Decatur Democrat, Volume 38, Number 24, Decatur, Adams County, 31 August 1894 — Page 8

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Iflh 'wh9 W M /IkTtjL -w*/ “*> /al\ I ' ll* M //I H ’ ll kJ / / CHAPTER XXIL KILL OB CURB Mr. Sinclair was told by Lord Clanyarde of the plan which had been devised by the German physician for his daughter’s cure, and, after a lengthy discussion, gave his sullen consent to the imposture. “I don’t like your German doctor—a thorough-paced’ charlatan, I’ll warrant, ”he said; “and I don’t like palming off an impostor upon my poor wife. Bnt if you see any chance of good from this experiment, let it be tried. God knows I would give my heart's blood tomorrow to bring Constance back to good health and reason.” This was said with unmistable earnestness, and Lord Clanyarde believed it. He did not know what bitter reason Gilbert Sinclair had for desiring his wife’s recovery in the guilty consciousness that his brutality was the chief cause of her illness. “You are not going to bring some low-born brat into my house, I hope?" said Gilbert, with the pride of a man whose grandfather had worked in the mines, and whose father had died worth a million. “No; we shall find a gentleman’s child —some orphan of about Christabel's age—to adopt. ” Gilbert shrugged his shoulders and said no more. That visit of the German physician had ■ certainly wrought a change in Constance Sinclair’s condition, and Dr. Webb declared that the change was for the better. She seemed to have awakened from that dull apathy, that utter b tterness of mind and body, which ®oth the London physician and ■ rioußjipn the alert—wistful,watchful, at every opening of a door, at every coming footfall. On the morning after Dr. Hollendorf’s visit she a-kel for her Bible, and began to read David’s psalms of thanksgiving and rejoicing aloud, like one who gave thanks for a great joy. Later in the same day she went to the piano and sang —sang as she had never done since the beginning of her illness —sang like one who pours forth the gladness of her heart in melody. When Dr. Webb came that afternoon he found his patient sitting in an arm-char by the window, propped up with pillows, much to the disgust of Melanie Duport, who was on duty at this time. “I know she isn’t strong enough to sit up,” said Melanie to the Doctor; “but she would do it. She seems to be watching for something or some one.” The long window, opening on the ( balcony, commanded a distant curve of ‘ the drive leading up 1 ’ to the house, and it was on this point that Constance Sinclair’s eyes were fixed. “What are you waiting for, dear lady?” asked Doctor Webb, in his bland voice, that caressing tone in which medical men address feminine and infantine patients. In Doctor Webb’s case the blandness meant more than it usually does, for he really loved his patient. “I am watching tor my child. They will bring her to-day, perhaps. The strange doctor told me she was not drowned. It was true, wasn’t it? He won’t deceive me. There was something in his voice that made me trust him — something that went to my heart. My darling was saved, and she is coming Lack to me. You won’t deceive me, I know. She is comingsoon—soon—soon. Dear, dearest Doctor Webb, is it true?” “Dear Mrs. Sinclair, you must not agitate yourself in this way,” cried the Doctor, flattered by this address. “Yes, yes, Lord Clanyarde is going to bring you the little girl, and you’ll be very fend of her, I hope, and feel quite happy again. ” “Happy!” cried Constance; “I shall be in heaven. Ask papa to bring her soon.” She was restless throughout that day —sleepless all night. Sometimes her mind wandered, but at other times she spoke clearly and reasonably of God s goodness to her in saving her child. On the following day the tame idea was still paramount, but she was somewhat weakened by her excitement and restlessness, and was no longer able to sit up at her post of observation by the window. As the day wore on the old dull apathy seemed to be creeping over her again. She lay on her couch by the fire, silent, exhau-ted, noticing nothing that occurred around her; her pulse was alarmingly weak, her eyes vacant and heavy. “If they don’t bring the child soon, ft will be too late for the experiment,” Jhought Dr. Webb; “and if they do bring it, the excitement may be fatal. God guide us aright!” It was dusk when Lord Clanyarde’s brougham drove up to the porch, and his lordship alighted, carrying a child muffled up in soft woolen shawls, and fast asleep. Gilbert Sinclair had not yet returned from his daily ride. The house was dark and empty. Lord Clanyarde went straight to his daughter’s room, where Dr. Webb was sitting, too anxious to leave his patient till the crisis which the intended experiment might produce had passed safely. Dr. Webb was not particularly hopeful about the strange doctor’s plan. “Such good news, my darling,” said Lord Clanyarde, with elaborate cheerfulness; “pray don’t agitate yourself, my dear Constance.”

