Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, September 4, 1887, Page 11

“JO-HE” Warranted a Bu Cure for Rheuma- yos, and Inflammations. Diphtheria and Croup cured in from thirty to sixty minutes, wonderful reme 18 doing for suffe ing humanity, for circulars. T. B. FORGY, Room K, GRUENIG Broci NORRIS, WILCOX & RIBBEL, One Price SHOE STORE 1517 Douglas Street OMAHA, Stevens Bros,, Real Estate A large list of city and farm Property & Stocks of Goods, For Sale or Ex- change. The Platz STUDIO! 1408 Farnam St., op- posite Paxton Ho- tel. I am ready for bu- siness and will make & specialty of artis- work ed to be ret clnss in every| spect. CHAS, RASMUSSEN, CLOTHIER, GENTS' Fums'g Goods Huts, Caps, Trunks 1207 Farnam St., Omahs, Neb. C, SCHMITZBERGER, perchant | Tallor, Fine Tailor- ing, A Specialty, 416 S. 16th St, Omaha, Neb. C.5, HIGGINS 0YSTER —AND— Chop House, 1201-1208 Douglas St. Restaurant, 1409 Douglas St., OvanA, + - Nebj 'Open Day and Night, CANFIELD, Hatter —AND— Furrier, FINE HATS, Latest styles just in. LADIES' FURS Made to Order. P REPAIRING Promptly attended to. 405 South 15th St. Ranon Broc., OMAHA, - - Nx». TWO HEARTS. A TALE OF THE GREAT MIRAMICHI PIRE. By Maleolm Thackeray Ross in the Epoch, There are, no doubt, millions of people in America to-day who have never even heard of the Miramichi fire, yet it was at one tima the talk of both hemispheres. Perhaps there never was such a confla: gration in the world before; other great fires were mere rush lights in compari- son with it, for it burnt over an area of forest land as large as the state of Massa- chusetts, consumed million of doliars worth of property, and destroyed, alas, hundreds of human lives. The story of the Miramichi fire never has been fully told, and mever can be told now, for nearly all who witnessed it are dead. 1 was a very young man at this time and made my home at the house of a married sister who resided at Chatham, the principal town on the Miramichi river. For three winters I had worked in the lumber woods, and my savings, which were considerable, were safely lodged in & local bank. In summer I went to school, for my sister was ambi- tious and wanted me to be a lawyer or doctor, and duting spare hours I helped my brother-in-law 1n his store. But the sight of one pretty face speedily put an end to this routine of duty and to my sister’s ambitions wishes. It was at Newcastle, n town six miles farther up the Miramichi than Chatham, that I first saw Grace Prentiss. With me it was a case of love at first sight; as for Grace, I do not believe that she saw me or noticed me at all. But I looked upon her then and I think of her still as the fairest of women, with her lovely brown hair, her clear, hazel eyes, her fresh, blooming complexion and her graceful form. She was just eighteen, and as un- couscious of her beauty as she was beau- tiful, for most of her life had been spent on a little farm that nestled in the midst of the vast forest. This first view of Grace was had in the autumn, a short time before I took my defnrturu for the lumber woods. All that winter, as I worked in_the forest, I thought of Grace and wondered when I should have the opportunity ot seeing her agaiu, 1did not even know her name nor where she lived, and. therefore, 1t seemed as if nothing but some lucky chance would again give me a sight of her. I had hnrdlg left the woods in the spring when the chance came. 1 was setting in the store at Newcastle, which was owned by the man who em- vloyed me in the woods, when Grace and her mother entered to make some pur- chases. Isaw that she was dressed in black and I learned afterwards that her father had died during the winter. But she was as beautiful as ever and even more 80 in my sight. Her entrance was 80 sudden and unexpected that it almost took my breath away, but to the lively young clerk with whom I had been talk- ing a moment before it seemed a very ordinary event. Isoon saw that he was acquainted with both mother and daugh- ter, and to me, who was all impatienc to get his ear for a moment and learn their names, it seemed that he expended An unnecessary amount of time in wait- ing upon them. Perhaps he was in love with Grace also. 1 could not endure the thought. For fifteen minutes or more this young gossip of a clerk kept up a constant flow of talk with mother and daughter, and, what was worse, [ was too far away to catch any part of the conversation. I thought, however, that I heard my own name mentioned once or twice, and and it seems that my ears did not deceive me, for a minute or two later the clerk called me over and introduced me to Mrs. Prentiss. *‘This* said he, ‘18 Joe Har- well, the young man I was telling you lhou:‘“ and then addressing me, he con- tinued, ‘‘Mrs. Prentiss wants a man to help on her farm and I told her 1 thought you would go: you must be pretty tired of school by this time." ‘‘You will find it rather dull with us,” said Mrs. Prentiss, “‘we don’t see much company, but we'll try to make you com- tortable if you come.’” All this time Grace had not said a word; no one scemed to think it necessary to make me acquainted with her; I don’t be- lieve she even bestowed a glance on me, and yet 1 would have seen Mrs. Prentiss wanting help a long time before 1 would have gone to her solitary farm to work for her had it not been for Grace's sweet sake. As it was, I was very willing to go and I made bargain with Mrs. Prentiss for the season's work so very favorable to that lady that she must have had but an indifferent gpinion of my business c: pacity. But what did I care for mone; was not love enough for me? I went back to Chatham that night in fircut spirits, but my sister, when she eard of my intentions, hardly shared my enthusiasm. The fact is that I did not think 1t necessary to tell her any- thing about Grace, ‘and so she rather wondered at my choice of a residence. A week later I was in Mrs. Prentiss's farm and engaged in the rogular routine of my duties, which embraced the whole range of farm work; 1n fact, Thad to take the vlace of the late Mr. Prentiss so far as the management of farm aftairs went, I had plenty to do, but I did not spare myself, and I was soon on the best pos- sible footing with every member of the family. Grace was the eldest and next to her were two boys, John and Charlie, aged respectively fourteen and twelve. en came little Mary, who&vas only four vears oid, but who promised to be the very image of her sister Grace. Mary was the dearest little creatvre pos- sible and she and I soon became fast friends. She grew so fond of me that she was hardly content to be out of my sight, Every one laughed when she de- clared that he would marry me as soon as she got to be a big girl like Grace. In the meantime my love affair with Grace progressed favorabl need not relate its various phases; it is enough to say that [ won her simple heart and that she plighted her troth wo me. No diffi- culties crossed our path, and no opposi- tion came from any quarter; her mother was favorable to our union, and only asked us to delay it for a year or two until 1 was better settled. 1t was a rea- sonable request, and we were willing to wait, there was not a happier youth in the country I was then * The Prentiss farm was some ten miles above Newcastle, on & tributary of the northwest Miramichi, The house, which was of logs,was about one hundred yards from the river, which joined the Mira- michi a mile below, passing in_that dis- tance over a sharp_ rapid and running with a very swift cirrent. The clearing was quite narrow and extended along edge of the smaller river for some d tance. The house was close to the forest and the barn closer still; the whole extent of the cleared farm did not exceed ten or fifteen acres. It was autumn; our little harvest had been safely gathered and the barn was full to overflowing. All the regular work was done a was engaged chop- ping up a huge pile of tirew: for the winter. I was very anxious to have this job completed, for I haa -*reod with m old employer to go to the lumber woods again and wished to have everythin, comfortable tor the family before I left. had the prospect before me of a six months' absence from Grace, but after that we would never be separated any more, for in the following autumn she was to become my wife. How little either of us knew what the future had in store for ‘The T7th of October eame, a day never to be forgotten by the residents of the Miramichi aistrict. For some days the smoke of distant fires had been observed in the woods to the nortb, but such DAILY BER R R T T R T T, thl:fl ‘were too common tg excite notice. Th orning was unusually warm for the season and the air heavy and ciose. Mrs. Prentiss thought it a good oppor- tunity to go to a little barren stretch three miles from the farm, to gather winter store of cranberries. 1t was aj ranged that Grace and the boys shou go with her and that Ishould follow with the horse to bring back the baskets about the middle of the afternoon. Little MA‘{ declined to go with the others and said she would stay with me. Grace ittle show of feeling as two people might exhibit who expected to m again in » few hours r. Shewasina merry mood, and. as she went off with her basket on her arm, she turned and kissed her hand to me gaily with a pleasant smile. Down the dark vista of years [ can see that smile on her heautt= tiful face as 1 then saw it for the last time. When they were gone I resumed my work at the wood-pile, and little Mary sat close by and prattled to me in her childish way. At noon we had din- ner, and then work was continued as be- fore. It was between two and three o'clock when Mary, who had been verv quiet for some minutes, suddenl: startled me by exclaiming: *‘O, Joe! lool at the big, black smoke."" 1 looked up instantly and beheld a lf%hl which froze me with horror. The whole uk{‘mlne north was black with smoke which seemed hardly a mile away and every moment drew nearer. 1 saw that the danger was imminent and that there was no timeto belost, if Grace and her mother were to be saved. In lel time than 1t takes to tell the story I ha the bridle on the horse, and with Mary sitting in front of me was rallopinu down the forest path which led to the barren, The distance was three miles, but be- fore 1 had accomplished half of it I had met the fire. 1t was in vain thatI at- tempted mfiet roundit. I was forced to retreat, and it was only by the most des- gerute efforts that [ was able to return y the path that I had entered so rashly. When 1 got back tothe clearning 1 was rimy withsmoke and almost suffocated. ittle Mary, who had no idea of the dan- ger we were in, had suffered from the smoke also, but 1 had saved her from its worse effects by wrapping my coat round her head. When I got back to our little clearing [ saw that it would not be safe to remain there many minutes longer; indeed, the fire had already reached the woods on its margin, and I observed with dismay that the trees between us and the Miram- 1chi river was on fire. Yet our little river, now lined with burning forests, was the only avenue of escape for us. We must pas through that fiery portal or perish where we stood. I rushed into the house, took four ot the heaviest quilts from the beds, seized a large loaf of bread and a piece of meat that was on the table, an plcklngrnp Mary made a run for the rniver, 'he horse, as if trom an instinct of danger, followed us, and the cattle came running down after us and bellowed with fright. Our case seemed quite dosperate; we had little skiff, and the double chance ng ugsct in the rapids or roasted to death by the fire. There, too, was the horse; what was to be done with that mute pleader who looked to me for help? These thoughts gnssqul through my mind in anustant, but they did not delay my efforts. I wrapped Mary upin the largest of the quilts and laid her on her face in the front of the skiff, enioiuinfz her, as she valued her life, to remain still where 1 placed her. Then taking the horse by the bridle [ got into the skiff and pushed into the streara, which was about three hundred feet wide and quite deep. At this moment the whole sky seemed on fire and the roar of the bura- ing forest was like the sound of continual thunder. The terror-stricken cattle, when they saw the horse swimming, fol- lowed him, and by the time we had reached the middle of the stream, all were afloat and following us in a dismal procession. For half a mile or so there was no difflculty; but then came the rnr(du and the pass of fire. knew the rapids well and on ordinary occasions could run them in the skitt without any difficulty. But now I had to trust to Providence for guidance, for 1 could neither see my way through the smoke nor dare to look out when travers- g that fiery furnace. So,when we drew near, I let go the gallant horse’s rein, wrapped myself up ina é;uilu and la, down in the stern of the skiff,with a pad- dle dragging behind to keep its bow down stream. In another moment were in the rush of the boiling current and beyond human aid. 1 suppose we could not have been more than three minutes passing the rapids, but it scemed to me anage. I never realized before so completely the idea of utter helplessness as during that briof space of time. Nothing I could do would have any influence on our safety. I was but a waif adrift in the stream, and the bark was guided by another Power than mine. When from the motion of the skiff 1 knew that the rapids were behind us, I poured out my heart in gratitude to God for our deliverance. When I ven- tured to look up not ouly the rapids but the fire was behind us, and a few strokes of the paddle carried us into the Mirami- chi river, Neither May nor myself had suffered the slightest hurt, and what was more remarkable, all the live stock had The horse was behind the ski ming gallantly, and looking u“ at me with his great, honest eyes. The cattle had passed us in the rapids, and were swimming in front, now bound to the same goal of safety, a little grassy island, whicl lies in the center of the Miramichi river, with nothing of larger growth upon it that an alder bush. Here we landed, and looked back on the wasted land we had left behiud. Had I the pen of a Homer I could not adequately describe the terrors of that scene. All that my mind had ever imagined or my eye witnessed of destruc- tion fell far short of this dreadful reality. and every moment added to its horrors. The wind, which until then had bee light, now grew to a violent hurricane, and the fire rushed on almost with the speed of a race-horse; hu burning brands borne on the gs of the storm fell on every side of us and threatened us with destruction. The river was lashed into fury by the gale and rose in huge waves, and through the black pall of smoke which hung over all the sheets of flame seemed to pierce the very sk As I sat and gazed on this awf, mg courage, which had s while strug; ]mx for life, now fail me, and I byrst into te saved myself and _little Mary, but where were the rest! Where was that fond mother and her two brave sons? Where, above all, was Grace, my love, my life? I looked toward the blazing forest for an answer, but I saw written there nothin, but death. And when little Mary .ai her head on my shoulder and weoping, said: ‘Joe, dear Joe, where is ma?'’ | could only reply by tears. The long, weary night passed, but the morning sun brought no cheer. Our lit- tle group of cattle were still with us, and hiding among them was a huge moose, who had fled” from his_torest haunts and sought refuge with his enemy, man, Poor wretch, who would have the heart to do harm to him? Was he not a fellow sufferer with us all? He remained un- molested, and was still on the island when we left it. - My Arst care was to take little Mary to a place of safety, but where should 1 go? Every human habitation for miles was destroyed, and tor all I could see, the whole region was swept of living men. My sister's house in Chatham was the only place of shelter I could think of for Mary,but even Chatham might have been gu:.‘royed. If so our case was bad in- leed. ‘We set out on our melancholy voyage down the river, both banks of which bad All were Yseane ined me emed to I bad nd I paried that morning with of Fine Dry Goods. 100 Ladies’ Don’t forget we carry Ladies’ and Children’s Wraps of all kinds and at been completely swept by the tire. Until ws reached Newcastle we did not see a human face. But that place no longer existed; the fire had swept it away and its distracted 1nhabitants were wandering in silence about the ruins of their homes. They looked upon me as one risen from the dend, for they had thought that all the inhabitants up the river had been destroyed. Douglas- town and all the villages north of the Miramichi were burnt, they told me,but Chatham had escaped; thank God for that—I still had a_home! It was late in the day when I reached Chatham and my sister was almost wild wnthliny when I ngucnmd, for she be- lieved me dead. She took little Mary to her kind, womanly heart, and I may say here, that for the next fourteen years that noble woman and loving child never were parted for a single day. Mary had indeed lost her mother, but it is seldom that the loss of a mother is so generously replaced. 'an very night 1 returned to New- castle to obtain assistance to search for the Prentiss family. I felt that they could not have escaped, but I could not endure the thought of their remains being exposed to the chances of the wilderness. Accompanied by two stout lumbermen 1 started off on my melancholy mission. 1 would gladly omit or forfiqt this part of my story, the thought of which even now fills mo” with unspeakable sorrow. My fears were only too sadly realized; all had perished and we found the four in a group together neur the edge of the bar- ren where they had fallen in their at- tempt to escape. Burnt beyond recogni- tion, mother and daughter, could only be distinguished by some remains of their clothes. That lovely face that had smiled on me so tenderly a few hours be- fore, was now a blackened mass in which not a feature could be discerned. And this was all that was left of my dar- ling Grace, my wife that was to be. It was mauy a long sen before I got over the shock of that discovery. We buried the Prentiss family to- gether 1n the churchyard at Chatham and a handsome stone tells the sad story of their death. When this last duty was accomplished 1 felt that 1 could no Jonger live in a mlace where I had en- dured such msery. Nor did my sister attempt to detain me, for she felt that change of sceno and active employment were the only medicines that would be of any benefit to me. So I kissed Mary and my sister farewell and wont to sea. fore my depurture, 1 placed the few hundred dollars I possessed in a bank in Mary's name; sud told my sister to use them for the child’s maintenance and education, To this vum was added the price received for the horses and cattle rescued from,the fire, and also the money realized from the sale of the farm, of which Mary was sole heir. This fund my sister . never would touch, but constantly added to it, so that at the end of she fourteen years I have spoken pof, it had become a consid- erable sum and Mary was quite an heiress in a small way. . And she was endowed also with a richer inheritance than money can buy—a pure and honest heart. Ineed not linger long over my career at sea; I was very sucoessful, and rose in due time to be mate and then master of a fine vessel, I saved money and bought a share in the vessel I sailed, and took such good care of my savings and profits that my money accumulated rapialy. 1 hud, 10 fact, no temptation to be other- wise than temperate and saving; the Miramichi fire had burnt all the youth and hope out of me. Although I did my work a8 well as any man, I lived wholly in the past, and at night as I stood on my vessel's deck an: ered into the darkness, or lay wakefully in my cabin, the sweet face of my lost Grace was al- ways before me, and she ever wore the same kind smile with which she bade me farewell that last sad day when we parted forever, Little Mary went to schoal and the very SEPTEMBER 4. 1887.~SIXTEEN PAGER ENNISON BROS, ~ Grand Reunion and Gala Week. WELCOME TO THE G.A.R. Grand Display place on sale the coming week, some of the greatest values ever offered in Omaha, simply to unload our immense stock of new goods just ar- Grand Souyenir Memor%ldugfilGiven away to each G. A. R., visiting our store. e Wi rived. Next week, only. SILK DEPARTMENT. 40 pleves 46 inch Scrges, 35, worth 63¢. 383 pleces 42 inch, all wool Serges, 500, worth 75c¢. 29 pleces 44 {nch, all:vool Serges, 69c¢, worth 85¢. 42 pieces 59 inch all wool Serges, 90c¢, worth $1.25, 200 pieces 36 inch very fine cashmere, 25¢, worth 40c, 100 pieces 36 inch extra fine cashmere, 39¢, worth 60c, 50 pieces 40 inches, all wool ladies’ cloth, £8c, worth 65c. 25 pleces 54 inch ladies’ cloth, 50cworth #1. Remember we will show you the finest assort- ment in fine noveltiss, in silks, velvets and dress soods, ever shown in Omaha. 100 dozen fancy Turkish towels, 25¢ each. 100 dozen knotted fringe towels, 18c each, worth 85c. 100 dozen knotted fringe towels, 25¢, worth 50c. 10 pes 68 inch bleached table damasks,for 1 week,68c¢ worth85¢ 40 pcs 60 inch bleached and unbleached table damask, all in one lot at 50c¢ per yard, worth 75c. 25 pos striped linen crash, 6¢ per yard, worth 10c. 50 pes fancy curtain screens, 7c, worth 15¢. 50 pcs cream curtain screens, 9¢, worth 20c: 200 prs 10-4 scarlet blankets 3.00 per pair. ““ g, for 1 week, FOR ONE WEEK ONLY. 75")('9?.-‘ ;legrm! gradefine Surah Silks, in all shades, 89c per ya $4. 5, pleces black Gros Grain Silk. 75¢ per yard. 10 pes black Gros Grain Silk, 89¢ |r 20 pcs black Gros Grain $1.2. 25 pes Faille Gros Grain Silk, el " This number beats all competitéon yard, worth £1.25. per yard, worth $1.75. ant shades, $1.38 yard, worth $2. 20 pcs fancy flowered silks, in tinted shades, for evening wear, our priod for oneweek, $ 1. 30 yard, worth 2. 1 bale extre heavy unblea-hed muslin, 16} yards for $1; great value. * 1 case 36 inch ve;;‘l fine bleached muslin; much better quality than frué( or lonsdale, 12 yardsfor $1. 1 case white Shaker Flannels; greatest value ever shown. 14 yardsfor 84 200 dozen gents’® scarlel L wool w nderwear, 50c. 50 dozen gents’ Scotch grey shirts and drawers, 50c, worth 75¢. 850 dozen gents' very fine 100 dozen ladies 100 dozen ladies’ fanc 100 dozen gents’ fine colors, rey shirts and drawers, $1, worth 75 dozen gents’ white shirts and drawers, 50 dozen ladies’ white vests and 50 dozen ladies’ scarlet ves!s an white knit vests, 69¢; 1.50. 25¢; no competition. nts, 50c¢; best in tow: pants, 75¢; beats them alls orthgl. knit vests, $1, worth §2. louded hose, 20c worth 40c. 200 dozen ladies’ lisle thread hose, 35¢, worth 50c, 5, worth $7.50; in checks, plaids, etc. Seal plush coats, 42 in. long, for 1 week, 40 Ladies Seal plush coats, 42 in. lon 100 ies’ short wraps, fur trimmed, 100 Ladies’ short wraps, fur trimmed, $18, others ask w 3.50, just for a $7.50, worth $10. Come one, come all, and see the fun at $25, really worth Great Cloak Sale. Don't fail to Visit Our Cloak Department the Coming Week: 3800 Ladies’ Fall Jackets, $3.50 worth $5. 100 Ladies’ Fall Jackets, $ vou $25. $40. flyer. - Bennison Brothers, first lettor she ever wrote was sent to me. From the day she could use a pen no month passed that she did not write to me, and, at the end of many a Ion{i voy- age I bave had enough of Mary's letters to make quite a little volume. How much they interested me! They were for many years almost the entire solace I knew in my lonely Iife. I have them all now, the notes made up of printed letters when she was five or six years old, then the big childish hand, and so through all grada- tions to the perfection which she at last attained. I'was not so good a oorre- spondent as Mary, vet I did not neglect her: I wrote from every port at which I touched and took care to keep her well supplied with clothes hnd Jewelry as well as money, which, dear soul, she never spent. But all this time I had never re- turned to Chatham; I had never scen Mary’s face, and when I thought of her it was as a child. Fourteen years had elapsed since I left my home in Chatham and it seemed as if every day was making the prospect of my return to it more remote. For what should I return; had not my heart died and been buried there? No, 1 thought to myself, I will not go back. t was again the night of the 7th of October, but this time I was at sea, in my own stout ship on my return voyage from India, and but two or three days’ sail from my port of destination, New York. The sea was calm and the weather fine, so I ratired early to my cabin and soon fell a sleep. Then, in a vision of the might, all the past seem to come back to to me; I again lived through that dread: ful October night of fourteen years b fore, and out of the burn- ing forest the face of my Grace seemed to rise and I thought she beckoned me and called to me: ‘“‘Come home.” Her voice seemed to sound so full and clear that I awoke, but the cabin was silent, save the ticking of the clock, ana again I fell asieep and dreamed. This time I thought 1 was on my own ship and that I had been aroused by the terrible cry bf “fire.” I heard the ~sail- ors rushing overhead and the orders of the mates, as they encouraged them in their struggle with the flames, All, I thought wus in vain; the fire could not be stayed; it advanced aft, the sailors were driven to the quarter deck; horror of horrors! they were leaving the vessel and I, imprisoned in my cabin, could not escape! I struggled to gain my feet, but 1 seemed to be held down by some super- human power; the exit from the cabin was barred py the flames; all ha{)e was gone, and I could only die. Again, in the midst of my struggle, the face of Grace seemed to raise calm and serene; she waved back the flames her hand and they disappeared, and again she called to me, 'Come home.” I again awoke and was conscious that something was wranzfi 1 rushed on deck and at the head of the cabin stairs met the mate with a pale face. “Its all right, captain,” said he, ‘‘the fire is out and no harm done.” “'What fire?"” I asked. ‘“Has the ship been on fire?” “Why,” said he, “the boy stupidly upset & lamp in a Jot of cotton waste and it made a nasty blaze, but it is all out now and no one the worse." *‘Thank God!' I exclaimed and wi out another word I returned to my cabin, but before I went to sleep again that night [ made up my mind what I would do on my arrival in port. It was the first accident of the kind that had ever happened to a ship of mine and I vowed that I would never give fate another chance. We reached New York in a couple of days, and the other owners were very much surprised when 1 told them that I would go to sea no more. They were sin- cerely sorry to loose me, for I "had made money for them, as well as for myself, and, when | expressed my wish to sell out my shares in the vessel, they met me in a liberal spirit, and purchased them on favorable terms. My good ship went to sea again a few weeke later, and when 1 saw her depart so staunch and gallant looking, I almost regretted the step I had taken. But I thought better of it as week and month and year passed on without any tidings of her arrival in any friendly port, for from that hour to the present she has never been seen by living man. Did she perish by fire, or by the violence of the tempest? Who can tell? But I shall always firmly believe that my good angel sent me the midnight warning }"t“ch hindered me from sharing her ate. business in New York had detained me for some weeks, and Christmas was approaching before 1 set out for Chatham, I'had written to Mary after my arrival, but gave her no hint that I intended to give up the sea. So, when I arrived in Chatham on Christmas morning, no_one expected me and no one knew me. How should they, indeed? T had left the place a slim, smooth-faced youth; I returned to it a strong, full-bearded man, with the marks of a hundred conflicts with the storm stamped on my face. I put up at the hotel, and, although I wrote my name on the register, it was in such a tremen- dous hand that no one could read 1t; and if they had, how much wiser would they have been? Who was likely to remem- ber Joe Farwell when even the fircal fire was beginning to be rather an old story? 1took my breakfast at the hotel and turned my_steps towards my sister’s dwelling. "I approached it with a tremb- ling heart; as I passed the window 1 caught a glimpse of a matronly looking lady, whom I knew was my sister,but she did not see me; I reached the door and knocked. Ina moment or.two it was ovened, and then I saw in real flesh and blood the face and the form that had haunted me for so many years—those features which had appeared to me so often in the night watches, and which had risen from the midst of the flame to warn me to come home. I started back and almost fainted, “Good heavens, who is this? Mary!” I cried, *is it you?" I had hardly spoken when Mary, for it was indeed she, with a loud cry fell into my arms, and the whole household came running to see what was the matter. My sister rushed to embrace me, and when my worthy brother-in-law maae his ap- pearance on the scene he thought for a moment that the females of his family hud lost their senses. But when he learned that the lost brother had indeed returned he was as much delighted and flurried as the most hysterical woman of them all. That Christmas, I think, was the hap- piest day I ever spent. My old love seemed to be alive again and my withered heart seemed to have been bathed in the fountain of youth. 1 could hardly take my eyecs off my beautiful Mary, who in form, face and expression, was the exact counterpart of her sister Grace. Surely, all that I had passed through was but a dream and this was Grace herself, That night when all the others had re- tired, my sister, Mary and myself gath- ered round the wide hearth. ~We talked of many things, but there was one which gave me some concern,vet which I feared to apronch: “Was Mary's heart free or not?" Atlength I mustered courage enough to say: ‘‘Sister, it is a wonder you have been able to keep Mary so long; I should have thought all’ the young men would have been dying about her.’ “Mary,” replied my sister, “will not listen to lover's vows; she tells all the young menfiwho make advancesto her that it is no use,for she has been engaged ever since she has been four yearsold, and she will never marry any one else."” *Is that tru i to Mary, who was blushing deeply; if it is, you have but to say s0 and this hand 15 1 swear to you that since your dear sister perished 1 have never spoken ot love to any other woman, or felt my heart glow for any other except yourself.” Mary bowed her head, placed her hand in mine and said in o gentle tone Grace! ours, for | It is true; I will wed none but you.” This was our declaration of love an our betrothal; ‘zood sister wept tear| of joy that two whom she loved so dearl; were to be united. A month later Mary and I were ma ried and for five-and-thirty years she wi the best and fondest wife that ever ma! had. When she died there coased to bea§ the purest, tenderest heart I ever knew, excapt tht othet hoart which was stiled on that awful October day. ——— IMPIETIES, ‘When a clircus pastes its bills on a chur Itlshould at least send the trustees free ticl ets, A Des Moines minister, who Is a great ball enthuslast, divides his sermons into five innings. A Brooklyn church has a lady doctor smongst its members, and the pastor is on trial for putting his arin _around her wais He should affirm his right to support a pill of his church. Dominfe Johnson—Now, 1 hopes when di plate am passed round dat all de bredren an sistern dat have experienced ’ligion, will re- member dat dat kind of experlence has to be paid for just as well as any other. “We all have our burdens to bear,” sald the minister. “There are many trials in thy life.”” *“'Yes, { suppose there are,” repli the poor lawyer ruefully, “but I don't see to have much luck at getting mixed upl em.” Wong Chin Foo, in a magazine article, as| “Why am L a heathen?” = We give I‘ u) After living tifteen yearsor more In this lan of churches. boodle alderman, free schools Sunday base ball games, and anti-povert; cranks, he ought to be ashamed to confe that he is still'a heathen. A inister who is at present sojourning amid the verdure-clad hills of Greenbushe tells the following: Somewhere in the cou try a number of ministers were wont to m:g! together on stated days for purposes pertaf) Ing to their calling, ~As mlght be suppos each meeting was opened with prayer. Bul one day they met at the house of a broth who had a stock of excellent cigars, which b passed around freely. n all the brethre) were puffing away, and before they knew they had taken up the business of the meet< ing. Suddenly one of them remembered the forgotten prayer and suggested that some= body make up for lost time. But one of brothers was equal to the occagion: **Nev mind now, Brother X—" he sald, ‘“‘wq have opened this necting by offering’ up Ige cense, Let that suffice.” Ll e Horrible Cannibalism. WINNIPEG, August 27.—A terrible story of the ravages of forest fires, destitution and cannibulism comes from Northwest Territory. lettors dated July 5 hav been received from Colin Frazier una Charles Stewart, who left here for Fort Chipewain, in the Northwest Territory, more than three months ago. These latters give the first news of the terrible destitution prevailing among the few in- habitants last winter. Cannibalism wag resorted to to avoid starvation, but thq full details of the horrible story probably will never be known. One woman, & half-breed, who lived in a hut with her three children, on Little Red river, a few miles from the Fort, admits having killed her whole family and eaten them., The always scanty crop was unusually poor last year and the general suffering was great. The woman who ate her children is of y low grade of intellect and mani- 1 but httle remorse for her uonatu- ral deed. suid she Kitled them one by one as the pangs of hunger grew une' bearable, P boiled and the resh she roasted. that the bodies “were poor and not very good eating,’” Nothing has been done to pumsh the woman. This is the only case known of in the vicinity, but others are reported u the Mackenzie river. Still further nort forest fires have done great damage this summer and the approach of winter is | dreaded because of the destitution cold woeather will bring. Fort Cuipewian is about 800 miles northwest of Winnipeg at the outlet of | Athabasea Lake, The rogion is very spursely scttled. prices to suit you alk