Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 28 July 1889 — Page 5

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I for X-AU V.

BABYLAND.

There's a wonderful country we all of aa know Wtiere tbe strangest things talk, and the queerest things grow, Where toe fairies and brownies guard everything nice And delight the small children with charming advice, Where there's nobody rich, yet there's nobody poor, For all are content light of heart and secure,And the name of this country, where all these things be. Is Innocent Babyland, land of the wee.

I lived In this Babyland, long years ago '1 (We allot us live there at some time, you know), But somebody kept me one morning from play And to m8 to school, as they called It, that day. I sang as I went, for I guessed nothing then, And thought myself wise, with my book and my pen. Ah! little I knew as I danced on in glee That I had left Babyland, land of the wee. ."-.J.

They taught me to read and they taught me to write, They Oiled my head so, that It thought In the night, I wanted to go back to Babyland then And have no more bother of thinking again But try as I would to remember the way— 'Twas lost, and forgotten forever that day, For none may return once they leave It, and see Their Innocent Babyland, land of the wee.

Ob, little folks living in Babyland now, Slug with the birds as they sing on the bougb Dance with the blossoms that dance at your feet, Laugh with each other wherever you meet, Sleep, and In dreaming know nothing of the care Kept far away from your Babyland fair, Know that our happiest hours must be While you are at play, In the land of the wee? —f Maud Wyman in Good Housekeeping.

A CHAPTER FROM SCHOPENH AUER.

(Translated for the Globe-Democrat] Among those summer visitors at Hemburg who regularly attended the afternoon concerts on the Kur Terrace was a lady dressed in deep mourning. She always occupied a bench in one of the most retired spots and listened to the performance of the band with a peculiar, dreamy expression in her lovely eyes. When she first made her appearance there her slender and distinguished figure and her light golden hair created quite a sensation, especially among the men. But she maintained her grave reserve determinedly and avoided making herself conspicuous in any way, and, as she was in reality older than

Bhe

appeared to be at first sight—

for her light hair was apt to puzzle even an experienced judge—this attention soon ceased. Neither did she seek the society of ladies. In short, she preferred to be loft entirely to her own thoughts, and was never met in company of anybody.

A certain occurrence, however, produced an abrupt change in her during one of the afternoon concerts, while her large dark eyes, with shadows of sorrowful experience over them, were gazing into the distance as usual, she suddenly started with surprise, and a deep blush mounted to her pale face as she beheld a tall man, slowly walking down the path near which she was seated. He was an officer, in a captain's uniform, a man of fine form and knightly bearing, with a full dark blonde beard, grave features and deep blue eyes that betokened uncommon gentleness. He did not carry a saber, but supported himself upon a cane with a large ivory handle.

He also showed signs of surprise when he saw the lady in mourning. He hesitated a moment, as if he wished to turn back, but finally resumed his walk and bowed toward the bench in a respectful manner, which indicated that he had no intention of renewing an old acquaintance. The lady had hardly|noticed this, when she arose hastily and with agitation, and offered him her hand. "Reinhard!" she exclaimed, and then she corrected herself. "Herr von Nordmann!"

The oflioer turned towards her. There was a look of sorrow in his eyes and his voice trembled slightly. Taking the offered hand, he said: "I did not know whether it would be agreeable to you. I thought you would not recognize me at all."

She sighed, looking at him tenderly and inquiringly. "Is it so long ago?" she replied, with a smile. "You remind me of the fact that I have become old. Yes, there iB no doubt about that. Twelve years, is it not? But," and her voice began to tremble, "we do not easily forget the friends of our youth. And you did not recognize me at once?" "You have retained your youthfulness better than I. I am crippled, partially, at least, a keepsake of 1870." "Were you in the war? I was surprised to see you in uniform." "You would not have thought the tender little boy capable of that, would you? Yes, men never know hew they will change. I did not love the soldier's profession, but the fatherland called me, and my aversion was conquered. I don't make sentimental verses now, for you to smile at. My private studies are of even a graver nature than yours were. Do you still Btudy Schopenhauer, madam?"

He looked at her sharply, but he showed no emotion. After a little while she smiled suddenly and shook her head. "Not in the least," she said, "I read only novels now." "At that time you ridiculed me because I" "Do you remember that so well? At that time I was a foolish young thing. We look at the world with different eyes after adding twelve years to our age." "You believed in Schopenhauer, then— I shudder, madam—if I am not mistaken, even in Kant. You also loved Darwin." "And now I have reconciled myself even with the old-fashioned lyric, and a queer feeling overcomes me when I read old Eichendorff, or go astray in the 'Spring Time of Live.' Do you believe that?" "I must, however incredible it seems. But what does your husband say to that?"

The lady's features became grave again, almost stern, and she replied with a frigid voice: "He iB dead. I have been a widow for more than two years."

The captain grew pale his hand that held the cane shook violently. He felt as if everything before him was enwrapped in a waving mist he walked at the side of the beautiful women silently, like one dreaming. She kept her eyee turned downward and grew still paler than usual.

After a time, when they had left the terrace and passed partly through the promenade, she threw an inquiring glance at her companion and said softly: "Then you knew that I married?"

He nodded without looking at her. "You said, yourself, that it is not easy for us to forget the friends of our youth, he replied. "I have not been in the south of Germany since then, but I have met people in Berlin who knew you." "In Berlin?" "Certainly," he answered, confusedly. "Accidentally, perhaps, just at that time. I never heard of the death of your husband. It was accidentally, without doubt I frequently spoke of you, and in this way I learned that you had married a Herr von Wittkowsky. I am grieved to find you a mourner. Please

accept my sympathy. Oh, this is your residence?" She had halted in front of one of thoee little villas that lie in the outskirts of the Kurpark. She looked at him. "Will you promise me to call on me soon?" she said, "or, come to take tea with me this evening. May I expect you?" "I do not deserve to be treated so kindly. I have become more Bed ate, Hortense, and I am just as tedious as I was at that time—perhaps more so." "You are coming. I expect you, even if you were the moet tedious of all mor tale. We will talk of the time of oar youth that will be a better entertainment for us than all the pleasures of society. I expect you at 7 o'clock. Good day, captain."

She gave him her hand and disappeared behind the vines that ornamented the porch of the house. He looked after her as if he were in a dream, waiting a little. Then he walked up the short, steep street to the hotel in which he bad taken his quarters.

He came to tea on that evening, and he came on all the following evenings. Hereafter the pretty blonde lady attended the afternoon concerts in company of tbe tall officer with the Crown Prince beard. And when they were Qseen together on the lonely paths of the spruce park, or driving to Salburg, or the Marblestone, it was said, in thoee circles whose interest the lady in mourning had formerly excited, that the captain was a lucky fellow.

But Reinhard was not happy amids^ all this good luck. He was seen sitting on the most lonely benches of«^e Kurgarten in a thoughtful mood, ancT^whsn he was at home he usually walked about in his room uneasily, in spite of the pain that his wound caused him, as if he had a hard battle to fight with himself. Even in presence of the pretty woman an uneasiness sometimes overcame him, and when Hortense looked at him in surprise and asked a gentle question she received no reply.

One evening, about a week after their meeting, they were seated in Hortense's cozy Baton. The tea was beginning to diffuse its pleasant scent through the room. They had just returned from a walk to the Hardt, and Hortense seemed to be in an excited frame of mind. During their conversation, she had spoken of her husband to him at length for the first time. Reinhad knew now that her marriage had been a very unhappy one that the nine years which she had passed at the side of a selfish and rough man had been but a series of disappointments, insults and tortures to her. The recollection of that crime had excited her to such a degree that she had shed tears. Her eyes were red, her breath quick, and her hands trembled as she served the tea.

While silently seated together in this way her tears suddenly began to flow again, and she pressed both hands to her face passionately. Reinhard was deeply moved. The pity arising within him made him forget tbe intentions which he had formed only that very morning. He seized her gently by the wrists and said in a tender and consoling tone: "HortenBe, compose yourself. That is all past now. Your sorrows have come to an end."

And. then he was frightened, for her hot head rested on his breast, and her soft and Bilky hair almost touched his lips. "Oh, Reinhard," she sobbed, "why did it not turn out otherwise? How often have I thought of that during my time of suffering. If we had fotmd each other then, Reinhard, what years of happiness we would have had."

He kissed her head, pressed her tenderly into the corner of the sofa, and arose. She saw him go to the open window and look out into the darkness. She did not follow him, but her heart throbbed quicker and quicker, and she kept her eyes on him with passionate anxiety.

Finely, he turned around, and

Baid:

"It is impossible for me to talk to you. Allow me to write to you, and to leave you now. Farewell, Hortense."

He made a motion as if he wished to give her his hand, but changing his mind Buddenly, he bowed and left the room.

An hour later Hortense received the promised letter. She had remained in the same crouching position on the sofa, tortured by the most contradictory feelings. At times she thought that Reinhard had offended her, then again she stretched out her arms for him longingly, and came very near following him. Finally, she decided that Bhe would never see him again, and return his letter without opening it.

When the letter arrived, she took it from the girl's hand eagerly, threw the envelope to the floor, and glanced over the lines without stopping at the single words.

He had not written much, but what a storm it raised within her! It was thus: "DEAR MADAM: The words which escaped you this day have made me ijnmeasurably happy, and Sat the same time immeasurably miserable. The most beautiful dream of my life has become real, but thereby also has been decided that battle in my heart whioh has filled me with thoughts of flight during the last few days. "I have no feelings of resentment, my dear HortenBe, but the thought is intolerable to me that you should begin to value me only after another man haB made you unhappy. Perhape you will believe me to be exaggerating again, but it is best for UBto obey the warning voice of our conscience. "In former days you ridiculed my feminine ways, my enthusiasm for lyrics, poetry and all those little senti mentalities of my youthful years. That grieved me all the more because I loved you passionately. But a mite of hope remained in me, and' it was this that tempted me to write to you and express my feelings toward you. "Do you remember the quarrel which separated us? You smiled at my little gold-lined book of poetry, and when I asked you what literature you were reading at the time, you answered proudly and disdainfully, "Schopenhauer." I felt as if cold water had been poured over me. And still I was tempted, in the last hour that I was to be under the same roof with you, to write thoee tender confessions and queetione that were never answered. I stole, like a thief, into the room which your uncle bad set apart for youl I do not call it your room, for at the time I shuddered at the thought that you were capable of sleeping beneath thoee pistols and yatagans whioh I saw. And there, before me, stood the book-case containing the names which you knew so well—Kant, Darwin, Humboldt, Schopenhauer—I shuddered again, but I took Schopenhauer and placed my eight pages of love into it. They were never answered, Hortense. You probably despised me all the more after thaV A year later I heard of your engagement with Herr von Wittkowsky." "I am ot a quiet disposition, Hortense, but I oould never conquer my love for you it will acoompany me through my lifetime. "Farewell, and may you be happy.

Ton oould not lore me then because yon undervalued me now yon overvalue me because your heart is excited by sorrow. "But, whatever may be the cause, I love you, and always shall love yon. Yours REIWHARD."

When Hortense had finished glancing the letter over, she arose hastily and called for her maid. "Quick, my cloak and hood!"

The girl looked at herewith surprise she had never seen her mistress so excited before.

Not even a look into the mirror, and the lovely, shining hair was hanging loose beneath the black lace hood.

She descended the stairs and walked up the steep street hurriedly, until Josefa could discern no more of her. Where was she going so late at night? To the blonde officer?

A few minutes later, Hortense stood at Reinhard's door, her heart beating wildly. Another minute and she stood before him.

He was confused and oould not utter a word, but he did not withdraw his hands from hers when she seized them. "Reinhard," she said, her eyee radiant with wild joy, "we are two foolish children. We have never done anything but quarrel, and still we have always loved one another so much. Yes, you blind man, I have not loved you less than you loved me. I married Herr von Wittkowsky because he wooed me, and because my relatives persuaded me because my heart revolted and despaired because I hated you for your faithlessess. I was not blind. I saw only too that you courted me, but the love letters, which I expected with so much irtainty, failed to arrive. You did not care for me any longer." "But Schopenhauer—Schopenhauer," he stammered. "Your eight pages have probably remained where you placed them."

He looked at her with an expression of astonishment. "But how is that possible—how is that possible?" he saich "That is very simple. I have never read Schopenhauer in all my life, nor Kent, nor Darwin. The bookcase was the property of my poor cousin, and I merely wished to tease you with the name—wild and foolish school girl that I was. Forgive that untruth, Reinhard, I have done hard penance for it Forgive me. I have never undervalued you I have always loved you. Many a time I felt as if I must embrace and kiBB you, but because you never made any advances, because you were so bashful and always talked of verses and books, that was what incited me to tease yeu. I was a wild school girl. Forgive me." "And I a foolish boy," he Baid, placing his arms around her and drawing her towards him. "But I will not let you part from me now, and we will, both of us, be more sensible in the future. My sweet wife, I believe I came very near making another mistake." "So do I, Reinhard, but fortunately I am past my school-girl days now, and, if you have no objections, we will pack our trunks to-morrow or the day after, and journey to my uncle's place, at Sontheim." "To Sontheim?" he asked. "Whenever I visit my uncle I occupy that room, and, so far as I know, Kant and companions occupy the old place as yet" "And shall we read Schopenhauer together now?" "Yes, my love—at least the beautiful chapter which you inserted."

She smiled and kissed him, and withdrawing herself from him glided away swiftly with a tender "good night."

He stood there, as in a dream, for a long time, and he asked himself whether it was a space of twelve yeare or of a day—one day of anxiety—which was coming to an end now. *1788—1860, A distinguished philosopher who, In spite ot his pessimistic views, exercised a great Influence by virtue of his masterly language and power of brilliant Illustration. His life and works have received unusual attention, and have been sifted and discussed a great deal during the years in which the centennial of his birthday occurred, [Translator. fl788—1867. Lyric poet of the German romantic, !hool.-r~ sc! -[Translator.

Joaquin Miller'* Unfortunate Daughter.

Maud Miller was here in the dime museum last week. She was only an ordinary actress, but Bhe deserved better treatment than she received. She played in "49," Joaquin Miller's drama, an old California play that really has no merit Captain Peabody, who manages the museum, saw that she possessed artistic qualities, and gave her a chance to develop them. She is the daughter of Joaquin Miller, "the poet of the Sierras, and has a history." Maud Miller is a woman of slight build, dark complexion and charming manners. She is pretty, but her husbancl does not seem to be a financial success. She is a good actress and the average Kansas City theater goer did not find it out in time. She left the museum to play at Excelsior Springs, and from theer her movement is a mystery. It is rumored that she will go on the road. Her story is a peculiar one. Thomas Bower Peacock, the celebrated Kansas poet, found her in Topeka. The daughter of the great poet was in distress and he put her on her feet. She had just given birth to a child and was taken from a shanty and Burrounded with comfort. She has worked hard, and with fair dramatic talent deserves success.—[Kansas City Globe.

The Elevator Boy's Tarn to Wink.

The elevator was full as he got on at the seventh floor, and as he stepped in he said to the boy in an off-hand way, with a wink at the others: "Does this train go to the bottom?" "No," snapped the boy, giving the rope a Budden jerk, "it don't, but the car does, and it don't stop for water on the way, and no repairs ain,t going to be done on it between trips, and it never run away from me, and it ain't too fast for Bueh a slow crowd, and we don't issue no insurance policies to those who ride on it, and there ain't no draft in the shaft and say?" as the car stopped at the ground floor as the would-be funny man darted from the car and started for the street, "if you come back here I'll tell the rest of your old jokes." And the elevator boy winked.—[New York Tribune. -£.v-

The Sparrow'* Only Conqnerer, The other day lightning struck a tree, as is shown in our dispatches and killed about three hundred sparrows. Nature has evidently come to our relief, and there is little short of a thunderbolt that can "phase" the English sparrow. His motto is: "Let me at the home birds and the street litter, and I care not who eats the caterpillars." The pertinacity of tbe sparrow, and his grit and obstinacy are well illustrated in this odd old English doggerel whioh is going around the press: "The bloomln', bletdln' sparrow went up the bloody spout: The bleedln1 rain came down and washed the bloomln' sparrow out Tbe bloody sun came out and dried up the bleedln' rain. And the bloomln', bloody sparrow wat up the bleedln' spout again. —[Cincinnati CoguneretKCazette.

THE TERSE HAUTE'ES^^tWofflfbltNING, JULY vfl&£''"

SNAKIS 48 FI0HTO8.

Aa Baterprtelag Sport Who Keepe Hnmber oCBeptllea Always UmmMj The bait sport the writer ever witnessed, says an article in the Attsbnrg Poet, was a snake fight whioh took place two weeks ago just across the bay from Biloxi, Miss. The owner of the show was a native of Biloxi, a large, powerfulbuilt man, with an extraordinary big mouth and stentorian voice.

He had fitted up beneath a oommodious shed a regular pit, similar to those used in chicken fighting. This was a ring about seven feet in diameter, and the owner used it for fighting snakes. He also had along line of cages covered with wire screens, in which several large reptiles were housed, and were always ready when a crowd came to sseabattle.

The favorite snake. in the lot was a monster spotted fellow, whose fangs came out of his mouth and reached around his chin. This was what is called the king snake, a native of the southern parts of Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. The name is given it because it is known that when traveling it will catch and kill any other kind of snake that it meets. It is very large and muscular, besides it iB game and aggressive, as its name indicates. The next largest specimen of the snake kingdom in the extreme southern states is the gopher snake., These reptiles always live in pairs in holes with the gophers. It is a common thing down there in the pine woods to see children go to a gopher hole and, inserting a pole or rail, compel the pair of snakes to crawl out and be killed. The gopher snake is very muoh like the black snake, yet he is much larger and stouter.

Also along and adjacent to the Gulf coaBt may be found the cotton-mouth and "ground" rattlesnakes. Each of these specimens of snakes the Biloxi man had in his cage, and the fight he gets up are always between the king snake and either species of the above that visitors may select He charges an admission of 25 cents, and after all visitors are comfortably seated he proceeds to the cage of the king snake, carries it to the pit, where he dumps it in, and then proceeds to get an enemy for it to fight. The oonteet the writer witnessed was a king against a male and female gopher snake, and it was very exoiting, as well as amusing. Their attitude for war was not in coil, as it is with most Northern and Western Snakes, but lying lengthwise and very crooked, with their heads up about eighteen inches. After watching each other for a moment they dart forward with a spirit of energy and determination that makes one's blood stop in the veins.

The king snake keeps this mode of battle up for a long time, and worries his enemy down until he becomes weak and faint then he slowly advances upon him, coils himself around his victim until the two are in a heap, and look like a pile of tangled rope then, after he has made ready, the king stretches himself out, and in doing so literally tears his foe into small fragments. Immediately the last act in the contest begins the popping of the viotim's bones can be heard distinctly, sounding similar to, but much louder, than the popping of a person's finger when stretched or Wrenched. It is wonderful to see tbe agility of the king snake when a venomous reptile is in the ring for a fight He darts his head on either side, ducks and raises to Buit occasions in the twinkling of an eye, and in this way worries the enemy down, frequently compelling it to swallow its own poison. The cotton-mouthed snake is the king's greatest terror, for when pitted with one of these he shows greater caution and is ever on the alert lest he gets bit, in case of which death would be certain to ensue.

Betting on the reeult of snake fights on the "Point" at Biloxi is as common as betting on chicken contents in the North, East and West. As a rule, however, the king snake will win about seven fights out of ten against any other species of snakes it meets with.

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There is not a flower in sight at tbe fashionable florists'. The newest wrinkle in Paris is a colored gown with black sleeves.

Henrietta cloth is the material used for the first mourning dress. Warm weather fancy work should not require the use of needles.

Never any fashion in dress died so hard as the bustle, but it is almost gone. Every well regulated costume Dears a fan attachment at the present time.

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Accordion-plaited skirts are in high favor in Paris, so their lease of life is likely to be extended here.

Crepe de chine is tbe prettiest fabric in use that can be worn on drees occasions during the period of mourning.

The prettieet white dresses of the season are made of China silk and silk mull, the mull being used for the sleeves.

Tea Will Intoxicate.

Anew source of intoxication has been discovered. It is simply dry tea, eaten, of course, before it is steeped. It produces an agreeable effect at first, bnt indulgence finally causes sleeplessness, disorderly impulses and delirium. Not a few persons have already been foand to have contracted this deadly form of the tea habit—[Good Housekeeping.

Coatty. Thoagh Beaaoaable. A Cincinnati saloonkeeper the other day paid $1 for a sealed envelope containing directions that would enable him to sell mere beer. When he opened it he found on a small card the words: "Don't sell so much froth."

A Wall-Street Man.

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With it you can at odd times, Bummer or winter, evaporate enough wasting fruit etc., for family use, and enough to sell or exchange for all or the greater part of you groceries, and in fftct household expanses.

As a Great Economizer and Money-Maker for Rural People it is without a rival.

Has it ever occurredJto you that, withllittle labor, wasting apples, berries and veg etables can be quickly evaporated, and are then worth pound for pound for flour sugar, coffee, butter, rioe£oatmeal, etc? "i

TO THE LADIES OF THE HOUSEHOLD II TOWf OR 'COOHTRT.

IT IS A LITTLE GOLD MINE'!

No labor you can perform for oaah returns 'pays as well aa that of converting wanting Fruits into evaporated etock. These products are among the highest priced luxuries in food products. Evaporated peaches, cherries and raspberries, 20 to 25 cents per pound apples, pears, blackberries, etc., 10 to 15 cents all salable to or may be exchanged with your grocer for anything he sellB.

We will send this complete Fruit Drier (freight paid to any part of the United States) and the

WEEKLY EXPRESS,

WIBWMP

fritdirsay

HK.FAlRBAMKtCa CHICAGO.

THOROUGHLY TESTED AND APPROVED.

BEST

No Extra Fires.

Always Ready for Use and Will Last a Lifetime.

Easily and quickly set off and on the to a empty or filled with fruit.

J.S. COOK STAVE ORItR|PATApft.cnfo^fn^rrtd^

$7.00.

llfr-

One Year, for $5. I'

GEO. M: ALLEN,

is.'4,1Kk

-V-V

Publisher The Express,

Terre Haute, Ind.

"W- it

5 i., OVER A HOT FIRE.

26,765 SOLD IN 1888

Also a Full Line of Hardwood

GET THE POPULAR

BEST IN THE MARKET 7

Convenient. All the Latest Improvements. Easiest Operated.

lee Boxes I^efrigeraitors!

C. C/SMITH,

JEFFERS

Cor. Third and Main Streets.

HERMAN,

lutfiflrani or

A I A E S

leei, IMS, IMS aad 1M7 WakMk Anm, te, It, It, IS, IS, amiSS fMlk Street,} WD.