St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 19, Number 26, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 13 January 1894 — Page 7

h wm nsEiF. The Story of a Woman’s Atonement, by Charlotte M. Braeme.

chapter XXXI. unbanm^ n ° • * nsens i b l 0 heroine, this K 3’ hl ^ » ild ' who had taken RUtruth in “.V™ 6 hand ' " oalth and atPlv h • ? ther ’ and had deliberately decided in favor of the latter did no?V a ru frOm and she aid not find it quite so easy to destroy her own conscience as she had thought. Something quite strange and new had come over her. A sudden noise- the opening of a door—the sound of an unexpected footstep—made her tremble. “My lady never used t > be nervous ” said Florette, “but ever since that ball she has been nothing but nerves.” Was it an unquiet conscience? She who had laughed at the world's opin-

ion, who had been completely indifierent as to what people said of her, now never saw two persons whispering together without wondering if they knew that she had found the will aid had hidden it again. On the morn’ng after the ball she dressed herself carefully. She bathed her face m clear, cold water to restore fiOinpt/i in _o/ if i Cii 1 *

” " " ' ^ow business "d'S^

lup UCIRVS. . , . . . tried to’ look as much like herself as pssible; hut she did not succeed. Something had gone from her face that was never, , while the sun shone, t i be seen there again. Lady Fanshawe looked at her, and told her bluntly that late hours did not suit her She went up to Miss Dacre, and Ethel took her hand with a warning glance. “Why do you look at me so strangely?” asked Leonie. “You are like a flower with the bloom rubbed off,” replied Miss Dacre; and her answer br, ught a flush to tlie fair face. “What do you mean?” asked Leonie ■“How strangely you speak to me! What are you thinking of that you say such a thing to me?” Miss Dacre was more astonished still at her vehemence. “My dear Lady Charnleigh, I mean nothing, and I am thinking of nothing more tha i this—that you look very tired, and have very little'color.” Leonie turned away with an angry expression at her own folly. J Am I always to be frightened and nervous —to fancy that people have found me out —to mistake simple words for accusaticn; of suilt? If so, the ■price of my sin will be a heavy one.” That it was a heavy one she found out before the day was ended: and yet the most sorrowful thought of all—the remembrance that she must give up Sir Bertram—she resolutely kept at bay. One of the first things she did was to answer Daul Flemyng s note. “I have not time for many words,” she wrote: “but if you think I could make you happy. I will be your wife. •Grant me two favors —do not come over to Crown Leighton to day—l am too tired to see anyone; and d > not mention the fact of c ur eni a jement until I give you permission. 1 have very special reasons for making this request.” She signed the name—Leonie Charnleigh—in a clear, legible hand, and bitterly to herself as she did so. “If he knew th? title was his, not mine, what would he sav?” She sent the note at once, and. though she did not acknowledge, even to herself, why the had done so, her real motive was that she should so far bind herself as to put all possibility of 'retracting out of h r power. As she folded and sealed it, she said to herself: “Now I am Paul Flemyng's betrothed wife, and it does not matter which of us has the money—it will soon belo g to both. ” But that day she found out something of th : price of her sin. Her Pleasure of Hie was destroyed; the ours that had once seemed golden and too short now dragged so heavily that -each seemed to her a day. The luxury and splendor of Crown Leighton, that had once been to her as the very light of her eyes, was nothing. Fie whom she loved would never share it —what was it worth without him? She had loved the sunshine and the flowers even as the birds do; but now she turned from them with a positive loathing. Why should trees and leaves, waving grass, and singing birds all tell of him? He was t> be nothing to her. They might both live long, and yet life would never bring them any ^nearer to each other than they were now. She had loved the old moss- • covered sun-dial t at stood near the ■well, but tp-day she c ired little for it; no hour that it could t ill would bring her lover t > her side again. “My life seem; cursed,” thought the girl, as she turned drearily from all the splendor and m gnificence she delighted in. "Is it possible that I have purchased Crown Leighton at tod dear ■ a price? Perhaps n t—it is the first tima in my life that I have done what people call wn ng. I have been guilty of a hundred follies, but no wrong; that is what darkens the sunshine. In gi^^^^^fevv^wsTshall have forgotten it, home.” -.ts not hem over today,” said Miss Dacre, as the three

ladies sat alone at dinner. “What can have happen d to keep him away?” “Perhaps he guesses we are all too tired for visitors,” said Lady Fanshawe. Leonie spoke no word: a pain she could hardly bea? had smitten her. If this day seemed so terribly long, so weary, so dull, because he had not been, what would the days and years be like when there was no hope of his coming^ The very thought of it frightened her. He" would come once • more, and she would have to tell him that she was going to marry his rival. He would leave in anger and they 7 would never meet again. “Leonie,” said Miss Dacre, “what has come over you? Do you know that since last evening you are completely changed?” “How can any one change In twelve hours, Ethel? Talk reasonably.” “Sir Bertram says ladies talk feelingly, but never reasonably,” replied Miss Dacre, and the fair face at which she was looking so intently grew burning hot at the mention of that name. “Will you come out? The evening is very plea-ant, and some of the white roses Sir Bertram sent you are budding. Will you come and see them?” “I am so tired of flowers, Ethel: the buds will grow into flowers very well without me.” “Come and sing; I have some pretty duets that we have not tried yet.”

Oh. Ethel." sighed the wearv, young voice, "I am in no humor f r music. bjok s has ceme from «™ le . s: shad we have it unpacked?" it you like: only do not bring any-' thing near me. ”

d hen Ethel went up to her friend and la d her cool hand on the hot brow. i “Tired of sunshine, of flowers, of music, of books, and of everything else Leonia, what has come over you? I thought you tho brightest, gayest, happiest girl in the wide world—what has made you grow tired of everything l , dear?" J Lo I seem to be so? Perhaps I am like the girl in the fairy tale—spoiled by too much happiness,” sho said. Go and fetch a nice book— a novel where the heroine lo? os gold hotter than anything else in the world.” I do not think it would bo possible to find such a book,” replied'Miss Dacre; “most heroines are made good and attractiv . ”

I hen a gcod woman never cares about money,” said Leonie, quickly. A gocd woman is never mercenary, Leonie, as mi must be who makes money ner first thought. ” Ethel went to find the novels, and Let me opened one; but tho page was never turned; she was not reauin but ;

mercenary ,~n- «as she not? And she I found it impossible to decide. “1 cannot be mercenary,” she said, to j herself. “If Paul Flemyng would have I taken half my fortune when he came I home, I would most cheerfully have I given it to him; therefore I cannot love | money for money's s >ke. If any one I came to me poor anddLtie sed, I would relieve tluAn with boundful hands. I love to be generous; 1 love to show queenly hospitality, to make handseme presents, to pay ample wages; I like to spend money as queens spend it—royally, lavishly; so I am n t mercenary. I do net love it for its own sake. “Why do I love it?” she thought again. ' “Because it brings me tho power of being generous. It brings me position, splend >r, homage, and I ministers to my every caprice. Yet do ' I care so much for it as to sacrifice my love to it?” Never one page cf tho bock was turned; she was asking her. elf, was it too late, even now? SI e might own > the truth to Lady Fanshawe at once, ' and be happy with Sir Bertram without splendor. She had forgotten for a few minutes the note she had sent to Paul Flemyng: she remembered it now with a deep draw n, b: tD r igh. It was too late: she must go on in the path she had cho. en for herself. “How am I to meet tho mo row?” she asked herself, wearily. “Bertram will come, and to send him fron me will break my heart and his.” The I are idea made her lo k so mile and ill that Lady Fanshawe rose in alarm. “Lady Charnle gh,” sho said, “do not lose patience with me, but I insist on your going to your own room. You ; look so ill that my hi art aches for : you.” “Dies it. auntie'? Then I will go, and not unwillingly either, for this has been the longe-t day of my life.” “I wonder,” slid Lady Panshawo to Miss Dacre, when they were alone, “if she has quarreled with Sir Bertram Gordon. I am quite sure there is something wrong; I have never seen Lady Charnleigh out of spirits since I have known her un’il now.” “I do not think there has bo m any quarrel,” replied Miss Dacre, quietly: ‘ “Sir Bertram went away last evening quite as much in love as ever.” Meanwhile Leonie walked slowly to her own room, and asked het-elf whether she con'd possibly live through m my such days as these or not, and whether, after all, she had net paid dearly for her title and wealth. _ CHAPTER XXX 11. It was quite a novel sensation for Leonie to awake and feel that the coming day would be full of discomfort to I her. She had been accu-t med to rise with a glow of happiness at her h art— I a sense of renewed gladness—a keen anticipation of coming happiness; but this morning her heart was oppressed with a heaviness, as of lead, for two interviews were before her. Firs’, she must meet the man she had defrauded, I and meet him as her lover. Secondly, ! she must tell Sir Bertram that all his hopes were at an end. Woman-like, ' the more certain she grew of having to part from him, the deeper, truer, and more earnest became her love. When she stood before the mirror i that morning she started back in sore fright. Was that the brilliant Lady Charnleigh—this pale-faced girl,whose eyes were heavy and dim as with long watching? “I must alter this.” she thought. “I ' am losing all my beauty—my face is pale, my eyes are dim. I must make haste to be happy again.” It had not yet occurred to her that | by her own act she had willfully cut ! herself off from all happine-s, and : that, though she might regain her ; color and the light in her eyes,'she would never more regain peace of heart or gayety of spirit. “If I could only ren ember the good things that remAned n e,” she thought. “I am Lady Charn'eigh, mistress of Crown Leighton, and one I of the wealthie-t women in F.ncrlnnrl i

ui me women in J-iig iana. ; Am I to be haunt d by a ghost,” the ' cried, with sudden passion—“a ghost who whispers to me every moment that what I have is not mine, but stolen । from another? Lot me f rge that, and remember only the good that remains to me.” She went down to breakfast with a snatch of some sweet song on her lips: she laughed and talked as gayly as ever; she ridic led her own over- i fatigue, until Lady Fanshawe felt quite ' at ease about her. But Miss Dacre ; was more than eve? convinced tha 7 I there was something seriously wrong ’ with I ady Cha nleigh. It was not yet nom when Paul Flern- । yng reached Crown I eighton, and do- i spite her assumed bravery Leonie's ' face grew perfectly colorless when sho i heard his name announced. "Is he here?” she said, hastily. “I wi 1 see him in the drawing-room.” “Pray forgive me if I have not waited t > know where you would see r e,” sa d Ca’ t t in Fiemyng, who had followed Ue servant closely. “I was t>o impatient, Le: nie—l could n A wait.” They were quite alone in the pretty sunny apartment known as the morn-ing-r< om, and Captain Fiemyng, his handsome face lit up with smiles, went up to her and took her hand. He did not notice that she shrank from him, with a look in her eyes like that of a wounded animal driven to bay. * “How happv you have made me,

Leonie,” he said. “How proud I am! t ■ | ask myself what have I done that I sh uld win a treasure so priceless a# your love. How am Ito repay you?” His handsome head was thrown buck, his face all aglow with the light of love, yet softened by the tenderness , that made it. beautiful as a woman’s, I He looked in that moment a lover of whom any woman might -have been proud—brave, gallant, handsome, ’ and noble; yet no such thought camo to Lady Charnleigh. She shrank from the eager eyes and tender words. “That you should love me!” ho said. I “It seems so wonderful, Leonie. It is I as though a queen had stooped from J her high estate ter place a subject bya her side. Tho sun in the summer .-kie'sß seemed no further from mo than you w Loonie.” Still she had no wo d so ■ him, andW no looked at the downcast, colorles« jaco with something of wonder. H^x knew she was sensitive and had mJra expected rapture; but ho ha I eertainM fron this 01 ' Bcmothin « vor y differe W eilm>f? Ui< T ' h , e - Said ' wh y ar ° y° U 80 silent Looking at you, sweet, so I > ilent so sad, I coula fancy vou had | been airced into accepting me: and . you know, all unworthy as I am, you have taken me of your own 11 e

ah was ■ /hmow ina^T'aui. I have not been ’for. ed,’ as you call it. ” “I know that, darling.” She shrank back at the word -it was one that Bertram had delighted in usii g to her, ; nd it seemed such an infringement on his rights that she i shrank in pain. Thon she suddenly remembered that he h dno right over her. and that no o. o living posses ed any. except the young said or by her side. ’ Say I am wel ome, Leonie,” he continued. with some'hing like pain in his voice. “Say something kin it> me or I shall think t ie time that you gave me such unutto’ablo happiness only came to me in a drean, uEer all.” Tnen sl^e roused hersqlf. “Os course you are welcome, Paul, j How strangely you word your ideas! And I —l will try to make you very happy.” It was quite enough to drive him beside himself with purest joy. Sho did love him and sho would be pleased to be his wife. He had thought her cold and reserved; but it was only maidenly modesty and sweet, girlish reserve u’ter ail n thing more. lie took her jewel'ed hand in his. "My darling, my u ifo that is to l>e, I thank you for the gift of your love. I coukl’not love yi u better.’ My heart, my mind, my strength, my life itself, are all yours. I believe in you as I believe in Heaven. You I avo said you care for me you 1 ave promist d to l o my wife; and my fai h Is boun Hess ua the deep sea.” j The passi n of his words touched her with remorse. Hew all hh love was wa-ted upon her! How little she deserved it! She had none for him. It is not in human nature to love that which we have injured, and she had injured him; sho had roblied him of all that belonged to him. and now sho found that she could not even give him love in return. It was in vain that sho tri, d He stood there in the phi.-.. the man sh<‘ loved. I’or ills .uko .-ho must J ;ar. with Bertram. How was it possi- , ble to caro so • him? Apd yet done him such a gt’i' vd^jL. her whole heart turned ivn » infinite pitv to him. "Leonie,” said Paul Flemyng. a e you quite sure you love? Pray forgive mo: you look so sad. A dreadful idea ha- just oe birred to me—shall 1 toll you what it is?” "I do n t think any ide i of yours can be very dre; dful,” she replied. "Yes, tell me. Paul.” "Are you quite sure, dear, that you have not ccnsented to marry me fr< m some quixotic notion of generosity ■ some idea that you will make upto mo for h iving lost in order that you might gain? Surely, it is not si T eonio?" The words stubb d her with the sharpest pain. “It is n t so!" she cried. “You are cruel to me, Paul. Why will you mt believe that 1 love you?” "I will and do believe only that you seem so al, my darl ng. I would fain see you smiling, bright, happy.” “I shall be happy in a few days. You do not leali e h w ” Then her voice faltered, an.l Lie words died on her lips. “I do not realize how strange it is to love and be lived perhaps not, darling. I love you all the mure for your shy, sweet re erve. Now, tell me—why do you wish to keep our engagem mt secret?” "It is only for a time,” she answered, wistfully, “and not unless you please, of course. But you know. Paul I cannot help it—others ha'-e cared forme as well as you. ” |TO BE COXTIXUED. I Lies Credited to History. There never was such a person as Pope Joan, the so-called female Pontiff. Wellington at Waterloo did not say: “Up, guards, and at 'em.” ’ ; Alfred the Great did not visit theU Danish camp disguised as a minstrel. * The existence of the Colossus of Bhodes is considered by some historians extremely doubtful. There is no historic authority for the statement that little George Washington cut down the cherry tree. Cromwell and Hampden did not at- ' ; tempt to sail to America just before l the outbreak of the English revolu- : tion. । Philip HI. of Spain was not roasted I to death by a roaring fire because court ; I etiquette forbade any one to come to his assistance. He died a natural death. j Pocahontas did not save the life of : John Smith. It has been ascertained that this worthy man was the most able-bodied prevaricator of his cent- ‘ i Ul ’G I Seneca was not a half-Christian phii losopher, but a grasping money lender and usurer who died wot th oveY £3,j 000,000. I Ca'sar did not say: “Et tu, Brute. , Eye witnesses to the assassination de- ' posed that “ho died fighting, but ailent, like a wolf.” Richard 111. was not a hunchback, i but a soldier of fine form, sorge pretenj sions to good looks, and great personal j strength and courage. i Gen. Cambronne did not say: “The ! guard dies, but does not surrender." The words wore tho invention of a ; Paris journalist, and attributed to him. .Mary Stuart of-Scot:ana was not a beauty. She had cross eyes, and to , | save the trouble of having her hair • dressed cut it off close to her head a»d | wore a wig.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL ^THOUGHTS WORTHY OF CALM REFLECTION. Pleasant, Interesting-, and Instructive H Lesson, and Where It May Be Found F A Learned and Concise Review of the . Same. Adam's Bln and God’s Grace. I INTKODUCTOXY. Ideated l?v ° nd ’ k sl ?/® l ' Cenosis is Ikv others^ A ome as “i loalized history,” P'hero a ro ♦]. , !l • Ihi t is to say, laired narrator . VaC- n ‘ <d t ^ e in " ' Rj. CUn ‘o« t s and t ‘! s 111 ^ r^ang solut «,n of hA m <he ' holy, hoavnn. . ' ,1M ^hoiiyht fibers think of him i ,Ued ion; Fiful images that came to "hi ^“a---f isionand throwi. „,> h ! M ‘nsinred

iaJung" "asiHe lhe~ fell |Oi Aleev Ul’tl.i« OCU ( lero some pretty imaginings of the niman brain, a child's philosophy of ixistenue; others, of the same guild, ock at this as a kind of nursery scrapbcok with fugi’Xve clippings from tho world's journal of events, the sources I mainly legendary and traditional. I Others ttill, aid here wo de ng- ; nate, we dare say. the majority of our readers, look u; on the early chapters of Genesis as history, pure and simple, ideal rather than "idealized: ” ideal be- I cause so pure, poetical b can e so simple, and because thought in its root and kernel be t express -s itself in poem and picture. Take the great di- , vulgences here made, try to put them forth in fewer words or better words, i and you will find that in these first ' sentences from the Book of inspiration we have the very last analysis of truth i and fact, the fartherest and finest pen- 1 etration tivard the beginning of things, the innermost core of history. ‘ So we accept it: so w< rejoice in it: rejoice with trembling. Just because it is so groat, it seems s > ample, just because it is so stong and its strength is the strength of omnijotence — does it-; movement seem so easy. In shirt. i: is God telling earth's chili ran how all things began to be, and if we bi true children we .-hall, putting other int uding quer:e ■ aside, li-ten, first of a 1 and mo t of all, and very devoutly, to what he has to say. । POINTS IN THE LESSON. ‘Now, the serpent." You hero already, old Satan. Ye<. the Book of Beginnings teiL us also of tho lieginning of sin. Sin started a long way back. N\ hat is sin? Tho word “serpent" is sufficient. His first photograph in the r< guvs' gallery the picture of a snake It is |k>rhaps his truest likeness. A A)wish authority tianslate< tho word naked as a cion r rendition, i not -o nuk<>a n w, he clothes □limseif often in livery of light but ft 1 rcrpont still. Sly, sinuo ;s, i eeping in whore least ex- i j»ccted, Inunuating hlm-elf where ho do the most harm, and often first ^x-overed by his harming. When you seo sin. see a s"ri>ent a snake! i And hate it! “Yea, hath God siid?" The serpent's first word is a query. It i- the way infidelity starts by quo-tioning tho foundatii ns. It is the way all in begins. dallying, whispering, hinting. At la.-t the overt act, which would have at first been scorned ; nd refused. Oue can see the coiling of the serpent in the question th ugh not its sting that later. And particularly a- read in the ter. e, s arp-tonod original one can almost hear in tLi the his-, or rather the soft lulling whisper of the serpent: “And is it ev< n >o, that Gid hath said. y& shall nut eat from all tho , trees of the < lie don." HINTS AND lI.LUSTKATIONS. We are back at the beginning of things. Suppose we begin at the beginning and get the idea of each with reference to the b >< k we are about to i study. Whose bcok is it? Who wrote it? Why was it written? What does : it mean to you? The key-word to all the Biil? is the one word: “Come.” Do you find it in Genesis? Ilas it reached you yet ' In tho lesson before i us, we have the first intin ati m of the plan of redemption, the proti vangel it ' Is called, first gospel. Hoes the voice i speak loud enough to catch your ear, ; or the flame burn bright eno gh to I catch your eye. If not, ask God to touch eye and ear. as the preacher and ' teacher pray the Lord to touch the I lips: for there is eloquent listening and j and hearing as well as speaking. This is what we understand by cast- i ing pearls before swine and giving that • which is holy unto the degs. It was : not so much the word passed back and I 1 forth between Eve and Satan as the ■^immortal soul that was there and then ‘ j pssed back and forth as a trifling J^^Eveha.l put her life into eonact wit n iluTevLl one-there was her ' in. The young girl, that we all know if, thought to go on with the demoralizing dance and still be a Christian Worker, and she went so far as to talk fvith her partner at the ball on the subject of religion. He smiled when . she asked him if he were a Chiistian, 1 and fairly laughed in her face when she invited him to become one. “Pretty good! One would almost think you were a Christian yourself, and were j.really in earnest,” he said. Os course, she was shocked. Now the trouble with this poor, grieved child was not so much with the word as with the life. • An undevoted, unsanctified living viti- । ates all. Get out of contact with Satan. Do not even let him talk religion । with you. I Next lessen—“ Cain and Abel.”—Gen. 3-13. Thoughts of Great Men. >; Doctrine is nothing but the skin of truth set up and stuffed.—Beecher. j THE unspeakable Turk. Carlyle, in a letter to a pmblic meeting in 187(1. I Ideas are like hoards: children and women never have thorn. A oltaire. i A great unrecognized incapacity. • Bismarck. Spoken of Napoleon 111. i Let him who loves me follow me.— Francis 1., at the battle of Marignano. I Os all vices, drinking is the most incompatible with greatness. —Y alter Scott.

STORY OF AUSTRIA’S Fminr1 IA s EMPEROR. n "' l ” a * l.ook He , I i Lost Doj. From Ischl comes the following incident, which is reported t 0 have ; happened a few days before Emneror ! Joseph left that lovely mountain citv for the maneuvers in Galicia, says the V ienna correspondent of the London Daily News. | The American ladies in Ischl have a maid with them who is a quadroon speaking very imperfect German, and whose duty it is to lead a beautiful little dachshund by a chain. When I the ladies were out walking one । morning the dog tore himself away । and disappeared into a thicket. The gul guessed that the dog had en- '^’ red P ri v at e grounds, but lumped over the hedge and followed him. I nlT’h'' y ai ? elderl y officer stood bekmki^ - r r atld a c ked her what shR wa3 said u w° r ' She told ni,u ’ and he br L h^ e I™'? 1 Call hJm : that will after h/J tha ° runuin « : of ' .?■! called

—jjj he v-lia WUISi/lC?r Tol r ' uitf nrrg, n»u not respond, though he was heard barking hoarsely in the distance- : Then a forest guard came, and the' officer told him to find the dog, and , asking the quadroon where the ladies , ! lived told the man to take it to the hotel she named. He then bowed 1 politely and went his way. The quadroon asked the forest guard who the gentleman was. When he told her I “That was our Emperor” she left} him to look for the dog himself and , ran back to tell her ladies. In the i evening an imperial servant appeared I in the hotel to ask whether the dog ' । had been found. Wealth of the World. lew people, even among professed politicians, have much idea of the wealth of the world or of the manner in whi h that wealth is growing. Still fewer hav ■ any notion of the potentiality of wealth to increase. M. Jannet quotes the elaborate cal- | culation of an ingenious author to show that 100 francs, accumulating ' at 5 per cent, compound interest for , seven centuries, would be sufficient to buy the whole surface of the globe, both land and water, at the ’ rate of 1,000,000 francs (£40,000) ! the hectare. The actual growth of ' riches has not hitherto assumed such I inconvenient proportions, says the Edinburg Kevicw. M. Jannet cites various authorities i to show that the wealth of the I l‘nited Ki ngdom exceeds £1 o, 000,-: 000,0 0; that of Franch £8,000,00?,- ' 000; that of all Europe, £'40,000,000,- i 000; that, of the United States £14,-j 000.000,000. If we place the wellth | . of the rest of the world at £20,100,. I 000.000 we shall arivc at an aggre--1 gate of x-so.oo >,000.000. We should “haVe, we may add, to multiply this t vast sum 30,000 times before we reached the total to which, according to M Jannet’s ingenious authority, lo i francs ac umulating at 5 per cent compound interest for 700 years would grow. The figures wc have given are so v ast that they convey no appreciable idea to the ordinary reader. It may assist the apprehension if it be added that 1 rance on an average possesses mere than £2OO, the United Kingdom more than £250 lor each im mber ot the populat en. Just 200 years ago Sir W. I’etty estimated the entire wealth of England at only • 2 n,i o■, । 00. Two centuries, therefore, have incieased it forty-fold. But the chief additions to it ha\e been made in the ia>t fifty vears and we believe that we are not far wrong in saying that the sum which is annually added t > the Unittd Kingdom amounts to £200,000,000, or in other words is nearly equal to its entire wealth at the time of the revolution ; of 1688. A Journallstic Mentor. A brilliant and not unsuccessful I newspaper proprietor once remarked ;to me, apropos of his staff: “I do I not care for men of broad views, i sound common sense, and correct principles. Give me a clever, disapi pointed man, or morbid mind, who I ‘wants to get his knife’ into as many । of his fellow-creatures as possible. । That’s the kind of man who can i write what the public like to read: . but, of course, he needs constant I supervision.'’ At the time I was somewhat : shocked by the cynicism of mv journalistic mentor: but an extended experience of life is apt to convince one that most persons inwardly relish disparaging and “spicy” comments on others, and are not over I and above pleased when an old i schoolfellow or next door neighbor is j publicly acclaimed. Let those kind.ly souls who may feel inclined to deny this cynical view of human na- ! ture turn again to Dean Swift’s I pungent verses on his own death, ; with their famous (and shall we not - say, accepted?) motto from his mas- ' ter Hochefoucault, “Dans I’adversite ; de nos meilleurs amis nous trouvonos toujours quelque chose qui ne nous I deplait pas.”—The National Review. Healing Power of Egg Oil. i Extraordinary stories are told of : the healing properties of a new oil i which is easily macle from the yolk of I hens’ eggs. The eggs are first, boiled I hard and the yolks are then removed, ' crushed and placed over a fire, where ‘ they are carefully stirred until the ! substance is on the point of catching I fire, when the oil separates and may ,be poured off. One yolk will yield : nearly two teaspoonfuls of oil. It is ! in general use among the colonists of South Russia as a means of curing cuts, bruises, etc.—St. Louis GlobeDemocrat. When a woman is not at a dry goods store, she is at the dentist’s.

I hoosier HAPPENINGS ! NEWS OF THr vicr-.x conX K concisely condensed I — What Our Neighbors are 1, of General and l. o< ai late,-,, Ml “ ters and Deaths-Aeehlents a nd Pointers About Indianas. A Converne Enoch Arden. A case which in many respects re M?±25 at<,t A En , o - h at Converse. A day or so ago Mrs l mowHo ll r Wh ° With her child »'en moved to tonverse, a year or more ago, received a letter from her husband s sister, stating that Mr. Lon^ Im t dlsa PPe ar e d whiTe he aad his family were living in Carami year ' s Bince ’ was alive his wifP I ArizOna : .Long married rod e ’ l ±^. a Mlss Ketta Eltztm?! T 1 ? 8 ;' 2 n ( ari 'O 1 County, and children' 0 ! . to ^ et> cr happily, three Hi Fx n bein £ born to them, un'pbruary. isnn. Thon Lonir ’ took two horses to Frankfort, Jud., sold tmun forget) and disappear, d suddenly h“ d v^ ni)lete Ly: Hi « father supposing

hAd gone West made^nf trips i him. but not a trace of him was sour p ^- । and last year Mrs. Long, in de^tcfr ' moved to Converse. A lleg^^aban- ! donment, she sued for divorce and got ‘ a decree, which, however, in accordance with the Indiana statute forbade i her marriage within two years, the I husband being a non-resident. Mrs. I Long, however, met an 1 became in- ; fatuated with a butter-maker named A. i R. Anderson and being anxious to wed i hhn, they went to Miehigah and were ■ married and now reside in that State. : The information just received that Mr. [ Long is alive, reasonably happy and I meditating a visit to his old home, | caused a sensation at Converse where the family is known. MtnoFState Items. The number of children of school age in Shelby County is 9,077. Farmer Winthacs was kicked tc death by his horse near Moore’s Hill. The Ander.-on Flint-Glass Bottle Works Company has reorganized with : SIOO,OOO capital? Knox County farmers are beginning to give a good deal of attention tc I the cultivation of plum trees. | Charles <'barb, a crippled chicken ’ huckster, was assaulted and robbed near Dublin. The highwaymen got S4O. j John Hamilton, one of Muncie’s I oldest citizens, was stricken with ■ paralysis anil is not exj ected to live. I At the close of 1 5 93 there were 48? ! boys in the Indiana Reform School. I All except eleven of the number are i able to write letters. Luther Morris of Fairmount, lias i been sued at Marion for $2,000 damages i for operating a saloon and the court is I asked to abate the nuisance. i Miss Maggie Hauser, aged 50, of । Hope, Bartholomew County, daughter I of the late Martin Houser, died sudj denly of heart disease. She weighed 300 pounds. Mrs. < s;,. nMTnT> w ho killed TTier tenant. Oscar Walton. IniTtTouer. wits refused bail m a habeas corjms proceeding at Kokomo. She will lie j tried January 29. William Murphy, a Paragon ■ store-keeper, dis overed burglars in i his store, and opened fire on them. : ‘Jno was wounded and they were ; tracked by the blood into the countrv. j Eugene F. Brady of Lafayette, the J Deputy United States Marshal whe i was so badly shot last September while in pursuit of the Dalton gang in Indian Territory, has so far recovered as to be able to get around. IT has just come to light that Sen- ' ator Calvin S. Brice's recent visit to i the gas belt cities was for the purpose of closing a deal whereby about 15,000 acres of gas lands in Madison, Delaware, Jay. and Blackford Counties will be drained to furnish gas for the Lima (Ohio gas field, where the supply is failing. It has been determined to lay a sixteen-inch main direct from these fields to the Ohio cities where gas is now being used, and the work will begin in a very short time. Thousands of acres of gas territory have been leased from the farmers during the past season, because they were in need of money. There will be almost seventy-five miles of pipe line, and the cost will reach sl,o(Mj/00/Jt is said. Patents l ave been issued to Indiana inventors as follows: James V. j Ashcraft. Dunkirk, pileus: Frederick Berner. Jr., Indianapolis, assignor of three-fourths to M. B. Chryt, wood I embossing machine: William T. Eastes, i Muncie, medical ease: William K. ■ Fra'ey, Lebanon, hoof trimmer: Charles M. Kiler, a-signor of one-half to S. I Urmston, Indianapolis, station indicator: Charles N. Leonard. Indian- ' apolis, continuous table for t hysieians: George Philion, Mishawaka, truck: William H. Spence, Fairmount, blackboard eraser: John R. Staudt. Indianapolis, Hour bolt; James W. Underwond. 'MJUTIUy apparatus; Samuel D. Van Pelt, Anderson, slate-dressing machine; John L. Wagner, Terra Haute, box car door. The death of Mrs. Peter McPherson at Muncie is making no end of super- । stitious gossip there. A few evenings ago Mrs. McPherson was at a social । gathering and some one late in the evening discovered just thirteen people present. Another thoughtless person ' stated that disaster and death would follow some member of the party be- ' fore the new year passed, “As the Lord would never ucain permit those same persons to again meet alone.” Mrs. McPherson, being a susceptible woman, was much affected and at once announced that she felt ill and was conveyed home. She was closely watched, but grew worse until death ' relieved her sufferings. Just before I her spirit missed away she opened her eyes and said: "The Lord’s vml be done,’’ then quietly passed away. Timothy O'Connor, Linden farmer, was accidentally shot and killed by his brother while coon hunting. WM. C-LEARY entered a gas regulator at Muncie, to make some repairs. The gas exploded and he was seriously injured. The fire spread to the Port Glass "Works, but was extinguished with small loss. Harry Hoover, Ira Eads, Charlie Shoeniker and Lee Davis, prisoners in the Fowler Jail, escaped by sawing out a window and lowering themselves ;to the ground with blankets. The Sheriff offers $lO9 reward for their capture