St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 22, Number 26, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 16 January 1897 — Page 2

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y s * 9 never presence ?” * ver wish to sec her again,” he repue< almost savagely. “She is nothing, lever was anything, to me.” “Tht more false, cruel, ami wicked lyou!” cried. “You give me your ipromise Otat you will not return to EnIgland?” she continued. “Why should I, when Gladys is dead?” Hie moaned. “For my part I promise to keep your •ecrets —the blackest my heart will know; (and I will see that you do not want for anoney. Your punishment I leave to 'heaven.” And without another word, she (turned and left him. For long hours afterward he sat on. stunned and bewildered. Desolate, shuddering, witli the brand of Cain on his ■brow, he sat until the sun had set, and then he wended his weary way back to Culdale. Late that same evening, as Lady Culdale was going to her room, she met Captain Wynyard in the hall, looking so 'haggard and so ill that she cried out in genuine alarm. “Hush. Lady Culdale!" he said in a hoarse whisper. “I want you to grant me ; a favor. Take me to her room and let , me stay with her awhile. I have some- ] thing that I must say to her.” Lady Culdale felt alarmed at his etrange words and his wild looks. “Will it not pain you too much? You ere already very ill.”

“No; I must see her. I have something I must tell her.” “He is going mad!" thought Lady Gul ^ale. “Oh, how I wish that 1 had never asked him here!” Not the faintest sus T s cion crossed her mind that Captain "Wynyard had had any share in the death of the woman whom he professed to ad wire so deeply. “I will go with you," she «aid, gently; and she led the way to th.' room where all that was mortal of Oladys Rane had been placed. “Do not come in with me," he said: “leave me awhile—alone with the dead;" and he closed the door. Lady Culdale, although frivolous, was a kind-hearted woman, and the terrible event that had happened under her roof had sobered and saddened her. She did not like to leave the unhappy man. for «he did not consider him in a fit state of mind to be left alone; so she waited outside the door. Never while she lives will Lady Culdale forget the sounds that came ’from that death-chamber—the passionate ■torrent of words, the heart-broken weeping of a strong man in agony. She en<lured until she could endure no longer; ■then she opened the door and quietly ■went in. He was kneeling, who bowed head, bv the side of his beloved Gladys. What he «aid will never be told; but Lady Culdale. after a short space, took him gently by the hand and led him away. “Hush!" she said to him. That same night, late as it was. Cap tain Wynyard left the house, and they never saw him again. I he usual formalities followed; an inquest was held at which the verdict was “Accidental death;” and then one of the most lovely and brilliant women of her day was laid to rest. Lady Kinloch felt the blow severely, for she had deeply loved the girl. Her indignation had been great on finding Captain Wynyard had been visiting at Culdale with her niece; but she said nothibj ' was useless then, for Captain if- "nyard had disappeared and Gladys ■osbaf 'SaL -,. ’ ! •abojob -i idem 'LUOOj 6ui •

tUVUJ r '■■ looking fairest reached home. She found v - still weak and ill, but intense.uikful to see her once more. She .ung to her. weeping bitterly, and beseeching her never to go from her again. She was so gentle, so patient, so resigned, that Angela's heart ached to think how ' much she had suffered. “A thousand times welcome homo, my : darling!” said Lady Laura. “I do not ; know why you went, and t am satisfied ; that the reason should remain untold. It ' Is all right now about the will Mr. San- ’ gome destroyed it.” ‘‘Thank heaven! But. mamma, you are ’ looking very ill! Have you been ill since I went away? I have not been absent long, but it seems like years;” and she ' sighed as she remembered how much of i horror and distress she had witnessed > during that short time. They were walking together afterward, I Lady Laura leaning upon her daughter's ; arm as they wended their way among the fragrant garden-beds. “Mamma, darling,” said Angela, “I , have much to tell you, if you think yon are strong enough to boar it. What is the dearest wish you have now?” There was a sweet pathetic dignity in Lady Laura's face as she turned to her daughter. “Heaven pardon me, my dear." she replied slowly, “but my greatest desire now is to bo left alone in peace with you. I am weary of the suffering that has been mine of late.” “Your wish is granted, mamma.” she said; “that is the one piece of good news :

J I bring you. For the rest of your life you I are free. Your daily martyrdom is ended, r Captain Wynyard will never return to Rood.” Though it was the very desire of her heart, the gentle woman trembled when she heard the words. will never return, mamma. You . ...... ...

