Pll IS -if -IlOttt
F. BOHWEIBB,
THE OONBTITUTION-THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT OF THE LAWS.
VOL. LI.
MIFFLINTOWIS, JUNIATA COUNTY. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. APRIL 28.' 1897.
NO. 20,
A
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CHAPTER VIII. I
The cloud which had fallen on the ex-
pression of Miles O tiara s face as b
watched his sister and Eric Llewellyn
passing the window hastily and in silence,
with averted faces, deepens perceptibly
as be scans the looks of both as they enter
tbe room.
"Had a nice walk7 he inquires, short
ly, of no one in particular, as they are
seated, and he commences to carve th
cold roast mutton.
"Yes, a capital walk." Eric says, pleas
antly, noticing Master Sylvester's sly
eyes stealthily upraised.
I hope you will not think I have been
too precipitate. Miles," he says, easily,
knowing Miles' mind so well. "But to
day I asked your sister to be my wife, and
she did not say, 'no.' "
"I didn't say yes either," Muriel ut
ters Indistinctly, burning crimson to the
tips at her little shell-like ears, and blind
ed with tears, whilst she feels an over
whelming desire to burst luto laughter.
"But you w ill say it now," Eric says,
coolly advancing towards her; and sn
Muriel instantly retreats, with a terrified
Instinct that the scene under tbe fir trees
la going to be repeated, and Miles has
started forward from his chair, she is
caught and prisoned between the two.
"All right, Mnrriet What la the mat
ter, old girl?" Miles says, langbing ex
citedly, as Muriel clings to him desper
ately. "So Eric has asked you to be his
wife, and you 'didn't say no' quick work,
npon my word! A case of love at first
sight. I suppose, eh, Marrie?" And be
laughs again, and Muriel can feel him
trembling from bead to foot, and feels
that his thin, damp hands are burning
like coals of fire anj Li heart beating
loudly. '
"But I am waiting for Muriel to say
ye,' " objects Eric, rather frigidly.
"All right, old fellow." Miles laughs
again, grasping one of Eric's hands tight
ly, whilst he tries to lift Muriel away
with the other. "She'll say 'yes' pres
ently, never fear."
"You are very ready to give me away.
Miles," she says, in coldest tones of bit
terest reproach. "To avoid your displeas
ure, therefore, I will give Major Llewellyn
soy promise to become his wife. Dues that
please him and you?"
There is tragedy In every tone and ges
ture of the quivering young form the
pale face, with the great dark eyes ablaze
with pride deeply shadowed with pain,
ad she is drawing haughtily away to
wards the door, when Eric hastily inter
poses himself with a look of entreaty to
ward Muriel, and a look of stormy re
proach toward poor Miles.
"Bless my soul, girl!" he says, his hag
gard face flaming. "What are you afraid
of that you can't speak out at once and
say whether you like Eric and whether
700 are willing to marry him or whether
you're not! You can do as you please, I
suppose. There's no one going to force
or to urge you. We're only waiting to
hear what you wish to say!"
His sister lifts her head and looks at
him steadfastly, with an anguish of sor
row and rebuke in the white, sad, young
face, and he winces perceptibly beneath
her gaze.
"Then, Miles, I wish to say that I am
Suite capable of doing as I please with
out your assistance," she says. In a low,
tense voice of suppressed emotion; and,
with a slight inclination of her head to
Eric Llewellyn, she walks quietly out of
the room like a young queen in her anger
and dignity.
Miles stares after her in wrath and
amazement for an instant, and then, as he
meets Kric Llewellyn's eyes, he bursts
into a nervous laugh.
"Upon my honor, I've caught it this
time and no mistake, and it serves uie
right," he says.
"It does," Erie says dryly.
"Upon my honor it does!" repeats Miles,
with excited fervor. "The little one is
as hauphty as a princess, and 1 ought
to have been more cautious how I spoke
to her on such a topic."
. "You ought," Eric says grimly, "and
you ought excuse me if I presume on
friendship to say so to have taken lees
claret and whisky at luncheon."
"Do you weuu to say you think tbe
couple of glasses I had have excited me?"
Miles demands angrily.
"I don't think, I know," Eric says,
tersely, "so excited at all events, you must
allow, that you could not discuss a deli
cate topic witb your sister without hurt
ing and offending her deeply!"
"I haven't hurt or offended her deeply!"
Miles retorts shortly. One would almost
fancy, one who did not know you, that,
s I remarked before, you had forgotten
your role in the performance."
"What is my role, then, pray?" Erie
asks, coldly, but with his eyes on the dim
pattern of the faded carpet.
. "Not Muriel's lover at all events." Miles
.ay., shortly, "though her husband I
bope you will be."
"Some people say a good husband must
be a lover," Eric says briefly, pacing up
and down the room in a restless sort of
fashion, as if bis thoughts will not suffer
him to rest. "According to you, I shall
make a bad husband to Muriel."
"Muriel must take the chance of that,"
Miles says, abruptly, the hoarseness that
- emotion always brings in his weak voice
making his words scarcely audible, "you
will be very kind to her, and careful of
' her, I know, and I hope you will be pa
tient with her; she is proud and high
spirited, poor little Muriel."
-Kind and careful and patient? Yes, 1
hope so, certainly," Eric says, slowly,
"but !o you think that will make her
happy, or make me happy?"
"You must take your chance of that,"
Miles retorts, with a quick, deep sigh, and
there la a silence of a few minutes.
CHAPTER IX.
"By-the-by, Miles," Eric begins, some
what irrelevantly, "at what time does the
second post go out?"
"It's gone," Miles says, laconically.
That' a nuisance," Eric says, curtly.
In his turn. "I meant to write home to
tell them to expect me on Saturday."
"To expect you?" interrupts Miles,
taring and indignant.
"Ye. must run over for a few days, to
explain things and announce tilings, and
so forth," Eric says, a little confusedly:
"and to make the mater's mind happy by
telling her I really am going to marry and
settle myself; and to tell Uettie, of
course."
"And Miss Cameron?" questions Miles,
with a curious change coming over his
flushed, worn face.
"No, Indeed," Eric says, Idly; "I shall
not trouble myself or trouble Lord Up
pingham's bride to give her any informa
tion respecting my private affaire. But
Bay cousin Hettie will be glad; she will
be pleased and concerned with anything
that please, and concerns ma," ha con
cludes cordialla. . t.- ,
"She very much concerns herself with
what concerns you," Milea says, briefly
"unusually so for a cousin."
