Newspaper Page Text
6
ln/ECOUNTR r HOME |
I Women on the Farm |
Conducted By Mrs. IV. H. Felton. 11
Correspondsnee on home topics or ♦
4 subjects of especial Interest to wo- 4
+ men Is Invited Inquiries or letters ♦
4» should be brief and clearly written 4
4 In ink on one side of the sheet. 4
4 Write direct to Mrs. W. H. Fel- 4
<• ton. Editor Home Department Semi- +
* Weekly Journal. Cartersville. Ga. 4
4 No Inquiries answered by mail. 4
a 4
sf»M44« 111M44111 UHM4+
SELF-DEPENDENCE.
Wesnr Os myself and sick of askins
What I am. and what 1 ought to be.
On this vessel's prow 1 'land, which bears me
Forward, forward, o’er the star-lit sea.
Abd a look of paseionate desire '
O'er the see and to the stars I send.
-fe who from my childhood up have calmed
_ M c -
Oilrn me. ah' compose me to the end.
"Tet once more.” I cried, "ye stars, ye waters.
On my heart your mighty charm renew.
Still let me as I gate uoon you.
Feel my soul becoming vast like your
From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of
heaven, . .
Oser the lit sea’s unqyiet way.
Through th-, rustling night air cam* the answer.
"Would ye be as these are? Live as they.
Una freighted by the silence rcunn them.
Übdlstra-trd by the sights they see.
These leniand not that the things about them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.
And wtth toy the stars perform their shining.
And the sea. ks I dig moon-silvered roll.
For sel.'-pvlsed they live, nor pine with noUng
All the fever of some differing soul.
O air born voice! Long since severely clear.
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear;
"Rtwolve to be thyself, and kw«w that he
Who Beds himself, loses his misery!”
-Matthew Arnold
Progressive New Zealand.
WHEN I was taught my first
lessons in geography there was
a picture of New Zealand, or
at least a cut. illustrating that
cSuntry as inhabited by cannibals. A
distaste was formed in my mind against
the faraway Island, which was the out
growth of my early training, as I have
now learned.
Some days ago an article written about
modern New Zealand quite reversed my
aforetime views and I am asking myself
lf> New Zealand is not ahead of America
in some important particulars.
They have such laws as the follow
ing.
"To establish a bureau of labor, which
finds employment for the unemployed and
tn cades of need, of sending them to dis
tant points where their labor is in de
mand '*
’ A system of arbitration between em
ployers and the employed.”
”A plan for dividing large estates among
the people who wish to till the soil, but
ate not able to buy the land.” The gov
ernment leases the land on such terms
that it can be paid for when crops are
harvested
“A graded Income tax. which prevents
immer.ee accumulations of millions.”
The New Zealanders boast they have
neither paupers or millionaires.
The railroads and express business with
many other public utilities are owned
and managed by the government and are
so conducted as to give the lowest rates,
within eoet of labor and wear and tear.
Telegraphs make money at rates which
are half of what we pay in this country.
The people use the wires four times
to our one. by reason of this economical
management
An American correspondent savs, "Ev
ery poetoffice fb also a telephone and
telegraph office, a savings bank and a
parcel post, and the rates paid are one
fourth of those paid tn the United States.
New Zealanders have a government In
surance office and pension office.
They have an effective civil service sys
tem and they serve themselves at lees
expense than in any other country.
The law requires every cltisen to vote
and they have a penalty for not voting,
unless the excuse is good. They inelude
women as citlsens. thus relieving the
women of franchise agitation by the gen
eral laws for citixens.
Their liquor laws are far In advance
of ours. They license inn keepers with
severe restrictions, but allow no barrooms
or saloons.
If a drunken man Is seen going out of
the inn the proprietor is at once arrested
and fined. A second offense causes him
to forfeit his license—not for a year—but
all tne time. The names of inebriates
are given tp-inn keepers, who are then
forbidden to sell to them under penalty.
The system works so well as to amount
to prohibition in the most of Instances.
These are some of the laws of that far
away island government, which not a
great many years ago was Inhabited by
the worst kind of ravages.
They seem to have collected in their
midst of the wisest, most public spirited
and statesmanlike legislators the world
has ever known. They are fine examples
of patriotism and good judgment.
After Many Days.
"Sow beside all waters." and the har
vest will come after many days.
This thought entered into my mind to
day when a letter came from another
state and firm a valued friend who was
acquainted with me in girlhood days. She
wrote.
“I have never lost my interest in you.
and I take a great pride in everything
you write or say that I hear. It is all
intensely interesting to me.
“I eagerly search the papers every
week for your pieces, and enjoy them
tfiaxpresaibiy I have so much wanted to
see you. but that seems in the distant
future so I determined to write you.
"I had opened my Bible, and there
found a piece that you wrote months ago
entitled ‘Burdens.' It appealed to me as
full of sound and wholesome criticism, of
, . the so-called sermons of the day. especial
ly those that have nothing in them to sat
isfy ar Sooth the weary. sorrow-laden
hearts or to point them to the peace and
rest that comes from taking our burdens
to tb« dear Lord.
"I placed this piece where I can read it
AGENTS WANTED
-FOR-
Sflmi-WBBlLly Journal
By accepting the agency and devoting
your spare moments to canvassing among
your friends you can make it very profit
able.
We want good local agents In every
town tn the Southern States and we
went you to represent us. We have a
very attractive premium list and the
agents' contest will interest you. So far
this year we bare divided among our
agents *535 00 in cash and now have a
fKC.CO contest on. It will surely pay you
to work for the Bemi-Weekly Journal.
For infonr.ation. terms and an outfit
address
The Semi-Weekly Journal
ATLANTA, CA.
t
often, and it has been a great comfort
to me. I could not resist the inclination
to write and tell you this, because I have
desired to do so every time I read one of
your excellent papers.”
Granting that the writer has a tender
weakness for me, growing out of long
acquaintance, nevertheless my heart was
filled with humble gratitude to the Master
that I was felt worthy to occupy such a
place of confidence and esteem in that
dear friend s heart, after so many days
have passed and gone, and so many that
we both knew and loved have “passed
over the river.”
Doubtless the article she alludes to was
the outburst from my own heart, and be
cause we poor mortals are so near akin
to each other in our sorrows and joys it
found a lodgement in her heart, by rea
son of this kinship in suffering as well as
in natural affection.
Our dear Ixtrd was “a man of sorrows
and acquainted with grief,” and he came
to earth to show us how to bear sorrow
and grief in away that worketh good to
our own souls.
It seems unaccountable to my mind that
the ministry, the consecrated and an
notated disciples of the sorrowing Christ,
should ever forget what discipleship
stands for in the estimation of the Mas
ter. , .
A gentleman who occupied one of the
highest political and official positions in
the state of Georglk. and who has passed
on to his final reward, said to me not long
before his death: "What a mistake these
preachers make who follow after the good
things, the fat things in life! I can go in
any crowd—and I have seen many crowds
in my time—and I can pick them out by
their silk hats, fine clothes and kid gloves.
They are the best dressed people in all the
land. They show their good keeping and
the diffrtvnce is great between them and
those who are generally full of sorrows
and acquainted with grief. They are ap
parently so affluent that the poor in for
tune. and especially the poor in Spirit, are
not in touch with them.”
Was this diagnosis of the situation a
reliable one? Are the modern disciples in
touch and in sympathy wtth those that
cry out in mental suffering, in poverty
and distress?
Rambling Thoughts on Cookery.
I WAS a guest today of the Atlanta
Woman’s club, and the delicious
viands those worthy ladies prepared
for the entertainment of the State
Federation of clubs now in session, fills
my mind completely. Election news are
nowhere in comparison. The tariff is for
gotten. The legislature did not bother
us in the least, and even the depot ques
tion is dormant when I think of that
beautifully placed and deliciously cooked
ahd abundant repast that was served in
the club room of the Grand, on the open
ing day of the meeting.
Perhaps it was the muggy weather that
sharpened our appetites, but there never
was a time in federation history when
scalloped oVsxers. salads, ham. turkey,
beaten biscuit, light rolls, swedt pickles,
delicious coffee and Ice cream with iced
cakes met a heartier reception.
We had enjoyed the feast of reason and
flow of soul. along with welcoming
speeches from the governor of Georgia
and the mayor of ' Atlanta, but that
luncheon was a prise winner in the array
of benefits and pleasures that were grant
ed to those enthusiastic club women.
I am not surprised that the gentlemen
always have a banquet to make a delight
ful highway to their many great under
takings. We know this to be true, be
cause every great civic endeavor usually
commences with a banquet.
It is reported of old Dr. Johnson, in the
Boswell biography, that the philosopher
raid: “I like to dine. Some people have
a foolish way of pretending not to mind
what they eat. I mind my stomach very
studiously and very carefully, and I look
upon it that he who does not mind his
stomach will hardly mind anything else."
There is a piece of poetry which runs
this way:
“We may live without poetry, music and
art.
We may live without conscience, and live
without heart.
We may live without friends, we may live
without books.
But civilised man cannot live without
cooks.
He may live without books, what is
knowledge but grieving?
He may live without hope, what is hope
but deceiving?
He may live without love, what is passion
but pining?
