$ OF LOVE DIVINE $ BY KENNCTT F. HARRIS. f (Copyright. 1002, by Dally Story Pub. Co.) lUUUUUUIMUUUUiV 9 There was still the freshness of the dawn in the air. and in the grass and fern that fringed the woodland road along the ridge was studded with glob ules of dew that flashed and sparkled In rainbow tints as the sunlight fell upon them through the trees. A little to one side of the road a girl with brown hair was plucking scarlet and black lilies and throwing them into a basket and a young man with black hair was watching her graceful move ments with obvious'adniiration as lie leaned against the rough barked trunk of a hickory tree. They were both well looking, she in a placid, gentle way and he after the fashion of the southern man of the best type. The girl looked up. "I should think you might help me, now that you are here." she said, reproachfully. "I'd rather look at you." he replied, "and I couldn't do that if I were pick ing flowers. Besides, I want to talk to you." She colored under his ardent gaze, but her eyes met his bravely. "That sounds selfish," she said. " —as if you would rather do what you wish than help me." "There may bo a double meaning in that." he returned, "but I'm not go ing to take it to myself. I'll put you in the wrong—and pick flowers." He knelt in the patch of lilies and began to gather them and she smiled at him gratefully. "And you'll he reasonable in every thing else?" she asked. "It depends upon what you call rea sonable," he replied. "If I thought that you didn't rare for me I'd he as rea sonable as you pleasp. I wouldn't get up at an unholy hour in the morning in spite of orders and wait for you to come out, and then follow you and Inflict my detested presence " "Oh, Dick!" said the girl, "and you know how glad 1 was to see you. But you mustn't. You must be patient." "I think I am," he said, "but why you won't let me go squarely to your father and ask for you I can't think. The war is over now and it oughtn't to take a man more than thirty years to realize it. 1 know that my dear dad made up his mind to that long ago. You'll see him at the Decoration serv ices to-day with a bunch of flags and a basket of flowers and he'll be there because he feels like it." "It's different with him," said the girl. "You don't understand, Dick. They were all secession people where we used to live and it seemed as If they couldn't be unkiiid enough to him, when they found that he was for the union. All his friends deserted him and when he left they destroyed all his property, and all through the war he suffered so much, and he came out of it broken and crippled and altered eo much. They think that he Is soured, and I heard someone say once that he couldn't talk about anything but the war and abuse the South and the Democrats. It wasn't true." "Of course It wasn't," said the youag man, and he added, rather lamely, "He's all right. That's what I say. He's too sensible at heart to have pre judices. You just let me talk to him." He tossed the flowers that he was holding into the basket and took her hands in his. She made no effort to release them, but shook her head sor rowfully. "It would kill him," she said. ££4 He dropped one hand and his arm stole around her waist and she turned her face to his and their lips met In a long kiss. Suddenly she broke away from him. "Oh, you should not have done that." she cried. "It can't be and you must never—we must not meet again, Dick. No." as he moved a step to ward her, "if you do I shall hate you. You should understand. I am all he has and it would be the greatest un happiness of his sad life if he thought that I cared for one of his enemies." "Why, Good Lord!" ejaculated the young man, "I'm no Johnny Reb. I >' ji "I should think that you might help me," she said reproachfully, never fought against the Union. 1 wasn't thought of when the unpleas antness began." "But you know that your father was," she said, "and you know you are a democrat.' He laughed. "I'll vote the republic an ticket from this time forth if that's all the objection." he declared. "Then I wouldn't respect you," she said promptly, aad with a touch of present disdain in her voice. "You're hard to suit, Rachel," he said, his brows drawing together In a frown. "It seems to me as if there was something behind this. It's toa absurd that you should throw me over for such a foolish Idea." ..There was nothing placid in the ex pression of the girl's face now. "You have said enough now," she said, with cold anger. "I'm going home, and I wish to go alone." She picked up her basket and walked hurriedly away, her head high and her whole carriage ex pressive of uncompromising determin ation. Her lover stood looking after her for a moment with the frown in tensified and then turned angrily on his heel and took four or five quick paces In the opposite direction. The Decoration day services in the hall were over and the procession started for the cemetery on the top of the Big Knoll east of town. A long, winding irregular line of buggies, farm wagons and vehicles of every de scription and age preceded by the vil lage band and marshalled by a grey bearded veteran in the uniform of the v %r ;; v \l'll\\\ . ff The irreconcilable Union veteran took the hand and clasped it warmly. Grand Army. In one of the buggies, a very shabby one, sat Rachel, driving a colt whose fiery spirit chafed against the foot pace to which her firm, strong hands 011 the reins compelled him, and by her side, holding the furled post flag, was her father, a bent and with ered little man. "I see that copperhead Pendleton and his boy were at the exercises," he observed to his daughter suddenly. "I think it would look better if they stayed away, but I guess the young fellow wants to make himself solid with the boys until after election. What's the matter with you, Rachel?" "Nothing ut all, father, dear," she said faintly, "unless I got up too early this morning." " 'From the cold ashes of fratricidal strife, of hatred, anger and all un charitableness to a glorious new birth of love divine, a new country, united and undivided forever more,'" he quoted from Barker. "I don't feel any call for glorious love for the men who tried to kill their country. 1 say that if they let us alone we are doing well to lot them alone, without loving them. Yes, they're united and they had bet ter stay united, too. I'd have been a man to-day and not a wreck if it hadn't been for them." "Do you take their part?" he asked in a sudden gust of passion. "No, no," she cried. "I'll hate them, too, for your sake and the sake of your wrongs." "Not hate them, Rachel," said the old man, more gently, "but " The fence of whitewashed pickets that surrounded the little cemetery was reached and people were already tying their horses to it and unflocking towards the gates, bearing their bask ets and armfuls of flowers with them. As Rachel got out young Pendleton approached her, but her look was so cold and repelling that he drew back with a sinking heart. The veterans of the Grand Army, pathetically infirm and crippled, many of them, were forming into line and Rachel turned to her father and was surprised to see that he seemed oblivious of his sur roundings. His gaze was bent thought fully afar and his lips were moving. Rachel drew closer to him and caught the words "hatred, anger and all un charitableness," and again, "of love divine." Then one of his comrades called to him and he limped painfully to his place and unfurled the flag. The address at the Soldiers' Monu ment concluded, the people dispersed to lay their flowers on the graves. It had been another of those addresses that Rachel's father had always styled "mushy"—full of the "forgiveness, concord, one country and one flag" talk, but somehow the veUvan, lean ing on his daughter's arm and mov ing from one grassy mound to another with the flowers that she carried, did not feel so genuinely indignant as usual because of this, and, presently turning aside, he took from the basket a wreatli of white field lilies and, leav ing Rachel, walked over to a grave be side which uu old man was kneeling with bent head, and laid it beside an other wreath that lay there below the headstone that bore the name of Jared Roberts, th Virginia cavalry, C. S. A. The man looked up. It was "thfi copperhead Pendleton." "Thanks, comrade," said the ex-Con federate, simply, holding out his hand. And the Irreconcilable Union veteran took the hand and clasped it warmly. At the same moment Rachel felt a touch on her shoulder and, turning, met Dick's triumphant smile. It was a long time before the two old men finished their talk; in fact, they were still talking when Rachel came and silently stood beside them. Dick stood a little aloof. "Father," said Rachel. H* emlled at her a little shamefaced ly and then at hfs new friend. "It's as I was saying. Rachel," he said. "There's no call to hate. Hate's n bad thing after all, and Barker was right. 'Love divine,' that's it. Love divine." And Its divinity Dick and Rachel knew as they looked into each other's eyes at that parting. ONE POINT HE HAD_ OVERLOOKED C'ftpltallitt Points Out tli a Defect In Inventor's Scheme. A great many curious inventions are recorded at the patent office, and a great many others that the public never hears of are "sidetracked" on the way there. A brisk, eager indi vidual called on a capitalist for the purpose of interesting hiiu in a device for discouraging burglars. "I want to get the idea patented." he said, "and I haven't the money. I'm willing to go halves with any man that will give me the financial backing. My scheme is this: You first make all your doors and windows secure, so they can't be opened at all from the outside—make all of them tight and fast, except one—there are plenty of devices for doing that nowadays make all of them tight and fact, except one. Leave that one so it will open easily. Then run a wire from that window to the head of your bed, where you have an alarm bell. The burglar comes along, tries the doors and windows, and when he comes to tuat one hp raises it. The alarm goes off and the burglar hoas it and flees, or it wakes you up. and you are ready for him. In cither case it accom plishes your purpose." "But," said the capitalist, "if you can make all the doors and windows fast except one, why not make that one se cure, too, and thus keep the burglar out entirely?" "I never thought of that!" replied the inventor, rubbing