'4 ' B. F. BOHWEISB, THE CONSTITUTION THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT OF THE LAWS. MIFFLINTOWIS. JUNIATA COUNTY. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. MARCH 23.1898 NO. 15 VOL. LII m a. CHAPTER XIX. Three days after Lord Arleigh's mos Inauspicious marriage the Duchess w Hazel wood sat in her drawing room alone Those three days had changed her ter ribly; her face had lost Its bloom, th light had died from her dark eyes, thers were treat lines of pain round her lip Bhe sat with her hands folded listless'yi her eyes, fall of dreamy sorrow, fixed 01 the moving foliage of the woods. Ire ently Lady Peters entered with an opei Mwamwr in h sr hand. Thilippa, .ny dear," she said, "I am very uncomfortable. Should yon thinli this paragraph refers to Lord Arleigh' It wraii to do so yet I cannot believe it. The deadly pallor that was always th sign of great emotion with the duchesi spread now even to her lips. -What does it say?" she asked. Lady Peters held the paper ont to hen but her bands trembled so that she could not take it. "I cannot read it," she said, wearily. "Head It to me." And then Lady Peters read: "Scandal in High Life Some Strang revelations are shortly expected in ariw tocratle circles. A few days since a nob; I k.;t.. An a if the mruit ancient titles In EngFnnd, was married. The mar. j l ,. 1- nlaiHi nnlAi. t,pnm(rtnniVMt fit ' rUInC IWA Jl'" . . great mystery; and the mystery has been increased by the separation of bride nn4 bridegroom on their wedding day. Yhaf; has led to a separation is at present a secret, but it is expected that in a few days all particulars will be known. Al present the affair is causing a great sen sation." A fashionable paper which indulged largely in personalities, also had a telling article on Lord Arleigh's marriage. No names were mentioned, bnt the refer ences were unmistakable. A private mar riage, followed by a separation on tha same day, was considered a fair mark fot scandal. This also I-ady Peters read-an I the duchess listened with white, trem bling lips. "It must refer to Lord Arleigh," said Lady Feters. I i.I . . TT ' 11 cauuot, WHS me rtrjiriiiuvr. iib was far too deeply in love with his fair faced bride to leave her." "I never did quite approve of that mar riaee," observed Lady Peters. '- "The scandal cannot be abont him," declared the duchess. "We should have heard if there had been anything wrong.' The next day a letter was banded to her. She recognized the handwriting it was Lord Arleigh's. She laid the nota down, not daring to read it before Lady Peters. What had he to say to her? When she was alone she opened it. "You will be pleased to hear, duchess, that your scheme has et;rel succeeded. You have made two innocent people who have never harmed you as wretched as it is possible for human beings to be. In no respect has your vengeance failed. I your old friend, playmate, brother, the son of your mother's dearest friend have been made miserable for life. Your re venge was well chosen. Yon knew that. however I might worship Madeline, my wife, however much I might love her, she could never be mistress of Beechgrove, he could never be the ma',&er of my chil dren; yon knew that, and therefore I say, yonr revenge was admirably chosen. It were useless to comment on yoirr wicked ness, or to express the contempt I feel foi the woman who couil deliberately plan such evil and distress. I must say this, however. All friendship between us is at an end. Yon vajll be to me henceforward an entire stranger. I could retaliate. I could write and tell yonr husband, who is man of honor, of the unworthy deed you have done; bnt I shall not do that it would be unmanly. Before my dear wife and I parted, we agreed that the punish ment of your ain would be left to heaven. Bo I leave It. To a woman unworthy enough to plan such a piece of baseness, tt will be satisfaction sufficient to know that her scheme has succeeded. Note the words my wife and I parted' parted, ever perhaps to meet again. She has all my love, all my heart, all my unutter able respect and deep devotion; but, as you know, she can never be mistress of n; bouse. May heaven forgive you. "AKLEIGH." She could have borne with his letter if K had been filled with the wildest invec tives if he had reproached her, even cursed her; hla dignified forbearance, his simple acceptance of the wrong she had done him, she could not tolerate. She laid down the letter. It was all over now the love for which she would have given her life, the friendship that had once been so true, the vengeance that had been so carefully planned. She had lost his love, his friendship, his esteem. Bhe could see him no more. He despised her. There came to her a vision of what she might have been to him had things been different his friend, adviser, coun selor the woman upon whom he would have looked as the friend of his chosen wife the woman whom, after all, be loved best his sister, his truest confidante. All this she might huve been but for her re venge. She had forfeited H all now. Heri life would be spent aa though he did nod exist; and there was no one but herself) to blame. , When the duke did come home, afted a few pleasant weeks on the sea, the firs thing he heard was the story about Lord Arleigh. It aatounded him. His friend Captain Austin related it to him as soon as he landed. "Whom did yon say he mamedr in quired the mystified duke. "Rumor said at first that it was a dis tant relative of yours," replied the cap tain, "afterward It proved to be some young lady whom he had met at a smaU watering place." "What was her name 7 Who was sue. It was no relative of mine; I hare very few; I have no young female relative at .11 " "No-that was all a mistake; I cannot teU you how it arose. He married a lady of the name of Domham.' "Dornham!" said the puzzled nobleman. The nam la not unfamiliar to me. Dorn ham ah, I remember!" Ha said no more, but the captain saw a grave expression come over his hand some faoa, and it. occurred to bin Oat CHAPTER XI, year and a half had passed whu-Ii Lord Arleigh had spent in desultory trav eling. It was the end of April, a spring fresh and beautiful. His heart had turn- ed to Beechgrove, where the violets were springing and the young larches were budding; but he could not go thither1 the picture gallery was a haunted spot to him end London he could endure. The fash ionable intelligence toW him that tlx. Duke and Duchess of Hazel wood had ar rived for the season, that they had had their magnificent mansion refurnished, and that the beautiful duchesa intended to startle all London by the splendor end variety of her entertainments. In sheer wantonness and desperation he went to Tintagei. having, aa he thought, kept his determination to him' self, aa he wished no one to know whither he had retreated. One of the newspa pers, however, heard of it, and in a little paragraph told that Lord Arleigh of Beechgrove had gone to Tintagei for the summer. That paragraph had one unex pected result. It was the first of May. The younj nobleman was thinking of the May days when he was a boy of how the common near his enrly home waa yellow with 0' and DaWthOm. the hedges were white with He strolled sadly along the seashore, thinking of the sunniest May he had known since then, the May before his marriage. The sea waa unusually calm, the sky above was blue, the air mild and balmy, the white sea gulls cir cled in the air, the waves broke with gentle murmur on the yellow sand He sat dow.ftVo the sloping beach, They had nothing to tell him, those roll' ing, restless waves no sweet story of hope or of love, no vague, pleasant har mony. With a deep moan he bent his head as he thought of the fair young wife from whom he had parted forevermore, the beautiful, loving girl who had clung to him so earnestly. "Madaline, Madaline!" he cried aloud and the waves seemed to take op the cry they seemed to repeat Madaline" they broke on the shore. "Madaline," the mild wind whispered. It was like the realization of a dream, when he heard his name murmured, and, turning, he saw his lost wife before him. The next moment he had sprang to his feet, uncertain at first whether it was really herself or some fancied vision. "Madaline," he cried, "ia it really you?" "Y'es; you must be angry with me, Nor man. See, we are quite alone; there is no one to see me speak to you, no one to reveal that we have met." She trembled as she spoke; her face t him more beautiful than ever was raised to his with a look of unutterable appeal. "You are not angry, Norman?" "No, I am not angry. Do not speak to me as though I were a tyrant. Angry and with you, Madaline always my best beloved how could that be? "I knew that you were here," ahe said. "I saw in a newspaper that yon were go ing to Tintagei for the summer. I had been longing to see you again to see you. while unseen myself; so I came hither." "My dear Madaline, to what purpose?" he asked, sadly. Her face waa suffused with a crimson blush. "Norman," she said gently; "ait down here by my side, and I will tell you why I have come." They sat down side by aide on the beach. There was only the wide blue sky above, only the wide waste of restless waters at their feet, only a circling sea gull near no human being to watch the tragedy of love and pride played out by to esea waves. "I have come," she said, "to make one more appeal to you, Norman to ask you to change this stern determination which is ruining your life and mine to ask you to take me back to your home and your heart. For I have been thinking, dear, and I do not see that the obstacle is such as you seem to imagine. It waa a terrible wrong, a great disgrace it was a cruel deception, a fatal mistake; but, after all, it might be overlooked. Moreover, Nor man, when you made me your wife, did you not promise to love and to cherish, to protect me and make me happy, until I died?" "Yes," he replied, briefly. "Then how are you keeping that prom ise a promise made in the sight of heav en?" Lord Arleigh looked down at the fair, pure face, a strange light glowing in his own. "My dear Madaline, he said, "you musi not overlook what the honor of my race demands. I have my own ideas of what is due to my ancestors; and I cannot think that I have sinned by broken vows. I vowed to love you so I do, my darling, ten thousand times better than anything else on earth. I vowed to be true and faithful to you so I am, for I would not even look at another woman'a face. I vowed to protect you and to shield you so I do, my darling; I have surrounded von with luxury and eaae. What could ahe reply what urge or nlend? "So, in the eyes of neaven, my wire, i cannot think I am wronging you. "Then," she said, humbly, "my coming here, mv deeding, is in vain. "Not 1b vain, my darling. Even the sight of you for a few minutes has bee ike a glimpse of Elysium." "And I must return." she said, "as 1 came with my love thrown back, mj p ravers unanswered, my sorrow redou bled." The words died away on her lips. Ha tnrned aside lest she should see the trenvf bling of his face; he never complained to her. He knew now that she thought hint hard, cold, unfeeling, indifferent that ahaj thought hia pride greater than his lovej but even that- waa better than that sha should know he suffered more than aha did she must never know that. When he turned back from the tossing waves and the summer sun she waa gone, CHAPTER XXL It waa a glorious September, and th Scottish moon looked aa they had not looked for years; the heather grew m rich profusion, the grog ware plentiful. The MMrtSt" fSf BfiEtraB ws VOjk lent. Not knowing what alee to do, Lord Arleigh resolved to go to Bcouana tor the shooting; there waa a sort of savags satisfaction in the Idea of Mving so many weeks alone, without en-lookers, where he could be dull If he liked without com ment where ha could lie for hour to gether on the heather looking up at ths blue skies, and puzzling over the problem of his life where, when tha fit of despair seized him, he could indulge in It, and no one wonder at him. He hired a ahootina. lodge called Giaburn. One day, when he waa fat one of hi. most despairing moods, he went out quite early in the morning, determined to wan der the day through, to exhaust himself pitilessly with fatigue, ana then see if ha could not rest without dreaming of Mada- ine. But aa he wandered east and west. knowing little and caring less, whither he went, a violent storm, such aa breaks at times over the Scottish moors, overtook him. The sky grew dark at night, the rain fell In a torrent blinding, thick. heavy ha cogM hardly see hia hand be fore him. Ha wandered on for hours, wet through, weary, cold, yet rather re joicing than otberwis in his 'fatigue. Presently hunger waa added to fatigue; and then the matter became more serious he bad no hope of being able to find his way home, for ha had no idea in what di rection ha had arrayed. He grew ex hausted at iaat; for some hours he had struggled on in tha face of the tempest. I shall have to lie down like a dog by the roadside and die," he thought to him self. No other fate seemed to be before him but that, and he told himself that after nil he had sold his life cheaply. "Found dead on the Scotch moors," would be the verdict abont him. What would the world say? What would his golden-hair ed darling say when she heard that he was dead t As the hot tears blinded hia eyes tear for Madnlme, not for himself a light sud denly flashed into them, and ha found himself quite close to the window of a house. With a deep-drawn, bitter sob. he whispered to himself that he was sav ed. He had Just strength enough to knock at the door; and when it waa opened he fell across the threshold, too faint and exhausted to speak, a sudden darkness Iwfore his eyes. When he had recovered a little, ha found that several gentlemen were gathered around him, and that one of them was holding a flask of whisky to his lips. "That was a narrow escape, said a cheery, musical voice. "How long have you been on foot?" "Since eight this morning, he replied. "And now It is nearly eight at night! Well, you may thank heaven for preserv ing your life. Lord Arleigh turned away with a sigh. TTow little could anyone guess what life meant for him life spent without love without Madaline! "I have known several lose their lives in this way," continued the same voice. "Only last year poor Charley Hartigan waa caught in a similar storm, and he lay for four days dead before he was round. This gentleman has been fortu nate." (To be continued.) Washing Flannels. "Shave a quarter of a pound of soap Into a granite saucepan, add one quart of boiling water, stir over the fire un til dissolved," writes Mrs. S. T. Borer, on "Handling the Family Wash," in the Ladies' Home Journal, "rour this into a tub half filled with water at a temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Mix well. Have on the left side of the tub a bucket of clear, warm water, 100 degrees Fahrenheit, into which you may put a half-teaspoonful of house hold ammonia. Take each piece of flannel singly and immerse It in the suds. Soap should never be rubbed cn flannels, nor should flannels ever lie rubbed on a board. Wash them by pressing and drawing through the hands, rubbing the soiled places quick ly with the hands. Rinse at once in clear water, and wring by pressing one hand under the other, or through a wringer. Never twist In the wringing. Shake well and hang to dry immedi ately; then proceed to wash the second niece. The flannels when nearly dry must be taken from the line and press ed with a hot iron. Be careful that it is not, however, too hot, or It will de stroy the color. Flannels washed in this way will retain their soft texture and original size until completely worn out. No deviations from these direc tions, however, can be made. For col ored flannels make a suds as above. To the warm water for rinsing add four tablespoonfuls of white-wine vinegar, or a tiny bit of acetic acid which has been thoroughly dissolved. It Is always well to wait for a bright day before washing flannels. They should be dried as quickly as possi ble." Youth's Solemn Warning;. "What immense ears the new neigh bor's boy has!" "Yes, mamma. He told me what made 'em so big." "What was It?" "He said his mamma washed 'em so much that they soaked full o' water an' swelled." Cleveland Plain Dealer. Literally Meant. Bessie There's "that horrid Miss N'ewrleh talking to Lord Brokelelgc, Hasn't she awful manners? "Yes; but she's doing her beat to be a lad." Brooklyn Life. There is a deportment which suits the figure and talents of each person; it is always lost when we quit it to assume that of another. The one who will lie found in trial capable of great acts of love is ever the one who is always doing considerable small ones. Some of the best lessons we ever learn, we learn from our mistakes and failures. The error of the past is the wisdom and success of the future. He that does good for flod's sake seeks neither praise nor reward, but he is sure of both in the end. The noblest motive is the public good. You will mfver find time for anything. If you want time you must make it. It is not what he has, or even what he does which expresses the worth of a man, but what he is. You must try to be good and amiable to everybody, and do not think that thrist tianily consists in a melancholy and mo rose life. Despair is the thought of the nnattain ableness of any good. It works differently in men's minds, sometimes producing uneasiness or pain sometimes rest and j indolency. Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out. Nothing in the world is more haughty than a man of moderate capacity when once raised to power. WIDELY KNOWN PREACHER. Or. Palmer, of New Orleans, Heoentl , Celebrated Hi. BOtb. Blrtnaay. line of acquisition Is ereditod wit uav Rev. Dr. Benjamin Morgan Palmer, Ing obtained within four months not or New Orleans, who recently celebra- ' . . . . 1 -.0 V.I. hlk la ' tea IDc DUU V ri nai j v u uim one of the most widely known and deeply beloved clergymen in the South. He la pastor of the First Presby terian Church of New Orleans, one of the most beautiful of the churches in the Crescent City. For years he has stood at the head of Presbyterlanism in the South. Dr. Palmer in his prime was one of the most gifted of the pulpit orators of this country. He won in ternational fame as a preacher, and by many was considered the superior of oven Beecher. Just before the war iJr. BET. 1B. FALMKB. Palmer was In the full tide of his power as an orator, and It was said that It was his words that set the South on fire. The story of his life Is told In a pretty little book which was pub lished a few years ago. and which Is called The Broken Home. Tear by year be baa seen all his loved ones de part, and be Is now alone In his old age. Dr. Palmer Is considered as part ot New Orleans. The celebration of his birthday anniversary recently was an affair In which the whole city was in terested. ABOVE HER GRAVE. fhla A red Hnband Erected a Homl Over Hia Wife's Tomb. Col. Ellsha De Board, one of the ol1 Mt and most prominent cltiaens of Gil mer County. Ga., has recently had a small but beautiful eight-sided resi dence erected above his wife's grave. The old man has passed the four-score year mark and during the past five Tears his only solace has been In al- most constant visits to the grave of her who for fifty years of life was a de voted wife and companion. From the ' early hours of morning on till the last beam of day had faded he would sit and i fancy the Inanimate form moldering away beneath the grass and flowers was once more quick with life and sharing again the facilities of home. When the weather would permit he COT.. I BOABD A XI) SIS NEW BOMK. would often spend the evening hours at her graveside, never quitting the place until the shades and dampness of night had come on. But this was not satisfying, and so the structure shown In the Illustration here was built that the old man might more con veniently assuage the sorrows of his closing days. It Is only a short distance from her grave to the old, well-furnished man sion where they dwelt for half a cen tury together. But when she was gone the place had lost Its charm. The balls were lonely and the fireside desolate. Nothing could satisfy the old man's longing. In the new structure, small and circumscribed though It may be, there Is at hand that which alone to him In life is dear. Here he can read or sit alone and think or tend the flow ers that adorn her tomb. At night he finds repose and rest within touch of be grave he loves so well. The Fetich Diamond. The South African native, It seems, fs not always decorated with the mere trumpery of the trader's wallet or of his own purveyance. It has become an attested fact that excellent diamonds, and diamonds better than that, are possessed by chiefs and hoarded by them, not so much In Intelligence of their value as in a firm fetichism. The stones have come to their hands by the good old-fashioned method of stealing them from the Klmberley mines years go before) the present minute -watch against gem thieving was system a -tlsed. Diamond-stealing at present Is practically Impossible under the pecu liar methods of Its prevention. Before the rigid examinations of workmen and visitors began to be enforced, native laborers often were under a secret compact with their tribal rulers not to come back from the mines without a good-sized stolen diamond for the chiefs use; hence, a great many su perb gems are in the dark un fathomed caves of a Kaffir headman's establish ment Within a few years enterpris ing traders have made special expedl tions and palavers for diamonds so hidden, with the result of successful bartering for them. Liquor and guns have beea found useful. In some Jn taacea tb superstition of tha chiefs I stood In fbe way of traders recovering I I valuable stones; bnt, on the ethei hand, a small company working en this i than two hundred thousand dol lars worth at diamonds. One agent succeeded In buying of a chief sis atones of mora than two - hundred karats each. WITH THREADS OF METAL. flnsel Fabrics and tha More Costl Brocades of Gold and Silver. Tinsel fabrics are the lower priced o. the cloths into which gold or sllvei threads have been woven. In tinsel fabrics the gold threads are of brass oi copper, glided, and the sliver thread! are of white metal. These threads ol metal, originally fine wire, are rolled flat and burnished, and they glisten In the fabric wherever the pattern brlngt them to the surface. Tinsel fabrics ar made about three-fourths of a yard Is width, and they sell at 75 cents to a yard. They come In various colors, and many of them are beautiful anil artistic In design. Some are copies of old Venetian tapestries. Tinsel fabrics are used for church and for theatrical purposes, and sometimes for gowns and for decorative purposes. The costlier fabrics, with Interwoven metal threads, are called gold and sil ver brocades. In these the gold thread l are of silver, gold-plated, and the sllvet threads are of pure silver; the body of the fabric is of silk. The brocades are all beautiful, and many of them are ex ceedingly so. These fabrics are mad about flve-elgbths of a yard In width, and they sell at various prices up ts S25, and sometimes as high as $50 a yard. The costliest of these fabrics are very rarely Imported Into this country, brocades at 110 and S12 a yard bolus about tha highest priced used here. I ( more elaborate fabrics are required they are usually Imported to order. The finer fabrics, with metal threads, arc made In France, the commoner kinds in Germany. Gold and silver brocades are hen used almost exclusively for church pur poses, and chiefly for vestments. They are Imported In red, violet and greeii, and also In black with silver thread, the black and silver being for mourn ing. Gold and silver brocades are also used to a limited extent for decorative I purposes. j Such fabrics, and gold embroidery, often of the costliest description, are j far more commonly used In Europe than here, both for church and for mil ! ary purposes, New York Sun. Nelson's Wonderful Feat. Writers of historical reminiscences have to be masters of a certain amount of accurate Information about their heroes If they wish to avoid mistakes. If they are not, they are sure to "gel ! tJlJngs mixed." Not long since a revlewei'in the Lon don Times, writing of a book named "Roving Commissions," related on his own account the following episode of Nelson, the great admiral: "While In chase of Vllleneuve's French fleet he was Informed of the enemy heaving in sight, at which In formation Nelson evinced the highest satisfaction, and gleefully rubbed hit 'lands." As a correspondent of the Times points out, this incident occurred in 1805. Nelson lost his right arm in the attack on Santa Cruz. Teueriffe, in 179T eight years prior to his pursuit of Vllleneuve's fleet. It would have been, therefore, a difficult matter for him ta "rub his hands" In 1805. Cogitation. The gentlemen of the bar, who not In frequently have to take rebukes from the bench, greatly enjoy a chance to make a legitimate retort against the court. The story Is told that a certain Judge who, during the plea of a rather prosy lawyer, could not refrain from gently nodding his head In sleep, was caught at this by the lawyer, who looked significantly at him. "Ferhaps," said the Judge, testily and prevarlcatlngly, "the counsel thinks the court was asleep, but he may be as sured that the court was merely coglta 'Jng." The lawyer talked oa. Presently the judge, again overcome by his somno lence, nodded off and aroused himself with a little sudden snorting snore. I "If It please your honor," said the lawyer. "I will suspend my plea until the court shall have ceased to cogitate audibly r "You may go on," said the judge; and he did not fall asleep again. Remarkable Telegraph Line. Among the most remarkable works in Australia Is the overland telegraph from Port Darwin to the south of the continent, which was completed in 1872. Almost the whole 2,000 miles of its length was through uninhabited country much of it a waterless desert. The wooden poles were prepared at the nearest available places, but some had i to be carried 350 miles, while the iron J poles were taken an average distance of 400 miles by land. Over 2,000 tons I of material had to be carried Into the . Interior, and thte total cost was $1850,- ! ooo. The Remains of Babylon Tt:o wealthy Hebrews of Baguau now own all that remains of the an cient torvn of Babylon. Stature's Balloons. The Island of fire, known by the na tives as "The Home of the Hot Detlls," Is a recent discovery In Jars. In the center of a huge lake of boiling mud and slime exists a phenomenon abso lutely unique, and so wonderful that tourists brave the difficulties of the long journey Inland simply to see It. Scores of enormous bubbles are formed In the sticky slime by the gases which arise from the lower depths, and these grow and increase to an enormous sire, looking like nothing so much as the large model balloons sent np sometimes to ascertain the direction of the wind. Theae bubbles, some of them, attain a diameter of five or six feet before they burst, which they do with a loud explo sion. The sounds are described aa re sembling a constant series of heavy olatoon firing. N f . - - A Utc maa should not wast tha eart) fca Sbould ba above It CURE FOR PNEUMONIA. fr. Charles Lnndbeck Claims a Sure Remedy for This Dangerous IHsease, Dr. Charles Lnndbeck, who, with Dr. Carl Elfstrom, claims to haTe discov ered a positive cure for pneumonia, la i well-known physician and pathologist In Brooklyn. The two physleians have been experimenting a long time on the cure and say that It works like a rharm. N? drugs are nsed. A quan tity of bleed Is drawn from the patient In amount varying with his strength. The average quantity would be about Sfty grams. The blood Is then prepared by a process In which heat and tlms play parts In making the desired serum. DR. CB1KLM LRIDltCK. When the blood has been prepared It la Injected Into the patient from a hypo dermic syringe. Tatlents In whom the lungs had liecome solid recovered In from ten to twelve hours. The serum renders the bacilli of pneuHonla harm less and thus effects a cure. Dr. Lund beck, as soon as he satisfies himself that his serum will act In all kinds of eases, will publish his discovery to the world, after the custom of all men of iclence. Dr. Lundbeck has been In prac tice In Brooklyn for twenty years, and ts prominently associated with Swedish singing societies. Dr. Elfstrom, his collaborator. Is also a Swede and a graduate of the Carollnska Medical In ititute of Stockholm. GAVE UP HER FORTUNE. (ov fehe's Sorry and IaTrylna to Get It Back. Mrs. Emma Spreckles-Watson has at tracted attention to herself by suing her father In the courts of Honolulu for Fl,500,000. She Is the daughter of Claui Bnreckles. the sugar king, and when thev were living In San Francisco a few years ago he lavished wealth upon ber. From time to time he gave her MBS. EMMS. BFRECKLKS-WATSOH. . , v ei rnn rmii presents until she finally had l..rfX).000 In her own name. Then came Thomas Watson, a grain speculator, with whom she fell In love and whom she married , . , , , . . secretly. W hen he learned of the wed- ding Spreckles was wild with angel and charged Watson with being a for- tune hunter. Thereupon Mrs, ygtgon returned to her father all the money he ' had given her. Spreckles took It prob ably to her surprise and he and his daughter have been unfriendly since. Now she wishes she had it and Is suing to get It back. Mrs. Watson la tall and stately and Inherits all her famous father's pluck and Independence. j , , . . i and equally evident that if you are repose- Napoleon s History. ful and trustfut aoinK tne outy of tile The rise and fall of Napoleon read) present hour and not fretting over the more like a romance than any othei duty of the next hour, you are in a mental part of the world's history. A little. In- n,1ribnwu,en kePps M your powrs at Significant man, a native of hnlf-civil-j n is the grandest privilege to feel that Ized and despised Corsica, Ill-educated, there is a God, a guardian of human des-111-tempered and Ill-mannered, Is ae-r tiny. nd that you are in His hands. If , .. . . ... . that conviction is one of your possessions, cepted by the proudest, politest and r , of at vou caa OH qujet most Intellectual of civilised nations as its absolute ruler. Not only does II, make him Emperor after repudiating a regal form of government, but wor ships him almost as a delty7 although while taking the greatest care of his own person, he destroys the flower ol Its manhood In useless wars, and by hli , example proves hla contempt for th ; domestic ties that hold society together He conquers every nation that meett , him In the field, and Is only checked at last by the sea and the northern cold Finally, he Is defeated and banished t St. Helena, "where he lived very hap plly ever after," aa If the author had not the heart to kill his hero. No wrltei of fiction would dare to invent such an Improbable romance, and if the trutt of the story were not beyond questioi no one would believe It Indeed, Arch bishop Whately wrote, as a metaphya leal Jen d'eaprlt, a pamphlet la whlck he proved to demonstration that Napo leon bad not, and never could have lived or done what the them eonteropo rary records of his career narrated The conquests of Mexico and Peru, and many of the exploits of Drake aad hli companlons, would also be absolutely Incredible If they were not knowa to b ' true. - t.m Miikaoi'PnsBMla ftennanv i. iu i a. In Germany 484 towns are now con- nected by long distance telephones, which hare 110,000 subscribers. Old Swum Wasehesv The oldest watches bearing Inscribed late ar of Swiss make, and tha date ts 1484. . When a tramp Insolently demands a nasi of a Texas woman she shoves a pistol against bis tea44aaket, aac WBMtoayMl7hsUfi SERMONS OF THE OUT Oar Yesterdays an Our To-morrows" Is the Title of Ir. Hepworth's Sermon la the New York Herald lr. Talinag on Trying Life Joarney Over Again. Note: The one-thousaud-dollar prize for the best sermon in the Now York Hr ald's competition was won by Rev. liichard G. Woodbrldge, pastor of the Central Con gregational Church, Middleboro, Mass. "The Power of Gentleness" was the title ol Mr. Woodbrldge's sermon. Fifteen sermonf in all appeared in the Herald's competitive series. Text: "Sufficient unto tha day is the evl) thereof." Matthew vl., 34. Here is a bit of philosophy too profound to be appreciated without careful and con tinuous study. It also contains a stern in junction not to worry over what cannot b helped, but, on the other hand, to make the best of your circumstances. You are com manded to let the past go its way into the land of forgetfulness, and not to borrow from the future the troubles which you fear it may contain, but to live in the present as lar as possible, it is a command very 011 flcult to obey, and yet obedience is abso lutely necessary if you would get out of life all that God has put into it. The man who has a vivid remembrance ol his past troubles and who cherishes that memory deliberately throws a gloom over his present. It he will connne himself to the duty of the moment he will generally 11 ml that he is quite equal to It, but if un collects all the miseries of yesterday and of the day before and adds them to the bur dens of to-day he becomes disheartened, and his discouragement saps his moral strength and produces moral weakness. You have enough to do to face what is im mediately before you, and if you conjure up thegnostsof misdeeds and of trials which have been outlived you do voursell a seri ous injury and interfere with your spiritual or business success. rn like manner, if you think you can master to-day's work, but dampen your ardor by wondering how you are going to get through to-morrow, you produce a nervous tension which debllitat and brings about the very failure tt it you dread. No man can carry more tb in one day at a time. When Jesus asks y u not to attempt to do so He gives yon wise counsel, and you had better follow t le ad vice. Lite is not so smooth that you can afford to make it rougher by recalling the oaa roaus over wnicn you nave aneaay , i.i - , i,i passed or anticipating the bad roads over which you will have to pass before the :nd of the journey is reached. You may be cheerful, and therefore strong, if you will forget the things that are behind and tt the future take care of itself; but if yen propose to add yesterday and to-morrow to to-day you will add what God warns you against doing, and will certainly make a great mistake. II the sun shines now, be grateful and contented. Suppose it did rain yesterday, or suppose we are to have a blizzard to morrow. You have got beyond therein on the one hand, and, on the other, the time has not come to meet the blizzard. It is foolish to make yourself miserable now because you were miserable a few days hence. One duty, one labor at a time is quite enough. If there is any enjoyment to be had, take it with an eager grap; for if you sit in the warm sunshine for only five minutes it helps you bear the cold of the next five minutes. It is poor policy to spoil those first five minutes by worrying about the other five minutes. Let me illustrate. There is nothing in connection with death more wearing than the regret that you did not do more for the one who has gone. This is a universal ex perience with those who have any heart. The fact of separation seems to have a magic in it, for it is suddenly revealed to you that there were msny little attentions which you failed to render, and the remem brance pierces like a knife. No one ever parted with a loved one without self-blame of that kind. But as a general thing it Is all an illusion conjured up by overwrought nerves. In very truth you did whatever the circum stances suggested, you did as much as hu man nature is capable of doing, but in the presence of death you accuse yourself of things of which you are quite Innocent, and In doing so you make the parting harder to bear. It may be well for the dear one that he has gone. He has sweet sleep for the first time in many months. He is glad that the bonds of mortality are broken, that he is at last released, and in the lower depths of your own heart you are also glad for his sake, But there comes tbij thorny thought, that you may have been remiss, and your soul Is wrung by it. You do yourself a wrong. lou did what I you could. You were loving, tender, gentlo j ?nd morethaQ kin(1. You hBvereai burdens ! enough without adding imaginary ones. ! Y'nur tt ars must not be embittered by an ' accusation which has no basis in fact. Life I is too precious ami too short to be wasted ,u reRrets o tnnt kiu,i. The duties of the future demand your close attention, aud you have no right to think of the dead ex I cept to recall a sweet relationship and to Live your life as quietly and is peace fully as possible. Live in each day as it comes. Other days, whether past or future, must not be allowed to press oa your heart. This is the noblest policy you can adopt, the policy which comes to you as a divine injunction. Let neither regret nor an ticipation intrude upon you to make you weak. It is evident that there is a plan accord ing to which your life is arranging itself. even in the nddst of tumult and cheerful in the midst of sorrow, for your very tears '- promtr""11 ra'nbW Geobge H. Hepwobth. DR. TALMACES SERMCN. Would Yon Like to Live Yonr Life 0M Again?" ia the Subject. Text: "All that a man bath will he give for his life." Job. ii., 4. "That is untrue. The Lord did not say it, but Satan said it to the Lord when the evil one wanted Job still more afflicted. The record is: 'So went Satan forth from the presence of the Lord, and smote Job with sore boils.' And Satan has been the author of all eruptive disease since then, and he hopes by poisoning the blood to poison the soul. But the result of the dla- hnlieal "exneriment which left Job victor proved the falsity of the Satanic remark: "All that a man bath will he give for his life.' Many a captain who has stood on the bridge of the steamer till his passengers got off and he drowned; many an engineer who has kept his hand on the throttle valve, or his foot on the brake, until the most of the train was saved, while he went down to death through the open draw bridge; many a fireman who plunged into a blazing house to get a sleeping child out, the fireman sacrificing his life in the at tempt, and the thousand of martyrs who ubmi'tted to fierv stake and knife of mns- sacre and headman's ax and guillotine rather than surrender principle, proving , that in many a case my text was not true i when, it says, 'AH that's man hath will ha ! give for his life.' i "But Satan's falsehood was built on a truth. Life is very precious, and if we ; would not give up all there are many . . . WB Id urrender raUler tDan things we would surrender mrrenderlt. weseeuow precious lite is . m.o fet we do everv thing to prolong it Hence nil sanitary regulations, all rtudv of hvgiene, all fear of draughts, all waterproofs, all doctors, all medicines, all ..I. i ..rials or accident. An Admiral ol tne British Navy was court-martialed for turning his ship around in time of dan cer and so damaging the ship. It was ...lnt him. But when his time came to be heard he said: -'Gentlemen, I did tura the ship around, and admit that it was da&aged but oo you want to know wny I turned it? There was a man over board, and I wanted to save him, and I did save him, and I consider the life of out sailor worth all the vessels of the British Navy No wonder he was vindicated. Life Is indeed very precious. Yea, there are those who deem life so precious they wouldllketo try it over again. They would like to go back from seventy to sixty, from sixty to flfty, from fifty to forty, from forty to thirty, and from thirty to twenty. "The fact is, that no intelligent and right leeling man is satisfied with his past life. "Howeversuceessful your life may u.ive been you are not satisfied with It. What is success? Ask that question of a hundred different men, and they will give a hun dred different answers. One man will say,-. Success is a million dollars;' another will say -Success is world-wide publicity;' an other will say, 'Success is gaining that which you started for.' But as It Is a free country, I give my own definition, and say, 'Success Is fulfilling the particului mission upon which you weresent, whethei to write a constitution, or invent a new style of wheelbarrow, or take enro of a sick child.' Do what God calls you to do, and you are a success, whether you leave a million dollars at death or are buried nt public expense, whether it takes fifteen pages of an encyclopedia to tell the won derful things you have done, or your name is never printed but once, and that in the death column. But whatever your success has been, you are not satisfied with yout life "But some of you would bnve to go back further than to twenty-ono years of ago to make a fair start, for there are many who nanage to get all wrong before that period. I'ea, in order to get a fair start, some would have to go back to the father and mother and get them corrected; yea, to the grand father and grandmother, ami have their life corrected, for some of you are suuVring from bad hereditary influence which started a hundred years ago. Well, if your grandfather lived his life over again, nnd your father lived his lifo over again, and you lived your life over again, what a elut-tered-up place this world would tie a place filled with miserable attempts at, repairs. begin to think that it is better for each generation to have only one chance, ntid ;hen for them to pass off and give another generation a chance. Besides that, if we were permitted to live life over again, it would be a stale, and stupid experience. The zest and spur aud enthu-dasm of lifo come from the fact that we have never been along this road before, nnd every thing is new, aud we are alert for what may appear at the next turn of the road. Su p pose you, a man of mid He-life or old age, were, with your present feelings and large niLaiuuicuia. attainments, put bacK into me tmriies, or th, twentles, or into the tens, what a nui sance vou would be to others, and what i unhappiness to yourselfl Yonr contempor aries would not want you, and you would oot want them. Things that in your pre vious journey of life stirred your healthful ambition, or gave you pleasurable surprise, r led you into happy interrogation, would jnly call forth from you a disgusted 'Oh, tshaw!" You wuld be blase at thirty, and i misanthrope at forty, and unendurable at ilfty. The most insane and stupid thing maginable would be a second journey ol Jfe. "Out yonder is a man very old at forty fears of age, at a time when he ouirht to be jnoyant as the raorniug. He got bad habits n him very early, and those -habits have jeoome worse. He is a man on fire, on lire -ith alcoholism, on fire with all evil habits, ut with the world and the world out with lim. Down, and falling deeper. His swollen hands in his threadbare pockets, nd his eyes fixed on theground, he passes -.hrough the streets, rtud the quick step of in innocent child or the strong step of a young man or the roll of a prosperous car riage maddens him, and he cur.-tes society ind he curses God, Fallen sick, with no resources, he is carried to the almshouse. K loathsome speetaele, ho lies all day long salting for dissolution, or in the night rises on his cot and lights apparitions of what he might have been an 1 what he will De. Hi started life with as good a pros sect as any man on the American continent, ind there he is, a bloated carcass, waiting 'or the shovels of public charity to put him lve feet under. Ho has only n-apeu what le sowed. Harvest of wild oats! There is 1 way that seemeth right to a man, but the snd thereof is death.' "To others life is a masquerade ball, ami vs at such entertainments gentlemen and ladies put on the garb of Kinns and Queens or mountebanks or clowns and at the close put off the dlsguis-. so a great many pass ;heir whole life In a nia.sk, taking o!T the oiask at death. While the masquerade ball )t life goes on, they trip merrily over the floor, gemmed hand is stretched to gemmed hand, gleaming brow bends to gleaning srow. On with the dance! Flush and rus ;le and laughter of immeasurable merry making. But after awhile the biti'runr of neath comes on the limbs and blurs the eyesight. Lights lower. Floor hollow with sepulchral echo. Music sudd'-ncd In to a wail. Lights lower. Now them i-l;. ers are only seen in the dim liglit. Now t!ii fragrance of the flowers is like the sicken ing odor that comes from garlan is that have lain long In the vaults of cemeteries. Lights lower. Mists gather in the room. Glasses shake as though quaked by sudden thunder. Sigh caught in the curtain. Scarf drops from the shoulder of b.'auty a shroud. Lights lower. Over the slippery boards in dance of death glide jealousies, envies, revenges, lust, despair and death. Stench of lamp-wicks almo-t extinguished. Torn garlands will not hnlf cover the ul cerated feet. Choking damps. Chilliness. Feet still. Hands closed. Voices hu.-hed. Eyes shut. Lights out. "Young man, as you cannot live life over again, however you may long to do so, be sure to have your one life right. There if in this assembly, I wot not, for we arf made np of all sections of this land and from many lauds, some young man whe lms gone nway from home nnd, perhaps under some little spite or evil persuasion of another, and his parents know not where he is. My son. go home! Io not go to sea! Don't go to-night where you may be tempted to go. Go home! Your father will be glad to see you; and your mother I neeil not tell you how she feels. How I would like to make your parents a present of their wayward boy, repentant and in his right mind. I would like to writo them a letter, and you to carry the letter, saving: By the blessing of Uod on my ser mon I introduce to you one whom you hlve never seen before, for he has become a new creature in Christ Jesus.' My boy, go home and put your tired head on the bosom that nursed you so tenderly in your childhood years. "A young Scotchman was in ba'.tte taken captive by a band of Indians, nn I ho learned their language arid ado i 1 their habits. Years passed on. but the old Indian chieftain never forgot that he had in his possession a young man who did not belong to him. Well, one day this tribe of Indians came in sight of the Scotch regiments from whom this young man had I n captured, and the old Indian chieftain said: '1 lost mv son in battle, and i know how a futl-er. leels at the loss of a son. lo you think vour father is yet aliveV The voung man said: I nm the onlv son of my father, aud I hope he is still alive.' Then said the Iu- nan entertain: -because ol tne lossol my soc :his world is a lesert. You go free. Ileturn to your countrymen. Itevisit your father, that he may rejoice when he sees the sun rise in the morning and the trees blossom n thespring.' So 1 say to you, young man, captive of waywardness nr?d mu. Your nottier ts waiting lor you. lour sisters are waiting for you. (!od Is waiting for yo; jo hoiuel (johome! Xever disparage the commonplace. What is more commonplace than a moth er's love? If a man be endowd with a generous mind, this is the best kind of nobility. j Of all virtues, mngnnnimil y i- tb" rarest there are hundred -rson .r merit for one who willingly acknowledges it in another. The development of the best wilhin is. is oftener due to our failures than to our successes. Never hope to hold a neutral position towards an evil, that which you do not positively discourage, you encourage. Mind unemployed is mind unen joyed. The less we parade our misfortunes the more sympathy we command. .A -J " V J 91 ' fJL SS'-'i J
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers