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i Holdehl till: -dll Halt Walter 'Bloomfield Cnmttt MM hr Bonn Sonm’i Ion 1 CHAPTER IX. bxoallxd to raraoLS. Ill loon m bniUMt tm orer nn tie Sun left bli bouse to go to Cipel Court, oust Gertrude retired to her room to attend to her correepondence, and Min Marsh and I were left alone, "Where shall we go this morning, Ernestl” naked Min Marsh; "I am tired of the park, and we harp driven - alt orer Kensington morn than once." Mias. Marsh had lately learned to address me as Ernest, which had greatly delighted me, and determined me henceforth to can her Constance. “Whichever way you please, but If It Is agreeable to you we win go to Richmond. We have plenty of time.” I said, consulting my watch,’ "It Is barely 10 o’clock, and we do not lunch tIU 8. I was never there, but 1 1 have often beard that Richmond la the moat beautiful suburb of London." "By all means," replied Miss Marsh; "I win older the carriage and get ready at once.” And she rose Instant ly and tripped lightly from the room. American ladles prepare their toi lette! with a despatch quite unknown to their English sisters, though cer tainly with no less care and elabora tion, and I had only written a telegram to my father, acknowledging the re ceipt of bis letter and promising to re ply to It that evening, when Mias Marsh again entered the room fully equipped for a drive, no button of her glove being left for me to fasten. I looked up at her with some sur prise. "Eon arc soon returned,” I ob served. "Too soon!” she asked, fixing upon . me her steadfast eyes. “No, how could that be?" I said, and I drew her arm through mine and led her downstairs. “Good morning, Mr. Ernest, 1 claimed a voice belonging to a tall form which stood in the tbadow of the hall door; "I am fortunate In not having Just missed you,” and turning round I beheld the Rev. Dr. Evan Price. "Pray, don’t let my unexpected pres ence startle you,” continued the Vicar bt Holdenhurst Minor; “I bring no ill news. Being summoned to London on business which may end In my ap pointment to the curacy of All Soule’, North Brlxton, your father has asked ms to call here to say that he would like you to return home at once for n day or so. Re would like you to catch the train which leaves Bt. Fakcras at 11.46, and travel via Cambridge” This Information annoyed me great ly. I could not find It In my heart to keep away from my father when he desired my presence, though to forego my visit to Richmond with Miss Marsh was a bitter disappointment to me.,-For a moment I stood In doubt how to act "Of course you will go,” remarked Miss Marsh. "I fear I must,” I replied, In a voice which but 111 concealed my vexation, “but I will return to-morrow or next day at latest. I am sorry to leave you , In this abrupt manner, and I am sure my father would be the last to desire such a thing without very good-reason for It.” We adjourned to the drawing-room, whither Miss Marsh Invited Mr. Price to accompany us, an Invitation which he accepted with great promptitude and courtliness. He was a man of fine presence and considerable tact, gifted with the power of talking Inter minably but Interestingly about every thing In general and nothing In partic ular. Indeed, nothing was more ad mired by the feminine world of the two Holdenhurats than the genial if- i fablllty of the Rev. Evan Price. This handsome and gallant cleric had not been In the house ten minutes before I learned that he was to have an Inter view with the Bishop of London at Fulham at 3 o'clock, until which hour he was at leisure (which belqg Inter preted signified that ho Intebded to stay until them); that after the said Interview he would return to pay bis respects to Me. Samuel Truman—In other words that he would come back to dinner. When I quitted the draw ing-room. leaving Mr. Price and Miss Marsh together, I was more depressed than I had ever been before, and half regretted that I had not decided to re main. I felt like a runner who, hav ing kept ahead of hts competitors In • long race, faints when near the goal and sees the prise be regarded as his own seised by other hands. I am al most ashamed to record how the tears Started to my eyes, but I forced them back, summoned all the courage of mji nature—not at tbat time very much —and after a severe mental struggle fall Into a strange mood compounded of pride and fierceness. It waa with some difficulty that I contrived to speak to Miss Marsh alone aforo I left, but I succeeded In doing so, and again assured her of my regret at tho unexpected Interruption of our arrangements, and I laid special em- “ great pleasure It would irn to Kensington at the |o moment, at the same to Inform my uncle issty