~~ THE BUTLER CITIZEN.
VOL- xxxvii
HUSELTON'S
Spring Footwear
The Very Finest Shoes Ever Shown in Butler for Men
Women and Children.
Every New Idea r Women's Fine Shoes,
That has merit in it as to style, | Lace or button at 85c, $i,51.25
comfort and service in footwear; and $1.50 —uo to the minute
develops In this store. j in style.
Women's Shoes Business Shoes.
made especially to our order; Stylish footwear for business
dainty in appearance, of sub- men; tan box and Russia calf,
stantial service and full of style fine vici kids, velour calf, pat
as to shape of heel and toe, $2, ent calf that have ease and
$2.50, $3.00 and $3.50 in Tan, comfort as well as wear in them
kid and Russia calf, black kid at $2, $2.50, $3 and $3.50.
skin and patent leather. Men's Patent Leather.
Our Girls Shoes Full dress affairs at $2.50,
in tan and biack, iace or but- $3 50, $4 and ss,that you must
ton kid shoes, sizes ii£ to 2, at have to be well dressed; shoes
75c, sl, $1.25 and $1.50; B.J that go into the very best soci
to 11, at 50c, 75, $1 and $1.25; ety and feel at home there.
6 to 8 at 40c, 50c, 75c and sl. Men's Working Shoes
Shoes for Boys, in oil grain and heavy veal,
Including patent leather, vici two sole and tap bellus tongue,
kid, tan and- Russia calf, sizes at sl, $125 and $1.50; Box
2\ to SJ, at 90c, SI.OO, $1.25, toe at $1 50, $2 and $2.50; it.
$1.50 and $2.00. fine satins for dress at SI.OO,
$1.25 and $1.50.
We are sole agents for the famous "Queen Quality" Shoes
for Women, of this city,
B. C. HUSELTON'S,
Butter's Leading Shoe House. Opposite Hotel I.wry.
BICKEL'S /
♦SPRING AND SUMMER STYLES. #
The time of the year is here when yoj want a nice pair of dress
shoes for summer wear. Our stock is extrcmly Targe, showing all
the latest styles in fine shoes and oxfords in all leathers.
We are offering some big values in footwear and it will pay you
to see us before buying your summer shoes.
A FEW OF OUR PRICES
Men's Fine Tan Shoes — j (j
Light shade, Lace or Congress at..
Boy's Fine Dress Shoes— 1 |uj
Box, Calf or Fine Vici Kid, light or heavy soles. . * *
Youth's Fine Calf or Vici Kid Shoes— q/1
Either Russett or Black at..
Ladies' Fine Dongola and Russett Shoes — & 1 i/ j
Lace or Congress, latest styles lasts at.. ™ ' ' '
Misses' Fine Dongola and Russett Shoes — (j
Spring heels at..
Children's Fine Shoes—
Patent Tipped, sizes five to eight at..
Men's and Boy's Lawn Tennis Shoes— _1
And Slippers at..
Your Choice of Men's Working Shoes— & 1 (if k
Lace, Buckle or Congress, heavy soles and good uppers at
Men's Fine Calf Dress Shoes — 41. 1 () ()
Round toe, tipped at..
Ladies' Fine Dongola Three Point Slippers 3»*)C
We invite you to call and see our stock of SOROSIS SHOES
and Oxfords,the latest styles for summer wear. They are very hand
some You will like them.
All sizes— 2\ to 8.
All widths—AAA to I£.
JOHN BICKEL,
128 SOUTH MAIN STREET, - BUTLER, PA
Spring STYLES r, f y*> f
%4'." Men don't buy clothing for the pur-_•»' I /i/[ / I /$-• /
~ic.p<>se or spending money. They clesireJAf, /I .I' )§\\
get the l>est possible results for thefTY A I. 1 Cy
■jJCmoney expended. Not cheap goods'®" / Jfl J*;
fbut goods as cheip as they can
sold for nd made up properly. IfIJZ A?
you want the correct thing at the cor-'jfe XrJfX JPr i'| i'
rect price, call and examine our;J|C, " \ jl, j
stjck of SPRING WRIGHTS—jTT \ r y i'P'7 v 11! '
*LATEST STYLES, SHADES
S \! X % " I •
; j ||lp<
Fits and WorkmanshiD JJ > t- V : ,
Guaranteed. 1/ '
G F. K€CK,
42 North Main Street, Butler, Pa
Out of Style. Out of the World!
f .'TV r Our garments have a style that is
Q' ■ !| I easily distinguished from the ordin
ftr af y- They are the result of careful
* study and practical application of the
ideas gathered by frequent visits to
. .'J $ the fashion centres, and by personal
' Sfj— contact with the leading tailors and
,• / fashion authorities of the county.
, aj They are made in our own work
'4JW shop by the highest paid journey—
ii' men tailors in Butler, yet it is pos
sible to (and we do) give our patrons these first-class clothes at the
price you would pay for the other sort. We believe we have given
good reasons why our tailoring is the best and cheapest and would
be grateful for the opportunity to show you our handsome spring
stock and give you prices to prove them.
Zilflnrl MAKEROF
.f1.1Q.1 MEN'S Clothes,
When You Paint.
If you very best re
the least expense you iHpHt
sm Eß w£Vuams-
Govern Mo«t, Looks IVst, Wears longest
REDICE & GROHMAN,
lo<j N. Main St., Butler, I'a.
Inimiiiml, are Tryloft It.
In ord« to proTo the great merit of
Ely's Cream Balm, the effectiro cure
1 for Catarrh and Cold 111 K 'ad. we have pre
pared a geuerotw trial size for 10 cents.
Get it of your druggi-st or send 10 cents to
ELY BROS., 5G Warren St., N. T. City.
I suffer*! from catarrh of the worst kind
ever since a boy. and I never hot 1 for
cure, but Ely's Cream Balm seems •do
even that Many acquaintances ha* 'i t
it with excellent results.—Oscar Oatrum,
45 Warren Ave., Chicago, 111.
Ely's Cream Balm is the acknowledged
cur- 'for catarrh and contains no co. line,
mercury nor any injnrious drug. Brye,
60 cents At drugL'i.-ts or by mail.
RAILROAD TIME TABLES.
DUFFALO, ROCHESTER &
J) PITTSBURG RY. The
new trunk line between Pittsburg.
: Butler, Bradford, Rochester and
j BufT«-.10.
On and after .Tail. 1, 1900, pn--eng<-r
trains will leave Butler, P & W. Sta
i tion as follows. Eastern Standard Titne:
I 10:12 a.m. Yestibnled Limited, daily,
for Dayton, Pnnisntawney, Dn-
Bois. Ridgway, Bradford. Buffalo
and Rochester.
•1:22 p.m. Accommodation, week days
only, Craigsville, Daytou. Punxsu
tawney, Dnßios, Falls Creek.
Cr.rwensville. Clearfield and inter
mediate stations
6:45 a.m. Week days only: mixed train
for Craigsville, Dayton, Punxsn
t&wney and intermediate points.
This train leaves Pnnxsntawney at
1:00 p.m. arriving at Butler at ">:4">
p.m . stopping at all intermediate
j stations
i Thousand mile tickets good for pas
sage between all stations on the B. K.
& PR'y and >T. Y. C. R Ft. Penn'a.
division ! at 2 cents per mile.
For tickets, time tables and furthei
information call on or addres-
W. R. TURNER, Agt.
Butler, Pa., or
EDWARD C. LAPEY.
Gen'l Pass. Agent,
Rochester, N. Y.
P., IJossenuT & I. K.
Trains depart: No 14, at 9:15 A. M;
So. 2, at 4 "><) P. M. Butler time.
Trains arrive :No. 1. 9:50 A. M; No.
11, 2:55 P. M. Butler time
No. 14 runs through to Erie and con
nects with W. N. Y. ic P. at Huston
Junction for Franklin and Gil City,
and with Erie Railroad at Shenan
go for all points east. No. 2 runs
through to Greenville and connects with
W N. Y. & P. for Franklin and Oil
City, and at Shenango with Erie R. R.
for points east and west.
W. R. TURNER, Ticket Agent.
1 )ITTSBURG & WESTERN
* Railway. Schedule of Pas
finger Trains in effect Nov. 19,
1899. BUTLER TIME.
I»<-|«art. 1 Arrive.
Allegheny Accommodation A.im U ft 7 A.m
Allegheny 8 <ls " 9 :{<) "
Mew Cantle Accomni<Kiation 8 " 9n7 "
Akron Mail 8 a * 7 <i3 P.«
Allegheny Vamt Exprw 'J 58 " 12 1H '•
Allegheny Kxpr'-tw P.M \ 4"» |»ni
Chicago Expretw 3 W pm I'Z H am
Allegheny Mail 5 "«<) " 7 4*» j»rn
Allegheny and New Cattle Accom 5 f»0 " 7 'it M
Chicagr Limite<l 530 M '* <»7 a.m
Kane and Bradford Mail 9:55 A.M 2 50 P.M
Clarion Accommodatk>n • P.M 9 10 A M
Cleveland and Chicago Kxpreai... fi 26 »rn
SUNDAY TRAINS.
Allegheny Kxpren 8 05 A.M 9 3oa.M
Allegheny AccomiiKxlalion 550 p.m 5 rM j
New Ca«tle Aooommfidatkiii 8 05 A.M 703 44 j
Chicago ExufNW 3 40 P.M 5 o'S am
Allegheny Accommodation. 7 03 pm
Train arriving at SJOB p.m. leave* B. A O. -lep«4
PltUburg at 3.25 p.m and P. A W. t Allegheny at 3.35 ;
p. m.
On Satrudays a train, known a« the the.ttre train, I
will leave Ihitler at 5.50 p. m., arriving at Allegheny j
at 7.£•; returning leave Allegheny at 11.30 p. m.
Pullman sleeping earn on Chicago Kxpre** between
Pittoburg and (-*hi« ngo.
For through ticket* to all |M>intM in the west, north
weat or and information regarding route*,
time of traina, etc. apply to
W. It. TT ttSKK, Ticket Agent,
K. li. BKTNOLIJO, Sup't, N. !»., ilutler k Pa.
Butler, Pa. C. VV. DASMETT,
G. P. A.. Allegheny, Pa !
IL 0 Dt'NKLE,
Sup't. WA \. I>iv.. Allegheny Pa.
PENNSYLVANIA K t,
WESTERN PENNSYLVANIA DIVISION.
B<TIKDULE iff Errr.<*T N.»v, 20,1899.
SOUTH. , WKER DAYS , |
A. M A. M. A. M. P M. P. M.
HI TLER Leave <• 25 8 06 10 50 2 :i5 5 05
Haxoobnrg Arrive 51 8 'V 11 15 A (tit 5 28
liutb r Junction.. " 727 BS3 II 10 32» 6 s:j
Batter Junction.. .Leave 7 31 853 11 52 325 663 !
Natrona Arrivi- 7 4" 9 01 12 01 3 34 6 *r>
Tarentum 7 41 907 12 08 3 42 (> 07 j
Hpririgdale 7 52 9 12 19 3 52 ...
Claremont (9 12 3A 4 06
Allegl.euy 8 24 9 48 1 02 4 26 6 4 ;
A. y\. A. M. P. M. P. M P. M.
SUNDAY THAlNß.—Leave Butler for Allegheny
City and prin' i|ul intcrmedi.ite NtatioiiM at a m., I
and 5:00 p. m.
NORTH. WEEK DAYS I
A M A. M A. >!. P. M P. M
Allegheny City.
Sliarpalfurg. 71J 907 10 67 ... I
Ciaremont II 04
Hpriugdale II In fi :i 7
Tarentum 7 :;7 9 .'l4 11 2* 3 4<i ♦; 4'i
Natioua 7 41 9 38 II ,M» :j 50 »i 61 '
Butler Junction.. .arrive 7 4-* 947 11 4 i 5« 700
Butler Junctiou... .leave 7 4* 9 47 12 1m 4 (Hi 7 !
.Saxonlturg 8 15! 10 12 41 4 :'/> 724 |
BUTLER arrive 8 4<» 10 32 1 P» r> 06 7
A.M.'A.M. I'. M P. ri. I'. M j
SPNDAY TRAINS.—Leave Allegheny City for But
ler HIM) principal intermediate ntutioiiH at 7:16 a m. and
9-30 p. m.
FOR THE EAST.
Week* Dav*. Sunday H !
A M A. M IV M. A. M. I' M
BITLKR lv r, 25'10 Hi 235 7 'Mi 500 I
Butler Jet ar 7 27! II 4<» 326 820 660 |
Butler Jet lv 748 11 4.1 358 821 8 ft", j
Kreeport ar 761 11 4»J 4 tri 825 807
Kiakiminetafl J't ,4 *7 56 11 60 4 (»7 829 8 11
Paultoii (Apollo) " 8 2'.112 'JLI 4 40 868 8 \L
SalUl urg 44 8 61112 49 508 9Zi 9 (K»
Blairevllle ~ 922 1 20 6 11 962 940
Blairnville Int '' 9 iJO I :«'» 560 10 00
Altifona. " 11 36j r » 4"» 850 545
llariiMhurg •' 310 10 I <lO 10 (fi
Philadelphia 14 ti 2!| 4 2*» 426 * 425
P. M.|A. M.|A. M. A.M. P.M.
Through trai llN for the ea*t leave Pittsburg (Union I
Station), aa foUowic—
AtlantU Exprem, daily 2:50 A.M
PemiMylvania ** 715 44
l>ay Exprem, ** 7:.'io M
Main Lino Exproag, " 8;00 **
Harrifhurg Mail, ** 12:46 P.M
Philadelphia Cxpreoa, ' 4:50 "
Mail and Kxprew «laily. For New York only.
Through buff«-t HleepMr; uo coached 7:00 44
Kanter ll Kxpress, • 7:10 14
Flint Li tie, 1 8 !K) "
Pittaburg Limited, dally, with through coacheii
to New York, aiel nleeping earn to New York,
Baltimore and Wuahiugiou only. No extra
lareou thin train 10*10 M
I'hi la-la Mail, Sonda.tf ouiy 8:40 A.M
For Atlantic City (via Delaware River Bridge, all
rail route), 8:00 A. M, and p.M, daily.
Foi detailed information, ad drew Thou. K. Watt, Pass.
Agt. Western District, (7omer Fifth Avenue and Smith*
field Street, Pittnburg, Pa.
J B. HUTCHISON, J. It WOOD.
General Manitaer. <ien'' "ww. Anetic
Practical Horse Shoers
W _L ROBINSON,
Formerly Horse Shoer at the
Wick House has opened busi
ness in a shop in the rear of
the Arlington Hotel, where
he will, <loJ Horse-Shoeing in
the most approved style.
TRACK AND ROAD HOSRES
A SPECIALTY.
I West Winfield Hotel,
0 W.G. LUSK. Prop'r.
00 l'irst Class Table and Lodgings.
Oas and Sprint; Water all througu
house.
v?v Good Stabling.
BUTLER, THURSDAY, MY 3, 1900
;•«;• ''J • V/ • •Vz * ''J '
. •* .. ~.. •'• *;V. • .*• • ?>" ' - i-* • • - •
=-=jU;p p
li| U ~ L U Tjt by |ri
.* Ft (I OLIVE
v,u ..JU 1 A SCHBiaiNER. v<.
II mim fmd 1 1
A TALE OF LIFE IN THE 0
I fg ★ BOER REPUBLIC.
7' ;. ;hi ..«;•>£; . »e; <«.»«: . <•«. ;»»; ■«. . <>:.»;. «•£ ..•_?. •;?. »:. sj ."
£• iSirt a'.r ?>■ •Si r •.v • ?<< • • ;"<> •:« • J.: s'i; i.;
CHAPTER XIII.
HE MAKES I.OVE.
"ITore," said Tnnt' Sannie to her
Ilottentot maid, "I have been in this
house four years and never been up
in the loft. Fatter women than I go
up ladders. 1 will go up today and
see what it Is like and put it to rights
up there. You bring the little ladder
and stand at the bottom."
"There's one would l>e sorry if you
were to fall," said the Ilottentot maid,
• leering at Bonaparte's pipe, that lay
on the table.
"Hold your tongue, jade," said her
! mistress, trying to conceal a pleased
i smile, "and go and fetch the ladder."
There was a never used trapdoor at
| one end of the sitting room. This the
Hottentot maid pushed open. and. set
ting the ladder against it, the Boer
woman with some danger and diffi
j cully climbed into the loft. Then th*
Hottentot maid took tlie ladder away,
as her husband was mending the
wagon house and needed it. but t lie
j trapdoor was left open.
For a little while Tant' Sannie poked
about among the empty bottles and
j skins and looked at the bag of peaches
i that Waldo was supposed to have liked
i so. Then she sat down near the trap
door beside a barrel of salt mutton.
She found that the pieces of meat were
much too large and took out her clasp
knife to divide them.
This was always the way when one
left things to servants, she grumbled
to herself, but when once she was mar
ried to her husband Bonaparte it would
not matter whether a sheep spoiled or
no—when once his rieli aunt with the
dropsy was dead. She smiled a-! she
dived tier hand into the pickle water.
At that instant her niece entered the
room below. < loselv followed by Boua
parte. with his head on one side, smil
ing mawkishly. Had Tant' Sannie
spoken at that moment the life of
Bonaparte Blenkins would have run a
wholly different course. As it was. she
remained silent, and neither noticed
the open trapdoor above their heads.
"Sit there, my love," said Bona
parte. motioning Trnua into her aunt's
elbow chair and drawing another close
up in front of it. in which lie seated
himself. "There; put your feet upon
the stove too. Your aunt has gone out
somewhere, Ixmg have 1 waited for
this auspicious event!"
Trauu, who understood not one word
of English, at down in the chair and
wondered if this was one of tin- strange
customs of other lands—that an old
gentleman may bring his chair up to
yours and sit with his knees touching
you. She had been live days in Bona
parte's company and feared the old
man and disliked his nose.
"llow long have 1 desired this mo
ment:" Miid Bonaimrte. "But that
aged relative of thine is always casting
her unhallowed shadow upon as. Look
into my eyes, Trana."
Bonaparte knew that she compre
hended not a syllable, but he under
stood that it is the eye, tiie tone, the
action, and not at all the rational word,
that touches the love chords. He ,-;aw
she changed color.
"All night," said Bonaparte, "1 lie
awake. I see naught but thy angelic
countenance. I open my arms to re
ceive thee. Where art thou, where?
Thou art not there!" said Bonaparte,
suiting the action to the words and
spreading out his arms and drawing
them to his breast.
"Oh. please. I don't understand," said
Trana. "I want to go away."
