame in her comely face. “Oh, if it
was for you. Miss Lydia, I shall die of
shame, for taking it to myself. But his
voice was deep and rich like Micky’s—
I will say that for Mick, he didn’t have
a squeaky French voice like Audre!”
“Never mind, Biddy, it was a natu
ral mistake, and it has helped to make
things all right between you and
Micky, hasn’t it?"
“It will. Miss Lydia, if he ever asks
me again," returned Biddy, rather dole
fully.
“He can’t help it if he is here all the
time,” smiled Lydia, drawing the tele
phone directory toward her.
When she was alone she obtained
connection with a hotel in Montreal.
While she waited for Dick Fellowes’
voice, her heart beat tumultuously, and
the color came and went in her cheek.
At last it came, a thin reedy call.
“Mr. Fellowes?” she asked.
“Yes, who is it?” came back the an
swer.
“Lydia Ford. Oh, Dick, did you call
me on the telephone Tuesday eve
ning?”
“You should know that 1 did,” came
a little sharply.
“But I never got your message,” she
cried.
“What?” he shouted.
She repeated the words, and added
the information that Biddy had re
ceived the message and answered it
under the impression that it was from
a certain Micky Doolan.
“That’s all—I just found it out—and
I wanted you to know,” she ended.
“Oh, Lydia, darling!” There was
nothing sharp about his voice now
“Shall I come home now?”
“If you want to,” she cried gladly.
“I am waiting for you.”
“Coming now—good-by, sweetheart!”
(Copyright. 1913, by the McClure News
paper Syndicate.)
Origin of "Yeggman.”
William A. Pinkerton introduced the
word “yeggman” to the knowledge ot
a world above the gutter about a dozen
years ago in an address delivered to
the National Bankers’ association. He
establishes the word as existing in
tramp and criminal dialect, therefore
in police speech by evil associations,
as Indicative of a tramp who blows
safe's and postoflices with the aid of
nitro-glycerin, which is known in the
__j|nL./>t a "tho emin " Hn loan
sure ground Mr. Pinkerton credits the
name of an eponymic Johnny Yegg,
puntatively the first or the foremost
practitioner of the art.
Lets “Hubby” Do the Riding.
"1 see you have a saddle horse now,”
observed the man in the cafe.
“Yes,” acknowledged the other. “My
doctor advised me to go in for
riding. I’ve never done any of it be
fore.”
“Do you get a good deal of amuse
ment out of it?”
"Well. yes. But my wife enjoys it
more than I do.”
“I haven’t seen her riding with
you.”
“Oh, she doesn’t ride. She says
it’s safer and funnier to sit on a
park bench and watch me go by.”—
Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Modest 8tart.
“What do you suffragettes want,
anyhow?”
“We want to sweep the country,
dad."
"Well, do not despise small begin
nings. Suppose you make a start
with the dining-room, my dear.”
Fine Garden.
"How’s your garden getting along?"
“Fine. Ovt»- threo weeks ago 1
decided tL ' ‘ had got Jto the point
where it wa» able to take care oi
itself.”
1—Remains of One of the Spanish Forts at Porto Bello. 2—Native Vil
lage on Taboga Island.
"Down verdure-clad slopes and ter
racing reaches
Where orange and mango and pine
apple grow,
One wanders through Eden to ocean
washed beaches—
An Eden that only tho sun-children
know.”
Thus James S. Gilbert, the late la
mented poet of Panama, wrote of
Taboga Island. It was so enticing
that I determined to bo one of tho
sun-children for a day or two and so
steamed away in a little launch twelve
miles out into tho Pacific to that
beauty spot. It is all that Mr. Gil
bert called it, and more, and it is no
wonder that, the sanitarium, estab
lished there by the French canal com
pany and reopened by the Americans,
is so well patronized. If you are a
canal employe—white—and have
been 111, the doctor may be kind
enough to send you over to Taboga
for two weeks to recuperate. If you
are a mere visitor you can put up at
the unpretentious little hotel con
ducted by William Jones, the Ameri
can six-footer who looks like a
piiner and dances like a cotillon
leader. In either case you will be
fortunate, for you will find those
“verdure-clad slopes” gorgeous with
flowers and alive with brilliant birds,
and the “ocean-washed beaches,” tho
finest places in the world for a swim.
You can sail about the pretty bays
with the native fishermen, or you can
climb up the hills where the boys are
vociferously driving the kine home to
be milked, or you can merely lie in
the shade and dream dreams of the
Spanish galleons and the buccaneorB.
A more delightful place for rest and
the repair of shattered nerves would
be hard to find.
Taboga has a history, too, small as
it is. De Luque, the second bishop
of Panama, looked upon the island,
saw that it was good and established
there his country residence. In fact
he maintained a household there the
year round, for, like many another
churchman of the old days, he did not
adhere closely to th rul of celibacy.
His memory is preserved by a bath
lng place In a stream that runs down
the mountain side, called the Bish
op’s Pool. It was reserved for the
use of him and his retinue. Above it
is the Family Pool, for women and
children, and still higher up is the
Pool of the Letters, for the men.
The last one derives its name from
the inscription “J. F. B., Ohio” carved
on a near-by rock. This is a reminder
that in 1852 the Fourth infantry, U.
S. A„ crossed the Isthmus en route
for garrison duty In California, hav
ing sailed from New York on the
United States mail steamer Ohio.
Cholera was prevalent at the time in
Panama and the American soldiers
and the sailors from the Ohio were
attacked by the disease, about eighty
of them dying. Some of the sick
were left on Taboga island to recov
er, and evidently one of them did re
cover sufficiently to climb up to the
bathing pool and leave the record
that is a mystery to the native in
habitants of this day. Incidentally
U. S. Grant, then a captain, was with
the Fourth infantry on that trip.
If you climb up the hill, following
this stream most of the way, you will
come to a place at the summit of a
pass called Las Cruces. There, set
In cement, are three small crosses
commemorating the most exciting in
cident In the island’s history. Ac
cording to a Spanish work written
early in the last century, a shipload
of Peruvian pirates came sailing up
the coast in 1815 and decided Taboga
was a good place to loot. They land
ed and drove the small Spanish gar
rison out of the village and up the
mountain. But in the pass the sol
diers rallied, the inhabitants came to
their assistance and there, says the
chronicler, a most bloody combat
raged for hours. Finally the pirates
were routed and fled to their ship,
leaving three men dead on the field
of >attle!
The Isthmus reeks with history,
some of the most Interesting pas
sages of which have to do with Porto
Bello. But the visitor who goes
there with mind full of the mighty
fights and great trade of the otd
Spanish days will bo woefully dis
appointed by the town as It now is.
Romance, commerce, everything at
tractive lias fled long ago from that
place and Porto Hello is nothing but
a dirty, immoral little village, full of
low cantinas, slatternly natives and
mangy curs. At eacli side of tha
town is the ruin of a Spanish fort.
Its picturesqueness marred by fisher
men’s nets and the local washing
hung up to dry.
Thus the work of man has decayed,
but Nature is as kind as ever to
Porto Hello. Its bottle-shaped har
bor is one of the prettiest to bo
found, with promontories guarding the
entrance, beautiful hills on both
sides and entrancing little rivers
meandering down from the moun
tains and through the Jungle Into
its upper end. One hill opposite the
town boasts the remains of three un
usually interesting Spanish forts.
One is at the water’s edge, another
severa, hundred yards up the slope,
and these two wore once connected
by a covered stone stairway the ruin*
of which still provide the easiest
means of ascending. On the sum
mit of the hill is the third fort, a
mighty square tower surrounded by
a deep moat. The walls are almost
intact but the roof has fallen in and
the fortress Is full of trees and shrub
bery.
With these three forts, two other*
protecting the harbor entrance, th®
two at the ends of the town and an
other just above It, Porto Bello might
well seem to have been Impregnable,
yet it was taken twice by the Eng
lish. Sir Francis Drake planned to
capture it in 1596, but just as his
ships were about to begin the attack
Drake died and was burled In the
mouth of the harbor. Dispirited by
the loss of their leader, the English
sailed away, but Capt. William Parker
took up the project In 1602. With
two ships he got past the first fort*
at night and after a desperate fight
captured and sacked the city, carry
ing off 10,000 ducts’ worth of plunder.
The second taking of Porto Bello
was the first notable exploit of Henry
Morgan, the famous buccaneer, as an
Independent commander of a fleet.
Sailing into what is now Colon har
bor, he took his men up a river In
canoe.s, landed at a place called Es
T />» .rn T omna o n rl m n mTl 1 fl tt
through tho jungle, attacked tho city
from the rear. First capturing the
castle abovo the town, he shut the
garrison In one room and blew them
and the fort to pieces with gunpow
der. The governor, the citizens and
tho rest of the soldiers, surprised and
terror-stricken, were soon driven into
one of the other forts and for hours
they bravely withstood tho assaults
of the buccaneers until, as Esquemel
ing tells us, Captain Morgan began to
despair of the whole success of the
enterprise. Finally he had a number
of ladders made and forced the
priests and nuns whom he had cap
tured to set them up against the
walls. Many of these poor creature*
were killed by the defenders, but at
last the ladders wero placed and the
buccaneers swarmed up them carrying
fireballs and pots of powder which
they kindled and hurled among th®
Spaniards. The garrison surrendered
at discretion, but the gallant governor
defended himself so obstinately that
the English were forced to kill him
Morgan remained in Porto Bello sev
eral weeks, plundering tho place and
torturing the citizens to induce them
to reveal the hiding places of their
riches.
Though an Important place In th®
transshipment of gold from the west
coast of South America, Porto Bello
never was a large town, but for sev
eral weeks each year It was very"
populous. This was at the time of
the annual fair, when the galleons
from Spain' tvere in the harbor wait
ing for the mule trains to bring th®
gold from Panama. Then merohant*
and adventurers from all that part of
the world gathered In the village and
trade was brisk In the big building
now called the custom house, whos®
ruined walls still are standing. Mer
chandising. drinking and fighting divid
ed the time until tho galleons set sail
for Spain with thslr golden cargos*.