The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on September 16, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, September 16, 1891
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THE UPPMt DBS MOIJSES, ALGpKA, IP WA, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10,1891. MONICA. A LOVE STORY OF MODERN DAYS. ••.And id the prince men, Uiit you tvoivt See many princes U you stay in Ireland, I fancy; tliey don't hanker after the soil." "Poor Ireland I' says Mrs. Bohun. "And compliments, I should say, wilt be almost as scarce." "Ah I now, Ihcre you are wrong; t/ifii/ fly beneath IhesL 1 murky skies. We absolutely revel in them. What true Irishman but has one tripping freely from his mouth on the very smallest chance? And then, my dear Hermia, consider, are we not the prond possessors-of the blarney-stone? 1 ' "I wish, dearest, you would bring yourself to thin v seriously of Rossmoyne." "I do think seriously of him. It would be impossible to think of him in any other way, he is so dull and pompous." "He would make an excellent husbnml." "1 have had enough of husbands. They are very unsatisfactory people. And besides " "Well?" • . ; "Kossmoyno has a temper." "And forty thousand a year." "Not good enough." "If ymi are waiting for an angel, you will •wait forever. All men are " "Oh, Hermia! really,I can't listen tosnoh naughty words, yon know. I really wonder at you 1" "I wasn't going to say anything of the kind," says Hermia, with great haste, not seeing this laughter lurking in Olga's dark eyes. ', "I merely meant that " "Don't explain 1-don'l/" says Olga; u l couldn't endure any more of It." And she laughs aloud.'. "Kossinoyne is vury devoted to you. Is there anything against liiitr, except his tem- X" "Yes, his beard. Nnthiny would induce me to marry a man with hair all over his face. It isn't clam." "Give him five minutes and- a razor, and he might do away with It." "Give him Jive minutes and a raxjr. and ho might do away with himself too," says Olga, provokingly. "Really, I think one thing would please mo just as. much as the other." "Oh, then, you are bent on refusing him?" says llermia, calmly. With very few people does she ever lose her temper; with O'ga—never. "I am not so sure of that, at all," snys OIg:t, airily. "It is 'quite within the po,ssi- bilities that I may marry him some time or other,—sooner or later. There is a delightful vagueness about those two dates that gives mo the warmest enconragemenl." "It, is a pity yon cannot be serious smiie- tones," says Mrs. llerrick, mildly. A little hand upon her gown saves further expostulation. A little face looking up with a certainty of welcome into hers brings again that wonderful softness intollermia's eyes. "Is it you, my sweetest?" she says, fondly. "And where have yon been? I have watch' r in vain for you for the last half-hour, my •i"".. ,u •'I was in the dining-room. But nurse called nie;and now I have come to say goog- nlght," says the child. "Good-night, then, and God bless you, my chick. But where is my Uonrple?" "I'mhere," snysGeorgie,g.c .' illy, springing upon her in a violent fash > i, that one jSLWonlrt have believed hateful . . the calm IrHennia, yet ts evidently imis.-.gra.teful to I her. She embraces the boy warmly, and lets - her eyes follow him until he is out of sight. Then she turns again to the little maiden at her side. "I must go with Georgie," says fie child. "So you shall. But first tell inn, what have yo i got in your hand?'" '•Som.Uliiiig to go to bed with. See, in im- my! It is a pretty red plum," opening her del irate pink list, for her mother's admiration. "Where did you got it, darling?" "In tilt; dining-room." "From Lord Kossmoyne?" , . "N r o. From Mr. Kelly. I would not hav« the ouc .Lord Kossmoyne gave me." O'^ii laughs mischievously, and .Mrs. ller- rick IM)101X. "Wiiy.V" slie says. "Because I like Mr. Kelly best." "And what did you give him? 1 ' ': "Nothing." "Not even a kiss?" says Olga. "No," somewhat shamefacedly. "Her mother's own daughter!" says Olga, caressing the child tenderly, but laughing still. "A chilly mortal." ' "Good-night, my own," says Hermia, and the child, having kissed them both again, runs away. Olgii follows her with wistful eyes. "1 almost wish 1 had had a baby?" she says. , •..