Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 19 July 1877 — Page 4

WfMj §aze^te-

THURSDAY, JULY 19, 1877.

GOVERNOR Hartanft and a party of friends left Harrisburg Pa. yesterday for a visit of a month or more to California. It will be a fine opportunity for them to compare the politics ot the Golden with that of the Keystone state.

DAVID DAVIS, the ex-Judge whose frenzy lor political office cost the country its president elect, is spending his summer at Middle Bars Island, Lake Erie. If he should tumble in the Lake the whole Democratic party would tell him to "sink or swim, survive or perish" on his own hook, entirely.

THE Charters Oak Insurance Co. of Hartford Conn, is in trouble. It is not improbable that a receiver will be appointed. A hearing of the case will be had next week. The company hopes that an entirely new set of directers may be able resuscitate to it but the policy holders prefer a receiver and will probably get

one.

THK Vincennes Sun this week celebrates its seventy third birth day. This is longer that the allotted life time of man. It was the first pa^er published in Indiana, in fact waa published for twelve years before the state of Indiana was organized and admitted into the Union. But one other paper was published at the time in the whole North-western Territory, it being located at Cincinnati. The Sun ehines brightly now.

A COUPLE of brothers named Denn who have been cultivating a farm nears Danville 111., got into a quarrel on Saturday and one shot the other, hitting him in the head, and seriously though not fatally wounding him. There names were respectively Jesse and Newton, Jessie be ing the Cain and Newton the Abel. The Sheriff rcpresentating the majesity of the law appeared in the cool of the evening but unlike the Bible narrative of somewhat similar event, found the Abel, nursing his 6ore head, but could not find the Cain who had "broken lor tall timber." Here endeth the first lesson.

PLYMOUTH Indiana is the seat just at present of a mystery which is, in the highest degree, sensational. Within two months three attempts have been made to kill a Mrs. Chaney, and each one ofthem has failed of success by the merest accident. Once she was struck at with club, a second time a gun was fired at her but failed to do execution and the third time she was fired at with a pistol, the ball barely grazing her. She is spoken of as a mild and innoffeniive widow woman, against whom no one is known to entertain any grudge, and the incentive for these murderous attempts is therefore very mysterious. Enough is known however, to make it certain that the attempt has been made by a man. But who he is and what his reason for this settl.ed and dead ly hate can not be ascertained, and the lady in question is as much in the dark as any of her neighbors. Plymouth profoundly agitated over the question and proposes to unravel the plot, if possible.

THE COLORADO ABROAD.

BEETLE

Germany seems disposed to do the handsome thing by the Colorado Beetle Dspatches this morr.ing indicate that the authorities are prepared to welcome, this Western visitor with open arms to hospitable graves. Hiram-Babcocks pal Grant has not been received with one half the enthusiasm. Life seized photo graphs of healthy specimens of the beetle have been taken and 6hiped all over the empire, to the end, that in what— 6oever place they may be pleased to present themselves, they may be recognized and properly entertained. Vessels will be searched upon their arrival from America and every effort made to find whether or not any ot the members of this large and interesting family of emigrants are on board and, upon their discovery, every possible attention will be showered upon them. The welcome of the beetle will be warm indeed, we may say red hot.

AND so the Balkans have been cross­

ed. Between the Russian frontier and

Constantinople, two almost impregnable

barriers were interposed by nature, The

first ot these—the Danube river—wa

passed with scarcely any trouble, the

eeble resistance offered by the Turks

being altogether inadequate to the

portance of there interests at stake. A

rugged mountain chain, with few and narrow passes, affords ar excellent opportunity for an army

of defense to prevent the passage of ten

imes their number. And now this seems to have been passed without a strug­

gle worthy of the name, and with a cow­

ardice bordering on pusillanimity. On uality has hitherto been accorded the Turks, and their supposed bravery has been assort of cloak covering a multitude of sins. With that quality taken from them they are a dirty set of dogs unworthy of any respect. The Russians ought take Constantinople, and they ought to eep it.

THE ST. LOUIS BANKS.

The failure of the banks in St. Louis is a surprise to the country at large. Heretofore they have been regarded as sound and solid. Some of them, however, it seems, have been investing their money in enterprises that did not pay. But one result can follow such financiering. It is impossible to put money in an entei prise which keeps demanding ten per cent, assessments and expects ten per cent. dividends. The statement is an axiom. And these tailures have nothing at all to do with what the Government is doing with its bonds. It is pleasant for a fellow who has blundered in his business to howl about the ruinous policy of the Government, but his howling may be false for all that.

One of those banks bought great piles of the St. Louis bridge bonds at a high price, and they shriveled to worthlessness on their hands. In that way it lost money and the Government had nothing to do with it. The history of the failure of others i6 a similar recital of unprofitable investments.

THE OLD SETTLERS.

It is about time Terre Haute was beginning to make arrangements for the Old Settlers meeting which must be held in this city this fall. It ought not to be held later than the early part of September. The meeting we held two years ago, though the first, was a grand one. Now that the machinery is in good working order we can do much better this time. It should not be confined to our immediate vicinity.

Our

him on this subject.

Somebody has been interesting him-

self in tracking "Pig-iron" Kellev's tortuous track on the silver question. Kelley has been ardently advocating the remonetization of the silver dollar. In this he is right, but it was not possible for Kelley right to walk in the path of rectitude witnout running across the crooked track of Kelley wrong. This interesting specimen of the Pennsylvania politician was a i.ember of the committee on coinage in the Congress which reported the bill advocating the demonetization of sil­

ver,

the adoption of which report disarranged our financial system and made al^ this trouble. He now advocates its remonetization, and attempts to overcome his objectionable record as a member the Congressional committee which caused its demonetization by saying that he, was duped by the other members of the committee and deceived as to the purport and meaning of the bill propose. It now appears that Wm. D. Kelly adds the grace of lying to his other numerous charms which have long stamped him as one of the most stupenduous frauds which rotten age has developed. A search of the Congressional Recood shows that he persistently advocated the passage of ^e bill as it was reported. He stated repeatedly that the members of the committee had taken great care in the prep aration of the report. Each and every paragraph had been read over and been sepiarately and carefully considered. Every single sentence in it contained sound doctrine and was worthy the approval of Con­

gress. This record now rises up to confront this brazen advocate of "the dollar of the daddies." In a certain sense, we are sorry, for it so happens that he is now on the right side, and it is a pity that he cannot enjoy this, to him unaccustomed treat, without having to crawl through the mire of his own falsehoods.

WHAT

A

neighbors

up and down the Wabash on both sides, in Indiana and Illinois, should be invited to join with us in lecalling the incidents of the 'early days before county and state lines creat.d artificial boundaries. For forty miles around Terre Haute, in all directions, we are one people our ancestors struggled against the 6ome adverse,] circumstances they all knew and aided one another they all floated in flat boats down the same Wabash river they got their salt from the 6ame spring and entered their land at the 6ame land-office, Let us gather the veterans together, before it is too late. Each year thyanks of the men and women who settled here and laid deep and strong the foundations of our present prosperity are being thinned. It will be a pleasure to the old settlers themselves, and should be a pride to the younger generation, which is worthy or worthless in exactlv proportion it venerates age and grey hairs.

the

honors

The GAZETTE calls upon General Steele to state what the present condition of the Old Settler's Society of the Wabash is. and asks for his opinion &8 to the time for the next meeting. The GAZETTE will take pleasure in publishing and the people will be glad to hear from

PIG-IRON KELLEY

DREAMS OF THE FUTURE.

Professor Seelye's Sermon Yesterday, July 8th, in a Fifth Avenue Church.

Man's Expectations ot floral and Fhj sical Progress and Medemotion.

From the New York "World. At the Collegiate Reformed Protestant Church at the corner of Fifth avenue and Forty eight street, yesterday morning, the Rev. Dr. Julius H. Seelye, President of Amherst College, preched to a large congregation, taking for his text, "For the earnest expectat on of the cieature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God," Romans viii.,

Nature

text,

beyond these tervices and utilities, we find that man's growth in the knowledge of what is beautiful is sure to be

appear and her

rough

a pity it is our oil wells were

sunk before the rag baby doct ors got up their trampatetic philosophy. Up til now it was supposed these wells were not bonanzas because no oil was struck. Now this failure would be attributed to the fact that the Government, tired of balloon financiering, was trying to &et down to the solid rock of specie payments. What an admirable thing it is to have a governmental scrape goat to send out into the wilderness freighted down with all our follies.

places smooth. The wild places believe" of nature with which the savage is satisfied give place to the smiling beauty with which the civilized man surrounds himself. What a difference between our cultivated flowers and fruits and the natural stock out of which the skill of man has worked them between the gardens and fields amid which the civilized man has his home and the tangled forests and thick jungles through which the wild man withont a home roams with the wild beasts. Put the savage in the desert or the wilderness, and it remains the desert or the wilderness still but in the presence of the cultivated mar. surrounding nature bccomes, as it were, recreated, and the waste of desolation changes into

lis!

'£&-

THE TKRRE BAIJTE WEEKLY GAZETTE.

19.

He

said: The word 'creature' here must mean the same as it does in the verse which immediately follows, 'for the creature was made subject to vanity,' 'Because the creattre itself also shall be delivered from

the

bondage of corruption,' 'For we

know that the whole creation,' that is, every creature, 'groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now.' In all these verses, I take it, the word means juswbat we mean when we speak of creat tion or nature, or as though the verse said,'For the earnest expectation of created things waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God.' The expectation is literally the eager watching tor the coming of some needed good. The Apostle means in these words that all creation, or this natural world, embracing things animate as yell as inanimate, is so vitally related to God's spiritual kingdom, is so intimately connected with the redemption of the human race that it waits for the full acuomplishment of this redemption as though it stood expectant thus ot its own renovation and glorification. Because trie creature itself also —that is the very creature whose earnest expectation waiteth for the manifesta tion of the sons of God—'shall be deliver ed from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. Such would" seem to the Apostle's thought stated in words, but what words can compass its mighty meaning? What power of ours can reach its wondorons depth or height? No wonder that biblical students and critics are agreed that this passage, text and contest, is the most difficult passage in the Bible adequately to explain. And yet the thought thus mysteriously shadowed fourth ought not to be entirely strange to us, for we find glimpses o'f it all through the Bible. The Bible continually associates creation and redemption together. It is the same God who creates who also redeems. It is the same person of one godhead, one eternal word by whom all things were made, who became flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten son of the Father, full of grace and truth. The meaning of creation is only seen clearly in redemption, for we are expressly told that )d hath created all things by Jesus Christ to this intent. Again and again we are told of the glorious transformations wrought in natun through man's redemption. The very ground which has been cursed becau-e ot his gains an untold blessing through his recovery. When the Son ot God appeared in human form to fill his eternal purpose of redemption he associates con tinualiy his power over nature with his redemption work. He showed himself to be the Lord of things created, and thus it is expressly said: 'He manifested forth his glory, and his disciples believed in him.'

words

flect

appears as his servant

who hears his voice and does his will. He turns water into wine. He speaks to the winds and waves and they obey him. Through all his ministry nature is seen to move responsive to his will, as the pulse beats with the throbbing of the heart and wh«n he hangs upon the cross and those words are heard, 'It is finished'—words so awful and so sublime—the darkned sun and quaking earth bore witness to the sympathy which creation feels in man's redemption. The Bible begins with creation." 'In the beginning God created heaven and earth but in the redemption tion with which the Bible ends the whole creation is represented in an inscription of worship to the one Creator, who is also Redeamer.' Now all these must be more than mere figures of speech they must contain an exact truth which, though its vast meaning may stretch beyond our powers to grasp it, and its outlines dwarf to insignificance all our statements of them, is yet most woithy our meditation and should furnish food for our increasing reverence. "There are some things with which we are quite familiar, which might help us toward the meaning of this truth. We find when we look at nature, even as it now surrounds us, that it becomes elevated and glorified by the increasing per fection of man. Man's growth toward intellectual perfection is not only a growth in the knowledge of nature, but also in the power to make manifest nature's secret adaptation to human wants. How much not only of nature's truth has human science disclosed, but how much also of nature's usefulness has been brought out and made available by tjie advancing culture of man? The great forces of nature which we now so easily use, and whose prodigious working enter so largely into the thoughts and the experience of the civilized world, have been in nature from the beginning, but for what ages did they wait for a recognition? And have not these forces in reality become transfigured and glorified as they have become tributary to man, and thus immediately associated with the development of the human life? In a higher sense and approaching nearer, though still far below the thought of the

1

forms of life and order, as the rough and shapeless marble shines in a shape^ of superhuman beauty beneath the skilful sculptor's hand?.

We do receive but what we give, And in our life alone doth nature live Ours is her wedding garment, Ours her sheet. "In our language we all the while make use of natural symbols for the expression of our thoughts, as though all natural things were themselves word6 containing thoughts, nd in which, therefore, our thoughts could be represented. Why is it that we make use of light as a symbol of intelligence, and talk about the light of thought as easily as we do abcut the light ot vision, unless there te some deep correspondence of these two? Why do we ever speak of the night ot ignorance, the storms ot passion, the waves of sorrow and the warmth of love, unless it be that we employ these symbols from nature fo express our ideas, because there are ideas in nature which conform to ours? And if all science consists in the finding of these ideas, and putting into

that truth bv which alone nature can be interpreted and our thoughts respecting it expressed, does not nature become illumined by this interpretation in exactly the degree in which the human soul has been instructed by it? In other words, nature may be said to sympathize with all the discoveries and progress of human science, as though she stood again waiting in earnest expectation of these waiting as the movements «f the planets waited for Kepler, or gravitation waited for Newton nature waiting patiently, but yet as eagerly,} expectant of the discoveries of science, because through these she is not only revealed as clothed with beauty, but as penetrated with truth, and as thus no longer meaningless but full of the wisdom which has made us wise no longer dead and mute, but with a life and voice moving and speaking ip unison with our own. So nature, which art has transfigured, science vivifies. Is it the same nature after these discoveries that it was before? Is the book in an unknown tongue the same book alter you have become able to read it that it was before? Do the same stars which lighted the lamps ot Chaldean science and kindled the altars ot Persian devotion still shine in our nightly .kies? What different stars they are in the presence of truth which modern science has disclosed. But all this, interesting as it, is very far from reaching the grandeur of the apostles thought in the text. "The apostle sets before us here a glorification of nature transcending all ihat art or science can achieve. Civilization, art and science are themselves dark unless lighted by a light other than their own, and I cannot understand the apostle's thought except as pointine to a real participation ot nature in the new glory which*iwaiis her, for in what other sense can we take the statement that the creature itself shall also be delivered from the bondage ot corruption into the glorious liberty of the glory of the children of God.' This glory ot the children of Goi is the glory of being children of God, the glory the Father being reproduced the children and becoming thus their glory. Not simply as the dewdrop reflects the sun shall the child ot God re­

TELLING BAD NEWS.

The Gold Hill News contains the fol lowing: A miner whom we will call^ Hughes fell down a winze in one of theComstock mines several years ago and was killed His companions gathered up his remains and, putting them in an express wagon, started tor his home. Another miner, a fine, goodhearted fellow wa» sent on ahead to bear the sad news to the bereaved family. All the way along he was discussing with himself as to how he should tell the terrible story so as not to crush the unfortunate household but he' reached the house before having settled definitely uron his plan. Meeting Mrs. Hughes "at the door he accosted her in the usual manner of an acquaintance and then said: "Where's George to-day, Mrs.. Hughes?" "He's at work in the mine, as usual thank you, sir," replied the woman. "How is he teeling to day?" was the next question. The news-bearer was

followed"by the making of nature more I drift or a delayed blast, whose heart was i*A" s+a I Ka A\A nnf tr»AW hfiW trt beautitul. Nature again lifting her face so tender that he did not know how to towards man as though expectant througn tell a woman of her husband's death, his power that her deformities should dis- With some show of surprise Mrs.

darkness should be made Hughes answered the last question

light her crooked places straight and her -'About as well as

Jfv ,-. 1^2*1- ''V

He was a brave

becoming desperate. He was a man who would have not feared a caving

the last

he generally does I

The man was desperate, and not knowing what to say, he blurted out: "I'll bet you ten dollars he's dead, and here comes the body in a wagon.

He swallowed a big lump in his throat and wiped a piece of porphyry out of his left eye with his shirt sleeve. Afterward, in talking over the matter with his comrades he said it was the greatest trial he had ever experienced, and that hereafter when a man was killed they might call on somebody else to tell the news.

HFI'KE was a very pleasant party at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Geo. Haberly ve&terdav afternoon.

ai?

AND HOW IT WAS TOLD AT LAST.

A June night such a June night warm, blue, and breathless, and moonlit.

I am sitting all alone in the dear old London garden, and the canal which runs by the end of it, silvered by moonlight and occasionally darkened by the shadow of a passing barge, looks quite soft and Italian.

Papa has had a few gentlemen to dinner, and still they are satisfied with wine and politics I prefer the garden to the drawing-room—the garden full of moonlight and the searching scent of the thorn, I am not long, however, to enjoy my solitude, for here is a step close by me, and the glimmer of a cigar. "Ah! Miss Paisely savs a low, musical voice, with which I ani very fanylar. '•Did you take me for a ghost I say, lau jhing

Hardlv, 1 never yet heard of a ghost wearing flowers. I left the dining room before the others because I wished to have a few minutes' serious talk with you "Oh, don't be serious," I cry, piteously, and making awry face •'Oh. jut by jesting," he rejoins, in rather a weary tone of voice "after this I shall make no further exactions upon your time or mood."

My vani'y is wounded, and 1 say sharply, "I can be as grave as most people when the occasion requires it but there are persons who mistake moroseness for gravity and good spirits for heartlessness." "Very likely," heroes on, hardly heed ing my sally "but I have not come to defend my conduct, but rather to plead for another. I am going—I am going to speak about my young friend Hamilton Look here Rhoda Paisely, you may flirt with ninety-nine men, and though it may hurt your vanity to hear it, do them no lasting harm but with the hundredth it may be different you may at last drive him to madness or perdition Hamilton is one of the finest young fellows that ever lived." "An excellent joung man, doubtless," I put in, with something of a sneer.

Not noticing the interruption:

the of

the glory of his Father. Not dead, nor cold, nor passive, nor unconscious, is the child of God whose soul is luminous with the light ot his Father's^ face, because quickened by the life of his athei's love. In the present state the bondage of corruption is ever upon the creature. The creature dies. All things dissolve and decav. Animals and plants not only, but inorganic nature as well. Nevertheless, according to his promise we look for new heavens and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness. And I saw a new heaven and a new heart for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away and there was no more sea. In this new creation, delivered from the bondage ot corruption, the sea, which is the symbol of ceaseless change, is no more. And a6the glorified body becomes joined to the glorified soul never more to be severed, in this there is the full manifestation of the sons of God, for which the creature waits with the dim unconscious instinct thpt in and through thi6 manifestation it also shall be delivered from the bondage of its corruption from its law of death and decay, into the 'liberty of the glory of the children of God.' Nature herself, says the goldenmouthed Chrysosuun, like some foster nurse 'shall share in the glory of the royal child she has reared, who, entering upon his kingdom and taking possession of his throne, shall be mindful of her in whose lap he has been nurtured into hiyti estate.'"

I hasten to the drawing-room, and soon the gentlemen come in. William Hamilton comes over to where I am sitting. He is certainly handsome, though not in a way attractive to us women tall and slight, with an aristocratic, mobile, though somewhat feminine face, lit up by large, soft, melancholy eyes his hands beautifully fashioned, are thin, almost to taansparency. He leans with his al~m on the back of my chair, and begins talking about some book he has {riven me To all his questions I reply with warmth and animation. Colonel Gordon is observing us his face always brightens when he hears me talking less frivolously than is my wont. I can not help con trasting the two friends: the younger— and so much the younger, too—so fair and fragile the elder, certainly not at all handsome, but strong of limb and broad of chest, with the dark resolute face worn and beaten by the storm-wind of the world. I think I mak« myself very agreeable to poor Mr Hamilton. We sit by ourselves all the evening apart in a corner of the room, apparently lost in one another, until something he says puts me out of tune, and I leave him in a tiff, poor fellow. Only when he is going away, I am so sorry for him that I can not resist saying, 1 hope you don't think me too quarrelsome?" Then I look up piteously in his face and cast another look of proud defiance at his friend Soon our little party breaks up, and I am glad that the evening is at an end.

Another superb day, just as hot and cloudless as yesterday but in spite of the beautitul weather, and all the roses in the garden, I get up cross and out of spirits. Am I merely a fliit? Something altogether to light and frivolous? A woman, I think, should be something better. After all, Colonel Gordon was right, and when I see Mr. Hamilton again I will show hiui firmly but kindly that he has no reason to hope. I am something comforted by this resolution, but I have no will to read books or pay visits. I have no mother, and I am an only child, so rny life is rather solitary. Somehow the day wears itself away, and at

5

o'clock, punctual as the time toself, co^es the quick, familiar ring, and 1 hasten to meet my dear old father after fhis official duties. I overcome him by kisses and compla:nts. '"'Oh, I am so glad you have come back," I say "I have been horribly .dull and hasn't it been hot?—no cool corner in the houte, and no shade in the garden." He returns my kisses very affectionately, but he looks so grave that I say, anxiously, "Is anything the ma'.ter. dear?" "Yes I have very sudden and bad news," he answers, taking me into the dining-room and stroking my hair with his dear kind hands. '-Young Hamilton is dead was found dead this morning

I

1

.1*"

said or done so much better, left undone. 1 Well, the tedious summer days go by. I We never see Colonel Gordon now, he seems to have given us up^evei* papa ceases to wonder at his silence. The hot August day we leave noisy, dusty London behind and take wing ibr the continent. We have got over the first shock 01 poor Mr. Hamilton's death, but I am not quite what I was, and I think if C®1onel Goruon cou'd see me now he would think me less frivolous. I have a half hope that we imy meet him i» our wanderings. I look anxiotisly into all the hotels, into the books of visitors, where his name is not registered, and atler two months of mountain and sea air we come back to old London, the old house, and the old life. We have been home a week. To-day papa has got to his office occupations again, and to-day I feel terribly sad and cheerless—a sadness which all things round me tend to deepen the rustle of dead leavps of the garden paths, the moanings of the wind in the leafless branches, the cold, gray aspect of tne sky. Is there nothing I 6hould like to do? I think, as I wunder listlessly between the garden and the house. Ah! yes, there is one things I have always intended to do, and why not to day? I gather a nosegay of late autumn flowers out ol our own garden, knowing that, if living, that would have pleased him most, and I set out on my sad pilgrimage. They have laid my lover to rest at Norwood, in the dim vaults way under the church. As I walked up between the long rows of tombs a chill rain begins falling, beating in my face but I do not feel frightened or lonely in this capital of the dead, nor do I shrink as, lit by a faintly glimmering taper. I follow down the winding staircase into the sad, populous region below, though I shiver at thj dank air, in which death seems to become almost palpable.

My guide looking carefully at the names, tap er in hand,

8

1873.

MH^is

I

know, not generally attractive to the women. From a boy he has been physical ly very delicate his nature is high-strung and nervous. Now you know he loves you." "Indeed, you flatter me," 1 say, looking down to hide a blush, which I fancy (though I know really it is not visible in the darkness) cannot escape his gray, penetrating eyes. "But," he says quietly, "you cannot evade me you know he does. Now what I will have from you is this: How will you answer when he puts to you the supreme question of his life? Silent But I demand an answer." "And I command you to desist from your present impertinence and to leave me," I cry, springing up in a passion and flinging far from me the rose with which I had been toying "and if you are delegate from y»ur friend he has indeed been unfortunate." "No, upon my honor, I am not that,' he rejoins, earnestly. Then l.e Brands aside and bows gravely as I sweep past

ops before one. I sig­

nify to him that I would be alone for a few minutes, and he retires. I bend down and read the inscription: ''Win. Hamilton, was born May

17,1851:

died, funey,

He giveth His beloved sleep." Is

it, indeed, sleep for him, and unmarred by any dream? I think of how he loved me that love which I held so lightly—-and the plenteous tears come. But here is a step. The custodian of the place coming back, I suppose. I raised my face hurriedly, and Colonel Gordon enters but his eyes have in them a milder, sweeter look than I have ever seen in them before. He takes my h^tidsinhis anc holds them, looking "long and loyingly at the inscription on the coffin, vfe do not speak a word, but we leave the place together and come out into gray windy light of the fading day. He draws my arm in his, still holding my hand, and We walk a little way in silence. At length he savs, very kindly. "Thank you for this, Rhoda, 1 did not know you loved him so much.' "Stop," 1 6ay "I am sorry for him,' and I feel

60

grateful that he should have

cared for mej but in the way you mean I never loved him. All you said to me that night was right and true, and I have been the better for it." "No narin has been done," he rejoins "and if he died thinking you loved him, he died happier. But you are not looking well.

Is

anything troubling you?"

No I am not happp! and now he has gone, I have no one who I think really loves me." "You are mistaken there," he replied quietly. "Don't you know that I love you?" And then more to himself than to ine, "as my life, as my soul. I loved you, Rhoda, from the first day I saw you but then he loved you to, and he was so unable to buffet the waves of the world,ifyou could have loved him and made his life

happy—well,

dear, you understand. I

have said more than I meant to say consider some of it unsaid only remember if you ever want a friend, you will know where to come and," he adds, with rather a sad smile, "I will not even in in jest ask you to become my wife." "Because you consider me so worthless?" "Because I will not give you the pain of aying no."

Because you will not give me the joy of saying yes."' That could not be," he replies, with almost childish incredulity in his voice "why, I am fifteen years older than you." "And if it were twice that it would be nothing,', I re-ly, warmly. "But must you beat all the pride out of me?"

He turns round now and faces me, laying his hands upon my shoulders, while I gaie into his ejes, so frank and fearless. ••Remember," he says, in a solemn voice, "the place from which we have just come remember all that is at stake, and then tell me if you can say from the bottom ot your heart—I love you."

1

his bed. It appears he was always subject to heart complaint. I met Gordon in the street, who gave me the sad news Poor fellow! he seemed quite broken by it."

am terribly distressed. Dead! I say the word over and over again, and yet can not realize the full meaning of if But when I go to bid I turn mv /ace to the wall, on which one lo«g ray of

moonlight

if

is playing, and sob as

my heart would break, and yet I know I did not love him. O, soft, melancholy eyes! Perhaps not melancholy now, but glad and radiant and full of a new triumphant light. O, poor, troubled heart! that has, I hope, at last found rest But I think of the little kind things I might have said and done, and of all the things

My heart does not falter as I echo his last words, and I know now that he will never ask me that question again—at least for want of confirmation. He folds me in his arms, and, bending down, kisses my lips long and passionately. "If came in here," he says, "one of thj weariest men in all God's earth, and now I am surely the most blessed." We go back t) London, both happy, both supremely happy and as we drive home through the shrieking London streets, I shudder to think how nearly I had missed the great peace and happiness of my life-

He had kept his secret manfully but thank God! it had been known at last, and not too late. 3

TRIALS OF NEWSPAPER MEN

DcW itt Yalmoge.

One of the greatest trials of the news-^ paper profession is that its members are compelled to see more of the shams of the world than any other profession. Through every newspaper office, oay after dav, go all the weaknesses of the world all the vanities

that

puffed all the revenges

thought

want to be

that

want to be

reaped all the mistakes that want to be corrected all the dull speaker* who want to be

eloquent all the meanness

that wants to get it« wares noticed in the editorial columns, .order to save the tax of adver tising columns all the men who want to be set right who were never right all the

crack-brained

philosophers with stor­

ies as long as their hair, and as gloomy as their finger nails in mourning because bereft of soap—all the bores who come to stay five minutes, but talk five hours. Through the editorial and reportorial rooms all

the

fellies and shams of the

world are seen day after day,, and the temptation is to beliere in neither God, man nor women. It is no surprise to me that in this profession there are some skeptical men I only wonder

that

nalists believe anything.

jour­