1
I if . - . • BY CLARA AUGUSTA
Eg If "w INTERNATIONAL PRE.S5 ASSOCIATION.
P f CHAPTER XXIII.
§ \ , L. olriv - - ' Margie sat reading
j& i" - /fliV lP f the closel > ' written
. ' . ' „ 4nii ll < ' sheets , penned by
M % - 'r ' hR the hand n ° w
' w % s psT ffi pulseless in death.
„ , ? 7 • ft NL \ All was made clear ;
. ' ' W , * * ? T ) Arcncr Trevlyn was
l
5
„ , e , ( & ij fully exculpated.
.1 ' * & 2r the crime which she
I ' , " had been influenced
> to believe he had committed. She fell
on her knees and thanked God for that.
Though lost to her it was a consolation
. ; ineffable to know that he had not taken
N the life of a fellow-mortal.
Her resolution was taken before
> morning. She had deeply wronged
I s * 'Archer Trevlyn , and she must go to
1 liim with a full confession , confess her
§ - fault , and plead for his forgiveness.
§ Castrani , who came in the morning ,
' § -approved her decision , and Nurse Day ,
§ who was told the whole story , and listened -
• 1 -tened with moist eyes , agreed with
| - -them both. So it happened that on the
I ensuing morning Margie bade farewell
§ to the quiet home which had sheltered
her through her bitterest sorrow , and
§ .accompanied by Castrani set forth for
.Now York.
She went to her own home first. Her
: aunt was in the country , but thejser-
vants gave her a warm welcome ; and
after resting for an hour , she took her
-way to the residence of Archer Trevlyn ,
lut a few squaies distant.
ij A strange silence seemed to hang
over the palatial mansion. The blinds
were closed there was no sign of life
about the premises. A thrill of unex
plained dread ran through her frame
as she touched the silver-handled bell.
.The servant who answered her sum
mons seemed to partake of the strange ,
solemn quiet pervading everything.
"Is Mr. Trevlyn in ? " ohe asked , trem
bling in spite of herself.
"I believe Mr. Trevlyn has left the
country , madam. "
"Left the country ? When did he go ? "
"Some days ago. "
"Mrs. Trevlyn take me to her ! She
was an old friend of mine. "
The man looked at her curiously , hes
itated a moment , and motioning her to
I enter , indicated the closed door of the
I parlor.
I "You can go in , I presume , as you
1 are a friend of the family. "
i A feeling of solemnity , which was
§ almost awe , stole over Margie as she
! . turned the handle of the door and
I j -stepi-ed inside the parlor. It was
.shrouded in the gloom of almost utter
darkness.
Margie stopped by the door until her
eyes became accustomed to the gloom ,
I and then she saw that the center of the
I xoom was occupied by a table , on which
lay some rigid object strangely long
and still and angular covered with a
drapery of black velvet , looped up by
dying water lilies.
Still controlled by that feeling of
ctrange awe , Margie stole along to the
j table and lifted the massive cover. She
caw beneath it the pale , dead face of
Alexandrine Trevlyn. She dropped
the pall , uttered a cry of horror , and
eanT upon , a chair. The door unclosed
' noiselessly , and Mrs. Lee , the mother
of the dead woman , came in.
"Oh , Margie ! Margie ! " she cried ,
! " 'pity me ! My heart is broken ! My
darling ! My only child is taken from
me ! "
It was long before she grew com
posed enough to give any explanation
of the tragedy for tragedy Margie felt
sure it was.
The story can be told in a few brie4
' -words. Alexandrine and her husbapfl
1 \ liad had some difficulty. Mrs. IAs
eould not tell in relation to what , 7)ut
I she- knew that Alexandrine blamed
j herself for the part she had tuVen.
j Mr. Trevlyn left her in anger to 0 to
Philadelphia on business. He was ex
pected to be absent about four days.
J Meanwhile his wife suffered agonies of
! Temorse , and counted the hours until
! lis return should give her the privilege
1 - .of throwing herself at his feet an'l beg-
l ging his forgiveness.
1 j But he did not return. A wrtk. ten
days passed , and still no Udlngs. Alexandrine -
' andrine avas almost frantic. On the
j eleventh day came a tel'jgravhic dis-
11 patclv brief and cruel , as these heart-
j ' less things invariably arc , Informing
i lier that Mr. Trevlyn had -jlosed his
! "business in Philadelphia a-Tid was on
4
] the eve of leaving the wu-atry for an
' indefinite period. His destination was
i not mentioned , and hlu uMiappy wife ,
I Reeling that if he loft Philadelphia
j -without her seeing hin , all trace of
ij him would be lost , hurr d to the de-
I ] ' 1 > ot and set out for tlm * vity.
j j There had been an .cident about
, ] half way between New T ork and Philadelphia -
! | delphia and Alexandrine had been
] 1 brought back to her npTendid home a
1 -corpse ! That was all
CHAPTER XXTV.
j s V - * summer days
- >
4nz $ ) Yz * Kfled ° n and
MftP brought the au-
7 T ] l@ $ § $ k\\ \ W jj tumn mellowness
5- ' 2 P v ian ( * sPlentorMar -
il j lP&w sjg S'e > outwardly calm
iak wf and < luiet' lived
• I $ N&&ii Ji3t at Harrison Park
fjfig ftJS&ffiwith her staid
\WWf \ r- maiden aunt.
' p ? tyY A year passed
away thus mono-
? ionously , then another , and no tidings
s-
* 'ILXI-i - ' " ' ' . ' ' " ' "
. .
K " - ' - - * I ' I I I
Ji l l I -I" I I II I
ever came of Archer Trevlyn. Margie
thought of him now as we think of one
being dead , with tender regret , and
love almost reverent. He was dead to
her , she said , but it was no sin to cher
ish his memory.
In the third year Margie's aunt mar
ried. It was quite a little romance. An
old lover , discarded years before in a
fit of girlish obstinacy , came back , after
weary wanderings in search of hap
piness , and seeking out the love of
other days , wooed and won her over
again.
There was a quiet wedding , and then
the happy pair decided on a trip to
Europe. And , of course , Margie must
accompany them. At first she de
murred ; she took so little pleasure in
anything , she feared her presence
might mar their happiness , and she
dreaded to leave the place where she
had passed so many delightful hours
with him. But her aunt and Doctor
Elbert refused to give her up , and so ,
one beautiful September morning , they
sailed for Liverpool in the good ship
Colossus.
For many days the voyage was pros
perous , but in mid-ocean they fell upon
stormy weather and the = ; hip was tossed
about at the mercy of the winds and
waters. It was a terrible storm , and
great apprehensions were entertained
that the vessel might founder , but she
would doubtless have weathered the
blast in safety if she had not sprung a
leak.
The fearful intelligence was an
nounced just at the closing in of a dark
dismal night , and every heart sank
and every face was shrouded in gloom.
Only for a moment ! The men sprang to
the pumps and worked with a will
ap men will work for their lives but
their efforts were vain. The water in
creased in the hold , and it soon became
evident that the Colossus would hardly
keep afloat until morning.
But just when they were most help
less , most despairing , the lights of a
strange ship were seen. They succeed
ed in making their desperate condition
known , and by day-dawn all were safe
on board the steamer , for the stranger
proved to be a steamer on her way to
New York.
The decks were crowded ; Doctor El
bert was looking after his wife , and
Margie , clinging to a rope , stood fright
ened and alone. Some one came to her ,
said a few words which the tempest
made inaudible , and carried her below.
The light of the cabin lamps fell full on
his face. She uttered a cry , for in that
moment she recognized Archer Trev
lyn.
"Margie Hi. risra ! " he cried , his fin
gers closing tightly over hers. "Mar
gie ! Mine ! Mine at last ! The ocean
has given you -up to me ! "
"Oh , Archer. wh re have you been ?
It has been so A-eary ! And I have want
ed to see you no much that I might tell
you how I had wronged you that I
might ask you to forgive me. Will you
pardon me for believing that you could
ever be guilty of that man's death ?
If you knew all if you knew how art
fully It was represented to me what
overwhelming proofs were presented ,
you would not wonder "
"I do know all , Margie ; Alexandrine
told me. My poor wife ! God rest her.
She believed me guilty and yet her
fatal love for me overlooked the crime.
She deceived me in many things , but
she is dead , and I will not be unforgiv
ing. She poisoned my mind with sus
picions of you and Louis Castrani , and
I was fool enough to credit her insinua
tions. Margie , I want you to pardon
mo. "
"I do , freely , Castrani is a noble soul.
I love him as I would a brother. "
"Continue to do so , Margie. He de
serves it , I think. The night I left home
Alexandrine revealed to me the cause
of youn sudden rejection of me. We
quarreled terribly. I remember it with
bitter remorse. We parted in anger ,
Margie , and she died without my for
giveness and blessing. It was very
hard , but perhaps at the last she did not
suffer. I will believe so. "
"If she sinned it was through love of
you , Archer , and that should make you
very forgiving toward her. "
"I have forgiven her long ago. I
know the proofs were strong against
me. I am not sure but that they were
sufficient to have convicted me of mur
der in a court of law. You were con
scious of my presence that night in the
graveyard , Margie ? "
"Yes. I thought it was you. I knew
no other man's presence had the power
to thrill and impress me as yours did. "
"I meant to impress you , Margie. I
brought all the strength of my will to
bear on that object. I said to myself ,
she shall know that I am near her , and
yet my visible presence snail not be
revealed to her. I had found out which
was your window from one of the ser
vants , and I watched its light which
burned through the dusky twilight like
the evening star. I wonder if you had a
thought for me that night , Margie
your wedding night ? "
"I did think of you " she blushed ,
and hid her face on his shoulder "I
'
did think of you. I longed inexpiessi-
bly to fly to your side and be forever
at rest. "
"My darling ! " he kissed her fondly ,
and went on : "I saw you leave your
room by the window and come down
the garden path. I had felt that you
would come. I was not surprised that
you did. I had expected it. I followed
you silently , saw you kneel by the grave
" • " • " '
1 11 iiH 'riimiMHBiHIBMMttMl
of your parents , heard you ca/1 out upon
your father for pity. 0 , how I loved
and pitied you , Margie but my tongue
was tied I had no right to speak but
I did kiss your hand. Did you knovr it ,
Margie ? "
"Yes. "
"You recognized me then ? I meant
you should. After that I hurried away.
I was afraid to trust myself near you
longer , lest I might be tempted to what
I might repent. I fled away from the
place and knew nothing of the fearful
deed done there until the papers an
nounced it next day. "
"And I suspected you of the crime !
O , Archer ! Archer ! how could I ever
have been so blind ? How can you ever
forgive me ? "
"I want forgiveness , Margie. I
doubted you. I thought you were false
to me , and had fled with Castrani. That
unfortunate glove confirmed you , I
suppose. I dropped it in my haste to
escape without your observation , and
afterward I expected to hear of it in
connection with the finding of Lin-
mere's body. I never knew what be
came of it until my wife displayed it ,
that day when she taunted me with my
crime. Poor Alexandrine ! She had the
misfortune to love me , r.nd after your
renunciation , and your departure from
New York in those days when I
deemed you false and fair I offered
her my hand. I thought perhaps she
might be happier as my wife , and I felt
that I owed her something for her de
voted love. I tried to do my duty by
her , but a man never can do that by
his wife , unless he loves her. "
"You acted for what you thought
was best , Archer. "
"I did. Heaven knows I did. She
died in coming to me to ask my forgive
ness for the taunting words she had
spoken at our last parting. I was cruel.
I went away from her in pride a-nd
anger , and left behind me no means by
which she could communicate with me.
I deserved to suffer , and I have. "
"And I also , Archer. "
• "My poor Margie ! Do you know , dear ,
that it was the knowledge that you
wanted me which was sending me home
again ? A month ago I saw Louis Cas
trani in Paris. He told me everything.
He was delicate enough about it , darl
ing ; you need not blush for fear he
might have told me you were grieving
for me ; but he made me understand that
my future might not be so dark as I
had begun to regard it. He read to me
the dying confession of Arabel Vere ,
and made clear many things regarding
which I had previously been in the
dark. Is all peace between us , Margie ? "
"All is peace , Archer. And God is
very good. "
"He is. I thank Him for it. And now
I want to ask one thing more. I am
not quite satisfied. "
"Well ? "
"Perhaps you will think it ill-timed
now that we are surrounded by strang
ers , and our very lives perhaps in peril
but I cannot wait. I have spent pre
cious moments enough in waiting. It
has been very long , Margie , since I
heard you say you loved me , and I want
to hear the words again. "
She looked up at him shyly.
"Archer , how do I know but you have
changed ? "
"You know I have not. I have loved
but one woman I shall love no other
through time and eternity. And now ,
at last , after all the distress and the
sorrow we have passed through , will
you give me your promise to meet what
ever else fortune and fate may have in
store for us , by my side ? "
She put her face up to his , and he
kissed her lips.
"Yours always , Archer. I have never
had one thought for any other. "
So a second time were Archer Trev
lyn and MargLe Harrison betrothed.
On the ensuing day the storm abated ,
and the steamer made a swift passage
to New York.
Doctor and Mrs. Elbert were a little
disappointed at the sudden termina
tion of their bridal tour , but consoled
themselves with the thought that they
could try it over again in the spring.
Trevlyn remained in the city to ad
just some business affairs which had
suffered from his long absence , and
Margie and her friends went up to her
old home. He was to follow them
thither on the ensuing day.
And so it happened that once more
Margie sat in her old familiar chamber
dressing for the coming of Archer
Trevlyn. What should she put on ?
She remembered the rose-colored dress
she had laid away that dreadful night
so long ago. But now the rose colored
dreams had come back , why not wear
the rose-colored dress ?
To the unbounded horror of Florine ,
she arrayed herself in the old-fashioned
drvess , and waited for her lover. And
she had not long to wait. She heard
his well-remembered step in the hall ,
and a moment after she was folded in
his arms.
CHAPTER XXV.
| > T CHRIS T M A S
$ y\ \ there was a bridal
- < J at Harrison Park.
- \ The day was clear
/a and cloudless the
f53S ) air almost as
balmy as the air of
spring. Such a
Christmas had not
/ / * been known for
years.
The sun shone
brightly , and soft winds sighed through
the leaflets trees. And Margie was
married and not a cloud came between
her and the sun.
Peace and content dwelt with Archer
Trevlyn and his wife in their beautiful
home. Having suffered , they knew bet
ter how to be grateful for , and to ap-
pieciate the blessings at last bestowed
upon them.
hX their happy fireside there comes to
srt sometimes , of an evening , a quiet.
" 1 1 ! > ; ' • • • rt" 1 "
MHHMHBBHHHMIHHMHMMMVMBflHHflnBSHHMMIHMMMHHI
I grave-faced man ? A man who Arcier
. Trfivlyn and his wife love as a dear
brother , and prize above all other
earthly friends. And beside Louis Cas
trani , Leo sits , serene and contem
plative , enjoying a green old age in
peace and plenty. Castrani will never
marry , but sometime in the hereafter ,
I think he will have his recompense.
( THE END. )
THE BIGGEST POLICEMAN.
Ho Is Said to Bo Philadelphia's Capt
Mnlln.
Philadelphia has cause for civic pride
in the possession of the biggest and
strongest guardian of the public peace
in the country over Police Captain Ed
ward W. Malin of the Second division ,
says the Philadelphia Press. There may
be heavier wearers of the blue uniform ,
but mere avoirdupois is not a thing to
* be proud of.
Capt. Malin measures in height 6 feet
G % inches. His weight is 200 pounds ,
which makes him splendidly proper
tioned. Beside him the G-foot 200-
pounder looks small enough to be cox
swain of a university crew.
The labor of growing heavenward so
tremendously has not taxed his brain
and vitality , for Capt. Malin is strong
and hardy , and when he shakes your
hand warmly you think of the great
steam hammer in the Krupp gun works
at Essen. As for a hearty slap on the
back , a timid man would prefer a tap
from a trolley car.
Capt. Malin will have been connected
with the police force of Philadelphia
nineteen years on the 26th of next Oc
tober and has passed through the sev
eral grades of duty from that of a
"sub" patrolman to the responsible po
sition of one of the five captaincies of
the Philadelphia police department
from "sub" to regular patrolman , to
sergeant , to lieutenant , and to captain.
His record has been an honorable one ,
and it goes without saying that Capt.
Malin has had a comparatively peace
ful career , although he has always been
courageous and faithful to duty. But
the most reckless lawbreaker or a syn
dicate of him would well hesitate to
mix up in a personal encounter with a
giant who would be more than likely
to tuck the company under his arms
and save the patrol wagon the trouble
of carrying the victims of misguided
confidence to the station.
He has been injured more than once
in the performance of his duty , but , as
the small boy said after the fight , "You
ought to have seen the other chap. "
It is told of the big captain that when
acting as lieutenant in the old police
headquarters at Fifth and Chestnut
streets , he was one day sitting by the
door that led into the cellroom. Capt.
