AdTor IIinjET Union. m? ft ( wtftt ft ft( e SfcrsrA cjirssiJ corvxT. ra The larraam) reUabu MmMictM tbs Casr rti at las (lK)ltr k rata : 1 a ob t b V.V..V.V.V.V "" 1 " i25tb" " LN - ! ......... Aflfl iw W ool'n wh MMI ffm 1 . ? " .1 JO 1, itDJf'H'il 1'MnlmoMtn. i j jo if rmt 1 ''! w'fMn !rmnth. t io . V Ax I oiioofcns.. ................ i;nr moftta 1 rur -.T , n ai rei'i'nir -a-t'j- m me cnontr 1 . . . , . ... - i w4.r rar w II h a a - , T. o. 0 fW. ti H ;.hju-. - - .- . a. vi io RMla Ml It. ma Am( f. u t i n- . . Ml 1. - 1. . . inbMqarDt loMrttoa e. par tin. Admipitror aad xaBtir' Nolle- to Auditor'! Nott er, JA8. C. HASSON. Editor and Publisher. f ,icii""' fcT Wn ,n I'""' matt net ex- .3 .h on the ime footlns- thnik. HB II A TREIMAN WROX Til TBUTH Mill! FBII, ARB ALL ABB SLATBS BB8IDB.' SI.SO and postage per year. In advance. I I ,t t'. j lltlnctly tinderttnod from .... tlcc forward. "Lr-M fr J 'Ut (rt r r-Vre t tnp it. If stnp ITa mill 'n tut olKI ! otherwise T-JV. ..-!- life " -. "'OWiotu pr prorrr'itnf "0 '" r'.V'ar. aa. VOLUME XIX. " "iiKnwM lenfari r. caoi araj. . "W"" ttmttmd or Mmiwi Jrr.l dvrrlutmtntt. JOB Pbibtib or .11 ktBdi BMtly Bad xrm4t ly loeut.d at low.tt prtaM . lm'i yea foir EBENSBURG, PA.. FRIDAY. OCTOBER 30, ISS5. NUMBER 39 - a ' L''" " r i for Infants and aCaatorlaisMvolladp:tochirataat I " H. A. AacHc-i. U I., I 111 fto. Oxford St.. IVtai-t, 5. y. I " i in the World 1 2 CO Ocr fu MViirt. TThlU hara daratai tk.lr Htm u Ike t!aJr of dT!op!ar taa Bc4 Orvaa, tka uor t'ln muahctirad Orgaai far 8 7ara. TVir coanct!on I P08ITIVE SK.1PLE DURABLE and will sot (et oat of Repair or Tun .V Jf.l.vr TEAB3. OVER 8 O STYLES kBarn?M ORQAN don't be led Into porthnaing coe liat cootaiiia a pr-t AP.RA T Of STOPS and J'r'V RESD3 bat write to A PPIIARIP DEALER flLLIHUul. or Mttnuntoturer V ::! fursUh toq at ry-n Utt money a frt-eia ORGAN. ?" Stor ro,. l-rt a few eeats aaeh Wiin f r cur C ATALOCV i." ml diagram stuwlnf coitrudloa of tse INTERIOR of organs. 3EWT TO .'L, AOSNT'S DISCOUNTS Rl lowed vvf.cre we .'vt oj Aftr.t. Wilcoxi. White Orpan Co. MERIDEN. Cr! W. a0 1 DEAD YET VALUE LUTTRINCEr?, rrcrrmi or Ti rOPPER AD SHEET-IRON WARE ! ASH TIS HOOFING, j RT,:j"y T,t'.e tti. uttantlon ot hi triendd j m; 1 f.e ; at. ! In itinera! to the fnct that he in still i "T r. "R hu:ne t ltn el. I "tan'l ojipomte the ! t - a a' a- n !1 jye. K' "iiJlnrif , anj n reurcii to ! u. i i i"ie .(. or iat irj ' rtu ri to or- i .".lr!.lD hl lire, from the rDllet to t. il :hi Ltit manner uu I at th lowent I i-.t 1.7! "f r rar-f- r. ? rit p-n'tntiry work Hthcr mi.la or M1 UN llDOI IN a SPECIALTY. ' e m a ex an 1 Fattr T(inrlr n to my nl;-i... V.'l.VlTKINttKK. k'-eui-uric. A ri 1 13. lU-tl. rtiCH ARM, u.I.CAL PRINCIPLES ::V MOVEIflENTS, AU . D!HuC7 AND PERFECT . CYU.'.CCR SHUTTLE. n-edle. POSI un spvimcs, few -5"-. : UM WEIGHT, NO G : . ... NOISE, NO WEAR, ; NO "TANTRUMS," . .' f .: 1 t aai Yen a i ujavii It 0 ;. :.CHLY ORNAMENT- UCKLLPLATED, AND GIVES irJyfcCT SATISFACTION. 0 FQ3 CIRCULARS. Ad Jre k. AVERY MACHINE CG. 812 Broadway, I Jew York. Standard Wagon Co; '' racTc-Baas or fc'OIES, SPItINO WAGONS, "vie:i Vlllia m-atons, A.VD THSJI 6PRIN0 ptLa7T0H& 'LH0LLiHD BUCXBOfAS Av ?. P'i11 9pHrCS da awy with Pit' -' o.SrR1Mu". BOOT-LiKU'd t . I try Jml f ' ' ,r" mi fur elth.-r t-ltr r LIv nrrtor to a)l otnera .. .. idto, Ploarnre f blialBrvS T. I CoTil'loa. Send for caaaluffuo aat f J Wa-on Oo, Cincinnati, 0. aELllliliiIiH :Ma,J,;, -'"ahaiary oi luoutn i. 1 !"" lar cmtniaai.., UMII aar t; . r r-. '"""" ar Kal m a. '.-r.tii..cs Mi.ha!, If ri. tal k aV t 7 L3 T VvfHlTP ! S H "-40 MACHIW ; S i at Chilrirfln. Catrla ra n 11 iuJ 'wma, tiro, -p. au promote B- wwf -- LiVtJaaJaVJSatjLSa FOR MAN AND BEAST. THE BEST EXTERNAL Ea3 REMEDY FOR RHEDlimSH, NEURALGIA, CRALIPS, Sprains, Bruises, Burns and Scalds, Eclttles, Bstlatcli, Frosted Feet and Ears, and all other Pai It ! a Baft, lure, and effectual Remedy for Otlls, Etrtliii, Scr&tc&ei, Sorci, kt., on HORSES. One trial will pro re it merits. It effects re in rooct cases INSTANTANEOUS. Every bcrttle warranted to Klv SAtifactloTi. Sena ad drean for pamphlet, tree, fi-lr. in full Uirwtiona for tlie) trAtment of above di."ca.)ea. Price S3 ft, and 60 eta. per bottle. Sold everywhere, lenry, Jaasaaa ft laii, rropritton, BarUortoa. Tt S .'.J L . .-. humeri Bro., Klenburn, I'a, RIVINIUS' BLOCK,' EBENSBURC PA 1 CARL RIVINIUS, Practical Watchmaker anfl Jeweler nS alwaya on ha.nl a tiirse, rarieil nd ele a-ant aisrirtment of W A rcHKS. 'I.OKS Jt.iV ELRY. SPEOTACI.KS. EyK-(H.ASSKS. !to., whleh he otters for "ale at lower prlena tbaa anr other dealer In the county. Perioni needing ttnythlnK in bin line will 1o well toplT hlmaoall before pnrehaglnir eloewhere. -Prompt attention pall to repairing Clocks Watches. Jewelry , Ao.. and satlilactlon Kiraa end la to-h work and price. TUYY 25 YEARS IN USE. Tla Greatest Medical Triomph of th Af al SYMPTOMS OF A TORPID LIVER. Laitof tanrtite, lloWfllfMllta, Pala Is the bead, with a dull aen.atl.B la tko 'nark pnrf. Pain nailer the akelder blade, Fuilreae after eatlot, with avdla inrlinatloo to exertion of body or salad, Irrl-.abtlitr of temper. Lew tlrlca, with a fft'im.f hUTloi neglected aemo doty. V nrincH, Dlitlne.a. Plattarlaa ot Iko Heart, Kote before tko eyoa.Hea.aWka over the ritht eye, Rastlaasaaea, wltk Tuful froirra, HlfblT colored t'riae, Bd CONSTIPATION. XCTT S riLLaree3paolallyiptel t'j ti casca, onn dse effect) anob tk ,f jr;iM(rloitonittiinewtiirerer. d t. lake oia Kle.h.ttiija (be irittn ! Mnrlshail.rr'i byth-nr Tonle atetlon o 1 r urrrBan uir.ifa w j.r,, luc. !. frli- 'Vi. 4IWnrrayat.,lt.T. ffltT'3 HAIR DYE. Cur liAin or Whiikim changed to m i.lhi'T lit-ACK rr a attigle application or i, Ijtk. It imparts a uatural color, acta M.tanuin-TMialy. Pold by l)rntlta, or ,-rnt bveipre9aOti recetptof 91. n-ric. 44 Murray St., Nw York. The CHEAT JUMBO ENGINE foil ic nmn rnre.flTSt-vpvanl ! ?he-.'i'"t rlir In J the mnrkf t tordriT- In llsrht miichine- i ry r Jn-t ihe thla for 'jrniirn' ue. ! Ice Cream Dealer' I Prlni,a l'ree. j 1 hre'ir Mactitnea Ae. .Mnnfsrtorer I ot all kind! nl Ma- j ehlnry i ,lrfhin-. i Sen'' fr :tloue end Prlee I.l't. I II. P. KNKIN. 84. o k St Thwiti Atb.. At-LBOHKBT. Pa. May ri, I &.-! yr PATENTS Of.tHined and l PATENT m'SIXESSt teiiilert to for MO It ERA IK PEES Our ffice ia ..piHitf th U S Patent Of firi", and we can obtain Patent In l-s time thnn thix r'ttot- from WASHINGTON. fnd MODEL OR DRAWING. We ad Tise s to tntetita'M-i'V "f rliare : and we rrcke NO CHARGE UNLESS PATENT IS SECURED. V retr. her. to the 1'ostmaMor. the S.ipt. of Monv Order Liv.. and to officials or the U. S Patent OfflcH. For circular, aci rice. terniHand references to actual clients In four own State or County, write to C. A. HOW fc CO., Opp. Patent OH! re. Wakla(laB, D. C tmspwERMaSs Ifewapaper Adwertialna; Btareota (10 SrwCS MTtrrn, witmr An- m ""ray fft T I f may Lciaadofor It lu llavllP I Willis at - 'iv ' . " v z,. - aKK, V J-T" aaW ar aXa. w aVa, . . .1. "S r few ITtti V"a A TRAGEDY; OR THE STORY OF THE CHAIN PIER. -no," I repilied. "I mude aoereat a mistake wlieu I L.-vl to choose lor my self that I shall never attempt it again."' Circnmstancea happened that drew me over to America. I had a large in terest in some land there, and not caring about the trouble of it, I went over to fell it. I succeeded in selling it to great profit, and as I liked America I remained there three years. I sailed for America in tlie mouth of October, two or three weeks after the incident of the Chain Pier, and I returned to England after an absence of three years and seveu months. I found mvself at home atjain when the lovelv month of -May was at its fairest. During all that tiniH only one incident of any not hap pened to me. or rather, happened that interested me. l,ance Fleming was married. He wrote whole volumes to me before his marriage, and he wrote volumes af terwards. Ot course she was perfec tion nay. just a little beyond perfec tion. I think; she was beautiful, clever, accomplished, and such a darling, or course, I might be s.ire of tlxat. One thing only was wanted to make him perfectly happy it was that I should see his lady love. Her name was Fran ces Wvna, and he assured me that it wns the most poetical name in the world. Page after page of rhapsody did he write and I read Until at last I twlieved him, that le had found the one perfect woman in the world. Lance wrote ofteuer still when I told him that I was comiiur home. I must go at once to iHUton Manor. I .should find Iutton Manor an earthly Paradise, he said, and he was doublv delighted that I should be there in May, for iu May it wore its fairest aspect. "A wife makes home Heaven, John,1' he never tired of writing. "I wonder otten why Heaven has blessed me so f:reatly. My wife is well, I worship icr she is a fair, proud woman, calm, fair, and lovely as a saint. You will never know how much I love her until you have seen tier. She fills the old manor-house with sunshine and music. J love to hear the gentle sound of her voice, sweet and low as the sound of a lute the frou-frou of her dress as she moves about. I am even more in love with her than when 1 married her, and 1 should not have thought that possi ble. Make haste home, John, my dear old friend; rven my happy home is in complcte a ithout you. Come and share its brightness with me." He wrote innumerable directions for my journey. The nearest railway sta tion to liutton Manor was at Vale Roy al, a pretty little town alKiut three miles from the house. If I would let him know by what train I should reach Vale Uoyal. he would Ix; at the station to meet me. And he said, Heaven bless Ins dear, loving heart. that lie was looking forward to it with untold happinesrt. 'When I think of seeing Frances and you together," he said, "I feel like a schooliioy out for a holiday. I have counted the hours. John, until you will collie."' 1 had to go to lyondon on busitiHSs, and while there it was imvossible to re-si.--t the temptation of running on to Biighton. I loved the place so well, and I hal not seen it for so lorn. I wanted to stand once more on the t'hain Pier, and think of my lost Heaven. How vividly it all came back to me that ter rible tragedy, although more than throe, rears had passed since it happened, there was the corner where I had sat in the thick, soft shadows; there was the railing against which she leaned when she threw the little bundle in the water. I remembered the fitful light, the wash of the waves around the pier, the beautiful, desperate face, and the voice that had waild: "If I dare; oh, my God. if I dare!"' I went to see the little grave. The thick green grass which covered it was studded with white daisies: the golden letters on the white cross seemed to burn in the sunlight: "'Marah. found drowned."' I had leen to the other end of the world, but no one had been to Bhed one tear over the little grave. OIAPTKK V. It is good to see the face of an old friend after a long absence. Tears tilled my eves when the sunny blue ones looked into them, and the handsome face, quivering with- emotion, smiled into mine. F was gl:wt to feel once more the clasp of that honest hand. "Ah, Iance,'" I cried, "I would travel tw ice as far for otie hour with you!' I shall never forget that pretty sta tion at Vale I'oyal. A leautiful Drawl ing river ran close by, spanned by an old-fashioned rustic bridge: three huge chestnut trees, now in full flower, seem ed to shade the whole place. "A pretty spot," said proud, happy Iance; "but wait until you see IluUon! I tell Frances that I am quite sure it is the original garden of paradise!'' "Iet us pray that no serient may en ter therein!"' I said. 'There is no fear. John," he replied "my Frances would be an antidote against all the serpents in the world. We shall hare a glorious drive home. How do you like my carriage?" It was perfect, so were the horses, so was the groom in his neat livery, so was the dog-cart waiting for the luggage, bo was the magnificent retriever that ran with the carriage. What a drive it was! Of all seasons, in all climes, give me an English spring. The hedges were cov ered with white and pink hawthorn; the apple trees were all in bloom; the air was redolent of mariets. The white lambs were in the meadows; the leaves were springing on the trees; the birds singing. "It is like a new life, John," said the happy young fellow by my side; then, quite unable to keep his thoughts or his words long away from her, he contin ued: "Frances will be so pleased to aee TOwe have talked of nothing else for "I am afraid that she will be disap pointed w hen she sees me, Iance." "No, indeed,'' he replied, heartily. "You look better than you did when you went to America, John you look vounger, less haggard, less worn. Per haps you have found some comfort?' "Stt of the kind you mean, Iance," I answered, "and I never shall."' "Ah," he said, musingly, "what mis chief one bad woman can make! And she was a bad woman, this false love of yours, John." "If she. had been a good one, she would have been true," 1 replied. "I think." said Lance, musing v, "that in all this world there is nothing so horrible as a bad a really bad or wicked woman! They seem to me much worse than men. just a. a good woman is letter than a man eon Id ever be, is little less than an angel. -Do von know," he continued, his voice trembling with emotion, "I did not understand how good a woman could le! My wife, Frances. Is quite an angel. When I see her in the morn ing, her fair face so fresh and pure, kneeling down to say her pravere. J fri unite tirr" Ttly ot ' her; when I see the rapt, earnest expression of her face, as we sit side by side in church, I long to be like her. 8he is one of the gentlest and sweetest of human -beings; there is no one like her!' "I am heartily glad ttiat you are bo liappy, my dearest Ijance," I said. lie continued. "I know that my talk ing does not bore you; you are too true a friend; it ease my heart, for it is al ways full of her. You do not know how good she is! Why, John, the soul of a good woman is clear and transpar ent, like a eep, clear lake; and in it one sees such beautiful things. When my Frances speaks to a little child there comes into her voice a beautiful tender ness a ring of such clear sweet music, that I say to myself it is more like the roice of ar angel than of a woman; it Is just tlie same when she speaks to anyone in sorrow or sickness. The strange thing to me is this that though she is so good herself, so pure and inno cent, she has such profound compas sion for the fallen and the miserable. At Vale Itoyal, only a few months ago. there was one of those unfortunate cases. A servant girl, a very pretty and nice girl, too, sne was, was turned out of her mistress's house in the cold of a winter s night; her boxes and wages were put into the street, and she was told to go to the workhouse. She almost went mad with shame and de spair. Frances would go to the rescue, a:vd I honestly believe that through my wife's charity and goodness that unhap py girl will be restored to her place in the world, or that at least she will not go, as she otherwise would have done, to the bad. I thought that a most beau tiful trait in her character." "So it was." I replied, liking my dear old friend all the better for his great love for his w ife. . "She is always the same," he con tinued, "full of chariiy and tenderness for the poor. You could not think how much they love her. All round Vale Koyal she is worshipped. I am a very fortunate man. John."' " You are indeed," I replied. He went on "I always had my ideal. I have known many. None ever reached my standard but Frances, and she is my ideal come to life the reality found, fair, sweet ami true, a blonde, queenly woman. I should think that very few men meet and marry their ideal as I have met and married mine. Ah, there is the avenue that leads to the old manor-house! Who could have thought that I should ever lie master of a manor-house. John? Neither that nor the handsome income belonging to it would be of any use without Frances. It is Fn'.mres who makes the world to me." The avenue was a superb one. It con sisted of tall chestnut trees standing four deep. I have seen nothing finer. Just now the (lowers were all in bloom, 111! bees and buticiilies had all been drawn there by their odor: the birds were Hitting in and out making grand discoveries in the great iMiughs; the ground was a cr.rpet of (lowers, white daisies and golden hnttereisps mixed with wild hyaeiutiis an ! irracefnl blue bells. We drove for some lew minutes over Ihi carpet, and then the old grey t'i;i'!or-i,oiie stoo i before us. the pret I it l picture ever seen on a Summer's day. The whole front of the house was covered with llowers. and tin ivy grew green and thick, it climbed to tlie very top of the towers. " Famous ivy," said Lance. "People come to Itutton to look at the ivy." T do not wonder at it." I said." I was somew hat surprised at the style of the house I had not eected any thing so grand, so Wautiful. "We shall have time for a cigar and a stroll Ix-fore dinner." said Lance, as he threw the reins to the groom; "but you must see Frances first, John you must see her." I Silt one of t lie servants told us that Mrs. Fleming was in the drawine-rooni, engaged with Iady Ijedbitter. lance"8 face fell. "You do not seem to care for Lady ldbitter." I said to him. "In truth I do not; she Is a county magnate, and a local horror I call her. She leads all the ladies of the county; they are frightened to death at her; they frown when she frowns, smile when she smiles. I begged of Frances not to fall under her sway, but 1 have begged in vain, no doubt. If she lias leeii there for half an hour Frances will have given in." He turned on me suddenly, so sud denly, indeed, that he almost startled me. "Do you know,"' he said, "those kind of women, fair and calm, whose thoughts seem to be alwavs turned in wards? My wife is one of those; a hen one talks to her she listens with her eyes down, and seems as though she had left another world of thougVit just for your sake. Her manner always piques one to go on talking for the sake of making her smile. I can just imag ine how she looks now, while Lady Ih1 bitter talks to her. Well, come to your own room, John, and we will stroll round the grounds till her ladyship has retreated." W hat a beautiful old house it was, one could tell so easily that a lady of taste and refinement presided over it. The fine old oak was not covered, but contrasting with it were thick crimson rugs, hangings of crimson velvet, and it was relieved by any amount of flowers; beautiful pictures were hung with ex quisite taste, white statues stood out in grand relief against the dark walls. "Your wife is a woman of taste, that is quite evident, lAnce," I said. My own room. a spacious chamber called the Ulue Chamber, a large, old fashioned room with three windows, each window seat as largo as a small room; the hangings were of blue and white; there were a few jardiniers with costly, odorous flowers; easy chairs, a comfortable couch. Little stands had been placed with easy chairs in the win dow seats; the room looked as though bluebells had been strewn with a liberal hand on white ground. "How beautiful!" I cried; "I shall never want to leave this room again, Lance." "I wish you would stay here and nev er leave us; I am happy enough in hav ing Frances, if I had you as well, my happiness would be complete. You have all you want, John; 1 will send your portmanteau." When Lance had gone I looked round my room and fell in love with it. It had the charm of old fashion, of ele gance, of space, of height, and from the windows there was a magnificent view of the park and the gardens. " Jance must indeed be a happy man," I thought to myself. He came to me when I was dressed, and we went out for a stroll through the gardens. "We shall hear the dinner bell," said Lance. "We will not go too far." We saw the stately equipage of Lady Ledbitter driven down the avenue. "Thank Heaven!' said Lance. "Now Frances is fref . She will have gone to her room. That good Lady Ledbitter has robbed us of a pleasant nonr." I was surprised and delighted at the magnificence of the ground. I had never dreamed that Dutton manor house was so extensive or so beautiful. "The great artist. Lilias, is coming here next week," said Lance. 'I want him to paint my wife's portrait. She will make a superb picture, and when completed that picture shall nave the place of honor here in the drawing room. You will enjoy meeting him; he is a most intelligent, amiable man." That god Lance, it seemed to me quite impossible that he couki speak even these words without bringing in Frances- bnt how bright and happy he looked; I envied him. "Do as I have done. John," he said. "Marry. Believe me, no man knows what happiness means until he does marry." "ou must find me a wife just like your own," I said, and the words came back to me afterwards with a fervent prayer of "Heaven forbid! may Heav en forbid!" "I shall never marry now. Lance," I said. "The only woman I could ever love is dead to me.' He looked at me very earnestly. I wish you would forget all about her, John. She was not worthy of you." "Perhaps not," I replied, "but that does not interfere with the lov." "Why should you give all that loving heart of yours to one woman. John?" he said. "If one fails, try another." "If your Frances died, should you love another woman?" I asked. "That is quite another thing," he said, and I saw that in his heart he re sented the fact that I should place the woman who had been faithless to me on an equality with his wife. Poor Lancel CIIAPTEU VI. As we drew near the house on our re turn, the first dinner-bell w as ringing. "We have twenty minutea yet," said Lance; "you will just have time to say a few words to Frances; she i sure to be in the drawing-root.." We went there. When the door was opened I saw a magnificent room. long, lofty aud bright, so cheerful and light, with such beautiful pictures and flowers, such beautiful furniture, and such superb hangings of white and gold. I was struck as 1 had never been before by any room. The long French windows, opening like glass doors, look ed over a su perb flower garden, where flowers of every hue wen now in blos som. The room was full of sunlight; it faced the west, and the sun was setting. For a few moments my eyes were daz zled; then, as the golden haze cleared. I Baw a tall figure at the other end of the room, a beautiful figure, dressed in a long rube of blue, with a crown of golden brown hair; when she turned suddenly to us. I saw that she carried some sprays of white hawthorn in her hand. At first my attention was con centrated on the golden hair, the blue dress, the white flowers; then slowlv, as though following some irresistible magnetic attraction, my eves were raised to her face, and remained fixed there. I have wondered a thousand times since how it was that no cry es caped my lips, how it was that none of the cold, sick horror that filled my whole heart and soul did not find vent in words. How was it? To this mo ment I cannot tell. Great Heaven! what did I see? In this beloved and worshipped wife, in this fair and queenly woman. in this tender and charitable lady, who was so good to the fallen and the miserable. in this wom an, idolized by the man I loved best on earth, I saw the rnurdrrrs the woman who had dropped the little bundle over the railing into the sea. It was sue as surely as Heaven shone above us. I recognized the beautiful face, the light golden hair, the tall, graceful figure. The face was not white, set, and desperate now. but bright, with a soft, sweet radiance I have seen on the face of no other wom an living. For an instant my whole heart was paralyzed with horror. I felt my bkxxl grow cold and gather round my heart, leaving my face white and my hands cold. She came forward to meet me with the same graceful, un dulating grace which had struck me be fore. For a moment I was back on the Chain Pier, with tho wild waste of waters around me, and the rapid rush of the waves in my ear. Then a beau tiful face was smiling into mine a w hite hand, on which rich jewels shone, was held out to me. a voice sweeter than any music I had ever heard, said: "You are welcome to Dutton. Mr. Ford. My husband will be completely happy now." (ireat Heaven! how cwild this woman be a murderess the beautiful face, the clear, limpid eyes how could it be? No sweeter month ever smiled, and the light that lay on her face was the light of Heaven itself. How could it be? She seemed to wonder a little at my coldness, for she added, "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you, and Ince has thought of nothing else during the last week." I wonder that I didn't cry out, "You are the woman who drowned the little child off the Chain Pier." It was only the sight of Lance's face that deterred me. I had some vague, indistinct no tion of what those words would be to him. "What is the matter, John?" asked Lance, impatiently. "The sight of my wife's face seems to have struck you dumb.'" "It must be with admiration then," I said, making a desperate effort to re cover myself. "I could almost think I had seen Mrs. Fleming's face before." She looked at me frankly, and she laughed frankly. "1 have a good memory for faces," 8hi said; "ami I do not remember to have seen yours." There was no shadow of fear or of any effort at concealment; nlie did not change color or shrink from me. Ltnce laughed aloud. "I wonder no longer at your leing a bachelor." he naid, "if the sight of a leautiful fa-e produces such a strancre effect on you. Yoi must deal gently w ith him, Frances," he said to his wife; "his nerves are weak he cannot bear lunch at a time.' "I promise to be very gentle," she said; and the music of thai low, cares sing voice thrilled my very heart. "I think." she continued, "that Mr. Ford looks very tired. I-uice. pale and worn. We m'st take great care of him.' "That we will." was the hearty reply. Great Heaven! was it a murderess standing there, with that sweet look of compassion on her face? Could this woman, who looked pitifully on me, a grown man, drown a little child in the deep sea? Were those lips, uttering kindly words of welcome, the same that had cried in mad despair. h. Heaven! if I dare if I dare!" I could have kill ed myself for the base suspicion. Yet it was most surely she! 1 MoojkhI to pick up the white haw thorn that she had dropped. She took it from me with the sweetest smile, and Lance stood by. looking en with an air of proud proprietorship that would have leen amusing if it had not been so unutterably pitiful. While my brain and mind were still chaos a whirl of thought and emotion the dinner-bell rang. I offered her my arm. but I could not refrain from a shudder as her white hand touched it. When I saw that hand last it w as most assuredly dropping the little burden in to the sea. Ltnce looked at ns most ruefully, so that she laughed and said: "Come with us, Iance." She laid her other hand on his arm, and we all three walked into the dining room together. I could not eat any dinner I could only sit and watch the beautiful face. It was the face of a good woman there was nothing cruel, nothing subtle in it. 1 must be mistaken. I felt as though I should go mad. She was a perfect host ess most attentive most graceful. I shall never forget hr knlr- -s to m. any more than I shall forget the come liness of her face or the gleam of her golden hair. She thought I was not well. She did not know that it was fear which had blanched my face and made me trem ble: she could not tell that it was hor ror which curdled my blood. Without any fuss she was so anxiously consid erate for me without seeming to make any ceremony, she was so gracefully kind; she would not let me sit in the draughts; with her own hands she se lected some purple grapes for me. This could never be the woman who had drowned a little child. When dinner was over and we were in the drawing-room again, she drew a chair near the fire for me. "You will laugh at the notion of a fire in May." she said; "but I find the early Summer evenings chilly, and I cannot bear the cold."' I wondered if she thought of the chill of the water in w hich she had plunged the little child. I looked at her. there was not even a fleeting shadow on her face. Then she lingered for half a min ute by my side. As she drew near to me I felt again that it was utterly impossible that my suspicions could be correct, and that I must be mistaken. "I hope." she said, "you will not think what I am going to say strange. I know that it is the custom for some wives to be jealous of their husband's friends some might Ih jealous of you. I want to tell you that I am not one of that kind. I love my husband so utter ly, so entirely, that all w hona he loves are dear to me. You are brother, friend, everything to him will you be the same to me?" A beautiful woman asking, with those sweet, sensitive lips, for my friendship, looking at me with those calm, tender eyes, asking me to like her for her hus band's sake the sweetest, the most gracious, the most graceful picture I had ever seen. Yet, oh Heaven,' a mur deress if ever there was one. She won dered why I did not respond to her ad vances. I read the wonder in her face. "Yon do not care for hasty friends," she said. "Well. Lance and I are one; if you like him vou must like me, and time will show.' stammered, thinking in my heart if she had been but half as good to the little helpless child she had flung into the sea. I have never seen a woman more charming. of more exquisite grace, of more perfect accomplishment. greater fascination of manner. She sang to us, anfl her voice was full of such sweet pathos it almost brought the tears in my eyes. I could not reconcile what I saw now with what I had seen on the Chain Pier, though outwardly the same woman I had seen on the Chain Pier and this graceful gracious lady could not possibly be one. As the evening Fassed on, and I saw her bright, cheer ul ways, her devotion to her husband, her candid, frank, open manner, I came to the conclusion that I must be the victim either of a mania or of some ter rible mistake. Was it possible, though, that I could have been? Had I not hail the face clearly, distinctly, before nie for the past three years? One thing struck me during the even ing. Watching her most narrowly, I could not see in her any tinder-current of feeling; she seemed "to think what she said, and to say just what she thought: there were no musings, no reveries, no fits of abstraction, nuch as one would think would go always with sin or crime. Her attention was given always to what was passing; she was not in the least like a person with any thing weighing on her mind. We were talking. iAtice and I. of an old friend of ours, who had gone to Nice, and that led to a digression on the different watering places of England. Iance mentioned several, the climate of which he declared was unsurpassed, those mysterious places of whic h one reads in the papers, w here violets grow in De cember, and the sun shines all the year round. I cannot remember who first named Brighton, but I do remember that she neither changed color nor shrank. "Now for a test," I said to myself. I looked at her quite straight in the face, so that no expression of hers could es cape me no shadow pas over her eyes unknown to me. "Do vou know Brighton at all?" I asked "her. I could see to the very depths of the limpid eyes. No shadow came; the beautiful, attentive face did not change in the least. She smiled as she replied: "I do not. I know Bournemouth and "Eastbourne very well; I like Bourne month best.' We had hardly touched upon the sub ject, and she had glided from it. yet w ith such seeming unconsciousness. I laughed, yet I felt that my lips were stiff aud the sound of my laugh strange. "Everyone knows Brighton." I said. "It is not often one meets an English ladv who does not know it." She looked at me with the most charm- i ing and frank directness. I "I spent a few hours there once." she sai l. "From the little I saw of it I took it for a city of palaces." "It is a iH'aiitilul place."' I said. She rose w ith languid grace, and went to the table. "I think I will ring for some tea."" she said. "I am chillv and cold in spite of the lire. Mr. Ford, w ill you join nie?" ii.U'i r.i: vn. j Mv frelintrs when I reached my room j that" night were riot to be envied. I j wns as firmlv convinced of the iiientily of the woman as I wns of the shining of the sun. There could not le any mis take; I had seen her face quite plainly in the moonlight, and it had leen too deeply impressed on mv mind for me to forget it, or to mistake" it for another. Indeed, the horror of the diswovery was still upon me. my nerves were trem bling, mv blood was cold. How could it e that my old friend I,ance had made so terrible a mistake? How could I bear to know that the wife whom be worshipped was a murderess? What else she had been I did not care even to think; whose child it was. or why she had drowned it, 1 could not, dare not think. . I could not sleep or rest; my mind and brain were at variance with them ttelves. Frances Flcmiu r seemed to me a fair, kind-hearted, loving woman, graceful as fair; the woman I had seen on the Chain Pier was a uild.dt sjwrate creature, capable of an? Ilrn. I could not rest; the sot t bed or eid-r down, the pure linen perfumed with lavender, the pillows, soft as though tilled with down from the w ings of a bird, could bring no rest to me. If this woman were anything but what she seemed to l if she w ere in deed a murderess, how dare she de ceive lattice Fleming? Was it right, just, or fair that be should give the love of his honest heart, the devotion of his life, to a woman who ought to have been branded? I wished a thousand times over that I bad never seen the I 'hain Pier, or that I had never come to Dutton Manor House; yet it might le that I was the humble instrument in tended by Providence to bring to light a great crime. It seemed strange that of all nights in the year I should have chosen that one; it seemed strange that after keeping the woman's face living in my memory for so long I should so suddenly meet it in life. There was something more than more coincidence in this: yet it seemed a horrible thing to -,. l" t v:""a utid i tl e t if i f my dc ti- est friend, and ruin his happiness for ever. Then the question came was it not better for him to know the truth than to live in a fool a paradise to take to his heart a murderess to live befooled and to die deceived? My heart rose in hot indignation against the woman who had blighted his life, who would bring home to him such shame and anguish ns must tear his heart and drive him ruad. I could not suppose, for one moment, that I was the only one in the world who knew her secret there must be others, and meeting her suddenly, one f these might betray her secret, "might do her greater harm and more mischief than I could do. After hours of weary thought. I came to this conclusion, that I must find out ffm of all whether my suspicions were correct or not. That was evidently my first duty. I must know whether there was anv truth in my suspicions or not. I hated mvself for the task that lay before me", to watch a woman, to seek to entrap her, to play the detective, to seek to dis cover the secret of one who had so cordi ally and irankly offered me her friend ship. et it was equally hateful to know that a bad and w iek'ed w oman, branded w ith sin, stained with murder, had de ceived an honest, loval man like Lance Heming. Look which way I would, it was a most cruel dilemma pity, indig nation, wonder, fear, reluctance, all tore at my heart. Was Frances Flem mg the good, pure, tender-hearted wom an she seemed to be, or was was she the woman branded with a secret brand? I must find out for lance's sake. There were times when intense pity softened my heart, almost moved me to tears; then the recollection of the tiny white baby lying all night in the sea. swaying to and fro with the waves, steeled me. I could see again the pure little waxen face, as th kindly woman kissed it on the pier. I could" see the little green grave, with the white, shin ing cross ''Marah. found drowned." and here beside me, talking to me. tend ing me w ith gentle solicitude, was the very woman, I feared, who had drown ed the child. There were times I re member one particularly when she held out a bunch of fine hot-house grapes to me. that I could have cried out "It is the hand of a murderess, take it away," but I restrained mvself. I declare that, during a w hole "fort night. I watched her incessantly; I scrutinized every loo"k every gesture. I criticized every" word, and in neither one nor the other did I find a shadow of blame. She seemed to me pure in heart, thought, and word. At times, w hen she read or sang to us. there w as a light such as one fancies the angels wear. Then I found also what Iance said of her charity to the poor was per fectly true thev worshipped her. No saint was a greater saint to them than the woman whom I believed I had seen drown a little child. It seemed as though she could hard'y do enough for them; the minute she heard that anvone was sick or in want she went to their aid. I have known this lautiful woman, whose husband adored lier. give up a party or bail to sit np with some poor woman whose child was ill, or was ill herself. And I mnst speak, too. of her devotion to see the earnest, tender piety on that beautiful face was marvellous. "IxHk, John!"' Lance would whisper tome; "my wife looks like an angel.' I was obliged to own that she did. But what was the soul like that animat ed the beautiful body? When we were talking and we spent many hours together in the garden I w as struck w ith the beauty and nobility of her ideas. She took the right side in everything; her wisdom was full of ten derness; sne never once gave utterance to a thought or a sentence but that I was both pleased and struck with it. But for this haunting suspicion I should have pronounced her a perfect woman, for I could see no fault in her. I hail been a fortnight at Dutton Manor, and but for this it would have hecna very happy fortnight. Ince and 1 had fall en into the old loving terms of intima cy, and Frances made a most lovable and harmonious third. A whole fort night I had studied her, criticised her, and was more bewildered than ever more sure of two things: the first was, that it was next to impossible that she had ever been anything different to what she was now; the second, that she must be the woman I had seen on tlie pier. What, under those circumstan ces, was any man to do? No single incident had hapjiened to Interrupt the tranquil course of life, but from day to day I grew more wretched with the weight of my miser able secret. One afternoon, I remember that the lilacs were all in bloom, and Lance sat with his beautiful wife where a great group of the trees stood. When I reached them they were speaking of the sea. "I always long for the sea in Summer time. said Ince, "when the sun is hot and the air full of dust, and no trees five shade, and the gras? seems burned, long for the sea. I,ove of water seems almost a mania with me, from the deep blue ocean, with its foaming billows, to the smallest rol hidden in a wood. It is strange, Frances, with your loauty-loving soul, that you dis like the sea." She had gathered a spray of the beau tiful lilac, and held it to her lips. Was it the shade of the flower, or did the color leave her face? If so. it was the first time I had seen it change. "Do yon really dislike the sea. Mrs Fleming?"" I asked. "Yes," she replied, laconically. "Why?" I asked again. "I cannot tell." she answered. "It must he on the old principle. I d.i not liar thee. Drwtor F!1. Tor rfn why I cannot tell! But otilv thi I know full well. I do riot like thee. I),--tr Fell:"" "Those lines hardly appy to the sea." I said. "I thought love of the sea was inborn with every man and woman in Encrland." "It is not with m.V she said. She spoke quite gently. There was not the lca-d hurry or confusion, but I was quite sure the" color had faded from her face. Was it possible that I had found a hole in the strong armor at last? Lance turned a laughing face to me. "Mv wife is as strong in her. dislikes as in her likes." he sail, "She never will go to the sea. Last year I spent a whole month in trving to persuade her; this vear I have Wgan in gool time, and f intend to give it three months good trial, but I am afraid it will le quite in vain." " hy uo von oisiiKe tlie sear 1 re peated. "You must have a reason." "1 think." she replied, "it makes me uie'.a'-'-holy :i,1'l l"W-spiritod." "Well it'miglit!" I thought, for the rush and fall of the waves must lf like a vast requiem to her. "That is not the effect the sea has ujon most people." I said. "No. I suppose not; it has upon me," she said. Then smiling at me she went on: "You seem to think it is my fault, ilr. Ford, that I do not love the sea. ' "It is your misfortune." I said, and our eyes met. I meant nothing by the words, but a shifting, curious look came into her face, and for the first time since I had leen there her eyes fell lefore mine. "I suppose it is." she said, quietly; but from that moment we were never r,-tit t'" .-.ijjre ara:n. ! w,;t-!'ed rce curiously, and I knew It. "Like or dislike. Frances, give waar this time." said Lance, "and John wli go with us." "Ii you reaUy wish it," she asked. I should like it; I think it would do us all good. And. after all, yours rs but "'j,i i aiicrs. "If we go at all." she said, "let ns go tx the great Northern sea, not to tha South, where it Is smiling and treacher ous. ' "Those southern seas hide much " I said; and again she looked at me with a curious, intent gze a far-off gate M though she were trying to make some thing out. "What do they hide, John?" asked Lance, indifferently. "Sharp rocks and shifting Bands." I answered. "So do the northern seas," he replied. A soft, sweet voice said: "Everronaj has their own taste. I love the coun try; you love the sea. I find more beau ty in this bunch of lilac than I should in all the seaweed that was ever thrown on the beach; to me there is more poet ry and more loveliness in the ripple of the leaves, the changeful hues of tl trees and flowers, the corn in the fields the fruit in the orchards, than in thai perpetual monotony of the sea." "That is not fair, Frances," cried Lance. "Say what you w ill but never call the sea monotonous it is never that; it always gives one the impres sion of power and majesty." "And of mystery," I interrupted. "Of mystery," she repeated, and tba words seemed forced from her in snta of herself. 1 "Yes. of mystery!" I said. "Think what is buried in tlie sea! Think of tho vessels that have sunk laden with hu man beings! No one will know one third of the mysteries of the sea until the day when she gives up her dead." The spray of lilac fell to the ground. She roe quickly and made no attempt to regain it. "It is growing chillv," she raid; "I will go into the house."" "A strange thing that my wife does not like the sea." said Inoe. But it was not strange to my mind, not strange at all. To bs Continued "Didn't Want to Krtrh It." A gentleman who spent everal years tearhins: ijira tlie following uc-;trjt of a teacher's int. rvi. w wiih a Imy of atorjt 14 in a rtirnl district. ( U lier te.-ti tiers hava probably had simitar e ;rerlei o-a : ""What rs your tiani " " Shiu." Vi.-T i the re--t of It ?" "Sum '! " " V lint is oiir rurii.ntir ' "Mi ! u iuie-a I! . . v -r " " And i !:. bust " " .1 nek sou. '' ".I.-irkf.;,, then, is the name of vreir pa rents '' "No. to inn. it n;a't. One of ru !a nani".l yillvnni ami t'other one Mary Jnne.'' How ol.l nre you :-" " flllllUO." " W'bat ' A boy as l;:re as von d'vt-s-n'l know h:s acp f" " Vrs:iui " "A boy of your ulr.e ought to knowtlia exact rcirof his birth." " I Co know the rrse.' " What your w ns t ?' "Samp year ns my aiMcr Harriet." I mle l '" "Yssi;ni: we're twins." "I want .uito r-k yo,ir PiotUer how old yon are. nm itll me to morrow." " She (lnnim : she limn ihni ." "That is Tnd a very nice way to tn'.k about your reotb.-r." "She fVin't krer." "WllV .Vh-SII t M.C ; ' " SI e'a fiend." " Where do Mil live V " To borne " " Where i roc.r home " "Over yon." I h s wth a jerk of LWt head over bis left no l ler. " Hnre v n nny booUs ' "No, ni'.m : I don't need none " "W hy not ?" "I'm only in my n b "Then you have m-ver hart imt i',!nr- tional fcdvant -i:'e Hov Hcrnt-!;e" his h-nd nt an, : "No. mom: not thr.t I I; n.r. a (.f. Hut I've had airysip'as. if w h-.t . o . - - ! worse nor "that I con't want ti r kttch IU" a scnooLJtA'Airs quip. The Skill of a Hold and llrait West ern I'.qneatrletine. A writer on the Portlan.l iOre.1 Ob server says thnt he recently .ipprrya. hed. a. mansion s'tnated on Poverty Flat, an 1 observed the daiml.ter of the ho::e in ths front yard placing a man's aaddle on an Ore ion horse thnt objected toth.spro-cee-ling. She was alwirjt the jig - wh-n "stnndinK with rclnctnnt feet worina liood and childhool meet." I ofTril my assistance as he wns hopping around on her riaht foot, tier left foot In the sMrrtip. while she flrmly K'nspe l the bridle bit in her left hand. The chvusc, meanwhile, was Dinting mad bounds. In-Iiovvin. as only no Oregon horc can li-llow, and standing first on his hind f -t. then on his fore. " No, thanks ; I ran nnnnc hi'.' se said, and vaulted into the srdd'.e. not fclitewlse hut otherwise. The itistnnt the girl gain-vl the add:e. and the horse felt that she was ih-r, down went his h end. an arch srmisr in his back and away he went. Jtru-irc. stiff legized. over saire brush, six feet hi'i. nntll horse and rider disappear" 'he distance. After awhile she came b:u k t a thundering; gallop and r-lurd up at the door, a trifle excited, but smi.iux Of course no corn-fe.l tir in the State conld hope to do ao well as this produc tion of the bunch-grass hills, lint .lmr ac.ter Roes far more than trivial i'tcldent. and of the su'ler sex it mint be said thnt here, as elsewhere, they teai U In t!i Sunday school, a:id are the ahinlnji lights that point out the way on wart na.l up ward to the weary nnd foln'iui feet of the sons of men. Ada-tee t Br. Dr. Lyman Abbott: " Whatsoever thy hand And? to do. do it with thy might." K. P. Roe: ' Io one thine hon,rtbly D'l thoroiiatly ami set about it at um-a." Ex-Pre.ldeDt Hayes: " Commit to memory and recite P-rown'a letter to a young friend." General T.yon : "No one will ever be come a great scholar without constant a tody, close application, and without thoroughly understanding tha: which be may attempt before pnsMua It by to take up something else." treneral WinfieM Hancock, anions other things : " Pe truthful, never try to appear what you are not, honor your father and your mother." Rev. F K. Hale: "Tell the tmtTa. Keep the Commandments. tv not .Irtnk. It yon hare anything to say, tny it. but If net, certainly not." General TV . Stanley : " That next to exact regularity In their bonrs f -r prayer and pious reading, they allow nothing to interfere with their boors of atudy." Afndemy Nrtr. Sihort-llalred and Tooitnleaa. Burdette says: When they brought Oscar Wild's bahy tn Mm the In-antifal man tossed back hla mane and cazrd upon the babe. It had t-hort bur aud ti teeth. scar wept, rt.id bfiitii his h;a is toward heaven call-d upon nil the jrvi- I o w ;tt,e i w .- ' ' .-' I it ir
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers