Indiana State Sentinel, Volume 27, Number 26, Indianapolis, Marion County, 13 February 1878 — Page 1

VOL.. XXV II NO 26. ESTDLASTAPOLIS, WEDNESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 13, 1878. WHOLE NO. 217.

A

TOE TERRIBLE TEST.

ELIZABETH 8. PnELTS. Separate upon the folded page Of myth or marvel, sad or glad. The tesf. that gave tlie Lord to thee. And the to us, O Galahad ! "Found pure In deed and word and thought," The creature of our dream and guess, The vision of the brain thou art, The eidolon of holiness. Man wltti the power of the (Sod, Man with the weakness of men, . Whose lips the Sangreal loaned to feed, "Whose strength was as the strength or ten. "We read and smile; no man thou wast; No human pu I-es thine could be; "With downcast eyes we read and sign ; Bo terrible is purity ! O fairest legend of the yean, With folded wings, RO, silently I O flower of knlKhUuvxJ. yield your place To One who comes frviu Galilee I To wounded feet that shrink and bleed. But press ana climb the narrow way, The same old way our own must step, forever, yesterday, to-day. I'or soul can be what soul hath been, . And feet can tread were teet have trod; Enough to know that once the clay IlatU worn the features of the God. In Huuday Afternoon. ALL FOR LOVE. BY MRS. SALLIE A. RAMAGE. Chapter VIII. Concluded. The funeral services were simple and short, and 'when the clods fell upon the coffined body of Kate Phelps tie sun was just sinking amid the western clouds. The little band of friends who had gone to the grave with the two mourners dispersed and left the husband and child alone by the newly made mound. May had seemed to comprehend the sad reality of the scene, and yet she was quiet in her Borrow, showing a calmness far beyond her years. She clung tightly to her father's hand, now and then pressing it more closely aa if to strengthen her poor lit tle trembling form. Mr. Phelps gave noheed to what was going on about him, but with bended head and compressed lip3 gazed steadily down upon the grave at his feet. He was reviewing his past, his earlier his tory, the sadness he had brought to one woman's heart, the pain that had been his own lot since that moment; memory, faith f ul mentor, brought to his mind Kate Mason as a gay, beautiful woman, as he had chosen her for a wife, and then step by step led him to her deathbed a little while before, and again and as .in he rapfaed "dead, dead, dead." The complaining, unkind voice was forever hushed, the cold rebukin-eyes for ever closed: the once beautiful face, marked by lines of repining and discontent, forever shut from him. And yet he grieved for ner With a remorseful regret that was selfish in its pang He had been the shadow on this woman's path even as he had been once before on that of another, purer and more innocent than even the dead. lie re membered in a dull, dazed way Maggie's face as he had bidden her "good-by" in the old parsonage parlor so many years ago. lie remembered even the old fashioned furni tare, the streatc of sunshine that shown across the room and fell upon the well worn carpet, and even then, by the grave of his wife the mother of his chl.d he could feel the clinging of Maggie's arms, the warmth of her kiss upon his lips, and he Stretched out empty arms and cried, "My punishment is greater than I can bear." The sexton, waiting at a respectful distance,came to him as he saw him tottering, but he did cot fall, (or little May, seeing his agony, but not understanding its import, said tender ly: "Papa, I love you.'' He caught the child up, kissed her with a passion that frightened her with its vehemence, and then, turning abruptly from the place, he went back to the "home." Maggie met them in the hall, and, taking May by the hand, led her to her room, caressing her affectionately. She bathed her hot, swollen eyes, the tired limbs, and soothing her gently she soon fell asleep; and holding her lovingly Maggie eat quietly rocking her, so absorbed in reverie that time passed unnoticed. At last a rap at the door aroused her. A servant had been sent by Mr. Phelps "to see what had better be done about May. She would not allow her nurse to touch her; would Miss Maggie exercise her judgment as to what had best be done to-night." Maggie hesitated before deciding to keep the child. She knew it was but planting thorns for her own feet to press in the future. If she assumed any control or care of her it would necessitate consultations with Mr. Phelps, and ot all persons in the world he was the one she wanted to avoid. She felt that for her own Bake she must refrain frota meeting him, for alas! for the weakness of her heart, she felt the old love again. She tried to keep it under her control, to remember that ehe was nothing to him, that they were separated by bis desire, that he was not worth y of her affection but it was all In vain; and recognizing this, she determined to keep from feeding this love by any meeting or greeting. She would starve it by absence and neglect; she would send May to him, and bid him take charge of his child. She placed her in the servant's arms, but in a moment she sobbed piteously, "Oh, Miss Maggie, please keep me; don't send me away to-night." There was no resisting the pleading voice, and hushing her again to sleep with the promise, Maggie waited nntil she was quiet and calm. Then sending for Mr. .Phelps to meet her in the parlor, she went steadily about a few duties through the house before she could summon courage to quietly talk to the man whom she yet loved. lie was by far the more agitated when they mt, and it was some moments before a word was spoken. At last, summoning all her strength of mind and body, Maegie said: 'May is sleeping in my room. You had better let her alone to-night." "And after to-night, will you accede to her mother's request and take charge of her?" "No, I can not I am not so situated that I can prvperly care for her, and I do not desire to Assume such a responsibility." "Poor little

