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About The Sioux County journal. (Harrison, Nebraska) 1888-1899 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 16, 1897)
t , it) II ! ! ! fi u 1' 1 l! if"'1" '1 CHAPTER IX.-Cuntinned. The maid thought it rather strange; but there is no accounting for lovers. She took the letter, and her mistress pass ed on. She went up the steps and found herself on the crowded deck. No one no ticed her; each was intent on bis or her own business. Looking forward she saw her husband at the end of the boat; her eyes rested on hini for some minutes; then she turned away, her eyes full of hot, bit ter tears. A man stood at the foot of the stairs. "I want to go on shore," she said. She slipped some money into bis hand. In a few minutes she was walkiDg rapidly down the pier, never stopping to look be hind, never pausing for one moment. She went back to the railway station, where a train was just starting. "Where is that train going to?" she asked. "To Liverpool," was the reply. Without loss of time she hastened to the ticket office, purchased a ticket, cd la less than ten minutes after she had left the steamer she was on her road to IJv erpool. Then she flung herself back in the carriage, and wept as only women weep once in Ife. "I am safe," she said to herseif, "safe nnd dead to him." Meanwhile the British Queen went gay 1y on her -course. The sky was cl 'ur. the sea was calm. Lord Dunhaven' eiiiam were excellent, and he enjoyed then. lie felt happier than he had been for ome rime. His worldly prospects were brilliant, and he believed it quite possible that in time he might like his young wife very much, even if he did not lev-? hor. She had piqued and perpleKP-i !tim; ho had far more character than a" had :m-" agined. lie must try to underlain! !.;jr, for, nnless he was mistaken, th-;ra was plenty of spirit as well as character. He went to the cabin stairs, but did not see his wife; he went down, b it she was not there. He blamed himself, Iwliev.ns; that she was among the crowd on deck He saw Annie was also look'i: about. "Annie," he said, "where is your mis tress? Tell her she will be left behind. The pretty maid looked at him in dis tress. "Lady Dunhaven I thought she was with you, fljy krd. I have not seen her." "I bronpht her to the eubm," he said, ""before the boat started." "She left it again before the boat start ed," said the frightened girl; "she chang ed her bat and cloak, then went on deck again." "Then she is there now," he said, hast ily; "we must look for her." "Mr lord, I beg your pardon. My lady .asked me to give yon this and I forgot." This! What is this? He holds out his hand. She gives him a letter. His handsome face grew pale as he read the first words; then he said: "I fee I understand it: it has all been a mistake; the lady went ashore: it will be as well to say nothing of this." He stood on French soil when he read "her letter; it was not very long, but to 'the purpose: r '"Lord Dunhaven." it began, 'when you receive this I shall be far away; I shall be for all time dead to you. Let me tell you that on Tuesday, when you were in the drawing roojn, talking at the open window witb Lady Dnrel, I was sitting among the rose trees. Before I had either time to go away or to warn you, I heard you say to yotir shame it was the mon ey you wanted, and not the girl. My lord, I rtpeat your own words, it was to your sharoe I heard you say also that I bad nothing in me to win any man's love. My lord. 1 had learned to love you with ail the strength and force of my heart. I tell you that because I aha!: ;:ever look upon your lace aga'u. Yon have what you want the money; as for the girl, your eyes will never rest oil her aaln. She is dead to you for all time. I nm grateful to you for the kindness you once showed me. It is in return for this lunduess that I leave you the money and set you free. 1 hope you will wate no time in lookin? for me; to you and yours, so cold, so hard. o cruel to me, I am dead for evermore. I would rather die by any torture than inflict my presence on you again. I hope the money will make you happy. Good by forever and evermore." 'CHAPTER X. Lord Dunhaven read the letter twice over, to be quite sure of its contents; then he went direct to the telegraph office and aent a telegram to Lady Darel. It said: "Join me at the Hotel d'Or. Calais, with the greatest possible speed. Say nothing." Lord Dunhaven was at the station to meet her. She did not know how great her suspense had been until she saw him there alive and well. "My dearest. Leonard," she said, "I have had a terrible fright." "My dearest mother," be answered, "I have been driven almost mad; bu-t we will not talk here or in the streets -we may be overheard; we will not speak one w'ord until we reach the Hotel d'Or." . When ther entered the pretty salon Lady Darel's Brat words were: -Where ia Lady Hilda?" And one look at her son's agitated face tuld ber where the wrong lay. "Sit down, mother," he said, "that which I have to tell yon will be a shock to yon, as well aa to me. Lady Hilda has left forever. She did not come to France, and we shall never see ber again." He in right ia thinking that it wonld be a ahock to her; ber .face grew very pale and she trembled. "Oh, my dear Leonard, the disgrace. What shad we do? We shall be the laughing stock of all England. She ran away, roa say? Why did yoo not prevent itr "I could sot Read this letter, and then you will understand." As she read her eyes filler' with tears. "Poof cMM, ctIW "Oh. Leonard, to she has suffered. " ' Her first tsaartsa Was one of unutter able ssrssw ami regret, her sext of anger a tfcegjr! who had breegbt this disgrace ffMmV' -"'". "1 am sorrr she aferaeard ue, Loom- wsmt , r"" r -r tci ex 5 M the money, mother, and she believes that I shall be happier without her; I am sor ry, for I really meant to be kind to ber, aad I am grateful." "What can we do?" asked my lady. "After such a wedding, too everything so well arranged, every one so compli mentary. We shall be the laughing stock of all England. I never heard of a man's wife running away on her wedding day. You will never hear the end of it, Leon ard." "I shall never hear the beginning of it, mother, if you will help me,", he said. "Why need I surely you and I can keep a secret. "You and I can, but ; ou forget the ser vants yjwi had two with you; and only thiiikyhat a perfect godsend such a piece of intelligence must be to them." The young earl told his mother that he had heavily bribed them, and that they had solemnly sworn secrecy. She looked up in wonder at the sum he named. "I shall go to Paris," coutiuned Iord Dunhaven. "You see what Hilda says, mother, that we need not waste any time in looking for her, that she would rather die by any torture than live with us again. Still I shall starch for her, aud to you 1 intrust the search." "I will do my best to find her. 1 wish I had been kinder to her, but she was so strange, so unformed, so different to every one else. 1 was stern with her for her own good; she was but a child." "We did not understand her, mother," he said, sadly. "She was a self-sacrificing, generous, tender-hearted, sensitive girl; but it is of no use wasting time in regret; we have to think now bow to save ourselves from being laughed at. First of all, I shall go on to Paris juct as though this had not happened; you will return to England and look for her wherever you think there is a chance of finding her. I shall stay there six months, and with good management, no one will know but what my wife is with me. At the end of six months,, which was the time I intended to take for my wedding tour, I shall, if she be found, return home, and all will be well." "But if I cannot find ber," said Lady Do rel. "If she cannot be found," he said, "there is still no reason why the world should know that we are not together. At the end of that time you will receive let ters from me sarin,-; that we intend to pro long our tour; you can read them to your friends, and still no one need know that she is not with me." "I see." said my lady; "and then?" He sighed deeply and paused again. "Theu. mother," he said, "I see no chance but for me to remain abroad for some years at least. 