PHANTOM SHIP
—OR—
The Flying Dutchman.
-«T CAPTAIN MAWYAT,
CHAPTER I.—(Continued.)
“That, Philip, I shall never be. I feel
that death claims me; and. oh, my son,
were it not for you how I should quit
this world rejoicing! I have long been
dying, Philip—and long, long have I
prayed for death."
"And why so, mother?" replied
Philip, oiuntiy; ‘‘I’ve done my be.it.”
“You have, my child, you have; and
may God bless you for it. Often have
I seen you curb your fiery temper—re
strain yourself when Justified in wrath
—to share a mother’s feelings. ’Tit*
now some days that even hunger has
not persuaded you to disobey your
mother. And, Philip, you must have
thought me mad or foolish to Insist so
long, and yet to give no reason. I’ll
speak—again—directly.”
The widow turned her head upon
the pillow, and remained quiet for
some minutes; then, as if revived, she
resumed;
“I believe I have been mad at times
—have I not, Philip? And God knows
I have had a secret in my heart enough
to drive a wife to frenzy. It has op
pressed me day and night, worn my
mind, impaired my reason, and now, at
last, thank Heaven! It has overcome
this mortal frame; the blow Is struck,
Philip—I’m sure It Is. I wait but to
tell you all—and yet I would not—
'twill turn your brain as it has turned
mine, Philip.”
“Mother,” replied Philip, earnestly,
*'! conjure you let me hear this killing
secret. Be Heaven or hell mixed up
with it—I fear not. Heaven will not
hurt me, and Satan I defy.”
”1 know thy bold, proud spirit,
Philip—thy strength of mind. If any
one could bear the load of such a
dreadful tale, thou couldst. My brain,
alas, was far ton weak for it; and I
see it is my duty to tell it to thee."
The widow paused as her thoughts
reverted to that which she had to con
fide; for a few minutes the tears rain
ed down her hollow cheeks; she then
appeared to have summonea resolution
and to have regained strength.
"Philip, It was of your father I would
speak. It is supposed—that he was—
drowned—at sea.”
Ana was ne not, motnerr rcpnea
Philip, with surprise.
“Oh, no!"
“But he has long beed dead,
mother?"
“No—yes—and yet—no," said the
widow, covering her eyes. Her brain
wanders, thought Philip, but he npol'.e
again.
“Then where is he, mother?”
The widow raised herself, and a
tremor visibly ran through her whole
frame, as she replied:
“In living Judgment."
The poor woman then sank down
again upon the pillow, and covered her
head with the bed clothes, as if she
would have hid herself fkom her own
memory. Philip was so much perplex
ed and astounded, that he could make
no reply. A silence of some minutes
ensued, when, no longer able to bear
the agony of suspense, Philip faintly
whispered:
“The secret, mother, the secret;
quick, let mo hear it!”
“I can now tell all, Philip,” replied
his mother, in a solemn tone of voice.
“Hear me, my son. Your father’s dis
position was but too like your own.
Oh, may his cruel fate be a lesson to
you, my dear, dear child! He was a
bold, a daring, and, they say, a first
rate seaman. He was not born here,
but in Amsterdam; but he would not
live there because he still adhered to
the Catholic religion. The Dutch, you
know, Philip, are heretics, according to
our creed. It is now seventeen years
or more since he sailed for India in his
tine snip, tne Amsterdammer, with a
valuable cargo. It was his third voy
age to India, Philip, and it was to have
been, if it had so pleased God, his last,
for he had purchased that good ship
with only part of h!s earnings, and
one more voyage would havo made his
fortune. Oh, how often did we talk
over what we would do upon hla re
turn, and how these plans for the fu
ture consoled me at the idea of his
absence, for I loved him dearly, Philip
—he was always good and kind to me
and after he had sailed, how I hoped
for his return! The lot of a sailor's
wife is not to be envied. Alono and
solitary for so many months, watch
ing the long wick of the candle, and
listening to the bowling of the wind— i
foreboding evil and accident-wreck 1
and widowhood. He had been gone
about six months, Philip, and there
was still a long, dreary year to wait .
before I could expect hint back. One
night you, my child, were fast asleep;
you were my only solace, my comfort
tu my loneliness. I bad bten watch- ■
leg over you in your sluiubera; you
smiled and half pronounced the name
of mother; and at last 1 kissed your
uncoaertou* lips, and I knelt and
prayed—prayed fur Hod's blessing on
you, my child, and upon him too -
little thinking, at the time that be was
an horribly, so fearfully ctinted "
The widow paused fur hrealb. and
then resumed. Philip could not speak
Ilia ilpe were sundered, end his • yes
riveted upon hie tuoth«r, as he devour
ed her words
"I left you and u»nt downstairs Into
Hta* tuuw. ritUlp, »L\u sluts that
dreadful night has never been rsopen
ed. I eat me down and read for the
«lad wag Strong, and when the gale
k-l^+++++*++«+-M--M*++4~»~f+++++
blows, & sailor's wife can seldom sleep.
It was past midnight, and the rain
poured down. I felt unueual fear—I
knew not why. I rose from the couch,
and dipped my finger In the blessed
water, and I crossed myself. A violent
gust of wind roared round the house,
and alarmed me still more. I had a
painful, horrible foreboding; when, of
a sudden, the windows and window
shutters were blown In, the light was
extinguished, and I was left In utter
darkness. I screamed with fright; but
at last I recovered myself, and was
proceeding toward the window that I
might reclose It, when whom should I
behold, slowly entering at the case
ment, but—your father—Philip! Ye3,
Philip, It was your father!"
"Merciful God!" muttered Philip, In
a low tone almost subdued to a whis
per.
"I knew not what to think—he was
In the room; and although the dark
ness wgs intense, his form and fea
tures were aB clear and as defined as If
It were noonday. Fear would have In
clined me to recoil from—his loved
presence to fly toward him. I remain
ed on that spot where I was, choked
with agonizing sensations. When ho
had entered the room, the windows and
shutters closed of themselves, and the
candle was relighted—then I thought
It was his apparition, and I fainted on
the floor.
"When I recovered I found myself
on the couch, and perceived that a cold
—oh, how cold!—and dripping hand
was clasped in mine. This reassured
me, and I forgot the supernatural
signs which accompanied his appear
ance. I imagined that he had been un
fortunate, and had returned home. I
opened my eyes, and beheld my loved
husband, and threw myself Into his
arms. His clothes were saturated with
rain; I felt as if I had embraced Ice—
but nothing can check the warmth of
woman’s love, Philip. He received my
careEBCB, but he caressed not again; he
spoke not, but looked thoughtfully and
unhappy. ‘William—William,’’cried I;
‘speak, Vanderdecken; speak to your
dear Catherine.’
“ 'I will,’ replied he, solemnly, ‘for
my time is short.’
“ ‘No, no, you must not go to sea
again; you have lost your vessel; but
you are safe. Have I not you again?’
“ ‘Alas, no—be not alarmed, but lis
ten, for my time is short. I have not
lost my vessel, Catherine, but I have
lost— Make no reply, but listen. I
am not dead, nor yet am I alive. I
hover between this world and the
world of spirits. Mark me.
“ 'For nine weeks did I try to force
my passage against the elements round
the stormy Cape, but without success;
and I swore terribly. For nine weeks
more did I carry sail against the ad
verse winds and currents, and yet
could gain no ground; and then I
blasphemed—ay, terribly blasphemed.
Yet still I persevered. The crew, worn
out with long fatigue, would have had
me return to the Table Bay, but I re
fused; nay more, I became a murderer
—unintentionally, it is true, but still
a murderer. The pilot opposed me,
and persuaded the men to bind me, and
in the excess of my fury, when he took
me by the collar, I struck at him; he
reeled; and with the sudden lurch of
the vessel he fell overboard, and sank.
Even this fearful death did not re
strain me; and I swore by the frag
ment of the Holy Cross, preserved in
that relic now hanging round your
neck, that 1 would gain my point in
defiance of Btorm and seas, of light
ning, of Heaven, or of hell, even if I
should beat about until the Day of
Judgment.
“ ’My oath was registered In thun
der, and in streams of sulphurous Are.
The hurricane burst upon the ship, the
canvas flew away in ribbons; moun
tains of seas swept over us, and in the
center of a deep overhanging cloud,
which shrouded all in utter darkness,
were written in letters of livid flame,
the&e words: Until the Day of Judg
ment.
*’ ’Listen to me. Catherine, my time
Is short. One hope alone remains, and
for this I am permitted to come here.
Tuko this letter.' He put a sealed
paper on the table. ‘Head It, Catherine
dear, and try If you can assist me.
Head it. and now farewell—iny time
la come.*
“Again the window and window
shutters burst open again the light
was extinguished, and the form of my
husband was, as It were, wafted In the
dark expanse. I started up and fol
lowed him with outstretched arms and
frantic sereaius as he sailed through
the window; my glaring eyes beheld
his form borne away like lightning on ,
the wings «f the wild gale till It was
lost as a speck of light, and then It
disappeared. Again the windows
closed, the light burned, and I waa left
alone!
“Heaven have merry! My brain' —
my brain'I'hillp' —Philip!" shrieked
the poor woman, "don’t have me
don't—don't - pray don’t!"
During these • srlamalion* the frna
tire widow had raised aereelf from the
bed and. at last, bad fallen Into the
arms of her eon. Hh« remained there ,
some tulnutc* without motion After
a time I'hihp felt alarmed at her long
gMieeeuce. he laid kw a«oU| due*
upon the bed. and as he did ao her
head fell back her eyee were turned >
the Wt«t.*u V*ndrrde< ken we* m more j
CHAPTER IL
Philip Vanderdecken, strong as he
was In mental courage, was almost
paralyzed by the shock when he dis
covered that his mother’s spirit had
fled; and for some time he remained
by the side of the bed. with his eyes
fixed upon the corpse, and his mind
In a state of vacuity. Gradually he re
covered himself; he rose, smoothed
down the pillow, the tears trickled
down hts manly cheeks. Ha Impressed
a solemn kiss upon the pale, white
forehead of the departed, and drew the
curtains round the bed.
"Poor mother!’’ said he, sorrowful
ly, as he completed his task, "at length
thou hast found rest—but thou hast
left thy son a bitter legacy.’’
And as Philip’s thoughts reverted to
what had passed, the dreadful narra
tive whirled In his Imagination and
scathed his brain. He raised his hands
to his temples, compressed them with
force and tried to collect his thoughts,
that he might decide upon what meas
ures he should take. Ho felt that he
had no time to indulge bis grief. His
mother was In peace; but his father
—where was ho?
He recalled his mother’s words—
"One hope alone remained." Then
there was hope. His father had laid a
paper on the table—could It be there
now? Yes, It must be! his mother had
not had the courage to take It up.
There was hope in that prayer, and It
had lain unopened for more than sev
enteen years.
Philip Vanderdecken resolved that
he would examine the fatal chamber—
at once he would know the worst.
Should ho do it now, or wait till day
light?—but the key, where was It? His
eyes rested upon an old japanned cab
inet in the room; he had never seen
his mother open It In his presence; it
was the only likely place of conceal
ment that he was aware of. Prompt
In all his decisions, he took up tha
candle and proceeded to examine It.
It was not locked; the door swung
open, and drawer after drawer was ex
amined, but Philip discovered not the
object of his search; again and again
did he open the drawers, but they were
all empty. It occurred to Philip that
there might be secret drawers, and ho
examined for some time in vain. At
last he took out all the drawers, and
laid them on the floor, and lifting the
cabinet off Its stand he shook it. A
rattling sound In one corner told hlin
that In all probability the key waa
there concealed. He renewed his at
tempts to discover how to gain It, but
in vain. Daylight now streamed
through the easements, and Philip had
not desisted from his attempts; at last,
wearied out, he went into the adjoining
room, threw himself upon his bed, and
in a few minutes was in a sleep as
sound as that permitted to the wretch
a few hours previous to his execution.
During his slumbers the neighbors
had come in, and had prepared every
thing for the widow's interment. They
had been careful not to wake the son,
for they held as sacred the sleep of
those who must wake up to sorrow.
Among others, soon after the hour of
noon, arrived Mynheer Foots; ho had
been informed of the death of the
widow, but having a spare hour, he
thought he might as well call, as it
would raise his charges by another
guilder. He first went into the room
where the body lay, and from thence
he proceeded to the chamber of Philip,
and shook him by the shoulder.
Philip awoke, and, sitting up, per
ceived the doctor standing by him.
‘‘Well, Mynheer Vanderdecken,”
commenced the unfeeling little man,
‘‘so it’s all over. I knew it would be
so; and recollect you owe me now an
other guilder, and you promised faith
fully to pay me; altogether, with the
potion, it will be three guilders and a
half—that is, provided you return my
vial.”
Philip, who at first waking was con
fused, gradually recovered his senses
during this address.
(To be continued.)
Friend* Well Met.
When true-hearted men in north and
south met and understood each other,
there was never real enmity between
them. A certain Virginian lived near
the field of Mechanlcsville, where Mc
Clellan fought one of his severe battles
in the summer of 1862. This man went
out to the field, after the northern
troops had retired from it. and noticed
a little fellow lying, wounded. In the
hot sun. As he looked pityingly at
the boy, the young fellow gained cour
age to make a request: “Neighbor,
won’t you get me a drink of water?
I’m very thirsty.” "Of course, I will."
said the man, and he brought the
water. The little fellow was encour
aged by this, and he asked again:
“Won’t you get me taken to the hos
pital? I'm badly wounded." “Well,
now. my boy,” said the man. ”lf I get
you taken rare of. and you are well
enough to go home again, are you com
ing down here to fight mu and my folks
onre more* How about that?” It was
a bard test for a wounded prisoner, but
the boy stood It. He looked his raptor
firmly In the eye. and said: “That I
would, my friend.” ”1 tell you.” said
the Virginian afterward, “I liked his
pluck. I had that boy taken to tbs ,
hospital, and he had good rare."
HU Me*.
I.lttle Ihey~“Fader. vat tah a phil
anthropist?" Old ttwlndiebaum ~”A
philanthropist, mein *ohn, ish a man
vot Induce* oder people* to gif avay ,
delr moolah wit charity.”—New York
World
*
Kk<l Ox UmInO.
Kelt her I tried to roavtnre my wife
that I couldn't afford a new **nJ*bln ,
cloak linker—4**« you *•*I
kmck*r No. *he netted the argu
ment brought ham* to her ft. Lout*
•tor.
TALMAGE'S SERMON.
"ABUSE OF TRUST FUNDS."
SUNDAY'S SUBJECT.
"Whow Trust Shall lla a IpMu'i
Web”—Jab, Chapter VIII. Versa 14
Hank ere and Lawien Are Ulren
Borne Cl nod Ad rice.
Th« two most skillful architects in
ihe world are the bee and the spider.
The one puts up a sugar manufactory
and the ether builds a slaughter house
for flies. On a bright summer morn
ing when the sun comes out and
shines upon the spider’s web, bedeck
ed with dew, the gossamer structure
eeetns bright enough for a suspension
bridge for aerial beings to cross on.
But, alas for the poor fly, which In the
latter part of that very day, ventures
on it, and is caught and dungeoned
and destroyod! The fly was Informed
that It was a free bridge, and would
cost nothing, but at the other end of
the bridge tbe toll paid was its own
life. The next day there comes down
a strong wind, and away goes the web,
and the marauding spider and tbe vic
timized fly. So delicate are the silken
threads of the spider's web that many
thousands of them are put together
before they become visible to the hu
man eye, and it takes four million of
them to make a thread as large as the
human hair. Most cruel as well as
most Ingenious is the spider. A pris
oner in the Bastlle, France, had one
so trained that at the sound of the vio
lin it every day came for its meal of
flies. The author of my text, who was
a leading scientist of his day, had no
doubt watched the voracious process of
this one insect with another, and saw
fplder and fly swept down with the
same broom, or scattered by the same
wind. Alas, that the world has so
many designing spiders and victim
ized flies! Thero has not been a
time when the utter and black Irre
sponsibility of many men having tbe
financial interests of others In charge,
has been more evident than in these
iuhi lew yearn. i no uuiiki uyu./ ui
banks and disappearance of adminis
trators with the funds of large estates,
and the disordered accounts of United
States officials, have sometimes made
a pestilence of crime that solemnizes
every thoughtful man and woman, and
leads every philanthropist and Chris
tian to ask, What shall be done to stay
the plague? There Is ever and anon
a monsoon of swindle abroad, a ty
phoon, a sirocco. I sometimes ask
myself If It would not be better for
men making wills to bequeath their
property directly to the executors and
officers of the court, and appoint the
widows and orphans a committee to
see that the former got all that did not
belong to them. The simple fact Is
that there are a large number of men
sailing yachts and driving fast horses,
and members of expensive clubhouses,
and controlling country seats, who are
not worth a dollar If they return to
others their Just rights. Under some
sudden reverse they fail, and, with
afflicted air, seem to retire from the
world, and seem almost ready for mon
astic life, when in two or three years
they blossom out again, having com
promised with their creditors, that Is,
paid them nothing but regret; and the
only difference between the second
chapter of prosperity and the first, is
that their pictures are Murillos instead
of Kensetts, and their horses go a mile
in twenty seconds less than their pre
decessors, and instead of one country
seat, they have three. I have watched
and have noticed that nine out of ten
of those who fall, in what Is called
high life, have more means after than
before the failure, and In many of the
cases, failure is only a stratagem to
escape the payment of honest debts,
and put the world ofT the track while
they practice a large swindle. There
Is something woefully wrong in the
fact that these things are possible.
