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Slf IS-s II ISCSS
F. SOHWEIER,
THE CONSTITUTION THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT OP THE LAWB.
MIFFLINTOW1N. JUNIATA COUNTY. PENN A.. WEDNESDAY. APRIL 14. 1897
mw& Pro part
VOL. M.
NO. 18
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CHATTER r.
"Really." lie ways, contemplatively, a
fee takes a Ueetinss survey of the land
ecupe, "tlie place is nut so luJ after all.
Really." be says auniii, iu a nightly amaz
ed tone, "tlie view is very fine. Tbat
purple muuntuiu rising up beyond I be
lough yonder, with those fir plautatioua
ou the lower slopes, all mirrored iu tbe
deep, calm water below, is really beauti
ful. And tbe bouse and grounds, Ibe
place itself, is a fine old place, only for
tbe tbree Irish 'It's' impressed so plaiuly
Upon it dirt, disorder and decay!"
And Major Kewellyn shrugs his shoul
ders with a gesture of mingled hopeless
Dess and contempt, as be turns away from
the wide, lofty window, whose woodwork
la wofully in want of fresh paint; cracked
aud crumbling, in fact, in dry old age.
There .Is nothing in tbe room which does
mot speak of fallen fortunes and present
porerty but one tbe huge, brilliant, flash
ing, hotly glowing fire, heaped recklessly
high with coal and auiull oak logs to
gether. "Irish extravagance!" Major Lewellyn
'mutters, with a cyuical suiile, "such a
fire for a fine morning in September!
So much for taking your friend at bis
word. Poor old Miles!" aud be looks at
tb. clock, which is nearly on the stroke
of nine- "leaves a note for me at the
hotel last night when I arrived from
Berkshire, to 'be sure and drive over the
first thing in the morning to breakfast.'
And like a fool 1 did drive over tbe 'first
thing in the morning' without my break
fast," concludes Major Lewellyn, pathet
ically, "and am suffering tbe pangs of
slow starvation in consequence of my
folly."
iie pauses abruptly as be speaks, for
be bears tbe approaching jingle of knives,
forks and china, aud, better still, through
some opened door the delicious odors of
fragrant coffee and broiling ham and
freshly made toast become apparent to the
gentleman's hungry senses. He listens
with a sort of friendly curiosity to the
touts of Irish voices.
"Oh, niver fear, miss, I'll do every
tbing uate an' proer, sbure," one voice
ays, very impressively, "an' tbe mas
ter'il be there himself, so's I can't make
Do mistake!"
Aud then the second voice, in clear, low
toues ri b tied tones, Major Lewellyn
would fancy, if he heard them in a "so
ciety" drawing room says very earnest
ly, iu a fresh, pleasant tone, with euougb
tiuge of Irish accent to make the tones
sweetly persuasive:
"And Hannah, please be sure you give
my message correctly about not break
fasting with them, when Miles asks for
me, won't you, now?"
"Ocb, sbure, niver fear now, alanua,
I'll say it all sthrate an' coinplate!" the
first voice answers, reassuringly, in a de
cided stage whisper.
"You are to say," pursues the girlish
voice, very low and earnestly still, "as
Soon as Miles asks for me, 'Miss Murrie
desires me to say, with her love, that she
hopes you will excuse ber this morning,
sir.'" And the other voice repeats like
an echo, only not quite faithfully, 'Excuse
ber this luorniu', if yeh plase, sir," " 'As
she has breakfasted in her own room aud
goue out for an early music lesson,' "
Coucludes Miss Murrie.
"Whoever may she be?" Major Lewel
lyn thinks. "I never heard Miles say tbat
be had a sister or a cousin, or any one like
Chat, lii'ing with hiiu. 1 hope to mercy
be surely never has been mad enough to
marry, lie never surely, in his circum
stances of body, soul aud estate, never
lias been iiiKaue enough to marry some
uk faced country girl, some pretty little
Uohodv! 1 thought she said 'Miss Mur
rie.' Who ou earth is Miss Murrie, and
wiiMt is she to Miles O'llara?"
The next moment is changed into the
sunshine of genuine friendly pleasure us
Miles O'llara himself enters the roon.
by one door, uhilxt a servant -the verita
ble "Hannah." as Major Llewellyn sus
peels -u comely, elderly woman, enters
by the second door beyond the fireplace,
carrying iu a huge tray heaped with the
china and silver of a handsome break
fast service.
"Kric. o!il boy. how are you? I never
was so glad in all my life as I am to see
yull here!" Kric Llewellyu's host exclaims,
Crasping hiarijjht baud with both his own.
"flow are you. my dear old fellow?"
"(Julie well, thank you; but, Miles, in
boy. you don't look over aud above well;
jour old enemy, the liver, I suppose?"
"I'm booked, Kric. I'll never see anoth
er year out, the doctors say. I've been
as bad as u man could be all night, and
it has made me a bit late this morning, as
you sec. You're quite reudy for your
Lnukiust. I'm sure."
J-liic Llewellyn has scarcely expected to
see on the Curragbdeue breakfast table
several pieces of massive plate, a superb
silver coffee service, aud richly chased
silver covers to the hot 'dishes, all glit
tering imposingly on the tine old Irish
linen damask, smooth as satin, white as
drifted snow.
"Hannah, does Miss O'llara know that
breakfast is ready?" asks Miles, pausing,
with bis bund on the back of his cbair.
fUuuab fingers her apron string nerv
ously. "1 was to sny, if yeh plase, Masthei
JtluYs. tbat Hiss Murrie siut her love,"
she says, an.) pauses, aud Llewellyn al
most catches himself prompting her, "an'
tbut she tuk her breakfast iu ber own
room airly, an' tbut she's gone over to
Miss Magiuth, o' Derrj lossary, for her
music."
"Oh! Miss O'llara gone for her music
lesson?" Miles exclaims. "Of course; 1
bad fortjtlen. She takes a music lesson
twice a week very early in the day, to
Filit Mrs. Magrath's other engagements."
"Miles," says Major Llewellyn present
ly, when Miles has heaped bis plate with
delicious game pie, and pressed on his ac
ceptance hot buttered cakes, and new
laid eggs, and fried baa, with lavish Irish
hospitality, "might I ask who is 'Miss
O'Hara? "
"Who is Miss O'Hara?" Miles repeats,
pausing, astonished, as he is in the act of
pouring a quantity of cognac into his
coffee, as Eric is sorry to see.. "Why,
man alive! haven't I told you often enough
of my little sister?"
"Your little slsterl" ejacnlatea Eric
f i i:p amazed ly in his turn. "Never!"
fce'ls on the point of declaring positively,
when a hazy recollection rises up sudden
ly iu bis memory. "Oh, ab, yes, to be
ureF' he exclaims; "but er you say
your littla sister; your stepbrother Syl
vester's sister?"
"Half-sister, be confounded!" Miles re
torts, angrily, hia blue eyes gleaming wltb
n.,4l o.iml ir"ia if littla Mnriel
BOtl WM kltn anJ kin wjtn tnat fox-cub Syl
hair vester, whom I am sorry to have to own
for my father's youngest son, and the
pie heir, After me, of Camfhden and
every stick anil stone about the poor old
plact worse luck! I can leave the little
one nothing, or next to nothing," be says,
huskily, aud the ireful, glittering blue
eyes are dim with unshed tears for an In
stant, "and aha has nothing nothing but
ber face for her fortune, poor little soul!
And she is as good and affectionate as she
is pretty. I shan't be able to do anything
or provide any shelter for the little oue;
it keeps me awake at night worrying"
He pauses abruptly for a moment, and
then says, with a half-laugh, whilst bis
tunes tremble audibly:
"Du you know, old fellow, I used to
think sometimes, long ago, before before
you told me about Edith, Miss Cameron,
you kuow "
The fork drops from Major Llewellyn's
hand for an instant, aud the dark Hush
that rises through his clear, sunburnt com
plexion, to the very roots of bis crisp,
dark chestnut hair, is succeeded by cor
responding pallor. His brows lower, and
deep, stern lines come around the lips
hidden beneath bis heavy red-brown mus
tache. "Well, what of it?" be asks with a forc
ed smile, aud forced carelessness of tuaa-
ner.
"Well, long ago, before I knew any
thing about that " Miles says a little
more falteringly, and with the nervous
laugh again "1 used to think that when
she grew to womanhood I'd give my little
sister to you as -as the best gift I bad
to offer you."
"Did you, old fellow?" Erie says with
a smile, for the pathos iu the faltering
voice disarms all his pride and coldness.
"Well, if things had been different, if life
hud been different, who knows? We
might have been brothers, you and I."
"1 wish to heaven it might have bees!"
Miles retorts with feverish energy. "I
wouldn't have bad a care on my mind
then. As it is, 1 won't rest easy in my
grave to think of leaving tbe poor child
to Sylvester's tender mercies. He'll break
her spirit, poor little thing, that's what
he'll do. She's a high spirit, and a proud
nature, and aa warm and true a heart as
ever beat, poor child! You couldn't help
being fond of her, Eric"
"Indeed?" Major Llewellyn questions
iu the same politely indifferent way. "I
have never seen your little sister, you
kuow. Miles."
"No. Well, when you do see ber, old
fellow," Miles says in bis vehement, en
thusiastic way, "you'U agree with every
word I've said about ber."
Very fond of Miles in bis quiet, re
pressed fashion Eric Llewellyn certainly
is, very ready to do anything iu the
bounds of reason to prove his friendship
for Miles, tbe brotherly friendship -Sk-h
is indeed one of the strongest feelings of
his existence; but. to extend that fondness,
to Miles' young sister, a half-grown, half
educated little Irish country girl, a girl
who probably never knew what it was to
wear her gloves properly this would be
indeed beyond the exactions of friendship,
or the bounds of reason.
CHAPTER II.
. Two days have passed since bis arrival
at Curraghdeoe, and Major Lie welly u
only notices it as an agreeable fact that
as yet Miles has not thought proper to
iutroduee him to his sister; this sister who
seems, by all ber brother's accounts of
ber, to be such a wonderful and admirable
young creature. Muriel's abilities, Mu
riel's cleverness, Muriel's literary genius,
are themes for Miles' Celtic enthusiasm.
"I'll show you the articles she wrote
for the Kathmore Chronicle, Llewellyn,"
he says, with his voice trembling witb
proud emotion, "a Christmas story, a
lovely thing, on my word and honor! and
poems as well! you'll be delighted with
them, I know."
"Y'e gods!" groans Major Llewellyn, in
wardly, "a school girl'a poems. Iteally!"
be says, aloud, witb a smile of polite en
couragement, "a little blue stocking!"
Major Llewellyn has not met during
these two days any member of the family
besides Miles, witb the exception of bis
step-brother, Sylvester O'Hara, an ill
bred, uoplcasaut lad of sixteen, who
louuges in to the dinner table, aud be
haves with a mixture of cringing defer
ence and impudent presumption towards
his step-brother's guest, and with mingled
defiance aud surliness towards Miles him
self. "I wouldn't rouse an evil feeling in that
young fellow's mind if I were you. Miles,"'
Eric says, in a warning tone, as they
smoke by the open window in tbe still pur
ple twilight.
"You mean that you think Sylvester will
serve me out when I can never raise a
word, or strike a blow in defense by and
by?" says Miles, huskily. "I believe you,
Llewellyn. He will pay my poor little sis
ter out for every atom of spite be has
against me, when I'm not here any more
to protect her."
"Tush! old fellow; you've got tbe blues!"
Llewellyn interrupts cheerfully. "Why
shouldn't you live to protect her as long as
she wants a protector? Ob, yes, I kuow
all you have told me about your state of
health, but, if you would be more care
ful. Miles," with an uneasy glance at the
decanter of cognac, "you might live to see
yourself a granduncle if not a grandfath
er. Why didn't you ever think, seriously,
of marry iug, old boy?"
"What would be the use of thiuking se
riously of marrying?" Miles says, rather
shortly. "I wouldu't marry anyone but
a lady, and 1 bud neither a bouse nor a
fortune fit for a ludy to share. I never
saw but one woman I'd have cared for,
and she wasu't for me, so that's tbe end
of that."
"Aud tbe one yon did see tbat you
could have loved aud who was suited to
you in every respect?" questions Major
Llewellyn, half smiling.
"Could have loved! I did love ber
I'd have died for ber any darl She was
I'ke n queen and a goddess to me: bin
.ie wasn't for inc I was never mad
i-nough to think tbat. A beautiful girl,
villi a fortune aud talents and accom
plishments, doesn't think too cheaply of
tiersolf, my boy!"
"You're right- she doesn't," Eric Llew
ellyn interrupts, with intense, quiet bit
terness. "I ought to know that, Miles.
I did not think you had learned the lesson,
too. There's not one woman in ten thou
sand worthy of a man spending bis whole
heart ou ber!"
"Oh, yes, there is!" Miles answers,
sharply. "You and I don't know ten
thousand women between us, and I'll tell
you of two who are worth all the best love
of a man's heart. Edith Cameron," he
says, falteriug a little as he utters the
name in low tones, "is one and my little
.sister, Muriel O'Hara, id tbe other."
CHAPTER IIL
"Why do you name her and your sis
ter together?" Eric Llewellyn asks in
suppressed voice; but as be speaka ib
starts back a little from the open window,
for something rustles through the branch
es of tbe red japonica, which climbs lux
uriantly around and above the wiudow,
aud drops on the sill at his very baud.
Miles does not appear to have noticed,
so without further remark, Llewellyn
picks up the fallen object, which is In
deed but two sprays of lemon verbena
tied together, as if they fell from a breast
knot.
"Why do IT Miles asks sharply, an
swering his question, "because I believe
what I said just now that I knew of two
women worthy to be trusted, honored
and loved with the best love of a mau'a
heart."
"Aud I for myself," Eric Llewellyn in
terrupts deliberately in his hardest, cold
est voice, as he shakes the ashes out of
his pipe, "that Edith Cameron was cold
hearted, mercenary aud ambitious, and
that she cruelly and basely jilted me
when I laid myself and my life at hei
feet for the sak. of another man's wealth
anu rank. I want to know no more ol
any woman'a worth, or honor, or honesty,
than conduct like that."
"Yes, you do," MUes says hotly and ex
citedly, "yon want to believe the best of
her, and not the worst. If you ever loved
her, and I know you did, old fellow, love
her well" hia voice sinks with emotion;
Miles O'Hara is Celtic in the innermost
fiber of his emotional, fiery, generous, hot
hearted, wrong-headed being, "you want
to believe well of ber, and think kindly of
her, even if if you aud she are nothing
more to each other now."
"She is nothing more to me, most as
suredly," Eric Llewellyn iutenoses, with
such haughty positive ess in his assertion,
that oue might be excused for doubting
the genuineness of it altogether.
"Well, even so," Miles says earnestly,
"you want to think the best and the kind
est of her, and forgive her, and you would
you would long ago, 1 kuow you so well,
Eric only that you were taught to imag
ine the worst aud put the basest aud crud
est construction ou everything she said
and did. and I know who taught you."
"Who?" says Eric, impatiently, as if he
knows the answer already. "What a
queer fellow you are. Miles, for sudden
ikes aud dislikes! And what an entuu
siast in the cause of Miss Cameron you
ar,!" he sneers, "and what a pity she
dues not know what a squire of dames
and an able defender agaiust the breath
of slander she has iu you."
"She needn't know anything of the
kind," Miles says, brusquely; "and as
for ably defending her agaiust slander, I
could uever do tbat as long as your cousin
Henrietta Staple ton has a tongue iu her
head!"
Major Llewellyn laughs a little with
vexatiou.
"I can't think," be says, impatiently,
"what makes you so furiously prejudiced
against poor Hettie. I always thought
her such a clever, agreeable, bright-tempered
little woman quite the good fairy
of my mother's house ever since she came
to live with us, ten years ago."
"She's a dear creature! bless her clever,
little bad heart, aud ber crafty brain and
her artful tongue!" Miles retorts, witb
sarcastic biterness. "You ought to be
sorry she ever came to live in your moth
er's house, and you'll be sorry yet before
you die mark my words, Eric!"
"Well, well, never mind Hettie," Major
Llewellyn says, briefly. . "But you can't
tell me that she had iufluence enough
over Edith Cameron the girl I loved so
dearly, and thought I had won for my
wife to make ber play fast and loose with
me. as she has done, and marry another
man for money and a title."
"Murried! Is she actually married?"
Milts O'Hara asks, with a sort of breath
less interest. "I never knew."
"Nor do I know that a wedding ring is
actually on her finger," Llewellyn rejoins,
impatiently, "but it is all the same as if
it were to me. She is engaged to Lord
Oppiughain, tbe time for her wedding
fixed, and abe has gone on her ante-nuptial
visit to his relatives. She is no more
to me I would not marry her if ther
were uo other woman ou earth!"
There is a long silence as Eric Llewel
lyn ceases speaking, and tbe twilight deep
ens, and only the outline of Miles
O'Hara's face can be seen as he lies buck
in his easy chair, smoking uninterrupt
edly, save for the two or three deep sighs
from his lips that disturb tbe stillness.
"By -the-by. Miles," Eric says at last,
"were you speaking literally or figura
tively when you said that your step-brother
Sylvester cume iu for 'everything?' "
Miles started perceptibly.
"Droll enough! Tbe very thing I was
thiuking of!" be says, hurriedly. "Yes,
every jot and tittle, Eric. His mother's
money paid off several of the mortgages
on the estate, aud his mother's money
kept the house over our heads for years,
and so, in justice, he must have all that
there is to have, hang bim! I I have
made my will," poor Miles says solemnly,
yet not without a certain proud satisfac
tion in his tones, "and left her everything
that was mine to leave. There are twen
ty shares in the Hibernian Gold Mining
Company, Consolidated; they weren't
worth more than two hundred pounds
when they were bought, and they're worth
nearly five hundred now," be says, rather
triumphantly. "That, and the silver, cof
fee and tea service and some old china and
other things of our mother's, those are all
Muriel's own personal property. I have
named you one of the executors, old fel
low," -Miles resumes, in a would-be off
band voice, "and you'll look after ber a
little, won't you? See bow Sylvester'
going to treat ber, and and if she has to
go away, she has a godmother in Cork.
But I don't know how the poor little girl
" his voice fails utterly for a moment
"Yon might sell ont those shares for me,
you know, when they rise a bit, as they're
sure to do," he says, unsteadily "they
might bring the child in a trifle for her
support."
"Nonsense, man," Eric interrupts short
ly and decisively, to prevent Miles from
infecting him with his own emotion, "if
you leavs your little sister to my care, you
leave ber In my care. Y'ou" need not Bay
another word!"
"Perhaps you have wondered that yoi
hare not yet met my aister, Eric, old fel
low?" aays Miles, rather deprecatingly,
"and perhaps you won't understand my
feeling when I tell you bow it is, and why
I never introduce any visitors of mine to
my sister? Well, I'll tell you. I only
Invite men here to a bachelor's house.
This is no establishment at the bead of
which I should like to see my sister at
mistress. It is a shabby, forlorn place at
its best, and men can rough it here at
they would in a shooting lodge, bnt not
aa they ought to do in Miss O'Hara's
borne 1"
"I understand you, certainly," Erk
says, dryly aa before, "with reference to
the general run of friends and acquaint
ances. But I should have imagined you
would have made an exception in my
case."
Miles looks confused, Eric fancies..
"Of course, I would of course such
nonsense," be says, hurriedly rising and
lighting the candles in the tarnished can
delabra and tbe old fashioned girandoles
about the room. "Of course you were dif
ferent; but but, somehow, that was the
very reason that 1 did not care to show
you all the nakedness of the bind. How
ever, If you like, we can soon remedy my
omission.'
