6 WHAT SHALL I ASK? "Vfhat shall I ask to till my cup of life Till It run o'er. And I can say: "Enough, my soul; No more?" What shall 1 atk? Ah! surely more than these Terrestrial years- Co bright, so brief, so sorely marred With tears. Ah! surely more. My wish Is vast and bold, ' Yet eannot bate Its deathless daring. Here my cravo Of fate. The fullness of the earth that it be mine; Then, fort* and far. Into the outer glittering mystery Of star on star. Throughout th' Illimitable wonderment That I may go; Kor rest till, at the center by God's throne, I stand and know, And see the circling glory—wide and deep, kVrfeet arid beautiful—around me sweep; All that Jarred here Bounding at last melodious And clear. — T. P. Johnston, in Chambers' Journal. My Strangest Case BY GUY BOOTHBY. Author of "Dr. Kikola," " The Beautiful White Devil," "Pharos, The Egyptian," Etc. V J ICopyrigtited, 1901, by Ward, Lock <5: Co.] CHAPTER VII. —CONTINUED. "What a duffer I am, to be sure!" I said to myself. "If I begin to get no tions like this in my head there is 110 knowing where I may end. As if any girl would ever think twice about Bie!" Thereupon I descended to the drawing-room, which I found empty. It was a true woman's room, daintily furnished, with little knick-knacks here and there, a work-basket put neatly away for the Sabbath, and an open piano with one of Chopin's works upon the music-rest. Leading out of the drawing-room was a small conservatory, filled with plants. It vvas a pretty little place and I could not refrain from exploring it. I am passionately fond of flowers, but my life at that time was not one that permitted me much leisure to in dulge in my liking. As I stood now, however, in the charming place, among the rows of neatly-arranged pots, I experienced a sort of waking •dream. I seemed to see myself standing in this very conservatory, hard at work upon my flowers, a pipe in my mouth and my favorite old soft felt hat upon my head. Crime and criminals were alike for potten; I no longer lived in a dingy part of the town, and what was bet ter than all I had— "Do you know I feel almost in clined to offer you the proverbial penny," said Miss Kitwater's voice behind me, at the drawing-room •door. "Is it permissible to ask what you were thinking about?" I am not of course prepared to ewear it, but I honestly believe, for the first time for many years, I blushed. "I was thinking l how very pleasant n country life must be," I said, mak ing the first excuse that came to me. "I almost wish that I could lead one." "Then why don't you? Surely it would not be so very difficult?" "I am rather afraid it would," I answered. "And yet I don't know why it should be." "Perhaps Mrs. Fairfax would not •care about it," she continued, as we returned to the drawing-room to pe t her. "Good gracious!" I remarked. "Th ere is no Mrs. Fairfax. I am the MOST confirmed of old bachelors. I wonder you could not see that. Is not the word crustiness written plainly upon my forehead?" "I am afraid I cannot see it," she answered. "I am not quite certain •who it was, but I fancy it was my •uncle who informed me that you were married." "It was very kind of him," I said. "But it certainly is not the case. I fear my wife would have rather a lonely time of it if it were. I am obliged to be away from home so much, you see, and for so long at a time." "Yours must be indeed a strange profession, Mr. Fairfax, if I may say »o," she continued. "Some time ago I came across an account, in a maga zine, of your life, and the many fa mous cases in which you had taken part." "Ah! I remember the wretched thing," I said. "I am sorry that you .should ever have seen it." "And why should you be sorry?" "Because it is a silly thing, and I have always regretted allowing the man to publish it. He certainly called upon me and asked me a lot of •questions, after which he went away and wrote thai article. Ever since then I have felt like a conceited ass, who tried to make himself out more clever than he really was." "I don't think you would do that," she said. "But, if you will let me say so, yours must be a very trying life, and also an extremely dangerous one. lam afraid you must look upon human nature from a very strange point of view!" "Not more strange probably than jou do," I answered. "But you are continually seeing "the saddest side of it. To you all the miseries that a life of crime entails are visible. The greater part of your time is spent among desperate men who are without hope, and to whom even their own shadows are a constant menace. I wonder that you still manage to retain your kind heart." "But how do you know that my it*is kind?" I uiuuucd, ' "If for 110 other reason, simply be cause you have taken up niy uncle's case," she answered. "l)o you think when he was so rude to you just now, that I coulil not see that you pitied liiui, and for that reason you forebore to take advantage of your power? I know you have a kind heart." "And you find it difficult to as similate that kind heart with the re morseless detective of Public Life?" "I find it difficult to recognize in you the man who, on a certain notable occasion, went info a thieves' den in Chicago unaccompanied, and after a terrible struggle in which you nearly lost your life succeeded in ef fecting the arrest of a notorious murderer." At that moment the gong in the hall sounded for lunch, and I was by no means sorry for the interrup tion. We found Kitwatcr and Codd awaiting our coming in the dining room, and we thereupon sat down to the meal. When we left the room again, we sat in the garden and smoked, and later in the afternoon my hostess conducted me over her estate, showed me her vineries, in troduced me to her two sleek Jer seys, who had their home in the meadow I had seen from the win dow; to her poultry, pigs and the pigeons who came fluttering about lier, confident that they would come to no harm. Meanwhile her uncle had resumed his restless pacing up and down the path on which 1 had first seen him, Codd had returned to his archaeological studies, and I was alone with Miss Kitwatcr. We were standing alone together, I remember, at the gate that separated the gar den from the meadow-land. I knew as well as possible, indeed I had known it since we had met in the churchyard that morning, that she had something to say to me, some thing concerning which she had not quite made up her mind. What it was, however, I fancied I could hazard a very good guess, but I was determined not to forestall her, but to wait and let her broach it.to me in her own way. This, I fancied, she was now about to do. "Mr. Fairfax," she began, resting her clasped hands upon the bar of the gate as she spoke, "I want, if you will allow me, to have a serious talk with you. I could not have a better opportunity than the present, and, such as it is, I want to make the best of it." "I am quite at your service, Miss Kitwater," I replied, "and if I can be of any use to you I hope you will tell me. Pray let me know what I can do for you?'" "It is about my uncle and Mr. Codd that I want to speak to you," she said, sinking her voice a little, as if she were afraid they might hear. "And what about them?" "I want to be loyal to them, and yet I want to know what you think of the whole affair," she said, look ing intently at me as she spoke. "Believe me, I have good and suffi cient reasons for my request." "I am to tell exactly what I think about their pursuit of this man 4, I » « AT THAT MOMENT MISS KITWATER MADE HER REAPPEARANCE IN THE GARDEN. Hayle? And what chances of suc cess I think they possess?" I said. "I am not thinking so much of their success," she returned, "as of the real nature of their case." "I believe I understand what is passing in your mind," I said. "In deed I should not be surprised if the suspicion you entertain is not the same as I have myself." "You have been suspicious, then?" "I could scarcely fail to be," I re plied. "Perhaps you will tell me what you suspect?" "Will you forgive me, in my turn, if I am abrupt, or if I speak my mind a little too plainly?" "You could not do that," she an swered with a sigh. "I want to know your exact thoughts, and then I shall be able to form my own con clusions." "Well," I said, "before I begin, may I put one or two questions to you? You will, of course, remember that I had never seen or heard of your uncle and Mr. Codd until they stopped me on Ludgate Hill. They were and practically are strangers to me. I have heard their story of their treasure, but I have not heard what anyone else has to say upon the subject." "I think I understand Now what are your questions?" "In the first place, did your late father ever speak to you of his brother as being a missionary in China?" She shook her head, and from the look upon her face I could see that I had touched upon something pain ful. This, at least, was one of the things that, had struck her n'* sus picious, 4 - V V CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JUNE 19. 1902. "If he were a missionary, I am quite sure my father did not know it," she said. "In fact I always un derstood that he was somewhat of a scapegrace, and in consequence could never settle down to anything. That is your first, now what is your sec ond question, Mr. Fairfax?" 1 paused for a moment before I replied. "My second partakes more of the nature of an assertion than a ques tion," 1 answered. "As I read it, you are more afraid of what may happen should the two men meet than anything else." "Yes, that is just what I am afraid of," she replied. "My uncle's temper is so violent, and his desire for revenge so absorbing, that I dare not think what would happen if he came into actual contact with Ilayle. Now that I have replied to your questions, will you give me the an swer I want? That is to say will you tell me what you think of the whole affair?" "If you wish it, I will," I said, slowly. "You have promised to per mit me to be candid, and I am going to take advantage of that permis sion. In my own mind I do not be lieve the story they tell. I do not believe that they were ever mission aries, though we have convincing proofs that they have been in the hands of the Chinese. That Hayle betrayed them I have not the least doubt, it seems consistent with his character, but where they obtained the jewels, that are practically the keystones to the whole affair, X have 110 more notion than you. They may have been honestly come by, or they may not. So far as the present ease is concerned that fact is immaterial. There is still, however, one vital point we have to consider. If the gems in question belong equally to the three men, each is entitled to his proper share, either of the stones or of the amounts realized by the sale. That share, as you already know, would amount to a considerable sum of money. Your uncle, I take it, has not a penny-piece in the world, and his companion is in the same desti tute condition. Now we will suppose that I find Hayle for them, and they meet. Does it not seem to you quite possible that your uncle's rage might lead him to do something desperate, in order to revenge himself upon the other? But if he could command himself he would probably get his money? If, on the other hand, they do not meet, then what is to be done? Forgive me, Miss Kitwater, for prying into your private affairs, but in my opinion it is manifestly unfair that you should have to sup port these two men for the rest of their existences." "You surely must see that I would rather do that than let my father's brother commit a crime," she re turned, more earnestly than she had yet spoken. The position was decidedly an awk ward one. It was some proof of the girl's sterling qualities that she should be prepared to make such a sacrifice for the sake of a man whom it was certainly impossible o love, and for that reason even to respect. I looked at her with an admiration in my face that I did not attempt to conceal. I said nothing by way of praise, however. It would have been an insult to her to have even hinted at such a thing. "Pardon me," I said at last, "but there is one thing that must be taken into consideration. Some day. Miss Kitwater, you may marry, and in that case your husband might not care about the arrangement you have made. Such things have hap pened before now." She blushed a rosy red and hesi tated before she replied. "I do not consider it very likely that I shall ever marry," she an swered. "And even if I did I should certainly not marry a man who would object to my doing what I consider to be my duty. And now that we have discussed all this, Mr. Fairfax, what do you think we had better do? I understood you to say to my uncle that you intend leaving for Paris to-morrow morning, in or der to continue your search for the man Hayle. Supposing you find him, what will you do then?" "In such a case," I said, slowly, looking at her all the time, "I should endeavor to get your uncle's and Codd's share of the treasure from him. If I am successful, then I shall let him go where he pleases." "And supposing 3 r ou are unsuccess ful in obtaining the money or the gems?" "Then I must endeavor to think of some other way," I replied, "but somehow I do not think I shall be unsuccessful." "Nor do I," she answered, looking me full and fair in the face. "I fan cy you know that I believe in you most implicitly, Mr. Fairfax." . "In that case, do you mind shaking hands upon it?" I said. "I will do so with much pleasure," she answered. "You cannot imagine what a weight you have lifted off my mind. I have been so depressed about it lately that I have scarcely known what to do. I have lain awake at night, turning it over and over in my mind, and trying to con vince myself as to what was best to be done. Then my uncle told me you were coming down here, and I resolved to put the case before you as I have done and to ask your opin ion." She gave me her little hand, and I took it and held it in my own. Then I released it and we strode back along the garden-path together with out another word. The afternoon was well advanced by this time, and when we reached the summer-house, where Codd was still reading, we found that a little wicker tea-table -U' fceii' afern tbe hoip"* and that chairs had been placed for us round it. To my thinking 1 there is nothing that becomes a pretty woman more than the mere common place act of pouring out tea. It was certainly so in this case. When I looked at the white cloth upon the table, the heavy brass tray, and the silver jugs and teapot, and thought of my own cracker earthenware ves sel, then reposing in a cupboard in my office, and in which I brewed my cup of tea every afternoon, I smiled to myself. I felt that I should never use it again without recalling this meal. After that I wondered wheth er it would ever Vie my good fortune to sit in this garden again, and to sip my Orange Pekoe from the same dainty service. The thought that I might not do so was, strangely enough, an unpleasant one, and I put it from me with all promptness. Dur ing the meal, Kitwater scarcely ut tered a word. We had exhausted the probabilities of the case long since, and I soon found that he could think or talk of nothing else. At six ' o'clock I prepared to make my adieux. My train left Bisliopstowe for London at the half-hour, and I should just have time to walk the distance comfortably. To my de light my hostess decided togo to church, and said she would walk with me as far as the lych-gate. She accordingly left us and went into the house to make her toilet. As soon as she had gone Kitwater fumbled his way across to where I was sit ting, and having discovered a chair beside me seated himself in it. [To Be Continufcd.l COMPLETED PROVERBS. Anrlrnt Axiom* with 'lull* Tacked Onto l'lit-m Tlint Give Them u 1111111 oronm Turn. "Before you run in double harness, look well to the other horse," but see to it that the other horse doesn't have a chance to look well at you, writes L.de V. Matthewman, in Era. "Pity is akin to love," but kinship does not always signify friendship. "It is hard to pay for bread that has been eaten," but not so hard as to get bread to eat that lias not been paid for. "Only that which is honestly got is gain"—the rest is velvet. "Labor overcometh all things," even the laborer. "Employment brings enjoyment," when it brings the means to enjoy. "A wise man is moved from his course neither by force nor entreaty," but the same often applies to a mule. "Possession is nine points of the law," and frequently all the profits. "Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost" is the cry of those who are well in front. "In matters of taste there can be no dispute," for every man is so firm ly convinced that there is no standard by which his taste can be measured. "Wliate'er is best administered is best" for the one who administers. "Ignorance is the mother of impu dence;" no father is named. "A man who will not flee will make his foes flee," bvit what if his foes be made of the same metal? "Let a child have its will and it will not cry," but its parents will. t'nil iplomntlc Diplomat. There is a story of exemplary Ameri can kindness of heart and absolute lack of all the fine nothings of etiquette which are the very breath of courts and diplomatic life. The story concerns a former American minister to St. Pe tersburg at one of the elaborate and very formal receptions or levees which the emperor and empress give on New Year's day. All the diplomats stand in line in their order of precedence, and their majesties walk down the 1 line to exchange greetings with each in turn. On this occasion the empress, now the dowager, was not present, hav ing just given birth to one of the younger princesses. It seems also that the good wife of the American was at home occupied with a similar domestic duty. The emperor came down, the line and asked after the health of eachl of the gentlemen present, at the same time exchanging the usual seasonable greetings. So when he came to the American he did not ask the usual question: "I hope you have good news from home?" Of course he had and our full-hearted representative could not- keep it a secret. "Yes, thank your majesty, excellent news. It is a boy and weighs 12 pounds." Chalmers ltoberts, in World's Work. When Murk Twain Flunked. A few nights ago Mark Twain told to some friends a story about himself which he failed to incorporate in "Life on the Mississippi." On one occasion when he started on a trip down the river on aflatboathe was advised never to answer the questions asked by river men on other boats and never to bandy words with them, as he would be sure always to come out second best. He followed the advice religiously for a time, but one day he thought he saw a chance to get the better of a river man, who calLed out: "Iley, tliar, what yer loaded with?" "Jackasses. Don't you want to come aboard?" yelled back Twain. "That's whut I reckoned, as how they let their biggest donkey her ther run of the deck-," came back. Twain made a dive below as all the river men in the neighborhood set up a derisive laugh at his expense. The Mark of Cienlat, Ascum—What's that boy of yours do ing now? Poppers —He's got a job in the bank and he's going to be president of that bank some day. "Bright, eh?" "Well, sir, he can sign his name m> »o'#idy on earth can make it out."— Press, A CHEERFUL QUEEN. The Summer Life i>f Carmen Sjlvn In the Munnlulna of lloiiniHula Is aii lili'ul One, Much has been written of Qt:een Elizabeth of Koumania (the poet "Car men Sylva"), one of the interestingantf admirable royal figures of Europe. The Century contains a little paper on her summer life in the mountains by Mine. Zoe de Bolatchano, once of her court, who gives this agreeable glimpse of her: Sometimes, at a very early hour, I could hear the queen's clear, powerful . —————in 1 ■■ QUUEN OF ROUMAN'IA. voice caroling as joyously as a bird on awakening; or the sound of her footsteps approaching my cell would be followed by a succession of sharp little taps on the window with her parasol. I would jump up hastily, to find it full day, ashamed to have been caught napping while my sovereign was setting so admirable an example in industry and early rising; yet I was never permitted to feel that I was not at liberty to do as I pleased. On the contrary, the queen's maternal solici tude was aroused by my frail health, and she was unremitting in her efforts to spare me unnecessary trouble or fatigue. In spite of this tender care, there were times when the malady that I was endeavoring to throw off reas serted itself and confined me to my bed. It was during these depressing hours that I learned to know the full significance of the name Maica rani tilor ("mother of the wounded") be stowed on the queen by the soldiers when she moved among them on the battlefield. Her presence by my couch, the soothing effect of her words, were restoratives that seldom failed to act like a charm. She did not always come alone, but sought to provide diversion for me by making my room a place where subjects of interest could be discussed. On one occasion a lady who had in troduced first one topic, then another, strove to uphold the theory, and with no small degree of eloquence, that a person who had been overburdened by sorrow in early years was not apt to be happy later on. "Do not believe that," exclaimed the queen, smiling brightly. Then, seizing upon a poetic figure of expression, she added: "Hap piness is like the ocean. It bears you away from your past and its sorrow, provided you do not persist in looking backward." CHILDREN'S QUESTIONS. Why Parent* Should Endeavor to Aa«ni'r Them Instead of Snul>- biuK the Inquirers. Little folks are wont to ask the most terribly embarrassing questions at times, and the more intelligent the children are the more they will want to know, for the active little brain of a clever child is always asking the why and wherefore of everything. In deal ing with children's questions be careful to discriminate between those which are asked from the desire to know and those which are the outcome merely of a childish love of talking. The latter are often best dealt with by saying, quite gently: "If you think a little, dear, you will be able to answer that for yourself." To questions of the for mer class reply if possible, as carefully as you would to an adult questioner. If the matter be beyond the child's comprehension or unsuitable for ex planation to one of tender years don't make any foolish or evasive answer. Say simply: "I cannot explain that to you now, for you are not old enough to understand it. By and by, when you are older, if you come and ask me again, then 1 will do my best to tell you what you want to know." If parents would speak thus to their children, in stead of snubbing, or laughing at their questions, they would keep their con fidence, and by and by would be re ferred to for information which boys and girls are sure to want and which is best learned from a father's or a mother's lips.—Chicago Daily News. Olil Sweetheart Itemenihered. Thirty years ago Miss Kachel Dick son and Peter Barclay, of Middletown, N. Y., were lovers. A quarrel separated them, and he went to Kingold county, la., where he married. His wife and two children died, and lately he fol lowed them. In his will he left all his estate, valued at $30,000, to his old ■Weetheart, who remained single. CURE FOR THE BLUES. Women and Men Who Tnkc a Gen-* ulue ?9»#«*rent In l.ife Are Free from Chronic Uepremion. Is there any one of the human fam ily who does not suffer occasionally from that "loathed melancholy"called "the blues?" If such a person exists he is as rare as the great auk, and he never, never eats late suppers or looks a thought too often on"the cup that cheers." From whatever cause the blue devils take possession of us; whether from derangements of the liver or nervous system, or from simple ennui, the cure for them is the same, unless, indeed, they are bred by organic disease which has taken vital hold on the system. And this cure—an absorbing inter est or occupation. People who ride their hobbies in season and out of season very rarely have the blues. En | thusiastic collectors are apt to be ag : gressively cheerful. If you suffer from depression of spirits, then take the advice of authorities on the sub -1 ject and look about for an interest ia : life. Ursula fiesterfeld, in one of her ■ books, handles the blue devils without | gloves. She frankly informs the vic j tims that what is the matter with i them is not that they are "too fine for j earth's coarser uses," and that their j delicate natures suffer from contact j with the rude, boisterous world, but I that they are abominably telfish, too | absorbed in their own sensations to j heed the fact that they are enveloping | themselves in an atmosphere of gloom ! which must necessarily depress all | about them. Her prescription is to ; smile, smile; smile in season and out ! of season; smile whether you feel like it or not, and gradually the mental state will adapt itself to the bodily ex pression. A charming young woman was heard to say the other day:"l am too much i in love ever to have the blues." "Too ! much in love?" echoed her astonished auditors, surprised at this frank reve lation. "Yes," she replied, provok ingly, "too much in love with myself. I regat-d myself as a mirror, don't you ; see, put on earth to reflect all the joy anil gladness of the universe; and so I cannot think of letting myself be come obscured and dimmed by such ugly clouds as the blues. Ah, never! I am too vain."—St. Louis Republic. PRETTY WINDOW SEAT. It Give* n Homelike Apponrnnoe nnd Adds to the Comfort of Small City l''lnta. Our sketch shows a very pretty and quaint idea for treating a flat window. A bench, with the short legs under neath, is used. To this at each end an upright is firmly fixed, and two shaped sides are fastened to each, giving th* ends the appearance of the old-fash; ioned high-backed chairs. A flat cushi DAINTY WINDOW SEAT. ion. which will lie along the seat and fit under the arms at each end, should be made, and a valance fastened along the side to hide the legs of the seat. Within the space at the top of each end formed by the uprights and the two arms light shelves may be fixed. Cover the whole of the woodwork with cretonne or tapestry, or, if preferred, it may be enameled or atained.—Chi cago Daily News. SELECTION OF COLORS. Tint* for lllonde* and Ilrnnettes Should lie Chosen with More Tlinn Ordinary Care. Ths reason why certain colors, how ever beautiful in themselves, will not suit us all are various; nor do all shades of a color produce identical ef fects. It is an error to suppose, for instance, that yellow is necessarily un favorable to blondes in all its shades. It is the orange tint, deep or slight, that is specially the brunette's tint; and only for her with a clear complex ion. Orange, like red, contrasts with the dark hair and skin, and becoming ly depens their efl'ect. For the blonde the delicate yellow of ripe corn is ex actly beautifying, making the fair skin whiter by contrast, (ireen, again, in moss and eau-de-Nil tints, most be coming to blondes, has some tones that are very favorable to brunettes— the emerald greens, not too bright—• while the moss greens can be worn by either blonde or brunette, though most suited to the fair girl; and the lighter shades of green are not becom ing to ruddy complexions of either the fair or dark type of skin. If you look hard at green for a few minutes you will find that the eye has a red color in it, as it were, which is reflected on all else that the gaze falls upon for a time. In the glances that are given at a cos tume while worn, this same effect is but slightly produced, and thus a rosy tone is diffused on the skin. Bright green, therefore, is becoming to the pale but clear skin, but not to the high or muddled complexion. Violet i<= only becoming near the face if the skin be quite free from yellow tints of its own, as few brunettes (and, sooth to say, not many blondes!) can ciuiai to b*. —Chicago American.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers