CHAPTER VII.—(Conti htjbd.)
"But why should he have done this?”
J asked. "To prevent your marriage?
You are young—he must have foreseen
that you would marry some day.”
Carriston leaned toward me. and
dropped his voice to a whisper.
"This is his reason,” he said—"this
is why* I come to you. You are not the
only one who has entirely misread my
nature, and seen a strong tendency
to insanity in it. Of course, I know you
are all wrong, but I know that Ralph
Carriston has stolen my love—stolen
her because he thinks and hopes that
her loss will drive me mad—perhaps
drive me to kill myself. I went straight
to him—I have Just come from him—
Brand, I tel) you that when I taxed
him with the crime—when I raved at
him—when I threatened to tear the life
out of him—iiis cold wicked eyes leapt
with joy. I heard him mutter between
his teeth, ‘Men have been put In strait
waistcoats for less than this.’ Then I
knew why be had done this. I curbed
myself and left him. Most likely he
will try to shut me up as.a lunatic;
but I count on your protection—count
upon ygur help to find my love.”
That any man could be guilty of such
a subtle refinement of crime as that of
which he accused hi3 cousin seemed to
me. if not impossible, at least improb
able. But as at present there was no
doubt about my friend’s sanity, I prom •
ised my aid readily.
“And now,” I said, “my dear boy,
I won’t hear another word tonight.
Nothing can be done until tomorrow;
then we will consult as to what steps
should be taken. Drink this and go
to bed—yes, you are as sane as I am,
but, remember, insomnia soon drives
the-strongest man out of his senses.”
I poured out an opiate. He drank
it obediently. Before I left him for the
night I saw him in bed and sleeping
v. heavy sleep.
VIII.
HE advantage to
one who writes, not
a tale of imaglna
nation, but of sim
ple record of
events, is this: He
need not be bound
by the recognized
canons of the story
telling art — need
not exercise ms in
genuity to mislead
his reader—need not suppress some
things and lay undue stress on
others to create mysteries to be
cleared up at the end of the tale.
Therefore, using the privilege of a
plain narrator, I shall here give some
account of what became of Miss Row
an as, so far as I can remember, I heard
it some time afterward from her own
lips. ,
The old Scotchwoman’s funeral over,
and those friends who had been present
departed, Madeline was left In the lit
' tie farm-house alone, save for the pres
ence of the two servants. Several kind
bodies had offered to come and stay,
with her, but she had declined the
offers. She was in no mood for com
pany and, perhaps, being of such a dif
ferent race and breed, would not have
found much comfort in the rough
homely sympathy which was offered to
her. She preferred being alone with her
grief—grief which after all was bound
to be much lightened by the thought
of her own approaching happiness, for
the day was drawing near when her
lover would cross the Border and bear
his bonnie bride away. She felt sure
that she would not be long alone—
that the moment Carriston heard
of her aunt’s death he would
come to her assistance. In such
a peaceful God-fearing neighbor
hood she had no fear of being left
without protection. Moreover, her. po
sition in the house was well-defined.
The old woman, who was childless, had
left her niece all of which she died
possessed. So Madeline decided to wait
quietly until she heard from her lover.
Still there were business matters to
be attended to, and at the funeral Mr.
Douglas, of Callendar, the executor un
der the will, had suggested that an
early interview would be desirable. He
offered to drive out to the little farm
the next day, but Miss Rowan, who
had to see to some feminine necessaries
which could only be supplied by shops,
decided that she would come to the
town instead of troubling Mr. Douglas
to drive so far out.
Madeline, in spite of the supersti
tious element in her character, was a
brave girl, and, in spite of her refined
style of beauty, strong and healthy.
Early hours were the rule in that hum
ble home, so before seven o’clock in the
morning she was ready to start on her
drive to the little town. At first she
thought of taking with her the boy who
did tl^ rough outdoor work; but he
was busy about something or other,
and besides, was a garrulous lad who
would be certain to chatter the whole
way, and this morning Mies Rowan
wanted no companions, save her own
mingled thoughts of sadness and joy.
She knew every Inch of the road—she
feared no evil—she would be home
again long before night-fall—the pony
was quiet and sure-footed—so away
went Madeline in the strong, primitive
vehicle on her lonely twelve miles’
drive through the fair scenery.
She passed few people on the road.
Indeed, she remembered meeting no
one except one or two pedestrian tour
ists, who like sensible men were doing
a portion of their day’s task in the
earljr morning. I have no doubt but
Miss Rowan seemed to them a passing
vision of loveliness. ■
But when she was a mile or two from
Callendar she saw a boy on a pony.
The boy, who must have known her
by sight, stopped, and handed her a
telegram. She had to pay several shil
lings for the delivery, or Intended de
livery, of the message, so far from the
station. The boy galloped away, con
gratulating *hlmself on having been
spared a long ride, and Miss Rowan
tore open the envelope left in her
hands.
The message was brief: "Mr. Carr
is seriously ill. Come at once. You
will be met in London.”
Madeline did not scream or faint.
She gave one low moan of pain, set her
teeth, and with the face of one in a
dream drove as quickly as she could
to Callendar, straight to the railway
station.
Fortunately, or rather unfortunately,
she had money with her, so she did not
waste time in going to Mr. Douglas.
In spite of the crushing blow she had
received, the girl had all her witB
about her. A train would start in ten
minutes’ time. She took her ticket,
then found an idler outside the station,
and paid him to take the pony and
carriage back to the farm, with the
message as repeated to Carriston.
The journey passed like a long
dream. The girl could think of nothing
but her lover, dying, dying—perhaps
dead before she could reach him. The
miles flew by unnoticed; twilight crept
on; the carriage grew dark; at last—
London at last! Miss Rowan stepped
out on the broad platform, not knowing
w hat to do or where to turn. Present
ly a tall, well-dressed man came up to
her, and removing his hat, addressed
her by name. The promise as to her
being met had been kept.
She clasped her hands. "Tell me—
oh, tell me, he Is not dead,” she cried.
"Mr. Carr is not dead. He la ill—
very ill—delirious and calling for you.”
“Where is he? Oh, take me to him!”
“He is miles and miles from here—
at a friend's house. I have been de
puted to meet' you and to accompany
you, if you feel strong enough to con
tinue the Journey at once.”
“Come,” said Madeline. "Take me
to him.”
“Your luggage?” asked the gentle
man.
“I have none. Come!”
“You must take some refreshment.”
“I need nothing. Come.”.
The gentleman glanced at his watch.
“There is just time,” he said. He
called a cab, told the driver to go at
top speed. They reached Paddington
just in time to catch the mail.
During the drive across London,
Madeline asked many questions, and
learnt from her companion that Mr.
Carr had been staying for a day or two
at a friend’s house in the West of
.England. That yesterday he had fal
len from his horse and sustained such
injuries mat ms lire was despaired of.
He had been continually calling for
Madeline. They had'found her address
on a letter, and had telegraphed' as
soon as possible—for which act MIsb
Rowan thanked her companion with
tears in her eyes. *
Her conductor did not say much of
his own accord, but In replying to her
questions he was politely sympathetic.
She thought of little outside the fear
ful picture which filled every corner of
her brain; but from her conductor’s
manner received the impression that
he was a medical adviser who had seen
the sufferer, and assisted In the treat
ment of the case. She did not ask his
name, nor did he reveal It.
At Paddington he placed her in a
ladles’ carriage and left iter. He was a
smoker, he said. She wondered some
what at this desertion. Then the train
sped down west. At the large stations
the gentleman came to her and offered
her refreshments. Hunger seemed to
have left her, but she accepted a cup of
tea once or twice. At last sorrow, fa
tigue, and the weakness produced by
such a prolonged fast had their natural
effect. With the tears still on her
lashes, the girl fell asleep, and must
have slept for many miles; a sleep un
broken by stoppages at stations.
Her conductor at last aroused her.
He stood at the door of the carriage.
“We must get out here,” he said. All
the momentarily forgotten anguish
came back to her as she stood beside
him on the almost unoccupied plat
form.
“Are we there at last?” she asked.
“I am sorry to say we have Btlll a
long ride; would you like to rest first?”
“No—no. Come on. If you please.”
She spoke with feverish eagerness.
The man bowed. “A carriage waits,”
he said.
Outside the station was a carriage of
some sort, drawn by one horse, and
driven by a man muffled up to the
eyes. It was still night, but Madeline
fancied dawn could not be far off. Her
conductor opened the door of the car
riage and waited for her to enter.
She paused. “Ask him—that man
must know If—”
“I am most remiss,” said the gentle
man. He exchanged a few words with
the driver, and, coming back, told
Madeline that Mr. Cairr was still alive,
sensible, and expecting her eagerly.
“Oh, please, please drive fast,” said
the poor girl, springing into the car
riage. The gentleman seated himself
beside her, and for a long time they
drove on In silence. At last they
stopped. The dawn was Just glimmer
ing. They alighted In front df a house.
The door was open. Madeline entered
i swiftly. "Which way—which way?”
she asked. She was too agitated to
notice any surroundings; her one wish
was to reach her lover.
"Allow me,” said the conductor, pass
ing her. "This way; please follow me.”
He went up a short flight of stairs, then
paused, and opened a door quietly. He
stood aside for the girl to'enter. The
room was dimly lit, and contained a
bed with drawn curtains. Madeline
flew past her traveling companion, and,
as she threw herself on her knees be
side the bed upon which she expected
to see the helpless and shattered form
of the man she loved, heard, or fancied
she heard the door locked behind her.
IX.
ARRISTON slept
on late Into the
^next day. Know
ing that every mo
ment of bodily and
mental rest was a
precious boon to
him, I left him un
disturbed. He was
still fast asleep
when, about mlrt
day, a gentleman
called upon me. He Bent up. no card,
and I supposed be came to consult me
professionally. ' .
The moment he entered my room I
recognized him. He was the thin
lipped, gentlemanly person whom I had
met on my journey to Bournemouth
last spring—the man who had seemed
so much impressed by my views on in
sanity, and had manifested such inter
est in the description I had given—
without mentioning any name—of Car
riston's peculiar mind.
I should have at once claimed ac
quaintanceship with my visitor; but
before I could speak he advanced, and
apologized gracefully for his intrusion.
“You will forgive it," he added,
“when I tell you my name is Ralph
Carriston."
Remembering our chance conversa
tion, the thought that, after all, Charles
Carriston’s wild suspicion was well
founded, flashed through me like light
ning. My great hope was that my
vialtor might not remember my face as
I remembered his. I bowed coldly, .but
said nothing.
“I believe, Dr. Brand,” he continued,
“you have a young relative of mine at
present staying with you?”
“Yes, Mr. Carriston is my guest,” I
answered. “We are old friends.”
“Ah, I did not know that. I do not
remember having heard him mention
your name as a friend. But, as it is
so, no one knows better than you do
the unfortunate state of his health.
How do you find him to-day—violent?”
I pretended to ignore the man’s
meaning, and answered smilingly,
“Violence is the last thing I should look
for. He is tired out and exhausted by
travel, and is in great distress. That
I believe, is the whole of his com
plaint.”
“Yes, yes, to be sure, poor boy. His
sweetheart has left him or something.
But as a doctor you must know that
his mental .condition is not quite what
it should be. His friends are very anx
ious about him. They fear that a little
restraint—temporary, I hope—must be
put upon his actions. I called in to
ask your advice and aid.”
“In what, Mr. Carriston?”
“In this, a young man can’t be left
free to go about threatening his
friends’ lives. I have brought Dr.
Daley with me—you know him, of
course. He’is below in my carriage. I
will call him up with your permission.
He could then see poor Charles, and the
needful certificate coult? be signed by
you two doctors.”
“Mr. Carriston,” I said, decidedly,
“let me tell you in the plainest words
that your cousin is at present as fully
in possession of his wits as you are.
Dr. Daley—whoever he may be—could
sign no certificate, and in our day no
asylum would dare to keep Mr. Carris
ton within its walls.”
■ TO SB COXTIXOSD.I
A WONDERFUL EFFECT.
Whittier’s Daring Scheme of Color la
HU Dlsldg Room.
