Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, May 29, 1897, Page 6

| | x oR PART V. CHAPTER 1I—(Continued) Out of doors it was growing darker every minute, He gently released himself, support- ing her, indeed, for he felt that she eving in her over-tension of en- courage. She was staring with her sunken, nd she shivered from head gray eye to foot. He led her back to the sofa, made her sit down, and again knelt before her in more passionate devotion than eve iva!" he whispered. “Oh! look at the clouds!” “It is pouring a deluge.” “Yes.” sad he. “What does that ye you.” ar up against such weath- moaned, me she cried. shelter me; x his coat, nestled against ghtened. Hold me tight- fy—wrap your coat around me. Oh, do not let it come upon me! Lord, have yr, do not let it come over me thunder she And she threw ing to pra beth him as “i to be spared. s around her lover, elir to hide herself. So while he held her clos i her fingers he murmured: ye you here’ he said, in our waistcoat pocket?” little phial.” he mut- xs for my eyes. I 1 by my eyes lately.” k out the phial. It was blue bottle, with a cut-glass ad vel. or yo * she said. “I did ot know— “Yes, really,” he answered. Give it me.” But she held it between her two 2d laughed. » I will not give it you. I shall not I want to stuck.” » you so uneasy? Does it sm perspiration “It is nothing but Mood on her broy trope for the and it has no scent. You will spill it, and it stains.” But she put her hands behind her back, “It is not for the eyes, and you have nothing the matter with yours,” she you are somethin: deceiving me, It is ig else—is it not?” ve it me. t take effect quickly?’ she “eva, I insi peated, angry end. He threv his arm around her, and tried to sieze her wrists; but he only grasped one empty hand, while the other flung the phial over his head on the floor. There was a little clatter of falling glass, and before he could rise she had thrown her arms around him, + her down among the cush- t. Give it me!” he re- now, and at his wits it lie there,” she murmured, smile. “It is broken. I have t for you. . Tell me yhy did ‘y that about with yo “It is not what you fanc plied, still on the defensive. “So much the better—why did you have it he re- Then, to her insistence, he said: , ke it—when all was at an end ‘between us—in the evening, of course.” “And now you cannot do so.” “Perha I can manage to buy some more,” he said, with a gloomy laugh. “But why is everything to be at an ly quite serious, mock- Ang no more at life and death. “For I beeseech you, let it all be sd. Let me feel that I no longer mead make you wretched. ‘You may yet be happy; but L ‘thing in me hinders my ever being hap- wy, and all happiness must begin in ourselves alone.” “And do you think ™ shall let you go gow, that you have just told me what you would do in the evening?” “But you are not to think that I | should do it only for your sake. I al- ways go about with that in my pocket. I have often thought of doing it; but then I have thought of you, and I lacked courage; for } know that you ; love me only too well.’ “Not too well. I have lived in you. be og you I should never have truly ved. “But for me you might have lived ‘with another, and have been happy.” “No. y} with any other, That could never have been. I had to live with you. It was Fatality.” “Ay, Fatality. Bertie “Do not mention Bertie.’ As she spoke the rain dashed against the window panes in a perfect torrent. “It is always raining,’ she mur- mured., to say—” “Yes—always,” he mechanically re- j peated. She shuddered and looked in his f: “I do not know,” said he, startled rand bewildered. “I really do not knew. Why, what did I say?” y both were silent. ‘Then she be- gan agai: “Frank!” “My darling.” “I will not let you leave me again. Not even for a day. I shall always be in terror for you. “Let there be an end to everything, my child.” “No, no. Listen. Let us be together, forever. Forever and ever. Let us lie & FOOTSTEPS OF FATE.s eee? By LOUIS COUPERUS. TRANSLATED FROM THE DUTCH. SOMEONES SIO IO me | your sake, my angel; for your : I feel that every- | do you say that?” she asked, | He, down to sleep while it is still raining.” “Eval” “Together. You say yourself that everything in you fails of happiness, and that, nevertheless, happiness must come from within. Well, it is the same with me. And yet, we love each we not?” hen why should we remain awake | in this weariful life? It is always, al- s raining. Give me a kiss, Frank. A good-night kiss, and let us sleep while rains. Tet me go to sleep in rms: 2, What do you mean?” he asked, y, for he did not understand “I broke the phial—broke it for you,” he went on, wildly. “But you can al- get another?” An icy chill shot h his very marrow like a sud- ; den frost. “God in Heaven, Eva! What do you n?” She smiled at him ealmly, with a soft light in her beaming eyes, and she threw her arms around him. “To die with you, my dearest,’ she