The correspondent. (Roberta, Ga.) 1892-190?, December 22, 1893, Image 6

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The correspondent., December 22, 1893, Image 6

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Newspaper Page TextBETRAYED; -OR A. DARK MARRIAGE MORN. A Romance of Love, Intrigue and Crime BY MRS. ALICE P. CARRI3TON. CHAPTER XXII. -(Continued.) Ho admired her like a rare plant, a beautiful object, r.n exquisite work, in which nature had combined phys cal aud moral harmony. grace with perfect proportion and His deportment as slave neai her was not long a pet for mane *. Our fa r re >ders have, doubt’ess, re¬ marked an odd fact, which is. t' at wher* a reciprocal sent meat of two feeble hu¬ man beings has reached a ceit in po nt of malmiiy, chance never fails to iurnisb «t fatal occ ision which betrays the secri t of the two hearts, and suddenly launcher the gathering thunderbolt which has been granuallj in the clouds. This is the cr sis. of all love. This oi cas.on presented itself to Cl rr Denton and Warren Leland in the fora of an unpoet c Lcident. with which the rag-p cker aud his little grandchild.er were intimately conuected. It was the end of the month. Lelanc had gone out afier dinner to lake a ridr fallen, i» the neighborhood. Night had be alreadv conic dear and cool; but as «ot see Mr*. Denton that even ng, he be¬ gan felt to think only of being near her, unci that unwillingness to work common to lovers, striving to kill time, whice hung ht aw on his hands. He hoped also that v'olent exercise been ■night calm his spirit, which ha 1 nevei more proioundly agitated. Still young and unpracticed in his pitiless sv a tem, he was troubled at the thougitof a victim so p .ra as Clara Denton. Tc heart trample on the life, the repose, nd th; of such a woman, as the hor-.e tramples little on the grass of theioad, with ae care t-r pity, w is h ‘rd for a novice. As stiange as it may appear, the idet of mar.yiug her had occurred lo him Then he said to hims jlf that this weak¬ ness was in direct contr diction to hit principles, lo®e forever and that she would c us - him to the masterv over himself, and throw him back into the nothin nest of his past 1 fe. Yet. with the co>rupt inspirations of his depraved soul, he fore¬ saw that the moment be touched hei hands with the lips of a lover, a new sentiment would sp ing up in her soul. As he ab mdoned himself to these p s sionate imaginings, the recoilec ion oi Amy Browneil came back suddenly to his memory. He grew pale in the darkness. At this moment he was passing by th< edge of a piece of woods a portion o: which had been cleared. It was not cnan e alone that had di remed him to this po nt. Clara Denton lovel t -is spot and h d frequently taseu him there, and on the pieced ng evening aecomp mied by her daughter an l Mil¬ dred Lester, had vi ited it with him. The site was a pee iliar one. Although ftot far from houses, the woods w^re very wild, as though a thousand miles dibtau' from other You would have snid it was a virgii forest, uatoueh d by the ax of the pio¬ neer. Enormous' stumps without bark Iruuks of gigautic trees, eoverel pel. mell the declivity of the hill, and barr - cad oil here and there, in a pictnr-sqnt maun r. the current of the brook whicl ran i to th • valley. A little higher up (he dense wo d ol lufied trees contributed to dinuse ihat religious ligfit half over the locks, the brushwood, and the fertile soil, aud oc the limpid water, which is the chaiin anc honor of old, u glected woods. Ia this solitude, and ou quite a space of cleared ground, ro e a poor cottage. Thir was Jinnie’s home, and h-re hei children and her father lived with her. The old r g-picker intere-ted Clari Denton greatly, probably because, like Demand, he hud a bad reputation, She loved the children, too, who, though dirty, were beautitul as angels, and she pitieu The their little mother. had been ill. Clara had helped ones quite and to nurse them, ap¬ parently ening they before. h -d recovered; Leland iodee 1, cn j the e- and the par j with him had met them wandering in the woods, careless and happy as children ought to be. (ho Leland slowly end walked his liorse over rocky winding path on t e s o ( >t of the hillock. This was the moment when the ghost of Amy Brownell bad, as it were, risen before him, and he beLeved be could almost hear her cry. All at once this illusion g ve place to t strange re lity. The voice of a woman plainly called him by name, in accents ol “Mr. Leland. Mr. Le'and!” Stopping his hor-e on the ; nstant, he felt an icy shudder pass through hie frame. CHAPTER XXIII. I AT THE BAG-PICKERS’ COTTAGE. The same voice rose higher and callec him again. He recognized it as the voice of Clari Denton. Looking around him in the obscure li.ht with a rapid glance, he saw a light shining through the foliage in the direc¬ tion of J ennie's cottage. Guided by this, be put spurs to hit horse, crossed the cleared ground up the hillside, and found himself face to face with Cl ra. fehe was standing on the threshold ol fbo cottage, her head b ‘re, and her beau¬ tiful hair disheveled under a long bl ick veil. She was giving a farm hand some hasty orders. When she saw Leland approaching sht came tow. rd him. “Pardon me,” she snid, “but I though! I recognized you, and so I called ou. 1 1 •m so greatly distres ed—so d stressed! The two children of this poor woman aie •lek ag*in-thev are dviug! What into be done? Come in—come in, I beg of you! ” He leaped to the ground, secured his horse, and followed Ciara info the cott ge. The two children w*eie ivi>g side oy side on a little bed, immovable. lieiJ. th^ir eyes open and ihe r puq ils -tia ueiy dilated, their f ces red and agitated by strange contu sions. They seemed to be in the agony ol death. A doctor was le°ning over them, look¬ ing at them with fixed, anxious anc despairing eves. knees he The mother was on her her c clasped in her hands, and weeping bit teily. At the foot of the bed stood the rag picker, with his savage mien—Ms armi crossed and his ey es dry. He shuddered at intervals, and murmured in a Loaise hollow voice: “Both of them! Both of them;'* Ther tvo nil.iTOAil intn his mnnmfnl utiitnit. TLe doctor appto icl ed Warren quickly. “Mr. Leland, s id he, “wb t cun th s he? I be iove it to be poisoning, but c n ietect no definite symptoms; otherwise, the mother should know—but si e knows aothiug! A sunstroke, peihaps; but a both were struck at the same time —and *,her at this season—ah, my dear sir, ou; profession is very useless somet met.” “I n’t it a re 1 apse?" “No, no! nothing at all like the recen llness.” Leland made further and ra. id inqui •ies. They had soueht the doc*or, who w t i ning with Mr. Metcalf's family an i oui Defoie. He h d h t-te ied. a duuudtlu ihudren in a sta'e of feirfnl co gestii n It ippeniel tuey had f.llen into th i ?tate when first attacked, and. became de Imons. L< land conceived an idea. He asked to see the clothes the children aad worn during the day. The mother gave them to him. The doctor touched his forehead, anc burned over with a feveri-h hand he rough waisteo.ists, the kDee-breecbes s. arched the pocket®, and found do erii if a small fruit 1 ke cherries, hall irus bed. ixciaimed. “A spee'es of deadly idea nightshade!" h« “Thit at ruck me sev rral time-, but within h >w could 1 be sure? Yoc raunot fi rd it sixty mi es of here, jxcept in the vicinity of this curstd spoi —that 1 am sure of.” “Do you think there is yet time?” askec Le’aod, in a low voice. “The childrei seem to me to be very ill.” “Lost 1 am afraid; b't evervtbing de pend« on the time which h s jas^ed, th< pi antitv I they procure.” have t ken, and the reme lies cun 'Ihe Clara, good who physician found co 'Bulled qu cliD with lhat st e hud i o. in her country pharmacy the n cessary remedies, or eounti-r-irritants, which th< ir*enc. of the case dem .nded. He was obli ed to content himself witl ihe essence of co-fee, whi h Jennie pre pared in ha te. and to send to New Mil lord for the o.her things needed. “To New Milford!” exclaimed Clara “Good heavens! it is m r re ti an. ten milec — it is night, and we shall have to wad probably three or four horns!” Lei nd heard this. “Doctor, write your pres"rip‘ion,” h« 3ad; “my hors v is at Ihe door, and witl him I can do the twentv miles in >i hour; in one hour I promise to be her» again.” thanks!” “Uh, exclaimed Clar». He took the p escription which thi i <ctor had traced on a le f of his pad mounted bis horse and de] a ted. 'Ihe highway was, fortunately, not fa: dig ant. Yvhen he reached it he put spurs to bii horse, and rode tike the phantom hor»e man. It was 9 o’c’oek when Clar» Dentoi witn-s-ed his departure; it was a lev moments *-fter 10 when she heard thi tr mp of his horse at the foot of the hill and ran to the door of the cotta.e ti g ee him. The condition of the two childrei seemed to have grown worse in th< interval, but tl e docto ■ had get hoj oi in the remedies which Leland Was t< bring, She waited wi h impatience, end re¬ ceived him like the dawn of the las' hope. contented herself with h bbe hand, b.ea h pressiDf s when, ess i e de-eendev fro a his boise. But, worn nlike, sh< t-irew herself on the i nirnal, who wat tovered wiai foam, and sieiming like i 3tove. “Poor Sultan,” she said, embracing him m her two arms—“hear bultan— jood Sul a i! You are half dead, art fou not? But I love you well. Go ir q uckly, Mr. Leland. I will attend tt Sultan.” And while the young man entered th< :ottage, she confided Su tan to the tarn hand, with order® to lake him to the sta Die, and a thousun l minute direct.ons tt ;ake good care of him after his noblt jonduct. The doctor had to obtain the aid ol Leland to pa®s the new medicine througl the clem bed teeth of tie unfortmiatt j'aildri-n. While both were engaged 'i fct»is work, Clara was sit iug ou a stooi with her head re«t ng against the wall. The doc'or suddenly raised his eyei md fixed them her. “But, mv dear Mrs. Denton,” he said 'you are ill. 1 ou have had too much ex jitement, and the air in this poor placi is very bad. You must go home.” “I real-y do not feel veiy well,” sht murmured. “Y’ou must go rt once. We 'shall sent pon the lows. Your father’s hired mar will take you home.” bhe raised herself, trembling; For hut thii ont look from Jenn e ar ested her. poor woman, it seemed th -t Providence aeserted her w th Clara Denton. “No!” she said, with a divine sweet aess; “I will not go. I shall only breatht i little fiesb air. 1 trill remain un il the] are safe, I promise you," end left th< room smiling ui on the poor worn n. Atter a few moments the doctor said tc Lei nd: “My dear sir, I th nk you; but I re llj have no luithi r need of yonr services; st you. too, may go and rest yourself, io: you Leland, are growi exhausted ig pale al<o.” ride felt sutt'oc ited by the by his long attuospke e of th« jot'age, and consented to the suggest oi of the physician, tilling him he w oulc aot to far. -^ . . he put . ,. his foot . . outside ...... of the cot- 8 ^ a " e » Clara, who was s It ng he ore th« door, quickly rose and th ew over hu lls ehouldeis a cloak which had leer ** If”f^hotd^peakhi^ “But ^ 6n resea,e night,’ ^ her you can ot rtmain here all 'ae said. “I shon’d 1 e too uneasy at brms.” “But the night i® dump and coll. Sbal t make you a fire?" "If .you wish, she said. “Let us see where w:e om make thii little fiie. In the mid v t of the woodt iere it is impossible; we should have t jouflagrntion to 1 nish the picture. Car fon w»lk? 'J hen t ke my aim and w« will go and search for a place lor our en )»m|immt.” She leaned lightly on his arm end madi i few steps witu him toward «be forest. “Do you think they are saved?” sht isked. “I hope so," he replied. “The doctor’! !aee is more cheerful ” “Oh! how gtad I am!” Both of them »tnml>lel over a root anc joiumeneed laughing like two children to; iev>r<ti mi utes. “We sh ill soon he in the woods,” sait Tlaia; “and I declare I can go no farther Qood or had, I shall c' oo®e this sp t.” They were still quite elo®e to the cot lage, but the branches of the old tieei »• ich bad been spa ed bv the axe spread like a somber d« me over the r heads, Near by was a lar^e rock, sdgh ly cov jred with mo s : ltd a numl er of o c Irunks of trees, on which Clara took hei seat. “i> othing “I could be better,” materials.” said Leland lavly. must collect my A m< his ment alter he re ppeaied, bring also ing in b.auket arms brushwood, hud found and t» heavy which he some were. vi« ont no his kneeB in fiontofthe ro k, prei&red the fuel, and lighted it wuh a match. 'W hen the flame btgan to A cker on the rus ic hearth, Cl ra trera bl d with joy and held out both hands tc the bl ize. “Heavens! how nVe it is!” she said “and then this is amusing; odo would say we had leeu shpwrickei. Now, Mr. Leland, if you would le perfect, go and tee He wuat the doctor says.” quickb ran to the cottage, and returned. “Well!" she ex "Limed. “A “Oh! great deal of hope.* am!” bhe how glad his I hand. presse t “Sit down there," she stick He sat down on a rock ne^r her, and replied to her eager questions. He re¬ peated in deta 1 his < on ersation with the hoc tor. she listened at flist with inter ist, but little by little, wrapping her lieac in her ve>l, anu res iug it on the bough interlaced behind her, she seemi d to be uncomfortably le-ding from f t gue. “You are likely to f .11 asleep tuere,” h< said laughing. “Quite so," she murmured—smiled, ant went Her to sleep -leep. resembled it death, was sc profound, and so calm w«s the bealirg of her he rt, so regu'ar her breathing. Le and knelt! down aga n by tue hearth to listen breathlessly and to gaze u, oi her. From time to time he seeme 1 to medi taie, and the eolitm'e was on y disturbed by the rustling of the leave®. His ejes rollowed he flickering of the flame, sometimes resting on the w h te lock sometimes on the wood-, sometiu es ou the arches « f the high trees, as tbougt 1 he w sLed to fix in his memory a be details of this sviest scene. Then bi g ze would r< st ou the young woman clothed in her beauty, grace and confiding V\ hat heaven’y thoughts defended a that moment on t. n somber eoul—wba i esnadou, what doubt assa l« d it? Wha images of peace, truth, virtue, and hap¬ piness p s-ed m o th it brain full ot storm, aud enased awav phan oms of the sophistries he chi t shed? He himseli knew, but neve told. ’I he brisk crackling of the wood aw k • ned her. Sbe opened her ejes in sur¬ prise landing and before as sue saw the young him: mar 1 er, addres e l “How are they now, Mr. Lt-laud?” He di i no know ho * to tell her tha. for tL e ast hour he had but one thought ind tuat was of her. 'ihe doctor appealed suddenly befori ;bem. “Tuey are saved, Mrs. Denton,” hi sard, alnupt y; “come and see for \o r self, i nd tueu return home, or we shat have to cure > ou to-u-Oirow. You t rt very impiudent io have remained in ihest damp woo s, and it w s foo.ish of Mr Leh n 1 to let von do so.” Sue took the doctor’s arm and re-enter ed ihe cottage. The two eri dr«n, not roust d Irom ihe dai gerous toipor, bu who seemed t-till lerrn.ed by the threat oued demh, raised their little he d®. Sh m de them a sign to keep qu et, anc leaning over their pi low, kissed th ra. “jo-mono*, my dining®,” she sa’d. But the m ther, h If 1 -uj hing, half cry¬ ing, followi d Cla ■) tep by s ep, speak¬ ing to Ler, and kiss fig her hand. “Let her alone," cried the doctor, quer alously. “Go 1 ome, Mrs. Denton. Air. Lei md, take be.- th-re.” She was go ng out, when the old rag¬ picker, j?ho who had not befoie sjaken. of and was sitting m ibe coiner the room is ii stupefied ro-e suddenly, seized the irm of Mr®. Denton, for who. s vibtiy terri- 3ed, turned rouud, the gesture of the man was so violent as to st era menacing; ns eyes, hard continued and diy, were fixed upon be**, and he ro squeeze hei irm with a conn acted hand. “My Liend,” she sail, although rathei jneerttin. “Ies. your friend,” muttered t 1 e old •ag-picker, with a bol’ow voice; “yes, friendl’ re. nember! whi t. ver comes, your He could not continue; bis rnoutb ivo.ked as if iu a convulsion, his fri ht fill weeping shook his frame; ho ther hrew himself ou bis knees, an I they sas v shower of tears ior;e themselvei h orrgh the hands clasped over his face “Take ter away, g r," said the doctor Le and rently pushed her out of the ;ottage and followed her. She tco'v hit irm and descended the lugged path whicl, ed to her Lome. CHAPTER XXIV. AN ASTOUNDING PBOPOSITION. It was a walk of fifteen minu'es from ;be woods. Half the dis ancu was parsed >ver without interchanging a word. Once or twice, when the rays of the oooon pierced through the clouds, Leland Lought he saw her wi> e away a tear. He guided her cautic sly n the dark¬ less, although the light st-p of the foung )b®curit'\ lady was bc&rctdy slower iu the Her springy step p e®sed noiselessly Ihe full n leavfs—a'Oi led without assist¬ ance the rirs and marshes, as thou ;h en¬ dowed witu a magical cl iivoyHnce. M hen they reached a cro s-roa l and Leland st emed urn-eitain, she would indi¬ cate the way by a slight prtssuie of the arm. Both were no doubt embarrassed by the long silence—it was Clara who lirat broke it. “You have be^n very good Ihis evening, Mr.< Leland,” she sa d, in a low and slightly “Ah! I agitated love voice. you so!” said the young man. He pronounced these words in such a deep, trembled inipaBsii ned toueth .t Clara Denton and stio • still iD the road. “Mr. Leland!” she ext-lomed. “ u ell."" Le deniande in a strangetone “Great hea'en-! What is this? Lut— Out it cau I e nothing. I must have mis indcrstcod yon!" “You did i ot, rra am. But I have said iither o r much or too litt e. I will en Ita.ortoexpl H in tieer or.” s »o <e was c 1m. but she recoiled a rtep rim. or two and stood trembling before “ W bat I said just now,” he went on, “is ao more nor less than tue truth. I love ]ou -1< ve you as you deserve to be loved, with r.ll my soul and might and strength. [ never ki ew wh t love wa® before.” Cl r ( stood there trembling, but made so s gn. / “B t don’t fear that I would take ad v>n age of this sori nde— of your oneli ness. B- lieve me, you are sacred to me.” “I have no fear,” she whispered. “Oh, no! have no te r!” be r peated, in i tone, of voice infinitely sofiened and ;euder “It is I who am afr id it is I ivho tremble-you all see it; for since I have spoken, ’s over. I ex oct i othin> more —I DOssible hope for nothin ; I this night has nc to-morrow. know it. Youi husbandlda e not be—your lover I should aot wish to be. I sk nothing of y ou - understand well! I should like to burn my bea t at your feet, as on an altar — tLis is all. “Do you believe me? Answer! Are yon ea m? Are you coufidem? Will you hi ar me? May I tell yon what image I carry of yon in the secret rece.-ses oi my leart? “Dear creature that you are, yon do not —ab, you do not know bow great is your worth, and 1 fear to tell you. so mud ami i fraid of stripping you of yoni charms, or one cf your virtues. Ii yov had been nroud of yotuse f. as yon h ive « r ght to be, you would be less perfect, n i I should iove > ou lei®. “Bi.t I wish to 'ell you how lov ble and row ch ruling you are. You i lo e do not mow it. lou alone • o not see the solt lame of vour 1 rge eyes—the reflect ou of rour heroic soul on your young but serene >ro\v. “Your cherm is O’ er everything you do —your slightest gesture is eng.aven m ne. into the most «r l nar.v duties oi svery-d .y 1 fa you carry a ] eculiar grace, ike ii young piiesfi ss who recites her 1 ily devotions. Your ban I, yonr touch, ^our lue ith purifies everyth ng—e'en the 3iO>t humble and the most wicked beings -and elf hist of ali! “v h, how I am astonishel at the words which I piononuce, au i the sentiments vhicu animate me, to whom you have na le clear new truths. Yes, all the rhapsodies of <he poets, all the loves of ;be martyrs, I comprehend iu your pres rnce. This is tru fi itself. I underst nd tLose who < ie l for their faith by toiture —bee iuse I "ho Id like to nuffe for you —because 1 be leve in you-beca ise I re rpect you- 1 cbe i h ybu-I adoie you!” He stopped, shivering, and h f pros ;rating himself I efor.- 1 er, seized the end rf her veil aud ki sel it ow,” continued be. w : tb a kind of ?ravj sadness, “^o, Mrs. Denton; I have forgotten too lo ig you require rei ose. P rdon me- proceed. I .b 11 follow jou at a dista ce. until you reach your aorno, to proLci you— but fe r nothing from me." Cia a Dmton had l stenel, without ance ds interiup mg h m even ly a sign. \>o wou d on y exci e the young man more. Probably she understood, for the first time in her life, o e of those songs of love—one of tb< se hymns living with pas iion. whi henry woman wishes to Lear aeforo she nies. Should she die because the had heard .tv She rema awakening : ned without fpe-tking, as ;hou . h just fn-m a dream, and let tab .fiese words, soft and feeble, l.ke i sig : God!” “Aly advanced Aft r > nothcr pause, she a few 8t< p® i n the road. “Give me jour ■. ini as far as my house, Mr. Lei'lid,” she sai-L ke obeyed he , and they cent nued their wnlk toward the hou e, the light of which they soon siw. 'Jhev dm net exch nge a wovd—only as they letched the gale, Mr®. Den'on lumed nd m»de him a slight gesture with h r hand, in sign of adieu. In return, Leland bovv^dlow, and with Irevv. This mm bad bceu sme^re. \\ heu true pass on surprises (be human soul, it t ieak® down a 1 reso >e®, s mps iway all log c, and crusher all calcula tio is. In this lies its gr indeur, and also its danger. this subl folly Mhea me possess s you, it elev i es 'ou-it tian®fieures you. Il i an suddenly convert a i omm >n man into a poet, a t o ward in o a htro. an egoiisl in<o a ma'tvr. aud Don Juan himself iutc m Hni el of purity. With woo*, u—and it is to th ir horoi —this met morphosis with can be durable, lut it i® r relv so men. Once tr-ispored to this stormy sky, women Irankly cccept their proper home, and the vi -inity of t e thunder does not disquiet 1 them. i® their element—they feel as®iou at home there. There are few women wo tfiy of the m me who are not ie.idy tc put in «ct on all tue word, which p®s®ioo aa® caused to nubble up from their lips. If th-y speak If they of talk Lig t, they are ready !or exile. death. Men of dyi ig less they arc ready for their idea». are far con* jiB-ent in It wa® not until la*e ihe next morning Ihat Leland regretted his on'break ol sincerity; for, dur ng ihe rein iuder ol the night st li filled with h<s exci ement, agitated and shaken confused by the passage of the rod, sunk into a aud levensb reverie, he wa® inc pable of he leflec miiveied ion. But when, on awnfeemug, the sitnat on ca mly aud by the plain light of day, and ihoagbto er the pr ced ing evening and its events, he co< Id not f ul to reconmze the iact tin t he had been cruelly dnp. d by h s ownneivous syst m. 'Jo love (JIMa Denton was perfectly proper, and he loved Ler sill for she was u person to bj lov -d an 1 desired; bill ;o elevate that ove or auv otler, a® th« oa ster of his li'e, insle d of its play king, wa® one of those we-kness than s m ;• r l cted by Lis system more any >ther - In fact, he felt he hid spoken and act. ad like a schoolboy on a holiday. He had ottered words, made promises, and taken mnagements on himself which no one iem nded of him. No conduct could lave been more ridiculous. ;ime Happily nothing was !o®t. He had yet to give his love thnt subordinate jccnpy place whicn th’s sort of phantasy should in the life of man. He had been imprudent, b it th's very imprudence might finally prove of ser ri e to h ; m All that remained of this scene was a declarat.on— gr tcefully made, spontaneous, Clara n dural—wh ch subjected Deuton to the double charm of a mystic ido a rv which pleased her sex, lud to that manly violence which could not d sp e ise her. He ha l, therefore, notVng to reeret, Bltho gh he certainly would have -pre¬ ferred, t»k ng the point of view fiom his principles, weakness. to have displayed less child isii But what course should he now adopt? Nothing could be more s mple. He would go to Mrs. Denton, implore her for¬ giveness, throw himself again at her feet, promising (onsequently, eternal respect, and succeed. at about ten o’clock, Leland wrote the following note: “Dear Madam; I cannot leave with jut bidding yon adieu, and once more de ma id n« your forgiveness. “Will you perm.t me? “W. Leland.” Th's letter he was about sendin?. when tie rec ived one containing the following vord*: “I shall be bappy, sir, if yo u will call upon me to-day, about “Cl four o’clock. ara D i n ton. ” Upon which Leland threw his own note into the fire, as entirely sui ertiuous. No matter what interpretatinn he put upon this note.it was an <\ident sign that iove had triumphed, and that virtue was defeated; for, after what had passed the prev ous even ng betwe* n Clara Den ;ou and himself, there was only one jourse for a viituous woman to take, aud ihat was never to see him arain. He eo.iloquized ou the weakness oi woman. pro BE CONTINUED. ! lie Had to Exp'ain. “Madam,” said a dude, as he hob¬ bled up to the kitchen door of a farm¬ house, “your butter’s awful strong.” “What do you mean, rir?” shrieked (he fai mer’s wife, as she flourished the jhurn-dasher. “Oh, excuse me! I meant to say that your goat hit me a thundering bump just as I attempted to pump a drink of water. No offense intended, madam, ’pon honah .”—Areola Beeord. Alcohol in Chicken Raising, “Yes, sir, 1 can ri-ac chickens threer days qu cker by planting the eggs than Ctt-> be done in the regular way,” said an •nan who officiates as gardener for a arotnini nt iioa manufacturer on Flvtu ivenue, Eist Eud. It seems strange but jhiikeus are about the only things that nan is able to grow. The usual things produced iu a garden langu sli and fail under his Direction, hut chickens thrive. •“ You see, I brought this idea over with me from the old couutry. I place the eggs in a box with a little fertilizer, then point the box about four or live iuci es below the surface.” “Well, some one told me you indulged in an incantation over the box,” said the leporter. “ Not at all; I just put a little vinegar iver it, nothing else,” was the gardeu sr’s repl,. “ You don't understand me. I mean :hat you use sor_y charm or oth r.” “On, no! Tm only rule you must follow is not to open the box except be¬ tween the going down and the coming up of the sun,” was the way the gar¬ dener answered. “Tueu there is some mystery about it, after ab?” was asked. “No, you must keep the box dry,” ■eplied the old chicken farmer. The repoittr gave permitted up fuitherquestion¬ ing a® l uiile, aud the gardenei ;o tell his story without interruption. the • Well, you sco, I let box iemail under the gn-uud for a period equal tc that r< quir d for a hen to hatch outeggs, less tin bo days, then open the box in the even ng. Then I find I have my chick¬ ens all hatched out, I am met Lore with a diffi ultv. If 1 tcy to put the young chickens with a homo raise she Will peck at them until shekiils t!%m. It is too much trouble to care for them myself, so 1 have to play a trick. I take a cnioken that is not laying wei! and make liei drunk. I do this by giving her whiskey, and soon she begins rr. stagger around until at last in a drunken stupor she lies down. I take her, aud, fixing her care¬ fully in a box I have already prepared, place the chicks under her. By morning the effects of the alcohol have worn oil and the hen is going around the yard clucking to* her young brood in the proudest manner. She imagines that she has been sitting upon the eggs aud this is the result of her patience. I hava tried this a number of times and the ex¬ periment has never failed.”—[Pittsburg Die patch. Paper Houses. The adaptability of paper is regarded as likely to lead to a solution of the problem of rendering dwellings and business that structures fire-proof. It is now found paper can be made perfectly fire proof while remaining ameuable to the sitine treatment in the matter of color, polishing Such and handling ns most woods. a material offers all of the advantages as an ideal substance for floor.®, anu it can oe. used equqllyt well for the wulls of buildings. Besides this | it can be used in the finish and furniture «,f houses and would unquestionably do ! mu <.h to re duce the piril of fire, against ; ! w |,j c h insufficient provision 1 is * but too t k He—It makes me a better man every time I kiss you, darling. She—Oh, my, 1 Charlie! How good you must be now. —1 Brooklyn Life.