' ' ' ' ' ,"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