Jasper County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 January 1899 — Page 2

A LIVING LIE

By The Duchess.

CHAPTER XVI. “What is it?” says Lady Swansdown, harshly. “Why do yon look at me like that? Has it come to a close between ns, Isabel? Oh! if so”— vehemently—“it is better so.” The scene is the Court, and the gnests have just left the dinner table. “I don’t think I understand you.” says V,ady Baltimore, who has grown very i white. Her tone is haughty; she basi drawn back a little as if to escape from contact with the other. “Ah! That is so like you,” says Lady 'Swansdown with n rather fierce little laugh. “Yon pretent, pretend, pretend, from morning till night. You intrench yourself behind your pride, and- —” “Yon know what you are doing. Beatrice,” says Lady Baltimore, ignoring this outburst completely, and speaking in a eaim, level tone, yet with a face like iharble. , , “Yes. and you know, too,” says -Lady Swansdown. ’ Then, with an overwhelming vehemence: “Why don’t you do something? Why don’t you assert yourself?” “I shall never assert myself," says Lady Baltimore, slowly. “You mean that whatever comes you will not interfere." “That exactly!” turning her eyes full on to the other's face with a terrible disdain. “I shall never interfere in this—or any Other of his flirtations!" It is a sharp stab! Lady Swansdown winces visibly. “What a woman you are!” cries she. I “Have you ever thought of it, Isabel I You are unjust to him —unfair. You possionatcly —“treat him as though he were the dust beneath your feet, and yet you expect him to remain immaculate, for your sake—pure as any acolyte—a thing of ice ” “No." coldly. “You mistake me. 1 know too much of him to expect perfection—nay, common decency from him. But you—it was you whom I hoped to find immaculate.” “You expect too much, then. One iceberg in our midst is enough, and that you have kindly suggested in your own person. Put me out of the discussion altogether." "Ah! you have made that impossible! I cannot do that. I have known you too tong. I have liked you too well. I have,” with a swift but terrible glance at her, “loved you!” “Isabel!” “No, no! Not a word. It is too late sow!" “True." says Lady Swansdown, bringing back the arms she had extended and totting them fall with a sudden dull vehemence to her sides. Her agitation is uncontrolled. "That was so long ago that, no doubt, you have forgotten all about it. You,” bitterly, “have forgotten a good deal.” “And you,” says Lady’ Baltimore, very calmly, “what have you not forgotten—your self-respect,” deliberately, “among •ther things.” “Take care, take care!” says Lady Swansdown, in a low tone. She has turned furiously. “Why should I take care?” She throws up her small head scornfully. “Have 1 said one word too much?” “Too much, indeed.” says Lady Swansdown, distinctly, but faintly. She turns her head, but not her eyes, in Isabel’s direction. “I’m afraid you will have to endure for one day longer,” she says in a tow voice; “after that you shall bid me a farewell forever.” “You have come to a wise decision,” ■ays Lady Baltimore, immovably. There is something so contemptuous in her whole bearing that it maddens the •ther. “How dare you speak to me like that?” cries she, with sudden violence not to be repressed. "You of all others! Do you think you are not in fault at all—that you stand blameless l>efore the world?’ The blood has flamed into her pale cheeks, her eyes are on fire. She advances toward Lady Baltimore with such ■ passion of angry despair in look and tone that involuntarily the latter retreats before her. “Who shall blame me?” demands Lady Baltimore, haughtily. “I—l for one! Icicle that you are, how can you know what love means? You have no heart to feel, no longing to forgive. And what has be done to you? Nothing—nothing that any other woman would not gladly condone.” “You are a partisan,” says Lady Baltimore, eoldly. “You would plead his cause, •nd to me! You are violent, but that does not put you in the right. What do you know of Baltimore that I do not know? By what right do you defend him?’ “There is such a thing as friendship!” “la there?’ says the other with deep ■leaning. “Is there, Beatrice? Oh! think —think!” A little bitter smile curls the corners of her Ups. “That you should advocate the cause of friendship to me,” says fihe, her words falling with cruel scorn one by one slowly from her lips. “You think me false,” says Lady Swansdown. She is terribly agitated. “There was an old friendship between us —I know that-*-1 feel it. You think me altogether false to it?* “I think of you as little as I can help,” •ays Isabel, contemptuously. “Why should 1 waste a thought on you ?’ “True! Why, indeed! One so capable of controlling her emotions as you are weed never give way to superfluous or uaeleaa thoughts. Still, give one to Baltimose. It to our last conversation together. therefore bear with me— hear me. All ktoainsfleto dsepast. He-j-” “You must le mad to tnlk to me like thtok” interrupts Isabii, flushiag crimson. I .'-I.

“Has he asked you to intercede for him? Could even he go so far us that? Is it a last insult? What are you to him that you thus adopt his cause? Answer me!” cries she, imperiously; all her coldness, her stern determination to suppress herself, seems broken up. “Nothing!” returns Lady Swansdown, becoming calmer as she notes the other’s growing vehemence. “I never shall be anything. I have but one excuse for my interference-—” She pauses. “And that?" “I love him!” steadily, but faintly. Her eyes have sought the ground. “Ah!” says Lady Baltimore. “it is true,” slowly. “It is equally true —that he—does not love me. Let me, then, speak. AH his sins, believe me, lie behind him. That woman, that friend of yours, who you of his renewed acquaintance With Madame Istray, lied to you. There was no truth in what she said!” “I can quite understand your not wishing to believe in that story,” says Lady Baltimore, with an undisguised sneer. “Like nil good women, you can take pleasure in inflicting a wound,” says Lady Swansdown. controlling herself admirably. “But do not let your detestation of me blind yon to the fact that my words contain truth. If you will listen I can—” “Not a word,” says Lady Baltimore, making a movement with her hands as if to efface the other. “I will have none of your confidences.” “It seems to me”—quickly—"you are determined not to believe.” “You are at liberty to think as you will.” “The time may come,” says Lady Swansdown, 1 “when you will regret you did not listen to me to-day.” “Is that a threat?” “No; but I nm going. There will be no further opportunity for you to hear me.” “You must pardon me if 1 say that I am glad of that.” says Lady Baltimore, her lips very white. “1 could have borne little more. Do what you rill, go where you will, with whom you ,11" —with deliberate insult—“but at least spare me a repetition of such a scene as this.” She turns, and with an indescribably haughty gesture leaves the room.

CHAPTER XVII. Dancing is going on in the small drawing room. Lady Swansdown hardly understands herself to-night. That scene with her hostess has upset her mentally and bodily and created, in her a wild desire to get away from herself, and from Baltimore at any cost. Some idle freak has induced her to use Beauclerk as a safeguard from both, and he, unsettled in his own mind and eager to come to conclusions with Joyce and her fortune, has lent himself to the wiles of his whilom foe, and is charmed by her fascinating, if vagrant, mood. Perhaps in all her life Lady Swatlsdown lias never looked so lovely as tonight. Excitement and mental disturbance have lent a dangerous brilliancy to her eyes, a touch of color to her cheek. There is something electric about her that touches those who gaze on her and warns herself that a crisis is at hand, In a way she has clung to Beauclerk as a moans of escaping Baltimore—throwing out a thousand wiles to charm him to her side, and succeeding. Three times she had given a smiling “No!” to Lord Baltimore’s demand for a dance, and. regardless of opinion, had flung herself into a wild and open flirtation with Beauclerk. But it is growing toward midnight, and her strength is failing her. These people, will they never go? Will she never be able to seek her own room, and solitude, and despair, without calling down comment on her head, and giving Isabel—that cold woman—the clfance of sneering at her weakness? A sudden sense of the uselessness of it all has taken possession of her; her heart sinks. It is at this moment that Baltimore once more comes up to her. “This dance?’ says he. “It is half way through. You are not engaged, I suppose, as you are sitting down? May I have whnt remains of it?” She makes a little gesture of acquiescence, and, rising, places her hand upon his arm. The crisis has come, she tells herself, with a rather grim smile. Well, better have it and get it over. That there had been a violent scene between Baltimore and his wife after dinner had somehow become known to her, and the marks of it still betrayed themselves in the former’s frowning brow and somber eyes. It had been more of a scene than usual. Lady Baltimore, generally so calm, had for once lost herself, and given way to a passion of indignation that had shaken her to her very heart’s core. Though so apparently unmoved and almost insolent in her demeanor toward Lady Swansdown during their interview, she had been, nevertheless, cruelly wounded by it, and could not forgive Baltimore in that he had been its cause. “I didn’t think you and Beauclerk had anything in common,” says Baltimore, seating himself beside her on the low lounge that is half hidden from the public gaze by the Indian curtains that fall at each side of it. He had made no pretense of finishing the dance. He had led the way and she had suffered herself to be led into tbe small ante-room that, half smothered in early spring flowers, lay off the dancing room. “Ah! you see you have yet much to learn ■bout me,” says she, with an attempt at gaycty—which fails, however. "About you? No!” says he, almost defiantly. “Don’t tell me I have deceived myself about you, Beatrice; you are all I have left to fall back upon now.” His tone to reckless to the last degree. “What is it. Cyril?’ looking at him with sudden intent nees. “Something has happened. What?’ “The old story,” returns he, “and I am sick of it. I have thrown up my hand. I rould have been faithful to her, Beatrice. ■wear* that, but she does not care for mj devotion. And as for me* now ”

He throws out his arms as if tired to death, and draws in his breath heavily. “Now?” says she, leaning forward. “Am I worth your acceptance?’ says he, turning sharply to her. “I hardly dare to think it, and yet you have been kind to me, and your own lot is not a happy, and ” He pauses. “Do you hesitate?” asks she, very bitterly, although her pale lips are smiling. “Will you risk it all?’ says he, sadly. “Will you come away with me? 1 feel 1 have no friend on earth but you. Will you take pity on me? I shall not stay here, whatever happens; I have striven against fate too long—it has overcome me. Another land—a different life—complete forgetfulness ” “Do you know what you are saying?” asks Lady Swansdown, deathly white. “Yes; I have thought it all out. It is for you now to decide. 1 have sometimes thought I was not entirely indifferent to you, and at all events we are friends in the best sense of the term. If you were a happily married woman, Beatrice, I should not speak to you like this, but as it is—in another land—if you will come with me—we ” “Think, think!” says she. putting up her hand to stay him from further speech. “All this is said in a moment of angry excitement. You have called me your friend —and truly. I am so far in touch with- you that I can see you are very unhappy. You have had—forgive me if I probe you—but yon have had some —some words with your wife?” . “Final words! I hope—l think.” “I do not, however. All this will blow over, and—come, Cyril, face it. Are you really prepared to deliberately break the last link that holds you to her?” “There is no link. She has cut herself adrift long since. She will be be rid of me.” “And you—will you be glad to be rid of her?” “It will be better,” says he, shortly. “And—tho boy?” “Don’t let us go into it,” a little wildly. “Oh! but we must—we must,” says she. “The boy—you will ?” “I shall leave him to her. lam nothing to her. I cannot leave her desolate.” “How you consider her!” says she, in a choking voice. She could have burst into tears! “What a heart! and that woman to treat him so —while —oh! it is hard—hard!” “I tell you,” says she, presently, “that you have not gone into this thing. Tomorrow you will regret all that you have now said.” “If you refuse me —yes. It lies in your hands now. Are you going to refuse me?” “Give me a moment,” says she, faintly. She has risen to her feet, and is so standing that he cannot watch her. Her whole soul is convulsed. Shall she? Shall she not? The scales are trembling. That woman’s face! How it rises before her now’, pale, cold, contemptuous. With what an insolent air she had almost ordered her from her sight. And yet—and yet Oh! A groan that is almost a sob breaks from her. The'scale has gone down to one side. It is all over, hope and love and joy. Isabel has won. She has been leaning against the arm of the lounge, now she once more sinks back upon the seat as though standing is impossible to her. “Well?” says Baltimore, laying his hand gently upon hers. His touch seems to bur* her, she flings his hand from her and shrinks back. “You have decided,” says he, quickly. “You will not come with me?” “Oh! no, no, no!” cries she. “It is impossible!” A little curious laugh breaks from her that is cruelly akin to a cry. “Yon like her better than you like me. You are angry with your wife, and would be-revenged upon her, and your w’ay to revenge yourself is to make a second woman hate you.” “A second?” “I should probably hate you in six months,” says she, with a touch of passion. “I am not sure that Ido not hate you now.” “A second woman!” repeats he, ai..if struck by this thought to the exclusion of all others. “Yes!” “You think, then,” gazing at her, “that she—hates me?” Lady Swansdown breaks into a low but mirthless laugh. The most poignant anguish rings through it. “She! she!” cries she, as if unable to control herself, and then stops suddenly, placing her hand to her forehehd. “Oh, no, she doesn’t hate you,” she says. “But how you betray yourself! Do you wonder I laugh? Did ever any man so give himself away? You have been declaring to me for months that she hates you, yet when I put it into w’ords, or you think I do, it seems as though some fresh, new evil had befallen you. Ah! give up this role of Don Juan, Baltimore. It doesn’t suit you.” He would have spoken to her again, but she rejects the idea with such bitterness that he is necessarily silent. She has covered her face with her hands. Presently she is alone. (To lie continued.)

Giants of Patagonia.

The tribes to the east of the Cordilleras, In Southern Patagonia, belong to Arnucanian stock and are a superior race. The Tobeuiehs—as they call themselves—of Southern and Eastern Patagonia are the people whose unusual stature gave rise to the fables of the early day’s to the effect that the natives of this region were galnts averaging nine or ten feet in height. It is a fact, says the Boston Transcript, that they are the tallest human beings in the world, the men averaging but slightly less than six feet, while individuals of four to six inches above that mark are not uncommon. They are in reality by no means savages, but somewhat civilized barbarians. They are almost unacquainted with the use of firearms, notwithstanding some contact with the whites, but they have plenty of horses and dogs. Unsurpassed hunters, they capture tbe guaaaco and the rhea, or South American ostrich, and from the skins of these and other animals they make clothes and coverings for their tents. They make beautiful “capes” or “mantles” of furs and feathers, which are highly prized by Europeans and find a ready market, most of the proceeds being spent for bad whisky, which to brought Into the country in quantities. If you get lost you can recover yourself at a clothing store.

WOMEN HOME

CONVERSATIONAL TACT. WOMEN who regard it as their chief end in life to attract admiration will spend hours before the looking-glass md devote days in dress, not realizing that one-half this time spent in cultivating their minds and in acquiring the ability to talk well would accomplish the same purpose in a far greater degree. In the first place, in order to talk agreeably it is requisite to have something to talk about. You cannot draw water from a well where no well is. therefore you must cultivate your mind through reading and observation. Accustom yourself to talk about what you see and read. It is a mistake not to talk to the people of your own family; many a one has grown taciturn from considering it not worth while to entertain the home folks. Let the habit of story-telling be cultivated; you cannot lack for auditors while you have children among your acquaintance. You will find that by so doing your mental and lingual faculties will be strengthened. Keep yourself in touch with the questions of the day; to do this give a few moments to the newspaper every morning. Always find out whether the per Son whom you are to entertain prefers to speak or to listen, and govern yourself accordingly. Avoid as far as possible all unpleasant subjects, and endeavor to discover what is most interesting to your companions. With some persons this faculty amounts to Intuition, with others it is laboriously acquired, but it invariably grows by exercise. Talk of things and not of people; gossip is not conversation. Never talk much of yourself nor your own affairs; it is in bad form, and generally it bores your hearer. Avoid also unkind and censorious observations about other people, and never, if you can help It, make personal remarks, unless they are something in the nature of a delicate compliment; thus you will avoid treading on your neighbors’ corns.— Woman’s Home Companion.

A Louis XVI. Frame. A pretty photograph case which may easily be made at home is called the Louis XVI. frame, and is all the rage. To carry out the idea a silk should be selected like that used in that epoch of history. The sides are then cut from stiff cardboard, sufficiently large to leave a margin around the size of the photograph it is required to hold; then with a well-made flour paste cover the board with a paint brush, dipped in the paste,- -and immediately apply the silk, taking great care that the design is straight, and that there are no wrinkles. Cut the silk around the aperture which has been left for the photograph, and then press in a heavy book for twenty-four hours. After it is perfectly dry the back is treated in the same way, and also pressed and dried, after which the turned-over edges are met and neatly overcast, with silk to match. A guljqjre edging is then pasted on the edges and around the opening, and sewn to the silk, and the edges covered ■with a heavy gold cord. The Louis XVI. bow at the top is made of wired velvet ribbon, doubled so as to hide the wire.

Southern Women After the War. “Women in the Southland,” says a writer in the National Magazine, “who had never done a stroke of the simplest kind of work, but who had been accustomed to have everything done for them, were brought face to face after the war with a situation that demanded of them the greatest possible sacrifices. Some of these women reared to luxury took in washing for a living after the war. One Imperious beauty, In order to save from starvation her little nieces and nephews, left orphans on a ruined plantation, sold vegetables and berries In the streets of a Southern city, where a short time previously she had reigned as a belle. The way in which such women, reared to ease and indolence, set about to right their affairs, after their ’cause’ and their dear ones were lost in the late war, is one of the remarkable manifestations of woman’s adaptability to circumstances. Nor has it been without Its effect upon the women of the present time.”

A Word to Miatremes. Teach your servant self-respect and keep your own. An even temper, a pleasant but firm oversight of necessary matters, a systematic plan of housekeeping—all these keep up the mistress’ self-respect In dealing with her household staff. The ideal mistress Is always self-respecting, and, having provided the essentials of self-respect-ing service, may reasonably expect the ideal maid to live up to the opportunity. Ideals are, perhaps, never fully realized, but this especial Idea must be kept in view if Improvement, however gradual, In household service is desired. It is easy to remember. . The Newly Married Women. When a woman enters the marriage relation her sphere of influence Is at once extended, and her horizon Is no longer bounded by the people and circumstances of jfae moment. She is .building for posterity. In the joy and thoughtfulness which characterize her njlpd in the new relation there is a prophecy of unborn generations. Her life is to tolor other Ilves; her aspirations axe to fix, to a great extent, the

position and future of husband and family. The higher the degree of her culture, the more will these qualities characterize the home of which she la the center. The self that a woman takes with her in her marriage is her real dower. If she possesses industry, gentleness, self-abnegation, purity and inteligence, combined with capability, she is in herself a treasure of treasures. —New York Ledger.

Some Mistakes We Make. It is a mistake to work when you are not in a fit condition to do so. To take off heavy underclothing because you have become overheated. To go to bed late at night and rise at daybreak, and imagine that every hour taken from sleep is an hour gained. To imagine that if a little work or exercise is good, violent or prolonged exercise is better. To conclude that the smallest room in the house is large enough to sleep in. To sleep exposed in a draught at any season. To imagine that whatever remedy causes one to feel immediately better, as alcoholic stimulants, for example, is good for the system, without regard to the after effects. To eat as if you had only a minute in which to finish the meal, or to eat without an appetite, or to continue after it has been satisfied, to gratify the taste. To give unnecessary time to a certain established routine of housekeeping when it could be more profitably spent in rest or recreation.

Lucky Wedding-Days. It is superstition that leads us to select different seasons of the year or particular days for the celebration of our weddings, and we are indebted in 'a good part for this to the ancients. At Athens winter was regarded as a favorable time. The fourth day of the month was recommended by Hesiod, and Euripides was in favor of the time of the full moon. The Romans wre great believers in favorable and unfavorable days. The calends, tbe nones and the ides of each month were regarded as unsuitable for marriage ceremonies, as were also the months of May and February. Wane was the most esteemed of all, and is still in great favor among many nations.— Woman’s Home Companion. Women Cherish Illusion*. After 50, many men knowingly begin to analyze the baubles of their ambition or the illusions of their pleasures, and, as a result, they question whether life is worth living. At the same age many wonsen unconsciously cherish, more than ever, the pleasures of their illusions. They learn to feel and know that life is a blessing—“the greatest good, and death the worst evil.” A Quick Dish. A real quick dish for unexpected company can be made of the omnipresent egg. Boil half a dozen—less or more—for ten minutes; then throw them into cold brater for one minute, after which remove the shells and put into hot water again. Make a cream gravy of milk, butter and flour, and season well. Halve the eggs and pour gravy over them.

Feminine Persona!*, Mrs. Phoebe Hearst has purchased Prosper d'Epinay’s marble bust of Jeanne d’Arc, and will present it to the Washington museum. It is pronounced a very fine piece of work. An insurance company of Warsaw. Russian Poland, has discharged all the male agents and solicitors, appointing women in their stead, since it appeared that women make much better agents than men. Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, editor of StNicholas, who has just recovered from a severe illness, sailed for Europe recently by advice of her physician. Mrs. Dodge intends to spend the winter in Egypt and Italy. Mrs. Ada L. Hanford, daughter of District Judge Hanford, of Seattle, has been placed at the head of the movement among citizens of the State of Washington to purchase a suitable testimonial for the battleship Olympia. Miss Florence Caldwell, a daughter of United States Judge Caldwell, of Cleveland, was graduated as a civil engineer last June from tbe Colorado State School of Mines at Gohlen, and now she is about to many another civil engineer whom she met in Colorado. Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt is one of the fqw wives of political notabilities who shares her husband's enjoyment of cartoons. Mrs. Thomas Platt has said that she sometimes fears to open a paper. So, too, Mrs. Russell Sage. But Mrs. Roosevelt has made quite a collection of the multitudinous representations of the Rough Rider. The widow of President Barrios, of Guatemala, will make her home in NewYork. She has saved a fortune eg»L mated at $500,000 out of her husbJW estate, a fortune which he amass* „ in the four yean of his Presidency. She is an American woman, born in New Orleans, and Barrios met and married her In New York. Mme. Barrios has all her valuable diamonds tied up in the custom house, and ungallant Unde Sam insists on a heavy duty on them because they were bought abroad. The jewels are valued at SIOO,OOO, on which tbe duty will be $60,000. You may deceive aR the people part of the time, and part of tbe people all the tlno, but not all the people all the time. —Lincoln.

JOSEPH CHOATE NOMINATED.

president Names Him as Ambassador to Great Britain. The President oa Wednesday sent to the Senate the rucjiiiation of Joseph H. Choate to be ambsssedor to Great Britain. ■ " ' ‘ “ Joseph H. Choate stands at the head of the legal profession in this country as a practicing attorney. He has no peer as an after-dinner talker. Mr. Choate to a New Englander by birth and by reason of a long line of ancestors. He was born in 1833 and early in life started out to win a name independently of any virtue . or renown which his father, the learned” Dr. Choate, had won. He graduated at

JOSEPH H. CHOATE.

Harvard with high honors and immediately began the practice of law. Senator Evarts heard his first pleading and was so amazed by it that he prevailed upon the young barrister to form a partnership with him. Not many years after this partnership was formed Choate could sign his check for $1,000,1X10 and still leave enough in the bank to make the ordinary lawyer rich the balance of his life. Choate has appeared in many of tbe greatest cases of the past twenty years. He was instrumental in breaking up the Tweed ring, nude the argument for FitzJohn Porter, defended Gen. Ccsnola in the famous criminal libel suit brought by Gaston Feuerdent, argued the Stokes will case, was a leading spirit in the Tilden will case, awd his opinion was sought in the Behring seg controversy.

BEVERIDGE FOR SENATOR.

Indiana Repnblican Solon* Nominate Hina an Cawa,. The Indiana Republican caucus nominated Albert J. Beveridge of Indianapolis for United States Senator on the twelfth ballot. Albert J. Beveridge was born on a farm in Highland County. Ohio, in 18G3. He is a self-made man. having worked his way up. Great privations enabled him to attend Depauw University, from which ha

ALBERT J. BEVERIDGE.

was graduated with distinction. On locating in Indianapolis Beveridge entered tbe law office of Senator McDonald. Beveridge's career a* a political speaker began during the Blaine campaign and he has since then stumped several States successfully. Since that time Beveridge has won national distinction, beginning with his address before the Union League Club of Chicago in 1805. He dosed the Republican national campaign in 1896 io Chicago at the Auditorium.

TURNS IN BRIBE MONEY.

Montana Senator Give* Isve*tig*tin< Committee S3OJKMJL The managers of United States Senator dark's campaign deny emphatically the charges made that they attempted to bribe members of the Montana State Legislature in the interest of their senatorial candidate. The Senate and House met in joint session in Helena to hear a report of the com•nittee appointed to investigate alleged attempts at bribing members. The committee produced and exhibited $30,000 in sl,000 hills, which Senator Whiteside ot Flatbead County claimed had been paid him and three colleagues to vote for W. A. Clark of Butte for United States Senator. The money was ordered deposited with the State treasurer, subject to the order of the Legislature. Whiteside testified that he had induced Senator W. A. Clark of Madison County. Senator H. L. Myers of Navalti County and Representative Garr of Flatbead County to see the Clark managers. According to tbe testimony, they had done ■O, and Clark received $10,000; Myers SIO,OOO and Garr $5,000. They had given the money to Whiteside and be had turned the whole amount over to the investigating eouunittee.

Miners' Cases Are Settled.

The seventy cases of Pana miners awH citizens charged with participating in the riots of Sept. 1 and 28 last, were disposed of in the Circuit Court at Pana the other morning. State's Attorney Humphreys notted fifty-nine of the cases, while eleven pleaded guilty and were given «*- traces. ■ >

Old Iren Mills Destroyed.

Old-style iron mills that cannot courpete with modem concerns are rapidly being transformed into old junk in eastern Pennsylvania. This is notably the case at the once busy iron town of Catasaqna. From 18'13 to 1890 were the golden yearn Of prosperity for that valley.

Vesuvius in Eruption Again.

The eruption of Vesuvius increases. AD the old craters throw out flames and lava, making a terrific night spectacle. The whole side of the mountain is red and great masses are ejected 300 meters high.