Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 26, Number 38, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 14 March 1896 — Page 6

A MARRIAGE SONG.

Xiove has two chords, in harmony they quiver One tuned to earth, with nature's music swells, Joining with bird and flower and tree and river.

Bong of the mountains, song of shady dells.

Piped on the lute of shepherd lad in hollow, What time the worJd with mirth and joy did ring, Jymn ever now, for natur© still we follow

Mother of all, thou taughtest us to sing.

Xiove has two chords, in harmony they quiver One tuned to heaven breathes melody divine, Strains sweet and low and joyous to deliver

Hearts from sad cares, as flames the gold refine. Song by the choir of seraphs to the chorus,'

Kinging eternally through heaven's high halls, Xehoed by mortals, God's great love shed er us

Wakens the song that listening ears enthralls. —A. B. M. in Academy.

THE UNREAD LETTER

The electrlo light from a burner shaded with crinkled silk streamed through the wide open windows Into the dark blaeness of the sultry autumn dusk. Pale flowered damask was stretched tentlike over the walls and ceilings of the room, from which all other drapery had been stripped and most of the furniture removed. Straw laid down on the street below muffled the immediate clatter of trafflo. The atmosphere was acrid with the smell of some powerful disinfectant.

On a narrow bed of carved cedar wood pulled well into themiddle of the room lay a woman, and beside her, both her pale hands in his, and his head bowed upon them, knelt a man. "How longwili the nurse leave us alone together I wonder? I want you"— Her faint voice trailed off into silenoe. "What, sweetheart?"

He looked up, his handsome, ordinarily debonair face almost grotesquely convulsed.

But when she spoke again It was In a tone of one who makes an entirely Impersonal observation. "How strange!" she said weakly. "In few days, perhaps In a few hours, I shall be a lonely, useless thing, only a dead body, which was onoe your wife." "My poor little girl," he muttered, filled with an immense, an Intolerable pity.

44My

poor, dear, little girl." "You are sorry for me as well as for yourself, aren't you?" she said wistfully.

He made no attempt at answer beyond that implied in his actions as he gathered lier into his arms. "Are these your tears I feel—so hot and titter? Mine seem all dried up, but it is bard to have to go away from the people and places I know, out of the warmth and light—where? Ah-h, love isn't as strung as death, or you would hold me fast always, wouldn't you?"

Ho began rooking her to and fro gently, mechanioally as one rooks a sleeping ohild. "With an effort she olaspod her frail arms xound bis nook, and all the bright rain of ber hair foil over and hid her faoe. "You are tired," he said. "Nevor mind, I shall havo all eternity to rest in." She laughod rather mlrtiilesnly. "Tho nurso will be here soon, and bufore she comes I want you—I told you at llrst I want you"— "What, sweotheart?" he asked.

Sho looked almost humbly at him, with dimmed eyes sunken deep in her white, sharpened faoe. "Will you do me a favor?" Her voice failed hor for a moment. "Anything everything," he said. lou'll tell me later on"— "Dour boy, thero won't beany 'later on' for mo. I want you to go to my esoretoire and toko out a small sealed packet from the left hand top drawer. There is a letter inside. Whon I am dead, you will sco that it is delivered into the hands of the person to whom it is addressed?"

"J# that all?"

That Is ali. 1 ask this favor of you booauso I profor to trust you rather than my maid or solicitor. The question Is, Will you trust me?"

Ami she watched him with strained attention. "Trust you?" ho oohoed.

Yes opon the paoket and read the addross on tho letter." Sho rolled over and hid her faoe in the bedolothos. There was a short sllenco, ami tho writing on the envelope was not plainer than the oonstornation on his face. "Perhaps you have a right to know what I have written to him," sho said, at length, in a stilled volco. "Certainly you have aright to know why I have written to him. lJut I oan't explain and won't excuse myself. As I said before, tho question is, Will you trust me?"

Sho iurnotl toward him at that, and hor voioo was in tho voice, and her eyes woro tho eyes of a dying woman. So it oamo to pass that he went back to tho bed and awkwardly, but with muoh tender intention smoothed the bright rain of her hair on the pillows. "Will I?" he said huskily.

fart

MYee

think of those three years and of your

in them, and I am quite satisfied to now nothing." For tlio first time during tho interview tears welled up into her oyes and overflowed. "How good you are{ how very good!" she murmured as ho gathered her again into his wrms. "My poor little girll My poor, dear little girll" he in uttered.

With a supreme effort she clasped hor trail arms around his neck. "S-s-s-sh! She is asleep," he warned 1he nurso, who quietly entered the room a few minutes later.

The light of a huge fire clashed with the autumn dusk, wan with regrets and memories, which bad Invaded the room.

The carved cedar wood bed was pushed away into a corner, and tho wom&n had been moved to a eapaoious ohint* covered to fa pulled close up to the hearth.

She was terribly thin and white? The weight of hw mouse colored chignon seemed to drug back her delioato head. She looked almost lost among the laces and furs of her loose gown, but she was no longer dylug or In any danger of doing ®o. For this onoe death had turned away bis head and passed ber by.

And the man stood on the opposite side of tho hearth watching ber with all his honest heart In his eyes. "Oh-h!" she yawned. "I'm so tired, so fearfully tired, of doing nothing. How ttneome that dootor Is to keep me hem. I feel just like a galley slave chained to his ear.'* "Be said you might perhaps be carried down stairs at the end of the week, didn't he?** "At th* *nd of the week I And only P«*hapsl lie's a regular old woman. First be literally frightened me nearly to death, for 1 don't believe I was ever ill as be said

"Well, you were pretty bad, you know," ho reminded her mildly. "I was very ill." "You thought you were dying."

Yea, I suppose I did." The result of a few moments' thought was to make her blush faintly. "I seem to remember that I, that we both, lost our heads and behaved like the hero and tho heroine of a Surrey melodrama," she said shamefacedly. "Well, put it that way if you like." "You were awfully cut up, weren't you? Dear old boy! I never realized until then bow fond ycu are of me. If I had died Ugh! Don't let us talk about it." She snuggled down among the cushions and held out ber transparent hands to the blaze. "There's one thing," he said "that letter, you know." His expression was considerably more embarrassed than hers. "Letter?" "The letter you gave Into my charge. Of oourse I.didn't deliver it. Here it is." "Oh!"

She held out ber band, and with a scarcely appreciable hesitation he placed the sealed envelope in it.

There was a moment's silenoe while she stared at the address with downcast eyes and an absolutely blank countenance. Then, giving a half shrug of her shoulders, she tore the envelope across and again across. He gave an Irrepressible start forward. "What have you—what made you do that?" he demanded sharply. "It's done with," she said. "What a dear, trusty creature you were to consent to deliver it!"

She bent forward and tossed the strips of paper into the very heart of the fire, where they glowed and ourled and shriveled. "Tell me—oh, come closer I I oan't talk to you comfortably at that distanoe off-"

He approached father slowly, and as soon as he got within reaoh she took possession of one of his hands.

There's plenty of room at the foot of the sofa," she remarked, and when he sat down there she began playing with the seal ring on his fourth finger. "Tell me—you must have been rather surprised to find that I knew him?" "That you know him," he oorreoted. "I don't know him now, and I never knew him very well. Men give him a bad charaoter, I suppose?'' "So do some women." "He always had atrocious taste iti women," she said tranquilly. "In your case"— "He didn't admire me, nor I him. We loathed eaoh other." "Yet you found it necessary to write?" "Yes."

She looked at his disturbed faoe, and then at the glowing heart of the fire, where what had been the letter safely reposed.

You have destroyed the letter. If you thought you were again dying, would you write another?" "It is possible," she said. "And give it into my charge?" "Why not?" She laughed and patted his hand. "I'm glad we understand eaoh other so well. If I were a different sort of woman or you a different sort of man, there might have been endless dlsagreeableness about my little lotter, my poor, harmless little letter. As it is you know that"— "What do I know?" he asked with sudden exasperation, but she never fiinohed. "Why," she said softly, loaning toward him, "you know that I have been and am yours—all and only yours. You know that as far as I am concerned you might have read every lino of that letter. I rather wish you hod." She glanced over her shoulder at the flickering flames. "Now kiss me, dear boy, and go, for I'm awfully tired." "Shall I send the nurse?" he asked with somo compunction. "Please."

Then as he would have gone she held him back. "I don't want that letter to cause you any annoyance," she said sweetly. "Of oourse I havo no right to reveal the private affairs of other people and one of them a woman who"— "Not for worlds," he exolalmed, bis faoe olearlng as he instantly oaught at the solution offered. "But if you feel you cannot trust me" —she oonfcinuod. "Not trust you!" His high minded indignation was quite delightful to witness. "My dear child, don't talk suoh nonsense. The address on the envelope gave me rathera turn because I hadn't the remotest Idea that you had ever known the fellow, and ho is an out and out rasoal—he really Is. But. as for not trusting you, why, the thing is preposterous." "Still, I wish you had read the letter. Thero would have boen no room for doubt"— She broke off and looked at him appeallngly. "There Is nono," heanswered her stoutly. "Now lio down and rest, there's a dear, and I'll send the nurse to you."

But It must be oonfessed that it occasionally happens to him to wish that he bad read the letter.—Exchange.

In the Pilothouse of the Flat. You know, it's old enough and familiar enough," said a flat dweller, "but It's striking all the same, to hear the whistle blow in tho kitchen, from somebody in tho oellar at the elevator, and mavbo at the same time to hear the boll ring from so mo body at the front door. The servant throws up the door to the elovator shaft., to be roady to receive the things that the man Js sending up from below, and sfie swings around and presses the button nnd opens a door far away and In still another part of the bouse. Ali simple enough, but It Interests me all the same. It seems sort of like running the steamer from the bridge or like throwing the levers in the switchhouse and controlling switches far away It seems like business it's modern and up to date."—New York San.

Borne Training.

If mothers would only realize the full significance of the truth expressed in the trite saying, "As the twig is bent the tree Inclines," the next generation of men and women would sorely be better In every way, for it is true that the future well being of the man, or woman, physically, mentally and spiritual*v depends upon the thousand and one 11*' acts of seeming unimportance that make up the child's daily life. It is the born' training the child receives that make- its future "for better or for worse."—Womankind.

Hi* XSftalm.

The man who is always wondering what the neighbors think of him would be surprised sometimes to know that they seldom think of him at alL—Somerville Journal.

PwUw «f KM Language,

l*:

Anything going on this week?" Oh, yes lots of things coming off."—• Chicago Reoord.

FOR LITTLE FOLKS.

CALLING THE KITTENS.

Bach of Them Understood Which Was Wanted When the Mother Cat Called. Some years ago, while two little kittens of ours, one black and the other tabby, were playing with a cork, the old oat suddenly appeared at the garden door with a little field mouse which she had caught, and an her giving a kind of call—a mew, in fact—the tabby kitten at once stopped its game and ran to receive the mouse, while the black kitten continued playing as before. My mother, who was in the room at the time, being muoh surprised, asked the silly little thing, as she naturally considered it, why it did not go and secure its share of the mouse. Kitty, however, made no reply, bnt went on playing as before till rejoined by the tabby, who had meanwhile made short work of the *!5| mouse* 3

Presently Ifie oat returned with a second mouse, giving apparently precisely the same oall as before, but this time, strange to say, it was the black kitten who ceased its game and received the mouse, the tabby taking not the slightest notice. There could, therefore, be no doubt that the mother had a special call for each of the kittens, which they recognized and obeyed, and the content with which eaoh allowed the other to finish the dainty morsel without any attempt to share the feast might certainly furnish an example to many a ohild.

More, however, was to follow. For nearly an hour later the cat onoe more appeared laden with a third mouse, which again fell to the share of the tabby kitten, after whioh my mother, being called away, was not able to discover whether the black kitten reoeived a second mouse or not. Certainly animals have a language of their own and occasionally set ns examples which many of us would do well to follow. Bombay Guardian,

The Tortoise's Lesson.

"I oan't learn to spell that long word," declared Dorothy crossly. "What word?" asked auntie. "Tortoise," answered Dorothy, "and I know that I shall fail and have to to the foot of the olass, and I only got up to the head this very morning." 'I can't' never did anything in this world. Did you know that, Dorothy?" said auntie. "But 'I can' has done a great deal. Did you ever hear the story about the tortoise?" "Yes, indeed," answered Dorothy. "We read all about him in school yesterday. He ran a race with a hare, and the hare ran very fast, and then he got tired and went to sleep, 'cause he thought the slow old tortoise would never get to the end of the race even if he slept hours and hours. But he did, auntie. He kept crawling straight along, no matter how tired he felt." "And who beat?" asked auntie. "The tortoise did," exclaimed Dorothy, "and I guess that sleepy hare was s'prised as anything, don't you, when he found it out?" "I shouldn't wonder," said auntie. "He didn't say'I oan't,'did he? He persevered and kept right along,although he knew that the hare could run very fast, while he oould only orawl very slowly." "I guess that tortoise said, 'lean,' same as I'm going to right now," said Dorothy quickly, and she took up her spelling book.

Over and over she spelled, t-o-r-t-o-i-s-e, tortoise, until at last she knew it perfectly. "I've learned it, auntie I" she shouted joyfully as she shut up her book with, a olap.

Auntie smiled. "And you have learned the tortoise's lesson at the same time, haven't you, dear? His lesson is perseverance. '—Youth's Companion.

Tour Name on an Apple.

Those of you who live in the country can try next summer writing your naihe on an apple. It is the sun whioh gives the apple what we call its rosy cheek, and this faot makes it possible to attempt the little experiment. Cut your name "Nellie" or "John" on a piece of stiff paper and wrap it around an apple that hangs in the sunshine. The rays will go through the name spaces only and will print the name outline on the apple under the paper. It will be curious to pick the fruit in the late summer with one's own name colored in by so noblo a painter as old Sol himself.— New York Times.

A Quick Cure*-

Mother—Don't you feel able to sit up today? Boy—No, mamma. I am so queer.

Mother—Well, let me see. I thifik you will be able to go to school on Mailday. Today is Saturday and—

Boy (jumping out of bed)—Saturday! I thought it was Friday.—London TitBits.

TEKRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, MARCH 14, 1896.

r.-s-.v-ir.isrW*

Bow It Strikes a Boy.

Said little Johnny Green: "This is the funniest world I ever seen. A fellow is sent off to bed When he hain't got a bit of sleep in his head. And he's hustled oat of it. don't yu see, When be's just as sleepy as he can 1 •." —Boston Transcript.

The Box Who Borrowed Trouble.

Though extremely bad of coasting, this most peculiar lad. While flying swiftly down the hill, would wear a look of pais, Hor already be was thinking—and it really made him sad—

That very aooa he'd have to climb the whole MjsJ way np again. sfesfe —Frederick B. Oppw 1a St. Hioholaa

The Knitted Waistcoats.

The new silks lately introduced for crocheting and knitting fashionable waistcoats forcibly recall the shimmering on as donned by our great-grand-mothers and most likely worked by themselves in faint imitation of the gorgeous articles worn by men during several centuries. The modem knitter will probably shrink from vying with the patient skill of the women of a former age, but we may depend on the hand knitting maohines and manufacturers' frames to revive the idea and produce marvelous adaptations of the onoe gaudy craze.

Here is an example of a showy waistcoat lost in 1713 by a Mrs. Beale and described by "Malcolm" as knitted with green Bilk and gold and silver flowers all over it, further enhanced with about 14 yards of gold and silver thick lace. This smart fashion was probably first introduced from Italy, the country of gold and silver weaving. In faot, there is at the South Kensington museum a ooat of Italian origin belonging to the seventeenth century and similar to a oardigan without pockets. It is knitted in pale blue stocking web, set off in front and at the back with wide bands of flowers and scrolls wrought entirely in gold and silver, but whether knitted with the silk or grafted on the webbing is not easy to ascertain through the bad light ttnd glass door. These designs ex tend about two inches from the shoulder •earns dawn to three inches from the edge, which is knitted with three sets of dice pattern. The somewhat full sleeves are headed with several rows of garter stitch and finished off with gauntlet cuffs displaying the fancy device. Blue silk binds the neck and the fronts, over which are either worked olose buttonholes or sewed blue and tinsel buttons surrounded with the Greek pattern in obaiu stitch.—London Queen.

Women In Banks.

''The Paris correspondent of Truth, in urging the advantages of the decimal system as taught in France, points out the benefit Frenchwomen have obtained from it. This lady considers that the brains of English women are not more refractory than those of their sisters aoross the ohannel, if they had a national system of arithmetic. Thero are thousands of feminine bookkeepers in Paris. One finds them also in the Bank of France. Women have practically a bookkeeping monopoly in restaurants and oafes, and as the world goes the dame du comptoir is really well off. She hat few expenses, a good salary and three luxurious meals a day. A plain neat black stuff dress is all the toilet her em ployer requires. If she has a small in dependent income she saves all her salary, and is sure of being thoroughly in dependent against middle age. The salary is said to be over £100 a year and often rises to £150.

But in England surely hundreds of women are employed in a precisely similar manner. The Bank of England has opened its doors to them, postoffioes employ them and women accountants are to be found in plenty of business houses and restaurants. ,.?• r-

"Couldn't Do It Himselfc

A famous English physician, Sir James Crichton Brown, has risen up as an opponent of the higher education of women. Two yearS ago, he says, he meta high school girl who was reading "Lucretius" for reoreation, but she failed lamentably when he asked Ijer to boil a .potato. Quite possibly Sir James would have been equally unfortunate had he been asked to boil the potato himself, or, to oite a more masouline employment, to hitch up his own horse, It is impossible for one person, whether man or woman, to acquire all the acr complishments, but if a woman succeeds with her higher education, as many of them have succeeded, she can afford to pay for having her potatoes boiled. This is now so well understood and conceded that the opposition to woman's advancement is confined almost exclusively to the ultra conservatives, of whom Sir James Crichton Brown appears to be a type.—Philadelphia Ledger.

She Built a Church.

Mrs. Althia Hultz of Artimus, Ey., has built a church through her own efforts alone. A year ago she made up her mind that a church was a need. She asked help from the miners, but they were poor to a man. Nothing daunted, she set to work. She gathered berries, tramped across the mountains and sold them. She raised a pig and a calf and donated them both. In every way in her power she toiled for the good end. Last fall shebeggod of tho miners again, but this time for work. She met with a ready response. A tract of land was bequeathed. Lumber was given. Thr little store of savings did the rest. The church is now under roof. Little morn has been done, but it is a church which one day will be complete, and Mrs. Hultz has her reward.

Mrs. Cleveland.

In evening dress Mrs. Cleveland in the handsomest woman today in Wash ington. She has a beautiful neck and well rounded shoulders, and with the sparkle of her jewels makes a picture of a White Houi-e mistress which is simply regal. Her smile is contagions, for her manners are always agrees!ij graciuu8.fi

Mrs. Cleveland is seen on the street occasionally, walking in the or driving around among the shops. SK is the most devoted of mothers, and is never away from the children at ni^ht. This has done away with the little shopping jaunts to New York which used to give her so much pleasure during her first residence here.—New York Tifloes.

Her Title.

If that Wyoming woman is nominated aad elected, will she be the governor or governess of that statet—Atlanta Constitution.

We are afraid she will be governor. As the case stands now, when a woman is chosen to preside over a meeting of women, she is called the "chairman" and is addressed as Mrs. Chairman oftenet than otherwise. —New York Sun.

PI I

A KNIFE

in the hand of a Surgeon gives yon a feeling of horror and dread. There is no longer necessity for its use ia many diseases formerly regarded as incurable without cutting. Ipg

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THE

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