The Mount Holly news. [volume], February 21, 1893, Image 1

About The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942

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The Mount Holly News.
VOL. XIV. NO 8
MOUNT HOLLY. BURLINGTON COUNTY, N. J„ TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1893.
ESTABLISHED 1819
PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD.
The standard raUway of America. Protect
ed by the Inter-locking switch and block sig
nal system.
Train) leave from Mount Hotly at fallout:
Tor Philadelphia, 5.30, «.«*, 8.5*, 7.30,8.08, 3.57,
9.15, 11,20 A. X., 12.51, 2.31,4.24, 5.06,8.19,8.37,
10.50*. X.
On Sundays, 8.36 a. X., 12.05, 5.90, 7.50 P. K.
For Pemberton, 7.33, 9.26 A. 12.94, 2.08, 3.32.
4.52, 8.08, 7.0S, 7.33 p. x, Sundays, 10.23 A. X.,
8.05 r. x.
For Brown's-Mills-ln-the-Plnes, 7.38, 9.26 A. X.,
12.24, 3.32, 4.52, and 7.08 T. x. Sundays, 10.23 A.
For Vincentown, 9.96,11.98 A. X. 3.32,6.08 T. X.
For Burlington,Bordentown.TrentonandNew
York, 6.38, 9.00,10.50 A. x.. 9.50,4.88, 5.55 r. x.
ForLewistown.i;olumbu8,KlDkora, etc., A.
x. 2.08 p. x. On Sundays, a06 p. x.
For Lumberion, Medford, Marlton, Haddon
fleld and Philadelphia, <30, 948 A. X., 1.25,
5.10 p. x. On Sundays, 7.82 a. X.
For Toms River, Island Heights, eto., 9.96, A.
x., 4.52 p. x. ^
For Trenton and New York, via Pemberton
and Klnkora, 2.0S, p. x. Sundays, 6.05 p. x.
For Hightstown, 7.83 A. X., 2.88,4.58 P. X. On
Sundays 6.05 p. x. _„ _
For Asbury Park and Long Branch 938 A. x.
Mondays and Saturdays only.
For Tuokerton, 9. 26 A. X., 4.62 p. X.
For Beach Haven on Tuesdays, Thursdays and
Saturdays, 9.26 a. x., and dally at 4.52 r. x.
For Barnegat City, Tuesdays, Thursdays and
Saturdays, 9.9B a. x. Saturdays only, 4.52 a.x.
Traint leave for Mount Holly tt foUoue:
From Philadelphia, 6.30, 7.40, 8.30, 10.00, 11.20
A. X., 1.00 , 2.90, 4.00, 4.80. 5.10, 8.10, 6.80, 8.00,
10.80.11.45 p. x. On Sundays, 9.15 A. x., 1.00,
5.00, 10.30 P. x. „
From New York, via Trenton and Burlington
8.00. 9.30 a. X., 1.00.4.00, 5.00 p. X.
Prom Trenton, 7.41, 9.25,11.10 A. X., 9.58,5.90,
7.00 P. x. On Sunday at 8.40 A. X.
From Burlington, 8.20,10.06,11.53 A- X.,3.32,5.46
FromBrown’s-MllU-ln the-Plnes, 8.90, 12.15 a.
X. 1.65,5.45,8.05 p. X. Sundays, 4.50 P. X.
Prom Pemberton, (north) •.», 7.42, 8.82.
▲. m., 12.19, 4.07, 8.17 f. x. On Sundays,
8.00 ▲. x. From Pemberton (south), 8.36 a,
m., 12.80, 2.11, 4.50, 6.00, 8.19 F. M. On Sun
days, 5.03 f. X. , „
From Vincentown, 6.50, 10.55 A.X., 1.55, 4.00
F. X.
From Hightstown, via Burlington,11.02a.x.
7.00 f. x.
From Medford, 8.33. 11.55 A.X., 4.16, 6.85 F.X.
On Sundays, 6.85 f. x.
From Long Branch, 2.35 p. x. Mondays and
Saturdays only.
From Toms River, 7.48 a. X., 4.12 f. x.
From Island Heights, 7.36 a. x., 4.00 p. x.
Cblab. E. Pugh, J. B. Wood,
General Manager. Gen. Pass. Agent.
Pemberton and HUtbtstown Railroad.
Trains leave Mount Holly lor New Egypt
Cream Bidge, Htghtstown, etc., at 7.33 a. n.
3.03, 4.52 r. x. Sundays, 6.06 ». x.
Trains leave Philadelphia and connect tor
New Egypt, Cream Bidge, Htghtstown, etc.,
6.80 A. m., 1.00 and 4.00 r. n. Sundays, 6.00 r. M.
Trains leave Htghtstown lor New Egypt,
- - “ -- "•“'---ilphia
Pemberton, Mount Holly and Phlladelp
at 7.06, 10.00 a. K., 7.06 v. X. Sundays, 6.20
A. S
TGCKERTON RAILROAD.
Leave Mount Holly tor Tuckerton, 9.26 a.
m., 4 52 p. m„ dally, except Sunday.
For Beach Haven, 9i26 a. m., Tuesdays, Thurs
days and Saturdays, 4.62 p. m. dally, exoept
Sunday.
Leave Beach Haven forTuokerton, 6JS0 a. m.,
dally except Sundays, 8.00 p. m., Tuesdays,
Thursdays and Saturdays, and 7.1o P* m. on
Saturdays only.
Leave Tuckerton for Beach Haven, 4.56 a. m.
on Mondays only. 10.20 a. m., Tuesdays*
Thursdays and Saturdays, 8.66 p. m. dally
LeavePJteaeh*fiaven tor Mount Holly, 6.M a.
m., dally except Sunday. 8.00 p. in. Tues
days, Thursdays and Saturdays.
Leave Tuckerton lor Mount Holly, 7.03 a. m.,
3.15 p. mdaily exoept Sunday.
Mount Holly Poet Office.
KAILS L1AYI AS FOLLOWS .*
A. X.
F. X.
New York and Bast.
Pemberton and Hlghtstiown...
Vlnoentown.
Trenton.
Borden town.
Foreign...
West.
Atlantic City......
Medford.
Philadelphia.
Burlington.
Camden.
Lamberton.
7.10 8J0
7.10 8.30
7.10
■■1.- 2.05 8.00
7.1# 8A0 *.06 8.00
7.10
7.10
8.80
2.06
2.06
8.80
8.80
8.30
8.30
8.30
2.06
2.06 8.00
8.30
8.30
8.30
8.00
8.00
2.05
2.06
2.05
8.80 *.06-8.00
2.06
2.06
4.15
8.00
8.00
800
8.00
8.00
8.00
8.00
HAILS ARRIVE A»D READY FOR D1BTK
A.H.
Sew York and K..
Pemberton..
Vincente wn.
Hlghtstown.
Trenton.
Bordentown.
Foreign.
W est.
"Atlantic City..
Medford.
PhlladelDhia.
Burlington..
Camden .
Lnmberton.
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
7.45
9.15
11.15
9.15
9.16
915
9.15
9.15
11.15
11.15
11J6 3.00
11.15
11.15
11.15
s.00 6.00
1 Si
.00
300 5.00
3.00
3.00
3.00
3.00
5.00 8.30
6.30
3.00
F.M.
530 9.00
900
5.00
5.00
5.00
5.00
5.00
5.00
3.00 5.00
4.05
5.00
6.00
.30
6.30
9.00
9.00
9.00
9j00
9.00
9M
9.00
9.00
9.00
9.00
9.00
niMm A. ATKINSON,
'attorney AT LAW, SOLICITOR AND
MASTER IN CHANCERY.
No. 199 Main St., Opposite Washington House,
Mount Holly, N. J.
QBABLE9 .31. SLOAN *
FIRE AND LIFE INSURANCE.
Officeln Arcade Building, Mount Holly, N. J
S3 ICO ROB W. CHAMBERLAIN, D. D. B.
NEW EGYPT, N. J.
OFFICE Days: Every Thursday, Friday and
Saturday. Sag Administered.
QHARLES EWAN MERRITT.
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW,
Main Street, Opposite Arcade,
Mount Holly, N. J.
j. <SURVE^R AND CONVEYANCER,
COMMISSIONER OF DEEDS,
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
CSDAB RtTK. OCEAK COUHTT, N. J.
s
AMUBL t'ALET, M. D„
HOIKEOPATH1C PHTBICIAN,
Garden Street, near Cherry Street, Mount
Holly, N. J.
Office House: 7 to 9 a. k., 1 to 2 f. m.,6 8to r H.
QKIMI W. V AIDKITUK. ■. ®
BomoeouAtliiat,
Garden St. near Buttonwood, Mount Holly.
. Until* M.
Omni Houas
r Until 9 a. h
: i «to 8 r. a.
I l to * r. n.
FIBK, LI
ANCE.
LIFE AMD ACCIDENT 1MVB
Kell able Companies and lowest rates. Cor
ollclt
jspondence solicited,
SAMUEL A. ATKINSON,
General Insurance Agent.
108 Male Street, Mount Holly, N. J.
QHA8. IIAKKGB, M. D., D. D. *.
DENTAL OFFICE AMD LABORATORY
No. 137 MAIN STREET.
(Cor. Main A Unite SU . )
Count BEollW, AT. .
First-01 aee Work; Reasonable Prioee
WILLIAM .H CLINE,
FURNISHING UNDERTAKER,
VINCENTOWN, N. J.
Orders by Telegraph will be promptly at
tended to.
Mount Holly Icademy,
A BOARDING and DAY SCHOOL
—KOR—
Boys and Young Men.
Apply lor onr catalogue, which contains fall
particulars and refersnees.
Ksr. .1 AMES J. COALK, A. M., (Princeton),
Principal.
grocKa
BOUGHT AND SOLD
on Commission and carried on favorable
Terms.
Being members ol both the Philadelphia and
New York stock Exchanges, and having a
private wire direct from our office to New
York, we are prepared to exeonte orders left
with us promptly and satisfactorily. Ac
counts received and Interest allowed.
DeHaven & Townsends
MO. 428 CHESTNUT STREET. PHU.ADM.rHia
M
OUNT HOLLY SEMINARY,
Min M ADELAIDE ATKINSON. Principal
(Opposite the Court House.)
This well-known establishment for Young
Ladles and Children, will re-open on SEP
TEMBER 19tb. The course of Instruction is
most careful and thorough. Three bright,
well-ventilated and carpeted school rooms
offer exceptional advantages, being well fur
nished with all latest Improvements. South
ern exposure. No “cross lights” So ruin the
eyeaignt. Two regular grades In each room.
Flay ground, large and private. The Kinder
garten Idea of combining the amusing and In
teresting with the instructive, will be entered
Into more fully than ever, in the primary
room, during the coming year.
JOSEPH G. BOWER,
THE POPULAR
Baker & Confectioner,
No. 72 Main St., Mount Holly.
Fresh Bread, Biscuit and Pies
EVERY MORNING.
FANCY CAKES TO ORDER,
AND OTHER CHOICE PASTRY.
Weddings, Parties and Balls sapplled at Short
notloe. Qtvs me a sail. ,
ICE CREAM A SPECIALTY.
5av Mister
6ive me a
f>luQof
'Topjteco.
IoMonkeyinq
but gifon\ethe
4 ounceU)U-y
-XkK^Or
Ive cfyewed
it And tvAerv
1 find A ftoeM
ffiinb I h&nft
on to itJqtoT
C/lK*r be beat
R. UrtHCOTT,
GENERAL AUCTIONEER,
MEDFORD, N. J.
Special Attention paid to galea of real eatate
stock, terming utensils, etc.
^ DOHON.
WATCHMAKER AND JEWELER,
WO. M MAIN STRitf&T, MOUNT HOLLY
Keeps the bestassortment ot Watches,
Chains, Rings, and Spectacles In Bur
lington County.
Also, a full line of Silver and Plated
Ware.
HAVE YOUR PAINTING
OONS BY
Samuel L. Bullock.
Beat materials always used. Pure colors,
best White Lead and Zinc and Pore Linseed
OB. All kinds ot painting done; Sign, Orna
mental, Frescoing, Graining, Calclmlnlng,
Glazing, Ac. Work solicited from all around.
None But competent and experienced men
employed, and all work guaranteed. All or
ders should be left at my restdenoe, Union
street, or T. B. Bullock’s store, G rden street
Mount Holiv
mm, copper an® nhegt-iroh
X WARE MANUFACTORY,
The suoscrfber, thankful for tne past lib
eral patronage of the public, announces that
he Is still engaged in tne manufacture ot
Stoves, Heaters, Ranees, Tinware, Etc.
A full variety 01 which will bekept con
stantly on hand or made to order at the shortest
notice.
Roofing, Spooling, Plumbing, Oaiand
Steam Fitting
Promptly attended to by experienced work
W. J. BRANNIN,
MAIN STKRBT, MOUNT HOLLY,N.
Adjoining St. Andrew's church.
a FHiZZlNE.
Will keepthe HAIR or BANGS
in CURL from 1 to 2 weeks in all
kinds of weather. This is not a
BANDOLINK or STICKY
. J IDCAI IITPI V II A U M.
E8SS. Take no substitute. Sold everywhere,
2?* bottle or by wail 30 cento. __
FRlZZfNC MFG. CO.. 1001 Chestnut St.. Phtla.
James Beber Dorman
of Shy Beaver, Pa.
Cured of Scrofula
The People will have Hood’s
Mr. Dorman’s Experience
"My boy, now 0 years old, had Scrofula In
one eye from the time he was a baby; discharg
ing all the time. Of late we have been giving
him Hood’s Sarsaparilla, and It has done all
that medicine can do. The Scrofula has disap
peared, and his eye is healed up and well. I
Hood’s Cures
fully believe Hood’s Sarsaparilla is the best
medicine in the market I keep a general store,
and it Is not a trick to sell Hood’s Sarsaparilla
for the people will have it. I sell more of
Hood's Sarsaparilla than all other medicines
together and the store would not be complete
Hood’s x Cures
without It My wife has also been entirely
cured of Scrofula by Hood’s Sarsaparilla, and I
am heartily thankful for what it has done for
us.” John Dobman, Shy Beaver, Pa.
HOOD'8 PlLL8 are the best after-dinner Pills,
assist digestion, enre headache. Try a box. 23c.
DO YOU 1
ICOUCH
I DON T DELAY
balsam
irHM4e
It cures Golds,Coughs,Sore Throat,Croup,Influen
ce, Whooping Cough, Bronchitis and Aithma. A
oertain ours for Consumption in first stages, ami
a sure relief in advanced stages. Use at onoe.
Tou will see the excellent effect altar taking the
first dose. Sold by dealers everywhere. Large
bottles $0 cents and $1.00.
J. S. ROGERS,
Contractor ag Practical
IBTTILIDIEJIR,,
Stanwick, Moorestown, N. J
Fully equipped for the erection ol all kinds
of buildings ; buildings raised or moved; job
bing work of all kinds promptly attended to;
satisfaction guaranteed ; oe9t of references
given. ALL SUPPLIES PURCHASED AT
WHOLESALE. DIRECT FROM THE MANU
FACTURER, thus saving to customers the
profits of the middle-men.
Plans and estimates cheerfully furnished.
Give me a call
AT
| B£PTlNlE
1 fAKE
<53
f r
?
A
PLEASANT
s
THE NEXT MORNING I FEEL BRIGHT AND
NEW AND MY COMPLEXION IS BETTER.
My doctor says it acts gently on the stomach, 11 ver
and kidneys, and Is a pleasant laxative. This drink
Is made from herbs, and is prepared for use as easily
as tea It Is called
LAKE’S MEDICINE
All druggists sell It at 50c. and $1.00 per package.
Euy one fcvday. I nne'i Family Medicine moves
the bowels each day. In order to be healthy, this
Is necessary.
What is
Castoria is Dr. Samuel Pitcher’s prescription for Infants
and Children. It contains neither Opium, Morphine nor
other Narcotic substance. It is a harmless substitute
for Paregoric, Drops, Soothing Syrups, and Castor Oil.
It is Pleasant. Its guarantee is thirty years’ use by
Millions of Mothers. Castoria destroys Worms and allays
feverishness. Castoria prevents vomiting Sour Curd,
cures Diarrhoea and Wind Colic. Castoria relieves
teething troubles, cures constipation and flatulency.
Castoria assimilates the food, regulates the stomach
and bowels, giving healthy and natural sleep. Cas
toria is the Children’s Panacea—the Mother’s Friend.
CASTOR IA
Castoria.
“Caatoria la an excellent medicine for chil
dren. Mothers have repeatedly told me of its
good affect upon their children.'*
Dr. G. 0. Osgood,
Lowell, Mass.
Castoria la the best remedy for children of
which I am acquainted. I hope the day is not
far distant when mothers will consider the real
interest of their children, and use Castoria in
stead of the various quack nostrums which are
destroying their loved ones, by forcing opium,
morphine, soothing syrup and other hurtful
agents down their throats, thereby sending
them to premature graves.*'
Da. J. F. Kiwchelos,
Conway, Ark.
Castoria.
“ Castoria ia so well adapted to children that
I recommend it as superior to any prescription
known to me."
B. A. Arches, M. D.,
Ill So. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
“ Our physicians in the children's depart
ment have spoken highly of their experi
ence In their outside practice with Castoria,
and although we only hare among our
medical supplies what is known as regular
products, yet we are free to confess that the
merits of Castoria has won us to look with
favor upon it.”
United Hospital and Dispensary,
Boston, Haas.
Allen 0. Smith, Fret.,
The Centaur Company, TT Murray Street, New York City.
Are you all run down r Scott s Hmul
sion of Pure Norwegian Cod Liver Oil
and Hypophosphites of Lime and Soda
will build you up and put flesh on you
and give you a good appetite.
Beott'a Emulsion cures Coughs,
Gelds, Consumption. Scrofula and
mil Anaemic and Wanting Diseases.
Presents wasting in children. Al
most as palatable as milk. Getonly
the Genuine. Prepared by Roott A
Boame, Chemists, New York. Bold by
all Druggists.
Scott’s
Emulsion
ALL FOR A MAN.
He had flirted at Bar Harbor, and at Narragan
sett Pier;
He had thoroughly “done Europe,” and at last
began to fear
That life was, after all, to prove a “horrid,
beastly bore,"
And love—as 'tis in novels and young visions—
was no more;
When by the merest circumstance he took a
sudden fancy
To go to Pottstow’n Corners and visit old Aunt
Nancy;
And never dreamed that Pottstown opened into
Paradise,
Or that his Eve was singing there—with modest
shining eyes:
“O for a man—O for a man—a mansion in the
skies!"
The mischief happened this way: In Pottstown
etiquette
To stay away from meeting is a sin they can’t
forget;
So when Aunt Nancy asked him, and he set out
to refuse,
Her look of horror silenced him, He muttered:
"Ah—excuse—
I mean. I’ll go,”—and meekly walked in all his
best attire
The mile-long dusty street; then slept, until the
village choir
Aroused him with the closing hymn, and, much
to his surprise,
A sweet-voiced angel seemed to lead—with
pure, uplifted eyes:
“O for a man—O for a man—a mansion in the
skies!"
And when the congregation tn that honest way
they love
Faced straight about and gazed up to the sing
ing loft above
He turned and stared enchanted at a girl who
seemed to lack
Naught but a tarnished golden frame and can
vas at her back
To make her some old picture from Florence or
from Munich
(An illusion carried out by her hat and her
white tunic).
He stared, enraptured, in a way the hymn don’t
authorize;
She knew, and blushed, and sang again—with
shy and downcast eyes:
“O for a man—O for a man—a mansion in the
skies!"
1 blush to tell—but after that no deacon In the
church
More constant was at meeting, more earnest In
the search
Apparently for Scripture lore; and although he
had been
A worshiper of Wagner — Walkyrle—Lohen
grin—
He sat In adoration while that village choir
sang "Mear,”
And oherublm and seraphim seemed singing in
In his ear;
Old "China,” "Webb” and "Lenox" were choio
est harmonies:
But best of all was when she sang—with sweet
and drooping eyes:
"O for a man—O for a man—a mansion in the
skies!”
But why prolong the story? Since "love will
find a way,"
He lingered with Aunt Nancy for many and
many a day;
And spite of saintly likeness to Madonnas, she
was human,
And with a heart that could be won like any
other woman.
So now he roves no longer, but Is Quite the
business man;
And likes when evening comes to sit and look
on—when he can—
While she bends o’er the cradle, with its silken
draperies,
And croons, in low and hushing voioe—with
happy, love-lit eyes;
"My little man—my little man—must shut his
sleepy eyes.”
—Helen M. Winslow, in N. E. Magazine.
TINELA’S REVENGE.
A Noted Traveler Tells of Scenes
in That Dark Land.
Alone in a dark corner of his tent,
toying- with the beads of his rosary, sat
Osmani ibn Seyf. His swarthy Arab
face was lined and careworn and his
eyies were downcast in thoughtful
mood.
For six weeks this famous slave
raider had led his caravan of Manyema
marauders and captives through the
dismal depths of the great African for
sat in search of human prey. Day by
day they had trudged through thorny
undergrowth, beneath the impenetra
ble canopy of primeval trees; and each
night they had slept, hungry, upon the
sodded ground, in the vitiated atmos
phere of decaying vegetation.
The region that they had traversed
was uninhabited.
That afternoon a Manyema follower
had been wounded by a wooden spear,
adroitly concealed in the bushes, by
the side of a well-worn elephant track.
Here at last was an evidence of man.
The caravan had halted, formed an
effective zereba, and Osmani had dis
patched scouts to survey the vicinity.
"Hodil” cried a voice from without.
Osmani started from his reverie, and
instinctively reached towards the load
ed rifle by his side.
“Karib!"
A curtain was drawn aside, reveal
ing the figure of an armed negro.
“Ah! Khalifan.’*
“salaam Bwanal the negro crossed
his hands, upon his breast and bowed.
“Khabari gani? Speak, what news?”
“Good news," replied the negro,
mindful of preserving- a good omen;
“the scouts have returned.”
“Vernal And what have they found?”
In a few words the negro explained
that the scouts had discovered traces
of a large native village, situate about
two hours’ march to the eastward of
their encampment.
Osmani's face instantly lightened.
“It is well,” said he. “The sun is now
setting. Two hours before the dawn
we march upon that village. To-night,
no fires, no noise. ’Sikia?”
“Our master’s words are law.”
“Hayal May Allah preserve us!”
and Osmani waved his hand in token of
dismissal.
With a profound salaam, the negro
withdrew. Sentinels were posted,
and sood the camp was wrapped in
slumber.
The night air grew cold. A storm
swept over the forest. The rain fil
tered through the thick foliage over
head and trickled in streams upon the
naked bodies of the miserable wander
ers, who grumbled, and crouched to
gether in groups.
It was still dark and cheerless when
Osmani emerged from his tent.
"Slmilla! Simillal Make way, there,
for Bwana Osmani!”
Silent and sullen the Manyema ma
rauders arose, stretched their stiffened
limbs and buckled their ammunition
belts around their waists. Each man
rolled a strip of dirty white cotton
cloth around his head, turban wise, to
serve as a discriminating mark in the
coming fray with the naked savages.
“Tendele! Tendele! upesi!” The or
der to march echoed through the camp,
and in a few minutes Osmani and his
marauders started forth in single file.
No word was spoken, and the only
Bounds that betokened their progress
were a slight swishing of leaveB and the
muffled tread of naked feet upon the
spongy ground.
The camp, containing numerous na
tive slaves captured in former raids,
together with a valuable stock cf ele
phant tusks, was left in charge of fifty
well-armed Manyema allies of Osmani.
The attacking party plodded on
wards through the dark forest until
they came within sight of the village
clearing.
Dawn was just breaking when the
first deadly volley was fired, followed
an instant afterward by shouts of
“Allah-’llah-’la!” as the brutal assail
ants rushed upon their prey. Women
and children, shrieking and crying, fled
In all directions, dazed by the sudden
onslaught. Fowls flew oackling to
wards the woods. Men’s deep voices
shouted incoherently, but above the
thrilling uproar of gunshots, cries and
groans, the fatal “’llah-la-ihu" of the
Manyema sounded loud and relentless,
as they crashed through the bushes
into the midst of the multitude of panic
stricken savages, chasing the black
figures that darted hither and thither,
hurling them to the ground, and bind
ing them with stripes of plaited grass
cord.
The sulphurous smoke from the raid
ers’ guns, combining with the early
morning mist, produced a dense fog,
which settled in an almost impenetra
ble cloud upon the scene; In the obscur
ity of which the Manyema guns flashed
forth tongues of flame. Osmani had
now lost all control over his frensled
mob, and their Iron eluas whie*»H
and whistled through the air In all
directions.
In endeavoring to penetrate the dark
cloud of .fog and smoke, the Arab
leader suddenly found himself face to
face with a burly savage, who bounded
towards him, brandishing a huge
sickle-shaped knife. Osmani raised
his revolver and fired. The savage
groaned and fell heavily to the ground.
But Osmani’s aim had proved untrue,
for the savage, recovering from the
shock, endeavored to rise. The Arab
stepped forward. ‘‘A curse upon you!
Die, you black fiend!” The revolver
was leveled at the native's head, Os
mani’s finger tightened upon the trig
ger, but just as he was about to fire
the fatal shot he was startled by a
piercing scream. “Hey! Hoyo!” cried
a female voice at his elbow, and the
next moment a native girl sprang for
ward and threw herself at his feet.
Olancing downward Osmani caught his
breath. The savage maiden’s beauty
fascinated him. Her mute appeal to
spare the wounded native’s life was
answered, for Osmani’s hand dropped
to his side. He paid no heed to the
groaning savage. His eyes were riv
eted upon the graceful maiden at his
feet.
A hurried footstep behind him caused
him to start and turn. The negro Khal
ifan ran forward.
*‘Hey, Bwana! Greatly hare we
feared for our master’s safety; we have
searched in every place for you.”
Pointing to the kneeling girl and
the wounded savage—whose fate had
been so strangely averted—Osmani
waved his hand, saying: “Bind them.
Bind them both! See that the girl es
capes not. Bring her to me in my camp
at sunset.”
Gradually the firing and the tumult
ceased. A cool, refreshing breeze dis
pelled the heavy cloud of mist and
smoke, revealing the victorious raiders
swaggering through the devastated
village leading and driving scores of
miserable captives, who slunk along in
awed silence, with bowed heads and
shivering limba .
Then, in complete contrast to the
former scene, shone the early morning
sun in all its radiance. Its bright
beams glinted through the distant
trees, and fell upon the desolated
scene, the narrow streets obstructed
by the bodies of the slain, and upon the
smoldering frame-work of many a
home. Little sunbirds, with resplen
dent plumage, hovered around the
trampled bushes, swarms of flies and
bees filled the air with continuous
buzzing, and large zephyr-winged but
terflies soared and circled, vulture-like,
above the ruin.
By noon the wretched captives were
herded together, and Osmani and his
heartless minions commenced the re
turn march to their forest encampment.
The captives were driven in single file,
and occasionally some of the elated
raiders pranced down on either side of
the line, executing a wild dance and
singing snatches of war songs, which
echoed strangely through the gloomy
woods. Guns were occasionally fired
out of pure wantonness, causing the
terrified natives to start and tremble.
In loud, harsh voices the ManyeAa
raiders blustered and bragged of their
cruel prowess, and cursed their ill-for
tune in permitting so many of the
natives to escape them during the at
tack.
The arrival in the encampment was
distinguished by triumphant shouts
and howls. The marauders were be
side themselves with delight, and the
interval between their arrival and the
setting of the sun was occupied by
drinking and feasting. After securing
their captives by means of grummets
and forked sticks, the successful raid
ers gathered together in groups
around blazing log fires. Huge gourds
and earthenware 1ars of fermented
palm juice, which constituted a par
ticularly well-favored portion of the
spoils, were produced and by degrees
Osmani’s followers relapsed into a state
of maudlin drunkenness
Just as darkness settled upon the
forest, Khalifan, the negro, approached
Osmani's tent, leading his female cap
tive by the wrist.
“Bwana! In obedience to your words,
I have brought this heathen girl.”
"Ha! This is the girl who stayed my
hand when I would have shot Ques
tion her, O Khalifan!”
The negro turned to her. The girl’s
eyes were downcast, but in answer to
Khalifan’s queries she mumbled a brief
reply.
“It is Allah’s mercy to let this heath
en say that she begged her father's
life.”
“Oh, her father, was it? A power
ful man, Khalifan, who nearly killed
thy master.”
“Allah be praised for our master’s
preservation,” muttered the negro fer
vently.
“She’s a comely creature. Inquire
her name.”
After a few words with the girl, Kha
lifan replied:
“Master! May it please you, her
name’s Tinela. ”
“It is welL Tell her that she enters
my harem.”
Knautan explained nis master»
word. Tinela cast one hopeless glance
around her, then in despair she threw
herself upon the ground and cried pite
ously
“A curse upon her cries! Make her
ceasel” roared Osmani,angrily.
But Khalifan’s endeavors to pacify
the savage maiden were futile. Spring
ing to her feet, Tinela struggled wildly
with the giant negro. Her cries and
screams at length attracted the atten
tlon of several of Osmani's followers
to his tent, but still the girl fought
and struggled for freedom.
Osmani's brow lowered, and, turning
to one of his satellites, he said, gruffly:
“Go! bring her father.”
In a few moments Tinela’s father,
bruised, battered and blood-stained,
was dragged forward from the crowd
of captives.
Straightening his head, and folding
his arms, the savage chieftain cast a
defiant look upon his persecutors, but
when his glance fell upon his daughter
Tinela he scowled and ground his
teeth. There was a dignity of mien
about the wounded savage that attrac
ted even the admiration of his heart
less captors, among whom physiaal
courage was esteemed the highest vir
tue.
In response to Osmani's brief com
mand two of the Manyeina raiders
shouldered and aimed their guns at the
chieftain's breast. The savage remained
unmoved; he merely shrugged his
shoulders and glanced scornfully at the
guns
Tinela’s eyes distended with terror.
“Khalifan, tell the girl to look
well upon her father! She chooses life
or death for him. Another sound or
struggle, and that frowning savage
yonder will be shot. Does she consent
to behave with peace?”
After the negro had interpreted Os
mani’s speech the unhappy girl stifled a
sob, then turned and cast a flashing
glance upon the Arab chief, and bowed
her head in sullen submission.
“Ha! The savage is tamed? Lead
her to my tent, and take that ugly
M'shensi away.” Then, turning to the
bystanders, Osmani added: "Bassi!
You can go.”
As the night hours passed the scene
in the Arab’s camp grew wilder. The
victorious raiders gave themselves up
to an unbridled carousal. The more
sober of the party danced and sang un
til their bodies were bathed in per
spiration, and they fell to the ground
exhausted.
About midnight the revelers were
startled by a stifled groan which ap
peared to emanate from the direction
of Osmani's tent, but reassured by the
subsequent Bllenoe they s aid laughing
ly:
“Ha! Our master’s vixen shows her
teeth again." Merrily the dance and
song continued, the deep bass voices of
the singers blending with the tnaeuex'
booming of the drums, filling the still
night air with reverberations.
Muddled with potent palm juice,
careless and stupefied, the drunken
raiders were too absorbed in their
carousal to notice Tinela's lithe figure
glide from beneath the canvas of Os
maoi's tent, and disappear in the
shadow and darkness.
The night grew far advanoed, and
the singing and dancing ceased. The
log fires burned low, casting a lurid
glow upon the forms of the raiders,
who, overcome with drink, now lay
sleeping in all manner of grotesque at
titudes. Deep black shadows enveloped
the crowd of native captives, who were
huddled together in the center of the
zereba. But they slept not.
The darkness increased; it was the
hour before the dawn. The wind
rustled through the tree tops in the
forest, and the heavy breathing' of the
sleepers became more sonorous and
regular, and the frog* in the adjacent
swamps croaked dismally at intervals.
Occasionally one of the wood fires
burst into fitful flame, revealing the
squatting form of a dozing sentinel.
Then a shower of sparks would arise
from another fire, where a half-burnt
log had rolled aside.
A watchful sentinel glancing towards
the forest would have seen the glitter
ing of keen eyes. But the palm juice
had proved too potent. The Arabs'
sentries slept.
Dark figures, led by the native girl
Tinela, climbed noiselessly over the
stockade, and swarmed like ants into a
shady corner of the camp. If one of
the sentries had but raised his head he
would have seen the gleam of murder
ous knives and spears.
There was a silent movement among
the captives. One by one they arose,
freed from their bonds. Then they
crouched like leopards, ready to spring
upon their prey.
A shout, a rush of footsteps, and the
Arab camp was doomed.
Dazed and surprised in their drunken
slumbers, the Manyema staggered and
fell before the revengeful natives
Deft and alert the natives swarmed
upon them, hacking and hewing with
their keen-edged weapons; until, panic
stricken. the surviving Manyema
rushed towards Osmanl’s tent. There
they found Khalifan with a flaming
tire-brand. Holding the canvas aside,
the negro entered. Osmani ibn Seyl
was stabbed in the heart with his own
dagger. Tinela had revenged herself
This discovery completed the dis
order of the Manyema marauders, not
one of whom lived to see the approach
ingdawn.
The last to fall was Khalifan, and
the spear that pierced his body was
hurled by a female hand.—Herbert
Ward, in Pall Mall Budget
TRICKS OF DIAMOND-SELLERS.
How a Man Buys One Jewel and G*t»
Another.
“If you want to buy a diamond you
must be careful to go to a trustworthy
house or you will got awfully cheated,”
said a young man to a friend who con
templated purchasing a diamond for
his Christmas gift. “Do you see this
ring?” he added, extending one of his
hands, on which a fine diamond spar
kled and glittered in the sunlight
“Well, that's a pretty nice sort of a
ring and I had a hard time getting it
That’s why I like it and that’s the rea
son I warn you to be careful where you
go to get one.
“About a year ago I had a surplus
one hundred dollar bill in ray pocket,
and, getting an idea that I would like
to invest in a ring, I went down to a
jewelry store to make the purchase.
There was in the show window on ex
hibition this diamond that you see on
my finger. It was marked for sale for
one hundred dollars. It struck my
fancy and I asked the clerk to show it
to me. After examining it with a great
deal of care and finding that it would
fit my finger, I decided that I would
take it.
" ‘l am sorry,’ said the clerk, ‘but we
are not allowed to sell “show” goods,
but I have the mate to the stone here
and you can buy it.’ ”
“He took the ring to the rear of the
counter, and when he returned he had
a perfect counterpart of the one which
I desired. After the usual details I
put the ring on my finger, took the
guarantee which he proffered and
started up town, and luckily happened
to meet a friend who is an exoellent
judge of diamonds. I was proud of
my ring, and, as you can imagine, lost
no time in showing it to him.
“ *Thunder!’ he exclaimed, ‘where
did you get that chunk of glass? It
looks as if 'it had been run over by a
street car.’
"I was niff lily indignant ior a mo
ment, but a glance at the ring aa I
held it up to the light convinced ma
that he was right. It did look as If it
had been run over by car wheels. It
was a terrible-looking affair, without
lustre or merit. I had been swindled.
The ring I had selected was still in the
store, but I had the guarantee, and I
determined that on the following day
I would have the stone changed, aa I
was sure that it was all a mistake. But
next day I found out differently. They
would not exchange the ring for the
one that I desired, nor would they give
me my money back. They were will
ing to exchange for something else,
however, and I finally took a serpent
ring with a diamond head which cost
the same as the other ring. The clerk
again gave me a guarantee and 1 went
away trying to make myBelf believe
that I was satisfied. The serpent
proved to be a hoodoo to me. So in a
week’s time I wanted the ring changed
again, especially as the recollection of
the first one still haunted my mind.
Finally I resorted to my friend, the
diamond expert, for aid, and he
suggested that he should visit the store
while I remained on the sidewalk, and
after he had told the clerk that he
wanted to buy a ring and had found
one that was worth one hundred dol
lars he would take his handkerchief
from his pocket. This would be a
signal for me to come in and take the
ring and give the serpent and guaran
tee for it. Well, he went into the store,
and when he found a ring that pleased
him—whioh happened to be the same
ring that was shown to me—he took his
handkerchief from his pocket as we
had agreed upon and I walked in like a
little man. My friend asked me if that
| ring suited me. 1 took it and gave the
guarantee and the (serpent ring in ex
change for it. The clerk made a ter
rible rumpus, but I was desperate and
| could not be “bluffed off.” So here I
| have a ring which is cheap for one hun
dred dollars. There are plenty of peo
ple being swindled the same way every
day, but if they will only insist on their
rights they will come out all right in
the end, but I would advise them to buy
of a house that does not resort to tricks
of that sort"—N. Y. Tribune.
Can't Afford to Soo a 8«a Serpent.
There was a captain of a Cunarder
once who was called onto the bridge
by his first officer to see a supposed sea
serpent “Sir,” said he, “1 once knew J
a man who saw one, and put his name
to a document to that effect He was
a captain, too, and when he came into
harbor his employers dismissed him be
cause they said they couldn’t have a |
skipper who got so drunk as that He I
was the sport of the press for a month
and his friends all put him down for os |
big a liar as Capt Drake's great-grand- j
father. I’m going below. I can’t ;.f
ford to see sea serpents." — Lond»n
Globe.
Not a Htudtnl t ertHinljr.
He—An agnostic, my dear, is one who
knows nothing.
She—1 see. You refer to the youth |
fresh from college.
He—Or, rather, I should say, one who
does not claim to know anything.
She—Al>! then of course I am wrong
No. you cannot mean the youth freei,
from Ucfflege. — Boston Transcript
INDIAN CORN.
The stormy winter had not fied
That saw New England born
When white men ate the red men’s bread
And called it “Indian Corn.”
It came, a blessing in distress,
To that poor pilgrim band,
Like manna in the wilderness
Sent down from God’s own hand.
They sowed its yellow kernels on
Their hills and valleys new.
And harvests green as Lebanon
And rich as Egypt grew;
Its gardens were Hope’s dwelling place,
Ite stock was Plenty’s tree,
It fed the millions of a race
That spread from sea to sea.
And now where Freedom builds her neat
And rears her eagle brood
The heart-beats of each patrolt breast
Bespeak that stalwart food.
No dainty feast for pampered kings.
No sweet for gluttons’ spoil.
Its strength a nation’s sinews strings
To deeds of glorious toiL
Bring cakes of Scotland’s oatmeal gray.
And German barley brown,
By all the rye of Russia lay
The wheat of Egypt down,
And pour the rice of East and South
From Amalthea’s horn—
Their savor shall not tempt a mouth
That knows good Indian Corn.
No seed where labor is not free
Can yield such life as yields
The golden grain of Liberty
That crowns Columbia’s fields.
We love the bread that saved our sires
When hungry and forlorn,
And every autumn feast inspires
Our praise of Indian Corn.
Though men of monarch-ridden lands
On thinner fare may thrive.
They mis a the fruit of sun and sands
That keeps great hearts alive;
And, foe to tyrants, kin and kith,
A Samson stands unshorn
In Saxon power and Yankee pith
That grows with Indian Corn.
Its mark is on Invention's Age,
The force of high emprise
To brawny smith and brainy sage
Its wealth alike supplies;
Its nurture alien souls indebts
And cures disloyal scorn.
And Anarchy Its rage forgets
When fed on Indian Corn.
Mondamln! Ceres of the west I
Along the winds of fame
That whisper from thy queenly crest
Thy sweet barbarian name,
Come voices of Arcadian peace,
And from historic morn
Sing all the sheafy fields of Greece
A song for Indian Corn.
Thou emblem grain, our civic plant!
In zone of sun or snow,
Where prairies roll or mountains slant
In rustling beauty grow.
Thy plume our nation’s flower shall stand
And, on her bosom worn,
Shall shine, the standard of the land.
Our golden Indian Corn.
—Theron Brown, in Youth’s Companion
A LEAP-YEAR PROPOSAL
It Was Aooepted, But He Got the
Wrong' GirL
“Whew—ew—etc/"
The postman was going his rounds
through the many-storied office build
ing, and at the sound of his whistle
Alex Darrow’s partner went to bring in
a handful of mail.
“Firm letters—papers—a circular—a
bill of my own,” he ran over, sorting
them out “Hellol here’s a fine lady
fied epistle to come to a young law
yer’s office on business — though the
writing is considerably off. For you
only, too.” He tossed it to Darrow
across his desk. “If yon weren’t such
a steady-going fellow, I should certain
ly suspect you of a billet-doux.”
“Impossible!" exclaimed Darrow, his
eyes fixed on the few lines traced on
the satiny cream-white sheet he had
hastened to unfold.
“Yes, I should most decidedly say so,
to judge by your excitement,” was the
sarcastic retort.* “The dickens! I don’t
believe the man hears me, or was talk
ing to me at all. I say, are you going
to drop all the papers in Milner vs.
Milner, and go flying off at this time of
day?”
Mr. Darrow was already putting on
his overcoat.
“I must—it’s to keep an appointment
—some most important business,” he
dropped fragmentarily, as he hurried
out, with Marjle Taine’s letter in an
inner pocket very close to his heart.
Marjle had meditated much before
she sent it She was well aware that
it was quite out of the usual course
for the lady to propose to the gentle
man, but then she was so very sure
that Alex Darrow was in love with
her. Had he not always paid her a
great deal of attention, unlike most of
the young men who seemed to find so
much entertainment in her Aunt Mari
on’s society? And his attentions were
so respectful, too; he had never ruffled
her dignity by tossing her up in his
arms like a mere baby, and trying to
make her kiss him against her will, and
only laughing when she pried with an
ger and humiliation and told him he in
sulted her, as that altogether horrid
Mr. Rogers had once done. She had
felt almost as much insulted by Mr.
Rogers’ attempt to make his peace
with a big Paris doll; for she thought
herself quite too old for dolls, and had
solemnly given away her whole family
of them the day before her eighth
birthday.
But Mr. Darrow was very different.
He brought her flowers and bonbons,
just as men brought them to Aunt
Marlon; and Marjie knew that these
were considered attentions, for Aunt
Marlon laughed and said they were,
when she asked. He had told her she
reminded him of a sister of his who
died; and he had taken her out walk
ing, and to the chrysanthemum show,
and even sleighing on the lake shore
drive, when she had felt bo badly be
cause she couldn’t go with Aunt
Marlon and Mr. Blair. He had taken
her to see Elsie Leslie in "Little Lord
Fauntleroy,” and Mr. Blair took Aunt
Marion to the theater, and did not all
the servants say that Mr. Blair was
going to marry Aunt Marlon? And If
he did rather discourage her when she
wanted to talk about her favorite
books, and seemed to think it was bet
ter for her to play with the pug he had
given her than than to read and im
prove her mind, even the best of men
could not be expected to understand
one completely.
Marjie was well versed in the woes
of souls misunderstood. She was a
great devourer of books, especially
sentimental novels, of which an un
limited supply was constantly coming
into the house for her pretty, pale,
mamma, who lay among the rose
pillows and down cushions of her
lounge reading all day long, except
when Aunt Marion coaxed her out for
u little drive in the brougham, or the
doctor came, or a few choice intimates
called, to whom she could lament the
state of her nerves and the dreadful
responsibility of being left with a child
to bring up.
When the child came into the room
on her daily duty call, Mrs. Taine in
variably looked to see if her hands
were well kept and her hair brushed
becomingly, and-theu usually told her
to run away and be a good, quiet girl;
and it was a matter of perfect indiffer
ence-to her what books Marjie took with
her, so long as she was not reading
them herseli. Marjie's nurse had early
found out that a book could generally
keep her quiet, and leave herself free
to flirt with the men servants, and
though Aunt Marion had insisted on
her being provided with a governess.
Mile. Duval had soon discovered the ;
same unfailing recipe to keep her
eharge out of active misehief and herself
in ample leisure. There were certainly
many things in these books that Marjie
could not understand, but this mystery
only made them the more fascinating.
So mamma continued to nurse her
nerves, and Aunt Marion went on in
her bright, busy life of a society belie,
thinking her small, white-faced, deep
eyed niece in good hands, while Marjie
watched her with profound admira
tion. and made her the heroine of a
hundred romances, borrowed from her
books, until now that she had a ro
mance of her own.
It is true that even she was com
pelled to recognise a decided difference t
or age; but, then, wasn’t Strathmore
at least thirty years older than that
lovely Lucille whom he adopted as a
baby and married at seventeen? There
were less than twenty years between
herself and Mr. Darrow; and this dis
parity seemed slight by comparison.
She was also forced to admit that she
was rather young; but Juliet was not
full fourteen when she died for love of
Komeo, and was there not a real prin
cess of France who married a real
English king when she was only eight
years old? Marjie thought she was
quite old enough to marry if that prin
cess was.
Reasoning from these famous ex
amples, she dismissed the question of
age as certainly not the obstacle which
kept Mr. Darrow from a proposal, and
cast about for it elsewhere. She found
it in her fortune. She knew she would
be rich some day; for, whenever she
cried over a hard lesson or a scolding
from mademoiselle, during that young
lady’s occasional paroxysms of disci
pline, nurse always comforted her with
assurances that it was a shame to
bother her with such things, so it was,
when she was too big an heiress ever
to need to know anything but how to
look pretty, and sure she’d do that
same anyway, the beauty of the world
that she was! And she knew that Mr.
Darrow was not rich, for she had once
heard Mr. Rogers speak of him as
nothing but a beggarly lawyer; and in
how many of her mamma’s novels had
not the hero persisted in making the
heroine and himself miserable, from
the first chapter till the last but one.
merely because she had money and he
had not? Sometimes this deadly dif
ference had been bridged by a deter
mined effort on the part of the heroine;
and, after long thought, Marjie de
cided that such an effort was required
of her now.
i'riscuJa proposed to John Aides In
Longfellow,” she confided to Punch,
the pug, who heard more of her
fancies than anyone else in the house;
1 'and I’ve known several girls in stories
who did, too, and nobody seemed to
think it was awful of them. Wouldn’t
vou do it right oft, before leap-year is
over, if you were me? Honest, now,
Punchie?”
Punch, thus appealed to, sat up on
her knees, begged with pendulous
paws, rolled his goggle eyes lovingly
at her, and kissed her hand with the
tip of his tongue, as in token of
sympathy and approval; and Marjie
fels strengthened in her resolve.
She might perhaps have asked Aunt
Marion’s opinion, too; but Aunt Marion
was dressing for a ball, and Marjie
knew that though she would run up to
the school room for a moment to kiss
her good night, and let her see her
pretty gown, she would have no
chance to talk to her till next day, at
her noon breakfast, and then it would
be too late. As for asking her mother
about anything whatever, that wild
idea simply never once crossed Mar jie’s
mind.
Therefore she wrestled with her
problem alone, but for Punch; and
therefore Mr. Alexander Darrow found
in his mail next day a small, square
letter, with the well-known number on
Calumet avenue engraved across the
' top of a sheet which held a brief,
straightforward offer of marriage,
signed Marion Leslie Taine.
It was the sweetest, strangest, most
impossible thing; yet she had really
told him that if, as she had so long
suspected, he truly loved her, he might
come to her in the library at half-past
three that afternoon; and if she were
too bold in thus inviting him, he must
remember that leap year was almost
gone, and she could not lose her only
chance to speak for herself for four
years more.
And to think that the post oflBce had
delivered that letter only just barely
in season for him to keep the appoint
ment! He caught a hansom, however,
and bribed the driver to such speed
that he reached Calumet avenue some
ten minutes in advance of his time.
Yes, the servant said; Miss Taine
was at home, aud would see him in the
library. Yet he could scarcely believe
his own senses until he entered the
room, and all bewilderment and won
der changed to assured joy as he saw
her awaiting him, tall and fair and
serenely sweet in her trailing Bussian
esque tea gown of ivory plush edged
with dark fur. He was beside her in an
instant.
"Dear,” he said, “you must have
more than suspected—have plainly
seen—that I love you, yet I never
thought to dare to speak!”
He was certainly daring a good deal
now; for he had taken both her hands
in his, and proud Miss Taine was let
ting him do it She found it strangely
sweet to .yield even her pride to this
sudden masterful tenderness and fire
that had replaced all his old reserve, as
he drew her into his arms and kissed
her lips and eyes and chestnut hair.
“My queenly sweetheart, my own
wife that will be! How could you ever
fear I should think less of you for your
heavenly goodness in writing the letter
that brought me here to-day?”
She started away from him.
“What letter? I never wrote you a
line in my life. What do you mean?”
"But I received a letter from you
this afternoon”—
make free with my name in this way?
What was the letter like? Oh, is it all
—all—a mistake?”
“I’m sure it isn’t a mistake that we
love each other, and are going to be
very happy now that we know it, how
ever it came about,” firmly declared
Mr. Darrow. “As for the letter, here
it is."
Miss Taine took it gingerly, as one
touching a snake.
“It’s my paper, certainly; but what
writing! How could you ever suspect
me of it? And, oh, Alex, do you really
think I should spell three words wrong
on only one page? And the higli
flown sentiments! But the matter is
worst of all. Alex, how could you
help having sense enough to know that ]
I never, never would have asked even j
you—to—to marry me?"
She was laughing, blushing, happy
and vexed all at once.
"Of course I know better now,” said ;
Alex, with great meekness; “but all the i
same I’m profoundly thankful some
body wrote that letter and I made the \
mistake. I didn’t notice the spelling, 1
and though 1 did wonder at the writ- ;
ing a little, I never saw any of yours,
and I set down its faults to nervous
ness. ”
“Nervousness, indeed! As if any
amount of that could make me write
such a hand! Who could have done it?
It must have been some servant who
had access to my desk and stole my :
paper. Why, it’s downright forgery to j
sign my name to a thing like that!"
“I didn’t—I signed my own name, !
Marion Leslie Taine,” said a small
voice.
They turned to behold Marjie—Mar- |
jie, very pale and grave and deter
mined, who. true to her appointment, j
had arrived on the scene to find her
lover in conversation with her aunt, |
and to hear enough to know what her
proposal had done for them.
“You wrote that letter?” gasped Miss
Taine the elder.
Marjie nodded her chestnut curls.
“Yes,” she owned, in tones that sug
gested repressed sobs, “I wrote it. I
didn’t mean to steal your paper,
though I did takt some, because it was
more grown-up looking than mine. I
thought he was my lover; for he's al
ways been so nice to me, and he isn’t
near so much older than me as Strath
more was than Lucille, either. And
Priscilla asked her lover to marry her, j
because he didn’t ask her himself, and
so did some other girls in the novels, (
and—and so—I thought—I could, too.
I'm glad I did it, anyhow, for I’d rather
you and—and—he—should be happy— i
than L”
The sobs came row in full force; but
Marion had her arms round the tiny
figure and the curly head on her |
creasu
“Oh! you poor baby!—you darling bit
of a heroine!—you blessed little sim
pleton!” she cried, sobbing too. “What
hare we been thinking of to leave you
to get such fancies and do such tilings
out of your books? And yet 1 can’t help
being glad you did it, too! But you’ll
learn better now, dearest, and your
own auntie will look after you, if your
—tf nobody else does.”
“I’ve learned better now," aaid Maa
jle, solemnly. “I didn’t know you’d
never have done it, or that he’d want
to laugh at me ”
If Darro w had been inclined to laugh
(and it must be owned that for one
perilous moment at first he had been
on the brink of open mirth), the small,
shame-stricken face Marjie lifted would
have cured him of any desire to do so.
“You are mistaken in that last,” he
said, gravely and gently. “A man can
only feel honored by the preference of
a young lady he respects, even if he
cannot fully return it; and, indeed, I
have always loved you as a very dear
little friend, for your own sake as well
as your aunt’s, be sure I shall never
forget how much yon have helped me,
and that I want you to be good friends
with me still, and let me help you for
get all the disagreeable part of this.”
Marjie bestowed on him one long,
keen, suddenly searching look out of
her wide, innocent brown eyes, and
then gave him her mors of a hand
with heart-broken dignity.
Four years make a great difference
in a small maiden’s life, however, and
in this next leap-year from that Mar
jie, no longer pale and grave and too
old for her age, much prefers Alex
Darrow as an uncle than as a lover.—
Glen Hathaway, in Woman’s Journal.
PHILADELPHIA HIPPOHAGI.
The >feuu Prepared tor Their First I>io
oer i-i That Cltj.
A society has been formed to promote
the eating of horseflesh. The head
quarters of this unique association are
in Philadelphia, and its secretary is
diaries Wilson Montgomery. As yet
the members are few in number, but
they make up for this deficiency by
their enthusiastic fondness for cooked
horsei Secretary Montgomery is a com
paratively young man, but his bronzed
complexion and numerous scars tell of
au adventurous life by flood and field.
Speaking of the horseflesh society he
said:
“Our organization is made up of men
who at some period of their lives were
led by necessity or curiosity to taste
what is vulgarly called *nag beef.’ A
liking for horseflesh is as natural to
man as a liking for mutton or beet
Consequently, when any one eats horse
flesh and finds it toothsome he wants to
repeat the experiment Gradually a
yearning for this kind of food springs
up within him, and he longs to be able
once rqore to indulge his taste for equine
steak. But horseflesh is not a delicacy
that one finds in many American res
taurants. It may figure largely in the
culinary department, of course, but it
never appears on the bill of fare.
“About two months ago I happened
to meet a party of gentlemen who, like
myself, had knocked abont the world a
great deal. Our conversation resulted
in the discovery that we had one par
ticular taste in common, namely, roast
horse. After considerable discussion
we agreed to interest other friends
similarly minded and to form a regular
club. Thus began the Society for the
Eating of Horseflesh. Since then we
have secured twenty-three rqembers,
all of whom are fairly prominent per
sons in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Cin
cinnati, Chicago and elsewhere. We
have agreed to have a horseflesh dinner
in one or other of these cities every
three months
“Great difficulty was experienced by
us in inducing any restaurant keeper to
serve us with the dinner we want
These men fear that their business
would be ruined if it were to leak out
that they cooked horseflesh. Finally,
however, a down-town caterer who as
a soldier in the war ate horse himself,
agreed to gratify us on condition that
we keep his name secret
“The members of the society have
each a story to tell of how they first
came to eat and like this unconven
tional article food. Clyde M. Allen, of
Cincinnati, one of our founders, added
horse to his list of dishes while wan
dering in the northwest several years
ago. Henry H. Fulton, of Chicago, a
well-known theatrical man, was forced
to eat it during the famous siege of
Paris As he himself said: ‘It was a
choice between horse or rats, and horse
was chosen.’ A popular police officer
of this city first masticated horse while
serving with a detachment of the
United States cavalry against the
Apaches. Capt F. L Kelly, of Pitts
burgh, was on the 'trek' in South Africa
at the outbreak of the diamond excite
ment, when starvation forced him and
the men who were with him to kill and
eat two of their horsea My own friend
ship for this much-maligned food dates
from the breaking of the engines be
longing to the steamer St Kilda in the
Indian ocean ten years ago.
• 'The ship was carrying a number of
whalers, or Australian horses, from
Sydney to Bombay, when she met with
the accident I was one of the crew,
and when our provisions gave out,
without the smallest speck of land
heaving in sight we just tackled those
horsea I tell you they beat salt junk
and weevilly biscuits all to fits, and
when we were eventually taken it tow
by a friendly vessel we were fatter by
several inches in spite of our long drift
“I am not at liberty to give the names
of the five gentlemen who, with me,
form the Philadelphia contingent in the
order. Two of them hold public posi
tions, and they all dislike to have their
partiality for horse noised abroad. I
really cannot see the reason for this, as
to my mind eating horse is nothing to
be ashamed of. One of the Pittsburgh
members, John J. Gregg, was in Phila
delphia two weeks ago arranging with
me the menu for our little horse dinner
next month. It is very simple and wit
run somewhat as follows:
Soup—Potato aux jambons ties chevaux.
Entrees—Filly cutlets and horse radishes.
Roast—Rib of horse with potatoes
Two-year old steaks.
Dessert—Horse chestnuts roasted.
“This menu was prepared with full
seriousness, except perhaps as regards
the horse radiBhes and horse chestnuts.
Had we wished to burlesque the affair
we might have worked iu something
about ‘fillet of filly’ or'Colt’s revolvers.’
and perhaps sent the mayor an invita
tion to attend, but that is not our idea
We want no horse play, but an honest,
straightforward dinner of horseflesh
cooked in various appetizing styles
Philadelphia Times.
„uu*e nmm'l rrovirM.
Polliticks is the same all the yeai
round.
Santy Claus ain’t seekin’ offis.
When a man gets a government job
he thinks it is Crismus.
It’s easier for a pollitishan to make
promises in the old year than to carry
them out in the new.
Congress resumes evry year jist the
same and don’t git no better.
A statesman liain’t no more right to
git drunk Crismus than he has any
other time.
Santy Claus ain’t in polllticka mebbe,
but he’s mighty nice to people that's
got money.
The wimrneu sufragists want it
changed to “Peese on earth, good will
to wimmen.”
The Codess of Lfbberty don’t hang
up her stockin’.
Every star In the American flag U a
new star uv Ilethlehem.—Detroit Free
Press._
—Oreen—- “How is It, Cray, that you
are always advising everybody to mar
ry, and yet you show no hurry about
taking a wife yourself?" Orav—"Be
cause, ray boy, I'm too much at a gen
tleman to help myself until everybody
elee is supplied. "—Uoeton Transcript. 1