Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 29 March 1885 — Page 3

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A Memory.

And shrined her gladness in her laughing eyes! We used to linger in the long soft grass, i. And when a sun-ray kissed her dimpled band,

We told each other 'twas a fairy pass 'Xo read the secrets of oar Fairyland

**X? And, holding safely in her radiant face That happy sparkle, we would run.4o peep's If dewdrops trembled in the self-same plaee, -Or last night's bud kaabloasomcd in its sleep.

I throned her in my arms when tired of play, And whispered love names in the baby ears She made the glory of the summer's day, My wee liege lady of but five short years! •'/. AnSnow? Small wonder {hat the roses lie. '{Sjt-i In petalled fragrance by the daisie's side, Sff For sunfHe ranished with her last soft sigh, qSKjtfS

AnJ are

ft-'WU Pouting, my darling, because it rains, siJsJjrJg And flowers droop and the rain is falling. "1 Aud drops aie blurring the window panes

Or,THE LOVE LETTER ANSWERED.

By WILKIN COLLINS

HOOK THE FOURTH-•THE ERY.

IE SOOTHING BBEATH. OF POESY. 1 few words to relieve our anxiety, and let

^world country garden, where the hours

25$- .: \igod sunbeams flash in glory by, the scent of strange old fashioned •rs a tender bygone memory. 'i». \pre straight and patterned with ,one, with reverential tread, ire I hold within my own fingers of the child who's 5it|«! dead—

The child whose dainty footsteps vied with £-JsS mine, ffefe-: As we two chased the golden butterfly'i'he child who revelled in the bright sunshine,

graver since onr darling died. ~|M. E. W. An Old Proverb.

Anil a moaning wind through the lane is calling

iSW Crying and wishing the sjcy was clear. And roses again on the lattice twining! A Ah, well, remember, my foolish dear, 'Tie easy to laugh when the sun is shin-

ilt

iggV

When the world is bright and fair and gay, 'V And glad birds sing in the fair June weather, *"#iI'JAnd summer is gathering, night and day, L.-e§j.1 Her golden chalice of sweets together ftw^r-^When blue seas answer the sky above,

And bright stars follow the day's declining,

•, Why, then, 'tis no merit to smile, my love Tis easy to laugh when the sun is shining!"

.Bat this is the time the heart to test, """t. When winter is near and storms are howlJ: "iff?. ,. rj-rAjid the earth from under her frozen vest ifiS Looks up at the sad sky mute and scowl«1_ ing •', fThe brave little spirit should rise to meet

The season's gioom and the day's repining And this is the time to be glad, for, sweet, "'Tiseasyto laugh when the sun is shining!"

The Future Years.

Jn all the future, my sweet (Now roees blossom at thy feet, "And time flies by with footsteps fleet)—

But in the future years, •pjWhat lives for us, or joy or grief, A happiness beyond belief,

•W.

Bright smiles or bitter tears?

In all the future years, my own, Shall one of us be left alone, Hissing the other's loving tone,

t$t"

Throaghout the future years? "Or shall we be together, where Together we may gladly share

Bach other's hopes and fears?

The future yeara--ah! who can say Which of us two will pass away" From earthly hope and love for aye,

From all that Faith endears? I only breath a pray'r for thee That where I am, there thou may's be

Thro' all the future years!

i\ —Cecil Lorraine.

I SAY NO:"

DISCO V-

CHAPTER XLVIIl!%^| INVESTIGATING.

Having revived his sinking energies in the fruit garden, Mirabel seated himself under the shade of a tree, and reflected on the critical position in whicli lie was placed by Franciue's jealousy.

If Miss de Sor continued to be Mr. Wyvil's guest, there seemed to be no other choice before Mirabel than to leave Monksmoor, and to trust to a favorable reply to his sister's invitation for the free enjoyment of Emily's society under another roof. Try as he might, he could arrive at no mote satisfactory conclusion than this. In his preoccupied state, time passed quickly. Nearly an hour had elapsed before he rose to return to the house.

Entering the hall, he was startled by a cry of terror in a woman's voice, coming $• from the upper regions. At the same time Mr. Wyvil, passing along the bedroom corridor after leaving the musicroom, was confronted by his daughter, hurrying out of Emily's bed-chamber in ^such a state of alarm that she could hardly speak. "Gone!" she'eried the moment she saw her father.

Mr. Wyvil took her in his arms and tried to compose her. "Who has gone?" he asked. "Emily! Oh, papa, Emily has left us She has heard dretfdful news—she told me so herself." "What news? How did she hear it?'{ "I don't know tow she heard it. I went back to the drawing-room to show her my roses—" "Was she alone?" "Yes! She frightened me—she seemed quite wild. She said/'Let me be by myself I shall have to go home.' Oh, I am such a fool! Anybody else would hav« taken care not to lose sight of her." ii "How long did you leave her by herlielf?" "I can't say. I thought 1 would go and tell you. Aud then I got anxious about her, and knocked at her door, and looked into the room. Gone 1 gone!"

Mr. Wyvil rung the bell, and confided Cecilia to the care or her aid. Mirabel had already joined him in the corridor. They went down-stairs together, and consulted with Alban. He volunteered to make immediate inquiries at the railway station. Mr. Wyvil followed him as far as the lodge gate which opened on the high road while Mirabel went to a second gate, at the opposite extremity of the park.

Mr. Wyvil obtained the first news, of Emily. The lodge keeper had seen her pass him, on her way out of the park, in the greatest haste. He had called.after her, "Anything rong, miss?"—and had received no reply. Asked what time had elapsed since this had happened, he was too coufused to be able to answer with any certainty. He knew-that she had taken the roiid which led to the station— and he knew no more.

Mr. Wyvil and Mirabel met a^ain at the house, and institued nn examination of the servants. No further discoveries were njade.

The question which occurred to everybody was suggested bv the words which •5 Cecilia had repeated to her father. 3 •Jitnily had said she had '"heard dreadful 1 pews"—how had that news reached her?

The one postal deliverv at Monksmoor -f was in the morning. Had any special .|i luessenger arrived with letter for Emily "t The servants were absolutely certain that an tkik llAHM \t no such person '4T

had entered the house.

'^The one remaining conclusion suggested fthat somebody must have communicated [the eril things by word of mouth. But

here again no evidence was to be ob-

ained. No visitor had called during

jtheday, and new guests had arrived. Investigation was completely baffled. :f

Alban

returned trom. the railway with

u* Ef5^ A

|&VH

ua know if we cstn be of any service to you." Thia waa plainly all tbat could be done—but Cecilia was not satisfied. If her father had permitted it, she would have followed Emily. Alban comforted her. He apologized to Mr. Wyvil for shortening nis visit, and announced his intention of traveling to London by the next train. "We may renew our inquiries to some advantage," he added, after hearing what had happended in his absence, "if we can find out who was the last person who saw her, and spoke to her, before your daughter found her alone in the drawing room. When I went out of the room I left her with Miss de Sor."

