f - N '
THE OONtfl'lTUTlON-THE UNION-AND THE ENFORCEMENT OF THE UWi
BL F. BOHWEIEB,
MIFFLINTOWN. J UM ATA COUNTY. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. JUNE 10. 189fi
NO. 26
VOL. L.
' - ? - V
s
ciiArTEu xra. !
On receipt of a telegram, Mra. Meason,
despite tbe very delicate state of her
health, started at once for Spain, and
one day arrived, quite unexpectedly, at
the Castle when the duke and duchess
were to dinner.
At the sight of her grandmother Con
stance was quite overcome. She cried
bitterly, and passionately kissed the old
lady's face and hands, greatly to the an
noyance of the duke.
"My dear Constance," said Mrs. Mea
son, "how pale you lookl Why baa the
sun of Spain brought no rosea to your
cheeks?"
"Your grandchild, madam. Infinitely pre
fers the fogs of England," said the duke,
grimly.
"Well, is it not natural? It is he
home; she is an English woman." The
duke shrugged his shoulders.
It was a great consolation to Constance,
to have her grandmother with her, and
daring the days which followed the old
lady's arrival she seemed more contented
than she had been since her marriage.
The duke soon noticed this, and did not
seem well pleased. He was of that mor
bidly jealous disposition which grudges
enjoyment even while not coveting it.
" Besides all this, the duke had an Irri
tating conviction that when the two wom
en were alone they were always extolling
the virtues of the young officer who had
died. The duke's displeasure at all this
was very soon made manifest. One day
Mrs. Meason informed Constance of that
fact that she was about to return home.
Constance was amazed.
"Return home, grandma?" she said.
"Why should you do that? Surely my
home is your home."
"You are right, my child it should be
so; but your husband does not wish it."
Constance started angrily.
"My husband!" she said, "the duke, has
be dared to send yon away?"
"Hush, my child; remember that ho la
four husband."
"Do not ask me to visit you again, Con
stance," she said, in leaving. "Your hus
band has said things to me which will
prevent my ever again living beneath his
roof."
Burning with indignation, Constance
went instantly in search of her husband.
She found him in his library.
"I wish to speak to you, she said,
quickly.
"Let your communication be brief, for
I am busy," he said. "What is it?"
"My communication is of as much im
portance as your business to-day," she
replied, haughtily. "You have insulted
my grandmother. I wish to know the
reason."
"I have insulted her, you say? Pray,
who is your informant?"
"My grandmother is my informant.
Is it your wish, monsieur, to exile me
from the one person in the world who
cares for me?"
"By this you mean your grandmother,
I presume? Well, if she cares for you
he has had a most peculiar way of show
ing it that is all!"
"What do you mean?" asked Con
stance quickly.
The duke shrugged his shoulders.
"If I explain," he said, "pray bear In
mind that I was not the first to broach
the subject. While in this house Mrs.
Meason took upon herself the task of
anestioning my conduct toward my wife.
Now, I dislike unpleasant scenes. I
therefore intimated to Mrs. Meason that
as the Duchess d'Azzeglio occupies too
exalted a position to be permitted to pre
sent the world with food for scandal by
dying of a broken heart away from her
husband's roof, I must request her not to
commence in my house the process whicB
she had found so efficacious in the house
of your father. When I first wooed yon,"
continued he, "I knew I had the good
wishes of your guardian. I thought at
the time that she was influenced by some
friendly feeling toward me; yet I discov
ered afterward that her sole object was
to marry her,grandehild in order that, as
the Duchess d'Azzeglio, she might pass
by with pride the man whom, above all
others, Mrs. Meason disliked. Well, her
rase has not succeeded; the man is dead
and so far as Mrs. Meason is concerned,
your marriage has accomplished nothing."
He paused, but Constance said nothing.
A. vague feeling of dread was upon her;
for something in her husband's tone rath
er than in his words struck terror to her
ti.rt
"If your grandmother had been more
open with me at first, instead of allowing
me to discover all her secrets for myself.
It might have been better for me; it cer
tainly would have been better for her,"
.Hnned the duke. "After I had offered
to marry you she determined at all haz
ards to break off your engagement to your
cousin. Now, as Mrs. Meason Is a lady
who generally accomplishes what she
h. ut herself to do, she succeeded In
accomplishing this by a falsehoodl"
"A falsehood?"
"Precisely. The reason she gave you
for breaking off your engagement was
the death of your mother under the per
secution of Captain Howarth's family
a .rtim,irlT of his father is it not
"Yes," murmured Constance; "I could
not marry him; my mother's spirit stood
"My dear Constance, allow me to In
form you that the little story which sep
arated you from your lover was a fabri
cation; it was an outrage, as I took care
to discover. The Earl of Harrington
Captain nowarth's father-was the very
eul of honor; but be had one areat fault
-he disliked Mrs. Meason. They quar
reled, and no one was to blame but the
ttady. Her tyranny finally separated hua
iband and wife, and hastened the death Of
tthe latter."
"Do you mean to say." said Constance,
hoarsely, "that this which you hare told
ne is true; inai inn " ""'"
toot mother's sorrow was a fabrication r
is true; that tne wnoie story m
"Not at all; the story of the poor lady's
sorrowful death waa trua-rJt was ajtsrea
l tho telling, that was alL The blame
of the whole thing was, for your benefit,
laid at the door of the Harrington fam
ily; whereas the sole cause of it was Mrs.
Meason herself; and your mother was a
gentle, loving girl, and was received by
your father's family with open arms. All
would have gone well but for Mrs. Mea
son, who a few weeks after the marriage
entered the house of the yonng married
couple and put an end to anything like
peace. She had always been an ambi
tious woman, and she looked forward to
the marriage of her daugnter as a means
of gaining for herself an entrance into
society. When she wu forbidden to en
ter her daughter's house her plans were
shattered, and she resolved to have re
venge. When Captain Howarth wooed
you, her time came; 'I will break his
heart,' she said; I will avenge myself on
the father by means of the son.' To ac
complish this it was necessary to Invent
a falsehood; she Invented that falsehood,
and her plan succeeded. Your engage
ment to your cousin was broken, and yon
were married to me."
