St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 21, Number 50, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 4 July 1896 — Page 7

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CHAPTER XXX. When Camilla recovered consciousness . she found herself lying on the lower steps of the staircase with Cyril bending over her. As soon as sho opened Iter eyes he sn id: “You feel better now. dear Camilla, do you not:” “Better? What is the matter? Oh, I yes," she added, quick'y pressing her white little hands to her forehead. “1 remember. 1 turned giddy. Did 1 fall?” “No; 1 was just in time. I heard yon laughing strangely and hurried to the spot.” “Thank you." she said, vaguely, "you —you .-ire the very person I wanted to see." “Yes," he replied, evidently surprise 1. It had long seemed to him that Miss j Harding never did want him. "Pray what can I do for you?” She was in such a hurry to go through with what she had res dved upon that she came to the point at once. “1 have to speak to you without 1 >ss of time on very important business." And she laid an imperceptible emphaeis on the last word. “Shall we go into the library?" ho asked. “Oh. dear, no. This will do. Ts any list'tiers come wo Till’ see them." “Well, I am all attention.” “My father before making that dreadful attempt, wrote me a letter, which 1 have only rend to day. I learn from it that y, u had promised to pay all his debts of honor on condition that—that I become your wife.’ There was no embarrassment in her tone or aspect as she said this. The slight hesitation was due solely to disgust; but she c tieealed the feeling, and as Acton merely boo tsi his head in assent, she continued : “?>ly father, I know, will not recover : unless his mind is set at oc ’. The doctors say as much. I have just told him • that you are going at once to settle all his bets." “Indeed 1" “Yes. I will pay the prie".” “Those are hard words.” “Why so? Everything in this world has to be paid for. and dearly too. 1 want to know if you consider the agreement still open? 1 need say nothing of mv sentiments. Yon know quite well 1 cannot love, but I know this is a point you are indifferent upon.” “Oh, how little yon know me. I would. • give worlds for your affection, but ” ! “But you are content to do without it. To our agreement, please.” sho went on, with a strange, low lati^h. “Now. then. #:re you still prepared to pay those sums, thousands, no doubt, for my father, and take me in exchange?" If so. you had better rush up to town this very day and do it. At the same time you are free to publish our engagement. I will marry you as soon as the preliminaries can be decently arranged—say in two months from now.” It took a good deal to startle Cyril Acton: nor did the mere fact of even Camilla Harding coming into his conditions seem to him beyond the limits of possibility. But what did literally take his breath away were the words ami the manner of this girl ho thought lie knew so well, as she suddenly seemed to turn into a new being. He now put on a very melancholy fa -e as he took a Canadian telegram out of his pocket, which he handed to her. saying: “I have had sad news to-day. Reau it." ‘‘Viscountess Hammersley. Montreal, to Hon. Cyril Acton. South Audley street, Loudon. Your father has had a tit and lies in a hopeless condition. I am distracted.” Though these were people whom Camilla had never seen, her gentle heart, never so engrossed in her own sorrows as to be indifferent to the sufferings of any human being or even dumb animals, at once began to pity and feel for them. “Oh,” she said, "what anxiety your poor mother must be in! What will you do?” "Well, what can I do? It can serve no possible end for me to set out for Canada. If it ends fatally. I shall get my mother to come over here.” This might be all very sensible, but it struck Camilla that the young man took the sad news with wonderful coolness, and she reflected that lie had then no sign of grief till he produced the telegram. However, she now so abhorred Acton that it would have positively disgusted her to discover any good trait in

him. Fortunately at this moment I.adv Prendergast appeared upon the scent*. and was informed of Lord Hammersley's sudden illness, which of itself accounted for the heir having to run up to London, since there lawyers and agents are more easily communicated with, and it was impossible to say what a man in Cyril's situation might not have to take upon himself. So after the exchange of a few conventional phrases, he departed then and there, no allusion having been made to his new engagement. No sooner had he left the house, however, than Camilla imparted to her gran'ma the startling intelligence, returning for that purpose to that overjoyous, over-careless, acted manner which

was in reality so unlike her. But the news was such a delightful surprise to the old I lady that she did not stop to observe or ! analyze very closely, and was as happy I over it as Camilla intended her to be. Cyril’s departure, besides the breathing time from the dread oppression of his presence which it afforded, left Camilla at full leisure to welcome the marvelous improvement in her father’s state which her heroic sacrifice had inaugurated. Iler respite from Acton's society was not of long duration. Twice he wrote -during his stay in London, and within the week he was back again—a guest beneath the very roof of Silvermead. There had been no love letters. His first epistle was to Lady Prendergast, and simply announced that Lord Hammersley was no more. The second was indeed to

Camilla, but as it only preceded him by a few hours, it consisted of only a few hasty lines. On his return it was the moment before dinner she had advanced as he entered the drawing room, and boldly, in the presence of the two ciders, offered him her cheek to kiss. After that she told him plainly that as Miss Harding sho ; would not lie caressed, and on the rare j occasions on which be essayed to break ! through this compact, she immediately I took refuge in flight. We know that I Cyril det stod rows, ami that he was one ‘ who could wait. I’UAFTFR XXXI. i The weeks tlew by. and there was no ; conceivable pretext for deferring the marj riage. When it reached Camilla's ears, as it could not fail to do. that Horace Brudenell was to be married on the same day as herself, she was far mor • upset by it than she could have imagined that any information concerning the only man she had ever loved, would have power to disturb her. From that moment her thoughts were perpetually with him. It is very ditlicult to convey tray just idea of the manner in which they wore so. It was bar lly thinking a bro ulit /. a semimeditation. a day dream in which she sought meat 11 shelter from the impending horror of her marriage: ami to a groat extent, it served her end. At length the fatal morning arrived. Lord Hammersley is pale and nervous. ; as Camilla kneels by his side in the little church, and he keeps looking about its much as he dares with uneasy glances, and a seriousness upon his clear cut countenance ill-suited to the festive occa- on. The oflieiating clergyman, a line ami venerable looking man. archdeacon of the diocese, had proceeded with the ceremony in the particularly dignified ami impressive manner which, in the pulpit, had ! made him a name as a preacher. lie was i one of those speakers who lend value to i whatever they say. When he reached that p ui on of the I marriage service, "Cyril, vi’t thou have this woman to bo thy w< id. i wife, so love —” strange, faint, distant noises. just audible for the first few instants, had in them, even then, a something which was ominous. Ten seconds more and they had form ami meaning, and every one turm -i ami consulted hi- neighbor's eyes. It was a galloping of horses, a rumbling of wheels, shouts of tlarm or eimsiermiHon. The clergyman stopped dead in the midst of the service, then rwa.■.-lag him self, endeavored to proceed. But like a hurricane the tumult swept mi—nearer. over nearer, as if the chur- h were its aim and it would strike it to the ground. From the archdeacon to the smallest cottage urchin every face was blenched but one. ami that was the bride’s. What eared she? Ami now an open carriage ami f air ami this one had no bridal favors, yon ; may be sure- has dashed up t.. the churea ’ door, stopping so suddenly that tm- I streaming, foam-flecked and panting horses are thrown violently upon their haunches. Two of its four occupants spring helter-skelter to the ground: the others, men in years, follow as they can. For the past five minutes all have been shouting, as they continue to do. "Stop the marriage! In the queen’s name! In the queen’s name, no marriage stop, stop!" Ami the various groups along the road —for tin' w hole population wort 1 out today—bad caught up, they knew not how. the enthusiasm of the newcomers. and lustily joined in the cry. many of them no doubt recognizing the evident leader of the quartette, who stood erect, clutching the box scat ami urging on the postilions in a frenzy of excitement. This man, the first to enter the church, did not walk but tore up to the very altar steps, the spellbound crowd opening before him as waves cut by some racing prow. "Hold, in the queen’s name, bold!” Camilla turned her head and gazed, on Ilorace Brudenell. "Your pardon, sir: you see there was no lime to lose. A moment more and you will thank me. as must every honest man, for this seemingly brutal interruption.” With wonderful self-possession the bridegroom, who had started to his feet on the carriage stopping, addressed him. Perhaps he was less astounded at this bewildering occurrence than was generally supposed. "And by what right do you invoke our sovereign’s name to cover such an outrage, Mr. Brudenell?”

I "By the right that, every subject has I to stop felony! No less. You are an im--1 postor and a rogue.” “How dare you!” exclaimed the bridegroom. advancing upon the other, as if to smite him; but Horace never blanched. “Lord Hammersley!” began tho archdeacon, who leaned upon the arm of one of the assistant ministers and had not yet spoken. “Whom do you address, sir?" said Hori । nee. “Tills man is not Lord Ilammers- . ! ley. and he knows it.” • I "If I am not,” almost yel!"d the acI ensed man, desperately trying to brazen , it out, "I should very much like to know - who is?” i “Behold’ him!"

And as Horace said this, he pulled forI ward his old friend. Jack Forbes, of I whom no one till n had taken any noI tiee. He stood there, blushing like a girl, and wishing himself a thousand miles away almost as fervently as his cousin did. "But, sir,” faltered the archdeacon, "what proof?” “Oh, I have plenty. First, I am well known to many here present; my name is Horace Brudenell. There stands my uncle. Sir Howard. But 1 bring down my chief witness. Sir Ewing < 'rofton—" here he took the great doctor for a moment by the hand —“and I come armed with the law in the person of this gentleman.” Here he indicated the elderly man in black, who had come with them. Then turning to the clergyman again,

he asked, in a tone which, do what he would to render it respectful, had stdl 1 it a strong piece of menace: “Do you consent, sir, to suspend the ceremony ?” “I have no other course,” The false Lord Hammersley once more spoke—bold to the last. * "Sir.” to the clergyman. “I am here, it appears, frit'ndh'ss and defenseless a position which, as Englishmen, you will ieSpect. I go straight to London, when' ahme I can obtain that justification which I pledge you my honor I can commaml. 'l'he scene you have witnessed is either an unheard-of outrage or a gross mistake. If the farmer, those who have committed it shall atone dearly for their crime; if tin* latter, they shall curse their credulity. Miss Harding, ladies and gentlemen - till wo meet again,” And he strode, with well-acted dignity, sfraight out of the church. CHAPTER XXX H. I la-1 he who came to interrupt those unholy nuptials been a common fe'on, in the Portlar I garb of infamy, Camilla Harding would have felt inclined to clasp him to her heart. According to the evidence before her—as has been so repeatedly shown in this history Horace Brudenell's conduct toward her win wholly indefensible. There is, however, that royal prerogative about the I ruth that, as a rule, it is sure to assert itself sooner or later, and shine through falsehood, as the glorious sun athwart huge banks and packs of cloud. No s ,oner did the bride gaze upon that omc-l ived face than she read h's innoeenee by the light of her heart; and the discomfited bridegroom, followed by his bes; man. had barely reached .e porch, when t'amilla went straight up to her old lover, with her hand out, and said low but earnestly: "Will you come back with us? I must see you ami thank you." ”1 will do all you wish. Miss Harding. I fee] you are entitled to much fuller explanation.” And she, upon this assent, turned to Lady Prendergast, and hurried her away. How Silvermead was reached nobody could afterward have told. ’Pho party !>acked themselves away proniiseuously in each successive vehicle that drove up. the nearest getting in. and all too anxious about fleeing to cure how they went. The crowd was a silent one. exchanging little more than whispers with each other, and gazing in search of further information upon the faces of "the quality," as they drove by. How much of that same diamond-like article the truth Horace had read upon the young girl's face which she had seen iti his. in those brief moments, is uncertain men are less gifted in such clatrvoyami s but he now fairly panto,! and burn d to have an exhaustive explanation with lo r he ha ! once so wildly adored. "Jack," he said, seizing the ether’s arm as they jol’ed along, “yon well Know 1 i came ooix » here for you, and to do an net of common jus! ice; but I no s > mer caught i sigh - of I'.im .>f M:-s Harding, than - j Oh. .1 -k. 1 hel .-vo I love her as wildly ns t'ver." “Oh. He: neo; an«l Lady S:t-a;i. w ho was ' so noble in letting your marriage be put | off for three day-?” "I can’t In-Ip thir. I am t t !<' - ig| you whin 1 shall do, hut what I feel; wei don’t make our own emotions.” | t'amiim made the best of her way to j change he; dress. She felt s- .'ell and | strong. Half nn hour later she joined th< - | others in the dining room. During the rather hurried repr - - every- i lw>dy made an est >n to talk of imi ffercut I matte. <. - > that there was little st ffm-ss .•■.nd ie»s s-leie-'-. \\ hen th ■ lad;- s r-e Horae-' w ent and opened the d- >r. (’amdla saying t > him v - ..■• p issed, bn: so that all might hear her: “Let us go out. I brought d wn n hat.” Aad without a word he followed her. and the youthful pair wen; straight to the little slimmer house where Camilla had hel l that interview with her father. Oh. let us draw a veil over their secret words. D> we not know al! that each of them had to learn? all the minutely told ma- T-.a: -m< of the evil Cyril Ac:.>n? Far tin- first hour, which fled like ten minut-'s. they did little but relate fa. ts. Os -ourse, as soon as 11-eace learned that it was her father whom he had seen on that fatal night long ago, all Iwcame clear to him. Why had not some such suspicion. at least, struck him as possible? But no, fate liad willed it otherwise. Perhaps the most thrilling moment of their confidence, of this joint narrative of their young lives since last they met, was when it transpired that their fiendish enemy had suppressed t'amilla’s I wo letters. It is hard to say which felt the most on this cardinal fact coming to light. Hor-" ace bounded from his seat. “Where is he?" be cried, wildly stretching bis ];a:i Is into space for the invisible foe. •'Slave, hound! Oh. that I could tear him!” "Ami I thought him my friend.” exclaimed Camilla. "Listen. He pretended to give me your very words after yon had r<-ad my letters? Oh, Horace, do yon not wonder that a thunderbolt is not sent down to crush such reptiles in the very act?" Then he made her tell him all she had written to him, almost word for word: and ns it was graven almost indelibly in her heart, she did his bidding with little effort. And then, when all the bard facts had been dug out and turned over and over, what torrents of words did these two pour forth to express and give vent to their long-imprisoned feelings. As they sat hand in hand, her sunny head resting against his black coat in whieh he had journeyed from London, they were indeed the type of two long tempest-tossed ships which, after sailing in haleyon seas side by side, had been parted by the storm, to meet now, torn and shattered, and to find rest and shelter in the same port. With the knowledge of each other’s innocence till the old love returned to their true breasts with tenfold force. Did they forget Lady Susan? Oh. no, they could think of her—pity her with a eleur conscience. She, like’ themselves, must bear whatever pain might fall to her lot from the black, heartless guilt of one and the same villain. In real life—and there it is where fiction least resembles truth- deliberate crime is nearly always I irreparable -its effects eternal.’ Indeed, • we may safely say that were it otherwise crime were scarcely crime—sin, sin. i Wc- have seen pretty exactly the amount of guilt committed by Cyril Acton, and more vaguely the degree of suffering en1 tailed upon our promised spouses thereby. It remains on this subject only to indicate ' in what proportion the trail of the ser- . pent respectively afflicted both them- , selves and Lady Susan hereafter.

Ab the lovers sit together in the pleas’d rays of the October sun, both are exftuuitely happy; Horace’s felicity is trou,.,yy “V do ” b t or misgiving. Camilla's k it to him, he tells himself, her priority mun} upon his honor—is too evident to I ‘'qmro stating. He was engaged to her, • • had never given him his liberty, and ’’io grounds upon which he had taken 'Pon himself to break the tie now turned ■ • to be imaginary. lie was in the posiyon of a man who, believing his wife is oad, becomes betrothed to another woman. He knew, of course, that decency would ’ eniand some considerable delay before io could lead to the altar a girl who had hat moment left it under such very ex- • optional circumstances. Time must be given for the world to partially forget the countless articles, paragraphs, jokes, and ‘‘ven, doubtless, illustrations, which the press, ('specially the “societv” papers, would infallibly issue by the cartload, regarding so racy and unusual an occurrence. But he felt so transported in regaining his idol and finding her all -in soul at least—that of old he dreamed her that just to bask in her presenc<>, hearken to her sw(>et voice and caress her hand abandoned to his own, was all the joy he could bear for a long time to come. ' But tlie next day faithful Jack camo with a message that seemed to strike the last shackles from his spirit. Before she ever knew of the reunion of the lovers. Lady Susan, fancying a slight in the postponed marriage, and somewhat taken up with an old flame reappearing from the Orient, had written him. coldly dispelling all further ideas of a marriage. And in all Iter prayers that night and they were real, honest prayers, said audibly with the lips, and upon her knees — her acts of praise and impromptu petitions er him she loved, none ••am • more st raight from t'amilla’s heart than her fervent net of thanksgiving to the Merciful Dispenser of all things, who had saved her. in so unhoped-for a manner, from being, even at that very moment, Cyril Acion's wife. ( I’he end.) Life with the Circus. “Walking along the sired one day in a town where w - were showing." said a retired ein .is timn. "the ol i man saw in a laundry window a sign reading Collars ami cuffs. 2 cents.' “ 'Do you take any kind collars at - that price?' he asked tin* laundrymau. i " Aos. oh. yes.' sal 1 the laundiyumn; ' 'evt rythlng ao.-s he: .’ "We ha.l a giraffe at the time that we used to dress up for the eviming parade in a sort of a dud? c. . tume with a high collar reaching from its shoulders up to under its head. The old man got one of the giraffe’s collars and bad It sent down to the laundry to he done up. Wl.t>n the iauml "yman opem'd Ct * j bundle and spread i; ■ hi on the count"!" he says: 'Whnl’s this?’ And th" mau ; that had brought It down said that 11 i was oni' of th - mvatfe s eollars. “'By gosh, t! ■ — sa d th la in dryman. just as though giraffes' collar* | used to be a comm, n Io tn in the wash in his laundry, but It" hadn’t Im I very Mnauy eoim* hi lately and they’d kind ■ ft* »‘se;tpcd bls mlmt. e “ 'Five o'clock,’ hi> aid when l lie mat. ! ftsk.- I v > .-•> i would he t. i.;- and at o’<*!oek the man f= uie! t w.tiring for Itmui d<«ue up at a toll about as big as a I stole pipe, " 'How !• i- h ' it" .i>\ I “Two ceii s.’ said th laundrynmn. And l>" swept t’" tW" cents oft the counter Into th- draw r without turnInga hair; he -'..'s go: . jdiimb through "But the old man was no . hnm;.: bvsent the laundrymau a dollar, w ;Jeb was about what tin* work was war'll. 1 and a couple of complimentary ti< ker< l Thai night the la mid iy man came to the I circus. He was Ju>: as . d as ev •’•. I but you could se ■ that Im was plea • d i easy enough, when he saw ilie giraffe i come oni w aring th-- collar that 1: i 1been done up in i.is laundry." New > ork Sun. Only Foriy Cents for (tie Heirs. A striking illustration < f the man- ; nor in which a large estate may be ■ literally eaten up in tie pro.-- ss of pro- j batt' was given rceiitly in the Probate ; Department of the Superior Court of I Los \ngelos County, California, in December. L<i>. F.u irmieion Bm iim died in Los Angeles, leaving an estate valued at s^ojico. wlm h has bet u in the courts on litigation gn-wing (>i t of the settlement ev-T since, dragging along until it was almost forgotten by those who had oitginally instituteiT the proceedings. When the Public Administrator came into court a few days ago to file his accounts and settle the business of the estate it was found that after all claims and cost of administration had been allowed, there was but 40 cents left to divide among the heirs. Dining the time that has elapsed sin. e the death of Bu ina nd ’ll” Imbs had either died or left the country, and, there being no claimant for the remnant of the onipeteiicy. the Judge, after mature deliberation, ordered the full amount turned into county treasury. thereby closing the account. Thore have been numerous cases where large estates have dwindled into insignificance after they had passed through the hands of the a.liniidsirators, but this is believed to be the Jiix_ on record where the entire properly has been consumed in the mere maticr of paying routine legal expenses, whore there has been no particular contest and no charge of dishonesty on the part of those who had the mailer iff charge. Patents for ( inbrellas. Umbrella making is among the most interesting of industries. Something like 1.000 patents have been taken out during the last twenty years. The most recent inventor, who. if successful, will eclipse all rivals, is a maker who claims to have contrived a transparent umbrella which, while being equally waterproof with silks and alpacas, will have the great advantage of allowing the wayfarer in a rainstorm to avoid collision with lamii posts and other obstacles along the way. We never know the worth of water till the well is dry.

hope for farmers. I PROSPERITY IS IN STORE FOR TILLERS OF 1 HE SOIL. W heat to Yiel.l Heavily—Total Larger than the Average for Sixteen Years —West Chiefly Affected-Outlook Particularly Good in Miasidaip;>t Valley Comparison of Crop Values. There is hope for the funnel’s. The year 181)0 promises to bring them rather better returns for ihe’r labor than hist year and better than the year belote. 'l’he wheat crop of the country is sure t. be the largest since 15‘,12, and larger than the average of the last sixteen year-;. This year's wheat crop is unoflieia’ly estimated J>y the Department of Agiieulture at 475,(MM),00<) bushels. This has been exceeded only six times since ISSO. In millions of bushels the crop was as follows for the years named: ISBO 49S 18SD 400 issi as;< ism 39i) ISS2 .’,Ol mtn 611 ISSII MH 1592 513 1884 M 2 ist»n :mmi ISSS ;g>7 I Sill 4<» ISB6 IMIa 46' ISS7 I5l» IS9G 475 18SS Jl.'. The importance of the wheat crop to the farmer is not so much in the total yield as in its market value. According to the present outlook, the value of this years wheat crop will greatly exceed that of the last three years. The Department of Agriculture does not presume to estiimi.e the prices of any commodities in advance of the market, but unofficial information is to the effect that the average value of wheat this year is i kely to be about 57 cents, against 7il cents lust year. 4'J cents In ISD4, 54 cents in 1893 and 62 cents in 1.892. If the estima'c of 57 cents for this year’s crop be borne out by the market quotations during the remainder of the year, the total value of the 18b6 wheat crop will be ?270,000,i‘0<). The value of the wheat irons of recent years, as given by the Department of Agriculture, is IIS fallow s: ISP2 S.'’.22.6od.<>*t 1 miG S23S.’HHI.OOO 1593 2i:b<i<To.oi>O 1836 270,000,000 ISIH 22t1.00 i.ooo These figures seem rather small comI pared to those of ISUI, when the total , Tiilue df the wheal crop was^^-’13,1 *H),060, and when the value of the corn crop rose to the enormous total of SSihi.DOO,O*», the grem st value "ver known for that crop in this country. Though 1896 cannot by u..y possibility be such a “boom" year ns IS'.H was. nor yet quite as good as 1592. it promises to yield much better results for tin' farmers timn '93, *94 and '95. The wheat outlook is par-tieul.-T'y goid in th" WesoTn States, taking them as a whole. In ■hor।ig in u llnrv-st Reports. Rejiar's from th" winter whe tt harvest, now in pn-s. are very eneoiiraging. The uh>.r .vti ige is g v. i by the Department of Agriculture : < follow-: WlM'Ei: STATES. California 3.0H.000 Kiinsis 2.C.54.000 ■ Ohio ..... 2.422.<»00 ! Indiana 2.2.H.000 ■ EHnolj 1.906.000 i Missouri 1.115.00 C I Pennsylvania 1.2.'"i.00C I Mi blgan 1.202.000 GtL.-r s- G.'lis ooc "T' 1 * i' « r*’a ——. *"• * I.*^^ *; ~t j \ : ... .si’KLXG > I \ i HS. Minn- s .tn 3.200,000 X .-: i I'.i,. i 2.53 ( ’.0’*0 s . • । Iri , ■ iAftI.OOO X,.br-i«kii’ 1.22l."O0 V-.c, . S'a' s 2,-108.000 T -'ni s-.rt- ,• at"! 1 i,82.->.ooo 1 •t. . , r . I l.tiiS.iMW Th" net iner- use in the combined acre- ! age is 572, ci''* .o r' -. or the total of 34,- । t419. ,H i0 5 1 sp’i, .tgaiiis; ,11,041 ,IAK) last ; year. The condit! >n of spring wheat indicates a pr. >p"-";v" yield that cl >se!y approxi- ; mates a full <>r n e mu! crop, th" average 'f ir tic' e-i’intr.’ being 99 9 per cent. Ine average forth" year 1895 was 97.8. Aver:i2"s for the pr ” q-al spring wheat I S' it- s are us l.diou I Mimies ta 92 Sent i I’, k-ita I'l | Wi-i-onsiii 1 !<»' North l>ak >ta 1o;t I lowa VC. WaMi.agtun B‘i । Nebr iski !<'s Oregon 95 Tin. p.-r-eirag" es tin- cembined wmi 'er and spring wheat acreage is loi.i, and i the condition of all wheat is 87.6. I As y.- - th" D rtrnmit of Agriculture has no official r« - trns on the corn crop, but unofli ial advices indicate a normal crop, probably equal to last year s large yi"bl 2.lsL ( HiootHi b i-h"’.<. Prices are stiffening up it tit!’, anil th" ouil > -x for a gr- i'"r : 'a! vih: than la-i year ;s count- 1g"- I. i .■ o tthiok for outs, rye and bari'-y i- g""’. a: 1 th" Southern States there is a w.il of conti ience in the future on • ottut of the tine outlook for cotton. STOLE TO GRATIFY THEIR VANITY Two Girls Who Have Brought Disgrace Upon Their I ainilv. ("•orgiinn an 1 Fl'Tinee Brock, aged rexpe lively 2n 'ml I-’, are extremely han l~"’r.e and i :■:: ••■n ’ a?; '"a ri ns daugh- . -of H. • -. Bro. .. tl h< "I of « New York - -mm.-r ial a_. ay. Th -y have been arre-' 1 for aling SlJhmj worth of • I) : ■ v r - aii.iiu.it: mi ■ x- ri.oiti x< F. bbmk. "owns am! laces from the humlsome row of hom-" • in whi- h th ' Brocks live in New York. The roofs of th.- brnrih floors down the whole row are joined, so it was au easy niaibT for two s.sters to enter the windows of any house in th" row. The case is most remarkable on aceou.nt of tb.e prominence of the family, and the fact that it was u-.t necessary for the girls to steal I > replenish their wardrobe. The parents 'ire heartbroken over the affair. The friends of the family say it was only a girlish freak, but the police claim that the girls are skilled thieves,and lied brazenly when confronted with the evidence of their guilt. Gwyn Puckett, eolored, who assaulted 9-year-old Bessie Lee, was taken from Jail at Danville, Ala., by a mob and hanged.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. INTERESTING AND INSTRUCTIVE LESSON. Reflections of an Elevatin g Character —Wholesome Food for ThoughtStudying tile Scriptural Lesson Intelligently aud Profitably. Lesson for July 5. Gohlen Text.—“ The Lord reigueth; let the earth rejoice."- -Ps. 97: 1. This lesson is found in 2 Sam. 2: 1-11. We return to the Old Testament after six months in the New, Ink.tig up tho career of David at a point slightly beyond that where we left it last De.-ember. The last lesson win mi the friendship of D tvid and Jonathan, as displayed in tl.e covenant they made in parting. <1 Sam. 20: 32-42.) The one-sided conflict between Saul and David dragged wearily on for many months, during whieh time Samuel died il Sam. 25: 11. Finally David, despairing of any p<>aeeful end to the persecution. went into the land of the Philistines with his family and retainers, and became a subject of Aeliish, kinu of Gath. Like a knight under the mediaeval feudal system, he received a grant of land in return for military service in the army of Achish. Ziklag, .a town in the px’ri'ine south, perhaps in the vicinity of Beersheba (exact site not known) became tlw» re- idence of I>a vid. .and he remained there n year and four months (1 Sum. 27: 6,7). By waging a tierce w:irfar<‘ against the desert tribes on the southern borders of Judah, he gaine I the eonli leiieo of Achish, who was naturally le i to think that David had given up all hope of returning to hi.s people. tSam. 27: s 12>. Therefore when the Philistines laid their pkir> for a campaign against Israel. Achish as a matter of course eonnt" ! on I>a vj 1 ami his men as a part of the contingent from Gath. David acquiesced for the in iment, as the safest policy ho eon! I adopt; intending no doubt to find means of escaping from his difficult position before tin' iir<t battle. (1 Sam. 28: 1.2). The Philistine army niarehed north through tho maritime plain and entered the great plain of Lsdraelmi. which extends in a southeasterly direction from Mount Carmel to the Jordan Valley, forming a natural division between Samaria ami Galilee, and also one of the battlefields of the wor d. When tho two armies lay almost in sight of one another, eompiaim was made by some of the allied kings of the Philistines nt the presence of David, who they feared would turn against them in battle. On account of these object ms, Achish allowed David and his men to return to Ziklag il Sim. 29: 1 111. He fitehei there just in time to tin I the city laid waste and its inhabitants taken captive by a roving band of Am-dekit'-s from the desert. Starting in hot pursc.it, he overtook them and executed summary veng- imc, returning to Ziklag with al! the captives and st den property, as well as with heavy spoils il Sam. 3(>: l-25i. From the latter he sent gifts to the various cities of 'Judah a stroke of policy to -mo .th the way for his return to his own people 1 1 Sam. 30: 26-311. Meanwhile, th" Philistines and Saul's army had met in deadly contlict on th.- slopes of Mount <1 "o i o\.-rlo .k gr h . Plain of E-drao’on iic! th" \ ilf-v ,>f .Jczrecl. 'l'he dire pro- ;■’> - - o' th" clairi i.y.ant whom Saul had it 11 •• I .t Eli-dor were fnltiljcd; Sani's tliree ( filer sons wm* slain. Hie army ; anquishtni. and g h. .. ell', when lil'.-i'g'i: to bay by hi- pur-Mi--rs. . ommitted suicide. His body, treated wi ll contempt by the Philistimwas rescued, a:, I the bones decently buried by warriors from Jabesh-Gile.i I. the capit;H of Gilead, the region extending east ■ t Jordan from the Dead S' a north nearly o the -ea of Galilee (1 Sam. 31: 1-13). I fie news of th" disaster was brought to David at Ziklag by a messenger who pre' ? fi-d to have -1 ain Sani, thinking thereby to gain favor; but his false story was reward' d by death (2 Sam. 1: 1-16). David niotirm d Saul and Jonathan in n IwantilTl "logy <2 S im. 1: 19-27). This brings us down to the les.-<>n. Teaching Hints. L I:' ymt will decide a: t'i-- lutsof to ir-H 'hm h:sti.; . as the life of a man, rar-n r than oi'a being im apable of human i::firmit;i s. you will be saved much diSi- ■ lity. Not merely Hie one sin with Baths'lid'a. but many :-v "i;s i ;1 David's life i-aii'iot be honestly defended. When an act is related of him whieh in any other iiia:;. even of that age. would be called . cel. teachers do Hie;-- pupils a wr.mg if they attempt I > invent f>r the occasion special moral cole, t'ommon sense is the best guide in lhi< matter. There is i.mhing in the present lesson which calls for "xplamiticii in this respect. 2. < »n the other hand, give David credit .or his lovable qualities and his virtues, as tin'S ' of a man who had to contend with a sinful character. Mako the most of his ■iff : m for Saul an 1 Jonathan. N > pupil is tireparcd to iimtcrsi and David as king who 'locs not remember the years of forb, ,-iranee .and the matchless lament over lire jqi’p.rj Saul. .1. "L .ry man’s life a plan of God.” Ever since the red-cheeked boy was called in from the pastures to receive the beneiietjon and anointing of th" aged Samuel, David had been waiting. He had waited pa'ienily. knowing that some great thing was in store for him. He had not attempted t'o hurry things up unduly, yet he mid used tb.e oi’porluniiies that occurred to prepare f r his future. He had been true t<> his friend Jonathan, and unfailing in honor to his persecutor. Saul. Now a new and larger work opens before him. and with divine approval 1 d enters upon it. 4. A "deel ii :it ion of indepe:i lenee”— .liidah's Fourth of July. They lea ve Abner and tin' ho:me of Saul to light the Philistines by themselves, and rally ironnd the reiur-ied cxilm Judah had always morn tribal spirit than the other tri!” s. Notice the tenacity with whieh i: l.i'M tog- ther thro.:g!i the ages that follow. L( >■ .m for July 12 "David King Over All 1.-r;'e!."-2 Sam. 5: 1-12. A Friend of Hiirnanitv. Jim—That man Dinwiddie is a friend of "hui ‘ anity. Joe—How so*? Jim He has invented a pm ki't flask that looks like a whisk broom and a cork scr<’w that resembles a nail brush. —Cleveland Plain Dealer. Me go to the grave of ;. friend, saying "A man is dead;" but angels throng about him, saying "A man is bort},”-. Beecher.