Indiana State Sentinel, Indianapolis, Marion County, 18 September 1889 — Page 3

THE INDIANA STATE SENTINEL, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 18S9.

SOME LAKE GEORGE GOSSIP

WHAT THE PRETTY GIRLS ARE DOING. A Place to EM and Rast Lake Girl Go, ip From a Bout'.oir Thosa Who Cresa For Men Gossip! Gosipl IIow They Gossip. Lak2 George, X. Y.. Sept 15. This ia & laml -where it is always afternoon, r.ut it 13 a bracinz afternoon. The sky and the water seen to be rivals as to which shall be the bluest, and the air is more health-giving than a drug ehop fall of tonics or any of the jauch-talked-about, much-quarreled-over elixir. ' Stretched out in a boat with an umbrella at a proper angle, a good book or merely a loaf, one will sail around and t-ke no trouble unto one's eelf. It is about tho only place where you feel as if you need not toil or epin, and where absol ite rest may bo pained. Rest is a word that covers a multitude of joys. It means beinj; left in solitude when that is desired, and yet finding fun among one's friends when companionship is sought for. Then, too, the eating here is good, and while that lounds very material, the modern maiden as keenly appreciates the way the lish caught by her cavalier is broiled as she does his "gallantry in making the fish under the water bow down to her desires. iShe knows that to be beautiful she must be a bit cf a gormet, and so ehe eats fish for her brain, rare, wellcooked beef for her blood and fresh fruit lor her skin. When I pay well-cooked beef, I don't mean baked. beef; I mean roat that is to say, be ef that is basted in its own gravy, and not merely shoved in an oven and allowed to prow dry there. The modern maiden of Lake (ieorere is nothing if not nautical. She sails off on the bofom cf the lake attired as if she expected to meet huge icebergs or great waves mich as wash over the decks of an ocean steamer; to be mire she takes with her the twtnking banjo and ehe can pine no end of nautical soncs. She has learned to splice the main brace, she knows howto put the ship in Ptays, and she often wonders where in the world that term ever originated. She has a supreme contempt for any man who doecn't know how to supply his toat with suitable "eatin's and arinkin'e," and a fit ill more contempt for him if he doesn't know how to fish. Pops she fish? Did you ever know a woman to fish with any success? A woman way fish, but when she lands great big monsters of the deep, when she can watch a line for hcurs, w hen she can pit there as mute as the Sphinx, when she does not need a novel, or a chat to break up the monotony, ehe is more than a woman and less than a man she's a heathen gxldefs. Fishing and women are as incompatible as ico cream and clams. You come here, if you are a man, with your mind intent on pport you breathe the air, you feel ten years younger; you eat your dinner and give thanks that "you are not ten years youncrer else you would not have appreciated it as it deserves. You get a boat, your fishing implements are all ready, you are properly arrayed in your flannels and your man is carrying a mysterious basketful of bait. On your w'ay out you see such a nice girl she looks not a bit flirty she is very much interested in your scheme for fishing, and although you have made up your mind to steer clear of petticoats, still you are convinced that this is such a chummy girl, one who really doesn't care for fiirtintr, anl who has fished up in Canada with her brothers and who knows all about the charms of it, and so you ask htr to gov ith you. Ab, Mr. Harvard, it isn't your bait that's any use, the fish ha3 been landed and the worm, so innocent looking, is a direct descendant of the eerpen in the Garden of Eden. Out in the boat there are some cushions, and so because a fellow would do that to any woman, you arrange mademoiselle comfortably on them. Her line is fixed and you are both as quiet as Cleopatra's needle. Suddenly you are asked if you will think any the less of her if she opens her parasol. For, it is confessed, with a half beseeching smile, that she does not like freckles. The parasol is opened, and from that moment your line doesn't seem to interest you much. It is a pretty parapol the inside ia the palest sort of a rose. anl the outside is all white frills and white ribbons it makes a charming background for the energetic lisherwoman in white flannels and a white sailor hat, and you wonder how she can sit there placidly and so consistently watch for the little fish to nibble. You caa't keep your eyes oil" that parasol, and the consequence is the lines get mixed up and you conclude, as it is a bit of dirty work, to let your man untwist those wet lines; then you think that mademoiselle wculd be more comfortable in the end of the boat you fir the cushions and she gets down In them as if they were a nest. Then it dawns on you what a pretty face she has, and then you notice how slender and white the hand is holding the parasol. You wonder how you ever could have been interested in fishing you remember that Izaak Walton is always fpokenof as old, and you think that whil there are pretty women in the world, there is no reason why a man should want to hunt for a cold, clammy fish. You talk ; you pay all the lovely thinps you ever heard sb-.:;t the water and the sky, and then you feel a bit drowsy, and mademoiselle, resting so comfortably at the end of the boat, let the eyelids fall as if in maiden meditation, and you eit thtre and watch her, and tr. ink how good it i.i to be alive. After a while the boat turns toward home; you help cr:t your companion in fishinz, you thank hr for the mot delightful afternoon you ever had, you see her white skirts whisk in the door, you have a gÜLpeof a tiny white shoe, and you ponder what ehe is thinking about. And you hop very faintly that it's you. It is. She is thinking that thero never was a fi!errr.an who couldn't be caught by a woman who knew how to adapt herself to ein utr.stances and to h:s mood. And she in won lerinjr if a small mermaid wouldn't be poo l ta.t for a sea serpent. She goes to her room and two or three Of her chums come in to ee her, and they gofir. Here'i the jsfomip at I heard it: 'Did you Fee in the paper that Mrs. B'aine bar! the rheumatism?" "Oh, ves ; and don't it eeeni queer to think of anybody who ' is young having mich a tbintr, and yet. do you know, girl, it's quite ousted neuralgia, and is the fashionable complaint. I know a woman who gloats over her rheumatism as she might over a peach-blow vase or a Worth frock. The queen has it, though I hardly think that would make it fashionable here; still, as pomebody said, you can have your choice between hot needles sticking in your nerves or in your muscles it's the smart thing to choose it in your muscles." "Has anybody eot lettersto write? Can you imagine, girls, that I got a letter from HaratoKa, written on lined paper and with violet ink? Mabel t very good form, but evidently that dreadful place has demoralized her. As if one didn't want paper cf the plainest, quills of tho softest, and ink of the blackest, to write a letter! I waa two years learning how to scrawl my handwriting, but I've pot it bo now that it's like a cry ptosram you've got to get the clew, the clew being one word, before you ran tell what tbe rest ie about. I remember hearing such a funny story about a 2'ew York man, on who writes a

