The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on May 27, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, May 27, 1891
Page 3
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TM& UPPER DIES MOINfiS, ALGONA IOWA WEDNESDAY, MAY 27. 1891. MONICA. . tOVE STOUY OF MODERN DAYS. By Hie, Author of "Mtmn Sadly," "Accused" Ac., &c. "So up we pot." says Kit, gnyiy, ••nnti away we went in the nice sweet hay, jog trot, jog trot, and so comfortable." "We got on splendidly," Terence says, "and might indeed have finished our journey respectably, but for Monica. Site laid our reputation in the dust.'' Afoiiicii turns upon him an appealing glance from her large soft eyes that would have melted nny heart but thut of n brother's. "Aunt I'riscilln," suys this adamantine youth, "what is the name of the house with the big gate, about half a mile from thisV" "Coole Castle," replies she, stiffly, •• the very fact of having to mention the resilience of the detested Desmond making her heart bout violently. But Terry is a person blind to sinking glances uud deaf to worded hints. In effect, Terry and tact are two; so be goes on, unheeding his aunt's evident disrelish for the subject: "Well, just ns we got to Coole, I saw a follow standing inside tho entrance-gate, smoking a cigar. I fancied he looked amused, but would have thought nothing of that, only 1 beard him langii aloud, nnd saw he was staring over my iiotul—I was driving— to whore Jlouieu and Kit wore, on the top of the buy. it occurred to mo then lo sue what the girls were doing, so ] stood up on tho shaft;, and looked, uud '' Hero be pauses, us though slightly overcome. "What, my dour'?' 1 asks Miss Priscilla, anxiously. "There was Jlonicu lying in nn njsthetic "* attitude,— writ aesthetic.—with her chin in her hands, and her eyes on tho horse's curs. nhd her thoughts I prusumo in heaven, or wherever young ladies keep thorn, und with her heels " "It isn't tnid— it -Imi'I!" interrupts Monica, blushing furiously, und speaking with - much indignation. "1 don'tbelievc u single word of it 1" "And with her heels " "Terence. 1 " "In mUl-air. She was kicking them up and down with delight," says Terence, fairly bubbling over with joy ut the recollection. "It was tlio most humiliating sight for a modest brother. I shall never forgive her for it. Besides, the strange young man was " "If you say another word," says Monica, white with wrath nnd with tears in her eyes, "I shall never speak to you again, or help you out of any trouble." This awful threut bus the desired effect of reducing Mr. Borosl'ord to subjection. lie goes down before the foe, and truckles to her meanly: "Yon needn't; take it so much to heart," he snys, soothingly; "there wasn't mticb in it, after till; and your shoes arc very pretty and so are your feet." The compliment works wonders; Monica quite brightens up nguin. but the two ol< ladies aro hopelessly scandalized. "I fool nssuroU, Terence," says Miss Priscilla, with much dignity, "that under no circumstances could a niece of mine show too much of her—her " ' Here Miss Priscilla blushes, and breaks down. "Legs?" suggests Terry, politely. "But who was the strange young man?' asks Miss Penelope, curiously. "Our friend of the liny-curt, said his name was Desmond, and that he was nephew to tho master of the house behind tho big gates," returns Kit, fluently. "Desmond I" says Miss Priseilla, greatly agitated. "Lot mo never hoar you mention that name again! It has boon our bane Forget you have ever been so unfortunate us to encounter this young man; and if ill- luck should ever drive him across your path again, remember you do not—you never can —-know-him." "But I'm certain he will know Monica il he sees her again," says Kit. "He stared at her as if she hud seven heads." "No wonder, considering her equivocal position. And us to knowing Monica, I'm not; certain of that, of course, but I'm utterly positive ho could swear to her shoes in a crowd," snys Terence, with unholy delight. "He was enchanted with them, and with the clocks on her stockings; I think he was taking the pattern of them." "Ho was not," says Monica, almost weeping. "He couldn't see them. I wag too high up." "Terence," says Miss Priscilla, growing very palo, "you must never see him again, or, at all events, you must never speak to him. Understand, once for nil, thntintimacy between us and the inhabitants of Coolo is impossible. This feud I hint at touches you even more closely than it touches us, but you cannot fool it more than we do, perhaps not as much. The honor of our family has suffered .at the hands of the Master of Coolo. He is tho enemy of our house! You can make friends where yon choose; but I would have you recollect that never can a Beros- ford and a Desmond have aught in common." "But what have the Desmond's done tons, Aunt Priscilla?" asks Monica, a good deal awed by tho old lady's solemnity. "Some other time you shall know all," says Miss Priscilla, in the low tone ono might adopt if speaking of the lust appalling murder. "Yes, some time," echoes Miss Penelope, gently. . CHAPTER in. Monica is up early this morning studying the landscape and encounters Mrs. Kuilly, who is got up in her war-paint. "Why, where are you going Mrs. Reilly," asks Monica. "I'm going to get me uncle's wife's niece for yer own maid Miss." "Are you. I'm glad of that," says Monica with native courtesy. "Is she"—with some hesitation and a faint blush—"is she pretty, Keilly?" "She's the purtiest girl ye ever set eyes on," says Mrs. Eeilly, with enthusiasm, "I'm glad of that; I can't bear ugly people," says Monica. "Faix, then, there's a bad time before ye wid the ould ladies," mutters Mrs. Keilly, sotto voce, gathering up her cloak and stepping onward. She is a remarkably handsome woman herself, and so may safely deplore the want of beauty in her betters. Monica, turning aside, stops on a high bank and looks down toward the village. Through the trees she can see the spire of the old cathedral rising heavenward. Though Kossmoync is but a village, it still can boast ite enthedral, an ancient edifice, uncouth and unlovely, but yet one of the oldest places of worship in Ireland. Most of my readers would no doubt laugh it to scorn, but we who belong to it reverence it, and point out with pride to passersby the few quaint marks and tokens that link it to a by-gone age. There Is a nave, broad and deep, comprising more than a third of the whole building, with its old broken stone pavement, and high up, carven upon one of its walls, the head of St. Fauglman, its patron saint, —a hideous saint, Indeed, If he resembled that sincieut eajvlne. ]Hpw often have J gazed upon rus tmiovciyTisajre, «rm m dered in my childish fashion why the grace that comes from so divine an origin lind not the power to render his servant's face more beautiful! The village itself stands upon a high hill; the ocean lies at its feet. From Mo\ m House one can see the shimmer of the great Atlantic as it (lances beneath the sunbeams or lashes itself into furious foam under the touch of the north wind. The coast-guard station, too, stands out, brilliant in its whitewash, a gleaming spot upon the landscape. Monica, looking down from her height, takes in all the beauties of the landscape that surround her, mid lets the music of the melancholy ocean sink into her very soul. Then she lets her eyes wander to the right, and rest with pardonable curiosity upon Coole Castle, where dwells the ogre' of her house. Above Coole, and about two miles further on, lies Aghyohillbeg, the residence of Madame O'Connor, that terrible descendant of one of Ireland's kings-.whilst below, nestling among its firs uml beeches, is Kilmore, where the 'Hiilfords—a merry tangle of boys and girls—may be seen nt all hours. Then there is ihe vicarage, where the rcc tor lives with his family, which is large: and nearer to the village, the house that holds the curate, and liis family, which, of course, is larger. Besides which, Monica can just see from her vantage ground the wooded- slopes of Dnrrusbeg that have lately called young Konayno master,—a distant cousin having died most unexpectedly and left him all liis property. Six months ago, Ulic Konayno was spoken of by anxious matrons us a wildlnd, with nothing to recommend him save his handsome face and some naughty stories attached to his name. Now ho is pronounced charming, and the naughty stories, which Indeed never had any foundation, are discovered to have been disgraceful fabrications. Marriageable daughters arc kinder to him than words can say, and aro allowed by the most cautious mothers to dance with him as often as they choose, ami oven to sit out unlimited hours with him in secluded comers of conservatories uiirebukcd. After a last lingering glance at the distant ocean and the swelling woods Unit now In merry Juno are making tlioirgraudestsliow, Monica jumps down from her bank again and goes slowly—singing as she goes—toward tho riverthut runs at the end of Moyno. Down by its banks Moyno actually touches the liiited lands of Coole, a slight bonndary- fenee being all that divides ono place from the other. The river rushes eagerly past both, on Its way to tho sea, murmuring merrily on its happy voyage, as though mocking at human weals and woes and petty quarrels. Through the waving meadows, over the little brook, past the ^stile, Monica makes iier way, plucking here and there tlio scarlet ppppies, and the blue cornflowers and daisies, "those pearled Arctiiri of tho earth, the constell uted flower that never sots." The sun is'tintlng all things with its yellow haze, and is burning to brightest gold the reddish tinge in tho girl's hair, as she moves with dallying steps through the green fields. She is dressed in a 'white gown, docked with ribbons of a somber tint, and wears upon her head a huge poke bonnet, -from which her face peeps out, half earnest, half coquettish, wholly pure. Her hands are bare and shapely, but a little brown; some, old-fashioned rings glisten on them. She lias the tail of her gown tiirown'iiogligently over her arm, and with her happy lips parted in song, and her oycs serene as early dawn; And now the sparkling river comes In sight, Near its brink an old boat-house maybesocu fast crumbling to decay; and on the river itself lies, swaying to and fro, a small punt in the very last stages of decline. It is a very terrible little boat, quite at death's door, and might have had those lines of Dunte's painted upon it without libel: "Abandon hope, nil yo who enter hero." But Monica, in happy ignorance of rotting timbers, thinks only of the joy she felt last evening when the discovery of this demoralized treasure was made. In the moldering boat-house she'hud found it, and so had claimed' it for her own. She has told no one of her secret, not oven Kit, who is, as a rule, her prime minister, her confidante, and her shadow. She has, indeed, hud great difficulty in escaping from "her shadow" just now, but after much diplomatic toil had managed it. To-morrow, if to-day proves successful and hei rowing does not fail her, of which she has had some practice during the *ast two years of her life, she will toll Kit and Terry all about it, and let them share her pleasure. But to-day is her own. The, boat is connected with the shore by a fope tied round tho stump of a tree by most unskillful hands. Flinging Iier flowers into the punt, she strives diligently to undo tho knot that she herself had made tho night before, but strives In vain. Tlie hard rope wounds her tender hands and vexes her gentle soul. She is still-struggling with it, and already a little pained frown has made a wrinkle on her smooth brow, when another boat shoots from under the willows and gains the little landing-place, with its pebbly beach, that belongs equally to Coole Castle and to Jloyne. This now boat is a tremendous improvement on our heroine's. It is tlio smartest little affair possible, and as safe as a church, —safer, indeed, as times go now. Not that there is anything very elaborate about it, but it is freshly painted, and there are cushions in it, and all over it a suppressed air of luxury. Besides the cushions, there is something else in it, too,—a young man of about six- nnd-twenty, who steps lightly on to tho bank, though it is a miracle he doesn't lose his footing and come ignominiously to the ground, so bent is his gaze on the gracious little figure attlie other side of the boundary-fence struggling with the refractory rope. It doesn't take any time to cross the boundary. "Will yon allow me to do that for you?" says the strange young man, raising his hat politely, and taking the rope out of Mom'ca's hand without waiting for permission. CHAPTER IV. "You are very kind," says Monica, slowly, feeling not so much embarrassment as sur- priso at this sudden advent. The young man loosens therope,and, having demo so, casts a cursory glance at the boat to which it is attached. As he does so, he lifts his brows. "Surely you are not dreaming of going on the river in that I" he says, indicating the wretched punt by a contemptuous wave of his hand. "Yes. Why not?" returns she. "There isn't a sound bit of timber in her. What can your people be thinking of, to let you trust yourself in such a miserable affair?" "My people have nothing to do with it," says Monica, somewhat grandly. "I am my ownrnMress." She lias picked up her flowers again out of the despised punt, and now stands before liim \v&& her bunds filled with the June blossoms, blue, and white, and red. They show bravely against the pallor of her gown, and seem, indeed, to harmonize altogether with her excessive fairness for her lips are as red as her popples, and her cornflowers as blue as her eyes, and her skin puts her jr.'.Es tloieiwj all tl) "As you nrr your own mistress," snys me yom 12 innn, with n suspicion of n smile, as lie takes in the buby sweetness of her mouth, find e:u-h detail of'her slisrht girlish tigmv, that bespeaks the child rither than tin- woman, "1 entreat you to have imavy upon "But'wliat is the mutter with it?''nsks Monica, psering into the boat "It 'ooteall right; I can't see n hole in it.'' "It's nothing Init holes, in my opinion." says the strange young man, peering in his turn. "It's a rogu'ar n>.?f>t. You will be committing within* less tnnn suicide if you put your foot In it." "Dear me." suys Monica, blnnkly. feeling Impressed in spite of herself, "I do think I nm the m r :st unfortunate person alive. Do you know," lifting lu-r eyes to bis. "1 didn't sleep n wink last night, tliiukingof this row on the river to-day, und now it conieS to nothing! Thut is just like my luck always. 1 was so bent on it; 1 wanted to get.roi.nd tliut corner over there." pointing to it, "to see what was nt the other side, and now I cun't do it.'' "There is no reason why you shouldn't," he is beginning, anxiously, when she contradicts him. "After all," she says, doubtfully, bending over to look into the'eleur bed of the river, "1 don't believe, if things came to the, worst, and 1 <7i(7 get swamped." 1 should bo drowned." "Certainly not, if you could swim, or If there, was nuy one watching over your welfare from the bunks thut could." "Well, I can't," confesses Monica, with a sigh; "and unless-j/nii," with un irrepressible laugh thut shows nil her white uud even leeth, "will promise to run along the bunks of the river nil the afternoon to watch over me, I don't think there is much chance of my escnplng dentil." "1 shouldn't mind in (ho least being on guard in surli u cause,"' says Hie struugor. politely, with tlio sumo carefully-suppressed smile upon his lips (which aro very handsome) as bud moved thorn a while ago. "Command me if yon will; but I would have you remember that, even though I should wime to the rescue, it would not, save you iin unpleasant, ducking, nnd-und your prof- ty gown.' 1 with n gluuco thut. is almost af- fectioiintentthe white Indian cotton, "would bo completely ruined."' "Even that din; idea doesn't daunt mo," says Monica, guyly; "yon forget that the more limp lam (lie more rcsthetlc 1 sliull look. Well," with a sudden relapse into melancholy. "I suppose i must give it up, and not go round ihe corner'to-day." not?''exclaims he, eagerly. "My boat is nt your service. Do take it, 1 have quite done with it, I have indeed, and it is lighter than It looks." "Too heavy for me, I urn afraid," suyo Monica, with a sigh. •'Is it? Then," with desperate boldness, "let we row you." "Oh, 110.'" returns she, blushing warmly. "Yon forget," with u swift gJunco at him, "you aro quite a stranger to me." Yet ho is not quite such a stranger as she thinks. Shu is not such a stranger to him at least, because her face, seen for a minute about a week ugo, lias haunted him persistently ever siuw. "As we live in the same neighborhood, we cannot long .continue strangers," he says, gently; "and, in the menu time, why lose this lovely afternoon, and that corner you wcro speaking of? The view of tho sen, when you got round it, is really worth sec- ing." "Yes, yes, I dare say," reluctantly turning to leave him. "I sliull see it some day." "Look bore," says the young man, vory earnestly, following her as she moves. "If you will come with mo you will see It now. 1 will only be your oarsman;! won't say a word to you unless you wish it; I won't oven 'loolt ut you. Think of mo us n common boatman you have hired by the hour; or, better still, don't think of me ut ull. With a little care you might bring yourself to im- agiue I wasn't there." ""But if we met any one?" suysMiss Bores- ford, visibly relenting. "Impossible! There is never'n soul on this stream save myself. 1 have been hero now every day for ten days, und never yet camo upon even the ghost; of unytliing human." "Very well," says Monica, though still with palpable hesitation. "Now, remember, you have pledged yourself not to speak to me, or to look ut me." At this ho lixos on her so prolonged a gaze thatone may readily understand he means it to be a last one for some time. Then lie turns asido, and, having brought his bout to her- side of the .fence, holds out to her his hand. As ho does this ho keeps his eyes bent upon the ground, as though determined to lot her know his penance bus already begun. "1 am not in the bout yet," says Monica, with a. quaint little smile, laying horpulm on bis. Whereupon lie looks at her again; und then, as their eyes moot, they both laugh joyously, as youth will when it meets youth. ' Lightly she steps into liis bout, and slowly, lazily, bo rows her down the little river, —flower-i-Iad on either bank,—letting the. boat drift almost lit Its own sweet will. Monica is letting her little slender lingers trail through tlio water and tlio flat leaves of Hie lilies. He, with his cout oft', is pretending trt row, but in reality is lotting his body grow subservient to his mind. lie has evou adhered honorably to his promise not to look at her, and is still mentally ambitious about being true to liis word in this respect, when an exclamation from her puts nn cud to all things. "Oh! look at that lily!" she says, excitedly. "Was there ever such a beauty? If you will row a little more to the right, I am sure I slmlpbe able to get it," "Don't stir. I'll got it," returns ho, grateful to the lily for this break in their pro- gramme; and presently the flouting prize is secured, and he lays it, wet and dripping, in her outstretched hands. "After all, you see, you broke your promise," she says.u moment luter,most ungratefully, gluncing up at him coquottishly from under her long lushes. "But who made me do it?" asks he, re- poachfully, whereupon she laughs and reddens. "I never confess," she says, shaking her pretty head; "and after all—do you know? —I am rather glad you spoke to mo, because, though I like being quite by myself at times, still I hate silence when any one is with me." "So do I," says her companion, with the utmost cheerfulness. "I think," leaning toward him with a friendly smile, "I cannot do better than begin our acquaintance by tolling you my name. It is Monica Beresford." "Monica," lingering over it lovingly; "a beautiful name, I think. I think, too, it suits you. Mine is not to bo com pared to yours; but, such as it is, I give it you I" Ho throws a curd into her lap. "I hope it Isn't John Smith," says Monica, smiling and picking up the curd. But, as slus reads what is printed thereon, the smile fades, and an expression of utter dismay overspreads her face. "'Desmond'—Oh! not Desmond 1" she says, imploringly, her lips growing quite pale. "Yes it fo Desmond," says the young man, half amused, half puzzled. "You really think it ugly, then. Do you know I rather fancy my surname, although my Chris—" "You are not—you cannot be the Desmond." interrupts she. hastily. ".No; that's my uncle," snys tne younn man. innocently. "Oh! then you acknowledge the crime?" In deep distress. "1 didn't know that nn old Irish title must necessarily be connected with guilt," says her companion, fnirly puzzled. "Eh?" says Monica, puzzled In her turn. "1 don't understand you; I only want to know if you are one of the jHirtii'iilnr Desmonds?" "I suppose not," he replies, now openly uinused. "because 1 regret to say we have never yet done anything worthy of note, or likely (o distinguish us from all the other Desmonds, whose nanio is legion." "If you are going to tell me .you live ut Coole." says Miss Heresford, In n tone that Ts almost tragic, "I warn you it will be the, lust straw, and that I shn'n't be able to bear it." "I am not going to tell you anything," protests he. "But you must," declares she, Illogicnlly. "I may as well hear the worst at once. Go on," heroically; "toil me the truth. l)a you live there?" "I'm awfully afraid I do," says Mr. Desmond, feeling somehow, without, knowing why, distinctly ashamed of liis name and residence. "I knew it! I felt It I" says Monlea, with the calmness of despair. "Take me bivk to tho bank nt once,—this very instant, please. Oh. what n row 1 should get into if they only knew!" A r ery justly offended at the turn alTuirs nave taken, Mr. Desmond rows her In silence to the luudiug-pluoe, in silence gives her his hand to alight, In silence mulces bis bout sife, without so much as a glance ut her, although ho knows sliois standing a little way from him, irresolute, remorseful, uud unce.rf.utn. Ho miirht, perhaps, have maintained this dignified indifference to (Tie end, but. thut, unfortunately lifting bis eyes, ho catches sight, of her in this repentant, utlltudc, with her head bent down, and her slim lingers toying nervously with tlio lilies of his own gathering. This picture flings dignity to the winds. Going tip lo her, lie says, in u wotild-Imcure- less but unmislnkiihly oll'euded voice, "May 1 ask what 1 liuve done, that 'they,' whoever they arc, should consider you had disgraced yourself by being with mo for half nn lini\r?" ".V'oit liuve done nothing," says Monica, faintly. "It wus your uncle." "My iinrlel— Gi'orgo, Desmond! Why, What on earth can lw liuve done?" demands he bowlhloix'd. "I don't know." Feeling this Is Indeed a Inme unswor to n most natural question, she goes on hurriedly, "it all happened twenty years ago, and— — " "But, what liuppeni'd?" asks ho, with pur- donuble impatience. "Something dreadfully wicked," snys Monica, solemnly. "Something really very, very bad, because Aunt Priscilla can't hoar you spoken of with common patloneo." "Me!" "Mot, so much you, perhaps, as your name. She liules the vory sound of it. There isn't a doubt iibout that,; because, though 1 huvo not. beard tlio exact, story yet, 1 know both my aunts grow actually faint, with horror when your uncle's name is mentioned." "Cioiid gracious!" says tho horrified uopb- ow of this apparently disroputuble old mull, Hois staring ul Monica, but in reality bo does not, even see her. Uefore bis mind's eye Is n picture'of u stout old gentleman, irascible, but kindly, with a countenance in- iiiK-onl of guile. Visions of forgery, murder, homicide, rise up before him, but, try as he will, he cannotconiioctMr. Desmond's face with any of them. "You don't exactly know yourself what tlio crime, is with which lio is' charged?" bo asks her, with growing dillidonco. "No. But I shall find out, and toll— But that will bo impossible!"—with a glance full of liveliest, regret. "1 a/mint tell you, because after to-day I sliull never see or speak to you again." "Thut is tho most insuuo nonsense I cvoi hoard In my life," suys Mr. Desmond. Tlie girl shukes her hend sadly. "If yon won't spunk to mo 1 shall speak to you, whether you like it or not," suys Desmond, with decision. (To bo continued.) BADLY Pollen Matters Growing Complicated at Ashland . . ASHLAND, Wis., May 10.— Chief of Police Hayes tendered his resignation to tho city clerk today, and as the city council will not cpntirni the mayor's nnpointee, Tim Harrington, Ashland is without a chief of police. Mayor O'Keefe will make another attempt to get Harrington confirmed at the next meeting of the council. This further complicates p'olice matters, as a port of the old force is still serving, although new men were appointed and claim they will draw pay. The fight is growing interesting and has already muddled matters. __ \ TO STOP Orders Issued by Chief Junson Cloning lie- sorts In Milwaukee. MILWAUKEE, May 20.— An order has been issued by Chief Jansen closing all gambling houses in the city. The proprietors or men in charge were waited upon by officers and quietly informed of tho order. As a result the doors were closed and locked and the lights turned off. Gamblers say the order was the result of the complaint made by the wife of Wiemer, he Chicago b utcher. RAILWAY TUAINMEN. They Will Hold u Convention at Ashland, ASHLAKD, Wis., May 20. — A convention of the Brotherhood of Railway Trainmen will bo held at Ashland, beginning July Ib. A three-days' session will be held. Lodgea will be represented from the surrounding country for a distance ot 400 miles, taking in the cities of Duluth, West Superior, Escanaba. Marquette, St. Paul, Minneapolis, Fergus Falls, Brainerd, Stevens Point, Kaukauna and other cities. Preparations are being made by local committees. EXl'UKSS COMPANY IlOliliEI) . the Money Alyuterlonsly Mlsuini; from Safe at MeUford. " MEDFOKD, Wis., May 20.— The Northern Pacific Express company ha* been robbed of from $10,000 to $12,000 on the line between Chippewa Falls and Abbottsford. The safe was taken from the car for transfer and when opened the money was missing. MOItAI. MAUINETTE. Salooun Kept Clotted on Sunday In that City. MAIUNKTTE, Wis., May 20. — Since the inauguration of Mayor Van Cleye all saloons are kept closed on Sundays, in accordance with the city ordinances. U is his purpose to nave all ordinances enforced, and he no instructs his officers. The W. C. T. U. will give a grand mass HOW SHE SHCVHED A SEAT meeting demonstration at the opera, house next b'unday evening, in response to A request of Miss Frances Willard, president pf the world's W. 0. T, U. **"•*•- The Girl of Nrrrp Horn nut Mnnrt In ft Stroft fur. The girl of nerveha'i found a way which, she says, is most ifficncious for securing n seat in a horse-car. I had heard of the little plan which she is said to work, but it v:as reserved for me to see it until recently. It was in a Broadway car, and the men seated along each side of it were evidently gentlemen, for they were well dresstd, and what 1 am -ibout to tell will show that they were of sensitive temper- ment. The mr was full. There was not a seat to spare when, at the next crossing, n young woman entered. She was a slim girl, rather pale, but, like her own teeth, small and white, yet with plenty of nerve. As she boarded the car and came in, she glanced \ip_nnd do,-, 11 the two rows of men. No one noticed her. All the faces wore a solid, preoccupied look, and those of the men -who had papers or note-books handy began to study them. Not a man budgeil from his place. And now, what do you think that girl did? Walking slowly along the car, she looked carefully at the faces of tun men until she selected her victim. Taking up her stand in front of him, she grasped the strap by hitching her uinbrallu handle in it, and then, leaning slightly forward, she gazed intently at the man's feet. Me stood the scrutiny for a moment, then he looked to so.! if th'.'ro was anything nnusual about his boots; but no, they were nicely blacked and in as good trim fin a new "shine could make them, lip looked up again at the girl. She was still glaring luirn at his feel. Then! must be something wrong. Uneasily ho hitched about a little in 'the seat, crossed one log over another and tried to look sideways out, oMhe window. Hut the scheme wouldn't work, for there in front of him stood that small bit of a girl staring with two wide-open cys* directly down at that pair of boots. Again ho moved, this time cropsiiig his legs ami .selecting a now position whoro lie hoped that his foot would appear less prominent and conspicuous. Hut no, there they wcro looming up asjaggressive as over, and (hero in front stood the mito of a girl absorbed in studying them. The man had big foot, and the girl know this when she selected him, and boing a woman, she had judged wheru tcT hit him in Justine place that would strike his sensibilities. It was becoming too much for him. lie could not stand it much longer. Ho must move his seat or get out upon the platform. This was really becoming to awful when the size of his foot could attract ut- teiilion from a woman in a street-car. Moro and more, uneasily ho hitchocl about, more and more intently the girl started, and ere two blocks had been traversed ho 'got up, madoa lurch toward the door and got out upon the platform, where it was two blocks more before ho recovered his equanimity and got over feeling that nil the world was wondering at tho size oil his extremities. _Tli8 little choat of a girl meanwhile, with the sweetest possible smile and half- whispered "Thanft you," sunk blissfully and gracefully into tho seat and enjoyed her ride home. In tolling about it afterwards she said she had worked her little game at least three times daily tot tho past month, and had always succeeded. How the man liked it or what ho thought of the unscrupulous nature of tho proceedings, as it revealed itself to him in his calmer moments, history tells not. TO SIwKEP AFTEKNlUirr WOKK. A llrlak Witik for uu Hour Before Itotirliic Will Induco Sleep. A Swiss doctor Buys that many persons who extend their mental work well into the night, who during tho evening follow attentively the programme of a theatre or concert, or who engage evenings in the proceedings of societies or clubs aro awaked in the moining or in tho night with headache. For a long while the doctor was himself a sufferer from headache of this kind, but oil late yoara has wholly protected himself from it by simple means. When he -was obliged to continue his brain work into the evening, or to bo out late at night in rooms not well ventilated, instead of going directly to bed ho lakes a brisk walk for an hour. While taking this tramp lie stops now and then and practices lung gymnastics by breathing in and out deeply a few times. When he then goes to bed no sleeps soundly. Notwithstanding the shortening of the hours of sleep, he awakes with no trace of headache. There exists a clear ana well known physiological reason why this treatment should ba effective.—Scientific American GOT HIS CHANGE. The Ueadbtmt Who Tried to Koiit tho Conductor and Got Heat. One of those chronic deadbeats who habitually infest railways and street-cars boarded a,New York surface-car and proceeded to developer his little game, says Texas Sittings. It was. by no means a n^w one, and the conductor immediately seized upon it, quickly collected his faro in the shape of a nickel, and for several blocks nothing was said. Then the fraud shivered the silence with: "Am 1 going to have any change for that dollar 1 gave you?" "You didn't give no dollar," replied the conductor scowling darkly. "Yes, but I did, and if you {don't pass me over the 95 cents I'll report you," "But you only gave me anicel." •'I say 1 gave you a dollar," and I want some cnange, and the man stood upon the platform definitely. The passenger became interested and the conductor shifted his position. "You are riding along all right enough now, ain't you? ' inquired the railway Jehu. "Yes, 1 suppose I am." "Well," said the conductor, suddenly removing his fast from the vicinity of the beat's nose and snooting him off the car, "Now you an't you see. An't that change enough for you? UK MADE AHKANGKMENTS. John Flimugnu Uullt it Coillu, Vug & tirave und Then Shot Illniself. "I don't want to put anyone to any trouble. Bury me in the coffin I have made and the grave 1 have dug." This note was found in the cabin of John Flannagan, a man tU years of ug& and an old-time miner, who killed him self recently on his claii Ifulch, near Clancy, Montana. Flannuerun had for his contemplated,^ world. On the cabin and .„, jouudariea _fl| And then goinp to his cabin he had ai ranged hi? small belonging" in us neat a manner as possible. 'Faking a sea' on a chair he placed the muzzle of a rifle to his breast jti«t over the heart, and t akin or the stove poker, with it he touched the trigpf-r. The contents of th<> rifle went entirely throuc'n the body iiml the heart, tearing an ugly looking hole. Flannagan fell over on tl:e floor dead, and there hft was found. An inquest was held and a verdict of suicide rendered. In accordance with thB la*t wishe* of the old man he was placed in the coffin of his o*n construction and was buried in the grave of his own digging. All the miners and wood-cutlera about Clancy turned out to the funeral, as. the old man was widely known and univbr- *u11.v liked. No cause can be learned for the self-destruction, unless it, was that growing age and homeliness made him tired of life. So fin as known he had no relatives in thin part of the country, though he is said to have a hrotlyr in Michigan. He was a native of Maine, ami has been mining in the west for twenty years. He had been in California, Idaho and Nevada, and for the last,ten or twelve years in MonUinn. His claim is Strawberry gulch, though not iH.wmuu.i, Wiis still a good paying mine Flannagan was unmarried and lived -V! alone. On the Sunday preceding hii death hejwont to Clancy, which isabcuti mile from his cabin, and was apparently in his usual spirits. A *KKTCI1 KHOM I-IKK. A Drtmm of Iliipplnris In Unlplng to Hour IjIfV'H HurtlmiN. »y I.. A.S. in Arjjiis ami 1'iilrlrl Tho windows of the sick room were eaie- fully shaded, but the bright sunlight outside gave a nulinaco oven to the soft twilight within. With noiseless slop tho eldest daughter ciuno and held a glass of cool water to her father's lip?, us he awakened from what hud seemed to her a quiet sleep. Disease Iuul brought to thin onw strong iimn months of suffering, and ho was fast, nearing the portal whcro only spirit can enter. Ho looked ai.xiously at her and said, ''Have 1 been sick many hours?" She replied, "You have been sleopimr father dear, and feel rested, do you not?" The water was given him, and with his eyes closed ho.remained so still that had she not seen the tears stealing from his eyelids down the checks so white and wasted, she would have thought him again sleeping. At last he told her what; he had boon dreaming when he awoke and asked tho question. Said he, "I thought 1 was wr Iking briskly along the street of tho vil- liigo of (i—, full of busy cares, and happy in bearing my share of life's burdens, when 1 was suddenly taken vory ill. Loving friends carried me to a house near by and placed me on a bed. When I opened my eyes and saw your face, I supposed you had boon summoned to carj for mo (hero his voice broke) and when it all came back my weary months of lying hero, and tho certainty that there is no cure"—He paused; the sentence never was finished. Many years have passed since that summer afternoon, yours with thoir days of joyous existence and sorrowful happenings but to-night as I, this daughter who listen, to the tolling of that dream, write this tho suft'orintt is still mine, and the same feeling of helplessness to comfort, 'tis so little wo can do for each other. We have but tho ono chance of saying tho word, or playing tho part assigned us. That by which a person conquers in any experience; is « p.ofound secret to every other being in. this world. Thus through life we are but simple- spectators, timidly doing for those we love> vainly attempting to go with thorn into the grout unknown future with our sympathies. "To live- In iii'urlH wo leilvo behind lu not to die." OIIJ11TIKS. He — T think you love mo? Am 1 right? She — No; you aro left. — Brooklyn Life. Binghamton Republican: A grocer calk his new brand of coffee "Creditor 'd Delight. It settles promply. Rochester Post: In most cases Byin^- machino companies go up before the machines do. Binghamton Republican: A photographs would jeeui to be self-evident, yet w« all- ways want to see a proof of it. Boston Gazette: "Who was the author of the saying, 'There is always room at fchoi top?' " "The hotol clerk ,1 believe." Lewiston Journal: If everybody improved the minutes with the zeal miafc a. hen puts into her work while malting a, surreptitious fivo-minuto call in a liuwur- garden, what a world this would be! _ Briggs — "Poor Robinson. After IUH wifj6> died he married her dressmaker?" GrjggHi — "How are they getting on?" Brigj/H>—. "I understand ho still owns lior the* money." Judge— "And he took you. by elm throat' and choked you, did he?" Patr—''Yj*. sor; he squazed me troat till Oi to'lifr he'4- m*;k cither out of me Adam's <ipp.Ui, "•'--«. Buffalo Express. "No, I don't want any la-w/jiaower. 1 ' said the man who •• .7 anxious to.cs.UagQ tflft . agent uway, "Whut I doair« is njoxa lawn." — Washington Post. The Struggle for t»i()4, If the Russian government follpWH the advice of the Rothchilds to defec the con? version of its bonds, the fi;mwicia| centres of the world may be relieved of the strain imposed by the present struggle for gold —a struggle which haw withdraws morg than thirty Liillion dollars form this centre since the beginning o| the present year. It has been feared that the Gerinan, holders of the Russian bonds might refuse to convert freely uud demand the redetupr tion of their bonds, and therefore the Russian government has been increasing the amount of gold to its credit at the crentre. The latfa action of the Bank of England in advancing the prico of gold was probably in«uired by the fact that, aside from the £8,000,000 borrowed at, the time of the November panic, it borrowed A'1,500,000 from the Russian finance minister on six mouths treasury notes which are now maturing, ana the Russian government cun take the gold if uecciwury, If the Hunsian government holds off, a jireat strain will be lifted from tho whole financial world. The J£ttrly Fruit Catchea tuu Uuy. One of the clergy at thy uxvut Christian' Bddeavor eouventum iu hpa. this to relate in }lla->tr4t>i"n"*iu«>'--^ boy at his hy«up—^ six months,-

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