Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 3 October 1886 — Page 5

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THE LINDEN TREE.

Hv neighbor He'oi, the carpenter, who lives

MTOIH

the way, ..

VjWtf «at to fell tbe linden tree before bis door

cried, tatoniahed:

4iNeighbor

Hftlffl, wbat

IUVB yon in your niod? w* tree protects your little hone from weather and from wind." He pin««4 a mumei from the work, and fixed eyes On me, Itva lung, totens Mid leVLnglj mp to the dear old tree Vkn, resting both hands on the aae, ha bowed yj hta aged head, fju&j leaning 'gainst the linden, Ihaak J&h #u!m Migkbor," softly said.

Hfcis tree my father planted on the day when Jft.fi bora 1 0 ha re an 4 so a

7 saat

its

eeTentieth

morn

•v-. fty joong bride on our marriage day, in gxrl.xsw 'ish pride and glee, ?.yp Julefitd my bat wan leaflets plnoked from •^tba Mils same linden tree.

5* Tfm ell oar guests this little house waa far too low and email, W anderneath tfce linden waa the bacqoet tpiesdforall £ad when, to blesi oar happy home, ere long Hit a dear eon came,

Jo pride and Joy I graved.

-ri

6

fe,'

&

II" '1

opon

i" bark his name.

the Undan

'Jfte linden grew and flourished, t^e toy 'be"L earns a man— i'oldier and rn Leipeio's plain stood in me

A hat'ell*decked with linden to the battlefield he wore. He fell by Leipsic's ramparts, and we never aaw him more.

There's a tablet in nnr ehnreh wall, and on it these words stand: •Tonim Fianci* Helm, who nobly died for

King and Fstherlaod.'

Wy wife and 1, amid onr teat*—thank God! no more she grieve*— Wonnd ronnd the sad memorial a wreath of linden leares.

Jer life's b#st days were ended, onr hope and Joy had fled, ffhat con Id life give of gladnees now onr noble boy was dead? 9ao deeply on the old wife's heart grief for her darltn gprest, Aad Gud to-day hath freed hei from earth's sorrow and nnrert.

•a, neighbor, this is why I now tntjfifn the linden tree. wood will make a eoffln for my life's one lore and me. Mecits linked like oars in Joy and woe death will not long divide, fa lay ma in that dreamless sleep, elose by the old wife's side." —f After the Oerinan, in' Beaton Tiaaaoript,

THE EVIL GENIUS.

By WILKIE COLLINS,

ABtho- of "The Woman la White,""Hevr Maedalen," "Tbe Moonstone," The Law and the Lady," "Armadale,"Bte.,Bte.J

BEFORE THE STORY.

TH» X-AHDLOBB.

4

Mrs. Westerfield's destination was the •public house in whieh she had been once ^aaployed as a barmaid. Entering the place without hesitation, she sent in her dud to the landlord. He opened the fvrlor door himself and invited her to iralk in. "Tou wear well," he said.admiring her. "Mare you come here to be my barmaid vj «ftain?" 'i) "Do you think I am reduced to that^" i-4 the answered. "Well, my dear, more unlikely things have happened They tell me yon depend for your income on Lord Le Basque—and lie lordshi p's death was in the newspapers last week." "And his lordship's lawyers continue ipy allowance."

Having smartly set the landlord right tho^e words, she had not thought it •scessary to add that Lady Le Barque, tentinuing the allowance at her husband's request, had also noticed that it would cease if Mrs. Westerfield married •gain, "You're a lucky woman," the landlord remarked. "Well, I'm gl*d to see you. \That will you take, to drink?"

,:NotfiiBK,

thank you. Lwanttoknow

if you h*ve heard anythin« lately of James Bellbridge." The landlord was a popular person in bis own circle not accustomed to restrain himself when he saw his way to a jeke. "Here's constancy!" he said. •i "She's sweet on James after having jilted

Aim twelve years ago!", Mrs. Westerfield rose with dignity. "I am accustomed to be treated respecttolly." «he replied. "I wish y6u goodaaornine."

The easy landlord pressed h*r back Into her. chairs "Don't be a fool," he tfrid, "James is in London James is jl jttjiog in my house. What do you thiok of that?"

MM. Westerfield's bold gray eyes exnefesed enger curiosi'y and^ interest, •iron don't meon that he is going to be %Mtn*n here again?" **Ne such luck, my daar he is a genfelanan at large, who patronises my fjmtfce" •Mm. Westerfield wept oa with her •Mrtiona. "Has he left America for good "Not he! James Bellbridge is going III* •o New York to open a saloon (as

Mil

it) in partnership with another

•BM. He's in England, he gays, on busi-

R.

It's my belief that he wants money this new venture, on bad security. re smart people in New York. His •»«ly chance of getting his bills discount frt it to humbug his relations down in fto country." "When does he go to the country there aow. ^vben does he come back "Tou're determined to see him, it apjMjbrs. He comes baek to-morrow." •Is he mariied?,'

»W'i

aAha1

now we're eoming to the point,

ttatn your mind easy. Plenty of women Kg set the trap for him but lie has «ot walked into it yet. Shall I give him 5*sr leve?" °Tr«," she said eoolly. "As much lov» Ml you please." %|c*ning marriage?" the landlord in-

^Ind ®oney," Mrs. Westerfield C^ded.

f-

"Icrd Le Basque's money?" "Lord Le Basque's money may

go

to

Hheievil!" "Hullo! Yeur language reminds me Ht the time when you wen barmaid, Ton don't mean to say that you have bad a fortune left you?" "I do? Will you give a message to Jfemet?" "I'll do anything for a lady with a ftttane." "Tall him to eome and drink tea with lis eld sweetheart to-morrow at six' Veleek." "He won't do it" "He will."

With that ciferenee of opinio®, they «ted.

TI.-TM urn and Mrs. Wester-

«une,

Aj|^ds Mthfal James justified her eoa'fi«aeein him. •'Oh, Jemmy, how glad I ana to see

Tew dear^ dear fellow, I'm yonrs

/tsr

"That depends, my lady, on whether I want you. Let go of my neck.'^ 5 The man who entered this protest against imprisonment in the arms of a fine woman was one of the human beings who &T6 grown to perfection on English soiL He had the fat face, the pink complexion, the hard bine eyes, the scanty yellow hair, the smile with no meaning ia it, the tremendous neck and shoulders, the mighty fists and feet which are seen in complete combination in England only. Men of this breed poesefes a nervous system without being aware of it suffer afflction without feeling it exercise courage without & sense of danger marry without love eat and drink without limit and sink, big 83 they are, when disease attacks them, without an efiort to live.

Mia. Westerfield released her guest's bull n«ck at the word of command. It was impossible not to submit to him— he was se brutal. It was impossible not to admire him—he was so big. "Have you no love for me?" was all she ventured to say.

He took the remonstrance good humoredly. "Love!" he repeated. "Come! I like that—after throwing me over for a man with a handle to his name. Which am I to call you: 'Mrs.' or 'My lady?" "Call me your own. What is there to laugh at, Jemmy? You used to be fond cf me you would never have gone to America when I married Westerfield if I hadn't been dear to you. Oh, if I'm sure of anything, I'm sure of that! You wouldn't bear malice, dear, if jou oniyknew how cruelly I have been disa

He suddenly showed an interest in what she was saying the brute became eheery and confidential, "So he made you a bad husband, did he? Up with his fist and .knocked you down, I dare say, if the truth was known." "You're all in the wrong, dear. He would have been a good husband if I had cared «6out him. I never cared about anybody but you. It wasn't Westerfield /ifho tempted me to eay Yes "That's a lie." "No, indeed, it isn't." "Then why the devil did you' marry him "When I married him, Jemmy, there was a prospect—oh, how could I resist it? Think of being one of the Le Basques! Held in honor, to the end of my life, by that noble family, whether my husband lived or died!"

To the barman's ears this sound»i like sheer nonsense. His experience in the public house suggested an explanation. "I say, my girl, have you been drinkipg?''

Mrs. Westerfield's first impulse led her to rise and point indignantly to the door. He had only to look at her—and she sat down again a tamed woman. "You dontf understand how the chance tempted me," she answered, gently^ "Wha-. chance do you mean? "The chance, dear, of being a lord's mother."

He was still puzzled but he lowered his tone. The trueborn Briton bowed by instinct before the woman who had jilted him when she presented hersell in the character of a lord's mother. "Hew do you make that out, Maria?" he asked, politely. "When Westerfield was courting me," she said, "his brother (my lord) was a bachelor. A lady—if one can call such a creature a lady—was living under his protection. He told Westerfield he was very fond of her and he hated the idea of getting married. 'If your wife's first child turns out to be a son,' he said, 'there is an heir to the title and the estates, and I may go on as I am now. We were married a month afterward—and when my first child was bora it was a girl. I leave yon to judge what the disappoint ment was. My lord (persuaded, as I suspect, by the woman I mentioned just now) ran the risk of waiting another year and a year afterward, rather than be married. Throngh all that time I had no other child or prospect of a child. His lordship was fairly driven into taking a wife. Ah, how I hate her! Their first child was a boy—a big, bouncing, healthy brute of a boy! And six months afterward my poor little fellow was born, Only think of it! And tell me Jemmy, don't I deserve to be a happy womjm, after suffering such a dreadful disappointment as that? Is it true that you're going back to America?" "Quite true." "Take me back with you." f"With a couple of children "No. Only with one. I can dispose of the other in England. Wait a little before you say No. Do yon watat money "You couldn't help me, if I did." "Marry me and I can help you to a fortune."

He eyed her attentively and saw that she was in earnest. "What do you call a fortune?" he asked. "Five thousand pounds," she answered.

His eyes opened his mouth opened he scratched his head. Even his impenetrable nature proved to be capable of receiving a shock. Five thousand pounds! He asked faintly for "a drop of brandy."

She had a bottle of branJy rea-'y for him. "You look quite overcome," sh 'aid. He was too u-eply interested in It restorative influence of the brandy to ke any notice of this remark. Whe. he had recovered himself he was. so imos to be in he iv pounds. "Where's the proof of it? he asked sternly, 8he produced her husband's 1«" "Did you read the trial of Westei I. •for casting away his ship?" she askeu "I heard of it." "Will you look at this letter?" "Is it long?" "Yes." "Then suppose you read it to me."

He listened with the closest attention while she read. The question of stei ing the diamonds (if they could only be found) did not trouble either of them. It was a settled question by tacit consent, on both sides. But the value in money of the nrecious stones suggested a doubt that still weighed on his mind. "How do you know they're worth five thousand pounds?" he inquired, "You dear old stupid! Doesn't Westerfield himself say so in his letter?" "Bead that bit again."

Satisfied so far, he wanted to look at the ciphet next. She handed it to him with a stipulation. "Yours, Jemmy, on the day when you marry me."

He put the slip of paper into his pocket. "Now, I've got it," he said, "sup pose I keep it

A woman who has been barmaid at a public house is a woman not easily found at the end of her resources. "In that case," she curtly remarked, "I should first call in the police, and then telegraph to my husband's employers jn Liverpool."

Henanded the cipher back. "I was joking," he said. "80 was I," she answered.

They looked at each other. They were made for each other—and they both felt it. At the same time James kept his own interests steadily in view. He stated the obvious objection to the cipher. Experts had already tried to interpret 4he signs and had failed. "Quite true," she added, "bat other people may succeed." "How are you to find them?" "Leave me try. Will yon give me a fortnight from to-day?" "All right. Anything else "One thing more. Get the marriage license at once." "Why?" "To show you that yon are In earnest."

He burst out laughing. "It mightn't be much amiss," he said, "if I took you

back with me to America youie the] sort of woman we want in our new saloon. I'll get the license. Goodn«ht."

As he rose to go, there was a soft knock at the door. A little girl, in a shabby frock, ventured to show, herself in the room. "What do you want here?" her mother asked, Bharply. 8yd held out a small thin hand, with a letter in it, which represented her only exense. Mrs. Westerfield. read the letter and crumpled it up in her pocket. 'One of your secrets?" Jamee asked. "Anything about diamonds, for irstance?" "Wait till yon are mr husband," she said, "and then you may be as inquisitive as you please." Her amiable sweetheart's guess had ectoally hit the mark. Daring the year that had paseed she, too, had tried her luck am in ihj Hj»ris and had failed. Havi rei ii'lv t-P.ttd of a foreign interpr^^r ..f rtj.ti. is, hli« [tad written to ask bis •••rm-.. t'ne i« pW 1j 1st received) not only uu-a-ed M-ryiCrs at an extravagan 'S tM' rntv, hut. m-ked cautious qutsti.-iifc cii it nt-t convenient to answer, n-jtiu nttf«'ji had been rnsde to disc -ver the wyf-tety of the cipher and made in vain._ .James Ballbrid^e had his rtumants of good humor,

and

Mrs. Westerfield Bmiled sweetly and answered: "Yes, dear."

vn—THE CIPHKB.

An advertisement in the newspapers^ addressed to persons skilled in the inter pretation of ciphers, now represented Mrs. Westerfield's only chanqe of discovering where the diamonds were hidden, The first answer that she received made some amends for previous disappointment. It offered references to gentlemen whose names were in themselves a suflr cient guarantee. She verified the references, nevertheless, and paid a visit to her correspondent on the same day.

His personal appearance was not in his favor—he was old and dirty, infirm and poor. His mean room was littered with shabby books. None of the^ ordianary courtesies of life seemed to be known te him he neither wished Mm. Westerfield ^ood-morning nor asked her to take seat. When she attempted to enter into explanations relating to her errand, he rudely interrupted her. "Show me your cipher," he said "I don't premise to study it unless I find it worth my while.

Mrs. Westerfield was alarmed. "Do you mean that you want a large sum of money?" she asked. "I mean that I don't waste mv time on easy ciphers invented by fools."

She laid the slip of paper on his desk "Waste your time on that," she said satirically, "and see how you like it!"

He examined it—first with his bleared red-rimmed eyes then with a magnifying glass. The only expression of opinion that escaped him was indicted bv his actions. He shut up his book and gloaded over the signs and characters before hinj. On a sudden he looked at Mrs. Wdbsterfield. "How did you come by this?" he asked. "That's no business of yours." "In other words, you have reasons of your own for not answering my question?" "Yes."

Drawing his own inferences from that reply, he showed his three last-left yellow teeth in a horrid grin. "I'nnderstand 1" he ssid, 8)making to himself. He looked at the cipher once more, and put another question: ''Have .yon got a copy-of this?"

It had not occurred to her to take ropy. He rose and pointed to his empty chair. His opinion of the cipher was, to all appearance, forced to express itself by the discovery that there was no copy. ''Do you know what might happen he asked. "The only cipher that has puzzled me for the lest ten years might be lost—or stolen—or burnt if there was fire in the house. You deserve to be pun ished for your carelessness. 'Make the

copy yourself." The desirable sugeestion (uncivilly as it had been expressed) had its effect upon Mrs. Westerfield. Her marriage de pended on that precious slip of paper. She was confirmed in her opinion that this very disagreeable man might nevertheless be a man to be tfusted. "Shall ^rou be long in finding out what it means?" she asked, when her task was completed.

He carefully compared the copy with the original—and then he replied. "Days may pass before I can find the clew I won't attempt it unless you give me a week."

She pleaded for a shorter interval. He cooly handed back her papers the original and the copy. "Try somebody else," he suggested— and opened his book again. Mr. Westerfield yielded with the worst possible grace. In granting him the week of de lay she approached the subject of his fee for the second time. "How much will it cost me she inquired. "I'll tell you when I've done." "That won't do! I must know the nount first."

He handed her btek her papers for the S9nd time. Mrs. Westerfield's experice of poverty had never been the exjrience of sucn independence as this. In sheer bewilderment, she yielded again, He took back the original cvpher, and locked it up in his desk. "Gall here this day week," he said—and returned to his book. "You are not very polite," she told him, on leaving the roem. "At any rate," he answered, "I don't interrupt people when they are reading."

The week passed. Repeating her visit, Mrs. Westerfield found him still at M? desk, still surrounded by his bookb, s.iil careless of the polite attentions that he owed to a lady. "Well," she asked, "have you earned your money?" -v "I have found the clue." "What is it?" she bunt out "Tell me the substance. I can't wait to read."

He went on impenetrably with what he bad to say. "But there are some minor combinations which I have still to disoover Ito my own satisfaction. I want a few days more."

She positively refused to eomply with this request. "Write down the substance of it," she repeated, "and tell me what I owe you.'

He handed her back hereipher for the third time. The woman who .could have kept her temper under sueh provocation as this, may be found when the mathematician is found who can square the circle, or the inventor who |can discover perpetual motion. With a furious took Mrs. Westerfield expressed her opinion of the ihilteopher in two words: "You rate!" She failed to produce the slightest impression on him. "My work," he proceeded, "mnst be well done or not done .at alL This is Saturday, 11th of the month. We willj say the evening of Wednesday next."

Mrs. Westerfield sufficiently control! herself to be able to review her

pieGS train conveyed passengers to Liverpool to be in time for the departure of the steamer for New York on Saturday morning. Having made these calculations she asked, with sulky submission, if she was expected to call again on Wednesday evening. 'No, Leave me your name and address. I will send yon the cipher, interpreted, at 8 o'clock."

Mrs. Westerfield laid one of her visiting cards on his desk and left him. To be Continued In the Sunday Expren

THE POWER OF EXORCISM

An

Old Scotch I^geoA t,ayln* Perturbed Bhoets. V: London Globe,

No persons were less tolerant of necromancy than the Puritans of the seventeenth century, the witch persecutions of Salem formiog the darkeBt page in the history of the colony. Many of these stern professors, who bnrnt old women

for

was, on there iare occa­

sions, easily amused. He eyed the child with condescending curioeity. "Looks half starved," he said, as if he was con sidering the case of astray oat "Hullo, there! Buy a bit of bread." He tossed a penny to Syd as she left the room, and took the opportunity of binding his bargain with Syd's mother. "Mind I if I take you to New York I'm not to be burdened with both your children. Is that girl the one you leave behind you?"

the supposed exercising of unlawful arts, claimed various supernatural powers for themselves. But, as expressions which are "choleric words" to the captain become "rank blasphemy" in the meuth of the soldier, so dealings with unseen forces which were highly reprehensible iB the case of ignorant old women became lawful, even laudable, in the case of the student or the enthusiast. There is a Scotch legend of a pious old minister of a country parish in the seventeenth century ho had entered into a league with a familiar spirit and was thought none the worse of for it by Us parishioners. Like Solomon, the minister held this power on a condition. Solomon's lay in the retention of his rins, the loss of which, according to the Talmud, once subjected him to terrible misfortunes. -The Scotch divine held his familiar spirit subject to his will as long as he wore only one garter! To thiB condition the venerable minister, adhered throughout his life though it is recorded that the baffled spirit stooped to the meanness of transforming itself into a flea* for the purpose of tormenting the minister's msifi while she knitted his stockings, making her lose count of stitches and manufacture shark hose. But the minister wqp not to be entrapped and walked tranquilly through life with one stocking down at the heel.

The power of exorcism—of laying troubled spiiits in the Bed sea—was one eagerly claimed by the ministers of vari-* ous denominations and the successful exercise of this influence regarded as a kind of hall mark of orthodoxy—akin to the power to heal vested in the rightful sovereign alone. "Sir, they did not take me far enough they should have taken me to Rome," whispered Johnson, between je?t and earnest, when some oce remarked that his visit to London as a child to be touched by Queen Anne had not resulted in the miraculous cure ex pected. Possibly he was not altogether destitute of faith in the efficacy of the healing touch of the diflect male heir of the Stuart line. .In the same way, duly ordained ministers of the seventeeth and early eighteenth centuries ridiculed the claims of their dessenting or unorthodox brethren to quiet or lay perturbed ghosts and restless goblins while fervent professors professed powers over the unseen world which far excelled the everday gifts of the orthodox divine. In the well-known Cornish tale of the "Bonathen Ghost," which made itself troublesome in the early seventeenth century, the perturbed spirit is brought to leason by the minister of the parish and besides departing in peace gives information of the coming plague of 1664-5. Many a Scottish goblin has been banished by the power of some painful preacher," like the celebrated Paden when Sir Roger de Coverley found it sufficient exorcism to the ghosts which had appropriated all the best bed-rooms in the manor house to cause his chaplain to lie in each in turn.

Some Xornado Freaks. Some tough stories are told regarding the freaks of tornadeos. At Neptune, Ohio, straws were blown into oak trees, but we are not told hew hig]i up into the tops they were blown. Chickens have been stripped of their feathers by the wind, leaving them to wfilk about afterwards not only with bare legs but bare backs. Buildings in the track of a tornado have been cnt in two, from peak of roof to. foundation walls, as clean as if done with a huge knife, one portion being left standing and the other carried away. One wheel of a carriage standing on a bam loor when the building was thus taken apart, was carried away with the pieces of the axle to which it was attached, and the remainder ot the vehicle left unharmed. During the celebrated Comanche, Iowa, tornado, about 1861, the crew of & raft lying on the west side of the Mississippi, was blown away, but two of the men were recovered after the storm, found somewhere in Illinois, alive and well, though only clothed in their wristbands. After other tornadoes in the west the heavy tires taken from wheels of wagons —prairie schooners, as they were called—hbve been found separated from their wheels, twisted and tied together like riLbons, but unbroken. But the. most wonderful story of all was that related by a man out West who was re dining under a tree one' hot day, when a tornado passed ovei head, reaching down its funnel sufficient to take the tree away from over him as clean as if cut with somo sharp instrument, leaving -him entirely undisturbed, though experiencing a benumbing sensation about his feet. Upon examination ne found his stookings had been blown off over his toes and out of his boots by the wonderful action of the tornado without disturbing any other portion of his clothing or foot gear, his boots still being on his feet

The Onrse Napoleon Entailed Upon the French People. Boston Herald.

The number of young French people having committed Buicide recently because of parents' refusal to their union in marriage, several foreign papers, some few of them French, are questioning the wisdom of the French marriage laws A French man or woman whose choice meets with parental opposition is condemned to long waiting before marriage can take place' A sen under twen-ty-five and a daughter under twenty one cannot marry without the consent 01 both father and mother, or, if the parents disagree, of the father or if one be dead, of the surviving parent. Even after the man is 25 and the woman 21 this consent is necessary in certain contingencies. A man of 30 and a women cf'25 nave to notify their grand-parents of intention of marriage. The individual is nothing, the family is all. Marriage has become one of the trades of parents. Children are forced into matrimony or kept out of it as family interest or selfishness may dictate. Thase marriage laws are articles of the Code Napoleon and bear the of his cald calculating selfishness. Napoleon had no mere hesitation in breaking hpart than he had in expending a cartridge. After he had gained his utmost Hwer he dictated the marriages of all lis family, and all his officers would submit to him, and quarrelled with all who would not sacrifice their own affections his interests. He broke up Jerome onaparte's marriage and quarrelled #ith his brother Lucian because the latIf ter would not put aside the wife he loveed and marr a woman designated by the

ments for the week. On Thurs- emperor, flte French marriage laws day the delay g-wmri by the marriasi

have been responsible for many deaths

license would expire and the weddinf and a horrible amount of nnhappinees, mig'-.t take place. On Friday tha/W and Napoleon is responsible for the laws.

PESSIMISTIC OUJDA. -r?

Her Life a Mystery—Her Hatred of Wo was—An Analyst of Moral Filth. Bt Louis Republican.

The value of the pessimistic wail oi Ouida in the North American Review, of whieh samples were given in last Sunday's Republican, depends, of course, upon the soundness of the mind from which it proceeds. There is some reason to (aspect the soundnee8 of Ouida's judgment upon any moral or social subject. For many yean she has misapplied the powers of an originally great talent in the delineation of what is least worthy human nature. Under what in

finence she was brought up and in the midst of what .environment she has passed her life is little known to the public, but whatever they have been they have made upon the mind of Ouida the impression that all women are contempt* ible for littleness and weaknesses, whil-j all men worthy of the name are chiefly admirable, by reason of hn irresistible propensity to lust. If a man affects chastity, Ouda sets him down as a hypocrite if he attains it for some little while, she looks upon him as a fool tor his pains if he is conspicious for uncleanness, she coldly observes that he is delivered by his physical condition to do such like abominations. The chastity of women seems to the eye of Ouida to form part of their inferiority to men their faith in masculine chastity she ridicules as a delusion and a snare. She sneers at the woman who "expects from her son the purity of manners of a maiden and makes no account, because she ignores them entirely, of the imperious necessities of sex." 8he declaims against the "enormous pretentions to the monopoly of a man's life which women put forward in marriage." She thinks that "the rage and amazement displayed by the wopian when the man, whether her loVerlSr her husband, is inconstant to her, comes from that tenacity over the man tfs a property which wholly blinds her to her own faults." In short Ouidia's bad men are goats, monkeys of he tigers her good men are majestic bulls her women at the best resemble the "ox-eyed Athene her other women, Of whom there are more than enough, are a poor breed of sbecats. Out of such material no decent world can be expected to be made, and hence it is not strange that the world, which has been made out of it and the future which is yet to come out of this present evil world, should seem, as it does to the eye of Ouida, to be an altogether hopeless sort of thing. "Men who think at sdl," she says, and when she gays

BO

she means herself, "see"—that is to say that Ouida thinks that she sees— "how unsatisfactory all things are, how unreal all religions, how fictitious the law& of marriage, how mutable the laws of property, how appalling the future of the world, when there will not be even standing room upon it for all the billions of people begotten." It is, therefore, she asserts, that men are in a mood "which makes them willing to try any new thing, even as men at deaths door languidly affirm their despairing readiness to try any nostrum or panacea tendered to them." It appears, then, from Ouida's testimony, that men "who think at all" in these days are a very sickly lot and since Ouida tells us that there are women with men's minds, and evidently wishes us to understand that she is one of them, we need not be surprised that her vaticinations "are sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." Of Ouida's notions of the "woman ques tion," or of any other social or moral (Question, no one of ordinary soundness need make much acccunt With talents of so high an order as nearly to approach genius, and with powers which might have made her a benefit to mankind: in short, with natural endowments which utterly belie her estimate of the capacities of her own sex, she has chosen to dwell enly in a world of sensual perceptions and to spend her energies in the analysis of moral filth. Whatsoever things are honorable, lovely, pure and good cf report, of these things she has not thought nor helped others to think. She has made the burden of her prophecy to be but this: that if under the sun there be anything genuinely lovely or pure or praiseworthy, it entails only calamity that vice is necessary and inevitable, and that virtune is of doubtful merit and of still more doubtful fortun^.

To Prevent Diptheria. The Ohio state board ot health have published a pamphlet which urges the strict observance of the following rules: "1. When a child has sere throat with fever, and especially when diphtheria is present in the neighborhood, it should be kept apart from others until a competent physician has determined it is not diphtheria. "2. When a person is known to be sick with diphtheria, he should immediate be separated from all others, excepting his attendants, and| removed to a room which should be specially prepared for his occupancy. 3. This room should be prepared by removing from it all superfluous furniture, carpets, books, window curtains, and all other similar articlesngt^pSeded in the room. It should hfeffT^ote as possible from the family ably in the upper story—aif/care should be taken lo secure an abundance of fresh air, without exposing the patient to di rect drafts. "4. A card with 'diphtheria' on it in large, plain letters should be placed in a conspicuous position on the bouse in which there is a person sick with the dis ease. No child should be allowed to enter the house. "5. No one should be admitted to the sick room except the necessary nurses and attendants. "6. No food or drink which has been in the sick room should be partaken of by the well. The dishes carried in should washed separately. "7. Under no oircumstances should the bed clothes or the patient's body linen be mixed with the other soiled clothing, or be admitted to the general wash, without being first thoroughly disinfected. "8All persons recovering from diphtheria are dangerous, and should not be .permitted to attend school, church, or any public assembly until, in the judgment of a careful physician, they are no longer a source of contagion. "9. No pnblic funeral should be held of any peison dying of diphtheria. In no case should any child be permitted to attend.

Then follow general instructions on disinfection, the pamphlet closing with the following rules for prevention of the disease: "1. Avoid the contagion of the disease. Especially should children be guarded against contact «ith anything which has been near one sick with the disease. "2. Be careful of books, toyB, cats and dogs which may have been handled by a diphtheria patient. "3. If any one visits such a case he should btthe, disinfect and change his clothing before going where there are children. "4. Beware of any one with a sore throat do not kiss such a.person, or drink from the same cup, or put anything into your month he may have handled. "5. When diphtheria is present in your neighborhood, beware of taking yourchildren to crowded assemblies in, ventilated rooms. "6. See that your house, cellaf and rard are kept perfectly clean, and |your iving and sleeping-rooms are welfventilated. Cleanliness, pure air andlpure

water are the three gnat foes of this disease. "To the public these rules may seem numerous and, perhaps, unimportant but the state board of healthy would not be doing its whole duty if it failed to point out the best possible m-ans known of restricting and preventing this dread disease."

STORIES ABOUT CARLYLE.

New Light on the Characteristic* of the Greatest Scold of Hta Time. Labo&chere's London Troth.

There has been a perfect hail-storm of what may be termed Carlyle literature during the past five yean, but I have not met with anything more interesting or vivacious than the at cocnt of a visit to Ecclefechan, the cradle of the Carlyle family, which recently appeared in a Scotch newspaper. I append two extracts, which throw quite a new light on Carlysle and his family, and which are calculated to considerably discomfit those who have been holding him up as a sort of misrepresented archangel. "I met many people at Ecclefechen who had known the Carlyles, but not a soul who had a good word to say for them. One old fellow of rubicund com plexion and Southern temperament was emphatic in his repeated assurances that the Carlyles were a disrespected race. He assured me that he had known Carlyle's father when he was a mason. I was fain to believe him, though a hasty computation of days and years made the statement a trifle dubious. Carlyle's father had been a downright rascal, a bitter, ill-natured, coarse brute, a man who hated his neighbors only less than strangers, one who took a 'serious view of life, and resembled Rob's friend in not being able to get oneuf o' feighting.

And Tam Carlyle himself was vast mair like for a mad-house nor nowt else.' '•Tom and his wife came to Ecclefechan veryofteB, and he and.my old friends often met them trundling along the road, Carlyle muffled in a plaid, walking twenty yards in front, and Mrs. Carlyle dragging along behind in a cloak not worth fourpence. Carlyle rarely spoke to anybody. One day while he was staying with James Carlyle, the brothers Thomas and James set out for a five-mile walk. James himself was famous for taciturnity, but after half the distance had been covered his soul craved com munion. He spoke, but got no answer. He spoke again, but still in vain. Another mile was walked. Then James flung away in dudgeon, protesting, 'If our Tam lives to be a hundred I'll no walk a mile wi' him.' "Again the station master at Ecclefechan, a jovial

EOUI,

piinfnlly wanting in

reverence for Carlyle's biographer, was very amusing at Mr. Froude's expense. It had been kept a secret even from him that Carlyle was to be buried in the place of his birth. When the coffin arrived no provision had been made for it. Ire membered Froude's vivid picture of the coffin standing bare in the station yard under a thin fall of snow, but the station master protested against the snow and disturbed nearly every other element of Froude's pic turtsque stuff and nonsense. There was no snow at all, only raiB, maybe a bit of a drizzle. He had remonstrated with Froude or Tindall, or both, at being kept in the dark as to their move ments, when they had excused themselves on the ground that they had feared a throng. He bad ridiculed the idea, and declared there was not a score of people in Ecclefechan who would think it worth while to come to their doors if they heard that the body of auld Tom Carlyle was going by. I asked what Froude had said to that. 'Oh, he was quite affronted.'"

WATTERSON AND ISM.

JOURNAL

The Kentacky Editor Tells What the Ideal Pajier of ths Future Will be. Letter to Lonisyille Courier-Journal.

Mind you, ne man thinks less of the current newspaper than I do. It is vast power misdirected, and, I was almost going to say, wasted. But I have in my fancy a newspaper not so misdirected or wasted, conducted undjsr the largest sense of public and personal responsibility, edited with tact, ability and care, intelligently and cleanly, and, where the occasion requires, .brilliantly written: and yet furnished with a'1 the resources of modern enterprise and organization. No newspaper answerio this description now exists in the world, and perhaps none is likely to exist for a long time to come, But one will exist as soon as the experiment is tried by a man equal to the task and master of the situation immediately at hand. .Then the public, seeing what a newspaper really can be, will not hesitate to make its choice and, after that, it will pay no man of brains and ambition to fish mud out of the sewers.

But, it may be asked, what ought a newspaper to be, and what can it be? It should, to begin with, be a history, and a complete history, of yesterday, neatly and justly told. It Bhould, to end with, be a chronicle of the life and thought, and as far as may be, a reflection of the temper and tone of the people, done with absolute fidelity. The newspaper which first achieves these snccesses, just as those newspapers which have approached them nearest hsve been the greatest practical successes.

At the bottom of this scheme lie three cardinal principles. They are: Disinterestedness.

Cleanliness. Capacity. The ideal editor need not be, nay, he must not be a neutral or a "free lance." Often the worst kind of servility and corruption are found masquerading under the pretense, and sometimes the actual belief, of "independence." No man can amount to much in this world who does not believe in something, and who has not some method in his believing, and to say to a man that he is not a partisan is to imply that he is either a scamp or a skeptic. The ideal editor may be as partisan as he pleases. But he must be disinterested that is to say, he must be what he claims to be, and must seek to represent truth, as he sees it, for truth's Bake, and not for the sake of an office or a job. He must deal fairly^ and frankly by the public.

In his pnblic intercourse the journalist is a debater, not an administrator. He must be ready upon the instant for all comers, ia allowed no time to reflect or prepare, and has to speak to every disjointed thought, giving each itt proportion. An event, an idea, no bigger than the first ray of the morning sun, appears above the surface of affairs he can not wait for this to disclose itself, but must deal with it at once it shows its face a little more, and he must mark the change and deal with that and, finally, by the time it has reached its complete development, and is ready for statesmen to take hold of it, the journalist has put it before bis reader in man ways, according as it may have altered its aspects in the process of rising above the norizon and ascending to its zenith. He who is unwilling to submit himself to the limitations wluch such work aa this imposes had fast leave journalism severely alone trat those who realize it and accept it 'there are lively times and plenty of usefulness ahead, for few pursuits ifi the world are more variable and exciting than journalism.

Are you tired Chew onions.

of ^our engagement?

MYSTERY.

Life beheld in her Kands a meunre. And awnng it, lishtiy wad low And eheeaid: I will eeo i. my plaaenre

Do not oatweigh my woe, And she gathered all atioglees lattghter, All loves that were laeting and rare, All joye that tent memories after,

All waalih that was wingless and pnre: She gathered all snnlight and starlight, All thornleea and fadeless flowers: She gathered the faint light and fair light,

Of pangleas and perfect honra

HTW

She gatheiod all gtimpeee eljsian KJ That h«l never blasted the soul, All hepee that had held to fruition

All Ulonta that won to the goal, All wisdom that never had aaddeoed, All troths that never bad libd, All ambitions that never had maddened,

All beeaty that had satisfied.

And she flung tbe-r all, all in her aSSstm, Bnt h^y nothing ontbalacoed the pain And she said: I mnst add yet a treasure,

The kindest and best in ihy trfcln. And she reachcd out and took Death, and laid

All restful and calm, en the scale Yet pair, as before, still outweighed it And she sighed as she said: Conld this fail? Then ehe reached up to merciful heaven,

Took down, and flung over earth's strife, little pale hope, all nnproven— 13The hope of a measureless life nunc it down with a doubting and wonder,

With question aad tonoh of disdain. When lo! swift the light scale went under: Life's woe was outweighed by Life's gain.

straure! Oh! &sat strange! If the measure Of all mortal days be but woe, Compared with their aome of pleasure (life mnsed as she hung the Boale low,) Why, then, Bhould it lessen earth's sorrow

Why magnify Death's oonseqnenoe \. To believe in a timelees to-morrawf And life held the scale in suspense. —[New York Independent.

A TERRIBLE AFTERMATH.

Bitter Experience of the Men Who Fol lowed the Lead of Martin Irons. Chicago News.

What follows when folly leads is now being dismally experienced all over the Missouri Pacific system. In that region, were, at the mandate of Mar tin Irons, 4700 men dropped hammer and pick, scarcely 200 have been taken back at all. Their places were gradually filled while they stood out awaiting the surrender of Jay Gould and Hoxie, who did not yield The ranks of the striking laborers were easily filled The country is full of the unskilled unemployed. The places of skilled mechanics did not have to remain vacant long. Men out of work in other sections of the country sought the wages that bad been rejected at the bidding of Martin Irons. And now correspondents from along the Missouri Pacific system have but one tale to tell of the bitter reckoning that has followed obedience to the order of a hothead chief. Men who had been in the company's employ for ten years at good wages, anv might have continued on for an indefinite time men who had bought cottages with their savings and were in the way of soon lifting tbe mortgages from them men who married young wives and saw happy children playing about their neat doorstoops men making frem $15 to $25 per week men who for years have not known the wantof a dollar or thft lack of a square meal such men by the scores and hundreds are to be found along the Missouri Pacific system cursing Martin Irons, or wandering off in other sections in search of employment to keep body and soul together. These men were fill of courage and hope last spring they have sad hearts and bitter reflections now

The sum of the suffering detailed by the great strike of 1886 can never & known. Its lines are grabed deep ia thousands of faces. Its hardest strain has fallen cn husbands and wives and their little ones. It is writter in hearts that bear their woes in silence.' It is read in abandoned homes and ragged child ren over a wide territory. Unplanted garden patches show where happiness and tasteful leisure were and are not. "My God, sir," is its piteous appeal "I've got to leave my wife and children here and trust my wife to take care of them, and I must go wandering off till I find something to do, and then live on a crust until I save enough to bring my family to me.' "My God, what have we done?" is the cry of thousands. It is more terrible than the appeal that rises from the fall ing mortar of Charleston. It is a warn ing to men charged with authority oyer their fellow—men to take heed that they use it justly, wisely, and with a broad understanding oi ultimate results, "Swift, to hear, slow to speak, slow of wra'h, ia the wisdom that should guide the counselors of the laboring classes. Strikes may not always be avoided, but the accountability for such misery as has followed the fntile trike of 1886 should make men slow to order a strike in anger.

SOME STRANGE PUNISHMENTS

Gleanings from Old Bay State Papers Arranged by Emory M. Brooks In "The Olden Time Series. New York Bun.

A Boston paper of 1819 describes the execution of sentence pronounced by the Russian courts against an author who had published some book on the liberties of the people. A scaffold was erected in the public square the czar and great magistrates attended. The leaves of the condemned book were then rolled up in separate pieces and the prisoner forced to swallow them, or literally eat his own words. The attending physicians agree ing when he had enough for one meal he was led back to prison. Three unpleasant meals finished the last if&nant of the book.

In Salem the wearing of long hair was some time a criminal offense, but alwayB an abomination for men. When Endicott was magistrate there he caused this order to be passed: "John Gatshell is.fyned ten shillings for building upon the town's ground without leave, and iu case he shall cut of his long hair of his head in to sevill frame (fewell flame) in in the meane time, shall have abuted five shillings his fine, to be paid in the towne meeting within two months from this time and have'leave to go ia his building in tbe mean time."

In Boston, 1686—For kissing a woman in the street, though but in way of civil salute, whipping or fine. Scolds they gag and set them at their own doors for oertaic hours together, for all comers and goers to gaze at. Whon an unfortunate woman was accused of witchcraft she was tied neck and heels and thrown into a pond of water if she drowned, it was agreed that she was no witch if she swam, she was immediately tied to a stake and burned alive.

An Elizabeth town paper of 1786 gives the following: The Dutch have a mode of execution which is well calculated to inspire terror, withont putting the sufferer to extraordinary pain. The criminal is placed on a scaffold, opposite the gigantic figure of a woman, with ansa extended, filled with spikes of long shaipened nails, and a dagger pointed from her breast. She is gradually moved toward him by machinery for the purpose till he gets within her embrace, when her arms encircle him, and the dagger is pressed thromgh his heart. This is vulgarly called among them kissing the yffrow or woman, and excites more terror in the breasts of the populace tlum any other punishment.

The Order of the Holy Cross. The seventh general chapter of the

Order of the Holy Cross was lately held 1 the new silver certificate,

at Notre Dame, Indiana. Of the foreign delegates there were five from France, one from Borne, one from Africa, from India, and four from Cana la. Many matters of vital importance to th« order, and to the cause of education and the spread of the Catholic faith, mrahs of missions,, were discussed by the attgust assemblage which was presided over by the venerable Father Sorin, superiorgeneral of the order. The superiot-gen-eral is elected for life, but it is customaiy to go through the foim

ct

electing

him at each chapter, and again ths honorable post was assigned with unanimity to Father Sorin. The o.hsr high officials elected are as follows: Procurator general, resident at Rome, St. Bev. Bishop Dufal first assistant superior general and president of the university of Notre Dame, Rev. Thomas E. Wai'b vincial gen"- ii of Canada, Rev. A. Ifc age prov' oial general of France, P. Lecompte Rev. A. Granger, .seco* assistant provincial of France: B«v. Francaise, president of Holy Cross college, Pari?, France.

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co'itt

FLOUR AS AN EXPLOSIVE.

What Blight Happen if Mtilers Wwe Only Anarchists—The Explosive Power Explained. "If the millers were anarchists," said Minnesota man, "they conld blow 1. every flour mill in Minneapolis withont using dynamite. God only knows the power millers have in their hands if they were devils enough to use it. A Aotlr mill in operation is almost as dangerouS as a powder magazine, and has to tje watched as closely. Every coal miner i{f afraid of fire-damp, and every miller knows his mill is likely to be blown np with a terrible explosion at any moment. To most people this would sound like an exaggeration, but I tell you it is a solemn fact. What leved a whole block of monstrous stone mill? in Minneapolis not long ago, so that it looked as though a cyclone had struck the city? Nothing in the world bat flour, one of the deadliest and most powerful explosives known. "If you stand in a flour mill, near the stones, and look across the room inward tbe sunlight,«you will see that the air is loaded with fine grain dust. If you had microscopic eyes you would see yourself surrounded with small atoms of grain of all kinds. These atoms form an explosive substance more powerful than any known to Nihilists, and their presence, though inevitable, is what makes a flour mill as dangerous as a powder pit. Suppose you take a dry ear of corn aad set it on fire. It will bum .' slowly. Shell the ear and fire the kernels and it bums much more rapidly.

Grind the corn and it will burn like paper. Reduce it to pewder—to dust— and, if ignited, it goes off like a flash. That is the state in which flour is dangerous, when it is finer than flour. If a mill becomes overcharged with this dust, and is ignited, away goes the miiL "Several years ago the large Washburn mills in Minneapolis caught fire. They were going at the time. Those who knew the danger gave the alarm and got out as lively as they could." "Did the mills blow up?" "I should say they did. The walls were made of stone, six feet thick, and when the explosion came they tumbled out like straw-board. The sheet-iron rdof was blown so high from one of the mills that the wind carried it two miles. Men watching the fire at a distance were blown through windows, knocked down, hurled through the air, and several were killed. Sometime the lighting of a pipe in a grain-house will demolish the building. In a Scotland mill a man once lit a cigar. In a second the room was filled with fire, and there was a terrible roar. When the smoke cleared away the four walls of the mill lay flat on the ground and the ioof lay several hundred fest away.. With the exception of a bad scare and a singeing not a person was hurt. The dust burned, creating a great heat.

Some Aaphorlsms of Abbe Roux. Ancient art clothed the human body with chastity and majesty modern art .. unclothes even the nude. It is an unchaste art sometimes it is impudent. Athens poured a soul over the body Paris spreads a body over the soul. The Greek statue blushed the French statue calls forth blushes.

The artist, body and soul, should beware of a mere ideal—that is, of a soul without a body and of the merely real —that is, of a body without a soul.

I should define poetry as the exquisite expression of exquisite* impressions. Voltaire—The mind of a courtier and the heart of a courtesan.

George Sand—LikejCiro she changes all her levers into beasts/ Never had writers less'oensibility, and never did they Qpeak of it more than in the eighteenth century.

Literature was once an art, and finance a business aow their positions are reversed.

Shakspeare—Greater than history, as great as poetry, he alone would suffice 1 for the literature of a nation. 4

Goethe—A German-loving cup engraved at Corinth. 4 Schiller—He has put into drama history read in a dream.

Our experience is rather composed of lost illusion 1 than of acquired wisdom. The folly we should have committed is that which we least readily pardon in others.

Friends are rare for the same good rea- 4 son that men are not common. Not c%reless enough to have comrades not credulous enougn 'o have friends.

Love is nearly everythiag in novels it is nearly nothing in life. 4 In the presence of God we talk too much we do not listen enough Let the master speak. It is but just it will be profitable.

If the Son of Mary was a great philosopher, how comes it, oh, freethinkers, that you love His philosophy se little and practice it so ill •,

A poplar leaf can hide the sun from our sight the slenderest earthly care hides God's shining immensity.

God often calls on us, but generally we are not at home!

Orth Stein In Jail.

Francisco (Cal.) Sunday Chroniele O. H. Stein, the peri pathetic journalist who has gained such an unsavory record as a homicide in the East and a forger on this coast, was lodged in the city prison last night by T. B. White, marshal of El Paso, who booked his prisoner en rente to Texas, where Stein is wanted to answer to a charge of forgery. Life in prison had made tbe prisoner none the less dudish. He wore.. tight-fitting clothing and the, usual pair of gold-rimmed eyeglasses adorned his nose. Stein waa. arrested at San Jaw by the authorities of that city. Armed with a govern r's requisition and the necessary credentials, Marshal WbJte arrived in San Joee,about a week sa Stein delayed his departure from ne "Garden City" until yesterday by suing out writs of habeas corpus, but the cases were all beaten and the Texan official en charge of his man. It was impossible to make out a ease of forgery again^t Stein al San Joee, althoui there waa enough evidence to hold hii» for obtaining money uui Ji.-.e preiensee. Ii is charged that at Hi Paso he forged a check on the New York Sun, which he passed upon George E. King and obtained $75, and for this crime he will b* tried in that city.

.r.'.a Washington's pqrtr&U

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