Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, July 27, 1901, Page 6

1 AD Fatale. mmm | /harriage. CHAPTER II. An Unwilling Bride. ‘Brian Mowbray was one of the bril- Want, versatile young men, with appar- ently a genius for everything, of whom 0 much is expected in youth, that the talent of ten ordinarily clever men would hardly suffice to realize such expectations. ut he had reached the middle age without accomplishing anything in par- ‘ticular, except to become the husband wf a pretty and silly yourg woman, and @ubsequently the father of a very love- Sy daughter. As the most ordinary young man can often accomplish this much, and even more, it was not regarded as an extra- ordinary achievement on the part of ‘young Mowbray. Rather the contrary, for when he had reached middle age, sand was admitted to be a failure by his ‘warmest friends, those who sought to excuse and to justify their own past -enthusiasm, declared that his foolish amarriage had ruined him. Anyway, whatever the cause, the fact ‘was there, glaring and undeniable. “Pcor Mowbray was a failure—an sanlucky fellow who always came to grief—worse still—whose ventures ai- ‘ways brought others to grief, also, when foolhardy enough to join him in ‘them.” His latest effort had been in Wall street, and it was Philp Grayson who thad held out a friendly hand. But Mowbray’s customary ill-luck ‘pursued him; his venture was a losing one, and entailed equal loss on Gray- zon. Philip only laughed good-naturedly. ‘fhe loss was a trifle to him, and he had valready fallen in love with Clarice. He told the father of the existence of this ‘tender sentiment, and asked for her thand in marriage, promising to settle upon her the bulk of his fortune, and also to make such provision for her | parents as would place them in afflu- } ance the rest of their lives. Mowbray accepted the rich suitor} ~with effusion. In his daughter's name, the promised that the wedding should | take place within a month. Then, al- | most embracing his future son-in-law, the addresesd Philip affectionately as “Dear boy!” wrung Philip’s hand with | quite natural heartiness, and flew to ac- quaint his daughter with the happiness i {nm store for her—for himself—‘or ev- ~erybody. The interview between Brian Mow- ‘bray and Philip Grayson had taken wtace in the down-town oftice cf the lat- ter gentleman, and the prospective - father-in-law had promised to cal that -game evening at the miilionai.e’s home, to bring with him the joyful news of @he bride-elect’s consent. This proposal somewhat disco: rtel ‘the ardent lover, who would have pre- ferred to rush at once to his love and do his own courting; but when Mow- bray strongly represented the timidity of his daughter, and the likelihood that ther maidenly delicacy might take clarm at such hasty and unexpected wocing, Philip felt constrained to take the fath- -er's ativice to proceed more slowly. i Mowbray took the quickest way home ——his vivid imagination already revel- ing in the pleasures to be enjoyed at xthe expense of his rich son-in-law. | He had just reached his own door, / when, like a cold shower bath, came the retnembrance of his daughter's pas- * g@ionate attachment to young Austin, and the engagement, senctioned both ‘by his wife and himself, before Shir- Yey’s departure for Australia, two years ®efore. : “It was madness for me to have given eny consent,” he half-murmured, for- getting that Shirley Austin had then @eemed an excellent match for his pret- ‘€y ©ut penniless daughter. “But the fellow is dead, thank heaven, and the devil's in it if the girl is going to ‘thwart me now, when I have a chance of making all our fartunes—with her help. But, pshaw! I'll stand no non-/ ease. She must accept Grayson, and gladly, gratefully, too! Her mother can weep and I can look heart-broken, @nd Clare is a good child—biess her heart!” With this comforting reflection, Mr. Mowbray hastened to acquaint his fam- fly with the joyful news he carried. Clarice Mowbray was, as her father @aid, a “good child,” but, as he soon Yearned, she-had, where her heart was e@oncerned, gone far beyond childhood. She was a woman, with all a woman’s @etermination and strength where her @ffection was placed; and when her father first broached the subject of a aparriage between her and Philip Gray- @on, he was met with a prompt and vig- erous refusal. Mowbray stormed, entreated, threat- ened—ail in vain. Clarice answered, firmiy: “No, father; never will I promise to garry Mr. Grayson while my hand and theart both belong to Shirley g\ustin!” “But Austin is dead, girl, I tell you! ‘You can’t marry a dead man!” thun- @ered Mowbray, becoming indiscreetly oarse and rough. Clarice grew pale, but she shook her fhead and answered, quietly: “Of this I have no convincing proof yyet. An idle rumor is not sufficient ev- ‘idence to my mind of a calamity so ter- wible as Shirley's death would be.” “Yhen, if not dead, he is worse!” pur- wued her father, cruelly. “You have ‘had no word from him for more than a year. If he Is still living, what kind of a lover do you call that? He has for- « gotten you and married some other girl OD ELIZABETH CAMPBELL. Cael You are cruel and heartless to speak such words by such a thought, father. to me; but you can never make me wrong him, too!” “Then, where is he? If so constant and true as you believe him, he must be dead. How else, in these days of fast ships, do you explain his silence? Far away though it be, the mails are regular enough. Why have you no tid- ings from him? Ah, my sweet child, believe your poor father, who cares for you, most of any one! If Shirley Aus- tin still lives, he has forgotten you and married some other girl.” “I will stake my life on his faith and truth!” returned Clarice, with enthusi- asm. “Believe him dead, then—there is no other way out of the affair—dead or false!” retorted her father, with cruel decision, Clarice wrung her hands wildly and groaned aloud, in the extremity of her tortured feelings; but her father, deaf to that sound of suffering, pursued the slight advantage he had gained, and only changed his tone from hard and almost brutal to one that was coaxing and wheedling. “Don’t give way, Clarice—don’t give way like that! Think of others besides yourself. Haven’t I been a good and kind father to you? What have I ever refused you, when I had the power to get it for you? The world has been hard on me, Clarice; I have had much disappointment to bear and few consol- ations. Think, my daughter—oh, think deeply before you decide on destroying the last chance I may have of yet mak- ing a successful life! But I will not speak of myself; my life has been nearly all disappointment, and I have learned to bear it. But consider your mother—so delicate, so little able to bear suffering and privation—and how much of it she may have in store for the futurej if you waste your youth in useless regrets for one who is either dead or false. % will say no more now, but to implore you to consider deeply all that I have set before you.” Mr. Mowbray ended his exhortation, having persuaded himself that every word he had spoken was sincere and from his heart—as, indeed, from his “own way of thinking, was truly the case. Clarice was touched by the reference | to hér mother, who, in a weak and silly way, adored her daughter. But she would give no promise, only reiterating that she could not bring herself to believe in Shirley Austin’s | death. Mowbray restrained any show of dis- | appointment or rage, though his feel- | ings almost overpowered him; for he was wily enough to see that much care } would be necessary in obtaining. Clare's consent. ; “She will yield at last, if we but man- age her well,” he thought. “I will leave her now to her mother. But, by Jove, IT must look out that Grayson | does not see her in this mood. She would refuse him in such a way that he would never ask her again, for he’s both proud and conceited. If I had/ proof that Austin was really dead, or | had forgotten her! The latter woula be even better, for she has a fine spirit when it’s roused. Yes; I could manage her well if I had wounded love and | pique to back me.” 3) While these thoughts took rapid shape | in his mind, Mowbray had been holding his daughter's hand in one of his, ab- | sently stroking her fair, silky hair with | the other. With a half-audible sigh he now em- braced her, called her a good girl, and, by his manner, almost caused her to feel that she had already given some promise in regard to Philip Grayson. Before she could protest, or even utter a word, he left her abruptly and sought his wife. Mrs. Mowbray was at all times a figure of wax in the hands ofher her husband. At any moment he could mould her to his will, and now, with her own desire to aid him—for she was dazzled with such a prospect of wealth for her daughter as well as for herself —it was easy to win her as an enthusi- astic supporter for the scheme on hand. That evening Mowbray called upon Philip Grayson, according to appoint- ment, but it was not to bear Clare’s grateful acceptance of the proposal with which the millionaire had honored her. On the contrary, he felt obliged to explain the situation by a garbled version of the truth. Grayson’s face became very dark and angry. “I understood you to say that your daughter’s hand was free,” he said, stiffly. Mowbray hastened to reassure him and vindicate himself. “She is free, my dear boy—quite free. The man I speak of it dead.” Grayson’s face cleared rapidly. “Ah, a dead man!” he said, slowly. “To a man like me that is not a very dangerous rivalry.” Before they parted Mowbray had again promised the millionaire that Clarice should become his wife, and the lover seemed satisfied with the assur- ance. A rumor soon spread abroad that Clarice Mowbray was to marry Philip Grayson, and although it was speedily discussed in society and glariced at in occasional newspaper paragraphs, it was several days before it reached the ears of Kate Martin. When it did, she lost no time in find- ing out full particulars on the sub- ject, including everything about Clarice and her family that she could learn. ago. Australia is a long way off, anu two years—the period of your en- gagement, if I remember correctly—a Tong time to wait. Austin has wisely consoled himself with some one not so far away from the city of New York.” Clarice became even paler, though her eyes flashed indignantly; but she aanswered, steadily: . “You know that you wrong Shirley Having possessed herself of all the outside information that was possible, Mrs. Martin concluded her researches by calling on her brother. In the meantime Clarice had been subjected, in the bosom of her own family, to.a system of clever persecu- tion. Her father went about with the face and manner of a martyr, occasion- ally heavimg a deep and piteous sigh when his gaze met that of bis daughter. Her mother alternately wept, smiled, entreated or despaired, as occasion seemed to require . But it was not until a detailed ac- count of Shirley Austin’s death—pur- porting to come from a correspondent in Australia—appeared in a daily pa- per, that Clarice showed symptoms of yielding. ' “Do with me as you please,” she said, when her mother next spoke of Philip Grayson’s proposal. "Shirley is dead, and my heart is buried in his grave. You say that my father is in the power of this rich man, and that I alone can release him. Then, he promises you, mother, all the luxuries your delicate health requires. Very well, then, I am willing to sacrifice myself. It is hardly @ sacrifice now, since I would willingly be disposed of, one way or anothet. This world holds nothing now that I care for; do with me as you please.”’ Mrs. Mowbray kissed the girl's pallid cheek, little impresesed by the despair of the words and voice, for her shallow nature was incapable of understanding a heart like her daughter's. She then hastened with the news to her husband, who, in turn, was soon on his way to carry the joyful intelligence to Grayson. It was agreed between the two men that the impatient suitor might call on the following day, and learn the full éxtent of his happiness from the lips of Clarice; and it was to keep this same appointment that Philip hastened away after parting with his sister. Clarice was seated, alone, in the little parlor, where he had first met her. He was very much in love, and didn’t try to conceal it. His eager gaze drank in her whole appearance at a glance. She was simply dressed in a_half-tight wrapper of white cashmere, without a shade of color to relieve its cold, creamlike tint, save the violet of her large and lustrous eyes. Her face, pale as her robe, was down- cast, and her gaze was fixed absently on her slender white hands, clasped loosely on her lap. Her golden-brown hair, fine and soft as floss silk, that reached half-way to her feet when unbound, was now close- ly braided and wound in glistening beauty, around her finely-shaped heaa. To the most indifferent beholder she would have seemed a very handsome girl; but her restrained, cold, impas- sive countenanc? gave little idea of the radiant brilliancy natural to her. She did not move ,or even raise her eyes, when the man she had promised to marry entered the room; but as he approached her a wave of color swept over her face and neck, and he could see that she trembled. He came nearer, and she rose, slowly. Then he took the hand, she did not offer, and held it closely in his. Placing his arm about her, he drew her to him, and kissed her passionately, but quite with the air of a man taking possession of his own property. “My darling!” he murmured, “I never saw you look so beautiful!” Clarice shuddered and drew away from kim. “Oh, Mr. Grayson,” she faltered, “pray don’t expect too much of me so soon! You know—I hope you have been told of my sad story. I am a poor, heartbroken girl. All my hopes of hap- piness are buried in the grave of the only man I can ever love!” Grayson laughed lightly. “All young ladies speak that way to the men who come second,” he said. “But I am content to wait, dearest. I won’t hurry’ you.” “Thank you, thank you. You are very good to me. And you are my fath- er’s friend. You promise to be kind and generous to my sick mother. You will see I will be grateful, and if you will be patient, Mr. Grayson, I will try to be a true and affectionate wife.” “And when woll you marry me, my lovely Clare?” “Whenever you please. Since I am to marry you, the soner it is over and done with the better.” “Quite my opinion, too, you most sensible little girl,” and again Grayson drew his betrothed close to his breast, and pressed his lips to hers. But this was more than the tortured girl could bear. She tore herself from his embrace and dropped into a chair, buried her face in her hands, and gave way to violent weeping. For a moment her middle-aged lover looked at her with a dark frown, and a keen pang of jealousy smote him to the heart. Words that were half-resentful, half- } scornful, rose to his lips, but, with ar effort, he wisely restrained himself from uttering them. The frown cleared away from his face, and a gentler. al- most pitying, look took the place of ft. “Poor child!” he murmured, “poor child! I will try not to expect too much of you at first.” . With a ‘caressing touch he stroked the bowed head, and though ft seemed very hard to forego his rights as an ac- cepted lover, he turned away without any further effort at a farewell em- brace. j Clarice raised her face, caught his hand impulsively and pressed it to her lips for a moment. “Thank you!” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Grayson. I appreciate your kind- ness to me!” He left her without another look, feel- ing that he had obtained a kind of vic- tory, and anxious not to spoil it. And she sat listening to the sound of steps descending the stairs, until the loud bang of the front door told her he had gone from the house. Then, witha sad and very bitter ery, she flung her- self on her knees and tried to pray, but the words that passed her lips were these: “Oh, Shirley! Shirley! Why did you not come back to me? Why did you ever leave me?” CHAPTER Iv. A Terrible Deed. It ts seldom that a wedding of such importance as that of Philip Grayson is arranged and carried out with such speed as was shown on this occasion. The bridegroom was desperately in love, and that of itself might have been a sufficient explanation; but, apart from the natural impatience of the lover, there was a degree of heste which seemed to indicate that some one or more of the pafties interested seemed to fear some obstacle which might in- tervene to break off the nuptials for~ ever. both of Grayson and his friend Mow- bray, and each encouraged the other to do all that was possible to hasten the wedding. Where the bride's consent had been already obtained, and unlim- ited money was at the call of every- body, this was easy enough. Mrs, Mow. bary, who had been entrusted with the care of the trousseau, was found to be entirely equal to all that was required of her, for she possessed an absolute genius for shopping, and excellent taste in the selection of attire. For about two weeks a half-dozen milliners and dressmakers, with their assistants, were kept in a state of de- lightful activity, and at the end of that time everything was declared to be in readiness for the bridal. Clarice alone remained indifferent to these interesting preparations. It was with difficulty at times that she could even be induced to try on the exquisite robes being made for the wedding out- fit, and her proud and happy mother was often driven to despair by the lack of interest her daughter showed in the approaching event. “Brian, my love,” Mrs. Mowbray ven- tured to say, “I fear the loss of her young lover weighs on our poor girl's heart more than we think. Her utter callousness in regard to such beautiful clothes as are every day sent home to her is unnatural. Clarice frightens me sometimes. You remember that stilet- to, with a jeweled handle, that Shirley Austin gave her? I told him at the time it was an unlucky thing to give any one, especially one’s sweetheart.” “What about it?” Mowbray interrupt- ed, impatiently. “Why, just this. I went tmto Clar- ice's room yesterday, and I found her handling that stiletto, and looking at it in a very curious way. ‘Good gracious, Clarice, whatever are you doing with that thing?’ I asked. She gave me the queerest look, and then she laughed, in a strange, forced way, and said: ‘I think I shall fasten my wedding veil with it, mamma. It will be so appro- priate, you see!" I begged of her not to think of such a dreadful thing. ‘Sell it,’ I said, ‘or have the jewels removed, i they are real, and throw the horrid hing away!’ But she just laughed again, in the same queer way, and, putting the stiletto back in a drawer, locked it, and took the key out. I tell you, Brian, I don’t like the look on our daughter’s face. She seemed capable of something desperate. You know, yourself, husband, it is not natural for a girl of her age to take no interest in her wedding dresses. Did you ever see me blind to the beauty of such clothes? —though I never had them of my own, I wish T had! There was a ruby vel- vet came home yesterday. I vow, I never saw anything so beautiful in my life, unless it was Clarice herself, when she was Gressed in it. Would you be- lieve it? She wouldn’t as much as turn to look in the mirror! Oh, I could have cried with vexation! Then there wasa tea-gown came home this morning, made of pale-green, with brocade and lace, for which I paid fiftydollars a yard, and a bargain, at that, too! She wouldn’t even try it on—the loveliest gown that I ever laid my eyes on! I repeat it, Brian, Clarice frightens me!” “Nonsense, Hetty!” don’t borrow trouble! Wait until she is married and gives her first reception. She'll appre- ciate her satins and laces then, I'll war- rant. But let me warn you of one thing. and look well to it. Have a care of what visitors she sees. A few days ago there was a letter for her in the morning’s mail, and some lucky in- stinct prompted me to open -it before giving it to her. The writer warned Clarice not to believe the reports of Austin’s death—promised to furnish her proofs to the contrary.” “Heavens and earth! But it may be so! Perhaps he is not dead!” “Stuff and nonsense! Of course he’s dead; but let her once get a notion to the contrary, and the marriage is off, perhaps for years, after the time we have tried to bring her to it. And if ence broken off or delayed, who can tell what change may come over Grayson before it can be arranged again? As it is, he shows the patience and consider- ation of a saint! I’m blessed if I would marry a girl who treated me as Clarice treats Grayson—no, rot if she were a princess and beautiful as Venus!” Mrs. Mowbray tossed her silly head and laughed, but kept her thoughts “to herself. “The letter was anonymous,” pursued Mowbray, returning to the original sub- ject; “but I have good reasons for be- lieving the writer to be Mrs. Martin, Grayson’s widowed sister, who has her own reasons for wishing to keep him a bachelor. You now see the necessity of allowing no callers to see Clare, except Philip, and let her have no letters untili I have seen them first.” In a panic of alarm, Mrs. Mowbray: promised implicit obedience. Notwithr- standing some little anxiety about Clarice, the possibility of losing the glory of ‘becoming mother-in-law to: Philip Grayson almost tcok her breath. away. The preparations for the ceremony. proceeded rapidly and safely, and. were- watched from afar with green-eyed envy by Kate Martin. cause, despite the most untiring efforts, she could not get near enough to view them closely. i More than once Mrs. Martim hadi written to Clarice openly, the letters. signed by her own name, as; well as. anonymously; but each letter had beem intercepted by the watchful father. In her relations of sister to, the ex~ pectant bridegroom, she had) called: twice on her future sister-inrlaw, and had been received by Mrs. Mowbray alone—received with effusion, and af- fectionate embraces; but Clarice was. not at home on either occasion, She had tried to bribe the servant, but, as she remarked, ‘Papa Mowbray had the inside track;” she had even: at~ tempted to waylay Clarice in the street. But Miss Mowbray never went out alone now, nor om foot when she did go. Mr. Grayson had presented her veith a beautiful coupe and a superb pair of horses, and the coachman, being in Philip’s own service, was incorruptible. “or just as bad,” Mrs. Martin said to herself, as she ground her sharp, white teeth in rage, “since I cannot hope to bid against a millionaire.” BatHed, defeated on every side, Mrs. Martin had to bear it calmly and look on with a smiling face, while impotent Some such thought was in the mind, fury consumed her heart. “T can at least go to the church,” she muttered, on the last day before the wedding. “They will not dare to shut but that will be too late—too late! Oh, it 1s maddening! If I could be see that girl me out from the ceremony; From afar, be- |; 'book has been prepared called “The | picture ingeniously portraying the ob- alone for five minutes, this matriage should be broken off forever. But it is impossible; I dare not do it openly. Philip would never forgive me, and J should then lose even the little I have now; and I have tried every means of reaching her, unknown, and have failed. Evidently they suspect me, for they are all as eager for the match a& he is—all except the girl herself. I must try some other way; but what other way is left for me? I thought, it the worst became necessary, that I had one remedy left to cure the evil; but even that seems unreliable now. Rob- ert behaves like a maniac. What do I say? Worse, a thousand times; he be- haves like a fool!” As if she had reached the clima x of her disappointment, Mrs. Martin flung herself violently on the sofa in her own front parlor and shed some very bitter but unrefreshing tears. As she wiped away the angry drops, her brother Robert entered, crossed the room toward a door leading to his own ppartment, and paused as he caught sight of her, to ask what was the mat- ter. “Need you ask?” she answered, impa- tiently. “Oh, Robert, have you forgot- ten already that Philip is to be married to-morrow, and what, then, will become of us? As soon as he has a family of his own to absorb his attention, he will take no further interest in us. Have you forgotten all this?” “No, Kate, I have not forgotten it,” Robert Grayson answered, quietly, and without any trace of excitement in voice or manner. “Philip is to be mar- ried in Grace church to-morrow at noon, and after the ceremony the bride and bridegroom are to leave for Flori~ da on their wedding trip. Yes, I know.” And he passed calmly from the room. “There he goes!” exclaimed Mrs, Martin, in a frenzy of impatience. “That's the way now—serene indiffer- ences to words that would have made him blind with passion only ten days ago. What can it mean? One might actually suppose he had recovered his reason; but it’s enough to drive me mad!” The wedding day dawned bright and cloudless. If the old saying, “Blessed is the bride that the sun shines on,” contained any truth, Clarice ought to have beer the happiest of mortals, al- though the outspoken curses of Kate Martir might have darkened the air around her. As for that embittered and wretched woman. she found herself dressing for the wedding in a state of bewilderment that made it impossible to quite realize that she was not the victim of am ugly dream. Her two eldest girls, Bertha and Let- ty, were already dressed in the gorge- ous costumes provided by their uncle Philip, and so well satisfied with them- selves and everybody. else that they would have been willing to have had Mr. Grayson take a mew wife once @ year; for the pleasure of attending the bridal. At last the carriage was announced, and the two girls danced gaily down stairs: Mrs. Martir followed more soberty,. crossed the parlor amd knocked at Rob- ert Grayson’s room. (To Be Continwed.) ‘ ABOUT JAPANESE SHIPYARDS. There Is One im Tokio Which Cover |: Nearly Sixty Acres of Ground. The determination of Japan to be- come, in every sense, a modern natiom |, is in mo Jine of development made more plain then in the matter of shipyards. The Tokio shipyard, covering fully six-. ty acres, is reported as: employing” 3,- 000 men, who have all the latest ma- chinery’ including pneumatic riveters; ané six steamers of 180,000 tons are on the stocks, two of them for the Nippor Yusen Kaisha. The fact that the works are equipped with electricity is: a further indicatiom of the progressive spirit now ruling: The shipbuilding yard at Nagasaki is also going ahead, but special interest attaches te the mew government steel’ works. Some 5,000,000 yens have al- ready been spent; but 15,000,000 yens have Beer voted. The works are on the eastern shores Kiushiu, the most southern of the large islands forming ihe empire, and are, therefore, contig- uous to Ghina. The: esablishment,.cov— ering 230 acres, fs close by the coal fields, connected with the railway, and @ sea port having over twenty feet of water; wilt be @mvenient for the ship- ping of the finished porducts to the northern islands, and also to Chine, which uitimately must become a large customer: The works are thoroughly equipped. In addition to blast fur- maces; there are coke ovens, and in the steel department open-hearth Bessenr- er furnaces, wittr a full set of roiling mills: for roughing, three bar mills, as’ weil as rail, sfreet and plate roils. There are steel and iron foundries, boiler shops; laboratories, testing and other departments. The works will soon be put im operation, construction being far advanced.—Manufacturer: Accents By Phonograph. Tt has long been supposed that France, or at least a Frenchman, is necessary for the acquisition: of a prop- er French aceent. This is no longer so, now: that an ecoromical substitute for the Frenchmar has been found in the phonograph. It is, understood that @ eorps ef French professors are spend- ing their whole time in conversing irte phonographs. A professer’s day’s work is to filt thirty phonographic cylinders. These cylinders aretdestined to go forth bearing precious Frereh accents inte thousands of happy English homes. A Pictortal French Course.” It contains thirty Ieesons, each illustrated by a jects alluded to im the lesson. Each lesson corresponds, word for word, with one of the phonographic discourses. AN that the student has to do, therefore, fs to set his phonograph going. The book will tell him what it is saying. It will be seen that the new system is pic- torial-cral—London Daily Mail. No Cause for Complaint. Mistress—I'd just like to know what was the meaning of all that loud and angry talking down stairs last night. Domestic—-That was just me and me husband, mum. “Your husband? You told me when you came that you were not married.” “I wasn’t then, mum; but you com- plained @bout havin’ so much love- makfn’ in the kitchen, so I married one of 'em.”"—New York Weekly, ~e Capital ~ Gossip BITS OF NEWS GATHERED AT Gov. Van Sant has appointed the fol- lowing delegates to the Farmers’ Na- tional congress to be heid at Sioux Falls, S. D,, Oct. 1 to 1%: Mrs. Bertha Dahl Laws, Appleton; Robert Bird, Bigelow; Thomas Hines, Keath; Jacob Bartels, Stephen; Otto Paterson, Weg- dahl; A. W. Trow, Gienville; E. D. Childs, Crookston; Fred Lossow, St. Clat . H. Underwood). Lake City; A. D. Warner, St. Paul; Earl ¥. Andrus, Mountain Lake; Prof. Thomas Shaw, agricultural department off tle Univer- sity of Minnesota, St. Anthony Park. e+ Secretary Bracken of the’ state board of health recently consulted Assistant Attorney General Dcnahower reiative to his power to issue a generai drder requiring the vaccination oft childrem throughout the state. In the-opiniom of the assistant attorney general: it lies» within the power of the state: board to issue such an order when any infee~ tious disease reaches the stage of a general epidemic. Mr. Bracken: believes that smallpox has reached so nearly the proportions of an epidemic that such a step will be necessary to pre-— vent its further spread. No order re~ quiring a general vaccination: has yet been issued by the secretary,. but’ one is expected to appear shortly. tee The state drainage board mettrecent- ly in the office of Gov. Van Sant to» consider methods for applying the mon- ey appropriated by the last legislature- for the drainage of state lands. The- commission appointed George Ralph of Crookston engineer of the commission. When he reports for instructions: the petitions for aid will be put in form to enable the commission to know how much land it is necessary to drat titions have been received from Aitkin, Norman, Beltrami, Red Lake, Wadena, Marshall, Roseau and Polk counttes: asking for a share of the $25,000 avail- able this year. The commission has-not yet decided whether it will make:a- personal inspection of the land) tobe drained. tee A mumber of editors of country~jour- nals appeared before the state tax com- mrission at the capitol recently to urge upon that body to increase the allow- | amee to newspapers for the publication of tax lists. The price now is 12 cents | per description. The publishers claim | some descriptions are so lengthy that the price is much below justifiable | vatem. “ther states pay much more, and the commission is asked to -in- erease the rate in Minnesota. The edi- tors who appeared before the commis- sion ineluded C. F. McDonald of the St. Cloud Times, W. G. Joubert of the Litchfiela) News-Ledger, Julius Sian | of the Redwood Gazette, W. G. Hayes _ |. of the Sleepy Eye Dispatch and 'As:N. Dare of the Elk River Star-News» e+ The state forestry board has instruct- |, ed the executive committee to appear before the tax commission and request |. that it recommend in its report that:all |, lamds forfeited for delinquent taxes: be turned over to the board to be used ‘for forestry purposes. If the board secures these lands and a suitable appropria- tion from the legislature for the work. it will reforest the land and hold ‘it as: a@ permanent state domain. Whennthe- | trees Ihawe grown to a marketable size the: state will then sell them at a prop- ) er price and replant the land. The- | state will then command a growing: revenue from its forestry domain. get donations of cut-over land for for- |; estry’ purposes. The board secured:the- promise of 17,000 acres but, as yet only | 1,000 have come into its actual posses- siom. The board instructed the execu~ f tive: committee to procure lists of lands: that were turned over to the forestry | beard wnder the act passed April 13 | This imetudes all land sold for delin- | quent taxes prior to 1891 that hadcnot: been redeemed or sold and are nobagri- cuibural Jands. et Assistant State Labor Commissioner: Hammond will appear before the. stat- ute revision commission in a few: days. to ask its aid in revising the state born laws. There are on the statute: Books, he says, a large num.ber:of-acts: for the protection of labor which, through their erratie construction, ares practically void. One of the laws he: cites is the ten-hour law pasexd ‘in 1878 and amended in 1895, making ten hours. ,2 tut working day; The law says that- “any stockholder og overseer, employer; elerk or foremam who shail compel! any person or sitall permit any child: under fourteen years so employed,’ to. Tabor more tham ten hours: shall be: gufity of a misGemeanor ardisubject-to. | » fine. enforce the lav. He has taken the po-- sition that no, ease coulf be brought into court that would hald, as no.em- ployer of labor can conapel a man ta work for hin» except wnder contract. Manufacturers that work their mem over the lawful time @o not order the men to wanit;, they pug it in the-form. of a request, though the-men kwow that a refusal t# work wowld be likely to mean discharge. Were the wording of the act “permit any person or child un~ der fourteen,” Mr. Hammend: says. the commission could enforce: the law. PLUNGES YO HIS DEATH. ‘Werried Over Business Matters a Paul Pwinter Suicides. St. Paul, July 20—A man, supposed ta be Warren J. Woodbury, publisher of the Minnesota White Ribboner, the of ficial organ of the W. C. T. U., jumped to his death from the high bridge at 2 o'clock yesterday afternoon. The teap was made at the time scheduled in a © letter written hy Woodbury to hia brother, All @. Woodbury, Despond- ency ever busi affairs, his relatives say, was probably the cause, The bod) has not been cqcovered, es * ‘The forestry board has been trying to. ‘The commissigmer has mot tried. to. " ad |