The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917, March 04, 1898, Image 4
(■ CHAPTER XXX1W—(CoNTiKt bd.) | implanted in the heart of a loving wo the old man In the garden, looking un usually bright and hale; but bis talk was still confused; he mingled the present with the past, and continued to speak of Marjorie, and to address her. as If she were still a child. The sun was setting when they left him, turning their steps toward An nandale Castle. They lingered slowly along the road, talking of indifferent things, and sweetly happy In each other’s society, till It was growing dark. Then Marjorie held out her hand. "Let me go with you to the Castle gate,” said Sutherland eagerly. "Not to-night," answered Marjorie. "Pray, let me walk alone, with only lit tle Leon." Very unwillingly he acquiesced, ami suffered her to depart. He watched her sadly till her figure disappeared In the darkness, moving toward the lonely brid across the Annan. Having wished Sutherland good night, Marjorie took the child by the hand and walked hack across the meud ows toward the Castle. It was a peace ful gloaming; the stars were shining brightly, the air was Imlmy; so she sauntered along, thinking dreamily of the past. She walked up by the bridge, and looked down at Annan Water, (lowing peacefully onward. As Bhe looked nhe mused. Her life had begun with trouble, but surely all that was over now. Her days In Paris seemed to be fading rapidly Into tie dimness of the past; there was a broken link In her chain of experience, that was all. Yes, she would forget It, and j remember only the days which she had passed at Annandale. And yet how could she do so? There was the child, little I-eon, who looked at her with her father's eyes, and spoke his childish prattle In tones so like those of the dead man. that they some times made her shudder. Hhe lifted the hoy In her arms. "Leon.” she said, "do you remember Paris, my child do you rememher your father?” The child looked at her. and half j shrunk hack In fear. How changed she ; had become! Her cheeks were hurtling feverishly, her eyes sparkling. "Mamma,” said the boy, half draw ing from her, "what Is the matter?” "Nothing, darling,” she said. She pressed him fondly to her, and set him again upon the ground. They walked on a few steps farther, when she paused again, sat down upon the grass, and took the boy upon her knee. "Leon,” she said, patting his cheek and soothing back his hair. "You love Annandale, do you not?” "Yes, mamma, and grandmamma, and Mr. Sutherland.” “And—and you wrould he able to for- j THEATRICAL TOPICS. CURRENT NEWS AND GOSSIP OF THE STAGE. \ I'rlmt •* m Tl»« “IKIaok (•rdintr Rooii to llt» I’ro<lnc#d In Niw York Th« Average l.lfw of • Good Vole#—Yarlou« Topic*. EV. JOHN TAL HOT SMITH of New York, who 1. wide ly known among the clergy and held In high esteem by his ecclesiastical superiors, has writ ten a drama en titled "The Black Cardinal." It Is said that a Broad way manager will bring It out some time tills season. It Is a historical Irama, and Its plot Is founded on the struggle between Napoleon I. and Pope Plus VII., a struggle full of Interest ind teeming with dramatic Incidents. The student of history will recall that Vapoleon at one time Imprisoned the people and carried off with him to Paris a large number of the cardinals. Among these later was the Cardinal Consalvi, a renowned diplomat who iad been Pius’ secretary of state. Later an when the emperor divorced Jose phine and married Marie Louise of Austria, thirteen of the cardinals, leaded by Consalvi, refused to attend he wedding ceremony on the ground hat Josephine’s divorce was not valid. As a punishment for his boldness In bus defying the emperor, Consalvi waB exiled to Lyons and forbidden to wear the red robes of his office. Hence Ihe title of the play. The drama Is in five acts. The first transpires in Paris on the night before Napoleon’s marriage, and Ihe emperor, supported :iy King Jerome and Kouehe, the min ister of police, is striving to persuade the cardinal to give his countenance :o the ceremony. The second act takes place In the palace of the Tullleries, at he reception to the new empress. Con salvi attends and Is Ignotnlniously ex pelled by Napoleon's servants. In the ’hlrd act Consalvi Is visited In his ex ile at Lyons by Kouehe, who offers him Ihe papacy if he will give his support Emma Calve suddenly discovered that the dark blue velvet dress she wears In the last act was still too “new look ing” for the occasion. A few minutes before she had to appear on the stage the bystanders behind the scenes were horrified to see the priraa donna sud denly roll over and over on the dusty floor. Thinking that a serious acci dent had befallen her, the frightened stage manager and half a dozen scene shifters rushed to her assistance. "Keep away," said the actress, "let me take the glose oft my dress.” Bandelaire, on the subject of criti cism, has some unconventional con victions. “I believe sincerely,” he says, "that the best criticism is that which is entertaining and pfletlc; not that, cold and algebraic, which, pretending to explain everything, knows neither hate nor love, and strips Itself willingly of every kind of temperament, but—inas much as a beautiful picture Is nature reflected by a painter—thut criticism which will be this same picture re flected by a sensitive and intelligent mind. Thus the best review may be a sonnet or an elegy. But this kind of criticism is reserved for anthologies and poetic readers. As for criticism In the true sense of the word, I hope that philosophers will understand what ! am aliout to say: To be Just, to have any reason for its existence, criticism should be partial, passionate, political —that is to say, made from a stand point of exclusive vision, but vision that sweeps the largest horizon.” Both Salvlnl and Itossl were pupils of (he great Italian actor, Gustave Mo dena, and Salvlni lately returned tem porarily to the stage, in Venice, to give » performance to Increase the fund for the erection of a monument to Modena. Modena's patriotic opinions, which of ten led him to leave the stage and take tip arms or devote himself for a time to revolutionary Journalism, forced him to exile himself. There were times, too, when, reduced to penury, he bad to get a living alternately as print er, corrector of proofs, horse broker and cheesemonger. On the change of government In Florence he was elected deputy by 10,000 votes, and In the Tus can assembly he delivered one speech which even now Is quoted as a model of parliamentary eloquence. In that no ble oration he upheld the Imperious a Kir VAN WINKLE. An Iinllaua Soldier Recovers Hi* ties* son Lost 111 War( Ws.hlfiRlos Letter. A noticeable personage among flinso to be met along the avenue and in the hotel lobbies of Washington during the past few days h is been an ex-soldier, the circumstances of whose career since the war have vested him with a peculiar interest. Early in lHtt‘2 he. then a young man, enlisted at his home in Southern Indiana, and was assigned to a regiment that was active ly engaged during the whole war. The young soldier made himself useful, was always in the thickest of the fray, and was promoted to be an oflicer. in one of the last battles fought hefon the final surrender, while leading a charge, the young captain was struck in the head by a I all, and fell. His soldiers, with whom lie was a great fa vorite. carried him to the rear, where lie had every attention. Then he was conveyed to Washington and plaeed in one of" the hospitals, and, after a long period of suffering, his wounds healed, but his reason had fled. He was of ficially declare I insane, and plaeed in an asylum near Washington, where fie remained twenty years in this condi tion. A few months ago his reason returned, and he is today as sane it man as lives. He says the past is a blank, lie can scarcely comprehend that he i. not the same young man t hat lie was twenty years ago. He has found some of his o< nirade. here, and thc-o - have treated him witli great kindness. He can describe scenes and incidents of the war witli ns much (dearness ie if they had taken place but a few inontiis ago. Among the friends he has rec ently made is ex-secretary of He knew that at that hour Marjorie would be from home, wandering In the fields, perhaps, with her little boy, or i visiting some of her old village friends. Feeling strong in this hope, he hurried on toward the Castle. He found Miss Hetherington alone. She was glad to see him, hut rated him soundly on what she termed his neg lect. "It Is not for me to control ye If ye 1 riinna wish to come, Johnnie Suther land,” she said. "You're your own i malster. and ye can gang your own gait, but it’s fCireely fair to Marjorie, c Shc'B lonesome, poor lassie, and she i takes it ill that ye come so seldom.'' I "Miss Hetherington," returned Suth erland, “I stayed away not because I wished, but because I took too much pleasure in coming. I love Marjorie. I’ve loved her ever since I was a lad, i and I shall love her till I die. I 1 couldn't come before, knowing she had i a husband; but it's for you to say now i whether I may come in or not.” “For me? What do you mean, John nie- Sutherland?'' For answer he put both the letter and paper in her hand, and hade her read. She did read; eagerly at first, - hut as she proceeded her hand tre m bled, the tears streamed from her eyes and the paper fell from her grasp. "(lod forgive me!” she cried; "it's an evil thing to rejoice at the death of a fellow-creature, yet 1 canna but 1 rejoice. He broke the heart of my poor 1 bairn, and he tried to crush down me, hut Heaven be praised! we are both free now. Johnnie Sutherland, you say man, and now that causstutere nao tone to his last a(count, a deep and lacred pity took possession of his vlc Im's heart. Kutherland sawf the signs of change vlth some anxiety, but had sufficient irlsdom to wait until time should com plete its work and efTace the French man's memory from Marjorie's mind. A'hen they met he spoke little to her if love, or of the tender hope which pound them together; his talk was ather of the old childish days, when hey were all in all to one another; pf old friends and old recollections, inch as sweeten life. He was very ;entlc and respectful to her; only show ng In his eyes tfce constancy of his ender devotion, never harshly ex pressing It in passionate words. Hut if Sutherland was patient and lelf-contaloed, it was far different wltlt he impulsive lady of the Castle. No looner was she made aware of the true date of affairs than she was anxious hat the marriage should take place it once. "I'm an old woman now, Marjorie," the cried, “and the days of my life are lumbered. Before I gang awa' let me pec you a happy bride—let me lie sure rou have a friend and protector while in asleep among the mools." Sh<- was sitting In her boudoir in ler great arm-chair, looking haggard tnd old Indeed. The fire in her black •yes had faded away, giving place to a Ireamy and wistful pity; but now and tgaln, as on the present occasion, it lashed tip like the gleam upon the ilackenlng brand. Marjorie, who was seated ewing by per mother's side, sadly shook her lead. "I cannot think of it yet," site re plied, "I feel It would he sacrilege,” "Sacrilege, say you?" returned Miss "'ri., .... _11. .. mat yon love tier.' vveei, im man. You’re a good lad. Comfort her if you tan, and may God bless ye both.” That very night Marjorie learned the news from Miss Hetherington. The old lady told it with a ring of joy in her voice, but Marjorie listened with a shudder. After all. the man was her husband. Despite his cruelty, she had once almost loved him: and, though she C'tuld not mourn him as a widow should, she tried to respect the dead. But it was only for a while; then the cloud lifted, and she almost thanked God that she was free. Sutherland now became a constant visitor at the Castle, and sometimes it seemed to him and to Marjorie also that their early days had returned; the same, yet not the same, for the old Castle looked bright and genial now, and It was, moreover, presided over by a bright, genial mistress. Things could not last thus forever. Marjorie knew it; and one eveulug she was awakened from her strange dream. She had been out during the afternoon with her little hoy, and as they were walking back toward the Castle they were Joined by Sutherland. For a time the three remained walking together, little Been clinging on to Sutherland's hand; but after a while the child ran on to pluck some flowers, and left the two together. “How he loves you!” said Marjorie, noting the child's backward glance; "I don't think he will ever forget the ride you gave him on the roundabouts at the Champs Elyseeayou were very kind to him; you were very kind to us both.” She paused, but he said nothing; presently she raised her eyes, and she saw that he was looking fixedly at her. She blushed and turned her head aside, hut he gained possession of her hand. "Marjorie,'' he said, "you kpow why I was kind to you, do you not? It was because I loved you, Marjorie. I love you now—I shall always love you; tell me, will you some day be my wife?” The word was spoken, either for good or evil, and he stood like a man await ing his death sentence. For a time she slitl nnt tiMU.tr - wlit-n uho Mirtuul har face toward him it was quite mini. "Have you thought well?" she said. "I um not what I was. I am almost an old woman now. und there Is my boy." "Let him he my hoy. Marjorie; do not say No!"’ She turned toward him and put both her hands in his "1 say 'Ye*.'" she answered, "with all my heart, hut not yet not yet!" loiter ou that evening, when Itttle l.eon lay peacefully sleeping in his cot. sud Mis* Helherlngton was dosing in her easy < hair, Marjorie. • reeping from the houee. sail'' I In tie t’astle grounds to think over her new-found happiness • lone. Was It all leal, she ask'd her self, or only a dream * Could It tie true that eht after all her Iroublt would find so much p> a< e ’ It seemed Strangs jr*t it must I- liu» Yes she was free •t l**f t llAfll.H XXXV ITKH lh* routes •ion of hsi love fu« rtuiherlaad. and the promise hi* H*»* I had wrung from her Irewldtag tip* , Marjorie was not a Hill* Mounted Again and again i she re preached heteel* for waul ml Mrllly to t'suswt glen* Ms-' hearted and eouid gut r*adll» I rget what the man heal >.*. • !■•»(. to her lataile «» the vhtwo Kr forgir«g«es 'on Frenchman, when he beguiled you iwa’, and poisoned your young life, ny bairn. You owed hlrn no duty liv ng, and you owe him none dead. Up was an 111 Ilmmer, and thank Cod he's n his grave!” "Ah, do not speak ill of him now. t he has sinned he has been punished. Fo die—so young.” And Marjorie's gentle eyes filled with ears. "If he wasna ripe, do you think he would he gathered?” exclaimed Miss Hetherlngton, with something of her aid fierceness of manner. "My certie, he was ripe—and rotten; Lord forgive me for miscalling the dead! But, Mar jorie, my bairn, you're o’er tender hearted. Forget the past! Forget ev erything but the happy future that lies before you! Think you’re Just a young lass marrying for the first time, and marrying as good a lad as ever wore shoon north o’ the Tweed." Marjorie rose from her seat, and walking to the window, looked dream ily down at the Castle garden, still tangled as a maze and overgrown with weeds. As she did so, she heard a child's voice, calling in French: "Maman! Maman!" It was little Leon, playing in the old garden, attended by a Scottish serving maid, who had been taken on as nurse. Wo ua tar u r i/irio Io/ih Inn <1..... n . i looking up with a face bright as sun shine, waved his hands to her in de light. "How can I think as you say," she said, glancing round at her mother, "when I have my hoy to remind me that I am a widow? After all, he's my husband's chlld-a gift that makes amends for all my sorrow." As she spoke she kissed her hand fondly to the child, and looked down at him through streaming tears of love, "Weel, weel,” said the old lady, soothingly; "I'm no saying but that it's weel to forget and forgl'e. Only your life must not be wasted. Marjorie! I must see you settled down Itefure I gang." "You will not leave me. dear moth er!" answered Marjorie, returning to her side and hendlug over her So, no; you art* well and strong." "What’s that the auld sang ays? returned Miss Hetherlngtoii smooth ing the girl's hair with her wrinkled hand, as site repeated thoughtful)) 'I hear a voice you cannot to > That says I must not stay I see a hand you cannot see That Irerkon* me away ' That's it Marjorie! I n an old woman ilow old before ID) tltue litet has been kind tu me, far kinder than I d« serve, hut the grass will soon he green on my grave lit the klrkvard (art m> Sleep tti prate! Matty lidiititti doth •rlwnd at my Ul> «tu« and I •trail km you will netei oatri a friend dm it tender tearurulbg had its weight with Marjwrte inti it failed tn > uiuintv bet er ruplea altogether dhe , ,t) Ie tnaibed tn the •tradea of hey form*' sorrow. fearful and ashamed tu par* a* .h» could have done at otre step, into tbe toll sunabtn- of tt<- pea* *i.., brighter life. Mo tbe days passed on lit) at last there m varied an event ru sttaag*, •« aneepee ted and spirit • >out*diiu« that It threats red N a time to Orix our he rota* Into turlon and deapair On* summer afterntsro Mar pore- a evOMpoahhl by little lawn met dot bn land In tha village and aalhed with bint 19 iaSemobr «*M*g* I h> y fvogd 111*- UICU'MUI unit: v>'- lit ■ IA Paris?” “And papa?” “My darling, your father Is dead.” She pressed the child to her again; raised her eyes and looked straight In to the face of her husband. Caussidiere! It was Indeed he, or his spirit, stand ing there In the starlight. With his pale face turned toward her, his eyes look ing straight Into hers. For a moment they looked tipon one another—he made a movement toward her, when, with a wild cry, Marjorie clasped her child still closer to her, and sank back swooning upon the ground. When she recovered her senses sho was still lying where she had fallen; the child was kneeling beside her, cry ing bitterly, and Caussidiere, the man, and not his spirit, was bending above I her. When she opened her eyes, he I smiled, and took her hand. “It is I, little one,” he said. "Do not be afraid.” With a shudder she withdrew her hand, and rose to her feet and fac-d him. (TO BE COST!SCEO ) HARSH ENVIRONMENT. ——— TK»a« IVnple Are Si unit'll l»y It Mur* Surely Thun liy Itereillly, In I.imousin there Is a barren range of low hills which lies along the divid ing line between the departments of Dordogne, Correze and Haute-Vienne, about half way between Perigueux am! Limoges, says Popular Science Month ly. The water courses show the loca- ! tIon of these uplands. They extend ‘ over mi area ahou< Keventv-ttve miles long anil half as wide, wherein average ! human misery U most profound. I arose | ignursnc.i pit vails There is more II- , literary than In any other part of | Trance. The contrast In staturs.even with the low averuge of all the sur rminding region. Is clearly marked hy the daik ilm There are tutor fed tr hits [ of equal illnilnuthetiei.il elsewhere to the Hottth aud toe l.iit mine are so ’ • Mended III Ml extreme Two-tlllrd* Ilf tile mm are la low live feet three IIP hen tu bright. 111 Mime of the run nut ms slid the women are ihtru or , more Inline shorter even than thla (inn man III leu |« below fimr feet eleven Inches in siwture This I* not due to face for r.