Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE
About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 16, 1901)
<- 15he Sco\irj*e I A Story qfl I o/Da.rr\^scvis the^st-" sylvanus COBB. JR. Copyrighted 1991 by Robert Bonner’s Sons. CHAPTER VI. It was near noon, and the king of Damascus was in his chamber with Aboul Cassem. They were talking about the approaching marriage. "In three days mare," said Horan, "I shall claim her for my bride." “In truth, sire, it is as you have said,” replied the minister. He spoke not with the enthusiasm of apprecia tion, but as one who would not dispute his king. "I trust, sire, your hopes may find their fruition. 1 pray that Clin may bear to thee a son, and thus make bright and promising the even ing of your life." "Good Aboul. I trust in thy words. Ha! what now? Whom have we here?” "Sire, "spoke a page, "the Israelite, Judah is without, and would speak with thee.” "How!” cried the king. “13 it the Judah whom I sent from the Valley of Lycanius?" “The same, siro.” “Then send him to me at once. By my life, Aboul, he cannot have ac complished his mission so soon. I v dare not hope so.” P "Let us hope for the best,” suggest ed the minister; and before further remark could be made' Judah stood in the royal presenre. "Ha, Judah—do I see thee back so soon? Have you come t) bring me word of failure?" “Nay, sire," replied the Israelite, "I have come to bring the robber chief tain to Damascus.” “Have you taken him?” "Yes. sire.” "Alive?” "Yes, sire." “And have him here" “Ready to be brought before you at any time.” “He is bound?” “Yes, sire.” “Then bring him at once. By the host of Pluto, I would see the fellow. But—hold. He is guarded?” “Yes, sire. Osmir and Selim are with him.” “Are they all?” "It needs no more. The prisoner is securely bound, aud can offer no re sistance.” “Then let him come.” “Ye gods!” uttered Horam, turning to his minister, after Judah had gone, "what manner of man shall we be hold?” “I cannot guess, sire.” "A giant, I think—as ugly as a Cy lop. But he is bound, Aboul—he is bound." In a little while the door opened, and Judah entered, followed by Osmir and Selim, who led a bound man between them. “Sire,” spoke the Israelite, “this is 'j the prisoner.” “But where is Julian?” demanded Horam. “This is Julian.” "This?” cried the monarch, taking a step forward, and gazing into the face of the bound man before him. “This?’ he repeated, in a lower tone, advancing another step, and gazing more earnestly upon the bold, open, youthful face. “This is not Julian.” "This is he who hath commanded the robber band,” said Judah. "Aye—ana l am ne wnom you nave called the Scourge of Damascus,” spoke the prisoner, standing proudly erect, and gazing full into the face of the king. "I am Julian, the enemy of Jloram, and the avenger of wrongs done years ago.” The monarch, as he gazed more in tently upon those features, and as the tones of that voice fell upon his ear, seemed startled by the memory of some old dream. And Aboul Cassem was not entirely uninterested. The old minister gazed as fixedly and as earn estly upon the face of the young chief tain as did his rOyal master; and he, too. seemed puzzled and perplexed, ‘‘Who are you?” asked Horam. "I am Julinn, the Scourge.” •‘Hut what else?” “You should know what else, most mighty king. I have tried to make myself felt by you.” "But,” urged Horam, taking no no tice of the robber's tone, “why have you sought to harm me? Who are you that can have cause for such enmity?” "I am one who knows the bitterness of deepest wrong.” replied Julian. ‘ Fa therless and motherless came I from the feeble steps of childhood; and I know that Horam was the murderer of my parents.” "Ha!” cried the king, with a start. "Wrho were your parents?’ “I will not speak their names in your presence." "Beware, robber! I may compel you to answer.” “If you have power to extract an swers from dead men, you may force answers from me.” “By the gods, thou art insolent.” "Then bind my tongue, as these slaves have bound my arms.” “No,” said Horam, struggling with his passion. “I have another plan. The secret which you will not speak to me you shall never speak. You shall follow your parents with all possible speed. Judah!” “I am here, sire.” "You know the deepest, darkest dun geon, where the most dreaded prison f era »re confined?” | “Yes, sire.” “Conduct thi3 man thither. Plunge j him into the very bowels of the deep ' est cavern, where the doors are of iron, i and the hoJts of triple steel, and see that he is kept safely there until the morrow. You will answer for him with your life.” “Once more the king gazed Into that youthful face, and then turned away to a window. "Sire," spoke the minister, after the prisoner had been conducted away, “why do you spare that man for even another hour? Why do you not exe cute him at once?” “Because," replied Ilorarn. starting up, "I have a curiosity to know who he is. There is some mystery in that face of his. It is now near the hour of the council, and I have not time to think. I must see him again. Did you not mark something peculiar in his look?" “Yes, sire; there is something in his fare which is familiar to me; or, at least, it seems so.” "By my life, Aboul. it must be so. Did you mark that bold front; that open brow; that Jove-like sweep of nose and chin? and did you mark the deep lustrous eyes, and the gentle curl ing of that sunny hair?” “Yes, sire.” “And can you not read its secret?” “No. Can your majesty?” “Not yet—not yet, Aboul; but I must I have a strange curiosity; and it is a curiosity which has been strangely and suddenly excited.” CHAPTER VII. At Hassem's House. Ulin had lost none of her wondrous beauty: but she had become pale, and the healthy flash of the eye was gone. Late in the evening she sat in her chamber, with her brow resting upon her hand, and ever and anon a deep sigh escaped her. “My dear, good mistress,” spoke Al bia, gliding to the side of the princess, and resting her hand affectionately upon her arm, "I cannot bear to see you suffer so. What is it?” “It is nothing, Albia.” Ulin spoke without raising her head, and her voice was low and sad. “Don’t tell me that,” urged the at tendant. She got down upon her knees, and gazed earnestly up into Ulin's face. “Oh, my dear lady, you are misera ble and unhappy. Why will you not pour out your sorrows to me? Perhaps I can help you bear them. You know I love you; you know that I will be faithful. Tell me all, and I will suffer with you if I can; and I will help you if there is help to be had. As I live at this moment, so, if it should appear to me necessary, would I lay down my life for your welfare. Will you not trust me?” “Ulin leaned her head forward upon Albia's shoulder, and burst into tears. “Oh, Albia, you are ny friend—you are my sister. I know you love me; and I cannot tell you how grateful I am.” “They why will you not lift the veil from your sorrow, and allow me to feel still more for you?” “I had almost resolved to tell you, Albia.” ‘'Then make the resolution sure, and admit me to your fullest confidence.” The princess dried her eyes, and finally lifted her head from her com panion’s shoulder. ‘‘Dear Albia. I know not how to com mence. 1 am a child—a poor, foolish child—as you will say when I have told you all. You will say that I de serve to suffer, and that punishment should be mine.” ‘‘Nay, my lady," responded the bond maiden; ‘‘you must not commence in that way. Tell me first all the cause of your sorrow; and leave it for me to base my own judgment. Come—trust me, and let me give you all my sym pathy.” A few moments the princess was si lent, and then she said, with a low tremor in her voice: ‘ Dear Albia, when I said that I would marry with the king I did not think what I was doing. That strange dream, so wonderfully repeated, led my father to broach the subject, and I did not refuse. When he talked of my being queen, and of my giving birth to a king to a king of Damascus, I thought it might be my duty to offer myself. I did not then know Horam. But—now—I have learned new things. T dread the fate which I have courted. I fear and loathe the man whose wife I have promised to become. When I first promised to give myself to Horam I felt that I could perform the duty without the sacrifice of any real vir tue or comfort of life. But, oh, how changed it has all become. Not only does my whole nature shrink from the sacrifice, but it seems as though a fate worse than death were involved in the ordeal. Last night I dreamed that Ho ram was my husband, and that he meant to kill me. He did not plan to drown me, as he did poor Helena; but he declared that I should be thrown alive into a den of wild beasts. It makes yon shudder, Albia.” ‘‘Oh, how terrible!” ‘‘And yet, my dear girl, I dreamed that 1 yalt a relief when I knew that death was coming, even though it was to come so dreadfully. Just thiufe what a state of mind that must be. Oh, It Is horrible! Dear Alb&l. I know not what to do." "Hare you told me all?” whispered the bordmaiden. winding her arm about ho:* mistress' neck, and kissing her upon the brow. "Have T not told you enough?" re turned U.'in, covering her face with her hands. "Not It' there Is more to tell, dear lady. You have trusted me this far— trust me with all. You have told me that you dread the king; and I do not wonder at this. You cannot have for gotten that T spoke against the union from the first. It seemed to me un natural. But, lady, there is somethin!; more." "Nothing more