Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 9, 1899, Page 8

|The Arnewood Mystery BY MAURICE H. HERVEY. | Author of “Dead Man's Court,’’ “Somerville’s Crime,’’ “Dartmoor,” ‘“‘Maravin’s Money,’’ etc., etc. o o PROLOGUE. About forty miles southwest of Cook- town, in Northern Queensland, - but well out of the beaten track to -famed Palmer gold fields. ndy ravine, known to the few . s who have from time to time given it a trial, as “Black Horse Gul- ly.” Report had it that gold existed plentifully in that district, though no », it was said, except one man, a German, had ever found the precious metal there in any considerable quan- tity. This fortunate digger visited Cooktown to obtain supplies and to bank his gold, and many unsu sful attempts had been made to track him back to the source of his wealth, Upon one of these periodical visits he died uddenly, and the secret as to the whereabouts of his claim was beli¢ved to have died with him, te one afternoon in July, a man, dressed in the usual red flannel shirt and moleskins affected by~the digger ¢lass, rode into Cooktown upon a lean, Jaded horse, and dismounted at an un- pretentio little inn known as the Miners’ Arms. Llaving hitched his horse to a veranda post, he entered the nodded to the landlord and a few ace customers, and curtly demand- bed for the night. * replied the landlord, re- » the slate. “There are half you to pick fron il the ” was the re- for two beds.” gged his shoul- = placed a pound note upon the counter, and, in the usu- al Australian style, ordered drinks for ali those pr nt. He then handed his steed over to the care of a sta- n and proceeded on foot to the postoflice. “Any letters for Luke Arnewood?” he inquired ixiously. “PH s plied the delivery clerk, proceeding to examine the contents of a pigeon hole. ‘Where from?” he add- ed, a little suspiciously. “The old country—London,” was the Dr. v's all right. I’ve had let- ddressed here before. See here.” So saying, he produced several letters in proof of his sertion, and the clerk’ s doubts va “All right,” he rejoined. “We have to be a bit careful, you know. Here are three letters for you; one from London, right enough. The two others he Dublin postmark.” likely,” rejoined the applicant, almost clutching at the letters in his eagerness. He placed them carefully in his bosom and retired, muttering some gruff words of thanks. He then returned to the inn, ordered some din- ner, and retired to the bedrcom he had Bex -d, in order to peruse his corre- spondence in fp e, For some me nts he sat staring at the addresses upon the letters, as though coubtful which to open first, and finally unsealed the one bearing the London postmark. It ran as fol- lows: x Street, ; London, W. : June 2nd, 03 “Sir—Your favor of April 2th to hand, wherein you inform us that you are the only son of the Mr. George Arne wood Arnott), for whom we advertised ne ‘Queenslander’ and other Australian newspapers, and that your father died two years ago. We have forwarded your communication to Messrs. O’Brien and Grudgery, so- Jicitors, Dublin, from whom you will doubtless hear in course of post. Yours, faithfully, —Hawkins & Go., Per Weston, Luke Arnewood, Esq., pstoffice Cooktown, Queensland.” “hat tells me nothing,” he muttered, opening a second letter; and, though a strong, healthy-looking man, his hand shook as he did so, “Re Arnewood’s Trust, 18 Harcourt Street, Dublin, June 4th, 1893. Dear Sir: Our London agents, Messrs Hawkins & Co., have forwarded us your reply to their advertisement in the ‘Queenslander,’ informing them that Mr. George Arnewood is dead and that you are his only son. A ssuming your statement to be correct and sus- ceptible of satisfactory proof (as is, we make no doubt, the e), We have to inferm you that you are, as your fath- entitled in tail-mail, to the extensive and .valuable estates owned by your grandfather, the late Mr. Basil Arnewood, D. ‘ J. P., who died in- testate last. November, It will, of course, be necessary for you to establish your claim fu! to this end, we would direct your at- tention to the importance of the follow- ing: Certificate of your father’s mar- riage: certificate of your birth; certifi- cate of your father’s death; any let. ters or other documents left by him, tending to establish his identity and yours. We would suggest the advisa- bility of your depart for Ireland at as early a date as possible. Should you be in want of funds for the voyage, we shall remit you what you require, upon hearing from you to that effect; and, we would be obliged by your sending us copies, at the same time, of such of the above named certificates as may be in your possession. Your obedient servants, O'Brien & Grudgerby, Luke Arnewood, Esq., PF. O. Cooktown, N. Queensland.” It was a terse, explicit letter enough, and a look of wild delight came into the digger’s eyes as he perused it. “Estates, wealth, positior,” he mut- tered, “in return for ahole in the / a few ounces of gold dust, hardly earned, and the life of a navvy —not a bad exchange! I wonder whom the,other letter is from?” It proved t6 be from a gentleman signing himself Richard Blake, and who gave his address as the Kildare Street, Dublin Club. He had, he said, just heard from O’Brien & Grudgery of the discovery in Queensland of the ng heir, and, as a relative. he ened to send his congratulations. “We shall all be delighted to see a master at the head of the old place ence more.” he added, “except, per- ps, your cousin, Richard, who, bar- ring you, would, of course, succeed to Arnewood, and who may be a trifle sore at first. I suppose you will keep O’Brien & Grudgery informed as to your movements, and I hope you'll find time to drop me a line, as well.” This epistle might have been meant in the friendliest spirit, but it produced no other effect upon its recipient than to provoke an ejaculation of contempt. “Pshaw!” he exclaimed, aloud, as though he were addressing the writer in person. “I wonder what sort of a numbskull you take me for, Mr. Rich- ard Blake?” Nevertheless, the idea that he was thus early being sought out and toad- led to, pleased him, in a way; and he went to his dinner in as contented a frame of mind as is possible to a mau of naturally morese dispesition. It is a custom, rarely honored in the breach, that when a digger stays over night in a town he shall go the round of certain resorts, chiefly public houses patronized by other gold hunters, and there exchange mining gossip and | scraps of news. Our man had proved | an exception to this rule, hitherto; and, in all his previous visits to Cooktown, he shunned the society of other d gers—for his own good reasons. Ne erthele upon this particular evening he so relaxed this aloofness as to share in the conversation and nur ous drinks indulged in by a numbe gold hunters who had found their y to the bar of the Miners’ Arms. Ap- parently either he deemed that the good news from Dublin had rendered his wonted caution unnecessary, or, being almost a stranger in the district, he trusted to pass unquestioned. So he did, until a man, remarkable alike for his well-nigh dwarfish short- ness of stature and almost ludicrous breadth of shoulder, pushed his way, good-humoredly, to the somewhat crows ded bar, ar the road for the Dutch giant, lac he chuckled, hoarsely. “Halloa, Dirk! What cheer, man?’ chorussed several voices. “Nigh stony, boys!” replied the new- comer, and with scarcely a trace of reign accent. “But Dirk Vanstrom’s | ys good for a few drinks, eh, What, you her he added, ad- | ng the recipient of the lette .” growled the latter. yeu see Iam? Why shouldn't I be “No reason that I know of, mate,” | rejoined Dirk, drily, “except that I} thought you and your mate were too busy clearing out old Schneider's aim on the ‘Black Horse’ to waste a night in Cooktown.” It y difficult to define, from the speaker's tone whether he were in joke or in earnest; but, from the chorus of laughter which greeted his words, it was evident that the bystanders re- garded the alleged discovery of the old German's fabled claim as an excellent joke. Not so the object of the dwarf- ish Dutchman’s banter, who, shortly afterward, retired, sulkily, for the night. Dirk gazed reflectively, upon his retreating form, but he made uo further allusion to Black Horse Gully. The lean horse had a good spell of rest, for not until 9 o’clock the next morning was he called upon to bear his owner to the local branch of the Na- tional Bank. The manager smiled as his red-shirted visitor removed his. broad, many-buckled leathern belt and placed it upon the counter. Banks made a good profit upon the purchase | of gold, and but little of the precious metal had found its way to Caoktown lately. One by one, and very carefully, he emptied the pockets, fixed upon the inside of the belt, of the gold dust and “shotty nuggets” which they contained, The delicate bullion scales were then called into requisition, and gave the aggregate weight of the gold as 2lbs, | 9oz. Gdwt. “Will you draw the value in cash now?” inquired the manager, suavely. | “No; I'd rather leave it with you for the present,” was the reply. “I have more gold besides that lot.” “I'm very glad to hear it,” replied the | manager. We'll buy all you care to bring us. I'll just make out a deposit receipt and take your signature.” Hesitatingly and slowly, as though | unused to wielding a pen, the new de- positor wrote Luke Arnewood in the | signature book, received his deposit form and slouched out of the bank, | Dirk Vanston was standing outside the building with, apparently, no more en- grossing occupation on hand than to | study the anatomy of the lean horse. “Good-day, mate,” was the Dutch- man’s cordial greeting. “Been putting up seme of old Schneider's leayings? | He used to bank in the very same | eribY For all reply, the digger sprang | swiftly upon his horse’s back and} drove heme his sharp spurs. With + i snort of pain, the poor brute lashed | out viciously, and came within an ace of dashing out the Dutchman’s brains. Herse and rider then disappeared down | the street. Dirk Vanston’s eyes flashed fiercely, | as he realized the imminence of the peril he had just escaped; but he; quickly regained his wonted good hu- mor. “All right, my sulky friend,” he mut- | tered, chuckling softly te himself. “It/ is your secret I want to get at, not your ; life. And I reckon I'll make better use ground; old | | urbroeken silence, ‘night easily | of the bottle. | glared fiercely at the speaker. of your bromby’s hind shves than you did just now, anyhow!” Meanwhile, the subject of these com- ments betook himself to the general store, and gla:ldened the heart of the storekeeper by a large order for sup- plies of all sorts, from flour and tinned meats to tea and tobacco, “You'll have to send the stuff on to Joe Marshall’s shanty at Thirty-Mile Creek,” he remarked, as he paid the bill. “My pack horse knocked up there on the way in.” “All right was the reply. shail I consign it?” The other hesitated a moment. “To Louis Arnott—A-r-r-n-o-t-t,” he said, spelling the name for the storekeeper’s guidance. He then turned to leave; the store, but, as though struck by an, at- terthought, returned and announced his intention of taking two bottles of brandy with him. These having been carefully packed in the thick digger’s blanket that was strapped to the pom- mel of the saddle. he mounted anit set forth, in a southwesterly direction, at the best pace of which the lean horse was capable, * . “Lo whom * * Some five hours later a man, almest his counterpart in general appearance, and cf about the same age, was seated upon a log outside a ramshackle shel- ter that was half-tent, half-hut, smok- ing and applying himself with suspi- cious. frequency to a tin pantakin. be- ide him. “Ought to be back by this time,” he muttered, “unless he got on a spree last night and slept it out this morn ing. That's what I'd have done, most likely. Anyhow, I wish he'd turn up.” Within a few minutes, and as though in answer to his wish, a shrill, pro- longed whistle resounded through the j glen, upon one side of which the hut | had been built. “‘Lhere he is, by thunder!” exclaimed the watcher, delightedly. And, p two fingers in his mouth, his reply rang forth as shrilly as the summons. Then he hastened to a sheltered nook hard | by, where a large kettle, hung gipsy- fashion over some smouldering em- bers, seemed to represent the kitchen of this establishment, patched up the half-extine fire, and awaited his ex- pected mate’s arrival. “Why, where’s the tucker?” he in- quired, friendly, greeting had been exchangea. The newcomer explained: The stuff won't reach old Joe’s till late to-night,” | he acded, “and we must do the best we can without it until to-morrow.” A sigh that was almost a groan greet- | You | ed this as might h on, any! A urance. “Hang it all! ve brought me a pint to go how!” nt sneer curled the neweomer's , quietly. “You'll find two bottles Martell’ stowed away in my swag. vo, Nat!” cried the other, Jo We've “You're a real bricl got ‘ilenty of grub left for a day or \ two.” The preparations for supper were as simple as the meal itself. A couple of , handfuls of tea thrown into a gallon of boiling water, tin plates and panni- kins, salt beef and doughy damper, pickles, and—for cutlery—jack-knives. Just a digger’s ordinary fare, minus 2 few simple luxuries which had run out. The nights are chilly, even in North- ern Queensland, in July (which there, of course, represents mid-winter), and | | the two adventurers preferred the shel- ter of the tent-hut to smoking their in- terminable pipes in the open. One of | the bottles of “Martell” was opened, and, beneath the dim light cf a very diminutive swinging lamp, they drank and smoked for some time in almost ' as tired men are wont to do after a hearty meal. Look- | ing at them as they lay—each on his blanket-covered have been brothers. Both were tall, mens of the ordinary blue- haired Anglo-Saxon type. rough, bunk—they taken for wiry speci- ved, brown- There did | not seem to be more than a year or two between them in point of age; they both wore beards, and the resem | blance was still further heightened by their similarity in dress, “How's the water in the shaft queried the returned wayfarer, p ently. “Gaining?” “Yes, confound it!” was the reply. “One can get it down by working like a nigger at windlass and bucket for a good long spell, but as scon as ever you . knock off, up it rises again. These last rains have put a stopper upon our game, Nat, for the present, at all events.” “Looks like it,” assented Nat, grufily. “What then?” “Well,” replied the other, “I’ve been thinking all day whether it wouldn't be just as well to chuck up the claim for, say, a couple of months, and start again with the dry weather.” “Pity you didn’t think of that before I ordered all that stuff,” said Nat. “There's been no more. rain since I left.” “No; but I didn’t realize how thor- oughly soaked the high ground must ; be until to-day,” explained his com- ; rade. “As for the tucker, most of it | will keep well enough at Jack shall’s for a month or two.” “See here. Lon Arnot,” rejoined Nat, drily. “You're not a bad sort of chap | at bottom, and you and I have pulled along well enough so far. But you've | an all-fired bad habit of beating | around the bush. Why don’t you say, straight cut, that you’ve a mind to chuck what it amounts to, because you know | very well that this is no one-man show, and that if you go I must take | on another mate.” “I suppose so,” said the other. half- filling his pannikin by an irritable’ tilt “That is, if you don’t knock off, also; but I don’t care a tinker’s curse whether you do or not. My share of old Schneider's leavings, | AE added to the bit the poor old dad w: able to leave me, will see me through as far as I went to go.” “As far as--Sydney, for instanee?’ suggested Nat, with a mocking laugh. The man addressed as Lou Arnott | “Well?” he said. “And supposing I do go to Sydney; have you anything to say against it?” “What! Against your trying your luck again with Ruby Patterson?’ cried Nat again, in the same mocking ; tone. “Not I! Why should I? Do you suppose I’m jealous? I daresay as soon as you show old Patterson the thousand or s0 you've made out of our claim here, he'll give the girl and a ; cool million straighaway. You needn't cing | after a brief, but apparently | lip. “I did better than that, mate,” he | » | Nat puffed hard at his pipe, Mar- | the claim altogether? ‘That's | gay anything about your recently-ac- quired taste for P. B., you know.” “Are you looking for a row?’ de- manded Arnott, savagely. If looks meant anything, the answer should have been a prompt affirmative. But, by a great effort, the aggressor kept his temper well under control, and quickly changed his tone to one of mild banter. “Don't be a fool,” he said, quietly. “Can’t you see I was only chaffing you? “I don’t like chaff where Ruby is concerned,” rejoined Arnott, consider- ably mollified. “All right, mate.” rejoined Nat, “then I'll drop it. “It isn’t good enough for us to dissolve partnership by a scrap- ping-match over old Ready-money Pat- terson’s daughter. So shake hands and have another drink to prove we're pals again.” ‘The proposal was entirely to Arnott’s taste, and harmony was quickly re- | Stored. “You're quite right, Nat, he replied. “We've neither of us anything to gain by quar! reling, and, although we were ae: nterrupted his comrade, . “We know all about that. She preferred you to me, and I—took a back seat. But suppose the old man | should still prove obdurate, what will your next move be?” “Can't say, exactly,” was the reply. “Ruby's not the sort of a girl to make a bolt of it with a fellow, and it’s a mean way of winning a wife, anyhow. Yet I knew she’s fond of me, and I— well. life don’t seem worth living with- out ber, Nat, and that’s the truth.” “Have some brandy, old chap,” suz- gested Nat, with a grave irony wholly lost upon the other. “You're feeling a | ae down on your luck in that quarter; | that’s what the matter.” | Arnott’s application to the bottle had lready been so frequent that, though tempter drank but very sparingly, it soo became necessary to open the | door; and, as often happens, the more he drank the more loquacious and sent- imental he became. Apparently quite oblivious to the fact that the man he {| Was talking to had been his bitter rival with respect to the git], he poured forth | his hopes and fears as into the ears of | 2 sympathizing elder brother. Had he but seen the look of savaeg, jealous | hate that at times almost distorted his ‘listener's face, he would surely have paused in his egotistical lov But he did not. Brandy and hi | maudlin passion for Ruby Patterson had blinded him very effectually. “You asked me, just now, Nat.” he , Went on, confidentially, “what I’d do if i my Sydney mission fails. and I said 1 | didn’t know. But I'll tell you what I think I'll do. Rather than lose Ruby, \I believe I'd go back upon my half- | premise to my poor old dad.” “What do you mean?” queried Nat, th well-feigned indifference. “Why, you know I promised him, just ; before he died, that I would, if possi- | ble, steer clear of all his people; and, so far as I am personally concerned, I don’t wish to have anything to do with ‘them. But it has occurred to me that jold Patterson would take a different view of my suit if I could pateh up some sort of a truce with my grand- |fatker. After all, there is a wide dif- | ference between Louis Arnott, the ad- | venturer, and Luke Arnewood of Arne- wood Hall. iss “Yes,” assented the other, through /his set teeth. “A wide difference, as course, it is on the cards that old ; Basil Arnewood would have no truck | with me at all,” continued Arnott, whose utterance was now thick and hu “but. on the other hand, he t bury the hatchet in my father’s grave, It’s just a toss-up, I imagine, what a spiteful old man like him will do, and he can’t have any personal dis- like to me, considering he has never seen me. Of course, if he does the de- cent thing and receives me properly. I could return to Sydney and have Ruby for the asking. If not, I shall be no worse off than before, bar the expense of the voyage to Ireland, and that {won't break me.” in si- ilence and with knitted brows, for a | full minute. Then, apparently remem- ‘bering the part he had to play, he once more shook off his ill-humor and af- fected to regard his companion’s plans ‘as more visionary than real. “Tl be hanged if I can tell whether you are joking or in earnest, Loo,” he remarked, “when you're a bit gone in ‘liquor. Come, now, own up! Is not | this all brandy-talk? You don’t really mean to go to Ireland, do you?” ‘Oh, but I do, though!” asserted Ar- | hott, nodding his head with tipsy em- phasis. “If Ruby’s father still refuses | me (as he probably will), it’s ten to one I shall book a passage by the first hon-eward-bound mail steamer.” “Is it?” echoed Nat. Anu tnere was | such a ring of mingled sneer and men. jace in his tone that even the drunken man noticed it. “Yes,” he repeated, defiantly, “it is. | What d’ye mean by your ‘is it? I sup- ‘pose I’m free to go where I please | without your permission, Nat Rains- | forth?” | “Yes, I suppose you are,” was the re- ‘ply. “Orly you see, this new scheme of ‘yours is so totally at variance with | your hitherto avowed determination to _stick by this claim until you had made | your pile, that it takes one aback a bit. : Please yourself, of course, but—"” “There’s no ‘but’ in the matter,” broke in Arnott, “and I mean to please myself. I'll go to Ireland, make my | peace with old Basil Arnewood, marry Ruby, aud—ha, ha—you shall come and : dance at our wedding, Nat!” “Ha, hat’ echoed: Nat Rainsforth, grimly. “You seem to have the pro- ‘gramme mapped out clearly enough; at j all events—Drink up, man!” As he spoke, he filled up his compan- icn’s glass and, for the first time, helped himself freely, also. Hitherto ‘he had shirked the brandy while pre- ‘tending to take his fair share. The pie for such caution had now, seem- ingly, gone by. Arnott was already so far gone that it needed but little mere of the potent spirit to overcome him completely. Yet, even after he had fallen back upon his bunk, hopelessly intoxicated, | Nat Rainsforth held up his head and poured brandy down his throat so long ‘as he retained even an_ unconscious | power of swallowing it. Then, for the second time, he mixed himself a stiff wugful, 1<lit his pipe and sat down and began to think out his plan of-action. bickes be Continued.) OUR BUDGET OF FUN. SOME GOOD JOKES, ORIGINAL ' AND SELECTED. A Varlety of Jokes, Gibes and Ironles, Original and Selected—Flotsam and Jetsam from the Tide of Humor— Witty Sayings. Man Who Told the Trath, There was a man who said, one day, “Unto himself: ‘Hereafter I Shall not be base enough to say A single word that is a lie; The truth I'll tell to each and all, To high and low and great and small!” And so he bravely started out, His heart was strong his spirit bold; Of all the things he talked about The truth and nothing else was told; He scorned the tricks of speech through which Mcn make themselves adored and rich. He told the whole truth, nothing more, And when they bore him home that night, His face was battered up and sore, And he was what is called a sight, He'd lost his job, his friends were few, But he had learned a thing or two, —From the Chicago Times-Herald. Where She Was Foollsh. “I wish now,” shrieked the angry young wife, “I wish now, Frederick Harrison, you had married Edith Mac- mahon instead of me! That’s what I wish!” “I would have married her,” yelled the infuriated husband, “only she wouldn’t have me, and you would.” A Foolish Question. Kind Old Man—Ah, going to school, boys? Duet—Huh, do we look like we wuz off to de circus? Inhuman Nature. Chicago News:. Mrs. Neighbors—I was very sorry, indeed, to learn of your sad loss, Mr. Hayrix. You have my deepest sympathy, Mr, Hayrix—Well, I calkerlate it war purty sadlike. I had ten uy th’ finest hogs in this yer hull teownship, an’ eight uv ’em’s deader’n a door nail. Mrs. Neighbors (horrified)—But I was referring to the loss of your wile. Mr. Hayrix—Yaas, misfortun’s never cew ’pear to come singerly. An’ I couid ’a’ sold them thar hogs for $20 a head, tew. How It Happened. ‘Shure, jedge, Oi mates Finnigan on th’ sthrate, an’, sez Oi to him, sez Oi ‘Finnigan, does yez moind th’ car-r- ridge ferninst us?’ “Oi do thot,’ sez he, “‘Toime was, Finnigan,’ sez Oi, ‘whin Oi rode in me own car-r-ridge,’ sez Oi, “Wid yer mither pushin’ it,’sez Fin- nigan sarcastic loike. An’ wid thot Oi oop an’ pushed me fisht into his face, plaze th’ coort.’—Baltimore American. Better Left Unsaid. After he had kissed her and pressed her rosy cheek agaimst his and patted her soft, round chin, she drew back and asked: “George, do you shave yourself?” “Yes,” he replied. “I thought so,” she said. is the roughest I ever—’” Then ‘she stopped, but it was too late, and he went away with a cold, heavy lump in his breast. “Your face Not What She Meant. hiladelphia Bulletin: “So you have given up your music since you got married, Mrs. Mango?” “Oh, yes; I seem to have forgotten all I ever knew about harmony.” Polite Attention. Prospective Boarder—Do I get all the comforts of home? Mrs. Hammond—yYes, sir. Home- made food and an experienced physi- cian always on hand. Hard Work. “I want somethink ter eat werry badly, sir,’ whined the grimy tramp *o the gentleman: “{ don’t know about that,” said the gentleman, eyeing the tramp with dis- gust; “but you want a wash very bad- ly. Why don’t you wash yourself?” “Well,” growled the tramp, “if 1 washes meself, wot’ll yer gimme? 1] ain’t a-goin’ ter work ‘ard fer noth- in’,’"—Nuggets. BASHFUL COUPLE. Tried to Hide Their Happiness, Bat Rice Exposed Them. “IT don't know why it is,” said H. RB. Riggs of Philadelphia, at the Holland House, “but young married ‘couples al- ways try to deceive the general publi¢ and create the impression that they - have been married for a long time. This has led to many jests and stories; but about as funny a thing in this con- necticr as I know of actually happen- ed to a triend of mine who got mar ried last year. The wedding occurred in the city, and the brougbam in which | they drove away from the house had beer liberally decorated with ribbons and streans by their friends. As soon as th turned the corner the bridegron.m ordered the coachman to take them to the nearest elevated sta- ticn, and there dismissed the obuox- ious cerriage. In pursuit of their plan of deception they determined to sit on opposite sides of the car, to pretend not to know each other, and to be appat- ently deeply absorbed in reading pa- pers. All of this they did, but every one that entered that particular car would first glance at one and then at the otLer, smile audibly and give them their undivided and amused attention, They saw that they were discovered, but in what manner it had come about they could not imagine. It was only when they finally got into the! ’ room in the train at the F street station, that the their deception failed to deceive re- veaied itself, for then they discovered that the brim of the groom's hat and the top of the bride’s headdress were white witk rice that had been thrown at them when they left the house. New York Tribune. POSTOFFICE ON THE HIGH SEAS. Passengers on One Liner Get Mail in a Barrel Thrown From Another. An unusual incident happened on the homeward voyage of the Castle liner, Carisbrook Castle, which brought the Jast mail from the Cape. The English letters not having ar rived before the Lismore Cz sailed from Cape Town for home, 3 of the Carisbrook Castle, which was to sail the following day, good-naturedly undertook to deliver the letters to the disappointed passengers of the Lismore Castle on the high seas. Overtaking her on the ocean, the let- ters were enclosed in a tin box and soldered up. This was then put into a flour barrel, with a pole attached flying a red flag, and, having passed the Lis- more Castle and got well ahead of her, the barrel was dropped overboard, the captain at the me time hoisting a sig- nal which had been prearranged. The Lismore Castle, coming up on her ccurse, in due time picked up the barrel, and the passengers received the anxiously-awaited news from home— New York Journal. Cowardly Act. Frau Hingstermeier, the wife of Herr Hingstermeier, the lion-tamer, was what may be termed—to put it mildly —a virago, and held Hingstermeier in absolute subjection. ‘The lion-tamer returned to the faml- ly caravan one evening ina state of hE larity which made him feel that he would better postpone an interview with his better half until this condition had worn off. He, therefore, conc ed not to sleep in the family quarters. The next morning his wife called him to account, and he explained that be had been having a little jollification, and did not wish to disturb her slum- bers en his return. “Where cid you sleep?’ she demand- ed. “In the eage with the lions,” he re- “Cow Y hissed Mrs. Hingstermei- er, with a “ook as of one robbed of her just dues.—Life. That Thoughtful Boy- Anxious Parent—Well, Arthur, were there many faults in your exercise? Arthur (just out of school)—Oh, lots. Anxious Parent—Did the Latin mas- ter ask if I helped you? Arthur—Yes; and I told him papa had. Anxious Parent—Why did you say papa? Arthur—Well, yow know, F wasn't going to expose your ignorance, mam- ma dear.—Answers. "ACTS ¢ GENTLY ON THE KIDNEYS, LIVER AND BoweELs GLEANSES THE SYSTEM so SEE PeGIVALL DisPets pse=spse=. OVERCOMES ae & FE eT HapityaL 20 STIPATION PERMANENTLY Ss BENE ic; ns ica EFFECTS Gurrnia fic SyrvPG WUEVIig gah TRANCISE eM, VO FOR SAUL BY ALs ORUGISTS PRIGL Sos PER BOT, a