BY M.T.CALDOR. MTCJWMTIONM. MM ASSOCIATMMk ! ' ■■ % • -i \ CHAPTER IX.—(CoimscBD.) ' "tfod bless you, sir. If ever Cbarle OjinlhWood can serve your son, bellev me, It shall be done. Heaven will re |v urArd you." ^iThis was Hr. Vernon’s parting wit! tW admiral. Both were conscious of i m&tle, ‘ mysterious : whisper, telllm thank' it was their last meeting on cart! ■—and so It was. That of falter and Eleanor was stll more brief. The young hero forced bad the wild tumult that clamored eagerl; to ask of her one promise to remaii faithful, and pallid and calm, held ou Ills hand, saying earnestly: "Hay heaven bless you with all thi happiness it has for earth! Good-bye ■Hie.” 8he had come weeping and sobblnt from his father's embrace. The blue •yes had drenched with their briny rain the soft rose of her cheek to a faded *|!te; the sweet lips quivered sadly. Walter’s eye took in all, yet he said only: \ "Good-bye, Ellie!” Eleanor had no voice to reply. Part ing thus from the only friends she had •ver* known, with but a vague, unsatii ! factory hope of some time, somewhere meeting them again, quite prostrated her sensitive temperament. Weeping, fainting, nearly broken-hearted, her vncl^'. carried her In his arms back to the cabin, while Walter, with dry., burn' Ing eyh and rigid lip, descended swiftly to tM^oat that was to take them back to the 'Hornet.' In ftyent grief his father took a place beaidjJhlm. The word was given to cast off, when suddenly the admiral himself appeared above, leaping over the rail ing and calling Walter’s name. He threw down a ring wrapped In a slip of pap?r. Walter grasped It nervously. Full'welt jbo.knew the rlnc;,jpany a time lad Elite brought ttettrtflfcee the sparkles play in the sunshtae that cause flickering through the Hibiscus and palm-trees; but he stopped not to exam ine Wsnew, but spread out the paper ff> fead the brief line written there. Hur tled ,-blottid as they were, no diamond In England or India could be so precious to Walter Vernon, though they wore onlyftjeee: "I shall wait for you, Wal Wniter's face was covered by his handfc but the straight, shapely Angers coultppot hide the tears that at length oameepouring through them • ■% ■ ■ --- ' CHAPTER X. M-* «■ ivm years after the ‘Hornet"* and ‘Col lin Wood’ parted company upon the ocean, was gathered In merrle England, at a famous gallery of paintings in London, a fashion able crowd—the living tide swaying to and fro, yet lin fsruiveier, some cor Ana ow sane, and pojne from obedience to * more ty mnnjMnr mistress—rashlon—st a group of piQfunM which bore the mark of a ■Sw^eulus, whose star had but lately ahohjsp brilliantly on the aky of fame. Vmkh ^-aeat not far from theae pfct nreaVdata gentleman, whose foreign doafcand slouch hat nearly concealed his Me and figure; only the brilliant, >ly black eye roving restlessly drowd, and the glossy black \& shading:* the* scornful lip,1 'were visible. There was a tistlera lan gwr In his attitude that seemed belied by the keen attentiveness of his glance. Suddenly the eye sparkled In earnest at “ sties, and quite unconsciously he dWgerly forward. A gay party ng by floated toward hint the sound, flf a wbtl-known name. t v “La^r Bleanor OolUnwood—pray tell ms In what direction you saw her?" •shed eagerly an arlstoeraUjSTtqoklng gentleman. 1 "Ah, them tt is," spiritedly replied i' brilliant-looking girl, twisting her gaarl and gold opera glass' affectedly, "yon are no exception to the general rule. Viscount Somerset, the attrac tions of our new star outweigh all oth ers. Were she hot as lovely in charac ter as la person, I should be jealous of her, bat as It Is, cs* must acquiesce gracefully. I give you full permission to leave us and find her. We saw her la thd^rcarrlage with Lady Annabel and Sflr Manus Willoughby.^ "Upon my .weed. Lady Jsors, you are as.keea and sharp ss the frosty air of W November day, I assure yon rI •fit present company agreeable, enough twgme here until we meet or over-' the Collin woods. I have a message Lady A,nn»bel from the admiral, mix at Bath;' By\he v&y, f fancied I discovered a likeness In that beautiful girl on the canvas yonder to Idtf Bleanor. This Vernon keeps so private gg Mm knows abeht kim. ger *£>• »«»jSitwwwS^2o^r gsttat Inspired him t»go graadmn ghy talkers chattered on, un Of the eagfr listeners behind *t length came s stir of expecta -• v-iSd -*» *‘JbL • . they come, Somerset. So MMtd of onto follows, yon’l little chance for conversation wonderful is the sway Lady Anna i over all hearts, with her paU face and gentle dignity! Sec Dnko of B-Is talking with hei W over doubted she might be i duchess any day? put never was wife so faithful and devoted to a husband’s memory as she. How she must have loved him!” "Duchess! Tes, she might have had her choice of two or three coronets at the least Everybody' knows hpw our best and noblest men have sued in vain. She wins almost as much admiration as her daughter now." “Hush, they will hear you! Good af ternoon." .