'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
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fJL
SS'-'i J