1 Mfc S3 jmifa fpiiid Ji2k ill gegitlai. ' i IS; F i B. F. HOHWEIER, THE OONHTITUTION-THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT OF THE LAWS. Editor amd TOL. XLVII. MIFF LINTOWN , JUNIATA COUNTY. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. JUNE 21. 1893 NO. 27 EH, R TALMAGCS SERSUS J3e Brooklyn Divines Sunday beruba. wnojedl: 'I.eson CSarned KonTlEt Story of Khud." Tv.xt: "B'tt vhti Vie children of Israel T.-d iin'.o t!w L.ord (. Lord raised tutm up a d' r- rer, Ful, the sin of tiera, a Benjanv ite. a m.in Uft hn'lrd." Judges liL, 15. Eni w.i a filler ia Israel. Ho was lft hr.mie.l, an J what was peculiar about th. tnha of j;-nji-!in. to which he belonged thr wer in it 700 loft bunded men ani jt -ei dexterous bad they all become In the use o t V !' ft hand that the Bible savs they oouM sin;.; stones at a hair's breadth and -t WW. We!;, ih'-r- wis a kin? of the name o E-'I-n v.: own an oprin-ssor of Israel. He , .j u,,An t!:n a mi.st outrageous tax. i ;: i i, the man ;l whom I flrit spoke, had a iiv.ii" poi.Tii.-:.ri to destroy that oppressor II. i: pretend-m? that he was Kolng to j, iy t tux, an 1 a.ske.1 Usee IUng Enlon. He w is t il i he w is in the summer bouse, the p!- v wtsl-'h the kin retired when it was t..- t. s 't in the palaee. This summer he.;- .v ut i f. :i.-e surrounded by flowers and tr-s a:, i i'r.::,-:nir fountains and warbling tlMs. Eii'J't entered the summer house and said fo K:a:i:ia that he hud a secrot errand with him. Immediately all the attendants were w:ive-l out of the royal presence, Kinir Esle-n r.. s up to receive the messenger. K !. the .-rt handed man. putshls left hand iiis r.K-ht side, pulls out a dagger and tan:. K.-ion tnroi: rli until the haft went In aft r the bin de. Lulon falls. Ehud comes forth to Mow a trumpet of recruit amid the mount.!:! of Knhraim, and a great host is tr.nr-h ,'.d. and proud Moab submits to the eon-p:- r it. an 1 Israel is free. So, O Lord, let nil jjy enemies perish! So, O Lord, let ail Thy inen is triumph I I learn tirst from this sulject the power Oi left h i:. fed men. There are some men who hv p' y-i 'al organization have as much streiit.'i in their left hand as in their rig t h.m 1, hut there D something In the writinB oi this t. -it whih implies that Ehnd had M-.;e d. ,'e.-t in Ms rij;ht hand whioh eom-p'll-d I dm to use the left. Oh, the power of left h an led r.en ' Genius Is otten self obser viinf. .ireful nf itself, not given to much toll, ti:-'i;:i-in eti- to in own atrcrandizeinent, wnie many a man with no natural endow. rr.i.ts. aetually defeitive ia physical and ' rr.em.'i! onranlrvition. has nn earnestness for tun rik-iit. a patient industry, an ail consum ing p 'rs"v. r.in e whieh achieve marvels for the ijn.-do :n of Christ. Though left handed I m K'.ud. tiiey can strike down a sin as great j and imi'- riai as Elon. I hav- sen men of wealth gathering about ' them ail their treasures, snuffing at the cause j of a world lyinir in wickedness, roughly i orh rim,- L;i . inis off their doorstep, sending I t!r dogs, n.it to lick his sores, but to hound ! him oil th Mr premises, catching all the pure j rain of God s tnei-inginto thestagnant. ronv. I fnr-in'i.iMt 1 pool of their own selfishness ! ric'it-hanjej men, worse than useless wail" many a man with large heart and little pur.-e has out of his limited means made pov-r:y leap fur joy and started an influence . tirit ov-rsp.ms the grave and will swing rouud and round the throne of God, world .th..iit end, amen. ' Ah. vie, h is high time that you left handed ! men who have been longing for this gift and ' that pienco and the other man's wealth should take your left hand out of yeur pook- t. Who ma le all these railroads? Whoset i up nil these eitiesy Who started all these ' atir-h -s an 1 sehools and asylums? Who has done nil the tugging and running and i pnl' Mir? Men of no wonderful endowments, thou- tr ids of them acknowledging themselves to I- e- t iiaa L, and -t they wore earnest, j and y. they were determined, and yet they j Tere trlumpliant. j Bu' I do not mpposo that Ehud the first : tiai be took a sKng in his hand oould throw a stone a hair's breadth nn l not miss. I u; It was practice that gave him the if.'nierful dexterity. Go forth to your : plii-p'i of duty and he not discouraged if ia yuur i'.rst attempts you mlas th. mark. Ehud ' missel it. Take another stone, put it care- ( fuhymto the sling, swinr it around your i"a i, tak l etter aim, and the next time you . il. -:r,'e the center. The first time that a iia-on r.n.-s his trowel npon the brick h. a t -X(i!t to put up a peffftJt walL j lae ::- t tiiue a carpenter semis a plans over 0' ir 1 or drives a bit through a beam he j does ii. .t expeet to make perfect execution. 7h ; tinea boy attempts a rhvme he I do- - ii t expect to chime a "Lalla ftookh" i or a "ha !y of the Lake." Do not be sur- j pns-1 if in your first efforts at doing good ; you are n v.-ry lar-;ely successful. Uu'ler- j sfin ! that u.-e,ulness is an art. a science, a trj ; . i' dim re was an oculist performing a very eraticn on th. human eye. A lout.g i tor stoo iby and said i "How easily yj'i that, it doesn't im to cause you any tr. -w .;e at aiL" "Ah,M said the old ocu-h--t, "it is v ry easy now, but I spoiled a bat lui of ey. i to iearu that. lie not surprised if i: tie's some praetioe before we can help n.eu m I:,.,-ni ey i ;ht und bring them to a '-i- u of the .tuh Left handed men to the ' l.o:e the j;o.spol for a sling and faith and repentance for the smooth stone from tile i.roui, take sure aim, God direct the W"pu, and great Uollaths will tumble be fore y..'U. I ham a ho from this subject the dan get f won-liv elevation. This Kirlon was wnat tile w-.r.a called great man. There were nun.;re.i iltiio z- I: -. .-, Hei, p , n wno would have considered t - honor of their Ufa Just to hav. ' ' ' -n y . nitho'tih he Is so : w e-idiv po-ition. he Is not bevond f Kim !'s dagger. I see a great t.-y nT to climb up In social i"ir. r an i l"a that there is a safe vh. r- far above, not knowing that i n of f i ve has a top like Mount : i with pepetual snow. ' at the children of Shinar for'try 1 a tower that could reach to thfl ' I tivak if our eyesiirht were ' ii "i r:i wo could see a Babel In r.-.-irl. Oh. the struggle Is fierce! ' lu'i'sf store, house against t i-a.ii-r street. Nation against i' nl for which men are run ' ,s n 1 chandeliers nr.l mirrors i:' ' lands and presidential equip fi.y e,-t what they anticipate, .. .. ..,,tj jj,,n re not a!tf from v'l...