- . "A One day. Lady Annabel. I have a word for you from Bath." The muffled figure bent forward yet farther. How the eye glittered with a lustre feverish and unnatural! "Lady Annabel Colllnwood, Eleanor’s mother!” At the very name came the flood of old emotion, sweeping away the breast* work that for five years of strenuous toil, of stupendous exertion, had been closely guarded, lest a single wave* should overleap the restraining barrier. No1 wonder Walter Vernon—Signor Vernoni he had allowed the Italians to call him, and the name came with his fame to England—no wonder he 'gazed with breathless Interest as the group1 advanced, to see. for the first time Lady Annabel Colllnwood! * s , * He could have selected her frCm af crowd of ladies as fair and graceful as., sher—a slender, pale-faced woman, with ] a well-bred, quiet grace, deep, mournful eyes—not like Eleanor’s, blue and .sunny, but dim and dark as the mid- 'l night sea, carrying with her a name-! Imh, Invisible apd yet .potent atmos- j phere of refinement and purity. This I he saw at first, but a second look show-! . nim nwnes«of light C^rruscatlng «v«r the dim iris, af)d making the eye resplendent; waves of rich thought breaking over the symmetrical features, and glorifying them with; Ugh*, and shade qf eloquent meaning; smiles rare and seldom, blit wonderful and magical when they came, arching Into beauty the Ups that were Eleanor's own. He felt at once the spell by which Lady Annabel still swayed all hearts, al though more than forty years had pass ed over her smooth, fair forehead. She was leaning lightly upon the duke’s arm, but her attention was given to the young viscount, who was relating in his lively way the meeting with the cour teous admiral. The tall figure and massive head of tho noble duke concealed the couple who Walked behind, and Walter was obliged to wait until Lady Annabel and i *»er companion turned to the pictures before he beheld her for whom his hdart had sighed so long. i t a b e c n 6 c li li t l! h k t P Eleanor was only sixteen when they parted upon the far-off Pacific. Five years, replete with the important change from girlhood to womanhood, had passed—would she seem the same? His beating heart nearly suffocated him as Walter once more gazed upon Lady Eleanor Colllnwood, Ah, the relief!—It was still hts Ellie, though the youthful grace and beauty had ripened into matured perfection— though the slender form had grown more stately, and the girlish dlffl.dence had merged Into a calm, Belf-poBsessed dignity—a well-bred grace that the Is land experience could never have given her. Still the soft blue eyes wore their guileless look of pleading Innocence; the sweet Ups dimpled with the very ■mile poor Tom had so often compared to the first sunbeam that glistened through the cloud over the sea; when the ''Petrel" lay a wreck among the reefs. How swiftly his pulse leaped, his eye burned! Would that smile ever beam for him again? Not a breath of Intelli gence had passed between them since their parting; for all he knew she might have forgotten his very existence. He could teat it speedily.. And then, with Jealous rage, the unknown artist turned to her companion, on whose handsome face so plainly was written his devoted admiration. There was a manly, high, bred air about him that pierced poor Walter like a sword. He was good, he was noble, he eras worthy of her—that could be read ait a glance. No wonder she listened eo graciously to his anima ted words. ‘ ' *• vu v> • v fl P n e f s fl a tl tl y n ti tl I n 0 y a a c v s r r li t 1 t b 1 i t t wua a atmed groan Walter turned t away. Duke, marquis, noble lord— I whichever he was, he had a right to offer hie homage and suit; but for the plebeian painter, where was there any hope, any plea whereby to win the favor „ of that high-born, aristocratic mother, even though Eleanor herself were true to that voluntary, promise—"1 will ; watt for you"T '4 • The black folds of Lady Annabel's * dress swept across his feet, sad while J the hot- blood mounted his cheeks Wal- 1 ter bent his head, as though his pro- * sumptuous thoughts were laid bare be- 1 fore that sad, dark eye. ' *, J 1 Then a single word In Eleanor's well- 1 known voice came to his ear—it was * hurried, agitated, vehement. So weH 1 he understood every tone of that be loved'Voice. he knew Something bad startled her, and yet she had spoken i hut ohe word—"Mother!" * c "What is It, sty lovet" asked Lady i Annabel, turning' at qnce where her t daughter, alternately flushing and pal- ' tuff. Stood before the famous pictures < that had won so much attention,! They were evidently champion pictures, rep resenting the same scene by daylight 1 and at midnight—a high, steep point « of land. Jutting out into the tea, whoa# i ■ i i 4 i t i "m a surf beat In frothy petulance again* the reef. The feathery palm-tree cano py and gorgeous vines whose brilliant blossoms lay like garlands over the volt* loe ix-trp'.e-l lie tropic clime no more plainly than the intense blue of the over-arching sky. Nature wai Inexpressibly lovely, but the gazer's eye was caught and riveted by the hu man figures. A young girl, graceful and beautiful, was seated there like a queen upon her throne, and beside her, nearly at her feet, reclined a youth whose countenance was partially con cealed as he was looking up eagerly in to her face, which wore a wild, sor rowful, yearning look, as her eyes and extended hand pointed to the far-bS line where sky and water met. Not one could gaze upon the picture and not know the whole was not yet compre hended—the story not half told. •• *vr. \ --—— ■- 1 UL T? fci'-Vvjw ? CHAPTER XI,« its companion was dark In the back ground—a dim sky and stars showing faintly the outline of embowering tree; but upon the rock, Instead of , lfs queen, blazed' a bonfire that lit Up 1 luridly the ■ foamy sea, ana care, a ruddy gleam to three figures waiting near—the youth and maiden and tall, srrave man, who were all gazing off vilh a wild Intensity of expression that save a gloomy look to every face over he water. *' '* • "Ah, the pictures!” aald Sir Clement Vllloughby. “l have looked at them ull an hour before, to-day, They ere. hrllling, are they not? I must seek mt the artist; it will be an honor for ay man to know him. That midnight b superb." 1 ' - 11• ' Eleanor stood with wild eyes that ould not drink in eagerly enough the Id familiar scene. Now the blue orbs lindled joyfully, and again the. tears ame welling over them. Iff*? f "Oh, Walter, Walter?” cried fo a one of anguish that startled all and hrllled one heart with Joy. "What ails you, Eleanor!^ tier lother anxiously. ! ?J|Tg \ ^Oh, mamma, take me hoine, an'd^et ■ come alone. I must dee tWiddtiires The ladies and gantlepaea gathered round her looked astonished and em arrassed. ‘‘R”t ipny chlJd.” Bald . her mother ravely, “we do not understand; you we the company some word, of expla a'lon." Eleanor struggled for composure, and ropping her veil over the flushed Seek and tearful eyes, Bald more col'* ictedly:' ■ i ■, “I was taken by surprise. It Is our iland home, mamma, and that ie Wal ir and Mr. Vernon and myself,. Oh, lose well-known scenes—it breaks my eart to go back to them, and yet to now nothing of the friends who shared lem with me!. It was Walter who ainted the pictures. Oh, I am sure it as Walter! I must see him—I must nd him.” . Lady Annabel -turned hastily to tho Ictures, while a look of pain and an oyanee swept across her face. She was Hdently revolving some subject care llly In her mind, for after the first wlft glance she dropped her eyes to (he oor. Sir Clement Willoughby was re^eg? mining the pictures, more especially »£ first one. His eye wandered ques onlngly over the graceful form of the suth at the feet of the island queen, nd when he turned to the other It was i catch what knowledge he could from ie aide glimpse of the boyish face. •TO MR CONTINCBO. I v *. o J »* ■ \ ' ** tain so, notwithstanding the arrival t the bicycle and the motor wagon, fhen the reaper was Invented, pesai dsts foretold the starvation pf the grlcultural laborer. The sewlug ma rine was bitterly fought by people ho saw nothing In store for the seam :resa. The world to-day knows the ssults. It is true that electric street illways have dispensed with the serv :e of many thousand horses and that re bicycle has decidedly Injured the very buslneas, and yet It Id a fact rat -.the export trade la American orsos Is making «taat strides forward, he, experts, tor# 1896. just compiled,. re $3,000,000 In value—about twice rat of 1S94. Europe will keep on uytng American horses, * and ’the quine whieh at home has survived competition of the steam railroad Od *the trelfeyH|» wl« hold tts!b*tt rlth the ’‘bike’’ and the horseless' 'agon. Horses will be cheaper, Jusft ■ watekhd pre cheaper’mow than for merly, that is all.'—New' Yotk Journal. I , Pirared Water la H:a Boot*. The itev. Leonard B.' Worth of the taptlet church has begun a suit for ivorce from Elvira W. Worth In Ok thoma,. f'ha clergyman alleges that Is wife asked trim to deed-all of his roperty to her and made threats that ■ he did not ehe would not live with lm, vbut would make it hot for 11 his life. On one occasiod, he says, he filled his Sunday boots with water. Brotherly Lm. *■ Love is the only recognizable ele ment of power in this world. Every ne who has grown beyond childish issb of heart and mind acknowledges hat the only thing which makes life rorth living is the good we can do for there.—Rev. C. J. Wood. “Jaysam Brown” of Kansas seems ass eccentric when you analyse It, and liscover that it is only a blame fool ray of writing “James Samuel.” POINTEBTOFABMEBS WHY THE PRICE OF PRODUCE IS SMALL. Mtlnani by a Practical Farmer Which j I* Worthy of tha Consideration ol Every Tiller of the doll—Condition j nod Theory. I StiS-zik**1 *' ‘ • V’ • W' ‘ I = -'This subject *may be answered to per ; feet i satisfaction, If people will only j look at tacts., :A practical farmer once j said be would rather own a good farm j In the vicinity of a mine .than to own j the mine. He said. if. the mine, was j worked be could: make more .money i selling produce to the miners than'the . owner of the, mine could make; that If the mine was not worked it was not worth anything, and he could always make a living out of his farm. This statement of this practical far mer is worthy of serious consideration. The farmer can always do well if there Is a demand for his produce. When he makes a crop he wants somebody to buy it. Look now at the facts; if the mills and factories are not running, the mines are less woSked. If the mills and factories are Idle many other industries stop. Activity in manufac turing begets activity In many other things; . railroads, steamboats and Wagons all have more to do; merchants have more to do; everybody has more to do. The more there Is to do the more people are employed to do It All whq are employed get wages. What they get they can pay out for what they want. The more people there are at work and getting pay the more mon ey la in hand ready to be expended for the farmer’s produce. * i But some one will say all ;these peo ple have to live anyway and have to be fed. Yes but this difference ap pears;;: People may live very economi cally and eheap; they would like to live better, but they have no money unless they have work, and they do on Just as little as possible. A family can live, If one member gets as much as a dollar a day, but if two or three mem bers of the family each gets two dol lars a day that family will live Just that much better. Some will now say It is extravagant for people to live liberally—that they ought to be economical and all that. Lot the man who says this reflect on how much his family expends. He per haps thinks hie Income of one, two, or three, or five thousand dollars a year is little enough. Why does he not live on a dollar a day? The truth is it is but a natural privi lege that a man wants when he wants to live better than merely keeping alive. If the people can get good pay it la their privilege to want to use it for home comforts. A man naturally wants his wife and children to have some of the good things of life—a car pet, rocking chair, some books, some nice clothes. Nobody wants to be cramped down to the bare necessities of life. If people have work they will live more liberally and in greater com fort, and thereby they will spend more money, and the farmer will have more people to sell to, and get more money for what he has to sell. Now, we had Just as well try to make water run up hill as to try to have busy factories in the country without protection to our American industries. Free trade saye the people of the old world can make all sorts of goods and bring, thein to this country free of jflpty, If that Is done of course the people of this country will be out of jn Job. ty^at our people want Is the Job, TJiey want the work. . Free trade says ,let any man have tha. Job, io matter what country he lives in. ’ Protection says we will give work to out own people. We will run factories and mills fn this country, and this will open the mines, and thie will make work for railroads and’'steam boats and wagons .'and everybody else will have more to do. -' Men will have to be employed and they will get pay, and they will have money to spend for the farmer’s produce. , The pitiful cry of the free trader fs that a man ought to be allowed to buy hie clothes for Just as little as possible. Suppose It would bo true that protec tion would cause a man to give a lit tle more for his coat, and cause a farmer to give a little more for his plow, or a rake, what does this amount to when a man has work at good wages and the farmer has somebody to sell Vs stUll to? afti.usioai-I ; . A ■ Is it not perfectly plain that the in terest* of the farmer and the mechanic are just the same. The farmer wants more money for his wheat. Why does not somebody say the mechanic wants to buy his flour just as cheap as he can get it? What comfort is that to the farmer?' The fartner wants good prices, the manufacturer wants good prices, the mechanic wants good prices, everybody wants good prices. Free trade, by taking the work out of our own hands, strikes a blow at all alike. ' Tut protection duties on foreign man ufactures and give our own people a chance to work is the policy of protec tion. We want division of labor in our country. While seme raise crops, oth ers want to work in factories. This will make a home market, and it will not only give work and employment to our people, but raise the price of prod uee. The whole case Uee In the simple fact that free trade gives the work to the hundreds of people who live in the old world and takes It away from our own people. It was the free trade vote of 1892 that caused what the platform adopted by the recent convention In this city called “cessation of our prosperity.’’ Instead of that condition being tracea ble to any conduct of the republican party it is traceable directly to the panic produced when this country voted for free trade. It is part of the work of the republican party to rectify that tremendous mistake.—Louisville Commercial. Brltlnh Prosperity. Qreat Britain is enjoying an era of unexampled prosperity. The mills and workshops of England are ablaze with activity and wage-earners are content edly employed. We hear no more of bread riots on Trafalgar square and the walking delegate has been si lenced. The transition from pinching want and spiritless idleness to copious plenty and lively employment is coin cident with the gradual operation of the Wilson free trade bill. Although it may be entirely unrelated to it, the fact is, that English mills were closed and English- workmen idle while the McKinley bill was on the statute book; now the mills are going and the workmen are employed and we have the Wilson bill and general stagnation. Give the English manufacturer a free and practically unrestricted mar ket in this greatest and most vora cious consuming country and he will keep his workmen busy. By the same license the American manufacturer is forced to close his mills and throw out of employment his workmen, This is not a theoretical platitude; it is a pon derous verity which is being illustrat ed most vividly by contrast between England and America at this writing. What has the silver question to do with the premises? Absolutely noth ing. Industry has revived in England because England has found a market for her wares and manufactures. In dustry is paralyzed in this country be cause England is making and selling here the wares and manufactures we ought to make for ourselves. It is as FREE COINAGE, Rut. Or. BacHij yaorn Ola ElptrlHf aa an Illustration. Rev. Dr. J. M. Buckley, editor of the New York Christian Advocate, in con ducting a “Question Drawer” at the Lake Chautauqua Assembly a day oi two ago grappled with the silver ques tion. Following is the question sent to him and his answer: Q.—What would be the probable ef fect on missionary enterprises if free coinage of silver were to become a law of the United States? A.—It would instantly or very speedily reduce die incomes of the for eign missionaries or it would compel the raising of a vast amount more money. The salaries of all foreign mis sionaries have to be paid in gold. Re cently in India the silver rupee has diminished in value to such an extent that one denomination has been com pelled to make great additions to its budget in order to equalize the sala ries of missionaries in that country. I know of a denomination with whose affairs I am familiar that sends about $800,000 in gold from this country every year to foreign missionaries. Under free coinage, if silver became more and more our money, and we had to take contracts on a silver basis, you can readily see what the effects would be. When I first went to Europe, it was during the civil war: I had to go, and I said to a man, go to Boston and buy me six hundred dollars worth of gold. He went and came back. Had net bought any. He said that gold had gone up to 1.20 and that he did not want to waste.my money like that. I said to him, go and chase it ard get it. He went, and the next night came back and reported that it had gone up to 1.35, and that he certainly did not want to waste my money at that rate. I said I must have it, even if you can only bring back one hundred dollars, bring it. By that time it had gone up to 1.50. When I got over to the Other side I discovered that gold had not risen at all, but that greenbacks—the legal tender in this country—had gone lo-wn. [Voice in the audience—that is right.] While there I had to borrow some money, and I made the contract to pay it back in gold after I had re r.». * • A POSER FOR GROVER. ' 'rfZ7? T:'