, o ' " "V 1 . . J. AO r C JsLJUJl I ft II II II II II vji v iviiv s. u&szz?. icov- iv vninv v t? !; J; SOHWEIER, VOL. XXXIX. Toicia ur tuc BUUi The bell toll. One; Teach mi 8a j ; "Thy iUbelou " Two; Help me each dayXhy wlu la.k T111" Three; k. in faith, to follow Thee. The bell i0ll Four 1 Py for trust for evermore. The bell toll. Five: Pur holy thoughts help me to strive The bell tolli SiX; leach me my hope on Thee to fix. The liell tolls Seven; 0 tuake my life a a, to heaveo. The bell Wlls Eight; May I in peace and patience wait. The hell tolls Sine; It fcharity be ever mine. The bell tolls teu; 1 pray for love to Uod and mea. It lolls Eleven; Ust each hour be nearer to heaven. Twelve strokes I hear; ow pert oct love hath cast out fear. "AS IT FELL I' POM A DAY." imoiue National Galleiy on this particular afternoon the hot suu is rubuiuK wan a vigor rarely known out f the fresh sweet country. It Is danc ing merrily over the quaint pictures, the bare rooms, the few artists, and Uie fewer visitors who are loungine from wafl to wan; it is doodiug with pecial brilliancy one room which is the most deserted of all. There is indeed oothing very attractive in It, save a roung girl and an old Giorgione. But such a girl! She looks pale and a little worried; but there is the light of lenius in her eyes as she looks from her saael to the Giorgione, Presently she and her picture cease to be alone. Some one has entered the room, but so slowly, but so noiselessly :hat she is unaware of it a young man with a reprehensibly listless air and a iisappointed curve about his lips. lie las been languidly sauntering amongst the woes of the "patient Grioelda," and wondering much at the fashions and sustoms of those other days; but now, s he too gets enveloped in the blaze of sunlight that warms the Giorgione, his " listless air and disappointed curve van ish and a flash of satisfaction and glad relief takes their place. The girl is working industriously at tier task. Ever and again her glance seeks the masterpiece a beautiful pic ture, no doubt, almost divine, but hard ly as beautiful as the bronze-tinged bead beudmg over the easel, and cer tainly not so alight with divinity as the warm earnest eyes in the pure childish face which every now and then glance at it, as if for inspiration. She is poorly clad, but there is no onlove'iness about her g rxeuts. Her bonnet is lying on the ground beside her. Her pale-gray Quakerish gown almost severe in its simplicity, is re lieved at the throat and wrists by soft ruffles of yellow lace cheap lace, no doubt, but to the ignorant masculine eye quiet as becoming as oldest pelnt Honiton. The young man is apparently wrap ped in admiration of the Giorgione.and drawing nearer, gazes at it with an at tention that speaks excellently well for bis artistic tendencies. A steady gazi il 58 said makes itflelf felt. Be that as it may, the bronied bead turns presently a little impatient ly in his direction, and the earnest eyes " hnv!m nDon him in a strange absent yet reproachful fashion that him To be Duzzled is to be "I am in vour light perhaps?" he says humbly, feeling that he must speak k.A.ornf those wistful eyes or MIC V " ih that " she answers quickly. as though heartily ashamed of her small discontent. "o, ii - h7 . .77. ,. tw! she makes him a prSenVoUVovdy friendly smile. "It Sliahofme;but just bemuse I bought myself alone, and revelled in 2e Xughl the fact ol t finding I was ntetTkn aSK 'S Ibave no thsm, because come here. S XtS you study t6"1- r Gerald read her : "fthl telU himself he is face dose y, , . brute for hu doubt. , -As for me. I.am going. girl, riin uy- j en smiles agln "ItisaU itirVd of it at tially. -uuiw ::hU vegndouht Ulenf- . '....it the copy- m i VtZu touch.' 7 J. , A 1""-"J nl.tnrS iroiu mts tnai itiMt us nou f"t .hot hUV PUB suv - i;m to go Deyuu- evening, f. n Ler bonnet by thjs She bad U loo her , u time- ?uv6;hat still time-an ".till forb!ds iorur an . falls from TrtewBu r heje liDS. "aa. fnrthi Sir -nd let himseu .u to the moi". "IT. ,ts D19 Jh Has Has wr,0 sees a uny ' floor, au" head- . jwnneu ' . .ohm -in , fasliion througn i" down Csb. but in d not prove ut bThV fates boB n0pe to.gonj "telv bis heart once &inPnd.dowB Fleet hTo hTfobow. h into farther stUi. no At it she &ire ahouse. aju hand aU throueuT.,8 from him Gaining: .uourway- Paint brush weiiT. "f the "e knocks thr: "J1": cks tervals between eh. 1 ? ug eomea of it n ' Z wm. arriveTf? th' ,U. JLhen he has tragedvbVn. ""J uoor a'mnt . with ".V"" .V1-" "r 8- and aaks him want S"! Jnain what he has asmiit h Kenla1' erl. and s90,". "d black Ml eye, and U alto- --"c siriKing in than StncUv hanrlma He P'y impressed by her. ue is impressed ton hi ti- whl1"?. yo-g lady wit Vhl i lLpi"" nlm Wltn ready amn.icr. " 8mued. Pon the with effect, he v. miMi- 1 pun4 25 iS!!- d to m w t i uuc,3U1"Qf 1 wish w7r-Lb?5Wfrr her. card?" w e ner my "All right you toiler me," says the beckonme him toward ti.. .,. Gladly, willingly Sir Gerald repeats .uvps one oy que upon the creak ing boards Uiat lead him nigher heaven . . ever et been in truth the stairs seein interminable. Reach ing at length the rlshtlmiiiinw hi. ductortaps loudly on the panel of a door and cries with stentorian lung -1 iiir uj you, uiss iiorrocksl" and immediately afterwards vanishes with a speed incredible down the murky "Come in!" cries a voir hlitliA joyful, and full of happy expectation. Sir Gerald, pushing open the door, ac- ""ra " i-uis oospiiaDie request, and cuiers me room. It is a poor room, indifferent! fur- nUhed, yet very pretty in Its own small quaint lasnion, and so so like its mis tress in many ways. The mistress her- sen is naraiy up to the mark as her eyes light on Sir Gerald. First the gladness dies from them, and then a surprise largely mingled with disap pointment takes its place. "Oh, dear," she says quickly, irre pressibly, "how you surprised met I thought you were " She stops short ana again regards him curiously but eo longer unkindly. "I'm so sorry I'm not," says Sir Ger aid a little bitterly, though with pre tended contrition. He is standing mo tionless in the doorway, feeling rather afraid to advance after this unpropi tous reception. What may not her pause mean? Who was it she was ex- nectingr For whom did she mistake him? An acknowledged lover.no doubt. Dire jealousy enters hii soul and dead ens all other sen-ibilites. He looks so dejected that his hostess at once recovers her self-possession. "Pray.come in," she says politely, if coldly. "Is there what can I do for you?" "I brought you your brush," he says laying it on the table. "I was passing by, and thought perhaps you might be wanting it. Good evening." He moves toward the door. "Oh, let me thank you before you go!" says the girl earnestly. "Some other time. I beg your par don for having intruded at all, and now especially, when you are expecting friends." "Xot friends one friend only. I havent had time" smiling softly ,-to miss my brush vet; but I can see it is one of mv best. " "One friend is always more attrac tive than many," says Sir Gerald, igno ring the brush-question. He is indeed fnii f an absorbinz desire to hear something more of the friend, though, when thinking of hlm.be leaves out theT.'" "My friend is certainly more attrac tive than manv," responds she brightly. "Ruthut I'm afraid now" glancing sadly at a tiny clock in the comer "it is growing too tote to expeci any one. is afraid I shall see no one to-night "Tnnlateat eifht o'clock I Surely your friend will not be able to keep in arfaavs Sir Gerald, with a slight sneer, meant for the recreant lover. sim cannot always come, poor thing!" says the girl, divine pity in her She suei iiia uuio i" his heart once more grows light. Who ever the blessed "she" may be, he knows that he loves "she"I ratim the little gracious figure standing at the other side of the table is regarding mm wiw giowms mucu ..tr Presently he breaks the silence. "What could have brought you to this neighborhood?" she asks slowly. .rtiil nnnderiu Irresolutely some puzzling thought. "1 hope I do hope you did not come simply to restore me my brush." . , , "Well, yes. I did," says Sir Gerald humbly. He ia well versed In society's lies, this voung man, yet he finds it im possible to lie to this girl with her pure beautiful face and innocent earnest eyes that seem to read his very soul. Will she be angry with him for calling? win aha turn him out, and forbid him ever to look at her again? Raising his head to meet his doom be meets a charming grateful face in stead. - tt "How more tnan gow v j . 1 will fatf, an imirh savs. SO iew pwio double about any one. But how did you find out my address?" "I followed you," ays Sir Gerald honestly. "I didn't like to give you the brush in the street, you know-that iTll I wanted to call on you, but I was afraid you might no like it. nd Look nere, wu- """ W vl.;lr- if ia nnls? know vour name, i i""- - ,""' right that you should know mine." As be says this, he hands her his a . a a Ij-vnlra utr nim card. . Having reau it " Yon had a long walk, I am afraid," av sweetly, but not more sweeuy .h.ntiforea fact he notes; then- May I gi you a cup of tea?"shesays 8hVon must not let me be a trouble to you," returns he, thinking how toe statable she is with the faint touch of nervousness about her. rt will be no trouble. The fact is" blushing warmly and laughing I want my own tea now. See-it is ready ioou may as well have it with me- dont want to go anywhere else," r dont want to go anywhere else," says Sir Gerald, which is tne strict tnJj-rhaela the little table more into the th room for her. and begin THE MIFFLINTOWN. all awkwardness at an end, he begins too an animated conversation that shows no . sign of flagging, and so far ouocm ner mat sne grows as eloquent as be does, and chatters to him gaily of her early years, before her spend thrift father was minnd and Aa atrfal this life in anything but the odoui of uucuiy, leaving his one little girl to buffet the waves of forture penniless and without protection. She tells) him too about her pictures, her success with mem, tne prices received lor them, sne pours out the tea, and asks him pleasantly if he takes sugar, during au mese conndences, and is openly glad wnen he says, "Yes, lots!" and alto gether they grow decidedly cosey and sympathetic. There is a pretty bunch of white sweet-scented pinks in an in expensive bow 1 in the middle of their table, giving quite a festive air to the entertainment. Marking her teuder appreciation of these homely flowers Sir Gerald makes another mental note that will ensure his attendance at his florist's on the morrow. And do you mean to tell me," he says presently, with earnest concern "that your father left you with with nothing but " "But what my fingers can earn?" "Well, yes." "Not altogether quite," she says with a bright smile. "I have a little not anything to signify, you know, but still a uiue." "I have always so wanted to know what 'a little' means," says Sir Gerald fixing his elbow on the table, and his chin on his palm, and his eves on her. xne knowledge that there is indelicacy iu his question does not deter turn from making it. To Know how it is with her in all matters, great and small is now the sworn object of his life. "In my case," replies she simply, means twenty pounds a year." "Ah!" He stoops suddenly and brush es some imaginary dust from his boots then, with an effort "I dare say it ' "Oh, it is the greatest help to mer interrupts she brightly, leaning across tne table to him, herlips smiling. I can never feel quite poor as long as I nave tnat, you see." .so of course not." "I have really well, not everything I want, to be sure," she goes on, with heavenly content, "but still many things that that others perhaps have not. There is a poor girl, for instance, that I know the friend I was expecting this evening But I musn't tease you. must I?" "It doesn't tease me. Tell me of your friend." It is her spine, poor thing! She lives next door, and some time she creeps in to me; but it is all she can do. The only thing she has now to comfort her are her books; but she has so few of them. She bad a cousin who used to lend her volumes from a library but she died this year; and now there is no one. and she is too poor to subscribe herself. All she can do now Is to lie on her sofa the livelong day and think over agalu the stories she has read. And she is so patient! Isn't it sad?" Sir Gerald makes another mental note that will take him to Mudie's on the morrow. But his silence disturbs her. "I have worried you," she says con' tritely, ''with my one acquaintance and my many troubles; let us think now of something more interesting to you "I don't think we can," returns Sir Gerald. How quickly the days die, even nowl" she says presently, without pre meditated thought. But, when she has said it as if some sudden displea sing certainty comes to her a shadow crosses her beautiful face. lie is quick to see it. "I have a little message I must de liver to my sister before the daylight fades." he says pleasantly, rising slow ly. "Let me say, then, aurevoir not good-bye, as I trust we snail meet again and soon." It is very soon and very often too, There is something haunting about her face which draws him to it day after day. Flowers rare and fragrant make sweet her tiny room, and her sick lriend Is made happy by all the latest, best books the library can provide. It is one of those rare, glad, coveted evenings when he feels he may go to see her in her own Dome. "I have been so fortunate about my last picture." says Esther Uorxocka. cominz up to him with eager childish excitement in her tone as be enters her room. "I thought you would never come; I wanted so to tell you. let I knew you would, because you prom i sea What do you think? Mr. Isaacs has given me seven guineas for it, though for the last, as I told you, he gave me only five." "Generous Isaacsi" Something in his tone strikes her so forcibly as to change tne expression on her face. Her smile fades; she looks at him with ein'.iarras&ed scrutiny. Losing a little of bis self-control be neath her reproachful glance, ne says warmly "I cannot bear to see you wasting your whole life for so paltry a return for a mere nothing!" The eager gladness has quite died out of her eyes now. "It is not for nothing," she says gravely. "I know many wha " "Yes. I know" irritably "get less than you do. You bate me, don't you, because I cannot be glad of your drud gery? And so you think you will make your fortune, aud it will be " 'Sufficient for me," interrupts she. with cold dignity. "It will not. " He goes a step nearer to her. and there is a stranse passion in his tone. "How should a gin like you know what is sufficient for her? I tell you " 'Tell me nothing," says Esther, in a slightly frozen tone. She is strangely hurt. Until to-night he has always been so kind, so sympathetic, so glad of her mall success. A silence falls between them. "Esther," says Sir Gerald at last it is the first time he has called her by her Christian name, and she starts as her heart gives heavy throb, and turns aside lest he should see the pallor of her lips "as you are bent on making this enormons fortune you speak of off your own bat" this with an attempt at lightness 'let me tell you something. met to-day a a mend or mine, ana of amateurs too in the painting line. He has seen something of yours some where, and be is most anxious you should paint him a head, a landscape anything in fact, everything. I never saw a fellow so In earnest, or so anxious or so delighted with a picture as he was with yours. He will give you of course far better price than your Jew pur chaser will give; but" hurriedly OOaSTlTUTIOI-THE UHOI-AID JUNIATA COUNTY. paintings which are perfect de serve." For a full minute he waits breath lessly for her answer. "Oh, no not that!" she says gently, raising to his eyes heavy with unshed tears, but smiling lips. "1 have read about such things as that. I under stand quite. You would buy my pic tures yourself, and give me for them fabulous prices, out of the goodness and generosity of your heart, nut cannot let you indeed." "You will not let me help you?" 'Xo not in that way. You are a great help to me in many others. You give me all my pretty flowers" glanc ing round her room "and your friend ship, and your interest in all 1 do. ! these things' sweetly "not count? Aud then your goodness to my poor, poor Kate I You do not kn jw what you have done for her in giving her mind food. You can hardly" coming nearer, and laying her hand upon his arm, and raising softly to his great shy lambent eyes blue as gentian "Indeed you cannot guess bow I love you for itl" With grim deliberation Sir Gerald takes her hand from his arm and im ptisons it in both his owu. His face has grown very pale. "Is that the exact truth, or a mere figure of speech?" he asks quietly. "Is what?" "You say vou love me do you?" "One must love what is goud aud true and generous," returns she brave ly, trying to keep her hand from treni bling. "That is not an answer. 1 o you love me?" She is silent "No? Then I am to believe you think me anything but good and true?" "Oh, no, no!" "Then you do love me. You will many me?" At this she resolutely releases the hand he is holding, and stands back from him. Her lips are quivdring but her eyes are steady. "Do you forget? Are you mad?" she says, in a low tone. "You are bound to marry in your own.rann." "That is what I mean to do. A wo man can be only a lady, after (JL " I am hardly that, looking at it in the light of your world. My father was a merchant, my mother a milliner. 1 ou must understand however" draw- ing herself up with a sweet proud ees- ture "that I am not ashamed of her for that. But but others might be. "If so, I am not of those others." "So you think now; but after wards " "Our afterwards would always be as now. if you love me as I love you. And if you will only let me have my way That can never be," returns siie sadly. "No; do not say another wrd. I will not do you this wrong.'' In refusing to many me you do me the deepest wrong of all. But you will not refuse" holding out to her both his hands in supplication. 'I shall indee-l." returns she resolu tely, white to the lips. "Does that uieau. in other words. that I am less than nothing to youi a-ks be sternly. "Have ail your pretty wiles and looks and blushes had no meaning? Speak, Esther! Confess the truth at least." But Esther will not confess. "I don't believe it," says Sir Gerald passionately "1 cannot, I will not. There Is truth in your eyes, or there is truth in nothing. Bou will marry me?" "I shall not indeed," says the girl recoiling from him with a gesture he misinterprets. He releases her hand and steps back from her; his face has changed. "I flattered myself, it seems," he says with a low discordant laugh. "W hat a fool 1 have been! And so" looking at her with miserable searching eyes that try vainly to be scornful "all this time there has been some other man " "No, there has been no other man." It is with a little passionate effort she says this; and there is a passionate re proach too in her gazj as she turns It upon him. "How am I too believe you? If that is true, bid me now remain. " 1 cannot." You tell me deliberately to iiol If I do I shall never return." "Even so gol" "You mean that, Esther?" "Yes," savs the girl faintly, pointing to the door. "Go, gol" "You shall be obeyed, of course." The very auger aud surprise aud grief seem all to have a led away from him now. He moves toward the door and then comes back again, and, tak ing her in his arms, presses his lips to hers for the first time. It is almost as sacred as a dying farewell. "I shall never cross this threshold again," he says, with au anguish in his voice which amounts to solemnity. A moment afterwards she awakes to the fact that she is indeed alone; and flinging herself upon a sofa, she buries her face in her hands. It seems to her that but an hour or two have elapsed since tliat tost miser able parting, though in reality the night has worn itself away and is now fading before coming morn, when her dor is again opened somewhat hurriedly. Springing to her feet, she sees a stran ger standing on the threshold, pale and full of muttered evil. "Miss Horrocks," he says hoarsely, my brother. Sir Gerald Bonds, has met with an accident. He is calling for you incessantly. You will come to him? The doctor says it Is his only chance your presence, I mean. I hardly know what to say; but come to him quickly, quickly!" A little cold hand seems to clasp her heart. It is all over then! He is dying ! Alas, alas, those fatal last words of his, 1 snail never cross tuts threshold again!" In a dull emotionless way she dresses herself, and follows her guide down the stairs and into the street and the hansom e outside. A darkened room, one or two silent watching figures, a helpless form, a weak yet excited voice erying always, Esther. Esther!" A tall aristocratic looking woman glances curiously to wards the doorway as bather enters the roam; but the girl herself sees and hears nothing but the stricken figure, the plaintive cry. -! am here I have come!" she whis pers tremulously, railing upon ner knees brside the bed and clasping the one uninjured band between both her own. Her voice catches the wounded man's wandering attention. Again the light of reason warms his eyes; a great content, a greater gladness covers all his face. THE ETT0E0E1CEIT 0? THE LAWS. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. SEPTEMBER 23, hand tightens upon hers, and a faint smile oneof ineffable fondness curves his lips. "I knew you would come:" "But for this for this!" returns she. In a voice of agony. "At. for this! Yet it brings us to gether! Essie, you remember what was said between us to-day yesterday when was it?" with a painful uncer tainty "that last time we were to gether. 1 was wrong when 1 doubted you! You do love me?" 'Yes yes." "Tnere is no one else?" "There is no one else. There never was, there never will be." "Winnie!" says Sir Gerald suddenly. At this the tall woman who had watched Esther's entrance with dismay his sister Lady Oiallouer comes for ward quickly bends over him. "What is it my dearest Gerald?" "There is something I want to tell you. This" letting his tired eyes wander to Esther again, aud speaking eagerly, though with extreme difliculty "is the girl I live. You will be good t) her? You will treat her as a sister wheu I am gone?" "I will I do!" says Lady Cha! loner hurriedly, with a badly-suppressed sob. Sir Gerald turns again to Esther. "You will stay with me?" he says anxiously. E- ther in her turn hesitates, and looks at Lady Challoner with gentle pleading in her gaze. "If 1 may," she says simply, yet with patiietic dignity. "Yes; she shall stay," says Lady Challoner miserably, addressing her brother. As yet it is Impossible to her to exchange words with this unknown girl. "Until the end?" asks the youug young man, looking only at Esther. "Until the end," repeats the latter solemnly. "It wont be long, my love," returns he with a sad smile, pressing her hand. At this Lady Challoner breaks into bitter weeping; to Esther however it seems as though she and kindly tears have parted forever. Her eyes are dry and brilliant, but there is such forlorn misery iu her young face that presently Lady Challoner goes up to her aud lays her hand impulsively upon her arm, as though in a vain effort to comfort her. Perhaps in so doing she feels she Is al ready beginning the fulfillment of her promise to befriend her. A little later, probably with the same intent, she her self brings to Esther a low-cushioned chair to the side of the bed, and insists upon the girll rising from her fatigu ing position to occupy it. So the early morning lengthens into noon and noon fades into twilight and lioude opens bis eyes again, and, after a troubled semi-conscious moment, lets them fall with glad relief uion Esther, still sitting motionless beside him. "Still witli me!" he says dreamily with a pleased look. Then "I fancied I was dead, and had no claim to you iu that other world. Do not let my cruel fancy come true, Essie. Let me call you wife before I go." A shudder runs through Esther's frame; she trembles aud turns pale. V? hat is it r says one of the doc tors, stooping anxiously over his pa tient. 1 want to make her my wife now at once. I have made no will; I have done nothing for her. Her poor little hands" with growing and terrible ex citement "will be at work all day when I am dead and there will be no one to help her. Tell her to consent to our marriage, and get a clergyman to read the words, aud quickly. here is the one who was here a while since?" The agitation is increasing with him. Frightened by it. Sir Henry, the head- physician, takes Lady Challoner apart and converses with her earnestly, hur riedly, in a low tone, then Esther is appealed to. "His last chance, if one can call it a chance, lies in perfect rest of mind and body," says Sir Henry; "any undue ex citement will terminate his life prob ably within the hour. And yet I will not deceive you 1 dare not say there is in reality a hope of saving his life by any means; there is only" gently "the certainty of rendering his last mo ments happy. This rests with you" gazing inquiringly at Esther. 1 will do what he wishes," savs Esther, with quivering lips. A little later she Is again sitting beside her hus band, this time his hand l.x-ked In hers a look of great content aud jieace upon his white worn face. For three long weary weaks he lin gers, hovering between ufe and death; ; and then at last there comes a day when the doctors look less grave, and when even a sober smile breaks iihui the lips of the youngest of them. Taking Lady Challoner and Esther apart, they whis per to them of a hope sure and certain and tell them in all probability Sir Ger ard in ti-ne will lie again quite what he was before that disastrous accident that brought him to death's door. Towards eveniug he owns his eyes again upon his sister and his wife. It is getting dusk; but they both see the happy triumphant smile with wltich he looks at Esther. "I am to live then?" he says radiant ly. "So 'I caught you with glle'l" he laughs feebly, but with humor. .Noting bis recognition of his wife. Lady Challoner, full of consideration. had risen hastily and gone to a distant window. Esther, with a pale face, fol lows hers, and by a slight but vehement movement compels her to meet her gaze. ."lou blame me," she says impetu ously; "but it was not my fault I would nave avoided the marriage if I could. I too have my pride! Though I loved him then as I love him now, 1 would still have left him free to wed some one in his own rank. On that very day, before his accident, he had asked me to marry him, and 1 had re fused. Her voice Is unsteady, her hands are trembling as she holds them out with a little gesture full of passion ate deprecation. You must believe me He himself will tell you so. But when they told me that I alone had the power to make his last moments happy Oh, what would you have done? Now Heaven, in mercy, has given him back to me; but bow can I know content, even with him, if those others whom he loves if you look colaly on me?" Her voice breaks, she draws her breath with a sharp sob, and turns eyes dark with fear and grief upon Lady Chal loner. - She need not have feared however. Going closer to her, Lady Challoner lips her arm-round her neck. One never looks coldly on anything beloved," she whispers--softly, and presses her lips to hers. LxBTBUcroa in . rhetorie "Give an example of a syllogism." Logical ing the grave of Commore, the Cursed, freshman All men are mora or less j who was if the frescoes of St Nlch alike. I am a man; therefore I am olas de Bienzy are to be believed with- ULCC-BKaKD. tilMorteal ttriala ot Ui. Nursery Talat In the days of the grand momuque there were two brothers called Claude and Charles FerraulU The first de signed the famous colonnade of the Louvre; the latter wrote some very am bitious poems and disputations, of which he was very proud, and some ex quisite fairy tales, of which he thought very little. Nobody now cares anything about his poems; but every one is fami liar witn his "Hop-o'-My Thumb," "Biquet with the Tuft," and his still more famous ' Blue-beard." Many of 1'errault's fairy tales are purely imagi nary; others are based npon legends or historic facts, which were already well known, and among the latter class is "Blue-beard." The home of the true Blue-beard was Brittany. Take a map and look for the Kiver Blavet. At the point where it changes its course from east to west there is a desolate, rocky promontory, and on its summit the remains of stone fortifications. It is still called Castle Finans, and. beyond all reasonable doubt, it was the stronghold of Blue beard, whose real name was Coniorre the Cursed. He lived about 1.300 years ago, but, iu order to begin the story at the be ginning, we must go still further buck, to the time wheu Grallon the Great, a British prince, emigrated to Breton and built the famous City of Is. whence. some scholars say, the City of i'ar-ls derived its name. This was long before King Arthur and his famous knigh's fought dragons and redressed Gralion's native isle. Grallon had a daughter. a beautiful and wicked princess, called AUes, and she gave her name to the quaint old City of Carhalx Ker-Ahes, which still stands, full of high-peaked. queer-gabled houses, between Lorient and Roscoff. Well, in A. D. 520 Carbaix was taken from Gralion's descendants by a notor ious bandit called Fiuans. or Comorre. This was when Prince Arthur reigned in Britain; but It was an age of great and general misrule aud oppression; an age which allowed many bad, brave men to carve out kingdoms for them selves, and Comorre was only following the prevalent law: Taut iber sh'Ml l take who lur the power. And ther should keep who can. Commore was a brutal tyrant Worse, even than the traditional Bluebeard; for he killed his sons as well as his wives. although one of them was such a holy man that he was canonized after his death. The incidents of his life adorn the church door at Carhaix, and in one of the groups he is represented as hold ing his head on his hands; so we may presume that he was beheaded by his father's order. While ruling at Car baix Comorre married four wives, all of whom mysteriously disappeared. Tlieu he fell in love with Triphyne, the dang ter of the Count of Vannes But he was so universally abhorred for his unnatural cruelty that he did not care to ask for her band himself. So he sent for Sir GUda, whose fame for sanctity w as all over Brittany. He built the abbey which bears his name, overlooking the bay of Quilberon, and of which, six hundred years later, the renowned Abelard was Abbot. Sir Gildas answered readily the call of Co morre. He desired to convert him, and wheu requested to go and ask for the hand of Triphyne, he did his best to for ward the marriage. He hoped to pre vent war and bloodshed and to bind Comorre to a better life through the influence of a wife whom he loved. Triphyne was not willing to go to Castle Finans, but shecousented finally, on the condition that the very hour Comorre tired of her she should be al lowed to return in honor and iu safety to her father's court. Comorre prom ised all that was required, and the mar riage was splendidly solemnized at V annes. So far the monkish chronicles gath ered by Albert Le Grand agree with the more important evidence of the frescoes discovered a f e v years ago near aioleouville; but as the monks were writing to glorify St Gildas they tell the story to suit that aim. According to them, very soon after Triphyne ar rived at Castle Finans she saw a change in her husband's manner. His brow was ever black with anger, his words few and rough. She became terrified. aud one morning, in a sudden panic. J mounted her palfrey and fled. I 1 for fllfrht vi a nmiiA.l iutalv .1ij..xv ered sbe pur9liea by Comorre. dragged from the thicket iu which she had hid to the high road, and beheaded. Then Comorre left tiie body aud return ed to the castle, but a servant who had accompanied her reached Yanues and told what had been done to her mis tress. The poor lady's remains were recovered by her father, and St. Gildas was sent for to see. The saint was terribly angry and much troubled, aud according to the monks, by a wonderful prayer, full of sublime faith, he restored Triphyne to life. Then he went to Castle Finans, but Commore refused to admit him. So the holy man threw a handful of dust against the walls and they instantly tumbled away, Commore was not killed, he escaped to another castle which he possessed, and continued his course of sin and crusade until a con vocation of bishops met upon the case and solemnly cursed him. He was im mediately seized with some awful mal ady, and his soul was borne to hell on a stream of blood. This Is the story told for the gratifi cation of St Gildasand the convocation of bishops, but in the vault of the cha pel of St Nicholas de Bienzy, south of Napileonville, some workmen discov ered about twenty years ago set of fresooes, which tell thestoryas Perrault told it The first is the marriage of Commorre and Triphynne at Vannes; and the beard of Commore is painted bluish-black. The second one exhibits Commorre starting on some warlike ex pedition, and handing Triphyne a key. The third is the mysterious chamber; the door is open, and the seven mur dered wives bung against the wall. Then followed the scene of the terrible question. "Where is the key?" Tri phyne Is on her knees. Sister Anne is looking anxiously out of the window. In the tostcommore is putting the rope round Triphyne 's neck, but .her brothers, accompanied by St Gildas, in his holy robes, are at the door. The dreadful death procured by the bishops of Comoro is not ratified by popular tradition, which asserts that be was -skilled in battle at a spot called Willow Bough, near the heights of Ares. Within a very few years a large stone was pointed out as the one cover- 1SS5. Cualeat will Oaaa Ls. During the seventeen years of her life Bertha bad remained at home. And home mean' the stone hoi at Belleair, a house that belonged to the C'ary family for nearly a hundred years. As babies they were born into it, there they had been married, and from it they had been carried out to the cemetery. Mr. Thomas Cary, Bertha's father, had followed in the footsteps of those who had gone before him. aud it had uever occurred to him to think that bis children would not be just as content s he had been. But the restless spirit had crept into Henna The getting up before dawn, booking breakfast, milking the cows iud washing the dishes beuau each day: aud to call up the cows, strain the milk and stand at the back door to watch the sunset, rounded off the end of the day that brought her so near the early bed time. "Father may like It," said Bertha, iu one of her confidential talks with Mag gie, "but for my part, I think it will about kill my soul. 1 do not see bow you can bear it" "I do get very tired. BeLie, but w heu I think of the big city it frightens me to imagine myself in it." "Poor little moth that you are," an swered Bertha, "you think, perhaps, that the great caudle would singe your wings?" "Yes, dear, I do." "So do not I, then. Perhaps little Mag, you have inherited a more whole some deal of the Cary spirit; to plod, and dig. aud delve does not hurt you as it does me. I feel as if there were great fingers in every broom aud every milk pau that were clutching at me to drag me down. Aud I am tired of it" "I would not like to feel so," sug gested timid Maggie. "They might be able to drag you, lit tle mite that yon are. But for me, sweetheart, there must turn up some thing better." "What will it be?" 'I do not quite know. But I have answered an advertisement fora clerk." "Why, Bertha!" exclaimed Maggie in astonishmeut. "Yes, I have." "Why do you choose that?" "Well, it is winter, you know, aud places are hard to find." "Will father consent?" "I wrung it from him hut evening, ne says I will be glad to return to the home nest before the birds begin t build their nests iu the maple. But I think he is mistaken. The world is big and wide, and there is lots to do m it, if I onlv find it, and I will " Maggie bad great faith in ht r sister, but it grieved her to think of the part ing. However, when the evening mail brought a favorable answer, she was ilinost as glad for liertha as the latter :ould wish. Bertha's future employer had been rather uusuccessfnl iu obtaining the kind of girls that he wanted, they were honest enongh, but they looked so pale and listless, aud they seemed to lore their vivacity so completely that he thought a fresh country girl would be a welcome sight for his eyes. And it happened that one of Bertha's referen ces was a friend of his, so he secured her services at five dollars a weeK. "X very sad parent was Mr. Cary when be saw the train disappear from the de pot taking his daughter from home. But his last words were: "God bless you, my girl, and bring you soon home." "All right, father, I will come as soon as I get tired." Tired? Not juite that, for lu three days time she was so tired that it seem ed as if she could not bear it one moie day. To stand upon her feet during so many hours, to hear the confusion of so many people, to inhale the dust from the store, and to creep into her hard cot at night, tired and worn in body and nrnd all this was very trying. Not even the kind letters from home could re?t her. She, too, has become pale and listless, and although she has only tried a little over a mouth she has deviued that her outing is almost long enough, aud every night wheu .Mie kneels down to pray she thanks her Heavenly Father for the dear home that awaits her, aud to which she hopes to return in a couple of weeks. And she is treasuring up a bit of ad vice for Maggie advice that is neither new nor wise beyond all others; it is this, to be content in Uie rut in which God has placed her, no matter how homely it is; tor He who never errs, who shapes every burden, who weighs each care, knows just what is best for His children. ChlosM Cumoui. at Tabl. The Chinese consider the stomach the source of intellectual life, and, there fore the f:iitest man goes for the wisest one. They effect to believe that for-; eigners come to China to eat because they have not enough to eat a' home. It is considered a mark of rebued polite ness to treat a guest or a visitor to a meal at any time of the day. Only those Chinamen who have fami lies take their meals at home; the rest eat at hotels. They usually have two substantial meals a day one an hour after getting up in the morning, the other between 3 and 4 o'clock in the af ternoon. The well-to do class take three or four meals a day. Often the father alone eats meat, while the rest of the family have to be satisfied with rice. Poor families usually get their meals from street venders. The well-to-do ones employ cooks, the latter getting their degrees and diplomas like men of science. The Celestials use no tablecloths, napkins, knives, forks, spoons, dishes, plates or glassware. Instead of napkins they use packages of thin, soft paper, which also serves them for handker chiefs. After using, they throw them away. Each guest has a saucer, a pair of sticks, a package of paper and a minute cup, with salt-saucer. The Chinese women never dine with the men. Everybody smokes during the eating of a formal dinner, and the din ner Is crowned by a story or legend nar- rated by some more or less known ora-1 tor. No topic of general interest is dis- cusseu ai, sucn uinners, out a gasirouo mist who knows all about the prearing of food receives attention. Egvptlaa OtMlVk. There are existing more than forty . Egytlan obelisks; many of them are . lonst and seventeen feet in circunder fallen and broken. There are seventeen eno8 wag caught in a net off Mount of them in Italy, seven in England, two Desert, Ma, recently. 1" .h?: " J1" VSSfZ! ... one in this country. The smallest is at t Y)f.lin ... . t ,.. I. a - i.ti , J w UIU1 U . IfCULI-UTO SUU USUI I Editor and Proprietor. NO. 39. NEWS IN BRIEF. Mankato. Minu., has had a showei of live clams. Salida, Col., has sixteen saioous aud uo church. The Brooklyn Bridge is iufdsted with bumble bees. The German laborer gets ineal only one day in the week. Of the 530 employes iu the Patent Otlice but one-half are men. -The Cherokee Nation have uo la j for the collection of debts. Paer flour barrels are coming iuto use in some parts of the West. Liberia, Africa's colored republic, is ou the verge of bankruptcy. More drunken men than women can be seen ou the streets of London. A one-legged roller skater is amoug the attractions at Bar Harbor. Me. Sixty theatres have been burned lu this country in the last twelve months. The fertilization of red clover u mainly, if not entirely, performed by bumble bees. Europe, it Is s-tated, has tweuty so cieties organized to oppose the eating of animal food. Itouie, in the days of Hadrian, is supposed to have contained .OOO.U'O inhabitants. The first knives were used in Eug land and the first wheeled carriage iu !Frauce in loo'J. The Irish Ijtud League, which Is iu session at Dublin, has received i'l.oOU from America. One otMhe lest cattle ranches iu the West is owuea by a grandson of Edward Everett A Virginia cat is reported to be rearing two young foxes along with her litter of kittens. The honey crop for this year lu Sau Diego county, California is estimated at 2,177,,'KW pounds. Experiments are being conducted by the government with a 15,uuu-candle power electric light. Bartholdi's mother w as his model for his statueof Liberty that is loadoru New York harbor. This year's w heat crop bids fair to reach 52D,0O0,00O bushels, l.UUU.UUO iu excess of last year's. To manufacture ".wx tons of po tato starch it would require I.oTj.UOO bushels of potatoes. Clans SprecKles is on his w av Eaat to put in a bid for carrying the 1'uited States mails to Australia. "Globe trotters" is one of the term? for the tourists who take the bateu track round the world. The winters in Iceland are milder than those in Iowa. Thus nioditicatiou is due to the Gulf stream. Iudia produces the latest wouder iu the person of a 13-year-old lad who has one head and two bodies. Twenty-nine bear aud four cougar scalps have been brought into Olympia, W. T., this seasou for bounty. A shoal of codfish oue mile loug and containing 120,0"lt,iHJ fish will eat ?40,000,UUO herring in oue week. The home industrial schools in New York have sheltered W,UX childreu and found country homes for ti.OOU. The first violins in the celebrated Brussels Monnaie orchestra of 80 mem bers, receive, it is stated, only 10 per mouth. A garbage-sifting machine in New York disposes of 140 tons of rubbish daily. One hundred tons is found to be valuable. Dr. Jaeger, of Munich, maiutains that those people w ho wear wool, and nothing but wool, winter aud summer, never catch cold. The Red Sea is the hottest place ou the globe. Three of the passengers ou the steamer Siguria died from the heat on her List trip. The latest dude agony is to shave the mustache down to a narrow fringe one-eighth of an inch along the curvo of the upper lip. It cost.s iu0 to equip a locomotive with a Westinghouse air brake, and $1J0 for each of the cars. This iu- cludes the royalty. The earliest caunon are said to have been breech-loaders, and bammerlesa guns were known long before the day of percussion locks. All the aniuial inhabitants of the coral islands of Micronesia are very small, not one, it is said, being found there larger than a pig. The process of fish hatching is to 1 shown iu actual operation by tno United States fish commissioner at the New Orleans Exhibition. Hand-made envelopes cost origaV ally 5 centseach. The envelope-making machine now turns thm out so that l.iKJU are sold for 20 cents. Two companies are to be added to each infantry battalion and oue squad ron to each cavalry regiment in K up land's native English Army. A rough statue of a mau weaiiug , a tall bat, and bearing the date ltilu. was found recently in the ruins of the old fort at Pemaquid, Me. A plan is on foot for utilizing the underground flow of the San Diego ri ver by bed-rock dams. The proposed j works will cost some $o00,0U0. I An English authority states that unless swine fever is absolutely ex ter -' mlnated from the United Kingdom the disease will exterminate the pigs. Nine golden weddings have beeu celebrated in Castleton, Vt, in the last ten years, and all but one of the golden brides and grooms are now living. Bavaria leads all nations in the an nual per capita consumption of beer with 200 quarts, Kussia bringing up the funeral procession with four quarts, j In the cholera infected districts ! both the French aud Italian pea.sauts,tt '. is said, repel the physicians, aud seek remedies in processions and old relics. Ball imore,says the Boston Traveler, ; hia. timriuretii rrmiA apttra than anv other cily Philadelphia ranking second anH tw third. vw York nroduc ,. qI1 The average depth of the Pacific and Atlantic oceans is 2o00 fathoms. Bottom has been obtained at 4480 fath oms a short distance south of the banks of Newfoundland. A mnn-ealin? ahark rarelv nn n,,t.i.iA tha tmuica tmntv-wven rt -Paris green to the value of JW.000 is said to have been sprinkled over the . 1 .vi. .... . . i J f nines T i mmHwu to cat the bread and buttar. only a just value, of course only reeling Yon rout" hs savs feebly; but his ouiu or loaa out much doubt tha real Blue-Beard. -Y i - ,.v"c - -....VarK
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers