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

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Wednesday, June 3, 1891
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w >y^?f;^i^?^ P-i '^ys*^ 1 ! * THE UPPER DJES MQlNES* ALGONA. IOWA WEDNESDAY, JUKE 3. 1891 MONICA. A LOVE STOEY OF MODERN DAYS. "That win be outoi your jnmei, <»,,.,<. ^rill never see me.'? "Do you mean to tell me I may not call at Moyne?" "Certainly 1 do. They wouldn't hear of It They wouldn't, in fact, receive, you." "But why must they visit my uncle's sins upon my shoulders? I have heard of a father's sins being entailed upon his heir, but never an uncle's." "It is your name," says Monica. Then she laughs a little, in spite of herself, and quotes, in a low lone, "Oh 1 Romeo, Romeo 1 wherefore art thoit Romeo?" But he takes no heed of this frivolous quotation. "You mean me to understand, then, that I am never to speak to you again?" "I do, indeed." "What! Do 5 r ou know we are to be close neighbors for the future, yon and I? This is to be your home. Coole is to be mine. At the most, only a mile of road lies between us, and here not quite a yard. And yet you calmly tell me I am from this day forth to be only a common stranger to you." "Yon look as if yon were angry with me," says Monica, with sudden tears in her eyes at his injustice. "It isn't my fault; I haven't done anything wicked. Blame your uncle for it all." "The .whole thing-is simply absurd," says the young man, taking now the superior tone that is meant to crush the situation by holding it up to ridicule. "You forget, perhaps, that we shall have to meet sometimes. I suppose the people down here give balls occasionally, and tennis-parties, and that; and when I meet you at them, is it your wish that 1 shiill protend never to have seen you before,—never to have known you?" "Yes," says Monica, with as much hesitation as lets him know how she hates saying ''It. ' "When next yon meet me, you are to look right over my head, and pass on I" "I couldn't doit," returns he, gazing at her steadily. "I couldn't,, indeed. In fact, I feel it is just the last tiling in the world I cmtltl do." "But you must," says Monica, imperiously, terrified to death as she (.'(injures up before her Aunt Priscilla's face as it will surely be if this Philistine dares to address her; "I tell yon my aunts would never forgive me if they knew I had interchanged even one syllabic with you. From this moment you must forget me. There will really be no difficulty about it, as our acquaintance is but of an hour's growth. You have seen me for the first time to-day, and a chance meeting such as this is easily driven from the mind." "That is your opinion," says the young man, moodily. "It is not mine. I dare say you will find it very easy to forget. Z sha'n't. Anu this isn't the lirst time I have seen yon, either. It seems to me as if years have roiled by since last I looked upon your face. 1 was standing at the gate of Cooks and saw you pass by, the day of your arrival in lioss- moyne. So, you see, we are—in spite of you—almost old friends." A bomb-shell flung at her feet could hardly have produced a greater sensation than this apparently harmless speech. All at once there rushes back upon her the recollection of that fatal day when she lay upon a cart load of hay and (according to Terence) kicked up her heels in the exuberance of her joy. Oh, horror I •she grows crimson from her soft throat to her forehead; even her little ears do not escape the tint, but turn a warm and guilty pink. The one absorbing thought that he was nephew to Aunt Priscilla's bugbear had swallowed up all others; but now, as he himself reveals this other truth to her, she feels that her cup is indeed full. Delicately but haughtlily she gathers up the train 01 her white gown and casts one expressive glance upon the way she came. This glance says much. While he is still sore perplexed by her sudden change of demeanor, she turns away from him. Then, pausing, she turns again and bestows upon him so indignant a look as completely finishes this ill-used young man. "1 object to hasty frendships," she says icily, "And," pausing as if to make the effect greater, "if I were you, I think] should seek some better employment thai standing idling all clay long at your uncle's gate." With this parting sliaf t, and before he can recover from his consternation, she goes swiftly away from him, up through the meadows, home. CHAPTEB V. An invitation from Madam O'Connor," says Miss Priscilla, in a pleased tone, glancing at them all, over the top of her spectacles. She has the card in her hand, and slowly reads aloud the information printed upon it, to the effect that Madam O'Connor will be at home on Friday the 15th, from four to six o'clock, etc. "lam very,glad she has asked Terence and Monica," says Miss Penelope. "Excessively attentive I call it." "Will you go, Aunt Priscilla?" asks Monica, in a sneaky sort of tone. Her young • • soul hankers after the world, and will not be subdued. Upon Miss Priscilla's "yes" or "no" she waits with an anxiety that surprises even