Evening Star Newspaper, July 27, 1924, Page 60

HE train was nearing that un- known point marked on the ticket. Philip Lambert, sitting erect in his section, looking with tragic gray eyes at the levels spread out to touch the sky. For two days they had sped past him, miles upon miles of red-gray and purple desert. The very land revolted him—it seemed so like his life, barren, rob= bed, finished. He fingered the crutch that stood beside him and moved his good foot reslessly against his suit case. The conductor was calling the name of his station. The train slowed down, stopped. He stood in the vestibule and did not trouble to raise his eyes to the window. Under his breath he cursed the doc- tor who had ordered him here. “Heal dry air, perfect rest,” he said with & grimace. Rest! it again. As if he would ever know “Careful, suh” warned the porter. “Step's faihly high.” The train whistled, creaked, rum- bled away. Phillip Lambert raised his sullen eyes and surveyed his place of exile. Desert—on all sides—white under the noonday sun. Dust eddying fur out where a wind moved. He looked back. There was the usual desert town, small, flat, adobe for the most part; baking hot. Up the one street he saw pine stores; horses tied at a hitch rack: a half dozen reckless looking motor cars. Completing the circle of his vision e discovered an oasis of palms with flat roof showing, and across the shining line of the die-straight tracks the long face of a wall, a mud wall, solid, ancient, over whose gate- way rose an arch of dull iron letters which read: “St. Ursula’s Retreat.” nor,” said a soft voice at his elbow. “Senor Lambairt?” A boy of 14, slim as & racer, smiled up at him. “Yes,” said the man. “Can you tell me where to find Mrs. J. Smith?" “Sure,” said the boy. “I'm sent to breeng you." Without more ado he picked up the heavy sult case and wabbled away down the platform. Lambert followed, bitterly think- ing. He—to have to let a kid carry for him! Oh, well—it was part of all the rest. Where the platform stop- ped the lad set down his burden and put out solicitous hands to help him. Once off the boards he found going difficult—his crutoh stuck in the deep white sand and he hardly noticed which way they were headed until another voice, Softer than the boy's. said: “Welcome, senor! Look out fors| the stones—don't sleep. Ah!" And another hand touched his elbow. Lambert looked up from the round stones that were beginning to show through the sea of sand, to behold a woman on a flagged pathway with the palms of the oasis behind her. She was brown, and plump; her abundant black hair liberally streak- ed with gray. Dr. Gebhart,” she explained, volu- bly, “wrote that you, that you'— she paused, searching for the most compassionate phrase — “you stin carry the wounds of war’—her in- flection covered him with glory— “and—I am grieved, senor.” “You are—-7" asked the man, as- tonished. “Senora Smeeth,” she said. Smeeth.” THE sreat dim house in the oasis was a marvel to Lambert. He lay in the room assigned to him and looked out to where the palms and pampas grass and transplanted yuc- cas grew lustily about, the water trickling in its tiny channels between the whitewashed stones. His bed was very old, of =ome heavy black wood. and exquisite qullts of patchwork lay above the coarse white sheets. On the frank, dull plastered walls hung staring lithographs of sacred scenes— Christ bending under the weight of the cross; the Last Supper; the An- nunciation—and in a small niche be- yond the anclent dreseer was a beau- tiful etatue of the Virgin with her dreaming face, her bent head crown- ed with a little wreath of fresh wild- flowers. Some loving hand had made the wreath that dly, he knew, and set it on the little head, so meekly bowed. Though it was midafternoon the room was already dim with shadows—and cool—very cool. For one moment, as he sank into tie peace of this unclent house, he forgot the source of the keenest weund he bore—the fair face of a “Mrs. J. * % %% woman. A fair, fair face, indeed. white of brow and pink of cheek, like a lly with the rising sun behind it, and sky-blue eyes beneath sunny halr. For the last five months he ‘wd visioned it, night and day, an aver-present torture. If she had stood by all the rest would have beel bear- able, but—she had not stood by. To take a crippled husband—even the Lambert money and his lleuten- ant's bars had not been enough to make Lorma Van Arn leap that bar- rier. So she had kept to her brilliant ‘way—and he had gone his own, alone. But who'should give a continental? That smell, now, coming in through the deep slit of the anclent win. dow... Then dusk and perfume and she meek, flopmr-erswmed Virgm faded out of eonsciousness and he slept. Lambert did not know what wak- ened him. There was no light now in the room; only a pale radiance shone at the narrow window. His tired back was eased in every nerve. He felt no desire to stir. Then, after a pregnant silence, he heurd voices under the palms. “Vaminos!” cried an imperious young contralto. “Get out! It is mine!” There was a boy's cracked laugh- ter, the sound of bare feet on the flags, a scuffle and the smart spat of a hand on flesh. “Jeeminee! Young Wildcat! Gimme that tortilla!” He pronounced it “torteeya,” and the man on the bed felt a vital urge to see what it was. IHe reached for his crutch and went softly over to the window. Backed up against a palm tree bole there stood a girl. One hand was open, stretched out, threatening another slap; in the other, held high as she could reach above her head, wags an object very like the pancake of his boyhood memories. With his eyes upon it the slim, dark boy of Lambert's acquaintance sparred for an opening to evade the threatening hand. And the girl was angry, plain mad. “Muchacho!” she said contemptu- ously. “Muchachito! Little boy! Can't 1 have anything around this casa? No. you don't!" as the boy leaped. “Get out! Hyena! Madre!" calling for her mother after the age-old fashion of the young. In a moment the neat figure of Mrs. Smith appeared under the palms, her dark face scandalized. “I am grieve: she said, “that my children have the no-good manner. To fight—quarrel—what you call the scrap—right under the senor's window!” “Darn the senor,” said the girl frankly, “if it were not for him we should eat.” “Sancta Maria!" gasped the mother, “you swear! Oh, that I should raise 0 theese the cheeldren of your father, the Senor Juan Smeeth!” and she cov- ered her face with her hands. Instantly the two young scape- graces were upon her, their arms about her neck, their soft lips at her " _THE SUNDAY ST. — ‘WASHINGTON, D. C. JULY 27, 1924—PART 5. - LOVE OF A WORLD WAR VETERAN Carmencita brown cheeks, their voices running the gaumut of remorse, affection, plead- ing. Lambert leaned from scarcely a yard above them. “If the stranger is holding up the evening meal,” he said smiling, “by all means lets' eat.” Three distinct gasps answered him as the group fell apart. Mrs. Smith spread her hands; apol- ogized; the boy grinned at him; but the girl was covered with confu- sion. She hid the cause of all the trouble behind her skirt and raised to him marvelous, dark eyes, large and 1impid, set in lashes that curved, two heavy lines of black, against the drooping lids. This was Carmencita, the Senora Smith explained, her daughter. And Carmencita, surreptitiously dropping the tortilla behind the palm, made him an enchanting curtsy. That bow came, he was certain, {rom be- hind the high mud wall of St. Ursula’s Retreat. At the meal which followed, set on a long table in a high-ceiled room, where candles burned, the girl was a model of manners. They were well mannered, Lambert observed, these dark-skinned folks of the old adobe house, and their innate kindliness shone through their every act. The senora must know his family history, Wwith tongue-clickings of sympathy at his recital of aloneness; the boy off- ered shy advances, and Carmencita. after the meal, brought a well worn Dillow to put behind his head as he lay in the hammock which swung be- neath the palm trees. * % % x "THUS began Phil Lambert's stay in the healing land. The days were hot and silent, except for the roar of the limited going West, and the shrill voices of children playing over beyond the tracks. Women came to the adobe house to gossip with Mrs. Smith—shy, quiet, dark women with black rebosos over their sleek black hair, and Carmencita went each day to the dull iron gate and entered into St. Ursula’s retreat. Lambert stopped her one morning as he lay in the friendly hammock. “What do you learn from the sisters, senorita?’ he asked with a vague interest. The girl paused will- ingly. She was like a painting as she stood beside the palm, slim, rounded, graceful. Her black halr, smoothly parted over her olive brow, created a likeness to tl.e little Virgin's head, but her black eyes gave the lie to any meekness as her lips parted in a ready smile. There was fire in Car- mencita—fire of joy, of love and hap- piness, and of hate and rage as well. It lay close to the surface and a spark could touch it off. “The organ,” she answered, “the beeg organ—and, oh, senor, it is like the heavenly harps, deep, so tender! I play very well, so Sister Francesca tells me.” There was a childish pride in the statement. “I study very hard,” she went on, “and some day I shall go to the far city to earn much money." o—you will have a career?’ the sill, s0 By VINGIE E.ROE Tlysttated Carmencita shook her head vig- orously. “Oh, no sir!” she sald. "It is not for myself! I will buy nothing for me. It Is for the debt.” “Ah?" said Lambert, “the debt?" “SL. In three years the debt, it will eat up the casa. Father Antone has figured it all down. My mother, she can no more than pay the interest— the beeg debt. Senor, it is like a beast that gnaws at the garden. In three yoars—oh, unless I learn to play queek it will eat it all—the palms, the walks, the house itself. So 1 must go to my practice now,” and with a belated anxiety she roused her young body from its rest against the tree and went quickly away. Lambert began to think about Mrs. Smith and her problem. A mortgage, evidently, placed on the adobe house— perhaps by the Senor Juan in his day, perhaps after his death. And so the senora took in boarders, “with personal attention te comfort” and Carmencita in the dim convent play- Ing like eavenly harps'—striving against time to arm themselves that they might go out and slay the mon- ster. Poor, eager, friendly folk! How full and tense was life to them, and they were happy in spite of their troubles. IT was a month later. The yuccas had ceased to bloom, but the vel- vet “moss” that clung along the sand was gay with blossoms of all colors of the rainbow. Summer was full upon the land. The desert was hotter than it seemed possible for earth to get, and Lambert idly watched the still air quiver in the heat. Across from him Carmencita sat on a little stool em- broidering flowers upon filmy silk. Her shining black head was bent and the man looked at the soft olive curve of her throat with gentle eyes. She was good to behold, this young Car- mencita, with her moods of melting softness and her flares of wrath. More than once he had laughed up- roariously at her whirlwind tempers; and once when there had been tears he had put a hand upon her little head, comfortingly. He did not know that the heart of Carmencita had stopped for a full beat at that touch, nor that her eyes had flamed beneath their fringed wet lids like beacon fires of hope. How could he? Now he said, “What are you mak- ing, child?” “A scarf,” bride bo: The calm statement was something of a shock to him. He had hated the very thought of weddings. A wed- ding had meant to him Lorma van Arn in the glow of white satin, with her pale head under orange flowers. So now he frowned and Carmencita said wonderingly, “You—are not pleased, senor?” 'No,” he said. Carmencita—so ung. “I am eighteen,” she said quickly. “Yes—and you have a lover?” “Oh, no! None." ““Then why the bride box?" “I sew for that one who, when he does arrive, 1 shall love weeth all my heart and soul, seno sald Carmen- cita softly, though she did not look at him “Lucky man!” suid Lambert, with a trace of his old bitterness. “I wonder if you ave true—it such a thing is possible.” “As the stars” said Carmencita gravely, and strangely enough he be- * ¥ k% she answered, “for my “You are so young. by C Arciers lleved her. As she rose to go Lam- bert reached and caught her hand. “Little one,” he sald gravely, “you are made for healing. 1 hope you never learn the art of breaking hearts.” And a little later Carmencita, hid in the depths of the casa, raised that hand to her lips and kissed it flercely. There were tears again In her black eyes. “Madre de Dios” she whispered, “bless him, heart, soul and body!" *x % SO THE days passed—long days, quiet, regenerating, and Lambert did not know that Carmencita watch- ed his falr head against the hammock with & devouring hunger in her young tace “Oh, Sister!” cried Carmencita a lit- tle later, “let us put two candles on the altar! Two very large—very long ones! This day the Senor forgot his crutch and walked from the hammock to the first palm tree!” And she laughed and flung away, to run home to the sandy garden and stand a moment looking down at Lambert where he slept in the ham- mock, one arm bent under his tawny head. Her eyes were fathomless, and she stooped as if she would kiss him —helplessly, drawn by the fire that was in her—but made the sign of the cross above him instead. She gath- ered a handful of portulaca blooms and carried them to Lambert's room. She would make a fresh garland for the Virgin and beg of her new bless- ings for this man * * * She stopped on the sill. One by one the gay flow- ers dropped from her fingers. Lambert's suitcase had fallen from its usual place upon the little stool. The clasp had come apart, his pos- sessions were scattered in an untidy heap beside it; uppermost among them there lay a woman's picture! A woman—a gringo woman—an Americano—fair as the dawn; with a face like the angels in Father An- tone's painting of the Nativity! And upon her proud head was a light of pale halr, like an aureole. Down on her knees went Carmen- cita to clutch this thing in shaking hands and stare at it, fascinated. As truly as though he had told her, she knew that this was why the Senor's gray eyes were 8o often filled with shadows. Some day, when the Senor was well she would come and take him away. She could picture them standing in the patio—the beau- titul lady would kiss him perhaps. * ¢ ¢ Sick to her soul's foundation the girl rose and left the dim room. From that time forth he had scant sight of Cormencita. She went early to the convent and came late, and she avoided the dry garden as she would a scourge. * ¥ % ¥ Q¥ @ breathless day in August there was utter quiet in the pa- tio. The Senor Lambert always slept late these mornings—blessed fact— and those at the casa guarded his sleep most jealously. So that when a stranger came to the stone path be- yond the drooping palms the Senora Smith said quickly, “Run, babita, and meet the beautiful lady, and bid her speak carefully.” Slow and still, as if the blood con- gealed in her, Carmencita went down the white flagged walk. The sunset color was quite gone from her round, young cheeks; the great black eyes, with the dark rings under them, were beginning to shine with a flat brilliance. Carmencita opened her CARMENCITA SAID, WONDER- INGLY: “YOU ARE NOT PLEASED, SENO\RT" ashen 1ips to catch the breath that seemed 8o suddenly elusive. “Good morning,” sald Lorma Van Arn. “Can you tell me, please, Where I can find Mr. Lambert? Mr. Philip Lambert?” So—she had come for him! Soon, im & day, perhaps within the hour, he would go away—with her—and the sarden would be forever empty! “8i,” she maid sharply, like a hiss, “I can tell you! He is gone—to the beeg town—to—to buy—" She stopped, put an uncertain hand to her throat and went on desperately—"theengs for —for the bride-box—laces and a fan of feathers.” At the look of shocked astonish- ment on the other's face she rushed madiy on. “And white cloth for the bridal dress —si—yes—with little beads of silver—' Lorma Van Arn raised an imperious hand. “Do you mean to tell me,” she said with cold distinctness, “that Phil Lambert is goin’ to—marry some one?” “Sl—yes, ma'am,” said Carmencita.” “Whormay 1 ask?* “Me,” faltered Carmencita. “You! You? Why, of all things! A—a Mexican! Phil Lambert marry you?* The brilliance of Carmencita’s eyes became shallow and hard as lacquer. “Your picture—with the rose—he tore it up,” she sald, as sly as Eve. Lorma Van Arn dropped the hand she had lifted. She had given Phil a picture— with @ rose—and he had shamed her before this brown girl of the border! At Carmencita’s words the ghastly (Continued from First Page.) hovels where human dirtiness, squalor and distress reach their lowest level. % % % HAT were the thoughts of the explorer in this land? Let us glide up behind him as he Wrote on Christmas eve in Nguluko: It is late in the evening, the wind is howling furiously, the house shakes as it moved by earth-tremblers, and it is impossible for me to sleep. Clouds have been driven together around the giant peak on the slopes of which my little Nashti house is perched, and ere the sun rises, all will probably be covered with snow. No other sound is audible save the furi- ous howling of the wind. “To all the people of this village this day, or evening does not mean more than any other day of the year. They are all ignorant of the meaning of Christmas eve! And as I sit alone by my little lamp I feel doubly lonely, as there Is not even a soul with whom I can talk. In order to pass the time away I looked over my last collection of plants, made in the last days of autumn, and among them found many a cheery little friend, picked during my wanderings over the flower- strewn glades of this wonderful mountain range. “Soon it will be time to pack and wander again over many mountains and valleys, this time to leave for the outer world. Will I like it? I know I will be dreadfully lonely and longing for the far-away hills of this | wonderful country, to breathe its fresh air, to wander over its alpine | meadows with their myriads of flowers and listen to the songs of the birds in the high alpine pruce for- ests among the snows. 1 shudder when I think of landing in San Fran- | cisco.” | *kd ANGEROUS adventures and nar- row escapes from bandits which frequently befell the National Geo- graphic Society explorer did not alter this frame of mind, even though, when facing dangers, he wrote, “God knows where I will emerge.” In Likiangfu, China, he wrote: “I have just returned from an ex- citing trip to the Lachiming salt mines. Money is dreadfully scarce; paper is useless, as none will take it, especially up here with all these tribespeople. 1 decided to risk it and make a dash for Lachiming, in the heart of the wildest mountain ranges imaginable, to get funds to carry on this work and see me through to wherever God knows I will emerge. I had four Chinese drafts on the Lichiming salt mines from the Tali salt office. E “At first the Likiang official refused to give me an escort, and said he feared for my life and would -not let me go. Finally I said T must have money and would risk it. He gave me two opium-sodden, disreputable wretches of soldiers as escort. They were simply a nuisance and expense. They were, of course, only to g0 as for as the next magistrate, at Chien Chican. There I got four soldiers as far as Lauping, which place is not on any map, being in unsurveyed territory. At | Lauping, five days west from Likiang, |1 got five soldiers, and thence we start- ‘rd through the wildest country ag- | inable to, Lachiming. Dense forests, { deep ravines, high mountain passes, the loveliest and weirdest imaginable. {1 was not afraid going to Lichiming, | bat I feared the return with about $4,000 in silver in my trunks. “I took seven of my Moso men and the five soldlers from Lauping, be- sides myself, so we were 13 people In all. We reached Lichiming safely and had no trouble in getting the money. But it was at a time when the roads were watched by the brig- ands as the date on which money is usually dispatched. It is exceeding- 1y difficult to keep things secret. We had no sooner arrived in Lachiming than everybody knew why we came. 1 did not stay longer than I had to, to prevent the news traveling faster than we did, ®o T left the next mor: ing-with an additional escort. Thanks to the gods, I reached Likiang with- out mishap. 1 put four scoundrels into jail in Lauping, where they got a beating as they tried to foul me, but I got ahead of them, so here I am with the cash with which to carry on.” On his trip up the Yangtse and the Yundodye River toward Chung- tien, Dr. Rock met on the road the grand lama, who informed him that not a house had been left standing in Chungtien. The whole place had been burned, and the Chinese official sought refuge in Likiang, while doubt became a certainty. With the dignity of her breeding she turned and walked away without & backward look. And Carmencita watched her with widening eyes. It was for this woman he had looked with sick eyes across the desert, and she—she, Carmencita Smith—had lost him the blessing of happiness for which she had so ardent- 1y besought the Virgin! For one more moment she hesitated, fighting like a soldler, cast one de- spairing glance at the hammock that would swing forever empty, then, flinging out her young arms, she tore out across the sand like a whirlwind. “Senorital” ‘she gasped, clutching at the stranger's arm. “I lied to you! 1t is not true—nothing! He is sleep- ing this moment in the casa—and be will marry no one!” So Lorma Van Arn came wonder- ingly tack to the garden, with its pempas plumes, to meet Phil Lambert face to face, beneath an open window. “I've come, Philip,’ she said. *Are you glad to see me?” The man regarded her with wide eyes in which glowed a peculiar, new light—something of mental health and joy and the lift of new knowledge. He dropped his crutch and took her hand. “Yes,” he said heartily, a shade too heartily, “I am glad—very glad!" “I wish you wouldn't stay with| thesé—these natives, Phil. That gnll I met just told me a wild story—and | denied it, as she ran away. How can | you trust yourself among them”" For an instant Lambert considered. | the healing Kindliness of this fm- poverished house; of the hidden prayers for his recovery, body and soul; and of the hand of Carmencita uader his elbow, “Why?" he said softly, “it must be begause I anmi very brave—don't you think s0? So brave, in fact, Miss Van Am, that I have decided to spend every precious hour of what I hope will be a longe life among them—for I have lately discovered them to be ‘mine own people,’ the real kindred of my lonely heart.” A little later Sister Francesca, Peeping through the huge iron gate, beheld a man on crutches whose face was not to be denied. “The little Carmencita, Sister,” he said imperiously, “I must see her." So, presently, Philip Lambert found himself in the sweet coolness of St Ursula’s Retreat, before a door which he pushed gently open. At first he could discern nothing save two candies burning steadily beneath u sacred image, but as his eyes be- came accustomed to the dimness he saw a sleek, black head bowed in shielding hands, and small shoulders that rose and fell with the rhythm of long sobs. Lambert dropped his crutch and gathered up the weeping, smail fig ure “Hush.,” he said