First of all, I charge the blame on
careless, indifferent bank directors and
boards having In charge great finan
cial Institutions. It ought not to be
possible for a president or cashier or
prominent officer of a banking instl-'
tutlon to swindle it year after year
without detection. I will undertake
to say that If these frauds aro carried
on for two or three years without de
tection. either the directors are part
ners in the Infamy and pocket
part of the theft, or they aro guilty of
a culpable neglect of duty, for which
God will hold them as responsible as
he holds the acknowledged defrauders.
What right have prominent business
men to allow their names to be pub
lished as directors In a financial In
stitution, so that unsophisticated peo
ple are thereby induced to deposit
their money In. or buy the script there
of. when they, the published directors,
are doing nothing for the safety of
the InaOtutton? It Is a case of de
ception and most reprehensible. Many
people with a surplus of money, not
needed for Immediate use, although
It may be a little further on ludiapen
snide, are without friends competeui
to advise them, and they are guided
solely by the character of the men
whoee names are associated with the
institution. When the crash came,
and with the overthrow of the b«nks
went the email earnlnge and limited
fortunes of widows and orphans, and
the helplessly aged, the directors stool
with Idiotic stare, and to the Inquiry
of the frmsied depositors and stock
holders who had lost their ell, and i ■
the arraignment of an indignant pub
lie, had nothing to say escept "We
thought It was all right. We did
aol haow there was anything wrong I
going on. * It was their duty to haow |
They stood In a position which delud
ed the people with the Idea that they
were carefully observant ('ailing
themselves directors, they did mot di
rest. Thev had oabortualtr e* s»du
ing accounts and inspecting the books.
No time to do so? Then they had no
business to accept the position. It
seems to be the pride of some moneyed
men to be directors in a great many
Institutions, and all they know is
whether or not they get their divi
dends regularly, and their names are
used as decoy ducks to bring others
near enough to be made game of. What
first of all Is needed is that five hun
dred bank directors and insurance
company directors resign or attend to
tbelr business as directors. The busi
ness world will be full of fraud Just
as long as fraud Is so easy. When you
arrest the president and secretary of
a bank for an embezzlement carried on
for many years, be sure to havo plenty
of sheriffs out the same day to arrest
all the directors. They are guilty
either of neglect or complicity.
‘‘Oh,” some will say, "better preach
the Gospel and let business matters
alone.” I reply, if your Gospel does
not Inspire common honesty In the
dealings of men, the sooner you closo
up your Gospel and pitch it into the
depths of tho Atlantic ocean the bet
tor. An orthodox swindler is worse
than n heterodox swindler. The reci
tation of all the catechisms and creeds
ever written, and partaking of all the
communion chalices that ever glitter
ed In the churches of Christendom, will
never save your soul unless your busi
ness character corresponds with your
religious profession. Home of the
worst scoundrels in America have been
members of churches and they got fat
on sermons about heaven when they
most needed to have the pulpits preach
that which would cither bring them
to repentance, or thunder them out of
the holy communions where their pres
ence was a sacrilege and an Infamy.
Wo must especially deplore the mis
fortunes of banks in various parts of
this country in that they damage the
ban King insuiuuun, wmcu i»
great convenience of the centuries, anil
indispensable to commerce, and the ad
vance of nations. With one hand It
blesses the lender, and with tho other
It blesses tho borrower. On their
shoulders are tho Interests of private
individuals and groat corporations.
In them are the great arteries through
which run the currents of the nation’s
life. They have been the resources of
the thousands of financiers in days of
business exigency. They stand for ac
commodation, for facility, for Individ
ual, State, and national relief. At their
head, and In their management, there
Is as much Interest and moral worth
as In any class of men—perhaps more
How nefarious, then, the behavior of
those who bring disrepute upon this
venerable, benignant, and God-honored
Institution!
We also deplore abuse of trust funds,
because the abusers fly In the face of
divine goodness which seems deter
mined to bless this land. We are hav
ing a series of unexampled national
harvests. Tho wheat gamblers get
bold of the wheat, and the corn gambl
ers get hold of the corn. The full
tide of God’s mercy toward this land Is
put back by those great dykes of dis
honest resistance. When Ood provides
enough food and clothing to feed and
apparel this whole nation like princes,
the scrabble of dishonest men to get
more than their share, and get It at
all hazards, keeps everything shaking
with uncertainty, and everybody asking
"What next?’’ Every week makes
new revelations. How many more
bank presidents and bank cashiers
havo been speculating with other peo
ple’s money, and how many more bank
directors are In Imbecile silence, let
ting the perfidy go on, the great and
patient God only knows! My opinion
Is that we have got near the bottom.
The wind has been pricked from the
great bubble of American speculation.
Tho men who thought that the Judg
ment day was at least fve thousand
years off, found It in 1898 or 1897 or
1896; and this nation has been taught
that men must keep their hands out of
ether people’s pockets. Great business
es built on borrowed capital have been
obliterated, and men who had nothing
have lost all they had. I believe we
ure started on a higher career of pros
perity than this land has ever seen, If,
and if, and if
A missionary in one of the islands
of the Pacific preached on dishonesty,
and the next morning ho looked out
of his window, and he saw his yard
full of goods of all kinds. He wou
dered, and asked the cause of all this.
“Well,” said tho natives, "our gods
that we have been worshiping permit
us to steal, but, according to what you
said yesterday, the God of heaven and
earth will not allow thla, so we bring
back all these goods, and we ask you
to help us in taking them to the places
where they belong." If next Sabbath
all the ministers In America should
preach sermons on the abuse of trust
funds, and on the evils of purlolnlug.
and the sermons were all blessed of
God. and regulations were made that
all these things should lie taken to th«
city halls. It would not lie long be
fore every rlty hall lit America would
be crowded froth cellar to cupola.
Let me say In the most emphatic
manner to all young men. dUhoneety
will never pay. An abbot wanted to
buy a piece of ground and the owner
would nut sell It, but the owner Anal
ly consented to let It to him until he
could raise one crop, and he abbot
sowed acorns, a crop of two hundred
years! And I tell you, young man.
that the dishonesties which you plant
la your bean and life will seem to he
very inelgalAcant, hut they win grow
up until they will overshadow you with
horrible darhaeee, overshadow all
time and all eternity. It will not he
a crop for two hundred your*, hut a
crop for everlasting age*.
I hate *l*o * *otd of cuCwfuvi fur *11
who safer from (he matfeaeaaco of
other*, sad every ho*eel man. vows,
and child do** safer from what sues
on in financial scampdom. Society is
so bound together that all the misfor
tunes which good people suffer In busi
ness matters come from the misdeeds
of others. Bear up uuder distress,
strong in Ood. He will see you
through, though your misfortunes
should be centupled. Scientists tell us
that a column of air forty-five miles
In height rests on every man’s head
and shoulders. But that Is nothing
compared with the pressure that busi
ness life has put upon many of you.
Ood made up his mind long ago how
many or how few dollars it would be
best for you to havo. Trust to his ap
pointment. The door will soon open
to let you out and let you up. What
shock of delight for men who for thirty
years have been in business anxiety
when they shall suddenly awake in
everlasting holiday! On the maps of
the Arctic regions there are two places
whoso names are remarkable, given, I
suppose, by some Polar expedition:
"Capo Farewell" and “Thank Ood
Harbor." At this last the Polaris
wintered. In 1871, and tho Tigress in
1873. Some ships have passed tho
cape, yet never reached tbe harbor.
Hut from what I know of many of
you, I have concluded that, though
your voyage of life may bo very rough,
run into by Icebergs on this side and
Icebergs on that, you will in due tlmo
reach Cape Farewell, and there bid
good by to all annoyances, and soon
after drop anchor in tho calm and Im
perturbable wnters of "Thank Qod
Harbor." “There tho wicked ccaso
from troubling, and the weary aro at
rest,"
PARADISE FOR BEARS.
Nation's Wards In Ystlowstnna Park
Cannot He Harined.
Everybody has heard of the bears of
Yellowstone park and how It la ono
of the sights for travelers to see bruin
feed on the refuse of the hotels, says
the New York Herald. But tt is only
the camper In this sixty square miles
of guarded area—tho camper despised
by landlords and the railroad corpora
tion that creates landlords—who learns
"there's such divinity doth hedge the
nation's wards that treason can but
keep to what it would." The nation's
wards share the honors of the park
with the famous mud geyser, but tho
mud geyser is not peripatetic, and
when ono has sufficiently enjoyed its
upheaval he can easily turn bis at
tention to other marvels of tho region,
while bruin is such a wanderer and
makes himself so very much at home
in everybody’s camp, and seems to
enjoy the good things of the larder
so much better than the refuse of tho
hotels, that the camper is often made
to realize that he himself is decidedly
not at home, where he would mako
short work of burglars, whether on
two or four legs. But woe to the man
who would protect himself from noc
turnal visitors lu this zoological Eden.
All humans are warned when they en
ter that they must not "fool'' with the
animals on pain of arrest, and their
flre-armB are either taken from them
or securely scaled by government offi
cials. If the soldiers may be believed,
some Princeton boys ventured last
summer to exercise the freedom of the
university in these sacred precincts
and actually killed a Yellowstone bear.
Whether they all fired at once, or
whether one of their number killed
the bear and his fifteen comrades re
fused, after the manner of college boys,
to point out the culprit, the soldiers
did not say. Howover It was, the en
tire number were locked up for sixty
days without benefit of clergy. The
law permits one to unseal his weapons
and even to kill a bear If one’s life
is actually endangered. The real dif
ficulty seems to be in proving the In
tentions of the enemy. It hardly seems
feasible for a person to unseal his gun.
load and defend himself successfully
after he Is once In tho close embrace
of bruin.
IN THE FLOWERY KINGDOM.
--
How Could Ho Know Whitra the
Kmperor Wiu>?
Her majesty, Tel An, empress of
China, eat In her palace In the purple
forbidden city, with her brow resting
on her thumb and her index finger
pushed up through her bang, says the
Washington Star. Rousing herself
presently from her profound absorp
tion, she beckoned to a peanut-colored
person plastered up against the yellow
silk tapestry. "Swat him," she said,
“where Is the emperor?" "Dash your
Ignominious slave Into a million atoms,
oh, amethyst flower of the Celestial
kingdom," he responded, lying flat on
his stomach before her, "but your
slave wotteth not." “Wot?" she
screamed. “No, most purple of our
yellowest lilies of the Kankee Tee
Kiting, I do not wot where the emperor
Is." "And this to me?" she cried.
“Most beauteous descendant of the
gods, your vile slave speaks hut the
truth, though he lies here on his very
stomach. He wotteth not where the
emperor la." “Slave, dog. runine,
wretch, scum of the Yellow river, did
I not tell you what to do?" “Truly,
most divln« of all the gentler purple
peonies of I'ekln, and your slave did
It to the queen's Isste. so to speak *
"Aha. then he Is dead?" "As a mack
erel. oh. yellow anemone of the crystal
sea." “Why lt*et thou, knowlag that
he Is dead?" "How the dlckena, most
marvelous of mandarin matron*, do I
know where he Is? I’m no fortune
teller.** "Oho. aha," smiled her maj
esty. again relapsing to thought;
“bring on another.”
Was 111 plan* «l Mr,
“But why on earth did you Introduce
me to your aunt ac Mr Hmrllag? 1x4
you forget that U was Scruggs?” “Cer
tainly not, you old goose Hut I
know she overheard me rail you 'dar
ling' and I wouldn't bavu her think I
• as spowaey for all the world,*
