Indianapolis Journal, Volume 51, Number 194, Indianapolis, Marion County, 13 July 1901 — Page 7

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TITE INDIANAPOLIS 'JOURNAL. SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1901.

FOR FEMININE READERS

noAimiM; not si: ui:stio msCISMM) IN A LTOItY WAY. TUf Gralnx n)' Appetite Should CatiKf Mutemnl lMcanr Huther Tlinn Alarm Here nml There. The lady who lived In the hi? "colonial" residence in the next square came in when she saw the after-dinner group on the lawn, park down In a chair with a tired sigh and exclaimed: "Jt'a such a Job to break up housekeeping! I don't know how I ever got up courage to undertake it. But it's the last time, fr. h I tell Henry, I shall never keep house again .and so there will be no note breaking up." "And what does he s-ay to that, Mrs. J nf s?" fme on Inquired, as she paused to fan herself vehemently. "He? Oh. he doesn't want to change our way of living. Says it sterns to him that women make too much to-do over the difficulties of housekeeping, quotes his mother and what she accomplished, and thinks the tioubles with servants could be voided if womyi knew how to manage. Isn't that like a man? He lived in u boarding house for ten years before he was married, and says it was purgatory. I tell him that what his mother did In her day is not a measure for women now. that conditions are different, and that he ou&ht not to expect me to be cook, and housemaid, and nurse, and seamstress, and general drudge, when competent cooks and maids are not to be had as they're not, half the. time. I- never had to drudge before I was married, and I don't see why 1 should now, when Henry's income doesn't tall for ucb economy. I'm tired of the worry of it, of being without a cook, of hunting new ones who turn out not to know their business, and of being cook myself whtn no other is to be had. I tell Henry I simply can't stand it any longer, and we'll have to board. Besides, we're going to a family hotel where things are just lovely, and not to a common boarding house, such as he lemembers." She stopped to catch her breath, but reEumed before any one els2 could speak. "After all. we're not. exactly breaking up. I couldn't quite coax Henry into that at the start. He'll come to It by degrees. We're renting our houe furnished, but of course there are a lot of things we couldn't let any tenants use and that must be packed and put away the silver, the best china, all the best table linen, the bric-a-brac, the lace curtains, the best rugs and nil those things, you know. Of course, as 1 say, we won't need the tableware again, though the other things we can use in our new rooms; but I can't bear to think of strangers using it some of the things were wedding presents, and there's a kind of tntiment about them, don't you know? I'm on my way now to And a carpenter to come In the morning and nail up the boxes. I Just stopped In for a minute, ym looked so cool and restful, all ," you." "You'll miss your lawn and veranda when you go to the hotel, won't you?" asked the lady of the house. "Oh, well, one can't have everything. And. after all, there isn't so much time that one cares to sit out of doors. Baby and I are going up to the lake next week to be gone till October, and after that it will be too cool for a porch. But I must hurry and find my carpenter before dark." Shaking out her frills, she went rustling off, talking back over her shoulder about the perfectly lovely time she expected to have at the lake, where there was goins to be a gay crowd. There was silence in the group she left until after she had turned the corner, when the man of the house ejaculated solemnly: "Poor Henry poor devil." "Yes, I agree with you," said the neighbor from across the street. "This particular Henry is to be pitied for more reasons than one, but a good many people of my acquaintance, with better reasons than the Joneses, are seriously considering whether the comforts of having a home of one's own offset the cares and worries. To board or not to board is the problem with them. It is an outcome in part of the servant girl question, which don't be alarmed I'm not going to discuss, and In part of the general restlessness and derire among women for change and excitement." "But boarding's no crime," interrupted the woman from next door. "Myself. I prefer to keep house, but the first year after John and I were married we lived in a boarding house and suffered no reproach of conscience, besides faring very well in a physical sense." "It may be no crime," said the lady of the house, "but it's the next thing to it, to my mind, especially for married people. Of course, Henry Jones objects to leaving his heme. What man wouldn't if it was made half comfortable? And I must say for that foolish creature, his wife, that she coul.l and did make a fairly good housekeeper when she turned her attention that way. There is no Henry, I'll venture to say, but pictures a home of his own as an essential part of tho felicity he expects in married life." "Did you ever notice," aked the woman from across the street, "that people who board never have the social standing or importance belonging to those with separate habitations? They are looked upon as nomads, here to day, there to-morrow. They can't entertain, they have no responsibilitiesthey are nobody in particular." "Thank you." demurely remarked the young woman in the pink shirtwaist who had seemed to take no interest in the conversation. "Thank you. I am glad to know Just how I rank, having boarded for the last live years." "Oh. you of course no one means you, or people like you. You're not married and can't set up an independent establishment, but den't you. now, honestly, and in the light of your experience, agree with what has been said about boarding?" inquired the woman from across the street. "Not entirely. There are two sides to the matter, and one of them you people who have always livid in your own homes and cherished their privacy and your own independence can hardly understand. I'll acknowledge that I wonder when married people who can afford to keep house choose boarding-h.ue life instead but there's often a good reason. I discover, and it doesn't always have to do with servants, either. I know some charming people at this moment-three couples at my boarding house whom it is a privilege to know." "Oh. yes." interrupted the lady of the house, "we'll all admit that there's an irresponsible livtdlr. about many boarders Which makes them good company. With no cares they can afford to be gay." "Well. If housekeeping's such a burden that the throwing it off makes them lighthearted, doesn't It look as If those who never give up the burden were making a mistake?" asked the shirtwaist girl. "For iny part, though. I never noticed that good tplrlts were a more c;:i:nou characteristic cf boarders than of other people. Mostly W4- b'urder. meet at the table, where, of course, we have our company manners on, but when I dine at a privats house there are company manners again and there you ere. To be perfectly free, to wear negligee garments and let your politeness gtt frayed lit the ed.es, one Leeds the seclusion of

one's own family circle. Now, I know one mn and his wife who simply quarreled all the time when they kept house; they didn't stop before me because I was such an intimate friend, but now that they are boarding they're the life of the house, and If they wrangle I never hear of it. I think they had tco much of each other's society, and by having more of other people's they get along together with less friction." "Are they one of the charming couples you were speaking of?" drily Inquired the man of the house. "Well, at hast, they're far more charming as boirdcrs than they were before." laughed the girl in the shirtwaist. "But to go luck to the entertaining question. One dear lady over at my house broke up housekeeping because her own and her husband's relatives and friends from the town where they used to live visited them so often and stayed so long that it was destroying her health and the husbands pocketbook to provide for them. Just as a matter of economy they had to escape from their guests. Tunny, isn't it. that your friends hesitate to accept an invitation to dine with you in your boarding house because it costs extra, and when

vru're keeping house will stay with you J a week or a month and think nothing of It."But you, now," said the neighbor from across the street, "I should think you'd prefer to board in some private family rather than in a boarding house where, even if there are some dellshtrul people, there are others who are not." "Doesn't the Bible say something about setting the solitary in families?" inquired .ne man of the house. "The Bible must have meant old bachelors such as you were before you met this lovtly lady of the house." replied the girl in the pink waist. "For me. I beg to be excused from being 'set' in other people's families. I've tried it two or three times. There's always a constraint. You're not a member of the family really, aad don't want to be, and generally you're made to feel that they don't want you to be. Or, if they are perfectly free in your presence, and talk about their own affairs and have their little tiffs, that makes you uncomfortable. And they're sure to think it's such a privilege your being in their house when you know perfectly well you're paying full price for your prtvilege. One place they were not willing to have me receive my occasional callers in the parlor, and in another place, out of pure kindness of heart, they wanted me to come down to the parlor with the family every evening when I much preferred my room. Oh, this question of living s a problem any way you look at it. Just now the thing that's worryinc me is that I'm sure the chambermaid use3 my toilet things, combs, brushes and powder, and so on, when she dresses in the afternoon whtn I'm down town." "How shocking!" exclaimed the lady of the house. "Didn't I tell you that a board ing house was a device of the enemy?" "Oh." replied the girl with the shirtwaist, "that tort of thing is not confined to boarding houses. By the way, I have been meaning to ask you why you gave your cook that pink dimity, or did she buy one like it? I met her on Sunday evening wearing that gown or its mate." "Black 'Liza wearing my pretty dimity! Good gracious! Of course, I didn't give it- to her; she Just borrowed it when I wasn't looking. And she such a model cook, too, and I don't know where to get another if I let her go." Thon the lady of the house, the woman from next door and the neighbor from across the street began discussing the servant question with animation, leaving the boarding house problem still unsettled. Let the Doyn Knt. Good Housekeeping. Recent cases come to my knowledge of boys Just entering manhood who have failed in health. "The body has grown tall and slender, but not filled out," the fond mother has said, "and yet we have been so careful of his eating." As if to prevent a hearty, growing boy from eating as much as he wanted was the sure way to perfect health! When some member of the family, noticeably the mother, has suffered from dyspepsia, and is under the advice of a specialist for this particular disorder, her condition ought not to be allowed to disturb the appetites of the other members of the family. As she sits at the table with scant relish for food and sees her hungry fourteen-year-old son stow away enough for three ordinary persons, according to her estimates, she sighs audibly and suggests that "one helping ought to bo enough." She little comprehends the needs of the growing muscles and bony structure and vital organs. All are crying for more fuel, and with the boy's hearty exercise and vigorous growth comes this imperious demand for the right sort of food and plenty of it. It is not u question of how little, but of how much, he can be persuaded to consume and digest if he would attain the full measure of the man he ought to be. Plain, wholesome food, such as meat, eggs, milk, cereals and legumes, cooked well, ought, with the boy who has plenty of exercise, to produce a man who can endure the strain of life, without breaking down at Its very threshhold. The trouble sometimes begins in the unwise effort of the female portion of the family to economize in the table fare. "Meat is expensive, therefore we will find its substitute." Instead of the life-giving steak, fruit is given the place of honor at the breakfast table. Hungry boys are set down to a meal of uncooked fruit, an orange it may be, and a dish of oatmeal, and then sent off to school or to work on this Indigestible combination. The orange is good enough at the right time and place, and so I the thoroughly cooked oatmeal, but as substitutes for a broiled steak on a winter morning they are a complete failure. All the morning long at his work the young fellow has this indefinable gnawing. He cannot tell whence it comes, but it is there, and he only knows it remains there until it is relieved by a supply of food. If noon brings him a sandwich and a piece of plo he must still wait until a 6 o'clock dinner, when the exhausteel system has begun to draw on Itself. No amount eaten at that hour can make' up for the loss of the other two meals, especially if this one is presided over by the gentle mother who cannot understand how anybody can eat so much. Sometimes the fault lies In a want of. knowledge on the part of her who plans the food as to what will supply the system with the needed nourishment. Day after day there may be a surplus of starchy food. Again there may l a quantity of bulky material, loading down the digestive apparatus and doing little more than that. Soup and pickles and salad may make a "tilling'' meal, but not a lasting one, no matter how daintily served. A healthy appetite will crave the roast of beef or leg of mutton with vegetables and fruit. The wise mother will study to make the essential dishes appetizing Instead cf giving the greater time and thought to the side dishes and dessert. The gymnasiums are doing what they can to build up muscular strength for the young men. but no physical director can train an athlete out of a slim, undeveloped, underfed boy. No amount of exercise or bicycle riding will do it if the food supply is low. Spurgeon's quaint words fitly describe the situation: "The ceddled child is the sicklv child. Mother is afraid the wind should blow on her darling, and so she keeps the fresh air away from him. Toor dear! Do him up in lavemlar! Take care that you do not soon have to do him up in elm! " 'Who killed poor Sam? His ma called him "lamb." And with treacle and jam She killed poor Sam.' " A Beet Snlnd. New York livening Pest. A demonstration of the Boston Cooking School shows how to prepare a salad of bets stuffed with chopped cucumber. The leets should be selected of as uniform siic ns possible, boded until tender, plunged into ccld water as scon as they are cooked, in order that later the skin can be easily removed, and covered with vinegar, over ni;ht if possible, if not, for some hours. Whtsn ready tc serve tho outside skins are removed and the centers scooped out. Allow one inedium-sUed cucumber to every

five beets, pare and let stand in ice water for an hour. When ready to use chop the cucumbers line, season with a French dreeing and fill the beet3 with the mixture. Serve with each beet resting on a lettuce leaf. Chopped celery; radishes, olives or cress may be used instead of cucumbers, ar.d if onion Is not objectionable a little of this vegetable, a scant tablespoonful to each cut cucumber, may be used with the filling. Where thi salad is to be a luncheon course mayonnaise may be served with it if desired.

Children' Letter. Philadelphia Times. "In my opinion a course in letter writing is quite as important as the usual school studies," said a practical mother recently, "yet it is not given the attention it deserves in our schools." Other mothers have probably felt the same regret at their children's lack of interest in letter writing. In some people the ability to write a good, interesting letter L a natural gift; in others it is an accomplishment perfected by careful training; but in either case it Is an art. Who has not read a letter from a friend or acquaintance, so breezy, so lnterstlng and altogether so healthy In tone that it almost seems as if the writer were speaking? Again, some of the young people sit down with the intention of "writing a letter," and put together a string of sentences, presumably items of news, but which are so disconnected, so dacking in all the rules of punctuation, that it requires the skill of an expert to find out any sense at all. This should not be the case, and parents who see that their children are at all deficient in this branch of their education might take the matter in hand themselves and teach the little ones, beginning with a very short letter, merely three or four lines at first. I know one small family the junior members of which are encourageel to write in turn to every member of the household once a week, under the supervision of either the mother or father; and I have frequently been surprised at the composition when, as a favored mortal, the letters have been shown to me. Just think what an advantage these little ones will have in the future over their less fortunate companions. Those who are away at school or on a visit for a few weeks will find the "task" of writing home a genuine pleasure, instead of the elreaded ordeal, as is often the case. As they grow older they will. In all probability, Join in frequent cycling or traveling tours, and with a pencil and a few sheets of paper, or. what is better still, a reporter's notebook, really chatty, interesting letters can be sent home from each place of note through which they may pass, instead of the stereotyped, hurried scrawl which may mean anything or nothing. The Girls Allowance. Harper's Bazar. Tho question of an allowance for the daughter of the household Is one that is constantly being discussed. It seems to be pretty generally accepted that it is a good Idea, and teaches a girl the value and use of money. So it does, but it sometimes teaches her some other things that need a little guarding against. A girl with an allowance occasionally makes it an excube for penurlousness on the one side, and unhesitating begging on the other, that tend a little to character deterioration. Yhile it is perfectly right and proper to give as an excuse for self-denial that one's allowance is exhausted, or will not admit of the proposed purchase, or pleasure trip, it is not righi to say, as girls have been heard to do: "I'll go with you. but you must piy my car fare;" or, "I have only a dime to snare in the treat ir you will let me come in on that." etc. 1 have heard a girl reply, in answer to a suggestion from a companion on a short raiiroad trio, that a parlor car should bo taken, "bh, if we do that, you will have to pay my way on it, my allowance is so nearly spent." Girls who would shrink from the idea of "sponging" under other circumstances do not hesitate to take advantage of this allowance peg upon which to hang a good many small meannessfs m money matters. When it comes to the mother's purse, the cribbing by any means and outright purloining, indeed, are not disguised. These are only little foxes, to be sure, girls, but they gnaw the vines of integrity and self-respect, and would be better choked off. Odds nnd Finds. In buying canary birds, if you are seeking a singer, select one witti a long, straight, tapering body. To clean soiled white woolen articles rub them in hot flour till perfectly clean. Then shake them to remove the (lour. The rubbing takes some time, but if persevered in it really cleanses the article most thoroughly. Broad girdles are growing in popularity. They may be cut bias and drawn into the figure or shaped by darts. A deep directoire girdle seen on a Parisian woman was of bias louisine, crossed in front and ornamented with large buttons, which were exquisitely painted miniatures. A pretty idea for the trimming of sailor hats of coarse straw is to lay around the crown a broad, soft band of silk or ribbon, plain color preferred. One end should be fringed for an inch or an inch and a half and drawn through a fancy buckle on the side, leaving the end to fall loosely over the edge of the brim. A favorite sleeve on linen gowns seems to be the modified bishop gathered into a little close cuff. This is pretty when the ruff is of coarse Russian embroidery to match collar or revers. A good sleeve for a summer jacket is short, ending half way be tween the wrist and elbow, and slashed on the outside of the arm to allow the puffed undersieeves to show. An effective skirt trimming was seen on a fashionably dressed woman recently. The skirt was cf bright blue barege and had two flounces of about seven inches each. On the lower edge of each flounce were two rows of baby ribbon, one white, the other black, with no space between them. The rutfled heading of the upper flounce had the same ribbon trimming. One way of getting rid of ants is to procure a large sponge, wash it well and press it dry, which win leave the cells quite open; then sprinkle it with fine white suxar and place it near where the ants are troublesome. They will collect upon the sponge and make the cells their abode, when it is only necessary to flip it into boiling water to destroy the ants. The sponge can then be set again and thus used repeatedly. A sleeve that looks well on the light cloth gown it accompanies flares slightly below the elbow, and ends half way be tween this noint and the wrist. It is trimmed with three stitched straps on the Inside of the arm. the upper one at the el bow. On the outside the sleeve is slashed to the elbow and laced by means of small gold buttons. The inner sleeve, Instead of the usual puff, is of lace in a straight piece that flares slightly more than the dress sleeve, is open on the outside of the arm, and ends at the wrist. The sleeve is par ticularly suited to this gown, which has a straight Inner vest of lace coming from under the pointed sides of a bolero Jacket. The Slaves. Kansas City Journal. A New York minister says that American men are slaves to their wives.- Certainly they are. Look at the droves of men who sit out on the front porches in the evening smoking hot cigars to scare off the mosquitoes while their wives are in the house washing dishes, mending the children's clothes and having a good time generally. But American men are good hubands and bear these hardships meekly. Kvrrytlilntr Yields for Harvest. Kansas City Journal. In Kansas everything is subservient to the harvest. At Colby a harvest hand was convicted of a crime which carried a jail sentence. His employer appeared before Judge Smith and said he neooed the man's service in the wheat, and wouldn't the judge defer the sentence until the next term of court in September? The Judge would and did. Feel in kt netter. I'm feeling better, thanky, than I did some time asro. Although I didn't much expect to be a-sayin' so. I've Jest about forgot the various eymptems which I ha (J. Which made me think the universe was go!n' to the Lad. I haven't sot Imperialism shivers any mnre; I haven't any panic rlr!tation as of yor. An' It wouldn't much surrrise me if the sclontlsts should find That my truuV.e was somewhat of tha imaginative kind. When rose com a-bleomln all so tenderly an fair. When there's honey In the blossoms anl there' mu!c In the air. When the- b'.sr trees make a heiter that is lofty an" cniUte. An' the srusj provides a carpet fit fur anybody's feet. I:;somr.la clean l"aves me; I am ready for a 1oie. It eeemt like this old world was made for pleasure an" repose. The (rerm of politics will git rne after while, I know; But I'm feelln' better, thanky, than I did acme Urn ago. Washington Star.

THE MONOMANIAC.

"Two events alone." said some philosopher, "are common and inevitable to all llvhfg things the birth by which they enter life and the death by which they leave it." Sixty-two years before, James Jilllngstone had experienced the former of the two inevitables; now he lay at the unquestioned mercy of the latter. It was a luxurious chamber in which he awaited tho advent of the grim messenger. Everything bespoke affluance, nor bespoke it fallaciously. For James Jilllngstone was a man of large wealth, whose fortune. If report were true, well exceeded the million. Almost every penny of this pile he had amassed himself. Others who had essayed the path of bold speculation, as he had done, but, unlike hi:n, had failed to find success, regarded him with envy, some even with malevolence. They threw out dark hints about the dubious methods to which he had often had recourse, and insinuated that others less unscrupulous, though less successful than he, had ere now landed themselves In Newgate., Perhaps there was little credit to be attached to these insinuations. Perhaps, it is so often the case under such circumstances, their sole foundation rest ed on the spiteful and jealous fancies of those who made them. Anyhow, true or not, the verdict of his human critics mattered very little to him now. The one momentous question was what would be the judgment of the Supreme Arbiter. His son his only child a young man of about twenty-two, sat by his father's bedside. The keenest solicitude, the deepest distress, was written in every line of his face as he watched the dying man. Evi dently he was making a great effort to com pose himself to repress outward manifesta tion of grief; but with no great success. It needed little penetration to see that his character was of the emotional order of that order which is highly susceptible to the impressions and surroundings of the moment, and which therefore finds self-control a difficult task. As he sat and watched there came a soft rap at the door. A nurse who was in the room went on tip-toe and opened it, conversing in inaudible whispers with some one outside. After a minute she came back to where young Jilllngstone sat and said to him in a low voice: "It is Father Rawston. He wishes to know if your father would like to see him." The young man nodded. A look of satisfaction crossed his grief-stricken face. He bent over the dying man: "Father, would you like to see Father Rawston? He has just come." The other made a faint gesture of assent. And young Jilllngstone, moving toward the door, beckoned Father Rawston to enter. The newcomer was a middle-aged man with iron pray hair closely cropped and an expression of grave composure upon his clean-shaven face. It was a strong, an able, a determined face a face that betokened a clear brain, an unflinching will and a settled resoluteness of purpose that nothing could turn aside. From his dress and demeanor strangers would probably have supposed him a Roman Catholic priest. And a prie?t he was, but not of the Romish Church. He was an extreme member of that extreme party in the Church of England which has gone so far on the road to Rome that many feel surprise at their not having completed the journey. Father Raw.ston had been now for some years incumbent of a well-knotvn ritualist church in the East End of London. From the first moment of his incumbency his energy and personality had made themselves felt. Indeed, the influence which he exercised over almost all those with whom he came in contact was quite remarkable. Clergymen and laymen, worklngmen and gentlemen pardon the. conventional distinction, for which custom and not I must bear the blame found themselves equally dominated by Father Rawston. James Jilllngstone had first met him at a lads' club in Poplar, toward the funds of which the millionaire had been a handsome subscriber. He was at once attracted by the priest and a friendship was quickly established. This soon ripened into intimacy, anel before many months .went out Father Rawston came and went in Eaton square, where Jilllngstone lived, exactly as he pleased. The father's heart was entirely in his work, in which he soon succeeded in interesting Jilllngstone. and that the latter showed his interest in the most practical way was abundantly evidenced by his bank book. Did the father want fifty, a hundred or even a thousand pounds for any of the numerous philanthropic schemes and Institutions with which he was connected he had merely to ask Jülingstone and Jilllngstone drew hin: a check. "Ah! if only all rich men recognized their obligations as you do what changed places would these London slums become," Father Rawston had said to him one day. It was very noticeable how the devotee's eyes blazed with keen enthusiasm as he said those words; how his whole face glowed with a radiant and eager light. "Upon my word, father." replied James Jilllngstone, "I believe that your whole soul and lifo are bound up in the welfare of these poor people." "They are (iod's poor. My work among them is God's work," was the earnest answer. "The welfare of their souls and bodies is peculiarly the work of God's church. For I speak in no spirit of sectarian rancor If such work is to have the Almighty's blessing, without which true success is impossible, it must be blended an Ith the teaching and the authority of His holy church." "You are no believer, then, in undenominational philanthropy," said Jilllngstone. Father iiawfton regarded him keenly, almost fiercely, with his searching eyes. "Undenominational philanthropy?" he exClaimed. "No! A thousand times no. That so-called liberal spirit of the age. which views all creeds and tenets Indifferently, considering one as good as the other, and attaching to none of them more than an academic importance which treats even Christianity itself as merely an arguable opinion that spirit. I tell you, will not. and in the nature of things cannot ever do anything to really elevate man. No! In every human soul, I believe, deep down out of sight, often, indeed, unconsciously possessed, there exists a hungry yearning for something sure something certain some rock whereon to build an abiding home and be at rest. If, never having found that rock myself. I cannot disclose it to my fellows, if I have nothing better to offer them than pious opinions. 1 am like one who throws little bits of mathwood to drowning menlike one who eilstributes swvetmeants to those who starve for bread. But." he cried, Iiis face glowing, "thank God I have found that rock. Thank God, I can disclose it to others the strong, the staple, the abiding rock of Holy Church." The father's face, usually so composed, was lit up as he spoke by an evident and intense enthusiasm, and James Jülingstone could not help being impressed by the ftrent eagerness of his words and demeanor, although he was far from agreeing with his point of view. "I envy you the comfort of so happy a state of mind, father." he said with a sigh, "it is a comfort which I trust may soon, be yours," replied Father Rawston. suddenly relapsing into his usual state of grave selfiepresslon. Such was the man the strong, earnest, bigoted priest who now stood by the bedsideof the dying millionaire. At a look from him. young Jilllngstone ana the nurse quitted the room, and priest and sufferer were alone together. In about ten minutes Father Rawston opened the door and called them In. "I hope I have been of some comfoK to your dear father," he said to the young man in a low voice. "I have only been Just in time. He is sinking fast. See! even now he relapses into his last torpor. I think there was something he wished to say to you. but he will never say it now. 1 fear that he will not again recover consciousness." Nor did he. Half an hour later James Jülingstone quietly, almost Imperceptibly, drew his last breath. For the next f?w days his son was In a perfect agony of grief, too prostrate to attend to anything. Father Rawston was with him almost all the while, and did whit he could to comfort him. He also undertook the necessary arrangements for the funeral. By the time that was over the young man waa somewhat calmer, and was able to pay time attention to business. This was well. for. by his father's will, he Wiis made sole legatee and executor of his vast fortune, and there were many formalities that had to be complied with. One of the most arduous was the task of gein'T through all his father's papers. This whs a Ijng business, and occupied l.lra more than a fortnight. It was while thus engaged that he came across certain letters bearing date of fifteen years beforewhich occasioned him great uneasiness. Young Jilllngstone. as I have said, was a highly emotional and impulsive young man. The warmth of hii feelings and passion.

with their accompanying lack of self-con-, trol, had often led hlrn into vicious courses, of which he had invariably repented and into which he had again as Invariably relapsed. Judging by his character, it was likely that he would go on in this see-saw manner as long as the ardor of his youthful passions lasted. But just now his father's death had Induced in him an acute.

almost a morbid, state of religious r-elt- j condemnation. And it was while he was in i th!s condition that he came across the let ters to which 1 have alluded. There were four of them, all written within a short while of one another, and bearing the signature "Henry Rebbeck." They had to do with the patent, by the exploitation of which James Jilllngstone had made his fortune. Until then he had been a man of only moderate means, but the bringing out of this brilliant invention (for the economizing of fuel in steampower engines) had ben the making of 1dm. To that he owed his wealth and his success. This, of course, his son in connection with all the world know. Who, indeed, has not heard of Jillingstone's patent? He did not. however, know, until he read those letters, that another man had been concerned with his father in the now historic invention. Still less that the other man had accused his father of having swindled and overreached him in the most cruel and heartless way. Henry Rebbeck's complaint, in fact (as gathered from his letters), amounted to this: That he himself had been the real inventor, but that, being unable to bear the expense of patenting and exploiting the invention, he had brought it to Jilllngstone, with the suggestion that he should rind the money and that they two should divide the profits. Jülingstone (so declared the letters), after carefully going into the matter and examining drawings and models, had pooh-poohed the invention as impracticable, but hardly a month later he had patented and brought out what was substantially the very same invention, varied only by a few slight alterations. Moreover, when Rebbeck had accused him of this, and had claimed to stand in for hilf the profits, Jülingstone had cynically repudiated all obligations; relying, apparently, upon the fact that Rebbeck was friendless, penniless and altogether incapable of asserting his own interests. In the end, however, to get rid of the fellow's importunity, he had paid him 1,00). which Rebbeck, being, it seemed, in dire straits for money, and seeing no chance for better terms, had agreed to accept in full settlement of all claims. An unpleasant story if Rebbeck's story was correct. That his father had taken advantage of a poor man's helplessness to steal his invention, to make upward of a million out ot it, and then to pay him no more adequate compensation than 1,000. It could not be true could not! Or. at least, it must be grossly exaggerated. Yes, this must be merely Rebbeck's highly-colored statement, pitched In a strong key for the purpose of extorting money. His father must have been conscious of innocence, else surely he would never have kept those accusing letters. Yet. while he thus persuaded himself, he felt an underlying sense of discomfort, of uneasiness, of apprehension. Impressionable as he was. things easily got upon nis mind, and. in his present unstrung and overwrought condition, he was peculiarly ready to take a morbid and exaggerated view. He worried over it altogether unduly. It kept him awake nights. He began to feel thit he should never rest until he had cleared the matter up. This mental worry communicated Itself to his manner his appearance. Father Rawston's shrewd eyes soon noticed that the young man had something on his mind; and one day, when they were alone together, he asked him kindly what was the matter. "Oh, nothing nothing," answered young Jülingstone, hastllj'. "Ah. but I am sure," persisted the father. laying h:s hand upon the other s shoulder, that something is troubling you. Your every look tells me so plainly. I do not wish to intrude, but I am an old friend Will it not relieve you to take me into your confidence? Young Jülingstone hesitated for a mo ment. Ihen he inquired, with nervous rapidity: "My father, I believe, had few secrets from you. Have you ever heard him speak of a man named Henry Rebbeck? Father Rawston s lace suddenly grew very grave. "How cyme you to know anything of Henry Rebbeck? he said. "I have found some letters from him among my father's papers," he replied. "the contents of which have made me very uneasy. They represent that my father once behaved very badly to him. But can't believe that this is the true version And I I thought that perhaps he might have told you the rights of the case. Father Rawston made no reply, but stood silent and perplexed. At length he asked: "May I see these letters in confidence?" "Yes! Yes!" said the other, quite welcom ing the suggestion. 'I should like you to see them. Father, in order that you may advise me. For I am very unhappy about them, and I do not know how to act. Come into the library. I will show them to you." They went Into the library. Young JII Hngstone unlocked a drawer, took out the letters and handed them to Father Raw ston. The latter read them all through in silence. Then, looking up at his youm friend, he said: "The fact of your having been put in pos session of this story, independently, makes my position easier than it would otherwise have been and clear away the doubts which I have felt" as to my proper course of action. Your poor father, indeed, did not bind me to secrecy. On the contrary, I be lieve he would have asked me to communl cate what he told me to you, only his voice and his strength fai'ed, and he became incapable of further articulate speech. Nev ertheless, to have told you without an ex press charge from him would have seamed a violation of confessional sanctity, where as not to have told ycu would have shut the door against possible reparation of a great wrong. So painful thought it is I am glad, Jim, my boy, that you have found these letters. " Jim's face turned deadly pale while tha lather was speaking. "It is true, then?" he gasped. "And mv father confessed it to you upon his death"les," was the grave reply. "And he had intended. so he told me, to leave half his fortune to those he had wronged. But he deferred altering hs will, and that last fatal attack caught him unawares. Had he not been even then in artlculo mortis. I should have felt It my duty, as a priest of God, to have sent for a solicitor and witnesses and have urged 1dm then and there to make the necessary act of reparation Rut it was too late. So, fetllng that he had truly repented in intention, though physically unable to prove it in practice, I gave nim absolution, and he died In peace. "Do you mean that my father Intended to leave half his fortune to Henry Reb beck?" demanded the young man, in a low. tense voice. His face was now as white as marble. The muscles about his mouth twitched nervously. "No, my boy. Not to Henry Rebbeck That poor old man has long since departed where earthly riches cannot follow or avail him. But. dying penniless, he left an orphan child, a daughter. That daughter sun lives. "She does? You know where she lives?" Young Jlllingstone's voice was thick and hoarse. "I do. She is in London, this minute. earning ner living as a teacher of music, believe she makes 50 a year." The other made no reply, but sat silent and, as it were, paralysed; his ashen face working with violent emotion. Then, at length, his feelings found words. and, like a little one who. faced by some distracting childish problem, flies headlong to its motner, secure or ner safe direction, he cried "Tell me; tell me, father. "What must I do?" The father answered gently, but very nrmiy. "Your course is clear. Jim. It Is a hard course. But, as a Christian, you have no other." "l must, then, give up half my fortune to Henry Rebbeck's daughter?" cried the young man. looking appealingly into the father's face as though he hoped for some abatement of this great sacrifice. "Evn so. my son," replied Father Rawston, solemnly. Two months had passed. Young Jilllngstone was sitting one evening In his library, reading a novel, when his butler brought him word that a young lady, who declined to Rive any name, wished to see him on pressing business. He directed that she should be shown in. As she entered Jilllngstone roe from his chair and bowed, regarding the stranger curiously. She was young, apparently not more tlnn six or seven and twenty; very spare of figure, with a thin, pale face; plainly, almost severely, dressed in blick. Round her neck she wore a light sliver chain, from which thtre hung a small crucif.x of the ame metal. But even apart from this clew, it was impossible to mistake her for anything else than what she was an ardent devotee of the ritualist persuasion. "Pray be seated. What can I do for you?" said the young man politely. "1 have something very Important to tell you." she ropMed in low. quick tones. "1 come from Mary Rebbeck." He started at the name, regarding her with Increased interest. 'Yesterday." she went on. in the same Fub'tred rapid voice. "Mary Rebbeck received from you your check for an enormous bum. She cannot take it. She is afraid, öhe sends it back to you." As ehe spoke she opened her right hand, disclosing a blue slip of paper, which, step

ping forward, she placed on the table at Jllllnttstone's elbow. "What is the menning of this?" he cried Ir. quick protest. "It Is hers her own, her own. I teii you. by every moral right. Has she not told you the the circumstances under which I have paid her the money?" "I know the real circumstances. You do not." she rejoined, clasping her hands nervously. "I will tell you-but stay! You are a gentleman a man of honor? Your restitution of the money proves that. I shall throw myself and another entirely upon

vour mercy. Fui.lsh me, indeed, if you please. I well deserve it. But but I rely upon you r.ot to invoke the law against that other whom my confession must neces- i sarily Involve." "I will do nothing to abuse your confi dence," he answered, his heart beating with a strange, expectant excitement. "I am Mary Rebbeck," she said. "You?" "Yes. And I know all about my poor father's affairs. When he wrote those letters to Mr. Jilllngstone his mind, never very strong, was quite off the balance. But he "afterwards admitted, as mother and I kr.ew all along, that there was very little truth in them, and that Mr. Jilllngstone treated him quite as liberally as he de served. Indeed. I think that if he had not been egged on by your father's enemies, who were jealous of his success, he would never have preferred any claim at all against him." "But the fact of my father keeping fhe letters." began the young man. "Surely that shows ' "He never kept them." she said. "Those letters which you found were merely copies. And they were placed among your father's papers after his death. He stared at her In utter amazement. "It is true." she continued. "Listen. The man who placed them tnere was i nave only Just realized it. but it is now as plain to me as daylight he Is mad mid. 1 tell ycu. ills mind has Decome twisten, warpea. utterly deluded by Incessant concentration on one absorbing idea. "Do you speak of Father Rawston? he exclaimed, hoarsely, as the truth began to dawn upon him. "1 es. lour father, you must know, upon his death-bed told him that if he recovered strength sufficiently before he died, he would leave half his fortune to Holy Church to be expended by her upon her work among the London poor. But he was even then In artlculo mortis, and was un able to carry out his pious Intention. And" "W hy did not rather Rawston tell me tbf?" demanded the young man. "Instead of-of " "l nere was only his word." she replie-d. quickly. "He feared that it would not be believed: or that, if it was. the suggestion or undue influence would be raised against him; and so the money would be lost to Holy Church. That was why he had recourse to trickery and fraud; that was why I, as mad and deluded as he, was consenting to aid and abet him. I thank God that I nave now come to my senses!" He said nothing, but sat staring into the fire with haggard, sorrowful eyes, dazed by the sudden, heavy shock. Father Rawston, the man of all others whom he had trusted, in whose perfect Integrity, whose lofty principles, whose sublime idealism he had reposed unbounded faith; whom he had believed, if any ever was. to be a perfect disciple of the Master that this man should have sought to impose upon him by a cold, cruel, diabolical fraud It was as if his whole confidence in human nature were suddenly cut away beneath his feet. She read his feelings it was not difficult in his expressive face. "Do not Judge him too hardly," she pleaded, clasping her hands in an entreat ing gesture. "What I say is true. His , . 1 TT 1 -. 1 1 . , i l . uevuuuii iu iiuij iiuiin na lurueu ma brain. He sees not as sane men see. He is mad." "Yes," he said wearily, putting his hand to his forehead and speaking rather to himself than to her, "I think you are right He is surely mad." She turned to go; moved quickly to the door; paused there an instant, looked back and then passed out. leaving him with his hand to his forehead still gazing wearily into the lire. London Truth. AT SEVENTY MILES AN HOUR. How It Seems to Travel nt That Rate In an Automobile, Paris Letter In London Mail. S "Sit tight." said Mr. Edge. "Hoch, hoch, hoch," coughed the huge dark green machine as if It were rehears ing a greeting to the Kaiser In Berlin, and with a puff of petroleum and a fare well thump or two on the stones behind It the seventy horse power Napier hurtled down the long, straight road. "How fast are we going?" I shouted. "We are not going fast at all. We are tooling along gently." "Rut the speed?" "Oh, about fifty miles an hour," said Mr. Edge, carelessly, and smiled at my surprise. "We did not seem to be going very fast, though the wind whistled sharply past my ears and brought tears Into my eyes. Then a hill came at us and leaped over the machine. The illusion was so perfect that I turned to look for it and was nearly thrown out of my cushioned seat by a sudden Jolt. The Seine on one side of us and the trees and houses on the othetf rushed past as they seem to rush when looked at from an express train, and the wind grew a little colder and blew harder. The leaves cn the trees which passed us were quite motionless. The automobile grunted grumblingly and Mr. 'Edge's right foot pressed sympathetically down upon the pare lever. "All right, old lady, off with you." the look on his face said as clearly as If the words had been spoken aloud. Mr. Edge treats his automobile like a favorite mare, and it appreciates it. The great mass of machinery sprang forward like a greyhound from the leash, and the wind before my f,ace ceased to be wind at all and became a thin sheet of Ice pressed close against it. I had taken out my handkerchief a moment before to wipe my streaming eyes, but they were dry again and the handkerchief was being pressed against my mouth. It was only with an effort that I could put it back into my pocket. "Sixty miles an hour," shouted my companion. I could see that he had shouted the words as loudly as he could, but his voice came to me faint and weak, like the voice of a man who had been very ill, or like a call from a loug distance. "Now," said Mr. Edgs. and pressed his right foot down upon the lever once again. There had been a steep down grade before us when he spoke, but as I looked at It the road rushed up and was swallowed by the Napier, which gave a cough of satisfaction, like a giant who had gulped a hearty meal and wanted more. On we went, still without the slightest semblance of moving really fast, but with that sheet of thin crumbling ice ever before our faces and the scenery scurrying past us. Then a wonderful thing happened. Another automobile, a small, red-painted Renault car. appeared in front of us and vanished. "Where is it?" I shrieked, believing for the fraction of a second that we had crushed the little car Into the ground. The mechanician, who sat crouching at our feet, looked up and pointed to the road behind us. The Renault was perched on the brow of the steep hill which we had swallowed, and as 1 wondered how it had got up there it vanished, and the gluttonous Napier had gulped down another mile of road. It is a wonderful thing, this racing at full pressure. Up to fifty, even sixty miles an hour, the pressure of the air is noticeJ able, but is not unpleasant. At sixty-five It makes ltseir distinctly felt, and after that It becomes oppressive, and I experienced the sensations which I think a trout must feel as it lies gasping by the brookside. "Wough! Grrrgle!" said the automobile, trying to get its second wind, and suddenly utter a loud rasping cry, like that of an angry baby troubled by a pin. We slowed down gradually, and stopped as quickly as we could. Tne Napier sweated heated petrol, which made our eyes and nostrils tingle. Mr. Edge and the mt chanlcian. both with serious faces. Jumped down and ber.t over the wheel. I got out. too, stooped down to see what was the matter, and Inadvertently touched the tyre. It burnt me. The India rubber was hot, almost to melting point. The accident which had happened was a slight one. A bolt had plvfn In one of the chains, and the chain had dragged. "At the pace we were going." remarked Mr. Edge, "in rive minutes more the chain would have cut the woodwork of the wheel in two, solid and seasoned o k though it Is." Another bolt put In. a slow run In comparisondown to the nearest township, and we stopred once more to give the nervous system of the mare a rest to cool the automobile, I should say and to give it a drink of petrol. Eighteen gallons was the dose it swallowed, and even thn its tank could have held more-. "Go on." said Mr. Edge. "Noooooo." groaned the great thing peevishly, through its electric coil, and then, like a peeia

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Offlc Hour 9 to 10 .. m. ; 2 to 4 p. m. ; T to p. m. Telephone Office. S07; reildenc. 427. UA II. NO AD TIMi: CA HD. '. M. tlir u in BLAeK figure. Train mark 4 thus: Dady. fc Sleeper, l'harior Car, ÜChair Car. DDinin x Cat ,1- Kxcepi ö an dar. HIO FOÜK ROUT15. Utjllckct OU ice, o. 1 . Washington St. Depart rrlra, CLKVELAXD LINK. Anderwn accommodation 145 2 3 Union City accommodation OO 10 SI ''if-TrUnd, New York A Boston. ex. a.. 4 2 1o.4 Ita nbow City Efrcial 7 .4 J .13 -New York and boston limited, d a..2.fiA 3.lO VTA Bos "Knickerbocaar.-d a....6.V ft H.i Nfunclo special i9 00 7.fl Monde special 135 tl2.3 Union Cay accom (an only) 7.4 tf.40 hli.VTON HAHliOK L1MK Benton Harbor ciprskS .....0.43 8.29 Benton Harbor express, p II. IS 2.35 Warsaw accommodation JV40 ftl Elkhart apeclai .UO KT. LOUI LINK. st Loo la accommodation ...7.30 6.35 St. Loots aontnwestarn, Ilm. d a 11 44 tt.lC t. Louis limited, d a 3.25 2.ÄU Tcrre JiauieA. Mattoon accom 5.00 t.41 St. Louia exprets. a 11.20 4.01 CUICAUO LIHK Lafayette accommodation ....7.V 0.1 S l afavctte accommodation .....S.15 10 U Chkrajro fast mall, d p 11 4J 2.41I Chicago. White City special, d p 3 30 6 1(1 Chicago night rxpreas. a IXOS l.t CINCINNATI LINK. ... Cincinnati expresa. a 1.4 Cincinnati espreae.a 4.1S 11. OS Cincinnati accommodation 7.14 8 OU Cincinnati accommodation 10 45 Mi.'.s Cincinnati express, p 2 AO 8. art reensbarff accommodation Ä iO Cincinnati. Washington f 1 ex. a d...0.20 1I. N. Vernon and Louisrilla ax, a l 45 1144 N. Vernon and LrtolsTllle ex SAO FKORIA. LIN K. Peorta, Blotmlnrton m and er IM tf.4e Peoria and Bioomington f ex, d p ....11 M 0 Champaign accommodation, p d 4.10- J Peona and Bloomington ex, a 11. ÄO . KPKINOFJKLD AND COLCMBU8 LIHK. Columbus and Hprmg flsld ax ICS Ohio special, d p 3 o) f.ynn accommodation U.1S 10.1S CIN, 11AM. Si DAYTON BT. City Ticket Office. 25 W. Waifa. St Cincinnati expreaa ee...4.1J Cincinnati fast mail, ...8.Z1 Cm. and Dayton ex, p..tl0 4J 1Z. 4 10.35 JO 35 11 13.25 17.35 17.15 Toledo and Detroit expreaa, p 110.40 Cincinnati and Dayton ex. p t.4ft Cincinnati and Dayton limited, p d..4.45 Cincinnati and Daj-ton expreas ?.03 Toledo and Detroit express 7.02 CHI- 1NU.X; LOUIS. RV Ticket Office, a West Waas, tit Chl'ro night ea.e..ll M lfl Chicago last mall. a. p d 7.00 fhicago express, p d I1.S0 Chicago vestibule, p d 13.35 Uoiiod accom f4.UO 7 .6 12.40 4 31 LAKE tlUK ft HIIÜItN B. It. Toledo. Chicago and Michigan ex t7.oo 10 3 Toledo. Detroit and Chicago, Mm. .12. SO 13.25 Mcocie. Lafay'toaod Laporto T.ll.aO 110.2 INDIANA. DKUATl'lt MKaTKKN KT. Decetor and Hi. Loots mail sod es. ...11 OS 14 25 Chicago express, p d Ml iw X.4U Tuscola accommodation. 13.30 fUUI Dfcattr A tL Louis last ex. a o... .11.10 4.ui IndisAapoDs Ouoo msos Ticket offices at eiauon ig as corner lUmotft and Washing Inn Ulr..L. ennsulvania Lines. I'hiladelphia and New York t. lO.SiM "tilimore and Washington " - Columbus, lud. and LouisTtlle 4 19 Kicbmond ani Columbus. O 7 20 Ptqua and Columbus. O 7-3 Columbus and Hicbmoud..... 7.2u Vmc.nn.i Ktpre 7.W Columbus. Ind at Madison (Man. only) 7) Martinsville Accommodation tftoo Coluiniius. Ind. and IoatTtl)e ....... .S-O 1U.3 It.UU 3.25 6.50 S 4 2i 9 10 7.11 7.0 1ft 4t ;ii efO 3U C 20 12.59 3.35 112 Uft 4 15. 40 1K.1U lt.lO ix.io 3 25 tits a tiail 4 4 I'M . 4.13 9iS 3 J wa 7.O0 10. (M 2.55 4.45 11.2a i si North Vernon and Madison 11.04 Dajton and Xenia 43 P.ttsburg and feast J MarMncvUle Accom (un. enly) Kiel Seymour Accommodation 11I.0J Logantport and Chicago Ml 45 Martinsrille Accom niodat ton 1 1 X.HO Kmghtstown and Kichtnond tl 25 Louisville Accornmodat.on tl 25 Philadelphia and New York A.U5 Baltimore and Washington 3.05 Dayton and fepringfleld ...3 05 hprlngfield 3.03 Columbus. Ind. and Madison t3.&3 Columboe, Ind. and Loatenlle......3.5 A Vincennes Accommodation 4.oo Tittsburg and Last 5 OO pencer accommodation 7.1t Philadelphia and New York. 7.10 Dnyton and Xenta 7.lO Cclumtoa. Ind.. Accommodation.. .7.30 Martina-Tille accommodation til OO Log an sport and Chicago M2.29 VANDAL! A lAStL 1 srre Haute. Nt. Louis and West. . Terrs Haute and bt. Louis accom..... 1.2& lerre Hanta, bt. Louia and WeU..12.1& Western Express Terra Haute aud Kfiingham acc ....t4.oO lerre Haute and Louis fast man 7.10 I fus and an Pomis West Ml Kt) child which has sndlenly mad up 1 1 a mind to be jrood Hftrr ail, it anortci on or or twice and thtn rhouted. "Hon!" In French. The !hout" was one loud .xplr,!-ion. which echoed like a jrun.hot, and tr automobile dashed forward with a itap li.to the air. Apair. we rushed ahc-ad, tlytnt; nar the pround. It setmd, rather than rlllr:fc on it. and bumping the road now and thrii with a concussion that 5ent m? up from my cufchlonrd, barrel-fhajied peat like a tnll frqm a cup. Uuzzzzz! I'ijIT! Hn! a lowed down aaln. and Mr. IM invltfd mo to stand on terra firrna ar.l waUh the leviathan run rast. At the machine di?apjcarc'd waving wreaths cf petroleum pufis and dim as a farewell behind lt. I noticed that terra was lss flrma than It had hfn bttore my drive. The ground t-mr-d to qulvrr underneath my fet. and I couM f- ! the ru.hiriK and burntiinsr of the Najd. r In rnjr very lont s. It hurt almost as I stood th r-; but In my Ft at. plns sevnty-thrit mll' an hour. 1 had ft It no ..Tisf of undu:y rapid motion. Good Rracims! What w;. happening? The huge machine ruthed down the road towards th plare in which I stood like an exprehs train gone mad. and rs it pa.s-d me !t in-1 to leap witrt all four whtls i'p from tne pro.md and disappear into a cloud of diit and stones. A Iittl bird fell to the. ground at my feet quite dead. Presently the dark preen beast came bark asaln. Its black raiiator grinning in derision at my nervounn The hck 'f seeing it go past -nt that terriUo speed had been so real that 1 could hardly Kther courape to climb into try seat ugaln. "Home." said Mr. lJse. laugnlng. and slowly, at i-fs thtn a mile a mir.ute. we dropped down Into the lluis de Huulogne and into Paris. I phall always feel ashamed of mentioning an automobile as 'It" in future. moke CJen. Worth High trade 5o cigar. C. W. KUIKU dUtilbutr.

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