Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume], October 19, 1899, Image 6

About Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925

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Story of the Wedding Ring.
By BERTHA M. CLAY.
CHAPTER I.
Looking at them as they lie in the
shop-windows of the vendors of old
gold—wedding-rings of every size—
—worn, bruised, taken most of them
from hands that will never more be
raised to caress or to threaten —who
realizes the tragedies that belong to
their history The love of which
they were the outward symbol is
known on earth no more —the wave of
time has passed over it, obliterating
all tracsi but what poetry, what ro
mance, Vftat tragedy ever equalled the
stories attached to these old worn wed
ding rings?
I have a story to tell of one —the
ring that Paul Waldron placed on his
wife’s finger—a ring of plain thick
gold.
The birds that had built their neats
in the grand old trees of Dene Woods
were singing their vesper hy/nn; the
forest glades, the dells and knolls,
the dark tangled shrubs, were all
bathed In a flood of golden sunset
light.
On the eastern side of the wood
stood the pretty little cottage that had
been given to Paul Waldron for him
self and his beautiful young wife—a
cottage such as poets delight to sing
of —ail covered with wild roses and
woodbine, and with trailing sprays of
jessamine, its windows framed with
flowers, its rustic porch overgrown
with scarlet creepers, and its large,
old-fashioned garden containing al
most every sweet flower that grows.
As It appeared now in the evening
sunlight the air so full of richest
fragrance, the roses all abloom, the
little brook close by singing as it ran,
the birds filling the air with jubilant
song, the cottage in itself furnished
matter for a poem.
A( the door, looking intently down
one of the ltrond woodland paths, stood
a young and moat beautiful woman—
—lsmay Waldron, Paul Waldron’s
wife, and mother of the lovely little
hoy playing on the grnHH. She was
only nineteen, and marked by great
girlish beauty.
She had hnlr of Bhlnlng brown
which looked like gold in the sun
shine; it covered a head of most per
fect shape and symmetry, ranging in
waving masses round a neck Hot also
was perfect—it. was such hair as the
old masters loved to paint in their
famous pictures of Mary Magdalene.
She had eyes of an indescribable vio
let, hue, with a golden light In their
clear depths; they were bright and
proud, hnt the long silken lashes
softened them Into wondrous beauty.
Her brows were straight, and her fore
head was white, rounded at the
temples, and full of ideality. She
had ripe red Ups, the upper one short,
the lower one full a beautiful mouth
that would have made even a plain
face lovely; the chili was delicately
btitsulded, and the curves of the neck
and shoulders were full of grace.
Ismay Waldron was that most per
fect of all poems—a beautiful woman.
Her dress was quite plain, but the
homely material only showed the mar
velous beauty of her girlish figure to
greater advantage. The hand that
shaded her eyes was white and grace
ful. One might have wondered how
she —living In a cottage, the wife of a
man who worked hard for his dally
bread came by this dainty beauty,
this delicate, graceful loveliness that
would have been fit dowry for a queen.
Suddenly her eyes brightened, and a
low musical laugh came from her lips.
Sh<> heard her husband’s footsteps, saw
him In the instance, and hastened to
meet him.
Paul Waldron had the true Norman
type of face dark, handsome, full of
fire and power. He had dark eyes from
which an undaunted soul looked out
on the world, dark hair that clustered
round a noble head, firm, well-closed
lips, a tall, manly figure, a free, inde
pendent carriage and bearing, as
though he felt himself to be any
man's equal—and so Indeed he did.
His whole face changed and softened
when he saw bis beautiful young wife.
"you are waiting for me. my dar
ling.” he said -’’waiting and watching
for me.”
£he clasped her little white hands
round his Rrm, ami they walked slow
lj home together.
s "You have not been dull today, la
may, 1 hope?’’ sahl the young husband,
quest loniugly.
Not more dull than usual." she re
plied. "Oh. Paul, make haste to be
rich, and let us leave this quiet, home
ly little cottage!”
His countenance fell as he listened
to her. He drew the beautiful face
towards him. and kissed it with a
passion that kuew no words.
"My darling wife, to me this little
cottage is more beautiful than a
palace; that Is because I love yon so
cieqrly and It is our home. Do you
not love It also?” ,
She smiled carelessly. '•
“Yes. but I cannot go Into raptures
over it. When we have a grand man
sion -a large house full of all kinds
Mr things then I shall be as
ycharihed as ever you wish me to be."
"But. Ismay. I must work long and
hard. dear, before attempting to find
you a large house. Will you never be
happy or contented until then?”
A slight shadow came over her face
"My darling." he continued earnest-j
ly, “you will never—oh. believe me!— I
you will never be happier than you are
now. You have sunshine and music
all the day long; the birds sing to you,
the little brook there murmurs sweet
est melody. lam no poet, Ismay—not
even an educated man —but I can hear
all these. You have bright flowers,
the beauty of the morning heavens,
the glory of the sunset, the long
gloaming, and soft dewy nigi,_s. You
will never be happier, sweet.”
With a careless smile she looked into
his earnest face.
“I should like a large house best,”
she said.
“I have you here all to myself,” he
resumed, “my beautiful bird of bright
plumage, and I can worship you as I
do. Your beauty makes my heart glad
—your love makes earth like heaven
to me. But, if we were rich, and
lived in the great world, you would
belong to so many others; others
would delight In your loveliness, and
follow you with praise. You know
those favorite lines of mine, Ismay—
‘ 'Tis in your eyes, my sweetest love,
My only world I see;
Let but their orbs in sunshine move,
And earth below and skies above
May frown or smile for me.’
"I should not like my beautiful wife
to be admired by all the world. I am
jealous, and would fain keep her all to
myself.”
“That is Just what would please me,”
she said. “I long for this beautiful
great world you seem to despise. The
idea of passing my whole life in this
pretty little cottage does not content
me, I feel like a bird —I would fain
stretch my wings and fly away.” She
looked laughingly at, him. “Do you not
think I am right, Paul? Answer me.”
“No,” lip replied. “A woman should
be content with the love and admira
tion she wins in her own home.”
“I do not think,” said Ismay, “frank
ly speaking, that they will ever cori
tcnt me.”
She did not perceive how her words
jarred upon his sensitive nature. He
had been holding her tightly clasped
In his arms, but now he let his arms
fall nervelessly. She looked up at
him again with a smile that was
beautiful to behold.
"Will it be so very long before you
are rich, Paul?”
“I cannot tel! Ismay. At present I
have but little chance. lam Squire
Scofield’s steward; I keep his woods in
order, and look after the farms. I
have just sufficient money to keep our
home—no more.”
“But." she remonstrated, her lovely
eyes growing dim with tears, “you told
me that you would make money some
day.”
His face cleared; brighter thoughts
evidently arose within him.
"That will l>e my patents, Ismay. I
have something like a genius for
mechanics, I believe. If you could but
find time to work at one of my Inven
tions, I think I could make a fortune.”
"Then it is all uncertain?” she ques
tioned, despondlngly.
He drew his tall figure to its full
height.
“I am vain < nough to think the con
trary, sweet. I have now an idea—tf
I eoald but work it out—ns to an In
expensive method of improving the
working power of steam engines. Tf
anything should ever come of that. I
shall he a rich man, Ismay.”
“Then you must turn your mind to
it. Paul.” she said, caressingly.
"My darling.” he responded, wist
fully. "1 would rather he poor—ah, be
lieve me. love!—far rather. I am
quite happy in this peaceful woodland
life of ours; it seems to me that if I
won wealth T should in some measure
lose you. Why. Ismay. the whole
world would not compensate me for
the loss of one atom of your nffee
tion!" And again that deep and won
derful love of his seemed to master
him.
"You think of nothing hut love,” she
said. "I think of a thousand things be
sides."
He looked at her half doubtlngly.
"I have read of women whose souls
wore not fully awakened,” he said;
“but that cannot he the case with you.
My own soul came Into full, perfect,
and beautiful life when I first saw you
and loved you. Money and luxury
have no charm for me.”
"They have a groat charm for me.
Paul. Of course I love you very dear
ly; hut. when you have won for me all
my heart desires, 1 shall love you
even more."
The words were not kind: but she
| bent her lovely face near him with a
onlle that made him forget everything
| in the world except her.
"If I am to make a fortune,’’ he
said, suddenly. “I must study hard.
Shall we have just one half-hour out
amongst the flowers? Afterwards I
will get my books, and do my best.”
■ She accompanied him, and. as they
stood amongst the rotes. Paul Wald
ron said to himself that no flower that
bloomed was so fair at his beautiful
wife. If It were possible Ite'Npwmld win
name. fame, and gold for her sweet
sake —ho would study hard, toll that
she might have the toys her heart was
fixed upon.
• They are but toys after all.” he said
to himself. "She loves dress and jewels
—these are women’s toys."
He took himself to task for having
even for a moment, felt impatient with
her. iv
Should I feel vexed because the birds
love the sunshine,” he said to himself,
“or the butterflies love flowers? They
follow their instincts. My beautiful
ismay, in loving all things bright and
fair, only follows hers.”
“If money could not buy beautiful
things, you would not care for. it, Is
may," he said, looking earnestly at
her.
She laughed aloud that musi
cal laugh which stirred his pulses and
thrilled every nerve, as some soft
strain of music would have done.
“You shall have money,” he said.
“I will never cease working until I
have won for you your heart’s desire.”
CHAPTER 11.
Martin Schofield, Esquire, was Lord
of the Manor of West Dene. He was
a wealthy man, and one who enjoyed
life to its full extent. He had a great
aversion to all kinds of responsibility
and trouble; he had a land-ager who
managed one portion of his estate —
The woods of Dene and the farms be
yond them were under the care of
Paul Waldron. By courtesy Paul
was called the Squire’s steward, but in
reality his duties were more those of
head keeper than anything else.
He was the son of poor parents. His
father had been the head game keeper
at West Dene Manor for many years;
his mother was an amiable, gentle
woman, whose very life was centered
in that of her boy. They had given
Paul a fair education —something
above his station. The boy was nat
urally quick and clever, but his chief
delight lay in mechanics. He liked all
kinds of machinery; he enjoyed find
ing out how he could improve upon
anything he saw made; he longed to
learn some practical trade, but his
parents were not willing. “The Squire
had always promised,” they said, “that
their son should have the charge of the
West Dene woods, and it was not kind
of him even to wish for anything
else.” So, to please them, he accepted
the Squire’s offer, and before he
reached his twentieth year he was
master of the keeper’s cottage.
“I can study,” he thought; “I shall
have long hours to myself, and I can
work out the ideas that have lain so
long in my brain.”
But in a short time a change came
over him. He went one day to a pretty
little town called Ashburnham, and
there he met his fate. There he saw
ismay Hope and, from that moment
until the hour of his death he loved
her with a deep, true, lasting love, and
gave no thought to another.
He was walking down the principal
street of the town when he met her.
Her lovely face, her light graceful
figure, her wealth of waving brown
hair, the pretty blue cloak —he re
membered the picture while he lived.
He looked earnestly at her as she
passed, and a faint smile rippled over
her lips. That long, lingering gaze
amused her. Asa sudden glow of
warm sunshine will bring to life
some late-blossoming flower, so that
half-smile, that one look at her seemed
to bring Paul's whole soul to life; a
new world opened to him—a great
golden blaze of light seemed to have
fallen at his feet, and he walked on,
dazed, giddy, and confused.
Then he turned back to see where
she went. She entered a small house
that stood by itself at the end of the
street.
“I must know who she is" he said to
himself. “I feel that I must win her."
His soul seemed on Are; there was to
be no more peace, no more rest fdr
him until he had won her. He did not
leave Ashburnham that day until he
had been introduced to Mrs. Hope and
the beautiful girl who had so com
pletely stolen his heart. Mrs. Hope
was a widow; her husband had been in
the Civil Service, and she was left
with barely sufficient to live upon.
Paul told her frankly that he had
seen her daughter, and had fallen in
love with her.
"Many people do that,” was the
quiet reply. “But I must tell you al
though we call her Ismay Hope she is
not my daughter.”
Won by Paul's manner, his hand
some face and eloquent words, she told
him Ismay's story.
"She is no child, not even a relative,
of mine.” said Mrs. Hope; "nor have
1 the least idea where she comes
from, or who her parents are. One
summer night—it was very warm, and
I was standing at the open window,
watching the passers-by—l saw a wo
man loitering near my house —In my
own mind I called her then a lady, and
1 am inclined to call her so now; she
had a pale, beautiful face, with wavy
brown hair; she was poorly dressed,
and held by the hand a little child. I
saw her turn aside and drop a letter
into the post-office; then, when she
walked on again, her face grew paler,
and tier eyes had in tnem an agony of
entreaty when they had met mine. I
saw that she could hardly walk, and
thntj4n [a few minutes more she must
fall. sTt spoke to her, and she looking
at me, said —
" ’Oh, if you would but let me rest
for one half hour in your house! Will
you. for tire love of Heaven?’
"I could not refuse such a request.
She entered my house never to leave It
alive.
" "My very heart seems chilied,’ she
said, when I had placed a chair for
her.
"She sat down, and called o her
child.
To be Continued.
• " **
At Havana a meeting was held of ..he
organization committee of the nation
al party. Senor I.atorre. who*pre
sided. said the coming meeting /would
be of the utmost importance, / as it
would be an Index of the future of the
party. He declared that the i outlook
was fair but said the funds vtere low
and suggested that each committee
should subscribe a fixed amoSfht for
the formation of a fund to on
the work of the party. K
exports the Expoiairfoj?.
Time to Bring American Energy and
Enterprise to the Front.
Not reckoning exports of minera'.
oils and copper ingota in the account,
American exports of the domestic man
ufactures for the fiscal year 1899 were
valued in round numbers at $252,000,-
000. In 1889 with petroleum and cop
per bars omitted, our national export
account footed up only $86,600,000. The
vast expansion of trade thus indicated
has been on lines admitting of in
creasing and extensive development—
n chinery and tools, cotton and woolen
fabrics, chemicals, leather goods and
all the minutae of perishable products
that enter into the scheme of modern
civilization. To meet fully the world’s
requiremerts in these commodities,
and to create and firmly establish a
system of trade Interchange based
upon them, would be to achieve in
dustrial supremacy at the critical time
when the great international markets
are trembling in the balance. Now is
the appointed season and the rare op
portunity to bring American enter
prise and energy to the forefront in the
never-ending contest for primacy in
material progress.
To this end the national export ex
position, the realization of which is
near at hand in the new “White City”
by the Schuylkill, has been adapted
with wondrous skill and unusual good
fortune. Just as the people of the
United States have become fairly con
vinced of the vast extent and immense
value of the new industrial empire
spread out before them, the exposition
is presented as a conspicuous center and
international rallying point of the
multifarious productive interests which
all unconsciously hold the keys of fu
ture American prosperity. It is in re
vealing to these their true strength,
and in affording a comprehensive view
of the possibilities of future American
enterprise in the world’s great markets,
that the forthcoming exposition will
prove most advantageous to our giant
young industries in their rapid pro
gress to commercial control through
out the channels of international dis
tribution.
Industrial displays in connection
with huge world’s fair schemes have
heretofore suffered somewhat by rea
son of the inevitable diffusion of in
terest among a roving mass of sight
seers. Where there is so much on
view but little is rightly compre
hended. The national export expo
sition, with its lavish provision for the
utmost possible requirements of in
ternational traffic, will mark the be
ginning of an era of specialized ex
hibitions, each having for its object
some clearly defined sphere of indus
trial, civic or artistic effort. It prom
ises to be, in addition, the most sig
nal success in the field of industrial
exploitation that has been recorded in
tiie a rural of American exhibitions.
—Philadelphia Record.
TO BAFFLE COUNTERFEITERS.
Russian Inventor’s Device That Prints
Six Colors a* One Time.
The competition between authority
and roguery—the one striving to pro-*
duce a bank note which cannot be imi
tated and the other always seeking to
imi'.ate what is produced—has led to
a very remarkable invention which is
now being shown in London anil
which seems likely to revolutionize
the whole system Of color printing.”
For the origin of the invention one
must go to Russia. " There it was de
sired to issue bank notes and bonds by
some means that no forger could copy.
Accordingly a weaver’s engineer was
called in. wi'.h the idea that he should
suggest a sorj of thread that should be
an absolute mark to bear upon the
subject and innocently asked why they
could not find a printing machine that
would do what was wanted. Why not?
the skeptic was disposed to ask. The
weaver thought it possible, and finally
designed a machine by which the thing
:ould actualy be done. The Russian
notes and bonds are now printed by it,
with a success that 'the Russian gov
ernment seems only too ready to ac
knowledge. But then a machine that
will print an unlimited number of col
ors at once cannot, in these days of
illustrated papers, be hid. Hence It
has been brought to London and set
up at 119 Shaftesbury avenue, where
a critical company had an opportunity
of inspecting It in full operation.
It is not a very large machine, and,
like many other things of great utility,
its principle is simple. A large color
block, after being rol’ed by Its own
color, comes in contact with a composi
tion roller, where it deposits its colors.
Each color block, In short, comes in
contact with a roller on the whole
of the picture, no matter how many
colors are on the transfer roller. Then
a retransfer of tue whole picture is
made to the printing plate, the print
ing plate goes to the paper, and the
picture is printed. But in another way
it may be said one roller, one color.
Each roller takes its special color to a
transfer roller, the transfer roller
when It has received the whole of the
picture transfers it to a plate, and the
plate gives the impression to the paper.
A figure and floral illustration in six
colors was being printed the other day.
The rollers having been duly adjusted,
the layer-on went to work, feeding in
at the rate of about 1.000 per hour, and
the copies came out simply perfect
Every printer knows that with six
colors there should, under the old sys
tem. be six "machlnings.” All six
colors were done in one machining.
The labor-saving was therefore enor
mous. But beyond that there was
no waste. Six machinings may lead to
a bad "register,” which, to the non
technical. means that In one or more
of the machlnings the colors may not
meet or may overlap and the printing
I be thus spoiled. The new machine will
4>rrnt at off* tirfcfeffln Aflfr number of J
'cojortfanifi without" th§' possibility of
spoiled,'. BeaStWul speci
mens pf work done in'Russia for bank
note and back purposes, were shown.
designs:- and work in
tracery specially good. For bank
notes; checks*, maps and illustrations
the process peculiarly adapted.
Rotafy are being cod-
the system may be
available Ur newspaper offices, with
their great requirements as to speed.
It may be added that the new method
is the invention of Ivan Orloff, now
chief engineer and manager of the
bank note printing establishment of
the Russian government at St. Peters
burg.—London News.
RAILWAY TELEPHONE USES.
How Trains are Moved In and Out of
the Terminal Station.
Of all the uses to which the tele
phone can be put, that as a life saver
is probably the most important—and
one cannot regard the employment of
this instrument in the handling of rail
way trains as anything less than as a
means of saving life and limb. One
of the wonders o'f a great railway sta
tion like the North and South Termi
nal of Boston is the mysterious move
ment of the trains, a systet# which
almost suggests the supernatural in
the silent perfection of its operation,
am! yet which is taken by the passen
ger to be so much a maker of course
as usually to be wholly unnoticed.
With all the mighty power, which
seems rather that of some magnificent
giant than of a senseless thing of iron
and steel, the railway locomotive is not
only as dependent as a child for care
and guidance, but rarely is its huge
body moved so much as a rod within
the yard limits except by somebody’s
order. Every locomotive, every car
and every train has its appointed place
at all hours of the day and night,
whether it be still or moving, and at
times the telephone is the agency that
directs it.
The New York, New Haven and
Hartford has, however, recently taken
a step in advance of improving its
block system through New York and
Connecticut by placing telephones in
the signal towers, while in the north
nrd the south terminal stations in Bos
ton the telephone has %een used as an
auxiliary of the telegraph and the au
tomatic signal from the start. In the
north station the tower telephones,
taken in conjunction with the starting
of the trains and relating wholly to
the trains and tracks, constitute a
system of themselves, which is prac
tically independent of the special ex
change through which the Boston and
Maine connects its offices. A special
telephone at the head of every track in
the station conects directly with the
“crow's nest” from which all the
track signals are given and bells
sounded, and the instruments are scat
tered throughout the yard as far as
the tower on the railroad bridge, no
less than thirty being used. In time
of fog the telephone is of indispensable
value, and a chief reason why the
trains slide into the station so prompt
ly in thick weather is that an indus
trious use of the telephone by the sig
nal men in tht towers has kept the
' central office informed of every train
movement outside. There is a limit
to the information the automobile
dials can convey, but the voice is un
der no restriction.
In the south station the telephone is
used in the same manner, with such
Improvements as experience has sug
gested. for example, should a train pass
tower 5, which is at Columbus avenue,
on the Adbany. the signal man would
move the clocklike hands of a dial
and an announcement of the train
would appear in the station. He would
then telephone to tower 4, which is at
Broadway, and tower 4 would tele
phone to the terminal office in the sta
tion such information as might aid in
the handling of the train when 1t
reached that section. So complete
and well ordered, indeed, is the system
of telephone approach at each of the
terminal stations that its operation is
at if the engineer of every incoming
train leaned out of his cab and shouted
to the officials in the station every par
ticle of information they could desire
to know to enable them to take his
train safely in, and, if necessary, send
it out again.—Boston Transcript.
ABOUT THE A!?T AND THE BEE.
The ant Is a pattern of industry and
thrift, though very much overrated,
but he was a cold utilitarian waen he
outraged the laws of hospitality and
recommended the poor happy-go-lucky
grasshopper, as he had "sung all sum
mer” to “dance all winter.” One
can fancy the careful, prim, narrow
little householder, with an odious air
of virtue, freezing out the-improvident
suppliant. Thrift for its own sake is
not virtue, though it may be prudence.
If we garner up the grain, it should
be that we may scatter it again to
bring forth a good harvest. And if
any man. even the thriftless, come to
us beseeching bread, shall we deny him
and ask, after the fabel, “Why did you
not treasure up food during the sum
mer?” It is a gray day. Indeed, which
has in it no grain of pleasure, no op
portunity for doing good, no sweet
moment of rest. The future is a sort
of rapacious Moloch demanding hu
manity to sacrifice to him the present.
The miser spends his heart's blood and
his soul’s peace to pay tribute to the
monster; the fool laughs at his claims;
but the wise man pays him a just
tithe.
Take time to rest. A much-traveled
foreigner, when asked whether he had
observed any particular characteristic
as representative of the whole human
race, replied: "Me tlnk all men love
laxy.” And this must be true If, as
they say, axioms are the distilled wis
dom of nations, for there has never
been any demand for proverbs or
fables illustrating .he pleasure of lei
sure and exhorting men to enjoy them
selves, while rtfie wise saws on the
subject of work are numberless. Near
ly all our axioms are commendatory
of perseverance, toil, economy and
accumulation. “There’s room at the
cop,” ' Rcme was not built in a day.”
“A fool and his money are soon part
ed,” “A stitch in times saves mue,”
“Economy is wealth." There are
which bespeak caution in these
tions, as “Make haste slowly,” 'Penny
wise and pound foolish,” ‘ All work
and no play makes Jack a dull boy,”
etc. But usually the Indefatigable
ant and the “little busy bee” are held
up to us in some form for emulation.
Now, as Eugene Wrayburn says, speak
ing of bees: “They work, but don’t you
think they overdo it? They work so
much more than they need —they make
so much more than they can eat—they
are incessantly boring and buzzing at
• their one idea —that don’t you think
they overdo It? and are human la
borers to have no holidays because of
the bees?” —Woman’s Home Com
panion.
THEFT OF THE HOLY' CARPET.
Dispatches frem Cairo report that
the “holy carpet,” once the property of
Mohammed, and long guarded with
pious care in the Egyptian capital, has
fallen into the hands of Bedouins, who
attacked a caravan of Egyptian pil-.
grims While on the desert march be
tween Mecca and Medina. The carpet
is usually carried to Medina every
year on the great annual pilgrimage
from Egypt and is then restored to its
keepers. It is one of the most latpous
relics of the prophet, and the saAlegir
ous act of the desert
arouse much feeling, particularly kin
North Africa. v
Meea attracts the faithful ffl?
entire Mohammedan
the larger part of the piipff wL
visit .Medina are natives of Africa.
reason is because Medina is
sanctity to Mecca, and a visit; to
temb of the prophet at Medina, wtme
highly meritorious, confers no honor
nor bessing which is not equaled or
surpassed by the holy fruits of the pil
grimage to Mecca; and few non-Afrl
ean devotees have the incentive to in
cur the sufferings and dangers of the
200-mile march across the sand waste
between Mecca and Medina. Of the
four orthodox sects of Islam the Mali
kites are very numerous in North
Africa, and a large part of the pil
grims to Medina go there not only to
venerate the tomb of the prophet, but
also the tomb of the Iman Melek-Ibn-
Ansa, the founder of the Malikite sect.
The bones of thousands of these
pilgrims whiten the route across the
Arabian sand waste, where they have
succumbed to heat and fatigue or to
attacks of Bedouin robbers.
journey has always been among the
most trying experiences of the pilgrim
band. Seme of the Meccans have
made fortunes supplying the camels
and food for the desert journey to and
from the northern city. Thirteen
years ago a French steamship com
pany spread the news far and wide that
thenceforth the perils of the desert
march might be avoided. The pil
grims were advised to return from
Mecca to Jiddah on the coast, where
steamers would await to carry them
200 miles north to Jatnbo, whence they
might make an easy and comfortable
journey to Medina. In recent years
several thousand pilgrims have em
ployed this easier and cheaper route,
but the majority have clung to the
old way. The Bedouins who have
committed the latest act of sacrilege
are nominally Mohammedans, but they
neither pray nor give thanks to Allah.
They may be trusted to place the high
est commercial value upon any sacred
relic falling into their hands. —New
Y'ork Sun.
TELEPHOTOGRAPHY.
Not only does this apply to moun
tain subjects but to many others
alike. What remarkable pictures of
the naval battle of Santiago, the chase
of the Christobel Colon, or the gal
lant rescue of the despairing Spaniards
from their burning ships, might have
been obtained from the battle-ship
New York, with a lens of this descrip
tion even at long range! I believe it
will be of inestimable value for the
purpose of securing views of the bat
teries and fortifications of an ene
my’s harbor, which might be done at
a safe distance from their guns.
WHILE THE HEART BEATS YOUNQ.
While the heart beats young and our
pulses leap and dance,
With every day a holiday and AM a
glad romance,
We hear the birds with wonder, and
with wonder watch their flight,
Standing still the more enchase 1 both
of hearing or of sight, Jt-'*
When they have vanished wholly' 'for
infancy, wing to wing |
We fly to heaven with them; and, re
turning. still we sing
The praise of this lower fceaven with
tireless voice and tongue.
Even as the Master sanctions —while
the heart beats vdung. t
I While the heart beats youi! While
the heart beats young!
Oh, green and gold old earth of ours,
with azure overhung
And looped witiwaiabows,, grant us
yet
.v .