Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 November 1890 — Page 5

A CHTOCHTABD BEVEKIK BY L. D. MUKPHY. , tfho has not spent a Sabbath eye In some lonely churchyard still, t With the warm sun shining gently down O'er woodland, vale and hill; And felt that nameless something— That weird, mysterious spell— Which round the cities of the dead Forever seems to dwell. No sound breaks the throbbing silence Save the note of a turtle dove, Floating down from its lofty perch hard by Like a wail for a long-lost love. Here sleep the mighty ones of earth ’Neath many a costly stone, Here many lie in unmarked graves, Uncared for and unknown. . As I stand beside an old man's grave, With grass and weeds I note the changes time has wrought In the long years that have flown. The little shrub placed by loving hands Beside his lonely bed, Now widely spreads its sheltering arms Above his mouldering head. Where now are they who stood around His cold and lifeless clay? Borne are sleeping near by, perhaps, And some are far away. Faded and gone like the flowers and the grass, Bnt if any yet remain. Timo has bound up their wounded hearts And soothed the cureless pain. Near by is another, a new-made mound, The grave of a little child ; Its spiftt gone back from whence it came, By this sinful world undefiled. Who can tell what hopes lie buried here 'Neath this tiny heap of earth? How desolate now some father’s heart, And the mother’s who gave it birthl The little rose-tree planted here Has not yet cast the leaf; Time’s healing balm has yet no power To soothe their bitter grief. When we think how many stricken ones Have dropped the scalding tear, What depths of grief and sorrow Lie monumented here. We are wont to ask, Is thsre any good In such misery and woe? Why comes so much of sorrow To poor mortals here below ? But in the light that comes from heaven • The gloom from the church-yard flies; And we see that it’s only a gateway To a home beyond the skies. Our Father well knows that each human heart Has within it a pure fount concealed; But, like the rude quartz, must oft be crushed and broken Ere their deep-hidden treasures they’ll yield. These terrible trials which our lives seem to blight Are only In mercy given; They prepare us more bravely life’s battle to fight. And to dwell ’mid the glories of heaven. Kansas City, Mo.

BERENICE ST. CYR.

Story of Love, Intrigue, - and Grime.

BY DWIGHT BALDWIN.

CHAPTER XX. DUPED.

stant our hero was by his side. He, too, had of late been sadly shorn of his strength, but between them the task was easily accomplished. This done, the detective stooped over began tearing up the carpet. A moment later he had removed a small section of the flooring and disclosed an opening beneath, into which he began groping with nis hand. A moment later he uttered a err of pleasure, and held up a bundle of folded papers, held together by a rubber band. These Cole eagerly examined. “They’re the bonds—flfty-nine of them!” cried he. “That’s good!” said Hyland. “Where did you procure them?” “That’s what bothers me. I’m trying to think, but somehow I.can’t.” A shade of disappointment crossed onr hero’s face. He had fondly hoped that the finding of the bonds would quite restore the officer’s shattered mind and provide the means for his own vindication from the .awful charge resting upon him like a hideous funeral pall, and bring to justicb the real murderers. “Nobody thinks I stole them, I guess?” queried the detective. “ Certainly not. ” Cole Winters had no sooner said this than he realized that he had made a serious mistake. The anxious look disappeared from the face of his companion, and, as he sank heavily^o a seat upon the bed, something of the vacant expression which had marked his appearance at the hospital took its place. The explanation was not hard to find. The suggestion of the bonds had revived a spark of memory, which had been quickened by the thought that his honor might be involved. The finding of the bonds had removed the cause of Anxiety, and at the same time the stimulant which had half roused the clouded mind from the lethargy that had possessed it. “But yon know me, don’t you, Hyland?” asked Cole, triumphantly. “Ido; but won’t tell. You must find that out for yourself. Don’t bother me!" With a groan of despair, tbe unhappy young man threw the bonds upon the table and began pacing nervously up and down the limited confines of the apartment. “I’m undone, baffled!” moaned he, as he paused and looked, half pityingly, half resentfully, at the unfortunate man from whose brain—that which renders reasoning possible—memory had wellnigh departed. Suddenly he paused in his walk and looked at the bundle of bonds, for the possession of which a dastardly murder had been committed. “Of what use are they now?” he mused, bitterly. “Their rightful owner is gone, and His daughter has been sent to join him! Of my vindication and the consequent exposure and downfall of Almon

Seers there seems no possibility. The enemy has triumphed! He will, under the will extorted from Berenice, hold the entire visible estate of Paul SC. Cyr, bat these bonds shall not be his!" He clutched them more firmly in his hand, raised them above his head, and rushed towards the flaming gas-jet as he spoke. The face at the transom had ceased smiling now, and a look of vexatious rage had settled upon it. As, in desperation and dispair, Cole Winters sprang forward to carry his impulsive resolution into instant execution. Almon Sears leaped lightly to the floor. Tmg-a-ling-ling. With the bonds of such enormous value almost within the reach of the seemingly expectant flame, our hero started and looked about. Upon the bed sat Hyland, stolid and immovable. Ting-a-ling-a-ling. A glance in another direction revealed the cause of the noise that had so startled him. Upon the wall near the window was a telephone, the little metallic hammer of which was s.ill vibrating above the sonorous bell. Throwing the package again upon the table, the young man sprang toward the wonderful instrument which is capable of making the human voice annihilate distance. “Hello!” cried he, as he seized and applied to his ear the trumpet whose office it is to multiply, until audible to the human ear, the faint, vibratory sounds of the telephone proper. “Hello!" came in almost instant response. “Is thatthe Lake Street Station?" “They’ve made a mistake,” thought Cole, “and connec.ed with Hyland’s private instrument.” He understood that the police department had a telephone svstem of its own, connecting the police stations, street telephone boxes, and quarters of detectives, with the central station in the City Hall. “Is that the Lake Street Station?” repeated the voice through the telephone. “Yes,” responded Cole, who felt that if a little prevarication was ever admissible it was upon an occasion like this. He did not expect to learn anything of importance, but feared that that fact that some one had been speaking through the private telephone of the dement detective, might become known if he corrected the mistake, and a raid be ordered. “Write down an order.” “All right.” “Instruct the men as fast as they report at the different boxes to look for Almon Sears, whose description has been published in connection with the St. Cyr murder. He’s wanted as one of the principals in that job. Got that?” “Yes.” “All right!” “Hello! Hello!" “What is it?" “Is there a good case against Sears?" “Clear as daylight; straight as a gunbarrel!” “Any one squealed?” “Yes.” “Who?" “Martin Bloom. He’s given the whole thing away; and besides, Max Morris has just been pinched." “Has he confessed?" "No, but' we’ve got him dead to rights. The whole three will swing!” “And the one we’ve been after—C.ole Winters?” “He’s innocent as a babe. Oh! One thing more. Take it down." “All right" “Tell the men to look for Detective Mat Hyland. He’s at large and in an insane condition.” “I know where he is.” “Where?” “At his room in the South Division. Send officers there from the Cottage Grove Avenue Station.” “How do you know that?” “A friend of his saw him go up there not long ago.” “All right." With a look of triumph on his face Cole Winters stepped back from the instrument through which he had just received such welcome intelligence. “Thank heaven!” he cried. Then he thought of Berenice, lost to him forever, and. covering his face with his hands, sank down upon the bed beside Hyland. For some time the two men, both beclouded, the one in the mind, the other in the heart, sat silent, listless. Suddenly our hero was aroused from his mournful soliloquy by a rapping upon the door. In an instant he had unlocked and thrown it open. As he expected, he was confronted by a man in toe uniform of a police officer, behind whom stood another in the garb of a citizen. “Where’s Hyland?” asked the bluecoated individual. “There.” As Cole turned and pointed toward the detective the hindmost man sprang forward and seized him by the arm. Before the young man could exert his feeble strength in the way of resistance he heard a snap and saw and felt a pair of handcuffs close upon his wrists. “Duped! Fool that I am!” cried Cole Winters, in accents of despair. The man who had plactd the gyves upon his wrists wns Martin Bloom, while he now recognized the seeming police officer as Almon Sears, his mortal enemy!