"Yes, yes," said Bonaparte, leaning
back in his chair, to her great relief,
and pressing his hands on his heart,
"since first thy amethystine counte
nance was impressed here, what have 1
not suffered, what have I not feltV Oil,
the pangs unspoken, burning as an nr
dent coal in a fiery and uncontnmlnat
ed bosom!" said Bonaparte, bending
forward again.
"Dear Lord," said Trana to herself,
'how foolish 1 have been! The old
man has a pain in his stomach, and
now, as my aunt is out, he has come to
ine to help him."
She smiled kindly at Bonaparte and,
pushing past him, went to the bedroom,
quickly returning with a bottle of red
drops in her hand.
"They are very good for "benaauwd
heit.' My mother always drinks them,"
she said, holding the bottle out.
The face in the trapdoor was a llery
red. Like a tiger cat ready to spring,
Tant' Sannie crouched, with the shoul
der of mutton in her hand. Exactly
beneath her stood Bonaparte. She rose
and clasped with both arms the barrel
of salt meat.
"What, rose of the desert, nightin
gale of the colony, that with thine
amorous lay whllest the lonesome
bight!" cried Bonaparte, seizing the
hand that held the "vonlieense." "Nay,
struggle not! Fly as a stricken fawn
Into the arms that would embrace thee,
thou"—
Here a stream of cold pickle water,
heavy with ribs and shoulders, de
scending on his head, abruptly ter
minated his speech. Half blinded, Bona
parte looked up through the drops that
hung from his eyelids and saw the red
face that looked down at him. With
one wild cry he tied. As he passed
out at the front door a shoulder of mut
ton, well directed, struck the black
coat on the small of the back.
"Bring the ladder! Bring the ladder!
I will go after him!" cried the Boer wo
man as Bonaparte Blenkins wildly tied
into the tields.
*******
Late in the evening of the same day
Waldo knelt on the floor of his cabin,
lie liatiied tho foot of his dog which
had been pierced by a thorn. The
bruises on his own back had had five
days to heal In, and, except a little
stiffness in his movements, tiicte was
nothing remarkable about the boy.
The troubles of the young are soon
over. They leave no external mark.
If you wound the tree in its youth, the
bark will quickly cover the gash; but
when the tree is very old, peeling the
bark off and looking carefully, you will
see the scar there still. All that I*
burled Is not dead.
Waldo poured the warm milk over
the little swollen foot. Doss lay very
quiet, with tears In ids eyes. Then
there was a tap at the door. In an in
stant I less looked wide awake and
winked the tears out from between his
little lids.
"Come in," said Waldo, intent on ids
work, and slowly and cautiously the
door opened.
"Good evening, Waldo, my boy," said
Bonaparte Blenkins in a mild voice,
not venturing more than ids nose with
in the door. "How are you this even-
ing?"
Doss growled and showed his little
r teeth and tried to rise, but his paw
s hurt him so he whined,
p "I'm very tired, Waldo, my boy,"
~ said Bonaparte, plaintively,
j Doss showed his little white teeth
s again. His master went on with his
r work without looking round. There
are some people at whose hands it is
u best not to look. At last he said:
l ( j "Come in."
y i Bonaparte stopiied cautiously a little
way into the room and left the door
r open behind him. lie looked at the
j , boy's supper on the table.
"Waldo, I've had nothing to eat ail
t 1 day. I'm very hungry," he said.
1 "Eat." said Waldo after a moment,
. j bending lower over his dog.
r I "Yon won't go and tell her that lam
here, will you. Waldo?" said Bona
s, parte, most uneasily. "You've heard
how she used me, Waldo? I've been
c badly treated. You'll know yourself
e what it is some day when you can't
carry on a little conversation with a
i lady without having salt meat and pic
i kle water thrown at you. Waldo, look
s at me. Do I look as a gentleman
] should?"
i- But the boy neither looked up nor an
i. swered, and Bonaparte grew more
e uneasy.
p "You wouldn't go and tell her that I
am here, would you?" said Bonaparte
e whiningly. "There's no knowing what
1 she would do to ine. I've such trust in
you, Waldo. I've always thought you
1 such a promising lad, though you
r mayn't have known it, Waldo."
e "Eat," said the boy. "I shall say
e nothing."
Bonaparte, who knew the truth
e when another spoke it, closed the door,
carefully putting on the button. Then
1 he looked to see that the curtain of the
e window was closely pulled down and
f seated himself at the table. He was
I soon munching the cold meat and
e bread. Waldo knelt on the floor, batb
' ing the foot with hands which the dog
licked lovingly. Once only be glanced
at the table and turned away quickly.
s "Ah, yes! I don't wonder that you
L " can't look at me, Waldo," said Bona
' parte. "My condition would touch any
II heart. You see, the water was fatty,
1 and that has made all the sand stick to
r me. And my hair," said Bonaparte,
tenderly touching the little fringe at
' the back of his bead, "is all caked over
1 like a little plank. You wouldn't think
e it was hair at all," said Bonaparte
' plaintively. "I had to creep all along
u the stone walls for fear she'd see me
' and with nothing on my head but a red
handkerchief tied under my chin, Wal
' do, and to hide in a 'sloot' the whole
day, with not a mouthful of food, Wal
do. And she gave me such a blow just
here," said Bonaparte.
' He had cleared the plate of the last
4 morsel when Waldo rose anil walked to
the door.
"Oh, my Waldo, my dear boy, you
are not going to call her," said Bona
parte, rising anxiously.
I "I am going to sleep in the wagon,"
said the boy, opening the door.
"Oh, we can both sleep in this bed.
There's plenty of room. Do stay, my
boy, please."
j But Waldo stepped out.
"It was such a little whip, Waldo,"
said Bonaparte, following him depre
' catiugly. "1 didn't think it would hurt
' you so much. It was such a little whip.
I'm sure you didn't take the peaches.
You aren't going to call her, Waldo,
are you?"
' But the boy walked off.
Bonaparte waited till his figure had
passed round the front of the wagon
I house and then slipped out. He hid
himself round the corner, but kept
peeping out to see who was coming. He
felt sure the boy was gone to call Tant'
Sannie. His teeth chattered with iu
' ward cold as lie looked round into the
darkness and thought of the snakes _
I that might bite him, and the dreadful
tilings that might attack him and the
dead that might //rise out of theirgraves
if lie slept out iii the field nil light. But
more than an hour passed, and no foot*
' step approached.
Then Bonaparte made his way back
to the cabin. He buttoned the door and
put the table against It, and, giving the
dog a kick to silence his whining when
the foot throbbed, he climiicd into bed.
He did not put out the light for fear
of the ghost, but, worn out with the
sorrows of the day, was soon asleep
himself.
About 4 o'clock Waldo, lying be
tween the seats of the horse wagon,
was awakened by u gentle touch on
his head.
Sitting up, lie espied Bonaparte look
ing through one of the windows with
a lighted candle in his hand.
"I'm about to depart, my dear boy,
before my enemies arise, and I could
not leave without coming to bid you
farewell," said Bonaparte.
Waldo looked at him.
"I shall always think of you with af
fection," said Bonaparte. "And there's
that old hat of yours. If you could let
me have it for a keepsake"—
"Take It," said Waldo.
"I thought you would say so, so I
brought It with me," said Bonaparte,
putting it on. "The Lord biets you,
my dear boy. You haven't H few
shillings, just a trifle you don't need,
have you?"
"Take the two shillings that are In
the broken vase."
"May the blessing of my God rest
upon you, my dear child," said Bona
parte. "May he and bless you.
Give me your hand."
Waldo folded ids arms closely and
lay down.
"Farewell, adieu!" said Bonaparte.
"May the blessing of my God and my
, father's God rest on you, now and
evermore."
With these words the head and nose
withdrew themselves, and the light
vanished from tiie window.
After a lew moments the boy, lying
in the wagon, heard stealthy footsteps
ns they passed the wagon house and
made their way down the road. He
listened as tliey grew fainter and
i fainter and at Inst died away alto
-1 gether, and from that night the foot
steps of Bonaparte Blenkins were
heard no more at the old farm.
CHAPTER XIV.
TIMES AND SEASONS.
Waldo lay on his stomach on the
sand. Since lie prayed and howled
to his God In the fuel house three
years had passed.
They say that in the world to come |
time Is not measured out by months
and years. Neither Is It here. The
soul's life has seasons of its own, pe-
IV ,1s u< t fonud in any calendar, times
that years and months will uot scan,
but which are a> deftly and sharply cut
off from one another as the smoothly
: rranged years which the earth's mo
tion yields us.
To stranger eyes these divisions are
not evident, but each, looking back s.*
the little track his consciousness il
luminates. sees it cut into distinct por
tions, whose boundaries are the termi
nation of mental states.
As man differs from man, so differ
these souls' years. The most material
life is not devoid of them: the story of
the most spiritual is told in them.
And it may chance that some, looking
back, see the past cut out after this
fashion:
I.
The year of infancy, where from the
shadowy background of forgetfulness
start out pictures of startling clear
ness, disconnected, but brightly col
ored and indelibly printed in the mind.
Much that follows fades, but t lie colors
of those baby pictures are permanent.
There rises, perhaps, a warm sum
mer's evening. We are seated on the
doorstep; we have yet the taste of the
bread and milk in our mouth, and the
red sunset is reflected in our basin.
Then there is a dark uight, where,
waking with a fi-ar that there is some
great being in the room, we run from
our own bed to another, creep close to
some large figure and are comforted.
Then there is remembrance of the
pride when, on some one's shoulder,
with our arms around their head, we
ride to see the little pigs, the new little
pigs with their curled tails and tiny
snouts. Where do they come from?
Remembrance of delight in the feel
and smell of the first orange we ever
see; of sorrow which makes us put up
our lip and cry hard when one morning
we run out to try to catch the dew
drops and they melt and wet our little
fingers: of almighty and despairing
sorrow when we are lost Iwhind the
kraals and cannot, see the house any
where.
And then one picture starts out more
rividly than any.
There has been a thunderstorm. The
ground as far as the eye can reach is
covered with white hail. The clouds
are gone, and overhead a deep blue
sky is showing. I'ar off a great rain
bow rests on the white earth. We,
standing in a window to look, feel the
cool, unspeakably sweet wind blowing
in on us, and a feeling of longing
comes over us. unutterable longing, we
cannot tell for what. We are so small
our head only reaches as high as the
first three panes. We look at the white
rartli and the rainbow and the blue
sky; and. oh, we want it, we want, we
do not know what. We cry as though
our heart was broken. When one lifts
our little body from the window, we
cannot tell what alls tis. We run away
to play.
So looks the first year.
n.
Now the pictures become continuous
and connected. Material things still
rule, but the spiritual and Intellectual
take their places.
In the dark night when we are afraid
we pray and shut our eyes. We press
our fingers very hard upon the lids and
sec dark spots moving round and
round, and wo know they are heads
and wings of angels sent 11 take care
of us, seen dimly in the dark as they
move round our bed. It Is very consol
ing.
In the day we learn our letters and
are troubled because we cannot see
why k-u-o-w should be know and
p-s-a-l-m psaln* They tell us it is so
because it is si). We are not satisfied.
We hate to learn. We like l>etter to
build little stone houses. We can build
them as we please and know the rea
son for them.
Other Joys, too, we have incompara
bly greater than even the building of
stone houses.
We are run through with a shudder
of delight when in tlie red sand we
come on one of those white wax flow
ers that lie between tlieir two green
leaves flat on the sand. We hardly
dare pick tiiem, but we feel compelled
to do so; and we smell and smell till
the delight becomes almost pain. Aft
erward we pull the green leaves softly
Into pieces to see the silk threads run
across.
Beyond the "kopje" grow some pale
green hairy leaved bushes. We are so
small they meet over our head, and
we sit among them and kiss them, and
they love us back. It seems as hough
they were alive.
One tiny we sit there ami look up at
the blue sky and down at our fat lit
tle knees, and suddenly It strikes us:
Wlio are we? This I—what Is It? We
try to look In upon ouraelf, and ourself
beats hack upon ourself. Then we
K''t up In great fear and run home as
hard as we can. We can't tell any one
what frightened us. We never <|uite
lose that feeling of self again.
in.
And then a new time rises. We are
7 years old. We can read now, read
the Bible. Best of all, we like the
story of Elijah in his cave at Horeb
and the still small voice.
One day, a notable one, we read on
the "kopje" and discover the fifth chap
ter of Matthew and read it all through.
It is a new gold mine. Then we tuck
the Bible under our arm and rush
home. They didn't know It was wick
ed to take your tilings again if some
one took them, wicked to go to law,
wicked to— We are quite breath
less when we get to the bouse. We
tell them that we have discovered
a chapter they never heard. We tell
them what it says. The old wise peo
ple tell us they know ail about it. Our
discovery is a mare's nest to them,
but to us It Is very real. The Ten Com
mandments and the old "Thou shalt"
we have heard about long enough and
don't care, about It, but this new law
sets us on lire. We will deny ourself.
Our little wagon that we have made
we give to the little Kaflirs. We keep
quiet when they throw sand at us, feel
ing, oil, so happy. We conscientiously
put the cracked teacup for ourselves at
breakfast and take the burned roaster
cake. We save our money and buy
threepence of tobacco for the Ilotten
tot maid who calls us names. Wo are
cxotlcally virtuous. At night we are
profoundly religious. Even the tick
ing watch says, "Eternity, eternity,
heO, hell belli" and the silence talks
of (Sod and the things that shall be.
Occasionally also unpleasantly shrewd
questions begin to be asked by some
one, we know not whom, who sits
somewhere behind our shoulder. We
get to know him better afterward.
Now we carry the questions to the
grown up people, and they give us an
swers. We are more or less satisfied
for the time. The grown up people
are very wise, and they say It was
kind of Ood to make hell and very lov
ing of him to send men there, and, be
sides, he couldn't help himself, and
they are very wise, we think, so we
believe them, more or less.
iv.. v
Then a new time comes, of which
the lending feature Is that the shrewd
questions are asked louder. We carry
them to the grown uu ueople. They
answer us. au,l we are not satisfied.
And now between us an*t the dear
old world of the senses the spirit world
begins to i>eep In :ind wholly clouds It
over. What are the flowers to us?
They are fuel waiting for the great
burning. We look at the walls of the
farmhouse and the matter of fact
sheep kraals, with the merry sunshine
playing over all, and do not see it. But
we see a great white throne and him
that sits on it. Around him stand a
Croat multitude that uo man ean sum
l>er. harpers harping with their harps,
a thousand times ten thousand and
thousands of thousands. How white
are their robes, washed in the blood
of the Ijimb! And the music rises
higher and rends the vault of heaven
with its unutterable sweetness. And
we, as we listeu. ever and anon, as it
sinks on the sweetest, lowest note,
hear a groan of the damned from be
low. We shudder in the sunlight.
"The torment," says Jeremy Taylor,
whose sermons our father reads aloud
in the evening, "comprises as many
torments as the body of man has
joints, sinews, arteries, etc., being
caused by that penetrating and real
fire of which this temporal fire is but
a painted lire. What comparison will
there be between burning for a hun
dred years' space and to be burning
without intermission as long as God
is God';"
We remember the sermon there in
the sunlight. One comes and asks why
we sit there nodding so moodily. Ah,
they do not see what we see!
A moment's lime, sfnarrow space.
Divide me from that heavenly place
Or shuts me up in hell.
So says Wesley's hymn, which we sing
evening by evening. What matter sun
shine and walls, men and sheep?
"The things which are seen are tem
poral. but the things which are not
seen are eternal." They are real.
The Hible we bear always in our
breast. Its pages are our food. We
learn to repeat it. We weep much, for
in sunshine and in shade, in the early
morning or late evening, in the field or
In the house, lb* devil walks with us.
He comes ,to us a real person, copper
colored face, head a little on one side,
forehead knit, asking questions. Be
lieve me, it were better to be followed
by three deadly diseases than by him.
He is never silenced —without mercy.
Though the drops of blood stand out on
your heart, he will put his question.
Softly he comes up (we are only a wee
bit child): "Is it good of God to make
hell? Was it kind of him to let one be
forgiven unless Jesus Christ died?"
Then he goes off and leaves us writh
ing. Presently he comes back.
"I>o you love him?" Waits a little.
"Do you love him? You will be lost if
you don't."
Wo say we try to.
"But do yon?" Then he goes off.
It is nothing to him If we go quite
mad with fear at our own wickedness.
He asks on, the questioning devil. He
cares nothing what he says. We long
to tell some one, that they may share
our pain. We do not yet know that
the cup of affliction Is made with such
a narrow mouth that only one lip can
drink at a time and that each man's
cup is made to match his lip.
One day. we try to tell son e one.
Then a grave head is shaken solemnly
at us. We are wicked, very wicked,
they say. We ought not to have such
thoughts. God is good, very good. We
are wicked, very wicked. That is the
comfort we get Wicked? O Lord, do
we not know it? Is it not the sense of
our own exceeding wickedness that Is
drying up our young heart, filling it
with sand, making all life a dust bin
for us?
Wicked? We know it! Too vile to
live, too vile to die, too vile to creep
over this (God's) earth ami move
among his believing men. Hell is the
one place for him who hates his mas
ter, and there we do not want to go.
Tills Is the comfort we get from tho
old.
And once again we try to seek for
comfort. This time great eyes look at
us wondering, and lovely little lips say:
"If it makes you so unhappy to think
of these things, why do you not think
of something else and forget?"
Forget! We turn away and shrink
Into ourself. Forget and think of oth
er things! O God, do they not under
stand that the material world Is but a
film, through every pore of which
God's awful spirit world Is shining
through on us? We keep as far from
others as we can.
One uight, a rare, clear moonlight
uight, we kneel in the window. Ev
ery one else is a Jeep, but we kneel
reading by the moonlight. It is a
chapter in the prophets telling how
the chosen people of God shall be car
lied on the gentiles' shoulders. Surely
the devil might leave us alone. There
is not much handle for him there. But
presently he comes.
"Is it right there should be a chosen
people? To him who is Father to all
should not all be dear?"
How can we answer him? We were
feeling so good till he came. We put
our bead down on the Bible and blister
It with tears. Then we fold our hands
over our head and pray till our teeth
grind together. Oh, that from that
spirit world, so real and yet so silent,
that surrounds us one word would
come to guide us! We are left alone
with this devil, and God does not whis
per to us. Suddenly we seize the Bible,
turning it round and round, and say
hurriedly:
"It will be God's voice speaking to
us, his voice as though we heard It."
We yearn for a token from the inex
orably silent One.
We turn the book, put our finger
down on a page and bend to read by j
the moonlight It Is God's answer. Wo |
tremble:
"Then 14 years after I went up again
to Jerusalem with Barnabas and took
Titus with me also."
For an instant our imagination seizes
It. We are twisting, twirling, trying to
make an allegory. The 14 years are 14
months;* we are Paul, anil the devil is
Barnabas; Titus Is- Then a sudden
loathing comes to us. We are liars
and hypocrites. We are trying to de
ceive ourselves. What Is Paul to us
and Jerusalem? Who are Barnabas
and Titus? We know not the men.
Before we know we seize the book,
swing it round our head and Jllng It
with all our might to the farther end
of the room. We put down our head
again and weep. Youth aud Ignorance
- ia there anything else that can weep
so? It Is as though the tears were
drops of blood congealed beneath the
eyelids. Nothing else Is like those
tears. After a long time we are weak
with crying and lie silent, and by
chance we knock against the wood that
stops tiie broken pane. It falls. Upon
our hot, stllT face a sweet breath of
wind blows. We raise our head and
with our swollen eyes look out at the
beautiful still world, and the sweet
night wind blows in upon us. holy and
gentle, like a loving breath from the
lips of (Jod. Over us n deep peace
comes, a calm, still Joy. The tears
now flow readily and softly. Oh, the
unutterable gladness! At lust, at Inst,
we have found It! "The peace with
God," "The sense of sins forgiven."
All doubt vanished, God's voice In the
soul, the Holy Spirit tilling us! We feel
him, wo feel him! O Jesus Christ,
through you, through you. this Joy! Wo
press our hands upon vur breast an.l
look upward with adoring gladness.
Soft waves of bliss break through us.
"Tlic |waoo with God. l'he sense of
sins forgiveu." Methodists au«l reviv
alists s.iy tin- words. and the mocking
world shoots out its lip and walks by
smiling—"Hypocrite!"
There arc more fools and fewer
hypocrites than the wise world dreams
of. The hypocrite Is rare as icebergs
in the tropics, the fool common as but
tercups beside a water furrow. Wheth
er you go this way or that you tread
on him. You dare not look at your
own reflection In the water, but you
tsee oue. There Is no cant phrase, rot
ten with age. but it was the dress of
n living body, none but at heart it sig
nifies a real P>odlly or mental condition
which some have jvissed through.
After hours and nights of frenzied
feur of the supernatural desire to ap
pease the power above, a tierce quiver
ing excitement iu every inch of nerve
and blood vessel, there comes a time
when nature cannot endure louger, and
the spring long bent recoils. We sink
down emasculated. Up creeps the
deadly delicious calm:
"I have blotted out as a cloud thy
sins and as a thick cloud thy tres
passes and will remember them no
more forever."
We weep with soft, transporting Joy.
A few exj>erience this. Many imag
ine they experience It. One here and
there lies about It. In the main "the
peace with God, a sense of sins for
given," stands for a certaiu mental
and physical reaction. Its reality those
know who have felt it. v
, i Ami we on that moonlight night put
[ down our head on the window. "O
God, we are happy, happy, thy child
forever! Oh, thank you, God!" And
we drop asleep.
Next morning the Bible we UUs. We
are God's forever. We go out tc work,
and it goes happily all day, happily all
night, but hardly so happily, not hap
pily at all, the nest day, and the next
night the devil asks us, "Where Is
your Holy Spirit?"
We cannot tell.
So month by month, summer and
winter, the old life goes on—reading,
I praying, weeping, praying. They tell
us we become utterly stupid. We
know it. Even Jhe multiplication table
, we learned with so much care we for
get. The physical world recedes far
ther and farther from us. Truly we
love not the world, neither the things
that are in it. Across the bounds of
sleep our grief follows us. When we
wake in the night, we are sitting up in
bed weeping bitterly or find ourself
outside In the moonlight dressed and
i walking up and down and wringing
our hands, and we cannot tell how we
came there. So pass two years as men
reckon them.
| [TO BK cojrmnrxD.]
The Similiter Krom "Ueorgy."
"Down in Georgy"— said the stran
ger with broad brimmed hat. But the
stout man with the bobtailed gray
overcoat Interrupted him with:
"Are you going to tell that story
again? Don't things happen elsewhere
besides 'down In Georgy?' "
"As 1 wuz a-sayln," continued the
stranger, not noticing the Interruption,
"down in Georgy"—
"There you go again!" exclaimed the
stout man. "One thing over and over!"
"Yes," continued the stranger, "as 1
wuz jest rcinarkin, down In Georgy
when we air Interrupted in a confabu
lation, like I've been fer the last ten
minutes, we takes the Interrupter by
the collar, thisaway—
"An by the waist o' the britches,
thisaway—
"An we pitches him—
"Clean out the winder, thlsawayl"
And the stout man, as he struggled
to his feet and groped blindly about
for his hat, said:
"What was that that fellow was say
ing about 'down In Georgy?' 1 didn't
quite get the last part of It!" Atlanta
Constitution.
II on it li on Faynthfnrt.
Miss Pechls—No, Mr. Faynthcart, It's
a lovely wheel, but 1 really can't ac
cept it from you.
Mr. Faynthcart—Oh! Why? Your
mother wouldn't object, would she?
Miss Pechls—lt Isn't that. But, you
see, this wheel's a Skimmer, while
Mr. Dashaway, with whom 1 should
ride most, uses a Whizzer. 1 know
we should quarrel about the respective
merits of our wheels, and that would
be terrible.—Philadelphia Press.
Much (he Heller I'lan.
"If you would marry me," he plead
ed, "I am sure you would make a bet
ter man of me."
"No," she replied decisively, "I shall
never marry a man to reform him;
but," she added as she put her hand
where he could easily reach It, "1 am
not averse to reforming a man to mar
ry blm."—Chicago Post
No Wonder.
"Mary!" yelled the poet.
"What Is It, dear?" asked the patient
wife.
"Why don't you keep that kid quiet?
What on earth's the matter with MV"
"I don't know, dear. I'm singing one
of your lullabies to the poor little dar
ling."—Philadelphia Press.
A Itroken Itecord.
"Well, sir, It's a remarkable thing
about my wife. When we were mar
ried 25 years ago she weighed only 1)7
pounds."
"And now she tips the beam at about
180, eh?"
"No; she's as thin as ever."—Chicago
Tlmcs-lierald.
Satisfaction.
"Good thing I made dat rule never
ter leave er house without taklu some
thin wid me."—Types.
Think They I.nok All Itlaht.
She —Men are more conceited about
their looks than women.
He —Prove It.
She —Men always put their hats on
without looking In the glass.—Chicago
Record.
Tlioniclil II Willi n Kllpflnp.
"Didn't attend the banquet last night,
ilid you? (Jlbson gave us a very neat
ly turned panegyric."
"1 didn't know Gibson was »n acro
bat."—Cleveland Plain Dealsr.
A Trncfdr of Mont Blanc.
The story of the destruction of tb*
baths of St Gervais at the foot of
Moot Blanc, fn ISO 2, is told In "The
Annals of Mont Blanc." This was on»
of the calamities that could scarcely
have been predicted or averted.
Owing to the stoppage of the st:li
glacial drainage, in some way never
ascertained, a lake was formed under
the Tete Kousse glacier, in which an
enormous body of water was pent up
at a spot 10.000 feet above the sea lev
el. Between 1 and 2 o'clock on the
night of July 12, ISIG. the ice that had
held the lake gave way.
The water swept in a torrent of tre
\ mendous force over the Desert de
j I'lerrc Ronde, gathering up thousands
of tons of rock and stones in its course.
' It passed with a terrific roar under the
i hamlet of Bionnassay, which It did not
injure, destroyed half the village of
| Rionnay on the highroad between Con-
I famines and St. Gervais and, tearing
I tip trees as it went along, Joined the
main river of the Bon-Naut.
Following the river bed and destroy
. ing on its way the old Pont du Dlable,
it hurled its seething flood of water,
timber, stones and mud upon the solid
buildings of the St. Gervais hrirbs and
crushed them into fragments. Then,
crossing the Chamoulx road, it spread
itself out iu the form of a hideous fan
over the valley of the Arve, destroying
part of the village of Le Fayet in its
| way.
ISueh was the catastrophe of St. Ger
vais which claimed over 150 victims.
Utter ruin was everywhere. The once
: lovely gardens of the baths were five
or six feet deep In mud, fine trees had
been snapped like reeds and enormous
blocks of stone were strewn over the
dreary waste.
She Decided to Remain.
"1 will." she exclaimed. "1 will not
live with you auother day!"
"You leave me, will you?" he calmly
"Yes, 1 will."
"When 7'
"Now—right off—this minute."
"You'll go away 7"
"Yes. sir."
"I wouldn't If I were you."
"Rut 1 will, and 1 defy you to pre
vent me. I have suffered at your hands
as long as I can put up with It."
"Oh. 1 shan't try to stop you," he
quietly replied. "I'll simply report to
the police that my wife has mysteri
ously disappeared. They'll want your
description, and 1 will give It You
wear No. 7 shoes; you have an extra
large mouth; you walk stiff In your
kuees; your nose turns up at the end;
eyes rather on the squint; voice like
a"—
"Wretch! You wouldn't dare do
that!" she screamed.
"I certainly will, and the descrip
tion will go in all the papers."
They glared at each other a moment
In silence. Then It was plain to be
6een he had the dead wood on her.—
Columbus Journal.
Ilia Great Work.
A Chicago man who has written a
book was telling about It the other day
to a friend who had once done him a
service.
"By the way," said the author, "1
would be delighted to give you a copy
of my work. If you care for It"
"1 should be more than pleased to
have It," was the reply, "especially If
you will write your name In It."
"All right. There Is a bookstore
Just arouud the corner. If you will ac
company me, we will go there and get
It I dou't happen to have a copy in
my ofllee Just now."
After they had stopped to glance at
some of the new things In the book
store the author hailed a clerk and,
pushing his chest out very far, asked
for the novel that he had written.
"Yes, sir," the clerk said. "We have
It around here somewhere, I believe,
but you are the first one who has ever
asked for a copy, and It may take me
some time to And It Wouldn't some
thing else do Just as well? We have a
great many better books at the same
price."—Chicago Times-Herald.
Hon- lie Obtained Quiet,
At one of the meetings during Mr.
Moody's services in Kansas City hymn
sheets were distributed by the ushers
Just previous to his address. He was
feeling very tired, and speaking was a
great exertion; so, fearing the noise
that would result should the audience
rustle them, he resolved to get rid of
tlieni. He called out, "Will everybod/
who has a hymn sheet hold It up?"
The sheets were held up all over the
hall. Mr. Moody shouted, "Now shake
them!"
Twelve thousand flimsy sheets of pa
per were shaken vigorously. They
made an Indescribably musical sound.
There Is nothing to compare it with.
One can only say It was a vast rustle.
"That will do," called Mr. Moody at
the top of his voice. The sound ceased.
"All right," said Mr. Moody. "Now Bit
nn those hymn sheets." The audience
»at ou them. Having taken this pre
caution ngalnst Interruption, Mr. Moo
dy began his sermon.
NaniifflDff Mrs. Jones.
"Ix>ok here," said Mr. Jones to the
Aouse agent, "my wife will be calling
today, and I want you to tell her that
that house we have been looking at is
taken."
"But my good sir," protested the
agent, "It Isn't taken."
"It will be then," answered Mr.
Jones. "I am taking It now. Mrs.
Jones can't make up her mind, but
she'll want it directly she thinks she
can't get It"—London Telegraph.
A Knlr Unnecessary,
Tommy—l know now why you wear
only one eyeglass.
His Rig Sister's Beau—Why?
Tommy—Brother Jack says you
ought to see with half an eye that sis
ter doesn't care anything about you.—
Jewelers' Weekly.
A Few Jolt en That Would Male* •
Mlnnntliropc Smile.
Bill—l've beeu to see a palm reader.
Jill—And did you believe what h«
told you?
"Yes, I did. He told me I was too
easy, and then charged me $2."
The Doctor—Why have you sent foi
me?
The Husband—Oh, my wife's mothei
Is feeling bad, and she says she doesn't
rare whether she lives or not.
"I have noticed that men who put up
fake butter are arrested nearly every
day," remarked the observer of events
and things, "but the fellows who are
continually putting up fake tights are
allowed to go free."
Mr. Gotham—There's no city like
New York, after all.
Mr. Church—No; I guess you're right
Most cities have a saloon on every
sixth corner; New York has 'em on
nearly every corner.
Charles—ls your girl opposed to your
smoking?
Clarence—l think she must be. Ev
ery night when I come away from her
house I find two or three broken cigars
In my vest pocket
No.lS