Evening Star Newspaper, March 28, 1891, Page 7

Ana Vernon Dorsey in the Philadelphia Press. Ng ase wrestiin’ wid de ocean, You hed letter jwat ‘ie still. (Case de currents lat are sent from God ‘Guinter fetch yer whar He will, eb Hymn. L e HE PACIFIC MAIL STFAMER CONSTI- tution, bound from San Francisco to Pan- ama, was within a few days’ journey of her des- timation. A short, tropical twilight bad faded | into the bine brilliancy of a tropical night. The vessel seemed to be floating between two vast, starry spheres as she sped onward, her ‘engines thrilling like @ pulse. The upper deck was crowded with groups, laughing end chat ting. Apart from the others sat two young people, lovers, who had met for the first time on this Yoyage—Miss Elinor Verney, the daughter of one of the cattle kings of the Pacitic slope, and a handsome young Italian named Juliano Sivani. Miss Verney was in her steamer chair. Sirani Jounged ons coil of rope at her feet, whence he could see in the shadow her face framed in Diack lace. | an increased stir around her. , People. were ‘A woman said: There's 3 passenger tie railing abe looked to side of the vessel to the Miss Verney stood, a slender figure outlined inst the sky, her "veil blown backward until features were no longer able, and he had mounted the the side of the Montana and crowd upon her deck. 1. The cabin occupied by Ratcliffe and Dobbin at Gopher Gulch was regarded as a particularly fine abode.’ A porch ands coat of whitewash had cansed the partners no end of rough badi- nage. It was called the White House and Wind- sor Palace. “Guess you're of livin’ in » paylatial ince,” one of the boys would say, or, “Air Yer goin’ home ter yer ancestral marbie hails?” A narrow strip of plain lay in the beart of arid and treeless hills. ‘The blue spurs of the Sierras towered twenty miles off with the foot hills hke baby mountains clustering at their base. “Tell me,” she pleaded, “what ie the secret that you keep from me that at times steels your | neart to me? I know that you love me and I} have seen your sadness fade away, but you | have some secret purpose that you hide.” | “We will not speak of that, ing his lips to her hands. a snowflake on your band. It will not come back, { hope, and | ‘it must.” ' “Ah, dear heart.” said the girl, “I know that whatever your sorrow is that some day you will | tell it to me. Ihave prayed that we may be | They both ould go to his home in Naples. Sirani lost sight of the melancholy which had preyed upon him in the harmony of marmared words and the swish of H waters luiling bim Letheward. | From across the deck the sound of a name often repeated began to beat deep into his dream. Jim Dobbin, a sheep man who was go- | ing east to spend his money, was relating in a loud voice to a group of men the remarkable adventures of “Me and My Partner, Hugh Kat- | cliffe He leaned, gazing with tartied and hurt, Miss Verney whispered, a do not lore me then? ly, with sad eyes devonring th has followed me,” he cried. | 1 have nothing todo with love.” With th air of one who bids farewell to all that is | Rising joined iver Miss Verney arose after | ts. drawing the black searf around 1 passed Sirani as he stood in a | emotions, grasping the rope railing | antil his nails cut deep into bis palms. She tarned te He took a ste e sp his hands. nid fire it,” Dobbin was saying, | Lheard a crack and that bar fell ove speaking with a slight foreign accent, Englishman? ‘Thet he is,” replied the Californian. a regular tip-topper, too; but thar's uo airs or dandyism about him. Been my partner now e years. Think ver know him?” with yellow hair and a sear over ‘He's him—Hngh—to a dot; that’s my ‘ind er feller yer never forget—that 3 jest freeze ter. ‘The other men had moved off, leaving these two alone. ‘here ishe now?” Sirani leaned back in the shactow, his quiet, modulated tone contrast- ing with the enthusiasm of the California “Down on our ranch at Gopher Gulch, Kern county. We made a pretty little pile thar, an’ he's jest waitin’ ter sell his share of the sheep snd settle things up before he pulls up stakes an’ goes back to his folks. Whar'd you know im?" There was a pause of a few second I will tell you,” said Sirani, mechanically, like « man in his sleep. “It was at Naples, my home, He was one of a party Englishmen on a yacht. They had ‘been cruising about the Mediterranean, and put into Naples. One evening « large party of us Were playing becearat. This man, as stupid Englishmen always are, was half drunk, and accused Luigi, a friend of mine and an honor- able man, cheating. Luigi sprang up, id flung the cards in bis fac drunken beast, drew hi pistol and shot him; shot him as he stood there, young and happy. and he fell—dead.” His voice, whieh had been dry and constrained, broke he: in a sob. asked Dobbin. “He's a mighty quick sort of a feller ina fight, Hugh is, an’ he's bound (admiringly) to git the dead wood on the other feller every time.” “In the confusion and excitement his friends ied him off. and the yacht put out of port fore the authorities took any measures. “But tescaped yet. The young brother of man, kneeling by the corpse of him ed—ab! %0 loved—swore that he ld devote his whole life to tracking the derer, and that when he found him he «i kul ‘his where be stood—like the beast Ye As Like ter see him do it, that's all! Kateliffe'll hev somethi me. Sou: lake the theater. dobbin spur I guess ing ter say ter thet little mighty fine, all the same, jest ‘ed the Italian to white heat. “le will keep his word. For years, all over the earth, be has followed that man like a Dieodbound, tracking his movements, but never being able to meet him face to face. When in Australia he heard of thi man, this Rateliffe. as being in California, and went there, but could learn nothing, rather lost all trace of him and had given up in despair, fear- ing thet death had robbed him of the joy of hulling his brother's murderer. 3 “Kinder lost the trail. eh? But look here,” in, persuasively, “air yer goin’ ter tell yer theatrical young’ friend where Hugh ise W the use of kickin’ up a row now, when he's kinder got reconciled? Some er he'll thank yer for keepin’ mum. "s kinder young now and excitable. * ter write ter him?" easly disappeared in the dark- lly cover of which he heard ipperiest cus- tomer, sueakin’ off like a coyote when I was talisin' ter him! Jest like them ferrinera. They call themselves Spanish or Portugee or italia they ain't nothin’ but d— greasers iL In the loneliness of the great waste Sirani passed the vigil of the night filled with sad memories. i Everywhere he seemed to see aface some- = ag bis own and then the same face still | aud cold. | When morning broke the ship was plough- | 2 tullen | tog through green gray waters under 8. Sirani, coming on deck about 10 o'clock, saw Mise Verney sitting in her usual place. | He turned away and walked forward to the | bow, watching the green waves that, like bun- Sry sea serpents, crawled over and over each ether, showing their white Mirani felt caged, cutrapped. He was im- | krisoned between the boards of the vessel, a during all this time Ratcliffe might have left | California and escaped bis doom. Adoring his | brother, Sirani had made revenge the religion of bis life. All else, pleasure. safety, had Leen | kanght. But now he was afraid of the struggle thin himself of the softer voice that bade | him relinquish his stern pu: Who could tell what woul steamer would arrive in back at Miss Verney With eves as gray as the sea she was off, bat, as if m happen before the "He looked gazing his glance, she ad sir eves met. Her 7 ad, i into the distance. rs eel ‘There seomed to Siram no possible escape | from the irrepressible impul | the irrepressible impuise that urged him | fe ids drop Just at «sail He stopped a sail 7 sailor passing b; aires about the vessel. bs ee ‘es, sir,” said the man, hardy and grizzle. “IguessI know that ship. Belike she’s the | Montana, belonging to our line, bound to Prisco. ‘Guess she'll stop for mail, so if you've | got ang letters to go back you'd better get ‘em y. Strand saw a loophole of The light of the sail seemed to diffuse it ~ The ocean became smaller and the waters in the distance a track to lead him to the wished- ro, T forgot F he | b. rou. ive me,” mattawel calkiog totes Gone ac eee A Ralf an hour Inter Misa Verney, ail sitting om deck with the wind blowing the leaves ‘the volume on her knee, became conscious of | brow of the hil | belts. It was a day in June. Ratcliffe caine to the door of the cabin and stood looking ont. The sun was high, pouring a flood of light upon him. He stood in the doorway, a broad-shouldered figure, with can- Yas trousers stuck into his boots and a red finnnel shirt. Before him lay the long, tunnel- e valley of the gulch and the white stretch of the road to Delano as it wound in between the hilis. At s short distance were the well and drinking troughs, the ground around plowed and trampled. Outside the inclosure stood a red wagon. Two horses, hobbled, wandered laboriously down the road. The claim and sheep had been sold. To- morrow the horses wagon were to take him to Delano, the nearest town and the ter- minus of the railroad, en route for England. There was no sound to break the silence save the clucking of a few chickens scratching in the bare earth. He was the only human being to be seen. Ratcliffe was heartily glad that this life was over. He had knocked enough around the world. Now that fortune had smiled on him he would go back to England and to civilize- tion, enjoy himself at first and then settle down in some snug little place with a pretty wife. There had been ugly spots in his life, mem- ories rather at variance with such a quiet carcer. What man did not have them? re had been that affair of the Italian at Naples, which he did regret. But he thought with « glow of pride that there had been noth- ky or eaddish in his past. euly his quick ear caught the sound of some animal's feet approaching. Walking to the end of the porch he saw coming over the [i"trom toward: the mountains three horsemen. ‘They rode up tothe fenee and drew rein. The leader was Higginson, a large man witl hite beard and raddy nose. With him were a warm and dusty with riding. fornin’ Hagh,” said Higginson. He was a “Hello,” responded Ratcliffe. The others gave salutatory grunts of recognition. Higginson proceeded with directness to bus- ess." He took off his straw hat and mop) his glowing face with his shirt sleeve. “Hev yer seen anything hereaboute—" suggested MeGinnis. “Of « bay mare with a white star on her fore- head. si ‘hich the same moight be rid by a greaser named Parades,” interposed McGin- his. “They both vamoosed this morni re- sumed Higginson, “an’ ef I catch him I'll make it —_"* any one go past here today,” said Ratcliffe, “except thatdimber jawed Flip- per with a load of stones.” 't hey lost that mare for a purty ile.” lamented her owner. “Seems like my eart were sot on thet mare, soto speak, more’n any other horse I ever had. Ratcliffe had already begun to assimilate himself to civilization. He looked at the bare hills and the men in their rough costumes with a critical and alien feeling that it concerned him not whether they ever found the missing horse. Tomorrow he would be on his way to new scenes and interests. “Come in and have a drink,” ne ‘The charms of pursuit proved more attrac- tive. They declined, and Higginson wheeled off, followed by the others. fiood-by,” he called the old country, ain't yer? Amerik; biggest place out Ratelifle stood looking down the lonely vista of road and over the barren hill crest where the mens’ strow hats were disappearing. ‘The shadow of an eagle fidating in the sun- light drifted across the porch. He felt as he used when he was a boy leaving schoo! for the holidays. With both hands in his pockets he whistled a gay Spanish dance, shufiling bis feet by way of accompaniment. Then with a laugh at his own gayety he went into the cabin. ‘The same day, in the glare of the midday sun, Sirani was’ riding through the desolate country which lies between the mountains and the town of Delano. ‘The Montana had one morning arrived at San Francisco. Sunset on that day saw Sirani on the train speeding southward. Dela- no his one thought had beem to purchase a horse. He had bought hastily what the patri- him called archal old man who accommodated a splendid animel—real blooded stock—and other eulogistic soarings of the fancy. Delano was miles behind. Around lay the level plain under the burning sun. ‘The baked soil was covered with » short, parched stubble, and spotted with ef comer as if the earth, old and desolate, had ine flicted, Job like, with some sore disease. Sirani, anxious to arrive at his destination, discovered too late that he was bestriding « broken-winded hack. Blows and entreaties could not goad on the horse, which was physi- cally incapable of greater effort. “It seemed that the animal would break down in the mids! of the desert plain. Sirani was all but desper- ate to be thus battled when the goal wag so near. Casting hia eyes for help over the hérizon he saw something far up the road which looked like a windmill approaching him. fe dismounted and waited. The windmill on nearer view proved to be a horseman who stopped some distance off and seemed dubious whether to approach. “Come here,” shouted Sirani. “I want to speak you. My horse has broken down.” ‘The opportune arrival was a dark. young fel- low, unlike an American, with a black beard and ugly, moukeyish face beneath the ahade of his broad sombrero. He drew near cautiously. ” he ask Hoping that he was one of his countrymen, Siensl epohe to hig: ta Tiation, ‘No sabe Latin. Iam Spanish.” ‘Where can I buy a horse?” shortly, in En- glish, demanded Sirani, who did not like the fellow’s appearance. “Mine is no good and I amastranger. How much for this? Thirty dollars?” pointing to the stout bay mare he was riding. ‘Time was valuable. Sirani pulled out the bag of gold which he had brought from the ship and counted out the sum named, the other dismounting and eyeing him hungrily. It struck the Italian that man's costume of canvas trousers, flannel shirt and big hat was more suitable than the garb of civilization which he etill wore, a “Ten dollars more for your clothes," he said. The avaricious twit of the man's eye showed that his soul was in the market for an; ‘one who would choose to bu; mortgaged article. ay eats “Bueno,” he The change was soon effected. Sirani, with a renewed sensation of stre: and dotermina- tion, mounted his new parel “Whien way to Go; “Up the road,” said the other. up there—" Sirani was away like a flash. pers rose, whirring, from it iectaver sl tek staat Degan to . Still barren and treeless, rolling hills cleft with deep gorges su: ed him. "Here and there Iny the decaying carcass of a Jackass rabbits scarvied across the road into the friendly shelter of rocky canyons. Sirani keptan anxious watch for the white Gopher Gulch. He felt sure that he everywhere | the | youina 7Sirent lost identity in the | p man living ‘eight miles up in the foot | A Bo - — THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C, SATURDAY, MARCH 28, 1891—SIXTEEN PAGES. he took to be a despised greaser, to enter, say- OES down. Ii busy now, but TU speak to ht echanically took & seat on one of the luring which conscionsness bad had been but as an instrument, a which the furies were aba tis FEE Why of bisyelte tard]; i s & for you! Sirani sat with it replying, with and lips, ‘ands. strange brillteue eyes. Ratcliffe grew angry under scrutiny. “You must be loco, fest. “What do you mi staring at me, you fool?’ He was excited and had taken enough whisky to make him quarrelsome. Sirani also rose and stood watching him, motionless and alert. “I have seen you before. Who are you? Curse you. Why don't you speak?” {ihe livid scar’ rebead, t fears ago,” said Sirani, softly breathlessly, in Italian. “Do you remember? My poor Luigi—now dio!” voice rose toa cry. With » spring like a wildeat’s he caught the larger man by the throat, drawing his knife with the other id. ‘The slight, shanty, shook with, the struggle: Heavily built as was the Englishman, in hi half-inebriated condition he was no match for the active young Italian. He had had no time to reach for his revolver. Of no avail was mas- sive strength against the feline tenacity of his antagonist. ‘There was a mad rocking to and fro, a of blood, « relaxed grasp and a heavy fall. How stil it was save for the Sicking clock! But a moment passed. garish sunlig streamed in the window. On the table stood “Did I say,” said Sirani, “that the vaniah? T'was wrong. It has left on my love. To the passiah of a added the heat of the desert, the spair and the of ‘death. me—sweet. face to ‘He and Kate Married Because ‘They W. So Old and Se Poor. ‘From the New York Herald. Half a dozen mon were discussing the prob- — lems of marriage in the cafe of the Southern Sm di ye alit- tle awing—cack goes your neck, an’ give my i} ae to Father Teter, a ‘He ain't hurtin’ you.” ‘He began to sing his favorite song, “Kitty of Coleraine.” A red light glowec into Sirani’s dream. jase. inson. “Git down, boys. Now then, we'll make this short. Greaser, I guess yer know thet air tree an’ I guess yer goin’ ter know it better.” ‘They surrounded him. He knew why they were going to-hagg him. ‘They had found the Englishman. But to die thus, unknown, like # dog! Life was very sweet, iy a violent effort that sbemed to burst the root of lis mouth he cried out: “Justice! Justice. it you're not devil, A fair trial; not this—this——" “Stop squealin’ or —” Heath enforced his threat by ajérk of the rope. “Let Jedge ‘inson os “Now, don’t be onreasonable, Parades. This'll be sech a lesson ter you bout horse stealin’ hat I guess yer won't ever steal another, But tty,” Higginson spat emotionally. ‘ s Lever hed" ‘The rope was thown over a limb of the tree. The moon was veiled by acloud. The dogs barked. “Horses!” cried Sirani. “Before God I'm not the man you think—not Parades.”” “Hold on, boys, thar scoms ter be a little mi ‘They dragged him forward to the light from window. the half-empty tumbler, and the ink was yet | the undried on the pen. Where was the man who had sat there and sung, the spirit that had dictated to the will- ing hands the written words? Not here, not the heavy lump of flesh that iay prostrate, im- potent. Sirani mounted and rode madly through the undulating monotony. This country was enchanted to him. The flow of sunlight on the brown rocks was a lurid light, a blood-red mist. On the sum- mits of hills, masses of stone, were grim castles from which, when an owl hooted, he heard the cry of « lost soul. It could not be remorse which he felt. He was persuaded that it was but justice whick he | sni had executed. It was the hellish country, he thought, which weighed upon him like a’ pall. The yearning for a human face to break the awful loneliness seized upon -him. Let him but once get with people and this weight would away. Suddenly he uttered a cry stopped the mare. Before him he fai e saw in the gathering dusk the same cabin which he had thought lay behind him at Gopher Gulch. There was the same corral; the same red wagon, was before the door. It struck him with horror that he was in hell. His punishment was to consist in an eternal cir- cuit, ever trying to escape, ever to return against his will to this shanty and its ghustly occupant. He saw with a glow of relief that it was not the same cabin. ‘Three or four horses were hitched to the fence. A bright light shone from the window and open door, and he heard the heavenly sound of laughter and voices. He rode to the window and looked in. Four men were sitting at # table on which was a lamp. A woman was standing near the stove, whence arose the savory odor of fried meat. ‘They were laughing heartily at something the woman wae saying Sirani felt that he loved these people. Never before had the intercourse of his own kind ap- peared so sweet. He was about to enter when one of the men, hearing the dogs bark, came out to find the cause. Higgit ly. rs waist, and his may sens with the white star on her forehead. He put his hand to his belt and sprung for- ward to seizo the bridle, shouting: Liye got yer now, hev I? You a—d horse thief Sirani felt the hostile movement. There was no time for thought, but it came to him with » of consciousness that he had committed an offense against the laws of man and that now the hounds were upon his path. He dug his spurs into the mares flanks. She started, knocking Higginson over, and tore off. Sirani but. moment's advantage. Quickly the four men were mounted and after him. He had a wild sense of speed, of being a hunted co Upward they rushed toward the mountaine looming before them darkly in the twilight. Plains passed like a swift dream. Hills rose and sank, billowy sea, behind him. With ever increasing #1 gaining upon him, came the beat of horses’ hoofs.” He heard shouts and voices and « bullet whizzed past him. The mare was morning's work, but tic with excitement. With she rushed forward. jizz!" The mare lurched and heaved under him. Before her, where the road made a sharp curve, rose the’ narrow, rocky walls of a canyon, the entrance to which seemed impassable for stones. He urged the mare for- ward and she sprang into the shadows of the ravine. Two large owlssitting onits banks rose, dark, flapping pe, ith Boarae crios. It seemed ‘the entrance to hell, of which Dante told. On the mare stumbled in the cool darkness. Behind him he heard the stamping of hoofs and the voices of his pursuers as they passed on- wi Walls seemed to reach indefinitely above, like the narrow sides of bo i How alive Dim, misshapen shapes like carved goblins in the churches jum; about in the shadows. Suddenly the light grew brighter and the #ky seemed to open overhead. ‘The mare stumbled and paused. She had out of the canyon to a narrow ledge. A’ steep cliff lay at her feet. Weak with the loss of blood from her wound she staggered and sank, a death. —— was thrown for- ward, striking upon a sharp stone, tearing the smooth, olive check where, Ellinor’s lips had rested. Below the foothills plains stretched out likea map in the twilight. The horned moon hung low in the deepening sky. Above, the mountains rose awful, shrou in the gloom of the gathering night. Sirani lay facing the dim tract of hills. Malt comnnel, bi tind was te the past. Scenes of his past life flashed across him with startling vividness. Through all, his brother's face voice recurred to him with an inexpressible longing. Why was Luigi not here to smooth his hair in the old way, almost like a woman's to hold his hand? Sirani stretched out his hand to meet no warm haman clasp, oy the prickly burs of the cactus. Through all his tabs ‘there was great woukness and weariness. ‘The valley below lit by m: “ht, the still- ness and loneliness were not what they had deen to him. ‘Those and sky seomed woar- ing away, becoming thin. were a vell, thragh which he sew something beyond, a law and i which wedded all things to- rs th 1 preven: oenLaigi.” he and ied hi crded, “is this death?” around him. himand with arms that were ioned him