THE CONSTITUTION THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT -OF THE LAWS.
F. BOHWEIEB.
I I
MIFFLINTOWN, JUNIATA COUNTY. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. FEBRUARY 16.1898.
VOL. LII
NO. 10.
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CHAPTER I.
It wrs the close of vn autumn day, ami
Dr. Stephen Letsoni had been standing
for some time at his window watching
the sun go down. It faded slowly out ol
the western sky. There was something ol
sadness in tne w no.e - j
The doctor evidently shared it The ac .
looKin; irom ..
but a cheerful one. He was to all intents
nd purposes a disappointed man. Years
before, when his eyes were bright with
the fires of youth, nnd hope was strong
In his heart, he had invested such money
as he possessed in the purchase of n prac
tice at Castledene, and it had proved to
be a failure why, no one exactly knew.
Castledene wns one of the prettiest little
towns in Kent, It had a town-hail, a market-place,
a weekly market, and the re
mains of a fine old cnstle; but it was prin
cipally distinguished for its races, a year
ly event which brought a great influx of
visitors to the town. It was half buried
In foliage, surrounded by dense woods and
green hills, with a clear, swift river run
ning by. The inhabitants were divided
Into three distinct class" the poor, who
gained a scanty livelihood by working in
the fields, the shop-keepers, and the pen
try, the latter class consisting principally
of old maids and widows, ladies of un
blemished gentility and limited means.
Among the latter Dr. Letsom was not
popular. He had an unpleasant fashion
of calling everything by its right uame.
If a lady would tnke a little more stim
ulant than was good for her, he could
not be persuaded to call her complaint
"nervousness;" when idleness and ennui
preyed upon s languid frame, he had a
startling habit of rousing the patient by
mental cautery. The poor idolized him,
but the ladies pronounced him coarse,
abrupt, unpleasing; and when ladies de
cide against a doctor, fate frowns upor
aim. ...
Matter . were . growing oesperace,
thought . Dr. Letsom on thla autumn :
long been evincing i
at discontent. She had not l
gh for her requirements she wanted
oney for a nunareu uiuncm iu.ub
and the doctor had none to give her.
He was almc-Bt tired of the struggle
life had not been a grand success with
him; he had worked hard, yet nothing had
.eemed to prosper. In his early youth
he had loved a bright, pretty girl, who j
bad looked forward to becoming his wife;
but he had never married, s.mpiy Decau.ie
he had not had the means, and the pretty
girl had died a sad, disappointed woman.
Now, as he watched the stars, he fancied
them shining on her grave; he fanc.cd
the grass waving above her head, so long
and cool, studded with large white dais.es;
and he wished that he were lying by ht-i
aide, free from care, and at rest.
He was turning away, with a feeling ol
t jutemut for his own weakness, when h
wns startled by the sound of 'a vehicle
driven furiously down Castle street. Ste
phen Letsom stood still and watched. IU
saw a traveling carriage, with two horses,
driven rapidly up to the door of the prin
cipal hotel the Castie Arms and there
tnnd for some minutes; but after a time
the horses' heads were turned, and then,
like a roll of thunder, came the noise of j
th n; rrinep wheels,
The vehicle drew up before his door,
and the doctor stood for a few moments
as though pnralyzed. Then came a vio
lent pe.il of the door bell; and he, know
ing that Mrs. Gaibraith had retired for
the evening, went to answer it. There,
kwlped, in the starlight, were the hand
some traveling carriage, the pair of gray
horses, and the postilion. Stephen Let
som looked about him like one in a dream.
He had been twenty years in the place,
yet no carriage had ever stopped at his
door.
lie heard a quick, impatient voice, say
ing: "Are you the doctor Dr. Lptsom?"
Looking in the direction of the sound,
the doctor saw a tall, distinguished look
ing man, wrapped in a traveling cloak
a man whose face and manner indicate d at
om e that he belonged to the upper ranks
of society. Dr. Stephen Letsom was
auiek to recognize that fact.
i am ine uocior. u ,
ne repnea qu:etiy
tn nUiiost mad. My wife has been sml-
aeniy mwen iu. am. u u.
noie,. snere ioe, u,.,t .
mom in which they can lodire her. the 1
. . . .... - . u i ,
"I will do what I can," returned the
doctor.
Had fortane indeed knocked at his door
at last?
lie went to the carriage door, and, look
Ini: inside, saw a lady, young and beau
tiful, who stretched out her hands to him.
as though appealing for help.
"I am very ill," she moaned feebly.
lht. .a he stood ycatcWng tne enrysan- i tw uuw-- - i:nrea nc
etD.ara. and t f yia g ghJb jSe Ji'gg'OJ .-bftJfl WL unV r, . 22fld inst
1 l:mn 4 i T1 P TL-'- .uha. . rw . . .1 HBr
nutiui'iutt r-' uKtti'"i ma con Kmc tie rerusea u in lue mm.
... innr
Pr. Letsora guessed so much from her ,,T, . x. , ,.,
pallid face and shadowed eyes. , .Do fpr the worat. he said "She
"What is the matter with your wife?" !n th ;.hnnds of n- fm
he asked of the strange gentleman, who ' ,'ly Fd"?ary Precautions. I do not say
bent down and whispered something that e,,e 19 ,n ,!nnser I merely say that she la
ma.le Dr. Letsom himself look anxious. noi. wel! ns "hu'd iike to see her."
"Now. doctor." said the traveler, "it is Z1 hrt'e o clock struck. A sweet voice,
nseless to raise objections. You see how "ipt nl -'r. broke the silence of the
the matter stands; my wife must stop o.euin scene. . r .
here. The hotel is full of visitors-people 'IIu'",t? here IIuDert? I must
win. are here for the races. There is no- ,e . w . .
wheie else for her to go she must stay A ,fp,w p later Lord Charlewood
j,,.re, stood by the side of his young wife.
"Wait one moment." said the doctor; I ''H"lert " he said to him with ont
and he hastened to rouse his housekeeper, ! Wretched hands. ' Hubert, my husband, I
ho, curious and interested, exerted her- m s" fngh'ened. I hey do not tell me
elf so as to satisfy even the stranger. tlip ,ruth- Am 1 K,n to d,e?
Then the strange lady, all white and j
tren:V:iv.', was helped down from the car , bent down to kiss her-
ri.ie lu;o ti:e doctor's shabby little par- , 'Die darling? No. certainly not.
lor.
Am I coing to die?" she asked, raising !
her la rge blue eyes to the doctor's face. I
'Certainly not." he replied
promptly;
"inu must not think of dying.
"Have you any brandy In the nouseT
asked the traveler. "See how my wife
trembles."
. . Av . j t rri ...
or e ,or ?utlu"
IVitlt' TIT' JLSE:i
tient murmur, the stranger called to the
postilion and sent him to the Castle Anna
with such an order as made Mrs. Gal
braitb open her eyes in wonder. Then,
without seeming to notice the doctor or
jiia servant, he flung hJanU
b.v the i.idy's side, and kissed the beauti
ul white fact and colorless lips.
"My darling," he cried, "this is my
fault. I ought not to have asked yon te
audertake sucn a journey, onu ;
forgive me?"
"You did aU for the best, Hubert," she
said.
The doctor and Mrs. Galbralth led the
6e,utiful trembling K,rl to the r,
h&i bM prepared
room
for
her, and, when she was installed therein,
the doctor returned to the stranger, who
was pacing, with quick, impatient steps,
op and down the little parlor.
"I should imagine." said the strange
jentleman. "that no man like, to plmU
guilty to a folly. I must do so. Let me
first of all introduce myself to you as
I-ord Charlewood. I am the only son of
the Earl of Mouutdean, and my father
lies dying in Italy. I came of age only
last year, and at the same time I fell in
love. Now I am not in any way dependent
on my father the title and estate are en
tailedbut I love him. In these degen
erate days it seems perhaps strange to
hear a son say that he loves his father.
, I have obeyed him all my life from this
motive. I would give my life for him.
But In one respect I have done that which
will cause him great annoyance and an
ger. I have married without his kuowl
dge." The doctor looked up with great inter
est: perhaps his thoughts reverted to the
grave In the starlight. Lord Charle
wood moved uneasily in his chair.
"I cannot say that I am sorry," he con
rfnued, "for I love my wife very dearly;
but I do wish now that I had been leas
hurried, less precipitate. My wife's great
loveliness must be my excuse. She is
the daughter of a poor curate, the Itever--end
Charles Trevor, who came two years
ago to supply temporarily the place of the
Hector of Lynton. He brought his daugh
ter with him; and the first moment I saw
her I fell in love with her. My heart
seemed to go out from toe and cleave to
ner i ovei her with what I can see a'
decided manner, and told me to think no
more 0f what after all was but a boy's
fancy. After a time she consented to a
compromise to marry me without my
father's knowledge. It was a folly, 1
own; now I see clearly its imprudence
then I imagined it the safest and surest
way. We were married eleven months
go, and I have been so happy since then
tj,at it has seemed to me but a single day.
I did not take ber home to Wood Lynton,
but, laying aside all the trappings of
wealth and title, we have traveled frctn
place to place as Mr. and Mrs. Charle
wood, enjoying our long honeymoon. lint
t letter from Italy came like a thunder
bolt my father had grown rapidly vore
and wanted to see me at once. I cou'd
lot endure that he should die without see
ing, loving and blessing my wife Mada
line. I told ber my desire, and she con
sented most cheerfully to accompany me.
I ought to have known that in her state
of health traveling was most injurious.
We started on our fatal journey only
this morning. At first my wife semed to
enjoy it; and then I saw all the color fad
ing from her sweet face. It was not nn
til we reached Castledene that she gave in
nd told me she corid eo no furthpr. Still
fnu say there is no danger, and that you
do not think she will die?"
"Danger? No, I see none. Life and
death lie in the hands of One above us;
but humanly speaking, I see no fear of
danger."
Then came a summons for the doctor
from the room above, and Lord Charle
w.d was once more left alone. He wa.
a young man, and was certainly both a
g' nd and honorable one. lie hnd never
deliberately done anything wicked on the
contrary, he had tried always to do what
was best; yet, as he stood there, a strange
sense of something wanting came over
him. The young wife he loved with such
passionate worship was in the hour of
need, and he could render no assistance.
Later on a strange hush had fallen over
tlie doctor's house. It was past one in
the morning; the sky wns overcast; the
wind was moaning fitfully, as though a
storm was brewing in the autumn air. The
dew lay thick and heavy on the ground,
i Inside the house was the strange hush
th.lt danerous gickne5s
always brings
with it. The doctor had In haste snm-
I moned the best nurse in Castledene, Him
nah Furnev, wj,o shook her head gravely,
wh(,n fhfk Baw the bpnutifuI )e faoe A
. , . r
uour pnsseo, anu once more ur.
Letsora
ii'ti-lu his distinguished guest.
"I am sorry not to bring better news
le said. "Lady Mrs. Charlewood ts rH
so well as I had hoped she would be."
The sudden flash of agony that came
into Lord Charlewood's face tru a reve
lation to Dr. Ijptsnm; he laid his hand
with a gentle touch on the stranger's
arm.
; xou are going to live, to De wnat yos.
wwaya Have been, the dearest, aweetes
" e ln wnoie worm.
Then the doctor bade him leave her
he must go down to the shabby, lowly
little room, where the gas was burning,
and the early dawn of the morning was
coming in. Suddenly he heard a sound
that stirred the very depths of his heart
that brought a crimson flush to
tear, to hi. eye.. It wa. ,
his face
the faint
I crj- of a little child. Presently he heard
the footsteps of Dr. Letsom; and the next
' minnte the doctor was standing beforr
him, with a grave look on his face.
"Yog. hayt a Uttle lUo&hler," ha said
a beautiful little girl but your wife ii
In dauger; you had better come and ac
her."
Even he the doctor accustomed t
scenes of sorrow and desolation, wai
startled by the cry of pain that cam.? from
the young man's lips.
At five o'clock the young wife died ah.
had given up ber life for her child.
CHAPTER IT.
On the western slope of the little coun
try churchyard, where the warmest and
brightest snnbeams lay, under the shnda
of the rippling lime-trees, they laid Lady
Charlewood to rest. For long years af
terward the young husband was to carry
with him the memory of that green grassy
grave. A plain white cross bore for th
present her name; it said simply:
In Loving Memory of
M VDALINK OHAKLEWOOD,
who died in her 20th year.
Erected by Her Sorrowing Husband.
"When I give her the maonument she
deserves," he said, "I can add no more."
Then came the morrow, when he bad
to look his life in the face agai-n life
that he found so bitter without Mada
llne. What of little Madaline, the child
wh nad her dead mother's large blue eyps
and golden hair? Again Lord Charle
wood and the doctor aat in solemn con
clave; this time the fate of the little out
hung in the balance.
Lord Charlewood said that if he found
his father still weak and ill, he should
keep the secret of his marriage. Of
course, if Madaline had lived, all would
have been different he would have proud
ly owned it then. But she was dead. The
child was so young and so feeble, it seem
ed doubtful whether it would live. What
need, then, to grieve the old earl by the
story of his folly and his disobedience?
Iet the secret remain. Stephen Letsom
quite agreed with him in this; no one
knew better than himself how dangerous
was the telling of bad or disagreeabU
news to a sick man. And then Lord
Charlewood added:
"You have indeed been a friend in need
to me. Dr. Letsom. Money can no more
repay such help as yours than can thanks;
all my life I shall be grateful to you. I
am going now to Italy, and most probably
X shall -remain there until the enrl, my
father, grows better, or the end comes.
When I return to England, my first care
shall be to forward your views and pros
pects in life: until then I want you to take
charge of my child."
Among the doctor's patients was on
a-ho had Interested him very much Mar
garet Dornham. She had been a lady's
maid. She was a pretty, graceful wom
an, gentle and intelligent worthy of a
far better lot than had fallen to her.share.
6he ought to have married a well-to-do
tradesman, for whom she would have
made a most suitable wife; but she had
given her love, to a haudsone--ue'er-do-well,
with whom she had never hiVl one
moment of peace or,-happiness, rtenry
nestw borne a good chirac-
gypsy-like beauty-Abut
r-ouitlifications. He was neither
Industrious, nor honest, nor sober. His
handsome face, his dark eyes, and rich
curling ht had won the heart of the
pretty, graceful, gentle lady's maid, and
she had n-arried him only to rue the day
and hour in which she had first seen him.
They lived in a picturesqne Uttle cot
tage called Ashwood. and there Marga-tt
Dornham passed through the greatest
Joy nnd greatest sorrow of her life. Her
little child, the one gleam of sunshine that
her darkened life had ever known, was
born in the little cottage, and there it had
died. Dr. Ietsom, who was too abrupt
for the ladies of Castledene, had watched
with the greatest and most untiring car
aver the fragile life of that little child.
When a tender nurse and foster-mothei
was needed for little Madaline. the doc
tor thought of Margaret Doinham. He
felt that all difficulty was at an end. He
sent for her. Even Iord Charlewood
looked with interest at the graceful, timid
woman, whose fair young face was wo
deeply marked with lines of care.
"Will I takp charge of a little child?"
she replied to the doctor's question. "In
deed I will, and thank heaven for send
ing me something to keep my heart from
breaking."
"You feel the loss of your own little
jne very keenly?" said Lord Charlewood.
"You will spare neither expense nor trou
ble," he continued, "and when I return
you shall be most richly recompensed. If
all goes well, and the little one prospers
with you, I shall leave her with you for
two or three years at least. You have
been a lady's insid, the doctor tells me.
In what families have you lived?"
"Principally with Lady L'Estrange. ol
Verdun Royal, sir." she replied. "I loft
because Miss L'Estrange was growing
up, and my lady wished to have a French
maid."
In after years he thought how strange
rt was that he should have asked the
question.
"I want you," said Lord Charlewood.
"to devote yourself entirely to the little
one; you will be so liberally paid as not to
need work of any kind. I atn going
abroad, but I leave Dr. Letsom as the
guardian of the child; apply to him for
everything you want, as you will not b
able to communicate with nie."
In all things Margaret Dornham prom
I'Pil'obedience. One would have thought
she had found a great treasure. To her
kindly, womanly heart, the fact that she
once more held a little child in her nnns
was a source of the purest hnppiness.
The only drawback was when she reached
home, and her husband laughed coanely
at the sad little story.
"You have done a good day's work
Maggie," he said; "now I shall expect you
to keep me, and I shall take it easy."
He kept his word, and from that day
made no further effort to earn any money.
Faithful, patient Margaret never com
plained, and not even Dr. Letsom knew
how the suffering of her daily life had in
creased, even though she was comforted
by the love of the little child.
CHAPTER III.
The day came when Ixrd Charlewood
was to say good-by to his little daughter,
and the friends who had been friends in
deed. Maragret Dornham was sent for.
When she arrived the two gentlemen were
in the parlor, and she was shown in to
them. Every detail of that Interview
was impressed on Margaret's mind. The
table was strewn with papers, and Lotd
Charlewood, taking some In his band,
said:
"You should have a safe place for those,
doctor. Strange event, happen in life.
They might possibly be required some day
s evidence of Identification."
"Not much fear of that," returned the
ioctor, with a smile. "Still, as you say.
It Is bent to be cautieaa."
"Here Is the first you may as well keep
it with the rest," said Lord Charlewood;
"it is a copy of my marriage certificate. J
men yon hare here th. ceroncates or
my little daughter's birth and of my poor
wife's death. Now we will add to these
a signed agreement between yon and my
self for the sum I have spoken about."
Rapidly enough Lord Charlewood filled j
op another paper, which was signed by
(he doctor and jiimsetf ; thenStepb.es Let-
om gatheroi thein all together. Margaret
Dornham saw him take from the side
board a plain oaken box bound in brass,
and lock the papers In it.
They parted, the two who had been
to strangely brought together parted
with a sense of liking and trust common
among Englishmen who feel more than
they express
On arriving at his destination, to his
freat joy, and somewhat to his surprise.
Lord Charlewood found that his father
was better; he had been afraid of finding
him dead. The old man's Joy on seeing
bis son again was almost pitiful in its
excess he held his hands in his. In the
first excitement of such happiness Lord
Charlewood did not dare to tell his father
the mournful story of his marriage and
of his young wife's untimely death. Then
the doctors told him that the old earl
might live for .ome few year, longer, but
that he would require the greatert care;
be certainly had heart disease, and any
sudden excitement, any great anxiety,
any cause of trouble might kill him at
once. Knowing this. Lord Charlewood
did not dare to tell his secret; it would
have been plunging his father into danger
uselessly; beside, which the telling of it
was useless now his beautiful wife was
dead, nnd the child too young to be rec
ognized it made of consequence.
For two years and a half the Earl of
Mouutdean lingered; the fair Italian
clime, the warmth, the sunshine, the flow
ers, all seemed to join in giving him new
life. During this time his son had every
six months sent regular remittances to
England, and had received In return most
encouraging letters about little Madaline.
Bhe was growing strongand beautiful; she
was healthy, fair and happy. She could
tay his name; the could sing little baby
songs. Once the doctor cut a long golden
brown curl from her little head and sent
It to him; but when he received it the enrl
lay dying, and the son could not show his
father his little child's hair. He died as
he had lived, loving and trusting his son,
clasping his hand to the last, and mur
muring sweet and tender words to him.
Lord Charlewood's heart smote him as he
listened, he had not merited such implicit
faith and trust.
"Father," he said, "listen for one mo
ment! Can you hear me? I did marry
Madaline I loved her so dearly, I could
aot help It I married her; nnd she died
ttne year afterward. But she left me a
little daughter. Can you hear me, fath
er?" No gleam o light came into the dying
fyes, no consciousness into the quiet face;
die enrl did noj hear. When, at last, hig
ton had made .up his mind to reveal his
secret, it was loo late for his father to
hear and he died without knowing it.
He died, and waa brought back to Eng
land, and buried with great pomp and
magnificence; and then his son reigned
In his stead, and became Earl of Mount
lean. The first thing that he did after
his father's fnneral was to go down to
Castledene; he had made all arrangements
for bringing his daughter and heiress
home. He was longing moat impatiently
to ce her; but when he reached the little
town a shock ot surprise awaited him that
almost cost him his life.
CHAPTER IV.
Dr. Letsora had prospered; one gleam
f good fortune had brought with it a
sudden outburst of sunshine. The doctor
had left his little house in Castle street,
and had taken a pretty villa just outside
Castledene. He bore his good fortune as
be had borne his ill fortune, with great
equanimity; It had come too late. The
greatest happiness he had now in life was
his love for little Madaline. Besides his
great love for the little Madaline, he be
:anie interested in the story of Margaret
Dornham's life in her love for the hand
luine, reckless ne'er-do-well who had giv
iu up work ns a failure in her wonderful
patience, for she never complained in
ber sublime heroism, for she bore all as a
martyr. '
So the two years and a half passed, and
:he child, with her delicate, marvelous
frace, had become the very light of those
two lonely lives. In another six months
they would have to lose her. Dr. Ix-tsom
knew very well that if the earl were still
living at the end of the three years his
ion would tell him of his marriage.
On a bright, sunshiny day in June the
ioctor walked over to Ashwood. He had
i little pat ket of fruit and cakes with
him, and a wonderful doll, dressed most
royally.
"Madaline," he cried, as he entered the
cottage, and she came running to him,
"should you like a drive with me to
morrow? I am going to Corfell, and 1
will promise to take you if you will be a
.H1 girl."
She promised for a drive with the doc
tor was her greatest earthly delight.
"Uiiiig her to my house about three to
morrow afternoon, Mrs. Dornham," luiid
Dr. Letsom, "and she shall have her
drive."
Margaret promised. When the time
came she took the little one, dressed in
her pretty white frock; and as they sat
In the drawing room, the doctor was
brought home to his house dead.
It was such a simple yet terrible acci
dent that had killed him. A poor man
had been injured by a kick from a horse.
For want of better accommodation, he
had been carried up into a loft over a
stable, where the doctor attended him.
In the loft was an open trap door, through
which trusses of h y and straw were rais
ed and lowered. No one warned Dr. Let
som about it. The aperture was covered
with straw, and he, walking quickly
across, fell through. There was hut one
comfort he did not suffer long.
Margaret Dornham nnd the little child
sat waiting for him when the sad pro
cession stopped at the door.
"The doctor is dead!" was the cry from
one to another.
A terrible pain shot through Margaret's
head. Dead! The kindly man, who had
been her onlj friend, dead I Then per
haps the child would be taken frow her,
and. she should see it no more!
An impulse, for which she could hardly
account, and for which she was hardly re
sponsible, seized her.. She must have tbe
box that contained the papers, lest, find
ing the papers, people should rob her of
the child. Quick as thought, she seized
the box which always stood on a bracket
In the drawing r, m and hid it under
her shawl. To the end of her life she
was puzzled as to why she had done this.
It would not be missed, she knew, in the
confusion that was likely to ensue. She
felt sure, also, that no one, save herself
and the child'a father, knew of it. con
tents. She did not wait long in that scene ol
confusion and sorrow. Clasping the child
in her arms, lest she should see the dead
face, Margaret Dornham hurried back to
the cottage, bearing with her Uie proofs
of the child's Identity.
The doctor was buried, and with him
all trace of the child seemed lost. Care
ful search was made in his house for any
letters that might concern her, that might
give her father's address; but Stephen
LeUom had been faithful to his promise
he had kept the secret. .There was noth
ing that could give the least clew. There
were no letters, no memoranda; and, af
ter a time, people came to the conclusion
that It would be better to let the child re
main whra aha w, lor ber father would
be rare In time to hear of the doctor's
death and to claim her.
So September came, with its glory ot
autumn leaves. Just three years had
elapsed since Lady Charlewood had died;
and then the great trouble of her lift
came to Margaret Dornham.
To bo Continued.
Useful tilnti.
For mildew, use lemon juice ana sun
shine. If the mark is obstinate dissolve
one tablespoonfnl of chloride of lime in
four quarts of cold water and soak the
article until mildew disappears. Rinse
very thoroughly to avoid any chemical
action upon the linen.
Crass stains may be removed by cream
of tartar and water. After stains are re
moved, to keep table linen at its best,
souk in cold water until the dirt is loos
ened, wring out and put in cold water
with shaved soap, and bring to a boil,
lloil twice rather than rub, as the rubbing
wears the fabric. Rinse out the soap
carefully and be careful about the bluing
as much of the bluing used, contains iron.
If a little stiffness is needed, add thin
starch to the bluing water, or iron the
article while damp.
An excellent perfume for perfuming
clothes that are packed away, and which
will reluin its properties for a long time,
can be made in the following way: Pound
to a powder one ounce each of cloves,
caraway seed, nutmeg, mace, cinnamon
and Totiqtiin beans; also, as much orris
root us will equal the weight of all the
foregoing ingredients. All that is needed
is to till little bags of muslin with this
mi xl lire and lay them among the gar
ments. When stovepipe cleaning is in progress,
be as careful as one will, there is pretty
sure to le more or less soot dropped upon
the carpet. There is never any need of
being very much alarmed over this, how
ever, for if an equal quuntity of salt be
added to the stmt and the whole swept up
together. lher will scarcely be a trace
of the latter left.
The drying of clothes in frosty weather
is sometimes, in the case of delicate fab
rics, attended with tearing, because of
the quick stiffening in the very cold air.
A simple precaution which will prevent
any such trouble, is to dissolve three or
four handfuls of coarse salt in the last
rinsing water, thus making it, in fact,
u week brine. Articles so rinsed will not
suffer from or stiffen with the cold.
In case of fire, quickly close all do-rs
and windows to check the draught, as this
may enable you to confine the fire to a
single room.
A stale loaf may be freshened by dip
ping it in scalding water for an instant
and then placing it in the oven until dry.
Mud stains can be easily removed from
silk by rubbing with a piece of flannel.
If the stain proves obdurate, rub with a
piece of linen saturated with alcohol.
One of the most convenient things for
washing the inside of lamp chimneys, is a
piece of sheepskin with the wool on,
tucked around the end of, a stick of
convenient length. This is easy to keep
clean, and will dry quickly.
A little whiting dissolved in the boil
ing wuier in which the silver is cleaned
laily, will remove all grease and dullness
md make the weekly polishing almost
unueccessary. They should be well driev
nd rubbed afterward.
Stage Gossip.
Joseph Jefferson is a millionaire.
Elita Proctor Otis will star in "Oliver
fwist."
Marie Corelli has dramatized her novel
'Barabbas."
Delia Vox expects to star next season
n "I.a Poiipoe."
Frederick Warde will probably go into
.amleville in the near future.
A French opera company that has
leen playing in Costa Rica will shortly
e seen in New Orleans.
Von I'rittiwitz Palm is designing the
llusions for Lillian Burkhart'a fairy
lay, "The Lady of the Kowan Tree."
Joseph Jefferson has asked Rose Cogh
an to play Mrs. Malaprop in his pre
diction of "The Rivals" next season.
Hume is not rie for D'Annunzio's
days. The "Spring Morning's Dream"
vas hissed recently at the Teatro Valle,
hough Duse was acting.
A. B. Sloane, coinKser of the music
or "Jack and the lieanstalk" and sev
iral other pieces, has gone into partner
hip with J. (. Saville, and their first
mtput will be "All in the Family," a
nusical comedy.
Anita Vivanti Chartres is the author
;ss of "That Man." which A. M. l'almee
vill produce; "Her ladyship," which
s to be used at the New York Casino, and
(Jood and Evil," which Klconora Duse
ins accepted.
Ida Mulle has secured the rights to a
iumlK-r of Lot la's plays, and will star
n them next season. Richard Carroll
did Miss Mulle appeared in Boston rn
Monday last in the 'Normandy Weildii g"
'" Papa (Sou tiou").
The Castle Spuare management have
recently made an important offer to Miss
Dorothy Morton, which she is still con
sidering. They wish to engage her with
the privilege of renewal for a year le
yond the expiration of the first contract.
At Auburn, Ind., the Maekey Thea
trical Company was fined $10 and costs
for distributing improper literature, by
Judge Roby. Their attorneys replevined
the line and costs, and the company signed
a written agreement to leave the btate
within 24 hours.
Industrial.
The Centreville, Rhode Island, cotton
mills were closed on account of the strike
of the weavers.
There will be no strike of the textile
workers at Lawrence, Massachusetts, for
the present.
1
The 5000 operatives at the Atlantic and
Pacific cotton mills, at I-awrence, Massa
chusetts, decided to accept the 10 per
cent, reduction in wages.
About forty employes of the bleaching
department of the "American Printing
Company, at Fall River, struck work
liecause of an excessive reduction in
wages, which they claim has lcpn
made. 2
Our Clothes.
Dr. Von Bebbci, a German nieteorol
jgist, has determined how Lot are the
clothes we wear. When the outside
temperature is 50 degrees Fahrenheit
the temperature of the coat is 71.2 (
grees. that between the coat and th.
waistcoat 73.C degrees, between waist
coat and shirt 75.9 degrees, between
shirt and undershirt 77.4 degrees, and
between the woolen undershirt and the
skin 90.
Nothinu New Under tho frun.
"It flatters her dreadfully," they ob
served. In respect of the Roentgen
protograph. "Why, anybody can see
that her skeleton was padded. Yes."
Wherein It was made to appear that
the Zeitgeist would rise early In the
morning to get ahead of the ewing
weibliche. I: troit Tribune.
Persia has one glass mill.
In 1813 there were only 250.000 spin
les for yarn spinning in Russia. Now
do re are 6,000,000.
(toear Charlton Wa. la Actual
for Flftyoa Tears
Apropos of th. lwg serrrce wMefc
ome railroad mea bars see a, aa lntar
atlniT st-ry Is told of a maa who Is a a
rinhtl. ko Mi. MDd,(.
In th United States, If year. eaUbll.h '
a raoord. Ilia nam. Is Osear Charlton, :
and he was connected with th. Gen
tral railroad from 183? to 1888. placing
the number of years In aotual servlc
at fifty -one. Mr. Charlton bow Htm at
Quytoo, 111. He says at the time of
which he speaks th Central railroad
bad been built from Savannah, 111., to
Pooler, a distance of ten miles. The
roadbed was of light and Insecure con
struction, unfit for fast or regular ser
vice. The company Imported two lo
comotives from Charleston, and they
were placed on the narrow-gauge track.
Mr. Charlton says that in comparison
to the giant mogul of our day they
strongly reminded htm of a dog and an
elephant. They were small, cabless af
fairs, known as the Tennessee and
Georgia. Charlton was the conductor
of the first train that traversed the
road, and when the terminus was
reached In an hour, the owner. Colonel
W. W. Gordon, was dumfounded. "Ten
O'CAB CHARLTOIT.
miles an hour:" he exclaimed. "Won
derful! wonderful! wonderful !" The
Central system, of which this was the
beginning, now embraces many bun
Jreds of miles.
NEW UNICYCLE.
a Contrivance Which, It I. Promised,
Will Eclipse All Bicycle Records.
The latest novelty In wheels Is a nnl
jycle, which it Is promised will eclipse
ill records of the bicvcle.
The contrivance is tBe Invention of
Emory B. Sowers, of Wesrvllle, Ohio,
who has succeeded in making surprls
ugly fast time on It. The motive pow
r of this Invention Is obtained by the
ase of a safety, which can be fitted to
X.A1ES CYIL1.NG KOVF.LTT.
and be taken from the large wheel
without much loss of time. It Is clalm
?d the new machine will make It possi
ble to develop a much higher rate of
speed than the ordinary form with the
same expenditure of energy.
The unicycle is guided by the handle
bars the same as an ordinary. The
rider's weight may be thrown or shift
ed by turning these, which. In turn,
guide Ibe larger wheel In the same di
rection. The. new unicycle may bo
.'hanged to a safety by taking off the.
top wheel and putting a wheel In the
front forks as In the ordinary cycles.
Paper Bags Tor Bread.
A novel improvement has been made
by one of the most prominent bakers mt
Berlin, which Is the natural conse
quence of the Increasing tendency to
?mploy hygienic methods In erery trade
dealing with food and food supplies.
While rolls have long been delivered In
paper bags to customers. It has always
been the rule to handle loaves with
the fingers, each loaf going through a
number of hands before delivered at
the consumer's door, there to be re
ceived by the bare, often not too ciean,
fingers of the servant The recent Im
provement, which has been covered by
patents, consists of using paper bags
the exact shape of the various sizes of
bread turned out by a baker. These
bags are open at both ends, and, being
slightly longer than the loaf, the ends
are turned together with a twist as the
loaf is shoved from the oven straight
Into the bag. This cover will protect
the bread from any pollution after It
leaves the oven, as the loaf Is kept In
the bag not only while being handled
In the bakery and by the delivery man,
but while the loaf Is being used, being
cut at one end as the loaf gets kiiorter.
The new system has found a very
quick spread, and the beat bakeries,
which at once Introduced the new Im
provement, gained by Its adoption.
Bank Note Over 80 Tear Old.
After orer eighty years from Its Is
sue a 1 note of Fector's Dover bank.
In England, bearing data 1816, has Just
been presented In Dover for payment.
The bank was taken over by the Na
tional Provincial some sixty years ago.
The note was found In a book, the
property of an old lady who died re
cently in South Wales. It has been se
cured by the Dover coroner.
Provided for Her Oat.
"By the death of a cat, the Tempi
quarter In Paris," says the Boston
Transcript, "receive, a legacy of 10,000
francs for Its elementary schools. Th
cat's mistress, who died In 1802, left
the money for the maintenance of bet
pet cat, with the reversion at its death
to the district municipality if It would
look after the cat. It speaks well foi
the honesty of the trustees that the cat
which is now dead at the age of II
year, should have inrrlTed Its Biatrial
ST JIM," V
SERMONS OF THE DAY
' '""
"Glint." u the Sobjert of th. Twelfth of
th Jew Herald'. Competitive
SmnoM-i Dr. Talmas;. Preaehe. on
the Stjla of the Christian Character.
Text: "There were giants in those days."
-Genesis, vi., 4.
This text represents the wall of the mor
bid roan who refuses to enter into the ac
tivities of life and finds no fit leadership
among the men of to-day. He views the
men of yesterday, and, by comparing them
with bis own nothingness, calls them
giants. Unwilling to follow bis rightful
leaders, he pines for the mighty men of the
past.
If the wall were only the expression ot
dissatisfied donothlngs In the world it
would be ot little account; but the cry re
garding the ancient giants has connected
with it an Inference that no giants exist to
day, because there is no opportunity for
giant life. This pseudo reverence for tb
great men ot the past carries with It the
poisonous pessimism that says, "There can
be no giants now." It is discouragement
boiled down and sugar-coated with a pious
worship of ancient worthies.
"Cffisar, Napoleon and Wellington wers
great generals, but there never will be any
more;" "There will never be another poet
like Homer;" "No more orators like Burke,
Pitt and Webster;" "No more preachers like
Wesley, Whitefleld and Edwards;" "No
such statesmen as Madison and Jefferson."
"There is no chance for such men to-day,
and no demand for them."
This is a fair specimen of the Idle talk ot
men who pretend to appreciate the great
ness of the fathers, and with this pious
plaint nnnerve the ambition of youth. Were
this simply the silly talk ot imbecility no
protest from the pulpit would be In place,
but In behalf of discouraged youth I pur
pose to enter an unquaiitled denial of the
spirit of all this word. Bid It not seem
like impious rejection of sacred writ, I
would afllrm that there were no giants In
those days. The men ot yesterday were
not so great as the men of to-day.
Physically men are better than ever be
fore. The average men of to-day Is too
large to wear the English armor discarded
by giant warriors of a few centuries back.
The collegian of to-day surpasses the
ancient Olympian. Cicero and Demosthenes
were giants In oratory by comparison.
Orators were few and poor at that time, so
these were easily noted. There are better
preachers to-day than Wesley. Edwards Is
far surpassed in truthful presentation of
the word by modern sermon makers. Bis
marck, Blaine and Gladstone overshadow
ancient men in Statecraft. Macauley tells
us that men usually put the golden age of
England at a time "when noblemen vera
destitute of comforts which would cause
riot in a modern workhouse."
Ho men are constantly placing the age of
mental and spiritual greatness in times
when men were conspicuous not so much
for their own individual merit as because of
the lack of ordinary merit among their fel
lows. In a very true sense we may say that
In the lisht of the nineteenth century men
there were no giants In those days. There
is a proper egotism which boasts of to-day,
and imperiously declares that no such men
lived in the past as our generation has
proaucea,
1lJ"rD'Dg 'rom th's- 8my bo
with def
erence to the coniinsr man. The vonth nf
to-day may rise above the best of tlieli
fathers. There was never a greater call for
giants than now; not a giant here and
there, but a race ot giants. Every profes
sion is crowded with little men and is
seeking for giants. Professions, like sky
scrapers, have vacant rooms on the top
Boor.
Kailroads are anxious for first class men;
editorial offices will give handsome salar
ies to skilful writers; pulpits seek com
manding preachers; corporations seek in
vain for properly qualified counsel; the na
tion calls for better statesmen, the oolloges
for better teachers, the merchants for bet
ter salesmen, the manufacturers for better
artisans. "Top floors for rent" H hung
out at every corner. Inviting boys who are
willing and able to climb the old-fashioned
stairs. There is no elevator for carrying
Idle seekers to the top of business and pro
fessional life. Men who work at the head
of a profession or business must have
strength, and that strength best comes by
toiling up to the high places.
Giants are not born, they are made. In
herited adaptability will have some bear
ing, but earned qualities will have more.
Common strength, common sense, common
honesty are the flrst requisites. The gen
ius of hard work, frugality of time and
power, controlled by an indomitable "I
will," must enter Into the makeup of a
gieat man. Time, money and nerve pow
er dissipated by young men, not in true
retreation and 'relaxation, but in Idle loit
ering, would, if truly directed, make many
greit.
Nor will we foriret that "Godliness is
prolUable." The ;iaots spoken of in Gene
sis wer grandsons of God; the giants of
to-day are real sons of God. The strong
est men are they that aM strong In the
Lord. Jesus is the giant ot the age, and
the nearer related to Jesus the more gi
gantic is man. Christian qualities are
realizable assets, for Christ rules to-day
more than all earthly potentates. Men
who sooff at religion desire Christlike qual
ities In their employes.
Faith, hope and charity are fit emblems
for the market, for eommerce and the pro
fession. There are Calvarys along the
road to greatness; men must bear crosses
if they wonld rise. "It is good for a man
that be bear the yoke In his youth." It Is
more than good it Is essential; and the
Christ yoke Is the typical emblem bv which-
men may work themselves, by the grace of
God to be present day giants.
James A. Chambeblix, Ph. D.,
Pastor of First Congregational Church of
Newark, N. J.
KIND OF PEOPLE NEEDED.
Dr. Talmag. Describes th. Stjla of
Christian Character Required To-d.y.
Text: "Who knoweth whether thou art
come to the kingdom for such a time as
this?" Esther iv., 14.
Esther the beautiful was the wife ot
Ahasuerus the abominable. The time had
come for her to present a petition to her
infamous husband in behalf of the Jewish
nation, to which she had once belonged.
Bhe was afraid to undertake the work, lest
she should lose her own life; but her oousin,
Mordecai, who bad brought her up, en
couraged her with the suggestion that
probably she had been raised up of God for
that peculiar mission. "Who knoweth
whether thou art come to the kingdom for
such a time as this?"
Esther bad ber God-appotnted work.
You and I have ours. It is my business to
tell you what style of men and women yon
ought to be in order that you meet the de
mand of the age In which God has cast
your lot. So this discourse will not deal
with the technicalities, but only with the
practicabilities. What we want Is practi
cal, earnest, concentrated, enthusiastic and
triumphant help.
in the flrst place, in order to meet the
special demand of this age, you need to be
an unmistakable, aggressive Christian.
Of half-and-half Christians we do not want
inv more. The Church ot Jesus Christ will
be better without them. They are the
;hief obstacle to the church's advance
ment. I am speaking of another kind ot
Christian. All the appliances for your be
soming an earnest Christian are at your
band, and there Is a straight path for yon
Into the. broad day light of God's forgive
ness. You may this moment be the bonds
men of the world, and the next moment
you may be princes of the Lord God Al
mighty. But yon need to be aggressive Christians.
tad not like those persons who spend their
lives in hugging their Christian graces and
wondering why they do not make progress,
lfow much robustness of health would a
man have if he hid himself in a dark closet?
A trreat deal ot the pietv of to-day is too
exclusive. It hides itself. It needs mora
fresh air, more ontdoor exercise. There
are many Christians who are giving their
entire life to self-examination.
This style of self-examination is a dame
age instead of an advantage to their Chris
tian character. I remember when I was a
boy I used to have a small piece in the
garden that I called my own. and I planted
i
corn there, and every few days I" would
J
pull it up to see how fast it was growing,
Now, there are a great many Christian peo
file in tnts day wnose seit-examl nation mjre
y amounts to the pulling up of that which
they only yesterday or the day before
planted. Oh. my friends, if "yon want to
have a stalwart Christian character, plant
It right out of doors in the great field of
Christian usefulness, and though storms
may come upon it, and though the hot snn
of trial may try to consume it, it will
thrive until it becomes a great tree, in
which the fowls of heaven may have their
habitation. I have no patience with these
flower-pot Christians. They keep them
selves under shelter, and all their Chris
tian experience in a small, exclusive circle,
when they ought to plant It in the great
garden of the Lord, so that the whole at
mosphere oould be aromatlo with their
Christian usefulness. What we want In
the church of God is more strength of
piety.
Again, if you want to be qnalifled'to meet
the duties which this age demands' of you,
you must, on the one hand, avoid reckless
iconoclasm and, on the other hand, not
stick too much to things because they are
old. The air Is full of new plans, new pro
jects, new . theories of government, new
theologies, and I an amazed .to see how so
many Christians want only novelty in order
to recommend a thing to their confidence;
and so they vacillate and swing to and fro,
and they are useless and they are unhappy.
New plans secular, ethical, philosophical,'
religious, els-Atlantic, trans-Atlantic long
enough to make a line reaching ;from the
German universities to Great Salt Lake
City. Ah, my brother, do not take hold of
a thing merely because It is new! Try it by
the irealities of the Judgment Day. Bnt
on the other hand, do not adhere to any
thing merely because it Is old. There is
not a single enterprise of the church of the
world but has sometime .been scoffed at.
There was a time when men derided even
Bible societies, and when a few young men
met in Massachusetts and organized the
first missionary society ever organized in
this country there went laughter and ridi
cule all around the Christian Church.
All the great enterprises in and out of
the Church have at times been scoffed at,
and there have been a great multitude
who have thought that the chariot of God's
truth would fall to pieces if it once got out
of the old rut. And so there are those who
have no patience with anything like Im
provement In church architecture, or with
anything like good, hearty, earnest church
singing, and thev deride any form ot re
ligious discussion which goes down walk
lug among everyday men, rather than that
which makes an excursion on rhetorical
stilts. Oh, that the Church of God would
wake up to an adaptihiiity of workl We
must admit the simple fact that the
churches of Jesus Christ in this day do not
reach the great masses. There are fifty
thousand people in Edinburgh who never
hear the gospel. There are one million
people in London who never bear the
gospel.
Ah, my friends, there is work "or you to
do and for me to do in order to this grand
accomplishment. I have a pulpit. I preach
in it. Your pulpit is the bank. Your pul
pit is the store. Your pulpit Is the e litorial
chair. Your pulpit Is the anvil. Your pul
pit is the house scaffolding. Your pulpit Is
the mechanics' shop. I may stand in my
place and, through cowardice or through
self-seeking, may keep back the word I
ought to utter while you, with sleeve rolled
up and brow besweated with toil, may utter
the word that will jar the foundations of
heaven with the shout of a great victory.
Oh, tbat we might all feel that the Lord Al
mighty is putting upon us the hands of or
dination! I tell you, every one, go forth
and preach this Gospel. You have asranab.
right to preach as i ha'V " -'J1
Ing.
I remark again that in order to i
qualified to meet your duty in this par
ticular age you want unbounded faith in
the triumph of the truth and the over
throw ot wickedness. How dare the
Christian Church ever get discouraged?
Have we not the Lord Almighty on our
side? How long did It take God to slay
the hosts oi Sennacherib or burn Bolom
or shake down Jericho? How long will
it take God, when he onee arises in his
strength, to overthrow all the forces of
iniquity? Between this time and that
there may be long seasons of darkness, and
the chariot wheels of God's Gospel may
seem to drag heavily; but here is the
promise and yonder Is the throne, and
when omniscience has lost its eyesight
and omnipotence falls back Impotent
and Jehovah is driven from his
throne, then the Church of Jesus Christ
can afford to be despondent, but never
nntll then. Despots may plan aud aravicc
may march and the Congresses of the
nations may seem to think they are ad
justing all the affairs of the world, but the
mighty men of the earth are only the dust
of the chariot wheels of God's providence.
And I think before the sun of the next cen
tury shall set the last tyranny will fall, and
with a splendor of demonstration that shall
be the astonishment of the universe God
will set forth the brightness and pomp and
glory and perpetuity of His eternal govern
ment. Out of the starry flags and the em
blazoned insignia ot this world God will
make a path for His own triumph, and re
turning from universal conquest He will sit
down, the grandest, highest throno of earth
His fooUtoc!
I prepare this seiii!ilvwuse I want
encourage all Christian wo.'itsr'f everyt.
possible department. Hosts of the living
God. march on! march onl His Spirit will '
bless you. His shield will defend yon.
His sword will strike for you. March onl
ainrh onl The despotisms will fail and
paganism will burn its idols, and Mahome
:anism will give up Its false prophet, and
:he great walls of superstition will come
lown In thunder and wreck at the long,
loud blast of the Gospel trumpet. March
Dn! march on! The besiegement will soon
be ended. Only a few more steps on
the long way: only a few more
sturdy blows: only a few more battle
cries, then God will put the laurels upon
your brow, and from the living fountains
of heaven will bathe oft the sweat and the
heat and the dust of the conflict. March
on! march onl For you the time for work
will soon be passed, and amid the outflash
tngs of the judgment throne aud the trum-
Eetlng of resurrection angels and the np
eaving of a world of graves, and the ho
panna and the groaning of the saved and
the lost, we shall be rewarded for our faith
fulness or punished for our stupidity.
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel from
everlasting to everlasting and let the whole
earth be filled with His glory. Amen and
amen.
V WOMEN OF ABYSSINIA.. .
They Are Said to Be Very Beantlfnl,
bnt They Are of Many Color.
The Abyssinian women are sn Id to he
very beautiful. They are of different
colors, some Jet black, others copper
colored and others fair. They are noted
for their yery pretty soft hands, which
are to small that in general they will
pass thnetogh the bracelets which fit
Wiser iWaitta. They" use mutton fat in
Use Arestrthg of their hair, and sleep
utroa. liUows, upon which they rest
on&r aha neck, much like the Japanese.
The women do all the work connected
witii the household and the men scorn
to do anything of a domestic nature.
The women do not fight in battle,
though they go to the field and take
care of the wounded. They are often
given charge of the captives, and dur
ing Gen. Dye's trip one of the doctors
escaped through a woman who fell la
lore with him. Abyssinia Is said to be
the land of free love. Marriage seldom
lasts any length of time. Couples
marry and separate at pleasure. Upon
separation they divide the children.
The eldest son goes to the mother and
the eldest daughter to the father. If
there Is but coo daughter, and all the
rest are sons, the father gets the girL
bnt If there Is one son and all the rest
daughters, the boy goes to the mother.
-
I
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