which I dare to tell, Albia. Nay—do not ask me. I hav> told you all that I can tell. And non I ask you—what can I do? The fatal hour is nigh at hand in the which I have promised to give myself to the king." "There is one thing you can do, my mistress—one thing alone, which I can see.” "Speak. Albia.” "You can flee.” "Flee!” repeated Ulin, In a startled whisper. “There is but one other course open to you.' "And that-” "Marriage with the king." "Oh, Albia, this is dreadful! That same thought of flight has entered my mind before; but can I leave my fa ther?” "If you become the king’s wife, yon must leave him. Think of it, lady ” "But whither can 1 flee?” "I have thought of that,’ said the bondmaiden, "and I think I know where you could find safety. Some miles from Damascus, among the hills wrhere the Pharphar winds its water in a mummuring channel, lives an old hermit, named Ben Hadad. His home is in a cave which the hand of nature has fashioned in the solid rock; and his life is given to deeds of charity and good will. I have seen him. and I know that he is good and kind." "And how came you to know this old man?" asked the princess, with some surprise. "I know him through an old woman named Ezabel, who has been often in the city, and who was well acquainted with your mother. This Ezabel used to come often to our house, and once Ben Hadad came with her—a white haired old man, whose just and tem perate life is lengthening out far be yond the span of years usually allotted to man. Your mother gave him money to he expended in charity; and he told her, If she ever could find use for his aid, it should be freely given. I know that he will befriend you. If you wish to flee, I will go with you, and to the last of my strength and my life I wifi help and sustain you. Think of it, my mistress." “I will think of it, Albia, and on the morrow my mind shall be made up. You may retire now. It it late, and we both need rest.” (To be continued.) Good Koongh fop film. Two brothers recently visited the of fices of a firm of American machine agents in Iajndon. One was at the head of an important English manu facturing firm, the second was an en gineer who had lived in Pennsylvania for some years. The latter pointed out to his brother machine after ma chine that he ought to have. "You knowr, Tom,” he at last declared em phatically, "if I were in your place I'd throw every bit of your old machinery on the scrap heap and have an up-to date plant right through. You'd double your output and halve your expenses.” “Tom” listened carefully and put his hand to his chin in reflective fashion. "Well, Dick,” he said at length, "you may be right. I won’t say that you’re not. But why should I change? The old machines were good enough for fa ther, and they were good enough for grandfather, so I am thinking they're good enough for me." Centuries of Imprisonment. To be sentenced to imprisonment for the term of one’s natural life is hard enough, but to be consigned to a dun geon cell for a couple of thousands years is indeed harrowing. Yet foreign judges not infrequently impose sen tences of several centuries without it being considered anything remarkable. Not long ago an Italian adventurer was convicted of 63 distinct forgeries. He was sentenced in each case, with the result that he will be free in the year 2089. A couple of years ago a young man was arrested in Vienna, who, upon his own showing, should have been sentenced to 2,500 years’ im prisonment. A total of 400 charges was brought against him, and he was convicted and sentenced on all of them. But the judge was a merciful man and in passing sentence he threw- off 1,000 years in consideration of the man’s youth. Flower of England. The flower of England is the rose, and this choice dates back to the Wars of the Roses, when that branch of the royal family known as the house of I.ancaster chose a red rose for its badge, and the rival branch, the house of York, had a white rose. Previous to that date the badge of the English royal family, the Kantagetiels, was a sprig of broom, from which indeed they took their surname, as the found er of the family—Fulke Martel, the earl of Anjou, having expiated a crime by a pilgrimage to Palestine, and be ing scourged there v»ith brcotn-twiys. ever afterward. EE 13 REMINISCENT. SOME FOURTH OF JULY TALK BY UNCLE SAM. B«w IIli from Wath Ington to McKinley, IImvo IrivartnKijr Btioeentlerf with Protection Lawi and Failed with Free Trade. — It will be conceded by all that the Fourth of July was a most appropriate day for a good talk with Uncle Sam. The hearty and hale old gentleman has been too busy of late to grant an interview to any one, but a representa tive of the American Economist begged an interview on the Fourth, and it was granted. I found him surrounded by a noisy park of boys with their firecrackers and pistols. "Don't you mind the noise?” I asked. “Bless you, no," he replied. "They can’t make too much noise on my birthday. This is the one hundred and twenty-sixth Fourth of July I've cele brated, and in three different cen turies." "There have been most wonderful changes since your first celebration," I remarked. "Well, I should say so. Sometimes I can hardly realize it. But it has all come about so gradually and so natur ally that I have been ready for any thing 1 get reminiscent on a day like this and can’t help going back and making comparisons. Just think of it, there is not a person living that was alive on that Fourth of July when the old liberty bell rang out in Philadel phia. Those were stirring times, I tell you. During the Revolution from 1776 to 1781 and during the Confederation from 1781 to 1789 1 was an unruly kid, like a boat without a rudder, but in 1789 I got into long pants, and my manager wnom trie people seiecieu 101 me was one of the greatest men that ever lived. I realize more and more v.nnt a general, what a statesman, what a president Washington was. “Perhaps my most important birth day anniversary was the Fourth of July, 1789. It was on that day, you know, that my congress passed its first bill, and Washington signed it the same day—a Protective Tariff bill. How well I remember the preamble to that Jew; •• 'Whereas, It is necessary for the support of the government, for the discharge of the debt of the United States, and tor the encouragement and protection of manufactures, that du ties he laid on Imported goods, etc.; therefore, be it enacted, etc.” "And how well it worked! All my early managers praised the act, and called attention repeatedly to its splendid results. Washington, Adams, JefTerson, Madison and Monroe were all good Protectionists. And there was no material change in the law till 1812. when the duties were nearly doubled to provide money to carry on my second war with Great Britain. Then came the Tariff of 1816, and with it widespread .ruin.” “But I thought the Tariff of 1816 was a Protective Tariff,” I ventured to remark. “It was intended to be Protective, but it was not. I have always found that a Tariff that is not Protective enough Is not Protective at all. It’s either one thing or the other. There is no such thing as high and low Pro tection. It’s either Protection or no Protection. “Well, the people got pretty tired of the first Free Trade period, hut. after all, it was, perhaps, a good lesson, for In 1824 the boys gave me a Tariff that was a Tariff. My, how things did hum! It was such a success that in 1828 the boys increased the duties. Andy Jackson, who was my manager in 1832, said we were the happiest and most prosperous country in the world. Wish he could see us now!” "Why was sucn an enecuve luuu so soon repealed. Uncle Sam?" I asked. "Why? Just because a lot of the boys down South got a notion they wanted to go it alone. I wasn t going to have that, so the whole thing was compromised in 1833, and good times flew out of the window. You've read of those times, of course, and I don’t need to say anything about it. It was awful, and it got worse every year. Why horses only fetched 50 cents, and cows less. I remember the boys had so little money they would tear a bill into halves, quarters and eighths, so there would he enough to do business with. That lasted till 1840. when the people gave me William Henry Har rison for a manager and a Protective Congress. In 1842 Protection began again to bring prosperity, and in 1846 my manager, I’olk, although he was a Free Trader, had to acknowledge that in resources and wealth and the hap py condition of the people and in prog rens and greatness we were ahead of all other nations. "But th$re was trouble ahead. I don’t want to say anythingagainst any of my boys, but some of them down South were hoadstrong. The question of slavery began to bother me, too. Well, in 1844 the people elected Polk for manager, and with him a fellow by the name of Dallas, and I must admit that there was a little double dealing during that campaign. It’s all past and gone now, but it brought Free Trade again, and Free-Trade brought hard times. I don't like to think of those times from 1846 to I860. If it hadn't been for the gold discovery in California and the famine abroad I don't know what wo would havo done. As It was we had to send our gold to Europe about ns fast as we could get It. The old people can remember those times. They were awful, awful, awful. But I’m too happy today to more than iust recall them in passing. "In 1860 the boys got back to Pro tection again, and with the exception of three yeurs It has lasted till now, and I can tell you I never want to see Free-Trade again.” "How came the boys, as you call them, to pass a Free-Trade law In 1894, In the face of the success of the McKinley Tariff?” "Oh, the people got restless, and then the election of 1892 was in some respects like that of 1844. Then it was ’Polk, Texas and Free-Trade’ in the South, and ‘Polk, Dallas and the Tariff of 1842’ in the North. Well, they worked Cleveland the same way, and then, though I suppose I ought not to say it, the Democrats did some pretty tall lying in 1892. Why, the McKinley law was the best Tariff law we'd ever had, and everybody was prosperous and happy. But the people gave me Cleveland again for a mana ger. He had not done much harm the first time I tried him, though I dis charged him because I found a better man in Ben Harrison. But, what was worse, they gave me a Democratic, Populistic, Mugwump, Free-Trade Congress, and then things began to go to the demnltion bowwows. Gosh, all hemlock! but things did change fast. I lost $10,000,000,009 in twenty-four hours, and things went from bad to worse, till in 1890 the people gave me Bill McKinley for a manager, and I’ve kept him ever since. Renewed the contract last March for four years. So you're sure of three more happy July Fourths.” "Well, Uncle, this little Tariff his tory is all very interesting, and now I want to ask one or two questions.” ‘‘Well, fire away.’’ "Who do you consider has been your best ’manager,” as you call the presi dent?” “Well, now, that s a hard question to answer.Washington and Lincoln were great men and had great ques tions to solve, but let mo tell you, I like Bill MciKnley about as well as any of ’em. He ain't quite as obstrep erous as Andy Jackson, and he don't weigh as much in pounds as Cleveland, but he’s a mighty good man. He’s a safe, level-headed man, and that’s what the people like.” "The Free-Traders say he is a little shaky on the Tariff,” I hinted. "What! Bill McKinley shaky on the Tariff? Don't you believe it for a sec | ond. He’s more of a Protectionist than he was in 1890, and be was a mighty good one then. "It was sad about Dlngley, though. How I wish he could be here today and see what his bill has done for me. How he would rejoice over the exports and the balance of trade, the surplus, the bank clearings, the railroad busi ness and the immense earnings of the people. The McKinley bill was a good one, but the Dingley law has proved to be the best Tariff law the boys ever passed.” "Still,” I Raid, "the papers say that parts of it may be repealed and that the TarifT will soon be removed from so-called trust made articles, and with the help of Republicans, too.” "Don’t let it worry you, my boy. It won’t happen for four years, anyway. I acknowledge the people get restless sometimes, and, contrary like, but there ain’t no signs of it this year. They won’t forget that Gormau-Wilson abortion, and they will be slow to give up their Jobs again. Why, just think of it, my people are earning from $20, 000,000,000 to $30,000,000,000 a year, from $66,000,000 to $100,000,000 a day, and that is not our total income either. That's too great a snap to throw away. You don't hear any one complaining, do you? There’s plenty of work, good prices and plenty of money to pay the price. No; the Free-Traders are just tilling space. I’m sorry to admit It, but there are always some fault-flnd ers and malcontents In my big family. Always black sheep in every flock. But it's a great people, a great coun try and a great day!” And Uncle Sam went off wdth a bunch of fireworks in one hand and patting the Eagle with the other. F. C. UNCLE SAM REMINISCENT. 1 "I’m sorry to admit it,” said Unci* Sam. “but there are always some fault finders and malcontents in my fam ily; always black sheep in every flock. But it’s a great people, a great coun try, a great day.” Happy Vacation Hay*. These are the very happiest vaca tion days the American people have ever known. Few indeed are those who cannot plan a Joyful trip to the sea shore or mountain with well filled purse, thanks to Protection and full employment at high wages. A man will resent being told he is a fool no matter how often he m»y e« designate himself. -1s._LL—* ENGLISH CLERGYMEN POOR. BuntflcN Said to He Worth Lou Than • 750 a Year. The lot of the clergy In the Church of England today Is said to be so wretched that even younger sons have given up the career which for so many years was looked upon as their chief resource. It may easily be understood that this calling has ceased to appeal to them when the fact is known that out of about 14,000 benefices in the church, more than 7,000 are worth lees than $750 a year and that nearly all of them are decreasing in value. About 1,500 benefices are worth only $500 a year and less than $250 annually is the return from 300 livings which have been recently described as more nearly ‘■starvings" to the unfortunates who are assigned to them. In the diocese of Peterborough there are sixty-one livings that are worth no more than $225 a year, and this is not yet the worst as there are in Newcastle bene fices that are valued at only $125 a yenr. The wives of clergymen in these parishes are of course unable to employ servants and all the drudgery of housework falls on their shoulders. The luxury of meat is denied to them except on alternate days and their children—of whom the number is nearly always In Inverse ratio to the amount of the living—are prepared by education in the elementary schools, or by the teaching their parents can give them at odd times for their desrent to a lower social sphere. These clergy men, as a rule come from good country families. Their wives are from the same class and are in few cases fitted by their training for a life of drudgery and hard work. The actual return for these livings is frequently much less than the figures quoted here since their value is dependent on the price of corn and this has declined until it many cases what used to be a living worth $500 is now in reality not worth more than two-thirds of that sum.— New York Sun. A Spelling I'arrof. Polly's cage, when at the seaside, hung upon a piazza where the little children were in the habit of study ing aloud. The bird, apparently listen ing, would make an effort to repeat what she could catch. Then suddenly she would burst out with, ‘ I’ll spell f-l-y r-a-t" (a strong emphasis on the r), continuing with a low chuckle of satisfaction, and ending in a hearty and long-continued laugh at her suc cess, the little ones joining in the chor us. She was very fond of the children. Intheearly morning,when her cage was opened to give her liberty, she would walk about for a time, climb the stairs to the children’s room, and crawl into their beds before time for rising. Cof fee was almost absolutely necessary to her existence. She would call early and steadily for it in the morning, adjusting her tones to the length of time spent in waiting—ordering begging, beseeching, as the case might be, holding her cup meanwhile, to hasten matters, Avery retiring, modest servant maid had been long in our em ploy. She had a follower named Thom as, who nightly paid his visit. It chanced one morning that Polly's cof fee had been long delayed. A gentle man of the house coming to breakfast met the girl and made an inquiry re garding the meal. She turned to reply, facing the questioner, when Polly see ing her opportunity for revenge, took it, and, in a man’s voice, called out: “Mary, how’s Thomas?” The woman retreated in confusion, while Polly laughed an ugly, low laugh; but the coffee was forthcoming.—Our Animal Friends. Wonders of the Wire. It Is not widely known that at the present time, between all Important telephone centers of the United States, while the trunk wires are being used for transmitting speech, there are be ing sent over them simultaneously telegraphic messages without produc ing any interruption of the spoken words. Were it not for immediate laws of nature, which cannot be varied by man or corporation, one might be listening, and take off the telegraphic message thus traversing these very conductors. What a tantalizing pros pect for the wiretappers! Although these telegraphic impulses actually traverse the coil of wire in the tele phone held to the car and actually speed along the identical copper con ductor at that time conveying the voice currents, you hear neither dot nor dash of the telegraphic message. F-n.lronment. of Some I.lterarr Folk. Literary people are evidently not in need of holidays. So long as they have pens, ink and paper and access to a li brary, they can write their books any where, and many choose to write them in the quiet seclusion of a country house. Rider Haggard enjoys the seclu sion of a Norfolk farm, George Mere dith leads a reclusive life among the Surrey hills, G. A. Henty writes all his boys’ books on board his eighty-ton yacht, and Dr. Gordon Stables has for his study a gypsy caravan, in which he wanders at will for a half of every year. Street Car Ticket, a. Currency. Portugal is suffering from a pleth ora of money just now. Not gold, of coarse, nor silver, but copper. So vast is the supply of this inferior metal that ordinary people are exceedingly chary of changing such few gold coir? as they may come into their posses sion. The copper coinage is big and cumbersome, and it is also deprecia ted, so that, In order to avoid being burden with it, it has become the cus tom, In larger cities at ail events, to UM street car tickets as currency.