' ' ' ' ' ,"f i ' "' ' " t,-'''''''j-v''!"',A :'" v ---fv;. ;.'r-'"''-" ?-' "? i1-- ..-"" i. .-."''- s 1 "J V ,'" ""--: i ' '. - .v - i! 1 r ; B F. SCHWEIER, THE COnSTITUTIOn THE UIIION AI1D THE EflFORCEUEITT OF THE LAWS. Editor and Proprietor. VOL. hl MIFFLINTOWN, JUNIATA COUNTY, PENN., WEDNESDAY, APRIL. 11, 1900 NO. 18. ' ' ' a a , ii'1 V CHARLOTTE fffffTffWWfWI It I 1 1 CHATTER X. 1t ot repeat the happy experiment of i15t autumn." said the Duchess of Rose dfne to Sir Arthur. "Come with u to rt.e. I tomemlier ever to bare njored inything more than your visit. 1 will fr Bu-'l to come, and the two oiers will be happy that is, if such un reasonable beings as lovers are ever hap p.r. Tbey teem to me more often discon tented." Anpist found them at Dene, well and fcappy, without the faintest knowledge of the doom th:it was fast drawing nigh. rrt!r nn ar.-ntmt of its hrarinz air and pirtlr because lie at times had a few en casement io the neighboring towns. Martin Kay had for some years made this place his home. These wire the days of Martin Ray's decaJt me. anj he could not perhaps have rhuseu any spot on earth where he could have bien more secluded or more forgot ten. It was a strange chance that brought these two sisters so near together, yet piaivd them so far apart. The steep preen hi.I that stood between Dene Abbey an J Southwood was typical of the great barrier of caste which parted them. There were times when both at the same mo ment watched the same seas, the same skies, yet neither had the least notion of the other's presence in that part of the country. The summer had been hot and oppres sive. Martin Kay had suffered much, ami it was some relief when the cool "s breezes of autumn came. Tbey heard casually that LVae Abbey was tilled with visitors, but that any of the visitors con cerned them never occurred to them. Father aud daughter would not have sat so quietly watching the heaving waters had they known that Leah was so near them. The occupants of Dene Abbey seldom attended the pretty old Norman church ut Southwood, where Hettie sang so sweetly and so clearly. There was a church nearer to them called St. Bar la uld's. which stood in the center of a little village near the sea. But Sir Ba sil liked Southwood best. He admired the quaint old Norman church, with its square tower and fine arches. So, one Sunday morning, when the whole party wtnt over to St. Barbould's, Sir Basil went through the woods, climbed th? steep hill and descended the beautiful grassy slopes, until he reached the old Norman church where his fate awaited him. The rector read the prayers, and said a few words to the people simple, hon est words that went home to every heart and left an impression there. When the clear, earnest voice ceased, there was a slight stir in the organ loft, and then a dead silence. What broke it? A clear, sweet voice which Sir Basil never forgot, singing a solo in a grand old anthem, every word of which was distinct and audible beau tiful words, well matched with the fine music and the angelic voice. Ue listened in wonder; he had heard some of the fin est singers in Italy and some of the grandest music in the world, but nothing like this. He was not sentimental, and nattered himself that he took a practical view of most thinks: but as he listened he thought to himself: "That must be how the angels sing!" He looked up into the organ loft from which the sound came, and there he saw a picture that was photographed on his brain for evermore. A tall, slender girl stood in the midst of the choir, in a dress of pale blue a girl with a face so fair, so rapt, so seraphic, that it awed and be wildered him. She was singing-not to the people, who listened with bated breath not to him, whose eyes never moved from her face. Her thoughts had pierced the Old groin ed roof and the blue ether that lay be yond, and had gone to the land where an gels dwelL Her golden hair made halo round her head, and he could have thought that an angel had dwtnd'J from "the realms of light." The. it dawned upon him slowly that this gu-1 had been the original of the picture, "The First Glimpse of Morning," and he re membered what he had said to Leah, ' That face has what yours lacks tender ness " "I am destined to know her through the arts," he said to himself. She dawned upon me in painting. I see her etherealized by music yet what is she to me?" . She was nothing to him, yet during the whole of the day that rapt spiritual face .i-.v before him. He would have nsked who she was, but he knew m. one there, and when the anthem was finished she vanished. He lingered in the old churchyard where the tall elm trees cast graceful shadows on the grass, but he caught no glimpse of ber. He went home to Dene Abbey with the clear, rich voice rinsing in his ears. There was a little rivulet that ran through the Dene woods; he bent over it, and. lo! the sweet face smiled at him from its clear depths! He laughed at himself. No woman's face had ever haunted him before. With ill its brilliant beauty, even Leah a had uot haunted him as this one did. The week that passed before Sunday "came again was a long one to Sir Basil. He had not the least intention of ever being even in thought, untrue to Leah. "if he bad dreamed that there was any danger in seeing the beautiful singer again, he would have avoided her. hat harm could there be in going to South wood Church to hear a grand old anthem beautifully sung? He did not speak to Iah about it. He bad one definite mo tive for silence, and be had twenty rea sons that were not quite definite. On that bright Sunday morning no warning came to Sir Basil that he had better not see the young singer again. He went She sang more sweetly than ever, and looked to his enchanted eyes fairer than before. When the people went out of church, he contrived to be among the first, and then he saw the blue dress trailing over the grass; and he noticed that every movement and action of the girl was aa full of grace aa her singing was full of I le found the old sexton. Sir Basil dis covered in a moment the way to hla heart; it was suggested by the almost pa thetic manner in which the man said that it was a dry day. He was so completely overwhelmed when Sir Basil dropped something in his hand with which to make the day more comfortable that he -. ro. . M. BRAEME, f f f v 1 1 1 1 I 1 1 I I M I II M 1 1 1 lit would have answered any number of questions. "Who was the lady that aung?" a ' u.W" Mi"8 Eay-Mias Hettie Ray. daughter of the old man who lived at Rose walk. y uer Rose walk? 'It ia a cottage built on the slope of the bill around there by Southwood"-. Tague direction, but Sir Basil remember ed every word of It. Who was the old man? Ah, that the sexton did not know! All that he could tell waa that he had beard that he wat a bit of a writer in the po litica. line, that he was poor, and that his daughter worked very hard. He knew little of him. because he kept away from everyone and shut himself up in bis lit tle cottage. "Rather a curious history," thought the young baronet. "Such a father and sucb a daughter! He cannot possibly be a political writer of any note, or 1 should have heard someone speak of him. Be fore long I will see for myself what Rose walk is like." One autumn day Sir Basil strolled over to Rosewalk. He told Leah that he was going for a long ramble: but he did not ask her to accompany him. There was in his mind no direct thought that he was going somewhere clandestinely. He climb ed the steep hill once more, and there before him lay the pretty town of South wood. After walking so far hia courage failed him; he passed through the lane and did not even look at the cottage he had come to see. He felt ashamed of himself, and went back again the lane was a long one. When he returned, be found that an el derly man was standing watching the passing of a ship at sea. The scene was so beautiful that be was charmed with it. Some instinct told him that this was Martin Ray. "This ia a lovely scene, sir," Sir Basil remarked, aa fee paused in front of the old man. "It ia well enough," he aaid. And then Sir Basil waa slightly dis concerted. He hardly knew what next to say. He stood and looked, first at the blue, rippling waters and then at the itern, worn, haggard man. It was better perhaps to be frank. "I am looking," he said, quietly, "for the house of Mr. Martin Ray. Can you tell me if tbia be it?" "I am Martin Ray," answered the oth er, briefly. And again Sir Basil was nonplused. The man raised himself from hia lean ing attitude and looked at the handsome, lark face before him. "You wanted to see my house and ma why T" he asked. "My reason is very simple," replied Sir Basil, raising his hat. "I heard that you were living here, and I wished to see Dne who, rightly or wrongly, has been a leader among the people." "Are you of my way of thinking?" ask ed Martin", abruptly. "No, I am not," replied Sir Basil. "You carry to excess that which I believe iu but little. I hold a middle path between you and those whom you would call your fnemies." "A middle path," repeated Marti a. "Ah, then you will not interest me!" "I am not sure that I wish to do so," replied Sir Basil. "It was not with a view of interesting you that I desired t iee you." "I did not intend to be rude," returned Martin Ray. "I mean this that my life has been a fierce fight. I know but two extremes. Yon must forgive me I bate all mediocrity." "You are like an old soldier who smells gunpowder," said Sir Basil, good-tempered ly. "Yon would enjoy a warm political argument with me; but it ia not possible. I am only just beginning to understand matters. In a few months or a fen years," continued Sir Basil. "I shall be better informed about politics than I am now. I intend to read, to study, to ttrnk. and then, when 1 have mastered both sides of the various questious, I shall be able to form clear and decided views of my own." "That is right, said Martin. "Con and see me again.' You have stirred au old pain in my heart. Good-by." And without another word- Sir Basil retraced bis steps to Dene Abbey, think ing the whole way of the man he bad iust left. nHAPTER XL r- Sir Basil resolved to study politics; and i .. . . i . i i le was wen pieasea lusi cuauce nau made him acquainted whh Martin Ray. who in bis time had caused some atir in the political world. When he started for Rosewalk the next day; he honestly be lieved that he waa going to see Martin Ray from the most honorable and the highest motives. He might, of course, we the beautiful singer again; it was not improbable; but he was not going for that purpose. When he reached Rosewalk a young ind beautiful girl waa seated near the wall overlooking the sea. What, at the arst sight of her, made hia heart beat so fast? He bad to pass close by ber; but he would not look at the golden hair aud ?wcet face. He went into the quaint flower-wreathed porch and rapped at the door. Then as one watches things in a lream, he saw the young girl arise 3Bd walk toward him with a firm, graceful step. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I want to see Mr. Martin Ray." "My father?" she replied. "He is not at home." The blue eyes looked into his for a mo ment, then they fell, and a soft color like that of the fairest petal of a rose covered ber face: the dark eyes looking at ber were so full of passionate admiration that ahe could not raise her own to his "'"Not at home." repeated Sir Basil. "1 m very sorry for that. I waa to see bim to-dsy. and I walked some distant. Have I your permission to wait until he returna?" . . , . . She looked elightly confused at first, then she felt that it would be impossible to refuse. She was only too p e ased tht her father shoold have a call from so pleasant a visitor. "You can wait if yoo wish to do so. she replied: "bat the hour of his return me. I thin- 1 will risk It." he said. "I do not think any nne could nd a more beautiful spot than this in which to while away die time. He aat down on the pretty rustic bench, which was so placed that one could see the incoming tide. The wares were roll ing In grandly; the wind had freshened, and they broke in sheets of white foam. The sunlight lay on the aea and on the shore, on the white cliffs and on the green hill; it feU on the golden hair and sweet face opposite to him. A. feeling of per fect rest came over him, of happiness such aa la his whole life he had never known before. "I heard yoo singing In church last Sunday," he aaid. "I have been ataying in thia neighborhood for some time. You have a very beautiful voice; I waa quite delighted with it." m "I am fond of music." she answered "above all things, I am fond of singing. It Is the one pleasure of my life. 1 fa ce1 everything else when I sing." When once Hettie had lost her shy. embarrassed manner, ahe talked to Sir Basil with Sl! the ease and grace that were natural to her. He told beWLi!j. picture in the Academy, and she was amused to hear about it. and in her turn related how the artist came to Southwood in search of picturesque scenes, snd saw her sitting by this same wall, and begged that Ue might make a sketch of her face. She did not know that the picture had been the success of the year. He told hei all about it. "Yon seem to be quite ont of the world here," he said, when she expressed hei surprise. And then she told him of her bnsy life, and how, do what ahe would, she could not make the daya long enough. - He sat by the ivy-covered wall more than an hour; and, when at last he rose, longing to atay, yet aware that be had been there long enough, they both felt as though they had been friends for years. Sir Basil called several times at Rose walk, and Martin Ray, who had aM his life hated everyone who could not be called aristocratic, took a fancy to .him. They did not agree in all respects. 8ii Basil told him frankly that he thought some of bis ideas terrible and hideous. ' "You will aee," aaid Martin. "You will live longer than I shall. What I now teach the world it will believe and practice when the stinging nettles are growing over my grave." "Why do you suppose that your grave will be covered with stinging nettles?" asked Sir Basil. Martin laughed a bitter little cynical laugh. "I do not imagine that anyone living will care to plant flowers there." he re plied. So the weeks sped on. snd Martin Ray, in hia own cynical, selfish fashion, after a time became quite fond of Sir Basil. He looked for his coming; he was more gloomy than nsual on the days when he did not make bis appearance. Tbey were talking together one morn ing, while Hettie was away giving her lessons; and Sir Basil aaid laughingly that it was atrange they bad met so often without Martin even knowing his name. There waa something impressive in the gesture with which Martin auddenly held up his hand. "Is it a name that you have made for yourself?' he asked. "No; it was made for me." replied Sir Basil. "Then I do not want to know it. As a man with good intentions, I like yon; yon are straightforward honest and honora ble; but. if yon have one of those names with a 'handle,' probably borne by many generations of men who have lived upon their fellow-men, I do not wish to know it. The first time I ssw you I thought you looked like sn aristocrat. If you art one, do not tell me so; It would spoil my opinion of you." "If you call me 'Glen.' " aaid Sir Basil "I shall understand; and that name will do as well aa any other." "I hope," aaid Martin half savagely, "that yon are not a young duke in dis guise." "I am quite sure of that," replied Sir Basil, laughing. "I am neither duke nor belted earl." "It would be hard work to hate you; but I ahould hate yon if yon were," said Martin. - From that time he alwaya called Sir Basil "Glen;" and when Hettie spoke of him it was as "Mr. Glen." (To be continued.) Farm Notes. Trim the fruit trees so as to have the top open and free." not allowing any of the limbs to touch or cross each other. Much depends upon the first trimming of a young tree, as Its shape Is then fixed, and the cutting away of the small limbs can be done with less injury to the tree when it la young than at any olher time. Just as soon as the ground Is ready for the plow and cultivator the spring work should begin. When the ground is plowed early it becomes warm and the seeds of weeds commence germi nating, which permits of their destruc tion with the harrow or cultivator. The earlier the weeds can be started the n.o.-e of them can be destroyed before the regular crops are planted, and the labor of cultivation during the year will be materially decreased and the crop; benefited accordingly. When fattening poultry for market the fowls wil gain more rapidly if they are kept In small flocks than when they sre cooped singly, as Ihey will become lonesome and lose appetite. Feed them four times a day, al owing green food at least once a day with plenty of corn it night. The other two meals may con sist of one part by weight of cornmeal, one of bran, one of ground oats, and one of crude tallow. Mix with boiling water and give as much as they wil' eat. !.- The results from feeding wheat to live stock have been satisfactory, but corn is cheaper where It Is grown on the farm. During the spring and summer there is less desire and demand for grain than during the winter, and In feeding the stock advantage should b? taken of the cheaper green foods. ' Coal ashes possess but little value as a fertiliser, but they are excellent if broadcasted on very light, sandy to 1, their effect being mechanical. They can also be utilised on roads and walk ways, and serve admirably for filling up holes in the roads leading to the barn yard or to the main road. Lime Is excellent on theonlon bed. as It assists In destroying worms. It will also serve to make the manure more available. The onion see ens to grow on the top of the ground entirely, but it sends out roots far and deep, and Is one of the heaviest feeders of the soil .known. The land cannot be too rich for onions. It Is not wise farming to attempt to make -an impoverished farm produce heavy crops, as the land will become poorer every year unless something Is nut on the land to compensate for loss. With a poor farm one ahould expect to Incur a loss for a year or two. Take time and grow green crops to be plowed under, and use lime, fertilisers and manure, selling nothing off tbe farm that can be used on th farm. Any farm can- Toe Improved, but it requh-es ai n - th. land ttaw1r A It nriri. ! nal condition after it has been closely cropped -for- rears. a;Twn!TVwT.wvVwTwvVw'vsmT I ... I I NOT A WRITING MAN. I NOT A WRITING MAN. I.. ... . , : rjpflE boy stood and looked and MniookPd aLtte glrt It was by no . means the first time be had met " her, and be would have been extremely j Clad to know that it was the last. T.at , Is to ay. be would have wished, of nil t things in the world, never to part lroni ber again. But thia, he acknowledged to himself, was past hoping for. All ber people were so clever, everybody she kuew had written something or other, she was only used to the very most Intellectual persons. Why. eveu tli's party that he was now at was given In the great room at the end of her fa-, ther's garden where he wrote bis won derful Iwoks. And be he was such a countrified fellow. Ue only bad money and a ridiculously, quite Intellectually , useless strength of body. He could t only shoot and hunt and play games j anu manage aogs ana norses. nooriau pursuits, he thought, despairingly. Once be brlgbteued for a moment as be looked round the crowd of nervous, narrow-shouldered men. "I'd bet anything not one of 'em could bring down a pheasant at 100 yards." be said, and almost chuckled to him self. - Nobody took any notice of him. He felt that be bad hardly any right to be there. If be had ever taken a composi tion prize at school, or even so much as written a letter to the papers, be felt that be. need not have stood there so ashamed. Once she in her capacity as young hostess hsd come and spoken to him. Very shyly. And no wonder, be thought, bitterly. What single thing In common with her could such a stupid fellow as be have? And so she had left him alone, after taking him to one or two girls whom be supposed to embody genius in Its most terrible form, the feminine specimen, and who therefore found, and left, blin dumb. So he wandered off into a far corner, for it was a large room, and when be had put himself behind a small grove ot portfolios be couid watch her with out being seen in anybody's way.'' For a long time be gazed at her, very fair, and In white, with what be called a lump of black velvet against her shin ing vrhlte shoulder. Then at last. she was lost to him in a.throng far awy at tbe'other end or tSe -foom. 'He turned his back on everybody and looked with a curious. Ingenious' wonder at some Inca drawings which were In the cor ner on the wall. He did not observe that the noise o. voices grew 'less and less, and then ceased altogether. ' He was lost in a dream of her. till suddenly he was awakened by the electric lights going out altogether and the sound of the key turning In the lock of the door. He listened acutely then, and beard the gay voices growing fainter and fainter outside, aa the guests went along the Chinese-lanterned path into the bouse to snpper. He started out of his corner to rush for the door and try to make somebody hear bim. But be entangled himself among the portfolio stands with a loud noise, and when be extricated himself and felt cautiously round In the darkness for landmarks he found that he had lost bis bearings. " Th sounds outside died quite away. He stood still and wondered what be ahould do. And where was she? What more worthy man was handing her to supper? His teeth came together at the thought. It bad been bis one Ann I daring hope and then to retire to vege tate and slowly die in the empty coun try. And even this had been denied hl". He felt a chair near and sat heav lly down. Then his sharpened senses seemed to take In a breath and a soft rustle a very long way off, and there came a low, sweet voice, "Are you there, Mr. Penwln?" Rapture. "Are" you?" was all he could say, and be bounded from bis chair. She laughed gently. "Yes, I I got left behind as as you did, you know."' "I can't Imagine bow I did It." be said. "You were dreaming something beau tiful In your corner " ' "I was," he cried out eagerly, and be gan to make bis stumbling way toward ber voice. "something that I shall perhaps read souie day lu a great book?' she breathed softly. He stopped groping with a gasp Heavens!-this was worse than any thing. She took him. bim, for a writer! He blushed as he stood there Is the darkness. And. of course, bow could she suppose that any guest of ber fa ther's bad not written, or was not about to write, some world-stirring master piece? It thrilled him for a moment to think she had thought bim capable even for an instant of writing some thing, anything. But the despair was all the flatter afterward. Well. It cer tainly was all over now. the only thing 'was to get away from her as quickly and with as little betrayal of his stu pidity aa possible. So be blundered out: "Tell me what I can do to let you out." "Us." she said, very gently, he thought. "Us." be echoed, and his heart seemed to Mm to stop beating aa he aaid. That ahe should put herself Into one word with him and say "us!" "There aren't any windows," she said, in a voice that arrack bim aa oddly ! calm, coming through the tumult of hla ! feelings, "Father haa It lighted froia ' the ton. so that ho shan't aoa nvthlna- I to distract his thoughts, or we could have got out that way." "Does be really?" aaid Penwln. In 4 QTKuowliig admiration of this iron type of genius. "Splendid man!" "Do you think so?" aha said, slowly. "I think the blue sky or the great clouds and the trees and flowers would help to make one's thoughts beautiful and true." He became more ashamed than ever, feeling that her reverence for poetic things was high. Indeed. The only thing be could think of to say was: "Where are the awltches? Can't I turn on the light?" "Outside." Then she laughed gayly. "I'm afraid we really are locked up till they remember us!" "We!" "Us!" It wrought upon him so that be could hardly bear it. Surely she did not understand what she was doing to him! "If you only knew." he began, recklessly, and then pulled him self up. "What?" "Oh you know everything!" "Indeed, no; there are some things I would like very, very much to know." tie heard that she sighed softly. This was torment. Why was he not a learn ed man. so that she could have asked bim and be could have told her? . "I I think I noticed a candle on that table." be stammered, dismally. "The one with the prickly edge." "Yes. If one only knew where It was." she said. - "I'm quite lost, aren't you?" "Qtiite," be said, forlornly. "1 .don't' know where anything Is." "I do." "What?" "You." be said, simply. "That'g an Idea," she said, as If It were an agreeable one. . "What? How?" he cried, in delight. Was It possible, then, that be had Ideas without recognizing them? "If we find each other we shall at any rate have found something." He was speechless. Then he said, al most' trembling: "May I come to you?" "Ye-es." she said. And well might jhe hesitate In that heavenly, dainty way, he thought. To find bim was but a poor hope for her. even if to find her was to bim just everything. He heard again the soft rustle. "Are you coming to me?" be asked, .ncredulous of his Joy. "Of course. I must meet you half way." "If you could oh. If you would " "I am doing it." she said, and laughed ioftly again. Ue beard several bumps and noises close to bis own knees and shins and supposed that he was making them with his own person, but he could not lake account of that when she was 'coming half-way." Next moment his hand grasped a soft one. put out to feel its way. Before be or she could stop be bad touched ber, herself, and his nostrils caught up the scent of her hair. She withdrew from bim with a soft, surprised "Ob!" He. too, could only echo the "Oh." and the band loosed Itself from his long Ing hand that dared not keep It Neither spoke for awhile. He feared be should never be forgiven, and even furiously wished that he had written something. Then be would have bad a right at least to want to touch her. "I think I am standing near the table where the candle was," she said faintly at last. He found bis matchbox In humble silence. There was only one match in it and he struck it. It turned out to be the wrong table, but be succeeded In bringing the match alight to the candle, though he really did not see It. He only saw her. She was pale, be thought. She must be very angry. The candle had been, so it happened, pinched with a wet finger the night before. It sput tered and spat In a vixenish manner and went angrily out. The match, too. There was silence again. "Well, we saw how we were stand ing," she said. Her voice waa very low. es." So waa his. "But I don't seem to remember " "Nor do ir Another silence. "It's so annoying." be ventured. "It Is." she said, but quite softly. "So horrid for you!" "So tiresome for you," ahe waa sa ing at the same time. "Oh. I don't mind." "And, you see. it's it's my father's .-oom," she added, in an explanatory manner, so that be could not but feel that something had been explained. He would have been glad to bare been told what. "! suppose we can talk?' ahe saiA nervously. "Yea." ; There warn a long sUenoe, Hs heard that she aat down, and he moved close 1 to her silently. "I suppose " he began, desperately "Oh!" she cried. "Yes?" "I didn't think you were so near!" "Did I frighten you?" How he for bore to call ber "deareat" he did not know. "Oh. no." Then?" "It startled me. But I think I like to have you near. Ifs so dark." "It la very dark." He came-nearer. It was delicious to think she could be afraid of the dark. He bad feared she waa too clever. "Wuat were you going to say?" she aske; ! . "I suppose."- JlS said, despair coming on again. "I suppose th.r '""n't any body here to-night who badnt writtes a book?" "Most of them several." He fancied she sighed again. It must be boredom this time, to think of the brilliant peo ple at supper while she was shut up with him. He fancied that It was with an effort she turned to him and aaid: "And when'a your rook coming out?" She did speak wearily. "I I don't know," be stammered. "You are a slow writer, then?" "I can't even spell." he blurted out. "Oh. I don't know that that maket ny difference." There was another silence. Then she 1 appeared to make another effort. "And you really can't tell me when It I would be of any use putting It on my 1 Ilstr "Oh, bow can I bear It?" His voice came out of a dream. She supposed his work bad not been accepted, and reproached herself for conversational clumsiness. And then somehow went on to make It worse. "Tbey generally don't mind." abe iald. "Mind what? he murmured. "Being refused." He felt himself grow burning hot. "Have I been refused?" be stain Jiered. "You know." "I didn't dream I had dared I don't understand. How did you guess what I " "It's so usual," she said. He found be was fighting for breath. "But you mustn't mind." she said A'ith sudden kindness. "You must be proud, and say like the others, that It's gross blindness aud prejudice, and that somebody else will recognize your merit." "The the others?" be stammered. "What others T' "All those who have been refused." "Hundreds." "Were were there many?" Penwln laid bold bard of the edge ol her chair. "But you mustn't mind so much. In deed, you mustn't, dear Mr. Penwln. Everybody begins by being refused. Please don't mind so." . "How can I help?" be demanded al most with a sob. She put out a ministering hand and II met his cheek, which was bowed down. There was a tear on it. He seized the hand and kissed It. and then, tbey neither of them knew bow, he was on his knees by ber side. "Make up to me for It a little," b said. "It la as bard as death." Her hand was still In both of his. He felt a subtle change In It It quivered, and then seemed consciously to sur render Itself to him. He kissed It again. "After all." she said, by and by. In a new voice, "somehow I should not have thought you were a writing man." "Why not?" "You don't look like It you know." "I don't" he admitted, miserably. "And you never ask bow much So-and-So got for So-and-So. and you never seem annoyed at anybody's book being a success, and you never say a good thing and then seem to think you've wasted it, and you don't talk about form and local color, and " "Yoo see," be pleaded, "I'm quite a novice r' "And always when you came into the room there seemed to come a breath from the mountains where nobody hunts for unusual words and where one can live with real and beautiful things Instead of writing and reading about them, and I liked that." Ho was so sad and so happy that he was dumb. "D'you know, I'd I'd rather you didn't writer "Dulcle! He had never dared even to think of ber by her name, but now It seemed the one word In the whole world that belonged to his Hps. "Dulcle!" "Yes," she whispered. "Don't you like writing men?" "I'm sick to death of .them." "Gould you like a man who couldn't put two words together?" he panted. "I'm afraid I do." "Could you could you love him?" "I'm afraid I do." For one sharp moment happiness seemed a greater agony than despair. Then he leaned hla face to hers, and the agony was gone. Good Words. The Ioat Was Found. They fell Into conversation on the Avenue street car as men will to pass away the time, and when one of them happened to mention he waa from Pittsburg the other turned to him with: "Pittsburg, eb? Dear me, but bow singular!" "How do you mean, sir?" was asked. "Why. I was In Pittsburg twenty-one years ago and lost 10 cents in a street car. I waa thinking of the Incident Just before you spoke to me. I suppose you couldn't Inform me whether the money waa ever found, could you?" "Why, yes; I believe I can. I found dims In a street car about twenty Oae years ago nd have been looking for the owner ever since. Here It Is. It must belong to you." "Thanks. You are an honest man. Here are 2 cents to reward 70a." The Pittsburg man pocketed the re ward as the other pocketed the dime, and then tbey closed the incident and opened the Philippine question. Wash ington Post Growing Its Own Tlea. The Big Four Railroad haa pluated a large tract of land la Indiana with qllck-growlng trees, which wiH be con verted Into cross tiea. 1 Of IHl DM. Preached by Rev. Dr. Talmage, All N.tor. Join, la Singing HI Praise. Krarthinc Bright and Baaattlnl Hag gasta Him Power or the Myuta aa a Cradla Soag la Keiaarksbla. Copyright lww.1 Washihgton, D. C In this discourse Dr. Talmage shows how Christ brings harmony and melody Into every life that Hs eaters; text. Psalm exvlll., 14. "The Lord is my strength and song." The most fascinating theme for a heart properly attannd is the Saviour. There Is something tn the morning light to suggest Him and something in the evening shadow to speak His praise. The flower breathes Him, the stars shine Him, the cascade proclaims Him, all the voices of nature ehaut Him. Whatever is grand, bright and beaatiiui; If you only listen to. It, will speak His praise. 8o, Teo lojho summer time I pluck a flower, I think of tins THo Is "the Rose of Sharon and the Lily of tli" Valley." When I see in the Soldi a lamb, I say, "Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world." When, In very hot weather, I come under a pro jecting cilff, I say: Bock of ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in T!iet Over the old fashioned pulpits there was a sounding board. The voice ot the minis ter rose to the sounding board and theo was struck back again upon the ears of the people. And so the 10,000 volet of earth rising up find the neaveus a soaadiog board which strikes back to the ear ot all Hie nn tlons the praises ot Christ. The heavens tell bis glory, and the earth shows his handiwork. The Bible thrills with one great story of redemption. Upon a blasted and faded paradise it poured the light of glorious restoration. It looked upon Abra ham from the ram caught lu the thicket. It spoke in the bleating of the herds driven down to Jerusalem for sacrifice. It put in finite pathos Into the speech of uncouth fishermen. It lifted Paul into the third heaven, and It broke upon the ear of St. John with the brazen trumpets and the doxology ot the elders and the rushing wings ot the seraphim. Instead of waiting until you get sick and worn out before vou sing the praise ol Christ, while your heart is happiest and four step ts lightest and your fortunes smile and your pathway blossoms and the overarching heavens drop upon you their benediction, speak the praises of Jesus. The old Greek crators, vben tbey saw their audiences Inattentive and slumber ing, had one word with which they would reuse them up to the greatest enthusiasm. In the midst ot their orations they would stop and cry out "Marathon!" and the Seople's enthusiasm would be unbounded, y hearers, though you may have been borne down with sin and though trouble and trials and temptntion may have come upon you and you feel to-day hardly like looking up, met hints th' re is one grand, royal, imperial word that ought to rouse your soul to Infinite rejoleiug, and that word is "Jesus!" Taking the suggestion of the text, I shall speak to you of Christ our Song. I remark, In the first place, that Christ onght to be the cradle song. What our mothers san r to us when tbey put us to sleep U singing yet. We may have forgotten the words, but tbey went into the fiber of our soul aud will forever be a part of it. It is not so much what you formally teach your chil dren as what you slug to tbem. A xynio has wings and can By everywhither. One hundred and fifty years after you are dead and "Old Mortality" has worn out uis chisel recuttlog your name on the tomb stone your great-grandchildren will be singing the song which last night you sang to your little ones gathered about your knee. There Is a pla?e la Switzerland where, if you distinctly utter your voice, there come back ten or fifteen distinct echoes, and every Christian song ruiig by a mother in the ear of her child shall have 10,000 echoes coming back from all the gates ot heaven. Oh, If mothers only knew the power of this sacred spell how much oftener the little ones would be gathered aid all our homes would chime with the songs ot Jesus! We want some coanteracting influence upon our children. The very moineut your child steps Into the street he steps into the path of temptation. There are foul mouthed children wtio would like to be soil your little ones. It will mt do to keep vour boys and girls In the house and make them bouse plants. They mast have ( Iresnalrand recreation, uoii save your children from the scathing, blasting, damning influence of the streetl I know of no counteracting Influence bat the power of Christian culture and example. Hold before your little ones the pure life of Jesus. Let that name be the word that ihall exercise evil from their hearts. Giro to your Instruction all the fasciuatlon of music morning, noon and night. Let it be lesus, the cradle song. This is Impor tant if your children grow up, but per haps they may not. Their pathway may be short. Jesus may be wanting that child. Then there will be a sound- ,les step in the dwelling, and the youtncul pulse will begin to nutter, ana tne little bands will be lifted for help. Yoo cannot help. And a great agony will pioch at your heart, and the cradle will be emp ty, and the nursery will be empty, and the world will be empty, and your soul will be empty. No little feet standing on the stairs. No toys scattered on the carpet. No quick following from room to room. No strange and wondering questions. No up turned face, with laughing blue eyes, come tor a kiss, but only a grave and a wreath of white blossoms on the top ot It and bit ter desolation and a sighing at nightfall, with no one to put to bed. The heavenly Shepherd will take that lamb safely, any how, whether yoo have been faithful ornu faithful. But would It not have been pleasanter if you could have heard from those lips the praises ot Christ? I never read anything more beautiful than this about a child's departure. The account aid, "She folded ber bauds, kissed her mother good-by, sang her hymn, turned her face to the wall, sail her little prayer ind then died." I speak to you again of Jesus as the light song. Job speaks ot Him who giveth tours in the night. John Welch, tlie old Scotch minister used to put a plaid across his bed on cold nights, and some one nsked him why be put it there. He said: "Oil, lometimes in the uight I want to sing the praise of Jesus and to get down and pray; then I just take that plaid aud wrap it around me to keep me from the cold." Songs in the nightl Night of trouble has come down upon many of you. Commer cial losses put oat one star, slanderous abuse puts out another star. Domestic bereavement bas pat oat a thousand lights, and gloom has been added to gloom and chill to chill and sting to sting, and one midnight has seemed to borrow the fold from another midnight to wrap itself in more unbearable darkness, but Christ has spoken peace to your heart, and you sing. Jesus, lover ot my soul. Let me to Thy bosom fly, . While the billows near me roll. While the tempest still Is high, r Hide me, O my Saviour! Hide Till the storm ot Ufa is past. Safe into the haven guide; Ob, receive my soul at last. Songs In the nfghtt Songs In the nightl For the slck.jrbo have no one to turn the hot pillow, no one to put the taper on the itand, no one to pat Ice on the temples or poor out the soothing anodyne or ntter one cheerful word yet songs In the nlgbtl For the poor, who freeze in the winter's cold and swelter in the summer's heat and munch the hard crusts that bleed the sore gums and shiver under blankets that :annot any longer be patched and tremble because rent day Is come and tbey may be set out on the side walk and looking into the starved face of the child and seeing famine there and death there, conning borne frout the bakery and saying la the presenee ot the little famished one. "Oil, my Ood, flour has gone up!" Yet souks In the nightl Songs io the nightl For the widow who goes to 7et the back pay of her husband, slain by I aat belp she will' have, moving out "f a ;om fort able home in desolation, death turning back from the exhausting cough snd the pale cheek and the losterletf eye ind refusing all relier. Y-t songs la rue ughtl Songs la tbs nightl For the oldlet n the field hospital, no surgeoa to bind ip the gunshot fracture, no water for the lot lips, no kind haod to brush away the lies from the fresh wound, no one to tak. :he loving farewell, the groaning of ot herd poured Into bis own groan, the blasphetnr f others plowing up his own spirit, the ondensed bitterness ot dying away from some among straugers. Yet songs in the light! Songs In the nightl "Ah," said ne dying soldier, "tell my mother that last night there was not one cloud be tween my soul aod Jesus!" Songs in the night! Songs in the night! This Sabbath day came. From the altars of 10,000 churches bns smokedup the savor of sacrifice. Ministers of the Oospel preaohed In plain English, In broad Scotch, In flowing Italian, In hnrsli Choctaw. God'e people assembled in Hindoo temple and Moravian church aod Quaker meeting bouse and sailors' bethel and king's chapel tod high towered cathedral. They sang, and the song floated off amid the spice groves or struck the Icebergs or floated off Into the western pines or was drowned in the clamor ot the great clue. Luaibermeti tang it and the factory girls and the chil dren in the Sabbath cl island the trained jholrs in great assemblages. Trappers iritlt the same voice with which they ihouted yesicrdr in the stag hunt ind mariners with"" throats that only a w days ago sounded loathe larse latt ot the sea hurricane, tbny suug iu Due theme for the sermons. Oue burden 'or the song. Jesus for the invocation, fesas for the Scripture lesson. Jesus fot :he baptismal font. Jesus for the sacra mental cup. Jesus for the benediction. But the day has gone. It rolled away oa 4wift wheels of light and love. Again the churches are lighted. Tides of people ngaln settlug dowu the streets. Whol families coming up the churuli aisle. We must have one more service. What shall we preach? What shall we rend? Let it be Jesus, everybody says; let It he Jhsus. We most have one more song. What shall It be, children? Aged in mi aud women, hat shall it be? Youn; men and maidens, Vhat shall it be? It you dared to b'euk he silence of this auditory, there would lome up thousands ot quick and juhilaut roices, crying out: "Let it be Jesusl Jesus! lesus!" I say once more Christ Is the everlasting long. The very best singers sometimes get tired; the strongest thro-its sometimes et weary, and many who sang very sweet ly do not sing now, but I hope ly the grace it Ood we will after a while go up und ilug the praises ot Christ where we will never be weary. You know there are some oiigs that are especially appropriate fot the home circle. They stir the soul, tbey itart the tears, they turn the heart in ou itself and keep sounding after the tune has stopped, like some cathedral bell which, long after the tap of the brazen '.ougue bos ce:ised, keeps throbbing on the tir. Well, it will be a borne son; Ic leaven, all the sweeter because those whe inuif with lis in the domustin circle ol larth shall join that great hurmouy: Jerusalem, my happy homo. Name ever dear to me; When shuil my labors haro no end Io joy and peace iu thee? Oa earth we sang harvest songs as the jrhe.it mine into the burn and the burraeke were tilled. You ktiow thore Is no suet :iine ou a farm as when they get the crop3 u and so lu heaven it will be a hnryest long on the part or those who on earth lowed iu tears and reaped In joy. Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates, and let :he sheaves come in! AuL'eis shout all :hrough the heaveus, and multitudes come lown the hills crying: "Harvest home! Harvest home!" The Christian singers nnd composers of til ages will be there to join In that song, riiomas Hastings will be there. Lowell Mason will be there. Beethoven and Mo turt will be there. They who sou ruled the jymlials and the trumpets in the nnel nit :einples will be there. T to 40.00J harpers :hat stood al the ancient detieation will m there. The 200 siugers that assisted on :hnt day will be there. Patriarchs who lived amid thrashing floors, shepherds who watche I amid dial lean hills, prophets who walked, with lonij wards and coarse apparel, pronouncing woe agalflat ancient abominations, will meet the more recent martryrs who went jp with leaping cohorts of lire, aud some will speak ot the Jesus ot whom they prophesied aud others of the Jesus tot : whom they died. Oh, what a songl It came to John upou Putmos. it came to Calvin in the prison. It iropped to ltidley in the fire, and some times that song has come to your ear per 3a us. for I really do think it sometimes ireaks over the battlements of heaven. A Christian woman, the wife ot a minis ter ot the Oospel, was dviug in the parson Age near the old church, where on Sutur iay night the choir used to assemble and rehearse for the following Sabhuth, ami sbesatd: "How strangely sweet the choir rehearses to-ulght. They have been re hearsing there for an boar," "No," said some one about her, "the choir is not re hearsing to-night." "Yes," she said, "I know they are. I hear them sing. How verysweetly they sing." Now, it was not a choir of earth that she heard, but the choir ot heaven. Ithink that Jesus sometimes seta ajar the door of heaven, and a passage of that rapture greets our ears. The minstrels ot heaven strike such a tremendous strain the walls of jasDer cannot bold It. I wonder and this is a question 1 have been asking myself all the xervice will you sing that song? Will I slug it? Not anless our sins are pardoned aud we lenrn now to sing the praise of Christ will wt ever sing it there. The first great concert that I ever at tended was in New York, when Julieu In the Crystal palace stood before hundred! of singers and hundreds of players upoc lustrumeuts. Some of you may remember that occasion. It was the first oue of the kind at which I was present, and I shall never forget it. I saw that one man stand ing and with the hand and foot wield that great narmony, beating the time. It was to me overwhelming. But, ob, the grander scene when ther shnll come from the K ist and from the West and from the North and Irom the South, "a great multitude that no man can uamber," Into the temple of the skies, host beyond boat, rank beyond rank, gallery above gallery, and Jesus Mill staud before that great host to conduct the harmony ith His wounded Hands and Ills wounded feetl Like the voice of many waters, like the voice of mighty thundering, they shall cry: "Worthy Is the Lamb that was slain to receive blessing and riches and honor and glory and power, world without md. Amen and arnenl" Oh. it my ear shall hear no other sweet sounds may I hear that! if I join no other glad assemblage, may I join that. 1 was reading of the battle of Aglncoart In which Henry V. figured, and it is said after the battle was wou, gloriously won, the king wanted to acknowledgtthe divine Interposition, nnd be ordered the chaplain to read the Psalm of David, and when he came to the words, "Not unto u, O Lord, but to Thy name be the praise," the king dUmotiuted, aud all the cavalry ills- mounted, and nil the great host, nillcers and mail, threw themselves on their faces. Oh, at the story of the Saviour's love and the Saviour's deliverance shall we not prostrate ourselves before Him to-day, boats of earth and hosts of heaven, falling npou our faces aud crying, "Not unto ns, not unto us, but unto Thy name be the glory 1" Success isn't going round looking for people to pick it up. The truly good actions are only those that cost an effort. Some people are not happy unless they are In pursuit of something im possible. Adversity Is not invulnerable. Life is a comedy to him who thinks, and a tragedy to him who feels. lie who can conceal his joys is great er than he who can hide his griefs. Women usually have the Idea, that they go into society to please their husbands. I Human nature is queer, else why i ahould paying our just bills give' Us ( that benevolent feeling? . It ia the vain endeavor to make our j selves what we are not that has strewn history with so many broken purposes and lives left in the rough. II i wSB?s
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers