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11. F: BOHWEIER,
MIFFLINTOWIN. JUNIATA COUNTY. PENN A.. WEDNESDAY. MARCH 9. 1898.
NO. 13,
VOL. LII
.- uuna i i i u i n uhiuct - . ,,.-.- - - -- -
u
1
4
1
CHAPTKIt XIII.
From the moment Arleigh believ
ed that the young duchess intended to for
bid all acquaintance with her fair pro
tege, he resolved to see her and to make
her like him.
The day following he went ncnin to the
mansion; the duchess was at homo, and
wished to pee him, but at that moment
she was engaged.
He went into the morning room and
through the long, open French window;
there were the lovely roses in bloom, and
there oh, kind, blessed fate! there was
his beautiful Madaline, seated in the
pretty trellised arbor, busily working
some fine point lace, looking herself like
the fairest flower that ever bloomed. The
,-ouug girl looked up at him with a star
tled glance shy, sweet, hesitating and
then he went up to her.
"Do not let me disturb you," he said.
"The duchess is " engaged, and always
gives me permission to wait for her here."
She bowed, and he fancied that, her
white (Tnge-i-s trembled.
"May I introduce myself to you?" he
continued. "I am Lord Arleigh."
A beautiful b'.ush, exquisite a. the huo
f the fairest i-.ise. spread over her face.
Jjhe looked at him with a smile.
"Ixrd Arleigh," the repeated "I know
the name very well."
"You know my name very well how is
that?" he asked, in surprise.
"It is a household word here," she said
"I hear it at least a hundred times a day."
"We muu be friends," said Lord Ar- I
leigh, "for I, too, love the duchess. She '
has been ike a sister to me ever suite 1
I can renember; and be drew nearer to
t
the beautiful girl as he spoKe. "Will yon
Includome among your friends?' he con
tiupff "This is not the first time that
I have seen you. I stood watching you
yesterday; you were among the roses, and
I was tn the morning room. 1 thought
-ion, and I have thought vver since, that
I would give anything to be lii-imleil
among your friends."
"A friend of mine, my lord?" she ex
Maimed. "How can I? Surely you know
I am not of your rank I am not one of
the class from which you select your
friends. I do not think you quite uader
.stand." "Yes, I do," he declared, eagerly: "I
asked the duchess yesterday who you
were, and she told me your whole story."
It was impossible for him not to see
tow she shrank with unutterable pain
from the words. The point lace fell on
the grass nt her feet she covered her face
with her hands.
"Hid she? Oh, Lord Arleigh, it was
cruel to tell it!"
"It was not cruel to toil mo," ho re
turned. "She would not tell any one cl.-e,
I am quite sure. Hut she saw that I w:u
really anxious that I must know it that
it was not from curiosity I asked."
"Not from curiosity!" she repealed, still
hiding her burning face with her hands.
"No, it was from a different motive."
And then ho paused abruptly. Whnt was
he going to say? How far had he already
left all conventionality behind? He s:i;
ped just in time, and then continue!,
gravely: "The Duchess of Hazelwood 2nd
myself are such true and tried frii-n !s
that we never think of keeping any -crets
from each other. We have broil.
I told you before, brother and s;:er a'.l
our lives it was only natural tlixr :-hc
should tell me about you." j
Ami, having heard my story, yon csit
me to be one of your friends?" she sni 1,
slowly. There were pain and patln.s in
her voice as the spoke.
"Yes," he replied, "having ;eard it nil,
I desire nothing on earth so much au to
win your friendship."
"My mother?" she murmured.
"Yes your mother's unfortunate mar
riage, and all that came of it. I can to
pent the story."
"Oh, no!" she interrupted. "I do not
wish to hear it. You know it, and yi.u
will still be my friend?"
"Answer me one question," he sa:d ge. t
ly. "Is this sad story the result of any
fault of yours? Are you in any way to
blame for it?"
"No; not in the least. Still, Led Ar
leigh, although I do not share the fault,
1 share the disgrace nothing can avert
that from me."
"Nothing of the kind," he opposed;
"disgrace and yourself as as incompati
ble as pitch and a dove's wing."
"But," she continued, wonderingly, "do
you quite understand?"
"Yes, the duchess told mo the whole
story. I understand it, and am truly
grieved for you; I know the duke's share
in it and all."
He saw her face grow pale even to the
lips.
"And yet you would be my friend
you whom people call proud yon whose
name is history! I cannot believe it. Lord
Arleigh."
There was a wistful look in her eyes,
as though she would fain believe that it
were true, yet that she was compelled to
plead even against herself.
"We cannot account for likes or dis-
likes," he said; "I always look upon them j
as natures guidance as to whom we
should love, and whom we should avoid.
The moment I saw you I liked yon. I
went home, and thought about you all day
long."
"Did you?" she asked, wonderingly.
"How very strange!"
"It does not seem strange to me," he
observed. "Before I had looked at yon
three minutes I felt as though 1 had
known you all my life. How long have
we been talking here? Ten minutes, per- i
haps yet I feel as though already there
is something that has cut ns off from the
rest of the world, and left us alone to-
gether. There is no accounting for such
strange feelings as these. Do you under
stand me?"
"I I am frightened. Lord Arleigh."
"Nay, why should you fear? What is
there to fear? It is true. The moment
I saw you sitting here I knew that you
were my ideal, found at last. Will you
pluck one of those roses for me and give it
to me, saying 'I promise to be your
friend?"
"You make me do things against mj
will," she said; but she plucked a rose,
ad hld U toward him in her band.
"I promise to be your friend,
eentlv.
Lord Arleigh kissed the rose. As he
did so their eyes met; and it would have
been hard to tell which blushed the more
deeply. After that, meetings between
them became more frequent. Lord Ar
leigh made seeing her the one great study
of his life and the result was what miht
be imagined. .
CHAPTER XIV.
The yacht of Mr. Conyers. one of the
richest commoners in England a yacht
fitted t- surely no yacht ever before had
been fitted was for sale. He was
wealthy man, but to keep that sea-palace
afloat was beyond his means. The Luch
esa of Hazelwood was sole mistress of a
large fortune in her own right; the duke
had made most magnificent settlements
upon her. She had a large sum of money
at her command; nnd the idea suddenly
occurred to her to purchase Mr. Conyers
yacht unknown to her husband and pre
sent him with 't. Khe herself was a
wretched sailor, and would not be able to
accompany him; but that would not mat
ter. It was not of her own pleasure that
the Duchess of Hazelwood was thinking,
while the old strange brooding smile lin
gered on her beautiful face and deepened
on her perfect lips.
She purchased the yacht and presented
, It to the duke, her husband. His pleas
ure and astonishment were unDounuea.
She was, as a rule, so undemonstrative
that he could not thank her sufficiently
for what seemed to him her great iuterest
in his favorite pursuit.
"The only drawback to the splendid
gift, Thilippa, is that you can never en
joy it; It will take nie nway from you."
"Yes, I do indeed deplore that I am a
wretched sailor, for I can imagine noth
ing pleasanter than life on board such a
yacht es that. But, while you are cruis
iDg about, Vere, I shall go to Verdun
Royal and take Madaline with me; then I
shall go to Vere Court make a kind of
royal progress, set everything straight,
redress all wrongs, and hold a court at
each establishment. I shall enjoy that
more than yachting."
As it was settled so it was carried out;
before tie week had ended the duke,
duchess and Madaline were all at Verdun
Royal. Perhaps the proud young wife
had never realized before how completely
her husband loved her. This temporary
! parting was to him a real pain. One
warm, brilliant day he took leave of her,
and she was left to work out her purpose.
On the day of his departure the duke had
aid to his wife:
"I have Invited Norman to spend a few
weeks with yon; have some pleasant peo
ple to meet him. He tell, me he shall not
go to Scotland this year."
"I will ask Miss Byrton and Lady Shel
don," Philippa had promised.
Early in August Lord Arleigh wrote
that If It were convenient he should prefer
paying his promised visit at once. He
concluded his letter by saying:
"My dear Philippa, your kind, good hus
band has said something to me about
meeting a pleasant party. I should so
much prefer one of my old style visits
no parties, no ceremonies. I want to see
you and Verdun Royal, not a crowd of
strange faces. Lady Peters is chaperon.
If you have any lingering doubt about the
proprieties.' "
So it was agreed that he should come
(lone, and later on, if the duchess cared
to invite more friends, Bhe could do so.
The fact was that Lord Arleigh wanted
time for his wooing. He had found that
he could not live without Madaline. He
had thought most carefully about every,
thing, and had decided on- asking her to
be his wife. True, there was the draw
back of her parentage but that was not
grievous, not so terrible. Of course, if
she had been lowly bom descended from
the dregs of the people, or the daughtej
of a criminal he would have trampled hii
love under foot. He would have said to
him-elf: "Noblesse oblige," and rathei
than tarnish the honor of his family, he
would have given her up.
If he could only win Madeline's con
sent. She had b'?en so unwilling to prom
ise him her friendship, and then so un
willing to hear that he loved her. He
could form no idea how she would receive
the offer of marriage that he intended tc
make her.
That was why he wished to go alone.
He would have time snd opportunity then.
As for Philippa, he did not fear any rea!
objection from her; if she once believed
or thought that his heart was fixed ol
marrying Madaline, he was sure she
would help Mm.
I He wint down to Verdun Royal, heart
! and soul so completely wrapped in Mada
line that he hardly remembered Philippa
I hardly remembered that he was going
as ner guest; be was going to woo Mada
line fair, sweet Madaline to ask her to
be his wife, to try to win her for his own.
It was afternoon when he reached Ver
dun RoyaL The glory of summer was
over the earth. He laughed at himself,
for he was nervous and timid; he longed
to see Madaline, yet trembled at the
thought of meeting her.
"So this is love?" said Lord Arleigh to
himself, with a smile. "I used to iron-
der why It made men cowards, and what
there was to rear. 1 can understand it
now."
As he went across the lawn, wonder
ing how she would look, where he should
find her, and what she would say to him
when she saw him. Once or twice he
fancied he saw the glimmer of a white
dress between the trees. He wondered
If she felt shy at seeing him, as he did at
seeing her. Then suddenly it was as
though a bright light had fallen from the
skies he came upon her standing under
great linden tree.
"Madaline!" he said, gently. And she
came to him with outstretched hands.
BART Special Wife in Name Only ..
He felt the little hands tremble in his
grasp, and he released them with a kiss.
"What will the duchess say 7" she cried.
"Oh, Lord Arleigh, let me go."
"Give me one kind word, then."
"What am I to say? Oh, do let me go!"
"Say, 'I like you, Norman.' "
"I like you, Norman," she said; and she
hastened awny. Yet, with her flushed
face and the glad light in her happy eyes,
she aid not dare to present nerself n
race before the duchess and Lady Peters,
CHAPTER XV. ! "Jean Bt,0T!dJS2
. .. , t . i.u'nWi mvaelf in the cnolOS OC m w ue.
ny tne next morning ira
mm) Madaline met again in the woods.
"My darling Madaline," said he as t
came np to where she sat at a brookside,
"your face is pale, and there are tears in
your eyes. Vhat is the matter? Whnt
has brought you out hero when yon ought
to be indoors? What is the trouble that
aas taker, away tie roses and put liMee
In their p-ce?" j
1 1 T . . Wl- T 1 .tl. .Vl.
I have no trouble. Lord Arleigh , sne
replied, "I came here only to think."
"To think of what, sweet?
"I cannot tril you," she answered. "Yon gj, yTea on(jr yoor roof ah to, m some
cannot expect that I shall tell you every ma TOnr protege. What I wished
thing." to consult yon about is my marriage. It
"Madaiine, my love, let me plead tn mast not tak. place here, of course. I
you," he said, "for the gift of your love, j Mlei ,t nd, and thin- it only natural, that
Give me that, and I shall be content. You duke doea not wish to have attention
think I am proud," he continued; "I am 1 a i n m f" way to Madaline. We all
not one-half so proud, sweet, as you. You ; mc4 keep our little family secrets; con-re-fuse
to love me why ? Because of your 1 ,eqUctly I hare thought of a pln which
pride. You have some foolish notions that beHre will meet ail the difficult In
the difference in our positions should pan , g,
us. You are quite wrong love knows ne
such difference."
"But the world does." she interrupted.
"Vhe drarest ihing hi life to me la the
honor of my name, the honor of my race,''
said Lord Arleigh. "It has nerer been
tarnished, rnd I pray heaven that no
stain may ever rest upon It. I will
be frank wi ix you, Madaiine, aa you are
with me, though I love yon so dearly that
my very life is bound up in yours. I
would not ask you to be my wife if I
thought that in doing so 1 was bringing
a shfldow of dishonor on my race if I
thought that I was in even ever ?o slight
a degree tarnishing my name; but I do
not think so. I speak to you frankly. I
know the story of your misfortunes, and,
knowing It, do not deem It sufficient to
part us. Listen and believe me, Madaline
if I stood with you. before the altnr,
with your hand in mine, and the solemn
words of the marriage service on my lips,
and anything even then came to my
knowledge which I thought prejudicial to
the fame and honor of my race, I should
without hesitation ask you tor release me.
Do you believe me?"
"Yes," she replied, slowly, "I believe
you. I wish you would let me tell you
all about it how my mother, so gentle
and good, came to marry my father, and
how he fell how he was tempted and
fell. May I tell you, Lord Arleigh?"
"No," he replied, after a short pause,
"I would lather not hear it. The duchess
has told me all I care to know. It will
he better, believe me, for the whole story
to die away. If I had wished to hear it,
I should have asked you to tell it me."
"It would make me happier," she said;
"I should know then that there was no
mistake."
"There is no mistake, my darling the
duchess has told me; and it Is not likely
that Bhe has made a mistake."
Bending down, he kissed her face and
this time she made no resistance to his
sovereign will.
"Now," said Ijord Arleigh, triumphant
ly, "you are my very own, nothing can
separate us that kiss seola our betrothal;
you must forget all doubts, all fears, all
hesitation, and only say to yourself that
you are mine all mine. Will yon be
happy, Madaline?"
She raised her eyes to his, her face be
dewed with happy tears.
"I should be most ungrateful If I were
not happy," she replied; "yon are so good
to me. Lord Arleigh."
"Yon must not call me 'Lord Arleigh'
say 'Norman. "
"Norman," she repeated, "you are so
good to me."
"I love yon so well, sweet," he returned.
The happy eyes were raised to hi face.
"Will you tell me," she asked, "why
you love me, Norman? I cannot think
why it is. I wonder about it every day.
You Bee girls a thousand time better suit
ed to you than I am. Why do you lore
me so?"
"What a question to answer, sweet I
How can I tell why I love you? I cannot
help it; my soul is attracted to your soul,
my heart to your heart, Madaline. I
shall be unwilling to leave you again;
when I go away from Verdun Royal, I
shall want to take my wife with me."
She looked at him in alarm.
"I am quite serious," he continued.
"You are so sensitive, so full of hesita
tion, that, if I leave you, you will come
to the conclusion that yon have done
wrong, and will write me a pathetic little
letter, and go away.
"No, I shall not do that," she observed.
"I shall not give you a chance, my own;
shall neither rest myself nor let any one
else rest until you are my wife. I will
not distress you now by talking about It.
I shall go to the ducheaa to-day, and tell
her that you have relented In my favor at
last; then you will let us decide for you,
Madaline, will you not?"
"Yes," she replied, with a smile; "it
would be useless for me to rebel."
"You have made some very fatal ad
missions," he said, laughingly. ?You
have owned that you love me; after that,
denial, resistance, coyness, shyness,' noth
ing will avail. Oh, Madaline, I shall al
ways love this spot where I won you! I
will have a picture of this brookside paint
ed some day. We must go back to the
house now; but before we go, make . me
Unppy; fceil me of your own free will that
you love me."
"Norman," said Madaline, aa they stood
befor the great Gothic porch, "will you
wait until to-morrow before you tell the
luchess?"
"No," he laughed, "I shall tell her this
very day."
CHAPTER XVI.
It was almost noon before Lord Arleigh
aw Philippa, and then it struck him that
"tie was not looking well. She seemed to
have lost her brilliant color, and he fan
ned she was thinner than she used to be.
She had sent for him to her boudoir.
"I !:;:vc icl:c to
Philil pa," he Li-gnu,
ma ..e a confession.
"So I imagined; you look guilty
What
is it?"
"I have found my ideal. I love her,
ilie loves nie, and I want to marry her."
The pallor of the lovely lips deepened.
Vir a few minutes no sound was heard
cxi opt the failing of the spray of the foun
tain, and then the Duchess of Hazelwood
looked up and said:
"You must admit that I warned you,
Norman, from the very first."
He raised his head proudly.
"You warned me? I do not under
stand." "I kept her out of your sight. I told
you it would be better for you not to see
her. I advised you, did I notT
"But, my dearest Philippa, I want no
warning I am very happy as the matter
I have nearest my heart. I thank you for
bringing my sweet Madaline here. You
do not seem to understand."
"10 you love her very much, Norman?"
"I ove her better than any words of
mine can tell," he said. "The moment I
saw her first I told you my dream was
realized I had found my ideal. I have
I loved her ever since."
"It is j. miserable marriage fox you, Nor
man. Granted that Made ne has beauty,
grace, purity, she is without fortune, con
nection, position. You. an Arleigh of
Beech grove, .ought to do better. I am
speaking as the world will speak. It to
really a wretch ed marriage . ..
There are certain circumstancss
which I would not have married any oo;
these circumstances do not surround my
darling. She stand out clear and dis
tinct as a bright jewel from the Mat of
the world. To-day ah. prom teed to be my
wife, but she is so iotln and heertat-
Lt t .1 mfrt M I shall lose
her yea now j WMt to marry her
. mHm M t -
800,1 . . . .. . V
But why," a gain M-ea tne uucm ,
'do yon tell
tfaiar
'Because it
concern yon most sarly.
The pallor of te dncheaa' face deep
ened.
"Are you faint or 111, Philippa?" he ask
ed, wondering at her strange appearance.
"No," she replied, lt to only the heat
that affects me. Go on with your story.
Norman, it interesui me.
I "That is like my dear old friend Phil
: ippa. I thought a marriage from here
would not do it would entail publicity
and remark; that none of n wooM care
j for besides, there could hardly be a mar
riage uuuer your auspic trans- w au
sence of the duke."
"No, it would hardly be en regie," the
agreed. i
"But," continued Norman, "if Lady
Peters would befriend me if she would
go away to some quiet seaside place, and
take Madaiine with Jier theot the end
- - V . T ! . . t I . '
01 a IOrmiUUl, HIJ.UI JMi ureal
and we could De mamea, wren every aue
observance of conventionality, .but with
out calling undue public attention to the
ceremony. Do yon not think that a good
plan, Philippa
"Yes," she said, dowry.
'Thilippa," he continued, "will you let
me send Lady Peters to yon bow, that I
may know as soon aa possible whether
she consents?"
"You can send her if yon will, Nor
man." Was H his fancy, or did he really, as
he stood at the door, hear a deep, heart
broken sigh ? Did her voice. In a sad, low
wail, come to bun "Norman, Norman r
He turned quickly, but she seemed to
have forgotten him, and was looking
through the open window.
Was it his fancy again, when the door
had closed, or did she really cry "Nor
ma n!" He opened the door quickly.
"Did you call me, Philippa f he asked.
"No," she replied; and he went away.
"I do not understand It," he thought;
"there is something not quite right, Phil
ippa is not like herself."
Then be went in search of Lady Peters,
(vhom he bewildered and astonished by
telling her that H lay in her power to
make him the happiest of men.
(To be continued.)
Imitation Without Flattery.
The habit of thinking aloud was a pe
rullarlty of one of the Earls of Dudley,
i ad of this an amusing anecdote Is told.
Lord Dudley, being invited to the house
of a friend, had ordered his carriage at
an early bonr, having some miles to
travel before be could obtain his accus
tomed repose. To his great mortiflca.
tion, after repeated inquiries for Lord
Dudley's carriage. It had not'arriyed.
One of the guests, seeing how much his
lordship was disconcerted by the event,
very politely offered him a seat In his
carriage. The gentleman In question
had to pass his lordship's bouse on his
return, and though he was almost a
stranger to Lord Dudley, the tatter's
rank and position In the county were,
of course, well known to him. Never
theless, they had not been seated in the
carriage more than twenty minutes
when the peer, who had, up to that mo
ment, maintained a most perfect si
lence, observed. In a low, but distinctly
audible tone of voice: "I'm very sorry
I accepted this offer. I don't know the
man. It was civil, "certainly, but the
worst Is, I suppose, I must ask him to
dinner." He then relapsed into his
former state of taciturnity, when, after
a few minutes, tbe gentleman, pretend
ing to be afflicted with the same feel
ing, and. Imitating his lordship's tone,
observed: "Perhaps he'll think 1 did It
to make his acquaintance. Why, I
would have done, the same to any far
mer on his estate. I hope he won't
think It necessary to ask me to dinner,
for I shan't accept his invitation." Lord
Dudley listened to him with earnest in
terest. Immediately comprehended the
joke which he himself had provoked,
offered his band with much hearty
good-will to his companion, making ev
ry proper apology for his involuntary
rudeness, and from that night the trav
elers became inseparable friends. .
Germany's Gnn Shop.
Krupp's gunmaking establishment at
Essen, Germany, employs 20,000 peo
ple. T!i shallow min li-d are often dull be
c;iiiso thoy do not lind others as frivolous
as themselves.
A blind man's opinion of tfiosun is based
on what he has learned from the earth
with his eaue.
Adventurers in literature most gen
erdlly begin by writing poor Htry, and
end up by writing worse prose.
Tim wise prove, and the foolish confess,
by their conduct, that a lif of employ
ment is the only life worth living.
What it is our duty to do, we must do,
lieeniisi! it is right, not because any one
can demand it of us.
Whenever you can make a dependent
vour equal, you can mtike a servant your
f w I, and not until then.
Many people rate their importance ly
their ability to find fault wilh ever tiling
but themselves.
It is safer to bestow on a needy frirjtid
one dollar than one hundred. We T11
look upon the dollar as his, and upon the
hundred as yours.
Providence has nothing good or high
in store for one who does not resolutely
aim at something high or good. A purpose
is the eternal ronditiou of success.-
We must have both wisdom and knowl
edge to get much benefit out of either.
With rudeness suffered to reign at
home, impoliteness must neeussarilv be
the rule abroad.
Flattery often may be innocent, but
it is never but one remove from decep
tion. The commonest kind of cheerful giver,
is the one who gives nothing but good
advice.
Where one is honest from principle,
ten are honest from prudence.
When men learn to do good for th
sake of the good, and not for the sake of
self, they will come to know it is possible
to glorify God. . ": '.
Negligence is the rust of (he .soul that
corrodes throuch all her best resolutions.
I,. v.!" T' "Ti rf-m-i
T WAS FIifj
'Iggi-1-''!1-'-'-'-'-1' -'
W
HEN Meyer came to Plne
ville he gave bis name as
Wilhelm Wlndmeyer, and It
was promptly changed by the cltizeus .
to Bill Meyer. t
He came direct from the fatherland
to make Plneville his home. He" thought
It was his duty, too, to tell everybody he
had left a sweetheart behind, and that
It was for her sake that he was work
ing to make a borne. . Her. name was
Leuken. 8he was very, beautiful, he
said, and so good that It seemed almost
a miracle she hud lived to the' age of 20.
It was this loyulty to tbe girl be bad
promised to marry, and who was so far
away, that made Meyer a favorite with
everybody tn Plneville.
But Meyer was a slow, easy going fel- ;
low, and the oue thought about Leuken
seemed to occupy every cranny of his
thinking apparatus, to the exclusion of
every other thought.1 He was a very
small man, and that, and the wooden
leg he wore, lie said, bad' saved Kim
from doing duty as a soldier. . .
Meyer found employment with Judge.
Peterklu. The wages were, low, . but
It was a steady Job, and that was what
Meyer most desired.
During his first year In Plneville
Meyer gained a little sum of money,
and lost four lingers and part of his'
nose. He was trying to whistle "Die
Wacut am Rhine" down the barrel of
an old musket, when tbe gun went off
accidentally and carried away part of
his nasal organ. The fingers were cut
off with a small circulat saw used for
cutting fire woo i.
Two lingers on one band were cut off
first. When the wounded', band had
been tied up. Judge Peterklp, his daugh
ter Molly, and Aunt Phyllis, the cook,
followed Meyer out to the woodshed to
be shown bow the accident had occur?-,
red.- ';' '' , - -
"It must have been a piece of pure
carelessness on your part," said the
Judge, looking very, severe. . "Now
show me how It was done."
"I vas singing 'Over die garten rail, "
saitl Meyer. "Den I pick up a shriek of
vood like dis," picking one up -with bis
unwounded hacJ. "Und den I bold it
like dis, und den de shtick sblip like
dis. und den my fingers vas cut off like
dis." And that was how Meyer came
to lose the second two' fingers.
Tbe second year Meyer laid up an
other small sum of money, and was di
vested of part of an ear, two toes and
a good deal of his hair. The ear and
toes were lost accidentally,' and the
hair Incidentally, from natural causes.
"Why, Meyer, Lenken ' won't know
you when she sees you again, you are
such a wreck,'
lay- .
said Molly to him one
"Veil, maybe so," be sighed: But In
a moment the confidence In his sweet
heart's steadfastness returned. "Oh,
she vas so goot. Miss Molly, nnd so
beautiful,", he said, "dat It makes no
difference to her how I' look. She vas
true all de time." . - . '
Then Molly thought she would see If
Meyer would not pay her a compliment.
"How does Lenken look.. Meyer? Does
he look something like me?' she asked.
"Like you!" he exclaimed. "Lenken
don't look like nobody. Miss Wlggin
look like yon, maybe, but Lenken. vas
different." ' ' ' " -
Miss Wipgln was Molly's rival beauty
In rineville. and. the reference to her
made the latter flush very red in the
face. Meyer laughed merrily.
"You don't look pooty ven yu look
i,f Mt.itniir" h.MM
- Then there came changes, and Meyer
did not profit any by them. Judge
Peterkin died. Miss Molly married, and
Meyer bad to look out for himself as
best he could. True, Molly still inter
ested herself in him as much as possl
ble, but she had new cares and new
duties now that claimed her attention
most of the time.
But Meyer was always hopeful, and
la good humor. His every thought, act
and deed was to accomplish something
to bring the day nearer when he could
write to Lenken and tell her that he had
made a home for her. It was all for
Lenken.
"How long since you beard from Len
ken?" Molly asked him one day.
Meyer thought awhile.'
"A little over two years ago," he re
plied.
"And when did you write to her?"
"Oh, dat vas free years ago."
"Meyer, you ought to be ashamed ot
yourself," cried Molly. "You must sit
down here, right now, and write Len
ken a long letter, and tell her that you
are still alive. . Why,' don't you' know
that she Is' grieving all the time, and
Imagining that all sorts of ' accidents
hnve befallen you?"
"Maybe so. I never t'lnk of dat""
"For all you know, too. she may hare
got tired waiting, and married some
ne else." I
. That brought Meyer to his feet, and
made tiui prance around on bis wooden
leg pretty lively for" a minute.
"No,, no!" he cried. "Leuken would
Dot do dat. Lenken is true. Vy, she
link vas married, too, maybe" The
thought' seemed to tickle him greatly.
"Tou lllnk I would marry anybody but
Leuken?" be asked. .. " . -h
&, iieysc. I doa'r snipes-''
would, or could, but with a woman it Is
ilfferent"
f'No, It ras all de same," Meyer per
listed. -
r "But you are going to-write to her?"
."Maybe so, maybe notv" doggedly.'-' '
"Why?"
."I want to buy dat land you own
Sown on de river," he said. "You sell
me dat land, I write pooty soon, may
be." .' :
The matter was not -settled Just-tjjen,
out a few days later it was,-and Meyer.
became a land owner In Plneville.
"What are you going to do now?"
tsked Moly. ;
"I make a fine farm-one big garten,
and build one little house, und Lenken
und me life dere, und get rich like ev
erything.. . -
"But, suppose, when Lenken sees how
crippled you are, that she won't marrj
pou?"
' "Und, suppose, ven I see how pooty
the vas, I say: 'Come,. Lenken, I love,
you an de time. I lose one leg for you
ong ago, und I give all de rest for you
afterward, to make you happy!"
"Did you lose your leg for Lenken,
Meyer?" Molly asked, greatly Interest
ed.- ' '
"Maybe I did! But' some odder dny,
ren Lenken come, you ask her." '
For once Meyer tt rushing things.
In a short while he had cleared several
teres of land, and a little later began to
"rSD DtilJ I HOLD IT LIU DIS.'
build the house.- When the house was
completed, he 'came to Molly In' high
spirits.. ' ' ' .
"Lenken Is coming next week," he
cried.. . "Ach. Gott! I ras so gind."
- Molly inquired the day. . but 'Meyer
could not tell her. He-said he was go
ing to watch every Incoming train until
jue -arrived. Molly, too, somefiow man-
j Bge(i to be at the depot at train time.
snd watchea Meyer.
"I a in so curious to get a first glimpse
it Lenken," she said to- herself. "1
nave wondered so long what she looks
like, and have, beard her praised so
much by Sleyer that' the curiosity Is al
most killing me."'
-One evening, when the train came in,
she saw Meyer rush forward, and knew
that Lenken had 'couie at last. She
peeped around the corner, and saw a
woman looking around bewildered
That woman had beautiful eyes. Molly
looked.straight into them for a moment,
and everything else' In the woman's
appearance"was forgotten. .
. "Come, Lenken," Meyer whispered,
touching her: hand. . "Ach, du Lleb
chen," be murmured as their eyes met.
rr-1 l . u .. J 1 7 .1 1
I . , "1"!
I l,y u""u
to walk away. .
As Molly looked after them there was
a soft moisture in her eyes. Then she
roused herself, and, smiling, murmur:
ed: "Why, she must weigh at the very
least 200 pounds."
The bell of the locpmotlve rang out
a warning. There was puffing and
wheezing, and tbe train was in motion
Then there came : a piercing scream
and the train stopped suddenly.
When Molly ' looked through the
crowd that gathered In a moment to
see what had happened, she saw Mey
er lying on tbe ground, and Lenken was
bending above him.
Molly pressed up closer, Meyer look
ed up and saw her. "It was for Len
ken," he said, his eyes twinkling mer
rily. Then he added: "But I finks It
ras only de vooden leg dis time." And
It was. St. Louis Globe-Democrat.
They Knew Their Passengers.
The student of sociology will find
good ciany of the old New England
ways still enough alive to travel on
rural trolleys. .; On one line In Boston's
suburbs the conductors and motormen
know their passengers.. The other day
a conductor excused his hurry in mak
ing change by saying he had to-"look
after Mrs.' Blank, 'cause she's lame."
Having helped that lady to reach terra
firma, the conductor resumed the col
lection of fares, beginning with a little
piri, of whom he asked: "How's father's
cold to-day, Annie 7" Needless to say
that the conductors are "Johns" and
"Henrys""to many of the patrons. The
line. Is well operated, .for. the 14J1w.'
'England democracy always knew how
to got there on schedule time, Boston
uveBing iruicnDi.
SERMONS OF THE DAY.
"Tb Peace That Parseth All tTmlerilani!
Ing'Mslhs Title ot Ilia Fifteenth Ser
mon In the w York Herald's Compe
titive Serier Dr.Talmsge on tbe Maine.
"Seek peace, and pursue it." Psalm
xzxiv., 11.
These wor.'s mean that peace is an object
worthy of being vigorously sought, even in
deed of being bunted after.
1. There is peace which is tbe opposite of
worry. The future Is always uncertain.
We lay our plans as wisely as we may, but
there tan- Innumerable contingencies be
tween them nnd their realization. We keep
nskiiig ourselves, "Have I omitted any im
portant item from my calculations? Have
I put nly money in good securities, or in an
enterprise that after all lacks promise? : Is
accident or sickness going to befall me?
Have I made proper provision for my fam
ily or for mv own old age?" There are
lines of care upon the faces we meet. Even
though some people are careless and light
hearted, most men know tbe stern realities
of me, and do not cast on cares easily. Lire
brings its worriments, and where there is
worry there cannot be peace.
' 2. Pence is the opposite of conflict. War
desolates a land. Weary marches, flnrce
tattles, horrible carnage on the side of the
army and desolntion and sorrow in multi
tudes of homes mark Its continuance.
I'eace means a reunited Nation, business
prosperity, intellectual and soeiiil advance
ment, happy homes, rewarded industry
all those good tbings-wiiich we sum under
the word "progress." Tumultuous pas
sions rage in some man's breast, envy
Kiiaws or avarice shrivels or anger laoer-ates-orlust
burns. What acontrast tosueh
it one the real saint, with the Sabbath morn
ing calm upon bs brow and peace like a
river in his heart! -
8: Peace is the opposite of a disturbed
conscience. It is unfortunately true that
tliere area great many men wuo-'are-not
concerned about their evil doing. It is not
L-peuce which .is in snch souls', , but moral
of mariklnf,.oi the other band, is that the
human heart, is not at peace. -That men
feel themselves to be somehow out of right
relations to Piety is the thought that un
derlies all religions. Tbe great question
that comes to the front in heathen lands
as well as In Christian Is, "How shall a
maa b just with God?" Cotii that ques
tion is satisfactorily answered tbereis.no
peaee.
-The-Important, practical question now
Is, How shall peace be secured? ' '
1. As contrasted with worry, the way of
peace is trust. Trust does not imply care-i
lessness or' Indifference. In our Lord's
beautiful discourse His warning in regard
to the cares of life is really not "Take no
thought," but rather "Be not anxious."
"'Your heavenly Father," He says, "know
eth that ye have need of all these things."
No one is rightly relieved of care in plan
Ding or diligence in- the work of life, but
I pro er care and reasonable diligence are
very different from worry.
p- This lesson of trust is not always easy to
learn, but it can be learned, ttod is ontne
throne of the universe. We do not under
stand His plans, but it is enough that He
rules. When we are sure of our pilot we
need not question every time He shifts the
helm. We cannot see the end from the be
ginning, but the Father can. It is to be
understood that lo.'sos ami failures, great
er or less, will still come into our lives.
But they wlil not interfere with the peace
which trust in God brines. It Is the peace
of the great ocean deeps, even though the
tempest rages on the surface. Nor is such
pence stolidity; it is not superficial light
ness. It Is full and true and it possesses
the soul. - It is deep, pervading, endur
ing. ,
2. As contrasted with conflict, peace is
to be gained bv conquest. It is the battle
fought through to victory. It was thus
that our nation gained peace in the War of
the Revolution. How precarious just now
the condition of Europe, with each nation
armed to the teetbl It is not a satisfactory
peace when war may flame out at any mo
ment. Nothing is ever settled-until it Is
settled right. j
In tbe conflict of passions la the human
breast' peace can be had only by conquest.
A man must be tbe victor over himself or
the evils within him will continue in angrv
war. The peaceful possession of truth
comes only through conflict fought to a
.finish. We deprecate theological contro
versies, and some of them Indeed are fool
ish enough. But even theological warfare
is better that a calm which is the quiet of
death. When the great fundamental relig
ious contentions have been lought tnrougn
to victory permanent and productive peace
will ensue.
S. As contrasted with a disturbed con
science, peace comes through atonement.
There will ba peace only when man is nt
one with God. The bringing this to pass
is the atonement through Jesus Christ'.
-The salvation which Jesus brines is not in
sip, but from sin. Tt is a work wrought not
so much for the believer as in tbe believer.
It is no artillcal process hinging on a legal
action.' It is something real and vital. It
Is o new life In the believing heart the life
of God within the man, deep and high and
wide as tbe divine grace and lasting as
eternity. This is true peace peace hers
on earth, and peace swelling In fuller tide
out into the life that lies beyond this.
Rev. Oliver A. Kisosbpbt,
Pastor of the Presbyterian Church, Nan
Hartford, N. Y.
THE DEAD WARSHIP.
Maine Disaster Sent to Show Horrors ol
War, Dr. Talmage Says.
Dr. . T. DeWItt Talmage spoke of the
Maine disaster at the First Presbyterian
Church in Washington. His subject was
"The Dead Warship," the discourse being
on the text James ill., 4 "Behold also the
ships." ,'.-.
"The nation Is stunned bv the destruc
tion of our war steamer. Tbe heart of the
world Is wrung with sympathy for the
wounded and dying, and for the bereft
households. The steamship Maine has
gone down -and . been buried in the great
cemetery of dead ships. Woe! Woel Woel
Let one united' and universal prayer go up
in behalf of tbe broken-hearted fathers and
mothers and wives of those who perished
amid the awful calamity. And do not for
get the men who are on many seas in naval
service. , ...
Star of bopel beam o'er the billow, ..
' Bless the soul that sighs for thee, -
Blessthe sailor's lonely pillow,
Far, far nt sea.
Star of peace! ' When winds are mocking
. All his toils, he flies to thee.
Save him from the billows rocking
' . Far, fa at sea.
"Just why this destruction of our war
ship was allowed was at first a mystery;
but I think I understand it now. I believe
tbe calamity was allowed in order to teach
this nation something of the horror of war,
so that we might keep out of it. Havewsr,
and Instead of 260 men slain, you will have
10,000 slain, 20,000 slain, and instead of
260 bereft American homes, 10,000, yea 20
000 homes in blackness and darkness. Is
It not appropriate, under these circum
stances, that I show you the debt this sa
tin owes to our American Navy and
speak of the heroism of some of those who
have trod the qecks, and express to those
who may hear, ns well as to those who may
read these words, our gratitudeand appre
ciation. 'Behold also the ships."
'If this exclamation was appropriate
about eighteen hundred and seventy yeart
ago, when it was written concerning the
crude Ashing smacks that sailed Lak
Galilee, how much more appropriate in an
age which has launched from the dry
docks, for the purpose of peace, the Lu
canla, of the Cunard Line; the Majestle
f-tbe White Star Line, and the New Xork,
of the American Line; and warships like
the Idaho, Shenandoah, Brooklyn, Indiana,
Columbus, Texas; and the scarred veterans
Df war-shipping, like tbe Constitution, or
tbe Alliance, or the Constitution, that have'
swung into, navy yards to spend- their last
days. ; - - . -
V We. will, not know what our national
6rospejity is worth until we realize what
Jws -coJst.' -I -recall tha unrecited fact
that the men of the navy in the past and in
the present have run and are running now
BSDecial risks. Thev have not only tbs
, human waaponary to contend, with, but the
tides, the fog, fje storm. Not like other
I hips could they run Into a harbor at tbe
approach of an equinox, or a eyclone, or a
hurricane, because the harbors were hos
tile. A miscalculation of a tide might
loave them on a bar, and a fog might over
throw all the plans ot wisest Commodore
or Admiral, and accident might leave them,
not on the land ready for an ambulance,
but at the bottom of the sea. Everywhere
tt the mercy of the Atlantic, and Paclflo
Oceans, which have no mercy, buch tem
pests as wrecked the Spanish Armada
might any day sweep upon tbe squadron.
No biding behind the earthworks; no dig
ging in of cavalry spurs at the sound of re
treat. Mightier than all the fortresses of
til the coasts is the ocean when it bombards
a flotilla.
"In the cemeteries for Federal and Con
federate dead are the bodies of most of
those who fell on the land. But where
those dead are who went down in war ves
tals will not be known until tbe sea gives
op its dead. The Jack Tars know that
while loving arms might carry the men
who fall on the land and bury tbem with
olemn liturgy and the honors of war, for
tne Doaies oi tnose wno aroppea iroin ine
ratlins into the sea, or went down with all
on board under the stroke of a gunboat,
there remain the shark and tbe whale and
the endless tossing of the sea, which can
not rest. Nothing but the archangel's
trumpet shall reach their lowly bed. Can
non ball threatening in front, bombs threat
ening from the bluffs, torpedoes threaten
ing from beneath, and the ocean with ltd
reputation of 6000 years for shipwreck ly-"
ing all around. Am I not right In saving
It required a special courage for the navy,
as it requires a special courage now?
"It looks picturesque and beautiful to
tee a war vessel going out to sea. bail
ors in new rig singing A Life on the
Ocean Wave, a Home on the Roaring
Deep,' tbe colors gracefully dipping to
passing ships, the decks immaculately
clean, and tbe guns at quarantine firing a
parting salute. But all the poetry has
gone out of that ship as it comes out ot
the engagement, its decks red with blood,
wheel house gone, the cabins a pile of
shattered mirrors, and destroyed furni
ture, steering wheel broken, smokestack
crushed, a 100-pound Whitworth rifle shot
having left its mark from port to star
board, the shrouds rent away, ladders
shattered, smoke-blackened and scalded
corpses lying among those who are gasp
ing their, last gasp far away from home
and kindred, whom they love as much as
we love ours. O, men who once belonged
to the Western squadron, or the Eastern
squadron, or the South Atlantic squadron,
or the North Atlantic squadron, or the
Mississippi squadron, or the Pactfla
squadron, or the West India squadron,
bear our tbanksl Take the benediction
of our churches. Accept the hospitali
ties of tbe nation. It we had our way we
would give you not only a pension, but a
home, and a princely wardrobe, and an
equipage, and a banquet while you live.1
and after your departure a catafalque and
a mausoleum of sculptured marble, with a
model of the ship in which you won the
day.
"It is considered a gallant thing when in
the naval light the flagship, with its blue
ensign, goes ahead up a riveror into a bay,
its Admiral standing In the shrouds watch
ing and giving orders; but I have to tell
you, O veterans of the American Navy, if
you are as loyal to Christ as yon are to the
Government, there is a flagship sailfng
ahead of you of which Christ is the Admin.';
and He watches from the shrouds, and tbe
heavens are the blue ensign, and He leads
you toward tbe harbor, and all tbe broad
tides of earth and hell cannot damage you,
and ye whose garments were once red with
pain and blood shall have a robe washed
and made white In the blood of tbe Lamb -Then
strike eight bells! High noon in
heaven! With such anticipation, O veterans
et the American Navy, I cheer you to bear
np under the aches and weaknesses that
you still carry from the war times. You ar
not as stalwart as you would have been but
for that nerve of strain and for that ter
rifle exposure. Let every ache and pain,
Instead of depressing, remind you of your
fidelity.
But God never forgets. He remembers
tbe swinging hammock; He remembers the
forecastle; He remembers the frozen ropes
of January tempest; He remembers the am
putetioa without sufficient anrathet'cs;
He remembers the horrors of that deafen
ing nigl when fois from both sides
belched on you their fury and the heavens
glowed with the ascending and descending
missiles of death and your ship quaked un
der the recoil of the 100-pounder while all
the gunners, according to command, stood
on tiptoe, with mouth wide open, lust the
concussion of the ship shatter hearing or
brain. He remembers it nil better thuu
you remember it, and in some sbnpe reward
will be given. God is the best ot all pay
masters, and for those who do their whole
duty to Him fie pension awarded Is an
everlasting heaven.
"But will it not be grand when all these
scenes of earthly struggle are forever
gone? I went down to the seashore very
early one morning to see the sun rise over
the sea. The night had not yet gathered
np all its shadows. - Four or live nails
against the sky seemed like the spirits of
the night walking the billo-vs. Tbe gloom
of the hour and spot was so great I tried to
break it by saying aloud: "Tliy will, O
God, is in the sea, and Tby path is in the
great waters.' It grew lighter. The
clouds were hanging in purple clusters
along the sky, and as if those purple clus
ters were pressed Into red wine and poured
out upon the sea,- every wave turned into
crimson. Yonder flre-wavo stood opposite
fire-wave, and-here a cloud, rent and
tinged with light, seemed like a palace,
with flames bursting from the windows.
The wbole scene lighted up until it seemed
ns if the angels of God were ascending and
descending upon stairs of Are, and the
wave crests, changed into jasper, a nd crys
tal, and amethyst, as they were flung"
toward the beach, made me think of the
crowns of heaven cast before the throne o
the Great Jehovah. - I threw myseit upon
the sand and uttered K again: -'Thy way, O
God, is in the sea, and Thy path in the
great waters.' 8o will come the ir.oriiing
of the world's deliverance. The darkness
will fold its tents and away. Tbe golden
feet of the rising morn will come skipping
upon the mountains, and all the wruthful
billows of tbe world's woe break Into-the
splendors of eternal joy. Until the day
break and the shadows flee away, turn,
My beloved, and be thou like a roe or
is young hart upon the mounta,'xsJ75t
Bet'her." . '
And one song employ all Hiiions, and thsy
sing,
Worthy is the In.nb that was slnin;
And the dwellers on the rock shout to
dw -Hers on the plain,
Till 'earth rolls the rapturous-Hosannab
round. .
All
but tlm eou..,- ",e.;n initiative;
succeed wli-p.," ., h "T '""'n
tempt is new- ""l t-
t o!-s..lf-f V, T.1.."" " leads
All great men are bra
but th r.,; " -'iV:..i " ' ''! '"U ve;
Jl l 111- Coil!
t ho tn In
succeed whore otlw.ia
i.7fUMKh"r"T' of lif is 'ound up with
" fuI ."r5"1- hin. who is mCst ac-
j..-, u.ways thinking, feeling, working
Zr?0,ttrV'F,thinK- thaf life selm!
em "lonSUgh!,fe "
If common sense were sold by the vr,i
Uke ribbon, there would be found toanv
who did not piw-u-KS enough sense to btv it
with judgment. V
Our human life with its inevitalu
burden of tr-inptation, its manifold con
tradictions, is only comprehensible; hmi
capable of lieing understood as it is seen
in the great enfolding Presence of (iod.
There are natures in which, if they
love us, we are conscious of having a fort
of baptism anil consecration; they bind
us over to rectitude and purity by their
pure belief about us.
- The heaviest words in our language
are the two briefest ones, yes and no.;
One stands for the surrender of will
the other for denial; one for gratification,,
the other for character.
. I.
a