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EBENSBURG, FA.. FRIDAY, AUGUST 12, ISS7.
NUMBER 29.
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. ti tif .li.Y. h i.I n'irc tjli ifLi- of the prr
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-ACEWT3 WAHTED.JiJ
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f - fti S;ni'it 7"m y-r y,H-jh9.
r, w- r vp T"ii t hi 'xc,'j,'v? fjiIi t thi?
' f. rrt:' v jutt! yoti. ( r for our Hrto
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A- .Ja.Lr.y of iiartf -rd. Cum. ,
i
XASll'A,. .'V'-ZKS OF
i.i ;ii,:.i-i;iN; VACONS,
7 -racial Villi rbxtcr:.
. " ' a;;li t t.sj r '?.:ti i '--;- :.v
vsf-.oA ,..r? .
''JLHQLLAKD BUCK BOARD. Ko. 21
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". ! ' 1 !i ' ill alw ij find u at on- j.li re
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rf1' ' ROYAL att'flt
L" vn & &y
Ahcolutely fure.
ltte -
tirnt.wta
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. itl'li t wr.-
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n:. ec -J. Mire ecuBcmtpWl
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a .t rhoi hat. I'C.dtr. ZyotJ
tit Jill na t'uvrii (.'o..l'
Will St . .. rtIV V
rj U SSI AN
HEUMATISM
COnt etm anrthirjt ut RlmnMm.
t.-t every time, ll ourud
fJfl. Bt-bn 1 jim-uitiir. Pa.
aia. IIabtvaji. tia, lLUwm&stxinr. Pa.
Mm. Kkv. K. II. li.itfcs. Suumtaa. Ta.
Miia. VT Mraiaa. i-au Wj i t.. Philliita.
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ala. Mi CiriuiN, t '7
riun -'. rir.11. ?.
rrrUSSlANl baa Mm V
I ?i6?rf"j! IratDK HIKES
SlfiN II IKK
7-1 -'- lilr
Ptl 101.
F.' complete tuforraatinu. ItoarrtptlTe I'am-
Itlel. uU uuiiuoiiuua. I rr-r.
rr .-a'.r I v nil lruBrtl. If ono or the oth-r la
Bot In ;s.:f .- fur:in.a it t you. do not le
rfill to ukuaiiytlnuK kIb, but anly il'.rtirt to thi
C--r.il A.- :.!. I'h U.IYI K liK. A. O.
61U ik bit .11aJ-k.lt MLrrt-c. PbMadrlphiu.
THE CHAUTAUQUA
OornMeei! Planter.
A ONE-HAND
-J
AUTOMATIC MACHINE.
a. J Aril 4, IS2.
1 M- Ifb. 21,
AU of 2Ccta.l. Llht. 3tvon,
Wfll Constructed audi
EleKAQtly Painted.
m
n
5
Plint Corn (and pumpkin
seeds', Beana, etc.
v.i.rks v.ai.1. snriir, Ltyfl
N Ii MONY r.MOl D.
n''Ntnmcnlr hy Farmer
.t.nl la;.-r it. nil sirtiona.
'Mi t in ."i in one day's
u-o iu j.ay lor it.
PRICE, - $2.79.
LiU'i ul jT-oiiri t trt agents
:i n t t hi irioiw.
( r.nvn rr t a -i!-.- n ;;Ki f 10 00 per
ju tl:o 1'la.iiLinp M ason.
; it i.
, Sond f r cirrula
nml extra indure
..' - mcnt" to as- ntg and
- rv;
''.' raiiYn--.'M.
M.-rti'.n thU ra-
h.t, n:nl address.
Thedhauta'aqnapianterConpaniJ
JAJIESTOWN, Y.
J. LVWCH.
A r I M ti lift' tur. r .t IK aler In
HOME AND CITY WADE
FURNITURE !
LOUNGES, ni)SlL-DS,
T Uf,l v CJiAIKH,
ALTOONA, TKXN'A.
; Cil ' "i .s if f anil ria 1'iunly anrt all
.. mi w ti mg to l urrt -e I Fl'KNI
'iri:r.. A.c cf h n.t t im-i i are re-pectfully
i- :tr '. t-giii'ara-itti.ie t u ing t Ise
.'. lit re. we aie i ti t r.t Uat we can
lun'l .ery viit ml J!.a-e evry taste.
Iris's tt.e Very 'owe;.t. 4 li "-tt.
PATENTS
)!t.i!r.ed ri H P.V
ten. led to f r yOI'KI
I KT I I 'SI NESS
at
;ATE FKr.
Our cfhoe Is onoMte the U.S. Patent
Oflii e an.l we ran obtain patent In les time
than tho-e remote from VASHIXTN.
Semi MODEL OR DRAW INU. We ad
vi' as to patentability f ree of etiarge ard we
ir.k- No CHARGE UNLESS PATENT IS
SK l"i:KD.
Vt rt-ff-re, here, to the Vvf t master, the
M;t t. of Money Order D.v . sr.d tc the effl-
ciats ui n:e i . o. x aieiiL i im-r. tnuu-
laK. a.lvlce, terini and references to actual
clients in jwur own State write to
C. A . SNOW tc O O.
pf. Palrnl OfTJee Walilailon, I. C.
piAisro-roriTJss.
l NLulAU.l.l IN"
'aciis, 7oncli,Worimaiis!iij & Dnreiilily.
TTIT.r.IA'rr KTtBE A- C
a '.'J nn.l jH V.t Tiattlmor. Etrv Itlmorv.
-:
h 1U 'iti 4veuuc. New York.
Itll.HWlll,
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".i j.i.uu.mI. .t,.n.llL tv ift"-h..l it'inMv
. t ' '. t .ir k l Ii- oi - ; r
.... V- , . I ... : "tia-
. i.. ... .. . - t..
r f J::kiili f Uuliohntw uJ., '
MY TWIN BROTHER.
When I aroe on the morning ot my
twentieth birthday, and nodded merily to
my own reflection In the g'.ass, the bright
V"ung face that laughed hack at me was
that of a handsome, happy, and very fortu
nate girl.
"Good morning. Miss Lydla Searle," I
said. "And U all goes well with us you
won't be Miss Lydia Searle at all thU time
next year, but Mrs. Harry EJatten, Instead.'
It wanted but three weeks of my wedding
diij. I was a happy as 1 was busv iust
then, for I loved the man whosa bride I was
sron to become, with all a yonag girl's
warm, untried affection.
"Jtter than any one In the world but
Toiu," I thought "And surely nobody
couM or ounht to bo dearer to me than
Tom."
Tom was my twin brother. The usual
strong affection existing between twins was
exceptionally powerful in our case from
eirrtnntanee.
One of us was born strong and robust,
and the other frai: and small, Notwith
standing ray sex. I was the favored one by
nature, while Tom was the weakly twin.
That was the fiist of his misfortune, which
naturally gave him a claim on me, and made
hirr cling to me as a heartier, manlier boy
would nt have done. The second mlafor
tnne was that he resembled our father.
Poor fellow! As ir be could help that!
And yet Unole Elliott resented it in him Just
as if he had been to blame for It.
"Not a fraction of my mcney shall go to
the second Tom Searle." he used to say.
And he kept his word. He had adopted
uh at poor mother's deatb. Our father had
died years before, lie gave us both a good
education, and got Tom a position in a bank ;
but when he dled-just a yenr before that
i twentieth birthday of mine I wa hie sole
helr-s.
It grieved me terribly. I loved Tcm far
better than myself, and would have shared
anything with him ; but he was proud, poor
So the best I could do was to spend as
much money upon him as possible, and lend
tim all he wanted to use. He had no ob
jection to that, bacause, as he would say :
"Some of these days, when I'm a partner
in the bank, I'll pay it all back
I.y.ldy."
again.
And, of course, it was quite probable that
some day he would be a partner, since I was
about to be married to the banker's only
son and heir.
I was puzzled sometimes to know what
lorn did with so much money ; he had
'Speculations on t:and." be told me. I
thnuglit that rerhaps he was rather extrav
agant, too perhaps inclined to be wild.
"lie is so joor.g and so handsome," I
thought.
I was always making eicnses for him to
myself ; but, of course, common sense taught
me that If he would be steadier, and attend
to business better, his chances of promotion
at the bank would be Improved.
As I thought of him on that birthday
morning of course, it was his birthday too
the face in the glass ceased to smile, and
a new anxiety crept Into my thoughts, I was
thinking of the night before.
Tons had a.ted very strangely. I had
!ain awake a long time thinking of It last
night and a ratrue uneasiness smote me as I
remeberel .t now; what could have ailed
him?
He had come In, at about ten o'clock, to
the little parlor where Harry and I were fit
ting together, and remained with us, restless,
agitated, nervous, and showing so plainly
that he wished to see me alone, that narry,
half vexed, half amused, to. k the hint and
left US.
And then he asked me for money.
No trifling sum. either. He implorel me.
almost wildly, to "give him six hunt red
pounds, then and there, for God's bake?"
He alniott took my breath away. I bad
ro such sum of money in the house, of
course, nor could I get it on such short
notice. My fortune consisted of real estate,
from which I derived a moderate income,
ana a few thousands in ready money, which,
what with Tom's extravagance, and my own
preparations for my marriage, were nearly
gone.
Quite aghast at bis agitation, as well as
at his request, I explained to him the utter
In possibility of compliance. He said not a
word, but dropped Into a seat, and sat innV.
ir.j. at me as if ftupefied.
Evr ry yestige of color had gone from his
lair, handsome face, and the delicate, clear
cut rearures looked haggard and careworo.
A panft shot through my heart as I saw his
distress. I ceased to care or wonder what
the money was wanted for. I knelt beside
him:
"I'll get It for yon to-morrow," I said,
"if I have to mortgage my property; don't
despair; only wait until to-worrow, my
dear."
As my band touched his te started and
looked down at me. ne was never very
store or brave never fit to battle with
trouble. It seemed to have crushed bim
row; tears fell from his eves noon mv
face.
Never mind I" he moaned. "Poor Lyd
dv ! Poor girl I" be paired my hand fondly.
"I know you'd give it to me If you could.
Ah. I've been a bad brother to you, dear.
Say yoo forgive me to-Dlght I"
And of course 1 said so said so weeping.
His manner distressed me so; but I did
not know what there was to forgive.
I was wiser before that birthday was
half over, though the knowledge seemed the
greatest calamity of my life.
"Something has gone wrong at the bank,"
Harry told tr.e. ne broke the bitter news
io me as gently as he conld, and with a
grave, pale face. "Six hundred pounds,
which had been entrusted to Tom to deliver
somewhere several weeks ago, had not
been accounted for and there were errors,
too. In his accounts"
I heard no more. Insensibility snatched
me for awhile from the agony of Tom's
ruin and my own disgrace.
For mut not bis sister share his dishonor?
I felt that bitterly at first I who bad been
so proud t f him. But by-and-by indigna
tion, shame, anger, all gave place to love
and love' anxiety. Tom was missing.
What mattered it to me that he bad sinned?
He was still my brother, and I loved bim.
I had not waited for that, however, before
taking steps to shield bim from the conse
quences of his crime.
Mr. Uatton was mercifuL Be had no
wish to bring public disgrace upon the
family of his old friend -upon the girl whom
Lis own fein was engaged to marry.
I was permuted to make up the deficit in
the bank's accounts. In order to do so, and
for another reason. I Instructed my lawyers
to dispose of my propeity. And that other
reason was a letter from Tom, received just
one week from his departure.
A pitirul letter the outcry of a penitent
and almost broken heart. Ha had not ap
propiiated the six hundred pounds, thank
God! but be had been out and drinking,
with the money in his possession, and bad
been robbed of It.
Oh. now grateful I was I Every other
misfortune ln the world might be borne
with patience now, since Tom was not
dishonest.
He confessed to me a thousand indiscre
tions, follies, sins ; told me of many and
serious debts that be had left behind him.
Most startling ot all, he told me he was
married, and implored me to seek out and
protect his wife and child.
Tom's wife and child ! Who was she ?
After the first surprise was over, I found
myself longing to see my new sister and the
little one.
I went to the address Tom bad sent me
went with a carriage to bring my new
relations home. Disappointment met me.
Mrs. Searle and her child bad gone.
"They were behind with their rent," said
the landlady, and Uie husband weat away,
so I couldn't kep her. She left to-day.
I returned borne discouraged. I did not
want to see or speak to any one just then,
so it was peculiarly annoy leg to find that a
young woman, whom I bad employed to do
sewing more than a year ago, had called,
and was waiting to see me.
I went down to her. She arose to meet
me as I entered the parlor. Little Eva Rob
inson ! I remembered the girl well a pretty,
gentle, timid creature.
I started when I saw that she had an in
fant In ber arms.
"Why, what is his?" I cried.
"My baby," she said timidly. "I've mar
ried since I saw you last, miss."
I sat down, and bade her do the same, and
then asked ber what I could do to serve
ber.
n-. - . ot ourst into a passi ,
tears, and, rising suddenly, came and laid
the infant in my lap.
nave mercy on me !" she cried, falling
on her knees. "This Is your brother's child
and mine, and I I am his wife !"
I was a proud girl, and this blow was a
heavy one. My brother, so handsome, such
a favorite, so unfit for wife and child be
might have married so advantageously, I
thought, and here I was called upon to wel
come as a sister my own selng girl:
But I did. 1 may have shrunk from her
for an instant, perhaps, in the first surprise,
but next minute, the thought of that other
disgrace, which Tom had not brought on
himself and me, and in my gratitude at es
caping that I could not murmur.
She was a dear little thing, too, after all ;
and the baby charming. Ah, I bad reason
to be thankful for the comfort of their pres
ence soon." For the very next day, meeting
an acquaintance in the street, she said
"And so I hear that your marriage Is pos-
poned. my dear."
My heart sank down like lead.
ho Informed you ? I asked, quietly
"Your Intended bridegroom. Mr. Har
ry II at ton. himself. Is it not true ?"
"Perfectly true," I answered.
"And posponed until when?"
"Indefinitely."
I wrote the same day to Harry :
"You desire your freedom ; take It.
will never be called upon to fufill
engagement with me."
And he took me at my word.
You
your
He called, certainly, and made a pretense
or explanation and regret. The almost en
tire loss or mj fortune hal influenced his
father, not himself; but my brother's con
duct"
I stopped him there.
"iom was innocent," I said ; "and what
he lost I have restored. You have acknow-'
ledged that there was nothing wrong In his
accounts. You need seek no excuse In his
conduct, sir."
He lost his temper.
a -V a . - .
-uo you excuse nis destruction or an
Innocent girl, and abandonment of her and
her child?" he said.
IVllL , . .
uu one quica movement i threw open
the folding doors, and showed bim Eva and
her son.
