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[Now First Published.]
THE WHITE GIPSY,
A TALE OF MINES AND MINERS,
By J. MONK FOSTER,
Author of “A Pit Brow Lassie,” “Slaves of Fate,” “A Miner’s Million,” “Queen of
the Factory,” "A Crimson Fortune,” “Passion’s Aftermath,” Eta
CHAPTER XV.
LADY CARSLAND’S SCHEME.
Lady Carsland launcboi those words at
her husband as if sUo were charging; him
with the comm.ttal of some heinous crime,
and for a moment he was staggered by her
manner, as much as by thesentence she had
spoken. Rut he recovered himself quickly,
and in almost his natural voieo asked:
“You found the W hite Uipsy—Miss Bar
ringham I suppose, wearing this
brooch!”
“Certainly! Have I not told you soul
ready 1 You don't think I lied ?”
“Not for a moment, my dear,” he an
swered, dropping his gaze from his wife’s
questioning eyes, and examining the mas
sive, heart-shaped trinket she had thrust
Into bis hand. "But after all I see nothing
mysterious in the fact that you found the
girl wearing this.”
“I think it most mysterious," she replied,
hotly, “and I mean to get at the bottom of
it before I’ve done. I ask you again how
did it come into her possession?”
“How should I know? 1 daresay Paul
may have bought it and given it to her.”
“That is not the case,” she snapped out,
triumphantly. “She told me herself that
Paul did not present it to her.”
“Who did then?” he queried, knowing
that be was only evading the real points at
issue between him and bis wife, but un
speakably glad to sain a few moments’
grace, in which he could think over the
difficulty that faced him, and deolde bow
he was to meet it.
“Some old and dear friend, and I wont to
know who that friend is."
“ What does it matter who the giver is?”
“It does matter because that Is one of the
jewels wbioh would have belonged to me
had you not been ” she was about to say
“a thief"—but she added, “had you been an
honest man.”
‘•We will not disouss that point now,” he
said, biting his lip w ith an auger he could
not afford to put into words at that mo
ment.
“As you please: but you will have to dis
cuss it, for I intend to know what you did
with those jewels, and how that broooh
came into the possession of that pit brow
girl."
“You may be mistaken after all, Ade
laide,” he remarked, willing to overlook the
affn nt and menace her words contained.
“ Mistaken! In which way ?”
“This iewel may not have been the one
my mother possessed. It resembles it, but
Ido not think it is the same one. As you
must know, articles of this kind—brooches
of this very pattern—would be made In
■cores, perhaps hundreds.”
"I am prepared to admit that, but if this
Is not the broooh I saw that day when your
father showed me the jewels which were to
form bis wedding present to me, how does
it happen that your parent’s initials are en
graved upon the back!”
“Are you certain ?”
He asked the question with an excellently
feigned look of amazement. Of course, he
had already seen the initials to which she
referred, hut had hoped they bad escaped
his wife's notice.
“Quite certain, as you must be. For
heaven’s sake,” she exclaimed, “let me have
no more of this pretense. I am not silly
enough to be led from my purpose by an y
of your tricks and make-be-believe dodges.
Tell me once and for all what you did with
the jewels!"
“I did not take ”
"You did, and you know that I know
you did. The sate was found open the next
morning and you had disappeared. Your
father knew who the thief was, just as 1
and Frederio knew also. Had you been
any one father’s son you would
have been hunted down and sent to gaol.”
"1 dare say you and my brother urged
my father to put the police on my track!”
he cried bitterly, stung at length into re
torting by her virulence. “And if I did
take them 1 had a right to them!”
“Not at all. '1 hey were your father’s
property to do with as lie liked, and but for
the advice of his solicitor, Mr. Elliston,
you would have discovered that your re
lationship to your father made you none
none the less a plunderer. But why not
admit like a man that vou took the jewels
when you fled?”
“Well, 1 did take them, and I 'would |do
It again. Did you and Frederic think I was
cur enough to stand every indignity you
could heap upon me! It was not enough
that be should cut me out with respect to
yourself, but the insult and injury was to
be carried farther, iuasmuch as his wife
was to be given my mother’s jewels. It
was carrying matters too far that, and I
•topped the game.” ,
“f do not blame you so very much for
doing so,” she replied, in a more amiable
way, “for, after all, there wbb some reason
is your point of view.”
"Then why rake the business up again
after all these years!”
“Because I want to know more. You
have admitted that you took the thingß,
now what did you do with them?”
“Why trouble yourself about such a
thing? You have jewels in abundance, ana
If you desire others you have only to speak.
You know, Adelaide, that meanness is not
one of my failings.”
“Nonsense!” she ejaculated, angrily. “1
want nothing in that woy. I only want to
know what you did with the things. There
is nothing unreasonable iu my request, I
think, especially in face of the fact that 1
found the brooch upon the person who calls
herself Miss Barrlngbam. You must tell
me what became of the jewels. I insist
upon knowing, and if you refuse to speak I
■hall have to lind out through other means,
that is all.”
"Well, the truth is—if you will know—
that 1 did nothing with the cursed thiugs!”
“Nothing!” she cried with umazed looks.