••' • "Youf Why, you can't take care of yonr- selt'l You are the least fitted to have a child of any woman I know. Leave nil such charges to stain people like me. Why, you are a baby at heart, yourself, this moment." ''That would bo no-drawback. It would only have created sympathy'between-mo and my baby. I would have understood all :•• her bail moods and condoned all her _ crimes." "If you had been a mother, you would have hud a very naughty child." "I should have had a very happy child, at least." Then she laughs. "Fancy me with a dear little baby!" she says,—"a thing all my own, that would rub its soft cheek against mine and love me better than anything J" "And rumple all your choicest Parisian gowns, and pull your hair to pieces. I couldn't fancy it at all." IjLere the door opens to admit the men, the celestial half-hour after dinner having come to an end. With one consent they all converge toward the window, where Olga and Hermia are standing with Monica, who had joined them to bid good-night to little Fay. Miss Fitzgerald, who has returned to tho drawing-room freshly powdered,seeing how the tide rims, crosses the room too, and mingles with the group in the window. "llow long you have been I We feared you dead and buried," she says to Kelly, •with elephantine p'ayf illness. "We have, indeed, I thought the other men would nevJr stir. Why did you not give me the chance of leaving them? The faintest suggestion that yc/u, wanted me would havo brought me hero hours ago." "If I had been sure of that, 1 should havo sent you a message,; It would havo saved mo a lecture," says Olga, flashing a smile at Hermia. "I should disdain to send a message," says the proud Bella. "I would not compel any man's presence. 'Como if you will; stay away if'you won't,' is my motto; and I cannot help thinking I am right." "Yon are, indeed, quite right. Coercion is of small avail in some cases," says Olga, re,-, garding her with the calm dignity of one who plainly considers the person addressed of very inferior quality indeed. ; "A woman can scarcely be too j.-alous of her rights nowadays," says Mis,s Fitzgerald. "If she has a proper knowledge of her position, she ought to guard it carefully." "A fine idea finely expressed !"says Kelly, as though smitten into reverence by the " her manner. "1 won ler what is a mans >n>p r position?" says Olg% lazily. "lie v\i'.l ahvay> find it at a woman's feet." siys Mis* Vitr.iii'raM. prandly. elated by Kelly's apparent Mtbjectinn. That young man looks b'unkly round him. Under hiii.cs n::d eh.iir-i and IOJIM .-.-< lii< eyes penetrate, but without the- d..'>ir>-«l result. "So sorry I cnn't see a fout>t >ol any- \vhero!" IIP snys lif'inir iv.nv.fiil eye* to Miss FitZicra'd; "but fur that Isliu'.l'l be at your fret from this until you bh! me rise." "HypocriteI" says Olsra in his car; afttt which conversation becomes more irrnir.il; and presently Miss Fitzgerald goes back to the lire under the mistaken impression that probably one of the men will follow hei there. The one —whoever be Is—f7<«»«"fc "Do you know," says Mr. Kelly, in a lo* tone, to the others, "the ugly i/nil's awfully nict',1 Shu is a pleasant duo/it. 'Shehasiio winsome looks, no pretty frowning,' I grant you; but she can hold her own, and is .to good-humored." "What a lovely night," says Monica, gazing wistfully into the misty depths of the illiiminatid dnrkncss beyond. "I want to step into it, and—we have not been out all day." "Then why not go now?" says Hermia, answering her glance in a kindly spirit. "Ah I will you conu'V says Monica, jrightening into glad excitement. "Let us go as far as the fonnlain in the .ower narden," says Oiga; "it is always beautiful there when the moon is up.'' "Avoid the grass, however; wet feet are, dangerous," says Lord • Itossmoyne., carefully. . • ' . "You will die an old bachelor," retorts 31ga, saucily, "if yon lake so much 'thought for tin) morrow'."" 'It will certainly not be my fault i£ I do," returns Kossmoyno, calmly, but with evident meaning. "Sirs. -Bohun, bring your guitar," says Desmond, "mid we will make Konayne sinir lo it, and so imagine ourselves pivwntly in the land of the olive and palm." "Shall wo ask the others to come with us?" says Monica, kindly, glancing back into the'drawing-room. "Miss Browne, for example?" suggests Owen Kelly.—If lie hopes by this speech to arouse jealousy in anybody present, lie finds himself, later on, mightily mistaken. "If she is as good a sort as you say, I dare say she would like it," says Olga. "And, besides, if we leave her to Bella's tender mercies she will undoubtedly'be done to death by the time we return." "Oh, do go anil rescue her, 1 ' says Mrs. Herrick, turning lo Kelly. Her tone is almost appealing. "Perhaps Miss Filxgcrald will cume too," says Monica, somewhat fearfully. "Don't b.s afraid," says Olga. "Fauci/ Bolla runniiK the risk of having a bad eye or a pink nose in the morning! She knows much batter than that." "Tell Miss Browne to make haste," says Mrs. Herrick, turning to Kelly. "Because we are impatient,—we are longing to precipitate ourselves into the moonlight. Come, Oka; come, Monica; they can follow." Miss Browne, howewr, on being appealed to, shows so honest a disregard for covering of any sort, beyond what decency lias already clothed her with, that, she and Kelly catch uj) with the others before the fountain is reached. Seating themselves on the edge of the fountain, they acknowledge silcnlly the beauty of the hour. Olga's hand, moving through the water, breaks it into little wnv.:- lets on which the riotous moonbeams dance. "Where are your bangles, Olga'. 1 yon used to be famous for them?" asks Desmond, idly. "I have tired of them." "Poor bangles!' 