New York dispatch. [volume], May 08, 1887, Page 6, Image 6

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

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6
PEACE.
IVlnds and wild waves in headlong, huge commo
tion
Send, dart with tempest, o'er the Atlantic's
breast,
While underneath, few fathoms deep in ocean*
Lie peace and rest.
Storms in mid-air, the rack before them sweeping.
Hurry and hiss, like furies hate-possessed;
’While over all white cloudlets pure are sleeping
In peace, in rest.
Heart, O wild heart 1 why in the storm-world rang
ing
Flittest then thus midway, passion’s slave ana
jest,
When all so near above, below, unchanging,
Are Heaven and rest ?
[IffITOIW UM.
BY A NEW AUTHOR.
CHAPTER XXX.
" a bent, emaciated figure stood leanino on
HIS STICK.”
Not only had Diana’s scream of terror brought
some ot t >e ladies to the room, but the earl him
eolr, who had net come downstairs, hobbled in,
and Gillot the valet, and some ot the Farnham
servants brought up the rear, and added to the
throng. Lorrie was in her room, and had not
heard the seream.
“ Great Heavens 1” exclaimed Lady Farnham.
•• What is the matter ?”
Diana clung to her, gasping and panting.
“ Those two—they will kill each other !” she
cried.
Lady Farnham would have advanced toward
them, but the earl put his band upon her arm,
and gently but iirrnly held her buck.
“ Guy 1” he said, not loudly, but in a voice Of
Stern command not to be dieobeyed.
Guy started, and flung Seymour from him,
then stood with folded arms, pale and breath
ing hard.
“ Vi hat does this mean ?” demanded the earl,
his eyes flashing, his nol Is face flushed with
indignation. “ sit possible that a son oi m tie
should brawl like a common tapster in a lady's
bouse ?”
Guy looked toward Lady Farnham,
*• Forgive me, Lady Farnham,’' he said, speak
ing with difficulty.
*• But what does it mean ?” said Lady Farn
ham, advancing.
(Seymour Melford had r’sen, and stood pull
ing at his collar, which Guy had torn apart. His
face was livid w th passion, and his lips trem
bled so that they could scarcely form the words
that seemed to spr.ng like the cry of a wild
beast to his lips.
“It means. Lady Farnham, that this man,
this coward has insulted my sister. It means
that, having played the eavesdropper last night,
be comes this morning to take advantage of what
lie has overheard, and calmly proposes to desert
her 1”
Lady Farnham looked from Gny, standing
stern and motionless, to Diana, who had fallen
on a couch, and sat with her proud face bent
downward.
” Is this true, Guy ?” said Lady Farnham.
“ I withdraw from my engagement with Miss
Mellord, Lady Farnham, ’ he said, gravely.
Diana rose.
" And I with Lord Kendale,” she said. “ 1
would not marry him if he were still the heir to
Latcham, instead of being what he is—a beg
gar.”
“ A beggar I” echoed Seymour, a gleam of
triumphant malice flashing from his eyes.
" Lord Latcham, yon looked to us to save you
from the ruin impending over your house. Last
night you heard that we had lost our money—
that my lather and I were ruined. It is true.
But we have this thought to console us, that in
our downfall wo shall drag you with us. Come,
Diana.”
And he turned toward the door.
The earl stretched out his thin, white band
and stopped him with a gesture.
“ One moment, Mr. Mellord,” he said, and
his calm, judicial tones fell like the sound of a
solemn bell on the harsh voice of Seymour Mel
ford ; “ the engagement between my son and
your sister is over. No word more shall be
spoken concerning it. You re erred to that
which we beard last night. You tell me that I
and my house are ruined. So let it be. Will
you let me tell you that in an hour from now
my lawyers shall have instructions to sell the
whole ot my property, and that every penny of
which we may prove to be possessed shall go
toward paying the debt we owe you.”
Seymour laughed maliciously.
“ You will only anticipate us, my lord,” he
said, scornfully ; “ sell yourself up, or leave it
to us to sell you—it is all the same.”
The earl bowed his head with quiet, grave
dignity.
“ Come, Diana,” said Seymour, harshly,
“ Uiis is no place tor you, or me, or Lorre. Go
and tell her to get ready. We will go to the
Pines.” And he smiled maliciously.
Guy started, and bis face grew crimson. Lady
Farnham came forward and laid her hand on
Seymour Melford’s arm.
“ Mr. Mellord,” she said, almost pleadingly,
•• you will not insist upon Miss Latimer’s leav
ing us ? She is not strong ”
He laughed insultingly.
" Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Farn
ham, but I am naturally desirous of removing
from under your roof the lady whose future
husband has been insulted by one of your
guests.”
The earl looked up, and for the first time a
spark of anger kindled in his eyes.
“ Are you sure, sir, that you are that young
lady’s future husband i” be said, grimly.
Seymour turned to him with something like a
anarl.
“ I understand your taunt, my lord. You
think that Miss Latimer will desert mo as your
son deserted my sister. You judge her by your
standard—your high and noble standard. You
will find yourself mistaken.”
Lady Farnhnm motioned to the servants to
withdraw and closed the door, then she put her
hand on Seymour Melford’s arm.
Mr. Mebord,” she said, “ let bygones be
bygones. To pretend that we—any of ns—do
not know how matters stand would be useless
hypocrisy. You know whether Lorrie Latimer
would marry yon willingly or not. You know
What bold you have over her. Whatever it may
be, let it go. Belease her, and—and—” she
lerced herself to add—“ let us part friends.”
Seymour laughed scornfully.
“ My dear Lady Farnham,” he said, with a
sneer, “ I gave you credit for keener intuition.
Give up Miss Latimer ? Never 1 Ob, 1 under
stand quite well,” he went on, with an evil
smile ; “ I am to resign her that Lord Kendale
may resume his engagement with her, the
engagement which he broke as easily as he
broke that with my sister, which he would break
again if lie thought it would suit his purpose.
No ; I refuse. Be good enough to permit me
to take my leave.”
As he spoke, the door opened and Lorrie
entered. All ignorant ot the painful and excit
ing scene that was in progress, she stopped and
stared at the group of pale-faced people in as
tonishment. Then her glance fixed itself upon
Seymour Melford, and sho began to tremble.
Before she could speak the earl came forward
and took her hand.
“ My dear,” he said, gravely, with a little
quiver in bis voice, “ you have comoin the nick
of time. We were speaking of you.”
" Of—of me ?” said Lorrie, looking from one
to the other, and last of all at Gny, who stood
yyjth folded arms and eyes fixed anxiously upon
bos.
“ Yes,” said the earl. “ Thia morning my
son and Miss Mellord have withdrawn from the
engagement between them——”
Lorrie started and looked at Diana, who met
her questioning glance with a scornful, defiant
stare.
" They are no longer betrothed to each other.
We have now to epeak a word to yon. My
child,” and his voice grew gentle and protect
ing, “will you tell us all whether it is your wish
that your engagement to Mr. Melford should
still continue ?”
Seymour Melford opened his lips, but the
earl held up his hand.
“Wait sir. You might well ask, my dear
child, by what right I address the question to
you. I have no right but that which belongs
to an Old man whoso heart has been touched
by your sweet face and sad story. You have no
father, your brother and sister are absent; you
are under the protection of a lady who is my
oldest and dearest friend; do you accord me the
right to ask you the question—are you still will
ing to marry this gentleman ?”
A solemn silence had fallen upon the group;
the old man s voice, deep and sonorous as a
bell, seemed to sink into all hearts.
Seymour Melford’s harsh voice broke the
silence.
"kwVl speak 1” he said. “Lorrie, look at
me ! Will you tell me that you will cast me
aside when you hear that I am a poor and
ruined man?’
“Burned I” she breathed.
“Yes. My father has met with heavy losses,
my own money has gone with his. When you
pledged yourself to me I was a rich man, the
son of one richer still. Will you desert me in
the hour of my trouble 1 liemember I Be
member 1”
It was an artful appeal. It was irresistible.
White and trembling, Lorrie looked from him
to the earl, and lastly at Guy 1 And with what
love and despair I Then she put out her hand
slowly, reluctantly, toward Seymour Mel ord.
“I do remember 1” she said. "My lord”—
and she turned to the earl—“ Mr. Melford came
to my lather’s aid when be was in great trouble:
it was too late to save his life, but—but it saved
his name and honor! It was then that I prom
ised to be Mr. Melford’s wile, and—and I cannot
go back now.”
A groan broke from Guy’s lips, and he went
toward the window and turned his back so that
they might not see his face.
The earl sighed.
“Then it is for the sake of honor and grati
tude, not—love, my child?” be said, gently.
Then bending his gray eyes on Seymour Mel
ferd’s exultant face, he said, sternly, “ And
will you be base enough to accept this sacrifice,
eir 1”
“ Can yon ask me ?” he said, scornfully. “ My
lerd, you have lost the game I Yeu thought
that, haying tailed in getting our money, your
eon might at least gain the woman he con
descends to love I Oh, I know—l have known
it all along 1 But she is true to me still I True
Still 1”
Lorrie started, and, flushing crimson, looked
toe wl 19 Quj* TtoQ
“Yes, my dear,” said the old man, with quiet
dignity; “what Mr. Mel ord says is in a meas
ure accurate. By hie ather’e losses Latcham is
ruined ; but, notwithstanding that, I on behalf
of my son, Guy—would have prayed for your
hand for him.”
The tears welled to Lorrie’s eyes.
“ Oh, my lord, my lord I” she said.
“Hush, do not cry, my child,” be said, “and
do not tremble ; you are among friends. That
which honor says cannot be, may not be.
Heaven help and protect you.”
“ I will protect her, my lord,” retorted Sey
mour, imperiously, and with an exultant and
malicious smile, ho said, “Come, Lorrie, we
will relieve Lady Farnham ot our presence.”
Lady Farnham and Lady Collop drew away
from the door—both were crying—and Lorrie
had la d her fingers on his arm to accompany
him, when the French window was gently and
timidly opened, and a bent, emaciated figure
entered and stood leaning on its stick.
Lady Farnham, whose usually admirable
nerves were strained ar beyond their endur
ance, uttered a cry of alarm, ami the rest, turn
ing to see the cause, stared at the intruder in
silence; all excepting Seymour Mel ord, upon
whom the sudden appearance of the feeble,
broken-down-looking individual seemed to pro
duce an effect 1 ke palsy.
His face, which a moment ago had worn an
insolent, exultant smile, grew white and terror
stricken, and he clutched the back of a chair,
still, however holding Lorrie’s arm tightly.
“ Who is this ?” demanded the earl, gravely.
Guy came forward mechanically.
“ A man 1 know, s r,” he said, dully. “ I will
take him away,’ and he advanced toward him.
Blit Leverick shook his head.
“No, my lord,” be said, in his feeble voice ;
“I didn t come to see you, but—ray—my good
young lady there,” and he pointed to Lorrie.
“To see me 1” said Lorrie. “I—i cannot see
you now, Mr. Leverick.”
“ No, no I” sa d Seymour, harshly ; “ take the
fellow away, somebody.”
His words had a wonderful effect upon Lev
erick. The wan, haggard lace seemed suddenly
transformed, the hollow eyes appeared as
illumined by an inner fire, and he held out his
fist threateningly-as he cried hoarsely:
“ Yes, take rae away !—take me away before I
can tell the truth; eh, Mr. Seymour ?”
“ I—l don’t know this man I ’ stammered Sey
mour Melford. “Come, Lorrie!”
Guy stepped in between him and the door. A
presentiment of some disclosures bad fallen
upon him.
“ Stand aside!” almost shrieked Seymour
Melford.
“ No, keep him cred T evenck. “My lord”
—and he hold out his hand toward Guy appeal
ingly— “ don’t let him go till I’ve told you all 1
lhat munis as bad a scoundrel as is made!
Keep him 'quiet till I’ve had my say, and then
let him clear himself it he can 1 My lord, that
man bribed me to spoil your race at Carshal.
Oli, it was 1 put it ui his head, I admit it! I’m
guilty—punish me; kill me, it yon like !—I did
it. It was me that baulked you at the last jump,
my lord, with the handkerchief, but he—he —
paid me to do it.”
“ It’s a foul lie I” said Seymour. A silence
fell upon his words, and all waited. “ I know
nothing of this man I This is your plot, you
mean .”
. Guy looked at him ominously.
“ Be silent,” ho said in a low voice, “ or even
her presence shall not protect you!’’ and he
glanced at Lorrie. Then he signed to Leverick
to go on.
“ You won the race, my lord, and that didn’t
satisfy Mr. Melford! No! I’d proved myself
ready to do dirty work—l was starving, my
lord, 1 was, indeed -and he found blacker still
for me. My lord, it was 1 poisoned Gipsy be
fore the Grand Race .”
Guy’s face went white, and the sweat broke
out upon his forehead.
“I did it, my lord, but, as I wish to be
saved, 1 didn’t even think of it till that man
came and put it into my head, and bribed mo
to do it.”
“ Liar P’ gasped Seymour.
Leverick ground his teeth.
“lam a liar, am I? is that your writing?”
and he held out a slip of paper. “See, my lord;
see, ladies and gentlemen, that’s his writing,
though it s wrote crooked and disguised like;
it’s the instructions he gave me how to get into
the stables and give the poisoned ball to the
horse. There it is -show it him 1”
Guy came forward and took the paper. A
glance was sufficient.
Without a word, with his head sunk upon his
breast, he stood and gazed from the man to
Seymour Mel ord.
“ I’d never done such a thing as that before,
and—and it troubled me,” eaid Leverick, the
perspiration breaking out on bis wan face. “ 1
knew 1 should never have any luck after it, and
I hadn’t I Everything went wrong with me 1
Every drop ot drink 1 took seemed to poison
me ! Perhaps it did; and 1 felt as it I must get
out of England or go mad ! So I went to him —
him as had tempted me, ladies and gentlemen
—and begged him to send me out o’ the country;
and he does it, o’course ! No ! He sneers and
smiles at me, and says he don’t know ma, says
that he had never met me before, and throws
me a shilling, as .if I was a dog.”
He paused to wipe his lips and gather
strength to go on, and the group exchanged
glances oi horror. But Seymour still held Lor
ne's arm.
“ I—l hated him always, my lord,” continued
Leverick, “ but I bated h m still more Horn that
moment, so that 1 made up my mind that I’d
ruin him if I hung lor it. i thought to myself
that I’d come and tell you, make a clean breast
of it, but 1 hadn’t the pluck, and so 1 took to the
drink worse than before, and while I was trying
to fight against it, and come and split on us
both, the cab knocked me clown, and —and
he broke down—“and you—you, whose favorite
’orse I’d gone and killed, risked your Hie to save
mine!”
The wretched man’s misery was so over
whelming that Guy’s heart, which had been
hard as the nether millstone against him up to
now, melted, and going up to him, he forced
him into a char, and laying bis hand on his
shoulder, said hoarsely:
“Is there any more of this ? If so, get it
through auickly, in Heaven’s name, my man !”
“ Yes, there’s more!” said Leverick. “My
lord, when you came to the hospital I thought
you’d found out all, and had come to arrest
me, but 1 learned that you hadn’t; and 1 learn
ed more, my lord.” He hesitated, and looked
at Lorrie with the gratitude and devotion one
sees often in the eyee of a dog, but, alas ! sel
dom in that of a man. “I learned, my lord,
that that sweet young creature—may Heaven
bless her I—and you was lovers.”
Guy started.
“ Hushl” be said brokenly; but Leverick
shook his head.
“No, my lord, let me go on! But when I
asked her, she told me that she was to marry
that—that hound !” and he pointed a shaking
finger at Seymour Mellord. “ I thought it was
strange that such as she should care for such as
him, and 1 watched her face when 1 spoke your
name. Then I knew it was yon she cared for,
my lord, and I felt sure that he had been at
some dirty work to get a hold upon her. But I
said nothing; I thought I was going to die, my
lord, before that morning; they all thought so
at the ’ospital. But 1 didn’t mean to till I’d
tried to help her and you, as were the only
creatures as ever did me a good turn or spoke
kind words in my ear since I was born ! 1 got
better, my lord, anfl tlteQ I. found my dew
young laay there s ad left mortey for me. 1 left
the Capital, my lord, and I went down to the
city. I’ve been a great many things in my time,
ladies and gentlemen, and made some queer
acquaintances. One of’em there, in the city,
knew this fine gentleman—knew all about him
from being in the same office with a man as car
ried on business for him—a Mr. Wheeler—”
Seymour Melford started—“ and 1 got him some
dnuk afid got him to talk, and 1 come upon the
track all in a minute like ”
“ Enough of this !” broke out Seymour Mel
ford with a sneer. “ This romance of the gut
ter may amuse you, but it has no interest for
me. Come !” and he attempted to draw Lorrie
away; but she remained as if rooted to the spot,
her eyes fixed upon Leverick’s lace, her breath
coming and going.
“ttwill interest him presently,” my lord,”
said Leverick, grimly. “ J set my friend on his
track, and I found how he’d got a bold upon
my sweet young lady there. My lord, he’d per
suaded her lather—an old clergyman, as knew
no more of such things than a babe—to buy
some shares in a mine that ho knew would go
to pieces, and then, when the old gentleman
was ruined, he comes and lends him money,
and so gets my young lady to believe as he’d
been her father’s friend, and saved him from
yujn, and-—”
As if avail had been torn from before the
past, Lorrie saw it all. Those long conferences
between her poor dead father and Seymour; the
agony of mind the old man had endured under
the torture which Seymour had, in cold blood,
administered;■she saw it all, every mesh ot the
net he had woven round her was revealed to
her.
With a cry of utter loathing she snatched her
arm from his, and shrank away from him, and
clung to the earl, who put his arm round her
and murmured grave and tender words oi pity
and sympathy.
“The mine was the Wheal Bose, my lord,”
went on Leverick, “ and it broke, but Mr. Mel
ford had sold out at the very last moment—
though he lost most of his money, but it was
money well spent, he thought, little thinking
that the mine would turn out after all. It
did turn out right, my lord, but the news came
too sudden lor the poor old gentleman, my la
dy’s father, and it killed him/’
Lorrie covered her face with her hands.
“ And it left my young lady entirely in that
man’s hands. That’s the whole story, my lord.
That’s the hold he’s got oh her; but I’ve freed
her, my lord. I killed Gipsy, my lord, but I’ve
saved my dear young lady from that villain,
and—and——”
He stopped suddenly, and turned round with
a wild, vacant stare.
Lady Farnham uttered a warning cry, and.
Guy hurried up to him and caught him as he
staggered forward in the chair.
The effort had been too much for the man,
and he had broken down. Guy rang the bell
and gave him into the charge oi Gillot, and sent
a servant lor a doctor.
In the confusion that ensued, no one had
thought of Seymour Melford. Everybody’s
mind had been centered upon the principal per
sonage in that strange story—Lorrie herself.
Still with the earl’s arm round her she hid her
face on his breast and sobbed quietly, and Sey
mour Melford stood with folded arms looking
at her with a look upon bis face that was awlul
in its intense despair and impotent fury.
At last he started and took a step toward her,
and moistened his lips.
•‘Lorrie,” he said hoarsely, “Lorrie—
NEW YORK DISPATCTLMAY 8, 1887
With a shudder running through her weak
frame, Lorrie raised her head, and, turning,
looked him full in the f ace.
He met the gaze of horror and Io itbing for a
moment, then his head fell upon h s breast, and
he turned and moved toward the door.
Hero, however, he paused, as it his evil spirit
were making one last effort, and, glaring at Guy,
said:
“ > ord Kendale, you and I have still to settle
accounts. You think you have won ”
Diana rose and laid her hand upon his arm
and stopped him; then she looked round with a
scornful smile anon her white face.
“ Aon ! Won I” she said mockingly. “Won
what? My dear Lord Latcham, I congratulate
my brother upon his escape from the toils of
your dear Miss Lorrie, and I congratulate Lord
Guy upon having at last succeeded in gaining
hie beloved pauper to console him for his ruin
It will be a fitting match on both sides. Lord
Kendale, we shall meet again—at the sale of
Latcham Court!”
And with a scornful laugh she put her arm
within Seymour Melford s and led him from the
room And as they passed out it seemed as if
a load almost too great for endurance had been
removed from the breasts of those who had
stood and listened.
Suddenly Lady Collop’s funereal voice broke
the silence, exclaiming:
“The way o. transgressors is hard !”
And it was probably the most sensible remark
she had ever made.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE GREAT WHEAL ROSE MINE.
Three days have elapsed since the departure
of l iana and Seymour Melford, and Lorrie is
still at Farnham Hall, though the Latebams
have gone to the court, and Lady Collop has re
turned to London to her “ dooties.” Lorrie bad
ottered to go with her, but Lady Farnham would
not bear of it. She had taken a great lancy to
i orr e, and insists upon her staying at the Hall,
at any rate for the present.
“ i should have thought you would have been
only too glad to get rid of all of us, me especial
ly, seeing the trouble we have given you,” Lor
rie had remarked, but the old lady hud laughed
and shaken her head.
“ Trouble, my dear ! Nonsense ! I have en
joyed it! One doesn't get such a sensation as
the Melfords more than once in a lifetime, and
when I think I have had some slight share in
liberating you from that horrible young man, I
feel as if I bad been capable of an heroic action
—which 1 never was nor shall be. No, if you
are not tired of a tiresome old woman, stay on
with me here. I want to see the roses in your
cheeks again ; I think there is a faint sign of
them this morning. Beside, I have a little sur
prise prepared for you—no, I shan’t tell you
what it is ; you must wait!”
Hhe has not to wait long, for, when she comes
into the drawing-room to five o’clock tea, two
persons, who are sitting beside Lady Farnham,
rise and come toward her, and, with a’ cry of
joy and welcome, sho sees that they are Jack
and Greta !
“Ob, Lady Farnham 1 ’ she says, half laugh
ing, half crying. “ How good ot you !”
“ Nonsense, my dear. There, I shall leave
you to give them their tea and chatter over it.
I’ve told them all the strange things that have
happened. Mr. Jack—l hope you don’t mind
an old woman’s familiarity?’
“Not in the least,” says Jack, with a boyish
blush that becomes his bronzed cheeks. “ You
can call me what you like, Lady Farnham.”
“Very well, then, it shall be Jack. Well,
Jack, you are the only gentleman in the house,
and you must make yourself at homo. Lorrie,
look after them 1” and she goes out.
“And it’s really you ! ’ exclaims Lorrie, giving
Greta another loving hug. “This was her sur
prise, then 1 Oh, Greta, she is the dearest,
sweetest old lady I How well you are looking !
And Jack, too ! I wonder the army could spare
you, Jack ”
“That’s right, chaff away I” he says, smiling.
“’Pon my soul, 1 think I have missed your chaff
as much as anything. Yes, I’ve got a week’s
leave, and here I am, here we are. But, good
Heavens, Lorrie, a pretty kettle offish all this
is ! Phew ! Seymour Mel ord found out, eh ? I
might have guessed his little game if I’d had
the brains oi a red herring, which I haven't.
And Diana, too ! And where's Guy, dear old
Guy? Poor old fellow! The smash up will
break his guv’nor’s heart, won’t it?”
“Jack,” says Greta significantly; “ as Lady
Farnham said you were to make yourself at
home, the best thing you can do is to go and get
ready lor dinner.”
“All right,” he says cheerfully; “a nod’s as
good as a wink to a blind horse’—better, in fact.
I see you want to get rid oi me. Give me an
other kiss, Lorrie, and cheer up !” and be
stowing half a shako and halt an embrace upon
her, he goes out.
The two girls sit with arms enlocked, in close
converse, until the drossing bell rings; then
Lorrie, in a tone of concluding the whole matter,
says:
“ You are happy with your work, why
shouldn’t I be, Greta ? There is only one thing
1 can teach, and that's music. I’ll go as music
teacher to some boarding-school, it may not be
very pleasant, but”—with a laugh—“it can’t be
more dreary than Manchester Square and the
Cbickeriiboo islanders 1”
Greta says nothing, but draws her to her
bosom and kisses her ion (By.
It is a very pleasant evening at the Hall, for
Jack is in the best of spirits, and Lady Farn
ham, who loves youth, laughs at his jokes and
bis description of barrack lilo, and even Lorrie
wakes up now and again from her absent pre
occupation and smiles.
Justbelore they are parting for the night,
Lady Farnham says in the most casual way:
“ Oh, 1 ought to tell you, my dears, that we
are all going over to the court to spend the
aitei noon and dine.”
Lorrio starts and flushes painfully.
“ Not me—dear Lady Farnham ?” she falters.
“ Yes, ‘mo ’ and all,” says the old lady smil
ing. “My dear, lam your guardian in the
absence of Lady Collop, and the least you can
do, in gratitude lor not being compelled to read
tracts and missionary reports, is to be obedient.
Beside, I want you to see the Court before
she finishes the sentence with a sigh, but they
know she means “ before it passes from the
Latchams for ever!”
it is ns br.ght as a Summer’s day as the car
riage drives up the grand old avenuo ot elms
leading to the Court, and, as they near the en
trance, Lorrie, who has said but little during
the drive, falls into perlect silence. Presently
Lady Farnham looks up and directs their at
tention to the immense pile glistening in the
sunlight.
“ There is the Court, my dears ! Isn’t it a I
lovely place ? Forcentur es theLatchams have
lived and died under its roof, and now it will
know them no more 1”
“ I’oor old Guy !” says Jack gravely. “ Can’t
anything be done? Isn’t there anybody who
could help? Sir Christopher, now—he’s a won
deriully clever fellow and up to everything —
couldn’t he do anything? By the way, Lorrie,
I met him a few days ago, and he began talking
about our affairs, but 1 told him he might as
well talk to a gate-post, for I shouldn’t under
stand him a bit better; and he went off rather
angry, saying that he’d see the girls. I don’t
know what it’s all about, but it’s something
to do with the poor old governor’s money mat
ters ”
“More troubles, I am afraid,” says Greta with
a sigh. “ Foor papa
The ca'frlagd slops at the groat stone steps, |
and Guy comes down to receive them; and
Jack’s hand is grasped in his with a lervent
clasp.
“Aren’t yon surprised, old man ?” says Jack.
“ You didn't expect to see mo ?”
But Guy shakes his head and exchanges a
glance w th Lady Farnham.
“ No, I’m not surprised, Jack,” he says, “ I
was in the secret. Greta, welcome to the
Court! How well you are looking. My father
is very anxious to see you. Come in, all of
you 1”
Then he lingerie behind and holds Lorrie’s
hnnd, while her face flushes for a moment then
grows pale.
“ Welcome to the court, dear Lorrie,” he
says in a low voice. “I am glad you have
come ! I was afraid ”
“Lady Farnham made me,” she answers in
an equally low voice.
“ And Leverick—how is ho ?” he asks.
“He will soon be beyond all suffering,” she
answers very quietly. “ 1 saw him this morn
ing, and told him that I should see you, and he
bade me toll you that he was quite happy, and
ready to go when his timo came.”
“Poor fellow!” says Guy. “Lorrie I little
thought that night 1 picked him from under
the cab how important an act it would prove to
be!”
By this time they have reached the drawing
room. The earl stands ready to receive them,
. and shakes hands with them all, save Lorrie.
Her ho drew a little nearer to him, and raising
her band, presses it with a gentle courtliness to
bis lips.
“I thank you, my lady,” he says to Lady
Farnham, “for bringing these young people tb
see an old man whose heart is not too old and
worn, 1 trust, to welcome them under the roof
that is his for a little while longer. Guy, ask Mias
Lorrie to let you show her the armory. Mr.
Latimer, you and your sister must be content
with my ciceroneship; we Latchams are proud
of our house, and always glad to show it!” and
he speaks with so brave a smile th it the tears
spring to Greta’s eyes as she takes his arm.
“ No, no, my dear!” he says in a low voice.
“ My son and I have talked it all over. There is
to be no idle repining; we have sinned and we
must suffer. The court will pass into worthier
hands, we trust. As for us, well, we shall not
be utterly penniless, and we shall be happier
perhaps than we have ever been—but that rests
with the dear child, yolir sister I”
In silence Guy leads Lorrie into the armory;
not a word is spoken by either, but Lorrie feels
his heart beating wildly against his arm which
he presses closely to his side, and there is some
thing in bis manner which causes her own to
throb with mingled fear and joy.
“ This is the armory,” he says, as they enter
the magnificent hall. “Ou the’right, Miss Lati
mer, is the coat of mail worn by Gaveston
Latcham, first earl .” Then, as the footman
who has ushered them in, retires and closes the
door, Guv stops suddenly, and taking both her
hands, looks into her face with ardent, longing
eyes.
“ Lorrie!” he says, and his voice quivers.
“ You know why 1 have brought you here? Oh,
my darling Imy darling I Has it all come right
at last, or is it too good—too good to be true ?
Lorrie, do you still love me, and will you for
give me and be my wife ?”
She doesn’t answer for a moment.
“ X our wife and your ruin 1” she falters, her
face downcast.
My wile and my salvation, Lorrie 1” be says
fervently. "Oh, my darling, when I think of
the suicide I was about to commit—when I think
of the life of misery that 1 was saved from—only
just in time—l feel as if nothing, not even tho
loss ot the Court, can matter if I can only have
you, my dear, dear love 1”
She says nothing, but she raises her head and
looks up at him through the mist ot tears, that
makes his handsome, ardent face all blurred
and dim, and he reads the look aright, and
catches her to his heart.
* » it- * * *
The dinner-bell rings for these two in vain,
and it is quite past soup time when they enter,
arm in arm, a radiant look of joy on Guy’s face,
a shy, bashful happiness on Lorrie s downcast
one.
The earl looks up, and points to the chair
beside his own.
“ Guy has kept you a long while, my dear,”
he says gently. “ I hope he Hrs bad something
more interesting to talk about than the moldy
history of Latcham Court 1”
Then Guy looks up, and says before them all:
“Father, Lorrie has promised to be my wife I”
and the earl stretches out his hand, and laying
it on Lorrie’s soft white arm, says, in a deep,
grave voice:
“ Heaven bless you both, my dears !”
But lor Jack it would most certainly be rather
a solemn dinner party, for the doom ‘impending
over the roof under which they are sitting can
not be even in face of the happiness
of Gny and Lorrio; but Jack is equal to the oc
casion, and comes out bravely.
“Ah, youth, youth 1” says the earl, after he
had laughed at one of Jack s naive stories of his
examination. “ Youth and health are better
than lands and learning. Even an old and
broken man can forget his troubles in the com
pany of such young and hopeful hearts as these,
my lady.”
“ 1 don’t think you are very courteous, my
lord,” retorts Lady Farnham. “ I wish you
would remember, when you speak of being old.
that I was born only two years later; and as to
being broken, I don’t think I ever saw you look
better.”
He smiles gravely.
“Trouble braces most men,”he says, “it may
brace me—who knows ? And now, my dear
children. I will tell you our plans. Guy and I
and the steward have been going into the whole
business lor the last two days, and we have de
cided upon a proposal which Guy has made.
The Court must go,” he goes on with a smile;
“so must the land, or nearly all oi it. But there
will be just enough remaining to leave Gny a
country squire’s income, and with that our dear
child here muat be content. As for me”—he
pauses a moment —“ a seat beside the fire in the
Winter, and a chair in the garden in the {Sum
mer ”
He stops, for Lorrie with a sudden impulse
rises, and putting her arms round his neck,
draws his white head to her bosom, and holds
it there, sobbing soitly over him.
It is so like the Lorrie of old that though
Guy’s eyes are moist his heart leaps with joy
and love, but before ho can say a word to quiet
her the door opens, and the butler enters and
announces Sir Christopher Latimor, and Lorrie
has only just time to resume her seat when that
important gentleman appears.
The earl looks from one to tho other, then
rises and holds out his hand.
“ I am glad to see you, Sir Christopher,” he
says. “ Your name is well known to me. You
eco a family party, and could not have arrived
at a more fitting time. Have you dined ?”
“Dined at the club, my lord,’’ says Sir Chris
topher, as be exchanges greetings with the rest;
“ but I’ll take a glass of wine. Sorry to intrude
so suddenly, but ”he goes on a little ex-
citedly, and breaking through the earl’s and
Guy’s murmurs of welcome, “ but I have most
important bus.ness with iny wards.”
“ I told ’em so,” says Jack, shaking his head.
Sir Christopher
“ Yes, I tried to explain something ®f the mat
ter to Jack, but ” he pauses a second —
“ Jack, though no doubt an ornament to the
British army, was not, ahem !—meant for busi
ness. ’
“ Quito right,” says Jack, and Guy laughs.
“Be quiet,” murmurs Lorrie, administering
a quiet kick to Jack.
“ The fact is,” continues Sir Christopher, still
laboring to suppress hie excitement and attain
His usual official composure, “something has
occurred in connection with a portion ot the
affairs of my late cousin, their father, which,
my lord, entirely alters the aspect of their pros
pects.”
Jack groans.
“Sounds as if he were reading from a book,
doesn’t itbe whispers to Lorrie.
The earl nods sympathetically.
“ Have you discovered any further liabilities,
( Sir Christopher ?”
“ Liabilities, no !” almost shouts Sir Christo
pher. “ Perhaps you are not awaro, my lord,
that my cousin purchased five thousand pounds
worth of shares in a gold mine—the Great Wheal
Hose ?”
The earl shook his head. All listened in
tently.
“ It was the first and only occasion of his en
gaging in speculation,” continued Sir Christo
pher, rubbing his eyeglasses, “and to me it is
a problem why he should have done so at all.
Some one may have influenced him—l have my
suspicions !”
“It was Seymour Melford, Sir Christopher,”
puts in Lady i arnham m a low voice.
“Ah!” says Sir Christopher; “hum! Well,
buy these shares he did, and lor a time he was
under the impression that he should lose the
money; the shares went down, you understand.
On the morning he died,” he goes on softly,
“we found a letter saying that the mine had
suddenly disclosed a rich vein of gold, and that
the shares had risen in value. Do 1 make my
self understood ?”
The earl inclines his head courteously, but it
is extremely doubtful whether he grasps tb®
statement.
“ As the executor, I had. of course, the power
of realizing these shares;’ but fox’ some reason
that I can scarcely explain—call it a presenti
ment—l kept tho shares and supplied the
money they represented, holding the shares,
you understand, for Greta and Jack and Lor
rie.”
I quite understand, Sir Christopher,” says
the earl.
“ Well, my lord yes, I’ll take another glass
of wine, Lord Kendale—the shares increased in
value, and 1 purchased some more, still for the
family, you comureheud?”
“ Yes,” says the earl with a grave smile, “and
now they have decreased, and the money’s lost
—is it not, Sir Christopher?”
“No!” exclaims that gentleman in louder
tones than he had ever used m bis life bo.ore;
“ they have done no such thing !—they have in
creased enormously, incredibly! The Great
Wheal Hose has turned out one of the most
precious of gold mines. It is supposed, on the
best authority, to be worth millions, and the
shares we-that is, Greta and .lack and Lorrie,
here—hold, are worth nearly one hundred and
thirty thousand pounds !”
There is a silence lor a moment, then Jack
utters a “hooray” and waves his wineglass.
The earl sinks back white and trembling, and
Guy looks from one to the other.
Lorrie alone seems unmoved.
“One hundred and thirty thousand, my lord!
I have tliis day sold halt of them out, and it all
they say is true, the remainder alone will prove
another fortune for them !”
Then lorrie rises and goea soitly behind the
earl's ch ir, and bending over him lays hoi’ lace
against his.
,! uh, my Iwl, aiy Iqrtl I” she inurmare.
“Oh, Guy. Guy, tell him I I can’ll”— »n<i, in
deed, she cannot lor the moment. “ Tell him
that the Court is aaved—is saved !”
The old man hears, looks up at her vacantly
for a moment, then taking the small hand’s
clasped upon bis broast, kisses them tenderly
and gratefully. But ho save not a word.
* is * * v #
Two months later and the Hall is in a wild
state oi bustle and confusion, for this bright
Summer morning i orrie Latimer is to become
the Viscountess Kendale.
It is not often a girl ot her age has two wed
ding morns; but how different is this to the for
mer one ! There is sun instead ot snow,warmth
instead oi cold, and the bride, in place ot the
shivering, frozen-hearted girl who stood shud
deringly at the window of the rectory, is tho
sweet, bright-hearted Lorrie Latimer as we first
knew her—the Lorrie who hid behind the
tombs'one; the Lorrie to whom Guy made love
in the rectory lans; the old Lorrio come back,
and never to be again that other Lorrie who
was caught in the Seymour Mel ord snare.
To the music ot the bells she goes to tho
church, where is a throng oi villagers who have
heard her story and have already learned to
love her for her own sake as well lor that of her
husband—their lord’s eon and heir— their fu
ture lord. The bishop is waiting, and in front
o£ tlie altar rails stands the man she loves—her
Guy—to whom sue is going to bring not only
herself, but the fortune which is to build up
Latcham Court itself.
Close by her side is the tall, noble figure o'
the earl, a kindly, loving emile on his face, his
while head erect as it has not been for many
and many a year, bee with what tenderness he
draws her little hand within his arm, and how
kindly he glances from her to the son lie loves I
All the story ot his great mistake and its atone
ment is told in that glance, but not all bis love
for the girl who has entwined herself round his
heart, lor no glance can tell that, nor words.
And now the sentence that makes Guy Ken
dale and Lorna Latimer man and wile has been
spoken, the bells are ringing out wildly, and
down the lane of shouting, hurrahing specta
tors Gny leads his own dear Lorrie.,
aV he does so, followed by Jack and Greta,
and Lady Farnham and Lady Cpllop, and just
as they are entering the carriage amid a shower
ofiidwers thrown by the school children, a man
comds up,and half-concealed by the crowd, looks
alter them.
He is a tall, thin man,with a stern, white face
and dark eyes that flash with an evil glance,
which together with the contraction of his thin
lips bo works upon oue of the young farmers
standing near, that he slaps the man on the
back and says, halt-jokingly, hall-impatiently:
“Why don’t ’ee shout, man! Hooray I
Hooray I”
The stranger, grinding an oath between hie
teeth, shrinks back a step or two, but, as it im
pelled by an impulse he cannot control, again
finds himself at the edge of the crowd.
“ Shout, man !’’ cries tho young farmer once
more. “ Bees’t a stranger, that ’ee stares like
an old barn owl! Doesn’t ’ee know who they
two young and happy iolk be?”
The man glares at him, and the farmer, tak
ing pity on his supposed ignorance, bestows up
on him another slap.
“ ’Ee don t ? Then I’ll tell ’ee ! That be our
young lord and his lady, Miss Lorrie Latimer as
was—Viscountess Kendale as be now I He! ho 1
And we re all a shouting cause the course o’
' ibs love have nm true at last, and a villaia
has been oircnmwented ! Don’t ’ee know the
story? Bless thee, man, where do ’ee come
from? Don’t 'ee know that I be epeakin’ ot
Meater Meltord, the eon of the old man aa have
swindled the people and took poison last week ?
Aye, and the old villain’s eon pretty nigh got
hold of our sweet young lady, that ’ee did I
But onr young lord was one too many for him 1
’Deed he was though ! And he’s not only got
his bride—bless her pretty face—but she have
brought him the money to dear Latcham
Court! Hooray! Hooray! Shout man 1 Shout,
I tell ’ee 1”
But the stranger, pulling his hat over Lis
eyes, utters a curse and turns on his heel. It
was Seymour Mcllord himself.
THE END.
THE DETROIT joL’JMOX.
BEWARE OF OIL OF CLOVES—THE
SAME OLD STAND—NO SHAKE.
OIL OF CLOVES.
•‘Well,! wouldn’t have believed it!” sighed
Patrick Shane as he stood looking over the desk.
“ What, Patrick ?”
“ That a little oil of cloves put into my tooth
to cure the ache would have upset me bo.”
“ Then you were upset? ’
•‘ VV by, I started lor home and I was dizzy,
and I staggered, and I can’t eay that 1 blame
the policeman tor supposing J was drunk.”
“Thanks. lam delighted to find a mm who
doesn’t blame a policeman. Perhaps you have
heard the song called “ The Policeman’s La
ment ?” It begins with:
“ 'Ob ! blame not the blue-coat, for sad is his lot,
Although his intentions are good;
Odo day he is pounded—another day shot,*
And the next day is up before the Commission
ers for some alleged dereliction of duty and
fined a mouth’s pay.”
“ I never heard the song, sir. I suppose I can
go, now?”
“ Oh, yes—for thirty days.”
“ What’s that for ? ’
“ Being drunk.”
“ And you don’t believe my story?”
“Kot a word. Beware of oil of cloves. It
biteth like an adder.”
“ Well, sir, all I’ve got to eay ie that you
are a mane man, and I’ll never do no more busi
ness with you!”
BAME OLD STAND.
When Christopher Smith came out he looked
around him in such a dazed and puzzled way
that his Honor felt called upon to say:
“ This is the same old stand and place. We’ve
had the windows washed and the ceiling whit
ened up, but you’ve made no mistake.”
“I whs afraid i’d got into the wrong place,”
replied the prisoner.
“Have no fears. I think you called here
about three months ago ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You found us all in and anxious to do busi
ness ?”
“ 1 did. I was never waited upon more
promptly.”
“ Found onr goods all right and prices as low
as any responsible house, didn't you ?”
“ 1 did.”
“ Well, that’s the wav we like to do business.
What can we show you this morning ?”
“ Pd like to see about thirty days in the stone
coop, your Honer, for Im ragged, penniless
and need bracing up.”
“ Certainly. The clerk will measure it off for
you. Anything more?”
Eure there s nothing else to-day.”
“Thanks. Call again.”
HAD A BROTHERLY FEELING.
Charles Wren was a farmer, and he had been
rolled in the mud and drawn through knotholes
until the sight ot his photograph would have
made a dog grin.
“ Eay, Judge,” he began, as he worked up a
smile, “ I like you.”
“ Well.”
“ Let’s shake.”
“ Never mind that. Y r ou look out of sorts.”
“Doi? 1 never felt tip-topper in my born
days. Judge, I've got a fraternal feeling lor
you.”
“ The charge is drunkenness.”
“ Can’t help that. 1 used to be a justice of the
peace, and that’s why I’ve got a fraternal feeling
lor you. I’ll bet my last dollar on your old bald
head.”
“ What do you say to the charge ?”
“ It’s all .nonsense. I wasn’t drunk—you
wasn’t drunk -nobody was drunk. Bay, Judge,
come out to the farm and see me.”
“ Officer, was he very drunk ?”
“ He was, sir.”
“ Do any damage ?”
“ No, sir. Nothing ugly about him.”
“ Prisoner, if I let you go will you keep so
ber?”
“ I’ll do anything you ask me to. Ask mo for
my oxen—my farm—the old house —all is your’n.
Judge, we «re a band of brothers.”
“ i on can go.”
“ Course. Come out and let’s have some fun.
Two old bald-heads paint the town fed, eb ?
Ain't so young as we used to be, but all here ! ’
Stebbins had to gently push him out and lock
the door on him, but he called through the win
dow:
“Eh? Old Pansy? Just too sweet for any
thing. Come out and let me adopt you
A~ PUf-UpJOB.
BY M. QUAD.
We left Memphis by steamer at about eight
o’clock in the evening, and among the deck pas
sengers I noticed a couple, man and wi e, who
gazed around as if they had never seen a steam
boat be ore. They had an old coffee sack with
Some clothing in it, but no other baggage. They
mov6d about in a timid way, and both seemed
much airaid of the water.
The boat had not gone five miles down the
river, and the large number o passengers had
not yet settled down, when there was an un
earthly shriek, followed by the cry of “man
overboard I” The boat was stopped and her
wheels backed, and after two or three minutes
it was learned that one of the couple 1 have
mentioned-the husband- had fallen over
board. The woman “ took on ” in the wildest
manner, crying and moaning and wringing her
bunds, and when asked how it happened, she
replied :
“ He just dun fell over—fell over—fell over.”
By that time it was useless to think of lower
ing a boat. There was a swift current running,
and as the man had not cried out there could
be no doubt of bis being drowned. Every one
pitied the woman, of course, and when Home
body took off his hat and dropped a live-dollar
bill into it, it was a “go” all around. A hun
dred dollars was raised for her in fifteen min
utes, and she went ashore at the first landing
made by the boat, lugging the bag of clothes
with her. I went down ns far as Hernando,
Miss., and stopped off there lor two days, taking
a second steamer down ou the third night from
the above occurrence. When 1 went down to
the levee I saw a couple with an old sack be
tween them who reminded me of the pair on the
boat, and I also saw them come aboard. The
resembl nee astonished me, but it had to go for
a coincidence.
The steamer pulled out at about ten o’clock,
and had not been under way half an hour when
there was a loud uhriek, followed by the cry of
“ Man overboard It was a repetition of what
I have related before, except that some of the
passengers fiad gone to bed, and the shako
piitsc didn’t count up over S4O. The hat was
passed to ma, but 1 declined to chip. The “ re
cent and grief-stricken widow ” le t the boat at
the first landing, and I went to bed w.th the
feeling that curious coincidences were mighty
thick on the Mississippi River.
I left the boat at Helena, made a three days’
stay, and was ready to take another boat on the
down trip when 1 ran across that self-same
couple at the levee, waiting for the same
boat. After some minutes spent in solemn re
flection, I walked up to them and said to the
man:
“ Como, now, this is & square deal, and I give
noth ng away. I’ve seen you drowned twice,
and I’ve seen this ‘widow’ go ashore with a
breaking heart the same number of times. Tell
me how you plan it and I’ll give you a • V.’ ”
“ Let’s see the money. ’
I handed it over, and he stowed it away in
his pocket, and then replied :
“ I’ve got a rubber life-preserver under my
clothes, as you see, and I generally make shore
within a couple ot miles. Stranger, don’t give
it away. We are poor but honest people.”
I solemnly, agreed that i wouldn t, but I
think they rattier mistrusted mo, for they
waited over to catch a boat the next night.
Everybody Expects It—The European
Custom Fully Adopted Here.
(From the Indianapolis Feias.)
It would be difficult to discover an employee
in New York city, outside ot the big commercial
houses, who will not accept a tip of one sort or
another. Twenty years ago the free-born
American citizen, whether he was a waiter,
barber or cabman, considered himself as good
as his patron, and refused to look for small
bribes and gratuities, t wrb the time when the
barber talked as familiarly to his customers as
he did to hia mate, and the cabman regarded
himself as part and parcel of any racket or roy
aler that happened to be going on. When the
broker stopped hia cab to go in and get a
drink, the driver was invited to go with him,
and all the men were one; but the practice of
tipping drew a sharp lino. No man tips hia
equal, and hence the barber, the cabman, the
porter, eleva‘or boy, waiter, small salesman,
baggage conductor, messenger and every other
functionary who can in any way render a service
to another" ia looked upon as a fit object for
charity. It has got to a pretty advanced stage
now.
If you leave a hotel, the sharks loiter in your
path with an alertness that nothing can baffle.
Ono man helps officiously with your coat, an
other holds open the door with a meaning smile;
a third wrests a satchel from you that he may
carry it across tho sidewalk, while a fourth
opens the cab door, and the driver beams down
at you with a smile that means anything from
ten cents to hub a dollar over the regular fare.
If you do not tip a waiter in a restaurant your
dinner will be spoiled by any one of the thou
sand devices of which these clever catarers to
human happiness are capable, in fact, it is just
about as bad in New York us it is in England.
I am often reminded of the badgered American
who stood on the dock at Queenstown before he
sailed for home, and, waving hia hand at the
whole British nation, yelled, as he held a coiu
i in the aix;
••If there is a single gol darned Englishman
on this whole blessed island who hasn’t had a
shilling from me, let him come forward. This
is his last and only chanoe to get it. I’m going
home.”
There are various ways of tipping in New
York, but the tip direct will seldom offend.
Not long ago I went to a bootmaker s, where I
was rather surprised at the amount of r gid
dignity that pervaded the establishment. The
proprietor habiltnally dines at Delmonico’s,
where he ignores his customers with unerring
hauteur and exehisiveness. He bowed stiffly
to me when I entered his shop, and immedi
ately retired into a rosewood inclosure 1 ke a
banking-office, whore he sank into an easy chair
and regarded a corps of lowly slaves at bis
books with a stern and uncompromising eye.
A salesman came humbly forward, and i was
conducted up stairs to a handsomely carpeted
room, where the shoemaker sat by a window,
reading a morn ng paper. He didn’t make the
shoos. • e simply took the measure. Lasts
were ranged around the room in showy cabinets,
like books m a fashionable library. My meas
ure was taken am d a vast amount of flum
mery and detail. The shoemaker was expen
sively dressed, and very subservient. He in
formed me adroitly that it was in his power to
make a good or bad shoe at will; that an incent
ive, etc. 1 tipped him, and he was grateful.
Then the clerk insinuated that as he picked out
I the materials, and s > on, it might rail in his w?y
.to aid me. Another tip. On tho way out, the
i formerly austere pr prietor came forward, bow
| ing and scraping suggest vely. I looked at him
a moment, flipped a coin in the air, and he
caught it deftly.
“Drink my health,” I said shortly.
“ With pleasure, sir,” said the habitue of Del
monico’s.
“And,” I added, “be sure and have the
shoes easy across the instep.”
“ I shall give it my personal attention, sir.”
He hurried ahead to open the door. The shoes
were perfect. Had it not been for tho tipping
they would doubtless have given as little satis
faction as those of a friend of mine who goes to
the same place, nnd who is in a state of chronic
revolt. lie never gives a foe, and he sutlers
from a thousand slights and slurs because he
is a martyr to principle.
Unser Fritz.—Mays an English ex
change: Englishmen will read with pleasure
and pride the follow ng anecdote of the Crown
Prince of Prussia. It is taken from Mr. \V. Beat
ty-Kingston’s recently published work, “Music
and Manners“ On tho second evening after
tho proclamation, in the Salle des Glaces, at Ver
sailles, of William of Hobenzollern, King of
Prussia, hs German Emperor, 1 received a com
mand to dino with the crown prince at his quar
ters in the pretty little villa Les umbraues —
which his royal highness occupied throughout
the investment and siege of Paris. With the
solitary exception ot General Beauchamp Walk
er, the British military commiss.oner at that
time attached to the royal headquarters, I was
tho only Englishman among the crown prince’s
guests upon the occasion in question, an acci
dent to which 1 attribute the gratifying circum
stance that my august host distinguished me
more than once in tho course of the evening by
conversing with me at considerable length. He
was wearing undress uniform, as it was an in
formal ‘iriendly ’ party, and after dinner, while
we were smoking and chatting together—l re
member that he had just shown me a remark
ably handsome meerschaum pipe, carved for
him by the crown princess just before be started
upon the trench campaign—he suddenly thrust
his righthand into the breast of his dragoon
tunic, and, pulling ont three glittering jewels,
called my attention to them, saying, ‘I always
wear these about me, even when no ceremonial
occasion requires their d splay. One, as you
see, is the jewel of our chief order; another that
of the Fleece; the third is the George. lam
very proud of my garter, lor I owe the dearest
thing in h e to me, my beloved wife, to the
country whose patron saiut is also the patron
saint of that order. 1 regard it as of good augu
ry—so much so, th it the day before yesterday,
when my father Was proclaimed emperor, as
you saw and heard, I put on the garter itself
wnon 1 dressed to attend the ceremony. It
could not be seen l>y anybody, because I was in
full cavalry uniform, with high boots reaching
above the knee, which completely hid it. But 1
had it on, and I don t mind confessing to you
that J should have deemed it an unlucky omis
sion had i orgotten to don it upon so important
—so momentous an occasion in the history of
our house.’ ”
Death of a Russian Comfdtan.—
Russia has just lost one of her most celebrated
comedians, Vassili. amoiloff, who was as much
admired for his ready wit as for his thorough
knowledge of bis art. Tne old at tor was very
fond ot recounting hie adventures, one of which
bears a strong likeness to stories told ot several
other comedians. On one occasion the Emperor
Nicholas sent for him, and then and there, with
out the slightest preparation or warning, told
Samoiloff to imitate him. The comedian
promptly sei ,ed a helmet, placed it on his own
head. ; nd then turning to the Minister on duty,
said with an airoi authority, “You will grant
Samoilo f two months’ leave and give him 5, »00
roubles out of the imperial Treasury.” The
Czar laughed heartily, and ordered his‘Minister
to comply w.th the command. Another time
Samoilo it, in a piece which he was playing, im
itated to the life a certain count, notorious tor
his eccentricities and extravagance. The count,
who happened to be among the audience, went
up to the actor behind the scenes and congrat
ulated him on his success, but added that the
resemblance would be more striking if instead
of the gold shirt studs which he was wearing
Bamoiloff had put on diamond studs. Then,
suiting the action to the worJ, the count took
off his own diamond studs and presented them
tn the comedian. bamoiloT was a general fa
vorite, and his many sallies were applauded
even by those at whose expense he indulged
his wit.
Curious Watches.—'Che construction
of watches without hands has lately attracted
some attention, the usual hands be ng replaced
by figures denoting the hour and minute, which
appear at openings in the dial plate; the mech
anism is simple, and only a few more parts are
required than in an ordinary watch. Two
wheels are used to denote the minutes—one,
which moves forward once a minute, being
geared to a second one, marked with the ten
minute figures, and every ten minutes a tooth
on the first wheel engages with the teeth on the
second, moving it forward one figure. Thus,
every minute ot the hour ia shown on the face
o. the watch, and, at its complet on both minute
wheels show two ciphers, and are toady to be
gin the round again the hour is shown on a
separate wheel, anti an ordinary hand indicates
tho seconds. O. the advantages of this kind et
watch, it is remarked that few neople read the
time of an ordinary watch accurately, and, it
the experiment is tried of glancing «t the lace in
the usual manner, and then nam.ng the time, it
will be found that an error of from half a min
ute to three minutes will be generally made.
With the new watch, it is claimed no error can
possibly occur, and there is the added ad van
tage that, at the en lot every minute, an audi
ble click is sounded as the number changes, by
which one can measure short iutervais oi time,
even at night.
Freaks of a Lunatic.—A crazy man
by name Wetterlind, recently terrorized the
Swedish town o' Goteborg lor more than a
whole week. He had locked himself in the top
story of a house, whence he commanded & wide
sweep of street, and marked and fired at any
and everybody who approached. A ter he had
shot one man dead the firemen attempted to
drown him out, but could not get near enough,
as the man was a dead shot. They next made
iron shields to protect them in the approach,
but these proved ieo cumbersome. An attempt
to dislodge the lunatio by throwing dumb-bells
charged with.electricity at him had to be aban
doned. A barricade v?as then erected round
the house by tho police, and a regular siege
laid to it. The lunatic stood it a week be ore
he was starved out, and was then seized by
strategy, too weak to defend himself. He had
wounded a number ot people from his perch
during the singular campaign.
Thu Bkave Donkey.—On a pedestal
near the gate of the Gin innati zoological gar
dens there recently stood the stuffed figure of a
donkey which, when alive, stood the attack o! a
lion and beat him off. The lion it seems, had
broken out ot his cage and escaped to a wood
nearby. On a grassy hill ad oining a donkey
lay stretched in placid slumber—a slumber that
was rudely disturbed by the lion, who, in a few
bounds, was upon him. \\ hen the donkey felt
the great mass of flesh descend upon him, as if
from the clouds, be was stunned and indignant,
but not frightened, perhaps, because he had
never read any wonderful stories of the lion.
He quickly recovered from the blow, and, rising,
shot out both hind feet at the same time, and
caught the lion squarely in the lorehead. Badly
hurt, the lion skulked off, and later the donkey
died oi tho wound he received at the outset.
A Man to be Trusted. A man who
cannot live in the atmosphere of deceit or
breathe the air of dishonor can always be relied
on, whatever may be his views, his powers, or
his peculiarities. Men may not be able to pre
dict how he will vote, but they know that his
vote and bis conscience will agree. They may
not know whether he will sign a certain con
tract or make a special promise, but they know
that it he should the contract will surely be
fulfilled and the promise kept. They may not
know if they can win him lor a friend, but if
they can they may rely on his loyalty. They
may net be able to predict what he will think
or say or do on any disputed subject, but they
are sure that his thoughts will be his own, that
his word will be sincere, that his deed will
honor his inmost convictions.
Migrations of Heruing. —A remarka
ble illustration of tne puzzling migratory habits
o: the herring, says AatfWT, has just been ob
served on the south-west coast of Norway, at
the so-called J l deren, between the towns of
Stavanger and Egersund. This district used to
be one of the richest herring fishing grounds in
Norway, dur ng the Spring, but about t wen tv
five years ago the fish suddenly and completely
disappeared :rora the coast. Last month enor
mous sho «ls once more esme under shore, first
“striking land” at the same spot as in former
times. The quality oi the herring is exactly the
same as it was twenty-five years ago, and the
shoals were accompanied by numerous “her
i v» hales.
Russian Credulity. Odessa papers
report that in the village of Obodny, in tha
government of Podolia, a peasant, reputed to
be very wealthy, and to have money hoarded iix
Ins house, received a visit lately from thro®
venerable-looking men, dreesed in garments of
a somewhat clerical fashion, who informed hintf
that they were Christ and the? Apostles Peter
and Paul, 'fh© sham Christ said to him, “I
have given you groat we;>hh, but you havs
omitted to exercise charity, so I have came to
reckon with you. Give me your money. Tho
terrified peasant fell on his knees, begged foe
mercy, and gave over five hundred s Iver rou
bles, declaring it was all lite money he had ia
the house. They wore net satisfied, and ho
sent off his servants to colh ct money from
neighbors who were indebted to him. The re
port of the presence in the village oi such holy
\isitors brought a crowd to the spot. But thd
impostors mistook their motives, -nd believed
they had como to apprehend them. One of
them drew a knife from under his clothes, and
attacked a peasant, whereunow tin- crowd seenx
to have become at once enlightened as to th®
true char cter of tho trio, and, taking
overpowered them.
The French Giving Up Smoking.—
The growing virtue of tho French in the matter
of tobacco smoking bids fair lu create yet anoth
er difficulty in the arduous task of balancing
the budget ol the republic. It appears that th®
tax on this pleasant vice produced last year
>,OOO francs less than in Hie year The
theory h»s been broached that hh men get on in
IL’e they smoke less, lor the reason that they
gradually become so saturated with nicotine that
they cannot hold any more. This would not,
however, explain the diminution, seeing thafe
the place oi old men ia taken i>y the rising
generation. So the theory is pushed still tur
ther, and it is argued that, as the process of ab
sorption of nicotine goes on rom generation to
generation, the sons ot smokers are not able to
consume so much tobacco as the children of
non-smokers. Oddly enough, the diminution
o consumption is only in smoking tobacco*
while as much snuff is sold as formerly. The
enormous sum of 80,00'',' 00 fr.-nes is annually
spent in snuff. Where the snuff takers live is
an enigma. In Paris, at all ©' enis, the habit, if
one may judge from one’s own experience, is
unknown.
Nasal Hemorrhagic.—ln persistent
hemorrhage from the nasal eavity, plugging th®
posterior nares should not b« done until an at
tempt has b en made to < beck the
by firmly grasping the nose with the finger aS
thumb, so as to completely pr«ve it any air from
passing through the cavity in the act of breath
ing. This simple means’if persistently tried*
will in mauy cases arrest the bleeding. Th®
hemorrhage persists be auso the clot which
forms at the rupture in the blood vessel is dis
placed by the a r being drawn forcibly through
the cavity in the attempt o the patient to clear
the nostrils. If this air is pre* en led r m pass
ing through the cavity, the clot consolidates in
position, and the hemorrhage is chaeked.
The Universal Language — Volapuk,
the new universal language which is meeting
with such favor in Europe, is the result of
twenty years of laborious reseat :h on the part
of its inverror, M. Schleyer, O' Constance. Its
great merit lies in its simplicity, which causes
it to be very quickly learned, and to be especi
ally adapted to the needs oi trade between dif
ferent nations. It has no artificial genders, a
single conjugation, and no irregular verbs. The
roots of its words have been borrowed from all
the languages of Europe. The adjective, verb
and adverb are regularly formed from the sub
stantive, and have invariably the same termina
tion. Volapuk grammars have new been pre
pared in English, as well as iu most other im
portant languages ol the globe.
Usibg the Wave s . —Tn California they
have put in operation a device ts utilize tho
power of the sea waves. The action oi the sea
works up and down a huge float that operates a
lever. This lever works a huge pump that
raises a column of water to the bight of about
three hundred leot. From this elevation it runs
wherever it may be needed and turns turbine
and other water wheels, thus supplying power
wherever it may bo needed, it will be seen
that the device is easily applicable to any run
ning stream. All that is needed is a wheel
with paddles that can be moved by the current.
In this shape the idea is an eld one and has long
been in use in the old country.
Artificial Whwt<t©nbs. —A foreign
scientific paper gives the following method ot
making artificial whetstones: Gelatine of good
quality is dissolved in its own weight of water,
the operation being conducted hi a dark room.
To tho solution 1% per cent. s>f bichromate of
potash is added, which has been prev;ously
dissolved in a little water. Aqu ntity of very
fine emery, equal to nine times the weight of
the gelatine, is intimately rarxod with the gela
tine solution. Pulverr ed flint may be used for
emery. The mass is molded into’ any desired
shape, and is then consolidated by heavy pres
sure. It is dried by exposure to strong sun
light for several hours.
People of able Taste.
—The man who pronounces your dinner
absolutely fauliless. The g] h itezrapher who
says you are really one of the finest
sub eets he ever had. The visitor who
remarks that your ley is the haadmmest
little fellow he ever saw, and that he hears &
s nkffig resemblance to you. The acquaintance
who regrets that he has not your exquisite art
istic taste. The individual who always laughs
vociferously at your puna. The tailor who says
it is a pleasure to make a suit lor a maji with &
figure like yours. The lady whom yon overbear
whisper to a friend that you are the handsomest
man she knows.
Russian Peat.—ln Russia, on the
northern railways, the locomotives, hitherto
burning wood or coal, are being adapted to
peat burning, the saving being estimated at
some fifty per cent. In many places the peat is
ent by hand machines, but these, although
cheap and easy to work, have the drawback
that the peat can’t be worked below eight feet,
whereas, the peat-cutting machines worked bv
steam power pene’rates twenty leef, and reach
the lower, denser layers ©I peat, which, owing
to their euperiqr quality, command a higher
price in the market
Early Jewish Conrtrh p.—Hebrew
maidens must have been f ®rtun«te beyond other
women, for they en'oy the privileges of leap
year every six months. From a lecture on Jew
ish courtship, delivered by Mr. I. Abrahams,
it appears that, though the men usually did the
wooing, twice a year the Jewish damsels went
in procession to the vineyards, where some sang
such engaging ballads *s “ Young men, look
not to beauty, but to piety ’’'—while others, th®
more beautiful, retorted with “Bee how fair WO
are I Choose your bride for boaaty.”
Solidified Petroleum. —Dr. Kauff
man, it is said, has been experimenting for th®
Russian Government in b 1 dFy’g petroleum for
use as fuel. As reported, his process is to heat the
oil, and then add from oiio to three per cent, of
common aoap, and boil again ft>r Ralf an hour.
The soap dissolves and then tarns the liquid
into a put y-like mass, which is as hard as stiff
tallow when cold. The product is difficult to
light, burns slowly, without wmoko but with
great heat, and leaves about two per cent, of a
black, hard residuum,
Didn’t Like Mugwumps. —An old
farmer at Kingston, N. Y., was hailed, a day or
two ago, by a man who wanted a ride. The
farmer looked at the man « moment and then
asked : “ Be you a Prohibitionist or a I'emroy
erat ? ’ The man answered that, to a certain ex
tent be was both, he said he believed in prohi
bition, but always voted the straight Democratic
ticket. “ Git out,” shouted the farmer. “ I’ve
got a jug of old apple whisky in my wagon, an”
I couldn t trust you together.”
In the Song Only.—The Suwanee
river is a murky, coffee-colored stream which
rises in Southern Georgia, and its slow current
winds its way through dark ptne woods and
low palmetto thickets. It is the home of th®
alligator and black turtle, and one is puzzled to
know why a river with such unpoetic surround
ings should have been the iuspiratien of a song
oi such tender sentiment.
Want of Sleep-
Is sending thousands annually to tho
insane asylum ; and the doctors say this
trouble is alarmingly en the increase'.
The usual remedies, while they may
give temporary relief, are likely to do
more harm than good. What is needed
is an Alterative and Blood-purifier.
Ayer’s Sarsaparilla is incomparably
the best. It corrects those disturbances
in the circulation which cause sleepless
ness, gives increased vitality, and re
stores the nervous system to a healthful
condition.
Rev. T. G. A. Cot<s; agent of the Mass.
Home Missionary Society, writes that
his stomach was out of order, his sleep
very- often disturbed, and some im
purity of the blood manifest; but that
a perfect cure was obtained by the uso
of Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. <
Frederick W. Pratt, 424 Washington
street, Boston, writes: " Aly daughter
■was prostrated with nervous debility.
Ayer’s Sarsaparilla restored her to
health.”
William F. Bowker, Erie, Pa., was
cured of nervousness and sleeplessness
by taking Ayer’s Sarsaparilla for about
two months, during which time his
weight increased over twenty pounds.
Ayer’s Sarsaparilla,
rnEPARED BT
Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass.
Bold by aU Dn’griats. Price 81; sU