Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 9 September 1883 — Page 3

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TWILIGHT.

[Spectator-]

The sunlight waits behind heaven's gates, Unclosed of lagging morning In shadows slow the world below

Fore-greets it, self-adorning, The sweet song-bird is rising heard, The cold, gray light is growing. To herald still on every hill

The red sun's royal flowing. The still dark night forsee6 the light Bpfore her heat she lends us And waning far, the dwindling star

Its mystic message sends us. In crowing pride of prospect wide

The

firmament uncloses

And wakes to bless with stooping kiss The petals of the roses. The watch dog's fleep, serene and deep, breaks on the morning's breaking, And pillowed head that mocked the dead

From dream to work is waking. The son's of toll in earth's turmoil Came forth ere day to labor And lazy wealth outsleeps his health,

To compensate his neighbor. The world of sound springs up around In murmurs waxen ever: And wearied men are armed again,

To face the long endeavor.

We know not, we, what this may be, Tne mystery of ages, Which day by day writes lives away

On remembered pages.

But calm, at least, they watch the east For victory or disaster. Who firmly hold the best the old,

And faith alone the Master.

A GOLDEN MM

BY BEET HA M. CLAY,

AUTHOR OP "DOItA XHOBNE."

[Began Sunday, July 22(1.]

Let me describe what my cell is like. It is a square cold bare room, all white yet it seems to me that the very walls should be black with sighs. The window is very small, very narrow. When I stand on the bed I can see just one piece of blue sky. There is a chair and a white deal table. Shis is the condemned cell of Ulverston jail. Strange tragedies have passed here, unhappy women have jpoaned their liver away, frantic wretches have knelt and clutched the hands of the chaplain and the warders. Soulless, saddened brutal men have stupefied themselves with despair, and have died without a word, cowards have shrieked and raved, good men have prayed, while I

Strange stories are told of the last, night spent by those condemned to die on the morrow. Sometimes a stupor of deBpais comes over the criminal—a etupor from which nothing can rouse him—and he dies or, bewildered, a frantic madness seizes him. Men who have to die at eight in the morning have been known, in a paroxysm of this madness to almost kill the man who watched them. In this cell due precaution has been taken: there is a portion of it enclosed within an iron railing, which has no outlet into the cell. If the warder wants to go near the prisoner, he must go out of his own door and reenter the cell by the door that belongs to it. The railed oft portion looks like an immense iron cage. The warder bed is inside it,

I have heard of frantic men clutching those bars with shrieks that have made the blood run cold in the veins of those who heard. I shall try to die calmly hut I know that I shall be most a a id

Faster now and faster the I*ght creeps along the wall. Oh, for one faoe to smile on me, for one hand to touch

me,

for one word of comfort 1 I climb to the window and watch the blue sky. What mystery lies beyond it?

There is just a breath of the sweet summer air. I lay my tired head

against

the cold stone wall, and shut

my eyes then—ah! then I am in the old garden at home, where the roses are growing, and sweet, old-fashioned flowers are full of perfume. blossoms fall from the lime-trees, the bees are busy with the carnations, the butterflies woo the lilies, th? golden eunlight lies over all. A bird with bright eyes and smooth plumage sings on a bough of white pear-blossom. Oh dear and gracious heaven, how fair it is, this warm, sunlit fragrant world, ,,

I watch the swallows on the eaves I watch the blue and-white pigeons circle in the air. My hoart grows light gild gay with all this loveliness aroung nie, yet there is a feeling as of some impending dread- I hear the woodpiKeonB and the shout of children fit play. I can see the gray church spire, apd a voice calls.

Hyacinth, where are you? I am nere, father," I answer in my dream and I see my father walk down the broad path bordered by white lilies. A sudden sense of security and freedom from all danger warms my heart. 1 throw my arms round him, and then, with a deadly chill, with a terrible horror, with mortal dread, with keen anguish,

I awake. Ah, dear heaven,

it was but a dream! I am miles away from the garden at home, and I have looked my last on my father's face. |t was only a dream. My he«U lay on the stono wall, one sun-beam touched ray face yet so vivid had been the dream that the odor of the lilies deemed to be around nip.

I cannot cry. My eyes burn, my heirt swells, all my tears havo beeji dried long since but a great sob comes from mv lips. Oh, if I could biit es.cape through the narrow window, werp it only to fall dead on the ground beneath My drenm hag unnerved ne the song of the bird on the pear-tree ip with me still. I hear the low ripple of the little brook over the pebbles I hear the soft, sweet chimes of the church bells I know just now that thesunlight lies low on tho lulls, that thp haymakers are leaving work, that the children are wandering "through the woods, that the birds are calling to each other, that the cows are returning from the meadow, that the sun is beginning to set amid a great, mass of crimson clouds, tluit the wind is whispering, and the trees stir their great branches in languid answer.

Never again will sun set, or birds si rig, or flowers blootw for me. Never hgain will tho reapers, passinz me in the green lane, street me cheerily. All sweet sounds of earth have ceased for

I could but stop that changing liirht! It is on the right side now,and it* is growing fainter.* A cold horrible shudder comes over me, my liyibs tremble, an unutterable anguish burns my very soul. I give one long linger? ing look at the blue sky. Shall I see it to-morrow when they take me out shame-stricken to die before the eyes of thousands? Shall I notice either the sky or the sunlight then—I, who have loved them all my life?

Then comes another pause. I dream aga'n. This time I am standing in the church-yard at home, with a group of

laughing

girls around me. The great

oak trees and the stately elms line the path that leads to the porch, great tendrils of ivy reach the ground, birds sing gailv in the heart of the green trees, the" bells are ringing merrily. I stand there laughing as gaily as any of them. Near us is a large white mar-j-»e cross with crimson roses growing ol'er it on that cross I read my mt»thJ er's name. Suddenly one of the girls turns to me, and says, "I do not see your gravestone here." Another answers, "No—Hyacinth Vane was buried in Ulverston Jail." And they all fall back from me with a terrible cry.

