THB OOMtfl'lT U TION-THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT OP THE LAWS. B. F. SOHWEIEB, MIFFLINTOWN, JUNIATA COUNTY, PENN A.. WEDNESDAY. FEBRUARY 23.1898. NO. VOL. UI i chapter v. On the day after lr. Ulwm'i death Margaret DornhanTs husband was appre bended on a charge of poaching and nidi tag in a dangerous assault on Lord Tur ton's gamekeepers. Bail was refused fo him. but at the trial he was acquitted fp want of evidence. Every one knew ne was gniltv. He made no great effort ta conceal it. Rut he defied the whole legal power of England to prove him guilty. He employed clever counsel, and the re sult was his acquittal. He wns free: but the prison brand was ,n him. ana ms wife felt that she could not endure the dis grace. "I shall go from bad to worse now, Mag: gie." he said to her. "1 do not find prison so bud, nor yet difficult to bear: if ever I tee by any iucky hit I can make myself. rich man. I shall not mind a few years in jail as the price. A forgery, or some thing of that kind, or the robbery of a well-stocked bank, will be henceforwarJ niy highest aim in life." She placed her hand on his lips and prayed him for heaven's sake to be silent. Ue only laughed. "Nature never intended me to work the did not indeed, Maggie. My fellow men must keep me; they keep others far less deserving." From thnt moment she knew no pence or rest. He would keep his word: ha would look upon crime as a source of profit; he would watch his opportunity of wrong-doing, and seize it when it came. h i.-wrtH on leaving Ashwood. An other and perhaps even stronger uiotiv that influenced her was her passionate love for the child: that was her one hope In life, her one sheet-anchor, the one thing that preserved her from the utter madness of desolation. Tt was easy to manage her husband. She had said but little to him at the time she undertook the charge of little Magda line, and he had been too indifferent to niake inquiries. She told him now, what was in some measure quite true, that with the doctor's death her Income had ceased, and that she herself not only was perfectly ignorant of the child's real name, but did not even know to whom to write. It was true, but she knew at the same time that, if she would only open the box of papers, she wonld not be Ignorant of any one point; for those papers she had firmly resolved never to touch, so that In saying she knew nothing of the child's Identity she would be speaking the bare truth. At first Ilenry Dornham was Indignant. The child should not be left a burden and drag on his hands, he declared it must go to the workhouse. But patient Mar caret clasped her arms round his neck, and whispered to him that the child was so clever, so pretty, she would be a gold mine to them in the future only let them get away from Ashwood, and go to Lon don, where she could be well trained and taught. He lauched a sneering laugh, for which, had he been any other than her husband, she would have hated him. "Not a bad plan, Maggie," be said; "then she can work to keep us. I, myself, do not care where we go or what we do, so that no one asks me to work." A few weeks later the new Earl of Mountdean arrived in search of his little giri. This time the visitor did not take ny pains to conceal his title. He drove to the "Castle Arms," and from there - -jreDt at once to the doctor's h.Mise. lie found it closed and empty. The first per son he asked told him that the doctor had been for some weeks dead and buried The young earl was terribly shocked. Dead and buried the kindly man who had befriended him in the hour of need! It seemed almost incredible. And why bad no one written to him? Still he re membered the address of his child's fos ter mother. It was Ashwood Cottage; and he went thither at once. When he found that, too, closed and deserted. It seemed to him that fortune was playing him a trick. He was disconcerted; and then, believ ing that this at least was but a case of removal, he decided upon going to the rector of the parish, whom he well re membered. He surely would be al le to give him all information. Mr. Daruley looked up in wonder at the announcement of his visitor's name the Earl of Mount dean. What could the earl possibly want of him? Ills wonder deepened as he rec ognized in the earl the stranger at the burial of whose fair young wife he had assisted three years before. The rector contrived to say something bout his surprise, but Lord Mountdean lnterupted him hastily: "Yes, I understand. I was traveling as Mr. Charlewood when my terrible misfor tune overtook me here. I have returned from Italy, where I have been spending the last three years. My father has just died, and I am here In search of my child. My child," continued the earl, seeing the rector's b'ank face "where is she? I firul my poor friend the doctor is dead, and the bouse where my little one's foster mother lived is empty. Can you tell me what it means? Can it be that she, too. Is dead?" "No, she Is not dead," replied the rec tor. "I saw her two months since, aDd she was then living well, beautiful, and happy. No, the little one is not dead." "Then tell me. for pity's sake, where (he is!" cried the earl, in an agony ol Impatience. "I cannot. Two months since I was at .Ashwood Cottage. Margaret Dornham's worthless husband was in some great trouble. I went to console his wife: and then I sa w the little one. Then I saw no more of her; and my wonder wns aroused on henring some of the tradespeople say that Mrs. Dornham had not been in town for some weeks. I believed she was ill, mud went to see. My wonder was as great your own at finding the house closed. Husband, wife and child had disappeared ms though by magic from the place, leav ing no clew or trace behind them." The rector was almost alarmed at the effect of his words. The yonr.g earl fell hack In his chair, looking as though the shadow of death had fallen over him. it was out a cnua, the rector thought to himself, whom Its father had seen but a few times. He did not understand that to Lord Mountdean this child his dying wife's legacy was the one object In life, that she was all that remained to him of lore that had been dearer than life Itself. Commonplace words of comfort rose to his hps. Mi: Hie tail did rot eten hear them. Krom that moment on the no bleman devoted himself to one object the finding of hi child. '1 he papers were fi"ed with nppcVs u. Margaret Iioriihaiii to return to Castle dene, or to give some intelligence of ii'-r foster child. The events of the story were talked about everywhere: but, in spite of all that was done and said. Lord Mountdean's heiress remained