But where is the man that can live with
out dining?" . -
When the board of lady managers, one
hundred and fifteen women strong, from
every state and territory' in the union,
mst in Chicago to set on foot the woman s
department of the world’s fair in 1890. we
organised the body, and within the next
two days we were banqueted by the great
Columbian commission at the Washlng
to- Park club rooms, a most fashionable
Cnicago gathering nlaee.
Some five hundred guests sat down to
the table. It was all very, fine of course,
but we were novices at . publie banquets,
at least I was.
One of our board, well known to history,
from a-northern state, remarked to me.
sotto voice: "I like this. For all these
years we have been sitting tn the gal
lery looking at great men eat. We have
reached the tables now and I count it
great progress."
America has not been particularly noted
for fine cookery, until within the last few
decades. England was first and fore
most with roast beef. France had the
praise for dressings and bouillons. Ger
man cakes and Austrian delicatessen are
beyond praise. Italians carried oft the
palm in confectionary. Spain had some
praise and Scotland had choice oatmeal
cakes, but the Americans being new peo
ple were not rated high In cookery. We
tn the south have heard more than a lit
tle about coffee without cream and bis
cuit yellow with soda, but a new day In
cookery is drawing tn our little towns
and small cities, of our own section.
Wherever women go there is generally
something palatable to eat. because the
average man has an appetite and his do
mestic happiness is largely centered about
his breakfasts, dinners and supper, ahd
the women know !L The good things of
life are closely associated with good
things to eat. and they make the domestic
wheel turn easily.
And the recipes which occupy so large
a place in well patronised newspapers in
dicate that this subject as one of par
ticular interest to all the readers of such
papers.
There are both brains and ability neces
sary to make a good cook. It is an art.
requiring time, patience and forethought.
It necessitates skill to broil a nice beef
steak. even to make a good eup of tea.
Recipes are good and money to buy some
thing nice to prepare for the table is most
necessary, but the recipe and ingredients
are not all that we must have to’ make
a real good dinner by a good deal.
Household Economics Is one of the most
popular topics in woman's clubs, as it de
serves to be. and there will be found
abiding Interest in the subject of cookery
as long as the people of this world have
health and good appetites.
The elegant luncheon that greeted the
assembled delegates on their opening day
was a delightful reminder of the skill,
excellent taste and general abilitv of the
capable women who constitute the mem
bership of the Atlanta's Woman club, for
they are prompt tn every good work and
work for the education and uplifting of
I humanity.
THE SEMI-WEEKLY JOURNAL, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, MONDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1902»
RTWBII^ATHERWOOD JEoF?RIGHTED^gjWEH-^|ERRI L L
1901 , ■
BOOK lie—WANDERING.
Louis XVIII may have been tender to
her every other moment of his life, but
he was hard then, and looked beyond her
toward the door, making a sign with his
hand. ‘ ■
That strange sympathy which works in
me for my opponent, put his outraged dig
nity before me rather than my own
wrong. Deeper, more sickening than
death, the first faintness of self-distrust
came over me. What if my half-memories
were unfounded hallucinations? What if
my friend Louise Philippe had made a
tool of me, to annoy this older Bourbon
branch that detested him? What if Bal
lenger’s recognition, and the Marquis du
Plessy's, and Marie-Therese's, went for
nothing? WhAt if some other, and not
this angry man, had sent the money to
America—
The door opened again. We turned
our heads, and I grew hot at the cruelty
which put that idiot before my slster't
eyes. He ran on all fours, his gaunt
wrists exposed, until Bellenger, advanc
ing behind, took him by the arm and
made him stand erect. It was this poor
creature i had heard scratching on the
other side of the inn wall.
How long Bellenger had been before
hand with me in Mittau I could not
guess. But when I saw the scoundrel
who had laid me in Ste. Pelagle, and
doubtless dropped me in the Seine, ready
tc do me more michief, smug and smooth
shaven, and fin* in the red-collared blue
coat which seemed to be the prescribed
uniform of that court, all my confidence
returned. I was Louis of France. I
could laugh at anything he had to say.
Behind him entered a priest, who ad
vanced up the room, and made obeisance
to the king, as Bellenger did.
Madame d’Angouleme looked once at
the Idiot, and hid her eyes: the king pro
tecting her. I said to myself.
"It will soon be against my breast, not
yours, that she hides her face, my excel
lent uncle of Provence!”
Yet he was as sincere a man as ever
said to witnesss:
"We shall now hear the truth.”
The few courtiers, enduring with hardi
ness a sight which they perhaps had seen
before, though Mddame d’Angouleme had
not, made a rustle among themselves as
if echoing,
"fee, now we shall hear the truth!”
The king again kissed my sister’s hand,
and placed her in a seat beside his arm
chair. which he resumed.
"Monsieur the Abbe Edgeworth,” he
said, "having stood on the scaffold with
our martyred sovereign, as prjest and
comforter, is eminently the one to con
duct an examination like this, which
touches matters of conscience. We leave
it in his hands.”
Abbe Edgeworth, fine and sweet of
presence, stood by the king, facing Bel
lenger and the idiot. That poor creature,
astonished by his environment, gazed
at the high room corners, or smiled ex
perimentally at the courtiers, stretching
his cracked lips over darkened fangs.
“You are admitted here, Bellenger,”
said the priest, "to answer his majesty's
questions in the presence of witnesses.”
“I thank his Majesty,” said Bellenger.
The abbe begfin as if the idiot attract
ed his notice for the first time.
"Who is the unfortuhate child you hold
with your right hand?”
“Thfe dauphin of France, monsieur the
abbe,” spoke out Bellenger, his left' hand
on his hip.
"What! Take care what you say! How
do you know that the dauphin of Franc*
is yet among the living?”
Beltenger’s countenance changed, and
he took his hand oft his hip and let it
hang down.
“I received the price, monsieur, from
those who took him out of the Temple
prison.”
"And you never exchanged him for
another person, or allowed him to be sep
arated from you?"
Ballenger swore with ghastly lips—
" Never, on my hopes of salvation, mon
rleur the abbe!”
"Admitting that somebody gave you
this child to keep—by the way, how old
is he?”
“About twenty years, monsieur.”
"What right had you to assume he
was the dauphins”
"I had received a yearly pension, mon
sieur. from his majesty himself, for the
maintenance of the prince.”
"You received the yearly pension
through my hand, acting as his Majesty’s
almongr. His Majesty was ever too
bountiful to the unfortunate. He has
many dependents. Where have you lived
with yous- charge?”
"We lived in America, sometimes in the
woods, and sometimes tn towns.”
"Has he ever shown hopeful signs of
recovering his reason?”
"None, monSieur the abbe.”
Having touched thus lightly on the case
of the idiot. «bbe Edgeworth turned to
me.
The king's face retained its granite
hardness But Bellenger’s passed from
shade to shade of baffled confidence; re
covering only when the priest said:
"Now look at this young man. Have
you ever seen him before?”
“Yes, monsieur, I have; both in the
American woods, and in Paris.”
"What was he doing in the American
woods?”
“Living on the bounty of one Count du
Chaumont, a friend of Bonaparte's.”
“Who he is?”
"A French half-breed, brought up
among the Indians.”
"What name .does he tear?”
"He is called Lazarre.”
“But why is a French half-breed named
Laz&ire attempting to force himself on
the exiled court here in Mittau’”
“People have told him that he resem
bles the Bourbons, monsieur."
“Was he encouraged in this idea by
th# friend of Binaparte whom you men
tioned’’’
“I think not, monsieur the abbe. Rut
I heard a Frenchman tell him he was like
the martyred king, and since that hour
he has presumed to consider himself the
dauphin."
"Who was this Frenchman?”
“The Duke of Orleans, Louis Philippe
de Boudbon, monsieur the abbe.”
There was an expressive movement
among the courtiers.
"Was Louis Philippe Instrumental in
sending hfm to France?”
"He’ was. He procured shipping for
the pretender.”
“When the pretender reached Paris,
what did he do?”
“He atten pted robbery, and was taken
in the act and thrown into Ste. Pelagle.
I saw him arrested.”
"What were you doing in Paris?”
“I was fallowing and watching this
dangerous pretender, monsieur the abbe.”
“Did you leave America when he did?”
“The evening before, monsieur. And
we outsailed him.”
"Did you leave Paris when he did?”
"Three days later, monsieur. But we
passed him while he rested.”
"Why do you call such an insignificant
perron a dangerous pretender"’
"He is not insignificant, monsieur: as
you will say, when you hear what he did
in Paris ”
“He was thrown into the prison of Ste.
Pelagic, you told me.”
"But he escaped, by choking a sacris
tan so that the poor man will long bear
the marks on his throat. And the first
thing I knew he was high in favor with
the Marquis du Plesey, and Bonaparte
spoke to him; and the police laughed at
complaints lodged against him.”
“Who lodged complaints against him?”
"I did, monsieur.”
"But he was too powerful for you to
touch?”
“He was well protected, monsieur the
abbe. He flaunted. While the poor prince
and myself suffered Inconvenience and
fared hard—”
"The poor prince, you ray?”
"We never had a fitting allowance,
monsieur,” Bellenger declared aggressive
ly. "Yet With little or no means I tried
to bring this pretender to justice and de
fend his Majesty’s throne.”
"Pensioners are not often so outspoken
in their dissatisfaction,” remarked the
priest.
I laughed as I thought of the shifts to
which Bellenger must have been put.
Abbe Edgeworth with merciless dryness
inquired:
"How were you able to post to Mit
tau?"
