Nebraska Newspapers

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Bfl " iL\ . "lj • 1 1 1 - - 1 - -
B Ji\ IWTERNATtONAL PFESS ASSOCIATION. 1
Ejmg f CHAJTER V. ( Continued. )
Bl \ Nevertheless , the young people had
ffi H no doubts about their coming bliss.
Bf iBk Everything was going smoothly and
B Mf pleasantly for them. Carriston had at
B S& once spoken to Madeline's aunt , and
B B obtained the old Scotchwoman's ready
B Kt -consent to their union. I was rather
HB | vexed at his still keeping to his ab-
B 9 [ ) surd whim in concealing his true name.
mmjfi He said he was afraid of alarming the
BVP/ -aunt by telling her he was passing
B V' under an alias , -whilst if he gave Made-
Bj line his true reason for so doing she
K ) would be miserable. Moreover , I found
B Vi he had formed the romantic plan of
jHU marrying her without telling her in
Ft -what an enviable position she would
B B be plajrd , so far as worldly gear went.
B B. 4J& ' -Lord of Burleigh surprise no
HBBdst onended itself to his imagin-
HHMn Tl \y of my holiday came.
M Pii * bxiOv ' and sad farewell to lake
Vv ) . aDd mov j _ \ and , accompanied by
m ) vCarriston , "Su Sd for home. I did not
m ( / see the partfu/ proper between the
| K • J young people tliat was far too sacred
Bkj7 a thing to be intruded upon but even
f ' when that protracted affair was over , I
rjt waited many , many minutes whilst
B But Carriston stood hand in hand with
WS m ( Madeline , comforting himself and her
B9 B ? by reiterating , "Only six weeks six
I Bt ) short weeks ! 'And then and then ! "
KS It was the girl who at last tore herself
BB\ \ away , and then Carriston mounted re-
Hpr luctantly by my side on the rough
B/ vehicle.
Hv From Edinburgh we traveled by the
B i night train. The greater part of the
K\ way we had the compartment to our-
Hft } selves. Carriston , as a lover will ,
B > talked of nothing but coming bliss and
Bn his plans for the future. After a while
NK\ I grew quite weary of the monotony of
HT the subject , and at last dozed off , and
BVk for some little time slept. The shrill
BBl whistle which told us a tunnel was at
BV hand aroused me. My companion was
B9 sitting opposite to me , and as I glanced
K across at him my attention was arrest-
Br ed by the same strange intense look
Bi which I had on a previous occasion at
Ki Bettws-y-Coed noticed in his eyes the
BB same fixed stare the same obliviousness -
- ness to all that was passing , Remem-
B bering his request , I shook him , sonic-
Br- what'roughly , back to his senses. He
B regarded me for a moment vacantly ,
Bj ' then said :
9/ - "Now I have found out what wasH
H\ wanting to make the power I told you
BBl of complete. I could Gee her if I
B . wished. "
Kf "Of course you can see her in your
B B mind's eye. All lovers can do that. "
k "K ! tried I could see her bodily
B. know exactly what she is doing ! " He
H1 3k. spoke witn an air of complete convic-
B "Then , I hope , for the sake of mod-
K ] esty , you won't try. It is now nearly
w ) three o'clock. She ought to be in bed
Bfft ' and asleep. "
Bmj . ,1 spoke lightly thinking it better to
Br try and laugh him out of his folly.
Hr He tool : no notice of my sorry joke.
BL "No , " he said quietly , "I am not go-
Efj ing to try. But I know now what was
f wanting. Love such love as mine
B such love as hers makes the connect-
Bl , ing link , and enables sight or some
Bjf | other sense to cross over space , and
Bw • pass through every material obstacle. "
K "Look here , Carriston , " I said sori-
r ously , "you are talking as a madman
B talks. I don't want to frighten you ,
Hf& but I am bound both as a doctor and
Blff your sincere friend to tell you that un-
H flM * ess 'on cure vourseif ° f these absurd
Kra/ delusions , they will grow upon you , de-
BB' velop fresh forms , and you will prob-
B ably end your days under restraint.
N Ask any doctor , he will tell you the
B same. "
BB , "Doctors are a clever race , " answered
Uk , my strange young friend , "but they
Sox. don't know everything. "
B B ? * So saying he closed his eyes and ap-
B % - peared to sleep.
Sj We parted on reaching London.
BBT Many kind words and wishes passed
BflE between us , and I gave some more well-
BkvI meant and , I believed , needed warn-
Bgf v tngs. He was going down to see his
BB Av uncle , the baronet. Then he had some
p matters to arrange with his lawyers ,
B B and above all had to select a residence
Bf for iiimself and his wife. He would no
H [ doubt be in London for a short time.
p If possible he would come and see me.
K Any way he would write and let mc
Bj know the exact date of his approaching
Bp marriage. If I could manage to come
BE to it , so much the 'better. If not he
H | would try , as they passed through
Bk town , to bring his bride to pay me a
Hk < dying and friendly visit
BB \ Some six weeks afterward late at
B • night while I was deep in a new and
Bjl clever treatise on zymotics , a man hag-
B | gard , wild , unshorn , and unkempt ,
h rushed past my startled servant , and
B entered the room in which I sat. He
| | H threw himself into a chair , and I was
I K horrified to recognize in the intruder
K ( my clever and brilliant friend , Charles
Hjl Carriston !
H
Ht ' 'K0 w&S&HE \ END v has come
Er w § EI sooner than I ex-
J SS&kSiW Pected- " These
K " & fPWl Ww VfeTe the sad "words
K \ - W&fJPjmA wlff I muttered to my-
HI ; r W'mmwA self ' wayinS my
i . //Mm'fj&yitl/y1 frightened servant
k - s & & * 4a'way. . 1 closed the
Kv > iV door and stood
B | , % /j M' alone with the sup-
H -z'
_ - *
posed maniac. He
B rose and wrung my
B hand , then without a word , sunk back
| H into his chair end buried his face in
he was , as he said , as sane as I was.
"Thank heaven you can speak to me
and look at me like this , " I exclaimed.
"You are satisfied then ? " he said.
"On this point , yes. Now tell me
what is wrong ? "
Now that he had set my doubts at
rest his agitation and excitement
seemed to return. He grasped my hand
convulsively.
"Madeline ! " he whispered. "Made
line my love she is gone. "
' "Gone ! " I repeated. "Gone where ? "
"She is gone , I say stolen from me
by some black-hearted traitor perhaps
forever. Who can tell ? "
"But , Carriston , surely in so short a
time her love can not have been won
by another. If so , all I can say is "
"What ! " he shouted. "You who have
seen her , ! You in your wildest dreams
to imagine that Madeline Rowan would
leave me of her own free will ! No , sir ,
she has been stolen from me en
trapped carried away hidden. But I
his hands. A sort of nervous trembling
seemed to run through his frame.
Deeply distressed , I drew his hands
from his face.
"Now , Carriston , " I said as firmly as
I could , "look up and tell me what all
this means. Look up , I say , and speak
to me. "
He raised his eyes to mine and kept
them there , whilst a ghastly smile
a phantom of humor flickered across
his white face. No doubt his native
quickness told him what I suspected ,
so he looked me steadily in the face.
"No , " he said , "not as you think.
But let there be no mistake. Question
me. Talk to me. Put me to any test.
Satisfy yoursel * once for all , that I 3m
as sane as you are. "
He spoke sp rationally , his eyes met
mine so unflinchingly , that I was re
joiced to knt > w that my fears were as
yet ungrounded. There was grief , px-
citementwant of rest in his appear
ance , but his general manner told me
will find her , or I will kill the black
hearted villain who has done this. "
He rose and paced the room. His
face was distorted with rage. He
clinched and unclinched his long slen
der hands. 4 rA
"My dear fellow , " I said , "you are
talking riddles. Sit down and tell me
calmly what has happened. But , first
of all , as you look utterly worn out ,
I will ring for my man to get you some
food. "
"No , " he said , "I want nothing.
Weary I am , for I have been to Scot
land and back as fast as man can
travel. I reached London a short time
ago , and after seeing one man have
come straight to you , my only friend ,
for help it may be for protection. But
I have eaten and I have drunk , know
ing I must keep my health and
strength. "
However , I insisted upon some wine
bejngr brought. He drank a gTass , and
then with a strange enforced calm , told
me what had taken place. His tale was
this :
After we had parted company on cur
return from Scotland , Carriston went
down to the family seat in Oxfordshire ,
and iaformed his uncle of the impend
ing change in his life. The baronet ,
an extremely old man , infirm and all
but childish , troubled little about the
matter. Every acre of his large prop
erty was strictly entailed , so his pleas
ure or displeasure could make but little
alteration in his nephew's prospects.
Still he was the head-of the family ,
and Carriston was in duty bound to
make the important news known to
j him. The young man made no secret
J of his approaching marriage , so in a
very short time every member of the
family was aware that the heir and
future head was about to ally himself
to a nobody. Knowing nothing of
Madeline Rowan's rare beauty and
: i sweet nature , Carriston's kinsmen and
, kinswomen were sparing with their
congratulations. Indeed , Mr. Ralph
Carriston , the cousin whose name was
coupled with the such absurd suspi
cions , went so far as to write a bitter ,
sarcastic letter , full of ironical felicita
tions. This , and Charles Carriston's
haughty reply , did not make the affec
tion between the cousins any stronger.
Moreover , shortly afterward the young
er man heard that inquiries were being
made in the neighborhood of Made
line's home , as to her position and par
entage. Feeling sure that only his
: cousin Ralph could have had the curi
osity to institute such inquiries , he
wrote and thanked him for the keen in
terest he was manifesting in his fut re
welfare , but begged that hereafter Mr.
Carriston would apply to him direct
for any information he wanted. The
two men were now no longer on speak
ing terms.
Charles Carriston , in his present
frame of mind , cared little whether his
relatives wished to bless or forbid zhc
banns. He was passionately in love ,
and at once set about making arrange
ments for a speedy marriage. Althoi sh
Madeline was still ignorant , of the ex
alted position held by her lover al
though she came to him absolutely pen
niless he was resolved in the matter
of money to treat her as generously
as he would have treated the most
eligible damsel in the country. Tl.ere
were several legal questions to be set
at rest concerning certain property he
wished to settle upon her. These of
course caused delay. As soon as they
were adjusted to his own , or , rather to
his lawyer's satisfaction , he purposed
going to Scotland and carrying away
his beautiful bride. In the meantime
he cast about for a residence.
Somewhat Bohemian in his nature
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Carriston-had no intention of settling
down just yet to live the life of an
ordinary moneyed Englishman. His
intention was to lake Madeline abroad
for some months. He had fixed upon
Cannes as a desirable place at which to
winter , but having grown somewhat
tired of hotel lifo wished to rent a
furnished house. He had received from
an agent to whom he had been ad
vised to apply the refusal of a house
which , from the glowing description
given , seemed the one above all others
he wanted. As an early decision was
insisted upon , my impulsive young
friend thought nothing of crossing the
Channel and running down to the south
of France to see , with his own eyes ,
that the much-lauded place was worthy
of the fair being who was to be its
temporary mistress.
He wrote to Madeline , and told her
he was going from homo for a few
days. He said he should be traveling
the greater part of the time , so it
would be no use for her writing to him
until his return. He did not reveal the
object of his journey. Were Madeline
to know it was to choose a winter resi
dence at Cannes , she would be filled
with amazement , and the innocent de
ception he was still keeping up would
not be carried through to the romantic
end which he pictured to himself.
VII.
gHE DAY before he
. I started for France
I Madeline wrote
J that her. aunt was
6 < Zy J very unwell , but
/v ' ! r.t = = L a said nothing as to
her malady causing
any alarm. Per
haps Carriston
thought less about
the old Scotch wid
ow than her rela
tionship and kindness to Miss Rowan
merited. He started on his travels
without any forebodings of evil.
His journey to Cannes and back was
hurried he wasted no time on the road ,
but was delayed for two days at the
place itself before he could make final
arrangements with the owner and the
present occupier of the house. Think
ing he was going to start every moment
he did not write to Madeline at the
rate at which he meant to return a
letter posted in England would reach
her almost as quickly as if posted at
Cannes.
± ie reached his home , which for the
last few weeks had been Oxford , and
found two letters waiting for him. The
first , dated on the day he left F.ngland ,
was from Madeline. It toid him that
her aunty's illness had suddenly taken
a fatal turn that she had died that
day , almost without warning. The second
end letter was anonymous.
It was written apparently by a wom
an , and advised Mr. Carr to look sharp
ly after his lady-love or he would find
himself left in the lurch. Tke writer
would not be surprised to hear some
fine day that she had eloped with a cer
tain gentleman who should by name
less. This precious epistle , probably
an emanation of feminine spite , Car
riston treated as it deserved he tore
it up and threw the pieces to the wind.
But the thought of Madeline being
alone at that lonely house troubled him
greatly. The dead woman had no sensor
or daughters all the anxiety and re
sponsibility connected with her affairs
would fall on the poor girl. The next
day he threw himself into the Scotch
Express , and started for her far-away
home.
On arriving there he found it occu
pied only by the rough farm servants.
They seemed in a state of wonderment ,
and volubly questioned Carriston as to
the whereabouts of Madeline. The
question sent a chill of fear to his
heart. He answered their questions
by others , and soon learnt all they had
to communicate.
Little enough it was. On the morn
ing after the old woman's funeral Mad
eline had gone to Callendar , to ask the
advice of an old friend of her aunt's ,
-as to what steps should now be taken.
She had neither been to his friend ,
nor had she returned home. She had ,
however , sent a message that she musi
go to London at once , and would write
from there. That was the last heard
of her ? J1 that was known about her.
Upon hearing this news Carriston be
came a prey to the acutest terror an
emotion which was quite inexplicable
to the honest peopl ? , his informants.
The girl had gone , but she had pant
word whither she had gone. True ,
they , did not know the reason for her
departure , so sudden and without lug
gage of any description true , she had
net written as promised , but no doubt
they would hear from her tomorrow.
Carriston knew better. Without re
vealing the extent of his fears , he flew
back to Callendar. Inquiries at the
railway station informed him that she
had gone , or had purposed going , to
London , but whthe. . * che ever reached
it , or whether any trace of her couIQ
be found there , was , at least , a matter
of doubt. No good could be gained by
remaining in Scotland , so he traeled
back at once to town , half distracted ,
sleepless , and racking his brains to
know where to look for her.
"She has been decoyed away , " Be
said in conclusion. "She is hidden , im
prisoned somewhere. And I know , as
well as if he told me , who has done this
thing. I can trace Ralph Carriston's
cursed hand through it all. "
I glanced at him askance. This mor
bid suspicioa of his cousin , amounted
almost to monomania. He had told
the tale of Madeline's disappearance
clearly and tersely ; but when he began
to account for it his theory was a wild
and untenable one. However much he
suspected Ralph Carriston of longing
to stand in his shoes , I could see no
object for the crime of "which he ac
cused Hum , that of decoying away Mad
eline Rowan.
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FALMAGE'S SEBJffOM.
"HARBOR OF HOME , " LAST
SUNDAY'S SUBJECT.
