6 IT CANNOT BE. It cannot be that lie who made Thfs wondrous world for our delight. Designed mat all its charms shouldfade, And pass forever from our sight; That all shall wither and decay. And know on earth no life but this, With only one finite survey Of all its beauty and its bliss. It cannot be that all the years Of toil and care and grief we live Shall find no recompense but tears. No sweet return that earth can give; That all that leads us to aspire And struggle onward to achieve, With every unattained desire, Was given only to deceive. It cannot be that after all The mighty conquests of the mind Our thoughts shall pass beyond recall. And leave no record here behind; That all our dreams of love and fame. And hopes that time has swept away. All that enthralled this mortal fame, Shall not return some other day. It cannot be that all the t:es Of kindred souls and loving hearts Are hroken when this body dies, And the immortal mind departs; That no serener light shall break At last upon our mortal eyes, To guide us as our footsteps make The pilgrimage of Paradise. —David lsanks Sickles, in N. Y. Commer cial Advertiser. I A CLEW BY WIRE l Or, An Interrupted Current. «; BY HOWARD M. YOST. : : jg Copyright, 1896, by J. B. Lipplncott Co. 5* CHAPTER XIII.—CONTINUED. My old nurse insisted on mv remain ing at her house for dinner, and left me seated on the porch while she went inside to prepare the meal. From my seat I could see the station far down the hill, through the trees. Two men were moving about on the platform, but the distance was too great to allow distinction of anything but their forms. Remembering then that my field glass had been left here at Sarah's liouso on the morning of my arrival, I called into have her bring it to me, which she did. Taking the glass from the case I ad- Justed it to my eye and then turned it toward the station. My sight had not deceived me even In the momentary glimpse of the face at the window. The face was Horace Jackson's, ami there the fellow was now, standing on the edge of the platform, speaking most earnestly, judging by the vehement gestures, to the station agent. CHAPTER XIV. The rest of trie day was spent at Sarah's house. Here at least were quiet, calm and peace. No uncanny mysteries, no disturbing influences .marred the restfulness. The old nurse herself was a certainty; no doubts and fears were produced by her society. By 1, er absolute faith in me, by the many little expressions of devotion to my best interests, a feeling of security iwas inspired, so that when I started on the homeward journey the influence of (Sarah's peaceful abode went with me. The sun was hanging low, and a cool breeze had risen. I insisted upon walking, much against Sarah's wish. But the horses had had a hard day in the fieTds, and I would not allow them to be taken from the cool clover patch. Reminding the good-liearted woman of her promise to drive over to Xelson ville early in the morning, 1 started up the road toward home. The dust had been laid by the heavy shower of the morning; the air was bracing; the last eong of the birds was sounding; the patches of woodland through which I passed were resplendent in the rays of the dying sun, which shot golden shafts through the leafy masses; over all were calm and peace and solitude. My spirits answered to the influences of nature, and in a happy reflective moot] I proceeded on my way. 1n my mind one beautiful object predomi nated —Florence. With the lovely phases of the peace ful evening appealing to the sense, it eeerned natural for my thoughts to turn to the beloved one—to dwell on her goodness, her faith, her love for me. Anticipation of future happiness, when my darling should be always at my side, should be in my life, rounding it out in the fullness of content, on grossed my mind. There were no cruel forbodings, no forecasting of dire events, no warnings. Even the sight of the station agent, Skinner, cutting across the fields toward Sun- Bet Ilill, caused only a temporary re lapse from my happy mood. If Skinner's errand was with the Morleys, Florence would undoubtedly refuse hitn admittance after what I had told her. By the time I arrived at my house the Bun had fallen behind the mountains, and only the golden rays remained in the western sky and fired the edges of the single cloud. Going up through the yard, I noticed the door to the cook house was un latched. 1 had been unable, in my explorations of cherished spots of in terest in boyhood days, to gain en trance to the cook house. The door had been locked, aud I had not con sidered it of sufficient importance to ask Sonntag for the key. Wondering why the place should now be unlocked, I pushed the door open and entered. The recollection of a deep, dark apart ment andemeath, which had been used as a root cellar during my grandfather's time, was brought to mind by seeing that, the door leadinpfto the stairway was partly open. Obeying a sudden Impulse, I entered, and, standing on the landing, gazed down into the impenetrable gloom. Now, there was no reason why I should go down into that cellar; never theless a strong impulse urg»l me on. As I cautiously proceeded a thrill came over me, something' like that which a child feels when, impelled by curiosity qualified by fear, it is about to venture into some unknown place. 