1 shall not like it. but I prefer that to being laughed at. I shall remain abroad fire or tux years; snrely we shall have found her or beard something of her." And if not," said Lady Darel, "I like to see my way 'aid straight before me." If not, I must come home and brave it out, he answered. Lady Darel went back by the evening mail taking the luggage all with ber; this she ctored away in one of the many ware houses in which Indon abounds. She returned without having aroused the least suspicion as to where she had been. Then be began a life that could only have been carried ou by a clever woman. She talked of her son Incessantly; she .read extracts from his letters, always using the word "we" using it as though it meant himself and his wife, so cleverly that, f at any moment the whole truth had come out, no person could have found hr out in fhe slightest untruth. Then, after a time, sjie dismfssed her servants, gave up her houe, and told ev ery one she was going to travel, in order to see. riot the beauties of the Continent, but of her native land. That wa but a way of disguising the fact that she in tended to go in search of her son's lost wife. Sne went first to Hurst Sea, half hop ing, half believing that there she stionld find either herself or some news of ber, but there was none. On the contrary, news of the wedding havi ig reached there,' he had many iiKjuiries to answer about i he young countess. She went from one place to another, from the seaside to the country and back again to town. But nowhere, and from no source could she glean the least information of her. She was indefatigable, but it was quite use less. So the time passed on. At the end of sis months, Lady Darel announced to all her friend ffcnt her sen would prolong his stay on the Continent, t the end of six ye;irs, sim announced that her son was returning to England for a short time, but that he would return alone. CHAPTER XI. Lady Hilda Dunhaven threw herself back in the railway carriage with the air of one relieved from an intolerable bur den. She was alone now alone forever more; she was dead to them for all time. She could not collect her thoughts, not one idea was clear to her except this that liv ing, she must live with a thorn in her heart, and that for all time she was dead to him. When the train stopped, she walked out of the Iomlou Bridge station, feeling that he was indeed alone In the world. She would not go to any hotel to sleep, lest by so doing she should leave any traces of her flight she would walk through the streets nntil morning. As she walked np and down the deserted streets, she thought of her young husband on French soli. "He will not regret me," she thought, bitterly; "he has the money, he will be pleased that I am out of the way." The night was long the stars shone out brightly, the clear, sweet sir was Inter mingled no longer with the busy sounds of busy men. Morning came, and at six o'clock she was at Enston Square. She had Dot decided where to go she said to herself that fate should decide that for her. A train was in tbe depot, and wher ever the train was going shs would, go. She listened it was for Rugby, Crewe aad Chester. She would go to Chester. Orn mora aha yarcnaaed a ticket and was aoo m tbe old, jvth taw of Cbea tat. Tata, feeds- a srmost aato!eeU, he remembered how long It was u, h I ha.f t.ith,p fititt tt-in, Uk. I ...... ...... . ........ .. Birrj,, iuf Wfllt into a coffee hnuse and asked for a room. She could hardly drag ber weak, wearied limbs up the stairs; she coold hardly kei p her tired eyes open until the tea she or dered was brought up to her. When she had drunk it she fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion. It was ereuing when she awoke; her idea were much clearer, but there was a strange, terrible feeling in her b ad; a red mist seemed to float before her eyes and obscure every thing; a sound like the rushing of waters filled her ears. She thought that perhaps the fresh air would do her good. She arose i.nd went down stairs. She walked dowu the high road, and than a lovely green lane charmed her. She went down, and found some grand clover meadows; she crossed those, wondering why the earth and sky seemed to meet why the green world whirled round her. Then c-uaie a long, white, hard, high road; she went down it, little dreaming that she would never repass it. The shadows of evening were beginning to fall, the golden ngiit or the sun was fndine. She walked to the middle of the whito hard road; she heard the sound of car nage wheels, but it did not seem to he that she was in any danger; that she bud Defter go out of the rond: that if she re mained where she was she would be run over; it was dusk then, in the evening uwing to a sharp corner, those driving did not see her. The next thing was a cloud or oust; the quick gallop of horses; a woman's scream; a low cry, and then a moment of unutterable anguish. Lady Hilda Dunhaven was lvin under the horses' heels, with a gaping wound in her temp.e, and the gray look of coming death on Her face; ber hat was crushed, and the golden hair streamed on the ground A minute of horrified silence, then a girt s voice cried: It is a woman. We have run over a woman. What shall we do?" mere was great consternation; the coachman jumped down from his box, the footman from the back of the carriage one held the horses' heads, while the oil) er raised the prostrate figure. His fact grew pale as he looked at her; the great. gaping wound and the gray hue of that young face startled him. "Is she hurt?" asked the lady, quickly. ' very much, indeed. I am afraid sue is killed, was the answer. The lady, who seemed to be quick and decided in all her movements, came hast ny ironi tne carnage, and went up to Lady Hilda. "Killed," she repealed. "I hope not I hope not. Lay her down ou the grass, Smithson." Tbe man laid her on the grass. The lady kntit by her side and laid her baud over her heart. "She is not dead '' she said. "Her heart beats. 1 will tell you what we must do. She iu;m 1 placed in the carriage, aud we must take her home." "Home," said a sleepy, indolent voice. "You don't mean home, my dear." "Where should I mean? Do you sup pose we can drive her to the moon, or leave her lying here? Nothing of the kind. Most certainly she goes home." "Well, my dear, do just as you like. There is nothing in' the world worth troubling about. Take things easy. They are sure to come right," quoth Sir Peter Pitcairn, who was one of the most indo lent men of his time. "The pior creature would die, most probably, while you are tnkirfg things easy," replied Lady Pitca.'rn. "This comes of rapid driving, Sroithson." "Indeed, my lady," said the coachman, "I was not driving quickly at all. but the young lady stood quite in tbe middle of the road, and did not stir." "It looked to me like suicide," snid the footman, as be helped to place the silent figure in the carriage, and during the short drive home. Lady Pitcairn was busy in discussing the idea. CHAPTER XII. Branksonie Hall was one of the mwt Important estates in Cheshire; the owner, Sir Peter Pitcairn, ought to have held the chief position' in the county; as it was, he was too indolent for anything but the most ordinary and indispensable needs of life. He ate and drank Indus trionsiy; he siept well; he enjoyed sitting in the coziest of easy chairs: but more useful occupations, he had none. Thosi. who knew him best said h was a good tiling he had married as he did. Lady Pit cairn was a woman of business keen, shrewd, quick, callable of managing an estate a woman of plain, practical com mon sense; active, industrious and ener gy ie. They had two daughters two beautiful and aecou.prmhed girls-and every one wondiTi d that such commonplace parents should have such beautiful, graceful chil dren. The eldest, Anice, was a lovely, graceful blonde, fair as a lily, with huir that shone like threads of gold; the youngest, Cecile, resembled her, save that her hair was of a darker trown, and her eyes of a hazel hue. Tiiey were the belies r,i the country, feted, admired, and eager ly sought afTT. It was to this household. Miii;oed of such ojsjxsHe choractew. thst Lady Pitrsirn in h"r kind, impulsivi activity, brought Lady Hilda Duuhaveti. "Such an adventure, my dears," sin said to her two daughters., "Smith. n drove over a young lady on the Hering stone road; we have brought her houn half dead. You must none of you go 1' see her. Let her be taken to the blip room. I have sent for Doctor linrhicon.' The doctor's decision was favorable she had certainly injured her brain, but! he did not fear for her. With great can and good nursing she would recover. "Who can she be?" cried my lady "Here is a purse with more than a hun-J dred pounds In notes in it. Who can be? And what can have brought a lady to the Ueringstone road alone in the duski of the evening? What docs ahe say Martha?" hp added, quickly. She was standing with her tady's maiill near the bedside, and suddenly the wbltJ lips had .opened to murmur some half In distinct words. "What does she ssy?" my lady repeat ed, as tbe faint, feeble words nunc again "I cannot hear distinctly." said tb maid; "but it sounds like 'a thorn in mji heart.' " "A thorn In her heart, poor child! Wha nonsense! She had more likely a wounil in ber he,.d. She must be delirious. . "It Is a thorn in my heart, and 1 ami dead to theru for ever;nore. Oh, mother ask Jod to take me home." The words were 'cried ont In a tone o keenest pain; a burst of Dssslonate tear relieved fhe burning brain. They did not) And all of them so different! "Wash interrupt her; they stood by calm and still ngton 8tar. until the passion of grief had eihaust - - itself, then Ladr Pitcairn went to be !TL and aald! i I . . '1' ' 'try to aeep rovreau Met; you aav bad a very serioaa acclttat." l.adv iMIllnvin rai.ed hei e;j to the ihrcwd. kindly fare heiiduiu nvi-r her. "I do not uinVr-'a.ui." she .'Lid, Uiully. "Never mind about underniai.diiig." repled; "drink this and go to iU;. u muM rest." She did as he nil lulil. and the Ion IT. cuiet sleep seemed to restore in r. It was morning when she ojwned h-r eyes, and the sun was shining iu the room. Laoy Pitcairn, who was deeply interested iu her , protege, was by her side again. j "You are better, my dear," itbe said. "You wonld like to know where you are. This is Branksome Hail, my husband's place, and my husband is Kir Peter Pit cairn. I am Ledy Pitcairn. Would you , like me to send for your frieuds?" ' The troubled eyes fell before ber. "No, 1 thank you, she said, gently. nui, my uear, iucj i.i ue aui.ous about jou. lou were walking by jour- man drove over yon. You will let me write, at least, to say where you arc'" "I would rather not," she replied. And l.er face grew so troubled that Lady Pitcairn could not continue her questions, i-ady Dunhaven said, iu a low voice: "I am very grateful to you for your wonderful k.udness; but as soon as I cau. I must leave you." "It is impossible that you should have no friends. IYrhajis yon are not oil good terms with them? Tell me you may ...... i UWWl ui-. "My father died," sfce replied, "one year ago, aud since then I have beeu worse than friendless. I ought to have bad wealth, but I have lmt it." Poor child! But who was your father, and what was bis name?' I cannot tell you. Dear Lady Pitcairn, you have been kind to me, and you wi.j you of my past; I nin dead to it; or to my friends; I am dead to them. Despair and death were In my heart on the day the horses trampled me under foot, and your goodness saved me,' You are too young for eirlier despair or dcaNi." said Lady Pitcairn.' j eating one or two general laws, lie "I am young, but I have suffered." she : n, , is: ".mrtlier defect is tile short said, with a quick shudder. D.ar Lady i wm f(j'f whMl M,,H.rvlsr8 nre elects Pit.-airn: she said, half raising beix-if, , , Me will you believe me if I shv this: 1 am '. ' , . , , ,i of good family; against mv name there ' riki:r l ""' l'n" ' is not one faint whisper. I am worthv i !l"nt fUI'iTvlaor may cudvor to of your kindness; I have no mystery or j 'Try out and giving :i sense of iiiocur guilt to coneial, but I have a secret. My 1 ity In the Hieitl:n." name, my story are secrets that will die j The iovemor advocjites three siiK-r-with me; and that secret does not arise ! visors to le ele-tel for three .vents, one from any wrongdoing of mine, but from ' polng out of ollice etich year. Alw that the faults of others. Can you will you ! . i.if n, ,.,,1 .,.t iJnnbl In money. take me on my word?" "She must be n lady," thought the mis tress of Branksome. ' She treats me quite as an equal." Aloud she answered: 'I am willing, as you say. to take you on your word, but I must have some name to cull you." The young Countess of Dunhaven thought for a few moments, rhen she an swered : "Call me Miss Dunn; and, dear Lady Pitcairn, I owe the gratitude of a life time to you for your goodness to me." So the conversation ended, and the Earl's lost wife was known by the name of Miss Dunn. To be continued.) The 1 too 111 that Never Came In Balubrldge, Cuyahoga County, Ohio, not far from Cleveaml, In the queerest country general store I ever ran across, says a writer in the Chicago Times-Herald. Balubrldge Is a umall hamlet, but the store la as large and an well stocked an tbe average suburban store. It Is kept that Ih predsely the word for It by an old widower, who has no relatives In that section of the country -nd Is practically a hermit. When the civil war liegan lie was run ning 11 flourishing general store In Balu brl.:'? and made money rapidly during the micceedlng four years. Vhen jienee was declared prices, which had been greatly Inflated, took a sudden drop. The old fellow believed that thin would be followed by a loom which would semi prices tikywanl again, and refus ed to tell his goods for less than what be paid for them. Down went tbe price down, down, down and finally he was forced to close bis store for want of pprchasers. To-day his store Ktnnda almost exact ly as it did thirty yearn ago. It was stocked with such goods as are usually found In country stores, but, of course, the Mock Is now practically worthless. Lvery day the old man opens tin the place to give it an alrinjr. He Is there. too, for business, If any one chooses to ImyTvuat he has to sell and Is will ing to pay w hat he asks. Why, sir," he said to me, "some of the calico I've got here cost me fir. cents a yard in 1807. Wouldn't I be a fool to sell it now for 5 cents?" Small Creatures of Mighty Muscle. The shell-less limpet pulls 1,084 times Its own weight when In the air, and about double when measured In the water. Fleas pull 1,493 times their own dead weight. The Mediterranean cockle can exert a pulling power eual to 2.071 times the weight of Its own lKidy. So great Is the power possessed by the oyster that to open It a force equal to 13.185 times the weight of Its soft Inxly Is required. If a human be ing possessed strength as great In pro, portion as that of the shellfish the av erage man would lie able to lift the enormous weight of 2.07,0(M) ponnds; pulling In the same degree as tbe cockle be would sustain a weight of no less than ,lOC,Vs) pounds. His Comment. "I always (Unlike men who have no ear for music," said one girl, "ami now I dislike tliein more than ever. Char ley Nailrgo called to see me yesterday evening. At 11 o'clock I went to the piano." "And played 'Home, Sweet Home"" said the other girl. "Yes. Klrat I played It aa a ballad. He didn't move. Then I played It'as a waits aud next as a two-step aad then aa a Jig." "And what did be dor "He said: G radons, Mis Jones. what, a JoUj lot of tunes you know I V U CODSUI.BWW a gUOQ JOMT" Th- mtmtt mm r fl t-1 "The rfajbt sort of fallow to teU V(iW''-v-'T r Wif-S? , . ' ("tft" '-rnzWf1? Twonlil Ket Him Thinking. If the man pulled the load While tbe horse held the whip, He'd fix up the road When he'd mnde the first trip. A Good i on (In Governor. Oovernor Hunting, of l'eniisylvnnia. In hlK iiMtssMgc to the legislature, de livered .fan. ;"tb, mU In part: "It npMiirs that we have alHittt Whv (: miles of public ro;tds In the various i , , , , . .1,1. ,. wnHn!j -' '"" " " lnclndiiiir turnpike rond anI those lit j the cities and through, ami. although nlmoHt foljr million dollars huvt? lieeii , expended each year for their improve- incut, they are Iu a most unsatisfactory condition. This great mm, avci-igltv :ill)nul e.4s.7:i r mile, should, If I.ibl out with iiitcl!.:t' nee and .-.oiioiny, during the p:ist lift; n years have mii'lc : every public thoroughfare equal t "r 1 liCht turnpike ivhuK" Aftur Milting tlutt the nid hiws t numerous and too local, and trlvo- and tlmt every mile of tin rood os tein lie under the care of Individuals whose daily duty should ! to see that the roads are In good condition nnd re pairs made when needed, 'if these suggestions were carried out, the way would be open for the Ktnfe to grunt stieh Hid from time to time as might 1-c Deritrary In relieving the burden now wholly iMirnc by the rural people." Koadx and Kond Mnklnit. The famous Applnn Way, mentioned by almost every Konmn writer, con nected tbe Kternal City wiili all parts of South Italy, For many miles from Home the space on each side was filled with scpulchn-s, many of them of jier sutUh ilihtluiiuikhml in bi.'or'. To liuw a sepulchre on tbe Appian Way was equivalent to leliig burled In (Ireeii wood. In New Y ork, or Pere hi Chaise, In Paris. At the eoroniUlon of'tjueeii Kllzibet h. In l.Vis, the roads In the neighliorbood of Ixmdon were so liad that tbe QuocD'n coach twice stuck In the mud on the way to Westminster aud tbe 'Jucen was iii,icr.od to aliifht while the ve hide whs pried out of the ruts by the attendants. During the remainder of the royal prociKlon. half a dozen la borers with fxdrs formed n not imrtlc ularly imposing but very necessary part of tbe cortege. The Pioman Empire had a system of paved roads, radiating from Home In every direction, to the utmost limits of Uoman territory. One great road Jed across the Alps Into !aul, to a point near Cslnis, and is.nning again in Britain it ran directly north to the wall of Severns; another down the Val ley of tbe Danube, ami fprmi Constan tinople east, thmitifh Hyria and Pales tine, to the Ikj I: tries. Still another ran west, along the seaoonst Into Spain, while Africa had Its own sys tem. The Roman roads were built on tbe Telford plan, with a subMnitum of heavy blocks of Hie stone most abund ant in the neighborhood, covered with a layer of smaller stones or gravel. They were highest In the middle, with a trench on each side to -arry off the water, and no trees or shrubs were al lowed "to grow within 1H) puces on elth r hand. The ispulation of the dis tricts through which these highways passed were required to keep them In order and to cut down weeds nnd fchnibhery within tbe proscribed dis tance. "ISweetness and IilirM." Prof. Skeat, who has writbh more .thati fifty lssiks ou etymology iuid kltulred subjects, has acquired Uie half It of delving after the roots, instead of Hijoylng the, bloom and fruit of literature. In bis latent lok, "A Htu (IrtrtV Pasttme," he siiys if Iteuji Swift's famous phrase, "Swis-Uii-ss ami light," that It "Is n meaningless t'Xpresslon, unless we know the con text." He then explain, - what ail readers know, that Swift referred to rswrn"nn - wrote dial they fill their "hives with honey and wax, thus fur nUblug uiiinklnd with the two juil.lest of tilings, which are sweetiu and light." Whatever Swift may have meant by tbe phrase, It no longer, on tbe Hps of any thinker, refers to the "sweeituoss of the honey iu the honey, comb and to Hie "light" of a taer. Swift shows tlmt he meant more than tbta by using the words "hlie two nphbwt of things." Hut, the Dean hnlde, the phrase "sweetae and "light" now hchmg to Matthew Arn lrWl, who first used It to express the two Jgreatest qualities of mind and soul. Ht has lieen said that hewho quotes u thought w next in mertt to hini who Conceived It; but be who fashions a phrase la aural not so pnUaoworwiy as It wtM ennobles It by a bhjber use. i told his mother that "everything feitf exi-ept lienor ami life, which are saved." has len made sublime by some thinker who compressed the thought into "1111 Is Uwt; save honor." Matthew Arnold, rlsln aUve the Imi-s, either of Furne I-Vlls or of Hybla, exalted Swift's won.-., and they n-v meii, wherever English Is st.okt -r read, the noble w:: of tcmisT and the luminous and l.iumimitiiLg iower of soul. We no longer quote Swift; wo quote Arnold. "Magna Charts" of Knglnnd. The English mnim wis no written constitution. The Goveramcut of Eng land Is based uinui certain charters, grout, royal edict. coiK-ed.n-S aiid ulsive all usiu a mass of precedents, tle Uwvsy !. Aug that what bus oiu-e leen done may be repealed nnd t,ia Its ls'im,' done the first time must have by Authority. The foiunlatin stomf of Brit Wi llls-rty Is the "Maua Ciiarta," or Cixat Charter, which the Batons of England comjHdled King; John to sign In 1215. Tbe provUUms of the IJriU't Charter have been con firmed by over fifty nets of Parliament U-tweeu EMo und the prient day, aU(l thus this famous Instrument Is, la a certain sense, the law of the land now, a.s It has Isvu for over fHs years. 'The fact that tlie English have no written constitution must not lie undirstoisl to nliUfy that Uiey ate not tenacious of their liberties, for, ns a matter of fact, the unwritten prenslent, bunded down as It Ls by tradition from father to son, generation after generation, Li quite us binding as though it had lcen dvawu up In Hieclfl: form ami g-lveti tin; authority of a legal emu-tmnt. TJm "Magna Cliartu" dotjiu-d the preroga tives of the King, stated detluit-Iy what the monarch mlchf and might not demand of his sub-ct, fixed the xsl tion of the. uoblilty anl what duties they owed to the sovereign, and pro vided, with great. partieulnrMy, for Uie protections of artisans, farmers and la lsrr.T'. forbidding craftmen's bsils to lie s.'isw'd for debt, or a lalioivr's agricultural Implements, furniture or clotJiLng to ls distrained. It wa thus. In a very broad sen', a const it.ut.ioH, fixing tliewtcuil, illtlcal ami industrial statiw of ail classes of Bubjc"tH. An English Dinner in 1HIO. Of sis-lcty In 110. U me tqenk only of the wcal'Jdettt city elas the Hnjd" who lived In ldjr bouses in B!isuiL4lmry or In the suburbs. They had "evenings" with a little mtilc; they were very decorous; the young, men st-sl round the wall or In tbe doorways; the little music ImdiKb-d songs of tbe affection; there was a lit tle rcfri-shmeut handid alsmt or set out In the dining room. It con-dsti-d of nn.it wb-bes, cuke mid lK-gus. Some times there w as a dinner luirty. The company were Invited for hair past (5; tbe dinner, always tlw same, or nearly the same, consist! of salmon cutlets, bnimcli of mutton, boih-d fowl, ntid tongue, birds of some kind, and pudding of iVne or two kinds. Tlw dUhea were put on tbe table; eviry. Is sly helM-d each oilier; nolxsly drank anything until the twist had first taken wine with him; there was nothing to drink at dlntwr except slurry. After dinner the ixirt went around once; the ladles retiml; thU wim alsmt half-jxint 7 or a quarter to 8; tbe men then closed up; fresh ib-canters were placed on the table and they drank port steadily till 10:.'!O-l. p., for three long hours. Then tJiey went upstairs to tbe drawing risiin; ami, ns If t!n iort wn.i lut etuiugh, they then had brandy and water. ltot. Ur Walter ltsiuit Lu Hdf. t!ultutv. Tomato (iravy. Mn-h ls said, and none tsi much, of U10 dietetic virtues of tin- apple. Next to U, perhaps, w may rate the tomato. It lias one virtue that we have neve witi mentioned; tbe property of eiuttl w'fylnt,' faw. To this may be added a iugul,f faculty of assimilating itself to Uie flavor of mwnt gravy with which : Ju'u-e may Is- osiked. Our hoilse keeping frle.mU may try a fried stwik, fur ojwe, by cooking a little tomato JuUi- in ilw slxil'oijf piui Jitst after n1 movhvg tlw meat, Any meltwl fat. or i..:kcd elin-ds and Ju!-e albirln to the IcoJi, or butter applied to tlw tnmt, en. tlrely dlsapiM-ar In an envulslon, mak ing a rU-h, -oiious, reI4lsh brown gravy, with tlw true men.t fla vor sea rce ly imsilfied by a slight plqimtit a-blity from the fruit. If Uie s'.enk ba m-:ji left in a vwl u save Ms drain In.;.' since lit was cut, ami tbta juUv be put lti with that of tlw tomato, the gravy will lie by so much inriched and en larged, as well ns thickened, by the conciliation of the additional albumen, tlobimlered tomato jiuljwlth this nn-sit Jub-e nwilnti a thick sam-e of like rV-h Ha vor, for rouM or tow. Tlie Sanitary Era. The Wealth of 1'arls 3,200 Millions One of the French iiewspacrs has recently given the following estimate (lately made by the public authorities; of the wealth iu both real and personal proisTty of tbe city of Paris. The total Is about 3,2iK) million dollars. This, however, does not include the valuable proierty of the Government nor that of the prefecture of the I eparttneiir of the Seine. The S2.NH) private pieces of property nre put In at 2,0711 million dob lars; the streets, avenues and Isiule rnrds at OH) millions; the property of the city, which Includes most of the churches, at JEW millions; property n transit. 12 millions; per-Honnl property, WI millions; the canals and shops of tile gas monopoly (of which the city will get one-half in IWXIi, .Kj,-ri0,0i)0; tb railroads and stations, 30 millions. United States Investor. Ast re to NaslHM. Ooldrlngskl (tbe rich pawnbrokers No. meln young frendt, I can'd be your fader-ln-law; but (suavely) I uj h an ungia to you.-Jude. Ttm word mtiti'V In whW'b 2 I t ,t.:3 1 r. fcr m&j feat 1 ' c - ' , .1' ' '.4 1