VOL. XXX 111
COME AND SEE US
We are Located on South Main Street,
Opposite Hotel Butler,
-1
In the room formerly occupied by Hartzell & I
Kemper. We have received our spring stock I
of Tans in different shades, Patent Leathers, j \
Kangaroos, etc. Our stock of Ladies Fine j >u3 \
Shoes and Oxfords is very large—all the latest | jffi \
style lasts to be found among our stock. We y Mr-" H
carry these goods in all sizes and widths, and |
prices the lowest. Come and see us. We jj*i
have many bargains in store for you. J fin
The variety was never so great, J Itt&'f*'*
The styles were never so perfect, ? J
The quality never so good, f
And the prices were never so low. *
6«ER6IB«MBCO i
A FEW OF OUR PRICES
Ladies fine dongola pat tip ox
fords 75 l
JC*S Ladies fne serge congress goit
ers 45c
»» 1 Ladies grain shoes pat tip heel
•'*. or spring 90c
Ladies waterproof oil grain
"H j 22] Ja shoes 75c
■ 1 **] Ladies fine calf slippers 50c
V v yd Mens waterproof working shoes 95c
v J\ gi Mens fine dress shoes lace or
\ congress. .' $ 1.00
Boys fine shoes.. .S7SC, sl, $1.25
Misses good wearing school
Childrens fine dongola pat tip
shoes
Full stock of Leather and Findings.
Shoemakers supplies of all kinds.
AH kinds of dressing for Dongola.
Tan and Patent Leather shoes at reduced pi ices.
Mail orders receive prompt attention.
JOHN BICKEL
323 South Main St.
Branch Store, "RntW P'l
125 N. Main St., JJUIItJI Id.
\ SPRING &• SUfiriEß \
FOOTWEAR!
[ B. C. HUSELTON >
Undeniably Shows the Largest Stock of Ladies s
1 and Gents Fine Shoes of the Latest and v
S Most Stylish Patterns ever Displayed in C
1 a. Have You Seen the v
JBe ■ \I ] One of the most perfect shoes for t
j W. \AI women ever made. Dark wine f
C i 'vPJ shade of Russia Calf, the latest r
f II iff tint; black eyelets, silk stitched. 7
\ 20th Century shape welt. ✓
1 Ladies low cut shoes in tan /
and black. i
f lir t nn Tai'or made, in lace or button, \
1 TT Omail S R u cset or Dongola, Kid or Pat- 3
/ rUntnrv fthnra cnt Ix * alher Ti r ,s - We sdl these /
v V>eillUiy OllOtJo beautiful and comfortable shoes at \
r our trade winning figures, $1.50. # 2 >
i WOMEN'S DONGOLA SHOES IN HE | (
} $1.25 and $1.50. Easy shoes a speci- (
S MEN'S AND BOYS' TANS
/ lasts, pointed or derby toe, positively
/ unequaled in Butler. Men's at $ 1.50, $2, $2.50, $3, $3 50,
) $4 and $5; Boys' at $1.35, $1.50 and $2; Youths' at $1.25, C
X J Luit I Men's and Boys' Fine Shoes. C
\ WPl.lin, Square, Needle or Opera Toe; S
J ■ ignl a " widths, Ht f 2 ' < 2 -s°, *3 an.l C
V <3 50; Buff and A Calf at 90c, fi, ?
ft' .'Zs and Jtr.so; Youths' at 75c, f 1 C
f /J&W4' ,eht y° u ever saw at 75c, sl, # 1.25 S
f ' an<l #i.yj. Sec our ft.no shoe with v
) dfSnf bellus Credemore, the best shoe made r
v for the money—others get #1.25 and
/ Misses St Childrens Spring-beel Sboes 7
( All the New Styles in Tan and Black, Lace or Button, Pointed or S»|uan- x
1 Toe, at 75c, fi, ft.25 and ft.so, sizes 12-2; Child, at 40c, 50c, 75c fi and f
I ft.25, sizes
f Come in and see us and try our shoes. f
S B. C. HUSELTON.Opp. Hotel Lowry. ?
As Usual We have
The Best Stock of Millinery
At the lowest prices in the city.
50c quality Leghorn hats for 39c.
Large bunch silk roses worth 40c only 25c.
Moss rose sprays 25c worth 50c.
New Buds—New Foliage—New Berries—this week.
Childrens hats a specialty.
Special sale of Corsets this week
M. F. & M MARKS,
113 to 117 S. Main St. liutlcr Pa
THE BUTLER CITIZEN.
Sharp
Shooting pains in the head and face are
symptoms <»f
nerves for pure blood." Therefore to cure neii
ralgiaPf»r»fy tiie bioo<l and builtl up bj taking
Hood's
Sarsaparilla
T!. <>n- True lilo xl rn-ifi<>r. $1: six ff-r
Hood's Pitts - - t i| t »cents.
Profssaisiai Cards
A- M. CHRISTLEY,
ATIOR.VEY AT I.AW.
-Office on North Diamond Strce*. opposite th'
Court HOUSP— Lower K!oo r .
ALEX KUSSt:i_L.
Attorney-at-Law.
OfTice with Newton Black, Esq.
South Diamond, Butler, Pa.
A. T. BLACK.
Boom J—Armory Building.
VriOKN'iSY AT LAW.
C. F. L. McQuistion.
CIVIL EMHNKKK A*>D FITKVKVOR.
Officp near Court Iloace Ilutler Pa.
NEWTON BLACK.
at Law- Office 10 Son* i> aide of Plaraono
cutler. Pa.
A. T. SCOTT.
ATTOHNEY-AT-LAW.;
at No. H. S'm:' * Dlamotil. Bnt.!er. Pe .
J M. PAINTEK.
.Attor ney-at-Law.
nee— Betwp'jn l"wtot?1' hpl inamond, Butler
I* h.
S. H. PIEKSOL.
ATTORNEY at LAW.
OBlce at No. 104 East Diamond H*.
•COULTER & BAKEP.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
<>U'.e In room 1!.. > rr:iory Building, Butler
Pa.
FI. H. GOUCHER.
A tcomey-at-lftw. Off>(.t- iii jMitcLel! tiulldiu.
B'ltler Pa.
DR CHAS R B HUNT, *
Physician and Surgeon.
Eye, ear, nose and throat a apecialtj.
132 and 134 8. Main Street.,
Ralston building.