Malin was alone and was trying to
read a newspaper. In one of the cells
a man with a many horse-powered
voice was shouting alound his yearning
to get out and whip "anything with
brass buttons on it. "
"You got me in here when I was
drunk and helpless. Now I'm sober
and I can eat up any two coppers in
the precinct. Only give me a show at
them. "
Lieut. Malin was patient until he
deemed patience was a drug in the
market. The bellicose prisoner was
spoiling for blood. Nothing else would
quiet him. The lieutenant sent for the
jailer and told him to open the cell
door , and as the hinge grated the fight
er flew into the roll-call room with an
incandescent glow in his eyes. The
lieutenant slowly rose from his chair
until he was looking down at the pris
oner far below. He said gently :
"Were you looking for something ? "
"I I I thought I "
"Hadn't you better go back and keep
quiet ? "
"Yes , sir ; yes , sir. Don't hit me ,
please , " and the war was averted by
arbitration.
Capt. Malin was born and "raised"
on a farm near Gradyville , in Delaware
county. He worked out of doors
through his boyhood and didn't know
what a cigarette was. Lots of work ,
sleep , fresh air , and healthful food
made a man of him and gave him a
famous start in life.
A DANGEROUS BIRD.
TTliat AVU1 Happen Some Day to an In
cautious Hunter of Blue Herons.
"Some of these days , " said the 'long
shore hunter , "I expect to open my
daily paper and see a headline some
thing like this : 'Killed by a blue heron , '
and I'll tell you why. The blue heron
is a big , powerful bird which has al
ready disfigured the faces of several
men. The men have wounded a bird
and then thinking to capture it alive
they went up to it. Why I'd as soon
try to kiss a wounded grizzly. The
birds grow as tall as six feet and have
necks like a fish rod and just the kind
of muscles to move it the quickest with
the most strength. They could drive
their bill points through a quarter-inch
panel.
"The hunter goes up to the bird and
sees it lying there looking as innocent
as a robin , with only a broken wing.
'What a fine pet it would make , ' the
fool hunter thinks. Then he picks the
bird up and starts for home in a wagoner
or a boat , with the bird between his
knees. The bird's neck is drawn back
like a letter 'S. * All of a sudden the bill
shoots up and gives the man a gash
alongside the eye three inches long.
That is what always has happened.
The wounded bird has mi3sed its aim ,
but sometimes , and you want to re
member it , this feathered spearman
will drive its bill far into its enemy's
eye , and like a steel umbrella stick the
point of the bill will penetrate the man's
brain. I guess the bird's aim has al
ways been spoiled by the pain of its
wounds , and so many a human life
has been saved. I don't monkey with
wounded bitterns , or cranes vrell ,
scarcely. "
- - - * < - "
&
/MittiHMSllMNHttitflliM
cEtLDEEN'S C0ENEK.
INTERESTING READING FOR
BOYS AND GIRLS.
"Tho Itulnod Cnstlo" A l'oem by Far
away AIoso * A Youns Knlsht A
Lesion In ratlcnco The Car "WJjool
I'uzzlc.
oef BUILT a castle in
boyhood days ,
M Far , far out on
the desert
fH by
broad and
winding ways ,
By my imagination -
_ _ tion wrought.
The walls were
built of mighty
deeds ,
The roof a sheet of polished gold ,
The ground was sown with flower seeds
That withered not in heat nor cold.
Ah , such a winding pleasant road
I dug around the sloping hills ,
Where I could carry ev'ry load
Brought from Imagination's mills.
I had so many , many years
To make this castle all complete ;
There'd be no bitter sighs nor tears ,
No accidents to bring defeat.
Ah , many a day I sat in school
And built this castle , room by room ;
I measured not by any rule ,
It simply grew like big mushroom.
With open book before my eyes ,
I saw no letters , nor the page ;
My thoughts were soaring in the skies
Where dwelt my hopes of future age.
Where is that glittering castle now ?
Its walls have tumbled to the ground ;
And o'er its ashes I must bow ,
Where all my boyhood hopes are I
found.
The winding road around the hills
I could not use to draw my load ;
My burden came from Duty's mills ,
And Fate had built a narrow road.
This road led straight across the hills
Of bitter hardships , want and toil ;
I passed Imagination's mills.
All rusted for the want of oil.
And soon , where my gieat castle
stood ,
I dug a grave , both wide and deep ,
And wrote with finger dipped in blood :
"Here all my boyhood fancies sleep. "
And still there is a winding road
Leads far out into misty space ;
I gaze , while resting with my load ,
And try the winding way to trace.
And yet , I know the path I go
Leads over all those hills so steep ;
And , with my burden bending low ,
I walk until I fall asleep.
Faraway Moses.
TI o Car AVheol I'nzzlc
"I had a question put to me the other
day that I was unable to answer , " said
a man who stood watching a cable car
go abruptly around the curve at Thir
teenth street and Grand avenue.
"Here is what puzzles me : The
wheels of the car are firmly fastened to
the axles , and the wheels can't turn
unless the axles turn. The outer rail
of a curve is longer than the inner
rail. Does the outer wheel turn faster
than the inner wheel , or does the latter
slip ? "
The other man had once been in the
railway business , and he quickly re
plied : "That's easy. If you'll examine
closely you'll see that the wheels , in
stead of being perfectly flat on the rim ,
are beveled , making the outer circum
ference smaller than the inside cir
cumference. When a car turns a curve
it has a tendency to go off at a tangent ,
or in other words , to jump the track ,
which it would do were it not for the
flange on the inside of the outer wheel ,
which presses closely against the rail.
The rail touches the inner wheel quite
a distance from the flange. The result
is that the diameter of the outer wheel
where it rests upon the rail is greater
than that of the inner wheel. This dif
ference in diameter equalizes the differ
ence in the length of the curved rails.
Both wheels revolve with the same
speed at their axles , but the outer
wheel traverses a greater distance , be
cause its diameter from the axle to the
point of contact with the rail is
greater. " Kansas City Star.
A Lesson In I'atlenoe.
One of the happiest little boys I ever
saw , says the Washington Star , is a
cripple , and he will never walk. His
lower limbs are paralyzed , and the
little fellow is wheeled around in a
chair made for his especial use. Yv'hen
I first saw him I thought how awful it
must be for a 7-year-old boy not to 0
able to run and play like other chil
dren , and , without-thinking , I asked :
"Isn't it lovely here ? Don't you wish
you could run and jump ? "
"Yes , " said the little fellow , "I might
like it , but I'm happy where I am , and
perhaps I'd get hurt. Little boys do. "
Then I felt rebuked , and the little
boy , whistling and singing in the chair ,
playing with whatever is given him ,
the minutes of the hours by which the
days are told like sunbeams lighting
and gladdening life's pathway , has
been a lesson to me ever since I first
saw him.
A Younjr Knight.
This story of practical benevolence j
is told by tie Bible Reader : '
It was a cold morning in early spring i
in Chicago. A little old man stood on 1
the corner of Clark and Randolph I
streets selling newspapers. i
He was thinly clad and kept trotting \
up and down trying to keep warm , and
his voice was hoarse from cold , and
passers-by could hardly hear him. 1
Some boys jeered and laughed at him , \
but one , about 13 years old , rather better - 1
'
ter dressed than the rest , after looking
- "
* "jr -
* ' * ' Bat
mMi1fi | | | BMirttlirlriri | | [ | [ . - ff
at him for a few moments , walked up to IH
hi in and said : fl
"I will shout for you. " \ , m
The old man thought the boy was fl
making fun of him , but the boy beganfl
to call out : ' < l
"Times , Herald , Tribune , News , " In / -
n clear voice , which attracted so many \ II
customers , that in a little while the old ° \ M
man sold his stock. / jI
He offered to pay his youthful part- ]
ncr , but the boy would take nothing , > "fl
and went off with a smiling face. '
He Wat an Old Kmnlly I'rlond. S l
An old man was leading a thin old ifl
horse across the common In the north- 1
em part of the city , when a passer-by IH
asked him where he was going. JI
"I'm searching for a bit of green for JI
the poor beast , " he answered. II
"I'd send him to the boneyard and to JH
the glue factory , " said the other , conslll
temptuously. fll
"Would you ? " asked the old man in \5H
a trembling voice ; "if he had been the t jB
best friend you had in the world , and §
helped you to earn food for your famiry il
for nearly twenty-five years ? If the -ifI
'
children that's gone and the children ' 'H
that's livin' had played with their arms / j IH
around his neck and their heads on ' JH
him for a pillow , when they had no \ jH
other ? Sir , he's carried us to mill and • | H
to meetin' , an' , please God , he shall " i | H
die like a Christian , an' I'll bury him H
with these old hands. Nobody'll ever 'fll
abuse old Bill , for if he goes afore me -H
there are those who are paid to look ) l M
after him. " 3M
"I beg your pardon , " said the man * v 11H
who had accosted him ; "there is a dif- ll l
ference in people. " 3 |
"Ay , and in horses , too , " said the old # |
man , as he passed on with his four- M
footed friend. Philadelphia Times. H
Kerr ' sirlly Slow. H
An S-year-old San Rafael boy was being - M
ing lectured on obedience last evening. M
"I told you that you could play with M
the Wilson boys till 5 o'clock , " said his |
mother. "Why didn't you come when M
I told you ? "
"I did , mamma. " M
"Don't tell me a falsehood. Why M
didn't you come home at 5 o'clock ? " M
"I started home at five. " M
"Then you stopped to play on the | H
way. "
"No , mamma , sure I didn't. " M
"Do you expect me to believe that it M
took you two hours tto walk half a M
mile ? I think I shall have to punish < |
you for telling mo falsehoods. " M
"Honestly I started home at 5 o'clock , ' jH
and came straight home. " | |
The mother led the boy into the ' |
kitchen and took down the whip. Ho M
turned pale and tears welled up into ' |
his eyes. , M
"Now , sir , will you tell me the M
truth ? " H
"Ye es , mamma ; Charlie Wilson M
gave me a mud turtle and I was - H
-c
afraid to carry it so I led it home. " * ( B
A New XaiiKi for the IJrlnlc. H
A little girl in Manchester attended M
a Band of Hope meeting , says the Na- | |
lional Temperance Advocate , and , on , H
the speaker remarking that the drink A M
stripped homes of furniture and worn- . . |
en and children of their clothes , she M
excitedly exclaimed : H
"That's just what it does at cur H
house. " H
On reaching home her father insisted H
upon sending her to the public house H
for drink. Arrived there , she dashrd H
the money upon the counter and passionately - H
sionately asked for three penny worth H
" " H
of "strip-me-naked.
I'loTverq a * nn Advortiscmnnt. 1
A Utah railroad man advertised his j H
road by sending a carload of lilacs to H
Colorado mining districts. The flowers H
were gathered by school children , and H
the car left a trail of joy and fragrance - H
grance wherever it went. Chicago Tri- H
bune. H
A Copppr Uolic. M
Joseph Lang , of Dekorra , Columbia M
county , Wisconsin , has a copper spear " - ' H
head six inches long and about one inch H
wide that he found on his farm. The ' M
shank end , instead of being pointed to - M
go into a handle , was bent around so H
as to form a socket for the shaft. |
Curious I'artH. . H
Scientific lectures are delivered to | |
prisoners in some English jails H
Pennsylvania's Supreme Court has H
decided that water consumers are not |
liable for charges in case impure water - / H
ter is furnished. - Tfcrt B
Probably the oldest timebr in the M
world which has been subjected to the H
use of man is found in the ancient t . . H
temples of Egypt , in connection with X H
stonework , which is known to be at n B
least four thousand years old. This , H
the only wood used in the construction H
of the temple , is in the form of ties , M
holding the end of one stem to another. H
A railroad man has compiled statistics - H
tics which show that there is only one H
railroad passenger killed out of every H
1,9S5,153 carried on the railways , an'd H
that for every 183,822 carried only one | |
likely to be injured. He bases his cal- H
dilations on the fatalities and casualties - H
ties on railoads during the last twelve H
years. His figures further show that | |
a man's chances are such that he would j |
have to travel 4.40G.G59 miles before M
getting hurt , and go 47,588,05 : es M
before being killed. * ' H
"They say the biggest fish are never M
caught , " said a fisherman. "There used |
to be a big striped bass that loafed r * H
around the old iron pier at Coney Isl- H
and. Half a dozen men hooked him at H
one time and another , but they all , j H
lost him. One day a man sitting there | |
fishing thought he'd got him sure , but |
the bass took a turn around a spile. ' ' H
the fisherman broke his line trying to ' H
clear it , and he lost him just as all the J H
rest had done. I never heard of this - H
bass being cauzht. and I dare say he's \ 1
Joafing around there still. " * " , i M
1 is
/ . J