May! What shall I do with her? I have no

relatives who could take her; her mother's are totally indifferent to her fate, and I am not fit to have the raising ot such a tender, fragile child. But what can I do?" "lam not competent to advise you," and she arose to leave the room. The inter view was becoming painful. She could see how worn and weary Mr. Phelps was after his long vigils by the side of his wife, how nervous and anxious, how entensely interested in the fate of his child. And she remembered her own baby her child and his and somehow the memory of the little grave all alone in the great fashionable cemetery lot softened her heart towards little May, and she felt if she remained longer Bhe would not be strong enough to resist his appeals. "Please stay a moment. Have you no word of advice? -I know I have no right to ask, but if you would only take May I eould go away perfectly contented. If not, I must try and get a nurse for her and Bend her to Mrs. Mason, my wife's (Kate's) mother. But this is a future that seems terrible to contemplate, and I shrink from it But it is all that I can do if you refuse me. She is so delicate that there are grave doubts as to her living until she is grown; but here, in this pure air, she might gain health and strength. I beg you, do not say no. I am going away at once. You shall have absolute control of her in all regards. I will arrange funds to be used at your pleasure, and I will trust her to you implicitly. Will you? For May's sake, say yes." He was so much like the Will Phelps who had wooed and loved her, that for an instant she longed with the fierce hunger of the heart for his tender caresses. But she allowed nothing of this to show in her face and manner. She waited a moment to control her voice, and then an swered quietly: "Yes, if the case be as you say, I will for a time at least take May under my charge." He would have thanked her, but ere he could speak she was gone, and, while he paced the floor miserable and sad, in an upper room, in an agony of tears, kneeling by the bedside, clasping May close to her, Maggie kept the long vigil of the night In the morning, after a short inter view with his child, and leaving a simple "good by" for Miss Maggie, with a farewell visit to his wife's grave, he started out to seek oblivion and forgetfulness in the whirl and turmoil of the world. Chapteu IX. Days linked themselves into weeks and months before May again saw her father, His letters to her were long and frequent, and as the child could neither read nor an swer them, Maggie was forced to do so. But in no way did she show that she was aught but the amanuensis of the child. She added no word or suggestion of her own, but simply wrote the childish sentences that May dictated. But Will's letters were as precious to her as the sunlight and pure air are to the prisoner newly liberated from a dungeon. She read and re read every sentence, for there was much written for her, though It was addressed to May. Slowly but surely the wretched man was learning the truth that retribution is certain that as we sow even so shall we reap. He had never loved Maggie, even in her beautiful girlhood, as he loved her now, but he would as soon have died as have dared to ask her to be again his wife. No; - he felt how righteous was his punishment, how just the judgment of his own accusing conscience, He remembered how coldly and cruelly be had put her from him with neglect and un kindness; how unfaithful in thought be had been to her when, as his wife, she had right to expect and demand love and protection from him. He felt that though once he had possessed her heart's richest affection that now it was forever lost to him. The more he realized his sin and its punish ment, the more he longed for the prize that he had so carelessly let slip from his life, He dared not go to her, for her calmness had so decived him that he believed ehe hated him, and would spurn every advance that he could make. He prayed for an op portunity to meet her where he could talk to her without incurring her displeasure. Soon aye, sooner than he expected the chance came. He had been traveling, but without any settled purpose. He had money and time, but neither brought to him an hour's peace or rest, and he wandered listlessly from place to place, seeking something to absord his mind, that now was tortured by remorse. He had been south, but had come by easy stages to St Louis, and while there a telegram was handed him one morn ing, and ere he read it an undefined horror seized him, and he felt that it was a message ot bad news. A moment more, and he was reaiy to obey the brief command. "Will Phelps, 8t Louis: May is dangerously ill. Come quick. Mar garet Phelps." Never but once before had he seen that name thus written, and that was upon the gravestone of the little child they had buried in their early married life. Margaret Phelps staid, womanly Margaret; not the childish, winning Maggie. He was almost wild with nervous forebodings and arxiety, and, tnough the journey was made with all speed. It seemed a century before ha landed in the little wayside village in Colorado. The resident physician at the home met htm, and drew him into the re ception room with a close, firm clasp of the hnd. "Is she living yet, doctor?" he gasped, for the awful fear was growing deeper. "Yes, but she is very, very low. You must be perfectly quiet before yon go into the room. The least noise might kill heV, so highly strung are her nerves; but I tell you now, if she lives it will be owing entirely to Miss Maggie's attention and nursing. She never leaves her. She seems endowed with superhuman strength. She has done everything possible to win May back to life. You owe her much, Mr. Phelps." . The miserable father buried his face in his hands and groaned heavily. Aht the wares of anguish swept from him every earthly excuse he bad ever clang to for his desertion of her to whom

be would owe, under God's care, his child's

life. The doctor left the room silently, respecting the man's sorrow and grief. He I met Maggie on the stairs, and in a whisper she told him that May was sleeping.' a glad smile lighting up the thin face, so white after the hours of nursing and care. "Her father is in the reception room, and I expect you had better step in and tell him. Ut' ought not to see her, however, until he is calmer." Trembling and faint she obeyed, though the task seemed too much for her strength. He did not hear the soft step nor the low voice that spoke his name. She stood for a moment ' regarding him with an earnest gaze. Was this the gay, fashionable man she had married? Was it possible that time could have so changed him, and that it had brought into her presence this sorrowful, worn mourner as the husband of her youth. This agony, was it all for May, or was memory torturing him with her suffering when she too had been stripped of all that made life happy? She would gladly have touched him, have soothed him with pitying words, but she forbore and said calmly: "Mr. Phelps, May " He started to his feet with a startled cry, "Maggie!" The ordeal was too much for her, and she tottered towards him, the thick tears blinding her eyes. He stretched out his hands to strengthen her, but so deep was bis shame and humility that he would not presume to touch her. "Maggie, will you forgive me? I have suffered, but there seems no atonement for my sin. Will you forgive?" Another boiler and less loving would have pressed his case, but he dare not approach her. She hesitated, as if in doubt, and then with a glad cry of love and happiness, the threw her arms about bis neck, with the one word, "Will," upon her lips. It was like a tempest that had spent its force, and the stillness of peace succeeded the mighty storm. Before either could speak the doctor came in. "Miss Maggie, May is awake and asking for you. She is much better. Probably her father can go up with you." The story is told. The severed fortrnes are united; the lives so strangely, so sadly marred are again covered by the glow of happiness; but the terrible deep scars are there: the wounds have healed, but the marks remain ineffaceable for all time. There were ever to husband and wife pages of their past that they could not read aloud, but silently and atone the words written in asony were reviewed. The world sees these broken homes and wags its gossiping tongue, but if perchance the story be told, and hearts are united and hands lovingly enclasped, the critic calls It an idle romance, and condemns the tale that it ended not in bitterness. i - ! nnd NliMple Attire Appleton's Journal. One who writes in an English journal on "Clothes" declares that "men do but ask to see their mothers, sisters and sweethearts daintily clean and fresh in all their arrange mcnts and appointments, and as pleasing to the eye as modesty and moderation will per mit" There is something really charming in this picture, simple as it is. "Daintily clean and fresh In all their arrangements. We may concede that, for great occasions, ladies may elaborate a little on this basis; but say for the breakfast table or for all ordinary home occasions, how de lightful it is to see our womannooa arrayea in tresn ana simple