VV. H. BROWN,
Homceopathlc Physician av:<J
Surgeon.
Oll'ce 23t> 8. Main St., opp. P. O.
Re«Henfe 3to N. McKmq tjt.
J. J. DONALDSON, Dontlst.
Bullar, Penn'a.
Artificial Tci th lnm-rted on the latest im
-rovwl nian. (iolil Killing a 3poct»lty. Office
■,v< r Hch.iUl'M (Jloti'lnu Store.
V. M ivIcALPiNE
Dentist,
Main St.
Naeßtheticfe Administered.
SAMUEL M. BIPPUS.
Physician and Surgeon,
200 west Cunffiuuliatn St.
Dr. N. M. HOOVER,
I 137 K. Wayn^S!'.nt'-n hours. 1<» <-i 12 M. all
10 3 P. M.
DR. S. A. JOHNSTON.
JENTiST, - - BUTLER, PA.
n<;old Killing Painless Kxtractlon of '(•eelti
u(J ArttOci.il ['•••■ ill wii.bout I'lat'-sa npeclaltj
\troas OxHii or Vitalized Air or Local
lunatiiett.M tito 1.
oitce "v -r Milter's <Ar>>;'try i:a.sl ol Lowiy
ouge.
URlCrt dowil la. s and Tl:ursd fcys
DR. J. E KAULK
Dentist.
OlC<:«v—fn (iilkoy building < p{>< tiitoP. 0.
L. BLACK,
PHYSICIAN AND BUHOEON,
X»iw Troutman Building. Butler, PH. •
G. M. ZIMMERMAN.
rHYHIC'IAH
Otflat No. ■ 4ft, w. Malu. <i»ci Lit
t barratry.Bailor. l*a.
C. A N D D.
GmmmmwmiQ
1
|Wcar 1
| Points 1
Ou
rv *
irrltata©!? , SN»
\J CXJ
rxJ * *S>
fi'tinnz So
M pricey
rvj s^^
r\j C\J
' <V
cmmztmmmmo
All grad* 1 of rnderwcr at very
low prices.
Largest stock of hats and
furnishings for gentleman ni the
country. An inspection will prove
this to any ones satisfacture.
CoJberl <Sc Dale.
242 S. Main St., Butler, I'enn'a
M. A, HERKIMER
Funeral Director
37 S._Main,St. Butler fa.
inTTLKK. PA., THURSDAY. APRIL 130. 1890.
THE SMILE ON OUR BABY'S FACE.
on gel w:ia buliien to niuko bir fair,
So h,- wo*, e the sunshine into her hair.
Ho took of the midnoon's cloudless skios
And fashioned therefrom hi r two blue eyc«.
He washed her white with the sinless snowa
Ar.d painted her rhoeks with the dawn's faint
roac.
it- dlu;pl**l her tiny hands and feet,
lit- m«ide h<.r sunny uiid &oft and sweet.
He mUrlcd her ruund white limbs with art
Be pot her from heaven o pure child heart;
Th'll he kissed her lips and her brow and eyes
And brought her, sleeping, from paradise,
tueh virtue lies in those kisses throe
That, how bo weary at heart are we,
The look and ''its sruiio on our baby's face
Brinp rest and comfort and endless graeo
—Bessie Gray in Good Housekeeping
A GHOST COMMITTEE.
The wind drove the hail and sleet
violently against the car windows, and
what with its melancholy howling, ac
companying the incessant rattle of the
panes, I could hardly hear the shrieks
of the locomotive's whistle as the train
plunged thronfth the dense darkness. It
v.-as a hard night to travel, and I did
not wonder that the car was empty savo
for the man who had just seated himself
beside me. Such being the ca."», how
ever, I could not but feel surprised that
this single other passenger should havo
crowded into my seat when lie might
have Lid a whole one to himself. I can
not say that I was indipnant, for though
he forced me to move toward the drafty
window he was company, and I had felt
lonely from the very beginning of the
forlorn trip on tho midni«ht express.
Then, too, L* was such a mild, harm
less looking fellow.
I glanced toward him. Intending to
open tlie conversation, when my eye fell
upon the timetable in which he was
deeply engri sscd. It was a thumb worn
piece of paper, and no wonder, for
across the top I read in big black type,
"To go into v-ffect on April 1, 1884."
It seemed strange that a m;ut should
consult a tn..n schedule II years old.
My curiosity was ari and I <irew
my own time table from my pocket and
held it towui I hiin.
"Pardon me, sir, but perhaps this
will bo of more uae to you. Whore are
you f!< ing?"
"Thank you, " he replied sadly, "but
you cannot t.olp me. I >-ould tliat you
could, tin .ugh. You see, lam bound for
Tutherford, but it seems that I will
never got there."
"Tutherford!" I exclaimed. "Why,
y< ti are on the wrong traiii!"
I knew this place well <is one of the
prettiest little suburban villages on the
lino of the New York, Lackahudson and
Western, but I also was aware that this
train never stopped there and that we
had long since passed it.
"That is just the devil of it," replied
my companion vigorously. A melan
choly smile passed over his pale face,
and then lu* added: "I've been getting
on the wrong train for 11 years. Bil
excuse me, sir, you are sitting on my
beefsteak."
Curiosity now gave place to astonish
ment. My lu'st impulse was to believe
that I had a madman for a companion,
but his every look belied such an idea.
Every detail of his clothing denoted ex
treme neatness and self respect. He was
a small, slender man, with a slightly
bald head and clean shaven face. At
his feet were two large, neatly done up
bundles; at his side and partly under
mo was a third parcel, wrapped in
brown paper, which I had no reason to
believe contained meat.
"A thousand pardous," I Raid, rising
so that ho could rescue his steak from
diittLrui t iou. "I iuxi afraid that I have
ruined it. 1 was not aware that I w:is
sitting qn anything."
"Littlo wonder, " lie replied quietly.
"No human beinj* could fuel that steak.
And us for injuring it, I purchased it
11 years and liavo been trying to
tcot it home to Tutherford ever since.
To make things plain, that is a phan
tom beefsteak."
I broke out Into a hearty laugh and
exclaimed, "You are either considerable
of a WOK, sir, or else an idiot."
My fellow traveler drew himself up
and cried hotly: "Do you know whom
you are addressing? lam the late R.
G. Jones, sir, for many years a leading
citizen of Tutherford."
"The late R. G. Jones of Tuther
ford!" I retorted, and then I made a
motion to jfive him a little jovial dig in
the ribs, but to my horror my hand
went right through him and struck the
arm of the seat on his other side. He
smiled. I drew back in amazement
I will not attempt to depict my sen
sations. Wonder gave way to utter as
tonishment, astonishment to horror,
horror to fright But this last emotion
passed, for I knew that there was no
escape. 1 could not leave the car, and
then the very appearance of the ghost
was so peaceable and respectable that a
sense of security came to me. Reason
prevailed, and I soon found myself trav
eling on the best of terms with my
Strang*; companion.
"I see you travel on a pass, Mr.
Dockboy," said th« late R G. Jones
after our relationship had assumed a
state of mutual confidence. "That is
why I made myself known to you. 1
suppose you have a pull on this road. "
"My fourth cousin is the wife of the
president of the New York, Lackahud
son and Western," I replied proudly,
for I was not a little vain about this
relationship.
"That is 1 news for mo," began
the late R. G. Jones. "You sec, Mr.
Dockboy, I have long needed a friend
with some influence on the road, for 1
want to have this train stopped at Tuth
erford just once."
"Whatl" I cried.
"Yes, stopped at Tirtherford," he
continued. "1 do not wonder at ymir
surprise, but then you will not Ist much
astonished when you know my reasons.
1 have told you my late name, and j«'r
haps it will interest you to hear that for
many years I was an alderman in Tuth
erford—a place of no mean importance.
My business was in New York. Every
morning for ten years 1 left my house
promptly at 8:22, reached the station at
8:80 and took the 8:31 for town. At
just 5:18 o'clock in theevening iTcach
ed the Jersey City station and boarded
the train for home. It so happened that
for tlv last five years of my life 1 al
ways pit on the third car from the en
gine and took the third seat from the
rear. It became a habit with me. I was
known and respected on the road, and
there was a tacit understanding among
the other commuters that that place
(liould always be reserved for me. This
is the same car, No. 883, and tho very
same seat"
"And you are haunting it?" I asked,
tor the light was bcgim*ng to bn ak.
"Temporarily and accidentally," re
plied the late R. G. Jclics. "When 1
can get this train Stopped at Tutherford,
I will get off and go baek to my old
home. Don't you remember seeing in
the pa J M IS about ten years ago how R.
G. Jones, a prominent citizen of Tuth
erford, Huecumbed to an attack of heart,
failure brought on by overexertion
while trying to catch the 15:18?"
"Oli, yes, I recall that well. A very
sad cjise, indued. " Of oour&o I didn't,
but that didn't matter.
Th<- late R. G. Jones looked grateful.
"That was when I became a ghost,"
he said. "A few days later I received
niy orders to proceed to Tutherford and
haunt my old home. There have always
been Strang" and confused ideas exist
ing about ghosts. These impressions,
that we do everything in a hiKKh'ty
pigglety way are all crroiHHius —deeid-
odlj,' erroneous. I couhlxi't go sailing
back In >me in any way bur an oraeriy
one—hy train, just as I did when I w;is
not late. And, moreover, custom re
quired that 1 shi uld travel on car No.
835, third seat fr>in the rear, as I had
done day in and day out for years. So I
went to the station with my phantom
umbrella, t«u;dles and bei fsteak.
Promptly at 5 :12 I prot off the ferry,
stopped at the newsstand which is run
for the commuters and pur
chased a si ,rting extra of 'a phantom
evening paper, repaired to the train
sited and got on this car, No. 885, and
took this very seat. But the train did
not start as usual. It was midnight 1 -
fore we left tlie station, and then, to
my horror, we whirled through Tuther
ford and never made a stop until we
reached the unction <iO miles west. I
will not dwell cn my sorrow when I
realized my predicament C';ir 335 had
been shifted to tlie midnight express,
and until it could be stopped at Tuther
ford I was doomed to haunt this uncom
fortable seat instead of my own pretty
suburban home.
"Years have passed since then, and
every night I have got on the same car
and sat in this same seat, oftentimes
crowded between two men, who could
not see me, always doomed to go whirl
ing by the familiar little station with
out a speck of a chance of getting off.
Did you ever travel in the same car seat
with two fat women with babies and
bundles?"
"No,"' I replied. "But I can conceive
more pleasant positions."
"Yet such has many a time been my
fate," continued the late li. G. Jones,
in spectr.d mournfulness. "I have trav
eled with noisy drummers, with chat
tering Italians, opium smelling Chinese,
with every possible kind of man that it
is unpleasant for a sensitive man liko I
was to sit in the ,same seat with. Once,
in desperation, I made myself visible to
the conductor and pleaded with him to
stop the train at Tutherford. He refused
absolutely, and not only that, he de
manded my ticket. I got out my com
mutation card, seven years out of date,
and handed it to him. He asked me if I
thought he was a fool and used very
violent and personal language. When I
told him 1 could uot pay, he declared
that he would put me off the train.
'Please leave me off at Tutherford,' I
said foolishly. I have regretted those
words greatly, for the man saw that
nothing would suit me better than to
get off the train, and he carried me to
the end of the lint*. Since then I have
in vain watched a chance to speak to
some one who has a pull on the road.
They have been wearisome years to me,
and when tonight tho longed for oppor
tunity came I seized it I saw you had
a pass."
"My dear Mr. Jones," I said, for I
was deeply affected by the story of my
companion, who, with his eyes filled
with cloudlike tears, was now leaning
'eagerly toward me, awaiting my reply,
"you have my sympathy. I have heard
much of gi. .sts, but you uro the first I
ever met. Your story is a sad one, and
I will do what I can to alleviate your
sufferings. I see what you want. You
wish to have this car stopped at Tuther
ford so that you can get off tlie tTain
like an ordinary phantom and obey
your instructions to haunt your own
house.''
A look of joy and expectancy came
over the phantom's face.
"You have my wcnl that I will use
my influence with n v . usin, the presi
dent of the New York, Lackahudson
and Western, to have this train stopped
just once at Tutherford. I will take
such steps as soon its I get back to
town."
"It is almost daylight, and we are
approaching tho junction, where I al
ways get off," said the late R. G.
Jones. His voice was husky, but a
gleam of hope und happiness transfused
his face. "I must leave you now. It Is
probable tha I will never be able to re
pay your k.udness, Mr. Dockboy, but
you will ha the consciousness of hav
ing done a n,.bledeed in freeing a phan
tom commuter from an awful thralL "
Then ho gathered up his phantom
bundles and walked down tho aisle, but
before ho reached the dotir ho had pass
ed frt 'in my sight
I kept my word to him Many were
the subterfuges I used to have the mid
night express stopped at Tutherford,
but 1 succeeded, thanks to my cousin,
the presidentof the road, and the knowl
edge that tho respectable and late R. G.
Jones has at last got off that train at
his late place of residence after 11 long
years of travel has been to me a source
of continued satisfaction-—Now York
Sun.
The Caw In AlterwL
"See tho «lrl with the pug nose!"
"Hush! She is worth |15,000,000 in
her own right"
"What a charming retrousse!"—Life-
stately Diwcm uf <>l<l.
The minuet is alroady known to many,
wero it only through tho Innumerable
pictures executed hy pustelists, now dead
but still celebrated. The dainty gestures,
tho graceful steps, tho sweeping courte
sies, aro no s«joret to us, but the sara
band and tho pa vane we do not know
much about, although they aro well
worth boing studied. The saraband Is
what one might call an almost religious
dance, ftir it is so deliberate, so solemn
and yet so gracefully beautiful. Tlie
cavaliers, when they bend before their
fair partners, literally sweep the floor
with their plumed hats, while tho la
dies' brocades and laces flutter around
them like the wings of some bright, hued
butterfly about to take its flight. Tho
promenade—a sort of polonaise—which
follows, the couples marching with iru
poniiiK demeanor behind one another, is,
beyond everything else, becomingly
dainty, although somewhat strait laced,
but one cannot be anything but en
chanted by something so entirely re
moved from the hurry and scurry seen
in our salons when dancing is written
on the cards of invitation.
Tlie pavane is sprightlier, more liko
the gavotte, and bring* into constant
play funs, well managed trains and
again plumed hats, the tout ensemble
making up a tableau of unsurpassed
charm and aristocratic motion. The es
sential qualities of all these dances are
simplicity and grace, for they afford no
opportunity for displays of gymnastics,
of hurried athleticism,noforcoof biceps,
no pushing or jolting or elbowing. They
aro tho very essence of easy gliding and
of keeping time to strains of melody,
which remind one involuntarily of tho
evanescent odor of some raro old per
fume liko those we still find in tho silk
en sachets made by our great-grund
mothers. —Exchange.
ilariiml Ci mm.
In tho delta of tho (hinges a mysteri
ous sound is sometimes heard, to which
tho name of "Barisal guns" is given,
because of its roHeinhlunco to the dull re
port of distant artillery. Similar noises
are well known to tho lighthouse keep
ers siiill fishermen of Ostond and Bou
logne, whocall them tho "mist pouffers,
or fog dihMpators, and generally hear
them on tho evening of a hot day in sum
mer. Although the sounds aro compared
to the detonations of guns, they are not
very like these, and they occur at irreg
ular inteivals. Their origin is enveloped
in mystery, but some physicists regard
them as electrical detonations, such as
might be produced by flashes of ordinary
lightning or tho explosion of globe light
ning, while others refer them to the
shocks of fluid matter in the bowels of
the earth or the rumbling of slight earth
quakes.—Puhlio Opinion.
THE "OUT OF DATE" COUPLE.
Wtj art- 4 *so out of daU.%" they ;«ay t
Netl and 1;
We low in an old fswhiomrd way.
Long sin:-.* gono by.
lit - «ys I ljii his h» lpmato true
la evert thing.
And I—Wil. I will own to you
He is my king.
We met in no romantic way
Twist "glow and gloom."
He wooed mo on u winter <lny
And in—a room.
Yet, thr igh life's hours of stress and
storm,
When uriefa befell.
Love kept our small h >mv corner warm,
And all was well.
2«ed thinks n«> woman like his wife—
But le* . hat pas^;
P« rhaps we view the dual life #
Through roseate
Even if the prospect be not bright.
We holu it true
The heaviest burdens rray grow light
When shared l y two.
Cpon the gilded scroll of fame,
Emblar nod fair,
I cannot hope to road the name
I proudly bear;
But. happy in their even flow.
The yt j»rs glide by.
We are behind the times, we know,
Ned and I.
—Chambers' Journal.
THE WILL.
I knew this tall young man who was
called Rene de Bourneval. He was very
agreeable in company, although a trifle
sad, seeming to dislike everything, very
skeptical—a formal and biting skep
ticism—clever (specially in laying ban 1
in one word worldly hypocrisies. He
often repeated, "There are no virtuous
men—or at least they are only relative
ly temperate. "
He had two brothers whom he did not
visit, the MM. de Court-ils. On account
of their diftV rent names I believed him
the offspring of a second marriage. I
had been told on several occasions that
a strange story had happened in this
family, bnt no details had been given
me.
This man being entirely agreeable to
mo, we were soon g>»xl friends. One
evening, after I had dined with him, I
accidentally asked him, "Were you
tho oflspring of your mother's lirst or
second marriage?" I saw him turn
slightly pale, then blush, and he re
mained some sec-onds without speaking,
visibly embarrassed. Then he smiled
in a sweet and melancholy manner
which was peculiar to him and said:
"My dear friend, if it does not tire you,
I will give you some singular details
of my parentage. I know you for an
intelligent man. Ido not therefore fe» -
your friendship for me will suffer, ar.
if it should suffer I should no longer
care to have you for a friend.
"My mother, Mma de Court ils, was
a poor, timid little woman, wh< .m her
husband had married for her fortune.
Her •vhole lj'e was a martyrdom Af
fectionate, fi .irful, delicate, she was ill
treated without intermission by him
who should have lieen my father, ono of
those churls who are called country
gentlemen. After thoy had been married
a month he lived with a servant. Ho
had besides for mistresses the wives and
daughters of his tenants. This did not
prevent his wife from having two chil
dren; including myself, tliree should be
reckoned. My mother said nothing.
She lived in that ever noisy house like
those little mice that slip hi and out
under the furniture. Effacing herself,
flying away, trembling, she looked at
people with her clear, restless eyes,
which, always in motion, looked scared
with the fear that never left them. She
was still pretty, very pretty—very fair
with a grayish fairness, u timid fair
ness, as if her hair had faded it little
from her incessant fear.
"Among the friends of M. de Cour
cils who came frequently to the castle
was an old cavalry ofliter, a widower,
a formidable man, tender and violent,
capable of the most energetic resolves—
M. de Bourneval, whose name I bear.
He was a tall, spare fellow, with a
heavy black mustache. I resemble him
very much. This man had read and
thought far more than those of his class.
His great-grandmother had been a lover
of Jean Jacques Rousseau, and it was
said that he had inherited something
from this connection of his ancestress.
He knew by heart tho 'S<x-ial Con
tract,' the 'New Heloise* and all
those philosophical books which have
prepared beforehand the future over
throw of our ancient customs, of our
prejudicial, our obsolete laws, our foolish
moral*
"Ho loved my mother, it appeared,
and was loved by her. This affair was
kept so secret that no one it
The poor woman, sad and abandoned,
clung to him desperately and imbibed
all his habits of thought, theories of
free opinion, boldness of independent
love; but, ns she was so timid that she
never durwl sjjeak loudly, till of it wtu
driven batik, condensed, pressed into
her heart, which was never opened.
"My two brothers wero harsh to
ward her, liko my father—did not caress
her—and, accustomed to seeing that she
did not count for anything in the house,
treated her almost like a servant
"I was the only oue of lux sons who
really loved her and whom she loved.
"She died. I was then 18. I ought
to add, in order that you may under
ptand what is to follow, tluit, by legal
advice, her husband had been provided
tor, and she had retained her own sepa
rate estate, having, thanks to the arti
fices of the law and the intelligent de
votion of a notary, preserved the right
to make her will as she pleased
"We wer-', therefore, informed by
this notary that, a will existed and in
vited to bo present at its mtding.
"I recall It as if it wero yesterday.
It was a grand, dramatic, burlesque,
surprising scene, called forth by the
posthumous rpvolt of the dead woman,
by tills cry of liberty, this claim from
the depth of the grave of this m.-irtyr
crushed by our morals during her life.
From her shut coffin she threw a de
spairing appeal towufH indt-jteudenco,
"He who believed himself my fik
ther, a stout, plethoric man, who put
one in mind of a butcher, and my broth
ers, two n(bust fellows of 20 and »2,
waited tranquilly on their seats. M. do
Bouruevul, who was invited to lie pres
ent, entered and placed himself Ixiiind
Die. His frock coat was buttoned tight
ly. He was very pale, and ho often nib
bled his mustache, now a little grizzled.
He doubtless expected what was com
ing.
"The notary double looked the door
und commenced the midinj, after hav
ing in our presence broken the ivd wax
|eal of the envelope, of whose contents
he was ignorant"
Suddenly my friend was silent, rose
and took fro-i his secretary an old pa
per, unfoldt d it, kissed it for a long
time and n;;umed. "Hero is the last
will of my dearly lovtd mother:
" 'l, tlie undersigned, Anne-Cather
ine (ieiievieve Matliilde de ('roixluce,
lawful wife of Jean Leopild Joseph
Gontran de Coureils, lieing of sound
mind and lmdy, do hereby make my last
wilL
" 'I a*k ti of God ulnrve,
and linn >f mydn-jir mn ltcur, fur what
I am now to fUn 1 think my
child 1* stout h.m ti (I enough to nnrl< r
Ktand ami t<« forgive liu'. 1 have BUi?<-n<«l
all my lifi". I wiw married from lonßld
<ratioiiH of advaut ag>- «nd WHS nfti*rvv;ud
deepiwd, flif-ri Karrtnl, op]ir« «Kni! mid de
ceived uno<■ singly by my huKbimd.
" 'J forgive him, but I owo him
nothing.
" 'My elder HOIIH have not loved me,
have not cr.ri«s<<l m<', have wjuwly
treated mo like a mother.
" "I have been to them during my
life all I should have been; after my
death I no longer eve them ai • thing.
The ties ft blo<<l do 11' t CI lltilli.i V. if!
out the const.uit, sacred affect ion < f < ach
day. An ungrateful son 1.-r l«>-thana
straup r. He is a culprit, fi.r he has nt
the right to 1»- indifferent to his m ther.
" '1 have alwajs trembled b f .e
mankind, before tin ir iniquitous laws
their inhumrji custom'', their iufanu as
prejudices. Before Ci. I no longer
fear. Dead. I throw away fr, m ui< tl at
shmneful hypocrisy: I dare to utter my
tliwu,, "d to openly avow tlie secrets
of my he... .
" 'Therefore I • trust the
whole of that part ci u v . . of
which the law permits me to di-i-n.se
to my dearly loved lovt r, Pierre ti< r
mer Simon do Bourneval, afterward to
revert to our dear son Rene.'
(This will has been drawn up in ad
dition, in a more formal manner, by a
notary.)
" 'And before the Supreme Judge, who
hears me, I declare that I should have
cursed heaven and my existence if I had
not found the deep, devoted, tender, un
shaken affect ion of my lover, if I had
not learned u his aims that the Creator
has made human beings to love, to sus
tain und to console each other ;uid to
weep together in hours of bitterness.
" 'My two eldest sons are the chil
dren of M. deCourcils. Rene alone owes
his existence to M. de Bourneval. 1 pray
the Ruler of mankind and their desti
nies to place the father and son above
social prejudices, to make them love
each other until their death, und love
me still in my grave.
" 'Such are my last thoughts and my
last- desire.'
"M. do Coureils had risen. He cried,
'That Is the will of a mad woman.'
Then M. tie Btmrucvul stepped forward
and declared in a loud and decisive
voice: 'I, Simon tie Bourneval, declare
that this writing contains only the strict
truth. lam ready to prove it by letters
in my possession.'
"Then M de Coureils walked to
ward him. I thought they would seize
each other by the Collar. There they
stood, both l".11, the tno stout, the oth
er spare, quivering. The husband of
my mother stammeringly articulated,
'You are a villain!' The other said,
in a ilry, vigirous tone: 'We will meet
in another plate, monsieur. I should
havo affronted and provoked y< u a long
time ago if I had not valued above all
else tlie tran.piillity during her life of
tho ptxir woman whom you have made
to suffer so much.'
"Then he turned toward me: 'You
are my son. Will you come with me? I
have not the right to ttike you a.vuy,
but I will take you if yon wish to accom
pany me.'
"I pressed his hand without answer
ing. Indeed, I was almost overcome.
"Two days later M. de Bourneval
killed M. do Coureils in a duel. My
brothers, afraid of a frightful scandal,
kept silence. I transferred to them and
they accepted their share of the fortune
left by my mother.
"I took th" name of my true father,
renouncing that which tho law gave
and which was not mine.
"M. de Bourneval died five years
ago. I have not yet found consolation
for my grief."
Ho rose, took sevt ral stejis, and, plac
ing himself in front of me, said:
"Well, I say tluit my mother's will
Was one of tho most beautiful, most
loyal, grandest things a woman could
accomplish. Isnot that your opinion?"
I stretched out both hands to him,
"Yes, surely, my friend."—Guy de
Maupassant
New Orleans Trunin Court*.
"I was walking out St Charles uv
enne this morning," said a northern
visitor, '"and I saw several tenuis
courts the lines of which were marked
out on tho sward by grass of u different
color from that which carpotcd tho
cou/t. I made Inquiries ;;l*>ut th« mat
ter and found that in arly all the New
Orleans tennis ground.-! were marked jjff
in that way. It is a very pretty idea,
and one that I luive never seen any
where elso. " New Orleans Times-
Democrat
A Prelatf'n Kloquence.
In 1104, when Henry I was In Nor
mandy, a prelate named Serlo preached
Ao eloquently against the. fashion of
wearing long huir that tho monarch und
his courtiers were moved to tears
Taking advantage of the impression
he had produced, the enthusiastic prel
ate whipped a pair of scissors out of hifl
sleeves and cropped tho whole congrega
tion.—London Fun.
HOW THEY DINED.
Thn Methodn of tbx Kubllhli ut Table In
the Heventeentli Century.
Tho old English had throo meals a
day, of which tho chief meal was taken
when tho worlr of the day was finished.
The first moul was at 9, dinner was
about a o'clock, and supper was taken
just before bedtime. The Normans dined
at the old Ebglish breakfast time or a
little later and supped at 7 p. m. In
Tudpr times th<i higher classes dined al
11 and supped at 6, but the merchants
seldom took their meals before 1U and <>
o'clock.
Tho chief meals, dinner and supper,
wero taken in tho hall both by the old
English and tho Normans, for the parlor
did not come into use until tho reign of
Elizabeth. Breakfast did not become a
regular meal until quito lately, and Dr.
Murray, in the Oxford Dictionary, gave
14(53 as the date of tho earliest, quota
tion in which tho word occurred. Tho
meal did nt# become recognized until
Into in the seventeenth century, for
Popys habitually look his draft of
half a pint of Rhenish wine or a dram
of strong waters in place of a morning
meal. Dinner was always the great
meal of tint day, and from the accession
of Henry IV to the death of Eliza
beth tho dinners wore as sumptuous and
extravagant as any of those now served.
Carving was then a lino art. Each
guest brought his own knifo and spoon,
for tho small fork was not introduced
into England until Thomas Coryate of
Odcombo published his "Crudities" in
1(511. Popys took his spion and fork
with him to tho lord mayor's feast in
1(5<1!J. Tho absence of forks led to much
stress being laid upon the act of wash
ing tile hands both before and after
meals and to tho rule that tho left hand
alone should bo dipped into tho com
mon dish, the right hand being occupied
with tho knifo.
Tlie perfect dinner at tho best time of
English cookery consisted of throe
courses, each complete in itself, and ter
minated by a subtlety or device, the
whole being rounded off with ypocras,
after which the guests retired into an
other room, where pastry, sweetmeats
and fruit were served with tho choicer
winos. The English were essentially
meat eaters, and it was not until tho
time of the commonwealth that pud
ding attained its extraordinary populari
ty. Indeed, the first mention of pudding
in tho menus of the "Buckfoust" ut St.
Bartholomew's hospital did not occur
until 1710, and in 1712 is an item of 0
shillings fur ice.—London Times.
The honey of tho snnislragon cannot
bo extracted by tlie common bee, which
has not weight enough to pull down tho
lower jaw of this curious flower; only
tho liumblebeo has aocoss to tho interior.
Nothing is more silly than tho pleas
ure some people take in "speaking their
minds." A man of this make will say a
rude thing for tho mere pleasure of say
ing. i
MOONRISE SERENADE.
MoonrUo and a mellow *h-t n
All th- Hlnmbrotui hill* are steeping?.
Wake, mv §weet on-*, nor be Hleepinsr
Through sirwt Cyuthla a -ft*■*% phasae—
Wake lii.d rise and hwifuy
To thy lattice, ?v»vt. for, «.h.
One who w<». »«b th**o f r hi» bride
fifghi'th fa ore below!
I lovo you! I love jroa!
My heart, I mast confom.
Con no more Jove you n»*»re
Th.ui it csai low y u less.
Moourla**' Through tho oaftcment blind,
Lo, thi widen lon-llght fitrx ai!!ing-
Lady. la«.y, pant my dreaming,
Thou art kind, most kind!
Ho who luard thy gartner
Swiftly o\ rth happy « r.
He who wooed thee f«>r his bride
*Sigh< ;h now no more.
I lc v ;i thto! I love th****!
My heart—i h. fness!—
Oan liever love th* "nor '.
Need never love theo 1«
—O. K. Bell in New Orleans Times-Democrat
SHE RODE FOR FI N.
".Tim." said 1, breaking in upon his
ditty, "what was the yarn yt u were go
ing to toll about the time yon enginecr
rd that English hunting party through
the Bear Paw mountains?"
We were riding along the "Brail which
stretches its serpentine length at the
feet of the eternally grand old Rockies
between Forts McLeod and Calgary on
a bright, warm ufternoon in January.
