The Caldwell tribune. [volume], March 16, 1889, Image 2

About The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928

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CALDWELL TRIBÜNE.
■TRI nbhrerv BROS., ifiiblUliem.
CALDWELL, : « IDXHO
Francis Willard 1» a strictly loyal
Methodist.
Lucr C. Lillie i» a devout «ni con
sistent Catholic.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox is an
amateur BuddhUt, with a dash of
Christianity, and believes in the trans
migration of souls and the religion of
love.
The last pipe-cutting machine in the
Dew tube mill of the Reading iron
works at Reading, Pa., was shut down
Saturday night, and the entire still
ceased operations for an indefinite
period, throwing out of employment
125 men. ____________
A geyser has broken out in Charles
Mix county, Dakota, and is reported to
oe throwing hot mud all over the
surrounding prairie. Neighboring set
tlers are somewhat uneasy over the
situation. It was at first thought to be
ft volcano.
Tascott , the suspected murderer of
millionaire Snell of Chicago, has not
been captured yet in spite of the enor»
mous reward awaiting the man who
succeeds in securing him. The late
ttrrest of the supposed murderer in
Kentucky has proved to be that of
another man.
The United States steamer Galena
Bailed from New York for Hayti Sun
flay night with sealed orders. A
generally woil-in formed oflioer in
Washington says that, in case the ship
Haytien i.opublic is not released
Immediately, Admiral Luce has orders
to shell the town of Port-au-Prince.
j The American fishing schooner M.
A. Boston, with 8,500 pounds of cod on
board, arrived at Halifax, N. S., last
week from the Banks to refit. On
Tuesday the fish wa9 transhipped to
tho steamer Carroll for Boston, per
mission having been obtained from the
Dominion government, and the schoon
er will return to the Banks.
Inspector Byrnes of New York has
received a despatch from Chili stating
that G. F. Hanson, alias W. A Bushnell,
had beon arrested in Santiago for em
bezzling money from the firm of But
ler, Stillman & Hubbard, lawyers of 54
Wall street. The crime was com
mitted some ten years ago, and the
amount stolen is said to be $35,000.
Mrs . E. T. Belt of New York has in
ber posession the commission of her
grandfather, William Jones, as lieuten
ant in the Hanover militia, granted by
Benjamin Harrison, first governor of
tho state of Virginia, and great-grand
father of the present General Benjamin
Harrison. Colonel Jones was the
orother of Patrick Henry's mother.
David !.. Fotheringham , the Adams
Express messenger who was robJ)ed of
|85,000 by Fred Witrock in October,
1885, and was arrested for complicity
hi the affair, has settled with the ex
press company for $8,500. Fothering
ham, who was accused of participation
In the robbery, secured a judgment oi
|12,000 against the express company.
Judge Patterson of the New York
Supreme Court has decided that the
Metropolitan National Bank of New
York city must pay to the estate of
miser James H. Paine notes amounting
to- $12,300, issued by the corporation
*hen it was a state bank, twenty years
igo. The property was found among
tho miser's effects when he died in
December, 1885.
Maggie Watson of Cincinnati, who
äied there a short time since, left a
clause in her will which reads as fol
lows: "It is my will that the two china
dogs now in mv room be each seperate
ly put in a box with glass fronts, both
alike, and one to be placed on my dear
husband's grave at Spring Grove and
the other on my grave, and all to be
paid for out of the money I leave."
The employes of Forepaugh's circus
Bwore out attachments against the ven
erable showman at Memphis, Tenn., to
secure their wages. The sheriff seized
a huge baboon, and his attempt to take
the animal to some place of safety af
forded more amusement to the Mem
phisites than the circus had done. The
animal escaped once and a most inter
esting race resulted. Forepaugh offer
ed the sheriff a huge tiger as security;
but he thought the baboon would do.
The vivacious Jectures of Max O'Rell
on America are instructing English
society at present Among other gen
eral remarks the lecturer says: No
man with any self respoct has any
thing to. do with affairs of state, and
when a senator gains by some mis
chance an invitation to a select party
the master of the house, on hearing his
name announced, first enjoins on his
eorvants to keep an eye on the silver
and then sees that the hats and coats
in the hall are counted.
Since tho death of Mr. Crowley at
Central jwrk the largest chimpanzee in
captivity is Topsy of the Philadelphia
"Zoo." She has had lung trouble and
heart trouble and several se
vere coughs, but now she is fully re
covered and is in excellent health. She
has two male attendants; they are of
the lowest species of the monkey. They
lick Topsy's face two or three times a
day and comb her hair with their
fingers. Then Topsy plays with them.
She is very vain and sits for hours be
fore a looking-glass in the back of her
cage and gazes at herself in silent
admiration.
When Mme. Adeline Patti was in
New Orleans two years ago she met
her brother Carlo's child, the little
Carlina, then 16. years of age. Mme.
Patti was impressed with tho beauty
and sweetness of her niece, and said
that if Bbe might adopt her she would
make her the heir of the bulk of her
fortune. The child's mother consented
to the arrangement and Carlina was
brought north by her aunt, and later
went to Europe with her. The climate
of Wales proved too wvere for the
southern reared ohild and now the is
back lc 2f«w Orloani with her mother,
though her aunt «till continu«« her in
teresWnhsr. Ç»rUn» Pattt it enough
like ho» fernem aunt to bo h»r own
«htm. th« i» * Utile beauty, m Am «
hair as a çrools and as vivaelau« as M
Italiaa.
LOVE AND HATE.
Or
"* tlîTLE CHILD SIMM. LEAD THE*.'
ft A.WMK Ff».«TËÂ.
tfiÀPTER I.
Christmas Day had come, and in n
few minntes would lie gone for aye,
for the midnight hour wiu dealing
out it« twelve even steady strikes
from the ivy-grown tower Of the ÖM
Catholic church when? yesternight, at
the same time, the glorious Mass of
the Nativity was being sung with .ill
the beautiful ritual thai heitthgs of
right to a service öne is so rarely
privileged to assist at in these days.
Waltham Hall, a grand old maîision
adjoinlng'the tihureh, had been all
day long bïîght and gay with the
Christmas rejoicings, but now most
of the guests who were staying in
the house had retired. In the
library the master of the home stood
confronting his only brother, just
two years his junior. He, the elder,
James Faverche, folded his arms,
and still keeping his eyes fixed bri
his brother's fttee-, Said, with his
voice ftill öf hjry: "Tell it me again,
if you dare, you scoundrel." Bern
ard's countenance wore a pained yet
startled look, and his voicc shook
somewhat—not with fear, but emo
tion, as he questioned:—
"James, why are you like this? I
came to you first with my happi
ness, even before telling our mbtheh'
"And how dare yöil ÖäUnfc
your happiness tti my face
when you have wrecked mine?"
"How have I wrecked yours? Dti
you not know me well enough to
to know that your happiness is as
much to me as my own?"
"You lie! Supplanter!"
"You are my brother, and I will
not give you back the lie," Bernard
said, and his fair fhee grew deadly
pale as he struggled inwardly to
curb his temper; but James was not
master of himself, his naturally hasty
temper was bo longer under control,
and he poured out a torrent of wild
words, even such as a madman might
use. Why did the day of all days in
the year set in such a storm of strife
between these two brothers? Or
rather, why did the eldergive way to
such a gush of passion worthy only
of one who no longer held the reins
of reason? To answer thesd ques
tions wo must digress somewhat
from our story.
A half-a-mile from Waltham Hall,
just on the other side or the belt of
woodland that bounded the park on
the east side, stood Alverstan Chase
that for long -ages had belonged to
the Alyerstans; there were Alv'er
ctnns who helped to beat back the
Danes into the North Sea, Alverstans
who stood staunch to the House of
Cerdic, Alverstans that the Norman
Conquerer found it wiser to propiti
ate than to crush, Alverstans who
through every change that came
upon their country, remained true
to their Faith and loyal to their
Monarch. For some years, now, the
last of that long line was a female,
Margaret Rene Alverstan, who since
the death of her father had been under
the guardianship of the late master
of Waltham Hall and his wife. After
Margaret's education had been com
pleted, she had resided alternately
with relatives on her mother's side
nnd with the Faverches, in accord
ance with the wishes of her deceased
parent; shehad, as one may naturally
suppose, seen a good deal of the sons
of her guardians, and had learned to
look upon them as brothers; notas
a sister, however, had the two broth
ers regarded her recently, though
each of them had so carefully guarded
his secret that when Bernard sought
his brother on Christmas night and
asked him to congratulate him on
having won Maggie's affections, he
was not prepared for the wild out
burst of anger with which his com
munication was received.
James's angerat length seemed to
have spent itself, but he still stands
with tightly folded arms like one
who seems to fear what he might be
tempted to do if he unloosed them.
He is tall and dark, with clear-cut
regular features and keen eyes,
which at the present moment are all
aglow with the fire that is raging
within him. Of- the two, he is the
handsomest, but his face lacks the
softer lines that lend a charm to
Bernard's face. Thesetofhislipsatall
times is firm—that kind of firmness
which can degenerate into hardness,
and makes its possessor, in the long
run, hardest of all to himself. The
curve of his nostrils tells how pride
is a passion unconquered within him
—this lutter has ever been the line so
marked between the brothers
that all who knew them havo ac
quiesced in the saying so common
about their home—"Mr. James is a
thorough chip of the old block, and
so is Mr. lîernard; but Mr. Bernard's
not proud like his brother." Per
haps never before in all their lives
had the contrast been so marked as
it is now—marked as it will never be
ngain. A log of wood on the wide
hearth sends forth a brighter glow,
and the gleam from the fire-place
lights up the low-ceiled library and
gives a warmer tone to the deep red
curtains, and the richly-bound books
look richer in the wood-fire's gleam.
The silence is growing painful to one
at least—to Bernard—who can
almost hear his own heart beat; the
clock on the mantel-piece chimes half
alter mid-night. "Who speaks first?"
they seem to be inwardly asking.
"James," and Bernard's voice has
a quiver in it, "James, if 1 had only»
known that you cared for Queenio, I
would not have come home for Christ
mas. I wish 1 had gone to the other
side of the world before I had come here
to wound you."
"And I—I wish you were not my
brother! I could kill you as you
stand there. O God, that I should
have lived to wish to see you dead!"
"James, do not let us talk any
more like this. I will see Queenie in
the morning 1 and tell her I mistook
my feelings for her, then I will go
away for a few years, end she per
haps, will learn to lore you, and then,
brother, you will not think so hardly
of me."
These generous words touched the
pasalon>torn man, but pride lav up
perm est, and ho would net yield.
''And do yon think I would stoop
to sue for what another has cast
aside, nnd that one of riiy own kin?
