Newspaper Page Text
MACON, GA,, SUNDAY MQRNING, DECEMBER 16, 1894-TWELVE PAGES.
Dally, 47,00 a Year
ma(uOop7, B y«ata
the broad white road sweeps down
In long curves round the 'hillsides to-
. wards the \ulley In which the little pro
vincial town o£ St. Zlte lies well out
o£ the way of the rest of the world.
On the government maps of the de
partment thlb road Is called the "route
de Toulouse”; but about Toulouse,
wifldh lies fifty leagues to the south
ward, -ithe inhabitants of St'. Zlte know
little .lin'd care le.-a. To them the road
• a, and always has been, the "route
de St. Antoine," lu honor of the mon
astery and obapel which stifl'd over-
looklng 10 from a rocky eminence
about a mile out of the town.
One of Chose whoso memory stretches
back the fllrtheet Is old Martin Ney-
rac, the garde chamipetre, who is also
landlord of the Inn "Au bon St. An
toine,” wMdh stoinds at Che Junction
of the path to the monastery with the
high road. The pore Neyrao is a, g.lr-
rulous old iman. and tlhe former glo
ries of Sr. Antoine nre not likely to
pass from remembrance as long as he
lives to recall them. A single questftyn
unlocks his hoard or reminiscences,
and unless one wishes to be absolutely
uncivil to him one must compose
one's self to listen until he Is weary of
talking.
'And I had asked him a. question as X
sat In (front of his Inn wltlh him, drink
ing a Bottle of the best little wine of
the country. I (had mentioned a cross
on the hillside behind the Inn—a stone
cross with an illegible Inscription, at
whose foot grew some red and white
roses.
'“Reno!" cried le pere NOy-rac, "Is it
PoeisJble Knit monsieur does not know
the fltary of 'the Croix du Border?”
“No.” I rdpHod: “I did not even know
<ho!t among your legends you hod such
n treasure as a wizard."
“It Is not a legend.” flitd the old mtin
earnestly, "it Is oil plain facta-facts
which happened under my very own
eyes; and Us 50 hlls being n wizard—
well, ifcUit was only a' faocm de purler’
He was no more a wizard lhtun you or
I. (though he did wonderful things thuit
made people call him so. However. I
had Ibetfter IbetzSn at the beginning, for
It is a fitory worth iKhirCts?.”
“It WomnSned fifty years ago, mon-
sleur, and fifty ytans ago tlbmga were
very different from what they are now.
The (monastery was lull of monks, and
the little dtrapcJ up yonder was (the fa
vorite pilgrimage (between limnses ami
Toulouse. Lourdes and Rucutnartour
Have put it out of fashion now. butT
corn remetriber ratten pilgrims nit St. An
toine were as plentiful as files In Au
gust; and when pilgrims were plentiful
tihds Utile tim drove a nt-irllns good
tirade, and the landlord, Frntols Bw-
variaud was a well-to-do man. Sava-
rkuud's ftuflher and cmndgnther had kept
the in Before him, as tenints of th*
reverend thithors; but Savariaud's son
wos not likely do suoceed him; he had
other views, and His father was qplto
os wflll pleased—perhaffw better Chun If
young Francois had been going to
stand in his shoes one day.
"Francois Savnrlaud was about my
age, and what bit of learning I have
got I got along with him ait the school
which the monks used to keep for the
benefit of the children of tho neigh
borhood. I never took much to read
ing and writing, and as soon' ns I had
made my first communion, I left school
and'began to earn a bit of a living
as odd boy at the Inn; while Francois,
who was tho (favorite pupil of the
monks, kept to his books. He was a
queer sort of a lad. with a dreamy
face, and dark eyes set far back In
his head, and a thin, determined mouth
which scarcely ever nulled or altered
ft merry word. He did not care for
play, and Be had no friends of his own
nge. He seemed .to caro for nothing and
no one but the monks, his books and
tho churcn services; so we gave him
the nickname of the 'Abbot,' and ev
eryone felt sure that he would either
study for the priesthood or take the
vow of a monk. His teachers were
very proud of him; they held him lift,
ns a model to all the school, and in
private, I ex'pect, they worked on his
enthusiasm and encouraged the bent
of his mind. Anyhow, when he was
about 17 he went away to Clermont
to the seminary, and Savarlaud and
Ills wife used to tell everyone that the
abbot had Insisted on their sons study
ing to be a missionary in the East.
■No one regretted his going, for, as I
said, he had no friends; and his father
nnd mother, who were very devout
people, were delighted with the step
'he'had taken. So the year slipped by
and he onCy came home oilbe or twice
for a few days. He seemed, indeed, to
have passed out of our kent altogether.
But the last Rummer before his public
profession and ordination the father
superior of the seminary ordered him
to spend the long vateatlooi at home and
to rest •
"He had not changed much during his
Jive years' absence, although his face
was paler and thiner, "his eyes more
Sunken and mysterious, his lips nar
rower and more Inflexible. And ho was
no more genial than of old; he used
to ramble all day on tho hills with a
book In his hand and a rosary hang
ing from his fingers. He looked more
like a shadow than a creature of flesh
end blood. And yet one day he sur
prised himself and everyone clso by
the discovery that after all he was but
as other men are, and that his human
passions had survived all the penances
and severities with which he had
tliought to destroy them.
“You understand, monsieur. He fell
to love. .The protege of the monks,
the ascetic student, the Invincible sol
dier of the church, fell In love, as mad
ly and qs deeply as the most glddy-
pated of us might have done—or rather
more madly and more deeply, because
It was his' nature to exaggerate his
emotions, and because his nature had
been so long preverted and repressed.
“Perhaps It was no wonder that he
fell a victim to Berthe Mazlere. Half
the lads In the place were In love with
her, without seeming to raise a finger
lo make a conquest of anyone; and
though she had not a penny of dowry,
she might have married Just whom she
pleased. She made no choice, however,
but teased all her lovers alike, until
the unlucky day when, after I had per
suaded him to go down to market with
m>. Francois Savarlaud saw her sitting
beside a pile of melons which ah* had
brought to sell.
“ ‘Who Is She, Martin?* be asked me
eagerly as I greeted her In passing. I
told him she was my cousin Berthe
Marl ere. and soon after I saw that, he
bod turned back end was buying (l
melon from her. Whitt was he thinking
of? His fithrr’s vinepada yielded the
beat melons in the neighborhood. Then
I noticed Che look on his face ae Berthe
nadlod ad him, and It amused me to
think of Che stern yourfg neophyte un
bending for a moment to Joke with
my pretty cousin. Before long, how
ever, we all knew that It was no Joke.
Dor Just a moment's pastime; for. for
getting all Ids past resolutions and sll
Che future for which whrich he had
been mining so arduously. Francois
began to woo Berthe tMaadere tn se
rious earnest, and, etraifger still,
BerSre. whb had tossed her head at
the handsomest and bravest lads of
8t. Zlte. listened to lrtm and game ev
ery encouragement. It seemed ae If the
vtrangoness and unexpectedness of bis
woosug (asotnated her. Francois made
no seca-at of his courtship. It did not
seem to enter his mind that any one
would tAaunc or oppose it. He wewt ev
ery day to Lo. Ptgeounle, on She oppo
site side of the valley, where Berthe
lived with her parents; and every one
who chose could see him working with
her tsJ.itle she minded the goats on the
hilkHde. Plain us it was, however, and
much as peoplec were talking of it,
Francois’ parents seemed to know noth
ing about It. until one fine day he cama
along sard informed 'thorn :tihat Bt-rihe
Mazlere hurt consented to be his wife,
and that be had given up the ldtla of
being d. missionary.
"Tne news came on them like a thun
derclap, and at first they refused to
believe it. It was Impossible, they
said, after the monks had done so much
for him, that he would change bis pur
pose In life. TV> that he replied that
if he had in tils inexperience mistaken
his vocation, It was a good tiling he
had found ir out before he had taken
any Irrevocable step. Tills, however,
was but ohe of the objections Ills pa
rents raised. They were very avari
cious. Berthe had not a son. They
were devout Catholics, and the plero
Mazlere was an avowed freethinker.
But Francois had his answers ready.
He could qualify, he said, as a school
master, and earn sufficient to be inde
pendent of Ms parents before he mar
ried; <and aa to the free-thinking, he had
convinced Berthe of the error of that,
and she had been to mass regularly
for weeks. . ..
"The afc.bot, however, would not lis
ten to reasoning of this sort. He
maintained that an irrevocable step
had been. taken when Francois, after
his first communion, had vowed to de
vote his life to the service of the church,
and that an alliance with fttheiflta
would only make hie apostacy the
blacker; and then by nil the threats of
all the puroishmente in his power he
tried to bring his former pupil back
to the allegiance from which he iiaa
BVV ‘Francois was, as I have said, no
friend of mine, but in those days I
fert truly sorry for him. It was dread
ful to see the conflict which went on
in him between the great love which
had suddenly filled hie heart, and the
fears which the (Father Abbot soon suc
ceeded In raising up in his conscience.
All the while, too, he had to bear his
parents* reproaches, who lived in dread
that the monks would turn them out
of the house which had been their home
for generations. Still lie would not give
in—not even when the abbot excom
municated him solemnly after mass on
the Feaet of the AsBumption. If, how
ever, his will held good, his body nnd
mind werej unable to stand the strain
of the constant struggle in w-hich he
was engaged. Before the end of the
long holidays he Was worn to a fchadow
of his former eelf. He-could uot eat,
or sleep, or rest; hie dark eyes burned
like fires in his bloodless face. His
Strength broke down utterly, and Ue
could no longer drag his weary limbs
up to La Plgonnie. . .. . ...
•‘Of course Mime. Qajvarlaud forbade
Berthe to eniter her house, so the lovers
used to meet eametkms on the hillside,
under itlhe .pine trees where too Crolix du
Border -naw dtjunds: at either times it
fell to my tot to (be tho mMssenger be
tween 'them, though to my heart I hated
the thought of my pretty cousin giving
up all ItBvat Bho might have had to a
love -which oould waver make her truly
tasippy. But her-, one word won that
Francois was free to marry' - if he
chose, und. she bora her dhare of the
trouble bravely, though hlo filling
health (troubled Tier oorely. Whhjt Would
be the ead of It? Would he die? Was
there no remedy? She thought ofmatty
thtntge, and one day, as the last re
source. She iwent to burn a taper In the
oUaipel yonder, and to pray that Fran
cois mighit recover from his strange dll-
neob. ■ lit le quite ImptWBObln to say what
the onid at heir story would Have been K
she had not gone to burn that taper. '
"She told me all olbout It ointerwards;
how she was bo deeiply absorbed with
her own thoughts as ohe enltere-1 the
Chapel I halt she did net notice whether
or nto It (was empty, and how sho went
straight to the altar, adjusted her taper,
lighted lit. wnd, kneeling down, began to
pray, WUsto, She had finished her first
paternoster, She looked up and saw that
her (taper Had gone out. Sho rcte, loos
ened tho wick, relighted It and knelt
dawn again; but as she watched It the
flame sputtered and struggled and W*ra*
out again—It semdd os If the Holy Vir
gin. itb whom sho was praying, would
none of her pmyets. Bhe persevered,
however, but always with the bamc
in-suocesa. 'till at Inst when, for the
ni'rtlh (Stole, her taper refused to burn,
she dashed lit on to bho ground, and
sank down weeping hysterically In front
of the altar.
“ ‘Do not cry so bitterly,’ said a Y ■
beside her; ‘your caudle onfly iwenlt out
because Vt is badly made.’ . .
"She looked up startled, end saw
Klanding beside her the mum whom we
afterwards nailed Che wizard. He did
not look In the toast like a wizard. He
warn a toll, well-built man of about llve-
aurt-tihlrty. with a kind face and large
gray eyes, which seemed to look you
through and through. He explained to
Dni'the tbait be had bem slMtni? by the
door as She came in. ilhat he had been
■watching her, and that he understood
pciotly why the cundle had gone out.
But Berthe could ndt accept tlie explan
ation. It seemed »U- of a piece with
the rest of her Mi-kick lliialc the taper
should go out to. (halt mysterious man
ner; Sira said os much. and. went on
crying. Then toe stranger, nolle by lit
tle. she could lnnily toll how, drew the
Story of her trouhl from her, and when
he had heard it he told her that even
It her taper had not burnt, her visit
TO the ohrlrra need not be fruitless; that
he was a doctor from Paris, Jacques
Iteyriiudje by name, Unit Ills skill lay
chiefly On dealing -with such oases ss
Ficnctjls'. and that he was 3laying in
St. Zlte long enough to make an at
tempt at treat to help Him. The end of
it wtu that Berthe brought her new
aoquaMOance down to the Inn. and
wMle he explained Mtnself to the Sava-
riiuda. she ran around to find me In the
stable, istone I was milking, and to tell
me the whole story.
“ 'Fancy, (Mamin.’ she cried, when oho
had told It to nve. fancy a great doctor
—a. real gentleman—coming and talking
Him ilhat to a por girl like me, ojtii
fancy If heoures Francois of hto-fever
and sleep! ensues*, which I flrfhly be
have he wMl. Oh. Martin, come and
hoivw a took alt him. he ie so haivjsome.
I never saw anyone so handsome."
"My pell of milk was ready to carry
to the house, so I went, nothing loath,
to see this monsieur about whom she
was so excited. But as I reached the
threshold Of the houseplsoe, I stood
still, snd so did Berthe; for what we
saw was quite beyond our experience
or our comprehension; There sat Fran
cois in tha corner of the settle, leaning
liaak In an attitude of repose, while
the strange doctor stood In front of him
holding his hands and gazing fixedly In
his eyes. Ira pere 6&varisud and his
wife stood near the window with as
tonished faces. No one was moving,
and tbe 'only sounds in the kitchen
were the ticking of the clock and the
buzzing of the files. I knew but little
of doctors, etui I felt that this doctor,
with bis calm, masterful face, was
something quite out of the common.
The mygjtes slipped on; aUH nothing
moved, and no one spoke, the doctor
never turned Ms eyes from those of
Francois I began to feel quite un
canny. Then all at once I saw that an
extraordinary change had come over
Francois’ laos. He bad not looked so
peaceful and untroubled for many a
day. The emotion, the mental anguish
which had tortured him to long seemed
to have burned themselves our, the
calm restfulneas of the stranger seemed
to be taking possession of him. Ho
was leaning bis held tranquilly against
the back of the settle, every nervous
movement stilled, while his eyelids
drooped softly over his eyes. He raised
them once or .twice, and fhen—was It
possible? He was asleep, asleep as a
child lulled by its mother’s cradle song.
In his eyes. You are a aorcerer.’
’’Then the stranger looked round.
His face was pale, and beads of perspi
ration stood ou't on his forehead.
" ‘So fur so good,’ he said, smiling
at Berthe. ‘Now some one come mat
help mo carry him to Ills b-d. Y'ou
need not be afraid of waking him; he
will sleep till' tomorrow.’
’’ ’What have you done to him?'
asked le pere Savarlaud angrily, ns ho
obeyed. ’It Is not natural to send a
man to sleep like that by looking him
In his eyes. Y'ou are a saucorer.’
“ "Don't call bad names, mon bravo.’
s.V.d tlhe htrangor, laughing, 'and keep
jour displeasure for toose. who deserve
It,' ,mrt toon he wont oh ."to explain
to us lltfat a few doctors In Purls, of
whom he was one, had discovered a
way of making a man sleep by Influ
encing Ms will, and this, he said, was
a very good remedy In eases of men
tal disorder,' such as 'that of Francois,
where the briiin was becoming ex
hausted for tvmt. of sleep. 'And now,'
he added. ‘I WK1 give a few directions
Which must be carefully obeyed. My
patient must be allowed to sleep un
disturbed 1111 I come to raise him do-
morrow, and when he Is .awake all
agitation,must be avoided for him.
For Instance, It will be welt, made
moiselle, that you sftouri not see hem
for the present. I will (take c»re Shat
you have news of his progress. My
cure requires three weeks. Will you
allow one as long to try and effect It?
I assure you that besides the gain to
your son, Which you esn easily sen nnd
:ipprec-.Laite, his cure. If I 'bring it u'bmi:.
will be an extremely Important step In
my career.’
"So it was settled IWut'Mon. Reynuu-
d1e should do his best toy this myste
rious procees to restore Francois to
health, «wd Berthe went homo feeling
very pleased with her afternoon's ad
venture.! - ,
“During the next (three weeks Berthe
never came nenr St. Antoine, nor did
I happen to meet her when I was down
ill the town. I Buppose M. Reynauule
carried her nil the nows of Francois,
•Whlbh was oerMln’.y very wonderful
news. Every evening he came to the
inn, and In a. shorter time every even
ing ho cast Francois Into the deep,
dreamiest sleep Which we (had seem
settle down on hiftn (Hat' first after
noon; nnd every (morning Francois
awoke refreshed and cylmed In mind
and 'body. His 'appetite returned, his
nervous lrrltnlbllily almost disappeared,
his step grew firm again, Mb eyes loet
their wild expression, and his face
regained its natural outline and color.
Every one was talking of his cure, and
Mon. Hey Mud lo was already famous
In St. Zlte under toe sobriquet of .the
sorcerer, tout the father abbot de
nounced the cure cut Impious. In fact,
Pranoolti was Hot likely to find his po
sition less difficult as he recovered,
and many people Wrought that tlhe
monks would carry toe way after alt.
My own opinion iwUs that FranOots
would bold out.
"The allotted three weeks waa nearly
over, when one day at market I found
Berthe sitting at her fruit-stall, looking
Paler and gloomier than I had ever seen
her.
" 'Bon Jour, Berthe,' I cried; 'what
on earth Is the matter? I thought 1
should Bee you radiant with happlncBs.
Has not your strange doctor told you
whnt good his spells have worked fbr
Francois?’
‘”YeH,’ she replied, ‘he .has told me;
besides, T have seen It for myself.
Francois has been up nt La Pigeonnle.’
" ’Then why don’t you look more
cheerful?’ I asked;
" ’For the beet of reasons,’ ehe re
joined. ’Certainly Francois' visit was
not calculated to make anyone ohter-
ful.’
“There were tears In her eyes ns sho
spoke. I wondered If Francois had be
gun to weary of his strahgc betrothal.
“ ’Martin,’ ehe began again, ‘lias
Francois been talking' to you lately-
talking about me?’ ■
"I sjjook my head.
" ’I have seen but little of him lately,'
I said. 'He hits been so occupied with
magical cure.’ (
*’ ‘He has been occupied with some
thing else,' she replied. ’He has got rid
of one fever and caught' another. Ho
Is mad with Jealousy.’
" ’Jealousy!’ I exclaimed. 'And who
Is ho Jealous of?’
" ’Ah,’ she replied, 'that you would
never gue**—never.’
" ‘I sha’tl’t try,’ | rejoined. 'I’m not
good at guessing—besides, I know
yOu’Te given him no reason to be Jeal
ous.’
“ ’Don’t you be too sure, mon cousin;’
his eyes are Sharper than yours—but
whether or no, wo shall never be mar
ried now. I don’t know why I ever
promised to marry him. I suppose ills
wild, strange passion fascinated me.
1 thought I rared for him; but now
It all seems false and unnatural—al
most hideous. I feel as If I had come
to my trannes utter being dizzy. I told
him; so I told him it must all come to
(in end. You aren’t sorry, Marlin, I
know.'
’’ ’I’m scurry,’ I answered. ’But how
dfd Francois take It? Does he consent
to set you frete?’
" ’I don’t know.’ ehe said. T scarce
knpw hdw ho took It .My heart beat
so fist as I told Mm that I felt quite
flint. I toougiht at first ho was going
to strike me; I shut my eyes and cov
ered my face wffK my hands when I
looked up he was (walking away fast.
He never ovexi looked around. And
our betrothed was over and done with.
And now guess of whom he Is Jealous'
‘“I don’t think I could,’ I rep’ded.
as I thought of toe number of Berthe’s
adlmtrers.
“She came nearer to me nnd lowered
her voice:
,-“JltHe Mon. Reynardle, Martin,’She
whispered. ’He declares (that Mon. Roy-
naudle Has been making love TO me.
But It Is not true; It is a cruel lie.
Mon. Reymiddle only kept me from
going to St. Antoine (so tout he might
succeed toe better irito bis cure. Ills
one idea Is tb complete toe cure raid se
cure the. credit for this strange method
of Ms.’ Then her voice and her face
took an expression I cannot possibly
describe; it was so wistful and so
weary. ’If he only did care for me
ever so Kttle, how happy I Should be!
Perhaps I ought to be ashamed to nay
K but 11m not. I don’t oare If all tbe
wv«rld knows that I love Mon. Reyn.au-
die's Kttle finger more than Francois’
soul and body put trxgWJier.-
" ’Berthe!' I cried In dismay; *my
poor Berthe!'
" ’You moedn’t pity me,’ she said,
*1 aim free to.love him. I sun no longer
bound to Franaeiu. I shall love Mm
forever—even If he never speajes to me
agora. I toM Francois so hst night.
ThteJt was when he raised Ms band as
If lo strike me.’
'That evenlag Francois cams to me
at my work.
’’ ‘Martin,' he Ssid, ’I want you lo
take a message up to Ira Ptgeonhte
when you go home. I want Berthe to
come to our try sting place under the
pine tree tomorrow evening after sun
set.’ I atared at him iu : (imazemerrt.
•Don’t you understand me?’ ho went
on, ‘Tommorrow evening at dusk.’ .*
■"‘I understand,” I said slowly, ’but
I do not tIMiik Bertihe will come. I
Baw her yesterday. She bold me all.
1 ithiofk it wouM be better for her to
stay aiwuy.’
“ 'But (tie must come,’ he replied tm-
r rtoUSCy; ’she c.vrmot’ refuse me this.
have a Mat word to s.iy to tier. I
have Coved her more than my soul,
and I went onvay without 'A word
when she dealt me itMt terrible blow.
I have thought It over ever since. YVe
cannot part without any . tfitbwelf.
Thuit 'Would be loo much lo expect of
me.*
" 'Ana then,' I si 3d, 'shall you go
back to Clermont?' *.
" "To ClemnomtTf he repealed, ‘to
Clenmont? How can I tefi?. What does
It ima'tter?’ Then n bitter omlle came
over his face. 'Does.she ttiltik be will
marry her? Doea’ahe think 'that be
cause he has made a fool of her ho
will make (her his wife? No, Martin,
the likes of him (may trifle with the
likes of her, but he doesn't want lo
marry her: arid If the did. he should
not. I would 1'ikO' e.ire rtf tfiafl’
“Ho looked so cruel and vindictive
as he spoke that I made up my mind
uot to be far away from their tryst
tlhe next evening! I scarcely knew
what I feared, but it BeemCd Is If
Berthe (would not be eftfe with him
alone. I turned to go, When ho called
me back. , » • ^
‘Stay,’ he said, 'here Is a note for
Men. Reyimudle;! thore la no ttoagrar,
I suppose.’ he added, more to himself
than (to me, ‘(that some people might
say I uni Indebted to this man, but
nil I cufi Say Is that I (had far rather
hlive died Kaon then re Should have
come here to cure .me with his spela.’
"J carried my messages, snd tho next
evening at dusk I went down toward the
town to meet Berthe, and wo walked
back together to St. Antoine, snd then
on up among tho rockn to tholr trystlng
place. Just before wo come tn sight of it
I sat down nnd Bertho went on alone.
She had barely bad time to roach It when
her voice rang out In a piercing shriek,
which echoed from hill to hill, t sprang
up with trembling llrpbs. Why had 1 let
her go alone? What had befallen her?
Wh’y did I hear no further round? I
t.-'irrely dare pass tho last boulder which
hid her from mo. When I did 1 saw her
standing with outstretched hands against
tho fading evening sky. while at her f«et
lay a man's figure motionless with uplift
ed face. It was not Francois. I could
too that by Ills clothes. Who. then, was
It?
•• 'Berthe!' I cried, 'Berthe, speak. What
has happened?'
"Then she turned and said In » voice
I hardly recognized, It was no full of
horror and drapalr;
"Francois has spoken his last word to
mo. Martin. Sco what I have found wait
ing for me,’ and stooping over the pros-
trtato figure she tenderly raised the head,
and tn the half-light I saw the faco of
Jacques Reynaiidlo with the pallor and
agony of death upon It. ’Put your hand
on his heart, Martin.' Sho whispered. ’I
dare not.’
"When I obeyed hor I drew It back
haattly, dripping with blood.
"The trial of Francois Bavarlaud for
tho murder of Ur.' Jacques Roynaudlo
created a great sensation,. not only In
the neighborhood, .but all over Franco.
Great and learned men oamo to hln
burial and we learned that one of the
cleverest doctors of tho day had beon
cut oft nt tho.outset of a most promsllng
career. -t ■ ,
"The accused made no attempt to deny
the murder, nol-dtd ho offer.any defence;
still ho was not punished according to
the full rigor of tho law,' for thd doctors;
after some demur oh tho part of the
Judges, pronounced him' to be of unsound
mind. Ho died shortly afterward In a
prison for criminal lunatics. The trouble
and disgrace completely broke down the
poor old pere Savarlaud; He give up the
Inn and went to end his days somewhere
whore his Btory was not tho common
talk of everyone.
“It was Berthe who put up the crow
under the pine tree, and who planted
the rose trees round It. Bhe might have
married later on, but she never wavered
In her constancy to the. love which Had
cost her so much; and, though she Is
now quite an old woman, she climbs the
hill once a week to tend tho (lowers that
grow by tho Croix du. Sorcler.”—All tho
Year Round.
THE STARVING NAVAJOH.
Herbert Welsh Ascribes Their Sad Con
dltlon Jo False Economy,
Herbert Welsh, secretary of the Indian
Rights Association^ 130S Arch street, haa
Just received a letter from Capt. Con
stant Williams of tho Seventh Infantry,
acting agent for the Navajo Indiana, Fort
Defiance, Art., showing the necessity tot
Immediate action looking to tho rellof
of tlio Navajos. Capt. Williams says:
''These peoplo, formerly so proKpsroua
for Indians, have met with a series ot
minfortunes In tho general failure of their
crops In tho last two years and In tha
recent great fall of the prloe of wool,
the majority having nothing In tho way ot
food to carry them through the winter
and spring. Tho destitute ore living on
the charity of those who have something,
but the resources of those latter will soon
bo exhausted, being very limited. All ot
them will have to face starvation unless
Homo speedy provision bo made for tholr
relief. I have urged the commissioner of
Indian affairs to uk for on Immediate
appropriation of JSS.OOO, to bo expended
for thetr subsistence until next season’s
crops mature, and for tho purchase of
needs and farming Implements and for
tho Improvement of their farms. If you
will come to tha assistance of these poor,
helpless peoplo you will do a good ae.
tlon."
Mr. Welsh adds: "What la now needed
la an earneat entreaty from humane peo
plo all over the country asking tho com
missioner of Indian affairs to request tho
appropriation called for by Capt Will
iams, and asking representatives In tho
house and senate to gTant such appro
priations. nils threatened calamity has
(„•' n known to im us approaching for
some time. We endeavored last year to
get on appropriation for tho farming Im
plementa referred to by Copt. Williams,
but, owing to a policy of false economy
then dominant In congress, failed to ac
complish our object. It Is now for tho
people of tho United States to determine
whether Uie*a Indians shall be obliged to
stare or steal, or whether their immediate
necessities (shall be relieved and the earn
est disposition which they have manifest
ed to support themselves by honest labor
be encouraged.”—Philadelphia Times.
TWO LIVES SAVED.
Mr*. Phoebe Thomas of Junction
City. UL, was told by her doctors she
hod Consumption and thaJt there was
no hope for her, but two bottles of Dd.
King's New Discovery completely
cured her, and sho says It rnved her
life. Mr. Thomas Eggera, 11? Florida
street, San Pmaclsoo, suffered from a
dreadful cold, approaching Consump
tion, tried without result everything
else, then bought one bottle of Dr.
King's New Discovery, and In two
weeks was cured. He le naturally
thankful. It la such results, erf which
User,? are samples, that prove the won
derful efficacy of Ihle medicine In
Coughs and Colds. Flag trial bottle* tit
H. J. Lamar A Son’s Drug Store. Reg'
ukr size 60c. and IL I
FIRES.
SOME ANCTHNT FORTUNES.
'A gray, rU'w, bleaik tfay in February
•«t day during 'which tho world Is
bounded by a dame af darkened white,
In whldh vograi)t winds conve howling
and shri-ekhig down from bhe nwun-
Mins with suggestions of snow and
ico and hurling before ‘them wispa of
ewrap mist. The eyes are dripping wa
ter disconsolately and irregularly as
it the buildings had intermittent pe
riods of grief and were shedding Surge
tears on general principles. Globules of
moisture clun'gin’g to leafless limbo,
swinging in cold, oieuir desolation up
on tine under sides of the leaves of the
hardy evergreens, as If ‘the demoniac
burlesque of tho dew drops of the
spring and suimmcr, gathering even on
the deed stalks and withered potuis of
•the brave flower* which, gallanty
flaunted their colors and theor reics
of summer •mwmtav und sunshiny
weather in tihe very face of itihe frost
and were struck dawn and killed for
their temorbty and left hanging with
out color or shape.
On a day like this ttmglno imhn or
woman croucQvlng before a hearth *n
which iflhero is little warmth, or none,
(imagine ithe. woman.brooding over the
charred wood and the blackened em
bers, while the green logs at their
ends 6lng in mournful cadence of the
vigor and the beaiutles ana tho glories
af long ago, of the lost life end Bap of
the summer time ,of Che goCd and red,
the crimson und yellow uavd green of
autiumn. When tho lire slnss mourn
fully and the daylight comes through
the windows gray 'and dump ftnd deso-
(ate, the woman o<r -the «nan'brooding
over chuimd logs and flaane fflihtly
flickering, listening to the melancholy
singing of tho green wood .telling of
tho lout ibeauties otf summer, of the
banished glories of fall, may well think
bitterly and auJOy upon the lost beau-
(ties, of the banished glories of tho
eprinc? and summer lime and autumn
of life. It ds upon tlhe mournful singing
and black chairing af <the wood and
amid the gray, dainvp, Weak light fill
ing through the windows thuit ithe evil
spirit of discontent ,tho vague, dark
memories dt ‘tlhe might have been, the
hetvvy ehqdaws of 'the ldst and gono
gather thickly and oast dense mints
upon the heart. - .
But there are other aspects of the lire
the Are coming from nohting, gain* to
mounting, appearing, serving, us an! van
ishing. It Is tho neanfist to actual llie
arid being <we can create, it f«» ihe nno
thing which springs to Mfe and acilivn
under our hands. With -the stroke «Jf a
Htble stick, brown, red or blue-headed,
with -the breath from our lungs upon a
smouldering ember, we can call it to
life and action und tremendous possi
bilities of blessing or destruction. It v*
no wonder that our anceotons rever
enced und worshiped fltv and made
obelrlance to Ot-na a god. It smoulders
and lingers oo, comes ao myoterlouflly,
ft goes completely beyoud our knowl*
lmg, it roars and ravages and leap# eo
flercaly and canto Ms crimson imasaefl so
wantonly upon <the air, arid flpemda It
self no wllld'ly in smoke rising fast on
the htMitoi atmeetphere, that it may
readily he imagined ao the incarnation
of the oplrlt of evil and desolation and
destruction.
And yet how fbOUQicly and dwvwfully
arid happily It ro*axs and crackles In the
broad chimney where the big logs, lie
aci’0138 the andirons, how gleefully tho
opuirks ohaoe each other up Into ,lho
sooty dankneos, •how gracefully the
Arooke blUowo, how 'the crimson nnd
•bluo and white flame* vle-wUh each
other ao they curl And twist-and rise
and fatSl In a mad medley of life and
motion! How comfortably “tho coal Are
glows, woollier It bo tho fluctuating
leaping of the "soft coal" or the 8tco«w
i'hlnlng of the anthracite with Ita Infin-
of j/jcjturca amid realizations of dreams.
Dickens in one of his be»t novels makea
one of the nobloat and sweeuwt or hln
picture*! made by tho fire; but Dtckea*
wfth all hla riotous power of imagina
tion, never know the 'tblnge which
young nnd loving eyes looking Into tho
Iona ao itivn bands of Wght> cnee© about
flro of wood br coal, fashion from tho
shine behind the hearth, from the Mack
rookfi a« they yield to 'the Invisible be*
potent apUrlt of the heat and mio&t into
taintuttko vkdons.
To and fro. to and fro, forward nna
backward, the young mother rocks her
fle'.f and tho first baby, her eyes girth*
tiring from the firelight dreams and
picture* which wKl live In her soul.
Around tho chimney, or the grate, ae
the ctwe may be, the growing brood
gathers, with tho loving care of moth
er, the anxious love of father, reflecting
the. lights flrom logs or coni.
To the uttermoflt confines olf the
earth, if fate so will it, that light Will
bo carried. Bo it to the tropic countries,
where fruits harig ripe always nnd
there la eternal summer, or to the cold
zones where lee nnd snow make the
landscape—najo of us can tell where
tiro children wo be*et or brine forth
will he. Wherever or however It mey
he. the light given nt tho fireside will
live, whether it bo tho light of the
chimney roaring nnd crackling with Its
pile of blazing wood, the softer light of
the coal fire or the dubious warmth of
the charred and singing log».
We aro not. firo-worahlpct*. we «l'
no adoration to Uin sun because we look
beyond the sun lo him who mode It,
hor to the fire because wo know there is
one who ordained oral created the fire.
Nevertheless, wo like to think‘that I heTO
Is iwmehtlng in the fire which la ntet
lost; i ha ( ton Its hi of th<-flro oauctii. «*
thelovlng. brooding eyes which lotik on
It flora ie.’ r id" ind vnntoli I'lrovc; than,
toe sparkle and rush and roar or stoady
glowraf the h'omc fire does not go wldo
upon”he alir to ho lost, but lingers In
human »oula nnd thonightH and (rives
warmth nntd light and hopa and beauty
at tha last.
About many flressldes there nre
empty places. Whether they ho by
death or absence, we llko to think that
the glow of the fire caught by (Jyes
which looked Into U often liven yet—
that In the hereafter hearts arc living
and could are yearning for the broken
fireside groups left here—that across
wldo stretches of land and rolltara
oceans loving hears may yet and al
ways carry (he light of the flro upon
the family hearth and warm to Its (re
collections.
-Keep It stirred and cheerful. Make
sure that the memory of the home hearth
will live brightly, whether In the world
beyond or In distant parts of this world.
Let the mojher rocking her firit horn
and brooding and dreaming upon the flro
shining upon her eyes and renreted (With
in her soul, and too mother gathtrlng her
brood about her and the father looking
upon wife and children—let them all gath
er something of the genial, wholesome,
loving, home spirit of the fire at It blazes
or glows behind too hearth,and In warmth
of love and kindliness, In beauty ot Ufa
and purpose. In kindness of spirit. In far-
reaching charity and in benevolence of
thought and purpose touching every
weakness and sin and riiortcomlng ot
humanity, glva forth strength and light
and warmth.-A. B. Williams In Green
▼file <B. C.) Nows.
USE HOLMES’ MOUTH WASH.
Prepared by
Sr*. Holmes A Mason, Daortlatra
IM Mulberry Btre*.
It euree bleeding gum*, uloer*. tore
mouth, sore throat, clean* tb* team and
purifies tb* breach, rpr MU* JK atl
i druggist*.
Extravagances ot 'Millionaires and
Spendthrifts of Otasito Times.
In ‘those days, when so much notice Is
taken of millionaires, it may not be out
of place to"recall a few of ithoea of
anolenlt times. It la known that In As
syria" there wero lange masses of gold,
and ’that Darius received In tribute
from Persia as much ns 616.250.00o. Tb*
sacred writlnigs itcgl that Solomon was
Immensely rich, that silver was abund
ant In Jwuealem. arid ilhat In one year
the king received from Hiram 300 tat-
end* of goto, equal to 310.250.000.
In Greece, Croesus possessed In land
ed 'property a Ibriuno equal to 35.360,000,
beside* a large sum of money, slaves
and furniture, which amounted to an
equal sum. He used to say toait a dll-'
zen who had not a fortune sufficient to
support an anmy or a loglon diu not de
servo (the title of rioh muti. The svenMJt
of Pyihen'o -was ostL'matkil at 315,000,000.
The poilosndier Qsowt acquired Im-
mortise wcaSth under his wpll. Nero,
but hu was afterwards put to death by
the tyre ns and Ills fortune of 312.500.000
confiscated. The wealth af Lcmulluo,
tihe soothsayer, was estimated at 317.-
600.000.
The debts of stole of the greit per
sonages ot ancient (times, were enor
mous. Those of Milon amounted to
33,000,000. Julius Caesar, before he en
tered office, owed 316,000,000; be pur
chased the .friendship of Curto cor 32.-
600,000. amid ‘that of LucUrs Pantos for
37,500.000. At tho time of 'Cmuur’s oeuas-
Klnrilou . Anthony was In debt to too
amount of 37,500,000. This sum. which
he owed in tho idea of March, wns paid
before the kalends of April, and ho
(squandered 3117.000,000 of toe puhlta
treasury.' '
AuKtixtus .oibtnOncd by leetaprswitary
dlrpoeiton an much an 3100.00ii.000. Tho
Romnn emepror, Tiberius, at 'hti death
left 3118.000,000, which CuHwula uoeait
in less than twelve months. Wo have
no auoh lnstunce of a modem spend
thrift. One supper alone ecu; h'.ln
3160,000. VcspiMaii on ascending 'too
thra-ve. estimated fits expenses at 317.-
600.000.
, Julius Caesilr gave Sorvla, tho mother
of Brutus, d pearl valued :lt 3100,000;
and Anthony, fit au entertainment
given him by Cleopatra, Is s.tld to have
wetlltawed one of equal value, which
she dissolved In vinegar.
Claudius Aodoptui, the comedian, ac
cumulated an Immense fortune and
was very expensive In his manner ot
living. His son Claudius mis noted for
Ills luxury, extmvag.tnco and prodi
gality, and, hot being able to KCt rid
of his money fast enough, swallowed
a prarl worth 310,000. The emperor Hi-
llogpttulu* cpent 3100.000 on one imppar.
Tho fish from the fish pond of Lucul-
lus, a Roman gci.cral, remarkable for
his great wealth and magnificence, aohl
for 1176,000.
MlBilllft gave 3200,000 for tho house of
Anthony. Scaurus wits Immcnwely rich;
Ills country house was destroy’d by
fire, and tho loss estimated at 34.230,000.
Otho, to finish a part of Nero's palace,
spent >2,100.000. Clo;ro had a great
number of fine houses In various parts
of ItHly, tome reckon up to eighteen:
flit, with the exception of the family
sent nt Arplnum, built by hlnvMf. Bo-
sides tlliwe, ll" had wvlMl Hniall 1 iim
or resting place*, In, passing from ono
villa t > another.
Immehse sums wore somotlmoB spent
by the wealthy Romans mi tholr funer
al processions. No- fewer Ih.in COO
churches. • bearing IHo Imngra of the
deceased's ni\ccstor* nnd litatun of
other greet mem w<-re carried heforo
the corps,i ot MarccKus, nnd 1,000 tic-
fore that of ftyllj, beside* which tho
procession* were attended by Innumer
able nfinlelnns and sfhglng .wttmen,
ohnming the praises of the deceased.—.
Cincinnati Commercial Gazette.
INDIVIDUAL OUP8 ADOPTED.
In Uso ait BlocKIey nnd tho Pinladel-
pfliTa Hospitals.
Tho fiffrioemtos of Individual cups for
Oommutiion sorvtons have gained a zoal-
ons convert In Rot. T. <p. Pcurson, otrip-
lain ot too Philadelphia Hospital nnd
Almshouse, who hits Introduced tho uso
of tile individual cups tn those togtutth
lions. In 'speaking of tiro mntitor yes-
torclay 'Mr. Fcaixtim said: "Tho re
ligion of Christ Js crainoritly humane.
What Christ did In person wlion on
earth, m llouolilng too eyes of ,tho blind,
restoring the lame mu! Iron ling l1te s'.-k,
ho doe* now by too lwnellccin^ minis-
trlt* of tho (Jn*|M<. (Phis grenlt hospital,
nnd nil oUhOr (HtthttMi* for too relief
of huindn sufferings, tiro ihe oonoate
of ‘too gospel, und ton church should
lio.ll any advanced irinli* lu- «nl>|gMiucd
nwithods of medical Hclonco ns minis
tries of Christ tb bring' tho maimed mid
diseased ltilo harmony with too law* of
health, of nuiture, of God.
“In ifticso days of antiseptics it Is
rfionslrous in roll gnu* ceremony to
toittk of contagion or mfcotton. It can
be but ignorance or suporatltlon that
holds uk to methods toait refined Christ
ian clvillza-tlim ha* outgrown. In this
til" social nre f.ir tihivol Hi" ivl'.". ,:h
cttvmns. In tho family olrclo refined
rnSle (too* not permit a single cup for
too whole family; ondtn too soqlal olr-
olo wo do not give but one cup to nit
til" glK-SIK. ’I'll" ‘II'IW "f Hllll' Is II,rl.
suppress'd by giving each guest fils
own glass; nor should idle individual
cup nt the Tlnblo of tlm lord' destroy
or binder toe solemnity 'or beauty of
to" service, du Hi" ointr.iry, It *:i"i.l'l
help do more Intelligent - and' nearer
sympathy, and closer fellowship with
him who shftl bis own blood to redeem
suit".ring hunrinlty."—Pliil.iil-lpliia n,---
ord.
THE OLYMPIC (7.V51ES.
There Is n growing tendency among
tho people to tcolor" many features of
nnclent limes. Among tho most promi
nent movement m this direction Is an
attempt to restore In a largo measure
to" famous Olympic games of Greece.
This movement ortglnaied with Baron
de ConfbTthi of (Paris, who, with (he
assistance of delegates from aid na
tions, has (arranged for these Interna
tional con traits Hu all the manly sports.
A* Greece was the scene of the friend
ly rivalry if (he and-m*. Ath.-nM his
been se'jeetert as the tAv,'" alt which to
hold the first of the restored Olympic
contests, and (ateoardibgly the opening
scenes of this restored ancient custom
will be enacted In 1836 as far as prac
ticable on too same spots where ihn
Greeks used so struggle for tho mas
tery In ihe long gone past. The game*
are to be celebrated quUdriennlally,
and In 1900 they wt'1 be one of the
Interesting features of the Paris expo
sition. In 1604 they will probably be
held In America, and they will be
uhongral from country to country unlit
rbe round of the I Kill V-n* 1* completed.
The Ides toait inspires thin movement
and that underlie* all (he efforts be
ing mods In 1 Is behalf Is a, d-slre of
Its ortghrat'ir* h> foster a spirit! of
friendly rivalry among the nations of
the rarth In the Interest of (drawing
-their etttmfion os much ss possible
avert from too -thought* ot war and
hostility.