New York dispatch. [volume], November 14, 1886, Page 6, Image 6

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

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6
IF THIS WERE SO.
BY KATE MELLERSH.'
Oh, love, if I could see yon standing hsre,
I, to whom the memory of scone—
Thia lane, tree«anadowed, with the Summer’s light
Palling in golden showers, the boughs between,
Upon your upturned face—shines out as clear,.
Against the background dark of many a year,
As yon lor solitary starlet bright
Gleams on the storm-clad bosom of the night.
If this were so- if you should come to me
With your calm, angel face framed in with gold.
And lay your hand in mine as long ago
You laid it coldly, would the love untold
Hidden within ny heart, set my lips free
Ta speak of it an I know the certainty
Of .ove crowned or rejected—yea or no?
Ob, ?ovo, I could not speak if this were so.
iu.o if yon camo to meet mo in the lane
With footsteps swifter than you used 01 yore—
And if your oy< sgre . brighter, dear, as though
't hey gladdened at my coming back onco more—
If, when I held your little hand again,
Your calmness grow less still, then not in vain
Aly heart would strive to speak, for it would know
What words to utter, love, if this were so!
el¥Te.
BY FLORENCE REVERE LENPAB.
A blustering March wind was sweeping up
tho broad carriage drive that led to Judge
Vano’s handsome place, which was situated on
the outskirts of the pretty village of My/tleton.
In vain the wind tore wildly at the well-barred
shutters and sought to uproot from its clinging
hold the ivy that clustered so thickly about the
old-fashioned porch in one ell of the house.
Then, as it in anger at its non-success, it would
take itself •oil with a howl, only to soon return
to renew its efforts with redoubled force.
Judge Vane was of English parentage but born
and brought up in the States, and the “ Hall,”
as his place was named, was more like, in its
■architecture and furnishings, an English gentle
man’s residence, than an American’s.
The west drawing-room, with its lofty carved
ceiling, held but one occupant this night. A
woman—yes, a woman, by right of the gold
band that glistened in the firelight, as her baby
fingers toyed with a fold of hex* rich dress,
which seemed by reason of its very costliness
to make her appear even younger than she was,
seventeen years all told. Such a child as she
looked sitting there on the soft fur rug, before
the blazing logs’ gonial warmth. An attempt
had been made to confine the lady's pretty
auburn locks by a comb, but from the coil of
hairtthat she had taken such pains to coax into
straightness, stray little tendrils had rebel
liously crept forth, while coquettish rings as
serted their right to curl as much as they
pleased about her white neck and broad fore
head. As she raised her dark lashes, that were
wet as if with recent tears, a wistful look gath
ered in the cloar depths of her dark blue eyes.
Only three months before she had been one
among a merry set of boys and girls. She was
thinking of them this night. Even her aunt’s
shabby parlor, with its cheap ornaments and
dilapidated hair-cloth furniture, was glorified
in her eyes—by distance. But the old nursery
—should she over forget it? A smile hovered
around her pretty lips - as she thought of the
good times they bad had there, despite the car
petloss floor, tattooed with many an inkstain
and the ba-ttored chairs and tables that the boys
had hacked and hewn at until hardly a vestige
of their original appearance remained. She
wondered what they were all doing and if they
missed her very much. A little child of seven,
■be had coma to dwell with the Caswells, her
mother’s death leaving her an orphan, her
father having died when she was a baby. Mrs.
Caswell was her mother’s sister, but as unlike
the gentle mother she could remember as a
hollyhock to a lily. Mr. Caswell was a man
Bompletely absorbed in his business. Home, to
4iim, was merely a place to sleep and snatch a
hasty breakfast in order to catch hie train ; for
meals were never punctual in that irregular
•household. As far as Elsie was concerned, she
fared exactly the same as the rest of the family,
while among her young cousins she had reigned
tupreme.
Elsie’s thoughts drifted back to the first
evening the judge took tea with them. She
blushed as she recollected how lhe young folks
had trooped noisily down to the tea-table
with untidy heads, inky fingers, and shor hor
■elf with a large winkle-hawk in her apron,
carelessly cobbled together with black thread,
that being the handiest she could find at that
moment. Then there came the afternoon that
the judge dropped into the nursery and caught
them roasting apples, and in such a mess. Al
ter that his visits grew pretty frequent, until
they became so used to seeing him round, that
it was almost the same as if be were not there.
The boys had taken wonderfully t<> him, calling
him among themselves “ a jolly old brick,” m
part, perhaps, owing to the increase of their
pocket money since the judge’s advent, hut
more really due to the funny stories he could
tell and the happy knack he had of making him
self one with them. At last there was thejday
when her parent gravely announced that the
judge had proposed for her hand. If the earth
had opened and dropped Elsie through into
China she would not have been more dumb
founded.
“ Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Caswell, “your
■uncle and myself are very much pleased. ’Just
the thing for you; no danger of the judge run
ning wild at his time of life, and mak
ing ducks and drakes of everything. I am
sure, my dear, you couldn’t do better, and such
a help as it will be to Hattie and Mary and the
boys. You shall do just as you please, the
judge says. Such a lovely place as he has, too,
and no end of money. When I see you Mrs.
Judge Vane, I shall feel as if I had done my
duty by you, child, and can meet your poor
dear nfa in heaven with a clear conscience.”
How Elsie escaped to tho nursery she never
remembered, but the nows had preceded her,
and her reappearance was greeted with awed
■ilence, till, with a burst of tears, she ex
claimed:
“ If y u are going to treat me like this, I’ll
never get married, or do anything for you I”
The Summer drew to a close and Elsie found
that the weeks the judge was forced to be away
passed rather slowly, and there was a glad,
happy feeling at her heart when she heard his
well known step echoing through the halls in
search of her. In December they were mar
ried, and Elsie camo to dwell in her new home.
As the wind rattled violently at the shutters,
then went sobbing off like some lost spirit in
distress, Elsie shivered slightly and glanced
nervously about her. With a little sigh her eyes
sought the clock, tho bands of which trembled
at nine. The candelabra wore all alight, yet
either end oi the long room seemed given over
to gloom. Queer shadows loomed up from
odd corners, and quaint looking cabinets re
flected grotesque forms in their polished sur
faces. To Ehie this room was full of strange
shapes. It always awed and silenced her. The
heavy damask curtains that shrouded the win
dows, thesoffvelveti ilethoof carpet that never
gave forth the sound of one’s footsteps. What
mattered it to her that these ancient cabinets,
with dragons’ heads and loathsome reptiles
carved upon them, were priceless; that the
huge, hideous vases and spindle leg tables
were valuable heirlooms. It was all dull and
horrid. She had rather have lived in the shab
by old nursery, with its bare, curtainless win
dows, for there at least tho glorious sun was
free to come and go as it list.
Two weeks before my story opened, Judge
Vane had been called away from home on im
portant business, and the Hall had grown day
by day grander and duller to Elsie. Some
times our heroine felt as if she should like to
■cream out at the top of her young lungs, just
to see if she had forgotten how ; but one glance
at Lady Vane’s calm, cold face, and Elsie’s
healthful blood seemed to freeze in her veins.
For many years, Judge Vane’s mother had
borne the title of “my lady ;” not that she had
any legal right to it, only, like many another
thing that originates from we know not what, it
had become the established form of
her. So accustomed was the old laay to hear
herself thus called, that she had grown to really
believe in her claim to count herself as belong
ing to the nobility, but there was nothing o!
what we Americans call upishnesa about her.
Lady Vane was always the lady; only for her
the world contained but two things—her son and
England ; to all else she appeared cold and in
different. Her son’s wife was a source of great
thought to Lady Vane. She had her idea oi
what /.is wife ought to be, and was trying to
form our heroine upon that model, and had
succeeded in making Elsie—miserable. She
would have chosen very differently for her son ;
but in one thing mother and son were alike
strong determination of character. Lady Vane
knew she might as well try to uproot an oak
with her hands, as to seek to change her son’s
mind when he had said :
“ Mother, I. love Elsie, and she is to be my
Wife,”
As tho silken rustle of a woman’s dress made
itself heard at the drawing-room door, Elsie,
with a nervous start, scrambled up frois the
rpg, and, seatin" herself fieffiufO’y upon a
chMr, cbfimencea (o embroider diligently upon
a piece of crewel work. The door opened, and
a lady entered the room. Somehow, one always
thought of some rare piece oi Dresden china
when one looked upon Lady Vane. There was
something so delicate and exquisite about her
linely-cut features. Many a young girl envied
her that shell-like bloom in her still-'air cheeks,
and the superb teeth that the hand of time had
tailed to touch. Wrinkles there were, but so
lightly traced, that they appeared almost invisi
ble. Her hair, white as snow, but soft, silky
and abundant. Lady Vane had never been
know to be caught e/i desliabihe, Callers might
come at any time : she was always prepared to
leceivo them. This night, although there had
be< n no one but Elsie and herself to eat the
solemn dinner, served with as much state as if
there had been twenty instead of only two
lonely women, she wore an elegant purple
moire antique, trimmed with costly lace; the
game priceless lace in the form of a lichu
graced her dainty head, while rare jewels
sparkled in her ears, at her throat, and on each
tapering finger. Small and childlike as Elsie
was, she could look down on Lady Vane’s
tiny figure.
“My dear, I think we had better retire. My
■on will not come to-night; he knows that I do
not like the Louse disturbed after nine.” Then,
glancing with evident approval at Elsie’s heavy
■ilk, Lady Vane added: “ 1 see you have adopt
ed mv advice. Such a dress is befitting the
wife of Judge Vane.” Here, as Elsie stepped
forward into the light and Lady Vane caught
sight of tho willful locks, she exclaimed, her
graceful hands clasping one another: “But your
coiffure is shocking 1 You really must let Lu
cille attend to it.”
“ I assure you, Lady Vane,” answered Elsie,
while tho color deepened in her cheeks, “ I
took ever so much pains with it, but it - won t
stay straight. Nurse used to say it was going
against nature to try and got the kink onto it.’
“Yes, no doui t, a very estimable person,
your nurse; but we will try Lucille. £Good
night, my dear.”
•Stooping, Elsie touched her lipa to Lady
Vane's cheek—the salutation she knew her
mother-in-law expected of her. Lady Vane
had never kissed Elsie; not that she disliked
our heroine, but she was no hypocrite, and
where she had no love 10 bestow she did not
counterfeit it.
When Elsie reached, her own rooms the hot
tears were falling fast.
“ How can I help my hair ?she exclaimed,
passionately, adding, “I hate the place, the
stiff, prim dinrera and tills horrid dress 1”—
giving a kick with her little foot at the rich
folds of silk that swept the floor lengths behind
her. Then, glancing around at her pretty,
bright suite of rooms, every article in which
had been chosen by her husband, she mur
mured, repentantly, “No, I don’t quite mean
al that.”
How well he must love her, she thought, to
have found out just what she liked. Not that
she had over realized before that there were
these beautiful, costly things in the world, that
he had gathered together and strewn with such
a lavish hand and good taste throughout the
apartments that were exclusively her own. Yet
they seemed a part of her and she of them.
Had she then understood the depth of Lionel
Vane’s passionate.love for her, that made it so
easy for him to read her slightest wish, perhap*
she would have acted differently, and a world
of anguish might have been spared to the noble
heart that beat for her so fondly.
Elsie hastily changed the despised silk for a
short woolen dress, and taking a rich, sable
lined cloak from a wardrobe—another of her
husband’s thoughtful gilts—laid it across the
arm of a chair.
Judge Vane would have willingly provided
his wife with a maid, but she had looked so
frightened at the very idea and begged he
would not, that, as he laughingly kissed her,
he promised that in that, as in everything else,
it should be as she pleased.
Drawing a folded scrap of paper from her
bosom, Elsie glanced hurriedly at it, murmur
ing, as she returned it to its hiding-place:
“My poor, dear Dick I Ido love you, and I
will see you ! Nothing shall keep us apart 1”
Strange words for a wife.
The hands of the little French clock on the
dressing-table moved very slowly to the eyes oi
our heroine, watching them. It wanted some
few minutes of ten, when, enveloping herself in
the fur wrap, she crept softly out into the hall.
Cautiously she went down the long flight of
stairs and made her way to a door which opened
into the porch I have already alluded to.
The bolt creaked as she slipped it back from
its fastening, and Elsie held her breath and lis
tened; but everything was quiet. The next mo
ment she was hurrying along the path, keeping,
however, well in the shade of the trees. As she
turned a bend, a young man sprang forward
and caught her in his arms, exclaiming:
“At last! I was afraid you would not come.”
“Oh ! Dick, you might know I would—any
way,” was the answer, followed by the words:
“ How could I help it ?”
“My poor, little Elsie, if things had only
happened different you and I might have been
so happy together,” was the young man’s reply,
as he gently kissed her upturned lips, theu’ad
ded, somewhat bitterly, “ but I am a miserable
exile, with hardly a cent to my name. A pretty
fellow I’d be for you to throw your fortunes in
with.”
“ Don’t, Dick,” and Elsie’s little hand was
laid lovingly upon her companion’s arm, while
she answered:
“ You know I love you dearly Dick, but I am
a married woman now ”
“ And so I am to be left out in the cold,” in
terrupted the young fellow, as ho turned half
angrily from her, continuing with: “ Riches and
luxuries for you, empty pockets and scorn for
me. But women are all alike. It is easv tor
them to be off with an old love and on with a
new, especially if the newcomer’s purse is well
fined with the needful. ’
“ Dick ! how can you. Yon know it is not
true. I love you just the same,” sobbed out
Elsie.
“Forgive me,'Elsie, I don’t think I know
what lam saying. lam almost mad betwixt
everything at times.” Then with his arm around
her, they paced slowly up and down the walk
talking in low, earnest tones.
That night, when Elsie stole like a culprit
back into the great, silent house, she was not
tho only woman who had been abroad. While
Elsie s'ept, a smile on her half parted lips, an
other inmate of the Hall walked the floor, back
and forth, the livelong night, and for the first
time in the recollection of any of the servants,
Lady Vane was too indisposed to appear at the
breakfast table. Lucille, the maid, reported
that her mistress was suffering from a severe
headache and desired not to be disturbed, so
Elsie’s kind offer, of doing what she could,
being thus decidedly refused, she consoled her
self with a long ramble in the woods.
It was the evening of the next day, and Lady
Vane sat alone in her own apartment. Except
for being deadly pale, there was nothing about
her to indicate that she had not slept for two
nights. A quick knock at her door and her son
stood by her side. Before she could speak, he
exclaimed:
“You see, I have come as you bid, mother,
stealing into my own house like a thief. Had 1
not known that you would never have advised
me to return in such a manner without some
good cause, I should have hesitated about com
plying with your request. ’
Lady Vane arose and laying her hands, which
trembled slightly, upon her son’s broad shoul
ders, murmured caressingly:
“Lionel ” somehow her task was more
difficult than she expected :
“Mother?” then catching sight of Lady
Vane’s white face, he added, quickly: “My
God ! it is not Elsie ! She is not ill—and you
keeping mo hero!”
Something in the passionate love of his tones
aroused the jealousy of tho mother, and she
answered bitterly :
“No, not ill, but it were better for you if she
were dead. Better dead, than false, Lionel
Vane. For a moment mother and son laced
each other, then he cried out fiercely :
“It’s a 1 ” following quickly with the
words : “My God ! what am I saying ? Your
pardon, mother; but you musZ not say such
things to me!”
“ Must not, ah I but I will ” came the proud
answer, “when they are true, Your wife is
false to you. I saw her night before last in tho
arms of a man whom she went out to meet in
your grounds. Hoard her tell him that she
loved him ; that she would meet him again
to-night.”
“Mother!” and each sentence fell hoarsely
'rom Judge Vane’s white lips as he added :
“ Do you know that you words are eating out
myheart. I cannot, I icz'ZZ not believe it I”
With a proud gesture Lady Vane answered :
“If my son is not satisfied that 1, his mother,
speak the truth, let him make one at this ap
pointment ; it wants but a few moments of the
hour. He will find what he seeks in the Willow
Walk.”
“If this be true, my life ends fo-night,” so
saying Lionel Vane turned and loft the mother,
who as tho door closed upon him, cried out im
ploringly. My son, my son I” She essayed to
follow, but her limbs refused to move and she
sank helpless upon a chair. For the first time
in her life Lady Vane waa frightened at what
she had done.
Judge Vane scarcely knowing what he did
hastened in the direction of the Willow Walk.
Some minutes later, reeling like a drunken
man, with the stamp like unto death upon his
face he staggered back into the house. His
wife, the woman he had loved better than his
life, he had seen clasped unresistingly in the
arms of another; seen her return his’ kisses.
Fighting with his despair Lionel Vane watched
for his wife’s return. Not long had he to wait
for the light footfall he loved so well. A sup
pressed cry then Elsie exclaimed:
“ Why, Judge ! When did you get back ?”
As ho turned his face toward her, she added
wonderingly : “ What makes you look so? Are
you ill?” and she placed her hand somewhat
timidly upon his arm. Gently removing it he
answered:
“No, child, I am not il], and am not likely to
die ; would to God I could !”
Half frightened at the vehemence of his tones
Elsie shrank aside, as he continued with :
“ Elsie, when I married you I did you a great
wrong, but my love made me blind. I ought to
have known that such a child could not love a
man twenty years her elder. I did not expect
much at first, but I thought, she is heartwhole
and—and my deep lave must surely win a little
return. I should have remembered that love
goes where it is sent, you cannot force it. When
1 saw you to-night, Elsie, giving the love that
should be mine to another, for a second I could
have killed him I”
“No I no!” came with a pitiful wail from
Elsie.
“ Have no fear,” answered Lionel Vano some
what bitterly. “ I shall never harm him. My
sin is the greater for having been tho means of
separating you. but 1 will atone to tho'best of
my power. To-night I go away and in a few
days I shall have left America never to return.
Vessels are lost sometimes, perhaps-Mvho
knows, before another year you may be free.”
Sinking on her knees, Elsie sobbed out:
“Oh 1 no, it is I who will go away. Oh I
cannot you forgive me. I can’t help loving
him, and—and I promised I would always. I
wanted to tell you all about it, but I was
afraid, and I have only met him twice since I
came here. I couldn’t retuse him that, when
he was going so far away.”
Gently raising her from the floor, he an
swered :
“ Elsie, I am going away, because I think you
will be the happier without mo, not because 1
believe you guilty of any criminal wrong-do
ing. God forbid that 1” Then, as if impelled
by an influence stronger than himself, he
snatched her to him, kissing her passionately.
At last, hurriedly, as if not daring to trust him
self, he unclasped tho white arms that clung to
him, as they had never done before, and left
her. Elsie, with a faint cry, staggered forward
to fall in a dead swoon upon the floor.
Before another day dawned the young wife
was tossing to and fro in tho delirium ot fever.
The doctor looked grave and suggested that
the judge should be sent for, it being quite a
serious case, patient sadly run down, etc.
Lady Vane felt something akin to pity as she
listened to Elsie’s pitiful wail for her husband,
“ that he would come back, that he would not
leave her,” and noted, too, how slender the
child, had grown since she came to the Hall.
She had chosen to watch with Elsie alone.
Once during the night words dropped Horn the
NEW YORK DISPATCH, NOVEMBER 14, 1886.
, I sick wife’s lips that caused Lady Vane to start
; as she exclaimed:
: I “If Z/iere s/icm dbe any truth in this ! What
; ; have I done—what have 1 done?” then she lis
tened earnestly to catch the meaning of each
> stray syllable; but they were all so incoherent—
I so wild.
The next mernin ; a telegram was dispatched
summoning Mrs. Caswell to the Hall. On her
• arrival, Lady Vano and her guest were closeted
i together for some little while, at the expiration
i of which another telegram leit the Hall bearing
tho words:
; “Come back. Elsie is ill. It is all a mis
take,” and as Lady Vane signed her name to
> it, her trembling bps murmured:
“ Pray God that it reaches him in time.”
Two sorrowing women now shared the care of
Elsie and anxiously awaited the coming of
Lionel Vano. Two days, that seemed like
months to Laly Vane, passed, and still her
son had not arrived. The third day was al
most spent, when haggard and traveled-stained
Judge Vane, hurrying past his mother s out
stretched hand, with tho one word, “ Elsie,”
sought tho room wheiw his wife Jay hovering
between life and death. Lady Vano’s proud
lips quivered slightly as she cried, longingly:
“ Will he ever forgive me? Ob, my son 1 my
son I” while Lionel, scarcely conscious of his
actions, had but one thought—e, < w/fe.
Bitterly he reproached himself for having left
her, for harboring a doubt of her for an instant,
even though his own eyes had borne evidence
against her. It seemed almost a sin toward his
wife to hear Mrs. Caswell’s explanation concern
ing Elsie's brother Dick, who had been adopted
by another family at tho same time they took
Elsie home, and had turned out rather wild,
had been accused of appropriating some of his
employer’s money, although he denied it and
was acquitted—the evidence not being strong
enough against him.
“ I forbid him,” continued Mrs. Caswell, “ to
enter my house on account ot the children, but
1 knew that Elsie was in the habit of meeting
him in secret and sharing the best half of her
pocket-money with him. When she married I
thought it best to say nothing about it, as I
knew Dick meant to leave the country ; but if I
had dreamed how things would turn out, why
I should have spoken long before. Really, to
tell the truth, I didn’t think much about him.”
Out of politeness Judge Vano listened, while
his heart kept repeating, “ My poor darling!
my wronged Elsie!” Had he not heard her in
her delirium begging him to forgive her lor lov
ing Dick ; that surely it could not be wrong to
stand by one’s brother.
At last the crisis came, and for hours they
did not know whether Elsie would be spared to
them or not, but the young, healthlul blood
asserted itself and conquered.
*****
The trees were all abud and pale-faced dai
sies and blue-eyed violets peeped shyly out
from their grassy beds before Elsie was pro
nounced convalescent. When she learned of
what her husband had really suspected her, she
exclaimed reproachfully:
“Oh ! how could you? Why, I thought you
knew it was Dick and was angry because I had
a brother and waa fond of him, and hadn’t told
you ; but I was afraid. You said once, you
know, that you would never forgive any one be
longing to you who was guilty of a dishonest
act; and I waa your wife and belonged to you,
and Dick waa my brother and belonged to me.
and if you know he had done wrong—which isn’t
true, not a bit—l thought you would never for
give me, and I couldn’t bear that, just as I waa
beginning to ”
“To what, Elaie ?” and Judge Vane drew bis
wife caressingly toward him, while she, hiding
her face shyly against hia breast, answered:
“ To love you so.”
If untiring care and thoughtfulness could
atono for a wrong done, then Lady Vane’s atone
ment was complete; but it was not enough for
her, and in her son’s presence thia proud woman
had asked Elsie’s forgiveness. And Elsie, like
the true little woman she was, had sealed the
lips that would have uttered more, with a lov
ing kiss, saying’:
“ Perhaps if I had not come so near losing
Lionel, I sh uld never have known how much
I loved him.”
***** *
Two years had come and gone since Elsie lay
so near death’s door, and some few changes
had taken place. Hattie and Mary Caswell, her
cousins, had married well, and the boys, thanks
to Judge Vane’s aid, wore at a first-class board
ing-school. And Dick, whose innocence had at
last been proven, beyond doubt, by the one
who committed the theft confessing to it, was
in San Francisco, doing well, having obtained
a splendid situation through Elsie’s husband’s
influence. Ho was to come home to them on a
visit at Christmas. And Elsie herself ?
Let us take a peep into the west drawing
room. Surely there has boon magic at work.
It cannot.be the same room we remember. Deli
cate lace curtains admit the sweet scent of
roses, as they waft softly to and fro, stirred
ever and anon by the languid breeze. A pretty
conservatory has been built at one end, in
which a fountain sends up a silver thread to
Wall in a sh iwer upon the tiny goldfish sporting
in the marble basin leneath. Roses are every
where. In great china bowls,in the hideous vases
that somehow appear less ugly under their
flowcrj’ decorations. Even the dragons’ heads
on tho old-fashioned cabinets look quite amia
ble in the bright sunshine that floods the room,
and there on the carpet is a headless wooden
horse and a baby’s rattle.
Who is that sitting in the low rocker, laugh
ingly trying to set free tho baby hand that has
entangled itsoll in her snowy hair. Lady Vane
—yes, but there is a little one she prizes still
more, that of Grandma Vane and little Lionel,
only six months, baby as he is, has already
learned to know that "grandmamma is the one
he can rule ad libiluo). A lady in soft, filmy
white pauses at one of the low French windows
and glances in at baby and grandmamma. Lit
tle despot, what havoc he has made with the
old lady’s coiffure. Elsie, for it is she, turns
smilingly toward her husband, who has joined
her. What a wealth ot love there is in his gaze
as he meets hers, and standing on tip-toe she
holds up her lips for the kisses she knows
awaits them.
SUN WORSHIP.
THE WIDEST SPREAD FORM OF
PAGANISM.
(From, the Popular Science Monthly.)
Sun worship is the oldest and most wide
spread form of Paganism. It reaches back to
the prehistoric period. Under various phases
it has always been a persistent foe to the wor
ship of Jehovah. It was the prevailing and
most corrupting of idolatry which assailed the
Hebrew nation. Its lowest form, Baal worship,
produced the deepest social and moral degrada
tion. As the period of idolatry passed away
sun worship assumed a less materialistic form,
without losing the virulence of its poison. It
lay in waiting, like a beast of prey, to corrupt
Christianity, as it had already corrupted Juda
ism. Transferred from tho East, and from
Egypt, to Greece and Rome, it became popular,
and great efforts were made under Heliogabu
lus and others, in the third and fourth centu
ries, to exalt it above all other religions. In
deed, Mithraicism came near gaining the field
and driving apostolic religion out oi the Roman
Empire. It did corrupt it to an extent little
understood.
Pagan Rome made religion part of the state.
Long before the advent of Christianity the em
peror, as head of the state, and, therefore, of
the church—Pontifex Maximus—was accus
tomed to legislate upon all religious matters.
He had supreme power in this direction. Scores
of sacred days were set apart, under tho pagan
empire, upon which judicial proceedings and
certain forms of work were prohibited. It was
tho settled policy of the empire for the emperor
thus-to determine concerning the ferial days.
Apostolic Christianity forbade all appeal to the
civil law in matters of Christian duty. Christ
and his apostles sought only the rights of citi
zenship at the hand ot civil government. When
these were refused they gladly yielded, suffer
ing persecution unto death, if need be. Christ
repeatedly declared: “My kingdom is not of
this world.”
New Testament Christianity could not have
instituted such a cultus as that which gave rise
to Sunday legislation, the union of church and
State, under an emperor or an emperor Pope.
“ Old Mixon” peach trees can not bear cran
berries. All civil legislation concerning religious
faith and practice, such as obtained in the Ro
man Empire, was the product ot Paganism. It
was uot an offshoot of Christianity or of tho He
brew theocracy.
The first civil legislation concerning Sunday
appears in the edict of Constantine the Great,
A. D. 321. Nothing appears in history as de
manding the legislation, or as wishing it, except
the will of the emperor. He was a well known
devotee of the sun god, as were his predecess
ors. His attitude toward Christianity both be
fore and long after the issuing of the Sunday
edict, was the attitude of a shrewd politician;
toward his rivalsit was that otan unscrupulous,
bloody-handed monarch.
..... »■»♦ ■
Looking for an Honest Man.
OLD TOM BENTON’S SARCASTIC
ANSWERTOFATHER RITCHIE.
(From the, Indianapolis Hews,)
The late Colonel Benton was a man of strong
character. Quitting the Democratic party near
the close ot his very long service as United
States Senator, he became hostile to many of its
leaders. Among these was the late Thomas
Ritchie, the celebrated Democratic editor of
Richmond, Va., who, when quite old, became a
resident of Washington City. He was common
ly known as “Father Ritchie.”
Mr. Webster and General Dix were distin
guished supporters in the Senate of the com
promise ot 1850. Much anxiety was felt in
Washington while it was pending. The night of
the day of its passage by Congress Ritehie got
a lantern and band of music and went to the
home of Mr. Webster, with a multitude follow
ing. The band played and Mr. Webster was
loudly called. He came out on the balcony at
tended by Hon. Henry Hilliard, of Alabama.
He essayed to speak, and began with an effort
to quote Shakespeare, saying: “Now is the
Summer of our discontent made glorious.” He
perceived his error, but was unable to correct
it, or to proceed with his speech. Hilliard was
holding him by the arm and walked him back
into the house. Full of joy at the passage of
the compromise, he was having a little jollifica
tion with wine.
All excused the grand statesman and patriot,
and Ritchie led us to the house of Dix, which
was on the same street as that of Benton and
close to Benton’s. No one appeared to be at
home in Dix’s house. The music and noise of
the crowd aroused the neighborhood. Heads
were extended through the windows of tho
houses, including that of Benton. The crowd
demanded that Benton be called on.
Ritchie hated Benton as much as Benton
hated him, but he mounted the step of Ben
ton's house, in obedience to the crowd’s de
(110 knocker on the door, there
being no bell. ! here was nd and
again and again ho vigorously knocked without
response. At the second-story window pro
truded the head of what seemed, in the semi
darkness, to be a large, old woman, in a gown
that, in the present day, would be called a calico
Dolly Varden. Ritchie grew nervous, and. look
ing up to tho window, requested to be informed
if Colonel Benton was at home. The answer
was :
“ Fa-a-ther Ritchie, is that you ?”
All knew the voice at once. The supposed
old woman was Colonel Benton. Ritchie re
plied :
“Yes, yes, colonel; wo request that you favor
us w th some remarks to-night.”
Benton, still resting on his elbows in the win
dow, said, in a very measured manner :
“ Fa-a-ther Ritchie, Fa-a-ther Ritchie, you re
mind me of Diogenes, with lantern in hand,
tramping the streets of Syracuse, looking for an
honest man.”
He said no more. It was enough for Ritchie,
who hurried away.
A STORY OF SUPERSTITION.
CHAPTER I.
“It has happened again 1” So all the idlers
said at the Golden Dragon.
“It has happened again I” So the old kelner
at the Schwartzberg said, and the servants re
peated it, and that was how they had the news
at the Golden Dragon and all over the village
before night.
How it happened was a mystery, but there
was no denying it. If any one of the noble
folks at tho Schwartzberg were going to die,
something in the castle was sure to fall with no
human hand near—no loophole for explaining
why the crash should come before the death,
and not at any other time. The omen had be
gun again in these days, after a lapse of a cen
tury. The old kelner’s father, who had kept the
keys long ago, had told strange tales about it.
He had only heard them in his youth, but they
were very strange tales, and the Golden Dragon
and the village in general decided that they were
not to be explained away. But it was much
more satisfactory when at the present time the
evil omen began to show itself again. It was
no grandmother’s story now, but a reality. The
gossip and excitement went on with shudders
and whispers; it was so pleasant to have some
thing to shudder about. Why, if nobody had
died after the great stag’s head fell in the hall,
the Golden Dragon would have been downright
sorry.
But as it happened, the little boy—the old
baron’s grandson and heir—fell on the Black
Mountain the very day alter, and broke his neck.
That was only three months ago. And now the
great mirror in the tapestried drawing-room
had fallen. It was certainly the old baron that
was to go off this time. The village waited
breathless to know.
Home went Fritz Hartmann with the news on
the Saturday night. He was in a worse humor
than usual—that is saying a great deal for Fritz
Hartmann, for he was the blackest man in the
village, and who he was or what he was think
ing of was all a mystery.
“Flowers, father!” said the little bright
haired child, wanting to be noticed.
“Go to bed!” said Hartmann, and dropped
the flowers and kicked them away.
“Any nows?” his buxom, good-humored
wife asked. The blackest mood Fritz could be
in was never too black to stop her smilo; many
a gathering thunderstorm was laughed off by
Martha.
“ Why should there be news ?” he said sav
agely, flinging his coat aside, and throwing
'himself on a seat with his hat still on. Love
in a cottage has many drawbacks, and the ab
sence of manners is oho of them.
The brisk and buxom Martha popped the
child into bed, and began to make Fritz’s sup
per hot. There was no fear in her nature, and
a great deal ot curiosity.
“I wanted to hear about the poor dear old
baron,” said Martha.
“He is dying, they say,” growled Fritz.
“Oh ! Poor old man !”
“ Why ?” said the husband. “He paid us for
my bit of carving. What need we care ?”
“ Y’es, we should care, my wicked old Fritz ”
—shaking him by the shoulder.
“If a poor man died,” said Fritz, “they
would shovel him into the ground and forget
him. Why should not the rich die too? He has
tho gout; it would be a comfort to the old fel
low to die.”
Martha had prayed that he might not die for
many a year, gout or no gout—he had been s >
good to her long ago, when her parents died,
and she was taken to the castle to feed the
chickens and the ducks in the yard.
Fritz did a bit oi wood-carving as well as hia
daily work. Tourists bought his carving in
Summer; it was bought at the castle too. He
had carried his brackets and frames to the
Schwartzberg Castle bo often, that he was free
ot the servants’ hall any day, and when he took
the carved chair on Thursday, the baron had
made him bring it into the library with his own
hands. It was ungrateful of Fritz to be glad
that the poor old baron was dying, but then
Fritz was always growling at the castle folks,
and grumbling at his own poverty.
After supper he went out to‘the “Golden
Dragon,” and lolled with the idlers on tho
benches outside the inn. He was not a man tor
speaking t > the others; he had the name of be
ing as proud as Satan, but ho listened with his
arms folded, and the corners of his dark eyes
watching everything. There was no reason
that the baron should die because the mirror
fell, he said. It was all nonsense. He was tho
only man in the village that disbelieved in the
omen ot the Schwartzberg Castle.
When the notary passed—the old man with
long white hair—he bowed to Hartmann. It
was a queer thing that the notary always bow
ed to Hartmann, the working man. Sometimes
Hartmann even went to supper with him—
which was a queerer thing still.
CHAPTER 11.
Up at the mountain castle, the long tapes
tried drawing-room was dimly lighted, and the
great round, broken mirror lay untouched up
on the floor. The granddaughter of the baron
was there with a friend from Geneva, the young
lawyer, Ludwig Schmidt—-a friend, and more
than a friend. Bertha was in the first blush
and beauty of girlhood, fair and pink, with soft
blue German eyes, and curls too rich to be flax
en. She was letting Ludwig cut one little curl,
with her pretty head bent for the robbery. The
shadow of death loomed over her home again,
while she was still wearing a mourning gown
for her boy brother; so, though they were lov
ers, even to the sweet lolly ot giving a love
lock, they could not be very light-hearted to
night.
“ And why not have the broken mirror taken
away?” the’ young lawyer of Leipsic asked.
There is no room for superstition in the legal
and logical mind.
“It is ill-luck for whoever touchesit,” said
Bertha, with a blush,but she could not get him to
believe such foolishness. He put the love-loek
in the innermost recess ot his pocketbook, and
then, with his own hands, gathered the rums
of the mirror on to a table, and rang lor a
servant to take them away out of everybody s
sight.
“ You picked them up, sir ?” said the servant
nervously.
“ I did,” said Ludwig,with a laugh. “ There's
no fear of ill-luck tor you, my good fellow, you
are too cautious.”
“ it would have been wise, sir, to have left it
as it fell until after tho change of the moon.”
Ludwig gava a growl ot contempt.
“ My good man, 1 would not be such a moon
struck lunatic. Take the pieces away.”
Bertha admired him more than ever, as every
girl admires a brave man. It seemed such a
daring deed to bo the one to pick up that mir
ror; she mistook his common sense for brave
ry-
“ Your grandfather is dying of sheer fright,”
the young man went on, stepping out on the
terrace, and leading the girl with him. “The
omen will come true if the fear of it kills him.”
“But, dear Ludwig,” said the girl, leaning
on the balustrade, and feeling helplessly igno
rant as she looked up at her wise lover, and
loved him the more tor a man’s superior wis
dom, “we should all like not to believe in the
omen, but what could have knocked the mirror
down ?”
It was indeed puzzling. The nails that had
held that mirror were as long as a man’s hand.
They bad been buried in tho wall liko shafts ol
iron, and out ot the wall they had dragged
themselves, after being tor fifty years safe and
firm. Bertha herselt had been in the drawing
room, singing Gounod’s “Serenada,” with her
fiancee leaning against the {piano, watching the
light from the candles making a halo about her
fair hair, and the old baron was dozing in his
chair with the dog at his feet, when all at once,
with no hand near it, the great mirror had
dragged its nails out of the opposite wall, and
crashed down upon the floor. The dog had
howled and barked, the servants had rushed
in, and in the midst of the confusion the old
man’s voice had said, with a tremble:
“ My hour has come !”
His’strength had failed: he had been confined
to his room; he was dying.
When Ludwig and Bertha walked along the
terrace they hushed their steps near those open
windows farther on than the old drawing-room.
“ He is awake again,” said Ludwig, looking
into the curtained gloom. “Go to him, Bertha,
if you liko, and I can have a smoke in the gar
den. You might ask him about the will.”
“ But I don’t want him to die, Ludwig.”
“ Mv poor little Bertha, what strange things
they have taught you! He won't die a moment
sooner because he wakes a will. It is the right
thing to do.”
Whatever Ludwig said was right, was su
premely right always to the lonely, halt-taught
girl; so as she sat beside the death-bed that
evening she tenderly and gently coaxed the old
man to leave his last wishes written down. Lud
wig was called in from the garden, whore his
cigar had been glimmering under the lindens,
and they sent for the village notary, and the
bntler was tho witness.
It was well the will was made that night. Tho
old baron was dead before morning.
Then how the idlers at the Golden Dragon
i talked, and how all the village whispered and
shuddered 1 Well, a few months alter, Ludwig
Schmidt owned the castle, and Bertha was his
wi e, and it was to be hoped nothing more would
jump down from the walls to give mortals a
warning.
CHAPTER 111.
The gloomy Fritz Hartmann was more gloomy
than over. Martha swept tho eottago and played
with the child; but ho grumbled at bis poverty,
and tho child shrank from his black looks. Ho
was at the old notary’s house every night now.
" Are you selling him carving, Fritz ?” said
Martha. “ Why, wo shall be rich I”
Fritz Hartmann was going ont to tho notary’s
before he had even tasted a bit alter his work,
“I am doing some carving there—at the house,
of a night. We may bo rich—if we are, it is
only my just right, and thanks to nobody.”
This was a strango way of talking of wood
carving. Martha wondered and puzzled while
eho was taking off bright-haired Gretchen’s
strong little shoes and putting her to bed. Well,
alter all, it was the just right ot a workman to
got the value of his work; perhaps that was
what Fritz meant. But Fritz must bo making a
great deal of money now. Why, he had gone
up to the castle in the middle ot the day to
mend a broken part of the Swiss clock-case.
When Fritz Hartmann reached the notary’s
house ho forgot that there was any such thing
as carving in the world, unless it be carving out
a fortune. Yet there was some carving to bo
done, and he might be rich. Tho old notary
and Hartmann walked in the garden by the col
ored spires of hollyhock flowers. They smoked
and talked of the time of Hartmann s father,
and how tho old notary knew him well, and how
there had been a quarrel.
“No ona in the villaga knows?” askad the
old lawyer, keenly.
“No one—l am a good jailer to keep secrets
fast.”
“But it is time,” said the notary. “Your
case is safe. The old baron was almost dead.
I was called in to make tho will by the man to
whom the property was willed. His defense
would not have a leg to stand on.”
It was a very strange thing that while those
two men were talking by the hollyhocks, con
sidering tha future law-suit which was to make
the Schwartzberg Castle change owners, at the
castle itself the evil omen came again. In tho
old tapestried drawing-room young Schmidt
was telling hie tale, leaning over the back of
h s little wife’s chair, after a day’s shoo’ting. On
the wall opposite to tho windows there was only
the soltly-sbaded tapestry: but at one end of
tha room there was tha portrait of Bertha, in
white and pearls, as a bride; it had been hung
there instead of the broken mirror.
All at once the portrait dragged the long nails
from the wall, and foil face downward on the
polished floor.
Evon Ludwig Schmidt, man as he was, turned,
pale, and stood unable to stir in tho dead si
lence after the crash. Then seeing his young
wife’s head sink forward, he tnrned to her in
panic. Was she already doad 1 No, it was only
a faint. The faint passed off, and the servants
were gathered round her when she lay in the
air on the terrace. Her eyes sought her hus
band’s face, and tho only words she spoke were,
“ I am to die 1”
Now, to a dead certainty—and a very dead
certainty indeed—Bertha would die if sho sank
as she was sinking during the month or two
that followed the falling ot the great picture.
All the neighborhood had the tale; the “ Golden
Dragon” had sent it round—the bride at the
castle was wasting away and dying. The doc
tors found no disease, but sho was fading as a
flower fades whose life is done.
CHAPTER IV.
The Schwartzberg case began to fill the papers
of Geneva. Two brothers had quarreled long
ago, and tho younger ol tho two had incurred his
father’s anger, and gone away an exile from his
home and country. He ran through his portion
in a wild life, and never came back like the
prodigal. But his son came back, as a stranger
and a peasant, to live gloomily and discontented
under the shadow of the castle, where his father
had lived as a boy. His father’s brother
was there, grown old iiow, and his heir was tlie
grandson—a boy with an elder sister just in
tho flower of girlhood. The young heir had
boon killed by a fall on the rooks. The old
baron had died, and a man with no name
but Schmidt was in the place of the barons
of Schwartzberg. The great case dragged
on, a nine days wonder. There were two
wills; one produced from the sa r oof tha
old notary of Schwartborg; it was written after
the boy’s untimely death, and gave the
property to the next heir of the Schwartz
berg barons, the male descendant of
the absent brother; the other will was
written on the night of the baron’s death,
it was disputed because it had been drawn up
when tho testator was weak in mind, or on the
brink of death, and it had been done at tha in
stigation ot Schmidt himself. Well, all the vil
lage had been amazed to discover who Fritz
Hartmann was; there was no doubt how the case
would go.
“But the poor lady—it is sad for her,” said
one ot the idlers outsidefthe inn. ’
“ She is dying, anyhow, so it does not mat
ter,” answered another. “It does not make
any difference to the dead whether they own
ed a castio or a hovel.”
“ But is she dying?” with a shudder.
“ Yes,” in a whisper; “ the portrait fell—it
was the omen. She sickened at once. It will ba
a great funeral. My lord will go back to his
law-books; his time at the castle was a short life
and a merry one.”
But Ludwig Schmidt sped home from Geneva
to his young wife. “ Victory !—the decision is
for us.”
Sho raised herself from her couch to lean the
fair head against his shoulder. “I am glad to
think you will be here—you will not be poor
when I am gone.”
“But you are not dying, darling-or if you
were dying it was of fear, and you shall fear no
more.”
“Do not blame me—l can’t help being
afraid,” Bertha’s weak voice said. “ I have
heard of the Schwartzberg omen all my life.”
“Poor child 1 You have heard too much.”
“And oh, Ludwig !’’ she went on, “ I am al
most afraid to toll you—the night you went
away the stone eagle ovei- the gate fell down ;
and the night was so still, there was not a leaf
stirring.”
Now, the fall of tho eagle over the gate was a
new form of the omen, ami it set Ludwig think
ing for dear life—yes, lor a dearer life than his
own.
That very night again the eagle fell. For the
second time it was put up, and mortared and
cemented into its place.
“Bertha is sheerly dying of superstition
dying of an old woman’s tale,” thought Ludwig,
exasperated; “and yet I cannot explain this
evil thing away; if tho poor child dies, it will
not have been foretold—it will have been caused
by the fall of that picture in tho tapestried room
and this eagle over the gate.”
The so-called Fritz Hartmann was leaving the
village ; he was taking Martha and their child
across tho ocean to make an emigrant’s home in
the far West. He had refused a goodly sum of
money from tho castle. Ho would have all or
none. He was to go to-morrow; but it was a
to-morrow that never came.
“The eagle is down again,” whispered the
kelner to his master, “and the ivy is all broken
and torn from the wall, and there is a man lying
dead.”
Ludwig hurried across the courtyard, and
found Hartmann dead on his face, with au ivy
tangle beside him, and the broken eagle.
Only then the kelner remembered that each
time the omen had come it had shown itself
after the visit of Hartmann with his carving.
As for the fall of the antlers and the accidental
death of the boy—that, no doubt, suggested to
Hartmann an easy method of clearing the old
baron out of the way; for certainly, when the
mirror fell, and the portrait, Hartmann tho
carver had found an opportunity to help the
nails out of the wall and leave them loose. If
the young bride had died of superstition and
fear, there would have been no heir but the
man who had tried by legal means, and lost his
chance.
The lady of the castle bloomed into health ;
she comforted the peasant-widow, and sent lit
tle Gretchen a marriage portion in time to come.
But tho evil omen of the Schwartzberg never
happened again ; and the folks at the “Golden
Dragon” refused the explanation, as credulous
folks always do.
“The outcast died by the omon itself at the
castle gate,’ they said. “The stone eagle killed
him.”
“ The wound was made by a fall,” said the
surgeon, positively.
And yet at the “ Golden Dragon” the tale was
told for many a year as the finest and most
“creepy” instance of the Schwartzberg omen.
For if men will enjoy a shudder, they won’t
have an explanation.
AN AGNOSTIC.
HE IS REJECTED AS A WITNESS.
(From the Knoxville, Texas, Journah)
In tho Circuit Court recently, Judge Logan
presiding, an incident occurred of more than
unusual interest. A case involving a small
amount (an appeal from a Justice), in which
Mr. Harvoy, a well-known operator in marble
in this county, was a defendant, was on trial.
When Mr. Harvey was called to the witness
stand, Mr. Green, of counsel for the plaintiff,
asked to put him on his voir dire, when the fol
lowing substantiality occurred:
Counsel—“ Mr. Harvey, do you believe in tho
existence of God ?”
Witness (evidently surprised and thinking a
moment)—“l do not believe in God, but Ido
believe in God the power that controls the uni
verse.”
Counsel—“ Do you believe in a future state
of rewards and punishments?”
Witness—“l believe that everyhnman being
suffers in this life for every violation of natural
and moral laws. Not accepting the Bible as a
divino revelation, I know nothing about tho
future. I do not know whence I came or whither
1 am going. Therefore, I cannot say that
1 have any belief as to my future state.”
Counsel—” Do you believe in a conscience ?”
Witness—“ Most certainly I do. I believe
that every sane man has an innate sense of
right and wrong to guide his conduct.
The Court—“ Mr. Harvey, do you believe in
the binding obligation of an oath in a court of
justice requiring a witness to tell the truth ?”
Witness—“l do.”
The Court, after same deliberation, held that
the witness was not competent to testify, and he
was directed to stand aside. Exception was
taken by Captain Rain, counsel for defendant,
and appear was taken to the Supreme Court.
We understand there are several old decisions
regarding the competency of “atheists,” “infi
dels, ” and “free thinkers” as witnesses, but that
we have no Supremo Court decision covering
preiaely the state of facts presented m this case
gUmtamg IWto.
Cashmere Shawls. —Says the London
Budget: Cashmere shawls are precious to every
gentlewoman’s heart, and belong to the same
category as diamonds. The love for these pro
ducts of the Orient looms is scarcely a century
old. Tho shawls left by Tippo Sahib’s embassa
dors, in 1787, were regarded as curiosities by
tho magnates to whom they were presented,
and were used as carpets or cut up for dressing
gowns. It is said that Mme. Gaudin, a lady of
Greek parentage, and a celebrated beauty, wore
r the first shawl in Paris. Not until after Napo
leon’s Egyptian expedition did the Cashmere
shawl become fashionable. The Empress Jose
phine’s love of these superb webs of Oriental
beauty is as well known as her passion for
flowers. The wealth acquired by tho great mon
under the First Empire was lavishly spent by
their wives for India shawls. It was a matter of
little importance whether the shawls were clean
or soiled. It may have done duty as the robe
of some priest high in office, or §,s the turban of
one of the Mogul’s soldiers. If it suited tbo taste
of the grande dame, it was purchased, cleaned
and worn. Tho shawls are woven from tho wool
of tho Thibet goat, and. for those of the highest
grade only tho finest ot this fine wool is used,
one goat yielding but half a pound ot this first
quality wool at its annual shearing. The shawls
are all rnado upon hand looms, and sometimes
thirty or forty men are employed for a year and
a httlf, or even two years upon a single shawl.
The gold and silver thread used in the em
broidery of the shawls is made at Boorhampoor,
a Deccan city. A piece of pure ore is beaten in
to a cylinder tho size of a thick reed, and is
again beaten out until it will pass through an
orifice tho eighth of an inch in diameter. This
wire is then wound upon several reels, which
work upon pivots, the end of the thread being
passed through still liner holes and then fasten
ed to a larger reel, which, when set in rapid mo
tion, attenuates tho thread still further. The
thread is then flattened upon a steel anvil,
highly polished by a skilled workmen. A silk
thread is then covered with this fine wire. It is
said that if a lump of silver be gilt before it is
put through any process it will retain the gild
ing through all*the severe hammering, winding
and drawing to which it is afterward snb,ected,
and emerge a golden thread that will never
tarnish. Queen Victoria receives as tribute
every year a certain number of cashmere shawls
of fine quality from certain Indian princes.
These costly wraps she bestows as marriage
gilts upon tho ladies of rank connected directly
or remotely with her court.
The Czar’s Creditors. —Says tho
<s/. James’s Gazette: On several occasions
lately wo have called attention to the fact that
while England has been selling Russian bonds,
they have been bought, in enormous quantities
by the Germans, with the result that tho Ger
man Government is under a strong financial
obligation, apart from all questions of politics,
to keep the Czar in a pacific humor. On this
subject the Economist now writes: It is a mat
ter of common knowledge that for some years
past investors in this country have been reduc
ing their holdings of Russian bonds. At one
time London was the great market for these
securities, and among foreign government
issues they were a favorite form of investment.
But since the Russo-Turkish war of 1877-78,
Russian bonds have steadily left this country,
and the present amount held hero is believed
to be small. The bonds thus sold have gone en
masse to Germany, where the people who were
once eager to buy them seem to have recently
become a little doubtful about their new in
vestments. But there is a point worth noting,
and that is, for good or bad, Germany is now
involved to a serious extent, with the future of
Russian finance. For not only is the bulk of the
Russian debt held in that country, but there is
no real market for it elsewhere. Paris practic
ally does not look at Russian bonds, and is
scarcely likely to do so at their present prices,
despite evidences of pro-Russian feeling in
France. London is closed to them. Amster
dam is disinclined to add to the amount now
held there, which is much less than it was some
years ago, and the only remaining- market—
Vienna—is of too little importance to take any
quantity of Russian bonds. Germany, then,
must keep what she has bought, whatever the
consequences.
A Remarkable Cave.—Says the Pitts
burg Dispatch: Fenn Cave, of Bellefonte, Pa.,
is ot very recent discovery. It has just got
over the novelty ot its christening. It is a sec
ond Luray cavern, and if it were the property
of an enterprising man it would rise to fame. A
farmer while plowing a field accidentally dis
covered it some few years ago. He has done
nothing more to it than to open an entrance to
it in the hillock and build for himself a boat to
accommodate the hundreds of curiosity seek
ers who come and go. Even so distinguished a
celebrity ns ex-Governor Curtin, who lives in
Bellefonte, has had no influence to bring the
marvel into worthy prominence. We reached
it, six miles out of town, by special conveyance.
We called the farmer from bis plow, and gave
him a quarter-dollar fee each, and so were con
ducted into the wonder. The farmer showman
was no expert at the oar. He paddled from be
hind and illumined the way with a lantern affix
ed to the prow. Understand, the cavern is dark
from the start, and it must be seen all through
in a boat. Water pervades it, and the pendant
cones that drop liko icicles everywhere allow a
passageway through which you ply your boat.
The formation ot stalagmites and* stalactites
presents the most fantastic spectacle in the
glare of tho torch. The spectral reflections on
the water, with the splash of blind fish, make
the quarter-mile journey a weird one. You
reach the end wall, through which there is a
small opening, and by which you may have an
extended vista with the light—tho ' dream of
greater wonders undiscovered. The progres
sive genius of the outside world does not forget
itself here, lor cards ot all kinds of firms adorn
this subterranean bill-board. The cave is a
grand study, and it will repay the tourist to see
it.
Afraid of the Cars.—Up at Exeter,
N. H., there is a famous stuttering pair, Jack
Wiggin and Jim Chase, both excellent fellows,
of whom many stories are locally told. On a
little run up that way the other *day the his
torian heard one ot these stories, which has a
certain saltiness that will keep it a long time
probably. One day Chase was sitting on tho de
pot platform, after a fashion of his, gossiping
with a group of townsmen. One of these lat
ter had a venerable silver watch that he was
making a great brag about. “That ’ere watch,”
said he, “has been runnin’ in my weskit pocket
goin’ on to thirty-four year without varyin’ a
mite. Always right on the tick. Hain’t been
cleaned for fourteen year. Never needs no
regulatin’. The sun has rose and sot bv it so
long that ’twouldn’t rise at all if this ’ere
watch was to stop. All ye hev to do is to
wind her reg lar. ’ “L-l-l-mme see that ’ere
w-w-wo-wo-wonderful watch, Ike,” said Chase.
The other pulled it out and handed it over to
Chase, who glanced at it a moment and then
put it to his ear. His countenance did not
change, as he perceived that the remarkable
timepiece, which the sun “rose and sot” by, had
stopped and was silent as the grave. Just at
that moment a passenger train camo rushing
into the station. “ Hello, Ike, w-w-what’s the
matter with her?” said Chase, as he handed,
back the watch. “Is she at-f-feered ot the
k-k-keers ?”
An Electric Hat.—The Pall Mall
Gazette says : An ingenious application of the
electric current to curative uses has been pat
ented by George Litchfield, wigmaker of Lon
don. The apparatus consists of a very small
battery—the largest size weighing only about
three drachms -ot the kind known to electricians
as tho chloride of silver terminate. It can be
placed inside tho lining of an ordinary silk hat,
with tho flat terminals outside tho lining, so
that when tho hat is put on a current of elec
tricity passes between the terminals, and dif
fuses itself all over the wearer’s head. The
battery, though small, has considerable electro
motive force, the current being sufficient to
ring a small bell or work a small induction coil.
Mr. Litchfield claims for his apparatus that
when applied to wigs or other head gear it I
proves a perfect cure for nervous headaches, i
neuralgia, etc. It is also claimed that the cur- !
rent of electricity will stimulate the growth of
the hair and cure baldness. If the latter state
ment be true, the inventor must surely be a
most disinterested wigmaker ; for if baldness
can be prevented, is not “ Othello’s occupation
gODO
Eczema
Is more commonly known as Salt-Rheum.
It is caused by impure blood, is acccm-1
pained with intense itching and burning j
sensations, and, unless properly treated, is '
likely to afflict its victim for years. If you .
are suffering from Eczema, or any other
eruptive disease, take Ayer’s Sarsaparilla.
It has proved, in numberless instances, a
complete cure for this disorder.
Entirely Cured.
A few weeks ago I was attacked with a
severe and distressing form of Eczema.
The eruptions spread very generally over
my body, causing an intense itching and
burning sensation, especially at night.
With great faith in the virtues of Ayer’s
Sarsaparilla, I commenced taking it, and,
after having used less than two bottles of
this medicine, am entirely cured. — Henry
K. Beardsley, of the Hope “Nine,” West
Philadelphia, Pa.
I was, for years, troubled with Salt-
Rheum, which, during the winter months,
caused my hands to become very sore,
crack open, and bleed. The use of
Ayer’s Sar
sanarilla has entirely cured me of this
troublesome humor. — Ellen Ashworth,
Evanston, Wyoming Ter.
Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass, i
hat We Know ->><»• ■ t Metgore.
Says London Nature: 1. Ti o luminous meteor
tracks are in the upper p-.-rt o: the earth’s at*
mosphere. Few, if any, ai pear at a hight
greater than one hundred mlies, and few are
seen below a hight oi thirty miles from ther
earth's surface, except iu rare cases where
stones and irons fall to the ground. All these
meteor tracks are caused by bodies which
come into tho air from without.
2. The velocities o; the m-stoors m the air are
comparable with that of rhe earth in its orbit
about the sun. It is n«»t o sy io determine th©
exact values of those velocities, yet they may
be roughly stated as from fiity to two hundred
and fifty times too velocity oi sound in the aiiq
or ot a cannon ball.
3. It is a nocossary conse uence of these
locities that the meteors move about the sun,
and not about the earth, as tlio controlling
body.
4. There are four comets related to four peri,
odic star-showers that come on the dates April
20, August 10, November i and November 27.
The meteoroids which have given us any one ot
these star-showers constitute a group, each in*
dividual of which moves in a path which is lika
that of the corresponding comet. The bodies
are, however, now too far rom one another ta
influence appreciably each other’s motions.
5. The ordinary shooting stars, in their ap
pearance and phenomena, do not differ essen
tially from the individuals, in star-showers.
6. The meteorites of di- erent falls differ from
one another m their chem.cal composition, in
their mineral forms and in their tenacity. Yet
through all these differences they have pocu
uliar common properties which distinguish
them entirely from all terrestrial rocks.
7. The most delicate researches have failed
to detect any trace of organic life in meteorites.
These propositions have practically universal
acceptance among scientific men.
Taking the Black Vail.—-Mlle. Mar
guerite Veuillot, daughter of the late Louis
Veuillot, the slashing editor of the Unicors, has
just taken the vail in the Convent of tho Augus
tinian Nuns, called Abbaye aux Bois, in tho
Rue do Sevres. The ceremony was of the usual
touching character, and is thus described by
tho Daly Telegraph correspondent: The young
lady remained clothed m her white habit of
novice, standing in tho choir of tho churcli s
which was brilliantly illuminated, while priests
and nuns chanted in dolorous cadence the
Psalms prescribed for the solemn occasion. At
the altar was Monsoigneur Gay, who, when the
chants ceased, delivered an address, in which
he alluded to the services rendered to the
church by the Veuillot family. Litanies were
then sung, and the bishop asked tho novice
twice if she still persisted iu wishing to take the
irrevocable vows of poverty, chastity, and obe
dience. Alter the affirmative replies the choir
took up a jubilant hymn, and the novice changed!
her white rol es for the black vail and habit of
tho professional nun. »Several ot the spectators
could not restrain their emotion at the specta
cle. Tbe new nun is called in religion, “ Bister
Mary of the Angels.”
The Road to Prosperity.-—Says the
Jfa7i?z/ac*urers’ Record: The history of the
last fitty years of business in the United States
teems with the same lessons. There is no royal
road to prosperity. The bights of permanent
success can be attained only by steady climb
ing, step by step, over toilsome" and often very
rugged paths. There are very few strong busi
ness concerns in this country that began on a
large scale. Nearly all started with but little
capital and worked their wav to their present
dimensions and power by thrift, industry and
perseverance. In the days of their weaknesa
the founders of these houses were taught by
experience how to overcome the difficulties they
encountered. Even the few enterprises that
started in a large way that have proved success
ful have been founded and managed by men
who gained their wisdom and skill by long
service in building up similar undertakings
from very small beginnings. As a rule men of
this kind succeed in what they undertake, be
cause they combine prudence with
and never venture beyond their depth.
Take Little Annoyances out of the
way. If you are suffering with a cough or cold,
use Dr. Bull’s Cough Syrup at ance. This old
and reliable remedy will never disappoint yon.
xA.ll druggists sell it for twenty-five cents a bot
tle.
A New and Powerful Explosive.—
M. Rucktcholl, a Russian engineer, has invented
a now explosive, which he calls “silotvaar,”
with which experiments have been recently car
ried out at the camp of Krasnoie >:elo, near St.
Petersburg. As compared with ordinary gun
powder, the penetrative power of the new ex
plosive, when used for cartridges, is said to ba
ten times greater. The componn-d of which tha
explosive consists is still the secret of the in
ventor. The explosive emits no smoke nor
heat, and the discharge is unaccompanied by
any report. Since the experiments the Russian
war and naval authorities have had the new ex
plosive examined and tested by experts, wha
are stated to have reported favorably upon it.
It is further stated that a motive power may be
generated with the explosive by means of an
engine constructed by the inventor, for which
he claims superiority over steam and gas-en
gines. Tho inventor has patented both the ex
plosive and the engine in several countries.
Volcanic .Ashes as Fertil zers. —We
are glad to learn, from the New Zealand
that the layer of ashes which covers so many
miles of the country, will not, as was at first
feared, choke and kill every blade of grass, but
will probably in time act as a valuable fertiliz
ing agent. Already the grass is in manv places
growing up through the dust; but the’ash has
been submitted to experiment, and is found to
be really nourishing to plants grown in it. Mr.
Pond, a resident analytical chemist, obtained
several samples of the volcanic dust, and sowed
in it grass and clover seeds, and kept them
moistened with distilled water. In each case,
we arc told, the seedling plants have come up
well, and are growing vigorously ; it is there
fore hoped that those districts which have re
ceived only a slight covering of this dreaded
dust will find that the visitation will in the end
prove beneficial to their crops.
The Word “Ballot.”—It is morel
than probable that nine out of ten readers, it
suddenly called upon to give an account of tha
word “ballot,” would put it down as the crea
tion of American democracy, though nothing
could be further from the mark. A reference
to Dr. Murray’s English Dictionary shows that
we are indebted for tho word that a short timet
back was on every lip to the Venetian oligarch?;
It was borrowed directly from the Italian, and
makes its first appearance in English, both as
noun and verb, so early as 154 P, in William
Thomas’s “ Histone of Italy.” The ballot was,
of course, in tbe first place, simply tho actual
ball dropped into the box in voting, so that
possibly there was sound etymology as well as
wit in the late Mr. Bernard Osborne’s identifi
cation—the scene was laid in Ireland—of “ vot©
by ballot’ and “ vote by bullet. ’
Bernadotte’s Secret.—Bernadotte, -
the founder of the present royal house of Swe
den, never would submit to be bled, although
the lancet was in his time in constant use by
physicians. One day he suffered so much from
feverishness that his medical attendant insisted
on his going to bed. The king had to give in,
as he was told his life might be in danger. But
before the operation the king made every at
tendant retire, and told the doctor he must
swear never to tell what he saw upon his arm.
The doctor having promised, the king drew up
his shirt-sleeve, and upon his arm was seen a
Phrygian cap of liberty, with the device, “ Mort
aux Rots Only after his death was thia
record of Bernadotte’s early democratic days
revealed.
Dakota’s Champion Eagle Story. —.
While a farmer in one of the central counties,
the past week, was driving home from town, a
large eagle, nine feet from tip to tip, lighted on
his shoulders and attempted to get away with
him. After a hard tussle he overpowered the
bird and tied it with his lines, securing it alive.
He took it to town and sold it to get money ta
bring his family to Dakota, and tho eagle is ta
be kept caged till Dakota is admitted as a State
when it will be carried at the head of a jubilee
procession.
How Frenchmen Receive HoTEt
Thieves. —ln Paris (writes a correspondent ot a
contemporary) 1 purchased a small apparatus
called a “Para-voleur,” or thief-stopper. It iq
placed loosely on tho floor behind the door, ami
if any attempt is made to open the door a bell
in tho instrument is set ringing, and the doox
becomes tightly wedged so that it will not open
—the harder it is pushed against the tighter it
becomes. This little instrument is very bandy
and strong, and it is entirely mechanical in its
action.
Debility
Languor, and Loss of Appetite, are cured
by the use of Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. This
medicine relieves that sense of Constant
Weariness, from which so many suffer,
purities, invigorates, and vitalizes the
blood, gives tone and vigor to the
stomach, and restores the appetite, health
and strength more surely and speedily
than any other remedy.
Positive Proof,
Two years ago I suffered from Loss on
Appetite and Debility, the result of Liver
Disease. After having tried various rem
edies, and several physicians, without re
ceiving anv benefit, I began taking Ayer’s
Sarsaparilla. The first bottle produced a
marked change, and the second and third
accomplished so much that I felt like a
new man. I have, since that time, taken
about one bottle every year, and had no
recurrence of the trouble.— William E.
Way, East Lempster, N. H.
If anv one suffering from General De
bility. Want of Appetite, Depression of
Spirits, and Lassitude will use Ayer’s Sar
sa par ill a,
I I am confident a cure will result therefrom.
I have used it, and speak from experi
ence. — E. O. Loring, Brockton, Mass.
Sold by Druggists. Price $1 ; six bottles,