St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 20, Number 9, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 15 September 1894 — Page 2
& “ v * MISS M E braddon J
W o^l ' W AW\ < w®t l/of ? o^4 I Milk ! — । CHAPTER XXVII-Continucd. i Gilbert handed the Coroner Mel- ; nine’s letter, whi< h had now assumed indivu «fKi <yffier station. .
1 mon woo It H *»V»- -**« •♦ -^V path under the trees. , F The Coroner puzzled throng > Ine . letter, reading it aloud, with--1a 1 cis , mistakes and pukings up and fryings back, the .ury listened open-mouthed. “This clearly indicates that Mr. Wyatt came here by appointment,” remarked the Coion >r, sagely. “Who is this Melaine Duport.’ “My wile’s mai '.” i It was explained to the Coroner that , Melaine Duport was missing. _ | After this, the jury having duly I viewed the body, or. at any rate, made believe to view it, the in juest wa?> an- : journed to give the local police time to , make their investigation-, though । what they were to invest gate seemed i a somewhat puzzling question. “They'll bring some London de tec- j tives, who will look into my ro m seo । those guns, and then put two and two > together,” thought Gilb rt. 1 don t, sup ose my alibi wou d hold water at j the assizes. A jury would v ant some independent evidence to sustain my account of my time between < o clock and midnight yesterday. ’ »«»*•»*** The Coroner's inquest dragged its ; slow lengths along. No new evidence was elicited to make the case str, nge. a mins Gilbert Sinclair. The fact ot his departure remained the only damning fact against him. There was also the fact of Melanie Duport’s disappearance on the morning of the murder, and opinions were divided as to which of these two was , guilty, or whether both ha I not been concerned in the ait. ] The newspapers made much capital out of an event which soon became known as the Davenant Mystery, and Constance Sinclair had the horror of knowing that she was the object of a morbid interest in the minds of the nation at large. She left Davenant almost immediately after her husband, and took up her abode at Marchbrook, with Martha Briggs and the little gii 1
for her only companions, until the ar- ! rival of Lord Clanyarde from the con- ] /Davenant was formally taken possession of upon midsummer day. not by bir Cyprian Davenant. but by his law- . yer, who installed some of the old fam- I ily servants as care-takers. Sir Cyprian had left England. a few days be ~e James Wyatt s death, on his* lono’-talked-of African expedition. The year wore round and the horror of James Wyatt's unexj laired death faded out of the national mi d, as all such horrors do fade when th • n iwspapers leave o 1 writing about them. I Constance lived her quiet life at .Marchbrook as she had lived at Davenant 1 happy with her child vet mindful ’
with a shuddering i ity of* tha' fii ndJ ess wanderer doomed to bear the brand oi t am. Christinas came and passed, and tor n arly a year she had remained ni ignoiance of her husbands fate. 1 hen came a letter, in a strange hand, but signed by Gilbert Sine air. De a k Constance.— lamdown with ■ a malignant fever common to this part I of the world, and generally fatal. Before I die I should like to' ask you to
forgive mo for all the pain mv jealousy Rave you in days gone by, and to t 11 you that I now believe that jealousy to hav e been causeless. It was what the ‘m a r PUt up ’ business, and Vyatt was the lago. He seta trap for me, and got snared him elf in t o and. 1 want to tell you somethin^ else which may perhaps distress you, but that is no fault of mine. The child you are so fond of is not your own toor little Christabel was leally drowned, an 1 the little girl brought to I Davenant while you were ill is a ’child A fusing
“““^jour recovery. This plan was sugge ted Io me by your father. He । knows all about it. i "I have made my will, and sent it to I my London lawyers. I leave you ever ything. So, if matters go well in the aor th, you will be a very rich ' ^woman. 1 wasted a goo 1 dea' of nm: • v | ^O^th' Newmarket >tib!e: Imp. with' V>. Wevi. v . lin’t liolp that . I mifjlit I never to have thrust my elf between you an I y uv first love. Nothing but misery lias come of our marriage. “God bless you, ami give vou al happier life than you would ever have I spent with mu. Your dying husband, ( “GiEBUKT SlNi J,AIK. F. S.—ls 1 go, the man who wites I this, Thomas Grace, tm aceo grower” will send you certificate of death, and all necessary evidence. If I live you shall hear from me again.” < H AB SKI! X.XVUI. CKVEE KINDNESS That letter from her dying husband was a bitter blow to < onstance Sinclair. There was the keen sense of loss: the knowledge that her lovely child had verily sunk beneath the German river never to rise again save as a spirit amidst the choir of angels. There was the deep humiliation of knowing that sho had been duped. They hail taken advantage of her affliction and consoled her with a lie. She had b en fooled, deceived and deluded, as a child is deluded for her good. Her soul rose up against this mockinu- of
consolation in bitterest anger. Her very thanksgivings to Heaven—tho e outpourings of a mother's grateful heart overflowing with its wealth of joy—had been ottered up in vain. Sae had no reas nto be thankful. Heaven and earth had conspired in ill treating her. Ged had taken away her reason, ] and man had imposed upon her folly. Whom upon earth could she ever trust again, when even her father had so de- ■ ceived her? With her husband s letter came the ; certificate of his death. The same post brought her a letter from < Albert’s . lawyers, to infoim her of their receipt of his will, executed on his death- ! ; bed. । Alter those tears given to the un- ; time’y dead, her thoughts were full of ' anger. She could not forgive the deception that had been practiced, even ] । though it had been done to save her i I life. i “Better a thousand times to have j died in that dim dream than to awake I I to such a disappointment as this,” she • said. \\ bile she sat with Gilbert’s letter l
open I efore her, abandoned to a tear- j less despair, the little one’s voice i sounded in the corridor, and she hoard j the light, swift footstep which always ' ma : e her heart thrill. To-day it ttruck ; her with an actual pain. She rise involuntarily and ran to the door, as she had been accustomed to run to meet her- pet. rejoicing at the child's approach; but, with her hand upon the ! door, she stopped suddenly. i “No, 1 won't see her—litt’e impo tor ; I—living lie—to have stolen ray love ! and my dead child looking down upon me fro n heaven all the while —looking । down to tee her place filled by a stranI ger -lonely in heaven,perhaps,for want I of a mother’s love, and seeing her ■ mother's heart given to another.” The light-tripp ng stop came nea er. ' “Mamma! mamma!” called the glad ! young voice. | Constant e locked the door. ; “Go away,” she cried, hoarsely; “I | don't want you!" There was a pause—complete silence —and then a burst of sobbing. The strangeness of that tone had chilled the child's heart. Lips that had hitherto only breathed love, to day spoke j with the accents of hate. Instinct I told the child the greatness of the change. The little feet retreated slowly down the corridor —not so light of stop this time the sobs died away in the distance. “I will never see her face again,” cried Constance. "Some wretched child * —perhaps the offspring of sin ba-e .at heart as she is fair of face and so ' like my lost one—so like—s > like. No. I will send her away settle a sum of I money —provide handsomely for her — | poor child, it is not her crime—but । never see her again. Yet, oh. G< d! I I love her. And she is crying i ow, per--1 haps. The loving little heart will break.” She had been pacing the room distractedly, This last thought was toe « van fhn fit)<>!*.
I much to bear. »ne ran to me c*oor. I unlocked it. and went out into th;\ Tove you ' aHv “4^ F av ’ s}lG crie d. passionlik?t‘hi , Hearts can not l> e played with fnrr h< i chi! d hugged her. and was comfoitcd. undemanding the love, if not | the words that told it. "Belle hasn’t been naughty, has sho womleit’ Sh ° asked ’ With inu °cent No, pet; but mamma has been very t U " ha X'W Ma,uina has had a sad le*ter. oil, here comes Martha," as that erv Ot< iq? U1 ' S,J ® ntered the night nur>yOU kuow ‘ y T‘i‘ tha. [ think Custabel wants change of air. You i 1 whiloA ^ hei ’ t 0 Hastin S s for a little j
Lor, mum. that would be nice. But Jou 11 . CO] ue, too, of course. You uouMn t hke t > be parted from her ” 1 don t know that 1 could come quite at first. I might come afterward perhaps. 1 have some very sad business to attend to." “ 1 I Constance told Martha of Mr Sinclairs death, but n>t a word of that ^POWiro which had just been re\ealed to her. Martha had I een as
. completely deceived as she had no ’ doubt, ( onstance argued, for she knew > ^mthe girls honest nature ( to assist in a deception. The likeness both Q ° St Child hal delud ^ 'hem “1 suppose all children of the same age and complexion arc alike.” thought Constance: “and yet I fancied mv ba y was di de ent from a 1 other children ” . She wished to send the child away in order, if possible, to cure herself of the habit of loving a child that had no claim on her—to love whom was a kmd of treason against the beloved
I UCdU. i The preparations for the journey were hurried over: Martha was deI Itghte Ito pack and be off. The child was pleased to go, but cried at parting I from mamma. " At two o'clock in the afternoon the carriage drove Martha and her charge to the station with tmStonily [old M:uehbr< ok but.orl for theirl'Scorl. 1 Io was to tako lodging-; for thorn, aiul to make nil tbiu.4*s I for them, and seo them comfortably I settle;! before he came baric to Marell, brook. < -onstance breathed more freely I w non the child was out of tho house, i and there was no chance of hoarin" that light footstep, that clear, sweet* i childish voice. Yet how dreary to 111 ^.^ude, ■ I Hm-i ; ' i f r < oms, without that - i tlyiing, Changful soul and all tho ■ f 'J llto she made around her the ; J™}* an, ‘^“^-.t^J^magcrie of wooi b animals, all ah icb d with the ! noise L mnatu r al wuetfk.gm.d internal, noise never h ard to issue from anv animal that ever lived in the Sm^J zoology. । It would have broken my heart to keep her near me, thought Constance, j to lose 11 Xt mu ' tbr ”' akla y heart I she sent f r Dr. Webb. Ue was in the plot, doubtless. i tw at hi s advice, perhaps that this heartless deception had been practiced un- ' 11 it were so jxco a - i f JCSlin hate hiirgk and los An a s ; > Thel’ ltchv (i n „ ers Rom on for ly enou<j ? ^|heir homicide h been k 'glon. w ; about 1 ■O, the Dec. 15 I'd m me mt marked m r
of measles, or semi other Infantile ment, in the Marchbrook nurse*, What was his astonishment when K e found U nstance pacing the l», e dreary drawing-ro m, pa e, with W, o burning bi>o s on her cheeks,eyes bn*^ with fever. ■ •‘My dear Mrs. Sinclair, what is matter?'* „ * "Everything,” cried C nstarce. Br poo husband D dead, and on his bed wro o m ' a letter telling me cruel truth. Your wicked plot bus discovered. Yes, wicked; for all If? are wicked. You can not do evil tß* , good may come of it. ’i ou saved life, pernaps, but what a life! To F-. that t have lavished my live upon*"* impost >r; that when I thanked Got® my knees for His bounteous mercies l } had received no graci us gift. Ha , shown n > pity for my sorrows; but A UI —you and my father had playtdV u Providence, and h; d pretended to'** u form a mirac o for ray sake. It ww® 1 ' cruel, infamous deception.” » s a . It was designed to save your ! and. what is even more precious 4^ life, your reason,” replied Dr. ?wbb wounded by the harshness of thlL tack. “But whateve" blame ma> tach to the strategom, you may ^aro mo your censure. I had nothii^ d o with it. The German physiciaiWjyu, m your father b oeght here, was ti® i;dviser from whom the suggestioij wine. . He and your father carried it Inst be- | tween them. 1 hud nothing t^dl b. lll : look on, and watch the effoq^fc^f^ 1 shock upon you. That
: happy.” “The German doctor,” j ; stance, wonderingly. “ios, 1 I ber him faintly, as if it were aWglng i —that winter night. Homademe did he not? His voice had a met a in . ical effect upon me. I oh^Md to voluntarily. His presence h e give me comfort, stranger th< uj Ihen was. It was very curious. Ami ( he bent over me and whispered ^ er and from that instant I felt ha] j. I And it was all a mockery after i q lllt was a trick. Tell mo who and the child is, Dr. Webb.” ’ jord “I know n thing of her origin.! ant Clanyarde brought her to Dave That is all 1 can tell you. Ince j “Fool! fool! fool." cred Consti^^ with passion te self-reproach. toV t() an impo tor to my he rt so ask no questions, to beli ve wjMg r _ proof or witness that heaven hafflßg^ (< rmed a miracle for my l ia P^hat . What right had 1 to supptm j or I’rov.deuce would care so mi^ , me?” |iank- “ You have great cause to be* rea . 1 ful for the restoration of life aWtcr j son. Mrs. Sinclair,” said the Dt ’ reproachfully. Wess! j “Not if life is barren and ho^j^5 not if re ison tells me that I am u i . , It his ' “Vou have learned to lovq| ngt> strange child. Cannot ymi take® lation from that affection?" J ved , “No: I loved her because I b« son । she was my own. It would be against my dead child to lo.e till } post or. “And you will turn her out-oS or kj I suppose, and send her to tn house?” Waller . “I am not so heartle sas thdSg^gjj । j future shall lie provided for, bal jj er , never see her again. I have sei dre3 j to Hastings with her nurse, whek ' her." |, O “That's fortunate, since sho is | ec _ ' deprived ot everyb dy else s_ a • tiou. ” ... __
ichitrF m va ious smal fllnes e. Cl met her almost daily riding 1 er’ tinv Shetland pony in the lanes, an Umterameda warm regard for they’X nttle winning creature, who Jed te I K’m b> U ki!\ L \ Jrt/F 10 aro eb « d to i i, i ■। ' ?> and had evidently not the : lea-t idea that he was old and uHy shad send for my father," said childJelongsT^ kn ° W tO " h ° !n tha "I should imagine so." renliel o\° al°l‘ t 0 10el himseif absolved oi all blame. It was a painful i < sition. certaind, diffi ndt'f f ' 7i e anti( 'ipated this iihn u.t\ Horn tne I o,inning of thinfs. He was very glad to take his leave t>f ills nntmnt ‘irfm. i ? . y?
, paiieni, alter ha ardhi" a nlalit ' tude or two byway of eonsohition | I ,i Lord ( lanyarde was i., e[r ;l ing the gayeties of the cheerful seas* . i betor ■ Lent, and making himself es- I , tremcly comfortable in his bachelor - roo n at the Hotel Bristol. He h.<l j married all his daughters advantagT ou-!\ and buried his wife, and felt that •ns ini-smn ha i been accomplished, anh that he »a, free to make his pathwaV to the grave a; pleasant ai he could from January to March he found hi i aged steps traveled easiest over th| asphalt of l aris, ; nd as poor Coni stance was happy with her adopted I child, ho felt no s< ruples against lead i mg her to enjoy life in her own quiea way. 1 1 ITO BE CONTINUED. | I .Work of Wni.c Ants? | I he pyramids of f e white ants aral a characteristic feature of the African! landscape. The builders of these! structures are not ants, bt t belong to I the smaller family of termites. There I
i is scarce y an insect so thorough 1 nated Ly man as the termites, and th hatred is fully justified. They gna’ j e< er> thing; the l aJeo.des and po ts c ' the houses, tab'es. chairs wardro’o- ' books, cloth, h ath, r, in fa t. Htti comes amiss to flu, <-x. . It iron 111 . vidi’lltata of Iho dost l; t VO lab I'S < tho to mito-; ;ro to bo soon on e■ or side: l>i t tho ereaturas thoin-e vos ur rarely een. Tho. steal sr, -ak inyly t< - thei: 'abors. They am all I ind, will th© o\e ption of t o kim: at d < ueen tied all do! n-eloss except tho soldie t ame, which constitutes about one o ; to per cent, of the popu'ation, T< '■scape starvation they must leave theii 1 so?poh la ? e i n honl, ' s or pyramids it -catch ot deal wood, and, beeau e o then- blindness.they render them-elve I ihvi-ib'e as the best mode of defense. By mea s of sm ill dry tube--, eon ; sLucted with in Unite labor, and guard?n Md U "' l ' t er,nitos ‘T'oin hostile ! inset ts, they reach the timber to be f operate 1 upon. These tubular passao-e^ are about the diameter of a small gaa i x ~^, a, “ a r<- frequently carried in a zigzag course by the termites up the 'Gink oi a tree in their -oarch so! a I mid notfimi - - ne ? na F 1 avcl for hoUl 's of these passa"es ?le trCe Wlthout ono Now ibr a M u . h j ~ — The n ^n'Bvmhes Jua d o by machinery aro o ^esult of a labor-saving device just 'y .Nauseous Either Place. Hied f- ? Plant grows in bo , -n , fdr,s Indla - -“° i y ea z U A recent < “ declines of Columbi
WOULDBEGOVERNORS Men who are now attracting PUBLIC ATTENTION. tlpham of Wisconsin, Fisher of Michigan. Marvel ot D e la Ware , an d Atkinson o f Georgia Each Is Making Energetic Efforts to Win the liace. David Overinever. David Overmeyer, the Democratic nominee for Governor of Kansas, is a native of Ohio. He was born near
Centerville, in 1847, and received his education in Indiana at the Asbury University in Green Castle. I'e studied law and in 1870 hung out the proverbial shingle at Vernon. In 1883 he removed to Topeka, ■ where lie so n rose to the Lead if his profession. His po--lit cal faith has changed as many timev us his res i -
1 DA.VW OVKHMYKis-
. den<—- 110 "us b <mght up a Demo rat, became a Republican before lie win old enough t > vote and after locating in Kansas returned to the Democratic party. In IsM lie was a member of t o Kansas I egislatnre. , " John T. Rich. .1oh n t. Rich, renominated by tie Republicans <h Mte+H-tan as t hoir van . didate for Governor is a armor. His
■ parents were Vermonters, who removed to Crawford County, Pa., where the Go vernor was born in Hi. Seven years later the family removed to Michigan. Governor Rich was elected to the State Legiela'ure in 1872,where he served I six yea's, bo' ng twice elected Speaker. In 1880 he win a promi-
nent candidate before the convention for Governor. In the same year he was elected to the State Senate, re signing the position upon his election to Congress, where he serve I but one term. Returning to private life, he has been active in agricultural circles. In 1^8(1 and again in l“ ss h 0 was appointed Stale Railroad Commissioner. W. Y. Aiklnaon. The Democratic nominee for Governor of Georgia is Hon. W. Y. Atkinson. He is not yet forty years of
iJr v w W. V ATKTS-OO’C
nthig, ho studied law and was admitted to the bar and then moved to Newman,
ejtislaturo and was chairman of the Democratic State conventions in 0 aid :•?. Mr. Atkinson has a very able political lieutenant in the person of his wife. Jolin Giry Evans. The Hon. John Gary Evans, the reform e mentions nominee f. r Governor of South < ar lina, is the author
of the dispensary laws that have recently attracted so much attention. He was born in Cokesbury. S. .>1 year.- ago and is the ■ second son of the late Gen. N. G. Evans."the hero of Ball's Bluff.” and his mother was a sister of Gen. M. W. Gary. He was graduated from Union C >l- - Schenectady, X. Y., in DS3, studied
law with his uncle. Major W. T. Cary, and was admitted to the bar in isky Beginning the pi actiee of his profession in Aiken, ho m on established a reputation in lega circle* and in isss. was sent to the State House of Representatives. Later he was sent to the State Senate. Joshua 11. Alarvi!. Joshua 11. Marvil, Republican candidate for Governor of Delaware, has never been a candidate for office be-
fore. He is a native I of Sussex County, and j is 59 vears old. * He ’ was brought up on a ' farm and ha I meager , educational advant- j v ages. Ear y in life he J . became a sailor, and i > later took to boat- ; bui’ding. When he i
4-5 M o
ly f " as ~ s . vears of age, he :sKc xU he tarted the manuB ofMFVA” MAmiL faeture of aorioultu of . piemen's in Eauiel. in 1-7,1 th, w poach busine s of Delaware led to begin the manufacture of bas •iefts and crates and his plaht has j Bgrown to such large proportions that ~ Bts annual output is 2,0U0,i 0 1 fruit bas- ;• ‘f.o Tias amassed a fortune of h ®2-;0,000 in the business. Before tho ?! i var ^’ as a Democrat, but Abraham ] mncoln's < andidacy made him a Re,Q mblican, and a Republican 1 e has ir j leen ever since. '1 n Sp ni-er O. Fisher. ii The Democrats of Michigan nomi- ” b ate I Spencer O. fisher to ka 1 them /- |S 1 their ff ub ■material light. He was
I- yforn in Hillsdale o oun t y 111'ty-o n o o I ^# ars anf i in s sq so made West Bay s Fj Be , ou jn became one of , Pl s most prominent a siness men of the 3 pu tce) making a fort- . oai j in the lumber wa , siness, real estate, ,Gr iks, street railys, and other en- > 1 prises. Tw e1 v o . hat rs a go ho began. A e ake a n •eminent
GX P d in politi 's. He was Mayor of p l ®! st Bay City for two terms, at tho , । ? j iration of which he was elected 1 1 ® lG d aber of Congiess from his district. ; I 1887 he was renominated and re- | | ted, and remained in Washington
looking after tho interests of his dis- ! trict two years longer. W. H. Upham. Major W. H. Upham, the Republican nominee for Governor of Wisconsin, is a native of Massachusetts, 53
W. 11. UPHAM.
field and a funeral service was held for him. After eight months in Libby prison he was exchanged, and returned to Washington in a shattered condi- । tion. his wounds never having been properly dressed. President Lincoln been i e inter, sted in him and appointed him a cadet to West Point. He comi pleted his course w.th honor, and | served with distinction in the regular army. Som • years at’ •he became a civilian, and engaged in the lumbering busines s at Idarshfield, where he has ' b on successful. He is a member of ; the Loyal Legion and of the G. A. R.
WALTER B. RtCHIE. J ‘ —— < h meellor of Kni^h of ryttilm. Walter P. Richie, recently elected S qirem * Chaneell r of the Kn ghtsof ' Pythias, is a yo.mg- lawyer of Lima,
< hi >. He was focmerly Supreme Vico Cham ellor of tio Knights. Mr. 1 ichle was lorn and raised on a farm in \an Wert County, Ohio, lie is b. t uh years of age, an i has be n ( prominently mention-’ e I as a candidate for t lie g u b e r n a t orial. nomination on the Demo rat'C ticket. I'e was admitted to
Vs JOHN T. RICH.
the bar in 1875. having completed the study o law under his brother, Judge Richie, and is now one of the most brilliant attorneys in the State of Ohio. Mr. R'chie has a ch> ning wife an I an into;estirg daught< FUSIONISTS IN ACCORD. Meet mvl Agree Upon a Divirion of the C oiV’Tt m on a ’ I >elvg: 11 io i. The Alabama State Executive Commi tees o the Koi bite, Populist and Republican parties Mosely laetit n ,
age and is one of the youngest non ever nomin at e d so r Governor of < Georgia, Mr. Atkinson was born on a arm in Me riwether < ‘ounty. In early life ho lost his father, and had to work for a living, but by industry and porseverani e he was able to attend the univers i ty a t All:ens. After gradu-
8
win iam c. oates nominees, and th® j K< Unites and Pop lists five. A slate , was prepared which will be ratified by i district conventions of the three paiI ties. j The insurrection which wa^ threats j
1 Reuben U Kolb, 1 armors' candidate for Governor, who it was claimed had teen fraudulently debated in 1 revious . elections, mak- s the leaders of the ca npaign of more than ordinary inteiv । e-t. Reuben E. Kolb is an Alabamiati I by bir h. framing and educati n. an! is about •>'> vear of age. He spent three years at Howard Uolle^e, Marion, and in U-0 gt aduated from the University |of North Uaro ina. bincethat time hb . has been a farmer, except while in the I field during the civil war. and has enI joyed a natu mil reputation as a j scientific agriculturi-t. < 01. William ; U. Oates, the new y elect -d Governor, I i> a native of the state and is 58 years lof age. He is a law er by professi >n j and ser ed with distinction in the
9 - 1 ^'OHN GARY EVANS.
; Confederate Aim . j He was promoted to co o el for gallantry ' on the field of I att e. : He lost his right arm in front of Rich--111 md. ('ol. * ates was a delegate to tho Democi atic national convention inDfjs and four years ater was the : uc essful candidaie of his party f r , Governor. In the same year he was defeated tor Congress but was
e ected to tho Forty-seventh and has been a member of each Congress down to the Fifty-third. BICYCLE MAIL SERVICE. , Sometht ig of Interest to Both Stamp ( ollector an I Wheel mm. Here is the cut of a bicyle mail stamp i used in California during the great strike. It tells the reason that called
j 1 3 A FAMOUS STAMP. for its issue. In the upper angle are i the letters "A. R. ['..’’meaning the - \ Anu ricm Railway Union, and in the 1 lower angle the word “strike.” The 31 recent blockade so interfered with mail 1 service on the Southern Pacific Rail- ' ro id that, for more thana fortnight, San Eranciseo was practically cut off । from all railroad communication, and i a b cycle mail service was gotten upby , the agent o a bicycle manufactuer beI teen tiiat city and Eresno, a distance of ' about 210 miles. It emitinued for four j days, when the blockade was raised. । Stamps and stamped envelopes were i hastily designed an I several hundred printed, the stainns being sold at twenty-live cents apiece and the envelopes at thirty cents. Os the 3 0 letters carried, .”15 were stamped and 1 forty were sent in stamped envelopes. I Used specimens are already commanding a high premium in San Eranciseo, the papers of that city sa , as high as 1 1 $5 being paid for the stamps, while tha < , used envelopes are expected to bring , from $5 to $lO each. :
^^o SPENCER O FISHER
years of age. He is cm o f Wisconsin's best known citizens, and has had a career peculiarly striking. He enlisted in the Second Wisconsin Regiment at the age of 18, and was terribly injured and taken prisoner at the first ^battle of Bull Run. |The report reached ^his home at Racine that he had been left dead on the batt’.e-
L t \" W. 3. IUCHI E.
met to cutline a plan of their Congressional campaign. The result , of the confer, nee was an agreement to combine forces, as was done during the recent State campaign. The Republicans are to have lour •lit of the nine Congressional
I JW. ' / REUBEN F. KOLB.
The women squat on the ground with their feet under them in that peculiar way 10 which they are indebted for their bandy legs. It is not ro-. mantic, but truth compels me to state that all Turkish girls ulti- ! mately become bandy-legged; the tine, well-made women one occasionalb’ meets iu Stamboul are mostly 1 Circassians. A few cakes and some rahat lakhoum or other sweet suffices for b ith i young an i old. A stranger is invariably struck with the premature serious air that- Turkish child.en wear. The elder girls do not play and run as do healthy children. They sit or stroll about, quietly and gravely, their yashmaks loosened and forming a snow-white framework, which displays to advantage weir complexion, as yet unspoiled by paint or powder. On the approach of a man they will hastily draw their yashmaks, not so close, however, that the stranger cannot admire faces if he has a fancy for Turkish beauty, which, though in girls and young women sometimes very att active, is too Ire juently of the half-bred Tartar type, lacking in lute ligence and reknement. YVe have noticed that when a woman asks to be taken to the silk counter she speaks in a much louder voice than when she asks to look at calico remnants.
“GANDER PULLING.” a Strange Sport of the Early Days of Missouri. Ex - Gov. Fletcher of Missouri, formed the center of a little group of Congressmen the other day who were discussing old times. “When I was a boy,” said he. “I lived among the pioneers of Missouri. They were a fine class of people; all in all the best people I ever knew. They drove back the Indians, and made bear and deer their meat, as the saying goes. It was before the days of the schoolmaster. Occasionally we had a three months' subscription school, but the master was employed more for his physical qualifications to disiplinc the big boys than for his learning. It was before the days of baseball and football. and the sport that stood at the list was ‘gander pulling.’ The men met,” continued the Governor, “at some suitable cross-roads store, where eighteen cents per gallon corn whisky was dispensed, and they pooled in $1 each, say twenty or twenty-five ol them. That was a big purse in those i days. Then th y got the oldest and toughest gander that roamed I that i ircuit. The feathers
i were carefully plucked from his neck, and the neck was covered with grease and soap. Alter these preliminaries Mr. Gander was securely t ed to the swinging limb of a tree, hanging head downward. This done, the men would mount their horses, a circle was drawn, the master of ceremonies would take his place in the center of the ring, whip in hand,and kept every horse on a lively run as the riders tried to catch the gander’s neck. Tiie man that succeeded in pulling off the neck raked in the pot. If he held on until he was pulled ofl his horse, it counted icr the gander, and the rider was out. It was a little tough on the fowl, but as a feat of strength and horsemanship it was w rth seeing and file knights of old never put lance in rest or rode in a tournament to greater applause among the spectators than was showered upon them by the throng at a gander p Hing. 1 was once ar eye witness of this strange sport. Ol course, it wound up with a dance.and the hero who pulled off the gander’s head danced with the prettiest girl. •Tretty girls? Your young ladie; of to-day wouldn’t have been in it with those rosy cheeked lassies. All the candidates for office would be these, electioneering. They didn’t make many speeches in those days. They set ’em up and mixed about and tilk<d with the boys. Well, all that old set G gone now. Their de scendants are more learned and have modern manners, habits and amusements. but they a e not better in any sense than the sturdy old pioneers. their ancestori.” —Washington lost. A Turkish Girl's Life. The pleasures of Turkish girls are extremely simple and li
tainment which the literature of civilized countries opens up to the European child directly’ she can read, with the exception of festivities in the harem on red-letter days, her pleasures consist in an occasional picnic or accompanying her elders on the visits which occupy so much of a lurkish lady’s time. Un households or religious feasts wealthy people often organize entertainments on a ver) elabo:ate scale. Gypsy dancers or a troop ot clowns with some sort of pantomime are engaged for the occasion, and the neighbors rich and poor, are invited to the performance. Ihe Turks, being exceedingly hospitable, a Iriend of the hostess is Iree to bring all her sisters, and her coughs, and her aunts, with their 1 amines, on such occasions. These aie high days for the Turkish girl for her elders, too--tho Ugh an English child ten or twelve w ou ld think the en ter tain ii. ent a very poor performance indeed. v The dances are at times graceful, and the music, when one is used to it, is not always excruciating; hut the coarse, almost brutish, humor ot the pantomime would be decidedly distasteful to a western audience. A more pleasant side of Turkish life is that which may be seen any day in early summer at the Sweet Waters of Euro] e, or some other favorite resort ou the outskirts of Constantinople. The family will set out iu the morning, and, spreading their rugs in some field, spend the day there doing nothing, ami apparently very contented with the occupation.