Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 25, Number 5, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 28 July 1894 — Page 7

A FORSAKEN IDOL.

Jacob burled his gods at Shecheoa— Casloff idols of stone and wood. Well he wot thry would ne'er bespeak T:. him

Further evil nor future good, Nevertheless he could not treat tliera* .Tost like pieces of wood and stone, When lie thought how he'd tried to Mat them

Up aloft on an altar throne. Once an idol I fondly cherished. Which was known by the name yon bear. Bat my faith in its virtues perished

When I fouart it was false aa fair. Nevertheless I could not break it Like an image of worthless clay, When I thought how I tried to makfc it

All I ever could hope or pray.

In my heart, down a shady hollow, Where the willow of weeping waves Hide false gwls, I was wont to follow

Out of fcitfht in forjr»tten graves. There yoa He with no name aoove you— With no epitaph false or true Save the fact that I used to love you

Ere nt Sbechem I buried yon. —Ellen T. Fowler in Pall Mall Magazine.

HIS REVENGE.

They were sitting apart. There wag a frown on Peter's face, but bis eyes had a pleading look in them, while pretty Selma was smiling and glanced roguishly through her drooping lashes.

Peter and Selma were lovers and had been such from earliest childhood. Of course they had had their little quarrels, but whenever Selma choso to bestow a glance and a smilo upon Peter ho had always been ready to como to her sido and sue for pardon.

Selma knew her power. Peter had been the slave of her will whenever she asserted it, and of lato sho had been very ready to put her iniluenco over him to the severest tests. Ho had tried to rebel, but In the end she had conquered, aa usual, and in spite of himself he had found that he wi*s powerless to resist the wayward whims her fancy wove to annoy and try him.

The sun was setting. Through the tops of tho tall pines the rays sifted their gold upon the ground at Selma's feet, whero she

Bat

on an old driftwood log on the

bank of tho river. Tho ferryboat was tugging gently at its moorings as tho water flowed along and formed a little eddy just below it. The wind seemed to have gono to sleep, and the trees stood with unmovIng branches, as if listening and longing for his waking again.

Peter was tho ferryman. His little home nestled under tho tall pines on the bluff above tho ferry landing. It was not a pretentious home, but he had tried to make It as cozy and comfortablo as his means would allow, and Selma's tasto had often boon consulted. Now, howovor, a cloud had risen between them, a dark cloud that would soon bring a storm of ruin and dosolation behind It for one of them. "I will not endure this playing fast and loose with my feelings any longer," said Peter, rising to his feet. "If you love me, Selma, you will not flirt with this stranger anymore." •'I never

Bought

Air. Windom," Selma

replied. "He always comes to me, and

never quarrels with mo." "That may bo true, Selma, but ho does not love you like I do—no man over did or will—and I often feel as if I could kill him with ono strong blow when I see you together."

Ho stood there, a giant almost in ututuro •and strength, his eyes flashing with anger, aa Selma had never seen thombofore. She could not help admiring him and felt proud of her power to Inspire him with «uch passion.

There was no doubt in hor heart tlmfc sho loved Peter, and sho folt he would willingly give his life for her if die only apoko tho word. But there was a growing waywardness in her nature, and even now, when sho longed to throw herself into Ills arms, that very waywardness mado her turn to him with mocking words on her lips.

You should put a guard on your tongue, or It will get you Into troublo aooner or later," sho said. '"As it is, I am tired of quarreling with you aud dou't want to have anythlug more to do with you. What would tho futuro hold for me •nyway—living penned up there in that little coop on tho bluff f" pointing her Anger in scorn at tho little homo Peter had mado ready to rcceivo her soiuo day in tho future.

Peter stood watohing her hungrily, his eyes bent upon her in silent questioning, but she did not relent, sho did not smile, she did not bid him como to her side. In•t«ad, sho turned slowly and walked away trom him. "Selma!" ho cried, but sho did not seem to hear him. Her feet never wavered as •he wended her way from tho river up tho bluff to where the last rays of the setting •un still lingered, leaving him in the shadows below.

Day after day Peter kept closely at his work, brooding over his loss. There wore times when he told himself Selma would return to him, but sho never came, and a bitter hato against tho man who had stolen his love away from him was kindled in his heart. "I will kill him!" ho cried. '"I will go tonight ami llnd him and choke the life out of him!"

But ho lingered on and on by the river, hoping against hope that Selma would yet return to him. Then hopo died away altogether. and hate alone filled his heart.

A man, while crossing the river ono day, told him that Selma had left her home and gone to the city with Mr. Windom, the stranger who bad sojourned In the village for tho last few weeks. "I will follow them and kill hlmt" Peter muttered, and the man went on his way fully believing that Peter would do as he had threatened.

But Peter lingered at the ferry. In the course of time tidings oaxue that Selma was Mrs. Windom, and that site was living in a fine house In the olfcy, where her husband was a prosperous man of business.

Peter only ground his teeth and muttered,

,iril

hare my revenge yet some

day." The days made weeks and months and ywwn, As the time pa&ted, however, Peter grew more and tuotv mynwsass, Mid the hate that gnawed incessantly at his heart be«an to show In all his deeds and words.

One day the little home on the bluff was on flm and the people from the village rushed then) to fight the flames iuid to try to save whatever they could of It* fur hing*. Peler was standing at one side, .»• tog against one of the giant pines, watchtag the destruction of hi® h^me. unmoved, mafcfag DO attempt tw sm* thing. The people looked upon him wrath fully, and •erne of moxv daring than the rest* upbraided him for not making an effort to help put out the fire.

Peter only smiled grimly and would not

even reply to tlfe inquiries they nmfr about the origin of the fire. It was easy to

sob

that he was not a fa

vorite among them. The women especially looked upon htm with disapproval In their eyes.

When the house was burned to the ground and Peter was homeless, one or two of the men approached him and offered him shelter at their houses. These offers he refused, however, telling them that be had already formed some plans which made it impossible for him to accept their hospitality, and so they left him to take care of himself. '•No, no!" he muttered. "I feel now that Selma has forgotten me. She Is off guard, and my time has come to work out my revenge."

Had the memory of her power over him deterred him all these years? And now had she forgotten him?

From the day of the burning of Peter's house he was never seen again by any one in the village, and the old ferry became the property of another man.

For a week the disappearance of Peter was tho theme of conversation by every body. In a month it was talked about by a few, and in a year all bad been forgotten.

Petevillo had grown into a town of several hundred souls in less than a week, Peter, in his aimless wanderings among the mountains, had accidentally stumbled upon the richest mine that had been found In that region for years, and he named it ''The Revenge.'' In a week a town was located near it and was called Peteville in honor of the lucky finder of the mine.

A ripple of excitement ran through Peteville when it was known that "The Revenge" had been sold to a capitalist for an almost fabulous price, and that the new owner. Mr. Windom, was coming there to take charge of it in person.

Mr. Windom arrived promptly and brought his wife with him to spend the summer among the mountains.

It was supposed that Peter would leave tho town then aud go to some new field, but instead he loitered around, occasionally taking a trip into the mountains alone.

Ono day Mr. Windom and his wife met him up among the mountains, whero they had como to see an underground river visible through a deep chasm from above, but inaccessible from below.

It was the first time since coming to the mountains that Peter and Mrs. Windom had met faco to fnco. Peter watched her eagerly, for in spito of the changes the years had wrought in her appearance she was still tho Selma of old to him, and tho old passion that had filled Ills whole life with so much bitterness flashed out of his eyes.

The glance, however, was lost upon Selma. To her ho was only one of the rough miners who swarmed among the mountains, but to Mr. Windom he was a capitalist, and as such he aocosted him with a degree of familiarity ho would not have aocorded to the others.

They had mot upon tho very brink of tho chasm, at the bottom of which the river was flowing. ''A remarkable place," said Mr. Windom, peering over the edge of the cliff cautiously. ''Yea," Peter replied, also peering over tho rock. "I should llko to find out where tho river goes," said Mr. Windom. "If it were possible to follow its underground course, thcro is no telling What treasures one might find." "That's so," mumbledPotor, watohing Mr. Windom closely, his oyes gleaming liko thoso of a wild animal.

At the bottom of tho chasm the water could be seen running swiftly, and a roaring sound, as of a mighty waterfall in the dlstanoe, reaohed their ears.

Mr. Windom lookod up and saw the wild gleam in Peter's eyes. Ho tried to move away, but Peter sprang in front of him. "Wo will go down thero together and sco what wo will find. Come," he cried and threw his strung arms around Mr. Windom.

Thero was a fierce struggle. They swayed to and fro on tho brink of the ohasm. In another moment thoy would go over it and down to certain death.

Selma sprang forward, and in a voice that sounded wonderfully sweot uttered only ono word: '•Peter!"

Ho relaxed his hold iu a moment and looked into her face. "Forglvo me," ho murmured.

Selma looked into his eyes and smiled. Sho reached out her hand to him, and ho took it in both of his. Tho tears came to his eyes and ran down his rough, weather beaten cheeks. "I have nothing to forgive. But you must leave us now," she murmured, disengaging her hand.

Peter started away, staggering llko a drunken man. He stumbled toward tho brink of the chasm, and beforo thoy could provent it plunged downward and was nover scon again.—John P. Sjolander in New Orleans Times-Democrat,

Chart of the Sky,

An international congress met In Paris in 1887 and nwolved to make a photo graphic chart of tho whole sky. The work was begun in 1801, and as it is expected to occupy about 10 years it will form a fitting close to a century which has been so rich in astronomical discoveries. Eighteen observatories, scattered over tho world, are taking pit* in the work. Similar instruments and plates of exactly the same si so—four square degrees—will be used. Each photograph is to be duplicated to prevent mistakes, and also there are to be two series of exposures, so that some 44,000 photographs in all will bo taken.

A short exposure series will form a catalogue of about 1,500,000 stars down to the eleventh magnitude, while the other series will be exposed 40 minutes and Will form a chart containing about 22,000, 000 stars down to the fourteenth magnitude. Tho entire map of the sfy, when finished, wPl cover a globe yards in diameter. In two or three generations astronomers, by comparing this chart with their own observations, will know much more than we do about the relations and relative mot.ons of the suns and systems of space, and whither our own little solar system is bound and with what velocity. —Longman's Magnaine.

An Cnananrrrabl# AtfomeaL

Little Ethel—I wish I had anew dolL Mamma—Y oar old doll is

good a?

•vet. Little Ethel—-Well, I son just as good as over, too, but the angels gave you a new baby.—Good News.

'HI* Selweme.

The Amateur—How is it All ytwerphatographs of people show their true expression so we.il

The Photographer— I never tell customer to look aat«z*L"—New York Tel•j* HITW

SIS

TERRE HACTTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, JULY 28,1894.

Europeans, Especially tbs French, I® State of Alarm Approaching Panic.

ANARCHIST MAD. BOY RULERS.

The French authorities are in a state of alarm approaching panic over the warnings of fresh anarchist plots. The information has been furnished principally by London and other foreign police, and extraordinary precautions have been taken to prevent the execution of •the bloodthirsty designs. These measures are so stringent that all foreigners

In France are likely to suffer inconvenience. Merely stopping to admire the architecture of the public buildings is likely to lead to arrest on suspicion, as an innocent Englishman found who gazed curiously for five minutes at the foreign office. The customs inspectors have been instructed to investigate the contents of everything larger than a small orange. The bill for the suppression of anarchy is one of the most drastic pieces of legislation in history. It literally fulfills Macau lay's prophecy that it might prove necessary to destroy liberty in order to preserve civilization. It almost forbids people to think anarchy. It certainly forbids them to mention it in a private letter. It tries offenders without a jury and on conviction sends them to solitary confinement and possibly to Cayenne.

Arrangements for international co-op-eration against anarchists are believed to be making satisfactory progress. Germany is the principal obstacle. More complete police co-operation will undoubtedly be agreed upon. The French police system will be reorganized and placed under one national head.

Chief Inspector Melville, head of the special or secret political department at Scotland Yard, has been pretty well worked to death in the last few months, what with murderous anarchists and roving royalties. The latter are a perpetual'worry, for in these revolutionary days they have to be watched with the greatest care, and Melville has to do the work with a scanty staff and inadequate funds.—New York Sun's European Letter. v:

LOCUSTS FOR FISH BAIT.

An Experience In Canada Which May Be iTaken Advantage Of. The 17 year locusts are here this year. Old time anglers have had experience with this insect before, and those who are posted will be ready to take advantage of their periodical appearance. How the locusts may affect the fishing can be judged by an experience I had in Canada many years ago. I was fishing in a stream near St. Thomas, Canada, in which I before had caught many fine small mouth bass.

At one point, above a dam, there was a mill race, with a gate at the head of tho race. When the mill was running, this gate was open, and the water rushed through on its way to tlje mill, a half mile below. Many a fine string of bass had I caught below this gate, but at the time I speak of I could not get a rise. I tried live minnows, crawfish and flies, but without success. The loousts were everywhere. The bass, I noticed, were rising to something that fell from the trees, and at last I saw they were locusts. This gave me the cuo, and securing a number of locusts I soon had one on my hook.

No sooner had it touched the water than there was a rush, and I was playing a bronze backer. Within two hours I had caught 27 small mouth bass, all nearly the same size, weighing a little over 114 pounds each. Going below the dam, where tho water flowed over, I gave it another trial with locusts, and there I caught two three pounders. It seemed as if they wanted nothing but loousts that day, but later in the season they would not touch them.

Should the locusts appear in large numbers this year, I will give them another trial whenever the opportunity offers.—T. B. in American Angler.

A NEW BRITISH EPILEPTIC COLONY.

A Private Asylum Will Be Opened Soon In Buckinghamshire. We are glad to be able to announce that the National Society For the Employment of Epileptics will in a few weeks open their industrial colony for epileptics at Chalfont St Peter's, in Buckinghamshire. We recently gave the welcome intelligence that a bill had been passed in the state of New York providing for the establishment in that state of an industrial colony for epileptics. The passing of this measure is, we believe, mainly due to Dr. Peterson's strenuous and able advocacy of the cause, and we heartily congratulate him on the success which crowns his labors.

In considering the American and the English schemes pue cannot fail to be impressed by the contrast between our own methods and those prevailing on the other side of the Atlantic. Here we incline to institutions promoted by private effort But in America the tendency is toward institutions originating under the auspices of public authority. Our national society will open its colony with 185 acres of land and about a score of patients.

The importance of congenial occupation as a therapeutic agent in the case of epileptics is now generally admitted, and it is well known that under ordinary conditions the lot of the epileptic is one of enforced idleness, detrimental to the interests of himself and his friends. Except by the establishment and adequate development of the colony this evil is not likely to be mitigated.— British Medical Journal

Dr. Holnwi* Autobiography. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes is reported to hare said recently, apropos otr

The Present Seems to Be an Age off TmUI With European Royalty.

This may indeed be called the age of youth with an 8-year-old monarch on the throne of Spain, a 13-year-old queen of Holland, a 19-rear-old khedive in Egypt and an 18-year-old king at Belgrade. With regard to the latter I learn from a friend who has recently been in Servia the following account of how King "Sacha" spends his day. Although rarely in bed before midnight, he is up early in the morning, and, arrayed in the undress uniform of a general, receives his court marshal, his aid-de-camp in waiting and his secretaries, who present to him their daily reports and take his instructions.

After glancing over the newspapers he receives his ministers at 10 o'clock and then doffs his uniform and dons mufti for luncheon, which is served in the small dining room of the palace, and the young king usually sits opposite his father, who does all tho talking. Then conversation is generally prolonged in the smoking room after luncheon, until 3 or 3 o'clock, Milan smoking innumerable cigarettes, a habit in which he is imitated by his promising son, a drive to his suburban palace of Topchida following. It was here that his grandfather, King Milosch, was so cowardly poniarded by Karageorgevicz.

At 6 o'clock the daily council of ministers takes place, at which the king presides, and at 8 o'clock dinner is served, after which the king generally accompanies his father to the theater or to some great official ball. From this it will be gathered that he has little opportunity for reading, exercise or instruction of any kind, and the existence that he loads can only be described as the reverse of wholesome for so young a man. j-

Perhaps the most unwholesome feature of it all is his association with his father, who, when his son visited him at Paris a year ago, disgusted even the most cynical and hardest of the French boulevardiers by making the lad acquainted with the principal members of the demimonde.—New York Recorder.

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Anarchist Lega Likes Jail.

Paul Lega, the author of the attempt on Signor Crispi's life, occupies an iso lated cell in the Carceri Nuovi, in Rome, and is observed day and night through an opening in the wall. He sleeps well, and when awake talks to himself. Tho other morning on rising he drank thirst ily from his jug of water and then said aloud, looking about him and beating his breast: "Now I feel better. I am in prison, it seems. At last I am in posses sion of a small estate." Then he began to laugh and whistle, drumming with his fingers in time to the tune. When the jailer entered the cell, taking him his bread and soup, Lega said: "Thank you. I am better served here than in an inn, all the more because I have nothing to pay. At last I have succeeded in getting a palace and servants of my own 1" London News.

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Hood's Pill's are hand made, and perfect in proportion and appearance. 25o. per box.

The "Stowaway" managers hot satisfied with having hired two ex-burglars, are now endeavoring to work William Haworth's melodrama, "On the Mississippi," by advertising a reformed gambler, who is positively to appear as a faro dealer. Don't Tobacco Spit or Smoke Your Life Away is the truthful, startling title of a little book that tells all about No-to-bac,the wonderful, harmless Guaran&adtobaccohabitcure. Th« cost is trifling and the man who wants to quit and can't runs no physical or financial risk in using "No-to-bac." Sold by A. F. Miller.

Book at Store or by mall free. Address The .Sterling Remedy Co., Indiana Mineral Springs, Ind.

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