Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, September 21, 1901, Page 6

ae | OHAPTER kIv—(Continued.) Rertha entered then, and found her mother sleepily rubb:ng both eyes and drowsily yawning. “Well,, dear, is it the doctor?” Mrs. Martin asked. “Detain him in the parlor for a moment, and I will conduct him to the presence of the patient.” And Bertha, wondering at this excess of ceremony, left the room to attend to her mother's directions. One brief momert the lady spent be- fore the mirror, Even in that ‘our of anxiety, perplexity and disappointment she remained true to her instincts—al- ways to app fair and charming to masculine eyes. So she touched her face with the powder puff, called up her brightest smile to curve her hand- gome mouth and give light and expres- gion to the flashing eyes, and then she ran lightly down stairs to meet the doctor, who feiled to show a prcper ap- preciation of her politeness. “I am in haste, madam,” said he. You must excuse me if I hurcy you.” “Don't let me detain you 2 moment, sir. Come.” And she instantly led the way. They found Shirley sitting up {n hed, propped up by pillows, looking very thin and pale, but evidently free from fever anil on the siow road to convales- cence. Flis face flushed brightly at sight of his physician, and, putting out a thin, pale hand, he said, warmly: “So you are the good Samaritan, af- ter all, dear old fellow! I thought I recognized you yesterday; but after you had gone, I began to think it a vision; I had so many, you knew, but none so pleasant as this, dear old Fravk!" Dr. Bethune took the thin hand in a warm and cordial grasp, and answered while he heid it and pressed his fingers to his pulse: “No excitement, you know, Austin. ‘And Im not the good Samaritan at all; I’m merely the physitian called in by this good lady. Sue is the Samaritan, and all your thanks are due her.” “Not in the least,” Mrs. Mart‘n hast- ened to say, in her most graciovs man- ner, “and I'm not going to intrude here an instant longer. I wished to see for myself that you were really getting better, sir,” ond she fleshed a bright smile at Austin; “and now good-bye. When you are stronger I will listen to al! the grateful words that you are 20 eager to say. By-by, now!” and she was gcne. In legs than half a minute she was on Al Fatale. ene Iharriage. the other side of the room, comfortably ensconced in the closet, with her grace- ful head pressed close against the par- tition. CHAPTER XV. The Listener. Mrs. Martin reached her place of con- cealment and eavesdropping just in time to hear the physician dismiss Nay- for on some pretext, in order that he might be alone with his patient; and then she heard Shirley Austin’s door -close softly as the nurse left the room. “{ see it will do you less harm to free ‘your mind, Austin, than, to keep you waiting,” said Dr. Bethune, good-hu- mmoredly. “Now, fire away. I'll answer ‘as fast as you question.” “Well, first, how comes it that I find syou in New York, when I last saw you Ym the wilds of Australia?” + Mrs. Martin could not see the warm flush that rose to the young physician's cheek, but she heard the tremor in his voice as he answered: “Because I couldn't stand it. As long es we were in the same country I could not keep away from that girl. It was no matter that she was in Melbourne while I was in the interior of the coun- try; I felt that I must put the ocean between us if I would forget her. I made a bold plunge for freedom, and ran away from her. I came here; but alas! I soon found that I had brought her with me in my heart; and now I em trying to run away from myself and my memories of her; but so far in vain. “De you love her yet?” asked Shirley. “What a question! Do you love Clar- fce yet? Ah, you needn’t answer! Your face answers for you. Even so T love Adele Lingard. “But Clarice loves me—at least she loved me once,” Shirley interrupted, in @ voice of great sadness. “Yes; and Adele loved me once—at least, she said so, and that served the purpose while she said it. I can never forget that I have held her in my arms —that I have heard the beating of her heart as it pulsed against my own— that my lips have felt her kisses in re- sporse tc mine. The memory is a tor- ture to me now; it burns into my heart and brain like fire; but I cannot quench it. Why, my dear fellow, I love that woman now so madly that I can- not understand why you did not retura her love—not even since I had seen the woman who filled your heart before you saw Adele.” “You have seen exclafmed Ehirley. “{ have seen the woman who was Clarice Mowbray. I have seen Mrs. Grayson.” “Oh, heaven, then, it is true!” Shirley exclaimed, in a voice of acute suffering. “{ had hoped against hope that the sight at the church door—Clarice in bridal white, leaning on the arm of her newly-mace husband—might have been Clarice Mowbray?” ELIZABETH CAMPBELL. Lane the woman to be, he was at any mo- ment ready to place himself on the de- fensive in her cause. “I will tell you!” said Shirley, excit- edly. And so deeply was Dr. Bethune in- terested that the physician was quite lost in the Icver. He failed to observe tkat his patient was in a fair way to bring back the fever and delirium which had hardly yet left him. “To my great misfortune, Miss Lin- gard chose to fall in love with me, as you know, Frank—” “Too well,” Dr. Bethune interrupted. *“T ought to have hated you, Shirley, as men usually hate those who rival them in the affections of the woman they adore. But I didn’t—I couldn't—my dear old fellow! I sup ose it was the memcry of the wild savage’s spear from which you saved me when we first met; or, perhaps it was because Adei+ loved you, or peraaps both. Be the reason what it may, I never Lated you, and rever coul:l. When I saw, beyond all doubt, that the woman I loved no longer loved me=perhaps never had loved me, and, worse than all, loved an- other man. I tore Snyself from her, though it nearly k‘Ved me, and IT hoped that she might be ha] py with my more fortunate frien: ” “Nothing could exceed the nobleness and generosity of your conduct, Frank; but Miss Lingard was unworthy of it. Don’t let me pain you by anything I may say. I would gladly spare yeu all unkind references to her, tut that is imposs‘ble, for I must tell you the cir- surnstances as they occured. “I need hardly say that it was neces- sary for her to make the fact of her rreference for me very plain indeed be- fore I even suspected it. Unfortunat2- ly, she had many opportunities of thrusting herself and her attentions on my notice, * “Being, as you know, a stranger in Melbourne, and being in a manner giv- er into his charge by his oldest and dearest friend, Mr. Lingard showed mie every kindness, receiving me into his own family and treating me as a son. “I was charmed with Miss Lingard at first, and would gladly have treated her as a sister, but she soon made it plain that her feelings were of a warm- er description. I was pained and mor- tified by her preference, and everything that a gentleman could do was done by me to show that I never could recipro- cate’the kind of regard with which she chose to favor me. “T even went so far as to show her the portrait of Clarice, which I always earried, and to speak openly of my en- gagement. So far from curing her of her misplaced attachment, tais course only infuriated her. “T began to look about for another place of residence, but Mr. Lingard would not hear of my proposal to leave his house. He opposed it so violently that I was obliged, for the time, to give up all reference to it, fearing that i might betray the real reason why I wished to find another home, and know- ing, intuitively, how humiliating such a state of affairs would be to the father, who thcught all the virtues and graces had found a dwelling place in the heart and mind of his beautiful daughter. “My position now became lett dis- tressing, however, for Miss Lingard no longer persecuted me with such signs of her affection as were calculated to embarrass me. “After some exhibitions of jealous rage and many unmaidenly tokens of preference, she quite changed her tac- tics, and chose to pose as a martyr. This she did so well that for a time she really interested me. I pitied her. If my heart had not been irrevocably gone I might even have loved her. “She was very beautiful, in her dark, imperious, Spanish style; and the pal- lor that came to her fine face, and the pathetic look that came into her eyes showed that she really suffered. No man whose heart was free could have resisted her; but mine would never be free again, and I was safe. “It was about this time that you came to Melbourne, and resumed your visits to Mr. Lingard’s house. of course, I instantly recognized you as the person whose life I had saved, in a far-off, savage portion of the country, on the occasion of my first arrival in it, before I went to Melbourne; but it was some little time before I guessed that you had been a former and fa- vored lover of my host’s daughter. “When I did understand the matter, however, my pitying toleration of Miss Lingard became contempt, which I could hardly conceal. I may as well state the matter plainly, Frank. I could not do otherwise than despise a woman who, already betrothed to an- other, and professing to love him, could, with such indelicate directness, throw herself at a man who never gave her the shadow of an excuse. “These are things which I never said to you before, but what immediately follows you know as well as I. There- fore, I will pass over it as quickly as possible. “You are not likely to forget your own stormy interview with her, when, reminding her of her engagement to yourself, and her changed manner, she told you plainly how she no longer loved you and that all her thoughts were devoted to another; nor shall I ever forget your noble renunciation of her, and the manner in which you bade her. I said no more, but I still endeav- ored to discover your whereabouts, in order that I might at least set matters right as far as I was.concerned. “But in vain; I could gain no trace of you. And, having now a great and absorbing source of uneasiness to my own account, I soon forgot all else. “For several months my correspond- ence with Clarice, which had been of the most animated and loverlike de- scription, had slowly changed. Her letters to me became more and more infrequent; sometimes months passed without a line from her, and the let- ters which I occasionally received were of the briefest and coldest description, although they often chid me for writ- ing so seldom, and complained that my letters were short, and cold and unsat- isfactory. “I ought to have known that some- thing was wrong; but, like a jealous, suspicious fool, I conclided that our long engagement was tiring her out, and I could think of nothing better than to make a final throw for fortune, and so return to New York at once. “At this time there was wild excite- ment in regayd to a new gold field. I wrote a long, explanatory letter to Clarice, telling her the determination I eq 0} J9q Suyjpvatjue pus ‘peuli0) pwy patient and wait for me; and also tell- ing her that it might be many months before she heard from me again, as I was going into the heart of the coun try. I ended by assuring her that I had written by every mail—sometimes more than once—and that my letters tried, though vainly, to tell her how truly, how fondly I loved her. “Having with my own hands placed the letter in the mail bag, I confid- ed my resolve and all my perplexities to Mr. Lingard. He sought to dissuade me, but, finding that he could not change my resolution, he said at last: “Very well, my dear boy, go. A wilfu’ wight maun hae his way. But when you have tried and failed, as so many have done before you, come back to me. Meantime, how much money have you saved since I found you 4 clerkship in Melbourne?’ “I mentioned the sum. It was con- siderable, for the clerkship was in his own banking house, and the salary was munificent. “If I had not been smitten with the gold fever, I would have known better than to leave a gertainty for such a wild will-o’-the-wisp; but of that, no mutter now. 4 “Mr. Lingard told me of great in- vestments in which he was about to venture many thousands; and I in trusted all my savings to him. “I left for the gold fields without even bidding Miss Lingard adieu, for I had grown to hat2 the very sight of her. “You were the first person I met at the diggings. You, too, bac sought the gold fields in the effort to forget your unhappiness in excitement; but my first glance at your face showed me that you were unsuccessful. ‘Of veourse, my first Guty was to ex- plain to you my feelings in regard to Miss Lingard—how wickedly I had been misrepresented—and my engagement | to Clarice, and-the hope and ambition of my life to return and claim her promise to me. “It was then that I first learned that her picture was gone, when I went to show it to you; but I did not then know that it had been stolen, not lost— stolen, like so much else. “But little you cared; you listened only to what referred to your own love, and again you disarpeared before the day was over, as if the earth had open- ed and swallowed you. But this time I guessed where you had gone, and felt sure that I should meet you again on my return to Melbourne.” ‘As you failed to do,” Dr. Bethune said, in a tone so sad and low, Mrs. Martin, eagerly listening, for the first time, almost failed to catch the words. “I returned, indeed, but Adele’ refused to see me. I went away a second time, determined never to see her again; but I had not the strength to keep my re- solve. It was then that I fled from the country, determined to put oceons be- tween us. I have done so; but even now, so strong is the girl’s influence, it draws me as the magnet draws steel, and some day yet it will bring me back to her, or her to m2. But you have not explained what Miss Lingard had to do with making Miss Mowbray marry Philip Grayson.” “I am coming to that,” and the tone of his voice told the listener how stern- ly the words were said. “And I tell it to you, Frank, with less hesitation than I would otherwise feel, because I hope it may serve to cure ycu of the mad in- fatuation for that woman which still possesses you. “After you left the gold fields, I was, for a time, very successful. I amassed a large mass of dust. I looked forward with delight and triumph when I could return to New York and make Clarice my wife. I worked like a slave. I gave myself no rest by day, and little enough by night, for a feverish unrest took possession of me that kept me from sleep. “Without knonwing it, I had already contracted the slow, malarial fever ccmmon to that district, and no doubt there were days when I acted strange- ly enough, for I often saw my rough companions regard me curiously, and then wink at each other and tap their foreheads. “They were mostly a rough Jot at the best of times, but scme new arrivals appeared to me to be even worse than rough, and one day it occurred to me that it would be a wise thing to go to the nearest town and deposit my pile of dust in some safe place. The idea was no sooner theught of than acted upon, and I set off on foot—a foolhardy thing to do, perhaps, but I reached my destination in safety. “Almest the first person I met on the street when I got there was a New York acquaintance—a man whom I had krewn but slightly in my own home, but, finding myself thus suddenly face to face with him, it seemed almost like meeting my dearest friend, for he was nothing more than a vision of my fe- vered brain; and yet, in my soul, 1 heave felt that it was true. And you wonder that I could not love Adele Lin- gard?” he continued, passionately, al- most furiously. “You wonder that I could not love the woman who has broker my heart, and almost driven me mad by falsehooi ard ‘treachery—the ‘woman who has eparated me from Clarice. May God forgive her—I never “In what was was Adele responsible for Miss Mowbray’s marriage?” in- quired Bethune, in a tone of surprise, Hopeless though he knew his love for me adieu, asking cnty that I would make her as happy, as you would have tried to do in my place. “Before I had quite realized your words you had gone, believing that I loved her, ani that your absence re- moved the only obstacle to our mar- riage. When I recovered from the sur- prise into which your words had thrown me you had already left Mel- bourne, and I could find no trace of you. I upbraided Miss Lingard for her treachery and falsehood, but she only wept and declared that she had ceased to love you, and had spoken as she had in the hope of making you soon forget | RA anew TS. an intimate acquaintance of Mowbray, and had often seen Clarice. “Naturally, my first question was of my darling, and Brownlow looked rath- er surprised. ““ What!’ he said. ‘Are you still in- terested in the young lady? What is this I hear, then, of a projected mar- riage hetween her and one of our New York princes” “My heart seemei to stand still and my brain to spin around, but I strug- gled to be calm, and replied, as quietly as I could, that I had never heard any- thing of it. On that, Brownlow became more communicative. i svg : “Well, of course, I don’t know ‘how it is,’ he vaid, ‘but to be frank with you, Austin, I think you have remained away from your sweetheart too long. From what Mowbray let fall, she seems to think you 2re dead; the father, of course, concluded you had consoled yourself with another girl. Anyway. no letters have reach2d them front you for nearly a year now, and if the report that Clarice is going to marry this rich mar: has any truth in ft, I don’t think the girl is to blame. She Jooks sad and heartrrcken, and. fer my own part, 1 think there has been treachery, lying enc something very nich like force used to gain her consent. Mowbray did rot tell me that his daughier was really engaged to Grayson, and, there- fore, I suppose she is not, yet; but from such things as he did say, I learned that the millionair2 is very far gone; and if I know Brian Mowbray, he’s not the man to let the chance of such a fortune slip through his fingers for want of a little sharp practice scmewhere.” “Much more my triend Brownlow said, and I questioned him wildly, ea- gerly, scarcely hearing half what he said or waiting for his answers, for my brain seemed on fire. “At last I suddenly flew front him. I suppose my idea was to take the first possible means of reaching Clarice, but all at once the light died out of my day, the earth seemed t> surge and tremble beneath me, and when IT was again conscious, a week had passed, and [ was lying on a cot in a public hospital. “I had been found vnconscicus in the street, overcome by the illness which had been in my veins, and which this terrible news hed turned’ into delirium. “My gold dust was gone. Whether I had lost it or been robbed of it T never knew; but my watch and a few little trinkets I had on me were safe. “As soon as I was allowed to leave the hospital, I turned them into: money and started *for Melbourne, Tor my ill- ness had left my head clear. T remem- bered every word that I Kad heard'from Brownlow, and I knew liy intuition, whe had intercepted my letters to: Clar- ice. I hated myself that "had been so easily duped, for I ought to have known, from tne tone of the later let- ters which I had received, that som2- thing was wrong. “By the time I had’ reached Mel- bevrne I had thought everything out; a dozen smal! ynatters, that I had seen nothing much in at the time, returned with new meaning to my memory. and by the time I had reached the hom: of Adele Lingard I nad pieced out the whole story, so that I was able to sug- gest it to her almost as wel: as she wus able to tell the real story to me. “Mr. Lingard, happily, was away. I fevnd Miss Lingard alone. The sight of me Grove every vestige of color from her beautiful, false face; she felt that I knew all, and I read guilt in her ter- rified face. “*You devil!’ I sc-2amed. ‘Where ar? my letters to Clarice, and hers te me? Give ther to me! Confcss the truth, the whole truth—eversthing, or I will destroy you where you starG. I will tear you to pieces here und now!’ ‘She shieked for mercy, for help, but no one came. The servants were in scme remote part of the kouse; the doors were closed and locked, and ter- | ror deadened her vsice so that it sound- ed bcarse and low, even in my ears. “She flung herself at my feet, but 1 never released my hold on her arm: and no dcubt she saw in my face that I was ready to abide by every word T had said. “Fear overcame her. Between gasps and prayers for mercy she told all-—not much, though it has wrecked several lives—and all cor-fessed in a few hur- ried words. She had stolen every let. ter I had vritten to Clerice, and hac opened every letter to me. She had imitated Clarice’s handwriting so per- fectly as to deceive even me, and the letters complaining tht I wrote coldly, and@ upbraiding me for not writing oft- ener. The leiters that grew ccléer and colder, and all so unlike Clarice, were written by this fiend, in order to break off the correspondence in a natural manner, ard, by wounding my pride, prevent me from denanding an) ex- planation. Oh, it was cleverly done “Last of all, my letteri telling Clarice that I had gone to the gold fields, and reiterating all my vows of lowe, was takem from the mail bag and destroyed. My poor Garling had not received one word from me for long, weary months. Was it any wonder that she hadi be- Meved me decd? “Having finished her confession, thio fiend of a women then drew from her pocket the picture of Clarice, dear to me as my own life; ani when I would have snatched it from her she: flung it on the fioor and crushed it beneath. her feet im a sudden transport of jealous rege. gy turned and rushed from: her: into the street. I feared that I would kill her if I remained longer im her pres~ ence, and my one thought was to neach Clarice. Perhaps I could reach her yet |; before it was too late. Nothing but my own presence would suffice, I knew. BY could trust neither to letter nor tele- gram now, for her father had never fa- yored our engagement; and if he had persuaded her of my death or false- hood, he would never let any message reach her from me, unless my own lips. spoke it. “1 had a friend in Melbourne who procured me passage in a vessel sailing that very afternoon, and before night had fallen I was outward-bound toward Clarice. “Heaven knows how the time passed? ‘The fever returned, and I was so ill that I despaired of ever seeing hor again But I had sworn to see her once more and tell her the truth, even if I died at her feet. “I reached New York more dead than alive, and half-crazed with grief and fliness. When I found the house at last where I had bade adieu to Clarice, the Mowbrays were there no longer. They had removed months ago, and the peo- ple who occupied the house were able to give me but scant information about them. “Such as it was, however, I proceeded to act upon it. And it was while I was searching the city for Clarice’s new abode that I found myself in front of the church—the church where the wed ding was taking place. “Caught in the crowd and unable t extricate myself, I presently heard, as in a dream, the name of the bride &nd bridegroom bandied to and fro. Madly I pushed forward, determined to part them at the altar; but I was too late. “The ceremony was over, ana I found myself standing face to face. with Clar- ice. For one moment I heli her to my heart as she shricked and fell into nv, ¥ : arms; the next, he~the man who had IN SILENCE , stolen her from.me—tore her away, and I-remember no more wntil, on the day when I seemed to awake in this room from a hideous nightmare, and met your kind eyes looking down of me, dear old Frank! “My life, such as it,was, had been given back to me by your eare; but— forgive me for saying so—it would have been kinder had you allowed me to die.” Shirley had spoken with a feverish eagerness and a resistless flow of words, but he concluded suddenly, and with a tone of such utter dejection and de- spair that Bethune was roused to hie duties as a physician. - He arose and appreached the bed- Taing the patient’s hands in his own, he calmed Shirley— both with words: and by the magnetism of his self-con- | trol, which had, indeed, been severely tried by the story; for every hard word'} —only too just though he knew them to”! be—spoken of Adele Lingard, fell om this true lover like a blow. But roused’ at last to the danger of allowing Shirley to excite himself, he put aw end! at once to any further taJk. “I am to blame—shamefully to blame —Austin, for allowing you to speak so much on such a subject,” he said, “But now I command you to be quiet. One word only I will say, and that will be to give you hope. Clarice is not lost to you. She loves vou still, and’ Her hus- band—will you promise to be calm? I will tell you, then—he no longer stands betweer you and the woman he took from you.” “Dead! How? When?” gasped’ Aus- tin, brokenly. ‘It cannot be!” “Tt is so. He is dead—suddenly—and she fs free. I have told you this to com- fort you, and on condition that you are ealm. To-morrow you shall know all. And now I will leave you. Remember, if I find you excited and feverish on my return, I shall merely prescribe a seda- tive and then Ieave you alone.” “T will be calm. I promise.” By the mere sound of his voice, Mrs. Martin could almost see the now flushed and hepeful face. : She kept her place until she heard Dr. Bethune descend the stairs and close: the front door heavily after him; then she arose from her cramped posi- tion, noiselessly left the closet, and stretched her arms with a joyous move- ment of freedom as she emerged inte | the outer room. (O be Continued.) PROGRESS OF RUSSIA. Has Not Kept Up With Other Nations in the March of Industries. Russia has been so ccmpletely out- stripped in industrial develooment by the other great nations of Europe and by the United States that the world has come to think of the unparalleled natural’ resources of that country as likely to lie dormant indefinitely. Only one who has visited the newly-estab- lished centers of industry in Southern Russia can gain any conception of the tremendous strides that have been made in the last ten years, and only those who have become acquainted with the magnificent scale on which the builders of the Russian empire are working out their plans can fully ap- preciate the possibilities of the next ten years in the imdustrial life in that country. The pioneer im the employment of foreign capital im manufacturing on an extensive scale in Russia was the American company which founded the well kneown locomotive works in St Petersburg in 1844, and turned out, in the first twenty-four years of its oper- ation 200 locomotives, 253 railway pas- senger cars and 2,700 freicht and plat- form cars. As early as 1786 there had been founded in Urals, however, the still existing works of Demidov, by a Scotchman of that name, while the im- mense foundries at St. Petersburg and Cronstadt, the Izhora Machine works, and the Wilson works at Moscow for the manufacture of agricultural imple- ments, were founded early in the pres- ent century:—Lesiie’s Weekly. Good Water and Sanitation Pay. During the month of April, 1881, the interments in the Montgomery ceme- tery numbered fifty-two. Our popula- tion at that time, according to the cen- sus report of 1880, was only 16000. The interments during the month of April, 1901, numbered forty-three. Now, ac-~ cording to the census of 1900, our popu- lation is over 30,346, or nearly double that of ten years ago. It stands to reason, therefore, that our death rate] should be considerably greater now than it was then. On the contrary, it: is more than 20 per cent less. If the death: rate had kept pace with the in-- crease in population, the interments last month, as compared with the same montly tem years ago, would have been» 104 instead of forty-three. This is: a wonderful health record, and we seri- ously dcubt if any community can show @ better ome. The reason for it is pat+ ent to all who keep posted on home conditions. It is our magnificent: arte-- || sian water and our splendid sanitary sewer system which have brought the great improvement. No money was ever better expended than that put in. these two great health promoters Montgomery (Ala.) Advertiser. Water Lily Salad. “water lily salad” for a white. and’ AND GRIEF MART¥RED PRESIDENT MAKES HIS LAST JOURSEY TO THE CAPFFAL. TRAPPINGS AND TOKENS OF WO Funeral Train Passes Through a’ Living Lane of Bare-Sleaded .Peo~- ple Stretching From Baffalo to Washington— Most ‘Remarkable Demonstration of Sorvew Since Lincoln Was Borne to: ie Grave. Washington, Sept. 18. — Tlwough a Mwing lane of bare-headed! ,people stretching from Buffalo up over the Alleghenies, down into the broat' valley of the Susquehanna and on? to the marble city on the banks of the’stiining Podtomac, the nation’s martyred@ presi- dent yesterday made his last journey to‘ tlie seat of the government’ over which he presided for four anti’ one- half’years. The whole country seemed to: Have drained its population at the sides’ of the track over which’ the funeral train passed. The thin lines through the moufttains and the sparse- ly: settled districts thickened at thé Tit- tle Hiamlets, covered acres in towns suddenty grown to the proportions of respectable cities and were congested into vast multitudes in the larger cities. Work was suspended in field and mine and city. The sefools were dismissed. And’ everywhere appeared the trap- pings: and’ tokems of woe. At all ‘the larger towns and cities after the traim got into Pennsylvania militiamen drawm up at preserrt arms kept back’ The Enormous Crowds. The silence with which the countless thousands viewed the remains of their hero and martyr was oppressive ant profound. Only the rumbling of” the train’s wheels, the sobs from men and women with the tear- stained faces and the doleful tolling of” At the church bells broke on the ear. several’ places, Williamsport, Harr burg and’ Baltimore, the chimes play Cardinal Newman’s grand hymn. Tak- en altogether the journey home was the most remarkable demonstration of uni- versal personal’ sorrow since Lincoln was borne to his grave. those who came to pay their last trib- ute to the dead had an opportunity to catch’ a glimpse of the flag-covered bier elévated’ to view in the observa- tion carat’ the rear of the train. There were no:other bits of color to catch the eye on this train of death. The loco- motive was stirouded in black, the cur- tains of the cars im which sat the lone- ly, stricken widow, the relatives of the president, cabinet and others were drawn. The whole black train was like a-shuttered’ louse save only for that hindmost car; Where tite Body Lay, guarded by a soldier of the army an? a sailor of the navy. Mrs. McKinley stood the trip bravely. In the morning soon after leaving, Buffalo, she pleaded so earnestly to be allowed to go intolthe car where Her dear one lay that re- luctant assent was given, and she spent half an hour beside the coffin. Ail the way the traitr was preceded about fif- teen minutes: by a pilot engine sent ahead ‘to test the bridges and switches: and prevent thie possibility of an acci- dent to the precious burden it carried. The train had the right of way over everything. Not a wheel moved on the Pennsylvania railroad system thirty minutes before the riot encine was due, or for the same Iength of time af- ter the train Had passed. The train left Buffalo at’ at 8:30 yesterday morning” and arrived at Washington at 8:38 last night. Th twelve hours it is estimated over half*a million people saw the cof- n which held al? that was mortal ot” sident’ MeKiniey. MRS. WKINLEY BEARS UP. Dr. Rixey Thinks She Will { Through Without a Collapse. Washington, Sept. 18.—Mrs. McKinle~ has stood the strain of the trying ordeal following the death of the president, without breaking down, and her phys= cian, Dr: Rixey, is encouraged to be~ lieve ste will go through the state cere- onial’ withewt collapse. The haif+ jour site spent beside the coffin on the- rain yesterday morning was followed by a period of depression, but Dr Rixey induced her to sleep in the after- noom: Now that she has gone threugh: the trials and fatigues of Sunday and! Monday,. these nearest to her feel there is little serious danger of immediate: ellapse:. Their dread is for the future, vhem ttre: merve-tension of the. present, ordeal’ is: over, and when the widows is jack aloe in the old house at -Cantom jvithh the ffood of reflection and realija- {oom timat must come upon her. RACE POSTPONED: Merk ef Respect to the Wemorx ef the Dead President. New York, Sept. 18.—After-a perfectly gold luncheon is a dainty dish. Cut |inarmonious meeting yestereay the New: erisp lettuce leaves into pointed strips ‘York Yacht club lasting- nearly twe lke the outer green leaves of a water | howrs between the America’s cup chal- Ty. Cut the whites of hard-boiled |; eggs also into pointed strips: to. make-| the petals. lemge committee and the representa- tives of the Royal Ulster Yacht clhub— Mash all but two.or three ||R. G. Sherman-Crawforé, its viee com- of the yolks, mix them wit mayon- |™modore; Hugh C. Kelley, secretary, and naise and fill in the center ofthe witite | H. M. McGiltowney —it was. decided petals with this mixture. Take the re- that as a mark of respect to the mem- maining yolks and put threugh a fine | ory of the inte Presidamt McKinley the sieve, scattering this over the yellow | day of the first race for the America’s centers and on the white petals, to re-|cup shoud be changed to Phursday, semble the pollen of the flower. A prettier sala@ can searcely be hm- agined. By leaving off the outer green leaves | Sept. 38; Tuesday, Oct. and making the white petals and ‘yel- loow centers very small, two or three “daisies” ‘may be mafle on each salad plate for a Marguerite luncheon.—What To Eat. —_—_—_-—_—_ A Lofty View. “T'm afraid you don’t understand the Sept. 26. The succeeding races are to follow aecording to. the original plan, so that they will be sailed Saturda "Thursds, Oct. & and Saturday, Oct, ALL LONDON Wi2eh, JOIN. Memerial Services for President "we- Kinley Will Be Held. London, Sept. 18. — The lord ywayor value of a dollar,” said the rich man to }..4 the dean and chapter of St, Paul's his son. “Perhaps- not,” answered the young cathedral have jointly agreed te hold a man. “ In this age of billionaires, ome | national memoria} service for PresMlent dollar is an important but obscure con- | yeKinley on Thursday lattermabn, The sideration, It is like the atom of the molecule; very interesting for purposes of scientific research, but very unsat- isfactory as a practical propasition,”= ‘Washington Star. members of the cabinet, the diplomatic corps and the eorporatian ef the city of London will attend in their official ca» pacity. ae p — to — Every one of © Gow. ete | | j