I wake with great drops of anguish on my face. While I have slept, the Jlght has grown dim, and the sun has

ihe light men love so well and call "tne gloaming has set in strange shadows lie in the corner oi my cell strange

Bounds fill my ears every few moments a curious sensation comes oyer me, loss of memory and a confusion bf thought. Once I fancy that the face I love best on earth is smiling into mine I fancy I am kneeling, with my head on my lover's breast, and his dear arms around me. ^,'°.r^1.\e him my dear love, whose disloyalty has brought me here. I for-

give him, and love him with all my heart, as I always have. But, when my senses return to me, my head lies on no lover's breast I have fallen^ upon the stone floor, and have 'barely strength to rise

Ah, my love, I shall never more know the clasp of your hands! I said hard words, cruel and bitter, in my jealous rage, but I never meant them. I would have given my life for you, not have taken the life of one you loved. .,

Hyacinth Vane guilty of murder! It seems absurd, as though one broke a butterfly on a wheel or racked with torture a feathered songster. My whole heart faints at the sight of pain.

I hated her for her beautiful face, for her proud manner, for her false sweet words, for her insolence to me but slay her? Dear Heaven, I had neither the strength, the courage, nor the will to hurt one hair of her head!

I hated her she had robbed me of more than my life but slay her Ah me, how foolish the wisest of men are! If I had been a judge, and they had brought before me sucn another girl as myself, it seems to me that I should have looked in the girl's face and said— "That child a murderess? What nonsense!"

Though my judge looked sorry for me, yet he certainly believed I had done that shameful deed.

I shall stand before another Judge to-morrow, and He will know there will be no injustice then—no untruth. I shall find Infinite Mercy. My earthly judge has failed—on these hands of mine no stain of blood rests.

And now the last faint light must be dying out of the skies at home. My hours grow fewer. I must pray now, while my senses are left me, I must beg heaven to forgive all my sins.

What is my worst sin I made an idyl of my lover. I worshiped him as one should only worship the great Creator. I gave my lover the love I should have given to heaven. For that sin I must pray for parden. Again, the sins of hatred against the beautiful woman who stole him from me, of burning jealousy, of bitter words, of longing'for vengeance—for those sins and no other, I have to suffer to-morrow a shameful death.

I am sorry for her, lying in her grave, her bright beauty hidden forever from the eyes of men but I pity myself more. Thousands of curious eyes will look on while I die. There will be no ono to prove that I was innocent. My father, my friendB, the girls I love, the children I played with, will all believe me guiltv: and for fifty years to come they will tell at Dunwold the story of how Hyacinth Vane murdered Gertrude Fraser out of jealousy and revenge. There will be no one to defend me and say was innocent. The little ones have nursed will grow up into men and women, and to their children in their turn they will tell how Hyacinth Vano murdered her beautiful rival, and died in Ulverton jail. There will be no one to tell the truth. I hate to think that Elsie Vane's only child—"the little white Hyacinth," as she was called— shall for all time be branded with the name of murderess.

I kneel down and pray as well as I know how. I remember my sins and ask pardon for them. And then I ask that I may die bravely that I may not cry, or shriek, or faint that I may not cling to the kindly chaplain, whose heart aches for me that 1 may not cry out to the seething multitude. I ask— and I never stop to think whether it be right or wrong—with woeful tears that my mother may come and be near me on the scaffold when I am about to

It is quite dark and a strange sound comes to me. It is like the hum of a multitude—a confused, horrible sound. The jail of Ulverston stands facing one of the wide streets, and clearly enough I recognize the sound of an enormous surging mass of people.

Tney are come to see me die!

I fall upon my knees with a passionate cry or Jerror and pain, Hundreds and hundreds of people will tell each other how they saw Hyacinth Vane hung. I remember having read with wonder and amazement in the newspapers that to Bee a fellow-creature die men and women will walk for hours, will stand for hours, shouting, singing, jesting, giving no thought to the pain of the doomed one's last moments. Oh, Heaven, under the bright blue beautiful sky, can suck things be?

Then another sound freezes the blood in my veins. What can it be, this muffled hammering! Oh, I know! At night, with the help of torches, thev are erecting the scaffold on which I am to die! I hear the sound plainly, and I cry out with passionate terror and pain—loudl bitter cries I Cannot restrain them. This brings my fate hoipp to me. Who will save me? Who^illhejp me? Oh, heaven—oh, mother—I am so young, and I must die?

I fling myself upon tho ground. 1 am half mad with fear and the cruel sound of the hammering, the shouting of the crowd, of a vast multitude, seem to grow clearer. How they will rejoice when I stand before them torow to die? For it was a cruel murder, and they all believe me guilty. I conld make no defense, except that I had

mijke po defense, except not done it. My passionate woeful cries ring through the vaulted passages. Some one must havo fetched the governor, Captain Longmore, and the head matron, Mrs. Martyn. I hear the key turn in the lock my.sad, longing eyes gaze out into the corridor, and then the door closes. I am shut up in the condemned cell, and the outer world has gone from me.

It is Mrs. Martyn who raises my head from the cold stone floor, and, looking into the governor's face, says quietly-— "Jt is very sad for her to hear that noise it is bad enough without that."

The governor's face darkens. "It is bad enough altogether," he replies and I wonder in my own mind whether he thinks me innocent or guilty.

I may mention that this tragedy of mine took place thirty years ago, when it was the custom to hang men and women alike before the scoffing gaze of thousands.

My passion of terror has exhausted me. I feel that my face ia white and still as that of a dead woman. I cannot unlock my lips to speak my eyes are closed. "I will lay her on the bed," says the matron. "She ought to sleep until the bell tolls."

The governor shudders, strong man though he is. I feel him tremble as he raises me in his arms. "Hanging men is bad enough," he saysi "but a woman, a fair, delicate girl like this—I would as soon be hung myself as help in it." "Do you really think she did it! asks the matron, in a whisper. "The law has pronounced her guilty. Surely the judge and the jury must have had pretty good evidence, or she would not be here. I am bound, as governor of this ptison, to believe her guilty, and to see that she is punished but, if you ask my opinion as a man with a judgment of his own in the matter, I snould say that she is innocent—that a white dove is far more likelv to lay an eagle than she to murder a girl voung as herself. I believe another tfiing, Mrs. Martyn, and it is that if she does not have either wine or brandy she will be dead be foro to-morrow comes." The kindly matron savs— "Let her die, Captain Longmore. Only think what it would save her, if she could die here, and now!" "I dare not," he answers slowly, "I must do my best to keep her alive, shall order some wine."

