Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 April 1896 — Page 6

SPANISH CRUELTY.

AWFUL TREATMENT OF AMERICANS IN CUBA IN 1873. Tta Blood thirsty Slaughter of the ▼(retains Prisoners—Cavalry Biding Over the Bodies of the Dead and Dying to Complete the Execution. Page of Cuban History. ’ Tho “Virginius massacre” was one of ■m Dtosi atrocious of the many Spanish outrages in Cuba during the last insuraoction. From the New York Times the following detailed account of the Moodthirsty execution of the prisoner* is taken: Late in 1870 the Cuban revolutionary party purchased in New York a ClydebuUt iron side-wheel steamer, called the Virgin, and, reehristening her Vlrfitted her up as a cruiser and

CAPT. FRY BIDDING HIS COMRADES FAREWELL BEFORE THEIR DEATH

transport for landing men and supplies •n the Island of Cuba, and in the following year she sailed under orders from Gen. Raphael Quesada, the revolutionary chief. She succeeded on this •ceasion In landing a force near Santiago de Cuba, and rendered similar services some time later. In the fall ®f 1873 an expedition on still larger ■eale was planned by the Revolutionary Committee, and on October 8 of that year 175 volunteers and a full complement of able seamen, the majority native Americans, left New York to embark on the Virginius, then Ivlng tn the harbor of Kingston. Jamaica. The ship was commanded by Capt. Joseph Fry, of Louisiana, who had dis-

GEN. JUAN NEPOMUCENO BURRIEL. (Author of the "Virginius" butchery)

tinguished himself as a blockade runMr during the civil war; and among ths revolutionary leaders who boarded her at Kingston were Gen. W. A. C. Byan, a native New-Yorker, who had already fought in Cuba; Pedro CesKs, a younger brother of Carlos uel Cespedes, President of the Cuban republic, and Gens. Jesus del Sol and Varona, prominent patriots. It was on the 24th day of October, 1873, that the Virglnius steamefl out of Kingston harbor. The original intention was to sail direct for Cuba, but a mishap to the machinery necessitated a stoppage at Port au Prince, Haiti. A. second start was made on Oct. 30. Meantime the Spanish consul at Kingston had been keeping a watch on the movements of the cruiser. This resultad in Gov. Burrlel, of Santiago de Cuba, ordering the Commander of the warship Tornado to sail in quest of her. On the morning of the 31st the Spanish weasel sighted the filibuster on the high sea. The warship headed for the

GAVALRY TRAMPLING TO DEATH WOUNDED VIRGINIUS PRISONERS.

.Wgfnius under full steam. The fllitast&r* realized’their danger, -and teartwi to make a rtmfor the Jamaica ■*a*L rs .e t, r.- r -at By a strange lack of foresight on the Bof her commander, the Virginius run short of coal; but, as it was an tame of life or death, no exertion was •pared to reach the protection of the British waters. To supply the lack of tael all the greasy substances bn board, tach as oil, fat, and hams, from the pro- ▼ Mon stores, were thrown into the furnaces; all the weapons, the horses, and the cargo were consigned to the waves. Sat all to no avail. Even the coming •a of night proved of little benefit to Cta fugitives, for the moon rose in full tropical splendor. Finally, toward 10 ta the evening, a shell was sent across •he bows of the ill-fated cruiser. There Was now no alternative; surrender was ■■avoidable. Presently two armed taats from the Tornado came along■Me, and taking possession of the Vir•tatas, made all on board prisoners. The first order of the Spanish officer ta charge was to lower the American

flag and hoist in its place the Spa- 'srh ensign, notwithstanding the fact that Capt Fry presented his papers, demonstrating that the Virginius had been duly Reared for colors; and shortly after midnight the two vessels started for Santiago de Cuba, which was reached the following afternoon at 5 o’clock. The arrival of the Tornado with her prize created a tremendous sensation, and the wharves were soon crowded with exultant citizens and officials eager to gaze on the foolhardy "Yankees.” Whatever dismal foreboding the actual leaders of the Virginius expedition may have entertained, it does not appear that the purely American portion of the crew looked forward with any serious apprehension to the outcome of their enterprise. While it Is true that the Spanish authorities had good reason to suspect hostile intentions on their part, not a scintilla of evidence had been obtained which would war-

' rant prosecution; for, as already stated, every object of a suspicious nature had been thrown overboard before the surrender, and when the Spaniards boarded the Virginius she was to all outward appearances a peaceable merchantman, duly documented, with the American flag flying at her stern. Capt. Fry and his men, therefore, expected at the worst a short Imprisonment and an early return to the United States. But the poor fellows had not reckoned on 'the bloodthirsty temper of Gov. Burrlel and the Spanish volunteers and their Intense hatred for this country. On the day following the arrival of the Virginius in Santiago, a court-mar-tial was held on board the Tornado. It begau at 9 and ended at 4 o’clock. The charge was “piracy on the high seas;” and four leaders, Ryan, Varona, Cespedes and Del Sol, were promptly found guiin- and sentenced to be shot Early at dawn on the morning of Nov. 3 the unfortunate men were led from their prison to the slaughter house outside of the town, limits, and to the cry of “Cuba forever,” they fell beneath a hail of bullets. But this was only a foretaste of Spanish vengeance. The first four victims, though executed in violation qf all international law, were at least open and recognized enemies of Spain, and had figured prominently in the war. Not so the captain and the crew of the Virginius, many of whom had even been Ignorant of the purposes and destination of the 111-fated vessel. These men appeared before their judges a few hours after the distant rattle of musketry had told them of the fate of their companions, and before dusk the captain and his men—many of them youths under age—had learned that their last moments were at hand. Thirty-seven of them, including Capt. Fry, were told off for tion the next day. The scene of this horrible tragedy was the same as that of the first—the city slaughter-house, an adobe structure with a steep tiled roof, encircled by a shallow trench half filled with stagnant water. Half a mile separated the jail from the place, and the wretched procession had to march thither on foot, preceded by a corps of drummers with muffled drums. Arrived at the place of doom, the procession halted and formed a hollow square, with the victims in the midst. The line of marines against the slaughter house next opened, and the prisoners were placed kneeling on t]je edge of the trench, bound but not blindfolded, their faces turned to the wall, i What followed is best told In the words

of Franklin Coffin, an American eye witness of the tragedy: “After they had knelt down,” he says, “the captain walked along the line and hade each one good-by separately. No one was slighted, not even the colored men who sailed among the crew. The last sounds they heard on earth, apart from the roar of the muskets that belched forth their death, were the kind wqrds spoken by the heroic Fry. When this act of gentleness was done he knelt down with the rest The men were formed in a line about three feet from the wall. Three paces back of them were the marines, with the muskets at the shoulder. Just before the volley was fired Capt. Fry took off his hat and turned his face upward, as if in prayer. There was one brief moment of pause; then came the flame, the smoke and the roar. As the cloudy curtain lifted, thirty-six of the thirty-seven men were seen writhing in the agonies of a partial death. Poor Fry lay stone dead, a bullet in his heart, his calm face upturned toward the beautiful tropical sky.”

According to several eye witnesses the scene that ensued was hideous beyond description. The marines upon the wounded men and began dispatching them with horrible brutality. Thrusting the muzzles of their muskets into the eyes and ears of the dying, these fiends literally blew their heads off. But a still greater horror was at hand. Presently some cavalry appeared, and in order to accelerate the extermination of the victims, the horse soldiers were ordered to ride their steeds over the reeking mass of dying men. This was repeated several times until the last breath of life had been crushed out of the sufferers. After this the troops withdrew, and the rabble were let loose on the human shambles, with the result that for the rest of the day the streets were paraded by processions bearing the heads of the victims on long pikes. Thus ended the bloody orgy of Nov. 4, 1873. It must not be supposed that this second butchery had quenched Gov. Burriel’s thirst for blood. On the contrary, orders were Issued by him for the shooting of fifty more of the prisoners—the majority toeing boys ranging from 16 to 20 years of age—and 3 o’clock on the afternoon of the sth was the hour set for their execution. At 10 o’clock on the morning of that day, however, a gallant British man-of-war, H. M. S. Nlobe, steamed into the harbor of Santiago. As soon as her commander, Sir Lambton Lorraine, heard of the governor’s Intentions, he quietly trained his guns on the town, and sent word ashore that, In view of the probability that some of the crew of the Virginius were British subjects, he must insist upon a postponement of the execution until the respective governments had been communicated with. Burrlel demurred at first, but a second look at the portholes of the Nlobe and her decks cleared for action caused him to acquiesce in the demand, and the remainder of the crew and passengers were saved.

