Evening Star Newspaper, December 14, 1895, Page 13

EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1895—TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. 18 Copyright, 1895, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.) | It was an all-night Journey, and a very cold one. Perhaps the state of the ther- mometer would not have mattered so much if the “Great London Success," with which the company were traveling, had made a stronger impression upon the audiences of the provincial towns to which it had been presented. They were going north, and there was a “wait"’ of four hours in one of the dreariest of the Lancashire manufacturing towns. The company’s carriage had been detached from the train and shunted on to a siding to wait for the early morning train, which was to take it on to Paisely. ‘The men of the company had all got out as soon as the irain drew up at the platform, and had gone off into the town in search of some establishment, no matter how lowly, which would open its doors to them and give them refreshment. The ladies, five in number, remained in their compartment, huddled up, in their warmest cloaks, trying to get a fittle sleep. But it would not do; it was too cold. The sold woman,” who was really old, rubbed er eyes miserably. “They've all got off, I suppose!” she grum- q. “And, of course, they never think of bl us. A bright young girl from whose cheeks not even an all-night journey could take the roses, sprang to her feet and let down the nearest window. “They shall think of us, though!” cried she, as she thrust her head and shoulders out of the window. “Come and let us out! Come and let us out, some of you, any of yeu!” erfed she, imperiously. And the next moment, catching sight, on the dimly-lighted platform, of a figure she knew, she cried: “Mr, Ardener! Mr. Ardener! Come and have pity on us. We are locked in like wild beasts, and I assure you we are getting very nearly as savage. We've been kept too long without food, you see.” The person addressed stepped nimbly down from the platform, and picked his way in the dark across the lines to the siding. A tall, well-made young man, with a kind- ly, open face, Cyril Ardener looked what he was, a really nice fellow, a favorite with his own sex and with the other. As the girl above him looked down into his face, it was easy to see that she was one of those upon whom the “juvenile lead” had made a deep impression. Miss Lillian Fatrbrother (as she was called upon the programs) had gone on the stage against the wishes of her family, of course but not without some prospect of succes there. She bestowed upon Cyril the smile of a practiced and all-conquering flirt. But he shook a warning head. “You had much better stay where you are,” sald he, persuasively. ‘The other fel- lows have gone wandering about in search of drinks. And as they are making a great noise and disturbing everybody, without suc- ceeding in their quest, I should advise you to give them a wide berth for the present.” “Never mind. I'm coming out,” said Miss Fairbrother, with the obstinacy of the spoilt beauty. ‘‘Open the door, please. “You'll have nobody to talk ti Cyril, a3 he took out his key. “Not even you?” “Not even me. I'm going off to try and keep the others out of mischief.” ‘The door was opened by this time, and she was preparing to descend. She graciously allowed Cyril to assist her, and rewarded him with another smile. “Come along,” said she, rather impatient- ly, for Cyril was lingering to cast a glance inside the carriage before he shut the door. As his eyes rested upon a~pale, worn, re- fined face, that of the leading juvenile lady, a change came over Cyril's face. “I wish I could get you a cup of hot cof- fee, Miss Wells,” he said. But before she could thank him the im- patient Lillian had pulled him by force away from the dour, crying out in pretended t ror that she heard a train coming. The face of Constance Wells flushed slightly as she settled herself again in her corner. Miss Browning, the “old woman,” gave a snort of indignation. “Train coming, indeed!" cried she. “That young lady can make trains and everything else come and go to suit her purpose. I call 4t disgraceful, the way in which she’s got hold of that young Mr. Ardener, flirting all the time with two or three of the others! Mr. Ardener never had a word for any one bui you, Miss Wells, till she came into the com- any. She doesn’t wait for him to follow fee about; she follows him.” The remaining two members of the com- pany who were present glanced apprehen- persisted “You think I asked you to come out be- cause I had quarreled with that little flirt? You were wrong.”’ Constance flushed slightly, glance up. “I asked you because the little goose let out something which was the last thing she should have let me know if she wanted me to forget you. You have been fretting, it seems.” Brought to task so abruptly, Constance could not keep the tears out of her eyes. 0," said she, rather feebly. “Oh, but you have. Now, tell me, is it true that you are not so hard as you pretend to be? Is it true, for instance,” and he came nearer to her, “that you are sorry you snub- bed me so unmercifully that day—you know when?” There was a pause. Constance was much but did not “I mean I don’t believe your word: agitated. But she gathered her forces to- gether, and answered with some spirit: “No. It is not true. Iam not sorry.” But there was a tremor in her gentie voice, a tegderness in her eyes, which belied her words. “I don’t believe you,” said Cyril, as he knelt down on the floor beside her. “I mean I don't believe your words. I believe your eyes. And I can read in them that you do care; that you have been unhappy, lonely, since you quarreled with me.” ‘Then she gave way, and a piteous little sob betrayed the feeling she had been trying to hide. He stole one of her white hands, which not even the frost had succeeded in making red and ugly, and held it tenderly in his own. She cried in’silence for a few minutes, and then turned upon him fiercely: “Why do you torment me?" she asked, with something like terror in her voice. “Because I love you, Connie: because I know you have had a hard life, which is not growing any easier, and because I want to give you some ease, some rest, some happi- ness, darling.” “But you can’t. You know you can’t. Oh, Cyril, don’t begin it all over again!” But he had both her hands now. He was holding them in a firm grip, looking into her face, with an expression of longing tender- ness, which thrilled her, warmed her in spite of herself. “My darling, couldn't you trust me? Don't you think I would make you happy as long as you live?" He could see in her eyes the struggle which Was going on between her feelings and her instincts of duty and honor. “Don't you think I would make you a kind band, Constance?" With a sudden impulse she snatched her hands away. “Ah, if you could! If you only could!” she said, piteously. “But you know you can't, you can't, while my husband is alive!” Cyril moved tmpatiently. Now, isn’t this nonsense, child?” said he, with an air of indulgent tolerance. “Your hushand treated you disgracefully; as badly as aman could treat a woman. He deserted you for another woman five years ago. Since he went to America, three years ago, you haven't heard whether he is alive or dead, and have the strongest reason for thinking he fs dead. And yet you must bring this hideous memory—for he is nothing more to you—to stand in the way of your own happiress, for you would be happy with me, Den't you know it? Come, now, tell m “Yes, I know it; I am sure of it,” whis- pered she. ‘And yet—” “Well, and yet what?” “I can't do it, I can’t, I can't.” ‘Give me only a reason, and I'll respect it. Her head dropped. “TAKE HER HOME,” SHE SAID IN A LOW VOICE. 8 y at Miss Wells. Of course, everybody knew that she and Cyril Ardener had been something very like lovers before Miss Fair- brother's coming, and had discussed among thems-lves the “cheek’’ of the newcomer, and the quiet way in which Miss Wells took her desertion. But the subject had never before been mentioned in her presence. yw that it was mentioned, however, Miss Is was quite equal to the occasion. She laughed a little, and said, easily, with more t than of her nature in her tones: cruel of him, isn’t it? Or at least it But I don’t, you ery would be crue! if I minded. Bee. Mf course not. said the other ladies. It was about an hour after this when they heard steps on the line again, and somebody mounted up and looked in. Through the steam on the glass the face of a man could be dimly seen. He tapped softly at the win- dow in Miss Wells’ corner. A deeper flush came into her white cheeks as she came face to face with Cyril Ardener. “Won't you ladies come out?” he said. “T've found a fire, a real fire.”” But they refused, preferring the ills they Of course, you don't,” had to r to trudging over the rails In the keen outside air. Miss Wells, however, had not spoken. “You will come, won't you, Constance?” said he, in a lower voice. A shiver ran through her, not caused by the cold. It seemed a long time since Cyril had called her by her Christian name, She hesitated, and then sald: “Yes, Cyril helped her out, and led her across the lin kk to the platform. Then she asked suddenly “Where's Miss Fairbrother “She's gone off with Glynn,” said Cyril, smiling. “After quarreling with me.” “Ah! sad Constance. ril could detect jealousy, pique. pride, in the simple utterance. They walked along the platform in sflence to the office of the ptation master, where a bright fire was blaz- Ing. With a cry of delight Constange went down on her knees before tt, and spread out her stiff fingers in the welcome warmth. Cyril stood near, looking down at her deli- cate, worn face, In which the blue eyes looked preternaturally large. After a long silence he said suddenly: “Though I never really cared for my hus- band, and do care a great deal for vou, still I t pretend to be your wife while he is alive. I don’t say I'm wise; I don't even say I'm right. But that’s how I feel, and— there's the end of it.” She sprang to her feet, and drew her cape round her shoulders again. She would go back to the carriage, she said. But he ecaxed her. And, because she loved him, because it was a delight to her to be with him once more, even If their interview was as full of pain as of pleasure, she stayed. At last, though she would not yield to his entreaties, she gave a half-consent to his proposal that she should take lodgings for the ensuing week in the house where he was going to stay. This seemed a very good sug- gestion, as the town to which they were go- ing was notorious for the badness of its lodgings, and the pocr Scotch inn, where Cyril and the manager were going to stay, offered a prospect of comparative luxury. But Constance, when she again sat back in her corner of the railway carriage, found herself dwelling with so much eagerness on the pleasure she would have in being for a week constantly in the society of the man she loved, that she recognized with fear that the joy was, In fact, temptation. When, therefore, Cyril came to the door of the com- partment at their journey’s end, he found that her mood and her manner had changed. “Come,” said he, gently, as he took her bag and offered her his hand. “We shall have to walk, but it isn't far to the hotel.” She looked steadily before her, with a white face. “Thank you. mind. ing.”” And she walked quickly away, without giving him time for protest or reply. There was no reward of virtue for poor Constance. All that week Cyril devoted bimself to Miss Fairbrother; and Constance, although she managed to hide the misery she felt, could not stifie it. She felt that she loved this man so deeply that her powers of resistance were growing unequal to the strain. After all, was there not truth in what he urged, that she owed no duty to the man who had go neglected her? This nomi- nal husband that must indeed be dead. For three years she had heard nothing of him. Was she not free, in law, as well as morally, to contract a fresh marriage? But I have changed my lam going to stay with Miss Brown- So she tortured herself, and meanwhile held aloof as much as possible from all in- tercourse with Cyril except on the stage. But the parts they played were those of lovers, and the harassed woman felt that they betrayed their feelings in every word, in every look, that they were forced to ex- change in the business of the stage. At the end of the week, as she left the theater after her night’s work, the hall keeper told her that there was a man out- side waiting for her. “He wanted to come in and walt here, miss; but he was too drunk to stand, and I wouldn't let him in. There he is by the door- way. If you go the other way you'll miss him.” But Constance was looking at the human wreck the man pointed out with wide eyes full of fear. She knew him, changed though he was. He was in rags, dirty, haggard; an ap- palling spectacle.’ She answered ‘the hall keeper by a gesture rather than by words, and made a step IrPthe direction of the door- way, within the shelter of which her hus- band was standing. He staggered forward and clutched her arm. As she stopped Cyril Ardener came out by the stage door on his way home- wards. He uttered an exclamation of dis- gust, and darted forward to send the wretch about his business. With one quick move- ment he released her, and, supporting her trembling figure in his arms, said quickly: “My poor darling! Don't be frightened. T'll see you home.”” The other man uttered a hoarse sound meant for a laugh. He was slinking away without a word, when Constance recovered herself. “Let me go. Let me go, Cyril,” she whis- pered. “It is—my husband.” Cyril was so much shocked that he was speechless. Before he could recover from his disgust and amazement, Miss Fair- brother, pretty, bright, brimming over, as usual, with provocative coquctry, ran out and stopped at the strange group. She had caught Constance’s words, and her face was a picture of amusement, horror and mali- cious satisfaction by turns. Constence gave Cyril one eloquent look, full of pathetic sadness, of rigid determina- tion. Then she glanced at the young girl, who seemed unable to pass the group. “Take her home,” she said, in a low voice. And she turned to her husband. “Tom,” she said, “are you coming home with me? Yes, If you'll have me,” he answered, in a hoarse voice. He was less grateful than sullen, spiritless. Perhaps he was hardly sober: but his totter- Ing footsteps were the result of illness rather than of intoxication. She led him to her lodyings, got him some clothes, gave him food, and placed him in a chair by the fire. In‘all that she did there was no pretense of welcome or affection; but she was kind, thoughtfully attentive, gentle, as she would have been to a Stranger. For the truth was that there was nothing in Tom Anderson to rouse tender feelings in the woman who had found him out. He took her attentions in a hang-dog fashion, with some little shame, perhaps, but with still more irritation. When he had eaten his supper and was provided with a cigarette he began to assum» airs of lofty indignation at the words he had overhead Cyril address to Sr. “I don't know whether that’s the way you “Come along, he said, rather im- patient have been allowing every young jackanapes you met to speak to you while I have been grumbled he. “ ‘My poor darling,’ indeed! But, much to his amazement, Constance burst out laughing. She had been so gentle that he was pre- pared to find her humble, also, and ready to allow him to get the upper hand again. “You won't tall like that, whl plea: she said, trying to repress her { voluntary, bitter. amusement. “You must be satisfied to know that I have behaved rightly, according to my own ideas, as you, no doubt, have, according to yours.” He glanced at her quickly, with a rising flush of indignation in his sullen face. But he was abashed, and had the sense to say nothing. “I am not going to worry you with any rroralizing, any questions,” she went on, looking at the fire. “I would, of course, if I cared; but I don’t. I will do what I can for you—take care of you till you are better able to go away. But—but that's all.” “Then you are not going to make it up again?” whined he. Constance looked at him quickly, and her eyes filled with tears. If there had been a spark of affection in his tone—of longing for the warmth of his wife’s heart, as distinct from power over her purse—she would not have been hard to him. But love for an- other and love returned had made her clear sighted. She shook her head. 0 more than that,” she said, gently He kept his head bent for a little while, looking at the fire. Then he nodded, philo- sophically, After all, he had outgrown any feeling for his wife long ago. In the mean- time he might think himself sure of a roof and a crust as long as she was in an enga: ment. Well, as you like, Over her face there passed’a curious look. In the pause that followed her own words she had been woman enough to hope that he And she was said he, at last. was going to coax, to entreat. disappointed. She ro: - quickly from her chair. uldn't get another room in this said she, “so I've got one next door. poky little place, not what you 0 you can have mine. ‘I will have the one in the next house. Good night.” “She waited one moment at the door, look- ing at him curiously. He glanced up. “Thank you. Good night,’ said he. In another moment she was outside the house. On the opposite side of the road a man was standing. He crossed quickly over to her. “Constance, I want to see you.” “Cyril” “Oh, my poor child, t an experience for you! What are you going to do?” Then he stopped, looking at her in amaze- ment. “Why, I don’t understand. You look hap- pier than I have seen you for ever so long. Is it possible you care for—for him?” Constance shook her head, smiling rather sadly “I wish it were possible,’ she said. “I don’t care for him, I care for you. And yet, now that hc has come back, I am happier than I was before. I am thanking heaven that he did come—in time. I was not so strong as I pretcnded, Cyril. I was getting afraid.” it Cyril looked impatient, miserable. ‘You have sacrificed your life!” said he, passionately. ‘And saved my—what fs it?—pride? Well, I am satisfied, Cyril. A man can never un- derstand a woman; I don’t understand my- self. But I am happier tonight, knowing that I am out of danger, that there is to be no more struggling and no more question- ing, than I was before.” ‘He will be a burden to you as long as you ‘I can't help that.” “Constance, this 1s quixotism.” , I can’t help that, either. Good night. And she disappeared into the house. When Tom Anderson died, six months later, Cyril Ardener was already the hus- band of Lilian Fairbrother. But Constance was not unhappy, except in the fear that the little coquette Would make an indifferent wife. She had been true to her best self; she had gained a victory which had made her strong: And to the end of her life she will congratu- late Serself upon her very best performance. (The end.) —_.__. A La Dunraven, From Lite. Eli—“‘T've found out why Harvard takes defeat with such bad grace.* U.P Whyt’ Eli—“‘It’s English, you know. DEADLY _ CROSSINGS Statistios of Ci road Fatalities Gathered by, the, Government. {1 FEWER EMPLOYES NOW KILLED Se Why More olitsitb People Lose Their Lives, Than Formetly. RECKLESS* DARING T HE ADVOCATES OF the abolition of grade crossings and better protection for rail- road employes should pay particular atten- tion to the interstate commerce commis- sion report next year,” said a bright attache of that de- partment to an Even- ing Star reporter re- cently. “From the partial returns which we have already received,” he continued, am positive that the fiz- ures for the year 1895 will show a larger number of grade crossing accidents than any previous year on record, and also that a less number of employes were killed and injured than ever before in a like period. The great increase in electrical lines and the desire for higher rate of speed on the part of the railroads, I believe, are responsi- ble for this condition. Fifteen years’ agi- tation, supplemented In late years by leg- islative action, can be put down as the direct cause of the lessening of the accident rate among employes. “The reports that have come under my eyes recently from several of the eastern and western states are what I base my state- ments op. Take, for instance, one of the largest states of the east, the report from which classities the killed and injured under three heads, as follows: ‘Passengers,’ ‘em- ployes,’ and ‘other persons.’ By ‘other per- scns' are meant trespassers, suicides and persons Killed at railway crossings. For the year 1895, so far reported, in that state alone persons were killed on the railroads, of which only 447 were employes and were passengers. The disastrous record of 183, when 1,092 unfortunates coming under the head of ‘other persons’ were killed, is eclipsed this year, as 1,107 is the number of fatalities reported in that class. Safety of Employes. “The year 1803 will g9 down into history as a terribly disastrous one for raiiroad em- ployes, but the almost general adoption of patent couplers, hand-rails and air brakes has lessened the chances of death, and but 417 were killed duripg 1895 in the state under consideration.” In 1893,employes to the num- Ler of 650 were ushered into eternity, a most favorable showing, all, tiings considered. Nezrly 9,000 weré injured in that year, while the number dropped tga few over 8,000 in this year. ee “The great disparity between the num- ber of passengers and employes killed and the number injured Js not found to exist between the number ‘of ‘other psrsons’ kill- ed and the number injured. In the former case the proportion of Kilied to injured is about oné to fifteen, while in the latter it is about one to two. This disparity is difficult to account for unless a solution is found tn the fatal grade crossing and in the fact that, many persons seeking suicide adopt this method. A train going at the rate of sixty or seventy miles an hour seldom fails to do effective work, even when con- fronted by the finest or toughest specimens of humanity “Last year, 18M, in the entire United States, 4800 persons were killed, and 5,500 Injured, all of whom had nothing to’ do With railroads. ‘This year I look for an ap- palling fncrcase, the majority of victims being furnished by, the deadly grade cross- ing. . “The report from the state of New Jersey has not comé in yet, but when it does it will, ro doubt, furnish an interesting study. flardly a week goes by without the papers telling of a grade-crossing accident in that state. And they are. all fatal over there, if you notice closely, as the trains are run- ning at the highest rate of speed when the catastrophe occurs. Due to Recklessness, “Then, again, trolley cars have taken on a fashion entirely their own of running well until railroad tracks have to be cross- ed and then becoming stubborn. Imagine the feelings of the passengers in that car that recently became balky in front of an ex- press train near Trenton, N. J. The cur had plenty of time to go on about its busi- ness, as the express was fully a mile away, but when it became cranky and refused to move the seconds became a minute in the shortest of short order. A nervy engineer and perfect train appliances were all that da dozen lives. From advices received at headquarters from different points, it appears that there is not as much good feeling existing as there should be between the lookouts or watchmen at the railroad crossings and the motormen and gripmen of the city lines. The rules are stringent, and are in effe: that the signals of the watchman must be obeyed under all circumstances. This 1s done to prevent collisions. : “Some of the motor or gripmen at times imagine that they are detained longer than they should be, or that undue preference ,is given to some of the other roads, and growl and grumble, sound their gongs viciously and vigorously, and-even cast imprecations on the watchmen in charge. This causes ill feeling. It is reported that some of the motormen actually take the bit in their mouths, so to speak, and move across tht inst the orders of the watchmen. Cause of Accidents, ‘0 my mind, a majority of the so-called accidents on our railroads in the last six months have not been caused by the fail- ure of rolling stock, bridges, roadbed or general equipment to stand the strain put upen them, but to the terrible careless- ness of employes in places of great re- sponsibility. The accident in Je City recently reported to us was caused by the reckless disobedience of plain orders on the part of the officers in charge of the train. “Apparently these officers readily took the risk of continuing at the usual high rate of speed where they had been directed to stop, knowing that at any time they might strike a trolley car at every street ressing. It will be noted that they were © escape injury themselves by jump- ing off just before the accident that fol- lowed occurred, when nearly a dozen persons » killed. Had they been chained to their tions it Is a safe wager.that the accident would not have ocgurre “The accident a few days later out near Pittsburg between a limited express and a trolley car could npt have taken place if those in charge of the trdin had exercised ordinary care and, obsetved the funda- mental rules of tHe service. These are the latest additions'to ar! appalling list of blunders and instarices of reckless disobe- dience, which have caused great loss of life since the beginning of last summer, and the later collisions appear to be the worst of all. Some Officinl Figures. “From the returns made to the interstate commerce commission, it appears that for the year ending June 30, 1893, there was one passenger killed for nearly two million carried, and for the yean ending June 50, 18M, one passenger was killed for only about a million and a half carried. There were for each passenger injured nearly two hundred thousand carried. Among the employes during the year ending June 30, 1803, there v one killed to ) employed, and for the vear ending June 30, 184, one Killed to 428 employed. From reports so far received for 1805, indications point to the most favorable results of improved train equipment, as the average of em- ployes killed will be about one in 600, “The significant fact connected with the figures I have given is that the course of the general business depression prevailing at the close of 1894 and beginning of 1895 is well and clearly defined in the number ents. It may be said that one of : good things which come from hard found in the reduced number of accidents among passengers and railway employes. Last year nearly one hundred thousand employes were discharged from the railroads of the country, and, of course, this permitted a better average to be re- corded, as there were just that many less employes to run the risks. “But while there were reductions in the number of passengers and employes’ acci- dents in the United States, the accidents among other persons were more numerous. Conjectures might have it that the hard times have been prolific of suicides, but the facts, supported by figures, point rather to the increase in grade crossings and conse- quent additional chances for accidents. “An important question for our legisla- tors to consider is, are the penalties which a company may suffer heavy enough? The loss of property in a collision is not an im- portant loss for a great corporation. The conviction of an engineer, conductor or gateman on a charge of manslaughter can exercise very little restraining influence upon the company that employs him. But it it were possible to collect. through the courts large sums in damages for the lives that are lost, the companies would be much more careful, both in the supervision of their emplcyes and in the establishment of overhead or underground crossings and other safeguards. Proposed Legislation. “For th2 lives sacrificed in the Jersey City accident the relatives of the victims can recover from the company at the most about $50,000, or $5,000 for each life. If this limit, which is imposed by the laws in most of the states, were removed, such terrible slaughter as this would be so expensive to a company that the establishment of ap- proved safeguards would not be neglected, and every fossible effort to Insure the effi- clency of train officers and the preservation ef lives would be made. Under present conditions a railroad company commonly suffers a much smaller loss in money when a person is kilied than when one is crip- led. PsOver 12 Connecticut they have taken the bit in mouth, so to speak, in the mat- ter of abolishing grade crossitigs, and radi- cal measuies are looked for during the coming year. A prominent United States Senator is responsible fo> the movement, I believe, and although he represents large railroad interests, his ideas are about the best s0 far advanced looking to the aboli- tion of the evil. His idea is to make each state divide up the cost with the railroads of wiping out a grade crossing. “Measures will be introduced in the state legislaturo to this effect, but there will be considerable opposition, as many claim that the state and counties gave the roads right of way, and there is no reason why they should ‘not look out for the lives of the donors. “Here in Washington we have an exam- ple of what grade crossings can do in a harmful way to a city. Still, I understand, both roads were given free entry to this city, and for that reason, many claim, they should go to the expense of Gepressing or raising the tracks and pay the bill them- selves.” —_——=—_ TESTED THE SOLDIER'S NERVE. An Incident Showing the Perils of Life in the Jungles of India. From the New York Mercury. The bluff old major from the queen’s army had listened attentively to the camp- fire tales of bis companions. He put a fresh charge of fragrant tobacco in the veteran pipe that he had been smoking and the three occupants of the compart- ment lapsed into expectant silence, waiting to hear from him. “Yhe bravest man I have ever met was not on the field of battle,” he began. “He was a soldier, but I know little about his military record, and yet when I say he was the bravest man I ever knew I think I know what I am talking about. We were campaigning in India and for months the command had simply been idling time away. We were all thoroughly tired of a life pf routine military inactivity and finally a party of five of us secured a two weeks’ leave of absence which we proposed to spend in a hunt for big game. 3 One of our number was a senior regi- mental officer, who had been through ten years’ service in India. He had been the guiding spirie of our expedition. Seated a few feet away from him and to his left, was a young junior company officer, who had but recently joined the command. We had been eating fruit, which was of.a kind that bears a very peculiar scent. It is a tradition that this native fruit has a strong attraction for several varieties of veno- mous reptiles, which are peculiar to that climate. I. at least,am convinced that there is something more than tradition in it, “As I have said, we were talking of ad- ventures when, ina moment of silence, the bluff old regimental officer, looking steadily at the young lieutenant to his left, slowly said: “Do you think you could keep your presence of mind under the most trving circumstances, when your life depended upon your coolness and courage?’ “Dead silence followed the colonel’s ques- tion, and the young officer, looking quizzi- cally at his interrigator, replied: “*Yes, I think I could.’ “Then the time has come when you must be put to the test. Move not a muscle until I tell you, or you are a dead man.” “Then the bronzed old warrior slowly drew his pistol from his holster, and, tak- ing deliberate aim, he fired a shot at the very feet of the man to whom he had ad- dressed his ominous question. For the space of a second we all sat like statues, then the colonel, in a tone of relief, ex- aimed: ‘It’s all right now, boys; I've killed it.’ “We were all on our feet in an instant, eager to know what danger had threatened our young comrade. At his feet lay the coiling, squirming body of a huge cobra, the most venomous reptile that haunts the of India. I think the man who faced that danger was the bravest man I've ever met,” said the major, and no one dissented. Then He Said Good-Night. From the New York World. The subdued light in the room made even his polka-dot necktie a thing of beauty. - For fully three minutes they had sat amid a silence which it seemed cruel to break. Then he stirred unea: “Don't you think—-” sily. neasily. you think, Mis ke for a ma Lulu, that it is ike me to travel a great mis through thi life alone She regarded him fixedly for a moment. “Won't your— The words came glowly and with firm enunciation. “Won't your mother chaperon you?" To this day she ts uncertain whether it was sixteen or seventeen seconds that elapsed before he took his hat and nis de- perture simultaneous ———_+e+ The Pyromaniac’s Smile. From the Boston ‘franscript. Fire Marshal Whitcomb has been pretty busy taking testimony in regard to fires lately, and while speaking about examin- ing witnesses the other day, he mentioned several curious things he had noticed. He says that in every case where he has dis- covered’a pyremaniac he has had his sus- picions of the person’s guilt aroused by a peculiar smile which plays around the cor- ners of the mouth of the guilty one when under examination. It is hardly a smile, rather a peculiar puckering of the corners of the mouth, an expression almost inde- finable, but it seems to mean, “Well, I'm too smart for you to catch me, anyhow.” The marshal says he can recall a doz: cases where he noticed this smile, and at the time had no other cause to suspect a witness, vet by following these smiling ones he has obtained the most convinci testimony of their guilt, and almost invari- ably confession from the guilty ones them- selves. ROLIDAY —— Tickets sold December 21st to 25th and December 31st and Janu- ary. Ist. Good to return until Janu- ary 7th. EXCURSION On account of the Christmas Holi- days the Pennsylvania Railroad will issue round-trip tickets on dates as above at reduced rates between all stations east of and including Pitts- burg and Erie and west of Elizabeth and Sea Girt. RATES l PENNS VLEVANIA RAILROAD, A014 vice, and reliable information, business of advertising. Enables you to profit by formation about every way of tisements that will sell goods; , Subscription price NOW, $2 a year cember Bist, 1895. 10 Spruce Street, dc5-th,s&t",6t SS OSOSS SEO Printers Ink ale lps... Advertisers! It’s a weekly journal, furnishing you with practical ad- methods—of successful advertisers, as it gives complete in- found to be feasible and profitable. Instructs you—and exemplifies — how to write adver- contains can be used to accomplish the same object. Contains timely hints about mediums, tending to aid you in selecting profitable ones to advertise in. SSS SOSSSS0S OOS: SSOSSSSO5 SSSSOSSOOSOOTSI IAG | about every detail of the the experiences—and adopt the advertising which they have or the “Ready-Made Ads.” it 3 it wil be $5 a vear after De Sample copy free. New York. . GOOSSO 068000000000 AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE. A Burglar Conferred a Favor by Opening a Safe. From the West Medford (Mass.) Windmill. The proprietor of a large store on High street went to his place of business at an unusually early hour this morning; tn fact, the sun had not yet risen when he turned the key in the door. On entering, he was surprised to find a man trying to open the door of his safe. He stood and watched him for some time, apparently deeply interested in the pro- ceedings, when finally the burglar swung open the door of the safe with a delighted chuckle, but happening to turn, he saw that he was discovered and became very much alarmed. He jumped up and was about to make his escape through a back window, when the merchant called to him: “Dor’t be in a hurry, my friend; come back and sit down a while and smoke a cigar, while I straighten things up a bit, and then come home to breakfast with me. You have done me a great favor.” “Why, how's that?” asked the burglar, in great surprise. “Well, you see, I had the combination of the safé on a bit of paper, and last night I accidentally locked it in the safe and forgot how to work it; I spent most of the night trying to get the thing open, and care in early this morning to have another try atit” WATER AND GOLD. Simple Process by Which Millions of Dollars Are Annunlly Gained. om the Roston Journal of Commerce, It is not generally known, even in Cali- fornia, that millions of dollars are annually taken from rude heaps of base-looking quartz by the flowing of water over huge piles of broken rocks that contain the prec- icus metal. The process of robbing the earth of its gold has now been reduced to such a fine point that the gentle flow of water over the ore gleans it of its goiden treasures, and this works well in cases where the old chloride and other methods are not so useful. The water used by miners in bringing gold from piles of mineral-pearing qua is charged with a simple chemical, which has the potency to dissolve gold and hoid it in solution. The sparkling Neuid, whict flows over hundreds of tons of quartz trickles through the mines ond seeks {i level, laden with gold, is charged with a deadly poison, cyanide of ium, drug which ferrets put the minutest par- ticles of the yellowish metal, and dissolves them and brings the precious burden to the vats for conversion into refined gold again. The cyanide process is as noiseless and unerring as the laws of gravitation. The method fs based on the fact that even a very weak solution of cyanide of potas- sivm dissolves gold and silver, forming, respectively, auro-potassic cyanid and ar- gento-potassie cyanide. The solution {s separated from the solid mineral, and the gcid and silver are precipitated in metallic form. During the last five years the pro- cess has been introduced into almost every gold field in California and elsewhere, and more than $20,000,000 has been recovered by the gentle flow of the waters charged with the magical chemical. Precipitation is effected by the use of fine pieces of zine, so arranzed that when the rich waters flow over them the fine gold clusters In rich deposits over the zinc, for which it has an affinity. The gold deposits itself in the form of fine dust on the plates of zine. ~-ses : Caught in a Wolf Trap. From the St. Pau! (Minn.) Dispatch. Mrs. Frank Hull, the wife of a farmer rear Sergeart Bluffs, Iowa, is recovering from an experience which narrowly missed costing her her life. Several days ago a reighbor set a number of wolf traps about his farm, placing one of them in a lonely gulch at a considerable distance from the rced ard in a place seldcm visited, even by himself. Mrs. Hull happened to pass clos: to this spot on her way home from a | friend’s house. and, ncticing the trap, ste ped to investigate. In handling it she touched the heavy steel spring, rs she cotld withdraw her hand wi t and firmly held by the trap. F : to raise the spring with the other were unavailin e | ed her vneon main til the next ni; i by in , when her frien her long absence from home, rch of her. In addition to everely from the pain in her the lack of food, the sufferer atly tried by the cold, the tempera- ture having fallen below zero. ted sufferin and CHARLES DICKENS’ CHILDREN. Members of the Family of the Great Novelist Now Livi From the Chicago Times-Herald. Of Charles Dickens’ family there are live, ing today. Charles, a namesake of his fath- er; Henry, the second son, and the unmar-' ried daughter, Mamie Dickens. Miss Dick, ens, now a lady of some forty years, writes pieasantly and entertainingly, many of her, contributions having been published in America. She lives in a pretty suburb near London. i Charles Dickens, the eldest son, is a true Dickers, resembling his father in feature and turn of mind, but so far has not made himself famous by inherited genius. Charles Dickens also has an interesting family. A brighter or more sturdy generation of young boys and girls does not exist any- where in London than Henry Fielding Dick« ers’ children. Their graceful mother waa the daughter of Antoine Roche, a French« man of note in his day, who, because of hi lirguistic talents, figured as the tutor o! some of England's most prominent nobility. Young Lord Lorne, then the future son-in< law of Queen Victoria, as well as other young notables of his time, came under An« toine Roche's especial tutelage. Mrs. Dickens resembles her father. She is slight and willowy, with a long, patrician! face, and has a quiet, reposeful expression, | accentuated by her large, dreamy brown) eyes. She herself is a fine linguist, of liter- ary and musical tastes, and daily superin- tends her children in their studies. When) Alphonse Daudet visited in London last summer he requested to be shown a true mother and perfect English home. He was’ presented to Mrs. Dickens. The French) novelist was delighted and is still lavish in! his hostess’ praise. She could speak his language fluently and entertained him like @ countrywoman. i In his family there are seven chfldren—, Enid, Hal, Gerald, Olive, Elaine, Pip and! Ceddy, respectively. Enid is eighteen, has! sweet, girlish features and manners, and ts! all in all her mother’s girl. Olive, the next, is just fourteen, and a perfect Dickens.) She has the dark*brown hair and the true gray e: Elaine, who is never spoken of by this name, but always by “Bobb; is twelve, and another mother’s girl. She has a beautiful, soulful face, with even greater! Promises at maturfty. { The two elder boys, Hal and Gerald, sev-/ enteen and sixtcen respectively, are away, at school. Hal attends Bermount, where, | out of 2,000 boys, he stood last year the| seventeenth in his class. Gerald is a naval| cadet on the Britannia. Lastly comes the two sturdy little chaps of the family, Pip! and Ceddy, seven and five years of’ age. | Pip was named after his grandfather’s| story, “Great Expectations,” while Ceddy ts | a diminutive of the old English name, Ced-| ric. Hal and Gerald, Oliver and “Bobby"*. and Pip and Ceddy are always mentioned in pairs, as their ages are so near together, Enid seems to be the odd one, but as she ig the young lady of the family, having mad¢ her debut this year, she is her mother's constant companion. ¥ ——_—__+o-—___—___ Horse and Horse. From Life. Old Prinks (the Squam Corners storee, keeper)—“Looky here, Jay! I'll have ta! knock off half a dollar of the payment for that last bar'l of apples you sold me, on aoe, count of the rotten ones in the middle of What makes you put big, fine apples | at the top of the bar’l an’ no-account ones | in the middle? j Jay Green—“Same reason, I guess, that | you comb that long lock of hair over the bald place on top o’ your head.” ’ Another Echo From Boston, 1 From Truth. Gretchen—“Elizabeth, what do you think’ Mamme said that once I was a little baby!” Elizabeth—“Oh, is that true? Why, 80 was I. What a coincidence that we should Meet—let us be good friends. » s