*iTo. If I had won her first she wo*^
have been all min» Own. Now "she
has l^nea to you I could never be
anything to her. In a few days you
may join Alverstan Chase to Walt
ham, for I shall be a wanderer hence
! forth."
i "James, I beseech you bv a'.l Î can
I think of not to tdlli like this. It is
j iVi* twenty*fbi)V hours yet since we
- fcheit in the church, not fifty paces,
from where we are /standing—knelt
side by side, too. and took into ouï
heart* thë Prince of Peace. For Hit
• sake—the God-Man—I entreat you tp
i be at peace with me., X shall tell
i Queenie all, and leave it to her. What
pvor my future may be, this night.
Unless we are reconciled now, will al
! ways hang its shadow before me."
I "And so you show me up to her—I
cannot say her name—show me upas
the brother who was a murderer ir
his heart."
There was a mocking tone in hi?
voice, nnd the younger brother shud
dered as he answered:
"God forbid I should thus wroujj
yöU— ybur honor is safe with me; j
should be qnworth.y »if the name oi
brothel if I told Queenie aught save
that you love her even as I do, and
then leave our fate in her hands. It it
useless for us to prolong this interview,
say good night-, 'James, 1 ' and Ber
nard held out his hand, but James
turned away his head and would not
take the outstretched hand nor an
swer his brother. The latter went
out of the library, too k Up a bed
room candlestick^ and having lit thfe
candle) crossed the häll hack towards
the, library; but passed by the doOi*
fthd Went down a corridor that ran
Along by one side of the library; qt
the end of this corridor he drew aside
a heavy crimson curtain and passed
into tlie church. Where the ever
burning lamp shed its clear, tiny
light he knelt, and there, for how long
he never knew, he poured forth his
haart's bitter cry to the Prisoner ol
Love; the air grew colder, bu j he
heeded it not; he was chilled to the
very mal'roW l for he v/as in evening
dress, but hé knelt on-. In an arched
recess, not three yards from him, lay
the stone bffigy of a Walter de
FaVerche; above it hung the
helmet, shield, and iron
gloves that the Crusader
had worn in battle; perchance that
same Walter had kept his vigil there
on the eve of his knighthood, had
prayed and vowed oh the worn altar
steps where Bernard knelt fighting
for another's soul; praying with all
the deep, generous fervor of his na
ture for his brother, and offering, too,
with his whole soul, to forego the
happiness of his lifetime if God so
willed it. Outside the wind howled
und (shrinked and drove a blinding
snowstorm over hills and woods,
piled up long, white ridges on the far
reaching moor, and swathed the
bared trees, and the ivy-clad church,
and the old hall of the Faverches in
its soft shroud. Inside the church,
the little star of light burnt on, and
unseen angels bent in lowly admira
tion where their Lord had willed to
dwell; and the white marble monu
ments the while looked startling
ghostly.
Bernard has prayed before the
tabernacle as he has never prayed
before, and as he may probably nev
er pray again. Cold and stiff he rises,
his face is grey, seen by the candle
which he lights once more as he
leaves the church. As he raises
his hand to draw aside the
curtain he turns his head. Ah!
there is the crib—the crib that he had
helped his brother to make—and
there were the flowers that Queenie
had placed about it, and the feathery
terns that looked as though they had
grown into the wood-work. Till now
he had kept manly though his trou
ble, but the sight of the crib was too
much for him. He threw himself
down beside it and sobbed as he had
never sobt>ed since his only baby sis
ter died so many years ago.
CHAPTER II.
It was past mid-day before Ber
nard had an opportunity of speaking
to Queenie alone. He had said noth
ing to his mother thus far, for he did
not wish to cloud, in the slightest de
§ree, the festive season of the year.
;ueenie, or, as Mrs. Faverche gen
erally called her, Maggie, was more
astonished, if possible, at Bernard's
revelation, than he had been at his
brother's violent outburst; she was,
however, a genuine girl, and said at
once in her frank way:—"Bernard, I
am so sorry; I really like James, but
so very differently; do you think ho
would like me to—I mean—can I say
something kind to him?"
"Yes, do. Just in your old way;
poor old fellow. Queenie, do you
think it would be very hard for you
to turn about, dear, and learn to
like James the same as you do me?
It would make him happy.
She looked puzzled. What did
Bernard mean. Had he mistaken
his feelings for her, and was he to
honorable to say so? But she an
swered him calmly.
"You see—or perhaps you do not
see—that James could never be Ber
nard, or Bernard James; or if Ber
nard were nowhere, James would be
still where he is."
"That is enough; I am satisfied." "
Here an interruption came, in the
form of a couple of yqung people in
tent upon getting up a snow-balling
match, or Queenie would have asked
a question or two as to why Bernard
had grown so serious-looking since
yesterday. As she ran off to put
on proper gear for the out-door
game, she suddenly remembered that
she had not seen James that day,
she recollected hearing a servant de
liver a message to his mother to the
effect that Mr. Faverche would break
fast in his room as he had some
writing to do.
Snow-balling was in full swing when
James Faverche walked to the win
dow of his study to see what all the
merry laughter and shouting meant.
Was he in any better mood? Well, he
had spent à good many hours in
writing and setting papei» in order,
but that was nothing new with him,
for since his father's death he had
taken a good deal of the manage
ment of the estate into his own
hands. Last night has not, so far as
one can judge from outward appear
ances, left any remnant on his face,
beyond a firmer set about the mouth,
which his moustache fails to hide. It
was evident tliat he had laid down
for himself some line of action, and
whatever it was, he would certainly
carry it out. So much anyone
acquainted with what had
taken place could not fail to
fierceive. Inwardly, his feelings
OWards his brother were not what
they had beon during those dark
hour« of the past night, but they
were very far from being the brotherly
filings that used tollvoinbis breast.
Ho wondered «oiurwlmfi to himself
as 1)9 watchod tho players below,
how in such a short tiftie he could
have changed so, for his bet£çr
ture seem^ stamped out of him, but
pride held her demon-sway, and he
would not wrench himself free, and
acknowledge that self, and self only
was to blame. He envied his brother
with a deep and bitter envy as he
*aw him in the midst of the game.
Ah! little did he k.nrtW öfthat broth
er's loiiely Vigil—little did he know
of the deep shadow he had flung
across his soul! He went back to Hià
jvriting-table and took up his péri,
but he could not finish what he was
engaged on without the help of an
other document; that he must sefek
for in the library. He had avoided
going there all the morning because
he neither wished to meet his broth
er nor Queenie. He went down,
found what he wanted, and was just
leaving the library when Queenie ran
up against him; it was an unexpected
meeting to both. Fora minute neith
er spoke; the girl was the first to re
gain her presence of mind; she held
out her hand and said, "Good morn
ing." James pretended not to see
her haiid, biit Queöqie would hot see
the pretencë: "Shake hands; James,
thërë's a good fei I o w ' '—then suddenly
recollecting herself she said, as he
took her hand, blushing as she did
so. ;
"James, yoti Will always be good
friends with me, won't you?"
"Do you see any reason for me to
be otherwise?"
"You answer my question with a
question; why do you?"
"Now you follow suit."
"Bernard told me, James; I am
sorry, but 1 am so glad to be so near
to you—1 mean for Bernard to be so
near you, because, you will çhow him
how to manage Alverstan;"
"Bernard and you will get along
well enough without my. help."
This was said in a tone altogether
new to the girl. She looked into his
face and it seemed to her as
if it had changed since yesterday
she had never seen him look just like
that, never remembered just that
set hard tone of voice, and a chill
settled down upon her and she felt
as One feels When you stëp Out Öf a
warm room into the outer air satu
rated with fog. She spoke again:—
"James, I am sure Bernard and I
will often need • and expect you to
help us along."
"We shall see."
"You are angry, and I don't know
why, and oh! I thought you would
be sO glad, you have always been so
nice and kind," and a sob rose into
her voice.
"I am busy," he said, and passed
on.
There was no more snow-balling
for Queenie that day. Instinctively
and without at all thinking what
she was doing, she turned and went
along the same corridor Bernard
passed down last night—the private
entrance to the church used only by
the family.
On the third day after Christmas
Day, James Faverche announced
to his mother that impor
tant business required his
presence in London, and begged her
to excuse him to their guests. A
telegram that he had received that
morning supplied a sufficient reason
for his departure. Bernard, however,
was not so easily satisfied, more es
pecially as James had chosen a time
for going when all the younger
guests were away skating on the
mere; this looked asif he did not wish
to take a proper leave of the be$
throthed, and truth to say such was
the case. Of course the mother knew
nothing whatever of the sore point
between the brothers, and when an
opportunity had offered she had ex
pressed lierai f to her oldest son as be
ing very pleased about the arrange
ment, most of all because Bernard
would not give up all thought of fol
lowing his profession as a barrister,
not that he was without independent
means, but he bad chosen his calling
out of deference to his father's wishes,
who had no fancy for either of
his sons to lead an idle lffe. James
had been for five years in the Civil
Service in India, and only gave
it up when his father's declining
health necessitated his presence at
home. A week, ten days, passed
away, and business still kept James
in London; the eleventh morning
after his departure brought rather a
long letter to his mother. He had
written to her very frequently, but
not at any length. We will not give
the epistle entire, only a quotation or
two:—
"My old post, or rather a higher
post that I should have reached had
I remained a short time longer in
India, has suddenly become vacant.
I have a liking lor India, and, what
.s more I cannot bring my mind to
the idea of vegetating in a country
place at present—that will do for me
when I begin to find out I have got a
liver; so to India I have decided to
•|0, and am up to the elbows getting
my outfit. If possible, I will run
down at the last moment, but do
not think me unkind should that
not prove practicable—you know
I am not fond of good-byes; in
the meantime, I have written to Brett
and told him what things I wish him
to prepare and send on to South
pamton. He will join me here on
Friday and, I hope, will accompany
me; if not, I should wish him to be
retained at Waltham. Andrews is get
ting into years, and must soon give,
up his place. Brett, as you know
.ias been a great help to him and will
fit in admirably; nevertheless, I should
much prefer his going with me."
James Faverche never went home
to say good-by-he had never intended
to do so. He had heard of the vacant
post in India a day or two before
Jhristmas, and had determined to
apply for it after his stormy inter
view with his brother. If he had
wished to cast a deeper shadow over
his brother's happiness he could not
possibly have done so in any better,
or worse, way, but both Bernard and
Queenie, though they kney well
?nough in their hearts why he had
put so many thousands miles between
them, never referred to the cause,
besides, Queenie was in total igno
rance of what had taken place on
Christmas night. Bernard had never
meant his brother to leave England
without being reconciled to him,'so
when he felt that James had no in
tention of returning to the North, he
hurried to London, only to find that
his brother was already far
on the way, the ship having
left Southampton twenty-four
hours or more. Poor Bernard! He
crushed his hat on his head as he
turned away from the hotel, and
hailing a cab, drove to hischambers.
Snow was falling fast, and a keen
wind was driving it into the horse 's
face and almost blinding him; but
Bernard noticed none of this, his
heart was chill within him, and when
he thought of this time ever after, h#
verily believed that if the cabman
had driven him into the Thamei he
should not have heeded it. This
day's snowfall added considerably to
the previous fall iu tue Sortîî, Wbéro
for weeks the earth lay shrouded,
but in the deep hollows wlierethe sun
could not peep, the drifted sncw lin
gered far on into the spring, and so
all the early flowers were long in
waking to life and sweetness; but
when the trees were blossom-laden,
the lovers pledged theirtroth—"until
death do us part''—in the church
where dead and gone Fav
erches slept theii* peaceful
sleej). The wedding Was à tjuief. one,
the villagers Of Walthaid and A^
verstan did the rejoicing. Away iti
India," a man, cold, and silent,' went
through his daily duties; arid steeled
his heart to every generdus thought;
He would not say, or even think a
blessing for the two whose lives were
linked with his. Was he happy?
Far from it. Happiness and he had
shaken hands, and pride had watched
the parting and registered it as
good, while his conscience gnawed
away and would not be at rest.
CHAPTER m.
"Queenie, you must break it gently
td irtothef-. nOt that she is easilv
tjirown off the balance, but She fs
getting into years and is not over
Strong:" ...
. It was Bernard \tho spdke just
seventeen years after the Christmas
Day of the beginning of our story,
and it was his brother's return that
he wished to be gently told to tho
mother—the brother who during
all those years had rejected every
overture from Bernard and his wife
to heal the breach between them—
the brother who had returned to his
old home without a word of warn
ing to have it prepared for his recep
tion; foi* some years now it had been
left entirely to the care of two Ot
three old servants, for the elder MrS.
Faverche had yielded to the wishes
of her younger son and gone to live
with them; they could not bear to
leave her in her loneliness, and she
was happy at Alverstan.
"0, Bernard," replied his wife, "if
we could but bring about a reconcili
ation somehow. I did pray so hard
before the Crib this morning, that
at any cdst it might be affected:"
"It has been years to wait, and
pray-, but the reconciliation, I feel
will come, but how? We cannot
send or go to James, he would cer
tainly resent it."
"We must pray more and «ret the
children to join us, and then the rec
onciliation will surely come."
"What is a econcation. papa?"
Unseen by either of the parents
they had had a little listener—their
youngest child, a girl, who was a
very privileged little body; and be
cause she was the only girl seemed
to have the range of the whole
house; she was just a little spoilt,
too, but not enough to make her
that truly horrible household pest
that a real spoilt child generally is.
The child repeated her question,
and Bernard, speaking to his wife in
French, said: "You had better ex
plain."
So the mother took her little four
year-old on her knee and began:—
"You know, Renee, you went into
the kitchen yesterday after I had
told you not to go—"
"I wanted to see the big gooses,
mamma," broke in the child.
"Yes, but it was naughty, because
[ had told you not to go and so I
was not pleased with you, then you
?ot very sorry and unhappy and you
wanted to be mamma's good little
?irl again, and you asked papa to
let you pick me a flower, "and when
you brought me the flower it was all
right again, and so that was a recon
ciliation."
The little one looked serious for
a minute or so and then questioned,
''Did Uncle James do something
grannie told him not to?"
"No, but father did something
Uncle James did not want him to
do."
The Alverstan children had been
orought up to love their uncle, and
nard though he was to his brother,
that same brother had kept his name
i household word amongst them;
the boys believed him to be a regular
îero, though perhaps a bit eccentric.
The little girl spoke again.
"Then papa was naughty; let me
take Uncle James some pretty flow
?rs and then that will make econcia
tion."
The child's thought was no sooner
expressed than both parents eagerly
seized the idea looking upon it as the
3nger of God pointing outwhat should
bedone. Bernardtook thechild into
the conservatory that opened into
.lis wife's morning room, and holding
Renee in his arms let her little Ang
ara break the blossoms as she would,
and never before had fingers made
such havoc there; her mother held
the basket to receive the flowers, and
when the little maid was satisfied with
her work she said:—
"That will do, now you must put
some white wool over them to keep
them warm."
A half an hour after Renee and her
nurse were walking up to a side en
trance of Waltham Hall; the latter
had been instructed as to what she
was to do, at the door she was re
ceived by Mrs. Andrews, the house
keeper, to whom she delivered her
master's message.
A large wood fire burnt on the
hearth of the library, and there, part
ly turned towards its blight glow,
sat James Faverche. He heard a tap
on the door and someone entered.
Without moving round his head he
said:—"I did not ring Mrs. Andrews,
and I do not want to be disturbed."
No one answered. It was Mrs. An
drews who opened the door, but only
to put Renee into the room. The
child walked up straight to her uncle,
who sat looking into the heart of the
fire. With a great start he turned
to see whence the voice came that
asked:—
"Are you Uncle James?"
Standing close beside him was a
li ttle child clad in scarlet, with a
sweet rosy face framed in some soft,
white woolen material. Was it the
Queenie of the old days come back
again? He was not superstitious,
but an uncanny feeling crept over
him. He forgot for the moment Iiis
brother had a little girl born some
years after his sons. The child re
peated her question.
"Areyou Queenie, little maid?" he
asked back.
"No, I,s Renee; papa calls mamma
Queenie. Are you Uncle James?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Cause I's come to make econcia
tion."
"What does that big word mean,
little one? and what have you got in
your basket?"
The latter half ot the uncle's ques
tion prevented Renee's explanation,
and she lffted the cotton wool and
showed her uncle some beautiful
flowers.
"I got everyone my own sell for
you. Nobody told v\$, - Ik) you like
pretty flowers?"
"Why did you pick- the flowers Sot
me?" ^ . •.
"Oh, 'cause I love you. 1 ' ,
"Love me, child? Yoti nèver kne#
me till a minute or two ago."
"You live in papa's room, and I
know you ever since I 'member."
Light broke in upon him by de
grees. He remembered the bust ot
himself that Bernard would havo
years ago. Could it be that his mem
ory had been so cherished? A big
lump rose in his throat. Again
itenee spoke:
"i said 'Meffy Kisstniss* to you
this iriarning When 1 Went to say
"Mèrry kisfenrisB'ttf papa*'
It/was no good. In spite of him
self Kis hardness fled belore the simple
words of the child standing by him.
He lifted her on his knee and kissed
her lovingly, and took up the flow
ers in her basket and kissed them too.
He could not do things by halves; he
put out his hand and touched the
bell. Mrs. Andrews was not far
away, she had lingered near the
library door to see what would be
the result of the child's visit. When
she entered the room, she was sur
prised at the change that had come
over her master. There was actually
a smile about his mouth, and his
voice Was changed, too. The old
töne' was there, as he saidî
"Bring ine a vase and Some water,
please. Löok at the lovely flowers
my little niece has brought me."
The housekpeeer hurried away to
get what he wanted and to wipe the
tears of gladness that had come into
her eyes.
At Alverstan, Bernard and his wife
were kneeling in their little chapel,
praying still as they had prayed so
many years for the reconciliation
that had come at last, though they
knew it dot yet.
Bernard at length, could no longer
bear the suspense—he left the houae
and wandered into the garden. Yes
it was his brother coming out ot
the copse that separated Al
verstan from Waltham, and,
leading Renee by the hand, he hast
ened to tell his wife the joyful n?ws,
and together they awaited the long
lost, dearly loved brother. We can
not describe the meeting; things like
that lose their beauty when they are
reduced to dry details of a paper.
Later on in the day James said to
Queenie:—
"Do you know how nearly I made
a murderer of myself seventeen ysars
ago?"
"I know nothing of you, James,
but what is good, you have always
been to me a dear brother—the past
is nothing."
To Bernard he said:—
"The oldest boy of yours must drop
the Alverstan and keep only Faverche,
he is my heir, you know."
"Brother, such an idea has never
been thought of—we have always
hoped, and still hope, you will marry
some day."
"I have intended what I say ever
since I knew he was born. But now
I must go home. I have something
of greater importance to do before I
sleep to-night. I have been reconcil
ed to my brother, and now I can
make my peace with God; for seven
teen years I have never entered a
church."
There is nothing more to add, on
ly, no happier family slept that night
than those who laid their heads to
rest beneath the roof of Alverstan
Chase. Love had prevailed; Hate
had vanished; for verily "a little
child did lead them."
Enriched by a Dog.
By the death of a dog at West
Chester, the St. Peter's Protestant
Episcopal Church of Tredyffryn
Township, Chester County, Pa., is
fl,500 richer. The animal was a
pet of Mrs. Elizabeth Shee, an aged
and somewhat ecentric lady, who
died two years ago at West Chester
where she had lived. The lady left be
hind her an estate of about $10,000,
which by her will was disposed of in
a peculiar manner. The strongest
clause was the one which provided
for the dog Ryno, as he was called.
A fund of $1,500 was set aside for
investment, the interest to be spent
in the maintenance of the animal
and for his proper burial after his
death. Upon his demise the princi
pal was to revert to the church which
the lady had attended during her
life. Mrs, Shee died early in March,
1886, and Peter Carey of Phoenix
ville, who was named as her execu
tor, provided a home for the four
footed heir at the house of a relative
of the Lady at West Chester, where
the dog lived a pampered existence
until a short time ago, when he died
of a complication of diseases, the
result of age and an over-indulgence
in the sweets of life. The exist
ence of a moneyed aristocrat is too
much for the average dog, and Rvno
is said to have been a cur very much
below the average, and succumbed
to high living.
According to the letter of the will
Ryno was buried not far from the
grave of his dead benefactor. He
was wrapped in a sheet and placed
in a box according to the last wishes
of Mrs. Shee.
The canine had barely been placed
under the sod when the church people
wrote to Mr. Carey, the executor, stat
ing that they were ready to receive the
money. He replied that the princi
pal is so invested that it is not likely
that it will be paid over before next
spring.
The secret of Mrs. Shee's attach
ment to the dog is a mystery, for the
animal was a mongrel of the lowest
order. He was surly and snappish,
and devoid of any beauty or attrac
tions. He had been brought into
Mrs. Shee's house in an early stage
of puppyhood, and had always been
with her. The dog died in a spasm,
and is said to have suffered greatly
for hours before death relieved him.
It was whispered among the neigh
"bors that his dogship hung on too
long to seit some ]>eople. The par
ties concerned are all satisfied, how
ever, and there will be no investiga
tion into bis death.
Sices in Clothing,
It is astonishing to observe how
few people understand the common
rules of measurement in purchasing
wearing apparel. For instance, a
man will buy a coat that is a
"size" to small or to large. "A "si»"
smaller or a "size" larger is what hè'
probably needs, but he probably
does not know what a "size" is.
Well, a "size" in a coat is an inch, a
size in underwear is 2 inches, a size
in a sock is 1 inch, in a collar % an
inch, in a shirt % an inch, in shoes
1-16 of an inch, pants 1 inch, gloves
ä of an inoh and In hats M of an inoh.
Very few persons ever understand
the schsduls named,
THE HOUSE HOLD
tome \#tM.
To preserve the elasticity of indta-.
rubber, Wash it five or six timecr a
year with slightly alkaline wate?.
Drain pipes and all places that are
sour or impure, may becleaäsed with
lime water or carbolic acid.
The newest fur collurs are deep and
pointing, forming a Y at the back,
and coming to a point at the waist
line in front.
In mixing mustard for table use
never add vinegar, which destroys its
life and flavor, * Boil water far mois
tening it, and let the water become
blood warm.
A most exquisite combination cos
tume recently floted was composed of
bois de rose satin, black velvet, and
light blue moire.
Trimming fur is seldom used about
the bottom of far or cloth coats, but
silk and brocade pelisses are some
times bound all around with fur.
The best way when hot grease has
been spilled on the floor is to dash
cold water over it, so as to harden it
quickly and prevent it striking into
the boards.
Oilcloths should never be washed in
hot soap-suds; they should first be
washed clean with cold water, then
rubbed dry with a cloth wet in milk.
The same treatment applies to a stone
or slate hearth.
Fur lined circulars, we are told by
the fashion magazines, will not be
chiefly used for evening wraps or for
driving. They are too comfortable
and convenient a garment ever to bo
çiven up entirely.
French walking skirts are two and
one-half yards round the bottom,
with fitted front and side gores and
yoke at the back drawn up on tape,
to which the full back breadth is
gathered, and have either a hem with
trimming put below it, or lace-trim
ined flounce set upon the skirt,—
Uody's Lady's Book.
It does not follow that sick persons
r.re asleep because their eyes are shut;
they may be acutely conscious of all
that is passing in the room, though
unable or unwilling to make any
sign; and nothing can be more nerve
provoking than hushing and whis
pering around and creaking about
on the tip of their toes.
To season glass and china ware to
sudden changes of temperature, so
that it will remain sound after expos
ire to sudden heat and cold, is best
done by placing the articles in cold
water, which must gradually bo
brought to the boiling point, and
ihen allowing to cool very slowly,
caking several hours to do it.
We have heard ladies—educated
and intelligent ladies—declare with
actual pride their ignorance of the
art of cooking. They "could
not make a cup of coffee to save their
lives," and, as to their making a
loaf of bread, or cooking a simple
dinner, that was out of their power.
Poor, miserable unfortunates!—
Western Plowman.
An 111 Tnra.
The people at large are too igno
rant, too much afraid of pain, too un
willing to deny transient enjoyments
L»r to be governed by hygiene, to pay
physicians for wisdom if they tell,
'/hem they need nothing but clean
liness,exercise and moderation. They
burn to the quack, the patent medi
ane bottle, the paregoric, Jamaica
finger ( another name for spiced ru m ),
patent gas, or any one of the thous
and ways of trying to escape the
aenalty of continuing to act as
ihough nature's laws were a friend—
Christian Advocate.
Finish What You Be? in.
Thousands start well, but never
Snish one thing at a time. They bave
i dozen things on hand and no one
completed. Time is wasted on un
finished work. Always finish what you
begin. One thing finished is worth a
hundred half done. The completion of
an undertaking yeilds more pleasure
and more profit than dozens of plans.
The man who is always planning or
scheming is rarely, if ever successful.
He often furnishes ideas for others
.vho go persistenly to work and
finish what his ideas suggested.
'That was my idea—my plan," we
frequently hear some one say, but
the man who carried it out was the
3ne who benfitted himself and others.
Do not begin what you cannot finish.
What you undertake to do, do, and
*eap the rewards of your own ideas
ind skill.—Manufacturer and Builder.
Tk( Popularity of Huh.
"Hash is becoming the popular
nidday luncheon dish of business
men," said a well known restaurant
ieeper the other day. "One of the
•easons for its popularity is the fact
that very little time is wasted in
shewing it. It seems next to impos
sible for the average business man
to eat slowly. He will waste valua
ble time talking with acquaintances.
He will loiter in his office or in the
office of a friend and think nothing
of it; but when the luncheon hour ar
rives he makes a rush for the nearest
restaurant and bolts his food with
alarming rapidity. A young lawyer
will languidly lounge in his office,
but when the meal hour arrives a
transformation takes place. He
rushes to the nearest lunch counter,
straddles a stool, and fights with the
waiters if not waited on instantly.
Hash is what he invariably orders,
and it disappears with lightning ra
pidity. He then returns to the office
and yawns and gaps the rest ot the
afternoon. No wonder dyspepsia
holds high carnival in this city. If
business men paid more time and at
tention to their midday meal, they
would avoid many a doctor's bill."—
New York Sun.
Nora Scotia'# "Fairy Rocks."
The Smithsonian Institution at
Washington has sent an expedition
to Nova Scotia and secured fac-similes
■>f the "fairy rocks,'.' on which are
rorions hieroglyphic characters, evi
lently very old, which may throw
lome light on the history of the enrly
liscoverios of America. The mark*
■ngs are cut in upon a rock of nighly
polished slat«, and the Tntigllo ft
about a sixteenth of an inoh deop,
—Boston Budget.
Current Wit*
When a fast Stt**;nehip break« tfcfr
record, she does not stop to re « üt
it.
Go west, young man, and «end to
your friends for enough money t<?
get back. Have your fun while yoa'rr;
young.—Oil City Blizzard.
Bobby (standing before the glass)?
Did God make me ma? Mother; ^ es,
dear. Boby: Well, he made a poor
job of these two front teeth!—Life.
Author to printer)—"Areyou in fa
vor of international copyright my
friend?" Printer (struggling with »
page of blind MS.—"No. sir! I'm ins
favor of international typewrite."—
Burlington Free Press.
A correspondent asks in which of
the arts alcohol is most used. Wcll r
we don't like to give an exeiithedra
judgment, but we think the nrt of"
painting uoses ml gets away witU
the greatest quantity. •
Groom—(to bride; they are waiting
for the minister—"Hadn't I better
skip out and see what » tho mutter,
dear? The minister should hm«
been here twenty minutes ago.'"
Bride—"No, George; you stay right,
where you are."—Harper's Bazar.
The colored servant in the South'
is occasionally good at repartee.
Mrs. Yerger found her servant, Bel
indy, reposing in the rocking chair
reading a newspaper. "You seem to
think you are the lady ofthe house,"
said Mrs. Yerger sarcastically. "No,
mum, I's brack, butl'seno sich a fool
as dat."
A young lady fainted in a Buffalo
theatre the other day. whereupon
her young man ran away and has
not been heard of since. This ought
to put young ladies on their guard.
Some men will takeadvantageofany
chance to escape, and it behooves,
young ladies not to lose conscious
ness where the doors ara wide open.
—Binghamton Republican.
She: I can only be a sister to you,
Henry, He—with repressed emotion:
How old are you? She—curiously:
Twenty, last October. He: AN ell,
you can't be a sister to me. I'vegofc
a sister at home, who was twenty
last August, and you see ' hatsort of
relationship won't work. Try some
thing else.
"Mary," remarked the old gentle
to the housemaid, as he went poking;
around the parlor hist night, "did
you see anything of that 'Robert
Elsmere, down here?" "Indade, sor,"
hesitated Mary, "Oi couldn't say al
his name wor that same, sor, er no,
but there's a young man as comes to
say yer daughter, eor, as is hoidinf
behind the sofy, sor."—Washington
Post.
Sick Man—"What kind of a plase
is heaven?" Minister—"It's a plaeo
of eternal rest, joy and peace."' Sick
Man—"Any girls practicing on the
piano there?" Minister—"No; noth
ing of the kind." Sick Man—"Does'
anybody ask you how you feel to
day?" "Minister—"No. lint, brother,
you have but a short time to prepare;
are you ready to go ?" Sick Man-
"Y-yes; send in the dcctor."
In some parts of Africa a man's
wealth is judged by tho number oi
his wives. A man with 60 wives is
looked upon as a sort of bonanza
king. His wives probably go out
washing at 50 cents a day, or make
shirts at 40 cents a dozen. In this
country a man's wealth is judged by
the number of dogs he owns. The
possessor of eight do^s is generally
to poor to pay school tax, and his
wife takes in washing.
A New < •Cheslll^t. ,,
Joseph Jefferson is responsible for
the latest explanation of the word
"chestnut." He attributes the in'
traduction of the word in its slang
sense to Mr. William Warren, the
veteran comedian of Boston.
"There is a melodrama," Mr. Jeff
erson said to a reporter, "but little
known to the present generation,
written by William Dillon, and called
The Broken Sword.' There were
two characters in it: One a Captain,
Xavier, and the other a comedy
part ofPablo. The captain is a sort
of Baron Munchausen, and in telling
of his exploits says: 'I entered the
woods of Collaway* when suddenly
from the thick boughs of a cork
tree'—Pablo interrupts him with the
words: A chestnut, Captain; a chest
nut.' 'Bah!' replies the Captain;
'bôoby, I say a cork tree.'
" 'A chestnut,' reiterates Pablo. 'I
should know as well as you, having
heard the tale these twenty-seven
time.'
"William Warren who had often
played the part of Pablo, was at a
stag' dinner two years ago, when
one of the gentlemen present told a
a story of doubtful age and original
ity. 'Â chestnut,' murmured Mr.
Warren, quoting from the play; 'I
have heard you tell the tale these
twenty-seven times.' The application
of the lines pleased the rest ot the
table, and when the party broke up
pach helped to spread the story and
Mr. Warren's commentary. And
that," concluded Mr. Jefferson, "is
what I really believe to be the orgin
of the word 'chestnut.' "
Gypsj Fortnno Tellers.
No person who has not been a dwel
!er in the gypsy camp would believe
the extent to which these clever pre
tenders are consulted, both in respect
to revelations of the future and in
regard to physical ailments. Thous
ands of persons go to the Romany
soothsayer who would be ashamed to
confess faith in the predictions of the
less pretentious fortuneteller. The
sum charged for an intervi< w with
. the sorceress ranges fifty cents to $10,
according to the length of time ami
the estimate placed upon the resource's
of the interview. If consultations
are repeated the gypsy woman fre
quently realizes $50 or $100 from a
single individual.
Many an ailing person who han
found no relief from the advice of
learned physicians seeks the smooth
speaking gypsy woman who deals in
herb concoctions that she colls medi
cene. The mixture made by the un
scrupulous quack, who is scarce'y
acquainted with the least hygienic
law and entirely ignorant of the re
quirements and functions of the body,
is bought and swallowed with faitn
in its curative qualities. Oftentimes
does imngination thus effect remark,
able benefits which arc accredited
to tit* wonderful Romany skill.