his jaw. Kducnllon for Hangmen. England has a school for the edu cation of hangmen. This latest ad junct to civilization in Great Britain was established as the result of bungling work by executioners during the last few months. The work of a hangman is light and the pay high, so there are already a number of pupils at the school which is in London. A session there is an interesting sight. One of the pupils acts as the subject, the attendants taking turns playing the role of the condemned. Hanging consists not merely in placing a man over a trap door and launching him into space by releasing a bolt. There are various nice preliminaries to be gone through. First the condemned must be ar tistically pinioned. Then he must be supported on his way to the scaf fold in order to avoid painful scenes. After that there is the rope to be ad justed quickly and without fumbling, in order that the agony may not be prolonged on the scaffold. The rope must be strong enough to bear the weight of the condemned, but not so thick as to slowly choke the con demned to death. Particularly Oat. The old colored man had grown gray in service. He had almost be come the custodian of the family se crets, as he was of the family silver. The married daughter, who lived in a distant town, had come home for a visit. Callers were coming all day long, and old Pompey was kept busy opening the door and receiving the visitors. One bright morning the ladies of the family went out for a drive. Just after they left the bell rang, and Pom pey recognized in the caller a former dear girl friend of bis young married mistress. "Are the ladies in, Pompey?" said the young lady. "No, ma'am, they'se all out, ma'am," responded the old retainer. "I am so sorry 1 missed them," re plied the visitor, handing in her card. "1 particularly wanted to see Mrs. Bell." "Yes, ma'am, thank ye ma'am. They'se all out, ma'am and Mrs. Bell is particularly out, ma'am," was the reply that greeted her hearing as the visitor opened the gate and the front door closed. Had It All Fixed. A political orator addressed a club of Italian voters in English and to his surprise and satisfaction his listeners paid strict attention and applauded at the proper places, shouting "Viva!" and "Bravo!" repeatedly. At the con clusion of his speech the orator took his scat beside the chairman. He whispered that he was delighted with his reception and had never spoken to a more intelligent audience. "Ha-ah!" replied the chairman; "me fix all-a dat. Mo hoi up one-a finga, evra man say a 'Hurrah!' Me hoi' up two-a finga, evra man say-a 'Viva!' Me hoi up t'ree-a finga, evera man say 'Bravo!' Me hol' up whole-a hand, evra man say-a 'Hiyi!' lik one great yell. Me fix all-a dat." Oualiit Auctioneering Method. The inhabitants of a village in Sur- I rey, England, recently witnessed a quaint mediaeval survival in the sale by auction of a local meadow. Long ago, when the world was not so busy as it is to-day, the landlord of the "white brown meadow" at Bourne j bequeathed the meadow subject to an auction sale which every now and again adds to the gayety of this rural | population. At each bid a boy. sets out to run to a given point and the "white brown meadow" is let to the bidder whose offer is unchallenged when the last hoy returns. There is probably more real enjoy ment in a Chicago kiss than there is in a Boston lnterlabial combusion.— Chicago Daily News. •'PURTY GOOD." Success is coinin' kind o' slow; Luck never balked my game, 1 hoped for it some years ago; Somehow it never came. 1 git 'mosl all the ills that fly Around the neighborhood; But otherwise J can't deny I'm doin' purty good. 3 must admit a certain pride When countin' up the score. No tunnel, nor no trolley ride Has left nie smashed an' sore. The gold brick an' the bunco game As yet 1 have withstood. I've made no hit, but, jes* the same, I'm doin' purty good. —Washington Star. Mr. Marko—"How are lisli biting, sonny?" Tommy Bobs—"Same as us ual. sir—with their uiouths."—L'liiladel pliia Record. "So you're iu society?" "Yes." "In real society?" "Yes." "Way-tip soci ety?" "Yes." "Does society know it?"— Chicago Post. At a meeting of engine-drivers the following toast was offered: "To our mothers—the only faithful tenders who never misplaced a switch."—Tit-Bits. Lots of men would leave their footprints Times eternal sands to grace, Had they gotten mother's .slipper At the proper time and place. -New York Sun. "If some folks could be as eloquent in lookin' foh work," said Uncle Eben, "as dey is in kickln' 'bout deir luck, 1 reckons dey'd git a job."—Washing ton Star. "No man," said the large waisted philosopher, "will ever succeed in poli tics if he says everything he thinks; or thinks everything he says."—ln dianapolis News. Short—"lf I had as much money as j'ou have I wouldn't be so blamed stingy with it." Long—"My dear boy, that is the very' reason you never have it."—Chicago News. "The Blowletts seem to be very much cut up over their uncle's death." "Yes. 1 believe they're about lifty thousand dollars more sorry than they expected to be."—Brooklyn Life. A floorwalker, pacing his aisle. in a day covered many a maisle. "How rarely," quoth he, "Is it granted to see A man of my ligurc and ataisle!" —Puck. "Have you ever written anything that you were ashamed of?" inquired the the severe relative. ""No," an swered the author. "But I hope to some day. I need the money."—Wash ing'! on Star. ' That new neighbor of ours must .be a very wasteful woman," lie com mented. "Why?" she asked. "Be cause,'' he replied, "she's throwing that voice of her's all about the neighbor hood instead of saving it up l'or use as a file."—Chicago Post. "Can't somebody part them?" ex claimed one of the horrified bystand ers. "Part them Y Not much!" said the man who was nearest to the scene of excitement. "Stand hack and let them fight it out. One's an encyclopedia canvasser and the other's a map ped dler."—Chicago Tribune. Ascuni—"Your husband appears to be a man of—er—great self-control." Mrs. Strongmind—"Yes." Ascuui—"l suppose he inherited that trait from his father, who was so famous." Mrs. Strongmind (significantly)—^"NO. It's a virtue lie acquired since lbs mar riage."—Philadelphia Press. SmiKpotH iintl Kurtliquakpß. Sir Norman Lockyer points out that ilie disenstern in Martinique and St. Vincent occurred at "a well-defined sun-spot minimum," and, research hav ing shown "beyond question that the most disastrous volcanic eruptions and earthquakes generally occur, like the rain pulses iu India, round the dates of the sunspot minimum and maximum," lie is inclined to accept the theory, first advanced fifty 'years ago, that there is a connection between solar and seismic activity. One would per haps expect the neighboring moon to produce a more marked effect upon the earth's surface than the vaster but more distant sun, and, as a matter of fact, at tlie beginning of the second week in May, when St. Pierre was overwhelmed, the moon was in the best, possible position relatively to sun and earth to make her tidal influence felt. But there are other forces in the universe besides that of gravity, though they are not so clearly understood. It is known, for instance, that sunspot periods have an undoubted connection with Indian rains and Arctic aurorae, and it would be rash to deny that tlie sympathy between sun and planet is more than skin deep.—London Graphic. The lied Hunting Coat. The origin of the reil coat is a mys tery. There is a story told "that one of the early Henrys was so enamored with the sport of fox hunting as to ordain it to be a royal sport, and the red coat was worn in consequence." This, however, has been pointed at as absurd, us iu those days scarlet was not a royal livery at all. One thing there can be no doubt about, and that is that the scarlet coat is very popular for those who hunt regularly. And it must be confessed that it adds pietur egqueness to the scene. The quustiou of color seems to lie very much a mat ter of taste; it is looked upon as an indication of social position. Iu the abstract any one can doti the pink, if so desired, but It is considered out of laste for anyone to adopt that color ; lie does not liberally subscribe to the tilt fund. The black coat is con e-red to cotne next iu social position, ii the ordinary mufti gdrment for -e whose subscription is very small feed.—Tailor and .Cutter, swmmmmmmmmmmfflHmmmmmwmmmmmmK I GAYETIES OF PARIS 1 3B The extraordinary annual fete of the Quat'z-Arts ball in Paris was or ganized, for the first time, in 1593, by students of the four divisions of the national art school of the Beaux Arts —that is, painting, sculpture, engrav ing and architecture—whence its title of "Quat'z-Arts," the Philistine mis pronunciation of quatre arts, the four arts. Its ideal is a great spectacular show, all in movement, all artistic in a high sense, and for the eyes only of those who take part in it. This is the thesis of the Quat'z-Arts ball's de fenders, and there are great names among them. It is the studio enlarged a thousand times. In the conclave pass nude-tor soed Roman gladiators, slaves loaded down with chains; enormous blood smeared sacriflcers; sullen Gaulish chieftains leading fair-haired drooping victims; prehistoric girls, their bare waists girded with strung tiger claws, imperious Cleopatras gleaming in transparent draperies; Aspasias, all rosy in white blossoms. The costumes, and the lack of them where there is lack, are those of painters' masterpieces. Not only tourists and stray sight seers, hut the great ones of high so ciety in Paris, have pleaded In vain for admission to the Quat'z-Artß ball year alter year. Curious tries are told of art-worshipping Philistines and their ardor to obtain admission. One such (an American, the representative of a great commercial enterprise) cos tumed himself (bribed an assistant and sat for six hours in a darlt ;loset uff the Moulin Rouge hall, to be let out and Into the fete at the proper mo ment. Another (this an englishman A STBANOS MllirNa OF BLOCK AND LAOOBTJJI. of title), having bribed his way in at the price of a year's living for some needy student, only saved himself from prompt ejection by a supplement ary offer or such magnitude that Latin Quarter nerve could not withstand it. The sum was put to a noble use. In particular the Bal de l'internat of 1883 and, again, that of 1901, will live long iu the annals of the Latin Quar ter. According to one enthusiastic ar tist, the Quat'z-Arts ball has never reached the artistic heights it ought to attain, because the majority of its supporters will not permit the fete to be severely regulated, all its cos umes defined In advance, and Indi vidual fancy made subservient to the ensemble. Just as the Quat'z-Arts balls are aeld invariably at the great dar.ee nd promenade establishment of the Moulin Rouge, so the Internat balls take place at the historic students' rendezvous, the Bullier Ball, once railed La Closerie des Lilas, "The Lilac-Close." The Immense nave of ■he old hall, unchanged since the days ivhen Oliver Wendell Holmes danced In it as a gay young medico, saw one by one the orderly corteges pass and oreak up. At one end a Greek temple of true classical correctness raised Its pillars; and It was to this temple that the "Greek cortege" of Bellery Des- Fontaines proceeded. It is the mingling of the sadness and the joy-of life that has for the last five or six years given their pe culiar character to all these artistic fetes. No one, excepting the Gavarni Ball, has been without it. This spring's Quat'z-Arts triumph was the "Car of ACTIVITY. Human Butchery," although the "Car Df the Phoenician Bull" Won the first prize for beauty. In the "Triumph of Messallna" It was said that no Parisian theater had ever yet arrived at such a figuration. The third effort waß the "Roman Orgy." In it tlie fair heroines had easier poses. Sprawling on rich stuffs and tiger skins, in the perfumed haze of burning incense, they seemed to sleep on in immense contentment just as they had fallen. "The world is ours!" howled Latin Quarter voices. But who are these funereal folk, alone in black evening dress clothes, with crepe hanging dismally from their high silk hats? They look like undertakers, and they bear a coffin. The nice girls who walk beside them are draped in black gauze and wear long black silk stockings! Two lugu brious undertakers bear an immense funeral wreath; and its inscription tells the story. "To their colleagues who sleep peacefully, the survivors of the Hotel Dieu hospital!" says the inscription. And the tale is the tale of one great hospital that could not make a show ing worthy of itself because of the indifference of the majority. The splendid spectacle of a great fete with everyone in costume was there; the distinction of a rigidly se lected list of spectators was there; and the privilege of rubbing shoulders with distinguished artists and 110 less distinguished models was there also and amply. Gavarni, as the world knows now, was a designer, who caught Paris life with a light pencil in the days of Louis Philippe. In his day he enjoyed enormous vogue, then lived his later life amid the almost complete indifference of his contem poraries. To-day ho is looked upon: as the precious mirror of the gayety and pathos of romanticism; and it was' to raise money to erect a statue to him that the admission tickets to this fete were sold at 40 francs ($8). For these reasons, if for no others, a good section of Parisian high life dressed itself in Louis Philippe cos tumes, paid its money and for one night frankly revelled amid students, artists and Bohemians, as in the leg endary uays of the good old French gayety. Models, actresses and leaders of society romped as they are said to have romped at the Opera balls of the days of Gavarni. Indeed, the "Car of the Opera Ball" had the honor to bear Gavarni's bust upon it; while another large float, with a sleeping beauty of the epoca sprawling in the abandon which revived the souvenir of MUCH 97TAI.L BE PARDONED HER, DF.CAUBIS BUD UATII DANCED MUCH. "Sarah Brown" and 1893 and entitled "Much Will Be Pardoned Her Because She Has Danced Mucn!" was made the central figure of the great pro cession. True Philanthropy. Few men are better known In the down-town district of New York than James Reilly, the man who is almost an exact counterpart of the late Gen. Grant. Mr. Kellly was long connected with a leading navigation company and is very wealthy. He is now ar ranging to buy three hearses, which will be for the free use of the funer als of poor persons, "for," says he, "nothing so enrages me as to hear of an undertaker grabbing the last penny of a poor woman for the burial of her husband or child." A Good Definition. Ernest Ingersoll is as quick at re partee as he is keen in his observation of nature. It happened some time ago that his daughter asked him a ques tion concerning the difference be tween essential and fixed oils. He ex plained at some length. "Well." sai.l she, "to which class does skunk's oil belong?" "To both," was the prompt rejoin der. "Its essential to the skunk and fixed on the man." Missed the Whiskers. Representative Babeock of Wiscon sin shaved off his luxuriant black beard the other morning and the door keepers ret'usca to admit him to the floor of the house until he had been Identified. Mr. Babcock had not been shaved before in fifteen years and .* s no walked down the aisle toward hia scat the members looked searchlngly at him. many failing to recognize their colleague oecause of the absence ot Us whiskers.
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