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CHAPTER IV.—[CoNTixuiuvj
"It Is time. Go up and call Miss
Trenholme. ;where Is Imogene?”
Even as she spoke Imogene Ircton
stole amon&’them, her eyes flashing,
tier cheekg>scarlet with some unwonted
' excitement; yet Mrs. Trenholme noticed
that when she touched her hand It was
cold as \1¥.
"My tear Imogene, you must go up
\ and summon Marina.”
Imogen^Jput her hand to her fore
head In a half-dazed way, then, ln
, atantly recovering, bowed slightly and
passed upf the stairs, followed by the
r thrfco other bridesmaids, of whom
Agnes was one.
f They stSiiped before the door of
Marina's »bh£raber. Agnes knocked.
There was no reply. She repeated the
summoqsvagaln and again, with a like
result. -Then she turned the knob, and
the,;6oor’-‘swung open partially. NSome
/ thing lay bebhtd It. Agnes stooped
dotwt to remove It, and started back
pal? as death, her hand dripping with
■ blood For the obstacle was the bleed
? ing body oMlulto, the.great black dog
> that for years had been Marina’s faith
ful guardian In all her walks.
The four glide stepped into the room,
and It was no wonder that they were
pallid as ashes, no wonder their Umbs
shook under them, and their frantlo
shrieks rpttt the air.
There, In her arm-chair, midway In
if, the npaaijpMt, clad In her bridal
’ robes, sat{ Marina, the white, glisten
tag silk spotted with crimson, the long,
sweeping ,»?ll stained blood-red, and
over and abjMM dll, the sweet fragrance
of orange dtfrfeM. Marina's head was
a little dcoqywv the blue eyes closed,
the faoel whltras marble, the hands
lightly claimed, above her heart, from
' which the bibod still came slowly. She
| was dead! Foully murdered!
; V me cries oi me onuoamanm orcugiu
every guest to the fatal chamber—
| Ralph first of all. He gave one look,
then flew, to the side of the dead bride,
i lifted her In his arms, pressed his Ups
• to hers, and called on her wildly to
y'\' awake add speak to him once more.
? But in vain. No human voice could
■ aver reach her more.
■ He laid her down on the couch at
f last, and raised her face slowly toward
| the awe-stricken spectators. Then,
lifting up his right hand to heaven, he
aaid solemnly:
"Hear me swear it, here before God,
> and in the presence of my murdered
hride, that 1 will spare no pains to bring
;■ the guilty to account, and once dls
: covered, I vnU hunt him to the death!
Though thg'ljdw may make him free, 1
■ever will; but to the latest hour of his
r anstence he shall feel the weight of my
&'■' vengeance!'*
Investigations were at once com*
sconced. ,A strict guard was placed over
the premises, and none of the guests
wore permitted to leave the house. A
' shrewd detective was brought up from
% the city, and the case left in his hands.
And in the five hours he had satisfied
<: himself with the fsete he had dls
' covered. - \ - - •
I:
There waa the mark of two bloody
Angora upon the window oil!—two very
alonder Angara, and luat beneath the
window on the carpet were aeveral lit
tle globulea of blood. A grapevine
climbed nearly to the window on a
strong trelllsouUlde, and the bark
waa stripped this vine In several
places, Inciting that the assassin had
escaped bjl that means. In the soft
earth, lust nnder the trellis, were the
£■> marks of s%an—very small tracks In
fif:
deed for those of a man, yet such they
evidently mare. And still further,
(among thsjfcaves of the vine, was
found a fljk-stalned kid glove, and
da the luMe of the wrist was written
the name of Lynde Graham!
Mr. Strickland, the detective, an
nounced his discovery quietly in th<
library, in the presence of the whole
wedding party.
Lynde Graham felt the charge—h<
knew then that he should be accused ol
the crime -ef murder. * For a moment
ike scarlet $psh of wounded pride dyet
Ana fade, and then he was hlmsel
Auahcd chepjp to the report of the d»
hen it was given ah<
■. again, calm and erect as usual.
?V Imogens Ireton had bent forward
i - and liateaed with quick breath ant
•dgp i
teetlvo, And**:
drew bfMirkad the color faded out o
Aker (ua MSIsf it like wax.
; Furihdgifhcta were developed befor<
:m)duifK'• j’he boots of Lynde Grahan
Atted exacd*- the tracks ta - the garden
gad JusbrnAthout the garden gate was
found a fhrgeon’s
knife blood-stalne<
■fgnd bearing on the handle the lnitia.li
-*9L O." BtfAent
>SL, G.” evidently the murderer ha<
' atood bqgtgd the girl add stabbed hei
a,M she pat lp her chair, and then belnj
Attacked by the dog had plunged thi
0atita mu. hto. >
4» / Perhaps thsferute might be able ti
Jda something toward bringing the gull
\ JjQT ta Justice. Hewas not dead, thougl
severely hurt, anaevery care was take)
licsavo Ms fife. Ho was an animal o
''* " .-A. -: A. •? /'A-J .-.
wonderful sagacity, and Ralph felt cer
tain that if he could be brought back
to health he could make him Instru
mental in discovering the real mur
derer.
The chain of circumstances was so
strong that it fully warranted Mr.
Strickland In arresting Dr. Graham
upon the charge of the assassination ot
Marina Trenholme. At his examina
tion before a Justice. Graham refused
to offer any plea whatever; he simply
said he was innocent of the crime,
Two of the old servants testified to hav
i ing met the prisoner about half-past 9
| oh the morning of the murder in thogar
dcn, on the eastern side of the house.
He was pale and singularly agitated,
and when one of them asked him if
anything had gone wrong, he had
pushed by him and hurried on.
Graham was committed to the county
Jail to await the convening of the As
sizes on the first of November, when
his final trial would take plape.
Marina was laid in the shady grave
yard where the Trenhoimes had for
generations been buried, and after the
funeral was over, tho guests 'departed
and left Ralph and Agnes and their
mother alone at the Rock.
His poor old father and mother were
nearly frantic with the dreadful turn
affairs lind taken, and before her boy
had lain a week in prison, the feeble
mother was dressed for the griive. His
father, the honest old fisherman, went
about slowly, his tall form bowed, hl3
eyes vacant, his voice broken, and his
intellect verging fast upon imbecility.
A large part of Ralph's time was
spent away, collecting any evidence
which might tell at the approaching
trial—indeed his every energy seemed
to be devoted to tho work of bringing
condemnation on Lynde Graham, the
man he had once loved as a brother. He
believed him guilty, and, believing this,
he said, sternly, to himself, he would
not hesitate to bring his own father
to the gallows! No, when he thought
of Marina, so beautiful, so foully mur
dered, he forgot there was such a word
as mercy—he only remembered ven
geance
Trenholme had not been herself. She
was restless, nervous—given to long
fits of passionate weeping, at which
times nothing could comfort her. Mrs.
Trenholme attributed it to grief for
the fearful death of her adopted sister,
and though she herself mourned the
gentle girl, and was horrified beyond
measure at her tragic death, yet as the'
time passed, and Agnes only grew
more and more depressed, she could
not resist a little feeling of Impatience
at her conduct. A few days before the
first of November, on which day Lynde
Graham would be brought to trial,
Agnes sought Ralph in the library.
He started at the sight of Agnes In
her white robes, and her face as white
as her dress, with the dark circles
around the great dilated, gray eyes. He
had never noticed before how terribly
she had changed.
"My dear Agneo, tell me what
troubles you.”
She came slowly forward, and sink
ing at his feet; burled her face In his
bosom and burst Into sob3.
He lifted up her face and looked Into
her troubled eyes.
“My dear sister, tell me what it
means! I do not understand you. I
did not know your love for—tor her
was so Intense.”
VO, yes; I loved Marina. I did love
her! Ralph, Ood knows she was dear
to me as an own sister could have been.
But it is not her death that is wearing
me to the grave. No, no—not that!”
"Not that? Then tell me, and let me
comfort von."
“I must tell some one! I shall go
mad it I do not! Some women would
suffer it In Bilence—would die betoro
they would breathe the secret. But I
am made ot weaker stuff. I cannot
boar It alone. I must have help!”
“And I will give It to you, it u lies
in my power, my poor Agnqs,” he Bald,
stroking her hair.
"Oh, thank you! bless you! if you
only mean it. Will you promise to help
me in my own way”
"Tell me the circumstances. It would
be wrong to promise without knowing
to what I pledged myself.”
“I want you to promise to spare th<
life of I.ynde Graham!”
His face grew black, he opened hit
mouth to spekk, but she covered It witt
her two hands.
“Only her me out, Ralph. You shai
not deny me yet. I will hope a littl<
longer. It is shame for me to confesi
it, but his death upon the gallows wll
kill me! I could not live and knov
, that while I breathed he was yleidlm
' up his precious life at the end of thi
terrible rope! the spectacle of a jeer
i Ing crowd. He, the noblest, the purest
I the best man that ever lived! You cat
, save him! You can refuse to appea
i against him—I know there are way
1 by which men prevent the convictloi
i of even the basest criminals! And h
I is not guilty! He never had such ;
' thought. He is innocent as the angels
; Ralph, promise me that you will sav
, him!"
He rose to his feet, lifting her u;
i also, and looking down into her fac
■ coldly and sternly,
i "Agnes, what possible Interest ca:
t you take in that damnable murderer?
t “My brother! O Ralph! do \bc
", 1 / 4.' .
• K “ ' / . . , ..
_\'v v . ■. i • * ‘ . * •
despise me utterly! I love him!” she
moaned, sinking to the floor and clasp*
Ing his knees.
‘‘Love him!” he exclaimed, hoarsely;
"you love a murderer! a cowardly as
sassin! Agnes Trenholme, why did not
God let you die before you sank so low?
The son of a common fisherman —
and—”
“Hush!” she said, sternly. "Do not,
speak of rank! You dared to love a
woman without a name, and 1 honored
you for ignoring birth and position.
I love Lynde Graham because he is
worthier of a woman’s love than any
man I ever saw! I have loved him for
years, I cannot remember when every
sweet thought of my heart was not in
terwoven with him. Love is not the
child of wealth alone. It goes whither
it is sent. And to me Lynde Graham
is as royal as a prince of the realm!”
“And did he dare?—has he dared to
ask your love?”
Her face grew scarlet, but she held
up her head proudly.
"He has dared nothing. He is blame
less. He does not love me—does not
even dream I care for him. He never
| even touched my hand unless his duty
called him to render me assistance. I
think'his'■heart is Imogene Ireton’s.
But I have lived only in his presence
—I only 'asked to be allowed to wor- '
ship him afar off. O Ralph, save him!
and in saving him, give peace to your
wretched sister!”
“Agnes,” he said, slowly and sternly,
“by the side of the dead body of my
murdered Marina I swore vengeance!
That will I have! Neither men nor
devils shall prevent me! I believe
Lynde Graham is guilty. And he shall
be proved so, and at the last shall
swing higher than rtaman! There—
leave me!”
He put her forcibly into the corridor
and bolted the door upon her.
CHAPTER V. |
YNDE GRAHAM
was brought be
fore a .jury of his j
countrymen to be j
tried for his life.
The great court
room was crowded.
People had come
from near and far
to look upon the
countenance of the j
man who had dared
offend the majesty of the law by tak
ing the life of a fellow creature.
The details of the tria\ we do not
propose to enter upon; they would be
too tedious. The counsel on both sides
was the best the state afforded, and
the pleas were able and eloquent. But
the defense amounted to yery little.
The simple plea of a lawyer, be he ever
so eloquent, will not change the minds
of men upon whom such a chain of
startling facts had been impressed. The
evidence was sufficient to commit any
man, and those whom the sight of
Graham's handsome face had preju
diced in Vis favor felt their preposses
sion yielding gradually, and settling
down at last upon the inevitable con-,
elusion that he was guilty. The only
defense his counsel urged wa3 the un
blemished character of the prisoner
and the lack of a motive to the crime.
He had nothing to gain by the death
of Marina Trenholme. He was not the
lady’s lover that he should seek re
venge, and he could have no personally
private animosity to indulge, for the
two families had always been the best
of friends. Where, then, was the mo
tive?
The trial was virtually closed and tho
jury went out to agree upon a ver
dict. One could see by their hard-set
faces that they were agreed already,
but they felt some form necessary.
They were absent only a few moments,
and when the usual question was put,
“Mr. Foreman of the jury, do you find
the prisoner at the bar guilty or not
guilty?” there was not a moment's
hesitation. The man announced in
stantly, "Guilty!” .
■ TO UiS C’ONTiNUttU. #
LIFE IN LONDON.
An Obimlni American Paints a Pen
Picture of a Great City.
A New York busineso man. who 1b la
England, has written a letter from Lon
don to ono of his friends, which is
quoted by the Philadelphia Record.
“I was In parliament when the lib
eral ministers threw up the sponge.
There are many curious-looking En
glishmen In the house of commons, and
I never saw a more motley crowd. There
were solemn-looking personages, wear
ing wigs; there were strange beings
with bald heads and whiskers; there
were red-haired and yellow-haired
men; there were 100 faces which Slg.
Lombroso ought to put in a book.
Three-fourths of the members wore
their hats In the house, mostly stove
pipes and derbies. Nearly all of them
were clumsily clad. Some wore-ill-flt
ting dress suits, others cutaways; many
had sack coats of all colors, and but
few had stylish clothes. Lots of them
: had trousers that were too short or
i were too long or very slouchy, while
1 some wore clothes that looked so gro*
■ tesque as to suggest Baxter street in
; New York or Petticoat lane In London.
> So much for my first Impression of the
■ first assembly of gentlemen in the
, world. 1 used to think that the house
t of representatives at Washington was
• badly dressed, but I had not seen the
I British House of Commons. As for
i brains of parliament,, it seems to me
■ that every man whom 1 have heard
i speak during my four visits to it had
! a hatful of them, closely packed, wheth
» er he was a tory, a unionist or a Qlad
stonian. The speeches in the House of
I Commons are not in the nature of rant,
s but are rather plain and direct state
meats.”
l
A man never thinks but onco that a
t woman's temper Isn’t loaded.
FARM AND GARDEN.
MATTERS OF INTEREST TO
AGRICULTURISTS.
Aoma Up-to*Data Hints Abont Cultiva
tion of the Boll and Yields Thereof—
Horticulture, Viticulture and Fiorh
cnltnra.
ISCUSSINO recent
ly the relative pro
fit of grain and
grasa in England,
the Live Stock
Journal states as a
fact that the land
in question—a part
of Lord Leicester’s
.estate—is valued at
an annual rental of
“no more than 1
shillings an acre tithe free, at
the present' time.” This would
be only $1.75 an acre, with local
taxes paid by the landlord. If this
is anything near a fair sample of
English rents for averaging farming,
it would seem to leave a fair margin for
the renter. It would be considered a
very low rent for good land in this part
of Ontario; and our best land, well
cultivated, on shares, will pay the own
er several times that much.
One trouble with English farming is
that the methods are antiquated and
th expenses too great. The results
are good, so far as yield is concerned
—much better than the average in On
tario—but the labor bill is propor
tionally higher. While labor is chheap
er there, the labor cost of a bushel of
wheat, or a ton of hay, or a pound
of butter is more In England than in'
this country. We don’t produce’ so
much per acre; but we produce more
—probably two or three times as much
per hand. Hero Is where the English
farmer is handicapped much more
than in the rent he pays. It
is a matter of regret that it is so. Eng
lish farming should be a very at
tractive business, with a reasonable
margin of profit. It gives employment
and support to a much larger popula
tion proportionately than ours; and a
better support to or at least a more
dignified and more leisurely life for
the farmer himself than in any other
country. It will be a matter of pro
found regret if he'Is forced by com
petition to adopt the high pressure
system of work, and the lpw scale of
living which is too common here. But
apparently he must do that or aban
don the business, at the present price
of agricultural produce, to pay the
present labor bill, support the mana
ger, or farmer, in his present style
of living, and leave any thing at all
for rent.—^arm and Home.
* Setting* Appletrees.
(From the Farmers’ Review.)
In reading your issue .of December 11
f struck a very interesting article on
"Planting Orchards” signed "William
Gray.” While his. article contains
many excellent points which I most
freely endorse, it contains one that 1
would most seriously condemn,^yiz.,
"The tree top should incline to the%est
several Inches.” He further states that
the prevailing winds are from the west
and that nearly all the orchard trees
are found leaning east. This may be
the case with him. hut in all this great
northwest the prevailing winds are
from the northwest and our trees lean,
not to the east, but to the northeast. I
have examined thousands of orchards
in Wisconsin,' Minnesota and Iowa and
have almost invariably found the older
trees leaning and growing to the north
east. He says they lean east by west
winds. I claim to have any amount of
evidence in our township that they lean
northeast and not from the force of
wind from the southwest, but from the
direct rays of the sun. This I reported
in our book report of 1878. When every
body claimed this leaning was caused
by the southwest winds I took a bold
stand then and was considered much be
side myself by my best friends, who
tried then to keep me from arguing the
Question there, as it would bo sure to
expose my ignorance. It Is Impossible
witn tne umitea space i am given to
branch off and reason all these points in
one short article, but if objected to by
any I will try to make my position as
clear as sunshine. We have eight or
chards In our grove here on the east
side, open on the east, closely shut in
on the south and west by tall timber.
All these trees lean Beriously to the
northeast except the row that stands
near the grove on the south side of the
field. The trees in the west side row,
too, are found nearly upright, caused
by the shade they receive from the sun
i by the grove. If anyone doubts my po
sition let him go about and examine and
he will be most thoroughly convinced
by his own convictions. I do not say
1 the southwest winds never set the trees
over to the northeast The wind does
' this sometimes, but not any of tener than
: they are set over to the southeast by
! the northwest wind. These are excep
i tlona to the general rule.
| I have found trees leaning in every
i conceivable direction^ But as a rule
! they lean and grow to the northeast.
The time was when this talk was called
Gaylord's theory and weighed little. At
this time (in 1879) I wrote to a noter
professor in Michigan to learn what
caused our trees to lean or grow over to
the northeast. His reply was then it
was caused by the heavy southwest
winds. This was about seventeen years
ago, but I venture tp. say now that not
a professor in the northwest could be
found to utter such a conclusion. It
there are any we hope they will come
to the rescue, as this old-fogy notion
is now most thoroughly exploded.
The best I can do in this short a rticle
is to state a few facts very briefly and
i defer the rest till some future reply. A
! tree standing erect and in the open sun
without anything to prevent the direct
rays from striking its trunk will be in
1 jured and barked at just half past one.
No time-piece could show more truly.
But If a tree leans from the sun, from
any time from sunrise till sunset, the
dead line will appear on top or facing
the sun. There are unnumbered
amounts of evidence, even in our own
township, to prove this beyond all pos
sible doubt. These being facts, then
how shall we set our trees so as to
best make them self-protecting? We
all set our trees here (now) leaning to
the sun at about 1 o’clock—not later.
Up till quite recently we have been set
ting and advising Betting at half-past
1. This Is a little too much, we think,
as we now find here and there trees
that have been set over as far as 2
and 3, and in almost every case trees
thus grown will show injury, even as
far east as sunrise or from 8 in the
morning. There were a few trees in a
small plat I found years ago leaning,
one northwest barked on southeast, one
leaning north barked on south, one
leaning southeast barked on southwest;
one stood close to the north side of the
fence, stood upright and sound. This
gave me evidence in a nutshell; and
since I have examined thousands of
trees -and universally find the same
conditions, producing the same effect.
Set leaning to 1—no later—and don’t
you forget it. Edson Gaylord.
Rennet.
The most important factors in cheese
manufacture are the preparation and
use of rennet; next that rennet be of
the proper sort. Ten or twelve years
ago rennets brought as high as 50
cents apiece. Today the majority of
them sell for only ten cents apiece.
What has caused such a decline in
prices? Because home made rennets,
generally far superior to those of which
I am about to .treat, figuratively speak
ing. are going out of date.
American farmers are acquiring the
habit of using a great many imported
rennets. They are especially used in
large factories. They are generally
marked “Bavarian,” whether they
came from Bavaria or not, for not all
of them came from that country any
more than they do from the requisite
kind of animals. Swine, sheep and
goats furnish not a small number o*
the cheap rennets on the market. These
being often poorly packed and then
neglected so that they become both
wormy and mouldy, cannot help af
fecting the quality of the cheese.
An experienced cheese-maker, of
course, may have bad luck occasion
ally, just the same as the farmer’s
wife with her butter. Pure milk and
good rennet, however, are the princi
pal things to commence with. The
chief difficulty lies in what is termed
alkaline bacteria, which possesses the
power to melt the caseine, and thus
deprives a considerable amount of the
solids from entering into the composi
tion of the cheese.—Albany Journal.
"Small Farmers.”—I find this Is a
phrase which is disliked by many, but
it is better to be a good and successful
email farmer than an unthrifty and un
successful large farmer. We often see
business men begin in a limited way
and do well until they get aspiring.
No sooner have they made a little mon
ey than they spread out, buy a larger
stock of goods, partly or chiefly on
credit, and indulge in “great expecta
tions” which fail of realization. Many
a man can manage a smaller business
who gets out of his depth when he tries
to conduct a larger one. Or, in the
fluctuations of trade, the times are not
so good, he cannot sell the larger stock
he has got together; before times im
proved many articles become unfash
ionable and go down in value, and the
issue is bankruptcy. In like manner,
many farmers who succeed in a small
way, go into this, that, and the other
thing until they get a bigger burden on
their shoulders than they can carry.
A Gas Tree.—A gas tree was discov
ered in the southern part of Washing
ton county, Pa., in a very curious way.
Hunley Gooch and his son were chop^
ping down an old and hollow tree, v^heh
they thought as they struck inlb the
hollow that they smelled the Odor of
gas. The son struck a match and ap
plied it to the hollow, which the ax
had opened. Instantly there was an ex
plosion and the young man had difficul
ty in escaping without serious injury.
The tree continued to burn until its
bark was burned oil. The ax, which
was left in the tree, had its handle
burned. It is likely that digging near
where the tree stood will show a large
and valuable supply of gas. It is likely
that the gas in the tree had been slowly
accumulated through apertures in the
soil not big enough to release a large
quantity at a time.—Ex.
Roots of Clover.—A German author
ity says that the root and stubble of a
good crop of red clover weigh over
three tons per acre when air dry and
contain 180 pounds of nitrogen, 7
pounds of phosphoric acid and 77
pounds of potash, all of which is placed;
when turned under, in the most avail
able form for growing crops. We call
attention particularly to the large de
mand which clover makes on the soil
tor potash and phosphoric acid. If the
resulting crops are removed from the
soil one can easily see how clover can
be used for soil robbing as well as
restoring fertility. It is this fact that
has given rise to the English proverb,
"Clover without manure makes the
father rich and the children poor."
.Forest and Prairie Fires.—A great
menace to farming in the west are the
forest and prairie fires. Farmers have
got to learn that every big fire does
immense damage to their growing
crops; it heats the air, and dries up
the surface so that water will roll oO it
and not be absorbed by it. Burning
the straw and cornstalks on the field
is one of the worst practices that farm
ers can adopt, and they reap the evil
i results of it every time. Vegetable
matter burnt is lost, but when turned
under the soil It is not only saved,
but it makes the soil more porous so
that water can sink down into it. Ex
DAY OF PUBLIC OBJURGATION.
Some Observations Suggested by Thanks
giving Festivals.
From the New York Tribune: Ac
cording to an experienced observer of
life in this and other cities it is high
time that the state and national gov
ernment took up for consideration the
question of appointing an annual day
after the fashion of Thanksgiving, but
devoted to exactly opposite purposes.
He proposes that this day shall be
called the day of public objurgation
and blame.
"I have no objection to Thanksgiv
ing,” remarked this philosopher the
other day. “I appreciate it, and, if I
do say it, I think I observe it proba
bly more nearly in accordance with its
original purpose than most of my fel
low citizens. I have a lot to be thank
ful for, and give thanks for it on
Thanksgiving day. That is perfectly
right and proper. But what I say is
this, that I have also a lot of things to
objurgate and blame, and so, doubt
less, has everybody else. Now, why
not appoint a day upon which the citi
zens shall' suspend their usual voca
tions and all repair to convenient halls
and assembly rooms and there hold
public indignation meetings to de
nounce the most important and cry
ing evils of the year? I have no doubt
that the day could be developed into ‘
one of great interest, at least, and
probably one of great power for good, .
though I doubt if it would ever at
tain the beauty and loveliness of
Thanksgiving day or gain such a te
nacious hold upon the affections of a
wholo people. At any rate, wouldn’t
it tend to sweeten the general atmos
phere of society by affording a well
recognized vent for the turnings and
frettings, the pent-up wrath of a na
tion. Why, I tell you that it would
relieve the tension so ’ that life would
be lifted to a sensibly higher plane
during the rest of the year. Yes, sir;
I am working as a missionary for the
adoption of the day of public objurga
tion and blame, and shall expect bet
ter times when it comes.”
BEAT THE COMPANY.
Clever Bose of a Philadelphia Woman
to Escape the Payment of Bare.
From the Philadelphia Record: One
of the street car companies in Phila
delphia recently Increased its fares.
The move is anything but popular, and
there are many attempts to heat the
company. A woman with much silver
in her hair and a determined expres
sion of face boarded a Spring Garden
street car at Twentieth street. The
conductor came in and reached out his
hand for her fare. She gave him a
nickel and aBked for a pass up Six
teenth street. The conductor, with a
weary inflection of voice, because he
had to make the demand so often be
fore in the past two days, said, short
ly: “Three cents more if you want a
transfer.”
“Yes, up Sixteenth street,” said the
old lady, nodding her head at him.
“I want 8 cents,” bawled the con
ductor. ..
“Hey?” said the passenger.
“Eight cents!” yelled the poor man at
the top of his voice.
“I can’t understand,” said the old
lady; "I’m very deaf.”
The conductor tried it again until
he was blue in the face, but the old
lady shook her head. Then he handed
her nickel back, and, taking a piece
of paper, wrote on it:
.... “Eight cents for a transfer.” The
old lady took the paper and squinted
at it a moment.
“I can’t read,” she said; “I ain’t got
me glasses with me. Here, - stop the
car. I get off here."
The conductor pulled the bell, and
the old lady, with her nickel in her
hand, stepped off the platform. As
the car started on again she yelled to
the conductor: “1 ain’t deaf, at all.
..Ya-didn’t git me to pay ye 3 cents ex
try, did ye?"
Night Barkeeper* Without Work.
Hundreds of barkeepers who used
to take the night “tricks” in saloons are
now without employment, owing to the
strict enforcement of the excise law.
Before the present regime, when the
police were more lenient, most of the 1
ealoona remained open all night and
did a good side door business* but now
that they are compelled to close
promptly at 1 o'clock in the morning,
the saloonkeepers have dispensed with
their night bartenders, and, conse
quently, hundreds of them are out of
■work.—New York Herald.
THEATRICAL NEWS.
Julia Arthur recently signed for an
other season with Henry Irving.
Ffolliott Paget has joined Robert Hil
liard’s company, replacing Madeline
Bouton.
Rejane is to have a salary of 120,000
for playing In the Varieties of Paris
next year.
Loie Fuller recently began an engage
ment at the Palace Variety theater in
London.
TRUE RELIGION.
God's promises are heaven's bank
notes.
Affectation is trying to make brass
pass for gold.
The devil is not doing all his work
in the slums.
A lie never stops running when truth
is on its track.
It is still as safe to trust in God as it
was in the days of Job.
When we measure others, jird make
ourselves the standard.
When the world can’t understand a
man it calls him a crank,
i Truth often knocks at the door of
him who has ear3 to hear.
! It costs about as much to be stingy as
it does to be extravagant.
Character is something that stays
when everything else is gone