Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 10 February 1884 — Page 3

.NOT "UNTIL NEXT TIME.

K. 1. Blackmore, In Black woods zlne.

Maga-

"1 dreamed that we were lovers still, Aa nder as we used to tie, When brought you the daffodil,

And you looked up and smiled .at me." "True sweethearts were we then Indeed, When youth was budding into bloom: But now the flowers are gone to seed

And breezes have left no perfume." "Heeause you ever, ever will T«fce such a crooked view of thing*, Disturbing this and that, until m^ °i-

Confusion ends Incavlllngs." L, "Because- you never, never will Percfeve the force of what I say A If a a re as on

Enough to take one's breath away!".,

"But what, if riper love replace The vision that enchanted me, When all "ondid was perfect grace.,

Andi'j said was.melody?"

"And what, if loyal heart renew The image, never quite forgone, Combining, as of yore, in you "A Samson and a Solomon?" "Then to the breezes will I toss The straws we split, with temper's The seal upon your lips anew The peace that gentle nearts ensue." "Oh, welcome, then, ye plavful ways, And sunshine of the early days, And banish to the clouds above "Dull reason, that bedarkens love."

loss,

PARTING.

Weep not that we mnst part

Partings are short eternity is long Life is but one brief stage, And they that say love ends with life are wrong.

List to thy own heart's cryLove cannot die.

What though so far away

Thy thoughts are still with me, and with thee mine. And absence has no power To lessen whta by nature is divine.

List to tby own heart's ory— Love oannot die. Than grieve no more, my love

Grieving but shows thy trust In me Is smallFaith Is by calmness proved, For know this truth—thou canst not love at all

Unless thine own heart cryLove cannot die.

HILDA.

BY BERTHA M. CLAY, AUTHOB OF "DORA THOBNE."

OHAPTKK XXXII.

"What has detained you so long?" said Lord Baynehp.m to the coachman, as he dismounted at the "BayDeham Arms." "I am waiting for my lady," replied the man "obe desired me to do so."

Barbara Earle had said, "A any coBt we must keep the secret and Lord Baynebam remembered the words. "It is all right," he replied, hastily "you can go home. I am sorry you have been kept waitin? so loDg. Lady Baynebam will not return with yon thisevening."

The landlord, who had shared the coachman's wonder, re-entered the house, perfectly satisfied, and Lord Baynebam followed the man, who had been for more than thirty years a valuable servant to his family. "Dickson," he said, laying one hand upon the coachman'B shoulder, "tell me all that has passed since Lady Baynebam left the house." "Nothing, my lord," replied the man "her ladyship told me on starting to drive to Oulston, and wait for her at the 'Bayneham Arms,' and I have done so." "Where did you set her down asked Lord Bayneham. "My lady stopped at the corner of Hill street," replied Dickson "she went down toward the Old Cross, and I drove on to the hotel." "Did Lady Bayneham say anything about returning?" asked the earl. "No," said Dickson. "Her ladyship never spoke to me after she entered carriage. She looked very ill, my i. "And you have no idea where she went?" interrupted Lord Bayneham. "None," said the man. "I have been waiting in much surprise, for her ladyship has always been BO punctual. "Dickson," said Lord Bayneharti, 1 shall want one man to help me in what I have to do, we have some reason to fear that Lady Bayneham is ill—is not quite herself. She has left her home and gone, no one knows where. Can you keep this secret and help me to trace her?" "I can, my lord," said Dickson, quietly. He made no protestations, but the young Earl understood the good faith and strong reliance of those words* "She went down toward the Old Cross, you say," continued Lord Bavneham "that is the road to the station, can she have gone there?

He went into the hotel to look at the Railway Guide which lay upon the tab I a. His wife left her home some few minuies past two o'clock at twenty minutes past three there was a train for London at four, the express for Scotland later on, the train for New Town, the largest junction on the line. His only resource was to go to the station and maka all the inquiries posBible* "How was Lady LBayneham dressed he asked Dickson. "I did not notice, my lord," he replied. "I remember nothing that her ladyship wore, except a thick waterproof cloak." "Take the carnage home, said Lord Bayneham, "and mind, Dickson, I have trusted you. You will be the only servant in the house who knows the secret of your lady's flight guard it aB you would your life. Say what you l'ike to the rest to allay their suspicions, if they have any and stay,— take this note to Lady Bayneham.

He wrote a few lines just to say what he had done—that he was now going to the station, and if he found any trace of his wife he should follow it up, therefore they need not feel any uneasiness at his absence. Dickson—he told Lady Bayneham—knew the truth, and in anv emergency they must trust to him. In the meantime they must shield Hilda as beat they could, for he hoped to bring her back with him.

Lord Bayneham was not long rerching the little station, where he was well known, but he found it difficult to ask many questions without exciting curiosity and wonder. Fortunately there was a new porter who did not know his lordship, and to this man the young earl addressed himself.

The porter had been on the platform all the afternoon and remembered the London train, and that four passengers left Oulston by it, but that only two went by the Scotch express. There were perhaps twenty for the New Town train, but amongst them he did not remember to have seen a lady xn a waterproof cloak. "A dark waterproof cloak, did you

Bay,

sir?" continued the porter. Ah, now I remember something. Just before the London train Btarted, a lady in a long dark cloak sent me to get her a ticket. She sat there at the lower

end

of the platform, and spoke in a low voice as though she were ill. did not see her face clearly because she wore a veil, but I thought I _saw that she was very pale and had golden hair. I bought her ticket and saw her

§et

into a first-class carriage for Lon-

The porter looked astonished when Lord Bavneham slipped a sovereign into his "hand and like a wise man he saw that there was something in it, and resolved to keep his thoughts to himself. "I am sorry, too, if he is in trouble, thought the man, "for a nicer or more liberal gentleman I never did see."

The London express started in half hour, and the earl resolved to go by i-.V That one halt hour, spent in pacing impatiently to and Iro on the little! platform, seemed like an age to him. I

There vcere times when he felt that be •'must be dreaming. It could not be i. w-ible that Hilda, whom he had

K.i-,I BO well, should have flown from him—that his sweet fair wife had left him Why, only last week they had £een at the station together, Now she a fugitive—flying, he knewnot J&t from-wd he, tiying

*y&.

shield her and keep her

name from [open,

the idle comments of busy men, was jthe table, and on every side there were

seeking her. The journey to London seemed never-ending, but Euston square was reached at last, and then his task seemed hopeless.

The train from Oulston had reached there about six o'clock two other trains came in at the same time, and the Btation for some minutes was one grand scene of confusion no one remembered a lady in a waterproof cloak—there were several ladies, firstclass passengers, but no porter remembered to have procured either cab or carriage for any tall lady in a waterproof cloak.

The ticket collector was found and closely examined by Lord Bayneham. He had taken a ticket from a lady in a first-class carriage, a ticket marked from Oulston to London he bad not noticed her dress he remembered that her hand was very white and she wore several costly rings

Lord Bayneham's heart beatquickly without doubt that was Hilda, but where had she gone No one had seen her leave the carriage or quit the Btation. In spite of the collectors testimony he was as much lost as before.

He spent some long hours at Euston Square, but discovered no more. He had traced his wife to London, but there she vanished completely, and he knew not what to do.

Then he went to Scotland Yard, for he had heard wonders of the sagacity of an officer, who was said to be the cleverest private detective in England, and he told him the whole facts of the case, and offered him a large reward for any information he could procure. There was no more to be done. The detective told him to leave the matter in his hands, and promised to do hiB best.

Tired and depressed Lord Bayneham went to his house in Grosvenor Square. Although taken by surprise at his sudden appearance, the housekeeper soon sent up a recherche* little supper, which she was much disappointed at finding the next morning untouched upon the table.

During the day following he had one long interview with the detective, and the rest of his time was spent in writing. On the Thursday morning the chief papers contained an advertisement wherein "Blue Bell"—the pet name he had given her in Brynmar woods—was entreated to send her address, as there had been some terrible mistake but no reply came to them no news came to Lord Bayneham of his fair young wife.

All at once an idea struck him. Of course she was gone to Brynmar, where else should she seek refuge. It was past ten o'clock on Thursday night when the thought came to him, and he never rested again until he saw onqe more the bonny woods of Brynmar. He had hoped stronglv, he had believed his search ended, but the hall looked lonely and deserted he knew by old Elsie's face when she admitted him that his lost wife was not there. No, nothing had been seen or heard of the young lady of Bayneham. She had not been there.

The earl did not wait either for sleep or refreshment, but hurried back again, sick at heart, and more disappointed than he cared to own.

A London he found strange letters awaiting him from Dr. Greyson, the trustee and guardian of his wife. He had received a letter from Lady Hilda, saying that she renounced all further claim upon the Brynmar estates, or any of the money bequeated her by Lady Hutton, and should never receive more, nor apply to him again. Lord Bayneham, slie said, would understand why, and he was to decide what should be done with the fortune she thus renounced.

More bewildered than ever, Lord Bayneham could only agree with his mother that Hilda must be insane. He understood nothing whatever of the motives which actuated her. He telegraphad for Dr. Greyson to join him, but when they took counsel together neither one nor the other could suggest any solution of the mystery.

He then took Bertie Carlyon into his confidence. The voung member had found himself famons, and his speeches were eagerly listened to, and eagerly read. He was considered, and justly, too, as one of the most gifted and eloquent speakers of the day, and his career was now one of great and incessant labor rewarded by well-earn-ed success. But Bertie, his old friend and confidant, could render him no assistance. He could throw no light upon the subject.

The post-mark upon Lady Hilda letter was London but, from that, all agreed it was foolish to believe that she was in the great city.

The constantanxiety of such a search began to tell heavily on Lord Bayneham. He had been for several nights without sleep, and for several days with but little food. One morning as, with Bertie Carlyon, he was coming from Scetland Yard, the two friends met Mr. Fulton. At the first glimpse of him Lord Bayneham clinched his hands tightly. After all, what he had heard of those nonsensical notes had been the first cause of his present sorrow. But Mr. Fulton hurried up to him with a smile of welcome playing over his face, holding out his hand with a few words of cordial greeting. There was something so genial and kindly in his manner that Lord Bayneham's half formed suspicions died away at once. "How are all at Bayneham?' said Mr. Fulton. "How is Lady Hilda? Is she here with you?"

He evidently knew nothing of what had happened at Bayneham. "You look extremely ill," he continued. "I hardly knew you at first. When are you returning?"

Lord Bayneham replied briefly, and then hurried on. Only ten days since, and this man was an honored guest under his roof. What had happened since then?

That morning he met several of his friends, who were all pleased and sur-

Eischanged

rised at seeing him, but grieved at appearance. There seemed to be only one topic of conversation, the engagement of the fair and fashionable Lady Grahame to Mr. Fulton.

On the morning following the detective called again. He had little progres to report he also has traced Lady Hilda to Euston Square, but no further, and she vanished completely, and he had no clew as to her whereabouts.

Lord Bayneham became almost frantic in vain he redoubled his efforts and increased the offered rewards but one thing comforted him—the secret was well kept. He heard from Lady Bavneham that most of their servants believed their young lady to be with their master in London, as did ell callers and visitors and in London everyone believed her ladyship to be still at Bayneham. He hoped it might be possible to keep up appearances until she is found and restored to her home.

In the meantime Mr. Fulton had achieved his triumph all fashionable London rang with the news. It was warmly welcomed every one liked Lady Grahame, and Mr. Fulton was very popular. The union of two such favorites was considered a very pleasant and agreeable circumstance. Lord Bayneham continually heard of this engagement. It convinced him, more than any other circumstance, how foolishly wrong he had been in hia suspicion. To set aside every other argument, to forget for a time the sweet faith and innocence of hia loBt wife, it was not probable that a gentleman just engaged to the fair and coquettish widow should have tried a flirtation with hia wife. Mr. Fulton always inquired anxiously about her hoped she was well, and never dreamed that anything had gone wrong at Bayneham.

Barbara Earle and the countess waited in silent wonder, hoping every day would bring news.

oBiraa

Lady Grahame had grown tired of coquetry, and every interview that she had with Mr. Fulton increased her liking and admiration for him. He had given a ball at hia house under the management of Mrs. Henderson.

It had been a complete ruccesB. The sumptuous rooms were all thrown

gold and silver plate blazed upon

indications of wealth. Lady Grahame noted with a keen eye the disploy of magnificence. Her house was furnished with taste and elegance, but such splendor as she saw here was not within her means. It would be very pleasant to preside as mistress in such an establishment.

The next time Paul Fulton called on the fair widow he was more warmly welcomed than usaal nor was he slow to understand the reason why, and he continued that morning, despite his bland, smiling face, to assume a most miserable expression. "Do you not think," Lady Grahame," he said, "that you have tortured me quite long enough? You smile on every one. -".When will you smile upon me?" •'I am Bmiling now, Mr. Fulton," replied the widow, coquettishly "ask Miss Lowe if I am ever seen without smiles." "You know what I mean, Lady Grahame," he continued. "When will you say to me that my devotion and sincere love have touched you, and the prize I have hoped for so long is mine at last?"

Lady Grahame did not turn away this time she had made up her mind to hear all her lover had to say. "I will do my best to make you happy," continued Mr. Fulton, reading correctly the coy expression of the comely face. "I am wealthy, and able to gratffy all your wishes. Tell me, Lady (Grahame, are you willing to be my wife?"

The fair widow managad a most becoming blush as she implied, rather than said, she bad no reason for deferring her consent. Mr. Fulton exressed a due amount of rapture and elight, and then began to plead for a speedy marriage. "That does not quite rest with me,' said Lady Grahame. "My late husband, 8ir Wilton, foresaw that I should probably re-marry, and expressed no wish to the contrary. But by his will, I must inform you, that I (as well as the money left me) remain under the care of two trustees. One is my uncle, Lord Hereby the other a distant cousin, Mr. Beauchamp. All arrangements as to settlements must be made with them, and it is in their power to refuse consent. I am quite in their hands." "There is no reason to fear any refusal or unpleasantness from them, I presume," eaid Mr. Fulton proudly. "I will make them offers of statements that will meet with their approbation." 'Their consent or refusal is not reala matter of great moment," said

I

ady Grahame. "If for any reason the worst they can do is to limit my income, and control, in some decree, my money but I do not anticipate any thing of the kind. My uncle, Lord Hereby, is very proud. He would, I think, be pleased at my marriage—provided the pedigree and fortune of my husband met_ with his appro /al, as they would do in this case," she added, with a smile.

At the word "pedigree," a sudden fear chilled the bright hopes and fancies of Mr. Fulton. What if these tiresome old guardians or trustees should ask unpleasant questions about his family ?—what was he to Bay? It wruld be easy to invent, but these inventions were never sure at any time they might fail, and the lies they concealed stand out in all bare deceit. He could only hope and trust that, satisfied with his vast wealth and liberal offers, the fair widow's guardians would ask no tiresome questions.

He proclaimed his triumph loudly he managed to inform every friend he had that he hoped soon to marry the fashionable and highly connected Lady Grahame. By some means or other the report spread everywhere, and Mr. Fulton soon found that he had calculated rightly. Invitations oured in upon him people who ad never before deigned to notice him offered him every civility now that he was to marry one of the most popular of fashionable ladies. Some of the best houses in London were thrown open to him. Men who had passed him by with a cool nod of recognition now stopped to shake him by the band, and he said to himself, over and over again, what a wise and clever thing he had done!

Then one morning he started for a private interview with the formidable trustees. Mr. Beauchamp, a nervous man, afraid of everything and everybody, said but little. He asked Mr. Fulton if he liked shooting, and if he had known Sir Wilton Giahame, two rather singular questions, considering the errand upon which be had come.

Lord Hereby was altogether of another cast. He was, perhaps, one of the proudest and haughtiest men living. Loving and admiring his own order, disliking and despising all those who did not belong to it, in his eyes nothing was worthy of honor or esteem save high birth and noble blood. Genius, talents, bravery, were all nothing when compared to the glory of a long pedigree wealth,money had little attraction for him. He was anxious to see his niece, Lady Grahame, married, provided she espoused a man of good birth and ample fortune.

When Mr. Fulton stood before the two guardians of his promised bride, he dismissed one from his mind, and gathered all bis resources for a combat with the other. He approached Lord Hereby with that mixture of deference and admiration that he knew so well how to assume. Again he almost cursed the "accidents" of bis life. If he could have appeared before Lord Herebv as the father of one of the most beautiful and noble women in England, the young countess of Bayneham, all would have been clear sailing as it was, the anxious lover fired his heaviest guns first. He declared the object of his visit, the deep admiration he felt for Lady Grahame, and the munificent settlements he offered her, and Lord Hereby listened to him with well bred indifference.

Lady Grahame is of an age to judge for herself what promises best for her own happiness," he said. "She wae young when Sir Wilton died that is why he left us as her guardians, charging us, in the event of her second marriage, to act for her, and attend to her interest. Your ofler of settlement is, I feel bound to say, a munificent one, and so far everything eeems satisfactory but my niece belongs, as perhaps you know, Mr. Fulton, to a very aristocratic family, and we should like, before making any final arrangements, a few particulars of your own."

Then Paul Fulton stood at last be fore the barrier of his own erection, and knew not what to Bay. "You do not doubt my claim to the title of gentleman, I presume?" he said, hastily. "I neither doubt nor believe,,' replied Lord Hereby, with haughty indifference. "In the interest of my niece, I merely ask for some particulars of your family."

Again Paul Fulton stopped, hesitating what to say.

"I ksow of no particulars, my lord, ly interest you," he said "my lather was simply a quiet country gentleman, of no great fortune or standing. I was his only child^ and went abroad in early youth to seek my fortune I made it and there my story ends." "Tou have never been married before?" said Lord Hereby "at least I presume so?" "No, never," was the quiet, false reply. "Have you no relations living?" continued Lord Hereby, his quick eye reading the confusion visible on the handsome face before him. "None," said Paul Fulton. "I am quite alone in the world." "We need not prolong this interview," eaid Lora Hereby. "Mr. Beauchamp seldom expresses any opinion,—t give you mine in a few words. I shall make no opposition to my niece's marriage with you she can please herself but I shall advise her •gainst it. Pardon my plain speaking, but 1 do not consider the son of a simple country gentleman, of no great fortune or'standing, by any means a desirable match for my niece still, if. she penista in wishing it, I snail make no opposition—she must not, in that case,

look for my countenance. I shall decline any further interest in her affairs. Paul Fulton trembled with indignation. He had to remember that the nobleman before him was old and feeble, BO great was hia impulse to strike him. He had expected a very different reception, armed with those magical settlements. ThiB cool, aria tocratic hauteur dismayed him. What was his money worth, after all He dared not tiust himself to speak he left Lord Hereby's presence, chadng and foaming with rage. He Warned himself that he had not told a different story. Now, more than ever, was he at aloes. If his engagement should be broken off, and the world knows why, he might bid farewell to all hopes. Again, if he married and Lord Hereby resolutely set his lace against him on account of his inferior grades, what might not be discovered He was wounded, vexed, and annoyed.

As he mounted his horse there came to him the memory of a sweet young face, with trusting eyes—the memory of one who had loved him and believed him a king amongst men. He had not been scoffed and sneered at when he went wooing in Brynmar woods.

These thoughts did not calm him he urged his horse on at full speed, using spur and whip. The mettlesome Bteed did not approve *of such harsh measures. Many people turned to see who it waa that rode so wildly with an angry face. One or two policemen began to be quite active there was glory to be won, and cheaply, too. The rider, whoever he was, must be stopped and punished for endangering the safety of the public.

No one ever knew how it happened, but while the policemen consulted, and angry foot passengers turned to look after the foaming steed and its rider, in one moment the horse shied, then reared, and Paul Fulton was dashed to the ground. For several yards he was dragged along by the frightened, half-maddened animal then arose from all lookers on a terrible cry, and one or two brave men started off, and after Borne dangerous efforts succeeded in stopping the horse and rescuing his hapless rider, lhey thought he was dead when he was raised from the ground, for on the white face there was a deep, crimson stain, and a wide,gaping wound on the head—he had fallen on the curbstone.

In less than three minutes a large crowd hasas8embled. "A man killed!" "Fallen from his horse were the passwords. A doctor came up, and a policeman searched the unconscious man to discover who he was and where he lived. He found a card case, and gave it to the doctor.

He had better be taken to his own house," said the latter, when he saw it. "I have heard of him and know where he lives."

They carried him back to the house he had left that morning so full of life and hope so full of ambitious designs and plans for his future life strange hands carried him up the broad staircase, and laid him upon his bed strange hands cut the thick, black hair where Magdalen's flngres had once lingered so lovingly strange eyes dwelt upon his face, noting its changes. There was no one near who loved him he was in the world alone. Hired servants who gave their services half grudgingly for his gold doctors who tried, for the sake of science, to restore him nurses who thought only of what they should drink and earn these were the only attendants on Paul Fulton's death bed. Never a loving hand soothed him no gentle lips touched his wounded face no sweet words of comfort were whispered to him as he had sowed, so he reaped. In this, the hour of bitter pain and coming death, there was no pity for him.

The hopes, the sins, the schemes of that wasted life were all ended the grand fiat had gone forth. He had won the money, he was rich and popular but the end was come, and he must die a strange doctor, bending over him, saw there was no hope. He touched him gently, and asked him if he had any worldly affairs to. settle.

The haggard eyes opened and glared wildly—eo wildly that the doctor started, shocked and half frightened.

Do you mean," said Paul Fulton, in a low, hoarse voice, "that I am to die?"

Yes," said the doctor, gently "it is better that you should know the truth. You will not see this sun set. Make your peace with God and man."

A moan of unutterable agony came from the white lips. What should he do? He had lived as though there was no death. He had never thought of a future state, looking upon all religion as an old and ideal superstition and now, in a few hours, he must stand before Him whom he had persistently ignored, and answer for his sins no wonder that large drops rolled from his face. Like many another worldling before him, Paul Fulton had not been afraid to sin, but' he was afraid to die. He did not understand, at first, how it was then the confused thoughts cleared. He remembered he was rich, wealthy, honored, and about to marry the fair and fashionable Lady Grahame. But her guardian had taunted him, had shown by the glance of his keen, proud eyes that he disbelieved his story. He remembered the mad gallop when he tried in vain to arrest the course of his frightened horse and could not now it was all over. There were strange pains that pierced him, a strange numbness came over him, and once—ah, surely his brain must be turned—once he saw Magdalen's sweet face smiling to him from behind the curtain, and pointing to the ring upon her hand.

It was but the vision of an excited, bewildered mind, yet it turi ud his thoughts in quite a different direction. He forgot Lady Grahame—she faded from his mind like a forgotten drt am— but he remembered Magdalene, who had tried to make him think of such an hour as this, who had spoken sweet words of the Judge he trembled to meet. If she were but here now, if she could bend over him, with her gentle touch and her loving heart, he should not be so frightened. And again he sowed as he reaped. He had driven his wife from him in the proud arrogance of his prosperity, and he would have given all he bad in the world if she could have been with him.

He remembered his child. Poor Magdalen was dead he had seen the green grave and the simple stone that bore no name. But his child lived, the child with her mother's face, and her mother's voice. Perhaps she knew the same gentle lessons that his wife had taught—would she come to him It mattered little about keeping the secret now.

It flashed across him that he had seen Lord Bayneham in town—how long since?—only yesterday. He would send for him and ask if it were possible that he could see his wife. Science did wonderful things—surely it could give him a few hours. "I want to see Lord Baynebam," he said, touching Dr. Arne's hand "let him be sent for at once."

It was fortunate that the messenger found Lord Bayneham at home. He received the summons with wonder and surprise. Mr. Fulton dyinfc—and sending for him! Like an electric shock the thought struck him it must be something about his lost wife. 'To b€ continued in the Sunday Express.]

A Dog at a Telephone

Beading Times. A dog at the telephone received and sent a communication satisfactorily a few daya ago. A gentleman who possesses a remarkably intelligent dog, between which and himself exists strong affections, recently lost the animal in the city streets. Jack was hapily found by a friend of his own, who recognized him immediately and at once called up his friends by telephone. "Have you lost your dog?" »Vo

Yes. Have was the reply.

jrou seen him?" uppose you call him

through the telephone. The dog was and the ear-piece placed at "Jack 1 Jack!" called the

lifted up his ear. master. Jack instantly reragntzed the voice and began to yelp. He lick-

instantly recognized gan to yelj

ed the telephone fondly, seeming to think his master was inside the machine. At the other end of the line the gentleman recognised the familiar, bark, and shortly mftei ward he reached his fxiend's office to reclaim Ids property.

THE TERRE HAUTE EXPBE8S, SUNDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 10, 1884.

FUNNY FANCIES.

8ome Humorous Stories Gathered from the Exchanges.

The Tribulations or a Hotel landlord Who Entertained Two Opera Companies—The Lime Kiln

Club, Etc., Etc.

Operatic High Note*.

Chicago Herald. The week just ended will never be forgotten at the Grand Pacific hotel. Patti, Gerster, Nilsson, Sembrich, Scalchi, Trebelli, and a score of grand Itaiian opera warblers have held high carnival in John B. Drake's hostelry. Clerks, bell boys, waiters and chambermaids have been through a never-to-be-forgotten ordeal. The presence under one roof of two Italian companies has given to the interior of the Grand Pacific an effect which may be mildly characterized as spectacular. When Patti reached Chicago she was in "a frame of mind." The limited express had refused to pull her palace car, and the great diva was compelled to ride to Chicago in an ordinary drawing-room coach. Gerster, however, waited a day, and came to town on the regular express in Patti's luxurious traveling compartments. This little incident widened the breach between the two and the fact that they were sentenced to spend t\\ weeks in the same hotel did not improve matters. Thefurther fact that Sembrich, Nileson, and Scalchi, leading lights of the oppoposition, were also domiciled at the above-mentioned tavern, created sentiments which left the singers: Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

Let no one suppose that the Baltimore episode between Patti and Gerster is forgotten or forgiven. Let no one suppose that the latter's baby can ever absorb enough soothing syrup to induce Mrs. Nicolini to chug the little daisy under the chin and vow it is the picture of its mother. During the past week at the Grand Pacific there has been no cessation of hostilities, and if the bell-boys tell the truth, Mr. Drake has played the role of the peacemaker day and night with poor success. "Friday afternoon, about 3 o'cloch," said an attache, yesterday, "Mr. Drake was called in a dreadful hurry up to room 1818. I ain't no judge of Italian epera, but I guess they had it in that room for about ten minutes. First I heard Gerster sing lfte this:

Aria: "Peek-a-Boo."

'Slgnor Drake, there's some mistake, Really 1 know I shall cry Sign or Drake, I saw Patti take

Three great large pieces of pie!" "What did Mr. Drake say "He tried to soothe her." 'Gerster, dear, please see here,

Things are not all that they seem. Dry your eyes, here are four pies

And seven big dishes of cream.'" "That settled it for a few minutes. Mr. Drake went down and tried to get some sleep—he's been up every night —but this time Patti sent for him and he Bkipped up stairs three steps at a bound. Patti was real mad." 'Signor Drake, for pity's sake,

Surely I can't sing a line On this floor, it's all uproar— Her poodle barks louder than mine!" "But Mr. Drake knew how to manage her:" 'Diva, dear, be of good cheer

Pray, little warbler, don't growl, 1 shall send straight to a friend AndgetyoiiaBleuth-houndtohowl.'" "How does Mr. Drake stand it?" "Well, sir, confidentially, he can't last much longer if things go on in thi* way. He hasn't had two hours steady sleep since the troupes arrived. He d©zed a little about 5 o'clock this morning, but he was talking or singing, kind o' nightmare like. It's enough to make a bell-boy cry to hear him, sir:

Aria: "Day* of My Youth." 'X am longing for my youth— For those days of joy and truth, Ere I ever knew the operatic ladies 'Gad! 1 wish each charming guest

Would observe my blunt request, And select a grand hotel somewhere in Hades.

'I thought Sembrich in a huff Was deliciously enough, And Scalchi bad In tear, with Madame

Droni Dombelli, like a Turk. Insulted my head clerk By asking him to get somemacearoni. -k Con Express ione. 'Just another week of this

Mild variety of bliss

Will wind up business at the Grand Paciflc. You'll discover John B. Drake,

A cold 'floater' in the lake. And someone else can run the Grand Terrific.

THE LIME KILN CLUB.

Detroit Free Press. Judge Cadaver was asked what influence women had on business, and he drew a long breath and replied that if it wasn't for the female sex the business of the world would drop one-half one dry goosls store in a city could supply all the men, but the women supported two or three hundred of them. Women not only maintained business, bu^ established new manufactures. For instance the decoration of female hosiery gave employment to 6,000 persons the year round. It was all out of sight and utterly useless, but it circulated millions of dollars. Pads, bustles, paints, cosmetics and false hair were of no real servico, convenience or ornament, and yet $50,000,000 and the labor of 200,000 people were the annual results. Woman was straight business. When a wife whose husband earns only $25 per week can keep a carriage, wear §100 bracelets and put on a $250 sealskin sacque, the man who contended that the female sex had nD financial abilities had better hang up.

The reading of the following from Syracuse created a stir in every part of the hall:

Venerable Sirs: Seeing that you have granted a charter for a branch of your honorable body to the denizens of that Insignificant town called Utica, we rise to remark that all Intercourse between the colored people of Syracuse and the members of Lime-Klin club Is at an end, unless yon immediately revoke their charter.

Respectfully yours. Linebakn JOHNSOX, V/ ossACK DAVIS,

COL.SHINBONK HOOKER. CATNIP WELLBORN. DONTGO GRIMES,

Committee.

The Hon. Brother Gardner, president, etc. Am bigotry dead?" asked Sir Isaac Walpole in a deep, hoarse voice, as he slowly rose up. "Am dis de fo teenth century added Judge Cooper. "Does fanaticism rule the kentry inquired Nelson 81abs in the key of "G." "De charter of de branch lodge of Utica will not be revoked," quietly observed the president as looked down upon the scqres of the bald heads surrounding him. "If de people of Syracuse refuse to associate wid de people of Utica on dis account it will probably be to the gain of de Uticans.'

A MISUNDERSTANDING.

Texas Sittings. "I thought I would taks a run up and see if you didn't want to buy a sewing-machine," said the agent to Farmer Grimes. "I don't know as I do," replied the farmer "I've got most of my spring sowing done." "But won,t you need it for sewing in the summer?" "Look here, young feJow, we don't sow in the summer. We cut and gether and bind." "Oh, well, this machine gathers and binds." "Mebbe you'll be telling me next that yonr machine will haul in the crap an* put it in the barn. Don't came around here with any of yonr bis stories." ''Don't be ruffled, my dear sir, I think yon do not understand me.

mean a machine grain." "Ahem! you do, do you. Then you'd better go talk to the wimmin. It's a good thing you didn't mean the other kind, for if you'd kept on telling me about your wonderful machine for plantin' an' reapin' you'd got me rippin' an' tearin' 'til I'd basted you."

AFFKCTKD BY THE WEATHER.

Detroit Free Press. The next prisoner out was a young man with good clothes and polite address. He bowed to everybody and everything, and was still at it when his honor observed: "Y-28, I know, but the charge is drunkenness. You were found half buried in the snow aud Bleeping the sleep of the drunk." "I presume so, sir—don't doubt your word in the least, but may I explain "Of course." "Well, sir, ever since I was blown up on a tteamboat and had my skull smashed in, every change of weather affects me." "Ah!" "A change of five degrees in the weather, if coming suddenly, affects my brain until I seem to be stupidly drunk. There was a sudden change yesterday, and the last I remember I was starting for my hotel to go to bed." "James Smithfield, that's the weakest, thinnest excuse ever urged at this bar! Your fine is $5!" "Indeed, sir, but it seems hard to have to" "Come, now, don't let the audience take you for a flat! You were on a spree, you still smell of it, you had ^our fun and now you want to pay up ike a man." "Yes, sir—here's your cash." "You may go."

A CHANGE OF AIR#^

Philadelphia Call. is "So you are goiug to Florida for the remainder of the winter said one New York lady to another.

Yes, we expect to start on Monday." "I hope your trip will prove beneficial, but I had not heard that your 5alth was poor." "Ob, no,lata in excellent health," replied the lady, stroking the head of a sick-looking, red-eyed dog in her lap, but my poor little Fido, for severalweeks, has been far from well and I thought a change of air might do him goooa." "Poor little fellow!" was the sympathizing answer. "I dare say it will."

ONLY RIPPLES.

The in plumber is silent. Silent B. It is the ca—we mean the bill. "Blood" would be a good

Dame

for a

newspaper, because it is always red, and it is natural for blood to circulate. Some of the papers are advising the wearing of silk robes by judgas when sitting on the bench—evidently forgetting that silk cannot be satin. "No, indeed," said Mrs. Parvenu, "No, 1 don't think she's a fine looking woman at all. She may havenice eyes, but, mercy me, she's got no physic!" "Chair boarders is the name now applied to those gentlemen who infest the hotel reading rooms, getting heat, a comfortable seat, and the latest news, free, gratis, for nothing. "Where is the girl of long ago?" says Jauquin Miller. We saw her the ether day, Joaq. But she isn't a girl any more. She had gray hair and a wort on his nose, had no teeth and wore specks. "Whut ^e want in this here community," said an Arkansaw school director, "is eddycashun. Some time ago, when I didn't know nofhin', I was looked down on, but now look at me. Been indicted fur forgin'a check." "My son," said an old negro, "now dat you's outen de penitentiary try tir keep out, an' arter dis doan steal, leastwise doan do like you did befo', steal a par o' boots wat was too big fer yes8ef an' too little fur yer ole daddy. Ef yer kaint pick up suthin dat'll do yer some good, be hones."

Training Bloodhounds.

Huntsville Correspondence Houston Post "And therb are the bloodhounds 1 hear so much about?" I. remarked to my conductor. "Yes, they are the famous bloodhounds—that is, as much bloodhounds as you will find in Texas. They are simply foxhounds trained to hunt men." "Do you keep them shut up all the time?" "Yes they would make it lively for the boys if they got out." "How often do you have occasion to use them during the year?"

Not more than two or three times. Convicts will not leave when they know good hounds are on band to catch them." "Could you not 'dispense with the hounds and depend upon your guns?" "No, indeed you cannot hold convicts with shotguns. It is the fear of the hounds which keeps them quiet. Desertion is useless when recapture is a moral certainty, as is the case when good hounds are employed." "Do you have difficulty in properly training your hounds?" •Oh, no that is about the only sport there is. Here come the puppies. We will give them a run and let you see how it is done."

A trusty was sent down the lane and over the fence, through a large field, on a run for dear life. When he had accomplished about half a mile, or half his circuit, the puppies, three six-months-old hounds, were put on his track, and they started, nosing the ground and yelping as they ran. On they kept, over fences and through stubbles and ditches, never ceasing their noise. Sometimes they would run over tbe trail wheie the trusty bad made an abrupt turn, but soon they would return to the spot where they lost tbe scent and cautiously feel their way until certain they had the trail, when they would off again. The trusty was a long-distance runner, but the soft ground made his impromptu track heavy, and he lagged as he approached the end of his ran, evidently tatigued.

The dogs gained on him rapidly and were yelping close upon him. He was ordered to run to a tree or fence and get out of their way, so that they would have to find him by the scent. He first tried to climb a high gate-post, but the dogs with their noses to the ground were upon him almost and forced him to take shelter in a wagon which was standing in the yard, where he hid himself in the bed just as the dogs came to the gate. They looked up the gate-post ana smelled around a little then without delay followed the trai direct to the wagon and discovered their prey, lying panting like a tub-boat. I looked'at the perspiring convict, and my heart smote me tor being the cause of his race, but I soon found out that it was a great privilege, enjoyed by but few, and giving uie puppies a race was considered by them the very essence of pleasure. The convict took an old blanket in his hand and alighted on the ground, where the dogs fought him fiercely, making vicious springs for him. He repulsed them by buffeting them with the blanket, jumping away and thwarting them in any manner without hurting them. Finally one of the dogs fastened his teeth in the convict's coarse pants, at a point where the most cloth was used in making, and, holding on with unyielding 1 round.

tenacity, was swung round and with vigor, until tired. The" dogs were then taken by a guard, and the convict went away highly pleased with his sport.

Customer—"Are all Smyrna rugs alike?" Shopkeeper—"No, indeed there is a very great difference in Smyrna rags." Customer—"What is the principal point ol difference?" Storekeeper—"Well, some Smyrna ran tre Smyrna rugs, Out most Smyrna run are not Smyrna rugs."—Philadelphia Oall.

THE OLD MAN OBJECTED.

After Fixing the Day for tbe Wedding Hlmielf—But the Groom Knocked Him Down aad got Away with the Girl—A

Hatchet a« a Wedding Present—A Lively Wedding Farty la Baltimore. Baltimore Special.

Mr. and Mrs. Allard reside at No. 277 East Biddle street They have two pretty daughters, who have attracted a small army of suitors, but the old people objected to callers. Two years ago the eldest girl rebelled against this restriction and created quite asocial furor by eloping with a young man whom her parents bad forbidden the house. This settled the question of beaus, and Emma, the younger and prettier of the girls, was given to understand that the old folks didn't intend having any more elopements and scandals in that family.

One evening while out she happened to meet Mr. Frank Cooper, a well-known gentleman in the West End. It was a case of love at first sight. He call to Bee Miss Emma Severn times, but bis visits were discouraged. When it became known that he was a Catholic, Mr. Allard, a stanch Methodist, invited Mr. Cooper to discontinue his visits altogether. Mr. Cooper obligingly complied,-but met Emma out. Mr. Allard found a letter written by Mr. Cooper to Emma apinting a meeting. In a rage immediately wrote Mr. Cooper a very insulting reply. Tuesday evening Cooper called and demanded an explanation. Heated words ensued, and the trouble culminated in Mr. Allard calling his daughter into tbe parlor. "Choose," said he, "between me and this man." With tears in her eyes the poor girl took her lover's arm and said, sobbingly that she loved him too much to give him up- "All right," said the irate father, "take her. She can stay in this house only one night longer. You be here to-morrow afternoon at 3 o'clock and take her away."

fi

He went, but the boys followed him several squares and talked about his smashed skull until he found himself' in a store.

Mr. Cooper left in high glee, and preparations for the wedding at once began. But Mrs. Allard was not going fc give in so calmly. She remembered Mr. Cooper had once been engaged to a Miss Mary Clark. She called upon the latter the following morning and so aroused herj

that a plan to defeat the wedding was agreed to. Miss Clark was to call on Mr. Cooper and so detain him that he could not be on hand at the time stated, and MiBS Allard was to send her daughter a forged letter, saying Mr. Cooper had changed his mind This was successfully carried out.

With 3 o'clock no lover came, but a messenger boy brought the bogus letter. The girl nearly fainted when Bhe read it, but believing that some mistake had been made she determined to ferrit it out, and while unobserved slipped out and proceeded to Mr. Cooper's residence. Meantime the latter had managed to get away Irom Miss Clark an hour late, drove rapidly to Mr. Allard's house and demanded to see his intended. Her parents said she had disappeared and accused him of spiriting her away. Mr. Cooper replied that ne believed she was hid in the house a prisoner and he would not leave until ne saw her. He was ordered off the primises, but refusing to

Mr. Allard, in a rage, went out to ind a weapon to encourage his departure. Just as he was returning with a hatchet Mr. Cooper received a message that his sweetheart was at his house waiting ior him. Out of the house bounced the expectant lover, hotly pursued by Mr. Allard, thinking his enemy had flown through fear, while his wife so forgot herself as to follow. Down the street ran Cooper to where his carriage stood a square away, ignorant that he was being pursued until the shouts of the crowd attracted his attention. The two men met at the carriage door. There was a short encounter. The hatchet went through the carriage window, while Mr. Allard got a spoiled nose. While he was picking himself up the lover drove off in triumph amid the cheers of the spectators.

Arriving at his house he met his bride. A quick explanation took place, and for fear of pursuit an immediate marriage was decided on. The bridesmaid, taking fright at the rumpus, had fled, but another was provided, and the whole party proceeded to the residence of a neighboring Methodist clergyman, and were mar ried, just as the irate parents arrived on the scene.

They came too late and had no redress. Mr. Cooper was generously abused, and then they took their departure. The pair have received a host of callers, congratulating them on their success, while Mrs. Allard and her ally, Miss Clark, are in the dumps.

MONEk WITHOUT OWNERS.

Singular Incidents that Come to the Notice of the Dead Letter Officials. Washington Letter in Cleveland Herald.

While I was in the "dead-letter" department the other day one of the clerks engaged in opening letters—at a table near by—called to a gentleman who was entertaining me. He went to him and immediately beckoned for me to follow. "Now, what can be done in this case?" he says. "Here is a letter, this instant opened, and you see what it contains."

In it was a clean, new $20 bill, neatly folded and wrapped in a piece of perfectly blank brown paper—not a mark of pen or pencil to show from whom it was sent. The letter had been advertised as unclaimed and was dead, and the examination of its contents made it more completely dead than before. "We have nothing but the postmark, and even that is almost obliterated, but our expert will take hold of it and do the best he can with. it. There's a pretty slim chance in this case. I guess Uncle Sam will get that money. This reminds me of something in my own experience. A few years ago, when I was opening letters, I found one just like this, except that the amount was $30 and on the paper wrapper around it was written in pencil, 'A friend, Matthew vi., 3.' I looked that up and found it to be: 'But when tbou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.' The letter was addressed to a woman and it was clearly a case of charity. I really felt bad that we could not Bucceed in finding either party, and the money is in the treasury to-day."

The number of letters opened last year, containing currency, checks, drafts and negotiable paper, was over 34,000. The amount of actual cash taken from letters was nearly $39,000, and the value of checks, etc., representing money, about $l,6OO,CO0. During the last year the number of pieces of mail matter that- reached the DeadLetter office was nearly 4,500,000! The exact number was 4,440,822. This is about 14,500 for every day.

A Princess Who Eats.

Washington Letter. I bave seen a princess in the act of eating her dinner that is, they say she is a princess there is no doubt about her eating. She bails from the far east and I shall call her the princess of Madagas, short for Madagascar. The princes and her husband live at Willard's hotel. Fortunately for the owner of the hotel, they have not always lived there. If they had, the owner of the hotel would not be the rich man he is to-day. The princess is said to have

been

born near

Alexandria, in that presided at that the «me must have been conducive to a good appetite. She would make the manufacturer of a patent stomach bitters or blood purifier dance with delight, sneb an appetite has my Mary Ann. Her husband, who by courtesy should be called the prince, is a little meek man who sits down between the rifts of hair that grow on" tne sides of bis

head, and looks out vacantly and disconsolately with never a word to Bay to his healthy spouse. He looks like one both oppressed and depressed and altogether unable to keep up with the procession. There are about his face tbe unmistakable and painful evidences of dyspepsia, caught no doubt from his heroic efforts to eat as often as his wife does. She has never been know to miss a meal since she has been at the hotel, and when she throws down her two hundred and odd pounds at the table she is there to stay for at least one solid hour, nnd when the bill of fare holds out she is there for twice that long.

PERSONS WHO LIVE ON KAIIiROADS. v'

Steady Travellers Thoroughly Equipped and Perfectly at Home. New York Sun.

There is a distinct railroad population that is constantly growing. It is composed of commercial travellers, lecturers, show agents, actors and actresses. They eat more meals in hotel cars and railroad meal stations than they do at home or in hotels. They spend more nights in sleeping car bunks than in teds. To a person who travels only occasionally it is interesting to note how thoroughly equipped these professional journeyers are. Upon entering a sleeping car early in the evening, for instance, they remove their shoes and put on slippers, hang their hats up and don siik travelling caps, take off their coats and put on short sack coats or smoking jackets.

In the morning, when the occasional traveler, obliged to wear the only clothing be has brought, goes to the toilet compartment in his coat and vest, and thus struggles in an effort to cleanse his skin without soaping his sleeves or his coat collar, these professionals again excite his envy. They come along all smiles, having slept well, and feeling perfectly at home. They hang up tbeir smoking jackets and display snowy night robes, ornamented with colored binding and braid, and capable cf being thrown open at the neck and rolled up above the elbows. From a pocket in the suspended jacket one produces an ivorv-backed brush and costly comb, a tooth brush, and perhaps a ni-jkel-plated soap box. Another openB out a prettily embroidered receptacle, composed of many folds, each one a pocket and each one labelled. In these pockets are a comb, a brush, a tooth Drush, shaving brusb, soap box, pair of razor cases, nail brush, whisk broom, hand glass, and cologne bottle.

Their familiarity with their surroundings is as noticeable a part of their equipment. A glance out of the car window iB almost certain to reveal to them their whereabouts when they arise, or when they are waked up, or are about to go to bed. They carry time tables in their heads, and give good advice as to which station has the best caterer. They are sociable and democratic. Four men who never saw one another before meet in a smoking compartment and know all about one another in an hour. The news in the papers takeB on a new interest when they discuss it, because they seem to know a great deal about all parts of the country, and to have many acquaintances in all tbe big cities. They appear to read all the news, and to know which newspaper is most apt to have it and to serve it attractively wherever the train stops long enough for the newsboys to board it.

A DOG'S MONUMENT.

The Life and Death of a Pampered Household Pet. At the base of a stately blue granite shaft standing in Oak Hill cemetery, near Kirkwood, there is a smaller headstone of the same material, with the inscription, "Otir Dog Shep," chiseled in the flinty rock. It marks the last resting place of a once prized canine who now sleeps at the foot of his master's grave. The costly monument which tbe widow has reared to her deceased husband's memory has the following cut upon its glossy face:

GEORGE C. HAMMOND, Horn on Island of Guernsey,' December 14,1810,

Died

In Kirkwood, Mo., February 10, 1882.

In his will Mr. Hammond set aside the rents of a valuable property for tbe dog's benefit and directed hiB wife to give the animal every care even to medical attention in failing health. And at death the dog was to have respectable burial and a grave at his former master's feet. The stone tells how well these bequests have been carried out by the widow. The Bexton, in speaking of the wife's obedience, said yesterday to a Globe-Democra^ reiorter had done all ler husband ordered. ''Shep," the dog, contracted disease, BO the animal's physician said, from eating too much rich food. Mrs. Hammond was in New York at the time. A dispatch Informed her of "Shep's" serious illness and she immediately returned and on reaching home found the animal a corpse. The dog was shrouded in the robes of death, a fine coffin was procured for his remains and tbe casket was gently lifted into a heaise by four pall bearers and followed to the cemetery, where the dutiful wife buried her husband only a short time before.

Dreams and Strange Fulfillments. Celtic Magazine. A French writer says that to dream well we must act well while we are awake, and to bring down beings of celestial origin to converse with us in our sleep we must struggle in the cause of virtue, during the day. The dream of esar's wife, when the ides of March bad come, as related by Plutarch, is full of interest. Ctesar wae much disturbed by the groans she uttered in her sleep and awoke her. She then told him that ehe had dreamed of holding him murdered in her arms On the' following ^ay, so deeply was the dream impressed upon her mind and so great the terror it inspired, that Bhe implored him to remain at home that day and adjourn the meeting of the senate. He was startled and knowing her to be a woman o: fearless mind and in nowise supersti tious, he offered sacrifices and consulted astrologers, by whom he was advised to adjourn the senate. But he was persuaded to do otherwise by one of the conspirators against his life, who laughed at the dieam and urgec Ca-sar not to offend the senate just when they were about to crown his ambitious desires. Cresar listened to the treacherous voice and went to meet his death. Lord Bacon records a dream he had, in which he saw hie father's house in the country plastered all over with black mortar, and he had no doubt on awakening that he would hear evil things. His father died on the very night on which he dreamed

A gentleman relates the following: "One evening, some two years since, my brother, an officer in the army, surprised me with a late visit, just as my family were retiring to rest. 'Brother, exclaimed be, in an excited man uer, 'mother is dead!' 'When and how did you hear it?' I replied, as she was living at some distance from the town where we were, and was, so far as we knew, in good health. I have seen her pass me twice this evening in my room, while I was bedwith her head bandaged UJJ, and 1 could not rest until I saw you, was the answer. In consequence ol hia entreaties and conviction it was deter mined to take the first train to the locality where our mother resided, and upon ourarrival we found, to our great surprise, that she had died the evening oefore, quite suddenly, at the exact hour tnv brother dreamed he saw her apparition."

