Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 May 1897 — Page 2

LIVING IT DOWN

CHAPTER XIII. Two years have dragged their slow length away. Two years! I have but brief records of them here and there—so brief and so far between that it seems to me they must have been very unprolific of events. I have had two seasons in London, and • winter in the South of France. I know that the boys are flourishing, and that Moorlands is still our own; that Darby is my shadow as »f yore, a sweeter, gentler and more tender shadow than even in her childish days. I know, too, that my husband is devotion itself to us both; thut every good and beautiful gift of life is showered upon me, and that Joan, Lady Ferrers, is a personage of no small dignity and importance in the county. It is night, and late night too. Monk’s Hall has been gay with guests and festivities, but they have all departed now. It is the first night of the new year, and I have been sittiug alone in my dressing room, gazing into the fire—alone, yet not alone, for a host of memories peopled my solitude and gazed at me from out the flickering flames. As 1 so looked back and thought, a knock came at the door, and, In answer to my “Come in!” n pretty girl figure advanced and dropped into the chair beside my own. “I thought you would not mind,” she says, apologetically; “uii/3 it is my last night.” She is very pretty, and she is the only girl I have ever called friend, though many bestow that name on me. She is no other, in fact, than that same Nettie Croft of whom 1 wus once so jealous. She has been staying with us for thU Christmas week, but to-morrow she has to go home—to a very dreary home, poor girl! with the soured, embittered old woman who is her only living relative, and whose tongue and temper are proverbs in the neighborhood. "I am glad you have come,” I said, theerfully; “I thought you would.” “I am sorry to go home,” she said, with a plaintive accent in her rich young voice; *■o very, very sorry. I think you spoil me, Joan; every time I come it is harder to go away. But are you tired —you look so pale to-night!” “Not more tired than usual,” I answer-

ed; “this has been a very fatiguing week.” “I envy you,” she said suddenly; “oh, I envy you! What would you do if you had the empty days, the dreary round of commonplace events, the wretched beaten track to tread that I have?” “You will have other chances,” I suid. “You are young yet. I—l think it is a mistake to marry young.” “I shall never marry at all,” she said, paling to the hue of her white wrapper. “I—l put that idea aside long ago.” “You mean,” I said, looking gravely at the sad young face, “that you have cared for some one too well —to forget.” “Yes,” she said, very low and with a pained, drawn look of the pretty brows; “I suppose most girls have had an experience of that sort before they are twenty. I can’t help it if mine bag taken e deeper root than most. You don’t mind mj speaking to you?—it is a relief at last” “Mind?—no. The experience of one season, was it not? And you think it will laatr "It will last,” she said solemnly, “all my life.” The Are flames died down for a moment. I think I was glad of the sudden gloom. I bent a little nearer to the flames, a shiver esemed to chill my veins. “Did he —did ha love you?” I asked. "He made me believe so,” she answered, the faint color Bpringing into her face. “And then he forgot.” “Suppose he returns?” “He will never return to me,” she said, t&e slow tears rising to her eyes; “even If he did ” “I know,” I said, in that broken pause, “It Is never the same thing. One may Join the thread, but there is always the knot to mar it.”

She looked at me quickly. “You have not escaped either,” she said tenderly. I 1 feared it. But it is over la It not?” “Oh, yeal” I answered. “It was over long, long ago.” “I wish I could say the same,” she said brokenly. -“It is so hard—so terribly hard to beat Sometimes I think, if we meet •gain suddenly, face to face, without wanting, or preparation, I—l should betray myself. That”—with a sudden shud-der-—"that would be terrible. I should die •f shame.” '“You think he does not love you, then?” “I am sure of it.” She covered her face with her hands, and for a moment we were both silent Then she rose slowly to her feet, and leaned her arm on the mantelshelf, and bsnt her head down on it.