The maid who waited on Miss de Sor was sent for. Francine had been out, by herself, walking in the park. She was then in her room changing her dress. On hearing of Emily's sudden departure she had been (as the maid reportod) "much shocked, and quite at a logs to understand what it meant"

Joining her friends a few minutes later, Francine presented, so far as personal ap pearance went, a strong contrast to tn« pale and anxious faces round her. She looked wonderfully well after her walk. In other respects she was in perfect harmony with the prevalent feeling. She expressed herself with the utmost proprie ty her sympathy moved poor Cecilia to tears. "I am sure, Miss de Sor, you will try to help us?" Mr. Wyvil began. "With the greatest pleasure," Francine answered. "How long-were you and Miss Emily Brown Brown together after Miss Morris left you?" |"Not more than a quarter of an hour I should think." "Did anything remarkable occur in the course of conversation?" "Nothing whatever."

Alban interfered for the first time. "Did you say anything," he asked, "which agitated.oroffended Mr. Brown?" "That's rather an extraordinary question," Francine remarked. "Have you no other answer to give?" Alban inquired. "I answer—No!" she said, with a sudden outburst of anger,

There the matter dropped. While she spoke in reply to Mr. Wyvil, Francine had confronted him without embarrassment. When Alban interposed, she never looked at him, except when he provoked her to anger. Did she remember that the man who waa questioning her was also the man who had suspected her of writing the anonymous letter? Alban was on his guard against himself, knowing how he dislikeci fher. But the conviction in his own mind was not to be resisted. In some unimaginable way, Francine was associated with Emily's flight from the house.

The answer to the telegram from the railway station had not arrived when Alban took his departure for London. Cecilia's suspense began to grow unendnrablo she looked to Mirabel for comfort, and fouud none. His office was to console, and his capacity for performing that office was notorious among his admirers but he failed to present himself, to advantage, when Mr. Wyvil's lovely daugher had need of his services. He was, in truth, too sincerely anxious and distressed to be capable of commanding his customary resources of ready-made sentiment and fluently-pious philosophy. Emily's influence had awakened the only earnest and true feeling Thich had ever ennobled the popular preacher's life.

Toward evening the long expected telegram was received at last. What could be said, under the circumstances, it said in the.se words: "Safe at home don't be uneasy about me will write soon."

With that promise they were, for a time, forced to be content.

BOOK THE FIFTH—THE COTTAtiE.

HSi. CHAPTER XLIX. EMILY SUFFERS. Mrs. Ellmother—left in charge of Emily's place of abode, and feeling sensible of her lonely position from time to time—had just thought of trying the cheering influence of a cup of tea, when she*"heard a cab draw up at the cottage gate. A violent riug at the bell followed. She opened the door, and found Emily on the steps. One look at the dear and familiar face was enough for the old servant. "God help us!" she cried, "what's wrong now?"

Without a word of reply, Einilv led the way into the bed-chamber which had been the scene of Miss Letitia's death. Mrs. Ellmother hesitates on the threshold. "Why do you bring me in here?" she asked. "Why did you try to keep me out?" Emily answered, "When did I try" to keep you out, miss?" "When came home from school to nurse my aunt. Ah, you remember now! Is it true—I ask you' here, where your old mistress died—is it true that my aunt deceived me about my father's death? And that you knew it?"

Theie was deail *ilcnce. Mrs. Ellmother trembled horribly—her lips dropped apart—her eyes wandered round the room with a stare of idiotic terror. "Is it her ghost tells you that?" she whispered. "Where is her ghost? The room whirls round and round, miss, and the air sings in my ears:".

Emily sprung forward to support her. She staggered to a chair, and lifted her great bony hands in wild entreaty. "Don't frighten me," she said. "Stand back!"

Emily obeyed her. She dashed thecold sweat off her forhead. "You were talking about your father's death just now," she burst out, in desperate denant tones. "Your father died of heart complaint "My father died murdered in the inn at Zeeland! All the long way to London I have tried to doubt it. Oh, me, I know it now!"

Answering in these words, she looked toward the bed. Harrowing remembrances of her aunt's delirious self-betrayal made the room unendurable to her. She ran out. The parlor door was open. Entering the room, she passed by a portrait of her father, which her aunt had hung on the wall over the fire-place. She threw herself on the sofa, aud burst into a passionate fit of crying: "Oh, my father— my dear, gentle, loving father my first, best, truest friend—murdered 1 murdered! Oh, God, where was your justice, wher* was your mercy, when ne died that dreadful death?"

A hand was laid on her shoulder a voice said to her, "Hush, my child! God knows best."

Emily looked up and saw that Mrs. Ellmother had followed her. "You poor old soul," she said suddenly remembering "I frightened you in the other room." "I have got over it, my dear. I am old and I have lived a hard life. A hard life schools a person. I make no complaints I learnt my lesson before you were born." She stopped, and began to shudder again. "Will you believe me if I tell you something?" she asked. "I warned my self-willed mistress. Standing by your father's coffin, I warned her. 'Hide t' truth as you may,' I said, 'a time will come when our child will know what you are keeping from her ijow. One or both of us may live to see it.' I am the one who has lived no refuge in the grave for me. I want to hear about it— there's no fear of frightening or hurting me now—I want to hear how you found it out. Was it by accident, my dear? or did a person tell you?"

Emily's mind was far away from^Mrs. Ellmother. She rose from the sofa, with her hands held fast over her acliing heart"The one duty of my life," she said— "I am thinking of the one duty of my life. Look I am cal ui now I am resigned to my hard lot. Never, never

again.

can the dear memory of my father

w)»at

it was! From this time it is the

horrid men.ory of crime. The crime has gone unpunished the man has escaped others. He. shull not escape me." She '-ei!. and looted at Mrs.J^HmoHier

deserves your good opinion or mine, ftniily answered sternly. "Yon!" Mrs. Ellmother exclaimed, "you say that!" "I say it. He—who won on me to like him—he was in the conspiracy to deceive me and yon know it! He heard me talk of the newspaper story of the murder of my father—I say, he heard me talk of it composedly, talk of it carelessly, in the innocent belief that it was the murder of a stranger—and he never opened his lips to prevent that horrid profanation! He never even

mioj

'Speak of something else I won 'hear you.' No more of him! God forbtdl should ever see him again. Dp what I told you. Carry your mind back to Notfcerwoods One night, vou let Francine de Sor frighten you. Ion ran away from her into the garden. Keep quiet! At your age, must I set you an example of self*control?" "I want to know, Miss Emily, where Francine de Sor is now "She is at the house in the country, which I have left."

"Wnere^&M^he go next, if you please? °P^rtunit.v

Back to Miss Ladd "I suppose so. What interest have you in knowing where she goes next?" "I won't interrupt you, miss. It's true that I ran away into the garden. I can guess who followed me. How did she find her way to me and Mr. Morris in the dark "The smell of tobacco guided her—she knew who smoked—she had seen him talking to you on that very day—she followed the scent—she heard what yon two said to each other—and she had repeated it to me. Oh, my old friend, the malice of a revengeful girl has enlightened me, my nurse—and ne, my lover—left me in the dark it has told

me

how my father

died!" "That's said bitterly, miss "Is it said truly?" "No it isn't said truly of myself. God knows you would never have been kept in the dark if your aunt had listened to me. I begged and prayed—I went down on my knees to her—I warned lier, as I told you just now. Must I tell .you what a headstrong woman Miss Letitia was? She insisted she put the choice before me of leaving her at once and forever or giving in. I wouldn'.t have given.in to any other creature on the face of this earth. I am obstinate, as you have»often told me. Well, your aunt's obstinacy beat mine I was too/ fond" of her t# jay No. Besides, if you ask me who was to blame in the first place, I tell you itjrasn't your aunt, she was frightened into it.' "Who frightened her?" "Your godfather—the great London surgeon—he who was visiting our house at the timeit "Sir Richard?". «Yes—Sir Richard. He said he would not answer for the consequences, in the delicate state of your health, if we told you the truth. Ah, he had it all his own' way after that. He went with Miss Letitia to the inquest he won over the coroner and the newspaper men to his will he kept your aunt's name out of the papers he took charge of the coffin he hired the undertaker and his men, strangers from London he wrote the certificate who but he? Everybody was cap in hand to the famous man!" "Surely, the servants and-the neighbors asked questions?" "Hundreds of questions! What did that matter to Sir Richard? They were like so many children in his hands. And, mind you, the luck helped him. To begin with, there was the common name. Who was to pick out your poor father among the thousands of James Browns? Then, again, the house and lands went to the male heir, as they called him—the man your father quarreled with in the bygone time. He brought his own establishment with him. Long before you got back from the friends you were staying with— don't you remember it?—we had cleared out of the" house we were miles and miles away and the old servants were scattered abroad, finding new situations wherever they could. How could you suspect us? We had nothing to fear in that way but my conscience pricked me. I made another attempt to prevail on Miss Letitia, when you had recovered your health. I said, 'There's no fear of a relapse now break it to her gently, but tell her the truth.' No! Your aunt was too fond of you. She daunted me with dreadful fits of crying, when I tried to persuade her. And that wasn't the worst of it. She bade me remember what an excitable man your father Was she reminded 'me that the misery of your mother's death laid him low with brain fever she said,

Emily takes after her father. I have heard you say it yourself. She has his constitution, and his sensitive nerves. Don't you know how she loved him—how she talks of him to this day? Who can tell (if we are not careful) what dreadful mischief we may do? That was how my mistress worked on me. I got infected with her fears it was as if I had caught an infection of disease. Oh! my dear, blame me if it must be but don't forget how I have suffered for it since! I wa« driven away from my dying mistress, in terror of what she might say, while you were watching at her bedside. I have lived in fear of what you might ask me, and have longed to look back to you, and have not had the courage to do it. Look at me now 1"

The poor woman tried to take out her handkerchief her quivering hand helplessly entangled Itself in her dress. "I can't even dry my eyes," she said, faintly. "Try to forgive me, miss!"

Emily put her arms- round the old nurse's neck and kissed her. For awhile they were silent. Through the window that was open to the little garden, came the one sound that could be heard—the gentle trembling of leaves in the evening wind.

The silence was harshly broken by the bell at the cottage door. They both started.

Emily's heart beat fast. "Who can it be?" she said. Mrs. Ellmother rose. "Shall I say you can't see anybody she asked, before leaving the room. h. "Yes? yes!"

Emily .heard the door open—heard low voices in the passage. Tnere was a momentary interval. Then, Mrs. Ellmother returned. She said nothing. Emily spoke to her. "Is it a visitor?" "Yes." "Have you said I can't see anybody?" "I couldn't sav it." "Why not?" "Don't be hard on him, my dear. It's Mr. Alban Morris."

CHAPTER L/ MISS LADD ADVISES.

Mrs. Ellmother sat by the dying embers of the kitchen fire, thinking over the events of the day in perplexity and distress.

She had waited at the cottage door for a friendly word with Alban, after he had left Emily. .The stern despair in his face warned her to let him go on in silence. She had looked into the parlor next. Pale and cold, Emily lay on the sofa— sunk in helpless depression of body and mind. "Don't speak to me," she whispered "I am quite worn out." It was.hut too plain that the view of Alban's conduct which she had already expressed was the view to which she had adhered at the interview between theui. They had parted in grief—perhaps in. anger—perhaps f6rever. Mrs. Ellmother lilted Emily in compassionate silence, and carried her upstairs, and waited by her until she slept

In the still hours of the night the thoughts of the faithful o'd servant— dwelling for awhile on past and present— advanced, by slow degrees, to consideration of the doubtful future. Measuring,to the best of her ability, the responsibility which had fallen- on her, she fe!t that it was more than she could bear, or ought to bear, alone. To whom could she look for help?

Emily's friends at the country-house were strangers to her. Dr. Alldav was near at hand—but Emilv had forbidden

allowed to triumph "with impunity, an ignorant old woman could do notuiuK else, she could tell the plain truth, and could leave Miss L&dd to decide whether such a person as Francine deserved to remain under her care.

To feel justified in taking this istep was one thing: to put it all clearly in writing was another. After vainlv making -the attempt overnight, Mrs. Ellmother tore up her letter, and communicated wiui Mrs. Ladd by means of a telegraphic message in the morning.. "Miss Emily is in great distress. I must not leave her. I nave something besides to say to you which cannot be put in a letter. Will yov please come to us?"

Later in the forenoon, Mrs. Ellmother was called to the door by the arrival of a visitor. The personal appearance of the stranger impressed her favorably.. lie was a handsome little gentleman his manners were winning, and his voice was singularly pleasant to hear '"l have come from Mr.

Wyvil's

house

in the country," he said "and I bring a letter from his daughter. May I take

of

as*"nSlf

M|SS

Ena,-V

"Far'from it, sir, I am sorry to say She is so poorly that she keeps her bed." At this reply, the visitor's face revealed such sincere sympathy and regret, thai Mrs. Ellmother was interested in him she added a word more. "My mistress has had a hard trial to bear, sir. I hope there is no bad news for h§r in the young lady's letter?" "On the contrary, there is news that she will be glad to hear—Miss Wyvil is coming here this evening. Will you excuse my asking if Miss Emily has had medical advice?" "She won't hear of seeing the doctor, sir. He's a good friend of hers—and he lives close by. I am unfortunately alone in the house. If I could leave her, I would go at once and ask his advice." "Let me go!" Mirabel eagerlv proposed.

Mrs. Ellmother's face Brightened. "That's kindly thought of, sir—if you don't mind the trouble." "My good lady, nothing is a trouble in your young mistress's service. Give me the doctor's name and address—and tell me what to say to him." "There's one thing you must be careful of," Mrs. Ellmother answered. "He musn't come here as if he had been sent for—she would refuse to see him."

Mirabel understood her. "I will not forget to caution him. Kindly tell Miss Emily I called—my name is Mirabel. .1 will return to-morrow." "He hastened away on his errand—only to find that he had arrived too late. Dr. Allday had left London, away to a serious case of illness. He was not expected to get back until late in the afternoon. Mirabel left a message, saying that he would return in tie evening:

The next visitor who arrived at the eottagte was the trusty friend in whose generous natnre Mrs. Ellmother liad wisely placed confidence. No self-iiajrasted consideration had interfered^^ffW^ S^iss Ladd's resolution to answer the telegram in person the moment' she read it. "If there is bad news," she said, "don't try to prepare me. Tell it at once, in the fewest words." •There is nothing that need alarm you, ma'am—but there is a great deai to say, before you see Miss Emily. My stupid head turns giddv with thinking of it. I hardly' know where to begin." "Begin with Emily," Miss .Ladd suggested.

Mrs. Ellmother took the advice. She described Emily's unexpected arrival on the previous day and sne "repeated what had passed between them afterward. Miss Ladd's first impulse, when she had recovered her composure, was to go to Emily without waiting to hear more. Not presuming to stop her, Mrs. Ellmother ventured to put a question. "Do you happe* to have my telegram about you, ma'am Miss Ladd produced it. "Will you please look at the last part of it again?"

Miss Ladd read the words: "I have something besides to nay to you which cannot be put into a letter." She at once returned to her chair. "Does what you have still to tell me refer to any person whom I know she said. "It refers, ma'am, to Miss de Sor. I am afraid I shall distress you." "What did I say when I came in Mks Ladd asked. "Speak out plainly and try—it's not easy, I know—but try to begin at the beginning."

Mrs. Ellmother looked back through her memory of past events, and began by alluding to the feeling of curiosity which she had excited in Francine, on the day when Emily had made them known to one another. From this she advanced to the narrative of what had taken place at Netherwoods—to the atrocious attempt to frighten her by means of the image of wax—to the discovery made by Francine .in the garden at night—and to the circumstances under which that discovery had been communicated to Emily.

Miss Ladd's face reddened with indignation. "Are you sure of all that yeu have said she asked. "I am quite sure, ma'am.. I hope I have not done wrong," Mrs. Ellmother added simply, "in telling you this?'' "Wrong!" Miss Ladd repeated, warmly. "If that wretched girl has no defense to offer, she is a disgrace to my school, and I owe you a debt pf gratitude for showing her to me in her true character. She shall return at once to Netherwoods and she shall answer me to my entire satisfaction—or leave my house. What cruelty! What duplicity! In all my experience of girls, 1 have never met with the like of it. Let me go to my dear iittle Emily—and try to forget what I have heard."

Mrs. Ellmother led the good lady to Emily's room—and, returning to the lower part of the house, went out into the garden. The mental effort that she had made had left its result in an' aching head and in an overpowering sense of depression. "A mouthful of fresh air will revive me," she thought.

The front gardem and back garden at the cottage communicated with each other. Walking slowly round and round, Mrs. Ellmother heard footsteps on the road outside, which stopped at the gate She looked through the grating and discovered Alban Morris. "Come in, sir," she said, rejoiced to see him. He obeyed in silence. The full view of his face shocked Mrs. Ellmother. Never, in her experience of the friend who had been so kind to her at Netherwoods, had he looked so old and so haggard as he looked now. "Oh, Mr. Alban, I see how she has distressed you. Don't take her at her word. Keep a good heart, sir—young girls are never long together of the same mind."

Alban gave her his hand. "I musn't speak about it," he said "Silence helps me to bear my misfortune as becomes a man. I have had some hard blows in my time they don'tseem to have blunted my sense of feelingas I thought they had. Thank God, she doesn't know how she has made me suffer! I want to ask her pardon for having forgotten myself yesterday. I spoke roughly to her at one time. Do you mind giving it to her? G6od-by—and thank you. I musn't stay any longer Miss Ladd expects me at Netherwoods." "Mis Ladd is in the house, sir, at this moment."' "Here, in London?" "Upstairs, with Miss Emily." fi. ''Upstairs? Is Emily ill?" "She is getting better, sir. Would you like to see Miss Ladd?" "I should, indeed! I have something to say to her—and time is of importance to me. May I wait in the garden "Why not in the palor, sir?" "The parlor reminds me of happier days. In time, I may have courage enough to look at the room again. Not now." "lf she doesn't make it up with that good man," Mrs. Ellmother thought, on her way back to the house, "my nursechild is what I have never believed her to be vet—she's a fool." jfn half an hour more, Miss Ladd joined Alban on the little plot of grass behind the cottage. "I bring Emily's reply to your letter," she said. "Read it/before you speak to fli£u

her to send for him. "He will torment me wi'K mglj on rnv side,: I wish.I could write 1L **"en

8

Alban read it: "Don't suppose you the maximum, have offended me—and be assured that I feel gratefully the tone in which your note is written. I try to write forbear-

1 The N»n(thty Drnmi^ .done. enter

THE EXPRESS, TERSE HAUTE, SUNDAY, MAJttCH 29, 1885.

If to the place in my estimation which you at have lost? If you wish to help me to bear my trouble, I entreat yon not to write to me again."

Alban offered the letter silently to Miss Ladd. She signed to him to keep it. "I know what Emily has written," she s&id, "and I have told her, what I now tell you—she is wrong in every way, wrong. It is the ihisfortune of her impetuous natnre that she rushes to conclusions—and those conclusions once formed, she holds to them with all the strength of her character. In this matter, She has looked at her side of the question exclusively she is blind to your side." "Not willfully," Alban internoeed.

Miss Ladd looked at him with admire tion. "You defend Emily she said. "I love her," Alban answered.

Mifs Ladd felt for him, as Mrs. Ellmother had felt for him. "Trust to time, Mr. Morris," she resumed. "The danger to be afraid of is the danger of some headlong action, on her part, in the interval. Who can say what the end may be if she persists in her present way of thinking? There is something monstrous in a young girl declaring that it is ber duty to pursue a murderer, and to bring him to justice. Don't yon see it youiself?"

Alban still defendedEmily. "It seems to me to.be a natural impulse," he said— "natural and noble." "Noble!" Miss Ladd exclaimed. "Yes for it grows out of the love which has not died with her father's death "Then you encourage her "With my whole heart if she wonld give me the opportunity!" "We won't pursue the subject, Mr. Morris. I am told by Mrs. Ellmother that you have something to say to me. WIi3.t is it9" "I have to ask you," Alban replied, "to let me resign my position at Netherwoods."

Miss Ladd was not only surprised she was also—a. very rare thing with her— inclined to be suspicious. After what he had said of Emily, it occurred to her that Alban might be meditating some desperate project, with the hope of recovering his lost place in her favor. "Have you heard of some better employment?" she asked. "I have heard of no employment. My mind is not in a state to give the neccessary attention to my pupils." "Is that your only reason for wishing to leave me?" "It is one of my reasons.'* "The only one which you think it necessary to mention "Yes." "I shall be sorry to lose you, Mr. Morris." "Believe me, Miss Ladd, I am not ungrateful for your kindness." "Will *rAn lot. mp. in til

Will you let me, in all kindness, say something more?" Miss Ladd answered. "I don't intrude on your secrets—I only hope that you have no rash project in view." "I don't understand you, Miss I-add." "Yes, Mr. Morris—you do."

She shook hands with him and went back to Emily. '. To be continued in the Sunday Express.

'UA ROYAL MUJLE-DRIVER.

