Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, November 24, 1902, Page 6, Image 6
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.