“It is Yorke Ferrers you love,” she said In a low, hard voice, “Yorke Ferrers. And you are his uncle’s wife.” “It is a complication, is it not?” I said bitterly. “But you should have put it in the past tense.. It was Yorke Ferrers I—loved. That was two years ago. Ah,” with a sudden outburst of unreasoning passion, “why did you speak of it? Why recall the dead? It is over-buried—crush-ed out —stamped out!” “Where is he?” she interposed calmly. “I do not know. I have not seen him for two years. He—he went abroad.” “And when he returns?” “He will not return here. He—he dare BOt.” She raised her white face and looked at me in a strange, dazed way. “Yorke Ferrers .dares anything,” she said. “He will return.” CHAPTER XIV. The next morning while I was sitting la the morning room listening to Darby playing on the piano the door opened and my husband entered. He came straight over to me where I sat by the bright wood fire. I noticed he had some letters in his hand. “Go on, child,” he said, as Darby steppe and moved round. She turned and resumed her playing, only keeping it soft and subdued, so as not to drown his voice. “Joan, my dear," he said, “you remember the new housekeeper is coming today r “Yea" I answered; “the woman you engaged in London." - “Woman! She thinks herself qnite a MR" bo said, laughing. “She Is a very

By Rita

dignified and imposing personage indeed. But I thought I would remind you, for you must see her when she comes. 1 suppose her rooms are ready?” “Oh, yes,” I answered; “I saw about them this morning. I am so sorry to lose Mrs. Birket She was such a dear old thing.” “But she is really too old for so responsible a post," said Sir Ralph. “I thought it best to pension her off, poor old body! You see, my dear, you are so young, and we are away so often, that it is necessary to have some one trustworthy and capable to look after the place and the servants." “1 took N'ettie safe home,” he went on presently. “Poor little thing! I wish she were happier. She is such a sweet, good girl. I have always been fond of Nettie. I used to think at one time that she and Yorke would make a match. He seeiuod very fond of her.” "Yes,” I said quietly. “By-the-by, I have had a letter from him at last; he is tired of roving—he is coming home.” “Home!” I cried sharply; “do you mean hero?” I had the letter in my hands. I was looking at the superscription. How well I had known that writing once! How my heart used to beat at sight of it. Even now a faint tremor shook me as I held it. This was the letter: “San Francisco, Dec. 187 — “My Dear Uncle—“l am sick of roving. I have been to silver mines, and lead mines, and oil pits, and across deserts, and mountains, and rivers, and seas, until I am yearning for a breath of the old pine woods, and a look at the old house. You may expect me back almost on the heels of uiy letter. Compliments to my aunt. I trust she can give me a corner at' the Hall for a little while, till I can look about and see what I had best do. lam afraid the Bur was a failure. I couldn’t stand the dryness and the doubtful honesty of legal complications. But I suppose there are other things. However, we will talk that over when we meet. Kind regards to all. "Your affectionate nephew’, “YORKE.” “He has got over it,” I said to myself, as I folded the letter, and replaced it in its envelope. “He would not call me aunt, or wish to come back here, if he had not. Oh, lam glad—l am very, very glad!” A weight seemed lifted off my heart. I looked up at Sir Ralph, cool and unembarrassed. “Of course lie must have his old room,” I said. “I had better give orders for it. He may return at any moment.” “Thank you, dear,” Sir Ralph said heartily. “I am glad you dou’t mind. I —I was a little afraid you might not like it. I don’t think Yorke behaved very politely that time we met him at Salzburg—going off in that abrupt manner, and throwing up his profession aud starting off to America. He was always a strange hoy. I do hope he has quieted down a Tittle.” "I have no doubt he has,” I said calmly.

CHAPTER XV. A few moments later and the door opened to admit the “lady in reduced circumstances,” ns Sir Ralph had described the new housekeeper. As I looked up with some curiosity, I saw a dark face somewhat rich in the coloring of cheek and lip—a tall and very beautiful figure, and surmounting the whole, a head of snowwhite hair. So white aud silky and beautiful was it, that the dainty lace cap seemed almost an affront to its beauty, and yet it teemed to me the face looked too young for its framework. The fire so darkly glowing in the heavy-lidded eyes was altogether out of keeping with such signs of age. A strange-looking women; hut, after all, her looks didn’t signify much, and her manners were irreproachable. I tgld her of her duties, and she expressed herself quite satisfied with her rooms and the arrangements. “I don’t think I shall like her,” was my reflection as I sat gazing down on a blank sheet of paper—blank, save for the "Dearest Nettie,’ that I had scrawled in my untidy handwriting. "I suppose she Is a lady; she has the manners aud appearance of one. But she gives me the impression of something covert —underhand—watchful. Her eyes look too young for her face, aud her voice seems forced into those low, even tones." Then I dashed into my letter. “Dearest Nettie: “I have some news that will surprise you. Yorke Ferrers is coming here. He may grrive to-day—to-morrow— next week, i cannot say decidedly when. Tell me if you will come over and dihe and sleep here, the day after to-morrow. ‘‘Yours, JOAN,”