“I borrowed money of a friend in Paris,
monsieur, trusting that his Majesty will
requite me for my services.”
“But why was it necessary for you to
post to Mittau, where this pretender
would certainly meet exposure?”
"Because I discovered that he carried
with him a casket of the martyred queen’s
jewels, stolen from the Marquis du Ples
sy.”
“How did the Marquis du Plessy obtain
possession of the queen's jewels?”
"That I do not know.”
"But the jewels are the lawful prop
erty of Madame d’Angouleme. He must
have known they would be seized.”
“I thought it necessary to bring my ev
idence against him, monsieur.”
"There was little danger of his im
posing himself upon the court. Yet you
are rather to .be commended than cen
sured, Bellenger. Did this pretender
know you were in Pans?”
"He saw me there.”
"Many times?"
“At least twice, monsieur the abbe.”
“Did he avoid you?”
"I avoided him. I took pains to keep
him from knowing how I watched him.”
"You say he flaunted. When he left
Paris for Mittau was the fact generally
reported?”
“No, monsieur.”
"You learned it yourself?”
• "Yes, monsieur.”
“But he must have known you would
pursue him.”
"He left with great secrecy, monsieur
the abbe. It was given out that he was
merely going to the country.”
“What made you suspect he was com
ing to mittau? ’ <
“He hired a strong post-chaise and
made many preparations.”
“But didn’t his friend the Marquis du
Plessy discover the robbery? Why didn’t
he follow and take the thief?”
“Dead ihen don't follow, monsieur the
abbe. The Marqdis du Plessy had a duel
on his hands, and was killed the day after
this Lazarfe left-Paris.”
Os all Bellenger’s absurd fabrications
this story was the most ridiculous. I
laughed again. Madame d’Angouleme
took her hands 'from her face and our
eyes met one instant, but the idiot whined
like a dog. Bhe shuddered, and covered
her sight.
The priest turned from Bellenger to me
with a fair-minded expression, and in
quired: F
“What have yoy to say?”
I had great'heal to say, though the
only heafer I expected to convince was
my sister. If she believed in me I did
not care whether the others believed or
not I was geihg to begin with Lake
George, the mountain, and the fog, and
Bellenger’s fear if me, and his rage when
Louis Philippe told him the larger por
tion of the money sent from Europe was
given to me.
Facing Marie-Therese. therefore, in
stead of the Abbe Edgeworth, I spoke her
name. She lookfed up once more. And
instead of being In Mittau, I was sudden -
ly on a balcony ’at Versailles!
The night landscape, chill and dim,
stretched beyond a multitude of roaring
mouths, coarse Ups, flaming eyes, illum
inated by torches, the heads ornamented
with a three-colored thing stuck into the
caps. My hand stretched out for sup
port, and met the tight clip of my moth
er’s fingers. I knew that she was tow
ering between Marie-Therese and me a
fearless palpitating statue. The devilish
roaring mob shot above itself a forced,
admiring, piercing cry—“ Long live the
queen!” Then all became the humming
of bees—the vibration of a string—aotiJing!
Blackness surrounded the post-carriage
in- which I woke, and it seemed to stand
In a tunnel that was afire at one end. Two
huge trees, branches and all, were burn
ing on a big hearth, stones glowing un
der them; and figures with long beards, in
black robes, passed betwixt ms and the
fire, stirring a cduldron. If ever witches'
brewing was seen, it looked like that.
The last eclipse of mind had come upon
me without any rending and tearing in
the head, and facts returned clearly and
directly. I saw the black-robed figures j
were Jews cooking supper at a large fire
place, and we had driven upon the brick
floor of a post-house which had a door
nearly the size of a gable. At that end
spread a ghostly film of open land, forest
and sky. I lay • stretched upon cushions
as well as the vehicle would permit, and
was aware by a shadow which came be
tween me and the Jews that Skenedonk
stood at the step.
“What are you about?” I spoke with a
rush of chagrin, sitting up. “Are we on
the road to Paris?”
“Yes,” he answered.
"You have made a mistake, Skenedonk!”
“No mistake," he maintained. “Wait un
til I bring you some supper. After supper
we can talk.”
“Bring the supper at once, then, for I am
going to talk now."
“Are you quite awake?”
"Quite awake. How long did it last this
time?”
“Two days.”
"We are not two days’ journey out of
Mittau?”
“■tes.”
“Well, when you have horses put in to
morrow morning, turn them back to Mit
tau.’’
Skenedonk went to the gigantic hearth,
and one of the Jews ladled him out a
bowlful of the cauldron stew, which he
brought to me.
The stuff was not offensive, and I was
hungry. He brought another bowlful for
himself, and we ate as we had often done
' in the woods. The fire shone on his bald
pate and gave out the liquid lights of
his fawn eyes.
“I have made a fool of myself in Mit
tau. Skenedonk.”
“Why do you want to go back?”
"Because I am not going to be thrown
out of the palace without a hearing.”
"What is the use?” said Skenedonk.
"The old fat chief will not let you stay.
He doesn't want to hear you talk. He
wants to be king himself."
“Did you see me sprawling on the floor
like the idiot?”
"Not like the idiot. Your face was
down.”
"Did you see the duchess?”
"Yes."
"What did she do?”
"Nothing. She leaned on the women, and
they took her away.”
"Tell me all you saw.”
"When you went in to hold council, I
watched and saw a priest and Bellenger
and the boy that God had touched, all go
in after yr” Fq 1 l-qe*" th* council would
be bad for you, Lazarre, and I stood by
the door with my knife in my hand.
When the talk had gone on awhile I heard
something like the dropping of a buck on
the ground, and sprang in, and the men
drew their swords and the women scream
ed. The priest ’ pointed at you and sstid:
‘God has smitten the pretender!’ Then
they all went out of the room except the
priest, and we opened your collar. I told
him that you had fallen like that before,
and the stroke passed off in sleep. He
said your carriage waited, and if I valued
your safety I would put you in it and take
you out of Russia. He called servants to
help me carry you. I thought about your
jewels; but some drums began to beat,
and I thought about your life."
"But, Skenedonk, didn’t my sister—the
lady I led by the hand, you remember—
speak to me again, or look at me, or try
to revive me?”
“No. She went away with the women
carrying her.”
“She believed in me—at first! Before I
said a word she knew me! She wouldn’t
leave me merely because her uncle and a
priest thought me an impostor! She is the
tenderest creature on earth, Skenedonk—
she is more like a saint than a woman!"
“Some saints on the altar are blind and
deaf,” observed the Oneida. “I think she
was sick.”
“I have nearly killed her! And I have
been tumbled out of Mittau as a preten
der!”
“You are here. Get some men to fight,
and we will go back.”
“What a stroke—to lose my senses at
the moment I needed them most!”
"You kept your scalp!”
"And not much else. No! If you refuse
to follow me, and wait here at this post
house, I am going back to Mittau!”
“I go where you go!” said Skenedonk.
"But best go to sleep now.”
This I was not able to do until, long
tossing on the thorns of chagrin wore me
out. I was ashamed like a prodigal, baf
fled, and hurt to the bruising of my soul.
A young man’s chastened confidence in
himself is hard to bear, but the loss of
What was given as a heritage at birth is
an injustice not to be endured.
The throne of France was never my
goal, to be reached through blood and
revolution. Perhaps the democratic no
tions in my father’s breast have found
wider scope in mine. I wanted to influence
men, and felt even at that time that I
could do it; but being king was less to my
mind than being acknowledged dauphin,
and brother, and named with my real
name.
I took my fists in my hands and swore
to force recognition, if I battered a life
time on Mittau.
At daylight our post-horses were put
to the chaise and I gave the postilion or
ders myself. The little fellow bowed him
self nearly double, and said that troops
were moving behind us to join the allied
forces against Napoleon.
At ohce the prospect of being snared
among armies and cut off from all return
to Paris appalled me as a greater present
calamity than being cast out of Mittau.
Mittau could wait for another expedition.
“Very well,” I said. “Take the road to
France.”
We met August rains. We were bogged.
A bridge broke under us. We dodged Aus
trian troops. It seemed even then a fated
thing that a Frenchman should retreat
ignomi aloucly from Russia.
Thert is a devilish antagonism of inan
imate and senseless things, begun by dis
cord in ourselves, which works unreason
able torture. Our return was an abomina
ble journal which I will not recount, and
going with it was a mortifying facility for
drawing opposite forces.
Howevw, I knew my friend the marquis
expeota* me to return defeated. He gave
me opportunity as a child is indulged
with a dangerous plaything, to teach it
caution.
He would be in his chateau of Plessy,
cutting off two days’ posting to Paris. And
after the first sharp pangs of chagrin and
shame at losing the fortune he had plac
ed in my hands, I looked forward with
impatience to our meeting.
“We have nothing, Skenedonk!” I ex
claimed the first time there was occasion
for money on the road. “How have you
been able to post? The money and the
jewel-case are gone!”
"We have two bags of money and the
snuff-box,” said the Oneida. “I hid them
in the post-carriage.”
"But I had the key of the jewel-case.”
“You are a good sleeper,” responded
Skenedonk.
I blessed him heartily for his fore
thought, and he said if he had known I
was a fool he would not have told me we
carried the jewel-case into Russia.
I dared not let myself think of Madame
de Ferrier. The plan of buying back her
estates, which I had nurtured in the bot
tom of my heart, was now more remote
than America.
One bag of coin was spent in Parte, but
three remained there with Dr. Chantry.
We had money, though the more valuable
treasure stayed in Mittau.
In the sloping hills and green vines of
Champagne we were no longer harrassed
dodging troops, and slept the last night of
our posting at Epernay. Taking the road
early next morning. I began to watch for
Plessy too soon, without forecasting that
I was not to set foot within its walls.
We came within the marquis’ boundaries
upon a little goose girl, knitting beside
her flock. Her bright hair was bound with
a woolen cap. Delicious grass and the
shadow of an oak, under which she stood,
were not to be resisted, so I sent the car
riage on. She looked open-mouthed after
Skenedonk and bobbed her dutiful, fright
ened courtesy at me.
The marquis' peasants were by no means
I Said Wisdom 1
y ■ to the >
| Hungry Man 0
| U need a |
Biscuit
v In the In-er-seal Package with this trade- /Q
mark design on the ends in red and white.
Do " ars
A NAME.
The Person sending to us the W
I***®* most APPROPRIATE NAME for our -
r TONIG AND LIVER TABLETS
will receive ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS IN GOLD. NO names will
k be considered after December2o.l9o2. In sending name, en-
> close 10 cents, and in return, we will mail you, at an
. early date, a sample package of our Tonic and Liver £S|||
Tablet*. Address P. O. Box 2.
Genuine Rogers Silverware. H 3 Years?
$i.45
KF.Ti.EY, jswxkjs-s,.i A "c a an,. n,a ’ T*.'.Xn: b «o- p ~ n *’
under the influence of the empire, as I
knew from observing the lad whom he had
sought among the drowned in the mortu
ary chapel of the Hotel Dleu, and who
was afterwards found in a remote wine
saop seeing sights. The goose girl dared
>iot speak to me unless I required it of her,
and the unusual notice was an honor she
would have avoided.
“What do you do here?” I inquired.
Her little heart palpitated in the answer
—“Oh, guard the geese.”
“Do they give you trouble?”
“Not much, except that wicked gander.”
She pointed out with her knitting needle
a sleek, white fellow, who flirted his tail
and turned an eye, quavering as if he
said. “La. la, la!”
“What does he do?”
“He would be at the vines and the corn,
monsieur.”
“Bad gander!”
‘I switch him,” she informed me, like
a magistrate.
“But that would only make him run.”
“Also, I have a string in my pocket, and
I tie him by the leg to a tree.”
“Serves him right. Is the Marquis du
Plessy at the chateau?”
Her face grew shaded, as a cloud chases
sunlight before it across a meadow. “Do
you mean the new marquis, the old mar
quis' cousin, monsieur? He went away di
rectly after the burial.”
“What burial?”
“The old marquis’ burial. That was be
fore St. John’s day.”
“Be careful what you say, my .child.”
“Didn’t you know he was dead, mon
sieur?”
“I have been on a journey. Was his
death sudden?”
“He was killed in a duel in Paris.”
I sat down on the grass with my head in
my hands. Bellenger had told the truth.
One scant month the Marquis du Plessy
fostered me like a son. To this hour my
slow heart aches for the companionship
of the lightest, most delicate spirit I ever
encountered in man.
Once I lifted my head and insisted:
“It can’t be true!”
"Monsieur,” the goose girl asserted sol
emnly, "it is true. The blessed St. Alpin,
my patron, forget me if I tell you a lie!"
Around the shadowed spot where I sat
I heard trees whispering on the hills, and
a cart rumbling along the hardened dust
of the road.
"Monsieur,” spoke the goose girl out of
her good heart, “if you want to go to his
chapel I will show you the path.”
She tied a string around the leg of the
wicked gander and attached him to the
tree, shaking a wand at him in warning.
He nipped her sleeve and hissed and hop
ped, his wives remonstrating softly; but
his guardian left him bound and carried
her knitting down a valley to a stream,
across the bridge, and near an opening in
the bushes at the foot of a hill.
“Go all to' the right, monsieur,” she said,
"and you will come to the chapel where
the Du Plessys are buried.”
I gave her the largest coin in my pocket
and she flew back as well as the spirit of
childhood could fly in wooden shoes. AU
the geese, formed in line, waddled to
meet her, perhaps bearing a memorial of
wrongs from their husband.
The climb was steep, rounding a dark
ened ferny shoulder of lush forest,, yet
promising more and more a top of sun
light. At the summit was a carrlge road,
which ascended by some easier plane.
Keeping all to the right as the goose girl
had directed, I found a chapel like a
shrine.
It was locked. Through the latticed
door I could see an altar, whereunder the
last Du Plessy who had come to rest
there, doubtless lay with his kin.
I sat down on one of the benches under
the trees. The ache within me went deep.
But all that sunny hillcrest seemed bright
ened by the marquis. It was cheerful as
his smile. “Let us have a glass of wine
and enjoy the sun,” he said in the breeze
flowing around his chapel. “And do you
hear that little citizen of the tree trunks.
Lazarre?”
The perfume of the woods rose invisibly
to a - cloudless sky. My last tryst with my
friend was an hour in paradise’s ante
chamber.
The light quick stepping of horses and
their rattling harness brought Madame de
Ferrier’s carriage quickly around the
curve fronting the chapel. Her presence
was the one touch which the place lacked,
and I forgot grief, shame, impatience at
being found out in my trouble, and stood
at her step with my hat in my hand.
She said—“O Lazarre!”—and Paul beat
on Ernestin’e knee, echoing—“O Zar!”
and my comfort was absolute as release
from pain, because she had come to visit
her old friend the marquis.
I helped her-down and stood with he*
at the latticed door.
"How bright it is here!” said Eagle.
"It is very bright. I came up the hill
from a dark place.”
"Did the news of his death meet you on
the post-road?”
“It met me at the foot of this hilL The >
goose girl told me.”
“Oh, you have been hurt!” she said,
looking at me. “Your face is all seamed.
Don’t tell me about Mittau today. Paul
and I are taking possession of the es
tates!” '
“Napoleon has given them back to you!’’
“Yes, he has! I begged the De Chau
monts to let me come alone. By hard post
ing we reached Mont-Louis last night. You
are the only person in France to whom I
would give that vacant seat in the car
riage today.”
I cared no longer for my own loss, as
I am afraid has been too much my way all
through life; or whether I was a prince or
not. Like paradise after death, as so many
of our best days come, this perfect day
was given me by the marquis himself.
Eagle’s summer dress touched me. Paul
and Ernestine sat facing us, and Paul ate
cherries from a little basket, and had his
Angers wiped, beating the cushion with his
heels in excess of Impatience to begin
again.
Vv e paused at a turn of the height before
descending, where fields could be seen
stretching to the horizon, woods fair and
clean as parks, without the wildness of
the American forest, and vineyards of
bushy vines that bore the small black
grapes. Eagle showed me the far bounda
ries of Paul’s estates. Then we drove
where holly spread its prickly foliage near 4
the ground, where springs from cliffs
trickled across delicious lanes.
Hoary stone farmhouses, built four
square like a fortress, each having a
stately archway, saluted us as we passed
by. The patron and his wife came out,
and laborers, pulling their caps, dropped
down from high-yoked horses. ,
But when the long single street of stone
cottages which formed the village opened
its arms, I could see her breast swelling
and her gray eyes sweeping all with com
prehensive rush.
An elderly man, shaking some salad in
a wire basket, dropped it at his feet and
bowed and bowed, sweeping his cap to the
ground. Some women who were washing
around a roofed pool left their paddles and
ran, wiping suds from their arms; and
houses discharged their Inmates, babies in
children’s arms, wives, old men. the sim
plicity of their lives the openness of
their labor manifest. They surrounded the
carriage. Eagle stood Paul upon his feet
that they might worship him, and his
mouth corners curled upward, his blue
eyed fearless look traveled from face to
face, while her gloved hand was kissed,
and God was praised that she had come
back.
"O Jean!” she cried, "is your mother
alive T' and "Marguerite, have you a son
so tall?”
An old creature bent double, walked out
on four feet, two of them being sticks,
lifted her voice and blessed Eagle and
the child a quarter of an hour. Paul’s
mother listened reverently, and sent him
in Ernestine’s arms for the warped hu
man being to look upon at close range
with her failing sight He stared at her ,
unafraid, and experimentally put his fin
ger on her knotted cheek; at which all
the womep broke into chorus as I have
heard blackbirds rejoice.
“I have not seen them for so long!”
Madame de Ferrier said, wiping her eyes.
“We have all forgotten our behavior!”
An inverted pine tree hung over the inn » i
door, and dinner was laid for us in its
best room, where host and hostess serv
ed the marquise and the young marquis
almost on their knees.
When we passed out at the other end
of the village Eagle showed me a square
towered church. .
"The De Ferriers are buried there—ex
cepting my father. I shall put a tablet in
the wall for Cousin Philippe. Few Protest
ants in France had their rights and priv
ileges protected as ours were by the
throne. I mention this fact, sire, that you
may lay it up in your mind! We have been
good subjects, well worth our salt in time
of war."
(To Be Continued.)
President Roosevelt has signed an order pro
viding for the taking of a census of the Phil
ippines in accordance with the terms of the
Philippine act, passed the last session of
congress and upon the certificate of the Phil
ippine commission that the insurrection has
been suppressed.
It is much easier to see the way we should
go than it is to go the way we see.
