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pnir Mom awoke and left her (Ie< V I**l,
O'er her fair cIh^'Ic a flush of r«-Msa red
in healthful clow was richly overspread,
And. upon her royal car she st )|M 1,
A golden ; lory o'er thf mountains swept,
And silvery beams to every nook lot. crept
Fnhold! how Karth, expectant, smiles to StSJ
This bright-eyed queen unveil her royalty 1
Night's sable curtains glide by hurriedly,
Anti pe.itlaut leaf, and grass in dewy tears,
Hat-ten lheir toilet brief ns she appears
Dispelling in her warmth all doubts and
fears.
—Eduard K Jiicharda, in the Cunre)i£.
A Grand Old I
CHAPTEH I.
I never shall forget those happy days
when we sailed on the tranquil bosom of
a mountain lake. To make this state¬
ment comprehensively clear, I should
doubtless introduce myself. My name is
Madison West ford. It is an old and
aristocratic name, even though I do say
it. To bring out ihe real points of this
recital, it is necessary that I say a few
words with regard to our family. We
lived in Arkansaw, my father, my mother
and myself. Our roomy, comfortable old
house was pitched among the graceful
mountains of the northwestern part of the
State. My mother was a quiet woman,
without pronounced characteristics. My
father was a character, noted for his
learning and for his pride. Having de¬
scended from ancestors who won glory in
the old Revolution, and wishing to for¬
ever be numbered among the lovers of the
union, he did not go into the Confeder¬
ate army when Arkansaw seceded. Ile
alizing*tlie the uselessness crises, he quietly of attempting to
prevent sat down,
still a lover of the union and a worshiper
of his family traditions, and awaited the
terrible result.
One day a party of Federal soldiers
visited our house, and while searching
for arms, came across a grand old paint¬
ing, which having been done by an Ital¬
ian master, and having come down from
generation to generation, was regarded
as a priceless treasure.
“What will you take for that paint¬
ing?” asked the commanding officer, ad¬
dressing i|s my father.
“It .not for sale. There is toot Ft.” money
enough in the country to buy
“1 iim sorry,” replied the officer. “I
am much devoted to art. Those trees
arc hear strikingly the natural, rippling and I can almost
water over the stones.
Bay, you won’t sell it?”
“No, I could not bo induced to part
with it.”
“I am sorry. Say, you wouldn’t lend
it, would you? We are going to have an
art exhibition at headquarters, and this
picture would greatly add to the collec¬
tion. day Suppose you let me have it for a
or two.”
* ‘Such a request coming from a stranger
is absurd.”
The officer haughtily drew himself up
and replied: “Tlio request of a stran¬
ger may be absurd but the demand of a
soldier is ever reasonable—especially
during war. Sergeant, take down that
picture.” homo seemed the
Our never to be
same, after that picture was taken away.
My father, I could see, actually grieved
over its loss. He made numerous at¬
tempts to recover it, but could never
learn the name of the officer who had
raided the house.
My father and mother passed away.
It would have been pleasant to look upon
the grand old painting which my father
had prized descended so dearly and which would
have to me.
CHAPTER II.
No, I shall never forget those happy
-days when we sailed on the tranquil
bosom of a mountain lake. The war was
almost forgotten except by politicians. I
had gone north to enjoy a summer’s va¬
cation, where, free from the annoyances
of a law office, I could regain the
strength of which the wear of business
had deprived me. One afternoon while
I was lazily dreaming in my boat, drift¬
ing in the shade, I saw a woman rowing
toward me. She seemed to be excited
for ghe was pulling with all her strength.
I had begun to think that her boat was
cutting deeper and deeper into the
water, when she shrieked. I snatched
up ray oars and skimmed rapidly to
ward her, but before 1 had made a
dozen strokes, her boat sank. She ---- was ..
Struggling in tlio water when I I
reached her, Hhc had sunk once
eud was, I discovered upon lifting
her into my boat, almost drowned,
I took her to H bouse not far away. The
in unit on of the house were much excited.
They knew the young lady- Her nanv*
was Zilda Mo«s. Her neighborhood. father, a prorai
nentman, lived in the
Miss Moss soon recovered. I called
every day to see how* she was getting
along The first time I saw h. r lustrous
dark eyes, ’ they were gazing gratefully
upon me. The people of the house with
a dash of romance, had told her how 1
li d played the hero. I laughed at the
idea but could not help feeling a pleas
ant sense of pride. I soon learned that
her father and mother were away from
homo* on a visit and that she was
guest of the family to whose house I had
'taken ,lier “ 'The first time we had any
thing like a conversation, we were walk
; iug in the garden.
“So you will not allow me to thank
you,” she said. under obligations
“Why, you arc discharged no duty
to me. I not only a hut
at the same time experienced a sreat
pleasure. ” •
“You endangered your life.”
“Not at all.”
“Your boat tipped over an ou
sprang into the lake.”
Deceitful wretch that I was. I knew
that this was added by the family, but I
could not undeceive her. I enjoyed the
grateful expression of her eyes. I was
honest enough, doubtless. I would not
have cheated the man, but is there one
among us who would not cheat a worn
an? Man can be honest with man, but
he who is thoroughly honest her with worn
an, exposes himself to contempt,
The blunt practicability so much admired
by man, is despised by woman. This,
on her part, is not an evidence of intel
lestual refinement.
“Dy not think of the little service I
have rendered vofi, Miss Moss. Women
place so great a stress upon so slight an
action.”
“Oh, men arc all unconscious heroes,”
she laughingly replied. “If of I were to I
risk my life to save the life any one,
would never tire of hearing a recital of
the brave deed; but I suppose men, so
careless of themselves, look with indif¬
ference upon a risk of life. Let me pin
this rose-bud on your coat. There! Does
not the background enhance the beauty
of the flower?”
“ Yes, but it loses much of its assumed
attraction when you are near it.”
i * Oli, wlu^a flatterer yon are. No* J
know What you thought. When you
saw me floundering in the water, you
said to yourself: ‘There is a girl whom I
can flatter.’ Then you sprang to the
rescue, took me out and are now flatter¬
ing me. Dear me, I wish papa and mamma
would come home.”
i i Why did you not go with them? ”
‘ ‘ They went to visit relatives, stupid
ones, too. Distant relatives are at best
far from being entertaining.”
“ I am glad you did not go.” that
“ So am I, even though the bark
held—”
« 4 The princess went down,” I added.
“ There you are again, Mr. Flatterer.
Let us go to the house. You’ll flatter
me to death if we stay out here.”
chapter nr.
toilet Attain those*happy^days. I must say that I shall never
^/bright We skimmed
sheen of the beautifullake.
The cliffs sent back she echo of Zildas
sweet voice. I could see that she was
hamw
“Zilda” Ziivua, isamoueuajwueuivc I said one day when we had uau
landed to eat our lunch on a rock,which
far and wide was known as the “Ban
at y Sn ll0us f ?
t 4 Why, of course you may. W hat .
foolish Questions vou sometimes dXhted ask.
yoT Paua and ^apalsTarTawf mamma will be to see
uljfine' looking maig
taller than vou are. He was a captain
in la the Unionarmv ^ ”
“Zilda-”
“Why do’nt you say Miss Zilda? If
papa were to hear you Zildering me he
would snap his eyes like a steel trap.”
Zildi-" 11 b ° CarefUl "' henh<! 18 “ ear ’
‘There you go hall. again. I Stop toset'the trying to
take hoid of my went
ta - ,ny S oodn6SS ’ y°? d f 18 l )a P a *
a , : whom faf affair *°
meet Mr - me. ^Ve"'‘tHc^to'U^Cn? to
expressing liis gratitude. He his knew daughter. that
I had risked uiy life to save
lie ...------------- wished that it w*as in his power , to re
pay pay me. me. tv Knew now that that lie he emild could never never do ftn
it. Would I visit him at liis home? Yes,
I would. Could I uotspend could. a few wocks
with him? Yes, 1
The Mosses lived in a place that to me
was particularly attractive. Howers,
graceful trees and everything tending to
make a home complete surrounded the
house. Mrs. Moss shed tears when she
took my hand. She thanked the Lord
that I had been born. 8o did I, declar
ing that the service which I had rendered
her daughter was to me more than worth
thecombined performances of a life-time,
! After supper we went into the parlor.
I could scarcely repress a loud cxclama
tion. The grand old paiuting so highly
' prized by mv lather and his ancestors
hung upon the wall.
“That is a beautiful painting, Miss
Moss.
“Yes, it is a masterpiece.” suppose?”
“An old heirloom, 1
“No, it is a comparative stranger in
our family.” doubtless, at great
1 ‘Bought it, some
art sale?”
“No.”
“May I ask where you got it.
She Hushed and changed the subject.
I saw it tdh H er f a ther had robbed my
father; and, proud of thp theft, had told
his family how he secured the painting,
I was in a most unenviable position. loved
What to do I did not know. I
Zilda, and almost knew that she loved
me, but could I, in justice to the memory
of my father, marry the daughter robbed of him. a
man who had insulted and
My manner toward Zilda must have
changed, for the conversation during the
entire evening was constrained. I was
glad when bedtime arrived. As I lay in
bed, I tried to decide upon some plan of
action. Would it be right to confront
Mr. Moss and demand the picture? No,
I could not mortally offend the man
whose daughter 1 devotedly loved. I
would go away and try to forget it all.
CHAPTER IV.
The next morning 1 told Mr. Moss how
sorry I was that I could not longer re¬
main, that a business letter received sev¬
eral days before and thrust, unread, into
my pocket, had, upon being read, in¬
formed me that a certain law suit de¬
manded my immediate attention. Mr.
Moss was very sorry. Mrs. Moss ex¬
pressed deep regrets. 'Zilda was out in
the garden. I would see her alone.
“Miss Moss, I shall leave to-day.”
‘ ‘ What! ” she exclaimed, dropping a
handful of roses. (
“ Yes’, business*Js*fc«i|taway.” said,
“Iam very sorry,” she looking
down.
“It cannot be helped.” her
Tears were dripping from long
lasliGS.
“ Why can’t it be helped? ” she asked.
“ Let us sit down here a moment.”
We sat down. She clasped her hands.
“You made me very unhappy last
night,” she said. \
“ I never spent a more miserable
night,” I seemed replied. with
“ You to get angry me as
soon as you began to talk about that
hateful old picture. I wished, an hour
afterward that I had told vou all about
it.”
“Tell me now,” I eagerly replied. quit
“Well, I will. Shortly after I
school, I became engaged h“ad to a man, who
with papa's consent addressed me.
I did not love him, but to please papa,
J.agreed fought me that picture. He bmi ht it
at an art sale in New York, .binding
that I could not love him, and becom
ing ® more horrified at the thought of
marrying • *. mm, 1 t hmto broke tne pniriwmr»nt enga cment.
0
I offered to return the picture but he
S^ Oh, 11 I r doffit don t blame^vou blame you, 0 ^she sue said said. “I I
—take your arms from around me. We
are not engaged. yoVlove You haven’t even told
me that me.” -
“If I have not, it was because deep
love cannot be lightlv expressed; but I
do love you—love you devotedly.”
She began to untangle herself from
my arms. Looking up I saw Mr. Moss.
I began to stammer an apology, when
h °“zi?da, I have often anything told you -ound no t to
sit out hero without
you and I see tnat you have followed my
a 1 ■
rp , hlmhpd t and a fJ^^ I felt the blood
tJZuX” comforter.
“Yes, “^es, vou ta are quite a U
don t Ki. let __ me interrupt you.
“Our arrangements are very ncarlv
completed, completed, ’ said said . I. I. “Have you any
jeetions to our marriaero?,
‘INone whatever,
a
The grand old painting hangs on ray
“Look here,” wife . said to tUo ,
ray me
other day.
“Well. ’ %
“Hid you know that you never asked
me to marry you?”
“i don't believe I did.”
ought “Vou good ashamed for nothing thing, you
to be of myself.”
^No I should not. T am so proud of
you that I entirely forget yourself.” pu\led
“I actually believe that you me
out of the lake just to flatter me j but X
like it, dear. Always flatter me. The
husband who ceases to flatter—”
“Ceases to please his wife,” I re¬
joined .—Arkansaw Traveler.
A Bermuda Lily Farm.
W. A. Croffut 9ays in a letter . m
the Bermuda Islands to the Detroit fires
Press: The onion is a loud-smelling
plant; but there is a Bermudian offset
to it—the Eastei* lily. This queen of
odorous flowers grows here all the year
round in the open air, and attains a
majesty and fragrance unknown else¬
where in the world. On the Trinidad
came down General Russell Hastings,
the father, I believe, of this curious in¬
dustry of furnishing Easter lily bulbs to
the New York and London markets.
He began it three years ago, and this
year will send off half a million bulbs.
I visited his lily farm. “Soncy,” yester¬
day—a sort of fairyland on the winding
shore of the inner harbor. Scattered
over the estate arose the luxuriant tropical
growths of the island—palms of varieties many
kinds bearing fruity clusters;
of cactus—the club, the maguey and
other sorts; the bamboo, tall and sup¬
ple; the mangrove, standing margin tiptoe the on
its rooty stilts along the of
warm cove; the oleanders, trimmed for
a windbreak around the roses and lily
field. The lilies were cultivated in
rows, like onions, and thousands of them
are now spreading their great snowy
blossoms to the sky, and burdening the
air with sweetness. These are of no
value whatever, and sometimes they are
torn off systematically, in order to give
vigor to the bulb beneath.
In all the fields, even those containing
several acres, all the lilies turn, to
the sun, like obedient soldiers to their
commander. Perhaps it would be more
nearly correct to say that they turn to
the for it is noticeable that they
turn resolutely a Way from the shadow,
even if it is necessary to turn their backs
to the sun. This often happens on the
southern fringe of a field.
The Burro.
Apart from the Indians and the Mexi¬
cans, these animals are the most char
acteristic and ubiquitous objects in New
Mexico. The shaggy little brutes range
from the size of a small Newfoundland to
that of a six-months-old heifer. It is
practically impossible to overload them.
They will carry all that can be piled on
their backs. I have frequently seen a
solid heap of wood gliding mysteriously
into town, with no apparent motive
power, but I knew that somewhere un¬
derneath the pile there was hidden a
burro. When released from then* burdens
will immediately ,. . . setto . . work . with ...
ofdTcaZ^ Swou^sta™
^ to
death . eded to attach them
U Y a wonderful wondenui series series of ot knots knots to to thp me
supporting posts under the house I
watched him curiously as he tied knot
after knot, and at at length len 0 tn ventn-ed ventUaea to to in in
Joe romnounded regarded me of with a smile which
^as compounded ot onp one nart part of or goott- mmi
? ^ atur f, ^ contempt, two of superior amUSG ‘
“Wo’al ” aa1 ’ ” he said ® a .7’ J von wt are summit of ot
Labomd°evU” S ^ ^ * u °
a
J VO u mean to sav Y that a burro can
^ 0f * tS th ^ h S teeth?” teeth '
don’t profess to say what he does
‘ . ^ Ho may_ do . w^h.s a,l for
^^“nndo, if™
h* 111 ^ me enough, I will tell you thanks,
"'by, ot *» ”» ^ not_ a patch
— -ischief.”_/W
The total number of recognized spe
cies of Australian fishes now reaches
The guinea hen never lays a golden
egg-