"By lighting fifteen candles?" asks Eric
Llewellyn, coolly. "Ia that what you
mean, that you are so reckless in the
matter of waxlights, my good fellow?"
"No, no! Nonsense!" Miles says, rath
er peevishly, as he rings the bell, and
pokes up the blazing fire. "Only to make
the room a little cheerful. It is so dull
and dark, and and I shall ask Muriel to
come down and pour out tea for us this
evening."
And before Major Llewellyn can uttter
a word of the coldly polite remonstrance
which rises to bis lips against disturbing
Miss O'Hara, Miles has darted out ol
the room, aud he hears bim tramping nois
ily along the bare, tiled hall and calling to
the servants, issuing some directions, pos
sibly, for presently Hannah enters, hastily
tying on her clean apron as she comes,
and lays the cloth, and then the tea table,
with scrupulous care, brings in a dish of
hot buttered scones, fresh from the baking
griddle, and lastly a cut-glass dish of
splendid honey in the white waxen cell
of its comb, honey of purest amber hue,
and with the scent of the heather blossom
iu its fragrant deliciousuess. Aud tlieu,
as the table is laid, Hannah draws asidt
a little to wait, with her eyes fixed ou tlu
door, and despite a supercilious curl ol
his lip. Major Uewellyn finds himself
waiting and watching, so that wheu th
door at length opens, he is bewildered and
disgusted with himself to feel tbat hi.'
heart quickena its beating exceedingly, a.
be rises to meet Miles, with a young lady
leaning or bis arm.
"This Is my friend, EHc Llewellyn
Murrie," he says, "aud my sister, Murie.
O'Hara, Eric," aud there is suppressed
pride and pleasure shining in his eye
aud trembling in bis voice as he eagerly
watches tbe handsome, impassive face ui
bis friend during the introduction, lin
passive, save iu oue respect, the gleam ol
astonishment aud admiration in Eri
Llewellyu'a keen gray eyes, us he bo
aud surveys, with swift but critical
glauce, the girl's face aud figure, Kt on
by the simple but elcgautly-fashioued
dress of myrtle green uieriuo and satin
which she wears. And as he looks at
ber his proud lips relax, bis cold eye
gleam with a touch of fire iu their pas
siouate depths, for Muriel O'llara is very
fair to see a slim, tall, lissome maiden
in the very early opening bloom of sweet
pure wouiauhood, with a classic grace ol
pale purity of contour and complexiou.
and the pose of a noble bead, set on a
faultless throat of creamy fairness, which
ia far more rare, attractive and charming
than mere ordinary beauty.
And the cold, proud heart, which he hah
deemed closed and hardened forevei
against such influences, throbs fast and
fiercely in Eric IJewellyn'a breast, a?
though Muriel O'Hara's little hands were
the ones to lift the boughs above hi
slumbering soul, and reveal herself to bim
as a sweet influence an incarnation of a
sweet power and abiding presence be bat
never yet kno"
C1IAPTEK IV.
A curious seuse of mortification at hit
own mistaken theories respecting Miles
O'Hara's sister, is the emotion which suc
ceeds that first one of astonished admira
tion in Eric Llewellyn's mind. She is
discomposed by the steady, settled gaze
of his eyes, as any girl might naturally
be, but tbe displeased haughtiness of the
flush that overspreads ber face up to her
white, delicately-veined temples is some
what of a fresh surprise to him. Aud
yet, and yet he likes her none tbe worse
for this gleam of maidenly scorning for
the proud, womanly modesty which is
offended by even the license of a look.
Sylvester O'Hara cornea in witb his
heavy, noisy tread, sits down sideways
iu his chair, and puts his big red bands
on the snowy tablecloth. He glances st
Miles and his friend first, and then the
sullen, crafty eyes under the lowering
brows turn on his fair stepsister in her
pretty dress. She wears no ornaments.
for she has none to wear, except a little
old-fashioned brooch of the shape called
"comet," with a body of sapphire and
rose-diamonds, and a little brilliant glit
tering on the silver "tail." Sylvester's
eyes fasten greedily on the spark of light
from the diamond at the extremity of the
pin.
"Isn't that father's little diamond pin
you're wearing, Murrie?" he demands, in
a hoarse undertone which is audible
enough.
"Yea," Muriel answers, quietly; It used
to be father's, Sylvester."
"He left It to me." the boy says, rude
ly and positively. "I asked him for it.
and be said I was to have it.
"Hush!" Muriel returns, the color vis
ibly burning In ber cheeks, and casting
a beseeching glance at Miles, whose
wrathful eyea are glittering. "You
should not discuss family matters In pub
lic."
This Is said very reprovingly, but still
with a pleasant little, humorous smile.
which makes more than amends for all
severity. Major Llewellyn thinks.
"Well, but still you know right's right!"
retorts the charming youth with a grin,
seemingly having very little feeling one
way or the other in the matter beyond
that of annoying or mortifying hia step
sister, "and that diamond pin is mine,
Miss Murrie."
"Will you have some more tea, Sylves
ter?" she asks, smiling kindly on the ill-
conditioned, ill-natured boy.
"No, I won't. I'll have my diamond
pin!" Sylvester retorts, with bis saucy,
giggling laugh, and impudent grin.
"You cannot have what you cannot
get," answered Muriel, shortly and stern
ly; and then the boy 'a mean, cowardly
nature, having forced her into the sent
blance at least of a qucrrel, is satisfied.
"Cau't get! Why can't I get it?" ht
demands, iu a sharp-pitched, bullying
tone. "You got it I don't know where
or how " this with an accent of malig
nity that might have belonged to a bel
dame of sixty "but it isn't yours, any
how not honestly."
Eric Llewellyn stirs suddenly as if
sharp thorns had developed themselves
in tbe cushions of hia chair, and Miles
rises and strides over to the tea table
with his tea-cup in his hand, puts itVlown
quietly and lays bis hand on Sylvester's
shoulder, and Muriel's face whitens to her
very lips.
What the poor little girl has been try
ing so patiently to avert is coming to
pass after all a family quarrel and poor
Muriel has reason to tremble at the bare
thought a vulgar family squabble, pos
sibly carried out to a disgraceful degree
before thia stranger, this English gentle
man. Miles' friend. She is hardly aware
of the passion of troubled entreaty and
apology that is flung in the glance of her
dilating eyes towards Eric Llewellyn as
be politely endeavors to be deaf and blind
to any untoward possibilities. She is
certainly not aware of how swift and
sure is her mute appeal to him to be
noted and obeyed.
"Sylvester," Miles says, and he is so
quiet at a white heat of fury, as it were
that the valiant young gentleman is
cowed for the nonce, "if I hear you utter
one word more of the Impertinent false
hoods with which you have been teasing
Mnriel for these last ten minutes, I will
turn yon ont of the room!"
"Oh, MUea, pleasa don't!" Mnriel mut
ters Jn a sort of agony of alarm and
shams t.t tbe scene tbat la Impending.
"Please pass it by now."
"No, I shall not!" Miles aays, furiously,
"and be shall either apologize thia in
stant, or out of the room he goes."
"Yes, yes! He will apologize, of course,"
Llewellyn aays, hastily, seeing that he
cannot assume the deafness and blind
ness any longer. "Y'ou did not mean to
annoy or offend your sister, I am sure.
Sylvester. Say so, like a good fellow."
For a moment or two the instinct of
defiance rages strong in the lad's breast,
aud a sinister look from his deep-set eyes
rests on one after the other of the three
before him. On Eric Llewellyn first on
his sternly-handsome, sun-browned face,
ind straight, tall, shapely figure, well-bred
in every detail aud outline. On Muriel next
the color burning iu two dark-rose
spots on her cheeks, her eyes a-glitter
with angry tears. On Miles last tbat is,
ouly for one baleful glauce of bate, and
then Sylvester says, indistinctly and sul
lenly: "I didn't want to offend Muriel. I
only said she might let me look at tbe
pin sometimes, when it was father's."
Miles' temper ragea rather higher at
this artfully-uttered speech.
"Put it away, aud don't wear it," he
says. "I won't allow you to wear it,
Muriel. I'll bring you a diamond star
from Dublin or London. Or, Eric, yon
can buy one after my direction iu Bond
street, cau't you? As soon as you go
buck to town buy me a diamond star or
peudant for Muriel. Tbe prettiest you
can get for fifty or sixty pounds."
"Witb pleasure," Eric says calmly,
wondering where the fifty or sixty pounds
are to come from out of poor Miles' thin
ly -lined pocket book; aud glancing at Mu
riel, he sees in the quick, bright blush of
shame that makes her droop her bead
over the tea service, that she has per
ceived that he wonders.
CHAPTER V.
Muriel sits with her brother and Eric
Llewellyn for some little time after tea,
but, with her permission, they resume
their smoking and desaltory chat of the
earlier part of the evening; and aa there
is nothing for her to do in tbe way of
ministering to their enjoyment, she betakes
herself to the solitude of ber own cham
ber, rendered cheery, however the poorly-furnished,
damp-stained room by the
presence of a bright turf tire.
"I'm getting sleepy," Miles remarks,
suddenly. "A penny for your thoughts,
Eric."
"They are worth more than tbat,"
Llewellyn says, coolly, witb a slight smile
n return. "Y'ou recollect what we were
talking about two hours ago?"
"About about Muriel?" Miles asks;
but his smile fades and hia florid, haggardly-handsome
face grows aay pale, and
there is a sudden gleam of fiery Celtic
pride in the glitter of his blue eyes. "Yes.
I know now. I asked you your opiion
of my sister; how you liked her, from
what little you saw of her, not as re
gards ber personal appearance," he says,
coldly and haughtily. "That she is pretty
and well-born any one can tell by the
first glance at ber! But as a woman.
judging of her character and mind by"
watching her rather critically I asked
you how you liked ber. A rather ex-
frjuii-dituuK fT"" lf: " im 1.
extraordinary" way," my dear Eric," I'Sd
mit, and somewhat of a trespass even on
old and familiar friendship," Miles adds,
in his coldest, proudest, most courteously
formal manner. "Aud if you please, we
will let pass, and suppose it answered."
"I am sorry if I auuoyed you. Miles, by
apparent unwillingness to answer your
question," Eric Llewellyn says, with a
softening accent of regret and affection
ateness in bis voice, which is a little
unsteady also. "It was not from indiffer
ence, I assure you, it waa from anxiety
lest I should lead either you or myself
into a fatal error. But as I told you. I
have been thinking out my thoughts all
the evening, and I am quite sure of my
self now. Y'ou asked me 'bow I liked
Muriel,' " the pretty girlish name lin
gers on hia lips now with a faint thrill of
pleasure "as far as I could judge and I
judged a good deal, and I answer you
'candidly,' Miles that I like ber so well
iu every respect that if she is willing,
quite wi'liug aud happy to trust me I
should like her for my wife. I should
like to marry her, and take her back to
England with me, aa soon as you would
be willing to give ber to me. Miles."
Miles O'Hara looks up suddenly as Eric
Llewellyn apeaka, and then as suddenly
averts hia eyes, and the same swift flush
aud light of eager hope and pleasure
tbat has illumined bis face once before
this evening glows on it again now. But
for a moment only the next Instant be
compels bis features into gravity and self
possession. ,
"That Is rather a sudden idea of yours,
old fellow, isn't It?" he asks "It rather
upsets me the idea, you know. I've been
thinking of her only as a child she isn't
much more, though she is just nineteen.
It seems only the other day, a year or
two ago, when she was in short frocks
and I was dragging her up bill and
down dale, over hedges and ditches aud
helping her to gather wild raspberries in a
little tin can. Poor little Muriel!"
"If your sister likes me enough, on
further acquaintance, to aay 'yes' when
I ask her to marry me, well and good,"
Major Llewellyn says, very deliberately
and decisively; "if not, you may be sure
I will not trouble either her or you on the
score of my wishes or ideas ever again.
I shall continue to be your friend, I hope,
and your sister's friend, should she re
quire me, to tbe end of my days, but
tbat is aU."
"That is all fair and right," Miles says,
briefly, with a sarcastic ring in his voice.
"I quite understand. It makes things so
much easier to map out, and square off,
and arrange neatly, where there is no
love, and no broken hearts, and that sort
of nonsense in the matter. Don't you
think so?"
"You are complimentary to any future
attempt of mine to make her happy, 1
perceive," Major Llewellyn says, a little
bitterly.
"I wish you could have loved her aa
yon loved another."
(To be continued.)
One great power of a proverb is tbat it
often cancels more than it tells.
Give nntil vnn feel it. and rnn will
1 1 i l:l.- i ! ,i - , .
itui iiiuro iikb nviug iubd you uiu De
fore. The credit that is obtained by a lie
only lasts till the truth comes out.
A big man in a little world is as
roue) out of place as & little man in a
big one. t
When people find out than it is
blessed to give, they never want to
stop.
We am always in great danger, when
we hold on to a litt!e sin.
The great man of to-day shows us
what all nen may be by and by.
Whenever faith moves a mountain,
love should direct where it is to go.
It takes a higher degree of courage
to be laughed at than to be shot at.
REV. DR. TAIMB.
Ilia Eminent Divine's Sunday
Discourse.
Subject: "The Triumph of Sadness.'
Text : "Then went I up In the night by
the brook and viewed the wall, and turned
back, and entered by th. gate of the valley,
and so returned." Nehemiah IL, 15.
A dead city Is more suggestive than a liv
ing city past Bom. than present Rome
ruins rather than newly frescoed cathedral.
But the beat time to visit a ruin is by moon
light. Tbe Coliseum is far more lasoiuatinit
to the traveler after sundown than before.
You may staod by daylight amid the monas
tfo ruins of Melrose abbey, and study
shafted oriel and rosetted stone and ruul
lion, but they throw theirstrongest witchurv
by moonlight, Some of you remember what
the enchanter ot Scot land said in tbe "Lay
of the Last Hlnstreli"
"Wooldst thou view fair Melrose aright?
00 visit it by the pale moonlight."
Washington Irving describes the Aa-lalu-
iau moonlight upon the Alhambra ruins
as amounting to an enchantment. My text
presents you Jerusalem in ruins. The towr
down. Tbe gates down. Tbe walls down.
Everything down. Nnhemlah on horseback,
by moonlight looking upon tbe ruins. While
be rides tberu ara some friends on foot go.
ing witb him, for tbey do not want the
niHuy horses to disturb the suspicions of the
people. These people da not know the
secret of Nohemiah's heart, but they are go
'ng as a sort of bodyguard.
1 hear tbe clicking boots of the borso on
which Nehemiah rides, as he guides it this
way and that, into this gate and out of that,
winding through that gate amid the debris
of once great Jerusalem. Now tbe borax
comes to dead halt at the tu'nble I masonry
where be cannot pass. Now he shies off at
tbe charred timbers. Now be comes along
wberd the water uudei the moonlight Otshes
irom tbe mouth of the brazen diagou after
which the gate was named. Heavy hearted
Nehemiah, riding in and out, now by hts oM
home desolated, now by tbe defaced temple,
now amid tbe scars of the city that hud goun
down under frittering ram snl conflagration!
Tbe escorting party knows not what Nehe
miah means. Is bo getting crazy? Have
his own personal sorrows, added to the sor
rows of tbe nation, unbalanced bis intellects
Still the midnight exploration goes on.
Nehemiah ou horseback rides through tbe
fish gnte. by tbe tower of tbe furnaces, by
the kings pool, by the dragon wall, iu and
out, until th mMuight ride Is completed,
and Nehemiah dismounts from hia burse,
and to the amazed ami confounded and in
credulous bodyguard, declares the dead
secret of his heart when he says,
"Come, now, let as build Jerusa
lem." "What, Nehemiah. have you
any money?" "No." "Have you any
kiugly authority?" "No." "Have you any
eloquence" "No." Yet that midnight,
moonlight ride of Nehemiah resulted in the
glorious rebuilding of the city of Jerusalem.
The people knew not how the thing was to
be done, but with great enthusiasm they
cried out. "Let us rise up now and build the
city." Some people laughed aud said it
could not he done. Some people wore In
furiate and offered physical violence, saying,
the thing should not be dona. But the worki
men went right on, standing on tbe wall,
trowel iu oue band, sword la the other, un
til the work was gloriously completed. At
tbat very time in Qreece, Xenophon was
writing a history, and Plato was making
philosophy, ud Oomostheued waa rattling
his rhetorical thunder. But all ot them
together did not do so much for tbe world!
as this midnight, moonlight nde of pray-i
lug, courageous, homesiok, close mouthed,
Nehemiah.
My subject first impresses me with the Idea'
what aa intense thing is church affeutioj.
Seise tbe bridle of that horse and stop,
Nehemiah. Why ara you risking your life
here in the night? Your horse will stumble
over these ruins and fall on you. Stop this
useless exposure of your life. No; Nehemiah
will not stop. He at last tells us the whole
story. He lets us know he wan aa exile in a
far distant Ian. I. aud be was a servant, a cup
bearer in tbe )h! iceof Artaxerxea Lonlgina
nus, an 1 one day, while he was handing the
cup of winoto the king, the king said to
him: "What Is the matter with you? You
are not sick. I know you must have some
great trouble. What Is the matter with you?"
1'ben he told tbe king how that beloved
Jerusalem was broken down, how that his
father's tomb had been desecrated, how
tbat the temple had been dishonored and
defaced, bow tbat the walls were scat
tered and brokeu. "Well, says Kin
Artaxerxo, "what do you want?"
"Well." said the cupbearer. Nehemiah,
"I want to go home. I want to fix up tbe
grave of my father. I want to restore tbe
beauty ot the temple. I want to rebuild tbe
masonry ot the city wall. Besides. I want
passports so that I shall not be hindered in
my journey, and besides that," as you will
find ia the contex', "I want au order on the
man who keeps your forest for just so much
timber as I may be d for the rebuilding of
tbe city." "How long shall vou ba gone?"
aid the king. Tbe time ot absence Is ar
ranged, la hot baste this seemlna- adven
turer comes to Jerusalem, and la ray text we
nna nim ou norseoack, in tne midnitrbt, rid
ing around the ruins. It is through the
spectacles of this scene that we discover the
ardent attachment ot Nohemiah for sacred
Jerusalem, whlob in all ages has been the
type of the ohurch of Ood, our Jerusalem,
wnicn we love just as much as Nehemiah
loved his Jerusalem. The fact is tbat you
love the church of Ood so much that there is
no spot on earth 8) saored unless it te your
own 1 reside. The church has been to you so
much comfort and Illumination that there Is
nothing that makes you so hate as to have
It talked auainst.
II ther have been times when you have
been carried into captivity by stcknes?, you
longed for the church, our holy Jerusalem,
Just as much as Nehemiah longed for his
Jerusalem, an I the first day you came out
you came to the bouse ot the i.ir.1. V nen
the temple was in ruioi", like Nnhtfiuiah, you
walked around and looked at it, and lu the
moonlight vou stood listening if you could
not hear the voice of the dead organ, tbe
psara of tbeexplred Sabl aths. What Jeru
salem was to Nohemiah the church of Ood is
to you. Ski p les and inlldels may scoff ar
tbe f-hureh as an obsolete affair, as a relic of
the dark ages, as a eonveution of goody
goody people, but al; the impression they
hav.- ever made on your mind against tbe
church of God is absolutely nothing. You
would make more sacrifices for it to-day than
auy other institution, and If It were needful
you would die in its defense. Yi u can take
the words of tbe kingly poet as he said, "If
1 forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right
hand forget her cunning." You understand
in your own experience the pathos, the home
sickness, the courage, tbe holy enthusiasm
of Nehemiah In his midnight ride ! und
the ruins of his beloved Jerusa'em.
Again, my text impresses me w.th the fact
tbat, before rec.on.-t ruction, there must be an
exploration of ruins. Why was not Nehe
miah asleep under the coven-? Why was not
his horse stabled in tbe midnight? Let the
police cf the city arrest this midnight rider,
out on some nnsohief. No. Nehemiah Is
going to rebuild the city, and he is makiig
tbe preliminary exploration. In this gate,
out tbat gate, east, west, north, south. A'l
through the rtiin. 'J he ruins must bo.x
plored be Tote the work of reconstruction can
begin.
'i be reason that so many people in this day
apparently do not stay converted is because
they did not first explore the ruins of their
own heait. The reason tbat tbere are so
many professed Christians who in this day
lie and forge and steal and commit abomina
tions and co to the penitentiary is because
tbey first do not learn the ruin of their own
heart. They have not found out that "the
heart is deceitful above all things and des
perately wicked." They bad an id: a that
thev were almost right, and they built reli
gion as a sort of extension, as an ornamental
eupola. There was a so pei structure of reli
-ion built on a suostr.itum or unrepealed
'ill". The trouble witb a good deal of mod.
nru theology is that in.-te.id of building on
he nirht foundation it builds on the debris
1 an unrgeu-rated nature. They attentat
riiuiid JerULa em brtfore, in the midnight
i: nvi ttou, they have seen the ghastiiness
t!i ruin. They h ive such a poor fonnda
inu for their religion that the first northeast
..ir n of temptation b o-vs them down. I
ave no faith in a oi.m's conversion if he ia
ot converts I ia the old fahionei way
oiiu Banyan's wax, .Jjhn Wesley's way.
l ihn Calvin's way, Paul's way, Christ's way,
Crod's way.
A ninu eomes to me to talk about religion.
l'h first iuestioa I ask him i- "Do you
.'eel yours iit to bs a sinner?" If be says,
"Wol", I -vas," the hesitancy makes me feel
tbat the man wants a rtde on Nehemiah '
horse by mi tnight through the ruins in by
the gate of his afTectiou", out by the gate of
his will aud before he has got through with
that midnight ride he will drop the reins on
tbe hone's neck and will take bis right band
and smite on his heart an I say, "God, be
tneroiful to me, a sinner," and before he
has sta lled his horse he will take his feet
out of the stirrups, and he will slide down
on the ground, and ha will kneel crying:
"Have mercy ou me, O Ood, according to
Thy loviu- kindness, according unto the
multitude ot Thy tender mercies! Blot out
my transgressions, for I acknowledge my
transgressions, aud my sins are ever before
Tbee."
Again, my subject gives me a specimen of
busy and triumphant sadness. If tbere was
any man iu the world who had a right to
mope aud give up everything as lost. It was
Nehemiah. You say, "He was a cupbearer
in tbe palace of Shushan, and it was a grand
place." So it was. Tne hall of tbat palace
waa 200 feet square, and the roof hovered
over thirty-six marble pillars, each pillar
sixty feet high, and tbe intense blue of tbe
sky aud the deep green of the forest foliage,
and tbe white of tbe driven snow, ail hung
trembling in the upholstery. But, my
friends, you know very well that fine archi
tect u re will not put down homesick neas.
Yet Nihemiah did not give up. Then,
when you saw him going among
these desolated streets and by these
dismantled towers and by the torn
up grave of bis father, yon would suppose
that bo would have been disheartened and
that be would have dismounted from his
horse and goue to bis room and said: "Woe
is me! Mr father's grave is torn up. The
temple Is dishonored. The walls are broken
down. I have no money with which to re
build. I wish I had never been bora. I wish
I were aad." Not so says Nohemiah.
Although he had a grief so intense that it
excited the commentary of his king, yet tbat
penniless, expatriate J Nehemiah rouses him
self up to rebuild the city. He gets his per
mission of absence. He gets bis passports.
He hastens away to Jerusalem, by night
on horseback he rides through tbe ruins.
He overcomes the most ferocious opposition.
He arousHs the pieiy and patriotism of the
people, and in less thm two months
namely, fifty-two days Jerusalem was re
built. That's what I call busy uud triumph
ant sadness.
At 3 o'clock evnry Sabbath afternoon, for
years, ia a beautiful parlor in l'hila lnlpbia
a parlor pictured and statuettei there were
from ten to twenty destitute children of the
street. Those destitute children received
religious instruction, concmdluir with cakes
and sandwiches. How do I know that that
was going on for sixteen years? I know it
in this way: That was the first home in Phil
adelphia where I was called to comfort a
great sorrow. They bud a splendid boy, and
he had been drowned at Long Br.inch. The
father and mother almost Idolized tbe boy.
anil the sob and shriek of tbat father and
mother as they hung over the colli a resound
in my ears to-day. There seemed to be uo
use ot praying. lor wnen l knelt down to
pray tbe outcry in the room drowned out all
the prayer. But the Lord comforted '
that sorrow. They did not forget their
trouble. If you should go any afternoon in
to Laurel Hill, you would find a monument
with the word "Walter inscribed upon it
and a wreath of fresh flowers arouad tbe
name. 1 think there was not an hour In
twenty years, winter or summer, when there
was not a wreath ot fresh lloweis around
Walter's name. But the Christian mother
Who sent those flowers there, having no child
left. Sabbath afternoons mothered ten or
twenty of the lot ones of tbe street. That
Is beautilul. That Is what I call busy and
triumphant sadness. Here Is a man who
baa lost his property, lie does not go to
bard drinking. He does not destroy his own
life. He conies and says: 4 Harness me for
Christian work. My money's gone. I have
no treasures on earth. I want treasures In
heaven. I have a voice anil a heart to serve
Ood." You say tbat that man bas failed.
He has not failed he has triumphed!
Oh, I wish I could persuade all the people
who have auy kind of trouble never to give
up. I wish tbey would look at the midnight
rider of tbe text and that tbe four hoofs of
that beast on which Nehemiah rode might
3Ut to pieces all their discouragements aud
hardships and trials. Oive up! Who is go
ing to give ut when on the bosoin of Ood he
sin have all Ills troubles hushed? Give up!
Never think of giving up. Are you borne
town With poverty? A little child was found
holding her dead mother's band In the dark
ness of a tenement house, and some one com
ing in the little girl looked up while holding
her dead mother's hand, and said. "Oh, I
do wish that God had made more light for
poor folks." My dear, God will be your
light, God will t your shelter, Goi will be
your home. Are you borne down with
tbe bereavements of life? is the
bouse lonely now that the child Is
gone? Do not give up. Think of what the
old sexton said when the minister asked him
why he put so much care on tbe little graves
in the cemetery so much more care than on
the larger graves and the old sexton said,
"Sir, you know that of such is the kingdom
of heaven,' and I think the Saviour is
pleased when he sees so much white clover
growing around these little graves. " But
when the minister pressed the old sexton
for a more satisfactory answ.-r tbe old sex
ton said, -'.Sir, about these larger graves. I
don't know who are the Lord's saints and
who are not, but you know, sir. it U clean
different with tbe bairus." Oh, ff you have
bad tbat keen, tender, indescribable sorrow
that comes from the loss of a child, do not
give up. Tlie old sexton was right. It is
ail well with tbe bairns. Or, if you have
sinned, If you have sinned grievously :
sinned until you have been cast out by the
church, s.un-J uutil you huvu been cist out
by society do not give up. Perhaps tbere
may be in this bouse one that oould truth
fully utter tbe lamentation of another:
Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell
Fell like a suovtlake, from heaven to hell
Fell to be tiauipled as filth in the street
Feil to bescolTud at, spit on and beat,
Praying, cursing, wishing to die.
Selling my soul to whoever would buy.
Dealing iu shame for a morsel of broa I,
Hating the living and fearing the dead.
Do uot give up! Ono like uuto the 3 ju ot
Qol comes to you to-day, saying. "Go and
sin no more," while be cries out to your as
sailants, "Let h'.un that is without stu
cast tbe first stone at her." Oh, there
Is uo reason why any one iu this
bouse by reason ot any trouble or
sin should give up. Are you a foreigner
and ia a strauge land? Nehemiah was an
exile. Are you (teuuliess1 Nehemiah was
poor. Are you botnick? NehemtuS was
homesick. Ara you lirok -n hearte.l,' Nelio
minh was broken hearted, lint just see bim
lu tbe text, ridiug alou tuesacriteged grave
of bis father, aud by the Or.tgou we: I, aud
through th lish gale, and by the ktuii's
pool, in aud out. iu and our, tlie moonlight
falling on the broken maonrv, which
throws a lor.g shallow, at which the horse
shies, and at the same time that mooulight
kindlingup the fe ituresof this mau till you
s-e not ouly the mark of sad rcinibisecnce.
but the courage aud hope, the enthusiasm
of a mau who kn.iws that Jurus:iluu will be
rebuilded. I pick you up to-day out of your
sins and out of your sorrow, an 1 I put you
p gainst the warm hairt ot Christ. "1'ha
eternal Col is thy refuse, and underneath
are the everlasting anus."
Pretty much all the humility is made
up of a mixture of cunning and weak
ness. To sneer at relipion is to make it
that much harder for somebody to be
good.
Tbe Yellow Kiver is styled the "Sor
row of China.'' It is estimated that its
floods in the present century have cost
China 11,000,000 lives.
General abstract truth is the most
precious of all blessing; without it man
is blind it is the eye of reason.
The way to get a better petition is to
more than till your present one.
What is there that is illustrious that
is not attended by labor?
JYou may call it a weakness, but I
thank God that tears come to my eyes
eo easily.
BICYCLE NOVELTIES.
Wheels of Queer Dealna and a
Chainlesa Machine.
At the recent cycle show held In Lon
don several novelties In bicycle con
struction were exhibited. The front
driving bantam wheel which was
shown excited universal comment, and
expert riders believe that It will prove
a success.
Tbe change In the method of propul
sion does away with tbe chain. Tbe
woman's wheel Is railed tbe barrtam
ettc, but differs in no respect from tbe
A FROKT-DRIVINO SAFETY.
man's wheel except tbe dropped frame.
The wheel Is a sort of reproduction of
the old ordinary bicycle on a reduced
plan. The demand for cltnlnleas wheels
this year should make the lutnrnu pop
ular. Alexander Sclnvallmck, tbe well
known Brooklyn rider, possesses tbe
ouly bicycle of thus make In this coun
try. There Is every Indication that some
decided novelties In bicycle construc
tion will be exhibited at the annual
cycle show to be held In New York City
A NEW TRIANGULAR MOrK.t
next month. A New England firm has
produced a model with a triangular
frame for the W market which will
prove a decided Innovation. The con
struction Us decidedly novel.
The demand for chainlesa bicycles
bas resulted In the creation of various
devices for the manufacture of this
type of wheel this year. A peculiar
Idea Is the cam action bicycle. ThUj
machine Is chaiuless, and a clover-leaf-
A NEW CnAIN'I.KSS DEVICE.
dhnped crank wheel actuates two con
necting rods, which will trive three rev
olutions of the driving wheel for each
full turn of the pcilaLs. This bicycle Is
sure to excite considerable Interest
among the chalnli-w cranks.
In Europe wheelmen devote little at
tention to the reduction of weight In
bicycles, but the prospectus of a bicycla
recently made In Denmark showe that
a road machine weighing eleven pounds
NOVEL LIGHT WEIGHT niCYCLB.
has been built. The frame Is cons; rut-ted
on the cantilever principle, ami con
sists of twenty-one perfect triangles.
Tbia Idea ks hnrdly likely to g-.wu popu
lar favor. New Y'ork Sun.
Nonirnsa About TmnAtc-
An idea has gained' currency rtur
Ing the past lew years lhat the t j
uiato as an article of diet is liable tu
produce or encourage, the tctriblu
disease of cancer, and n L Ion;; ao it
was also state ! that the use of this
vegetable had been forldddcn at thu
Cancer Hospital. So widely spread
has this notion leeoiuu Unit Dr.
Marsden, chairman of the medical
committee of the. Cancer Hospital,
LondoD, has thought it advisable to
give it ofliclal conlradittion. llu
says that his cutuiiiilt-e has been in
undated with letters on this subject,
and he beg publication for the fol
lowing statement, which we hope
will 6ettle the matter once lor all.
It is the opinion of the committee
"that tomatoes neither predispose to
nor excite cancer formation, and that
they are not injurious to those suf
fering from this disease, hut, on the
contrary, are a very wholesome ar
ticle of diet, particularly so if
cooked." Chambers' Journal.
Just before Washington's departuto
from Philadelphia to take couimaud
of the army at Cambridge the mem
bers of Congress gave a farewell sup
per at the City Tavern iu hi-t honor,
at which several distinguished citi
zens ot Philadelphia assisted. Mem
bers ot Congress and their guests all
rose as they drank a health "to the
Commander-in-chief ot the American
army," to which Washington mod
estly replied. The next day (June
23) he was escorted out of the city ot
Philadelphia by the Massachusetts
delegation and others, with music, a
cavalcade of citizens, a troop of light
horse In uniform and officers of the
The average woman will forgive her
husband any crime on earth so long as
she bas every assurance that be will
never commit If.
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