The Syracuse Journal, Volume 1, Number 39, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 28 January 1909 — Page 7

"£•••••••••••••••••••••£ : Aunt Diana: ► • “ - «» ’ r J The Sunshine • of the Family • » • ••••••• «••••••••••••••• CHAPTER XXIV. — (Continued.) It was pleasant to Alison to see her brother’s quiet, respectful manners, so full of reverence for that wise and dignified old' age, and the evident gratification with which Mr. Moore listened to him. She might almost have herself forgotten, but that every now and then the thin hand passed lightly over her hair with a caressing touch which told how he loved to feel Sunny near him again. Greville kept a little aloof from them, but not a movement escaped his notice. Once Alison glanced in his direction and met a grave, touched look in his eyes, as though something moved him. Miss Carrington presently came in to see after her charge, for such she evidently considered the Old man, and dispersed the little group. Mr. Moore must have his noonday rest, and then he would be well enough to play to them in the evening, but he had' talked to them sufficiently for the present. The rest of the morning was spent in tennis, and in the afternoon Mi§s Carrington joined them, and Greville- and Roger rowed them to the Long Island, that Alison might revisit her old haunts, and the evening was-spent at Feynleigh. This was Greville’s only idle morning; for the future he adhered steadily to his determination to work until luncheon, and as Alison resumed her old habits of painting under Aunt Diana’s supervision, or playing to Mr. Moore or reading to him, Roger found himself left to his own devices. ■ • ' He took Miss Carrington’s advice and lived in the open air, either lying on the lawn with a book or paddling himself lazily in a canoe, till his face was brown anl ruddy with health, and he grew as light hearted as a boy. In the •afternoons and evenings the three young, people were always together. TenJjs and, boating or drives in Gredbg cart filled up the afternoon. Whfea Mr. Moore was pretty well the evenings wore always spent in his room; sometimes he played on his violin while 1 him, or one of the read aloud while the man always retired early, and times Greville would temp' moonlight row or stroll, or if refused this for herself Wn Alison, Roger and he would pace the garden in animated conversation. The, young- men had become great friend's. Greville, who. was a few months older; than Roger, always acted as though he | were younger. - Roger was full, of quaint drollery, and loved fun in his own vj-ay, but Greville’s spirits were liable to /carry him laway: he had plenty of char(acter, but Roger’s grave solidity and . greater thoughtfulness were uncommon at his age; nevertheless Greville’s gayety and natural exuberance covered a depth of feeling that would have astonished ' people. “A man is a man for a’ that,” he would have said if any one had accused him of too much love of play;.that he played well in his youth was no argument against his working well by and by. “Young growing things must stretch themselves,” Miss Carrington used to trtiy in loving extenuation of her favorite. When a good woman thinks well of a man there can not be much amiss with him. ”Miss Carrington always said Gre- - viile was a fine, creature, and she had tolerably shrewd judgment of her own. Aunt Diana had resolved that Roger and Alison should have as much play as possible, so she not only revived her Wednesdays, but she gave a boating party and a large picnic. Roger was a great favorite with the ladies,, old and young, though he could not compare in good looks with Greville, but his honest face and courteous manners —the manners bred of a perfectly kind heart—won golden opinions, but Miss Carrington, who had' reasons of her own for watching, him, could not fail to notice that though he was pleasant to all the young ladies, he did not single out one as an object for any special attention, while on the contrary, Greville was always beside Alison. She drew her own conclusions, but made no remark. She always said: “It was like brushing the golden dust off a butterfly’s wing to. speak of such things to young people before their time.” Bus her heart was'very full sometimes when she looked at' Alison. “I will not speak to her; when the, time comes, she will seek me of her own accord,” she thought; “there are some things I can not teach her, that every woman must learn for herself.” ' That time came sooner than she expected. ■ One evening she was, sitting alone in the studio, writing a letter to her broth-er-in-law, when she .caught a glimpse of Alison’s white gown, flashing between the shrubs,, and in another moment the girl came swiftly through the conservatory,, and stood beside her. “Aunt Di, I .want to speak to you.” “One moment, Allie; I have just finished my letter to your father. Have you any for him?” “Yes—no —oh I I can not think of one just nqw,” she said, in, s such a trembling voice that Miss Carrington looked jjp quickly, and what she saw in Alison’s face made her drop her pen. “Come and sit here, darling, and tell me. all about it,” and as Alison hid her burning face, drawing down Aunt Diana’s hands, as though they would shield her effectually, she continued, tenderly, "Don’t be shy over it, Allie. Os course I know what it is;. Greville has been speaking to you?” ’ “Yes, Aunt Di.” “Well, 1 will scold him preseiftly for not speaking to me first.” But there was . no anger in Aunt Diana’s eyes. “I dare say his grandfather encouraged him; he is so set upon this. Well,’ Allie, and what did our boy say to you?” , • “Oh, Aunt Di, don’t ask me," returned Alison, desperately, "he thinks too highly of me. I am not as good as that; I don’t deserve it all.” “We must allow for a little exaggera- ’ tion ander the circumstances,’ returned Miss Carrington, smiling, and managing

to free her hands, and so get a glimpse of the hidden happy face. ’ “But, Aunt Di,” almost whispering, “are we not too young? Greville will have to be at Oxford another year, and .—and “Too young to marry just yet, Allie, but I think, under Greville’s peculiar circumstances —-his grandfather’s great age -and precarious health, and his loneliness, having no parents or brothers and sisters belonging to him—that an engagement might be allowed. It will malje him happier, and give him heart for his work. Tn general, Ailie, I do not approve of long engagements for young people, they are so unsettling; but you know Greville’s circumstances as well as I do. He Is his grandfather’s heir; in two years he ffiight well marry.” “Then you approve?” raising her eyes at last to her aunt’s face. “Don’t’’you know Greville is my own boy? He is even dearer to me than you, you must riot be sorry to hear that, One day I will tell a sad little story about myself, how a girl’s self-will and temper lost her the noblest lover a woman codld have.” „ “I guess who it was; I always knew, murmured Alison. , “Greville is dear to me for his father s sake,” returned Miss Carrington, almost solemnly. “No more of this just now, , Ailie. If you love me, dear child, you little know how happy it makes me to know my two darlings are th beunited.” “Really and truly happy, Aunt Di ? “Yes, surely, dearest; and this- has been’ the wish of Mr. Moore’s heart. Ah, here comes Greville; he looks almost as shy over it as you do, Ailie.” But, shy or not, there was no mistaking the expression of proud happiness on the young man’s face. A look passed between him and Miss Carrington, and then she held out her hand. “Well, Greville, have you come’to be scolded?” she asked, playfully. “Yes, but you would not have the heart to do it,” was his reply. “Cara.” with a pause on the old "name, “how could I help it?” And his glance was sufficiently eloquent.* “Well, Greville. I think you are worthy even of her.” And now something like the glimmer of unshed tears softened the keen gray eyes. “God bless you. my boy I you have fulfilled the great wish of my heart.” . . . There was a little more talk after this; and then Greville said. “Alison, I think we ought to go to my grandfather; this will make his very happy.” And then Alison obediently rose. There was a touching scene with the old man. “When the messenger comes, my boy will not be left desolate, he will have Sunny to comfort him,” he said. And again his hands wore placed on her bright hair to invoke a blessing. Roger's turn came next. He had been out all day on a fishing excursion, and on,his return Greville had waylaid him.* and t'dhl him the news.. Alison, .who was sitting at her-window, trying to compose her fluttered spirits, saw them coining up the garden walk Together, and a few minutes afterward there was a hasty step at her door, and Roger burst into her room. . ' She knew how glad,he was by the way he took her in his arms and kissed her, even before he had uttered a word. But it cam'e at last. “Allie. I never was so pleased in my life. Os course I knew it was coming. He is a fine fellow; you are giving me just the sort 7 of brother I wanted, and I am greatly obliged to ybu.” “He told you then?” ai little bashfully. “Yes, he had been 'waiting ever so long by the river bank. It is my belief that, like King Midas, he had been whispering his secret to the rushes. I wish you could have heard what he said about you. .He convinced me that he fully appreciates you.” “I am so glad you will be friends,” returned Alison, simply, quite ignoring thej latter part of Roger’s speech ; in her modest opinion of herself, she never ceased wondering at Greville’s lover-like speeches; it was dear and kind of him to say such things, she thought, but she did not deserve them. She said as much to him one day, when their engagement was but a week old, but he turned decidedly willful. “I shall think of you just as I like,” he said, quietly, “and I know I shall never alter-my -opinions. I don’t care what your faults are; you are perfect in my eyes, just because you are Alison?’ And after Ibis she gave up the point. But on, the evening before she left Moss-side she and Aunt Diana had one of their long talks. Greville had just left them,, grumbling, in spite of an invitation breakfast the next" morning, and though he knew that he was expected at The Holms in six weeks’ time, to make acquaintance with Alison’s home, and to introduce himself to Mr. Merle. But Miss Carrington paid no attention to his boyish discontent; this hour belonged to her, she said, in a decided manner; Greville might talk to'Roger, but she wanted Allie to herself. . - , • So while the two young men paced up and down by the river, Alison and Miss Carrington sat in the dim'studio, looking out into the moonlight. There was* so much that they had to say to each other on this last night. “You do not think- me too hard-hearted to insist on a two years’ engagement, Allie?” Miss Carrington said presently. “Mr. Moore has begged me over and over again to reconsider my decision,' but, indeed, I think Greville is too young for such a responsibility. In two years he, will be five-arfd-twenty.” “I would not have it otherwise, Aunt Di,” returned Alison, quietly. “In two years’ time, papa will be well and strong —at least, Dr. Greenwood tells us so—and Missie will be older; I can be spared then, and can leave home far more happily.” “Is Greville content with this?” “I have talked to him, and made him see that we are both right. Os course we shall both feel the separation a little hard, but now I have promised to spend at least two months next summer at Mossside, and he is to pay flying visits to The Holms, I think we ought to be content, and then there are the letters —letters are such a pleasure.” “And in two years Alison Merle is to be Alison Moore.” ? “I hope so, Aunt Di.” “Darling! that day will be a happy one for me. I love you both so much, and then I shall have you near me. Think of Fernleigh being your home.” *

“A beautiful home,” she returned. “Roger will miss you the most, dear." “I hope not by that time, Aunt DI,, Perhaps I ought not to speak of it; he has never given me the right to do so, but I think: —I hope—Anna—may be able to comfort him for my absence.” "What makes you think so, dear?” she asked, very quietly; and yet the same thought had occurred to her. “It is. Roger's manner; it has changed so much of late. Once he used to be as friendly with Anna, but now he never; mentions her name if he can help it, but' when any one talks of her I can See the • Way he listens, and the look that comes into his .eyes; he is always so pleased when I tell him she is coming to The Holms, and he is so nice with her, speaking so gently to her. and anticipating all her wishes; you could not doubt what it meant if you saw them together. And she is just as sweet to him as one could i wish—very shy, but so simple and child- I like.” “She is a dear little thing, and I dare say she has improved.” j “Yes, indeed, even Missie owns she is almost pretty sometimes.; not that that matters, when she always looks sO sweet and good.’ Oh, Aunt Di, I have grown to love her so.” “Roger is a wise man,” observed Miss Carrington, thoughtfully ; “if he chooses ’Anna for his wife he will find her cer-’ tainly ‘above rubies? There is the law of kindness in her lips; I never knew ’ any one so perfectly gentle.” J “Missie is actually growing fo.nd of. her; they will be nice companion? for each other when I leave home. Oh, Aunt Di, how beautifully everything lias turned j out. Papa is better, and Missie is grow-| ing more amiable every day; Rudel is not ; so rough, and Poppie is the dearest little j soul, and Miss Leigh is so much more cheerful.” “Heaven has accepted our sacrifice, Allie,” returned Aunt Diana, solemnly; “a blessing has come down on your efforts in away we-never expected.” I “ ’Give and it shall be given to you 1 again? is the law of love.” • “Darling, I never ’loved you so much as when I sent you from me to do your duty.” ■ (The End.) j A POT OP PAINT. . ■ The Master of the Hoose Gets the Decollating Fever. “Tip the cat out of that rocker aijd make yourself comfortable.” said Mrs. Weeden, hospitably. “You look kind of used up. Spring cleaning?” Mrs. Ifipseombe