"Allow me to Introduce you to my broth
er's wife and child, whom he left In mv
protection."
But bis words bad made me uneasy.
That evening, seated with the baby on my
lap, I asked Eva where she had been mar
ried.
"A las 1" she cried, "if I only knew I Tom
took me to church In a carriage. It was in
this very city, but I don't know where. It
was because I had do certificate of my mar
riage, that I dare not go to my brother my
dear, noble brother who has. struggled so
hard, and made himself, unaided, an honor
able position and a name. I knew that a
cruel slander concerning me has been car
ried to him that most almost have broken
his heart."
I took her bands away from her face and
kissed her.
"We'll find the chorch," I said. "There
must be no slander about my dear brother's
wife."
And I did find it, after a few days' search.
Then I got John Robinson's adress be was
a lawyer, I found and requested him to
call on me.
He came, a wonderfully grave, handsome
man, with something singular!? manly and
impressive about him. In my heart 1
thought :
"No wonder Eva wept at thought of bis
displeasure, ne Is worth pleasing, surely."
I took him to the parlor.
"I wish to reconcile you to your sister," I
said. "She is my brother's wife."
Then I left tbem together. After an hour
or more, Eva came for me.
"John wants to say good-bye before he
goes," said she.
He took my hand la his, and looked Into
my eyes.
"You are a good woman," be said, ear
nestly. "Ma God bless yoo, and make you
as truly happy as you bare to-day made
tor!"
There was something in bis mere look and
tone strength, a truth, a thorough reliabili
tythat gave me comfort, somehow I found
myself thinking.
"If it Lad been my fate to love such a man
as that I should be nearer happiness than 1
am to-day."
But I kept my thoughts to myself. Only
from that hour I was sensible that I regret
ted my lost hopes ad happiness for their
own sake, far more than I mourned for the
false lover on whom tney were founded.
Ooe week later all my property was sold.
I had paid off Tom's debts; and, accompani
ed by bis wife and child. Joined him In a
distant home.
There we began life anew. 1 bad a small
Income still, and Tom obtained a lucrative
position. The lesson of the past was not
lost upon bim. The sacrifice I bad made
was not in vain. Dear Tom was a changed
man Changed for the better. Whatever.I
had lost, had been bis gain.
And what bad I lost? The money I
counted less than nothing; and Hsrry Hat
ton's love was Dot worth a reeret. What
was It then? I sighed for the trust betrayed
the glamour and illusion gone from life so
early.
"Oh, to be well and truly loved!" I
thought. And then my thoughts never
went back to Harry.
Another filled tbem. Strange impression
that man had made upon me; seen only once
never to be forgotten. I thought of him
Constantly; and beard from him, through
Eva. every now and then.
"What is your brother's wife like, Eva?"
I Asked ber once, just to try ber.
"He ha none." she answered. ' I known
what I should like ber to be like, though."
And her eyes dwelt on me in a way that
made my tell-tale color rise.
A few days afterward she came to me
laughing.
"I told John of your question, and only
hear what be says."
She read aloud:
"Tell Lydia my wife (that is to be, I
hope.) resides in your city. I hope to visit
you before long, and Introduce ber to you."
And he did. With the merry Christmas
season John came. I think that was the
very happiest season of my life. Of course
yon guess how it a'l ended. I smile now,
looking back and remembering that I fancied
once I loved another than John.
That was a dream but this reality. All
my sacrifices have been well repaid, and all
my loss was gain; I realize that every time I
hear pretty Eva speak of me as 1 first spoke
k. .e brother's wife."
BARBARA,
"Now. you must do some credit to my
nursing, and get strong and well again."
As Fannie Pleasanton spoke she put be
side the bed over which she was leaning, a
great bunch of fragrant violets, moist and
beautiful, breathing their sweet stories of
shady nooks in deep woods. A little pal
fac that had been lying listlessly on the
pillow was lifted eagerly.
"Oh, bow good you are ! O. they are like
home, my own dear home 1"
Great tears rolled down the pale face.
"Tell me about your home. How came
you to leave it for the city ?" said Fannie.
"My father died, and the farm was sold to
pay a mortgage. I had a little money, and
I thongbt 1 could work in the city. Be
sides" But here Barbara Golding stopped, and a
faint crimson blush rose upon her pale
cheeks. '
'.ll'm I" thongbt Fannie, wise In twenty
two years of city life and education : "a
love story." J
Shs asked no questions, bot 'pretty soon
Barbara 6aid : "You have been so kind I
will tell you. Perhaps you can tell me
what to do."
"1 will help you in any way that I can."
"Two years ago, the summer that I was
seventeen, father took a boarder. He was
a lawyer, and his health bad failed from
studying too hard. I think he was about
twenty-eight, not handsome, bnt so gentle
and good that we all liked him from the first.
And he would come into the garden with
me. aad help me with vegetables and fruit,
because father left that to me ; and would
carry the milk np to the dairy room for me,
and talk about books aod the city, and O,
Miss Pleasaoton, don't you know."
ne made love to you ?"
