Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 23 August 1885 — Page 3

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P* THE STRENGTH OF THE HILLS

My thoughts go home to the old brown house, With

KB

low roof sloping down to the east,

And its garden fragrant with roses and thyme, That blossom no longer, except in rhyme, Where the honey-bees used to feast.

Afar in the •west the great hills rose, Silent and steadfast and gloomy and grayj I thought they were giants, and doomed to keep Their watch, while the world should wake or sleep.

Till the trumpet should sound on the judgment day.

I used to wonder of what they dreamed As they brooded there in their silent might, While March winds smote them, or June rains fell, Or the snows of winter their ghostly spell

Wrought in the long and lonesome night.

They remember a younger world than ours, Before the trees on their top were born, When the old brown house was itself a .tree, And waste were the fields where now you see

The winds astir in the tasaelled corn.

And 1 was as young as the hills were oU, And the woidd was warm with the breath of spring, And the roses red and the lilies white Budded and bloomed for my heart's delight,

A the .birds in my heart began to sing,

Bat to in the distance the great hills rose, /Deaf unto raptures and dumb unto pain, gin they knew that Joy is the mother of

Grief,

And remembered a butterfly's life is brief, And the sun setB only to rise again.

They will brood, and dream, and be silent, as °°w, ., When the youngest children alive to-day Have-grown to be women and men, grown oM, And gono from the world like a tale that is told,

And even those echo forgets to stay. —Louise Cliandler Moulfcon, in Harper's Magazine for September.

O N

A LOVE STORY.

By MRS. OXjIPHANT,

CHAPTER XX.

Kate was very much perplexed by her interview with her lover, ami by the abrupt, conclusion of his visit. She was very sweet-tempered and good natured, and could not bear to vex any one but perhaps it pained her secretly a little to be brought, in contact with those very strong feelings which she scarcely understood, and which did not bear much resemblance lo her own tender, affectionate, caressing love. She was very fond of John at bottom she knew and felt that of all the men she had •ever seen he was the man whom she preferred trusting her life and happiness to .and when opportunity served, she was very willing to 'give him her smiles, her sweet words, to lean her head against him, caressing and dependent, to bestow even a soft, unimpassioned kiss but to think of nothing but John, to resign any pait of her duties as mistress of the hoiise, or to neglect other people, and make them uncomfortable, on account of him, would never liav# occurred to her, .and there was in her mind at the same •.time something of that fearful curiosity which so often attends power. She panted to know how far her power could 'go ,it ga.ve her a thrill of excitement .to speculate -upon, just touching the utmost borders of it, coming to the verge of loss and despair, and then mending everything with a touch of her hand o/ sudden smile. By nature

Kate seemed t* have been so completely separated- from *11. tragical possibilities. She had never wanted anything in all her life that had not bee.n procured for her. Everything had given way to her, everything conspired to give her her will. And what if she should give herself one supreme pleasure to end with, and skirt the very edge of the Jibyss, and feel the awful thrill of danger, and go just within a hair's breadth of destruction. Kate's heart befit as the thought occurred to her. If she could, do this, then she might sip the very essence of tragedy, and never more be 'obliged to despise herself as ignorant of intense emotions while yet she would still

keep

her own happiness all

the time io fall back upon. Such was the thought—we cannot call it project— which gradually shaped itself in Kate's mind, and which accident went so far to •carry out. "So he has gone," her father said to her- *"we have not paid ,iir deliverer sufficient attention, I suppose." "Papa, vou .know I will not have him talked of *so,""crfcd Kate "he went away because he chose to gC' I

am

dreadfully

sorry and it makes me tiiiuk a great deal less of the people who are spying here, not of John." "How do you make that eut?" said her father. "Because they, did not understand him better," said Kate, with flushing eyes "they took their cue from you, papa— not from

me—which

.are for of course it is the lady of the louse who has to be followed, not the gentleman. And did he not see anything of me, which was not what he came for. I only wonder that he should have stayed a single day."

That is complimentary to us said her fathei and then he looked her keenly in the face. "It 1s not much use trying to deceive me," he said. "You have quarreled with Mitford why don't you tell me so at once? You have no reproach to expect from me." "I have not quarreled with Mr. Mitford," said Kate, raising her head with an amount of indication for which Mr. Crediton was not prepared. "No, by Jove! you need not expect any reproaches from me a good riddance, I should be disposed to say. The fellow begins to get intolerable. Between you and me, Kate, I would almost rather the bank had been burned to the ground than owe all this a man I—" '.Papa," said Kate, loftily, "the' man you are speaking of is engaged to be married to i«2e-

Upon which ^r- Crediton laughed. Such a cynical MepJustophelian laugh -was not in his way, neither was it usual -with him to swear by Jove but he was ^aggravated, and his mind was twisted .quite out of its general strain. No doubt itis

very

hard to have favors heaped

,upon vou by a man whom you do not

','» £V*. ,JU -V

*S&, A*'»e

r^irT'S^

like. And then he had the feeling which imbittered his dislike, that for every good service John had done him, he had repaid him with harm. As a recompense for his daughter's life, he had placed her lover in the dingy outer office—a clerk with more pretentions and less prospect of success than any of the rest. As a reward for the devotion which haid saved him his property, he made his house, if not disagreeable, at least unattractive to his visitor, and now felt a certain vigorous satisfaction in the thought of having him beaten off the field. "That fellow!" he said, and flat tered himself that Kate too was getting tired of him. John had not even taken his preferment gratefully and humbly, as would have been natural but insisted .upon taking possession of Kate whenever he could monopolize her society, and looked as black as night when she was not at his call. Instead of being over joyed with the prospect of going to Fernwood at any price, he had the assurrnce to resent his cool reception and to cut short his visit, as if he were on an equal or even superior footing. Mr. Crediton Was very glad to get rid of him, but yet he waa- furious at his presumption in venturing to take it upon himself to go away. It was a curious position altogether. He dared not be rude to the man who had done so much for him everybody would have called shame on him had he attempted it and yet he began to hate him for his services. And at the same time he had the substantial foundation of justice to rest upon, that in point of fact John Mitford was not a suitable match for Kate Crediton. It was in this mood that he accosted Kate, almost ejecting to find her disposed to respond in her own vein. "There is many a slip between the cup and the lip," he said, oracularly, and left her standing where he had found her, almost diverted from her own thoughts by indignation and that healthful impulse of opposition which springs so naturally in the young human breast. "There shall be no slips in John's cup," she said to herself, with a certain fury, as she turned away, not thinking much of the unity of the metaphor. No, nothing should interfere with John's happiness, at least nothing should permanently interfere with it. The course of true love shoald certainly be made to run smooth for him, and everything should go right —at the last.' That, of course, was all that was necessary—the most severe critic could not demand more than a happy conclusion. "Papa is very much .mistaken if he thinks he can make me a traitor to John," Kate said within herself, indignantly, and hurried off to put on her habit, and went out to ride with a countenance severe in conscious virtue. She was pleased that it was Fred Huntley who kept most closely by her side all the way. For one thing, he rode very well, which is always a recommendation and then she felt that she could speak to him of the subject which was most in her flioughts. It was true that she had almost quarreled with her lover on Fred's account, and that there had been a moment when her mind was full of the thought that her choice must lie between the two. But Kate forgot these warnings in the impulse of the moment, and in her longing for confidential communion with somebody who was interested in John. "Papa has been making himself so disagreeable to-day," she said. "No I know I have not much to complain of in that way generally he is very good but this morning—though psrhaps I ought not to say anything about it," Kate concluded, with a sigh. "It is a way out fathers have,'.' said. Fred "though they ought to know better at their time of life but Mr. Crediton is a model in his way—small blame to him when hehas only to deal with—"

"Me," said Kate: please don't pay me any compliments we don't really like them, you know, though we have to pretend to. I know I am sometimes very aggravating but if there is any good in a girl at all, she must stand up for anybody who—who is fond of her don't you think so, Mr. Huntly What could any one think of her if she had not the heart to do that?" "I am afraid I don't quite follow your meaning," said Fred "to stand up for everybody who is fond of her? but in that case your life would be a series of stand-ings-up for somebody or other—and one might have too much of that." "There you go again," said Kate "another compliment! when that is not in the least what I want. I want backing up myself. I want—advice." "Indeed, indeed," said Fred—"I am quite ready to give any quantity of backing up—on the terms you have just mentioned or—advice." "Well," said Kate, with a certain softness in her tone—she could not help being slightly carossing to anybody she talked confidentially with—"you know we have been friends almost all eur lives at least I was a very small little girl when I first knew you we used to call you •Fred in those days—Minnie and Lizzie and I—" "Minnie and Lizzie call me Fred still," said her companion, dryly and he brought his horse very close, almost too •close, to her side. "Of couree, they are your sisters," said Kate "but that was not what I meant. I meant that it was natural I should talk to you. I have not got any brother to advise me, and papa has been so disagreeable and then, he-

sides

knowing me so well, you are quite intimate—with—poor John." "Do you know," said Fred, with apparent hesitation, "I meant to have spoken to you on that subject. I fear

Slitford not

shows what they

like it. I don't blame

him. If I tad been as fortunate as he is—pardon the supposition—I don't think I should have liked you—I mean the lady—to talk to any other man of me."

Kate did not answer for some minutes. She went along very slowly, her head and her horse's drooping in harmony and then she suddenly roused herself as thev came to a level stretch of turf, and with a little wave of her hand went off at full speed. Such abrupt changes were familiar to all her friends, but Fred had a feeling that the caprice for once was policv, and that she wanted time to recover herself, and make up her mind what kind o'* snswer she should givePerhaps she lu-.il another notion too, and had half hoped to shake off her attendant and pick up some one else who would not tempt her into paths so difficult However that might be, the fact was that she did not shake Fred off, bat found bun at'her side yhen she drew rein and breath ft good way ahead of the rest oi

H'Fhat'was suddeu," he said, with smile, stopping as she did, and timing all his movements to hers with a deference that half flattered, half annoyed her. And Kate wtut silent again. Her spirit failed at this .emergency—or else, which was more likely, she had not mads up her mind that it was an emergency, or that now was the moment when any decision must be made.. "I don't understand why you should feel like that," she said, all at once. "It is natural to talk about people one—cajps for, and who should one talk of them to but their friends? I told you papa had been dreadfulMdisaereeable all this time —to"him I amfure I can't think why— unless it is to mate me unhappy and I am unhappy whenever I think of it, Kate added, with a candor of which she herself was unaware. "I think I can understand quite well why," said Fred. "It is natural enough. I dare pay he hates every fellow that ventures to look at you and as for mgn

who hopes to irom him alto-

gether—I don't see how the best Christians could be expected to stand that."

Oh, nonsense," said Kate. "All the books say that our fathers and mothers are only too glad to get rid of us. I don't think, however, it would be true to say that of papa. He wpuld be very lonely. But in that case, don't you think the thing would -be to make very good friends with—poor John?"

Fred shook nis head with every appearance of profound gravity and_ deliberation. "I dp not think my virtue would be equal to such an exertion," he said, with great seriousness, "if I were your papa." "You are very absurd," said Kate, laughin: Yes, you had as much on your Mr. Huntley—" rYou' used to call me Fred.7 "That was only with your sisters," said Kate. "We are too old for that now and besides, if you were my real friend, and felt for me, you would not talk nonsense when I tell you how much I have on my mind." "Am I talking I" said Fred Mid just then, as ill luck would have it, their companions overtook them and interrupted the conversation, just, Kate said to herself, as it began to be interesting. And she had not really been able to obtain any advice from this old friend of her own and of John's, who was, she reflected, of all eople the right one to consult John ad been impatient about it, but of course it was simply because John did not know. He thought Fred was intruding between them, attempting to take his own place which was, oh, such folly! Fred of all men! who never even looks at me! said Kate. And then her conscience smote her a little, for Fred had .looked at her, even this very day, more perhaps than John would have approved of. However, he was perfectly innocent he was a man who never had been fond of any girl—who wasa fellow of a college, and that sort of thing: and it was natural that she should want to talk over the circumstances and discuss the matter with somebody. Though she would not really have vexed John for the world, yet-somehow his unreasonable dislike to Fred rather stimulated than prevented her from seeking Fred's advice. Why should she give in to an injustice? And surely in such a matter it was she who must know best.

As for Fred Huntley, there was a curious combat going on within him which he concealed skillfully from everybody, and even laboriously from himself. He pretended not to be aware of the little internal controversy. When his heart gave him a little tug and intimation that he was John Mitford's friend, and ought to guard his interests, he acquiesced without allowing that aHy question on the matter was possible. Of course he was John's friend—of course he would stand by him and he only saw with the tail of his eye, and took no notice of, the little imp which in a corner of his mind was, gibing at this conscientious resolution. And then he said to himself how pretty Kate Crediton lqpked to-day, when she suddenly woke out of her reverie, and gathered up her reins and went off like a wild creature, her horse and she one being, over the level turf. He could not DUt allow it was very odd that he had .never remarked it before. He supposed she must have been as pretty all- these years, when he had seen her growing from summer to summer into fuller bloom. But the fact was that he had never taken any notice of her until now and he did not know how to explain it. While the thought passed through his mind, it appeared to Fred as if the littie demon,, whom he could just perceive with the tail of the eye of his mind, so to speak, made a grimace at-him, as much as to say, I know the reason why. Impertinent little imp! Fred turned .and looked himself full in the face, as it were, and there was no demon visible. It was only to be seen with the tail of his eye, when his immediate attention was fixed on other things.

And thus the day passed on at Fernwood, with the ride and the talk and at night the great dinner, which was like a picture, with its heaps of flowers on the table, and pretty toilets and prettv faces round it—a long day for those who had no particular interest, and a short day for those who were better occupied. Lady Winton, who had known Mrs. Mitford when she was a girl, yawned over her dressing, and told her confidential maid drearily that she could not think why she had come, and wished she might go, except that the next place would be just as bad. But Fred felt in his calm veins a little thrill of excitement, as of a man setting forth in an unknown country, and found Fernwood much more interesting than he had ever done before. "They have always such nice people—Lady Winton for one," he said to the man who sat next him after dinner for Lady Winton was a very clever woman, and rather noted in society. Such was the fashion of life at Fernwood, when John sat down in the shadow of his mother's lamp at Fanshawe Regis, and did his best to make the evening cheerful for her, for the first time for three months.

CHAPTER XXI.

The conversation above recorded was, it may be supposed, very far from being the last on so tempting a subject. In short, the two who had such a topic to themselves did with it what two people invariably do with a private occasion for talk—produced it perpetually, had little snatches of discussion over it, which were broken off as soon as any stranger appeared, and gradually got into a confidential and mysterious intimacy. Kate, to do her justice, had no evil intention. None of the girls about her knew John sufficiently well to discustf him. fhey had seen him but for these tw^ days, when he had been distrait, preoccupied, and suffering and indeed her friends did not admire her choice, and Madoline Winton, who was her chief intimate, had not hesitatedrio say so. "Of course I don't doubt Mr, Mitford is very nice," had been Miss Winton's deliverance "but if you really ask my opinion, Sate, I must say he did not captivate me." "I did not want him to captivate you," Kate had answered, with some heat But nevertheless it is discouraging to have your confidences about, your betrothed thus summarily checked. And on the whole, perhaps, it was more piquant to nave Fred Huntley for a confidant t}ian Madeline Winton. He never snubbed her. To he spre, with him it was not possible to indulge in very much enthusiast over the excellences of the beloved but that was not in any case

Kate's w*y arid the matter, without doubt, was full of difficulties. It was hard to know how to overcome Mr. Cred-

iton's

passive but unfaltering resistance —how to bring the father Sad lover to something like an understanding of each other—how to satisfy John ana smooth down his gspirations and make him con tent with his position, "ft is not that he is discontented," Kate said, with «n anxious pucker on her brow on one of those evenings, when she had stolen a moment from her cares and her guests. "It is not

ii

that he is discontented, she replied "I hope he is too fond of me for that— but—" "I don't understand bow such a. word as discohtent could be spoken in the samt breath with his name," said Fred—''a lucky fellow! No, snrely|it can not he that." "I told you it was not discontent," Kate said, almost sharply and as for kicky and all that, yon always make me angry

THE EXPRESS, TERRE HAUTE, SUNDAY, AUGUST 23.1885.

with your nonsense——when we are talking gravely of a subject which is of so much importance at least -it is of great importance to me." "I think you might know oy this time," said Fred, with soft reproach, "that- everything that concerns you .is important to me."

She looked at him with that soft glow of gratitude and thanks in her eyes which had subdued John, and half extended to him the tips of her .fingers. "Yes, indeed," she said, "you are very, very kind. I don't know why I talk to you like thiK I can't talk so to anybody else. And I do so want some one to feel for me.' Is it very selfish? I am afraid it is." "If it is selfish, I hope you will always be selfish," said Fred, with a fervor which was out of place, considering all things, and yet was natural enough, and though he could not kiss the fingertips with so many eyes looking on,he squeezed them furtively in the shadow of her dress. And then for one moment they looked at each other and felt they were going wrong, To Fred, I am afraid the feeling was not new, nor so painful as it ought to have been but it sent the blood pulsing suddenly with a curious thrill up to Kate's very hair, startling her as if she had received an electric shock. And then next moment she said to herself, "Nonsense! it is only Fred he is fond of me as if he were my brother. -.And how nice it would be to have a brother1" she added uncp^Sjciously, with a half-uttered

"Did you spfeak?" 6aid Fred. "No I was only thinking how nice it would be—if you were my real brother," said Kate. "How I with you were my brother! You have always been so kind and then you would settle it all for me, and everything would come right. It would have been so nice for papa too to have had a son like you. He would not have minded losing me so much and. he would have been so proud of your first class and all that. What a nice arrangement it would have been altogether!" she ran on, beginning to see a little fun in the suggestion, which even in her present anxiotfs state was sweet to her. "1 wonder, you. know—I don't mean to be wicked, but I do wonder— why Providence shouldn't think of such things. It would have been so very, very nice for me and for papa!"

To this Fred made no reply: he even looked a little glum, if the truth must be told, and wondered, after all, was she laughing at him as well as at the rest of the world? and the general company, as it happened, wanted a little stirring up just at that particular moment, and Kate had darted off before he was aware, and was here and there among her guests looking as if vexation of any Jsind had never come near her. Fred asked himself, did she mean what she said—was she really moved by the difficulties that lay in John Mitford's way, or did she care anything about John Mitford and what was still more important, what did she mean about himself?—did she mean anything?—was she playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse or was it all real for the moment—her anxieties, her friendship, all her winning Ways?—for they were winning ways, though he did not feel sure what faith was to be put in them and Fred felt a certain weakness about his heart at the very thought of her—though she was.not his but another man's Kate, and though he had no desire to be her brother. There were various men within reach .with whom he could have talked pleasantly enough in other circumstances, and they were women whom he liked— Lady Winton, for instance—who was very clever, and a great friend of Fred's. Yet instead of coalbling himself with any of these resources, he sat in his corner, going over and over the foolish little conversation which had just passed, watching Kate's movements, and wondering if she would come back. The time was—and that not so very long-ago— when he would have thought Lady--,Win-ton's company worth twenty of Kate Crediton's though Lady Winton was.as old as his mother, and as free from anythought of flirting with her son's friend. But sdmething had suddenly made the vers idea of Kate Crediton much more captivating than her ladyship's wit and wisdom. What was it? Is it quite fair to Mitford? Fred even asked himself faintly, though he jave himself no answer. At. the last, however, his patience was rewarded. Kate came back after along interval, after she had suggested "a little music," and had herself sung, and successfully started the performances of the evening. She came back to Fred, as she had neyer gone back to John,—partly, perhaps, because Fred was not much to her, and John was a great deal. But nevertheless, she slid into the easy chair again, and threw herself back, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of tne music. "This is so sweet Please don't talk to me—any one,", she said, audibly. And Fred did not talk but he sat half behind her, half concealed by her chair and dress, and felt a curious beautitude steal over him. Why He could not tell, and he did not ask he felt it, that was all. "Do you know," Kate said, with a certain abruptness, in the middle of a bar, "that I think everything might come right, Mr. Huntley, if you would really use your influence if you would represent to papa how good he is and if you would only be patient with him, and show him how mnch better things might be. You men are so queer. It it were me, I would put on any look, it would not matter. Could there be anything wrong in putting on* a look just for a little while, when it flight conciliate papa? Any girl would do it naturally," Kate continued, in a sightly aggrieved tone. "I know you men are honester and superior, and all.that but when one has not a bad motive it can't be any harm to make believe a little, for so short a time." "I think I could make believe as much and as long as you liked," said Fred, "if you would condescend to ask. me." "Everybody does it—a little—-in ordinary society," said Kate. "Of course we all smile and say things we don't mean. And wouldn'tjit be all the more innocent if one had a good motive? You men are so stiff and so strange. You can put on looks easily enough when it is for your own ends and then, when one wants you just to be a little prudent—" "Happy Mitford!" said Fred. "I should stand on my head, if you took the trouble to fek me." '"That is not the question," said Kate, giving her pretty head a little toss, as if to shake off the suspicion of a blush which had come against her will "why should I ask you to stand on your head? Now you are vexed," she added, hastily, seeing his face cloud over. What have I done? I am sure I did not mean to vex ou. I was only thinking of poor ohn."

Fred was silent He had almost betrayed himself, and it was hard to make any reply. He swallowed his vexation as he beet could, and represented to himself that he had no right be vexed. course it was John she was thinking of. That fellow! he said to himself, as,.Mr. Creditonhad done though even in saying so he was aware that he was unjust And, to be sure, he had known that John was more interesting to Kate than he was yet *^felt it hard. He drew back a little, his lip, and twisted his thumbs, iked black in spite of himself. i't, please," said Kate, carried her desire of smoothing things making everybody comfortable. "I have nearly quarreled with- papa. Don't you quarrel with me to." «fl quarrel with you!" cried Fred, ]o»iiinpr forward once more, and gazing at her with eyes that made Kate quake _and then he paused and added, in restrained tones that had a thrill of passion in them. "De anything with me you like. I win

try not to shrink from anything you want me to do. But Kate, Kate, don't forget I am a man—as well as John."

It was a great eelief to Kate that Lady Winton came up at that moment and took a se& hear her, and pnt an effectual stop to any more whispering. Perhaps it would be nonsense to say that she was very much surprised by. this little outbreak of feeling. It is common to admire and Wonder at the unfathomablenesB of women and, like most other common and popular ideas it is great nonsense for women are no more mysterious to men than men are to women and both are equally incomprehensible. Bnt perhaps the sentiments of a young woman in respect to the man who curious the range of hutaanity. The girl intention to be cruel—is no coquette—and would be astonished beyond measure if she could fully realize what she is herself doing. And yet there*is a cariosity, an interest, in admiration for itself—in love (still more) for itself—which draw her on unawares. It requires a strong_mind, or an insensible heart, not to be interested in such an investigation, and sometimes it goes to the point of cruelty When she knows what she is about, of course a good girl will stop short, and do what she can to show th' infatuated one "some discourtesy," as SK .Lancelot was bidden to do Elaine but there are some women, like Lancelot, who cannot be discourteous, whatever is the cost and with a mixture of awe, and wonder, and poignant gratification which is half- pain, the woman looks on while that costly offering is made to her. It is cruel, and yet it is not meant to be cruel. Such wire Kate's feelings now. Was it possible that Fred Huntley could be coming to the point of loving her—the collected, cool, composed being that he was? What kind of love would his be? How would it move him Would it be true love, or only a pretense at it? These questions filled her with a curiosity and desire to carry on the experiment, which were too strong to be resisted. She was glad of Lady Winton's approach, because when it comes to plain speaking it is difficult to pursue this subtle inquiry without compromising one's self. But she turned half round and gave him a wondering, anxious look. You poor dear fellow! what can you mean? was what the look said and it was not the kind of glance which discourages a lover either secret or ayowed. Ana then she turned to Lady Winton, who had established herself at Kate's other Bide. "I have scarcely seen you all day," she said. "Madeline told me you were too tired to talk, and that it was'best to leave you alone." "That was very true," said Lady Winton, "but I am better now, and I have something to say to you before I go away. Mr. Huntley, will you fetch me my fan, which I have left on the piano? -Thanks. Now we have got rid of him, my dear, I can say what I have to say." "But probably he will comeback," said Kate, with'a thrill of fear. "I don't think he will. Fred Huntley has a great deal of sense. When I send, him off with a ijommission like that, of course he knows we don't want him here and I am so glad he is gone, Kate, for it was to speak of him I came." (To speak of—him!" "Yes, indeed,"- said Lady Wftiton.. "Tell me frankly, Kate, as one woman to another, which is it to be?" "Which is what to be?—I don't understand you," said Kate, flushing crimson: "which of which? Lady Winton, I can't even guess what you mean." "Oh yes, you can," said her new adviser. "My dear, it is not permitted by our laws to have two husbands, and that makes, two lovers very dangerous—I always warn a girl against it. You think, perhaps, there is no harm, and that one of them will be wise enough not to go too far but they will go too far, those silly men—and when they don't, we despise them, my dear,"1' said the experienced woman. "A woman may shilly-shally, and hold off and on, and make an entertainment of it—but when a man is capable of that sort of thing he is not worth a thought and so I ask, which is it to be?"

It will be seen from this that Lady Winton, like so many clever women of her age, was deeply learned in all questions that arise between men and women. She had studied the matter at first hand, of course, in her youth and thought she had never keen a flirt, she had not been absolutely devoid of opportunity for study, even in her maturer years, when the faculty of observation was enlarged, and ripe judgment had come and accordingly she spoke with authority, as one fully competent to fathom and realize the question which she thus fearlessly opened. As for Kate, she changed color a great many times while she was being addressed, but her courage did not fail. 'iMr. Huntley is my friend," she said, facing her accuser bravely "as for which it is to be, I introduced Mr. Mitford to you, Lady Winton—" "Yes, my dear, and that is what makes me ask and a very nice voung fellow, I am sure—a genuine reliable sort of young mm, Kate—" "Oh, isn't he? cried that unchangeable personage, with eyes glowing and sparkling "Dear Lady winton, you always understand—that is just what he is—one could trust him with anything and he would neverfail." "You strange girl," said Lady Winton, "what do you mean? Why, you are.in earnest!- and yet you sit ana talk with Fred Huntley a whole evening in a corner, and do everything vou can to break the other poor fellow's heart." "The other poor fellow is not here," said Kate, with a half-alarmed glance round her. If it came to that, she felt that after all she would not have liked John to have watched her interview with her friend 'and his and then she perceived that she had betrayed herself, and colored high, recollecting that she was under keen feminine inspection which missed nothing. "Don't trust to that," said Lady Winton "you may be sure there is somebody here who will let him know. I don't say much about Fred Huntley's heart, lor he is very well able to takecareef that but, Kate, for Heaven's sake, mind what you are about! Don't get into the habit of encouraging one man because another is absent and will not know. Everybody knows everything, my dear there is no such thing as a secret you forget there are more than a dozen pairs of eyes in this very room." "Lady Winton," said Kate, "I am not afraid of any one seeing what I do. I hope I have not done anything wrong: and as for Mr. Mitford, I Know him and he knows me." "Well, well—let us hope so,'.' said Lady Winton, with a prolonged shake of her head "and I hope he is more philosophical than I gave him credit for I should not have said it was his strong point But, however, as you are very sure, my dear—" "Perfectly sure," said Kate, with dignity and the moment she had said it, would have liked-to throw her urns round her monitor's neck and have a good cry but that was quite impossible in thp circumstances and Fred Huntley from afafr seeing the two ladies imperceptibly apart, ana seeing their conversation had come to an end, approached with the fan, and took up his position in front of them, and managed to bride about a general conversation. He did it very skillfully, and contrived to cover Kate's annoyance and smooth her down, and restore her self command and that nipht was only friendly but grateful to him, which was a further step in the downwaid way. [To be continued in the Sunday Expreu.]

The town of Good Hatchet, in Idaho, is offset by Bad Axe, in Michigan.

AN INTRODUCTION TO TECUMF. -v"

Gen. McGinn la Relates an Incident of His First Meeting with Gen. Shu-man. General George F. McGinn is, in an article in the Veterans' Review, tells the following story of his first meeting with General W. T. Sherman: ."About 8 o'clock a. m., April 8, 1862, the morning after the second day's fight at Shiloh, while quietly seated at my headquarteiK-. #was the butt end of a tree,

r'

pUd and about 300

yards Shiloh meeting house, my attentiou "va^ttracted by a solitary horseman comiiff in my direction. He was ^bessed in citizens' clothes which wonld not improperly have been called 'misfit.' He was lean and lank, with sandy complexion, hair and beard, the latter looking as though it had not been cut for a week or ten days.- I concluded from his general appearance, that he was an honest old farmer, who had a son in the army, and, being anxious about .'him, had left home, without preparation, as soon as he got news of the battle to look after and care for that son in case he should find him killed or wound. As soon as my supposed farmer came within speaking distance, the following conversation took place: "I—'Good mgminp, sir.' "He—'Good morning. What regiment is this?' "I—'The Eleventh Indiana, sir.' 1 "He—'Who is the colonel?' "I—'McGinnis.' "He—'Where is McGinnis?' "I—'I'm the man, sir.' "He—(Looking at me with astonishment, and apparently amazed that such a looking chap as I was should be intrusted with the command of a regiment of men) 'I am General Sherman.' "I—(My turn to be astonished, and for the moment dumbfounded, and without tiiinking of the enormity of the offense). 'The (revised edition).you are I" "He—Seeing the point and taking in the situation, smilingly, 'Yes.' "There had been an alarm in camp that morning: the men on picket duty in front of onr bivouac had deserted their posts and come tearing through our quarters as though the whole rebel army was at their heels. I succeeded in persuading a strapping big lieutenant to stop long enough to tell me that they had been driven in by the rebelty and he went on. I couldn't get another word out of him. He was the worst scared man I ever saw. There was not a word of truth in his story, as the whole rebel army was miles away from us and making the best of their way to Corinth. The alarm was caused by several of our own regiments (that had arrived on the field too late to take part in the battle of the 7th) discharging their pieced. This was done without authority from headquarters, and without notice to anyone, and for a few minutes created great excitement, leading many to believe that another battle was on. This affair riled General Sherman terribly. He put on his war paint and started out to give orders in person. After our introduction the general asked for information in relation to any disturbance or trouble in our front, and received all I could give him. He then delivered a short oration on the breach of discipline and the enormity of the offense of the indiscriminate discharge of fire-arms under such circumstances, and closed with a positive order to me to arrest any man, no matter who or what he was, who was caught in the act of firing a gun or pistol, send him, under guard, to his headquarters, when he, Sherman, would have him shot. I assured General Sherman his order should be obeyed. He was further assured that no man in the Seventh regiment had discharged a gun that morning: that on the contrary all our guns had been discharged in a parting shot at the Johnnies late in the afternoon of the day before, and that all the men were then engaged in cleaning their arms.

Fhe general, apparently satisfied that his orders would be a obeyed, with a asant good morn in?, passed on up the. road, and I reoccupied my headquarters.' A verbal message was immediately

Bent

to company officers to caution their men in regard to firing, and informing them of Sherman's orders. Sherman had certainly not gone more than 100 yards, when 'bang' went a musket right on the left of my regiment. I knew it was in company 'K. I looked up the road, saw Sherman stop and look hack, jumped to my feet and started toward the left, just as Sherman turned his horse to come back. I got to 'K' quarters but a minute after my message had been delivered, and asked, 'Who fired that gun?' The answer crme back from a dozen throats, *It was over in the regiment on the left, colonel.' O, but the private soldiers were sharp. "Said I: 'Are you sure it was not fired by a Company man Every man was suie. "SaidI: 'There is General Sherman ready to have the man who fired that gun shot, if he can be found. Are you still sure as to where that shot was fired. Every man was willing to swear and stick to it that the shot was fired by the regiment on our left, and they were so earnest about it,, that I wanted to believe them.. ... "In fact I was so anxious and determined to save one of my boys from being shot that I did belive them, and reported to Sherman, who was waiting for me, that I had thought at first the shot was fired in my regiment, but after a hasty investigation, I was fully satisfied that it was in the next regiment beyond,, and doubtless accidental. "He looked a little queer, asked some very direct questions, acted as though he didn't believe me" any more than I believfed the boys, and with the caution 'tell the boys to be careful or somebody will get hurt,' rode away. "This was my first introduetion to General Sherman."

A Model Wedding Exhortation by an Archbishop. The address of the archbishop of Canterbury at the nuptials of the Princess Beatrice and Prince Henry of Battenberg should bear repeating in part, in a column to which the attention of those interested in weddings is so often directed. It might suggest to th£ clergy of this country' something for their future exhortations at such times. The archbishop took as his text, "O well is thee and happy shalt 'thou be," the words of' the marriage psalm. He laid particular emphasis on the-fact that all the gilts of the connubial bliss come earliest and stay longest for those to whom wedded life is the perfection of friendship. "All friendship is nearest in thought and taste, in feelings and habits. Married happinesB is friendship in perfection. At first it is only by constant sacrifice that each becomes the devoted friend of the other. But when such mutual sacrifice growg perfect it is no sacrifice then both hearts are free and able to dedicate all their spirits' wealth .to the service of all high purpose." -,\f-

Ellen Terry's Adoration.

Chicago New*. It seems that when Mr, Booth reached London he was rather coolly receive^ by Mr. Henry Irving and the Lyceum pi pie, but' after the press and pnolic of the metropolis had united in teetiing to the genius, talents and art of the merican actor Mr. Irving came down from his high, horse and began patronizing Booth in the most ostentatious manner. And in the course of time Irving suggested that Booth and he appear together in one of the Shakespearian plays, which suggestion was promptly to by Booth. At the first re-

heanal Booth met Miss Ellen Terry. She was to have a part in the piece, and she was dancing on and off the stage in the most airy-like manner imaginable. A hum, mow had been swung for her in one of the wings, and into this hammock she threw hereelf and lolled back luxuriously whenever she felt so'disposed, While Irving was superintending the arranging

of certain scenery at the other end ofthi dtage Booth approached Miss Terry for a friendly chat. The lissom creature had dropped into the hammock and yis swaying to and fro, with one of her cosy feet ana willowy ankles skillfully revealed from below a wreath of clinging, fleecy white. "Now, do yon know, Mr. Booth," said Miss Terry, in the tone of a petted and spoiled darling, "I just hated you when you first came to London "Indeed and why so?" asked Mr. Booth. "Bacause," rented Miss Terry, pointing both hands in the'direction oi Mr. Irving and 'choking up with emotion, "because I thought you had come to dethrone my god!"

Fresh Fashion Notes.

Narrow colored ribbons around the neck^are* a very pretty caprice of fashion. Very fine silk tulle veils are now to be procured in every color instead of the thick dots they are oramented with small woven-in rings.

The latest things in parasols are covers of printed handken&iefs, witfi heraldic patterns, so laid cWfer one another that the points fit in exaotly between each other.

Blouse waists, with their broad gimps and fancy trimmings, have been the means of agaiii bringing into fashion large embroidered collars. These are executed in Venetian embroidery.

Gloves' are not worn so soiled this season as they were last, and there is^s disposition to revert io French kid, af^* a long course of Suede. In beige ana" theX-des of fawn so popular now the fo^^X^Dk well.

Njacyto make waistsand sleeves

of A material is more and more man^ or ins tan oe, in a satin and lace co -d, the bodice was satin and the sleeves vere lace. Another, velvet and wool, bad tne bodice of woolen material and velvet sleeves.

For the hot time of year the effective linen Eussian blouses embroidered in cross stitch are. a pretty and becoming finish to the peasant p$Ucoats, which are such suitable dresses for young ladiov A Eussian apron to match makes the dress into a very elegant house toilet

A new fashion is .just beginning in Paris. The trimmings of the high nats are all to be placed at the back, and the effect is just as though the. hat had been put on with the back to'the front. A whole cascade of feathers is thus placed on some of the hats, with the curly tips just showing from a front view. Or else it is a shower of loops in moire ribbon that falls from the crown to the very edge of the brim at the back, with a few drops from the shower hanging in front

An elegant little cap made of fine lawn, very much in the style of the picturesque Dutch cap, serves as a pretty addition to a nice morning toilet or matinee dress. The point of the same, reaching almost to the forehead, is edged with fine Valenciennes, a folded, veil-piece falls backward over the hair, while a fanlike lace arrangement fills up the sides. The hem of tne veil-piece is trimmed with a fine gold cord, also going around the edge of the front, and a second thicker cord goes underneath the hair apparently securing the cap on the head.

An Afflicted Boy's Achievements. Lowell (Mass.) Courier. Mr. G. B. Williams, of Mendon, has a son who was born without arms or legs, and yet goes around the village and fills a worthy place in the youthful society of the town, with promise of an active and useful manhood in the yean to come. He is twelve years of age. His features are rather old-looking for his years and the expression is bright and intelligent His language and look indicate a belief In his ability to take care of himself before a great while. He is nearly qualified to entei the high school of the town, and his writing is above the average. In accomplishing the. -latter work the pen is held under the chin, and with the aid of the shoulder the tracings are made. He attends the public school and goes around the village without the aid of any other person, but the means to this end were. n6t invented until within a year or no, and not until after along time of study upon the subject and the trial of several aids, which proved bv experience to be of little use. He could, get up and down stairs, put on his cap, and roll or throw himseli from one point in the room to another without help, but to go much outside of the house it was necessary to carry him. Now he carries himself. For this purpose a pair of wheels similar to those on- a boy's velocipede were procured and the axle padded. The boy rests his chest on the pad, and by means of his imperfect lower limb propels himself around town. It required some practice to learn to balance himself, but he soon overcame the difficulty. "I can go any wiere I want to," said the lad. "Can go down hill faster than a walk, but have to rest on up grades." He does not, complain of any pain or trouble in the stomach from resting the weight of his bocly on ft so much. In spite of this affliction and the way he is handicapped in the race fox worldly rewards he impresses the stranger as one who bids fur to make his mark by strong mental attainments.

A Woman With 2§7 Descendants. Baltimore Amerimn. Miss Mary Barefoot, aged 93 yeaita'and nine months, died* July 28, in Bedford county, Pa. She was born' in Frederick county, Md., October 11, 1791. She was a zealous member of the Evangelical church. For the past forty years she was a widow, and she clied in the house which she helped to build sixty-eight years ago, when she first moved to Bedford. Mrs. Barefoot was the mother of twelve children, ten of whom are living. The number of her grandchildren living is ^2 dead, 18. Great-grandchildren living, 165 dead, 19. Great-great-grandcbil--dren living,10 dead, 2. The total number of her descendants living is 257. In her younger days, when doctors were scarce, Mrs. Barefodt was looked upon as high authority in cases of sickness, and acted as physiciap for many persons. The funeral took {dace from the Reformed church in Pleasantville, and 'was one of the largest ever held in the town. The Eev. E. F. Dickey, of the Evangelical church, officiated, assisted by the Eev. K. S. Stine, of the M. E. church.,

The Diva's First Failure.

Blanohe Booeerolt in Charleston (8. C.) News. You will be surprised to learn that the .first failure ever recorded to Adelina Patti's name is put, down to her "Carmen." Not for her acting, which was delightful all throughout, but for her voice, which, in a part requiring the mezzo and contralto registers, was absolutely out of place and qiade but slight efiect The audience was too surprised lo speak of the performance other to say, "Patti- has made hei first mistake." It will be her last, I am sure. She is toe greatr—too far above all other living singers to permit herself these trial performances, and her vsice, which shows such phenomenally low notes when siifg-

which the Of course contesting bly su its author standing the

Et.

ing her own sgprano rolee, is totally dil-1 other ausperfc

ferent in "Carmen." '.af-*

BP

PRESERVING HUMAW BODIES

A Novel Method Invented by a Ttutek Chemist. A French analytical chemist ealls attention to a novel method of preserving dead bodies. He has tried his invention on eleven human corpses and more than a hundred dead aniinals, and' says it lias answered perfectly iif every case. Hie system of burial in use at present is a fruitful source of disease to the livitw, as we all know, and cremation, besides being repugnant to most people's feelings, robe justice of a means at describing crime. The new process is simple enough. The body is ruobed with plumbago, and then plunged into a bath of molten metal, chosen according to the length of the purse of the defunct's friends zinc for the poor, brasB lor the well-to-do, and so on up to gold for the wealthy. Those who do not like the idea of being given to' the worms or reduced to ashes ought to hail Mr. Kervovatz's discovery with satisfaction, and all who believe in keeping air ana water unpolluted are ready to listen to any plan for doing away with our present burial system. It was inevitable that the comic side of thfo idea should immediately strike the French. Mr. Albert Milland, the witty chronicler of the Paris Figaro, suggests that this might be the means of introducing a little fixity into the French government On his death, the president of the republic might be turned into a statue, gold of course, and made to do duty for ever and ever. It would only be necessary to have a spring fastened to the hand for the purpose of signing documents, "the late Grevy." It is true that the duties of President Grevy, like those of Queen Victoria, might verv well be performed by an automatic machine. Of course, if a monarchy should ever again find favor with the French, and oust him from his post, this goldeh president could 4be

vyP r- ." fratributed among "lie

Peculiar WilL

(ew Orleans Fiwjm ^jd then called on to

decide upon the validity of some strange wills and testaments, but the one of a cot-ton-spinner who has just died at Valreas, in the South of France, is certainly entitled to rank with most original of such documents on record in this or any other country. The first clause of M. Henri Meynard's will reads: "I bequeath my estate, situate at Valreas, to my mortal remains," and then goes on to direct that the coffin^ containinr

V!-

his body must cut in a solid is to be run

be deposited in" a tomt block of stone into the intent top so that tta^ one solid mass. 4|H»e*e cemented on the top, af novel funeral montfment in the cupola of his house. thus devised is, apart from the aft collections that it contains, worth $40,000, and it is, hereafter, to remain untouched excepting for repairs, and to have «s sole inhabitants, during their life, the dogS| chickens, pigeons, and other pets,*

rtSen' which t&is to bent up The property

had a large assortment, 're of Afeynard iatend .j and they will probathe p^ur^ that a madman, jthjftihfthat he had wit enough

to amass a handsome fortune, carry on successfully an extensive manufacturing establishment, and serve creditably as a member of the Censeil Generel of nis department.

Fate-of a Kentucky Paris. V— Lomsrille Courier-Journal. Miss Carrie Barton, living on the Newburg roadrgave a party Tuesday night. The affair wai success, Mid the feetivities we. unf Tupted until voting began in a for a silver cup which was to be giver .o the handsomest couple

resent, the question to be decided by balWhen tne votes were counted it was found that Mr. Harry Smart and Misa Lillie Hamer were the lucky pair. The decision did please four or five other handsome feL. ws, each of whom thought that. he and his girl were dead sure of winning the cup.. They .made commoncause against/imart, whom they .united in& calling a "dude," &c. Smart stood their jeers and chaffing until one of them, in the midst of a sentimental song by Smart's girl, Miss Hamer, asked him the loan of his face to fight a dog. was too much, and *a free fight during which furniture was scattered, llgL'~ turned out and general havoc created, -tfee battle ceased a dozen or so injured and. broken noses were' found. On nis way aCiae Smart was in attack^ and cut in the arm by one 'is assailants.

TaJentat a Discount^

Lewiston (Me.) Journal $ f.jtiMji, There is preaching in a oertain rural town in Maine a gentleman of fine culture, of rare literary attainments, of great general information, of profound religious experience, of original powers of thought and expression. He receive^* salary of $8 a week. He" has a voluminous library, is a walking encyclopediais the village factotum. He is collega bred, and is the best definition of a Christian—a perfect (gentleman. Says one who has heard him preach: "He has preached some of the most remarkable sermons I ever heard." Th&e is a deal of luck and chance ih the matter of appreciation, and a. vast amount depends upon personal magnetism.

Georgia's Mocking-Bird Sales. 4 Atlanta Constitution. Many mocking-birds are shipped from Atlanta every seasdn to the north and west The young birds are caught by the hundred by small boys, who peddle them at fifty cents each.- They are kept in their native clime until they are four or five months old, and then are sent by express to all parts of the. country. A good bird, four months old, is worth from §3 to $5. They sing-well when a year old. It is astonishing to what extent their iinitative faduhies by patient

•*&

Mi",

^1

ong oj

The Last of Six Agefl Brokers. Danville (Va.) Register. At Leatfeerwood, ih Henry county, Wednesday, Mr. Willis Gravely, one of the oldest and most esteemed citizens of that county, laid down his burden and went to rest. He was 85 years of age and had spent the greater part of his life at hi£ home. He began the manufacture of tobacco in 1828 with Mr. PeytonGravely, sr., and itinued in the business up'"' the beginning .of the war. He lived .c the fine old country hon^e, and the latch string alwavs hung 'on the outside of the door. Mr.Gravely was a member of the Christian chuBii, in that faith. He was a meet citizen and highly esteemed by-his bore, but he lived with them ei^hty-hv* yfears without all. ring himself to hold a public office. He is the last of a family ot brothers who were remarkable for thau* longevity. Mr! J&mes Gravely died at the age of 97 Mr. Joseph Gravely ("Uncle Jeff"), was 92 at the time of" his death Mr. Edwin Gravely 93, Mr. Louis Gravely 89, and the late George Gravely! one of finest old gentlemen in the county, passed away at the ripe old age of vJ. There was also a sister who lived to be 92 years of age.

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