The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on June 29, 1898 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, June 29, 1898
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ttJHHfit. DES M1NDSJ WEDNESDAY JUNE 29, 189g ti^^ma IfeLv UwiNlSrfHH INTERNATIONAL MESS ASSOCIATION, CHAPTER' XIV.—(Continued.) Then there was an old gentleman Who Balked up and down In front of her windows every morning from half- past dine to ten o'clock, and again every afternoon from half-past two to three. He looked like an old general, and Dorothy felt quite friendly toward him because he belonged to her darling Dick's profession. But even an old general can get monotonous in tim'e, particularly when he does the same things day after day^-and this one always did. After his early morning constitutional he invariably went in to his house and was seen no more until, he came out to do his half hour of regular tramping again at half-past two. But after his second dose he always looked at his watch when an adjacent clock struck 'the hour, and then shook himself together and toddled off as if he were going to town— going to his club, Dorothy thought. But oh! dear, dear, It was all dreadfully slow, and before she had been a month in her hew home Dorothy was pining, pining for some woman friend to talk to) to confide in, to be friends . with. Of course, to set off against this, there were the gay and glorious times when Dick came home, sometimes only between afternoon parade and morning stables, which meant a little dinner somewhere, a theater after it, and a wild scramble and rush to catch a train leaving Liverpool street at some unearthly hour in the morning. At other times, however, Dick managed to squeeze a two-days' leave out of his colonel, and then Dorothy felt—ay, and said, poor child—that life was worth living, and that she would not change her lot for that of any other woman In all the wide world. So, poor child, her life slipped by In a continual change from grave to gay,' with bright spots of deepest and tenderest love**set in a large surface of .unutterable dullness arid wearying depression. "I wonder," she said one day to Dick, "whether, when we are able to be always together, you will get tired of me and if I shall bore you?" "No," said Dick, promptly. . "You really think not?" eagerly. "I don't think at all." he said, tenderly, "because I am sure of it. What makes you ask me that, dearest? Have I ever looked bored or as if I were tired of you?" "Oh, no, Dick, no!" she burst out; "only you were so good and kind to , me, and it seems so wonderful that you who have been in the world all your life, should take so much trouble for a. little nobody like me—I mean that 1 know nothing; how should I, after living all my life at Graveleigh?" : Dick laughed aloud at the earnestness of her face and tone. "My darling," he said, holding her close to his heart, "I have been no more kind and tender to you than you have, been to me. You don't set half • enough value on your dear self, the most precious self in the world. Believe me, a man does not care so much what his wife knows as what she is —and you forget, what I always re- "I LOVE YOU." member, that you might have liked the other fellow best, and you didn't." "The other • fellow,"- Dorothy faltered. ."You mean 'David Stevenson." "Tjps, I mean David Stevenson," ' v Pick answered. "Many a girl would have taken him before a' poor pauper devil, who had to ask his wife to live • incog in a poor little hole like this. Do .' yoti know, I went round to h^ave a look at Stevenson's place, Hblroyd, the 'other day, and when I saw it— shall I tell you what I did, my sweetheart?" "Yes," answered Dorothy, in a whis- » "I went round to the churchyard where she lies, our. best friend, and I thanked God and her, if she could hear me, that my dea'i' little love had given me her pure love in exchange for mine, and that Miss Dimsdale's wishes had never been to part us. Don't hurt me again by asking me doubting questions, my darling; Don't, Dorothy; don't, my dear." "Dick, Dick," Dorothy cried, "I never will. I love you, love you, love you!" "And you will always love me?" teasingly. "Ob, Dtfk!" reproachfully. j "Even when - ?" ' Dorothy blushed, but she put her arm round his neck, and drew his mouth down to ACTS. "I shall always love you best of all, Dick," she said, "and however muph J may love the child, I shall love it most because of you." CHAPTER BOUT two months after this a sort of avalanche fell upon the little household in Palace Mansions. It took the form of a letter from Lord Aylmer, the old savage at Aylmer's Field, and Dick in his flrst surprise exclaimed, "Now, who the devil was to expect the old savage would be up to 'this sort of game?" It began by assuring his nephew that he was enjoying the very best of health, that he had not had a touch ol gout for something over three months, but that her ladyship was in exceedingly queer health—that she was indeed thoroughly out of sorts, and at present giving both himself and her medical adviser cause for the gravest anxiety. Then he went on to say that he had just had a visit of nearly a week from his old friend Barry Boynton— "That's Lord Skevversleigh," said Dick, as he read the letter aloud—and that Barry Boynton had just been appointed Governor-General of Madras, and that as he—"the old savage"— felt his nephew could not lose by advancement in his profession, whether he ever happened to come in for the Aylmer title or not, he had put in a good word for him with his old friend, with the result that Barry Boynton had promised to appoint him as his military secretary. "But, Dick," Dorothy cried, "that means India." "Not a bit of it, my darling," Dick cried; "I'll see the old savage at perdition before I accept it. I only go to India on one condition that I go as a free man; that is, with you as my acknowledged wife." Then they read the letter over again and made their comments upon it— she with her sweet face pressed against his cheek, he with his arm close about her waist. "The amount of delicate information he conveys is really remarkable," Dick laughed. Dick, by-the-by, was on :i ten days' leave, and was jovial and inclined to view the whole world through rose colored glasses in consequence; "this is to let me know that I needn't expect to step into his shoes for many a day yet. Bless me, If he knew how little I care about it, one way or the other!" "Nor I!" Dorothy chimed in; "except—except that we should always be together then, Dick," with a soft touch of yearning in her voice. "But we -are always together in heart, my dearest," cried Dick, fondly. "And my lady's health is causing him the gravest anxiety—h'm! We may take that with a grain of salt. Gravest anxiety! Why, if my lady were lying at death's door, that old savage wouldn't be anxious, unless for fear that she should get better. However as they are in town I must go and inquire after her ladyship. She's a hard nail enough, but she has always been good to me in her way, and she's worth a thousand of him any day. And then I can tell the old savage that he may use his Influence with his deal old friend Barry Boynton for somebody else." "But you won't do anything rash Dick?" Dorothy cried. "Certainly not—why should I? But I shall tell him I have no fancy foi India, and that I'd rather stop at home. "But supposing that he says no," said Dorothy, who in her heart regarded Dick's "old savage" as an all-powerful being who had it in his power to make or mar her very existence. "Oh, I think he will hardly insist one way or the other," he answered, easily. "Anyway, I must go and be civil to my lady, who isn't half a bad sort, and gently intimate my decision to my lord." "When will you go, Dick?" Dorothy asked. "Today, I think, dearest," he replied; "just after lunch will be a good time. The savage is never quite so savage after a meal as at any other time." A strange and sickly faiutness began to creep over Dorothy, a dull and indefinable sense of foreboding rose in her heart and threatened to suffocate her. "Shall you be. long there?" "Well, if I am," returned Dick, with a laugh, "it will be a new experience for my delightful uncle, for I never stopped a single minute longer in his house than I could help since I can remember." Then he happened—attracted by UPI silence, and the absence of the sweet laugh which generally echoed his—to turn and look at her. The next momenl he had caught her in his arms, and was kissing her as a man only kisses the one woman that he loves in all the world. "My love, my love," he cried, "my dear, sweet little love, don't look like that.' What is it you fear? Not that I shall ever change toward you, or be different in any way, so far as you are concerned?" "They are your people," she falterec —and " "My people!" he echoed contemptuously. "Yes, sp they are; but you—- you ar« My life—toy very soul—the light of my eyes; why, you are myself. Why, to put my love and care for you in comparison for one Instant with what I feel for all my people together would be too funny for words, If you were not distressed about It. But when I see you look like that, darling, it hurts me so awfully—It cuts me up, so that I can hardly talk or think sensibly. My dear little dove, there is nobody In all the wide world that I could ever put beside you, or ever shall." "You are sure?" she cried. "I am quite sure," he answered.look- Ing at her straight and true in the eyes. "And now, my dearest, it is halt- past eleven; let me take you out for a turn before lunch time." He always found it an easy matter to comfort and reassure the little wife who loved him so dearly, and although, by living so much alone an.l without proper companionship, she was apt to brood over the circumstances of her life and to conjure up all sorts of gloomy fancies and dread shadows which might come to pass at some future time, these mists always yielded before the Irresistible sunshine of his love, and they were happier, !t possible, than they had been aforetime. In his Innermost heart, however, Dick was not so easy about his approaching interview with Lord Aylmer as he made Dorothy believe; and he knocked at the door of the old savage's town house with rather a quaking heart, and something of the vague dread which he had coaxed and soothed away from his wife's tender heart. Yes, Lord Aylmer was at home, and her ladyship also! and the servant, having no special orders about Mr. Aylmer, at once showed him into tho pretty little room off the smallest of the two drawing rooms, and told him that he would Inform her ladyship of his presence. And In less than three minutes Lady Aylmer came. "My dear Dick," she said, "I am most pleased to see you. I did not know that you were in town. Is it true that Lord Skevversleigh has made you his military secretary? I quite thought you had set your face against India at any price." Dick Aylmer was so surprised that he sat staring at his uncle's wife in speechless wonder. She noticed his look, and asked with a laugh, "What is the matter, Dick? You look as it you had seen a ghost." "Not a ghost, Lady Aylmer," he said, recovering himself; "but I certainly expected to see more of a ghost -than you are at this moment." "Why, how do you mean?" "I had a letter from Lord Aylmer this morning, and he said that you were ill." "111? I?" she echoed. "Nonsense You must have mistaken him. I wa never better in my life." "I couldn't possibly mistake him,' TALMAGffi'S SfiftMOK. "A GLORIOUS REST" LAST SUNDAY'S SUBJECT. From the Text of Wlcnli, Chapter II, Verse 1O, a« Follows: "Arise Ire and Depart, for This Is Not Your Rest"— Drumbeat of the Prophet. 'MY DEAR DICK." said Dick, firmly. "However, 1*11 show you the letter; there is nothing at all private in it." (To be Continued.) RUN OVER A SCARECROW. Engineer of a Fast Train Receive* a Fright Which Be Can't Forget. (From the Detroit Free Pi-ess.) "The nervous strain on the engineer of a fast train is something enormous," said one of them the other day. "Not only the lives of the passengers are at stake, but there is constant fear of running over someone on the track. An accident, no matter how innocent the engineer, is always a kind of a hoodoo. What was my first accident? I shall never forget it. If it had been traced on my mind with a streak of lightning it couldn't have made a more lasting impression. It happened one bright moonlight night in November. We were spinning over the rails at full speed across the country Where there were few people passing at that time of night, when I looked out and saw the figure of a man lying across the track not ten feet in front of the engine. I stopped quick as possible, but too late, of course. We had run over him and the lifeless body was under the wheels. We got out to look for him and found his hat, a piece of his coat sleeve and one of his shoes, but the rest seemed to be further back under the train. I backed up the engine and got out to look again. There lay the body. I nearly fainted when I saw its distorted form. I felt like a murderer. Did I know the man? No, not personally. He was a scarcrow from a neighboring corn field." A man of Torrington, Conn., who has become an expert hypnotist, pul himself to sleep the other day, remained unconscious while a dentlsl pulled a tooth', and woke up when tbf dentist counted five. This was the drum-beat of a prophet who wanted to arouse his people from their oppressed and sinful condition; but it may just as properly be uttered now as then. Bells, by long exposure nd much ringing, lose their clearness if tone; but this rousing bell of the gospel strikes In as clear a tone as ivhen it flrst. rang on the air. As far as I can see, your great want and mine is rest. From the time wo enter life, a great many vexations and annoyances take after us. We have our lolldays and our seasons of recreation and quiet, but where Is the man In this world who has found entire rest? The act Is that God did not make this world to rest In. A ship might as well go down off Cape Hatteras to find smooth water as a man In this world to Ind quiet. From the way that God las strewn the thorns, and hung the clouds, and sharpened tho tusks; from .he colds that distress us and the heats ;hat smite us, and the pleurisies that stab us, and the fevers that consume is, I know that he did not make this world as a place to loiter in. God does everything successfully; and this world would be a very different world If it were intended for us to lounge In. It does right well for a few years. Indeed, it is magnificent! Nothing but Infinite wisdom and goodness could lave mixed this beverage of water, or hung up these brackets of stars, or trained these voices of rill, and bird, and ocean—so that God has but to lift his hand, and the whole world 'breaks forth Into orchestra. But after all, It Is only the splendors of a king's highway, over which we are to march on to eternal conquests. You and I have seen men who tried to rest here. They builded themselves great stores. They gathered around them patronage of merchant princes. The voice of their bid shook the money markets. They had stock In tho most successful railroads, and in safe deposit vaults great rolls of government securities. They had emblazoned carriages, high-mettled steeds, footmen, plate that confounded lords and senators who sat at their table, tapestry on which floated the richest designs of foreign looms, splendor of canvas on the wail, exquisiteness of music rising among pedestals of bronze, and dropping, soft as light, on snow of sculpture. Here let them rest. Put back the embroidered curtain, and shake up the pillow of down. 'Turn out the lights. It is 11 o'clock at night. Let slumber drop upon the eyelids, and tho air float through the half-opened lattice, drowsy with midsummer perfume. Stand back, all care, anxiety, and trouble! But no! they will not stand back. They rattle the lattice. They look under the canopy. With rough touch they startle his pulses. They cry out at 12 o'clock at night, "Awake, man; how can you sleep when things are so uncertain? What about those stocks? Hark to the tap of that flre-bell; It Is your district. How, If you should die soon? Awake, man! Think of it! Who will get your property when yoi are gone? What will they do with it? Wake up! Riches sometimes take wings. How if you should get poor? Wake up!" Rising on ono elbow, the man of fortune looks out into the darkness of the room, and wipes the dampness from his forehead and says, "Alas For all this scene of wealth and magnificence—no rest!" The very world that now applauds will soon hiss. That world said of the great Webster, "What a statesman What wonderful exposition of the con stltution! A man fit for any position!' That same world said, after a while "Down with him! He is an office-seek er. He is a sot. He is a libertine Away with him!" And there is no peace for the man until he lays down his broken heart in the grave at Marsh field. While Charles Matthews was performing in London, before immense audiences, one day a worn-out and gloomy man name Into a doctor's shop saying, "Doctor, what can you do foi me?" The doctor examined his case and said, "My advice is that you go and see Charles Matthews." "Alas! Alas!' said the man, "I myself nm Charle Matthews." Jeffrey thought that if h could only be judge, that would be th making of him; got to be judge, and cursed the day in which he was born Alexander wanted to submerge th world with his greatness; submergec It, and then drank himself to death be cause he could not stand the trouble Burns thought he would give every thing if he could win the favor of courts and princes; won it, and amid the shouts of a great entertainment, wher poets, orators and duchesses were ador ing his genius, wished that he couli creep back into the obscurity in whicl he dwelt on the day when he wrote o the "Daisy, wee modest, crimsou-tippei flower." Napoleon wanted to make all Europ tremble at his power; made it tremble then died, his entire military achieve ments dwindling down to a pair o military boots which he insisted 01 having on his feet when dying. A Versailles 1 saw a picture of Napoleoi in his triumphs. I went into another room and saw a bust of Napoleon as he appeared at St. Helena; but oh, what grief and anguish in the faco of the latter! The flrst was Napoleon in triumph, the last was Napoleon with his heart broken. How they laughed and cried when silver-tongued Sheridan, in the mid-day of prosperity, harrangued the people of Britain; and how they howled at and ex«cj'*t«(J bloj when, out- elde- of the room where his corpse lay, ' his creditors tried to get his miserable bones and sell them. This world for rest? "Aha!" cry the waters, "no rest here—we pluhge {o the ea." "Aha!" cry the mountains, "ho est here—we crumble to the plain." Aha!" cry the towers, "no rest here— we follow Babylon, and Thebes and Vineveh into the dust." No rest for the flowers; they fade. No rest for the tars; they die. No rest for man; he must work, toll, suffer and slave. Now, for what have I said all this? ust to prepare you for the text: "Arise, e and depart; for this Is not your rest," am going to make you a grand offer. Some of you remember that when gold was discovered In California, large :ompanles were made up and started off to get their fortune, and a year, ago or the same purpose hundreds dared he cold of Alaska. Today I want to make up a party for the land of Gold, hold in my hand a deed from the Proprietor of the estate, in which he offers o all who will join the company ten housand shares of infinite value, In a 2ity whose streets are gold, whose harps are gold, whose crowns are gold. You lave read of the Crusaders—how that many thousands o£ them went off to conquer the Holy Sepulchre. I ask you 0 join a grander crusade—not for the purpose of conquering the sepulchre of a dead Christ, but for the purpose of caching the throne of a living Jesus. When an army Is to be made up, the recruiting officer examines .the volunteers; he tests their eyesight; he sounds heir lungs; he measures their stature; ;hey must be just right, or they are re- fected. But there shall be no partiality in making up this army of Christ. Whatever your moral or physical stat- .ire, whatever your dissipations, whatever your crimes, whatever your weaknesses, I have a commission from the Lord Almighty to make up this regiment of redeemed souls, and I cry. Arise, ye, and depart; for this Is not your rest." Many of you have lately joined this company, and my desire is that you all may join it. Why not? You know in your own hearts' experience that what I have said about this world is true—that it is no place to rest in. There are hundreds iiere weary— oh, how weary—weary with sin; weary with trouble; weary with bereavement, Some of you have been pierced through and through. You carry the scars of a score of conflicts, in which you have bled at every pore; and you sigh, "Oh, that I hud the wings of a dove that 1 might fly away and be at rest!" You have taken the cup of this world's pleasures and drunk it to the dregs, and still the thirst claws at your tongue, and the fever strikes to your brain. You have chased pleasure through every valley, by every stream, amid ever brightness, and under every shadow; but just at the moment when you were all ready to put your hand upon the rosy, laughing sylph of the wood, she turned upon you with the glare of a fiend and the eye of a satyr, her locks adders, and her breath the chill damp of a grave. Out of Jesus Christ no rest. No voice to-silence the storm. No light to kindle the darkness. No dry dock to repair the split bulwark. Thank God, 1 can tell you something better. If there is no rest on earth there is rest in heaven. Oh, ye who are worn out with work, your hands calloused, your backs bent, your eyes half put out, your fingers worn with the needle, that in this world you may never lay down; ye discouraged ones, who have been waging a hand-to-hand flght for bread; ye to whom the night brings little rest and the morning more drudgery—oh, ye of the weary hand and the weary side, and the weary foot, hear me talk about rest! Look at that company of enthroned ones. It can not be that those bright ones ever toiled? Yes! yes! These packed the Chinese tea boxes, and through missionary instruction escaped Into glory. These sweltered on southern plantations, and one night, after the cotton picking, went up as white as If they had never been black. Those died of overtoil in the Lowell carpet factories, and these in Manchester mills; those helped build th.e pyramids, and these broke away from work on the day Christ was hounded out of Jerusalem. No more towers to build; heaven Is done. No more garments to weave; the robes are finished. No more harvests to raise; the garners are full. Oh, sons and daughters of toil! arise ye and depart, for that is your rest. Scovill M'Callum, a boy of my Sunday school, while dying, said to his mother, "Don't cry, but sing, sing, " 'There is rest for the weary, There is rest for the weary.' " Then putting his wasted hand over his heart, he said, "There is rest for me." But there are some of us who want to hear about the land where th?y never have any heartbreaks, and no graves are dug. Where are your father and mother? The most of you arc orphans. I look around, and where I see one man who has parents living, i see ten who are orphans. Where are your children? Where I see one faui- ily circle that is unbroken, I see three or four that have been desolated. One lamb gone cut of this fold; one flower plucked from that garland; one golden link broken from that chain; here a bright light put out, and there another and yonder another. With such griefs, how are you to rest? Will there ever be a power that can attune that silent voice, or kindle the luster of that closed eye, or put spring and dance into that little foot? When we bank up the dust over the dead, is the sod never to be \iroken? Is the cemetery to hear no sound but the tire of the hearse- wheel, or the tap of tne bell at the gate as the long procession come in with their awful burdens of grief? Is the bottom of the grave gravel, and the top dust? No! RQ! no! • The tomb is only a place wherg j$_e_ wr^p oijr, robes us for wash eft the dust on the way'. From the top of the grave we catch a glimpse 6t the towers glinted with tne eua that never sets. Oh, ye whose locks are wet with the dews of the night of grief; ye whose^ learts are heavy, because those well- mown footsteps sound no more at the doorway, yonder is your rest! There s David triumphant; but once he be- tntfahed Absalom. There Is Abraham enthroned; but once he wept for Sarah.. There Is Paul exultant; but 'he once ; sat with his feet In the stocks. There s Payson radiant with Immortal iealth; but on earth he was always sick. No toll, no tears, no partings, no strife, no agonizing cough, no nlglit. No storm to ruffle the crystal sea. No alarm to strike from the cathedral towers. No dirge throbbing'from seraphic harps. No tremor in the everlast- ng song; but rest—perfect rest—unending rest. Into that rest how many loved ones have gone! Some put down the work of mid-life, feeling they could hardly be spared from the store or shop for a day, but are to be spared from it forever. Some went in old age. One came tottering on his staff, and used to sit at the foot of the pulpit, h!s wrinkled face radiant with the light that falls from the throne of God.. Another having lived a life of Christian consistency here, ever busy with kindnesses for her children, her heart full of that meek and quiet spirit that is in the sight of God of great price, suddenly her countenance was transfigured and the gate was opened, and she took her place amid that great cloud of witnesses that hover about the throne! Glorious consolation! They are not dead. You cannot make nle believe they are dead. They have only movod on. With more love than that with which they greeted us on earth, they watch us from their high place, and their voices cheer us In our struggle for the sky. Hall, spirits blessed! now that ye have passed the flood and won the crown. With weary feet we press, up the shining way, until In everlasting reunion we shall meet again. Oh! won't It be "grand when, our conflicts done and our partings over, we shall clasp hands and cry out, "This is heaven ?" By the thrones of your departed kindred, by their gentle hearts, and the tenderness and love with which they now call you from the skies, I beg you start on the high road to heaven. In the everlasting rest may we all meet. One of the old writers wished he could have seen three things: Rome in its prosperity, Paul preaching, Christ in the body. I have three wishes: First—To see Christ In glory.surround- ed by his redeemed. Second— : To see Christ In glory, surrounded by his redeemed. Third—To see Christ In glory, surrounded by his redeemed. When on my new-fledged wings I rise, To tread those shores beyond the skies, I'll run through every golden street, And ask each blissful soul I meet— Where Is the God whose praise ye sing? 0! lead me stranger to your King. WHAT GIRLS ARE DOING. Sending Her Flllotvs to tlio Hoys Who AIK Wearing Uniforms. Another thing the girls are doing is making small hair pillows to send to the men. These were suggested to them by an old regular army officer, who has seen much service and who told them that a man could make himself quite comfortable anywhere in the open, with his blanket, if ho had a hair pillow to lay his head on, says Harper's Bazar. These pillo\vs are not stuffed very full, so that they may be easily rolled up id the blankets. They are about twenty- seven inches square and are covered flrst with ticking and then with a slip cover of denim or cretonne, which can be taken off and washed. Some of the girls are embroidering dark brown ones in yellow or blue ami so on, in different combinations of color. There Is a certain set of well-known society girls in town who fire buying luxuries and packing cases of them for the men they know in the- different camps. Each girl has pledged herself to give so much money every week and a committee on packing and shipping the cases has been formed, which will attend to the sending of them off every two weeks until the war is over. The goods are all to be sent to one of the girl's houses, which will be kept open Ul summer, if the family goes away, and any donations of sensible and practical articles of food which arc easily transported are very gratefully re» eelved. TiiUow Cinutlr* in a Dainty, To most people a tallow candle appears more hi the way of a necessity than a luxury, but the Russian blue- jackets who are enjoying shore leave just now from tho Rossit and the Admiral Nakimoff appear to find in assimilating uamlles of (.ho Chinese make as much gusto as an English child would have in eating a sugar stick. The other day a party of stalwart Muscovite bluejackets wore to '-o seen along the Queen's road, and tho avidity with which they polished off joss candles was a sight for the gods. Some of the men, who were evidently potty officers, elected to dine off caudles as thick as one's arm—regular No. 1 joss pidgin arrangements— and streams of grease trickled from the corner of each man's mouth. British anil American jacks, like their beer and rum, but they d'vw the line at Chinese-made tallow cr Heg, They Were I'lcof, Auywuy. "I am at a Joss," murmured the cow-, mander of the American blpckadln^ vessel, as he watched uie small party of^ Spaniards hot-footing It over tne hill, "whether to report an eneo.un.teer with Spain's fleet, or sh»U I merely ' o, squad ruo.

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