The subsequent action of the United States Government, ending in Spain’s apology for this unheard-of outrage, and the surrender of the Virginius, together with the survivors of the illfated expedition, are matters that do not come within the scope of this article. One little incident, however, emphasizes the absolute devilish cruelty manifested by the officials on this occasion. The day before the survivors of the Virginius, 102 in number, were taken from Moro Castle to Havana, to be turned over to the United States authorities, they were Informed by their jailers that their walk on the morrow would be from the cell to the grave. To enhance their sufferings a ■priest entered the castle and began to shrkve them. All night this inhuman torture was Indulged in, and when In the morning light streamed in over the frowning walls they all thought It the dawn of their last day on earth. Sadly they fell into line and.marched out into the town. All this while the United States vessel Juniata was lying In the harbor awaiting them, and their feelings can be better imagined than descried when the welcome truth finally forced itself upon them. This episode was a fitting climax to one of the most hideous chapters in the long story of Spanish oppression and cruelty.

Another Fiddle.

James Whitcomb was a prominent citizen of Indiana in her early days, and he was not only a politician, but one of the best amateur musicians in the country. He composed several pieces for the violin, which was his own chosen instrument, and many are the stories told of him and his fiddle. At one time he was travelling from Indianapolis to Eastern Indiana, and stopped for the night at a house on a lonely road. He entered the cabin with his companion, and there they found a lame young man called Amos sitting by the fire scraping at an old violin with most disastrous result. He laid the violin on the bed, and started away to the stable with the horses. Mr. Whitcomb at once took up the violin, tuned it, and when Amos returned was playing light and beautiful airs. Amos was entranced. He sat down and, mouth wide open In wonder, Watched the musician. Then Mr. Whitcomb struck iqp “Hall Columbia,” and the youth could bear It no longer. He sprang to his feet. “If I had fifty dollars,” cried he, ‘Td give it all for that fiddle! I never heard such music.” Mr. Whitcomb said nothing, but kept on playing. By and by, when he had finished, he violin on the bed. This was the opportunity. He sprang up, seized the instrument, carried it to the fire where he could see more plainly, and turned It over and over, examining every part. “Mister,” he sang out, In high excitement, “I never in my life see two fiddles so much alike as yours and mine!”

Rice-Eaters.

The Fortnightly Review Is of the opinion that diet has more or less Influence upon character, but does not concede that a vegetable diet renders the eater more gentle than a diet of which animal food forms a part. Vegetarians, it says, are prone to contrast the gentleness of our domestic herbivora with the ferocity often displayed by carnivorous animals. A little reflection, however, shows that the food cannot be the main cause of the disposition in either case. Many of the herbivora are capable of displaying the utmost ferocity. Savage attacks upon inoffensive persons by bulls, horses and stags are by no means uncommon in this country; while in the East “rogue” elephants, wild boars and other herbivorous animals often inflict serious Injuries upon human beings who chance to come In their way. So, likewise, the ordinarily mild Hindu, feeding on rice or wheat flour, is Hable to become riotous, uncontrollable and bloodthirsty when Influenced by religious fanaticism. Perhaps th* mischievous effects upon the habit* and disposition, ascribed to animal food, are due to the alcoholic Hquors which are consumed at the same time. The disposition of an average Individual leading a temperate life would probably not be altered for the better were he to substitute vegetarian diet for his ordinary fare. When a man goes away from home, he has a lot of fun, if you let him teU it It seems easier to manage the bust ness of other people than your own.

TALMAGE’S SERMON.

AN ELOQUENT DISCOURSE ON CHRIST'S EXPATRIATION. Tile King Who Left a Throne, Closed a Palace and Went Forth to Die in a Hostile Country America the Home of the Voluntary Exile. An Imperial Exile. It is wonderful to how many tunes the gospel may be set. Dr. Talmage’s sermon in Washington last Sunday shows another way in which the earthly experience of our Lord is set forth. His text was 11. Samuel xv., 17, “And the king went forth and tarried in a place which was far off.” Far up and far back in the history of heaven there came a period when its most illustrious citizen was about to absent himself. He was not going to sail from beach to beach. We have often done that. He was not going to put out from one hemisphere to another hemisphere. Many of us have done that. But he was to sail from world to world, the spaces unexplored and the immensities uutraveled. No world has ever hailed heaven, and heaven has never hailed any other world. I think that the windows |iud the balconies were thronged, and that the pearly beach was crowded with those who had come to see him sail out of the harbor of light into the ocean beyond. Out and out and out and on and on and on and down and down and down he sped, until one night, with only one to greet him, when he arrived, his disembarkation so unpretending, so quiet, that it was not known on earth until the excitement in the cloud gave intimation to the Bethlehem rustics that something grand and glorious had happened. Who comes there? From what port did he sail? Why was this the place of his destination? I question the shepherds. I question the camel drivers. I question the angels. I have found out. He was an exile. But the world had plenty of exiles. Abraham, an exile from Haran; John, an exile from Ephesus; Kosciusko, an exile from Poland; Mazzini, an exile from Rome; Emmet, an exile from Ireland; Victor Hugo, an exile from France; Kossuth, an exile from Hungary. But this one of whom I speak to-day had such resounding farewell and came into such chilling reception—for not even a hostler went out with his lantern to light him in—that he is more to be celebrated than any other expatriated exile of earth or heaven. An Imperial Exile. First, I remark that Christ was an imperial exile. He got down off a throne. He took off a tiara. He closed a palace gate behind him. His family were princes and princesses. Vashti was turned out of the throneroom by Ahasuerus. David was dethroned by Absalom’s infamy. The five kings were hurled into a cavern by Joshua’s courage. Some of the Henrys of England and some of the Louis of France were jostled on their thrones by discontented subjects. But Christ was never more honored, or more popular, or more loved than the day he left heaven. Exiles have suffered severely, but Christ turned himself out from throneroom into sheep pen and down from the top to the bottom. He was not pushed off. He was not manacled for foreign transportation. He was not put put because they no more wanted him in eelestial domain, but by choice departing and descending into an exile live times as long as that of Napoleon at St. Helena and 1,000 times worse; the one exile suffering for that he had destroyed nations, the other exile suffering because he came to save a world. An Imperial exile. King eternal. “Blessing and honor and glory and power be unto him that sitteth upon the throne.” But I go farther and tell you he was an exile on a barren island. This world is one of the smallest islands of light in the ocean of immensity. Other stellar kingdoms are many thousand times larger than this. Christ came to this small Patmos of a world. When exiles are sent out they are generally sent to regions that are sandy or cold or hot —some Dry Tortngas of disagreeableness. Christ came as on exile to a world scorched with heat and bitten with cold, to deserts simoon swept, to a howling wilderness. It was the back dooryard, seemingly, of the universe. Yea, Christ came to the poorest part of this barren island of a world— Asia Minor, with its intense summers, unfit for the residence of a foreigner and in the rainy season unfit for the residence of a native. Christ came not to such a land ns America, or England, or France, or Germany, but to a land one-third of the year drowned, another third of the year burned up and only one-third of the year just tolerable. Oh! it was the barren island of a world. Barren enough for Christ, for it gave such small worship and such Inadequate affection and such little gratitude. Imperial exile on the barren island of a world. In a Hostile Country. I go farther and tell.you that he was an exile in a hostile country. Turkey was never so much against Russia, France was never so much against Germany, as. this earth was against Christ. It took him in through the door of a stable. It thr.ust him out at the point of a spear. The Roman Government against him, with every weapon of its army, and every decision of its courts, and every beak of its war eagles. For years after his arrival the only question was how best to put him out Herod hated him; the high priests hated him; the Pharisees hated him; Judas Iscariot hated him; Gestas, the dying thief, hated him. The whole earth seemingly turned into a detective to watch his steps. And yet he faced this ferocity. Notice that most of Christ’s wounds were in front Some scourging on the shoulder, but most of Christ’s wounds in front. He was not on retreat when he expired. Face to face with the world’s sin. Face to face with the world’s woe. His eye on the raging countenances of his foaming antagonists when he expired. When the cavalry officer roweled his steed so that he might come nearer up and see the tortured visage of the suffering exile, Christ saw it. When the spear was thrust at his side, and when the hammer was lifted for his feet, and when the reed was raised to strike deeper down the spikes of thorn, Christ watched the whole procedure. When his hands were fastened to the cross, they were wide open still with benediction. Mind you, his head was not ■ fastened. He could look to the right, and he could look to the left, and he could look up, and he could look down. He saw when the spikes had been driven home, and the hard, round iron heads were in the palms of his hands. He saw them as plainly as you ever saw anything in the palms of your hands. No ether, no chloroform, no merciful anaesthetic to dull or stupefy; but, wide awake, he saw the obscuration of the heavens, the unbalancing of the rocks, the countenances quivering with rage and the cachinnation diabolic. Oh, it was the hostile as well as the barren island of a world! I go farther and tell you that this exile was far from home. It is 95,000,000 miles from here to the sun and all astronomers agree in saying that our solar system is only one of the smaller wheels of the great machinery of the universe turning around some one great center, the center so far distant it is beyond all imagination and calculation and if, as some think, that great center in the distance is heaven, Christ came far from home when he came Mere. Have you ever thought of the home-

