WOHBH HGfllNSY VOMflff.
BY MRS. M. E. HOLMES.
CHAPTtR S CoMinowL
The old woman addresf-ed as Da-ne
Burden proved to be a stout comfort
able looking person. dresed in a sim
ple brown gown and apron, but with a
strinu of costly pe arls clasped around
ht-r thick throat.
"Something for me, George?" she
repeated. )
"Yes. something for you to loon.
fter,'' he said quietly. a,s ho laid his
burden on the mattress, ri: arew back
the cloak.
The oid woman's face dropped.
"A girl!" he exclaimed.
"A lady." mswered Count Jura,
"and as such you must treat her, or
yoi will have to tell me the reason
why."
What have you brought her here
for?" demanded Lame Burden sullenly.
That's my business, and not yours.
All ou have to do is to wait on her and
see that she gets all she wants. Myra
can help you."
The old woman said nothing: she
only stooped over the girl.
"You've drugged her!" she ex
claimed. fount Jura nodded.
'How long is s .e to stay here?"
'Asking m I find it convenient.
Now watch her carefully: I exjiect she
will wake in a few minutes. Give her
tome water, and put the lijjrht out of
her eyes: she may go off to sleep aain.
I must go hark to Paul, bring in the
swag, and close up the entrance. You
shall have something for your pains."
'Diamonds?" whispered the old wo
man eagerly. "You promised me dia
monds tne next job, George."
"You shall have them. Now. re
member, look after her. I think she
is moviug. Where is Myra?"
"Asleep in the next place.''
"Keep her there for to night."
The Count moved out quickly, and
Dame Burden stood alone looking at
Alice.
The man was right. There was a
sign of returning animation in the stiil
.young form: the small hands trembled
slightly: the breast moved softly.
Dame Burden crept towards aeask and
filled a diintv Venetian glass wit 1
water. She was stepping back from
this tat-k when a voice fell on her ear.
"Mother, who is this?-'
She looked up and saw, just entering
a narrow doorway from the adjoining
vault, a girl A young fine, splendidly
handsome girl, with flashing black
eyes mane of blue-black hair, and skin
as brown as a berry The girl was
wrapped in a loose garment of brilliant
scarlet, and the contrast ol the vivid
co or with her own dusky beauty
would have gratified the soul of an
artist.
The old woman frowned.
"'Get back to your led, Myra," she
answered crossly. "George and Paul
are returned, and thev don't seem in
the best of humors neither."
"Who is this''' repeated Myra, 6till
pointing at Alice's form.
That's a girl, as you can see for
yourtelf," retorted Dame Burden, mov
ing the candles as the Count had bid
den her.
"Answer me at once at once: do
you hear?" muttered Myra, grasping
the older woman's arm with a slender
brown hand. "Whichoi them brought
her here, an! who is she?"
Dame Burden hesitated only one
second.
Which of them brought her?"' she
chuckled. "Why Paul, of course. As
to who she is, I don't know more than
the babe unborn: she looks 1 ike a lady. "
"She is very beautiful," Myra said
gloomily. "'Vou swear you are speak
ing the truth, mother? It was Paul
who brought her?"
"Deary deary me! Of course I
spoke the truth'" exclaimed the old
woman testily. "What should I tell a
lie for?"
"For gold or diamonds," the girl an
swered significantly.
Dame Burden took no notice of the
remark. She was bending over the
white face on the pibows.
"She is waking," she whispered.
Myra leaned against the stone wall
and watched Alice with a dull resent
ful glow in her black eyes. The won
derful glory of that golden hair, the
delecate white skin, and graceful limbs
filled her heart with a tumult of mad
dening pain and jealousy.
"She lies as easily as she drinks,"
Myra mused moodily, as she glanced at
Dame Burden. "She thinks to deceive
me -as if my ears were deaf when
George returned. She is my own
mother, and yet she tortures me and
tells me lies. The promise of diamonds
is more to her than my peace and hap
piness. What has he brought this girl
here for, with her white skin and beau
tiful face? He is tired of me. Yes, I
know it: but 1 did not think he would
nave shown it so plainly or so cruelly.
It is like his cold selfish nature to give
me pain: but I won't stand it for long.
She shall be in my power; if he does
love her, I will torture her till she
dies."
Alice was moaning now; her hands,
burning as with a fever, were thrown
out on either side, her throat was
parched, her head swimming.
"Water water! Davis, water!" she
murmured.
"Dame Burden hastily lifted her
head, and put the glass to her lips.
Alice drank eagerly, and shut her eyes
with a sigh of thankfulness.
Her senses were returning; she
aftruggled from the old woman's arm,
and hr.lf raised herself:, her eyes
opened again, and wandered round the
room in amazement.
"Where am I?" she murmured.
'Davls! Davis! Are you there?"
Dame Burden drew back quietly;
Alice raised herself, and passed her
hand over her eyes.
"Am I asleep, Daves! What place
ia this? it is all strange. I must
be "
She turned, and her eyes rested on
Myra's figure, drawn up defiantly, rest
lac against the wall; she uttered a
light shriek.
"Who are you?" she whispered fear
fully, the clouds rolling from her
brain, and a ere at. terrible dread
Bg into her neen. ' wnere am
'Yoware with friends," Myra .aid
terlr tad quietly.
TM sound of the girl's vote broke
tv ugt sen of dreamland. Alloa
to
1 M
tti toOaWaUBMi la IfW
room?
Davis?
Who wa this girl, and ahl- who was
that woman? She crouched down on
the bed, trembling in every limb her
li s opened to rcream. but the !ound :
seemed froozen in her t tiro it. i
"Vou are quite .Kate, neary. lie down
and rest again. Myra. go away: don t
vou see you frighten her. He wiil-I
"mean Paul wi.l le angry." !
I don't mind Paul's anger. Fright
ened, is she? I'm sorry for her, b. t
that will wear off: she will see a good
deal of me, and she'.l get used to me
in time, perhaim."
Alice was still crushed on the bed;
she did not understand the words. she
was in a state of bewil lerroent, but
something in the malignant tone
routed her. She realized at once
some terrible event hail occurred to
her: she could not gra-p the full hor
ror at that moment, b' t she vaguely
understood that she was in some
strange horrible place, separated from
all i-he knew, and the fear in her
breast lashed her almost to madne-s.
She ,-taggered from the couch and fell
at Myra's feet.
"Oh, have pity help me!" she mur
mured piteously; "I don't know what
has happened to me. I can rememlier
nothing clearly. I seem to have been
asleep, but I feel -I am sure - some
thing terrible has come. I am fright
ened of this gloomly place -it is
strange. O, help me to get away!
Vou are a woman - you will understand.
I don't know where I am, but let me
pet out br?Htb the air, and 1 shall
leel tetter. You will help me!"
"Come, come." broke in Dame Bur
den, trying to lift her from her knees:
"you must lie down again and go to
sleet), ou will be ill."
Alice clung to Mvra: she pushed the
old woman away with a shudder.
"Oh. have pity.helpme! 1 am afraid.
I cannot tell what has come to me;
but it is hideous, it is terrible. Take
me away, carry me out into the air.
Oh. help help me, for Heaven's sake!''
Myra stooped, her face softened; this
girl was no willing accomplice. The
next moment she would have pushed
aside her mother and carried Alice
across the vault to the other door, had
not sounds of stejis out -ide stopped her.
Her expression changed.
"Here is someone coming who can
help you, perhaps. I can t plead to
him," she said roughly.
Alice looked round eagerly, while
Mvra folded her arms and fixed her
glance like a hawk on the form enter
ing through the curtains She saw
the frown gather on the Count's
face as he saw her, but made no sign.
He advanced towards Alice with out
stretched hands. She rose from her
knees; her face was white, her hands
clasped to her heart. She gazed at
the Count with a look of deadly horror.
He did not see it, but placed his hands
on her arm.
"You are ill; rest here for a while.
You will "
"Don't touch me," gasped the girl,
her brain reeling. "Vou -you Oh,
God! what terrible thing has happened
to me? I "
There was a confused sound in her
throat.she made a faint movement with
her hauds. and the next instant Alice
would have fallen to the ground in a
swoon, but in two strides Myra lert
the wall, and had clasped her in her
arms before the Count could touch
her.
"Leave her to me, George," she said
softly, yet to a well-toned ear her voice
sounded Btifled; "I will take her to my
room. You don't understand women."
"1 will carry her," interposed George
hastily.
But she shook her head, and lifting
Alice in her arms moved away as
though the inanimate girl were but a
featherweight.
The Count stood watching her as she
walked away, and could not repress a
feeling of admiration for her graceful
muscular figure and wonderful strength
and ease. He turned to the old woman
as she disappeared.
"She will be kind to the other," he
muttered quickly.
The old woman nodded.
"Yes, Myra is a strange one, but she
ain't cruel. She she thinks it's Paul's
girl 1 told her so. I thought it would
be best."
"You did right, though I don't care
much. She must know it sooner or
later. I mean to make the golden
haired girl my wife."
"Do you, George?" answered the old
woman in surprise, then after a
moment's pause she added cunningly;
"But how will you do that? I see she
wears a wedding-ring on her finger."
The Count laughed.
"Have you lived all these years,
Burden, to learn from me that a ring
does not make a marriage."
"Well, well, it's nothing to me: but
what about the diamonds, George?"
the old woman asked eagerly.
"Paul Hobs entered as he spoke,
carrying the case containing the Dar
rell diamonds.
"Hallo, mother!" he said jocularly;
"all alone'? Where's Myra and Sara?"
"Myra's in there," Dame Burden re
plied, nodding her head in the direc-
I tion of the inner chamber. "Sam
out doing his duty."
Paul laughed.
'Where is it?" asked tne Count
abruptly.
"Scouting round the Grange, a place
about five miles from here, belonging
to a man named Armistead: they say
he has a pile of plate worth a small
fortune.
"Armistead!" muttered Paul Ross
with a dark look: "he must beware:
Geoffrey Armistead is dangerous."
"Do vou know mm." tne count asKeu
be oi ened the case and drew out the
diamonds.
"I hate him!" muttered Paul; "he
has tracked me down all my life, curse
him!"
"Well, you shall help to rid him of
his plate as a revenge, laughed Count
Jura.
Paul looked up quickly.
"I will not have a finger In that Job,
George, so I tell you. It would mean
danger, perhaps discovery."
"I am not afraid, my dear Paul. If
tow are. Coware. mon ami. and re-
BMBbar you Join in the game
Grange. I 'command you.
at tne
ran bhuctm an om
hhaaaU down on a idle
a pile ot ran, ana
ww fatal while tte Vmat ipread Ue
her dainty bed. her light airv
Where was the window, and
glittering gems before the eaer eyes
of i'auje Burden.
"Herf ." he baid. picking out a ring
that biaed l.ke a star, "nerVs yur
share. Burden. Paul, what will you
h.ve?"
"Nothing of that lot: give me the
cui."
The Count glanced at him.
"Paul, you are growing cowardly.
Well. taKe the cups. I keep the dia
monds." "What will you do with tbem.
George?" aked Dame Burden. holding
out her hand and watching the jewel
fia-h in the light.
"Take them abroad and dispose of
them there." the Count answered
shortly.
Mvra was leaning against the rough
plank that formed a door between the
two rooms.
"Take them abroad!"' she whispered
to herself. "He is going away and
takes her with him. Coward! He for
gets me."
She moved tack to the bed on which
she had placed Alice. The fainting-fit
had pawd but the poor girl lay in a
state of coma. She knew nothing.
"How beautiful she is!" mused the
unhappy Myra: "fair as a lily. He
loves her all the love I gave him he
treads under foot. He remembers
nothing now -that he fooled me and
won my heart with his pleading. It is
all gone - all -my pride, my honor, my
peace of-finrid and my happiness. And
she - what will become of her?',
Her eye caught the gleam of the
ring on the white finger.
"Married, too. She hates him. for
that I could love her. How would it
be to "
Alice stirred, she lifted her eyes.
"Help me! Oh help me.' she mur
mured. Mvra stood upright.
"I wiil help her," she said to her
self quietly; "it will be my revenge."
CHAPI1R XL
Valerie Hoss was in her room alone,
her face was pale, but her eyes shone
triumohantlv.
Her nian had worked even better
than she e.vieeted: the hs of the dia
monds and plate, and Alice's disa-pea'-anee,
were now looked uon as an
arranged thing.
The country rang with the new ol
the young l ountess Darrell a elope
ment and robtiery.
Two days had elapsed, and as yet no
trace could tie found of the fugitives.
V alerie aw nothing of Hoy during
this time: he was shut in his own room,
hiding his head beneath the disgrace.
His mother was an altered woman:
she seemed xudden y aged.
The loss of the. diamonds was a sor
row to her. but she grieved far more
over her son's acute pain; he knew
alone what Alice's flight meant to him
not di.graee only, but desolation and
a broken heart, for Hoy loved now as
he never had or woulu again.
In her bosom lived many bitter
thoughts of Alice, and the same to the
proud honored woman was as a blow
almost too heavy to liear.
Valerie's itimpathy and tenderness
were very soothing to her, but brought
at the same time a sigh of sorrow as
she thought of her son's wrecked life,
and that Valerie could never be his
wife now but through the shame of a
divorce or death, and though she
judged Alice harshly, she was ti o
good a woman to pray for her death.
On the third day Hoy left bis room
and went down to the library, he bad
made up his mind to go abroad for a
time, and also to persuade his mother
to leave the Castle and seek mental
change after all the trouble she had
endured.
Valerie heard him leave his room,
and trod softly after him.
"Hoy," she said as ho was aDOut to
enter t .e library.
He turned.
"Valerie," he Baid quietly, "forgive
me; I did not hear you coming."
hhe gazed at his haggard face with
a heart that burned from its jealo isy.
She had not thought Alice 8 flight
would hive tried him so terribly.
"How ill you look!" she exclaimed.
"I feel tired-sick to death!" the
Earl answered, passing his hand over
his eyes.
"What are you going to do. sne
asked hurriedly.
1 I am making arrangements to leave
hero and go away.
"Do vou intend to follow them?"
The question was asked involuntarily.
Hoy's tace darkened.
"I shall seek him. if I go to the end
of the world," he said quietly.
"Where shall you go firsts" Valerie
questioned him hurriedly.
Hoy shook his head.
TO HE CONTINUED.
They Lore to Talk.
Woe be uuto the Inhabitant of
China who seeks to exclude the rest
of the world from the inner secrets
of his house, says the New York: lie-
corder. Woe be unto him who im
agine he can have secrets! Such
thing as a "private house" in China
is unknown. Anyone can go any
where. The foolish ones shut their
doors to shut the uoshlps out.
"What Ingoing on Dow?" the old
women and even the men demand.
"What hat be to hide from his fel
low-townsfolk?'' As there are no
Dewipaper to furnish the material
for conversation the neighbors mutt
afford the subjects for speculation
and to the gossip flourish a
A Chinaman who can give an ac
curate census of his relatives and
connections has a freak of a memory.
What he lacks h a wlf- provides. Hi
children marry early and supply all
deficiencies.
At fclxtv he Is related to lltteritllj
hundreds upon hundreds of persons,
and all have active recollections ol
the relationship, and tbt Ir relative;
in turn feel a family interest in the
one great man of the family. There
is usually at least one ,reat shining
light somewhere on the domestic
horizon, and to this shrine all tht
curiosity of the enormous community
of "friends" Journeys.
Thus the poor man is watched and
scrutinized and criticised and con
demnod. or, perhaps, praised, wits
tubtequeot demands upon hla port.
Mot a movement escape the eye ol
bis relatives, aod be coet through
life a nave to gossip aod 'family la
tercet"
Maw who die at the right Uae an
oat Hkelf to iret BxmpoBU
SWFETEST SOUND OF AU-
st lunar dad.
: Wbn Ann bu j oi i h flalria with Arm,
I I'rw heard. mb4 rt-txxi ft it red M
I I U.tam-d.
rr m aa l.v'fi.
Wbw o ir im bio DlUi. m d dtJ to whlia
Tb umut tmI nn.inc of tba awtaut
mgnvinala.
I't bMrt tlx mu.ic of tb wind, mbrn Uxhlug
w if and low.
Kow in rig ud now fmlUt g In turloal'.ua ebb
u4 ram -
I n Uiwu d l w in rutlil-a rI iba Moral
kiiig hurii- ihm a...
Aol imi ti.e taate. in uiTritdt from Ih lud-
inn, froarilug lrw.
I k barl tba idwt charter of tha mountain
tram at -ly.
And the mnroiui ot the riter it narrUw to the
be? ;
I n benrd to liluc tumult of nihility
ADdtbi uTn-t' SH" volc of the watert of
I n heur I tb prattling laaf bter of a babe In
i::fm .:.
And tle.iuui! of the nn.tl.er be rocal
lata on hvr knee ;
I've Letrd Ibe d ng of ewer aultor
whn b w. ea,
And I be aoftlT tii.p-r d tender notei thai lov
ing niaidru nrf.
bared my hed :n clolit r alkie, wben from
tb "Tk'an loil
Ar brealbed out woudtoui HHI of rare bar-
ixjonlea tweet arid nofl ;
I've board ti e uualc riffle forth from Paga-
ntiii't b-w.
And felt my I too J run (inter when the martial
bogle blow.
IT own d the away of Patti and I re heard
f rtcn It itr.g.
And the anw rlu dome of concert bait, with
irrund old ctooru Ttxm .
1'te li:eud to ti.e beruioulfi ot niMi'd urchet-
triU btinU.
And been ctu.rm d by opeta'.tc tiara o'. thii and
other lamia.
But, an for me all other aounda the aubtle
e-aen e lark
Ot the gra- d crexcetido uiuite that eomea rolling
dowu t be track ;
When nerrea a ttrala and flank! adrlp, and
noelrll. breiithiug fire,
A well bunched field of thoioughbrwda cornel
th underl::g to lb wlie.
The iioriKruii.ii.
JOSH'S BAR-L.
The landlord of the tavern at Gee
ville in the Hemlock I;elt was all
alone In the bar room the drst time
1 ever entered that unl ue hostelry, i
one cold day in December, and 1 had !
scarcely closed the bar-room door, j
hen taking tils pipe out of bis 1
mouth for the purpose, he said
".losh Euibcrly's found bis bar'L" 1
When I recovered from my sur-!
prise at this strange greeting, I ;is-
sured the landlord that i was glad i
Mr. Euibcrly had found his barrel,
but 1 had to admit that th s was the
first intimation I iiad had that be
had lost his barrel.
Night be ore Tl)aukg!-!n'," said
the landlord, pla-. his pi,,'. -n ti.e
chlmneyple e an i - u; il"i hre
in the tire place. ' '.ic!" ;
This was addre-i . i . : :id !
snoozing at one slue. v .v.ae -
hearth arid was accompanied by a"
kick from the landlord's boot. The
hound got up and walked ia-il . to
the opposite side of the hearth and
was soon continuing his nap there
The laidlord resumed his pipe and
his chair, and said:
"Cold day."
"It is, indeed," 1 re; lied, sitting
down by the fire. The landlord took
his pipe from his mouth, stared at
me a moment, and then said:
Day before Thanksgivin', I
mean, "
Oh!" said I "Was it?"
"Desj er't cold." replied the land
lord. "Too cold fer bog kIII.d', so
Josh Kmberly put hls'n off. Thought
mebbe it mowt be all right Thanks
givin' Day. Josb bad his bar'l all
ready, though to pack bis pork in.
Got It h' me. Powerful proper bar'l..
Hated like p'ison to let him bov it.
Wanted It myself. Pork bar'ls is
skeerccr'n June hugs in Janiwerry.
But Josb bung on fer me to sell him
the bar'l. runny Josh never told ye
'bout that bar'l."
1 said to the landlord that there
was nothing strange about It, as 1
bad never hcen Mr. tmberly.
"Josh ain't pootv sociable, that's
so," continued the landlord. "Never
did like comp'ny. Mowt ex well show
himself to ye fust ez last, though.
Josb be bung on an' bung on fer mc
to sell him the bar'L
" 'Josb,' says L, 'bar'ls is bar'ls jis
now.'
" 'Know It,' says Josh. 'An' I want
that bar'l bad,' says he,
"'Josh,' says I, twenty shill'n
wutb o' bad!'
" 'Pooty blame hefty lot, that is!'
says Josb.
" 'josh,' says 1, 'bar'ls Is bar'ls.
" 'Know It,' says Josh. Twenty
shillin' It is." says be.
"Hated like p'ison to let him bev
It- Think Josh wanted it ez much
ez twenty-two sbill'n wutb o' bad.
Git out ring!"
The old bound ac epted bis mast
eft kick without protest and got up
and walked back to his former pi a e
by the hearth and went to sleep
again.
"Jost took tne bar'l home," re
turned tbe landlord after lighting bis
pipe. "Was goln' to hog kill day be
fore Tnanksgivin'. Ton desper't cold.
Put it off. Thought mebbe It mowt
be all right Thanksgivin' Day,
Couldn't ben a pro erer day fer a hog
killln
i l I t l
Seen that soon ez 1 got uy In
out
tbe morn In'.
" 'Jane,' says I to my ol' woman,
'Providence don't seem to be holdlo'
on grudges ag'in Josh Emberly,' says
L
" 'Tain't ter you to jedge o that,
David,' says Jane.
-Couldn't t a hog-killln'er day
than this un' could tha?' says L
Tba's them that hain't got no
bogs to kill,' says Jane.
'Jane,' says I, "stick to the p'lnt!
Couldn't be a hog-killln'er day than
this un.' sayt L
Stumped her.
" 'David,' tart she, a hog-killln'er
day tbao this I never tee,' says she,
'Moon la right fer hog killln',
too,' eayt I 'Pork won't shrink in
tbe bar'l when It't killed this time
o tbe noon,' save 1
m tTatt.' a 11 Jane, "hut hare's hair
oattlnv aa a
tfrjose tba's folka
that waute their hair cut,' aajra abe.
"Cau't get it rut this time o the
I moon.' ear ehe Hiirdgrot faster
! an t-tu -burner thdo i tg we-d. cut
this time o' the mom. liid,'&ay
ebe 'Mean to iv ei Providence is
affitllin on the hog killer an' frown-
in' on folk et wants their haircut'
,.
the p int.
, aiu t ll.J
'June ' says I Mi k to
Moon's right fer bog-k:llin
i
says i.
"Stum ed her.
" 'David,' said she. it Is.'
" 'Look at this bar'l:' says L
Couldn't hev a pro. erer bar'l to pack
hi-) jKirk in than that bar'l he got o'
me. couid he.-"' says L
j '"Mowt a had twenty-two shiU'n
I for that bar'l,' says she
! 'Jane,' ays 1, "sdick to the p'lnt!
Couldn't hev a proiierer bar'l to , ack
his pork In than that bar'l be gut o'
. me. could he? says L
"tu:nred her.
" 'Dav.d.' said she.
" " 'Settled,' says L
'bo couldn't,
'.settled that
Providence don't seem to
no grudge ag'lu Jo-h
be hold in'
Etnberly,'
says L
"Sjioke a leetle too suddent. Sot
up fer a prophet a leetle ahead o' my
time. Hadn't niore'n eat my break
fast. In conies Josh Emberly.
Lookin' fluster, too.
"'.Mornin', Joshua,' said L
" 'David ' laid he, 'they've hooked
my bar'l!' says he.
"josh Einltfily!' says I. 'JN'ot
that Indentlcal bar'l?' says I.
" 'Similar an' the same ' savs h '.
"Josh Emberly!" says 1. 'Who?'
'Dunnu!' says he. "They've
i hooked It. Polled it outen my door-
yard. Can't find hide nor hair of it.
David,' said he, can't hog kill to
day!' says he.
" 'Joshua,' says Jane, don t wall,
says she. l'.Memler that if ycr can't
hog kill to-day tha's a heap more that
can't hair cut,' says she.
" Mane,' says L -stick to the pl'nt!'
says L 'Bar'l gone, hain't It?' says L
"Stumped her.
" 'David,' says she, 'it looks that
way.'
"Wa'n'l no doubtin' it Josh Em
borly's bar'l hed been hooked. Hunt
ed high an hunted low fer It. N'o
use. Couldn't strike its traiL Josh
tried to skeer up another bar'l.
Wa'n't one in the deestric. Turned
to an' sold his pork. F oolish. Tol'
him so. Orter hcl' onter it Vlster
day Joh were over in -Barley l;un
woods. Three oiiled from borne Seen
sum pin' (Sown In the bottom o' the
hoi.er. Went down to see what it
were.
" 'Jupiter Graylegs!" says Josh.
'My pork bar'l .' says he.
"Put his foot on the bar'L Sum
pin' 8rrumbled an' grumbled inside of
it. Then suinpln' tumbled an' jum
bled outside of It. I.'ar. Tremen us
big b'ar. seen Josh an' dug fer the
laurels.- B'ar had stole Josh's bar'L
i.olled-lt three mlled through tbe
woods an' made a winterln' place
outen it, Sing'lar an' queer that
Betsey ain't never tol' ye 'bout that
bar'L"
1 told the landlord that I didn't
know any Betsey. He took bis p pe
out of his mouth and stared at
At last he exclaimed:
"A n't you bim?"
"Ain't 1 who?" 1 asked.
me.
"Feller from the county
seat
Gointcr marry John Emberly'a
tcr Betsey," said he.
dar-
i 1 was compelled to say I was not
the fortunate gentleman from the
I county seat The landlord got up
i and gave the fire a poke.
j "Stumps me." said ha "(jit out,
! King "
And the kick be gave Ring this
1 t me was such an astonisher that the
, old hound got up and never stopped
! unt 1 he reached the other side of
the room. New York Sunday Sun
AHEAD OF THE COWCATCHER.
IIo the Klectric lleadliKht la Mow I'aed
on umeroua Itallroaua.
The electric headlight Is cow used
on many railroads, and W. B. Sparks
who Is Interested In a southern road,
recently told a writer of the Pitts
burgh Dispatch that bis company had
ound It a very profitable Investment
The lights cost about 375 each, fixed
on the locomotive, and they cost no
more than the oil light to maintain.
The old headlight would not throw
its light on a very dark night more
than l.iU feet, and It is Impossible for
an engineer to slow un bis train in
that distance, even with the emer
gency brake, yulte an Item In the
expense of the road used to be claims
for cattle killed. During the rainy
season the lands along tbe lines of
road become very wet In places they
are entirely covered witb water and
the cattle come upon the track seek
ing some dry spot on which to sleep.
A'hen the old headlight was In use
as many as thirteen cows have been
killed at one time and tbe damage
claims have sometimes amounted to
over $1,000 .per month. Now tbe
electric light throws its ravs from
half to three-juarters of a mile In
fain t t f tha Anirlnn i il aut Piit inn a
I te easily seen at that distance
I . , n)r, ,h,
IVI tPVJ I1J U VI VUV IJBa 1 MVV i a luniav uuav
a switch disk can 1 more easily
made out by It at night than In the
daytime. The lights, moreover, do
away with switch lights, which Is
quite a saving to roads that use
them to . any great extent Mr.
Sparks says that tbe engines using
tbe electric headlights on his road
have never killed a cow, and he Is
confident that tbe caving in stock
claims alone will more than pay for
ail the headlights on tbe read wltbin
two years.
Tbe Have Batb Money.
Among tbe Turks bath-money
forms an Item In every marriage con
tract, tbe husband engaging to allow
bis wife a certain turn for bath ng
purposes. If It be withheld, ahe baa
only to go before tbe Cada, and turn
bar slipper upside down. If the corn-
I olalnt be Dot then red rested. It le a
j ground for ditoroa
HUXLEY OR DARWIN.
1 be (imt liiwIvKlet Umrnt That Baa
Fi ieade He Areordd 'air Play,
What Trot Huxley did in these
mnkf.rfiil w.iu fi lilur;. fin a
scientific and impuiar I ats the Dar-
w in hypothesis and to meet the nianv
fCltt)jUlj criticisms directed against
ju it was his high pr.vl ee to en
joy the friendship of Darwin for
many y ars, and be, at 'bat time in
1 ngland, was the man who summed
up 'he work and showed best what
was the true course of scientific
thought.
I rof. Huxley, referring to the two
esiy of 1j'J and I tiO, writes that
those who read them then "will do
me the justice to admit that my zeal
to secure fair i lay lor Mr. Darwin
did not drive me Into th- p isition ot
a mere advo-ate. and that while do
ing Justice to the greatness of tbe
argument, I did not fail to Indicate
the weak points. I have never
seen any reason for departlnK from
the positiou which I took upon tbee
two essays, and the asertion which I
sometimes meet with nowadays that
I have 'recanted' or changed my
opinions about Mr. Darwin's views
are Quite uulntelllgib e to ma"
The one part in whlcri I'rof. Hui
ley differs from Darwin, it may be
stated, is that we are still In the
dark as to all the causes of variation.
We are not yet at the bottom of
what Is Inherltanca We are labor
log in this and the other directions,
and still the great hypothesis holds
Its own and Is triumphant What
Go the calls "Th itige Skepsis," or
active doubt, has benefitted the Dar
win an theory, for if doubt be honest
and free from prejudice, tnen In time
the truth is sure to coma
Perhaps in IS'0 I'rof. Huxley, in
one sentence, explained the vast ac
quirements of the man he eulogized.
Recalling that superabundance of
matter which Darwin gives, and tbe
difficulties of those who for want of
scientific training could hardly un
derstand hlru, he wrote: "Those who
attempt fairly to digest this book
(The Origin of S ec es') rind In much
of It a sort of intellectual peiumlcan
a ma8 of facts crushed and pound
ed Into shap , rather than held to
gether by the ordinary medium of an
obvious logical bond. Due attention
will, without doubt, discover this
bond." New York Times.
The Khjfber 1'iuta.
The Khyber Pass is no longer a hind
rance to movement. Thanks to the
British engineers, whose road is ex
cellent, having no grade steeper than
1 In 5, a lady's brougham can drive
from Peshawar to Landl Kbana. In
a military sense the pass Is dltlleult
The gorge at All .Masjld and the de
file beyond could be held fur a long
time by a small for.e auainst an
army. Sir. Sam Brown, In 1S7H
failed In his front attack, and the
turning movement which caused the
Afghans to retire would not have suc
ceeded against a vigilant defender.
There Is a track over the hills to the
north, sometimes called the Tartara
Pass, but It would not serve for a
large force, and could easily be de
fended. To the south of the pass
the parallel fla.aar Valley offers an
alternative route, but it Is acccsilble
from the Jellallabad basin only by
crossing a high ridge, and ought not
to be available against a wide-awake
opponent A vigorous defense, with
the tribes In Its favor, would close
the Khyber range against any ad
vance In either direction.
From Peshawar to Je'lallabad Is
c ghty miles, and from Jellatlab.id to
Kabul another ninety miles. Every
mile that the ra lway could lie carried
beyond Peshawar would bring India,
In every sense, nearer to KabuL The
goods which, at present, are carr.ed
i;o miles by camels and mules, would
be Indefinitely multiplied when drawn
I by t he locOnlotlv& The Clans tO
whom the British are strangers would
get to know them and become
friendly. The Ameer and his people
would have a lictter chance of under,
standing the Indian Government
These advantages are appreciated
In India, and the Kbyber country has
been reconnoitred for a railway Una.
Tbe pass not a good route, as the de
scent to Landl Khana Is too steep for
a railway.' But modern engineers
would make a line along the gorge of
the Kabul Klver, which pierces the
range, and by following its course an
excellent route can lie obtained, free
from floods, with no gradients atove
I In 200 and no extravagant tunnels.
The rails once laid to J)akka, could
be carried on along the plain with
out difficulty to Jellallabad. Tbe
Nineteenth Century.
Huperailtlon About Funerals.
The Chinaman ot the Tonquin dis
trict always pulls off bis left sandal
when be encounters a party bearing
a corpse through the streets.
Here In tbe United States few peo
ple like to cross the streets before a
funeral, and men and women appar
ently sensible in other ways 111
stand and wait until the procession
passes.
In Slam when a funeral is passing
the women tak down their hair and
unfasten tbelr beads and the men
fumble around In their pockets for
some little piece ot metal to hold be
tween their teeth.
In parts of England there It a
superstition to the effect that one
must t' seated while the funeral
cortege goes past.
In several states of the t'nion it Is
believed that two weddings In one
family during the year will cause a
funeral In tbe same family before tbe
end ot another year.
In Ireland It Is believed to be
especially unlucky to stand under an
umbrella while a funeral passes, or to
count the teams in tbe procession.
St Loult Kepubllc.
CitKKnrcf,NKaa ts an excellent
wearing quality. It has been celled
tbe bright weather of tbe heart
