6 fttiVANCE OF THE RANGE. -She's bin out here a-teachln' fer this win ner now a-past, ,la' I hear that she's a-telUn" that this winter Is her last— Tha.t she's goin' to quit the schoolroom an' goin' home to stay— An.* somehow I'm jes' hatin' fer to see her go away-. »r us fellers think that schoolmarm Is an angel; yes we do, A little blue-eyed angel, yit a woman thro' an' thro'; An* she treats us all so kindly, jes' th' same most ev'ry day, An* somehow I'm jes' hatin' fer to see her go away. She hain't never give me reasons fer to think I'd have a show To win her, but I'm honest when I say I like her so That I dretid her time fer goin', count ev'ry passin' day, *Ca.use I'm hatin', jes' a hatin', fer to see her go away. Weil, her term is 'bout completed, an", say, I don't think I "Have got th' nerve to greet her an' to say a last good-by; Seems so tough! Oh, well, I'm feerlin'— call it heartsick, !f you may— An' I'm hatin', jes' a-hatin, fer to see her go away. LATER. Oh, say. I'm 'bout as happy as a feller wants to be; >Went to see her an', by jimmy, she jes' upped an' cried—you see SLizht there I had to say It, what so long I've feered to say, An* now we've went an' fixed It so she'll never go away. —Chicago Evening Post. •Copyright, 1599, by J. B. Lippincott Com pany. All rights reserved. CHAPTER XV. Col. Richard Somers dismounted and took refuge upon the veranda of a little cottage that fronted a crossf toa<i near Mechanicsville while his ar thundered by and unlimbered lu*position to face the enemy. Men, horses and officers were worn out with fatigue and hard fighting nnd eager for an op|xvrtunity to snatch a few bours of rest. The two great armies had entered upon the memorable seTen days' fight which was to swing around Richmond and leave a bloody path to Malvern Hill. The cottage seemed deserted, but presently an aged negress made her appearance from somewhere and pathetically at tempted to extend its hospitalities to the officers who began to swarm into the yard. Clinging to her skirts wns a little girl of six or seven years, whose fair complexion, blue eyes and silken curls bespoke a patrician par entage. but whose frail figure and in cessant cough gave evidence of a fatal weakness. "Her ma is done dead, sah," said the eld. woman, respectfully, when Col. Somers hurriedly questioned her con cerning the family, "an' her pa left *fo* you-all come; done come yistiddy an' go right back to town. He don't atay byar anyhow." "But that child must not remain here; she is in danger every moment. "You must move out!" "Whey we goin' move, sah? Don't know nobody any better off'n we are roan' liyah. Marster tell me to stay right hyah, an' I goin' ter stay hyah. Better tek yo* folks an' move on. sah, whey you started." Somers had other tilings to think about, ana turned away. Very likely the movement next day would carry them beyond the cot tage, and the danger was not press ing at the moment. In the morning the child might be sent to the rear if necessary, and to-night he rather welcomed the adjuncts of refined life. He had use for the old woman, for he was but recently out of hospital and somewhat spoiled by nursing. He snide himself and officers comfort able in the best rooms after the man ner of old campaigners and prepared for the short rest which he so much seeded. Somers had made the necessary dis positions and, left alone upon the porch for a. moment, his thoughts reverted to the cherished memento in his locket, the world less message of love which had so mysteriously reached him. It was just one slender curl—the curl •that had touched hischeek, he was sure, and with it a name. They were enough; no words could have summoned up more vividly the seenes of that dark ened wing-room, nor have told him snore eloquently that within the ex cited city there was one heart which he!d no hatred for him. It was no hour for dreaming, and he roused liirfiself to the present. Around him were con tending hosts of doomed men, the spir it of war hovered over the rude camps, and death lurked in the shadows, eager for his harvest. From the distance, the echoes of dropping shots came faintly So the ear, and presently what seemed to be a small volley. This volley el-auneiT his attention and that of the junior officers, and he had ordered a aergeant up to inquire as to the cause, when the sound of rapid hoof-beats ap proached upon the road.and in the dim tight as he waited a frightened horse, pursued by half a dozen troopers, sped Presently the men returned lead ing the captured animal and carrying its late rider. The latter was.youthful :«od clad in confederate gray, which was drenched with blood and covered witii dust; for the wounded rider, clinging desperately to the mane of ■the horse as he lay extended upen its oMtek, had finally fallen and been tfrag-g'ed until the weight stopped the rrie&waj-. The face of the unfortunate fellow had escaped, and so young and fair was it, even the hardened sol v-were touched. "He insists upon seeing an officer," <jue of them. "Claims to have se . arete to tell." "Place him upon the porch and call a ■surgeon. Where did he come from?" Samer* was strangely affected. "Don't know, sir. He came riding headlong' through the rebel pickets. I think, and they shot him. We didn't shoot at all, for at first the horse seemed to be loose, and when we did see the joung fellow on him, wa knew he was too near gone to escape. We had ordersagainst unnecessary alarms, and so we ran him down." The surgeon came and laid open the jacket of the now unconscious sufferer. lie waved back the curious group and motioned for Somers to approach. "A woman!" he whispered. "Is it possible! To my room—to my room!" The rough soldiers again lift ed the frail form tenderly and placed it upon the bed inside. A hurried ex amination disclosed the wound; a shot from behind had passed entirely through the body. "She cannot live," said the surgeon, gently, as he arose and covered up the white form. "There is not the slight est chance for her." The sentence of death seemed to inspire her with a sud den consciousness. She opened her eyes widely, and they rested in wonder upon the blue uniforms and strange faces. "What has happened?" she asked, weakly. "Where am I?" "You have been wounded, madam," said the surgeon, "badly wounded; but you are in friendly hands." "Ah!— Raymond—told me—that he had—had arranged with—the picket— to pretend only to fire—oh. they have— killed me!" She shuddered, but with sudden return of full consciousness she cried aloud: "My papers!—they are valuabie!—where are they?" "We have none, madam." "Oh, God! —what agony!—oh, sirs, I suffer, I suffer so—!" "Drink this," said the surgeon, plac ing a glass of stimulant to her lips; "more if you can; it will sustain you." "In the saddle pockets—my papers!" Her eyes closed in exhaustion. A young officer who was sent to find tha docu ments came back quickly: "Saddle trailing underneath; pock ets empty." She heard him and un derstood. "Lost! Then —I, too—am lost. Ray mond!— Raymond!" She turned her face away and wept silently. "Gentlemen," said Richard Somers. hoarsely, "will you leave us? I know this unfortunate woman." lie was instantly the focus of wondering eyes, but for a moment only. The little group saluted in silence and with drew. "Louise!" he said, sadly, standing by her side. The eyes of the woman were fixed on him as he sought to control his voice. "Who spoke—who called Louise?" "It was I—" "Richard!" "Yes; sadder, older—but Richard still. God knows I speak the truth when I say I have nothing in my heart for you but the tenderest sympathy." Her eyes clung to his face through the spasm of pain that twisted her body and drew the beautiful mouth into a thin line of scarlet. "How may I help you? I would help you?— Louise, if I might." "Tell me—upon your soul's honor — is—is—it—death ?" He covered his eyes and stood si lent. She waited in agouy; he did not answer her. "Death!" she said, in horror. "Help me! help me, Richard!" Sobs shook her. and she stretched out her hand to him as one who is drowning. A cry burst from the lips of the manly soldier, a cry no less agonized than hers. "Louise! Louise!—l would give my life to help you! Don't speak, don't look at me that way!" "You must help me—you must! Quick —let me whisper! He will Ip) Jzr 112 1 "LOUISE!" HE SAID, SADLY, STAND ING BY HER SIDE. come—he won't refuse now! He was —to.come—soon! The marriage— must —must—be fulfilled! Bring him —bring him—to me! Bring my child!" "Impossible, Louise," he cried. "You do not know what you are say ing. He is beyond the enemy's lines!" "Ah—but—but he is—coming! Wa ter—water!"—he placed the drink quickly to her lips—"coming, Rich ard! Bring him—l am dying—Jtell him—l am dying—l—Louise—dying! Nanon! Nanon!" "I am a soldier," he said, "sworn in my "country's defense. My life be longs to my country —not to myself. No one would give me permission to goon such an errand. And if I were captured I should die as the spy dies!" "Richard—you and I—are —in God's presence!" "Yes; in the presence of God!" "Would lie—oli, would—l lie— now?" "No." "Kneel here—l shall tell you—now! I swear in His presence—l have loved no man in life—but you—but you!" "Hush!" he whispered, chilled'and shocked, seeking to release his hand. "Relieve, oh, believe me!" "I cannot!" "Believe!" v - CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JULY 25, 1901. "I cannot —I would if—" "Relieve—believe me —Richard." Her hands tore feebly at a slender chain that had slipped down into her bos om, and drew a little locket into view. He recognized it. "I believe you," he said, gently, at length. And he did; he had never doubted it in his heart. "It is the last prayer of the wom an—who in all these years—of suf fering—shame—has loved you! Go to him! He will come —my child's life—save the child for—her mother's sake! Let me> see her!" The soldier had faced every danger of the battlefield without a tremor. In the presence of this woman's awful agony his heart failed him. "The lost papers-—duplicates—duplicates! Rich mond is yours-—Lee's army—de stroyed!" 'He stood up then, and was cool, his eyes reading her pale face as an open book. He turned to the door. "Surgeon," he said, "come to this poor girl. Louise, I will return." He rode to headquarters and laid before his chief all the facts. A long dis cussion followed. "It is a desperate venture, general, and if I fail —death! I know that. But if I succeed, it may mean life for many a man in this army. Still, let me be frank; I shall go not for that alone." "The decision is with you, colonel. My advice is against your plan. And yet—if that information opened the road to Richmond—it would mean Gen. Somers." "I have your permission?" There was no answer. "I shall start in 30 minutes, then," said Somers. The general gave his hand in silence and turned away. -v "Avoid capture," he said, sadly. Day by day familiar faces were pass ing from him. "I shall not be captured. If it comes, it will be a soldier's death," was the reply. lie reentered the pres ence of Louise clad in the uniform of a confederate captain. The old ne gress was with her, and, hat in hand, a young man, her son, was delivering a message to her. Somers caught enough of the words to gather that he came from Richmond. "How did you pass through the lines?" he asked, abruptly. The ne gro grinned and was silent. "Can you guide me through—quick, man, speak." The negro looked at the uniform. "Yes, sah. Rut it's er long ways now —an' through the swamp, too." "Louise, for your sake and the child's I shall try. If I return no more —it will be because I—have failed!" "Come—to me, Richard—kneel. And now, God—bless you. 'Tis a sinful woman's prayer—but He will hear— even me. a murderess!" "Murderess! Louise!" "I tried to kill him—tried to end it! I fired to kill in my despair—it was the wrong man. I saw dimly— through the blinds —(mother woman's room—under the light of a match only—and I killed him —an innocent man!" "Louise—in Richmond—through the blinds—a year ago?" "Ah, you heard of it?" "I was the man." "It cannot be!" "It was a wing-room. She was kneeling before me, and the bullet struck here!' He drew aside his hair and rested his finger upon a white spot. "Brodnar—" . "God is comforting me," she whis pered. "The rest will come." Tears streamed down her cheeks from her closed lids. Somers chose the mo ment to leave her. "Keep her alive until morning," he said, to the surgeon. "I will come then—or not at all." And then to the negro: "Now, my boy, SIOO in gold if you guide me safely into Richmond and back. Will yon need a horse?" The negro shook his head. "No horse can cross whar I gointer go." He led away briskly into the Chickahominy swamp, and when Richard Somers found the stars again he was within the lines of his ene my with the Richmond lights in sight. Not until then did he remem ber that he had no knowledge of Ray mond Ilolbin's whereabouts. lie stopped, amazed that he had failed in this vital matter. "Do you know Mr. Holbin in Rich mond," he asked of the negro, "Mr. Raymond Holbin?" "Yes. sail, 'course I know him. We all b'longs toes ma." "What! Then that house back yon der! Whose is that?" "Dat's his house, sah, I reck'n. Don't nobody come out but him, to see es lit tle ga*l." "His girl! Her name—what is her name?" "Calls 'er Chicky most generally. Sometimes he called 'er Nanon." Som ers stopped then and stood with his face toward the stars in breathless reverie a few moments. "My boy," he said, "you saw the woman who was shot?" "Yes, sah." "She is dying; that is her child and she does not know it. Here is all the money I have with me; it is yours if you will go back with all your might and tell her about the child. Do this, my boy, and God will bless you." "How you gointer get back, mars ter?'' "That doesn't matter!—go! go! Here is your money—be quick now!" "Uring it along wid you, marster." The negro vanished as a shadow with in a shadow. "And now, Louise," said the soldier, as he plunged on into the city, "Uod is comforting you!" So far as the chance of detection was concerned, Richard Somers was as safe ofl the streets of Richmond that night as in his own camp; but he re alized that perhaps be had a difficult task before him to find Raymond Hol bin. And if he found him, what then? The city waa in a turmoil. Excited men and women crowded the stretfti and wounded soldiers were on every side. There was to be little sleep that night in Richmond or in the next five to come, for the fate of the city hung in the balance during the seven days' battle. Somers carried off his novel experience boldly, and, passing into the Spotswood hotel, he sought a direc tory. His search for Ilolbin's name was at once successful, and, taking a note of the address, he went forth and prepared himself for the final trial. His safety lay in the character of the service he was rendering to the woman to whom Holbin owed much. At least he argued so. How little he knew the depths of villainy he was about to probe! A policeman directed him to the ad dress secured, and he found himself before a spacious and pretentious man sion of the older style. There were lights in front and he hesitated, prompted by some intuition. If he could get to the rear, he imagined and question a servant, the risk would be less. There seemed to be a garden and a wing, and upon a side street he found an entrance through an iron gate, which stood ajar. Entering and passing a horse tied in the shrubbery, he approached the w ing-room without connecting the place with any impres sion of memory; but suddenly, as-he neared the closed door, the plashing of a fountain smote his ear, and the expe rience of a memorable night rose to mind. The iron gate, the gravel walk, the shrubbery and the wing-room! All were there; and above all the low mu sic of the fountain. Then, swift as a flash of lightning, rose his promise. He was pledged not to enter. But as he stood, his mind confused and without power to measure the significance of the new facts, the door opened and a young woman stepped out. The light from the iron lamp swinging overhead fell full upon her. He saw that her face was womanly, sad, and beautiful, a face hallowed by the sufferings of others like unto those he had seen so often in the convent and hospital. A vague half memory ot it arose in his mind. He lifted his hat instinctively as she paused in surprise. "I fear you have made a mistake," she said, gently. "Whom do you seek?" At the sound of her voice he uttered a low cry; and then—■ "Frances!" At the same instant she recognized him and started forward; but, check ing the impulse, she drew back, stunned and distressed. [To Be Continued ] WHAT THE FOOL SAID. Story nf a Quotation and of Much llinorance Displayed by In structors. An Ignoramus, not knowing the au thor of the line, "Though lost to sight, to memory dear," appealed to a Person of Discretion, says the New York Sun. "You don't mean to tell me you don't know?" laughed the Person of Discretion so rudely that the Ignoramus slunk away, ashamed. Plucking up his courage he ap proached a Diplomatist. "The sama author who penned the line, 'Con sistency, thou art a jewel,'" was the answer. The Ignoramus asked a Man Who Is Never Caught Napping. "Of course. I know the author," said the Man Who Is Never Caught Napping. "It's—ahem —confound it, I've forgot ten. The name is 011 the very tip of my tongue, but—how stupid—l know perfectly well, you know, but your asking me has knocked it clear out of my head." The Ignoramus went to a Wise Man and told him all. "Three separate students upon three separate occa sions were asked three different ques tions," said the Wise Man, oracularly. "The finest question was: 'What was the exact number of the ancient Greek chorus?' the second: 'What is the cause of the atirora borealis?' the third: 'What is the source of animal heat'.'i To each question each student gave the same answer: 'I did know, but I've forgotten,' and each instruc tor, it is said, mad" the same com ment: 'To think that the only man who ever knew should have forgot ten!" Still mystified, the Ignoramus asked a Fool —there was no doubt about his being a Fool, because every body said so. His answer proved it. "I don't know," said the Fool. Sputlt-ss Stains, Katie is an interesting figure in the studio of one of the art colonies of this city. She is a maid from the "old sod," and as faithful to her mis tress as she is devoted to art. Nat urally Katie hears a lot of "shop talk," and appropriates the profes sional terms to her own use. A vis itor to the studio recently proved rather irritating to Katie's nerves, and after the door had closed upon the obnoxious party Katie drew the portiere with a jerk, exclaiming: "Sure, she is as you see her; there's no background." Upon another' occa sion Katie was admiring in extrava gant terms a picture of Queen Vic toria. "Ah, but there's a foine wom an for ye! And look at all the ili gant childer she brought up." Not ing if, smile on the face of her silent listener, Katie bristled up: "Well, what have ye agin her? Sure, there's not a stain upon her that isn't pure and spotless.—N. Y. Tribune. Poor Target Practice. A general was hard pressed in bat tle and on the point of giving way. when suddenly a spWit soldier came to his rescue and ens-bled him to win a great victory. Prostrating himself on the ground, he asked the spirit's name. "1 am the god of the target," replied the spirit. "And how have I merited your godship's kind assist ance?" inquired the general. "I am grateful to you," answered the spirit, "because in your days of practice you never once hit me."—"A Century oI Chinese Literature," HAS MADE PROGRESS Marconi's Wireless Telegraph More ) Than an Experiment. Yonnv Inventor Claim* That It Will I*lh> an lin port 11 ii I Part In tli*» Industrial nnd Trade Life of (he Future. In a recent, lecture delivered before ♦he British Society of Arts, Guglielmo Marconi, the perfecter of wireless te legraphy, reported progress. Marconi lias been actively at work for several years on the commercial installation of his system throughout the world and in developing, experimentally, new ievices and methods of transmitting signals through space without wires. An authoritative statement from him (mounts to a summary of what has been accomplished up to date with the new wonder. First reports of the work of the Wireless telegraph indicated that, while it was extremely interesting from a scientific standpoint, in prac tice it possessed such important limi tations as to make it of no great com mercial value, except in a few places where conditions were peculiar. The reports of the failure of the system as tried during the operations of the T?ritish army in South Africa tended further to confirm the idea that the wireless telegraph would never reach a position of great industrial value. To people possessing these ideas, says the Chicago Inter Ocean, the statements of Marconi will carry great enlightenment. By a number of most ingenious inventions and devices he has done away with the principal drawbacks at first experienced, and has developed a nevy system of wire less telegraphy "which is as far ahead of the one used by him at the begin ning as his first work was in advance of the original experiments of Hertz and Henry. In fact, he states that the system and apparatus he first putin use are out of date and practically valueless, and are beinff rapidly super seded by his new inventions. The principal and vital objection ob served in the first installations of the GUGLIELMO MARCONI. (Inventor and Perfecter of Wireless Telegraphy.) wireless telegraph was that there was no way of protecting messages from the disturbances caused by other mes sages or by meteorological conditions. Privacy of messages was impossible, and too many stations caused hopeless confusion of signals. By the invention of an object, which looks like a big cyl inder of copper, with a wire reaching from the ground up through its center, Marconi has succeeded in making tlie messages sent at one station receiv able only at the particular station in tended. He has thus made it. possible to increase greatly the number of sta tions in a given locality without caus ing trouble. A flexibility of operation approaching that of the wire telegraph has been the result. Other great improvements recently developed in wireless telegraphy have reduced enormously the height of the wires necessary to transmit and re ceive signals, and have increased the distance to which messages can be sent. A portable apparatus which can be attached to a railroad car, and be ready for use even when the train is moving, is another development of in terest. According to Marconi, the prob lems which proved too severe for wire less telegraph}' in the Boer war in South Africa are now easy of solution. Marconi devoted a large part of his address to refutingthe statement that the wireless telegraph was not yet a commercial proposition. He named a score of places in various parts of the globe where public messages were be ing hasi'iled at regular rates with profit. Over o.i ships of the British navy have been provided with the ap paratus, nnd practically all lightships and detached lighthouses belonging to Great Britain have been fitted with it. Many lives and much property have been saved with its assistance. The Borkum lightship, belonging to the German government, on Borkum riff, reports 505 commercial messages re ceived from May to October, of which 518 came froqi ships, mostly the North German Lloyd steamers. If improvements continue to be made in the next five years as in the last five it is safe to say that wireless telegraphy will play a lnrgre part in the industrial and commercial life of the near future. Why Everjliody I.IIUKIMMI. At a revival meeting in a Georgia town a man arose and said that he was the wickedest man in tlie city. "I'd goto perdition if I should die to-night," lie concluded. Immediately an old deacon started the hymn: "If you get there before T do, look for me —I'm coming, tow." Then the deacon wondered why everybody laughed. FRANCIS W. PARKER. t Famoai Chleaico Edarator Wh4 Doesn't Like to Hear "I Want to „ lie an Andrei." Dr. Francis Wayland Parker, who, •t the recent convention of the So ciety of Beligious Education in De troit, declared it was folly for chil dren to .stand up and say or sing: "E want to be an angel," is the head of the Chicago institute in Chicago. Dr.. or "C 01.," Parker, as he is better* known in Chicago, is famous over all the world for his original views and methods on subjects of education. H» has long been a* advocate of com mon sense in educating children, and his friends at the convention wera COL. FRANCIS W. PARKER. " " (Head of Chicago Institute, Founded bjf Mrs. Emmons Blaine.) not surprised when he took the stand in his speech against the theme of one of the best-known Sunday school hymns. lie declared that young per sons should be taught more practical desires than to become "angels." Such expressions were silly, he said. Col. Parker was not the only noted' educator who expressed himself on tha question of Sunday-school hymns at the convention. Prof. L. H. Jones, of Cleveland, also expressed some orig inal views. The idea of both speak ers was that practical ingenuity should be instilled into the minds of chil dren. Merely to want to becoma an angel without working for it was too easy, the speakers thought. These views are (along the line of Col. Parker's ideas on education, which Chicago people have long been familiar with. They were developed by him while he was president of tha Cook county normal school. It was to enable Col. Parker to put his views of education into practice without being hampered by politics that Mrs. Emrnons Blaine endowed the Chicago institute and placed him at the head. ALFRED B. KITTREDGE. Sioux Falls Lawyer Who Will Prob« ably Succeed the I.ate Senator James 11. Kyle. Alfred B. Kittredge, a prominent at torney of Sioux Falls, S. D., and ex national committeeman for South Da kota, to whom all signs point as tha fortunate republican who will be ap pointed to fiil the unexpired term of the late United States Senator Kyle, i 3 a native of Cheshire county, X. H. He was born March 28,15G1. In ISIS he en tered Yale, from which he graduated in ISS°,. From that time until ISB4 he studied law at liutland, Vt., when he entered the Yale law school, from which he graduated in the spring of 1885. He was admitted to the bar by ALFRED B. KITTREDGE. (Probable Successor of the Late Senator James H. Kyle.) the supreme court of Connecticut the following June. Then he came to Sioux Falls and engaged in the practice of law. lie was elected state senator from Minnehaha county in 1889 and ia 1891 was reelected. At the republican national conventions of 1592 and 1596 he was elected as South Dakota mem ber of the republican national com mittee. lie is the local attorney of the Great Northern and Chicago, Milwauke & St. Paul railroad companies and has a large and lucrative practice. Here's n Queer How-to-Do. Georgia has just passed a law to this effect: "If a woman fails ta manage the house according to the husband's ideas, he is justified in in sisting that his ideas be carried out," It is solemnly made his prerogative "to determine what servants shall do and not do, the hours at which meals must be served and the menu at each me?'." The man that under takes to act upon that law will have more experience to the square inch than he ever had before. It were better that a millstone were hanged around his neck and he were drowned in the depths of the sea. Victims of I/iKhtninK. Out of every three persons struck by lightning two recover from tha shock
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers