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chance game that we played this night
the future iay upon the board. See, hi
diadem is upon my brow! At first he
won, for I chose that he should win.
Well, so may ap it shall be; mayhep
shall live to him—hating him the
While. And then the next game; that
s:ihJ1 re for life and love and all talngt
dear, and I snail win it and mine shall
be tb j uraeus crest, and mine shall be
the double crown o' ancient Khem, and
1 shall rale like Hatshepu, the great
qu»en or old, for 1 am strong, and to the
strong is victory.'
“ * 1 os,' 1 made answer, ‘but, Lady, see
.Lou that tbe gods turn not thy strength
iowta*nes»; thru art too passionate to
ic ail strength, and in a woman's heart
passion is the door by which Ktng Folly
inters. Today thou batest, beware lest
lomorrow thou shou.dst love.'
“‘Love,’ she said, gazing scornfully,
‘Mtr.amuu loves uot till she find a man
worthy of her love.'
“Ay, and then ?’
“•Aad then she loves to all destrno*
tinn, a id woe to them who cross her
path. R. i, farewell.’
“Then suddenly she spoke to me in an
other tongue, that few know save her
and me, and that none can read save her
and me, a dead tongue of a dead people,
the peonle of that ancient City of the
Rock, whence all our fathers came.
“ ’1 g°,’ she said, and I trembled as she
spoke, for no one speaks in this language
when he has any good thought in his
heart. ‘I go to seek the counsel of That
thou knowest,’ and she touched the
golden snake which she had won.
“Teen I ihrew myself on theearihat
her feet, and clapped her knees, crying,
‘My daughter, my daughter, sin not this
great sin. Nt*.y, for all the kingdoms of
t :e world, wake not That which sleepeth,
nor warm again into life That which is
cold *
‘ But she only nodded and put me from
her.’' and the old man’s face grew pale
is i e spoke.
“What meant sht? ’ said the Wanderer.
R.i hid his face in his hands, and for
ipace he was silent.
“Nay, wake not thou that which sleep
eth. Wanderer,” he said at length. “My
tongue is sealed. 1 tell thee moro than I
wou>d tell another. Do not ask, but
hark! They come again! Now may Iti
and Pasht and Amen curse them; may
the red swine’s mouth of Set gnaw
upon them in Ameuti; may the Fish of
Sebek flesh his leeth of stone in them
forever, and feed and feed again!”
“Why dost thou curse so, Rei. and who
are they that go by?” said the Wanderer,
“I hear their trampiDg and thtir song.
Indeed, there came a light noise of
many shuffling feet pattering outside the
Palaco wall, and the words of a song
rang out triumphantly:
The Lord our G »jJ, He doth sigu and wonder,
To Lens He snows in the land of Khem.
lie hath shattered t Jt pride of the kings asuu
der
Ami casteth His shoe o’er the gods of them!
lie hath brought forth frogs in their holy
places,
He hath sprinkled the dust upou crown and
and hath darkened
He hath harmed the king
their faces;
Wonders be works in the laud of Khem.
“These are the accurtcd blaspheming
conjurors and slaves, the Apura,” said
Rei, as the music and the tramping died
away. 4 Their magic is greater than the
lore even of us who are instructed, for
their leader was one of ourselves, a
shaven priest, and knows our wisdom.
Never do they march and sing thus but
evil comes of it. Ere day dawn we shall
have news of them. May the Gods tie
stroy tht-in, they are gone for the hour.
It were well if Meriamnn the Queen
would let them go forever, as they de
sire, to their death in the desert, but she
hardens the king’s heart.”
CHAPTER VI —Cohtinued.
There was silence without at last; the
clamor and the tread of the Apura were
hushed in the distance, dying far away,
and Rei grew calm when he heard no
longer the wild song and the clashing of
the timbrelr.
“I must tell thee, Eperltus,” he said,
“how the matter ended between the di
vine Prince and Meriamun. She bowed
her pride before her father and her
brother; her father’s will was hers; *he
seei-cd to let her secret sleep, and she
set htr own price on her band. In every
thing she was to be the equal of Pharaoh
—that was her pr!c-; and in all the te:n.
emnly p. ‘claimed joint heir with him of
the Upper and Lower Land. Tne bargain
was struck and tbe price was paid. Af
ter that night over the game of pieces
Meriamun was changed. She did not
mock at the Prii.c<; she made herself
gentle and submissive to his will.
“So tbe ti ie drew on till at length, in
the beginning of the month of the rising
of the water.-*, came the day of her bridal.
With a mighty pomp was Paaraoh t s
daughter weddod to Pharaoh’s son. But
her hero wa* cold as she* stood at the al
tai—< old as the hand of one who sleeps
in Osiris. Proudly and coldly she sat in
the golden chariot passing in and out the
great gates of Tannis. Only when she
listened and beard tbe acclaiming thou
san — stout Meriamun! no loudly that the
cry o Meneptuh! was lost iu the echoes of
her n ime—tlien only did she smile.
“U id, too, she sat in her whit© robes at
the ea t that Pnaraoh made, and she
ne'-rr looked at the husband by htr side,
tLoUirh be .ooacd Kindly on her.
“Tne feast was long, but it enfel at
las . inti then came the music and the
s J rs, hut Mtilamuu, making •xcuse,
ios and went cut attended by her ladies.
And . also, weary and sad at heart, passed
thei Co to my own chamber, and busied
iKj-fce f with the instruments of my art,
for stranger, I build the housts of goes
and kii gs.
• prurtntly as 1 sat there came a knock
ing at the door, ai.d a woman entered
Wrapped in t heavy cloak, and she put
». 1U , tne c. Ei, aud there before me was
3*er'ft!hun in all her btidu.1 ro tes.
“‘ll.cd me not, itei,’ she :-aid. ‘I am yet
r rec 1 r an hour; ai d I would watch the©
: t c-*y labor. N *y f it is my uumor; gain*
saj me not, for I hue well to look on that
wrinkled fm. of trine, scored by the
cunning chibji of tuy know’ edge aud thy
^aro a > fiom a child have 1 watched
tht j tracing the sh**pf.s of mighty tem
ples • hat shall endure when ourselves,
and p reliance the veiy Uods we wors dp
hst\c lorg since censed to bo. Ah, It-i,
tboa wise man, tain© is the better part,
for hou baiidost in enduring stone and
attir *■ iby «a»ls as t ry fancy bids thee.
But I—l I uiid in the dust of human
hear;o, and my will !s written ia their
dutl. When i am dead, raise me a tomb
more beauii ui tLauiwer has b«*©i
and write unon tno porta 1 : Herd dwells
that tired builder. Meriamun, the (/uttn in
the last temple of her pride.’
“Tnus she talked wildly with little
reason.
‘•‘Nay, fpsak not so,’ I said, ‘for is it
not tliy bridal night? Wfiat dost tflou
here at such a tl-nt?'
“ ‘What do I here? Surely I come here
to be a child agrinl Sue, R-i, in ail wldo
Knem there is no Woman so shamed, so
lost so utteriy undone as is tonight the
R vai Meriamun, whoa; thou lovest. I
am lower tnan sue who plus the street
for bread, for the loftier the spirit tte
greater is the fall. I am sold into shame,
and uower is my price Oh, cursed be
the fate o' woman who only by ber
beauty can be great. Ob, cursed be that
ancient Counceilor thou wottest of, and
cursed be X who wakened That which
sleptVhhd warmed That which was a co.d
in my breath and in my breast! And
-“reed be this sin to whica he led m.!
louru me, Rei; strike me on the cheek,
suit upon mo, upon Menamuo, the royai
harlot who sells herself to win a crown,
nh I hate him, hate him, and I will pay
aim in shame for shmne-him, the clown
in king’s attire. See Here,’ and from her
rnbe she drew a white flower that was
kno xn to her and me—‘twioe today have
I been minded with this deadly blossom
make an end of me, and of all my
jlhamae, and all my empty greed of glory.
Tint this thought has held my hand. I*
Meriamun, Who live to look .cross his
$re.ve and break his images, and beat ont
fS writings or his name from ivaiy
SSraYewrilin Khem, as they bert out
th?Gated name of Hatshepu. I—’ and
suddenly she buret Into a rain of tears;
‘They
S^^Andnow, my’ lord awaitsm. and
™“ a l» rr-one. Kiss me on the brow,
«S friendfwhlle yet I am the Meriamnn
old fnena, d (hen kiss me no more
thou knewest, Mt ^ we n fa
forever. Meriamun Is Queen of
Kbemthonetalttafcrt Inall tn.land,
ment^andMS^her JSteMf
ancfwaa (Ottffi
my task, and again there earns a knock*
log at the door, and again a woman en
tered and threw aside her wrappings. It
was Meriamnn. She wee pale and stern,
and as 1 rose she waved me back.
•* ‘Has, then, the Prince—thy husband,
I stammered.
•‘ ‘Speak not to me of the Prince, Rei,
my servant,' she made answer. ‘Yester
night I spoke to thee wildly; my mind
was overwrought; let it be forgotten—a
wife am I, a happy wife;’ and she smiled
no strangely that I shrank back frjm
her.
“ ‘Now to my errand. 1 have dreamed
a dream, a troublous dream, and thon
art wise and instructed, therefore I pray
thee Interpret my vision. 1 slept and
dreamed of a man, and In my dream *
loved him more than I can tell. For my
heart beat to bis heart, and In the light
of him I lived, and all my sonl was his.
and 1 knew I loved him forever. And
Pharaoh was my husband, bat In my
dream I loved him not. But there came
a woman rising ont of the sea, more
beautifnl than I, with a beauty fairer
ana more changeful than the dawn upon
the mountains; and she, too, loved this
godlike man, and he loved her. Then we
strove together for his love, matching
beauty against beauty, and wit against
wit, and magic against magic. Now one
conquered, and now tbe other. Bat In
Ibe end the victory was mine, and I went
arr.yed as for a marriage bed—and *
clasped a corpse.
*“1 woke, and again I slept, and saw
myself wearing another garb and speak
ing another tongue. Before me was the
man I loved, and there, too, was tee wo
man, wrapped about with beauty, and '
was changed, and yet I was tbe very
Meriaieun thou eeest. And once more
we struggled for the ma.tery and for
this man’s love, and in that day she con
quered me.
“ ’I slept, and again I woke, and In an
other land than Khem—a s; range land
and yet n e thought 1 knew it from long
ago. Thero I dwelt amon ; the graves,
and dark faces were about me.aud I wore
agold snake for a girdle. Abl thou know
est it! And the tombs of rock wherein
we dwelt were (cored with the writlugs
of that dead tongue which thou knowest,
and 1 k'.ew, Kei, though few knewiteave
ourselves; the tongue of the land whence
all our fathers came. We were all
changed, yet the same, and thongh
seemed to conquer, yet a sea of firs came
over me, and 1 woke and 1 slept again.
‘“Tnen confusion was piled upon con
fnsion, nor can my memory hold all that
came to pass. For this game played it
self a resh in lands, and lives and
tongues without number. Only the las
bout and the winner were not revealed
“ ‘And in my dream I ciied aloud to the
protecting Oods to escape out of the
dream, and 1 sought for 11. ht that I might
see whence these things were. Then as
In a vision the P.st opened up Us gates,
It seemed that upon a time, thousand,
Hit usand ages agone, I and this man of
my dream bad arisen from nothingness
and looked in each other’s eyes and loved
with a love unspeakable, and vowed
vow that shall endure from time to time
atd world to world. Fcr we were not
mortal then, but partook of the nature of
the Uods, being more fair and great tuan
any of human kind, and our ha, piness
was the happiness of Heaven. But in
our great joy we hearkened to the Voice
of that thou kDowest, of that thirg, Rei,
with which, against thy counsel, 1 have
bnt lately dealt. Tee kiss our iovea wak
ened that which slept, the lire of our love
warmed that which was a-colb! We de
Bed the holy Gods, worshipping them
not, but rather each the other, for we
knew that as tbe Gods we were eternal.
And the Gods were angered against ns
and drew ne up Into their presence. And
while we trembled they spake as with a
voice:
Not Wisely but Too Well
‘““Ye twain who are one 11 ’e, each
completing each, because with your
kisses ye have wakened that which slept,
and with the Are of your lovu have
warmed that wt ich was a-cold; because
ye have forgotten them that gave yon
life and love and joy; harken to yonr
Doom!
““ From two ye be made three, and
through all time strive ye to be twain
again. Pass from thia holy pla.e down
to the hell of earth, and though ye be im
mortal put on the garments of mortality.
Live on from life to life, live and love
and hate aud seem to die; have acqnsin
tar.ee with every lot, am in your blind
forgetfulness, beir g one and being equal,
work each other's woe according to the
raw of ear,b, and for your ov, s sake sia
aad be gi)fi q^j^ugj^h. aud .reads.— - n
cue uestiny, t,li the hours of pun si)ment
are outworn, and, at tho wold of r.-te,
• ho nnnl'.ering circle meet,, and the veil
of blludnces falls from your eyes, and, as
a scroll, your folly is un. oiled, and the
u d purpose of your sorrow is accoin-
pliebed and cnee more ye are twain and
““‘ ‘Then, as we trembled, cilrgi' g ea?h
to each, again tbe great voice spoke:
‘•‘••Ye twaiu who are one—let that
to which ye have hearkened clvide yon
and enfold you! Be ye three!’
“And as the Voice spoke 1 was torn
with agony, and strength went out c,f me,
aud there by him 1 loved stood the woman
of my dream, crowned with every glory
and adorned with the Star. And we were
three. Aud between him and me, yet en
folding him and me, writhed that Thing
thou wotiest of. And he wroni I loved
ruined to look upon the fair woman,
and she smiled aud stretched out her
arms toward him as one who would take
that which is ter own and, R i. in that
hour, though it was but in a dream, I
knew the mortal paiu of jealousy, aud
awoke tr'.mbiing. And now read thou
this vltion, Rei, thou who art learned in
tne interpretation of dreams and in the
ways of sleep”
“On, Lidy,’ I made answer, this thing
is loo high for me, I cannot interpret it;
but where thou art. there may 1 be to
help thee.” . .
•T know thy love,” she said, ’but in
thy words is little liant.' S)—so—let it
ptis! It was but a dream, aud II indeed
It came from tbe Under Wond wny, it
was from no helpful God, but rather from
Set, the Tormentor; or Irom Rasht, tne
Terrible, who throws the creeping shad
ow of her doom upon the mirror of my
sleep. For that which is uecre, d wiii
surely como to p.-.sr! I am blown like
the dust by the breath of Fats; now to
rest uptn the Temple’s loftiest lops, now
to be trodden under foot of slaves, aad
now to De swallowed by the bitter ceep,
and in season tbeneo rolled form again.
I love not this lord of mine, who shall bu
l’naraoh, aud never may ho come whom I
shall love, ’lia well tfea; I love him uot,
lor to love is to be a slave. Wm-u the
heart is cold then the baud Is strong, aud
fain am I to be tbe Queeu leadiug Pna
raoa by the beard, tho lirBt of ail tne an
cient land of Ktiem; for 1 was not born to
e. Fay, while 1 may, I rule, await
o end of rule. Rook forth, Rei, and
see now the rays from Mother Isis throne
II od all tte courts and all the city^s
streets and break iu light upon Silior s
broast. So Bhail the Moon child’s fame
11 md all this land of Khem. What mat-
ters it, ir ere the morn, Isis must pass to
her dominion of the D ad, and the voice
of Meriamun be hushed within a sepul
chro?' 1
“So she spoko and went thence, and on
her face was no bride's smile, but rather
such a gaze as that with which tne great
sphinx, Horemku, looks out across the
de en sands.”
“A straDge Queen, Rei,” said the Wan-
don r, as be paused, “but what have I to
make In this tale of a bride and her mad
dnamsT” ...
“More than thon shall desire,” said
Ral; ‘-bnt let us come to tue end, and
thou Bhalt hear tby part in the fate.”
(To be Continued.)
By Sibyl.
USING the fall of 85
one of the saddest of
human tragedies oc
curred amid the moan-
tain fastnesses of a well
known Southern .am
mer resort.
The hotels were then
deserted and He details
were known to only
few persons. In giving
them to the public
shall betray no trust, for
the seal of alienee has
never been imposed np
on my lips or pen.
I shall however snbstitnte fictitious
names for tLe real ones of the dramatis
personate
The honors of two families, “gentle
born and gentle bred” are involved In
my recital, and I would not, by reve tllr g
their names, unearth to the mocking
gaze of the world the skeleton they have
bo long hidden away In its winding
sheet.
On a wild, secluded hillside, in the
aforesaid mountainous region, is a lone
ly grave a ithiu whose iron inclosnre but
one human form ever passes.
The plumed choristers of the woods
chant their morning and evening orisons
above the tiny mound; and now and :hen
the red deer browse near by; but it lies so
far from the haunts ot men that its si
lence and repcse are nnbroken except by
these d.nizons of tbe forest; and a man
who comes yearly to weep tears of pis
sionate remorse over her who lies burled
beneath.
Here, where the everlasting mountains
ke« p ward and watch a girl mother and
her babe sleep well, while summers come
and summers go, and with them men and
women who reck not of the tragedy of
which these green and sonny slopes have
been a witness.
I was spending a few weeks in this re
gion, when Fate made me a participant
in the event 1 am about to relate.
Autumn's regal sway was almost over.
Her burnished colors no longer daunted
from every bush and tree.
Tne gorgeous queen of tbe season was
about to avdicate.aud sob.r tints of gray
and brown were the heralds of h>.r grim
sneresst r.
1 was the only gnest at the hotel. The
rooms were swept and garnished, and
m; host and his comely wife had settled
down to a life of ease and comfort, nntll
tLe advent of another summer should
plunge them ones again Into the whirl
pool of strife and endeavor.
The supreme silence of Trappist Mon
astery seemed falling upon the place
when suldenly there swept in a feverish
breath from tbe turbulent world beyond.
My host and seif were sitting on the
broad piazza, watching the sun set amid
a blsze of gold and purple glory, when
we spied a carriage coming slowly up the
drive. We tat scarcely time for conjec
ture ere the jaded horses stopped before
the entrance and a gentleman sprang
from the vehicle. 1 recognized him im
mediately; for though not known to me
personally, he was quite so by eight and
reputation.
Among the brilliant men who figured
In the business and social circles of the
city of , Gerald Grey had no peer.
Handsnmeas a god, a ich a magnificent
physique and talents of a versatile order,
he wap, wherever he might chance to be,
the observed of all observers. He was in
the prime of manhood when he entered
the matrimonial lists, and
* Wedded a wife of richest dower,
W ho lived for fashiou as he for power;”
fair society qiesn, with no more heart
than she could have packed away in her
owa golden thimble. Theirs was a mar
riage de cmvcnance, and bore, ai time
went on, tbe Dead Sva fruit that Is gen
eraily reape l from such loveless unions
Society was uotsurprls-d when it was
whi-ptrtd at length that he was suing
lady, ihtre was a teader deference Ii
nia manner towards ner that made mo
ump at a conclusion:
lie has secured his divorce and stolon
_marcu cn his friends; this is a Gretna
Green affair,” a flight of fancy that was
confirmed when, addressing ‘ mine host,”
lie engaged rooms for himself and »i e.
The latter wore a thick veil, but as she
passed me it became unfastened, and 1
beheld Buch a vision of perfect youth aud
loveliness as not even an artist's dream
. r 1 n/snlri unpnuoa TllO fnPh Willi
life around me. 1 saw and heard bat one
word—Magdalene!
On the night that followed. I eat In my
room Uatleaa and weary I could not
sleep for the sense of oppression which
had oome wits that morning’s reve.a
tion atlll weighed upon my spirits L
tried to cheat myself into the belief that
I nad not heard aright—that it was im
possible for one with a face so young and
innocent as to s em almost that of a
child, to be otherwise than nnsnllied in
thought and word and deed.
It waa close upon midnight, and 1 was
still pondering the problem ot that life,
when a hurried step came down the cor
ridor and some one snocied sharply and
imperatively at my door. I threw It open
and stood face to face with Mr. Grey.
“Madeline, my wife. Is very ill. lam
going to summon a puysician and nurse;
bnt she begs that yon will come to her
without deuy.
A moment later 1 stood besid; the sick
girl. She looked up eagerly Into my fo.ee
as I b.nt over her, and grasped my nand.
“How good in you to come,” she said,
with quivering lips. And you will not
leave me nDtii all la over? He Is, oh! so
tender and considerate, but 1 should like
to have you near me; tbere Is something
In your isce that reminds me of the dear
mother I have lost. Oh! ir I might only
tell you all—my sad, miserable story! '
Sue buret into an agony of tears, and
dinging to me, sobbed like a broken
hearted child.
As I endeavored to soothe her, the Mas.
ter s words fi tted across my mind: “He
that is without ale, let him Cast the first
Btone * • Neither do I condemn thee.”
1 glanced at the tiny silver cross gleam
iug on my breast and then in his name 1
stooped and kissed her and promised to
remain with her as long as she soon '
need me. -
Through the long dark hours of the
night she lay, wrestling with Duatli.
All that humau skill and lovo could
suggest was done to save her life, but in
vain. When the gray dawn awoke iu the
east, filling the room with the splendor
of Us sunbeams, It lit up a scene the
memory of which will abide with me as
long as 1 shall live. E /en now, as though
it had bten but yesterday, 1 see the ac
tors in that dark drama—tbe dying girl-
little more tnan a caild in years—with
the sheen of silken tresses enveloping
her like an amber veil, her dead baby
pressed close to her almost pulteless
ooeom, and one white slender hand laid
In a last caress on the dark bead of her
lover bowed beside her In agonized de
spair.
In that supreme moment, when ho
realized ste was leaving him forever,
Gerald Grey s love and passion broke be
youd all control. He was down on his
knees beside her, aud bis frantic avowals
of remorse, his wild pleading with her
not to leave him, but to live so that he
might make his whole life one long atone
ment for tbe past, revealed that “not
through tbe church ' had he made this
girl his own.
It seemed thaiTwbea he was most un-
happy in his marital relations. Fate tnrew
into nis path lair Madeline Rivers Pure,
beaulifu. and innocent of all worldly
guile, ehe seemed tne embodiment of
womanly perfection to the reckless, de
spairing man, and in time his every hope
and thought was centered iu the desire
to make ner hie wife. He had instituted
proceedings for a Divorce sometime before
meeting Madeline; but unexpected op
losltlon and a determined light on Mrs
< irey’s part, put an end to his hopes, at
least far a while, of procuring It.
He met Madeline in a city far removed
from hie own home, and she, being un-
aware that he was not free to wed her,
listened to hie addresses and loving him
with all the fervor of a young confiding
heart, promised to become his wife.
A mock marriage followed, and then
he took her far a s ay, and for months she
lived wrapt in a dream of exquisite hap
piness, as unconscious of evil as the an
gels to whom in her purity he sometimes
likened her. But her dream was cruelly
broken one day when there came to her
an anonymous letter levealiug the whole
shameful story.
She read and re read it ere she could
gather its full meaning; then utterly in-
uiguant, but incredulous and trusting
lmplcitiy In Gerald, Bhe showed him the
letter. Had he had a moment’s prepara
tion, a second s warning, he mlgnt still
nave withheld the truth, but as it was he
made u full c-.-nfoesion, olid she heard
him with a sickening horror at ner heart
which mede her pray wii-dly for deato.
But love is strongtr than death, and
Madeline was ver-ayqfagg and tbe gla-
r rf.i! ivfl-i! v. mirtotJ' We 117”
INCERSOLL ON ORATORY,
His Pronounced Opinion Regard
ing Impromptu Speaking
As Col. Ingereoil’s Indianapolis ad
dress in 1876 Is regarded as the model of
Decoration Day oratory, aud has gone
into the school nooks as a specimen of
chaste and exalted elcqusnce, it seemed
to me that perhaps be might be willing
to say something both about the manner
he adopted in composing this address, as
well as upon tho general subject.
I said to him that there prevailed a gen
eral belief that the Indianapolis address
was imDromptu, or, at least, extempor*
neons. Col Ingersoll said that this opin
ion waa entirely wrong, and was as in
correct in regard to bis addresses as it
was in regard to any speech or specimen
of oratory which was thought worth
preserving. I quote his language from
memory, but still with sufficient accn-
racy:
‘-There is no such thing as an extem
poraneous address. Of course, I mean
by that an address which is dignlfi d,
worthy of the occasion, end commands
attention and respect. There never was
and tnere never will be an impromptu
speech. Of course, I know that some
men hav6 delivered speeches which have
attracted wide attention, which are re
sorted to have been Inspired on the mo
ment. But In the nature of things this
I* Impossible. If you analyzia great
speech aad consider what Is n ceseary to
fee that such a thin g as impromptu ore*
lory is Impossible. iSow, a speech wtich
is true oratory mast, in the first place,
suggest sub.ime, deep and eiernal
trains. Tnere must be thought-, and
it should be thought, which la cipt-
ole of producing correspondingly
great emotion ana sentiment In the
minds of those who hear it spoken.
Therefore, the thought cannot help being
sincere; It must reflect the very trute, as
the mind of the utterer has ever concelv
ed it; and so no re illy gre a', oration ha
ever bten delivered wi ich ci 1 not
spring.from theheart of him who spoke
Sometimes the thought is developed
after excessive, aud it might be said ex
quisite labor and turmoil of the soul,
me operation of constructing or compos
log a speech which i j truly great is pre
cisely similar to that whicn enab’.eg the
painter to express great emotions by
colors and with the painter’s b:ush upon
canvas. The making of a great speech
is like the formulating of a great paint
lug. See how tbeoperatlons are similar.
The painting capable of suggesting the
profoundest realities of nature and of
calling into being th * sublimest emo
tions of the humau Intellect: he takes Lis
brush, and with infinite patience mixes
nis colors and develops upon the canvas
t e thought whica is In mind. He labors
over it patiently, affectionately, nis
wnole soul wrapped np in the desire to
express to the fullest that Idea or emo
tion which is in his heart Sjmetimes
it Is the labor of years; delicate shadings,
atroDg, vigorous strokes, a defiance cf
technical rales if need be iu order there
by the more strongly to bring out the
idea upou the canva*; the touch of a
brush guided with the superb delicacy
which train and love compel; and in this
way the painter at last produces upon
canvas that idea wnich was born within
aim and whica makes clear to men for all
time the power, the beauty, the strength,
the loveliness of that concept iou.
‘•Now that is precisely waat the man
who is to deliver an oration must do If
ue is true to htmBelf and if he would
make the Impression of the idea as it ex
ists In him clear, strong, persuasive, and
emotion stirring in those to whom he is
to disclose it by means of word picturei.
For a great oration, a true oration, is
out the painting of Ideas by words in
stead of uy colois. and the trutu that is
in it will be suggested as Impressively
and as surely, It tne speaker nas been
true to himself as does the wonderlul
painting upjn wh.ch multi.udes for gen
eration alter generation, look with won
atr and wita tne best emotions of their
nature stired within tncm. Now when
we consider t-at ills witu such methods
as tnis mat true cratiou is perfected
and delivered to the hearers, it is easy to
see that it is impossible ‘
suggested by something which I hod
heerd upon the floor of the Convention.
A speech hid been|made nominating an
other candidate than the one whom I
waa to pat In nomination, and vome re
ference had been made to Massachusetts.
That gave me an opportunity of saying
in a single sentence something contem
poraneous and suggested . upon the mo
ment, but after 1 had spoken that one
sentence I delivered the speech as I had
written It out, but tbe writing out of the
speech waa a mere mechanical opera
tion. It was no part of Us composition;
the ideas which I bad and which 1 utter
ed were those which bad been in my
mind, had bten turned over over In my
mind, nad had been oomposed long
before.”
I asked him if the sameoperatfon char
acterized the composition of the Indian
apolis Decoration Day address which
was rellvered in the same summer that
the “Flamed Knight” speech was. Col.
Ingersoll did not hjom to remember
whether he had written ont that address
beforehand or not, but be asserted that
Its composition had been going on in his
mind for years. Tne speech formula'
ted and expressed the solemn and son
urns emotions caused by an experience
open the battlrii side and by familiarity
with the awfal tragedies of war. It rep
resented thnughgte wnich had filled his
mind since 61.—P .lladelptiia Frees.
DECAYED NOBILITY.
Humble Occupation of Represen
tatives of Noble French
Houses.
_ _ lormulata it
not w^hty, oirTtob'iveir” -1 hn» ho
Aud no w tne tragedy of their lives was orat °r-oal etfon. 1 ”- roaJi h an
oai.ne, and she lay dying, while he I Coi ’ Ij S e rsoil said tiesa
covered her facy wit?, k.nses, aud marie I “* uua of lhati fervor and With
wild pronihRS of ex^istion if only Gad ‘Vhlcn rilsiiavnlsi. si eurntstne.
1 J _ Ui m knah bio .V .. 1 : J
of beauty could surpass. The face was
so spirituelle, so delicately tinted, and
witnal so full or an indefinable witchery,
that I was not astonished at Gerald Grey
forgetting bis unhappy matrimonial ex
pe-rlence and snccumblng to the charms
of this girl, with the eheen of yellow hair
and eyts that gleamed “darker than
darkest pansies ”
That was my first and last glimpse of
the lady for several daja. Her rooms
were in a remote portion or the house
and beyond their limits she seldom
strayed. . . ,
It was only in the evenings that she
emerged from her seclusion and, leaning
on Mr. Lanedon’s arm, walked slowly np
and down the long piazzt. Her cm-
panlon was a trill) more sociable. He
would At timos join our host and chat a
wti e with him, but always Id a half
hearted way that denoitd a precccupi. d
mind. Theie was a re.-tieoi.c:), too, in
speaking of himself and wife IhH struck
ns as a iittle singular in one just wedded
to the woman of his choice.
Tuore was nothing aoout him of “the
bridegroom that r. j dcoth to run a race,”
he looked more like a man oppressed by
tbe trials of life than exultant over its
J °At times I encountered them in their
evening promenades, and though sho al
ways acknowledged my bow with a
smile, and, oesaf locally a pleasant word,
she made no overtures to a better ac
quaintance. It was evident those two
were suifi.ient unto themeeives, and de
sired no intercourse with strangers.
A3 lima passed on I noticed that htr
step grew slower, and sho leaned more
heavl.y upon tho arm that supported
k*Her face was paler and more delicate
and wore a look no happy woman's over
wears. Gradually the toought gathered
st rength that ail was not well with them.
There was some sorrow pending tnat
touched them both; but, whatever it
might be, its shadow seemed to have .al
ien heaviest on her. And Gerald ap
peared to realize this, for I often heard
him talking in low earnest toae3as if re
assuring and comforting her, aud it
struck me then that every word he at-
tore-a held a caress tender pitying depre
catory as if in same way he had wronged
her. And as ha spoke, she would tarn to |
him impulsively and raise her eyes to his
with a grateful tenderness in their love
)y dept ns. And then It was evident she
had been weeping. . . ...
Thus it was the days went by with
them, and busily wltn me. The series of
letters 1 had undertaken to write for a
certain paper were about fin sued, ana
one evening, bright and early, I started
fjj a final ramble ovor tb© bills of waicn
I was expected to give a description.
*ould give him back bis dariiug.
“My Madeline, you must not. shall not
leave me. You came at a sunbeam into
my dark, joyous life. l\i .fc of the dark
ness—tbe blackness 01 desolation that
will follow when you shall have left
me!”
“It ia better so, dear ferald,” she an
swered, meeting hia appaiing gaze with
eyes that be re no reprtch, only a fer
vent affection in thei)depth, “it i 8
better to die, knowing >u still love and
reverence me, than to le on in tbe old
wrong way until both lie and reverence
are gone. Bury me onhat green hill
side where you alone c. visit my grave
No one else will care teie I am laid*
Not even in death caii hope for their
forgiveness; they havergotten me.”
Her voice faltered ara shiver passed
over the slight fornmt as her arm
tightened around thean, weeping as
only a strong, passion man can weep
I caught these words:
And you-ah! Gen you will not
forget me. 1 shall* 4 an evening
thought, a morning im to time."
She smiled up into hie©, and a ino
mint later she was do;
wiiicn rtisiLj-'uisn hi,., ^urntstness
remarks tiitTmteivea mlJnt ° r t“ tor *
©ailed a iittie impromptu 4 * oratioJ° - beefl
The Girl who Wooes.
I may as well be frank at once and say
I do not like the maid who does the woo
ing. She is usurping the privilege of her
knight, atd if I were he I should turn and
fiee. “But,” says Ebhilinda, ‘ he needs
encouragement! ' Perhaps he does. But
cot too much of It. When you want to
give an invalid something to increase
his appetite yon do not offer to eat for
him; instead yon offer a dainty bit, a lit
tie spicy, or a little acid that quickens
she taste aud makes a great hunger come.
Treat your sweetheart In the same way.
Let him ba conscious that you are pleas
ed with his liking; bub do not for a minute
caking away hia prerogative aad do tho
wooing No man has a true appreciation
for good things too easily obtained. Man
is yet a little.bit of a savage, and the hunt
is always a delight to him. Your eyes
may reflect his love, but thoy need not
announce your’s first, thereby sending
out an invitation. My dear girl, ask al*
most any man you know what his favor
ite flower is, and after he has thought he
will tell you either the violet or the rose.
One grows surrounded and protected by
green leaves, and to get it perfoct—that
is, with a stem—you have to reach down
and pluck it carefully, but in a determin
ed way. The other is guarded by sharp
thorus, and though it stands up iu a
most dlgoifiod way, It resists, except by
it encouraging sweetness, the ono brave
enough to rake It from the parent tree.
You can learn a good lesson in a flower
garden: you see the holly hocks plant
a id know that they are the forward beau-
tit s of the world cf flowers; you see the
lilies with their bowed beads, and are
convincod that beauty without faith is
of little worth; you are aware of a dainty
perfnme, and know that the little lady,
whose qualities surpass her charms—the
mignonette—is near; you can see the
masculine girl ia “Johnuy-jumpups”;
yoo can see the positive one in the gaudy
sunflower; you can see the aggressive one
in the scarlet geranium, aud you can
think of them all and conclude this, the
ones worth having, sweet of perfume and
restful in color, are not the ones that
protrude themselves oa your vision, and
say ? as do some flowers and some
maidens. “Take us ”—Ruth Ashmore, in
Ladies Home Journal.
How the Southerner
Idiot
Yanked the
A New York letter says: “On the night
preceding the glorious fourth a man rath
er the worse for wear climbed a bench in
Madison square, and began a tirade
against the south, attracting by his shrill
voice all tho loungera of the place. No*
body knows what set off this blatherskite,
but he went away back for his resent
ment and aired Usnes that have long
been amicably settled. At last hs touch
ed oa the snuthern Character, and he.ap
Some one has commented on the
secret pleasure felt by even the best of
persons on hearing of the misfortunes of
others. It la with a satisfaction akin to
this that we read of the humiliation of
the great and of thoasreverssa of forlnne
which redace titled families to the level
not only of tbe baser born, bat even to
extreme poverty. Tbe sentiment mhj
not be noble, bat we can aay of it at leut
that it !s quite natural. America has had
its German and French coants and ba
rons as conductors of street cars, and has
been humbly served by them in restau
rants, but these have been sporadic cas
es. Europe is full of impoverished nobil
ity, decendants of h< roes of the crusade,
and of media: ral wars, who were in their
time rulers of patty kingdoms and th.
companions of great monarchs. Many
of these, those of France and Italy In
particular, aro making desperate efforts
to regild their coronets with the gold of
American heiresses.
A French writer has, after careful re
search, made a list, which is necessarily
partial, of the representatives of some of
the noblest famines of his ciuntry who
are now iu the hnmble, not to say hum
blest walks of life. He has found twode
scendants of Sully, the famous minister
of Henry IV. working as masons'assis
tants or apprentices. A genuine Babon-
Bourdaislers, descendan: of a great fam
ily of the Middle Ages, makes a painful
living by means of the washtub, A
Count de la Marche, whose ancestors in
termarrled with kings, is a house painter.
A Hauteroche, great grandson of the
chivalrous leader at tue battle of Fon-
tenoy, who politely said to the English,
“Gentlemen, firs first!” is a simple gen
darme at Grama:, a French prorinclal
town. A St. M, grin decendant of the
iavority of Henry III., her > of a well
known play of Alexander Dumas the
younger, exorcises the calling of a Paris
coachman. Tne blood of De Grallly de
Fotx, a famous military commander of
the fourteenth century, Ho ws in the veins
of a churns singer at the Grand Opera,
Gaston de Foix, the most celebrated of
the family which was of Navarre, was
called Pn cebus on account of Lis blonde
locks and bis remarkable beauty. He
was devoted to the chase, and bad a jack
ofl.6 0d .gs. A prominent miller bears
tbo title of Baron de Rosgrand, aad a do
te indant of tne De Rstz family, one of
whom wes the great Cardinal, the beta
nolr of Anne of Austria during the times
of the Fronde, digs graves and plays the
fiddle for rustic dances in the Depart
ment of Finisterre.
Tne line of the De Crequvs, a family of
Picardy, in the North of France, is said
to date back to the year 857. Tue pres
ent St. Crequy is a day laborer in hi- na
tive province. The present St. Paul
counts a nong his ancestors counselors,
cardinals, prelates and confidential ad
visers of kings ;of different epochs. He
contents himself with a small salary paid
by a gas company. A Marquis de Fol-
ligne is an omnlous condutor, whose
tarnished uniform does not indicate his
rank. A Beaumanoir is an hnn.bie em-
i >ioye of the customs at Guerande. A De
dontiera and a D’ Aubenas are occupied
in the Bamp manner. All these families
are very ancient. One of the Benumanoirs
was companion in arms of the celebrated
Breton warrior Du Guesclln. It is rela
ted of him that, being wounded and suf
fering from thirst on the field of battle,
he asked for water Some one near him
brutally replied: Drink your blood; it
will refresh you.” A Marquis Torcy
d’Etallond is an inn keeper at Carnac,
and a Countess Almee de Dleusse Bre-
mont, one of those annoying persons
called ouvresues, Is at this moment at
the Chatelet Theater.
No occupation could be more Insigni
ficant unless it be that seller of mouse-
traps, in wnich is engaged a Count of St.
John. Of the families just mentioned, the
Bremouts were in the service o'Caaries
Vill., with Salntonge. The D-.-Farcys
were allied to tbe family of Colberts,
• the great Minis-
tne list. 1
rendered celebrated b
mms&mwm
were. He I Toang man leaped“up'em’the h
point a party of eentlJm^n^' brought to licht a r *fli*p~ evV K ^ fears ©go
cressinriri' ^“tleimra who were selling v&e&biet from®^
decendant of tie VdioiT “dcart. A
carrier In a p-o tn isa letter-
a «oa Paris court sentenced 0a *
two rMiwmm.,!.... .. P.cee t” Prison
llvedby pr!. ten Hrl °1 aolj esse
charitable olj etS ll, “? SC f plioas to
tiffin a Frenchman^ wlm^had mi”, s H a ‘ aa
American pi r i u »ri marriad an
American leLpaperT»*? 0ndo ,?
for wearing "“P^apers, nas condemned
Paris ^‘e or Baron,
by their wits, and false tlDe» n f ( WU0 xive
*8 plenty us hiore^K « Htles there ar©
should 1 be a warare^' 6 ]' A !‘ of wbreh
mas on the iookoiD^V^? American mam*
riaireR fnp tk.i j ^ for aristocratic .hq r-
Jo Chronicle! 1 ' ^“^rs.-San Francis.
ihni , —j teskoio ia a
that. An orator must
how • to lb.mutte ni, practlc e.
words so tura Inal. - ‘bougnt i u
enco or lmprejs the r *an eaCa lUo audre |
effect. Th ™*ri n.? r ?? Ur r Wlltl “eat
tic; eacn man must determfue 11 ? 11 prac
seif; ne must leurn by eToerVr! “‘f
can acquire tne art of expe rieLce; ho
liveriug a great orati,i l,r « P f“ nu,{ aila ae
ana arauous trials! if ne axauy
Ulii he Win sooner or iate/oe ."““L
hia own iutumvoDere-moit taught ny I
best to ho “ whHt U
I said to h.m that nis , , ei ? r l case.”
o -a 1 counter l-i ih seamed
always prevailed, that Wear's
‘.bat one’ which E^i*?**"*
“WritiuK a Fans Poem.
Tne poem of “Curfo hat Not Ring
Tonight” was suggastomj by the
reading of a story ca 1 trove and loy
alty,” la April, 1867. i then a plain,
country school girl, at seventeen ’
residing with my parent Latchfieid! | repi^t"’ Hay^ W W “ CJ d?n
r the crowd.’
WHEN LOVE PASSED BT.
BY SOLOMON SO.IS-COBEN.
I "as busy with my ploughing,
A1Uu “ Planning and contriving
Wh beneath the «kj
I am ploughing.
A Hint That Disappointed
Take.
Lovers Won’t
In those Unitedi-Tutes” ° 000 W3m9n
the disappointed lover m!* 16 * 1 ? watch
that there was S 3 would think
Journal. only - °ae—3omervi.’le
Michigan, and undu pretext of
working out matbeul problems
with my arithmetic Offie. i wro , ’
the poem roughly on late. I , vas
forced to carry on my work under
tneae difficulties becuihe opinion
of my parents that myioujj De b( .
ter otnoloyed than in dreams and
useless ri.ymes.’- I wr* fi wt co
on my slate, between ffl six o'clock
ill tho sfttrnoon; bu’* time has
fir.ee b.en spent in coij and revis
iug it. 1 had no thoikat I would
ever bo able to write aj worthy of
public notice. Tho was first
published in the Dotrowercial -hi
7saw ! it i Ii /a II fif i .
promptu sueer-’n .7“ Poetically an i oi
ifitir/ned^etwo’oSHa^no’n 2 log ' e |
Webster’s tfreat ren/i 1^°’ 0r ***>ry
Blatter of lii&tory tiiaf ^ J ' Vlta aiao a
Wooster haa mfcl a:, ni “ tU
bis reply. In answer t wo * compose
soil said thattne puoma^m Col ‘
ragard to ‘bataddfes P s U ^rCnt n H“
fc-ES we read now
address wnien Webs or - 1 splru - ‘bo
Uj spent many days hi e^f/^^^'^^-
aud writing out the etui ‘y revising
ashed speech is Webstmb.’ aUU tae puo
eternal H revision and
pnoiibeoa ia tne uc^crcia’ Ad “»t the tciual sn, e . . ^ H revii
vertiser ia the fall o. tue editor ate chamber 1 ‘ e ‘‘ rd ia
ii.inn riPti nt ofuiV n<- i d— . *• JfLuitxrr.i no
upou receipt or my m* at once I known by tlose 11 '■« well
wrote me a lengthy f cengrat- j study of Wehs.erV ?.. lias ’ e m “do sjn
and praiSe, in Je predict' j n'e'mrtWen for"m.i 1,e and cw^rrifc't
ed the popularity f3r Jos waica tris speed ; ho yt)ar s preparin '
they uavo since ©r.J ao | Precise y that ° 3i *&ovvtd upou n
-lends, not, httriT ° uU M J^nrid ^ ^bich I haveaescrib-
... i — 1,0 the
laws That Ho Hot Regulate.
The stringent laws covering the sale of
liquor In the Canadian territories do not
seem to be of much avail. At any rate Tbe
Winnipeg Commercial declares “that th*
alleged restrictive regulations are no re
striction at ail upon the promiscuous sale
of liquors under conditions which are any
thing but pleasant to contemplate. Pro
hibition us carried ont in the territories b
a huge farce, the law is a hollow mockaey,
and the situation is simply dUgraoefol M
those who uphold It, as well as humiliating
to the people of the Uailteetaa, who M
obliged to submit to it.’*
While two young men wen taking an
■any bicycle ride in Prospect park, Broofe-
(yn, a morning or so ago they Suddenly
g enpona young woman lying In the
Iway beneath her overtnmod wheel
explained that her skirts had heoqrao
entangled in the machine, and that whea
Qjjpnvn to the ground the garments, which
o* the divided variety, had become ao
ly fast, oed to tho "pokes of th#
that she was oomneBod to wait fag
as to enable bw to rise. The young
rara gave the necessary aid, and the thorite
to voting woman want OR her way, Mf-
png to give neither qffinonqc addraga.
literary frieuds,
acquaintance at that and did I co mp o ruion^of a 8 couce Ptiou°‘'aiid
notknowthealm P !ast fQeu . 8f He nad iurn«d &r 1 e 1 ? t &rat ”’Doal work
preparing my manust ;pubJi truths over lu his mi s 83 .v COUsl ”‘ a tlonai
cation. Tne poem at-.once to upon them, e ab^i^ l ? on ® ut deeply
ed I fortified hia „ a ,„£ at l d _ bis conception,
reference and
attract public attoq
mo from 'ashy, obscuratgHf-"'" j study,'and‘ a » pln i°“. b J r
public notice, - h ‘— - - * —
Wttfi BApoinmu «v . * , , - wsunr
Tnere was such pleasure J*™: pockets, has reaerved tatb
boor passed ^ ide circle of admiiing|J“^*
less woods that hour after .
and found me still wandenng from one
green hill to another.
It must have been long past noon when,
utterly fatigued, I threw myself baneath
a wide spreading oak. Hero I Uy.half
awake—half dreaming—when suddenly
these words smote the silence:
“If I die, and ob, Gerald! I know I
shall, promise to bury mejhere, on this
lonely hUlside where none will ever come
to mock my poor remains; and, dearest,
on the stone which I know you will pnt
to mark my resting place, carve not
Madeline but Magdalene. ^
There was an instant a hash and then
came this Answer.
“Madeline, darling, you will not.
shall not diet And oh! love, I would
rather yon had atrookme witta dagger
than stabbed mo with that other name
used In connection with yourself—you
who are my vary own wife in the alghtof
the eternal Godl”
What a world of passionate appeal
there waa In the first voice—what an
agony of bitter protest in theaeoondl
I snrang np with a suppressed cry, and
standing on an eminenoe below me,
Srti, screened by sheltering boughs, »
{Zllwd stately, man, and gathered clone
within his strong, encircling arms, a
•‘y^S&'tSth and turned away
*S’S£^ J a£lte^!tat& songs of
th, Mroi and chirp of the myriad Insect
raised
„ „ J k-ja*rl into i ■•«<*», and wks ‘“‘“ranee and
is,- side great constitution!^ 1 '*’ co -npos:ng this
yearly hosts of n«'leiightful tno space Jr “„ oual t^pcsiton ourim*
friends. Wherever I enougS ,eai ' 8 ’ Ua knew wen
there before me,andt , cb f b(( WouJd “ time would came wnon
gave to the public withg reae „_ ju d co and when the time
ed”-whUe it has m* n . for arranged ESSS&t ““dd-uor by pre
others and dropped *ofla other I «»dy to deUver P^feciy
declare that Wth«.f p . ech ’ Therefore. 1
waa “ot an ektempore’snS^if 40
may have been ^S!h * P96c11 -, Tnat he
to ddliVAV it j ©Oiled Upon of m
and only remuneratioimcei red
for the poam was ^threjp wbea
, Bfc>
the editor of The BroolS ne re _
produced the poem l.i % auto
graph form,whichIhM ^ itb
a delicate sense of jusfig me a
most complimentary aim.
pie privilege of reprt(| was
to deliver it does not iHJ* 01 ? of *»ndden
what I say. He w£,‘ a f“ palr ‘be force of
quite a surprise to me, ha le3g i 68 “itcrj^tod in®
pleasing. That editorijkg ent j mmlndod c„i ho part of it
editor of Th,Ladies Bo^Rose anecdote a“ut hl?iffg? U °'‘be cu^it
thetramoosaddressatrf, p f ep * r * t,0 o of
wbioh has « Ci^nnatt In im,
IOf Ul8 , ‘‘Flamed i Km!L“ Ilder ta «
“■ U see out? 1 ?!? 4 !, speech.
Harltcick Thorpe, in La: j our .
not.
The prospect Is tba%g fa
aid under the dependent wiD
exceed half a mUKor- law
merely provides pensufa eg
their widows or chili^ da
employ have sppUsd *o {pt
Mkdsnttomjttdr 1
by his brothertn% if 4 ** 0 "^* 1 b3jSht
before the nomination i, 411 * night
to bo attemptedTud 1 Was
had gone to bed/fie 4 ^ 4b ®?> after he
sponae to hia brothBri, d “L U P In re
Ing a few sheets ffirninw!?** 4 <UMl lek-
But I answered
,„Sgp!*£assiar
bore passed by. .
1 was busy with my sowing,
,,,, Lore passed by.
moil
lobmv me. whvre meadows uf
‘ ! " ith rose and myrtle
Laughing to tbe sky; ■* ’
Lvugh lor joy the thousand flower.
But I answered: "1 am sowing.
H hen my acres all a c planted
I will Adlilw. 1 ” “ ly rettlm e “vbauted
Love passed by.
1 was busy with my reaping,
.. "ben Love passed by!
*ncried, “thou planted's! griev-
H r ”SS is
w a v Ju 1,fe 8 western sky.”
But I answered: “I am reaping.
Love passed by.
I had gathered in my harvest,
<c . Vi f 1 .^* ove P^sed by.
“SUy in o i not ' “y "^““heedin?- 6 ' 11118,
Stay'lhy flight, Ofe r^gSJKSSlow
r Lleav'ug twilight sltj” 'allow
lam old aud woru and weary
\ord my fields and beart-aud dreary
\\ ith thee would I fly. cary »
Garnered woe in ah my harvest:
ghosts of my dead hopes haunt
Stay.'-^Moilowf” UtS “* de “°“’ taSiK
Love pa*sed by.
s
drawing penrionB, thot i ht
work for their liTiog* an
s was.
i®s&s
: soft's •srggFSi
Peaches and apples ere a disastrmm
ttulnre in many parts of the Union.
This is sad news to fruit lovers. But
there are yet two crops that will h#
abundant this fall, and those are swmS
potatoes and politics.
The Farmers’Alliance of Maryland
have taken measures looking to a practl-
c«I solution of their difflcultiee. Therr
propose to establish In Baltimore ^
sgncnltural exchange which «h"H hH-_
prodneer and consumer into direct
mnnication. In some such way ««
Oe question of the transportation if
ten products must work Itself out I*
Is our modes of distributing goods to
consumers that cost so much and eat on
the profits of all ooooerned. ThegoeS
I»ss through too many hands. Coop-
«tlcn ought to try itohand In
FVom a report ranmiiy maae nnbn.w
the census departmaot It appj£
during the last dsoada the
Union have decreased their •-• * the
Your Liver?
Is tlie Oriental salutation
knowing that good Lealth
cannot exist without a
healthy Liver. When the
Liver is torpid the Bow
els are sluggish and con
stipated, the food lies
“ ,“ e stomach undi-
KV 01S0niD g
Wood; frequent headache
ensuesjafedi^of^i-
ie ' despondenev and
nervousness indicate how
the whole system is de-
langed. Simmons Liver
-Regulator has been the
means of restoring more
People to health and
“appmess by giving them
a healthy Liver than any
agency known on earth.
din aCtS Wlt ^ extraor
dinary power and efficacy. ’
As a genm-al D,s * PPO inted.
T?rpil Li ™! ^^.r^medy for Dyspepsia.
K :ir e “''yti.nm - s . a'V'V'" 1 han,| y
diseases of the sS^^.^ricun-f-.r ad
«- J. McElrot. .1