The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on September 30, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, September 30, 1891
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THE UPPER BES MOINES, ALGQ^AaoWA, WEDNESDAY. SEPTENBER 80, 1891, A TALK ABOUT MASTODONS. Why Complete Skeleton* Ate Not at the Pre*ent l)ay. A Rochester Post Express reporter bad -safinteresting talk with Professor Ward tftthe subject of mastodon remains just discovered at Oakfield. "A man carne to toe yesterday," said be, "and showed me a rib which he said he had dug up. It as certainly a mastodon rib. He said ,_B wai going to dig for the rest of it but I doubt if he finds very much more, ""lou can easily see how this might be. uppose an ox gets stuck in the mud and :flies, wolves tear the flesh and gnaw the "benesj perhaps a sktink will carfy some of the smaller ones into bis hole, Bones decompose. If there is a flood they become scattered. So, you see, before < time has dug a grave in which the remains of an imaginary ox may rent undisturbed for ages chance has scattered them far and wide. So it is with the fossil remains of the mastodon and mammoth, and the man who finds one bone of the animal and digs for the rest, is very apt to be disappointed. There is hardly a country in the. United States; west of New England, where remains of mastodons have not been found nt one time or another. The country was full of them. I believe that 'a mastodon tooth was found in this city some twenty years ago, and several bones were found near the Crighton lock. The mammoth bore about the same relation to the mastodon the Indian elephant does to the African. Mastodons weie more numerous in this country, and mammoths in Europe and Asia. Tons of mastodons' ivory are found in the north, und sent to England, •where they are turned into billiard-balls and other articles'of ivory in which a pure color is of no importance, as the ivory is usually slained by time, though ether- ise perfect. I have here," continued Prof. Ward, e skull nnd upper jaw of a baby mastodon, which, as you s>ee, is very perfect. The teeth are milk teeth, and you can see one of the second teeth imbedded in the ppei' jaw. The teeth formed tit the J rear,'and wero pushed forward. I say._a baby mastodon, and BO it was; but it was as large as the largest ox to be seen at a county fair. Under the upper layer of the skull you see this sort of honeycomb of bone. You know enough of anatomy to remember that the human ekull is composed of an upper and under layer of hard bone, with softer bone between. Tho human head does not require to be large to be in proportion to the body, and a, caput, just large enough to hold the brain is all that is required. An elephant, mastodon or mammoth does not require a largo brain, but they all need a missive head. Here you have the upper and under layer as in the human skull.'but the porous bone between is magnified enormously. Tt is nearly a foot in thickness in some of the larger specimens. I remember, when I was on the coaet of Africa, seeing what I supposed to be an enormous hornets' nest. The natives told me that it was the head of an elephant, which they had killed three or four years previous. The upper layer .of the skull had been shelled off, leaving the middle honey-comb of bone exposed to view. It was some time before I could bring myself to believe that it was really an elephant's skull. Pi of. Ward showed his visitor his collection of mammoth and mastodon bones. He .has nearly enough, of different sizes, to re- Instruct an entire animal, but, of course, Jbhe variation in size would prevent this. \fa-ia much more satisfactory, in the results obtained, to take these specimens for models and reconstruct a skeleton, from wood. "I suppose," said the" reporter, after a prolonged inspection of these many curiosities—"I suppose that human eyii*fi never saw the8G"w4nderful animals which roamed over the country in such Vast numbers so long ago." "You are mistaken," said Prof. Ward, "though your mistake has been that of the world of science until recently. Bones ot the-mastodon have been found split open in such a way that tlw object of breaking them was evident. It was to obtain the marrow within. But more: The stone head of u hatchet, with which the work had been done, was found near by. Now, there are no animals which use stone hatchets to break up bones. The hatchet head was once an implement of some primeval warrior. A shoulderblade of the mastodon, a bone comparatively thin, has been found pierced, as by a spear, and the spear head had been found with it. The spear was evidentally thrust in and withdrawn from the body of the animal, and when it was withdrawn its head was probably torn off. Monkeys don't carry spears. But, though these evidences are convincing enough, they are not the best proof we have that man existed in the days of the ?cammoth and the mastodon, and has survived them both. Antiquarians who have spent so much time in an endeavor to discover the meaning of tbe mounds erected by the mound-builders have made one thing certain. Many ot the mounds were constructed in the shape of aninials and birds. There, on the wall, hang a number of fac- similes of these mounds. They were .prepared by a member of the Milwaukee Historical society. There is one which evidently represents a hawk, or some similar bird of prey, with outstretched wings; and there is another, which evidently por- tiays some squirrel-like'animal, with'a remarkably long tail; and here you have as perfect a representation of an elephant-like animal as could well be contrived. Now, had the mound-builders tyeen learned in comparative anatomy as we are, and had they reconstructed a mastodon, as we have, they could never have understood the meaning of the cavity in the skull, which indicates to us that the animal had a trunk. We could n^verhave done that had we not seen the elephant; No, the mound-builders saw the mastodons before they became extinct. They hunted them, and, perhaps, were practically instrumental in their ex- teruii nation. "There is a mound in Ohio half a mile long," continued Prof. Ward, "which is a perfect representation of a serpent, head and all- The mound, and a portion of the surrounding country, have been purchased by Mrs. Hemingway, of Boston, and been laid out as a public park. . In that box— I'm sorry it hasn't been opened yet, or I would show it to you—is a mode), frpra which we are to construct a raised map of the mound'and tbe country surrounding it. This map will be very elaborate, and will be exhibited at the world's fair in Chicago." THE PHtlVISIIES. Afternoon ATlth tlie Walling;" aud Howling; Pervlglieg. We had sj °nt the morning at Scutari, where 1 had been painting an old mosque. It was howling-dervish day—it comes but once u week, the howl beginning at 8 p. m. precisely—an hour to watoh their curious service. Thus it was that Dreco Yapouly Isaacs preceded me up a eteep hill paved wilh bowlders, entered the low door of the lekke "(Souse) oMho dtervishrs, and motioned me to a peat in a small open court sheltered by an arbor coveted with vims. Five franc?, and we passed the hanging curtain covering (heentrance, and stepped inside a square low-ceiled room hung with tambourines-, cymbals, arms and banners, and surrounded on three sides by an aisle. The howlers—there were at least a dozen—were standing in a straight row on the floor, like a class at school, facing their master, an old, long-bearded priest squatting on a mat stretched before the low alcove altar. As we entered, they wero wagging their heads in unison, keeping time to a" chant monotoned by the old priest. 'I bey were of all ages: fat and lean, shlooth-shaven and bearded; some in rich garments, others in more sombre and cheaper stuffs. One face cut itself into my memory— that of a handsome, clear-sk ntied young man, with deep_intensee eyes that fairly flamed, and 8 sinewy, graceful body. On one of his delicate,' lady white hands was a large turquoise ring. Yapouly whispered to me that he was the son of tho high prist, and would succeed his father when the old man died. The chant continued, rising in volume and intensity, and a Nubian in white handed each man a black ecull-cap. The-e they drew tightly over their vcfspiring heads. The movement, which hud begun with the slow rolling of their heads,; now extended to their bodies. They writhed and twisted as if in-agony, lika a fow of black-cupped felons standing on an invisible gallows, swinging from unseen ropes. Suddenly there darted out upon tho mats a boy scarce ten years of age, spinning like a top in front of the priest, his skirts level with his hands. The chant now broke into a wail, the audience joining in. The howla were deafening. The twelve were knocking their heads in a wild frenzyj groaning in long, subdued moans, ending in a peculiar "hough," liko the sound of a dozen distant locomotives tugging up a stop grade. "Allah hou! 'Allah hou! Allah hou!"— the lust word expelled with a jerk. A dozen little children wtre no\v handed over the rail to the Nubian, who took them in his arms and laid them in a row, (heir faces flattened to the mats. The old priest advanced within a step of the first chili], his lips moving in prayer. Fapouly Isaac leaned over and whispered, "Seel now he will bless them." I rained myself to my feet to see the better. The old priest balanced himself for a moment, stepped firmly upon the first child, his bare feet sinking into its soft, yielding flesh, and then walked deliberately across the lino of prostrate children. As lie passed, each little tot raised its head, waited until the last child had been trampled; then sprang up, kissed the old priest's robe, and ran laughing from the room. •The dervishes were now in the last stages of exhausted frenzy. The once handsone young priest was ghastly, frothing at the mouth, only the white of bis eyes visible, his voice thick, his breath almost gone. The others were drooping, with knees bent, hardlj able to stand. Suddenly the priest turned his back, prostrated himself before the altar, and prayed'silently. The whirling child, who for half an hour had not stopped, sank to the door. The line of devishes grew still, one by one tottered along the floor, clutched at the hanging curtain, and passed into the sunlight, ( I forced jay- wa y along the closely_packed aisle, and pushed into the open air, impelled by a wild desire to render some assistance. The sight that uiofc ray eye staggered me. My breath stopped short. In the midst of the court stood the Nubian serving coffee, the howlers crow ding about him, clamoring for cups, and panting for breath like a team of 'ithlete.s in from a foot-race. I looked'for my young priest with the turquoise ring. He was sitting on a bench, rolling a cigarette, his face wreathed with smiles!