summons I had father. as gracious to me lovag could ex pect or desire, waiving my apologies as unnecessary, promising to convey my message, regretting my sudden departure, hoping for my speedy re turn, and permitting me to retain her hand In mine longer than Is custom ary in the farewells of mere friends. She also suggested that I might Write to her If I did not return In two days; a suggestion which I assured her I would most certainly adopt, at the same moment resolving to do so un der any circumstances. I would have given the world If only I might bare kissed her, but I did not dare to do so. Uttering a final farewell,. I regarded her with great earnestness for a few moments, then released her band and hurriedly left the bouse. The course of my life seemed to hare changed entirely In fourteen days. Never-before had my mind been filled by so many or such conflicting Ideas. Before my uncle came to Hol denhurst I had been Idle and careless; now my head ached from considera tion Of affairs of which I could con ceive no satisfactory Issue. One thing, however, was dear to me. In only a few days I had grown to lore Miss Marsh with a devotion more Intense than I had supposed my nature per mitted; and short as our acquaintance bad been I would have asked that lady, before obeying my father's urg ent call, to become my wife but for that formidable barrier between us her wealth. Her eyes’ speechless mes sages, an occasional phrase or word from her lips, or, rarer still, her gegtle touch, had assured me that my suit would accord with the dictates of her own heart But my prld^vas as great 03 my love, and I felt snlngly that I could never ask a woman of enormous wealth to become the wife of the por tionless son of an Impoverished squire. Without commercial training, and with no natural aptitude for business, there eras absolutely no hope for me to raise myself to her social plane by any ef fort In my power to make, and In bit terness of spirit I alternately cursed her wealth and my poverty. Visions of the perfect happiness which might be mine were either of these difficul ties removed served only to Increase my depression. As my uncle’s car-, rlage sped toward St. Pancraa, Brown Ing's remarkable line, 'Money buys women,” kept ringing In my ears, tormenting me like an evil sprite. Then there was tbat smart young cleric, the Rev. Evan Price. With the Rev. Evan Price I had very little to do, and our communications had always been of tbe most friendly character possible, but heaven, how I bated him now I and with what fiendish delight I was con templating his extreme poverty when tbe thought that ha waa probably at tbe point of greatly Increasing bla In come and of residing permanently In London promptly punished me for my uncharitableness, and I winced, the chaos of my Ideas I did not forget Annie Wolsey, tbe unfortunate play fellow of my childhood, whose youth- fulness had always prevented me re garding her as an aunt; nor did'I for- gipndfather, anxious and alone, as far from home ns could be; nor my Indulgent father, now expect ing my return, but I do not much doubt tbat these considerations were of a minor sort, and that tbo central figure In my mind which occasioned cerebral disturbance was Con stance Marsh, and no other. My uncle's horses were good ones, and soon conveyed me to the Midland terminus, but I had no time to spare. Having bought my ticket, I sought for empty compartment, for I felt averse to staring at strangers, after the manner of English travelers, for tbree hours; while to listen to conver sation In which I was not Interested would havo been simply unendurable. There being no compartment without passengers I selected tbe one which contained tbe fewest—an old lady, at tended by a young maid. In my ab straction I left ray Gladstone bag on tbe platform, where, after the train was well In motion It was noticed by my ancle's groom, who contrived to thrust it through the window so that It fell on the floor at the feet of tbe old lady, causing her to sbrlek appallingly. I apologized for the clumsiness of the servant, and for my own forgetful ness, which bad caused tbe Incident, but despite all I could say, and the careful ministrations of her maid, .the old lady continued to roll her eyes, to pant, and to utter strange sounds, un til at last I thought she had suffered some serious Injury. When she per ceived that I was really alarmed the old lady recovered herself with sur prising suddenness, and remarked that the bag had not touched her, but that It nearly fell on her feet, In which case It would have been Impossible to tell what might have happened. She then requested her maid to band her a certain flask. This command was more easily given than obeyed, for the flask, It appeared, was at tbe bottom of - a closely-packed portmanteau, which had to be emptied before the article wanted could be got ab The lady scolded her maid terribly because of the delay, and when the maid tlm the portmanteau In accordance with her own repeated Injunctions, went Into a violent passion, and declared that she never had and never would allow a servant to answer her. When at last tbe flask was obtained tbe old lady at once applied it to her lips, ths odor of brandy pervaded the carriage, and her rubicund features relaxed Into a smile. It was not long before the old lady exhibited symptoms of an Intention to open a conversation with me, but I checkmated her by taking from the Gladstone bag which had occasioned this flutter a thick folio volume of manuscript—the book I. had found In the copper box when I was getting out the Holdenhurst deeds for uncle Sam. I had brought this book with me to London, Intending to carefully exam ine It and read so much of it ns was English during my stay In my uncle’s house. But if I could And no convey nlent Opportunity to do so at Holden* burst while uncle Sam and aunt Ger trude were there It Is certain I could not In London, with Miss Marsh In the same house engrossing all my at tention, and the book had not only been In my possession for nearly a fortnight without being opened, bnt had narrowly escaped being lost. Set- tllng mylelf comfortably In a corner of the carriage I determined to study the volume until I arrived In Bury St. Edmund's, and thus keep off any ad vances tbe tyrannical old lady might make toward a conversation, and dl* vert my thoughts from my affairs. Tho manuscript was still very damp, and great care was necessary In sep arating tbe leaves without tearing them. It appeared to be nothing more than tbe commonplace book of my an- cestor Roger Trueman (for so be and others of his period wrote onr family name). Tbe bandwriting was large find distinct, bqt the letters, though uniform, were quaint and peculiar— they approximated more nearly to modern, than ancient forms. A large number of pages were devoted to rec ords of chemical experiments, with notes of tbe results, and here and there a few lines In some Eastern language of'which I was Ignorant even of tho name, though I guessed It was Turk ish, from the writer having lived In Tnrkey. I examined each page In reg ular succession, and found that tbey were all of similar character, until I had exhausted about 200 pages, or nearly a third of the book. The pages were now filled with close writing, unbroken by paragraphs, and tho headline. "Record of a Wasted Life: Roger Trueman, his history; written with his own hand, A. D., 1671,” ab sorbed my attention, and I became ob livious of the voluble tongue of the old lady lecturing her maid, and, how ever uninteresting It may be to otber readers, read with absorbing Interest what I copy In the three following chapters. CHAPTER X. bxcobd or a wasted Lira: nooxn TxuxuAir, ms histobt; wnrr- TBK WITH ms own hand, A. D. 1671. ' November 12.—All men being at all times like to die, tbe robust no less than the sick. It fsllctb out tbat but few men arc troubled by contempla tion of that circumstance; and indeed I have ever noted, but more particu larly such as bold by the Mohamme dan faith, that the Inevitable Is gener ally accepted with stoicism or Indiffer ence, and that death by natural pro gression bath no terrors at all. Thai such Is my own case this present writ ing shall testify. He who hath ex ceeded tbe span of life allotted to man by the Psalmist; be who for many years hath lived among a strange peo ple In a strange land; he who, having become-a recluse, porcolveth now his physical and mental powers to grow feebler day by day; who, hoping for nothing, feareth naught, Is not tempted to Ue. Ho who lies, lleth for bis ad vantage, or for what be coucoJvetb to bo sueb. To this dictum 1 will admit no exception—and I have had largo acquaintance of men of divers nations and qualities, so speak knowingly. And for what purpose should I record of myself that which Is untrue, seeing tbat my earthly course Is so nearly outrun; that certainly this record will go unread of any until after I am In my grave, and may perhaps moulder to dust ere otber eyes tban mine sbnll look upon It? Should I In sucb circum stances wittingly chronicle the thing which Is false, then of all lies lied by lying man from tbe first man to the latest born on earth, this record would be the farthest removed from trutb; Its gross Impertinence would at once astound and appall, and tbe Master Liar would pause among his angels aghast at being eclipsed by his lieu tenant. I write only to assist my mind In reviewing past experiences and not to convince any man of any matter, my business with men being past, and there remaining nothing for me tc gain or lose by them. To be continued. Does Money-Making Pay ? By Herbert R, Casses GUESS God doesn't care much for money,” said a little girl to her mother. "Just see the kind of people He gives It to.” The money-maker la no longer the wonderful man that he used to be. He baa become too common to be conspicuous, and hie methods have been found out too often for him to be praised, as he once whs. There have been so many Whittaker Wrights-rich and respectable to-day and poor and disrespectable to-morrow— that we are somewhat suspicious of the money-maker. We ask, who will be the next to stand in tbe dock and swallow a poison tablet? Even tbe money-maker himself la sick of his Job and himself. He has dis covered tbat even millions have to be paid for. The more Ills money goes up. the more his real satisfaction goes down. He finds that bis friends have either left him or been changed Into flunkeys. He has no privacy. He has no freedom. He Is like a man doomed forever to live In a suit of armor. He has built up a great business organization, and now be finds tbat be It inside of It and cannot get out The pains of dyspepsia, he finds, are not much of an Improvement upon the pains of starvation. He discovers that wealth does not bring security, as most people foolishly Imagine. In fart, he feels as If he werf surrounded by ene mies who watch for a chance to snatch away his millions. Mr. Rockefeller’s wealth baa become so great that it Is an absurdity. The spectacle of one little human biped running the only oil shop in a world, where there are 1,600,000,000 other bipeds, is too ridiculous to be true very much longer. Mr. Carnegie, too, has become one of the comic fignres of American life. He Is now the 8lsyphus of money-makers. What a fate for a man—to be a be liever In the "simple life” and the "blessings of poverty." and yet not to be able to give bis money away as fast as It comes in! No; money-making Is not what It used to be. It hss become “stale, fiat and unprofitable." It used to be a pleasure, but It has become a compulsion. It used to be a sort of recreation between wars, hundreds of years ago; bnt to-day it Is a tedious drudgery. Once upon a time, when America was first discovered, money-making was a grand adventure. Soldiers gave up war and became money-makers—a long step In advance. It Is a great deal more moral and civilized to take a man’s money than to take his life. When Cortes, the Spanish explorer, captured Mexico, In 1519, be got pos session of mdre gold and silver than any man had ever owned before. He threw great chunks of solid gold Into his ships for ballast When he arrived home he unloaded glittering hillocks of gold and silver on the docks, and set all Europe wild with the craze for money. It was this hunger for gold and silver that brought the first colonist to this country. America used to be a Klondike and New York was a Dawson City. But we have played the money-making game for several hundred years and we have become tired of it It does not interest us any longer. We play It only because we are obliged to do what tbe others do. What we call business is for the most part a game of "rlng-around-a-rosy." We serious, grown-up people stand In a circle, take money from our rigbthand neighbor with one hand and pass It to our lefthand neighbor with the other. It would be very amusing If we were not obliged to play it oftener than one dny a week, or two months a year; but when we are compelled to stand In the same old line every day, no amount of success In money-making can make It seem worth while. In short, human life is now so valuable tbat we cannot afford to trade much of It for money—New York Evening Journal jS? The Mon Every Girl Wants to Marry By Nlxola GreeleySmlth Tour Captain Lawtons. It Is an odd fact that there are now four Captain Lawtons lu the United States regular army—all - -ing men, not one of whom ts related u .'.ie late General Henry W. Lawton, who made tbe name Illustrious in Cuba ami tbe Philippines. One of these. Captain Louis B. Lawton, Is to be retired for desperate wounds received In China, where be distinguished himself not only for extraordinary heroism, but for sagacious action In a dangeroul situation. After an exceptionally bril liant service be must now give up bli chosen career, because of those bon HAT Is be like, tbe man every girl wants to marry? Wbst are tbe qualities and attrlbutei tbat make him tbe all-conquering hero be proclaims himself to be? Of course, not loudly, ns some bar-room boaster might, but with tbe air of half-blusblng deprecation with which be tells bis very latest adventure to an interested and seemingly sympathetlc woman. There are few men who have not deep down In their hearts an abiding belief In tbelr power to fascinate women. Some fellow may be handsome, thinks be Is tbe man every girl wants to marry, as be adjusts bis ready.made tie before his ball bedroom mirror; others at-o richer, and still others of sprigbtller mien and conversation, but when it comes to girls, he Is a winner. Tbey all want to marry him. Why? Modesty forbids tbnt be answer you. Ask golden-haired Flossie, who smiled at him so significantly when last Light at parting he pressed her hand. Ask the daughter of the boarding bouse, whose brown eyes peep through tbe parlor curtains each evening between 5 and 6—watching for him, of course. Poor little girl. Sbe thinks he does not know she Is there, and be will not spoil the Illusion. Ask tho fair and vivacious deity who presides over the cash register in hls quick-lunch place down town. Ask her or watch bow Inevitably her fingers touch bis as he shoves hls meal check over the irresponsive counter. Ask tbe winning little telephone central In bis ofilce building, who has al most as many calls on her affections as sbe has on her keyboard, and yet knows nnd responds to bis voice from whatever quarter of tbe city be calls ber up. Ask tbe heiress whom ho met at tbe Jones reception—the really charming girl who. from the crowd of eager fortune-hunters that surged about her— intuitively singled bint out as s man who would love her for herself alone. What a nico girl she was, with such—not exactly pretty—but small daintily shod feet. If only he would think tt worth hls while to fall at them and de clare hls passion, how sure he would be of being told to rise, her knight forever. And meantime golden-haired Flossie is probably giving her dearest friend an imitation of hls lisp, the fair daughter of the boarding-house Is dreaming of the dashing stronger who lives across the street nnd zmllez over at her windows every evening on hls way home, the lunch-counter girl Is flirting with the nice old gentleman who forgets bis change, the telephone central Is telling the mnn who takes her out to luncheon what she ate with the man who takes her out to dinner, nnd the heiress has already forgotten there Is such a man in IN SPAIN BMtst Country In tho World X« ^oau* to TrovOt Is. “There Is no country under ths sun where you esn travel with inch pel. feet safety as In Spain,” saw Mrs. Abba Goold Woolson, at tbe Toiler!** yesterday morning. “I have been all over that country, and found the-fipan. lards such men of honor and chivalry as to make constant travel within their domain a pleasure and impossible or danger.” Mrs. Woolson was speaking of Toledo and Madrid, with Its famous Gothic churches and works of art. The Cathe dral of Toledo, she urged, was s veri table storehouse of art treasures and souvenirs of Spanish history, and to be familiar with its Interior la a liberal Spanish education In Itself. Even the chairs of the cathedral, carved in the time ot Ferdinand and Isabella, each contains a story in Its workmanship. In Spain the Government spends bun. dreds of thousands of dollars annually to preserve its Gothic structures and works of art, whereas in other coun tries little is done in that direction. There is in Spain no expenditures too lavish for the preservation of these historic relics of past grandeur. One wishes when In Toledo, said the speaker, to be Immortal and live for eternity, so as to be able to learn all the marvelous art and history and beauty that are bound up In Its walls. The heart of Spain, however. Is In Ma drid. nnd every Spaniard contributes to the glory of that interesting city. Mrs. Woolson’s enthusiasm ran high, nnd her well known admiration gave expression In her words: "I challenge the world to produce n more Interest ing city than Madrid, when you know It." To those who Just slip in and out of that city, she said, little interest manifests itself, bnt to the student of history no more educational centre exists.—Boston Herald. Japsn’i Children. There are no unkind parents In Ja pan, and practically no naughty little girl* and boy* at all. Of ccur*e, boya will be boya and girl* will be girl* even in Japan, as Baron Hayashi, the Japanese Minuter, smilingly admitted .when speaking on the subject. “But we have,” be said, “an unwrit ten system of training^ children which make* onr homes happy. A* soon as a child can be reasoned with he i» taught to understand that the love and * care his parents give him must be met with love and respect. In fact, the love of grown-ups for children and the respect of children for grown-ups are two Ideals of our national life. “But then, Japanese parents are pro* verblally devoted. Many are the tales of their devotion. There is one as well known in our country as tbat about George Washington in America. “It records that a Japanese little girl, smelling a savory odor coming from a wealthy neighbor’s house, asked •what it meant Her mother answered that the neighbors were cooking a chicken for their children’s dinner. Thereupon, the child begged for a chicken, too. ‘Alas I’ said the mother, '.we are too poor.’ “When dada came home the child asked him with tears why they were too poor to afford chicken. Without a word the father collected some of tho household things, pawned them, and returned with the desired chicken.”— London Dally Mail. An Odd Beqnut. The lucky legatee was Thomas Joyce, a gentleman in comfortable circum stances, though by no means wealthy, who was in business in the West of England as a wool merchant, says Tit* Bits. Desiring a caretaker for his city office, he placed an advertisement iu a Liverpool paper, which was replied to by a young fellow named Philip Jackson. On being Interrogated as to why be left his last place, Jackson explained that be had stolen some money belong* ing to his employer, for which he had served a year’s imprisonment, and that, though he had been out three months, he had utterly failed to ob tain another position. Mr. Joyce, being somewhat struck by the frankness of the man, decided to give him a chance, and he was in stalled as caretaker. At the end of three months he bad made himself so useful and trustworthy that his mas ter increased his wages. For two years he remained in Mr. Joyce’s serv- _ _ ice, until, the gold fever breaking out the world. But the man every girl wants to marry knows that they aQ want to 111 Australia, he decided to try his for* marry him. ncverthelcas.-New York World. tune at . the diggings. He never re- turned to England, but in 1898 Mr. Joyce received a notice from a firm of Melbourne solicitors that Jackson had recently died, leaving a fortune of $700,000, which he bequeathed unre servedly to his old master. jsr Spinsters and Matrimony By Agnes Reppller HAT she should be censured for laying claim to what Is truly hers seems unkind and irrational—a tyranny of opinion. Mar riage is a delightful thing; but it Is not, and never can be, a Not In the List of States. Delegate Body, of New Mexico, was on the Senate side of the Capitol, be moaning the lack of information which the average individual in the States 'displays about that teeming Territory in the far Southwest. ■ “Why,” said he, “I was up in Ver mont not long ago, where I used to live when a boy. Some one asked me if duty; nor is it as a duty that men and women have hitherto j the money they used in Vermont was * * * " ,,w ‘ good down in New Mexico. Just think of it! “But that isn’t any worse than the Experience one of our wealthy New . Mexico merchants had not long ago in which La Bmyere calmly and conclusively condemns. “There is,” says the New York City. He entered a big French moralist, “a time when even the richest women ought to many. They wholesale house to buy $28 000 worth cannot allow their youthful chances to escape them, without the risk of a long of It wag hlg flrst dealings with repentance. The importance of their reputed wealth seems to diminish with that particular house, and he waa a their beauty. A young woman, on the contrary, haa everything in her favor; stranger. zealously practiced it. The outcry against celibacy as a “great social disease” is louder than the situation wan&nts. It Is an echo of an older protest against the deferring of the inevitable l wedding day; against the perverse “boggling at every object,” which Burton found so exasperating a trait in youth, and orable wounds. In any other country and lf - " dded to youtl1 ' Blle oUlcr advantages, she Is so much the more « . wherc dId say Jon ... • ... ilaqlmhlo '* . j .. . . . .. extraordinary honors would awal; such a man.—Cleveland Leader desirable." ; from?’ Inquired the obliging clerk. This Is the simplest possible exposition of the masculine point of view. It j ».j,- cw j [eIlc0 , Is plain that nothing Is farther from La Bruycre’s mind that the possibility of : "-Export department, second floor’ „ „ raving experiments arc to tc madi « lifelong splnsterhood for even the moat procrastinating belres*. He merely llld tbe clerk . Toke fbe c] „ ralor ’ Idly ventured to observe that the flask lu Havana with vitrified bricks, grea l )oint8 out lh,t “ wouId bc raore ™ al >onable In her to permit a husband to enjoy there.’ ’’-Washington Letter to ths htd-beeft the lint thin* to be placed In Ite squares and mudstone blocks. b ' r « ad wealth tlmnlUneouziy.-Horper', Bazar. New York Ttlbune .