Evening Star Newspaper, October 10, 1896, Page 17

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 189¢-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. 17 Aeersaksekce PART I. He been doing California—Tom Has kell, Heutenant of cavalry and stationed at a territorial post. Had he planned a vacation on his pay as one of Uncle Sam's officers he might possibly have taken in Chicago for a week, but this trip had come to bim through the kindness of a relative, » months’ leave had been en- e utmost. He was now on his back to his post and duty, and one on as the train descended the east- e of the Rocky mountains he re- the hands of a car porter message: would like to see yo" . sah, an’ right away, sah.” Livin, ‘hat was the name in de on the card, and it was not a strange one to the officer. He had met the Living- two months previously in the Yo- semite. He had enccuntered them at in- nce. Indeed, he had made it inzss to run across them as often ole. The Livirgstones were father er—the most Englishy sort of —she the sweetest, loveliest officer had ever the honor t his eyes upon. He had planned to d and had brought it about. bluff and brusque, as most and after three or four ngs he was also sus- ntrod The father wa glish me acei picious. The girl Ninette was naive, ingen- uous, open he There were signs even like the lieutenant. Father were going east on the train which was bearing him back to the fort z the foot hills: He had planned it Haskell—sit down, as the officer ent "IE sent for y an officer in the arm: + ant bowed. “I ‘ling over the for gs with my I to Invest any money In Jaughter will I hope I make and my if at all. to you you wish to warn me against fall- with your daughter!” replied be exactly. Gads, sir, a man who can see a wall. Handsome girl— my t to rough a hole » girl—but ft en right there for you. e is as good as engaged to a capital d fellow at home. I'm talking to you ht. Hope you haven't been hit too for I rather like you as an officer man. Do you un II the lieutenant, ry stid ¢ of them, my * laughed the You have displayed good sense, e acted the part why I’ve sent have been smitten, and telling vou that Ninette has but I guess no far- Her pin mone alary for a yea’ an for a son- the best way in these things. If you were one of the millionaires of New York, instead of a poor army officwr, I wevldn’t have it. What can’t be’ wen’t hilosopher, my boy. Have a sore, but don’t blame you. over it In a week and thank me for my bluntness. You want to say wecd-t to N of course, and I’ve Ro objections, only—" “You hav me the honor to call me a gentlem finished Haskell. 3 ainly, and I'll trust you. Be glad to have you come in before you get off. Nothing egainst you as an officer and @ man, you know! It’s just that the girl is as good as en: to a capital good fellow, you know, and I don’t want an American for a son-in-law. Going? Weill 1 don’t mean to hurt your feelings. My Way is the plain way, and it saves any mis- takes. Shali always remember you as an efficer and a gentleman.” Lieut. Haskell left the car feeling mad, hurt and chagrined. He had still another fe love for the daughter whose father had ¢o bluntly given him the right-about- face. An hour before he had not quite known his own heart. Now he was sure that he loved, and the father’s admission indifferent to her . When a man has ‘turned down” in a matter of this however, his pride is called to the . and as the officer resumed his seat own car his mood was not a pleasant There was ample food for reflection as the hours passed, and it was in a me- chanical sort of way that he rose up and left the car as evening came, and the train halted for a few minutes at a station where refreshments could be procured. He had just begun to sip his coffee when shouts of alarm from the platform drew him away, and he rushed out to find the train crew. the station loungers and half a hundred passengers tumbling over each other. “There they go—they've got away—you'll hit the girl if you shoot!” Five minutes before the train came in four rough-looking men had ridden up on horseback, and while one held the horses at the end of the long platform the others ha i about as If expecting some one n. If they were noticed before » train arrived, no one gave them any that he was rot totally gave him new hop. been A Man Seized the Daughter. attention amidst the bustle. John Living- stone and daughter were bountifully pro- vided for in the way of eatables, but it was an opportunity to stretch their legs, and they took advantage of {t. Arm in arm they walked down to the end of the platform, followed by the three men, and as they turned something happened. A blow under the ear sent the father down in a heap, and a man seized the daughter and swung her into a saddle, and was up behind her like a cat. Just as the English- man raised an alarm the four horsemen dashed away into the gloom, and every one was so taken by surprise that the move was a complete success. “They've got my girl—they’re carrying off my daughter!” shouted the Englishinan, as he danced around, and a dozen men stepped forward to offer advice or suggestions. It was @ case of abduction. The four desperadoes could not have known that the Englisbman and his daughter were on the Lie bre had taken the girl on chance that she had rich friends who would pay a heavy ransom for her. It was a new idea— VOW IWOWOWOWONCT HON QNONT NONI IS, NV ge. Leek - AN ENGLISHMAN'S DAUGHTER, BY CHARLES B. (Copyright, 1886, by the Bacheller Syndicate.) LEWIS. KOON playing the brigand in the west, but they had figured that it would be safer and more profitable than train robbery. There was just one man on the platform who had real- ized what had happened and did not Icse his head. Without a word to the father— without a werd to the.excited passengers rushing about and asking what had hap-/ pened, he ran down the platform to where a cowboy stood holding a broncho. “Tam Lieut. Haskell of the —th cavalry! said the officer, as he approached. “A wo- mar. has been run off by a gang of out!aws. I want your horse and guns!” “You bet!” was the brief reply. ‘Here's a good criter, and here are two guns and fifty spare cartridges. I'd like the fun, but can’t go. Whoop ‘em up, old man!” “Who's that—there’s another of ‘em!’ shouted the excited crowd, as they caught sight of the officer dashing uway in the kness on the trail of the outlaws. The cowboy explained, and the conductor shouted: “All aboard!’ He could not hold his train longer. The thing to do was for John Livingstone to stop off and collect a gang to go in pursuit. It might take hours, but that was his only show. If the outlaws could not be overhauled, then they would expect to find him there when !t came to a question of ransom. The Enzlishman’s traps were bundled out of his car and the train went on, and it was daylight next morning before a gang of ten men picked up the trail and rede away in pursuit of the outlaws. Lieut. Haskell was not over fifteen min- utes behind the abductors as he rode away. He had acted on the impulse of the mo- ment, and yet he knew what he was about. He had been sent with a detachment to guard the men building the branch road touching the main line right there, and had hunted and fished and pretty thoroughly explored the country for twenty miles around. He also knew more or less of the various outlaw gangs scattered along the railroad, and had helped to run down and bri up several. It had come to him like a flash that this wes Blue Pete's gang, who were “hived up” over in Trout valley, twen- ty miles away. He gave no thoughts to the odds against him, but sent the broncho straight down the rccky trail—over the creek—up the long hill and then straight to the north along the crest of the ridge. He hoped to overhaul! the outlaws and have it out with them, and, as if eager for the fray, the horse under him did his level best. Had the officer stopped to think he would have Leen more careful. The men before him Were as cunning and crafty as Indians. As he rode at headlong pace the wind was at his back. The ring of the iron shoes against the rocks would ke carried’ in ad- vance of him. The outlaws would naturally wish to make sure if they were followed, and it would be easy to set a trap. One Wes set. In single file, riding at a hard gallop, they covered ten miles of ground without drawing rein. Then one rider drew up and dismounted and the others kept on ata more leisurely pace. Ten minutes later the broncho came thundering down the h the lieuténant peering ahead into the darkness and wondering if he was not close upon the gang. There was a flash—a report, ard the horse leaped high in air, a scream almost human, and when his feet touched the earth he fell in a heap and rolled over, sending the officer twenty feet away among the stunted bushes. He was half stunned by the fall, and it was five minutes before he sat up and realized what had happened. He had ridden into an ambuscade and been done for. While he was unhurt, his horse was dead, and without a horse there was no hope of over- taking the outlaws. H2 had seen the flash and heard the report, and he knew that he had been ambuscaded. Was it only by one man or the whole gang? Must he give up the quest and return to the town without news? Horseless and elcne, could he hope to accomplish anything? He answered the a Flash. questions by turning from the horse and speeding down the trail after the outlaws on foot. If John Livingstone had known it he would have said: “That's the sort, you know, but I just don’t want an American for a son-in-law.” PART I. The attack upon Ninette Livingstone and her father had been made so suddenly that she was in the saddle and the horse gallop- ing away before she realized what was go- Ing on. She did not scream out and she did not faint. As the horse sped forward she asked of the man holding her on the saddle: “What does this mean—where are you taking me?” “It's all right, lady—all right,” he replied. “Sorry to put ye to any trouble, but there’s no call to be afraid of us. We wouldn't hurt you fur no money.” “But you have kidnaped—abducted me!” “Yes, you may call it that way, but don’t go to taking on about it. The man with you on the platform was your husband, I take it?” “He is my father.” “It's all the same. He’ll want you back and be willing to come down with the cash. If he comes to our figger you'll be back in @ day or two.” “Then kidnaped me to extort money from him?” asked the girL “That's about the case, but we shan’t be too hard on him. Don’t worry—you are all right.” A girl with less nerve would have fainted. One with less presence of mind would have tried to throw herself off the horse. Ninette was badly upset over the adventure, but as the gallop continued she made herself be- lieve that it was only money the gang was after, and as soon as they could communi- cate with her father she would be restored to him. When the gang drew up to lay the ambuscade she knew that a single man Was in pursuit. Who could it be? It was not her father—it was not one of the train hands—was it Lieut. Haskell? She found herself hoping that it was, even though she knew one of the outlaws had gone into ambush to take his life. When the man who had been left behind rejoined his com- panions he called out: “All right,” and they knew that they were no longer pur- sued. The horses were taking it easy now, and Ninette asked of the man behind her: “Were we being followed?” “Yes.” “And what has happened?’ “Why, the fool who was after us is lyin’ dead back thar! The girl was shocked and leved. It might not be Lieut. Heekell, but in her heart she believed it was. Had it been daylight the outlaws would have seen tears in her eyes after that. At midnight the trail took a sharp descent and debouched into @ valley, and the first horseman to reach the level pulled up his horse with a Jerk and cried out: “Them devils hev broken loose and Jumped the ranch and the house is all afire!’ “Them devils” meant the Indians from the reservation thirty miles away. ' They had’ reached the ranch an hour before. There was a wounded man lying there and @ half-breed woman who did the cooking. The score of Indians met with no opposi- tion. They killed and scalped—they plun- dered and feasted, and when ready to ride away they set fire to the house. The wounded man had told them that Blue Pete and his gang were out on the Cedar Hill trail, and after firing the house the In- dians had gone into ambush near by. The four horsemen rode forward cautiously, and had begun to believe that the Indians had cleared out when they received a sud- den volley from a dozen rifles. Three horses and riders went down—the fourth horse made a sudden spring as a bullet wounded him, and then went tearing awa: across the level. This was the horse o1 which Ninette Livingstone was mounted. The outlaw behind her escaped the first velley, but the horse had not gone two hundred feet when a second volley was fired, and he threw up his arms and fell cut of the saddle. She caught the reins as she settled herself down, but made no at- tempt to check the horse. Two or three of the Indians were mounted on horses , taken from the ranch, but after a pursuit of half a mile they gave up the chase. It was lucky they did, for at the end of another half mile the wounded horse came to a halt and lay down in his tracks and died. At 1 o'clock in the morning the girl sat down on a stone beside the dead horse and tried to realize her situation. She had escaped the outlaws—she had escaped the Indians, but she was alone in the foot-hilis and perhaps worse off than when a cap- tive. She dared not move until daylight came, and when it came how could it bene- fit her? She crouched down and shivered in the cold night air and shook with fright as the mountain lions and gray wolves snarled at each other in the thickets. At 3 o'clock in the morning she heard footsteps approaching. Soon thereafter she could dis- tinguish the head and shoulders of a man against the starry sky. An Indian? No. An outlaw? Perhaps, but she preferred cap- tivity to the present situation. She rose up | with a ‘Here I am,” and the next moment Lieut. Haskell stood beside her. It was not such a foolish move on the part of the officer to continue the pursuit on foot. It was only ten miles further to Blue Pete’s ranche, and it was evident that they were taking the girl there. They might find another hiding place later on, but would not move befcre daylight. He was not over two miles behind the gang when it descended into the valley, and he saw the reflection of the burning house and heard the volleys fired by the redskins. Haskell at once jumped to the conclusion that the Indians were out, and his approach to the valley was made with the utmost caution. The Indians had kitled three of the out- laws, and were holding a dance about the mutilated bodies as Haskell drew near. “Here I am.” They had shot the fourth man off his horse as he fled, but in the darkness they had not seen him fall. He had bounded into the shrubs, and those who passed, had no idea of his presence. Haskell found him as he prowled around, and sought to learn if the girl was a prisoner or dead. The outlaw had been shot through the right hip, and was slowly bleeding to death. He at first took the officer for one of his gang, but when he discovered his mistake he sai “So you are one of those who followed after the gal, eh? Wall, I hope ye'll find her alive, but the chances are agin it. When I fell off the hoss was headed right off this way across the valley, and he'd sure keep goin’ till he reached the other poe Thar’s whar ye want to look fur the gal.” The officer was anxious to do something for the outlaw, enemy though he was, but the man replied that he wanted nothing, except to die before daylight came and gave the Indians his location. He had lived in his boots and was dying with them on, and that was the way his companions had gone. He knew that death was near, and insisted on Haskell taking his guns, and there was ro tremor in his voice as he said good-bye, and advised the officer to hurry away in search of the girl. ‘There was an hour of darkness as Lieut. Haskell and the girl sat side by side on the rock and conversed in whispers. At the first signs of daylight they arose and moved away, and when day had fully come they shaped their course for the trail over which both had come during the night. The dead horse had not been left a mile behind, however, when there came a pe- cullar cry which warned the officer that the Indians were on the spot. They had tracked the hoof-prints across the valley and come upon the dead horse. They would search for the girl—they would soon dis- cover signs of a man’s presence. It was folly to hope to escape by fiight. The thin shoes on the girl's feet had almost been cut away in going that short distance, and exposure and exhaustion had made her weak. As the cry reached their ears they were pushing along at the foot of a cliff forty or fifty feet high, and the next morn- ing the lieutenant uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. He had discovered the mouth of a cave at the base of the cliff, and lying about it were carloads of bowl- ders which had fallen from the crest. “We must stop here and make a fight for it,” he said, as he half carried her to the opening. “In with you an@ find a place to sit down, and I will blpck the entrance.” The tourist~who visitd “Haskell’s Cave, as it is called, will find a narrow opening for a few feet, with a turn to the left and then a chamber twenty feet square. There are others and larger ones in the same cliffs, but none with a history. The girl passed through into the chamber and fell on the rocky floor, and after ten minutes’ hard work the officer had the entrance se- curely blocked against a rush. When he had seen to this he spoke a few encour- aging words to the girl and then set him- self to watch for the Indians. He had not long to wait. Five half-naked and war- painted redskins came along on their trail at a run, and the first intimation they had of the presence of the fugitives was a bul- let which tumbled one of them over. Army officers believe in getting in the first knock down in a fight, and Haskell had not wait- ed to be first shot at. The surviving In- dians sought places of safety and opened fire on the barricade, while a messenger was sent off to bring the rest of the band up. By 10 o'clock they were all there—Red Deer and twenty or more warriors who had broken away from the reservation four or five days before, and whose raid of murder and rapine had set 500 soldiers from differ- ent posts scouring the country. Red Deer was a fighter. The trail showed that only @ man and a woman had passed into the cave. The woman didn’t count. Twenty Indians ought to have him out at the first dash. There should be no parleying—no demand for surrender. When the officer saw that an attack would soon be made he went back to the girl and cautioned her to keep clear of the bullets which might enter. “Are they going to attack?” she asked. “T think so.” “Then my place is with you. Give me a pistol.” His protests were useless. Side by side they knelt behind the barricade, and they were hardly ready when the Indians rushed. To do so, they had to leave any sort of cover behind and oe themselves In the open. No matter whether the girl’s shots were all wasted or some of them told—the lieutenant had no lead to throw away. Crack! crack! crack! went his pistol, and the rush was a failure. Four dead bucks lay in full view as the smoke lifted, and there were two or three wounded to crawl away. Red Deer was furious and his war- tlors thirsted for rev but they dared not try another rush. The rapidity of the fire from the besieged proved that the wo- man could also handle a pistol. The red- skins scattered about, ahd for, a hour kept up a hot fire on the entrancd 6f the cave, and then two or thrée exposed tnemselves to witness results. A bullet inthe soulder rewarded the nearest one. Half an hour later all the Indians F ered cn the edge of the cliff above 't: ‘cave and began to collect and throw down dead leaves and limbs and logs and whatever would make a fierce fire. It was safer to smoke the pair out than-face-the revolvers, The work had been going on for a quarter of an hour when it suddenly eee Then came yells and shouts and shi aud then the gang of cowboys and prospectors hired by John Livingstone came galloping up, ready to fight Indians or outlaws, and the siege was over. There was a pujning fight with the Indians for five miles up the val- ley, and Red Deer and a dozen of his yoang men never returned to thé reservation, but that was a side issue. Horses vere pro- vided for the lieutenant and the girl, and at a late hour that evening she was restored to her father’s arms. The officer made him- ‘The Rush Was a Failure. self shy for an hour or two, but by and by he was sent for, and when he came into the presence of John Livingstone he was gieet- ed with: ‘Young man, do you love my daughter?” “I do,” was the sturdy reply. “And do you think she loves you “I'm sure of it.” “You didn’t plan that Uttle affair to re- venge on me and get ahead of the game?” “sir!” “Oh, come off, as you Yankec My daughter is as good as eng: dear fellow on the other side, and I'll be hanged if I want an American tor a son- in-law, but go in and talk to her and fix it up between you. By the by—” “What is it? “J don’t like army lieutenants. Send in your resignation before you come over to be marrle (The end.) > —— SH ARMY EXECUTION. LAST BRI Who Was an Eyewitness, lix of the Tragedy. From the Chicago Chronicle, In last Sunday's paper reference was made to the last execution 1a the British army for “disobedience of orders.” I re- member that occurrence, whieh .bhappened in India, and was the outcome of the trans- fer of the soldiers enl.sted unter the late East India Company to the regular queen's service, in many cases against the will of the soldiers so transferred. ‘The last shooting of a British soldier was in 1861, at Malta, and of which the writer was an eyewitne: Military. discipline Was unnecessarily severe in Malia at that period, the then goverr martinet, a man cf forei c by some mysterious “pull had risen to be a major general in the British service. The summer of 1561 wag unusually bot, and the governor, Sir Gaspard Le M—, hai caused much hardship to be inflicted’ upon the soldiers of the garrison by his eccentric innovations. . Arduous. duties were impose pon the men by unnecessary guard and fatigue dy- ties, men frequently mounting ‘don al- ternate days. and large ‘fatigue parties were paraded daily at 3 a.m. and 5 p.m. and employed hauling heavy Armstrong guns from one end of the island to the other and back again, thére being no earth- ly reason fcr these ‘matieuvers except ' to harass the men and keep them unneces- sarfly at labor. Numerous cases of insubordination oc- curred, and men (formerly good soldiers) were driven to commit ses “subversive of good order and military discipline” for the purpose of evading these extra duties and obtaining, if possible (by being sen- tenced to iniprisonment for a term of four years or upward), a dishonorable discharge from the army. Jack E—, a soldier of the —— brigade, Royal artillery, was one who became dis- gusted with his lot. One morning an offl- cer of 4rtillery, crossing the barrack square, heard a bullet whiz past him, and Gunner E—, who had fired the shot, was at once put in irons in the guard room. A general court-martial the result, and as the governor had previously niotified the possible presidents of court-martial that the next attack upon an officer must be visited with the scverest puniehment pos- sible under the mutiny act code, Gunner E— was sentenced to be shot. He asserted his innocence of the crime of attempted murder, saying his object was to get his discharge, and he pointed to the gold cross guns on his arm, which proved he was the best shot in his brigade, and could have easily killed or wounded the officer had such been his intention. Nu- merous appeals were made to the gov- ernor for a commutation of the sentence, but, although the latter had a short time previous reprieved two Maltese who had been condemned to death for the murder of an English seaman, he remained obdurate in this case, under the excuse that “the cause of discipline” demanded that a se- rious example should be made. On the morning of December 20, 1861, the whole of the available troops in the island were paraded in the square of old Fort Ricasoll. The soldiers’ ammunition had, several days before, been coll , under pretense of changing it for a new pattera, and probably this was a prudent step, for it was evident that the soldiers were much excited, and the action of a few turbulent spirits might have caused a serious mutiny, Discipline and “esprit du corps” prevailed, however, and the conduct of the troops was all that was desired. After a long, painful silence we were startled by a beat of the muffled drum, which announced the starting of the death Procession. Foremost came the firing p: ty, twelve men from the condemned man’s own regiment, then the coffin borne by the artillerymen, and the next the pinioned prisoner, by the side of the chaplain of the @arrison, reading the funeral service, The condemned man was as “neat” as a “new pin,” and marched as erect and proud as if on ordinary parade, apparently as cool and collected as any one th Having arrived at the top or open dfde of the square, the procession was halteds and the adjutant general read the proceedings and sentence of the court-martial. To the credit of this officer,’¥e it said w. J. that he delayed his part of the'proceedings as much as possible, occasional turning his eyes (followed by hundredd $f others) to the palace tower at Vallettd,‘where it was expected, and ardently wighed, the signal of reprieve would be holgtéd before the death signal was given. The foreigner general was not, however, inélined to mercy, and poor Gunner E—, knfeling on his coffin, was sent into eternity, riddled with bullets from the rifles ot his ence rades. : During the remainder of my rilfitary and civil career I have never witnessed any- thing so affecting as the sad happenings “Ww. J. H. on that December morning. reg earn Very True. | From Life. It is the man who is always waiting for something to turn up that is generally turn- ed down. Good enough at a pinch.—Life. CHAT ABOUT THACKERAY. With a Specimen of the Charming Private Letters He Wrote. From the Philadelphia Times. A further talk about William B. Reed, who seems to have proven an almost in- exhaustible subject. Reference has not been made to his intt- mate acquaintanceship with William Make- Peace Thackeray, the distinguished satirist- nevelist. These two gifted men were united by bonds of the most cordial intimacy, and upon two occasions when the English writer visited this country William B. Reed was his close companion. This rela- tionship is most charmingly portrayed in a memorial of Thackeray written by Reed shortly after the death of the author of “Vanity Fair’ and “Pendennis” and of ‘The Virginians” and other equally famous works of standard literature. It is a small volume, which was intended only for pri- vate cireulation. Thackeray’s first visit to Philadelphia was in January, 18% He brought very few letters of personal introduction, and secmed more anxious about the reception accorded his course of lectures on “English Humor- ists,” rather than about any merely social cess. “My personal relations to him,” wrote Reed, “happened to become very in- timate. He seemed to take 2 fancy to me and mine, and ‘I certainly loved him. He used to ccme to my house, not the abode of wealth and luxury, almost every day, and often more than once a day. He iked with my little children and told them odd fairy tales; and I now see him (this was on his ‘second visit) one day in Walnut street walking slowly along with my little girl by the hand; the tall, gray-headed, spectacled man with an effort accommodating himself to the toddling child by his side; and then he would bring her home; and one day, when we were to have a great dinner given to him at the club, and my wife was ill and my household disarranged, the bell rang and I said to him: ‘I must go and carve the boiled mutton for the childrea and take for granted you don’t care to come,’ and he got up and with a cheery volce said: ‘I love boiled muiton and chil- dren, too, and I will dine with them.’ And we did, and he was happy and the children were happy, and our appetite for ihe club dinner was damaged. Such was Thackeray in my home.” Isn’t that delightfully Thackerayian: “I love boiled mutton and children, too?” In the most entertaining way Reed told of how Thackeray voiced the admiration of America. “I met him once at the house of a friend,” he said, “and there happened to be an odd collocation at the table. There wes a guest, a man of brilliant talent, of mature age, and high education, measured, at least, by our American standard, who was distinguished by two pecullarities—his remarkable physical resemblance to Thack- eray and the fact that althongh upward of fifty years of age, born and bred in Ken- tucky, he had never crossed the Alleghe- nies before, and never, until that very da: sccn a ship or any square-rigged Ves: They—the bright backwoodsiman, who ha never looked upon the ocean, and the vet- eran Londoner, who had inade an Indian voyage before the days of steam and bad seen a fat man in waite clothes and a big straw hat at St. Helena called ‘Buonaparte’ —were a charming contrast. The year 1863 corried both to their graves, one in Kens: ae and the other on the banks of the 0. “It was a bright moonlight night on which we (Thackeray and 1) walked home from that dinner, and I remember w > walk and the place, for I seem to localize all my associations with him, and I asked him what, perhaps, he might have thought an absurd question, ‘What do you honestly think of my count or, rather, what has mest struck you in America? Tell me can- didly, for 1 shall not be at all angry or hurt if it be unfavorable or too much elated if it be not.’ And then his answer, as he Stopped (we were walking along Penn Squere) and turning round to me, said: “You know what a virtue-proud people we Erglish are? We think we have got it all to selves ow, that which impresses me most here is that I find homes as good as ours; domestic virtues as gentle and pure; the English language though the ac- cent be a little erent, with its homelike melodies, and the Common Pra Book in your families. I am more stirred by pleas. ant remembrances than by anything And so I sincerely believe ne wa: Thackeray seemed so much pleased with America that Mr. Reed for a while har- bored a belief that he migit be tempted to make his home among us. The British con- sulate in this city becoming vacant by the sudden death of William Peter, Mr. Reed wrote-to Thackeray, then in Washington, urging him to take the place if he could get it. In reply he received a letter which is worth reading, as follo: “MR. ANDERSON’S MUSIC STORE, Pennsylvania avenue, Friday.—My Dear Reed: (I withdraw the Mr. a3 wasteful and ridiculous excess) and famous autograph and Closing it, thank you for the the kind letter in- and the good wishes you form for me. There are half a dozenehouses I already know in Philadelphia where I could find very pleasant friends and com- pany, and that good old library wouid give me plenty of acquaintances more. But, home and my parents there, and some few friends I have made in the last twea- ty-five years, and a tolerably fair prospect of an honest livelihood on the familiar Iyondon flagstones, and the library at the Athenaeum and the ride in the park, and the pleasant society afterward, and a trip to Paris now and again, and’ to Switzer- land and Italy in the summer, these are little temptations which make me not dis- contented with my lot, about which I grumble only for pastime and because it 1g an Englishman's privilege. Own now that all these recreations here enumerated have a Pleasant sound. I hope I shall live to en- Joy them yet a little while before I gO to ‘Nox et domus exilis Plutonia,’ whither poor kind old Peters has vanished. So that Saturday 1 was to have dined with him, and Mrs. Peters wrote, saying that he Was ill with influenza, he was in bed with his last illness, and there were to be no more Whister parties for him. Will Whis- ter himself, hospitable, pig-tailed shade, welcome him to hades!’ And will they sit down—no, stand up—to a ghostly supper devouring the iphthimous Psychasof oysters and all sorts of birds? I never feel pity for @ man dying, only for survivors, if there be such, passionately deploring him. You see the pleasures the undersigned pro- Poses to himself here in future years—o sight of the Alps, a holiday on the Rhine, a ride in the park, a colloquy with Pleas- ant friends in the evening. If it is death to part with these delights (and pleasures they are, and no mistake), sure the mind can conceive others afterwards; and I know one small philosopher who is quite ready to give up these pleasures; quite content (after a pang or two of separa- tion from dear friends here) to put his hand into that of the summoning angel end say, ‘Lead on, O messenger of God our Father, to the next place whither the Di- vine Goodness calls us!’ We must be blindfolded before we can pass, I know; out I have no fear of what is to come, any more than my children need fear that the love of their father should fail them. I thought myself a dead man once, and protest the notion gave me no disquiet about myself—at least, the Philosophy is more comfortable than that which is tinc- tured with brimstone. “The Baltimoreans flock to the stale old lectures as numerously as you of Phila- delphia. Here the audiences are more polite than numerous, but the people who do come are very well pleased with their entertainment. I have had many dinners— Mr. Everett, Mr. Fish, our minister, ever 80 often, the most hospitable of envoys. I have seen no one at all in Baltimore, for it is impossible to go the two towns together, and from this I go to Richmond and Charleston—not to New Orleans, which is too fast. And I hope you will make out your visit to Washington, and that we shall make out a visit more satisfac- tory than that dinner at New. York, which aid not come off. The combination failed which I wanted to bring about. Have you heard Miss Furness of Philadelphia sing? She is the very best ballad singer I ever heard. And will you please remember me to Mrs. Reed, and your brother, and Wharton and Lewis, and his pretty young daughter, and believe me, always faithfully yours, dear Reed. “W. M. THACKERAY. We don’t often see letters like that in this typewriting age. The “Wharton” and “Lewis” referred to were Thomas J. Whar- ton and William D. Lewis. The name of the founder of the famous Wistar parties of olden days, it will be observed, is curi- ously misspelled. Thackeray returned to this country in the winter of 1855 and lectured upon “The Georges,” and scored even a greater suc- cess than he had with “The Humorists.” In a letter to Reed from Baltimore, Janu- ary 16, 1856, he sent his best regards to “Lewis and his kind folks and to Mac’s whisky punch, which gave me no head- acho. I am sorry it treated you so un- kindly.” The “Mac” referred to was genial Morton McMichael. On Reed’s return from China, to which country he was sent as United States minister, he was Thacke- ray’s guest in London for two weeks. . They never met again, ‘vised nursing bottle, and Whiley and Ef- | teha put it in a bidarka, or canoe, and pad- FROM MAINE: TO TEXAS. The Tide of Public Opinion is All Favorable to Paine’s Celery Compound, Congressman Bell to Health by Paine’ ‘There is just now no lack of news from the Western etates. Public opinion in Cole ly and xccurately hes land state. From all over the west come celery compound oecupies pra: ado and Towa is as prompt- of as from any New ports that Paine’s ly a clear Geld fa the cu diseases arising from a tired or otherwise finpaired nervous system. No other remedy was ever used by so many men ©f sound and cellatle judgment. No remedy but Paine’s celery compound has ever bi nunend- ed by 80 ¢ r-minded a body of men and wemen, perimental efforts jas, tonics and so: ervines with which the market {s constantly ruited are in startling contrast with the conti. because thorousbly ntifie—way in which ry compound sets about restoring healti the worn out body yy Will people be silly h to Jeopard! their lives und less elr chances of getting w taking anything here is no help so 5 immediate ae one tism, ne! and dyspepsia, bas esta this great Invigorator a aluable remedy those run down muke vse of. Worwen whose stock of nervous energy was well- WHALE IN HARNESS. It 1s Being Driven, They Say, Across the Sena to San Francisco. From the Portland Oregonian. Col. F. W. Black of the customs depart- ment at Sand Point, Popoff Island, situated in the Shunagin group of islands off the Alaskan peninsula, is in Tacoma, and is authority for a remarkable story of a cap- tive whale, which, if the plans have not miscarried, is now being driven to San Francisco harnessed to a boat and driven by his captors down the coast through the waters of the ocean. The whale, named Bulshoy,an Aleut word for immense, was captured in the spring of 1801, when a calf of some eighteen or twen- ty months old. It was then about fifteen or sixteen feet long, and though so young and small was possessed of considerable strength. During a chase for whales by whites and Indians it was driven into Pirate Cove, the entrance to which is not over 100 feet wide, though it is fully twenty fathoms deep. John C. Whiley, a storekeeper at the island, immediately stretched across the mouth of the cove a strong wire net. Shortly afterward Whiley and his native servant attempted to feed the animal, and were successful. Whiley rigged up a wal- rus bladder, to which was attached six or seven feet of rubber tube. About half a gallon of cow’s milk was put in this impro- dled alongside the pup, which by this time would allow them to come alongside with their boats. After several hours of patient coaxing the Indian succeeded in getting Bulshoy to drink from the rubber tube. When the bidarka turned for the shore Bulshoy followed close behind it. More milk was obtained, and this time Bulshoy needed no coaxing to drink it. For the next six weeks Whiley and the Indian fed the pup twice every day. The pup would stick his head out of the water, close to the landing, and look for his nurses long before the feeding time. It was not until the following spring that the actual training of Bulshoy began to take definite form. Whiley one day said: “I am going to train that pup so that I can drive him to San Francisco.” He and Efteha were constantly to be seen on the bay playing with Bulshoy, who by this time had become so accustomed to his owner and nurse that he would come to them whenever they called him from any part of the bay and allow them to handle him at their pleasure. While this rocess of taming was going on Whiley faa taken the pup’s measure for a set of harness, and both he and his native spent the nights for several weeks in making it. The climax was reached Friday, Septem- Ne of Colorado Oue of Those Recently Restored 8 Celery Compound. austed have t of body aud mind by t restorative, s the body of viel and liver amine It has ind women what” Paine’s cele cured an astoni of Bright's disea and ver trouble, the remark: has to show to ¢ Among the thousands of testim: var is one recentiy eent by Ce Bell of Colorado, who says he of all remedies th the mest testimonials recety nono less than 1G from Ce ent states, omipouud ved thig an Joho used three © dyspepsia, tistac y sick and xilin rheuma sults. Among th unary there have ressmen from di ber 20, 1895, when, for the first time prob- ably in the history of the world, a four year-old twenty-five-foot whale was suc- cessfully put in harness. When Whiley and Efteha, after putting on his harness, start- ed for the shore Bulshoy, as usual, started after the bidarka, and in doing so made the discovery that everything was not as it should be, and then he reared and plunged around at a lively rate, lashing quiet waters of the bay into foam in efforts to free himself of the offending harness. But the harness was strong and well made, and there was no shake off to it. Bulshoy kept up his antics for two whole days. Next morning he refused to come to the call of either Whiley or the Aleut. Hunger, however, soon brought him to his senses and on the morning of the third dey, as the native was out in the bay in his bidarka, Bulshoy came meekly alongside and seemed to beg for his breakfast, which was given him. From that day Bulshoy made no trouble. On October 1 Whiley and the native took the long boat belonging to the station, and, attaching a tow line to the harness’ band immediately ahead of the fore flippers, be- gan to cruise around the bay and in a sur- prisingly short time, according to Col. Black, Bulshoy would pull the boat in any desired direction. During the rest of the year the pup was daily exercised. On May 21 of this year Whiley and his Aleut took the net away from the mouth of the cove, and, according to the program laid out, struck out into deep water for the Island of Onga, sixteen miles away. The voyage was made with- out mishap. They afterward male a voy- age from Popoff to Karluk Island. PEALE STEEL EE TOTS Her Lover Understood. From Pearson's Weekly. A Lancashire lady has been relating a rather pretty stcry about a factory girl way of answering a marriage prop made to her. “The young woman could not write or read writing, and one day she brought a letter to me to read for her. It contained 4n offer of marriage. “I happened to know that the writer was a deserving young artisan, so I said to her: ‘Now, you must considtr this mat- ter very seriously, and if you like to come to me when you have made up your mind I will write a reply for you.’ “A day or two afterward I met the girl again and asked her ff she wanted me to answer the letter for her. ‘Oh, that is all right,’ said she, looking radiant and pleased. ‘I've settled it. I answered it mysel: “Why. how did you do it?’ I asked. “And then she told me that she coul¢ make a capital and that she stuck on the paper a piece of wool after it for *wull! —‘I wool.’” = naw’, “Why don’t you run home and wash your face?’ “There ain’t no water at home.” “No water! What do “Beer.” —Life. you drink, then?”