Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 January 1894 — Page 6
AT WAR WITH HERSELF.
The Stofy of a Woman’s Atonement, by Charlotte M. Braeme. CHAPTER XXXTV—Contlnned. She rose at last and bent over him. “Bertram," she said, “will you forgive me?” She never forgot the face raised to hers. - “Yes," he replied. “I will forgive you as heaven forgives those who ask for forgiveness. I will forgive the most cruel treachery ever practiced on mortal man. I will not leave you in enmity, for 1 shall never look upon your face strain, Lady Charnleigh —never again.” “You will not go away?” she pleaded, wistfully. “You will remain here, and,, in the years to come, be my friend.” “How cruel—how selfish'you beautiful women are!” he cried. “No, I shall not remain here, Lady Charnleigh: I shall go far away into the outer world, where your face will not haunt me.” She clung to him, pleading, trembling. “Do not leave me. Bertram—do not go. How shall I lite —dear heaven!— liow s hall I live without you?" “You should have thought of that before,” he replied. “Why should I remain near you? Rather let me go and forget that one so fair and false 6ver lured my heart from mo. I shall bid you farewell forever, Lady Charnleigh.” She was weeping so bitterly that in 6heer pity he unclasped the hands that held his arm so tightly, and placed her on the moss-covered lallen tree. “1 wilt say good-by forever. lot me look ones more at the eyes I thought all truth, at the lips 1 thought all sweetness, at the face I thought all beauty, at the woman whom I believed to be as noble as she is beautiful, but whom I find false. Farewell, sweet face! You will haunt me until I die. Farewell, my lost love —my fair false love! Fate well forever!” He turned away abruptly: one*.word more and the sti’ength of his manhood would have given away. Ho walked on with hurried stops, never pausing to look behind him, his face white and rigid, his lips set, all his quiet en-o and carelessness gone from him—a desperate man, whose heart was broken, and whose strength had left him—all unconscious that the woman for whom he would have given his life lay senseless among the harebells, white, cold, and motionless, as though sue were dead. There was but one. course for him, and that was to go abroad —to plunge at once into the midst of activity, confusion and excitement. His brain reeled, his head burned, his heart beat with great irregular throbs: ho dared not stop to look his sorrow in tho face, j She was fa'B3 to him—she had lured him on, yet had never intended to marry him. That one palpable fact j darkened the face of the summer heavens for him—throw a funeral pall over the fair, smiling earth —gave him a loathing for life too great for words. She, so fair, with the sunny, radiant face and light heart—she whom he had thought half goddess, Half woman, wholly charming—had proved herself as false as the lightest of her fair, false sox. Henceforth there could bo no | woman’s love for him—no smiles, no soft words, no pretty, deceitful charms. He had done with it all. A woman's love had darkened his youth and blighted his life. He would have no more of it. Steyn, angry pride kept him from giving way to despair. He was indignant, with the wounded pride of a man who has trusted in vain. His re-olve was taken even as he’ walked home from C>own Leighton. He would never seo it more, never again look in the face of its mistress, but go far away, where his sorrow and his love would be hidden from the eyes of men. He kept his resolve. When he reached Weildon, Captain Flemyng made many inquiries as to his sudden determination; hs received tho most abrupt answers. Sir Bertram would say nothing but that he had received a sudden summons to go abroad, and could not delay. At first Captain Flemyng was amazed, and then a glimmer of the truth dawned upon him. ‘‘Leonie has rejected him,” he said, “and it is for his sake—to save him pain—that she wishes our engagement to be kept a secret.” That conviction made him very kind and considerate to Sir Bertram. He assisted him in his preparations--he drove him to the station—he begged of him to write. “I cannot promise,” replied Sir Bertram. “A great sorrow has come to me, and it has unmanned me. If in after years I can live it down I will write to you. If you never hear from me again you will know that my sorrow can never die.” Long after he had gone these words haunted Paul. “It seems very strange,” he thought, “that love should cause so much misery. One fair face breaks many hearts. ” He waited long weeks and months for news of his friend, but nono came; and Captain Flemyng knew then that he had not lived his sorrow down.
XXXV. Life came back with a shock to the young girl who lay so hoj eloss and despairing among the wild flowers; her lips parted with a deep-drawn sign, her eyes opened to the light, and tnen they closed in weariness o l spirit too great for words. He was gone—he had bidden her farewell forever; nothing could pain her after that, nothing could please her. She rose and looked round her; the harebells where she had fallen were crushed and broken. She raised one or two of them in her hands, and looked wistfully at the broken stems. “I need not have crushed you,” she said, ‘‘even if I was crushed myself. How much I must have suffered to fall senseless there. How dearly I must love Crown Leighton and all belonging to it, when I am willing to sin so deeply and suffer so terribly in order to keep it!” Tnen she walked slowly home. It was all over; she had taken the irrevocable step; nothing could bring Bertram back to her again. Even should some sudden impulse of contrition seize her and urge her to confess it would not bring him back; ho had lost her. She had nothing to live for now save pleasure, brilliant gayety., the queenship of fashion. She had willfully given up all the higher and nobler duties of life; they wore as nothing to her in comparison with her love of luxury and magnificence. “I must not complain,” said the girl, to herself; and yet though she loved her surroundings so dearly, they were as nothing in comparison with what she had 10-t. She had that which her soul loved best, but at present it brought her nothing save what was wearisome. She fancied that in a few days she would be happier—when sho had forgotten the recent terrible shock. The finding of the will, the losing of Sir Bertram— these two things had come so quickly one after the dther that she had had no time to strengthen herself. She planne4 to jM*r-elf, as she went home, how she would 'give another fete, more brilliant, more magnificent, than the last; sho tried to ongage her
, whole fancy In' thinking what she should do to give the entertainment greater eclat: and yet beneath all the J bright fancies rose' the dark remembrance that he would not be there. What would a fete be worth that he i did not share? Of what interest would j a'l the display of her magnificence be i if he were not by to see? She wondered at the change that seemed to have fallen over everything; there.seemed to be no more light in the sunshine—no more beauty in the flowers. She had loved the lilies and roses so well that she had seldom 1 passed them without a caressing touch; she passed them now with averted face —they only reminded her of that which now she must forever forget. “Do let us find something amusing,” she said, when, a few hours later, she and her two friends were alone in the j drawing-room. “I am getting tired of this quiet existence, auntie; we mud [ goto Paris, or Italy, or some other place where a little of what is called ’life’ can be seen.” “What fever of unrest is upon you, Lady Charnleigh?” asked Miss Dacre. 1 “It is not many hours since you were 1 queen of the most brilliant scene I ever witnessed, and now you complain of wanting something to amuse you.” “I like continual excitement, Ethel; I should like every moment of my day ! so fully oocupied as not to leave one ! , second for quiet or leisure. There is | nothing so tiresome as feeling time ! hang heavy on one's hands. ” “’lhat is not a very healthy frame of j mind, Leonie,” said Lady Fanshawe. | “Continued excitement is like fever.” “It would suit me,” sho returned. What could rest and leisure bring her? Nothing but time for reflection; and that she did not want. So a few days passed. She had to listen to all the often-expressed wonder ! of her companions as to why Sir Bertram never came. Sho had to sit, with | a smile on her face, at Lady Thornbury's dinner party, while Major j Shelton told how their visitor, Sir j ; Bertram, had left them suddenly, and j had gone, it is believed, to Egypt. It! t seemed to her that the wondering comments would never end. She was obliged to listen and to join in them with a pain at her heart so sharp, so keen, that it was with difficulty sho could refrain from crying aloud in her anguish. “You did not toll mo that Sir Bertram was going,” said Miss Darce to Leonie on the first occasion that she found herself alone with her. “You might ; have tru-ted me sp far. I can imagine | why he has gone. Oh, Lecnie, I j thought you loved him!” “Did you?” sho returned carelessly. { “lam not a fit being for loving, Ethel. My heart is cold and hard a , u nether-mill-stone. Sir Bertram is gone—he will never come back—l do not wish to hear his name mentioned any more, i Will you bear that in mind? The greatest kindness you can show me is never to mention his name in my presence. ’’ “I will remember,” said Miss Dacre. Her fair face grew very pale. She understood. Lady Cliarnieigh had refused Sir Bertram, and did not care to be reminded of tho pain it had cost her. “I was so sure that she loved him,” thought Ethel. “I cannot be mistaken. She has shown her preference for him in a hundred different ways. Can it be possible that she likes Paul Flemyng better?” She was soon to know the truth. They had agreed to keep the engagement a profound secret, but Paul betrayed it at every moment; it was not told in words but in actions—there was an air of proprietorship about him when ho spoke to Leonie, or of her, that betrayed the truth. The day came when Ethel Dacre was certain of it. She entered the library suddenly one morning and saw Paul Flemyng kissing Leonie’s hand. For one-half moment she stood paralyzed the certainty of her forebodings rushed upon her—she knew Lady Charnleigh so well. With all her gayqty and her graceful, laughing manner, there was about her a dignified re-iorve that wits never broken through, Sho would net have allowed Paul Flemyng to kiss her hand unless ■he had a right to do so. Then, with a desperate effort she recovered herself and moved forward. Paul advanced to meet her. He was always pleased to see her; his kindlyliking tor her had increased, not diminished; and from the sunshine of his great happiness it was.pnly natural that some light should fall upon her. * * * “'■* *
One morning Lconie, having a small drawing to finish, had her table placed in the deep bay-window of the library, i Sho drew the rich hangings so as to shut out th 3 room ffom her sight, lest it should distract hen she opened the long window, so perfumed air might enter, then soared herself at the little table and soon became engrossed in her worl>. ( Qefpro long Ethel Deere entered, and went up to one of the book-shelves—sho was looking apparently for some book that she was doubtful whore to find; before Leonie had time to speak Paul Flemyng entered. "Is Lady Charnleigh here?” he asked, and Ethel, never thinking of the baywindow, answered, “No.” Leonie laughed to herself: it was purely from a spirit of girlish mischief that she did not speak. “If Paul wants me,” sho said to herself, “let him search a little longer.” “I Cannot find her,” he observed disconsolately, and Miss Daere laughed a little constrained laugh at his piteous face. “I think,” she said, gently, “that you havo found hor in the true sense of the word.” Paul s face flushed. “You were always iike a sister to me, Ethel —the dearest and kindest of sisters; I can tell you only this—that I am without exception the happiest man in the world.” “Although you have lost Crown Leighton? sho interrupted. ||“l had forgott3n that there was ever any chance of my having it, ” he said. “It is in better hands, Ethel. I never even think of it now. ” While ho was Breaking he had taken from a vase that stood on a little stand near him a beautiful spray of jasmine; he looked at it, and then in the earnestness of his words began to puli the leaves one from the other; finally he dropped it, and it lay unnoticed on the floor. “Where do you think I shall find Lady Charnleigh.” he asked. “In the grounds, most probably,” replied Ethel: “she has a personal acquaintance with every flower that grows. ” He went laughing out of the room. “Let him look for me,” said Leonie tq' herself; “nothing does a man so much good as waiting for anything he wants. ” She was just going to tell Ethel that she had overheard the few words spoken, when the sound of passionate weeping fell upon her ears. Looking out, she saw Ethel Dac; o kneeling on the ground where Paul had -stood, her face buried in her hands: convulsive sobs shook her whole frame—she had taken the flower he had dropped as though it had been some cherished relic. “He loves her,” she sobbeT—"he loves her, and he will never care tor
me! I would give my life for him, but I he will never care for me." When Letifiie heard these words she .laiddown her i-eaeiis, and stole quietly | out through the open window. Not for the world would she have listened to words never intended for mortal ears—. i she would not have intruded on sorrow | that was sacred, and grief that in itself was holy. She went out where the ;un shone brightly on the flowers, feeling more unhappy than she had been yet. This, then, was the secret of Ethel’s life—this was why she looked %a 1 and wistful—why the expression of her beautiful spirituelle face recalled that of Elaine in the picture. She loved Paul Flemyng with all the strength of her heart, and he knew nothing of it. “Sin spreads like a ripple on a clear pool,” she said to herself; “where will the consequences of mine end? I marred the life of the only man I can ever love; and now I stand between this girl and her happiness. Ah, me! I pay a bitter price for being cailed Lady Charnle : gh. ”
CHAPTER XXXW. Three months passed, and the engagement between the heiress of Crown Leighton and Captain Paul Flemyng was made known. People had but one opinion. As far as Lady Charnleigh herself was concerned, it was, of course, a very poor match, for she might have mated with the highest and wealthiest in the land; but, looking at it from a fair point of view, it was exactly right. It must have been a keen disappointment to Captain Flemyng—so nearly heir, and yet not heir after all; now Crown Leighton would be his by marriage, that was next best to inheriting it. Many people said, too, that he would be sure to have the title as well —letters-patont would be taken out, and he -would be Lord Charnleigh after all. Public opinion said it wa< a very proper ending to what had been a most romantic case. Captain Flemyng was the only one who could hardly believe his happiness to be real—it seemed to him so great it could scarcely be true. It was not for her wealth that he loved Lady Charnleigh. If she had been penniless he would have married her, and worked for her as man never worked before; he would have been better pleased if she had been poor, that he might have shown tho strength and purity of his lovo. The only drawback to liim was that wealth must come to him from the hands of his wife. He would fain have had it otheiwise. Ho had pleaded with her for an early marriage, but she had looked up at him with wearied eyes, and prayed«him to let that question re t —not to mention marriage vet: sho was happy and did not want to change her life so quickly. His handsome lace clouded ever so slightly; he seized her hand and held it tightly. “Leonie,” he cried, “do you know there are times when I almost doubt whether you love me? I look forward to my marriage with you as the crowning happiness of my life—you think of it merely as an uncomfortable change; that does not look like love, Leonie. ” Any reproach from Paul touched her keenly. Had she not already done him harm enough? Had she not wronged him more deeply than woman over wronged man before? Sho was not given to caressing, but, when sho saw that wounded look on his face, she bent her head and kissed his hand. ITO BE CONTINUED. |
THE KAISER’S SALARY.
It In H Big Sum. but HU Expenses Are Also Very Large. Few Americans know the sums which royai persons receive from the countries over which they rule for their own maintenance. Such salaries are much larger than wo pay our President, but on the other hand, the expense of keeping up a royal position is proportionately greater. The Emperor William of Germany receives yearly 18,929,9116 marks, which is equal to about $4,732,241, payable quarterly in advance. On the first of every quarter the Kaiser’s private treasurer draws his master's allowance from the treasury sealed in various packets and its correctness sworn to. Three times the money is counted and then put in a strong box, and under a guard it is taken to the royal ] alace. With much ceremony it is there utiloadod and placed in the vaults, after which the treasurer signs a document giving it over to his Majesty’s hands. But of the sum thus received the allows his wife $250,000 annually on which she must support her household, pay hor attendants, etc., as well as settle all her own personal expenditures. The Kaiser must pay the wages of all his dependents lrom his salary. This listds tremendous. He feeds and clothes 1,500 lackeys all the year round, and there are also about 350 female servants to be looked after. Besides these he has a private pension list whieh costs him $50,000 annually, for every servant, of high or low degree, is entitled to a pension after twenty years of service. The Kaiser a’so pays his mother a pension of 2,000,000 marks, and for the support of the Royal Theater and Opera House he pays out 1,650,000 marks every year. From this list it can easily be seen that his Majesty must sometimes feel as poor as common mortals when his bills are paid, and his need of ready money is sometimesrgreat.
New York’s Overflowing Tenements.
Nowhere in the world is there a denser population to the square mile than in the tenement house district of New York. In six wards there is an average population cf 252,83-1 to the square mile, and in the Tenth Ward the ratio is 357,888 to the square mile. This congested district embraces scarcely one-twenty-fifth of the whole city’s area, but it furnishes “homes” for nearly one-quarter of the city’s population, and incidentally provides 10,000 yearly of the 40,000 deaths and 80 per cent, of the criminals. Instances of the crowding of from seven to twelve persons in two small rooms are not unusual discoveries, and all the conventionalities of civilization and the very instincts of common decency are necessarily wiped out. Morality and cleanliness, under such circumstances, are of course impossible. The most thickly populated district of Old London is credited with only 175,816 to the square mile, and none of the continental cities approach the terrifying congestion of New York’s ’ “Teeming Tenth."
Goat Raising a Growing Industry.
Goat raising is an important and growing industry in Oregon and sem j other northwestern States. One rancher In Benton county, Ore., has a fine nerd of 450 goats, wh ch includes a number of thoroughbred Angora bucks. Twenty-two cents a pound is the lowest this man has received for a fleece in a dozen years, while frequently he ha< received .30 to 35 cents a pound. The average yield from a goat is about four peunds, eight t<> ten pounds is frequently obtained from high grade goats. The goats are not only valuable for their fleece, but in clearing off land, as they subsist largely on brush and weeds. It is magnificent, but ft is not war.— Pierre Bosquet, a French General. Spoke >. of the charge of the Light BrigadA at Balaklava. , |' y
THE GRIP.
A Description of the Disense by One Who Hss Suffered. 1 Ever had the gr/p? asks the Winona •Herald. I will give you a few pointers. Yotfc will imagine you have a bad cold and can wear it out, but you need not try it. The grip has fastened his fangs on to you and will not let go. You have got to give up. go home and go to bed. In a short time you will feel like that Chicago drummer who took the Keely cure at Dwight, 111. You will feel like an anarchist and want to bomb. You will realize Beecher’s dream of holi. You will think your head has been removed and an old beehive, with the empty comb, left in its place. mouth will taste like a pail of 6our krout You have the grip. The doctor comes, looks you over, touts his thermometer In your mouth, (finds your temperature 104 in the ptaade, your pulse going at the rate of two miles and three laps to the second. He orders you to stay in bed and gives you medicine that i« so strong and sour that simply setting the bottle on the clock shelf stopped the clock. He will tell your wife that she may give you warm drinks and try to get you to sweat, and take his leave. Now all wives are family doctors by right of their position in the house, and as you have gone to sleep, delirious and exhausted, she begins her treatment by putting a belladonna plaster across your lunas, a flaxseed poultice on one side and a mustard poultice on the other, a hot flatiron and a jug of hot water to your feet, and a sack of boiled corn in the ear, piping hot, to your back. You sleep and dream of being away to the far North in search of the north pole, or out in the center of some beautiful sheet, of water like Lake Superior, or the lawn tennis Bkating-rinjc, helpless and alone, with the ice breaking all around yon, and you slowly sinking. You finally awake, burnt, blistered, and baked. The doctor calls, finds your tempera-, ture about eighty degrees at the north side of the house and your pulse normal, not needing a pace-maker. He pronounces vou better, convalescing. Orders beef tea, chicken soup, gruel and toast as a diet. You take the big rocking-chair exhausted, tired, discouraged and ugly; you feel like licking your wife, kicking the dog, and breaking up the furniture, but you won’t do anything but sit there, day after day, weak, helpless and tired.
ONLY A TRAMP.
ThU Incident Was ActuaUy Witnessed by tho Writer. He was a veritable tramp. His trousers were spattered with mud. and both they and his coat were that nondescript color which only long exposure to the weather can give. The spattered hat he wore, pulled well down over his eyes, concealed the half discouraged, half defiant expression of his face. As he slouched along in aimless fashion his clumsy, broken shoes clattered on the pavement. Years ago he had recklessly left home and since then he . had only heard news from the old place once. That was a few days past, when he had read of his mother’s death in the papers. He was ashamed to go back then, though he longed to see her face once more. He did not mean to be gone so long. But he had started out to seek his fortune, and he had found it. Only it was not good fortune. All his worldly possessions now consisted of a nickel, lying in the pocket of his vest. Just sufficient to buy a “free lunch,” and he was hungry enough to spend it. He looked up as he neared the corner, searching for a favorable place to invest the coin. Coming down the avenue toward him was an old beggar woman. She hobbled along slowly, leaning on a cane for the supprrt which her trembling limbs could not give. Her weak eyes peered anxiously into tho faces of passers-by in a vain appeal for help, and her wrinkled hand shook as she held it out for alms. As she reached the corner a cold wind blowing through tho street made her shiver and pull her thin shawl more closely about her shoulders. This motion attracted the tramp’s attention, and he glanced at her as she passed, though she did not look at him. “Poor old soul ” he muttered; “that’s hard lines.” He paused in his walk, looked at the slowly recreating figure, hesitated and turned back. The woman stared in astonishment as he touched her on her shoulder. FumbliDg in the pocket of his tattered vest he pulled out a coin. This he placed in her hand , without a word, and not even waiting for the fervent “God bless you!” he shuffled away and was lost to view in the crowd.—New York Press.
Cost of British Defenses.
Tne British empire spends as a rule upon defense Irom 9250,000,00 Q to 9250,000,000 a year, of which the military expenditure of India, with the indirect expenditure for the sake of India on mobile land forces at home, forms the largest Item. Almost the whole of this vast sum is expended out of British loans or taxes under the control of the Parliament of the United Kingdom, and out of Indian taxes under the direct control of the Houso of Commons through the Secretary of State, who is a member of the government of the day. This expenditure, although vast, although open to the reproach that it does not do more than maintain a fleet slightly superior to that of France, and an army of very small numbers, is a flea bite as compared (in its ill effect upon the wealth of the nation) with th# military expenditure of Italy, or, in a le.-s degree, with other continental powers. The evidences of the overpressure of taxation in India itself, many as they are. are slight in compa.ison with those which are present in the case of Italy, and it may be assumed, therefore, that, while'the taxpayers of the United Kingdom and of India may make their voices heard in insisting upon bel ter value for tbeir money, the expenditure will not in itself be brought to an end by bankruptcy.
Von Moltke’s Serenade.
Yon Moltke once went to Lindau, as he thought, incognito. He ordered ,a room on the ground floor in the “Bayerische Hos” and went to bed
early, bat forgot to draw bis blinds down. When he was just going to sleep he heard music drawing near. He had been recognized, after all, and was going to be serenaded again. The difficulty was how to get dressed without being seen. He dared not strike a light. But presently the glare of torches lit up his room and the curious crowd stood close to the windows, their noses pressed against the panes. In spite of that he feU that he must rise, so he got up and dressed. But as be put on each piece of his apparel, the feat was greeted with loud and prolonged applause.
YOUNG LAWYER’S STRATAGEM.
It Might Hare Worked bot for an Unexpected Incident. The following story is told of Timothy Coffin, who was for a long time Judge of the New Bedford District: When a very youßg man he was retained in a case of sufficient importance to bring out almost every resident of the town, so that the little New Bedford Court House was packed when court was opened that morning. Coffin had been secured as counsel by the defendant Although It was his first attempt in open court, he had made little or no preparation, thinking that he could get through somehow or other when the time came. Thus, when the counsel for the defendant came into court that morning he was greatly surprised, and no less agitated, to see the big crowd and realize the wide public interest in the trial at hand. He saw that he looked upon the case too lightly. The prosecution was stroDg, and he had made not even a slight preparation. To lose the case meant the loss of a hoped-for reputation. Could he afford to commit this blunder by displaying his ignorance of the case? How could he get out of it? These were a few of the questions that are known to have flashed through the young lawyer’s head, for afterward he himself told of the awful perplexity of the hour. Being a shrewd inventor, he devised a plan. As soon as the court had been called to order and the crier had said his little say, he arose and asked for a postponement of the trial, on the ground that he had just received a telegram announcing the sudden and fatal illness of his mother, who resided at Nantucket. Scarcely had the words of this appeal proceeded from the lips of young Coffin when an elderly woman quietly arose in the balcony of the courtroom and gave utterance to these words: “Timothy, Timothy, how many times have I chastised thee for lying?” Timothy recognized the sound ol that voice only too well. It was that of his mother. This being Timothy’: first public case, the old lady had secretly come up to New Bedford tr see how well her son would do. Her presence was, of course, totally unknown to him. The further developments need not be recorded here. Suffice it to say that Timothy Coffin in after years made sure that his excuses would not be thrown back at him by any member of his own family.—Boston Herald.
Stonehenge.
Stonehenge istberemains of a vast stone circle or place of worship of an unknown sect, standing in Salisbury Plain, about seyen miles from the old city of Salisbury in England. It is generally considered to have been erected by the Druids, hut some antiquarians think it much older, ascribing it to the Phoenicians, who are known to have traded with Britons centuries before Christ. The most generally accepted account of Stonehenge ascribes its erection to King Merlin about the y > ar 500 A. D. in memory of the 400 Welsh nobles murdered by Hengist, the leader of the Saxons, in 472 A. D. Stonehenge consisted originally of a circle about SCO feet in circumference, composed of thirty upright stones about 10 feet high and 6 feet in diameter, with others of about the same size placed horizontally upon their tops; only seventeen uprights and seven imposts are in place. About nine feet inside this circle was another circle, consisting of forty single uprights, smaller than those of the outer circle. Within these circles was an oval, composed of five pairs of trilithous (uprights connected by an impost); and inside of this was a still smaller oval, composed of nineteen uprights. In the center of this was the altar, stone, fltteen feet long. All around is & ditch, and barrows, or burial motfnds, cover the country in all directions. It is suggested by modern student? of Ilosicrucianism that Stonehenge was a work of the Bosicrucians or of the flre-worsb.ip-ers.
A Rare Egg.
The sale in Lon lon of an egg of the extinct giant bird Epyornis at a high price was lately noted. The Epyornis was, in reality, the fabulous Boc, of Sinbad the Sailor, in “Arabian Nights.” It- has been brought to London by a Mr. J. Proctor, of Tamatave, in Madagascar. It was discovered by some natives about twenty miles to the southwest coast of Madagascar. The egg, which is whitey-brown in color and unbroken, is a fine specimen, thirty-three and a half inches by twenty-eight inches, and an even higher value is placed upon it than upon the egg of the great auk, which lived within) the memory of man. The immense proportions of the egg are better demonstrated by comparison with the eggs of th<fostrich and crocodile. An ostrich egg is about seventeen inches by fifteen inches, and the contents of six such are only equal to one egg of the Epyornis. The measurements of the egg of the crocodile are normally nine inches by six and a half inches. It would require the contents of sixteen and a half emu eggs to equal the contents of this great egg, or 14b egg's of the homely fowl, or 30,000 of the humming bird.
If Prof. Garner really has mastered the monkey language, as he says, it won't be fair to let him go into the circus hereafter at the ordinary price of 50 cents, any more than it would be in the case of a man with six eyes —one pair for each one of the triple rings. A philosopher is a man who does not try to argue With others until he knows ho ego down them.
PLAYS ON PINS.
Bow • Bright Young Girt Kztract* Mtuic from Them. There is a very pretty fable which has it that the plus that are lost every year are picked up by fairies, who hammer them out on elfin anvils into notes of music. There is some basis for this fiction, for plDs have a musical quality if you know how to bring it out. A young man, says a New York paper, discovered this fact the other evening when he heard a chorus of pins singing “Daisy Bell.” They were so arranged that they looked for all the world like a line of music taken from a book. They stood up on a pine board, each at a different height The spaces
THE AMATECR ORGAN.
between them were also of different widths. In touching the pins it was apparent that each of them was capable of producing but one sound. It was then observed that the sounds followed each other in subh a way as to perform that lively and popular air of “Daisy Bell” in a manner that was wonderfully pleasing. The young girl who had setup this amateur organ said it was easy enough for any one to make who had an ear for music. “All there is to it,” she said, “is to get a tune in your head, then drive a pin down in a board and keep driving and trying it till it sounds like the first note in the tune. Then stick up another for
GRINDS OUT TONES.
the second note, and so on. To raise a pin to a higher note you hammer it down further, and to lower it you pull it up a little. When you want to go slow you put the pins a good ways apart, and when you want to go fast you plant them thicker.” The next day she set up a pin organ in circular form. She made one of those little whirligigs which spin around when they are held over a register or by a stove pipe, and then connected it by a string with a wheel. This wheel, as It turned, set an upright shaft in motion, and from this there projected a stick with a pin at the end. This was arranged as is shown In the cut, so that when it revolves the pin in the stick played upon the pins in the circle and rattled off “The Bowery” at a tremendous pace.
THE LATE DR. PHILIP SCHAFF.
The Famous Biblical Scholar and Writer of Church History. Rev. Dr. Philip Schaff, eminent as a writer of church history and teacher of sacred literature, recently died
at his home in New York. He was born at Coire, Switzerland, in 1819, His father, who was a soldier, died early in life, and at 10 years of age the , boy was forced to earn his own liv
dr phidip schaff. ing. He worked his way through the gymnasium at Stuttgart, and afterwards attended lectures at Halle, Tubingen and Berlin. He spent a winter at Borne, working in the library of the Vatican by special permission of the Pope. Last year, or fifty years later, he worked in this library, securing Pope Leo’s permission through a letter from Cardinal Gibbons. Young Schafl was ordained in 1844. Then he came to this country and was professor in the Theological Seminary oi the German Eeformed Church of the United States until the year 1863. In 1870 he accepted the professorship of sacred literature in Union Theological Seminary, in which he was active until a short time ago. He was many times sent to Europe in the interest of the American Evangelical Alliance. Dr. Schaff is best remembered as President of the American Bible Bevision Committee. His works are mainly historical and exegetical.
A Mistake.
Life.
1 The fact that an ex-Congressman has been indicted on a charge of having helped wreck the Indianapolis bank lends strength to (the old saying, that when a man orice begins to go to Congress onjy prayer and constant struggle will stay his progress on the downward course. We have heard of hundreds of men falling heir to money, but we never 1 knew one to get any.
A NEW ENGLAND MIRACLE.
A RAILROAD ENGINEER HIS EXPERIENCE.’ ' The Wonderful s:ory Told by Vr.4 C- Tom end HU Mother-in-law to m ttefotfer ol the Boston Herald —Both Are Britored After Yean* of Atonr. [From the Bomen Herald.J The vast health-giving insults already attributed by - the newspapers throughout this eouatrv and Canada to illiams’ “Pink rtflt fc'r Pale Peo--pie" have been recently supplemented by the cases of two fconfirmted invalids in one household in a New England .town. The names of thesa people are Fred C. Vose, his wile and hit mother-in-law, Mrs. Oliver C. Holt, of Peterboro, members of the same household. To the Herald reporter who was sent to investigate his remarkable cure Mr. Vose said: “I am 37 years old, and have been railroading’ for the Fitchburg for fifteen years. Since boyhood I have been troubled with a weak stomach. For the past seven years I have suffered terribly and constantly. My stomach would not retain food; my head ached constantly and was so dizzy I could .‘carcely stand; my eyes were blurred: I had a bad heartburn, and my. breath was offensive. I had physicians, but they failed to help me. My appetite gave out-and four years ago I developed palpitation of the heart, which seriously affected my breathing. Had terrible pains in my back and had to make water many times a day. I finally developed rheumatic signs and couldn't sleep nights. If I lay down my heart would go pit-a-pat at a great rate, and many nights I did not close my eyee at all. I was broken down in bjdy aid discouraged in spirit, when some time in February last, I got a couple of boxe3 of Dr. Williams’ Pink PilLs. Before I had finished the first box I noticed that the palpitation of my heart, which had bothered me so that I couldn’t breathe at times, began- to improve. I saw that in going to my home on the hill from the depot, which was previously an awful task, my heart did not beat so violently and I had more breath when I reached the house. Alter the second and third boxes I grew better in every other respect. My stomach became stronger, the gas belching was not so bud, my appetite and digestion improved, and my sleep became nearly natural and undisturbed. I have continued taking the pills three times a day ever since last March, and to-day I am feeling better than at any time during the last eight years. I can confidently and conscientiously say that they have done me more good, and their good effects are more permament, than any fnedieino I have ever taken. My rheumatic pains in legs and hands are all gone. The pains in the small of my back, which were so bad at times that I couldn’t stand ui straight, have nearly all vanished, ana I find my kidneys are well regulated by them. Tnis is an effect not claimed for the pills in the circular, but in my case they brought it about. I am feelirg 100 per cent, better in every shape and manner.” The reporter next saw Mrs. Holt, who said: “I am 57 years old and for fourteen years past I have had an intermittent heart trouble. Three years ago I had nqrvous prostration, by Yvhich my heart trouble was increased so badly that I had to lie down most of the time. My stomach also gave out and I had continual and intense pain from the back of my neck to the end of my backbone. In fourteen weeks I spent S3OO for doctor bills and medicines, but my health continued so miserable that I gave up doctoring in despair. I began to take Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills last winter, and the first box made me feel ever so much better. I have taken the pills since February, with the result of stopping entirely the pain in the spine and in the region of the liver. My stomach is again normal, and the palpitation of tho heart has troubled me but three times sines I commenced the pills.” An analysis of Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills shows that they contain, in a condensed form, all the elements necessary to give new life and richness to the blocd and restore shattered nerves. They are an unfailing specific for such diseases as locomotor ataxia, partial paralysis, St. Vitus’ dance, sciatica, neuralgia, rheumatism, nervous headache, _ the after effect cf la grippe, palpitation of the heart, pale and sallow complexion, all forms of weakness either in male or female, and all diseases resulting from vitiated humors in the bicod. Pink Pills are sold by all dealers, or will be sent post paid on receipt of price (50 cents a box, or six boxes for $2.50; they are never sold in bulk or by tho ICO; by addressing Dr. Williams’ Medicine Co., Schenectady, N. Y.. or Brock villa, Ont.
Cooking a Goose in Germany.
The whole goose is not roasted in Germany, at least not in the section famous for goose liver, our pate de foie gras. The method of disposing of tke bird is so different from ours that it may be of interest to American housewives. The goose is first disjointed in much the same way as a chicken would be for fricassee, but nothing is thrown away. The head, feet, wings and rack or back are placed by themselves, the thighs, breast and neck by themselves. The skin is removed from the whole bird, and every particle of fat taken btf and “rendered” in a manner similar to leaf lard. The skin iUeif is a;sc “tried out,” and makes a sort oi “scrapple,” which little Hans ami Grotchen consider a great dainty. The neck is then cleaned and stuffed, a dressing of sage, onion and bread crumbs being in.erted between lhe skin and the iiesh. This, with thighs and breast, is roasted or baked. The head is split open by striking il through the beak with a sharp knife, the eyes are taken out, the beak cut off, and the remainder scalded. Tug toes are trimmed and the legs scalded to remove the skin. Legs, head, wings and rack are served in a stew, or where many geese are kept and killed at the same time for their livers, the rack is put into brine and salted like pork. It is used for stewing during >the winter. Sometimes the brespt and thighs are potted by scalding them and covering them with the fat after it has been rendered and clarified. This method, wjiich is similar to that used in the preparation of livers, Ripps the, meat perfectly.
Asbestos.
The placing of a bit of asbestos into the tip of a lamp Wic)c is said to have increased the brilliancy qf the light 30 per cent. ~ ■i, V A pair of English sparrows are believed to have been the cause of a small fire which originated in the cornice of the girls’ high school, at Louisville, Ky., one day lately. One of the professors thinks that the conflagration was caused by a match in the birds’ nest that became dry and ignited in some mysterious wav. The Supreme Court in session at Boston has ruled that if sheep arc attacked by a number of dogs, the owner of any of the canines Is liable for the whole amount of the damage.