"Yes." in a faint whisper.
"And you loved him ?"
"Yes," again. "I could rot help it !
When he went away be promised to come
the next summer, and be told me when he
made bis fortune he would ask me to come
to share it."
Did he come?"
"Father died the next spring, and I came
here. I thought I should find bim; but I did ,
not see bim for a long time; and when I did
I bad become so poor, so very poor, I would
not force myself upon him. I worked as
well as I could, but this summer I became
sick, and but for you I should tave starved."
'Do you think yonr lover Is still true to
you."
"I cannot tell I would not trouble bim.
Sometimes, after I had found out where his
office was, I would pass by after dark and
peep in. It was beautifully furnished; so I
hope he is making his fortn ne; bat I only
whispered 'God bless bim,' and came home.'
"Will you tell me his name."
"Lenox Cyrns B. Lenox."
Fannie Pleasantou turned ber face abrupt
ly from the little seamstress, who had been
the object of her charity for the last six
weeks, and walked to the window. Lifting
the soft white curtains she bad placed there,
she looked into the street, while ringing In
ber ears was the name Barbara Golding bad
ust spoken.
"Cyrus B. Lenox."
She was very pale when she came again to
the bedside, but ber voice was as sweet and
steady as ever as she said:
"I must leave yon now, Barbara, but 1
ill com6 again this afternoon. If yoo
want anything, Mrs. Harper will answer the
belh"
"Yes, she Is very kind. But you will
come again!"
"This afternoon. Try to eat a few of the
strawberries I have brought you."
She went away th-sn, stopping as usual to
tell the j suitress of the poor tenement bouse
to care for the sick girl nntll her return.
But instead of driving to the store where she
bad intended to make final purchases for a
nearly completed wedding outfit, she told
the coachman to drive home. Once there,
unheeding the anxious inquiries of ber aunt,
astonished at her early return and pa'e face,
she went to her own room, bolting the door.
before she sank down In a chair, weaiied
with tbe effort to maintain ber composure.
Cyrus B. Lenox, tbe girl said. Fannie
Pleasaoton, locking around her luxurious
room, saw a pleasant confasslon of dress,
new garments loading tables and wardrobe,
drawers overflowing with dainty finery.open
trunks waiting to be packed. And tbe prec
autions were alt for a wedding in one ohort
week, and tbe bride-groom elect was Cyrus
B. Lenox.
. What was this story (he little seamstress
she found starving In tbe attic bad told bet?
The j an i trees to the tenement bouse bad
been a servent in the Pleasanton family,
and eame to Fanule who was a rich and
generous, whenever any distress came to
ber notice. And Fannie bad gone to her
last call, to find Barbara Golding tossing in
delliious fever, evidently overwotked, poor
ly fed, and sitting in a little attlo chamber,
She had paid for a better room on the lower
floor, bad sent a doctor, had sopplled medi
cine, food and care, and visited her often,
till the doctor pronounced her on the toad to
recovery.
And In return she beard that Cyrus, ber
own betrothed husband, was the lover of
Barbara Golding. "Does he love her yet?"
the girl thought, puehlng back the hair from
her pale face, and looking in tbe mirror.
I am far handsomer. She Is pretty only,
sweet aod fair. I am handsome and accom
plished. She ts a pauper. I am wealthy.
Cyrus is not poor now since bis aunt died;
but will rise In eminence with my wealth to
aid him. while she will be a burden upon
him. Only a week. Long before Barbara
can ever sit up we shall be on our way to
Europe, and be will soon forget ber. Why
did he seek me if be loved ber? It was only
a request of bis aunt's, not a command that
he should marry me if I consented. But be
came to me, and I love bim I love him!
Can Barbara give him a better love than
mine? I can give her money to return to
her old home if she wishes. But if he loves
her! O. Cyrus, do you love her and not me?
I cannot donbtl I must know!"
As if in answer to tbe thought, a servant
rapped at the door, and opening it, Fannie
was handed Cyrus Lenox's card.
"I will come down at once," she said tak
ing off her bat and smoothing ber disordered
hair. Sne was not sorry that he bad called
while the first excitement of her discovery
nerved her with a fictitious strength to en
dure any word she might speak. She came
to him quietly, dignified as ever, but very
pale, so pale be asked anxiously Is 6be was
well.
"Well, but tired," she answered. I have
been out this morning."
They talked of indifferent matters for a
short time; then Fannie said, earnestly:
"Cyrus, I have a craving desire to ask you
one true woman's question. Will you
promise me a sincere answer?"
He hesitated a moment, then eaij:
"I will answer truthfully whatever you
ask."
"Did you ever love any other woman be
fore you knew me?"
"Do you not think ;it enough to know I
love you now?" be said.
"Y'ou promised me a sincere nswer, and
you give me an evasion" she said, reproach
fully. "Because you asx me to tear open an old
wound your love Is healing."
"Yet. even if It pains both you and me, 1
beg you to tell me of you fixet love."
Fannte's Hps were parched and and stiff,
but she she spoke calmly.
"Since yon Insist," Cyrus said gravely, "I
will tell you. Two years ago, in the farm
bouse where 1 was boarding. I met a woman,
or rather a girl a sweet fair maiden. I loved
I was a poor man then, Fannie, and she had
a bappy, pleasant borne. So I bade ber
farewell, hoping to return to her next year
and bring ber to the city. When I did re
turn tbe farm was sold, and Barbara had
gone away. None or the neighbors could
tell me anything of her."
"It was your place to seek her."
"I did. faithrully. But I could find no
t ae of bet whereabouts. In the autumn my'
aunt died She had loved you for years and
her last wish was the hope that you would
one day be my wife. It was a sweet solace
to me even in my sorrow for her loss, and
pain at Barbaia's disappearance, to have
your sympathy, and I soon found there was
yet room in my beart for a true, tender love,
Y'ou cannot believe I would have asked you
to be my wife bad I not loved you?"
"But if even now, you found Barbara?"
"I have long ago ceased to love her."
"Yet If she came to you?"
"You are my betrothed wife "
"Yt if Barbara came to sou poor, friend
less, and sick; If she told you she had come
to the city, seeking work, hoping tofind you,
and bad sunk under ber burden of loneliness
and toil, ir she told you that, ragged, root
sore and weary, she had looked In at you in
your cosey office and turned away.unwillinf
to throw tbe burden or ber poverty npon
you; if she bad struggled until she had faint
ed aod fell sick, and was gaining health
slowly, hopelessly; with no future before
her but a future of poverty and toll; if Bar
bara came so to you. Cyrus, what would you
say?"
But only a pallid face, with great beads
of perspiration upon the broad brow was
lifted In speechless agony to meet ber eyes.
Only larfe brown eyes, wistful and suffering,
appealing to ber womanly heart.
There was a dead silence In the room for
a long time. Then a horse voice said :
"Y'ou have seen Barbara?"
"Yes, I have seen her."
"As you describe her?"
"Yes."
"And you despise me as faithless to her
and you ?"
"No, I do not despise you. lam sorry
that you did not know your own heart bet
ter when you came to ask me to be your
wire."
AU her pain and love were well hidden In
the cold, proud voice which Fannie Tleas
anton assumed to cover her breaking heart.
But after a moment she said, more gently :
"Barbara bas been very ill. and is still too
weak to bear any great agitation. Y-u
must be patient, and leave ber to me. Win n
she la well enough you shall see her."
"Fannie, you will break our engagement?
You will dare tbe gossip that will be tl.e
result of any chance now? Ion will not
trust me to tear out this old love, and be
ever true and faithful to you? I am not so
weak but I can do so, if you will trust me."
"But I will not!" was the quiet reply.
"I will many no man whose heart is not all
mine. I will have no memory of another
love for my constant r.val. We can still be
friend, but never again lovers.
He bad no words to meet the steady reso
lution of ber voice, but yet be took no
coward's plea Jor shelter. He would not
say, even to his own heart, "She never loved
me ; she Is glaa to throw me off." He knew
she bad loved him, being too purely womanly
to give ber hand where she had not already
given her heart. He knew the sacrifice, she
was making. He took both ber little cold
hands in his, lifted tbem reverently to his
lipa, saying :
"May God bless you for your goodness to
her, I will come again when you send for
me."
So he left her, carrying the dream of
future happiness she bad carried six months
next her heart with him.
She could not trust herself to think. Ob
taining tbe doctor's permission, she brought
Barbara to ber own home and nursed her
back to health, restoring her to her lover,
but teliing ter nothing of her own sacrifice.
PefCre the winter snows came there was
a quiet wedding, for the doctor had strongly
urged a warmer climate for the invalid.
She was very happy, this pale, little Bar
bara, when sheltered by ber husband's love,
6he took leave Of her kind friend, and went
away to seek the soft air of Florida, to court,
health In balmy Southern breezes. She Was
very happy In her husband's tender care,
his caressing affection ln tbe winter months,
when even the warmth atd fragrance of
Florida a'.r would not bring back the lost
strengm. virile ny little she raded away,
always gentle and loving, always happy,
even when she lay dying. In her husband's
loving arms ; never guessing any divided
love or duty had ever threatened to seperate
them. Gently and painlessly as a babe
sinks to slumber, little Baibara sank into
tbe Ust earthly 6leep, her head upon her
husband's breast, bis tender words sooth
ing her; his loviDg touch caressing her,
Sottly they laid her under the evergreen
verdure of tbe Southern grass, and Crrus
turned his face homeward ; widowed and
sorrowful. Two years later Fannie Pleas
anton returned from her European tour,
taken Immediately after Barbara's wedding.
Her old home was unchanged, her auut glad
to come back to her housekeeping and
friends.
A little paler, a little graver, Cyrus found
her when be came to call, but still the gen
tle dignified woman he remembered, the
true companion his soul craved.
Never to living ears did he tell the secert
he learned in his brief marr ied life the se
cret that Barbara, sweet, gentle Barbara,
whose girlish beauty had won his love,
whose deepest pity had stirred his deepest
pity, was not the soul wife be hoped to find.
Gentle, loving, suffering, she appealed to
his protection, bis pity, and he gave her
both In full measure.
But be knew only too soon that she could
never meet him heart to heart as Fannie
could-could never be his true life companion .
He was loyally true to her memory, speak
ing no word of his secret disapointuient.
And he sought Fannie with a lover's
eagerness, a life's devotion; aDd Fannie
loving him with her whole heart, knew it
was no divided homage be offered her when,
for tbe second time, he asked her to be his
wife.
She bad made her sacrifice, and knew
that she had soothed Barbara's passage to
the grave, not hastened it. And with a
clear conscience, a deep, abiding love, she
once more put her hand in that of Cyrus
Lenox, and became bis faithful, dearly-loved
wife.
A Good Story.
From Ohio comes a capital temperance
story. Judge Quay, the temperance lecturer,
In one of his efforts there, got off the follow
ing:
'All of those who In youth acquire a habit
of drinking whiskey, at forty years will be
total abstainers or druukards. No one can
use whisky for years In moderation. If
there is a person In tbe audience before me
wbose experience disputes this, let him
make it known. I will account for It, or
acknowledge that I am mistaken.'
A tall, large man arose, and folding his
arms in a dignified manner across bis breast
said:
'I offer myself as one wbose own experi
ence contradicts you statement.'
Are you a moderate drinker?' asked the
judge.'
'I am.'
'How long have you drank in moderation?'
Forty years.'
'And you were never intoxicated?'
'Never.'
'Well,' remarked tbe judge, scanning his
subject close from head to foot, 'yours is a
singular case, vet I think it is easily ac
counted for. I am reminded by it of a little
story. A negro man, with a loaf of bread
and a flask of whisky, sat down to dine by
the bank of a clear stream. In breaking the
bread, soma of the crumbs dropped into the
water. These were eagerly seized aud eaten
by the fish. That circumstance suggested
the darkey tbe idea of dipping the bread in
tbe whisky and feeding it to them. He
tried it; it worked well. Some of tbe fish
ate it, became drunk, and floated helpless
on the water. By this stroke of strategy he
caught a great number. But in the stream
was a large fish unlike the rest. He partook
rreely of the bread and wbieky, but with no
perceptible effect; ho was shy of every effort
of the darkey to take it.
'He resolved to have it all hazards, that
he might learn its name and nature. He
procured a net, and after much effort caught
it, carried It to a negro, neigbboi, and asked
his opinion of the matter. The other sur
veyed the wonder for a while, tbe.n said:
"Sambo, I understand dis case. Dat fish
is a uiulitt head; it hasn't got any brains."
In other words,' added the judge, 'alco
hol affects only the brain, and of course
those having none may drink without in
jury!" Tbe storm of laughter that followed drove
tbe moderate drinker from tbe house.
Tlie Queen's; IMx,."
In the centre of tbe tobacco warehouses
at the London docks there Is an immense
kiln, which is kept continually burning,
day and night, and goes by the name of the
queen's tobacco pipe. The English gov
ernment has a different way of treating con
fiscated articles than that lu this country,
one of tbem being to utilize tbem as fuel for
what is termed the queen's smoking.
Whenever merchandise is seized for non
p ayment of duty, or because it Is considered
under the law as in a damaged or unsula
ble condition, it is taken to this great kllu
and burned there the owners have no rein
edy. Tbe only uti'ization that is made of
these seizures is from the sale of the ashes
from the furnace, which amount to a great
many tons a month, are sold by auction to
chemical works, and to farmers and others
to be used In enriching tbe soil. There is a
similar but smsller queen's tobacco pipe
In tbe government tobacco warehouses at
Liverpool, ttese two forming the points of
destruction for all confiscated merchandise
iu the United Kingdom.
1 hr Nanrlnar r ef Ihefaar.
A St. Petersburg correspondent writes :
Tbe Palace of Gatscblna. so much epvken
of lately, can not be compared with such
castles as Versailles. San-SoucI, or Scaon
brunn. It bas nothing of the artistic em
bellishment ot the one, tbe historical mem
ories of th other, or tbe landscape beauty
and comfort ot tbe third. Situated in tbe
middle of a wide and desert plain, it ha? no
prett' sunoundiugs, and built without lux
ury its exterior does not make an imposing
impression. The reason that, In spite of
this, it hr s been chosen as a residence by the
Czar since Ll3 accession to the throne is no
I doubt that it lies nearest to the capital, and
I Is so Isolated aud capable cf Isolation, that
with tLe application of an I-e means In
which P.asMa Is richer than most Countries,
the approach of unwisiied-for individuals
can be prevented. Gatschiaa lies between
Zarskoje Selo and Krasnoje-Selo, and the
roads from each of the pUeea to the Imper
ial palace, w hich have private court railway
stations, are placed undei particular super
vision, and may not be used except by the
court. A high wall incloses tbe park, in the
center of which is tbo palace, aud this wall
Is protected by patrols, which never leave
tte outer circle nor the paik itself for one
moment out of sight. The entrance was,
aud is, ouiy peinjitted by special order.
The Lend of the Imperial security police,
General Tscliwerin, and the bead of the
Imperial headquarters. General ltichter,
guard the place w ith especial care, so l hat
the isolation of Gatschina Is considered so
perfect that the loyal familycan abide there
in absolute peace. Though the superin
tendence is o strict. It is said that the in
habitants of tlie palace are not, and must
not be, aware of it. Their pleasures and
comforts aie not iuipared by it and all the
amusements that could te agrttable to the
Emperor and his family drives, hunts,
riding, fishing, rowing, evening parties,
theatrical reprsentatiocs, etc .can be par
taken of. Adjoining tbo well tended-park
Is an extensive wocd like the park sur
rounded by a wall and guarded. In the
park itself are two laka like basins of wa'er ;
the palace contains splendid saloons, aud
two colonnades which afford agreeable
promenades in bad weather ; all this aids ln
preventing the inhabitants . from feeling
anything of the anxious and never-tiring
supervison held over tlieni, and the want of
tuore charming surroundings.
A Wonmn'n IMNappulDtinent.
It wakes ma tired, writes Mrs. Bowser,
when I sit and reflect on the courtship that
made nie change my name to Mis. Bowser.
I was full of trust and love and romance. I
looked upon Mr. Bowser a a god. One of
his favorite pastimes was to place me where
the lamplight fell upou my hair and to ad
dress me as his goldeu haired an;el. Poor,
silly girl that I was, I thought it would al
ways last I One eveniug after wo had been
married five or six weeks I took my stand
under the gas and asked him if his angel
was as dear to him as ever.
Hump!' be growled, as he looked me
over.
But won't you praise my golden hair ?
'Golden carrots, Mrs. Bowser I If 1 had
such a mop of carroty hair on my head as
you possess I'd go hide it away in a barrel !'
'Then you have ceased to love uie ?'
'Ceased nothing ! I hi.ve simply got
tired of nonseuce, aud I propose to settle
down to the realities of life.
Duriog our courtship we used to take
long walks in the gloaming, and though I
was often so tired that I could hardly drag
one leg after tbe other Mr. Bowser would
insist in dragging m around. He was al
ways quoting something about 'glorious
Luna' and 'silver stars' and Heaven's arch,'
and one night as we sat upon the doorstep
he put his arm around me and said he could
sit there forever aye. It was hardly a
mouib after our marriage that 1 put on my
bat one evening and asked him if he didn't
want to wander out for a while and watch
the silent night shut down.
'I'd like to see mself sloshing around
with this icfernal corn on my toe !' he re
plied. 'Mr. Bowser there was a time when you
would have walked all night with a corn on
every toe.
'That shows what an idiot a n.an can
make of himself,
You once saM that we'd always walk
hand in hand in life's gloaming.'
.1 don't believe it! I know I was soft
but I don't beleve I was as mushy as all
that.'
But you certainly did.'
Well, I take it all back now. We have
got something else to do besides squaeziog
paw and sighing aoout gloaming. Durn Uie
gloaming. Mrs. Bowser ! The whole caboo
dle of it wouldn't buy a peck of potetocs !
It would look more sensible fur you to wan
dor out into the kitchen and see how many
tramps the cook Is feeding at my expense.'
noli Pouilaln SprliiKy PlareM.
When it becomes desirable to construct a
fish pond in a place wi re there are springs,
or to dani up the water and make a pond In
a springy place, it is a good plan to cover
the spring with Feveral loads of gravel for
the fish to spawn on. The borders of such
a pond should be made very shallow, so that
the little fish may run up in the shallow
water and escape the large fish, or have the
pond so arranged that after the fish have
spawtied, the large ones may be removed.
Ey so doing, tbe ejigs will hntcn out and the
young fish will grow without danger. Wln
the next season of spawning conies, the lit
tle fish may be removed Into auotber pond
and the old ones let in to spawn again.
Such a pond is especially adapted for per
sons who cannot devote a great deal of time
to it, and who desire to mauagp it with xs
little care as possible. Io this way a good
many fish can be Taised with out ;;ucb
trouble. Tbe giavcl must be sifted and '.he
fine parts rejected ;nor.e smaller tr-tn a hick
ory nut should be used, aud Trow, that to a
good sized hen's egi.
Not infrequently the oot'otn of such a
pond is porou snd aosoins the water narly
as fa ' as it runs in. so that th"ro Is but
little if iny ovctflow at the prop' outlet
If you are short of water and !!' to usj
all you can possibly got for another pord
or for other purposes, It Is best to cetLert
tLe bottom. But if you have no further
use fonthe water, It niukes no d.fference
how It goes off, provided there are r.n lioles
in the bottom large enough to let tile fish
escape, nd the water keeps up to its level.
In case thP water shou'd prove too warm for
trout, such a pond would ai.6w.-r for bass,
perch, gold-ri-h, or carp. And would be. a
source of piofit on a farm.
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