"I mean that I lost them—was robbed of
them—before they had been in my posses
sion many hours.”
“Bobbed!”
“Yes, robbed!"
“But how? And who were the thieves?
Will you kindly explain. Sir Sidney?”
He was dumb for a few moments and his
face was ofjdark as a rain oloud. That his
unrighteous past was rising up before him
and threatening to envelop him in all sorts
of difficulties was evident, and he was en
deavoring to see bis way out of the trouble.
Presently he spoke in a petulant way—
‘ ‘lt happened this way. When the thought
that you were to marry my brother and
have my mother’s jewelry given you had
roused me to the point of desperation, 1
crept into my father’s room while he slept,
seized his keys, placed the jewels in a hand
bag and made my way across the country •
It was in the night time, and when I
reached Hough Wood 1 hid there thinking
It was quite possible that I had been
watoned and followed.
“1 had not been long In the wood when I
■aw the forms of numerous men stealing to
and fro, and the sight of them made mo
jump to the conclusion that the jewel* had
been missed, that I had been tracked, and
teat the men were there to arrest ms. You
w ill be able to imagine my feelings at that
time. The fear of being arrested made me
desperate, so 1 made a dash for it, honing to
get aw ay somehow under oover of the dark
ness and tbe trees.
“But I ran among tbe man, was knocked
senseless, and when I regained mylcinseious
ness at daybreak I found that my pockets
had been rifled and tbe bag containing the
jewels was missing. After that I made my
way a: road, utterly broken down by my ill
fate, for my misconduct had availed me
nothing—had, in fact, reooiled upon my
self.”
"But did you never discover who took the
jewels away from you?” she asked, when he
hud tinished.
“Never. Of course I have an idea of what
the men were."
“What were they?”
“Poachers, evidently, for I found several
dead rabbits about me, and a net such as
poachers use.”
“Is this the truth?” she demanded, with a
gleam of suspicion in her eyes; “or is it only
some cock and bull storv you have hatched
in order to hoodwink me?”
"It is the truth, Adelaide!’’ he asseverated,
with great earnestness. As true as I am
standing here, every detail of what I have
related to you is a matter of fact.”
She was silent for a little while and her
fair brows were contracted in thought. She
was half inclined still to disbelieve his state
ment respecting tbe second robberv of the
jewels despite his dramatic protestation as
to its accuracy; hut was not thinking of
that now. Her clever bralu was thinking
of another matter.
"Perhaps It is only reasonable te suppose
that the men who robbed you were
poachers.” she remarked, presently.
“Certainly. I am absolutely saiisfied that
they must have been, dear.”
“Then, in that cate it would be fair to as
sume that the robbers were natives of some
of the villages hereabouts?”
“I aaresav it would; but wbat are you
driving at?” he queried, with a puzzled look
on his countenance.
“Cannot you see?” she cried, with curling
lips, “if the poachers who stole the jewols
belonged to one or another of the plaoes
around here it is easy to understand how
that brooch came into the hands of Miss
Barringham.”
“How ? I fail to see it."
“1 will show you then. The robbers
would certainly divide the spell, but were
probably afraid of selling the jewels: at all
events it is evident that they were not all
disposed of or the White Gipsy would not
have been the owner of tbe brooch at this
moment."
‘ ‘But how do you imagine it got into her
hands ?”
“In all likelihood she got it from some of
the pitmen in the villages who was an old
admirer of the girl ”
“And,” he broke In hurriedly, “you
think this old lover of hors was the son or
relative of one of the poachers who robbed
me that night in Hough Wood?’’
“I do How otherwise oould it have got
into her keeping !” was her quick rejoinder.
“It seems likely enough,” he mused.
"It is more than likely 1” she cried. “1
feel absolutely certain that my solution of
tbe riddle is the true one. But whether it
is or not 1 mean to use it against the White
Gipsy.”
"Why against her?” he asked, in a voice
of mild remonstrance.
"Need you ask? You do not like the idea
of such a girl marrying your ward any
more than I do, and it appears to me that
this affair will afford us an excellent oppor
tunity of driving her away.”
*‘l do not see it; besides sbe is quite blame
less. How was she to know that the trinket
had been stolen from anyone?”
“I never suggested that she did know.
What 1 wanted to suggest is this: we never
looked favorably upon the Idea of Paul’s
mesalliance with this ex-pit brow girl, and
now circumstances have placed a weapon
in our hands, which, if skillfully used, will
enable us to drive her out of the neighbor
hood.”
“Perhaps we might; but consider how un
fair it would be when we know her to be
absolutely blameless,” he said, doggedly,
something within him spurring him to speak
in defense of the girl.
“She is in our way—that is all I care to
consider, and all Imean to consider!” she
exclaimed, with increasing wrath. "You,
yourself, have said more against the girl
than I have done; and 1 cannot understand
why you persist iu defending her now. ”
“I am not defending her,” he replied, ‘'l
am trying to impress upon you, my dear
Adelaide, that it is not wortn our while to
rake up the past in order to get rid of Misß
Barringham.”
“I think we oan get rid of her without
exposing you. That is wbat you mean, I
suppose, when you speak of rasing up the
past* But whatever happens she must go.”
"Why do you hate her so?”
“1 bate her because she is an upstart, who
has stepped between Paul Meredith aud
Cordelia!” she burst out.
“Cordelia doesn’t care for him, I think,
my dear,” he ventured to remark,
“That shows how blind you are. I tell
you that Cordelia loves Paul, and that she
is eating out hor heart on his account. But
for this girl she would have been engaged
to him at this moment. She is too proud to
wear her heart upon her sleeve, but I know
that she cares for him very much, aud that
the thought of him marrying this common
girl is breaking her heart.”
“It may be true ’’
"It is, and the sooner you get that girl
away the bettor.”
“But how am I to do it?”
"Call upon her or send for her here, and
oharge her with being in possession of stolen
jewelry which belonged to you. Don’t you
see that such a charge would frighten her
so much that she would be glad to get away
and never show her face again in this
neighborhood. ”
“A capital plan, Adelaide,” he answered,
readily, as his face brightened up suddenly,
and a load was lifted from his breast.
“I am glad you think so. And when
Paul returns she will have disappeared be
yond ail his finding out. Besides her flight
will oou vinca him that she was not innocent
in respect to the manner in wnich the jew
els were originally obtained.”
‘ ‘lf we can frighteu her away it will be all
right,” he said, reflectively, “but suppose
■he refuses to be driven away.”
"Leave it to me, then. I will And other
means of dealing with her. All X desire
you to do at present is to write to the vicar
age and ask Miss Barringham to call.”
“1 will write to-night, unless you think
it better for me to go to the vicarage to see
her.”
“Do not go—write. Mr. Madison and
his si6ter would be in the way there. Hera
we shall be able to manage the business
without the least fear of Interruption.”
"I will write then,' to-night, and ask her
to call to-morrow "
“Iu the afternoon about 4 o’olook,”sbe
added.
“At 4 o'clock, then."
"Be sure you write.”
"1 will not forget, dear,” he responded,
as he turned away and sought bis own
room.
CHAPTER XVL
THE BOLT FROM THE BLUE.
On gaining bis own private chamber
where he was sure of privacy. Sir Sydney
Carsland flung himself Into a chair aud gave
up his mind to the thoughts which seethed
within it. He had been wishing for some
time to be alone in order that he might
calmly face the network of difficulties which
had slowly woven themselves around him
since tho moment Paul Meredith had
avowed his love for the pit-brow girl and
his intention to marry her.
From the moment when the baronot first
learned that the name of his ward's sweet
heart was Salome Barringham, his mind
had been charged with vague visions of
impending troubles, and when a few days
later Paul related the girl’s story unto him
his doubts were confirmed.
This lowly, nurtured loss who bad worked
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, MARCH 26, 1893—SIXTEEN PAGES.
on the banks of his pits was the child of the
woman be had married all those years ago
at Marlcombe in the days when he was
poor and a fugitive from home—was his i
daughter, and tie dared not own her.
That tbe discovery had alarmed and
amazed him needs no recording. It seemed
to bun nothing loss than wonderful that [he
beautiful Hpauisb girl that he had wooed
and won and afterwards deserted when
fortune smiled upon him should have borne
him a daughter after bis flight, and that
the self faamo daughter should turn up as a
pit brow girl who had toiled from early
•morn to evening within sight of his own
princely home.
When he first heard of Salome Barring
ham from his ward he had said that he
would call on the girl and make her ac
quaintance. That expressed intention was
not thoughtlessly made, for at the tune he
desired very much to see the girl and learn
more about her. He was satisfied even then
that the pit brow girl was connected with
himself in some manner, seeing that her
name was made up of that of his first wife
and his own middle name—and, moreover,
tbe name he had beeu known by at Marl
combe.
He had intended to discover all he could
respecting the White Gipsy’s past, and In
cose his suspicions were confirmed, he had
resolved to send her away. If she were his
daughter, he was prepared to provide for
her iu a handsome manner, but he was not
prepared to let her remain near him, where
their relationship might through some
means or other become known.
But when Sir Sydney realized that his
ward really loved and intended to marry
Salome he was checkmated. It would have
been useless after that to have gone to the
girl in order to induce her to leave the
neighborhood; and to have questioned
Salome closely concerning her history
might have revealed more of his own hand
than it would have been safe to show, for
if (nee the girl and Paul obtained the
slightest inkling as to his interest and con
nection with her, his secret would be in
their seeping if they only cared to set to
work to discover it. Even after the lapse
of all those years it would not be an exceed
ingly difficult task for a shrewd and deter
mined man to follow up the trail Sydney
Barringham bad left behind him at Marl
combe.
In one sense the baronet had been pleased
to think that his unacknowledged daughter
was to marry his ward. If he dared not
avow his relationship to her it
was pleasant to know that
sbe would be comfortably settled m
life as Paul Meredith’s wife. Had he been
a widower and childless so far as his second
marriage was concerned it is probable that
he might have publicly acknowledged
Salome as his child.
But to do so now was impossible, and he
shuddered at the thought of the storm
which would burst around him if Lady
Carsland ever discovered the truth.
Ab he sat there pouderiug the past
and endeavoring to pierce the clouds which
veiled the future, he felt that he would have
cheerfully resigned half his fortune if that
jeweled ornament had never turned up at
all—or if it had not been discovered by his
wife in Salome’s possession.
How bad the broooh drifted into the girl’s
hands? How had the girl herself drifted to
that corner of Lancashire? There seemed
something inscrutable about both things,
and that sense of some mysterious agency
being at work in order to expose his old sins
lacerated his oreast and filled his brain with
painful thoughts.
After all these years of peace and se
curity and good fortune was he to become
an object of derision and scorn to tbe world?
If the whole truth were to be revealed —if
his old sins were to find him out—then he
might bid farewell to England, her lady
ship and his daughter Cordelia for ever.
But how was he to avoid the threatening
sword which might fall at any time when
he least expected the blow? He sac there
biting his Ups and cudgeling bis brains for
a scheme which would clear away the
troubles and difficulties which beset him,
but out of all his thinking there was
evolved but one plan, and that he was
afraid to commit himself to.
This was to go forthwith to Salome Bars
ringham a.;d throw himself upon her
mercy—to tell her the whole truth from tbe
beginning— to narrate how he had been
driven from home, become a rbief, got
robbed, met, married and deserted’ her
mother w hen he learned that his father and
brother were dead, and that he was a rich
man and a titled one. For his Bake he would
urge her to leave the neighborhood at once
and go to a place where Paul Meredith
oould join her on his return. Then they
would take her atllanoed into the secret
and he, on account of his great love for her,
would overlook everything, would marry,
and his good name would be saved, and his
wife’s and daughter’s also.
That scheme seemed feasible enough on
the face of it, yet was he afraid to risk all
upon its success or failure. Salome might
not do all he desired her to do when he had
revealed his own relationship to her. She
might, woman-like, care more for his own
good name than she cared for the reputa
tion of himself, Lady Carsland or Cordelia.
She might go further, even, aud say, “ I
have suffered enough for your sins and will
suffer no longer. You must clear my
mother and me in the eyes of tbe world. I
am your daughter—my mother was your
wife. You must tell the world or I will
that the wornau known as Lady Carsland is
not your wife at all, Beeing that your first
wife was living when you married her.”
Tbe fear that something like the forego
ing might happen stayed his hand, and in
the meantime he oould only carry out the
suggestion that her ladyship had made.
How it would all end he could not tell. So
he wrote the letter to Salome and left the
rest for fate to decide.
On the morning following her visit to
Carsland Hall tho White Gipsy received the
note Sir Sydney had penned on the previ
ous evening.
The missive ran thns:
Carsland Hall.
My Dbar Miss Bariiinoham— l regret very
much mat I was not at home when you called
this day. Will you have the kindness to come
over to-morrow afternoon 1 should lit* to see
you on matter of great importance. 1C you can
possibly manage to come do not omit to do so.
I and Lady Carsland eepect to see you between
3 and 4.oelock, Yours taithfully,
Sydney Carsland.
“ I wonder what he wishes to see me for?”
Salome murmured as 6be permitted the note
to fall into her lap and looked across tho
breakfast table to where the vicar aod his
sister sat partaking of the morning meal.
‘ ‘Who is he, dear?” Miss Mallison asked.
“Sir Sydney Carsland, and he says that
he svishes to Bee me on a matter of great
importance this afternoon at the hall. ”
"Probably he has had a letter from hi
ward, Mr. Meredith,” the vicar inter
posed.
"I scarcely think so, Mr. Mallison,"
Salome replied, "for if that were so, it is
almost certain I think that Paul would
have written to me as well.”
“Perhaps you are right, but in any case
you had bettor go. You cannot afford,
you know.” Miss Mallison added, * ‘to be on
bad terms with your sweetheart’s guardian.
It is probable that Sir Sydney desires to
see you respecting some arrangement re
garding yourself wbioh Mr. Meredith made
before be went away.”
“That must be the reason he wishes to
see me,” the girl said in response, “and, of
ocurße, I shall have to go.”
“I am surprised, Salome, to hear you
speak iu that strain Miss Mallison re
marked severely. "You speak as if it
were no honor, but the contrary, to be
asked to the hall.”
Salome made some half-laughing, half
apologetio rejoinder, and then the matter
was forgotten in other conversation.
Between the hours of 3 and 4 o’clock in
the afternoon the White Gipey presented
herself at Carsland hall, and tho same serv
ant that had admitted heron the dev before
again asked her to “step this way." But the
visitor was not shown into a waiting room
this time; but was taken instead straight to
her ladyship’s boudoir, where, tbe maid in
timated, Lady Carsland was awaiting her
coming.
Remembering the amiability and warmth
of her ladyship’s reception of herself the
day before, Salome, on entering tbe costly
garnished chamber, wont forward and held
out her hand, und her surprise may be Im
agined when Lady Carsland pretended not
to see it, and motioned tbe girl to a seat.
Without a word, so great was her acuaze
meut, ralotne dropped into a chair aod
waited for her ladyship to speak.
“You received my husband’s letter, Mies
Barringham?” the elder woman began very
coldly.
“I did; that is why I am here, your lady
ship,” Balnme answered, recovering her
self-possession somewhat. “Hs said that ho
wished to see me on a matter of great im
portance."
