Lititz Record

              ¡iÈâa
THE LITITZ RECORD [
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Oo., Fa.
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An Independent Family Newspaper, Devoted to Literature, Agriculture, Local and General Intelligence.
YOL. Y III. LITITZ, PA.. FRIDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 3, 1884: NO. 5.
THE IZHTZ RECORD
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HEADQUARTERS FOR
HOUSE—STIRE
-AT-Keipefs
Great Furniture Warerooms,
45 North QUEEN Street, Lancaster, Pa,
EVERYBODY
In M«ed of FURNITURE should give us a call. Great bargain* offer«!.
Goods sold at lower prices than ever befor® known. We havs a larg«
«took from which to make selections, and guarantee te give satisfaction
to all our patrons, who are cordially invited to «all and eee for them-selves.
No trouble to show goods. ^ Buying direst from the mannfae-turers,
we are enabled to sell at bottom prices.
]al • J. H. KEIFBR
LAGJSIAPFK.
—Distrust t h a t man who tells you to dis-t
r u s t .
He takes the measure of his own small sou!
And t h i n k s the world no larger. He who
p r a t es
Of h u m a n n a t u r e ' s baseness and deceit
Looks i n t h e mirror of his h e a r t and sees
His k i n d therein reflected. Or perchance
His honeyed wine of life w a s t u r n e d to gall
By Sorrow's hand, which brimmed his cup
with tears
And made all t h i n g s seem bitter to hi»
taste. ..
Give h im compassion! but be not a f r a id
Of nectared love, or F r i e n d s h i p ' s strength-e
n i n g draught,
Nor t h i n k a poison underlies their sweets.
Look through true eyes, you will discover
t r u t h .
Suspect Suspicion, and doubt only Doubt.
A nTSTKBT.
mm
find What a Patient says of ft.
"The Pastilles I purchased from you in Angus!
¡rove to me most conclusively that "while there la
Site there is hope." They did their work &r be-yond
my ntmost expectations, for I certainly did
«URSULAS»P HfcAKHtS? S e n t FRES
y 'JIW liiV UlilUUOb CAUCUbAUUUS] 1V1 I VClwuun UiU
not expect that a liabit of FOURTEEN YEAES'
BUS ATI OK could he completely gotten under con»
trol in the exceedingly short time of two months
I can assure you that no false modesty will keep me
from doing all that 1 can in adding to the success
which will surely crown so beneficial^ remedy."
Abovo extract from a latter dated—W. Ya Dec. 2St .1881
The Pastilles nm prepared and sold only by Hie
HAFIFFIIS KESWESY C O . KF'G CHEHI8T3,
¡500« W. I0«i.3t. • ST. LOUI8, MO.
CsaStorWt instant $8, two assiSa $5, tea asaiS'i ?
IMOEFS H TM CATHARTIC PIIXS are the BEST EVER MADE for essfivsnoss, Indigestion, Headaehs.
One good dose of three or four Emory's Little Cathartic Pills, followed by one
pill every night for a week or two, makes the human machinery run as regular
as clock work; they p u r i fy t h e SsBooca and put new life in a broken-down body.
Purely Vegetable, Harmless, Pleasant, Infallible, the youngest child may take
them. Sold by all Druggists and Medicine Sealers at 15 Cts- a Box, or by mail.
' 8TAHDARD OURS CO., Proprietors, 197 Pearl St., N.Y. ^ ; :
' ' E m o r y ' s Little Cathartic are more than is claimed; they prove to be the
best Pill ever used here. Worth twice the money asked.—W. W. H. GOHEH/
Hiirmony Grove, Ga. gmery's Lit-He Cathartic are the most popular of all
'' EMORY'S LfTTLH ®i0 Cathartics.—WM. BISHOI>, Mills Kiver, N. C. My aged mother used ona
©ATHARTIO PILLS wonderful results.—N. W. BAKEH, LocustGrove, Ohio. 1 recommend
I Br« pr epa r ed f r om Jthaecmk.s—onJ,O 3!H N COL—LITNhSe,y M ar. eD u.,n Aextcheellnesd,. —TeMxaUsG.—. E—LTIZhAeByE aTrHe KexEcTeSlKleBn, tM.—oBbe. rBlyE, NMSOoS. ,
ne. Mercury, or poison of any fcind,
by nmU. 2 « Cent« a Box. .
In all its forms positively cured with C m n r u ' n CtSllHarH fílirO Pill«
i never-failin^g ' re"m edy;" t hey c*o nta"i n nî/toïn -¡n¡»nü ääUäJ O OTMlTu lTlnUirrarrlîaU^-o UUIB IlilOrtîft - Endorsed by physicians and sold by druggists everywhere, oc
STAHDABD CUBE CO., New York.
WELL DRIHWG.
THE OLD "WAY' OP DIGGING WELLS
THROWN" I N THE SHADE
by t h e new way of
D R I L L I N G B Y STEAM.
Saves labor, saves time, saves money and
does away w i t h t h e piles of d i r t which accu-m
u l a t e b y t h e old process, while a purer wa-t
e r is w a r r a n t e d , since there is n o large
opening Tby w h i c h rubbish or v e r m i n can
drop i n t o t h e well.
REFERENCES: T. F r a n k Evans, L i t i t a;
Samuel Erb, Millway; Samuel and George Da-vis
Bainbrldge; Tobias StaufferSalunga; E l l as
Stauifer, X)>umore, a n d m a n y others, - ~
All orders p r o m p t l y attended to.
Call on or addx-ess,
DANIEL LEOPOLD,
Jun20-ly .-. Lititz, Pa.
L. B. HBRR?
New and second-hand
BOOKS.
53 N.'Queen St.,
&ug22-6t . LANCASTER.
T H E O LD
mm.
I beg leave t o a n n o u n c e t o t h e p u b l i c t h a t I
h a v e t a k e n possession of t h e old L i t i t z Bak-e
r y and Confectionery—which has been in
existence for upwards of fifty years—where I
shall be pleased a t all t i m e s t o see m y friends.
The I n v i t a t i o n Is extended t o all t o v i s i t my
place, or leave t h e i r orders, which shall re-ceive
prompt a t t e n t i o n . I am prepared to
f u r n i s h every m o r n i n g (Sundays excepted)
F R E S H BREAD, ROLLS, BUNS AND
CAKES,
made from t h e best roller flour. Families,
Picnics and P a r t i e s supplied with ICE
CREAM, CAKES and CONFECTIONS on
reasonable terms,, Cream and Confections
f u r n i s h e d at wholesale rates to t h e trade.
myl6-ly - I . F. BOMBERGER.
GOAL.
JUST RECEIVED A .
LARGE STOCK OF COAL,
Families supplied with the best qual-ities
of clean Coal at the lowest rates.
All I ask is to try a sample ton.
Also constantly 011 hand a large
stock of
Lumber, Salt, Phosphate, &c.
M. 8. HESS,.
l l j a LITITZ, PA.
H. L. TROUT,
SPECTACLES!
Many-eyes are and will be i n j u r e d Ibylmj;
proper glasses, as long- a s persons c o n t i n u e to
buy unsuitable glasses a t stores and from
peddlers. Only a p h y s i c i a n who und erstände,
t h e eye, can properly fit you with suitable
glasses. -
The o n l y place to get t h e proper glasses is
at Doctor Brown's, as c a n be testified by hun-dreds
of delighted persons in Lancaster City
and County and t h e a d j o i n i n g counties.
A FULL LINE OF SUPERIOR SPECTA-^
CLES AND EYE-GLASSES ON HAND.
If you want glasses t h a t will suit your eyes
a n d clo t h em good, call on Doctor Brown. If
yotr can not call,wriyeioi^"Speet'aclesby mail
on T r i a l . " - •
All Diseases of t h e Eye a n d Ear Treated.
DR. C. H. BROWN,
E Y E A N D S A R SURGEON,
No. 20 WEST ORANGE STEET,
LANCASTER, PA.
Egcpach'g BB^bíJ,
X.XTITZ P A .
Fresh Bread, Stalls,
Bums, Sweet Cakes,
SStFeislers, Sugatf
C a k e s » & o . ,
Served dail In t o w n a n d country. All o r d en
for funeuais or public gatherings promptly
attended to. A special f e a t u r e In the"buslnesi
will be t, h e baking of GENUINE RYE and
BRAN BREAD. My a im shall be f u r n i s h a
good a r t i c l e a t all times. Give m e a t r i a l and
satisfy yourself.
Have also added all'necessary tools for or-n
a m e n t i n g cakes, a n d a m now prepared to
ornament cakes for weddings a n d p a r t i e s in
any style desired.
HORACE L, HSCHBAGH.
THE BLATCHLEY
PUWP!
IUYTHEJBT,
BLATCHLEY'S
TRIPLE ENAMEL
PORCELAIN-LINED
OB
SEAMLESS TUBE
: COPPER-LINED PUMP
Do not he argued into
buying inferior Goods.
For sals by the best
houses in the Trade.
iLATCHLEY.ManuTr,
8 0 8 MARKET ST., Philad'a. . Write to me for name of aeasest Agsnt.
V I G O R O U S H E A L T H F O R M EN
AND
BIAMOK MANUFACTURER
' No. 2B P e n n S q u a r e,
V LANCASTER, PA. n22
MIOHAEL ROTH,
T O N S O R I A L ARTIST,
Opposite t h e SturgisHouse,
M A I N S T R E E T , L I T I T H,
Keeps constantly on hand a good stock oi
' FINE POMADES,
HAIR TONIC,
SHAVING SOAP,
every t h i n g else belonging t o t h e trade-».
H a i r Cutting done with n e a t c r a s and dis«
yttfliu ©MM**»'» Hair Cutt»i»a * seeeis-Hy,
P H O F .
HARRIS'
 Radical Ours
FOR
SPERIÄTORRHRI
A.3ST3D
IMPOTENCY.
g ^ T e s t e d f o r o v e r 5
y e a r s b y u s o i n t h o u *
B a n d s o f c a s e s .
I. xm
TRIAL
PACKAGE
NERVOtTS DEBILITY
organic weakness and da.
cay, And numerous ob.
Bear© diseases, bafSing
skillful physicians, result
from youthful indiacre.
iions, too free indulgence,
and over brain work. Do
not te'mpori2e while auch
enemies lurk in your ays*
tem. Avoid being Imposed
on by pretentious claims ot
ether ' remedies for these
troubles. Get our free circa-lar
and trial package and
learn important factB befbra
taking treatment , elsewhere.
Take a remedy that baa cured
thousands, and does not in*
terfere with attention to bus!«
ness or. cause pain or inoon«
venience. Founded on set«
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Growing in favor and repute
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The patient becomes
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* strength rapidly.
SEND ADDRESS
H A R R I S R E M E D Y CO.,M' f g Chemist»,
306% North 1 0 t h S t . , S t . t o o l s , Ko.
ONE MONTH'S TREATMENT, $3 :2 MONTHS,$5 ; 3 MONTHS,*
—Hand-made envelopes cost origin-ally
five cents each. The envelope-making
machine now turns them out
so that a thousand are sold for thirty
cents.
—Diphtheria has again broken out on
the Comstock, and there are many!
cases in Virginia City. It is supposed ;
the fresh outbreak was caused by the :
late wet weather. ' |
—The restoration, now advancing, of
the great north door of "Westminister
Abbey, is said to have cost $60,000. j
This gives a notion of the cost at pres-ent
of-such a iabrio,
It is our last week together.
No wonder that my arm is so closely
wound round her waist, and that her
head lies lovingly against my shoulder,
as though half loath yet to lose its cus-tomary
resting-place. For her the fu-ture
appears all bright; she is marry-ing
the man she has chosen, and a sis-ter's
affection no doubt seems tame in
comparison with that world of love
which is open now before her. Still
there is something in her manner be-traying
a vague uneasiness, something
almost indefinable.
My seven years' seniority- has estab-lished
a different relationship between
us; it is more as a child Hove her than
as a sister, and she too has always
looked upon me. in the light of the
mother we have lost. Our father also
is dead. It is awild eeiie night with-out.
The wind is blowing so boister-ously
that every door in the house
seems to be creaking on its hinges and
every window shaking in its frame.
"Magdalen," she whispers timidly,
"do you ever feel, on a night like this,
as though you were not alone, as though
something intangible Were beside you,
and you dared not turn your head to
see what it is ?"
"I am not so stupid," is my prompt
reply. "I don't believe in shadowy
forms and impalpable presences, nor
indeed in anything ghsstly at all.''
"Ghosts are the bogies With which
they frighten children. I am not speak-ing
of them, but of the spirits-.—" -
I interrupt her hastily.
"If you are going to talk nonsense,
May, I shall ring for lights. It is Rüs-sel
who puts tffese ideas into your head,
and it is very wrong of him.:'
Kussel is "the man she is going to
marry ; and at his name her eyes droop,
and ner fingers fidget nervously amongst
the fringes of my dress. Sometimes,
i I am half afraid that there is more fear
than love in her feelings for him. He
is very grave, even taciturn at times,
and very much older than she. But,
when I had at first set my face against
the marriage, partly on these grounds,
and partly because he was a widower,
and I was a little jealous that my dar-ling
should have even a dead rival, she
had begged me so bard to consent; and
had seemed so distressed when I hesi-tated,
that I could not but believe that
she loved him.
It was at a dance that she met him
first. I remember so well how gay she
was when she set out, how full of fun
and roguery, her eyes dancing and her
lips tremulous with delight. She has
never been so light-hearted since. Even
that same night, when I went into her
room to hear of all the events of the
evening, Iwas struck by a change; she
was looking so pale and tired, and an
swered me only in monosyllables when
I questioned her. Not till the next
moruing did I hear of the stranger who
had been there, who had danced with
her nearly all night and evidently cap-tivated
her fancy. In the evening too
it had come out that he was somewhat
of a conjurer and ventriloquist; and
afterwards, May told me, he had at-tempted
to mesmerize hör,.but only par-tially
succeeded. He had chosen her
because he said she dad such dreamy
spiritualistic eyes, and would surely
make a good medium.
But in this he is mistaken; soft and
languid as my little sister seems, she
has a very strong will, and does not so
easily succumb. It is for this reason,
because she is usually so brave and self-contained,
that I ami surprised she
should be nervous now.
"What is it, dear ?" I whisper anx-iously,
when she lapses ito a sacred si-.
lence, holding my hand so tightly the
while that it is with some difficulty 1
refrain from crying out."
"Magdalen, what shall I do when I
leave you ?" she cries irrelevantly, as it
appears to me.
"You win have your husband ; you
will not miss me," I return moodily.
"Magdalen, that is unfair. As if he
could ever be quite the same to me as
you, quite so good, or quite so dear! I
love him—oh, yes, I love him—my
whole soul is bound up in him. I think
—but, but "
"But you are a little nervous to-night,
and ufistrung. Leaving home is always
a trial at the last," I answer tenderly.
"It may be that; but do you know"
—drawing her hand away to rest her
head upon it, and peering thoughtfully
into the fire—"I have never been the
same since that night ?"
'' The night you met ftussel ?"
She nods gravely.
"Of course," I commence rallyingly,
"when a girl is in love "
But she breaks in, almost sharply—
"It is not love ; or, if it * is, love is
the most selfish, all-engrossing senti
ment under the sun. It is a pain, and
ho pleasure. It is a näorbid fascination
that precludes all other ideas, all good-ness,
purity, and sweet home-affections.
Oh, „Magdalen, if this is love, life is
not worth having !"
"You mean you do not care for
him?1'—blankly.
"No; I care for him too much. It
is my own feelings I condemn. He is
everything that is good and and true."
"I do not understand,"
"Nor do I. It seems of late as if I
were living in a spirit world, as though
I had no identity of my own at all."
"May, I believe it is that spiritualis-tic
rubbish which is doing you harm !"
"Perhaps,'? she answers doubtfully;
"I have heard that mesmerism has a
strange effect on nervous people."
"You don't mean to say that you
suffered yourself tobe mesmerized after,
that first time I" I exclaim, in horrified
displeasure.
"Only once, and that did me good, 11
know. I had one of my racking head-aches,
and with just a few passes of his
hand he sent me to sleep, and when I
awoke I was quite free from pain, only
feeling very weak, I remember; Why
are you looking, so grave, little
mother?"
"Because I have such a horror of
anythiug os toe sort," I answer slowly.
Isäawirhss I waa m child
impressed me so much that I caa never
think of it without a shudder."
"Tell me about it, Magdalen," she
pleads,.
And so I commence my story, only
omitting to say that the name of the
farm mentioned is Netherfleld Hollow,
because I do no'% wish that she should
have any dreary associations with the
village where we lived so many years,
and where, strange to say, Eussel
Browne contemplates taking another
house when they are married.
"I was only ten years old when it hap-pened,"
I begin ; "you were a little
child, and our father was still alive. It
was he that took me to the farm one
wintry aiternoon, and left me outside
while he went to speak with the man
who lived there—his tenant. He said
he should be only a few moments; but
he was away so long that I became rest-less,
and wandered round the house,
looking into the windows to see if I
could find him, I was about to turn
back discouraged, when a w'de-open
window caught my eye. and 1 made
towards i t at once. The room belong-ing
to it looked so dismal and dark that
my first thought was that I would
rather be outside than m there; then
I saw a small fire burning in a low old-fashioned
grate, and, although it was
nearly out, I could not resist stepping
m to warm my hands. Not till I liad
crossed .the threshold did I observe
ttiat I was not alone. A woman was
seated on a high-backed chair, between
a door that stood ajar and the window.
Her eves were closed, and the hair was
blown back from her thin white face
by the draught, while n9w and then
her lips moved, and she began talking
to herself in a low mournful key."
I stop a moment for breath, and am
half' startled by the rapt attention May
is giving to my story. Her eyes are
fixed on my mouth, as though she
would hear the words before they are
spoken.
"Are you frightened ? Shall I stop?"
I ask, a little anxiously.
"No, no—go on," she answers impa-tiently.
'T want to hear it all."
And half unwillingly I continue—
"At first I thought she was asleep,but,
after a few minutes' scrutiny, I saw she
was in pain, such fearful contortions
passed over her face, while her eyelids
twitched continually. Presently I
summoned up courage to pluck her by
the sleeve, when suddenly she caught
my arm and cried out—
"Child, have you come to save me r
He is mesmerising me to death, I tell
you; he is mesmerising me to death!'
"Before I could answer, I heard
another voice behind me which com-manded
silence; and, turning round,
I saw glaring in at the door a dark
wicked-looking face, close shaven and
with short black hair. Only one word
the man spoke, and that in low, almost
soothing tones, but my arm was re-leased
at once, and the woman shrank
back in mortal terror on her chair. As
for me. a scare came over me; and,
with a piercing shriek, I dashed through
the window, leaving the miserable wo-man
alone with the man. I did not
stop till I reached home, and there my
story was received with a little laugh-ter
and more discredit. They said I
had been dreaming; but I knew I was
awake, and felt sure the woman was in
real need of help. I have never forgot-ten
her face, and ! think I should re-member
his."
"All alone in the firelight •?"
It is Russel Bro wne who has entered ,
and now stands beside us, laughing at
our fright. May is soonest reassured,
and hides an April face of smiles and
tears on his shoulder. ,
Never before have I noticed how
dark Iinssel is, and what a sinister look
cemes into his eyes at times; and now,
taken in conjunction with the story I
have told and the fact that he too is a
mesmerist,"I can only shudder and bury
my face in my hands.
"Why, Magdalen* you are more
frightened at your own story than I
was!" laughs May lightly.
"Has Magdalen been telling ghost
stories ?" asks Russel, twirling his long
black whiskers and looking1 up with
faintest interest.
' It was a true story I was telling," I
remark gravely.
"And we have not heard the end yet.
Magdalen, did the woman really die ?"
"Yes, she died a fortnight later."
"And you believe "
"I believe she was murdered, foully,
cruelly murdered,?' I answer, with an
impressiveness that surprises myself,
"And some day I feel sure that the man
who did it will be found and brought
to justice."
•'Your sister is getting quite blood-thirsty,"
says Russel, with a sneer,
turning his face from me and addressing
May. "What is it all about ?"
"Do not tell him, May I" I implore
excitedly, somehow feeling a strange
reluctance that he should hear the story.
"Do not tell him. It was all my fancy ;
I dare say."
May smiles, and says no more on the
.subject ; but Russel Browne's eyes
meet mine scowlingly; and for the first
time I feel as if I had a reason for my
instinctive; dislike."
We are alt in church together as the
first rays pierce through the clouds and
enter the large stained windows; but,
when I turn round contentedly" to ad-mire
the scattered colored lights, I See
they kave produced a weird eUect.
On Russel Brown's face they lie like
a pale-blue shadow, giving him so hag-
,gard and evil an appearance that I turn
away in disgust, only to meet a still
more uncanny sight, My sister's head
is bent over her book as she is joining
in the responses, serenely unconscious
that she is bathed in such a sea of red
light that for a moment I fancy it must
be blood, and that somehow she is
wounded. Then gradually it fades
away, leaving only a narrow streak
across her white forehead, and two
larger splashes on her left shoulder and
right arm. I shiver convulsively and
close my eyes. When I open them;
again, the colors are not to be seen.
May is looking at me wonderingly, and
Russel leans over to ask me if I am ill.
Forcing a smile, I assure them of my
perfect health. We lunch together;
and, when the meal is over, the carriage
comes to take me to Esher, the neigh-boring
town, where my father's sister
has lived since we all left the home-county.
"Areyou coming, May?" I ask, as
she lingers behind a moment,
"May will stay with me," says Rus-sel
Browne ; and, though the words are
quietly spoken, I resent the air of au-thority
which accompanies them.
"Aunt Jane will be offended," I ob-serve
gravely. "We have never missed
going before."
••If Russel wishes mo to stay, I
must," says May determinedly.
I go back to my seat and bring out
my work. Alter all, it is aicev in the
'J)Qua4 fiug afternoon, I can sand »
vant with à message, and go myself to-morrow.
"Do not let me keep you from going,"
says Russel politely.
I turn crimson. It has never struck
me that perhaps they would like to be
alone ; it is such a new idea that my
sister can prefer any other persons com-pany
to mine. I îesent being dismissed
like this.
"You are quite right," I answer
stiffly. "There is no reason at all why
my actions should be influenced by
yours ;" and then I sweep angrily from
the room.
"She is cross ; let me go to her," I
hear May saying anxiously as I mount
the stairs ; but her lover only laughs,
and detains her.
On my way down I pass, in dignified
silence, not meaning to say good-bye,
the door of the room where they are
sitting ; but, just as I am getting into
the carriage, I look up and see May on
the terrace.
"Don't be long, little mother I" , she
cries out gaily, nodding and smiling
until Russel interferes, drawing her
back into the room, and closing the
window with what seems to me a very
vicious snap. Then I am driven off.
It is a six-mile drive to Esher. and
the carriage is a closed one. The glasses
get dull and frosted with my breath,
and presently I can see out no longer,
and soon grow so warm and drowsy
that I fall fast asleep—and dream.
My dream is a strange one, and evi-dently
suggested by the event of the
morning. I am all alone in a large
room, the duluess and dreariness of
which remind me of the room I entered
fifteen years ago at Netherfleld. As at
that time too, I am' not alone. A wo-man
is advancing towards me all draued
in black, waving her arms wildly m the
air, as if she were under the influence
of some strong dram or opiate. By-and-
by she half turns away, and then I
see that a tress of golden hair has es-caped
from its confinement, and is ly-ing
lightly on her sable germents. In-sensibly
attracted, I draw near and
touch it softly ; in color and texture it
is very like my little sister's. The next
moment she glides away from me, and
I have no strength to follow. A large
white hand appears from between some
heavy damask curtains at the far end
of the room, and draws her behind,
while I can only stare stupidly after
her and wonder whither she has gone.
A whole hour, it seems, do I spend
watching for her to re-emerge. My
eyes are nearly starting out of my
head, so earnestly do I gaze. I think
I cannot be quite sound asleep, my
thoughts are so clear and collected.
Then comes a low moaning cry, and in-stantly
I, recover myself and have
power to move. With supernatural
strength I tear down the curtains and
penetrate into the space beyond. Aman
is standing with his back to me, bend-ing
over a prostrate form, a gleaming
knife upraised telling of the crime that
has been committed. The victim is the
woman in black ; but now the veil is
thrown back, and I can see—what ? I
stagger back and press my hands to my
eyes to shut out the appalling sight.
Everything seems growing dim, fading
away in a crimson mist.
"Thank Heaven, it was only a
dream!" I exclaim aloud, as I wake
up and find myself safe in the carriage ;
and. though I cannot shake off an im-pression
of ill, I am glad when the rat-tling
of the wheels over the stones tells
me that we are in Esher. Then at last
we pull up, and the door is opened for
me to alight.
The question whether Miss Haseldine
is at home is never asked. It is known
to be a pointless one, as she never
moves from her room ; so I only inquire
of the servant who stands in the hall
whether my aunt is better.
"Miss Haseldine is about the same-rambling
a little the last few days, and
not gaining much strength," is the re-ply
I receive; and then I am ushered
into her presence.
"How are you to-day, aunt Jane ?" I
ask cheerfully, making my way to her
side.
She raises her withered cheek for me
to kiss, and whispers something about
there not being much change. Then,
looking round, she adds curiously—
"There used to be two of "you, I
thought. Where is the other ? Is she
dead ?"
Although I know she 'is not responsi-ble
for what she says, I cannot refrain
from a startled cry.
•'Heaven forbid !" I exclaim. "Why
should you think that ?"
"I didn't know, my dear. Don't be
cross ;» ! didn't know. So many have
died and left me. You two are the last
relatives I have in the world," she an-swers,
with apologetic sadness.
I stoop down and arrange her cush-ions,
feeling sorry for the poor old wo-man
who has nothing left but life.
!"'"'Where is May ?" says tny aunt
ag&In, breaking into my train of
thought.
"At home. Her lover is spending
thé day with us, and she stayed with
him."
„_" "What ! Baby May got a lover !"
"You forget, aunt ; she was engaged
to Mr, Russel Browne six months ago.
She iti to be married next month. ' '
"You never told me," is the queru-lous
retort. ; •
'"You forget," I repeat patiently.
"RusselBrowne! Mr. RusseÎBrowne!
Doctor Russel Browne!''
she is muttering one name after an-other,
in low excited tones, as though
trying to recollect something in connec-tion
with him. But presently she
changes the subject, and begins telling
me .about herself. I listen . politely,
though my thoughts are often wander-ing,
I fear, and my-replies are not al-ways
applicable. |
At last she lapses into silence, which
is not broken for sèveral minutes. Then
she says something which makes my
blood run cold.
"And so little May is going to marry
Doctor Browne of Netherfleld Hollow!"
she observes contemplatively.
For a moment I am stunned. Has
she by a strange effort of memory re-pealled,
the real name of the man who
was suspected of having killed his wife
bv mesmerism so many years ago, or is
she only rambling still ?
Her next words tell me all.
"A widower too I They say he mur-dered
his wife ; but I don't know. It
was never proved, and he went away
almost directly. Dear, dear, how
strangely things come about !"
"Aunt, are you sure that the name
of the man who lived at Netherfleld
Hollow was Russel Browne ?"
"Yes, Russel Browne—Doctor Rus-sel
Browne. Why are you running
away, child ?"
But I do not stop to reply ; my pre-judices
are all justified at last, my pre-sentiments
explained. I only wonder
that I did not recognize him before.
The engagement shall be broken off at-auc3<
I would «wuier sae bjj d i u /
lying in her coffin than married to such
a man.
I order the carriage round again at
once, and send the servant to my aunt.
It seems ages before the horses are In,
so impatient am I to be off; and, even
when they are ready at last, the coach-man
informs me that one is going a lit-tle
lame, and must be driven slowly.
What a miserable journey this is I We
seem to be crawling along. I try to re-assure
myself by thinking that May is
not alone with him. I think of every
possible misfortune before I reach my
wished-for destination, my fears adding
to themselves as I proceed When I am
home at last, I jump out without wait-ing
for the footman to descend, and run
up the garden to the house, beckoning
to him and the coachman to follow. As
I approach, I can hear voices and laugh-ter
from the servants down-stairs, and
for a moment am ashamed of my fool-ishness,
and feel inclined to tell the men
to come no farther. But directly I set
foot in the hall my agony of mind re-turns,
for a chair is thrown down in
the middle of the passage, and on the
pale green dado which is painted by the
side of the stairs there is a mark of
five fingers in blood, scarcely yet dry.
My feet seem to acquire wings. It
takes me net more than twenty or thirty
seconds to look into all the sitting-rooms,
and then I find myself before
May's bed-room eoor. Here there is a
small pool of blood on the white fur
mat outside, and I. see that the handle
of the door is blood-stained as well, as
I trp in vain to turn it. As I struggle
with it breathlessly, the men come up
t<f me, and I call out to them, in the
clearest voice that I can command, to
burst it open, and let me see the worst
at once.
But, in spite of all that I have feared,
I am not prepared for what meets my
sight now. There on the floor is
the lifeless form of my sister, in a long
black dress, as I had seen her in my
dream ; her hair has fallen too, but its
gold is dimmed and soiled with blood.
Strangest of all, and what impresses
me most even in this awful moment, is
the fact that there are wounds on her
right arm and left shoulder correspond-ing
exactly with the red light that had
fallen on her in the church that morn-ing.
With one long wild shriek I thrtjw
myself upon the ground beside her;
and then, in very mercy, consciousness
leavea me, and for a time I know no
more.
When I recover, I find myself in my
own room ; the blinds are drawn down,
and my maid is moving about on tiptoe.
She comes up to the bedside when I open
my ey es.
"Have they found him ?" I ask fe-verishly,
as in an instant all that has
happened flashes across my mind.
About my darling there is no need to
ask ; the lowered blinds tell their own
story; besides,; have I not seen her ly-ing
dead ?
"Whom do you mean, ma'am ?"
"The murderer—Russel Browne."
"Ilush, ma'am I You must not talk
of that just yet," she answers uncom-iortably,
making a movement to go;
but I catch hold of her dress.
•'Do you think any truth can be
worse than this uncertainty ? Tell me
a l l a t o n c e ."
"He was found dead on the marshes
yesterday. They say he must have
fallen into a dike when it was dark.
But indeed, ma'am, this is not fit for
you: the doctor said "
"How can he have been found dead
yesterday, when it was only to-day it all
happened ?" I interrupt impatiently ;
then, glancing round the room, and see-ing
the long array of medicine-bottles
and glasses, the truth strikes me at
last. "Have I been ill, Martha ?"
"Indeed, jes, ma'am—worse nor
Miss May herself's been."
But, even while I am puzzling my
poor weak brain in trying to taise in
this new idea, the doctor comes, and
wisely deems it more expedient to tell
me all himself then than let me be wor-ried
by a half-knowledge of what has
occurred.
May is not dead ; and in my gratitude
for that everything else sinks into in-significance.
Her wounds had been se-vere,
that on her|shoulder causing great
anxiety; but now she is eut of danger,
cured as well of her ill-fated love for
the man who would have murdered
her.
It had all happened so strangely ; and
I think the story I told on Christmas
Eve played its part in the denouement.
If so, I do not regret it, for the short
pain my darling suffers now is far bet-ter
than the life-long misery to which
she would have been subjected had she
become the wife of Russel Browne.
Almost directly after I had left they
had gone into -the garden, and, once
there, he has commenced by upbraiding
her for loving me best, and then had
spoken wildly about a love which only
death could keep true. By his stronger
will he had fascinated her into a spur-ious
passion for himself;. and, now that
he fancied he saw his influence abating,
he tried vainly to persuade her to let
him regain it by submitting to his mes-meric
powers. She fought against it
so strongly that his suspicions were
aroused, and he interrogated her angrily
for reasons. Then, in explaining, all
the truth came out; and she ended by
telling him the story that I had told to
her.
What he must have felt at hearing
the secret of his,own life thus ruthlessly
exposed who can tell ? Suffice it to say
that the latent madness of the man
broke out, and, drawing a kniie from
his pocket; he stabbed her several times
with demoniacal fury, Then, when
she escaped into the house, he leaped
the garden wall and fled away from the
scene of his- intended crime, wandering
on aimlessly, until at last he met with
his death' on the lonely Esher marshes.
It is all so terrible that L can only
cover my face and weep silently as I
listen; but, when the doctor ceases
abruptly, I raise my eyes to see the
cause.
There, coming across the room, with
an expression of earnest thankfulness
on her sweet face for her own recovery
and mine, is a wiiite-robed girl with
bandages still bound about her shoulder
and on her arm. In another moment,
with a low cry of joy, she has sprung
on to the bed' beside me; and, holding
my pretty May in my arms safe from
all the dangers that have surrounded
her, I can afford to forgive the dead
man for the misery he has nearly caused
I n t e r v i ew witli a I.ion.
Pardon others often, thyself sel-dom.
|
Passion should be cared by pru- :
dence. j
Open rebuke ia better than secret j
hatred. j
O n e eye w i t n e s s is b e t t e r t h a a t e n
The adventure of which I am going
to tell you, happened to me a good many
years ago says a correspondent. It was
my first serious interview with a lion.
There were three of us, sworn comrades
as ever were.
First, there was your humble ser-vant;
secondly, there was my horse,
Marengo, and a better never looked
through a bridle. Thirdly, there was
Cognac, the faithfulest the most honest,
the oddest and the wickedest little dog
the world ever saw. It was about eight
o'clock one morning, when I had been
some two hours in the saddle, that I
came out from a narrow valley, or ra-vine,
through which the road ran, on
to a sandy plain, dotted with bushes
and scrub. I had just laid the reins on
Marengo's neck, when suddenly he
gave a tremendous shy that pitched me
clean off. The next minute, with a
terrible roar, a lion sprang right at Ms
head.
I made sure he was on the top of
him, and so he would have been, but,
as Marengo wheeled short around like
lightning on his hind legs, the stream-ing
reins caught the brute's forepaw,
and as it were, tripped him, so that he
fell sideways on the road. The heavy
jerk nearly brought the horse down,
but the throat-lash broke, the bridle
was pulled over his ears, and, recover-ing
himself, he darted away into an
open space about a dozen yards across.
In the centre of this Marengo took his
stand, with his tail toward the lion and
his head turned sharply back over his
shoulder, watching him. He stood
quite still, except for the slight shifting
of his feet and lifting of his quarters,
which I knew meant mischief. The
lion probably thought so too for he kept
dodging to try and take his opponent
by a flank movement. Soon, with a
roar, the lion made bis spring, but
Marengo lashed out both heels together,
with such excellent judgement of time
and distance that, catching him full in
the chest he knocked him, all of a heap
to the ground, where he lay motionless.
Then, with'a neigh of triumph and a
flourish of his heels away he galloped
through the grove out on the plain, and
was safe. The lion lay so still that I
thought he was dead, or nearly so, and
was just running to pick up the bridle
and follow Marengo, when he sat up on
his haunches. As he sat there with his
head loosely wagging from side to side,
and mouth half open, he looKed quite
vacant and idiotic. Suddenly his head
stopped wagging, he pricked up his
ears, and by the flash of his eye and
changed expression, I knew he had seen
me. Only one thing was to be done,
and I did it. The outermost tree was
large and low-branched. To it I ran,
and up it I scrambled, and had just
perched in a fork about fifteen feet
above the ground as the lion arrived at
the bottom.
My carbine was slung at my saddle.
My only weapon beside, my hanger, was
a pocket pistol, double barelled, and
what in those days we called a breech-loader—
that is the barrels unscrewed
to load, and then, screwed up ag iii>.
i t Would have been a handy weapon
against a man at close quarters for it
threw a good ball; but for a lion! Be-side,
the beast was too far off.
Then the thought flashed into my
mind, where was Cognac? I supposed
he had run away and hidden Somewhere.
If the lion got sight of him, it would, I
knew, be soon all over with the poor
little fellow.'
All at once there arose close at hand,
an awful and familiar yell. It had a
strange, muffled tone, but there was no
mistaking Cognac's voice. Again it
came, resonant, long-drawn and sepul-chral.
It seemed to come from inside
the tree. Where the deuce was he? :
The lion appeared utterly astonished
and turned his ears so far back to listen
that they were almost inside out, when
from some hole among the roots of the
trees there popped a small head with
long ears.
'Down, down, Cognac!' I cried in
my agony. 'Go back, sir!'
A cry of delight cut short by a pite-ous
whine, was his reply, as he spied
me; and then, dashing fully a yard to-ward
the lion, he barked loudly and
defiantly. With a low growl and a
ruffling mane, the ferocious beast
charged fiercely at my poor little
Cognac.
Back went Cognac into the cave as
quick as a rabbit, and stormed at him
from the inside. Thrusting his great
paw right down the hole, the lion tried
to claw him out. Oh, how I trembled
for Cognac! But he kept up such a
ceas eless fire of snapping and snarlin'
that it was plain he was
either well round a corner, or that the
hole was deep enough for his safety.
All the same to see the great coward-ly
beast digging away at my poor little
dog like that was more than I couid
stand. Cocking my pistol, I shouted,
and as he looked up I fired at his blood-shot
eyes. He shook'his head and I
gave him the other -barrel. With a
scream of rage, lie bounded back. Cog-nac
immediately shot forth his head,
and insulted him with jeering barks.
But he was not to be drawn again, and
after a bit he lay down further off, and
pretended to go to sleep. Cognac
barked at him till he was tired, and
then retired'into his castle. Reloading
I found I had only three bullets left,
and concluded to reserve them for a
crisis.
It was now past noon. To beguile
the time I smoked a pipe or two, sang a
song and cut my name. Cognac's and
Marengo's on the tree, leaving a space
for the lion's which I had determined
should be .Wellington. I wished he
would go away. Having some milk in
my bottle I took a drink, and should
have liked to give some to Cognac.
The lion began to pant, with his red,
thorny tongue hanging a foot out of
his mouth. He was as mangy and
disreputable-looking a brute as ever I
saw. By and by he got up and sniffed
the air all around him, and then, with-out
as much as looking at me, walked
off and went deliberately down the
road. ,
Slipping to the ground, I caught up
Cognac, who had crept out directly,
and looking carefully around for the
lion, was smothering me with caresses.
The lion was turning toward a bushy
clump in a hollow about two hundred
yards off. That light green foliage-willows,
water! Had the cunning
brute sniffed it out?
Anyhow, it was a relief to stretch
one's legs after sitting six mortal hours
on a branch. The lion disappeared
round the bushes. I strained my eyes
over the plain, but could see nothing
moving. Then I gave Cognac a drink
of milk and a few bits of bread-cake,
for which he was very grateful. Of
course it was no use beginning a race
against a lion with only two hundred
»tsat i a guy aumbst ef miles.
The tree was better than that. Bah;
there came his ugly head round the
corner again, making straight for us.
When he was pretty near I kissed Cog-nac,
and threw a bit of cake into the
hole. Then I climbed again to my
perch. Cognac retired growling into
his fortress, and the beast of a lion
mounted guard over us as before. He
looked quite cool and comfortable, and
had evidently had a good drink. An-other
hour, and he was still there.
While I was wondering how long he
really meant to stay, and if I was des-tined
to spend all night on a bough like
a monkey, and on very short commons,
he got up, and walking quietly to the
foot of the tree,, without uttering a
sound, sprang up at me with all hia
might. He was quite a yard short,
but I was so startled that I nearly lost
my balance. His coup having failed,
he laid down right under the branch
I was on, crouching his head on his pawa
as if to hide his mortification.
Suddenly, the thought came into my
mind: Why not make ' a devil, and
drop it on his back? I dismissed it as
ridiculous, but it came again. As we
have all been boys, you know what I
mean—not a fallen angel, but a gun-powder
devil. Good! Wëll, it seemed
feasible, I would try it. I had plenty
of powder in my little flask, so, pouring
it into my hand, I moistened it well
with spittle, and kneaded away until it
came out a tiny Vesuvius of black
paste. Then I formed the little crater,
which I filled with a few grains of dry
powder, and set it carefully on the
branch. My hands shook so with exci-tement
I could hardly hold the flint and
steel; but I struck and struck—the tin-der
ignited—now, Vesuvius!
Whiff, whizz! Thé .lion looked up
directly, but I dropped it plump ou thé
back of his neck. For an, instant he
did not seem know what had happened;
then with an augry growl up he jumped
and tore savagely at the fiery flea on
his back, which sent a shower of sparks
into his mouth and nose. Again and
again he tried, and then raved wildly
about, using t h e most horrible leonine
language, and no wonder, for the devil
had workëd well down, among his
greasy hair, and must have stung him
like a hundred hornets. ; ,His back hair
and mane burst into a flame, and he
shrieked with ragé and terror then he
went stark staring mad, clapped his
tail between his legs, laid.back his ears, -
and rushed out of the grove at twenty
miles an hour, and disappeared up the
ravine.
Almost as mad as the lion with joy,
and feeling sure that he was gone for
good, I tumbled down the tree and ran
off along the road as hard as I could
with Cognac barking at my heels. By
and by I had to pull up, for the sun
was still very.hot; but I walked as fast
as I could, looking out all the time for
Marengo, who would not, I knew go
very far from his master. Presently I
spied him in a hollow. . A whistle, and,
whinnying with delight, he trotted up
and laid his head on my shoulder. In '
my hurry I had forgotten the bridle,
but with my belt and handkerchief I
extemporized a haiter, tied, one end
round his nose, and catching up Cog-nac,
mounted and galloped off, defying
all the lions in Africa to catch me.
A g e m t h e A r m y .
The, oldest captain on the active list
of the army is Captain Pollock, of the
Twenty-flrst infantry; he will be sixty-five
years old during the; month. The
oldest lieutenant is P. P. Bernard, of
the Fifth cavalry, who is sixty-four,
being twenty years older than his colo-nel.
The oldest lieutenant of artillery
is F. C. Nichols, of the First, who is
sixty-one years of age. The senior
major on the active list in point of years
is Edward Collins, of the First Infantry,
who is sixty years; he entered the ser-vice
in 1846 as a private in the Batta-lion
of Engineers, and has been in the
service ever since that time. Brevet
Brigadier Genera! Joseph N. G-. Whist-ler,
of the Fifth infantry, is the oldest
lieutenant colonel in the line of the
army; he is sixty-two; and Lieutenant
Colonel John Hamilton, of the Fifth,
who is sixty-one, is the oldest of his
grade in the artillery. General H. J.
Hunt, the senior colonel of artillery,
now retired, will be sixty-five years of
age during this month. General Gil-bert,
Colonel of the Seventeenth infan-try,
is the oldest colonel of his arm of
the service, béing sixty-two, and John
P. Hatch, of the Second cavalry, is the
senior in years in the cavalry. The
youngest Major General i s Schofield,
and the eldest is Pope, who issixty-tWo,
Hancock is sixty; he retires in 1888.
Mackenzie is the youngest brigadier
general in the army; he is now forty-three
and retired, and Miles, the next,
is forty-five. While promotion is slower
in some respects in our army than in
any military service in Europe, yet
there is neither in England "nor on the
Continent" an officer of General Mack-enzie's
age, "outside of royal blood,"
who has attained his rank. Arigier is
the oldest brigadier general, and is sixty-three.
A brigadier general will be
appointed next year;- a major general
and a brigadier m 1886, and likewise in
1888. .
The youngest colonel of artillery is
Ayres; of cavalry, Merritt, who is forty-three,
and of infantry, Pennypacker,
who is forty-two. The youngest lieu-tenant
colonel on the staff of the army,
is J. M. Whittemore, of the ordnance,
and Morrow, of the Sixth cavalry, 33
the youngest lieutenant colonel in the
line. S. E. Tillman," Professor of
Chemistry, Mineralogy and Geology at
West Point, has the correlative rank of
lieutenant colonel; he is thirty-six years
old, the youngest ©f the grade in the
United States army. The youngest
major in the army is William H. Smith,
of the pay department, who is thirty;
George R. Smith, late of the Twelfth
infantry, who graduated from West
Point in 1875, is a few months older.
Otho W. Budd, who graduated from
West Point in 1868, is the youngest
captain of cavalry, and F. V. Greene
and Carl F. Palfrey are the youngest
in the Corps of Engineers. The aver-age
age of captains of artillery is forty-three,
and in cavalry and infantry about
forty-one. In the general staff of the
army- the youngest general officer is
General Benet, Chief of Ordinance,
who is fifty-seven, and the senior to
date of commission. Adjutant Gen-eral
Drum and Surgeon Général Crone
are fifty-nine years old, and Paymaster
General Rochester and ; Commissary
General MacFeeley are fifty-eight. The
oldest retired officer of the army is
General W. S. Harney, who was born
in the last century, and who entered
the service in 1818., He lives at St,
Louis and is accounted the wealthiest
man In the army.
- TtjKPENTisras applied to a eut ï» a
Yeatirf of iook|»wt