"Well, never mind all that nonsense,"
Eric says. Impatiently. "1 shall follow
my letter on Saturday, or Friday night,
rather, from Kingstown, be absent for a
week, then return her for ten days or so,
and then. Miles, you won't object if I
ask Muriel to fix the time for another
fortnight, or three weeks later, will you?"
"To to take her away? To marry
her?" Miles asks, with a gasp, and his
features twitch convulsively. "So soon?
I didn't quite realize that she was going
to leave me," he says. In a low, hoarse
voice. "Well, I have nothing to say
against it, Eric, If she consents. Poor
little sister!" And he hurries out of the
room, unable to trust himself to speak
another word.
"I find Muriel is gone for her music
lesson to Derrylossary," Milea says when
he returns, "so if you want to see her you
must wait an hour, Eric"
"I will go and meet her," he says, de
cisively, and in two minutes more Miles
can see the tall, straight, muscular figure
swinging along the quiet road between
the bramble grown hedges that. leads to
the village.
Eric Llewellyn, after a patient search
for "the house where the organist lives,"
Is rewarded by the appearance of Muriel
herself, looking almost fresher and love
lier than she had looked in the morning.
"She is an exquisite little wild rose."
Major Llewellyn whispers to himself.
"After a couple of years in good society,
and well dressed, she will be as pretty a
woman and as charming as can be found
In the United Kingdom."
He is more satisfied than ever when he
sees the sudden carmine blush and the
startled, fawn-like shyness in her lovely,
large, dark gray eyes, as she catches sight
of the tall, handsome figure advancing
toward her. a
The glimpse Llewellyn obtains of the
gifted organist of Derrylossary reveals to
him a most extraordinary figure, which
would be slatternly if it were not slightly
crazy-looking, and at the same time so
audaciously unique in style as to impel
him to the belief that there is a decided
method in the madness of Mrs. McUrath.
"Your music teacher Is eccentric, I fan
cy!" Eric remarks, in a slightly sarcastic
tone, as they walk off together.
"Yes." answers Muriel, quickly and de
cidedly; "but she is a kind, good creature,
and I am very fond of her!"
"You are warm in your likes and dis
likes, Muriel?" he says, smiling inquiring
ly. "I am. Major Le welly n," Muriel ssys
tersely, walking on very fast, when M
ior Llewellyn, hnda it pleasant tq loiter.
""Am I no nearer than 'Major Llewel
lyn' yet, Muriel?" he says reproachfully.
"And could you not share your thoughts
with me, dear?"
"No, indeed, I could not," Muriel snys,
almost sharply. "Why did you come af
ter me this evening? Was it Miles sug
gestion that you should pay me some 'at
tention?' "
Her face is as pale as death now, her
eyes glowing like lamps as she stands
and confronts Eric Llewellyn.
"Answer me!" she says, and the fresh,
sweet voice is shrill with wrathful excite
ment. "I will know! It Is cruel shame
ful! How can my brother treat me so!
to almost thrust me on your acceptance
this morning! I will Sever forgive Miles!'
she says, wildly.
"He told me that you loved him so well
that you would forgive him any wrung,"
Eric answers.
"Does he think so? Does he think so?"
she says, panting with tierce excitement;
"then I will tell him, as I tell you, that
my pride is as strong as my love any day,
and I will suffer no outrage to my feel
ings, and to what Is due to me as a mod
est girl, since my brother cruelly prefers
other advantages before that; and I will
not be won before I am wooed, by you
or any other man, not if I died for it; not
if Miles died for it!"
"Muriel," Eric Llewellyn says, sternly,
"what do you mean by being 'won and
wooed?' It is a school girl phrase. I
thought," he says, flushing at the remem
brance, "that I wooed you for my wife
this morning. I thought," he says, fal
teriugly, "that your heart responded to
mine and that we were one in spirit, as 1
hopeil we should become one in flesh."
And in this speech he knows there is a
suggestion of falsehood, and dreads lest
she knows it. too.
"You thought wrongly," the girl ssys,
steadily, though her eyes droop before
the pleading of his. "You did not 'woo'
me, you said a few soft words to me, and
you kissed me; I am ashamed and sorry
to remember," and her hand goes up in
voluntarily to a burning patch on her
cheek.
"Ashamed and sorry!" Eric Llewellyn
exclaims, now almost as excited as her
self. "1 spoke words of love to you be
cause I wanted you for my wife, and
and I kissed you when I thought I had
the consent of your heart, and considered
myself then, and every moment since, as
bound to you, in tbe sight of heaven, as
your betrothed husband."
"Consider yourself as such no longer,
then!" Muriel interrupts, trembling with
a terrified passion of wounded feeling. "I
would sooner die than marry you!"
CHAPTER X.
"Thank you for your candor," Major
Llewellyn says, with a cool smile, looking
at the white, agitated young face, her
great, deep eyes glowing like half-hidden
tires, her lips crimson and quivering pain
fully. "It would be a pity indeed if one
so young and lovely as you should die for
o unworthy a cause. That calamity can
be averted, so far as I am concerned. an?
I trust It win not trouble your thought
again. I have wandered blindly into the
fool's paradise. Miss O'Hara, and you
have brought me out with rather need
less hast, and severity, may I say?"
He is smiling quite brightly and easily
by this time, with no trace of dismay or
displeasure in his tone or manner, only
a little gentle reproacbfulness, whilst Mu
riel is trembling with excitement, feeling
ashamed and frightened and very miser
able. "I beg your pardon," ahe says faintly,
in a half-choked voice. "I need not have
been rude."
"You need not have been unkind," he
says quietly. "I was foolish enough to
fancy there was some feeling of real
friendly liking for me, real friendly trust
in me in your thoughts, apart from any
thing else."
"I beg your pardon," Muriel repeats,
with difficulty keeping a sob out of her
voice. She is so horribly ashamed of her
self, so sorry, so angry, so miserable!
"It is granted frsely," Major UeweUyn
rejoins calmly. T do not exactly see," bt
adds, with a placid sarcasm that makes
Muriel wince, "what I have done to pro
voke your enmity toward me, beyond the
fact that I offered yon the highest trib
ute of regard and admiration which it was
in my power to offer you. But let that
pass. You are very young, Muriel," he
aaya, with a smile, "and 1 am too old to
play tie ideal lover of nfneteen. That is
about it, I dare say."
"No, indeed I No, indeed!" she says,
with impulsive eagerness to atone a little
for her fault toward him. "1 do not think
so at all!" this with a fervor and enthu
siastic Irishism that makes him smile
again, but secretly, as he looks at the
kindling light in her eyes and tbe shy,
fervent admiration of him that is visible
there. "I 1 like you very well that Is
I should wish to be friends for Miles'
sake."
They are standing on the soft, mossy
sward, dappled with the yellow birch
leaves, when they pause, Muriel with
some shame and amazement, Eric witb
hidden satisfaction.
"Dear me!" she says, witb a shy, girlish
langh, MoBhing vividly, and looking, as
she always does look, with that "celes
tial rosy red" tint glowing through ber
clear, fair whiteness, most temptingly
sweet and lovable, "I never minded, I
did not notice when we came to the cross
roads! We must go home by the ruins of
the old church now."
"1 have something to say to you, Mu
riel, before we go home," Major Llewel
lyn says, not alluding to the mistake in
their path, which indeed has been quite
voluntary on his side. "I had a good deal
to aay to you when I followed you this
evening," be goes on, with a slight, rather
reproachful smile, "a great deal I want
ed to tell you, and to consult you about;
but you have simplified it all for me, and
left me with nothing to say now except
this. Do you wish me to make your
brother understand at once, and as plain
ly as you have made me understand it,
that all promises and agreements made
this morning are null, void, and as utter
ly at an end as if they never were tbnught
of? Or do yon not think you could let him
down easy?" he says, smiling kindly an J
persuasively. "Let him find out by de
grees that we have changed our minds,
and not disappoint and vex him in the
very same day that we bad given him
such pleasant hopes."
"I cannot deceive Miles," Muriel snys,
firmly, though ber face pales at the
thought of his storm of anger and re
proaches. "I had not the slightest intention of
deceiving Miles," Eric retorts, "beyond
the keeping silence for a few days, as I
leave Ireland to-morrow evening."
"Leave Ireland?" Muriel ejaculates.
1 and a swift dismsy shadows all the fair
young face upturned to gaze on his in
the soft evening light, and her eyes are
glimmering through thick-coming tears.
It is as much as he can do to restrain
himself from snatching her to his heart,
and closing the sweet, dewy, wistful eyes
with a score of kisses. But he does re
strain himself, and answers her as grave
ly as ever.
"Yes, and that Is why I made the re
quest for Miles' sake," he says, quietly.
"I should write to Miles at tbe end of a
week or ten days, explaining everything.
However," he says, watching the agitat
ed young face closely, "I bow to your
decision to tell Miles this evening."
"No, no; not this evening!" Muriel says,
hurriedly and unsteadily, in a half whis
per. "To-morrow, when you are gone, I
will tell him myself."
(To be continued.)
Better than "About Itlght."
Thomas Starr King, the famous
preacher and lecturer, was settled In
California at the outbreak of the Civil
War, and to his Influence is ascribed
the change of public opinion In that
State from lukewarmness toward the
Northern cause to devoted loyalty. The
Overland Monthly haa lately publish
ed an article on this famous man from
which we take an anecdote told about
Mr. King by James T. Fields.
Mr. King, with a friend, was making
a trip through the White Mountains.
They were traveling by that most de
lightful of conveyances a country
wagon. When they stopped a few min
utes at the door of a New Hampshire
tavern, Mr. King's companion went In
to replenish their provision-basket, and
he remained In the vehicle.
One of the tall, lank, slab-sided Yan
kees that are always hanging round a
New England Inn door slouched up to
tbe team and began altering the har
ness, slackening a strap here and light
ening a buckle there, all unasked, un
til Mr. King got Impatient at the length
of the operation, and said, rather sharp
ly: "You needn't trouble yourself any
more. I think that harness Is about
right."
The Yankee finished his woik and
drawled out: "Guess right's better'D
abeaout right"
There was no reply to this. Mr.
King's friend returned, and he drove
off, confessing to a lesson which he
needed to learn, less than most of his
countrymen: "Right" la better than
"about right "
Ha Had Wheels.
"My head has been bothering me for
some time. I guess I had better go see
a doctor."
"A doctor for your head? Why not
tee a machinist?" New York Journal.
Massachusetts annually imports
from beyond her borders egg? to tbe
value of 5,000,000.
Some men so dislike the dust Licked
up by the generation they belong to,
that, being unable to pass, they iait
behind it.
The people who never make any
mistakes nor blunders have all the
necessaries of life, but miss the
luxuries.
Some can think better for others than
they can for themselves.
Don't imagine that wall flowers at a
dance have no amusement; they make
fun of tbe dancers.
The man who worries is Dot a bit
wiser than the one who burns down bis
house.
The rod, judiciously applied, is the
best tonic for man or beast.
There are those men who never knew
the luxury of being homesick.
If tbe gossip would think more, her
tongue would get more rest.
There is no such thing as commit
ting one sin and stopping there.
The poorest man may give as much
as the richest, if be will give all be
can.
Wuack! bam! whack. wnacK. wnaca-.,
echoed through tne country stillness oi
a South Carolina afternoon a. the- man,
reaching upward from where he stood
on tiptoe on tbe rlcketty step of a corn
house hammered tbe big nails steady
and-square and drove them home. Hav
ing fastened one end of a narrow board
t. the upper side of the wall he drew
It down diagonally across tbe dwarf
door and nailed It hard and fast, effect
ually preventing entrance. This done,
he picked up half a dozen fowls, which
laid tied together on tbe ground and
went to the open door of the cabin,
brushing ruthlessly against the blooms
of a red japonica bush In his baste.
All was dark inside. Tbe wood In thi
fireplace was only smoldering, not
burning." The daylight of tbe gray
afternoon that stole In through tbe
heavy shuttered window showed that a
woman sat in one corner.
"Here, you there!" called the man-,
."you understand that if you rip off that
board and use any corn out of that
house yeu go to jail you aud your old
aoaa both! You understand 7'
"I know, but you atn't doing us ,
right," answered tbe woman. "We's
paid out for tbe things, not 'ecuin (ex- .
cepting) tbe picture what you fetched J
last. Here's tbe papers what tbe mens
give us, every time they been here." '
-"I never authorized anybody to col
lect payment, and you owe me clear
$15, not to say Interest, since April. I'll J
send back in a week for that corn and
If you've laid a finger on It you'll be
sorry. Where's your husband?
"I dunno; out gittln' wood, I reckon.
Since you'se tooken the feather bed and
tbe pick of tbe quilts we'll have to keep
up a steady fire to warm by."
"Well, you make 'Riah understand
what I say; you bear!"
"Mr. Beckwlth ain't goln to touch
nothin',' said the woman In a de
pressed voice. "But you'se mighty hard
on us old people- - You ain't leave us
veu a pallet to raise from," eying ,
wistfully the feathered bunch hanging j
limp and resigned by their yellow legs.
"You couldn't 'low me dat speckled
hen? She's a sure layer and an awful
good mother. I'd save you a couple of
tbe first chickens she'd hatch If you'd
gree to It."
Tbe speaker came forward and re
garded ber creditor pleadingly, a re
pressed eagerness In her manner as
though she half expected be would
comply. She was tall, with a smooth,
shining, bronze-brown skin and good
features, showing little trace of the
thick lips, flat nose and receding fore- I
head of the typical negro.
"Speckled hen, Indeed!" said the man,
waving her off. "I've got her now; the J
chickens she mitht raise I might never :
see. I'm up to your tricks! Get sorue '
ef your neighbors to raise on shares
with you. Don't meddle with the corn-1
house, now," he called as he drove off j
In bis rattling road cart "Tbe law
drove them nails and It will be the
worse for you if you draw any of them
ant."
Heartsle Beckwith stepped outside
after he was gone and looked at tha
cornhouse door with the tell-tale board
across Its face, then she looked pathet
ically at the open trap door of the little
fowlbouse opposite.
"It won't be no use to shut l to
night," she muttered. "We's ruinated,
plumb ruinated, and there ain't nobody
and not bin' to turn to."
Half uncoiisclouly she looked hi the
direction of the long avecue of oaks
that stretched across the big flat field
In front of the ca bin. As she stood thus
an elderly negro In a tattered coat,
with his bead tied up In a motley collec
tion of scarfs and strings, came up be
hind ber.
"Is dat debll gone?" he asked In a
thin, high voice. !
"Yes. Mr. Beckwlth. He's gone, and
everything gone with him, 'acusin'
the corn and that little handful of jea J
vines in the corn house, what we ain't
to lay hands on. Everybody goln' to
know now that we's been shut up and
disgraced."
"la you show him tbe papers what
the mens give you In 'sideration of the
taters and cotton and things what we
pay out on de clock debt?"
"Yes. But that make no direr. lie
tell It as bow we give the things to the
wrong men. rapscallion men "-hat he
ain't send to fetch 'em. He wouldn't
leave me so siuch as that sperkled hen
what's such s regular layer. It's wick-'
ed for troybody to eat a hen like that,
what pays for herself over and over
every year." j
"Come In out of tbe damp, baby," was
all that Mr. Beckwlth said, and as they
entered tbe cabin, where a light-wood
knot In the chimney place blazed up
abruptly In welcome, a brnzen-tongued
clock on a shelf struck thirteen In hur
ried, uneven tones. Mr. Becklwth's 1
face brightened. "It's got us In a lot of
trouble, but It's mighty good company."
he said, looking up at tbe tall clock In
Its gaudy frame.
Peck! peck! as of a sharp bill striking
oa bare boards came from the Inner
reorn. Mr. Beckwlth looked at his wife
Inquiringly. j
"The rumplns pullet!" ahe explained, j
"While the btickra and the dog was '
runuiu down the other fowls It fly in
there and squat down nnder the bed,
so I Just shut tbe door aud ain't say
nothin". Seemed like the Lord aimed
for we to keep it."
Her companion chuckled. "There.
near 'oout rour bushel of corn down
yonder in the fence corner," he said, '
"but it ain't gone there Itself. I took It !
out while he was gone to the sto' for
nails. He ain't goln' to miss it out of
the main batch."
The rumplus pullet, released from
confinement, stepped out near Ha mis
tress, pecking at the oven, against tha
rim of which a few crumbs from the
last cwks4 bread sttjekjast,
The pullet's red feathers stood tap
mutinously; It was not propose oesl ay.
In appearance, but Heartsle took It up
and stroked it gently. "It's one of the
four that was band raised," ahe said.
"That what make It come la bare te
bide. That white hen what died on the
nest was Its mother."
A boy of about 10 years came In with
his arms full of wood. He put his bur
den down, then drew near one corner
of tbe fireplace and stood silent, look
ing into the flames.
"Is you hungry, bud?" asked his
grandmother. "There's a piece of corn
take in the cupboard. Where'a Bel
lum?"
"I left blm In the branch. He had
jump a rabbit." replied the child.
"That dog got sense." pronounced Mr.
Beckwith. "He know when there sint
nothin' fresh In tbe house. If that dock
man bad knowed he'd a' cagried Bot
lum off long wld the other things. You
see! If he don't fetch In a rabbit to
night he'll get one by sunup. He's sut
tlngly a knowln' dog."
Humpy was asleep and BoHutn, the
yellow spotted cur, dozed fitfully be
fore the Are that night, but the excite
ment of the afternoon had banished
slumber from tlfe eyes of Heartele and
her spouse. They discussed and rediav
cussed every phase of the situation.
"Is you think to mention them things
to him, baby?" the old man ask9d.
"Them things is rightly worth a heap
more than $15."
"I ain't crack my teeth on Mm about
em," said his wife. "I just was all
timersMEi like for fear he would re
s'archln' c-bout and stumble on 'em. It
never 'crrred to him though to look la
that old trunk with the cover all teared
loose and rags stick! n' out. He'd'a
took 'em soon as his eyes light on 'em,
but it wouldn't have been for no pay be
would have took. He'd 'a' said as w
stealed them things and had us op be
fore the trial Justice you as a "specta
ble uiQuiber In good etandln' and me
what is always been held to be a right
eous Hvln' woman. He'd a tooken that
ground stt"
"I believe your ejaculated 'Riah,
looking admiringly at bis quicker-wit-ted
partner. "I never thought of that!"
"Mr. Beckwlth," said Heartsle at
length In an Impressive undertone. "I's
got a notion that them things Is a car
ry in' us t tbe devil. I'a ponders ted on it
now a long time, when you atn't had no
notion I was ponders tin', and accordtn'
to my stakln' off we won't have no let
up tb!3 goln' down hill we're dotn' Oil
we gets rid of them things for good and
all. Ain't we work hard this year every
day the Lord send?" she went on.
"Dat's what we done," affirmed her
spouse.
"Well! Ain't we try our best las'
year?"
"Dat we did."
"And de-$ear before that? Ain't we
always been bard workln', and ain't
everything gone against us? The chol
era Iclllln' off us hogs and fowl and
t'lng.i a ad sklppln' other people's? Our
cow erackin' of her oeck "in tbe ditch
and Black Sally just naturally gittln'
poorer and more perish-away lookln',
tbe more feed we give her? Till the boss
say we can't keep her no longer? Ain't
all this what I tellln' you precisely so?"
Mr. Beckwlth nodded. His pipe had
long sjnee gone out and be did not
know It.
"Well! Mark my words!" emphasis
ing them with uplifted finger. "Just se
long as that candlestick and that
breastpin and that piece of watch chain
stay there in that trunk where they la
the olJ boy's goln' to follow us."
Mr. Beckwlth groaned with excess of
Interest and belief.
"Well! what kin' we do?" he asked,
helplessly. "Fling 'em away? Bury
'em, what? If we was to try to sell
"em we'd git took up.".
"Fling 'em away! Bury 'em!" re
peated his wife. "What good would
that do? Uriah Beckwlth, there's no
such a thing as 'tonement, 'tenement
for wrongdoln'! If we could hit on a
plan to have them things go back to tha
fambly they b'longs to the old boy
would quit nottcin' of us so close and
particular. We's In a worse fix than
w,e ever been In yet to-night, and If wa
don't watch out plagues worse than
the white preacher tell about la 'goln'
to 'stroy us finally."
"But the fambly all la dead or else
more off, even the house burn down
and the land sell or goln' to be sell,"
said Mr. Beckwlth.
T know. Uriah, what was It the old
boss used to think more of than any
thing else 'sides good eatln' and drink
In' and he wife and children?"
"A good horse," ventured Uriah. His
wife looked disdainful.
"His hounds, fishlnT" Heartsle shook
her head.
"I dunno, less 'en you mean his nig-
pers. Since you talk 'bout glvln' of the
things back, supposln' we dig deep In
his grave and bury 'em there. He'll
have 'em then for aura, nobody else.
His grave right there by the church
without no headstone."
Heartsle still looked Inscrutable.
"They ain't doin' nobody no good In
the trunk and they wouldn't be doin'
no good bury In the ground," she said.
"Since you ain't 'member nothin' I
mind you bow the marster think a
heap of he church, how he never miss
a Sunday 'tendln there and was a high
sitting member that's Just the same
as saying he give money regIar and a
heap of It. Now, If we give them things
to the church In he name It would be a
'tonement Just like It tell 'bout In the
book."
Mr. Beckwlth waa strongly stirred.
He gazed at bis partner aa though he
thought her Inspired.
"If. we could give them things to the
earns church," went oa Heartsle, "my
poor Begins, would rest more content
eder In her grave and we'd have better
luck to pervlde for ber orphan chile,"
glancing at the corner where Humpy,
rolled up head and ears, slumbered
peacefully. "I'a wished many times I
had had the apunk to own that my gal
took them things snd give them back
as waa right and proper. When 'Qlfla
was little and used to lift things out of
ladles' rooms and out of the pantry
closet I used to steal 'em back In place
and scold and whip ber, but, after ahe
got grow'd and was such a likely gal
as could speak np so smart, I hated to
own aa ahe was a common nigger
thief."
"How yon am to give these things
back, baby?" asked the old man. "The
church la ahut np these days. There
never la anybody atlrrln' 'bout there."
"I hear Em-Ilne say yisterday that
there's goln' to be preachin' there this
Sunday. People la comln' over here
from the city and they geln' to dredl
cate It over again. 8he say if s a 'ver
sary and that If s the oldest church In
the whole country. There's to be a'
excursion."
"But how we kin manage?"
"I plan It ont like this," aaidHeartsIe.
"When they lifts the collection (dey
calls It the loftory In the white folks'
church) yen could tote up the things
and band 'em In and 'splaln where they
come from and how It hi a 'tonement
we made wld 'em."
"Before all the people?"
"Yea. 'Course the book say about ac
knowledge' before men. I would aay
It myself, but It ain't respectful for
women to speak In church, and If I
patch you up proper seeming and do you
up a shirt with rice starch you'd look
better than me."
The rededlcatlon of St Jude's took
place the next Sunday. The excur
sionists were there in numbers. Many
saw the old negro, with his gray wool
combed Into order and his shabby ault
brushed slick and span, walking up the
aisle at a respectful distance behind the
acting vestrymen. Only those nearest
could hear what he said, aa, having
deposited his burden, be bent low be
fore the church officers and made hur
ried obeisance to the minister. Before
they had recovered from the surprise
sufficiently to question him he was al
ready half way to tbe door, mopping
bis brow that waa moist with tbs
stress of exertion.
"Luck will turn now, see If it don't,"
said Heartsle, as she Joined him. New
York Evening Post.
May Be a Prehlatorlo Boat.
Maj. O. A. Vandegrtft, of the Board
ef Administration, who was eighteen
years la the lighthouse service on the
Ohio River, tells ef an Interesting relic
of prehistoric ages that lies embedded in
tbe river embankment a little below
low water mark. The spot Is a short
distance from Barton's Landing on the
Illinois side of the river, nearly 600
miles below Cincinnati. There at the
rare Intervals in which the river stage
la at a very low point la seen protrud
ing from the bank and Inclined at a
slightly upward angle a portion of a
fiatboat built of oak. The Umbers, as
far as can be seen, are rough and ap
pear to have been hewn with an un
evenly edged tool, probably of flint,
and are held together with wooden
pegs. The protruding portion Is small,
but there is enough to indicate consid
erable skill in the fashioning of the
boat.
Maj. Vandegrift and several other
officers have seen It only a few times in
the many years they were employed
on the river, and once they examined
It closely. The wood Is now as bard as
Iron, and In a splendid state of pres
ervation, on account of having been
under the water for such a lengthened
period.
From the formations of the bank and
the surroundings, which have not
changed In the slightest within the
memory of man. the Major thinks the
subsidence that burled the boat under
the embankment must have taken
place ages ago. When telling of It he
said he has often regretted that be did
not make an effort to have it removed
and placed In a museum. Such action
may yet be taken when tbe fact of the
boat's existence and location becomes
more generally known. Cincinnati
Commercial Tribune.
Killed by Tta m.
A remarkable cause of death from
fright was the case of the famous
pointer Poutxnan. He was at work In
his studio, where there were a number
of death's heads and skeletons, when
he happened to fall asleep. During his
sleep there was a slight shock of earth
quake, and when he woke up suddenly
he saw the skeletons and skulls dancing
round In the greatest confusion. He at
once became panic-stricken, and rushed
across the room and threw himself out
of the window on to the pavement be
low. He died In a few days after, not
from Injuries received In the fall, but
from the nervous shock given by the
dancing skeletons, though the cause of
the festivity was explained to him.
' "Repeating."
Few persona appreciate the vast
harm that may be done by repeating
to one person a derogatory remark
made about her to another. To rehearse
a kind or complimentary comment can
seldom have an unfortunate effect In
deed, It may do good. But If a speech
oontalns even the suggestion of fault
finding or disapproval It should never
be told. It Is a little matter that kin
dles many fires of angry feeling. It
irks one unspeakably to know that his
actions have been adversely comment
ed upon by a third person, and behind
his back, when he cannot defend him
self. None of us has the gift to see our
selves as others see us, and we like to
deceive ourselves Into the notion that
all our friends approve of what we do.
Moreover, a comparatively innocent
remark assumes gigantic proportions
to our disordered imaginations when
we receive It second-hand. One good
man resolved long ago never to repeat
ts an acquaintance anything that had
been said of him unless It would have
the tendency to make him feel better
satisfied with himself and with ths
person who spoke it Harper's Baxar
A dozen times a day something oo
eura to remind a man that he would be
In a position to laugh more, If be had
REV. DR, TALMAGE.
: Eminent Divine's Sunday
Discourse.
Subeet: 'An Kveryday Christ."
Text: "-;he. supposing Him to be the Ran
dener." Juhu xx.. 15
Here lire Mary Magdalen ajd Christ, just
after His resurrection. For 40 0 vears a
grim and cMstlv tyrant had Iwn killing
people unci dragging them into his cold pal
ace. H- had a pas on for human skulls.
For lory wntiirii-s Hm hs l ben unhindered
in his work. It- hit I tHkn down kiniM ami
queens aud -noit"rors an I tho without
lame. thnt oil nla- there were
Fholvesof sknH no I pIIIhim of skulls anil
HltHnof skull ho I even th chalices at the
tab h were in uie of bleithe I skulls. To the
skeleton of AUel lie ha I a t led the skeletons
of nil the ni?es. unit no one hn-t disputed hi"
riifht until one Oood Friday, about 1H67
years aito. as near as I can .-alculule. It, a
M irhty Htraneer i-ime to th door of that
awful pltiee. rolled back the door, and went
in, and seising the tyrant, threw htm to the
ptvemeut nn i put upon the tyrant's neok
the heel of triumph.
Then the Miirhtv Stranger, explorinitall
the ehti-llv f until nre oi th place and walk
ins In roust It the li'.yrinlhs. and ooenla? thn
dark cellars of mystery and tarrying under a
rojf tbe rihs of w tioh wern raidn of hu'nati
hones tarrying for two ul'hts ami dnv,
the nights very dark snd the day very dis
mal. He wir. -d the two chief pillars of that
awful pnlncn an I rocked them until It began
lo tall, nn I th jn. laying hoi I of thn ponder
ous front gate, hoistod it from tts hinges am)
marehel forth crying, am the resurrec
tion." That ev -lit we eelehrate this Eastei
morn, Haudeli in and Beethnvean miracles
of sun I ad led to this floral Uecor-itloa
which has set the place abloom.
There are thro or four thing which the
worl t an t the church have not noticej in re
card to the resurrection of Christ. First,
our Lord in gardeo-r's ultire. Mary Mag
dalene, grief struck, slan ts by the rifled sar
cophagus of Christ an 1 tunn nround, hun
iu she can flod thetraeksof the sacrilegious
resurrectionist who has despoiled the grave,
and she fin ts some one in working apparel
come forth as ir io water the flowers or up
root the weeds from the garden or set to re
climbiug the falling vine some one in
working apparel. His garments, perhaps,
having the sign of the dust and the dirt ol
the occupation.
Mary SittgdHieu", on her faco the rain of a
frwh shower of weeping, turns to this work
man and charges him with the desecr.ition
of the tomh, when, lo! the stranger responds,
flinging His whole soul Into one word which
tremnlee with all the sweetest rhythm of
erth and h 'aven. saying, "Mary!" In that
peculiarity of accentuation all the incognito
fell off, and fhe found that instead of talking
with an humble gardener of Asia Minor, she
was talking with Him wbo'ownsalltbnhang
nit gardens of henveu. Constellations the
clusters o' forgetmenots, the sunflower the
chief of all. the morning sky and midnight
aurora, flaring terraces of beauty, blading
likea summer Willi with coronation roses
and glanls of l-attle. Blessed and glorious
mistake o! M iry Magdalene! "rihe, suppos
ing Him to In the gardener." What does
that mean? It mentis that we havean every
day Christ for everyday work in everyday
apparel. Not on Habbath morning in our
most seemly apparel are we more attractive
to Chrint I dnti we are in our everyday work
dress, inanjgin our merchandise, smiting
our anvi', plowing our Held, tending the fly
ing shuttles, meinlintr the garments for our
household, providing food for our families
or tolling with weary pen or weary pencil or
weary chis-t. A working day Christ in work
ing tlay apparel for us in our everyday toll.
Put it Into the highest strain of tuis Easter
uithem. "Supposing Himto be the gardener."
If Christ had appeared at daybreak with a
crown npon His head, that would have
seemed to surliest especial sympathy for
munarhs. It rhrist had appeared in chain
of gol t and with robe diamonds I, that would
hav seenie t to he i special sympathy for the
affluent. If Christ bad appeared with sol
dier's sash hii I sword dangling at His side,
Ih'it would luiv.i seemed to Imply especial
sympathy for warriors. But when I And
Christ in ganlener's habit, with perhaps the
flakes of the earth and of the up urued soil
upon His garments, then I spell it out that
HO as hearty and pathetic understanding
with everyday work and overyday auxiety
nd everyday fatigue.
Roll it dowu in comfort all through these
aisles. A working d ly Christ in working
day apparel. Tell it in the darkest corridor
of the mountain to tbe poor miner. Tell it
lo the factory maid iu most unventilated
sta lishmem at Lowtll or Lancaster. Tell
It to the clearer of roughest new ground in
western wilderness. Tell ft to the sewing
wo an, a stitch in the side for every stitch
In tbe trartm-nt, some of their cruet em
ployers having no right to think that they
will get through the door of heaven any
more than they could through the eye of u
broken nee tie which has Just dropped on the
bare floor from the pricked and bleeding
Angers of the consumptive s iwlng girl.
Away with your ta:k about hypostatic uuion
nod soterlology of tbe council of Trent and
the metnphvs.es of religion which would
freeze practical Christianity out of the world,
but pass along this gardener's coat to all
nations that thev may touch the hem of it
and feel the thrill of the Christ iy brother
hood. Not supposing the man to be Cresar.
not supposing Him to he Socrates, but "sup
posing Him to ie the gardener."
on, tnat is what helped Joseph Wedgwood.
toiling ami I the beat and the dust of tbe
potteries, until be could make for Oneen
Charlotte the nrst royal table service of Eng'
lish manufacture. That was what heiped '
James Watt, scoffed at and caricatured until
he could put on wheels the thunderbolt of
power which roars by day and by night in
every furnace of the locomotive engine of
Amer ck. That is what helped Hugh Miller,
toiling amid ibe quarries of Cromarty, uutii
every rock, became to him a volume of tbe
world s biography, and he round tl:e foot
step of th Cre nor in the old ie.l sandstone.
O'. the world wants a Christ for tbe office,
a Christ torthe kitchen, a Christ for the shop,
a Christ for the bankiug house, a Christ tor
Ibe Kiirdeu. w.dle spiding and irrigating the
territory! On, of course we waut to see
Christ at last lu royal robe and bediamonded,
a celestial equ ntriau mounting the white
hors. but from this Easter of 1897 to our
last Easter on earth we inot need to see
Christ as Mary ila;dalene saw Him nt the
daybreak, "supposing Him to be tho gar
dener." Auo her thing which the church and the
world have not noticed In regard to the ros
urrectiou of Christ is thnt Ho made His first
post mortem appearance to oue wno had been
tbe teven deviled Mary Magdalene, Oue
wonld have supposed He would have made
His llrst posthumous appearance ton woman
who had always been illustrious for good-a-s.
There are saintly women who have always
been saintly saintly in girlhood, saintly io
infancy, always saintly. Jn nearly all our
families there have been saintly aunts. In
my family circle it was talutly annt Phebei
in yours saintly aunt Martha or saintly aunt
Ruth. Oue always sainily. But not no was
the one spoken of in the text.
While you are not to confound her with
the repentant courtesan who boil made her
long locks do the work of towel at Christ's
foot washing, you are not to forget that she
was exorcised of seven devils. What a capi
tal of demonology she must have beeu! What
a chorus of all diabolism! Seven devils
two for the eyi s and two for the bauds and
two for the feet and one for the tongue.
Sev. n dev'.lf : yet nil theso nre extirpated,
and now she is ns good ns once she was bad,
ant Christ honors her with tbe first posthu
mous appearance. What does that mean?
hy, it means for worst sinner greatest
grace; it means those lowest down shall
come, perhnjis, highest np; it means thnt tbe
c ock mat strikes 12 at midnight may strike
12 at triidiKniD-. it means that the trace ;
God Is ven Junes stronger than sin. Mar)
alagoalcne the seven deviled becam Slur
OTagdnlene 'inj srvsn angeled, ft mean
that when tbe Lord meets us at Inst He will
not throw np to' us what we have been. All
He said to her was, -'Mary!' Many people
having met her under such circumstance!
would have said: "Let me see, how mam
devils did you have? One, two, three, four,
five, six. seveu. What a terrible niece you
were when I first met yon !" Tbe moat of
the Christian women in our day would hav
nothing to do with Mary Mag'laleue even
ntterber conversion, lest somehow they le
compromised. The only thing I have to sat
against women ts that they have not enough
mercy for Mary Magdalene. Christ put ail
pa'hos and ail rminiscenc an 1 all anticipa
tion and all p-irdon an 1 all comfort and all
heaven into one word of four letters,
"Mary!" Mark you. Christ did not appear
to some Bible E izabeth or Bible H innahot
Kible Either or Bible Dehor n or Bible Vash
ti. hut to Mary; not to Marv against whom
nothing was said: uot to Mary the mother of
Jesus; not to Marv the mother of James: not
to Mary the sister of Laz irus, but to seven
devi nd Marv.
There Is a man sovan dev led tevil of
av irioe. devil of priji. devil of hate, devil
of indolence, devil of falsehood, devil of
strong drink, devil of Imitritv. Got can
take them nil away, seven or seventv. I rode
over the new cantilever bridge th it spans
Niagara a bridge 910 feet long. 8V) feet of
chasm from bluff to bluff. I p issed over tt
without any anxiety. Why? Because twenty-two
locomotives and twenty-two ear
laden with gravel h id teste t the bridge,
thousands of people standing on the Can
stian side, thousands staudingonthe Ameri
can side to app'au I the achievement. And
however long the train of our immortal In
terests may be. we are to remember that
God's bridge of mercy sp inning the chasm
of sin has been f-illv teste I by th awlul ton
nage of all tho pardons 1 sin of all tbe ages,
church militant standing on one bank,
church triumphant standing on the other
hank. Oh, It wm to the seven d-viled M iry
that Christ ma te His first post mortem a v
penrance.
There is another thing that the world and
the church have not o'.nerv- 1 in regard to
this resurrection, an 1 that is, it w.is the
morning twilight.
If the chronometer ha I hwn invented and
Mary had as good a wiiteb ns some o' the
Marys of our time have, she would have
found It was about half past 5 o'clock a. ni.
Matthew says it was iu the ilawn; Mark says
It was very early in the morning; John s ivs
It was while it was yet dark. In other words,
it was twilieht. That was the o'clo k at
which Mary Magdalene pustook Christ for
the gar leni-r. What does thut in 'any It
means there are pha lows over the grave liu
lifte.l shadows of mystery that are hover
lug. Mary stiiof e I down and tried to look
to the other end of the crypt. She gave hys
teric outcry. She could not .e to the other
rn t of the crypt. Neither ran you -see to the
other end of the grave of your dead. Neither
can we see lothe other end of ourown grave.
Oh, if there were shadows -er the family
plot belonging to Joseph oT Arimatuen, Is it
strange that there shou hi be pome shadows
over our family lot? Easter dawn, not Easter
noon.
Shadow of unanswere 1 question' Why
were they taken away from us? Why were
they ever given to us if they were to be takcu
so soon? Why were thev taken s suddenly?
Wtty could they not have uttere 1 some fare
well words? Why? A short question, but n
whole cruciflxiou of agony in it. Why?
Shadow on the graves of good men and
women who seemed to die before their work
was don. Shadow on till the graves of
children because we ask ourselves why so
beautirul a craft was launched at all if it was
to be wrecked one mile outside of tho harbor?
But what did Mary Magdalene have to do iu
or ler to get more light on that grave? She
hud ou'.y to wait. After awhile the Easter
aun rolled up, and the whole place was
ftoode 1 witti light. What have you and I to
do in order to get more light on our own
graves and light upon the grnvuj of our
di ar loved ones? Only to wait.
Charles V. of Spain, with Ids servants'and
torch-s. went down into the vault of tbe
necropolis where his ancestors were buried,
and went deeper, farther on until he came to
across nround which were arranged the
caskets of his ancestors. He also found a
casket contnfning the body of one of his own
family. He had that casket opeued, and thore
by emi almerart he found that lb body was
as perfect as eighteen ycirs before when
It was emtombed. But under tbe explora
tion bis body snd mind perished. Oh,
my friends, do not let ns morbidly
utruggle- with the shadows of the sepul
cher. What are we to do? Wa t. It is
not the evening twilight that gets darker
and darker. It is the morning twilight that
gets brighter and brighter Into the perfect
day. I preach it to-day. Sunrise over
I'e're le Chaise, sunrise over Greyfriars
ehurhyard, sunrise over Gro-nwood, over
Woodlawn, over Laurel Hill, over Mount
Auburn, ovur Congressional burying ground,
tunrlse over ev-ry country graveyard, sun
rise over the catacomb, sunrise over the
sarcophagi where the ships I io buried. Half
past 6 o'clock among the tonils now, but
soon to be the noonday of explanation and
beatitude. It was in tiie morning twilight
that Mary Magdalene mistook Christ for a
gardener.
Another thing the world and the church
have not observed that i, Christ's pnthetto
credential. How do you know it was not
a gardener? li s garments said He was a
gardener. The flakes of the upturned earth
scattered upon His garments Fiiid He was a
gardener. How do you know He was not a
gardener? Ah! Before E ister had gone by
He gave to some of Hts disci pies His three
credentials. Heshowedthem Hishandsand
His side. Three paragrapiis written iu rigid
or depressed letters. A s-'ar in the right
I aim, a soar In the left pulm, a pear amid
the ribs scars, scars. That is the way they
knew Him. That is tho way you and 1 will
know Him.
After Christ's interment every cellular
tissue broke down, and nerve and artery and
brain were a physiological wreck", and yet
He comes up swarthy, rubicund and well.
When I see alter such mortuary silence such
radiant appearance, thnt settles it that
whateverahouht he-ome of the bodies of
our Christian dead, they are guing to come
up, the nerves resirung, tho optic nerve reil
Inmined. the ear dmm a-vibrate. the whole
body lifte I up, without its weaknesses and
worl lly uses lor which there ts no re., hit
tion. Come, ts it not almost time lor us to
go out to meet our reanimate 1 deao? i'ii
you not h at the lifting ol ihe rusted latcn?
Oil, the glorious thought, the glori ous
consolation of this subject when 1 ltnd
Christ coming up without any or the lacera
tions for you must leme.nber He was lac
erated and wonti ted fear. ully iu the cruci
fixion coming up without one! What does
that make me think? That the grave will
get nothing of us except our wounds aud
Imperfections. Christ weut into the grave
exhausted and bloodless. All the current of
His lile had poured nut from His wounds.
He bad lived a life ol trouble, sorrow and
privation, and theu He di si a lingering
death. His entire bo 'y bung on four
spikes. No invalid of twenty years suffer
ing ever weut into the grave so whlto and
ghastly and broken dowu as Christ, and yet
here He comes up ho ruhieuu I an 1 robust
she supposed Him to be the gardeuer.
Ah, all the Bnleaches, ami the headaches,
and tbe backaches, and the leg aches, and
the heart aches we will leave where Christ
left His! The ear will come up without its
heaviness, tbe eye will come up without its
dimness, the luugs will come up without op
pressed respiration. Oti, what races we will
ruu when we become immortal athletes! Oh,
what circuits we will take when, all earthly
Tiieife-tions HUb-tr.i.-te 1 and alt celestial
velocities add d, we shall set np our resi
dence in that city which, though asterthnn
ill the cities of this world, shall never have
sue obsequy!
Standing this morning round the shattered
maoury of our Lord's tomb, I point yon to
a world without hearse, without iiiufflw.1
drum, without tumulus, without catatalquo
and without a tear. Amid nil the cathedrals
of the blessed no longer the "Dead March
in Saul," but whole l.brettl of "Halleluiah.
Chorus." Oh. put trtitni et to Hp and linger
to key and loving forehead ugnint the
bosom of a risen Chr.st! ilulloluiuh, amuul
Haileluiah amen'
Too many people are singing, "Scat
ter sunshine," and waiting for some-'
body else to do it.
A blind man's opinion of the sua is
based on what he has learned from the
eanh with his cane.
Many a man can buy a mansion who
cannot tupport the back piazza.
Tnere isn't enough gold in the world
to make a discontent d man rich.
Whenever a boy says he is not hun
gry it is a sign he is polite.
What we know r.bout ouraclvea
we
do not want others to tell us.