•icknew of Christ? Some of yon know what homesickness is when you have been only a few weeks absent from the domestic circle. Christ was 33 years away from home. Some of you feel homesickness when you are 100 or 1,000 miles away from the domestic circle. Christ was more million miles away from home than you could count if all your life you did nothing but count. You know what it is to be homesick even amid pleasant surroundings, but Christ slept in huts, and he was athirst, and he was a-hnngered, and he was on the way from being born in another man’s barn to being buried in another man's grave. I have read how the Swiss, when they are far away from their native country, at the sound of their national air get so homesick that they fall into melancholy and sometimes they die under the homesickness. But, oh, the homesickness of Christ. Poverty homesick for celestial riches. Persecution homesick for hosanna. Weariness homesick for rest Homesick for angelic and archangelic companionship. Homesick to get out of the night and the storm and the world’s execration. Homesickness will make a week seem as long as a month and it seems to me that the three decades of Christ’s residence on earth must have seemed to him almost interminable. You have often tried to measure the other pangs of Christ, but you have never tried to measure the magnitude and ponderosity of a Saviour’s homesickness. , I take a step farther and tell you that Christ was in an exile which he knew would end in assassination. Holman Hunt, the master painter, has a picture in which he represents Jesus Christ in the Nazarene carpenter shop. Around him are the saws, the hammers, the axes, the drills of carpentry. The picture represents Christ as rising from the carpenter’s working bench and wearily stretching out his arms as one will after being in contracted or uncomfortable posture, and the light of that picture is so arranged that the arms of Christ, wearily stretched forth, together with his body, throw on the wall the shadow of the cross. Oh, my friends, that shadow was on everything in Christ’s lifetime. Shadow of a cross on the Bethlehem swaddling ‘clothes; shadow of a cross on the road over which the three fugitives fled into Egypt; shadow of a cross on Lake Galilee as Christ walked its moshic floor of opal and emerald and crystal; shadow of a cross on the road to Emmaus; shadow of a cross on the brook Kedron. and on the temple, and on the side of Olivet; shadow of a cross on sunrise and sunset. Constantine, marching with his army, saw just once a cross in the sky, but Christ saw the cross all the time. The Doom of a Desperado. On a rough jouriey we cheer ourselves with the fact that it will end in warm hos* pitality, but Christ knew that his ro«gh path would end at a defoliaged tree, without one leaf and with only two branches, bearing fruit of such bitterness as no human lips had ever tasted. Oh, what an exile, starting in an infancy without any cradle and ending in assassination! Thirst without any water, day without any sunlight. The doom of a desperado for more than angelic excellence. For what that expatriation and that exile? Worldly good sometimes comes from worldly evil. The accidental glance of a sharp blade from a razor grinder’s wheel put out the eye of Gambetta and excited sympathies which gained him an education and started him on a career that made his name more majestic among Frenchmen than any other name in the last twenty years. Hawthorne, turned out of the office of collector at Salem, went home in despair. His wife touched him on the shoulder and said, “Now is the time to write your book,” and his famous “Scarlet Letter” was the brilliant consequence. Worldly good sometimes comes from worldly evil. Then be not unbelieving when I tell you that from the greatest crime of all eternity and of the whole universe, the murder of the Son of God, there shall come results which shall eclipse all the grandeurs of eternity past and eternity to come. Christ, an exile from heaven opening the way for the deportation toward heaven and to heaven pf all those who will accept the proffer. Atonement, a ship large enough to take all the passengers that will come aboard it A Land of Voluntary Exile.

