Evening Star Newspaper, November 13, 1897, Page 16

16 THE PERILOUS VENTURE OF LADY ACKLAND, By CLINTON £088. (Copyright, 1807, by Clinton Ross.) L ‘You have asked me again for my story of the Burgoyne affair. Yes, I ought to know about it; for it was indeed the most important affair of my life. Now in that camp—I'll confess—was a girl I once had made love to; before the dissension divided us, befcre her brother was killed in the battle where I, too, was engaged. Kate Essex ever held this against me, as you will see if you follow me. Well, she was with Lady Harriet Ackland, the major’s wife, in General Burgoyne’s camp. I had been taken prisoner the day before the great battle. I have, as you know, some ex- Perience as a surgeon, which enabled me to be of small service in looking after Gen- eral Brgoyne’s wounded. And in all that fight I was busied, prisoner as I was, but enrolled as a British surgeon’s assistant. I forgot that we were fighting them, as my friend, Colonel Kenneth, forgot it, when a prisoner at Yorktown. I hardly noticed that General Burgoyne was preparing for &# retreat. But first the general was resolved to give General Fraser, who had died in the night of his wounds, a fitting burial. The regi- ments were mustered into a melancholy Procession at sundown, and the sound of muffied drums mingied with the musketry and artillery along the outposts. A friendly sergeant put me where I could see it all. The chaplain led, with head uncovered, the prayer book of the church of England in his left hand. and I saw then the girl I've mentioned, Kate Essex, sup- was startled at sight of her in that dismal surrounding. The scene, grim enough against the tr- regular outline of wooded hills, had sad- der coloring from the soldiers, showing In all their appearances the hard, discourag- “we need you. My poor Kate, you must control your nerves.” I beg you all pardon,” said Miss Essex. ‘Tll not stand in the way—of—of this man doing you this service tonight. I need not see him after—ever. But—in the face of this, how can you tolerate a rebel?” And she pointed to those dejected soldiers of the king. “You may believe, Miss Essex, I will be to pains you shall not,” said I, I think not without spirit. “It's better that Mr. Sedley should go,” Gen. Burgoyne said, smiling, as if the epi- sode amused him even in his serious plight. “He has spoken tonight as the straightfor- ward gentleman, and trouble, sir, makes us esteem each other. Of a pleasanter day for myself, I might have had to hold you a prisoner for exchange.” Whispering some words to the chaplain and Lady Ackland, he hurried us down the slope to the bank, I keeping well behind, nese Lady Ackland’s maid, a frighted Irish girl. Half way down Lady Ackland let the oth- ers pass. “Mr. Sedley,” she said, giving mé her hand, “‘you understand Miss Essex’s preju- dice. It's her brother’s memory, whom she lost _ with us.” - “No one better than I; you must know there are loyalist Sedleys, Lady. Acieland.” “And I waited to tell you, you have acted fitly in a position that must be as trying to you. Miss Essex’s nerves have given way, I think.” “Thank you, Lady Ackland, much, for remembering me wken distressed over your husband.’ “You are helping me reach him, sir,” said she gently. “I never can thank you enough.” At the foot of the cliffs were two skiffs. General Burgoyne had been unable to spare an escort. I told Brudenell I would take the maid in one while he should row the two ladies. He agreed, helping Lady Ackland in, when Katherine Essex motioned the maid to follow into the same boat. “T'll go with this person.” “You prefer, I know, to be with us?” said Lady Ackland. “What difference is it, Harriet? This man ts no more to me than the oar. You thought I was weak. I may have been, but I want to show I am not now.” And spurning my offer of assistance, she leaped in lightly, taking her seat. “We have no time to talk about It,” said Lady Ackland, losing her patience, while Brudenell helped the maid to a seat. “But you're absurdity itself.” “We'll not talk about it, Harriet,” said the girl. 3 = ii I lead or you?” Brudenell asked. “THEY HAVE SHOT YOU,” SAID KATE. ing service of the yesterday; the officers with pale, serious, yet determined faces; many limping or bandaged. The chaplain paused by the opening. Drums gave their muffied refrain, and all was ready for the service, never more ex- pressively simple. Sudderiy out of the comparative still- ness was the deafening roar of artillery. A ball tore the upturned earth at the chap- lain’s feet, casting dirt over his vestments, yet he kept on impassively, as if he were im a church. Several! persons fell. The sergeant, who was still at my side, cried “D—n ‘em! They'll not let us bury. our general. D—n ‘ei But suddenly the firing stopped, to be followed by the low booming of a gun at minute intervals, adding to the solemnity of the occasion. “Do you see, Sergeant White, you are mistaken! General Gates has found that, after all, it’s not a movement of your troops!” I said exultantly. The minute-guns continued as the ene- my’s tribute. Nor, I think, could anything be finer from those who had known this brave man opposed to them, and who ap- Preciated his qualities as commander and gentleman and the sorrow of the soldiery and officers who had served and fought and Messed with him. “Now, sergeant,” I whispered again—for it seemed sacrilege to speak too loudly at that place in the silent moments between the guns when was heard only the chap- lain’s voice—“Will you damn us!” “I was wrong,” said he; “they’re men.” | By the time the box had been lowered it al- ready was dark: and in the retreat to the works I lost sight of Kate Essex and Lady Ackland. I had trembled for them in that rapid firing: for, though the girl was preju- diced against me, I felt I could wish her no hurt. The meantime, many fires were lighted— Father more, I thought, at once than the camp required; but I was not long in see- ing that these were feints to cover retreat to Saratoga. Half the army were supper- less—weariness and despair lay on nearly every face’ and yet, I was amused to see two young officers, apparently oblivious, at gards by the firelight. The enemy’s line had ceased firing, as if they still were apol- ogetic for the unseemly shots the requiem of minute-guns had followed. The ensign who had taken me brought an order for me to report to Gen. Burgoyne. I found him in a spot rather apart from the preparations with Mr. Brudenell, the chapiain, who just had said the service; Miss Essex and Lady Ackland, who was speaking earnestly. As I came up with the little officer, Kate Essex faced me with that same utter lack of recognition, but Gen. Burgoyne extended his hand. “Mr. Sediey, I'll restore you the dispatch you brought from Gen. Washington to Gen. Arné:d. Here are all your papers.” I must have looked my amazement, for he Sy geen bitterly, “This is unusual, and ¢ prisoner may become the friend. Leay Ackland 1s insistent on going down the river to the enemy, where her husband, Maj. Ackland, {s wounded. Mr. Brudeneli apd Miss Essex are for accompanying her. It's a dangerous attempt to make, I've told her. Into whose hands she may fall is un- certain.” He peused, walking up and down, “Being an officer of Gen, Washington, you can bring them into the camp moré safely than another. I have consented out of common humanity.” But my foe, Kate “Gen. Burgoyne, this man with u: “It's necessary,” Lady Ackland cried. “Will you let prejudice stand in the way?” “Leave me, then,” cried the other, pas- sicnately. Prefer nbt to go.” “I can’t, dear,” Lady Ackland said, wen't; but—I must get to my husban she added. Here the chaplain interrupted with a bow to me. “I know Miss Essex has prejudice Sgainst Mr. Sedley’s politics, in which, we must ——— we all —— but—" Fe s urgoyne,” said I, stopping “I thank you for your good offersmuch, i ‘Would wish to do any slight service I may.” ‘The girl seemed silly, “You did us much kindness at Gen. Fra- ser's bedside last night,” said the general courteously, “Your excellency, chance has brought sbout some curious events,” I said, bending my head. You can do a service,” said the chaplain; "I believe, with Gen. Burgoyne,” “It I may I will go gladly,” I said. “And 2 am sure that Miss Essex will grant me a interrupted: Fd prefer not to have “I despise your favor, as you, sir,” she eried, looking me full in the face, “bei With the rebels, when your family should left you loyal.” This was woman left by the roll of the guns, I de- “I know; I expect nothing else. But it's to be in your camp, nor did 1 this chance,” I said in a low votce to ber. = “Ah, Mr. Sedley,” Lady Ackland cried, “You would better, as you know river.” We put out with the slow dip of the oars, keeping well under the high bank, where the defeated army was sounding its retreat. I. Now I did not intend provoking her by so much as a word. I do not like hysterical women, whom’ I don’t know how to ad- dress. I even thought this poor girl no longer attractive. But she bewildered me by speaking first herself. “You are surprised I should choose to go with you.” “No, I thought it simply bravado,” 1 said again with some spirit, 1 think. This was no sooner spoken than I wished to re- call It; yet she answered without apparent rezentment. “You read me well. It was that I wanted to tell you again how wrong you are. “I have every reason to expect that of you, Miss Essex.” “I—I hate this situation.” “Neither of us has cause to be glad at the way chance has involved us,” said I, bent on showing a Rowland for her Oliver. “And yet, Mr. Sedley"—she had not be- fore in the adventure called me by my neme—“I must acknowledge to you—be- cause I would be fair—that you have a right to your opinions—that you take your chance; you must not think I am altogeth- er unfair.” I leaned on the bars. The little Essex was apologetic—for her nerves; and then I pitied her. “I understand perfectly the circum- stance!’ “Oh, I'm not glad,” she cried. “I hate the situation, as I have said, but I could not block Harriet Ackland because of my prejudice.” “You were unselfish.” For some moments she was silent, and then, strangely enough, began again. “Yet I must tell you there are things about you I cannot help admiring, al- though I have the best reasons for de- spising your position, when you should know better.” “There's small enough ground for ad- miration,” I retorted, lamely enough. She was surprising me with her amen: “Yes, frankly, there is,” said she, “small enough. Yet I'm not such a bigot as not to respect the motive leading you to send me that very considerate note when—when Dick was killed.” “What élse could I?” “Nothing. Yet it modifies one’s hate in @ degree to know that the person who is wrong is not utterly devold of feeling.” “I am glad you have found that out sald, rather feelingly. But she appeared bound not to leave me conceiicd, saying resentfully: “It deesn’t matter whether you're glad or sorry. “I know that only too well.” “How do you know?” “The nature of the case,” said I. “Of course.” A moment after she added: “I am glad I have had this talk with you, because we both feel easier.” “You do not know how much gratitude you put me under,” said J, half mockingly. But she thought I was earnest. “You know you mustn't forget what I think of you.” “I wish I could,” said I. “You must not wish you could.” “How can I help it?” “Because you know it’s a matter of complete indifference to me. Now, what can you do when a woman takes your witticism in earnest? Why, I kept pretending. “But it isn’t to me; never can be.” shouldn't it be when you “When I know?” questioned I, half lik- ing the pretense, “That I know that you have a right to your opinion.” “A gracious concession,” said J. She added after a moment; “Yes, I'm glad I have had this chance to prove I'm no bigot even if you be traitor." Sn ABS . She went on after a pause which she seemed to give me ehance. to. frame an answer. ou must have advanced to be a ma- Jor.’ “General Washington knew my father," “Do you remember how I scolded you, [ae I had just met, for being,a dawd- ler?” sal “I was not interested beyond the impa- ‘ye feel at secing-a clever man wasting opporti 2 “I know that,” said I; “I do not know, Mr, Bedley, but that it fa ti for'me to be talking to it T appreciate it in you, Miss Essex,” seid I, now entirely in terrible ph Sweet of you to be interested,” tence I alwa: “not that I'm clever,” enough yeu in this way, a earnest, “This battle—se much suffering softens one—" The steady oar a nighthawk. Something firing mingled with the cry of splashed out fh the river. The had stopped. “At least we understand each other bet- ter,” said she. “TI hope so,” said I. ime we must,” said she, almost hum- ly. I had pulled rather slowly, -and found on looking about that Brudenell’s boat was around a bend of the river. When I com- Irenced more vigorously a musket was fired from the forest, the ball grazing her face. “Imto the bottom of the boat! Quick!” I cried. “Down, Miss Essex!" She obeyed, crouching with _ admirable self-control, while I rested on the oars. “But you, but you, Major Sedley?” Another report, with the splash over the bow, told me it was not a chance shot; it was from Indians, or other marauders—of whom the unsettled country had many—or from an outpost of Gen. Gates. On the latter chance I called: “TI have heaved to; what do you want?” For answer I had a blow in the side that tumbled ‘me over, when one car slipped. The other I clutched with hardly strength enough, for it, too,.-was slipping, while I knew a horrid faintness. “They have shot you,” said Katharine Essex, springing up from the bottom of the boat and seizing the other oar before it was in the water. “I’m tumbled over, Miss Essex,” I man- aged to say. “But don’t stand up in that way. You'll be shot.” “Let them shoot, the cowards, she cried. “Let me see where you are hu “T am all right. “You are not,” said she, moving forward and lifting my head. “Oh, the horrid blood.” - She leaned forward, tearing a strip from her skirt, and then undid my coat, kneel- ing beside me, while the boat floated. No further shots followed from our skulking enemy, who probably—I believe now—was seme Indian. Nor did we hear the boat in front. “The coward!” caid she, stanching the blood with her handkerchief, and then bind- ing it on with a strip of cloth she had torn from her skirt. “I wish I knew. what to do. We haven't anything. When we started there was not a Grop of wine or spirits left.” am such a fool,’ cried. “Be quiet, poor boy,” she said, softly. I heard her voice and was conscious that my head was in her lap, and then sound and sight faded, and I was in a dreamless sleep from which I seemed to wake, to dream, or know—I could not tell which. And I was lying on the turf by the river bank. Her hands smoothed my brow, her voice brought me heart; and the dream passed and I saw, while the morning sun lay in the river’s depths, I was not dream- ing. “You are alive, then?” “And where?” “By the river tank. Do not try to talk.” “And how did I get here?” She laid her cleak on some moss, from which she had made a pillow. “T brought you.” “And how?” “By paddling. 3 “Why did you not leave me in the boat?’ “There was too much metion for your woun “Poor girl!” said I. “What a night of exposure this has been for you!” “I have not minded,” said she; “only when you frightened me by making me think you dead.” “I'm alive.” - “You would have been dead if I hadn't stanched the wound.” “But you dislike me?’ “Stop! said she. “You must not talk. I dislike—only your opinions.”” “Til talk, act. I can’t leave you to do everything like this.” And I tried to raise myself. But I had not calculated on the lo: blood, for I was forced to yield to faintn “Don't,” said sI “Don’t try—yet. I watched her figure against the sky, the river at her feet. a “We must have help. No one passes. No one will,” she said. Was this the hysterical girl of the Burgoyne camp? She scanned the river, returning to where T lay. - Will you forgive me shculd I leave you? “And why?” cA “I cannot do for you alone.” | “But what may happen to you? “I do,” said I. 3 “leven care, be quiet, then. I'll be back, “Don't go.” She leaned over me, fixing the bandage. I could feel her breath, and—TI could not help it—I caught her hand and pressed it to my lins. a “How dare you?” she cried. and as as the low 5 tober river mists. “Forgive me!” A = “You took advantage—an unfair one. And she began to rub her hand vigorous- ly, as if she would be rid of the tou my lips. Suddenly she stepped, loc me with a pitiful glance, and yet still of pringing up, ‘oor boy, you're delirious. wish the delirium to continue for- I must leave you now. open the wound. ‘p Stedley i for you to do.” hear “TI feel a fool to leav “You seid that once, but you can't help it, sir. Not a bit of your remonsirai avails with me, for I hate your posi as rebel.” * said she. “We're talking too ou must be quiet. I wonder if 1 can get on best by the boat or by following the river bank.” She moved away, while I tried to speak further, but without the strength for it. Suddenly she returned, standing again by my side. “I have taken your papers, thinking it safer, lest they fall into the wrong hands.” For a moment she stood there, a strange expression in her dark eyes, and then wes gone down the path through the ruddy Oc- tober bushes. Trying to rise, then to follow—all the dangers she incurred appearing fearfully— the bandage was loosed, and I felt the warm blood when I put my hard on the place. And the sun seemed swimming through the mist, and again I saw neither sun nor river. And I awoke in a room with an outlook on a hillside, and a man | did not know, who told m ng! how Miss to an American post, where she help to fetch me, near dead w “I Am Gind You Are Recovering.” blood, to Gen. Gates’ camp. The chaplain Brudenell had been frightened at the shots for the safety of Lady Harriet, and had hastened down the river. He already had been much in advance, I having delayed, 23 I have said, during the talk with Miss Essex. And Lady Harriet now had pro- ceeded to Albany, as the major had recov- ered sufficiently. With the Baroness Ried- esel, they were enjoying Gen. Schuyler’s hospitality. “The baroness!"” said left_her with Burgoyne.” “Gen. Burgoyne, with all his army, sur- rendered to Gen. Gates at Saratoga.” "And where have I been all this time?” “You were delirious for ten days.” . ud the world has changed,” said I. hat di? I rave about?’ > ‘I never remember what my patients rave about,” sald my doctor, lying glibly, but with a peculiar smile that made me wonéer if he had not heard much of my re- cent experiences, “I thought we “my papers?” “There were none," said the tering from the adjoining room, “that £ om kware of—excepting a letter Miss Essex ‘broke this open, reading: . “Dear Mr. Smediey—I have your papers sealed and addressed as in Schuyler’s hands. ful ein yea | and. tprecattion. I should not poe pt Gries Set ret eae eee together has Now I of Kate Essex’s thought in the matter, and the 8 events in which we had been inv@liv, . ie s ne # of today vi s young men have. As ea I was able to walk; in jot Weeks codid at a ara] —— officers of ", I proceeded to any, where I h a find Miss Essex. On the down, which we took by slow lected that she probably would ngt to see me, and that she would béjsorr¥ enough now for her impul- siveness ithat it. But at least I could pay my two Schuylers and Lady Acklan would be only mannerly, and, of /X-need not ask for her at all. Conside; the matter, I thought that perhaps [ uid better ask for her, and leave it to hér.qiscretion whether or no she would see me. Now, Gengral Schuyler’s house was in those days the‘best in Albany, generous in hospitality... Here twenty covers had been laid for Getleral (Burgoyne and his officers; and here, myfriend—as I always counted her, Lady Ackland, hada visit that must have been pf&rficularly pleasant after the hardships she“aad known. When I arrived I was told that the Ackiands and Miss Es- sex intended leaving next day for New York. At the same time, Mrs. Schuyler handed mé the papers Miss Essex had left with the general, the seal unbroken. I had written the general I would see him in Albany, but being called away unexpected- ly, he had left the package. I asked, of course, for Lady Harriet; but not for Miss Essex, when Mrs. Sciuyler Miss Essex was in the saddle with one of the Misses Schuyler. I hardly recognized Lady Ackiand, rest and peace of mind having taken the lines from her face. “I was a. fright, I know,” she declared, “in those horrid days. I'believe we aban- doned Kate and you. You don’t know how dreadfully I suffered on that account.” While we were taking Kate Essex rode up in Miss Schuyler’s company. I could not keep my eyes off from her with whom I had become involved so strangely. The habit she wore brought out her figure, and just now the fine face (for fine it ever seemed) was flushed from her canter. She, seeing me, started slightly,I thought, and then extended her hand as if nothing ever had happened between us. “I am giad to see that you are recover- ed from your: wound, Mr. Sedicy.” I mumb‘ed out some clumsy answer at which I was ashamed, yet, as a matter of fact, I really never was more embarrassed. Presently, after some remarks, Lady Ack- land, Miss Schuyler and the major ieft us, when she turned, her eyes flashing. “How dared you force your presence on me, Mr. Sedley? Our zedventure gives you no privilege. We are back in our old posi- tion toward each other. You're a febel.” ‘ou may be in the old piace, tting back, my voice, “hut I ne Miss E'ssex, after that. tight— inForset it, as I have, said she, redden- ing. aac oS, “Not even when you ‘ask me, can I? I «xm human, and I was hound to see you—- just once mor2—to tell you 1 thank you.” was but common humanity.” weetdst humanity.” “Oh,” said she, “I know better.” But thea shebegun to laugh, which em- boldened ype, apd I told her what you may i hg. looked at me. now soberly. Ne T have the strength to be cise Be you rebel or king's man, J wi tyes to you; are so stub- born,” shg added. But, stagting 4o tell what I knew of Gen- Burgoyne's. mishap, here I cn my oth stéty. surrender hold but hint cet Major Ac Well, the f: Lon- killed in a duel q maintained the bray ast was consoled by fenell,: who rowed y of General G nodded her little followed ted eomquered Genétal ‘Bur- L Jette Asse: ia 1 mi peld-abe, ? — TRE GORWAN & her head. TONGUE. Its Incapheity ¢o Miintain Itself Even Within Legal Limits. Flom Harper's Bazir. While the English language is spreading over the face of the globe wherever liberty is possible, it is said to mark the apparent incapacity of the noble German tongue zo conquer new territcry or even to maintain legal limits. In Bo- disappearing. been exterminated within the n provinces of a have been in German hands more a hundred years, yet the people there S little Prussian today as when Kos- crusko laid down his life for personal Hb- erty. The Danish provinces were conquered more than thirty. years ago, yet the new generation speaks Danish and hates the very name of Prussia ace-Lorraine, en who w 0 ha’ erved their lan army, and e nominally German subjects; yet the German language tinds there a resistance insurmountabie, even with the aid of a vast army of spies, gendarmes, officials and 60,- (A) troops. A large Massachusetts manu- facturer of my acqua’ntance passed through ince this summer, and had occa- ston to visit a machine shop at Muhlhausen, employing some 5,000 workmen. As an American the manager treated him with frankness, and gave him an opportunity to the workmen were e of the years that The Baltic provinces of Russia re German on the occasion of my last it, in IS01, but since then Russification s set in with a thoroughness compa: ble only tothe South African rinderpest, and fore leng German linguistic expan- n on that frontier will be as effectual.y ed as it is in Bohemia, in Posen, in ce-Lorraine, and oa the borders of Den- e now mi irk. Nor is the German language faring better In the German colonics, for the simple rea- son that Germa emigrants prefer almost any colonial flag to their own. The official press of Germany clamors for more war- ships, in order lo protect alleged German colonists in far-away tropical swamps. Ter- ritorfally, Germany has almost 1,600,000 square miles of co!ony, but land withont population is like a harbor with no com- merce. From the best information at my disposal I cannot discover that all the Ger- mun colonies put together contain more white people than could be comfortably stowed on a Coney Island excursion boat. see Good Old English wit. From Tit-Bits. A gentlerian Who had lost his wife went to a stonemason and ordered a headstone; he gave pafticw‘fr instructions to put, af- ter the nafne ahd age, the words, “A vir- tuous womiin is“ crown to her husband.” When he went to see the stone fixed over the grave, the ‘husband's astonishment may be imagined when he read“A vir- tuous woman is,worth 5s. to her husband.” —————epe—_@ In Hun- | OLD TOWN OF SALEM Hawthorne's Birthplace and His Later Homes. MEMORIES OF BY-GONE DAYS ‘Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. SALEM, Mass., November 9, 1897. OME ONEHAS said that the history of a town ts best told by its old buildings, and in Salem the time-honored struct- “ures certainly speak eloquently of the , past. It is pre- eminently a city of fine colonial man- sions, houses which tell a tale of bygone days when the wealth and fashion of New England centered in Salem. In one sense Salem’s commercial glory vanished long ago. Not that the town is less prosperous or that there is lesa ship- ping than of old, but at present the trade is purely of a prosaic, domestic character, and in looking at the slow coal barges and the ill-smelling ships that serve the exten- sive leather business the visitor usually has a sigh of regret for the departed ocean traffic. Salem, the birthplace of many men fa- mous in different walks of life, counts among her sons Nathaniel Hawthorne, William Wetmore Story, the historian Pres- cott, Rufus Choate, Joseph E. Worcester, the lexicographer, and the sculptor, John Rogers. Nearly all the earlier Presi- dents of the United’States visited the town at some time, and it is rich in associations with personages of interest. Few places censider their local history complete un- less they can boast of a building that has harbored Washington or Lafayette, and in this case it is the old assembly house on Federal street, the French general having dined there in 1784. A magnificent ball was given there in Washington’s honor five years later, and the father of his coun- try spent what little remained of the night Ht Thad Roger Williams House. and doubtless a goodly portion of the next morning also under the hospitable roof of one Josiah Ward. The street has ever since borne the name of the aistinguished guest. Hawthorne's Home. Of the hundreds who annually make a pilgrimage to view the birthplace of Haw- and the many spots associated with his name, a large number are doomed to disappointment when they see the house numbered ion street, where the great w the light. There is noth- ing in the commonplace little structure to e birthplace of genius, and there re in town perha: built abot mbrel roof to the large brick chimney that seems to dwarf the resi Its uninteresting ted to chain the visitors’ attention for long, and one usu- ally moves on to the Herbert street home- stead, where the greater part of Haw- thorne’s youth was spent. If discouraged before, you are doubly so now, as this house has degenerated into the poorest tind of a tenement with lines of clothes stretched from the windows and ragged children playing about the doorway. Much pleasanter places are the houses on Dear- born and Chestnut streets, where he lived for short periods and number 14 Mall street, where he produced his most power- ful story, The Scarlet Letter. Adjoining the Charter street burying ground is the Peabody house, where Haw- thorne courted and won his wife. It is now generally called Grimshawe house from the fact that the scene of the first part of “Dr. Grimshawe's Secret” is laid there, and it is described-avith the most absolute realism in the opening chapter of that romance. House of the Seven Gables. The so-called Hovse of the Seven Gables has only four gables now, and tt cannot be ascertained that tt ever had many more, but the best-informed local antiquaries unite in saying that it is the house from which the story derives its name. When this house on Turner street has been in- spected the visitor has seen all the well- known haunts of Hawthorne in Salem. Entertained. No—there is one other place, the custom house, and the truc admirers of this rep- resentative man of Amer‘can letters are usually curlous to see the desk which he used when he was surveyor of the port. In hunting it up you will kill two birds with cne stone, for it has been removed to the old structure in which the first church organization effected in the new world worshipec, in 1634, and for many succeeding years. This meeting house you have been told stands in the garden back of the Essex Institute. Arriving there, you register, and are given an immense iron key, which leoks like the key to some great prison, and prepares -you for something vandals from emulating the great author in this church § Salem, dating from about the beginning of the century only, but at the time it was built it was spoken of as the most mag- nificent as well as the most costly residence in_New England. Perhaps Salem is best known all over the country by the very thing which she least desires to have remembered — the witchcraft delusion of lw. Few cf the buildings by which Salem is linked to this great tragedy remain; the site of the court house is still pointed out and Gallows hill Mes on the outskirts of the city as of old, but time’s changes have swept away all the important bulldin; including the old jail on St. Peter street. Two houses still standing on Essex street are remotely cen- nected with the delusion—the home of Shat tuck, the dyer, who figured in the irials, and the Roger Williams house nearly oppo- site. The latter, dating from 1635, Is the oldest house in Salem and was the dwelling of Roger Williams before his freethink- ing and free speaking obliged him to fiee to Rhode Island in the dead of winter. Sub- sequently it became the residence of Judge Jonathan Corwin of witchcraft notoricty, and from the tradition that some of the preliminary examinations were held there it is often called the “Witch House.” ——_-——_ HOW TO “HITCH UP.” ‘The Proper Appointments for Various Kinds of Turnouts. From the Bider and Driver. Mr. Mortimer Levering of Lafayette, Ind., is doing good work for the cause of im- provement in the art of turning out horse- men and horsewomen in good form, by writing a series of articles on various phases of the subject for the Indianapolis News. An idea of the detail he has under- taken to compass and also of how primary must be instruction in matters of this kind among our good people of thore parts of the country remote from the centers of accepted standards mey be obtained from the following: “The writer has been asked to give a few genefal requirements in ‘ap- pointments.’ This is not done in a spirit cf criticism, but as a guidance in the future in similar exhibitions. Riding horses are divided into four different classes—the ‘gaited’ saddle horse, the ideal in the writer's opinion; the ‘walk, trot and canter’ horse, Eastern Park idea; the ‘high school’ horse, circus and exhibition idea; the ‘hunter’ horse, cross-country, fence, wall and water jumper. In all cases use bridle and saddle of the same color, with a black bridie, a black saddle; with a tan (russet Jeather) bridle, a tan saddle, and make them same shade of color; do not have one a light shade and the other darker from age or use. Bridles for ‘gaited’ horses may be single or reins, with curb bits, but the preference in all classes is the double bri- dle, with two bits, a curb and a plain bit, each controlled by separate reins. Russet or black leather is indispensable, except in ‘high school class,’ where white may be used. All bits and buckles should be of the same color of metal; martingales are not permissible. While riding the bridle reins must be held in the left hand and the whip in the right. If a horse puils or lugs so hard on the bits as to require the use ef both hands to hold it in control, it is considered bad mannered and should be better broken. For training a horse to rave an easy ‘mouth’ it is well to-put on it an appliance called the ‘dumb jockey.’ When a single rein is used hold the ‘near’ rein under the little finger and the ‘off’ rein betweer. the first and second fingers. When double reins are used, hold those to curd bit under lttle finger and over first finger, and the reins of the plain bit be- tween first and second, and third and fourth fingers. Keep the hand near and in front of the beit line, the elbows close to ie side, without shrugging the shoulders, ud while the horse is in motion do not let daylight show now and then under the arms. For whips, in all cases except the ‘high school class,’ carry ‘crop sticks’ without. lashes, except in the ‘hunter’ class. Carry it in your right hand with about five inches of the whip’s handle in front of the closed hand. It shouid be held at an angle of 45 degrees, just over the horse's withers, and about three inches from the rider’s body at the belt line. Never carry a whip in a perpendicular po- sition or parallel with and on the under side of the arm; such is cowboy, Missouri and Mississippi style. It was a fault ex hibited by a few of the gentlemen riders, but very little criticism is to be made upon the riding done by the young ladies. PROPHECIES REALIZED. America vs. Europe as a Manufac- turing Competitor. From the Engin-ering Maguzine. The insular prejudices and the complacent self-sufficiency ot the average Briton have long hindered him from understanding or admitting- the possibility of cther nations ultimately occupying fields of industrial activity that he has for generations been accustomed to look upon as entirely his own. The earlier prophets of the impend- ing danger were treated with even more than the ordinary amount of intolerance proverbially accorded in their own country to those who do not prophesy smooth things. Here and there, however, a voice was heard crying in the wilderness. Cobden, more than fifty years ago, pointed out thai “it was to the industry, the economy and the peaceful policy of America, and not to the growth of Russia, that politicians and statesmen of whatever creed ought to direct their anxious attention, for it by these, and not by the efforts of barbarian force, that the power and greatness of Eng. Jand were in dz uger of being superseded.” Lytton, in his “Coming Race,” speaks cf that American, and 1.otabiy industrial, pro- gress “in which Europe enviously seeks her model, and tremblinzly foresees her doom.” For years past the “lights in the window” have shown that British industrial prowess Was not so safe as it was supposed to be, and that the threat of American competi- tion on a colossal scaie was not a were phantom. But that possibility has never been brought so near to our inner con- sciousness as it is at the present time. Great Britain is now importing American pig iron, American steel rails, American wire, American agricultural machinery, American machine tools and many other American products. The aggregate value cf these importations must be very con- siderable. I know of one case where a single imported last year, in six months only, American machinery, includ- ing machine tools, to the value of nearly 150,000. That this competition has come to stay appears to be generally admiited. The conditions and prospects of American competitio: appear, indeed, for the mo- ment, to oVershadow every other industrial ss. except that of labor, with which chas a closer affinity than is usually su; posed, and to-call for the most serious De sideration. Always in Season. From Life. Biggs—“When I was in Chicago last Au- gust I went skating on the Chicago river.” Bogge—‘You don’t mean to ‘was frozen over at that say the river time?” “Oh, no. We used roller skates.” ah the tragger hiencclf the trigger himse! Reorder to commit sui- cide. He doesn’t even need a gun or any kind of weapon. All he need do is work hard ard at the same time neglect bis health. Death will do the rést. Men nowadays are all in a hh . They bolt their food, and get indi- torpid liver. The blood impure. When the blood is impur: or later something will “smash. smash will be at the weakest and most int. In a marshy country ly be malaria and chills. A will have A business, or pro- Geadly consumption. fessi nervous prostration of ‘ional man, exhaustion. It isn’t hard to prevent or cure these di) eases if the right remedy is taken at the it time. Dr. Picrce’s Golden Medical Discovery makes the appetite keen, dig: tion and assimilation perfect, the liver ive, the blood pure and the nerves steady and strong. It drives out all disease germs, It makes rich, red blood, firm flesh, soi muscle and healthy nerv: It cures malaria and bilious attacks. it cures nerv- ous prostration and exhaustion. It cures oS per cent. of all cases of consumption, bron- chial, throat and kindred affections. Dr. i 's Common Sense Medical Adviser contains the letters of thousands who have been cured. ion, Ky. Vi iption Solace’ atedical Discovery’ have saved my life when it was de- spaired «= Send 21 one-cent sonuee. to coves cast ak mailing only, to the World's Dispensary Medical As-ociation, Buffalo, N. Y., for a SS copy of Dr. Pierce’s Common nse Medical Adviser;—cloth binding ten cents extra. A whole medical library in one 1000-page volume. Pitacames anaes ANIMAL ALLIES IN WAR. rd mels, Ete., Into Service. From the Chicago Dispatch. The armor worn by war elephants dur- ing the time of the old Mogul empire was often magnificent, being a mass of Stel, iron and silver. To the long white tucks, which were covered with chains, were lashed sharp swords or sabers, forming an armament well calculated tq demoralize an imposing force. The Sultan Mamood equipped his elephants with bas- tions, which were filled with men armed with crossbars and spears—not pitch. To the tusks of the animals poisoned daggers were attached. This sultan had a band of rhinoceroses in his army, which were sup- posed to be used in demoralizing a foe, though the danger of their playing havoc with thelr own forces was equally great. The cheetah was formerly employed in the east as an adjunct of war, bands of them being released and trained to bound along and tear down the enemy as they are known to kill the fleeting antelope. The French and Eng! in their cam- paigns In Africa and Asia have employed camels, and the French service today possesses a camel corps, small guns be- ing mounted on their backs. One com- pany was served with Gatling guns of light caliber. The Arabs have long em- ployed the camel in war, a corps of these animals, mounted with native sharpshoot- ers, with their long guns and the gay colors of their robes, presenting an attract- ive appearance. Even ostriches have been suggested as war animals. It was found that they can carry their riders and develop marvelous speed, but they are very uncertain, and as likely to turn and retreat at the wrong time as to advance, so that the ostrich corps exists in theory more than in prac- tice. The value of the horse and mule in all army operations can hardly be estimate:!. Mules have been mounted with smal! can- non or rapid-firing guns in an emergency, but the eccentric character of th: renders the service more than un ain. During the war between the north and the south a huge shark was unintention- ally drawn into the service. At one time there were nearly 2,000 prisoners confined in the Dry Tortugas prison, which was surrounded by a ditch about 10 fect wide and half a mile long. The prisoners often attempted to escape by lowering them- selves into it, and in several ins' drowned. One day a live shark was plac. in the moat by a naturalist for expori- mental purposes, and, while it was p-rfect- ly harmless, it effectually put a stop to the attempts at escape, and was known 4s the sentinel of the provost marshal of the prisoners, who never wearied watching the huge animal as it swam up and down, with its head and tail canted viciously out of the water. ——__+ e+ —____ She Must Have Looked Sad. From the Indianapolis Jourral. Mr. Emmet Chewer (about to photograph his wife)—“Good gracious, Emma, can’t you lvok a little more pleasant? You look as cismal as a man reading a comic Sunday supplement.” if you get a package like this, It contains the genuine Dp Gonust It cleans everything and cleans it quickly and cheaply. Largest package—greatest economy. ‘THE K. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, St Louis, New Yors,