leaned far back and settled the dispossessed cat in her Jap. “So the family say.” she assented, “though I think myself it's nothing in the wbrld but Joe's latest performance. -Joe generally gets the painting fever when we women get the scrubbing fever; but seems as if this season he took it extra hard. He bought a pot o's paint Saturday, and started in, First he did the window-boxes and the indiarubber tree tub; that was all right Then he did the clothes poles. I wasn’t particularly grateful when they weren’t halLdry for. Monday wash; still, they’re an improvement. Then he did the two garden seats, and got so interested he forgot, and sat down on the one he’d just done while he finished up the other. Well, those trousers were pretty far gone, and I never did like' a check, anyway. If he’d stopped there —but he didn’t. There was some paint left, and he was bound to use it up. “The girls planned long ago to have a party and some music as soon as the cleaning was done, and the parlor spandy clean and fresh. "Twas set for to-night; and this noon Linda went in to fix up. Well, she gave a kind of wild screech, followed by sounds like whoop-ing-cough, and Bessy and I came flying to see What was wrong. Bessy gave one look, and off she went whooping and gurgling . and giggling worse than Linda; and the pair of them kept me so busy scolding and coaxing and slapping 'backs and ordering. ‘Now, girls, stop” that I didn’t really take in what it was alt about till just .as they were beginning to quiet down. Then my eyes lit on the mantelpiece again, and, if you’ll believe it, off I went, worse than either of them! - “You know those two plaster busts on the two sides of the mantel-shelf—Mo-zart and Beethoven, three-quarter lifesize? Well, Joseph had painted those. There they perched confronting us— -off again, all-three of us\togetbfer, gurgling and whooping and choking and weeping like idiots—Mozart smiling jauntily and Beethoven scowling like a thunder-cloud, and both 7 pf them bright green!’ “Emily! No!” burst out Mrs. Weeden. “Louisa! Yes!” rejoined Mrs. Lips-, combe. “He means to bronze them later; but when he bronzed a Milton once, the white kept showing. through in thin places, so he thought this time he’d put a dark, coat under. Green is all right, he says, because bronze is always streaky with green when It’s real, so if green should show through the bronzing it would only be more natural. But they’ve got to dry before they can be bronzed; and meanwhile they can’t be touched or lifted; and the party’s to-night! Well, as Linda says, our decorations are unique, and the only thing to do is to take it as a joke. But I Was pretty tired this morning, and I suppose I really-did laugh myself into hysterics. It sounds silly, but if you’d come suddenly On two pea-green immortals ” “I never had hysterics in my life,” announced Mrs. Weeden, firmly, “and I’m going to walk back with you-when you go and take a peek niyself.”— ’Youth’s Companion. Modern Heroism. The Victim—Help Help! I’m drowning! Would-Be Hero—Courage, my brave man! Just wait until I get a rope, a measuring rod, a Carnegie application blank, two witnesses and a notary public.—Bohemian Magazine.

1 Kace r i Wife : • HAWLEY SMART • ' . -I

RACE FOR A WIFE is the story of a charming young "’girl, who, to please her father- and save him from persecution and ruin, consents to

A

marry a man she does not love. Her true lover discovers a document which places his rival at a decided disadvantage, and there is a real “race for.a wife,” in which fidelity and genuine affection win the prize. This serial is unique in all of its features of plot and action, with the incidents entertaining- to the last The interest is maintained to the very last chapter and the story will c\irm all lovers of good fiction. . ■ —. CHAPTER J,. ~ thought not. That’s young Pearjnan—j - Xminster is all bub-, the unmitigated cad.” i bling ovex with excitement; the magnates “So that was Mr. Pearman, was it?" are- adjusting ribbons, fitting wreaths, remarked Claude, musingly., “Well, Grenscenting pocket hancikerdhiefsq stretching viile, I don’t* think I should have danced gloves, tying white neck cloths, and oth- with him had I known who he was ;. ' erwise preparing for the momentous even- but, you see, I didn’t, and I • cannot see ; ing. The inferior clay of Xminster hovet. that it is of much consequence now. One about the gateway of The George? hotel, is not obliged to recognize the partner of 'in all that exhilaration of spirits that a quadrille again unless one likes, you gratuitous sightseeing is wont to produce know; and though I'll plead guilty to i among the multitude. It is but a momen- finding him amusing* 1 don’t think I wish ] tary glimpse of some hundred or so of to prosecute the acquaintance. But don’t J ladies and gentlemen in evening attire you think it is getting time to leave? 1 that is destined to be the reward of their Mrs. Learmont, you are as good as gold,” | patience; but then, you see, Xminster is said Maude, turning, ta her6Kaperone, ■ a town in which the. stream Os life runs “waßing-nrthls. resigned manner for me. so sluggishly. Circuses, .conjurers, leer However, I am quite at your disposal ' turers, monologue entertainers, etc., are- now.” 'rather shj’ of Xminster; the little town “Pray don’t think of me; I want you is so thoroughly habituated to retiring to to thoroughly enjoy your ball, and I am rest at an early hour, that even the visits quite willing to look on at your valsing of some of these talented and adventur- for another hour. I have lots of people ous beings have failed to tempt the in- to come and talk to me, you know.” habitants to forego their beds or to ex- “Yes!” laughed Maude; “I am ; quite I pend their silver? aware that you have lots of old friends, 5 But the dullest village in England ree- only top glad to have the chance of a I ognizes some occasions in the year on quiet chat with you, and know also that i which dreary mirth takes, the place of you would sit here <nd pinch yourself to (melancholy stagnation. They were two; keep awake sooner than debar your godi the fair and the dispensary ball. It is daughter of five minutes’ gratification; I the latter carnival which is at present but I also have a conscience. Gd and see I causing the pulse of Xminster to beat about the carriage, Grenville.” j with feverish rapidity, and the popula- It is very curious to watch what trifling tion are already waiting to display their affairs influence the tenor of our lives, critical acumen on the belles of town and Maude Denison has deemed it of little country. consequence that she has danced a quadThe dear old country fiddles are playing riHe with Samuel Pearman, and jet that their somewhat superannuated dance mu- dance is fated to draw many a tear from sic with all the wonted animation and dis- the proud grey eyes. Grenville Rose, ere regard of the niceties of tune which is so thirty minutes are over, will be tortured much the characteristic of provincial in away which he is powerless to resist, bands. There is no lack of pretty girls, The sire of the dark-featured young tastefully dressed, in valse and quadrille, man who had expressed.such admjiation in the queer old room with its still queer- f° r Maude Denison had begun life as a er attempts at decoration in those gaudy solicitor’s clerk, from which in due course festoons of artificial flowers. But a state- of time he blossomed forth into an utterly j’oung lady, dressed in white, with ney, and sat himself down in the little green-and-gold trimmings, seems to bear town of Bury St. Edmunds, with a view awaj’ the palm. More than one murmur- to the persecution of mankind or the reed tribute to her beauty escapes the lips dressing of his fellow men's grievances, of the lookers-on as she whirls by. as circumstances and the presentation of “Who is she? She moves like a queen six and eightpence might direct. Bury amongst the rest, and tfli/y are good-look- St. Edmunds lies no great distance from ! ing girls too some of them.” And the the famous Heath of deI speaker, ’a rather coarse-looking dark fault of other business, Mr. Pearman man. a little the wrong side of thirty, took to attending the race meetings thereturned for information to the knot of at; gradually., with men he was lounging with at the door. many of those multifarious hangers-on t'Haven’t you ever seen her before, that exist so mystically by racing. He Pearman? No. 1 suppose you hardly had naturally an acute understanding; eouid have done. She goes out but little and he now got manj’ a hint as to where —that’s Maude Denison.” ‘ to lay out a little money profitably. The “What! —daughter of old Denison of traffickers’ in horseflesh and followers of Glinn?” ” th® turf have their subjects of litigation .. T ' c x as well as those who pursue other avoca- . “Just sn-former owner of all those fat tWs Who was so handy to employ ftS .acres which have since fallen into your Pearman , and> by degr - s> he began to , respected progenitors possession;, andLa a name as a solicitor in . horse cas(?s slight inflection of voice just italicized the r&c met lis and becan]e rich 'epithet; for Gus Bnsden was of a good In due course Harold DenisoQi Maude , s old county family, and had little rever- £ath sp(] thr * h his hands ence for the Pearmans of Mannersley. Denigon bad started in nfe with a fine les very handsome was Maude Dem- t . but burning the not only son. She was a beauty