ASSING behind the bed, Hyland began pushing it away from the Wall. He soon de- . sist ed, and \ looked helpat his 'companion. His wound and subsequent illness had weakened his once powerful mpscles, and much of hie boasted strength had vanished. In an in-

CHAPTER XXI. A GREAT SURPRISE. Right on both points," sneered the burly burglar, as he pushed our hero rudely back. “You’re a fool, and you’ve been duped.” “ Cole Winters is as innocent as a babe, ” laughed Sears. “ And Martin Bloom's given the whole snap away,” added that individual, joining in the laughter. As for Cole, he said nothing. His consternation and disgust were too great to admit of his making any reply to the taunts and jeers hurled at him by the heartless twain. “ Thought you were talking with police headquarters, did you?” asked Sears, when he had endeavored in vain to obtain a word from Hyland, who sat unconcerned and unobserving. “Open the door, Mart, and let the guy see how it was done,” Bloom produced a key with which he unlocked the door which communicated with the adjoining apartment. Then he returned, seized Cole rudely by the arm, and followed his comrade in crime through the open doorway. “There’s the little joker. We’ve got a private circuit of our own.” Sears pointed to the opposite side of the room where a telephone was fastened against the wall. Like a flash, Cole realized how he had been deceived. His instrument had been connected with the one before him, and he had been carrying on a conversation with his eneipy. “You are hardly up to the standard of a reporter for one of the leading morning papers of metropolitan Chicago,” remarked the younger of the villians, with a mocking laugh. “Did you count the bondn?" asked Bloom, suddenly.

“Count them! I didn’t as much as take them!” “You’re a chump! Business before pleasure, money before revenge!" But Almon Sears did not hear his fellow criminal. He had passed into the room’where the deflective sat. “Furies!* he shouted, a moment later. “What’s wrong?” demanded Bloom, who had followed his partner, drawing his manacled prisoner after him. “What’s wrong? Everything’s wrong! The bonds " “Yon don’t mean ” “That they’re gone? That’s what I do." “How could that be?" “He has them.” In an instant Sears had darted forward and was rummaging the pockets of the unresisting detective. With a curse the baffled murderer started back. “The powers of darkness are against us!" he shouted. “They were on that table less than a minute ago, now they are gone." “He may have thrown them out of theie," suggested Bloom, pointing to the one window which was open a little ways. Without the loss of a second Sears was leaning out and gazing far down an open court beneath. It was uniighted, save that numerous lamps and gas-jets shown through the windows of tenements below. “Do you see them?” asked Bloom impatiently. “I see something white. I believe it’s them.” “I'll go for them!" "No! Wait here! I’ll be back soon!” Sears rushed frantically forward, unlocked the outer door, and rushed forth into the hall. “you propose to stay and be duped as I have been?" “Do I? Not much! I can’t trust Al with that fortune!" A moment later and he had rushed down after his companion, taking the precaution, however, to lock the door. “Hyland, Hyland!” cried Cole. “Bouse yourself!" The detective, thus appealed to, sprang to his feet, and, with something of his old-time intelligence, looked wonderingly around. “Unlock these handcuffs! Quick, or we’re lost!” Hyland looked at the steel bracelets and began groping in his pocket. In a moment he had produced a small key, with which he was trying to unlock the manacles. In vain his efforts, however. His hands were clumsy, his sight seemed defective, and he was-unable to insert the key. Our hero uttered a groan of anguish as he realized the utter impotency of his unfortunate companion. “Let me try!” At these words, Cole turned, expecting to see the mocking face of one of his enemies. Instead, however, he was confronted by the man who had so strenuously insisted that he was a near relative—Jerry Moore. Without another word the dwarf, who had appeared from behind the bed where he had been in hiding, snatched the. diminutive key from the nerveless hand of the detective, and in a moment had removed and thrown the fetters to the floor. “How come you here?" asked Cole, as soon as he had recovered somewhat from his profound astonishment. “I followed them in. I’ve been watching ’em all day. I’m dlick, I am.” “What’s to be done?” “This way!” Jerry rushed into the adjoining room, followed by Cole, who was half guiding, half dragging Hyland after him. Producing a number of false keys, the guide thrust one of them into the lock of a door connecting with still another room. He turned the piece of steel around and paused, with his hand on the knob. “I wouldn’t do this,“ said he, “not for anyone livin’ ’cept my own flesh and blood—little Milty Moore.” With this he threw open the door, and pushed his two companions forward. The two uttered a simultaneous cry of astonishment. Then our hero sprung forward and caught in his arms the pale, fluttering form of the girl he loved above all on earth—the beautiful Berenice St. Cyr. CHAPTEK XXII. CONCLUSION. Cole Winters fairly staggered under the weight of the fair girl, whose cruel and untimely death he had so despairingly mourned. This was not due to physical weakness alone. Ecstatic joy had contributed its part. He had tried to resign himself to the greatest of earthly losses—a pure and loving heart —and in the midst of his struggles the bitter cup of woe and despair had been unexpectedly dashed from his band. Suddenly the raptures of the two united lovers was broken by a low and peculiar cry. Our hero turned in alarm, and saw that it had proceeded from Mat Hyland. The touch of the magic wand of an Arabian enchanter could not have worked a ureater change than was visible in the bearing, but more particularly'in the face of the detective. A glance was sufficient to inform our enraptured hero that he was insane and demented no longer. Intelligence flashed in his eye, and indignation and decision compressed his modtb. The numerous recent exciting events, culminating in a sight of the beautiful girl whose murdered father he had undertaken to avenge, had so shocked his nervous system as to enable him to throw off tne lethargy that had so long paralyzed his brain. “Winters!" cried he, as he sprang forward and seized our hero’s hand. “You are recovered?” "Quite. Your case will be a clear one, now.” At that moment footsteps were heard on the stairs without. “They are returning,” whispered Moore, hoarsely. “Wait here.” With this he passed into the next room, taking care to close tne door after him. An instant later and the two villains, accompanied bv the third member of the triangle of crime, Max Morris, rushed in. “Furies!” shouted Sears, as his eye swept the two apartments and saw no sign of the manacled prisoner and halfdemented detective he had left there not many minutes before. “You here?” shouted Morris, as be saw and recognized Moore. “At your service." “What does this mean?” “That yon committed a sad mistake when you procured me to murder Milton Moore, the son of m? dead brother.” “You're a tool!” “I have been, you mean ” With this he drew a revolver. But he did not shoot. Before he could bring it into position there was a report, and a shot, fired by Sears or Bloom, it was never decided which, pierced his heart. Another moment the rooms were thronged with police officers, who se-

cured the three plotting murderers, though not without a desperate struggle. Their presence there was easily explained. Jerr/ Moore had located the new headquarters of the triangle, who had chosen that place knowing that the next room had long been used by Hyland, and hoping that he would soon return there, and perhaps give them a ciew to the missing bonds, which they had decided hid somehow come into his hands. Jerry had also discovered that Berenice St. Cyr was a captive there, and had notified the police, whom he had preceded, that the raid might be as effective as possible. At first the prisoners affected innocence, but when’they were confronted by Hyland, in the full possession of his mind and memory, they weakened, and Morris endeavored to swallow the contents of a phial containing a deadly poison. He was defeated in his suicidal attempt, and the three were hurried away to cells in the neaiSst police station. They were given an immediate trial and convicted of the murder of Paul St. Cyr. Soon afterward, they were executed in the county jail. Thus ended the trio of desperate murderers, who will be long remembered as the famous Triangle of Crime. Upon the body of Jerry were found the fifty-nine bonds, for the possession of which the murder had been committed. Mat Hyland is a detective no longer. His services in the St. Cyr case secured his promotion to a police captaincy, a position which he will fill with credit, both to himself and the great municipality that employs him. The body found and buried as that of our heroine had been procured by the villains. and so dressed and adorned with the jewelry of Berenice as to be identified with great certainty. In the meantime, Sears had kept her a prisoner with the intention of forcing her into a marriage when he had been able to convert the estate into money, and leave the country. When'the truth about the St. Cyr murder mystery came out, Cole Winters became the lion of the hour. He retained the reportorial star, and entered at once upon the active life of a journalist, in which he is bound to rise. • Our fair Berenice mourns her fond old father most sincerely, and will ever cherish and keep green his memory. This would be a sad and gloomy place were grief never assuaged and tears never dried. Time will, no doubt, accomplish both for her, and the day is not far distant when Cole Winters will lead her to the altar. Let us wish them all the happiness deserved by two truthful, sincere, and loving hearts.

Her Absent-Minded Lover.

Johnny Brown, one of the nicest young men in th<| village of Squashtown, was courting the belle of the village, a bnxom young lass of eighteen summer. But Johnny had one great failing: he was very absent-minded, and would often do very strange things when a fit of abstraction was upon him. The little maiden, who wns his promised wife, was well aware of his trouble, and never in any way made sport of him, even when he was at his worst. One day J ohnny and the maiden were walking through a very lonely forest, when in some way Johnny was so unfortunate as to step upon a large ant hill. In an iustant the big black ants ware crawling up the insides of his pants legs and making things uncomfortably lively for John. He endured it manfully for a time, vainly hoping that after a while the ants would get tired of biting and drop off; but they didn’t seem to drop. After the agony had become perfectly unbearable, he said to the maiden: , “Annie, darling, the legs of my pants are filled with ants and they are biting me unmercifully. I hate to ask you to stay alone tn this solitary place even for an instant, but I must leave you here while I retire further into the forest and remove my clothes and shake them. Believe me, darling, I will not be gone a a moment longer than is absolutely necessary.” Then tbe maiden seated herself at the foot of a large tree and gave herself np to reflections. In a short time she heard Johnny returning, and when he again appeared before her she looked at him a moment and then said to him, gently: “Johnny, darling, you will have to go back for your clothes; for you’ve nothing on but your shirt, my love.”—New For/c Mercury.

She Was Too Thin.

A blow has been delivered to the tailormade girl, writes a New York paper, and this through the action of a disappointed bridegroom, who discovered that “things are not what they seem,” and who arose from his nuptual couch and boarded a train for San Francisco. It appears that Otto Kelich, a young German musician, married Annie Watson, of First avenue, believing her to be a whole-souled and solid girl of fine dimensions. His somewhat materialistic views underwent a painful modification when the fair but emaciated youn t *’lady disrobed and left her generous proportions attached to her apparel. The young husband at dead of night stole away quietly, leaving only a few lines pinned to the pillow of the sleeping bride, who had paid for the wedding banquet and for their night’s lodging at the Grand Union Hotel. The explanatory note informed her that she was too thin, and that he doted on fat women. For three years the deserted wife has waited for him in vain, and now she has received word from him that he is happily wedded to a heavy-weight in Germany. This should be a warning to young women similarly constituted, and goes to show that misrepresentation of this sort rarely pays in the long run.

Every Customer Suited.

The proprietor of a “Matrimonial Establishment” in London was one day visited by a lady of such extreme plainness that he was at firet aghast. He managed, however, to collect himself and assume his usual courteous manner. The lady proceeded to state that she had a considerable fortune, but that, from some unaccountable reason, she had been unable to find a husband to her liking. She ended by asking: “Now, don’t you think you could find me a good party, sir?” “Ah, yes, madam!” said the agent, very politely. “There’s no telling; there may be a blind man in at any moment. ” Pick-Me-Up.

It Surely Does.

Knowledge is power, but it takes a good deal of it to know how to live without work.— Ram's Horn.

THE MISTAKE.

BY OZIAS MIDSUMMOR.

CHAPTER I. “No. I Bin far from f L consenting. A scholniartu, inI I— deed, for * -wife J j for my son ’ B'Twould not be * week ere We both were repenting Andcurslngtheday asywj that the mischief {UH, was done. you will get marrled, why not ijSjjK ■ choose a lady— Ij/i?’ Someone who la SCLA sensible, honest, xZ A and true, \ ' Like Mattle McMasters or your cousin Sadie?

Yea. better the servant than that little shrew ” CHAPTER 11. The kitchen's great walls were In charge of a fairy. Who trod its great deck with a timorous tread; The tea-kettle’s music did triillngward carry The smoke of the frying-pan wreathing her head. The dark wind of night drove Itself down the stove-pipe And scattered the ashes now whitherward flown;

"I'LL NOT GIVE YOU UP, THOUGH YOU'RE DRIVEN AWAY.”

Die fairy’s deft fingers strove then a dish to wipe. When leisurely came in somebody alone. CHAPTER 111. Die old mother’s hopes had been krthfully shylug Because of the teacher’s face shaded with curls. Because of her hopeful’s oft seemingly sighing. Because of the talk they had had about girls. But now she forgot her dislike of the teacher. And even her fear of the curls was amiss. For seemed then a mystified something to reach her, Which having been heard again seemed' like a kiss. With horse, foot and dragoons the mother assaulted And charged with quick-step on the scene of delight. When that yet to come of the seeming dedefaulted And scattered pell-mell 'nild the darknciis of night. CHAPTER IV. “Now, what’s to do next?” whispered one, lowly speaking, As met that same one some one else in the dark; “I feared we'd be caught when I hoard the door squeaking, And fear site is after usyet—listen, bark!" But not u sound heard they, when hugged the low speaker < That same some one else, as they kissed to their fill. When whispered the other, «My courage grows weaker, We’re both doing wrong thus to counter her will. “What think you your mother will say on the morrow?”-

“HAVE YOU BEEN DECEIVING?”

She’ll tell.me ’tls time 1 should puck op Hud go; Her heart is, no doubt, nearly broken with sorrow. To think that her son should have treated her so. ‘See there, she has taken the lamp and is looking About In my room now, to see If I’m there. I think, sir, you've eaten the last of my cooking; Our castles have bursted—are nothing bat air.” chapter v. ‘No, no,” said the lord of creation, enclasping Her who loved him dearly, and kissed her the more. ‘l’ll leave if you go,” muttered he. ’mid the gasping That followed the wound that made his heart sore. ‘No, Lettie, my darling,” continued the hero, “I’ll not give you up, though you’re driven away. 3h, think, dear, what would become of me! Oh! I’ll go with you, Lettie; I’ll die if I stay.” His hot, briny tears were In streamlets abounding. And bathed were her cheeks with deep crystallized streams, When uttered she words to the hearer astounding, And learned he a thing may not be what it seems. For as spoke the hero and told of his mother. And how she’d prefer he should marry the cook Before he should her, the one and the other. Unclasp and aparted and hugging forsook. ‘What’s this?” said she, guardless. “Have you been deceiving. And bringing that teacher to work for us here?” '• Wb«n felt, he the joys of the sweet kisses leaving, And wished for a hole wherein to disappear.

CHAPTER VI. Tis true, as 'tls written; he’d hugged hl» old mother. And joyed in the glory of sweets in the dark. While she’d let him wade through the tanglesome bother, To see, was he earnest and true, as a spark. Enough has been said, yet a line must be written, To tell how that mother came down from her horse. For knew she now well her sen’s justly, sore smitten. And so let h'm wed the cook (schoolmarm) of course. Chicago, 111.

THEY ROARED WITH LAUGHTER

Mr*. Frank Losllo’s First Appearance Before a Public Audience. Mrs. Frank Leslie recently gave to a Chicago Post reporter the story ol her first appearance before a public audience. “It was a charity affair. 1 was asked to do something—anything. I inquired whether it was a pas de seul, or a ballad, or what, that I was expected to perform. ‘No, we are really in earnest,’ said the lady who had extended the invitation; ‘we want you to give us a recitation or something, for we must have youi name on the card.’ “Well, I went away and forgot all about it until the week of the affair, when I had all that I could do to find a suitable piece and learn the lines. The entertainment began. It was at Steinway Hall, New York, and I was put away down at the end of the programme. As the other performers rendered their selections one by one I felt my courage leak out bit by bit through my shoe t. “Then my turn came. I was led on the platform. For a moment I felt all right; then all of a sudden I felt my knees giving way. I can’t explain how it happened, but they just felt like melting. L crawled over to the piano and leaned against it. The audience thought I was striking a pose and applauded enthusiastically. As I supported myself there I felt my breath coming back to me, but what with all the faces and the applause and everything I had forgotten all about my poem. Even its title I could not recall. My mind was an absolute blank on the subject. I wanted to run away, but my knees were too weak to support me standing, much less to admit of making good my escape. J could not desert the piano. Eventually as my voice returned to me I de-

MRS. ERANK IEILIE.

cided to confide the story of my troubles to the audience. They thought it was a pure joke and applauded my little fable with the most inspiring applause. I told them I could not let go the piano, and they simply roared with laughter at my ready wit. They simply would not believe me. Their merriment eventually established a sympathy between me and them. My lost memory Anally came back, my knees braced up, I delivered my piece without a break, and from that day to this my most intimate friends refuse to credit me when I tell the story of my stage fright.”

AN AMERICAN PRIMA DONNA.

Miss Sybil Sanderson, the beautiful young California girl whose remarkably melodious voice created a sensation in San Francisco four or five years ago, when she was an amateur, has, according to the London Times’ Brussels correspondent, achieved a success in the latter city in the opera “Esclarmonde,” written expressly for her by Massenet, whose “Don Caesar de Bazan” and “Le Hoi de Lahore” have been frequently heard in this country. Miss Sanderson made her operatic debut two years ago i i “Eadarmonde*

MISS SYBIL SANDERSON.

and was highly praised by the French critics. Her voice is said to be of a quality that will insure her a high rank among operatic stars.

What He Would Say.

“Ah, little boy,” said the minister on Sunday morning, “what would Jrour father say if he knew you were oitering here with a fish-pole ?" “I dunno, but I guess he’d cuss me for not hurryin’ up and catchin’ some fish before the creek gets cleaned out bv the Thomas boys.”— Neto York World.