Again he paused, but this time Con
stance said nothing. She staggered from
the library to her own room. Once there,
in a wild fit of despairing pain, she fell
upon her knees, calling upon the name of
the man whom she had loved so ardently,
but who, alas! was dead.
Her first coherent thought was, hew
she could best get to her grandmother
and demand from her the truth or false
hood of the terrible story she had heard.
She made her arrangements quickly
and In a manner to excite no suspicion.
First of all she eat down to write to the
duke.
I am going to London, she wrote.
"Until I have seen my grandmother and
heard her version of this story, I cannot
rest. CONSTANCE."
She placed this letter on her dressing
table In a position where it would be
easily found by her husband, then she
ordered her carnage.
Weary with long travel, heart-sick with
over-much grief, she stood in the drawing
room at Portland place, gazing upon her
grandmother with large, wistful eyes, two
days later.
Grandma, spoke the glrL with strange
earnestness, "the duke has told me a ter
rible story, and I have come to ask you if
it is true. I could not rest until I had
seen you. He says you have been cruel
to me; that by means of a falsehood you
separated me from Frank; but I do not
believe it; It is he who has been deceiving
me. You would not do so, you love me too
well."
The old lady did not speak. Her face
was agonized. There was no need for
words; Constance looked into her eyes
and read the truth.
"Don't touch met" she cried; "don't
come near me; I cannot bear it! Oh, may
heaven forgive you I"
"Oh, my child, I have wronged you
bitterly; I see It new, bnt H Is too late,"
cried the old lady. "Years ago Frank
nowarth's father wonnded me deeply,
and I swore that his son and one of my
blood should never com together, and I
kept my word, I married yon to the duke,
believing that, once a wife, your childish
passion for your cousin would soon fade
away, bnt I was wrong. When I met you
la Spain and looked In your eyes I knew
that I had ruined your life, and I re
pented when It was too late."
"Yea," said the girl, "too late. My love
is dead! He does not know what I have
done; he will never know, and I can love
him and mourn for him all my life. Oh,
Frank, my darling, sleep peacefully;
henceforth I will be true to you, and some
day perhaps we may meet again."
"Constance, my child, remember you
are a wife!"
"A wife! I am no wife, for I do not love
mr husband. At your intercession I mar
ried the duke; I stood before the altar
with him like one in a dream a terrible
dream. I realize it now; I have awakened
to misery and death.
CHAPTER XIV.
A week after the day when Constance,
standing before her grandmother, beard
the story of the cruel wrong which had
been done her. and In her heart thanked
heaven that her lover was dead, a troop
ship from the seat of war was entering
Portsmouth harbor, bearing tne aisamea
soldiers home.
From the earliest hours of dawn tne
treats had been cayly decorated witn
flan, and crowds had begun to gather.
When the great ship approached a cheer
went np from every throat, and many
eyes grew dhn. On the deck the soldiers
gathered, straining their eyes shoreward,
their nala faces brightened with the glow
of expectation. For all knew that amidst
a , - . 1
that dense crowd sxooa a wue, . uwiuh,
or a sister, waiting to receive them with
open arms. All? No; there was one
mm standing apart from the rest who
regarded the crowd with a look of blank
misery. He wore his left arm in a sling,
and listened to the joyful shoots like one
in a dream. It was Frank Howarth.
He went to his cabin, for somehow he
shrank from watching the greeting be
tween the soldiers and their friends; so
ha sal there and thought bitterly of tha
past; recalled the day when he had asked
Constance to become his wife, and ahe had
consented. Yet, aha bad loved him then.
he felt sure of it; but how soon her ve
bad changed.
"She was false as perdition!" he cried,
"and yet I go to London because I wish
to breathe the same air with her, to be
near her, although the very thought of it
almost drives me mad."
He waited till most of Us comrades had
gone ashore, then he too landed, drove to
the station, and was just in time to catch
the train to London.
Arriving; Frank called a hansom, and
giving his servant the name of the hotel
at which he meant to atop, ordered him
to follow with the baggage.
He dined, then ha strolled out into tte
I, TTj. AmmiAMtm MM illtl., .Ill
e(j. things were going on mud.
in tiie same old wsy. The Strand was
thronged, and people hurried along, hard
ly giving a glance at the pale young fel
low carrying his arm in a sling. He
walked on, strolling up Regent street.
Suddenly he heard a voice calling his
name; he stopped, looked around and be
held a face he knew. ..
A neat little brougham, drawn by a
handsome pair of bays, had stopped near
the curbstone, and from it protruded the
head of Lady Seafield.
Uood heavens. Captain Howarth, ex
claimed the Httle lady as Frank went up
to her; "then it is really yon. When I
first saw yon I thought it was your ghost!
A ghost.
'Why should yon think it was my
ghost. Lady Seafield 7
Why? My dear sir, everybody be-
fleves yon to be dead. 4t waa reported
that yon were killed in action, and tbe
report was never contradicted.
I have been wounded." aald Frank.
glancing at his Injured arm.
Ah I poor fellow r exclaimed tbe coun
tess, sympathetically, "and now yon have
come home to be petted and made much
of. Well, the Earl of Harrington will
find his friends melting to give him a
glorious welcome. Have yon seen Con
stance?"
Frank started, bit his lip and was amaz
ed to feel that his face was flashing pain
ully. "I have aeen no one," he said.
"Ah I the poor child will go crazy when
she hear yon are alive. Ever since that
report came she has been in terrible grief,
wore the deepest mourning and positively
refused to go anywhere; but of coarse
that win be all changed now. Every one
expects her to be the sensation of the sea
son, and I have no doubt she will be; ahe
is more beautiful than aver she was in
her life."
Frank said nothing, bnt aa he listened
a cold sneer curled his lip. The countess
saw and fancied she' had told enough.
"Well, an revoir," she said, "now that
yon are here and not dead, I hope yon
will come and see as."
Mechanically Frank raised his hat, and
the brougham moved away. When It had
gone a few yards the countess gave the
order:
"Oo to No. 104 Park lane."
It was the temporary residence of the
d'Azzeglio; for the duke bad speedily
followed Constance to London.
At 4 o'clock in the afternoon it was
Constance's custom to take tea In her
boudoir. In the ordinary course of things
it would have been her hour for receiving
her friends, bat Constance, being in the
deepest mourning, would go nowhere and
receive no one.
That afternoon the door of her boudoir
opened, and to her amazement the duke
came in.
"Constance, he said coldly, "to-morrow
night I attend a stats concert; I wish yon
to accompany me."
"I cannot go," ahe said; "it is Impossl-
Ma, and pointed to her black dress.
"Pardon me," aald the dnke gravely;
"It matters very much to me. It is now
some time since yon became my wife
when yon accepted that honor I flattered
myself that yon would appreciate it at
Its worth. I have been disappointed ; your
mourning looks distress me, and make me
think you are not happy."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"Smile, laugh, be cheerful, look your
best. It is not much I ask. When one
possesses a diamond and sets it as a jewel
on his heart its business is to shine. My
diamond is my duchess. Do you under
stand?"
Constance was about to reply when the
door of her boudoir waa opened agatfi,
and the servant quietly announced the
Countess of Seafield, who chatted on un
til the duke, weary with waiting for her
departure, took his leave.
The moment he was gone the countess
rushed at Constance, and, with many
kisses and tears, told her of tbe miracu
lous resurrection of her cousin.
That same night the duke received a
message from his wife. It was to the
effect that she was ready to accompany
him on tbe following evening to the con
cert.. (To be continued.)
Lincoln. In the Five Points.
Not long before Lincoln was first
nominated for the Presidency he went
to New York to make a political speech
at the Cooper Union. While there, ac
cording to a writer In the Philadelphia
Press, he wandered about the city a
good deal, and once went to the Five
Points, then the most notorious of New
York slums.
There he was attracted by the sound
of music, and perceiving upon a door
an. Invitation to strangers to enter, he
went in, and found himself in the Five
Points Mission.
His manner betrayed so much inter
est in the children, especially in their
singing, that tbe superintendent, though
he did not know him, Invited him to
speak.
Mr. Lincoln accepted the Invitation,
and as the superintendent nsed to say,
talked to the children just as a loving
and a wise father might have talked to
his own sons and daughters, without
a trace of pedantry or cant After tbe
exercises the superintendent asked the
stranger for his name.
"My name is Lincoln," was the an
swer. "I live In Illinois,"
And then the superintendent knew
that the speaker must be the man
whose address at the Cooper Union had
been so much talked about for the last
few days.
Every American President has had
from three to thirty-two towns named
for him. There are thirty cities and
towns named after Alexander Hamil
ton, thirty Clintons, twenty-four Web-
sters, nineteen Quincys, twenty-one
Douglases and twenty Blalnea.
Kvery mau has just as much vanity
as ho wants nadrhtanding.
It iloes ns no gool to admire what if
roimI anl Iwnutifnl; but it does na in.
llnttety more good ta love it. W
grow like what we admire; but we
become one wtlu wlmt we lovu.
He who knows right principles in
equal to bim Who loves ttielu.
We would rather take onr chances a
the f ther ol lies than tbe mother l
go-nip.
It is well to hope tor success, bnt
much better to deserve it.
Tiiere are times when every man
realizes that he lias too nisnv friends.
! everything that means keeping in
good bealtb.
Tie nlvor lining is always on tbe
wroug iule of the clou l.
Tbe umn who is a failure seldom
claims to lie a self-made man.
Civilizttion is rapidly doinj away
with the survival ol the attest. ,
Hardi ess ever of hardness is the
mother
A Brett many man d not got tbe
right kind of neckwear.
HE D.f I CArlVcD THE DUCK-
I went to dine the other day
With my mother-in-law-elect.
And lost thereby my fiancee,
So mv future hopes nva wrecked.
We'. I reached the roast, when, woe la
I never did have luckj
The hostess asked me pleasantly
If I would carve the duck.
With confidence born of yoatk
I hastened to Comply.
And little thought that fowl forsooth
Could make a fortune fly.
Nor did I deem so small a bird
T.ilre an coat con Id buck.
But I gained some points I had not hears
The day I carved the duck.
I drove the fork np to the hilt
Within its bo-om browned.
And sought to see how it was built.
But not a Joint I found.
I siiwed it here ami jabbed It there.
With pertinacious pluck:
Oh, deep was my desire to swear
The day 1 carved the duck.
A cold dew pearled my forehead fair.
As I chased it round tbe plate;
It could not, built on wheels, I swear,
Have struck a livelier gait.
The table was a saddening sight.
As if by lightning struck;
Tou'd ne'er hav dreamed the clotn waa.
white
The day I carved the duck.
The hostess cast a gorgon glance.
Rose wore a ghastly smile.
As sprinting round that bird did dance.
In most satamc tyle.
I pinned it down it upward soared
And to my boson; stuck;
There were pallid cheeks around that
board
The day I carved the duck. ; '
Then, seized with rage I could not still
And hate I could not hold.
From me I hurled that bird of ill.
With fury uncontrolled.
Then from that scene I lied away -
Like one who runs amuck.
And I've never seen my fiancee
Since the day I carved the duck.
-Twentieth Century.
ON CHICAGO LIMHTED
It is the twilight time of the busiest.
gladdest, most hurried day in all the
year the day before Christmas. Tbe
scene is the Grand Central depot, that
portal through which. In the tnornlrg,
pour the countless thousands who are
as the sands of the shore In the midst of
tbe great city; through which at night
these countless thousands dtpart, and
the city kaotvs not that they have gone.
Un this evening tbe crowd Is a glad
and a merry one, and though there
is much pushing and jostling every one
Is good-natured; for. Indeed, is not this
the eve of gladness that gladness
which Is the touch of nature making
the whole world kin?
In the waiting-room of that road
which leads to Chicago, on the edge of
the crowd forcing Its way through the
narrow gateway leading to the limited
train. Is a little lady, who to a keen-
eyed oliserver shows a notable lack of
the holiday atmosphere. She Is fault
lessly tailor-made as to garbing, she
Is gloved and booted and hatted In tbe
nioHt exactly correct of the smart
styles; and she carries a small handbag
which looks as fissured and self-contained
as does the little lady herself.
She waits until she can pass the gate
without being crowded, then shows her
ticket walks through, finds ber car,
hands her little bng to the porter say
lng, "Section No. 9." and is presently
comfortably seated facing tbe engine.
Altogether a very well regulated and
systematic little lady, but evidently a
little lady who either does not know
It Is Christinas eve or, knowing, is for
some reason trying to forget it. As
the train moves out of the great depot
tiud the little lady watches the lights
flashing rapidly by. two great tears
creep out of her beautiful eyes and
gleam for a moment on the Veil that
falls from the Jaunty traveling bat.
Soon dinner Is announced In tbe dining
car, and the little lady walks calmly
through the train, eats her dinner,
then as calmly returns to her place.
As the porter passes she glances at
the unoccupied section opposite and
Inquires pleasantly:
"Porter, Is No. 10 not taken ?"
"Reserved for a party at Albany,
Miss," Is the reply.
"Then I may sit there for a while and
watch the river," says the little lady,
and she takes the sent by the window
and looks out across the Hudson and
watches the lights coming ont one by
one along the Palisades. After a time
she return to her own place, takes a
novel from ber sachel and settles her
self to Its perusal, but by and by she
discovers that It Is all about a husband
and wife who become estranged, and
then make it all up and live happy ever
more, and the little lady elgnlfies her
disapproval by closing tbe book with
a vicious bang and saying, after a mo
ment's thought. "Never!" She then
called the porter and had her section
prepared for the night
Ere long she bad drifted to that land
where dreams take possesion of us,
and whether she would or not ber
dreams were all about a tall, dark man
with merry eyes, which could look se
vere, and with a pleasant voice which
called her Edith, and all through the
dream was a little dog, a slcye terrier,
for which she did not seem to enre at
all, bnt which seemed to have a great
deal to do with everything and then
a pleasant voice said briskly:
"Porter, Is No. 10 ready?" And the
voice somehow seemed to go with the
tall, dark man In the dream, and she
half awoke with a dry little sob, and
murmured sleepily, "Never!" and went
back to ber dreams until the sunshine
of Christmas morning came through
the curtains and brought her again to
tbe world of real things. As she emerg
ed from her seclusion to complete her
toilet she discovered that the opposite
section had been made up and the oc
cupant bad departed to the smoking
compartment
A dress suit case and a traveling coat
were lyiug on the seat As her eye was
caught by tha Initials on the dress
suit box her heart seemed to stand
still, then she looked hastily at the
coat and gasped, "It is Philip," then,
becoming conscious of her disheveled
condition, she mads a frantic rush for
the end of the car. When she appeared
again she was aa fresh and blooming
a arosa. Hsr section assftawails UA
been made up, and she settled herself
comfortably and gazed out at the
beautiful suow- touched country
through which the train was hurrying,
and lu ber eyes was a look of expec
tancy. Presently she turned to find a tall.
Bark man coming down tha aisle to
ward her, and then she heard a voles
with a wealth of love in Its tones aay,
"Edith." and the voice was that of the
tall, dark man In her dream. Then the
pretty face hardened and the bright
eyes grew cold and tbe little bead lifted
haughtily as she said: "Sir, yon havs
made a mistake."
Tbe tall man paused a moment look
tng down at the averted face, and then
said, softly: "Edith, will yon not come
to breakfast with me and talk it over?"
"Certainly not" was the reply, to
frosty tones; "I prefer to breakfast
alone." and with that ebe rose and
talked past him directly away from the
fining car. It was humiliating to be
obliged to retrace her steps and pass
him again, but she did It bravely, trying
not to see that he sat with bis head
pressed close against the window. When
after breakfast she returned to her
rent ber neighbor was not to be seen.
The great train rolled on, and the cat
wheels whirred and sung their Christ
inas carol, but to the little lady in sec
tion 9 they brought no thought of
"peace on earth, good will toward men."
She had taken another book from her
latcuel. and appeared greatly absorbed
in it A very dear old lack to the sec
tion back of her bad been watching all
ihe proceedings, and now, glancing
over the shoulder of the little lady she
noted that the leaves of the book were
never turned, and she said to herself,
t Uh a kindly smile: "Poor children! a
lovers' quarrel." Soon the book boy
came through the train with his armful
of books: be paused at section 0, and
laid a volume of poems on the Beat be
tide the little lady, as he 6ald: "The
gertleman iu the smoker said I was to
liand this to you. ma'am.
Edith glanced at the book, then ut
A the window for a moment then again
at the book. She saw that a leaf waa
turned down, and her hand went slowly
out toward the little volume, and tbe
very dear old lady Iu the next scat
looked on and smiled. Edith turned to
the Indicated page, and found a verse
marked; it was part of a poem that the
pleasant voice of the tall, dark man had
many times read to her, and now it
came to her ns a message, and this was
the message:
Alas, how easily things go wrong
A word unsung in a lover's song.
There conies a mist and a blinding rain,
And life is never the same again.
Alas, bow hardly things go right!
A storm may come in a summer's night!
The stars will fade in the gloom away.
And the summer's night is a winter" s day.
Sue rend the verse softly through, and
a tender light came into her eyes; then,
ns the book dropped to ber lap, she saw
somwi'aig was written on the flyleaf,
turning to it she rend: "Edith, from
Philip; merry Christmns." written iu
the strong, manly baud that bad writ
ten ber so many words of love. If riiil
Ip could have come to ber then all
would have been well; but such Is the
porversenoss of fate we do not know
wl en to "come back and be forgiven,"
anil in the smoking compartment Phil
ip sat glowering out of the window,
tvv'sting bis mustache fiercely and say
ing to himself:
"Poor little girt she Is awfully hard
with me, and nil about a beggarly dog.
Confound the beast anyway. I always
did bate little dogs!"
And the car wheels still whirred and
cn ig, and all their song was "Peace on
earth;" and at every station the passen
gers leaving the train, laden with their
pleasant-looking parcels, were met and
greeted by those who needed them to
complete their Christmas circle, and
the train hands were greeted by their
friends In passing, and everyone was
happy and full of holiday cheer save
only the little lady In section 0 and the
tall, dark man In the smoking compart
ment riiilip made another effort at
luncheon time; he came slowly down tbe
aisle and said: "Editb, shall I get you
some luucheon?" The little lady, see
ing him approaching, had seized ber
novel, and, lu response to his question,
tranced coldly up from Its pages just
long enough to say, with extremo
frostlness: "Thank you, no."
Philip noticed the book of p -ems on
the seat apparently untouched, but he
gained some trifling comfort from also
noting that the novel in Edith's bands
was upside down. He returned to the
smoker, and Edith, throwing her novel
pettishly down, sat gazing out of the
window. Presently she had the porter
bring her a cup of tea, and just as she
had finished It she felt a light touch on
her shoulder ns a sweet voice said: "My
klear, don't you want to come and talk
To a tired old lady?"
After they bad chatted a while the
very dear old lady said: "I have been
-WHtcblng you all day, my little girl, and
yuU must pardon an old lady If she asks
you some questions. Is tbe tall young
man your lover?"
"No," said Edith, "I am sorry to say
ne Is my husband."
"Sorry!" said the old lady; "oh no.
mv dear, not that And I am sure he Is
still your lover as well as your bus
band. Don't you want to tell the old
lady all about It? I have had a lot of
experience, and perhaps I can help
you."
Edith looked Into the very dear old
jace and then said: "Oh, thank you so
much! Yes, I will tell you. But It Is
too late to help us. I can never forgive
Philip."
And then she told to this sympathetic
listener the whole story; of her marri
age six months before, of her dear little
home In New York, of her happy life
with Philip until and here she paused,
with a slightly shamefaced expression
well, until she had one day spent an
cbsurd sum for a fancy terrier. Philip
had objected, half laughingly, half seri
study: then things commenced to go
awry. The little dog carried off Phil
ips sllDoers. chewed up his razor strop,
knocked bis silk bat about ths floor, and
td done a thousand other annoying
tittle things: and every time anything
tappened Philip was disagreeable, and
Edith had retorted; and so ths Uttto rift
in the Into widened.
Than thsM earns a OaT and bars ths
gysa otLtbe little Jafe MAfemUn,
Philip, in a burst of tamper, bad saldt
Edith, either that dog leaves this
hones or I do," and Edith had to a
3ns tamper also answered: "Do as
yon please. Dandy shall not go." And
Philip had packed a sachel and left
and aQ that waa a week ago. Edith
had waited two days, becoming mors
alarmed and less bad-tempered all ths
time, and bad then paid a visit to a
cousin to Brooklyn, where she remain
ed until deciding to go, on the day be
fore Christmas, to ber mother to Chi
cago.
What Edith could not telL because
she did not know it was that Philip,
after three miserable days at a hotel,
had returned, penitent and loving, to
the litt'': apartment to find Edith
sone, the servant - gone even the
wretched little cause of all tbe trouble
?one and not a word of any sort fot
him. He had gone back to the hotet
He spent several days arranging busi
ness matters, then went to Albany to
consult his married suiter, who said:
"Edith has probably gone homo to
Chicago; I wonld go there at once."
And that was how Edith and Philip
happened to be passengers on the lim
ited on Christmas Eve.
The very dear old tody listened with
out comment until Edith had finished,
then she laughed a merry little laugh
as she said: "And so It was all about
a little dog; what a very Inadequate
cause for so much trouble! By the
way, my dear, what did you do with
the dog."
The corners of ths pretty month
twitched a little as Edith said, "I gave
it to my cousin to Brooklyn."
Edith and tbe very dear old lady
looked at each other a moment then
they laughed together, nutll the tears
stood to their eyes, and Edith hasten
ed to say, "You see, it wasn't the dog
entirely. It was the principle I was
thinking of."
"Nonsense," sold the old lady, "yon
thought of nothing but having your
own way, and from my point of view,
you will be a very lucky young person
If that flne-looklng. manly Philip will
take you back at any price. Think of
weighing a miserable little dog In tho
balance against the love of such a
man! Why, my dear, I could shake
you."
"But" faltered Edith, "do you think
a woman should give up everything to
her husband?"
"Certainly not" said tho old lady,
"and no true man will ask her to. You
give np much, of conrne, and you
ought to. Sacrifice is tbe essence of
true love, and it is the essence of sel
fishness as welt because you are far
happier iu sacrificing to one you love
than you are in withholding. Now,
my advice Is, make it up with your
Philip as soon as ever you can. and
live bnppy ever after, and always re
member bow near your happiness
came to going to the dogs. And now,
do you realize that it Is dusk? Let uj
tio to dinner together."
As they were coming out of the dint
tng car tbey passed a tall, dark man at
one of the tables; tbe little Indy, lend
ing tbe way, passed him with her eyes
straight ahead, but ns the very dear
old lady reached him she paused for a
moment as she whispered
"Do not worry, it is coming out all
rlgh.'
Philip looked bis thanks, then turned
to bis dinner with more noperuiness
than he bad felt In many days.
A little later Edith and her new
friend still sat side hf side talking,
and the wheels were singing and hum
ming In merry meter, for the train was
making up time.
"We shall soon be to Chicago now,'
Bald the very dear old lady; "will you
sneak to him before you leave the
train?"
Oh, I think not" said Edith, and
then added, with a little return of tbe
haucbtv manner: "He must come to
me."
The old lady looked at Edith a mo
ment Indulgently, and said: "Don't
wait too long."
Soon they were gathering np their
small traps, and the train was run
ning into tbe city. Tbe wheels seemed
now to have ended their song and to
be saying: "Well, if you have not had
merry Christmas It's not our fault:
we've sung to you all day long.
Just as Edith was pulling down ber
veil and drawing on ber gloves Philip
hurried In, threw his cont over his
arm, picked up bis snebel, and without
a glance at her left the car. 1-Mitb
looked startled, then turned toward
the old lndy. who, having made i
shrewd guess as to Philip's plans, aald
Welt my dear, good by and God blew
you! I think you may have a merry
Christmas after all; now run aloni
and get your cab," and the very den.
old lady watched her tenderly as she
hurried out into the busy station. Jusi
as Edith found a desirable looking cab
she noticed Philip almost at her side,
and In her agitation she got into tbe
cab without giving any orders to the
driver, rhlllp stepped quickly tip,
handed his sachel to the man, saying,
"Drive to the Auditorium IIoteL" and
turned toward tbe cab.
"But Philip, my trunks," gasped
Edith.
"You darling," said Philip, as be
jumped in and slammed the door.
And the cab rolled away into the
night New York Commercial.
Doat Peel Potatoes,
It la a great mistake to peel potatoes
Before cooking them. The skin, like
the bark of all medicinal roots. Is the
richest part of the tuber. Potatoes
baked are more nutritious than pre
pared to any other form, because the
valuable mineral salts are neia in so
ration by the pellicle of the skin. If it
Is desired to remove the skin It shonlc
be dons by rubbing with a rough cloUr
which preserves the true skin.
Invadliwr Residence mstricts.
A New York dry goods firm has se
cured a lodgment to upper fith avenue
at the corner of 66th street to the bear
of the most aristocratic quarter aw
under ths shadow of the most palatis
residences to the city. Others are su
to follow.
When a duck banter kills a goos.
there is no living with him, he tell
about It so much.
If a woman br rich and has coarst
features they are referred to as being
"strongly marked,"
HEV. DR. Wl
Tbe Eminent Divine's Sunday
Sermon.
. -
Subject. "War."
Text: "The tower of Davl 1 bnilded for an
annorr. whereon there ham? s thousand
bnekleK, all shields of mighty men." Solo-;
oil Bong IV.. a
The church Is here corn pared to an arm.
ory, the walls burnt with trophies of dead;
heroes. Walk all almnt this tower of D.-ivi.t
and see the dented shells, and the twisted
swords and the ruxtnd hem lets of terrlbln
battle. So at this season, a month earlier at
the south, a month later at the north, the
American enurenes aro turned into armories
adorned with memories of departed braves
Blossom and bloom. O walla, with stores of
self saerlfloe and patriotism and prowess!
ay unanimous imm oi inepeopinoi inn
United states of America the graves of all
the northern and aonthern dead are every
year deooratnd. All aenrhity and bitterness
have gone out of the national solemnity, ami
as the men anl women of the sonth onn
month ago floraliznl the cemeteries and
graveyards so yesterday we, the men and
Women of the north, put upon the tombs of
our dead the kiss of patriotto antetlon.
Bravery always appreciates bravery, thouch
it fight on the other side, and if a soldier of
the Federal army had been a month ago at
Savannah he would not have been ashamed
to march In the floral processions to tho
cemetery. And if yesterday a Confederate
soldier was at Arlington he was rfad to put
a sprig of heartsease on the silent heart of
onr dead.
In a battle during our last wnrthe Confed
erates were driving back tbe Federals, who'
Were In swift retreat, when a Federal oraoer
dropped wounded. One ot bis men stopped
at the risk of his life and put his arn
around the officer to carry htm from the.
field. Fifty Confederate muskets were aimed
at the young man who was picking up the
officer. But the Confederate captain shout
ed, "Hold I Don't Orel That fellow Is too
Drove to BDoot. Ana as tne reaerai oraoer,
held up by his private soldior, went ltmplng
slowly off the field the Confederate soldiers
gave three cheers for the brave private, and
just before the two disappeared behind a
barn both the wounded offionr nn.1 tho brave!
private lifted their caps in gratitude to tha.
eball the gospel De less generous tnan tne
World? We stack arms, the bayonet of our
northern gun facing this way, the bayonet
ot the southern gun (aoinir the other way,
ana as the gray of the morning melts into
tbe blue of noon, so the typical ffray and
blue of old war times have blended at Inst.
and they quote In the lansuu-,-e of King
Jamess translation without any revision.
Glory to God In the highest, and on earth
peace, good will to men." Mow, what do we)
mean Dy this irreat oDservancef
First, we mean instruction to one wnoiq
generation. Suhstract 1865, when tho war
ended, from onr 1896, and you will realize
what a vast numoer oi people were oorn since
the war, or were so vounir as to have no
vivid appreciation. Mo one under lorty-one
years ot age has any adequate memory ot
that prolonged horror. Do you remember
M? "Well." you say. "I only remembor tht
mother swooned away while she was read-
tntr the newspaper, and that they Drougnt
my lather home wrapped in tne nog, anq
that a good many people came in the hnuso
to pray, and rr.otner laaeu away alter tn.-it
until again there were many people in tha
hone and they told me she wnp deati.
There are others who cannot rememDer
the roll of a drum or the tramp of a regi
ment or a sigh or a tear of that tornado of
woe that swept the nation a :aln and again
until there wnsonenead Inearn nouse. ow.
It Is tne religious duty oi tnose wno ao re
member it toted those who do not. Sly
young friends, there were suah partings at
rail car windows an I stnumooat wnans, and
at front doors of comfortable homes as
pray God you may never witness. Oh. what
a time it was when fathers and mothers gave
np their sons, never expecting to see them
again and never ii" see inem again until
they came back mutilated and crashed and
dead!
Four years of blood . Four years of hos
tile experiences. Four years ot ghnstliness.
Four years of grave llgging. Four years ot
funerals, coffins, shrouds, hearses, dirges.
Mourning! mourning! mourniug! It was
hell let looie. What a time of waiting for
ni-ws! Morning paper and evening paper
scrutinized lor tutellluenoe from the boys
at Ihe front. First, announcement that tha
battle most oocur th next day. Then the
news ot the batile s going on. on tne ioi-
lowing day still going on. Then the news
of 0,000 slain, and of tbe names of the great
generals who bad fallen, but no news about
the private soldiers. Wailing for news! Af
ter many days a load of wounded going
through the town or city, but no news from
our boy. Then a long list of wounded anl
long list of the dead, and a long list of the
missing, and among the last list our boy.
When missing? How mlwlngr Who saw
him last? Missing, missing! Was he in the
woods or by the stream? How was be hurt?
Missing, missing! What burning prayers
that be may yet be heard from! In that aw
ful waiting for news many a life perished.
The strain of anxiety was too great. That
wife's brain gave way that first week altor
the battle, and ever and anon she walks tho
floor of the asylum or looks out ot the win-.
Uow as though she expected some one to
come along the path and up the steps as she
soliloquizes, "Missing, missing!"
What made matters worse, au tma mignt
have been avoided. There was no more newt
of that war than at this moment I should
plunge a dagger through your heart. There
were a few Christian philanthropists in those
days, scoffed at both by north and south,
who had the right of It. It they had be. n
beard on both sides, we should have bad no
war and no slavery. It was advised by t hose
Christian philanthropists, "Let tbe north
pay in money for the slaves as property and
set them free." The north said. "We cannot
afford to pay." Tbe south said, "We will
not sell the slaves anyhow." Hut the north
did pay In war expenses enough to purulimw
tbe slaves, and the south was oompHlled to
give np slavery anyhow. Might not the
north better have paid the money and saved
the lives of 500,000 brave men, and might not
the south better have sold out slavery and
saved her 500,000 brave men? I swear you
by the graves of your fathers and brothers
and sons to a new hatred for the ebampion
eurse of the universe war!
O Lord God, with the hottest bolt ot Thine
omnipotent indignation strike that monster
down forever and ever I Imprison it in the
deepest dungeon of the eternal penitentiary.
Unit it In with all the Iron ever forged in
eannon or moulded into howitzers. Cleave
It with all tbe sabers that ever glittered in
battle and wring Its soul with all tbe pangs
which it ever caused. Let it feel all the con
flagrations of the homesteads it ever de
stroyed. Deeper down let it iau ana in
m .-Z M 1--- J Kn.n I, k.a mlh.nul
uenrer uniuo , n-.--- -
tnto its heart all the suffering of eternity as
well as time. In the name of tbe millions
of craves of its victims. I denounce it. The
nations need more tbe spirit of treaty and,
lew of the spirit ol war.
War is more ghastly now than once, not
Only because of the greater destruotiveness
of its weaponry, because now it takes down
the bt men. whereas once it chiefly took
down the worst. Bruoe, in 1717, in his "ln
aritntiens of Military Law." said of the Eu
ropean armies of bis day, "If all Infamous
persons and suoh as have committed capital
crimes, heretics, atheists and all dastardly
feminine men were weeded out of the army.
it would soon be reduced to a pretty moder
ate number. Flogging and mean pay mane
them Mi I more Ignoble. Officers were ap
pointed to see that each soldier arana nis
ration of a pint ot spirits a day. There were
noble men in Battle, but the moral ebaracter
of the army was then ninety-five per cent,
lower than the moral character ot an aruny
to-day. By so much Is war now tbe more
detestable because it aesuoys tne picceo
ten of the nations.
Again, by this national eremony wemea'i
o honor courage. Many of these departe
soldiers were volunteers, not eonscripts.and
many of those who were drafted might bav?
provided a substitute or got off on furlouti
or have deserted. The fact that they lie in
their graves is proof of their bravery. Brav!
at the front, brave at the cannon's month,
blare on lonelr picket duty.braveln cavalry
charge, brava "before tbe surgeon, braV in
the Uvlag message to the home circle. We
vesuviay put a garland on tno lruv oi cour
age. The world wants more ol it.
The church of God Is in woeful nwd of
men who ran stand un 'er fl-e. The lion of
worldly deris-ion roars and the sheep troTM
'la In great reformatory moreienl nr.
the first shot how many fall b.iaU! The creac
obstacle to the church's a tvanwm-'nt is the
Inanity, the vacuity, thi soft-retlines.-", the
nia'nby Dahvism of professet Christians.
Grmt on a parade, eowanis In battle. Afniid
of getting their plumes ruffied, they carry -
parasol over their helmet, iney go Hit)
battle not with warrior's gauntlet, but with
kid gloves, not clutching the sword hilt t to
tight less the gloves split at the bar.
In all our reformatory and (;hre-tin work
the great want Is more backbone, mor
mettle, more daring, more prowes-. We
would in nil our chun-hes like to trade off a
hnndm.l do nothing for ondo everything.
"Quit yourselves like men; be strong.
The saints in all this glorious vrnr
Shall conquer, though they die.
They see the triumph from afar
And seize it with thitlr eye.
1 nnln muni, h tnia ni.fi.ti.nl nliw,n.
akuiu, u.u..ia T ............. - -
anoe to hooor self sacrifice for others. To
all these departed men home and kindred
were as dear aa our home nn.1 kindred aretou-.
Do you know how they fell Just as you and
I would feel starting out to-:norrow morn
ing with nine chances out of ten against our
returning alive, for the Intelligent golilter
sees not only battle ahea 1, lint mnlarial sick
ness and exhaustion. Hid these men cnont-u
theyc-mld have spent last night In their
homes and to-day nave been seated w nere
you are. They chose the camp not because
thev liked It better than their own house.
and followed the drum nn.l fife not because
they were better music than the voices of tho
domestic- circle. Hontn Mouiuaiu 4111 aiur-
freesboro and the swamps of Chickabominy
were not playgroumls.
These heroes riske l ana lost an lor omer.
There is no higher sublimity than that. To
keep three-quarters for ourselves and givo
one-quarter to others is honora'ilo. Tq,
divide even with others is generous. To
keep nothing for ourselves and give all for
others is magnanimity Christlike. Tut a
glrdleardund your body and then m usuro
the girdle and see if you are fifty or sixty
inches round. And is that the circle of your
sympathies? the size of yourself? Or, to
measure vou around the heart, would it
take a girdle largo enough to encircle tho
land and encircle tne worm xou want to
know what we dry theologians mean when
we talk of vicarious suffering. Look at tho
soldiers' graves and find out. Vicarious
pangs for others, wounds for others, homo
sickness for others, blood for others,
sepuloher for others.
Those who visited the nnlional cemeteries
at Arlington Heights and at Richmond mi l
Gettvsburz saw one inscription on soldiers'
tombs oftener rcpoatod than any other "Un
known. "When, about t weniy-ono years ao,
I was called to deliver the oration at Arling
ton Heights, Washington, 1 was hot so much
Impressed with the minute guus that shook
the earth or with the attendance of president
and cabinet and loreicn ministers and gon-
erals of the army and commodores of the
navy as with tbe pathetic and overwhelming
suggestiveness ot that epitnph on so many
graves at my feet, "Unknown!" "Unknown'.''
It seems to me that the time must coma when
the government ot the United States shall
takeoff that epitaph. They are no more un
known! We have found them out at lust.
They are tbe beloved sons of the republic
It foreign foe should come, we want men
like those of 1812 and like those of 12 to
meet them. We want them all up ami down
the coast, Falaskl and Fort Sumter in tho
same chorus of thuudnras Fort Lafayette and
Fort Hamilton men win will not only
know how to light, but how to die. When
such a time comes, if it ever does come, tho
generation on the stage of n -tiou will say:
My country will caro for my family as they
did in the poldiors' asylum for the orphans
in the Civil War, and my country will honor
my dust as it honored tuoso who pru-sedod
me in patriotic sucrlllce, ami once a year at
any rate, on Decoration lV'.y, I shnll be res
urrected Into the remembrance of thoso Tjr
whom I dio.L Hero I go for GoJ and my
country! Huzza!"
If foreign foe should come, tho old sec
tional animosities would havo no power.
Here go our regiments into the b itilellolil
Fifteenth Ne.v York volunto rs, Tenth Ala
bama eavalry. Fourteenth Pennsylvania rifle
men. Tenth Maasaciiupetts artillery. 8:iveuth
South Carolina shnrpshoopcrs. 1 do not
know but it mny require the attack of some
foreign foo to makous forget our nlraurd sec
tional wrangling. I have no faith in the
cry, "No north, no south, no east, no west!"
Let all four sections keep thoir peculiarities
and their preferences, each doing its own
work and not Interfering with each other,
each of the four carrying its part in the great
harmony the bass, tho alto, the tonor, the
soprano In the gmnd march of Union.
Once more, this great national cPMnony
means the beaiitillcntion of Ihe tombs.
whether of those who foil in battle or acci
dent, or who have expired in their beds, or
in our arms, or on our laps. 1 suppose you
have notieed that many of the families take
this season as tbe time for the adornment ot
their family plots. This national observance
has secured the arboriculture and floricul
ture of the cemeteries, the straighteniug up
of many a slab planted 30 or 40 years Bu'o,
and has swung the scythe through the long
grass and has brought the stonecutter to call
out the halt obliterated epitaph. This day
la the benediction ot tho resting place oi
father, mother, son, daughter, brother, sis
ter.
It is all that we can do for them now.
Make their resting pin es attractive, not ab
surd with costly outlay, but in quiet reirein
brance. You know how. It you can iilTonl
only one flower, that will do. It shows
what you would do it you could, unit nios-
som from ou may menu more man ino
Duke of Wellington cittafalipre. Oh, wo
cannot afford to forget thnm. They were
so lovely to us. We miss them s- much.
We will never git over it. li chs.hi iora
Josus, comfort our broken he.i.-.i. From
every bank of flowers brcnihns ptomlso of
resurrection.
In olden times the Hebrews, returning
from their burial place, use l to pluck the
grass from the Held three or four times, then
throw It over their hea ls, suggestive ol the
resurrection. We pick not the grass, but the
flowers, and instead of throwing them over
our heads wa pla"e them before our eyes,
rU bt down over tne snenr. noan iniu once
beat with warmest love toward us, or over
the still feet that ran to service, or over the
lips from which we took tho kiss at tho an
guish of the last parting.
But stool we are not iniwets. uuruonies
will soon loin the bodies of our departed in
the tomb and our spirits shall join their
spirits In the land of the lifting sun. Wa
cannot long be separated. Instead of cry
ing with Jacob or Joseph, "1 will go down
into the grave unto my son, mourning,"
let us cry with David, "I shall go to hira."
On one ot tne gates oi urcenwoou is win
quaint inscription, "A night s lodging on
the way to the city ot New Jerusalem."
Comfort one another with those words. May
the hand of Him who shall wipe away all tenrs
from all eyes wipe yourcheek with itssoiiesr
tenderness. The Christ of Mary and Martha
and Lazarus will inlold you in His arms.
The white robed angel who sat at the toino
of Jesiu will yet roll thusicue from theiloor
of your dead in radiant resurrection. The
Lord Munseil snail descend irom neiiyr-u
with a shout and the voice of the archangel.
So the "Dead March" in "Siui" shall be
come the "Halleluiah Chorus."
When a wrmen "pnts two anl two
together" tho result is always more
than fonr.
A person nmler the firm persuasion
that bo ean commaail resources virtu
ally baa tliem.
If yon piy a school teaciier a com
plimentslie will not observe the gram
matical errors.
If dil not require mncta of a phil
osopher to discovei that ail rich wi lows
are handsome.
Marriage is a failure when tbe man
handles all Hie sheets and the woman
all tbe liabilities.
Every day we realize how comforta
ble we jog along without something,
that the day betore we were peua I
ed we couldn't live without.
Mncb. of the trouble in this country
happens becanse men tak too mncb
tune to make money and to J little to
eLjoy it.
i!
i!
A.
1