—P. Hopkinson $mith, in Harper's Magazine. THE DOG AXl) THIS CHURN. The Attempts of a DOR *•» Shirk TTla Duty and How lie Succeeded. "Churn-dog" storks are always in order, says Forest and Stream. A city man who used to live on a farm, us so many city men did when they were boys, sends us this: "At homo on the farm we had a number of cows, so many that churning was too heavy a task for even the men folks, so Mr. L. rigged up a dog churn, an inclined wheel, a sort of a canine treadmill. It became the duty of Ponto, a large white mastiff, to trend that monotonous cycle, and notwithstanding the toothsome bit of meat that was fastened on a lath within four inches of hie nose, hd was not at: all proud of his position and refponsibility. He made sev_6ral attempts to shirk his task, and twice succeeded. He got to know when chilrningr day canw around as well as any one in the house. "On the morning of that day he would loiter about the kitchen door until he was fed, and as soon as he heard the note of preparation—th<5 bringing of the cream jugs, preparing the churn, etc.—he would put for the woods and would not be seen again until night. The day of churning was changed, and next morning a more crestfallen and astonished dog was never seen when he was collared and harnessed to the beam which set the dash in motion; he looked positively ^foolish. He did his work, but -ftith lowered head, and in cogitation evidently. On another occasion Tie tried, another dodge.' When they were about'to put hini in the wheel he ran up to his mistress/holding up one paw, affecting to bu lame. She thought much of the dog, and was inclined to let him off that day. The next instant he was seen charging over a high fence afer a neighbor's cat. 'Well, said the old lady, 'if he can go after a cat like that he is able to churn.' And he did, and never tried to shirk his work again." "Whatis it, little girl?" said a Dearborn street grocer to a five-year-old miss, w> h_e leaned over the counter. Little girl—"Mamma sent me for a lamp chimney, and she hopes it will be as strong as that last butter you sent us." Uncle Josh-"What's that thing?" City Nephew—"That's a sprinkling cart." Uncle Josh—"It don't seem to be sprinklin' much." City Nephew—"Wait till it gets to a crossing. Statistics show the American to be the greatest traveler. The record of railway trips taken by each nationality give* the following proportion: Americans, 27; English, 19; Belgian, U; French, 5; Turks, Swiss and Italians, I each. MONICA. A STORY OF THESE TIMES. CHAl'TBR XXlt. Monica's week at Airliyoliillbei,' is dnuy- Ins to a close. .The day has dawned that is to usher in tit even (he. famous representation ot 'The School for Scandal,'' ns given by Miss Fitzgerald, C'aplaih Cobbett. etc. The whole house is lop^y-tiuvy, no room bolus; sacred from the actors and actresses (save the innrkl), and all the servants ore nt their wits' end. There^ have, been mm down from tho Gaiety Theater, Dublin, who have seen about the sta-re, ntid thero have been other iiinn from the village, of Hossmnyne to help In the decoration of the bail-room, nnd between theso two different sets of men an Incessant war has been rftsring for many days. Now at last the house Is comparatively quiet, and, as fonr o'clock strikes, Madame O Connor finds herself in her own special den (the only spot that has not beendisttirb- ed) with a tea-equipage before her, and all her Indies in-wuitiiig round her. These Indies, for tho most part, are looking full of suppressed excitement, and tiro in excellent spirits nnd Irreproachable ten- gowns. Mary Browne, who has developed into a general favorite, is making some laughing remark about Lord Hossmoyno, who, with all the other men, Is nbsoiit. "D'ye know what it is, Mury?" says Mad- nine O'Connor, in her unchecked broaue; "you might do something else with Hoss- moyno besides milking game of him." "VVhatV" says Mary U row lie. "Marry him, to bo sure. A young \vommi llkn you, with more money .than >ou know \vlnit to do \villi, ought, to linvo a protector. Faith you needn't laugh, for it's only common sense I'm talking. Tenants, iind.llio. new laws, will play (ho misc.hi.-f. with your BO ft heart and your estate, it' yon don't get some one to look after them both." "Well?" says Mary Browne. "Well, there's linssmoync, as Isalrl before, actually going a begging for a wife. Why not lake him'."' "I don't euro about beggars, 1 ' says Miss Browne, with u slight smile. "I am not ono Of those who think thuni picturesque." "Ho isn't a beggar in any other SLMISO than the one 1 have mentioned. Ho is a very good match. Think of it, now." "1 am thinking. Indued, over sincu mj first-day hero i liuvo Itoe.n thinking how deeply attached ho is to Mrs. Bolinn. Forgive me, Mrs. Unliim." Olgu laughs lightly. Thero Is something abi.ut this plain girl that ropels the idea of offense. "What on earth put that idea into your head?" says tlv.i hostess,, opening her eyes, who talks too much both in season and out of it, to be able to KOO all tho by-play going on around her. "Yon aren't setting your cap at him, arc yon, Olga my dear?' 1 "Indeed, no," says Ulgu, still laughing. "How conlil so absurd a notion have got into anybody's head?" "How, Indeed?" snys Monica, gnyly. "There's Owen Kelly, then; though ho isn't as well off as Kossinoyne, still ho will be, worth looking after by and by, when the old niitn drops off. Ho's as good-hearted <t follow as ever lived, when you know what he's nt,—which isu'tofton, to do him justice. It struck me ho was very civil to you last night." "He was," says Miss Brown;!, whoso merriment is on the Increase. "But I never met any ono who wasn't civil to mo; so I found himconuDonphi'Jo enough. Ah! if ho had only been uncivil, now 1" "Well, there ho is, at all events, 1 ' says Madame O'Connor, seiitentiously. "I hope ho's comfortable," says Mi-8 Browno, kindly. "I sliu'ii't nnkohim less so, at least. Why don't you recommend Mr. Desmond or Mr. liouayne to my notice?" with a mischievous glance at and Olgn. Wohuui '•I'm afraid they avc, done for," says Madame, laughing now horaolf. "And I only hope that handsome boy Konayno Isn't laying up sorrow for himself and living inn fool's jwrmlise. Indeed, Olgo, pretty as yon are, I'll bo very angry with yon it I hear yon have been plnyliu? fast uiul looso with him." , . The old lady shakes her head grimly at Mrs. Bolinn, who pretends to be crushed bu- ncath her glance. ' To prevent you ofli-rhvj; inn any more suitors," says Mary Browne, steadily but with n rising blush, "I may as well toll you that 1 am ci.g.iged to bo married." "Good gracious, jny deiir! thun why didn't you say su before?" says Madame.bitting bolt upright und letting her jilnae-ii.lz tali unheeded into lior lap. , . , "I really don't know; but I daresay bo- ' causo you took it for granted 1 wasn't." "Mary," says Mrs. jflerrlck, speaking for the first time, and for the first time, too, calling MissBrowno by her Christian name, "tell I'H all about it." "Yes, do," says Monica, and all tho, women draw their chairs Instinctively a dc-groo closer to tho heroine of the hour, ami be(ray in her a warm interest. After all, \vjiut can equal a really good love-affair? "Go on, my dour," says Madamo O'Cmi- nor, who is always full of life whore ro- nianco is concerned. "1 hope it is a good marriage." "The best In tho world, for me," siiys Mary Browno, simply, "though he hasn't a penny in the world but what ho earns." As she makes this awful confession, she .isn't in the least confused, but smiles bright' ly. "Well, Mary, I must say I wouldn't have believed it of you," says Madamo. "I would," says Monica, hastily laying her hand on one of Mary's. "It Is just liko her. After all, what has money got to do with it? Is ho nice, Mary?" "So nice!" says Mary, who seems quite glnd to talk about him, "and as u?ly as my- solf," witli a little enjoyable laugh, "so wo can't call each other bad names; and his name is Peter, which of course will be considered nnotlierdrawbuck, though I like the name, myself. And wo are very fond of each other,—I have no doubt about that; and that is all, I think." "No, it is not all," says Madamo O'Connor, severely. "May I ask when you mot this young man?" "1 must take the sting out of your tone at onco, O.rtrude,," says her cousin, pleasantly, "by telling yon that wo were engaged long before poor Kicliard died," (Uichard was tliu scampish brother by whoso death she inherited all.) "Then why didn't yo>i marry him?" says Madamo. "1 was going to,—In fact, wo were going to run away," says Miss Browne, with In- tenso enjoyment at tho now remote thought, —"doe-n't it sound absurd?—when—when the no\vs aboul Dick roaohod us, and then 1 could not bring myself to leave my father, no matter how unpleasant; my homo might bo." "What Is he?" asks Olgti, with a friendly desire to know. "A doctor. In rather good practice, too, in Dublin. Ho is very clover," says Mi-sti Browne, telling her sipry so genially, so comfortably, that nil (huir hearts go out to her, and Madame O'Connor grows lost In a reverie about what will bo the handsomest and most suitable thing to give "Peter" as A wedding-present. As she cannot get beyond rt case of dissectiug-kntves, this rever.o Is short. ''Perhaps if you saw some one else yon miirht chance your mind." she s.iys, anew thought entering her bend (of conrs' there won d be. :i diltienlty about offering disseet- imt-knivo.-i to u barrister or a quiet, country gentleman.) "1 have had five proposals this yenr already." says Miss Browno, quietly, "but, if I could be n princess by doing so, I would Hot give up Peter." "Mnry Browm-, come her.- nnd uivti me « kiss," says Miidame O'Connor, with teais in her eyes. "Von niv the best g,rl I know, and I uhvnys said it. 1 only hope your Peter knows the extent of his luck.'' Miss Browne having to leave the room some lew minutes later. Olgu raises herself from the lounging position she has been in, with her hands clasped behind her head, and say*, slowly,— "f don't think she is so plain, after nil." "Neither do 1," s:\ya Monica, eagerly, "there Is something so sweet about her expression." "1 am perfectly certain that man Peter is awfully In love with her," says Mrs. llor- r'.-'.k, solemnly, "and Unit without.theslight- est thought of her money." "What would he think of her money for?" snys Muthinie O'Connor, testily, \vln> had firmly believed him a fortune-hunter only two minutes asro. "Isn't she a Jewel in horse If?" "By the b\e, \vlien> Is our B.illn all this time'."' says .Olsa, suddenly. "It now occurs to mo that of eonrsiMvv havobeeii mlss- )ng her all this lime." "I know," says Monica, mysteriously; "she is iislcc/).—getting herself up for her L;idy 'I'ea/..i'. I was running along the corridor, outside her room, half an hour ago, When her mother came out on tiptoe, nnd Implored me to go gently, lest.I should wake her. 1 ' "Gentle dove,' 1 says Mrs. Herrick. "1 shall go and dance th.> ctw-u.i>i up and down that corridor iliis moment," says Mrs. Holiini, raising to her foot with ffll de- It'rminalion in her eye. "i think you had all belter go to your rooms and get ready for dinner. His pnlu- fully early to-night," s lys Madame, "on account of all this ium>onseot' Olgn's. dressing, mind, as L luvve, told the. men to come us they are. There will he, plenty of that by and by." *•*##** The curtain has risen, has fallen and risen again, and now has descend -d -for (lie. last time. A llnttor—is it rapture or relief?— trembles through the uudbnce. "Tho School for Scandal'' bus come to a timely end I 1 selfishly forbear from giving my readers a lenglheriod account of if, us they (unless any of the Aghyohillbe.g parly takes up this book) have mercl that Is, unfortunately, been debarred by fate from ever witnessing a performance .such as llii.s, that, certainly, without servile llatt; ry. may b;' termed unique. Words (that is, •/»(// words) would fail to give an adequate, idea of it, and so from very modesty I hold my pen. "It was marvelous," says Sir Mfcrk fron!, who Is paying u (lying visit to Lord Uoss- moyne. lie says tiii-s with the. profoundest solemnity, and perhaps a little, iii'.'laucholy. His express'on is decided.y pensive. "It was ind;'od wonderinl," says tho old rector, in perfect good, faith. And womL rl'ul il was indeed. Anything so truly reimtrknble, I may safely declare, was never seen In tills or any oilier generation. Missint/.gerald's Ludy Twi/.le left nothing to be desired, savo pui'hiips iin earlier fall of the curtain, while Captain CnhbeU's Joseph Surface wus beyond praise. This is the strict truth. Hu was indeed the morn hnppy in his representation of the chiiracti r in that he. gave his audience a Joseph they now had seen anil nuvor would sco again on any stage, unless Captain C>.hbelt could kilicily !."? .!!y.!U'' fl -d by them l.o try it on Kimio other occasion. Sir Peter (Mr. Jlydc) was most sumptuously arrayed. Nothing could v,\w«'d ( tho maguilicuiiCe of Ills nltiro. Upon fin amaieiH ; stage, startling habiliments copied from a remote period arc al ways at tractive, and Mr. Itydo did nil be know in this line, giving even to the ordinary Sir Peter of our old- fashioned knowledge certain garments in vogue quite a century beforu ho could possibly have beun born. This gave a charming wildiiess to his character, a devil-may-care sort of an air, that exactly suited bis gay and festive mood. After all. why •should Sir Peter bo old and heavy? why indeed'!' The effect was altogether charming. That theiv, were a few disagreeable people who said they would have liked t:i know what ho was at (,SIK!.'I a phrase, you know 1), what hc7nmji(, in fiwt, and who declared Unit, as a men! simple m.itler of choice, they liked to hoar a word now nnd again fromun actor, goo.s without telling. There niv troublesome people in every grade of society,— gnats thai ivl.ll sting. Silence Is golden, us all tlie world knows; and .Mr. Kydo is of it; so of course he to.-got bis part whenever he conlil, and left out all the rest. This ho diil with a systematic carefulness very praiseworthy In so young a man. On the whole, therefore, you will see that tho affair was nn unprecedented success; and if some did go away jm/xlod as to whether it was a burlesque, or a tragedy, nobody was to bluuii! for their obUisimess.Tlioro certainly are, siiene.s in this admirable,comedy not provocative of laughter; but such was tho bad tasto of Madame O'Connor that she Joined in with the Philistines mention- od further back, and laughed straight through tho pioco from tho ttart to finish, until tho tours ran rtown her cheeks. Shu said afterward she w;is hysterical, and Olga Bohun, who was quite us bad as she, said, "no wonder," Now, however, it is all over, and the actors and actresses have disappeared, to make way for tho gauze, the electric, light, and the Utblounx; whilst the audience is making lisi'.'f happy with ieod champagne and conversation, kind and otherwise (very much otherwise), about the lato performance. Olga Bohun, who is looking Ml that the heart uf man can desire, in white laco and lilies, leaving the Impromptu theater, goes in search of Hermia, who, with Owen Kelly, is to appear In the opening tableaux. She makes her way tolln; temporary green-room, an inner hull, hidden from tho outer world by means of a hanging velvet curtain, and with a staircase at tbo lower end that leads to some of tho upper corridors, finds Ulic Jtonayiic, Miss Browne, Monica, JJesmond and Kelly. Shu has barely time to say something trivial to Miss Browne, when a pule light appearing at the top of the staircase attracts the attention of all below. Instinctively they raise their eyes toward it, and seo a tall Jignre, clad in white, descending tho stairs slowly aud with u strange sweet gravity,. Is II nn angel come to visit them, or Hermia 11 wrick? It resolves itself into Hermia at last, but i) beautiful Jlermla,- a lovely apparition,— a woman indeed still, but "wilh something of an angel-light" playing in her dark eyes und round her dusky head. Always a distinguished-looking woman, If too cold for warmer praise, slio is now nt least looking supremely beautiful. She. is dressed as Galatea, In a clinging garment of the severest Greek stylo, with no jewels upon her neck, and with her exquisite anus bare to the shoulder. Ono nuked sandaled foot cun be seeu as she comes leisurely to them step by ttep. Is holding a low Ktruscau lamp lu gnj i.-reis ju > about- her tHK>n a level \\it:i In T iienn. iinit the faintest sn-filrloir "f n MII;! usually irresponsive I'ps. No OIK- -speaks mull her feel t'Uteli the trill, when n little murmur. indi«:lii"t, yet distinctly admiring, mi-es to irrect her. "I hope I don't look --foolish," "In 1 <ays, with a« much iicrvousne-s in her tune as can possibly be expected from her. "On, Herniia, yon nre looking too lovely," says Olgn, with ft burst uf genuine enthusiasm. "Is slid not, OwenV" Hut Mr. Kelly makes no reply. A slight tinaf' 1 of color deepens Mrs. Herrick's complexion ns she turns to him. "Poor Mr. Kelly!" she says, the amused flicker of it smile Hitting over her face, which tins now (Ei-own paie again. "Whntn situation! There! don't .sully your eon- seieneoi 1 \vlil let you off your lip. That if where nn old friend comes In so useful, yot see." "At all events, [ don'f see where tho He would conic in. llnl, ns you do, of course. 1 shall sny nothing," says Kelly. * "What n I'ygniiilionl" says Olgn, In high disgust. "And what a speech 1 Contemptible 1 I don't believe, any Oahiteft would come to life henealli j/oiir touch. It would ho us cold as innrblo Itself I" So saying, she moves away to where Monica Is standing, looking (jnlio tho sweetest thing In the world, as "A nun demure, if li>« Iv port." "She hns prophesied truly," snys Kelly. In n low tone, turning to Mrs. Derrick. "1 fear -ini/ (iiilnteii will never wnUo to life foi mi 1 ." A siih.hied bull tinkles In the distance. "Our summons," says .Mrs. Horrid;, ns though grateful to 11; nnd presently she is standing upon n pedestal, pale, motionless, with n rapt I'yinnalion at, her feel, and some t'limp'.'iiin vnsesiiiid jii'^s (confiscated from tlie drawing-room) In lln 1 background. And then follow the other tableaux, and then the stag" istleserled.nnd, music sounding in Ilic distant, ba'1-rooin, every ono rise? nnd makes n sli-p in its direction, the henrls of sonivMif the younger gncsls beating in time li> it. "Where are yon going'.'" snvs Ulic Uo- na.Mi •, .seeing O.L'.I about to mount Mioslnln onci' more. "To help HIM ethers to get Into civill/.cd garb.--llcrinia und Monica, I mean. Lady Tea/hi 1 consider capable. <)(' looking tiCtoi herself." "ll'm! yon say that'.' I thought Miss Fitzgerald was a friend of yours'.'" "Then you though! like the Imhy you are. Nol Women, like princes, lind low real friends. But one in a hundred can lill that character gracefully, and Holla I* not that one.' 1 Slie turns to run up tins stairs. "Well, don't l.i? long,"' says Mr. Konayue. "I'll be ready In a minute," she says; and in twenty-live she really Is. Monica, who has lijnl Kit to help her,— sueii an admiring, enthusiastic, flattering Kit,—is soon redressed, nnd hns run downstairs, and nearly Into Desmond's arms, who, of course, is wniling on the lowest step to receive her. iShe, is now waltxini; with him, with :i heart, as light as her fuel. llermia's progress has been slow,hut,Miss Fil/gcrald's slowest of all, her elaborate toilet and its accessories taking some timo to arrange themselves; she has been annoyed, too, by Oiga Holmn, during tlie earlier part of the evening, and consequently feels it her duty to stay • In her ruom for a while and lake il out of her maid, So long is she indeed that. Madame O'Connor (most, attentive of hostesses) fuels It her duty to conn) lip-stairs to find her. Slio i/iifd find her giving way to diatribes of Hie most, virulent, thai have Olgn Bohun for their theme. Mrs, Kil/gcrald, standing l,y, i.s listening |,o. and assisting in, tho <li> I'iiinaLory sp.'ochos, "JJoy-.liiy! M'lml's llm mnMer now',"' says Madame, with a liinilinrxmlis completely thrown away. Miss Kit/.gcrnld has given tin- reins to her mortification, and I.s prepared to hunt Oijja to the death. "L think it is disgrace,! 1 !!! (ho license Mrs. Boliuu allows her tongue," shesays, angrily, still smarting under (he little spo.. eh sho hud goadvd Olga inlo making her an hour ago. "We Inive just been talking about it. She says tho most wounding things, ami accuses people, openly of thoughts anil actions of which they would scorn to be, guilty. A lid this, too, when her own act ons nre so hopelessly faulty, so sura to bo animadverted upon by all decent people." "Yes, yes, Indued," chimes in her mother, as in duty bound, ller voice i.s feeble, but her manner vicious. "Tlio shameful way in which shecmi'loys nasty unguents of all kinds, and trios by every artificial means to heighten any beauty sli<! limy possess, is too nbyiinlly transparent not to be known by all the world," goes. on this Irate Bella. "Who runs may read the ron io and veloullne that covers her face,. And as for her lids, they nre so bhickone.d that they are positively dirty I Yet slid pretends slio has handsome eyes and lushes!'' "l!ul, my dear, she may well lay claim to her lashes. All the Egyptian charcoal in the world could not iniiko (hem long and curly. Nature is to be, thanked for them." "Yon can defend her It 1 you like,," says Bella, hysterically, "hut to my mind her conduct is—is positively Immoral. It Is cheating the public into the belief that slio hns n skin when she hasn't." "But I'm sure she has; we can all seo it," says Madame O'Connor, somewhat bewildered by this sweeping remark. ".No, you can't. I defy you to BOO it, It Is so covered with pastes and washes, and everything; sho uses every art you can conceive." "Well, suppose sho does, what then?" says Madame, stoutly. Sho is dressed in black velvet and diamonds, ami is looking twice as important and rather more good- humored than usual. "I BOD nothing in it. My grandmother alsvays rouged,—put on patches us regularly as her gown. Every ono did it lu those days, I suppose. And quite right, too. Why shouldn't a woman make herself look as attractive m sho can?" "But tlie barefaced fashion in -which she hunts down that wretohod young Jtonayno," says Miss Fitzgerald, "is dreadful! You can't defend that, Gertrude. 1 quite pity the poor lad,—drawn thus, aynlnstlils will into tho toils of an enchantress." Mi's. Fitzgerald pauses after this ornate and strictly original siioi eh ns if overcome by tier own eloquence. "1 think liu should bu warned," she goes on, presently. "A wimi'.m like that should not be permitted to entrap a mere boy into a marriage 1m will regret all his life afterward, by means of abominable, coquetries and painted checks nnd eyes. It is honihlc!" "t never thought you were .such n fool, Edith," says Madame O'Connor, with ;hi j greatest sweet ne>x "Yi.u may think as you will, <ii-ririiile,'' responds Mrs. Fitzgerald, with her faded all- ot'juvenility sadly lost in her agitation, and slinking lie.r head nervously, as though ai- lieled with a. Hidden touch <>f palsy that ao- cords diMiiiull) wilh her youthful atl.iv.. "Hut I shali cling to my own opinions. And 1 utterly disapprove of Mrs. Bolvun." "For me," says Bella, vindictively, "I believe, her capable of anythiny. I can't bear thoie \\omei who laugh at nothing, and in>\\dei- themselves eyery halt-hour." "You sUauVftft fljjswjr jtoHMp, Mia," sa ys y^Mffl&$m,w*.wi&* "I ;lon t nil :liT-t:iml jo i," snys Mi>s Kltz- g.T.iU, Uirliiu : ra'li r pad 1 . '•'Mint's liei iut-1- MIII won't look in the mirror. \Viiv. ihi'tv's enough powder on \iiiir right OH!', my dear in whiten u Moor I'' "I msec " b;'uin> I! Ilii. in n stricken Ion.': Inn Madame <)'(' ciiior .-tops her. "Nonsense! sine I'm lu.dun,' at it," sh» Sax s. ThN hangiiii: nv'uleneo Is not to lie eon* fiiti-il. For a moment the fair Bi-lhi feelscrushed: then she rallies nobly, and, after withering her teir.tiedinotherwitliii irianco.. sweeps irom tlie room, followed at ;\ respectful dislmiee by Airs. K;tz.ter;ll<l, am! unite elosely l>y Madame, who declines to- see she has irlven offense 111 miy way. As they jro, Mrs. Filzitornlil keep* up a tw tier, in (In 1 hope of propltiiitinc tho wrathful irnddess on ln'forr. "Vos, VPS, I still l.iilnk young Uminyne should b>! \\nrued; she is very designing, very, ninl he is verysofl-hemted." Slut linil lii'liovetl in \oiiiiu K'Huiviu' at. one tltnn, nnd had liroturlil herself In look upon him n* A possible son- n-law. until this terrible Mrs. UohiMi had enst n irlainonrover him. "Yes, ve.-t, olio feels I! unite one's duty to lot him k'io\v liow she itela herself up. Tils eye* should b.- opened to the roin.roand thnEgyp- tian eye-stnlT." \Vliite she is muinhiiiitr all tills, they come- Into a square lamllnsr. tiff two rooms upon, liulh nre hrlllhintiy lighted audhavu lieen turned Into m/v lmmlo!rs for the txs- easion. In one of them, onl\ lialf eoneealed by a. liioped enrtnln I'lvm Inos • without, stand two liirnres, olirn Itohini und the "poor hid" \vlio is to have his eyes opened. They are IK wide open nt present ns liny one ean desire, and are sturlni: thoughtfully- nt the wi!,\ willow, who is truing; hm;k just as earnestly Into them. Both he mid Olsa life slamiin.u' very C|UM' (needier beneath lltu ehaiidi'lier, and sei in to tw seunnintr eiioh otlie.r'.s ('natures with the keenest, scrutiny. So remarkable is their demeanor, iliul not. niuy If'ila lint, her mother and .Madanm U 'Connor r, fraln from further motion, u> isay." at. them wilh growlm: e,;ir!o.slty. Tlier • is nnlliinir sentimental about, their attitude; fur from <t; nothing even vaguely MiuvesiiviMif lemlenr.'Ms. There is only mi nniuisl.aUiibli! anxiety that deepens uvory Instant. "You are Mire?" said Olfiu, solemnly. "OrltilnV Don't docido In n, hurry. Loot again." lie looks ngiili). "Well, puiluipul A vcr\i little less would be snDlelent," Im says, with hesitation, standing buck to uxumlnu luir countenance inori! Hiil'<!ly. "There. I seo how careless you can bel" says Olga, reproachfully. "Now, ttiko It off. with this, but lightly, mini lilihllv.' 1 As .she speaks, she hands liiiu her handkerchief, and, to Hit; consternation of tho three watchers outside, lie liik-'s it, and with the gentlest. Iniii h rubs her cheeks with it, tirst fhi! one. and the other. To bo continued. TIIM BKUT1I,1,ION 8Y8TKMV A Story Showing lloiv MorollcHiily Sure Aro Itn MuiinuroiuuntM. A young man who dad been arrested' one morning for theft was culled upon and measured then and there, says Chambers' Journal. Tho process is carried out by two men, ono ot whom applies the instrument and culls out tho fignro 0 , which are- entered on a card by the other, precisely as- in a tailor's shop. Tho subject is barefooted »nd buroliumlod. Tho measurements iiro taken in four minutes, together with tho height standing, the height sitting, tho length of tho iirms cxtendedj tho length and breadth of tho cur. This fln- ishecl, Mr. Bvr'.illon, curd in hand, inter- ul tlie prisoner: "What is your ntimo?" "Albert Felix." "Have you over boon up be.foio?" "No never." "Quito Huro?" "Perfectly sure," with jaunty conli- denco." AK tho young scoundrel was tho loadm of: u bund this Hcemud highly improbable. Ho was removed, and wo proceeded to the Heurcli. Section after section of the drawers wore rapidly eliminated by comparing the figures on them wilh those upon M. Felix's curd. At last wo cunio to a single drawer, mid then down to two- cards. ifho was thero at all it must bo- one of thcso. A look at tho first, at onco- showed discrepancies of ono or more milli- and Homo of tho headings, and as- thu bony niGUBuronionU arc accurate to' a-, uiiliimntor, it could not bo this ono. .There remained ono card. Mr. Martillon took it up, hiding tho photograph on it. All the figures correspond exactly with those just taken ot Felix, lie was recalled and again questioned. Ho repeated bin statements, but obviously with lesa confidence. Mr IJortillon uncovered tho photograph, and thero the fellow was to- the life as he stood that moment before us. It was most startling. But tho origin «f the photograph was called Alfred Louis Lemaire, and he had been in jai 1 two years before, Tho card bore details of certain scars and murks on hand und body; they correspondRd exactly with those on Felix. Our friend, tho detective, cdged % up and watched the prisoner with professional delight. Again questioned, Felix stuck to his story, but the composure was gone; his- eye was troubled, bis lips trembled, and th« muscles of his face twitched. Tho photograph was shown him. "Who is that?" "Not moj some ono like me,"—out very shakily. "This is Alfred Louis Lemaire, and he- was arrested," etc. The 1 follow was down in an instant as limp as wet paper, "Oi, c'ostnjon nom," adding "1 knew you would find it." The astonishing thing was that, out of the great roomful of cards, not a single ono corresponded, or anything liko corresponded with the measurements of the youth before, us, except that particular one—his own. Mistake is iuipostible. The I nruly Tongue. ''This epistle of St. James is sometimes j called tho gospel of common-sense. It i cettuinly strikes out from the shoulder,. snys a religious writer in the St. Louis Re-public. It is St. James who eays: 'The- tongue no man can tame. It is an unruly evil!' Is this not true? When one is sick the doctor says: 'Let me see your tongue,' The clergyman might imitate the doctor. Coleridge said; 'If I were a preacher in Cornwall (England) I would peach 62' sermons u year against wrecking'—that being the prevalent urn of that > locality. Sins of thei tongue are prevalent in all lo- cttlities. The pulpit should thunder and lightning uf aiustthem. Cannibals of char Hcter abound. T&ejre 8W professional busyhodies wbp JpQ,f. jdi &b<M eyery-

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