6 WITH THE SILENCE Far fr /m the riot and rush of the throriß Out where the Silence Is singing a scmg— Singing a song where the storm-thunders cease, iJeep with God's peace! F*ir from the plains where the red cities gleam- Out where the Silence Is weaving a dream- Bream of glad'earth and true heaven above, IJreat with Cod's love! Far from the cares and the hopes ar.d the tears— Out where the Silence is deeper than tears— Glad of the solitude deep as the Night, I.oc; ir. <sod's light! —F. L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitution. A Knave of Conscience By FRANCIS LYNDE. I Copyright lUOO, by Francis Lyudu.) CHAPTER XXV.—CONTINUED. A murmur of savage disapproval ran through tlie group of determined ones and there were muttered impre cations including Griswold. " 'Xain't no use, Mr. Griswold," the spokesman went on. "We ketched him in the very act, and he's goin' to swing if ever' last one of us has to dance on nothin' to pay for it. It's him or us." "Caught him in the aet of what?" demanded Griswold. The spokesman shuffled with his feet and hung his head. He was the ringleader of the malcontents; a bur ly molder but lately come to Wa liaska, and there had been whispers pointing to a past of his which would not bear the light. Griswold remem bered tlie.se rumors now, and saw this: that the man's following was a detail from the more desperate sec tion of the strikers. The pause was brief, but being sur charged with possibilities, seemed long. At length the man threw up his .head. "Come here and I'll show you," he said. Griswold followed him a step aside, to the office front and to a breach in the palings of the high fence close at hand. Within the breach, and heaped against the wall of the frame office building, was a pile of chips and shavings, and there was a pungent odor of kerosene in the air. The man pointed in silence. "You mean to say that he was go ing to burn us out?" asked Griswold. "Them fixin's speak for theirselves, don't they?" "But why?" Griswold demanded. The big man snorted scornfully. " 'Tain't no use for you to play in nerceni that-a-way, Mr. Griswold. You know who he is, and what he is, and what he's here for." Whereat Griswold lost his patience and swore angrily. "Ilavc done with your mysterious bush-beating and say what's in you," he rapped out. "1 don't know the man." ""i An don't, eh? Well, he's a cussed Pinkerton, that's what he is; and he's here to make a case against us. S'pose the works takes fire and burns up. and he goes on the stand to swear we done it? Only he ain't never goin' to get the chance. He's goin' to (|tiit right here and now. You go away. Mr. Griswold. There ain't no call for you to be a witness." \\ ho shall say what fierce and re lent iess temptation assailed this man who saw his single pursuer thus in the toils? He had but to turn his baek and shrug, and say it was no concern of his, and this man Griffin, the only man of all men in the world wlio might send him to wear out his life in a Louisiana chain-gang, would goto his account, and all danger would be over—past for one Kenneth Griswold. Xo one save the victim of such an onfall of devils battling for his soul may know what Griswold endured in that brief moment of hesitation. If Griflin himself suspected, he made no sign; indeed, he had looked on all through the colloquy as if the sub ject matter of it concerned him not at till. But now he spoke; three words to hix accuser, and a dozen to the man whom the devils were as saulting. "You're a liar," he said, coolly, to the one; and to the other: "Could you oblige me with a cigar, Mr. Gris wold?" Now, however fiercely the devils of temptation had assaulted, (iriswold had beaten them off; that and more; he had a plan of an attempt at a rescue half-formed, and this request of the man about to be hanged chimed in with it. He promptly ten dered the cigar, anil the striker who was pinioning Griflin's right arm me chanically loosed his hold that the prisoner might take it. It was the moment for the at tempt, if any there were to be, and there could be no more collusion be tween rescuer and captive than might be compressed into a single swift eye glance. that sufficed. (Jrifiin reached for the cigar, but did not take it. Instead, he converted the movement into a stinging side blow which felled the man at his left, and at the same instant sprang back out of the circle with tiriswohl to hold the infiiriated ones at bay while lie did it. Ati.V diversion Griswold conhl make was uece -sarily of the briefest. For me s\vift-pn sing second or so he delayed the rush by sheer moral brawido. Ihe storm broke in a veil of rage and no tw»i men might with stand it. t.ri u old did not try. "Through I hut hole in the fence! in uiih you!" In- MI id, over his shoul der t.. the detective; and the thing was done NO deftly that the yelling mob was for the moment nonplussed. fjrUwold made good use o I the uio ''I'HPITS. CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1902 "Follow me!" he commanded; and a minute later they had opened the darkened office by the back door. When the door was shut and locked again. Griffin looked about him in the semi-gloom. "It's out of the frying pan into the fire, isn't it?" he said. "They'll storm this place in about a minute—and take it." The augmenting yells in the street told that the mob was increasing its numbers rapidly, and that the melee on the sidewalk would presently de velop into a riot. Griswold stepped to the telephone, but the call bells were dumb. "They've cut the wires," he said, coolly. "That means a fight. Are you armed?" The detective laughed. "I'm like the Texas cowboy who was caught in swimming: my gun is safe enough at the hotel." Griswold took down a Winchester repeating rifle from its brackets on the wall. "Perhaps it is just as well. If you should show yourself, they would go mad again, anil, anyway, in a tangle of this kind one man is sometimes bet ter than two. Get down behind the desk and keep out of sight." "What for? Hadn't we better try a back-alley bolt for it?" "Xo. They have the place sur rounded by this time. Do as 1 tell you." Griswold peeped cautiously behind the window shade on the street side. "They are going to rush the place and smash the window or the door, or both. 1 shall save them the trou ble, if you will be good enough to do as I tell you." The detective stepped behind the high desk and Griswold unlocked and opened the front door, flinging it | wide. When the thing was done, the j foremost rank of the rioters found j itself looking straight into the sight- j less eye of the leveled Winchester. \ What the man with the gun had to j say was said in the moment of stir- | prised silence which ensued, and he j said it quietly, as one who has ; weighed and measured all the pos sible consequences. "You needn't trouble to break in, men; the door is open, as you see. Hut I give you fair warning; you'll have to kill me before you come in, and I'll kill some of you first." The answer to this was a fierce yell of wrath and defiance, but (iris wold held his ground. Then there was a rush surging up from those in the rear, but those in the front ranks held it back in deference to the one determined man in the doorway —the man and the leveled rifle. Anil I so it went for what seemed to Grif fin an interminable lifetime; cries, shouts, stones flung, a shot now and then from the outskirts of the !!! 11 I W ; TfWI ' T t * -x. "WHAT AM I TO REMEMBER?" crowd; pandemonium let loose in the : mob; and fronting it all one man with his w its about him, and a stead- ! fast determination to do or die, or to ' j do and die, if need be, shining in the ; cool eyes of him. And in the end the one man got the victory. For some soul-trying in in-! utes, a score of them it might have been, he stood in the doorway in in stant peril of his life, but he neither flinched nor spoke again. How long i lie could have kept the raging mob at bay he was not to know, for in its own leisurely time the alarm spread i and help came from the town. A squad of freshly sworn-in deputies j poured into the street, fought its way to the great gates and joined | forces with the armed guard in the | yard, and so the rioters were slowly , pr. ■sseil back and out of the street and dispersed. Then, and not till then, Griswold lowered his weapon and spoke to the man whose life he had saved. "It is over for this time," he said. "We can make a circuit now and reach the hotel without difficulty, I think." They went by a roundabout way, i and neither of them spoke again till i hey stood beneath the portico of the St. James. Then Griffin thrust out : his hand. "1 owe you another—a good deal bigger one, this time, Mr. (iriswold." I Griswold seemed not to see the out j stretched hand. "Do you? There shall be no charge in my book, Mr. Grif fin." "It's all right for you to say that; but I happen to be a man like other men, and 1 keep a set of books of my own," j (iriswold was still ignoring the held-out hand. "If you think you owe me anything, you can pay it in an answer to a question. You are a detective, as thv.-,e men said you were?" "Yes." ".May l ii si; if you came here on ae eoilt of this Strike?" "it wouldn't In* past belief, would it?" "Xo. lint in that case, who sent you here?" (■I tin Ixiy led ut. this, but SH' j tiuully "My < hie/.'' • "At whose solicitation? Xot mine or Itaymer's I am sure." "No." "Whose, then?" "Perhaps there wasn't any request from anybody. Some of us are usual ly around when there is a labor row on hand." Griswold's lip curled in undisguised scorn. "Then the stories they tell of you and your fellow spotters are true; that if you can't find a case, you make one." Griflin started back with an oath which was purely of astonishment. "Good Lord! And you believed what that fellow said —that I was go ing to fire t lie office? And on top of that, you saved my life? By the lord Harry, Mr. Griswold! what are you made of, anyway?" "Of poor clay—like other men. But didn't that fellow Buckmaster tell the truth?" "Good heavens, no! He laid the fire himself; was in the very act when I took a flashlight snap-shot of him and the whole gang. I did it be cause—well, because 1 thought I'd like to do you a good turn. I tried to save the camera in the tangle-up that followed, and that is how they came to down me." Griswold grasped the hand which had not yet been wholly withdrawn, and wrung it heartily. "I did you a very great injustice, Mr. Griffin, anil I'm sorry. That's but a poor amend, but it's all that I can make." And with that he turned abruptly j and left the other standing at the hotel entrance. CHAPTER XXVI. There was a somewhat sensational account of the riot at the iron works in the newspapers the following ! morning; rather more sensational j than the facts known to the report | ers justified, though less startling j than it would have been if the Griffin i episode had been given its due share ! j in the recountal. j Margery Grierson read the report- ! | ers' version of the affair over her cup ! of coffee, brought, a la Francais, to her bedside, and Was moved thereby to bestir herself rather earlier than usual. One of Miss Grierson's re venges for an unlovely past was a certain lizard-like basking in the sun shine of affluence, and she was wont to deride the early morning habit of Wahaska, and to let her own morning begin in the middle of the Wahaskan forenoon. But on this occasion she broke her rule, surprising her father by trip ping airily into his private office a j few minutes after the bank had been opened. At that hour, the president was alone and disengaged; an inci dental happening which was favor able to Margery's purpose; and to i make sure of uninterruption, she snapped the catch of the night latcli as she closed the door behind her. There was a great straight-backed chair at the end of the president's desk; a chair with high arms and un comfortable angles designed to seize and hold a suppliant visitor to the end that he might be ill at ease, and so more easily amenable to rea son Jasper Grierson's reason. Margery was far enough above such purely adventitious hindrances, but tiiis morning she avoided the chair, going to perch in one of the 1 deep-bayed window seats. Jasper Grierson swung slowly in ! his big pivot-chair, fanned a rift in j the nimbus of cigar smoke with j which he had surrounded himself, looked at his daughter with half- I | closed eyes and said: "Well?" | "I came to tell you it is time to < quit," she said, slowly, meeting his j gaze with level eyes. "Time to quit what?" "You know well enough. You have i J made all the trouble you need to for i I Mr. Kaynier." Jasper Grierson tilted his chair to | a more comfortable angle and laughed; a slow, gurgling laugh, that spread from lip to eye and thence abroad through his great frame till he shook like a giant in mirth. "Good Lord, Madge, have you just j got around to that?" be said, chuck ling again. "Why, I'd clean forgot ! all about your share o' stock in that j ] deal, long ago; been buying it in on my own account for 1 don't know how long." "I'm sorry you forgot. It's time to remember, now." "What am I to remember?" "That you were to turn around and help him when 1 gave the word." "Oh, no; 1 guess not. it's business now, and no social tea-fight of yours." She was tapping the toe of her boot with her riding whip, and she looked up suddenly. "Does that mean that you intend going on till you have ruined him?" she asked. "I'm going to break him, and that other fool friend of yours, if that's what you want to know." For a swift instant there was a flash of sullen lightning in her eyes, but it went out suddenly as if at the bidding of a will stronger than any up-flash of passion. "Please!" she said, beseechingly. "l'lehse what?" "Please ruin somebody el e, and let Mr.—let these two go." "So you're caught at last, are you, my lady? I wondered if you would n't come out of that pool with the j hook in your mouth. Hilt you may as well pull loose, even if it hurts II lit tle. These two fellows have got to come under. they've dci-lured war, and by they shall ha\c war." She looked across at him -teadily, ami the j: loiv of rising pa- ion eiune and went in iter eye--,. And yet she I spoke soft ly. I "That is your Inst word, is It?" "Voi. "mi eall it anything you like, i'ui I t ill the qililUu; hand ju»t now. I've shut em down, and they're.' going to stay shut down till their plant is a worthless rust he:rp." "Then it is true what they are say ing: that you are responsible for this strike?" Jasper Grierson wagged his head, as one who knows a thing and will not admit it in so many words. "There's more ways of killing a cat than by choking it with lumps of but ter," he said, sententiously. "Answer me; is it true?" "Oh, you go off and don't bother your head about these business af fairs. You run your tea parties, and I'll run mine." "Then it is true?" she persisted. "What if it is? —mind, I'm not ad mitting it, but I say, what if it is?" She slipped down from her perch in the window seat, crossed the room anil stood before him, with her hands behind her gripping the riding whip. "You have had pretty good luck here in Wahaska, haven't you'" she said, still speaking softly. "It has been a sort of triumph for you from the very first, and nobody has been able to stand against you or to out wit you. All that is going to be changed now." "Why, Madge, girl, what do you mean?" "I mean to give you your choice. You can make your peace with Mr. Kaymer, or—" "Or what?" "Or 1 shall go over to the enemy. You haven't found anybody in this little onehorse town who can match you, but I can match you." "Why, good Lord, Madge, daugh ter! You don't know what you're saying!" "Yes, I do. And, as God lives, I'll | do it." "Xo, you won't." "I will." "I say you won't. Y*ou can't turn on your old daddy that way." "Can't I? I'll give you till to-mor row to think about it. If by to-mor- I row night nothing has been done to ! help the iron works people out of I their trouble I shall know what to j do, and you must take the conse quences." "Bah! You can't do anything." "You have had your warning," she | said, and with that she snapped the catch of the night latch and was gone. I [To Be Continued.] CAUSE FOR AVOIDING CHURCH. Long-Wlnilril null Yoeiferotm liivhop Found Jio Favor with a Child. There is a certain bishop whose piety is unquestioned, but who lias an unfor- , tunate habit of preaching very long j sermons. He lias, besides, an exceed- j ingly sonorous voice, and people living j anywhere within a block of his church j can hear him without taking the I trouble to enter the sanctuary. A few j Sundays ago he was announced to i preach at a popular church and the family who entertained him had a lit- | tie daughter who was very fond of at- j tending service. When the family got ready little Elsie flatly refused togo with them, says a London paper. "I don't want togo to church," she declared. "What's the matter?" asked the j mother, much surprised, "are you ill?" j "I don't like the bishop," confessed , | the child. "Oh, Elsie .that's a wicked thing to j i say!" gasped the mother. "I hate the bishop," insisted the lit- I tie one. "Tell mother why," said the hostess. j "Well," said Elsie, confidently, "the j bishop preaches so long that I can't j keep awake and lie preaches so loud j j that T can't goto sleep." As the divine ! | tells the story on himself, it is prob i ably true. MIGHT UNDERSTAND ENGLISH. An Irish AVomnn's Connotation to a I'rieat Who IJiil Not Speak Gaelic, A few weeks ago a visitor to a Lon don workhouse found an old Irish i J woman in one of the wards very ill and ! i thought it advisable that she should '< ' see the priest without delay, relates i | a London exchange. A few days after-! ward, when the old woman had rallied a little, the visitor said to her: "Well, Mrs. O'Connor, did the priest ] come to you?" She replied: "Yes, avic, but T was surprised to find a gintleman like him so ignorant." "Ignorant! What do you mean?" "Shure, he knows no Irish." Mrs O'Connor knew her prayers in Irish, but could not say them in English. "Well, that is unfortunate," the lady I replied. "Yes," said the old woman, "and the j crnthur. he was so fretted about it I ' said to him: 'Well, never mind, father, God Almighty understands almost all languages, and who knows but he he might unt herstand the English.' " Ho Ma II A l|-ii a lift in .l II LUI ■■. The Human alphabet grows more j and more in favor with the nations of the earth. The latest country to take steps toward its adoption is Japan. The government recently appointed a com in iskion to draw up a plan w hereby Japanese writing may be made to con form to modern English and French forms. In China progress in the same j direction is reported, and missionaries j there say that the old and inflexible j I sign-writing is sure to go. Germany : is rapidly falling into line, and the j number of books and pamphlets printed in Umnnn characters increases I year by year. In lltusiun, however ] the individual alphabet peculiar ft. ■ that t untrj still show, n.-, sign of u I chntuje the one countrj whose litera ture i- almost inaccessible to the for | e'/n born student, liut from a broad ' survey it seems Inimitable that event ual!) the one alphabet- the Kotnun will rule the world. Haipet 's Weeklj INVALID'S GREAT WORK. I By llcr Otvn ISxerllonii Suffering; 111 ft— iiois <>irl Support* Ten Mlanlon urj Workrra, It has been said that suffering often liberates and reveals the forces of the soul. A phenomenal instance of this is found in the little city of Casey, 111., in the person and life of Miss Lizzie L. Johnson. Iler struggle for 18 years with mortal disease is something more than impressive. At about 13 years of age severe ill ness came upon her which developed into a permanent affliction of spinal character extending to all the nerve centers. For 18 years she has been laid on her back wholly unable to leave her bed. She has the free use of her arms and head, also some use of the limbs, but her body is confined to one posi tion. Those who have known her from her ' childhood, especially from the begin ning of her affliction, find it difficult to ; realize the magnitude of the work she is now doing and has been doing for a number of years. They feel that they have never seen suffering and weari ness and the monotony of lying in one position continuously so entirely over come and treated as if they were not. The nature of her affliction renders her at times intensely sensitive to the slightest noise or the presence of per sons in her room, or any touch of her bed. This painful acuteness is not constant; there are times of compara tive rest from this, though at all times the sense of touch is abnormally de veloped. She has a magnetic personality, a fine, receptive mind, large originality : and a beautiful Christian spirit. Not | a word of complaint or touch of re j belliousness escapes her lips. The I theme that liefe nearest her heart is \ Christian missions, and in this field she is doing a great work. She began in 1804 on S6O borrowed capital. Up to date the gross receipts aggregate $5,- 000. She supports in India five pastor teachers, besides two Bible women, j She provides the money to support j three scholarships for three young i men in Chinzei seminary, Nagasaki, j Japan. She provides for two Bible LIZZIE L. JOHNSON. women iu China and one native pastor in Africa. She does not forget home institu tions and causes, as the Cunningham deaconess' home and orphanage and other beneficiaries can ttstii'y. It is a constant wonder how much work Mss Johnson does. She attends to all her correspondence, not infrequently receiving a hundred letters a week, and whether they he letters of inquiry or remittances of money -lie allows no letter togo unacknowledged, and at tends to this herself persoi ally. How does she secure the money to carry on her mission work? Hy the sale of silk bookmarks, which she makes, and on which she has printed choice selections of Scripture, gems from favorite poets, birthday notes, etc. These marks she mails to any Christian workers who will superin tend the sale of them. She receives or ders from individuals, Sunday schools, leagues, woman's foreign missionary oeieties and other organizations. This consecrated soul and the work *he i- doing are worthy of publicity, both for the good accomplished in the mission fields and the inspiration it gives to other workers. None can en ter her room and hear ler cheery words, ?ee her illumined face, but to go away with new inspiration and courage to help in the world's work. Iler father is a retired business man of Casev: he find his entire family of wife and five children reside in the city, and nre held in high esteem by all those who know them best. To son eof her pastor teachers she pays SIOO per an num. t i others SC>O. SSO. etc.; to her na tive workers and Hlble women front $"0 to s.io per annum. There are no scales on this earth tine enough to weigh the work thi- shut in child < 112 lh» king is doing.—-St. T. on is 010 he-Democrat. Art In lltnir DI"OOM linn. Arti-tlc deco-ators r.gree that the purpose for which a room i- to be used is a large facte r in deciding upon its wall • verinir. Decidedly plain wall coverings are more restful than flo ured otK's and therefore are more ap propriate for living i r sitting roott s. Of course -elf-toned stripes give the effect • 112 M lid wall, so thi- d. es not ap plv to tr VII. \train for varlel.v and L-e --cnu-e tli" i• i£T flowered papers ar. now so attractive in de-ign ami coloring the* n 11 !>«■ ii ed In i uui st chamber with good effcet tillt nivvivs with a •'"• ed CtlHu? EX-EMPRESS EUGENIE. Sl>« I* Said to llrlieve Firmly Thai She Will I.lve t*> Ho n Hun dred Years Old. Empress Eugenie lias been pretty nearly everywhere in the course of her exciting' life —to Egypt and the opening of the Suez canal; to the far east, to the land of the midnight sun; to South Africa. More than ail els-e, though, she lias had a hand in shap ing the destiny of l*'rance. liaised to dazzling heights, of power by her mar riage with Napoleon, the girl, Eugenie Montijo, of noble, but not royal, birth, became the most courted and the most influential woman in Europe. She had brains and rare beauty with which to fortify her position as empress, and she used both royally. To-day, the whimsical-looking old lady who does her simple shopping in the unfashion able parts of Oxford street, wander* EX-EMPRESS EUGENIE. (As She Looked While on the Throne of France ) about looking for bargains on her oc casional visits to town —all traces of grandeur departed. Eugenie has one odd expectation. She is said to believe firmly that she J will live to beat least 100 years old. "I have nothing to live for,"the sad faced woman of 74 says, "hence I know I shall just keep on living." And so she will, probably, for .-he has no illnesses as yet. is active and fond of all outdoor exercises. Eugenie has been so much on the water that she has acquired the sailor's ruddy color, and much of her strength in old nge is due | to her love for bracing sea air. People ] who saw this lady in the days of he< | prime will remember her strangely ! beautiful eyes, "Eugenie eyes" they were called. An unusual type they were, and are, the eyelids drooping so low as to give an arched look to the dark eyes, which are bright, almost glowing still. Eugenie's eyes were al ways her marked claim to great beau ty. although she is described at the time of her inarraige as having been lovely beyond words in every line of face and form. Empress Eugenie lived for many years at Chislehurst, but she has re cently moved to Farnborough, farther inland. A pretty place is Farn borough. not more pretentious, how ever. than the homes of many less his toric personages. Three rooms in the house are kept as shrines. Relics of the first Xapoleon fill the one; belongings sacred to the memory of Eugenie's husband are kept in another; the play thing- of the prince imperial and the trappings of the horse from which he fell to die. together with little childish things of eternal importance to moth ers are the occupant - of a third large j apartments in the Farnborough home. | Eugenie herself scarcely realizes that her boy, had he lived, would be to-day ! a man of 45. A life of contrasts, indeed, is that of Eugene, empress of the French. She has seen all that is brilliant in the court life of France and has known what it means to be a childless widow, remembered occasionally, but more frequently forgotten. The mother of the empress must herself have been amazed at her daughter's career. She, the mother, was the child of an Irish man who -ettled in Spain and dealt in wine. A Spanish duke come along and married Miss Maria Kirkpatrick. the wine merchant's daughter, and it was the child of this marriage, the beauti ful Eugenie, who completely infatuat ed » apoleon 11 112. WOMAN'S SOCIAL POWER. When Esercixcd in tlie Hiftlit Direc tion It VfYectN t!i«' Welfn-ro of «« Gii tire Cum in unity. The power and influence that woman possesses socially is something for which she should be grateful and use to the best advantage. To some taste ful woman with a truly social spirit may be given the credit of making many a community what it is. Passing a massive city church, thronged with worshipers, and noted for being ex ceedingly social in spirit. Hev. William J. Peck, in writing for the Ledger Monthly, recalls the fact that ih« building is accredited to a socially in clined. cultured pastor's wife, w ho had the gracious gift of kindliness. She had a winning way, and noticed that a great many strangers came to the church never t«» return. She made up her mind that she would make ihero feel at home. She took her position at the close of service near the door ano greeted the stranger* with a cordial hnndelasp mid explained she was tha pa tor's wife anil that he would gladly call on them if they would leave theit addresses, She had a charming per sonality. and followed successfully this plan I ill the old church, \\ h'ch was utmost dead, became filled with a str iiiir social and spiritual power, and people recognized it as a social "hand shaking church," and soon this mag' uiliccut edifice, bnill front thf con. tagion of an Irresistible ecclesiastical hand>huke, st> .id as a mi inut v( huriani'\ at it* best.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers