OL. 74.
> %® a '
-f
'Porwriyht * l
Tave you never set your Joys ana
■row? to the music of an old tune?
e there no songs which have made
smseives part of your personal his
•j ? Of course there are. You hug the
iiembranee of a melody that belongs
some particular incident or period of
ur life. When you hear It, although
u are occupied with friends, or in
ciety, dining at your club, perhaps,
assisting at one of my Lady Diana s
aste receptions, your mind is far
ray, busy with a pleasant or painful
emory of which the people around
u know nothing. Sometimes the very
ords of the ballad fits your special
tse. When you have had much sor
iw your heart quickly responds to
alntive lays and sad.
And thereby hangs a tale.
fv friendship with Tom Ernstone
of long standing. Some of my ac
lalntanoes have suggested that the
tlmacy has not been to my advant
;e. He is much older than I. His
!e Is more or less errat'c. He has a
ittled income, which makes him in
ipendent of the world. I have no
tiled Income. I have to work for my
ling: but I succeed In making a fair
come, and there an end. If It Is
isocd somewhat by my devotion to
Dm that Is my business. He likes to
t up o’nights. So do I. His career
as a mystery In it. Mine has not.
crhaps that is one of the links that
Ind us. He is proud and I am not
crhaps this Is another.
When 1 say Colonel Ernstone is
roud, 1 speak of him as he is spoken
f Th.ie is a pride which is laudable,
nd there is something like it which
i snobbism. My friend Tom was
ticpnt and reserved. Soma people
link that is pride. Perhaps it was In
om's ease, perhaps not.
1 have known shyness and modesty
llstakcn for pride. Tom Ernstone
generally regarded as a proud man.
[e may have attired himself in a kind
f moral armor in fear of attack. Or
is reserve, his patent leather boots,
is closely buttoned frock coat, and his
pmewhat stiff military manners may
ave be,- n misinterpreted. He is proud
f his country 1 know that, proud of
tie army, proud of his daughter and
er beauty.
There are friends of his and mine,
tho for a long time thought the link
etween him and me was Terese. She
i wonderfully pretty, but years
ounger than 1 am. At the outset of
his narrative, I have more than once
een entrusted with the care of her
(tie business in the way of shopping,
tut Tom has always been at one end
r Die other of our expedition. He
I*h<-r started with us or waited at
lonic • i receive us. Not that he would
lot trust Terese with me under all cir-
Sumstances, hut he "hated” as he con
fessed. "to have her out of his sight."
Terese is t wenty—sweet and twenty
1 can say and swear to it. She looks
somewhat foreign. In keeping with her
name. Her hair is black, her eyes a
lovely rontrast in blue; she is fair but
pal'-. She has the sweetest manner
Imaginable. Her voice is soft and
Musical. There Is a touch of pathos In
the expression of her face which sug
;ests a certain melancholy that shad
iws Tom’s own features. Toro Is a
lolonel on half pay. He lives in a quiet
farming house on the borders of
lampstead Heath.
We ofter meet, Tom and I. at the
acthenon Club, where Sir Christopher
Hallam passes a good deal of his time.
Hallam Is a young Yorkshire baronet,
rich, popular, and of trank kindly dis
position. His family and Tom’s have
lor generations had adjacent territor
ial rights not only In the same county
Put In the same parish.
Tom knew Hallam's father, and from
the earliest days of the young fellow's
boyhood, had always taken an Interest
In him; was hls proposer at the Club:
Ind the cottage at Hampstead had
•een him there at luncheon on most
Bundays for a year and upwards.
We had a ehat, Hallam and I, one day
•bout our host whom we both love,
it was in reference to hls strange mar
ruige. and hls daughter’s somewhat
lonely girlhood. The Colonel, It was
•*ld, had made an eccentric marriage
•broad. Hls wife died almost immed
i after the birth of Terese. Hal
*m aald nobody whom he had ever
Fsi* had * ,en the mother of Terese.
, * facl was topic of engrossing In
erest in certain country circles of the
Worth. He remembered when he was
a ltt<s hnw hls father had horse
*hlpp*.<j * neighbor for having public
s' east sonn- aspersion upon Terese
b rough a slighting remark about her
fiotlifr.
thi ® we fe>l ,nto expressions of
wmlratlon of the girl’s beauty, her
unonces, her grace and thoughtfulness
the head of her father’s little house
|o‘d; and we said nothing of the vlc
-0,18 gossip which both of us had heard
rom time to time, In one Instance go
ng so far as to Imply that Terese was
lot the Colonel’s daughter at all.
Happily this had not come to Era
tone’s ears. He had never once dream
d that In all of the wickedness of the
Hull wor,<, > there was anything so
ricked as the shadow of a suspicion
xpressed or Implied as to the relation
- , tween him and hls accompllsh
• little housekeeper.
Colonel Ernstone, although hls gal
,ieJrv,c* ‘n India, and other Im
f * battle-grounds of Imperial Eng-
K ' ’ Wer * well-known and recognized,
■ one of the social mysteries of Lon
uo.i, and hls selection of Hallam and
me as his most intimate companions
was not thought to be altogether to his
credit, only for the reason that he
kept us up at nights, liked a game of
nap or pokar, rarely missed a popular
race meeting, on which occasions he
would drive us to the course, or we
would go there In Hallam’s drag,
Furthermore, he liked the play, and
was Inariably seen at first nights
with his daughter Terese. whose beauty
attrasted attention, and in attendance
upon whom, besides her father, would
be either myself or Hallam.
And yet there was no better managed
house in London than the cottage at
Hampstead. If it kept rather late
hours they were neither of a boisterous
nor questionable character; It went
regularly to church on Sundays, and
took its share In all the charities and
benevolent responsibilities of the local
ity.
As Bret Harte loves certain of hls
real flesh and blood characters; and
similarly as Trollope carried several of
his best creations through many of his
novels, 1 lind myself turning again to
Colonel Tom Ernstone, who, however,
Is only known to a very limited number
of my readers, having made hls -p
--pearanee In a low and somewhat com
plicated novel, the thinly associated
sections of which I have long ago de
tached Into their original short studies;
and from which I now take up the last
remaining episode for reconstruction
and completion on Its original and true
basis; and this Is the romantic story
of my dear friend. Col. Tom Ernstone.
If any of my present readers should In
times past have come upon (which I
doubt) a stray suggestion of my dear
friend's so-called eccentric marriage
and its consequences, they will thank
me, I feel sure, for this present ex
plana tion of the reason for the mourn
ful shadow which sometimes clouded
his handsome face, and also perhaps
for the pathos that no one could fall
to detect In the blue depths of the ex
pressive eyes.ar" hls daughter Terese.
Whether they have or not, they may
now read for the first time a complete
defense of Tom Ernstone's character,
the true story of hls passion and pen
ance, and the moral thereof, which
shows that while man suffers In this
world for the wrong he does, true peni
tence can make reparation If not to
the dead at least to the living.
Tom’s confession to me came about
in this way.
A member 'of the Parthenon Club,
who had heard some malicious, If fool
ish whisper against the social position
of Torn Ernstone, invited him and his
daughter to his house, to meet a very
select and distinguished company, and
had made It a point of friendship and
club camaraderie that he should accept
It.
I and Hallam were among the guests.
I only knew the next day that twenty
four hours previously, Hallam had pro
posed for Terese. He had told me In
confidence that he had Intended to do
so.
It was very delicate and considerate
to hint that ho hoped In regard to this
determination, he was not coming be
tween me and any ambition I had In
that direction.
“My dear fellow,” I said, "Terese Is
ten years younger than I; she Is
twenty; I am over thirty; furthermore
to use a common-place phrase, my
heart Is otherwise engaged; go In and
win.”
He did so. I was not aware, however,
when we all met at the reception ir
question, that Hallam had obtained
Tom’s consent to offer himself tr
Terese.
Hallam was. however, unusually at
tentlve to Terqpe, and this was noticed
by more than one of the guests. Het
father’s eyet, too, seemed to follow hot
about with a special solicitude. Ton
knew that Hallam had proposed i
Terese, and with hls consent. Teres
had accepted him, subject to her fa ti
er’s approval.
I only knew afterwards how Joy and
sorrow battled In my old friend’s min
on that night. There was a mysteiq
touching the b'rth of Terese which I •
had made up hls mind not to revea
The thought of it had exercised him
severely, and he had resisted doing
what, before we left the reception, he
had resolved to carry out on the mor
row, even at the risk of breaking nfl
the engagement between hls daughter
and Hallam.
Terese was a delightful vocalist—not
In the grand sense of oratorio or con
cert singing. She had a singularly
sweet and sympathetic voice, and In u
drawing-room was. I think, the most
delightful and finished ballad singer I
ever heard.
On this night of all others, she had
a surprise for her father. In a new song,
only Just published, Malloy's "Clang
of the Wooden Bhoon.” which, as far
as I remember, tells the story of a
forlorn Normandy maiden whose lost
love Is the pathetic background of the
merry song and dance. Hallam had
given Terese this pathetic ballad, and
she had tried It privately. Knowing
somethSag of her father’s love of Nor- |
mandy, she thought It would be a |
sweet surprise for him.
It was Indeed a surprise for him.
It half-broke hls heart afresh.
The story of the Normandy maiden,
sitting *ll forlorn, waiting for her lover
that never returned from sea, rose up
against him In the brilliant throng, Ilk#
a rebuke from Heaves,
fre&erirfe tfitim
t
FREDERICK CITY. MD.. FRIDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 22 1895.
"I can’t stand this any longer," he
said, pressing my hand, "you and Hal
lam will bring Terese home; I will sit
up for her: don’t tell her I am not
well; but when she discovers that I am
gone, bring her away; say I am tired.”
He wiped his eyes as he spoke, and
seemed much distressed.
"Stay with us to-night |t you can,”
he said. "I shall leave the carriage,
and drive home In a cab. I want to
talk to you In the morning. Hallam will
go to his hotel. I shall be up to re
ceive you.”
He pressed my hand again. I ac
companied him to the door. Half an
hour afterwards Terese left In company
with her lover and next best friend, the
narrator of this over true story.
“You noticed my emotion last night.”
said the colonel, when he had closed
the door of his snuggery, as he called
his library at the cottage.
“When, Tom?” I asked, recalling his
somewhat strange eoduct while Terese
was singing for the first time as it
seemed, a new song, the music of which
•he had taken with her.
“Don't say when, you know that if 1
had not found you watching me. I
should have made a fool of myself.”
“You were greatly moved."
"Moved! A defeat on the field of bat
tle could not have disturbed me more,”
he said, pacing the room.
"It is rather a pathetic ballad.” I
said, wondering what the dear old chap
had to say to me, for he seemed both
excited and distressed.
"Old fellow," he said, pausing to lay
his hand affectionately on my shoulder,
"I have deceived you. You are young
enough almost to be my son. I love you
as If you were. And I hope you will
not cease to respect me when you have
heard my confession. People say I am
a proud man. Perhaps I am. My fath
er was; and my grandfather was fam
ous In court and In the field. But
that Is neither here nor there. Pride
goeth before a fall. The humblest man
need not envy me.”
I sat down and looked at him, as
much as to say you are exaggerating
some Indiscretion.
"Not at all,” he said, as If he read
my thoughts, ”1 have sinned, and be
fore Heaven, as the psalmist has It, but
I have tried to atone, and I want to put
myself right with you and Hallam.
First with you, I have known you long
est. You know that Hallam has pro
posed for Terese. I gave my consent
that he should propose to,her; but
withdrew my final approval until I
learnt her answer. Of course, her yes
or no would have been equally sacred
In my eyes. She has said yes. I am
to conclude the matter to-day. In an
hour I shall do so. To-day is In con
sequence one of confidence and penance
—mostly penance. And I begin with
you.”
He took up the poker and stirred up
the fire, not that it required stirring,
but as If he were arranging his
thoughts; and he looked round at me
as he laid his unlighted cigar upon the
table.
I have known army men who have
seen him, at the head of his cavalry,
ride straight up to the enemy's guns
and—. But that Is not the question.
To the world as I have already intimat
ed, he Is proud and cynical; but bitter
epigram and an occasional sneer st
sentiment represent the cloak which
hides a tender heart and a life-long
regret.
"That song!" he exclaimed, "I saw
you noticed how it affected me,” he
said, as he sat down again, looking
Into the fire. ”1 have always felt that
muslo has the power to lead one back
to the past, and revive events that one
tries to forget. Fate or Providence
must have moved Terese to sing that
song last night:—
Oh! the clang of the wooden shoon;
Oh! the dance and the merry tune!
Happy sound of a bygone day.
It rings in my heart for aye!
“My God! If she had only known. It
is strange that I had not heard her try
it over at home before we went out. As
she sang, I could see the suffering hero
ine, In her Normandy cap and sabots,
Eittlng alone on that old wooden pier
waiting, waiting, with the sound of the
merry tune, turned to a dirge In her
heart."
He swept his hand over his eyes, and
spoke as If he had forgotten me.
"My dear friend,” he went on after a
pause, "I want to confess. Let me
show you the picture that song showed
me. the picture which It still shows me
In the fire. An old Normandy pier. A
soft summer night. An English yacht
moored at the Jetty. A company of
villagers regaled by Lord Templer, the
owner; myself and companion. A fid
dler pressed Into the service. My com
panion as lovely a girl as the eyes of a
villain ever rested upon; an olive com
plexion; and the head of a Normandy
aristocrat on the shoulders of a peas
ant; the strength of a flsherwoman.
with the grace of an Egyptian water
carrier. fihe was the most perfect type
of Normsn beauty that mind of man
could Imagine, or brain of poet Invent.
I was a young, reckless, fellow on a
yaughttng cruise, putting In at the
fishing station for letters. My dis
patches came within twenty-four hours.
I was ordered to join my troop In India
at once. Lord Templer sailed the next
day, leaving me to g on to Paris and
London for the outfit and necessaries.
I d£ not go on to Paris that day, nor
the *.’Xt; I stayed to make love to
Julie. I called it making love. She
thought It was love, poor little Norman
dy maiden! The next thing there was
a wedding In the village; a friend of
Julie’s was married to an Etretat fish
erman. We danced until morning. The
clang of the wooden shoon and the
merry laughter of young and old came
back to me last night like a blight bb
that song with its sad merriment took
hold of my heart and memory. I stay
ed in the village for two weeks. It Was
a happy dream, but the dream of a
fiend who had stolen Into paradise. I
promised to return. I never meant to
do so. Her hot tears fell on my hand
at parting. I went to India. I dis
covered that I loved her. She was In
my mind always. I hated other wo
men. I shunned Intrigues that some of
"Ours” would have given everything to
be In. I was In love. I Wrote to her.
No reply ever came. Perhaps she could
not write. Perhaps her letters mis
carried; for we were worried about
from post to post, as you know. Her
face, her black eyes, her pouting lips,
j her wooden shoes,—by the Lord, from
| head to foot the pretty little woman
( sank deep Into my heart. She was the
one creature In all the world of whom
I was continually thinking; always
with a vow to go back to her, and to do
her the Justice that my selfish love had
only prompted when I was far away
from her.”
He paused, rose from bis chair, and
walked about the room. I encouraged
him with some friendly words.
"Five years had gone when I sto™
once more on the Normandy Jetty. The
sleepy old fishing smacks were there,
the peasant women in their wooden
shoes, the sailors and fishermen, the
flapping sails, the sea creeping laxity
along the coast. Where was Julie?
Our hot work and my bruised heart
had changed me out of knowledge. I
looked for Julie, I enquired for Julie.
People shook their heads. At last an
old woman, as she sat knitting In the
sun, told me how five years ago a yacht
had anchored there; how the noble
English had generously treated the vil
lage; how the brutal English had ruin
ed Julie Perreyve, the prettiest girl on
aB the coast; how she had trusted the
English honor; how she had waited for
Milford's return: how she had sat on
the Jetty's edge looking out to sea:
how at every village dance and festival
she had sat a silent spectator: how she
had faded out—how she had died.”
My old friend's voice trembled with
emotion, but he poked the fire again;
and, looking into the smouldering em
bers he went on with the story that
had burnt its memory into his heart.
"No Indian bullet could havd hit me
so hard or so cruelly as that story of
Julie's sorrow and death; and when
Terese sang those words last night It
seemed to me like an accusing voice
from the grave.
“But they are gone, a weary while, ah
me!
| And he, my own. came home no more
from sea.
The sea looks black, the waves havs
all a moan.
And I am left to sit and dream alone.”
As If to hide his emotion, he had
opened his desk and brought out the
song as he spoke, lying the familiar
printed copy before me.
“By heavens! old friend, it needs no
hell In a future state to punish a man
for the wrong he does in this!" he said,
flinging himself into a chair.
"A man must be a good fellow to
feel that,” I said.
"It is kind of you to say so,” he re
plied, “but think of the ruffian he is to
begin with! Well, when I heard the
story of Julie’s sorrow and death I did
not speak for some minutes. Then I put
money Into the old woman’s hand.
'Take me to the place in which they
have burled her,' I said. I looked down
upon the poor little green mound and
the wooden cross. It seemed as if my
heart split in two.”
"God help you, my poor friend!” I
•aid; and took his hand In mine.
"You may well say so,” he answered,
"you may well. There is a streak of
light In the tragedy. I went back to
the old dame's cottage. 1 sat down to
talk to her of Julie. I wanted to learn
everything about her. It was now a
welcome penance to hear of her devo
tion, her sorrow, her martyrdom. A
clatter of wooden shoes rattled across
the floor of the adjoining room. Then
a childish voice called out 'Grand
mere.' The next moment a fairy In
wooden shoes came bounding in, an in
fant rising five. The old woman took
her up and kissed her. 'This Is her
1 child,' she said, turning to me.”
" 'Whose,' I asked, with a Joyous
1 fearlessness."
” 'Julie's,* she said. 'We call her
Terese, the little English lady.’
“ 'My child,' I said, trembling like a
woman; 'my child!' And even that
hard Normandy grandmother pitied me
when she guessed how much I had
suffered.”
He sighed, and then facing me said—
" That Is the bar slnster on the
escutcheon of Terese Ernstone. I ought
to have confessed this to Hallam before
I permitted him to speak to Terese. It
was In my mind to say something to
j him about It. when he should have had
the answer he expected from Terese.
But what I meant to say was politic,
not the whole truth, a sort of half-con
fidence, intended to speak of the hum
ble origin of Terose's mother; no more;
hut now I am going to confess all—to
show him the entire blemish on the
birth of the girl he wishes to marry, to
share with me the bitter secret. What
will he say? What will he do?”
"Admire and love you, as I do, for
your big heart, your manliness, and
your honor.” I said.
“Ah, I don’t say honor, my friend,
but repentance, and the desire and In
tention to atone for a wrong are good.
Hallam must make me a solemn prom
ise that whatever happens he will
never let Terese know what I shall
tell him. He Is master of himself.
What will he do?”
"Whst his true heart dictates,” ]
said.
"He is coming here In an hour. I
shall tell him this story of Terese as
his secret and mine. You and I share
it first. It is not our only confidence."
"You know you may trust and com
mand me.” I said
“I know," he replied.
"The priest of the little village was
very good to me. I have tried to de
serve and to reward his kindness. The
tombstone bears our names. Julie's and
mine, as man and wife, the date of our
marriage, the day of her companion's
wedding at Etretat.”
"You will tell Hallam all this?"
"All!” he replied, resolutely.
"You are right.” I said, "whatever
may be the result."
“If you can spare me this evening,
dear friend, do; come to the club at
half-past slx:want to talk to you; dine
at seven. Always yours, Hallam."
This telegram was awaiting me when
I reached my chambers at five o'clock
on the day of my serious and Interest
ing conversation with Colonel Ernstone.
Father and prospective son-in-law
had had their meeting. That was
clear. Hallam wished to see me on the
result.
Had the lover proved as self-denying
as I predicted? I read his telegram
over again
It seemed a cold message after what
I knew must have occured. "Come and
dine and congratulate me," would have
been more In keeping with a dinner to
discuss a young man's forthcoming
marriage. "Come to the club, I want
to talk to you." suggested, "I am In a
difficulty and want your advice."
It Hallam. even at the sacrifice of
his own happlntess, had declined to
taint the bright history of his race by
an alliance with Tom Ernstone's lovely
and Innocent daughter, no high moral
ist would blame him; nor could Ern
stone complain.
While I dressed, sauntering deliber
ately over the operation, I found my
self defying morals, social authorities,
and all the world In the Immediate In
terests of Hallam and Terese.
Tnen I wondered If In having due re
gard to the happiness of bis child. Era-1
•tons had not yet been wrong In mak- /
Ing his confession to Hallam. His i
penanoe now presented Itself In n Be* j
light to me. Was It not a selfish
hing? Had not Ernstone discovered
that it was necessary to his own peace
>f mind? Was his confession not as
much a matter of personal comforl
and religious concession as an act of
honor and honpsty towards Christo
pher Hallam? And would It not be a
noble act of self-denial on the part
of Hallam for family reasons to forego
the happiness of making Terese his
wife?
Between these speculations and my
own anxiety for my peace of mind
and of Ernstone and the future of his
daughter, I went to the club in a
more or less melancholy frame of
mind
The famous street was crowded
with carriages coming and going from
the Row. The sun, travelling down
to the west, was flashing with silver
harness and shining equipages.
On the pavements there were many
Idle pedestrians "on pleasure bent,"
as well as people on varied missions
of business.
The shops were gay with their dain
tiest wares; and yet the sad refrain
of the Normandy ballad was in my
mind, and my thoughts were with
my two dear friends at Hampstead.
It was a calm night in April.
The London season had set in with
great promise of gaiety and distinc
tion.
I walked down Piccadilly and real
ized for the thousandth time the de
lights of Its sunny side.
Was Tom Ernstone's one of those
secrets that it were best not to dis
close? Or If disclosed left only for the
information of posterity? It is no good
thinking of arguing any question on a
logical or moral basis, if your feelings
are deeply engaged In the controversy.
I found Hallam sitting In a corner of
the Parthenon library, near the great
window that looks upon Picadilly.
He was watching the long lines of
carriages that flashed past. In bright
and showy colors, with pretty women
and gallant men, ehjoying the leisurely
recreation of the afternoon drive. He
did not see me as I entered the room.
I thought he looked more than un
usually handsome. He was in evening
dress; hut he also wore a loose, light
overcoat, and his crush hat was in
his hand. He had evidently walked
to the club and gone straight Into the
library. He was a stalwart, well-built
young fellow, with dark-brown hair
and a silky brown mustache. His
mouth came within the physiognom
ical description of generous; but he had
a strong jaw and a close, well-knit
forehead. His eyes were grey and full,
and his countenance frank, open, an l
of a fresh healthy comolexlon.
"Ah, Joe,” he said, smiling, and
rising to his feet the moment he saw
me, “it Is very kind of you to come.
I felt sure you would. What a superb
day. I have ordered Just the dinner
I think you will like; we two. I have
a great deal to say to you. Sit down."
He gave me his seat and took one
close by; then he drew the great club
•curtain so that It partly screened us
from the sun and shut out a section
of the picturesque traffic of the street,
leaving the budding tops of the trees
In a kind of stipple of green against
the warm evening sky.
"Congratulate me,” he said, taking
my hand. "I am the happiest fellow
In London.”
I felt a load suddenly lifted from my
mind. I breathed freely once more.
“Terese has accepted me; Ernstone
has to-day given his final consent, and
we are to be married In June.”
"I congratulate you with all my
heart. Tom Ernstone Is as worthy a
fellow as his daughter Is beautiful."
“And good," said Hallam. "I don’t
think It is itosslble for a girl to be
more desirably endowed—beautiful, ac
complished, clever, modest, and with n
strain of that Normandy race in her
pedigree of which we English folk so
often boast. I wanted to say this
much to you, old fellow, before wr
dined, so that we can talk freely h!
table without worry, or what you clever
writing fellows call emotion."
"You are always thoughtful for
others,” I replied.
“I didn’t want to bother you over
dinner with my feelings, to spring a
sort of lovo-confession upon you; not
good for digestion; so I simply remark
that, the world to me just now Is the
happiest invention imaginable; that I
am going to marry the loveliest girl In
It; that I know this will delight you
as my friend, and hers, and these
points of enthusiasm out of the way I
want to ask you to be my best man;
and over dinner to consult you about
my plans and the programme whien
Ernstone has laid down for me and
Terese. more particularly as regards
the wedding Itself.”
The remark about Norman blood set
me wondering whether Ernstone had
really told Hallam all he had told me.
Over dinner I found myself somewhat
harrassed more than once by doubts
and fears In this direction.
“We are to be married In the little
village of St. Valerie, In the valley of
Les Ifs, that runs down from the sea
from the Pays de C'aux; and our break
fast and other ceremonials and festiv
ities are to take place at Etretat. I)o
you know the country?”
"Not well,” I replied; "I have been
to Etretat and Trouvllle; but I only
know the prominent places along the
coast.”
"I know the whole country and the
people,” he said; "have yachted In those
waters; I remember at Etretat they
would not let us bathe In the deep sea
without a boat In attendance. A fine
primitive race the flsherfolk. There Is
a quaint old Jetty at St. Valerie: and a
cluster of red-tiled houses that remind
me of some of our bits of coast towns
in Yorkshire. Our friend, the Colonel
was married there and Terese’s mother
lies In the little churchyard. Don't
care for churchyards much, or I should
no doubt have seen her tomb. Ern
stone has placed a memorial window In
the little chapel. I like the Idea of the
wedding being out there Immenaely.
What do you say?"
“Oh, yes,” I replied, "It is delightful;
almost romantic.”
"Almost!” exclaimed Hallam." I think
It Is like the best chapter out of a good
story; we shall go out In Horace Sin
nett's yacht. He wants to sell It; I
havs wired him that I will buy It, and
asked him to send hls captain to me at
once. Terese did not say much, nut she
was more than pleased with this Ides.
She has not been in Normandy since
the left It an Infant Ernstone says
the priest of St. Valerie and the good
father at Etretat are both hls friends;
and that he le Indeed In away Lord of
the manor of St. Valerie, owns most of
ths little place In fact and that both
church and people will take part In the
L general rejoicing.”
, "Ernstone told you all about bis
. marriage then?"
\ “Yea. in the transit way."
"A certain division or Yorkshire \v
rather jealous of his foreign allien
said, interrogatively.
"Jealous is not the word for it. Th
made a mystery of it: even went so far
as to suggest a scandlc; hut Ernstone
settled that in his own manly way; he
knocked Lord Trlnder down and called
him out. My dear friend. Terese brings
no shadow uron the Hallam escutch
eon; and in her sweet Innocence, hv
Jove, if she did, it would make no dif
ference in my love for her and the honor
i should feel In giving her my name
and associating the family of Hallam
with the fighting house of Ernstone.”
After dinner we went Into the smok
ing room, and as we were continuing
our discussion of the arrangements
for June, which comtemplated my vis
iting St. Valerie and Eiretnt, in walked
Tom Ernstone himself with a rose in
his button-hole and happiness In every
line of his manly face.
“I have Just left Terese at the opera,"
he said, shaking hands with Hallam
“In Lady Tremont’s box. Said X wou'd
tell you. Thought I should find you
here. If you would like to go. X will
Join you later; I want to have a chat
with Joe.”
“My dear Colonel, you are too good,"
said Hallam. "If I would like to go!
Will you excuse me?”
Of course I would.
“A fine fellow,” said Ernstone, when
Hallam had left us. "You can’t Imag
ine how well he behaved this mornig."
"You told him all?”
"All!" he said.
“All that you told me? But of course
you did. The question occurred to me
really for the pleasure of hearing you
say so. and saving you the trouble of
telling me what you had said.”
"In telling him the story, if I exten
uated anything It was not my own
villainy. But I wished to add for your
own information—for I want to make
.vou a trustee under the marriage set
tlements—that In ease of the possibility
of any question arising in the future, I
have left my property in such away
that there can never be a doubt of any
kind about Terese's Inheritance; and
It was with the advice and consent of
the church, that I inscribed upon the
tomh-stone at St. Valerie. "Julie, the
beloved wife of Colonel Ernstone,” and
before Heaven she was my wife; for
t had had no other; nor could have de
sired one more unselfish or true. So
now, dear friend, you and Hallam
know the truth, the whole truth and
nothing but the truth, and the village
of St. Valerie is part of Terese's mar
riage portion.”
From that night to June seemed a
long time to the lovers, hut to those who
had charge of the chief arrangements
for the wedding, and the home-coming
in Yorkshire, the days flew all to rapid
ly The happy month came in due
course. "It was the time of roses."
How Tom and Terese and I first sailed
in the yacht "Julie” to St. Valerie,
where the bride was to be married
from her father's house near the Jetty;
how the vessel lay off the quaint old
pier, and the fishermen were welcomed
aboard her by the trim English eaplaln;
how I returned home to meet HallHin
nnd accompany him to Normandy; how
the wedding morning dawned soft and
sunny; how Terese had for her brides
maids a troop of Normandy maidens;
how Etretat and St. Valerie had never
seen such rejoicing, such dancing, may
be better imagined than described. I
sit In my lonely chambers In London
trying to realize It all over again for
the puaposes of this story, and have to
regret Prat the pictures are already be
ginning to fade, the music to die out,
the merry making from first to last
I drifting back Into a past but pleasant
memory. I remember how we sailed
away with our happy bride for the
Yorkshire roast: and with what de
monstrations of honor and affection
she was received by Sir Christopher's
tenantry in the tender north, and how
she bore the honors of her position
with true nobility, and the sweet mod
esty that was ever one of her most
delightful attractions.
To-day. neither in Yorkshire, London,
nor across the sea "In fair Normandie"
there is no happier couple and none
more honored than Sir Christopher and
Lady Hallam.—Joseph Hatton.
With he I'umiv People.
'Turned down again!" exclaimed the
gas, when the lx-st young man called.
—'Philadelphia, ltecorder.
• • • •
"Blamed If I see any fun In having
to put up at a hotel," muttered Blinker,
to himself, ns he handed his watch and
chain over to the clerk as security for
his board. —Buffalo Courier.
• • • •
A girl Isn't going to be married soon
If a number of g, ntlemen call on her
on a Sunday afternoon. When any
thing serious is in prospect, all the men
except the one who is in earnest drop
oft.—Atchison Globe.
• • • •
No matter how good the deacon Is,
he will always look wise and pleased
If anybody suggests that he was a
pretty lively young fellow when he was
a boy.—Somerville Journal.
He—l could believe that this was one
of mother’s own pies, dear. She—could
you really, darling? He—Yes; It
tastes as if It had been made about ten
years ago.—Chicago Inter-Ocean.
• • • •
He—How does It happen that none of
you women have come forward with a
new currency plan? She—Oh, we have
• perfect one. When we want currency,
we Just sit down and cry for It.—Wash
ington Star.
• • • •
Despite tbolr defeats the Chinese
seem to be preparing to celebrate. A
despatch from Shanghai says they are
"ready to treat."—Burlington Hawk-
Eye.
• • • •
He—l never smoke a cigarette with
out Shirking what a fool I am. She—
And I didn't know before that there was
any virtue In el garottes, at all."—De
troit Free Press
•• • •
‘Talk is cheap,” observed rhe man
who believes in proverbs. "Humph!”
replied the man who doesn't. "That
remark shows that you never hired g
lawyer or rented a telephone."—' Wash-
Inton Star.
•• • •
Pupil— ls not the word "together” tl
the phraae "banded together" superflu
ous ? Instructor—Not at all. A per
son's leg*, for tnstance, are sometimes
bandied emit. You Kt the difference?
—Boston Transcript.
•• • •
Cholly—l trust, Mies Sharpe, that
Shaft you don’t think that when I met
that dog I ran away because—aw-bk
oauae I was afraid T lflss Sharps (gen
erously)—Oh, no indeed. If any on*
was scared It should have baas Uu
dog.—CtofWfco Record.
Arrival and D partnre of Trains.
LEAVE FREDERICK
5:16 A. M., dally, for lia I
Philadelphia and New
l ora mill except Sun ay for Lexington
„... . ‘T. ) er - '"'own and way stalk ns.
lf:W A. M., dally, lor WH-hhutnii and wk uta-
Ilona, riillHdelpliluaml N-w York.
M„except Sunday,for Baltimore end
principal way stations, Philadelphia and
New York. y
IfcPi A. M. except Sunday, for Washington.
Philadelphia, New York, Keyser, la-xing
ton, 11 age• stown and way stations, Chicago
ami Piili-biiig.
1:15 I'. M„except Sunday, for Baltimore and
O ,ehuloni., Kin adelphia and New York,
*• M • fkcept ■ inula\, lor Harper s Kerry.
Mar lushing, Culm eriand, i inriiinati ana
M ImiiH, Washington, Philadelphia and
IWu i ork
4.00 P. M , Sunday only, for Washington and
Ht I touts Chicago and lh*
4:3U I*. M„ dally, for Baltimore and way at*>
. tioiiK ri.iladeinh.a and New York
P. Mexcept Sunday, for Washington, Ha-
\\ IncheMer and way Mationa.
Plttohnrg. i'liicagt , Philadelphia and New
i ork.
AKRIVR AT FREDERICK
6:50 A. M.o except Sunday, from Baltimore ax*
way HtatioiiK.
B*6 .a. M„ exceptHunday, from Winchester
Hagerstown, Martim burg. IMUaburg. ttt.
Loulh Cincinnati anc the West.
1 M., except Hunday, from Baltimore.
Philadelphia.
11::I0 a. M.. Sunday onl>, fiom Washington
and way stations, HI. lx)uit,ihicagoand the
eat.
12:20 P. M„Sunday only, from Baltimore and
wh' stations.
!:50K M„ except Sunday, from Philadelphia,
Washington, 1 ledmont, Hagerstown, Lex
and way stations, Clncln
uati, Ht. Louis and t hicugo.
3:45 P M , Sunday only, from Waahlngtoa
and Way stations. *
8:51 P. M„ except Sunday, from Baltimore
and way stations.
:45 P. M., except Sunday, from Washlngtoa
and wa\ stations, Plilla- elphla and New
„ “ rh i. p * ,l burgand ( hleago.
j. n i It** 1 11’ 1 Monday, from Baltimore,
I ifiladclphia and New York.
:!. P. M.,except tsuudhy from Cuinberlan 1,
Marih shmg, Lexington, Huge slown,
a.in h M J way Hat lona and Washington!
°- siatii if " la - v - ibon Baltimore and way
WESTERN MARYLAND RAILROAD.
Taking etloet Sunday, November! Alh 1890.
Leave Hlllen Station as follows: ’
DAILY.
4.10 A. M.—Fast Mall for Shenandoah Valley
and Southern and Southwestern points,
also Ulyndon. Westminster, New wind?
aor, Union Bridge, Mechanlcstown, lilus
Ridge, HightlcTd, Hagerstown, am. ex
cept Sunday, Chambcrsburg, Wayne*
boro , points on B. ami C. V. li. R Mar
tinshnrg, \l. Va.,aml Winchester, Va.
DAILY EXCEPT SUNDAY.
7.15 A M•—Accommodation for Uettysbun
aiid all points on B. and H. Illv. and
Ma n Line east of Emory Grove, Ml.
„ Holl'Springs and Carlisle.
9t A. M.-Mail for Williamsport, Hager*
t wu.Sli ppensburg and is.lnts on Main
i *" M,l<l .?• and C. V. R. !., also Fred
-1 erick an Emmllsborg.
11.00 A M—Accommodationfor, Union Bridge.
Mt. Holly Springs and Ca?
i 12-00 A. M.—Accommodation for Arlington.
. • for Emory Grove
J-U > M.—Express for Arlington. Howards
vllle. Owlngs s Mills. Ulyndon and al
points on B. and H. Division
4.00 P. M.-Kxpress for Arlington Mt. Hope,
Plkesvllle, Green Spring Ji notion, (lw
ingssMills,St. George's, Ulyndon, Glen
balls, Unksburg, Patopsco, Carrollton,
Westminster, Avondale, Met ford, New
Wimlsorniid Main Line Stations West
also Kmmttsburg and B. ami C. V. R R '
Shenandoah Valley It. R. and points
South.
JJ® !’• M.—Accommodation for Emory On.ve
Jr® J,- M.—Accommodation for Union Bridge
lr P. M.—Accommodation Air Emory Drove.
SUNDAYS ONLY.
Accommodation.—BXo AM. for Union Bridge
and Hanover.
2.30 P. M.—Accommodation for Union Bridge,
2.00 P. M.—Accommodation for Emory Qrovo,
10.05 P. M.—Accommodation for Emory Grove
TRAINS ARRIVE AT HILLEN.
Dally—6.2B P. M.—Daily (except Sunday) #.SU.
7.40j8.42, 11.10 A. M. 12.12, 2.10,5.10,6J0, 7jj
Sundays 0n1y—0.07,10.20 A. M. and #.15 and 0.10
P. M.
Ticket and Baggage Offlee 20,5 East Baltimore
street.
All trains stop at Union Station, Pennsylvania
Avenue and Fulton Stations.
PEN NS YL V A NIA RAI LIBIA If— KKKDER
ICK DIVISION.
Schkdi-lk in Kmcr Novkmiikh 20th, 1894.
"f” Slops only on notlee to conductor at
agent, or on signal.
Foil Pllll.XDEl.ri] 1A ANI) TIIK EART.
, WEEK DAYS - ~
Lillies Him Coin
soßTiiWAKi). York tt.wn • ver nibla
Exp. acco. Mall. Arc Exp.
u. in. a. m. . m. p. m p. m.
Frederick, .../aj 7.00 „ 800
Walkersvllle 7 IH 8 15
Woodsboro I.'/1....... 8 21
BrucevDle 744 ..... 845
Tneytown 767 ..... 35g
Llttleslown #.lO 815 4.17
Hanoi er #.25 8.35: 210 485
Inin Ridge f B.4#!i 247 f 4,42
Spring Gmve... #BB 8. 8 2.56! 4.5
M est Y0rk...... #6B 016 815 f 6 If
York 7.05 7.50 0.251 3.25 | 516
Hievund. f 750 f 088 f 8.38 f 604
Campliell ! f 8.05 f 988 fß3lt 630
Helium I 808 041 8.42 6.8*
gtonr r If Sl2 f 0.43 f 3 4# f 5.57
Wright-vllle 7.271 8.20 9.51 8 651 6.45
Columbia ...Ar 7.80| 880 10H0 4.05 1 656
Lam-a Mer 8.! 9.08 10.25 4 36, 6.4|
Philadelphia.... 10 20| 11.45 12.17 V6o| 9.45
1 ~ a m.l in. p. m ip. m'p. m
WEEK DAYR. .
I Han- I 1 litis
SOUTHWARD. News over i York town,
Exp. Ace. Malll Ace. Exp.
a. m. a. in p. m |> in. p. in.
I . ■
Phlladeli lila,Li> 430 8..'0 12 25 2.44 440
Isi muster #.35 11(8) 2.85 #:) #4O
< nlumbla 7.10 |i.HO 3.05 #lB 7.00
! Wiigntßvllie 7.20 ll.Ssi 8.13, 0.2# 7.1*
, Stoner f 728 f 11.48 f# 20 f # :*l
11 el am... 7.32 114# 8.24 #42
1 Campbell f 7.34 f 11.48 1 8.27 f #44
Hlesland r7.871M1.63r3.831r #SO
York 7.58, 12.00 8.45 700 7.16
West York 8.03 12.06 8.50 7.40
Spring Grove... 8.2• 12.25 4 10i..._ got
Inm Ridge I 8.321(12.52 14 18 ........... f B.la
Hanover.. 8.48 1 12.44 4.82[ 82D
Littles tow 11. 9.0: ! 4 52: 8.5*
Taneytown 9.26! S.!6i .........
BruceV' lie 9 40 5.4 n
W isslslsiro 9 :’8 66#
Walkersvllle,... 10.08 805.
Frederick Ar 10.25 H.;0l
■ a. m. p. m. p. mi p m p
Trains leave Hanover lor Gettysburg al 9.4*
a. m., 12.45 and 6 43 p. n. week days; returning
arrive at Hanover from Gettysburg at 9.20 a.
111., aud 4.22 p. in week-days.
TKAHfS I.EAVB YORK VoB THE NORTH.
r I*B6lllo and Northern Express, dally I#4a. m.
. News Express, dally .lOAI a. m
- Niagara ► xpiessand Mall,week davslo...xa. in.
I Chicago Ex press and Fsst Line, dally ISA p. aa.
Chicago and St. I onls Express, dally 0.20 p. m.
Western aud Southwestern Ex p.dally 10.38 p.m.
For time tables and further Information ap
ply to ticket agent at the auttlon.
• 8. M. PREVOST, J. K. WOOD,
General Manager. General Passenger Agt
A Rare Opportunity!
Tuseaanra Farm’s great trio of B'aUbms
SKA KING (Hire of Loul* Victor. 2:2SM.and
o*ll M. 2:28)i); MONO ACY,record 2 IkW.and
KitfTO. neon 1 2:;'(fe, will 11 ake the season of
1896. at •26.00 each, thus meeting the time*
and all purses.
For Catalogue apply to
C. U. DxGAKMENDIA,
Jan.K-U Do°^,M
--•
NO.