Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, July 1, 1894, Page 19

who had come ap to be and had heara ter, Raymonde, present at the benediction, mbout tho miracle, “Oh, dear child, what jo fember of the hospital, “and how proud I Bm to have you In my ward It is for us Al an nnexpocted m r that the holy virgin should have selecte The young girl I|m| kept 1" repeated the one of the hands ot the miraculously cured girl between her own two hands. “Will you permft mo to call you my friend, dcar young lady? I was so sorry for you and I am 8o pleased to see you walking, so strong and already so beautiful Let mo kiss you once more It will bring e good luck.” Marie stammered in her happincss: “Thank you; thanks so much, with all my heart. 1 am w0 happy—so happy.’ “Oh, we will not leave you again' con- tinued Mme, de Jonquiere You hear, Raymonde; we will follow her and kneel be. #ide her, and we will take her back after the ceremony Is over.” 8o thews ladies jolned the cortege, walking beside Pierre and Father Massals, behind the canopy in the midst of the cholr, be- tween the rows of chairs that were already occupled by membors of the delegations Only the banners were placed on either side of the high altar. Marie also advanced and only stopped at the foot of the steps, with her cart, whose heavy wheels sounded on the pavement. She had brought it in with her, In her foolish desire to leave it, a sad and Poor object In the splendors of God's home %0 be a proof of her miracle. From the time they chtered the organ pealed forth & triumphant melody, an acclamation by wound of a happy people, wherein presently was heard a colestial voice like that of an angel—a sharp, happy note, pure as crystal, Abbe Judaine had placed the holy sacra ment on the aitar, the crowd filled the nave. Bach one took his place and waited for the ceremony to begin, Marie at once fell on her knees, between Mme. de Jonquiere and Raymonde, whose eyes were molst with emo tion, while Father Massals hausted after the state of nervous that he had been !n ever since he grotto, £obbed aloud, sinking to th his face between his' hands. Behind them Plerre and Berthaud stood, the latter still looking round, lynx eyed, to keap proper order even amid the most violent emotions In all his trouble, overcome by the swell of the organ, Pierre lifted his head to look at the interior of the basilica. The nave was narrow, high and decorated in bright colors that frequent windows flooded with light. The lower vaults scarcely existed or were mere narrow hallways threaded between the bases of the pillars and the lateral chapels, and which still more increased the Tieight of the nave, whose thin lines of stone were traced with Infantine grace. A golden grating, as transparent as lace, shut off the cholr, in which the high altar of white mar- quite ¢ tension left the ground, ble, covered with carvings, was of an almost virginal sumptuosity. The most astonish- ing thing, how was the extraordinary ornamentation that transformed the entire church into a display of embroideries and Jowels, of banners and ex-votos—a whole river of gifts, presents that had flowed and gathered within its walls, a stream of gold and sllver, of velvet and silk that carpeted it from top to bottom. It was the unending manctuary of thank offerings, it sang an un- ending song of faith and gratitude by means of its thousand treasures. Above all the banners fluttered and multt plied like the leaves of a tree, without num- et Thirty at least hung from every vaulted ceiling. Up above, ornamenting the whole surface, others were made into pic- tures, framed by tho colonnades. They Tiung the whole length of the walls, they floated from the chalpels, they surrounded the cholr by a silken sky, a satin or velvet atmosphere. They were to be counted by ‘hundreds, One was tired merely looking at them. Many were so celebrated by their clover handiwork that famous work women came to examine them. That of Our Lady of Fourvriere, with the arms of the city of Lyons; that from Alsatia, fn black velvet, embroidered in gold; the one from Lorraing, where the Virgin, 'covering two children with het cloak, might be seen; that from Brittany, blue and white, with' a bleeding heart in the midst of a glory. All empires, ail the kingdoms of the earth Were repre sented. The most distant countries—Canada, Brazil, Chili, Hayti—all had there flags there, with which they had come to do honor to the Queen of Heavon Besldos tpfi banners there was another wondetful sight—the thousands and thousands of gold and sllver hearts, hung up &very- where, shining from the walls like the stars in the firmament above. Designs of mythical roses were made of them; they hung in festoons and garlands the entire length of the pillars, urrounded tho windows and dec- orated the deepest arches. Up on the clere story an ingenlous idea had been carried out by using the heartd to form high letters that made up the sentences addressed by the Holy Virgin to Bernadette; and all round the nave ran a high frieze that was the joy of childish minds, who busied themselves by spelling out the words. It was a perfect swarm, a prodiglous glitter of hearts, whose infinite numbér made one quite giddy when ono realized how magy trembling hands had given them as thank offerings. Besides, there whre many other ex votos, many of which wére utllized as ornaments in a most unexpeotéd way. For Instance, there were wedding bouquets, crosses of honor, Jewels, photographs, rosarles, and even spurs, all framed uhder glass. There was also a pair of officer’s epaulets, and many swords, ong which was a superb saber left as a uvenir 6f some miraculous conversion. As though these were not enough, still other riches—treasures that were piled up high—shone out from every side—marble statues, dladems enriched with diamonds, a wonderful rug designed at Blols and em brojdered by ladies from all over France, a golden palm with enamel ornaments sent by the sovereign pontif. The lamps that hung down from the vaulted celling were likewise gifts, some of them in solid gold with deli- cate workmanship. They could not be counted, but studded the nave like lustrous stars. Before the altar hung one sent by Ireland that was a_‘‘chef d'oeuvre” of cary- ing. Others from Valence, from Lille, from Macao (the latter from the very extreme parts of China), were actual jewels shining With precious stones. And what a splendid scene when the twenty branches in the lustre of the choir were lighted, when the hundreds of lamps, the hundreds of tapers burned all at once, at times of great ceremonies! It was then that the whole church was aglare, all the little flames in the “Chapelle Ardente” were re- flected by a thousand lights in the thousands of gold and silver hearts. It became an ex- traordinary flood of light, the walls running with brilliant reflections and looking as though the blind glories of paradise were at- tained. while the numberless banners un- folded thelr silken, velvet and satin shesn, embroidered with bleeding hearts, victorious saints and virgins whose lovely smiles gave birth to miracles. Ah! all these pomps had already cr:ated great ceremonies In the Basilica. The offices, prayers and hymns went on there without ceasing. From one end of the year to the other the incense rose, the organs pealed, the kneeling crowds prayed with all thelr might. Continual masses were sal vespers, vows, benediction and daily offices repeated over and over, and all feasts cele- brated with most unequaled magnificenc The smallest anniversaries became pretexts for fatuous solemnities. Every pilgrimage had to have its share in the worship. Those suffering and humble creatures from distant lands to be sent away con- soled, enchanted, carrying off the vision of an opening paradise. They had scen the luxury of God, and would retain an eternal memory of Its ecstasies. In their empty rooms, beside miserable beds of pain in all Christendom the Basilica with its flourish of lght and wealth was recalled 1ke some droam of promise and compensation, like some good fortune, the treasure of a future Jife, into which the poor should surely enter some day after their long suffcring here bes low. But these splendors without consolation or hope did not give Plerre any feeling of joy His uneasiness increased horr.bly, his heart became like some black void, like the dark- ness before a storm, wherein ideas and sen- timents are in conflict vor since Muarle had risen from her cart, crylng that she was cured, since she walked with strength #0 bright, 8o utterly resuscitated, he ex- perienced nothing but an immense desola- thon. Yot he loved her llke some brother and was glad beyond words to ses that she no longer suffered. Why, therefore, was he so troubled by her felicity? He could not look at her as she knelt now, smiling through her tears, with her reconquered beauty and hoalth, without a feeling in his bleeding heart 1f he had recoived a mortal wound Still he remained, so turned away his gaze and tried to interest himself in Father Mas- s, Who was il convulsed with sobs on the flagstones and whose weakness lie posi- tively envied, with its divine ftliusion of l‘ll\m* love. For an fnetant he asked | Berthaud some questions coneerning one of the banners and seemed interested in the | explications Which do you mean? The lace o here?* s, to the left." “It is one given by Puy, The coats of are those of Puy and Lourdes joined rosary. The lace on it is so fine you could hoid 1t in the palm of your hand..” But now Abbe Judaine advanced, and the ceremony was about to begin. The organs growled o more, a canticle was sung while the holy sacrament remained upon the altar like some sovereign star amid the shiny d and silver hearts as numerous as the planets. Plerre had not the courage to | ®ay longvr. As Marie had Mme. de | Jonquiere and Raymonde with her he might g0 away and disappear in some quiet corner where he might weep at last. In a word he made the excuse to go to keep his rendezyous with Dr. Chassaigne, Then he had a fresh fear just how to get out through such a crowd as pres be- tween him and the doors. He had an in- apiration, he crossed between the sacristy, and went down Into the crypt by means of the narrow interior staircase. ddenly there was profound silence, a ulchral shade, succeeding to the voices of praise the prodigious noise up above the crypt, hewn out of the rock, formed two passages, separated by the wall that sup- ported the nave, and led under the arches to a subterraneous chapel, lighted day and night by little lamps. An’ obscure forest of pillars stretched out, and a mythlcal terror seemed to oxist In thoso half-ights, in which lurked all kinds of mysteries. The walls wel bare, they were the actual stones of the tomb, wherein all flesh must pass its final sleep. All along the passages, against the partitions, that covered its entire length by the marble slabs for the ox-votos, stood in double row of confessionals, for ft was here in this dead part of the world that confes- slons were heard, and there wer priests who spoke all languages, to pardon the faults of those sinners who came here from the four parts of the globe Just now, when the massos were crushing up above, the crypt was absolutely cmpty, not one foul was there, and Pierre, in the intense silence, in the freshness of the tomb, fell on his knees. The action came from no need of prayer or adoration, but because his whole boing was overcome by the moral tor- ture that had broken it down. He longed with tortuous thirst to see clearly. Oh, he must be able to reflect more profoundly, to work out, at last, the meaning of this abase- ment, this undoing of all things mortal He suffered a fearful agony of mind attempted to go over every minute since Marie, suddenly raised from her couch of misery, had uttered her ory of resurrection. Why, in spite of his brotherly joy at sceing her stand up, had he felt such an awful sen- sation, as though the worst human blow had struck him? Was he jealous of the divine grace? Did he suffer, because the Virgin, in healing her, had forgotten him, whose soul was sick unto death? He remembered the final named, the supreme rendéz he had fixed his faith, the moment when the Holy sacrament should pass, it Marfe were cured; and she had been cured and still lie did not belleve, and from henceforth he had no longer hope, for he now should never He he had vous on which proot believe. Here lay the sting. It came forth with_cruel, blinding certainty. She was saved; he was lost. The pretended miracle that gave her back to life had achieved in him a complete ruin of the belief in the su- pernatural. What he had hoped and longed to find at Lourdes, that inunocent faith, the happy faith of a little child, was no longer possible, could never flourish again after the downfall of the prodigious, the cure pre- dicted by Beauclair that had been zed polnt for point! Jealous! Oh, no; but de- vastated, mortally sad, thus to remaln alone in the frozen desert of his intelligence, to regret the fllusion, the falsehood, the divine 10vé borne by those simple in heart, of which his heart was no longer capable to feel, A flocd of bitterness choked Picrre and toars sprang Into his eyes. He had glided down on the stones, overcome by his an- guish. And he recalied that delicious mem- ory of the day on which Marle, having guesged the source of his doubt, had inter- osted herselt in his conversion, taking his hahd in the darkness,holding it In her own, as she murmured that she would pray for him. Oh! with sll her very soul. She forgot self while supplicating tha Holy Virgin to save her friend rather than herself, if she might recolve but ope favor from her Divine Son. Then followed another memory, those ador- able hours they had passed together under the thick night of the trees during the pass- ing of the torchlight procession. There, agaln, they had prayed for cne another, and were lost in each other, with such an ardent desire for mutual happiness that for an in- stant they reached that line which gives its all and immolates self. Then, their long tenderness bathed in tears, the pure idyll of thelr suffering was thrust aside by this brutal separation; she, cured, radiant in the midst of the hymns of the triumphant basilica; he, lost, sobbing in his misery, crushed under the shadows of the crypt, in the icy silence of the tomb. It was as though he had again lost her, a second time, Suddenly Plerre felt the knife thrust, this last thought plunged into his heart. He understood his trouble at last, and by a sub- tle light he recognized the terrible crisis in which he struggled. The first time he lost Marle, the day he became a priest, saying to himself it were better for him not to be a man, 5o long as she might never be a woman, struck down in her youth by incurable dis and ease. And now she was cured, now she was a woman; he had seen her suddenly become strong, beautiful, bright, desirable and fecund. He was as dead, unable ever again to be a man. He could never lift the tomb- stone that was crushing him—that touched his flesh She alone escaped, and left him behind in the cold earth. The whole vast world was open to her, happine:s smiled upon her, love laughed on her sunlight paths; a husband, ) doubt, children—while he, buried up to his shoulders, retaining only the liberty of his brain, could by it merely sufter all the more. She only belonged to him so long as she belonged to no one else, and his anguish was so fearful that for an hour he fought it oit definitely, deciding just how they were separated, and this time it was forever; then he succumbed. A perfect rage selzed Plerre. He felt tempted to go up again to tell Marie the truth, A miracle! A lie! The helping good- ness of an Almighty God was a pure illu- sion! Nature alone had acted, life had once more triumphed. And he would give his proofs, he would show that life is the only sovereign, renewing again by health all suf- fering here below. Then they would go away together, they would go far, far away and be happy! — But a sudden terror invaded his belng. What! touch that little pure white soul, murder all belief in her, ruin her faith by which he himself was ravaged? It suddenly appeared to him like some hor- rible sacrilege. Then came the horror as if he had assassinated her; should he ever feel Incapable one of these days of making her happy? Perhaps she might not believe him | Besldes, would she ever marry a perjured priest, she who would always retain the memory of having been cured in an ecstasy ¢l bliss? It all seemeed monstrous, mad and filthy, His revolt was «ln-mly subdued, and ha felt only a vague lassitude, a burning sen- ition of some incurable hurt, his poor heart nat was torn and bleeding. Then followed a fearful struggle in that empty space In which his mind worked What was he to do? He wished to go away, never to see Marie again, having become a coward in his suffering. For he understood that now he must lie, since believed him to have been saved with her, converted, his soul saved, as her body had been cured. She had sald so in her joy, as she dragged her cart up the colossai ramparts. Oh! to have had this great happiness together—to- gether to have felt their souts melt one in the her! And he had already lied, he would obliged to lle forever, In order to dispel that lovely pure illusion So he gave vent to the final beatings of his { heart, he swore to have the sublime charity to pretend peace, to simulate the delight of the salvation. He wished her to be per- fectly happy, without one regret, one doubt, in full serenity of faith, convinced that the Holy Virgin had consented to this mythical unfon. What mattered his own tortures Perhaps later he would get over it. In the midst of the desolation of his mind was it not a ray of sustaining joy, all the joy he would give to her by his, consoling false words? Several minutes went on, and Plerre re- mained prone upon the floor to calm his fever. He no longer thought, he no longer existed, in the utter feeling of exhaustion that follows the crisis or a whole being But he thought he heard a footstep and rose palnfully, pretending to read the exvotos, the | luscriptlons engraved om the marble slabs 'rm-' omm all along the wall. But ne was mistaken, No one was there; but he continued to read on, first mechanically seeking distraction, and then, little by Iittle, he realized a new emo- tion It was inconceivable. Paith, adoration, gratitude was written on those marble slabs in letters of gold by the thousands. Some were ingenuous enough to cause a smile. A colonel had his foot made In marble with these words, “Thou hast saved it for me see that it werve Thes' Further on might be read, “May her protection extend to the chase;” or the strange requests made gave wome (dea of the thanks desired. “To the Immaculate Mary, by the father of a family, restored health, suit gained, advancement ob- tained But these were lost in the concert of burning crles that mounted The lovers' cries, “Paul and Anna ask for the benediction of Our Lady of Lourdes upon thetr unfon.” The mother’s ery, Gratitude to Mary, who has cured my child three times.” “Gratitude for tne birth of Marle Antoinette, whom [ confide to her, as well as all my belongings.” “P. D., aged 3 year has been preserved to the love of his par- ents.” The wife's cry, the cry of invalids restored, the cry of souls restored to happi- ness, “Protect my husband, make my hus- band always well, was infirm in both legs, now I am cured.” “‘We came hither and we hope.” “I prayed, I wept, and she has grantod my requests.” And still other cries, the cries of an ardent discretion that gave rise dreams of long romances. ‘‘Thou hast united us, protect us.’ ‘To Mary, the atest of gifts.” Always the same cries, same words, recurring with a fevent passion, gratitude, recognition, praise, ac- tlons of grace and thankfulness. Ah! those bundreds, those thousands of erles, fixed for- ever In marble, that from the bottom of the crypt clamored to the Virgin the eternal de- votion of the miserable human beings she had succored Plarre could hardly heart was invaded by tion. Was he alone read them, his bitter an increasing desola- never to receive any help? When so many suffering creatures had been heard, why should he alope be unheard? And this made him think about the extraordinary number of prayers that must have been said at Lourdes, from one end of the year to the other. He tried to estimate the number, the days passed before the grotto, the nights in the Church of the Rosary, and then the ceremonics at the Basilica, and the processions by sunlight and starlight. It was inculculable, those con- tinual supplications of every second. The desire of the faithful to thus fatigue the ears of God, thus to draw down from Him blessings pardons, by the enormous masses of prayers that were offered The priest told that God exacted the ex- piation of the sins of the whole of France by means of yer, and when the number was sufficient France would cease to be pun- {shed. What a hard belief for the necessity of chastisement! What a ferocious imagi- nation of the blackest pessimist! As though life must be bad in order that such a ery of misery, both physical and morai, be sldered necessary to mount upward heaven! In all this unending sadness Pierre felt, t00, a profound pity. Ah, this wrotched hu- manity, reduced by this excess of woe, £ naked, ‘o feeble, so abandoned, that it even gave up all reason so as to put all possible pleasure in the giddy hallucination of a dream, all this interested Plerre. Fresh tears filled his eyes, and he wept for himself, for others, for all those poor tortured beings who feel the need of stupefying their woes, to stiffe them in order to escape from tne realities of this world. He seemed again to see that frenzied crowd kneeling at the grotto, calling out its inflamed supplication to keaven; those crowds of 20,000 or 30,000 souls, from whom rose a tervency of desire, like smoke from incense mounts in the sun's rays. Then, too, in this very crypt, in the Church of the Rosary, might be seen another exaltation of falth; the entire nights passed in the ccstasy of paradise, the dumb dellght of communions, the ardent, worldiess appeals, in which the creature Is consumed, burned and blown away. Then, as though the prayers before the grotto, as though the perpetual adoration of the Rosary were insufficlent, that ardent call commenced again around him on the walls of the crypt, only there it was perpetuated in marble and did not cease to cry out all human sufferings until all ages to come. The very walls, the marble itselt prayed, in- vaded by the universal thrill of pity that touched the stones. Thus the prayer rose higher and higher, and reached the bright basilica that sparkled above him, filled at this moment with a phrenetic people whose breath he seemed to feel through the paving stones of the nave as they sang a canticle of supremo hope. He ended by being carried away, as if he, too, were in the midst of that immense flood of prayers, that starting from the dust of the earth, mounted throughout the churches, one on top of the other, growing from altar to altar, appealing to the walls to such a de- gree that even they sobbed out the supreme cry of anguish that must plerce the sky, with the white needle and fts high golden cross on the very top of the spire. Oh! Almighty God! Oh! Divinity! Helpful strength! Who- ever Thou may be, show Thy mercy on poor mankind. Cease all human sufferings. Plorre was all at once dazzled. He had followed the left passage, and suddenly came out in broad daylight at the top of the ram- parts. And instantly two tender arms seized him and enveloped him. It was Dr. Chas- salgne, with whom he had forgotten his “rendezvous,” who was walting for him there to take him to visit Bernadette's room and the church of the Curate Peyracuale. “Oh! my child! how great your joy must be. I have just heard the great news, the extraordinary grace that Our Lady of Lourdes has shown to your friend. Do you remember what I sald day before yesterday? Now I am all right, you yourselt are saved. The priest, Intensely pale, felt one last, bitter thrust. But he was able to smile and answered softly: “Yes, we are saved. Tam very happy.” The Ile had commenced, the divine illusion o wished to give, for charity's sake, to others. Then Plerre saw another wonderful sight. The front door of the basilica stood wide open, the red flood of the sun filled the nave from end to end. All was lighted by this Kkind of incendiary, the golden gate of the choir, the gold and silver exvotos, the lamps studded with preclous stones, the banners with thelr light embroideries, the hanging incense burners, like jewels that were flying in midair. Thither, at the end of all this burning splendor, amid the surplices of snow and the golden chasubles, he recognized Marle, with her hair undone; her golden hair, too, making her covered over as if with a zolden mantle. And the organs pealed out a royal hymn, the people acclaimed their God, while Abbe Judalne, who had placed the holy sacrament upon the altar, once more held it up, very high, very high, shining out with all its glory amid the shimmering gold of the basilica, while all the bells rang out in joyous chimes the announcement of the prodigious triumph. (To Be Continued Next Sunday.) o — Wanted Modern Conveniences. A man with a serfous countenance went into an S-cent lodging house on West Madison street Thursday night, relates the Chicago Tribune. He deposited a nickel, a 2-cent stamp, and a penny on the counter, and sald “Your rates are reasonable enough i your accommodations are good. Has my room a south window?" “It hasn't any window." Well, well; that's bad. T suppose, though, that the transom admits plenty of air?" “It hasn's any transom.” “No transom? 1 do hope that it has the incandescent light instead of gas. 1 despise gas." S0 do 1, and you're glving me too much of it,” sald the clerk. “Why don't you go to your stall and put your jaw to hed?"’ “I will go to my couch in good time re- jolned the guest with dignity. “I want to know how the room I am to occupy is fur- nished. Does it contain a desk that I may attend to my correspondence? Does the carpet harmonize with the wall paper? Does—"" “See here, partner,” cried the clerk, hand- ing over the nickel and the postage stamp and the penny, “there's a 10-cent ledging- louse across the street. Go over there and perbaps they will give you electric bells and scented soap and send your breakfast to your room in the morning. Your blood is a trifie too aristocratie for an S-cent house Gie.” He got. A floating paragraph says a New England seminary for girls has adopted the following college yell: “Wha, who, wha, who, wha, who, zippe riroar, hi yi, ki yl, zip pom, love bomyah, bumyah, sip, zip, 94! The higher education of woman I8 bound to come. i low she - Te A Bellovue Woman with a Remarkablo | and Romantic History. JULESBURG NAMED AFTER HER HUSBAND Harrowing Tale of Mix Death—Widowed at Fourteen -V'rocession of the “Holl- ness” Poople~The “Washin' Up t Lake " I went down and gte dinner last Sunday with one of the families that live In a 1og cabin beside the railroad: track near Dello- Vile. These squatters, If squatters they were, belonged to the aristoera simplicity of their Intercourse with such high dignitaries as Logan Fontenells, the last chiet of the Omahas, whose father was of the nobility of France, and Peter A. Sarpy, who, in early days, was the autpcrat of the great American Fur company in this region, and was worshipped more obsequl- ously than is our governor, or evon our pur- veyors of public offices—senators and con- gressmen; and they were connected with the y. They told with traders and ranchmen who ruled the land under the autocrat, Sarpy. Theso squatters groeted us warmly, as old friends, and—but I won't tell the vory worst, for my ‘acquaintances of the later aristocracy, who have been In Omaha at least three or four years, would cut me entirely It I should acknowledge that But to my story. What recent novelist s it that has elaborated the doctrine that we become entirely different entities once in so often? Whoever it Is might have made a very interesting story of our two phases of existonce, for the first was spent among In- dians and French traders and ploneers on Nebraska plains, occupied with dealings with the Indlans, taking up claims and stak- ing out railroad towns where the buffalo trail was yet to be seen, and the second in wielding that mighty weapon, the pen, amid the paved streets, electric light and cars of a_western city. But today in the midst of the second phase we had touched the magic ring which was to put us back in the first. At least, so it seemed, as we ap- proached the Ittle low log cabin which con- tained two small rooms not over seven feet high, with a still smaller and lower cell at- tached. The occupants, who hore a resem- blance to those ferrymen and canoe men of the first era, with their nets and paddles scattered around, were sitting under a porch made of a sail cloth attached to the logs of the cabin on one side, and to Corinthlan pillars of trees denuded of the bark on the ; the floor the cleanly swept earth, How do you do, Elton, don’t you know sald my companion, Mac, offering his I don't; you've got me now,” said the gray haired man in brown overalls and blus check shirt, who courteously rose to greet us, looking at us intently, but with a puzzled air. Call your wife; she'll know us,” said Mac. he had retreated into the log cabin as she saw us approaching, and two or three of the seven or elght sitting around got up and went in to call her. Presently she came out tying her apron strings, escorted by her body guard. “How do you do, Lizzie, you know me, I'm sure,” said Mac. She looked at me, and then grasping my hands, answered: “Of course I do. Tt's'Mac and his wife Didn't you know them?” turning to Elton. “No, T dldn’t, but 1 do now,-and I'm glad to see you. You've grown so gray you don't look as I remember you,” said Elton. “These are my Children,” sald Lizzle “That's Mary, my oldest; she was born at Decatur, you remember, ‘she’s Mrs. 3 and Nora, Mrs. . and Lizzie, Mrs. ——, and this is the only girl at home. These are the boys. I'vg had ten children.” “Ten children, Lizzle, and so many mar- ried, and you look as young as evel “Well, it's hard work has done it then," was her pleased rejoinder, “for I haven't dono anything else. Her cheeks were stfil rosy beneath the tan; her eyes were atmost as bright as when we remembered her, a girl of 16, and her black hair waved in a manner that would have distracted with envy the devotee of the curling iron, as she calmly took it down and proceeded to comb and do it up again while she talked. Lizzie not only belongs to the aristocracy, but she is a historical personage, a participant In one of the blood-stirring events of the early history of Nebraska. A TRAGEDY OF THE PLAINS. Every old settler remembers the story of Jules the ranchman, from whom Julesburg, once a well known station on the famous old California and Pike's Peak trail, was named. Jules supplied the emigrants with food for themselves and their beasts in exchange for their rapidly diminishing dollars as they journeyed along the sunflower marked trail, and hailed with joy the rare sight of a house and white occupants. Jules had incurred the enmity of another ranchman named Slade, who had sworn to Kkill him at sight, and after waiting five years for his opportunity he succeeded, tying him up to a dry goods box and shooting off his ears while still alive, and then bidding his twenty-five men empty the contents of their revolvers Into htm. Lizzie was Jules' wife. His child wife of 14, who had been left behind at the ranch when he armed himself with gun and revol- ver and knife to go to a distant corral for his horses and cattle, and who, when she began to watch for his return, saw instead a gang of rude and drunken plainsmen with oath and jeer, and taunting story of her hus- band's death, enter her home and carry away the stock of goods and everything of value, leaving her helpless and alone on the treeless and houseless prairie, the man and woman who had been in charge of the ranch her only companlons, and the nearest set- tlement hundreds of miles away. Her husband had started with $3,000 on his person; he had owned scores of cattle and horses, a well equipped ranch and stock of goods and money in the bank, but she was left with only a terrified and helpless man and woman and the few hundred dollars the wretches had not discovered, to wait in fear and trembling for days until a ranchman from further west—on his way to the settl ments for goods— took her in his wagon and brought her to a land where people lived, not fiends. She had married twice since, and her sub- sequent life had contained other tragedies, but she carried through them all the bright and alert air and the good looks which marked Lizzie Calyom (pronounced Kigon) the girl whom Jules, the rich and dashing French ranchman, had wooed and carried way to the tragedy on the plains. She came of St. Louis French crcole stock, and [ wondered at the ease with which she entertained us. It would have done credit to many a drawing room, the crudity of speech and manner engrafted on it forming «a strange commingling, What had been the environment of the grandmother, with se eral greats appended, from whom this must have been inherited? It did not seem a log hut under the bluffs beside the railroad track; surely It resembled more a salon where she entertained and charmed be- ruffed and powdered courtiers, for a search into the ancestry of these French creol scaftered along the rivers that travel gulf- ward would reveal some strange problems of heredity. The French hospitality and art of cooking, too, were transmitted, as became apparent while she diligently prepared a dinner over the little cook stove in the log Kitchen, so ould just stand stralght in it, and so small it held only a stove, a table and two people Her willing waiters, the children, brought at her command from the root cellar dug into the side of the hill the materials wanted for her work, and we finally, obedient to the command to * up and help ourselves,” found as lght bread, well made coffee, rich cream and fine golden butter as could have been procured any- where. THE AFFAIR OF THE DAY Just as we were finishing our or five horsemen rode up to the porch. They were evidently well known, for the gr ings from Bill and Tom wnd Jack were hearty “Where are you going?' said the yovng Oaughter, the counterpart mother at 16, “Why, up to the washin'! Don't you know the ‘Hollness' people are going to have a ploneer "set meal four pretty of her \HA_DAILY BEE. SUNDAY, JULY 1, 1891 - gl SOUATTERS Wflfl BLUEBLOOD | | | | aasin S i - e - | | 5 > 5 I /4 /z( re z‘o Oo this 5741/////( 7 i " The Direct Line to MANITOU and PIKE'S PEAK is the ' | 'Great ROCk Island Route TICKET TAKES YOU THROUGH DENVER, GOING OR RETURNING, AT THE SAME PRICE, OR TAKE THE DIREOT MANITOU LINE (SEE MAP.) | ‘ CHICAGO, ROCK ISLAND & PACIFIC RAILWAY. | s, ] = i | D ' i », | \0‘ 1-4//’/ ey ‘ & ¢w° ", ":, | [pueerol o‘flfi.go sPAs. [ | mmoron i survi | leweaso o cewven " COLORADD 8PA8 | » noOpEBL lor.toms » oowen | WTHOUT Chvee [wew oeeans o vewven | o n | Our Big is the frain. Leaves Chicago at 10 o'clock cvery night and arrives at 5 Manitou sccond morning. Quick trip. Mcst oxcellent cquipment Dining Cars, (‘ll.m'( ars, and superb Puliman Sleepers | Don't fail to go to top of Pike’s Peak by the Cog Railroad. Wonderful experience. Your Tickot Agent can tell you all about it and sell you ticket with your Colorado Tourist Ticket, | | should you so desire 1 JNO. SEBASTIAN, Gen'l Passenger Agent. | | The only line running thrmmh s'eepers to Denver, Colorado | ! Springs and Pueb'o. Coloradotrain leaves Omaha daily at 1 :35p.m, | | Fu!l particulars and berth reservations secured by calling on | | or addressing CHAS. KENNEDY, G. N.-W. P. A., | | 1602 Farnam St.,, Omaha, Neb. ‘\ baptizin' I;|| in the lak are comin' back a ways. Scon they began to appear through the trees—lumber wagons with a whole family in, buggies with a young fellow and his gir an old-fashioned carriage with the preacher and some of the elders, more young men horseback, more lumber wagons—a long prccession, and finally an old buggy contafn- ing a fat, old, darky woman and two little boys, who rolled around on the seat as she lashed the bony steed in an endeavor to catch up with the wagons just disappearing around the wooded bend ahead. All this time our friends wore calling out and receiving hearty greetings. “Why, this is more people than we've seen go by In a year!” “Gofn’ up to the washin’, be you to me Bellevue is havin' a regular puk “What are you all doin’, tearin' through 9 R aema the woods this way? Are you all goin’ to be washed 7" “There’s that Em ——. She's one of ‘em!” “You see"—to me—‘“they don't believe in wearing any flowers in their hats or any ribbons or any faney fixin’s on their clothes. One of 'em went for me the other day about my hat, and it's just one of the common kind you see every da; In a lull I ventured to inquire what these people were. “Why, the ‘Holiness' people they call them- selves.’ Another suggested Free Love Methodis and on our looking a little surprised finally eliminated the “love.’ “But the title which suited them best was ““Hollness people.” And then they concluded to go up to the lake and see the “washin’ " and invited us to go along, and we accepted the invitation. Mac and Elton, by virtue of the dignity of their gray hairs, loitered in the rear and stopped part way back near where Elton had pointed out to me the grave of the chief, Logan Fontanelle, in the distauce, quietly but proudly informing me that he was the only man about there who could tell where this once mighty warrior, who had killed a score of Sioux, lay..The grave, he stated, was overgrown by plum trees whose trunks were as big as his wrists. AT THE WASHI Surrounded by Lizzie and her children I at last reached the lake, a long cut-off from the Missouri, with the usual muddy banks and bottom, The preacher, who looked muscular enough for the task before him, prayed earnestly after he descended into the depths of muddy water and weeds, and then dexterously sub- merged the earnest devotees who came into the water, and aided them out upon the dusty, weedy bank, where they stood drip- ping until the ceremony should be finished The multitudes who had come to see, sat in the wagons or stood near with stolid, ex- pressionless faces, except the young horse- back riders, wno reigned their horses a short distance away and cracked a few silly jokes and laughed harshly. What desire is it that brings such crowds together? And what do they think? There is always a morbid curiosity concerning any manifestations of the religious spirit, the more marked the lower the degree of in- telligence, but it is not manifested con- cerning such scenes alone. Anything spec- tacular will draw a crowd, that will stand for hours listening and looking. If it were the young alone, eager to receive new im- pressions, It were explainable, but the mid- dle aged and even the old are almost equally it feed? eager. What want does We walked back again under the great elms and walnuts, enjoying the shaded, flickering light, the spring of the earth under our feet, and we almost envied these squatters the beauties of nature, which were theirs to enjoy. Although the railroad might pass them, it was sad to think that their parents had been almost the first to occupy the land, and yet not a foot of ground could they call their own. “We have had three good starts,” said Lizzie, “but something always happened.” And alas! the happening was never in their favor. The cruel feuds of the mew country had ended the career of her prosperous hus- band; the river had eaten up their farm at St. Mary's. Something was always hap- pening. But, after all, they the winds and storms could scarcely reach them under the great trees and the over- hanging bluff; their firewood was ready at hand; a garden was there for the working; they had no taxes to pay: and they had nine children! Verily, I believe we found the abodes of the rich! H. 8. M The Joy had a warm house; of living. Yes, there is joy in living if we look on the bright side, the flowery side. Make your life sweet with the fra- grance of the blossoms. Dash their aroma into the water of your bath, sprinkle it on your cloth- ing, saturate the air of your dwellings with it. It stands ready for your use in every bottle of Murray & Lanman’s FLORIDA WATER. (Great Record of A Great Event E BOOK: OF - BVIED EDERS: The Elutbentic history of the Faiv Tdorld’s " 4= (V2 . D. H. Burnham Frnes "‘E" F. D. 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