Frautlin had s^Veral of his projects decided for him by dreams Goethe

,ichh^U "e®0ir8: "^e object dav....

"UiWI A the day connected dream of which" room i. looked of a who world He he death the this. Capt ate to in

h±?:Upied my

if

tb» a^d

mind durinj

yAifPPSared

night ir

rn^fains'T

celebrated

hi 7homa«

L?rd

Littleton, ia

^reamed a bird flew into tj in which he slept, and while hL changed into the fonJ Silfif-

wl10m

he

had wronged!

'told him to prepare for anothei three days he would die waa well then, and laughingly saic .rt. not look like a man so neai

that he intended to "bilk

ghost. Some hours after saying TTrW?nt

to

^r- Fortescue ami

t- Wolsey to Pitt Place, Epsoml

8uPPer

an egg, went cheeifull\1

»ed, and suddenly expired in a fits the presence of his servant.

AN ANCIENT CHURCH CEREMONIAL.

Invoking St. Blaxina to Cure and PreJ vent Diaeases of the Throat.,, Chicago Herald, February 4, J*

A peculiar religious ceremony,, not! only unknown to the public in genera^ but even to most members of the Catholic church, was performed in several of the Catholic churches of thia city yesterday. The observance of the custom was especially noticeable at the Jesuit church on West Twelfth street. From one of the fathers the Herald reporter learned the history and significance of it. The custom is an ancient one in the Catholic countries, though in most of them to-day it is not observed. The idea of the ceremony is to cure and prevent throat diseases, especially in children, and the manner of its performance is simple. As on Ash Wednesday, when people approach the alter to have the sign of the cross made with ashes on their foreheads, so in the administration of this rite the children are taken to the altar railing and the priest approaching touches them on the throat, under the chin, with the lower ends of two lighted candles, crossed and bound together. As he does so he utters this prayer: "Through the intercession of tne holy Bishop and martyr Blasiue, may the Lord preserve thee from every disease of the throat, in the name of the Father, of the Son and of the Holy, Ghost. Amen."

Thousands of children and hundreds of grown people in our midst went' through the rite yesterday. The Btory attached to the custom is this: During the reign of the Koman Emperor Diocletian, under whom the tenth and last persecution of the Christians took place, there was born in Armenia a man whose piety in time made him a bishop, and who is known in the martyrology of the church as St. Blasius. In his youth he was a devoted student of philosophy and medicine, but at the same time meekly and Heroically Christian. In his day Agricolus wafc governor of Armenia, and his cruelties to Christians exceeded those of his master. St. Blasius, that his life might be saved for his flock, withdrew to a cave in a wild and almost untracked forest. The mildness and holiness of his presence was such that soon savage animals of the forest became tame and served him. He_ healed their wounds, and they submissively obeyed his voice. One day a hunter, who had lost his way in the forest, discovered him in the midst of his brute friends of the forest, and reported the fact on returning home. The wicked ruler sent hiB soldiers to the cave and had St. Blasius apprehended. As he was being taken ofl the animals followed him, and the soldiers, front terror, were about to flee, when the holy captive assured them they would be safe. On the way a weeping mother, met him, whose child had a fishbone in its throat, and, holding the babe in' her outstretched arms, she said: "Oh, master, help my child, or it will be choked." The saint blessed the child, and it was immediately cured.

St. BlasiuB being taken before the governor he was ordered to worship the godB and sacrifice at a pagan altar. He refused and was beaten with clubs. On being again commanded to worship the pagan deities, he not only refused but told the governor that he waa wrong and should pray to the ever living God for grace and mercy. That official had him bound to a pillar and torn to pieces with iron claws.

On February 3, the anniversary of his martyrdom, his memory is venerated by the Catholic church, and hence the ceremony performed in thd churches yesterday. To invoke the name of St. Blasius in diseases of the throat is a very ancient custom, and is still a common one in some parts of Europe.

Millions in a Snowflake. Joaquin Miller: Some of the imaginative and wonderfully learned German scholars tell UB that every snowflake is inhabited by happy little beings, who are born, hold their revels aad live their long lives of happiness and delight, die and are buried, all during the descent of the snowflake from the world of clouds to the solid land. I do not know whether to believe these scholars or not. They are of that same school which tells you that every square foot of air possesses some 12,000,000 or 15,000.000 of more less perfect little beings, and that at every ordinary breath we destroy a million, more, or less, of these happy lives. The sigh of a. healthy lover is supposed to swallo up about 15,000,000. They insist that the dust which will, as all know, accumulate in the most secure and secret places ismerely the remains of millions and billions of those little beings who bave died of old age.

All this, of course, is mere speculation. But I do know that the snow is, in some parts of the world, very thickly inhabited. I have seen new snow in Idaho black with little insects. They call them SHOW fleas. They are lively as possible, and will blacken your foot prints, walk as fast as you may. They are found only on the high mountains, and only in very fresh and very deep snow. They, of course, do not annoy you in any way. They are infinitely smaller than the ordinary flea, but exactly tbe same in locomotion.

Playwrights' Compensation. The question of how much recompense Gilbert and Sullivan will get from the American use of their new piece is curiously complicated. They could have sold the right for $30,000 clear, if they could have guaranteed to the purchaser protection against rivalry and this could have been accomplished by keeping the work in manuscript, in which form it could be.j defended from piracy. But that course^

would

cut off the immense sale of the

published words and music in both, countries, so that more would be lost than gained. Therefore, they have published the book, and any American. manager is at liberty to use it Under the circumstances, they are compelled to forego a certainty, and take instead share of the profits, along with the risk. ,,

From the Seat of War.

Ward (Nev.) Reflex. A Chinaman in Taylor has] received the latest China papers giving an ac~| count of the fight at Sontay. His version of the Homericconflict reads some-' thing like this: "Flench nigter sleven eight feet high! Cloat allee same elephant skin! Chinaman clnt him knife and slord* no clut him I Chinaman shoot him ball no glow in. Chinaman lun like hell

"Ah!" sighed the sentimental Snozen^loom, as he gazed upon the landscape—"ah! what is so old aa the hills?" "The valleys, my dear," responded Mrs. S., and Snozenbloom looked disgusted.

Boston Bodget: "Why don't we have any pudding nowadays?" said a boarder to his landlady the other day. "Because," was the answer, "1 am trying to make both ends meet.'!