Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 April 1896 — Page 4

TUMBLE-DOWN FARM ALAN-MUIR

CHAPTER XII. The summer day was drawing to a delightful close when Willie with reluctant feet made his way to the spot where he and Vanity had so often met. At the sight of him Vanity bounded forward, a look of delight crossed her face like one of those sudden sweeps of sunlight you see floating over a landscape when clouds fly fast in a bright sky. Willie drew coldly back. Vanity, whose whole nature was quickened into the utmost sensitiveness, turned as pale as death. “Something has happened,” she gasped, “something wrong—something dreadful! Tell me what it is!”In her pallor and overpowering agitation Willie read guilt. That momeniary warmth of feeling which her sweetness and surpassing beauty r.ad aroused in his heart died out like ineffectual fire. “You are not far astray,” he said, in a caustic way; “something wrong has happened. By the way,”—this was said with marked significance—“am I to address you As Miss Hardware or not?” Vanity responded to the sting of the question as sharply as her accuser could have hoped; she shot a look of undisguised alarm at him, and grew paler than before.

“I see,” continued Willie, “Hardware is not your name. What it may be is now no particular concern of mine. You must have known that under your circumstances, whatever the particulars may be, the very notion of marriage with nifc was wicked.” “Love me still, Willie,” she said, sobbing. “Don’t give me up. It will be death to me if you give me up.” “Let us now part,” he said, wishing to end the scene. “Part!” exclaimed Vanity. She uttered the word in a half scream. “I cannot marry a woman with a secret which she will not or cannot explain.” Willie spoke this with perfect dignity. “Is this generous?” cried Vanity; “is it just? Did you not press me to marry you—did you not press me again and again in the face of my own warnings on this very matter? Did I not tell you of shame and disgrace hanging over me? You persisted in your course until you won my love. Now you cast me off for the misfortunes you knew before—casting me off to die broken-hearted—for I shall die if you leave me.” “What you say is true,” he answered; “I did pervist in loving you in spite of your warning, but I had no idea then of the obstacle that lies in your way. I believed it to be something embarrassing, not disat least I—l meant not—not •o dishonorable as—as ” * ‘‘ As what?” Vanity asked; “what have you discovered?” “You know your own secret; don’t ask me to describe it.” £ £What can you know?” cried Vanity, with symptoms of alarmed curiosity. “My secret—my real secret—you cannot possibly know.” - The WonJs were ill-chosen. Willie detected defiance or audacity in what she said, and grew irritated. “Your secret is ( ” said he, pointing as be spoke in the direction of the farm, “that your father is not your only, companion in that house. A man comes there by night. You sit alone with him. You sing together. You kiss him. And you promised your love to me! Who is that man? He is your secret —your disgrace—your tormentor, I daresay; and you were going to escape from him and bestow the treasure of your love on me, and we were to fly to a foreign country that we might not be pursued by—this man.”

Vanity stood like a statue listening to him, but as he proceeded surprise, not unmixed with relief, took the place of grief and fear in her face. “You have discovered my secret, Willie, she said. “But you don’t understand it. I know how all this reached your ears. That wretched tipsy fellow who watched us through the window told you. But I assure you solemnly that all the suspicions you have founded on it are imaginary. Remember the promise I asked you to give me—that in spite of all appearances of evil you would trust me. Trust me as you promised to trust me Your reward shall be the devotion of my life. But don t cast me off because you suspect me of deceit and selfishness.” “Then explain who your friend is. Tell me his name—tell me his relations with yourself—say how he can be so intimate with you, if you are free—and blameless.” “All that,” replied Vanity slowly, “is my secret” “And you will not disclose it?” “I cannot; I am bound.” “Then we part; we part forever.” Vanity looked at him as a wounded deer might look at a huntsman, her eyes big with an agony she had no speech to explain. “You will not trust me?” she said. “I will not!” cried Willie furiously. “I shall never speak to you again, I will see your face no more.” Without another word he turned away and left her, but stole a backward glance Just as he was leaving the field. She put out her arms imploringly, beseeching him in this silent way to return to her. He answered by a cold shake of the head, and then vanished out of her sight

CHAPTER XIII. The morning but one after his interview with Vanity he received the following letter: “Dearest Willie: I am grieved—cut to the heart—by what you said to me yesterday, but not angry with you. I know you have reason on your side. What was told you might very well make me seem black in your eyes, and the difficulty even now is that I cannot explain anything. I am bound by the most solemn promise to keep the explanation of the scene which appeared so wicked to you a secret—even from you. The day will come—it is not indeed far off—when you shall know all. In the meantime, will you not accept my solemn assurance that the evil you saw in it is not really there? Meet me this evening at the old place. I can say what I cannot write. When we have talked things over calmly you will see all in a different light Dearest Will, I know how I love you, and I believe your heart is as deep as mine. Ever your loving, \ _ “ s - H." There. Is no need to spin a little incident into a long story. Willie did not go; he spent that evening with Nancy Steele. Three days later he received a second letter, beseeching him to grant another ■Wting. Be made no reply of any sort,

and after that nothing more came from Miss Vanity Hardware. Everybody knew that Willie and Nancy were engaged; the ceremony took place in a month’s time. The wedding was about as cheerful as a well-conducted funeral. The morning was drizzly; the church struck one with damp chill; Willie was depressed. He glanced nervously over his shoulder two or three times, as if fearing an unwelcome hand laid there. The bride alone bore herself spiritedly. | The happy couple took a full measure honeymoon of four weeks. During their absence I heard certain reports bruited in the village about the Hardwares. One story said that on a particular evening a stranger passing by was startled by loud cries coming front the farm house. When he went to the door to listen he heard a man shouting and swearing furiously, and a woman sobbing and crying out as if she were struck. Concluding that it was only an ordinary case of wife-beating, the stranger pursued his way. Another report declared that old Hardware found the climate of the village disagree with his asthma, and that he had bought a house at Burnham. It was soon ascertained to be a fact that they were leaving Hampton, and, indeed, I learned the very day of their intended departure. By an odd coincidence the same day was fixed for Willie’s return.

The day before Willie returned from his wedding trip a strange man walked into my shop. This personage was tall and stout, shabbily dressed, and, indeed, he looked the picture of a bagman. He bought sixpennyworth of black currant lozenges, and putting half a dozen in his mouth at once, seated himself before the counter. “You don't mind my resting awhile,” he said, “while I take this little refreshment?” “Certainly not,” I replied. “As long as you please.” He was an agreeable man, with plenty of well-informed talk. At last—how Ido not now remember—he got to Tumbledown Farm, when, turning to me with a smile, said he: "I have been told that an old oddity named Hardware lives there.” “That is the name,” I replied. “And a young woman, I believe, with him—handsome sort of girl?” ".So people call her.” Let me tell you,” continued the stranger, in an idle kind of tone, “I hear a third party lives 1h that house—a middleaged man, rather good looking, tall, with black hair and dark eyes, very piercing. He has a scar, too—a small one—over the left eye.” \bu describe him as if he was your twin brother,” I answered. The stranger laughed, and soon rose and wished me good morning. That night, while Gracious Me was sitting with a couple of companions over his gin at the Lion, this same stranger stepped in with a friend, and called for two glasses of whisky-and-water. He joined the conversation, and contrived in five minutes’ time to mention Tumbledown Farm. “Any of you know that house?” he inquired.

Gracious, who was pretty far gone, gurgled out a drunken laugh, and encouraged vs the strangers, rambled through the whole narrative of his adventures at the farm. The evening after his return, Willie called to see me. He seemed contented, and spoke of his wife with great admiration. “Your friends up hill have gone away,” I said, after awhile. "What a relief!” cried Willie. “What a wonderful relief!” Now, this little bit of talk had a singu- I lar result. Willie, hearing that the Hardwares had gone away, was seized with a fancy of seeing the old house again. It turned out, however, that the departure had been postponed for.two days; and it thus came about that as Willie strolled up the road near to Tumbledown Farm, a bend of the way brought him face to face with Vanity, who was walking slowly in the opposite direction. At the sight of her Willie was thunderstruck. She looked pale and hopeless. At first he made a movement to raise his hat, but changing his mind, prepared to walk past her without any sign of recognition. “Stop!” cried Vanity. Her voice was calm and authoritative. Willie, looking round with a haughty air, replied: “You must excuse me.” “I shall not excuse you,” nnswered Vanity boldly. “You shall stop. You have to hear something from me.” “Vanity,” he said, stammering, and looking everywhere except at her, “I—l —am sorry—but—you see ” “Listen to me,” she said, putting his commencing apologies aside with a slow gesture expressive of disdain. You asked me to marry you. I refused. You pressed yourself upon me again. Then I told you —I need not have told you, remember—that there was a blot upon my life which could be endured only by one who loved me more than name or fame or the good opinion of the world. Still you declared you would marry me, if I would have you. Still you persisted in asking me to be your wife. Is this true?” • “Of course it is,” said Willie, ki a tone half sulky and half petulant. “You broke your promise!” cried Vanity. “Have the courage to say so. You are brave enough to be perfidious, but not brave enough to admit that you are so. Admit that you had not the courage to marry me. And let me tell you this: had you met me the second time when I asked you, I would have satisfied all your doubts. I shall not give you any explanations now. Your good or bad opinion is nothing to me. Go back to your wife, and be as happy as you can; the happier you are the less you are worthy of happiness. You have blackened my life. Go, and make what you can of your own!” Willie listened to her fiery outburst with a stricken look. He felt that she had justice in some shape on her side. Instead of making any reply, he looked uji at Vanity, with eyes full of tears. “Willie—my dear Willie,” she said brokenly, “I have been wild and wrong, but only because under all my agony and anger love for you is burning still. I didn’t mean all I said. I forgive you. I will pray for your happiness.” Perhaps had events run what seemed their ordinary course before the second hand of Willie’s watch had described another half circle, he might have forgotten for the time there was such a lady as Mrs. Snow. And what prevented ? It was my black currant lozenge friend, who.

stealing np unseen, came between the two. “Miss,” said he, “you have got some one hid in yonder house who is wanted.” “Wanted? For what?” Erect, haughty, brushing her tears off, but no more afraid than if he had been a beggar asking for a penny. “Burglary, miss.” Not the quiver of an eyelash, not a change of color from red to white or from white to red, not the slightest tremor in her voice; only a kind of interest, as if the man, in doing his duty, had made an amusing mistake. “Anything besides burglary, sir?” “Murder.” Miss Hardware became serious in a moment, but not the least sign of agitation appeared. “You are making a great mistake,” she said; “but you had better come in and see for yourself. I am sorry you have been misinformed. This way.” “Thank ye, Miss Barnitt.” “I see,” she said, with the most easy air, “you are altogether mistaken. My name is Hardware.” “It was Barnitt, however,” retorted the detective coolly, “and is so entered in the books of Mrs. Luck, dressmaker, Carlisle, Silk frocks and trimmings, ten pounds ten; discount for cash. No, Miss Barnitt; this won’t do. Ul* is the word, I tell you. All UP!” “Come, come,” Vanity suid haughtily, “you must do what you consider your duty. This way.” And actually, with an air at once composed and indignant, and with rapid steps, she led the way to the old farm.

(To be continued.)

TIGER AND ELEPHANT.

Horribly Cruel Sport Practiced in a Region in India. At Tyzabad, India, the Mohammedan natives enjoy combats between wild beasts somewhat after the manner of the ancient Romans. A returned American traveler thus writes of a combat he witnessed between a tiger and an elephant: Trumpets sounded, he says, as a sign that everything was in readiness, afad a cage containing a tiger was brought into the arena, which was an inclosure guarded on the outer side by bamboo railings. Eye never rested upon a more splendid animal. He leaped to the ground with a supple grace quite indescribable, and reviewed the assemblage with admiring eyes, himself the most admirable object in sight. An immense elephant, more than ten feet high at the shoulders and of unusual length of body, was then goaded by spears and clubs to enter the place. He made directly for the tiger and attempted to kneel upon him, but the subtle beast moved away quickly and stood at bay. A large rocket to which a barb was attached was fired at the elephant, and struck him in the neck, causing him to bound forward with a lurch, and it seemed he would fall upon the tiger, but there was a flash of something in the air and the tiger had fallen upon him, striking the huge beast in the face with two cruelly pronged claws, sharper than poniards. The elephant bellowed with pain as the tiger released his hold and retreated to a distant corner, and the spectators yelled with delight. It gave promise of a brilliant combat. Simultaneously rockets were fired ihto the two beasts which set them in terrible commotion, and they ran around the inclosure roaring and bellowing with fright. The elephant was turned squarely around by a second rocket, and was brought face to face with his adversary. He seized the hind legs of the tiger with his trunk and hurled the cat high into the air. Again he tried to trample upon the tiger, but the latter was too quick and instead gouged out the eyes of the great brute, which bellowed with pain. The elephant then rushed round the Inclosure seeking in vain for his enemy and not finding it dashed against the bamboo railing, demolishing It and incidentally killing two persons and injuring others. Then the maddened animal escaped, but was pursued and killed. The tiger, too, escaped to the jungle. Notwithstanding its tragic finale the combat was loudly extolled by the natives, who declared it one of the best they had ever enjoyed.

Charlotte Corday.