“He will be here in a few minutes, I
daresay, ’ her ladyship went on, her manner
stiff and her voice icily cold still. "I sup
pose you would be able to guess what it waa
bo desired to see you about.”
“I have no idea."
“You remember the brooch you left with
me yesterday?”
“Certainly I do.”
“Well, I am sorry to have to Inform you
that it is part and parcel of a large quantity
of precious jewels which were stolen some
years ago.”
“Stolen!” Salome exclaimed, rising to her
feet and her face suddenly losing all vestiges
of color.
“ Yes, stolen 1” was the ringing,triumphant
reply Lady Carsland shot at the trembling
girl, “and the thieves were never discovered.
You must see that your position is one of
the gravest kind. The reoeiver of stolen
goods is held by the law to be as bad a* the
thief!”
Tto be continued.]
SCIENTIFIC FLIRTATION.
BAB EXPOSES THE ARTFUL WAYS
OF WOMEN.
Herbert Bpencer on Love—A Duel Be
tween Man and Woman—lntellect
ual and Physical Types of Feminine
Flirts—Hotel Coquettes and Male
Slaves—The Dimpled and Reliant
Widow—Attacking the Business Man
at a Dinner—lnfluence Exerted by
Innocence and White Rose Buds.
Playing Josephine and Napoleon—ls
Flirtation Really Wicked.
tCovvrioht.)
New York, March 25.—The Lenten sew
ing clashes are most interesting. They are
absolutely classes in the noble art of fiirta
tioo. Of course a few men come in—one
calls them men—who are willing to thread
needles and who represent to the clever girl
the proverbial dog; she tries her last wrinkle
in the science of flirtation on him. First I
celled it an art, then I oalled it a science.
The truth is I have been reading Herbert
Spencer, and he says love is an emotion of
tbe highest complexity, and, therefore, the
greatest strength. I annotated tbe book,
and wrote that flirtation was of the greatest
subtlety, aud, therefore, the greatest
mystery. Flirtation, in its ordinary sense,
is vulgar—ln its finer is a perfect duel
between a man and a woman, with the
chances greatly In favor of the woman’s
winning. W hen a man and a woman cross
swords, a man is very apt to put a button
on bis. that he may not hurt her; but a
woman never does this. She strikes, and
she strikes to kill.
THE FLIRT’S FOXY WAYS.
Observation has convinced me that the
feminine flirt may be classed as belonging
to the intellectual or the physical type. The
first is more uncommon and much more to be
feared; the second is more gonerai and her
viotims are among the thousands. But they
recover, while the victim of the first type
is never quite the same as he was before the
battle. The great place to Bee the physical
flirt is at Delmonico’s, or in the dining room
of some large hotel. Drop in to have your
dinner and youreyes lighten a woman who
holds you spellbound; the curve of her neck
is perfection, the roundness of her waist is
a delight and tbe softness of her looks fasoi
nate you. She gets up, walks across the
room and the perfectly feminine and almost
musical swaying of her hips convinces you
. that ebe is exquisitely formed. As you gaze
at her you are almost ashamed. ’ If you
could you would' blush; as it is
you feel guilty. You manage to be
come acquainted with her. The rings on
her fingers, the girdle about her waist, tho
bracelets on her wrist, the slippers on her
feet, ail tantalize you by saying: "Don’t
you wish you were iu my place?” You go
away from her intoxicated. The nextdav
you meet her again. She asks some simple
service from you; you wish she you would
ask you for your life.
That night you meet her at a dance, she
wears a rose-colored frook, and says to you
that she chose it because she heard you say
you liked the qobr. She sits out the round
dances with you and tolls you, “Now she
can’t let another man put his arm around
her," and you are sure she is a goddess.
Then you give a dinner in her honor, and,
concealed in a huge bouquet of roses is a
ruby ring; you are horribly afraid she won’t
take it, but she picks it up and murmurs
how glad she is that you put in a ring that
was pretty and not real, for she can accept
it as a joke, and you are charmed with her
cleverness. Then you become||her slave;
you send her roses and sweets and jewels,
and you pay for dinners and theater
boxes, and anything that will give her
pleasure.
O, WHAT BOYS YOU MEN ARE!
One morning you wake up and you
realize the only side of you that this womau
has pleased is the physical one; that she is
as greedy as a parrot and about as sense
less; that she knows how charming are the
curves of her figure, and she knows per
fectly well how to display them to you.
You swear a little bit at yourself and then
you say “good-by.” But you are not much
hurt. That sort of a woman has made
scratches, not heart wounds, and for that
reason one ought to be thankful that her
uumber is many.
Then you meet the other woman—
tbe intellectual flirt. You luuch one
day with an awful pretty woman,
and sbe has with her a pleasant
faced girl who is b?r dearest friend.
You enjoy eating the luncheon aod
looking at the pretty woman. In a vague
way you remember the other girl as a pleas
ant one; but, of course, you know such a lot
of pleasant women. The next day the
pretty woman tells you that after you weut
away her friend said: “I can’t tell why
tnat man attracts me. but I am sure be is a
man who thinks.” And you think you do.
I'oor moth! Y'ou make up your mind that’s
a sensible girl and you want to meet her
again. You do, and you find, curiously
enough, tnat she thoroughly understands
you; that she appreciates your great clever
ness; understands your ambitious and com
prehends just what you ought to be. In a
word she is absolutely sympathetic. She
has your history at the tips of her fingers,
aud sbe uoderstaud* your weaknesses as a
doctor does the diseases of his patients, aud
she caters to eaoh of them.
THE BRAINY COQUETTE AT WORK.
After you have known her for awhile you
really begin to think. She says something
that makes you conclude that you are mak
ing a olever woman of her, for it never
dawned upon you that she was that before
she met you. Then you flDd out that she is
a woman of whom you never tire, and sud
denly and horribly, it dawns upon you that
there are other men who thiuk the same.
Then you long to be the only one. If sbe
concludes the game is worth the candle sbe
gives you that position, if not, you are
only one among the many, if she does
she will probably make you happy;
she will never briug any discredit upon
your name, but you will never be the only
one, for there will always be men around
her. Men with whom she has a certain in
tellectual sympathy. If she does not be
come your wife she will take something out
of your life which is never replaced. The
physical flirt oan never do this, but the in
tellectual one can. If you have offended
her she can make you feel your own little
ness until you wisn you might disappear,
and even if sue refusei your love with kind
ness, there is a sore spot iu your heart and
an everlasting longing in your heart for the
woman of whom your sister says: “1
wonder what men see iu her; she is always
well dressed, but sbe is really nothing but a
thoroughly pleasant woman!” And you
look at your sister and wonder if she kn wb
what a power that is. These are tbe black
and white types of flirts, but there are in
numerable shades in between.
THE SLY LITTLE WIDOW’S TRICKS.
One of the most interesting is the reliant
one. She is usually a widow. Not a tail,
majestic one; but rather undersized. A mi a
little widow is a dangerous thing. She re
lies on every man she comes near; she tells
every man that men nave always been good
to her, and sbe can’t help but believe m
them. I don’t think there Is a man in the
world so wicked as to shatter this belief.
She always tells the truth because she says
men understand, and they are so delight
fully simple, that when she tells the par
ticularly outrageous truth, they are con
vinced she is lying. Although she is a
widow, she is not funeral. She is fond of
saying that dear Charlie believed the living
should be considered and not the dead; and
little Mrs. Crape is considering the living
with a feminine vengeanoe. All is fish that
comes to her net, but she particularly likes
to rely on elderly men—men who are ice to
most women. She has a pleasant way of
speaking of Charlie as if he were likely to
walk at any time, and she makes her men
friends feel quite at ease by assuring them
how much Charlie would have liked them.
She shows just a little bit of her neck—just
enough to make you wish to see more, and
if somebody suggests that she would wear a
low bodice, she gives a plaintive sigh, and
says: “O, I will leave that for young girls,
nowadays: though I will confess to you that
I should like to show the dimples in my
shoulders,” And all the barbarian in you
wakes up, and you feel like tearing from
her the horrid cloth that hides those dim
ples from your eyes. Somebody said a
scarlet letter—D, meaning dangerous—
should be put on the breast of toe little
widow; but no one would object to this
more than her victims.
WORKING THE MAN OF AFFAIRS.
There is a type of girl who flirts in her
cradle with her dolls, so that when she
comes out in the great world she is M. A.—
mistress of the a. t. She is at her best when
she attacks the business man as we know
him in New York. He is large, he is pom
pous, he is rich. He didn’t want to come
to this dinner, but he did want to see his
host about some stocks, and be knew he
would have a ohance after it was through.
He takes in a girl who looks up at him in a
pitiful manner; one whom he regards as a
necessary evil, while she thinks of him
as a massive fool. He absorbs his
soup and his sherry and doesn’t say
a word. He looks at her then in
a condescending way and realizes that there
is a white rose quite low in her hair which
seems as if it were kissing her i.eck. She
asks that same old dinner question. "Don’t
you think the flowers are very Dretty?” He
answers, “Yes,” iua short sort of way. and
attacks the next course. Mademoiselle is
indignant, hut she bides her time. Theu
she asks him if he would mind telling her
what the Bank of England is, and what the
railroad loans are that tbe newspapers are
all talking about, and he, reeking in money,
living in it, breathing it, looks at her ap
provingly and starts in to give her informa
tion. He thinks she is a sensible girl.
TRAPPED AT LAST.
But, somehow, although, he is talking
about money, he inhales the perfume of that
white rose, he is conscious of a white shoul
der. and the beauty of soft frills comes over
him. He is getting a draught of femininity.
As she gees from the table those tulle skirts
brush against him, and thereon the floor
beside him lies a little handkerchief whioh
the fairies might have woven; he picks it
up and puts it in his pocket. He would be
indignant if any one told him he had fallen
iu love with a woman, but somehow he
wants to have something that oolongs to
her. When he goes into the drawiug room,
which is rather earlier than he intended, for
the story of the stocks doesn’t seem to be
ns interesting ns he thought, he finds
the dear girl seated among a lot of
cushions, and patting a fluffy dog. The
slender, white jeweled bands smooth the
puppy, and Mr. Millionaire thinks he would
he glad to bo even a mongrel if be oould get
sucb treatment as that. He feels; well, he
feels as if this innocent-looking creature,
with her soft eyes, was entirely too good for
anybody, and he wonders how he could have
listened to the coarse talk of the men. And
when it is litno for her to go, he looks at
her, bundled up in her furs, as she gets into
her brougham, aod thinks there is no color
in this world as beautiful as white, and how
delightful it is to meet a woman who is
really a woman—tender, fond of pets, in
terested in man’s affairs, and really know
ing what his life is. And she—well, when
she gets home, she says to that safest of all
confidantes—herself—“lsn’t it quetr how
innocence and a rosebud will always fetch
a man of business'* He doesn’t want a
•woman who knows a great deal, and he ab
hors a business woman; if he thiuks about
it at all, he wants one to play Josephine to
his Napoleon.”
The next day tho little handkerchief comes
back to the owner; it is wrapped about the
stems of a bunch of orohids and fastened
with an orchid made of diamonds. There
is no name, and consequently madamoisello
can’t return tbe pin to anyone. Sometimes
Mr. Millionaire is played with, and thrown
aside; then tie nearly breaks bis heart, and
the only satisfaction he has, which is a sad
one, is that he has done it for a most abomi
nable flirt.
IS FLIRTATION DAMNATION?
The motherly flirt is dangerous, so is the
baby one. 2he independent flirt is usually
only attractive to boys. Do 1 object to
flirtation? Not if it is properly conducted.
It Is tbe legitimate war of woman upon
man. Woman’s weapon is a thorn, and the
shroud of each victim is a rose leaf. The
w oman who can flirt well is an artist, but in
the noble army of coquettes the sign should
be: "No amateurs reed apply.” This is a
good sermon—a veritable Lenten one—the
text is: “Love your neighbor," and the
preacher is Bab.
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For Fever, Chills, Debility and Kidney
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Indies, for uaturat and thorough organic
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Dr. Mozley’s Lemon Elixir is prepared
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Propared ouly by Dr. H. Mozley, Atlanta,
Ga.
At the Capital.
I have just taken tbe last of two bottles
of Dr. IL Mozley’s Lemon Elixir for nerv
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liver and kidneys. The Elixir cured me. I
found it the greatestjmediciue I ever used.
J. H. Mennich, Attorney,
1325 F street, Washington, D. C.
From a Prominent Lady.
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or stand without suffering great pain.
Since taking Dr. Mozley’s Lemon Elixir I
can walk half a mile without suffering the
least inconvenience.
Mbs. R. H. Bloodworth,
— ad. Griffin, Go.
They Were Going Down.
The drop in what are callod Gould stocks,
tbe other day, says the Brooklyn Eagle, started
tho story of a message by spirit raps in Wall
street, between Jay Gould and W. E. Conner,
his former broker, to this effect:
Gould—Wash, how are my stooks going?
Conner—They’re all going your way. Mr.
Gould.
As that was tbe expression which satisfied
Mr. Gould in his life time, it was thought to be
appropriate in this case by the wags who in
vented the story.
REM AINS OF A PREHISTORIC WALL
A Curious Pile of Crumbling Masonry
on the Wild Plains of Texas.
From the Washington Star.
A Texas correspondent writes to one of
the scientific departments of the govern
ment of a strangely interesting prehistoric
wall discovered on the frontier of the Lone
Star state. This marvelous ruin surpasses
in interest all the other wonderful remains
hitherto found of the people who once in
habited the whole Mexican plateau and at
tained a high state of civilization. It passe*
through Milano and has a total length of
about twenty miles. It is built of solid
masonry, ten to fifteen feet nigh and as
many feat thick. Its hight and thickness
are thus almost as great as the famous
Chinese wall on the north of China. Its
direction is northeast mid southwest.
It is for the most part underground, and
th:s is one of the curious things that puzzle
those wise men who are supposed to know
all about prebistorio remains. It is un
doubtedly very old.
One might suppose it to be tbe sure
foundation of a gigantic fortress which rose
above the ground many feet. The towers
and other meat sof defense with which it
might have been provided have bad time to
crumble away in the years that have passed.
The long fortress may hare been pulled
down by the conquering invaders. As the
people died out from the land tbe debris of
the old wall would in either cose cover its
feu Delation.
PROBABLY BUILT BY AZTECS.
The Aztecs probably built this wall.
They have left some inscriptions on it, but
since their language la entirely lost no
saholar can ever hope to decipher them.
One covers a space eight feet square. The
characters are kindred to Indian inscrip
tions, but not so closely allied that their
mystery oan be penetrated.
There was undoubtedly a populous village
or city in the vicinity, for on a high hill
near Milano the remains of a mighty temple
of worship are found. This was supported
by more than 200 lofty pillars. Some of
them are still standing. Tney were made of
clay, which was well burned. This gave
them the appearance of stone.
In this temple were placed many idols,
broken parts of which are preserved; one,
shaped like an owl, is preserved entire.
Human sacrifices were made to these as well
as sacrifices of birds, beasts and reptiles.
Skulls and bones have been preserved in tbe
clay. Some of these belonged to very large
animals. Some are petrified and it is
thought that these early Aztecs may have
unlerstood the art or petrifaction and thus
preserved the bones of iheir sacrifices.
Many of the skulls show marks of violence,
which was done perhaps when the human
victims were slain. Strange to say, none of
these skulls are larger than the head of an
infant and they have molar teeth.
CURIOUSLY MARKED IDOLS.
The idols are all curiously marked.
Around each pillar small stones are piled up
in circles or squares, and inside each oircle,
underneath the pillar, there is a center or
foundation stone, fashioned to represent the
godhead.
Near tbe wall there also furnaces, in
which the natives smelted iron.
The locality and direction of the wall are
not easily accounted for. Perhaps it marks
the boundary of certain tribal territory
which was exposed to tbe attacks of tbe
enemy. An enormous amount of labor and
material must have been required for its
construction, if built above the ground on
tbe same gigantic plan as the foundation.
Although there were toward a million peo
ple then living in that vicinity, the work
must have extended over a considerable
perid of time. Unless this was some stra
tegic point it is difficult to understand how
but a few thousand could be interested in
its construction.
ORIGIN OF THE AZTECS.
An old tradition says that tbe Aztecs
were one of seven powerful tribes that
emerged from seven caverns in a region
called Aztlan, or place of the heron. They
wandered away from their fellows after a
-treat confusion of tongues and settled In
tbe region they are known to have inhab
ited. The tradition may be partly fabulous,
hut it is sure that the Aztecs sottled the
country before the eleventh or twelfth
century.
All the tribes lived in peaoe for a con
siderable time until the etroog bogan to en
croach upon the territory ot tbe weaker.
Then a fierce war for supremacy over the
whole territory ensued aud lasted many
years. Under the leadership of their mili
tary chiefs the Aztecs obtained control of
tbe w bole territory and established a very
enlightened form of government. This
was consummated in 1324 or 1325. It is
likely that the fortress was built during
this period of war.
PETRIFIED CORPSES.
Strange Spectacle to Be Seen Where
Once a City Stood.
From the San Francisco Examiner.
Away up among the sage-brush of White
Pine, far removed from the shriek of the
locomotive, and only disturbed by the oc
casional prospector, is a strange siieDt city.
Once more tbnn 35,000 people carried on all
kinds of business and traffic there. It was
during the phenomenal rush to White Pine
in 1807. Many hundreds of buildings were
erected. It was a wild, new cLy, which
never slept, and where were enacted all the
scenes wbich in the telling made Mark
Twaiu and Bret Harte famous. This was
the story which an old Wnite Pino man re
counted:
“Now, if you go there,” he said, “you see
only a few of those buildings, for most of
them have fallen iu and decayed. Scattered
log cabins yet remain where mountain
squirrels scurry to and fro at the souud of
man’s footsteps. But it is not of this I
started out to tell you, but of a seoond silent
city where hundreds of men lie buried, end
where scarcely a headstone marks their last
resting place. Tbe headstones, w here there
wore auy at all, were of wood, and they
quickly rotted away. The formation all
about there is largely of limestone. Water
percolating through it partakes of the na
ture of lime, aud this iu many cases has
petrified the bodies.
“So if one were to dig here and there in
the graveyard be would find on every band
petrified men. In many cases they are pet
rified so completely that the entire remains,
even down to tho features, are intact. The
quiet graveyard, stretching over many
acres, numbers among its sleepers all classes.
There are those who died in midwiuter of
pneumonia and typhoid fever, for in those
wild times men oould not take care of them
selves. Desperadoes are there also. Num
berless persons of all degrees died with their
boots on.
“Tho mon who came there on fortune
bent embraced all classes. There was the
hardened prospector and tbe tenderfoot,
professional man, the farmer, for the first
time turning his attention toward mines,
and tbe gambling adventurer. Death set
tled upon them, high and low alike. Many
an eastern family perhaps to this day is
waiting tor the return of father, son or
brother. They have dropped out for
ever. and there, caught by the un
derground elements and turned to
stone, they will lie to the end of
time. It is a lonesome city to visit now,but
twenty-five years ago it was a humming,
roaring place, notuDlike Creede at the pres
ent time, only larger. It looks uncanny
now and I do not often visit it, but when I
do lam constantly impressed with the un
certainly of all human affairs. The old
wooden headstones that yet remain are ex
ceedingly suggestive.”
8. W. Allirton, citizens' nomioee for mayor
of Chicago, is a native of Duchess Icouaty, Nsw
York. He was a cattle driverat the age of 12.
and having thus earned a little money. he put it
iDto peanuts and candy, out of which ho made a
profit. Farming was his hobby, however, and
he persuaded his father to buy e farm on the
shores of Seneca lake. At the age of 19 he was
able to join bis brother in buying a farm in
Wayne county, and a little later, having saved
up ShOO, he bought one in Yates county for
himself alone. Four years afterward he had
accumulated 53,300 as the result of his bard
work.
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_ _ __ -
FLOUR.
Home=riade Pie
You always have
trouble with the
under pie crust—
Seems as though
you never can make
it as light as the
upper one.
Suppose you try
>nwa—aiiw ii■ i rrnrs^
self=Raising
Flour.