-vetal ta-lel types are cquallv sti.ni. I In this way within th" »*mr sted It la priniarth due to aeiieiHti.il of - older Him to a harsh i Itlttdle to a soil whuh Is worthies* lor agt* iliore to a itrpli dtat of la tled i hrstuol* aud ttsgtiwui water and to NloSSlttl . dwelltsgx in th< deep narrow an* damp ■ alien* (Mill turther i«o>il mat b* Iwuul i« show that these p. op;.- ar« not stnnt**f t-y mi krtsliisit nluence for it has be«II shown thsl .hlMten born her* bill who migrate and gtuw up eta* where, at* normal la heigh* while lino beta . i« where km who are swh pet ta this ewvitMWm*w< during the 1 growing inrto* ef youth M« piwgs-r ttvtMlvIy iirth-l CLAUDIA CARLSTEDT. to .Napoleon, i he last two acts trans pire at Versailles, when, in the pres ence of both Napoleon and Pope Plus VII., Consaivi is bitterly humiliated. In the end, however, he triumphs over his Imperial foeman, and returns to Home with the (tope after the famous and disastrous Russian campaign. Claudia Carlstedt was born in Bos ton In !S7*>, her father being a musk teacher, latter a removal to Chicago III., was made. In lx<*3. at seventeen years of age, sin* joined the chorus ol the Calhoun Opera Company for u Western tour She remained with the company about six weeks, and then left it in Otegon and returned to hei borne in Chi* ak '. In the summer ol lySS she again went on the nage, thii time in ' Idtlir Robinson Crusoe,’ which was written tty Harry It Smith and produced at the Schiller Theater Chit ago, with Kddlt Koy as the star I luring that engagement \ll»« Cart «t»dt was engaged by Ktrki U Sheik for lb*- role ol Netoerta. in The \Visa r of the Site altd made tier first appear ante In New York in that o|tera, hei striking personality at oat* attractlni favorable attention t he follow ill) gea.i m she played with The viand.* rut,” taring rather eon*pk Huttsl) pia*ed though Without lilies to repea1 mi itisei In sing (Hiring the pant sum torr she appear*d fn Ike Whirl of thi Town at the Casino, Sb» then sign*-, with the Id.*) • kb* Manager I. Sk*tie Jis* <ere.t that vftn* fhtrlate I had a • r a. a* haul > deep auireltu I ol VI w t ‘ It h* odefsludte-l lies U t* • It It (he YV lagttl uf the Nik* ami lb* * cttlNI k*w t>Mratio waits song n tki .e. .<«d a t of Ike idols Kit’ Wat sopeelaity artne* fur her at kts t« n * «| (ikr h alill Sill Ike Idol i H*» ’ t»mpah > and M te*els tag psl« alike |sr k»* pbsg and surging (ts Ik# frti nighl of **pphii at rkt Nuesa U* l*h » r*> soil* M o* necessity of Home being the founda tion, the keystone of the unity of Italy, thus becoming the precursor In this idea of the great flavour. Julia Marlowe appears to have made a hit with “The Countess Valeska." There Is no doubt that the play has many qualities to recommend It to the general public, especially In thn second and third acts, while Miss Marlows M i l V M IHUlWK. h*i*tif It 111 la k*l tarlixx. emu attk k*i ntal :ut»r*. lamina i>!.n *>•*»» mxl ' rliii* appear I in hat* t mm In Ik* > imu luaiu* Ikal i j Nti ik* Ot**i" I* M*itk*r a |i*at n»r * a»i*4 flit t*4 ik*i llr limn Irma* * ik|*i“'ii4ilu» «tll ant raah i j *n>.>n* kw IihmM* whit* Ku*a In rjr *■»•*■• It*It*It la a *>»all t*iM Him It*i i> te*i u ii iii* ita*t*<i*ti fur ik* ►ad ut Ku#fctua«** «kUk ik* irttu* «*a*r«ti» *...*■■»*.• h*»»a4 k*» A* ixuiiaa iu ik* l**i| Mall ilaamt* k*t •ft fak*r 4« •••!