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About The Hesperian / (Lincoln, Neb.) 1885-1899 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 1, 1892)
THE II E S P E R I A N . With his death what a beautiful life has closed 1 During its course what sweetness, what chastity, what happy humor brightened it! What influences accompanied it! Influences that reached up to heaven and spread out over humanity. Other men have been great, other men have been fortunate, but no one was ever more beloved. Though dead, he yet livethl Disenthralled of flesh, and risen to the unobstructed sphere where passion never ennes, he begins his illimitable work. His life is grafted upon the Infiinile, and will be fruit ful as no earthly life can be. Pass on, thou hast overcome! Your sorrows are his peace! Your bells and bands and muf fled diuins sound triumph in his car. Wail and weep here; God makes it echo joy and triumph there." His work will remain a treasure to the multitudes. It will kindle anew their faith and fidelity. Tho aligning Key. A few miles from the little village of C , there stood at sonic distance from the road a small brown cottage. There were no other houses in sight, and it is not surprising that the good people of the village oftcned wondered why Miss Martin had chosen such a lonesome place for her house. It would not seem so strange, perhaps, to one who knew Miss Martin. She was a sharp-featured old maid who had never known what it was to be timid; and the thought that she was alone, so far from all her neighbors, did not trouble her in the least. So she lived by herself, with Lena her round-faced German maid and Peter her maltesc cat. Peter thought him self the most important member of the family, and Miss Mar tin, I think, secretly agreed with him. Certainly there never was a cat more petted and more indulged than he. No place in the house was too good for him. He slept with impunity upon Miss Martin's snow-white bed, and even dared to jump up upon the high-backed sofa in that sacred room, the front parlor. But Peter, sad to say, had one serious failing. He never could see why the food put away on the pantry shelves was not common property. No amount of disciplining could convince him of the contrary. Miss Martin thought it was clearly a case of kleptomania; but whatever it was, it was quite likely to get Peter into serious trouble. One Saturday afternoon, Miss Martin brought into the kitchen a chicken which she had just bought from the butch er's boy. "Lena," she called; but lena had evidently gone out, for no one answered. Peter, aroused from his nap, came out from under the stove to coax for the chicken. "No, Peter," she said, "there is nothing here for you;" and she turned to carry the chicken into the pantry. Peter followed her unnoticed. As she was returning to the kitchen she hesi tated a moment, and then turned the key in the pantry door, saying to herself as she did so, "I believe it will be better to lock the door; Lena is so careless about leaving everything open, and the last time we had a chicken Peter managed to get the most of it." Just then there was a knock at the outside door, and she dropped the key hastily into her pocket and stepped to the door. On the porch stood a ragged and villainous looking tramp. He asked in a whining voice for a bite of something to eat- Miss Martin, though she was very kind to the poor people in the village, had a great horror of tramps, and her reply to the request was a very emphatic, "No." Afterwards, when she had gone back to her sewing, she remembered the ugly look that came into the man's face, and almost wished she had not spoken so curtly. That evening, as Mis Martin was making her preparations for bed, Lena came hurrying into the room with her face pale and frightened. "Oh! Miss Martin," she cried, "there is some one in the pantry and they've lockec the door." "Non sense," said Miss Martin, "I locked the door myself. I'll come down and see what's the trouble." She felt in her jacket for the key, but it was not there. She turned the jack et inside out and shook her handerchicf, but all in vain. The key was evidently gone. She took the lamp in her hand and went to the kitchen thinking that she had better see what the noises were which had so disturbed Lena. She stopped at the pantry door and listened. At first she heard nothing. Then there was a sudden noise as if some one had moved a dish. At this she was very much startled, but recovering her self-possession, she called sternly, "Who's there?" She felt quite secure since the door was locked between herself and the intruder. There was no answer. Everything was quiet as before. In a moment the noise began again. This time it sounded more as if something was being dragged over the floor. The longer Miss Mai tin listened, the more she was con vinced by the sounds that there must be some animal in the room. She decided to break open the door and solve the mystery. "Lena," she called, "go to the wood-shed and bring me the axe." Hut Lena was far too frightened to be of any assistance, and Miss Martin had to go for it herself. The lock was weak, and it needed but one or two blows to break it. As the door opened there was a loud crash in the pantry, and something white rushed by Miss Martin and dis appeared into the hall. The apparition was so sudden and so unexpected that Miss Martin started back with aery. As soon as she could recover from her fright, she took the lamp, and gathering her skirts closely about her, she stepped cautiously into the pantry. A large jar of buttermilk, which stood on one of the lower shelves, had been upset, and little rivers of milk were running in every direction. On the floor were the remains of the chicken gnawed almost beyond recognition. Miss Martin sat down on the window sill and laughed until she cried. "Oh! it was Peter," she exclaimed, "the wicked rogue. How frightened we were." Lena stood in the doorway and looked in upon the scene with round-eyed amazement, scarcely understanding how the robber could have escaped so quickly. When Miss Martin had arranged the house again for the night, she went upstairs to her room, and there in the middle of her pillow-shams she found Peter drenched with milk. He spit furiously as she took him up to carry him down stairs to the cellar, where she left him to spend the rest of the night. ' H. M. Literary 'otes. Mr. Gladstone earns $15,000 a year by his pen. This year Christmas literature will appear in October. England is reading just now "An Englishman in Paris; Notes and Recollections." A new book illustrated by the author George u Maurier, entitled "Peter Ibbetson" is worth reading. The new edition of Professor Bryce's "American Common wealth" contains several chapters of new material. George W. Cable is reported to be at work upon another novel. The scene is in the South and the characters of Anglo-Saxon stock. One of the most prominent books lately written against religion is "Homilies of Science" by Dr. Paul Cams. It is an attack upon orthodox Christianity. Nebraskans aie interested in a novel written by Ed. C. Wright of Council Bluffs. It is called "The Lightning's Flash; an Unveiling of Mysteries; a Stenographer's Episode." Monsieur Zola has abandoned his old tactics in writing and has produced a masterpiece called "La Debacle." It is a description of the Franco-Prussian war and of the Commune.