I 1 . * 4AH <I V A 3tl U1 41 — really true?” “Yes, mamma, quite true,” she answered. “Then I thank heaven! For. though I loved him with my whole heart, he never loved me; and he has blighted all that was brightest and best in my life. And now I shall be free. His pretense had grown into torture that was greater than I could bear.” Angela clasped her arms round her mother’s shrinking form. “Yon will be my care now, darling,” she said; “and you shall miss no love. Try to forget him. and let him pass out of your life without regret.” 'I do not regret him,” sighed gentle Lady Laura. “1 shall be happy in the thought that my martyrdom is at an end.” “1 have something more to tell you,” continued Angela, “that will grieve you in spite of all that you have suffered. Poor Gladys Rane is dead!” “Dead!" repeated Lady Laura, greatly shocked. “Gladys Rane! Oh, Angela,] how terrible.” Then Angela told her mother how the | Captain had been visiting at the same I house with Miss Rane; but she did not | betray his secrets, never hinting at the ! true cause of Miss Rane's death. Lady Laura believed, as every one else did, that Gladys had accidentally fallen into the lake. 1 bat was a day of great excitement and agitation to Lady Laura; but in her gentle heart was nothing but regret for het - ' dead rival. CHAPTER XXX. Two months passed before Angela wrote her note and sent it to the address ' given to her by Lord Arhigh. It ran: "1 am staying at Eastbourne with my

1 mother. We are at the Queen's Hotel, ii When you come, ask for Miss R .oden." He arrived without an hour’s delay, his j i“ heart on tire t.> urge his suit. "At last!" he said; "and how I have 1 longed for the day! And. my darling, be- j fore 1 ask you to be my wife, let me re- I : peat that your secret is safe with mo. ‘ My dearest wish is that you should bo Lady Arleigh. I promise yon never to ’ allude to the subject of j - nr visit to Bran- • tome again.” ‘I wish, she said, gently, "our friendship had not begun as it did." “Forget that." he said, laughingly. “You had. I am sure, good reason for all that you did. We will date our friendship from now, and the first proof I ask 1 of you is that you will consent to be my I wife.” “Ask me two months hence." she replied. "That will simplify everything.” "Will your answer content me then’.'” I i he asked. "1 think it will.” Angela replied. And j ho knew his point was gained. It was some surprise to Left! Arleigh 1 to learn that the “young person. Mrs. ! Bowen s guest. whom he had learned I to know and love as Miss Charles, was the renowned beauty and heiress. Angela ; Rooden. The course of true love ran smoothly in their case, and when, in No- I vember, the engagement was announced, I everyone pronounced ft to be a most suit- I able one. Lady I,aura was delighted;; land when the Countess of Arleigh came; back from Italy with Lady Maud a hap pier family was nowhere to be found. j i Lady Arleigh could never understand | ’ why her son would engage an entirely ■ fresh staff of servants at Brantome Hall, j 1 Mrs. Bowen retired with a pension, good I j situations being found for the rest. An- ; gela understood her lover's motive, and i t thanked him in her heart for his kindly! . ] consideration. They agreed that at pres- ■ e । 'a me go to Brantomc.

I - * —• r-'-••I love the Hall, she remarked, “but I I shall always dislike the lake;” and her ; lover considerately had it drained and I filled up. Soft green turf now marks I the spot where Gladys Kane met her! death. Ix>rd Arleigh himself was not sorry to have all trace of the lake removed. for it was to him the reminder ' of a grave. After their marriage Lord and Lady Arleigh spent the greater part, of the year I at Rood Abbey, and with them the gen- । । tie lady whose heart had been well-nigh I i broken s but whose martyrdom had ceased. I I When Lady Arleigh’s little son and : I heir was born they went to Lady Laura ! I and asked her what name he should bear. I She thought: of the true, noble love sho I ! had once known, and answered, j I “Charles.” So upon the fair old Abbey, with its j I smiling park-land, deep peace fell once : more. Lady Laura Wynyard rapidly reI covered health and strength, and, though : sue was never quite happy again, her J life was at least free from the cruel pain : that had blighted her second marriage, i She could never rectify the great mistake of her life, but her martyrdom had ended. Leading a quiet and jw-aceful life, as time rolled on she forgot the handsome Captain and his cruelty, and thought more of Sir Charles and his unvarying affection. The Captain was well provided for. A | liberal income was settled upon him. and he took up his abode at Monaco, where he led a life of reckless extravagance and dissipation. On the fourth anniversary of the death of Gladys Kane the Captain ] met his death by violence, being shot by

n notorious- French count in" a quarrel over a gambling transaction. Lady Laura lived to a good old age, and. though her declining years were made bright and happy by the love and affection of happy grandchildren, who never tired of Rood, time failed to blot from her memory the story of her martyrdom. (The end.) Asserting One’s Rights. “Whenever a man comes to me with a grievance and wants me to take a case for him,” said an eminent lawyer, “I wait a while before I agree to act as his counsel, and let him talk. If he has a great deal to pay about asserting his rights, and that he is bound to teach somebody a lesson, I am very cautious how I proceed. “I learned very many years ago that the people who have the most to say about their rights and wrongs, and who fancy themselves the most deeply injured, are quite likely to be thof ?who are the least regardful of the ri^ts of others. I really think there is aflm of mental obliquity that makes othl.wise sensible persons blind to theia own shortcomings. Surely they can n<Arealize their failings, or see that they are the aggressors, in that they demand very much more than their due, and that the most of their trouble comes from the fact that those with whom they come in contact have endured until endurance is no lunger possy^tend

arc uirb ii i. .^*l ami ? against further encroachment, and the strange part of it all is that thi trespassers will furnish what they’ consider • the very best of reasons for thelj conduct, and are so deeply grieved at criticism that one can scarcely find itpossible to get an adverse word in edgeways.” In discussing this subject of personal rights in a gathering of lawyers, one of the company declared that during his thirty years of practice he had observed that the most persistent and I tenacious sticklers for their rights 1 were persons who had i>een brought up ; by themselves, or were only children, । who had, from injudicious training, j come to believe that their turn must be । served first, and all others must wait ] their pleasure and suit their conj venienee.

This Is a world of give and take. No man, woman or child has a right to anything but justice, and If justice were fully meted out ninny of us might faro lather badly. Ihe best that can be made of life is got when we are willing and able to deal fairly and honorably with all creatures. There is a i proper regard for self that must not be lost sight of in all our doings. Injustice to our own interests is as culpable as injustice to others, and the golden rule never was meant to shield those who do nothing and want every thing. Asserting one’s rights is all very well when there are clearly defined'rights to assert, but when there is an evident disposition to take advantage of the good mituro and kind-heartedness of others it is time to cal] a ] >a ]f Xew . York Ledger. Cotton Seed Oil. The relined cotton seed oil is worth j from 2(1 to 28 cents a gallon, while the ' crude oil is worth only about 20 cents. I am told that the people who use the oil like it fully as well as the olive oil ami that the laborers who are employed in the oil mills grow fat on it. They no longer bring meat with them for their dinners, but put their dry bread under the oil press, where the sweet, warm fresh oil is trickling out, and eat it with a relish. Cotton seed oil costs only about half as much as olive oil. and it is cheaper than lard or bacon. After the oil is pressed out of the seeds the ground refuse, or cotton seed meal, is pressed into cakes, to be used for feeding stock, and the hulls of the seed are of value for manure. To-day the South is getting more out of its cotton crop than ever before. Inventors are now working on machines which will take the cotton stalks and grind them up into fibers to be used in the making of coarse cloth, and the day will soon come when every atom of a cotton plant, from the bark to the seed, will be turned into money. Careless Diction. We have all heard of a piano for^le by a lady going to Europe wi|mg ewood legs, but the following ' 1 Tg. tion to the cure of “gapes” in ehi^ehs is certainly most remarkable: I “Then when the chicken breathes,” says the informant, "I force the Rouble horse-hair down its windpipe ar far as I can, twist it rapidly, and pAll it Trp-slovrly, bringing with it two or - red worms about an Inch in lengtglmd

the thickness of a pin. I begin tolnarket them when they weigh about tSree pounds to the pair. To prepare flhem for the market I hang them up bsthe legs, etc.” Now. why should any one begip to market red worms, even when n\oy weigh three pounds to the pair? «ml, as to hanging them up by the_j^«4! Well, there's no accounting for ta^^ And those worms must be of a peculiar breed! *■ ± f L i Hid Not Take Advice. Not long since a Lancashire laborer, not feeling quite well, was persuaded by his wife to consult a doctor. The doctor, after making a thorough examination of him, said there was nothing serious the matter with his health, but advised him to be more careful with his diet, not to smoke so much as usual, and, above all, to abstain from whisky for a little time. The laborer thanked the doctor and was preparing to leave when the latter called him back and said: “I beg your pardon, but I charge half a crown for my advice.” “Mebbe you do,” replied the laborer, “but I’m no’ takin’ it.” And he went out without paying. Women seem to forget that an evening gown at dinner- won’t make a man forget the draggely old wrapper he sa w at the breakfast table.

HOUSE REPORTERS. MARVELS OF ACCURACY AND OF PROMPTNESS. How Record of Debates in Congress Ib Made—Reporters Able to Take Notes Under Any Circumstances, Often ’Mid Scenes of Greatest Confusion. Not Any Easy Work. Washington correspondence:

WH E N a member of the House o f Representatives rises in his place to deliver a few remarks, which-he intends later to dis- , tribute among an ad- ' miring constituency, an official stenogra- j pher is at hand to take down the words

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of the statesman, which next morningappear duly set forth on the printed pages of the Congressional Record. "When the reporter has taken down about 1,000 words he retires,'' his place being filled by another to continue the work. The first man goes into a room and dictates into a phonograph the “English” of his stenographig jugtes and returns to the Soar ~ • -nsis then transcribes th™ Mil QN ’ympasoq from the phono- i

vised by the stenographer, and goes to the government printer to be printed in the Record. The routine is thus continued among the live reporters. This, in brief, is the system of reporting speeches, the most perfect of any system in use t in any national legislative body in the world. The adoption of an official system of congressional reporting in 1848-9 was due to the one fact, more than any other, that the phonetic shorthand of Isaac Pitnan, Invented in its crudest form in 1837, and rapidly Improved during the years Immediately following, furnished a reporting instrument vastly superior to the prior stenographic systems in. simplicity. In ease of acquisition, and in adaptation to rapid note taking. The introduction of this system into the United States about 1844, in connection with the “spell- ' Ing reform agitation, was the means of educating a new brood of reporters, most of them bright, progressive young men, who were soon able to surpass in short-

: Ct ON the floor of tile house.

aand skill the representatives of the older systems. So it happened that when, through congressional subsidies to leading newspapers of Washington, quasi-oflicial corps of reporters were introduced into the Senate and the House, they were composed almost entirely of Pitmanic writers, who represented in their work a new era in the history of shorthand. Subsidies soon gave place to formal contracts for complete reports, and the Globe, which in the days of Andrew Jackson and later had been a leading political organ, became in 184 S-9, and continued until 1873, under what in those days were deemed liberal contracts, the official repository of the debates. Reporters not strictly officers of Congress, but hired by the publishers of the Globe (their appointments, however, requiring the approval of the Speaker, or of the printing committee of the Senate), were admitted to the floor to take full notes of the proceedings, which were printed at the office of the Globe, in. a building on Pennsylvania avenue, between 3d and 4% streets, which is still standing. In 1873 the publishers of the Globe failed to obtain a renewal of their contract, and the two Houses took under -J SPQ I O' / t . ATT? a "*■ 'T *"*l 2— / I » DICTATING TO THE MACHINE, their sole c&ntrol both the reporting and the printing of the debates. The “Congressional Globe” gave place to the “Congressional Record.” The reporters became in a thorough sense officers of Congress, and their reports, like other government work, were thereafter published at the government printing office, the Record department of which is now one of its largest divisions. Importance of the Work. The official reporters of the House of Representatives are appointees of the Speaker; but their tenure of office is not dependent upon the alternations and fluctuations of partisan majorities. In 1873. when their official status was established, Mr. Blaine, then Speaker, took the lead In placing the official reporting upon a civil service basis. He ,vas able to appreciate the demands of reporting work. His experience as member and Speaker had fenniliarized him with the peculiar diffi-

culty and responsibility of congressional I reporting. He recognized that efficient ' reporting service could not be obtained if the official reporters were liable to dis- j placement for partisan reasons at the end : of every two years. So, in appointing as official reporters of ' the House gentlemen who had been rendering satisfactory service as reporters of the Globe, he declared that tire officers thus appointed should be regarded as removable only for cause. What was thus possibly a mere dictum of Mr. Blaine’s was subsequently made a rule of the House, which, however, would of course, prove nugatory but for the daily exhibition of efficient services which it insures. The difficulty of the work done by ?he official reporters of the Houso is conceded, not only by all who from day to day observe the proceedings, but by the opinion of the reporting profession throughout the country. For instance, the late Andrew J. Graham, whose shorthand system is practiced by so many able reporters, declared in print that there was probably-, no more/ difficult reporting in the world | than that of the House of Representa'fives; and Mr. Benn Pitman, the greatest rival of Mr. Graham as a^shorthand auI lO® ■R ' Hwmil

-"“•Sax r*""™ |i' If j TRANSCRIBING. thor and publisher, has said that “after listening as I did on one or two occasions to the debates, with their interruptions, catch remarks, asides, doubtful cheers and unquestioned jeers, and afterward reading the report, I felt that if there was one feat to be accomplished in this world more difficult than another it was to make an accurate report of the proceedings of the American House of Representatives.” The peculiar difficulty of this work arises from a number of different causes. Ihe rapid utterance of many members is

r I by no means the principal trouble, thougl j a representative body recruited from lead - ' ing men of every State and neighborhooi - | must, of course, contain striking instance: s i of the volubility to which the people 0: - ' each locality are accustomed in the conn i । room and on the platform. The fact that J । the so-called “reporters’ desk” can nevei i j be used by the reporters while taking i notes,'because from no fixed point in the - House can any one hear all the various ’ speakers who may rise in different parts 1 > of the hall, requires that the reporter i shall be ever on the move, or at least ever ready to move, as the tempestuous i waves of debate flow in one direction or i another. M ith notebook in hand (no comfortable • desk facilitating his work) he must pass ’ quickly from one part of the hall to another, writing not only as he stands, but as he walks. Os course the babel of con- . fusion on the floor which strikes everv :’ visitor to the House gallery makes the rei porter's task of hearing at times extreme- ■ ly difficult. And when, as often happens, hot and angry words are flung from memI ber to member, the reporter (cool, if possible, while others are full of excitement) 1 must strain every nerve that he may not lose a syllable of the wordy battle, for at ■ any moment some stern voice asserting itself above the disorder may cry out, Mr Speaker, I call tne gentleman tc prder and demand that his word- h» token hmm MMHB A wnten have been most trying circumstances are to be instandy written out by the official reporter and read in the presence of the House. The variety of subjects discussed, with their local, literary or historical allusions, requires that the reading and intelligence of-the reporter should be as broad as that pof the member. The physical and mental strain which the work entails continues sometimes without let up for many hours; and the product of work performed under conditions so severe is blazoned the next morning in cold print before every eye—subject, if erroneous, to public correction. Yet the corrections generally are few and trivial. Throwing out of consideration the correction of votes, which, being mere transcripts of the clerk's record, the official reporters are not responsible for, and throwing out also corrections of typogaphical errors, there is scarcely one correction a month. It may well be doubted whether any work of similar character, even though done under less trying conditions, can show so small a percentage of reporting errors and so clean a record of habitual and amazing accuracy. In February, 1894. a debate on Hawaiian affairs occurred in the House lasting five and a half hours, during which the stenographers took down 63,000 words, keeping up an average speed of 200 words a minute, probably the greatest piece of reporting ever accomplished. American System Superior. The French Chamber of Deputies is a far less difficult body to report than the House of Representatives of the United States, one special reason being that the

i member addressing the Chamber speaks 1 from the tribune, like a preacher in a pulpit, instead of here, there, anywhere, ] as in the House. But in France it takes : nearly thirty men to do the work done iby five in the American House. Every ■ word in the Chamber of Deputies is taken down by*three sets of men checking each other. This is made necessary on account of the inferiority of the French shorthand, and the lack of individual dexterity, in comparison with the extreme speed and accuracy of the congressional reporters. The English House of Commons is not now, and never has been, reported verbatim. The Hansard report is partly made up from newspaper compilations, "and is not published for several days after the proceedings take place. Some of England's greatest men, among them Gladstone, have several times made' efforts to secure the adoption of a system similar to the American, and a committee of the House of Commons is now again considering the matter. There are a few men in England who are sufficiently skillful shorthand writers, but it would take several years of training to make a corps as invincible and handy as that of either house of the American Congr«''i In Germany the debates " reported, but there,, too, 5 0< note takers cannot mak batim report. They.^ v ;' x J BL for assist 0 ^ I *

d 3 $ o r i n iv $ iv are the only ones in the < a record that is complete,, as prompt the coming of the morning each day, and which, when printed, is practically’ fres from errors. - THE FAMINE IN INDIA. Fully 90,000,030 People Face to Face' with Starvation and Death. Horrible in the extreme is the condition of some fX),000,000 people in India, who are now passing through the stages of a .famine that may prove to be the most appalling in history. Not in all parts of India is there famine nor danger of famine; but in a region 1,000 miles long and 500 miles wide the people are face to face with starvation and death. Ordinarily there are millions of people in India who from the cradle to the grave must be content with one meal a day, and that chiefly of grain; there are other millions who can indulge in the luxury of two daily meals, and there are many more —the very poor—who habitually subsist on wild flowers, plants and other vegetation of spontaneous growth. At best, therefore, a large number of people live on the threshold of want. Should the grain crop fail, those who usually partake of two meals a day are’forced to be content with one, or less, and the number of those who are forced to a diet of flowers and weeds, with inevitable disease as a consequence, increases. Such is the condition this year. The grain crop has failed and famine and pestilence stalk over the land. In the afflicted region the people ar* perishing at the rate of 12,000 a month, and this number may soon be doubled and quadrupled, for as.people grow weaker from lack of food they will perish more rapidly. Children and women may be seen.sweeping up the dust of the roadside and winnowing it in their hands in | search for a grain of corn, and for a few 'Slits parents are even selling their chil* dren t- be killed and eaten. The condition of things is horrible beyond words. | Along the lines of the i ailroads haifclad men and wome.i—mere living skeletons—flock into tiie stations to beg food, or the means of purchase g it, from travelers. HONOR FOR MACEO. The Hero and Martyr’s Name Wept and Cheered For in New York. That Maceo, even though dead, is an inspiration to his countrymen, wherever found, to continue the struggle for the independence of the unhappy island was exemplified in New York the other night when 1,500 Cubans and friends of Cuba assembled to pay honor to the deceased leader’s memory. Fully half of the audience was composed of women, sisters, wives, mothers and sweethearts, many of them, of the soldiers in the southern island fighting for liberty. With all the heat of their hot blood, they wept, they cheered, as speakers told of Maceo's death and of his deeds. But they did more than that.

for Cuba's freedom. : When an opportunity came for contribu- . tions to aid Cuba, the women tore the rings from their fingers, the watches from their pockets, the lockets from their necks, willing sacrifices for the liberty of the native land. T<> crush the spirit of liberty in such a people will require more than one war if ■ Spain should prove triumphant in this. The spirit of liberty thrives the 13651 when the most repressed, and Maceo’s name in the years to come will be one that will ’ never fail to touch the tenderest feelings and the deepest emotions of those for whom he sacrificed his life. In life he was a hero; in death a hero he still will be to his people and more—he will be a martyr. The Brazilian treasury delegate writes to the London Times with reference to the sale at Hamburg of 34.000 bags of Brazilian coffee, which, it was reported, were believed to be a consignment o£ the Brazilian Government to the Rothschild* of London in lieu of bills to pay the interest on the Brazilian debt. The treasury delegate writes that the Rothschilds already had sufficient funds to pay for the coupons on the external debts. ' Charles B. Parrish, one of the oldest I -and wealthiest coal operators in Pennsylvania, died suddenly at Philadelphia,