The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on August 9, 1893 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, August 9, 1893
Page 3
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THE UPPER DBS MOlNES, ALGONA. IOWA. WEDNESDAY. AUGUST 9. 1893. /?', ,, ;o&v >.&ii ^yfc •:ii rt>KWJLf, Hack,'' Stt, JBfth Beatrice led the way to the house in which she lived. She walked with her head bent, and as one In dee)) thouirlit. She could not make up her mind whi.-l ..or to be glad or sorry at Frank's coming.• She saw, however, that it put nil end to her present mode of life. That it meant confession, revealing of everything. That it meant return to England and to such friends as would still be her friends. That if it meant shame and sorrow, it also meant safety and immunity from persecution. She began to regret thnt she had yielded to Sarah's wish to go to England and see Hervey. But that was not mueli consequence. She felt sure that ns snon as Carruthers learned her history, her affairs'would pass Into hands more competent to deal with them than the hands of two weak women. So on the whole her feelings wore those of relief. And yet for some, for one reason, Frank was the last person she would have chosen to whom to reveal her secrets. She shrank from having to show the man she loved that her life for years had been one of deceit. Now that the deceit had to be confessed to him, It seemed to lose all the innocent nature which she had hitherto flattered herself it possessed. In short, if such a thing can be imagined, Beatrice felt, ns Carruthers once felt her to be, as an idol would feel when just upon the point of being hurled down from its pedestal. Carruthers, who hnd his own thoughts to trouble him, nnd to whom It seemed that any conventional remarks would at the present juncture be mockery, respected her meditations, so that, save for the lisping prattle of the boy, silence reigned until Beatrice found herself in her room with Frank sitting near her. It struck her ns so strange that he of all others should be here, that even now she wondered if sho was dreaming. Shoslumned his eyes, fearing to read reproach In them. "How :ire they all at homo?" she asked. "How are my uncles, and dear old Hn/le- \vood?" Her eyes filled with tears. Her emotion did not escape (Jarruthers. "They are all well," he said. ' "I heard from Herbert a few days ago. He sent mo your letter." "Will they ever forgive mo?" said Beatrice. "Will they ever speak to me again?" "I hope so," snid Frank gravely. "They were, of course, much vexed and upset." Beatrice glanced at him nervously. Even he bad but hold out a hope of forgiveness— and ho loved her. Sho wished he bad not come to Munich. "Do they know my l-cnson for leaving England?" she asked timidly.. "No. They have; hazarded many guesses, but not one has been near the truth." She started at his answer. The truth? Did he know tlie truth? If so, how had he learned it? "Do yon know why 1 left?" she asked. A look of pain settled on Carruthers's face. "Yes," he snid, softly. "Chance has given me your story. But to me—only to me." "Do you know all—all that I have done, all that I have suffered 1 . 1 He rose. There was strange agitation in his manner nnd voice. "All I" he exclaimed. "Beatrice! Beatrice! how can I Hnd words to tell you what I know? Beatrice, did I not just now hear that child call you mother?" "Yes, he is liiy son," sho said, calmly. "All!" continued Cnrnithers, excitedly. "Need I know all? Need I be racked by hearing the one I love tell me all? Need I pain her by forcing her to hear me? Have I not heard enough? Why should I seek to know more?" "Let me tell you my story, Frank," she said, beseechingly. "No!" He spoke in that imperious tone which she had once before, in a slighter degree, noticed. "No! Listen to me. Beatrice, believe mo, 1 have longed to find you. I have sighed for this moment. If I have surprised your secrets it wns not for my own ends. Beatrice, when chance showed me where yon were, 1 camo to you with but one object. Tins morning—oven when, at last, I saw you, I hnd but ono thought. It was to come to you, to say I have sought you because yrui are in distress, bi-niiso you want help. Such help as lean f;iv:' is yours. AVithout question, without the Impo of reward, it is yoiu's." ' Again she strove to interrupt him. He chocked her. : "L'ston! I have more, much more, to say. i have seen you again," ins voice changed to one of supremo tenderness, "I have held your hands. I have looked into your face- tile samo. sweet face of my dreams. Beatrice, all is changed with mo," ho knelt beside her and took her hands. "If once I wished to know all, now I say, tell me nothing. What is the past to me? Hide it away, forget it, , scorn it. Our life begins to-day. I love you, Bend down and toll me you will bo my wife." She forcibly drew her hands from bis, covered her eyes, and sobbed. "You love uio,' he went on, passionately, "Is it for my snke yon will not do this thing? Look at mo—road iu my eyes what my heart desires—know that you have the power of -making or marring a man's life. Beatrice! My lovo, my only love, answer me!" Once more he tried to tnko her hands. Sho tore them away with a cry of anguish, and 'her tearful eyes rested on his troubled, up: turned face. "Frank," she said, "you are killing mo. y Spare me nnd let me s-ienk!" | He waited in anxious .-.Hence until her sobs ; died away nnd sustained speech was a possl- , ;1 "Frank, Frank!" sho said. "You have been misled. You have heard but half the y truth. You love mo, yet dare to think that if I'rwhat you have heard is true I would be your ,iWife. 1 cannot blame you for believing. I fehave no right to blamo. My actions have ^helped that belief. Yet in believing it, you, |f'Frank, have given me the sharpest pain of i all that I have known." |; Carruthers bent his head and prayed she ''would forgive him. j "i have nothing to forgive. From whom did you think 1 Hod—from what danger? Frank, I fled from tho man who is my hus- band—tho man who more than five years ago took advantage of a girl's folly, married her and made her life a misery." Carnithers rose from his knees. His face was white as a sheet. He was tlie picture of despair. A legion of Mrs. Millers would not now have caused hope to throw up tlie tiniest shoot. Her husband! The room seemed to swim around him. When ho recovered himself he saw Beatrice with thotonrs falling down her checks. The sight was a bitter reproach to him. How had lie kept his vow? Instead of giving her comfort and aid he wns but adding to her trouble. Moreover, a keen sense of shame came home to him. Instead of joy he had felt fresh misery when. Beatrice's words told him that her secret was not one of such nature as he had been led to believe. That his first thought upon hearing the truth should have been one of sorrow showed him that he had reached a depth, of selfishness and degradation which uo love could excuse or con' , fJ Wujhetl for hlmpl| w $ f, saKe of his manhood strove until lie regained composure. There was a strange cairn on liis face when, once more, he drew near t Beatrice. "Tell me nil," he said in a quiet voice. "No, don't four for me." She glanced at him inquiringly. "Tell me all, 1 can oear it. I can help joii." She told him all. Told him without-self excuse, without even uxaggcrathig her husband's sins ngainst the world and as;iUii>t her. She told him without claiming mercy on account of w.iat she had suffered; but there was a pat!i' * ia her voice, an utter hoplws- hess In her manner which told her listener more than words could have told. His heart ached as he thought of her; his blood boiled as he thought of the villain who hnd wrought this miser... He heard her to tlie very end in silence. Throughout her t:ile she had not spo-;on of her husband by any name; but from the first Camithers guessed who he was. As she finished speaking he turned his pale face to her. "The mini's nnmn is Hnrvny," he said. "Yes. lio jou know him?'' "I have seen him twice." As lie spoke Carruthers Involuntarily clenched his hands. There was a kind of savage satisfaction in thinking under what conditions lie last saw tlie rogue. Hi; wished he had struck even harder; JIo frowned and his mouth grew hard and stern. Beatrice saw tlie facial change. "Do you h!nme me too much to forgive me, Frank?" she asked anxiously. lie looked at her with eyes as soft aud tender ns a woman's. "Blame yon'.' W!io am I to blamo you? What havi: 1 to forgive? You have all my pity—all my sympathy. Again I offer you such help as I win give—such Iwlp as a brother can give a sister. You will take this from me, Beatrice'.'" She placed her hand in his. "Yes, I will take it. It. is more than I dosurve. Ah. me! why should my trouble enter into your life His iinp'rs tightened on hers. His oycs sought hers. ••Beiitrico." ho said, "1 did not live until 1 know you. You have a right to claim all 1 can ^ive. Yet there is something Imustask—romrthing I must know. You have told ;:»• nrirh— will you tell mu all''" "I have Iniil you -,i:;." "No, notsiM. Biiati-lrc, Ilf.-j promises to be but a sorry affair for mo. Let me have such cold couso'ntion as it ran give. Beatrice, lei me hear you sny with your own lips that hud things boon otherwise you could have loved me—would havu boon my wife." She met his eyes bravely. "Yes, Frank, she said softly. "I will say that. I will say mare. I love you now. Ah, Frank, reproach me, blamo mo, when I tell you that althougl I know it mount unhappiness for you it was a sweet mnmont to me when first I knew that you loved mo." After this avowal there was silence fora minute. Tlion Carruthors leaned forward. "Beatrice, my love," he said hoarsely, "kiss me once. I only ask it once. She flushed to the roots of her hair, yet she made no resistance. Carruthers drew her to him and for the tirst, and, for all lie knew the last timu their lips met. He took, she gave, the one kiss. When it was over Car- rutbers released her from his embrace, and the two drew apart. Here, no doubt, Mr. Carruthers will sink immensely In public esteem. He acted as a hero is never supposed to act, or at least in tiction. IIo lost an opportunity. Every one who has studied the nature of true love as depicted by tho modern passionate writers anc skilled analyisfcs of the human heart mus feel that Mr. Camitliors should have ther and there clasped Beatrice to his heart anc have sworn that love overruled everything He should liuve followed that one modes kiss by thousands. Ho should have snic "What is the marriage tie when two souls are in such ecstatic communion ns yours anc mine?" Ho should have said "There are other lands. Lands where no one knows us whore life may bo n perpetual dream of love Let us fly thi'.re and bo blessed." In the mad whirl of his passion such scruples as she, for appearance sake, urged should have been swept away, and, married or unmarried, he should have boruo her off, his for ever am ever! Yes, ho lost such an opportunity tha' his conduct must bo apologized for! He did nono of these wild, passionate things simply because he was an Englisl gentleman, who wished the woman he lovec to he his wife, and the lawful mother of his children. True, that his love had carried him away sulUciontly to make him willing to blot out an imaginary past. It was gren enough torn ise nnd restore the woman he loved, but it was not great enough, or, sbnl we say too great, to dream of degrading her i A. WOMAN WITH A MISSIONS Inspiration, as a rule, sours above the pettiness of detnil, nnd of nil Inspiration that ono whose wings are worked by religion flies the highest nnd freest from trammels of custom nnd caution. A mnn or a woman inspii ed with an otliicnl mission to humanity feel fully convinced that, provided the eyes are kept steadfastly on the glorious result, the brambles which have for ages choked the path leading to the groat goal will in some mysterious manner get cleared out of the way; without faith of this kind inspiration sinks to the dull level of wisdom. Sarah Miller was a woman with a mission; a mission, however, of a personal not of a general nature. Hor mission as she road it Wiis to insure the worldly happiness of her beloved mistress, and her faith in the inspiration which prompted the task was such as to make her believe thnt she would succeed. Everything in this woman's life turned on her devotion to Beatrice. Her mind was like a dark, sunless ruin, in the centre of which springs one pure white' marble column, and that column her love for her mistress. The wild words she onco used when tolling Frank Carnithers what she could do for Beatrice's sake, if anything, foil short of tlie truth. It is absurd to suppose that any one of ns is entitled to such adoration from a fellow creature. Very probably David himself did not deserve Jonathan's unparalleled devotion any more than Beatrice deserved that of Mrs. Miller. Nevertheless, if human affection were doled out into the scale against personal merit most of us would faro extremely ill in this world. Simple justice, like pure republicanism, and many other indisputably correct tilings, works better in theory than in practice. Mrs. Miller's strange worship of Beatrice must bo sought for in causes other than tlie girl's merits or even her servant's gratitude. It was the outpour of an Impetuous, passionate nature, hemmed and'diverted from its proper course by tho stony barrier raised by the creed of predestination. It was some- tiling which) if dreary Calvinism had not beaten it back to earth, would have soared heavenwards, and have there found a legitimate field for expansion and exercise. Had Sarah Miller's religious education, or tlie bent of her peculiarly constructed mind been such as to lead her to follow a more cheerful profession of faith, she would have been an ardent and, perhaps, happy Christian devotee, walking this earth with her eyes turned Heavenwards, as do those who look upon this !ife as nothing more than a comma in the endless volume of eternity. Alas! such a Beatific state was far beyond her reach. The belief that ages »,n.d ages befor* she was born, her place, not only iu this world, but also hi tue next, had been Irrevocably of tin! many dooni"d by (fort's <vill in eternal toitm-". a fate w'.iii.-h not ilie prayers of alife- timo. in- the cnti'l-'cf of n saint, could nvcrt or in Hi•• slightest il'-nree mitlsRto: this fearful belief closed ro;:n,l her like liio walls of a prison from which there is no escape, from which denth itself is no release. How in such a state of mind could she turn with feelings of love nnd adoration to tho Supreme Being Who had doomed her to such unutterable woe? No, she could fear Him, tremble before Him, abase herself at His feet, pray her wild hopoloss prayers, but such love she hnd to jiivo wns lain to bestow itselt upon an earthly object, nnd for want of a better that object wns Beatrice. VTlth such a doctrine, doubly dreadful when joined to the assurance of its personal application it is no wonder that Sarah Miller's mind wns not quite so well balanced as tiint of an ordinary linppy-go-lueky believer in tho ellii'at'y of a simple death-bed repentance. Tlie wonder Is thnt there should be men and women in this world who hold views all but identical witli Mrs. Miller's and still remain snue. But the more one studies the religious si.le of mankind the more mystified one gets. This then was the emissary who went forth on behalf of Beatrice, this, the bearer of the ring of truce between her and Maurice Hervey. A strange intermediary yet possessing some valuable qualifications for the office, insomuch as she wns devoted to her own side, hated the foe, and, above all, was full of the belief that in some unknown way she would be guided so as to enable her to bring the negotiation to n satisfactory issue. She listened with apparent attention to Beatrice's many and clear instructions; but her thoughts were in reality far away. In tills matter she believed sho was called upon to act more tlie part of a principal than thnt of nn ngont. Beatrice, who wns anxious lo know how Ilervey was to bo found, hail to rest satisfied with the assurance that Mrs. Miller would experience no dillk'uity in tracing him. Provided that Ilervey wns still in London her assurance was justified, for ns his time on tickct-of-lenvo had not yet expired, his address could no doubt be obtained upon application in the. proper quarter. This wns about the only detail Snrnli had ns yet stooped to consider. She had not yet thought how her end was to bo gained, whether by threats or by entreaties. She felt that all sho hnd to do was to meet the m:iu face to face, and then she would find hersolt' guided to net for the best. Bentrico, who hnd some mis.sivinirs on the score of allowing her faithful servant to make so long a journey unprotected, hail carefully looked up routes nnd trains. She fancied that Sarah would travel in greater ease and safety if she went to England via Paris, by the great through express train which runs across Europe from Constantinople to Paris, stopping only two or three times in encli country which it traverses. So Mrs. Miller traveled in such luxury as a railway train car. offer. She reached London without any mlsliny Here she went to a mend's, the ono to whose care Beatrice's correspondence had been in- trusted. After a night's rest had dispelled the fatigue of the journey, she began the first part ot her mission—that of finding Maurice Hervey. The task was a simple one. She inquired until she ascertained where tlie. register of ticket-of-lenve men resident in London was kept; then, 11)1011 applying at the proper office nnd sitisl'ying the authorities that she sought the isinn for no evil purpose, tlie address was given her. She took a cab and drove straight to it. Hervey, who had by eflluxion of moans been thrown from the lap of luxury on to the hard floor of bare existence was housed in what was little more than u garret. Indeed the money which Mr. Field pajd him on behalf of Frank CniTiithers was tne one plank between him and starvation. He had parted with his rings and oilier valuables. All that he could will his own wns a decent suit of clothes. This lie hnd clui'.g t-i tenaciously, knowing that if it comes to begging, a fairly- dressed mnn lias a better chance of awakening sympathy than, one who is in rugs and tatters. The contrast between decent broadcloth and empty pockets is so painful that when asked, one feels compelled to do something to tone it down. He wns sitting in his cheerless, sordid room, smoking his short pipe and working out schemes of vengeance and plunder much as he hnd worked them out in his secluded state in Portland Prison. He was cursing his own clumsiness nnd want of foresight, ns indeed he cursed them at least a hundred times a day. He wns unwashed nnd unshorn, and his right arm, although nearly mended, was still in one of those shiny black slings. Altogether the mnn was in a condition of body and mind far from enviable. For hours lie had been sitting and thinking of tlie glorious life ho would lend as soon ns lie could ascertain tlie whereabouts of his wife. Then he would be able to soar out of this slough of poverty, aud eat, drink, and be merry. No wonder then when after tlie ceremony of n slight knock, Sarah Miller opened the door and stood before him, a cry of absolute joy sprang from his lips. Next to Beatrice she wns the one ho most wished to see. Now tbnt she wns here, Bentrico must also bo accessible. His cheek flushed, his eyes brightened. If the privations which he had been enduring had at any time urged him to promise to himself that if good fortune brought him again in communication with his wife his hand should rest lighter upon her, the thought vanished as his visitor crossed the threshold. His time of triumph was at hand, and his one idea was to wring all that could be wrung from her whose youthful folly had linked her life to his. He felt contempt for her weakness in having given him, by sending her servant to seek him, tlie chance he so sorely needed. '• Sarah, with her white, thin face, as usual thrown into strong relief by her sombre garb, stepped towards Hervey and stood looking at him with that peculiar rapt expression which at times camo over her features. As soon ns ho had recovered from his surprise at this un- hoped-for visit, Ilervey eyed tho woman curiously, but for a while there was silence between them. Still she continued to gaze and gaze at the mnn, not in anger, not in fear, but as one actuated by motives of curiosity. It was a kind of gazo which no one could be expected to endure for long without showing symptoms of impatience. "What the devil an; you looking at mo like that for?" asked Ilervey. His rough voice brought Sarah back to herself. She drew her In ml across her brow. "How much is it? Hand Ifover." She drew a small bag from her pocket. Hervey Hutched itengerly. ''There is fiit\ pounds," she s.iid in the same niochnnln;! way as beiorc. "Fifty pounds!" exclaimed the man fiercely. "What does she mean by sending me a paltry sum like that? Fifty pounds whilst my wife has thousands a year!" "Take it or leave it, as you choose," snid Sarah. "I'll take it. never fear. Oh, yes, I'll take it. Perhaps it's meant as a peace-offering. Now let me hour what else you have to sny You didn't come here just to give me this wretched sum." Mrs. Mi ller rose from her sent nnd looked down into the man's upturned face. Her voice when she spolio underwent a marvel- lous change. It absolutely rang with passion. "No, Maurice Hervey," she a-ied. "I come to offer you the one chance, to show you the one way which is still open. It may be too late to trend it, but 1 say to you, show mercy and perhaps mercy may bo shown to you. Be warned, I say, and leave that poor girl In peace. 'Live your life and let her live hers. She is one of God's chosen, Maurice Ilervey. Beware how you war against him. His anger is like a two-edged sword " "Keep your flights to yourself, and tell mo In plain English what you mean." "Take tlie money sho offers you. Go and trouble her no more." Ilervey laughed his mocking laugh. "My dear Snrnh," ho snid, "your zenl makes you anticipate, matters. I must remind you that as yet, 1 have been offered no money." "But, Miss Beatrice will pay you money," said tlie woman, eagerly. "Oh, lake It, take it! Uo away nnd never seek her ngnin." "All! now you're coming to business. What will she pay?" "She will give you live hundred n year." A scowl pnssal over Horvey's fnce, but hu restrained the oath which rose to Ms. lips. "You arc sure that's the best offer, Sarah?/" "She will give no more.". "And if 1 refuse it, wmU then?" Sarah cast a quick glance around, nnd showed that she fully comprehended tho squalor of Horvey's present abode. "If you refuse It." sho said, "I shall go back to her and tell her you cannot bo found. Then you will be left to starve, St.irvatiun is hard work, Maurice Hervey." "You ling," cried Hervey; "you would He to her." -1 would <t<> mnvo than lio for her sake," said Mrs. Miller. "AViil you take tho money?" Ho shrugged his shoulders. "Needs must when the devil drives," ho snid airily. "Yes, Snrnh, I can't help myself, 1 must close with the generous offer. Now tell mo where- to find my devoted wife, so thnt I ni:-,y convey tho news of my submission." "You will take it?" snid S'.iraii brc:ilhlcss- iy. "Have I not snid 1 must?" "Thank God!" As she spoke she clasped her hands nnd murmured words of thanks. Hci-vey wntehed her with a curious look 01 his face. She saw it nnd it startled her. "You will sign papers?" she snid. "Oh, yes;'I'il sign anything. Now tell me where to find her," "No, no. You cannot see her. Sho will get everything done. The lawyer will gat the papers ready, nnd when yon have signed them the money will be paid." ed. "It is there, it is written there," she mutter- ' ask- "What is written there, you old fool? 1 ed Hervey. She made no reply, but her thin lips moved, and again her eyes glanced at him with a strange, wild look. "Sit down," said Hervey sharply; "and try and talk like a sensible woman, and keep your wits from wandering." He pushed a chair towards her. She sat down and seemed waiting for him to speak again. "Well, what do you want?" he said. "I suppose she sent you?" "Yes, my mistress sent me." "What for? Has she sent me any money, or Is, she trying to starve me? Let her take I snail find her again some day." 0 " said Sarah, jn curious mechanical "¥<5s, She has seotyoumoaey,'' _ i ELECTEJJOAL BOOM. It Is Being Very Much Overdone, According to an Expert. Franklin L. Pope, the distinguished electrical expert, continues to point out, in the pages of tho Engineering Magazine, that the prevalent craze for tho construction of electric street railways is leading to the exploitation of tLcm in many localities where there is no possible chance of their ever proving remunerative investments. There has ben excessive development in the electrical field in other directions, a well. Of the S± companies engaged in supplying electric light and power in Massachusetts in 1892, only 10 have been able to cam dividends of G per cent or more, while Gl have paid no dividends at all. Most of the smaller companies have already overloaded, their plants, and are noAV confronted with tho serious cpaestion whether it is worth while to add to their already unprofitable investment in order to accommodate new custom. Like the English sportsman in the jungles of India, who had the tiger by the tail, they do lit. t know whether it is best to hold 011 or let go. If they raise the rate to a paying point, which would probably necessitate an advance of 50 pel- cent on the present figure, not only will they be denounced as conscienceless monopolists and extortioners, but their customers will, In too many instances, revert to their old-time habits of burn- Ing kerosense and going to bed at 9 o'clock. That the situation is a sufficiently serious one is shown by the fact that more than $1,000,000 has been invested In electric lighting plants in various Massachusetts towns on which the net earnings at the present time, leaving repairs and renewals out of the question altogether, do not exceed 1 per cent per annum. Yet the conditions of success and prosperity in this industry are, to say the least, fully as favorable in Massachusetts' as in any other section of the United States. It is not difficult to foresee that there must ultimately be a severe check to the present electrical boom. An enormous amount of capital is being put into electrical enterprises of one kind and another which have no Inherent (pjosijlbllities of ultimate jcominercial success. The manufacture and sale of machinery and supplies for the equipment of all these non-paying electric light companies and electric railways makes business lively and apparently prosperous for the time, but when the Inevitable clay of reckoning comes, it Is much to be feared that the financial results will lead capitalists to entertaining an ineradicable distrust of legitimate as well as illegitimate electrical enterprises,—a consummation for many reasons greatly to -be regretted. KILLED AT I OS i ON DISTRESSING ACCIDENT AT A BOAT-HOUSE. BALCONY OIVES WAY WITH FA- TAL KKSUI/I'S. If you will dip your broom in cleuu, hot suds oluce a week, then shake it until it is almost dry. then hang it up or stand it with the handle down it will last twice as long as it would without this operation. An old housekeeper says the way to exterminate red ants in a' cupboard Is to pjace jm it an earthen dish containing a pint o« ta.r, op which two parts 9f ' Crowd of People Precipitated Onto the Pier and Into the Water—At Least Four Are Drowned and Fifteen or Twenty Injured—List of the Dead, l-'lremeiis' Good Work. Boston, Mass., Aug. 3.—A distressing put all my energy .and intelligence into the business. Aiterwnnl I did odd bits of work and nmnngod ;n keep mother and myself M.'./ wel., tmt \.i.- ihu hist few years an evil genius has seemed to pursue me. I. liad a place as shipping clerk at Daniel Canty's biscuit factoiy in Brooklyn, bul when the trust absorbed his business I was thrown out. Thou I was assistant shilling clerk for tlie Treadwell Harris Baking Company, •2<M Wilier street, in tliis city, but after six moil! Us' hard work I lost my place. There was no complaint against me and 1 do not know why I failed there. "Since then I have eked out a precarious livelihood addressing envelopes at 75r a thousand, on Barclay street. When there was something for me to | do—and 1 worked day and night—I could make $8 or $!» a week; but as I was only substitute many weeks I would bring home but $2. Finally that failed me, owing to a Summer dullness, and here t am. '•My mother was tirst afflicted with rheumatism two years ago, and has accident tluit resulted iu the death of been such a .sufferer that one leg has beat least four people and injuries to come much shorter than the oither, and probably Ufteen or twenty others oc- she can walk only with great paiu and currod this evening at the boat-house dillie.ulty. She needs nourishment and of the Chelsea Yacht dub. | care, and the fact that I can not give It was illumination night at the club- them to her drives me wild. Her needs house and In consequence there was have spurred me on through many a a large crowd in attendance, iucludlne; weary year, and have made me double many ladles. my exertions to gat work. But I seem A baud was playing on the pier In to have stopped still, When my father front of the club-house and many lived we had all we wanted, and he people had tilled the balcony, directly was able to save money." over the musicians' heads. Suddenly M .^. Bergnmnn speaks English intliff- the balcony gave way and its occu- m , lltly . , mt sho W11S nblo to my thnt punts were thrown upon the pier and , , sobol . fi , 4hfld d tl many ot them Into the water. tt) U(>1 . The confusion thnt followed Is in- ' doscrlbablo. Men (and women were shrieking anil in Uiieir attempts to save themselves and friends became frantic. An alarm of lire was sounded, ami the nremon who responded did grand 13NOBMQUS .'SNAKES. Sixteen Boxes of Writhing, Hissing (UopiUles Imported. __ Sixteen 'boxes filled with snakes were work in reselling"those"wifro were found «i»°«««l from the steamship Runic, mine waterfall7u"securing'the bodies of Ul ° Whltc Stai ' lluo ' llt the £oot of of tlie drowned Wcst I'onth stl>cot yesterday, says the Following is a list of the dead as Ncw York World - T1 ' e » uakes ™ er * far as known 'at present, although consigned to W. A. Conkllu, animal *,._ i ,__.-,. ilonlor. Thorn wr>ro 110 snakes In the there may be other bodies: J. B. WAJIBEN. A. T.,. PEMBKRTON. •MRS. AUGUSTA 1'. SI-IUMAX. MRS. A. I-I. PUTNAM. WANTS TO SELL HIMSELF I am a young man, 27 years old, fi dealer. There were 110 snakes In the collection, aud it was a choice lot of wriggling, crawling, death-dealing reptiles. "That's worse than the cholera," said a gray-haired old salt, as he saw the boxes carried from the ship. "There's no good luck ever came from sarpints, and I'm mighty glad to get rid of feet !) indies in height, weight. 1H8 them." • • , pounds, am sound in every respect; and Tu « sailors gave the boxes a wide am for sale to the person who will a- berth, although Agent Jones, who came grec to pay a. reasonable sum of money ovtar with the snakes, assured tho to my mother, whom I have tried to mc « that the reptiles were quite harm- support, but have failed. The person less as long as they did not escape purchasing me must agree to pay her a ft'oiu tho boxes, Before leaving Liver- certain sum of money each week as 'l>ool the. snakes had been given a long as she lives, lu return for which good substantial feed of pigeons, rab- the purchaser can do with my body Wts «"<1 sinnll cats, and they are not / and soul as ho or she may choose. T do yet through digesting the incal. Some this only to save a. poor lame woman, of them, in fact, will not want to eat 05 years old, who has proved my friend again for two or three weeks. when, all else lias deserted me and has The snakes had been packed in long shared my poverty without grumbling, wooden boxes, fitted with glass tops, when she deserved better things. I opening on hinges and fastened with have tried every honest moans known padlocks. Through the glass doors they to tiud employment, and now I make could be seen coiled up on the bottom this last, effort 'to do some good, so that of tho cases as though dead to the I may at least have some excuse for world. ! • \ existing. I will make a willing and do- There were snakes of all kinds, and voted slave, and do not. care wha.t be- from many distant countries. Ther« conies of mo so long ns my mother is was the African cobra, or Naja haje, provided for. .and his equally dreaded Indian brother, The foregoing is a copy of a letter the Naja tripudiaiics, with coats vary- wrltten In a. plain, linn hand, received ing In color from yellowish olive to at the New York World office. lit was black. There was the Ophiophagus signed "White Slave." The aulihor, claps, ouo of the most deadly species William Bergmann, was found by a re- of tho snake family, which is the fa- porter yesterday afternoon at his homo vorite