The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on August 30, 1893 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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tlPPKB DIES MOiNES, ALGQKA. IOWA. . if , >' k . i* li" i.i IV* 1 . M?< • fkV P: w fcu f Mt •'£*' * AUC JST 30 1893. nr HUGH COSWAT, «' ••' -ulled Back" EtA JSU. ' CHAPTER xxxv. OLD rniEXDS AGAIN. lie did not sec her the next day. He called twire; the second time she sent word that she would rather not sue him until to-morrow. She was not ill; she would only rather be left alone. So in a curious, indescribable State of mind Mr. Cnmithers spent the day In wandering about Munich. On the morrow lie called and was admitted, He found Beatrice alone. She looked pale, but very beautiful. He noticed at once a change in her manner. A certain graceful timidity and shyness seemed to have fallen upon her, which added a new charm to the girl he had hitherto found so calm and self- pnssessed. Beatrice, it may be, noticed a •iitin^e also in Oiirruthers's bearing. "Tell mo all," she said in low tones, as after a quiet greeting he took a chair near her. tieatric'o ncara miii witnout interruption. When his recital was finished she sat In deep thought. Frank watched her in silance. "llow did he come there, on tho railroad, I mean?" she asked at last. Frank shook Ills head, "No one can toll," he said. "It might have been .accident, it might have been suicide. From the position in which he was found tho authorities incline to tho latter. But he had plenty of money in his pocket. I don't know how much, for in these cases the exact amount is never stated. In short, no one knows how it happened." Frank spoke the truth. No one knew. The railway tickets having been collected long before Munich was reached, for all the ollicials of the train knew, llorvcy and Mrs. Miller gage office unclaimed. Perhaps It lies there fill this day. Her hand bag went where such tilings no when left in a train. Could the steward or tho guard have seen the dead body they might have recognized it as that of a passenger: but it was put out of sight long before the great train came back from Con- stantlivipl". So no one in Munich knew in-ifi! than was embodied in tho official report. \Vlitit brought him to Munich?" asked li friiT. "Mow did ho know 1 was here?" Fr.m.v coui.l only shake his head again. "He must have suen Surah," she continued, answering her own question. "Ho must have learned from her where 1 was. Why did.she not write and tell me'.' Some harm may have befallen IUT. I wish she was buck." "Would yon liUe to se<> his grave?" asked Frank after a i>:iusc. Beatrice shivered. "No," she said, •'! mink not—unless you wou;d call it unwomanly not to do so." "No," said Frank. "I can see no reason for it. 1 ' "What could I do at his grave?" asked Beatrice softly and dreamily. "One goes to ji uravo, to weep. 1 could not weep. After a Idiid, which one has for ycuig earned day and night, Is lifted from the mind, one does not weep, OIKS rejoices. Frank, I dare notstaud over a grave and feel like that. lyjt me say J. forgive him. I can do no more." "No one who knew all could ask more." "'Speak nothing but good of the dead,'" she continued in the same dreamy way. "Frank, 1 can not recall any good of which to speak. For a few weeks I loved him, or thought I loved him; but that was years, years a go. Ah mo, tlieso years! Alii can now do is to say T will speak no evil of him. He is (lend. 1 fo:'givo him, and will try and foreet him." Fur the lir.st time the tears rose to her eyes. There was a lorn; pause. Beatrice and Frank were now standing. He took her hands in his and held them'. "Beatrice—darling," he whispered. "Do you remember the words you said a few days aso—said in this very room? When there seemed no chance of happiness for you and me. Dourest, all is now changed. We are in a now world. Beatrice, will you say once more in our new world what you said in the old?" Lower and lower she bent her head, anc Hit 1 blush rose and deepened on her white I'lu'L'k. Them she raised her head, and her J:T:I v eyes looked into his. "Lei. mo leave you one moment," she whispered. Without waiting for the permission Blio drew her hands from his and glided away, swiftly as she had left him that evening at Hazlewo9cl House, but this time without leaving him hopeless. She came back in less than a minute, ami her boy came with her. Holding him by the hand she stood and looked at Frank. He understood. He drew the boy to him, sat down and put tin; little fellow between his knees. Placing one hand on his head, he looked up at Beatrice witli a grave smile. "Dearest," he said, "children may come to us or not; but this boy shall always be to me as my own son. lie shall never mourn for his unknown father, never, if I can help, know shame covers that father's name." He raised the child and kissed it. Harry, with whom Carnithers was always a prime favorite, put his chubby arms round hif friend's neck. Beatrice watched them anc smiled softly. Carruthors, after disengaging himself from the boy's embrace, put him gently aside, rose and held out his arms. Beatrice came tx them, laid her head on his shoulder and wop; happy tears. He whispered words of passionate lore, kissed her again and again, and all the while Master Harry watched the two with childish attention, and wondered wlia was tho meaning of the curious scene. A last they remembered his presence, and Beatrice handed him over to his Bavarian nurse —an act of expulsion which he much resented. Somehow, the thought that death alone had given them tlie right to love, madoFronli and Beatrice's love-making quiet and re strained. They were happy of course, 01 Frank was, but not demonstratively happy. After lie had told her a thousand times thai he loved her, Beatrice kneeled at his side ant held his hand. "Frank, my own Frank," she whispered. "You will never bring the past up against mu? I have been wicked, deceitful, but clearest, I have suffered for it. Frank, you shall know every thought of my heart. ] will be a true wife. If any thing ever told me that the remembrance of tho past made you doubt me, 1 should die—I should die, frank." Of course ho took her in his arms and vowed she was the sweetest, truest, noblest, etc., etc. What, in fact, every one vows in a position similar to his. Then she asked him to leave her for awhile —leave her to think over all that had happen, ed. He obeyed. He too wanted to think. Naturally lie called again later in the day, and the two began in a rational way to discuss their plans for the future. Beatrice was very uneasy about Mrs. Miller. She blamed herself for not having taken the address which would reach her m London. It was settled that they should wait a week longer in Munich, in tho hope of hearing news of Beatrice's emissary, Then Carruthers spoke of something which all day he had been revolving in his mind. "Listen. Beatrice. We are to go back together and your cause is now my own. There is something to be faced. There are tiiose who have a right to ask you to explain your absence. But there is a right you can give which will over-ride all others. Dearest, lei us return us husband and wife." She flushed and trembled. "Oh, Frank, how can 1? So soon 1" "Soon I Beatrice, it is more than live years. That man was dead to you more than five years ago. He died when your love died." "True! It is true 1" she murmured. "He died then, not now." "I feel that I do not ask you to do this for sellish reasons," said Frank. "I ask it because it is best for you. A few months' engagement to you would not be weariness, darling. This I must sacrifice." His arm went around her and their lips met. "Now lor your answer," he said. She placed her hand in his. "Let it be as you wish, my love, my lord, I have no will but yours—oh Frank, Frank I I feel that I can face anything, face anybody, so long as I know that we are not to be parted—know that you are to be mine forever!" So they were married in Munich. Why not? Wno \yas this dead man that he shoula stand between them? What had he done fee shoiikl be cpnsicjejred? TUaJt should trutntuily say that she forgave him— that she would speak no evil of him, was all, nay more, than could be justly asked of the Woman he had betrayed in even a baser and more callous way than the word usually means when applied to villains and women. Even when he met his death was he not on his way to work her evil? Maurice Hervey dead a week ago? No, the man she had known as Maurice Hervey died when years ago hn dropped his mask, and showed her what lay underneath. Beatrice and Frank were married. They found nn English nursemaid who was going home. They engaged her to accompany them, !!!id take care of tho boy. In due time they tt'.iched London. Beatrice's anxiety respecting her faithful servant had now grown very great; so the first thing they did was to try and gain tidings of her. The only thing they could do was to apply to the police; aud soon after the description of the missing woman was given they were told that it seemed to answer to that of a •woman, unknown, who was in the pauper lunatic asylum. So to the asylum they went, and having been shown the clothes worn by thi 1 woman, knew that their fears were well founded. Frank had felt no doubt about the matter. The nurse's manner on a certain night had assured him as to what the end would be. He told Beatrice so. Beatrice was greatly shocked artd distressed. "Poor Sarah," she said, "was nevermod ed as painful memories rose—"You will never know how the poor thing loved me, Frank." No. Frank will never know, nor will hi* wife know how the woman loVc'cl her, and what she <lkl for her sake i Beatrice saw tho iloctor and questioned him. Ho tolit her that the woman was in » hopeless sta to; what appeared to him to be the gloomiest, most incurable kind of religious mania. The chances were she would not live long. Bcnt-ri"!' begged that she might si'c her. Tho clo.-tor shook his head. An interview would '\n thij patient harm. Beatrice would not believe this, and asked the doctor to toll her poor servant that sho was here. Ho could judKO 1'rom tlip effect of the news as to the advisability of a visit. The doctor humored her. He soon rctitrneil and said thai the mention oi jier name seemed to redouble the. poor woman's delusions. She had turned her face to the will and made gestures of- absolute aversio.i. Frank drew Beatrice aside. "My iliwrgirl," ho whispered, "depend upon it sh'.? saw this man, let slip tho iiamu of Miuik'h. imd knew that ho was on his way to you. Tim grief sit what she had unwittingly (I'.m.! iiiilte upset 'lor poor brain. Sho is so troubled at it that she will not see you." Beatrice went to tho doctor. "Oh," she said, impulsively, and with tears in her eyes, "will you go to her once more—only once. Tell her, try to make her umlurstund that 1 am married anil happy." Mrs. Carrntliers being a beautiful wonvm in distress, tho doctor, being a young in 'ii. obeyed. He soon came back shaking his heail. It was no use. Thop.ffo"t of his communication had been such that henuiststriet- ly forbid a visit. It was, he said, one on the commonest symptoms ol such mania, that tlie patient turned with aversion from those who hail boon most loved by her. So Beatrice sorrowfully gave up the struggle. All they could do was to see that Sarah was removed to a place where she could be cared for. and where kind treatment was assured. There, let it be said, she is now. But it will not hi- for long. The • doctors and tho keepers know that the days of the poor mad woman, who spends eighteen hours of the twenty-four on her knees, are numbered. After they had done all they could for Sarah, Frank and Beatrice turned to their own affairs. None of Beatrice's people knew of her lining in London. Frank, of course, saw many acquaintances, but Beatrice knew so few people their companionship created no rein -rk. Upon inquiry at tlie liote! pat- roni/.od by the Talborts, they learned that the brothers had not yet come up for theii perennial visit, but were expected next week. So one line day Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers, the boy and his new nurse, went down to Blacktown. * •» * •:;• * •» Our long lost, but, I hope, beloved friends, Horace and Herbert, were. 0110 afternoon returning from Blacktown in the large wag- onette. As they came up the drive they saw something unusual—something which made them glance at each other with dismay. On tho front doorstep, sunning himself, and looking as if llaxlewood House and its ap- purteniinecs were his in foe simple, stood a little boy. No wonder, the moment some one took the horses' he.uls, that the Talberts jumped clown to Inquire what this appar (ion meant. The Joss ot' the bright hair having so changed the boy's appearance, they did not at lirst" recognize him. so no wonder that Horace, who connected painful memories with mysterious children, groaned out. "another child!" They wit their oyo-glasses up and saw that the small stranger was making violent demonstrations of friendship. Tlie dancing blue eves which looked up at them seemed strangely familiar. Herbert was the lirst to discover tlio truth. "It is Beatrice's boy!" he said. "It is," said Horace solemnly. To make sure they asked him who ho was, and whence he came. Ho informed them that he was "mother's bewcln'nl boy," and he waved his arms to show Unit tho distance ho had come was more tJiqn his mind could grasp. Then here commenced his friendly advances, holding up his face in ,'t way which showed lie expected to be kissed. I le was so imperious and assertive that they yielded. Herbert bout clown anc kissed him. Horace, who noticed that his brother's appearance as ha did so was noi dignified, lifted the urchin up and likewise kissed, him. Than they wont indoors to learn what it all meant The child preceded them, and had thoj harbored any doubts of his identity snr.li doubts would have been sot at rest by tho way in which tho little urchin rubbed his I'oet. No child who had not lived a part of his life at llay.lowood House would haves performei. the act so thoroughly. Whittaker was in the hall. "Who are here, Whittakw?" asked Horace. •'Mr. and Mrs. Carrutliers, sir," ropliec Whittaker. Tho Talberts stared at each other, then, hanging their hats on the proper and respective pegs, entered tho drawing- room. They saw Frank standing there with thai quaint, dry smile on his face, and thfin thoj saw Beatrice coming toward them with outstretched arms. Herbert again stared blankly at Horace, who could not, however, respond to the look because Beatrice hw thrown her arms round his neck. "Kiss me. Uncle Horace,'and say you forgive mo," she cried. "I have caused you al sorts of worry and anxiety, but say you forgive me." She hud caused thorn worry and anxiety. Indeed they had lately been sorely pressed to account tor Beatrice's absence to Lady Bowker and others. Nevertheless sho was their sister's child and a thorough Talbert, She was also in distress. So Horace yielded, kissed her, and told her how glad he was to see her again. After this slio went to Uncle Herbert and something of tho same scene was gone through. The Talberts then re-arranged their neckties as much as to say that although such impulsive embraces might be allowed once in a way they were not to be a general rule. "But I don't understand," said Horace. "Whittaker said Mr. and Mrs. " "Oh, yes," said Frank. "Beatrice and 1 were married some time ago. Married in Munich. Pino city, Horace—you know it of course. Wo only came back from our wedding trip a few days ago. You are the first we nave seen. We thought perhaps you would have put us up for a couple ot days." This request put the Talberts on their mettle as hosts. Hospitality overruled every thing. Their house was at tho young people's service so long as they wished—the longer tho bettor. "But why did Beatrice run away?" askert Horace. "Ay.why?" said Frank carelessly. "That's tlie question." "It could not have been to avoid you," said Herbert. "She says not. But one is never sure about ouch things." "You wore afraid you would have to give up the boy," said Horace to his niece. She hesitated. "Yes, I feared he would ba tok^n. from me," slia said, Horace look. A, --,-M ed triumphantly at Herbert. His tlieory had been the right one after all. Then they went off to see that a room was got ready fdn heir unexpected gnnsts. While me Talberts were so engaged i heir guests walked down to the village and found Sylvanus Mordle. Sylvnnus positively sparkled when he heard the news. It freed his conscience from a shadow which had for mouths been lying upon it—the shadow of the "Oat and Compasses." He took a hand of eacli of his friends. "Sorry for one thing—only one. That I didn't join these hands. Would have given worlds—any thing—gone to Munich on purpose. I needn't tell either of you why 1 wished to do it," That night at Hazlewood House the table was ns tastefully laid, the napery as smooth and spotless, the glass as lustrous, the winu.-> as unimpeachable, the vookcry as perfect as ever. Frank did nearly nil the talking, lie spoke of his future plans, of the life he mid Beatrice meant to lead, as coolly as if all her friends had been at her wedding. Beatrice said very little. She was simply, quietly happy. Horace tliougnt the young couple behaved very well. As lie remarked to Herbert afterward. "There were none of those embarrassing little familiarities which so often make the company of a bride aud bridegroom—well, undesirable." Beatrice left the men and strolled through the garden. Horace and Herbert then tilled their glasses, and in a courtly way wished Frank every happiness. "Not,"said Horace, "that we can honestly say we approve of your having been married In this clandestine way. But you may, of course, hove had good reasons for it." The TuIberia felt they had missed a great deal In not having been allowed to superintend every thing connected with their niece's wending. "We had good reasons," said Frank. "We think however, we have a right to ask for an explanation of Beatrice's strange conduct—her (light, and concealment." "Certainly," said Herbert, "most certainly." So Frank told them all. As he had the eomimniii of language and spoke In earnest tones, as ho bait the skill to in.iko certain shadows look Ilirhlcr. and to bring out strong points in his client's favor most strongly; as lie could speak of what she had endured, aud so invoke pity as well as mercy, Beatrice could scarcely have found a better advocate, But Horace! Herbert! A lino of notes of exclamation would not properly express their surprise. With eyes tixed on tho speaker, they listened like persons tinder a spell. Even when Frank had said his say, they continued to gaze at him. 1 loraco was the lirst to speak. "Is this true?" he gasped. "Every word of it—poor girl I" said Frank. "Then," said Horace, with his no appeal manner, "we can never forgive her—never see her again. Never I" He glanced at Herbert, as if expecting the usual echo. But it did not come. Frank rose. "Very well; then there's nothing more to be said. I'll go and toll my wife to put her things on. Which is the best Blacktown hotel?" This was a staggering shot. It was a cruel shot. Carruthors was right when ho said it would take a great deal to maketlioTalberts turn even a dog away. "Give us a tew minutes to talk it over," said Herbert. "Let us leave you here for awhile." "No. I'll go into the garden. I can't give you more than twenty minutes, because most of our things are unpacked, and it is grow- ins late." Before he left them he spoke again; this time with nil his fonder earnestness. "Horace, Herbert." ho said, turning from one to the other. "In talking this over, remember, that if you can not forgive her we must be strangers hereafter. By casting her off you give the world a right to say what it chooses. Remember, also, she is my wife—that she loves you—that she is even now on thorns of suspense awaiting your decision." With tliis he left them, went into tlie garden, and, out of sight of the house, walked with his arm round Beatrice and bade her be of good cheer. Before the twenty minutes had expired, Whittaker came to inform them that Mr. Talbert desired him to say that tea was waiting in the drawing-room. Frank smiled, drew Beatrice's trembling arm within his own, and led her indoors." As soon as Whittaker had withdrawn after handing round the tea, Horace spoke. He was standing up, his cup in his hand, and his calm eyes seemed to be gazing at nothing. "My dear Beatrice." he said very gravely, "I think if you and Frank could manage to prolong your stay till to-morrow week, we might ask a few friends to meet you at dinner. The invitation will bo a shun one, but under the circumstances will no doubt be excused." Carnithers turned away to hide a smile. Yet he felt- that, considering who the speaker was, no words could have been better, more judiciously or more delicately chosen to express the fact that Horace and Herbert had decided to forgive the culprit, and not only to say no more about her misdeeds, but, also, if necessary, show the world that they took her part. It was a triumph. No more was said; but Beatrice could not refrain from letting a few tears of gratitude bedew Horace's immaculate shirt front, or from sitting for a little while with Herbert's hand in hers. Sir Maingay had, of course, to be told all. This was a painful task, as telling Sir Maingay meant telling Lady Clauson. Her ladyship had her revenge by being able to say the girl had, after all, "done something disgraceful," but as she thinks a great deal about the honor of her husband's family, she will not proclaim the correctness of her estimate of Beatrice's character. And others v/ill have to be told. The Oak bury people will hoar a great deal. Tiicy will shake their heads ami gossip. But fortunately, or unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers's future life will not be spent among these families of position, so such gossip will matter little to them. They will live in the groat world of London,and Frank Carruthers may or may not; become a famous man. At any rate ho will be a happy one. And Beatrice? Beatrice will make a circle of friends. No secret will be made of the facts that sho has been twice married, anil that little Harry is her child by her lirst husband. And if some day it should be whispered in that circle that for some reasons only known to herself she passed for years as a single woman when sho was a wife— what will it mutter? Better that than passing as a wife when a woman is single. The world is like a cat, pleasant and sweet when rubbed the right way. Frank anil Beatrice are rich—tho trustees raised no question on account of the lirst marriage— they are hospitable, kind-hearted, clever, young, and good-looking, and Frank seem likely to riso to eminence. Iu such cases friends are very guoa-naturcd and trouble themselves very little about idle reports. Indeed, all who caro to inquire into Mrs. Carruthers's history may know all there is to be known. No—not all. Not the means by which happiness was brought within their grasp. That is known only to a wild-eyed, whii.o- laeeil woman whose gaunt; features grow everyday more gaunt, wlio, day by clay, sinks hilii a more, hopeless state. Only slie.thia victim to tho dreariest religious creed uio world bus yet invented—doubly dreary because it is illogical and unanswerable—only she knows how Beatrice's freedom was bought, how her happiness was assured. And she will soon die and go to her appointed place. But slio will die and make uo sign. THE END. NOT THAT KIND OF A DEITY. l'O'.t. ^ it. "Many interesting and Curious Facts Gathered Together. The ice-mnking machine was first put nto operation in 1SOO; at the present lay every brewery, every passenger steamer and not a few restaurants and lotels make their own ioe. Handkerchiefs were lirst ma do for :hn market, at Paisley, Scotland, in 1743, and sold for $1 each. Las. 1 year it is computed that .SO,IKH),(MH» dozen were sold in the United States. Safety lamps, for tho use of miners. were patented in 18.15. Now no mine is without them, and ninny laws have been passed requiring tneir use in all underground milling operations. Eloctroiyping was lirst done in IWT, and was considered a triumph of chemical and iiieclitinic.il skill, requiring the utmost nicety for iis execution. Now it is done in every print- Ing 1 1 mso. Spc'lal books are a fad this season, especially those for youthful brides. Tlie richest cover for brides' prayer- books, which contains only the mnr- riagQ service, tire of moire or silk, suede kid, or ol! while satin, moire or ilk corduroy. Chili Is the most prosperous agricultural country in South America. There are 7,010,000 acres under cultivation, of which 1,100,000 are Irrigated. For many years the product has averaged 450,000 tons of wheat and 1.500.000 of other grains. One of tlie most productive sections of tho world Is the .Russian province of Bessarabia, vaken from Turkey In 1878. Its vineyards often yield MOO gallons of wine per acre; the average yield of wheat is thirty-live bushels and of maize sixty bushels. A violin dated 17JW and said to have been made by Strndivarius in bis UOth year, was sold iu London lately for £8000. During tlie last twenty years this violin has changed bands three times, on the lirst occasion being bought for. £400 and on the second for "Oh, I think it's lovely to be ma-r- ried," said a young woman to the lady on whom sho was calling. "Especially whon you have a husband who is not afraid to compliment you." "What does your husband say?" "He said yesterday that I was getting to be n regular Xantippe." "A Xantippe! Do you know who she was?" "Oh, yes, I asked Charley afterward aud he told me she was the goddess of youth and beauty."—Exchauge. In many countries the rainbow is spoken of as a great bent pump or siphon tube, drawing water from the earth by mechanical moans. In parts of Jtussla, in the 'Don country, and also iu .Moscow and vicinity, it, is known by a name which is equivalent: to "tlie bent, water-pipe." Granite is the lowest rock In tlie ' earth's crust; it is uio bed rock of the world. It shows no evidence of animal or vegetable life. It is from two to ten times as the united thickness of all other rocks. It; is the parent rock from which all other rocks have been directly or indirectly derived. In England they 'have an institution known as the Utiral District Nursing Association. The nurses are in train ing two years at a cost of )?li50. Each nurse has a salary of .fliiS to $150, with board and lodging and a donkey dart in which to go the rounds of a district of 2,000 to 8,000 inhabitants. The geographical center of the United States is not in the United Stales at; all, but in the Pacific ocean about 150 miles west of Portland, Oregon.' The. meridian that passes through this point is midway between the easternmost meridian of Maine, and the westernmost meridian of Alaska. "No living germ or disease can resist. the antiseptic power of essence of cinnamon for more than a few hours," is the conclusion announced by M. Chambcrlnnd as the result; ol! prolonged research and experiment in M. Pasteur's laboratory. It is said to destroy microbes as effectively, if not as rapidly, as coroslve sublimate. The great cave in the Black Hills region is said to be 52 miles long, and contains nearly 1,500 rooms, some of them 200 feet high having been opened. There are streams, water-falls and thirty-seven lakes, one of which is an acre in extent. The cave is 0,000 foot above sea level and 400 feet below the earth's surface. A survey for a cable from the shores of California to the Sandwich islands has resulted in a route being chosen from Monterey bay to Honolulu. The route selected will require the smallest length of \virc, and it passes over an even bottom, favorable for the protection and preservation of a cable, submarine mountains being avoided. Tho oldest industry in England, whioh dates book to prehistoric times, Is still being carried on at Brandon in Suffolk. Many people of that village earn their living by making Hints with which to strike lire and for gunlooks. Tinderboxes with flint and steel are largely used in Spain and Italy, and by travelers in sparsely-soft led and uncivilized lands, and gun-flints go to Africa, where Hint-lock muskets are still In use. Not until recently have the inhabitants of Russia known the use of beds, excepting in tlie case of the luxurious patricians who were able to purchase them. The peasants slept: on the large bakeovens to be; found In nearly every house, while the soldiers were provided with a sort of cot without bedding. The middle classes and the students, on the other band, contented themselves with wrapping a blanket about them and lying 1 down near rather primitive-looking stoves. Paulus Poaeitts gives the following description of the unicorn, an animal now generally admitted by all zoologists to have been only a creature of fable: "He is a boast in shape like a h'orse, of a dusty color, with a mayned uecke, a Imyry beanie and a forheade armed withe a home of the quality of two cubits, being of spiral shape, and of ivory of exceeding puritie and wonder- full whiteness. It also has the wonder- full power of .expelling all venome and poison whatsoever." Gypsies have no religion and some of them have so strong an aversion to churches that they never pass by one without a muttered curse, in European countries they never suffer themselves to be buried in a churchyard, but, whenever allowed, they bury their in out-of-tne-way places. This ttpath.v to churches ami religious forms is suppn. od by some persons to have originated r'roni their pcrsectuioii by tho pn. sthoo.l i:; the ..ltd !'e n.u . hut, whatever, its origin. It is a tixed fact. A cheap substitute for lay ligures now popular with small shopkeepers is the lithographic head printed on pasteboard and then out Into outline ligiiros. Those heads are carefully attached to rude lay busts, over \vhii7i women's gowns are draped, and the result is a highly effective show window decoration. The- lithographic heads are much more human In appearance than the lay figures of wax, wood or paper pulp commonly in use for yeais. and artists of some superficial ability are employed In making the designs. In northern New England the wayfarer is often surprised by coming upon a big tomb directly beside the road and unconnected with a cemetery. Occasionally (lie door is open, showing a tiler, coffin, boxes and other appurtenances, and. very likely, stones and apple cores tossed in by the prevalent boy. These tombs are not Intended for permanent sepulture. They are merely receiving vaults for use In winter, wliou the cemeteries on distant hillsides are covered with I wo feet of snow and the roads to them are impassable. When rings are sent to a jeweler for repair lie always cleans the stones and surprises the owners by their brilliancy, 'fhe accumulation of dirt, on the under side of (lie diamond or other transparent gems is so slow that the (lulling of the stones is hardly noticed. Usually they are cleaned, without; removal from their settings, with the chewed ends of wooden toothpicks, but they cannot be made entirely bright without taking them out of their clasps. The dirt that gets into the space between the ring and the stone Is often <is hard as clay. The largest; kite ever made in the United States Is Unit produced In Durham, Green comity, N. C. The frame consists of two main sticks 28 feel- long, weighing each 100 pounds, and two cross sticks 121 foot long and weighing 75 pounds each. All the sticks wore 12 by (5 inches in dimensions. Over tho framework was stretched a. great sheet; of white duck, 125 by IS feet, which weighed 55 pounds. The tall of the kite alone weighed 50 pounds and contained 155 yards of muslin. Tewnty-tivo hundred fee 1 of one-half inch rope served as kilo strings. The plaything cost $100, and when if is mounted into the air it sol I 1 can it exerts a lifting power of 500 pounds. Six men once permitted it to ascend 1.000 feet. During the revolution the most elab- as everything swin- whieh the scion- m-iii m.-iv aspire liere it is realized, or or later must ritic imai..n:ilioii to gras;'. This invention, which by chemical means llxes the image upon the plate in its natural colors, is based upon the discovery recently made by Prof. Lipp- mau. of Paris, coneerninM which there has been considerable talk in the past few months. The process has been perfected by the brothers I.umiere. of Lyons, and as I heir formula has been made public, anyone is free to experiment in tliis Hold. As described by i'rof. Lippmnii, the underlying principle is that of*Jho Interference (vf light produced upon a thin Him that, has boon chemically treated 'so as to bo bitten out to very slightly varying depths, according to the power of Uio various colored rays that fall upon It. The light Is reflected from the Him thus acted upon iu the same degree thai It was received, anil Iu this \va.v the Inug-cherlslieil dream of fixing the picture upon tlie mirror is actually realized. Tlie basic principle of this discovery is, therefore, the same as Hint, of the production of beautiful Iridescent of- fools by the projection of white light through .thin films of almost infinite- sunnily varying thickness, as so beautifully shown by Tymlall In his lectures on light. And if: is a remarkable Instance of scientific prophecy that several years ago a. Boston goiitlomnn interested in photography should have said -that, it would probably bo along this line thai color photography would bo reached. He suggested to a. scientific] friend the desirability of experimenting in Ibis direction by chemically Ircaling a. thin Him so that It would b'e oafen out. to different; depths by the varying Intensity of colored rays, and thus probably reproduce the same effects of color. Tho process yet requires a considerable -time for exposure, varying according to the intensity of light. But it. Is probable that; In time Instantaneous results will be practicable. As the picture thus obtained is a negative, like the old-fashioned daguerreotype, or ambt'olype, only one example can be obkilned from an exposure, instead of an Indefinite number of positives like those printed from the ordinary •photographic negative. Tills fact will naturally add very materially to the cost; of the process, but. possibly it may bo overcome In some way, perhaps by ro.photo.grapiling. For, if the object be reproduced In its natural colors, (hero appears to bo no reason why the imago itself should not. be. 'fhe prospect offered by this discovery is tin enchanting one. The photo- orate of uniforms were designed for the American officers, and the men wore ordered to wear green shirts, "if they could be produced." As a matter of fact: very few uniforms wcro worn, everybody wore what: ho happened to have ami the navy was clothed in motley array. The native born American seamen, most: of them, wore the oa.nvnss petticoat, and they nil wore the hair in ti braid down the back, waxing it: to make it curl up at. the end. As many of Uio seamen were foreigners the costumes of all nn lions were displayed on many ships. It was not until 1800 that there is a record ol! a crow in white duck uniforms. II was several years ago that; Onlln- vardln drew the attention of French pract I Honors to tho advantages of treating smallpox according to the plan origiualy suggested and carried out by j John of Goddosden and Waters. The treatment; In question consisted simply in keeping the patients absolutely away from all solar light, and tliis solar darkness had to be, from first to last, complete and uninterrupted, otheriwso no beneficial results could bo looked for. Tho same authority has recently published the results of his experience with this method, covering a period of some sixteen years, showing that, if this plan be carried out, tho great advantages ensues of there toeing no period of suppuration, and, in consequence, the subsequent: scarring is inflnltcssiinnl. graph 'In mere light and shade lacks vitality, and oven tho roprcxluctIon of natural colors in pigments is dull beside the reality. But the image in the mirror is practically the thing itself, so far as the vision is concerned. So with the perfection of color photography "stay-at-home travel" will be brought, very near the real thing In value, when distant, scones—the luxuriant landscapes of the tropics, the grnndnor of the Andes and Himalayas,, tho marvels of the Arctic world—may bo placed before one with the effect of looking from an open window upon the scene itself iu all its sparkle of sunshine, Its quality of atmosphere, its clmrm of color, that g'ive it distinctive. joliaraoiot 1 . A nil \vlto can estimate the i value of an achievement of science ! which will preserve for their friends' tho counterfeit presentments of those held dear, which can retain tho exact images of the individual In all stages of growth, from Infancy, through childhood and youth, to maturity and old ago, aud preserve for posterity the faces iand forms of the great, ones of the earth precisely as they lived? While this is not yet, wholly realized, the taking of the main stop assures that: it eventually will be. With the voice preserved by the phonograph aud tho form faithfully mirrored by colored photography, there is a strong suggestion of infinite survival of the Individual, In those aspects that: present ono to the outside world,—Boston Herald. The Processes Itecontly Developed Several Inventors. by A. few weeks ago wo commented ui)on tho remarkable results recently •achieved in tho reproduction of objects In their natural colors by means of photography through what is called the "three-plate process." This process, as developed p by Ives, of Philadelphia, Vogol, of Berlin, and applied practically, with great success, by Kurt/, of New York, consists in the photographing of the object upon three plates, each sensitive to only one of the three primary colors, and then making plates from those negatives and printing therefrom in pigments. This process, which is of great commercial importance, and bids fair to replace,' oilier processes of color printing, reproduces the natural colors with remarkable fidelity, although not with aibsoluto accuracy, owing to imperfections in .pigments and the changes of color values effected In the course of developing a negative. Strictly speaking, this method is not one of actual color photography, for It does not photograph the colors themselves, but enables their reproduction by mechanical moans. It is remarkable that, almost simultaneously with the perfection of this method for commercial utilization, true colored photography should lujve been realized. That is, a process of photography has now been discovered that retains the image upon the plate in all its natural colors in a way that is equivalent to fixing upon a mirror the image reflected there. Ever since the day of Paguerre the search for this result has lor photographic science been wliat the quest for the philosopher's - stone was for the JaJ- A LOVEll OF NATUUE. Job n Burroughs was born on a farm in the beautiful country near Koxbury, N. Y. Ho learned to love nature in his babyhood and now at v'he age of tifty- six his devotions to her is stronger than over. No man could interpret nature's woods as ho 1ms done unless he had the deepest sympathy with them. Such sympathy /gives Insight. Even the titles of hlu essays have a deligth- i'ul odor of Holds and wild flowers about them: Birds and Poets, Locusts and Wild Honey and Wake, Robin, for 'liistaiicec (Mr. Burroughs taught school nine years and then went to New York and became a newspaper man. Then he was a clerk in the 1 treasury department at 'Washing-Jon for nine years more. In 1873 he was appointed receiver of the Wallkill National bank in Mlddleton, N. Y. A year later he 'settled on a farm near Esopus, N. Y,, and gave his time to literature and fruit! culture.- The poetic contributions made by Mr. Burroughs to our literature are comparatively few, but one of them at least deserves and will doubtless receive a place among American classics. It is entitled Waiting: THE SWEETEST FLOWERS THAT BLOW. Tho sweetest flowers that blow I give you as we part. For you it is a rose; For me it is my heart. The fragrance it exhales, (A.h. if you only knew:) Which in dying fails, It is my love foi( you. The swee-tst ^"Wej 1 fh,at Igiyaypjjas/

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