1 says Ulio Konaync, in a low tone heard only by her. "What a heavy sigh'.'" "Asellish one,too. Morn for myself than for the discarded bungles. Vet thuir grievance is mine." "I thought they suited yon,"says Diamond. "Did you? Well, they had grown so common ; every one used to go about laden with them. And then they mado.suc.li a tiresome li:ii-.le-tmklu all over Uu> plntw.'' "What place,?" -suys • Lord Itossmoyne, who objects to slang of even lliu mildest description from any woman's lips, must of till from the lips of her whom he hopes to call his wife. •'Don't bu stupid!" says this prospective wife, with considerable petulance. "You are fickle, 1 doubt," goes on lioss- moyne,,unmoved. "A few months ago you raved about your bangles, and had the, prettiest assortment 1 think 1 ever saw. Thirly- .six on (Mich arm, or something like it. We used to call I.IIHIII your armor. You said you were obllsrcd to wear tho same amount exactly on each arm, lest yon might grow crooked." "1 know few tilings more unpleasant than having one's silly remarks brought up to one jvars atte.rwnrd," suys Olga, with Increasing ill-tempi.'!'. "M.untlnf, not j/uf.fs," says Kossmoyno, carefully. Whereupon Mrs, 'Bolniii turns her back upon him, and Mrs. HtMTick tolls herself she would like logivohim :i good shake for so stupidly trying lo ruin his own giinic, and Ulic Konayno fools hi; is on the brink of swearing with him an eternal friendship. "Bangles?" breaks in Owen Kelly, musingly. "Harmless little-circular things \voinhn wear on their wrists, aren't they? .But awkward too at times,—amazingly awkward. As Olga has feelingly remarked, they can make a marvelously loud tinkle-tinkle at times. I know a little story about, bangles, that ought to boa warning against the use of Ihc'iii. Would any one like to hoar my little story? It is short, but very sweet." Every one instantly says "Yes," except Olga, who has drawn herself together and is regarding him with a stony glare. "Well, there was once on a time a woman, who had some bangles, and a young man; siie had other things too, such as youth and beauty, but they weren't half so important as the /irst two items; and wherever she and her bangles went, there went the young mini too. And for alojigtime'nobodyknew which he loved bast, the beauteous maiden or I he gleaming- bangles. Do I make myself clear?" . : "Wonderfully so, for you," says Mrs. Iler- rick. "Well, one day the young man's preference was made 'wonderfully so, too. And it was in this wise. On ' a certain sunny afternoon, the young woman found herself in a. conservatory that opened off a drawing- room, being divided from it only by a hang-* ing Indian curtain; a /uwifledIndian curtain she used to call it ever afterward; but that was bad grammar, and bad manners too." • "I feel I'm going to sleep," says Desmond, drowsily. "I hope somebody will rouse me when he has done, or pick mo out of the water if I drop Into it. Such a rigmarole'of a story I never heard in my life." "Caviare can't bo appreciated by the geji- eral; it Is too strong for you," says Mr. Kelly, severely. "But to continue Anything wrong with you, my dear Olga?" "Nothing!" says Mrs. Bohun, with icy in diguatiou. "Well. In this conservatory my heroine of the bangles found herself; apd here, t as a natural consequence, was found the young man. There was near them u lounge, —bkimpy enough for one, but they found it amply large for two, Curious fact In itself. wasn't it? And t think the young man so fr.r forgot himself as to begin to make violent— :tml jit*t .is he was about to emh the yoinu woman, whose name was . she very properly, but with somewhat mistaken hast. 1 , moved away from him. and in so do- iiii sot. all her bangles a-tinkling. Into full cry thoy burst, wheivupon the curtain was suddenly drawn back from the drawing- room side, givinsr the people there a full view of the conservatory tint? its—contents! The (JctitiMiicmcHt was full of interest.— positively thrilling! 1 should advise all true lovi-rs of a really good iiovel to oblnin this book from their libraries and discover it for themselves. 3 ' Here Mr. Kelly stops, and looks genially around. "1 think T shall tako to writing reviews," he says, sweetly. "1 like my own style." Ad'eadsiipitc.' follows his "little story," and then Mrs. Herrick lifts her eyes to his. "I wonder Hint you will still be talking, Signor Benedick; nobody marks you," she quotes, wiih a touch of scorn. "l'o« do. my dear Lady Disdain, or pise you would not have, addressed HID that contemptuous remark." "An absurd story, altogether I" says Olga, throwing up her head, a smile lighting her eyes as they meet Kelly's. At her tone, which is more! amused than annoyed, H«- nayne Ids his hand fall into the water close lo hers, mid doubtless finds its cool louch (the water's, 1 mean, of course) very refreshing, as it is fully fivo minutes before ho brings it to tho surface again. "True, nevertheless," says Kelly. "Bolh the principals in my story wore friends of mine. 1. knew- indeed, 1 may safely say 1 'mow--Ilium well." '1 am glad you said wt;rc,'' says Olsra, shaking her blondo head at him. Lord lioss- moync by this time is looking as black as a .liundcr-cloud. "A questionable friend you must be. to ,cll t'llcs out of soluiol," snys Mix ilcrrick. "1 d ; 'l'y any one to say I have told any- ihing." snys Kelly, with much-injured In- inct'iice. '"Hut 1 am quite prepared to hear ny actions, as usual, grossly maligned. I im accost' mud to it now. The bum lit of lie doubt is not for me." "The.nvisn'1 a doubt," says Hurmia. "(Jo on. i must try to bear it,"—meekly. I know 1 am considered incapable of a pure motive." "Was it you drew back the curtain?" "Well, really, yes, I believe it; was. I ivnntcd my friend, you sec, and 1 knew I should Hud him with the bangles, i'cs; it was I drew the curtain." Must what 1 should have expected from you," says Mrs. Ho,rriel\. "Ah! Thank you 1 Now at last you are beginning to see things in their true light, and to take my part," says Mr. Kelly, with exaggerated gratitude. "Now, indeed, I feel 1 have not lived in vain! You' have, though at a late hour, recognized-the extraordinary promptitude that characterizes my every action. While another might have b.-en hesitating, I am seldom to be found wanting. 1 may, indeed, always bo discovered just where " 'You aren't wanting," interrupts Sirs. Herrick, with a sudden smile. 'How can Uiut be," says Kelly, with reproachful sadness, "when lam generally to bo found near you?" At this Hermia gives in, and breaks into a low soft laugh. "But I wish you had not told that story pC Olga and Mr. Konaync," she says, in awhis- por, and with some regret. "You saw how badly Itossiiioyne took it." "That is partly why I told it. I think you are wrong in trying to make that marriage; she would be happier with llonayne." "Fur a month or two, perhaps." "Oh, make it.f/uw," says Kelly, satirically. "Surely the little winged god lias so much staying power." "A few weeks ago you told me you did not believe in him at all." "1 have changed all'that." "Ah! i/oii can be, licklo too." "A man is not necessarily fickle because when lie, discovers the. only true good ho leaves the bad and-presses .toward it. 1 think, too, Ids mentor," in a lowered tone, "should be the last to misjudge him." "Notliimt is so lasting at least, as riches," says Mrs. derrick, 1 with a chastened but unmistakable desire to change liis mood. "Olga with unlimited means and an undeniable place in the world of society would be a happier Olga than as the wife of a country gentleman." . . • , . -. "I don't agree with you; but you know b.-st— iiorliH-jis. You speak your own-sentiments, of course. A title is indispensable to you too, ttS'Well as to her?" llis'tone is half a question^ . ' "It counts," she says, slowly, trifling with (inn, though sleniier fingers with the grasses that are growing in the interstices of the marble. '•-..."Pshaw J" says Kelly. Rising with a vehemence, foreign to him, ho crosses to w here Ulic Ronayne is standing alone. will CIIACTJJIl XXI. "Why so palu and wan, fond lover?" ho says, lightly, laying his hand on Ulie's shoulder. The latter turns to him with a bright smile that renders his handsome face quite beautiful. Hoeing its charm, Kelly asks himself, in half-angry fashion, how Olga can possibly hesitate for one moment between him and Kossmoyne. "But they are nil alike heartless," ho decides, bitterly. "I am feeling neither pale nor wan," says llonayne, still smiling. "It must bo the moon, if anything. Look hero, Kelly, something to-night has told me that it will all come right in the end. I shall gain her against the heaviest odds." "If you mean Kossmoyne, he's the heaviest mortal i know," says Kelly. "Well, lie •Isn't suited to her, is he?" There is a strange excitement in llouayno's manner. "Putting me out of tho question altogether, I don't believe he could make her happy. If I thought lie could, of course I should go away somewhere, and find contentment lu the though^ of her; but——you don't think she would do well to marry him, do you Kelly?" He lias controlled his features to an almost marvelous calm, but the agony of his question in his eyes cannot be hid. "I think the woman who could even licsi- tale between yon and him must bo a fool, and worse," says Keily v whose temper is not his own to-night. "IK; is a pedantic, ass, more in love, with himself than he can ever be with anything else. While you Look here, Konayne; i wonder if any woman is worth It." "Oh, she is," says Ronayne, with lender .conviction. "I don't think she is at all like other people; do yon? There's something different—something special—about her." "I dare, say," says Kelly, gently, which is rather good of him, considering his frame of mind. "You're an awfully kind sort of fellow, Kelly, do you know?" says Ronayne, slipping his arm through''his. '"You, are tha only one 1 ever talk to about Imr. And I suppose 1-mitst bore you, though you don't say it. It's the most generous thing I know, your sympathizing with me as you do. If you were in love yourself, I could understand it. But yon are not, yon know." "Oil,-'no; of course not," says Mr. K''lly. , "Is that your guitar, Mrs, Bohun? I wish you would sing us something," says Miss Browne at this moment. "I don't sing much,—and never out of doors; it hurt* my throat so." says smiling nt her; "but- if any one else fiinj.'. I will gladly pluy to Cioiii." "Mr. Honayno,— \Ilic- ci'iuo bore," says Moiii-n, half 'shyly, but very sweetly. "Yon can sins;, I know." "Yes, come here." says Olsra, tuinina to him. inn! away from Loi-d lios-moyne, who is talking to licr in low, short, iingry tunes. l!ut the latter, laying his hand on her arm, half compels her to turn to him again. "Let some one else accompany him If he must sing." \\c says; "dnj/ one but you." "No one else cull." "1 object to your doing it." "Yon won't when yon hear him; he sinirs so sweetly," withtho prettiest, most enthusiastic smile. "You really should hour him." "Yon prrsist. then? you compel me to believe the worst, -to ivaard you asimplicaled in that story of Kelly's?" "1 compel you to nothing. And as for tho story, I thought it very amusing; didn't yon?" "AW says iJossnioyno, with subdued fury. ' "Do you know, I often said you lacked humor?" says Mrs. Bohnn, with a lltile airy laugh; "and now 1 am sure oC it. I thought it intensely comic; such a situation! 1 should like to have seen your face when Un- curtain was drawn, if |/oit had been (hi; young man." "1 in list beg you (o Understand that such a situation would b ' iiii}>:iKKthJr, lo me.'' "I am lo understand, then, I hat ynn would not Vmb - ' that, was what he said, wasn't it?— a woman if you loved her?" "Not without permission, certainly," very stillly, "Oil, dear!' 1 says Olga; "what a stupid maul Well, I shouldn't Ihink you would do it tiflrn. And so you wouldn't have liked to be that particular young man?" This is ii poser; Lord Rassmoyno parries the thrust. "Would )/i)i/. have Ilkcii to bo Hint young woman, — who, us it appears tome, wasn't at all particular?" he asks, In turn. "That is no answer to my question," says Olga, who is angry with his last remark'. "Are yon afraid to say what, you mean?" "Afraid! N". To give publicity to a thing menus always to vulgarize it; (hero fore, on consideration, 1 should not have cared to bo that young miin." "A hi I should have thought otherwise," says Olga, in an Indescribable tone. "Well, there must be, consolation for you inihe thought that you never can be. Mr. Ko- nayno," calling to TJlic lightly, "are you coining, or must I sit lingering my lyre in vain?" Ulic, coming slowly up to her, stands bo- fildc her, as she, scats herself again upon the marble edge of the fountain, and runs her lingers gracefully over its strings, His voice, a rich' sweet tenor, breaks upon the air, blends with the beauty of the night, and sinks into it until all seems one great harmony. "'Tis 1" is the song ho lias chosen, and a wonderful pathos that borders on despair enriches every note. He has forgotten every one but her, the pretty daiiitycreaturo who holds his heart in tho hollow of her small hand. She must, hear the melancholy that is desolating and thereby perfecting his voice; but, if so, she gives no sign. Once only her lingers tremble, but she corrects herself almost before her error is committed, and never after gives way to even tho faintest suspicion of feeling. Through the glade the music swells and throbs. Mary Browne, drawing instinctively nearer, seems lost lulls enchantment. Monica, looking up with eyes full of tears into Desmond's face, finds his eyes lixed on her, and, with a soft, childish desire for sympathy, slips her hand unseen into his. How gladly he takes and holds it need not hero bu told. To be continued. _ A HINDOO VILLAOK. A wornsn to the holy father wont, Confessed of her «= in* was her intent: Anil so hor misdemeanors, croat find small, flie fnlthfnliy to him rehearsed thorn all. And chiofosi tn her catalogue of sin. She owned thnt she a talebearer hart boon, And hnro ablt of sounds! up nml down To all the long-tongued gossips In tho town. The holy father for hor other fin* (Granted the absolution asked of him; lint while fur the root her pardon gave, l!o told her line ollonso was very grave, And that to ilo fit penance she mnst i»o Out by thi> wayside, whero Iho thistles grow, And Catherine the InrgeM, ripest one, Scatter it* seeds; and 'ihr.l when tills was done, She must come back another din- To tell him hie commands die did obey. The woman thinking tills a penance light, Hastened to do his will that very nlqht, Koollniz rich! glad sho h:id escaped so well. Next tiny Tint one she wont Iho. priest to tell; Tho priest snt still, and heard her story through, Then said: "Thoro's something Mill for you to ilo; Those little, thistle seeds which you have sown, 1 bid you re-Kather every one." The n-iininn said: "Iliil, fnllu'r, 'liioiild li« vain Novel Manner in Which India Will bo ReprtHonted at Clilcii|;<>. Henry Ballentine, United States consul at Bombay, and special commissioner to India for the World's Columbian exposition, who has sailed for India, is accompanied by his wife and familj, end has made arrangements with the world's fair officials for bringing an entire E.isL Indian village to Chicago in 180H. Mrs. Ballentine has been appointed as special commissioner for the woman's department, and will aid her husband. MTU. Ballcntine was seen, and in the nbtonce of her husband gave an interesting account, of the novel niimner in which hidiu in to bo represented <tt tho world's fair. Mr. Ballmi- tine was born in India of American parents, who were missionaries.. The attempt to induce high caste Hindoos to cross the "kali paid," or dark waters, Inn ouly once been Buccessful. At tije exhibition at South Kensington, London, in 1888, an East Indian village was a most attractive exhibit, and tho English government appropriated $250,000 for the expenses of this feature of the exhibition. Mrs. Balleiitine, in speakintr of thip, said: "Thi's fur no one bun been so bold as to contemplate the brinsnnsr of the .high caste Mahometan and Hindoo women out of India. $!o one in this country has any idea of the seclusion to which the Mahom- etan women, especially those of high caste, nre subject, No ma'n is allowed to look upon their faces or to speak to them until hb who ia to be their future lord and master secures that privilege. Owing to my husband's influence with the East Indians and my knowledge of the language and medicine, which lias enabled me to enter the harems und nenanas of all castes, their scruples have been overcome, and nothing now prevents the complete representation cf every class of India at the exposition. We will have a laiire place in which to put our several hundred people. A long street will run through tho village, at the ends of which will bo a Mahometan mosque and a Hindoo temple. The buildings will represent all classes of tho architecture of the country. All manner of merchandise will be displayed by genuine East Indian merchants. East Indian artists and gold workers will show their wonderful handiwork. The women who have been allowed by their husbands and fathers to come will have an experience which they could never hope to have in their own country. I have also got permission to allow the women to unveil after they leave Bombay. I will allow them to be seen by every one in this country, and it will be like the opening of a new world to them. The commercial effect of the exhibit will, I believe, be very great. It will in the end be the means, 1 hope, of establishing important commercial relations directly between the two countries. All trade which has hitherto existed between India and the United States has been through English channels," To try to gather np those seeds nh«ui, Tho w mls|have scattered them far and wide. Over I ho mi.fidoivoil vale mid mountain side " The father answered: "Now I hope that this Tho lesson I havo tauj-hl you will not miss; Von can not pat her back (tie scattered seeds Whlrh tar and wide will crow U noxious weeds; 7<or win the mischief once by scandal sown lly any penance be again undone.." — The Uo*tii>, Travel of Thunderstorms. The rate of travel of thunderstorms has been studied by Herr Schronrock from the record of ] 97 such storms in Russia in 1888. The velocity i« found to have varied from thirteen to fifty niilea an hour, with a mean of 28.6 miles un hour in the hot season, uud increasing to thirty-two miles an hour in the cold Edward Cimmpemty, a pioneer, di«d at Sussex, aged 75 years, ___ ,_._ i^_, so AS nY KIRK Florence II, llnllowell, "1 declare," said Alngfri" l/ino, as she looked up from Die pens slit! was tthullini;, and saw a girl of about her own ugo coming down the road. "There's th.it Mag- IJDWO with u ilrofM im jitsfc like my Sunday 9m 1 , mother." '"'.'I'lio enough," siiid Mrs, Icino, leaving her bnv.ul-nmking to http to tho door iiiul sou fi>r herself. "One would think von two wcro twins. That's tho trouble of living in a small town like this. One can't by a yard of uolico without every nonl knowing it." 'And tluwo Inwos 1 wiid'h oil!, for what we got," said 'Maggie, "and Ihey dress their Maggie liko me n purpose to vox us.' 1 "I wish to goodness they'd move out of tho town," said Mrs. Lane. "1 wonder, now, how t'wiiH Sarah Lowe and 1 wore such friends. We used to bo miserable if we didn't HCIO each oilier uvcrv day; and now wo pass bv without speaking if we over meet." "i wish you hadn't mimed me the 8.11110 as her girl," said Miiggii-. "VWrcabont evni in everything. Mother, siiu'a got her hands full of pond lillieH—do como and sen." "Tukin 1 'em homo lo Angle, most likely,"said Mr. Liino. "That's one thing in whi.'h we aint oven, thank goodness! there's no cripple in our fnmily.V "But they set great store by Angip," said Maggie, going on with tho shelling of tho peas HH thy other Maggie passed out of sight. "I hoard Mr. Lowe say oi.o day that she was the angel of his house." "No one contends but that her dispoai- tion's^ Eood enough," said Mrs. Lino. "But it's a big sorrow to Imvn a crippled child." "Mayn't I go after pond lilies when ] get through those pe.tHr 1 asked Mnggie. "I'dlike to put them 'round in Ilio vases, mother.' 1 Yos, you can go," said Mrs. L-.ir.o, "bnt don't, fall in the water." "No danger of that," said Maggie, "and I'll bring homo more lilies than Maggie Lane ever thought of getting." She hurried through bur vvork and then started out for the pond, which was about a mile away. She found that she could not reach the lilies from the shore; so she stepped upon a sniad ridt which lay tied to u trco, and with a stick, succeeded in breaking off the fragrant blooms. Slio was about to pull them within hor reach, when suddenly the raft which -was a frail, hnlf-m>iue affair parted beneath her feet, and she was precipitated into the water. And she rose after her plunge, she hud the sense to ficiy.e the ruft, but she could not, swim, and 'would undoubtedly have drowned had not a gentleman driving on the road a few yards away, heard Imr scroauiH and como to her assistance. Ho sprung upon the raft, and after some difli- cully Buuccoded in dragging tho frightened girl to lliu shore. "Oh, how good you are!" cried Maggie, when slip could stop crying long enough to speak. "1 tihould have drowned it' yon hud not come." "Certainly," Haid the gentleman. "It was very fortunate that 1 happened to bo passing." "How can 1 ever thank you,.sir?" said Maggie. "Show your gratitude by doing as much for some one elm» in a liko danger," niifawcred tho gentleman. "Jlumembnr mo whon the chance comes. Do you promise 1 ! 1 " "Oh, yes, sir," said Maggie. "But J shall never bo able to savo any OIIO'H life," "Probably not; but you may do Borne one a great favor, Don't neglect any op portunity to help your follow-creaturoH, Andnov»,let mo drive you home. You will catch cold in (hose wut clothen." Mrs, Lane was very much frightened when she saw Maguio come into the kitchen HO palo und wet, She put her right to bed, and made her drink a largo cup of tea. She listened to an account ol the accident, and decided that the gentle man was very odd. "He was making sport of you,'Maggie," uho said. "Oh, no," said Maggie, "I am sure ho meant every word, He spoko BO earnest, and looked so sober. Bur, of course I'll never have a chance to pull any one out ol the pond." "I've a chance for you to earn some money, though," said Mrs. Lime, and 1 know you'll be glad to do it, for your father's close pushed now und IUB wages have beoi cut down. Ann Snow was here, and she says they want a few more pickers at tho paper-mill. It aint clean work. She says there's plenty of dust to get down your throat and up your noaeand into your eats but you can make four or live dollars « week if you'r« smart, and that would bo a great, help, Maggie." "It's sorting rags, 1 s'poso." "Yes, that's it, answered her mother. The next morning found Maggie at the mill, equipped for dusty laber. She was received kindly and shown at once to the room in which her duties were to lie. To her surprise Maggie Lowe wan there, already busy over tho rags. She, too, had heard that hands were wanted at the mill and had been even earlier than Muggii Lane in applying for work. Of course the girls did not speak to each other, but they exchanged looks of hatred, and took care that thoir seats were as far apart as pos eible. The paper mil) was composed of thre< buildings, the main section, in which wat the office of the superintendent, the ma chine room, the pulp vats and the bleach ing tubs were built of bricks. Attached tc it was a flat-footed wooden building, tw stories hif?h. In the lower story werS- stored bags of raps, jnst ai they were bought, W.iek ami white, linen, silk, And cotton mixed together, In the upper story they were stored, anil then taken to the main building to undergo the process of blenching. About twenty girls were usually omployed in tho sorting : roorn, but an unusual press of work had necessitated the employment of fivo more, and the two Mngpies had been fortunate enough to ae- tiro places. 0Two weeks passe.', by, and the two girls remained us far apart na ever. The fend letwoen the two families was not ealod by the nnf.irced association of two f its members for eight, hours a lay. Occasionally Anglo came to tho nill, bringing lu-r sister's lunch. She ilwnys nodded sh.\ly to Maggie Line. mil perhaps would have spoken had lot her sister givon her so fierce a look of warning. One morning, however, Magyio [.owe lid not. appear. Angie came in her stead, iij-ing to the overseer that her sister was ick, and (hat sho would take her place. Jin- understood tho work very '.veil, huv- ng watched thn sorters for hours at a time, mil sho began on her bag of rags without Icliiy. H proved iv very oviMil ful dny. In tho logiittttng of itsoinu of tho machinery got 10 much out of order that all the bands >x:opt thorn; in the .sorting-room worn dis- nit-sod, and nl. noon Miiirgio and Ain/ie voro flio only one,< left in I ho room, tho thins having gone elHewhero to oat their linner. Moth Maggie and Angin lived too ar from tho mill t'i go horn > at noon, nnd u'ither could afford to patroniw tlio cheap ostaunints in Iho next Htreot, us tlie ma- ority of the girls did. l!oth opened their tin pails and bogfin o draw out tho bnM.I and cold moat their notltors hud provided for thoiii, and atp n silence nnl.il nearly nil was disposed of, vhon Midilrnly the cry of "Kiro? \van aisod outsido. M ittrgio sprung to her feo* (o lind the oom beginning to lill with smoko, which vas uoming nji through tlio chinks in the loor. An ncculimt not, at all uncommon n paper mills, hiul occurred. A ling of iotton waslo had luirst into llnnies, and ho storo-rnom bonenth WIIH n fiirnnoo of iro. \Vith 11 loud cry of terror Maggie usluHl into the niae.lnnc ronni. Hut nu'.l- lonty sho stopped, recollecting hor helpers companion. Poor crippled Anglo, the iest loved child of her father's 3nomy, \\r. Lowo, wus behind her. waiting for tenth. And, Htrnngoty enough, liko a liish of lightt'ning recurred lo Maggie tho trango words spoken by tho man who nid pulled hor out of tho water two wcekn Kifore. not this u "liko dangor'r 1 " Mud sho lot promised to tticy.o any opportunity of- "orod to repay him IIH ho had nxkod, to how her gratitudeV No, who must not oavo Angio there to dip nlcnc, and yet how ,onld slio save horV There was no time to bo lost. The Buiokn threiitoiibd ( tn suffopato hem both. Buck to tho turrifiod Augio ihe ran, and sciMil her in her arum. Hard work and out-door oxorciso had made her nut-ciilar and sho boro tho cripple easily. Jut by tho timo »ho rouched tho door of ho machine room tho flames were bursting .hrough tho flooring at her feet, and sho was obliged lo Volroat, Sho ran to tho windows, but could see nothing, HO thickly lid tho black nmoko roll up outside. No ?8cnpo; they worn walled in on ovpryside. I'Lio hinoko in tho room wiw so thick that ,hoy could scarcely breathe. Maggie WIIH about to sink (low in doa- pair to await tlio terribln iato \vhich was •usliiiip upon them, whoti who happened ;o think of a shod below ono of tho win- low's, in which tiilw un-1 cools wore kopt. She could hoar tho shouts of the people in tlm Htreotn, tlio ringinir of tho bells Oil iho rapidly approaching enginca, but iilao :lnjy would .como to Into too aid hor. Itight and left tho Hinoko was rising in louse, voluimis; she could not sou the roof of tho shed, but nlio knew that tlu'r.' lay icr only chanco of o:-otii)0, Sho know that iho could drop easily withouf, injury; but it would not bo so with Annie. Tho crip- could scarcely osoiipo hurting horsolf. uadly. ]\higgio ruslicd tolhohiigs. "JIolp me make •> ropo, Annie," sho cried. "Quick, ciuiclc." With thu aid of thoir scissors they divided tho hags into long strips, and Maggie's nimblo linger.? knotted thorn Legolhor. wliilo sho explained lier plan to Lho cripplo. Sho fasloncd tlio improvised ropo about Anglo's waist, and bore her to tho window. In a moment Angio had doHoonded safely to tlio roof bolow. As sho reached it nho wiis Hooii by the doino and anxious crowd bolow, among which wr.ro Mr. Lowo and Mr. Lane. "Como on Maggie," cried Angio, looking up. Hut no ::nswer ciimo, Maggie's strentli had become exhausted. Suffocated by tho firnoke sho hui) fallen by tho window insensible. A ladder was run up to tho roof of the shed, and in a moment Angio had explained to Iho blackened fireman tho atate of affairs. Another ladder wont up ,in .a twinkling, and in another moment Maggio was being carried down to where hor half crazed father, wailed for her. You may bo Hiiro that a cheer wont up as be clasped hor in his arms, >md many a woman "s eyos were wet as they saw how white was tho face, how death-like, which rested on Mr, Luno's brost. That, evoning the Lanes wero all at tea, as calmly as is nothing had happened. Maggie lay on the sofa with u waiter be side her, and was tolling how Angle had clung to her, when there was a knock at tho door. "(Jomo in," said Mrs, Lane. To the surprise of all in the room Mr. Lowe, his wit'e and his daughter Maggie entered. "Neighbor," said Mr. Lowo, "we've boon at loggerheads these twelve years or more'. I won't say who was right in the matter or who was wrong, but only this: If. you'ro so minded, we'll strike hands here, and end the matter." "There's my hand, neighbor," said Mr. Lane, ''and it shan't bo my fault if wo fall out again. "Sarah!" said Mrs. Lane. "Susan!" cried Mrs. Lowe. And then the two women threw their arms around each other and began to cry for very joy. "I've always loved you," said Mrs. Lane. "And tlure hasn't been a day I haven't wished wo were friends, Susan," said Mrs. Lowe. Meanwhile the two Maggibs were also making up past differences. So ended the fend between the two families, and it was never opened again. The o|(l intimuey was resumed, and"the flre .at the paper mill brought a blessing to both families.—Exchange. Senator Allison opened the republican campaign at Cherokee, Iowa, with ft three hours speech o» toe tariff, silver, bition and Gov. Boies.

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