A memorable woman stands upon the scaffold, not this time in whijte, but in the red smock of the murderess. It is Charlotte Corday, born d’Armans; and she has killed Marat. If ever murder were justifiable, it was this assassination. The sternest moralist cannot refrain from admiring this high-souled, undaunted girl; for the murder that she committed is elevated far above an ordinary crime. She was impelled neither by lust of gain, nor by jealousy, nor by ordinary hate; and she only slew a monster in order to save unhappy France from wholesale slaughter. Shortly before his end, Marat had screeched a demand for 2,500 victims at Lyons, for 3,000 at Marseilles, for 28,000 at Paris, and for even 300,000 in Brittany and in Calvados. No wonder that Danton, Camille Desmoulins, and Robespierre went to see this extraordinary and most resolute young woman, whose motive had drugged her conscience, and who neither denied her act nor sought to escape its consequences. She was beheaded at 7:30 in the July summer evening. Calmeyed and composed she went to death, but she turned pale for a moment when first she caught sight of the guillotine. “I killed one man to save a hundred thousand, a villain to save Innocents, a savage wild beast to give repose to my country.” Never has murder found so noble an excuse; and she was only 25. After the execution, the manhood of the Jacobin tyrants caused the headsman and his valets “de rechercher sur les restes encore chauds de Charlotte les traces de vice, dont les calomniateurs voulaient la fletrir. On ne constata que la purete de son corps dans cette profanation de la beaute et de la mort.”—The Quarterly Review.

A Georgian Dies, Aged 128!

Hiram Lester, one of the oldest men in the world, died at McDonough, Ga., the other day, in his 129th year. He was born in North Carolina in 1768. Lester’s one claim to fame came when he went to Piedmont Exposition at At* lanta and there on the exposition grounds divided attention with President Cleveland. A public ceremony united Lester and a bride over 70 years of age. Lester’s daughter lives in Heard Count}-, and is 95 years old. His youngest son is in the county poorhouss and is 92 years old.

YOUTH AND LIFE.

What would the world be if by chance Youth held it futile to advance, Futile to dream of loftier days Than those it sees, of sweeter ways Beyond its common paths, of flights Beyond the measure of its nights? Ah, then the heart of youth would beat With little of its passionate heat, And hope would move in weary wise, With ligtless soul and unlit eyes. But youth Is mighty with desire, Untiring in its faith and fire, And enters where the seasoned mind Filters and darkly looks behind; Where tottering age bends low and weeps, Finding no profit where it reaps. If youth were not as youth must be— Strong with the strength of earth and sea, Strong with the glory of the stars, Defiant of any will that bars The long road winding to its goal— Then life would be a cruel whole. But look—there’s promise in the bow That arches with prismatic glow The heaven of youth.that heaven which lies Wide as the world-begetting skies. There's promise in the spring-time flood Of youth’s tumultuous, thrilling blood; And there is burning, brightening life Amid the clashing steel of strife. Ah, days of youth, they speed too fast— But they are matchless while they last. —GEORGE MONTGOMERY, in Harper’s Weekly.

“MIJI-BR-R-R-ICK.”

Miji-br-r-r-Ick! Miji-br-r-r-ick! You fat rascal! What right have you to lay before the fire on that Persian rug, dozing and purring as happy and cosy as a cat can be, while your master is out in the storm? Oh, you needn’t come rubbing against my leg and singing any songs of peace to me! I’m tired of such laziness and contentment. There you are, sleek, dignified, fat and lazy, while I’m almost the exact opposite. Burr-r-rr, what a cold night it Is. There, now, wait until I take off my coat and shake the snow off it. Then I will hang it up —so. take off my shoes—put on my slippers and jacket—draw my chair up to the fire, and light my pipe. Now, now, I didn’t say anything about petting you, did I? Well, if you must be petted, I suppose I will have to do it. There is no one else, is there? Miji-br-r-r-ick—old fellow—l am as happy as a lord to-night. I don’t know just exactly how happy a lord can be, if he tries, but he couldn’t lie any happier than I am. You ought to have seen her to-night. But you don’t know her, do you, old fellow? Never mind, you shall know her, for she is coming tomorrow to sit for me, and I shall paint such a picture it will surely make my fortune. My fortune? Nay, our fortune—hers, yours and mine. “Mmmmmmm, mmmin, mmm.” Now, what are you saying? How did I meet her? Well, you see a poor artist like me doesn't often have such rare fortune, but it seemed as though an angel dropped from heaven a moment to Pluck from danger a wee doggie. There! there! don't arch your back merely because I mentioned your bitterest foe. It was a wee doggie and you abused it. Oh! Oh! You villain! You recognize me now, do you? You haven’t forgotten the other day when I let you out in the hall for a run about, hoping you might catch a fat mouse and save me the price of a steak for you, and how you had a fight with a mite of terrier onethird your size? Um, hum. I see you remember it very well. Where are you going? Don't run away from me as if I were chiding you. I am not, though you richly deserve it. For it was through your fight with the little pup that I made an acquaintance with her. Who is she? Now you won’t know until she comes here to live.

You remember, Miji-br-r-r-ick, how you proudly walked through the hall like a caged tiger that day; how you soon saw that your domain was invaded by the tiniest dog you ever saw. It was then that your sleek fur stood on end; that your gentle eyes shone fire, and you spit as though you were trying to get the taste of a bad word out of your mouth. But the little rascal was not afraid of you. He came bravely to the attack and you had to fight, and fight hard, at that. Mrmrmrm. Y'ou came off victor. Why, of course you did. You great, big bully. He wasn’t half your size. You made him run? Yes, and he ran right under the skirts of the prettiest lady you ever saw. just as she was coming by-the door. I heard the racket, the whole house did, for that matter, and I looked to see what it was, when in you bounded. The little doggie, seeing your flight, took up the pursuit and darted between my legs. In an Instant I saw that you had been in the wrong and took off my cap to apologize for you. What did this vision say, but that it was all the fault of Gyp. Gyp —indeed! As if I didn't know better. How could anything belonging to her, living about her, do anything wrong? But any way, we made an acquaintance with each other, she with Gyp in her arms, and I with you safe behind me. I learned that she sometimes came here to give music lessons to a friend of hers, an artist on the floor above. I didn't know until then that there were any floors above. I thought when I came up this far that I was surely directly beneath the vault of heaven, and when the portress asked me, “Did I wish to look further?” I gasped out, “No, indeed! My clothes are not fit!” for I thought she wanted to introduce me to St. Peter. You don't know it, for I have kept it hidden from you, but I have been seeing her every day since. I suppose her friend must be making great progress in music, for she gets a lesson every day. And I have seen her every day. For just as she would be coming in I would be going out, and I would meet her on the way to the ground. Or she would have finished her lesson and be starting home when I would be just coming up the stairs. How- did I know the time.so exactly when to be there? In the morning look out the window and you will see the corner of the street. Well, she passes that corner every day she comes. you see why I moved my easel, even though the light Is not so good where it is? And some days I would walk a few blocks with her. “Her! father didn’t like the

idea of lie? going to see her friend," she said, “so it was better tbat I did not call until I met her some other way." But every time I walked with her and every time I spoke to her the blood surged madly through my veins until I could hardly keep from telling her how much I adored her. What right has a poor artist like me to tell a girl as poor as himself that he wants to marry her? Why, I can. hardly find a decent living for you and myself, let alone a woman. She is a music teacher and plays the piano divinely, for I have heard her of an afternoon. Perhaps that is the reason I haven’t painted much of late. Listening to her. Well, I begin tomorrow in earnest, for she is coming here to let me paint her. Oh. what joy! Is it any wonder that I’m half wild with delight? For such a picture as I shall paint will make my name and fortune and then boy, you shall see what you shall see.

Mrow-ow-ow. Mrr-r-ow. Mr-ow-ow-umummm. I wonder w hen that foolish fellow will come back? Here he has been out for an hour or two, when he should have been hard at work. And what a bustle he was in this morning. The place was all upside down. After such a hint as he gave me last night about the fat mouse, I think he might have let me had a little quiet here by myself this morning, so that I might have hunted up something good to eat. As if I would touch half of that paltry roll he had for breakfast! I should say not. I turned my back on it in disgust when he placed it before me and said it was all we could have to-day. lie saw 1 wasn’t going to eat it. and took it for himself, with a shrug of his shoulders, and muttered, “ungrateful beast." As if I didn’t know he was dying for it. but was too generous to leave me without anything.

Heigh-ho. Men never understand cats. We are too sensitive for them. That is the reason we get along better with women. Their natures are so much like our own. Well, he cleaned up all the place this morning. Everything was dusty and dirty before. Now' it is clean and bright. There is not much of it. to be sure, but still it makes rather an attractive picture, even for a well-bred creature like myself. I do hope she is a thoroughbred. I hate these models with their loud talk and boisterous laughter. They all like him, and that is why they used to come here so much. They don’t any more. Guess they made so much noise he couldn't hear her play. Well, well, there is his step on the stair and his whistle. Here he is with

his arms full of bundles. Why, where did he get the money? I heard him complaining all day that he was broke, and muttering bad words under his breath. kVords which shocked my sensibilities. Why, he has lost his ring, that beautiful ring that I admired so much. And I know he thought so much of it. lam so sorry he lost it. Mmmm. How he bustles around. He don’t take any notice of me. She is coming. Well, let her come. I’ll show him that he can’t slight me when he wants to. and then make up again w’hen he pleases. I'mummmmm. Meow! Meow! Mmmrrmm. He's looking out the window. There he runs to the door. She is coming. Meow! She is here. Oil, what a darling girl! Her fluffy brown hair, falling over her frosted, rosy cheeks; her dimples, and her long lashes. Her dark eyes, and that beautiful blue suit, which clings to her figure so closely! My! My! Wow! What! Mlji-br-r-iek! You’re getting excited. What is that curious creature hanging about her neck, Miji-br-r-ick? it is detestable.

Well, I shall soon see, for she is taking it off and putting it on a chair. How he watches her every action! How caressingly he speaks to her! And she seems to avoid looking at him. Will she have a cup of tea after her cold walk? Tea? Tea? Are my cal's deceiving me? Why, I haven’t smelt tea since I came to this place; that is, except some evil-smelling stuff the portress sent up one day when he was sick. He must have fallen heir to some grocery store! Of course she will have a cup of tea! What does he do but swing a couple of pokers across the fireplace. Now I know why he had no fire this morning. He was making a niche to hold these pokers. From them he suspends a kettel, a little the worse for wear, but polished, oh, so bright. “I prefer to make it this way,” he is saying,” “although some prefer an alcohol lamp.” The sly dog. “It Is so nice,” she murmur's,“here in this warm,bright room.” And then they talk of other things—the weather, music, art and all the rubbish that mortals in love usually talk about. Mortals in love, did I say? Well, don’t correct me. He confessed as much to me, and my eyes tell me the same about her. Of course, he doesn't see that she loves him. Trust a man for that. AVhy, he wouldn’t believe it if I told him myself. How he looks at her when he talks to her, and how she don’t look at him when she talks to him. But when he grows enthusiastic and tells her how he fought his way through Europe; how he was half fed, badly clothed, illtreated; every man’s hand against him because he had no money. But still he fought on, until he had seen the famous works of art, and had studied under the masters of to-day, had examined the schools of painting, had worked early and late to perfect himself, and had now come to this country, his native land, here to carve himself a niche in the temple of fame, and incidentally to bring to the surface a few tons of gold-bearing quartz. In all this time how she looked at him from under her eyelids, smiled at his story of his student pranks, and flushed at his resolution of stem determination to succeed. And how those limpid, liquid eyes filled with tears when he told of the struggles he had been through. Did he see it? Of course he didn’t see it. If he had, he would have known what to do. As it was he stumbled along like a blundering idiot until he came to the place, where he should have told her what lie thought of her. and he sighed and turned toward the window, locking out into the street where the shadows were beginning to fall. Oh, no. He missed the sweetest sound ever heard in those rooms, the sob that came from swallowing the lump which gathers in the throat when the sorrow afflicts those whom we love. But he did see that it was getting late and that he could not paint her this afternoon. So he brought himself back to this world, and with a bad grace told her that time had flown so

' that he could not see to paint her fn» , afternoon. Mould she come again? ! I es. She would come again to-morrow afternoon, and every afternoon until j the picture was finished. Foolish ; maiden. Under such conditions the j picture would never be finished! Now i she is about to go. She picks up that creature she had about her neck when she came in. How its vicious Httle eyes glisten in the fire light. Why the im- | pudent tiring. I believe it is defying me. You will, will you? Mrowoow ( Mr-r-rw! Fiat. Br-r-r-r. “Miji-br-r-r- ---| ick.” It is all past now. I shall never do it again, but when I saw those beady little eyes blinking at me I sprang for it and tore the creature from her hand. I pawed and shook it. I slapped it and was wrestling with it on the floor when she tried to take it away from me. What! Take first my master, then my prey? The only thing I had seen all that day that looked as though it might be eaten? I guess not. I carry in my paw four sharp claws, and she found it out, for with one movement I sent them down on her hand so hard that they made great ugly scratches in her soft white flesh. And the blood came. And there was a terrible clamor. For when she saw the blood she screamed gently, and quietly simk downward. If it hadn't been for him she would have struck the floor. But his arms were around her and he was crying, “Oh, my darling girl. How did it happen? Sweetheart, it will soon be all right. My dearest!” and other idiotic

expressions. Pretty soon she opened her eyes. She may not have heard his last words, but I think she did. Any way, she saw she was in his arms, and instead of struggling to get away she simply twisted herself around a little, threw one hand over his shoulder, rested her head quietly on his breast and fainted away. This spell was longer than the other. When she came to this time he was kissing her furiously, and she was blushing, oh, so red. Well, I haven’t heard how it came out yet. You see, when he got through kissing her, she explained how it happened. Then I went out. I took a pane of glass with me, I was in such a hurry to go. Of course I didn’t jump to the ground. It was eight stories down. But I knew the window opened on a veranda a little below, and I lit there. He came down and picked me up about an hour later. He was trembling all over with joy, and said he would forgive me. That it was through me lie was the happiest man on earth. That she loved him, and, oh, such nonsense. But when it was all over and I had eaten my supper, he sat in front of the fire and gazed in the dancing flames. Then he looked sad, then sadder, and finally two big tears rolled down his cheeks as he softly said, “Miji-br-r-r-iek.” I wonder why.—Washington Post.

The Mind in Disease.

The story is going the rounds of the papers of a young woman who fancied she had swallowed a frog in water that she had been drinking, and was rapidly sinking, all efforts of physicians and others having failed to afford her any relief. Finally it occurred to some one that at least she might be deluded into health, and a tiny frog was caught and put into a tube with which they were attempting lavation of the stomach. When the frog was throwrn out of the tube the girl expressed the greatest relief, and said she hoped they were satisfied that all of her complaints had a reasonable foundation. From that moment she began to improve, and was in a short time completely restored to health. This may seem like an extremely foolish affair, but it is only one instance in many in which the mind has had a most marvelous effect on the physical condition. Strong men have died from the results of imagined injuries. No one doubts that persons have been frightened to death, and it is time that ridicule of and unbelief in statements of this sort came to an end. The influence of mind upon matter is a subject that calls for the closest investigation and the profoundest study. There is no question whatever that mental agitation and irritation aggravate, if they do not actually cause, disease. Delicate people and invalids should be carefully watched if they are to recover and retain their health. Many a child droops and dies because it feels that it is unappreciated or neglected. Many who survive merely drag out a miserable existence, instead of being full- of joy, hope, energy, promise and pleasure, and making of themselves bright and shining lights iii the world.

Where Food Costs Least.

The cheapest food in Europe, considering that it is of good quality, is probably to be had in the restaurants attached to the homes for the aged pensioners of the city of Vienna. The Poor Law Department of that city allows all citizens who are entitled to it about 12 cents a day, and these are the prices and the articles they will purchase: Half pint of various soups for iy 2 cents; beef cooked and without bones, three and twothird ounces for 3>/ 2 cents; corn beef with sauce, four and one-half ounces for 2!4 cents; roast veal, lamb, or pork, five and one-lialf ounces for 8 cents; smoked beef, two ounces for 3 cents; potatoes, cabbage, turnips, etc., halfpint for 1 cent; milk pudding, half pint for 2 cents; boiled puddings, four and one-half ounces for 1 cent; old white wine, half pint, 4 cents; red wine, half pint. 0 cents; beer, one and three-quar-ter pints, 3 cents; milk, half pint, Iy, cents, and coffee, half pint, 2Vi> cents. " All of these articles are carefullv inspected by officials both before and after they are prepared.

Twelve Fat Boys.

Following is a list of boys in this country who have extreme weights: Harry Gutterman, of Boston, age 12, weight 178; Michael Corrigan, Waltham, Mass., 13, 193; Howard Tibbetts, Malden, Mass., 13, 210; Anton Mochty, St. Louis, 10, 150; Fay Houser, Groton, N. y„ 12, 212; Joseph Young, New York City, 13, 204; Theodore Tierman, Cincinnati, 0., 14, 244; James Angul, Natick, Mass., 15, 315; Charles Schwartz, New York City, 15, 220; Howard Grosner, Philadelphia, 11, 200; Martin Buxman, CooperSville, Mich., 11, 265; Elmore Shepherd, Pocahontas, Va., 10, 304. Football has l>een played in England for more than five hundred year*. I .~ W .

DOGS TRANSMIT DISEASE.

Many Cases of Mysterious Illness Are Solely Due to Canine Pets. A French doctor of repute advance* the theory that disease can be transmitted from a dog to a human being. He claims that many diseases which are attributed to other causes are really contracted in this manner. Consumption is cited as an ailment to which this theory is particularly applicable, as well as diphtheria, typhus fever and cancer. Dr. Glover, the veterinarian of the Westminster Kennel Club, said that contagion from a dog was unlikely, but by no means impossible. The easiest diseases to contract in this manne were the itch and ringworm. He knows of at least two cases where mange had been transmitted. The parasite of mange in a dog will produce the same sort of disease in a human being, but the affection will not spread. Wherever the dog's skin comes in contact with human flesh an intense itching will ensue. Little vesicles will form where the parasite burrows in and produces the itching sensation. The disease is, of course, only communicated when all the circumstances are favorable. It will not attack the hands, because the skin is too hard. It is not definitely known whether cancer is contagious or not, but the malignant growth in a dog is the same as in a human being, and there is good reason to believe that contagion is possible.

Dogs are not sensitive to consumption and very rarely have been fed on tuberculous meat for months without experiencing any ill effects. The disease however, some times effect a lodgment, and always kills the animal. So far as is known there is no case on record in this country where consumption has been contracted from a dog. Dr. Sherwood says dogs also have rheumatism, pneumonia, jaundice, etc., but, of course, none of these are contagious. The old idea that a dog held in the arms of a rheumatic individual will draw the rheumatism from the sufferer is entirely erroneous. The animal heat of the dog will temporarily benefit the rheumatism, but the dog will not fall heir to the affliction. It is a disease caused by an excess of uric acid in the blood, and cannot be transmitted. Doctors and veterinary surgeons agree that ringworm cau lie and often is caught from a dog. It is apparently the same parasite which causes the disease in all animals. Dogs and cats will contract it from rats and mice which they kill, and children in turn contract it from them very easily. One fact, however, is beyond question. More dogs catch diseases from human beings than human beings do i rom dogs. As a rule, a dog is healthier than the average man, and can, consequently, resist disease better.—

Cowardice a Disease.

Everybody despises a coward. Yet arguments can be made that the poor fellow should be loved for pity’s sake, and that he should at least have sympathy. While every one admires the strong and brave, no one likes the poor fellow any the less whom nature has made weak or disease wasted. But there is no kindness for the coward, though cowardice may be just as inevitable, just as uncontrollable in one being as the spasmodic twitching of the muscles may be in another. Courage depends largely upon the condition of the heart. It also lias something to do with the nerves, the lungs and the stomach. Dr. Russell, at Bellevue, will tell you that'he frequently sees patients whom the slightest shock will throw’ into such terror that they have an immediate idea of death. He has had patients cling to him in the night and beg to save them from death, declaring they w’ere either dying or something terrible was going to happen which w’oukl kill them. This is what doctors call pre-cordial fright. Those who are subject to it would likely have an attack on any occasion serious enough to test the nerve of any man. Those less affected by the disease might be courageous enough under ordinary circumstances and utterly prostrated in the sudden presence of great danger. It all depends on the heart. If that organ catches the breath sometimes it will handicap bravery. If the lungs are remiss in supplying good blood, the heart may kick and the nerves weaken. The courage oozes out at the finger tips. Irritation of the nerve centres or any derangement of the nerves of the stomach is as certain to shake the body with fear as unexpected good news is to thrill it with delight. A coward may be a good fellow, and might be able to look a cannon in the mouth if his heart, which he can’t control, would let him alone.

The Afrikander Puritan.

The Boers know the Bible, if they know nothing else of what is called literature. They are probably the only remaining homogenous people on the globe whose reading and whose intellectual aliment are purely Scriptural. People who have lived among them in South Africa all agree upon this characteristic feature of Boer life. They are essentially a Puritan nation, and they maintain a strictly theocratic community, such as the good men who founded Plymouth and Boston fondly hoped to preserve on Massachusetts Bay. Among them, people who stay away from church or who profess indifference to religious teachings and observances are wholly unknown. Of course, young Afrikanders stray away from the flock in ever increasing numbers, but until they go away they conform with the rest of the rules of pious behavior. It was, indeed, more for the purpose of preserving their young people from demoralizing contact with the lax and irreligious “outlander” than for any other reason that the Boers of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State have twice “trekked” northward, leaving the place in which they were born and all their possessions which could not be carried along and faced the privations and risks of unknown and savage wilds. At all hazards, they were resolute to live their own lives and to keep their children undefiled by contact with the evil thing called civilization.—New York Times.