lot about actors and how the stage is going down, and how only Mr. Booth and Mr. Barrett can elevate it. He was visiting a clever woman near Boston was in the library, and doing copy and throwing tho sheets, as fast as he covered them, on the floor to dry. His hostess and her little daughter came in. The little woman was trying to walk around the numerous papers when her mamma said: "Be careful, Hope, and don't walk on Mr. Ilutton's manuscript, else you'll get your feet wet." The question of dress came up in this way: The young woman who had been out fishing ( ?) said that she wanted to put on a gown that evening that would please the soul of Mr. Harvard, and by a delicate compliment she intended to make it a pale blue. Then the inevitable interrogation mark from Boston asked solemnly: "Who do we dress for men or women?" Mademoiselle answered: "Men." Men, generalizing, have very good taste. It is men who approve of black gowns, small bonnets, no bustles, fresh gloves, dainty shoes and long wraps. A man sees the use of a short jacket, but he finds no elegance in it. He can understand that a long wrap made of rich material, soitened by fur or sparkling with jets, has about it a something that makes you think a woman a queen. Men have always abhorred the bustle that expression of fashion that would make vulgar the Venus de Medici. And the ono man who rules tho fashion, tho one man who understands the harmony of color, the perfection of line and the value of stuff's, always refused to put them in the gowns he created, and the man is "Worth. You think it funny for a man to be a modiste? I don't. Who wrote up the descriptions of the beautiful women of Athens? Men. "Who wrote the famous "Book of Beauty" that Cleopatra prized so, and which I believe is hidden in the heart of the sphinx; a man, her physician. Who wrote the book of a thousand coquetries? Aman, Ovid. You pee a woman listens to the frou-frou ot a Bilk, notes the richness of a velvet, but a man watches the Jitheness of the figure that carries it and realizes how well suited it is to the wonan who wears it. lie sees the folds as they cling, and he knows that he would shudder if they Btood out stiff and straight by reason of an abomination of wire or hair cloth under them. Men are curiously enough alike in their opiniong of woman's dressing; centuries have not changed them, and be sure that when Eve sat down and w ith a thorn for a needle and grass for thread, sewed together the fig leaves that made the first frock, Adam watched to see that it was suited to her, that a gathered leaf hid an angle and a smooth one brought out a curve. Women are critics of today; they are satisfied with a beauty exploited by the newspaper, by the ordinary dressmaker, by the photographer and by the bou'evardier; men look for something more they demand the clear eye, the w hite skin, the shape, the woman herself. It was a man who drew the line of beauty; to-day it is a man, Hcnner, w ho paints tho most beautiful woman. Women artists can do lovely bits of nature, wondrous pictures of still life, good portraits, but I wait to seo one who will yet put upon canvas a beautiful woman. Oh, dear! how I am preaching! If it hadn't been for Harriet (Harrriet is the young woman from Boston) I shouldn't have been led astray. "How is everybody going to fix her hair? Well, for my part, my hair is blonde, I am going in for the regular Alma Tadenia rooting just as I've been wearing it a good full bang that comes almost to the eyebrows and the back crimped a little bit, drawn up rot verv high, and pinned here, there and everywhere, so that it looks careless. Of course, you shouldn't wear it with black hair. Women who are blessed with black hair ought to wear it smooth, brush it till it's glossy, so glossy that it seems to reflect its beauty again and again. Black frizzes look like little serpents ami will be woolly, and though Medusa's very unique to read about, still I don't believe an v body wants to look like her." You fee it's a girl's gossip bright enough, but innocent. This is a good place to bring girls to. Tho fast element is lacking, and the American girl is trusted to do what is right, and she does. She boats, rides in a buckboard, goes for long walks, and is after all just the healthy, happy, bright witted girl that she was when she started for the summer. As she says good-by to the hills and the lake, to the great trees putting on their autumn gowns and to the battalion of friends who are wishing her good-luck and happiness, she thinks in her girly way, "What a blissful time I've had !" She may have added a heart to the rest of her luggage, as she had pressed ferns and small shells and tin-types, but you can be sure she'll take good care of that heart; it it's worth it, it won't go out in the market again, but for dear love ehe'li buy a life interest in it. JShe may seem just at first to be a summer g rl, but after you know her a while you will find out that she is a girl who wears well all the year round; who is healthy, wise enough, and, one hopes, wealthy. She is one of the good types of the American girl, and she frankly tells you that 6he likes Bake George because it is healthy, too, and then she adds, with a smiie, "that it's just as well to be where the cooking is good, because I am so fond of muffins!" But thank your stars she doesn't pay mull's, because you feel that you're one not to have gotten up courage enough to teil her how adorable she is, and you prefer to be more like your own self be:oro you are sure she really likes you. Your guardian angei ought to tell you to have courage, for anv girl of senBO prefers a man to a mutT at any time. At least that's the opinion of Bab. Had to Chance the Subject, Puck. He (trying to start the conversation) "I hear that another comet has just bten discovered." i?he. (a lioston prirl) "Oh, yes; and you can easily find it with a small telescope, such as every one ha now-a-days. It is now about five hours fifty-one minutes right ascension, and about fiftnen degrees north declension, with a retrograde motion of nearly one minute per day in right ascenhion. Are you interested in

astronomy.' lie ( ttounderintr around mentally ) "Uin er yes; but I prefer baseball. What do you thiuk of the Boston team this year?" ftps In Clovrr, (LonJon Kare Hits. "Charier stayed prettv late last nisrht, didn't be, iAl ?" asked Sister Kate the next morning. "Yes," Fail Lil, sleepily; "vre were trying the pigs in tlie clover puzzle till nearly 11 o'clock." "And did you gret the pigrs In the pen, Liil?" asked Kate, eagerly. "Xo, we djdn't; but I got my finger in this solitaire diamond ring." f'nffed l'p. Boston Transcript. "What's the matter with McSlim? Ife has put on more airs of late than a few," "Quite natural. II has just returned from a mimmer resort. lie was the only man there. He'll net over it after a time, but just at present he is so pulled tip with self-importance that you cannot touch him with a ten-foot pole." A MtrangM Question. Cor "I re-ally mnit be earefal not to giva Mr. Smythe any more eneourngement, for I do not want to hart his feeling." Edith "He has not proposed, has he?" Cor "No, but he has been asking me If I thought I could keep home on ,10 a week." A Hereditary Feature. ruck. Mn. A.-"What black eyes that baby has." Airs. JJ. "Yes; his father is a pugilist,"

DOUBLE RETRIBUTION. San Francisco Argonaut. It is a black, stormy night. The trees are swaying and creaking, and their gigantic branches are tossing about in the fierce west wind like huge writhing arms stretched out in intersected confusion across the shadowy road which winds for a couple of miles through a thick forest of pines. A heavy rumbling ia audible in the distance, speedily reBolving into the sound of carriage-wheels; it comes nearer and nearer, and then suddenly ceases. The carriage stands still. The horses are tired, and need no staying hand, as the coachman scrambles down and walks from side to side, neer'ng into the dense blackness which envelops them on every side. 'Tierre! what is the matter?" rang out in an impatient though melodious voice. The window was let down, with a jerk, and a woman's head looked out. "Madame," answered the man, deprecatmgly, touching his hat, "the horses are tired. There ought to be an inn near, but I fear I have passed it. It is so dark and stormy that the road seems unfamiliar and I can not make out w here we are." "Drive on very slowly. 1 will look out, too, and the first house we come to, you can get down and seek information. If it be possible, we will stay tbere the night." The coachman mounted and did as he was ordered. Presently there seemed a break in the density on one side ot the road. Thero was a clearing in the forest and a glimmer of light about a hundred yards away. 'Tierre'." came in sharp tones again, "go and see what that light is! The horses will 6tand still without you." Tierre knew from experience that remonstrance was vain. His way was through thick underwood and long grass, and he dreaded some unknown danger with every fresh step. A long, wandering house of two 6tories 60on stood up in black relief against the murky 6ky. lie struck on a gravel pathway, and followed it up till lie came half-way round the house and found a way of entrance. It was a low trellis porch, with a narrow door. After fumbling about, he discovered a long wire, with a handle attached, which he pulled vigorously. A jangled tinkle sounded faintly in the interior of the house. In a moment footsteps were heard, a bolt was withdrawn, and the door slowly opened. A man in shabby livery stood there. "Monsieur," said Tierre, "my mistress is driving from Fehrenstadt to Aronsen, and, owing to the storm, we have been delayed, and I do not know where we are. Can you kindly tell me how far it is to the nearest inn?" "Humph, du lieber Gott!" the old man said ; "there's no inn, as I know of, within six miles of here, and it is a ticklish road in the dark. "Wait a bit, I'll go and speak to the master." He soon returned with a lighted lantern. "The Herr GrafF sends his compliments to the lady, and will bo happy to receive her as his guest until the storm ia over. I will come down with you." The two men walked with rapid steps down the drive and appeared on the road some twenty yards ahead of the carriage. Whether it was the unexpected noise in the distance, or tho sudden gleam of the lantern light, the horses started and plunged, then galloped with ringing hoofs straight along the country road. "Mondieu! My poor mistress!" cried Tierre, and he flew, as if possessed, after the runaways. The lady, fortunate!, had alighted some moments before, as Tierre's absence made her restless, and now sho stood speechless, as ehe saw first her carriage, then her servant, disappear from before her eyes. The old man shook his head as he looked round and mumbled to himself; then swinging his lantern high, he caught sight of tho tall, ereet figure standing motionless by the roadside. "That must be the lady herself," ho muttered. "If you are the lady that owns that vehicle you had better come straight along to the house with me," he continued, aloud ; "the horses can't be stopped, and your man will soon find his way back." "There seems nothing else to be done," she said, decisively; "go on with your lantern and I will follow." The man obeyed. They came to the house and stepped into a broad, low hall, with many doors leading from it. "Where is your maer, my man?" the stranger asked; "tell him that Baronin von Keichstein is tho name of his guest, and she thanks him for his courtesy and would like to see him." "Yes, gnadige," replied the old servant, and will you please to take a seat in there, and I will send my wite, the housekeeper, to you." While sneaking, he opened a door to the right, and the baronin walked in with stately step. It was clearly but not brilliantly lighted and was a comfortable room, with low lounges and deep chairs, covered with an old-fashioned chintz; polished floor, with a few skin rugs lying about. She shivered, however, as she walked down the room, and, after throwing aside her traveling cloak and bonnet, she sat down by the r.eyly-kind!ed log lire. She was a woman of fifty, at least, well preserved and with a elender, even youthful, figure. Her hair, though snow white, was luxuriant and waved. Her features were delicately chiseled, and her skin, though somewhat wrinkled around the eyes and mouth, was like marble, and the reflection of the firelight gave almost a youthful shimmer to the eyes and a rosy tint to the cheeks. She took off her gloves, and, putting her elbow on the arm of the chair, she leaned her head on a little white hand sparkling with the gleam of costly rings. She must have been a very beautiful woman in her youthful days, and possessed that regular type of beauty which seldom changt-s its character, even in fading years. Heinrich, the man-servant, forgot to close the door, and, after knocking and receiving answer, ho entered a room on the opposite side of the hall. It was a Email library, and, seated at a writingtable, was an elderly man, with iron-gray hair, etraibt features et witb classical rigidity, and, though strictly handsome, cold, passionless, hard. Ho turned round and faced tbe servant, who delivered tbo stranger's message, supplemented by certain cxDlanatfonsof hiaown. "What name did you say?" asked tbo roaster in even tones. "Von Keichstein. Herr Graf." There was a slight pantie. "Ah, very well. Send Martha here, and I will give her orders about our guest." Heinrich bowed himself out. A etran?e look came into tho Graf's face. He got up aud began to pace slowly up and down the room. "It can not bo possible," he murmured, clenching his hand; "after all these years, has it come at last? There can only bo one Baronin von Keichstein. I must seo for myself be convinced that the name is not a mere coincidence." tk saying, he opened his door noiselessly, and, making no sound with the soft slippers on his feet, he stealthily crossed the ball and gazed from the shadow riht into the other room. The baronin, as though instinctively conscious of an unknown observation, changed her attitude, and her eyvs moved uneasily from one object to another. Tho graf withdrew further into the shadow, still watching her intently. "It is she! Oh, God, how little changed!" bis features eoftcned and

worked convulsively fori some seconds, then set into the same unbending rigidity as before "the same fair, false mask ! How many more lies has it told since it lied my life's happiness away ? She shall 6leep in that very room. to-night. It cannot he coincidence that makes to-day the anniversary of that memorable occasion." "With a cruel smilo that might have curdled a brave heart, he went back to his old seat at the writing table, his eyes glistening with excitement, and a dull, red 6pot on each pallid cheek. A shriveled-up, little old woman with a basket of keys now entered, and approached him timidly. "Get some refreshments ready, Martha, and take them to our guest in the morningrooru. Light a fire in the north bedroom : the Frau Karonin von Reichstein will 6leep there to-night." .Martha started as the graf spoke. "The north bedroom, did you say, sir? But " "The north bedroom," he replied emphatically; "mind there is no mistake about it. Uninvited guests must be content witli what is given them." The old woman etill hesitated, but lacking courage to speak, ehe shuttled out of the room. "Well, I never!" she said, half aloud, "the room that has not been used for yearB, and which folks vow is haunted. "Tho master is a strange man, and no mistake." The Baronin von Keichstein had retired to her room. In spite of the large log fire burning briskly in the open grate, there was a chilly, damp, atmosphere hanging about the walls and furniture, which was of a heavy, somber character. The bed w as one of those ancient canopied four-posters of early days, and presented a funereal appearance. The baronin shivered the second time that night 'as she glanced around the room. There were two wax candles lighted on the dressing table, and their flickerings created uncanny shadows which lurked in every gloomy corner. She rang for more lights. When two more candles were brought by the old woman, who looked pale and frightened, she placed them on the high wooden mantlepieco above the fireplace. "What can make me so uneasy to-night, I wonder?" she thought impatiently; "those stupid horses and idiotic coachman! IIow could I divine that I should be 6tranded in the middle of the forest, at the mercy of a man who seems either to have outlived the manners of ordinary society or never to have had any at all. The last premise seems the most likely. That reminds me, I meant to have asked his fossilized old retainer the name of her master." So communing with herself, she moved about examining the furniture, and finally drew a low couch, which seemed to have got in there by accident, to the side of the fireplace. Then she loosened her hair, drew it into one thick plait, removed a wadded silk quilt from the bed, and then throwing herself on the couch, arranged the coverlet over her. "It would be an impossibility to attempt sleep in that hearse, she thought, viewing the h avy bed: "I wish it were morning." ' She tried to sleep, but everything conspired to keep her awake. The thought of her coachman and horses did not disquiet her, but the rain beating on the window panes, tho curtains moving with the wind, the shaking of the door in the socket, the falling embers of wood all these worked upon her imagination and took on a weird importance. She sat up, and, putting the coverlet round her shoulders, rested her feet on the fender and gazed into the fire. She hated to havo time like this for thinking. She had lived through many strange, and sad experiences, which she nevur had wish or will to summon from the past. By dint of leading a busy, restless life, full of variety, friends, and pleasures, wrapped up in her only surving son, who was married and was happily settled, and to whom she was hurrying, she never allowed regretful moments to take her unawares, and, if threatened with a sleepless night, always took a sleeping-draught, which effectually wooed and won the fitful god. To-night she was powerless; her baggage somewhere out in the forest, sleep refused tobe conjured at will. She tried to concentrate her mind on the bright homo of her son, but all kinds of gioomy shadows and voices of a dead pnst roso to defy her in those silent hours of the night. With sheer force of will she drove them back into their secret lairs for a time, but presently out they crept again tho stealthy, ugly, shapeless phantoms on they came like a phantom title, crowding, mounting, accusing, overwhelming an offspring liegotten of remorse and shame suppressed and concealed for more than a score of years. She rose impatiently, shook herself and began to walk about the room. She went to the alcoved window, drew aside1 tho curtain and looked out. Tho storm of rain was over, and through the swiftscurrying clouds were glimpses of stars and of tho unfathonable firmament beyond. Just then the moon shone out, clear and still. She was not a timid woman ; an idea suddenly struck her, and she went and blew out tbe candles. Then she sank into a large chair by the window, with the curtain drawn half way back. A momentary lull, and back again came those relentless shadows, aad and terrible. She was gazing abstractedly into the darkness. Suddenly her brow contracted and she pressed her hands tightly over her eyes. "Am I demented?" she cried; "his face is the last I should ever expect to see in this world, and yet I seem to see it distinctly, stern and angry, as I saw it last. It was only an illusion !" and she gave a deep sigh, and looked out steadily again. Nothing to be seen but the neglected shrubs and straggling grass, with a black background of lofty pines; a wild, weird scene enhanced in expression by tho fitful moonshine and moaning wind. From ono mood she dropped into another the retrospective. Scenes came before her to which her former mood seemed the prelude, and passed in shorter time than they take to describe. The first is laid in an old garden, gay and trim, which has many winding walks and hedges of yew. There is a fountain, and closo to its gleaming marble rim are two figures a man, tall, stately, bearing erect, in velvet coat, lace ruffles, buckled shoes, and a young girl, in the picturesquo costume of the Trianon period, satin petticoat, bunched paniers, and fall sleeves of flowered silk, a soft muslin kerchief drawn loosely round" tho graceful shoul tiers, leaving tbe marble pillar of ttie soft neck baro and cool: littlo high-heeled f hoes, and coquettish fan. A law, droopins bat topped the dainty bead, which was dressed high, with tiny curls straying over the rosebud ear and delicato neck. Her face is turned sway. The man is bare-headed, and the breeze lightly lifts Ids thick chestnut hair from a broad, noble forehead, beneath which burn two passionate eye, which are bent, with yearning intensity, on. the slender figure of the girl as she seems to sway like a willow in the wind. He puts puts his arms out slowly; she docs not draw away; then he draws her, with a fierce rapture, into a close embrace and devours the sweet, downcast face with hungry, burning kisses. "My Ermantrude f Mine now and for alt eternity !" A break in the vision. The scene changes and a second picture eradually forms on the inexorable camera of retrospection. Two people are walking down an avenue of linden trees. Tho girl we saw before in the garden. Her companion is not the same; be is more massive than the lover in the last scene ; his expression Iss intense; hair darker

eves smaller. He is pouring out avowals o love and devotion. The girl turns her head aside. By degrees he wins her attention; she allows him to kiss her and to put a sparkling ring on her finger. There is a narrow footway on on side of the avenue beyond the line of lindens, and an unsuspected observer has accompanied them step by step. It is the man with the chestnut hair and passionate eyes; he is breathing quickly with suppressed rage and excitement, and as the final seal of the engagement ring is put to the compact, he rushes forward, with a muttered curse, and confronts the lovers with flashing eyes and face inflamed with jealousy. "Hypocrites !" he strucales out, hoarsely. It was a tragic, a dreadjul scene. The girl gives a sharp cry, remains as if struck for a second, and then, flinging her arms up and pressing her hands over her ears, she flies back the way 6he came as if for bare life. The two men were brothers. Kudolph, the first lover, was poor and proud; Carl, the younger, rich and powerful. "How dare you make love to my betrothed!" gasped out Rudolph. Now it was Carl's turn to burst out in frenzied indignation, and hot and strong, bitter and stinging, were the words they hurled at each other. The passion displayed was too deep for depiction. They parted. The third picture is slowly unfolding. The brothers meet again'at early dawn in the depths of the forest, where no ear can detect the clashing of swords and no arm of the law can intervene to avert the duel which is to prove of deadly result to one or the other. The survivor is to retain his bride. The seconds are officers from a neighboring garrison, overzealous In their temporary office and unrighteous in the antipathy each bears to the opposing party. Carl is wounded to the death. Rudolph relents, and vows never to return to the beautiful Krmantrude who has proved false to both. The Baroness von Keichstein only guesses at that third sceno. Sho never saw either lover again after the fatal encounter in the avenue, but heard of the duel and Carl's death. To this day she turns sick and faint at the smell of the linden-trees. Kven now, as she reclines in the low chair by the window, with tightly pressed lips and contracted brow, the sickly sweet odor seems to float before her sharpened senses after the lapse of thirty years' silence. She shudders, and rises to leave her seat. She will try and sleep, now she has allowed these ghosts of a buried past to hold sway for a time ; they will surely rest now. An indescribable something arrests her; 6he cannot move not even raise her eyes. She Binks back. Still feeling that same eerie sensation of an invisible barrier, she looks up, and becomes conscious of a light in the room. Just at first she forgets the candles are extinguished, and then a chill of terrorovertakes her. There is a cold, phosphoretic, bluish light, filling the room mistilv, dimly, and brightest round the bed. &he dares not breathe; a dreadful oppression weighs her down ; she wonders if she is going mad, aud a sickening horror seizes her. All at once, after one raoid glance around, she gives an agonizing gasp and loses consciousness. This is what she saw: On the bed the clothes were disturbed, showing the cutlinos of a massive figure. On the pillow, with closed eyes and a greenish pallor on the cheeks and forehead, was a rigid, ghastly face. There were stains of blood on the linen coverings, and by the bedside stood a shadowy form in the act of pouring some fiuid from a bottle into a glass the lady at the window here opens her eyes, and with fascinating, horrorstruck, staring look, every nerve 6trung, every limb tense, she followed each detail of the ghostly 6cene. ' Phantom-like figures paßs in and out of the room, noiselessly and rapidly. Still that quiet figure on the bed sleeps on ; still the shadowy figure by the bedside holds the glass in its hand. Now the figure of an aged man enters, misty and uncertain; profound grief is shown in his very attitude; he stands gazing on that quiet figure with a sorrow-stricken face, that would melt the stoniest heart. Now he Stands erect, seems to be listening to some ona speaking at his side; as he listens his countenance changes, his features become convulsed, an awful look enters his face. He lifts his hand high up, and with eyes fixed into space, seemed to pour forth tor rents of words. The figure on the bed moves, rises "My God!" muttered the lady at the window endeavors to clutch the old man's arms, opcs his mouth to speak, but suddenly falls back on the pillow, and from his side, which now reeals surgical bandages, spreads a bright crimson stain, which spreads and spreals till the whole bed seems flooded with red, and a little red stream trickles to the floor and collects in a dark, ominous pool. The old man stngcrers, falls to the ground, and is borne swiftly by shadowy figures from the room. Confused forms paps to and fro; the light becomes indistinct, the shadows less frequent, and more dimly seen ; in another inoment all has vanished, the grewsome vision is past, only the moon shines into the room, throwing hns, ßilvery beams across tho bed, with its undisturbed linen and snow-white pillows. But the door remains open, and a tall figure stands on the threshold. It advances like the figure of relentless fate, sinister, strange, and sterns to seek something. The baroness' horror-struck eyes are still staring into space. Evidently they take in this fresh apparation as part of the awful pageant: She begins to speak : "You, too, Rudolph? I expected you. Do not look at me so sternly! I did not mean it. IIow could I tell what would be the ending? I swear I never knew until to-night I was so young then. A-a-a-h !" with a lonjr, convulsive shudder, "look at the blood," and she drew her skirt aside. It is only the red silk coverlet that has slipped from her shoulders. "Don't go till I tell you what my life has been how I have been punished. I married Kudolph! Yes to try and forget. I have had six children, bonny bovs and girls. Tony, the eldest, lived till he was ix ; then he was drowned in the lake. Tretty little Adele was poisoned by berries gathered in the woods with a careless nurse. My handsome Eccard was killed by a fall from his horse. One of my babies fell down tbe well-stair-casö in the Keichstein Schloss and was picked up dead. Two bo's grew to be twenty; then one was killed in a railroad Rccident, and now I have only my Ernst. He is married, Kudolph, the only one left. I am iroing to him to-morrow. Would to God 1 were with him now 7" She sighed ?iuietly. The words fell mechanically, as rom the lips of an automaton. "Your husband? Is he alive?" paid the figure. She did .not think it strange that' the phantom spoke. "He was killed in a storm ten years after we were marriedtwenty years ago. For one life, lo, six have been taken from me. My sin was great, but my punishment greater, for I loved you, Kudolph, and lost you for ever !" Tho tall, erect figure never swerved. It was Graf RuAolph von Wilding himself no apparition. It was the white outline of his face that the baronin had seen through the window and taken for an illusion. He drew back when be saw himself observed, and only appeared again to remain an intent, awful spectator of tho phoptly phenomena that had just taken place. "Baronin Ermantrude von Keichstein! The dreadful scene you havo just witnessed repeats itself every anniversary night of the real tragedy that was enacted hero thirty years aso, I knew this, and

for that reason caused this room to be prepared for you to-night." He spoke in icy, stern tones ; she put up her hands as if to ward off a blow, and bent her head with a faint moan. "After our unnatural duel, my unfortunate brother was carried in a dying state to the forester's house close by. My father was sent for, and learned at the death-bed the cause of the fatal quarrel. Standing there, he cursed that false woman ; cursed all who loved her, and all whom she should love." The bent head and stretched out arm at the window sank low, and seemed to press heavily on the arm of the chair. "He poured forth curses which roused the dyinz man to protest. His bandages burst; death was instantaneous. My father died the next morninc. I bought this house, and here I have lived and shall live to the end of tny days. No detail will escape my memory if I live a thousand years. This is the room to which he was carried, that the bed on which he lay, this the very night on w hich he died." He paused. There was a solemn, ominous silence in the room. The moon still shone through the alcoved window. The graf's dark form was deeper in the shadow than before. No sound came from the crouching, motionless mass leaning over the chair. "And now, Baronin Ermantrude, are you satisfied?" he continued; "true you have suffered, but that is just. Let me remind you that the result of those sins, which our own folly and blindness lead us into, remains our constant, our nearest comE anion, till death deliver us from the urden." He turned to go. The baronin never moved. Whether it was a faint touch of pity, a sudden stirring of remorse, or a vague misgiving which arrested his steps, he hesitated, came forward a few paces, hesitated again, his face working with conflicting emotions. She was but a woman after all, and had suffered much. "Frau Baronin," he said, gently. No word, no motion in answer to his call. "Ermantrude!" he whispered, hoarsely. Silence still prevailed. He took one stride forward and bent over the drooping figure, lifted her up, and laid her head back on the cushion. Just then a silver moonbeam struck right across the pale, chiseled features, revealing wide-opened eyes, agonized and appealing, already fixed with the appall, ing, terrible stillness of death itself. Ermantrude, the sinning, the suffering, was dead ! Kudolph started violently. It was not possible! He seized her hands; they were icy cold to the touch. He beqt his his head in agony of suspense to listen to the faintest heart-beat. All was still intensely still. "A three-fold murder!" he muttered; "my brother, my father, and now my Ermantrude!" he suddenly shouted. He knelt on the floor by her side; ho fondled the cold little hands, laid them against his cheek and kissed them; he murmured broken, unmeaning words of love and endearment. Was it fancy, or did those fixed, troubled eyes gradually soften into a quiet calm? Suddenly he came to himself aeain. He stood up, passed his hand over his eyes, looked long and fixedly on that pallid face, pressed a lingering kiss on the marble forehead, then swiftly left the room. Listen ! What was that? A slaot, loud and piercing. It echoed clearly through the stiilness of the early dawn, which had risen fresh and calm after tho stormy nicht. The sound did not rouse the two old servants. A few hours later the rays of the morning sun lightly touched tho rose-sprays hanging over the library window, then shot downward through tho window into the room and hovered over a still, lifeless fipure that lay stretched out on the floor, face upward, one hand clutching a pistol, the other thrown across the chest. Heart disease tho doctors told Ernst von Keichstein was the cause of his mother's ßudden death. He adored his mother, and was almost broken-hearted when the terrible summons reached him. She had carefully concealed her weakness from him, but had known it herself for the last few years. No one could account for the second death in that house of terror, that night. There were strange rumors about for montliB afterward, and the heirs of the last Graf von Wilding would not enter the house. It was closed up and allowed to fall to decav and ruin.

A Good VTord For the Jny-Hlrd. (Attributed to James Whitcoiub Riley.) A leanin' od tbe bar-post, and a-thiokin' fer a minit, An' sht llin' fer the chirken sn ear 'r corn or ao The air cs dry es fodder an' tbe wind with winter in h. The crarks atween the Bhingles plugged up with, arly snow I hesr the jrs s-hollprin', s-jokin' and -1affin A rilin of each other with their braggy, eassy chafliu'. Kot a pewpr ner a blue-bird kin be seen around tbe discing. An' the cat-bird op 'n' eneaked away a month co; An' the kildeer in the stubble, with dainty frills sni triKifinc. lie hied away along with the rest for fraro' snow; But the jay-birds ain't no cowards, and so keep on stoyin', Jest ai perlt and jest as sassy 'a If 'twas only ha j-in'. Ther robin, so like humans, when rer posies stop a blowin'. An' the berries that they liked all K"bMed downStrike out 'n leave ye lonesome, with the days ashorterprowin', An' the sun but faintly srailin' et you through a frown. But the jarbird stays right by ye es ODe es shows a likin' Stroncest fer re when the rest hes got ye cornered ao' a-strikin'. Vitien I cut fer the comfiel' fer a lonesome daj a buskin', I scarcely get a shock throw'd down fairly ter beijin. 'Fore tho jaybirds come a-tcarin' 's If they'sjest a-bustin' Fer ter help me out 'n quick like from the hurry I am in ; An' thy holler at each other keep whoopin' au' a-yelpin'. An' niaks me chirk sn' cheerful, which is good a'lnoat as belpin'. If I c'u'd write some tctvs handy, like I're seen them printers. An' make a tune as nice fer them as Mrs. Jenny bind, They sli'uM be 'bout tbe jaybird a-loafin' through the winters An' mtxin' up their yawpin' with the snow an freeziu' wind. It's easy 'noupb in summer, when the sky is blue an' plowln', Ter be nineio' hut Its di Core nt when the same Is black ' r anowin. t Correct title: "The Jaybird." S. 11 McManus, in Fort Wayne Garrttc. II Took His Own Mrdiela. (London Rare Bits. Duinlev "Wbat'athe matter, Topknot? Yoa look had." Topknot "Ves; all doubled np with rheumatism apain." jHiruley "Have you erer tried Dr. W ragley r Topknot "No. Is he familiar with rheumatism r Dumlsy "He ought to be by this time. Ha Las bad it himself for over forty years." Frenke on Strike. (London Exrhance. Mnnneer of Show "Well, what'i the matter now, John?" Property Man "Everything's gone wrong. The crocodile savs he'll go out if you don't pay him his last week's salary; the bearded woman wants an ounce of tobacco. And he's anpry because I won't lend him fourpenee to pet it with, and tbe fasting rrirl snrs she'd rather, starre than eat the steak the butcher sent" Touching a Sympathetic Chord. , Terre Haute Express. Thai boss barber happened to look toward the new man and beheld tears as big aa eooseberries rolling down the cheeks of that Teutonic individual. "What's the matter, Gui!" asked the boss. 'Teller I yoost echafed Tas reen eatin limpurger. und I got me to tinkin' of home," was the tearful answer.

R. R. R.

ItADWAY'S READY RELIEF. The Cheapest and Best Medicine for Family Use in the World. In from one to twenty m'nates. never fails to relieve PAIN with one thornnjfh application. Noraatter how violent or xcruciat:n? the pain. th! Rhenmatio, Bedridden, Infirm, Crippled. Nervous, Nenralfric, or pros trated witft d.sease may suSer, RAÜWaV'ö READY Ki-LltK will aiiord instant relioC THE TRUE RELIEF. KADWAT'S REDT KELIEF Is the only remedial agent in vo?ue that will Instantly stop pain." Instantly relieves and soon cures RHEUMATISM! NEURALGIAl Sciatica. ITeaJache, Toothache, Inflammations, Congestions, Asthma, Influenza, bore Throat, Difficult Breathing. Summer Complaints DYSENTERY, DIARRHEA, Cholera. Morbua It will In a few minutes, when taken aeeordlaf to directions, cure Cramps, Spasm. Sour Stomach, Heartburn, Nausea, Vota-tins, Nervousness, 81eep legKnes, Cholera Morbus, Mck Headache. SI MM Eit COMPLAINT, Diarrhoea, Dwntery, Colic, Wind ta the bowels, and all internal pains. It is higblv important that everv family keep a snp ply of BADWAY'S KEAÜY RELIEF always in the house. Its ose w 11 prove benüctal on all oocaaiona of pain or sickness. There is nothing in the worli that will stop pnin or arrest the progress of disease aa quickly as K. R. K. Y here epidemic discuses prevail, auch as Fevers, Dysentery, Cholera, Influenza, Diphtheria, Kearle4 Fever and other malignant diseases, RADWAY'4 READY RELIEF will, if taken as directed, protecfc the system against attacks, and ii seised with SioknsaSqiuckly cure the patient. MALARIA LT ITS VARIOUS FOSili FEVER AD AGUE, JÜ READY RELIEF. Kot only cures the patient seized with malaria, bat If people exposed to it will, every morning oa rettinf out of bed, take twenty or thirty drops 01 the KBaJ)t Keliep In a a'sss of water, and drink, and eat m cracker, they will escape attacks. Practicing With R. R. R. Montaoue, Texas. Dr. Kadway ft Co. I have bse u.ne yonr medcinea (or the last twenty years, and ia all cases Chiila and Fe rer I have never 'ailed to core. I never use anything but BEADY KEL1KF an! PILLS. THOS. J. JONES. FKrrTLA!T, Iowa. Dear Sir: We are nsin? yonr medicines lor Typhoid and Malarial Fevers with the) greatest benefit. What K. R. K. and Radwav's PtUst have done no one can telL JOHN SCHULTZ. VALUABLE TESTIMONY. Crotow LANDrNO, N. Y., June 23, in, Messrs. Itsdwiy A Co. Gentlemen: Last season I employsl about 150 men, and during; the season they bought of me aixteen dozen bottles of Radway's Keaiy Relief. large number of boxes of Pillsand some Resolvent. Thev ose the Ready Kelief In their drinkinjr water, 1 1 to la drops in a glass of water, to prevent cramps sni keep oil lever and acue; they also use it (externally) tor bruises, sore hands, rheumatic pa:ns, sore throat. etc. If by any chance we run ont o.' yonr medicines, we have no peace until our stock is replaced. I, my. self, take R. R. R. before roloT ont in the yard earlw in the morntng. and am never troubled with fever and acue. This vear I was attacked witb rheumatism, and your Pills did me more (rood than any other medicine'l took. Yours truly, (Signed. S. HAMILTON, JR. Mr. John Morton, of Verplanck Point, N. V.. proprietor ot the Hudson River Brick Manufacturing Company, says that he prevents and cures attacks o? chilis and lever in his lamüy and amonir the men la his employ by the nse of Ranwav's KiiDrRturr Pills. Also the mm in Mr. Frost's brickyard at tha same place rely entirely on thett.B. R. lor the cure ar.d prevention of malaria. Tbere is not a remedy arent in th world that will cure Fever and Ague and aa other Malarious, Bilious and other Fevers falded bv KAD WAY'S PILLS) so quickly as RADWAY'8 READY RELIEF. Radway's Resdy Relief is a cure lev every pu'n. Toothache, Headarbe, Sciatica, Lnmbazo, Nenra'rtia, Rheumatism, Swelling of the Joints, sprains. Bruise, Pa ns in the Back, Chest or Limbs. The application ot the Ready Relief to the part et parts where tha difficulty exitta will afford ins taut ease and comfort. FIFTY CENTS PER BOTTLE. Sold by Druggists. RADWAY'S 1 Sarsaparillian Resolvent. The Great Blood Purifier. Pure blood makes sound flesh, etron bone and a clear skin. If you would have your flesh firm, yout bones sound a'ni vonr complexion fair, w EAD WAY'S 8ARSAPAR1LLA RESOLVENT. It possesses wonder'nl power in curin all forms of Scrofulous and Eruptive Diseases, Syphiloid, doers. Tumors, Sores, Enisried Glands, etc., rapidiy and permanently. Ir. Randolph Mclntyre of St. Hyacinths, Can., savs: 'I completely and marve!ous!y cured a victim of Scro ula in its last stage by following yonr advice riven in your little treaties on thst disease. " J. F. Trunnel, South St. Louis, Mo., "was cured of bad csce of Scrofula after hannj been girea np at Incurable." Sold bj all Protista. ONE DOLLAR PER BOTTLE. DR. RADWAY'S REGULATING PILLS. THE GREAT LIVER AND STOYACH REMEDY. Terfect Turtratives, Poothinjr Aperienta, Aet Without Pain, Always Reliable arid Natural in their Operation. Perfectly tasteless, elesnt!y coated with iweet fun, puree, reeulate, cleanse and strengthen, RAÜfAY'H PILL for tbe cure of all disorders af tho titomaeh. Liver, Bowels, Kidneys. Hladder, Nervous Diseases, Loss of Appetite, Headache, Constipation, Costiveness, lndipestion, Dyspepsia, Biliousness, Fever, Inflammation of the Bowels, Piles and all des ranemenu of the Internal Viscera. Purely vegetable, onLiniutf no mercury, punerslior deleterious orwa-s. What I Physician Sayi of Radwiy'i Pi!!t I am Sellins- our R. R Relief and yonr Herniating Pills, and have reeommended them above .11 pills ft. t sell a great many of theui, and have them on han4 alaTs,an(lusethf m!n my practice and in mjom tAiaxily sand expert to, in preitorvnce of mil pill. Your rMne"1 'n I It, PR, A. C. MIOULEbKuOK, DorftTlU Oft DYSPEPSIA. Pr. Radwav's Tills are a eure for this romplalat. Thcv restore 'strencth to the stomach and enable It ta perform its iunctions. The srmptoms of ly snepsi .7 disappear and with them tbe liability of the systeia K oontraot disease. RADWAY'S PILLS AND DYSPEPSIA. Nbwport, Kt. Messrs. Ir. Ra. ay Co Oentsi I have been troubled w'.th Pyjr;v.a for abonl four months. 1 tried two diiierent doctor without any permanent benefit. I saw yonr ad. and two weeks as. bought a box ot our Regulator and leei a great deal better. Ycur Pif's hsve done me more good thsn a'.l the Doctor's Medicine that 1 have taken, etc I anv, yours raspectiully. KOUKK1- A. PAUtt. Dyspepsia ot Long; rUandtns; Caved. , Pr. Ttadwar I have for many years been aflTeted with Dvspeps'is and Liver Complaint, and found bat little relief int'i I aot yor Pills and Keeolvent, and they made a per.ect curs. They are the best meUioiM 1 ever had In mv lile. lour fr end forever. Llanchard, M'.cL. WILLIAM KOOXAN. Sold by Drvtggiata. Prica 3o pee Boa.. Kadway L Co., No. SJ Warrcn-eL, New York. To the rviblio. Fe sure and ask for Radway's and see thai tha BAPWA.Y" lies wtatyoa buy.