SToxt : "Go Home to Thy Frlcnda , and
Tell Them llovr Great Thing * the Lord
Hath Done for Thee" From Uoolr ot
Mark , Chapter 5 , Verso 10.
are a great ;
many people long
ing for some grand ;
sphere in which
to serve God. They
fHERE Luther at
the Diet of Worms ,
and only wish that
they had some such
great opportunity
in which to display
their Christian
prowess. They admire Paul making Fe
lix tremble and they only wish that
they had some such grand occasion in
which to preach righteousness , temper
ance , and judgment to come. All they
want is an opportunity to exhibit their
Christian heroiEm. Now the apostle
: omes to us and he practically says : "I
will show you a place where you can
exhibit all that is grand and beautiful
and glorious in Christian character ,
and that is the domestic circle. "
If one is not faithful in an insignifi
cant sphere he will not be faithful in a
resounding sphere. If Peter will not
'lelp the cripple at the gate of the Tem
ple , he will never be able to preach
three thousand souls into the kingdom
at the Pentecost. If Paul will not take
pains to instruct in the way of salva
tion the sheriff of the Philippian dun
geon , he will never make Felix trem
ble. He who is not faithful in a skir
mish would not be faithful in an Ar
mageddon. The fact is , we are all
ilaced in just the position in which we
? an most grandly serve God , and we
ought not to be chiefly thoughtful
tbout some sphere of usefulness which
we may after awhile gain , but the all-
absorbing question with ycu and with
me ought to be : "Lord , what wilt thou
lave me ( now and here ) to do ? "
There is one word in my text
iround which the most of our thoughts
will to-day revolve. The word is
HOME. Ask ten different men the
meaning of that word and they will
jive you ten different definitions. To
one it means love at the hearth , it
aieans plenty at the table , industry at
the workstand , intelligence at the
books , devotion at the altar. To him
it means a greeting at the door and a
smile at the chair. Peace hovering like
wings. Joy clapinng its hands with
laughter. Life a tranquil lake. Pil
lowed on the ripples sleep the shadows.
Ask another man That home is , and
he will tell you it is want , looking out
of a cheerless fire-grate and kneading
hunger in an enrpty bread-tray. The
damp air shivering with curses. No
Bible on the shelf. Children , robbers
and murderers in embryo. Vile songs
their lullaby. Every face a picture of
ruin. Want in the background and sin
staring from the front. No Sabbath
wave rolling over that doorsill. Vesti
bule of the pit. Shadow of infernal
walls. Furnace for forging everlasting
chains. Faggots for an unending fun
eral pile. Awful word ! It is spelled
with curses , it weeps with ruin , it
chokes with woe , it sweats with the
death-agony of despair.
The word "Home" in the one case
means everything bright. The word
"Home" m the other case means every
thing terrific.
I shall speak to you of home as a
test of character , home as a refuge ,
home as a political safeguard , home
as a school , and home as a type of
heaven.
And in the first place I remark that
home is a powerful test of character
rp-e disposition in public may be in
fty costume , while in private it is in
rishabille. As play-actors may appear
rm one way on the stage and may ap
pear in another way behind the scenes ,
so private character may be very dif
ferent from public character. Private
character is often public character
turned wrong side out A man may
receive you into his parlor as though
he were a distillation of smiles , and
yet his heart may be a swamp of net
tles. There are business men who all
dajr long are mild and courteous and
genial and good-natured in commer
cial life , keeping back their irritability
and their petulance and their discon
tent ; but at nightfall the dam breaks ,
and scolding pours forth in floods and
freshets.
Reputation is only the shadow of
character , and a very small house
sometimes will cast a very long shad
ow. The lips may seem to drop myrrh
and cassia , and the disposition to be as
bright and warm as a sheaf cf sun
beams , and yet they may only
be a magnificent show window
to a wretched stock of goods.
There is many a man who is
affable in public life and amid commer
cial spheres , who , in a cowardly way ,
.akes his anger and his petulance home
r-nd drops them in the domestic circle.
The reason men do not display their
bad temper in public is because they
do not want to be knocked down. There
are men who hide their petulance and
their irritability just for the same rea
son that they do not let their notes go
to protest ; it does not pay. Or for the
same reason that they do not want a
man in their stock company to sell his
stock at less than the right price , lest it
depreciate the value. As at sunset the
wind rises , so after a sunshiny day
there may be a tempestuous night.
There are people who in public act the
philanthropist , who at home act the
Nero , with respect to their slippers and
their gown ,
j Audubon , the great ornithologist ,
, with gun and pencil , went through the
1 forests of America to bring down and
, . . .
fU HIU n l | ! ' ILW ! HI fill V nig.- ' - - - - -
- Miifcniiw , . .A fci'im ' * lIpwMM
to sketch the be ' autlful birds , and after ,
years of toil and exposura coraplntod
his manuscript and put It in a trunk
in Philadelphia for a few days of recre
ation and rest , and came back and
found that the rats had utterly dc-
stroj'ed the manusoript ; but without
any discomposure and without any fret
or bad temper , ho again picked up his
gun and pencil and visited again all
the great forests of America and repro-i
duced his immortal work. And yet
there are people with the ten-thous
andth part of that loss who are utterly. -
Irreconcilable , who , at the loss of a pen
cil or an article of raiment , will blow
as long and sharp as a northeast
storm.
Now , that man who Is affable in pub
lic and who is Irritable in private is
making a fraudulent overissue of stock ,
and he is as bad as a bank that might
have four or five hundred thousand
dollars of * billB in circulation with no
specie in the vault. Let us learn "to
show piety at home. " If we have it
not there we have it not anywhere. If
we have not genuine grace in the fam
ily circle , all our outward and public
plausibility merely springs from a fear
of the world or from the slimy , putrid
pool of our own selfishness. I tell you
the home is a mighty test of character.
What you are at home you are every
where , whether you demonstrate it or
not.
Again , I remark that home is a ref
uge. Life is the United States army
on the national road to Mexico , a long
march with ever and anon a skirmish
and a battle. At eventide we pitch our
tent and stack our arms ; we hang up
the war cap and lay our head on the
knapsack ; we sleep until the morning
bugle calls us to marching and action.
How pleasant it is to rehearse the vic
tories and the surprises and the at
tacks of the day , seated by the still
camp-fire of the home circle !
There is the place where we may
talk of what we have done without be
ing charged with self-adulation. There
is the place where we may lounge with
out being thought ungraceful. There
is the place where we may express af
fection without being thought silly.
There is the place where we may for
get our annoyances and exasperations
and troubles. Forlorn earth-pilgrim !
no home ? Then die. That is better.
The grave is brighter and grander and
more glorious than this world with no
tent from marchings , with no
harbor from the storm , with no place
to rest from this scene of greed and
gouge and loss and gain. God pity the
man or woman who has no home !
Get you no hint of cheerfulness from
grasshopper's leap and lamb's frisk ,
and quail's whistle , and garrulous
streamlet , which , from the rock at the
mountain-top clear down to the mead
ow ferns under the shadow of the
steep , ccaies looking for the steepest
place to leap off at , and talking just
to hear itself talk ? If all the skies
hurtled with tempest , and everlasting
storm wandered over the sea , and every
mountain stream went raving mad ,
frothing at the mouth with mad foam ,
and there were nothing but simoons
blowing among the hills , and there
wera neither lark's carol nor humming
bird's trill , nor waterfall's dash ; only
bear's bark , and panther's scream , and
wolf's howl , then you might well gath
er into your homes only the shadows.
But when God has strewn the earth
and the heavens with beauty and with
[ gladness , let us take unto our home
Jcircles ail innocent hilarity , all bright
ness , and all good cheer. A dark home
( makes bad boys and bad girls , in prep
aration for bad men and bad women.
Above all , my friends , take into
your homes Christian principle. Can
Jit be that in any of the comfortable
homes of my congregation the voice of
prayer is never lifted ? What ! No sup
plication at night for protection ?
What ! No thanksgiving in the morning
for care ? How , my brother , my sister ,
will ycu answer God in the day cf judg
ment with reference to your children ?
It is a plain question , and therefore I
ask it In the tenth chapter of Jeremiah
God says he will pour out his fury upon
the families that call not upon His
name. 0 , parents , when you are dead
and gone , and the moss is covering the
inscription of the tombstone , will your
children look back and think of father
and mother at family prayer ? Will
they take the old family Bible and open
it and see the mark of tears of contri
tion and tears of consoling promise ,
wept by eyes long before gone out into
darkness ? Oh , if you do not inculcate
Christian principles in the hearts of
your children , and do not warn them
against evil , and do not invite them to
holiness and to God , and they wander
off into dissipation and into infidelity ,
and at last make shipwreck of their im
mortal souls , on their deathbed and in
the day cf judgment they will curse
you ! Seated oy the register or the j
stove , what if on the wall should come ; ,
out the history of your children ? What j j
a history the mortal and the immor
tal life of your loved ones ! Every | j ;
parent is writing the history of his •
child. He is writing it. composing it j :
into a song or tuning it into a groan , j j
j
Aga- , i remari : that home is a type | i
of heaven. To bring us to that home
Christ left his home. Far up and far
back in the history of heaven there
came a period when its most illustrious
citizen was about to absent himself.
He was not going to sail from beach to
beach ; we have often done that He
was not going to put out from one
hemisphere to Another hemisphere ;
many of us have done that. But he
was to sail from world to world , the
spaces unexplored and immensities un-
traveled. No world had ever hailed
heaven , and heaven had never hailed
any other world. I think that the windows
dews and the balconies are thronged ,
and that the pearly beach was crowded
with those who had come to see him
sail out of the harbor of light into the
oceans beyond. Out and out and outjand
' " " " ' "
- " - '
It
"it" ' " * * - * I * I , , . .ti. I. . " " ' BBB B
* * . * * * WiM . , , . .
* V Hon
y i t ii 11 iir nu n it ii ii m t i. m. \ fc *
on and on and on , and down and com * f ( Hf M
and down he sped , until one night , ' i. ' [ m
with only ono to greet him , he nrflvod. , | : WM
His disembarkation so unpretending. 'IB
eo quiet that It wo3 not known on : | -IB
earth until the excitement in the cloud j § IB
gave Intimation that something grand ! f WM
aud glorious had happened. Who cornea | jffl
there ? From what port did Ha sail ? ' IB
Why was this the place of lib dcstlna- 1 | fl
tion ? I question the shepherds. I | B
question the camel drivers , I question SB
the angels. I have found out. Ho waa { | H
an exile : . But the world has had plenty , 9B
of exiles. Abraham , an exile from Ur | > H
of the Chaldees ; John , an exile from ' H
Ephesus ; Kosciusko , an exile from H
Poland ; Mazzlni , an exile from Rome ; M
Emmet , an exile from Ireland ; Victor M
Hugo , an exile from France ; Kossuth ,
an exile from Hungary. But this ono B
of whom I speak today had such resounding - B
sounding farewell and came Into such B
chilling reception for not even an B
hostler went out with his lantern to B
help him in that He is more to be celebrated - B
brated than any other expatriated ono B
of earth or heaven. B
One night , lying on my lounge , when B
very tired , my children all around ( B
about me In full romp and hilarity and B
laughter on the lounge , half awake H
and half asleep , I dreamed this dream : H
I was in a far country. It was not H
Persia , although moro than Oriental H
luxuriance crowned the cities. It was M
not the tropics , although moro than H
tropical fruitfulness filled the gardens. H
It was not Italy , although more than . . H
Italian softness filled the air. And- * | H
wandered around looking for thorns B
and nettles , but 1 found that none ( of fl
them grew there , and I saw the sun B
rise , and I watched to sec it set. B
but it sank not And I saw the B
people in holiday attire , and I saidr B
"When will they put off this and put B
on workmen's garb and again delve In > H
the mine or swelter at the forge ? " But B
they never put off their holiday attire. B
And I wandered in the suburbs of th& H
city to find the place where the dead H
sleep , and I looked all along the line H
of the beautiful hills , the place whero. H
the dead might most blissfully sleep. H
and I saw towers and castles , but not B
a maur.oleum or a monument or a whlta , B
slab could I see. And I went into the < H
chapel of the great town and I said : : ' . H
"Where do the poor worship and where B
are the hard benches on which they fl
sit ? " And the answer was made mer < B
"We have no poor in this country. " B
And then I wandered out to find the B
-hovels of the destitute , and I found B
mansions of amber and ivory and gold , B
but not a tear could I see , not a sigh j B
could , I hear , and I was bewildered and ' H
I sat down under the branches of a H
great tree and I said : "Where am 12 H
And whence comes all this scene ? " r ; B
And then out from among the leaves , ' B
and up the flowery paths , and across if H
the bright streams there came a beautiful - | B
tiful group , thronging all about me , f l
and as I saw them come I thought 1 | ! |
knew their step , and as they shouted 'I ' l
I thought I knew their voices ; but then i B
they were so gloriously arrayed in apparel - ' B
parel , such as I had never before wit- B
ncssed , that I bowed as stranger to V' ' l
stranger. But when they agajn |
clapped their hands and shouted , "Wei- B
come , welcome' " the mystery all vanished - - B
ished , and I found that time had gene ' B
and eternity had come , and we were all B
together again in our new home in H
heaven. And I looked around and I H
said : "Are we all here ? " and the voices B
of many generations responded , "All |
here ! " And while tears of gladness B
were raining down our cheeks , and the B
branches of the Lebanon cedars were j g
cianning their hands , and the towers fl
of the great city were chiming their H
welcome , we all together began to leap H
and shout and sing : "Heme , home , H
heme ! " H
BROKE HIS HEART. H
The Mule Couldn't licny Asui : tht H
HoatN Wliisiir. |
"No , " said the man with a straw in |
his whiskers , "no. you don't catch mc B
shippin' no more stock on your steam- B
"Aud why not ? ' ' asked the freight J
"I done it once , " vras the reply ; fl
"had a fine mule ; worth 3200 ; wanted B
to send him from Cincinnati to Louisville - B
ville ; put him on a steamboat that had B
one of theia forty hess power basa j fl
fiddle whistles on to it , with a snort | fl
and a screech at the end ; mule went B B B
on the boat all right , but he was lonefl B
some ; got to bray in' ; had a bray on to B
him that he was proud of ; brayed BB I
until tht : pasben ers organize ! a committee - B
mittee to wait on the captain ; |
captain couldn't do a durncl B
thing ; had contract to B
deliver the male at Louisville unless fl BB
the boat bi ; H2d a biler : the bilcr M
wouldn 't bust and the mule kept on M
brayin * ! About midnight the bjat was B B
goin' to make a landin " ; pilot pulled fl BI
the string and the whistle began to B
blow ; mule stoppsd brayin' soon's the B B
whistle starlt. . ! and cocked up his ear B
to listen : lsU > neJ a minute , tried to H
bray ; didn 't lea whether he wa > B
brayin' or not , for that durn whistle ; j B
tried again ; whUtlc kept on , then it H
gave a snort and a screech , and bust fl
my buttons if that mule didn't give Hfl
one look of disappointment and grief H
and drop dead right on the deck. Xo. |
siree. no more steamboats far mo B
shippin * stock on , " and he went out to B
find a railroad freight a ent. 1
; . - B l
Visitor ( in Ruraiville ) "This in a B
very pleasant and homelike place and B
I cannot understand why so many fam- j B
ilies should have moved av.ay from it H
during the last few months , as you H |
say. " Native "You haven't heard cur I B B
* * " > > - - - „ _ • • fl B
young ladie = f s- ju se ,
The Lancashire county asylum at |
Prestwich , with 2.30J patients , and B
Colney Hatch , in Middlesex , six miles B
north from London , with accommodo- j H
tion for 2.250 patients , are the largest , B
lunatic asylums in England j H
i B