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VOL. 61.
saw THE GREAT
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How Bessie Chose Her
Husband.
Mrs. Lanson's door opened and Bes
sie came in with a troubled look on her
sweet young face. 'What is the mat
ter, my daughter,' said Mrs. Lanson
pleasantly.{'Oh, I'm in such a dilemna,
mother. Tuesday evening when Ar
tnr Mercer was here, he asked me to be
his wife. I was taken by surprise and
did not know what to say. I begged
him to give me a month's time to con
sider the matter. He kindly consent
ed to do so ; last evening when I went
riding with Gus Windon as I promis
ed, he asked rhe same question : of
course I had to put him on probation
too.
They have both been dear friends,
but I thing my heart inclines a little
more favorably toward Gus. He is
the jolliest fellow I know : but wheth
er his nature holds out at home as else
where, 1 cannot say.
Home is the place to foira a correct
estimate of a person's disposition, and
not in company.'
'Yes, my daughter, that is true :
but, unfortunately young people seldom
have a chance to judge each other
from that standpoint. There would he
many more happy marriages if they
could.'
Bessie sat in deep thought sometime,
then suddenly sprang up and danced
arouud the room, as she exclaimed : 'I
have it mamma, I have it. Mrs. Mer
cer told me last week, her girl would
leave to-morrow. I will disguise my
self and apply for the position. If I
succeed in getting it, I will stay long
enough to satisfy myself about Arthur,
theu get homesick and have to 'leave,'
as Bridget would say. You know,
mamma, the Irish brogue is so easy for
me, it will help me effectually to dis
guise me.'
'As your plan may have much to do
with your future happiness. 1 have no
objection,' said Mrs. Lanson.
Bessie left the room, and in about an
hour she returned so completely chang
ed, even her mother ecarcely knew her.
'An Irish Biddy you surely are,' said
Mrs. Lanson. 'You need not fear dis
coyery Bessie, your own father would
not recognize you.'
Well satisfied with herself, Bessie
proceeded to Mrs. Mercer's, and when
an hour later she left that lady, she had
the promise of the coveted situation, if
all parties were satisfied after a week's
trial. She was to begin her duties the
following morning. With a light
heart, she sped home to tell her mother
of her success, and to make prepara
tions to return that evening.
She kept the highway about half the
way home,then looking intently up and
down the road, and not seeing any one
to observe her actions, she climbed the
fence and ran across a meadow to a
piece of woods lyiog directly beyond.
She then felt perfectly sife from detec
tion. Just at dusk, with her bundle
under her arm, she again appeared at
the Mercer farm house. Mrs. Mercer
greeted her with a pleasant 'good even
ing.' After a little talk with her re
garding th 6 work, and what sheexpect
ed of her help, Bessie was shown her
room and informed that she must be
up at 5 o'clock every morning.
After a sound refreshing sleep she
rose, made her simple toilet and appear
ed in the kitchen at the appointed time.
She wore a neat calico dress, protected
by an ample apron, and a plain linen
collar. Her own brown lock 3 were
completely hidden by false ones of a
decidedly reddish tinge.
[ When the family assembled for
breakfast, she was introduced to each
MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 17., 1887.
member. Mr. and Mrs. Mercer believ
ed In treating their hiied help as ladits
and gentlemen, so long as their behav
ior entitled them to such treatment.
They seemed to be a very loving fami
ly, though not as demonstrative as
some.
The Mercer farm was a large one ami
consequently theie was much work in
doors and out. Bessie had several op
portunities during the ffrst few days,
of seeing Arthur take the heaviest bur
dens upon himself instead of leaving
them for his father or younger broth
er. lie was uniformly kind and gentle
to his mother and sisters. When rest
ing at noon, little Mattie and Harry
seemed to think hiua their especial
property to tumble over as much as
they pleased, while he was lying on tho
grass in the shade.
Bessie, he treated as kindly and re
spectfully as he would any lady who
was his mother's guest. He kept the
wood box full and never let hei bring a
pail of water, if he was around when it
was needed. The whole family seemed
to place all confidence in everything lie
said or did. One week sufficed to per
fectly satisfy Bessie in regard to Ar
thur's capabilities of making a good
husband. Yet her thoughts reverted
many times a day to gay laughing Gus.
She was more than delighted one day
when Mrs. Mercer mentioned that Mrs.
Windon's seamstress was yery sick
and she did not know where to find
another.
That afternoon Bessie did not feel
well and begged to go home for a few
days.
'O mamma,' she cried bursting into
her mother's room, and startling that
good lady out of her nap, 'llow fortuue
smiles on me.'
'I have just found out to-day that
Mrs. Windon's seamstress is sick and
she is very anxious to supply her place ;
so mother mine, this time I'll assume
the garb cf a little Quakeress and be
fore I sleep I'll know whether Dame
Fortune will assist me in finding out
good and bad qualities of my other
suitor.'
As Bessie passed along the broad path
leading from the gate to the pleasant
Windon homestead, she heard Mrs.
Windon say, 'lt is too bad, Gus ; your
father was so anxious to llnis'i that
fence to-day and coul 1 if you had only
helped him.' 'Mother it fatigues me to
work when it is so warm,' laughingly
answered Gus.
Bessie's knock ended the conversa
tion. She made known her errand
and Mrs. Windon very gladly engaged
her. When Mi. Windon came in lie
looked tired and worried,hut said noth
ing.
The next rooming Mrs. Windon ask
ed Gus to drive her to the city, as she
must do a little shopping. 'All right
my lady mother, hut please instruct
Ned to see that the carriage is at the
door when you desire it, and I shall he
quite happy to accompany you,' said
Gus, from his comfortable position on
the couch.
When the carriage was driven to the
door, he did not offer to assist his
mother, hut sprang in and waited for
her to follow. The next morning he
took his gun and dog and went limit
ing, though it was altogether too warm
to work.
One morning Mrs. Windon had a se
vere head-ache which confined her to
her room. Bessie had nearly finished
one dress when she found it would he
necessary to have a little more trim
ming. She reported the fact to Mrs.
Windon who immediately called Gus
and asked him to take Miss D the
seamstress, to the city that she might
match the trimming. But he very po
litely declined the honor of riding out
with her, by saying in a tone loud
enough to he perfectly understood in
the sewing room which joined Mrs.
Windon's.
'My dearest mother, I prefer to
choose my company when I ride out
and I am not in the habit of clioo3ing
our hired hHp. What would the ele
gant Miss Bessie say if she should see
me in such company V'
Bessie's eyes flashed for an instant
and then a queer little smile danced
around the corners of her mouth as she
murmured to herself, 'The die is cast,
my elegaut admirer, do-nothing ; how
surprised you'll be when you come for
your answer.'
Good-heaited Ned volunteered to go,
not very gently telling his elder brother
that probably Miss D would prefer
riding with a gentleman if she weut at
all.
When they returned, Neddie handed
his mother a letter from her niece, Al
ice Crofton, who stated that they
might expect her and a friend, Carrie
Wagner, on the 3.45 train the follow
ing afternoon. Gus was delighted, and
when the time came to go for them he
needed neither coaxing nor urging.
When he returned, he sprang out
and assisted the ladies to alight. Bes
sie could hardly realize that lie was the
same person she had seen lounging
A PAPER FCrtt Til E HOME CIRCLE
around for tho past few days bent upon
taking his case regardless of the rights
or feelings of others. He was now the
sune gallant Gus of Bessie's acquaint
ance. Though extremely warm, it was
110 trouble to plan amusements for his
cousin andher friend.
One day they had a croquet party to
which several young people of the
neighborhood were invited.
Arthur Mercer and his sister Emma
were of the number. She came, but
lie sent his regrets ; his father was not
very well, and there was some work
which must he attended to. How un
like Gus, thought lassie.
Another day there was a picnic at
Forest Lake, then a party at Mr. Dim
ple's. Soon after tho ai rival of the
young ladies, Gus drove after Bessie to
present her to his friends, lie had not
a doutt hut what her answer would he
all he desired, lie returned very much
disappointed. 'My bright and particu
lar star will not shine upon you ladies
during your stay, and I am very sorry.
Her mother tells me she is away and
may not return for two weeks.' 'Don't
grieve too much, Gussie dear, for I'm
sure Bessie cannot? be prettier or more
winning than sweet Nellie Liudon. If
Bessie does not return why not stille
youi grief and pi y the gallant to little
Nell ?'
'My dear cousin Alice you are not
one hit worldly wise, or else you are
ignorant ot the circumstances,' chimes
in mischievous Ned.
'Be-isie is the only child of the richest
man in these parts, Nellie is the eldest
of eight children ; and it is a constant
struggle for the where-with-all to
clothe and feed the llock. Oar Gus is
not fond of work.'
During the laugh which followed,
Ned made his escape.
The seamstress was utterly ignored
by the gay young people ; though she
did not sew in .the evening she was
not iuyited to share any of their amuse
ments.
She received her pay Saturday nigh l
and with a light heart started for home.
Her mission was accomplisned as well
as Mrs. Windon's sewing, and both
parties were perfectly satisfied.
One evening, the following week,
Arthur and Emma drove around by
Mr, Linson'a nnd lnvite'l Bessie to
take a ride.
Emma proposed that they call at the
Windon homestead, wliich Bessie was
nothing lotli to do. They found Gus,
Alice, and Carrie finishing a very in
teresting gtme of croquet. Gus was
delighted to have the opportunity of
presenting Bessie to his friends.
He did not relish the idea of her rid
ing out wit Mercer, but as Eunna was
along he soon dismissed it from his
thoughts. They spent a very pleasant
evening, Gus scarcely leaving Bessie's
side. As they were taking leave he
managed to whisper to her/Remember
my month of probation is oyer next
Wednesday night, you may expect me
that evening for my answer.' 'lt will
be ready, you may rest assured,' said
Bessie, and she treated him to one of
her sweetest smiles.
Bessie was not a coquet, but she felt
he needed to have hi 3 expectations rais
ed a little that he might be the more
completely humilitated.
She was confident that his cousin
and her friend looked upon her as his
affianced ; their words and action
plainly said so, and he must have given
them that impression.
That night in his room Gus solib
qu'zid after this fashion : 'Poor Mer
cer I I'm deuced sorry for him. He
seems quite infatuated with Besie.
How surprised and chagrined he will
be when he sees me carry off the priz°.
A little of old Hanson's 'filthy lucre'
will not come amiss, that is sure, and
Bessie is the queenly sort of a lady that
Mrs. Windon should be
How all my le3s fortunate friends
will envy me my beautiful and accom
plished wife.'
With vissiocs of Bessie presiding
over his home, which her father's mon
ey would probably purchase, he fell
asleep. Quite different were the
thoughts of Arthur.
'I fear Bessie cannot care for me as
my wife must. Gus was all devotion
this evening and she seemed to enjoy It.
How stupid and inattentive I must ap
pear Compared with Gus, who is all
life and jolity.
I believe I could make Bessie hap
pier thau she will be with him. I fear
her pleasure will have to he subservient
to his, many times. But mother says
we men never can understand a wo
man, so I will lay no more stress on
Bessie's behavior this evening, and pa
tiently wait till next week.'
With a quickly beating heart Bessie
entered the parlor Tuesday evening, for
she knew Arthur was there waiting
| for his answer. He rose as she enter
ed, one look at her beautiful face and
he dared to hope his love was returned,
lie opened his arms and Bessie all
| blushes and smiles walked straight in
to ihem.
'My darling, last Thursday evening
when 1 saw you smile Hi) sweetlv 0:1
Gus, I trembled for fear he would be
your choice.'
'Now, Arthur, I have a confession to
make, and perhaps you will respect and
love me less.'
Then she related what the reader
already knows. It did not seem to
change his sentiments, hut to amuse
liim very much.
'And what will you tell Gus tomor
row evening, Bessie V'
'1 shall tell him plainly how I arriv
ed at my decision, and it may help him
in future to bo courteous to all.'
After a pleasant evening discussing
their future. Arthur said good night
and went ho ne with a happy heart.
The next evening Gus presented him
self in an unexceptionable toilet, and
the air of a favored suitor. Bessie hes
itated a moment in tho doorway. Gus
immediately crossed the room to her
side, attempted to put his arms around
her and lead her to the s >fa. Bis
sie put out her hands in protest and
quietly slipped into her willow rocker
and motioned Gus to a seat opposite.
He obeyed without a woid, looking
rather crest fallen.
'Gus. I have a little story to tell you.
Four weeks ago last evening Arthur
Mercer asked me to he his wife. I
was somewhat surprised, having
thought of him only as a pleasant ac
quaintance ; I asked him to give me
time to decide. He.kindly consented.
The nexi evening you proposed and
was treated in the same manner. I
had no thought of you in the character
of a lover any more than Arthur.
I did not understand my own heart
well enough to accept either of you at
the time, yet I was rather more favor
ably inclined toward you. I determin
ed to find out, if possible, which would
make the most agreeable companion
for life. Mis. Mercer had told me "the
week before that her girl intended to
leave ; while I was trying to think of
some plan by which to accomplish my
purpose, as if it had been an inspira
tion, the thought came, why not obtain
the position in Mrs. M's family and
find out what I could of Arthur's home
life ? 1 went immediately to Mrs. Mer
cei's, offered ray services, was accept
ed and lgan my duties next morning.
I found them a very courteous family.
The sincerest affection was manifested
by each one toward the others. Sel
fishness could find no abiding place
there. I studied Arthur's character
every time an opportunity presented
itself.
I saw he was a kind, affectionate son
and brother, who thought of the com
fort of every one else (even the hired
girl) before self.
He treated me as respectfully as lie
did his mother's guests. I could not
help admiring and respecting him, and
yet your pleasant face was often before
me.'
Gus had grown restless during the
story, but during her last sentence Ills
face had brightened, and he interrup
ted her with, 'Bessie, is it fair to give
one a chance to display his amiable
disposition and not the other ?'
'No, indeed, but lam not through.
Fortune was very kind io me. I heard
your mother needed a seamstress. The
litth Quakeress you despised and would
not ride to town with, was none other
than the 'elegant' Bessie you so much
wished to present to your friends.
It is needless for me to repeat the
many other incidents of that week,
which convinced me that you cared
more for your own ease and pleasure,
than for the comfort or happiness of
those you should love best on earth,
and I decided it would be safer to
trust my life's happiness to Arthur. I
hold every womau should be treated
like a lady so long as her conduct war
rants such treatment, whether she he
rich or poor, homely or handsome.
I forgot all about your pleasant gal
lantry when I saw now utterly selfish
you were in your home.
The dear home friends should receive
kindness and polite attentions as well
as honored guests. 1 feared the time
would come when you would care as
litt'e for my pleasure as you seemed to
for your father ami mother.
And then how uiy heart would ache
to see you so polite and attentive to
visitors, while I would be totally neg
lected.
I believe Arthur will ever be the same
kind courteous gentleman to every one.
no matter what their position in life.
' Last night I promised to be his wife,
lie has his answer; you have yours.
Forgive me Gus,if I have seemed harsh
or unkind.'
When Bessie finished Gus lifted his
face out of which all hope had vanished.
'You are right, Bessie,you have chosen
wisely. No one is to blame but my
self. My life has been a miserable fail
ure ; but you shall not despise me. I
will be a man and win your respect.
Will you be my friend still, Bessie ?'
'You do not know how happy I shall
be if any words of mine lead you to a
life of usefulness.'
Terms, SI.OO per Year, in Advance.
*****
'lt is five years to-night,dear Arthur,
since I ga\o Gus his answer. To-day
lie is the leading lawyer of 11. To-mor
row he will bo the husband of our dear
Emma, and I do not fear to trust her
to him. The old selfish Gus is trans
formed into a true gentleman like
like—well somewhat resembling your
papa, darling,' said Bessie, as she
caught up two-year-old Winnie and
danced around the room.
'Dear Bessie, if it had not been for
your little scheming head, I fear there
would not now be four such very hap
py people in this little town. May
many others go and do likewise.'
Dynamite For A Singer.
A Rude Shock at Patti's Con
cert In San Francisco.
An Aged Crank Makes Some Evil
Remarks About the Diva and
J. C. Flood and Prematurely
Explodes a Bomb Which
Injures Himself—Pat
ti Calms the
House.
SAN FUANCISCO, Feb. 10.— A crank
attempted to kill Adelina Patti during
a concert at the Grand opera house by
means of a bomb. The would-be assas
sin was injured, though not seriously,
by the premature explosion of the en
gine of destruction. Jt was Patti's
last concert and the Grand opera house
was crowded. At 10:20 after Patti had
twice appeared in front of the curtain
in response to recalls at the conclusion
of an aria from La Traviata, and just
as she had retired again to the wings, a
tremendous explosion was heard above
the applause, and a cloud of smoke was
seen to rise over the railing of the top
gallery. Instantly every lorgnette in
the house was focussed on the spot
where the smoke arose and a panic was
imminent. People in the gallery were
rushing about, seeking the quickest
means of exit, and it was only through
the self-possession of the newspaper
men present in the boxes coupled with
that cf the diva herself, that a stam
pede of the entire audieuce for .the
doors was prevented.
The newspaper men were in the
stage box, and they quickly perceived
that no serious harm had been done.
They communicated by nods and mo
tions with Mtne. Patti, who was still
in the flies, to come before the curtain.
She comprehended the situation and
came forward quickly, and giving the
cue to Arditi, began singing Home
Sweet Home. This had a calming ef
fect on the audience, and though many
left their seats to ascertain the cause
and effect of the unexpected punctua
tion to the performance, the concert
was carried on to its conclusion. As
soon as the location of the trouble could
be learned a policeman rushed to the
scene and found a man with a badly
burned face and hands moauing with
agony, and the remains of an infernal
machine about him. He was placed
under arrest and conveyed to Irving
hospital, where he said that when he
stooped to pick up his hat and cane he
found a package under his seat which
he picked up, and that as he raised it
to see what it was, it exploded.
Though he was badly burned about the
face and hands, it is belieyed he receiv
ed no serious injuries, and no other per
son is belieyed to have been hurt. He
gave his name as Dr. James Hodges,
aged seventy-one years, a dyspepsia
specialist, and his residence at No. 4
Central place.
Others give a different, but undoubt
edly correct, version of the affair. A
lady who sat next to him, and who
narrowly escaped injury, says that dur
ing the evening he made a number of
significant remarks which pointed
clearly to the purpose he afterward at
tempted to carry out. Among the ob
servations which the lady distinctly re
membered was : 'Patti is singing ex
cellently to-night, but she will never
sing any more.' He was also heard to
make uncomplimentary and revengeful
allusions to J. C. Flood and his family,
who were present in a box. At the
Irving hospital, after his wounds had
been dressed, the chief of police at
tempted to make him commit himself,
but the effort was a complete failure.
He stoutly maintained his innocence.
The chief of police pronounced him a
crank.
The bomb was made of a can filled
with in the centre of which
was a bottle. The can was wrapped in
pieces of cloth soaked in iufiamable oil,
and it is belieyed that the intention
was not only to kill Patti and those
near the stage, but also to set fire to
the building. The bomb was arranged
to explode by a number of friction
matches, which were connected with a
fuse in the powder. The theory is that
the fuse burned too quickly for the
crank and the explosion was premature.
Though Patti performed her part in
the remainder of the programme, it
was noticeable that the occurrence had
considerable effect upon her and had
somewhat subdued her usual vivacity.
-First-class job work done at the
JOURNAL office.
NO. 7-
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al insertion*
Blessings In Disguise.
A Startl ing Showing of the Might
Have Been but for War, F&m.
ine, Pestilence and Carnage.
Never was charity so general as in
the present time, and in no land so
universal as h~re. Never was a coun
try so blessed as ours by the absence
of the great calamities that constantly
threaten human life and health. But
what would be the result of a contin
uance, for centuries, of such a happy
condition, and how would it affect the
future of man ? Take for granted
that the world is but six thousand
years old, that its inhabitants all
sprang from a single pair—Adam and
Eve ; suppose the virtue, temperance
and the beneficient traits of peace and
good will to all prevailed at the be
ginning, und had been continued to
the present time. What would then
be the condition of mankind ? The
answer comes from all sides : A won
derful prosperity and happiness. Let
us calculate. It is very reasonable to
suppose that a community whose
members practiced peace and good
will, who were virtuous and temper
ate in all things, would, io the ordi
nary course of things, double in pop
ulation every twenty years. Yet, to
be entirely within all bounds, we will
suppose it to double only once in a
century. Now, starting with the sin
gle pair in the year one, and doubling
their increase every hundred years, it
is found that in five thousand years—
which would correspond to the year
A.D. 887—there would be 2,251,799,-
813,685.248 virtuous and peace-loving
souls on our planet This would be
over eleven millions to every square
mile. While at six thousand years,
or the present year of 1887, the pop
ulation would have so increased that
every square foot of the entire area ot
our globe would be compelled to ac
commodate 424 persons. Taking the
actual land at three-fifths ot the whole,
leaving -out the seas and oceans bat
including such balmy spots as the
North Pole and the Desert of Sahara,
the number of persons to the square
inch would be five. It is quite possi
ble that .long before reaching such a
point peace and good will would have
given place to practices more akin to
war and extermination.
Is it not then to these very "curses
of our race," War, Pestilence, Famine
and Intemperance, that we of to-day
owe our standing-room and existence?
What would happen if there was not
seme outlet, and will not the time
come—if all the world were as nicely
behaved as optimists desire—when
there will not be space enough to
breathe in ? Part of this finds its re
ply in the pithy line of Wordsworth,
•'Carnage, too. is God's daughter. 1 '
OWEN A. GILL.
A Washington "Sponge."
'Do you know I don't actually
spend $4 a month for food seven
months in the year,' said a Washing
tonian. 'Here is my programme : I
rise about 11.-30 or 12 o'clock (I am
not a workingman), and take a cup of
coffee and two biscuits, which cost
nine cents. I start out on my rounds
calling, about 2.-30 in the afternoon,
and strike any of fifty places, where I
take lunch with the family. I work
the dinner racket the same way, and
late in the evening put on my dress
suit and manage to hit a good warm
lunch where a reception is in prog
ress.'
'Do many men live in this way?'
asked the correspondent.
'I can name you twenty men right
in this town who are playing the
same game. Why, what's the use in
a fellow putting up good hard boodle
when he can live without it ?'
A Three Thousand Dollar Dane.
Probably most valuablejcane In
Chicago is owned by Dr. W. H. Hale, a
Scotchman, who left Edinburg fiye
years ago, and has since traveled a hun
dred thousand miles, the cane going
with him. The head of this wondrous
cane coutains over three pounds of 18-
karat gold, and is mounted with sixty
five diamonds. The gold snake which
entwines the upper part of the cane has
ruby eyes. In the top of the head is se
cured a gold chronometer balance watch
the cover of which contains a gold
monogram of its owner, 'studded with
twenty-four diamonds. Dr. Hale says
the cost of the cane was $3500. He is
naturally very proud of it, and never
tires showing it to callers.— Ckicag3
Herald.