herself. "Certainly, my dear," says Miss Blake, drawing herself up. "I shall feel it my duty to take you to all such places as will enable you to mix with people in your own rank of life. I am not one of those who think it well for young girls to lead the 11 to of nuns. No, indeed!" "1 quite agree with yon, my dear Priscilla," says Miss Penelope, who is an echo of her elder sister.' "Yus, we will ronsu ourselves, and once more seek the world." "But I would not have you make yourselves unhappy," says Monica, falter injfly. • "Nay, my dear, it will be a pleasure, for your sake. Not for worlds, even to themselves, would these two old ladies acknowledge that they are right glad of the chance that has come to them of introducing so beautiful a niuee to the gay world around them, and of mingling, even in a subdued and decorous fashion, with the amusements that for the last live years they have (most unwillingly, be it said, but on tha score of aj;o) d3c;in:«.!. "1 wonder who will bo thore?" says M'liii- ca, ii 1 . a fresher tone, striving vainly todrown the hope .that is taking possession of her, a hope that connects itself with a certain blue eyed, dark-haired young man, last seen iu boating flannels. "Everybody," says Miss Priscilhi,—"tliu entire county. Madam O'Connor may not ba—is not—there may be cjrtain points about her—that"—floundering hopelessly— "1 mean"—with a rush—"there are a few who object to her manners, but her birth is undeniable, and she has a large fortune; you must know, my dear, her father was a direct descendant of King O'Toule, and her husband the head of one of the oldest families in Ireland." "Is that the old woman who called here the day before yesterday?" asks Terence, irreverently. They are all sitting in the drawing-room, Terence being rather on the balcony perhaps. "Yes.—T raoTBt you were not in to receive ier. 1 should nave nkm.vou 10 inane ncr cqnaintance, Monica, before going to Aghy- ohillheg." Oh 11 saw her, says Terence contemptuously. "She's got an eye like; a lanne, and a man's figure. She drove herself, and held the reins like this," throwing himself into position. "If you are going out, Terence, you may as well go at once," says Miss Priscilla, with dignitv, pretending neither to hear nor see Win. "Whereupon Terence gladly departs. "Go on auntie," says Monica, slipping down on a footstool close to Aunt Penelope, nnd leaning both her arms across the old lady's knee. "Who else will be there?" "Yes, tell her everything, Priscilla," says Miss rVnelopp, smoothing the girl's hair softly, and feeling a strange thrill of pleasure in her heart as she notices the little confident gesture with which the girl nestles to her. "Well, there will be her own guests, of course, 1 mean those staying with her, for she alawys has her house full," says Miss Priscilla, after a slight pause, being still somewhat ruffled by Terry's remarks. "The Fitzgeralds will be there, of course. Bella is considered a very handsome girl, but I don't think you will like her much." "No, no, she is not at all our Monica's style," says Miss Penelope, stroking the pretty check near her with her mittened hand. "Yet she has a fine skin." "Ay, and n fine temper under it, or I'm a Dutchman," says Miss Priscilla. "And she is more peculiar than handsome; but men admire her, so we say nothing." "Is she tall?" asks Monica, anxiously, who is a little tiling; herself, and looks even smaller than she really is because of her slender, girlish figure. She wonders in a vague, uncomfortable fashion whether— whether must men like tall women best. "Tall? yes, and large in proportion; and as for her manners," says Miss Priscilla, in her severest tone, "in my opinion they are simply unbearable. Modesty in my days was a vlrlue,nowttdaysit Is nunniight. Bella Fitzgerald is never content unless she lias every man in the room at her side, and goodness alone knows what it is she says to them. The way she-sets her cap at that poor boy llonayno,'just because he has fallen in for that property, is quite revolting." "And a mere lad, too," says Miss Penelope. Monica draws a breath of relief. Perhaps if Miss Fitzgerald likes Mr. lionayno she will not care to practice her fascinations upon—any other man. "How old is she?" she asks, feeling deeply interested in the convcrstlon. "She says she is twenty-four," says Miss Priscilla, with an eloquent sniff. "There is nothing ensier to say than that. I won't be uncharitable, my dear Penelope,—yon needn't look at me like that,—but this I must say, she looks every hour of eight-and- twenty." "Her mother ought to know," says Miss Penelope. "She ought, indeed," grimly. "But as from the way she dresses we nuiy reasonably conclude she thinks herself nineteen, I suppose she has lost her memory on all points." "Her father, Otlio Fitzgerald, was the same," says Miss Penelopes reflectively. "He never could bear the idea, of age. lie was one who saw nothing honorable in it. Gray hairs with him were a crimp." "So he used to dye tiiem," says Miss Priscilla, maliciously; "and when lie got warm the dye used to melt, and (unknown to him) run all