I scaled it up and addressed it, fhen left it on the table till the letters should bp collected for the post-bag. This done, l turned once more to my favorite chair by the tire. The flames leaped merrily u*f; the dark, glowing colors in and about tl’«i room stood out in rich relief. “It all looks very comfortable,” I siAl to myself. “I wonder Darby has tot come. It must be nearly time for tea.” I leaned forward towards the flowers, and smothered a little yawn. Just than I heard the door behind me softly open. “Is that you, child?” I said lazily. “Where have you been all this time?” The flames died down and left the room in sudden darkness. Wondering at the silence, I looked round. A figure stood there outlined against the pale light from the windows, and the faint glow of the wavering fire. For a second my heart stood still. I did not rise. I felt as if turned to stone. Then suddenly the light leaped up, and the figure came forward from the shadows, and the deep tones of a remembered voice spoke to me: “I fear I startled you. I told them not to announce me. I have come sooner than I expected.” I rose then. The calm, measured tones, the absence of any formal greeting, nerved me to play my own part. We clasped hands, coolly and conventionally, as friends might have done. But platitudes did not come easily yet. “We—we expected you,” I said, “but not so soon. Your letter only arrived this morning.” “Did it?” he said in the same quiet, even tones. “I hope I have not put you to inconvenience. How are you all?” looking round the room, bright now with treacherous glow from the flaming logs. “How is my uncle —and Darby? You took me for her, did you not?” “Yes, for a moment. We always have tea here together about this time. I will ring for it,” I added mechanically. “Do,” he said. “It will be like the old days in the school room. Poor old days! How far back they look now!” The lights were brought, and the tea, and with their entrance came Darby, flitting. pure and spirit-like, into the room, pausing as if some prescience warned her of an intruder ou its dear loved solitude. “Who is there?” she asked quickly. “Yorke?”

I led her up, and placed her hand is his. “She at least is not changed,” I said as our eyes met. “Except to look more like an angel," he said very softly, and bis lips touched her brow. A great peace and calm seemed to settle upon us with the child’s presence. She took off the restraint and hardness that we had both betrayed. I looked at Yorke’s changed face with a sense of wonder, for it was changed, and something seemed to tell me not for the better. And I, looking at him, felt that I had changed too. A sort of numbness was upon my heart. It thrilled no longer with the old vivid joys, and hopes, and fears. It beat on quiescent, and at peace. I could not have gone back now to the old foolish times, or stretched out quick arms, crying; "Come back! Oh, fill my life again!” for, suddenly, without warning, or reason, or preparation of any sort, a truth shot home to me, barbed and sharp, hut wholesome in its pain—a feeling that lie never had filled it; that I had only dreamt he did. In the uuuttered consolation of that thought, I grew at ease with him. When last we had parted, there had been a lover’s plea in eyes and voice; hut now, by might of two cold, barren years, it was changed and silenced. I looked life and its necessities in the face from a calmer standpoint, and he — I almost thought he must have forgotten altogether. Ilis composure accomplished my own. Not one traee was there in voice or look of the old love, or the old sorrow. We had fought the battle in our respective ways; we met, and claimed victory. When I went to my room that evening to dress for dinner, 1 said gladly, wonderingly: “He is cured, and I—l have conquered. Heaven has been kinder to me than I~de. served!” (To he continued. )

LEARNED BUT CAN’T READ.

A Brockton Woman Educated by Listening. The wonderful development of certain faculties in the cases of persons who have lost the use of some of their natural functions, or of others whose faculties have not been fully developed, has long been a matter of remark, but it is not alone the outside observers who appreciate the provisions of nature for the benefit of the unfortunates. The sufferers themselves often appreciate this fully, says the New York Sun, and In some instances, after years, grow to defend so much upon their acquired faculties as to be afraid of a change, even if they have the chance of one. An illustration of this is given by a woman In Brooklyn who never lias learned to read or write. In no way could one discover this except by her own admission, or by putting her to a direct test, for she is one of the best educated women in the country, conversant with languages, art, literature nud all the current topics of the day. She is rich, too, aud could afford all the services of the best teachers If she but chose to learn to read, but she refuses to do so. When this woman was a child her parents lived far from schools, so she had no chance then to read or write. As a mere child she began to earn her own living, and again the chance for schooling slipped away. Then she married and the care of a family took up her time. By time the babies were off her hands her husband had grown rich, and then she began her real education, and now, as a widow, she continues It. Her companions read to her about all th* topics which interest her. Years of such work have stored her mind with a rich treasure of knowledge, aud there Is not a page of a book that has been read to her that she is not familiar with; her stores of knowledge are at her Instant command. Why will she not learn to read? Because, she says, she fears that this wonderful memory, which is now such a treasure-house to her, might be Impaired if she were to do anything to weaken the demands upon it. What such a memory can do is well illustrated In the case of a tailor of this city .who cannot read or write. He Is probably the most widely known man In ills business here, as for many years lie has done business with New York's firemen and policemen. Almost every man of these two bodies has dealings , with this tailor, and each mouth between the ffrst and the tenth days he visits every station house and eugine and truck house in this city to collect his dues. He has acquired considerable wealth, and it is said of him that in all the years he has dealt with the firemen and policemen he never was known to make a mistake of a cent in any man’s account, although all his records of transactions have been kept in his head.

Men Who Go to Siberia.

There is a popular Idea that the wastes of Siberia are peopled with men who have been unjustly exiled from Russia, and that the criminal Is really as difficult to find as the traditional needle In the bunch of hay. Facts, however, do not substantiate this theory any more thun they do the large majority of popular Impressions. A great sensation was created two or three years ago, by the finding of seven Russian exiles or prisoners who had made their escape from Siberia. They were in an open boat in the Pacific, and were taken to San Francisco, where they became the objects of popular commiseration, as well as the text for the denouncing of the Russian methods of dealing with political offenders. The Californians, ever ready with sympathy, gave them clothes and found them work to do. It now appears that, during the interval that has elapsed between their arrival in San Francisco and now, they have every one been punished by the law of the land. The last of the party has just been sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment for burglary, while.one of his comrades only a short time back was hanged for two murders which he had committed. Investigations Avhich have been made show that every one pf these men had been sent to Siberia for reasons which would have earned him a corresponding period of exile from the haunts of his fellowmen, if, not absolute deportation from the country, lu any other part of the world.—Tid-Bits. Eighty years ago Spain's territory in the new world an*.anted to 5,000,000 square miles. Of tills empire Cuba and Porto *klco are the only remnants, 50,• 000 square miles.

His face Is bronzed oy summer's suns. His locks are white as winter's snows. His form Is bent. Ills eye Is dim. For war and age have left tlielr woes. Yet bravely steps the veteran. And proudly bents the old, worn drum. To him no music half so sweet In days gone by or days to come. No comrades march with him to-day Along the narrow vllluge streets. The last of all Ills regiment, No soldier face his vision greets. In trenches rude tlielr bodies lie. And glltt'rlug stars lone vigils keep. No more the bugle call to arms Shall rouse them from their dreamless sleep.

DECORATION DAY.

A Story for the Little Ones.

ONE bright Sunday morning in April, many years ago, the telegraph wires could be heard repeating the same things all over the N, land. “Tic, tic; tietie; t-i-e, tic, tictic; tic, t-i-e, tic; t-i-e; PBb\ tic, t-i-e; t-i-e, t-i-e. tic,” they called kwjjwi out, and the drowsy SdKffif/ telegraph operators rjpy sat up ill their Wjy chairs as if startled LffV by the words the /MV wires were say in £•. Any looker on could

have seen that something dreadful was being told by the wires. Even the bravest among the operators trembled. Then came the rapid writing out of the fearful words that the slender wires had uttered, the hurrying to and Iro, and messenger boys were seen flying to the great newspaper offices and the homes of the mayors of the cities, and to the churches where the people were already beginning to assemble. For the deep-toned Sabbath church bells high up in the steeples had been ringing out their welcome to all, even the strangers in their midst. “Bim, bautn, bim,” they sahg, which everybody knew meant, “Come to church, dear people. Come, come, come.” And the people strolled leisurely along toward the churches. So one family after another filed into their pews, while the organist played such soft, sweet music that everybody felt soothed and quieted by it. In many of the churches the prayer was over, the morning hymn had been sung, when a stir and bustle at the door might have been noticed, as the messenger boys, excited and out of breath, handed their yellow envelopes to the ushers. First one and then another read the message, and from some of them escaped in a hushed whisper the words, “Oh, God! Has it come to this?” And all looked white and awe-struck. The head usher hurried tremblingly down the aisle, and, without waiting for the clergyman to finish reading the announcement of the week, laid the telegram upon the pulpit desk. The clergyman, somewhat surprised, glanced at the paper, stopped, gasped, holding on to the desk, as if he had been struck a blow by some unseen hand. Tlie congregation knew that something terrible had happened, and their hearts seemed to stop beating as they leaned forward to catch his words. “My people,” said he, in a slow, deliberate tone, as if it were an effort to steady his voice, ”1 hold in tny hand a message from the President of the United States.” Then his eyes dropped to the paper which he still held, and now his voice rang out clear and loud as he read, “Our flag has been tired upon. Seventy-five thousand troops wanted at once. Abraham Lincoln.” During the next two weeks men came home, hurried and excited, to hunt up law papers, or to straighten out deeds, saying in constrained tones to the pale-faced women, “I will try to leave all business matters straight before I go.” There were solemn consultations between husbands and wives, wliich usually ended in the father’s going out, stern faced and silent, and the mother, dry-eyed, but witn quivering lips, seeking her own room, with eyes that showed she had been weeping. There were gatherings in the town halls and in the churches and school houses all over the land. The newspapers were read hurriedly and anxiously. And when little Robert looked up earnestly into his grandmamma's face and asked, “Why does mamma not eat her breakfast?” grandmamma replied, “Your papa is going uway, my dear —papa is going to the war, and may never come back to us. Bat you and 1 must be brave about

THE LAST OF HIS REGIMENT.

From Appomattox to the Gulf, The Mississippi to the main, 'Neath Southern skies. In alien soil. They rest In long surcease from pain. The rough, gray stone with legends brief Reveals their home beneath the sod; And some, perchance, He with the dead Cnknown to man, but known to God. To others happier fate awards Repose beneath their native clime; And now the mounds above their dust Take on the green of glad springtime. By loving eyes their graves are watched, And loving hands fond offrlngs bring Of roses, lilies, violets. No fairer dowers deck bier of King.

it, and help him get ready.” And if Robert answered, "Why is he going to the war? Why does lie not stay, at home with us? Doesn’t he love us any more’/” then mamma would draw her boy to her and, putting her arms around him, and looking into his eyes she would say, “Yes, my darling, he loves us, but he must go. Our country needs him, and you and 1 must be proud that he is ready to do his duty.” Then Robert would go to his play, wondering what it all meant, just ns you would have wondered if yon had been there. Then came the terrible, terrible battles, more awful than anything you ever dreamed of. Men were shot down by thousands, and many who did not lose their lives had a log shot off, or an arm so crushed that it had to be cut off. Still they bravely struggled on. It was foi their beloved country they were fighting and for it they must be willing to suffer, or to die. Then the men who had not been killed or who had not died of their sufferings came marching home ngain, many, alas, on crutches, and many who

“your papa is going away, dear.”

knew that, they were disabled for life. But they had saved their country. And that was reward enough for heroic hearts. Though many a widow turned tier sad face away when the crowd welcomed the returning soldiers, for she knew that her loved one was not with them, and many little children iearned in time that their dear fathers would never return to them. Then by and by the people said: “Our children must grow up loving and honoring the heroic men who gave their lives for their country.” So in villages and towns, and cities, monuments were built in honor of the men who died fighting for their country. And one day each year was get npnrt to keep fresh and green the memory of the brave soldiers, and it has

But while' no comrades keep him step, The veteran treads not alone l'ne way that to God’s acre leads Fast fruitful fields with daisies strewn. A lad of soldier ancestry Strides by bis side—a drummer true— And troops of happy children bear Their tribute to the Boys In Blue. With heads uncovered, bended low. They pay the meed to valor due. ' The simple prayer, the gllst’nlng tear « Proclaim tnelr faith and love anew.. The last of all his regiment, All honor to this passing type. The Inst of that Grand Army host For Death’s grim harvest soon shall ripe.

been named "Decoration Day," because on this day all the children, all over the land, are permitted to go to the graves of the dead soldiers and place flowers upon them.

It comes to us of to-day like n strange, tragic dream, this memory of a war of more than three decades ago, when the sound of shot and shell rent the silence and peace of the beautiful summer days, and there was a vacant chair in the home of every patriot in the land. Then the soldiers were divided into two factions, the boys in blue and the boys in gray. Now they are united in one band —those that are left—and they are all boys in gray. Time lias given them their uniform. N The blue was mingled with the skies, And we were boys in gray. Southern" women gave to our country its Jirat Memorial Day—the women of Alabama, who paid tribute to their soldier dead on April 2(1, 1800. The first fohnal services in eopmemoration of the soldiers who gave their lives for the Union was on May 5. 1808, by order of Ueu. John A. Logau, who was at that time Commander-in-chief of the Grand Army of the Republic. The first State to take legislative action on Memorial Day was New Jersey, and New York was the first State to make it a legal holiday. Congress adjourned as a mark of respect to the memory of the men who had died fighting their country's battles. On the first occasion when the order was general for an observance of the day, which was that proclaimed by Gen. Logan, there was a great display of soldiery, and most pathetic scenes were witnessed, for the sears of war were yet fresh. At Arlington, where 15,000 soldiers reposed, Gen. Garfield —afterwards President of the republic—made an oration that melted all who heard it to tears. It was not only a magnificent tribute to the dead, but a classic and valorous lesson of encouragement to the living. It was on that occasion that he uttered this grand peroration: “If silence is ever golden, it must be here beside the graves of 15,000 men, whose lives were more significant than speech, and whose death was a poem the music of which can never be sung.”

“It lias often been said of the veteran soldiers, when they have appeared on parude. as upon Decoration Day,” said an observer, “why, how many young men there are among them! but that cannot be said many years longer. There are still to be seen in the ranks numbers of men comparatively young in appearance, but I was struck on Inst Decoration Day by the number who have now grown gray.”

MEMORIA

c TKt Heart 30 Lem aso nit MAitoSr rrrttj! 1 ARC (>Als!ta AYE rod JTRiff 6ur mt now otro Atii r«t arc terror thc hero's urc ' / THE &UOIE CAU AHO Tut 6AIUC gAllg? f AGAIN SHALL ROuSt HIM hCVCR ’Jtt roUGHT AfiO «IL Hf SERVED UJWtll/ t_. Hn roinouOH LAST^ojtcver

Birth of the Day.

Men in Gray Predominate.

NATIONAL SOLONS.

REVIEW OF THEIR WORK AT WASHINGTON. Detailed Proceeding* of Senate and Home-Bills Passed or Introduced in Either Branch—Questions of Moneat to the Country at Large. The Leeialarivc Grind. Another stirring debate on Cuba occurred in the Senate Wednesday. The main speeches of the day were made by Senators Foraker, Cannon, Lindsay and Hoar. Mr. Foraker spoke in favor of a reference of the resolution to the committee, but on the general question declared his purpose of supporting the resolution recognizing Cuban belligerency when it should be reported by the committee. Mr. Cannon was bitter in his denunciation of Spanish atrocity. Mr. Lindsay declared if the information furnished by United States consuls was so shocking as to subject them to danger of assassination if their names were disclosed it was time to send warships to Cuba and to terminate all diplomatic relations with that country. It was developed in the course of a colloquy between Senators Foraker, Morgan and A est that the State Department had withheld the names of United States consuls reporting on the serious condition of affairs in Cuba because it might lead to their murder. No action on the resolution was taken. The Senate Thursday passed the Mor-gan-Cubau-belligerency resolutions, by a vote of 41 to 14. after a most exciting debate in which Messrs. Mason, Morgan, Gallingpr, Hull, Fairbanks and Hoar participated. In the House the resolution appropriating $50,000 for relief of destitute American citizens in Cubn passed without a dissenting vote. An attempt to Incorporate the Morgan resolution failed, but the debate was sharp and exciting. Both houses adjourned until Monday.