of the regal or- £ * end but a Httle in the middle j der, and her stately carnage alone would be he bad soon done away wia that : have sufficed to make men ask Mho is Pearman was everyt hing he should be on 'she.’ even without the <ie town tbe oGcas j on . bu t wben b j s c ii eJ jt emerged I tresses, proud grey eyes, an« regular sea- {rom his sea of troubles> two-thirds of the tlll-es ' ■ Glinn estate were in the. hands of the “I must know her!’ said Pearman, solicitor. Still, everyone said Denison's “Can you introduce me, Brisden?” bad beeD a very bad break-up; that the “No; I barely know her myself,” re- property had been sold at a fair valuaplied Gus. tion-; and that, but for Pearman, Harold “I must go and find somebody who Denison would not have been able’to keep can,” and Pearman hurried away. Glinn and suph acres as were still left Apparently he was successful, for, to him. By this time Pearman was an shortly afterwards he led out Miss Deni- owner of race horses, and kept a stud eon for a quadrille, during which Mr. of his own. He had married a lady in Pearipan did his uttermost to make him- some way connected with usury, and, hayself agreeable. He was a very earthy ing altogether acquired a considerable piece of clay, but ’he had enjoyed the fortune, made the first mistake in his advantage of a good education, and was career, and set up. for a country gentleby no means deficient'in ability. He had man. achieved a certain amount of tact while He built a big house on the estate so undergoing the friction of such society as recently lopped off the Glinn property; he .he had encountered, and proved, himself built large stables. He named his house an apt pupil in worldly knowledge. This Mannersley, after the manor it stood upstood him in good stead just now. When on. He established crest ,and coat-of-he led Maude Denison back to her chap- arms ; he had his cards - engraced, “Mr. erone she certainly thought he was by and Mrs. Pearman, Mannersley;” he sat no means the least agreeable partner she himself down to wait—but nobody called, had had that evening. She had but just Money 4 - ill do and does do a good deal, resumed her seat when a tall, fair man but here and there bloody respects its was by her side. His brow was slightly rights.’ The county were not going to knit, and his eyes sparkled angrily as he welcome what they designated as “a exclaimed, “My dear Maude, how could money-grabbing attorney who was fattenyou dance with that man?” ing on the necessities of Harold Deni“Which, Grenville?” inquired Miss son of Glinn,”' The Master of tljeDenison, smiling. “I have danced with Hounds, it was true, called upon a good many to-night, including your but even Pearman could regard that m sweet self, cousin mine.” no other light but that of a business “Don’t be absurd. Maude; you know transaction. He asked and obtained leave very well whom I mean—that dark man— to draw the covers, gave the solicitor a your last partner.” capital luncheon oh his return vi?*b, but ■ “And wherefore shVtild I not dance had steadily refused all invitations to with him?” inquired M\ss Denison. dinner. “For a hundred reasons. His name In due course of time Mrs. Pearman alone should have to prevent it?’ died. She left but one son, who at the “Dear me,” laughed the young lady, period of her death was an undergradumerrily. “You have piqued my woman’s ate at Cambridge, but who, now many curiosity. Do tell me who this minister years older, is the gentleman who danced of iniquity is, for, truth \to say, I did that quadrille with handsome Maude Deninot catch his name when he was Otro- son.’ duced to me ” \ Young Pearman has succeeded far bet“Xou didn’t know who he was? ’ than his progenitor in making his

way in tihe county. Still, altho 1 ■J h» had insinuated himself to a cert n 'extent into society, there were many of the county families who utterly igno «d the solicitor’s son. The men of the family might know him in the hunting fit d; the younger sons might even go so fa as to dr6p in at Mannersley for liinct when the hounds or aught else took th< tn that way. But the women tabooed hii —they would none of him; and bitterly c d Sam Pearman feel that haughty ostraci in. All men have their ambitions; Pearn in had his father's intensified, to be ackr iwledged as within of “the upp r ten.” He quite understood that the rec nition of the race course and hunting fi Id was far from constituting such. CHAPTER 11. Harold Denison Was an embitte ed, disappointed man—far too clever nt to see, how he had ' thrown the game of life away by the turf follies and itravagances of his early days; far tc proud to take a reduced status in the c -unty in which he had beep at one time a leading magnate; far too selfish to sacrifice an iota of that pride to enhance t e pleasure of either his wife or his < lughtgr. He had married, early in life, a lady of good family in his own county. It had neen- better for Harold Denison -id she been* constituted of sterner stt f. She never crossed her husband in vord or deed. Maude was the only child, nd this perhaps still more fostered the intense selfishness of Mr. Denison’s di: position. A girl was, of course, sure to m: rry. 'He had none- of his stock to come ai er him; and though he little relished th< idea of the Denisons of Glinn being bit tted out of the county Red-book, he coul not be expected to feel much interest f< • a boyish nephew he had barely seen. On one point only did poor Mrs. Deni on ever venture to &3ptradict her lord's wishes: that was about Maude, The gir was all in all to her mother. Maude's .voman’s wit had early made her underst nd that her father dealt but hard justice in that quarter ; and she was ever ready to flash forth as her mother’s champion. Otherwise she loved her father verj dearly, and was quite imbued with th family doctrine of -self-sacrifice where I e should be concerned, , By the light of a candle, in the solitude of his chamber, Grenville 1 ose was tasting all the sweets of dressing to catch an early train on a dark Februa y morning. He had been brought up a y -eat deal with his cousin Maude. They h d romp-ed-together as children, and I • n fast cousinly friends since they hri 1 grown bigger. No lovemaking had ejt :r taken place between the pair, yet JreUville was conscious of being very ton of that grey-eyed damsel, Grenville enters the old dini tg room, to gulp his scalding coffee, and -ecognize the utter futility of attempting o eat at abnormal hours. He is suffering altogether from considerable mental ! t‘pression —predominant idea, perhaps, What a farce all county balls are!’ Slid lenly the door opens, and Maude Denis n glidesinto the room. 4 “Good morning, Grenville. sn’t this good of me to make Such a struggle, and rush down to give you your cos >e? Ah, I see you’ve got it. Never n ind, you must take the will for the ddec At all event’s, I’m in time to say good y.” ‘ His face lit up as he sho' k hands with' her, “Very kind indeed, 7 -I Laude, to come down and'give me a las glimpse of you—so tired, too, as you must be after your triumphs-of last nigh .” “Triumphs! What do you m an?” replied Miss Denison, in sweet lumility, though a coquettish smile and flash of the deep grey eyes showed that she was perfectly conscious of her ball-i >om success. : “Oh, the hypocrisy of women ! laughed her cousin. “As if you did r>t know perfectly. well that all the n m were raving with admiration, and th<- c the ladies could fin,d no words to exp; ess their opinion of you! As if you cpul< not imagine that you were pronoune 1 hand-some,'-lovely, graceful—stigmatize 1 as over dressed, under dressed, and a vkward! While your admirers on one sice,of the room vowed so light a foot nev t glided, across the boards at Xminster, your detractors on the other, were. §p eulating as to how much of your hair and :omplexion were really your birthright As if you did not know you were the belle of the ball, and '.enjoyed' all the ri; its and privileges of the distinction.” . “Ah, well!” she rejoined, with 1 saiicy to you, Grenville. I know som peOpjg, thought I looked nice, and Lkno\ others disliked me- for doing so. Let ,le pour you out some more coffee,” « ~ (To be continued.) Unwarned. On entering the stable sudde ily the head of the house found the bos; let and his own young son dec-ply engag d with the broken tail of a kite. “How is it, Williams,” he be. an, severely, “that I never find you t ; work when I come out here?” “I know,” volunteered his so ; “it’s on account'of those rubber heels you’re ■wearing now.”-f-Youth’s Qdmpt uion. k —’ > 0 In the Early Flats. They were examining the ah >des of the cliff dwellers. “Each of these caves has the s ime Inscription,” remarked a student. “What' do you finale of it, professor?” “I judge?’ said the professo . “that it must be the lease.”—Was hi ngton Herald-. What She Escaped. , Said He—There goes young S ’.pleigh. He took his fiancee out rowing last , summer, rocked the boat and t ie poor girl was drowned. ' Said ‘She—Lucky girl! > Said He—Why do you say th t? Said She— Why, she ifiight ha ve lived and married the idiot. — Not Crumbling. “•Don’t you find it pretty expc nsive to keep up that big touring car?’ “Yes, I do. But I’m not gr imbling. You see, Martha agreed to give ip playing bridge at the Fleecem’s If I’d buy the car. Oh, I’m saving, mo ey, all right.”—Cleveland Plain Deale *. Os all the gold in the posse sion of man 70 per cent is in the s cape of coin.

WITHCRAFT OF LUIfiINOB. These California Indians Still Cene snlt Their Shamans. The culture of the Luiseno Indians is discussed by Philip Stedman Sparkman in one of the recent publications of the University of California.. Sparkinan, who was killed last year , at his home at Rincon, near Valley Center, San Diego County, Cal., had for years spent much time in communication w*lth the Luisenos of Rincon and vicinity. Among his papers was found the one dealing with the culture of these people, and it has. been .published without many « alterations. He discusSes the food of the Luisenos* their clothing, pottery, basketry, weapons, implements, games, and other matters which have a bearing on their planner of life. In telling' about “shamanism” (witchcraft) h«? says: - - -J “As may be supposed, witchcraft is still much believed in. though not nearly so much as formerly. > A person whose children are dying, even of such a disease as consumption, will imagine that some evilly disposed person is bewitching them. He will perhaps go to some wizard and' ask him who is killing his children. The wizard will inform him that a certain person is doing so, add after this nothing will make the man believe otherwise. , . . “To bewitch a person it is considered necessary to get something belonging "to his body,<?as little of his hair, the parings of his nails, some of liis blood, or a handkerchief that he has blown his' nose in. For this reason it was formerly customary when one had his hair cut to carefully sweep every partide, carry it away, and bury it, for fear that some enemy might possess himself of; it te bewitch him. Some ‘follow this custoßi still. ' | “One method employed by the wizards is said to be to make small images of the people they wish ifo kill and to perform their incantations over them. It is said that such images have sometimes been found, either accidentally or in the house of a wizard after his death. Should the finder burn them the death of the wizard is said to follow invariably. . “The Wizards, shamahs, or medicine men, by whichever name, they may be called’, are nearly alb doctors. An Indian has, but little faith in medicine, but much more, in the supernatural powers of the medicine' men. It is a fact that (the latter use remedies’made from plants to some but they rely mostly on shamanistic practices,” —New Yqrk Post. agHES “Rastus, keep i chickens.” “Well, boss, lie do keep some of ’em.” *Maud-r-You have no* idea how jealous my husband is, dear. Kitty (her dearest friend) —Pshaw, he's, flattering you. . “The spirit of your husband wishes to speak with . you. ’ madam.” “What does he say?” -~lle says that he doesn’t have to dress in a cold rooin.” —The Bohemian. “When you get to Washington, gon, don't you be afraid to work for the public service.” “No, dad. It’s the Secret Service I’m afraid of.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer. - girl shouldn’t marry a man till she knows all about him. Evelyn —Good gracious! If she knew all about him she wouldn’t marry him.— : Philadelphia Inquirer. May—The bride nearly fainted during the wedding, and had to be supported by her father until it was over. Jim—Yes, and now I hear her father is supporting both of them. , “Speaking of poetry, does the modern make us think?” “Well, it makes us hustle for the dictionary, that is, those of us who have any curiosity at all.”—Louisville- Courier-Journal. ” 'Wiggles- 4 hear Bjenks has .been very ill. IS he out of danger yet? Wangles—Well, he’s convalescent; but he won’t be out of danger until that pretty nurse who has been taking care I of him has gone away.—Life. e Medical Student —What did you operate on that man for? Eminent Surgeon—Two hundred dollars. Medical Student—l mean-, what did he'have? Eminent Two hundred dollars—The Christian Register. • . j Parke —I don’t know what I am ever going to do with.that boy of mine. He is careless and absolutely reckless of consequences, and doesn’t seem to c£re for any one. Lane—Good! Y,ou can make a., taxicab driver' out of him.Tw Llte. Mrs. Murphy—Arrah ! ’Tis Saterdah pight an’ th’ facth’ry is closin’* down, lan’ TiiimA don’t know whether he'll teit his pay or not. Mrs. Flaherty— Here he comes home now. Mrs. »hy—Wirra ! Then he ain’t been paid! J-Cleveland Leader. > Kind Friend—Henpeck, let me intro-? luce you to Professor Glass, the great ( hypnotist, who can put any ohe to sleep within .two minutes aftei*. starting. Henpeck—Glad to meet you, professor. Come, let me introduce you Jo my wife.—The Bohemian. ’“You must 7 do your best,” said Mrs.Psmith to the new cook. “My husband is very particular about the way his food is prepared.” “Yessum,” said the new cook, sympathetically; “ain’t these < men hll alike? Now you take my hus--< bahd; I never was able to cook <ny- ( tubing to please him in all my lifel”— Cleveland Leader. - ~ < ‘‘ / j • . ' ' ■ ' ■ ’; ■