When they liave a "chinook" out there,
sp rting in its rude, b listen .us, yet
withal genial fashion, through the deep
defiles of the mountains fn-m over the
Pacific, with a nimble like Niagara at
a distance and a force which makes you
button your coat up tightly to keep it
firm blowing < -ff. the snow soon van
ishes even in midwinter, and the ther
mometer jumps fit in "40 below" to
"temperate" so suddenly that you won
der if the sun hufl not wheeled himself
several degree out of his normal course
at Btich a season or the breath of an ap
pn aching prairio fire is not fanning
your cheek
Tlir singer gave the wad of tobacco
in Ills jaw a twist with his t< ngne and
aimed an amber jet at a "bulldog" on
his horse's ear before turning upon me
a pair of glistening eyes, with black
points set in saucers <f milk, a short,
impudent nose and » rather weak
mouth, round the corners of which
lurked u musing smile. Then, after a
pause, he said:
"Oh, yes. Well, Littlefield was the
chief of the outfit, an he hod his wife
along—fine, spankin woman, good to
look at There was another Englishman
—a great shot—called Wells, an a nig
ger cook, a big, slashin buck, but with
no mo' sand in him than a pusillani
mous jack rabbit. Lord, how we did
scan 1 that poor critter! His teeth used to
chittcr like a squirrel's; it's a wonder
he didn't shake 'em out of his big wool
ly head. " Fraidof his own sliadder after
night, an he'd make one any time, even
if it was pitch dark, he was so infunal
black You might as soon git this here
buzzard head I'm a-ridln t<> stand on
one leg as coax that nigger to mosy
outside the flare o' the campfire after
sundown fer a pail o' watf r or fer any
other pu'pos', fer the matter o' that.
You see, he as a 'pilgrim'—never been
on a layout < f this sort afore, mi he was
that bliuned tender a goat would nibble
him.
"But, I b'leeve, to talk Christian, I
\vn- partly re-sponsiblo fer his be in so
extray-ordinary skittish. 110 sta'ted
oncet < r twieec for \v ater after night to
a crick quite handy, sho'tly after we
went into camp. I Jest stepped off 15
paces into the pines an let a 'yoe-ow'
or two out ef me, mi Jumbo, he throw
ed ba»'k his ears au veiled—toe-rilHc, I
tell you—an conic praiioin up to the
campfire—jest techin high spoW, you
understand—with his two sighters stick
in out like the knobs on the horns of a
ornery freight ox, shakin like a sick
cow in a north wind, tin dcrn a pail in
sight.
"After that a Quaker meetin nor a
cyclone wouldn't budge him, an if yon
asked him to put a tree between him
an the blaze after dark he'd weep like,
a wolf. All that woman! No—she
didn't laugh none —o-oli, no-ol" And
Jim lay hack In his saddle und sent a
jH'al echoing up among the foothills
which shook the few lingering traces of
soft snow from tlio branches of the
spruces.
That Jim waa a "mule skinner" di.es
not imply that ho was expert at remov
ing hides—in toto. Simply that ho be
longed to that select bunch of frontiers
nien whose superlative boast is that
they can drive or ride "anything that
weal's hair"—that ho was passed master
in the craft of teamstorism.
He adjusted the pistols in his belt,
gave a forward tilt to his broad rimmed
buckskin hat and a hitch to his fringed
leather "oh .ps," and kicked his big,
jingling Mexican spurs against his cay-
UKO'S flanks before resuming:
"Hut I wi.3 a-goin to till you 'liont
Mis' Li'l Held. She was a mighty flue
woman, as I suid before, au well put up
—fond of out of door sport an of ridin
in partie'lar. Well, one bright, warm
morn in Ll'i'field an Wells went of
huntil), an I got orders (I was teamster
an guide to the outfit, you know) to
move camp acrosst the 'divide'—about
20 mile—in the meantime. So, aft*"-
breakfast an the dishes hed Is-en wiped,
we packed Op the outfit on struck camp,
but it was well on in tho day before we
pulled out.
"Now, Mis' LiTflcld hed a spaukin
bay hoss specially fer her own use. 1
liedn't no objections to her ridin, <if
commonly. But you know it
ain't jest nice to 1)0 rollin down a
blamed co'kscrew mount'in trail after
dark an gettln into ciunp late an hevln
to plant yer tents an square things out.,
cut yer kindlin IUI git }-er water by cat
light an wall till 0 o'clock, mobbe, fer
yer supper. Tins was what hod happen
ed different times through Mis' LiT
flold She allers wanted to 'ride' when
we shifted camp an follered tho wagon
on her bay hoss. It was unde'stood that
when I was goin too fast or hed got too
fur in the lead she would wave her
luuidkerchor, an 1 was to slack up or
It op till she k etched the wagon. So 1
jest, uattorly 'lowed I'd give her a song
uu dance, licvin a pretty smart day
ahead o' me ui wantin to git into camp
early. Consekently I told the nigger—
who rode with me—not to h>ok back.
"When we sta'ted, uf co'so the fust
ten mile or so was up hill mostly, an I
Couldn't truvel extra fast, so it was
'bout 2 when we hit the summit, an
everything Led went lovely. Tlien we
hed a little 'hand out," an the descent
begun.
''l didn't l<we no timet The mules
itepjx d out gay* me a-poppln the buck- (
<kin among 'em oncet an awhile j«*st to
keep 'em choe'ful all iu good humor, all
the hill—well, chain lightnin could go
down—with britchln. I liedn't went a
great ways when 1 hoerd a fur off call—
like a coyote got astray. Jvunbo shifted
kind of uneasylike on the seat an
squinted sideways at me, but I was
a-w iilst lin 'The Oal With the Travail
Train,' and didn't see nor hear notliin,
<if CO'SK Pretty soon the nigger lie
couldn't set peaceful an no
longer an si<<idod a Jook I ■chin. Then
ho leaned forrard, 'th his ban's 'tween
his knees, an chuckled to hissolf. 1 paid
no manner of notice. Now he screws
KKUid again in his s.sit. chuckles, an
twists a lltt.lo hairier, squints at mo
•hleways again, an suyst
" 'She's a-wnvin, Jim. 1
" 'Set still, you blamed black breast
ed sandpiper,' says I. 'Let 'or wave.'
"He was tol'abul quiet fer a sho't
space, wliilo you might cut a pine of
ISroTIS?
terbacker, mebbe. The calls sounded
pretty faint now Far back pp the nicky
trail 1 coulo ketch the clear, sharp ring
of her hoss' hoof*—pit-e-pat! pit-e-
IMit! pit-e-pat!—remiudiu me somethin
of one of th« m K'ds fit>m the east down
. m H< i t n ehuKsayin np an down the
r>* i in a uewiaugled wardance they
call the Uusiiiu Polkay.
"Jumo'S he.ul swung an rand again
>ii its piv *. He wjuinned an twisted
an chuc.khsl some more. The fun was
r<*> fast fer his ornery, woolly scalp, an
lie bu'st < ut
"'Dahl she waves, Jim. Now—now!
she waves. I)aii—dah! she's a-wavin.
Now—now! sh' s a-wavin, Jim. Now!
sh» waves. Jim Jim— Jim! she
Wiiv s. Jim— -he waves!—she waves!—
-he waves."
"Here he tbrowed < at his wings—un
dulatinlike an very takin an winds up
in a loud Vah, yah. yah!'—doublin
hiss, if up an ■ ntortin an roll in round
on the seat till 1 tlionght he'd drop out
0 the v, agm. the most extropu
lous coon 1 evei^ec—that's right! I
tried to kick him under the sent, but
fact is, I was u-laughin at him till I
was nigh uon campus Memphis myself.
" 'Pit-e-pat! Pit-e-pat! Pit-e-pat!'
come from far back in the distance.
"Now I commenced to pull in my
mules. We were gittin pretty well
down the slope an a few mr : re
would fetch us to the camp pro: (I
lied changed 'The Gal With 'ie' - ail
Train' fer 'The Old I Lett Beliio de.')
It was still middlin early in tl. Jter
noon an mighty hot After awhi I got
my team down to a walk an befcre long
1 hoerd the hoss' hoofs comin cluster.
"I turned around an watched her as
she come up. Bay! I've eat canned
lobsters an heerd talk of spankod babies
—but you'd oughtor seen that woman's
face! *• • Whoosh! To sta't a lire fer
the pu'pose o' toustin a baunack while
she wer' round an that color lasted, us
the poet says, 'wer' unnecessary.' But
that wa'n't all, neither. She was mad
clean through—as a sage hen with a
bnxKl of young uns; it stuck out In
pints all over her. An you could set 1
where the tears hod left marks on her
cheeks, through the dust, an her hair
was like a shower bath on her shoulders.
" 'How could you be so moon, Jim,'
she says.
" 'Well—you see, mum—er —this
her>'—ah—blamed hill is so confounded
ornery pu'peudje'lar—uli—l couldn't
hold 'em up—'poll honor I couldn't!'
"Of co'se I guess she didn't b'leeve
me ha'dly, but what could she say? We
traveled pretty slow the rest of the road
to camp I iliil feel tarnation moan, us
well as sony fer her, an that's right! I
wanted to kick myself, to moke myself
feel—er—all—< incomfortabie. I lied
liulf a mind to make Jumbo do it But
then, he was a nigger, an didn't know
nothiu.
"Well, Li'l'field got his leg broke
sho'tly after an that bu'st np tno expe
dition—got into a wrestle with a grizzly
an took second money, 110 left his hoss
an went close to git a good pull, but the
bear was i nly wounded an charged. He
waltzed with him. I reckon it 'ud 'a'
been all day with Li'l'field if Wells
hedn't been nigh. He was a dead shot,
you know. As it was, lie got out of it
with u broken thigh an a gash in his
hip from the bear's claw you might
cache n flask in. So as soon as ho could
be moved, we went into Helena an they
left for England.
"Ehlf On, tke woman! Why—well,
she nde with me on the wagin after
that when wo mo\ed camp—Jest orner
ly didn't can- to much as look ut a sad
dle fer more'n a week. When she shook
I;u's on says goodby (an 1 w;is real Borry
to see the lust of her), she looks at mo
an smiles an says:
" 'An Jim, next time we come to
Montana to hunt, try iui pick us out a
span of mules that ain't so hard to
hold up, will you i l '
"An I hanged my head, like a denied
idjut, mi said 1 would."—William
Blcasdcll Cameron in Ban Francisco Ar
gonaut
Mile. Hugo.
M Trebuchet, who died in Paris the
other day, was the guardian of Mile.
Allele Hugo, the insane daughter (if the
poet, now aliout tlO years old. The for
tune which Mllu. Hugo inherited has
increased under the management of M.
Trebuchet, so that she is now, French pa
l«>rs suy, several times u millionaire.
She is confined in a private asylum, lier
only pleasure being to visit the theater.
It is always difficult, howvver, to get
her t«> leave the building after the per
formance, as she thinks a play never
ends.
TROLLEY CARS IN ROME.
Bow They Are Equipped to Mount the
IIIUs of the Eternal City.
The Eternal City, "Rome of Ciesar,
Rome of Peter," has been invaded
again, this time by the trolley oar. The
road connects the main railway station
with the center ol the city. It starts
from the Piazza San Silvostro and goes
up the Via di Capo de Case and then
through the Ludovisiau quarter to tho
Piazza dl Termiui. It is a double track
and is nearly two miles long.
The power stution is locuted on the
slope of tho Sabine hills, und the olec
trioity is generated from turbines placed
in the waterfulls übout 18 miles out of
the city. Power is conveyed to tho city
by four large cubles that run into a
transformer house near tho Porta Pia.
The cars, like all stock on European
trolley lines, are model vehicles. They
are flooded with light at night, and in
stead of signaling the conductor wbuu
oue wants to stop all he has to do is to
press a button on the seat behind him.
Some of the bills on the lino aro so
steep ilmt special brakes ure necessary.
Both li.nid and foot brakes uro used, ono
acting dn tho wheels directly and the
other on the rails. In addition there is
an electric emergency bruke, which will
stop the enr in a few ynrds, even when
going quickly down hill The principle
of it consists in short circuiting tho mo
tors, which are then driven us dynamos
by tho momentum of the cur, which is
thus rapidly stopped.
An American company strung the
overhead wi: and equipped tho cars.—
Buffalo Commercial.
A Doubtful Compliment.
Bishop Lawrence of Massachusetts
was up at. the capitol the other day, and
his presence recalled to the mind of u
good Episcopaliun senator u story which
the bishop told on himself. At the time
of the story the bishop was dean of tho
seminary ut Cambridge.
Phillips Brooks hud just been elected
bishop and hud accepted, when one fine
morning President Eliot of Harvard met
Dean Lawrence on the street.
"The church bus made the greatest
mistake of a lifetime," said tho presi
dent to the dean. "Brooks was the pivot
around which we revolved in Boston.
Now you have spread him out ull over
Massachusetts. 1 toll you it is it mistake,
u great mistake. Any oue would do for
bishop."
Time rolled on, uud death cluimed
Bishop Brooks, and later Deun Luwrenou
was chosen his successor. A few days
after ho again met President Eliot, and
the latter was most warm in his con
gratulations.
"My dear bishop," he said, "I must
Congratulate you. Tho church couldn't
have made u better selection. I thought
you should have been tho choice when
Brooks wus chosen."
The bishop laughs as heartily as any
one over the incideut.—Washington
Times.