fast. “Get up from here. We want ‘The moon was shining down oi There were four men on horsel dismounted. A white His judges stood revealed. Heath, with brutal, swollen features, held Ynez, small and delicate, with his eara, looked pitiful. The o indifferent. "Taint Parades, suro enough, but some other grower. But yerlied the horse, The property was in yer possession,” sai igginson, run- ing hi rs through his beard. es od I bought it from » man— for it. ['mastranger. My name is Sirani.” “Sirani or not,” said Heath, “he had the horsee They're all the same. ‘Come on an’ have it over.” His small red eyes blinked in ht. “Ynez'llsay prayers. He's always an’ sayin’ beads. Come on, boys, I ec = old ‘hoopa in er two were moment of hesitation. Unnoticed till he stood in their midst a horse up. Brom ita man staggered. the Englishman. Lift bloody. “Jist in time fur the hangin’ MeGinnia. ‘We've caught the horse thief “I know that man,”” cried Ratcliffe tried to kill me this morning. His name is Sirani. Hang him! “No hurry, gentlemen,” drawled Higginson. “This here Mr. Sirani’s bin tellin’ us the truth ef thet is his name. Ez ter tryin’ ter kill thet man, this here's a free country. It ain't none er my funeral. Yer mought be right an’ yer mought be wrong. We don’t purtend to our neighbors. What we air talkin’ about is horse stealin’. Thet’s different, an’ hez got to be puta stop to. Now, stranger, ef yer did steal that mare we mought as well percoed with the hangin’, but ef yer didn’t —' “See, I swear it! I met him and changed clothes. Ihave money. Untie my hands and I will pay you more than the mare was worth.” paket Quietly slipped to him and untied his dive Heath money," he red. The sight of the chamois skin bag and the giitter of ita contents were the, strongest argu- — in Sirani’s favor. “How much?” he asked. Ratcliffe was leaning on hishorse, swaying to and fro. “I wouldn't hev sold that mare far untold fold." suid Higginson. “Bat ex long ex she ia 10 of e cage bein’ agin fn’ it all io all ™ ‘ (o's gettin’ of too easy,” grambled Heath. ff he didn’t steal this horse he's like the rest. and will steal some other. String him up, i guess it’s all right now, stranger,” said Higginson. am Italian, gentlemen,” said Sirani as Ynez untied the topo. “That man killed my other. Now if there is « bar around here I'd like to stand treat for drinks and have a little game of rr.” Hateliflo lifted up his bands and jumped for- war “You—you—" he and fell, the blood gushing from his wound. ‘They wont into the house. Ynez and Me- Ginnis carrying the Englishman between them. Higginson's wite, ES anc saliow, ina brown ealico drese, met them at the doo: “Well, if it ain’t the Englishman! Been in a fight nn’ mest killed, poor fellar!” ‘He was laid on a bunk, and they sat down to pper of corn bread, ‘fat bacon and beans. Sirani began to feel stronger after he had eater. Heath waans sullen as un animal deludg! of its rey. Pile Higginson attended to the wounded man. After supper the others began to play poker at the bare table, where stood a lamp and a bottle of whisky.’ Every now and then Ratcliffe gave a moan of pain. About 12 eer rose, He had lost heavily to Heath, besides having bought his horse.” He was to leave for Delaneatdaybreak, Ynez sat by the Englishman, who breathed hard. Mrs. Higginson was asleep. Her husband and McGinnis were absorbed in the game. Heath sat with his head on the table. Sirani went out of the cabin and leaned on the fence. The moon had set. Massed in shadow the hills broke against the starry vault. The events of the day passed before him. He seemed to have been pushed on b in seen hand. How there welled in his heart a Clogged by no dark past ho could go back to Ellinor, Again. he felt thot warn atmosphere of love. Her faco.seomed necr him, with its changing eyes und rory mouth. He laid. his hhand on the wooden rail and pressed his lipe to it long and tenderly. From cry of un animal, 9 coyote or wildcat, clove through the dusk’ and died again into the still- ness of the darkened waste. Tt was late ina Jané afternoon in New York when Sirant walked up the stoue steps of Miss Versey's eister’s home and heard that ehe was within, with only a few walls between them. He told the servant to announce “a gentle- man,” simply. ‘Then he sank into ® chair and waited, his whole soul on the alert for her’ footstops,” He Temembered, with sense of the incongruity of the comparison, another moment of passionate expectation in’ the bare shanty oh Gopher Gulch. His life seomed always the pursuit of “Rally, Sel Napoli, addio,” she aangsoft “Addio, in] io,” she sangsoftly, repery op a See, Ned, I have brought the book,” she said, standing i the doorway and pausing in surprise at seeing the unexpected figure. have come,” said Sirant. “Do'not send ee "You may understand my surprise, signor, wittn you think whersit wes thie T lant’ ast ‘our sudden exits and entrances savor of melodrama. She seated herself on a low divan under the lamp, her small head defined cushion. Her face was pale shadows under the dee} dark. into his face, grave i en me. motlons that swayed SeListen,”™ Yividy “awayed by sh him, he told “Tell me now, must I live or die? Do you love me enough to forgive, Ellinor?” he die?” they enid he would live. I hope ¢ hills above the | Society one ovening last week. “These young New Yorkers make me very weary,” said a Kentucky colonel. “I mean these young fellows who, thongh in receipt of good incomes, spend all their money in tom- foolery, and then say they can’t afford to marry.” “Lagree with you, colonel,” said a Maryland gentleman from Princess Anne county. “If a man wants to marry he never reckons the cost. I am reminded of a story of twoof our old house servants. They had both been in our family for years. When the tion page was ed we told them that thized with the iy drive thom away with elub, however. They had been born and reared on the place. Sam had lost his wife. Ho was eighty years of age. Old Kate was our ‘mammy.” She was sixty or seventy. Her hus- band was killed duck shooting a dozen years before the war. It was a great blow to the old people when we told them they would have to go. They did not want to leave us and hustle for themselves, but we could ill afford to keep them at that ‘ime. It was particularly hard for the old ‘mammy.’ She thought we chil- dren all belonged to her. “Finally we compromised the matter and let old Kate have the use of one of the cabins and work on the place. Sam went to live in a little shanty in the town a mile or two away. Kate did washing and Sam did washing, too, whon- ever he could get a job—white 1g I mean. “We were astonished one day-at hearing that these old creatures, each with one foot in the grave, had married. My father sent me to Sam to learn if the report was true. I found him ter: white washing the wooden fence around his | T¢8' shai y. *‘Sam," I said, ‘what in the world have you and old Kate been up to, marrying at your age? What did you do it for?” “Why, Masea Will, he replied, ‘yo’ see it war this way. OleKatean’I'were a ‘talkin’, on’ I say to ole Kate, “Kate, wo po’ fool niggers. T’se done live "bout's long’s I ker to.” n’ Kate,” she say:—“I dunno "bout dat, Sam, but guess yo’ is tellin’ de truff.” ‘0 Kate, she say as how she's ole, too, an’ can’t grow much ol'er, an’ how she po’ an’ can’tbe no poo'r. An’ 'so we ‘clude to get mar- Tied, kase we can'tbe no ol’er, no’ no poo'er when we's married, den when Kate is juss Kate, an’ Sam's juseSam.’ h “And go those two old darkies were married,” said the Princess Anne man, “because they were old and could not live much longer,und because they were poor and could not be any poorer whether they were single or married.” ‘The story touched the warm spot. in the breast of the Kentucky colonel, who forthwith celebrated old Sam's philosophy by ordering uj a round of the old Kentucky bourbon for whic! the Southern Society's cellar is famous. “Here's to the memory of old Sam and old Kate,” said the colonel, “draining his glass. “Write the story,” ho said to a newspaper man present. “Perhaps some one will take the hint and do as old Sum and old Kate did.” ——0 An Honest Spring @oem. Sweet with odoriferous zephyr comes the balmy breath of spring: (For the first line of a vernal pome, this is about ‘the thing!) Thy bland auroral odors cleave the perfumed at- mosphere, (Just ‘aggravate the furnace, Jim, tis cold as Ice land here!) You shake the glimmering roses from your sheen of sunilt hair— (Now, Jim, run ont and cut a path through that big snow bank there.) ‘The sweet mellifluous brooklet flows down through the emerald vale— (Now, Jim, come in and break the ice upon this ‘water pail.) Spring, like a resurrection, wakes all nature from e dead, (it that big icicle should tall "twould break some- body's head.) So let me forth, & careless wight, through vernal jes to Tave— ; tm cold, Pl go downstairs and si: upon ‘the stove.) —& W. Foss in Yankee Blade. ———__ see _____ HIGH LIFE IN ENGLAND. Immorality is Winked at and Even Encour- aged by Aristocratic Society. Chicago Herald's London Letter. I was talking recently with a Londoner om the subject of social life among the nobility and had expressed surprise that it should sup- ply tothe newspapers #0 much matcrial for scandalous gossip. He replied that the men and women of rank conducted their immoral- ity in such an open way that newspaper writers could not fail to hear of it; in fact, that vice was openiy countenanced by the aristocracy to an extent that cannot be understood by men and women of the middle class. When a hostess invites ahouseful of guests to her country lace she is oxtromely careful to select ladies That are particularly congenial to certain. men, carrying this habit to the extent of bringing couples together whose intimacy is the oi the town. A duke who has been persistently chasing some other man’s marchionoss for years makes it a rule not to accept an invita tion unless his favorite is to be of the com- pany, and he will easily go so far as to write to this effect to his hostess, who at once in- cludes the marchioness in her list if she be not there already. This custom of looking ont for one’s amorous interests in social in- tercourse provails in the strata of the ristocracy, from royalty down. And itis little odd that a nobleman without a favorite is unique personage. It has always been sur- prising to le when first introduced into the society of the British aristocracy to find with what freedom the indelicate phrases of life are discussed and commented on. Miss Endicott, an American girl, when she entered society here as the wife of Jovepa Chamber- jain, “ becamo o incensed at a discussion at the table of a duchews where she was din- ing that she rose and left the room. By this time she has prol become used to it and no longer exhibits her democratic breeding by expressing her disapproval of ar conversation. One of ithe very noticeable habits of English society women is to pet young. men. They gall « tall, stray ping young fellow of twenty “sweet thing” and “darling boy,” and stroke his cheek or iss him—in a careless way, of course. Ex- perience, however, must have long before proved *to them that tall boys of twenty are com of somewhat inflammuble material, and are capable of returning the kiss of a pretty woman, even if the tion is “careless.” Young men brought up under this sort of ten- der patronage are not going to stand off and treat women with shy rospeot when they grow out of the state of boyhood, and the conse- quence is that Lady Freshlips’ finds her “boy” of aren avery 1 five, The large also condnce “to extrome familiarity the sexes. The women are, as a rule, as horsey and doggy as the mon, and they gamble just as high. Allof them have name and wealth to back on, and itis more than easy to drift luxuriously into an existence where o everything that gives a moment's pleasure is ‘upo' ind as very wrong things are the most atte. tivo these seizures often lead to results that cannot be happily contemplated by the moral- oe ——____ +02 —__—_-- . . _A Bequel to It, From the New York Sun. He had a push cart full of “the latest and best” novels and had just opened up on the corner of $d avenue and 27th street when a oung woman stopped and inquired: “Have you a real good book?” “Thay “Here is the will please you. .” be Intest ig ou and fant wha Lot's ree! Let's see!” Teal ent YOUNG SYLTER’S LEGACY. ‘The Bequest Had » Condition go It Which * Worked His Kuin. From the Chicago Herald. ‘There are more ways of losing your money than dropping it in the lake.—Zarly Chicago Proverb. man in the “ smitten and unsmitten fail he had never to become ent = = with io aay, the charming, if ‘aight the summer time, Miss ders. This young lady—I >= the witness on the stand, it is ry J., by a sligh had beon changed to Florine. Flanders was a nice name to write to the papers ‘Where Mr. Sylter and Miss Flanders first met Ido” not know, but the short and of it was—Mr. Sylter being about four inches less in stature than the object of his affection—that they became engaged. The details of the final lovemaking I do not know, except so far as: were — by ———. orypeeond an certainly voracious and inquisitive younger brother of Miss Flanders, ake ccording to that young sprig o! n= ders tree, the final wooing was consummated in the following words. “Florine, my love, my thee! Wil ine? “I wilt,” replied Florine.» tender light in her violet eyes, with unusual brevity and brisk- ness of pec ‘There always was something business-like about her style of conversation hat boded ill for triers. of elosing the contract. it he loved her dearly, and he had done « land-office business in ‘dove-colored spring ties that day. “You have made me the most intensliest happy man in the gents’ furnishing line in Chicago!” exclaimed our hei nd gc Od did not mean to hedge when he added: “But, of course, you know, co'lar button of my heart, that we cannot marry just yet. My financial resources at present are quite indigenous.” Sylvester was not quite sure of the meaning of the last word, but it went Florine. “Never mind, Sylly dear” (it was the first time that she had abrevinted his name and it made his heart go pitty-pat against his bal- briggan undervest), “we can wait a reasonable —_ of time, say ninety days.” ere Was & counting-room serenity about = Flanders that awed Mr. Sylter consider- ly. CHAPTER TL. ‘The engagement progressed aj . When Mr. Sylter's crrand boy was uot busy deliver- ing collars and cuffs and shirts and black sus- nders, with yellow roses embroidered on em, to. customers he was taking very loving noteson the business letter heads, inclosed in the busines envelopes of Sylvester, Sylter & Co., to M Flanders. The notes invariably commenced thus: ~, . My ownest soon to be Wifey. Aad ended thus: Your own wants to be Hubby, Syiveser Srirer. Eighty of the ninety days had lapsed and ighty o' ninety days had e an Sylvester could not spare from his business the necessary amount requisite for the incidental expenses attending every well-regulated wed- ding ceremony. Batlo! Joy! One day he received a letter which threw him into happiest transports. ‘The letter read: = (Dicratep,] Buacstoxr. Bor.pixa, Room 2315-2319. Orrice or Jacnstnaw. WitttTs & KILLeYKILy, ATToRNEYs axp Counsrions aT Law, Srivusren Bruter, Esq., Surcado, Dear Str: We have to inform you that by the death of your lateuncle, Bumble Sylvester, exq., at Mata- ‘moras, Mexico, you are by his will made lega- tee to the amount of $15,000. Be kind enough to call on us at your earliest convenience. =" guexaraaw Wanctty & Kuncerenzx. After reading the letter Srlvester closed up his store qnd wrote a seven-page letter to: Flo- tine, tetling her of his tho ‘last ‘obstacle to moved. He even gave his errand boy a dollar and a window lithograph tick to a theater. Sylvester Sylter was, indeed, a happy man in the “gents!” furnishing goods line. CHAPTER U1. ‘The office of Jackstraw. Willets & Killeykilly had hardly been dusted the next morning afte: Mr. Bylter received the news of his newly ac- quired fortune ere that gentleman called. ‘Tt was indee?*?~Ivester's “earliest convenience.” He waif 48 arly an hour before one of the firm aj wallgnd that one was Mr. Willets, and not,P0Qnde who had charge of the legacy departpM#tion.fha: one was Mr. Killeykilly. Jeo Teillets was glad to see Mr. X80 was Mr. Jackstraw, camed 8%" s0ur later. It was nearly 2 o'clopad®™'the afternoon when Mr. Killey- killy, ya. ‘That legal luminary received dilly in his private lurking place "da copy of the last will and state- ment ows © late vast pi ir marriage was re- Sixth. T givo and dovis» the sum of fifteen thousand dollars (15,000) to my much beloved nephew, Sylvester Sylter of Chicago, to have and to hold the same, his heir and assigne, for- ever, the only proviso much beloved nephew, writing agreo to remain, in the blossed state of ing his natural life. Other- jaest shall revert to the Mate- moras Home for Imbecile Embezzlers. When Mr. Sylvester recovered from his faint he was sent to his ‘‘gents’” furnishing em- porium in a cab with a round front. cmarren 1. The first thing that Mr. Sylvester did after he arrived at his store was to write a cold, busi- nese-like letter to Miss Flanders. It read thus: Miss FLouise FLaxpens: Dyan Miss—It grieves me to state that cir- cumstances over which I have no control ron- der it necessery for me to state that in the future Tean only be a brother to you. Kindly return by bearer any correspondence of mine that you may now havein stock, You aay keep presents. I remain, ever your friend a1 weil wisher. Svuvesrer SyiTzn. Miss Flanders did not return the correspond- ence as per request. She did, however, imme- diately go to Sylvester's store in. person and then and there proceed to chase Mr. Sylvester around the block. She had in her an umbrella with a loaded handle. She did not ee. He escaped corporal punish- ment CHAPTER v. The breach of promise case of Flanders against Sylter created profound interest for nearly two weeks. The tiff won the case to the tune of a verdict of 12,000. shall remain. and in Paper reporter “It can't be done,” said Howell. “What can’t be dane?” asked the reporter. “A man can't live on $25,000 a year,” year,” replied During the passage of a Nova Scotian bart, which is now in dinary affair is “Td like to try it,” cofifidently observed the | board man who wants to live it doem't amount to that.” “Still, 1 eu) walk if the the reporte: Osborne welcomed faint smile. But the rode in ears are running?” ventured the observation with a that he ever A streetear didn't seem to hurt his feclings. | He tossed away a half-consumed 50- and, selecting afresh one from Russian-leather case, lit it. “Cigars cost some,’ you know,” he drawled. “Yer, I know, but you don't mean to say that a year?” ‘borne. “But there ere & fellow must have, Oh, a costs, ally if you keep several racers.” And Osborne turned down the index finger. Osborne fellow goes to the races in (@ fellow must go the races, you Know), it costs him, in the first place, $4 for a ticket. And he'turned down the second " said the reporter, in a low tone, as to break the thread of Osborne's looked at him to see if he expectod him to continue, and, reading an affirmative answer. sighed. “Well, a fellow can’t go alone,” he continu: “He must take some one. third finger was turned dow: to live abroad than in America. More oppor- tunities abroad to spend money. Then when a fellow goes to the races he mast have some- thing to eat, and that costs.” The little finger went down. “And if his horse doesn’t win— why, that costs, too.” His hand d ‘hen he stopped. Ho thought he fad worked r one day. “to live on $25,000 a all. You may not agree The injury suffered by Lieut. Schwatka, which led toa report of his death Saturday, recalls to mind his story of a wonderful feat which ho saw performed by Alaska Indians during his raft journey of 1,300 miles down the Yukon river in 1883.- The water of the river at the point where the incident occurred was 80 muddy that if'a tin cup was filled with it its Lottom coud not be seen. fortine and that | Posil got fishes | #frived safely at home before morni nalaereilig being that the same, my | 3c, fe-long.prisone poreentet | Pe aon women” peck ue i : i i lity ut rH fit i 1a i f tt ti biter i arte uJ Hh ff if 8 F i a i eurely no fF in as ugiy a * | He had only eight overboard about seveh but he was nowhere to be sce in the minds of those « fellow was killed by the a 1 ewimmer suit tely for a few moments ——$—$9——— WOLVES IN on10, apy: 4 weeks ago in one of his hunting trips to what 6 known as the Oak Openings, a barren tr not far from Sylvania, and about twelve ms from Toledo, they would have bad abunda Feason to change their minds. Mr. Valois is one of thusiastic and successful sportsman. body in northwestern Obio is more fami with the haunts of grouse, squirrels and o small game than he, and region could excel him in skill. One mor several weeks ago he took his best dog started ina light one-horse spring wagon the Oak Openings. This region is peculiar. @ lange, barren tract, partly covered with stunted trees, and for years it bas been « hunte ral Ruffed grouse, prairie chicken, partridges, with an occasional’ decr, have been found in lar EEmbers, and only in the last two years or ve any signs of decrease. miles there is not a dwell difficult fore man to find hus not been many years since real estate man of this city was lost for ys in this tangle of stunted forest and bar open. The day Mr. It was nearly 7 o'clock be he started for home. The roads are wi trails throngh the woods, and around. pen and swamps, and slow progress was made was an hour or more before he began out of the woods, for be had pushed furl than usual into the wildest part of the tract. Ashe he heard strange sounds the about him, howlings and bark but gave — little thought. frigh.ened away, ar at and devoured their the game rushed at the horse, spsps ping at his legs and at his throat. fe} fore Valots could climb horse started at full speed and tas one could imagier. shells left in his belt, end the barking, snarling pack around him thore courage of the great timber his eight ebells carefully and judiciously, time slowly wor himself out of the woods. After about an hour's tigting he got well a from the whole pack and started on foot tor Sylvania, the nearest railroad station. There? he got ona freight train about midnight andt 5} he found his horse awaiting him, con the worse for its trip home. The dog has ne yet put in pearance Mr. Valois will not soon be caught again alot at night in the Oak Openings, even if they aief within about a dozen miles of the cerporatio’ line of « city of 40,000 people, the fourth in mse in Ohio. ea ‘The Laplander's Bible. t From the Boston Transcript. : ‘The Lapps have the Bible in their ows ! tongue, and few stories are more in’ its translation. ecpers. and. the prioon chaplain ‘ertended kee and ex to him such favors as could safely be and find conduct, took especial pains to teach him read and write. the | Bible, grew day by day more fond of Tending it and Anal ly formed the bold proj lating it into his native tongue. of trans- |