6 MAKING THE WEDDING GRAB. When I was weeping, , In my pain I said: "I weary of my life—would I were dead. 1 In silence sleeping, ' Where troubles are no more, nor cares, nor tears, Nor visionary hopes, nor fears l-lke dark-night shadows all around us creeping— Would I were dead!" wv re death but sleep. Small harm to wish into the grave to creep, And no more weep; But were death life, Far truer life than that men live on earth; Were death but birth To life where cares, and tears, and toll, and strife No lor.gt r are. Hut which the Just alone With other Just may share— Could 1 still dare, Whose days so little justice yet have shown, To set k an entrance through death's golden gate? . ,I.tJte, Nay! Rather for long season let me wait. And with embroidery of love and prayer, And ho'.y deeds, and suffering, prepare The wedding garment tor the wedding feast. That I be not the lowest or the least In that great throng. Nor shamed the Royal Bridegroom's guests to greet Whose voices sweet Catch up the ar.gt lie sor.g A!id Holy. Holy, Holy, without end repeat. —Frank C. Devas, S. J., in Catholic World. V My Strangest Case BY GUY BOOTHBY. Author of "Dr. Kikola," "The Beautiful White Devii," "Pharos, The Egyptian," Etc. ICujOTiglitud, I'AJI, by Ward, Lock A Co.] CHAPTER VI. —CONTINUED. In reply he handed me a letter Written on good note paper, but without an address. It ran as fol lows: "Mr. Gideon Hayle returns thanks for kind inquiries, and begs to in form Mr. Fairfax that he is leaving England today for Algiers." "Jf he thinks lie is going to bluff ene with that sort, of tale, he's very much mistaken," I said. "I happen to be aware of the fact that he left for Southampton by the nine o'clock train this morning. If I might lia/.ard a guess as to where he was going, I should say that his destina tion is the Cape- But let him go where he will, I'll have him yet. In the meantime, send Williams to Char ing Cross at once, lloberts to Vic toria, and Dickson to St. Paul's. Furnish each with a description of the man they are to look after, be particular about the scar upon his left cheek, and if they see him tell •them that they are not to lose sight of him, happen what may. Let them telegraph should they discover any thing definite, and then go in pur suit. In any ease I shall return from Southampton to-night, and shall call here at once." Half an hour later I arrived at Waterloo, took my ticket and board ed the train for Southampton. When j 1 reached the port 1 was met at the \ station by my representative, who informed me that he had seen noth ing of the man I had described, al though he had carefully looked for iiim. "We'll try the various shipping offices first," I said. "I feel positive ly certain that he came down here by the nine o'clock train." We drove from shipping office to chipping office, and made the most careful inquiries, but in every case without success. Once we thought we had discovered our man, only to find, after wasting a precious hour, that the clerk's description was alto gether a wrong one, and that he re sembled Hayle in no sort of way. We boarded the South African mail boat, but he was not among her pas sengers; we overhauled the Ameri can liner, with an equally barren re sult. We paid cursory visits to the principal hotels, but could hear no tidings of him in any one of them. As a matter of fact, if the man had journeyed to Southampton, as I had every reason to suppose he had done, he must have disappeared into thin air when he got there. The whole affair was most bewildering, and I scarcely knew what to think of it. That the boots at the hotel had not been hoodwinking me I felt assured in my own mind. Ilis anger against the man was too real to allow any doubt upon that point. At last, hav ing exhausted all our resources, and not seeing what I could do further, I returned to my subordinate's lodg ings, where it" had been arranged that telegrams should be addressed to me. On my arrival there a yellow envelope was handed to me. I tore it open eagerly and withdrew the ■contents. It proved to be from Dick son, and had been sent off from Dover. I took my code-book from »iy pocket and translated the mes sage upon the back of the telegraph form. It ran as follows: "Man with triangular sear upon left, cheek, brown bag and traveling rug, boarded train at Heme Hill, went through to Dover, and has booked to Paris. Am following him according to instructions." "Then he slipped me after all," I cried. "He must have gone onto "Waterloo, crossed to Cannon street, then onto London bridge. The •cunning scoundrel! He must have •made up his mind that the biggest bluff he could play upon me was to tell the truth, and, by Jove! he was not very far wrong. However, those laugh best who laugh last, and though he has had a very fair Innings so far, we will see whether lie can beat me in the end. I'll get back to town now, run down to Bish opstowe tp-morrow morning to re jiort progress, and then be off tc 4,'arib after iiim on Monday." At. 8:45 that night, I reached Lon- s don. At the same moment Mr. 1 Gideon Hayle was sitting down to a ] charming little dinner at the Cafe 112 des Princes, and was smiling to him- 1 self as he thought of the success that had attended the trick he had 1 played .npon me. 1 OTAPTER VIT. When I reached the charming little ( Surrey village of Bishopstowe, I could see that it bore out Kitwater's ' description of it. A prettier little ' place could scarcely have been dis- 1 covered, wih its tree-shaded high j 1 road, its cluster of thatched cottages, j ' its blacksmith's shop, rustic inn with 1 the signboard on a high post before ' the door, and, last but not least, the quaint little church standing some hundred yards back from the main 1 road, and approached from the lych- 1 gate by an avenue of limes. "Here," I said to myself, "is n place where a man might live to be j 100, undisturbed by the rush and j bustle of the great world." That was my feeling then, but j since I have come to know it better, and have been permitted an oppor- ; tunity of seeing for myself some- j thing of the inner life of the hamlet, ] I have discovered that it is only the j life of a great city, on a small scale. ! There is the same keen competition jin trade, with the same jealousies j ; and bickerings. However, on this j ! peaceful Sunday morning it struck j me as being delightful. There was : an old-world quiet about it that was vastly soothing. The rooks cawed ( lazily in the elms before the church j as if they knew it were Sunday morn- ; ing and a day of rest. A dog lay ex tended in the middle of the road, basking in the sunshine, a thing which he would not have dared to do on a weekday. Even the little stream that runs under the old stone ( bridge, which marks the center of the village, and then winds its tor- j tuous course round the churchyard, through the Squire's park, and then j down the valley on its way to the , sea, seemed to flow somewhat more j slowly than was its wont. Feeling just in the humor for a lit- j tie moralizing, I opened the lych gate and entered the churchyard, j The congregation were singing the | last hymn, the Old Hundredth, if I : remember rightly, and the sound of j their united voices fitted perfectly j into the whole scheme, giving it the j one touch that was lacking. As I j strolled along I glanced at the in scriptions on the various tomb stones, and endeavored to derive from them some notion of the lives and characters of those whose mem ories they perpetuated. "Sacred to the memory of Eras mus Gunning, 27 years schoolmaster of this parish. Horn 24th of March, ISOG, and rested from his labors on September the 19th, 187 G." Seating myself on the low wall that sur rounded the churchyard, I looked down upon the river, and, while so doing, reflected upon Erasmus Gun ning. What had he been like, this j ■.. IIMM 1 AS I STROLLED ALONG I GLANCED AT THE INSCRIPTIONS ON THE VARIOUS TOMBSTONES. knight of the ferrule, who for 27 | years acted as pedagogue to this , tiny hamlet? What good had he [ done in his world? Had he realized his life's ambition? Into many of the congregation now worshiping I yonder he must have driven the three It's, possibly with the assistance of , the faithful ferrule aforesaid, yet . how many of them gave a thought to I his memory! In this case the asser tion that he "rested from his labors" . was a trifle ambiguous. Consigning I poor Erasmus to oblivion, I contin j ued my walk. Presently my eyes , caught an inscription that made me , halt again. It was dedicated to the ; "Loving Memory of William Kitwa ter, and Susan, his wife." I was still , looking at it, when I heard a step 1 on the gravel-path behind me, and . turning round, I found myself stand ! ing face to face with Miss Kit water. To use the conventional phrase, 1 church had "come out," and the con y gregation was even now making its way down the broad avenue towards s the high-road. j "How do you do, Mr. Fairfax?" said Miss Kitwater, giving me her hand j as she spoke. "It is kind indeed of 0 you to come down. I hope you have good news for us?" e "I am inclined to consider it good e news myself," I said. "I hope you t will think so too." □ She did not question me further s about it then, but, asking me to ex e cuse her for a moment, stepped over (1 the little plot of ground where her r dear ones lay, and plucked some of r the dead leaves from the flowers t that grew upon it. To my thinking i- she was just what an honest English •- girl should be; straightforward and o gentle, looking the whole world in the I ace with frank and honorable CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JUNE 12, 1902. simplicity. When she had finished 1 her labor of love, which only occu pied her a few moments, she sug gested that we should stroll onto her house. "My unele will be wondering what has become of me," she said, "and he will also be most anxious to see you." "He does not accompany you to church, then?" "No," she answered. "He is so conscious of his affliction that he cannot bear it to be remarked. He usually stays at home and walks up and down a path in the garden, brooding, I Tim afraid, over his treat ment by Mr. Hayle. It goes to my heftrt to see him." "And Mr. Codd?" "He, poor little man, spends most of his time reading such works on archaeology as he can obtain. It is his one great study, and I am thank ful he has such a hobby to distract 1 his mind from his own trouble." | "Their coming to England must I have made a great change in your ! life," I remarked. ! "It lias made a difference," she an ' swered. "But one should not lead ' one's life exactly to please one's self. | They were in sore distress, and I am i thankful that they came to me, and ! that I had the power to help them." I This set me thinking. She spoke | gravely, and I knew that she meant what she said. Hut underlying it j there was a suggestion that, for ! some reason or another, she had not ! been altogether favorably impressed ■by her visitors. Whether I was right j in my suppositions I could not tell ' then, but I knew that I should in all probability be permitted a better op portunity of judging later on. We ; crossed the little bridge, and passed along the high road for upwards of 1 a mile, until we found ourselves I standing at the entrance to one of J t lie prettiest little country resi ' dences it has ever been my lot to ' find. A drive, some 30 yards or so in | length, led up to the house and was | shaded by overhanging trees. The house itself was of two stories and was covered by creepers. The gar den was scrupulously neat, and I fan cied that I could detect its mistress' hand in it. Shady walks led from it j in various directions, and at the end | of one of these I could discern a tall, j restless figure, pacing up and down. "There is my uncle," said the girl, ; referring to the figure I have just ; described. "That is his sole occupa tion. lie likes it because it is the only part of the garden in which he can move about without a guide, llow empty and hard his life must seem to him now, Mr. Fairfax?" "It must, indeed," I replied. "To my thinking blindness is one of the worst ills that can happen to a man. It must be particularly hard to one who has led such a vigorous life as your unele has done." I could almost have declared that she shuddered at my words. Did she know more about her uncle and his past life than she liked to think j about? I remembered one or two I expressions he had let fall in his ex citement when he had been talking j to me, and how I had commented ! upon them as being strange words to come from the lips of a mission ary. I had often wondered whether the story he had told me about their life in China, and llayle's connection with it, had been a true one. The tenaciousness with which a China man clings to the religion of his fore fathers is proverbial, and I could not remember having ever heard that a mandarin, or an official of high rank, had been converted to the Christian faith. Even if he had, it struck me as being highly improbable that he would have been the possessor of such princely treasure, and, even sup posing that to be true, that he would, at liis death, leave it to such a man as Kitwater. No, I fancied if we could only get at the truth of the story, we should find that it was a good deal more picturesque, not to use a harsher term, than we imag ined. For a moment I had almost been tempted to believe that the stones were Hayle's property, and that these two men were conducting their crusade with the intention of robbing him of them. Yet, on maturer reflection, this did not fit in. There was the fact that they had cer tainly been mutiliated as they de scribed, and also their hatred of Hayle to be weighed in one balance, while Hayle's manifest fear of them cotild be set in the other. , "If lam not mistaken that is your . step, Mr. Fairfax," said the blind 1 man, stopping suddenly in his walk, ■ and turning his sightless face in my . direction. "It's wonderful how the ; loss of one's sight sharpens one's , ears. I suppose yon met Margaret : on the road?" "I met Miss Kitwater in the [ churchyard," I replied. 1 "A very good meeting place," he [ chuckled, sarconically. "It's where ■ most of us meet each other sooner . or later. Upon my word, I think the , dead are luckier than the living. In • any case they are more fortunate ; than poor devils like Codd and my i self. But I am keeping you stand ing, won't you sit down somewhere I and tell me your news? I have been 1 almost counting the minutes for your 112 arrival. 1 know you would not be > here to-day unless you had some thing important to communicate to 1 me. You have found Hayle?" 1 He asked the question with fever ish eagerness, as .if lie hoped within " a few hours to be clutching at the - other's throat. I could see that his r niece noticed it too, and that she re r coiled a little from him in conse f quence. I thereupon set to work and 3 told them of all that had happened j since I had last seen them, described 1 my lucky meeting with Hayle at 1 Charing Cross, my chase after him 1 across. London, the trick he had 1: 1 yiuy ' iuc at i' oxvvcil'k hotel, and iuj consequent. fruitless journey to Southampton. "And he managed to escape you after ail," said Kitwater. "That, man would outwit the master of all liars himself, lie is out of England by this time, and we shall lose him." "He has not escaped me," I re plied, quietly. "I know where he is, and I have got a man on his track." "Then where is he?" asked Kit water. "If you know where he is, you ought to be with him yourself instead of down here. You are paid to conduct the case. How do you know that your man may not bungle it, and that we may not lose him again?" His tone was so rude and his man- j ner so aggressive, that his niece was j about to protest. I made a sign to j her, however, not to do so. "I don't think you need be afraid, j Mr. Kitwater," I said more soothing- ' ly than I felt. "My man is a very I clever and reliable fellow, and you j may be sure that, having once set j eyes on Mr. Hayle, he will not lose j sight of him again. I shall leave for j Paris to-morrow morning, and shall | immediately let you know the result \ of my search. Will that suit you?" i "It will suit me when I get hold of 1 Hayle," he replied. "Until then I shall know 110 peace. Surely you : must understand that?" Then, imagining, perhaps, that he had gone too far, he began to fawn ' upon me, and what was worse ! praised my methods of elucidating a ' mystery. I cannot say which I dis- j liked the more. Indeed, had it not , been that I had promised Miss Kit- , water to take up the case, and that j I did not want to disappoint her, I believe I should have abandoned it I there and then, out of sheer disgust, j A little later our hostess proposed that we should adjourn to the house, j as it was nearly lunch-time. We did so, and I was shown to a pretty bed room to wash my hands. It was a ; charming apartment, redolent of the ; country, smelling of lavender, and, after London, as fresh as a glimpse of a new life. I looked about me, j took in the cleanliness of everything, j and contrasted it with my own dingy apartments at Rickford's hotel, ■ where ilie view from the window was 1 not of meadows and breezy uplands, but of red roofs, chimney-pots, and constantly revolving cowls. I could picture the view from this window in the early morning, with the dew upon the grass, and the blackbirds whistling in the shrubbery. I am not | a vain man, I think, but at this juncture I stood before the looking glass and surveyed myself. For the first time in my life I could have wished that I had been better-look ing. At last I turned angrily away. [To Be Continued.] THE MAN WHO WAS ROBBED. A Fable with u Moral Thnt Will lie Very Generally Coincided With. A stranger in a strange land once fell in with thieves, who found him on a lonely road, beat him, robbed him, and then tied him to a tree. After a long wait another traveler came by, and the stranger, in a weak voice, pleaded for help, says Judge. He told the story of his wrongs, and the traveler said: "How sad!" "I cried out, but my voice is not strong, and my cries were of no avail," said the victim. "How unfortunate!" said the trav eler. "And the robbers tied me so fast I am utterly helpless." "How interesting!" "Interesting? Do you think it in teresting to have been beaten and robbed? Why, the thieves took all my money except a small sum in my inside pocket." "How careless!" commented the traveler. Then, having satisfied himself that the stranger's story was true, that he was really tied securely, that his voice was weak, and that there was a small sum in an inside pocket, he secured the small sum and went on his way. Moral- —Hard-luck stories are seldom successful. She Gained Papa's Consent. A pretty girl announced to papa her engagement to dear Cholly. The old man became very grave at once. Cholly had a good salary, was to all appear ances a nice, steady young man, "but then," said papa, "let the engagement be a long one, my dear. In that case you will have time to find out each other's faults and failings, and dis cover serious defects of character which would make you wretched for life if you marry." "But, papa," in terposed the sweet girl, "I object to long engagements if they are so apt to be broken, don't you know?" And while the old Man meditated she rushed off into the par!or to tell Cholly it was all right and resume the yum yum business.—Louisville Times. No Tl> on 1; li tm. "The postman just brought me Aunt Jane's present," s«iid the poet's wife. "What do you think of it?" "I don't know," replied the poet, dis turbed at work. "But can't you think?" "Gee whizz! llow do you expect me to think now? I'm writing something for the magazines."—Philadelphia Press. l'l» with the Timed, Kind Lady—What is your name, dear? Little Girl—My name is Maine— ■ M-a-y-th-e. "And the name of your dog?" "His name is Fido—P-h-y-d-o-u-g-h!" L —Columbus (O.) State Journal. Flirt* and I.nve. 1 | Flirts laugh at love, and love I ' laughs at tlirta. ■— Chicago Dully r MVH'li. ENTERPRISING TRIBE The Chemehuevis Indians Have Faith in Civilization. Their Lrmllng Men Helleve That What In Good for White Men Must Ainu He Henelieial to Hed Men. [Special Arizona Letter] LOCATED in two places on the Colorado river, is to be found this almost unknown tribe of the North American Indians. One small band is on the California side of the river, near Fort Mohave, north of the Needles, and the other is about 75 milei; south of Needles and has small ranches on both sides of the river. Few people know anything about t hem and strange stories are told as to their origin and classification. Last February 1 made a trip down the Colorado river in a boat, from Needles to Yuma, and spent several days with the Chenehuevis. 1 then found out that they are not a separate and distinct people. They are simply renegade l'aintis, who, tired of living in the sandy wastes of southern Ne vada. wlieie water was scarce and food often more so, determined to emigrate to a more favorable region. They sent out some of their wisest and best men as explorers to "spy out the land." These men visited the Mohave Indians on the Colorado river, and, finding the two unoccupied regions in the territory practically controlled by the Mohaves. made an amicable ar rangement with them, whereby they were to live in peace and security as their near neighbors on condition that when called upon they were to assist the Mohaves in war. For some time they were called Paintis, but the lead ers of that people repudiated them. They were not Paintis. They had for saken the land of their forefathers. They had made friends with the hated "fish-eating Mohaves," and this was CROSSING THE LITTLE COLORADO OX A CABLE. proof of their degradation and con tempt ibleness. For the Paintis, like the Xavahos, do not eat fish, and re gard all fish-eaters with loathing and horror. Consequently they came to spe ik of these renegades as friends and neighbors of the Acliee-Mohaves, acliee meaning fish. The white man, hearing this name, twisted it into Cbeucliuevi, hence the "new tribe of Indians." Though small in number, the two bands not counting more than be tween 200 and 300 souls, they are a much superior people to the Mohaves. In tins 1 was much and agreeably sur prised, for, contrary to the Mohaves, they have had nothing done for them by the United States government. The Mohaves have a large reservation, and also two fine schools for their chil dren, one at Parker, and the other at : a i x V \ | / :i v | CHEMEHI'EVI STORY TELLER. Fort Mohave, both on the Colorado river. They receive considerable ra tions, ton, in the shape of beef and flour, and being thus under the direct influence of the Indian department, one would naturally expect them to be nearer to civilization than their neigh bors. who have no school, no rations, no influence to help them. Vet the re verse is the case. In talking this over with some of the leading Cheuehuevis they expressed the idea very clearly that they saw the advantage to them selves of being "all same white man," so. voluntarily, they adopted his dress and sought, as far as they could, to walk in his ways. Their houses are, as a rulp. very neatly built. A square framework of willows, with sustaining poles <if cot tonwood at the corners, is construct ed. generally square in shape, and on this framework nttd is plastered by hand. Here one has in its primitive form the iv'tu of the skeleton itee! structures of which our city sky» scrapers are the latest evolution. On the top or near by these houses, or "kuns" as they call them, there i» generally to be found a rude wicker j circular construction, called a su-quin. This is a kind of granary or storehouse in which corn, beans, peas and other edibles are kept. Its chief use, how ever, is for the mesquite bean, of which their drink is made. There are two kinds of mesquites, one which has a pod and beans somewhat similar to our string beans, the other a very pe culiar fruit in the shape of a bundle of small vegetable screws. Both kinds of mesquite are put into a wooden mortar, called I mar-r. Squatted down in front of it, j the woman takes the Khu-wa, or pes ' tie, in both hands and pounds away i until the "o-pi, or beans, are pretty i well mashed. Then they are soaked ; in water for several hours, and the j liquor drained oil' is their chief na j tive drink. It. has a peculiar, half ! sweet, lialf-salty flavor, which, how , ever, they seem to relish very highly. The men are great hunters, deer, ; and the lesser game, such as rabbits, quail, squirrels, etc., abounding in i the mountains and foothills near ' their homes. The quails, beautiful ! little creatures, are found on the ! river banks in great numbers, as are | also ducks, geese, wild swans, etc. When the time comes for corn ' planting, however, every man of the 1 tribe has his ground in readiness, j and lie plants his corn, beans, j melons, squash, chili and other veg | etables, irrigating them when neces ! sary. Their method of planting corn l is peculiarly their own. A space of ' a quarter or half a mile in length, j and 50 to 100 feet in width, is cleared lof willows. Then small basins or | bowls are made in the earth, about a ! foot or a foot and a half in diame- I ter. In the center of these bowls, | the seed corn is planted. The whole ! field is then surrounded with wil j lows and other brush, to keep out the rabbits, and, to further prevent i depredations, a brush shelter is con structed. under which some one of j the family is required to be con- I stantlv on the watch. The women keep their "kaas" quite ! neat, and do all the cooking-, grind | ing the corn on the heavy stone nict ates, as do the other Indians of Ari zona. They are also expert basket makers, although possessed of the Paintis' hereditary ability, they made very few baskets until a few years ago, when they found there was an increasing demand for them at a good price. Acordingly, they began to make them, and, being uncivilized, worked conscientiously and faith fully. and improved upon the baskets of their forebears. In shape, weave and design their baskets are very beautiful, and consequently are much sought after by collectors. Living where river bank, well watered val leys, foothills, mountains and desert are all near by, they levy tribute upon the plant life of all these vari ous and varied native gardens Tor the best basket making material. The results are seen in the pure white color of much of their work, the fineness of the splint, this being made possible by the toughness of the fiber of the willows or other plants used, and the charm of the colored splints. The most beautiful of these latter is made from the root of a kind of palmetto, which grows on the foothills, looking to wards the desert. The cuticle is peeled off and it becomes a rich, dark, unfading brown, when dry. I succeeded in purchasing 40 of the C'hemehuevi baskets), of different sizes and shapes, and ere long they will grace a place in the Carnegie museum, of Pittsburg. Pa. The children are bright little raga muffins. timid and shy before stran gers at first, but, as soen as they feel safe, full of fun and frolic. I found in one place three orphan?. Father and mother were dead, and they had been taken by a widowed aunt, who was caring for them to the best of her abil ity, aided by other members of the tribe. As soon as 1 knew the facts in the case. I went down to my boat, and, overhauling some old clothes in my trunk, found stockings, shoes, and a little dress for the girl, and various garments for the two boys. Without a word I began to put them on.and what amazement, what delight, were depicted on their little faces. As soon as they were all "togged out" tfiey rushed off to the next "kan"' to show their new possessions, and in five minutes 1 was besieged with moth ers and sisters and brothers, all of whom thought I might manage to tind something for them or theirs ih the larga trunk in the boat. G. WHARTON JAMES. Aiuirnkl}* Adjusted. Mr. Bight—Mr. and Mrs. Lilight seem so thoroughly congenial. Mrs. Bight—Oh, yes. lie wants todo all her thinking for her; and she is willing' he should. —Detroit Free Press.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers