Evening Star Newspaper, February 1, 1896, Page 17

The Ghostly Manifestations of} « Aunt Drusilla. BY ELISABETH PULLEN, ‘Author of The Man From Aidone, ———— 1896, by Bacheller, Jobnson & Bucheller.) PART I. When, Iocking out into the darkness be- fore the winter dawn, the woman who lived * nearest neighbor to Miss Drusilla Brock- way could see no light in the window of the house on the hill, she thought that some- thing must have happened. She told her husband so. “Jotham, I wish’t you'd step over an’ see that she ain't dead or any- thing,” she added. So Mr. Jotham Dunn clothed himself, lighted a lantern, and went out of the front deor, which opened on the road. “It don't seem nateral, not to go out to the barn, fust thing, to feed the critters,” he observed, pulling on his blue mittens. “I @on’t see what you're so turrible worried about, Maria.” But ‘he went, with the pro- «testing tongue and the prompt legs of a man who has a many-careful wife. At Miss Drusilla’s everything was dark and quiet. He waited a moment; then he knocked. “I expect Drusilly’ll call me a fool for my pains,” he muttered. The answer came in a groaning voice: “Oh, is that you, Mr. Dunn?” “Tt is.” “I'm dretful glad you've come. But you'll hev to let yourself in. I can’t stir without killin’ of me.” (Copyright, Miss Drusilly, how you talk. What's the matter with ye?” “Oh, dear me, I've fell an’ I expect I ever get up again. You must come vy can I? Ain't the house all locked . it ain't, and that’s how—well, never You g2 round to the shed door, Mr. Dunn.” Having entered by that way, he soon heard about the misfortune. Miss Dru- me back In due sea- it rings 9 puts for home. » “How can 1? Ain't the locked up?” t last night he stayed out, an’ then come the shed door a-cryin’, an’ I got up to in. 1 was Kind ‘o’ dazed, wakin’ sudden, an’ forgot to bolt the door I'd just got back into bed when I i d right out to fasten the door. I expect I ketched my foot t braided rug, for I fell all In a heap. An’ here Ibe. An'I guess my hip’s broke,” house all to let him e lamp: s‘pose I ght have been burnt p an’ the house, too—an’ I do’ know but vould have been just as well,” rejoined Dru: who did not care to have silver lining of such a new and dismal d turned forcibly out for her Inspection. . So it was that Miss Drusilla Brockway, who had always been the most active and independent woman in the township, be- came bedridden and helpless. ior a time, the neighbors took turns in caring for her; for though she was little loved, she was respected on account of her virtues, which were genuine, if crabbed. By and by chari- ty cooled with custom; people began to think that they had none too much time for their own affairs; and finally it was sted to her that she ougat to have a semate. “Because there can't nobody, however glad an’ willin’, tend out all the time, an’ you ought to hev a woman right where you can call on her, night or day,” s. Dunn told her. ‘Misa Drusilla. took kindly enov this good friend what she would ha scorned and resented from another. guess you're right, Mis’ Dunn. *ribie trouble to fol ba: I'm a tur- . an’ I can’t expect but what they will gredge what they do for me. Blood’s thicker than water, an’ I'm goin’ to write to some zelations of mine to come. I’don't expect they will, but I can’t do no more'n ask ‘em to.” So, with unused and stiff penmanship, Miss Drusilla wrote a letter to her nephew, Holman Brockway, in Massachusetts, in- viting him to come with his family to live in her house, which would be his after her death. She possessed a farm, mostly run out. A man could improve the land. She thought it would pay him to come. This letter was a total surprise to the « nephew; his aunt had quarreled with his father when Holman was a boy; each had gone his own way, with dull and grim ill- will on the sister's part, with indifference on that of the brother. Holman Brockway * eared nothing for his father’s old feud; he was willing to accommodate his aunt and to take hold of the farm run to waste. There was another reason which weighed @ little with him; his daughter, Corinna, during a recent visit to the city near which was the village where Miss Drusilla lived, had become engaged to a young man there. The lovers wrote to each other daily. “| gness, Corinny, we shall have to move down to Maine, to cave postage stamps,” the father said, good-humoredly. With that.jest the matter was settled. They gave up the rented house, and went te live with Aunt Drusilla. The farm show: ed promise; the land had long lain {dl but Holman Brockway found it to have a soil mixed of sand and decomposed peat, which would grow big vegetables. Miss Drusilla had ‘cultivated a small patch, enough for her own use, which she re- Inctantly praised as having “done as well as other folks’ gardens, fur's I know.” Holman’s wife thought the house rather inconvenient, but it was sunny and had a pleasant outlook. Corinna was happy be- cause it was not a long walk to the ferry which connected the village with the city; “and it is certain that Herbert Jennison spent his substance on rjotous commutation tickets. At the landing he «cometimes found Corinna waiting for him, and they enjoyed the stroll up the hill to the house, which stood on the crest, bristling with « rocks and bushes. Corinna’s parents liked the young man; he was clean and horest, eager to learn and to make his way in the world. It vas all smooth sailing until Aunt Dru- “eilla blew up a gale. She was a formi- dable power as she lay In her bed in the ground floor room which she reserved for herself. This was intended by the builder of the house for an office; Miss Drusilla’s father had been a lawyer. It was a one- Story room, projecting from the southern side of the house. Nothing flourished there but a few stalks of gaunt and hoary mul Jein; even in June the herbage yellowed— somebody had said that Squire Brock- Way's law was so dry that it made hay of the grass. Near the side window stood a birch tree; it had grown up impeded by a sharp splinter of granite so that its roots Were quite out of the ground, clasping the Tock like skeleton arms. This tree, in its tattered shroud of white bark, leaned to- . Ward the window as If to peer in! From the other, the front window,Miss Drusilla peer- “ed out; nothing that passed along the road could escape her notice. Neither did any- thing that took place in the house. “Your aunt has got an extra sense, more than the rest of the people,” Sarah Brockway told her husband. She heard every step, every fall of crockery; she sniffed every overbaked loaf, every scorched kettle hold- er. She would have all things go on in her own way, which was that of her parents before her—curious sparings and parings; unwieldy stores of vegetables kept in the cellar, to be constantly culled over, or else breed diseases. A certain yellow and white striped pitcher was devoted to yeast, which she called “emptins” and would have home- made, with much pains and with potatoes; - blue platter, dedicated to none else stamp “piled dish” would to her mind have Been desecrated by a burden of doughnuts or of cookies. “Seems as though Aunt Drusilla thought all the things in the house were foreordained and predestinated to just so and and no other way,” Sarah mildly “Bring him in here; I want to see him.” lamented. “I can’t get the hang of her notions ner remember half of 'em; I'd be bers to suit aunt, for it’s real hard to be bed-ridden, she that’s been so active all her life. And I expect that I have some sel ways myself; we all have.” From morning to night, Aunt Drusilla {s- sued orders through the half-open door of her chamber; Sarah found it no sinecure to be the lieutenant of an old-fashioned house- keeper. The longer that Aunt Drusilla was confined frem contact with actual work, the harder she was to please; she expected the impossible and criticised with lavish vigor and homely sarcasm. But as yet she had not spoken of Herbert Jennison, be- cause his visits were always male in the evening, and she had taken the habit of eating her supper early and beginning her night's sleep at twilight. To balance ac- counts, she awoke before the cocks had begun to halloo from barn to barn—and when Aunt Drusilla was once awake there was no more sleep in the house. When the neighbors praised Sarah Brockway for be- ing ready to sit down, in a white apron, to sew at 10 o'clock in the morning, she mod- estly replied: “You know I have to get up fe hour and more before daylight and i < ahead more than I care to, sometimes.” But she said it with a patient smile on her kind face. She admitted, however, that ow an’ then I get all nerved up, an’ then Aunt Drusilla’s voice goes right through tiny head.” After a time, Corinna, having come to understand tke tremendous will and the active veto power of Aunt Drusilla, began to dread lest the old woman should wish to interfere with her intended marriage. If the aunt called her, Corinna started and turned pale. The dreadful old creature, from her bi ruled the household. She he- came always crosser, more dismal, more exacting; ore could but pity her, yet she was not good to live with. It chanced ene afternoon that Corinna, preparing her aunt's tea, Was absent-minded by cause of her fears for her love and put in a double dose of the herb. Therefore, A eyes, at 8 o’clock in the a-stare with assisted plessness and her ears were sharpened the stimulus of the tea—green, green; So, although by she would drink no other. Sarah, after making her comfortable for the t, had gone out, closing the outer door of the chamber, the entrance of a person at the front door was heard by Aunt Drusilla. It wes the step of a man; then the tones of Corinna’s voice blended with deeper notes; some sibilant little explosions interrupted for an instant their talk; soon after, Holman and Sarah greeted the newcomer cordially. What did all this mean? Because Aunt Drusilla could not imagine she rapped on the floor with the pearwood stick which was her summons. Sarah ran; and the aunt was soon informed that the visitor was Mr. Herbert Jennison, from the city, engaged to Corinna, “a very excellent young man, and her father and I are much pleased with him,” added the mother, mildly ruffling up her feathers, ready to defend the choice of her one chicken. ‘Bring him in here; I want to see him,” said Aunt Drusilla, grimly. For in her unkappy old soul—a harbor of all sorts of cranky and piratical prejudices, with a roving commission to board other people's business—she remembered that in remote years her father had had a quarrel with a certain Jennison, who might be a grandfather of this young man. “And ’ll let him know that I ain’t forgot about that matter,” she decided. PART II. §o Herbert Jennison was called; Corinna followed him. Her father and mother came also, with the vague idea that this might be a pleasing occasion, the presentation to Aunt Drusilla of the youth who hoped to become her grand-nephew. Anything but a pleasing occasion! ~The old woman reared her gaunt head, white-capped, and de- manded to know if he was the grandson of Joel Jennison. He was. Had he ever heard of the lawsuit, Brockway against Jennison, in 1837? He had not. The old woman was ready to burst with venom; she scolded, screamed, hissed; she quoted Scripture in the line of dismal prophecy and imprecation; at last she snatched off her nightcap and threw it at him. Hol- man Brockway hustled the astounded lov-4 ers out of the room; Sarah tried to recom- pose the aunt's cap and temper, while the hag kept on shrieking: “They shan’t marry, they shan’t marry. I'll die and I’ll haunt them.” Corinna was terrified; she clung to her lover, trembling and sobbing. He told her that they ought not to mind the half-crazy words of a poor old woman; Aunt Drusilla Corinna Wax Terrified; She Clung to Her Lover. was outrageous, to be sure, but it was partly nerves; she could not mean all that she said. “We are doing no wrong, we need not be afraid of men nor ghosts,” Herbert com- forted the girl. “Poor old creature, she can’t walk while she lives, and she won't walk after she is dead.” “Do you suppose that she ever had any one that cared for her, Herbert?” “TI should think no’ “Then I am sorry for her, and I won’t blame her too much. But, Herbert, I am afraid of her.” “I guess you're getting nervous yourself, Corinna, Come, let us sit down and read now.” They were reading aloud a life of George Washington; it appeared serially in one of the magazines. Herbert had that evening brought a new number from town. It was quite true that Aunt Drusilla in all her hfe never had a lover, never received the attentions and the pretty speeches that cause a woman to value herself happlily. She had always been plain, self-suflicing, even forbidding. But she had one moment of vanity. Some years before the wagon of an itinerant photographer had broken down on the top of the hill in front of her house. It took hours to mend it; and at noon the man asked Miss Brockway if she would give him some dinner. In return he would make her a a pnotoerenyy cabinet size and nicely finish: She set a meal before him; afterward he sighted her with the camera, put away the negative and promised to send the picture in a few days. “I guess I ain't likely to see my own face, without ’tis in the looking glass,” she said, cynically, as he drove away. But the vagabond artist kept his word and sent her the photograph. “I ain't got nobody to give it to, an’ EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 189¢-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. =a tered her up to ie pclae of the credible; she was aware that she possessed no beau- ties, but this likeness softly persuaded her that she was not so bad looking, after all. She came to take its testimony rather than that of the ancient mirror in its tarnished gilt frame—which, indeed, gave a greenish hue to her countenance, and perhaps elon- gated it a trifle. It may be that the pho- togrgph was so dear to her because, like @ trie friend, it took her at her best possi- bilities instead of her unlovely actuality. She was apt to frowma at the mirror and came as near as she ever did to a smile in looking at the photograph. The portrait, unframed, always stood in the same place, near to the corner of the mantelpiece, next to the side window of Miss Drusilla’s cham- ber. The wan birch tree, tooking in, must have witnessed some oddly kind glances pess from her face to its likeness. The bit of pasteboard was the sole object of the tenderness of the old woman, were this from egotism or from a dim recognition of her better self. “Miss Drusilly’s turrible proud of her picter. It don’t handsome much, fur’s I can see; but I’m glad if she takes comfort in anything,” Mr. Dunn said to his wife. Corinna and Herbert did their best not to offend the old woman again by sight or hearing of them. The girl had noticed that evening when, after the crisis of nerves, she carried out the aunt's small teapot, that the decoction had been of extra strength, and she took heed that in future it should be of a milder brew. But Aunt Drusilla was unmitigable; she would hear nothing in favor of young Jennison; his grandfather had eaten of the sour grapes of litigation, and she would set the grand- “I'm going to die and Pll haunt you.” sen's teeth on edge with all sorts of hideous She would summon the family in ounding with her stick; as soon as the door was opened she would scream dis- agreeable remarks at the lovers, order Jen- nison out of the house, call them ill names, and always contrive to make some dark al- lusion to her threat that she, after death, would haun: them. It was unbearable, but what could be done? There was no dis- ciplining a poor, half-crazed, helpless crea- ture like that. They came to take her chidings like the bluster and shriek of the wind around the house. She grew gradually weaker, and as her forces lessened, her temper appeared some- what milder. She sometimes thanked Hol- man Brockway when he lifted her. “You've been real good to me, for one that ain't a blood relation,” she said to Sarah one day. But, although she seldom railed at the lovers—as, indeed, she rarely had the op- portunity—she never spoke a kind word to Corinna. For all that the girl in her timid way tried to please the aunt. An hour be- fore the old woman died, she spoke again of the marriage with Herbert Jennison, but only to repeat her uncanny threat: “I'm going to die, and I'll haunt you.” It could be only felt as a relief when at last Aunt Drusilla was laid away in the village burying ground, under the fir trees. “Now she can rest—and give other folks a rest too,” commented Mr. Dunn, returning from the grave. The strain had been long upon Sarah and Corinna; they felt depressed and nervous, after’the fashion of weary women. It was time to plant early peas, so that for Hol- man Brockway there was work in the open air, which is the universal solvent fe~ all imaginary and some real troubles. vhe young people were to marry the next Oc- tober; they would live with the parents of Corinna, and had decided to use Aunt Dru- silla’s room as their own parlor. Herbert thought that the furnishing of it would be a wholesome and cheerful occupation for Corinna: “First, it can be well scrubbed and aired to drive out the blue devils," said this practical lover, “then Corinna and her mother must choose the furniture and the carpet. We may as well get the room ready now, and have some good times even- ings in it. I declare, I feel next door to married when Corinna sits by the lamp sewing while I read aloud.” So the room was freshly painted and papered; white muslin curtains were hung at the windows; a three-ply carpet of mod- est colors and pattern, and a sofa and chairs covered with blue plush--very cheap and stylish, the dealer had cailed them— made up a little parlor which, if not artis- tie, was cozy, and the pride of the heart of a good little girl. When her father was ushered Into the transformed room he ad- mired it greatly. Then he began to look vaguely about him, as if missing something. “I seem to want to see Aunt Drusilly’s picter in its place again,” he said. “Oh, no, father. It is our parlor now,” Corinna protested. “I know that, daughter, an’ you've made it real pretty. But I guess we hev to re- member that 'twas Aunt Drusilla’s room before that, an’ that we owe the house an’ farm an’ all to her. She was aggravatin’, I know; but she’s gone where she sees things different. I expect she looks some like her photograph now, all kind of smoothed out and pleasant. It would ap- pear to me like rememberin’ of her best an’ gratefully, to set her picter up where she always kept it. An’ {t can’t hurt you and Herbert none, Corinny. I should call it a just an’ a right act on your part.” Holman Brockway hed a streak of firm will, a mild form, perhaps, of that of his Utigious father and his crabbed aunt. He spoke gently, but Corinna knew that there was no opposing him. “I shall simply die, to have Aunt Drusilla always before my eyes,” the girl complained. But her lover persuaded her that it was better to content her father. ‘We may get to be quite fond of the old girl, she looks so pleasant, and then she can’t talk, which is an advan- tage,” he said, jestingly. During the day time Corinna did not care to stay in the newly furnished room; she had a tender little instinct that she would enjoy it only in company with Her- bert. She dusted it carefully every morn- ing; then went out, closing the door behind her, not re-entering there until the even- ing brought her lover. He came by the electric cars now, a new suburban line had lately been completed. At 7:55 she could see the headlight at the turn of the road, in two minutes more she heard the hoarse hum of the wheels; at 7:58 Herbert would swing himself off the car, which proceeded just as if it were not deprived of its one valuable freight. At 8 precisely, Corinna’s parents having greeted her lover, the young pair would find themselves in their own lit- tle parlor. They were not sure whether they enjoyed that room most in the present or in anticipation. It was very cozy for en- gaged people; they divined that it would ap- peer still cozier when they should be mar- ri PART III. But from the day that Aunt Drusilla’s picture was restored to its old place Corin- na’s pleasure in the room was subtly blighted. The next morning when she en- tered it, singing. with a duster In her hand, the first thing which she saw was the pho- tograph, that lsy face downward upon the ficor, about three feet in front of the fire- place, as if it had leaped from its station on the mantel shelf. Corinna took it up and replaced it, without thought. But she felt a curious little shudder. She went on singing in her clear and pleasant voice while she dusted the books, arranged in neat radiation around the crocheted lamp mat on the table in the center of the room. All at once she saw the photograph stir, then stand upright, totter and spring to- ward her, falling to the floor. A supersti- tious terror seized Corinna; her breath stopped.and her hands became cold and moist as she stood, not daring to remove her gaze from the object of her fears. She could hear her mother beating eggs in the kitchen, her father chopping wood in the barn, the noise of the electric car that had passed the house and was speeding down the slope of the hill toward Neighbor Dunn’s. These everyday sounds dissolved the spell. Corinna would not be silly; she finished her task, dusting Srexr enter con- But until she was quite Bondy the room she left the photograp! —_— it lay. Finally she~ picked ~iabiig, Soe oes eyes from it, pdt hastened away. Pinhet event: hen Corinna, accompan- ied by Herber: bert opened the door of the pat- lor the likeness of Aunt Drusilla was lying upon the carpet. . “What is it?’ he asked her. “The old lady has tumbled off her perch,” said Herbert, with scant reverence. And he set her up again. He did not see the fright in Corinna’s eyes. All that evening the girl sat with her shoulders toward the picture; if it sprang down again she did not wish to see that. Once, indeed, it seemed to her that she heard a light thing strike on the floor; but at that moment Herbert was reading aloud and the car was passing, so that she could not be certain. When arose to go away she followed him into the entry with- out looking back. At all everts, the following morning she foundethe photograph prone upon the car- pet, and there she let it remain. The strange contest of wills between herself and the uncanny piece of pasteboard dis- pirited and wearied Corinna. Finally she put the photograph away in the table draw- er and hoped for peace. She did not wish to confide her fear to Herbert; of course, it was a fanciful dread, and he would laugh at it. Neither would she let the charm of the parlor be spoiled for him as it was for her. But one evening as she watched for Herbert's coming, her father, who was adjusting a window-shade roller in her litue parlor, called to her: ‘‘Corinny, where is aunt’s picter?” She caw the gieam of the car light down the road, but she must run to find the photograph. Her father took it in his hand. “A pleasant Wkeness. Looks almost pooty,” he commented. He stood holding it, studying the face. Then he heard the sound of the approaching car. ‘There, run along, Corinny,’’ he bade her, good-natur- edly. And, not to mar the lovers’ meeting, he remained just where he was, gazing at the picture until he Judged it discreet to ap- pear and welcome young Jennison. Then he set Aunt Drusilla in her place and went out into the entry. “Glad to see you, Her- bert,” he said, cordially. But later that evening Cor! the light impact of the pa fell to the floor; and again she would not look at it, but waited until the wholesome daylight should companion her, when she would lift the evil t and put it in Its own place. ‘e than once 1n the days that followed Corinna thought of destroying the photo- graph, but that would displease her father, Moreover, what would be the use, since if the ghost of Aunt Drusilla really took that means of disturbing the lovers, yo doubt her unkind spirit could find other ways to the same end. Corinna dee¢ided to bear these pesi-mortem spites as she had borne the whims and railings of Aunt Drusilla in the flesh. But the girl be#an to grow pale and thin; there was an enxious puck- er in her pretty, white brow; ner manner was listless and nervous. Her mother no- na heard again eboard as it She Saw the Photograph Totter and Spring Toward Her. ticed this change in Corinna; but, having concocted and prescribed a tonic of bitter herbs, she plunged headlong into ‘spring cleaning,” which from that moment occu- pied all her mird. Besides, Corinna de- clared that nothing was the matter with ‘And spring weather lets everybody * Sarah Brockway concluded. One gusty, rainy evening of late April it seemed to Herbert that as he and Corin- na entered the parlor together she started as ie frightened. “What is it?” he asked er. “Nothing, nothing,” answered Corinna. Ha looked at her. Her lips were apart with fear, she was pale, staring at some- thing that lay upon the floor nea: the fire- place. Herbert was carrying the lighted ene he went forward to examine the ob- ject. “Why, it is only Aunt Drusilla’s photo- graph.” He picked it up and set It cn the mantel shelf. “But—but—how came it down there?” safd the girl, with a shivering voice. “My dear child. the wind blew it down. Taese old houses let in all sorts of little hts arounc the windows. 0, if was not the wind,” said Corinna, with the quiet of hopeless conviction. “Herbert, I meant not to say anything about it, because, of course, yon will laugh at me. Every evening, whether the wind blows or not, that picture quits its place. Every morning I find it on the floor. While you are reading to ms that dreadful thing totters forward and then leans off the shelf toward us. I didn't want you to know about it. I thought I could keep it from you, because you always sit with your back ‘that way. But tonight—we stayed awhile talking with father und mother— and Aunt Drusilla had been mentioned. And—and—Herbert, I’m afraid of her! You know what she said—that she would haunt us!” The blue eyes of the girl were strain- ed with terror; there was a husky tremor in ker voice. “Don’t be afraid,” sa!d her lover. “That was oasy for Aunt Drusilla to say--but they don't come back from the other world. She didn’t have any commutation ticket when she went over the Stygian fer- | ry that we read about, and old Mr. Charon of Charonsville won't deadhead her this way again.” So, stayed with reason and comforted with the classics—or, rather, such very slight and second-hand acquaintance with them as they had—the lovers passed a pleasant evening. Thrice, indeed, did the likeness of Aunt Drusilla stir and pitch forward ae if to menace them, then stagger and drop to the floor. Each time did Herbert, who had seated himself where ke could keep an eye cn the image of tho hag, take her up untenderly and replace her on tha snelf. “will you set where you're sot?” he in- quired of her sternly, quoting’an admoni- tion of Neighbor Dunn to her youngest child, who, on one occasion, in his pres- ence, had been an unquiet passenger in the electric car. But ’tis no use jesting with ghost: all that we call them “old true-penny “old mole,” they chill the marrow of the bones and prick the hair on end. So,’ when Herbert had set Aunt Drusilla in place for the third time he ceased reading and fell on thought. jously. Finally he spoke, consulting his timepiece: “We will read thirteen minutes more,” said he. “Then we will listen, at the same time keeping our eyes fixed on that be- witched old photograph. Unless I am mis- taken, Corinna, we shall learn something to our advantage.” She was puzzled, but all her trust was in Herbert. Ten minutes were gone, and she hitched her chair a little nearer to-his; when he held out the dial of hix watch to show her that twelve minutes had pass- ed she slipped her little finger into his hand with the action of a timid child. Then they heard a far-away sound that mixed with the wind and the rush of the rain, but was more unvarying and stronger than those. “That is the electric car,” said Herbert. “Steady, Corinna! Look at your aunt.” And truly, just as the car thundered by, set it in Wes | ts Corinna watched him anx- | of Aunt “Drustila Hee? i liky «viper and leaped fom the mae it scream and ataviad to her feet. ‘ut was “tT oust to have thought of that at once,”” he said. “Don’t you understand, Corinna? There’s a ledge of rock that runs across the street That ie the reason that the grass cannot take deep root here, and turns yellow; that 1s why the old birch has pulled up stakes to run away. When the car goes over the ledge it jars this room and makes the photograph jump. That {s all, truly, my dear girl. I will lay the ghost for you; I will bring a neat and rather solid frame for the picture tomorrow. And I warrant you that from this out, Aunt Drusilla will behave herself.”” Herbert kept his word, bringing a heavy standing frame in gilt metal. Holman Brockway thought it very handsome in the future son-in-law to do such honor to the aunt who had been so ungentle to the lov- ers. “I take it very kind of you, Herber he said, “’Tis right, "tis accordin’ to re- ligion. You're kind 0’ heapin’ coals of fire onto her head, a-gittin’ that nice frame for her picter. It shows a good disposition in you, Herbert. An’ that promises well for Corinny’s happiness. I guess she's doin’ well to marry you.” And Aunt Drusilla—as woman, ghost or photograph—troubled them no more. (The end.) ——__+ 0+ —___ THE SOUTH AFRICAN LONDON. In the Center of the Gold Mining Region. From Chambers’ Journal. Johannesburg, the London of South Africa, which was nine years ago a barren veldt and eight years ago a miners’ camp, is now the center of some 100,000 inhab- itants, and increasing about as fast as bricks and mortar can be obtained. It is situated directly on top of the gold, and on looking down from the high ground above it looks to an English eye like a huge, long-drawn-out mass of tin sheds, ith its painted iron mine chimneys running in a straight line all along the quartz gold reef as far as you can see in either direction. The largest, or main, reef runs for thirty miles uninterruptedly, gold bearing and honeycombed with mines throughout. This, even were it alone, could speak for the stability and continued prosperity of the Transvaal gold trade. On a mall steamer arriving only a few days ago from the Cape was sald to be between £300,000 and £400,000 worth of gold, and the newspapers show that usually about £100,000 worth is consigned by each mail boat. As we enter the town, we find fine and well-planned streets, crossed at places with deep gutters—gullies, rather—to carry off the water, which is often in the heavy summer rains deeper than your knees. Cressing these at fast trot, the driver never drawing rein, the novice is shot about, in his white-covered, two-wheeled cab, with its large springs, like a pea in a bladder. Indeed, one marvels at the daint- ily dressed habitue of the place being swung through similarly quite unconcerned ard without rumpling a frill. We pass fine public buildings, very high houses and shops —somewhat jerry-built, it is true, and koodness help them in the event of a large street fire—but now being added to, or re- placed by larger and more solid buildings. Indeed, bricks cannot be made fast enough for the demand, both there and in some of the outlying Transvaal towns ~ where the “gold beom’ is on. There are lofty and handsome shops, with most costly con- tents, which can vie with London or Paris. ——————+e+ CALIFORNIA ORANGE CROP. “The Citrus Belt” is Said to Be Too Near the Frost Line. From the Los Angeles Times, Very gloomy reports come in from the orange-growing districts. The extent of damage done by the frost during the closing days of the year is beginning to be apparent, and It is much heavier than was at first sup- posed or reported. One report from Pomona estimates the loss by frost at three-fourths of the crop on the lower lands, and another estimate from Riverside gives the probable shipments from that place for the season at 1,000 carloads less than it was expected would be sent forward. Even supposing that these estimates of loss are exaggerated, there is no doubt that the damage has been severe. ‘The lesson taught by the frost of Decem- ber is that which has been preached over and over again in the Times, namely, that southern California, which we are in the habit of referring to as the “home of the orange,” is really on the northern edge of the true citrus belt that extends through Mexico and Central America. The area of territory, even in the seven southern coun- ties, within which it is safe to grow citrus fruits as a commercial enterprise is really quite limited—much more Imited than most of us are in the habit of supposing. In fact, the safe area of citrus culture in sonthern California is really confined to those stretches of land known as “frostless belts,” not because they are absolutely free from frost, but because there is so little frost that delicate winter vegetables are seldom in- jured. On such land citrus fruits may be raised with absolute safety, but, as we all know, the area of such land fs quite limited, and is cheap at $300 an acre, with water. During the last ten years the exaggerated reports ‘cf the profits of orange growing, which have been spread abroad in the papers, aided by misrepresentations on the part of real estate dealers, have combined to push the orange-growing section far outside of the safety line. In some sections, such as the lower portions of Riverside, oranges have been planted on land that is touched by frost almost every year. —eos— TOO MANY HORSE HIDES. European Importations Have Glutted the United States Market. From the St. Louls Globe-Democrat. The hide of the horse has always been valuable for making ladies’ fine shoes and thongs for belt lacing. It is much finer than the hide of a beef, and when split makes a very fine and soft leather, A few years ago the market could not get enough of them. That was in the days when a horse was a horse, and worth something, before the electric motor drove him from the street ear service. As high as $5 was paid for a good hide, and it was a very poor one that would not bring $2.50. But as the horse got cheaper and the advocate of horse flesh as fcod_ was re-enforced by the butcher who eculd palm it off for beef, things slowly be- gan to change. Prices went down steadily, until row it takes a No. 1 hide to bring $1.50, while fair ones go for 50 cents, and the poor- er ones are thrown away. The consumption of horse flesh in Europe, particularly in Par- is, seems to have increased wonderfully, judging from the heavy importation of hides to this country, while in this country it is said there is not a large city where the horse is not slaughtered for the market and sold either openly or secretly. The meat- canning establishments are also credited . with utilizing a great many broken-down animals. Thus, while the beef hide market has its fluctuations and days uf glut and scarcity, the horse hide market is complete- ly stagnated, and there does not seem to be any possible hope for a revival of it. Talent vs. Genius, From Punch. Bob (the man of gerius)—“Good heavens! they’re advertising the tenth edition of that confounded book of yours which I’ve never read, and never mean to! What rubbish it must be, to be so popular as all that!” Jchn (the man of talert)—‘‘Ah, well—one must live, you know! Look here, old man, I don’t want to brag, but if you'll make it worth my while, I'll promise to write in less thar a week a three-volume novel that shalt fall as still-born from the press as if you'd written every word of it yourself, and spent @ couple of years in the process!” aes Pa reared 7 poe? OF TOMBSTONE. He Took Three Baths a Day When * Water Cost Five Cents a Gallon. From the Chicago Times-Herald. He used to be called “the Duke of Tomb- stone” when an Arizona settlement mar- veled at the recklessness of a man who bathed three times a day, and water 5 cents a gallon at that! Edwin Fields in those days changed his white flannel suit whenever the smallest blemish in the way of dust was noticeable, and rode behind a pair of horses that were a sersation in 2 community where burros were the highest type of draft animals. Now he is “poor old Ed. Fields,” and when he gets out of the county hospital, where a Harrison street police ambulance took him last night, he will be taken to the poor house at Dunning to spend his few remaining years in con- templation of the time when he owned a large part of the city of Tombstone and a mine worth more than haif a million. Dr. Joseph H. Greer knew Fields in Ari- zona, and has assisted him from time to time during the past three years in Chi- cago. “I went to Tombstone, Ariz., in 1879," said Dr. Greer, “and Field was there before me, although the town contained but seven- ty-five people at that time. He was squat- ting on some mining property, which was not supposed to be of much value. But the town grew to 15,000, and he owned two- thirds of the town site, so that his rents increased until they gave him an income of over $4,000 a month. The mine which he owned was called ‘The Gilded Age,’ and proves to be a rich property. Field's title o it was a@ little shaky, but he was backed by Boston and New York capital, and in the end secured a perfect title. He sold the mine in 1881 or 1882 for $600,000 in cash, every cent of which went to him. After the town grew and Fields amassed wealth he assumed a mode of life that made him the most conspicuous character in the west. He was known everywhere as the ‘Duke of Tombstone’ on account of the gorgeous manner in which he carried on his establishment. He rode behind a handsome pair of bays, and kept a negro valet. He dressed during the summer in white flannel, and changed suits three times a day. When water was selling in Tomb- stone at 5 ceats a gallon he took three baths a day, and broke a bottle of Florida water in every bath. He started as a nine days’ wonder, and was the most talked-of man in the country. “I left Tombstone and settled in Chicago. One day during the world’s fair period a seedy-looking individual stepped into my office and I recognized Edwin Fields. I asked what he was doing, and he told me, with a mournful smile, that he was ‘store man’ at the Southern Hotel. His salary, he said, was $i4 a month. Where had bis money gone? Well, I asked him that one day, for I could not understand how a man that never drank, never played cards or gambled to my knowledge, could have squandered a cool million of dollars, which amount he certalnly possessed at one time. He told me that he had lost most of his property in speculation on the board of trade, and had then taken to the bucket shops, where the rest of his money had taken wings. He was at that time, even with his pittance of salary, drifting da to the bucket shops in vain endeavor to retrieve his lost fortune. He lost the most of his money in St. Louis, but carried on his speculations both in that city and in Chicago. “I do not know his birthplace, but he was an eastern man, and was well connected. He has a sister living at Steubenville, Ohio, a brother at Farleys, N. M., who owns a big sheep ranch and another brother who owns a cocoanut piantation in the Sa- moan Islands. Such haa been his pride or his perverseness that he never would seek aid from them. ——__+e-+____. GIANT FRESHMAN. Edward Rawson Godfrey's Surprising Feats of Strength. From the Lewiston Evening Journal. In the large freshman class that entered Bowdoin last fall was a young giant, Ed- ward Rawson Godfrey of Bangor, whose phenomenal showing in the strength tests made considerable of a sensation. Not content with breaking all previous Bowdoin and Maine records in this line, young God- frey this week took another physical ex- amination under direction of Dr. Whittier, instructor of the Bowdoin gymnasium, and has added to his records of last fall to a degree that places him among the very strongest athletes of the world, amateur or professional. One reason for his second test was the appearance of a rival in Wal- ter B. Clarke of Damariscotta Mills, also of the freshman class, who made a most remarkable showing in his physical test last fall.- Clarke was Bowdoin’s full back this fall and is a star all-round athlete. He even excelled Godfrey in certain lines, although falling short of his total. But in Godfrey’s test this week he places his rec- ord far ahead of anything ever done in the Maine colleges, and close to the two or three who have made the world's records in the great universities. In last term's test by the Sergent system he showed a total strength of 1,121.8 and a condition of 526.1. This week he placed his total at 1,302 and his condition at 707. The man who shows a total strength of 500 and a condition of 200 is considerably above the average. Young Godfrey always keeps himself in fine physical condition, but he has not trained especially for this test. His great strength is inherited, and his brother, the late Henry P. Godfrey, Bow- goin, 91, held the Bowdoin and state rec- ords before him. Systematic training would no doubt make him a world beater, but he does not believe in abnormal development and Dr. Whittier would not encourage any- thing of this kind. Mr. Godfrey, who was eighteen years old two weeks ago, is six feet and four inches in height and fs finely proportioned. His weight is 190. He fitted for college at the Bangor High School, and is from one of the leading families of the queen city. He took an active part in athletics there and was captain of the team winning the Maine interscholastic championship. He 1s inter- scholastic champion of Maine in the shot and hammer, having a record of thirty-five feet seven inches in the former, and one hundred and one feet in the latter, and in these sports he promises to be a strength for Bowdoin. He played guard on the Bangor foot ball team, but his perents are opposed to his playing while in college. Mr, Godfrey stands weil in scholarship and is very popular with his classmates. He is a member of the Delta Kappa Epsilon fra- ternity. The total strength of 1,302 exhibited in his test has been excelled but by two or three and by them not many points. He talks modestly and quietly of his remark- able strength, yet says he is confident he can make a much better record later in his course after more regular work in the gymnasium. Some idea of the strength of his arms and chest may be obtained from the fact that he dipped forty times on the parallel bars. : —_——_+-+____ IT WAS AN OLD SCORE. And the Two Social Antagonists Set- tled It Without Any Outbreak. From the Chicago Post. ‘There was an old score to wipe out, but, of course, she did not show that she was watching for an opportunity to settle it; that would mot have been according to the usages"of polite soclety. Such little affairs must be settled with a verbal stiletto when the opposing party can be caught un- awares. Consequently she smiled very pleasantly as she remarked that she had met Mrs. Poorman that afternoon. “A very pleasant and agreeable little wo- man,” she added. “Oh, yes,” replied her social antagonist carelessly. “Her husband is in my hus- band’s employ, you know.” “So she told me; but, really, I don't think that makes her any the less pleasant to meet.” She felt then that she had scored once, but she was not satisfied. “Not at all, not at all,” returned her so- cial antagonist, as soon as she had re- covered a little from the shock. “But it is too bad that she does not dress a little better. Sometimes, you know, she looks almost shabby.” “Quite true; but she explained that.” “Indeed?” “Oh, yes. She said that her husband could not give her real lace on an imitation salary.” ‘Thus all the accounts on the old ledger were closed. ———-+e. How He Identified Him. From Truth. “I was so tipsy that when I met you and Jones together I couldn’t tell you apart; that is, at first.” “Bow did you at last?” “Jones offered me a cigar.” 17 RAILROADS. oo OHESAPEAKE AND OHIO RAILWAY. THROUGH THE GRANDEST SCENERY If AMERICA. ALL TRAINS | VESTIBULED, ELECTRIC LIGHTED, STEAM HEATED. ALI MEALS SERVED IN DINING CARS. STA. ‘TION SIXTH AND B STREETS. Schedule in effect November 17, 1895. 2:25 P.M. DAILY—Cincinnati and St. Louis cial soli train foc Cincirest!. Pullman st th, is and St. Louis wit Parlor incinnat! to Chicago. 11:30 P.M. D. F. V. Limited—Solld train nati. Pullman sleepers to Cincinnatl, for Lexington and Louisville witbout change. — Pull- a fo, Virginie, Hot Springs, without ne Et tu Slecpers Cin- cinnatl to Chlcagy’and st Vide . 10:57 A.) X DAILY—For Gordonsville, for Old Point and Norfolk Staunton and for Richmond, dai 2:25 P.M. ville, Charlottes- ily, except Reservations and tickets at Chesapeake and gue offices, 513 and 1421 Pennsylvania avenue, the station. H.W. FULLER, 3028 General Passenger Agent. PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. Station corner of 6th and B streets. . in effect January 6, 1896. PENNSYLVANIA LIMITED.—Pullman leeping, Dining, Swoking ana Observation Cars ure to Chicago, Cincinnati, inline St. Louis, Cleveland’ and Toledo.” Buttet Car to Harrisourg. 10:30 A.M. FAST" LINE.—Pullman Buffet Parlor Gar to Harrisinrg. Parlor and ining Cars, Har a 8ST. LOUIS EXPRES.— r Car to Harrisburg. Sieep- TS, Hacrisburg wo St. Louis, ‘Chicago. and Dining Sie — a iile and 7:0 B. ESTERN EXPRESS Pullman ereland, Sleep- Gar to haere aod aes: Car to Chica ae ok A liamusport daily, oF Mapert, Rochester, Buffalo and 4 Falls daily, except Saturday, with Slee fog Car Washingiia to Suspensioa’ Bridge 103407 Pi, for Erle, Canandaigua, Rochester, Buf: falo snd ara Falls daily’ Sleeping Car Washe ington to NEW YORK AND THB ira. FOR PHILADELPHIA, 4:00 P.M. “CONGRESSIONAL LIMITED.” dally, all Parior Cars, with Dining ar, trom Tattimore, Regular at 7:65 ¢Dining Car), ., 2 00 (ining Car), 10:05 (Dining ae f Car ington) AM. ad 11:33 gant 12:15, 3:15, 20, 6:40, 30 por Pulladel gue Ouly, Fast) Express 7-50 A.M. week dage, Express, 12:15 week days, 2:01 and 2 daily. "For Bost |. Without change, nd 4:20 Adautie Coast Line. | “Florida Specta sonville and St. Augustine, 20:48 P. Express f for Jacke k 0 isth sind G sts, and at the 6 ickee oftices, etation, 6th and we fts., where orders can be left for the checking of baggage to destivation from Rotels and resid-nces, 1. PREVOS: ral Manager. 3. BR. woop, General Passenger Agent. SOOTHERN RAILWAY. Piedmont Air Line.) effect January 6, 1896. nd leave st Peonsylvanis er Stat iy 1 for’ Danie, nassas for Strasburg, dail; pt_ Sunday, at. Lynchburg Sth the ors ‘and ‘Weetern daily, Shae C & O. daily for Natural Bridge and on Forge. wii:25 A-M.—Dally—The UNITED STATES FAST and Washington to lotte with Pullman Siceper tae Angustas niso Pull- mgn Sleeper New York to New Orleans via Mont- Connects ed connecting at Atianta with Pulltoan jeep for Bir nghat Memphi. «nd St. Louis. for Strasburg, daily, except tly—Lpeal for Charlottecriiie. New York and Florida Short in Compartment aud Observa- New York to St. Augustine; New York to ipa and Augusta; Vestibuled Day Cosch, Washe ington to St. Augustine, and Dining Car, Salisbury, to St. De 43 PM.—Dally—WASHINGTON AND SOUTH: jeeping: i “ars, Fullman Drawing ‘Room Sleepers, VESTIBULED LIMITED, composxd_ of Fuliinan Vestivuied Sicepers, Dining Cars and Day Coaches. Pullman Sleepers New York to Asheville and Hot Springs, New York to Memphis via Birmingham, New York to New Orleans via At- lanta ‘and Montgomery. — Vestilmiea Das Coach Washington to Atlanta. Southern Raliway Duing Car Greensboro” to. Montgomery. TRAINS BETWEE: INGTON AND BOUND ally, except Su days only, for™ound Hii Gpotey,. tor_ Lee da! Retu t Wasilington "8:28 AM. and 8:00 PM day’ “trom Round Hin, 7:08 A-M. dally, except Sunday, from cones and 8:34 AM. Cally, except Sunday, trom Leest ‘Through ‘rains from the south arriv : ton 6:42 cS 23 I. P.M. «Division. 10:00 ASI. daily, and 8:40 A.M daily from Chast except Sunday, lottesville. Tiekets, Sleeping Car reservation and information furnished’ at offices, 511 and 1300 Pennsylvania aye nue, and at Pennsylvania Railroad Passenger St GREE! 43 a — sigrasi an genes A. TURK, Genera. L. 8. BROW: . Agt. vase D Dept. \ BALTIMORE AND OHIO RAILROAD. Echedule in effect December 1, 1895. Leave Wasuington (rom station, comer of New Jerssy avenue aud © For Glicago aud. Northwest, Vestibuted Limited trains 11:30 20 p.m. For Cincinnsth, st. Louis ‘and Indianapolis, Vestl- poled Lim .45 p.m., Express 12:01 night. For Pittsburg aca Gicvelaud, Express daily’ 11:30 a.m. and 5:40 and ome 20 a.m. z For ‘Lexiugion For Winchester end re Laray, Natural Beidze, Moswoke, Doxey ‘Chattanooga, mee and New Orleans, 9:11 p.w. daily; Sleeping Cars through. For “at ee ‘aay, timore, wee 7:00, 334, *4:20, 5:30 p. For’ Hagerstown, *11:30 a.m. and * 30 Ee pot snd, oe pe , 110: BR ints, fy, “8. o5 Tobias, ‘i: 5 Nite 30 p ngton —e and way points, 10: ese trains, Stopping mee Bree mune FoR, AEs YORK AND All trains glwaibated atta B pintech light. Boston and For Philadelphia, New York, East, week drys (7:00, Dini am, Dining Can, 1,50 028 ge Dining Car), open st 10-00 odeck). “Bandage ing Cary, (0:00 an. Dining Car), (12:30, Car), Sto "G 3, Diping Car), 8:00 (12:01 ee Sleep fF paseengers ne 3020 pms. ‘Butel Parlor’ © Sass oad ins. For Atlantic City, 10:00 "71:30 a.m, 12:30 ang al resi by Union ‘Co. on orders left at ticket offices, 619 Pennsylvania avenue northwest, New York avenue and 15th street and at deyot. B B. OAMPEELL, ‘CHAS. 0. SCUI aq Oth Manger. Gen. Pass. Agt. POTOMAC RIVER BOATS. E. 8. RANDALL POTOMAO RIVER LINB— Steamer Harry Randall leaves River View W1 Tth street, Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday, at landing nt all wharves as far down a* Mad~ dox creek, V , including Chapel Point and Colonial Beach, returning on Monda: 9 ; Wed- nesdays and Fridays about . Passenger ve- received until commodati first-class. hour of sa shone F. A. REI ‘Agents, = exandria. Pre 5030, THE WEEMS STEAMBOAT CO. WINTER ule.—Steamer Potomac will leave Stephenson's wharf, foot 7th st., every Sundsy at 4 p.m., for Baltimore and river landings. “Accommodations strictly first-class. Prelght rece ed for river ings on Saturday and must be prepaid. grena ‘on Baltimore frei ‘EPHENSON i Office, 810 ave. Telephone oa N STEAMBOAT 00. MAC RIVER LANDINGS From 7th st, Ferry Wha' ae Siders at eo N inf cre “Was TOS “LTD.,” FOR Po! and Nominl Creek; returning, landings on's Bay and Somat Ae ‘Pincy Point, St. George's, Smith's Creek, Coat sod Seems Cand a Mees anedingn. exces ing, mmoruing, “Saturdays. for river landings Sriy ‘Sunday etn in effect Nov 4, i arrives % Bee schedule, w. ‘Man mol-tf 4