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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.
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
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
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
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
"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
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
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
"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,
"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
"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
"Lord Arleigh," announced a servant at
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
"I do not think it likely," said her lady
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."
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
He waa perfectly calm and unembar
"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
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
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
"Do not go yet, Norman." she said:
"It Is quite early. Stay, and I will sing
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
"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
"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
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
"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
"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
"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
"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,
"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
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
"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
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
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
"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
"Then people take an unwarrantable
liberty with the lady's name," said Lord
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
"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
"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
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
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
isstd the beast to ibse the
e eye. Ae public 'l'l't
nn nnrler nMlna mnil tTionimleu
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
meeting the Oakland race traca enm
n.oneini, .Tnne 18. There will be paid
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
Talinage Preacheffc)irectiy to
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
doingagooTl tiling, an nitT.otiamrHlitr.ir.
glorious JfVng wtfenBh,wAhd the boat LnherKh
wofeit offlvpanWtd-hTlifle wate(fc!i U.'?' 'e be sh.
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
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--
e wsreauea tna$rown
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
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.,
I read of a cli
detained at a in
night by some f
being told him, .
saw it was so dajl.
The incident imj
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
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
Vou will nevi
tVin. ft tffti e
verv tu.i ki
le miner mall 3
AVheii vflft hn.
'Jeiour iieilsfcof iij
Wed vou 4r' "oi
The poorest fx
ll! t Cl't BIUC?
when others i)r.
' There is one
alleviation of l
t noid olbeil
r ' r .i -
i V ' isv,