Jamestown weekly alert. [volume], December 24, 1885, Image 3

About Jamestown weekly alert. [volume] (Jamestown, Stutsman County, D.T. [N.D.]) 1882-1925

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OLl) ACCOUNTS.
A Story of the Now Yeur—Uread Cast Up­
on the Witter* Returns.
CHAPTER I.
The scene was Washington the time
Christmas the year '62. It was an in­
tensely cold and bitter night—so cold
that, in spite of the bustle and ex­
citement which usually prevailed until
the latest hours—for they were sleep
loss times, as many can remember,—
the street were almost wholly de­
serted, and exposed to view but a few
stray individuals whom actual neces­
sity had called abroad. The rest
were closeted indoors and, judging by
the light at the windows, were endeav­
oring to banish from their minds all
secse and recollection of the outward
gloom. Yet there was little cause for
joy, many a household mourned, many
a heart was crushed with woe. But
the season was imperative in its
claims, and shed the halo of its com­
fort over all, forming a bright paren­
thesis between the two eternities of
past anxiety, and the dark and wither­
ing uncertainty which veiled the
future.
It is not, however,in theprivate parts
of the city, nor in a pi-ivate house,
nor even in a private room, that our
story opens, but in one of the public
resorts of the most public thorough­
fares which at thfcit particular time
were thronged day and night by eager,
anxious ci*owds, discussing the events
of the day and the probabilities of the
morrow, with the stern, excited inter­
est of the times.
On the particular evening relating
to
events we are about .to describe, this
hotel was more than usually crowded.
Soldiers had arrived from camp and
had taken every vacant room in the
building, and in addition to soldiers
were contractors, sutlers,paymasters,
and other public characters whom the
times had assembled—alas! to the det­
riment of the times! Many of these
were lounging in the hall of the hotel,
discussing noisily the latest events of
the war, and predicting all kinds of
imaginable issues while the rest, or
greater number rather, were smoking
and chatting in the large billard-ioom
of the establishment, engaging in the
game itself, or grouped around the
players who were most distinguished
by th"U'skill, and who afforded special
interest.
Among the latter were two young
officers, one twenty-eight or thirty
years of age, the other between twenty
and twenty-five fine, manly fellows,
both of them, who had done brave
service, and who looked prepared to
encounter as many hardships and
dangers as the country might still
further exact of them. The darkness
of the one contrasted strongly with
the fairness of the other, and at times
imparted to his features—especially
when he frowned—such a stem and
sinister expression, that many would
have judged him, although perhaps
unjustly, inferior to his adversary and
unworthy of any sympathy as regard­
ed the contest.
The latter was all frankness and
good nature, with a soft and almost
feminine expression of countenance,
suggestive of much feeling. They were
both of them deeply interested in the
game. So equally were they matched,
that it seemed as if the issue merely
hinged on some chance stroke or op­
portunity, which usually decides the
contest between even players. Both
were playing with the greatest skill
and caution, and the plaudits of the
lookers-on whenever a brilliant stroke
was scored increased the zest and
ardor of the combatants. There was
quite a crowd assembled round the
table, and such was the excitement
which prevailed on every side, that
large sums of money were already
staked on the result. The interest of
the game, moreover, was increased by
the large amount which was staked by
the players themselves. This was
their second game and the light-hair­
ed combatant, who had won the sym­
pathy and confidence of all from the
commencement, stood fair to win the
sum of $500 on the issue. Ho won it
and again challenging his opponent,
commenced a third game. The stakes
were doubled, and the excitement rose
to such a pitch in consequence, that
the more prudent of the lookers-on be­
gan to murmur and disclaim among
themselves while bolder members fol­
lowed the example of the players,
doubling their stakes, and taking a
closer and more personal interest in
the proceedings. This time fortune
declared itself in favor oft he dark con­
testant. lie did not seem to be the
better player of the two, but he played
more carefully, was more at ease, and
had his feelings under strong control.
His adversary, on the other hand,was
becoming more and move nervous and
excited and altogether less reliable he
was losing his
self-masterybesidesand
playing wildly and extravagantly as
if his better judgment had forsaken
him. All this, combined with the ef­
fects of the wine which he was freely
drinking, tended to convince the look­
ers on that he would have but little
chance if he continued and those who
had lately bet on his success moved
moodily tiway to other quarters.
Before commencing a new game a
brother officer stepped up to him, and
drawing him aside, endeavored to lead
him away. It vas of no avail. After
challenging his comrade to play an­
other game, he continued the contest
and lost. Again he played, and still
the same result until, at. length, his
last remaining sum—which he had
staked with trembling hands— was
swept away all—all he had in the
world, and he and fate were left to
fight it out alone.
A murmur of sympathy arose from
the crowd a9 he retired but he took
no notice of it. He walked, or stag­
gered rather to the extreme end of the
room, and there sitting down, en­
deavored to collect his scattered
thoughts.
He could not realize his loss at first,
and put his hand in his pocket, think­
ing it was all a dream, and that the
money must be still there. Alas! it
was only too true! Then, for the first
time, the veal sense of his position
Hashed across him. He did not think
or care for himself. But his wife—his
darling wife! That was her money,
her one and only means of support
which she had counted on, and on
whose security rnie had doubtless
lived since had left her. What
would she do now, in these hard
times, confronted by the sorrow an
anxiety which his rash and heartless
act would bring?
God knows how much he suffered.
God alone, who reads men's hearts,
was witness to his grief and sorrow­
ing remorse his anguish and despair!
He was suddenly roused by a knock
at the door, and before he had time to
answer, a man entered and stood be­
fore him. It was his late adversary,
the author of his ruin.
llis first impulse was to spring upon
him, or to order him away but there
was something on the man's bearing
which arrested the feeling, and re­
duced him to silence. All he did was
to point to a chair, and to inquire, in
a voice hoarse and tremulous with
emotion, what further business he
could want with him.
"You will pardon my intrusion,"
said the other, in a calm and almost
sympathetic tone, "and I trust re­
spect the motive which has brought
me hither. I was a witness of your
agitation and distress just now, and
attributed it to the loss which, I re­
gret to think, you have sustained
through me. I followed you upstairs,
and"—the speaker was embarrassed
for a moment—"and was induced from
what I heard to follow you inside. I
acted with a soldier's impulse, which I
pray you to forgive and I claim from
you a soldier's frankness in return."
He paused for a moment, and then
pursued:
"Tell me why this loss has caused
you such distress? It cannot be for
the mere money your look and atti­
tude disclaim it. There is some deep­
er motive in your heart, and it is that
which I entreat you to disclose." The
young man was sitting with his face
buried in his hands, apparently un­
conscious of what the speaker
said. But he started up at the
concluding sentence, and, regard­
ing him with fixed attention, said:
"You wish to know the cause of my
distress? It is, upon your word, a pure
and friendly motive which induces
you to ask?"
"It is indeed," he answered, earnest­
ly. "Have faith in my sincerity, and
tell me all."
"Well, then, I will. That money"—
and the tears glistened in the speak­
er's eyes—"was what I had been sav­
ing for my wife. It was her sole re­
source in all the world—and I was to
have sent it her to-day."
"Your wife," exclaimed the other,
with surprise.
"Yes, my wife." And this cruel loss
—this rash and selfish act of mine—
exposes her to what I dare not think
without a groan. She is alone and
friendless, and I—I her husband, who
would give my life for her—unable to
avert her beggary."
"I am truly sorry," said the other
"truly, deeply sorry. I too, have a
wife and God knows how I should
suffer if she were exposed to any bit­
ter loss through me."
He was silent for a few moments,
and then said, brightening up as he
spoke:
"Will you promise me, on your word
as a soldier, to abstain from all
gambling for the future?—never, as
long as you live, to play for gain, if I
return your money? Will you promise
me this?"
"I will most solemnly," the young
man answered. And he clasped his
hands in token of the vow.
"Then I will buy your promise,"
said the other. "Here, take this mon
iey it is yours!" And as he spoke he
handed him the sum which he had late­
ly won below.
The young man sprang forward,and
stretching out his hands, received the
sum with trembling joy.
"Mine?" heexclaimed. "Youreturn
the money you have won—which you
have fairly and honestly won? Im­
possible!"
"My friend," said the other, serious
ly, "1 give it to you in exchange for
your promise, Remember that in ex­
change for your promise. Take this
sheet of paper, and sign your name
below."
lie sat down at the table, and wrote
as follows:
"For the sum of $2,000, value re­
ceived, I pledge my word of honor, as
a soldier and a man, never to play
any game of chance for money. So
help me God."
lie handed the sheet to the young
man, who signed it, and returned it to
the writer.
It bore the name of "Lewis Fair
borough," and the date—31st Decem­
ber, 1862.
"And now," he continued, rising as
he spoke, "ltjt us shake hands, and
wish each other a happy—it is a
strange expression to use in these ex­
cited, troubled times, but I will use it
nevertheless—a happy farewell and
best and truest wishes for the new
year."
The young man grasped the hand
which was extended to him, and said
in reply—his voice constrained and
faltering with emotion:
"I shall never forget my promise,
nor the debt of gratitude I owe you.
And if the time should ever come
when you might wish to claim a cor­
responding act from me—and I could
almost wish that it might come—com­
mand me, and I will obey."
The other smiled and once more
shaking hands with him, withdrew.
Before retiring, the young officer
wrote along and loving letter to his
wife, acquainting her with all the de­
tails of the evening, of his rash and
selfish folly, his after sorrow and re­
morse, his subsequent deliverance
through the nobleness and generosity
of his conqueror, and of the solemn
pledge which he had given, never, as
long'as he lived to play again for gain.
After that he slept, and awoke re­
freshed and morally regenerated, as
if a load—a heavy load—had been re­
moved, and his conscience cleared of
every strain. And so he left with no
ugly shadows of the past to darken
and torment him, but with a brighter
inward visage, and a heart more
pure. Above all, with the New Year's
hopes and blessings.
CHAPTER XI.
It is sixteen years after the events
recorded in the previous chapter—six­
teen eventful years, which have
brought with them the usual changes
that are born of time.
John Landor, merchant, of Pearl
street, New York, was between forty
and forty-live years old with dark
hair
and
'iff rrmrpMw—
eyes—the former turning
fast to grey—and a distressed expres
sion of countenance which reflected
mental care and trouble. It was 5
o'clock in the evening and although
the office had been closed two hours,
and he had no particular business to
attend to, he still sat there, apparent­
ly unconscious of the time, or of
aught else around him. It was all
the stranger, too, as most of the
houses were already closed, and the
streets were becoming less and less
crowded every minute. Yet still he
sat, in the same position, and in the
same reflecting attitude as before.
Better, he thought, to stay and
suffer there alone than carry home
his tale of woe. And yet he mwst tell
them, come what may. For in a few
KHBlV8nD!Q3
days all would-be known, and his
credit, reputation, fortune swept
away. lie had done his utmost to
avert his fall. But each fresh venture
which he had made had failed his re­
sources had grown feebler and feebler,
until, at length, ruin—actual ruin—
stood before him.
He was married and had a wife and
five children. This was the bitterest
part of all. He loved them fondly
and devotedly and as he pictured to
himself their grief and sorrow, and the
hardships which they might be forced
to undergo, lie clenched his fists and
bit his teeth in blank despair.
He was a proud man too. and as
honest as he was proud. He could
not bear to think of any loss inflicted
in his name, and was determined to
submit to any sacrifice, even of a per­
sonal and private nature, if only he
could vindicate his honor, and avoid
the slightest stain upon his commer­
cial fame.
As yet he had said nothing to his
wife. He had put off telling her,think­
ing—alas! vainly—that they would
improve at last, and the impending
danger pass away. He had found it
hard to play the hypocrite—if he had
loved her less he would have felt it
less—and to support so great a load
without her loving sympathy to share
it was about as hard a xate as he could
bear.
He resolved accordingly to acquaint
her,to disclose to her that same even­
ing the actual state of his affairs, and
the personal sacrifice which they in­
volved. He did not for a moment
doubt her courage—her cheerful resig­
nation and submission to the change
—but he trembled in anticipation of
tho shock the first disclosure would
convey, and the dread anxiety that
must ensue.
Firm in his resolve,however,he closed
his desk, and, passing out into the
street, proceeded up Broadway on his
journey home.
It was a cold and bracing evening,
clear and sparkling overhead, and tlie
stars, superbly glittering, returned
each passing salutation with a smile.
How much he needed sympathy
then! He thought of the loving, kind
reception which awaited him at home
—his wife's sweet greeting, and the
children's shouts of welcome. The
very thought of them was happiness.
His wealth might go, but they would
still remain. They were his richest
treasures, after all—his greatest com­
fort and his sweetest blessing. They
were all the dearer to him now, and
the sense of their united love would
make the trial easier for all. It might
be but a short one in the end. He
would work with greater ardor than
he ever had, and in a little while—a
few years at the latest—he might re­
cover all his present losses. It would
ba but a temporary abandonment of
their old home, their habits and ways
of life things would all come right at
last. And in the fervor of his brighter
heart and feelings, he quickened his
pace, and struck out manfully for
home.
He arrived at the door as it was
striking 6 o'clock. His younger
children ran to meet him, and climbed
upon his knees, and threw their arms
around his neck to demonstrate their
joy. He kissed them fondly one by
one, and then proceeded, with an ach­
ing heart, upstairs.
He met his wife on the way. She
had heard his voice and was coming
down herself to greet him and in an­
other moment she was in his arms.
"You are late, darling," sheexclaim
ed, reproachfully. "We expected you
two hours ago. There is nothing
wrong, is there?"
"I will tell you by and by," he
answered, forcing a smile. "Wait till
the children are in bed, and we can
have a quiet talk alone. I have not
time to tell you now."
She looked up at him, and, with her
woman's tact, perceived that there
was a trouble in his heart. "Well,"
she replied, "don't think about it now,
whatever it may be. Let us go down
to tea, and, after supper, Eva will
give you some music.
After supper they ascended to the
parlor, and, according to custom, John
Landor had prayers. He prayed with
special earnestness that evening, and
several times his voice faltered. Even
baby was impressed, and, after pray­
ers were over, ran up to him and
threw her arms around his neck in
sympathy. He kissed her and took
her on his knees, while Eva played for
him his favorite pieces and when the
child had gone his wife sat down be­
side him and whispered words of com­
fort in his ear.
At length they were alone—and then,
in a calm and manly way, he told her
all.
The tears started to her eyes, and
she would no doubt have broken
down but remembering his own heavi­
ness, and anxious to avoid him any
further pain, she smiled andkissed him
tenderly. "And why did you not tell
me this"before?" smilingsadly through
her tears.
"I had not courage," he replied,
speaking more at ease, "and I hoped,
besides, that each day things would
brighten. But they turned, alas! from
bad to worse, untihthe bitter end ar­
rived.
"And you have borne this load of
sorrow all alone?" she said, reprov­
ingly. "My poor love!"
He drew her to his heart and told
her that he had not known, till
now, the depth of her devotion and her
l°ve- ...
"And now," she said, "we will send
away the servants and rent a cheap
apartment elsewhere and I will give
music lessons, while Eva stays at home
to attend to the children.
He told her, with a thankful smile,
that things could never be so bad as
that.
And then he told her of his future
hopes and plans.
"We
are
confronted by a heavy trial,
and our duty will involve much bitter
sacrifice. But let us trust in God, and
and be brave. And it will all come
right at last."
She pressed his hand, and then she
drew tlhe picture of their future home,
with all the altered details of their
lives changed in respect to worldly
station but as truly blessed and
happy, and as fruitful of internal good
as any lot in life could fee.
He was resigned and trustful now,
though, doubtless, care and trouble
lurked within, but under the control,
the soft, benign control, of nobler feel
ing,
And thus the old year yielded to the
new.
•*It will not beashappy as thelast,
John Landor said, a« he embraced his
wife the following morning "but God's
blessing will attend it all the same.
We have commenced it well, and let
us only carry out our good resolves
looking the future squarely in the
face—and we bhall come out from the
trial with as much profit and honor.
•Prosperity is the blessing of the oki
testament, adversity is the blessing of
the new,' he added, quoting one of his
favorite essays 'which carrieth the
greater benediction?' I have often
thought of that in trouble."
"It shall be our present hope and
consolation," she cxclaimed, "and we
will never let the thought of it de­
part."
CHAPTER m.
Strengthened by his wife's support
and resignation John Landor left on
the succeeding morning and, entering
the office, awaited witn calm and tran­
quil heart the first disclosure of his
fate. It was not long before it came.
After he had written a few letters, and
arranged some papers which related to
his present state, a stranger entered,
and introducing himself in John Lan
dor's presence, laid upon the table
four notes which had matured that
day. John Landor regarded him at­
tentively for a few seconds, and, as he
withdrew his gaze, a strange and bit­
ter smile escaped him.
"Your check, please, for twenty
seven thousand five hundred dollars."
The time had come! For a moment
John Landor hesitated, and then,
turning pale, with a sudden and pain­
ful effort, said: "It is my painful duty
to inform you that I am unable to
honor them. As my failure is not yet
reported I must myself declare it now.
I know not how I stand at this par­
ticular moment, but there are a few
assets still remaining to my credit,
which I will make available without
delay. To-morrow morning I will
send you a full statement of my affairs,
and, I trust, arrange them on a satis­
factory basis as regards their future
settlement. Meanwhile, allow me to
express my deep concern for the loss—
which this disclosure will inflict on you
and if I can in any way allay the ap­
prehensions it has caused I shall only
be too thankful to do so. My books
and papers are at your inspection."
"But it is hardly credible!" ex­
claimed the stranger, with a look of
wonderful surprise. "Your notes
have been endorsed by some of the
first houses and I was assured that
your credit stood as high as that of
any other corresponding firm in the
city."
So it did, said Landor, faltering.
"No notes of mine were ever presented
for payment that were not honored
on the spot."
"Then to what do you attribute
your inability to pay in the present
instance?" asked the stranger, look­
ing more and more puzzled.
"Partly to the failure of a house in
which I was largely interested,, and
whose notes I hold to-day," John
Landor answered, with a sigh "but
chiefly to the depreciation of my own
stock, which since the recent failures
in England, I have been obliged to sell
at a loss."
"Then it is only a temporary em
barrasment?" inquired the stranger.
"I trust it is," replied John Landor,
calmly "although I have incurred
enormous losses."
"Nevertheless there is hope," said
the stranger, cheerfully. As far as I
am concerned the loss will not effect
my credit, and after a time the notes
will doubtless recover their face value.
I, for one, can wait." He was looking
closely at John Langdor all the time,
as it struck with some awakened
thought or sudden recollection.
Tneir eyes met.
"Pardon me," said the strangar,
thinking he had given John Landor
pain "but your strong resemblance
to a valued friend of mine, whom I
had not seen for sixteen years, made
me forget for the moment. The re­
semblance is extraordinary," he re­
sumed, "something quite extraordi­
nary. May I inquire whether you
have ever served in the army? It is
no common motive which impels me
to ask, believe me."
John Landor started and after
hesitating for a moment, responded^
"Yes."
The stranger regarded him all the
closer.
"And you were in Washington on
thenightof the 31stDecember,
1862?"
"I really cannot recollect—you
must be mistaken, sir," returned
John Landor, avoiding a direct reply.
"Pray let us talk of other matters."
"We will in tune, "replied the strang­
er "but first of all. answer my ques­
tion. You were in Washington on the
night of the 31st December, 1862?"
"I believe I was." John Landor an­
swered, endeavoring to conceal his
agitation.
"And you played billiards with a
brother officer—and, in his after dis­
tress, returned him the money you
had won—saving him from future mis­
ery and despair?"
"I did," replied John Landor.
"And it was one of the proudest and
happiest moments of my life."
Grasping John Landor by the hand,
the stranger exclaimed, in a voice
scarce audible from emotin, "I am
Lewis Fairborough!" And before
John Landor could reply he siezed up­
on the notes, and tearing them in a
hundred pieces, threw them in the fire.
"There! the debt is paid!" he ex­
claimed, "and I am thankful that it
is in my power to render you some
service in return, my noble-hearted old
fellow." And he rung his hand once
more.
"Mr. Fairborough, said John Lan­
dor, "I knew you the very moment
you entered—and Heaven knows I
wished you to remain in ignorance of
our acquaintance. I am still your
creditor, although—pointing to the
fire as he spoke—you have destroyed
the written proof of my indebtedness
to j*ou."
"But I am rich." said Lewis Fair­
borough, with sparking eyes, "and
part, at least, of my acquired wealth
I owe to you. Yourgenerousconduct
sixteen years ago was the means of
saving my beloved wife, who at the
time was lying dangerously ill, and
who would probably have never re­
covered but for the ease and comfort
which that sum of money was enabled
to procure. It saved me, too, from
sickness and despair—for had I lost
her then under those most crucl cir­
cumstances, I do believe 1 should
have died or fallen victim to a desper­
ate fate. You saved me from them
both and I have prospered ever since.
At the conclusion of the war I entered
my uncle's house at St. Louis, and be­
come, in a few years, a partner of the
firm. Hie house is now my own. I
am rich, and yearn to give you some
substantial proof of my gratitude.
Will you deny me this opportunity,
under circumstances so momentous as
the present? You surley cannot.
And so sit down, I prav you, and tell
me the whole history of your troubles.
I am here as a friend, not as creditor."
John Landor heard, but was un­
able to reply. He spoke some inco­
herent words, intended to express his
giateful sense of so much kindness,
but he could not speak outright.
The words would not come they re­
mained rooted to his heart, and
would proceed no further. A bright
and overflowing feeling took posession
of his soul. He felt that his trial was
at an end, and his salvation nigh.
They conversed together for a long
time, each aquainting the other with
his individual history since the even­
ing they had first met and at length
returning to the present circumstances
which had so auspiciously brought
together.
"First of all," said Lewis Fairbor­
ough, in allusion to his friend's affairs,
"I wish you to go straight home and
acquaint them with your change of
fortune and on your way deposit
this check which I am about to write
to your order."
He sat down as he spoke, and pres­
ently handed to John Landor a check
for $50,000.
"You can accept it as a loan, if you
like," said Lewis Fairborough, with
a smile, "and, should that not suffice,
remember that there is the same
amount at your disposal."
"God bless you! said John Landor,
as he pressed his hand "God bless
you!" And in another moment he
was off.
He first deposited the check and
then, with a beating and exultant
hea»*t, proceeded home. He could
hardly Bpeak for a few moments, bufi
held his wife in his arms, at last ex­
claiming, "We are saved!"
Then he sat down and told them all
—of the scene in the hotel, and the
stranger's deep distress of his return­
ing him the money which he had in­
tended foi his wife—in exchange for
his written promise never to play
again for gain. Then of this same
stranger's entrance in his office but an
hour ago, bearing his own notes, which
he was unable to redeem ofthestrang
er's sudden recognition, and his gener­
ous conduct in destroying the notes,
followed shortly after by his princely
loan.
"And the name of this unselfish,
noble man?" inquired his wife, still
sobbing in her joy.
"Lewis Fairborough," he answered,
with a smile.
"I will treasure it all the rest of my
life," she fervently exclaimed. "My
husband's friend and saviour!"
"I knew he was a noble fellow at
heart," John Landor said, referring
to the scene sixteen years ago. And
this is the
result! How little I thought
at the time that he would one day be
the means of saving me!"
"And now," saidnis wife, "iftrouble
comes to us again, I trust we may be
found as redily prepared as we have
been to-day."
But they have not been visited with
further trial, and the two families of­
ten see each other, visiting and revis­
iting. John Landor has prospered
from that hour—thanks to the kindly
generosity of his friend and the
strength he has acquired throughout
his short-lived trouble—his trust and
resignation and resolve—will avail
him in each after care, and guide him
safely through the rougher, darker
phases of his future.—
Christian at Work.
Bill Nye's Nephew William.
The immediate neighborhood of th
Baptopilas mines, in Old Mexico, made
celebrated by Shepherd's connection
with them as manager, has just been
the scene of a very important and
rich strike ot gold ore. It is in the
San Frnncisco mine, in the southern
extremity of the state of Chihuahua,
eight miles southeast of Guasapares,
the ancient mining camp, wheie the
wealthy Becerra Brothers, of that
state, own the famed Santa Rita group
of mines. Mr. William P. Nye is the
name of the newly made capitalist,
and he is a nephew of the great humor­
ist of the same name. Two years ago
Nye passed through El Paso on a
focated
rospecting
tour through Mexico and
himself near Guasapares,
which is just southeast of Batopilas,
the camp where "Boss" Shepherd has
been operating
so successfully for some
years. Nye soon opened up a new
discovery, which he called the San
Francisco mine, a favorite name in
that land where "Pan shos" abound.
In a very few months the lucky pros­
pector found himself in possession of
a bonanza, for with shallow depths he
succeeded in raisins free gold ores that
would assay from $1,000 to $40,000
to the ton." The miner thus found
himself in a dangerous predicament,
for he was alone in a foreign country
with a fortune in his hand. He daily
mistrusted that some wretch might
take his life to grasp his gold. He em­
ployed four Mexican miners, two of
whom he had learned |to trust, and
two more who were strangers and act­
ed strangely. With this help he man­
aged to sift out some "ore" and grind
it on a Mexican "nictate," which con­
sists of two lava stones. Thus, when
the ore was pulverized, by washing it
he procured tiis gold dust and con­
cealed it daily under his rustic bunk,
which was made of poles and "Colora­
do feathers."
Last August, while Nye was sleeping
in his cabin, near his faithful peon,
Manuel, a Mexican, who had worked
for him since he first found ore with
which to pay him, he heard a noise,
and quick as a flash he grasped his
navy six-shooter, which was beside
him. Hardly had he secured it when
he discovered bending over him a
human form with raised arm, in the
hand of which was a glistening knife.
He fired twice in quick succession and
killed the would-be assassin. Manuel,
too, rushed out and fired at the two
other robbers killing one of them, but
allowing the third to
escape. Thenext
morning Nye went to town, eight miles
distant, and gave himself up to the
authorities, who, taking him prisoner,
and, with a jury and an escort,
proceeded to the scene of the slaugh­
ter. Nye says every Mexican looked
angrily at him along the route,
ana he expected every minute to be
shot because he killed a native. On
arriving at his cabin the crowd recog­
nized in the dead man, who lay on the
floor still clutching the knife with
which ne had intended to kill—a des­
perado whom the law sought—and,
not waiting to see the other corpse,
each and every one, Judge, witnesses,
jurors and escort, began to embrace
the prisoner in Mexican fashion and
congratulate him upon his heroic act.
The other dead man was of the same
ilk. Since that time Nye has had no
trouble, but has arranged a good sale
of his property to a Chicago and
Cleveland syndicate, to whom he has
shipped, via Guaymas, 300 pounds of
ore for the purpose of a test.
Waaes of the various grades of help
in Californfa: Cooks,$240 to $720 a
year nurses, $180 to $360 house­
maids, $180 to $300 coachmen, $360
to $720 butlers, $500 to $600 Chi­
nese cooks and general servants, $24C
to $420. Even a child of 14 cannot
be hired as nurse under $120 v«ar
vt •.. #x-
AN ANSWERED PRAYER.
A Christmas Story,
Tho sun shone bright and clear on
the first snow of the season. It was
Christmas morning, and the first bell
for church had just stopped ringing.
Miss Gwendoline Darley took up her
best bonnet and examined it closely.
Certainly it was very shabby. Then
she went to the glass, and looked at
herself, put on the bonnet, smoothed
out the strings, and remained staring
before her, lost in thought, till roused
by the second bell for service.
"Good graciousl" she cried, "Imust
have been dreaming!" and started for
the church on a run. She was not go­
ing there for any special purpose of
Christmas, but because she sang in
the choir. For the same reason it
was important that she should be in
time.
The dream which had come to her
that morning was one of the past—of
her girlhood. The first bloom of her
youth had worn off some time ago in
fact, might have been said to have as
suddenly left her as Robert McKensie,
her lover. They departed together.
Her troubles all begun through a trifle
—some flowers, a note or two, and a
few other attentions from the wrong
person.
Miss Gwendoline's lover was proud
and hasty. Miss Gwendoline herself
was rather fond of standing on her
dignity, and a little bit obstinate.
When her lover asked for the notes and
explanation, Miss Gwendoline refused
him both. This suspicion she consid­
ered an insult.
A few more hasty words and he was
ordered to leave her, which he professed
himself delighted to do.
Poor Miss Gwendoline felt her heart
break when the door closed behind
him. She had her dignity to main­
tain, however, so no one, not even her
mother, knew how she felt on the sub­
ject.
Midnight tears, if judiciously man­
aged, will leave no trace.
After much hesitation, she wrote
him a little note of apology, and hint­
ed that if he were to ask again for an
explanation he might possibly get it.
But "he who hesitates is lost," and
Miss Gwendoline's note reached its
destination just twenty-four hours
after the person it was intended for,
had sailed for England. How well she
could remember the day when she
found he had gone.
It was on a cold, rainy after­
noon in December, while carelessly
looking over the paper that she came
across a list of outward-bound pas­
sengers, and among them was his
name. At first she could scarcely be­
lieve her eyes, and went to the window
that she might make the most of the
fading light. Never for a moment had
she supposed that he would leave the
country. It was so, however, for
there was his name.
Unheeded, the paper fell to the floor,
and Miss Gwendoline, with a sigh,
rested her head against the window.
The rain came down with a monoto­
nous drip, drip, as if it never meant to
stop. Two or three
forlorn little spar­
rows were huddled together under the
eaves of the opposite roof, and Miss
Gwendoline noticed how the rain­
drops, as they chased each other
down the elass, would blur and hide
them from her sight.
The day was in harmony with her
feelings, and she never forgot it. At
that time she felt as if there was noth­
ing more to live for. Misfortune kept
up its old-time reputation of never
coming singly. In a few months her
father died, and the poor little thing
had another cause of heartachc.
There was much talk over the set­
tling of the estate. Lawyers came and
went at all hours. A most compli­
cated case, they declared. It seemed
simple enough when presented to Miss
Gwendoline, for after the bills was
paid there was nothing left.
Working hard from morning to night
is not calculated to keep one young
and pretty.
Day after day for three weary years
—years that seemed to have a
thousand days, instead of only three
hundred and sixty-five—Miss Gwendo­
line trudged from house to house giv­
ing music lessons.
Day by day she saw her beauty
fading before poverty and hardship.
Once, soon after her father's death,
she had written again to Robert Mc­
Kensie, telling him all he had ever
wished to know.
She was much changed by her
troubles, or would never have done a
thing like that. The pride was for­
gotten, and a great longmg seized her
for some one to lean on, some one to
take care of and comfort her.
Yet another trouble came to Miss
Gwendoline, and then fortune, having
done its worst, left her to what peace
she could find.
Tired and cold, one evening, she re­
turned from her usual round of lessons
to find the fire out in the sitting-room,
and the lights unlit. She paused at
the door till she got accustomed to
the darkness, and thgn began to feel
her way across the room.
After a few steps she stumbled. Her
mother was lying on the floor at her
feet.
Without a word, she raised her up
till the light of a street-lamp shone in
on the upturned face.
"Never afterwards, in trying to re­
member, could she tell how long she
knelt there. A slow procession of
years went passing
by. Years that had
gone, there were more to come—time
as regarded the future had no exis­
tence.
Through all her trouble Miss Gwen­
doline had never shed a tear. They
say a silent sorrow is the hardest.
But one day, when looking in the
glass, she found that her hair was
turning gray. Then Miss Gwendoline
bowed her head and wept. It was a
trifle, but it was also the last straw
—the drop that made tfee cup run
over.
For five years nenr she had been
singing in the choir of St. Marks, and
this was the first time that any
thoughts of the past had ever inter­
fered with her duties.
She reached the church just in time
for the opening chant, and the l€fcder
gave her an angry look of relief as she
took her seat.
Whatever had come over her Miss
Gwindoline could not imagine. The
voices of the congregation sounded
WW
miles away, and the only sentence o!
the sermon that reached her was th
text, "Ask and it shall be given you.'fe
kept ringing in her ears.
A great, irresistible longing seiipd
her for the love of her youth, and Mijis
Gwendoline's whole soul went forth'in
a voiceless prayer that the happiness of
the long dead past might be giVen back
to her.
Miss wendoline's solo came during
the offering. As she rose it seemed to
her that her prayer was answered,
and she sang as she had never sang
before:
"Praise to God, immortal prats*
For the lov« that crowns ourdays."
During the service a man had listless­
ly entered the church and seated hilar
self in an obscure corner.
He glanced around at the congrega­
tion, then folded his arms, dropped his
head upon his breast, and became loftt
in thought.
"Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowus our days."
At the first words he raised his
head and looked eagerly about, then
he leaned forward and listened
breathlessly till the end of the hymn.
As soon as it was over he left the
church and went around to the side
entrance where the choir came out.
He stood well back in the shadow of
the doorway and waited. First came
a young lady and gentleman. He did
not know but it was the contralto and
tenor. Then came the leader, the-bari
tone and the alto. Then a few min­
utes after Miss Gwendoline.
She was so much occupied with her
thoughts that she never noticed a
middle-aged man following close be­
hind her.
By the time she reached her room
things began to assume their every
day cheerless aspect.
She took off her' bonnet, smoothed
out the
strings, and laid it away with
a sigh. Then she went to dinner in the
most commonplace way, and none of
the other boarders ever guessed where
Miss Gwendoline had been in the spir­
it that morning.
That evening, about dusk, as Bhe
was sitting idly before the window,
somehow she had felt unequal to doing
anything after church, the little maid
of-all-work came to her room.
"Miss Darley," she said "there is a
gintleman down stairs as is asking to
see you, mum."
And then Miss Gwendoline knew—
it came to her like an inspiration—
that her prayer was answered.
With beating heart and faltering
steps she went to meet her lover.
Now that he had come she was
afraid to see him. She, being so
changed, so old and ?mely, now per­
haps he would not care for her. She
stood in the hall trying to summon
courage to enter, when the parlor
door was flung open and some one
caught her in his arms. Unresistingly
she let herself be carried from the cold
and darkness of the hall to the light
and warmth within.
"Bob," she sighed, "if it is really
you, I can keep Christmas after all.
'Ask and it shall be given you,' the
promise is fulfilled, my prayer is
grant­
ed. Do you know, Bob, this morning
I thought I had nothing to be thank­
ful for, and now I can never be thank
ful enough."
Later on in the evening, as they sat
hand in hand watching the fire, Miss
Gwendoline said:
"I've been thinking, Bob, of some­
thing I once read, that, applied exactly
to you and me It was about different
kinds of love, and it said: 'Younglove
is passionate, old love is faithful, bat
the tenderest thing in all the world, is
love revived!"—Beta Theta.
Greely a Man of Grit.
Interview in Pall Mall Gazette.
"Will there be another Polar exp,
dition, Mr. Greeley?"
"Yes, and I have no doubt it will be
an English one, and by the way o!
Franz Josef Land. That is the only
route where there is a reasonable
chance of making high latitudes or
reaching the Pole.
"Then you think the pole will be
reached?"
"I am doubtful about it, because,
as I believe now, the exact locality oi
the North Pole is in a large degree an
ice-capped land that no man can ever
reach. I think it possible to reach the
vicinity of it. By ice-capped I mean
that the ice formed on the land may
be from 3,000 to 4,000 feet thick.
The ice is like a cake and at times
slips into the sea. It is possible to
reach the North Pole if it is not ice
capped, but not if it is."
"Shall you ever lead another ex­
pedition?"
"Well, I do not think that is a fair
question. For the reason—if a man
says he will not go again, people says
he is a fool if he says he will not go
again, people says he is afraid and
does not dare to. The experience oi
my expedition has proved beyond all
manner of doubt that a well managed
and properly selected par ly of men can
prosecute an Arctic expedition with­
out any extraordinary dangers. All
our actual work and exploration was
done without even the loss of a finger
joint by frost. Arctic exploration, as
a matter of fact, is not nearly so
dangerous as African exploration..
Bewilderin^ly Pretty Stockings.
From the New York Times.
Stockings are very gay. The gold
embroidered and headed roses and
lillies of the present new styles have
tiny drooping tassels of fine silk and
fine beads in others the artistic ming­
ling of colors has never been surpassed
in harmonious blendings of pale olive,
brown and blue brown and wine col­
or, flesh color and a warm olive, ami
dark red and olive. Pretty stripes
are seen in moss-green and rose-pink,
black and red, blue and cardinal,
Vertical stripes of brilliant colors are
divided by a narrow strip of lace. An­
other still dantier style has feet oi
rose color and moss-green tops, and
other feet of delicate colors with artist­
ic contrasts. The finest silk stock
ins of plain black have fine ecru silk
soles, and black lace stockings are ex*
quisite enough for gloves. Black spqn
silk stockings are finished with un­
bleached soles, and handsome fine
walking styles have balbriggan feet
and black silk tope. Sober gray is a
favorite shade, as a strong contrast
to the butterfly brightness of the oth­
ers, and cafe an liut where then If
more milk than there is coffee, BSge,
peacock blue, strawberry red, andaB
shades of blue make the test.
C. M. McGrew of Ellsworth, Kann
has in his possession the compass used
by old John Brown. It isa rare relic,
he having been offered $500 for it by
by the Smithsonian institute.
'...