attire co crumpled hair in reminder of last night's eiaborata coiffure, no silks or other costly fabrics, now spoiled and dilapidated; no formidable wrappers, loud of color and won derful of pattern; no twice used linen; no slatternly shawl, that horror in un tasteful households; no touch of dishabille in the slightest or least suggestive degree. I n happilly this picture is much rare. There are many women who persist in wearing at the morning meal, and upon other domestic occasions, old powns, or apparel that has been banished from the drawing room. Now, a lady may be dressed in more rich and costly fabrics at one time than another, but there should be no.de gress of neatness, of odor, of purity, or of freshness. The morning dress may be a wholly inexpensive one. but a grease stain or a rent is just as much an offense at break fust as at dinner. In fact, if there must be a stain, we would rather see it on the evening silk than the morning muslin, which should always have the supreme sentiment of freshness and daintiness. Many women have little idea of how greatly they shock the tastes and really endanger the affections of their hus bands by their unseemly domestic apparel There is not a man of sense and refined feeling anywhere who would not prefer some simple and chaste adornment for his wile In the morning to any extreme splendor at the evening ball. Let a woman by all means dress brilliantly on those occasions that render it proper; we bavn no desire to abridge her privileges nor bad; herinstincts in this pirticular; but we claim that it is important for ner, if she values her bouse noia serenity, mat sne should give equal heed to her customary domes tic attire. The female who goes about tbe bouse untidily dressed has , no right to the title of woman. She is without those marks and indications by wbfch she can be classified. We reject the notion that a person can really be a woman who is without those dain'y instincts for sweet ana pure apparel that traditionally pertain to the feminine sex. , Such an individual has lost tbe characteristics, the qualities, the refinements, the distinguishing elements of the daughters of Eve; and, as mi has not by this elimination gained any characteristics ot the masculine sex she evidently belongs to some a yet undescribed variety of tbe human family. Bail Mjm-111 . I The teaching of sutne public school! has been illustrated by the examination DtDers oi applicants lor admission to the Micbigan Slate .Normal school, last spring. Among the examples of bad spelling were "dtfiuate," "intence," "opreation," "apeclmc." "pan tnaiMii; ana the word "respectfully ' was misuHed for "respectively," "sublituenesa' for sub'iiuity," and "extern-lty for "out side." Sentences ran as follows: ":3uM-ct matter exhibits themselves," and "fhe color of leaves are green." ' Torrid was ftpelled with one r, and frigid with two c's, Virginia was bounded on tbe west by Maw m ri, south by Georgie, north by 0'iio and New York, and west by Indiana.' Not a single examination paper exactly cor rect in the bound in r irtiioia. Mary flemmer mj that th woman suf frages whom she saw In Washington were to other women as gnarled oaks and bright npdragons among lilies. And Mrs. Isabella Beecber lleoker wonders if Mary ever looked In the gl

MY QlHL.

