Evening Star Newspaper, September 7, 1895, Page 13

7, 1895-TWENTY PAGES. THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13 THE SILENT WITNESS BY HERBERT D. WALD. , 1805, by SS. McClure, Limited.) many hamlets in New Hamp- or even more, from } railruad station. To the chance sum- visitor the seclusion and rest seem entrancing, The glamor of mountain scenery and trout effectually obliterates the br signs of poverty and struggle from before the irresponsive eyes of the man of city leisure. He carelessly gives 2 urchin, mutely pleading in front of the vainted farm house, a few cents for his corrugated cake of maple sugar, and asks the name of a distant peak. If he should how would he know the meaning of the scant crops of hay and potatoes, or of the empty stall? Sealed to him is the pa- thos in the history of the owners of the stone farm. His thoughts scarcely glance at the piteous wife, plaiting straw hats— the only son, whose rare happiness consists in a barn dance in the Village, three miles below, and whose large eyes contract wita Increasing age, and ‘ose all expression, ex- cept that of anxiety. - There was a time, perhaps, when the backbone of the new world used to be Stratghtened by men of a mountain birth. The question whether the hills of Vermont and New Hampshire produce giants of trade or law today is an open one. So the grand old stock is run out of the soil. And is it replaced by the sons and grandsons of those sturdy farmers themselves, who hack the rickety homesteads and remodel them into summer cott Michael Angelo id that ‘“‘men are worth more than mor: and if what was d axiom then is true In these fallen da: purse worship, Mrs. Abraham Maste the richest woman under the Mount Kearsarge. For her son I the tallest, the strongest, the tenderest truest h lw the county; but her farm of | the only inheritance from a dead | tad, Was about the poorest, most fiiable and most inaccessible collectior of boulders in the mountains. It was situated upon che cold shoulder of a hill sixteen miles ftom the nearest station. The three-mile trail which led om the village would have been easier 1 I could it have boasted a corduroy What a site for a hotel! Yet th did not materialize, and the “view er fed nor warmed nor clothed the nt proprietors of the desolate spot. I reckon we'll pull used to comfort his ve re a good boy, Ikey. If the Lord 1s in’, I 4 Ww 4 3 I am," she answered with quaint dey But the Lord did not seem to be willing, and one spring He caused a late frost in June to kill most of the seed, and & rought In July and August to wither what as left, and starvation stared in the faces th At this time and to of Isaac of getting married in the next decade. wi beg: ow and her son. n to “keep company,” ty-two and had a faithful, ion, when there was any- And whether he became e there was nothing but love , or whether, woman-like, bbie ed him better than she did her r suito: because of his poverty and , and was willing to tell him so, I pretend to decide. At any rate, ght Abbie one afternoon from th miles below, and the two women Kissed id wept, and Isaac went stood alone facing the view; the apple in his throat rose and fell, and great tears blinded his sight. | We can make no hero of Isaac, for he His heart was as simple and as a pebbie in a brook. Countr; vices, had not smirched him. He had a mird only for his mother, and the farm and a living—and a heart for earning e. ‘eat thoughts did not invade his afternoon, as he stood ay rock, his heart bursting with his happiness, which was made pe: fect by his mother’: sing, an appr hension for the future—bitter, breath began to arouse him, The promisé of the iow ame revealed to him. di line of green, now bold, now now uncertain, had never asked questions before, had never exas- erated him with a meaning. K But now he saw the tips of spires fleck- ing the ure of the far-off valleys. He saw the hurrying smoke of a locomotive. He saw with awakening vision starting from that dead farm of his the n and life. A film had fallen from ‘The energetic arrow of love had {his ambition, and his round, ros indented’ with lines of resolve. {and walked with a new tread of trade his eye Abbie!” he blurted out. “I'm I’m going to Boston.” He ammered as he saw the hor- ees before him. he resumed, stoutly, “I be'’ant. 3 Dan Prentiss—he went—see what and Uncle Bill, he—” ” hain't heard nothing from your Uncle Bill since he sot out. That was twelve years ago, the spring your father built them three feet on the shed.” Mrs. M 's spoke firmly. : er mind, mother,I'm going to Boston, and I wiil come back. I’m going to earn my livin’, I'm strong and willin’, and as able as Dan Prentiss. Ye needn’t be scared, I ain’t going yet. I'll finish up the fall I’m going for the winter any with you, She's the Your folks work fust. way, and Abbie'll come an’ lv mother—won't you, Abbie, de only mother you’ got now. can spare you.” »ble announced, bravely, “I will, ‘ou must go.” shed deeply as she sald it, and ght of her pretty color so moved young man that, having the bashful- ress of his native crops, he rushed out f glory of ‘the sunset and sat apon nite boulder watching until the z the purple and then the black had Washed out the white steeples from the distant valley Isa Maste was of the boulder type. How many decades was the smooth worn rock in front of his ho! riding on the crest of a glacier until It reac its halt? ut it would need a double charge of dynamite to shake it from Its bi It gen- the mountain lad days, perhaps up his mind, upon problem as the quantity of have at a feed wh Ung began, but when one AS fixed, it withstood all op~ on this time he was astoni n temerit mind, a mother | theart bre pro- 2 an inspiration, pe f. t Isa 1 mold to delud with irride: et on t santls ac Was formed in too ¢ the tw td farm, ueht soll, the woodshed door. Behind the gladiator rose the forebidding background of a stark mountain range; but to her astonished and unfocused sight her son seemed greater than the mountain, and more compelling nits peaks. From that hour his whis- per was her law; and from that day—for how could the adoring mother help telling her quarterly caller all about the heifer?— Isaac had no more wrestling matches in the valley. Sst burned into Septen:ber, and Sep- . triumphant in her procession of royal colors, marched into Octob: the month of months. Mrs. Masters had al- ready completed her pathetic preparations fer her son's departure. There, in the fam- ily carpet bag, which his father had carried him on his arnual trip to Portland, ed a half dozen pairs of well- rned woolen stockings, the few decent irts that Isaac had left, his winter flan- nels, which had already served six yea his comb and brush, a hand mirror that had been one of his mother’s wedding pres- ents, likewise a couple of towels that had formed a part of her self-made trosseau; and we must not forget the neckties that Abbie had sewed from remnants of her dresses, and which Isaac naively considered masterpieces of the haberdasher's art. At the mouth of the deep bag Mrs. Mas- ters tucked a Bible which fifty years ago had been presented to her husband by his Sunday school teacher as a prize for regular ce. This inscription was writt:a in ‘ng hand upon the blank page: “In the eighth year of the reign of Josiah, while he was yet young, ne began to seek after the God of Dayid his father. 2 Chron. 34 “For,” said Mrs. Masters softly to Abbie, after She had read the inscription aloud, and had patted the book affectionately, “e is the first prize my Jos'ah ever ha an’~the Lord kno: he thought more on it than he did of Lucy, his mare. An’ if there should happen any accident to Isaac, they'd find by opening of his bag that ef he was alone In a far country he was a Christian, nor ashamed of it, neither. Iseac had only money enough saved up to take him as far as Boston, and to board hia in the cheapest way for several days. f I can't work,” sald proudly, ‘ghtening to bis full height, “no one is just such cou self-reliant, ious--who, when has projected them out of her S upon granite pavements each as hard and bleak as the other—by massive determination have conquered a lestined success. 90 soon, for those who were to be left d, the day of separation came. Mrs. asters’ hagcard tace and Abbie's red eyes told of unuttered misery. But Isaac did not notice these signs of distress. He was absorbed in his future. last bustle was over, the last breakfast d down amid force’! smiles and ready last button sewed on at the last moment; and now Mrs. Masters’ lunch of mince pie, apples and doughnuts was ten- derly tucked into the jaws of the carpet bag, thereby disturbing a love letter that te had hidden there. A young neigh. had volunteered to drive Isaac down lads as t th mountain to the station. “AN aboard! Hurry up, Ike!” cried this young person, consuliing his silver watch and casting a look of mingled comm! and envy upon Lhe giant, locked ms of the two women, who hardly re ed to the second button of his coat. I nee and started to tear him- But his mother laid her gnarled d gently upon his arm, and led him into unused parlor. “Just a miaute, Abbie dear, I want to be alone with my boy,” she waved the girl back. “Then you can have him last. It's my right an’ your’n!” She closed the door and led him under the crayon portrait of his father, framed in immortelies. She raised her arms, and he stooped that they might clasp about his neck “Isaac,” she said hoarsely, “I ain't no longer young nor very strong. Remember fore you go away from the farm that yowre the son of an bkonest man an’ a pious woman, and’’—dropping with great solemnity into scriptural language, “I be- st h you my son not to disgrace your golly name.” With partings like this the primitive Christians must have sent their sons into the whirlwind of the world. Then Isaac broke for the first time, and with the tears streaming, he lifted his mother bodily in his arms, and promised her and kissed her. ‘Mother trusts you, Tkey,” was all she could say. But his tim2 had come. There was a crunching of go to Abbie. Leave you have always been a good Mrs. Masters’ voice sank into a whisper; the strong man, moved as he was, could not comprehend her exhaus- me here! ie was waiting for him at the door, and he went to her. The impatient wagon had gone down the road. They were to cut through the pasture, eet it at the and m brock. There they were to part. They clasped hance ac turned. A saunt, gray face, brok pless, hopeless, peered out Beneath the green paper shade of the parlor window. If he had known— a doubt crossed his brain, but the girl twitched his hand, and the cloud scattered. Down the hill they ran, down, until the brook was reached. panting, breathl There they stood, listening. There were and they hid be- ped. It was iong after dark when the train halt in its Vaulted terminus. iué at 7, but an excursion on the a d it until af! 9 However, this did not disconcert Isaac Maste He hurried out to the front of the station, where th: row of herdics greeted him old carpet- hat to his in; yet his head was not turned by the rumbling of the pavements, the whizz of the elec- trics, the blaze of the are lights, nor by the, hectic inh: prehend all lations that seem to com- n resilessness of a city just bh retires to sleep. His breath came fas i his great chest rose and fell; these were the only Indic tions of acclimation, Isaac had started from home absolutely without any “pull work tterly ignorant of the city, and knowing no one :n It, on the way down in the train he had marked out a line of con~ duet m which he determined not to bé To the mountain mind the city police- ‘omes the embcdiment of a right~- cecuted Taw. At home thelr only was on th of most respected c argued from and how else should he? This logism: man is the most respectable of man before me is a policeman, ore he must be the most upright the city. I will go to him for ad- might have smiled at the mise—and laughed at the ingenu- nclusion. Yet if brass buttons, a hat and a “billy are the emblems of sip and probity, the country boy r t on his side, and 1 to Isaac that the po- make a mistake of one. Therefore he an uf the peace con- had noticed the had emerged from h with be- and dis- air. r—I want to ask you-——” roper obeisance, < you—” in’ up the road fur, oked about fero- here, sonny, if ye don’t have plenty of shty! ll help ye to the lockup—so help ne looked down upon the man, whom s the storm, subd ping has much the Lellowing calf. His moth with one swoop of The consternation of his first he could hig hands. broken ideal possessed his heart. With a deadly palior upon his face, he hurried up the clanging street, and the coarse laugh- ter of brutes tingied in his ears. He swal- lowed this rough inhosvitality, which ts the hemlock that poisons country faith. Teke from the pavement enough dust to cover the point of a penknife, and insert it in the arm of a child, and in a week it will be dead with tetanus. After this first encounter with the protectors of the peo- ple, Isaac felt as if hig soul had been be- daubed with mud. He exnerienced a con- tracting tetanus of the heart. Had he not planned all the lonesome day to cast him- self upon the kindness of the first police- man whom he saw? What other guide or protector was there left for him in the strange city? The rebuff which he had re- ceived half annihilated his intelligence. Isaac could no more put up at the great hotel he saw on his right than the ma- jority of us can take a trip to Japan. Isaac hurried on. Why did he leave home? The fear of a great city is more teasing than the terror of a wilderness or of a desert. ‘There the trees or the rocks or the sand befriend vou. But in the city the penniless stranger has no part in people or home or doorsteps. Every one’s heart is against him. It is the arguish of hunger amid plenty—the rattling of thirst amid rivers of wine—the serration of loneliness amid humanity thicker than barnacles ua a wharf pile. Such a terror—not of coward- ice, but of friend!essness—seized Isaac Mas- ters, and a foreboding that he might pos- sibly fail after all_made his spine tingle. Still he drove on. He had passed through the main street—or across it—he did not know—until the electrie lights cast dim shadows, until stately banks had given way to unkempt brick fronts, unt'l the glit- tering bar rooms had been exchanged for vulgar saloons—until— Masters came to a sudden halt, and dropping his bag, uttered a loud ery. The curtained door Gf a grog shop opened upon him, A hatless man dashed out, swearing horribly, and all but feil into Isaac’s arms. With a cry ef.terror the runner dodged the pedestrian and bolted down the street. Not twenty feet behind him bounded his pur- suer. this time the country boy had slipped into the shadow of the building where he could see without being seen. in that mo- fainted not from physical weakness, but because of mental anguish. Such an ap- parent disparity between ;mind and body had not been brought to the saloon keeper's experience before. if “He is the only, witness, you say, officer?” inqvired the chief. “Are you.sure?” “Yes, sorr!"” “We'll have to hold him, th#n. It's a great pity. I don't suppose he ¢6ild get a $10 bail.” The superintendent shook his gray head thoughtfully. His subordinates did the same with an exaggerated air of dis- tres Oh ‘Where am I? Whit horror in that exclamation, as Isaac realigeq the place he was in! He staggered to his feet. Give me my bag, quick!” hé exclaimed. ill go.” : “I'm afraid you can’t go yet.” ‘The super- intendent spoke as if he-hated to do his dut fot go? Why not? You have no right to hold an Innocent man!” ‘In cases of assault and murder, the wit- nesses must be held until they can furnish bail. ‘That is the law.” The white-haired man hurried his explanation as if he were ashamed of it. “I will come back.” The officer shook his head. “I give you my word I wiil,” Isaac clasp- ed the rail pleadingly. “Til have to lock you up tonight; the judge will settle the amount of your bail tomorrow. “Lock me up? I tell you friends here! How can I get bail? will you put me?” iow him his cell,” replied the chief to his sergeant. ‘Come along,” said the policeman kindly. || witnesses are treated that way. We'll give you the most comfortable quarters We've gct.” He took Isaac by the arm after the pro- fessional manner. Tre Young man flung off the touch. For ant his eyes swept the station mi What if he nould exert his strength! There wer two—three—tour officers in the room, He might even overpower these, and dash for I have no Where He saw the livid reflection of elec through the windows. Uncon- he contracted his sinews, and tiehtened his muscles until th were rigid. ment Isaac caught sight of a dazed group ! Then the hopelessness of his pesition burst of men within, and the profile of the pur- suer against the hot light of the saloon. He saw a brute kclding a pistol in his out- stretched hand. Before Is: understood the situation, the weapon shot -out two | flames and two staccato reports. These were followed by the intense silence which is like the darkness upon lightning. Isaac's eyes were now strained upon the creature who was shot. He saw the man stagger—throw up his hands, and fall. He heard a groan. At that time the murderer with the smoking revolver was not more | than ten paces away. As he fired, he had stopped. When he saw his victim fall he gave a hoarse laugh. By this time the lights the saloon were put out, and its occupants had fled. The rustle of human buzzards flocking to the tragedy had begun. A motion that the murderer mede to escape aroused New Hampshire boy to a flerce sense of justice. A few bounds brovght him by the side of the ruffian, who looked upon him with as- tonishment, and then with inflamed fear, Isaac furiously struck the pointed pi to the pavement, and grasped the fellow waist. Then he knew that he had alm¢ met his match. Isaac held his opponen left arm by the wrist and tightened the e. The murderer held the boy around his neck with a contracting grip. only a prize fighter understands. spoke a word. It was power—power against skill. ‘There was a crash and a cry and a fall. but not until Isaac knew that the man under him was helpless did he_ utte: sound. Then he called: “Police! Police! The answer was a blinding blow upon the crown of his head. Then, before his head swam away into unconsciousness, he felt a strange thing happen to his w * * The first lieutenant, the captain and the superintendent are different beings from the officer of the street, who has no gilt stripes upon his slee nor epaulets upon his shoulders. The one, having passed through all grades, is“°supposed to have , Not orly because of his fidel- bravery, but because of his di criminatirg gentlet.ess or gentlemanliness. ‘The other, a private of the force, often a igner with foreign instincts and eager for promotion (that is, he means to make as many arrests as possible), confuses the difference between rudeness and authority, brutality and law. By the time he is a sergeant, sense has been schooled into him, and he ought to krow better. The superintendent looked at Isaac stead- ily and not unkindly, while he listened to the ollicer's stor “Off with those bracelets!” sternly. Isaac Masters regarded the superintend- ent gratefully. For the first time since he had been rebuffed by the station police- man, his natural expression of trust re- turned to his face. “I'll forgive kim,” said the boy of a sim- ple, Christian education. “It was dark—and he made a mistake,”’ Isaac wiped the clotted blood from his cheeks. “Can I go now?” Even a less experienced man than the white-haired superintendent would have known that the young man before him could no more have committed a crim: or told an untruth than an oak. The p liceman who had clubbed him, perhaps with the best intentions in the world, hung his head. “Let me hear your story first.” The superior officer spoke in his most fatherly tunes. He really pitied the country lad. “What is your name? Where do you ecme frem? How did you get there? Tell me all about it. Here, sergeant} Get him a glass of water first!” he “Perhaps a little whisky would do him good,” suggested a night hawk who had just opened the door of the reporters’ Biood acts terribly upon even the stolid imagination. Beneath that red streaked mask it needed all the experience of the superintendent to recognize the innocence of a juvenile heart. As Isaac, in indignant refusal, turned his disfigured head upon the youthful representative of an aged paper he seemed to the thought- less reporter the incarnation of a wounded beast. The young fellow opened the dour and beckoned his mates in to see the new show that was enacting before them, It ts nly fair to say that it is due to the mod- ern insanity of the press for prying into private affairs that the worst phase of the ly 1 am relating came to pass. Masters told his story eagerly and “JT have done nothing to be arrested for,” he ended, looking at the superintendent with his round, honest eyes. “I only did my duty as anybody else would. Now let me go. Tell me, Mr. Officer, where I can get a decent night's lodging, for I am going home tomorrow. I've had enough of this ei I want to go home.” Something Hike a sob sounded in the throat of the huge boy as he came to this pathetic end. Every man in the station, from the most hardened observer of crime to the most juvenile reporter of misery, was moved. Isaac, himself still dizzy from the effects of the blow, nauseated by the prison smell, the eribable odor of which no disinfectants can ove’ sanded by the surroundings into which rawn into the arms of the and swooned again, he sergeant and the reporters (for they were not without kind hearts) busied them- 8s with bringing him to. From an op- bench the murderer lowered between cowls of pain, upon the man who had od him. There had been revealed to him a sir ity of soul residing in a body of von, He saw that the country lad had said | me, | the heels of | surety was pr such as | narrow | | | oath, » you doing to m@?’ he cried My God! This morning at 10 ofclock Tom 5 rele 00) bail, The mpuy furnished, by the al- derman of the —th ward. Muldoon was to prese elf before the grand jury which > first Monday In Gach month. As this was the beginning of tne month his appearance could not be fequired for three Weeks at least, and by mutual ment of the district attorney and the sel for the defendant action might be put one or even for twa mentiis more, the recovery or eventual death of aulted. ‘This would-give the saloon keeper plenty of time for the two ribs tha Isuac Masters had crushed to mend. There men and women who would z an inno- cent ni » tin cup on the grated w filled with soup which the t left, the cot to the right of door, made of two board dow last occupa the hopei one straw matire and that n which the na horror of such which incarceralion—that i s—then the -flick idor, casting such fittu by the prisoner de that from his cot in terror to touch the alt: athing of the drunkards—the and friends thoughts home arable ail the of ch vers, ch ing her amid the pel ent thought that all things are impotent but freedom. Oh, what a night! What a night! There are souls that haye existed five— ten years under the Courtine of Catherine in the Petropaviovskaya fortress—drugged —tortured, at last Killed like rats in a hole. All the while the maledict banner of the Romanofts writhes above them, What has been the power to keep alive thousands of prisoners in those bastions beyond the natural endurance of the flesh? The glory of principle. No wonder that a ghastly face and hag- gard eyes and wavering steps followed the keeper to the American court room the next. morning, for nothing could be tor- tured into a principle to stimulate Isaac's courage. It is easy to die for right, but not for wrong. There were three short flights of iron that led past tiers of cells, through the tombs, into the prisoners’ dock. Isaac dully re~ membered the huge coils of steam pipe that curlé up the side of the wall. He thought of pythons. As he passed by, the prisoners awaiting sentence held the rods of their doors in thelr hands like monkeys, and swore and laughed and shot questions at the keeper as he passed along. “Have vou no friends in the city?" pro- ceeded the judge, after he had examined the witness. Isaac shook his head disconsolately. “I have about $5; that is all, and my bag— and, sir, my character.” “Then I am afraid I shall have to hold you over in default of ball until the trial.” The judge nodded to the sheriff to bring on the next case. “Where are you taking me?” “To the city jail,” answered the sheriff, curtly. “Come along!” With a mighty ef- fert Isaac wrenched himself loose and strode to the bar. “Judge!” he cried. do that! Let me go the trial. Look at m I done? Why should I am an honest man But the judge was ‘used to such scenes, and he turned his head wearlly away. “Judge, you wouldn’t I will’ come back to judge! What have (Tbe sent to prison? “The law requires the government to hold the witness default of bail, in cases of capital crim: The judge was a kind man, and he tried to do a kind act by ex- plaining the subtie process of the law again to the lad. When he had done this he nodded. And uow the men approached Isaac to remove him, by force, if necessary. But the New Hampshire bo the bar of justice stolidly. His eyes wan- and his lips muttered. swept near him at that instant. ned because I am friend- and poor” Is this your law?” The judge shrugged his shoulders, but y in the court room felt uncomfortable. Then,” spoke Isaie Masters, gising to His greatest height, and upiitting his hand if to call God to witress, “it this is law damn your law!” It was his first and last Every man in the room starved his feet at the utterance of that supre! legal blasphemy. But the judge was st- Jent. What sentence might be not inflict for such contempt of court? What sen- tence could he? The witness had no mon- ey wherew!th to be fined, and he was ing to prison at any re The judge was enovgh to put himself in I He stroked his beard medits stood before sentence enough. vanced cautiously, as epared ele, a babe might haye led the giant unto the cenfines of hades by the pressure of its little finger. For Isaac wept. There were two other witnesses in the white-washed cell to which Isaac was as- signed. It was on the south side, and large, and sunny, end often the door was left unlocked; but the cell looked out into @ crumbling graveyard. One of these wit- nesses was a hoy of about eighteen, pale to the suggestion of a mortal disease. It did not take Isaac long to find out that this complexion did not indicate consump- tion, but wss only prison pallor. The other prisoner wes less pathetic as to color, but he was listiess and discouraged. The only amusement of these men consisted in chewing tcbacco in enormous quantities, playing surreptitious games of high, low, jack, in reading the daily paper, a single Magazine, and waiting for the sun to enter the barred w:ndow, and watching it in the afternoon as it slipped away. These two men tried to cheer the new comer in a rude, hearty way; but vhen the country lad learned that they had been in deten- tion for six months already, held by the government as main witnesses against the first mate of their brig, their words were as dust. They only choked him. “What did you do?” Isaac asked, ‘‘to get you in such a scrape “We saw the mate shoot the cook; that’s all.” “If I'd known,” said the pale boy, with a look out of the window, “how Uncle Sam keeps us so long—I wished I hadn't said nothing. But we get a dolar a day; that’s something.” And with a sigh that he meant to engulf with his philosophy, the boy turned his face away, se that Isaac should not suspect the tears that salted the flavor of the coarse tobacco. The dark outlook, the hopeless future. the hopeless cell, the disordered table, the lazy life that deadened all activity but that of imagination, the Icurging compan- ionship, but above all things the thought of his motker and Abbie, and the brooding, over what he dared to call ar outrage per- petrated in the name of the law upon him- self—these things made a turmoil of Isaac's brain. There was a Gaily conflict between the Christian and the criminal way of looking at his irreparable misfor- tune which he was surprised to find that even the possession of Fis father’s Bible could not control. There w times when it ne intelligence to keep him fr on the keeper and running amuck in the werd rcom simply for the sake of utter- ing a violent, brutal protest. Then there were hours when he was too exh leave his cot. At such a time he v letter, his first letter to his mother, and he made the keeper promise to have it mailed so that no one could possibly suspect that it started from a prison. “Dear mother,” it ran, “I have not writ- ten to you for three weeks since I have heen here, because I haye been sick. I am now in a vy safe place, and am doing etty well, I Clear my fcod and board and cents a day. Jed all his springing i I think you had better not write to me until T ¢ re ycu a permanent address. 1 read my ble every day and love you more dearly than ever. I have trie? to do my dut: love to s ou would have me. Give my IT will write soon again, y affectionate son, Issac” The simpleton. Could be not suspect that country papers copy from city columns all it is of spectal local inter and more? did he not know that it one of the aces of modern journalism that ro dephrtment is so copiously edited, anno- tated and illustrated as that of ¢riminal intelligence? Couli he rot surmise that on the Saturday following his inearceration the very mou:- tains rang with the news? That it should be mangled and turned top: : that in the eres neighbors he shou murderer by reasoa of his great str-ngth? ¥F ne into the intelligence of law ns and law-ri ting people that a man should be shut up in om, no matter what the newsp2pors unless he had don2 something to ¢e- * What did the mountaineers know of bail, and habeas corpus? h news, gossiped by one seated by another, confirin- third, fail to reach the desolate farm house in’ which a woman, feeble, old d faint of heart lay trembling between lite and death? The grand jury meets on the first Monday of each month to indict those for trial against whom reasonable proofs of guilt are obtained. The saloon joafer had been shot in the groin, and pending his injurfes indictment was waived. In proportion as the wound proved serious and the recovery prolonged, trial was postponed. aac Masters had now been locked up six He had not yet heard from home, only written once. Abert noon, the keepers came. to tell him that ished to see him. Isaac thought it was his mother, and the shame of meet- ing her in the cuard room, of his And neighbor and r could ss) ed by a tiers upon tiers of murdere: and pett Is,_ ov The man of t down on his cot, and over his white face, The guard, who know putting trembled violently that 1 an innocent man, spoxe to him kir “G ! said the prisoner, in a_v agor nd tell my mother that I ¥ rig! othe ejaculated the guard. the youhgest mother fur a man of your size I ever see.” He winked at the sailor and went. Then Isaac knew that it was Abbie wha had come alone, and he tightened his teeth and lips together and went down. Tsaae slowly eame down the perfor fron stairs that e attached to the » of his prison wing like a fire escape. the bench dn the middle of the gu: sat Abbic—a » helpl ed to him—facin the entrance, as if she feared to remove her eyes from the door that led to freedom. Abbie w dressed in black. If Is man, this fact would h it wi he was so spen his ind could not At first Abbie did not recogni: huse frame was gaunt ce was white and his on room thing she seem- changed. She was 1 been a free rtled him, As suffering that country clothes dropped about him aimless- ly. From crown to foot he had bean de- vastated by unmerited diszrace. Grief may glorify, but the other ravages. . This meeting between the lovers was sin- gvlarly undramatic. Each shrank a little from the other. They shook hands quietly, Viis was burning; hers like a swamp in Oc- teber dew. He sat down beside her on the bench awkwardly, while the deputy looked at them with careless curiosity. He was used to nothing but tragedy and crime, and to his experienced mind, the two had be- ecme long ago confused. a “Mother?” asked Isaac, nervously moving his feet. ‘Didn’t she get my letter? The girl nodded gravely, tried to meet his eyes, and then looked away. Tears fell un- resisted down her cheeks. She made no at- tempt to wipe them off. It was as if she were too well acquainted with them to check their flow. Then the truth began to filter through Isaac’s bewebbed intellect. He spread hig knees apart—rested his urms upon them, and bent his head to his hands. His great figure shook. On, my God!” “My God! ly Goa!”” ; yon don’t, Isaac," don’t!” Abbie put her hand upon his head as if he had been her bor. “Your mother was as happy as could be. She was happy to die. We buried her Sey coule she tell him that his mother had died of grief—too sorely smitten to ear it—for his sake? . But Tsaac’s head rose and fell—rose and fell rhythmically between his hands. His preath came in low groans like that of an animal smitten dead by a criminally heavy joad. “She sent her love before she p away. She wanted you to come hac the farm as soon as you ¢ She be- in you, Ikey, ev on. S said Paul wi it was @ terrible mistake. f he sobbed, She knew her's son would not depart from As Abble uttered this simple confess of country faith, the pitiful man lifted up his eyes from the tiled floor and looked at her gratefull His dry lips moved, and he tried to speak. “Yes,” was all he sald, with flerce hu- Then the lack of breath choked not been paid yet. ; to | | | happens to be is not the proper pe Highest of all in Leavening Power.— Latest U.S. Gov't Report Royal Baking Powder ABSOLUTELY PURE “She made me promise not to give you up, and to come and see you. Of course you are innocent, Ikey?” Abbie did not look at him. “Yes,” he answered mechanically. “I know,” she said softly. Of what use were more words? They would only beat like waves against the granite cf his broken heart. The two sat silent for a_ time. Then Abbie said, “I must go,” She edged a little toward him and touched his coat. vhen will you come out? I will ex- plain it all to the minister and the neigh- bors. We will be married as soon as you come home. She wanted us to. Oh, Ikey! Oh, Ikey! My poor—poor boy!" Isaac arose unsteadily. It for her to go, ‘for the turnkey nodded to him. A fierce, mad indignation at his fate and what it had wrought upen his, mother and upon his honorable name blinded him. He aid not even say good-bye, but left the girl standing in the middle of the guard room aione. At any cost he must get back to his cell. Supposing his mind should give way before he got there? He staggered to the stairway. He threw his hands up and was time had groped on the railing. A blinuss struck) him before he had mounted two steps. He | did not hear a woman's shrick, nor the rushing of feet, nor the sound ef his own fall. When he awoke he was alone in the wit- ness cell, and when he put his white hands to his hair, he felt that his head was shaven. The chipper prison doctor toid hi that he was getting nicely over a@ brain fever. It was three months after this before the case of Tom Muldoon came upon the docket. The man whom the saloon keeper had shot had but just been declared out of danger and on the road to recovery. When the case was called the district at- torney aro: from his desk under the bench and represented to the court that as ome unforeseen reason the said Frank ens, who lad been maliciously and willfully assaulted and shot by the said loon, has refused to pr cute, the ecution rested upon the government, h would rely upon the direct evidence of one witness to sustain the case. The district attorney, who was an un~ bought man, and whose future election de- pended upon the numbereof convictions he. ired for the state, now opened his case ho such dec mn, vigor and masterful certainty that the policemen and other friends of the defendant began to quake for the boss of the —th ward. “And now, your honor, I will call to the witness stand a young man of stainless life, whom the government has held as a witness since the brutal assault was com~- mitted. He is in the custody of the sheriff county. Isaac Masters! es turned to the door at the left of the bench. There was a bustle of ex- pectaney, and a pallor upon the face of se “Issac Maste impatiently. “W duce the witnes: e judge rap ervous tattoo. a delay. hope your Ponor will grant me a few "said the attorney, annoyed, ust surely be here directly.” over—" began the judge, in- ulgently, when he was interrupted by the ertrance of the sheriff of the county him- self. This man heckoned to the district at~ and the two whispered together t excitem: repeated the attorne: 1 the court officer . pro- ned his pencil on the desk Above all things he ney for the government place, slowly, with bent pale, and evidently loon keeper's face ex~ s he leaned aside and ? The — question hed from face to face in the court m. Had he escaped? Or been spirited ay? Such things had been known to n, Or had he become insane during eration? Such things had been Gentlemen of the jury! Sheriff of tha ty! Judge of the superior court! Where is the witness? We demand him on penalty of contempt. Contempt of you, henorable court! Contempt of court! What? Is he not here? After all this cest to the state, and to the man? Why | has he not met his enforced appointment? If not here, why was the innocent witness suffocated behind bars and walls, while the murderer was free to dispense rum? “Yeur horor,” began the attorney, with white lips, “a most unfortunate occurrence has happened, one that the government truly deplores. The witness has been sud- Genly called away. In fact, your honor— hem!—in short, I have been informed by the sheriff that the witness cannot answer to the summons of the court. He is dis- qualified from subpoena, In’ fact, your honor, the witness died this morning.” The lawyer took out his handkerchief ostents He then bent to his pa- shaking hands. He Icoked them refully while the court held its he government Is not tn possession of any evidence against Muldocn, I move to nolle prosse the case. “It is granted,” said the judge, with a keen glance at the blcated prisoner, whom wardmen and officers of the law were al- ready congratulating profusely. “Order!” continued the judge. “Prisoner, stand up! You are allowed to go upon your own recognizance in the sum of $250.” The next case was called, a new crowd entered the vitiated room and the court proceeded with its routine as if nothing unusual had happened. And the silent witness has passed out of every memory but mine and. that of one Gees girl mourning in the New Hampshire . ——+e+__ CULTIVATE YOUR CHILD'S TEACHER, Invite Her to Your Home—Study the Atmosphere of the School Room. The first thing to do {fs to visit the school which your children attend. Make a point of this, even ff it means a sacrifice of something else, writes Edward W. Bok in an article on “Our Schools and Oar Teach- ers,” in the Ladies’ Home Journal. Fey things can be more important than to cee for yourself the surroundings of your child during school hours. Observe quietly, yet keenly, but remember that any observa- tions or comments you have to make, the teacher of the class in which your child son to whom to make them. The princinal of the hool or the superintendent is the proper unetionary for pees purposes. The : : she my She is an employe, pure s But seek her out and win her aintanee and confidence. Sho her that you mean to co-operate with her, She ows that the best results can only be obtained when teacher and parer ate. Invite her to you eral way, but at a de! feel that you want he more than the t a friend of her, it the opportunity to ide to her nature than that whic shows in the class roor The teach burden is a heavy oue rather than a one. | it deliberately with the ‘APOLEON THE LITTLE.” Not at Al the Man Pictared by Victor Hugo. From the Century. The Empress Eugenie would have liked to spend the evening sometimes with the de Tascher family, whose cheerfulness, as she said once in my presence, “would cure the jaundice;” but the question of petty curt jealousies again stood in the way. She visited them at long intervals, but only When some apparent reason justified the exception, Usually, after taking tea, the emperor retired “to transact business with his private secretary,” as was Stated; what that business was, cn too frequent occa- sions, had better not be too closely exam- ined. The empress usually remiained till about half-past 11, when she disappeared, and as the last fold of her train left the | doorway all the isen present, who had been standing the whole eyening, uttered asigh of relief, as they threw themselves on the sofas with undisguised satisfaction. The Due de Tascher, who suffered from rheumatic gout, fcund his obligation of eti- quette particularly trying, and, being priv- fleged in many respects, he frequently slipped into the next room, where he could sit down, and even indulge in a momentary doze with impunity. Often, on returning from some theater with one of the ladies of the family, I would meet him coming Wearily from the imperial quarters, and, as he said EGood night,” he would add, with a groan, “There is no way of inducing the empress to go to be Her personal at- tendants could say much more on the sub- Ae ces ae retiring to her private ments she often lingers hours of the night. eS) eset One evening, as the duke afterward told me, he had escaped to the neighboring room, where he habitually took refuge, and was seated, writing a letter, when the emperor suddenly came in. Of course, the duke sprang to his: feet, but the emperor good-humoredly desired him not to disturb himself, but to go on with his letter. On Such occasions the rule is to obey without any objection, the sovereign’s will being considered paramount, The duke conse- quently sat down, and quietly continued his letter, though much discomfited by the presence of the emperor, who paced the room to and fro, smoking his cigarette and humming a tune. The duke, however, leis- urely finished and folded his letter, sealing large official seal in red wax, and carefully adding the stamp ae the household. The emperor then drew ear: “Have you finished, Tascher?” ‘Quite finished?” “Yes, sire.” “Then—I may take the inkstand?” The good-natured simplictty of the act Was extre! y characteristic. There never Was @ more amiable man in private life than the Emperor Napoleon HI, or one more absolutely unpretending. Hi: constant gentleness, his unvarying, patient kindness, were only too much preyed upon by many of those about him; but he was certainly deeply loved by all who were in habitual i “Yes, personal contact with him—more loved than was the Empress Eugenia, notwith~ standing her personal charms. She was extremely good-natured, thoroughly nat- ural, and devoid of haughtiness (a great merit in such a position), but impulsive and hot-tempered, too sineere and straightfor- ward to conceal her varying impression; and withal fanciful and tenacious in hel fancies, which often frritated those who kad to yield to her wishes, despite dificul- ties and inconvenience. “One of the em- press’ whims!" was often the comment of her attendants down to the domestic ser- vants of the palace. The emperor, always quiet and even apa- thetic, disturbed no one; but if an appeal Was made to his feelings he could not re- sist. There was a sort of tender-hearted sentimental softness in his nature which recalled the “sensibility” of bygone days, probably inherited from his mother, Queen Hortense. This often led him astray, and is the real explanation of many errors. He was far from being deliberately false, as has so often been asserted; but, unfortu- nately, he was more a man of feeling than a man of principle. This led to weakness end vacillation, though, like many others whose natures are too yielding, when he had finally taken a decision he was firm even to obstinacy. Any one more unlike the bloodthirsty tyrant depicted by Victor Hugo and other political adversaries could scarcely be imagined. The sight of the battlefield of Solferino had left on his mind such an impression of horror as to destroy all dreams of military glory, and it was with the greatest unwillingness :hat he was drawn into the wars that followed, principally, alas! through the pertinacious influence of the Empress Eugenie, who had not seen a hattlefield, and who knew only the conventional pictures of glory and he- roism, without their fearful cost. ———_+ 0+ —____ Lived Under Every President. From the Utica Press. An event of great interest was celebrated in the village of Fayetteville Friday, when Peter Johnson rached the one hundredth anniversary of his birth. Mr. Johnson has lived under all the Presidents of the United States, being born when Washington had served six years in that office. His first vote was cast for James Monroe, and he has voted for every President since then. Mr. Johnson's mind is clear, and he is in good health.. Sixty descendants assem- bled on August 16 in his honor. His wife is eighty-seven years of age, and they have been married sixty-four years. Mr. John- son’s first wife died, and In 1881 he married Eliza A. Perry of Rome, who was born in 1809. -There are five children living, and the grandchildren are twenty-two in num- ber, and the great-grandchildren are twen- ty-five, the eldest being twenty-four years old, Mr. Johnson is able to walk sup- ported by two canes. His recollections of early times are very interesting, and he remembers historical events of eighty years ago easily. —— + +e+ —___ Money in the Wes: From the New York Weekly. _ Z *Returned Wandered (gloomily)—“All this talk about money in the west is nonsense. I lost every cent I hai Stranger—“That's because you didn’t man- age right. I went west with only a few hundred in my pocket and made a for- tune in three months.” Returned Wanderer—“My starg! How did you do it?” Stranger—‘I bought a drug store for $500, Three months after that the state went prohibition, and I sold out for $100,000.” en He Escaped Papishment. New Teacher (Deadgulch Kindergarten)— “Robert Emmet, what did I just see Rufus Choate pass to you?” R. Emmet—“Oh, please, mum, ‘twan’t New Teacher—"Show me immediately, or I shall chastjse you.” ° ese fer him, cause he's ail out uy catridges.”