St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 20, Number 17, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 10 November 1894 — Page 2

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w!n®H re I—L® sJslsL )g^ HL®? M^w OBqhwS^B CHAPTER Vl— Continued. Another two days, and he would get an answer. Be t so, perhaps. In the lew words that he was determined at .all hazards to say to his darling before he left—to herself only, regardless of *TWR*RW*<W»-^r_ custom—the sanction ©f his mother' sappWfrrtWMi^ujMSidd Ite a help and a consolation. He should " be able to tell the orphan that it was not his arms alone that were open to receive her, but those of a new mother, ready to replace, if any could replace, in some small degree, her who was gone. Very unlike they were, and he bad a secret fear that it was a diffeentsort of a daughter-in-law that Mrs. Jardine would nave preferred one much grander, richer, handst mer. Silence had the 10. eliness of lovableness; but even in his wildest passion, her lover knew she was not handsome. Still, in spite of all, there were two things he never doubted to find in his mother her strong sense and her warm heart. To these he trusted, and felt that he might safely tru t the girl he loved — the girl who would make him all he Sacked, all that his mother wished him io be. He pleaded this in a letter, touchingly earnest and tender, which, j ©n second thoughts, he dete mined on writing home. His heart was full—full to overflowing; and, almost for the first time in his life, he poured it out, where, under* Wph circumstances, ©very good son is right to pour his heart out—dnto his mother s bosom. Going to the poet, letter in hand — for he had learnd® Silence's habit of doing things at once, and doing them herself, if ^^ible —he met Sophie Reynier, in mourning dress, hastening to com.ortand sustain her friend during the funeral day. “Do you think you could take me into the house with you?" he pleaded. “Nobody would know or bo harmed thereby. In my own country we even think it a tribute of resnect to the dead to be allowed to look at them once more. And Mademoiselle Jardine —” Sophie Reynier suddenly turned to him with a Hash Qf womanly emotion in her kind blue eyes—penetrating as kind. “Monsieur, yc u are an honest man—wnat in England you call a ‘gentleman.’ You could never act otherwise ^^•har^kiridl v to such a defenseless ■ 1 -*>* lill <

But she d d not admit him at once, and finding- that Mme. Reynier had gone out she told him to come back in an hour, at eleven o clock. “By then I shall have persuaded Silence to repose herself for a little. She has not slept all night, and is very restless. She may heat-you. Go away now. ” He obeyed at once, and went to search through the little town for a few more winter flowers, to “shut them inside the sweet, cold hand,” like 1 r wning’s “Evelvn Hope, ” saying to himself the lines — bu luat is our secret Go to sleep: You will wake and remember and understand. As he st od in the salon of his hotel ' arranging the little bouquet and tying ; it up with a bit of white ribbon which he had gone int > a shop and b tight his look was tender, rather than sad, I and with a 1 his reverence for the dea l I he could not f rbear thinking whether * she—his living love would notice the ! flowers or ask who put them there. “Monsieur, a telegram for monsieur!” Tt startled him for a moment. Not being a man of busine s, R derick was unaccustomed to telegrams; besides, his mother had a strong old-fashioned aversion to them. Yet this one came from her. At least, the address and name were her* though the wording

was in the third verson. “Your mother is not well. Come home immediately.” This was all. but it came wi h such a blow to R derick, who. inherited his । lather’s nervous tern eramont. that he ; felt himse f turning dizzy and obeyed ; the frien ly garcon’s suggestion that monsieur had better sit down His mother ill? She, the healthiest person imaginable' and she had written to him only a few days before, saving nothing of herse f except of her endless duties and engagements. It must be s mething sudden, something serious. He was wanted “immediately.” Sho could not have got his letter, there was barely time, or surely she would have answered it Perhaps she was too ill even to read it J His poor mother —his dear, good mother All the son in him woke up: perhaps all the more tor thinking of that other mother, wh se dead face he was just going to see. He might go there —there was time: ! no Paris train started till afternoon, I and rereading the telegram it seemed a little less serious. Though "not well” might be only a tender way of break- . ing to him a far sadder truth. "Oh, mother, m ther?' he almost sob 1 ed out, as he walked hastily along the lake-side, “if anything should happen to you If I should lose you, too. : before I have learned to lo\e you half j enough. ” And all the i assionate rem rss of a ; sensitive nature, a do tbly sensitive conscience, rose up in the poor fellow's heart. He accused himself of a hundred imaginary short-comings, and ; suffered as those are prone to suffer ; who judge others by the standard of j themselves. It was only by a great ■ effort that he controlled himself so as to present the quiet outside necessary ©n reaching Mme. Jardine's door, from which she would soon go forever; nay, from which she had already gone. He knew n t whonu io ask for. He atood silent and bewildered: but the ■ little bonne seemed to understand, and ] admitted him without a word. Beyond the salon was a email bed I

chamber which mother and daughter used to share. In tie center of it stood, raised a little, and covered with something wnite, that last sleepingplace where we m ist all one day rest. How long he stood there, gazing on the still face so exceedingly beautiful —he had never thought before what a beautiful woman she must have been— Roderick could not tell. At last the door, which had been left ajar behind him slightly stirred. Ho thought it was the bonne, and would not turn; he did not wish her to see his dimmed eyes. It was more than a minute before he looked up and saw, standing quietly on the other side of the i otlin? the orphaned girl, the girl whom ho adored like a lover, and yet seemed to cherish already with the p: otecting tenderness of a husband who has been married many years. Perfectly pallid, dead-white almost, from the contract between her black ^•oss and fair hair, Silence stood and looked at him; merely 1, okino*, not holding out her hand—both her liand» were resting on the coffin, the spoke in a whisper. “You are come to see her once again? That is kind. Sho always liked you. Is she not beautiful? But she is gone, you see! She has gone away and left me al! alone." One sob just on\ no more. Nothing in his life bad ever touched Roderick like Iho strong self-command by which this frail girl in her utmost agony controlled it* expression, and, recollecting herself, summoned all her courage, dignity the sacred dignity’ of sorrow, which asks n > help, no consolation. “You must forgive me; my grief is new. Are these your flowers? Thank you; they are very sweet ” And taking them from him she began arranging them in the folds of the shroud, gently ind carefully, as if she j were dressing a baby, then drew the kerchief once more over the dead face. “xow you must go away.” “I will,” he an wered—the first words he had uttered. “Only, just once ” Tenderly’ removing the face-cloth again. Roderick stooped and pressed his lips upon the marble brow of this dead mother, only making a solemn vow—would that all men made the same, and kept it. to other dead and living mothers! Something of its purport must have been bet ayed in bis look, for when his eyes met those of the girl opposite sho slightly started, and a faint smile suffuse I her cheek, l ading, it left her deadly pale; she staggered rather than walked, though alone, refusing all help, into the next room. There she sat down, Roderick standing beside her. The door was open between, he could tee the foot of the coffin and its white dra ery. Though now, for the first time, he was alone with hii chosen love, kn wing well, and havi. g an instinct that she must know, too, that sho was his love, and ever would be, there was so great an awe upon him that ho could not speak one word, n t even of the commonest consolation or sympat by. And, though yyay niTVeTKUenon his knees i r TA Do non or./l 1— J., . J n . i

Tore nor and kissed her very feet, ho dared not touch even the tips o her 1 P?i° ' Pallid fingers, so strangely ; idle, th ur occupation gone. \Yhat am I to do without mv mothler Silence sai lat last, with apiteou* appeal not t > him or toanybody, except । perhaps that One to whom alone the I orphan can al wavs ago. I Roderick co Id bear it no lon^m his manho d wholly deserted him "l Io turned awa, his head and wept. The I two sat there over so long, sobbinv like children; an I like children h w it cam -about he h irdh K ew—hold- | Ing one another s hand-. ‘ That was all.' ! i No mo e, indeed, was possible, but it i I seeme Ito comfort her. Very soon *he ! I rose from her chair, . uito herself her I quiet, g ave self, robed in all the dig- i I nity of sorrow.” Ihank yon; you have been very I kind incoming to-day and in wishing wilT" 10 aftei ' nooa ' as 1 hope y°u i Roderick had forgotten all about । the telegram and his mother everything in the world except Silence Jardine. I'e drew the paper out of his pocket and laid it before her. "Read this! I got it ha'f an hour ago. Sav, what must I du?” Silence read, slowly, and putting her hand once or twice over her for. head, as if trying hard to understand thimn-’

| then looked up at him with com’a- ! sionate eyes. 'You? mother ill? lam so sorry for ! you. Then, at r a minute’s pause । " I ou will go—aud at once?” " \ es, at < nee. ” Both spoke in whispers still, as if । ■ conscious of some sac: ed presence close , be-ide them. He was. at least, feeling : this as if a soft dead hand were laid on his wildly beating heart, and sealing his pa sionate lips, else he could not possibly have controlled himself as he did. I feel I ought to go. But my mother may lv better soon. She is veiy -eldom ailing. As s on ns evo ■ I can. 1 shall come back again to Neuchatel to you. You b Heve that'” “ i es. ’ < ne .ittl' w; rd, uttered softly, wit.i bent head and, after an in- • stant. repeated, “Yes. ' Roderick felt his brain almost whirling with the strong con traint he put . upon himself. I “One thing more you shall decide,” he said. “Tne train starts this afternoon at the very hour I ought to be—you know where. Shall I delay my jou ney —just for one day?” “Not for an hour.” Silence answered, almost passionately. “Remember, you never can have but one mother. Co to her at once.” And so he went, without another word, scarcely another look, he dared not trust himself t> either. ihe two or three minutes he stated were occupi d in explaining to Sophie 1 Reynier about the t legram, his moth- i er’s illness, his compelled journey, and ' his certain return as oon as possi ble. You will say all this to Monsieur Reynier? And I shall find her with you when I come back?” “Certainly. Yes.” “You wilt take care of her?” “I will.” He looked at kind Sophie. There was the tender light of her love for hetown good young pasteur shining in her eyes. “Thank you " Roderick took her hand and kissed it, and was gone. He got to Richerden about 4 in the morning—a thorough Riche rden morn-

ing, or rather night —of sleet and snow and blinding ram. Entirely worn out with fatigue, he came at last to his mother’s door. Bor the moment he hardly believed it was his mother's, but that he must have made some egregious mistake. lor the house was all lighted up, carriages were going and coming, daintily mu tried figures filled the en-trance-hall —it was evidently the breaking-up of some festive entertainment. He had pictured to himseif the silent house —the night of anxious vigil over sickness—death; for even that last terror had. as he neared home, forced itself upon his weakened nerves. Instead, he came in at the end of a ball! “My mother —how is my mother?” were the first words that passed his lips—they had been knelling themselves into his tired bruin for the last hundred miles. There she was, standing half way up the staircase, in her ruby velvet, point lace, and a i ablaze with diamonds a little tired and old-looking, as was natural at 4 in the morning, but beaming with health, go d-nature, and the exuberant en oyment of life. What a c mtrad to the dead mother whom he had left in her coffin so many • hundred miles away! I Waiting for a pause in thq ^trew of j Sjnes s, l<6rlpi-h>k hTct IHmseli in Hie / shadow of the door vctt'm,-. m. aino’^ voice, loud and hearty, had repeated® scries of hospitable adieus. Thence h^ emerged, a somewhat forlorn figure,] into the brilliant glare of light. “Goodness me Body, is that you, m^ dearest b y? Girls, your brother is here.” S ;e wrapped him in a voluminous embrace, and kissed him many times with true maternal warmth. “Mother, you have not been ill? There is nothing wrong with you?” “No. my darling, what should there be? Oh, I remember —the telegram.” A sudden cloud came over her face, which was repeated with added shadow on her son's. “Yes, the telegram. I thought you were ill, and 1 came home as you bade me, immediate y. Never mind. Goodnight. “stop, my dear. Just stop.” But he would not; and went straight up stairs to his own room. |TO BE CJXTINUED. I CRUSOE’S ISLAND. It Is Now Inhabited and Posseses a Town. It is not genera ly known that Ju?m i ernande: —the island on which Alexander Selkirk, the Robinson Gru oe of romance, lived so many years—is at the p: c ent time inhabited. Two v Alleys, winding down from different i lirecti ns, join a shirt distan e ba 3k from the shore, and there now stat ds little village of small huts scattered roun I a long one-storied building w th a veranda running its whole length. In this house lives the man who re its t :e island from the Chi ian Government. and the village is made up qf a few German and Chilian families J Tiie tiny town is called San Juan WAutista. and the crater-like a m oflrhe sea on which it is situated, and w®re Alexander Selkirk first landed, ismow called Cumberland Bay. The i®and is rented for about £2 0 a year. ~rent is yaid partiy iH»-urted

ties of fish an I raising catfm ai itedl tables wholly occupy the com’, insettlers, an I much of their litt and ome is obtained from the catth \ vegetables s Id to passing vessels. *he At the back of the little town fY >'efirst high cliff. is a row of caves! 'Hie markable appearance hewn in^f 4 to sandstone. An unused path lea 110 them and a short climb brings o fears their dark mouths. About forty 'Ught ago the Chilian Government th >*orst that a good wa to get rid of its them criminals would be t»transport ndo '• 1 .to he island of Juan Ferm HHan Here u der the direction of C were I odious, these poor wretches IN>4 made to dig caves to live in. h rever, I t. ey were taken back again, hot ’lowly an t the ca es have since been । crumb ingaway. ilkirk I The narrow' lidge where S ddle,” ’ watched is now ca! ed “The St rocky । because at either end of it a Jnond I hummock ri-es like a pommel. । th in- ' f tiie e is now a large tablet wi tender scri. tions co: memorating- Ale® 11 the Selkirks long and lonely stayW stiß b J i land. It was i-l;.c?d there in ■Topaz. theoTcm- of the British ship® runs A small excursion steamer noW I andez ; from \ aharaiso to Juan Fei® in six i-land. Th *roin I trip is mad®. s .P® n I ' days, and three of these may I® Piling on the island in ti hing and® which

those lonely, but. beautiful, spow haunts near y 2 0 years ago were th J ; of R ibinson Crusoe. ■ A (Jr a Man Avcn^eAhe big “Do you love life ” asked Bust and man as he kicked up the saw® 3 the tell heavily into a chair at on® j pirn ch e tables. ^pt Ger“l stippo o I do," said the quif man who kept the place. loner of "Well, then, bring me a scat® it you beer, and if there s a collar don t get a < ent, see?” at- one The big man drank the be ( ^osleaddripping gulp and th fr^J’eor ilv around the room at Scnwa- | i gn, ; ho announcement of thth^ of , Ger ' ben picnic, th.. . tool engra^p mania an 1 the picture of 1^" "V. h >'s that ga-aboy?*^ — ■ “De is to ghreat I isma-cl; Kt. That’s ' < Ireat nothin'. He ain t in | what he ain't. ” Be icepick, i The. proprietor looked at tt »d. and then he changed his mic I “Has a peer,” said he. Iman. He I ‘TH go you ” said the big L. On the I accepted a third and fourti he table, eighth he fell asleep overt ) the door! The quiet German went ti policeman, and called in a heavy pe. “Take “Here's a goot cigar,” said irly. I aphim in. He's peen disorcT pear myse fat te station.” policemen l ive minutes later two vnose drag- ! hauled out the big man, t lines along ging toes left long, snaky ! jrman d istthe sawdust. The quiet G/ Hsmarck is ing the picture, said: “I 'ago Record, affenged, I pet you.”—Chic —J ena. "< st rn PhennnJ j a spot of In the Western desert! fely heated, ground becomes excessij escend. This causing the air above to dj atmosphere produces an influx of thej Jally, the reirom all sides, but uneqf lotion and a suit being a gyratory m sandstorm. '• J ~ “7 v mselves they Manx folks flatter th?^ hey' are not are fairly good because g entirely bad. »

GAIN TWO VICTORIES. JApS WIN THE FIRST BATTLE FOUGHT ON CHINESE SOIL. Mikado’s Forces Prepare to Make a Telling Advance Before Cold Weather-Crop Conditions Reported from Twelve States —Oeatli of Honore Mercier. One Port Arthur Fort Falls. Two important, aid sign! r ant Japaftese victories are rec irded by United States Minister Denby in aca ie to the State Department at \\ ashington. He says that the Chinese forces have been defeated at Chin Lien Cheng, and have retreated to Moukden, and that the Japanese have taken o. o of the Chinese forts at Port Arthur. The scene of the first engagement is just across the Yalu river in Ma chuvia, and it marks the first real aggres-

sive movement by the Jai anese on Chinese s >il, for it is believed that the preceding movements on the west side o. t e i alu ri or by the Japanese have b en in the nature of skirmishes to develop the real st ength of the Chinese forces. This ba ing been done, the Japanese are supposed t > have formally entered up-

1 CHARLES DENBY.

on the cam; aign with Moukden. the Manchurian capital, as the ob ective point. Unless they arc fully prepared to make this a winter campaign, s mothing heretofore unknown in 1 astern warfare, they will be obliged to force the fighting and move with great speed, as but fifteen days remain before cold weather comes. In the neighborhood of Port Arthur, where the second . apanese si mess is ref orted, the winter climate is not so severe and operation' may be maintained until much later in the season, particularly in view of the excellent base of supplies afforded for the Japanese troops in the presence of their own war vessels in the neighborhood, which will keep open free lines of communication with Corea and Japanese supply j orts. It is believed that notwithstanding the taking of a Chinese fort by the Japanese at Po. t Arthur the place will be aide to hoi I ( ut for a | long time. It is st ongly fortified by I land and sea. the plans b ing drawn by I experienced European engineer o cers and can offer a most formidable resist- ; ance. The experts in Washington believe that it cannot be reduced by the Japanese without the use of 1 eavy siege artillery and so far a; reported the Japanese are not supplied with this. Inasmuch as the capture of Port ArI thur would result in giving Japan con- | trol of the Gulf of Pe Chi Li and cut I off the Chinese capital from communi- | cation with the sea, it is belie, e I that I the Japanese will make a most deteri mined effort to capture the fortress. The belief that they are prepared to ; do this, even if it involves a long siege I and a w campaign, is out r'. / 1 ' 'HIH' ■\ u} yntVlf twill

store of g oa t 1 skins, and have practically cornered i the market. As tho-o skins are com- ! monly used in China ana Japan as a I necessary part of the soldiers winter i raiment, it is fair to presume that the I Japanese are making ready for a winter campaign. Great interest is shown I in the t ews at both Ja- ane e and Chi- > nese legations in Washington. MERCIER IS NO MORE. Ex-rrt'mler of Quebec Yields After a Lonsj Stru<qde for I/fo. Ex-Premier Mercier died at Moni treat Tuesday morning. He had been sick for many’ weeks, during which his

i death had been al- \ most momentarily exI pected. Hope of recovery’ | had been given up I weeks ago. In fact, from the moment that I he first felt seriously I 11l on the 14th of • August last it had | been felt that he lay on his death bed. Mr. : Mercier had b;en sufI sering from a compli- ! cation of diseases for

