i
i
seemomsnnnse
do it—that’s all.
Demorra ac
Bellefonte, Pa., Jan. Il, 190I.
THE NEW CENTURY.
When in the dim, gray east shall rise
The morning of thy birth—
When thy first dawn steps from the skies
Upon the hills of earth—
Shall waiting nations breathless stand
Oppressed with haunting fears
Of what thou holdest in thy hand,
Thou coming Hundred Years?
Or shall a glad world welcome thee
With laughter and a song—
Thou unborn child of Destiny
Whose reign shall be so long ?
Who knows !—we only know that thou
Shall enter like a king
Into thy conrts—that we must bow,
Whatever thou dost bring.
What matter whether war cr peace
Thy heralds shall proclaim—
The story of the centuries;
Is evermore the same!
Thy children years shall tell abroad,
Through all thy mighty span,
Naught but the Fatherhood of God—
The Brotherhood of Man.
—The Independent.
MISS MARIA’S MATCH.
““The more I think about it, the harder
it is to do !’? said Miss Maria Marvin to
herself, as she stood before the old-fash-
ioned gilt looking-glass, tying her brown
bonnet-strings with a visible trembling
hand. But her soul was braced and firm.
“Henry Edwards has just got to be told
about Marietta, and there’s no one else to
I’ve tried writing it,and
torn up four letters. You can’t put those
_ things down on paper—even if you're sure
of your spelling, and I'm not even that.
I’ve got to see him and tell him somehow,
for if ever a girl was pining away, that
girl is Marietta Hawking I"
Mies Maria was perhaps not exactly what
one would have chosen as an ideal mes-
senger of love. She was stout, and dark,
and over fifty in the shade, and ‘‘queer,’’
as everybody said—in which everybody
was not far wrong. She was untiringly
good, and untiriogly energetic, yet she
was hardly popular. Hergarden brimmed
with flowers, a perfect paradise of jonquils
and lilies in thespring, of sweet-pease and
roses and heliotrope and scented lemon
verbena in the summer, of dahlias and
asters and nasturtinms in the fall ; she was
was never done with visiting the poor.
But then, as Jane Irving said (Jane always
spoke her mind, ) ‘‘The flowers will bloom
for Miss Maria, and the poor can get along
with her, because flowers don’t care what
you do to them, and the poor can’t quarrel
with their benefactos to advantage. But
if you are neither starving nor a flower,
Miss Maria is rather too unexpected for
one’s peace of mind. 3
There is no doubs that this is the way
in which Miss Maria strock many others
besides the candid Jane. Her impulses,
both of speech and of deed, were many,
and where impulsiveness is not charming
it is apt to have a surprisingly irritating
quality. It had been the reason, perhaps,
why so few friends had been made by the
occupant of the old brown house back from
the avenue, half-hidden by its masses of
vines and its low-spreading maple-trees.
Yet Miss Marvin had friends—some of her
own age and circle, who took tea with her,
and she with them, round the cycle of the
year ; some of the poor who were incurably
grateful ; some of the church people who
knew her virtues (though they dreaded
what she might do next in the Pastor’s
Aid Society) ; and, above all, Marietta
Hawkins, the little commissionaire, who
lived in the back street, and went daily to
the city to do the shopping whose comnis-
sions helped to fill her slender purse.
Marietta could not remember when she had
not known Miss Maria, and Miss Maria
recollected the day when Marietta lived
next door, a chubby child, the only
daughter of a supposedly wealthy father,
and used to run in every day for a ‘‘posy’’
which would have heen forth-coming if it
had taken the last flower ont of the garden.
She had seen Marietta grow up, a slender,
pretty girl, with a droop of dark eyelash,
and curve of mouth and crown of soft
brown hair, very like the young mother
who bad died of consumption when Mari-
etta was but three years old. Both father
and neighbor were a trifle apprehensive over
that likeness, and winced when thoughtless
outsiders remarked that ‘Etta looked as if
she might go as her mother did.”’” But
Marietta never went into a decline, even
when her father sternly interfered with
her girlish love-affair with Henry Edwards,
and sent that aspiring young man to the
right-about. Judge Hawkins had higher
ideas for his only child than a young artist,
seribbler, illustrator and so forth, whose
father had made money in leather too re-
cently for a high cultivation to pervade the
family.
‘Why, Etta, the judge said, sternly,
‘‘when old Edwards was building this new
house of his in the next square, I met him
in a book store in the city one day, and he
consulted me as to the books he should
“buy. ‘There’s Shakspere, Judge,’ he said
‘I suppose I'd better get Shakspere ; they
tell me he’s considerable of a poet.’
I= suppose I'd let my daughter lower
erself to the point of marrying that man’s
son ? It would break your mother’s heart,
if she were alive. Once for all, I have
told that young man that his suit is pre-
posterous. Do you understand, Etta?—
preposterous !’’
“*Yes, father,”’ Marietta had said, faint-
ly. She was only nineteen, naturally obe-
dient, and very much afraid of her father.
It was Marietta’s very nature to be timid.
She was not at all progressive, or talented,
or self-willed. She was: old fashioned, a
reversion to type, a girl of very girlish pat-
- tern indeed, and she made no effort to re-
‘sist the strenuous authority of her father,
: though she certainly cried a great deal,and
‘helped Miss Maria visit’ the poor. And
. Henry Edwards, who was a tall,fair young
fellow with an eyeglass, a pointed beard,
and an impressionist style, wrote a sonnet
or two that nobody could exactly under-
stand, but which breathed of bitter disap-
pointment (Marietta cried twice as much
when they appeared, ) and then packed his
trunk and went to Paris to study art. The
little town heard no more of him for awhile
—=8ix or seven years at least. It wae per-
“haps five years after he left that Judge
Hawkins died, and the house was sold for
the mortgage, and the personal property to
“pay the oreditors, and Marietta was left
with as nearly nothing as one could have,
and set to work forthwith to earn her liv-
ing.
Everybody, at first, said that Marietta
conld not do it. But a capable friend
thought of the opening for a shopper, and
Marietta had a great deal of taste, and the
city was only an hour away. Every day
Miss Maria saw the slender figure pass her
windows, and almost every evening Mari-
etta, keeping up the old custom, stopped
to get her posy. Miss Maria would have
taken her into the little brown house in a
minute if she could ; but then everybody
knew the open secret of that little house—
the crippled, half-idiotic brother, so long
and carefully tended, who must not be
| disturbed Ly any intruding guest, and to
whom, with his screaming parrot and his
pile of picture-books, Miss Maria’s leisure
hours had been devoted ever since her
mother died, so many years ago. Perhaps
most lone women, left with a weak-minded
cripple for daily company (for the parrot
could hardly be said to count, scream as it
might, ) would have become as ‘‘unexpect-
ed” as Miss Maria, for human nature, no
matter how kindly, must have its outlet.
Miss Maria, however, had not done any-
thing unlooked-for for some time. Per-
haps it was because certain feelings were
gathering to a head in her breast. Two
things had happened that disturbed her.
In the first place Marietta was looking far
from well. She had been shopping steadily
for a year, and had somehow supported
herself, but Miss Maria’s beady black eyes
bad noticed signs about her that she did
not like. Maybe it was the black that
made the girl look still more slender ; but
it could not bring that hollowness in the
cheek and that weariness of step. Marietta
did not always come for her ‘‘posy,’’ and
when she did come, there was sometimes a
flush in her young cheek that had a hectic
suggestion about it. She protested that
she was well, but with a certain shrinking
and embarrassment over which ber old
friend worried. ‘‘Sh’s going into a de-
cline, as sure as I ever saw a case,’ said
Miss Maria, grimly, to herself, ‘‘and she
won’t own how badly she feels. I don’t
wonder she’s going that way. Everything
is against her, losing her lover, and then
her father, and her home, and now catch-
ing trains and hurrying about and over-
working. And to see it coming, and not
be able to stop it—dear me ! we must be-
lieve in Providence, and there are times, it
seems to me, if I must say it, when I could
give points to Providence, and that’s the
truth !"’
All this was enough to trouble an im-
pulsive soul. But in the second place,
Henry Edwards chose ‘this junction to
come home from Paris. He dropped as if
from the skies upon the astonished town,
with a picturesque costume involving a
soft felt hat, a pink shirt, and a wide silk
sash, and with the avowed intention of re-
turning to Europe in six weeks. At the
end of six months he was still established
in his father’s house however ; and as
there was no apparent reason why he had
come, there seemed none, equally why he
should not go. Miss Maria had been sure,
at first, in her secret heart, that he had
come back to marry Marietta ; but if so,
as she was forced to own, his discretion
was remarkable. Indeed, he seldom
seemed to leave that Edwards house,
where it was rumored, he was at work on
a picture, But the pisture did not mate-
rialize either. He had not called upon
Marietta ; that much was certain. Miss
since his return, and that was across the
street. It was certainly very mysterious.
Little by little, however, Miss Maria's
mind orystallized around a logical solu-
tion. Henry Edwards had come home,
expecting to leave, but had remained in
spite of himself. He had shut himself up
to paint a picture, but could not. He had
not been to see Marietta, or made any ad-
vances, but he seemed to shrink equally
from everybody else. The solution was
plain—Henry Edwards was a blighted be-
ing. He loved Marietta, and could not
stay away from ber vicinity, but he had
been crushed by the loss of his hopes—so
crushed that they showed no signs of
blooming again, and even his art was
ruined. Yet Miss Maria knew from re-
ted horticultural experience that bulbs
which, after all, were very much like
hearts in their general shape) might lie
chilled and dormant long. and still have
within them all the potentialities of blos-
som. And Marietta, on her side, was
drooping day by day. Were all these pos-
sibilities of mutual happiness to go relent-
lessly to waste because Edwards would not
make any advances, and Marietta could
not? Miss Maria thought over it and
thought it over.
bappened. Three, and still Henry re-
mained secluded and Marietta pined. Five,
and wild plans began to seethe in the little
spinster’s brain. Six—and here we are at
the point where Miss Maria tied her bon-
net-strings before the glass.
“I had better wait until it is quite
dark,’’ she thought, as she looked ont into
the winter twilight. The parrot, on his
perch by the window, apparently did not
agree with her, for he screamed, ‘‘Go along
—quick I’ He was an accomplished,
though ill-tempered bird, who could say
everything, and whose intelligence often
seemed malign enough to give Miss Maria
astart, as it did on this occasion. But the
sight of Marietta going by at that moment,
distracted her thoughts from herself.
*‘There she goes past the gate, and she
walks so tired ! Poor dear child! she
isn’t going to stop for her posy, and I'm
glad, because I'd forgotten all about it.
She hasn’t stopped in often lately, and I
feel as if there was something on her
mind these last few weeks, that she’s
afraid to have anyone see. I can guess
what it is 1’ Miss Maria thought of all the
Do | love stories she had ever read, and fairly
thrilled with emotion. She was ready,
now, to hunt up a whole battalion of
Henry Edwardses, if necessary—though it
dawned upon her, as she went down the
steps some ten minutes later, that no love
story that had so far come within her
knowledge laid precedent for her present
action.
“I ought to have been Henry Edward's
mother (only she’s dead) or his sister (but
he never had any) or his brother’s wife
(and John has never married) or his cous-
in (he must have one somewhere (or some-
body in the bosom of Ris family,” she
said, desperately to herself, ‘to do this
thing right. It would have been easy
then to sit with him beside a dying fire”
—Miss Maria had not read novels for noth-
ing—*‘and lead him on to speak of the
ruin of his early hopes, and then reassure
him, and tell him that I was sure Marietta
loved him still, but that her heart could
never speak until he broke the ice.”
Having thus begun with fire and ended
with ice, Miss Maria's meditations dropped
from metaphor, and took a more practical
turn. “I don’t see how I'm ever to be
sure the servants aren’t listening when he
comes down,’” she thought. ‘‘I'don’t even
know where the 'keyholes are. It gets
worse the more I think of it—but it’s got
to be done!” Miss Maria's well-worn
shoes trod firmly up the Edwardses’ walk,
‘and up to the showy facade of the large
mansion, which, as its owner proudly
boasted, ‘‘had seven kinds of stone in it,
and everyone of ‘em’ fetched from over a
hundred miles.’ A faint remembrance
of Judge Hawkin’s severe, clear-cut face
came over Miss Maria, as she rang the bell;
but she put it away. “He’sdead ; and I’m
doing it for the best—for the best, and to
Maria herself had never seen bim but. once
One month, and nothing
make Marietta happy,’’ she repeated in-
wardly.
Forts have been stormed by hearts less des-
perate and determined than that which beat
bard heneath the silk basque of Miss Maria
as the door flew suddenly open in the very
instant, or so it seemed, of her touch upon
the bell. ‘I want to see Mr. Henry Ed-
wards,”’ she announced, in a hoarse but
firm voice ; and then recognized that she
was face to face with that young man him-
self, who with hat pulled down upon his
brow, and overcoat buttoned up, was evi-
dently just starting forth for an evening
walk.
‘“At your service, Miss Maria,’’ he said,
pleasantly, with his little foreign accent.
Henry Edwards was one of those who
would acquire a pronounced accent in a
three weeks’ tourist trip, but simple-
minded Miss Maria was much impressed.
“What do you wish to see me about?
Anything I can do, I assure you, for so old
a neighbor—’’
Miss Maria gathered her forces.
‘‘Just step outside the door, Mr. Ed-
wards, and shut it. Thank you’’ (that ef-
fectually disposed of the servants hearing
anything, she realized with a throb of re-
lief.) “I feel a great interest in you, Mr.
Edwards, because I have known you ever
since you were a hoy. And I was very
glad when you came home again—very
glad! Iam sure I know why you came,
whether anyone else does or not.’’
Mr. Edwards bad been listening in ap-
parent bewilderment up to this point. but
now he startled violently. Mies Maria felt
her opening was made,and she went ahead
under a tremendous steam-pressure of emo-
tion.
‘‘Marietta does not know I am here to-
night. She would have died before she
would have let me come. But I can speak
for her, just the same. It was her father.
And now that Judge Hawkins is gone,
there isn’t any reason why yon two
shouldn’t be happy. I know you feel all
is over forever, and that you have come
home to brood over the past.”’ Miss Ma-
ria’s eloquence, at this point surprised
even herself. ‘I came to-night, Henry
Edwards, because I could not bear to see
two lives blighted for lack of a helping
hand to bring them together. Why don’t
you go and see Marietta, and ask her your
self if—’’ Miss Maria’s voice gave out, and
she gasped and stopped. The young man
also seemed speechless from embarrass-
ment.
“You are very kind, Miss Maria, he
said finally, in a low voice. ‘I had
thought—I will go and call upon Miss
Marietta, as you suggest.” he light
from the porch lamp struck upon his face ;
Maria thought him not improved by time,
even while her heart strings quivered with
the romance of the situation. The lines
of his face were weak ; there was no ques-
tion about it. Buf he was going to see
Marietta, and Marietta loved him.
You will never regret it, Henry Ed-
wards,’’ said the little spinster impressive-
ly. “‘And of course you will never, never,
breathe to Marietta that I—'’
‘Oh, newer!’ said Henry Edwards,
hastily. Excuse me, Miss Maria, but I
have an engagemenf—ah—a train to
catch.’’ and with that he fled precipitately
into the darkness, leaving Miss Maria a
prey to such intense emotions of relief and
joy that she never knew exactly how she
got off the Edwardses’ door-steps and back
‘to the little brown house, where the parrot
shyly welcomed her by cries of *‘Fire!
Fire !’ and wondered why she gave him
such a big piece of cake after supper.
Next day, all day long, she moved
about her little house in a_surcharged pt
mosphere of romance. The making ' of
matches was a new experience to Miss
Maria ; she always had had to discourage
them sternly among the poor, where the
most worthless youth in the whole street
invariable fell in love with the delicate
girl who was the only support. of a desti-
tute family. Bat this was different—this
was the ideal love affair. She saw Mari-
etta go by as usual in the morning, and
smiled to herself. Not long should that
slim figure trudge through cold and heat
to task. ‘‘Henry and John are the only
children,”’ she reflected, ‘‘and old Mr. Ed-
wards must be worth least half a million.
Even Judge Hawkins surely icould not
object.” The last shadow of doubt faded
away as she remembered that old Mr. Ed-
wards, being eighty, could not live much
longer, and that the young people would
have everything that both wealth and cult-
ure could give. They would travel,
doubtless, and Henry Edwards would
paint a great picture, and Marietta would
be so proud of him. With a happy sigh,
Miss Maria put on her bonnet after lunch,
and went out to a temperance meeting.
Temperance was Miss Maria's hobby as
her poor well knew, and her impulses dis-
played themselves in it to advantage. It
was she who had once led a deeply intoxi-
cated man into the meeting, put the pen
into his inert hand, guided it to sign the
iron-clad pledge, and then sent for his wife
to take him home and explain matters to
him later. She herself had taken the
pledge at the early age of nine, and had
eaten no mince pie for many years, realiz-
ing that without brandy it was as fatal to
the body as it was to the soul.
It was a delightful affair, and it’ was
well past five when Miss Maria and her
friend reached the little brown house on
their return. ‘Do come in for a mo-
ment,’’ urged Miss Maria, hospitably, and
Mrs. Joyce, a stout and indolent lady,
with an admirable turn for gossip, was
nothing loath. As they sank down in the
rocking chairs by the window, Marietta
went past— Marietta, with several glorious
roses pinned on the front of her shabby
jacket. ‘‘I wonder where ever those flow-
ers came from !” said Mrs. Joyce.
‘Maria did not answer, but her heart ex-
panded in trinmph. They were the roses
of victory—her roses as well as Marietta’s.
She had made them bloom—she, Maria
Marvin—out of a winter of sadness, and
over the grave of buried hopes. It was
her match ; her very own !
‘Speaking of temperance,’’ went on Mrs.
Joyce, evidently putting aside such a
small matter as Marietta’s roses, because a
far more entrancingly interesting subject
beckoned to her mind, ‘‘have you heard
that sad story about young Edwards—
Henry, you know ? I felt when the young
man went to Paris Maria, that it was
dangerous for him to be in that godless
place. And now it seems he drank so
hard that his friends tried to get him
home before there was a scandal. They
say he’s had one bad spell of it, too, since
he been back.”’
Everything swam before Miss Maria's
eyes, ‘‘I don’t believe it, Ellen Joyce,”’
she said weakly ; ‘‘it can’t be so!’ The
t, just behind her, suddenly began to
raw corks with all his might—a godless
trick which he had learned before Miss
Maria bought him. *‘It can’t be 85 Ellen!”’
she repeated, but without knowing what
she said. :
“I had it from Eliza Ellis, Maria, and
her own husband told her,”” responded
Mrs. Joyce, with dignity. ‘‘I am not one
to say a thing unless I know it is true.
Miss
Aud I said to Eliza, when she told me,
that it was a lucky thing that Judge
Hawkins was so set against Marietta’s
having anything to do with Henry Ed-
wards. Maybe the judge knew more
thau other folks did, even then.’
The old judge’s face came up blindingly
before Miss Maria’s inward vision as the
parrot drew another resounding cork, and
Mrs. Joyce, rather huffed at the reception
of her bit of gossip, took her departure.
The little spinster sank back in her chair,
rigid with remorse. Her match—it was
indeed her match! She realized all the
horrors of the case, now that it was too
late. She, Maria Marvin,in defiance of all
propriety and in the face of Providence,
had gone to Henry Edward’s house, called
him out on his own door step, and sent him
to Marietta. And Marietta, unknowing
all this, and loving him, had accepted him
—the roses showed that. They were en-
gaged—and now Miss Maria’s lips were of
necessity sealed. How could she warn
Marietta, when she herself had made this
disastrous match ? Yet how could she al-
low Marietta, without warning, to marry
a drinking man? Visions of all the poor
people who drank rushed across Miss Ma-
ria’s mind—visions of Ten Nights in a Bar
Room, which she had once read-—visions of
the wickedness and wretchedness possibly
on a quarter of a million. And at the
height of this inrash of horrifying thoughts,
the gate clicked, and Miss Maria, benumbed
with anguish, saw Marietta coming up the
walk with more roses in her hands.
*‘I brought these to yon, Miss Maria, be-
cause you have given so many posies to
me,’’ said she, with a higher flush than
ever hefore in her cheeks, and an actual
dimple as she spoke—Miss Maria never
noticed that dimple before. Something on
tho girl's finger gleamed in the fire-light.
It was—ol, horrors of horrois !—a diamond
ring.
‘Take them away !”’ cried Miss Maria,
in a perfact wail of dispair. ‘‘Don’t tell
me, Marietta. I can’t bear it. Ob, Mari-
etta, say yon don’t love him! You can’t
really care for him my dear. You have
mistaken your feelings; it isn’t really
love—"’
Mary drew her slight figure up until it
was quite stately. Why shouldn’t I love
him, Miss Maria !’’ she said.
‘Why shouldn’t she, indeed ? It was un-
answerable. It was Miss Maria’s own do-
ing. And yet she still feebly beat against
fate, sustained unconsciously, perhaps, by
the parrot’s brisk scream: ‘‘Never say die!
Who-oo-0p !”’ :
‘‘Men are so different from what we
think, Marietta,’ she exclaimed. ‘‘And
your dear father wouldn’t have liked it
Think of your father, Marietta. You
know it would have broken his heart to
have seen—'’ :
“Oh 1” cried Marietta, flushing and
paling. in a breath. ‘‘Why, dear Miss
Maria, how could father have disliked
James when he never knew him ?”?
*‘James!"’ cried Miss Maria, in such a
tone that the parrot fairly jumped upon
his perch, ‘‘James!”’
*‘Yes, James,”’ repeated Marietta, in
surprised agitation. ‘‘James Osgood, Mrs.
Osgood’s nephew in the city. I—met him
on the train, you know, at first. But it
wasn’t until lately—and I wanted yon to
be the first one we told—and nobody else
knows it, so you musn’t tell anyone yet,”’
she went on, hesitating and blushing as
prettily and happily as possible. ‘‘Are
you--are you quite well, Miss Maria?
You look so—so—"’
‘““Thank God !”’ said Miss Maria, fer-
vently. “I never felt better in my life !”’
She swallowed batd to keep down the
hysterics. ‘Marietta, never tell me after
this that marriages are not made ir heaven.
I have bad—a kind of nighmare, my dear.
And now—now tell me about James !"’
Bat, in her heart,she wondered who was
ever going to explain things to Henry Ed-
wards.-—Priscilla “Leonard in Harper's
Bazar.
Bishop Ninde’s Sudden Death.
A Venerable Methodist Divine Found Dead in Bed.
Bishop W. X. Ninde, aged 68, of the
Methodist Episcopal church, was found
dead in bed at his home in Detroit, Mich.,
Friday. It is thought the cause of death
was heart trouble. He attended a funeral
Thursday and caught cold. He had been
a bishop of the Methodist Episcopal church
since 1884, and. was known throughout the
United States. Prior to hiselection asa
bishop he was pastor of the Central Metho-
dist Episcopal church in Detroit and was
at one time a missionary in India. .
He leaves a wile, three sons and one
daughter. One son, Edward is a Metho-
dist minister at Ann Arbor. His daughter
Mary, was formerly a missionary worker
in India. She is now in the South with
her brother, Fred, who is ill. The other
son, George, is also ill at his home in De-
troit. Thursday the presiding elders of
Michigan held a conference and decided to
sell the episcopal residence, now occupied
by Bishop Ninde’s famliy, because the
churches of Michigan outside of Detroit
and other large cities failed to contribute
sufficient funds to maintain it. .
More Women Needed.
Here is a Chance for all Spinsters, Attractive -or
Otherwise.
There seems to be a shortage of women
in the British colonies if the reports of the
census taker are true.
In two of them alone—Canada and Aus-
tralia—there is a‘chance for balf a million
more to gain husbands and homes.
. According to the latest figures the popu-
lation of New South Wales consists of 729, -
000 wales and 626,000 females. Here is a
deficiency of 100,000. ’
In Vietoria the discrepancy is not so
marked, but in other colonies the differ-
ence is proportionately larger, In New
‘Zealand, for instance, there is an excess of
50,000 males. :
Perbaps if the women realized how.
much they are needed there they would go
in bevies. It is said, however, that they
are too timid to venture into strange lands
and are waiting for the colonists to come
and take them. ; deg sini
$50,000 Insurance on a Bull.
Application has been made for insurance
of $50,000 on the famous young Jersey
bull, Merry Maiden’s son, owned at Hodd
farm, Lowell, Mass. This is the highest
amonnt of insurance ever asked on a bull
or cow. Merry Maiden's son is believed
to be the most famous Jersey bull living,
as he is the son of Merry Maiden, the
‘champion sweepstake cow in all three tests
‘combined at the:World’s fair, and his sire
is Brown Bessie’s son, whose dam won the
ninety days’ and thirty days’ test at the
World’s fair.” Thus Merry Maidens: son
‘unites the blood of the two famous tows,
and great results are expected from his
progeny. ;
8. F. Nivin of Landenberg, Pa., has at
the head of his herd a bull of similar
breeding. His sire is also by Brown
Bussie’s son and his dam a sister of Merry
en.
SR——
His Name was Dennis.
A Boston Geologist Chased 15-Miles by a Posse Who
Thought He was Pat Crowe.
The detective posse which captured a
man who it was believed was Pat Crowe,
the kidnaper, near the Pine Ridge agency.
on Tuesday, returned to Chadron Nev., on
‘Wednesday, discomfited and disgusted,
and as a result of the misplaced diligence
of the Western officers, R. C. Dennis, of
Boston, will return home with very pro-
nounced ideas as to the life of a private
citizen in the Nebraska sandhills.
Dennis went to that section of the state
a few days ago for the purpose of exploring
the Bad Lands and gathering fossils and
Indian curios. He did not make public his
presence or his business, but went out in
the country by himself. He was seen
around the Pine Ridge agency and his
strange actions aroused the suspicion of
those stationed there. The matter was re-
ported, and the description of Dennis sent
in tallied exactly with that of Crowe.
Detectives at once started a posse after the
man and struck a hot trail near Oelrichs,
in South Dakota, just across the line.
Dennis was driving a hardy pair of buck-
skins. He saw the posse approaching and
feared the evident evil intentions of his
pursuers. He whipped up his team and a
wild race among the sand dunes began.
The geologist threw away his entire load
of specimens during the flight, but was
captured when his horses dropped from ex-
haustion after a 15-mile run. Dennis was
greatly frightened, but proved his identity,
and the posse returned a chagrined crowd.
J. J. CROWE FREED.
Edward A. Cudahy, Jr., failed on Wed-
nesday to identify J. J. Crowe as one of
the men who kidnapped him. Young
Cudahy appeared at the Omaba jail and
confronted Crowe. After looking at the
suspect five minutes or more Cudahy re-
marked :
*‘I never saw that man before. He is
not the one who stood guard over me, and
if he had anything at all todo with the
kidnaping I didn’t see him.”’
After making this declaration the lad
was taken hefore Chief Donahue for a pri-
vate conference. The prisoner was released
from custody Wednesday afternoon. He
was taken before Judge Learn for a hear-
ing, and as no charge was preferred, the
court dismissed the case.
Wednesday morning, to add to the con-
fusion of the police and the detectives, the
Cudahys received another letter from the
bandits threatening death to the whole
family if the rewards are not withdrawn
before Sunday.
They will hold Cudahy responsible for
the city’s reward, too. The letter was
mailed at the postoffice at 3 o'clock on
Tuesday afternoon and is printed like the
others, though some letters are changed,
which causes the police to suspect it was a
crude imitation.
The letter read : ‘‘Cudahy. This is your
last warning. We will give you until
Sunday to withdraw that reward and make
the city to do the same. We will not per-
mit any fooling. We will kill the whole
family if you don’t comply. Remember
this is our last warning. The police can’t
touch us. You know that we are walking
the streets daily and they can’t locate us.
Heed this warning.”
In a general way everything indicates
that the letter is genuine. Mr. Cudahy
said he did not know what to make of it.
In the meantime his house is guarded
by many detectives, and Eddie Cudahy is
armed with a heavy pistol every time he
leaves home. Cudahy says he does not
think his children will be molested and he
will never withdraw the reward.
DEATH PENALTY FOR KIDNAPING.
Hanging for the crime of kidnaping is
the penalty the state of Nebraska will in-
flict if the members of the state Legisla-
ture remain in their present temper.
Wednesday evening in the state Senate
four bills bearing on kidnaping were in-
troduced. The most strongly worded of
these, introduced by Senator Bansom, of
Omaha, provides first, that the penalty for
plain kidnaping shall be three or seven
years in the penitentiary; second, for kid-
naping and extorting money a life sen-
tence; third, for kidnaping and threaten-
ing injury to the victim, hanging.
Skin Transplanted.
From Mother to Child to Remove Deformity.
The Gazette and Bulletin says: A re-
markable operation was done by Dr. S. S.
Koser at his sanitarium, Monday last on
the three year old daughter of J. M. Poust,
of Muncy. She was born with a most hor-
rible birth mark on her face and almost
entirely covering her forehead, from which
grew a nasty lot of hair, as from the scalp,
but much coarser.
Both the child and her self-sacrificing
mother were chloroformed at the same
time in Dr. Koser’s operating room. This
entire huge deformity was then dissected
off, down almost to the bone and cut com-
pletely away. Then by the aid of a block
tin pattern that Dr. Koser had previously
designed to conform exactly in size and
‘shape to the deformity on the child’s face,
a large patch of skin and tissnes to some
depths below were quickly outlined on the
back of the mother and boldly cut away.
By previous calculations on the pattern he
was able to obtain the exact size and shape
80 accurately that not a single out with
scissors or knife was needed to fit it to the
space on the child. There it was secured
in its new place on the forehead and face
by a large number of delicately adjusted
stitches. A fair appreciation of ‘the ex-
tent of the deformity removed can be
drawn from the size of the part planted in
from the mother, which measured just fif-
teen and five eights inches in circumfer- | g
ence. The severe wound on the faithful
mother was covered with many small flaps
from other portions of her body.
This great transplantation on the child
has already repaired nicely and shows
every indication of perfect success. As a
case of actual transferral from the body of
another to the face successfully, with un-
derlying tissues, this case probably stands
| without a parallel in surgery and again
illustrates the wonderful ‘advance in the
arf. Se
A Death Dealing Cigar.
To the fact that he heeded the warning
of his wile, David Miller, a West Penn,
Schuyikill ‘county farmer owes his life.
‘On Christmas he received from an unknown
source a oigar eight inches long. Mrs.
Miller did not like the appearance of the
article, and persuaded
to smoke it. He laid it away, and the
matter was forgotten until Wednesday,
when Mrs. Miller decided to ges rid of the
cigar. She threw it in the stove, and
closed the lids. . Shortly afterward there
was a loud explosion, and the stove was
demolished, the hot coals being scattered
all over the room. It is claimed the cigar
contained enough powerful explosive to
have blown Miller's head from his should-
ers. There is no clue to the perpetrator
of the attempt on his life,
‘her husband not
Camp Bird Mine.
The Owner’s Story of How He Discovered it.
In the columns of the Colorado Springs
Daily Mining Record Mr. Thomas Walsh
tells how he discovered the famous Camp
Bird Mine in Colorado. for which a London
syndicate lately offered him $7,000,000.
The discovery made him, it might be said,
a millionaire in a day, and althongh many
stories have been printed about the affair,
this is the first time that Mr. Walsh him-
self tells the true one:
‘‘My attention was first called to Imo-
gene basin by ‘Andy’ Richardson, who was
here this afternoon.” Mr. Walsh began,
referring to a hardy, middle aged gentle-
man who bad passed in and out of the room
with the freedom of the most intimate.
He always addressed Mr. Walsh as ‘Tom.’
*‘T had been ill with jaundice,’’ said Mr.
Walsh. ‘‘and was just able to move about.
when he took meat my solicitation on a
tramp through the basin. Coming to what
is now the situation of the Camp Bird, I
was struck with the condition of the coun-
try. There were piles of porphyry heaped
up, by theaction of an eruption that struck
me, and Istopped to make an examination.
‘Andy’ was impatient at my delay and
urged me on, but I told him that the rocks
interested me, and I made an examination
of them. I took several specimens and, re-
turning to town bad them assayed. These
rocks ran as high as 300 ounces of gold to
the ton.
“Now others have tramped over these
rocks for years. but they lacked the one
thing given to me by the life I had led.
They lacked experience. They were not
accustomed to look for values in that sort
of rock. My experiences in the Black
Hills, in Leadville and elsewhere in the
West taught me not to look for the charac-
ter of rock that was peculiar to any coun-
try but that which was peculiar to nature.
The pyrite rock which we found is the real
mother of gold, and experience had taught
me so. This is the true story of the dis-
covery of the Camp Biid. It is not wholly
a matter of luck.”’
Mr. Walsh has not visited the mine but
once for two years. He trusts the manage-
ment entirely to J. W. Benson, the super-
intendent; ‘Andy’ Robinson and John Ash-
enfelter, who Mr. Walsh says is the great-
est freighter and ore hauler in the Rocky
mountains. :
Bardsley Dead.
Former Treasurer of Philadelphia Victim of Heart
Disease. Embezzled More Than $300,000 of City
And State Funds—Pardoned After Five Years’ Im-
prisonment.
John Bardsley, former city treasurer of
Philadelphia, is dead at his home there
after an illness of ten days. He was strick-
en with heart disease, but grew better and
was thought to be out of danger. A sud-
den relapse came Friday, resulting in his
death late Saturday. night.
Mr. Bardsley was born in England, Sept.
5th, 1836, and came to this country with
his parents in 1842. ‘The family settled in
that city. Mr. "Bardsley engaged in the
manufacture of linen. For many years he
was one of the most prominent and
picturesque figures in municipal public af-
fairs. He was chairman of the finance
committee of councils for several terms,
aud earned the title of ‘‘Honest John’’
Bardsley and ‘‘The Watch dog of the City
Treasury.” ?
He was inducted into the office of city
treasurer in 1889. In the fall of 1890 the
Baring failure in London caused a run on
the Keystone National bank there, in
which Bardsley had on deposit both the
funds of the city and State. The bank
failed in 1891. The Spring Garden bank,
another of Bardsley’s depositories, failed
soon after. Bardsley was later arrested
and pleaded guilty tothe charge of misap-
propriating the funds of the city and state.
The amounts involved were $39,000 of the
city money and $300,000 of state funds, in
1891 he was sentenced to fifteen years’ im-
prisonment in the Eastern penitentiary,
and to pay a fine of $237,630. There has
long been a feeling that Bardsley was more
of a scapegoat than a deliberate embezzler
and strong efforts were made towards se-
ag his pardon. These were successful
in 1896.
Evans Will Fight Ended in Court.
The contest over the will of Dr. Thomas
W. Evans, the millionaire American dentist
of Paris, has been ended hy an amicable
arrangement among the heirs and by a
decision rendered by Surrogate Thomas, of
New York on Friday.
Dr. Evans died in Paris, in 1897, leav-
ing an estate valued at $5,000,000 to $6,-
000,000. Prior to his death he executed
two wills, giving to relatives small be-
quests, but leaving about $2,000,000 to
found a dental college and museum in
Philadelphia.
Litigation ensued in Paris, in Philadel-
phia and in New York city. Proceedings
were brought in New York in the name of
Rudolph Evans, a brother; Thomas B.
Enos, a nephew; J. Rowland Enos, Mis.
Juliette C. Henderson and others to pre-
vent probate. Lawyer David Kean came
into the case as representative of other
heirs. ’
Finally a compromise was reached be-
tween the heirs and the executors whereby
the heirs were to receive $800,000,0f which
sum $100,000 was handed over to Samuel
B. Huey, of Philadelphia, counsel for the
executors. The heirs then took steps in
New York to have the contest discontinued
and the will admitted to probate.
Kean, left ont in the settlement, de-
marred, protesting to Surrogate Thomas
that it wonld affect his rights, he having a
lien on any recovery that the heirs might
eb. ;
Surrogate Thomas, in a decision handed
down Friday, says that Kean must seek
redress in another manner. i 2
Mr. Evan’s millions can now be dis
tributed without fear of further litigation.
Smallpox No Bar to Love.
Burbon Sanford, who has been in Cuba
since he was mustered out of the army,
came to Lexington, Ten., to claim Miss
Carrie Hall in matrimony, the ceremony to
occur on. New Year’s Day at 6 p. m. The
bridegroom proceeded to the county seat
and secured a license, returning to find
that in his absence his sweetheart had
broken out with smallpox and guards had
been stationed around the house. Admis-
sion was denied him, and even the hotels
refused his lodging on account of his hav-
ing been with the young lady for several
evenings previous.
‘Sanford declared he would marry her
while she had smallpox and remain with
her to nurse her during her illness. Seocur-
ing a preacher, Rev. Demaree, and two
witnesses that would. go to the window, he
returned to the house and was married,
standing just on the inside of the house
with the window open. Mrs. Sanford is
doing as well as conld be expected.
——Suboribe for the WATCHMAN.