How th« Queen of Madagascar Manages the Lon(-Eiireil Animals. Her majesty, Ranavalomanyka, queen of Madagascar, now enjoys the pleasure of being drawn in the Streets of Antananarivo, her capital, by two mules, which she uses for political purposes. Her Malagasy subjects turn out en masse to admire the queen's team, not only because they have never seen such animals on their island, but also because the latter represent atrophy won over the French invaders. The political impression made upon the patriotic mind of the Hovas is like to that which would have been produced upon the mind of the Mexican Aztecs, if- they had seen Montezuma riding on or being drawn by those Spanish horses whose strange apparition upset the courage of Cortez's adversaries. On the other hand, the Tamatave correspondents of the Paris papers are greatly infuriated at the British Col. Willoughby, commander of the Malagasy army, whom they already charged with undue interference in the present conflict, and who is now accused with having had the idea of using two French mules as a political instrument. That may be easily explained by, the glowing descriptions publishad. in the official Gazetty Malaghazy, of the popular success of the queen's mules, whose appearance in the streets inflamed the hopes and courage of the Hovas warriors, who fancy they will as ^easily capture the French forces as their outposts gobbled up the two inoffensive beasts. a

Still no blood was spilled in the performance of that feat of arms. Some muled had been imported from Mauritius and Reunion islands for the use of Admiral Miots, who was about to attack Farfatte by land as well as by sea. But the operation was dcl.iyed. and the mules corraled within an inclosure. whence two of them, being tired of inaction, managed to betray the watching of their guardians and escaped. They roamed about, gamboling in the open space between the Hovas and the French lines, and for two days efforts were being made in vain to recapture them, although they sometimes returned in the neighborhood of the corral, sporting and playing, as if to invite their former companions to come out and join them on the land of free gamboling, no harness and no work. The poor brutes ignored that their free ground was a dangerous one, often covered by bullets exchanged between the French and Hovas outposts. Anyhow, the French soldiers, after having much enjoyed the frolicings of the two emaciated mules, gave up the hope of ever catching them. Then Col. Willoughby was struck by a splendid idea, understanding to what great political advantage the capture of the mules could be put. He, therefore, issued orders that bis Hovas soldiers should-display one circuitous line, and the mules were surrounded and caught. They were immediately sent in a pomp and honor to the capital, Antananarivo, where Queen Ranavalomanyka used them, as stated above, to the best advantnge of the Hovas'national cause.

The Barkeeper's Wlsli. 'J

Boston Herald. The barkeeper laid down the interesting account of the war in the Soudan he had been reading as old Cap'n Butler came rolling in for his regular 'leven o'clock," and reluctantly set out the decanter. Now, the Cap'n has achieved a widespread reputation for being long on time and short on cash. "You may put that down along, 'ith the other," he pleasantly remarked, as he returned the glass and passed the back of his hand lightly across his eloquent lips. "I wish you were a Soudanese camel," discontentedly growled the barkeeper, as be rinsed out the glass. "Inasmuch as to wherefore?" the Cap'n wondered. "Because they alius takes a large quantity of water?" Jie added, facetiously. "No," grumbled the barkeeper, while he wiped off the counter. "Why, then?" "Because they go twenty days without a drink," sighed the barkeeper, as he lugged out the slate and jotted down another unearned score.

The Cap'n was going to say something about a feller's getting his back up, but he was so confused that he never thought' of it. ,v

'Tbe Government Printing Office. Washington Republican. The United States government is the greatest printer and publisher in the world. The aggregate number of governmental publications issued annually amounts now to about 2,500,000, of which about 500,000 are bound volumes. Tbij

But a moderate esti­

mate will put the aggregate publications of the government from the beginning until to-day atfrom 30,000,000 to 40,000,000.

Glad to*Hear I

am Chili^SHWrances V*lpartu« of

rr^mn

JAKES -WltSEB'S DREAM.

BY W. WTTWOBTH.

James Wilner will have it that it was a dream. But his good wife can not be shaken in her profound conviction that it was veritable reality. As she is somewhat tinctured with belief in spiritual visions, however, her opinion can not be allowed to count.

It happened in this wise It was in the evening. James was seated before a glowing coal fire in his open Franklin stove, with slippered feet resting on the warm ledge of iron in front, and eyes cast in dreamy silence between the bars. He had just come in from a ramble about the city, whose wintry streets were laden with frozen snow, beneath a dull gloomy canopy of leaden clouds overhead. -The chilly wind whistled a sadly mournful cadence 'round the gable of his small cottage, and rattled dismally amid the loosened slats in the green window shutters.

Involuntarily he began to see pictures of distress and suffering in the red coals. Grotesque, dwarfed-looking human beings, with bony limbs and pinched faces, and oh, such looks of pain and misery in their sunken eyes, appeared in constant succession anil from each thin pair of lips he seemed to hear the piteous cry: "For the love of God give us food and warm shelter, for we are freezing and tarving!"

Times were hard. The street and pov-erty-stricken homes were filled with men out of work by thousands: and James had read in that day's press that never before in the history of the city had so much of gaunt want and crushing distress been luiown.

Half aloud to himself, as he watched the terrible pictures of wretchedness in the fjre, and recalled to mind the horrible tales of starvation he had read, he said: "What a shame!" '.

At that instant he was startled at sight of a venerable figure seated near, with white flowing hair and beard, garments of a long bygone pattern, and full of singularly benevolent seeming.

In a mild voice the figure asked: "What is a shame?" James responded: "This dreadful starvation and suffering there is sorfnuch talk of, and yet abundance of wealth to make everybody comfortable." 'True," the figure softly rejoined. "If all who possess more than they need would give of their abundance, very much of the suffering at this time abroad in all the land might be removed." "That is what I have said all along," James asserted. "Let rich people give as they ought to, the biggest part of the want and distress would be done away with." 'But why do not you give of your abundance, then?" the venerable figure inquired. "I give?"—I give of my abundance?" James ejaculated in a voice of astonishment.

The figure rejoined: "Whatever a man uses that is a luxury he has no pressing need of may surely he termed his abundance." "I agree to that, and I just wish I had abundance to give. I'd soon spread it around where it would do lots of good. But as I am only a workingman, just now on short hours of work at that, I have all I can do to make both ends meet at home."

There was a rare smile on the stranger's face as he asked: "How much do you spend each week in beer and tobacco? "Oh, just a dime or two—not worth talking about." "But how much, please?". "Well, one glass of beer a day, and, say, a couple of dime's worth of tobacco each week." "That comes to 35 cents for beer—altogether 55 cents. Not a great deal, it is true but have you ever thought how much help might 'in many cases be rendered with even that small sum?

James Tiung his head. He had never given the matter a thought in this direction. "You will agree with me," the figure resumed, that even if the beer and tobacco gives a certain amount of comfort and exhilaration that seems good to enjoy after a hard day's work, it is "not absolutely necessary.to needful maintenance? That, In simple truth beer and tobacco are really luxuries that may be easily dispensed with to attain a great purpose and leave nothing of injury behind "I never looked at it in that shape." "I know you' have not as indeed, not one in ten thousand of your fellow workmen have ever looked at the ability to assist each other in that simple shape. But can you not see that, small as is the trifle fou may spare out of the cost of your jeer and tobacco, if every workingman should swell-the sum by his own possible mite, how large the combined amount would be and how grand the total of good that could be accomplished!"

The speaker was gone. James shook himself, and rubbed his eyes to feel assured that he was awake.

A dream, certainly a dream

1

But it

left a reality of great good behind it. The very next day, as the workman was passing along one of the business streets, pondering over the strange vision he had seen, he meta wee bit of a child, shivering in her thin garments, and whose reddened toes were bared to the frozen snow through her worn-out shoes. It was about the time he took his customary mug of beer, and he was just about needing afresh paper of tobacco.

Fifteen cents would be needed right here. Was it right to spend it while so many of his fellows were suffering from want of the absolute necessities of existence? Would not that money accomplish vastly more of good if given to this poor girl? He had his hand in his pocket to get the trifle, when a second time his eyes fell on the little red toes uncovered to the cold. It was more than ne could stand. He would draw at sight on his future expenditure of beer and tobacco.. At leaft the amount of one week's supply should be devoted to charity.

So he took the child to the nearest shoe store and bought a nice pair of rubbers for fortv cents, and then ran across the street a pair of warm stockings, costing fif* in cents more.

Prei ng her cotd feet in the now comfortable covering, the girl ran home crying from excess of wonder and delight.

That week James missed the comfort of his daily beer and tobacco. But he had the comfort of knowing that he had made.one suffering heart glad. And how cheaply the satisfaction and pleasure had been bought! The loss of beer and tobacco seemed small, when set against the comfort and happiness he had given in place of it to the little impoverished one.

Next week he chanced to discover the girl's home, and his heart ached when he saw how cold and bare and desolate it s. There were four other small brothers and sisters, with a mother weakened from overwork and a lack of wholesome food, and father broken down in mind and body from an incurable disease. Only the day before the doctor had told he could not possibly recover from his terrible malady of cancer in the stomach.

With such bitter tears as only a heartbroken man can shed, he thereupon cried: "Oh! my God! What shall I do? What shall I do? I could bear it myself, but what will become of my dear wife and children when I am gone?

There was scarcely any food in the house, and the little girl, in her new stockings and rubbers, was about to visit a charitv organization's rooms for supplies. James instantly felt that there was imperative need to apply the week's supply of beer and tobacco money to the good cause of brotherly help right here and now. He ran off and bought as much meal and milk as the small sum coula procure. More than that as he turned to leave the half-famished father, mother and children, and suddenly remembered that he had arranged to go to the opera house on the following evening, he drew forth the half dollar laid by foe a ticlket thrust it into the woman's hand, and left a house full of thankful hearts behind.

Is there need to tell moie? Our workman had a kind heart, only needing to be set in the right direction to bend him to the path of good. After a few weeks' trial he discovered that there really was no hardship if foregoing his beer and to Jwtccoi that.' ifeed to do so was merely an unselfish UeiAl of luxuries he .eouW

ner. The animal having been stunned by a heavy blow, a slit is cutin'to the skin the whole leDgth of the back it is then enveloped in a coating of clay about half an inch thick, aft«r which it is placed in a hole in the ground and afire is ade ever it. When the clay is well hiked, it is taken out and broken, but the heat has caused the spine to adhere firmly to the case, and so the body comes out without the skin.

GHOST STORIES.

A Mysterious Ftnjr Deer on tlift Soutb Canadian—A Haunted Heme in Dublin.

The singular occurrence staled below is given by a Baptist minister now serving in the Indian Nation, as a strictly authentic ghost'story.- He says:

A few nights ago Mr. J. W. Sanders Rolling, of South were out fire hunting. They fifty yards from them what thef to be a deer's eyes. Mr. Huier gun up to shoot. About the time he got on range of the supposed deer his gun went off accidentally, when the deer's eyes brightened nn and made as much light as a headlight on an engine^ and began to move off in a southerly direction. He could see the light plainly for two and a.half miles. It seemed to move at the rate of sixty miles an hour, and to fly through the air. He could see the tree-tops plainly, and saw a turkey roosting in a tree near him, which he shot and killed. The turkey was yellow, something very uncommon for the wild bird.

Three days later Mr. Win. Chism saw in daylight what he supposed to be a deer, near the place where Mr. Huier saw his fiery deer. Mr. Chism had a Winchester rifle and fired at the deer. To his surprise it began to light up as before, lie fired eight or nine shots at it. He says it looked like brush-pile on fire, moved off rapidly and made a whistling noise as it went.

Mr. Chas. Pettit, a prominent merchant and Adams Express agent of this place, went up to turn out of his lot a pony he had been riding that day, about, an hour after dark. In the lot he saw what he supposed to be a deer. He returned to bis store, got his gun, came back to the lot, fired at the supposed deer, and, to his surprise, he shot nis pony and killed it. He says when he fired at the deer he could see his pony in an opposite direction to the deer in a corner of the lot. This seems to be a ghost story, but every

On another occasion the servant, hearing mysterious knocking, fell down with fright, upsetting a pail of water over herself. Mr. Waldron armed himself with a' rifle and revolver, and brought a detective into the house, while several policemen watched outside. They, however, could find nothing. Kiernau's family, on being accused of causing the noises, denied it, suggested it was the work of ghosts, and advised the Waldrons to send for a Roman Catholic clergyman to rid the house of its terrors. A police constable swore that one evening he saw Waldron's servant kick the door with her heels at about the time the rapping usually commeuced.

Chief Justice Morris said tlie affair suggested the performances of the Davenport brothers, or Maskelyne and Cook. It was quite inexplicable from the absence of motive, and remained shrouded in the mysterious uncertainty of the Man with the Iron Mask, the authorship of "Junius' Letters," or "Why Anderson Left Dycer's." The jury found for the defendant.

Garnered. Witticisms.

A quick retort—The crematory Suppe has finished another operetta, "The Twins." It is very difficult to make an experienced father believe that it is a comedy.

-,yp'

**$*#•

his

.word

of it is true. Messrs. Huier, Boiling. Pettit and Chism are all responsible, and say they will go before anv justice and take an oath that they saw tnn strange deer.

A Haunted House In Dnblln. St. James Gazette. A remarkable case was heard on Saturday, February 21, in Dublin. Mr. Waldron, a solicitor's clerk, sued his next-door neighbor,.who is a mate in the merchant service, named Kiernan, to recover £500 damages for injuries done to his house by, as he alleged, the defendant and his family. Kiernan denied the charges, and asserted that Waldron's house was haunted, and that the acts complained of were done by spirits or some person in plaintiff's place.

Evidence for the plaintiff was to the effect that every night from August to January his hall door was continually knocked at, and his windows broken with stones which came from the direction of the defendant's premises. Mrs. Waldron swore that one night she saw one of the panes of glass in the window cut through with a .diamond, and a white hand inserted through the hole so made in the glass. She caughl up a billhook and aimed a blow at the liatid, cutting one of the fingers completely off. The hand was then withdrawn but on her examing the place she could find neither the finger nor any traces of blood.

1

The seal is gentle and harmless', and rarely retaliates when attacked, says an exchange. This is because it is a furbearing animal.

Dan Manning eats one meal early in the morning and another at night. He was oncc Jin editor, but lately has taken to eating an extra meal. "Suppose," says an exchange, "all the world went to lied every evening at sunset." Oh, well" the world's gas bill would be just as big at the end of the quarter. "Is your master busy?" asked the tailor. "No, he is out." "But I just saw him at an upper window." "Well, I just asked him for money, and he said he was out" "Oh, if that's the case I am out too."

Every dog has his day, the cat takes the nights, the iceman and milkman take the early morning hours, and the sciSsor grinder with his bell and the fruitnaan with his yawp takes the rest of a lifetime that is worth living.

There is said to be a regular trade in human skeletons iu New York. There area great many boarding houses in the metropolis, and therefore there should be no difficulty in keeping the supply of skeletons fully up to the demand.

A man in Wayland, N. Y., runs a bar iu connection with an undertaking establishment. By this means he secures money from everyone in the town. If people wont patronize one part of his business they invariably do the other. "Your conduct surprises me," exclaim ed the good old farmer, when he caught neighbor's boy robbing his apple orchard. "No more than your appearance surprises ine," replied the incorrigible youtn, as he hastily departed.

A scientist says that in 3,000,000 years the earth will he one gigantic iceberg. Unless the good book errs, in 3,000,000 years a large number of the present residents of this earth will have peculiar reasons for wishing they were back here again.

There are 31,694 Irishmen in the British army. The rest of the male population of the Emerald isle are scattered or£r-it•*.£.ce of the earth, either acting as policemen or rtnnine the political affairs of the country in which' they happen to find themselves.

Indian Relics Fonnd in lowa.^ A very interesting discovery, says a Dubuque dispatch to the Des Moines Register, was made yesterday of some Indian relics by laborers engaged in excavating ior the "railroad across the river. Among them were several wedges^made of iron and stone and one of copper. The former were of tbe usual weage shape. The latter waa near the shape of a coffin, except that it tapered to a sharp edge at the lower end. The singular characteristic of the copper wedge is that it is so hard that it will cut stone. These relics were found about ten miles north of the city at a depth of six feet.

One of the Woes of the Wealthy, Ban Francisco lngletida. A very wealthy mriu' law" «'J do wmIi that pectpfe

#(D

PHYSICAL CULTURE.

Examining Students to See What Sort of Exercise Will Most Benefit Them Philadelphia Special. "Go in that roonmnd take off all your clothes."

The speaker was Dr. J. William White, aud around him in a small room in the University of Pennsylvania were half a dozen young men, all naked. The newcomer found Dr. White ready for him as soon as lie was ready for the doctqf, so short was the time required for the disposition of the other applicants for advice as to the kind of physical culture needed to make them robust.

The apparatus ordered for the university had just arrived, and students were dropping in to submit to the tests re quired. "Jump on these scales," said Dr.* White, and in a few seconds the weight of the subject was called off and recorded in a book kept by an assistant. Students who had neglected physical culture were astonished to learn how light thev were. Each subject on leaving the scales was measured around the chest twice—once with the lungs emptv, and again when inflated. The circumferences of the upper arm and the forearm, the thigh and the calf, right and left, were measured. On the wall hung an apparatus resembling a telephone. Each applicant took the trumpet and was told to blow into it. A revolving hand on the face of the apparatus registered the force of the blast sent in from each pair of lungs. A baglike article was taken in the hand and blown into more deliberately after drawing a full breath. Horizontal bars and a pair of rings suspended from the ceiling by stout straps were next used to "iiscertain how many times, each man could "chin.". "Don't curl up your legs that way," said Dr. White. "Do this with vour arms only.".

Other tests for the arms were made with a hit of machinery no bigger than a watch, which was held in the hand and compressed with all the force that could be brought to bear on it. The pressure was registered on a graduated scale and recorded in the book. Each student then stepped on to a small platform and tried his liftiijg powers by-pulling upward the handle of another piece of machinery. Then Dr. White held his ear to the chest and listened to the action of the heart and dismissed the novitiate in athletics with: "Get your clothes on before vou take cold." "You can see," said Dr. White, "what an interesting lot of statistics we will have here, useful not only for purposes of advice to undeveloped young men, but as the foundation for scientific conclusions. As for the necessity of physical culture, I can tell you that some of these fellows need rowing, others walking, and some of them seem to need—well, everything.''

High-Rollers at the Rink. The city council of Cleveland attended tlie skating-rink in a body recently.

Two Xew Philadelphia girls stole a crock of lard from their cellar to pay their fare to the rink. Two Uhrichsville girls bought coffee upon the credit of the old folks, afterward sold the same, and purchased tickets to the rink.

The Boston Journal says: "Boston has five large roller-skating rinks, in buildings built exclusively for the purpose. The smaller halls in which skating is carried on are many, and the attendant evils cannot be enumerated."

Father McGobrick, a powerful Catholic priest in Minneap6lis, pleached a strong sermon against roller-skating rinks last Sunday night, denouncing them as immoral "and forbidding any one of his people attending them. He claimed iu his remarks that, a frequent attendance at rinks leads indirectly to the ruination of women.

A dispatch from Peekskill, N. Y., says that J. A. Griswold, a popular young man, who skated a great deal at the rink, fell exhausted while skating Saturday night and was taken home. It was found that his right side was paralyzed. His mind wandered and he was in great agony. Yesterday he died. His physician says death resulted from overexertion.

A special from Pittsburg dated March 1G says: A desperate bare-knuckle prize fight on roller skates took place tonight, iu Lawrenceville for $150 aside and the affections-of a female skater. The principals were J. M. McDonald and G. M. Kaufmann. Bilson Jack and Hugh McSparran handled the meu, who came together in a 12x8 room, containing sixteen persons. Seven rounds were fought, both men being covered with cuts and blood. McDondald was almost helpless, and in an unguarded moment Kaufmann hit him when down and lost the fight on a foul.

A bill now before the Albany, N. Y., legislature is being very favorably considered, which prohibits the sale of intoxicating drinks in or about roller skating rinks, and forbids children attending these places during school hours unless accompanied by their parents or guardians, and also forbids young girls attending in the evening unless so accompanied. The SoeieU^Ar the Prevention of Cruelty to (.'hildre»t,-l iiands that this bill pass the legislature in order to save hundreds of voting g»(Is from falling victims to the libertines who swamirauont the rinks. It is believed that the bill will pass and will receive the sanction of Governor Hill.

Bitten by a Mad HOJJ. Jared Ward, a farmer living near Westfield, Mass., was bitten several years ago by a rabid hog, leaving a wound which the physicians could not heal. Two years ago Ward went into a cold creek,-in early spring to wash his sheep. The injured leg pained him intensely for several days afterward and then healed, though it has ached at times ever since. He was in his orchard Monday trimming his appletrees, and when near the top of a tall tree lost his balance and fell to the ground, a distance of about thirty feet, striking heayily upon his feet. 1 le heard a noise under him like the breaking of ice and then fell flat to the ground. He attempt ed to rise, but the pain in the leg which the hog had bitten was so severe that he became unconscious. As soon as possible he was carried to his home and it was discovered that the leg was completely shat tered, being broken in more than twenty places. The bone seemed to be perfectly rotten. The leg will have to be anjpu tated, and even then it is doubtful if Ward's life can be saved. After the wound was healed it is said that the virus from the hog bite attacked the bone and destroyed its vitality.

Mrs. Gordon's Great Gift. Amsterdam Sentinel. It is stated as a remarkable fact that Mrs. "Bert" Gordon, of Fort Plain, has just become possessed of wonderful if not superiiuman accomplishments. Mrs. Gordon is a daughter of Josiah Zoller, a hotel-keeper, {ind is a woman about fort vears of age. A few days agT she dis covered that she could eithersing or play upon the piano, at sight, the most difficult music placed before her, a feat she never before could accomplish. It is also stated that tbe mysterious power go mysteriously given enables her 10" coaxer* with

departed

spirits, etc. Her friends

have endeavored to keep the matter quiet, but a gentleman now iu Amsterdam, whose word we cannot question, tells us that he visited the lady a couple of days ago and was startled l»jr her manifestations when applied to his own case.

.. The Seventh Day.

Drake's Traveler's Magazine. "Pa," said a bright little boy, "will you take me with you to Central park menagerie, when vou go there next Sunday?" "Central park menagerie?" interposed the hov'S mother. "Yonf* father has no idea of going to Central park next Snn day. What put that notion into your head?" "Mr. Smith. I heard him ask pa if he intended to buck the tiger :is usual next Sunday. ordon'g Mission to Khar tow* ere is no going behind tne^Sg jteKtoi uwfc y,, mialKltj

ment of the Sond^/nT^^^3^ were explicit, ant) .instructions on them, published "^®fflentari« sketch of the life ^"Wld Forbes* Gordon, show that h« Chinese cord with the roym-i**4

no*

°nly in ac-

himself to carry onj kt pledged the letter. When lie jw,^l^c.tions to instructions were these him by the British *S*in with and reaffirmed in there detail. P^icukr and

It remains to be _i. reaching Khartoum, h. 'j1. after ble to withdraw the

lt,lmP09Ri-

the people as would

8ncJl

plna lives a dimiButivenati

Hl* 0U^( aTa8?

a

°f

him^determinedto^ with tiidmnAnt an **P0Q DM nan

rare wokemanship.

A Syrian

Philadelphia Press, In a little attic room in

A

V(st

o{\Syris

lacob Hallaj by nan^ who endeaVotTto obtain his verv scanty living by manufacturing all sorts of beautiful jewelrv both of ancient and modern Syrian di! sign. He is a native of Beirut. Svria

Arabic, iWkfeh

httie French, and his private hbtory is lii/^j^Sorner of l-bench in another hisM^Hnied with curious treasures brought from the far east, over which he spreads his bed at night in another his little forge and his apparatus for drawing out the silver and gold wire, a]L made by himself, and of neat and accurate workmanship. As the reporter en» tered the little Arab was founa sitting at his bench engaged upon some silver fili-* gree scarf-pins of the most dainty descrip-i tion. The only marks of the orient in* his dress were the little skull-cap and the- I Turkish slippers.

His English vocabulary was found to be very limited, hot with what he knew: and the smattering of French postessed by the reporter, th« various appurtenances of the apartment were explained and understood. The silver he obtainspure, and, melting it up in his funny Syrian fnrnace, made by himself, with the

3

right amount of copper he obtains an alloy of the proper proportion. Thus, for a scarf pin, the pin proper is made of a low grade of alloy, in order to give the requisite stiffness, while the ornamental part is made of silver 1,000 fine.

This silver he draws threugb a steel plate in which are cut holes of constantly decreasing diameter. By drawing the silver through these holes in succession a wire is obtained finally as small as a thread. Of this h» makes the filigree by bending and twisting and filling and soldering the wire into all manner of fantastic and delicate shapes, such as the Turkish coat of arms, the crescent andstar, Arabic character*, and a hundred other forms. Rings are made, precious stones are set in a most chaste manner, and burnishing and polishing of the semi-precious stones attended to.

Adam's Unadulterated AleBoston Times Yon can't pump a milkman. He knows too much ybout it, and you'll be up to theiptmVit it.

Boston Post: This is a hard winter on milkmen. It does not affect the cows so much, but it raised Cain with the pumps.

Fall River Herald: Fall River gets away with about 10,000 quarts of milk. per day, and the milkman gets away with —but there, we never could figure up water statistics.

Philadelphia Call: An Indianapolis dairyman put alive goldfish into one of his milk-cans, and it died in fifteen minutes. Its breathing apparatus probably became stopped up with the chalk.

Philadelphia Call: "NO said the milkman, "there is nothing like the oldfashioned chain-pumps. Cows don't give much in.cold weather, and it is nece&sary to have pumps that won't Yreeze."

Somerville Journal: A liewistQB man who bought a cow wjceBAV had been swindled because he founo. when he got her hoff°.Ort-ilat- she hadn't anv teeth in her upper jaw. He must have been a milknan.

Williamsport Breakfast Table: Housekeepers shoulcLa#^^ 'd these cold mornings if the mirfcy *mes late. They should remember sumed in thawing vender can start out

and labor con.s before the ^'•'kman's life ight as a

is not always as hapuHl summer's day. Ph£ ,§delpliia Call. sure tMl|||pjtress said usually gets but one. she said—ten quarts. "Ex| perhaps?" "I ain't heard"

Queer!" is nothing unusual "Not that 1 know of. Oh, jes! her tell the master she was goin^ mine the bath-room to-day."

Oescendants of Hnjfuenot ngces. Newark Gasette.

The 18th of October next will be the bi-centenarv of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and the descendants of Huguenot refugees, iu Prussia, Holland and Switzerland contemplate holding celebrations, not so much of the revocation as of the hospitality eft'ered abroad to its victims. The French Protestant Historical society has issued a circulgx dissuading French Protestants from attendM* such celebration^ and suggesting special religious services on the day in question. thinks the French Prot«tants, iwhi# grateful for the kindness of for tions to refugees, edttM out feeling bitter regi1"' lost. It is not for th' of faults so dearW-1 live in countries.whi her misfortunes, or tiV voice in their brethrei-

ess of tore! 1 nut attain

'W*

A New

A bew religion Kalamazoo man, whic nanism." It is boomed"! Rising Sun—which is as ye? old. The belief isorgamzeo liberal scale, and includes en and instruction that may pert&m to theoloary, history, science, health, education or "anything else. One feature oi "Diestarianism" is that no follower can hope to escape from the priest, or Denzee," who will visit him at least once a week, and collect a fee proportion to tlie entertainment or instruction giyenj The new

religion

issi

le most tinment

is furthermore providwi

with a new language, and will no doubt have attractions for such persons as desire novelty and variety.

A High-Priced "Virgin." tlicago Mail. There is owned in Chicago a picture to which great interest and value are attached, although it has never been hibited here at a public exhibition, a Raphael, "The Vy#"

the

asrl is tiie property ol No. 2012 Wabash ave jHLEL a vault, and is said offer of $50,000 for the vptvu&\ie picture Mr. Kieffer haTS^^xt certificates to prove its pnu'nouwas produced in 1503, when Rap onlv 19 yeara old,

was with seen

and

does not

the'favor of all art critics who it. It is said to have b«n «*0^°® the Vatican in

18-50,

aad to have wm

into the possession of Mr. Kieffer in singular roundabout way.

A Strange Hallucination. Pittubnrg Dispatch. It is related of Dr. \Vm. A. who died recently in tins sts ing the last years of his lur made miserable, by the^g"teen women were^ monial in| iid,^