| years past, di il etes predominating. : After his defeat at the general eleci tions of March, 1892, his friends exi pre sed the opinion that he had only l six months to live, but by dint of l adopting ab de minus habits d living he managed to prolong his life. Henore Mercier was born at St. Athaucose, Que., in IMO. He was educated at the Jesuit College in Montreal and began the study of law. He was for a time edito • of the Courier de i St. Hyacinthe and was admitted to the la rin IST. In 1883 Me cier was elected leader of the Quebec Liberals. The j feeling arou ed by the execution of ! Riel, the leader of the half-breed rei bellion in the Northwest, gave him a groat opportunity, and when the elec- । tiqiy of i 8-> came on he organized a briln&nt «*&mpafgn, which led to the : defeat of the Conservative Governi ment. Mr. Mercier was summoned to 1 form a Cabinet on Jan. 27, 18M. His administration was full of exciting in- ' cidents. As Premier he was a stanch I champion of French-Canadians and i their rights. Ono of the most im- ! portant ac s of his administration was the settlement of the Jesuit estate . question, by which the Jesuits were paid a large sum of money, and which provoked a storm of indignation in the other provinces. He -attracted considerable attention on account of his advocacy of Canadian independence. CROP CONDITIONS. <Jorresponde >ts in Twelve States Give Information for I’armers. The Farmers’ Review has received reports from its correspondents in twelve States on the relative area of wheat being sown, on the condition of the corn crop at harvest, on condition of horses, with supply and prices, aud the condition of pastures. Wheat Seeding—fa spite of the low prices of wheat the area seeded this fail will be about the same as last in most of the States reported, except, perhaps, Kansas and Nebraska. In all the States there are counties where less wheat will be sown than last year, but these counties are not numerous, They are offset by the counties that will sow more than the usual amount In Western Nebraska and Kansas

the weather and ground are yet too dry to encourage the sower, even if all had seed to sow, which some have not In fact there seems a good prospect that the semlarid regions will experience a dry fall, like the one last year, and in that case it would be little use to sow. Same of the counties in these States will put in very large areas compared with last year. Corn —1 he corn crop at harvest is quite generally good in hardness and dryness, but in quantity is the same as Indicated by former reports. Horses — Horses are in generally good condition as to tlesh and health. The supply of common and poor horses Is very large. In spite of the incessant warnings of the agricultural press, farmers have continued to breed cheap mares to cheap stadlons, and no v have on their hands myriads of horses so poor lit quality that no one wants them, and some cannot be given away. In some localities the prices are the lowest in forty years. Few good driving horses or roadsters are retorted, but a great multitude of very ordinary farm work horses and scrubs. It seems doubtful if there will be a rise in prices under । re-ent conditions, and would indicate that farmers must a<’opt better metho Is in breeding. Pastures—Under the influence of the fall rains the pastures have revived in most of the States. In some ’•places thev i are the best over known. This la proving a great blessing to the farmers with shoA hay and fodder crops. It will give a bountiful supply of food till the frost kills It and will send the cattle into winter in bet- | ter condition than usual. THE FOE OF VICE. -Rev. W. O. Clarke, the iSkrktinrst of the Windy City. As New York looked upon Rev. Dr. Parkhurst two years ago, so the citizens of Chicago are now regarding

w. G. clarke;

were contending with, and at once planned for the suppression of that vice. He organized the Civic Federation consisting of some of tho best people of the Windy City. Then he enlisted the aid of constables and detectives and a concerted move was made upon the gambling houses. The effort to raid these establishments resulted in a number of t ghts, in which club- and revolvers were use 1 and several persons were in lured, but at last the reverend gentleman and his posse succeeded in landing several scores of gamblers behind the bar-. He has since : ecured their indictm nt While gambling has not been entirely smpres-ed. the majority of the houses have been closed and there has been a large decrease in the profits of those which are running. Mr. Clark's next move will be against immoral houses. He is at present the most talked-about man in Chicago and a large number are advocating his elevation to the mayoralty at the next electk n. Telegraphic Clicks. George G htld's match company has been organized. Gu-'-iP'F vX-ed to buv thegity water-

Tl., I. . UuOl - -— * — Mi..vix-GLVta manufacturers are endeavoring to form a tru'd. A SNOWSTORM la-ting eight hou>’° occurred at Hay S; rings, Neb. Several, buildings burned at RollaMo., causing a loss of $ 50,000. J. M. Gregg, a prominent business man of Burlington, lowa, is dead. Mrs. W. H Jones was omd dea 3 at Salem, Ohio. Murder is suspected. | Joseph Kercher was kil'ed at Plv>'adelphia, Pa., by a batted base-balL An unknown steamer and all hands I went down in the English channel. Orders have be u issued to work the Reading collieries to their full capacity. ■ . Government troops will be sent to Indian Territory to rid the country of | bandits. W. J. Barnes is held at Sioux City, i lowa, t > answer to a score of charges i of forgery. Tile Rev. Dr. A. I’. Hauper, for forty ’ yens a mi--ionary in China died at Woo ter, Ohio. J. A. Francis, teller of the City ‘ i Bank at Hartford Conn., is in .ail. His , shortage is OJJ. , The power h use and machine shop ■ of the Canadian canal at Sault Ste. ! - Marie, Canada, burned. Chari.es E. Anderson, a Sw de, • committc 1 suicide at Hot Springs, Ark., . by taking m rphine. S a IETY people of Det oit engaged in a fox hunt, an aniseed tag being I substituted for the o . Three trainmen w re injured and considerable property destroyed by a collision at Lima, Ohio. Government officials have made a vigorous protest to Germany against i the war on American cattle. The American brig T. W. Lucas, Puget St und to San 1 rancisco. was abandoned at tea in a leaking condition. DR. Lent,botanist, and Dr.Kretzschmar, zu. 1 gi-t. and several bl o k fol- i lowers have been s ain in Africa by ( natives. A gun exploded in the hands of Philip Raymond, of West Newton, I Mass., and killed his wife and fl-year-old-son. Joaquin Infante, one of the wealthiest men of New Orleans, died at sea while en route from Sicily to New Orleans. ’Boston and New York capitalists have formed a syndic ate to purchase a line of newspapers Eom the Atlantic to the Pacific. Officials of tho United Mine ■Workers deny the rumors that the coal miners of Illinois contemplate another general strike. Alice Brandon, of Wausau, Ind., took poison at Frankfort, Ind., and died. She left a lett r saying, “The wages of sin is death. ” Charles Reeves committed suicide at Hot Springs. Ark., by shooting. Reeves was from Mexico, and had been in the city two weeks. He left no statement. Congressman Hall, of Minnesota, was very seriously injured by falling from a trestle after a political rally at Hastings. In hurrying for his train he stepped off a trestle and fell head ' foremost twenty test.

’; 'vfr'-W A ' XT ' 1 / ■ HONORE MERCIER.

CHALDEAN SWORD IN MEXICO. A Find Which May Throw Tight on the Peopling of This Continent. There will shortly be presented to the savants of Europe and America a relic of antiquity rescued from the dust of the dim dawn of human life in the western world, which promises to at once throw light on the origin of man on the western hemisphere, and prove the open sesame to further reading of the early races of the earth in the far east In a rockhewn tomb in Southern Mexico there has been found a bronze and hammered sword, bearing on its blade and handle in rich inlaying of silver characters of record aud representations of life distinctively Assyrian and Grecian. The characters on one side of the blade are cuneiform, says a writer in the st Louis Globe Democrat; those on the other cannot be identified; possibly they are Hittite. The lirst. fourth, sixth, eighth, and eleventh letters in the easily recognizable cuneito.m characters of the Chaldean antiquity are exactly alike ■ as graven upon the blade; the tirsts i fourth, sixth, eighth, and eleventh I letters in the mystic inscription on the reverse are also identical. It is । in the possession of Senor Gonzale M. I Moliner, a descendant of one of the i Oldest Illustrious families of Spain, j who is resident in the City of Mexico. He will soon lay it before the Smithsonian Institution in person, and until that tme it will not see the light of research outside of Mexico. The sword and its scabbard of bronze are massive and well preserved. In total length the sword is 264 inches, with a blade of nineteen inches. The roughly hammered iron blade shows the crudity of the early days of the iron age, but the exquisite inlaying of silver on the bronze bears testimony to the cunning of the silversmiths who wrought the weapon. To all appearances, and according to the inscriptions, it was a royal arm, for on its ample hilt it bears in horizontal lines the crowned head of its evident wearer, while below, in cuneiform characters on the blade, are apparently the tit e and name of the sovereign. The ?word and scabbard weigh twelve pounds, of which the swo.d alone represents 1 two-thirds of the total. The store of the discovery of this interesting relic is a romance. Seven I years ago a curiosity dealer in the City of Mexi o purchased it for a few paltry reals from an ignorant Indian from Merida, in the State of Yucatan, in Southern Mexico. The dealer ; supposed it to be nothing more than an old Roman sword, such as were often worn by the Spaniards at the time of the i onquest of Mexico. The Indian sa dhe had icund it in the depths of a tomb which he had pene- ’ trated, and that, with a bronze I spoon, now also in the possess.on of I Senor Moliuer, it was the only thing of interest he had found. The sword and scabbard were incrusted with • half an inch of oxidization from their

1 ev. W. G. Clarke, on« of ti e eloquent young preachers of that city, who has set out on a mission of municipal ref ormation. Clai ke s methods differ somewhat fre m those of the 2 s ew York divine. After a < areful survey of the field, he came to |the conclusion that the gambling evil was the worst one which Chicagoa s

wttsi. and on being cleaned up were offered for sale to touiists along with the cusiomarv more or less valuable stock in trade of an enterprtsih'ycurio dealer, lor one reason or another it remained in stock until recently, when it by chancecaugh: the eye of >enor Moliner. who has made an intelligent study of antiquities, both in Europe and America, and who at once bought it at a curio-sale price. Power of Children. One man was making unkind remarks about his mother-in-law and the other man was taking it all in. After a while he put in his oar, says the Detroit Free Press. "You haven't any children, have you?” he inquired. "No,” was the reply; ‘ what,’# that got to do with it?” "More than you’ll ever know until you have some.” "I fail to see it.” "Yes, an 1 so did I, ar first and I talkedjust as you do. Then, when the youngsters came and began to grow up and to learn who grandma was, and to look to her as their best friend: the one to shield b’nesi when they needed the parental spanking; the one to give them pennies when th ir parents thought they should not have them: the one who came and watched by them when they were sick; the one who was always good to them; the one grandma of all the wo:ld to the innocent, mis,, cliieveous, all-pervading kids, blamed if 1 didn’t forget utterly that she was my mother in-law, and 1 got to calling her ‘grandma,’ just as the little ones did, and thinking about her just as they did, and finally, when the gray-haired old angel went ^o her rest, 1 grieved with the childreii and as sincerely as any of them ” Victoria's rii* Queen ’Victoria has a great horror of fire, and has arranged quite a complete fire brigade among her servants, so that it is at hand whenever she is in residence. They had a very successful "false alarm” lately at Osborne, and every one was “t his post, according to order, as i. aboard a ship. Prince Henry, among his other useful domestic roles, is chief of the little brigade. The Queen has taken the greatest interest in the whole concern, and frequently amuses herself by watching the drill. The firemen are chieily stalward young stablemen, grooms and footmen, but there are also two juxenile 1-rench cooks who burn to distinguish themselves. Ruaies of the true pigeon-blood color are so rare that it is estimated thev are worth ten times their weight in diamonds. It is said that the ride from Cannes to Genoa is the finest railroad journey in the world. Do not sacrifice the fat family beefsteak upon the altar of the beer man.