down his check." "Oh, Priscilla, how you remember things 1 Dear, dear, I think 1 see him now," says Miss Penelope. And here the two old ladies, overcome by this comical recollection, laugh until the tears run down their faces. Monica joins in from sheer sympathy; but Kit, who is sitting in the embrasure of a distant window, ami who has been strangely silent ever since the invitation cume from Aghy- ohillbeg, maintains astern gravity. "Poor man," says Miss Penelope, wiping her eyes, "I shall never forget the night your sweet mother, my dear Monica, most unintentionally offended him about the diamond—you recollect, Priscilla? Tell Monica of it." "He always wore a hugediamond ring upon his little finger," says Miss Priscilhi, addressing Monica, "of which he was very proud. He was at this time about fifty-three, but used to pose as a man of thirty-nine. One evening showing the ring to your mother then quite a girl, he said to her, in his stilted way, 'This jewel has been in our family for fifty years.' 'Ah I did you buy it, Mr. Fitzgerald?' asks your mother, in her sweet innocent way. llu, ha, 1m!" laughs Miss Priscilla, "you should have seen his face. It was a picture 1 and just when he was trying to make himself agreeable to your poor mother, and acting as if he was a youthful bean of twenty-five, or at least as young as the best of us." "That was like mother," snys Monica, in a low tone. "She always knew where to tuunh people." "Oh, no, my (tear, not at all like her," says Miss Penelope, hastily. "She didn't mean it, you must understand-; she was the very soul of sweetness, and would not willingly affront any one for the world." For just an instant Monica lifts her eyes and gazes earnestly at her aunt; but the old face is so earnest and sincere that with a faint sigh she lowers her eyes again, and makes no further remark. "After that he married his cousin's wife, a widow with one child, this girl Bella," says Miss Priscilla, still full of reminiscences, as old people will be. "A mont unpleasant person I thought her, though she was considered quite a belle hi those days," "She always appeared to me such a silly woman,'' says Miss Penelope. "She is worse than that now," says Miss Priscilla, who seems specially hard on .the Fitzgeralds. "She is a shockingold woman with a nose like a flower-pot. I won't say she drinks, my clear Penelope, because I know you would object to it; but I hear she does, and certainly her nose, is her betrayer.'' "Do you remember," says Miss Penelope, "how anxious she once was to marry George Desmond?" This she says in a very low tone. "Yes, I remember." The bare mention of her enemy's name has sent a tosh of crimson Into Miss Priscilla's cheeks. "But he never bestowed a thought upon her." "Oil, no, never," says Miss Penelope, after which both the Misses Blake grow silent iitul seem to bo slowly sinking into the land of reverie. But Monica, having heard the "enemy's name" mentioned, becomes filled with a determination to sii't the mystery connected with him, now, to the end. "Aunt Priscilla," she says, softly, looking at her with grave eyes across Miss Penelope's knees, "tell mo, now, why Mr. Desmond is our enemy." "Oh, not MOW," says Miss Penelope, nervously. "Yes, now, please," says Monica, with over-increasing gravity. "It may all be s.iid in a few words, Moni- M," says Miss Priscilhi, slowly. "And what I have to Miy affects you, my dear, even more than us." "Me?" "Yes, in that it affects your mother. Twenty years ago George Desmond washer affianced husband. Twenty years ago, willfully and without cause, he deliberately broke with her his plighted troth." "Ho threw her over?" exclaims Monica, aghast at this revelation. T n»v«r.lmftid Im used actual vta lence to ner, my dear," says Miss reneiopc, in ft distressed tone; "but he certainly broke off his engagement with her, and behaved as no man of honor could possibly behave." "And mother must have been quite beautiful at that time, must she not?" says Monica, risin? to her knees, in her excitement, and staring with widely-opened eyes of purest amazement from one aunt to the other. "Beautiful as the blushing morn," says Miss Priscilla, quoting from some ancient birthday-book. "But. yon see, even her beauty was powerless to save her from insult. From what we could learn, he absolutely refused to fulfill his marriage-contract with her. He was false to the oath he had sworn over our father's dying bed." Nothing can exceed the scorn arid solemnity of Miss Priscilla's manner as she says all this. "And what did mother do?" asks Monica, curiously. "What could she do, poor child? I have no doubt it went nigh to breaking her heart." "Her heart?" says Monica. "She suffered acutely. That we could see, or rather we had to guess it, as for days she kept her own chamber and would see no one, going out only when it was quite dusk fora solitary ramble. Ah! when sorrow afflicts the soul, there is no balm so g.-eat as solitude. Your poor mother took the whole affair dreadfully to heart." "You mean that she really fretted?" 1 asks Monica, still in the same curious way, with her eyes fixed on her aunt. There is, indeed, so much unstudied surprise in her manner as might have produced a corresponding amount in the Misses Blake, hud they noticed it. ''Yes, my dear, of course. Dear, dear, dear! what a sad thing it all was! Well, now yon understand all that it is needful you should, Monl-M," says Miss Penelope, with a glance at her sister, who really sccmsquilc overcome. "So we will say no more about it. Only you ran see for yourself how Impossible it is for any of our blood to bo on friendly terms with a Desmond." "They niiiy not ail In; like Mat Mr. Desmond,"' says Monica, timidly, coloring to her brow. "Yes. yes. Like father, like son; you know the o'd adage; and a nephew Is as close a relation almost. Wo can know no one at Coole." "I would almost rather see you dead than Intimate with one of the name," says Miss Priscilla, with sudden harshness. "I don't think we told Monica about the other guests at Aghyohillbeg," says Miss Penelope, hastily; with the kindly intention of changing the conversation. "A very pretty woman came there about a week before your arrival, child, and is to remain, I believe, for some time. She is a widow, and young, and—by the bye, I wonder if she c:in bo any relation to your friends in the South of Franco." "Why?' "Her name is Bohun, and " "Not Olga Bohnn?" says Mouica,springing to her feet. "A widow, you say, and young. Oh! auntie, if she only might be Olga 1" "Well, certainly she has a heathenish—I mean, a 'Russian—name like that," says Miss Priscilla. "She is a very little woman, with merry eyes, and she laughs always, and she has the prettiest, the most courteous manners. Quite a relief I found her, after the inanities of Bella Fitzgerald." "She is even smaller than 1 am. Yes, and her eyes do laugh!" says Monica, delight making her cheeks warm. "She is the prettiest tiling. Ah! how happy I shall be if I may see her sometime?!" "Yon shall see her just as often as ever you and she wish," say the two old maids in a breath, glad in the thought that they can make her home at Moyne happy to her. "I hope you like her," says Monica, glancing from one to the other of them. "Yes. I thought her quite fascinating," says Miss Penelope. "Some people say she is rather—rather fast, 1 believe is the word they use nowadays," getting the word out with difficulty, as though afraid it may go off and do somebody an injury. "But for my part, I don't believe a word of it. She is quite natural, and most pleasing in manner, especially to those who are older than herself. A great charm in these times, my dear, when age is despised." Plainly, the little widow at Aghyohillbeg has been playing off her sweetest graces upon the two Misses Blake. "I dare say Monica will like young Ronayne," says Miss Priscilla. "lit is quite nice, that lad. But 1 hope, Monica, that, eve.n if circumsiaiiRcs should throw you together, you will take no notice of young Mr. Desmond. I would not exchange a word with him if a queen's diadem were offered me as a bribe." "You might speak to him without knowing him," says Monica, blushing again that nervous crimson of a while ago. "Impossible, my dear. Instinct, sharpened by hatred, would tell me when oneof the race was near me." "Well, as it is your first party here, dear child, I hope you will enjoy it," says Miss Penelope, quickly, as though again anxious to throw oil on the waters by changing the conversation. "It is a charming place, and its mistress, if a little rough, is at least kindly." At this moment Kit, emerging from the curtains that have hidden her for the past hour, comes slowly to the front. Her face, her very attitude, is martial. She is plainly in battle-array. Pausing before Miss Priscilla, she directs lier lirst fire upon her, "Am J not asked at all?" she says, in a terrible lone, that contrasts painfully with the ominous silence she h'.is maintained ever since the invitation was brought by Mrs. O'Connor's groom. "My dear child/you must remember you are only fourteen," says Miss Priscilla, who is sincerely sorry the child has not been included in the invitation, and, in fact, thinks it rather unkind she has boon left out. MJ imow that, thank you,"says the youngest Miss B iresford, uncompromisingly, fixing her aunt with a stony glare. "I know my birthday as well as most people. And so, just because I am a child, I am to be slighted, am 1? 1 call it unfair! I call it beastly mean, that every one here is to be invited out to enjoy themselves except me." "Young people are seldom asked togrown- up parties," say.s Miss Priscillu, in her most conciliatory manner. "When you are as o'd as Monica, of course you will go everywhere. In the mean time you are only a child." "I am old enou ;h to conduct myself properly, at all events," says Kit, unmoved. "I suppose at fourteen''— as if this age is an ago rep'eto with wisdom—"I am not likely to do anything very extraordinary, or make myself unpleasant, or be in anybody's way." "That is not the question, at till; It is merely one of a:;-e," says Miss Priscilla. "Is it? And yet people say a-great deal about childhood being the happiest time of one's lifV s.iys Kit, almost choking with scornful rago. "I should just like to Bee the fellow who lir-t said that. Maybe. I wouldn't enlighten him, and tell him what a hypocrite he was. Whoever said it, it is a deckled untruth, and 1 know 1 wish to goodness 1 was grown up, because then," with withering emphasis, "] should not be trampled upon and insulted!" This is dreadful. The Uyo old ladies, un- accustomul in their quiet lives to tornadoes and volcanoes of any kind, are almost speech less with fright. "Doavcst," says Monica, going up to her, "how can you look at it In such a light?" "it's all very wall for vou." says the la- i in Cin- dlgnant Kit: "j/ott re going, you Know. to"stay at home, like that wretched ilorella." "Katherlne. 1 am sure you are quite unaware of the injustice of your remarks," say» Miss Priscilla, at last finding her voico. She is bent on delivering a calm rebuke; but inwardly (as any one can see) she, is quaking. "And 1 have frequently told you before that the expression 'I wish to goodness,' which you used in*t now, Is anything but ladylike, 'it Is not nice; it is not proper." "I don't care what is proper or improper, when 1 am treated as I now am," says the rebel, with Hashing eyes anil undaunted front,. "There is really nothing to complain of," says Miss Prlscillo, earnestly, seeing censure has no effect. "Madam O'Connor would not willingly offend any one; she is a very kind woman, and " "She Is a regular old wretch I" says the youngest Miss Beresford, with considerable spirit. "My don 1 Knthorlnol" "And it's my belief she done it on jwr- pose.'" with increasing rage. "Katherine, 1 must insist—" "You may insist as you llko, but I'll be even with her yt," persists Kii,afterwhicli, being quite overcome with wrath, she breaks down, and bursts into a violent fit of weeping. "My dear child, don't do that," says Miss Penelope, rising precipitately, and going over to the weoplna fury "Priscilla," in a trembling tone, "1 fear it is sellish. 1 think, my dear, I shall stay at home, loo, the day you all go to Madam O'Connor's." This kills the storm at once. "No. no, Indeed, Aunt -Penny, you shan't," cries Kit, subdued, but still iu tears. Mn- is overcome with remorse, and blames herself cruelly in that her ill-temper should have led to this proposal of self-sacrifice. To give in to Kit is the surest and quickest method of gaining your own point. Sho throws her arms, as she speaks, around Miss Penelope's neck, and nearly strangles that dear old lady in her remorseful agitation, to say nothing of the deadly havoc she makes of her frills and laces. "But indeed, my Kitten, it will be no privation to me to stay at home with you, and wo will bo quite happy together, and we will have our tea out in the orchard," says Miss Penelope, soothing her with sweet words; while Miss Priscilla, who is thoroughly frightened by the sobbing, pats the .refractory child on tho back', with a view to allaying all foar of convulsions. "You shan't stay at home, Aunt Penny,— you shan't, indeed," cries the incons'slent Kitten. "I like being alone, 1 love it; if you don't go to that place with the long name, and enjoy yourself very much, 1 shall be miserable all my life, though I love you very, very, very much for wishing to keep me from being lonely. Tell her 1 mean It, Monica." "Yes, I am sure she means it,"says Monica, earnestly, whereupon peace is once more restore^ to the breasts of the terrified aunts. WOMAN'S 1.0 VE AND MAN'S t.OVE. HO*E TKRHT COOKK. lto\v doe* R woman lave* Oncc--n,i inorii- Thongh life forever lt» loss deplore: ! Peep in sorrow or deep in fin, • One Rlne reigr.eth lior I'teixrt within. I One ftlon», >>y nlclu nml day, Move* her ppirlt to cnrfp or pray. 1 One voice only con call her soul 1 Dock from ilie (traop of death's control Thonch love heeet her, or friends deride, i Yen. when shennlleth another's bride, I Still for her muster her life mnke* moan, Once Is forever, nt.d once alone. How doe«n man love? Once for all, The cweelest voices of life inny cull, Sorrow daunt him. or Ocnth dismay, .Toy's red roses bedeck his way; Fortune smile, or jest, or frown, Th-3 cruel thumb of the world turn down. LOPS betray him, or love delight, Through storm or sunshine, by day or nlRlit, Wandering, tolling, asleep, awake, Though souls may madden or weak heart? break, Hettor than wife, nr child, or pelf, Once and torever tie loves—himself. (To be continued.) THE HORSE. The Training of tho Burse and Ills UKO|II Ancient Times. Jlurper's Wiign/.liie. The east was the original home of horsemen, and war the early training of the horse. Though he appears first us a bea<=t of burden, and though riding preceded driving, there is evidence to show that chariots in great numbers were used in war before cavalry became common. The use of the horse was all but limited to war. Bullocks were the usual means of transportation, and were no doubt then, as now, in the Orient, steady and rapid travellers. The higher the warrior above the common soldiers, ihe more terrible his aspect, and the deadlier his aim with lance and arrow, Hence tho steed's early appearance in battle. To debase him to the purposes of pleasure was never dreamed of. We find the very best of cavalry in anc- ent times. The Greeks ran against a ser ions problem in the Persian light horse when they first trod the soil of Asia Minor. They were nothing like so good horsemen is the Asiatics under Alexander's companion cavalry showed them what drill could do; and tho Roman was still less apt. Phillip of Macedon first utilised the excellent material of tho Thepsalian plains, and organized a cavalrv which, from its maneuvers and; fightinjr, must have consisted of admirable horsemen. The ancients rode without saddles or stirrups, on a blanket or pad or bare bnck; and in spite of this fact, or perhaps by reason ot it, rode extremely well. It is wonderful whai feats of military horsemanship the bareback rider could perfoitn in the age oi what we might call gymnastic equestrianism. Nothing but the knowledge of our old-time Indian enables us to credit the historical accounts of his agility anc skill. When, centuries later, saddles came in to use, there grew up two sckools of ridinf, — that of the mailed warrior, whose iror armor well cliined in with his "tongs oi a wall" Beat in his peaked saddle; anc that of the Oriental, whose nose and knees all but touch. Why the eastern rider clings to his extremelj short leathers it i hard to say, unless it be to place him the higher above his horse, and therefori make him the more imposing when hi stands up in his stirrups to braudis] scimilar or matchlock. Yet he is a won derful rider, this same Oriental; as, in deed, is every man who from youth up the companion of the horse. SPEAKING. Judge Breek»nri<l(j;e Drops Ueud at Do trolt. DETROIT, Mich., May 28. — Judge Breck enridge, of St. Louis Mo., of the commit tee on theological seminaries, while in th midst of his speech this afternoon, fel dead with heart disease and the assotnbl. at once suspended further action as wel as the banquet tonight. _ Lauuhiui,' Healthy. There is more benefit in a good laujf! than in all the hot-water remedies, faith cures, cold water, electric, and a' I othe new-frangled treatments in the world, an it does not cost anything. Laugh, i you know of nothing else to laugh ai laugh at your neighbi r. He is probabl improving his health by laughing at yoi Medical authorities now say that sleep ing with the mouth open is a frequen cause of deafness. When this subject o opening the mouth is more thorough Jy understood, it will be seen tha it is responsible for tho larger share of hu man ills, it might have been thought tha an open mouth ut night would be less harm ful than at any other time, but even tho it is not innoxious. Keeping the mout open too much destrnyes the teeth, and h breathing through the mou h instead of th nostii's diseased of ihe throat and lung are ture to follow. An attempt will ba made to g)t a «pecia session otthe legislature in South Dikotu to make an appropriation for the world' TllK STOKY OK rOCIUTA. A group of men were sitting nround n (ire in a waiting room of one of the cable roods in Kansas City, Mo., and the conversation turned upon the recent heavy fljodsofthe Gila and Colorado rivers. One of the men, who had a f-oldicrly -w- penrnnce, was a deeply interested listener to the conversation, mid hobcgan to shift uneasily us the talk proeceilpil,iw if he, too, hnd a story (o tell, lie wns John Lnwler, and was lormerly a trooper in the Sixth Cavalry, having served several years in the district of Arizona. At last ho told tin 1 following story: "Your refurciiei! to Ynnui and tho troubles in the southwest has remir.ded mo of a very singular and romantic incident of the war with the renegade, bands that tied (join Ihc amende, and, for n long time, subsisted on thn cuttle jf (he defenseless settlers in spite of.nll our efforls to subdue them. My troop, part of the Sixth Cavalry, under Colonel Eugene. A. Cnif, was then stationed at Fort Thomas, a post on the Gila river, the stream which has been doing BO much damage of late. \Vc were within the limits of the great San Carlos agency, and in n pood position to obtain immediate and reliable information of the Indians. Yet in spite or our diligence, they stole away and began the terrible depredations that cost, BO many lives and ich a vast amount of properly. "Under tho skillful guidance of .lull mlGeronimo they scattered all over the erritory and laid waste many well-Block- d ranches, killing evorything that had ifo and burning the rest. We were sent ut after them, and for many .ver-ks cx- oiienced nil the horrors ana hardships f predatory warfare. Coi, Cnrr, at the lead of his regiment followed one band icross the territory in tho forests over the wollen streams to tho lava, beds of tho orthwestcrn portion of that broken ountiy where tho volcanic rocks form ilmost impresnablo forts for (lie savages. "The incident I mentioned arose from no of.the fights we had in the heart, of he volcanic country, (ho Indians having aken to the hills to avoid our persistent, mi-suits. One day we leaned from our couts that a small band of 100 bucks ivere encamped at the outer edge of tho orest, and that we might possibly take hem by surprise, a thing very difficult to do. A detachment under Captain White- ide, consisting of three troops, was -do ailed to make the attempt, and if possible ^et in the rear, while the main command inder tho colonel would advinc^ from the ront. Wegotaway about day break and or the first day saw no trace of tho enemy, jutas we were about to go into camp on he evening of the second, the advance guard ramo in and repor'ed a body of Indians at no great distance. Of course nil dea of rest for the troopers wns abandoned, and stepts taken t at once to ascertain lie exact locution and strength of the lions with the savage Apache. She been taken by the Indians when • ft baby of 8, and all her family had been killed. Her life was saved by a sqnaw of t.hechi»,f, who took n fancy to'her and kept her a* her own chile). "She was given the name of Cochita, the diminutive of Chochise, the monk famous of the Apache ihieftainB. She wai tutored in the wajs of the savage people, and when taken by us. combined the wildness of the antelope with the ferocity of a tisrtr cat. After she was taken to Yumi the wife of onr post surgeon took charge of her and did everything to induce her to return to civilization, but with indifferent, fucces?. The girl was quiet enough, but seemed to be a victim ot settled melancholy. She soon remembered enough Spanish, in which language hor mistress was very proficient, to U'll nil she could recollect of her early life, but as she was not more than .'! years old when taken from home, hei mind refused to recall the details of the massncri 1 and her abduction. ''Enough was learned to in-'icate the truth of the story as I havp given it, and the additional fact (hat she was in love with tho chief, over whose bcdy she made such n dospi'ratt: fight. Whenever gaveui any tronbh 1 , jet never appeared at ease. Shu was given the freedom of tho post, n ml would wander restlessly about, eyeing the men and with u startled and of ton time wonderfully intent ulnncc. She would go to the bunk of the; Colorado and sit, for hours gazing toward the north a« if pining for her lost freedom, lint making no effort to regain it "To tin? north of Fort Yunm tin? hill grows more imposing until the grant! canyon of tho Colorado is readied, and the regions of eternal snow an; iMieountore.il. The fort is situated on the bunks of the Colorado, almost at the mouth of the Oila. Tho bankn are sufficiently high on the west to prevent any overflow, while away to the south they sink into the valley that opens into tin. 1 gulf of California. At a short distance above the fort these hanks are some fifly feet above tho water, which boils in constant eddies below, (lowing with a rapidity unknown in tho rivers of the east. Navigation is almost impossible, as the fall is some eight thousand feet in four hundred miles. The mauntaiiiH to the north are broken and irregular, and frequent crags jut out over the water of the river, "One day about five months after thn advont of tho strange ^combination of. wildncsB and beauty, Cochita wns missed from tho fort, nni'i with others, I was detailed to find and bring her back. As I had seen her frequently near tho river, 1 bficamn possessed of the idea that we would find her ensconced in (some of th« small caverns in the rochs at its edge. I at once set out up thn river bank, keeping n sharp lookout for the girl, but at first failed to discover any trace of her. "When almost ready to give it up and report my lack of success, I thought I heard a voice singing a weird monotonous nir. Glancing in the direction whence the sound came 1 was horrified to see tho o'jjcct of my t-earch standing on tho outer surface of a crag which overhung the river. Her long hair was streaming in the wind, her face turned toward the north and with her arms extended at full length she was croonintr a wib song, which occasionally broke into an awful cry of agony and regret. Fearing to alarm her 1 sat motionless on rny horse waiting for the end to come. Suddenly she throw her arms in tho air and with the most appalling shriek 1 ever heard, sprang from the rock Jand was dashed to pieces in the rapids below, her body disappearing in Ihe angry waters as they swept remorselessly to the ocean. No trace of the cinuulnr creature was over found, and but little was known of her peoplp, who were supposed to be living in Mexico. 'I was assigned to duty with a Binall detachment, who were instructed to develop the position of tho Indians, but in 10 case bringing on an engagement until it was definitely known how many there were of them. Wo were under the immediate command of Litutenmuit; Curtis, one of the most daring and accomplished officers of the servicee. lie disposed his ,ittle hand and with the night fast coming on, stole upon tho Indians, who were ; unaware of our approach. "We were marching under shodows of tho woods when wo suddenly came (o the extreme edge, and as suddenly drew_ brck when we discovered the Indians sitting around their campfires only n short dis- iance away. We had accomplished the i'oat of reaching the very limits of their encampment without disclosing our presence. Our commander at once determin ed to attack them, believeing that in the fast approaching dtrkncss our inferiority of number would not be noticed. The litle detachment was accordingly drawn up in line just within the cover of the tree, and. at the word, rifles were uuslung, pistols loosened, sabres drawn, and with a wild hurrah, we charged upon their,, firing as we rode madly forward. "In the first shock of their surprise the Indians tumbled over each other trying to escape from tho rain of bullets we sent into their raids;, but as we charged through the camp they rallied, and under the leadership of a joung chief, madfc a determined stand, forcing us to use the steel as wo returned. As we cut our way back 1 saw tho chief run towards the woods, throw up his hands, and fall to tho ground. Tho warriors, when the leader fell, took to ti.o hills, and, crouching behind Ihe rocks, commenced a damaging fire. Our fellows took to the woods and made preparations to retreat upon tho main column, when wo were startled at a shot thut was fired almost in our faces, Lieutenant Curtis' cap was sent flying into the air cut in two pieces, """As I sprang from uiy horse, i saw n girl standing astride the body of the dead chief, armed with a Winchester, which she was in the act of firing again. 1 threw the rifle aside and grasped the girl, who fought with groat lury, uttering a strange cry. Finally she was bound and taken up by one of the men and carried to tho rear. We were successful in rejoining the main body, and in tho grout struggle of the lava beds 1 lost sight of our prisoner. After the conclusion of tho campaign I was sent to Fort Yunia, where the concluding incidents of my story took place. The strange history and still stranger end of the beautiful Cochita—for that was the name she was known by—lends a very romantic coloring to the desperate fight she made over the remains of the dead chief at the battle at the foot of the lava beds. "Cochita was not an Indian girl, but was the child of a Spanish family of Simi- Ion, the nothwestern state of Mexico. She was exceptionally pretty, of a small but very trim and graceful form, clear olive complexion, and bright black eyes that have the soft Andulusiuu loveliness in them. When captured »h0 was onl.v 17 yewrs old, and her native beauty was but little diminished by her enforced use. 9. How train uccon QUICSTIONS AND ANSWERS. 1. How strong a current is used to send a message over an Atlantic cable? Thirty cells of battery only, equal to thirty volts. 2. What is the longest distance over which conversation by telephone is daily maintainedV About 750 miles, from Portland, Mo., to Buffalo, N. Y. 8. What is the fastest time made by an eloulric railway V A mile a minute, by a small experimental car; 20 icilea an hour on street railway tystem. 4. How many miles of submarine cable are there in operation V Over 100,000 miles, or enough to girdle the earth four times. 5. What is the maximum ^ power generated by an electric motor? 75 horse power. Experiments indicate that 100 florae power will soon be reached. 0. How is u break in a submarine cable located? By measuring the elect-icily needed to charge tho remaining unbroken part, 7. How many miles of telegraph wire are there in the United States? Over a million, or enough to encircle the globe forty times. 8. How many messages can he transmitted over a wire at one time? Four, by the quadruples system now in daily w is telegraphing from a moving icomplished? Through a circuit from tho car ruof inducing a current in the wire on poles along the track. 10. What are the most widely separated points between which it ia possib e to sond ii telegram? British Columbia and New Zealand, via America and Europe'. 11. How many miles of telephone wire in operation in the United StatesV More than 170,000, over which 1,055,000 messages are sent daily. 12. What ia the greatest candle power of arc light used iii ti lighthouse? Two million, in a lighthouse ut Houstholm, Denmark. 1!). How many persons in the United Slates aro engaged in business depending on electricity? Estimated 250,000. 14. How long dues it take to transmit a mosnige from San Fiuncisco to Hong Kong? About 15 minutex, via New York, J-ian/o, Penziincu, Aden, Bombay, Madras, Ppnunur and Singapore. 15. What is thn fastest time made by an operator ponding messages by Mows system? About, forty-two words a minute. Hi. How many telephones are in u^e ia tho Uni'ocl States? About 300,000. 17. What war vessel has iho most complete electrical plant? United States man-of-war Chicago. 18. What IB tho average cost per mile of a trans-Atkuitic sub-marine cable? About 81,000. 19. How many miles of eleolric railway aro there in operation iu the United States? About 1,400 miles and much more under construction. 20. What strength of current is dangerous to human life? §Q.Q. vgJU. but depenijb ing laruely on physical tische Elektricitat. Well

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