A little corner with its crib, A little mug, a i-poon, a bib. A little tooth ho eurly white, A Utile rubber ring to bite. A little plate all lettered ronnd, A little rattle to resound, A little creeplnn see, Bhe stands! A little step 'twixt outstretched hands. A little doll with flaxen hair, A little willow rocking chair, A little dress of richest hue, j A Utile pair of gaiters blue. A little school day after day, A little schoolma'am to oley, A little ntudy soon 'tis past, A little graduate at last. A little mutTfor winter weather, A littlo Jockey hat and feather, A Utile Hack with funny pockets, A little chain and ring and lockets. A little while to dance and bow, . A little escort homeward now, A little party, somewhere late, A little lingering at the gate. A little walk in leafy June. A little 'alk while Miinea the moon, A little reference to pnpa, A little planning with mamma. A little ceremony grave, A little struggle to be brave, A little cottage on a lawn, A Utle kl my girl waa gone ! A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. Dora Guild was the daughter of an Indian general who died, covered with fame, and ten ner aione and literally friendless in Bombay, where he breathed bis last His dying words were: "Go home, my poor girl, to your Annt Arlingford at Elmsley, near London, and stay with her until you are married to Walter." For General Guild and Colonel Cray had been friends together and comrades in many a battle, and bad long ago affianced their motherless children to one another, the wedding to take place as soon as the young man had attained his majority. bo here was tbe orphan girl neanng the end of her loi g journey, and gazing wistfullv at the strange and unfamiliar lind of her birth. There was one clause in her dead father's will which had recurred to Dora's mind with ever present pain ever since she had first beard it; and that was, should she, upon making the acquaintance of Walter Cray, refuse to marry him, the bulk of her fortune should be passed over to her cousin, Penelope Arlingford. That her dear father should think it neces sary to coerce her into compliance had wrung from her many a tear. hollv un versed in the strong minded ways of some English maidens, she had never dreamed of disobeying him, or of choosing a mate for herself. The journey was over at last Miss Guild found herself in a quiet coun try house, surrounded by the most fervent assurances of welcome from her sole, surviving relatives, who, of course, knew all about her affairs, and treated her with the most delicate consideration. Mr. Arlinsrford waa a bluff and hearty gen tleman farmer; Mrs. Arlingford a reserved ladv, who, however, seemed kindness itself; while Peuelone, the only daughter, and Dora's possible rival for the fortune, was a gentle-faced, chestnut-haired girl of twenty, who gretted Dora by winding her arris around her and laying her cheek to hers without a word. In the course of the evening of Miss Guild's arrival, while she was giving her aunt onie account of her vovace from India, she obsirved her cousin Fenelope standing out on the lawn, talking earnestly with gentleman. It was a brilliant night in midsummer; the moon, white and searching as a great limelight, shone on tbe pair, and showed Miss Arlington's companion to be not only young and handsome, but also a lover. His hand held hers, and his stately head was often bent in unmisttkable adoration close to her tre&ses. while she leaned towards him in all thai loving couiiJence of a re turned atfrction. Yerv soon they entered the pirlor, and Walter Cray was directly presented to Miss Guild. And he the lover of Tenelope! Dismay, consternation, felt upon the heart of the orphan. There could be no mistake every loox, every action of the two betrayed it. She was affianced to a man who loved an other. The cold louch ot his hand on hers, the distant salutation, as if ehe were the merest stranger, proclaimed that he was resolved to ignore the contract which was between them. Dora shrank into the nearest corner of the room, and bitter disappointment filled her soul. Very soon, however, the conversation go ing on round the table arrested her atten tion. Walter Cray was telling Mr. Arlingford and Penelope an account of a strange mur der which had lately occurred. The man," said he, "was rather a clever chemist, and accomplished his purpose in a manner savoring more of the exploits of tbe 'Arabian Nights' epoch than those of our day. He got possession of her journal, and impregnated lu leaves with a sort of volatile poion, which she, of course, inhaled the first time Bhe made a record in the book, the result being a mysterious death which no one could account for." The eyes ot Peneiope Arlingford were fixed upon the narrator with a pulsating eagerness which arrested the attention of the orphan. "What could it have been?" she almost whispered. "Dcn't believe it," remarked Mr. Arling ford, sententiously. Toe lovers were gazing at each other, and there was a Lalf smile on the features of each. Soon after this, Dora, being considered weary after her railwav journey, wai conducted to her bed chamber by her cousin, who, again embracing her In a mute, clinging fashion, hoped she would rest well, and left her. Not one word had been said about her betrothal to tbe young man in the parlor. Her claims had been wholly ignored. Her cousin was 1'kely not only to rob her of her inheritance, but of her husband also. The young girl retired to bed with a feeling of desolation at her heart which may be easily imagined, and fell asleep weeping bitterly for the old, happy Indian life, when she was tbe idol of her father, anduhe darling of her ayah. She awoke or rather, she struggled back to consciousness with tbee words running through her mind "tbe result being a ruys terious death, which no one could account for." It was a disagreeable remark to occur to one in the middle of the nigbt, and it roused her to a preternatural wakefulness. She began t j ponder over the eve ats of the pat evening, when suddenly something struck her ear which sent all the blood tingling to her beait. It was like tbe trailing of along muslin robe over t'ie thick carpet which covered the floor, and the cautious rustling of paper. The one sound followed the other with the

slow and regular monotony of a machine. The nhcht was at its darkest and the bead of the bed was in an alcove, so that a view of the room could Dot be set n; but Dora divined,

with a choking of the breath, the meaning of the strange sounds.

Penelope Arlington w in the room! Before she retired. Dora had read a cbnoter from a large old Bible which lay en ter lame. She perfectly recollected ulacine it in tbe end of the sofa near the window w hen tbe had finished reading it She felt that her rival was on her knees before that book, impregmting its leaves with the "volatile poison" which Walter Cray had spoken of, and that as ehe finished each leaf, and turned it slowly over, her Seng musun sieeve swept tne ede of tbe book, making the stealthy sounds which Lad aroused her intended victim. Dora lay bound hand and foot by a feeling which almost stopped the beating of her heart Remember, she had grown no amid scenes of passion and violence; Bhe had been among the helpless ones at Cawnpore when the Sepoys massacred their victiras in cold blood; and death was not so strango a weapon in the hands of a young girl, to her, as it would be to us; nay, it seemed tbe one weapon by which Penelope Arlingtoa would most likely strike for love and wealth. Motionless, her eyes distended, the cold dew of agony dripping from her every limb, the orphan girl lay and listened to this evidence of treachery. AH at once a board at the Bide of the bed creaked, as though a wary foot was pasting over It, and the long swish of the garments followed. Then the door softly burst oren as if without hands, a flow of air from the passage rushed across the girl's rigid face, and she heard amid the suffocating throbbings in her ears tbe first crow of some neighboring chanticleer. Her terror ended in a swoon. When she came to herself it was broad daylight The golden sunshine was lyinp across tier pillow, and tbe rich perfume of honeysuckle came in through the open window and lilled the pretty chamber. All seemed peace and innocence around hr. but the soul of the orphan girl was filled with astonishment. She could scarcely arrange her thoughts at first, so terrible was the ordeal through which the had passed; but at length she saw that she must leave the house immediately; that she must relinquish both her affianced and her fortune, if she would feel her life safe. "Oh, papa! my papa!" wept poor Dora, "you have made a terrible mistake!" When she joined the family, in answer to the breakfast bell, she was in her traveling dress, and her trunks were all repacked. "Why, cousin Dors,, what is the matter? Are you ill, dear?" exclaimed Penelope, in a soft cooiog voice, which seemed habitual to her. Dora turned her back on her midnight visitor, and striving to speak calmly, f aid to Mr. Arlingford, "I wish to go to London today, sir. Please allow jome one to drive me to the station." There was a pause of consternation, then they all with one accord began to pleal with her to change her mind, and none of the three were so urgent or so tenderly loving about it as Penelope. "Just try us, dear cousin!" she entreated. "Of course yon will be lonely at first everything is so different; but who will make you happier than we can? Has anybody olfended you. dear Dora?" "No," answered Dora, shuddering; "but I shall prefer to live alone." "You are so young, so ignorant of the ways of our towns," said quiet Mrs. Arlingford, here chiming in anxiously. "It is a mad thing for you to think of, child." "I must go," responded the orphan, averting her paliid face that the dark misery of it might not be seen. So. when the persuasions of himself and the pleadings and tears of his women availed not Mr. Arlingford got offended and cried, "Let her please herself, Pensie. R;ng and order Sam to bring the carriage around." Dora swallowed a cup of tea. and choked down a morsel of bread, and then she went back to her room to put on ber hat. Locking the trunks took but a few moments. She flung herself upon a chair and wept silently, feeling herself to be the most deso late and friendless being on the face of the earth. What should she do in London? Go to her father's lawyer and tell him she did not wish to marry Walter Cray, then live alone in such lodgings as the remnant of her fortune could afford her. Ah! it was indeed a terrible mistake, that clause in the will. But into the midst of her musings stole a sound which thrilled her once more with awe. The swish of a garment, the rnstle of a paper, just as it aroused her last night Dora gazed about her like one bereft of reason. The large old Bible lay quiet enough, and closed exactly where she had plawd it no living thing was in the room but herself. And then she saw tbe whole mystery. The window was partly open and a slight puff of wind had blown the crisp, white curtains in the room; then receding had sucked them outward through the aperture, wbile the imprisoned air. running up the blind had caused the tissue paper hanging at the top to rustle. There came another puff the trail of the curtain over the carpet the rustle cf the paper hanging. Dora sat gazing at the window, hrr face, in its astounding thankfulness, a study for an artist. At this moment Penelope came in. She had evidently been weeping. "The carriage is ready, dear cousin," sighed she tremulously. Dora passed ber hand over her forehead, then facing her rival, asked in a hurried tone, "Were you up last night at any time. Miss Arlingford? ' "Yes," answered Penelope in surprise, "about 4 o'clock I rose and shut my window. The wind was rising." "Did you bear a cock crow as you did so?" "Yes, I did. Why do you ask, dear? Stay; I know why! You wert frightened by hearing a board creak betide your bed. I should have told you about that board; bow stupid of me!" "I heard aboard creak," said Dora scarcely believing her own ears. "Yes, it ought to be fastened down. It runs tbe whole breadth of the house, and when I tread on one end of It in uiy room the other eud creaks in this. Listen!". She ran across the passage, shut ting the door after her. and in a moment tie vertable creaking commenced, accompanied by the clicking of the latch of the door, which had so petrified Dora. When the young la1y returned the expression of her cousin's features was so mightily altered that she exclaimed, "Why. ray darling girl, I do think you wanted to leave us because you thought the house was haunted." Ter perhaps yes," faltered Dora, wistfully gazing at ber. "Yon poor little darling," murmured Pene'one in a voice of deep compassion, and she took Dora's unresisting hand in hers "Why would you not tell me? D.m't you know, Dora." and a smile played around her lip, "that we ought to love each other dearly? We are both going to marry a Walter Cray, and be the closest of cousins." "Are there two Walter CraysT' ejaculated Dora.

"Whaf," cried Penelojie, her countenance slowly crimsoning as the situation burst upon her; "did yon imagine " She never completed the sentence, but snatching i?p the ror, trie little orphan to her bosom, strained her there, and kissed her tearful, smiling face with kisses, which were fully returned. But Dora never reyealed tie w hoi of her terrible mistake.

STATE 3IEWS. Lu,ng fever is prevailing in Edinburj&i Corn M worth rsnli KmcVkJ: at VJ. " . C . AA UI bus, and none offered. Edinburgh Conner: Our fn still inform us of the flattering propeet of an abundant yield of wheat this year. It Is estimated that Wirran nnnnt-n f.i..,i .... lost $75,000 last year from hog cholera. The Portland Coramercial sara everatSimr is favorable for the growing wheat crops. Three persons in one familvdiedof dmlv. theria in one neighborhood in White county last weeK. - Blue birds and robbins. savs the Elkhart Union, are hopping about as if spring had really come. TlolnM Vw TtaTt-lii k.. 1. J who can sing the four principal parts; she Brookville American: It would seem that all the walnut timber has been well aigh culled out of White Tfatcr valley. Elkhart Union: It ia rennrttwl rv Vi.f the peach buds are yet sound, notwithstand.i i ing me previous cnanges oi weather. According to the OAwfonWHlA T?avtthe farmers are getting ready for the manufacture of maple sugar and molasses. A disease mnch iiwni V1 ini. tv. an!wj: is affecting horses ia various sections of the state, as yei it has rarely proved fatal. Leavenworth Democrat: Iinsiness in town is rather dull, the roads being ia such- poor condition that the people can not get to market Taoli News: Under the new law a township trustee who has held tbe olfice for two consecutive terms is ineligible for re-election. Huntington Democrat: From reports from the farmers throughout the- county wbaat never looked better at this season of the year. Valparaiso Messenger: In Marshall county they send a man to tbe penitentiary for two years for killing a man and twelve years for stealing a horse. There is money in horses. Benton County Democrat: The grain dealers at Itauh are paying 27 cents per bushel for corn. The farmers of tnat vicinity are lucky in obtaining nearly every cent the market affords. Laporte Argus: The dry freeze of late has been unfavorable to the wheat Some are fearful that it will prove disastrous to the crop. We hope not. It now has a covering of snow to protect it Ledger Standard : Turnpikes are agitating the good people of Harrhoa county. Floyd county people, especially those of New Albany, should awake from their slumbers and do something in this direction. The Crescent says: Members of the Lafayette bar are total abstinence at home, but when they come to Frankfort and get a taste of the superior article kept in Frankfort saloons they soon become half seas over. The Ligonier Banner thinks there is but little doubt that the Indiana democracy will take a stand in favor of the reduction bf the rate of interest The war rate of 10 per cent, will be wiped out by the next legislature. Huntington Democrat: The enterprising citizens of Dallas township, this county, acting with tbo e of Lagro township, Wabash county, are agitating the question ot constructing a gravel road from Lagro to Huntington. Let it come Huntington township will join hands. A more valuable road could not be built - Benton County Democrat: A public meeting was held ia Oil boa townf-hip on Saturday last for the purpose of taking the initiatory 6teps toward the building of a gravel road from the Bouth line of that township to the town of Remington. Something near $4 000 was subscribed, to be paid in money or labor, and the success of the movement assured. Good for Gilboa! Evansville Journal : Mrs. Adele LeBaume Scott, of St Louis, a lady well known in Evansville, is prosecuting a suit in the courts in St Louis to recover a large amount of money from tbe estate of her father, which the trustee has failed to account for. The estate is valued at about $97,500. The case is attracting great attention in St Louis. Lafayette Courier: The German Savings bank has paid it depositors $78,000, leaving but $10,000 unsettled. This will be fixed up in a day or two, when the books will be balanced and the institution become a thing of the past Toe Langlois tract of 102 acres, near the city limit, brought $5 000 cash. Theodore Wise was the purchaser, we understand, but np to to day the transfer had not been made. Phonetic Spelling. The phonetic spelling agitation is again stirring np educational circles in England, and the duke of Richmond recently received a deputation from the' London and other school boards, as well as from various learned societies, asking for reform in the methods of spelling the language. They did not insist that this reform should be established on tbe phonetic plan, but that was nevertheless what they evidently had in mind. The friends of this proposed new departure which like all advocates of a radical innovation, they are pleased to designate reform, have hardly put the question on ground where it can be intelligently d'scussed with them. There is a vagueness about their propositions that rather discourages even tbe man who on definite grounds might be disposed to favor the change that is asked for. If children learn to read phonetictliy in an incredibly short space of time, as it is claim-d they do, the system, so far as it is a system, might perhaps be profitably used as an adjunct of tbe more comprehensive processes of elemen-' tary education. But for tbe general uses of life would not the phonetic idea be more confusing than the u resent principle, which is charged with being aroitrary? Harmony and uniformity are at least attained now by all who spell correctly. They have no difliculty in understanding words and the distinction of words of the same phonetic effect through their orthographical differences. It may be thought that the phonetic plan ia based on a natural law, but if t-o it would be found an eccentric and confusing one if left to the interpretation ot man. Bishop Coxe, according to the Congressionaliet, is aald to have wished that some ' wie dignataries of the church would set forth a form of sound words suitable to be used by Christian men under certain provo-