whispered, as in an ecstasy of joy. “What good can life do us? You were right. You can never be happy again, and I can never be happy with you. And yet, I will not leave you, for you are all in all tome. Then how can we live, or why? But, oh, Frank, to die together in each other’s arms! That is | greatest bliss. A kindly poison, , nothing painful. Something 3 to take, that we can take togeth- er, and clasp each other, and die, die, die—" Frank shuddered with horror. ‘0, Eva,” he cried. “You must not that, you cannot wish that! I ‘bid it.” “Oh, do not forbid it,” she said, per- suasively, falling on the floor and em- bracing his knees. “Let us share the same fate; that will be bliss. All about us will be rose-color and gold and silver, like a glorious sunset. Oh, ne Pade imagine anything more beau- tiful? i everyone in this world is looking for. It is Paradise! It ss Heaven!” He was not carried away by her rapture, but her words tempted him as the promise of a brief joy in this life and an unutterable, peaceful rest in death. He could say no more to dis- stade her, to check her in the heaven- ward flight of her fancy; but still hg reflected that there were no means at hand, since the phial was broken. Eva had risea, irresistibly attracted to the spot where the phial had fallen. She stooped and nicked it up. It had fallen into the -lrapery of a curtain; it was not broken, only cracked and chipp>»d. Not a drop had been spilled. “Frank!” she screamed, with fren- zied gladness. “It is not broken! Look! It is whole. It is Fate that would not allow it to be broken.” He, too, was standing up, quaking with an icy chill. She htd already forced out the stopper and half-empt- ied the phial with a mad, esctatic smile. “Eval” he shrieked. And, quite calmly, still smiling, she handed it to him. He looked at her for a moment, feeling as if they two were no longer of this world; as if they were floating in a sphere of unknown natur- al laws, in which strange things must come to pass. The world, as it seemed, was about to perish in that deluge of But he saw that she ing, with her strange smile, and he drank— It was quite dark. They lay on the sofa side by side, In each other’s arms. He was dead. She raised her head in an agony of alarm at the storm which was raging outside, and that other storm which was raging in her dying body. The lightning glared white and the thunder was close overhead. But louder than the echoes in the air the thunder came rolling on toward Eva, nearer and nearer, louder and louder, | @ supernatural thunder, on the wheels of the spheres. “It is coming!” she murmured, in the anguish of death. “Great heavens! the thunder again!” Ané she sank convulsed on the body | of her lover, hiding her head under his | coat to die there. Then came a shuffling step in the passage outside the dark room. An old man’s thin voice twice called the ape of Eva; and a hand opened the oor. THE END. The Proofreader’s Nemesis. i “What is the matier?” inquired the ; foreman, as he entered the sanctum ' for copy and noted the editor’s bleed- ing nose, swollen forehead, puffed, red eyes and tattered, dusty coat. “Fall | down staire?” “No—only that,” replied the editor, pointing with his finger to a para- } graph in the paper before him. “It’s our account of the Crapley-Smith wed- ding. It ought to read: ‘Miss Smith’g dimpled, shining face formed a pleas- ing contrast with Mr. Crapley’s strong, i bold physiognomy.” And the foreman read: “Miss Smith’s pimpled, sninny | face formed a pleasing contrast with ! Mr. Crapley’s stony, bald physiogno- ee “Crapley was just in here,” continued | the editor, throwing one blood-streaked handkerchief into the waste-basket, and feeling in his pockets for a clean one, “and he—but just send that fool proofreader in hers There's fight left in me yet.”—Typographical Journal. Fact. : “I hear you have fitted up a little cottage of your own and are going to get married next month?” exclaimed Jones, gaily. “No; my fiancee has thrown me over for another man,” sighed Brown, hope- lessly. “He has a tandem.’—Brooklyn Lagle “2 ‘ 2 FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. SOME GOOD STORIES FOR OUR JUNIOR READERS. Agassiz the Eminent Swiss Naturalist One of the Grandest Models for Youth in History—The Game of “Waterloo,” with Diagram. Spring Is Here. By Camilla _Toulmin. PRING is coming! joyous spring! See the messengers that bring Tidings ev'ry heart to cheer, That her advent bright is here; See the many col- or’d train Peeping up on glade and plain— Crocuses, and snow-drops white, Struggle into sunny light, And the violet of blue, 2 And the valley's lily, too. I could dream their fairy bells Ring a merry chime that tells Spring is coming; and when they - Faint, and fade, and fall away, ’Tis, that long by winter nurst, Their full hearts with joy have burst. At the tidings that they bring, “Spring is coming! welcome spring!” Children we of northern skies, Most her loveliness do prize— Most, with longing hearts, we yearn For her swift and sure return; We who know the sullen gloom, When the earth is nature’s tomb; Well may we with heart and voice, At the sweet spring-time rejoice! Dwellers in more genial climes, Not for you these passing rhymes; Ye can never understand The contrasts of our northern land. Ye are not so great and wise, Ye have lowlier destinies Than the children of a zone Where the wintry blasts are known. But gaunt famine doth not stride By the proud and wealthy’s side; There ye see not little feet Press upon the frozen street, While the infant’s tearful eye, Tells its tale of misery. When in curtain’d, lighted hall, What to you that snow flakes fall? When beside the blazing log, What to you is frost or fog? When on down your limbs ye stretch Think ye of the homeless wretch? To the poor it is that spring Doth her richest treasure bring; And methinks that I do hear Countless voices, far and near, Joining in a grateful strait! “Spring is come at last again “Waterloo,” Explained with a Diagram. In a recent number of this depart- ment there was printed an account of anew game. On account of the meager information given some of our young readers have been unable to understand first introduced by the Chicago Record, It is copyrighted by a contributor to that paper. An Heroic Investigator. Agassiz, the Swiss-American natura- list, was a wonderfully painstaking student and worker from quite early in life. His career, is, indeed, one that should be inspiring reading to any boy who loves something higher than his sports and pastimes. The story has lately been retold by Dr. C. F. Holder, and published by an American firm. An English writer recently reviewing the book, says: “It was Agassiz himself, and not hia books, who made a conquest of the imagination of young America. There was a time when he caught the ear of an English public who were no less ready than their American cousins to sympathize with the tales of Agassiz’s indomitable industry—of his making copies of books which as a boy he was unable to buy, of his starving himself in Paris in order to publish his books and pay his draughtsman, and of his hunting the fish markets at Munich on Fridays to buy rare and bony speci- mens, to sketch first and eat after- wards. “Then came Agassiz’s discovery of | the laws of glaciers, and of the pre- vious existence of a glacial age over temperate Europe. ‘ Agassiz had deserted his favorite fishes, fossils, and frogs, and migrated to the glaciers of his native mountains. He lived for months upon the slipping ice-streams. On one glacier he built a hut propped against an immense boulder which was traveling down with the ice. “In order to ascertain its internal structure, he caused himself to be low- ered into the heart of the glacier it- self. “The way lay down a well-hole in the ice, through which poured one of the feeders of the sub-glacial river. In- to this he was lowered by his com- panions, at a time when the whole mass was moving at the rate of 40 feet a day. As he descended between the ever-deepening blue of the ice-walls, absorbed in observation of the colors and:structure of the frozen walls, he was suddenly plunged into the glacial river which flowed at the bottom. His signal was for a moment misunder- stood, and he was plunged still fur- ther into the freezing stream. His ascent between the pendant jayelins of ice was scarcely less dangerous, But he had penetrated to a depth of 120 feet, and finally solved the question of the structure of a glacier.” Who will deny after reading of such hazardous feats, that science has its copvE EUGENE GREGORY. the game. We therefore print the dia- gram which should have appeared in connection with the first explanation published for the benefit of those who may not have read the first article. We print in full as follows: Bring up your chairs. and try a game of “Waterloo.” Cut out the dia- gram published below and paste it firmly to a stiff piece of cardboard— or play on it as it is. The game, which has been invented for our boys and girls, is exceedingly simple, but when you have learned it you will find it much more interesting than backgam- mon or checkers. If any of you are to give an evening entertainment and don’t know ,just how to amuse your friends, try “Waterloo.” It may also be played progressively, two at each board. To play the game cut from cardboard twelve small squares, six white and six colored. The player us- ing the white pieces, or men, places them on one of the end rows, as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. The opponent’s men are placed on 38, 39, 40, 41, 42 and 43. Call these two rows the camp rows. The object of the game is for each player to try to get all his men into his op- ponent’s camp row. The one who first does this wins. Observe the follow- ing rules: Move only one space at a time (i. e., from one circle to another), except in case of a jump. Always move forward, never backward, on either the diagonal or the straight lines. Thus, a man on circle 4 in pass- ing to the opposite camp row may move to 8 or 9, but not back from 8 or 9 to 4, Having reached 9, the next move may be either 13, 14 or 17. Jumps are made as in checkers, except that the pieces jumped are not taken from the board. When possible, two or more pieces may be jumped at the same time, as in checkers. No jump can be made around an angle, as from 14 to 21—the pieces jumped must lie in a straight line. A player must jump when there is a chance. A study of this game will bring out some very in- teresting problems, The game was heroes, true heroes, who are ready to risk life and limbs in their eagerness to get at the truth of things? Angelina. Angelina is a little Italian girl who attends a school which she and her friends call “a poor school.” The teacher is a dear sweet lady, who is very kind to the children under her care. The room where she teaches is so dark, so overcrowded, that she says she cannot teach much, but she means the children shall learn to be kind to each other. That is a very good kind of learning. Angelina is very bright. She makes you think of a bird, she is so quick in her movements. ‘She is in school before the teacher every morn- ing in winter. The moment the teach- er comes in the room Angelina raises her hand and begins: “Teacher, Tony, or Maria, or Mary”—whoever it may be—“touched the crayon, or knocked Johnny’s hat on the floor,” or some oth- er tale. All through the day Angelina's hand is raised with some tale about the other children. The other morning when Angelina began, the teacher in- terrupted her and said: “I want you to stop telling on the other children, If you do anything wrong tell on your- self, but I will not hear another word from you about the others.” Angelina looked surprised. About eleven o’clock Angelina raised her hand. The mo- ment the teacher looked at her she said: “I’ve just been talking to Vic- toria.” And the teacher says she re- mained in at recess without a murmur, and never left her seat. She was hon- est and fair-minded, if she did tell tales. Perhaps she never knew before that tale-bearing was not pleasant for oth- ers.—Selected. A Feathered Anglomaniac. From the Lewiston Evening Journal: The report of a strange bird that had joined a flock of English sparrows sent a Rockland naturalist out investigating the other day. He found the visitor to be a common Dlackbird, OUR BUDGET OF FUN. SOME GOOD JOKES, ORIGINAL AND SELECTED. & Heavy Contract—A Wise Youth—The Ghost Spoke Up—Carrying Out In- structions—Flotsam and Jetsam from Our Exchanges. Just Sixteen. AIR maid,” I said, “and may I ask The summers youhaveseen?” And blushing red, she glanced at me, And faltered, “Just sixteen.” “Ah! bashful little country lass, No beaux you have, I ween.” And coyly then she glanced at me. “O, yes, sir, just sixteen.” “Sweet one,” I cried, “I fain would press A kiss thy lips between; Pray tell, may I have one or two?” She giggled, “Just sixteen. —E. P. B. The Corpse Spoke Up. One of the most useful functionaries of the Long Island college hospital in Brooklyn is “Billy,” the janitor. At- tendance at clinics and operations for many years has given the ancient serv- {tor some acquaintance with practical surgery. In an emergency he has been known to perform operations himself. But with all his acquired science “Billy” is still superstitious, In the operating room the other day he was engaged in removing from pine coffins some “new material” that had just been received from the morgue. As he was opening the lid a sepulchral voice seemed to come from the interior of the coffin and say: ‘Let me out. Let me out.” The janitor dropped his hammer and ran in terror from the room. He said he had seen an eye move as the words were uttered, It was only after “Billy” had delib- erately considered the number of stu- dents in the apartment and the slim chance any ordinary ghost would have in the presence of so many living men that he would consent to return. ‘Sure,I never thought that a corpse so cold as that would be talking so manlike. I should suppose he would be dead,” said the janitor. “Billy” does not know that Student Hall and his chum were ventriloquists. —New York World. Carrying Out Instructions. There was a young man whose so- vial education had been somewhat neg- lected, and it chanced that he received an invitation to a church wedding. The morning of the ceremony found him quite excited, and he started for the church some time before, as he would have said, “the show was billed to come off.” Under his arm he carried a small bundle, and before he had proceeded far he met a friend. “Hello,” said the friend, “and where are you going all dressed up at this time in the morning?” “Wedding,” answered the young man briefly and proudly. “Indeed? Going to do some errands on the way?” “Certainly not.” “But you are not going to a wedding with a bundle under your arm?” “Of course I am. That‘s my pres- ent.” “Present! But you don’t take your present with you, man. You send‘it beforehand.” “That’s all you know about it. I’ve got a card right here in my pocket, and the card says: ‘Present at the church.’”—Boston Budget. Over the Bar. “No, sir,” said the half-shot orator, “when I was young we had no mi- crobes, we had no germs, we had no anti-toxinaters.” “Well, there’s one sort of insect I'll bet you’ve always had,” said the smil- ing bartender. “Wot inseck is that, my friend?” in- quired the orator. “Snakes!” said the Cleveland Plain Dealer. bartender.— A Wise Youth. Mother—Why don’t you go out and play with the little girls? Peggie—I think it would be safer to play with boys.—New York Ledger. Keeping His Chords in Tane. “I saw that German tenor drink about two gallons of beer last night.” “Nothing strange about that,” replied the manager. “He is determined that his voice shall not lose its rich, liquid quality.”—Detroit Free Press. A Change of Heart. religious sisterhood?” “Gracious, no! nal, 4 “Js Maud still thinking of joining a “ah!” murmured the souprette, teeth bling thoughtfully with her 0100" saow e on the edge of her handk . Gear to my heart are the scenes Of HAY , childhood.” . “Well, by thunder, — nae heavy villain, sourly, “I ues r stuff was pretty old, but I a nee ine the scenery dated back pee ma. Some men can never rise su Sante shop talk or understand the true oa of the feminine mind.—Cine math Commercial Tribune. — » yemarked the Reflections of a Bachelor: A girl is bound to have @ weddi some sort; if she can’t get hese says she is wedded to her work. The more a woman talks avon’ equality of the sexes the less ane Pe to admit that she has to work fo 1 ing. The main reason why short baie will never become popular with wom F is because they couldn't wear ou their old shoes.—New York Press. ng of she Careleasiy Expressed- “I don’t think it was exactly thought- ful of that lady who has just come back from South Dakota,” said the young man who had just been married. “What did she do?” inquired the bride. “She said she congratulated me and wished me many happy returns of the day.”—Washington Star. A Force of Habit Clutch. : The drowning: man clutched frantic- ally at the straw. “Alas!” he shrieked in despair, “it is not sufficient to sustain me! Were there only a whisky punch with it [ might have strength to reach the shore!” A stream of bubbles marked the spot where he sunk.—New York Press. Nothing New. “They are making a great fuss in the papers about horseless carriages,” said one Brooklyn papa to another, who met while wheeling their babies. “Just a3 if they were something new!” chuckled the other, as the two men separated.— Harper’s Bazar. A Ueavy Contract. “Mamma, do fat angels?” 7? “Why, yes, my dear.” “Well, won't God have lots of fua teaching Aunt Susan to fly?” people become To Be Envied. “Really,” said the young literary man. “I shall have to go abroad to escape the autograph fiends.” “Young man,” said Mr. Cumrox, who has been having some small business complications, “you don’t realize how happy you are. When somebody comes and asks for your name in writing you don’t have to worry about what’s on the other side of the paper, like I do.” —Washington Star. Partially Right. During a Scripture lesson at a kin- dergarten school near Crystal palace, questions on the story of Methuselah were being put to the class, “Who was Methuselah?” asked the teacher. And after receiving many wrong an- swers, a bright specimen rose and said: “The longest man that ever lived!”— Answers. A Usefal Woman. “What a tiny woman that Mrs. Van Dyke is.” “Isn’t she?” “It’s their honeymoon, you know. and she sits on his desk all the time he’s writing.” “What a bother she must’ be!* “Oh, no, she isn’t. He utilizes her for a paper-weight.”—Clevelan@ Plain Dealer, Usually It's That Kina. “Tread here in the paper that Ham. mers has retired temporarily from the os) to devote himself to literary work, v1 b Bee What kind of writing does he “Epistolary prose. He spends. his time writing applications for another engagement.”—Judge, . A Dusarseahis Consequenee, » “You say you hate to visit your vTieh relatives? Why? Don’ well?” : ies iehalees “Oh, yes, they always do they can to make it Pleasant but my wife never gets through plaining until about two weeks after each visit because we are not so wel off as they.”—Cleveland Le; Slog Nt erick 5 A Commendable Difference. “Isee the queen of England h: pianos and doesn’t play any of Coane “That's a good girl. I knew a wom- an wi has only one Piano, but she plays like sixty!”—Cineinnati. cial Tribune. cia See: ———_ An Attractive Ofter, Her father boaght ber a new bicycle.”—Indianapolis Jour- “Harold,” said Harold’s ri NERS “if you will only stop suckin brreaay ettes I'll begin smoking them myself, and shorten my life by at least ten years.”—Indianapolis J * Pes