>•• Ik* ktUMM* wt Ik* (naliKika )i:m case, ami lias had Ins application for a pension made special by thucom niissioner of Pensions, who also took an interest in the matter, and within a few days lie will receive 1*10,000 of hack pension money, with which he in j tends going into business. -———■ - Mr. fSwesnt’y’s Cat in Fly Time. HIM Nyc. Hut I was going to speak more ir. particular about .Mr. hweeney’s eat Mr. Sweeney had a large eat named Dr. Mary Walker, of which lie was very fond. Dr. Mary Walker reniaine I at the drug store all the time, and vva known all over St. Paul as a ipiict and reserved eat. If Dr. Mary Walker took in the town after office hours, nobody • eerned to know anything about it. She would he around bright and cheer ful the next morning, and .attend lo iter duties at the s ore just as though nothing whatever had ever happened. One day last summer Mr. Sweeney left a large plate of fly-paper with wa ter on it in flic window, hoping t< gather in a few (plai t- of flics in a de ceased stale. Dr. Mary Walker used to go to this window during (he after noon and look out upon the busy street while she called up plea-ant memo rics of her past life. That afternoon she thought she would call up souk more memories, so she went over on the counter, and from there jumped down on the window-sill, landing with all four feet in the plate of wall-paper. At first she regarded it as a joke and treated the matter very lightly, hut la ter on she observed that the lly-pa| et stuck to her feet with great tenacity of purpose. .She controlled herself and acted in tins coole-t, manner, i possible, though you could have seen that mentally she sullcred intensi ly. Shu sat down a moment to more ful ly outline a plan for the future. In do ing so she made a great mistake. I he ge-ture resulted in gluing the fly-paper to her person in such a way tliat tin edge turned up iu the must abrupt manner, and caused her great incon venience. Some one at that time laughed in a coarse and heartless way, and 1 wish you could have ceen the look of pain that Dr. Mary Walker gave him. Then she went away. Shu did not go around the prescription ease as the rest of usdid, hut strolled through the middle of it and so on out through the glass door at the tear of the store. We did not see her go through the glass door, hut we found pieces of fly paper and fur on the ragged edges of a large aperture in the glas-*, and we kind of jumped to the conclusion that Dr. Mary W alker had taken that direc tion in retiring from the room. Dr. Mary Walker never returned to St. l'aul, and her exact whereabouts are not known, though every cflbrl was made to Iit • 1 her. Fragments of fly-paper and I rmdle hair were h tavd its far we»t as the Yellowstone Nation al l*ark and a- far north as the llritisli line. I lit the doctor herself was not found. Mv own theory is that -he turned her how to thu west SO as to catch the strong etc telly gale on her (|Uarter, With the >n I she had sei aiofc f Inr tail pointing towaidthe zenith, the ehnnee- for Dr Marv Walker's im mediate return are extremely -lim, Mrs. (hlld’s China. I'klMrll.hl* rillir* It Is doubtful if there is a I ■ 13 ill III, VOlllll |*\ V\ IM’IV 111 * • I 4* |x ,i«* f II11- It III x || rv of thf tiillli* ill ill I'll )u«l* ft|*!tt;t, «ir where -o much nttciil on is g,veil to dinner table deeor.itum. <t| f,i,. ihi-r * hits bun a rage lor what itiav Is termed .1 niter ta> le brie a !*ru. It is itl-ob lido thu* M. 4 outgo W 4 liihls has Ihclihcst table decorations n, Pbtl ; adi lplo i xhc hits a great many very rn'.l.'l'll.'llgt Ml. II at Itu -.l |.| |||. mix, rnrn | 1 n ramli I ilu a amt gnlil |||V ii ihi. nit Jt»r ih»M‘i nu-ri'l Mm* tart# h, ,i »rt< itt tun* run lw |>r.«ur.<t in fctt ri>|»- >ln. it taiii In fc.xxn % * in* i.f 11,,, Hiiftl i .4 tit linn* liiurr l.lalr-t in lit.. . i.iintix n, xi. «, .tl.r In.. !•» Hrt mIii. Mini.,n mill I V|M Ian4» • ml .« nil a* mrirti, n. .« ruin art* allk anl i’arh a grin Manx ul br. I'ial . k tw- >'» «» mm*.4 lt >i,.|i..| a I* >**’ 'lit| . fit. t> |ti la tilt l||t’ I.H.k * 11 I ’ • ■ I* . a .1 '•‘ i* I " . .I.Mi,. r *1 In n‘x |«tt|,m Mr. ilt.Mtian, niltunt any iliHt. nl I», ttl a lai.li IW.I, Mtluw. . I *Im. n i «. a il h i.• nt ntM<x|*fc.Muft wt MM»» ur fin.iatt, M inn pry, Man . U . »|„* Uailtaa r*. tiMiihm. nit. tlfittf an annua* kHtfitwaa nl f,' i««imi,