undiscov ered. Months grew into years, and the Mine mystery prevailed. The earl was desperate at first his anguish and sorrow were piliful to witness; tiut alter a time he grew passive in his despnir. He never relaxed in his efforts. Every six months the advertisements with the offers of 1 ward were renewed; every six months the storv was retold in the papers. It had become one of the common topics of the dav. People talked of the Earl of Mount- dean's daughter, of her strange disappear ace, of the mysterious silence that, had fallen over her. Then, as the years pass ed on, it was agreed that she would never be found, that she must be dead. The earl's truest friends advised him to mitrry again. After years of bitter disappoint ment, of anguish and suspense, of unut terable sorrow and despair, he resigned himself to the entire loss of Madaliues child. CnAFTER VI. i Nature had made Philippa L'Estrange 1 beautiful, circumstances had helped to I make her proud. Her father. Lord FEs- ' trange. died when she was quite a child. I leaving her an enormous fortune thnt was quite under ner own cuuirui. un urmn-i, Lady L'Estrange. had bat one idea in lire and that was indulging her beautiful i daughter In her every caprice. Proud, beautiful and wealthy, when she ni"s: needed her mother's care that mother I died, leaving her sole mistress of herself. I She was but seventeen then, and was I known as one of the wealthiest heiresses ! and loveliest girls of the day. Her first step was, in the opinion of the world, a wise one; she sent for a widowed cousin Lndy Peters, to live with her as chaperon. I-'or" the first year after her mother': death she remained at Verdun Royal, the family estate. After one year given to retirement. Philippa L'Estrange thought Khe had mourned for her mother after the most exemplary fashion. She was just nineteen when she took ber place again in the great world, one of Its brightest ornaments. -" An afternoon ta London In May. The air was clear and fresh; there was in It a faint breath of the budding of chestnuts, the hawthorn and lilac; the sun shone clear and bright, yet not too warmly. On this afternoon Miss L'Estrange sat in the drawing room of the magnificent family mansion in Hyde Part. : She played for some few minutes with the rings on her ringers, smiling to her self a soft, dreamy smile, as though her thoughts were very pleasant ones; then she took up volume of poems, read a few Knes. and then la!1 the book down again. The dark eyes, with a gleam of impatience in them, wandered to the clock. "How slowly those hands move!" she aid. "You are restless,' observed a calm, low voice; "witching a clock always makes time seem Icr.g " "Ah, Lady I eters," said the rich, musi cal tones, "wher. i cease to be young, 1 shall cease to be impatient' "Your anxiety about the gentlenrian would be very Battering to him if he knew it," remarked the elder lady. "Why should I not be anxious? I have always loved him better than the whole world. I have had reason to be anxious." "Philippa, my dear Philippa, I would not say surh things if I were von. nnle j I hud heard something really definite ( from himself." The beautiful young heiress laughed a bright, triumphant laugh. "Something definite from himself! Why, you do not think It likely that he will long remain indifferent to me, even if he be so now which I do not believe." "I have had so many disappointments in life that I am afraid of being san guine," said Lady Peters; and again the young beauty laughed. "It will seem so strange to see him again. I remember his going away so well. I was so young then I am young now, but I feel years older. He came down to Verdun Royal to bid us good-by, and I was in the grounds. He had but half an hour to stay, and mam ma sent him out to me." The color deepened in her face as she spoke, and the light shone in her splendid eyes there was a kind of wild, restless passion in her words. "I remember it ail so well! There had been a heavy shower of rain in the early morning, that had cleared away, leaving the skies blue, the sunshine golden, while the rain drop, still glistened on the trees and the grass. I love the sweet smell of the green leaves and the moist earth af ter rain. I was there enjoying it when he came to say good-by to me mamma came with him. 'Philippa,' she said, 'Nor man is going; he wants to say good-by to his little wife.' He always calls me his little wife. I saw him look very grave. She went away and left us together. 'You are growing too tall to be called my little wife, Philippa,' he said, and I laughed at his gravity. 'How long shall you be away, Normnn?' I asked him. 'Not more than tvo years,' he replied. 'You will be quite a brilliant lady of fashion when I return. Philippa; you will have made conquests innumerable.' 'I shall always be the ume to you,' I replied; ht he made no answer. lie took the spray of lilac I wns holding from my bands. 'My ideas of you will always be associated with li lacs,' he said; and that la why. Lady Pet ers. I ordered the vases to be filled with lilacs to-day. He bent down andjsfesed my face. 'Good-by, Philippa,' he?aid, '"ay I find you as good and as beautiful as I leave you.' And then he went away. That la Just two years ago; no wonder that I am pleased at his return." Lady Peters looked anxiously at her. "There was no regular engagement be tween you and Lord Arleigh, was there, Philippa r "What do you call a regular engage ment?" said the young heiress. "He ner er made love to me. If that Is what you mean he never asked me to be his wife; but it was understood always under stood." "By whom?" asked Lady Peters. j "My mother and his. When Lady Ar- ' ieigh lived, aha spent great deal at time beautiful Lady Arleigh,' his mother - Vnraian. irn and rjlay with your little wife,' she would add; and with all the gravity of a grown coumer, u would bow before me and call me his little wife." "But you were children then, and It was perhaps all childish folly." "It was nothing of the kind," said the heiress, angrily. "I remember well that, when I was presented, my mother said to me. 'Philippa, you are sure to be very much admired; but remember, I consider you engaged to Norman. Your lot In life is settled; you are to be Lniy Arleigh of Beechgrove. Oh, aunt, there he is." . CHAPTER VII. How she loyed him! At the sonnd of h! footsteps crimson glow shone in tt Verdun tioyal wltn my mother; they were first cousins, and the dearest of friends. Hundreds of times I have seen them sitting on the lawn, while Norman and I played together. Then they were always talking about the time when we should be married. 'Philippa will make ber face, a light shone In the depth of her splendid dark eyes; the scarlet lips trem bled. She clenched jher fingers lest a sound that might betray her should es cape her. "Lord Arleigh," announced a servant at the door. Tall, stately, self-possessed, she went forward to greet him. She held out her hand; but words failed her, as she looked once more into the face she loved so well. "rhilippa!" cried the Tisitor, in tones of wonder. "I expected to find you chang ed, but I should not have known you." "Am I so greatly altered?" she asked. "Altered?" he repeated; "I left you a pretty school girl I find you a queen." lie bowed low over the white hand. "The queen bids you welcome," she said, and then, after Introducing Lady Peters, she added: "Should you not really have known me, Norman?" He had recovered from his first sur prise, and Lady Peters, who watched him closely, fancied that she detected some little embarrassment in his manner. Of one thing she was quite sure there was admiration and affection in his manner. but there was nothing resembling love. He greeted ber, and then took a seat. not by Philippa's side, but In one of the pretty lounging chairs by the open win dow. "How pleasant it Is to be home again!" he said. "How pleasant, Philippa, to see vou!" And then he began to talk of Lady L'Estrange. "It seems strange," he went on, "that your mother and mine, after being true friends in life, should lie within a few' fiays C CJelj .other. I rould give the whole world to see ffij- mother again, I shall find Beechgrove so lonely without her. "I always recognize a good man, pnt in Lady Peters, "by the great love he bears his mother. Lord Arleigh smiled. "Then you think I am a good man?" he interrogated. "I hope. Lady Peters, that I shall never forfeit your good opin ion." "I do not think it likely," said her lady ship. Philipna grew impatient on finding his attention turned, even for a few mo ments, from herself. Then, to her delight, came a summons for Mrs. Peters; she was wanted in the housekeeper's room. "Now we are alone," thought Philippa, "he will tell me that he is pleased to see me. He will remember that he called me his little wife." CHAPTER VIII. But, as Lady Peters closed the door, he took a book from the table, and asked he what she had been reading lately whica was the book of that season? She replied to his questions, and to the remarks thn followed; but they were not what sn wanted to hear. "Do not talk to me about books, Nor man," she cried at Inst. "Tell me mors about yourself: I want to hear more about rou. We were always good friends. Nor man," she said, simply, "you and 1 7" "Yes, we were like brother and sister," h'e responded. "How we quarreled and made friends! Do you remember?" She raised her eyes suddenly to his "You cared for me a great deal Is those days, Norman," she said, gently. "Tell me the truth in your travels have you ever met any one for whom you care more?" He waa perfectly calm and unembar rassed. "No, cousin, I have not. As I told you before, I have really made -no friend abroad for whom I care much a fe pleasant acquaintances, nothing more." "Then I nm content," she said. But he wns deaf to the passionate mu sic of her voice. Then the distance be tween them seemed to grow less. They talked of her home, Verdun Royal; they talked of Beechgrove, and his plans foi living there. Their conversation was the Intimate exchange of thought of old friends: but there wns nothing of love. If she had expected thnt he would avail himself of Lady Peters' absence to speak of it, she was mistaken. He talked of old times, of friendship, of childhood's days, o great hopes and plans for the future of anything but love. It seemed to be and perhaps was the farthest from his thoughts. away. After he had gone she spoke but little: once she eln.-ped her arms round Lady Peters' neck and kissed the kindly face. "Do not speak to me," she said, "lest I should lose the echo of his voice;" and Lady Peters watched her anxiously, as she stood with a rapt smile on her face, as of one who has heard celestial music In a dream. Lord Arleigh bad been so aeenstomed fo think of Philippa as a child that he could with difficulty imagine the fact that she was now a lovely girl, and one ol the wealthiest heiresses in London. Pressed earnestly to return to dinner, he had promised to do so; and evening, the sweet-scented May evening, found him once more at Hyde Park. If any thing, rhilippa looked more lovely. He had seen her hitherto as a girl; now he was to see her as the high-bred hostess, the mistress of a large and magnificent mansion. The dinner party was a success, as was every kind of entertainment with which Philippa L'Estrange was concerned. When the visitors rose to take their leave Norma nrose also. She was standing near him. "Do not go yet, Norman." she said: "It Is quite early. Stay, and I will sing to you." The windows had been opened becanse the evening air waa so clear and sweet; It came in now, and seemed to give the Bowers s sweeter fragrance. Lord Ar leigh drew his chair to the piano. "I want you only to listen," she said. "You will have no turning over to dc for me; the songs I love best I know by heart. Shut your ejsts, Norman, and dream." -e "I shall dream more vividly If I keep them open and loolf at you," he returned. Theu in as) few minutes he began to thinWie must be in dreamland the ricl sweet voice, so clear, so soft, so low, filling the room with sweetest music It was like no human voice that he remem bered; seductive, full of passion and ten dernessa ToTce that told Its own story, that told of its owner's power and chana a Toipe that carried sway the hjrut of the listener Irresistibly, as the strong current carries the leaner. How fatally, wondrously lovely she was, this siren who sang to him of love, until every sense was full of silent ec stasy, until his face flushed and his heart beat fast. Suddenly his eyes met hers; the scarlet lips trembled, the white fin gers grew unsteady, her eyelids drooped, and the sweet music stopped. She tried to hide her confusion by smiling. "You should not look at me, Norman," she said, "when I sing; it embarrasses me." "You should contrive to look a little less beautiful, then, Philippa," he rejoin ed. "What was that last song?" "It is a new one," she replied, "called My Queen.' " "I should like to read the words," said Lord Arleigh. In a few minutes she had found it for him, and they bent over the printed pages together; her dark hair touched his cheek, the perfume from the white lilies she wore seemed to entrance him; he could not understand the spell that lay over him. "Is it not beautiful?" she said. "Yea, beautiful, but ideal; few women, I think, would equal this poet's queen." "You do not know you cannot tell, Norman. I think any woman who loves, nd loves truly, becomes a queen." lie looked at her, wondering at the pas sion in her voice wondering at the ex pression on her beautiful face. "You are incredulous," she said; "but It is true. Ive is woman's dominion; t ber but once enter it, and she be comes a queen; her heart and soul grow grander,' the light of love crowns her. It is the real diadem of womanhood. Nor man; she knows no other." He drew back startled; her words seem ed to rouse him into sudden conscious ness. She was quick enough to see it, scd, with the distrait manner of a true woman of the world, quickly changed the ubject. She asked some trifling ques tion about Beechgrove, and tnen said suddenly: "I should like to see that fine old place f yours, Jornian. I was only ten when mamma took me there the last time: that was rather too young to appreciate its treasures. I should like to see it again." "I hope you will see it, Philippa. I have many curiosities to show you. I have sent home treasures from every great city I have visited." She looked at him half wonderlngiy, half wistfully, but he said no more. Could It be that he had no thought of ever asking her to be mistress and queen of this hous of his? "You must have a party In the autumn," she said. "Lady Peters and I must be JUDone your guests. f "That will be an honor. I shflfr infr you to your word, Philippa." And then he rose to go. The dark, wlBtful eyes followed him. She drew a little nearer to him as he held out his hand to say good-night. "You are quite sure, Norman, that you are pleased to see me again?" she inter rogated, gently. "Pleased! Why, Philippa, of course 1 am. What a strange question!" "Because," she said, "there seems to be a cloud a shadow between us that I do not remember to have existed before." "We are both older." he explained, "and the familiarity of childhood cannot exist w'n childhood ceases to be." "I would mother be a child forever than that yon would change to me," she said, quickly. "I think," he returned, gravely, "that the only change In me la that I admire you more than I have ever done." And these words filled her with the keenest sense of rapture; yet they were but commonplace enough, if she had only realized it. CHAPTER IX Lord Arleigh raised his hat from h! brow and stood for a few minutes bare headed In the starlight. He felt like a man who had been in the stifling atmos phere of a conservatory; warmth and perfume had dazed him. How beautiful Philippa was how bewildering! What a nameless, wondrous charm there waa about her! "I can believe now In the sirens of old," he said to himself; "they must have had just such dark, glowing eyes, such rich, sweet voices and beautiful faces. I should pity the man who hopelessly loved Phil ippa L'Estrange. And, If she ever loves any one, it will be easy for her to win; who cculd resist her?" How little he dreamed that the whole passionate love of her heart was given to himself thnt to win from him one word of love, a single token of affection, she would have given all thnt fhe had in the world. Philippa L'Estraoce thought long and earnestly over her last conversation with Lord Arleigh. She had always loved him; hut the chances are that, if he had been devoted to her on his return, if he had wooed her as others did, she would have been lees empressee. As it was, he was the only man she had not conquered, the only one who resisted her, on whom her fascinations fell without producing a magical effect. She could not say the had conquered her world while he was unsub dued. The more she saw of him the better she liked him his single-mindedness, his chiv alry, his faith in women and his respect for them, were greater than she had teen in any other, and she loved him for these qualities. The more she contrasted him with others, the greater, deeper and wider grew her love. It must be that In time he should care for her. . Lord Arleigh did not go to Beechgrove as he had Intended. He found so many friends and so many engagements in Lon don that he waa not inclined to leave it. Then, too, he began to notice many lit tle things which made him feel uncom fortable. He began to perceive that peo ple considered him la some kind of way as belonging to Miss L'Estrange; no mat ter how many surrounded her, when he entered a room they were seen one by one to disappear until he waa left alone by her side. At first he believed this tc be accidental; after a time he knew that It must be purposely done. His eyes were still further opened one day when a large and fashionable crowd hnd gathered at Lady Daltou's garden party. Philippa was, as heretofore, the belle, looking more than usually lovely in a light gossamer dress of white and pink. She was surrounded by admirers. Lord Arleigh stood with a group of gentlemen under a great spreading beech tree. "How beautiful she Is, that Miss L'Es trange!" said one Sir Alfred Martindale. "I can believe in the siege of Troy when I look at her; and I think it just as well for mankind that such wjmen are rare." ii ever mere was a numan motn, ob- " "T " "mn uiwui, m , m " unioiTunjsTln horfs Duke of Morn ton. I have seen some des- J perat cases in my time, but none so des - Derate as his." Lord Arleigh laughed. Thjefjewere all intimate friends. The Dnke Moflforff laa arreat friemha . . : i jr.i ut s i e v beseTed from the nltunate JSMn of a mojfLAd that Mim-L'EStranga) will . take vif "Q him." -4 I tie eoot help seeing that the three gentlemen Tt-Jed np with expressions onVmhWonii iSSj.t User She heitst ntter wonde. - m I mjo you wean, iiuu nr aumi-wt you hops Miss L'Estrange wiU x?H& un tt 1 1 aav a 11 it, . , . "1 do not think she could do better,' replied Lord Arleigh. . "You are the last man In London I should have expected to hear say so," sail Lord Alfred, quietly. "Ami? Pray may I ask why?" "Yes, If you acquit me of all intention of rudeness in my reply. I repeat that yon are the last man in London whom I should have expected to hear make such a renurt. for the simple reason that ev eryone believes you are going to niairj Mh i It-txange yourself." Lord Arleigh's face flushed hotly. "Then "everyone," as you put It, Sir Alfred, takes a great liberty an unau thorized liberty with the name of a very charming lady. Miss L'Estrange and my self were much together when children our mothers were distantly related and at the present time w are excellent friends." "I am sorry," returned Sir Alfred, "If I have said anything to annoy you. I thought the fact was as evident as the sun at noonday; everyone in London believes It." "Then people take an unwarrantable liberty with the lady's name," said Lord Arleigh. Some one else remarked, with a slight ly impertinent drawl, that be did not be lieve Miss L'Estrange would consider it a liberty. A flash from Lord Arleigh's dark eyes silenced him. A few minutes afterward Lord Arleigh found the Duchess of Aytoun and Phil ippa seated underneath a large aencia tree. Captain Gresham, a great favorite in the London world, was by rhilippn's side. The duchess, with a charming ges ture of invitation, made room for Lord Arleigh by her aide. The gallant captain did not often find an opportunity of mak ing love to the belle of the season. Now that he had found It he was determined not to lose It not for fifty Lord Arleighs. So, while the duchess talked to the new comer, lie relentlessly pursued his conver sation with Miss L'Estrange. There waa but one music in the world for her, and that was the music of Lord Arleigh's voice. Nothing could ever drown thnt for her. The band was playing, the captain talking, the duchess conversing, In her gay, animated fashion: but above all, clearly and distinctly, Philippa heard every word that fell from Lord Arleigh's lips, although he did not know it. He be lieved that she was, as she seemed to be, listening to the captain. "I have pleasing news concerning yon. Lord Arleigh," said the duchess. "I won der if I may congratuate you?" "What is it? I do not know of any thing very Interesting concerning myse'.f," he remarked "nothing, I am sure, that calls for congratuations." "You ajrejnodest," said the duchess; "bnt I have certainly u; ano C" J1' authority, too, that you are about to be married." "I can only say I was not in the least aware of it," he rejoined. The duchess raised her parasol and look ed keenly at him. "Prny pardon me," she continued: "do not think that K is from mere curiosity that I ask the question. Is there really no truth in the report?" "None whatever," he teplied. "I have no more idea of being married than I have of sailing this moment for the Cape." "It is strange," said the Hr n Ingly; "I had the information from such good authority, too." 'There can be no better authority on the subject," said Lord Arleigh, laughing ly, "than myself." "Yes, I admit that Well, as the ice is broken. Lord Arleigh, and we are old friends, I may ask, why do you not mar ry?" "Simply because of marrlare, and of love that ends in marriage, I bave not thought," he answered lightly. "It is time for you to begin," observed duchess; "my own Impression is that a man does no good In the world until he is married. And then sh' addedr "I suppose you have an ideal of woman hood?" Lord Arleigh's face flushed. "Yes," he acknowledged. "I have an Ideal of my own, derived from poetry I have read, from pictures I have seem an ideal of perfect grace, loveliness and pur ity. When I meet that ideal, I shall meet my fate." "Then you have never yet seen the woman you would like to marry?" pur sued the duchess. "No," he answered, quite seriously; "strange to sny, although I have seen some of the fairest and noblest types of womanhood, I have not yet met with my Ideal." They were disturbed by a sndden move mentthe flowers that Philippa held iu her hand had fallen to the ground. To be continued.) Has XoC 81 Tt nxlfis, ll , , There is an old woman In Charleston, snys the Post, who has not been on the Battery since the war aiid has not been on King street In fifteen years. This may seem like a fairy tale to many, but it is a true statement. She is not a cripple, either, but Is as well and strong as a woman could expect to be who had reached the age of 74 years. She lives In the western part of the city, within a few squares of King street, and near the Rutledge avenue street car line. Another remarkable thing about this old lady Is that she has never seen the electric cars and has no desire to see one, she says. She was asked by a friend of hers the other day to join her in a trolley ride, but she declined with thanks, saying she did not care to ride on anything that was propelled by un seen power. "Law me," she said, when asked to take a trolley ride, "do you think I'd get on one of those cars that are run by electricity? I could not be induced to take one of those electric rides. You are fooling with something you can't see." As before stated, the old lady has not been on the Battery since the war; notwithstanding repeated efforts have been made by friends and relatives to get her to visit this beautiful place, all appeals fell on deaf ears. She would reply when asked: "Thank you, I do not care to go." Other than this, no excuse was ever offered. Often times she has been j asked by her friends why she did not ! care to go on the Battery, or why she j had not been there since the war, but I never a reason did she give. The old 1 lnrtv ia a eenntne rebel, anil un I oo-iigs never surrendered; and never wllh s-4a a large Confederate flag suspended from the -wall in ber InS8 VI " , 1"orn, and It Js she "Bits under it hours at a ttinfeand kjiits stockings. 'UgerlttrVtHass eyTs at present m the menagerie 4 Stuttgart and took 9 as Jerce wfuhls glass eye asgwJtli tin real ons. Merlons 'wfeetlon of th, reai 004. 4 muscles xao the isstd the beast to ibse the e eye. Ae public 'l'l't Deffsi was nn nnrler nMlna mnil tTionimleu ran.-rf gaB rtOT1' Household. RECIPES. Oatmeal Blanc Mange. To make oat meal blanc mange pour a pint of water and half a teaspoonful of salt in a double boiler. When the water is beginning to boil, slowly sprinkle into it a teaenpful of rolled onts and let it boil for three minutes. Then let it steam for six hours and strain. Add to it a half-pint of scalded milk sweeten to taste, flavor with vanilla and stir over the fire for a few minutes. Whip up two eggs and add to it; then pour into wet. cold moulds and set in a cold place to harden. Served with hipped cream. . Coffee Blanc Mange. Dissolve one box of gelatine in two cups of milkr-pour over it one pint of strons coffee, trailing hot Have one pint of milk over the fire in a double boiler, and when it is at boiling point pour in the coffee and gelatine mix ture. Meanwhile beat three eges litrht with one cup of sugar, and stir in with tho other ingredients. Remove from tha fire and turn into moulds and put into a cool place to become set. Serve with sweetened cream. Kromeskies of Crabs. Boil three crabs for 30 minutes in salted water; when cool fi-k them out in as large pieces as possi le. Mash fine the hard boiled yolks of four eggs, add to tho crabs, with one 4:llf spoonful of hopped parsley, ono whole egg well beaten, three shakes cay enne and not more than a saltspoortful of salt, ns the crab meat will Ite salty. Mix carefully; form into tiny rolls; wrnp each in a very thin slice of bacon: dip ert h in fritter batter ind fry in snukine h'it fat. If vour market furnbhes crab meat a Ij lf pound will lie required, tinrnish lho kromeskies with cress anj p; s-i lemon quarters wi'h th -m. To Make Soap. There is no better method for ordinary household use th in to buv a package of concentrated lye (Red Peal is good) and carefully follow the directions on tho can. This is cheap er than to use notash. lve or other ordin ary material and is very much less trouble. Puree of Sweet Potatoes. Bake four large sweet potatoes; take out the centres and pass through a sieve. Heat three pints of milk in a double boiler. Rub to gether one tablespoonful of butter and two tablesponfuls of flour; add to the hot milk and cook until it thickens; add a seasoning of a teaspoonful of salt, salt spoonful of white pepper, six grates nut meg and five drops of onion juice; pour gradually over the potatoes; run through the sieve again; reheat and serve. To lion nice. uuy me oesi una umi about a teacupful, removing in doing so nv grit or rubbish that may nave come mixed with the grain. Iet fully : i : . . i ... i... ..ii.tii i .. .. ... two quarts of salted water boil in a large saucepan and when the liquid is bubbling throw in the rice and allow it to boil hard for about 25 minutes. There is no hard and fast rule about the length of time for rice to boil, but it can best be deter will in-come too soft. When removed from the tire, drain the rice through a sii ve; pour a quantity of cold water oyer it, and drain again. Then put the dish of rice into the oven to heat again and to dry the grains till each is separate from its fellows. This is the sign of well cooked rice. Parsnips a la Francaise. Peel, wash and divide the parsnips. Boil in salted wtor, with a dash of lemon juice. When tender and dry in a cloth. Brush them with egg and crumbs, and fry got Jen brown in hot fat. Stewed Parsnips. After washing and scraping the parsnips rut them about half an inch thick. Put them in a sauce pan of boiling water, just enough to bare ly cook them; add a tablespoonful of butter, season with salt and epper, then cover closely. Stew them until the water has cooked away, watching care fully stirring often to prevent burning until they are soft. When they are done they wiil be of a creamy light straw color. Recipes for cooking parsnips are rare here is one: Boil parsnips until tender, cool them and remove skin. Mash the pith fine, and to every teacupful add a beaten egg a ltttle flour to thicken and salt to taste; a sprinkle of sugar improves them. Drop into boiling lard and brown or they may.be baked like potato cakes. Mouton en Papilottes. Cut the meat into neat,equal-sized pieces.either squai e or triangular, and season hem with a d'uxelles mixture of minced shallot or chives, mushroom, parsley, pepper and salt: oil some squares of white paper, and when pretty dry lay on each a slice of fat bacon the size of the meat, lay the laitor on top of this, then another slice of bacon, and twist up the paper into trim, tightly closed case, and broil these eases for twelve ar fifteen minutes over a clear fire; serve in the papers, with a rich sauce handed round. Spanish Omelet. Brown a teaspoonful of butter, add a minced onion, cook until well done; add a cop of peeled chopped tomatoes, one tablespoonful of catsup, part of a sweet pepper, from which the seeds fii N'' removed, and cook until the peppers melt. Seftscn with one-half tea smioiiful of salt, one-half i-U.-vnoonlul of minced parsley, add a few musbr'v ns i and three olives cut in rings. Prepare i the omelet by beating the yolk and whiles separately of four eggs; have the buttered pan hot; pour in the yellow first, then add the whites. When cooked lay on a big platter, pour the sauce over half the surf are, turn down the other half and serve immediately. Track and Turf. Algol, Macy, Ornament and Meadow thorpe entered in the Brooklyn Handicap and Suburban, are already showing the beneficial effects of wintering in Mem phis. The celebrated stallion Bermuda, 2.201-1 once the pride of the late B. J. Trcacy, is now owned by R. L. Brown, of Kiftan ning who talks of having him trained this year. - A. J. Welch, of Hartford, Conn., has purchased the 9-year-old bay home Hal lington, 2.16 1-2 by Haldene, son of Har old, and he may enter him in the Charter Oak purse for 2.17 trotters. The fair associations in Maine have claimed the following dates New England Fair, at Portland, August 22 to 25; Bangor, August 30 to September 3; Lewiston, Sep tember 5 to 9. The 2-year-old division of the Horse R eview Stakes will be decided at the Grand Circuit meeting at Fort Wayne next August. The trotters will compete for $7500 and the pacers $2500. Captain 8 8. Brown has ordered a start ing machine to be put up at the Bnsconibe race track Mobile where it will be used for schooling his horess in training, espe cially the 2-year-olds. It is rumored in San Francisco thnt young W. S. Hobart.who purchased Bright 'Phoebus just before the horse won the Realization of 1S!S, is likely to return to th" turf again on an extensive scale. The l'neifie Coast Trotting Horse Breed ers' Association will hold a three weeks ks meeting the Oakland race traca enm n.oneini, .Tnne 18. There will be paid in-T juihjhs and starter, and bookmaking will tie allowed. w John BT Schoai Ron, of Temphi7 has a stronfCPtaule, "Including JIfdojtbi)iie, Presbyitwian, Timeaker, lfber Carl Algol. Slacy, Sea Robber, Clwtie Chris tie, Herclairretc., and lot of good-looking -yearSjis. . - Although The IllinTis State Board oT Agricultiirdecided at recent njeetirg to payoff two-thinjs Tf the jnrLrbTcdncf s incurred bulia Chicago HorsC Shtiw ft yet tji exhlostors ) ugjjbeen' plfUW mined by rubbing a grain lietween the lingers it 4 rubs away easily it mill 1m done, and hfjijlii,ulii lm removed from tiiPiire quickly, or it SERMONS OFTHE DAY "your Anchors" Is the Title of the Thir teenth Sermon In the New York Herald's Competitive Series Dr. TbJ-maj-e Preaches Sermon to Sisters. Text: "Thevcast four anchors out of the Stern." Acts'xxvii., 29. The symbolism of the text Is striking and suggestive. Many lives bave been ship wrecked for the need of anchors holding them to steadfastness. However deep we mnv fnnl thA waters tn hn thrmiirh whleh wa am saflinsr w am often nearer tlin shoals ways of pleasantness and all her pat) and reefs than is imagined. peace. The older sister, how mua i ne nrst anchor which should be thrown """" ooru wuuo yei ion out is flxedness of purpose. The inner moat secret of successful lives is in the concentration of power along certain de finite lines. Paul says, "This one thing I do," and the world will ever do him rev erence. Dr. Hudson Taylor says, "This one thing I do," and China is opened as never before to hiiruer ideals and larger Visions of Ufa. Tha Knrl nf Rhf teshn rv savs, "This one thing I do." and he goes "sterly fidelity and she is consig- down to the Holborn viaduct, in London, sellbacy, and society call hor by an and the bootblacks and hucksters and name; but in heaven they call hex J street arabs and costermongers are trans- Let sisters not begrudge the tic formed. The great names in art, in science, ;are destowed on a brother. It is 1 in philosophy and in finance are always oelieve that any boy that you know identified with pain and purpose. Life is s your brother can ever turn out an power, but power undirected is lost. Only pry useful. Well, he may not be s constant striking on the same spot makes There is only one of that kind nee an impression. Purpose connects and 4il thousand years. Bnt I tell wh. unifies our months and years and makes of brother will be either a blessiii,- tliem all but parts of a single whole. Each surse to society, and a candidate for day ought to be a link tempered and aess or wretchedness. He will, like welded into the chain of a completed life. ave the choice between rubles and Three-fonrths of men's failures may be Joals, and your influence will have attributed to the lack of purpose. The : do with his deci.-ion. He may m house can scarcely be constructed without Moses, be the deliverer sf a nation, apian; how much less can a human life be may, after your father and mot fashioned without a conception of whnt gone, be the deliverer of a ho it will be when finished? Plan must preeede What thousands of homes to-day ar construction; the ideal before the realiza- by brothers! There are propert tion, the purpose before the accomplish- well invested and yieldiugjTi!on meut. Only the man who aims will strike support of sisters and younger the mark. Turn your life into a definite because the older brother rose channel; let it not cover too much terri- leadership from the day the father i tory, for it is the deeply flowing stream to die. Whatever you do for your t which cuts away the obstructions and at will come back to yoa again. last reaches the sea, wiiile the stream i Don't snub him. Don't deprej which spreads itself in shallowness goes ability. Don't talk discouraging silently into the swamp-land and its life bis future. Don't let Miriam got I is ended. The analysis of every completed the bank of theXileand wadeout J life reveals a central point about which the ark of bulrushes. Don't teas. : energy and emotion and devotion cluster ' Don't let jealousy ever touch themselves. joul, as it so often does, because hi But purpose to exert Its influence must gets more honor or more mef be accompanied by perseverance, so cast Miriam, the heroine of the text, out the second anchor. Here is a vast dif- by that evil passion of jealousy, ference between the aim and the accom- possessed unlimited influence o' plishment. Perseverance is the bending nd now he marries, and not or of the bow to send the shaft at the tamet. marries a black woman from Etb and the bowls the will. "I wiil fight it i out on this line If It takes all summer. savs the great general. That is the spirit i which conquers. No sooner have our plans Deen uraiieu or our purpose fixed than cir cumstances and difficulties seem to con Sbire to defeat and ruin them. Manv a man has seen his star in the east, but only here 'he has the Egyptian leprosy ana there nas one been possessed of the me uroiner wnom sne nua aeie courage and devotion to follow it over an Nile comes to her rescue in a unbeaten pnth until it led him to his trcas- , brings her restoration. Let I ure. It is blood earnestness which tells, room in all your house for jea Thejrian who is ever unconscious of defeat to sit or stand. It is a lepro is he wlTo-gtTfSajii'Y will plant his standard 'ion. Your brother's success, upon the enemies' ra"lf2d iJh" your success. His victories j day. He who holds on in the laoeof the": !rh; storm, in spite of discouragements, calmly ) I' you Til"" ""f suffering temporary delays, is he who final- j Identical. ffliTt, ly secures bis crown and his reward. Khali : tint ever stood tog we complain of difficulties when a thou sand Angers are pointing at wonderful achievements, made after overcoming tre mendous obstacles? H den Kellar, without sight, without hearing, without language, presses on until she passes the entrance examinations to Harvard University. John Bunyan, the drunken tinker of Bedford, rises to the authorship of "Pilgrim's Prog ress." It is haif-heartedness which fails, but the "doing with thy might" which suc ceeds. Before n determined will and a passionate devotion men will stand aside and let you pass they cannot help it; diffi culties will vanish they cannot withstand you; obstruction will be crushed their puny strength deserts thm. Then, in order to make perseverance possible, anchor the third, faith in one's self. Too often the estimate of our power falls fur short of what it really is. Emer son's word, "Trust thyself," carries with it a true philosophy, fcrone may not achieve until there is a firm belief in one's own soul. If we rate our ideal at 100 and our power at fifty the accomplishment will be but one-half. The great crime men com mit against themselves is not in overjudg lng, but iu underjudging. My self-set limitations determine tne extent of my achievement. Ana wnat right nas fan, born in the image of God, with unknown and undeveloped powers standing before a hidden future, to measure and to circum scribe bis capabilities and to limit his.nos sibllities of sueeess in the construction of life? Only (iod may measure man, foronly God knows the height the individual may ren-fi. .,ien who to-rtav are almost meas- ureliss in their intellectual sweep are they who nave not dared with compass and rule to set their bounds. This is not conceit. but a respect forthe uutouehed, undreamed of potency of your own soul. So then believe not only in yonr ideal, but in the possibility 01 reaitztug it. And then the fourth anchor, faith in God We may imagine Paul as the last anchor is thrown out calling to the sailors, "Men, does it hold?" and the answer coming back "Yes; the rope is taut; we do not seethe ledge down below the waves, but tlte anchor holds." Ah! that is the blessed ex perience of life; this anchor always grasps tne solid roca, the unseen rock of uod! Faith connects man with Omnipotence. Faith Is the conductor which places at our disposal divine grace and power. This the testimony of every child of fu,:r.'). "I can do all things through Him." This is thepowernot our own which may be ap propriated. And there are times when the safety of the whole life depends uneu this anchor. The anchor of purpose may be dislodged and flung high upon the shore by storm huh tempest; tne ancuor Ol perse verance may be worn away by tho fretting tide and tho cutting sands, the anchor of lattu may snap iu twain In some fearful crisis when the strain is great and the heart is sick, but awav down below the crashing billows of passion and temptation rest the anchor of faith embedded in the henrt of God. So let us live with a noble tiurncxo loome!" Ashe worthy the patient endeavor and unfnlter- time ft blinding ing devotion we bestow upoirit, mindful of deafening roar our own undiscovered resources and h61d. I awhile he saw ing fast to the might of God. and lol his brot, Rev. OnAni.F.H Atwood CixphesV. him home, and First Presbyterian Church. Providence. bTlJ I'th swife feet h FOR CIRLS. Ilev. Wr. Talinage Preacheffc)irectiy to the Sisters. Text: "And his sister stood afar ofnSjto witness what would be done to him." Ex odus II., 4. Princess Thermutis, daughter of J'ha- roah, looking out throuJi the lattice flhet bathing-house on the banks of theKile, saw a curious boat on tie, river. It had neither oar nor helm, sywthsiy wousdnave been useless anyhow. There was only one passenger, and that a baby boy. The boat was made of the broad leaves of papyrus, tightened together by bitumen. "Kill all the Hebrew children bortw" iiftd bSi Pha roali's order. To save beTboy, Jochebed, the mother of little Moses, hnd u him In in that queer boat nd latin Aed liTm. His sister, Miriam, toTd (iSBthe rank watching that precious craft. She waheen,otigh off not to draw attention to tTri 1Sntjaut. near enough to offer rwitecjion. 'TiieVi she stands on tluj. bank Wrfam. th poet ess: Miriam. tlierHiiek-witteil;Mirivfi, tlje faiMiful; though very tubman. Tor issafter ktiiite shu demonstrated fr. f Th, wax not Mirpitt, the siste" Moses doingagooTl tiling, an nitT.otiamrHlitr.ir. glorious JfVng wtfenBh,wAhd the boat LnherKh wofeit offlvpanWtd-hTlifle wate(fc!i U.'?' 'e be sh. with aspbaltavn carryii fing ltsrfneniesf''''nVI all the iges VSme H' t,!rtr -niu Itv. uWerJibligatlon shou,-e. gerTstVld sheTiot put anjfof a oofnlng eKrnity. when Btie eerenoefl hsjr belpldh. brot has train raveni the riis aquatic, reptilian -and" avenons? Krfri it was that Amuirht that wonderful talis SJidstts maSetogelier, lo that he was aear8d-te? be the deliverergfis oation,VhetftiierwisVI if savfB at all from the rushes ofha Nile, he would ave rSJn UorsMjW'pf tH6od-efying Pha1 aS; fWTrtnafiss t?rs?nnetis, of,th9 bath-- ro lngbouseyrourd e wsreauea tna$rown dnhUrUt bw rv own. this adopted ohlld would nave to ooronatlon. Had there been no Mi there would have been no Hoses. Wij garland for a faithful sisterhood! V l Miriam was the oldest of the'iu Hoses and Aaron, her brothers, i younger. Oh the power of tlie elder s to help decide the brother's cbaracte usefulness and for heaven! She can off from her brother more evils than M: rou Id have driven back water-fowl ore dile from the ark of bulrushes. The lister decides the direction in whic cradlo boat shall sail. By gentlenf good sense, by Christian principle ah turn it toward the palace, not of a w Pharaoh, but of a holy God; and a brii princess than Thermu tis should lift bl ot peril, even religion, whose wayi was In limited circumstances, she a bold and take care of heryoungerbro kad If there Is anything that exoit tympathy, it is a little girl lugging a 1 great fat child and getting he' boxed because she can not keep him By the time she gets to young woma she is pale and worn out, and her tlveness has been sacrificed on the a Miriam is so disgusted and ou Moses. first because hehad marri next beeause he had practiced tion, 'that she is drawn into a then begins to turn white, and s a corpse, and then whiter tt Her complexion is like chalk, conspicuous is tht shilds. As Slayer Ai. about to -fie, in 1812, he , dren about him Anselm, Charles and James and i that they would alwa; 'Change. Obeying that i have been the mightiest com on earth, and at the raising f their scepter nations have rb That Illustrates how much, c and for selfish purposes, a may achieve. But suppose a magnitude of dollars as t doing good, and making t sion, and raising this sun much more ennobling! your part, and brother will Miriam will lovingly watu' Nile, Moses will help "ier v asters strike. General Bauer, of the ? had in early life wandered and the family supposed-1 ter he gained a fortunb h day in Uusam, his native a banquet; and among th men who were to dine he miller and his wife, who 1. who, affrighted, came, fea would be done them. Th' wife were placed one en General at the table. T' the miller all about 1' miller said that be had sister. "So other bro brother went off with th ago, and no doubt was Then the Generaf sai. this man's younger thought was dead." A' J the cheer, and, bow w- t jjrotner ana sistei an introduction ta eniLi You do not know each your brother is grouty and he thinks you er and unlovely. Both wr will be a prince in some that sister a queen in some man. That br-tt fellow, and that sister I Come, let me bjtrluce is Miriam." 'Oiirin-.n. seenty-flve per cent, t preciation of each oth kiss good morning do' cold cheek, wet from as though you hated t lips in affectx the fondness a., ter's kiss. I read of a cli detained at a in night by some f being told him, . saw it was so dajl. The incident imj cause ln-nwli same experience, rades to go with(J it got larer ana i. fl o'clock. "Olf.-i Who tok Mm glad to greet hi per had b?cn wo" the night of d-ii hjriends can not Inot go alone; its Brother, our Ft'i comeout to'mff promises, whM x feet;. ami theij J loved ones Wal the mnrfnge supj ' li'hen we ri'j'iB inui i vr.- wnen i I bear a pl-ovijnj There r3f lierfuctly reconc Vou will nevi tVin. ft tffti e The -ff couiiuemt verv tu.i ki le miner mall 3 AVheii vflft hn. 'Jeiour iieilsfcof iij Wed vou 4r' "oi ""hexrsfc? ga mo i-i The poorest fx ll! t Cl't BIUC? who getliitle iMrUrtlfy arff when others i)r. ' There is one alleviation of l t noid olbeil I r ' r .i - - -iS . i V ' isv, i-:--i-JsL-ir", V
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers