ing firebrands and bolts that we did n’t even pause in our rush down the stairs.
That fire was one of the oddest the New York fire-department ever had to tackle. They could really do nothing but let the fire burn itself out at its own sweet will.
When we went around to see Mr. Blanchard a few days later, he explained to us just what damage had been done to the main cables. It was evident that the cables had been heated red hot during the fire, because they were badly burned and flaked. A number of wires would evidently have to be cut out and replaced with new sections. Some of the less seriously injured wires were cut out and sent to have their strength tested. These tests were very favorable, and showed that the cables were not half so badly damaged as it was feared that they might he.
Near the end of the summer, we visited the bridge again, so as to watch the cable-winding process after all the strands had been strung. First, several strands were squeezed together with crescent-jawed tongs, and fastened, at intervals, to form a core for the cable. Then the other strands were grouped about them and fastened temporarily, After this, the wire-winding machine was mounted on the cable. This was a large gear-wheel in two parts, bolted together about the cable. A traveler arranged to move along the cable carried a small electric motor that turned a pinion or small gear-wheel, fitting into the large gear, and in that way made the gear rotate around the cable. A spool of wire on the gear was carried around with it, winding the wire around the cable. A brake on the spool kept the wire under a constant tension. After the wire was wound, a steel sheathing made in half-sections was bolted about the cable. “Every so often” a collar was applied to the cable, and suspender cables were attached to them. To these suspenders, floor beams and girders were to be fastened, and on them the double deck of the bridge was to be built up.
To-day, at any time, you can see a procession of trucks plodding over the bridge, with a string of hurrying trolleys and rushing elevated trains loaded to the limit of capacity with human freight, all supported by the combined strength of those thread-like wires that were spun by human spiders across the East River.
To be continued.
THE ROSE THAT WENT TO THE CITY
BY MARGARET EYTINGE
One morning in the lovely month of June, a rose-bush in a large country garden was proudly holding up to the golden sunshine many beautiful pink roses. A tall boy who was going to work in the great city near by, stopped and picked one and put it in a buttonhole of his coat. “Good-by. sister,” called the others, as he hurried away. And then they began to talk, “It is too bad,” they said, “that our sister should be taken from her delightful garden home. We fear she will not live long. How we pity her!”At that moment, along came a pleasant young breeze “You need not pity her,” he said, as the roses gave him fragrant kisses of welcome. “She may not live as long as you do, but while she does live, she will bring happy thoughts to all those who see her. The boy who plucked her smiled as he did so, and thought, ‘How sweet my mother used to look with a rose like this in her dark hair.’ And all the poor children he will meet to-day will say in glad voices, ‘Oh, the pretty, pretty flower!’ and their pale faces will grow bright. And in the dark office where the boy works from morn till night, the fragrance of the rose will bring to the tired men who work there too, memories of the country homes and old-fashioned gardens of their boyhood.
“So you see, my dear flower-friends, though the rose that went to the noisy, dusty city may not live as long as you who remain here in this beautiful garden, her life will be thrice blessed, because of the happy moments she will bring to those who need happy moments.” And the roses nodded gracefully as the breeze once more flew lightly on its way.