For this royal exile I bespeak the love and service of all the exiles here present, and, in one sense or the other, that includes all of us. The gates of this continent have been so widely opened that there are here many voluntary exiles from other lands. Some of you are Scotchmen. I see it in your high cheek bones and in the color that illumines your face when I mention the land of your nativity. Bonny Scotland! Dear old kirk! Some of your ancestors sleeping in Greyfriars churchyard, or by the deep lochs filled out of the pitchers of heaven, or under the heather, sometimes so deep of color it makes one think of the blood of the Covenanters who signed their names for Christ, dipping their pens into the veins of their own arms opened for that purpose. How every fiber of your nature thrills as I mention the names of Robert Bruce and the Campbells and Cochrane. I bespeak for this royal exile of my text the love and the service of all Scotch exiles. Some of you are Englishmen. Your ancestry served the Lord. Have I not read the sufferings of the Haymarket? And have I not seen in Oxford the very spot where Ridley and Latimer mounted the red chariot? Some of your ancestors heard George Whitefield thunder, or heard Charles Wesley sing, or heard John Bunyan tell his dream of the celestial city, and the cathedrals under the shadow of which some of you were born had in their grandest organ roll the name of the Messiah.

I bespeak for the royal exile of my sermon the love and the service of all English exiles. Yes, some of you came from the island of distress over which hunger, on a throne of human skeletons, sat queen. All efforts at amelioration halted by massacre. Procession of famines, procession of martyrdoms marching from northern channel to Cape Clear and from the Irish sea across to the Atlantic. An island not bounded as geographers tell us, but as every philanthropist knows—bounded on the north and the south and the east and the west by woe which no human politics can alleviate and only Almighty God can assuage. Land of Goldsmith’s rhythm, and Sheridan’s wit, <nd O’Connell’s eloquence, and Edmund Burke’s statesmanship, and O’Brien’s sacrifice. Another Patmos with its apocalypse of blood. Yet you cannot think of it to-day without having your eyes blinded with emotion, for there your ancestors sleep in graves, some of which they entered -for lack of bread. For this royal exile of my sermon I bespeak the love and the service of all Irish exiles. Yes, some of you are from Germany, the land of Luther, and some of you are from Italy, the land of Garibaldi, and some of you are from France, the land of John Calvin, one of the three mighties of the glorious reformation. Some of you are descendants of the Puritans, and they were exiles, and some of you are descendants of the Huguenots, and they were exiles, and some of you are descendants of the Holland refugees, and they were exiles. Heaven the Exile’s Home. Some of you were born on the banks of the Yazoo or the Savannah, and you are qow living in this latitude; some of you on the banks of the Kennebec or at the foot of the Green mountains, and you are here now; some of you on the prairies of the West or the tablelands, and you are

here now. Oh, how many of us far awal from home! All of us exiles. Thia is no? our home. Heaven- is our home. Oh, I am so glad when the royal exile went back he left the gate ajar or left it wide open. “Going home!” That is the dying exclamation of the majority of Christians. I have seen many Christians die. I think nine out of ten of them in the last moment say, “Going home.” Going home out of banishment and sin and sorrow and sadness. Going home to join in the hilarities of our parents and our dear children who have already departed. Going home to Christ. Going home to God. Going home to stay. Where are your loved ones that died in Christ? You pity them. Ah, they ought to pity you ! You are an exile far from home. They are home! Oh, what a time it will be for you when the gatekeeper of heaven shall say: “Take off that rough sandal. The journey’s ended. Put down that saber. The battle’s won. Put off that iron coat of mail and put on the robe of conqueror.” At that gate of triumph I leave you to-day, only reading three tender cantos translated from the Italian. If you ever heard anything sweeter, I never did, although I cannot adopt all its theology:

’Twas whispered one morning in heaven How the little child angel May, In the shade of the great while portal, Sat sorrowing night and day; How she said to the stately warden, He of the key and bar: “Oh, angel, sweet angel, I pray you Set the beautiful gates ajar, Only a little, I pray you, Set the beautiful gates ajar. “I can hear my mother weeping. She is lonely; she cannot see A glimmer of light in the darkness When the gates shut after me. Oh, turn me the key, sweet angel, The splendor will shine so far.” But the warden answered, “I dare not Set the beautiful gates ajar,” Spoke low and answered, “I dare not Set the beautiful gates ajar.” Then up rose Mary, the blessed, Sweet Mary, the mother of Christ, Her hand on the hand of the angel She laid, and her touch sufficed. Turned was the key in the portal, Fell ringing the golden bar, And, 10, in the little child's fingers Stood the beautiful gates ajar, In the little child’s angel fingers Stood the beautiful gates ajar.

A STRANGE LAND.