She started up from her sofa already, and tottered toward him with outstretched arms. “I have brought you your baby. The little net was not drowned, after all, and some good people in Germany took care of ner. You will find her changed, of course—three or four months makes such a difference in a baby." Constance neither heeded nor heard. She was sitting on the floor with the newly awakened child in her lap, hugging it to her breast, weeping sweetest tears over the soft, curly head, breathing forth her rapture in low, inarticulate exclamations. The firelight shone on the picture of mother and child clinging together thus—the little one submitting uncomplainingly to those vehement caresses. “Thank God!’ ejaculated I ord Clanyarde within himself. “She doesn’t ask a question, poor child. She hasn’t the faintest suspicion that we’re deceiving her.” He had chosen this hour for the introduction of the infant impostor so that Constance’s first scrutiny of the baby features should take place in doubtful light If first impressions were but favorable, doubts would hardly arise afterward in that enfeebled mind. Only when reason was fully restored would Constance begin to ask awkward questions. This evening she did not even scrutinize the baby face; she only covered it with and kisses, and laid it against her bosom and was happy. She accepted this baby stranger at once as her lost Christabel. Dr. Webb was delighted. Those tears, those caresses, those gushes of happy love —what medicine could work such cure for a mind astray? “Upon my word, I believe you have done the right thing, and tnat your German doctor Is not such a quack as I thought him, ” whispered the little man to Lord Clanyarde. He had still better reason to say this three or four hours later, when Constance was sleeping tranquilly—a sound and healthy slumber such as she had not known for many weary weeks —with the baby nestled at her side. Mr. Sinclair heard of the success that had attended the experiment, and seemed glad, or as glad as a man could be who had pressing cause for trouble. CHAPTER XXI IL “BXCBtLBNT basilisk!—turn upon thb VULTURB ” If fortune in a general way is a canrlpimia ftnrl HI sudden frowns and unexpected smiles. Gilbert Sinclair's new stables, bad up to the beginning of the present year, brought him nothing but ill luck. So unvarying had been his ill-luck that his trainer and grooms gave full scope to their superstition, and opined that the stables were unlucky, and that no good would ever come out of them. “There had been a murder committed, may be, somewhere 3 about,” suggested one man, “or the ground had been wrongfully come by; who could tell?” With the Craven meeting, however, the tide turned, and the Sinclair stables scored three palpable hits. But this was not all. Mr. Sinclair had bought a colt at Yoik two years before—with all his faults and all his engagements—the engagements being particularly heavy, and the faults including one which the veterinary auth >rities believed might be fatal to the animal’s career as a racer. The colt Vasjof renowned lineage one both sides, and had a genealogy that went back to his grandsire and bristled with famous names—a colt in whose future some magnate of the turf would doubtless have speculated two or three thousand, but for that unlucky splinter, Gilbert Sinclair bought the colt for two hundred and fifty, under the advice of his trainer, a shrewd Yorkshire man, who loved a bargain better than the best purchase made in the regular way. “He’s got the Touchstone and the Specter blood in him,” said Mr. Jackson, the trainer. “He's bound to come out a flyer, if we oan cure that off foreleg.” “But suppose we don’t, Jackson,” said Gilbert, doubtfully. “Two hundred and fifty’s a lot of money for a lame horse, and his engagements will come to a good bit more.” “You may as well lose your money on him as on anything else, mayn’t you?” argued of his employer’s judgmept, and did not Mr. Jackson, who had no exalted opinion trouble himself to pretend a greater respect than he felt. The best of men is but small in the eyes of his trainer. “You let me have that there colt to nuss, and say no more about it. It'll be a fad for me. I ought to have my fancy sometimes. You have yours, and a fat lot comes of it. ” Thus urged, Gilbert bought the colt, and John Jackson took him under his wing, and made him his pet and darling, shutting him up in impenetrab’e loose boxes, and exercising him secretly in the morning gray in sequestered paddocks far from the eye 3 of touts. Mr. Jackson had children—children who climbed on his knees and called him father in childhood's lisping syllables, but there was a pride in John Jackson’s eye and a tenderness in his voice when he spoke of Goblin, the bay colt, which his children had never been able to evoke. , “I want to win the Derby before I die,” he said, with a touch of sentiment, like Moses sighing for the land or Canaan. “It isn't much to ask for, after having done my duty by a blessed lot of screws.” Nobody—not even Mr. Sinclair himself—could ever penetrate the veil of mystery with which Jackson surrounded his favorite. Whether Goblin was doing well or ill was a secret which Jackson kept locked within his own breast. When Jackson looked gloomv the underlings in the stable concluded that Goblin was “off his feed,” or that Goblin was “up to nought.” When it came to the contest of a trial, Mr. Jackson shrank from the contest, and when compelled to run his protege against the best horse in the stable, secretly weighted Goblin in such a manner as to insure his being ignominiously beaten. Goblin kept none of his two-year-old

engagements, though Mr. Jackson went so far as to admit by this time that the colt was no more lame than he was. “But I ain’t going to let him fritter away his strength In two-vear-old races," said Mr. Jackson, decisively; “I ain’t forgotten Bonnie Dundee. “ Gilbert Sinclair submitted unwillingly, being at this time very low down in his luck as a racing man, and anxious for any success which might in some wise redeem his position. Now came spring—violets and primroses; woodlands white and chestnut bloom, and hawthorn; nightingales warbling their vesper love songs, and —much more important to gentlemen of Mr. Sinclair’s class—the Two Thousand Guineas. And now Goblin came forward to perform his first important engagement as a three-year-old, and Giloert Sinclair was richly rewarded for his patience. Goblin—a horse entirely unknown to the racing public—came in an easy winner, and Gilbert, who had taken his trainer’s advice, and had backed his horse to the utmost capacity, won a small fortune, as well as feeling pretty sure about his expectations for the Derby. It was the first great success Gilbert Sinclair had ever had upon the turf, and he left Newmarket that night almost lightheaded with excitement. Things nad been going much better since January. Tne men had gone back to their work in the grimy north. Indian steamers were using Mr. Sinclair’s coal as fast as he could produce it The golden tide was flowing into his exchequer again, and his banker’s book no longer presented a dismal blank upon its left-hand pages. The success at Newmarket was tne crowning mercy. He felt himself a rich man once more, and laughed to scorn the notion of surrendering Davenant at midsummer. Wyatt had bought and paid for the estate, but or course would be glad to sell it again at a profit The scheme for Constance Sinclair’s restoration had prospered wonderfully. Health and strength had returned, and with these the clear light of reason. She had never doubted the identity oi the little girl Lord Clanyarde had brought her that winter evening with the child she had lost She had readily accepted the story—a somewhat lame one—of the child’s rescue by some kind German peasants who had brought it over to England, where by a curious chain of circumstances. Lord Clanyarde had come to know of its existence. The little girl was known to the whole household as Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair’s own child. There would be time enough by and by to reveal the imposture. Even Martha Briggs—little Christabel’s devoted nurse—had never suspected the trick that had been played upon her mistress. The only member of the household that had shown any particular curiosity or desire to know the ins and outs of this business was Melanie Duport That young woman had asked atii during the early spring. Constance had been quietly happy In the little girl’s society, and in those joys which the convalescent feels when a world that has been darkened to the wandering mind reappears in all its light and beauty. Never had the woods' and fields, the blue April sky and shining river, seemed so lovely in the eyes of Constance Sinclair as they appeared this year. Her love of music, of art, of all bright things, seemed intensified by that awful season of darkness, in which these delights had been blotted from her mind. Her husband was tolerably kind to her, but spent much of his'time away from Davenant, and did not trouble her repose by filling the house with hie racketycompanions. Mr. Wyatt came now and then for a day or two, but he was the only guest during the tranquil springtime. Thus stood matters early in May, when Goblin won the Two Thousand Guineas, and, in the trainer’s phraseology, Drought his owner a pot of money. [TO BB CONTINUBD. | THE FIGHTING POWER OF CHINA About a Million Men in tbe Army Now and Many More Available. The fighting power of Chinese militia when armed with modern weapons is evidenced by the frequent repulses and defeats which the French suffered during the campaign in Tonquin, the last being that of Gen. Negrier, near LangSon, nine days before the Franoo-Cni-nese treaty of peace was signed, and when the French army of occupation in Tonquin had been raked to 40,000 men. These Chinese troops were msrely levies from Yunnan, Kuaigtang, and Kuang-si, and not part of the 150,000, who had been trained by European officers in Northern China. The total army of China at that time, including 600,000 militia, known as the green flag army, scattered through the various provinces, was said to be about 1,000,000 men. In time of necessity this force could be largely increased. The following quotation from an author who had experience with Gen. Gordon's “ever victorious army” shows Chinamen are admirably suitable for soldiers: “The old notion is pretty well got rid of that they are at all a cowardly people when properly paid and efficiently Jed; while the regularity and order of their habits, which dispose them to peace in ordinary times, give place to a daring bordering upon recklessness in time of war. Their intelligence and capacity for remembering facts makes them well-fitted for use in modern warfare, as does also the coolness and calmness of their disposition. Physically they are, on the average, not so strong as Europeans, but considerably more so than most oi the other races of the East, and on a cheap diet of rice, vegetables, salt fish, and pork they can go through a vast amount of fatigue, whether in a temperate climate or a tropical one, where Europeans are illfitted for exertion. Their wants are few; they have no caste prejudices and hardly any appetite for intoxicating liquors." Will Try Women Gardeners. It is said that Lady Carlisle Is training an entire staff of women to take charge of the extensive grounds of her fine York estate. She claims that women, by right of their superior taste and judgment in everything pertaining to floriculture, should be, and are, .better adapted to the lighter work of garden making than are men, and with the tendency of the age, which is to give w men the first chance at everything, she is trying her experiment on a wholesale scale.—New York Mail and Express.

TALMAGE’S SERMON. IMPRESSIVE DISCOURSE SENT THROUGH THE PRESS. BtrugrlM Md HwrtMhH for Boat on Earth—lnstability of Pow*r, of Rlchoa and of jFnma— No Foace Haro, but a Glorious Bxtotonco In EternityThe Eternal Rest. Rev. Dr. Talmage, who is now tn Australia on his globe girthing tour, has selected as the subject of hiseermon for this week through the press the words, “Everlasting Life,” the text being from Micah u, 10, “Arise ye and depart, for this is not your rest.” This was the drumbeat of a prophet who wanted to arouse his people from their oppressed and sinful condition, but it may just as properly bo uttered now as then. Bells, by long exposure and much ringing, lose their clearness ot tone, but this rousing bell of the gospel strikes as clear a tone as When it first rang on the air. As far as I can see, your great want and mine is rest. From the time we enter life a great many vexations and annoyances take after us. We may have our holidays and our seasons of recreation and quiet, but where is the man come to midlife who has found entire rest? The fact is that God did not make this world to rest in. A ship might as well go down off Cape Hatteras to find smooth water as a man in this world to find quiet. From the wav that God has strewn the thorns, and hung the clouds, and sharpened the tusks, from the colds that distress us, and the heats that smite us, and the pleurisies that stab us, and the fevers that consume us, I know that He did not make this world as a place to loiter in. God does everything successfully, and this world would be a very different world if it were intended for us to lounge in. It does right well for a few hours. Indeed, it is magnificent! Nothing but infinite wisdom and goodness could have mixed the beverage of water, or hung up those brackets of stars, or trained these voices of rill and bird and ocean, so that God has but to lift His hand, and the whole world breaks torth into orchestra. But, after all, it is only the splendors of a King's highway, over which we are to march on to eternal conquests. set There la No Heat. You and I have seen men who tried to rest here. They builded themselves great stores. They gathered around them the patronage of merchant princes. The voice of their bid shook the money markets. They had stock in the most successful railroads, and in “safety deposits” great rolls of Government securities. splendor of canvas on the wall, ffxquisiteness of music rising among pedestals of bronze and dropping, soft as light, on snow of sculpture. Here let them rest. Put back the embroidered curtain, and shake up the pillow of down. Turn but the lights' It is 11 o’clock at night. Let slumber drop upon the eyelids, and the air float through the half opened lattice drowsy with midsummer perfume. Stand back, all care, anxiety, and trouble! But no, they will not stand back. They rattle the lattice. They look under the canopy. With rough touch they startle his pulses. They cry out at 12 o’clock at night: “AWake, man! How can you sleep when things are so uncertain? What about those stocks? Hark to the tap of that fire bell, it is your district! How if you should die soon? Awake man! Think of it! Who will get your property when you are gone? What will they do with it? Wake up! Riches sometimes take wings. How if you should get poor? Wake up!” Rising on one elbow, the man of fortune looks out into the darxness of the room and wipes the dampness from his forehead and says: “Alas! For ail this scene of wealth and magnificence—no rest!” I passed down a street of a city with a merchant. He knew all tbe nest houses on the street. He said: “There is something the matter in all these houses. In that one it is conjugal infelicity. In that one, a dissipated son. In that, a dissolute father, tn that, an idiot child. In that, the prospect of bankruptcy.” This world’s wealth can give no permanent satisfaction. This is not your rest Sought, Bat Not Found. You and I have seen men try in another direction. A man says, “If I could only rise tosuchandsucn a place of renown; it I could gain that Office; if I could only get the stand and have my sentiments met with one good round of hand clapping applause; if I could only write a book that would live, or make a speech that would thrill, or do an action that would resound!” The tide turns in his favor. His name is on 10,000 lips. He is bowed to and sought after and advanced. Men drink his health at great dinners. At his fiery words the multitudes huzzahl From galleries of beauty they throw garlands. From housetops, as he passes in long procession, they shake out the national standards. Here let him rest. It is 11 o’clock at night. On pillow stuffed with a nation’s praise let him lie down. Hush, all disturbant voices! In his dream kt there be hoisted a throne, and across it march a coronation. Hush, hush! “Wake up!”saysa rough voice. “Political sentiment is changing. How if you should lose this place of honor? Wake up! The morning papers are to be full of denunciation. Hearken to the execrations of those who once caressed you. By tomorrow night there will be multitudes sneering at the words which last night you expected would be universally admired. How can you sleep when everything depends upon the next turn of the great tragedy? Up, man! Off of this billow!” The man, with head yet, hot from last oration, starts up sudden- 1 ly, looks out upon the night, But sees nothing except the flowers that lie on his stand, or the scroll from which he read his speech, or the books from which he quoted his authorities, and goes to his desk to finish his neglected correspondence, or to pen an indignant line to some reporter, or sketch the plan for a public defense against the assaults of the people. Happy when be got his first lawyer’s brief; exultant when he triumphed over his first political rival, yet, sitting on the very top of all that this world offers of praise,he exclaims, “No rest, no rest!” ■ . ■. / ■

Dead Hea Fruit. The very world that now applauds will soon hiss. That world said of the treat Webster, “What a statesman! That wonderful exposition of the constitution! A man fit for any position!” That same world suid, after awhile, “Down with him! He is an office seeker! He is a sot; He is a libertißbl Away with him!” And there is no peace for the man until he lays down his broken heart in tbe grave at Marshfield. Jeffrey thought that if he could only be Judge thut would be the making of him: got to be Judge and cursed the day in which he was born. Alexander wanted to submerge the world with his greatness; submerged it, and then dranx hlmselfcodeath because ho could not stand the trouble. Burns thought he would give everything if he could win the favor of courts and princes. Won it, and amid the shouts of a great entertainment, when poets and orators and duchesses were adoring his genius, wished that ho could creep back into the obscurity in which he dwelt when he wrote of the Dally, w«e, mod»it, orimion tipped flower. Napoleon wanted to make all Europe tremble at his power; made it tremble; then died, his entire militaryjachlevements dwindling down to a pair of military boots which he insisted on having on his feet when dying. At Versailles I saw a picture of Napoleon in his triumphs I went into another room and saw a bust of Napoleon as he appeared at St. Helena; but, oh, what grief and anguish in the face of the latter! The first was Napoleon in triumph; the last was Napoleon with his heart broken. How they laugned and cried when silver tongued Sheridan in the midday of prosperity harangued the people of Britain, and how they howled at and execrated him when, outside of the room where his corpse lay, his creditors tried to get his miserable bones and sell them! This world for rest? “Aha," erv the waters, “no rest here! We plunge to the sea.” “Aha,” cry the mountains, “no rest here! We follow Babylon and Thebes and Nineveh into the duet.” No rest for the flowers. They fade. To rest for the stars. They die. No fest for man. He must work, toil, suffer and slave. The Common Experience. Now, for what have I said all this? Juit to prepare you for the text, “ Arise ye and depart, for this is not your rest.” lam going to make you a grand offer. Some of you remember that when gold was discovered in California large companies were made up and started off to get their fortunes. To-day ! want to make up a party for the lafld of gold. I hold in my hand a deed from the proprietor of the estate, in which he offers to all who will join the company 10,000 shares of infinite valiffi in a city whose streets are gold, whose harps are gold, whose crowns are gold. You have read of the crusaQ^Ffn^rhe f ßepuTcLer ofaTcfeai? Christ, but for the purpose of reaching the throne of a living Jesus. When an army is made up, the recruiting officer examines the volunteers. He tests their eyesight. He sounds their lungs. He measures their stature." They must be just right, or they are rejected. But there shall be no partiality in making up this army of Christ. Whatever your moral or physical stature, whatever your disipations, whatever your crimes, whatever your weaknesses, 1 have a commission from the Lord Almighty to make up this regiment of redeemed souls, and I cry, “Arise ye ana depart for this is not your rest!” Many of you have lately joined this company, and my desire is that you may all join it, Why not? You know in your own heart’s experience that what I have said about this world is true—that it is no place to rest in. There are hundreds here weary— oh, how weary!—weary with sin; weary with-trouble; weary with bereavement! Some of you have been pierced through and through. You carry tbe scars of a thousand conflicts in which you have bled at every pore, and you, sigh, “Oh, that 1 had the wings ot a dove, that I might fly away ana be at rbst !” YoU have taken the cup of this world’s p leasuree and drunk it to the dregs, and still the thirst claws at your tongue and the fever strikes to your brain. You have chased pleasure through every valley, by every stream, amid every brightness, and under every shadow, but just at the moment when you were all ready to put your hand upon the rosy, laughing sylph of the wood, she turned upon you with tbe glare of a flend and the ‘eye of a satyr, her locus adders, and her breath the chill damp of a grave. Out of Jesus Christ no rest. No voice to silence the storm. No light to kindle the darkness. No drydock to repair the split bulwark. Something Better. Thank God, I can tell you something better. If there is no rest on earth, there Is rest in Heaven, Oh, ye who are wdrn out with work, your hands calloused, your backs bent, your eyes half put out, your fingers worn with the needle that in this world you may never lay down; ye discouraged ones, who have been waging a hand to hand fight for bread; ye to whom the night brings little rest and the morning more drudgery—oh, ye of the weary hand, and oi the weary side, and the weary foot, hear me talk about rest! Look at that company ot enthroned ones. Look at their hanas. Look at their feet. Look at their eyes, it cannot be that those bright ones ever toiled? Yes, yes! These packed the Chinese teaboxes, and through missionary instruction'escaped into glory/ These sweltered on southern plantations, and one night after the cotton picking, went up as white as if they had never been black. Those died of overtoil in the Lowell carpet factories,, and these in Manchester mills: those helped build the pyramids, and these broKC away from work on the day Christ was hounded out ot Jerusalem. No more towers to build. Heaven is 1 done. No more garments to weave. The robes are finished. No more harvests to raise. The pardens are full. Oh, sons and daughters of toil, arise ye and depart, for that is your rest! Scovill McCallum, a boy of my Sunday school, while dying said to his mother, “Don’t cry, but sing-sing “There is rent for the weary, There la rest for the weary.” Rent In Heaven. Then, putting his wasted hands over his heart, said, “There is rest for me.’ c Oh, ye whose locks arc wet with the dews of the night of grief; ye whose heart* are heavy, because those well-

known footsteps sound no more at the doorway, yonder is rest! There ii David triumphant, but once he bemoaned Absalom. There is Abraham enthroned, but once he wept for Sarah. There is Paul exultant, but he once sat with his feet in the stocks. There is Payson radiant with immortal health, but on earth he was always sick. No toil, no tears, no partings, no strife, no agonizing cough to-night. _ No storm to rufle the crystal sea. No alarm to strike from the cathedral towers. No dirge throbbing from seraphic harps. No tremor In the everlasting song, but rest, perfect rest, unending rest Into that rest how many of our loved ones have gone! The little children have been gathered up into the bosom of Christ. One of them went out of the arms of a widowed mother, following its father, who died af*w weeks before. In its last moment it seemed to swathe departed father, for it said, looking upward with brightened countenance, “Papa, take me up!” Others putdown the work of midlife, feeling they could hardly be spared from the office or store or shop fore day, but are to be spared from it forever. Your mother went. Having lived a life of Christian consistency here, ever busy with kindness for her children, her heart full of that meek and quiet spirit that is in the sight oi God of great price, suddenly her countenance wae transfigured, and the gate was opened, and she took her place amid that great cloud 0! witnesses that hover about the throne! Glorious consolation! They are not deaa. You cannot make me believe they are dead. They have only moved on. With more love than that with which they greeted us on earth, they watch us from their high place, ana their voices cheer us in our sthug. gle for the sky. Hail, spirits blessed, now that ye have passed the flood and won the crown! With weary feet we press up the shining way. until, in everlasting reunion we Shall meet ( ! again. Oh, won’t it be grand when, X our conflicts done and all parting* over. w& shall clasp hands and cry out, “This is Heaven?” Weird Mountain Scenery. While all travelers are aware ol the fact that there are mountains oi stupendous magnitude in the West, their grandest conception, even though they may have spent season after season in the summer resorts, will not approach the reality as it ii found in the bypaths away from the haunts of man. There are ranges so mysterious and weird in conformation and general contour as to be a perpetual taboo against Indians,and where a white man could peacefully live out all his days even were be.surrounded by tbe most warlike of the tribes. Take. the MoJolnnes ranira vwax is rarely hearaeven in that country. That range of mountains is the home of tribes of men who have never to this day set eyes on a white man. It Is possessed of a mysteriousness that,, charms the white man who wander* that tar away,yet it seems bewitched, and the lone traveler through its valleys sees strange sights and hears strange sounds, as if he were in the presence ’of disembodied spirits ol those who had the temerity to explore this region before him. . The Mount of the Holy Cross has been immortalized by Moran, and thousands of humid eyes have gazed upon that Christian symbol, erected ip the clouds by God’s own hand. There are other and grander mounts # of the holy cross, even, more perfect than that so frequently pictured. They He deep in the heart of the rocky range, with other wondrous possibilities that await the future explorer of that vast unknown region of Northern Idaho and Wyoming. There are to be found strange rock formations similar to those across the water in Fingall’s Cave and the Giant's Causeway, which are both duplicated a thousandfold in the majestlc basaltic formations of Idaho. Tbe Practical Joker Got a Shock. The sportive young man whoenjoys playing tricks bad a shock tbe other day- He had just come down tbe elevated stairs at Pirk Place and had started in the direction of City Hall Park, when bls face lighted up with a pleasant smile. It was evident that he saw soma one he knew, and that be saw some fun ahead. He began to walk rapidly, and as ho hurried along it could be seen that the person he knew was a young woman, for he kept his eye on her, watching her carefully as she slipped in and out of tbe crowd, and all the while his smile grew broader and his eyes twinkled more merrily. Finally, when he wasWy a few feet behind her, he began to walk on tiptoe. Then hp stole quietly up to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Booh!” he said inherear, and the next instant he wished that he hadn’t, for a young woman looked at him with eyes that were at first startled, but which then flashed indignation. “How dare you?" she gasped; but before she could say another word be broke in with an apology. - beg your pardon,” he said, stammering, “I made a mistake—l thought 1 knew you—l thought you were somebody else.” His confusion was so great and he looked so much the fool that no one (ouid doubt that be was telling the truth, but the young lady accepted his apology with a pale smile, as if she thought be were a lunatic, so that 'he bowed his head and dived into a crowd, the most crestfallen joker in New York.—New York Tribune. There are those who reject immorality and yet believe in fame.., Come to think of it most king* are but crowned beggars Getting up only to look for sunset makes a long day. The loudest mourners are soonest comfortud. .. j ■