among snake-charmers on ae- on tho first tloor in the roar of 203 count of its great sine. Avenue A. Ho is slender, with a clear, There were ring-nocked snakes from fair complexion, light hair, a mustache Africa and death-adders from Austra- slightly tinged with red, and pleasant lia, the Da.boia russellii of the Singa- bluo eyes. His aged and afflicted lese, copper-heads, flatheads, pythons mother wore a clean calico dress, and and boa-constrictors, all of them barm- sat listening during the inteview, answ- less enough to look at iu the boxes. orlny her son now and then as he ap- The minute the boxes were lifted there pealed to her for dates aiuli facts. was commotion among the serpents. Tho pair occupy two small rooms, They wriggled and squirmed and very bare of furniture. A stove, three twisted and turned about in their nar- chairs, a pine table, an old chest of row quarters in a wa?- that would have drawers and a pallet on the floor in the scared a drinking man to death, while smaller room were tlie sum total of even men who were strictly temperate their possessions. There was not even a could not look upon the' writhing bed, Tho rooms and everything In them mass without a crawly sensation. Ev- however, were clean and nea.t. Tlie e ry time a case as jolted in the reinov- youngman told his stoiy quietly and in- a i there would be a sudden raising tolligently, but it was plain that his O f heads and a hiss that sounded like trouble had made him desperate. escaping steam, while the snakes with "I know," said Borgnmnn, "that lit is widely distended joiws, darted their unusual for n, man to offer himself for beads angrily at the sides of the cases, sale, but I am desperate. Monday we as though striking imaginary foes. are to bo dispossessed, and then mother y^ 0 sn akes were packed rather close- will bo turned out of these rooms. I i y i u the boxes, and as soon as the would not care if it wore not for her. truck 'reached thto animal ' house a If she wore provided for I would gladly number of the reptiles were trans- lie down on the floor and die. We have f er red to other boxes. Experienced struggled, against fortune for many sml k e handlers were employed for this. years, and heretofore I have always rp ue door of a box would be opened managed to scrape enough for the rent: aud a blg jjianket thrown over the but now it soenis thait every chance is smi i ceSi wuo c^ <j 0 no u arm as long gone. I have been seven weeks now aa ^ Gy cannot see. Tho handler could . without work, and in that time I have feel tte sei . pe nts wriggling under the tried ovcry means I could think of to blanket, and when he had picked out get work, no matter what it might be. some 1>art icular snake the part of the I did not go .to tlie street car companies blanket covering him would be raised, because I am told that it is necessary and the sna]ie uast Uy grabbed by the to have enough money to pay for a unt- neck wlth one hand and , by . the mid , form and make a deposit for change. dle of ^g, body wlth the otllerj ^ "I never learned a trade. My father tliat positlon he was comparatively was a paper-box maker and at the day haiinless , but lt took a lot of nerve of his death had been in one, position to m a stru ggii n g python or cobra for twenty-one years, He put me in the and d hlm on a Ue of atraw ta factory, of which he was foreman to anotU er box. After the newcomers take my chances along with- other boys Uad been made comfortable ln leag in learning the trade .After nine mou- closel ked boxes of fer ths I tell ill with typhoid fever, which wafl t lnto each af the ^^ and left mo delicate, and before I had hard- the , ids seourely bolted. ly got at work again I was stricken _ _ with relapse. My father died ten years ago when I was but 17, so you see my WOULD -THAT IT AVERE. opportunity of learning a trade with him was gone early. | Buffalo Courier:— Mrs. Meadowlot— "I am well aud strong now— in fact, I What kind of a thing is a magazine am something of an athlete— and, I do rifle, anyway, Ebeuezer? . Did you ever not want charity. I would not accept It, see one? / ana rather both of us were dead than M r . Meadowlot— No, ' but it's gome that we should bog. All I want is work, U0 w faingled contraption for them edit- tho hardest work In the world. ors to S hoot poets with, I suppose. "My father left my mother very well ' provided, for, but she allowed the mon- : ~~*~* "•-•" ; " --•- • ey to be Invested to a. cigar-box factory Before beginning to seed. rajstas project! of. «, relative and every cent cover them with hot water an,<j jet ^st. purjng the time of tuis yen- them stand fifteen minutes. I bajfl wfnte,u the fa<story, »n$ J can the« be remov(4' easily.

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