not going—ever! at the casa with y and Juan. 1 am Lord, how much!" “little one—I am I shall live foreve u and the Senora blessed already He was thinking of many things; of as if it were the most peaceful place in the world.” * % ¥ % HE bandits continued to be a plague to Dr. Rock, as is shown by frequent notes in his diary. At Magal last March, he wrote: “I have been detained here for two days, as brigands to the number of 300 are active between here and Wuting, the latter place being three stages from Yunnanfu. The brigands came within eight miles of this place yesterday, burned and killed 40 men and women, after looting the place. Something told me to stay here a day and give the caravan a rest, al- though it is not an agreeable place. The elevation is only 4,000 feet, and it is as hot as the Arizona desert. “A runner came on the evening of my arrival here to warn a certain rich man not to travel, for brigands had looted and burned a village near Wuting, carrying off 12 girls and 8 men. I took this runner to the yamen, or magistrate, and he feigned surprise, saying there was nothing to fear, that the road was open. Yesterday he came and called on me in the wretched Chinese inn with a letter he had received, stating that 300 robbers were only two hours journey away, and on the route I was to have gone yesterday. So he begged me to stay another day. Last night I went to ‘bed with all my clothes on, for they expected a visit from the brigands. “This place was visited twice by brigands last November, and a month ago they came 600 strohg, stayed three days, burned half the town and carried off everything of value. With these visits still fresh in the minds ‘of the people, they were quite ex- cited. “T am to start tomorrow with 200 goldiers who are to arrive today from Tsochia, two stages north of here. Traveling is hard enough; for days we traveled over an eroded country without so much as a bush. The people use grass as fuel, after having cut down every available woody plant. The inns are awful, full of opium smokers, and a more sickening odor than that of burning opium does not exist, to my mind. Add to this the lousy condition of the people, unwashed, the myriads of flies, filthy, undrinkable water, and you can get a faint idea of travel in this country. I am longing for a nice, clean hotel, decent food and a rest under a civilized government.” Besides his exciting exploits with bandits, Dr. Rock’'s adventures in- cluded the traversing of a hitherto unexplored gorge of the Yangtze, much deeper than the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River. Crossing of many streams was one of the tedious phases of his trip, for he and 23 na- tive assistants and their nack ani- mals had to be swung across these on single-strand rope bridges, iron- chain bridges and rickety bamboo bridges. A vivid picture of tne chaotic con- ditions in China's “wild west,” with a side flash on the consternation of the people at an eclipse of the moon, is given by Dr. Rock. This eclipse was on February 21 'ou should have heard. the yelling and screaming of the peopl he said. The whole village (Nguluki-Likiang) ran about like mad. beating gongs and drums, and howling. They said a huge frog was eating fhe moon, and they had to make as much noise as possible to scare that frog away. “Some went to bed with rice and others cooked food for fear it would be dark the next day, and they would be unable to cook. Candles even are unknown there, and the people go about with pine torches as their only light. No wonder whole villages are burned down. No one who does mot live in Yunnan can conceive the utter chaos which exists there. “Just before I left Yunnan, a poor French priest wi captured between the village of Nguluki-Likiang and Talifu, and soon after another, an old man, was taken at Lang Kiung. The robbers came to his house at 9 p.m. and marcheq him off. After a march of 1% miles, he found 300 robbers awaiting him. The magis- trate at Lang Kiung, who tried to do something toward his release, joined the French priest as a prisoner. “There is no end to robbers in Yunnan. When moving out of a place, one gets an escort of 50 to 80 soldiers, most of whom are ex-rob- bgrs. One is at a loss what to do, as they may turn brigands on the road, or if one should meet active brigands, he fears his soldiers will join them. In the meantime, the offi- cials are beating the people, squees- ing them to the last farthing. They smoke opium all night and get up at 2 or 3 p.m. It is like living in 2,000 Tibetan bandits were five days to the morth. “It is certainly & problem how. to get out of this country without los- ing eme’s life or all his belongings,” 'wrote Dr. Rock that night. “How- ever, our collecting goes on apace, the gray of the middle ages.” % %% Dn. ROCK explains that he had ter- rible experiences in getting his mail through to Washington, and that his chief worry all along was that his choicest specimens an (Copyrigiit, 1924.) Valuable Specimens From China would never reach their destinat Some of them crossed and recrossed the robber-infested frontier three and four times. He had to exercise strategy in announeing that he would travel on a certain date and by a particular route, and then suddenly departing by a different trail, usually the most rugged. When he visited the King of Mili Dr. Rock knew he would have to give him some present. On the way he met the king's brother, who was going to another monastery. He s licitously inquired what “Mash things” Dr. Rock had brought for his majesty. Dr. Rock gave him one of his French collector guns and some 150 cartridges. To the chief of the Lushi tribe at Youngning he gave the same token of tribute. He fig- ures that the pictures he was able to get, through the more friendly teeling engendered, amply paid the cost of these guns, which were not expensive in the first place and were practically worn out. To those offi- cials they were wonderful toys and established an entent cordiale. Ho took pains to retain one English col- lector gun, to shoot at ferocious dogs which attacked him along the road. One chief reason why Dr. Rock had trouble with the mails was on ac- count of the crude scales with which his letters were weighed. ‘These scales consist of a wooden stick with scratches at irregular intervals, and an ordinary string with a rock tied to it which is shoved along the stick That letter parcels cannot be weighed correctly with such a contrivance is evident Dr. Rock has proffered his ass ance to the & through the National Geographic ciety, in having the herbarium, mam- mal and bird specimens properly dis- played. There are approximately 60,000 sheets of herbarium speci- mens, representing 12,000 numbers, collected in the extreme northwest of Yunnan, Tsarong, southeastern Tibet, the independent Lama King- dom of Mili, and eastern Yunnan. The birds have been carefully skinned and prepared, are properly labeled, giving color of eves, locality, altitude and date of collection, as well as nature of the locality, whether grassland or forest, and all such scientific data. These birds come from regions where few collections have been made previously, mainly from the high mountain ranges of northwest Yunnan, tho Salween- Mekong divide, and the Likiang snow range, the southwestern part of Szechuan and other regions of Yun- nan, as from Tengyuen to Yunnanfu. The collection contains land and water bi The collection of some 500 mammals is from the same region. J In spite of the fact that only on last March 23, writing from Mag: Dr. Rock said, “It will take some persuasion to make me take t journey ovr again, and I, for one shall be glad to give this part of the world a wide berth for some time to come,” he is now preparing to go back there. He plans to explore western China for plants and to study its people and religion, for he has become as much interested in an- thropology as in botany 1s. —_—a The Cedars of Lebanon. HE famous cedars of Lebanon, which are so frequently mentioncd in the Bible as symbols of power, longevity and prosperity, and con- tinuously sung by poets and extolled by artists because of their stately beauty and strength, grow to & height of from 60 to 80 feet, their branches and foliage covering a compass of ground the diameter of which equals the height of the trees. Although the number of the famous trees has decreased considerably, of late years they have been carefully tended and preserved and a goodly number still exist. The best known group in the Lebanon range consists of a group of 12 ancient giants—how ancient no man can tell—in a grove near the village of Eden, surrounded by about 400 younger trees, none of which probably areiunder a hundred vears of age. TWO af the 'bawne archs” of the celebrated group mensure, respectively, from 60 to 80 feet in girth of trunk. One of these is marked with the name of Lamar- tine, the French poet, historian and statesman. The younger trees in the grove are stately, compact ana grace- fully reposeful, but the “patriarchs” are wild of aspect and frantic in atti- tude, flinging thelr muscular arms about as though struggling with some unseen enemy. In Ezekiel the Assyrian is llkened to the cedar of Lebanon, “with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of a high stature; and his top was in among the thick boughs.” Only Slightly Flat. Speed—Is my tire flat? _ Fern—it's a little fiat at ths bot« tom, but the rest of it's 0. K.