It- is brought to "him and they try to pour it down my throat I endeavor to open my lips, but I am quite power-

"She is dying!" cries the matron. "What shall we do They send for the prison doctor, and he comes in haste. "Dyingt Is she, poor child?" he says. "1 wish that I dare let her die."

But he dares not. He does all he can to bring me back from the shadowland, to keep me alive, that to-morrow thousands may look on in the bright sunlight and see me die.

Slowly under his skill and care my

eyes open and the blood stirs in my veins. I read the very yearning of pity in the doctor's eyes. The sonnd of the hammer with its mighty muffled blows is more clear and distinct. I catch his arm. "Doctor," I cry, "send me where I Oh, I cannot bear to hear that noise!"

He turns from me with a groan and the governor says— "You cannot leave this cell. Try not to hear it, Hyacinth Vane."

Four hours later. The sun has long since set, the birds are surely resting, the flowers all fast asleep the great beautiful wings of night are spread over the world the wind is hushed, the trees are

Btill.

The noise of the

hammer has ceased, and my heart, which seemed to throb painfully with each stroke, beats more regularly.

The moon must be shining, for across the narrow window falls a ray of light, faint silver light. Ah me, how often have I watched it lying on the iilies and roses at home! I have seen it on my lover's face, when it has given to it the beauty of a Greek god. I shall never see the sweet silver moonlight again, I can hear the surging, the subdued noises, of the vast crowd I know that men and women are waiting outside—lying, standing, sitting, through the long hours of sweet summer night, just to see me die. A hundred memories sweep over me. Again I go over the tragedy of my love—the love that has been my doom, my fate —that has brought me here to die and I say to myself—may Heaven forgive me if I am wrong!—that my love was so dear and so sweet, it made me so unutterably happy, that I would rather have had it, even were it to be followed by the punishment of death, than have been without it and have never known it—ten thousand times r&tbcr*

I think of every hour I spent with Alan, and my heart grows warm again. Unutterable anguish, the very extreme of sorrow and woe, have followed my love but it lives in my heart, and will never die. They will kill me to-mor-row, but they will never slay my love. The best part of us never dies.

I remember her—the tall, dark, brilliant beauty, whose eyes alone would have lured any max) to his ruin. There is no stain on my hands they are white and clean. I hated her, but I would not have hurt one hair of her head. There comes to my mind, as I lie in the darkness and the silence, a horrible story.

We had a fair at Dunwold every year and when I was about ten years old I was allowed to go to it. The thing that struck me most was not the booths, the stalls, the amusements, the people or the fun, but a ipan who carried a large board, on which were painted the several scenes of a murder. I remember pyery detajl of it, even the sound of his voice as he shouted out the story.

It was of a mother who had murdered her child by throwing it upon a large blazing kitchen fire. The picture that thrilled me most was a representation of the condemned cell, in which the hapless woman sat staring helpless at one corner where the murdered child stood surrounded by a bright light." The man phaunted the mother's words—"By night and by day the child stood always in a corner of my cell, looking at me with such sad eyes." There was no silent figure reproaching me, for on my soul lay no sin of murder.

The darkness increases and the matron, who has asked to remain with me for the njght, sleeps I can hear her calm, regular breathing, and it seems to me fnat my pain is increasing. My restless sighs awake her, for she opens her eyes and says: "Can you not sleep Would you like to get up?"

I thank her, and try to lie f^ill, so that she may rest.

Oh, the that last night, er fhe outstretched

horrop of

spent, as it were, undei. .. hand of death! I cannot tell if I slept my very senses were steeped in fear and dread but there came a time when the darkness seemed to enfold me, and I remembered no more.

When I opened my eyes again, a pearly light lay across the window. The "sun was rising it was the last sunrise|for me. In my mind I saw it all—the rose-red clouds, the birds actively in quest of food, the flowers with dew OH their leaves, the# cool, sweet earth I saw all the beauty and color at home.

A pitying voice asked would I take some tea. My lips were parched, my mouth burned, I longed for a cup of water even, and the cup of tea was most refreshing yet I could hardly drink it—the recollection that it was my last almost preyented my s\yallow ing it.

Six o'clock—and at eight I had to die. A strange calmness pjjme qyer me, stupor that ft0#6 all my senses I could not even pray. The chaplain came in then, and the others stood apart that he might talk to me. I raised my d.tzed miserable eyes to his face, the kind, good face that in my distress and horror had been to me as that, of an angel. "I have but two hours," I said and then it must have been the sight of th$ tears in his eypsthat broughttiiiue, for I fell weeping at his knees, crying to him that I had to die—to die!

He turned away his head with a sob. "She is only a child," I heard him say—"only a child." He recovered himself. "Let us spend the two hours in preparing far Heaven," he said and then he told me hbw much it was to be desired that I should make a full and free confession of my crime, with all its details.

My crime! That bad been loving my lover too well, notthemurderof my rival. I could only look into hjp fape, and cry outi "I am innocent. Do you not believe that I am innocent? If I had been guilty, I should have told you before. Do vOu not bejieve me "The law has found you guilty, my poor child," he said. "The law is unjust!'' I exclaimed.

He laid his hand upon my shoulder. "Hush, my poor child!" he said.

Remember you are at the threshold of another world there should be calmness at the gates of death. If you are guilty of the crime for which you are going to die, then accept death as a just punishment of your sin believe me, cnild, the scaffold, as well as the cross, has opened for some of the gates of heaven. If you are innocent, give your live cheerfully. You can die a aytyr's death. "Ah, me!" I cried out, in my bitterness, "you do not realize how frightened I am tei (lie 1"

Until just before the terrible hour struck, he prayed for and with me. He told me what I should have to suffer, how great would be the ordeal of stepping out from the dark gloom of the prison walls into the bright sunlight, where thousands of faces would be turned eagerly towards mine. He told me, when deadly fear seized me, to pray, "God be merciful to me a sinner.

As he talked I grew calmer, and the thought entered my mind, "If men pay such a man as this with gold, what will his reward be in heaven?" Calmer! I had need to be calm. There was a hush in my cell, a roar from the crowd outside, then a solemn and' terrible pause one voice said, "Poor child!" another "Lord, have mercy on us all." "Hush!" said the governor, imperatively.

Ah, I knew—I knew! The cell-door opened, and a man came in with a rope in his hands. "It is time," he, said, in a low harsh voice. Hdtook hold of my arms to pinion them. I cried ont to him: "Pray let them be free! I will be docile, silent, motionless only let my arms be free!"—those white, rounded arms that had been clasped round my lover's neck. With a passion of despair, I kissed the little hands that had atherrd the lilies in the garden at _omei They were warm now only a few minutes more and they would be dead.

The man turned aside for half

minute when he saw me Idas my hands and then my arms were pinioned to my Bide.

the warders came. Was I a coward that I cried aloud-in my agony for heaven to help me—that oeful cries and passionate words came to my lips? Was I a coward that I turned my white, dazed miserable face to the chaplain, telling him I was so frightened I was almost dead with fear. I saw strong men turn away with great sobs, and one woman fell fainting to the ground.

The roar and cries of the crowd were quite audible then, and the solemn tolling of the bell sounded above all. The procession was pitiful enough to make an angel weep. All the stern majesty of the law was arrayed against one poor, white, trembling child, whose hands were bound grim, stern men— the governor, with his military baring, the warders, with their impassive faces—were leading me to death.

We were in the corridor then, and the solemn words of the burial service cut my heart in two. :I am the Resurrection and the Life

Hush! Hark! What was wrong? Such a cry rose from hundreds of lips! There was a surging and a rush in the vast crowd there was a strange sound within the prison walls. The warders halted the chaplain's words died on his lips the governor stood still. "Stop! A reprieve! Stop!"

It wasas though a whole nation shouted with a mighty voice, "Stop!" And then men came running up the corridor, one bearing on him the marks of travel. He hastened to the governer. "A reprieve!" he said. "I ought to havo been here two hours ago, but I was delayed by an accident. I am not too late thank heaven," he added, "that I am not too late I" "A reprieve!" cried one to another and from the crowd there arose a mighty cheer that seemed to cleave the brignt blue sky.

Some one unpinioned my arms. I could not realize, I could^ not understand what was passing. When my hands were free, I caught the outstretched arms of the chaplain. I raised my face to his no sound came from my parched lips. "You are saved! he said.

And then Heaven in mercy sent a dark mist, a dark cloud that shut out everything and so my dream of a scaffold ended.

CHAPTER XVII.

While Hyacinth Vane suffered in prison, a long agony began for Alan Branston. He was as sure of her innocence as he was of the truth of Heaven, but he was quite powerless, he could do nothing and the time was drawing near when the last snd most terrible act of the tragfdy was to take plfiC6

He left no stone unturned but what could he do? He went to Dene Hqll, and sifted all the eyidence over tyid over again. It w«8 of no use nothing seemed to be of the least avail. He spent whole days in trying to obtain a farewell interview with her, but he could'not obtain it.

There were times when his misery almost maddened him, when he blamed himself wildly for his weakness, when he cried out that his own weakness had cut short two fair lives, when he would have given his heart's blood to have undofie what he had done.

One morning, two days' before the day for the execution, there came to him a note, written in a quaint, trembling hand, 'headed from1 Mary street, Leicester Square, and signed "Andrea Fieschi"-:a note from a dying man, who beggeel of him to go without loss of time and see him on a matter of life and death.

Alan was there before three hours had passed, 'and, on inquiring, was told that the Italian gentleman who occupied the drawing rooms, was supposed to be dying he had met with an accident gome months before, tne landlady said, and had never been well afterwards. "Go to him," cried Alan eag^v, f'and tell him that' the gentleman to whom he wrote—Alftn Branston, of Elmstjiorpp Grange—is waiting tq see him." }n a few minutes he stood by the bedside of the dying man—e handsome man, and evidently a patrician— who looked into his face with dim, wistful eyes. "You tre Alan Branston?" he interrogated and the answer was a quick, almost impatient, "Yes." "You 16ved 'and'wished to marry Hyabinth' Vane, now In prison for the—the murder of Gertrude Fraser?" "Yes," said Alan and the dim eyes looked more keenly at him. "You have suffered," remaiked the stranger. "I see lines on your face, white threads in your hair. I see signs of anguish and vyoe that have Renown no rest and no cessation I shoulcj not tell Jbfl" toy Secret now,'but th^t know I am goiqY{o die, $rid the teeing Of if cwnot

h\irt

The dread moment was drawing terribly near. The bell begfcnto toll, and (cold Englishmen never know. fi f*v

r»

i- .1

we, while ?t may

saye her. Send for magistrate ftna what Other witnesses you desire I will tell my story once, and all may hear it."

Alan Branston, Mr. Barton, one of the keenest London magistrates, and Alton Chevril, one of the barristers who had done his best \a deiending Hyacinth, were all assembled in the dying'man's room. He looked at them with steady eyes and a calm face he hesitated one half minute, while Alan's heart beat so strongly with excitement and suspense that it seemed tc) him every one must liet^- it. "I atoi perhaps quixotic in what I am doing,"'said Count Fieschi "but my doctors say that I shall die before fortyeight hours are over my head, and I may ag weli save that young girl's life, if lean. I have done many bad actions, and a few good ones. I have cheated the law and the PCS (Told. I may tell yofl that I murdered Lady fraser—let me add also that, if ever a woman on earth justly deserved her fate, she did that, if the time and the opportunity came again, I would repeat the deed. No weak, sickly thought of repentence has urged me to confess all this. I am dying, and that young girl may live."

Mr. Barton \v.i ht Alan Branston as his tall, strong figure swayed to and fro the wonderful strength thftt had upheld him 80 long gaye way no"iv that there was a glitpuier of hope. Count Fieschi smiled a slow, satirical smile. "Give him some brandy," he said. "I know what it is. I once loved a woman like that, and she dpreived me. Let him listen to me tell nim time is short." "Time is short," whispered Mr. Barton in Alan's ear, "every moment is worth gold, and we have SQ much tp

do-"-

T^ie words were magical in their effect Alan stood up again, and again the count smiled. "I understand it," he said, "I loved a woman just as much as that once. Who teaches women^ Not heaven, I am sure—there is no art so cruel but that they understand it there is nothing they cannot do. The woman I loved and slew knew all that the world of coquetry and cruelty holds. She was one of' those cursed with a beautiful face, who used the beauty heaven had given her to work misery and destruction among her fellow-creatures.

Let me tell my own tale—what she did to me. I tried her in my own mind, condemned ^et-rtook' the law into my, own hatofts, and slew her let me tell yon what she did. Three years ago I was good in heart and soul, devoted to my country. I had great hopes, fiery ambition I longed to imitate the great men of my native lapd, and devote my life to her service. Bella Italic—I had no. other love. "J #et''the siten who has wrecked my life, admired her, and for a time resisted her. I said to myself, 'No love but that of Italy.' I steeled my heart against the warm glances of her eyes, against the lovely 6miles of her red lips, against the touch of her white hands and, when she saw tha{ a few sweet smiles an£ looks would not move me, she set io work to ruin me.

She did not love me—not in the least but she had a thirst for conquests. Men's hearts were playthings to her, she loved to torture them. She saw that I had resolved to steel my heart against her, and she resolved to win me. She never gave m? rest until she made tnp love her J' "Eio you know how we Italians love? We love with a fire such as you

THE if PRH HAUTE EXPRESS, SUNDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 9.1888.

her as madly as any man ever loved a woman. I laid my heart and soul at her feet and then she was content. I lived in a fool's paradise for a few days then I asked her to be my wife. She laughed at me, and my hot blood boiled with rage. I said to her 'Yon have aroused the love* in my heart yon must be my wife.' "She laughed again, and the fire burned more fiercely in my blood. I Swore that she should be mine. She wasfrightened, and tried to temporize by a few Boft words and looks. The day came when she spoke of returning to England, still laughing at the notion of being my wife. We had angry words, and I swore that if she did not keep the promise she had made me I would follow her to the end of the world and kill her. "Patriotism, country, honor, fidelity, all became less than nothing to me. I bore my pain until I could bear it no longer,' and then I followed her to England. I read in a provincial newspaper that she was at Dene Hall. I knew her well. If I had asked after her in the broad davlight she wonld have evaded me sol went to her window by night. I gave her a fair chance for her life. I asked her to marry me, and she refused. We talked for an hour. She was beautiful—I could not kill her I let her go back into the house again. Then I brooded over my wrongs—brooded until I grew mad. 'She must die!' Under the stars I swore that Bhe should. I climbed to her window, and entered the room. She lay fast asleep, her hands wrapped in a small blue and white shawl. Ah, Heaven, shall I ever forget the sight— the lovely face so placid and still, the red lips parted in sleep? "I had no mercy—I stabbed her to the heart. She died instantaneously. She never moved, or stirred beyond clenching her hands and I went as I had come—but I had had my revenge. Open that locked box here is the key. you will find in it the dagger that. I used. It is an old heirloom of the Fieschi family. You will say that Heaven was quick to punish me. As I climbed the outer wall of the park, my arm caught og a great rusty nail, and my flesh was torn even to the bone. I took little notice of the wound but my neglect has ended fatally. It is a just punishment, you will say—perhaps it is. "Now you have little time to lose. Hasten to the home secretary. The girl is quite innocent—he will respite her. Do not trouble about me I snail soon be dead."

Savp that the police were directed to watch, Mr. Barton, Mr. Chevril, and Alan did iust as lie had advised they \yept all three together, and tlie home sepretary did .§11 in his power to help them.

When the reprieve was safe in his hands, Alan even then had a haid struggle before him. There was no telegraph wires to Ulverston he had to engage a special train—and that was delayed by an accident. He was only just in time to save Hyacinth's life.

When she woke from her long swoon, it was to find his arms around her and liis kisses warm on her face. "Oh, my love," she cried, "the agony of the past weary night!"

He looked at her. '"prink no more of ty," he said, "this is the golden dawn."

Count Fieschi died that night and before another day was passed his confession was spread all over England. People read it with wondering eyes. How foolish they had been to think Hyacinth Vane guilty!

Hyacinth stood by the green grave where Francis Vance slept with his \yife. The girl's heart s^ill thrpbbing and beating with thp atonement that h^d been m&de'tp her. She and Alan were married and he had brought her to the spot she loved best. '{t seems to me, Alan," she said, "that the whole country has in some measure tried to atone to me—I have had any number of letters of sympathy but nothing can give him back to me—the dear father whom that ais:ful shock killed." "We need nty wish him back, my dar^lhlg,'", returned Alan "he lives in tW light of the golden dawn."

Again she laid her fair head against the marble cross. "II seemB so strange, Alan," she said, "to begin life again I thought it all ended," "It will tea lite that 6hall be as bright as tieayen's blessing and buma'nloye" can make it," be told her "and in begins for us, ^iy d^rlipg, in a go}deii day^n.'^ fHB fWB,

A GOOD SALESWOMAN.

Beauty Kot an Unmixed Advantage— Teita of Temper and Tact.

New York Sun.

"Do you have many applications for work from saleppmeo asked a reporter of- the manager of a large uptown store. "We can get all we want at short notice," he replied. "Most of ^he ladies like to hail ftoin a l^rge concern like ours. But it is not so easy to find many who are fully up to our standard." "What is the standard "The question is not eaty to answer. ,We expect a lady to be quiet, yet confident alert and wide-awak, yet polite and agreeable easy and frank, yet possessing a touch of firmnesF, and not so outspoken as to injure trade. In fact, a good saleslady is rather a complex article under a simple exterior. Patience and coolness are among the best points they can possess. I sometimes feel obliged, in a doubtful case, to test an applicant upon this poipt of equanimity by trying the effect of some little aggravating- remark-' If 'he remains cbl fit](I' pleasant, her chances are good if she colors or bites her lips 1 am forced to regard her as inexperienced, and put her in some Biinple department—hosiery, for e^amp'f-. One of the instinct that an "fnei'perienced girl has to cimtiend with is the tendency to stiffen up if the customer bebomesa little disagreeable. }}ut Icoulcl pick out a good saleslady much more easily than I can describe her." "Is be&uty' a desirable point?" "On the whole I think its importance is overrated, I should prefer, from a lpusinesp point of view, what is called au attractive girl, who is graceful and has a fine figure. Many of our best salesladies are not remarkable for physical charms, though all are agreeable in manner. Some houses make a point of beauty. It is thought to be useful at counters frequented by gentlemen but we have often been obliged to displace salesladies for keeping gentlemen in conversation. The art is to say just enough to effect the sales and dispose of the customer when business commences to degenerate into chatter. Beauties are hard to take care of. We often have to call them, that is, send them on a message to a distant part of the establishment as a hint. I think it quite possible that large sales at higher profits are sometimes made in the departments of men's furnishing goods' txy having good-looking gfrls behind the showcases. Nevertheless, I do not think that, as a whole, we consider the value of a pretty girl in the wages market to be greater than that of a plainer girl who is attractive in other respects. We do not pay more for beauty, unless it is combined' with other high qualities. In the cloak and other trypg-ori departments personal charms are of great value, of course, and command high wages but even here it is more a matter of figure and graceful movement than of faoe. It is perhaps advantageous to have handsome, refined-looking girls in the lace and embroidery departments! In the silk and trimmings departments we regood' taste, a faculty for nice ing, and a quick eye for colors,