One of the most daring bits of color
ing on record in the way of household
furnishing is the dining room of the
artist Whistler. It may be said to be
a symphony in yellow, or in blue and
yellow. All of the walls are painted
blue, the blue being of a decidedly
greenish hue. The cornice is painted
in stripes of dark green, bine and yel
low, the celling being pale yellow. The
surbase is the color of a ripe lemon, as
are the doors and all the wood about
the windows and the high wooden man
tel. The hearthtstone isalso yellow, and
about the fire-place is a set of lemon
colored tiles bordered with blue. Two
sets of shelves, one on either side of
the fire-place, are painted yellow. The.
woodwork of the cane-seated chairs is
yellow and the seat blue. * The floor is
covered with a blue and yellow Chi
nese matting, cubic pattern. This is all
a very cheap sort of furnishing, but
here the cheapness ends. The curtains
are of rare needlework, of various
shades of yellow upon fine white linen,
which fall unconfined to the floor. The
shelves mentioned hold bits of rare
blue china; on the mantel are Japanese
curios, blue, sea green and yellow. A
half-opened fan is in one corner. There
are no mirrors and no pictures. Oppo
site the fireplace hang midway between
the floor and ceiling two Japanese flow
er pots, each holding a yellow prim
rose. The table service is of old blue.
Who but an artist would dare under
take such a scheme of color, and who
but an artist would succeed?
Sin has many tools, but a lie is the
handle which fits them all.—Holmes.
DAIRY AND POULTRY.
FARM.
INTERESTING CHAPTERS FOR
OUR RURAL READERS.
How Successful Farmers Operate This
Department of the Farm—A rfew
Bints as to the Care of Uie Stock
and Poultry.
HE receipts ot
butter and cheese
In Chicago during
last year, as given
below, show an In
crease over the year
1896 ot 60,000,000
pounds of butter
and 16,000,000
pounds ot cheese.
uunng me year
*'* closed yesterday
lower prices have prevailed. The un
usually large production of milk, and
therefore of butter and cheese, was
caused by the favorable weather con
ditions throughout the summer and
early fall. The year has been without
precedent for good pasturage through
out the hot season, and in consequence
there was little decrease In the make
of butter until the latter part of Octo
ber. While in former years there was
a large falling off }n the make after
June, enormous quantities of June but
ter were placed in cold storage in an
ticipation of the higher prices that
come with a lessening in the make,
and as the supply of fresh stock kept
up through the summer hoMers of
storage stock grew anxious, nut the
fall developed a good demand for it,
and the year 1896 closed with cold
storage goods well cleaned up. Much
of this overproduction of butter found
a ready sale In foreign markets. Hand
lers of butter are constantly on the
lookout for markets In which to ad
ier. me causes oi increaseu pruuuc
and the export trade was a factor to
ward ^that end in the last year. This
trade is growing, as is shown by the
fact that in 1895 the United States ex
ported 15,647,500 pounds, and in 1896
sent abroad 26,320,000 pounds of but
ter. The causes of Increased produc
tion of butter apply also to the large
make of cheese in 1896. But in addi
tion to this the passage of the "filled
cheese" law was of Incalculable value
to this Industry, and also of great ben
efit to the entire dairy interests of the
country. While the data at hand show
a marked Improvement in the con
sumption of cheese at home, there has
been but little more exported in 1896
than in 1895. Through and local re
ceipts of butter, cheese, eggs and poul
try by months for the year 1896:
Butter. • Cheese.
pounds.
Jan .15,049,200
Feb .13,494,000
March .14,468,250
April ......15,046,100
May .22,458,000
June.......80,450,100
July .27,316,000
Aug ..22,464,000
Sept .22,004,600
Oct .21,363,300
Nov.15,552,050
Dec.17,110,850
pounds.
3.769.700
3,601,760
3.691.000
8,168,300
4.108.000
5,228,150
5,807,450
7,067,850
9,658,350
11,375,450
7.769.700
7,886,500
Totals .236,776,460 73,122,200
Table of shipments from Chicago of
butter and cheese for the year 1896:
Butter.
pounds.
Jan .14,376,560
Feb .13,933,650
March .13,871,000
April .17,751,100
May ..'....19,780,700
June .26,628,300
July ..26,436,900
Aug .21,080,800
Sept .19,895,960
Oct .19,026,660
Nov .14,261,450
Dec .13,932,250
Cheese.
pounds.
3,863,300
3.830.600
3.951.600
4,173,760
3.077.350
3.473.350
3,833,250
6,288,500
6.498.350
6,698;lb0
6,130,400
2.894.600
Totals .220,976,300 62.613,060
Local receipts of butter as reported
daily by railroad and express com
panies to the produce exchange, by
months, for the year 1896:
Butter, lbs.
January .:. 4,890,900
February .. 3,816,300
March . 4,893,000
April . 5,634,240
May 9,081.240
June .12,669,840
July . 10,047,320
August. 8,679,660
September . 6,955,200
October . 5,948,340
November . 4,612,640
December . 5,307,900
Totals . 82,836,480
Table of the average prices on butter
and cheese for the year 1896:
Butter,
lbs.
January .21%
February .19
March .21%
April ..17 1-3
May......15%
June.14%
July.14 1-3
August.15%
September .15
October ...V.17%
November.,19%
December....21 1-5
Cheese,
lbs.
9 2-3
10
10
9%
8%
7%
7
6%
7%
8%
8%
8%
Poultry No ten.
Cayenne pepper is doubtless bene
ficial to poultry, especially in winter,
provided of course it is used with prop
er limitations. A teaspoonful, twice a
week, for fifty fowls is an abundance.
Still less will be required in summer.
There is no use in overdoing the thing,
and one had better use no stimulating
spices than to feqd an excessive
amourit. The only idea is to warm up
the system in cold weather, ward off
colds and chills, and promote digestion.
A little pepper is good. Too much is
an injury. Snow is with us and the
poultryman will have considerable
work on hand, not only to shovel paths,
but also to, open up areas where the
fowls may come out, and exercise them
selves. A hen is very helpless in deep
snow. She cannot walk, nor can she
get upon the wing without much trou
ble. Hence it is quite Important to
provide a small space which has been
cleared of snow. The snow that Is to be
| moved may be appropriated to bank
up against the poultry house. In this
way the cold will be kept out. How
ever, it must be looked after that dur
ing a melting ipell the water does nog
run into the house. Drainage must of
course be good. Unfortunate Indeed
Is the family who cannot produce Its
own eggs and thus have the satisfaction
of knowing they are fresh and good,
and of tasting their delicious flavor.
There are many pleasures and luxuries
connected with fowl culture that
are Independent of mere pecuniary ad
vantages. As the weather becomes
cold, collect the eggs oftener. For
them to freeze megns the loss of their
■slo. Really the poultry house should
be sufficiently warm and snug so that
the eggs will not freeze In any ordi
nary winter weather. Frequent collec
tions are still more essential when the
eggs are to be preserved tor hatching
purposes. Wet, damp houses anfl;yards
are the source of much disease and ill
health to poultry. After a showerfthe
drainage should be sufficient to take
off all surface water. The Inside of the
poultry house should be elevated slight
ly so as to admit of no Influx of water
from without. Fowls will stand cold
better by far than dampness and fllth.
Lice are not so rampant at present as
they were last summer, but yet they
are still in existence, file “red mites'*
will be found In cracks and holes on
and near the perches. Soak them in
kerosene occasionally and they . will
give up the struggle. The dust bath
in a sunny corner of the fowl house Is
an Institution that should never be
missing, and It should also be replen
ished and renewed from time to time.
What Ob* Boy Did.
Although we have spoken several
times recently on the subject of poul
try raising by the young folks, we can
not refrain from telling the boys and
girls what a gentleman in this city told
us not long since about his boy, says
the Poultry World. This account was
such an apt Illustration of what we
have recently endeavored to Impress on
our readers that we will give It to
them. At the age of ten years this boy
began keeping poultry. His father
built him a fowl house for which noth
ing was ever paid by the son, but this
was the only expense which was not
borne 'by the young fanoler himself.
He kept White Leghorns and his spare
time out of school was devoted to car
ing for and enjoying the flock. He
worked at the business and It was good
for him. It taught him regularity and
Involved responsibilities in seeing that
his pets did not suffer. When he reach
ed the age of twenty he went Into
his father’s office. His bank book at
that time showed a balance In his fa
vor of 91,000, cleared from his poultry
while he attended school. Those who
think it "not worth the trouble" may
ponder this result with edification to
themselves. That one thousand dollars
was worth more than one hundred
thousand cents to the land. It repre
sented more than money. It was ma
terial evidence of much that conld not
be expressed In dimes and dollars. To
begin with, It associated health and
vigor with Its owner. Business habits
also were necessarily formed In the
course of that decade which would be
useful in future. Independence was In
dicated, a sense of being of some Im
portance and the means of doing for
himself were accompanying features.
All these are worth much, and many
a worried father and distracted mother
who wish that the boys had something
to do ’'that they like to do and amount
to something," would, do well to follow
the course adopted by his father.
A Valuable Herd.
Mr. George S. Angus of Kossuth
County, poatofflce Burt, publishes In
the Burt Monitor the following report
of the earnings of twelve cows for the
year: “Whole number of cows milked
during the year was 12, number of
pounds of milk taken to the factory
was 70,141, which would be 5,844 pounds
per cow. Milk sold for 512.90; sklm
mllk, at 10 cents a hundred, 97.12; 12
calves this year are worth at least 960;
total 2643.13; 953.59 apiece. I noticed
last year that some In writing gave
the average number of cows milked
during the year, which I do not think Is
the right way. I give the whole num
ber that was milked during the year,
whether It was for ten or only two
months: If a man has to have 15 cows
to milk; say an average of 10, then
he should count them as 16 and not
10. Our milk sold for 73 per hundred,
which was two cents below the average
price paid at the factory. We aim to
milk them 11 months in the year, com
mencing about November or Decem
ber, as a cow will feed all winter, and
milked will give as much milk the fol
lowing summer as the half-fed cow
coming in in the spring.”
Poultry Bum.
Farmers are not, aa are city people,
restricted for range for their poultry.
Therefore * the birds should always
have large ranges. The range should
be large enough so that the grass win
not be eaten off. It might be thought
that this word of advice is not needed,
yet we know that it is. We have our
selves seen farms where the poultry
run was so limited that the earth wns
bare of verdure all the time. Beyond
the run in mind was a grass field that
should have been made to contribute to
the sustenance of the poultry. There
is another point about having a grass
run for the poultry so large that the
grass cannot be eaten off. That is,
that grass is a cheaper food for poul
try, as a part ration, than almost any
other. The grass not only is a cheap
food, but a healthful food, and one that
seems to stimulate egg production. The
blades of grass attract Insects, such aa
grasshoppers, and thus contribute to
the supply of flesh-food, so much liked
by poultry. Wire for fencing costs lit
tle; therefore there is no reason why
a large poultry run should not be an
accessory to every farm.
CAPT. M’GAFFIN DEAD
takes his life while in a
HOSPITAL.
Driven buna From th« Effects at m
Wound Inflicted bjr a Japaaaia IbatH
Many Deeds of Koto Credited to tho
foaat Oflcai—A Brief (ketch of Bit
®*reew
I—..,'; ' ,r; :fr
Sled hr Bio Owe Bond.
Nbw Yohk, Feb. Captain Philo
McUiffen, who commanded the Chi
nese ironclad Chen Yuen at the battle
of Yalu rirer In (September, 1(04, dur
>nfiT the China-Japanese war, commit
ted suicide oarly to-day in the Post-'
graduate hospital, to which he woe
recently admitted for treatment, by.
ihootinfi himself over the right ear.
About the middle of January the
captain became insane and it wag
found necessary to have him confined
in the hospital. He was taken to a
room on the second floor with a win-’
dow in it- opening on Second avenue.
He had some sort of mental trouble
for months before it developed intoinr
sanity, and on his being removed to
tho hospital he was so violent that It
was found necessary to place him in a
straight jacket. At teat time and
since then Dr. Hammond attributed*
his condition to wounds he received in,
the battle of Yalu river.
Philo X. McUiffen, who commanded
the Chinese ironclad Chen Yuen in tho,'
battle of the Yalu river, was born^n
Washington, Pa., in 1863. He grade-:
at*d from the naval academy at An*,;
napolia with high honors in 1883. Hie
personal bravery won admiration' long
before the battle of Yalu river. While
he was a cadet in the naval academy
McUiffen received the thanks of the
secretary of the navy for rescuing two
children from a burning building.f
Some two years later he was compli
mented in a general order from the sec*
retary of the navy for an act of per
sonal bravery in going aloft to secure
a spar on the Constitution dnring a
hurricane when the sailors won|d nob.
vonture Into the rigging.
After graduating near the head of
his class McGriffen was honorably dis
charged in 1884, owing to a reduction
in the number cf midshipmen. He
enterod the service of China daring:;
the Franco-Cnina war and was dis
tinguished for gallantry; was sent to
England to superintend the construe
tion of ironclads, at the outbreak otl
hostilities with Japan was put In com
mand of the Chinese squadron. Hie
part in the battleof Yalu Is well knows
and although it was a defeat for the
Chinese fleet, it accomplished its de
sired end in preventing the of
a Japanese force in the rear of the'
Chinese army.
MRS. MARTIN'S BALL.
The SSSO.OOO Ponctloa Want OS Ae
eordlnt to Trugrmm.
York, Feb. 13.—Beautiful be
yond description was the ball masque
of Mrs. Bradley-Martln last night at
Hotel Waldorf. Thousands of men
and women crowded the streets around
the hotel, but the police kept them
moving and no conflicts or excitement
of any kind resulted. Detectives <
swarmed in and around the house to
prevent trouble, but their presence
was not needed.
Great social functions of the post in
this city were eclipsed, even the mem*
orahle Vanderbilt ball of 1883, with
which since then all other affairs have
seemed to suffer in comparison. For
lavish expenditure, for artistic decor
ations and surroundings, for a reflec
tion of the most picturesque episodes
in old world history, and a gathering
of tho fairest and the richest in the
new world life, the ball last night
marked an epoch. It was more than a
mile-post in New York’s history, it,
was the event of a decade.
■arris Against the Treaty.
Topeka, Kan., Feb. 13.—Senator
Harris has under preparation aeon
current resolution which he will prob
ably introduce to-morrow to request
the Kansas Senators in Congress to
vote against the ratification of the
general arbitration treaty between
the United States and Great Britain.
The resolution will protest against the
treaty on the ground that it would be
unwise and unnecessary and a depart- j
ture from Washington’s admonition in''
his farewell address to “beware of all
entangling alliances”
Stricken on the Stage.
New York. Feb. 13.—Armand Castle
mary, while singing the role of Tris
tano in Flotow’s opera of “Martha” at
the Metropolitan opera house last
night, dropped dead in front of the
footlights and almost in full view of ■.
one of the most brilliant audiences'
that has filled the theater this winter.
So quiet was tho matter kept, however,
that few in the audience knew a
tragedy hod taken place before their,
very eyes.,
Ho Bondar Cloalnff In England.
Loxdox, Fob. 13.— By a vote of 306 to
149 the House of Commons rejected tbo
bill of Mr. Wilson (Liberal), providing
for the closing of public houses
throughout Sunday. Public houses
are allowed to be open for a time in
the middle of Sunday and Sunday
evening.
■over* Earthquake la Utah.
Bbigham City, Utan, Feb. 13.—At
6 o’clock last night this city was visited
by the heaviest earthquake shock ever
experienced in this valley. It was so
severe that the bell in the court house
tapped five or six times. The shock
was felt as far north as Logan. y
Actors Married on the Stage.
Mexico, Mo., Feb. 13.—Bert Shepard
of Detroit, Mich., and Louise Steep of
Cincinnati, Ohio, members of the.
“Fannigan Ball" theatrical company,,
were married during the performance
at the opera house here last night by
the Bev. D. B. Sipple.
______ I
Mr. VUaoa, CoUtft Pmldmt
Lbxixoton, Va., Feb. 19.—The board
of trustees of Washington and Lent )
university to-day unanimously el voted]
Postmaster General William L. Wilson!
president in place of G; W. CL Leo, whtt
recently resigned. . _