- they ,v and, worse than are r. t i'e a ter th'W are dead. - " ' -wii.e root up graveyards. ' a u in e, s Up mto publicity, 'ri 1 d-e-s him honor, and e: up into sycamore trees to ' he passes, and as he r 1 1 ' t'e- s'ei ilders of the people ra .- :: - ,,r h:,ts and a wild liuzza. r t 'c -imo mnn is caught between prititing prtss and mangled !. in I tie-vry same persons who h, i r- ,,re erv . "Down with the 'own with him !" at the feast, the mighty men a ntf.n-; Hi! around him. Wit '" 1 'vine an 1 the wine like the e r..bs ,i among the chandeliers. I r I tie. I' It 'I ! T.i lite Ila: t. l ie! r- .lasti down on the decanters. r'' i'h of luing.n gardens floats in OB Au " i; !'r: vo1 of revelry floats out. t ' '' w.r"i':'"' "a 1 eije-try and folded ban- i j Jin llJ.ttlU VI n HUB, 19 tl A t il ''.l'in'l ho.irta tttnn hAntincr Is rieV ,"'"'"' S:- The Mood on the floor ;,J'"1 lf'nn the wine on the table. """"I"'n has departed. lvi. jr.n '4e. uri wius a irreat general. is nl i 1 ','1 honored chieftain," or "He tid " 'n w,,rhliy attainments," butthis ?oo 1 ,i' ' ' " ami mo, "lie was a H, a faithful rhrurt lan fWenH ftf And that In the larf dv will he the u,K'!St of ail euiogiums. XiZ ';irt,.er Irom tins, subject tuat death doV. r,:n!T,t house, Eglon did not Sower i '? th:'t fine P'""e- Amid all the "lol lhM ,lrlft-1 like snow into the Was 7'.ln tl", tinkl" a;' 'lh of the fonn- iern- r.." '"""d of a thousand leaves flct- ."i one tree branch in the cool breeze trouble out of hlng that spake the winter. when the ostU ut ai oar Jn-.i, y7lr worse perhaps than hun ,',. I""'!'le in I'ahylon, but hU position o.,.. 'h. bo cont.-nt with Just such a t'h'-'s ,m 1 h ,?,r1;l',,Hi yu ' may :h, tbe ki;': "P."nake feverish f-i-irrv,:.i','reT.'u'.not. hn ti.. .l m l,1BU ' U r-id l. . J,u saron.L and " rge, it to Lse -ir- cold 2nd Vi. th? -Wld Here is an aged man. He has done his work. Ho has done It gloriously Thelvnw panlon, of his youth are aU h Th! ..ren dead. He longs to b, u Z wearily the days and the night" past' . On, death, there is a mark for theel Take Co with him Into th. light, where era nr iiT 7, dim' ana ? hAlt wlitons not through the Icing years of eternity. Ah. death will strlw",' , ,Deah, tUrM tomTh. straw lied and from the aged man ready for the smes and comes to the summer house. What doest thou here, thou bony, ghastls monst r, amid this waving grass and undo? this sunlight sifting through the tree branciies? ifbildren are at play. How quickly their feet go and their locks toss in the wind! lather and mother stand at the side of the room looking on. enjoying their glee. It does not seem possible that the wolf should ever break into that fold and carry off a lamb. Meanwhile an old archer stands look ing tnrough thethieket. He points his arrow at the brightest of the group he is a surs uiHrksman thobow bends, the arrow speedsl Hush, now ! The quick feet hove stopped, and the locks toss no more la the v "d. i.augnter has gone out of the haiL Deati In the summer house ! Here is a father in midlife. His comtna home at night is the signal for mirth. Ths children rush to the door.and there are books on the evening stand, and the hours pass Jway on glad foot. There is nothing want that home- KeUglonia there and sacrifices on the altar morning and night Xou look in that household and say , "I can not think of anything happier. I do not really believe the world is so sad a place as some people describe it to be." The scene ohanges. father is sick. The doors must be kept shut. The dcathwatch chlros dole fully on the hearth. The children 'whiSDer and walk soitly whero once thoy romped. Passing the house hito at night, you see the qniek glancing of lights from room to room. It Is all over. Death in the summer house. Here Is an aged mother aged, but not in firm. You think you will have the joy of car ing for her wants a good while vna As she goes irom nouse to nouse. to children and grandchildren, her coming is a dropping of sunlight in the dwollin-r. four children see her coming through the lane, and they cry, "Grandmother's come !" Care for you has marked up her face with many a deep wrinkle, and her back stoops with car rying your burdens. Some days she is very quiet. She says she is not sick, but something tells you you wHl not mueh longer have mother. She will sit with you no longer at the table nor at the hearth. Her soul goes out so gently you do not exactly know the moment of its going. Fold the hands that have done o mnnv kind nesses for you right over the heart that has beat with love for you since before you were born. Let the pilgrim rest. She is weary Death In the summer house ! Gather about us what we will of comfort and luxury, when tho pale messenger comes he does not stop to loolc at the architecture of the house before he comes in. nor entering does ha wait to examine the pictures we have gathered on the wall, or bending over vour pillow he does not stop to see whether there is a color in the cheek or gentleness in the eye, or intelligence in the brow. But what of that? Must we stand for ever mourning among the graves of our dead. No ! No ! The people in Bengal bring cages of birds to the graves of their dead and then they open the oagos. and tho birds go sinirlng heavenward. So I would bring to the graves of your dead all bright thoughts and congratulations and bid them think of victory and redemption. I stamp on the bottom of the grave, and It breaks through into the light and glory ol heaven. The ancients used to think that the straits entering the lied sea were very dangerous plaoes, as they supposed thnt every ship that went through those stsaits would be de stroyed, and they were in the ha'ut of put ting on weeds of mourning for those who bad gone on that voyage, as though they were actually dead. Do you know what they called those straits? They call them the "Gate of Tears." Oh, I stand to-day at the gate of tears through which many of yout loved ones have gone, and I want to tell vou that all are not shipwrecked that have gone through thoao straits into the great ocean stretching out beyond. The sound that comes from that other shore on stiil nights when we are wrapped in prayer makes me think that tbe departed are not dead. We are the dead we who toil, we who weep, we who sin we are the dead. How my heart aches for human sor row I This sonnd of breaking hearts that I hear all about me '. This last look of faces that wtli never brighten aaln! This last kiss of lips that never will speak again ! This widowhood and orphanage . Oh, when will the day of sorrow be gone? After the sharpest winter the spring dis mounts from the shoulder of a southern gale and puts its warm hand upon the earth, and In its palm there comes the grass, and there come the flowers, and God reads over the poetry of bird and brook and bloom and pronounces it vey good. What, my friends, if every winter had not its spring, and every night its day, and every gloom its glow, and every bitter now its sweet hereafter? If you have been on tho sea. you know, as the ship passes in the night, there is a phosphorescent track left behind it, and as the waters roll up they toss with unimaginable splendor. Well, across this great ocean of human trouble Jesus wains, on, tnat in taf nospnores-eut track of H.S feet we might all follow and be illumined ! There was a gentleman in the rail car who saw in that same car three passengers of very different cirsumstanees. The tirst was a maniac. He was carefully guarded by his attendants ; his mind, like a ship dismasted, was beating ngainst a dHrk, desolate coast, from which no help could oome. The tram toppal.and the man was taken out into the asylum to waste away perhaps through years of gloom. Tho second pitssenger was a culprit. The outraged law had seized on him. As the cars jolted the chains rattleiL On his face were crime, depravity and despair. The train baited, and he was taken out to the penitentiary, to which he had l-en con demned. There was the third passenger un der far different cireumstHnues. She was a bride. Every hour was gsy as a marriage bell. Life glittered and beckoned, llercom panion was taking her to his father s house. The train baited. The old man was there to welcome her to her new home, and tia wliiw looks snowed down upon her as he sealed W word wits a father's Kiss. Oufokly wo liy toward eternity, we wm soon be tnere. Some leave thi life con demned culprits. They refused a V" they carry tneir chains. Oh may it be wrt us that, leaving this fleeting life for the next, we may And our Father ready to greet umta our new home with Him forever That will be a manage banquet FrV, Fathers bosom' Father a kiss! Heaven I Heaven I A. at! is u'wiijs i-Kir, but j- r by its own fault. If you do not pay down tuere comes a day when you ninat pay up. ever was a voice of cin-cicnce ailonced without retribution. Countries are well cultivated, not as they are fertile, but hs they are free. There is uoihlnff more precious toa man than his will; there is r.othmr which he nlirqulshes with so much rrlncianre. One-half our rorebodrnjr9 cf HI to wr nUhlcrs are but our wishes, which we are ashamed tu utter In any othci 'orin. A ror-e bud is Nature's thought, the foil Mi om is its expression. There will be music in the heart al wavs If yon touch the riRht strings. To grow ol 1, and yet be agreeable, is a ereat art. . , A vain rran lets us see all his weak points and hides his strong ones. HAQAB IN THE WILDER ESS. T H. F. WILLIS. Tb cloud?" brke- Llgnt ,loo1 nPn th JS?-.?n -na.nK. b?my- Earth received again Anutdnefiia th"und dyes; and leavS. Anu delicate blossoms, and the tinted flowers And lTCffi5',,,h.V nd'th toVhe dewr' And Mirretli with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath ol that sweet morn. vL'h?1" ,re dark to "nrrow; and the light. TtZ""? ?.nd frKfnt air were sa5 , ?i-url"lt 0l,," ,rom ll' Plcy pore. riJLai''X b'rd'' ere eoling as life w ere a new linn to them : but obi it cams L lon her heart like discord, and she felt How cruelly it tries a broken heart, lo see a nilrtu In anytblug It loves? She ""Jessed Aballm' t1"- Her lips wars T111 "veln'r1 ,6ft them : and the wndnn aI ,ran .,V,m,t ,orehd "ere swelled out. eve """Id burst tliem. Her dark VrM and tMr""!. nd the light of heaven, w inch i mane its langua-e legible, shot back fi-t"ii!.er !"' u",e', " "d been flame, lier notile boy stood by her, with his band i lasprd In her own, aim bit soft, tender feet. Niiidaied for Journeying. He had looked un into his mother s lace, until he caugtit ino spirit there, and bis young heart was seiling Bene -.tli ins snowy bosnm, and his form , IV. . v,"""!' ni pn-iidly In his tiny wrath. as it ms light pioi onions would haveswelled. Had they Lut ma'.ched hi, spirit, to tne man. Why tends the patriarch aa he Cometh now tpon l.ls etaii so wearily? His beard is low upon ins breast, and his high brow. N written wliu tne converse of Ins God. llesreth ihe swollen vein ( f agony. His bp is quivering, and his wonted sten Of viijor Is not there: and though the morn Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes Its ireshness as it were a pestilence. 'hi man mav bear with suffering: his heart is a stionn thine, and no dike in the arasn Ol pain iliai mines mortality; but tear One chord :. (lection clm-j to. part one tls Thai binds him to a woman's tender love. And his great spirit yieldetb like a reed. He pave to her tbe water and the bread, Bt spoke no word, and trusted not himself 10 look upon net face, but laid his hand, In slleet olesi ig, on the f.ilr-h.ilred boy. And lelt her to her lot of loneliness. She went her way with a strong step and Slow ; Her pressed Hps arc hod, and her clear ey. un- dlmmed. As It l ad been a diamond, and her form Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed tliroimh. Her cmld kept on In silence, though sh. pressed His baud till It was pained; for he had caught As I have salt, her si.lrlt, .ud the seed Of a stern nation had been breathed upon. Cut Ilag.tr found No shelter In the wilderness, and on she kept her weary way. until tne boy II un down his head, and open'd his parched lips For nater: hut she could not give It him. She laid down beneath the sultry skv rm j was better than tne close, hot breath Of the thick pines und tried to comfort him: But he was sore athirst. and his blue eyes Were dim and bloodshot, and he oould not know Why God denied him water in tbe wild. She sat a little longer, and he grew lihastly and faint, as If he would have died. It was too much for her. Rue lifted him. And bore him farther on, and laid his Bead beneath the shadow of a desert shrub; And, shrouding up her face, she went away. And tat to watch, wnere he could see her not. 1 111 he should ale ; and, watching him, sh. mourn'd: - God stay thee in thine agony, my boy I 1 can "t see thee die; I cannot brook Upon thy brow to look. And see death settleon my cradle Joy. And have I drunk the lmht of thy blue eye! And could I see you die? "I did not dream of this when thou went stray Like an unbound pazelle, among the flowers; Or whtltng the soft hours. By The rich guh of water-sources playing. Then Mnking weary fo thy smiling sleep. So beautiful and deep. "Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while. And saw tliy bright lips curling in thy dream, And thought of the dark stieam In my own land of Egvpt the far Nile, How pray'd I that my'father's land might be An heritage for theel "And now the grave for Its cold breast hath won theel And tny white, delicate limbs the earth will press : An oh' mv last caress Must b ei thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. How can I le ive mv bov. so pillowed there Upou his clustering hair!" She stood beside the well her God had given. In gush in that cup wilderness, and bithed Th forehead of he- ctillu until he laughed In his revivh.g happiness, and lisped 11 s Infant thought or gladness at the sight Of the cool plashing of his mother's hind. UNDER SUSPICION. Something very unusual to quiet Taltulcv had happened, and Talmley was decidedly unromfortableabout it. Of courso everybody knew, as everybody knew everything In that delightful place, where each neighbor was a friend, each friend a brother; and what the vlllape folk knew was this the miller, old flarvey Jameson, had been robbed. "A (jueer business," said the mill er, shaking his dusty head solemnly, and telling the circumstance for the fiftieth time to his uear neighbor, Farmer Greene, who had dropped In to sympathize with his old friend: nobody knew 1 haii the money but my daughter Jennie and young Le voe, anil I can't suspect a single souL I put the money in a tin box, and put that among a lot of other boxes In the cupboard, waitin' until I could en to the bank with it, an' lo and be hold! when I went to get it out yes terday, there wasn't a single sign of box or moiioy. I can't understand It" "Neither can I, neighbor," said Greene, running a brawny hand over his sho -k of untidy hair, "neithercan I. Hut I do think you've set too much store by that young man ye've took Into your hou -e, an' mebbe ye've mis took him. lie's a deal too fine about his cloths an' his hands, an' his hair, to be nnr too honest: but," cautious ly, as In- saw the flush that stole over Jameson's face, "hut mebbe i'u talk in' too fast; but it's mighty curi ous, and one don t know what to think." "One n:i,'ht try to think nothin' that weren't charitable," said th1. miller, gravely, "an' 1 don't suspect the lad. It is more'n I'd like to lose, for it takes a time to earn it But young Levoe didn't have nothin' to do with the stealin' no more'n you or me an' I'd rather people wouldn't kinder hint he had." "Taint In nature not to think It seein' he's a stranger, an nobody knows what or who be is; an' he has fine ways with him an' talks like a schoo'nicister," said Greene, stub bornly. "I don't like to see you took in. neighbor, and I'm mighty much at raid you are by that mlllhand of yotirn." Then Greene held out his hand to the miller, who was deep in thought, and bade him go d -day, and betook himself to his duties on the farm hard by the mill. Hut the farmer had left a seed of doubt behind him; and when bus6ucb a set d not found 6oll to nurture it, untii Its fruit hung heavy on the giant Use which shadowed trlejad- .... rt...tl;wWHl'll.p " i .I - ri 1 '.iK.r 1 (hip, or darkened for ever a soul 1m: mortal? It was not without many a struggle against tbe suspicion that at last Harvey Jameson admitted It with a slgb. Who had robbed him of his hard earnings, save some stranger? for his neighbors were his friends, and honest, as he knew. In Talmley there was but one who bad not been born there, and that one was Dick Levoe, the stranger who had crossed his threshold six months before to ask for employment. Jameson wanted a hand In the mill and hired Dick, taking him as a boarder. The young man had "fine ways," as Greene said. He was not especially handsome, but he was cheerful, courteous, and willing to work, and yet for all that, showed unmistakable signs of having had no occasion to perform any labor at some time not far past He was educated even Jennie, who had spent a year at boarding sc.iool, could be Instructed by him. "I'll Just keep my eyes open, an' not let on for awhile," thought the miller; "but as Greene sai;l, who else could have stolen the money?" He perceived no change in Dick, no confusion, no sign of guilt; but greatly to the good man's consterna tion, he discovered something else. The young man was in love with pretty Jennie, and she was fully con scious of the fact There was a new difficulty, and one which tbe miller did not care to meet. He was pondering on it one day, three weeks after the robbery, when Glavln of the Hollow called and paid him ten pounds which had been due some time. "I hear your house isn't a very se cure place for money," said Glarin, with a smile; "but I hope nobody will walk off with this while you're asleep." Til take care of that," answered the miller, conscious that Dick could hear. "I don't calc'late on beln' robbed twice by the same person; an' I've got over thlnkln' everybody I meet Is honest Good-day, sir. Much obliged." Glavln departed, and the miller went Into the house. Jennie was singing softly as she sewed at a window; Mrs. Jameson was not in, having one to visit a sick neighbor. Without a word the old man passed Into his chamber, and there secreted the ten pounds, frowning as he did so. Til send that fellow paekin' soon, whether I find him stealin' or not," he muttered. "It ain't none too comfortable a feelin' to know you've got to lock up every shilling you net, and not tell anybody where you put It" He ate his supper that evening in silence; Jennie and Dick chattering Incessantly, and Mrs. Jameson told about every ache and pain that racked the woman she had been to visit But tho miller could only wonder whether or not that frank, manly face and those cherry tones of his employee belonged to a knave and a scoundrel. "An' Jennie and him seemed to understand one another far too well," he soliloquized; "I used to like the lad, but now I'd as lief see my girl care for old blind Jack the Hddler as this fine gentleman. As Greene says, he's too fancy about himself to be honest I've often heard the greater the rascal, the more tenteel, an' I guess I'll load the rifle." He did load his rifle, and placed it near his bed, telling his wife that he "warn't going to lose any more money, but the first one that came for dishonest purposes would lose his life." Mrs. Jameson was very nervous concerning the prtximity of the rifle; she begged her husband to put it farther away; declaring he milit touch it in his sleep, "an' make tbe thing go off," and probably kill her. "I never move In my sleep, no you needn't be scared," he told her. "If i touch the gun. you can be sure it will go off: but I'll not touch it in my sleep; I sleep like an honest man, t da" So he went to bed, and thought more of his daughter than of tho monev under the carpet. However, he did think of his money sometimes, ind, in fact, his thoughts ran from that to Jennie, as the thoughts of the money-lender ran from his ducats to his daughter. At last he slept but not any too loundly; dreams visited him, and un pleasant ones they were. Vision af ter vision carxe and faded, and his wife was alarmed beyond measure to ee his unconscious hands go out again and again, perilously near sometimes, to the loaded ri lie. it was midnight before sho slept at all, but then her sleep was proi'und. It was broken at last by the strangest and most thrilling of sounds, no less startling than a heavy fall, andfa loud, harsh, reverberating report as though a cannon had been fired at her ear. No woman is ever too frightened to scream, and Mrs. Jameson's shrieks j were loud and shrill as she cowered ' among the bedclothes; and a scramb- ! ling in the darkness and muttered words she could not understand did not tend to calm her. There was a rush of feet in the hall ' without; a stout shoulder sent the door Inward with a crash, and Dick Levoe, who had made this uncere monious entrance, stood there, with a lighu high above his head, his keen eyes scanning the apartment swiftly. It took him a moment to compre hend, and then he laughed with im measurable amusement The miller, clad but lightly, was sprawling on the floor, a dazed won der in his face, the old rifle, which he bad struck as he fell, lying harmless beside him, and now unloaded; a win dow was open, and through it came a fine sheet of rain; the old man was soaking wet, and raindrops glistened on his hair and scanty garments; his bare feet were muddy, and altogether he presented anything but an agree able or presentable appearance. "What has happened':"' asked Dick, as soon as his mirth could be sup pressed, as he aided the miller to his feet 1 I don't know," stammered Jameson. uUtt.aliiritWWltM v a - . . - ;:It4 VT, ' ' .- ;.'TI'J' 'l"iT i.-wrw His wife hearing voices, cautiously peeped out from under the coverlet. "Robbers!" she cried shrilly. "They have been here again. Have they shot you, narvey?" "No, wife, I'm not shot" said Harvey; "an' I don't think there's been any robbers 'round. Fact is, I've been sleep-walking." "What!" "I've been walkin' In my sleep. sure as you live, "groaned the miller. "I'm all wet so I must have gone out of doors, an' the Lord only knows where I have been or what I've been doin'. I was dream in' of that ten pouncs He broke off, and hurried to the spot In which he had hidden the money. It was not there. "You're rather old for such capers, Harvey," his wife was saying. But he didn't hear her. Very I blankly he turned to Dick, who hail now retreated to tne threshold where Jennie was standing, white and startled, but ravishly pretty. '''Lad," tho miller said, solemnly, "I believe I've robbed myself. I've heard of such things, an' now I be lieve I've just done that, an' I hain't got a notion where I put the money." '"Is it gone?" Yes." "Tnen you had best put on drj clothes, sir, while'I go out and try to follow tho tracks you have probably left in the garden. Your feet are so muddy, I'm sure you must have been there. I'll report in a few moments." A whispered sentence to Jennie at the door, and Dick was off to don his boots, and laugh at t.ie remembrance of the miller's plight With a lantern he went out into the rain, and his gravity departed again as, under the window of the miller's chamber, he discovered deeply-indented footprints, which proved that Jameson had emerged like a schoolboy. The big. bare feet left plain traces in the soft soil of the garden. Dick followed them on, across the road, and found that they ceased at one corner of the milL A loose lioard bad been freshly replaced. He drew It out and there, in tho aperture, found a small tin box. Taking It out, he hurried back, to Qnd Jameson, his wife, and Jennie up and dressed, waiting for him. Tho miller took the box eagerly, and opened it with scarcely steady hands. There were the ten pounds, and under them the money of which he had thought Dick had robbed him. "Lad," he said, turning to his em ployee, "I've been thi 11 kin' ill of you for the last few das, an' I ask your pardon. If I can ever do you a good turn call on me." "I take your, word sir," said Dick, cheerfully, going straight to Jennie, and taking her hand. "I want your consent to my marrying Jennie some Jay, when I have proved myself able to take care of her. We love each other, and I hope, sir, you'll not lor gct what love was to yourself once." "No. I don't, lad," said the miller, with a tender glance towards his wife. "Hut a mill-hand gets poor wages, an' you'll have to wait awhile." "As for that" said Dick. "I think you'll have to look up another mill hand, Mr. Jameson, for I have an other offer, and intend taking it. I wasn't brought up to labor, and was at college when my father died, leav ing me, instead of the thousands I expected, nothing but my empty, un trained hands. I left the college, and fate led me hither. If I have shown no talent as a miller, I have 1 won the sweetest girl In tho world to love me. Now, a friend of my j father's offers me the post of book i keeper in his bank, at a salary on ; which Jennie and I can live, I know, i I didn't take your money, sir, and I'll j forgive you for suspecting that I did if you'll give me Jennie." I "What do vou say, daughter?" asked the old man, wistfully. ! "I love him, father," she whis pered. "Then I'll only say, "God bless yo" both!" said the miller. J Tho Emerald Vase. I In the cathedral at Genoa there 1. an emerald vase which is said to have . lieen one of the gifts of the Queen of Shcba to Solomon. Its authentic history goes back 800 years, t The tradition Is that when King ' Solomon received it h tilled it with an elixir which he alone knew how to distill, and of which a single drop would prolong human life to an indefinite extent A miserable criminal, dying of slow disease in prison, besought the king to give him a drop of this magic potion. I Solomon refused. "Why should 1 1 prolong so useless a life?" he said. "I I will give it to those whose lives will I bless their fellow-men." ' Hut when good .men begged for it , the king was in an ill humor, or too i indolent to open the vase, or he ; promised and forgot So the years passed until he grew old, and many j of the friends whom he loved were t dead; and still the vase had never I been opened. Then the king, to excuse himself, threw doubt upon the virtues of the ! elixir. At last he himself fell ill. Then his servants brought the vase that lie might save his own life. He opened It Hut it was emptv. The elixir had evaporated to the last drop. Did not the rabbi or priest who in vented tli is story intend to convey in it a great truth? - Have we not all within us a vessel more precious than any emerald, into which God has put a portion of the water of life? It is for our own healing for the healing of others. We hide it, we do not use It from false shame, or idleness, or forgetful ness. Presently we begin to doubt Its efficacy. When death approaches we turn to it In desperate haste. But the ne glected faith has left the soul. The vase is empty. Youth's Companion The man who gets to the front sel Jom stays there long enjugh tc wipe his forehead, and look around. The man who has no business of his own to attd always gets to bed tired. It Is cheaper to go with the Rlris than with tbe boys, and a heap nicer. WOMEa AND TASTE, An article by Jnnlus Henri Brown in ft late number of Worthirigton'i Maga zine, asks nnd answers the question, Have Women Good Taste?"' There is at once eo much trnth, and so mnch well, hardly venom, but something akin to it that the article might have been written by a woman! Men are usually kinder to onr virtaes and Hinder to our fanlts. The argument is a (rood one. Biting as it is we shall bo all the better for heeding its les sons, some of which we Quote, wishinsr tbe entire ar icle were not too long for oar purpose. Bat all the while we shall feel like a naughty little dog wh ch has had i s silky ears cuffed and been set in a corner, whence, under a cover of meek contrition, he still looks ont with a little sparkle of defiance, in his eyes, as if he would say "Yes, I krow it, I am in well deserved dis grace, bat you like me very much, and 1 am sore to be forgiven soon!" "The first consideration, naturally And imperatively, is in respect of woman's attire, which, it must be allow ed, is often the greater, if not the bet ter part of her. There is nothing to Which the average woman pars so mnch attention, or devotes so mooh time. Hoor or rich, plain or pretty, low or high, yonng or old, it matters little. Her whole lifo is an agony of clothes. What shall I wear? What can I waar? What should I wear? are tbe paramount queries that ban lit anil perplex her mind, every hour of the day, and every day of the year. Ir taste could I e ac quired by absorption in its mysteries, she wonlJ possess it in perfection. From enrly childhood to ripest age, she revolves, mentally, "How shall I ba most agreeable?" "What best be comes me?" And the answer takes the form of personal adornment, ever the first and last of all her concerns. 'Do women drees in good taste? Many, a few comparatively, do so dress; but not women generally, even at the great social centers. The best dressed women in the Old World are conceded to be the Parisians; in the New World, the New Yorkers. And even these exhibit defects of taste in abundance. In the minor cities, abroad and at home, dowdyism is the rnle. No doubt, women often have better taste than they show; bnt they lack indepen dence to follow thiir own ideas. They nre slavishly ruled by fashion, which they erect into a fetich, tbe earth over. And the fact that they will allow fashion to rnle tiiem proves that they are lacking in taste; taste being itsown counselor, director, inspirer. They have always allowed it, and always will allow it.probably. I he present generation has been call ed the generation of common 6ense as to fashions; and really it is, though still lar from what it h on 1.1 be. Look into iidv book of costumes of the post, and observe what monstrosities of attire it contains. They would appear incredible, if they were not authenti cated. Sach shoes, snch arrangement oi luiir, snch head ge r, snci fur-be-lows, euch petticontsl And the women who donned them actnaily believed that they were beautified, when they were deformed, mnile hideous. What astounding luith ia the power of cloth b! .Nearly every woman is a zeal ot in this regnrd. She is ruimentally superstitions to the core. The spirit of ailortirue it is, in her eyes, infallible. Whatsbe wears demonstrates her fanat icism, the in aaity of her creed. But we neod not go back to the mid dle ages to reach this opini m. It is forced npon us, to-day, in the streets of any large city, in tlie pnblio parka, at the theatre, the opera, the omcert hall, wherever women congregate. They still dress, as a inle, without suit ableness, or judgment, or individu ality. Whether blonde or brnnett', slender or stout, tall or sliort, grao fni or awkward, large-featured or small feitnred, they wear the same kind of garnitnro." In onr view much of this slavery to fashion is owing to a luck of true self respect on the pari of women. Mr. Brown says: "The greatest draw oack to their development, their roundness of character, is the prodig ious importinre they set on their per sonal appearance, which is in itself an ff-tliotic fault, ihey do not seem t think what they might do with their mind or manners. They rarely ask themselves how their understanding is furnished; how they talk; what graces they exhibit; what ideas they awaken; what sympathy they evoke." Every word of this accusation is trne, yet we think the reason is not as Mr. "Brown thicks because women set so over high a value on the body, as because they under estimate their own mental powers, and even in spite of appear ance, think too little of their own per sonal attractions. Their desire to please is inordinate, and their confi dence in their own powers of pleasing being moderate, thoy fly to fashion as to a power which shall make them, if not beantifnl, at least no worse look ing than other women. That many women whose taste is really shocked by the vaparies and monstrosities of the reigning mode continue to wear them we know. And we also know that they do so because they are afraid that by a lack of conformity to fash ion's decrees they shall be "made con spicuous," which is literally the terror of tin ir lives. To many women fash ionable dressing means only a sort of Fortnnatus "invisible cap," enabling them to slip qnietly through the world without attracting notice. Said one of onr acquaintances only yesterday "Of course I bate these horrible puff sleeves and the de testable wings surmounting them, but if I don't wear them, 1 shall be noticed. If I do, no one will see me." This wo man is fashionable in dress from sheer timidity. It will take many lessons and many years to so cnltivate conrage in women that they shall become in different to sneers or flatteries. In fact though they are further along the road leading to common sense, good taste and self poise, the same may be said of a good many of their brothers. "All women happily, continues our censor, "are not of this order. There sre those who have a great interest in higher things, lbey are fond of con versation, books, pictures, marbles, bronzes, mnsio, science, travel, new discoveries. Nor do they despise dress no woman can afford to but they give it its proper place and just proportion. They are neatly, becom ingly gowned; but they are not mono- maniacal on tbe so meet, rabid with curiosity to know what everybody wears, has worn, and will wear. They are not infatuated with anything that happens to be the prevalent mode. In deed, they refn.se to adopt it, unless it harmonizes with their complexion, figure, style, unless, in short, it is in nnison with themselves. The conse quence is that they are a cart of their clothes, their clothes are a part of them; the two are so blended as to leave no sense of division. Persons do not express delight with, or make com ments on their raiment, as they do with the devotees of fashion: and this is a compliment the judicious will ap preciate. "They subordinate and eontrol their raimen ; bestow on it flavor and quali'y of their own, which shows that they are, in the best import, well dressed. "Snch women are admired and esteemed, their society sought, their friendship valued. They are a social, mental, and moral force, which they exercise for good and growth. They are sensible and rational; they go far towards redeeming tbe weaknesses and vaorities of the mass of their sex. They do not rely on their first youth for at tractiveness any more than they do on garments, jewels, expensive novelties. They are interesting in middle life, even in old age; for their possessions are sterling and durable; their charm, tbe eharm of mental richness and com pleted character." These words of praise for the few serve to intensify the arraignment against ns whioh on the whole is very strong. We do not show good taste in many places where we should be ex pected to do so. If we have instincts in the right dircotion we are far too apt to smother them in onr fright lest we shall seem "singular"; a word of more terrible import to most of us apparently than any other in the lan guage. In a book written by Henry Friok a few years ago, he took the ground that women were deficient in a sense of beauty, alleging in proof the fact that manly eomehness did not seem to be widely appreciated by women. Among birds and beasts, male beauty seems to have been cultivated through the pro cesses of natural selection. If, among human beings, the reverse is true, may it not be rather because the "selection" had for thousands of years been the reverse of "natural"? Power, wealth, strength and other considerations hav ing enured Nature to shrink into a sub ordinate place, and consequently good taste to be a quality loBt to women ; from lack o I opportunity for its cnltl I vation? Mr. Brown might have added a very strong point to his argument by ad verting to the fact that, most women appear to care little or nothing for the looks of the men the marry. Ethel O. Gale. THE SPANISH HOYAJj FAMILY. As lineal oescendants of the noble Queen Isabella to whom Columbus owed his chance to discover the new world, America is naturally interested in the groups whose presentments we show to onr readers to-day, and one of whom the Nation has for several weeks been "delighting to honor," by what has been characterized as "a persecu tion of attentions." The Infanta Fnlalia is thirteenth in direct descent from the Ferdinand and Isabella nndor whose rule a rule which on tbe whole proved rather bet ter than the average Spain became a united kingdom, in the latter fonrth ol the fifteenth century, 't he genealogy is too long for ns to follow, but it em braces many marriages with Austrian, French and English princes and prin cessen, so that the present Infanta is by raoe only taree-fourteenths of a Spaniard. This accounts for her fair complexion, abundant light hair and bine eyes. She has made a de cidedly pleasant impression upon Americans from the womanly gracious ness, aa well as queenly dignity, and quick wit which she has continually manifested, while submitting to be bored by the round of wearisome social festivities with which our political functionaries have seen fit to bnrden her visit With at least one of onr customs the Princess is said to have been genuinely charmed. With cordial feeling she is said to have remarked that the most beauti fully poetio custom among any people Is that of setting apart a day to decor ate the graves and preserve the mem ories of the dead who fought for their country. With her own hands she laid a beantiful wreath upon the tomb of Oeneral Grant whose history she well knows, and whom she had seen when a child, when tbe great soldier was trav elling in Spain. The Infanta is married to her first cousin the Prince Antonio de Bourbon d'Orleans, now travelling with her, and known as the Infante. This pair are now enjoying the adulation, the fetes, the show, which are the attendants of royalty and are supposed to make its possessors happy. But history is full of instanced wnere the feasted of to day, are the persecuted of to-morrow. Let us hope the fates of this pair may prove more kimllj. The Queen Regent of Spain finds her place no sinecure. Austrian by birth and therefore alien to Spain, she must have found it no easy task when after a few years of married happiness she was left to bar alone ths bnrden of the government of a great country in the name of her son, the little King Alfonso. As the latter was not born nntil after the death of his father he was literally born a king, and we be lieve is tbe only instance in history. Poor child 1 He has a mother who seems to be a really good woman and devoted to tbe best interests of the kingdom as well as of ber son, But to be born to the purple is to be born to flattery and blindness. By all sorts of influences intentionally or other wise, it seems that tbe plain, unvarn ished trnth is ever kept from the eyes of princes. That the majority of mon arcbs have been men whose characters in private life wonld have been ac counted disgraceful is true but not wonderful. That any of them have sufficiently triumphed over the force of circumstances to become reasonably respectable citizens is trnly a matter for marvel. We read that "it is a pretty sight during the summer to see the boy sovereign and his sisters on the sands at St Sebastian, for he is a regular romp, although his young Majesty has an opinion of his power, and orders his playmates about with pretty au thority." We have italicised the phrase, wishing' to call attention to the fact that the anthority whioh is pretty in the child is apt to become tyranny in the man. If it does in the ease ol the child-king it will be quite safe to predict that his crown will fall from his brow. The spirit of Liberty is abroad in the earth. It is a common thing to hear peo. pie rave about the beauty of a sun set but you may have noticed they never say anything about a sunrise. They never see them. One sort of fool is a man who be lleves that Le can get a 10 cent cigai for five. - A FAMOUS FORGER. BUw4 tm Kerret EUOtm4IsI JUefeea, Benjamin Bathbun was a plctur esque figure in the early history of Western New York, when Buffalo was a frontier town, and not even a cabin marked the site of tbe future Chicago, fle was the proprietor of the famous Eatle Tavern, and was a most genial and successful Boniface. He organized a fast stairs service between Albany and Buffalo. His lightning line for six passengers only" was a marvel of enterprise for the time. Not content with moder ate prosperity be embarked in a land speculation, which in magnitude and recklessness had never been ap proached In any American town. When he began to buy building lots and outlying farming lands, Buffalo went wild with excitement His ex ample was infectious. The most con servative settlers invested heavily In r6al estate, and dreamed of making fabulous fortunes In a twelve-month. Everybody had faith In him, and was willing to endorse his notes. He was In everything, and his business oper ations rapidly rose to millions of dol lars. He did not drink, or smoke, or gamble. He had neither vices nor extravagant habits, and devoted him self assiduously to his business. While singularly modest and utterly Irreproachable In private life, he was also the most remarkable criminal of his time. In order to obtain capital for his speculations he devised an ingenious system of forgery. He paid for his land purchases by giving his notes, which were endorsed by business rs. sociates. Of each note he made from ten to Sfty copies, and his clerk, aft; expert penman, forged the Indorse-' ment He opened an office In New York forjneirotlatlng this j forged pa per, tbe volume of which ran up Into the millions. it was several years before his crimes were detected. A protested note was brought to the attention of the supposed indorserand pronounced spurious. Tbe great bubble was pricked. Rathbun was arrested, tried, and sentenced to five years' Imprisonment. After his Waterloo, this Sapoieon among forgers, meekly accepted hU punishment as his lust deserts. He senel out hts term In state prison, opened a small hotel In New York, and strove to live down hls ropita tion. Although his operations had reached millions, he had never owned more than fifty thousand dol lars at one time, nor had he ever put away a dollar for himself. He died in poverty at the age of 82, a genera tlon after his downfall When the old man could bo In duced to speak of tne past he bad one thing to say: "It was greed that made me a criminal. I was In hot baste to get rich, and could not wait You see, I am now a very old man! flow much time I would have had, If I bad ouly waited!" The moral never grows stale. In applies as well to a Fiench minister, like M. Baihaut, confessing his hame in tbe Panama trial, as to Benjamin Rathbun. It is the lust of sudden gain, an access of unreasoning zreed, that Inspires Quancial crime. Youth's companion. Making Hot Water Pleasant "There are many persons who in 1st that It Is impossible for them to' Irink hot water and make all sorts of lisagreeable faces about It" said an enthusiast of hygiene to a writer for the Brooklyn C.tlzen. "I have heard' & great many people say this and for a long time I could not understand It. One day I dropped in upon one of my, friends and found her very 111. I made up my mind that a little hot water would be beneficial and ran iown to the kitchen to get It While pouring out a glass for her it occurred to me that it was a good opportunity to indulge in a bit of it myself, so I poured a second glass and after It was cool enough I attempted to drink It I didn't wonder that she had said she couldn't drink hot water, for such a nauseous tasting mess I think I never tried to swallow; In fact I lust absolutely couldn't do it and had to give up. I hardly knew what to say to her when she, upon tasting, de clared she couldn't take it to save her life. 1 could imagine nothing but dishwater in the taste of that liquid. Whether tbe maids were careless about their cooking utensils or what the difficulty was I couldn't telL I have experienced the same annoyance in hotels and other places. The water has a greasy, stale, Intolerable flavor, and even tbe smell of It might I should think, make a well person sick. I have a s Dedal little kette for my hot water and take the great est pains that nothing that will give it a d.sagreeable taste Is ever allowed near It When It Is prepared It Is as bright and clean as the purest spring water. Ever since my little experi ence at my friend's house 1 have had no difficulty in accountlngfor the dis like of many persons for hot water." Bow to Prevent Aeeldents. A large decrease In the number ov accidents has resulted from a law In Germany relating to shops In which machines are used. Under this law the maiming of a woikman entails upon the proprietor the payment of doctor's bills, a life pension to tbe employe In case of permanent disabil ity resulting from the accident, or, In case death results, a pension to tbe family of the deceased. The effect of the law has been the general dis charge of careless help and the shield ing of such parts of machines as are ordinarily dangerous when left ex posed, and these measures are euld to have produced a remarkable diminu tion of casualties in the use of ma chines. It woul( ise, says an exchange, in the absence of such a law In this country for proprietors to instruct superintendents or foremen that carelessness on the part of work men as to their personal safety will be Immediately punished by suspension or discharge. More accidents result jfrom heedlessness and recklessness on j the part of employes than from all other causes combined. It Is broba jbly no mistake to attribute the de. crease in accidents In German work shops more to the elimination ot care lless operatives than to tbe boxing Ja t tbe dangsrott parts of machine IS e L' : i . ' ;..'. t. " , in; i.. till ' ' .,A. -''-. t ;" '-:' I-'. r. '' 1 : it , .1. wntrrr-rr-ir-SMrVOT.r
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers