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[Now First Published.]
THE WHITE GIPSY,
A TALE OF MINES AND MINERS,
By J. MONK FOSTER,
Author of “A Fit Prow Lassie,'' “Slaves of Kate,” “A Miner’s Million,” “Queon of
the Factory,” "A Crimson Fortune,” “Passion's Aftermath,” Etc.
/Copyrighted lt-93, by the Author.)
CHAPTER XIV.
THE JEWELED LROOCH.
It was the week preceding Christmas,
and the White Gipsy was residing with the
Rev. Matthew Mallison and ir.s sister at the
Paul Meredith ha i gone away
over a week ago. sir Sydney and Lady
Carsland had urged him to stay at tne hall
until the Christmas and New Veal’s festiv
ities were over, but the young man had in
sisted upon leaving at the time indicated,
saying, in excußeof his departure, that his
friends would be put to great inc.mveuience
if ho were not to join them as ho had prom
ised.
So the lovers said good-by to each other
with dim eyes, trembling hands, and fast
throbbing hearts; and te turned his back
upon Thorrell Moor, while Salome res
olutely set her mmd upon the work before
her.
The girl’s new home and surroundings
were all that she could demre. She was
well boused and sumptuously fed, had as
great a command of line garments as if she
bad Leea torn in the purple instead of hav
ing had to work so lately on the pit-top for
her bread; and there was no reasonable
craving Salome c uld not have gratified,
for before going away Paul had placed in the
vicar’s hands a large sum of money for his
sweetheart's sole and absolute use.
Mr. Mallisou’s spinster sister was a tall,
angular, sweet-faced atid kindly-soulei
woman of C 5, who took a great fancy to
Salome from the moment they first met;
and Margaret Ma iis m’s kiss and warm
words of welcome put the girl at her ease
the moment she entered her new home.
Miss Mallison was iu every wav qualified
for the task of improving Salome’s educa
tion. She was a lady of sound learning and
varied accomplishments; and being patient
and kindly natured was jusr. the sort of
teacher the young girl required.
Salome was very eager to begin the work
of Belt- improvement, but Miss Mallison in
sisted that no work should be undertaken
until they had passe 1 a neck together un
der the same roof. Her brother had sup
ported be in that resolution, and so Balome
settled down in their new quarters feeling
that fate had been very kind indeed to her
in placing her among such friends.
That first week at the vicarage was a
really happy one for the \V hire Gipsy.
Day af er diy the and Miss Malliaon made
visits to Earlsford for the purp ise of
purchasing the thousand and one things
ftalomo was supposed to need in he: altered
station of life. She smilingly protested
that she did not require the heaps of costly
garments and articles of personal adorn
ment which her companion ordered so
lavishly and regardless of expense, but Miss
Madison auswere 1 that it was I'aul Mere
dith’s desire, and so Salome resigned herself
to the inevitable outpour! g of good things.
Ere her lover had been absent a fort
night, Salome had accustomed herself to
her new surroundings, and was sedulously
devoting a portion of each day to the les
sons and studies Miss Mullison set before
her. She was the most eager of pupils, and
her quick intelligence enabled tier to grasp
readily and with ease the various tasks she
was called upon to master. So rapidly in
deed did she nssimulate knowledge of all
kinds, that ber informal governess predicted
that in a y. ar or 60, if she pursued her
studies with a like avidity, she would bos
tome a highly accomplished—even a trid
jant woman.
tso things stood when one morning shortly
before Christinas, Halome received a sur
prise in the shape of a small parcel. The
girl was hard at work in a small pretty fur
nished and bright looking r. oin set apart
for ber tutor and was struggling with the
intricacies of somebody's grammar when
the servant tapped at the door and entered
the moment afterward, bearing in her
hands the small parcel already mentioned.
"It is for Miss Barriugham,’’ raid the
maid, as she placed the square parcel upon
the table, and went away.
"A present, 1 suppose, Salome,” Miss Mal
lieon remarked. “Well, while you are
opening it 1 will jußt run away, as I want
to speak to my brother.’’
With tbut she glided away, and Salome
turned to the parcel. She lifted it first of
all, and tho.ght that it was rather heavy.
AVhat did it contain i Some fresh evidence,
she felt sure, of l a d's strong affection.
Then she glanced at the address, and saw
ber own name written in a thies, large,
•piuwling hand, totally uulike tiio neat
writing of her lover. She next gl meed at
the postmark, and saw that it was South
ampton, the port from which her sweet
heart and his comrades were to set out on
their voyage of adventure.
With Saul's name on her lips she cut tho
parcel open, and after removing tho outer
covering—a box of strong cardboard—she
came upon a pretty casket of rosewood with
brass mountings. The casket was locked,
but the key was attached thereto by means
of a cord, and, cutting the string, she fitted
the key, turned the lock, and lifted the fid.
A sheet of paper first met her eager gaze,
and on lifting it a cry of astonishment left
her lips. There before her lay a glittering
heap of jewelry—rings, bracelets, brooches,
and necklaces of rare stones set in solid gold
aud worthy, the amazed lass thought, of
decking the person of an empress.
She lifted tbc3 sparkling gems with one
hand, woile she grasped the sheet of note
paper with tne other, and ner heart went
out to the lover who had left her to cross
the sea. For a moment or two she forgot
the note in her hard in ber contemplation
of the precious gifts, but suddenly remem
bering it she spread out the sheet and
mastered its contents, dins is wl.at she
read:
“Deah Salome—When you read tils I
•hall be crossing; the sa. 1 send you these
jewels as a slight token of the love 1 have
t r you. Woen yon wear them you will
sometimes think of or.e who would have laid
down bis life for your sake. Do uo., I im
plore you, say who gave them to you. (iood
by, dear i-Salcme, forever. Yours faith
fully, Ul'oh Eastwood."
She gave a little gasp and ttie note flut
tered from her lingers. All along she had
felt absolutely certain that the present was
a gift from her absent lover, and now it !
turned out that the donor was in reality
none other than tne man whose overtures of ,
uffect.on -ho had refused to accept.
“Poor Hugh!’’ s • murmured sympathet- ;
ically, and her eyes waudered from the !
flashing stones to the gemmed ring the
young pitman hail placed upon her linger
on the occasion of their last meeting oppo
site the White Crow.
How had Hugh coma into possession of
such expensive articles of jewelry she asked
herself, isurely he could not have purchased
them. She glauced afresh at the jeweled
trinkets and then examined them again one
after the other.
They were not new. although In uo sense
the v orse for wear, she could see. Then, in
a sudden bah of recollection she recalled to
mind what Eastwood had said about some
l elalivo having bequeathed to him a for
tune; and no unconsidorable portion of the
bequest win undoubtedly the jewels in the
casket before her.
Not a trifle disturbed by the reflection that
Hugh had impoverished himself in order to
Confer a fraud gift upon her, she seleoted a
massive diamond and ruby broooh from the
collection, and piimed it in her dress at
her throat.
Tnen she carried the remainder to her
owu private room, and placing the casket
in the drawer of her dressing table, locked It
carefully. When she came to the study she
found Miss Mallison awaiting her.
“Well, dear, what was it?" Miss Mallison
asked with ail a woman’s eagern sa and
curiosity, and her gaze wandering from the
empty tio . to Salome’s faoe.
“A few small things an old and very dear
friend sent me, Miss Mallison,” Balome
answered quietly. “This,” touchiug the
jewol at her throat, “was among them.”
"How prutty 1 May I seo it, Balome*”
“Certainly. There it is.”
Miss Mallison took the jeweled article ia
her w hite tapering fingerß and scanned it
closely, now examining the riohly-chaaed
massy g id setting with a critical amt ap
preciative eye, and then scanning the
diamonds and rubies with the manner of a
connoisseur.
“It ia a very fine brooch indeed, dear,”
she said presently, “and must have cost
your friend a lot cf money—some hundreds
of pounds I should thiuk.”
“Not so much, surely. Miss Mallison!” the
girl said with bated breath. The value of
the trinket only served to make the gift all
the more remarkable.
“It must have—but there, dear, let me
fasten it for you.” Bbe refastened the orna
ment at the blushing girl’s throat, and
added: “ You ought to be thankful to the
Almighty, Salome, that your beauty and
your goodnese have won for you such gifts.”
The White Gipsy thanked her companion
with a grateful look, but vouchsafed no re
ply. Miss Mallison was satisfied that the
giver of the rare gift was her pupil’s atli
aoced husband, and Balome’s silence
respecting the donor ouly tended to confirm
that belief.
A few more days passed away unevent
fully. And on the day before Christmas
I.ady Carsland and her daughter called at
the vicarage. Her ladyship was shortly
about to give a party at the hall, and she
explained to Miss Mallison that she had
dropped in as she was passing in order to
ask the vicar, his sister and Miss Barring
ham to honor the gathering with their
presence.
Of course Miss Mallison accepted the in
vitation readily, and Balome, quite won
over by Lady Carsland’s gracious words and
manner, in which there was not a trace of
the condescension the girl had been quick to
note a:.d objeot to .when they mat at the
concert, accepted only a trifle less heartily.
Hud Balome been in every respect tne equal
of l ady Carsland, her ladyship oould not
have been more amiable, and even her
stately daughter was leas cold and haughty
than she forme ly bad t eeo.
S dome had ofteu wished lately to meet
the ladles from Carsland hall, and had ex
pected when they did meet that she would
lie severely snubbed by both mother and
daughter. She had, therefore, prepared her
self for the ordeal w hen I.ady Carsland aud
Cordelia were announced by the maid, aud
had made up her mind to meet their scorn
ful coldness with weapon sf e like kind.
But the unexpected change in their de
meanour bad thawed her immediately, aud
before the four ladies had parted they were
all chatting easily and frankly together, as
if they were friends of considerable stand
ing.
Still, all through tlio half hour which the
Carsland visit lasted, the girl felt that the
fevet of both were upon her. and that they
were asking themselves “Who and what is
this girl that Paul Meredith ha* selected out
of the common herd of work a day people
to be h s wife?”
But sha bore herself bravely, and com
mitted herself in noway: and handsome as
w ere both mother and daughter, she felt
that her own beauty lost nothing when
placed in contrast with their own. Bhe
felt also that they had come there thinking
to find her a shallow, emptv-headod lass,
with nothing to commend her to anyone
save her comeliness; and, to their surprise,
they found hor almost as wall Informed as
either of them, ami certainly as well spoken
and fair mannered.
Before going away, Lady Carsland, with
a great show of cordiality, askeu Salome to
run over to the hull any afternoou when
she had leisure, and the girl promised to do
so, not that she intended either to avail her
self of tho invitation or desired to do so,
but because Bhe wa. not rude enough to re
fuse the offer of friendship held out to her.
Borne oftornoons later, as Salome was
about to leave the vicarage for her usual
walk. Miss Mallison put a question to
her.
"Which way are you thinking of taking,
Salome'/” she asked, as she fastened the fair
girl * ; al I'!* oat at the throat.
“I iuli. led to walk through the wood
and come back by way of Carsland hall,”
tbe girl answered.
" Would vou mind calling at the hall.
dear/’’
“Not at all if you wish me to do so. I
promised Lr.dy Carsland that I would call,
as you know, but have not done so yet.”
“Then 1 shall be glad if you will do so,
this afternoon, Balome. Her ladyship
promi-ed to send me several novels which
she has read lately, but I suppos > she must
have forgotten all about the matter. And
that, dear, w ill supply you with an excel
lent excuse for calling.”
"Just so,” the White Gipsy responded
laughingly. “1 am afraid 1 should not
have ventured to call at tbe hull without an
excuse of some kind.”
" But you needed no excuse, doar, seeing
that Lady Carsland was so pressing in her
invitation for you to visit them whenever
you cared to avail yourself of her kind
offer.”
“ Tnat is so, but I have sometimes won
dered if her invitation was in reality so
very kind as it uppearedSalome rejoined
seriously,
“Hold, enough! Be off, and enjoy your
walk. I won’t arguo the point further; but
be sure you call for the books.”
“I will not forget,” was the girl’s reply
as she walked away with the quick.easy
step and grace of some untamed animal.
It was a fine afternoon There was a
glimmer of sunshine in the air, although the
wind bit keenly at the girl’s cheeks, aud tbe
landscape was white every where with the
touch of Jack Frost’s Augers.
On gainiug the high road, Balome went
through the villagein the direction of Marsh
Green till she came to a stile, and then she
struck through the rime covered fields aud
w as among the black douuded trees. During
her walk she met occasionally a begrimed
pitman coming from one or other of the
Carsland collieries, and as she was known
to many of the miners she met with a “good
afternoon, lass,” voiced roughly, but most
respectfully, and tbe girl wae careful to re
spond as heartily.
It was not without some feelings of un
easiness that Balome went through the
great gates and ulong the avenue toward
the mausion. Bbe had often looked upon
Carsland hall at times when she never
dreamed that she would ever become either
a frieud or acquaintance of its inmates,
much less tbe betrothed of Sir Syduey Cars
land's ward, and in consequence her face
was grave with thought when she ascended
the broad steps of the stately house and
timidly rang tbe bell.
Balome told the servant that she wished
to see Lady Carsland. Bhe was asked for
her name, aud alter giving it was shown
iulo a waltlug room. A few moments later
her ladyship came sailing into the apart
ment, her handsome countenance beaming
with smiles, and her whole bearing bespeak
ing the most frauk and generous pleasure.
“ U hat a delightful surprise this is. Miss
Barringbam I” she cried warmly, as Bbe held
out her white band and clasped Balome’s
hesitating lingers. “I thought I must
have offended you iu some way, and that
you did uot mean to accept my lu\Ration.
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, MARCH 19, X893 : --SIx¥EEN PAGES.
How are you, and how aro your friends the
Maliisons! Weil, I hope, Miss Barring
ha n ('
“Quite well, thank you, Ladv Carsland,”
Salome answered, keeping her self-posses
sion more easily than she had anticipated.
“I was asked by Miss Mallison to call upon
you with reference to some books—novels
she said, I think —which you were kind,
enough to promise to let her have.”
“O, yos, I reooMect now. How stupid of
me to forget the matter. I am honestly
sorry for my negligence, and hope you will
convey my regrets to Miss Mallison."
“With pleasure, I.ady Carsland. Miss
Mallison was sure that it had escaped your
memory.”
"It had quite. I will send the books on
to the vicarage at once with a servant, The
least 1 can do in to repair my oversight im
mediately." Bbe rose to ring the bell, but
her visit r arrested her hand by remarking.
■‘lf you do uot mind, Lady Carlsland, I
will take the books.”
“O, no, I cannot permit yon to fatigue
yourself ia that way. I will send the foot
man with thorn. Dj you mind coining to
my room for a few moments, Miss Barring
ham, I am quite alone this af ernoon, as
Sir Sydney aud Cordelia are out driving.”.
Balome nodded her dark heal, and her
ladyship led the girl up the broad imposing
staircase aud along a oorridor to a daintily
furnished little sitting room. First pulling
the silken cell cord. Lady Carsland mo
tioned her visitor to a low chair, riobly
uphol-tered in the palest pink satin, aDd
flung her graceful figure langorously into
another chair oa the other side of the fire
place, wherein a brfgbt fire was burning,
tilling the room with a comfortable
warmth.
“Gather up those volumes, Callan,” Lady
Carslaud said to her maul, indicating as she
spoke with a sweep of her hand some vol
umes scattered on her dressing table, “aud
tell James to take them immediately to Miss
Mallison at tbe vicarage."
The maid gathered the volumes together
with a whispered, "Yes, your ladyship,”
and when she bad gone away Lady Cars
land added:
"And now, my dear Miss Barringhara,
will you permit me to offer you a little re
freshment. You must be fatigued with
your long wain. Du cot refuse, I beg. At
least you will join me iu taking a drop of
wiuu and a biscuit.”
Balome was fain to accede to her hostess’
pressing offers of hospitality, and in a short
space they were sipping their wine and nib
bling their biscuits aud chatting about tbe
small matters in which ladles take an inter
est.
The White Gipsy had no reason to com
plain in any way of her reoeption at Lady
Carsland’s hands, still, despite her lady
shin’s great amiability, she would have pre
ferred her visit to be a short one. But in
the face of her hostess' manifest desire to
keep her there nothing short of rudeness
Would have enabled her to escape.
And so Balome and hor ladyship sat
there, passing from one topic to auother
with the agility of swift winged birds. Now
and again the girl bad felt that she was
lielug soxuoed very closely by her hostess,
as if sue were endeavoring to read her in
most soul.
Buch indeed was the cuse. Lady Cars
land woe deeply curious regarding her vis
itor was woi dering what were her con
nections and antecedents, and was even
then tryiDg to formulate some scheme which
would discover to her the girl's whole story.
Balome was seatod with her faoe toward
the window, s.j the full light fell on her
comely face, whereas, Lady Car-land’s
countenance was mthesbadow. Suddenly,
and just at the moment when the visitor
was thinking of rising and taking her leave,
her ladysnip’s attention was riveted on the
jeweled’ ornament at Balome’s throat. It
was as much as the cold calculating woman
could do to repress the astonishment she
felt, but she mastered it iu a moment, and,
rising, said quite ooolly:
“What a magnificent brooch you have
got, my dear Miss Barilngham! And those
stones are diamonds and rubies of the flist
water, lam confident. May I look at it,
dear, tor a moment ?”
“Certainly, with pleasure,” was Ralome’s
ready reply, and in a moment she had un
fastened the brooch and placed it ia the
other’s hand.
“Thank you—excuse me a moment.” and
with that excuse her ladyship walked away
from the girl and stood beside the window.
There she remained for a short time exam
ining the trinket in the most searching way.
That she saw something about the article of
an extraordinary kind seemed evident from
her drawn lips, ominously flashing eyes,
aid dilated nostrils.
But all traces of exoitement had fled from
her face wheu she walked back to Balome’s
side, saying:
"It Is very beautiful indeed, and muit be
very valuable. I daresay it was a gift?”
"It was.”
"From I’aul Meredith, I daresay?”
“O, no; not from Paul, but from an old
and dear friend,” was the girl’s ready and
unsuspeoting answer.
“I never saw a design I liked more,” Lady
Carsland went on, “and 1 must have oue
made like it. You will not think me pre
sumptuous, Miss Barringbam, if I ask you
to permit me to Bhow this brooch to my
jewoler, so that he may obtain one exactly
similar for myself ?”
"I will leave it with pleasure, Ladv Cars
land.”
“Thank you very much; I will let you
have it back in a few days. And ia the
meantime 1 will lend you one of my own in
exchange. Exchange is no robbery, you
know,” and her ladyship’s face wreathed
itself in smiles as she crossed the room again
aud took from her jewel case a broooh even
of greater value than the one she bad in her
hands. This she fastened with her own
hands at tho girl’s neck, and shortly after
ward Balome went away.
When the girl departed. Lady Carsland
went to the window aud watched the White
Gipsy’s slender figure pass quickly along the
avenue. Then she dropped again mto her
chair with tbe brooch lying lu her open
palm and a strange puzzied look upon her
face. She was sitting there still attempting
to grapple the problem which confronted
her, when her maid re-entered the apart
ment to say that Bir Sydney aud Miss Cars
land had returned.
"Willyou toll B.r Syduey that I desire to
see him at once. Caflan!”
"Here, your ladyship?”
"Yos, here!" she rejoined, quickly, her
voice sounding harsh and strained now.
Tho servant disappeared, and presently
the t.aroi.et entered the room.
“What is it, Adelaide?”
"Come in and shut door,” was her un
ceremonious command.
He closed tho door and went toward her,
remarking in his former iusouciant man
ner:
"Well, now, what is it, my dear?”
“Do not dear me!" she blazed forth, her
pent-up anger andexcit meat finding a sud
deu vent, ns she jumped to a standing po
sition aud faced him.
“What's the row now?” he cried, taken
quite abaok by his irate spouse’s manner and
words.
“I will tell you. 1 want you to tell me,
Bir Sydney Carsland, what became of the
jewels your father promised to give me on
the day I married your brother?'’
"How should I know?” he asked, with
faltering tongue aud blanching face.
"How should you know!" she ejaculated,
in a sneering tone. “Who should know if
you should not?"
“1 don’t understand you, Adelaide."
"You will very soon then. Do you think
because I married you aud have kept the
secret all these years, that 1 did uot know
who was the thief who robbed his father’s
safe and pilfered the jewels that formerly
belonged to his mother! You stole them. I
know that. What beoarnu of them?"
"I do not know.”
“Do you recognize this?” and she thrust
tbe diamond aud ruby brooch into his
trembling band.
“1 do uot know it."
“You ought to, then, for it once belonged
to your moUiur, and should have belonged
to me."
“Where did it come from?”
“Half an hour ago 1 found tbe White
Gipsy wearing it.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
WAKEMAVSWAX DERINGS
ODD INCIDENTS OF FOREIGN
TBAVHL AND OBSERVATION—XII.
There Is a Pathetic side to Travel—A
Ceremony of Leaving Port Bringing
the Mists to Landward Looking Eyes.
Brutal Celerity of Spanish Military
Vengeance—“Heart-Sob3” From Erin.
Early Moving Processions to the
English Factories.
(Covyruht.)
London, March 6.—There is always a
deeply pathetic side t > travel, free as one’s
heart may be from sighs and shadows.
Many times as you have witnessed it, there
is a little drama always performed as the
great ocean steamers leave the port of New
York, which brings the mist to your land
ward looking eyes.
If you are a “first tripper” it will thrill
you deeper still. You have perhaps
wondered what that bronzed-faced man in
citizen's clothing was doing up there among
the bespangled officers upon the bridge. He
seems the quietest fellow on board. His
eyes are singling out the row of channel
buoys, or, with a glass rapidly scanning the
lower Jersey shores and the gleaming lines
of the Long island sands, or again glancing
at this point cr that along the sea horizon.
His is an anxious face, 'lhe lines in it un
consciously picture the human look that
tells of sometning lost, or of great danger
that there may be. I have seen men like
him stand where he is with that same look,
and the perspiration dropping from their
faces in streams in the coldest of weather.
This man is not the ship’s oaptain; but
while he stands there, now and then giving
a low-toned order, he is absolutely the com
mander of the Ship. He is a New York
pilot, detailed from the lower Wall street
pilot office to take your Bhip to sea. In
ordinary cases bis fee w mid he based upon
the ship's tonnage. \V ith the larger ocean
steamships a “lumped' pt ice is ma le. He
must remain aboard until Sandy Hoox is
passed, and as much farther out as the
steamer captain desires.
If it be pleasant weather when you are
abreast of Bandy Hook, you will notice a
rowboat, yawl-built, manned by two men,
putting out from the lightship anchored be
tween your steamer and the hook. Tho
lightship is simply a Now York harbor
pilotboat, by pilot regulations made t do
her “turn” of a “mouth’s stand” in this un
savorv, though often exciting, berth. Her
crew are pilots’ ’prentices getting their first
lessons and experience at pilots' duties aud
hardships. The boat be rig rowed briskly
your steamer in the channel is called a
“pilot’s punt;” and the two oarsmen are
knottijy-buiit ’prentice lads of 18 or 20
years of age. At the same moment the
punt heeds for the steamer, the latter’s
engines slow down. The punt and the
steamer meet at the point of an exact right
angle. Linas are east; the punt made fast
to float alongside the ship’s port side; and
the rope ladder is lowered.
Meantime the Pilot has resigned his post
on tbe bridge. The chief officer immedi
ately takes his place. Stepping to the chart
room the pilot certifies in the log book that
the ship has duly cleared the port of New
York; the ship’s commander certifies to the
pilot’s fee, which pilotage is paid by the
New York agents of’the fine; and in a mo
ment more the pilot Is “drooped” into the
woiting punt. By the snip’s rail stands the
purser, or the mail steward. A thousand
addenda good-bys have boon hastily
written, sealed and stamped, and hundreds
of telegrams indited, between the docks
and the hook. These, the last slender
thread between land und home r.nd the un
alterable finartity of your voyage, are let
down by line to the pilot, who takes them
as with unconsclousae-a tenderness m his
arms.
lu another instant the ship’s engines are
again thundering. The pitot’s pout shoots
straight for tho lightship. Tbe officer on
the bridge nods to the boatswain, whoso
shrill whistle “striker the flags.” Tbe quar
termasters bring down the ship’s three
flags—the “bine Peter" or sailing-duy flag
from the foremast, the owners’ or “house”
flag from the mniumast, and the ensign
from the gaff—as a dead-shot hunter will
bring some gay bird of passage from its
flight quiveringly to his feet. A farewell
cheer rings out over the port side after the
departing pilot. Your voyage is now irre
vocably begun.
"El desertar!” El desertar!” wore the
low-toned ejaculations I heard all about me
oue April morning in 1886, in the cabin of
the ferryboat Edouard Fesear, as it left the
Regia side of the 2-mile trip across Havana
bay to the city. The cabin was well filled,
and in a moment there came fussing anil
fuming through tbe narrow passage to the
forward cabin a Spanish sergeant and a
guard, having in charge a man of most
pitiable appearance. 1 made room quickly
so that two seals were vacant near me. in
which tbe guard and his prisoner rat. tho
latter next me, while the sergeant, bearing
a paper with a dangling seal, strode forward
a bit, pompous with the importance of bis
mission end charge.
These ferries carry tho gayost of crowds
between Havana aud the beautiful suburbs
to the east, but tbe entrance of the party
hushed the laughter and the pleasant sallies
of men and women instantly. All present
Beernod painfully exerting themselves to
ignore the presence of the little group, but
everyone from time to time stole secret
glances at the deserter, and, woli for hu
manity, not a hard fell upon him. Some
old priests near seemed to be moving their
lips as if in prayer for him, and behind
many a fan I could see the face of some
beautiful senora or souorita in tears.
I knew well enough what it all meant,
having once been n soldier. But I did not
at once catch the full import of the brutal
celerity of Spanish military revenge.
Shortly the guard closed a flippant recital
to a passenger near him, to the effect that
the man had deserted him from the forces
at Moro castle some weeks before, after a
tremendous flogging for some slight in
fraction of discipline, had got so far as the
Jaruoo mountains, where he battled pursuit
for some time, but finally had beeu run
down by blood-hounds.
" Ah, yes,” ho airily concluded, “be will
really not even need breakfast again. The
cousejo de guerra (court-martial) is already
awaiting bis arrival!”
The deserter was but a hoy. He had a
fair face, too, iound. almost boyish, even
through the haunted look that had made
him au old man in terror and desperate
effort during those few weeks iu the chapar
ral. His clothing was iu rags, and his bare
flesh, scarred and bloody, showed through.
His leot wero partly bound with razs and
hark and thongs of the ribbon tree. He
was i are- 1 oadod, his hair tangled bnd
kuotty, aud in osio place a saber-cut was
still open and bleeding. But ho sat there
with bis hands clinched Hnd his face like a
piece of marble begrimed with mud.
Through the windows of the ferry the
spars, rigging und flags of a thousand ships
upon the peaceful bay gleamed anil glowed
as we passed. The sun that lighted the
whole earth with such splendor kissed the
mountain and made old Moro even beauti
ful. The deserter looked at Moro as with
an awful fascination. Then, as if beyond
it aud what he knew was waiting for him
there, the poor fellow’s eyes seemed straiued
to some point far, lar away. Ah, his
frantic soul vaulted the hated walls to old
Castile, mayhap to his own peasant home,
to the mother, the sisters, to a peasant girl’s
thatched roof home by the vineyards, and
brave as he was trying to be, his whole
frame writhed, his breast heaved and
surged, aud though be clinched bis hands
tighter and looked old Moro squarely in tbe
face, his blue eyes Ailed and filled again
with tears that scalded their way through
the chaparral filth on his face like torrents.
A dozen schemes for rescue shot through
my brain. Tbe sights and thoughts siek
ino. I could scarcely remain in that cabin
for the pity this man aroused in me.
Having" recently suddenly graduated
from the editorship of a high-grade literary
periodical of “Middle America,"my sole
helpful possessions in Cuba at that moment
were a small piece o( plug tobaooo and a $2
Bank of Havana bill. I quickly had these
made in a compact wad. I got my knee
against his leg. He started and looked me
full in the face. My hand was on tbe low
iron division rail between tfce seats and it
\ touched his. God knows a soldier’s human
sympathy to a soldier m some subtle way
swept from my heart to Ins m that touch.
His clinched hand relaxed and turned. The
palm was next mine. Our hands clasped,
and there was quick pressure. We were
born thousands of miles apart, and never
met uutil tnat instant, would never again
! meet unless in eternity, but we knew
more of each other in that one moment
than many lifetime aoquaintauoes.
Boon the ferryboat had bumped against
the Havana wharves.
Through the clatter and clamor and
crowds the was shoved and saber
prod led to the I’iaza de lu San Carlos, hur
! l ied into a victoria, alongside which ware
two mounted guardas, and driven rapidly
away. I could not work that dav, and
wandered along the walls of La Funta,
restless, heartsick, and with the white face
of that desperate life ever before me. At 4
o’clock just across the uarrow horbor en
trance were heard some ominous drum
beats.
On tne little plaza just over the sea on tbe
bights at Moro there were movements of
small squads of soldiery. We could see all
this plainly from La Puata. I feared what
it meant, could uot bear it, and hurried
away. Just as I reached the old Boquete
wall- there was a sound of musketry at Moro.
I looked across the ebauuel and saw the
smoke from their pieces well uigh enfolding
them ail. But I saw through and through
that c oud one face sealed in eternal re.t,
when some old fish wives on the Boquete
walls near, crossing themselves as if it were
an old habit and for like occasions, kizdy
muttered: 4 'El desertar! El desertar!"
At every little station in Ireland, from
Golway of Tralee, eastward; from Dublin
or Wexford, westward, and along the'lines
converging at or toward Mallow and thence
to Cork, sad-eyed “convoyiog” parties may
be seen waiting for the last embrace, band
pressure or glimpse of the departing emi
grant for America, aud if you were ia Ire
land and would ride in the “tbi d-clasJ’car
riages as I do, and could sea each little com
partment packed with from twenty to
thirty of these emigrants on their wav to
Cork aud Queenstown, you would for the
first time In your life realize tbe woe of
those who go to an extent that you would
have more compassion for those who come.
And then, at Halfway, at Blackpool, at
Blarney, o:i scramble the beggar crew who
eked a livelihood from the hysterical, tender
hearted and simple folk who are found on
every one of those trains departing. Leg
less pipers yips ra js ; patriotic airs; blind
fiddlers set ail the breasts heaving and eyes
weeping from their tender Irish melodies;
while blind minstrels r,<ar “The Harp aud
the Shamrock of Ould Ireland.” Pennies
rain into their cups and hats like "drop
ripe” wheat shaken by the wind. Through
this lugubrious misery all are straining their
dimmad sight for a last look at the warm
vales and nestling homes of Ireland’s teuder
south.
Suddenty the din of the heroic minstrel
music is almost drow. ed in the thunder of
the traiu rushing through the long tunnel.
Ireland, beloved Ir eland, is for the first
time blotted out of sight. The minor chords
of the pipes aud fiddles are no match for
the re-istless wailings now. Bobs, moans,
groar.s and pitiful exclamations of endear
ment. swell ipto such a touching and grew
some miserere as your ears never Wore
heard.
In a flash you are in the light again, and
here, half way up the noble bights of the
beautiful city of Cork, in a pandemonium
and hubbub Infernal, the half a thousand
tortured souls are shunted out of their vile
pens, shuuted into other vile pens, and
whirled away to Queenstown, amid merci
less robbers and murderous "runners.” to
await packing and prodding into the great
steamers' holds, and embarxing brutalities
which are a cruel blight upon the civiliza
tion of our time.
There are two of the sounds of the early
English morning which haunt me with per
sistent piteousness. Bo long have I heard
them and brooded over their sad suggestive
ness, that in whatever country I happen to
bo wandering, and however leaden may be
my slumber, I am certain to awaken at the
hour to hoar their grewsome echoes across
the land or sea.
These are the clatter, clatter, clatter of
the hob-nailed shoes of thousands of factory
hands on their way to their daily toil, and
the hacking, whistling coughing of hun
dreds among them. In ali English towns
aid cities, when biding at any public hos
tlery, you may hear the first of this at 4
o’clock in the morning. A quick, sharp
ringing of the hob-nails on the pavement
bv one, or two, or a group of half a dozen
of these toilers will form tbe prelude. Then
for a few moments ail will be still.
Again increased clatter by iarger squads,
and more pronounced coughing. Soon the
heating of their feet will grow into almost a'
roar. By 5 o’clock the sound is deafening.
An army in defeat over a stone road could
make no greater din.
If you will listen now, you may distin
guish all tho majors and minors. There is
the screeching of tho swinging pails; the
halting and er, infilling of the feeble; tbe
popping sound of myriad pipe-pulflngs; the
sodden salute and sententious rejoinders of
acquaintances, the shrill blackguarding of
vixens; the liquid tones of maidens and
children; the shuffling wheezing of the old;
tbe almost barking coughing of so many
telling that the terra of tho slavish life is
set; aud in and through a'.! the pitiful hub
bub is the sure revelation of the propulsive
force of drea 1 and fear linked with the
lagging of weakness and want. Out there
iu the dank aark or the misty gray of the
early morning, iu these sounds a "dreadful
story is told. If you love America, you
will brood over these sounds, as 1 have
done, and fervently pray that our towns
and cities are not to become like these, that
the few ma. be rich and glad and the many
slavish and sad. Edgar L. Wakkman.
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Ladies, for natural and thoraug' organic
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I have just taken tbe last of two bottles
of Dr. H. Mozley’s Lemon Elixir lor nerv
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found it tho greatestJmeJicme I ever used.
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1225 F street, vVashington, D. C.
From a Prominent Lady.
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or stand without suffering great pain.
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can walk half a mile without suffering the
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— ad. . Griffin, Ga.
A BZOIPTION, with many novel anil attractive
features, has been planned in connection with
the naval review by S. G. Pratt, who composed
the “Allegory of War in Song.’’ The plan for
this contemplates a reception to the officers of
the visiting nations at Madison Square Garden.
New York, and as these officials are received
with suitable state and escorted to their seats, a
vast chorus, supported by orchestra and bands,
would sing the national hymn of the nation
represented. This welcome In sons would close
with the "Star Spangled banner” when Ad
miral Gherardiand staff entered. A part of the
entertainment of tbe guests, it is suggested,
would be the singing of the stirring folk songs
In the allegory already referred to. Another
suggestion made by Mr. Pratt is that 5,000
school children, who know how to sing, be
grouped about the statue of Liberty, in New
York harbor, to welcome the different ships
witn patriotic songs. A wealthy citizen of New
York city has offered to defray the expenses of
this.
HIS LIFE SAVED BY A CAT.
The Lively Experience of a Carpenter
on a Montana Reservation.
from the San Francisco Call.
“Yes, sir;it saved my life, and Astor’s
wealth could not purchase it. I would part
with everything I possess first and starve
afterward.” The speaker was Jacob Myers,
a young carpenter, and the unpuroha3able
“it” an ordinary looking tomcat, with
three dark lateral st'ipes extending from
shoulder to flank on each of its sides. “You
see, sir,” continued the speaker,
picking tbe cat up in his arm,
aud stroking its ’ fur with his
hand while the monster began a gentle purr
and ru. bed his whiikers against us owner’s
arm, ‘’less than six months ago it saved me
from a horrible death. You want to know
how it happened? ’Twas this way: 1 was
building houses for the li.dian department
on tne Crow reservation in Montana. I was
working convenient to the Big Horn river
and had to sleep in an old Shack’ built on
the outskirts of a little copse. In which
there was a deuse undergrowth at willow,
rose bush aud wild currants, which the In
dians said contained swarms of rattlesnakes.
Until then 1 hod uot Been any of the reptiles,
but I had heard the noise of their rattle
many a time. I had a half-breed Indian
helping me who owned the cat. One after
noou last July he went to the river to get a
drink. Ten minutes afterward I heard him
gave a terrific jell, and a few miuutes
after ue come running toward me squeezing
the thumb of his right hand, while his cop
per-colored features had assumed a cadaver
ous hue. He had been bitten by a rattle
snake. I tied a handkerchief around bis
arm, while an old Indian sucked the wound.
Despite the primitive remedies of the ’medi
cine men’ and the medical oid of the doctor
from the agency, who was sent for, the
man died tne next day, suffering intense
agony. After the funeral the Indians set
fire to the corpse, and forming a circle
around it they killed a number of snakes
that were attempting to escape from the
tire.
"That night I was thinking over the fate
of my late oompunion before going to sleep,
while the cat purred pleasautlv upon my
shoulder. I had about another week’s work
to do there, and I fervently wished myself
through with the job. I went to sleep con
soling myself with the thought that all of
tne snakes iu that neighborhood had beeu
exterminated. Being very tired 1 slept until
late next day, ad w hen I opened my eyes |
the sight t'.a: met my gaze almost paralyzed i
me with terror. Coiled on my bosom, its
head erect aud ready to strike and its
large eyes scintillating with rage, was
a large rattlesnake. I was too hor
rified to move and to add to my dread I
could hear the rattles of another reptile
under my bed. 1 do not Kuow the exact
time I had been watching that snake after I
awoke. It might have beeu fifteen secouds,
but it seemed to me a lifetime. The first thing
I knew I saw the cat’s paw descend upou
the snake’s head like a stroke of lightning,
and the next moment the squirming, slimy
thing was floug upon the floor. With a
bound I jumped up in the bad, and grasping
a heavy stioi that stood convenient,
I smashed the reptils’t head into [
Dulp. The other suake then showed 1
fight, but it was dispatched as quickly as its j
mate. After making pure that there was no
other snake iu the hut I picked up the cat,
and to my joy found it unharmed. I meas
ured the reptile from which the oat so timely
rescued me and found it to be 3 feet 6 inches
long, having 167 scuta on the body and its
tail having thirteen rattles. The other
snake was not so large. The fire in the
copse bad driven the reptiles into the shack,
and were it not for the cat I would have
met the fate of the half-breed Indlao. No,
sir, money cannot buy this oat."
the laughing owl.
Tba Little Nonsense Bometlmes Heard
From the Wisest Bird.
From the Kansas City Times.
Over twenty years ago traveling on foot
through a rough section in the eastern part
of Missouri, I found myself toward sunset
iu a solid German settlement. They almost
without exception keep cross dogi—usually
bull dogs of savage ferocity, often danger
ous for tbeir owners if approached after
being loosened from tbeir chains
at nightfall. For this reason it
was hazardous to tgavel after
sunset, so I began an hour before sundown
to find a lodging place for the night, but
the Germans either could not or would not
understand me. The shades of night were
gathering when I saw with pleasure the
light of a camp fire shining on two white
covered emigrant wagons iu the woods
down below the road I was traveling.
They proved to be Americans, and wheu,l
told them how I was situate i they gave me
a friendly welcome, and we passed a pleas
ant evening by that camp fire.
After we retired to rest and perfect quiet
reigned in the camp there arete on the still
air the most hideous diabolical laughter
that ever greeted the ears of mortal man.
The boy lying beside me made a fair imita
tion of the sound. “ What is it?” I asked.
“That,” said the father, “is a laughing owl;
the boy is rtiocking it iu his sleep."
Some time after, still prospecting in Mis
souri, I readied in the dark a ferry house,
and which was also a tavern, on the
Osage river in a thinly populated district.
The house was tilled with inulattoes and
negroes of all shades, from that of a non
•addle to a pot black. The ferryman was
preparing for spring word on his farm, so
there was no room for me.
Jwo negroes rowed me across tbe river,
and going up the bank I soon found by the
starlight a road which I followed but a
short distance, when my way barred by a
leuce. As 1 hoped to strike the road agaiu
t-t unother point, I turned off into an ap
parently new road in the woods, but soon in
the darkness lost my landmark, the fence,
aud my way, too.
To stay in the woods on a vary cool April
night was uot desirable, so I listened earn
estly for s me sound of a human habitation,
os the crowing of a cock or barking of a
dog, that would lead me to a bouse. Stand
ing there in that impressive silence of the
woods at night, there came at length a
welcome sound, a low laugh as from a
distance, from eome Jtiegro nut. perhaps,
tiut better to sit up at night, even in a negro
l shanty, thou to stumble around in tbe dark
ness in the strange depths of the Usage
woods. I started iutho direction, traveled
some distance and listened ag sin for a repe
tition of the sound, when suddenly, right
overhead, arose that unearthly, blood-curd
ling, fiendish laughter.
I nave stood face to face with a furious
maniac aud lookod on his glaring, bloodshot
eyes, ups flocked with foam, face of a cada
verous hue, and heard his forced, soulless
laugllter until it seemed as if more in con
tact with some hideous demon than a n;a:i;
yet to me that nigut that horrid ianghter of
t e laughing owl wav a greater stratu on the
nerves than tbe demomao laughter of the
maniac.
However, the laughing owl had done me
a good turn in bringing me back to tbe
road agara, for bis voice was the low laugh
ter in the distance I first heard. 1 climbed
over the fence, followed the road about a
mile, roused up the inmates of a form house
and was comfortably lodged.
I have examined works on natural his
tory, but oanaot find any description or
pioture of the laughing owi. As I never
saw him, be exists iu memory sni my Imag
ination only as eome imp of darkness.
Mrs. Dillingham (grass widow, glancing
ooquettishly up from book)—Do you kuow I
have just made such an odd mistake. I’ve
just written it window instead of widow,
Mr. Brown (orusty old bachelor, peering
over his paper)—Quite right, madam, for
whenever I see a widow I always look out.
Life's Calendar.
"New York is a great city.” "Can’t hold
a candle to Chioago.” “Our architectural
beauties are unapproached." “Nonsense.
Chicago beats her all hollow on archi
tecture." "But our streets are filthy.”
“Ah. yes, but you should see Ohio—ab, by
the way, have you the right timer’—Hor
ptr's Bazar.
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WHBJtLWRIGHT WORKS
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ENGINEERS, FOUNDERS & MACHINISTS.
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