Men Work by Lantern Light in the Gardens of Madeira. The hills of the Island of Madeira are cultivated from base to summit, some of the finest vineyards and gardens being 2,000 or even 3,000 feet above the sea, writes Fanny B. Ward. The mountains, too, are terraced to the very top like a succession of steps. Most of these are natural terraces, three or four feet apart and from thirty to forty feet wide, and the people have walled them and planted thereon their grapevines, sweet potatoes, and sugar cane. There are hundreds of these terraces on our route between the shore and mountain tops, some of them thousands of feet above the sea. We pass peasants at work in their poor little patches on the narrow shelves and marvel at the amount of labor and daily climbing necessary to such small results. So few and scant are the level spaces on this side of the island that even the thrashing floors are terraced platforms, often overhanging precipices. Up and down these fearful declivities men and women travel all day, bearing heavy loads on their heads, and always at a walk more rapid, more graceful and apparently easy than one often sees on the level roads of other countries. Each carries a stout staff, and sings as he or she trots merrily along.

It is a common thing to see men groping about their gardens with hoes and lanterns at midnight. One of the main irrigating conduits is drawn from the cataract of Rabacal, where has been accomplished one of the most daring engineering feats of the age. The waterfall is on the north side of the island, away up in the mountains, in a narrow gorge, and has a sheer descent of 1,000 feet. During most of the year it is a rather meager stream, slipping lazily down the side of the cliff. -The ridge which here divides the northern and southern slopes of the central Sierras is only About 1,400 feet thick, and a native engineer conceived the bold project of tunneling through it, catching the waterfall in Its descent and making it flow to the north side where it Is most needed. To accomplish this undertaking It was necessary for the workmen to Idwer themselves over the precipice, and thus, suspended in the air by ropes, 600 feet from the top and 400 feet from the bottom, pursue their perilous task, constantly drenched by the Ice-cold cataract. When blasting, the unrecorded heroes swung themselves to one side on the fearful face of the crag and held on by any bush or projection that met their hands until the explosion had taken place. Several men were killed before the work was completed. At last a trench was excavated in the hard rock of the cliff, by which means part of the waterfall was intercepted and conducted to the tunnel bored through the mountain and thus reduced to service.

Nothing but Luck.

Hard luck is almost a synonym for laziness. Good luck is the twin brother of hard work. Luck walks while work rides in a carriage. Luch pictures a dollar, while work earns it. Luck dreams of a home, but work builds one. To trust to luck is like fishing with a hookless line. Luck is a disease for which hard work is the only remedy. Luck longs for a dinner, while labor goes out and earns one. Luch goes barefooted, while work never lacks for a pair of shoes. Luck is a weather vane with the distinguishing points broken off. The man who relies on luck is lucky if he keeps out of the poorhouse.—New York Commercial Advertiser.

Vice President W. Seward Webb, of the New York Central, has decided to build a new marble palace on his property at Scarborough-on-thfe-Hudson. He intends to spend about $1,500,000 on the house. The style of architecture will be a modification of the chateau renaissance. The house, including verandas, will be nearly 300 feet long and 130 feet wide. It is to be situated on an elevation, surrounded by Italian flower gardens and winding roads, and will command an extended view of the Hudson River,

RECOUP OF THE WEEK

INDIANA INCIDENTS TERSELY TOLD. Miss Moberly at Last Gets Action on Her Tradncer—lndianapolis Hailway Employe in a Peck of Demeatic Trouble—Sunday Observance. Verdict for Miss Mary Moberly. The case of Miss Mary Moberly vs. James R. Heary, eashier of the Indiana State Bank at Indianapolis, for SIO.OOO damages for slander, was decided in favor of the plaintiff at Brazil. After remaining out twenty-eight hours, the jury brought in a verdict allowing Miss Moberly >I,OOO. Henry was charged with slandering the plaintiff by publishing a protest before the School Board of Gosport, beseeching them not to employ her as a teacher, claiming that in his opinion her action and language in the school room was unbecoming a lady. The case was venued to Brazil from Owe® County, where it has been in litigation for over seven years. Olliver Leads a Dual Life. Charles Olliver, of Terre Haute, an employe of the Vandalia Railway Company, who was thought to have been a victim of a blackmailing adventuress, seems to have been leading a dual life. time ago he made the acquaintance of aNWcftw, and, it is said', represented to her that he was a single man. An engagement to marry was entered into, and Olliver, it is alleged, took Mrs. Grimes’ child from the Orphans’ asylum, saying he would find a home for it until they were married. He postponed the wedding day several times. A few days ago a neighbor of Mrs. Grimes saw the child playing ip front of a house in another part of the city. It was not the locality where Olliver said he had placed it, and Mrs. Grimes went to the house. Then she learned that Olliver was married', and that he had taken the child to his own wife to be cared for. Olliver came home while the two women were talking and denied all that Mrs. Grimes said. He also denied it in the newspapers, and many persons believed him. He said he had adopted the child, and that he did not know Mrs. Grimes at the time. Then the woman swore out a warrant for his arrest and he pleaded guilty. No Sunday Ball at Indianapolis. For several weeks there has been considerable agitation of Sunday baseball by the ministers of Indianapolis, and communications have passed between them and Mayor Taggart and Sheriff Womack. The former did not think it his duty to interfere outside of the city and the latter declared that the police had jurisdiction within four miles of the city and should prevent ball playing if it was attempted. The Civic Federation then took the matter in hand, and Sheriff Womack notified the officers that there should be no ball playing on Sunday. All Over the State. Knights of Pythias of Kendallville, have dedicated their new temple, one of the finest in the State. Goldie, the 3-year-old daughter of Isaac Howell, of Wabash, was fatally injured by a train. She was playing on the tracks near a curve. Bituminous coal operators of Indiana, at a meeting in Terre Haute, have appointed a committee with power to arrange a scale for the year. Albert Anderson, hailing from Detroit, Mich., has been sentenced to one year in the penitentiary from Muncie, for stealing clothing from a washerwoman’s line.

The ice dealers of Terre Haute, who carried on a war of prices last season, have agreed on an advance of 75 to 100 per cent for this season, which means 40 and 50 cents a hundred for domestic use. Leo Hirth, a merchant at Indianapolis, was shot and killed by masked burglars in his house early Sunday morning. He and his wife were aroused by the movements of the men. He was attempting to reach for his revolver, which was on a table near his bed, when the burglars fired four shots at him, two of which passed through his head. The men escaped. A heavy damage suit will come, out of the visit of the Michigan University team to Bloomington. W. F. Holmes is arranging to bring suit for SIO,OOO against George Owen, city marshal, for false imprisonment. The trouble occurred after the game, when F. J. Sexton, of the Michigan team, struck a young man, knocking him down. Marshal Owen was given the warrant to arrest Sexton and Holmes was arrested by mistake and placed in jail. Hallie Shafer was released from jail at Muncie by Judge Koons, after being kept for three months on the charge of being illegally married. In January Miss Shafer, who is white and quite pretty, was married to James Walker, a negro, Each was placed in jail and have Siape. been held. In his finding Judge' KoOnst'kays the white or black woman who marries the opposite sex is not guilty aif'-erime according to Indiana statutes, it is a felonious act on'the part of the man, and Walker will likely get a tern in State prison. The Shafer girl has parents near Newcastle, who are highly regarded.

An appalling accident occurred on the Belt Railway Monday morning at Bedford, when an engine and one car loaded with stone went through a'sixty-five-foot trestle, killing five men instantly and badly injuring two others, one of whom has since died. The dead: Bevins, Sherman Carpenter, Charles Davis, Warren Leonard, Masterson, Charles Ogden. The injured: Henry De Vaull, Menzer. Henry De Vaull, the brakeman, Was standing on the rear end of the car and jumped when he felt the trestle giving way, catching on the timbers and thus saving his life. The injuries of Engineer George Menzer, aside from being scalded, amount only to a small Cut in the head and one in the breast. After much difficulty Sheriff Strahn made a clever capture of two strangers at Winchester. They were selling pocketknives and revolvers on the street. When searched ninety-six knives and revolvers were found on them. They gave fictitious names. Mrs. Mary Suhr, of Kokomo, has sued Charles Kirkhoff for $30,000 damages for breach of promise to marry. Mary alleges that Charles jilted her, yes Suhr, and married a sweet creature named Sophie Syrup. If this candied statement can be substantiated we hope Charles will be stuck for a good round sum. Thomas Evans, a glass-blower, of Anderson, committed suicide by drinking carbolic acid.

One year ago a gas well was drilled on the Eaton farm, near Ekin, and a tremendous flow of water shot high into the air. continuing until much of the country around the well was submerged. It was a magnificent sight while it lasted, and was visited by thousands of people. Finally the flow of water was controlled, and recently the casing of the Well was taken out. There is no longer any flow of either gas or water. The ground ffias caved in about the well, and some of the people in that neighborhood are fearful lest the earth should sink.