Ohe

I with a genius for matching fabrics. We pay well in these dei menta, and in'selecting ladies fo^.1 have only Qeorttfary

Some of the ladies, as yon will

notice, are quite plaih, but are all nicelooking. "Women perfectly suitable for the trimmed hat department are certainly born, not made. I assure you that few of the fine arts are more difficult than that of selling ladies' hats. The hats with their velvets, silks, laces, flowers, featheraand passementeries, are very complex articles. To be be able to choose the particular one from stock that is most suitable and becoming to a customer's ieatures, complexion, age and Btyle, requires natural gifts of a high order. Ladies are always studying dress more or less, but the number who can trim a bat tastefully, and who know what is most becoming to them, is small. They feel this, ana, although they are often very opinionated in other matters of dress, they are quite apt to depend much upon any saleslady in this department whom they believe to be really competent. Hence the need of the best talent here, and, as the best talent is always in demand, the prices for it are high." "Why do they object to being called saleswomen?" .• "I don't know."

4.^

REMARKABLE DREAMS.*

Some Strange Stories of Dream* ai Prophetic Symbols, Etc.

At the French lottery offices, says London Society, it used to be a enstom to keep a separate register of the lucky numbers which had been suggested by dreams, they were so numerous and so remarkable. Never did a day pass without adding to the wonderful record, and faith in dreams grew in consequence even more rapidly than the list did in the register. It was so in England while the lotteries existed, and so it was abroad, where they still exist. Many strange stories of this kind are told.

Among remarkable dreamers we have authors who, continuing the occupation of the day, have composed through the night while asleep. In this way Voltaire composed his verses to M. Touron.

From the^most ancient timesdreams have been regarded as prophetic symbols, capable of useful and important interpretations, and many astonishingly strange stories are told in which their significance was apparently demonstrated. Anciently thpy were broadly divided into good and evil dreams, and means for securing the one or avoiding the other were solemnly adopted. Pliny said aniseseed placed on the pillow so that" the sleeper smeltedit would prevent dreams from being disagreeable, while the seed of pyenocomen, taken in doses of one drachm in wine, produced nightmase. Both Pliny and Aristotle 'regarded dreams as most'frequent in the spring and autum. Among the ancients, dream interpreting was a regular trade, and Artemidorus is credited with exalting it into a science by the publication of his five books of "tineirocritica," first printed in Greek at Venice in the year 1518, and 'sometimes called tl\e "Dreamer's Bible."

Galen tells us 9$ a man who dreamed that his left thigh had become stone, and who soon after lost the use of it by a dead palsy of another, one of ^is patients, who dreamed that he was in a vessel full of

\l°0d,

which he ac

cepted as a sign that the man ought to be bled, by which meansaserioqs disease under which he Iftb^red ..was cured,

Cicero is the authority for a remarks* ble dream, related by Valerius Maximus, of two travelers who put up in Megara, one at an inn the other at the house of a friend. At night one dreamed that the other came to him in a state of awful agitation, saying his host was attempting to murder him and imploring his aid. This made a deep impression and awoke but, treating it asj'only a dream." he again wpntt^ieap? Hifffri^n.d once more appeared, saying the crime was oommited and his body had been concealed under a dungheap, from which he desired him to remove it. In the morning early he went to arouse his companion and resume their journey, and he entered the courtyard ?[»et a farteir removing loafi of aung,. which he insisted upon examining.

The bpdy of his murdered friend was found in it, the crime was exposed and the murderer executed. We may add that as no record exists of Cicero's visiting Megara—and It is mo3t improbable that he ever did so—he may have merely repeated this old Greek story from hearsay, although there is nothing in it more astonishing than we have in the preceding records-

Pliny, on better authority, tells as strange a story of on? of his own slaves who, while sleeping among his fellows dreamed that two men in white came into the slaves' sleeping place, shaved their (the slaves') neads and escaped as they had come. In the mo^n^pg he found'the dream

One dwam.ef~aii' old woman of Marseilles, who visited church every day, and passed almost her entire time before a certain altar—dreamed that she had been transformed into a lamp eternally burning before it, and herself made as sure of its realisation as she could by leaving in her will the money for suspending there a silver lamp but this was hardly a fair case of prophetic dreami'ig.

A remarkable dream-story is told by the present German Emperor. He dreamed one night that, standing at the Kur Spring, Karsbad, a man gave him a small china cup to drink from which contained a deadly poison. He laughed in the morning at the remembrance of this dream, and mentioned the fact that every mornina when be drank at the Kur Spring fhe cup was presented to him by a charming young girf, whom he was sure could never contemplate murder. For the first time, however, on that morning, instead of the girl, a man appeared and handed him the cup. Tne emperor hesitate^, bat, looking into the man's kindly face, he smiled to himself and took the draught. "Qf course it did not harm me." aays Emperor William, "but, on uie contrary, my s'ay at ijariabad, instead of proving fa$y tal,' was very beneficial."

A Jersey Marriage Pee.

Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.

A young couple called on the Rev. Dr. Samuel E. Appleton, of Philadelphia not long ago, and asked him to marry them, which he did. The happy groom then walked reluctantly to him and asked: "Doctor, how much isyourfee?" "I,have no fixed price, but generally receive $10," wag the answer. The bright smile of the Jersey groom seem.ed tQ leave him then, but bracing himself he said: "You see, doctor, I am a little short at present, but would like very much to pay you. I am a bird fancier, and am importing a lot of educated parrots from London. Now, instead of paying yon in cash, suppose I present you with one of these birds on their arrival?" "I should be glad to have a parrot," admitted the doctor. "Well, it's agreed then. I will send you one in a few days but have you a cage to put the bird in?" "No, I have not. How much does a cage cost?" "Oh, you can get a good one for 93.60," was the reply. Dr. Appleby handed the young man the amount required to bny the cage, and that was the last he saw of the groom, bride, parrot, cage, or the $2.50.

Ex-Senator Yulee, of Florida, is building an elegant house on Connecticut avenue, Washington, which, it is said, promises to be a welcome addition lib the number pf handsome resi dences built in that lection of the city during the past few years.

The officers' mess-room ot the Blucher Hussars, at Stolpe, has just been adorned with a half-«ze portrait of the ,Fonee oi Wales, who was. recently apem (pointed honorary colonel of the rest* went by Emperor William,

BLACK AND CARPENTER

Jadce Black's Epitaph Upon Senntor Carpenter. Milwaukee Sentinel. v'

Among man in public life a (-laser friendship is scarcely found than that which existed between the two great lawyers, the late Judge Black and the late Senator Carpenter. Admiration for the legal learning of one another was the basis of the relation which grew to be one of the strongest possible. Judge Black looked uponSenator Carpenter with a tender charity for all his faults and an affectionate pride in his talents. Judge Black had a lively consciousness of his own greatness as a lawyer. As age came on and he felt that he was losing in' legal strength, he said: "Yes, I'm losing in strength, but Matt is gaining, and between us we manage to hold a good share of the legal attainments of the world." Outside the immediate family of Senator Carpenter, no one felt the death of the brilliant lawyer more than Judge Black. When the movement for a Carpenter monnment was started, Mrs. Carpenter was requested to select some one to write the epitaph to be inscribed upon it. Naturally the selection fell upon his great friend. Judge Black. A few weeks before his death, Judge Black wrote and sent to Mrs. Carpenter the epitaph, which is now published for the first time. We are indebted to Dr. William Fox, the physician. of Senator Carpenter and a warm friend of Judge Black, for a copy of the memorial and for an abstract from the letter of Judge Black to Mrs. Carpenter concerning it. In his letter Judge Black said

You And your own Immediate family are responsible for the inscription if you adopt it and that responsibility means something, for. if it pe grossly overdone or come tardy off, it will mar the better reputation which a better epitaph would leave him. Therefore I suggest for your consideration some of the defects oi it. In the start perhaps you will think it somewhat extravagant—I mean the words with which it begins, "The most accomplished orator," etc, I cannot mend that, for I think it is true, and I will have no hand in damning him with faint praise. He was first, with along interval between him and the second. You can better it all through by making it shorter arid sharper. But while I wish it to be as your own taste and judgment may dictate, I warn you against too free a use of your pruning knife, for you labor under some of the disabilities which unfit me lor such a composition. Bettec get a cooler hand than either of us. Consult some of your good and wise friends and see what they advise in the way of modification.

The religious poifit puzzled me Borne. I believ? he ^ad the faith and the hope, so am sure he had the charity of a Christian, but I do not know—for that is one of the subjects upon which he and never talked. Howsoever the fact may be, the future felicity of a dear friend, whether his life has been good or evil, is such a eommonplnce topic of tombstone eloquence that I mjt it without regret.

There are some phrases you may wish to change—do it without hesitation. Some are doubtful—for instance, "swallowed up," for which I would have used the weaker figure, "absorbed" «or something equivalent, only that Paul (not Carpenter, but Paul the Apostle of the Gentiles) is authority for those words in that sense.

The arrangement of the lines have no analogy to written or printed compositions. Now I do not know that there is any rule about it. It is an artistic question^ depending perhaps on the siae, shape or aspect of the surface on which they are tobe lettered. I think any marshaling #f the lines is reasonably good, and it ought not to be much changed for a light reason. Some words ought to be made prominent, larger or in stronger relief than others. I have not indicated them.

The epitaph exhibits Jndge Black's great admiration for Senator Carpenter as an orator and a lawyer, and his deep affeotion for him as a man. It reads thus:

MATTHEW HALE CARPENTER.

The most accomplished orator of his day and generation. He addressed no audience that he did not charm, and Touched no subject that be did not adorn.

First among senators and foremost of Statesmen. mighty in word and deed Hew True to 1 Is country and his conscience, iblle career was

His pu

as stainless as it was lofty. He was worthy to stand as be did, At the head of the legal profession, because be was Profoundly versed in Its learning, thorough master of its practical rules and iwe&isUbly powerful in forensic debate, yet bis family and all his associates,

Including the rivals he surpassed, are apt to overlook his shining talents as they recall the generous kindness of bis heart, and admiration of the great jurist,

W\- 1 a

517

the eloquent advocate, the brilliant senator, the matchless political leader, is lost to them and swallowed up in personal affection for the Man.

Now that both of these great lawyers and warm friends have passed away the tribute of ono of to the other will be read with interest, aside from the fact that this tribute will be inscribed on a monument to Wisconsin's brilliant orator.

A New Bridal Costume.

Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.

A fashionable bride took a new departure the other day by wearing a beautiful pearl-embroidered veil. The rest of the bridal costume was also singularly rich and effective, the white satin train being bordered by a unique trimming of pearl embroidery, and the sleeves and high collar being made entirely of fine pearls. In relief lbe petticoat was covered with point le Flanders and garlands of orange blossoms. This same young woman, when she started off on her wedding journey, wore a traveling dress of white corded silk, combined with blush-rose velvet, arranged in such a manner as to resemble" the delicate coloring of the inside of a shell. The bonnet, which corresponded in color, was composed of jessamine and blush roses, and the traveling wrap was of tie palest gray embroidered cashmere, lined with rose satin and bordered with ruchings of gray lace. If you suppose she was a royaltry from this yon are greatly mistaken but, though only aMiss Mary Wyndham, she maried the eldest son of an earl, and, it is hoped, lived happily ever after.,

Next Thursday Eastport, Me., will do herself proud at an elaborate reception and ball in honor of Governor Robie, who will on that date be a guest in that pleasant dry of fog and mist.

Major Ethal iiasxsdale, editor of the Jack6on (Miss.) Claiion, has withdrawn from that newspaper, lie will rt present the Seventh district of Miasippi in the next congress.

Down in Clay connty, Kentucky, a boy was tried lor carrying a concealed weapon, and acqnitted on the ground that he was to small to conceal it.

Mr. Schumaker, an Ohio prohibition candidate, employes no one in his mills who uses liqnor ©r tobacco.

General McClellan and his wire and daughter. Miss May, are at Richfield Springs, New Hampshire.

Aimee's chief joy at ghore was that she cor milk for her poodle.

Dr. Oliver Wendell

jtting on get fresh

Hoi

men carries a

hone chestnut in his pocket to prevent ibeBBiatism..

JUMBO

y«,./' ,i

WE STILL HATE SOME OF THAT CHOICE

WESTERN LAND

•s" J" "if

Well Improved Farms,

...

f# 1U^

-v Hi

•?Z

ic"

ji is 9 l&W* i*"

Large Stock Ranches^'

BARGAINS FOB CAPITALISTS.

W 1 1

sD BEN. BLANCHARD,

MAIN STREET.

TO MAKE ROOM FOR FALL GOODS.

Our entire stock of Men's Low-Cut Shoes at greatly reduced prices. All our Ladies7 Low Shoes and Slippers, at prices to sell them.

Our Low Shoes for Children must go price them and you will certainly buy. We would especially call attention to a and complete line of GREINER'S CITY-M SHOES, ALL STYLES and widths every WARRANTED

Call for Greiner's $2.50 and $3.00 and $3.50 Kid Button Shoes, best styles and quality ever sold for the money.

Ladies' Hand and Machine-Made Shoes to order quality and good fit guaranteed.

MAIN STREET.

GREINER & NICHOLSON*

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!

Bariium London

UNITED MONSTER SHOWS.

Barnnm, Baily and Hutchinson.

$3,000,000 Represented. $4,800 Daily Expenses. More than the entire receipts of any other in the United States.

TERRE HAUTE, OCDTClf DCD 1 9 WEDNESDAY, OE.1 I CHID

2 ENORMOUS MENAGERIES UNDER TWO TENTS 1 HIPPODROME IN NEARLY HALF MILE-TRACK 1 MUSEUM OF LIVING CURIOSITIES 3 CIRCUSES IN THREE RINGS 1 HUGE ELEVATED STAGE. 60x80 FEET

FOR OLYMPIAN GAMES,

MAICXNO

FOREVER UNITED SHOWS

Not merely an Exhibition, but an Instition of the Land.

Behold its Mountain-High Feature Pyramid!

ONLY NURSING BAB* AND

99 ELEPHANTS!

32 Racing. Mecca and Burden-bearing Camels and Dromedaries, 7 wide-open performing Lairs of Wild Beasts, 16 ace dens in Parade. Giraffes In Harness and

2,« srss&e'.srs ssAA""5at airioTfAAs&B

WRESTLERS AND ACROBATS and 0 lovely NAUTCH GIRL DANCBRB.

THE ONLY 3-RING CIRCUS!

With nearly 300 PERFORMERS. 80 Acta at Every Performance. Only Huge Elevated Stage. 60x80 feet. Only Original Clowns and Popular "Dudes." and aTl the Great Sensations of the whole Exhibition World worth seeing.

THE

ONIJY

REAL. ROMAN HIP

PODROME RACES!

raOM

The Afternoon Performances are Evening, and offord an opportunity tremenaona crowds later in the day.

Every Railroad will run ch«""»-ratt For the comfort of those GOOD FOR RKfljBK

sral admission tickets at the usual Positively no FreeTlcketaglven awaj^ W|t

•v,

rfr

Finely Selected Sections.

-M :t

•A*

'.-re- «'.{

630 Main Street, Terre Haute, Indiana. 4

517

Sold.

BOOTS and SHOES!

.'"if

"if*

517

L'f-i

Sole Owners.

Lit

The Pride of the British Heart. The Biggest Elephant or Mastodon—or whatever he is—in or out of Captivity. His uplifted irunk reaches upward 26 feet. His weight

is near 10 tons! His height is beyond belief! His Giant stride is over 1 rod.

3J GOLDEN TABLEAU CAKS,-"

6 ZULU WARRIORS!

WITH PRINCESS AND BABIES. 13 Nubians. Paeans and Mohammedans, Australian Black Trackers, CANNIBALS and Boomerang Throwers, Bushmen and Wild Beast Hunters In Grotesque Dress, Tribe of Sioux Indian Savages, Mexican aqueros and Cow Boys from the Plains, etc. Only Museum with GOSHEN, the 8-fool GJ ANT, and 1,000 Wonder Marvels. 614 People, 312 Draft Stock, 100 Race and Rins Horses, 40 Pox'eR and Jerjip»'-JB. Donkeys. 65 Cars in 4 TraiBTr-^prTtie

StEvery

Largest

tents ever

bait—nearly 600,000 Square Yards of Material, and covering 8 Acres of Ground.

ml 3BO.OOO Matchless Parade

THE GROUNDS AT

ISM

A. MWEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1211..

and

i-r'/'

Feature, Act, Animal or Individ

ual Advertised Positively Exhibited. Try to find something advertised which we do not exhibit, and tell us about it. Weespeeially invite criticism.

Only Exhibition which the moral classes delight to patronize. More tone and respectability than any other. Its people are better behaved and dressed—even the supernumeraries wear button-hole bouquets In their lappels

-5 4s

enjoyable as those given in the ladlM and children to avoid the

nUtia

•imnicu no

TON« cSNTRALBOOKSTOREav'^esameprf««»*%,"d£yof exhUriMon only, sral admission tickets at the usual slight ^flSrtfeaU. General Admission, BO —CliairtWtra: Two

tickWgoSDFOR MBERVED TON'S CENTRAL BOOKSTORE,at

Blbe

Chlldren under 9 years, S5 Cents, ivrforjnanccs commence at*and 8 p. m,

'NTL»H&,TOSDLV IKI4:'THURSDAY, SEPT. 13.

Cents.

r«d Clialrt 6Mra: Two Perform-Pel