V- THE UPPER DES MOINES, ABGCHNA, IOWA. WEDNESDAY. JUNE 10,1891. .4- MIJ.ITAtlT OPERATIONS. Steam nhd Electricity In Modern Warfare the Lesson of 61. Tt tpay pafely be admitted that if the condition of warfare had been the same in 1861 as they were in 1815, or, in pur judgment, as late as 1860, the prediction of Napoleon und Palmerstbh of the failure of the north would in all probability have been fulfilled. Bui the condition was not the same. Steatn and electricity had in the intervening time asaei t»d their power, and had rendered possible for a McClellan or a Grant what had been impossible for a Napoleon. It was found that the capacity of the territory, through which it was proposed^ to move an f.rmy might generally be disregarded. 'It was found perfectly feasible to maintain a large force for any length of time in regions where no subsistence of any sort or kind wns furnished by the soil. It was found that wate-transportation of men and supplies was as certain and uniform, as much to be relied upon, a^ transportation by laud; that the winds and waves of the ocean and strength and direction of the flow of the rivers could equally be ignored when it was proposed ti tran--port traps, or subsistence, or arnunitton lo a given spot. It was found that a blockade made by steani vessels, though not absolutely perfect, was afar more certain anstant check on foreign intercourse than could be effected by any employment of sailing vessels. By the telegraph all available resources could be utilized without the loss of a moment, and ail information instantaneously communicated to. or from headquarters to or from any part of the theatre of war. In other words, machinery had in the progress of time.bccome one of the great factors in military operations, and its introduction worked as a marked revolution in the practice of commanders on land and sea, as its adoption for purposes of manufacture or of intercommunication had worked in the world of business and ordi- .nary life. And, what was of the greiitest importance to the north, the advantages of this great change in matters of warfare were absolutely at the call of the stronger and more wealthy of the two combatants. Results in UroeiUiiff. Philadelphia Hocord. It is impossible for a farmer to reach a high position with his herd or flock until he has selected the best for several years or more. Even the most skillful breeders do not succeed in securing but a few individual animals from their herds, though each year may witness an advance in their efforts, and a greater prepotency or capacity _ _to transmit the most desirable qualities sought by reasons of selections of the best from among certain families. The farmer who simply aims to breed up his animals to a higher standard is as much interested in tho selection of sires that will render the greatest services as in the breeder, who is oiteu satisfied with one or two wonderful performers from among a large number. Worthless sires, even from pure bred stock, are not desirable for the farmer. When he grades up his flock he will save' time, labor and money by procuring the best for the purpose, just as the'broeder of pure breeds seeks the most valuable sire in order to increase the value of his stock. Breeding is a science, and there are many _ uncertainties connected with it. Sometimes a sire will excel as a producer of extraordinary females, as was the case of the famous race-horse Glencoe and Lexington, the daughters of which were considered the most valuable brood-mares to be had, yet neither Glencoe nor Lexington left sens that were equal to their sires in any respect. The merits of these noted animals were easily transmitted, through their daughters, but seemed to cease with the male line. Even among the trotting horees, though the number of speedy animals increases edch yeur, some of the sires excel through their daughters, and others through their sons, and a sire may be fortunate if one in flfty of his get reaches what is known as the 2:30 mark, or "charmed circle," as it is called. Of one thing the breeder is assured, however, and that is the fact that certain families excel, and are more successful than others, among all classes of stock, and fortunately for both the breeder and the farmer, the pedigrees enable them to arrive at some degree of knowledge as to the proper families from which to select. The farmer who desires to grade up his stock is enabled to breed from animals of certain strains or from families that have produced a large portion of extraordinary individual and to increase the yield of his herds or flocks, by grading the stock to a higher standard, the farmer should select from the best families of the breed he desires. fjv * • , ROBBING UNCLE SAM. iMv • jf •" • ^ •*J.. ' aov Clever Postal Thieves Rifle Letters Without Oponlug Tliem. jWilliani J. Clarke, who is supreinteud- ent of the Thompson-Houston Electric company of New York, was for four years (,a postoffice inspector, and recently, while in Cincinnati, he told a Times-Star reporter some of his experiences in the mail service. "I was read ing the other night," said Mr. Clark, "of some of the skillful means adopted by postal thieves to rob the mails of Uncle Sam, and 1 realized that some of the most novel stories of thieving had been committed by the inspector who gave the stories. "Now just imagine, if you can, how money may be extracted from a letter without opening the envelope. Remember the envelop is sealed. 1 1 is almost impossible to imagine how such a thing can be/ '.e, and yet it lias been done several tim.., and once very successfully by a clerk in the Jew Jersey postofh'ce. For many months reports were receivid by the department of large amounts of money being extracted from letters which close examination showed never to have been opened. As may be easily imagined, the inspectors who wore set to work on the case were dumbfounded and knew not where to start in to ferrit out the thief. "It is H well-known fact that when once a man starts to rob the mails ho generally keeps on with his thieving until he is caught. So it was with the thief in. this instance; his persistence brought about his capture. It would not interest you much to know how he was captured, but hoy he extracted the money is the pointer. You know tbat nearly every envelope is left at both ends without any mucilage with which to seal the flap. Our man would feel a letter, and if he thought it contlined rn.or.ey, would press the top and bottom together so he could just get a glimpse of the interior of the envelope. Then, taking two needles fastened together at the ends which he bad in his hand, he would insert the other ends, and nipping tho bill as though with a/pair of pincers, be would deftly roll the peice of currency about the needles and wen tnk» out hia money. It was estirn»t- ed that be had secured nearly $1,000 in this manner. "And that brings me down to a peculiar fact. Do you know that sending paper money through the mail unregistered is_ a very foolish thing? Why, of course it is, as I can prove to you in an instant. Here's this five dollar bill. I'll put it in nn envelope. Now smpll it. There you have it. There is nothing on earth smells like paper money and an expert thief with good olfactory nerves can detect tbe presence of money in an envelope at any stage of bis game. There is one thing that the people sbrmld remember and that is for ways that arc dnrk and tricks that are vain the average m ul thipf beat? the bent-hen Bhinee." NOTHING LIKE IT J?V.biR STCEN. Astute llrooklynites Puzzled by a Freak of Nuturo. A number of Brooklynites were seated in a shophouse on tbe "Hill" in that city recently when in walked a typical street fakir, bearing a mysterious box under his arm The proprietor of the resort started to hustle the stranger out of doors, when the man began to explain in his glib way that he was not a peddler, but that he had dropped in merely to exhibit a rare animal, one be had captured himself in tho interior of Brazil. "It's as tame as a kitten." he said. Then he added: "The likes of itjhas never been seen before. Naturalists believe it to be the last specimen of an extinct species. It's a rare curiousity, gentlemen. I'd like to show it to you if the boss is agreeable. You can give me what you like afterward." "No, no. the gentlemen don't want to see the fe'S'-ig," spoke up the proprietor testily, aS&'ie made a movement toward the intruder. "Hold on. Let us see what the man has, "spoke up one of the m»n present. Several others requested that tho fellow be allowed to exhibit his treasure and the proprietor gave his consent. Placing his box on "one of the tables the fakir opened it, and out stepped tho oldest looking •.animal imaginable. It paused, looked around in the company, walked to the edge of the table and [then leaped al • most noiseless to the floor. "What in the world is it?" came from a chorus of men. "It looks lilco a long legged rat," said one. "A misshappen monkey or a hairless 'possum," rejected another. "Is it a small kangaroo?" "What is it?" "Where did it come from?" Everyone r "present asked some question or offered some suggestion at tho sight of the queer thing. "1 dont know what it is, gentlemen, said the fakir. "I captured it afcer' a hard struggle," he added. "Barnum offered me $1,000 for it, but I'm-attached to the creature and I won't part with it." "It's wor h while seeing isn't it? eh he added with some pride. The men thought is was, and gave the fellow quite a sum of money. The animal was small, not larger than a half-grown cat. It was entirely bare of a liver color. It walked about the floor, jumped upon the chair and tables, and appeared perfectly at home. "It is certainly the oldest animal I have ever seen," remarked a well educated man. "The animal is of a cat tribe, I think," he added, "and yet it is an anomaly. It has claws, a sensitive, nervous organism, as shown by movements and the action of the tail, and yet it has a smooth hide. 1 really can't account for such a peculiar make-up. It is contrary to all established natural law." Theu came a long discussion into which the shades of Cluvier and'Darwin and several other famous gentlemen were dragged by tho ears. The authorities were quoted at length. The fakir stood near by smoothing the smooth hair of the mysterious animal, and now and then accepting a drink from one or the other of the gentlemen, and listening to the discussion with the greatest of interest. It is difficult to say how long he would have remained had not a young gentleman, accompanied with a fox terrier dog, chanced just then to enter the resort. The dog spied the mystery, emitted a sharp angry bark and sprang toward it. The hairless creature leaped with area, agility to the bar, then to a shelf back of it. There was a crash of broken glasses and crockery "tobys," thrown by the animals effort to escape the dog. The latter barked furiously. In vain his master tried to still him. The fakir looked nervously at his pet. Every one else did the same. The creature stood aloft. Its back arched high, its tail moving fouriously. The proprietor tried to dislodge it, it crouched back and gave a sharp, "pst! pst!" "By jove! you can't blame the dog," said tue young man. "You have no business to keep such a looking cat as that about, ho added. "Cat?" said every one at the same time. "Why, that isn't a cat." "Yes it is," said tho first speaker, "It's a shaved cat. Tho dog recognizes it if you don't. A man who would serve an animal that way ought to be arrested." At this speech every one turned toward the spot where the fakir had stood, but he had sought safety in flight. A glance at the animal convinced the conq^ny that it was really a cat, but that it had been shaved to the hide from tip to tail to tip to nose. It was really a remarkable piece of ton- serial work, and those present agreed that if for no other reason, the fakir was entitled to his money as a reward for his ab.lity and dexterty in shaving it. The Ft rat Rain Gauge. In 1663, according to a recent paper by M. G. J. Symons to che royal meteorological society, Sir Christopher Wren designed not only the first ruin gauge, but also the first res orcling gauge, aithouigh the instrument was not conducted until 1788 Tho earliest rainfall records were made at the foil qwiog places: Paris, 1660' Townley, in Lancashire, 1677; Zurich 1708, and Londonderry, 1711. MONICA. A LOVE STORY OF MODERN DAYS. JUHY DISAGREED. Trial Falls to Settle Suit Against Ex-Senator Sabln. CHICAGO, June 2.—The suit for $100,000 damages brought by H. H. Porter against Ex-Senator Sabin, of Minnesota, alleging misrepresentation on the strength of which Porter invested heavily in the Northwestern Manufacturing company's stock, ended today in the disagreement of the jury. IlUtlue at Bttr Harbor. BAR HARBOH, Maine, June 4.—Seen- tary Blaine arrived hare and is no* quartered at his summer home. CHATTER VI. Times flies, and no man can reach his hand to stay it. A very good tiling too, thinks Monica, as she stands before her look- ins; glass pnliing the last pretty touches to her white toilet. It is Friday. Marlain O'Connor's garden- parly lies before her. and, prolvihly, other things. Here i-hc bin lies at her;.,'If, as slio sees that pretty soul in the glass, though indeed, she lias no cause to do so; but possibly the vague thought of those "other things 1 ' has something to do with it, and perhaps it is for their sake loo that she places with such care the heavy, blood-colored rose beneath her chin. This is the only suspicion of color about her. Her gown is white; her lint is white; long white silk gloves run up her rounded arms as though bent on joinimr her sleeves far above the elbow. A white Snrar sash is tied round her dainty waist. She is looking "as fair as the moon, as lovely as a rose," and altogether distinctly d-iuerous. Perhaps she hall' rccognix.es this fact, because she smiles at her own reflection, and —vain little girl that she Is—stoops forward and kisses herself In the happy glass that holds her even for so brief a minute; after which she summons her maid from her dressing-room beyond. "Canty," she says, as the "uncle's wife's sister's child" enters, "I am dressed now; and " "Shurc, so you are, miss; and lovely ye look, more power to ye." "Make my room very tidy," says Monica, giving her her directions before starting. "And, Canty, I shall want my blue dross for dinner. You can put it out." "Yes, mjss," whereupon Monica prepares to leave the room; but the new maid stops her. "1C ye please, Miss Monica," she says, hesitating and applying her apron toiler lips. "Yes, Canty." "I'd be very thankful to ye, miss, if ye wouldn't call me that.' 1 "Call yon what'. 1 " "Canty, miss." "Hut," astonished, "isn't it your name?" "No, miss; me name is Dridgot." "But surely Canty is your name, too?" "Well, it's mo father's name, no doubt; but faix I feel just like a boy when you call me by it, an' ye wouldn't like me to feel like a boy, miss, would ye?" says the village beauty, casting an anxious glance at Monica from her dark Irish eyes, and blushing deeply. "Certainly not," says Monica, laughing a little. "Very well, Bridget; for the future I shall try to forget you ever had a surname." "Thank ye, miss," says Bridget, with a sigh of profound relief. Then Monica runs down-stairs, where she finds her aunts in the drawing-room, dressed in their very best silk gowns, waiting for the carriage to come round. There is a little delay, which wasted time the two old ladies spend in endeavoring to drill Terence into shape. Something of this sort is going on as Monica enters. "When I introduce you to Madam O'Connor or Lady liossmoyno my dear boy, bo sure you make a very low bow. Nothing distinguishes a gentleman so much from the common herd as the manner of his salute. Now make me a bow, that I may judge of your style." Thus Miss Priscilla. "I couldn't make one to order like that," says Terence; yet he sulkily complies, making a very short, stilt, and uncompromising no;I that makes both aunts lift their hands In dismay. "Oh, no, my dear!—that won't do at all! Mor-t ungraceful, and totally devoid of Iho dignity that should inspire it. Now look at me. It should be something like this," making him a reverence that might well have created admiration in the court of Queen Anne. "Ah, yes I tlmt Is something like what it should be," chimes in Miss Penelope, paying a tribute to the talent of her sister. "Priscilla has caught the true tone. I wish, Terence, we could see you more like your dear grandfather; he was a man to bow." Terence, calling to mind the portrait of his "dear grandfather," as represented in the elaborate gilt frame in the dining-room, in a court suit and a periwig, and with au abominable simper, most devoutly thanks his gods that he is not like unto him. Ho is, indeed (feeling goaded to the last degree), about to break into unseemly language, when, fortunately, the arrival of the ancient equipage that has done duty at Moyno as state carriage for generations is announced. The coachman, who is considerably older than Tiinolhy, draws up Iho old horses before the door with a careful manner that impresses the beholder with the belief that ho thinks they woukl run away in a minute If he relaxed a muscle on-thu reins; and a small boy, who acts as footman and looks decidedly depressed, lets down the rickety steps. Miss Priscilla Blake then enters the, carriage. She is followed with much ceremony by Miss Penelope. After which Monica who is impressed by the proceedings, and Terence, who isconsnnicd wilhsecrci mirth, step in and se.at themselves. Then the coachman says, "Gee up I" in exactly the tone he bus employed for forty yours; and, the gloomy buy settling down beside him, they arc all presently on the fair road to Aghyol'.ilibi'K. Gazing at the natural beauty of the wild loveliness around them; "Joy rises in her lilco a summer morn." And th'iii shi) sees an old house, low, broad, pletiire.s(|ue, with balconies and terraces, and beymid the house slanting lawns, and ut one .side tennis-courts, where many gayly- clad ft in res ar.! moving to ami fro. Then they all descend from thtj time- honored chariot, and cross I ho lawn to whore they can s.;o their hostess standing, tall and erect and handsome, in spite of her sixty years. "Your niece?" says Madam O'Conior, Blaring hard at Monica's pure litlle face, tha girl looking straight back at her with a cer- tainamoiintof curiosity in hcreyos.—"Well, I wish you no greater fortune than your face, my dear," says the old Irishwoman. "Il ought to bo a rich one, I'm thinking. You're, like your mother, to i; but your eyes arc huncster than burs, You must know 1 knew Kitty Blake very well at one lime." "I have heard my mother speak of you," says Monica. "Ay—so? Yet I fear there wasn't much love lost between us." Then she turns a little aside to greet .someone else,and .Monica lets her eyes roam round the grounds. .Suddenly slu starts, and says out loud,— "AhliherolsOiga!" "You know Mrs. Holinn, then?" says the hostess,.attracted by her exclamation and her pretty vivacious expression. ."So very, very well," says Monica. She has flushed warmly, and her eyes are brilliant. "I want to speak to her; I want to go to her, please." "Bless mo 1 what a shame to waste that lovely Hush on a mere woman!" says Madam O'Connor, with a marry laugh. "Here, Fred," turning to a young man standing close to her with a very discontented ex* I am eolntf to give you n mission attcr your own ncart. i nu are totaice MISS Ben sford over there, to where Mrs. Dobun is dealing death to all those boys.-This is Lord Kiissmoyne, Miss Beresford; he will sec you safely over your ruhicon." "Oil, thank you!" says Monica, gratefully smiling at her. • "Tut, child ! thank me when I have done something for yon. It is Fred's turn to thank me now," says Madam O'Connor, with a merry twinkle in her gray eyes. She is a large woman close on sixty, with an eagle eye and a hawk's nose. As Monica leaves her she continues her gnsslp with the half-dozen young men round her, who arc all lamthiuur at some. joke. I'lvseiitly she h'-rsclf is lauuhin r louder than any of ih-.'in j Ji'ing p.irtial to boys and ili/.r "fun," as she calls il). Bestowing now a smart, blow with her fan upon the youngest and probably I here lore most I'.ippa nl oi' h .T attendants, she stalks away from them across the lawn, to where two ladies are sitting together. "Have you scon that girl of Kitty Heres- ford's, Kdllh?" asks Madam O'Connor of the elder lady. "That little washed-onl-looUiim girl who came with those two old Miss BlakesV" asks the youthful old woman, with a profoundly juvenile lisp. "Faith, 1 don't know about her being washed out," says Madam O'Connor, bluntly. "I think sh;' is the prettiest creature I've seen this many a day." "You are so impulsive, my dear Theresa J" says her friend, with n simper; "all your geese arc swans." "And other people's swans my geese, I suppose," says Madam, with a glance at the tall girl, which somehow brings the conversation to a full slop. j?f.'aniline, Monica is erosshnr the soft •"":, , with the moody man called Itossmoyno beside her. She can sec her coal in Urn distance, and finds comfort in the thought Unit soon she, must IK- there, as she cannot bring herself to be agreeable to her ne\v acquaintance; and certainly hois feeling no desire just al present lobe agreeable to her or to anybody. As Monica comes nearer to her friend, she ga/.es anxiously at her. as thinuvh to see if lini" has worked a change in her. She is quite a little woman, aiioul live-and- twenty, but' looking al least four years younger than that. Hereyes are laruv, dark, and mischievous. Her hair is so fair as to be almost silvery; naturally wavy, ii is cut upon the forehead in I lie prevailing fashion, but not curled. Her month is small, mutinous, and full of langht'.'r; her nose distinctly retrousse. Altogether she is dinivacting- ly pretty, and, what goes for more nowadays, very peculiar in style, and out of the common. She is exquisitely dressed in a costume that suggests Paris. She is a harmony in black and whit 1 .', as Lord Itossnioync told her an hour ago, when he was mil wearing his discontcnlwl expression. Sea!"il bcshlo her is a tall pallid woman with a cold face, but very velvety eyes and a smile rare but handsome. Every now and (hen this smile betrays itself, as her companion -says anything that chances to amuse her. She is a Mrs. llerriclc, a cousin of ((lira P.olMin's, ,tnd is now on a visit w'lh her at Aitliyohilibeg. There are. several men grouped round Mrs. Bohuu, all in various siamiing positions. One man is lying other feet. He is a tall slight young follow, of about twenty-three, with a lean face, dark hair, and beautiful teeth, lie has, too, beautiful eyes, and a most lovable expression, half boyish, but intensely earnest and very sensitive. lie is looking up at. .Mrs. liolinn, in d Is talking rapidly, as Monica and Lord Itnss- moync come up behind them. Mrs. Boliuii, rises hurriedly from her seat, and, going up to the girl, embraces her warmly. "Ah! my prcUu Monica! my little saint!" she cries, in her sweet, gay voice, "what happy brccx.o has blown yon hither?" "i am living here,—at Moyne,—with my aunts," in a happy, breathless way. "Simio days ago they described yon to me, and I knew it must be you. I was right. And to- dayl have found you." "I'm always found out, as a rule," says Mrs. Bohnn, with a light laugh. "That 'is my standing grievance. You know llermia, don't you?" indicating the tall, cold-looking woman near her, who so far unbends as to take Monica's hand kindly and bestow upon her one of her handsome smiles. "She has come here to look after me and sec that I don't get into a scrape or make myself unhappy." \ "Could you be unhappy?" says Hossmoyno, from behind her chair, in so disagreeable a tone that every ono looks at him. "Decidedly," thinks Monica to herself, "ho has either neuralgia or an execrable temper." "Miserably so," says the pretty widow, airily. "Though, after all," rcllcclivcly, "I believes I have even agreatcrtalcnt for making others so. That, however, is my misfortune, not my fault. I was 'born so,' like that poor man with the twisted neck." "Well, this is not ono of your miserably unhappy hours, at all events," says llermia llerrick. "Von have been in magnllice.nt ] spirits ever since you came to Agyoiiillbcg." "You've learned it?'' says Olga, st-iring at lior with pretended surprise. "The mime, I mean. Well, yon are clever. It lakes most people, four long weeks. Oh, yes, 1 am blissfully happy hero. I owjlil to be. It would be the grossest ingratitude if I were otherwise, as all the men have been good enough to fall in love with me, and that, of course, is the principal thing." At this the young man at her feet smiles openly and presses bis face unpcrecivcd against her gown; but Kossmoynu throws up hi:-: head and glances with a coldly displeased expression into the, vague distance. "Jluvo you been hero long?" asks Monica, turning to her friend. "Veru long," pettishly. Something—perhaps Unssmoync—has annoyed the capricious beauty. "Only a fort night," says Mrs. llerrick, brlclly. "Yon must know that." "1 don't judge timo by days and weeks; it Beams long," says Mrs. Bohun, "years,-an eternity almost!" A sudden gloom appears to have fallen upon Iho group. Itossmoyno's dark l'ac« grows darker still; lliu smilo fadea from Ito- nayne's face, a shadow falls athwart his eyes. "J think I like the country," says Monica, suddenly. "It is so calm, so quiet, and there are moments when the very beauty of it brings tears to my eyes." "i love it too," says Honayne, quickly, addressing her pointedly in a Iriundly tone, although no introduction has b.'c,n gone throu/h between them. "I wonder howfcuiy ono who has once tasted the sweetness of it can ever ."gain long for the heat and turmoil of the town." "Viss, for a time, it is charming, all-snt'Uc- ii:g," says Mrs, Baluin, "but for what a (It- Ilil lime! Perhaps,—I am not sure,—but pcrUtij)sLs\n>\\\il like to live for three, mouths of every year in the country. After that, I know I should begin to pine again for the smoke and smuts of my town." "If yon are already wearied, I wonder you stay here," says Lord liMssmoyne, sullenly. "And I wonder what has happened to-day to your usually so charming temper," returns she, laughingly uplifting her face to his, and letting her eye rust on him with almost insolent inquiry. "Desmond says good temper is a mere matter of digestion," says some ono at this moment. Monica starts more at the name mentioned than at the exceedingly \\fni-out words uttered. Sim glances at the speaker, ana sees he is « very uelr voupi^juau " n nice lace, ami a lemnrKaiHy uismai expression. He Is looking at IJossmoync. "Sit down, dear boy,'' be says, afitto iv/ce and very sadly. "There's too much of >nu; you should never stand. Ve.n :ipp ar to so much brl.er advantage when dminh-d in two. It don't ,« IKK? we'l. do. 1 * h? but " , "lint reall\.'when \on come to think of U," Mr.. l!>ihuii is sa\ing. t';v!ia.:!y, "there is very little In the country." "There is at least the fascinating tulip and lily." says the sad man who mentioned Desmond's name. "Don't put yo irself !v- yond Hie pale of art by saying yon had forgotten (lio>e a'sth.'tic (lowers. Mo-soms, 1 mean. Don't, yon yearn when you think of th.-in', 1 ; do." ":So glad you an 1 awake al las!, Owen 1" says Mrs. linhun. ''That silly craze about ; u'lps." s:\\ s Mrs. llerrick, contemptuously, "I ha\e alwav.s treated it with t-eorn. Why could not the art idiots have, chosen better (lowers for their lunatic ravines? \Vhat can any one see in a tulip 1 . 1 " "Sometimes earwigs," says the man called Owen. "Niinscnsel 1 don't believe even earwigs would care for It. Foolish, gaudy thing, u|>- lifling its lanky neck as though to outdo its fellows! There Is really nothing in It. 1 ' "Like the country," says Owen, meekly, "nceonllmi to Mrs. Bohnn.'' "And like Bella Flt/wralil." says that graceless person, with a litlle grimace. "My ilcur Olga," .says Airs. HcrrieU, glancing quickly to right and left. "Doyou never tlitnlif "As seldom a* ever lean. But why be nervous, llermia? If any one were, to compare me with a tulip, I should die of—no, not chagrin -./o)/, I mean, of course. Monica, whai are ymi saying to Owen?" "1 don't lliinlc 1 loiow who Owen Is,"says Monica, with a glance at the gentleman In question, that Is half shy, half friendly. "That armies yourself unknown," says Olga. "He is Master Owen Kelly, of Kelly's Grove, connly Antrim, and the bright and shining lighl of the junior bar. They all swetir by him in Dublin all, that is except the judges, and they swear nt him." Monica looks at Master Owen Kelly In a faintly pn/./.lod fashion. "Now tell us whatyouweresaylngloeaeh other, 1 ' says Olga. "It wa.s nothing," returns Monica. "\Vo were only talking about this K-;yp!ian war. But I don't really," nervously, "understand anything about il." "You needn't blush for your ignorance on that score," says Mr. Kelly. "Yon'rein tho general swim; nobody knows." "Lord llossmoyne," says Mrs. Bohun, turning to him with ineli'able sweetness, "will you do something for me?" Tho transition from coldness to tender appeal is too much for Kossmoync; his face brightens. "Yon know there is nothing I would not do for yon,'' he says, gravely but eagerly. "Then," promptly, "please, lake! that ugly frown off your forehead and put It in your pocket; or—no, throw It. away altogether; If you kepi, it near you, you might be tempted to pal it on again." "i did not know 1 was frowning." "Yon were," sweetly. "Yon arc all right again now, and so shall be rewarded. You can't think how unbecoming frowns are, and how much better yon look when you are. all 'sweetness and light,' as now for example. Come," rising, "yon shall take me for a nice long walk through these delightful old gardens." As she moves she sees the daisies still clin.;iug In her gown that Ullc Koimyno lias been amusing himself with during the past half-lion;'. .Mure than this, shescc, too, tho Imploring ga/.e of his dark eyes upturned to hers. "Silly boy I" she says stooping to shake away the daisies with her hand; but her words have a double meaning. Involuntarily, unseen by all the others,—except Monica,--his hand closes upon hers. "Do not go with him," he says, with deep entreaty. "I inn-l --now." "Then let me come too?" "Nu." Then she raises herself, and says, gayly, "Yon shall slay and make love to Miss Belvsi'ord. .Monica, I. have desired Mr. Honayiie in slay here and amuse you." .She moves across the lawn with Koss- mnyno beside her. .Mrs. derrick and Mr. Kelly are strolling la/.iiy in another direction. Monica and Ulic are alone. ''Is there anything I can take, yon to see?" asks he, gently. ••.No, thank yon. I am quite happy bore." Then, no!icing the extreme sadnesson his beautiful face, (-he >:ays, slowly, "But you are not, 1 am afraid." "I Klitnilil .be, wall so fair a companion." He smiles as he says this, but his smile is without mirth, and she. does not return It, Suddenly leaning forward, she says to him, very lem'lerly,— "You love Olga, do yon not? 1 ' She never afterward thinks of this speech wit liunl % blii>hing deeply and wondering why B!I(! said it. It was an impulse too strong to be. conquered, and it overpowers her. Ilia face changes, and he colors perceptibly; ho hesitates too, and regards her inquiringly. Something, perhaps, In her expression reassures him, because presently he says, bravely,— "Yes, I do. I love her with all my heart and soul; as I never have loved, as I never shall love again. This thought is my happiness; my sorrow lies in Iho fear that she will never love ?«e. Forgive my saying all this to you she told mo to amuse you," with a faint smile, "and I have wofully neglected her commands." "You must forgive mo," says Monica. "I should not have asked yon the question," "Do not bo sorry for that; it has done me good, I think. I am glad I have said it oat lowl to somebody at last. It is odd, though, —isn't it?—I should have made my confession to you, of all people, whom I nuvcrsaw until ten minutes ago!" Then .Monica remembers that this is tho second young man she has found herself on friendly terms with since her arrival at Moyne, without tho smallest Introduction having been gone through on any bide. It all sounds rather dreamy, and certainly very irregular. "Ah! there Is Madam O'Connor beckoning to me," says Itonayno, lazily rising to his feet. "J suppose she wants me for a moment. Will you mind my leaving you for a little, or will you come with me? I sha'n't bo any time." "I shall stay here," says Monica. "There, go; she seems quite in a hurry. Come back when you can." He runs across the grass to his hostess; and Monica, leaning back in her chair, gives herself up lo thought. Everything is strange, and she is feeling a little lonely, a little dlalraitu, and (but this she will not allow even to herself) distinctly disappointed. She is trying very hard to prevent her mind from dwelling upon a certain face that should be naught to her, when she suddenly becomes conscious of the fact that some ono has come to a stand-still close beside her chair. She turns. count. or it. "Vcs, I ra mo. Three days nito [ thought I should Inni* boon ih London now, and then I heard |/oi/ were to be hero to-day. " "In \\lint h.ivc yon failed?" asks ,«he, ab- rni'tly. allndlnu to his opening sentence. "Can't you .nuess? Have von for.enl.lcn the last cruel injunclion yon laid upon me? 'Whim next wo moot,' yon said, 'you nre to look straight over my lioad and pass on/ Will you itelii've that twirc to-day I obeyed tlmt mandate'.' The third time was the rhanu; U conquered me; I broke my sword in two and eaine 10 yon.'.' "t wish you hadn't," snys Monica, sincere* ly. "1 \\ish you would go away now, and promise me never In speak to mo again. Von imiir \ am afraid of you," looking nervously a round. "I dnn'l. iudred; I ran't, ronccivo sneh A sitnalinn. Yon do me a great injustice, I think. 1 verily believe if I tried my very hardest I ennliln't instil terror into the small' est ohild hi (he village." "Yon know what, I mean. Of course," scornfully,"! should never bo afraid 9f a (IKIII, • it is Aunt, I'riseilla I am afraid of. And see, sec thercl" In an agony, "she la Hlamlinit iniile close to us, talking to somebody." ' "II that is your aunt I'riseilla, she Is safe for an hour at least. The old lady with her is Lady Itossumyne, and she never lots anyone (unfortunate enough to ire | Into her clutches) go free under a generous sixty minutes. !Sh" is great on manures, and slocks, and lnrni|>s, and so I'orlh. And your mini. I hear, is a kindred spirit." "lint then (hero Is Aunt, Penelope," says Monic. i. timidly. "She, loo, is arranged. Half an hour ago I met her so deep In n disgraceful flirtation wltfc the viear that I fell It my duly to Ionic the olln T w.i.v. Depend upon il, she is not IhiliUiiU' of YOU." "Hnl soi ...... ue may tell them I have been talking to \on." "I always thought I had a proper amount of pride until I inel you, "says Mr. Desmond. "Yon have dispelled the belief of years, 'fa (by sonanl a do/;,' iiial yon sip nld be ostra- ei/.eil I'eri.p.'iiKJii'f (,, \ t \ M '< j\e\er mind; 1 imbmil even toi'nal thnii.ght If II gives me llvo minutes moro of your society. But listen to me. No one can tell talcs of us, because we are both slra Hirers In the land. No one, knows me from Adam, and Juntas few know you from— let ns say Eve, for euphony's sake.' 1 She laughs. Kneonra'red by her merriment to believe thai at least she bears no 111 will, llriau says, hurriedly, "Come with me to the rose-garden. It Is stupid sitting hero alone, and tlio garden 1> beyond praise. Do come." "Why 1 ,"' lining her heavy lashes. "For one thing, we shall bo frco from observation, and you know yon dislike being seen with me. Koranolher - " llonauses, "Well'i 1 ' 1 rather nervously. "It Is just this, that 1 must speak to yon," says the young man, his guy manner changing to one of extreme earnestness. "You went unkind to mo that day wo parted. I waul; you to tell mo why. I understand quite that 1 have no right to demand oven the smallest favor of yon, yet I do entreat you to coiiie with me." ]''or another moment she hesitates, then— "Yes, I will come with yon," who says, raising her soft eyes to his. In her whole manner, voice, and bearing there Is something so sweet and childish and trusting as to render Desmond her slave upon the spot. The path to the rose-garden leads away from .Miss 1'rlsellla, HO they avoid detection as Ihey.iro. (To bo continued.) A imJHT WITH A RATTLESNAKE. A N«(fr» HUH a Tough TiiHtlo With u Vlii- dlctlvo Siiiiko. Thomas Jenkins a hard-working negro who is fond of hunting, and who owns a small farm near town, recently had a ler- riljjo adventure with a largo rattlesnake, which ho |,had succeeded in killing only after it had bitten him twice. Jenkins wan at work removing the debris of un old out-building, when . the snake Bounded its rattles almost under his i'oqt. Mo sprang back just in time to escape the dart of the reptile, and struck at it 1,'with a small hand axe ho carried, but was HO unfortunate as l.o miss it entirely, when the snake with an incred- itablo rapidity coiled itself around his leg. Ho endeavored to throw it off, when it buried its fangs in the fleshy part of hia limb. Before it could withdraw them ho seixod it back of the neck and choked it, as lie thought, to death, for its folds relaxed and he was unable to Iling it from him, but, upon reaching the ground, the reptile revived and turned again to the attack. Jenkins again endeavored to kill it by astroko of his axe, but only succeeded in severing the extreme tip of the tail, and the next instant the writhing creature had struck him on the ankle, when ho brought the blatla down upon it, catting it entirely in two. Calling bin wile to assist him Jenkins managed to roach a physician living near him, whose immediate attention to nis two wounds probably t-'uved his life. The limb was swollen and of a livid bluo, but no danger anticipated. The wound* were in both instances deprived of their full dcadlincss by Jcnkin's heavy trousers and KtoukingK, wuich absorbed much of the poison, and thus prevented its entrance into the body. The snake was an old one of unusual size, and carried the extraordinary number of thirty-seven rattler,. These reptiles are unusually numerous in this vicinity this year, the one killed by Jenkins being ti.e one hundredth killed in one week. ___ , Labor IH Sweat. Now York World. There were live hard looking men seated on a bench in City Hull Park recently, and while four of them were asleep the fifth cat looking lit his own toes. By and by along came u man -.yln miultod and iihkcd : "Do any of you men want work?" "What's the pay?" asked the fifth a long silt-net;. "Why, I'll give a dollar and a half a duy." "What's the work?" "Digging a ccller." "1 don't want it," "Tv-i't uny of the rest want a job?" "•fc^iink not— but if you'll make the pay $2 u day and tha work picking strawberries I'll take the chances of waking them, up." _ __ __ __ _ Very \ CHAPTER VII. "You see I failed," says 13rlan Desmond. A quick warm blush has dyed Monica's cheeks crimson. "Ah 1U is you," she says. "I thought you had not cpme." asked the fifth after Soi'theart— "Is Miss Tri plight in?" Servant — "No, but she told mo to tell you if you called that it was very kind of you." Softheart— "What did she mean?" Servant — "1 suppose she meant that it was very kind of you to call when she out."
What members have found on this page
Get access to Newspapers.com
- The largest online newspaper archive
- 8,900+ newspapers from the 1700s–2000s
- Millions of additional pages added every month