Representative McMillin Monday introduced in the House a resolution providing for the consideration of a Senate resolution recognizing the belligerency of the Cuban insurgents “from day to day until disposed of.” The resolution was referred to the Committee on Rules. The resolution appropriating $50,000 for the relief of distressed American citizens in Cuba reached the White House at 12:20 o’clock, just as soon as it could be sent up after being signed by both bouses, while they were in open session. The President signed the resolution immediate!}'. The conferees on the sundry civil appropriation bill have agreed. The most important amendment to the bill was that revoking the order of President Cleveland of Feb. 22, 1897, setting apart 21,000,000 acres of lands as forest reservations. The appropriation for Pearl harbor, Hawaii, is reduced to SIO,OOO. The Senate amendment for improving Salmon bay, Washington, is stricken out. The appropriation for a Government exhibit at the Omaha exposition is left at $200,000, the $75,000 increase of the Senate being stricken out. The amendment for Investigation of sugar production remains in the bill. The appropriation for the improvement of the lower Mississippi River is increased to $2,933,333. The net reduction from the Senate amendments is $500,000. Hie Mobile bay improvement is made $25,000, instead of $40,000 inserted by the Senate. The total of the bill as agreed to is $53,022,051. The debate on tile tariff bill began in the Senate Tuesday with crowded galleries and a large attendance of Senators and the tariff lenders of the House. Mr. Aldrich, Mr. Vest and Mr. Cannon were the speakers. Early in the day Mr. Mallory, the new Senator from Florida, was sworn in and took his seat. Senator Culloni introduced by request a bill to amend the interstate commerce law. The bill prescribes relations for pooling, requiring that pooling contracts shall not extend beyond five years and that they shall name the maximum and minimum rates to be charged, requiring tin- approval of the interstate commerce commission before the agreements can become effective. The bill provides for a complete revision of the interstate commerce law. The House was not. in session.

CURRENT COMMENT

Greece is stronger in history than anything else.—Syracuse Standard. Why not place a heavy tariff duty on pink teas?—Chicago Times-Herald. Maid of Athens, ere we part, hit the Turk below the heart.—Chicago TimesHerald. The Senate committee having taken the hide off (lie Dingley bill has evened things up by putting hides on. —Portland Eastern Argus. Mayor Harrison is modifying Chicago’s civil service regulations. The modification is executed with an nx.—Washington Post. The railroads which have been forced to accept bicycles as baggage are getting eveu by treating them like baggage.— San Francisco Chronicle. Chicago prides itself on its originality. For instance, who ever heard before of the best club in the League being at the tail end? —Chicago Record. 11 is something of a pity that the originators of Arbor Day didn’t have the plain American common seuse to call it Tree Day.—Providence Journal. At lust we have caught the Chinese napping. They haven't yet claimed that they used tlie airship 2,000 years ago.— Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. Mr. Langtry announces that he treats an American divorce with contempt. So do a great many other people, but it holds just the same.—Baltimore American. The sudden closing up of tlie GrecoTurkish war was hardly courteous to Gen. Miles, who whs on his way to give the combatants some points.—Buffalo Commercial. It is to be hoped that the prospective increase of the tax on beer will not result in any such rush to load up ns has been seen in other directions.—Houston Daily Post. It is easy to explain why we haven’t had a rainbow for a long time. The milliners haven’t left any color for the heavenly arches to come out with.—Chicago Journal. If Turkey can extract a war indemnity from Greece it will be a greater feat than Herrmann’s trick of taking gold pieces out of hard-boiled eggs.—Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. It is said to have cost Kentucky SIOO,000 to elect Deboe to the Senate, and perliapsjafter all be would have been willing to tnke the office for half the money. —San Francisco Call. Since the wrecking of that Chicago bank and the calling of an extra sessiou of the New Jersey Legislature there is no telling just what the typewriters will do next.— New York Jooiral.