1 would probably have gone to nay room and procured a candle had not this fear some sensation come over me. 1 laughed at myself for experiencing it. Testing every step before trusting my whole weight upon it, lest the tim bers rotted by the dampness might give way and precipitate me headlong to the depths below, I went slowly down Into the Egyptian darkness. My hand rested oil the rude balustrade all the way, and when it came to the end I knew I was standing on the last step. I am probably no more of a coward than most men, and had never been afraid of darkness; but this was the blackest night I had ever been im mersed in. Really there was a lesser degree of darkness when I closed my eyes, for then the sensations of the glowing western sky still lingered. Standing Ihere on the bottom step, an unaccountable fear came over me. Probably it has been perceived from this history that impatience regarding things which seem to have a bearing on the supernatural is one of my char acteristics. To feel a sensation of fear when there is 110 apparent reason for it, causes disgust at what I consider an unpardonable weakness. So then I determined to chastise my cowardice by keeping on and explor ing that dark hole. I would not allow myself to beat an ignominious retreat simply because a sensation of fear in clined nie to such a course. I took the last step, and my feet rested on what seemed to be a loose plunk, which gave way a few inches under my weight. From the feeling of insecurity this brought to me, I thrust out my foot to feel my way be fore proceeding farther. Before I could take a step forward, however, from somewhere in that tomb like darkness, in deep, solemn tones, sounded a voice: "Another step means death. Pause before you take it!" To say that I was simply startled would not be true. 1 was paralyzed with fear. My hair bristled up, my heart began a trip-hammer action, and the blood surged to my head in a fierce tide. "Hack, for your life!" again sounded the voice, this time in sterner tones. "Hack, for —" But I stayed not to hear more. Never had that stairway been ascended in greater haste. I fairly tumbled up, using my hands as well as my feet. Pausing not to close the cook-house door, I made a wild rush for my room, intent on the one only purpose of escaping from the unknown terror of that horrible voice. I closed my bed room door after I had entered, and bolted it. Then I threw myself into the nearest chair and covered my face with my hands. For some time I remained so, iimp, powerless and completely unnerved. The night had fallen when I again looked up, and my room was shrouded in gloom. Darkness was horrible; so, staggering to my feet, 1 fumbled about for some matches, and in feverish baste lit the two lamps and the candle which were in the room. The window was open. 1 closed the shutters ant! bolted them. The door leading into the parlor where my grandfather's body had reposed in the collin waiting for burial, so many years ago, was also open, and in my wrought-up imagina tion specters of the dead seemed to pass before it. There was no bolt to this door and, not feeling satisfied in having it simply latched, by great effort 1 shoved a tall chest of drawers against it. Kven thus barricaded there was no feeling of safety. There was no know ing what fearful mystery might come up through the floor from the walled up cellar beneath. The experience just passed through was enough to frighten anyone. But it was not that alone whieli caused such a complete demoralization of my nerves and so absolute a terrorism of all my faculties. There was something more than the demonstration just encoun tered, something from within myself. Looking back to the time now I real ize how true it is that often coming events cast their shadows before. After awhile I began to realize more and more that the intensity of the fear which had swept over me was not wholly caused by the sound of the voice or the attendant circumstances. I scouted all idea of a supernatural ori gin; but, then, what was it? The season of the year had arrived when the farmers had about completed Ihe garnering of an abundant harvest, and therefore a feeling of content, abounded. The countryside was over run by tramps, the members of the dus ty fraternity well knowing that food was never denied a hungry man by the well-provisioned farmers. Perhaps the cook-house cellar was a rendezvous for a number of tramps. I was so eager to arrive at some explanation of the event which would have a wholly materialistic bearing that the absurdity of a man seeking a resting-place in a damp foul cellar, when a much more comfortable bed might be secured out at the barn amid the hay and straw, did not strike me. Then, too, the place would undoubt edly lose a degree of horror if a light was introduced. So, seeing that my pistol was in my pocket, and taking the candle and some matches, I again made for the cook house. Having resolved to descend again into the mysterious gloom, I did not allow myself to pause and think; that would mean perhaps a return of my flight. 1 must plunge into the mystery suddenly, or not at all. It was like taking a cold-water bath; the longer one waits the harder to make the plunge. Inside the cook house I lit the candle and, taking the pistol from my pocket, approached the stairway. About again to descend, the recollec tion of my first experience came to me in all the force of its unearthly qual CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, MAY i6, iB^R. ities, and I was seized with a trembling fit. My knees smote together, and my hand shook so that the flame of the candle was nearly extinguished. The return of my fear, however, made me all the more resolved togo on. I gritted my teeth, and, advancing my pistol in readiness, slowly began the descent. Not a sound greeted my ears save that made by my own footsteps. After reaching the bottom step I held the candle aloof and gazed expectantly around. The room was about 20 feet square; the flat stones with which it was paved and the surrounding walls were slimy with moisture, and here and there re flected back the light of the candle. That was all. No human being was in eight, not a sign of one having been here. At my feet a part of the stone pave ment had been removed and a plank in serted. Lying near the edge of the plank was a paper with some printing on the outside, like that on a bond or deed. I stepped down upon the plank, and again noticed that one end sank under my weight. Stoop ing down to pick up the paper, my ears were again assailed by the sol emn admonition seeming to come from the opposite side of the cellar: "An other step means death. Pause before you take it!" Grabbing the paper, I quickly re sumed an upright position, and, hold ing the candle above me, gazed intent ly in the direction of the voice. There was nothing but the walls around me. With cautious tread I took the forbid den step. "Back, for your life! Back, for your life!" The words were hurled at me in fiercer tones than before. I advanced another step, and still lived. Waiting a few moments, with at tention strained to fix the spot whence the voice sounded, and being given no further warning, I began by the light of the candle to search the place close ly with my eyes. Where could 1 the voice have come from? No possible hiding place appeared; nothing but the bare walls. Moving the candle about, it struck me that there was a space in the wall op posite 'which did not reflect back the light, which didi not have over it the dank green ooze. When I approached nearer, two cracks running parallel perpendicularly, and about two feet apart, became apparent. Iran my hand over the intervening space, and found it imiooth. A close examination re "Back for your life! M vealed to me what seemed to be some kind of a wooden door, rudely painted to represent the surrounding stone walls. But there was no *ign of bolt, latch or hinge. If this was a door it must close with a spring lock which was on the other side. But then how was it opened? Rapping upon the wood produced a hollow sound. Undoubted ly there was some kind of apartment behind it. What was it used for, and where did it lead to? Was there a passage way behind the door leading to the walled up cellar under my bedroom? This was probable, as the door was in the wall nearest the main building. Some one had gone through the door on the night of my arrival, and, startled by the pistol shot at my reflection, had allowed it to slam. Standing before the place and reason ing thus to myself, I noticed a small hole between two stones at about the height of my chest. Resting one hand on the edge of thedoor frame, T stooped down to examine it more closely. Immediately there was a blinding flash right in my eyes, a hot flame al most burning my cheek, a loud report, then total darkness. The candde was shattered in my hand. There was the smell of burnt powder, and my lungs told me of the smoke which filled the cellar. Half stunned, I groped about for the stairway, but it was some time before I located it and ascanded. The soft, pure air outside partly re vived me, and I managed to drag myself across the yard to the main buildingand so to my room. On the first occasion, terror had lent fleetness to my feet; now they seemed weighted with lead. A numbed indifference to my surround ings was over me. I was heavy-head ed and drowsy, so much so that I fell asleep. I awoke suddenly, with a start that brought me to a standing position. A glance at my watch told me it was past nine o'clock, and that 1 had slept two hours. When I put back my coat for the purpose of replacing the watel 1 in my vest pocket, a rustling of papei attracted my attention. This brought to my mind the piece I had picked up in the cook-house cel lar and hastily thrust into my coat pocket. I took it out and examined it. Among the securities lost by the bank in the robbery was a batch of Morgan county refunding bonds. There had been 100 of them issued, each of SI,OOO denomination, and the bank had pur chased the entire issue. The paper picked up in the cook house cellar, and which I sow held in my hand, was one of thos«sl,(Xlo bonds. CHAPTER XV. ITow did the bond which was stolen from the Safety Security company over a year ago get into the cel lar of an old country house be longing to a former employe of the bank? Who could have dropped it there, and where were the rest? Was a> trap laid for me? Sonjitag, Skinner, Jackson, the un explained and curious relation between these three, the walled-up cellar, the underground passage undoubtedly lead ing to it, and so safely guarded—what could it all mean? Was it possible that my old house was the receptacle of the stolen property, and Sonntag, Skinner, even Jackson, the gang, or a portion of it, had perpetrated the rob bery ? If this was true, then there was an attempt being made to furnish some proof which would throw conviction upon me. Was this the mystery which sur rounded me? Single-handed, how could I hope to cope successfully with it? Jake Ilunsicker and his wife were to be depended upon as far as their judg ment and ability went. I thought of Mr. Morley, who, being a trustee of the bank, would naturally be interested in the affair. But that gentleman's own evident troubles, and the unwillingness to add a greater load to the already overburdened man, turned me from the idea of aid from that direction. There was another one, and the thought had no sooner come into my head than I proceeded to follow it up. Stealing cautiously from the house, I went out to the barn and saddled the horse, mounted, and was soon tearing down the Sidington road. ITO BE CONTINUED.} Con *n ni;u' "con* The results of consanguineous mar riages have been differently regarded by various authors of note. Esquirol attributed to them a predisposition to ir.sanity among the descendants. Meniere asserts that in the majority of eases deaf mutes owe their infirmity to the ties of relationship between their parents. Lucas thinks that these mar riages are a cause of degeneration in the human race, producingmenta! dull ness, brutality, insanity, iaipotency,etc. Liebreich states that consanguinity is frequently the cause of pigmentary retinitis among the descendants. Ray naud ranks it among the conditions which may produce albinism. On the other hand, some authorities have ex plicitly declared themselves in favor of such marriages, and assert that they are not at all injurious, and that gen erally they give good results. In the face of such extreme opinions it is per haps not astonishing that there are to be found names of equally high repute among those who affirm that these mar riages are productive of both good evil results, depending on whether or not any constitutional disease affects either party. —X. Y. Tribune. Tlie Son*; of tli«» Siren. Several years ago, when the famn-.sa old siren whistle was blown so fre quently at, the river mouth —no, not by the rivev mouth —a certain East end family owned a cow. She was just an ordinary cow in all respects, save one The siren whistle had a remarkable ef feet upon her. Every blessed time th* whistle started into wail and moan that cow started up a vigorous series of nvoos. And the most curious feature about it was that the cow's vocal ef fort ran up and down the scale in a fairly close imitation of the whistle. "Too-00-0000-ooo!" would goto the siren. "Moo-00-0000-ooo" would goto the cow. Ituit there was always a wild crescendo shriek at the end of the si ren's efforts that no cow —no matter how accomplished—oould hope to rival. An»l this ctow, being a sensible and rath er phlegmatic animal, didn't attempt it. J>ut her efforts within reasonable limits never failed to arouse the hilari ous attention of the neighbors, and frequently caused neighbors to pause by the fence and listew open-mouthed to the astonishing performance.—Cleve land Plain Dealer. They Know Ma. The train had stopped for a few min utes at a station out on the plains, and two or three barefooted girls and boys had their backs against the depot and their fingers in their mouths, while •tliey stared at the passengers. Sudden ly a boy of about ten years dashed around ithe corner of the station and called to his brother and sister: "You, Joey! Ma says if you an' Maggie don't come right straight home she'll —she'll well, 1 for git what, but she'll do it, sure, for you know what ma is when she gits started; so you'd better git home straight off!" .loey and Maggie evi dently knew what ma was when she "got started," for they started home ward as fast as their bare little feet would carry them. —Youth's Compan ion. To Mnke It Popular. "Socially," said the social philoso pher in his usual assertive way, "the success of a s.port does not depend upon the sport, itself." Thereat they all mar veled. "I will guarantee," he went on. "to make any old thing popular these days if someone will only invent a dis tinctive and attractive costume for it." Thereat they ceased to marvel, for he had proved his case.—Chicago Post. At IjANt. The shipwrecked artist, afloat on a raft in mid-ocean, opened the grip to which he had clung when the vessel went down, and proceeded' to rig up an apparatus to catch the wind. "There!" he exclaimed, as he com pleted his task. "It caa no longer be said that I never made a sale of my canvases." —Brooklyn Life. A Kind Recommendation. Weakleigh—My trouble has reached that condition where I aim obliged to have a specialist. Can you recommend Dr. Cutter? Flint —Gertainly. Weakleigh—'What is his specialty ? Flint—Autopsies. Richmond Dis patch, FIOLENT STORM. Awful Resu'.ts of a Cyclone that Struck Thrso State3. Sc»ri'« of 1111 miln I.ivex Were Wotted Out auU I.iwh to Property Foot* Up More Than WSOO.OVO-l'ntll or Ilia Storm \V»4 More Than I 50 Mil«-» In I.eii;c'l>- Chicago. May '2O. —Forty-two persons arc known to have lost their lives and 2H others are reported dead as the re sult of the tornadoes which devastated portions of eastern lowa, western Illi nois and northern Wisconsin Wednes day night. lowa heads the list with !'.) fatalities. Fourteen deaths are re ported in Illinois. Wisconsin reports nine known dead, with unconfirmed stories bringing the total in that state up to 37. The storm in lowa started near Stan wood and swept through the north eastern part of Cedar county, the southeastern part of .lones county, the northern part of Clinton county and touched the southern part of county. Nineteen persons lost their lives and more than twice as many were injured. The property loss will probably reach $500,000. In many places not a building of any descrip tion was left standing. Cattle, horses and hogs were killed by the hundred. The lowa storm crossed the Missis sippi river into Illinois near Savanna. Considerable damage was done on the Illinois side before this storm spent its force. The second tornado in Illinois started near Stillman Valley and swept north ward. wrecking farm houses arid kill ing as it went. Hut the greatest loas of life was at the point of origin, where four were killed. At Lanark the storm ended its career by wrecking the county almshouse and killing three in mates. Three others were fatally in jured. There were over 50 persons in the building when it went down and all of them were more or less injured. 111 Wisconsin the storm was more violent than anywhere else, but fortu nately it originated in the lumbering districts of the northern counties, swept along the line of the "Soo" road and spent its force in the pineries. Nine persons are known to have been killed. Conductor Carroll, of the Milwaukee «& St. I'aul railroad, who arrived in this city Thursday after a run of over 150 miles through the storm center in lowa and Illinois, says: "The first reports of the death and disaster caused by this storm fail to give the full account of the havoc worked. At Elwood. la., a point half way between Marion and the Mississip pi, several people were killed and the buildings of the town were swept from their foundations. At Detmar Junc tion four persons were killed; at Briggs' station report was brought of many buildings leveled and two per sons killed; at I'reston five were re ported dead and then the train crossed the Mississippi into Illinois. "At Savanna news was received of the killing of four persons at Teade's Grove, the first station east of that city. All along the line of the Chicago, Milwaukee »fe St. I'aul road, from Sa vanna across the state, were received reports of violent and destructive storms. "At Stillman Valley we had the first view by daylight of the awful devas tation wrought by the storm. A sec tion of the village about 40 rods in breadth was so completely razed that not a single piece of wood a yard in length could be seen. Had the cyclone veered a few feet northward the main street would have been destroyed and scores of live* would have been sacri ficed." At Marion there was a very heavy storm of rain, hail and wind. At Sa vanna hail stones that measured seven inches in circumference fell. After it hail passed Stillman Valley the storm turned to the north and wrought de struction in Wisconsin. For 150 miles it followed the easterly track of the Chicago, Milwaukee >fc St. Paul railroad and left death and devas tation in its path. Mr. Carroll relates that at Dellinger .I unction a man drove up the railroad station, gave his horses loose reins and rushed into the depot for shelter. A moment later the cy clone caught the horses and killed both of them. So violent was the wind that their carcasses were torn apart. Marshtield, Wis., May 20. —A severe tornado passed through the central portion of the state Wednesday night. The storm passed through Clark, Mar athon and Langdale counties, level ing houses, farm buildings and forests. A ntigo suffered the most. Three peo ple were killed and 12 injured there. Elmhurst reports ten fatalities. At Siegler a family of five perished. The messenger sent to Marathon City for aid states that buildings all over the village were leveled by the storm. A large church was blown from its foundation. A large barn was picked up and landed clear across a 40-acre clearing. Rhinelander, Wis., May 20.—Further details of the storm in northern Wis consin report that IS people were killed at Heafford Junction. The train on the Soo railroad from the north was delayed several hours, having been compelled to turn back on account of the storm. Telegraph poles and wires were demolished in all directions and buildings in the path of the storm were razed. Six Men Drowned. Pittsburg. May 20.—Ten men at tempted to cross the Allegheny river on a raft, near Springdale. Pa., yester day afternoon and when in the center of the stream the raft was swamped by the rough current and the men were precipitated into the water. Four men succeeded in reaching the shore, but the others were drowned. liciuiHtcud Chosen for a Keudezvous. Washington, May 20. Hempstead. L. i.. has been selected as a rendezvous for the troops from the New England and middle states and it is expected that 11) regiments will be quartered there. SSOO Reward TV. .bora Reward will be paid to fa. fbnnatioa that will laad to tbe am*l sai senvictioa of tk« suty or «U pieced iroa and alaba oa the track af tU Emporium k Riok Valley R R., MM, the «ut Um of Fraaktta Honalcir'a a* the evening ef Nor. 21at, 1891. Buiit Auc nr, FINE LIQUOR SIORB EMPORIUM, PA. THIS nd«n, with doaul» ! tkm. Wf adriee, If patentable or not, Ire# of < cJtaire. Oar fee not due till patent la secured. a pAIIPHLKTa ** How to Outftin Pateau, wHfc< l ooft of Mane in the U. 8. mC a countries Mtvt Ire*. Addreaa, iO.A.SNOW&CO. <: Or*. Pmtwht OMOK, O. C. I >V^VVVV% iToV"l"h chicaco t*NEW YORK Omcaa a A. M. KEILCBB *gWSPJ»EB CBb