St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 19, Number 50, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 30 June 1894 — Page 7

! Last I tom e ^mn i Y^Fy

wwx w W W T JW Ji ]^/ - . NVL .miitr fills the ROOjt^UK-gg my adsini child.” Sir Cyp -ian had told himself that, in coming to Marchbrook, nothing- was further from his thoughts than the desire to seo Constance Sinclair; yet, now that he was so near her, now that he was assured of her unhappiness, the yearning for one b ief meeting, one look into the sweet eyes, one pressure of the gentle hand that used to lie so trustingly in he own, grew upon him hourly, until he so t that he could not ■ leave Marchbrook without seeing her. No motive, no thought that could ha\e shadowed the purity of Giliort Sinclairs wife, had his sou’s desire been published to the world, blended with this yearning of Sir Cyprian's. Deepest pity and compassion moved him. Such sorrow, such loneliness a- Constance Sinclair's was unutterably sacred to the man who had 1 ivedand surrendered Constant e Clanyarde. Sir Cyprian lingered at Marchbrook, and spent the greater part of his days in riding or walking over familiar grounds. He was too much out of spirits to join Lord Clanyarde in the slaughter of innocent 1 ird-, and was not a little bore I by that frivolous old gentleman's society in tl e winter even-

ings by the hro in the c m sortable • bachelor smoking-room, the only really | snug apartment in th it great bare j home. Every night S;r Cyprian made I up his mind to do) a t next morning, i yet when morning came ho still lin i gered. One bright, bleak day, when there ; were flying snowstorms and intervals! of sun and b uo sky. Sir Cyprian—hav- ■ ing actually packed his portmanteau i and made arrargements for being ' driven to the station to catch an after- ' 1 noon train —took a final ramble in | Marchbrook park. He had no' once ’ put his foot on the soil that had been , 1 his, but he could get a peep at the old | place across the railings. There was a melancholy pleasure in looking at those wintry glades, tio young firtrees, the scudding rabbits, the I screaming pheasants, the withered bracken. The sun had been shining a f >w minutes ago. Down came the snow in a thick driving shower, almost blinding ; Sir Cyprian as he waked swiftly al ng ' the oak fence. Presently he sou d himself at the end of the Monks avenue. and undo - the classic temple i which was said t> be built upon the | Viry spot where the Benedictin - s once I had their chapel. Ten v ears ago that temple had been i Cyprian Davenant’s summ r retreat. . He had made it his m >king room and study; had read Thucydides and Ihe Greek dramatists there in the long va- i cation; had read those books of moiern travel which had fired his mind ; with a longing for the alventures, per- i ils and triumphs of the African ex- i plorer. Twenty years ago it had b on : his mother’s chosen re-o t. He had spent many a summer morning, mu y a pensive twilight tnere by 1 is mot e -’s side, watching her sketch or heat ing . her play. Tne old-fashioned square ; piano was there still, perhaps, and the old engravings on tl e walls. •‘Poor old nlace.” he thought: “I

X 001 OLU I’iclvUj 11 L 11x7 U-gll b, 1 wonder if any one ever goes there now, or if it is quite given up to b;nand owls, and the spiriis of the dead?” He stopped under the stone balcony which overhung Marchbrook, on a level with the eight-foot wail. In Gilbert Sinclair’s or his architect's — plan ot improvements this c a sic sum-mer-house, a relic of a departed taste, had been forgotten. Sir Cyprian was glad to find it unchanged, unchanged in any wise, save that it had a more forlorn and neglected air than of old. : The stone-w. rk of the balcony was j green and gray with mosses and lichens. The frame-work of the window had not been painted for a quarter of a century. The ivy had wandered as it listed over brick-work and stone, Awting .-harp-forked tongues of green into tho < veviecs of the? decaying mortar. Sir Cypran looked upat tho wellremembered win low, full of thoughts j of the 1 ast. “Does she ever come here. I wonder?" i he said to himself: 'or do they use tho ’ old place for a tool-hc use or an apple i she i?” Hardly, for there fell upon his ears | a few bars of plaintive symphony, [ p ayed on apimo of ancient tone—the i pensive Broadwood dear to his child- i hood—and then a voice, the pure and ! sweet contralto he knew too well, be-; gan Lord Houghton's pathetic ballad, 1 “Strangers Yet.’’ He listens as if he lives but tn hear. Ob., what pathos, what profound mel- ! ancholy in that voice, p airing out its ; sweetness to the silent wall! Regret, ; remorse, sorr >w, too great for common ; language to express, are br athed in that flood of melody. And when the song is done the singer’s hands fall on the keys in a crashing chord, and a wild cry—the sudden utte ace of uncontrollable despair-gees up to heaven. She is there-so near him—alone in ler anguish. She, the only woman I-a has ever truly loved, the woman for whom he would give his life a freely as he would spill a cup of water upon the ground, and with a; little thought of ’ the sacrifice. The lower edge of the balcony is i within reach of his hand. The cen- j tury-old ivy would afford easy footing for a less skilled athlete. To climb the ascent is as simple as to mount the rigetug of his yacht.

Id Ji minute, before he had time to think, he was in the lal ony, he had opened the French window, he was standing in the rcom. Constance Sinclair sat by the piano her arms folded on the i haboy old mahogany lid. her drooping head resting on her arm', her face hidden. Sho was too deeply lost in that agony of hoi eless grief to hear the rattling of the frail casein mt, the fcostep on the door. “Constance!” She started up and c; nfrontol him, pale as ashes, with a smothered scream. “My dearest, I heard your grieh 1 conkl not keep away. * Only a few minutes, Constance, only a few woid?, and I w ill leave you. Oh. my love, how changed, how changed.” A flood of crimson rushed into the pale ace, and as quickly faded. Then she gave him her hand, with an innocent frankness that went to his heart, so like the Con tance of old-—the pure and perfect typo of girlhood that knows not sin “I do not mind yorr hearing me in my sorrow, “ she said, sadly. “I come here because I feel myself away from all the world. At the house servants come to my room with messages, and worry mb. Would I like this? Will I do the other? What earring' will I drive in? At what time? A Hundred questions that are so tiresome when one is tired of life. Hero I can leek | my door, and feel as much alone as in a j desert.” | “But, dear Mrs. Sinc’air, it is not good for yen to aband n yourself to such grief.” “How can I help it? ‘Grief fills the rcom up of my absent child,’ ” with a sad tmile. “You heard of my loss, did you not? The darling who made life so bright for mo —snatched away in a moment—not an hours warning. I woke that morning a proud and happy mothe”, and at night No, no one can in agine such a grief as that.” “I h ive heard the sad story. But be I sure Heaven will send comfort—new ■ hopes ” “Don't talk to me like that. Oh, if । you knew how 1 have had Heaven and

the Bible thrown at my head by people who talk by rote! 1 can read my I Bible. Ir<al of David and his gr< at j despair: how he turned his fae • to the j wall, how he wept a ain f >r Absalom; ‘ and of the Shcnamite wi man wan said ; ‘it is well,' but David had many chil- ' dren, and the Shut un it “'s chi’d was given back t > her. G d will not give i my darling back to me.” “Ho will in heaven.” “r>ut my heart is breaking for want of her here. She will b - an angel be- ’ fore the throne of Gtd not my Chris- : tabel. 1 want my darling a sh - wrs ; on earth, with her .-oil. clinging arms i —not always goo I—naughtv som -1 times but always dearer than mv life." What could Sir Cyprian -a, to coin fort this bereaved heart? Ho could । only sit down qu’etly by Con-tance Sinclair’s side, and win her to talk of { her sorrow, far more finely and < on- | rdingly than she had talked to her ' fath r; and this he felt was something ' gained. There was comfort in t iis fiespe ch comfort in pouring her sorrow into tho ear of a friend who could j verily sym puth ze. “Dear Mrs. Sinclair," sil l Sir Cyprian, gravely, when l.e had allowed her to tell tho .-tory of her bereavement, “as a very old friend one who h;.s your weba-e deep at heart 1 must entreat you to struggle against this altsorbing grief. 1 have seen your old friend Doctor Webb, and h -a-s ires m that unless you make an effort to overc mo this m • um holy, y ur mind a> well as your body will s .dor. Yes. Cm-taneo. reason itself ma\ gi-e wa under tho burden you impose up m ' it. Perhaps no one vise would have the courage to sjxmk to you so one • ’y, but I venture te speak as a br ti er might to a fondly ovod si.-ter. ;' is may be our last meeting, for I -ha i go back t > Africa a- -< o i a- I* can ^et my ■ party together again. Y< u wi.l try, dear friend, w ill ;on not. for mv sake.

for the sake iff yourh sband ; “My husband!” she exclaimed, with ashudder. "Ho has b.lliards, and guns, an I racehorses, and friends without number. What can it matter to hin ti.at 1 grieve for my child? Somebi dy had need be sorry. He do.s rot care." “Constance, it would matter very much to your father, to all «h ) have ever loved von, to yourself most of a 1, if you should end your life in a lunatic asylum.” i This startled her, and she looked up ’ at him earnestly. “Unreasonable grief sometimes leads to madn >ss. Despair L rebellion against God. If the Shunamite in that dark day could say ‘lt shall be well,' sh ill a Christian have le s patience—a Christian who has been taught that tb< so wh > m urn are blessed. and shall be comforted. Have faith in that, dij vine promise, and all will be well.” "1 will try,” she answered gently. : “It is very good of yt u to reason with ■ me. No on ■ else has spoken so omnklv. ‘ They have only t liked platitudes, and begged me to divert my mind. As if . acted charades, or billiards, or bezi,ue, | could fill up the gap in my life. Are j you really going to Africa very so n?" | “Early in the now year, perhaps: but I I shall not go till I have heaid from i some reliable source that vou are i happy.” j “You must not wait for that. I shall 'never know happiness again in this I world. At most I can but try to bear my lot patiently and put on cheerful looks. I shall try to do that, believe me. Your lessons shall not be wasted. And now, I suppose, we must say goodby,” looking at her watch; “it Is time for me to go back to the hou e.” “I will not detain you; but before I go I must apologize for my burglarious entram cby that window. I hope I did not frighten you?" “I wai only startled. It seemed almost a natural thing to see you here. I remember how fond you were of this summer-house when I was a child. I ' have so often seen y. u sitting in that j window smoking and reading.” “Yes, I have spent many an hour, ; here, puzzling over the choruses in ' ‘Prometheus,’ and I have looked up from my book to see you scamper byon your pony.” “Pepper, the gray one,” cri d Con-

stance, absolutely smiling; “such a dear pony! We used to feed him with bread and apples every - morning. Ah, what hap; y days these were!” It touched him to the core of his heart to see the old girlish look come i back in all its brightness. But it wa* only a transient gleam of the old lighi which left a deeper sadness when il faded. “Good-by, Constance,” he said, taking both her han s. “I may call you that for the last time.” “Yes, and when ycu are in Africa—in another world, far from all the false pretenses and sham pleasures that make up life in th s—think of moas Constance, the Constance you knew in the days that ar * gone—not as Gilbert Sinclair’s wife.” He bent his head over the unresist-1 ing hands and kissed them. “God bless you and comfort you, my । Constance, anil give you as much happiness as I lost when I made up my mii.d to live without you!” He opened the window, and swung I himself lightly down from the balcony to the turf below. CHAPTER XVIL A BADCOUT SCEXB Gilbert Sinclair and his chosen set—■ the ha f do. on turfy gentlemen w - ith whom he was united by the closed bond of sympathy—had spent this D^ cember morning agreeably enough a rustic steeple-cha-e nine miles fr<^ Daven mt. The race was an even^H the most insignificant order —unchr^B ieled in Husf —but there was pleashm in the drive to and froon Mr. Sicclatrw drag through the keen frosty air, with 1 an occasional diversion in tho shape of allying snow storm, which whitene 1 the men's rough overcoats and hung on their boards and whiskers. .lust at the hour in which Sir Cyprian and < onstance were bidding each other a long gool-by, Mr. Sinclair was driving his sorrel team back to Davenant at a sla hing pace. He and his friends ! hat enjoyed thcmselvoJ very thor-I oughly at the homely farmers' meet-1 ing. The sharp north wind had given a ke rn edge to somewhated jade 1 ap-1 petites, and game pie, tnchovy sand- I wi< hes, cold grouse, and I oar's head had been duly appreciated, with an ad libitum accompaniment of dry cham-j paigne, bitter beer, and Copenhagen kirschen wasser. The gentlemen's spirits had l>een im- ' p oved by the m mning's sport, and : the homeward drive wa» hilarious. It was now I ct ween three and four o'clock. | There would b- time for a quiet smoke, I or a game at pyramids, and a fresh toilet b foie afternoon tea. opined ।

such of the gentlemen as still held by , that a m st exploded sujwrstition, a ! taste for ladies' society. Tho more J masculine spirits preferred to smoke ■ their Trabuv a» or Infantas by the hari i cs-ro >m lire, with tho chance of get- ( ling tho “straight tip" out of somebody obu's groom. James Wyatt was the only member of ! । the party who e spirits wore not omo- ' what unduly elated, but tho i Mr. Wyalt was an outsider, only admittol on sutTeranco into that chosen band, as a fel ow who might be useful < nanemergoncy, an I whom it was well to; qua e by an occasional burst of civility. He was one of th-*e dangerous ■ men who are always sober, and find I out ev< ryb dy ols>- - weak p dots with-4 । Sinclair ame damnee, howvvor, anJn । one must put up with him. J Gilbert was driving, with Sir Thomwl i Houndslow, a gentleman of turf cclotiW . rity. and late captain of a cavalry reg- j ' iment, next bln, sm king fur ously, I while Mr. Wyatt sat Is'hind the two, and joined freely in t I which inclined to the iKdsterous. How j calm that -nuoth, level voice of his ; so indo I after the stri •>nt tone- of Isis ' by champagne and kir-chen wa-ser! Tt e ct ief talk wa- of horse- tna sorre s i lib rt was n w driving tho hor.-es they had mmi that morning - i b.''ght a mi’l sold, an i' bred, 1 and ex- . hanged, including the t >ry of a rhe imatic horse, which wa- a splendid g er :n h - intervals of go d health, I and was pvrio Hchla xdd by his owner, and taken l a - k again at half prico when the tit came on. .'an os Wyatt admired tho landscape, an enthu-la-m whi - h his com anions looked down ui*meontem t unisly from the -cretie heiht of rtol.d inditYereuce. ■ There s a glade.” cried the solicitor, twintin; to an o> ening in tho undu at-

ing woodland, where the snoww reatlu d trees were like a picture of j fairy-land. “Pretty tidy timber,” a-sented Sir Thomas Hound-low; “but for my part, 1 could never see anything in foes to I go into raptures aho t, except when you've sold 'em to a timber merchant. . Shouldn't like to see cremation come I into fashion, by the by. It would spoil the coffin trade and depreciate the value of m elm- and < aks.” |TO BE COSTISCEU I Circumstances Alter Cases. “As a general thing," said a man, “it ; is an ann »yance to have anybody sitting alongside of you or back of you I look over at the paper you are reading still, it makes a difference who it is. I Lave seen a man who was reading a pi or hold :• <:t ’ ’y -o that un. 4h. r p t or c 0.1.-, rva.. -iw this -< rt the < tho.- day in a railroad I car. A lady who had been sitting looking out of tho wind w leaned for- ! ward suddenly to look at something in the newspaper which the gentleman in the seat in front of h-r was reading. Be had just turn d a page, uni something on th.' fresh page caught her eye. it app 'ared to interest her greatly. It was a long article, and she could not have read more than half of it if the gentleman had m t moved the । paper a little io one side, which he did apparently quite unconsciously, keep- 1 ing on reading all the time himself and holding the paper very steady. At last the lady finished the artie'e that -ho was reading. With a sigh she I i loaned back in her .-eat again and ■ 1 >oked < ut of tho window once more, | all the time quite oblivious of the man. He didn't flop the paper over as though the <ml of an episode had come; he looked again at one or two ' articles on that page, and then turned j to tne next one, just as though nothin" had happened.”—Philadelphia Bulle-I tin. How It Was Done. f Tho Hute took its name from the/ fluta, an eel caught in Italian wat rs,< I which Las seven spots like finger holeiv I on its sides. ] AVRORA, 111., was the first city in the! i world to illuminate its streets withZ ’ e’ei tri dty. Tho wires were placed in* ; position in 1881.

CARNOT IS KILLED. PRESIDENTOF FRANCE STABBED BY AN ANARCHIST. The Assaaain Springs Upon the Steps or Carnot’s Carriage and Plunges a Knife Into Ills Heart—People Aroig-d to a Point Bordering on Frenzy. All France In Mourning. M. Sadi-Carn,t, Ptesident of the French republic, is dead. He was struck down on Sunday night by the hand of an assassin, and died soon after midnight. The most intense excitement reigns throughout France. Ihe President was visiting Lyons in connection with tho international exhibition. Upon his arrival there ho was tendered a reception at the Prefecture, after wh ch he visited tho exhibition. After spending some time there he proceeded to tho Palais de Commerce, where a banquet was given in his honor. At 9:25 President Carnot ttirted for the theater, where a gala performance was to bo given because of hia presence in tho city. Several carriages were in the proce sion, the first one being occupied by the President. M. Carnot's carriage was driven slowly along in front of the Palais de Commerce, and then turned into Rue f ^,3 till Um - i nW n v\ \\ /W M. 8 ADI CARXOt

do la Republi pie, still following the facade of the ।aac ■. When half way down the street, which was lined with enthusiastic crowds of । oople, who wete loudly cheering, a man ru-hed I out of tho crowd and sprung u; on the step of the President's landau. Ju.-t at this m< moot M. Uurnot was waving his right hand and saluting with his hat in his left hand in respon<e to the ovation that was being given him. The people close to the Cturlago saw that the man standing on the stop had a knife in his hand. By the glare < f the electric lights they saw the bright blade gleam m the air as the a-siDe-in's arm de-c nded, and L l‘ro«ldent, < arnot was seen to full back lln his sent, his face deathly pale. One lot his hands was pressed over his I heart wnero the stool had entered tho I Al. Rivaud, prefect of Lycnq who | wai -outed le-do M. Carnot, imm< - ’ diately struck th • ae.-a.- in a bow full in the face and knocked him from the step, thus p eventing the man from again stabb ng the Piesid nt. which it wa- hi- eviden intention to do. Ir btaniiy crio- of “1 he Pre.-ident h a sa» dua ed!" “Death to the as?assin!” were Li ard on every -Ide, and tho cr '«u in the vicln.ty ot tho e iri i igc Bwe'Md to euo 'moils pro; orth n-, > ver v memo, r of it seemingly intent upon ki ling the u--a- in lie wa- grasped by a dozen hands, and his life would have then and there paid the foifeit of hi« ci me had it not b- < n for a ’ squad ( t cavalry. A cordon was formed around tho polio men and the captive and the march to the police st ition l>egan. Evon thus i turrounded the pris >ner wa- not safe, for men in the crowd made frantic entl, avors to reach him. The guards ropel ed those attacks with the flat sides of their swords, while at the same time keeping wutc Jul eyes upon the crowd to pn vent tho prisoner from

being .-hot. Maledictions were h :rled upon the captive, and n ver before has ‘ such wild indignation against a human being been seen in the city. Santo, the as-as-in, is a beardless man -2 years old. Whenqu stioned by Prefect Ix>pin at the police station his replies were giv- n coolly, but without any sign !of bravado. He refused, however, to answer any of tho many questions put to him regarding his mot ve for stab bing tho 1 resident, declaring that on * this sub ect he w uld speak only before a tribunal. When ho was searched by lithe police a book was found in one of ibis pockets, in which it was written I that he was m rn in a village in tho Hpruvince of Milan, Italy. A 1 over the 4|dty threats were ma Io tn | junary vengeance up a L . earing Punto . ' " Id made to put ’ B^VhcoXin'-oeffect ordered^ If cuirassiers to patiol tho vent any news o f the asmsThe receipt of tho news t . on at nation TTheat? which was filled She G^nd Theater q{ Ly?ng |to the walls J orted a brilliant khA theater pre-ented a

mne ‘ m omc toilets Ot me scene, the hatim uniforms I ladies being offset by We aj^ of the nu ny miht‘‘’> -^Hence tho AU "7^ the Kiden! and were unarrival of them de feud . able to ui den, uM t theuter< cydenly a man entcied tn^ „ Tho in g at ^Jeua-sassinated!” The Pre t l fntens evehement follows 1 tins Tnost intone - t onio n abrupt fainted. Many ; screamed. aad itb ,, r to secure their men, without ^. ld . ng jn ordel . nows. They found al

to confirm iaee filled the streets leading to tne^ with excited thr< e; u ’ vineed t hat the tnmU t e of the cowardly attempt upon I S' I ludignat'on at the CapUU. J Tho S ows <'f fl the bo o< I S ‘S » or ”“eu allpatohos 3 0* l? dreeribingin detail ft I S'aSHbo' tho varied omottow that

filled the minds of the Parisians would I be impossible. In many instances officials seen by the representative of the Associated Press were too much overcome by the suddenness of the dis- - aster to express anv opinion as to the results that would follow the act of the assassin. Others, while expressing the deepest regret at the death of the President, were chary of giving any ‘ publicity to their political opiniohs. j But among the great class outside of the officials nothing but deep sorrow ! and indignation at the cowardly blow that had deprived France of her I executive were expressed. Many per-1 sons believe that the crime was the I work of an irro ponsible “crank” whose J enmity against Fiance and her presi- 1 dent was kindled by the Aigues-Mortes ' riots when many Italians were killed, j । and who determined to wreak venge- ■ ance for the wrong done his country- i । men. Whatever the motive for the 1 crime, the act has plunged the whole • 1 of France into the deepest mourning. It would be difficult to express at this time an opinion of any value as to the result of the assassination on the future of Fiance. That political cabals will bo formed to secure the election of M. Carnot's successor goes without saying, but the time in which such combinations can be formed will be limited, for on Wedno day aftermon the Senate and Chamber of ; Deputies will meet in joint session to elect his successor. New« Received In Washington. The news of Carnot's a-sa.-sination created a pronounced sensation in Washington; particularly in official circles was the tragedy keenly felt and most intelligently discussed. President Cleveland, the Vice President, Secretary Gresham, the French minister, and other officials were given the news by the Associated Press reporters and learned it from them, for n > official dispatches were received. Without exception they were deeply affected and expres.-e i their regret in strong terms. To French Ambassador Paternotre the announcement was a great shock, coming as it did at a time when the internal and foreign affairs of France are in a peaceable state. There was much sp culat on over whether the assassination had any ] olitical significance or was the deed of an irresponsible crank. The trend of opinion was toward the latt r I elicf. Foreign representatives and officials acquainted with French politics say that Carnot was essentially a safe n an, one whom the Drench people relied upon, while they did not gush over him or accord to him tho dramatic following they

have given leaders of the stripe of ( Boulanger. ' MANY LIVES LOST. Now York Excursion 8t earner Goes to th* Bott*>m of the Ocean. The tug James D. N'chol, with sixty- , three excursionists and a crew numbering ten or twelve, was swamped at 1 o'clock Sunday afternoon, some three miles o Y the Highlands, New York. Fiftv-four of th' sj on board have t>een accounted for. The r st were probab y drowned. The tug Ift Fifth street and East River at ' 30 o'clock in the morning, t u - hed ut pier 3, East River, and then went on to the fishing ■ I grounda. Sho had. it is said, a license to carry fifty j as-engers, but sixty- - | thro > tickets w.-ro so d. Thore was a ‘ I bar and a lunch counter on board, wl.os- attendants, with the crew, 1 brought the whole number oa b 'ard up Ito about- venty-rive. The tug reached the banks on time, but the fishing was ' por and the sea t>o r ugh for com* * fort, and at roon she started back. Wlien three miles east of the Highlands and about south of Scotland lightship tho waves began to break heavily over her starboard rail. To • d< dge the ware" and wind the passen- ■ ger- I egan to run around to the port side an,d t > climb on t >p of the decki house. The boat careened alarm ngly I to port ami tne water swept in over the i rail The terror-stricken men rushed back to starboard an I the tug swung i deeply down on that side. At the same ; in -ment three heavy waves struck the - boat in quick succession. The captain, i M iliiam H. Platt sti ex pluckily to his ’ n >st and soun led the whistle in a pro- , longed scream for help. Even as he did so tho tug filled with the water • th t poured into her from both sides ’ , and sank out of sight in the water. ' I She went down like a store, carrying ■ j many of her passengers with her. i I

TARRED AND FEATHERED. Adjt. Gen. Tarsney, of Colorado, Roughl} Treated by M i-k'd Kidnaper*. Adit. Gen. Ta sney. who was kid> naped at Coloralo Springs, Colo., by unknown masked men, was found at Palmer Lake, twenty-five miles from Colorado Springs, and taken to Denver on a special train. He had been tarred and feathered, and. although somewhat dazed by his rough treatment, was not seriously hurt. Shortly before I o'clock in the morn-. ing a bogus telephone call was made for Ad jut a it General Tarsney. < f tho State militia, at tho Alamo~ hot^i When \T" . ■ von m ore men I with, two revolt V T „ )Un d. Tarsney Xl- for bell.. ’"“K Bo le.W'hb.m.hO^vith c . lrrl

warned not lu ■ Springs. . — ( REY EL SANTA ANITA. L ncky the American Derby at Chicago. For the fourth time since tho_ AmeP ieh Derby

= Cpn-itor Grady nnisnw ting, was absolute y , pace, and y eathel ^^ teen^ improved Xeither could 45 - 'T Ch^SO^ ’ Tho wo po°l’’ e i, lanta Anita «»< Mt 'LLIV Few loopw had money on K ala lL Ulrnakers reaped a bountiful harvest. |Et; lor the inanajor.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. THOUGHTS WORTHY OF ALM REFLECTION. A Pleasant, Interesting, and Instructive Lesson, and Where It May Be Found— A Learned and Concise Review of the Same. Lesso i for July 1. The subject for th’s lesson, “The Birth of Jesus,” starts us in a six months c urse in the life of the Savior. It is plea ant to ccme back to the direct study of the Christ. Old and yoang together, it seems to us, feel a renewed interest as « e open c nee more to the Gospels. The searching examination wh ch has b en given to the discipline and training of Moses has fitted us to appreciate that Prophet coming ts e ■ him of whom he so reverently spake. The perusal of the career of Joseph has prepared us to ponder with added earnestness and ‘discrimination the events which marked the earthly career of our own Elder ; Brother. All the Gospels will be drawn upon in this study, and we shall I reach by the end of the year the tend--1 ing forth ot the Twelve. , Golden Jext—-Lutoyou Is boru this • day iu the c.ty of David a Savior, which I is Christ the Lord."--Luke 2: IL Luke 2: 1-16. 1 And it came to pass In those days, that there went out a decree f:om Catsar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. 2. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenlus was governor of Syria.) 3. And all w<nt to be taxed, every one into his own city. 4. And Joseph also vent up from Galilee, out of the ciiy of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city ot David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) | 5. To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. 6. And :o it was, that while they were there, the days w ere accomplished that she should be delivered. 7. And she brought forth her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger; because there was no room f r them in the !nn. 8. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9. And, 10. the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them; and they were sore . afrai L 10. And the angel said unto them. Fear not; for, behold. I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all peoples. IL For unto you is born this day in the

city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. 12. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger. IX And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying. 14 Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward mem 15. And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said ini to another: Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is coms to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto as 16. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a man zer. Make this lesson personal. The Golden Text hrs a very personal and pointed beginning: “Unto you ” Apply 11. I'o you realize the directness of the appeal. “Unto vou is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ thcLor.l?” Unto you—this day—u Saxi>r! God grant that many may realize it. "I bring you good tidings of great joy,"said the angel; “for unto you is born.” It was not forthem, it was for men. Angels have no part as w<- have in the great salvation. They rejoice in their measures, but itissimply the joy < f the bringer of tidings of salvation. We, who are ourselves the saved ones, should rejoice with a joy unspeakable and full of glorv. And what is the way to rejoice? How shall we respond to the angel message? As the shepherds did —with swift feet seeking the Christ out for themselves. The joy of motion, joined with emotion. Thev showed their joy by going to find their Christ. This is “glory to God in the highest.” This is “peace and good-will" on earth. Christ's life on earth began with praise. So let every Christian life begin. Ard so let us turn again to all earthly tasks, as the shepherds “returned glorifying and praising God for all the things that they ha I heard and seen.” Have vou heard and seen? “Fear not”—that was the first word *.L T nt InvA Ofl < t

the an.e.s said. Let pert-;ct love cast out fear. Here at the manger of this Christ the sweetest, gl ddest notes ate struck, and here all hearts ought tc be jubilant with praise. Bring happy hearts t j the ] erusal of these sacred sentences to-day. Put fear away with the sin that occasions it Christ ha? come: the Savior from sin and fear. How the very announcement of the Christ makes new men of the humble shepherds. They are mere than shepherds now: they are like the angels themselves, they have become ; messengers of the Chri t. And so the heavenly’ visitants passed their o O2 J^ missi ns. ' ' ”^f ai . eg the writer of the great thoroug^ < f We largQ ' reads on the side g o f machinbaildings, “Manu actmeis o Is erv for the transm ss on ot pov U that what the Do Give Christ a p.a c in y but not stand prouAy apa. - owlv bow and honor him, as am shepherds and the fo? And what has this lessou ' vou? Here is the mes^a^e. ag the ’ you going t° d o ' h l h 'godness of ’ Shepherds aiu. catchjh- swiftne33

1 •-j ■* vnh'P^. CRiC-1 Liitj - the angeis \oivu-, . t b e manger of the angels feet Haste to d of Jesus. l at 1 ■ j ou a v bend.biia ,0 I tell ing over Lim, don - t lo , c I Th t C arrow went home. Why him. him <f whom angels d ? nCt ..Cl O m to Ged in the highest. o.uA peace. ”> mea ' VW u> sa on-“P> ere?iatlon in tbo Temple.” Luke 2: Grains of Gold.

FOLLY is the poverty of the mind. WHO teaches often learns bimse . wXa reason THERE is no medicine *b a n - S\v well is good, but do well is Mt K The greatest teaening bto be seen in revengeful and implacable.