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JOURNAL AND MESSENGER
THE FAMILY JOURNAL—NEWS—POLITICS- .LITERATURE—AGRICULTURE—DOMESTIC NEWS^Exc.—PRICE $2.00 PER ANNUM.
GEORGIA TEL APH BUILDING
ESTABLISHED 1826.
MACON, FRIDAY. MARCH 17, 1882.
-
VOLUME LYI-NO H
31AGHAEKX.
BY 13EX B. KEXFOBD.
Lift her up, men, from her slumber,
Ult her up gently. I pray:
Onre she wu stainless snd loYely,
Kiiilcw. and falra* the day,
But in the ways of the erring,
Karly her footsteps were led, .
And her life’s pathway was downward-
Now she's at rest with the dead.
Turn the white (ace to the sunlight.
Ah, what cold beauty Is there;
Cold as a statue In marble,
White and exquisitely fair!
Who, If they looked at the features,
Hiding the darkness within,
4)h, who could think of such beauty,
Linked to such hideous sin.
Bmnoth bock the hair from the forehead,
Yellow and shining as gold;
Kec, through its soft, silken meshes,
Kunshine wore in with each fold.
Somewhere I have seen, I remember,
A face that was strangely like this;
Ah, I know now—one sweet summer.
Sweet with delirious bliss.
How, when I look bock toward It—
That sweetest summer of life -
How my heart stirs with emotion,
Tears and my pride are at strife.
She that I knew was as sinless.
Pure, and as good as a child—
Is this hor life-wreck before roe.
Kin-tarnished; scorned and defiled T
Oh, what a story of sorrow.
Clings to this wreck of a soul—
Trial, temptation and struggles.
'Ciainst fate too stem to control I
Is there a mist tier the morning?
.Somehow my sight has grown dim.
While 1 hare looked on this pale face,
Sad as a burial liymn.
Cover the face from the sunlight—
Hide her away from the day—
<lod, in his merciful pity.
Grant her His pardon, I pray.
Creat was her sin and her error—
Clod lias more pity than men,
He can forgive the sinning.
Of even a poor Magdalen.
THE HUT OH THE MOOR,
BY E. LYNX LINTON.
No one knew liow It could have hap
pened, but there it was. Nature had
made a blunder, tripped over her own
boundaries, broken her own laws. The
heir of the great Armstrong family of
liolme Wood might have been a diange-
ling for all the likeness to bis progenitors
traceable In mind or features; and had he
been born a couple of centuries ago bis
want of direct resemblance would bave
certainly coat more tban one life on the
plea of witchcraft and diabolical trans
position.
JIugh Armstrong, his father and tho
head of the family, was a tall, hearty,
florid, magnificent looking fox hunter,
with the frame of an athlete and the
head of a prize-fighter; and Julia, Ills
mother, as tall, as hearty, as florid and »s
magnificent as her husband, was like a
white-armed and deejWireasted Juno in
hat and habit, with the flush of the north
ern breeze on her comely checks and the
gray of the northern skies in her calm,
fixed eyes.
They were the handsomest couple in
the county, and tho most popular. He
was master of the hunt, she was mistress
of society and the foremost patroness of
all the locsl charities; he set the ball
agoing among men, and she kept it in the
right line with the womeu; be was the
ideal of an English country gentleman
and she was the ideal of that English
country gcntlcman’rf wife. They were
people who enjoyed themselves, and did
their dnties without stint or failure, and
who had neither a donbt nor a care,
neither a fear nor a pain outaido>lbat one
irretrievable mistake of their son. And
that was a mistake which no arguments
would Justify, soften or explain.
Imagine, as the sou and heir of such
people as these, a pale, thin, enthusiastic
•dreamer who abhorred fox bunting and
would not kill even a pheasant—a student,
siot an athlete—with black hair, dark,
dreamy, melancholy eyes, a skin, not
wholesome red and white after the English
pattern, but olive-tinted in the shadow
and cream-colored in high lights; a
creature looking as much like a Spanish
poet as it was possible for a Northman to
be—locking, too, like one who had como
from some far away place into a foreign
land and a s.range clime whence he knew
neither himself nor bis surroundings.
Was it a wonder, then, that he was a
cross to his parents, or that be had been a
sorrow from the first? Nothing about
him harmonized with their manner of
being, and tho bricks out of which be
built bis temple when set against theirs
wero all crop-cornered and askew. The
strong open-air life and generous physical
enjoyments which were so necessary to
them, were both barbarous and degrading
to him; and the studies which made his
happiness were to them foolishness or
worse, lie had adopted all tho new
views, while they were not only content
with the old, but sure that everything of
modern invention was diabolical when
not insane. He was an advanced Liberal
and an enthusiastic evolutionist—they
were Tories oi the deepest dye and be
lieved in the separate creation of moths
and butterflies, and the absolute differ
ence of man from all the lower animals.
He looked on sport as cruelty and vivisec
tion as a righteous necessity—they main
tained that the very foxes enjoyed the
run, and that the man who would torture
a rabbit for the sake of science and hu
manity was only fit to be strung up to the
next tree. He stigmatized the game laws
as an iniquity belonging to a primitive
civilization—they held t poacher as woisa
than a murderer. • He boldly proclaimed
lus intention, when he came to the estate,
of throwing open the preserves to all
comers; of shutting Iris gates so that no
hunt should pass through his land; of
granting leases to his tenants which
should make their farms virtually
. their own for life—aud they looked on all
•these things as Communism, high treason,
and atheism. But what could be done
with a young fellow who talked of
“protoplasm” and “mind-stuff” as if he
understood his own foolish words? Who
doubted the philosobliy of Paley, and had
a godd word to say for Hume? Who be
lieved in universal brotherhood aud the
further lusiou of classes? He made the
blood ot liis handsome father—six loot,
two in bis bedroom slippers—turn hot
And colfwith horror at bis perversities,
and his mother's calm gray eyes flame
with indignation at his follies. Bui he
stood by his iniquities manfully, and they
had to accept them if they accepted him.
He was a cross, and they did not deny
that fact to themselves or to others.
Nevertheless be was their son. And bad
as he was, lie was not bad all through.
Outside bis principles—heaven save the
mark! they thought with contemptuous
compassiou— be was a nice creature
enough for his lost kind. They despised
his kind from the bottom of their hearts,
but thev could not hate him, nor yet ban
ish him from their presence as Clarence
Armstrong, Hugh’s younger brother,
wished and advised.
The next of kin and heir to the estate,
failing Julian, was Clarence, who cher
ished tho most profound dislike for this
unworthy twig or the brave old tree. T et
even with him it was not personal so
much as social—less because of the boy
as an individual than because of that
family pride which he, Claience, wor
shipped, and lie, Julian, discarded. The
good management of the estate and the
good name of the Armstrongs were the
central point of existence to Clarence,
and knowing as he did that both would
he lost in Julian’s hands, his one desire
was to dispossess the recreant heir that |
things should be administered with all I
regard tc the fetish of old tradition. He •
would keep up the honor of the house i
which his nephew would destroy; he '
would root out all those pernicious doc
trines which simply inflamed the masses,
and which, if not cnecked, would send
England to the deuce—and Julian would
plant, foster and nourish them; he would
teach the base scum the difference between
them and the gentry—and Julian would
mix up everything into one abominable
hodge-podge, where Jack would be as
good as his master and Joan would rank
with her lady. Thus it came to be a
matter of almost life and death to him
that bis nephew should be prevented
from ever entering on his rightful inherit
ance.
Clarence did not quite see how this was
to be done, but time, a good cause and a
strong will work marvels, and he trusted
to these three as to the Fates who would
put ail straight, aud somehow snap off
the thread that was now sucli an innar-
monlous strand running through the clear
Armstrong web. But the father and
mother, while always deeply deploring
the strange twist that had been given to
their boy, ever refused to send him abroad
under surveillance and ia disgrace, as
Clarence so constantly suggested. It was
their own, their son, their heir, their rep
resentative—a sorry one truly, but still
their own. And though they did not love
him as they would have done had be been
more, congenial to their tastes, they did
not quite want to lose him; and though
young nugb, Clarence's eldest son, bore
the family name and was an Armstrong
every inch of him, still he was only a
nephew—and Julian was the child of
their ljve. Wherefore they kejrt him at
home, and contented themselves with
rating him soundly when things went
worse tban usual with him, and bo was
more than ordinarjte M.<£urd; but such as
he him as well as
they"couId—TSEtiI 1 that he was their
cross.
So tho time passed. Jubau went to
college; took a fairly good degree, but in
no wise one of such brilliancy as a’oned
for his failure in caste-righteousness and
family duty. Had he carried off all the
honors they would have forgiven some of
bis follies, but the truth was, the young
fellow was mors of a dreamer tban a
worker—an enthusiast for ideas rather
than a seeker after facts—aud he cared
more to spout at the debating club, and
lay down tho law on all debatable social
points, than sit in his own room aud
master the difficulties of tiie Greek artist
atid the differential calculus. Now all
this was bad enough. An Armstrong,
who held unsound views on the game
laws, the laud laws and the rights of
men, and who had not made a sky-rocket
of himself at college, was an infliction
almost past endu-ance; but worse remains
behind—and that worse was almost im
possible to bear.
The game-keeper’s pretty daughter!
Ah! what misery for the family at Holme
Wood lay in the fact that Debby Scam-
bier bad a face and figure more like the
face and figure ot a classic Oread than of
an ordinary English country girl; that
she was good aud modest, virtuous and
affectionate; that she was brave and pure,
lovely and sincere! She was really a most
rare and precious creature, counting her
humanity as more valuable tban her social
class. The most determined contemner
of the people must have confessed that
she was supreme in her own way; but to
the Armstrong family site was as hateful
as if she had been Caiibau’s twin sister
and Hecate’s favorite daughter. And her
name—Debby Scambler! What mattered
her heautitul soft hair, like ripe nuts in
the sunshine—her large, limpid, haze!
eyes—her cheess with their peach-like
bloom—her lips with their “Cupid’s bow”
for outline, their flesh as soft and smooth
and red as cherries; what mattered her
sweet voice and her nymph-like form,
when she was only a gaiue-keeper’s
daughter aud was called Debby Scam-
blei? Her very name was a disgrace, as
Ler birth and parentage were social sins—
made so by the fact that Julian Arm
strong, of Holme Wood, was in love with
her and meant to make her his wife.
Had he been in love with her, without
meaning to make her bis wife, even then
the shame would have been sufficient;
but as things were, bis love for the girl
was the last drop in tho cup of bitterness
and the parents refused to swallow it.
There was no glossing over an unpleas
ant truth, or diplomatically biding his
time with Julian. What lie had to say
he said at once, going straight to the
point, without circumlocution or conceal
ment. As soon as he had made it clear
to himself and Debby that’ he loved her
and had heard that she loved him in re
turn, he made it clear also to his father
and moliitr. In less tban half an hour
after he bod taken her first kiss, and
given bis own faith, he revealed this
notable secret to bis parents, and he re
vealed it with as much enthusiasm and
pride and delight as if he had gained the
love of a princess, and was to call a king
bis father-in-law; instead of which he
had only won the love of Debby Beam-
bier, and his future father-in-law was the
head game-keeper on bis own aucestral
estate. But it was the right kind of thing
altogether! be said, tossing back bis long
black locks. This fusion of the classes
was to be the true salvation of England—
this leveling up the only righteous revolu
tion. He was not only glad because he
loved Debby and she lo7ed him, but be
cause it was such an admirable occasion
for carrying out his theories—testing the
strength and worth of his Ideas. He was
lisppy as a mao, a lover, an experimental
ist, a philosopher; and he invited his
father to congratulate him on his choice
and his mother to be glad eveu as be was
glad.
“Ton are mad or worse,” cried Mr,
Armstrong furiously “If you marry that
girl you will break yonr mother’s heart!”
“No, my mother will learn to love her!”
said Juliau, with the heroism of infatua
tion. -she will live to thank am tats
giving her euch a daughter.”
“Is this folly or lnsolyme?” asked bis
father, looking at him cunbtuly.
“Neither,” Julian answered, meeting
that searching look with one as candid as
a child’s. “It is truth aud love.”
Hugh Armstrong turned away with au
impatient exclamation. He had loved
his wife—no man better, but then Julia
was bis fit helpmate. She was bis equal
in birth, fortune, education, condition.
There were no loose timbers in the matri
monial ship to threaten foundering or to
creak unpleasantly. But this affair of
Julian’s was a very different kind of
thing. This was unsound throughout—
net a timber that did not creak, not a
square inch that did not portend founder
ing. X ‘
“Troth and love!—rubbish!” said Hugh
contemptuously. “Understand me,” lie
then continued, turning back and speak
ing to bis son with hardness, anger, de
cision and impatience all m one. “If
you marry that girl you may live as you
will or as you can. I cannot prevent
your coming Into the estate, but while I
am alive not one sixpence shall find its
way from my pocket into yonrs.”
“That will be so much to the good of
my moral nature,” was the answer of the
incorrigible. “I shall learn a man’s
duties before me, and assume a husband’s
responsibilities.”
“Julian! how can you be so insane, so
wicked,” cried bis mother. If auylhing
she was even more disgusted tban his
father, and took the disgrace and shame
of the whole thing more to heart.
“I am not insane, and I am not wicked
in my love for Deborah,” said Julian,
sacrificing so much to the genios of the
moment as to givo his beloved’s whole
sonorous name. “She is noble, slie is
magnificent, and human worth is a higher
thing than mere caste aud fashion.”
“Hugh! be must be mad!” repeated his
mother, looking at her son with a com
passionate kind of suspicion breaking
through her iudignation.
“Mai cr not, if this thing goes on lie
must be banished from home,” said his
father sternly.
“I shall be grieved,” returned Julian,
“but I must wait In hope, and possess my
soul in patience. You will do me and
her justice in the end.”
“Leave the room, sir,” thundered bis
father. “Your insolence, your pedantry
arc Intolerable. Leave this room now—I
give you till to-morrow morning to know
whether you will have to leave the house
as well.”
“Father, you will be sorry for your
hardness. You do not know what an
angel of goodness you are rejecting,” said
Julian gently; but he obeyed the com
mand aud withdrew, leaving his two
handsome and unhappy parents in despair
at this untoward event, and without much
hope that their wrong-headed son would
see the errors of his ways—aud, seeing,
would amend them.
If they were outraged, what was Clar
ence? His indignation against hts nephew
went at far beyond theirs as his love fell
short, and had there not been the gallows
in the distance he would have put a pistol
to that disturbed and disturbing head
with no mare compunction than he would
have killed a weasel in the hen-roost, or
a canker-worm at the root of a sapling
oak. s
“He is insane, and be must be put into
a lunatic asylum,” said Clarence. “You
owe it to yourselves, to our family, and
our past, not to allow stteo a disgrace as
this to tultifv our Whole history. He
must be confined close—we have Case
enough for a aertificate.” ,
But the father and mother, though they
did not reject, did not quite indorse, the
suggestion. A badly married son was an
awful infliction to their family pride, tru
ly, but a mad sou was almost worse.
Between the two what comfort was left
them? And there was no chance of Ju
lian’s submission.
The next day found him as firm and
fixed as be bad beeu the day before. He
loved Debby Scambler and he meant to
marry her at ail costs; and neither tears
nor reproaches, neither p*ayers nor
threats moved him from ids resolution.
So that nothing was left to Hugh Arm
strong and his wife Julia, save the carry
ing out of their ultimatum, and the ban
ishment from home of the son who did
not respect the traditions of that home.
They could not keep him out of the
estate, hut during their lifetime they
determined that ho should enjoy liolliihg
which should uphold him in his wicked
ness, or make Jiis crooked path mure
straight or smooth.
“I do not know what I can do to earn
my daily bread,” said Julian with quiet,
halt melancholy philosophy; “but 1 will
do something. When you want me yop
can send for me; but until I am sent for
I shall not trouble you with my presence
again.”
And with this he left the old home, and
went up to London—that maelslorm of
youthful hope and energy and Incapacity
and despair—to see how best lie ciuld
make bis bread with never a trade nor a
profession at his fingers’ ends, and in a
world where competition is so fierce, aud
workers so much in need of work. It
had to be done. If he were worth any
thing be must show that he was able for
his life’s work—that he had strength and
energy enough to carry out ins plan, and
to justify his action of ability by his
maintaining his ground. He told Debo
rah to keep up both heart and faith; to
believe in him and to love him; to resist
all temptations that would he offered her
—temptations of wealth if she would
abandon him, of doubt in bis sincerity, of
belief in his death. She was to be stead
fast through everything, and in the end all
would be well. Ho would be faithful
and she must be firm, and together they
would conquer love and the world.
To all of which pretty Deborah said
“Yes,” weeping in her lover’s arras, and
feeling that her heart must break—it could
not bear so much despair aud not give
way. But hearts do not break, fn spite of
all that poets say and lovers feel; and the
two poor young people parted, and went
on living and eating and sleeping much
the same as usual, only very unhappy and
feeling very desolate. *
Of course James Scambler, Deborah’s
father, was againsttbe match. He was a
fine, sensible, faithful, kind of man, who
bad no false ideas in any direction.
“Like to like,” he said when Julian
spoke to him on tho matter; “he was dead
against all unequal pairings in manor
beast. Joe Williams, the senior game-
keeper, was the man to bis mind forDeby;
and she would bo better off iu everything
but money if she took him rather tlnn the
young squire for whom she was not fit.”
He set bis face like a rock against the
match, but what could he do ? Debby
was of age, and must marry with whom
she bad a mind. He would only forbid
all intercourse with the young squire, by
letter or by word of mouth alike, while
she was under bis roof; and for the rest
he was as powerless as the great folks at
the Hall itself.
All this he said to Juliau himself and
repeated to the squire aud his lady; and
as they wero fair minded people they con
fessed thalthey had no cose against him,
and that he was as little to be blamed and
as much to be pitied as themselves.
They took his word for ft that they
would keep Debby close; and they did
not dismiss him from their service, as at
Inkthaarthought they would have done.
When they thought more calmly
considered it would be better policy to
keep him on. They would have him
more under their own eye, as it were, and
would know Debby’s mode of life and
movements.
To all of which Clarence gave his as
sent. Ever revolving his plan in his own
mind, but taking no one at the Hall into
his confidence as to what that plan was.
One day, not long after Julian’s depar
ture, James Scambler received a letter,
telling him that an old uncle of his, who
lived at an unpronounceable place some
where in the heart ot the Welsh moun-
ta’ns, had died aud left him his farm, ^id
that be was to go down at ouce and take
possession. Surely it was Providence, he
said to himself with thankfulnoss and joy.
It was the way marked out for him by
Heaven itself to take him and his out ot
danger and a position that had become
almost Intolerably irksome to him. Proud
ana upright, it was a terrible thing for him
to be the father of the girl whom the
young squire fancied, and to feel in some
measure responsible for all the grief and
perplexity that had come on his masters
at the Hall through that fancy for his girl.
He was glad of this Order of Release; and
bidding Deborah mind the house and keep
indoors during his absence, he setoff for
this place with the unpronounceable name
to take up bis inheritance and prepare for
a new life which would, ho hoped, set all
difficulties at rest.
it was a wild autumn night when
James Scambler left bis borne, and Debby,
for the first time in her life felt afraid to
be alone. The wind raved among the
trees, aud the rain poured in torrents ou
the roof; but she fastened the door as well
as she was able—they were honest folks
in those parts, aud fastenings were not
very secure—and then she went upstairs,
and, all dressed as she was, laid herself
on her ’ bed, feeling somehow more at
home in her own little room than she did
down in the larger, darker kitchen below.
She could not sleep. How the wind
howled and roared! It was like a heavy
weight pressing against the walls, and
seemed as if it wonla have carried the
little house clean away. She felt as if
everything must be swept off like So much
dust and chaff, while the rain threatened
to swamp all that the wind left stauding-
Between the two, with the sense of lone
liness and her sorrow in addition, she was
wretched enough, poor, sweet Debby
Scambler, whose only sin was in her
beauty! and tears, of which she was
ashamed but which she could not repress,
flowed over her fair checks on to the pil
low below. How lonely ft alt was I What
a terrifying night! Howjtnucl: she wished
that father bad not gone away, and* that
be was there iu hu own room. rHh just
the little passage between his strength and
her desire for protection?
Hark 1 what is that ?
Through the howling ot the wind and
the splashing of tho rain Debby heard tho
garden gate clink and swing; and then a
heavy step came up the little paved In
closure that led from the gate to the front
door; and then she heard that front door
tried, soon to be burst in with a sounding
crash of broken !ron aud shattered timber,
while tho wind tore in like a troop of
demons, and shook tho whole place to its
foundations. And then she heard that
same alow, heavy step como up the stairs—
nearer, nearer, step by step—till it halted
at her room door. And then tho room
door opened; and a man came in.
He was a tall, broadly-built man,
dressed in a kind of loose overcoat which
liid all details of Ids figure, and with a
black mask coveripgtbe whole of bis-face.
He was as completely disguised as it he
had been one of tho Misericordia of Italy;
bat he was evidently a powerful, »ad quo
would have instinctive’* said a brutal man
as well, more than a match for a slight
young creature like Debby—paralyzed by
terror as she was, unable to scream, or
make even the weakest attempt at de
fending herself.
The masked man came up to the side of
the bed, grim, terrible, silent os the grave.
Before she had fully realized her fearful
fate he bad bound a handkerchief round
her mouth so that she could not cry out,
anil had pinioned her anus behind her
back so that she could not strike. He took
her ont of the bed, dressed as she was,
and wrapped tier carefully in a cloak and
blanket, in which he secured her like a
bundle; then he slang her over his
shoulders; carried her down stairs; and
so through the house and little garden;
and along the close lane, at the entrance
to which stood a cart.
He lifted her into the cart almost as if
she had been a farm-beast which he was
taking to market; but ho covered her up
in sackiug so that she should not get wet,
and thus drove out into the open and the
wild moor beyond the villAge.
The Journey took a good three hours;
and at the end of that time the cart drew
up before the door of a small cottage that
stood in the bleakest part of the moor—a
kind of shelter-place for shooting parties
and the gamekeepers, when the former
came for sport and the latter looked after
the eggs and the young broods, and tried
conclusions with such poachers as might
be about. Here the man, always masked
and always silent, carried poor Debby
again stung over bis shoulder like a huge
bundle or lifeless sack; putting her down
in the middle of the floor, while he set to
work to make a fire and to boil some
water thatstood there, handy in a kettle.
AU that he did was done in a stolid, me
chanical kind ot way, with no unnecessary
haste, no stirring of feeling anyhow, but
as a task that bad to be got through no
matter what the cost or what the result.
Th i girl had to be trapped and secured;
not killed outright—only kept from the
mischievousness of freedom: and if she
died in the process that would not be his
fault; but neither would he hasten nor
cause that death by uudue neglect or gra
tuitous brutality. Therefore he boiled
the water iu the kettle; made some hot
tea, into which he put a few spoonfuls of
bounty, then going up to where poor
Debby lay; stunned, dazed, helpless, he
took the kerchief from her mouth and
made a sign that sho was to drink what he
provided.
When, shuddering, she turned away her
head and said: “No,I cannot 1” he
'ripped her arm savagely that for very
ear she obeyed him and took the stimu
lant which was to savoTier from cold and
ague.
By this time the storm had abated, and
the flying clouds gave glimses of tho moon
and stars overhead. Still tho masked
man neither spoke uor removed his dis
guise, but went about the little hut
arranging this aud that for tho better
comfort of his prisoner. Food and fuel
were put within her reach enough to last
her for some days, and a bed was ar
ranged in the corner near tho chimney.
She was not then to be left to starve, and
stie was not to he tortured. No, she was
only to be secured—and left. In truth it
was a very safe security that was enforced.
The windows and shutters of tho little
hut were fastened so that no light came
through them, save in narrow slits and
chinks. Fixed in the wall was a huge
staple, aud iastened to the staple was an
iron chain. The man who had poor
Debby in captivity buckled a strong
leather belt round her waist, then fastened
this to the Iron chain, leaving her tether
enongh to move about the fireplace so
that she couid prepare her food and keep
up the fire, but not allowing her to reach
either the window or tho door. She was
chained up to the wall like a wild ani
mal, and she might shriek till she died,
no living thing, save the birds and the
moorland beasts, would hear her. It was
a bold game to play, but it was an effect
ual one, and it accomplished with the
nicest precision ail that it was intended
to do.
With the first streaks of dawn the
masked man, giving one last-look round
to see that all was as it should be—taking
a final survey of the staple—giving a final
pull at the chain—nodded his head to
Debby in token of idieu, then iefttbe hut,
pulling the door behind him and locking
it from the outside.
“Trapped cleverly—and effectually,” he
said aloud to himself with a grim smile,
as he took off his mask and turned his
cold, crusl face to tho light, “Now the
family honor Is saved and no crime com
mitted.” •
Naturally there was a terrible commo
tion when the girl’s losS|Was discovered.
Tho under game-keeper, Jos Wilson,
passing the house the next morning, saw
the gate and the door both open, abd
went in to find tho bird flown and tbe
nest cold. No one bad a doubt but that
sho had gone to join Julian In London,
and the most positive of ail was Clarence.
To hear him one might have believed
that lie had taken her ticket at the rail
way station and beard of her arrival at
the terminus, he was so sure of the whole
matter. The thing was as plain as tbe
traditional pikestaff according to him, and
no other solution of tbe mystery was
possible. Hugh Armstrong and his wife
took the same line and agreed with their
brother; but when James Scambler came
borne he shook his head, and said he
could scarce credit it of his girl. There
was something in it all so unlike her—she
who had never been other than careful
and thoughtful, obedient and sincere—
that he was forced to think twice, he said,
before be condemned once; but as he had
no other hypothesis to offer, his mere
negation went for nothing. Moreover,
the circumstances ol his own absence tola
against Julian and Debby; for when he
got down to that oddly spelt place in the
heart of tbe Welsh muuntatns ho found
his uncle alive and hearty, with no inten
tion of bequeathing farm or fold for
twenty years to come, while no neighbor
had written any letter whatever summon
ing him to those parts, and tbe name at
the foot of that which had brought him
was unknown hereaway. And if that did
not look like"a planned thing to get him
out of tho way, what was ft like? No,
the whole affair was a plan from begin
ning to end—a stratagem of the young
squire’s to get Debby’s lather off tho board
so that fie might carry off Debby herself
in safety. . s
But this fell to tho ground sooner or
later, and by means of tbe family lawyer
the Armstrongs found in time that Julian
was innocent of the girl’s disappearance,
and that wherever she was sho was not
with him. By means, too, of the same
lawyer Julian heard what had happened
at Holme Wood, and how one wild,
stormy night James Scambler had been
lured away to Wales on a false scent, and
Debby had disappeared without leaving a
trace behind her. No one could say what
had become of her, and if Julian himself
did not kcow, all the world beside was at
fault.
More mad than sane, tho young iellow
put iu motion all the resources at tho dis
posal of an English citizen. The police
were stirred up to look lor the lost girl in
every town in England; rivers were
dragged, lunatic asylums were overhauled,
work-houses and refuges, and even prisons
wero visited, but tiie little hut on ilia
moor was left untouched; and no search
revealed tbe whereabouts of poor, pretty
Debby Scambler. So tho time passed,
and the trap which hold its prey was yet
secure,
One day Julian, who had come dowil
to tbe neighborhood of Holme Wood, out
who was not a. his own home, scarcely
knowing where he was nor how ho got
there, found himself in the mlddlo of Ike
moor, within a stone’s throw of the little
hai where the shooting parties were wont
to take shelter, and whence the keepers
made their lookout. The door was close
shut; tho window and shutters wero fas
tened; all was as still aud deserted-looking
os the grave; but a faint wreath of smoke
rose from the chimney, aud surely thero
was a slight noise, as of some one stirring
within.
Young and brave as Julian was—too
despairing for fear, too wise for super
stition—he stood there and trembled. He
did not kuow what he expected nor what
he dreaded; ho only knew that ho Was
seized with some mortal terror, and that
lie stood by tiie door eager as a bound in
leash when the scent is warm, yet quiver
ing with the nervous anguish of a school
girl.
-V A light sigh broke through the stillness,
aud he heard the rustle of a woman’s gar
ments and the tread ct a woman’s feet.
He tried the door; it was fastened, and
he knocked with a sharp, quick knock that
meant as much dread as impatience.
“Who is there?” said a voice from within.
He know the voice—as love ever does.
It was what be unconsciously expected—
what he dumbly hoped yet dreaded.
“Debby! my love! my darling! It is I,
Julian. God be thanked that I have
found youl” was his answer. “Debby,
S ulck, open tho door! Let me in! My
arling! my beloved! I have found you
once more!”
But no glad footsteps came rnshing to
the door to open the mouth of the tomb
and let in life and the sunlight; only a
walling cry and a burst of despair an
swered his prayer, his joy.
“I cannot open the door to you—it is
barred and lam chained. Oh, J ulian, do
not leave me. Save me, save me. Force
your way in and set me free.”
Whence came the strength Julian never
knew, but iu a moment, as ft seemed to
him, he had burst.tho door open, and was
there in the heart of tho hut holding his
rescued love in his arms.
Had she been what she looked, a dead
creature still unburied, it would have
been scarcely more pain to Julian than it
was to find her in this terrible condition
of degradation and suffering. And it
would have been small wonder had she
gone mad. But life is strong in youth,
and hope never abandons those who love.
She bad not known how, but she had
known that it would come. She had
dreamed of it, prayed for it, pictured it,
believed in it; and now ber hope bad
justified itself, and she was safe and with
him.
“The tigers I” he said as he held her
to him; “the cruel, bloodthirsty tigers!”
“It will be all right now,” was Debby’s
patient answer as she turned her face to
her lover’s breast, and sobbed with joy
and weakness together.
All for her! Ho gave up sverytlfing.
He threw away his name, his inheritance,
his family, his wealth, his estate, his so
cial standing. He would havo none of
theso things, tainted as they were with the
cruelty of old-world superstition—with
the blindness of an effete civilization, to
which appearances and names are more
va.uablo than things and lacts. He aban
doned all for her, aud love and freedom;
aud in his peaceful Australian home,
where ho had the dignity of labor and the
light of her love, he was happier than he
would have been in the old home, bound
to the car of conventionality and without
her love, or with her love, and at odds
with all the powers that rule.
* His father and mother never knew his
fate. This was his revenge. As they
had dealt by.bim so ho did by them;forbe
believed that they bad known of the whole
plot, anil been themselves the prime
movers in it; just as thoy believed the
same of him.
He said bitterly enough that it would
not break their hearts to imagine him
dead; nor in truth did it. They kept bis
place open for a reasonable time; aud when
Julian saw by the papers that he had been
made dead and that Clarence and young
Hugh were held as heirs to the estate, he
only smiled as he turned to Debby and
said:
- “It is better so, m7 wife. We will
never tell our boys of the inheritance they
have lost. Yet betweeu this and their
mother they would hesitate no more tban
I—and between love and riches they would
choose as did I.”
“Never to regret your choice, hus
band?”
“Never!” sho said, firmly. “On the
contrary, each year that I live I am more
and more thankful for the good gift made
me by heaven wlieirl found you, aud with
you all that makes life worth having.”
—Editor's Box.
WILLIAU 31. IFJPIifir.
Maine Hewn.
Hop Bitters, which arc advertised in our
columns, are a sure cure fpr ague, bilious
ness and kidney complaints. Those who
use them say they cannot be too highly
recommended. Those afflicted should
give them a fair trial, and will become
enthusiastic in praise of their curative
qualities.—Portland Argus.
Hunt’s Bell Cologne.;
The best cologne which it has been onr
good fortune to get hold of is the Hunt’s
Bell Cologne, made and sold just across
the way iron as. It has a delicate, de
licious and lasting odor—such an odor aa
it takes years oi bard work and study to
combine and one that will suit the masses.
Call and get a bottle and try it. They
have it from 35c. up to $1.50 per bottle.
From tbe Anvil to the President's
Chair—Sketch of a Grant Career.
It is currently rumored,And positively
believed by a great number, that Mr. W.
M. Wadley will this year retire from the
presidential chair of the Central railroad
of Georgia, and its numerous branches,
whose rails cover more than thirteen hun
dred miles. As this great corporation
Georgia’s pride, and as Mr. Wadle;
management has been criticised in
au unjust [manner, I desire, throng!
columns of your valuable paper, to gWe a
brief historical sketch of the life of this
eminent man, which shows what he has
done for Georgia.
William M. Wadley is from Massachu
setts. While yet iu his teens he came
south and settled in Savannah. On board
the same boat which brought him to the
South he met a youuMaJy, and becoming
enamored of lier,*’-Jfooed and won her.
Upon his arrivjrau Savannah, lie began
immediately ky search for employment.
Finding it a mfficult matter to secure a
good situation, he took a position as strik
er in a blacksmith shop. He retained
this position tome time—always on the
lookout for something better. One day
he saw an advertisement requesting bids
for the building of a bridge over tbe Oco
nee river. He immediately entered a bid,
and when all the bids were opened, ft was
found that Colonel Wadley’s was the best,
and the contraot was awarded toliim.
He began the work immediately, and
right there, while building that bridge,
he displayed a sample of that indomitable
energy and nerve which is so characteris
tic of him. The river passed through
Mlsmal swamp just where the
bridge was being erected,and the miasma
arising therefrom was terrlbiflfc While at
work in the water waist deop Col. Wad
ley would be taken with a chill. He
would leave the water and lie down on
tbe banks of the river, where he sun
could warm bis shivering form, aud as
soon as the Chill would pass off he would
re-enter the water and resume his'duttes.
The attention of the directors of the road
was attracted by this wonderful display of
energy, aud as scon as tbe bridge was
completed and its affairs settled, Col.
Wadley was offered a section of six miles
of the track to attend to aud keep in
order. He accepted the position and bis
work was attended to with tbe same de
gree of energy and tact which he had dis
played in his former position. This was
Col. Wadley’s first railroading, anil it was
what is termed the bottom round of the
ladder.
I think it wa3 in the year 1845 Col.
Wadley was chosen superintendent of the
Central Railroad of Georgia, which runs
from Macon to Savannah, a distance of
100 miles. The road wa3 in a
weak condition at the time, but
uuder his skillful management it
soon became the best road in Georgia.
He was getting a salary oft two thousand
dollars a year, in 1848, Howell Cobb,
who was then governor of Geoigla, wish
ed some man who was not a politician,
to take the superintendency of the West
ern and Atlantic railroad from Atlanta,
Ga, to Chattanooga, Teun., at a salary of
tnree thousand dollars. Colonel Wadley,
without his knowledge, was recommend
ed for the position. Governor Cobb offer
ed him the appointment and he took it.
When be took charge of the road it had
small flat Iron rails, and it was not a
great while before they were removed
and good “T” rail, the best in use at that
time, was put in its place. The directors
oftlie Central road 1 seeing tbe great abili
ty displayed by Col. Wadley in his man
agement ol the State road, agreed to en
deavor to regain his services, and offered
him a salary of five thousand dollars.
Tho Central being like home to him he
accepted and returned to the road upon
whose track he had begun bis railroad
career. Col. Wadley’s reputation as a
railroad manager had by this time spread
over tiie entire country, owing to the
fact of the exceedingly rapid strides he
had made in such a short time. Shortly
after his return to tbe Central he received
an offer from the New Orleans, Jackson
and Great Southern railroad at a salary cf
$12,000, which was enormous at that date.
He was, at that time, getting $7,000 from
the Central. He concluded to accept tbe
offer of the New Orleans, Jackson and
Great Southern railroad, and for the
second time left his old home, “the Cen
tral,” and moved to New Orleans, La. A
short time after taking possession of tbe
New Orleans, Jackson and Great South
ern he discovered that the road was in tbe
hands of manipulators, and, being a scru
pulously honest man, he went to work
immediately to relievo the road of that
discordant element, and succeeded. After
serving for some timo, he, with a party of
other gentlemen, bought a road in Louis
iana, and was there when the war broke
out- Like a true patriot who never
shrinks from any duty, be saw at a glance
that the great interests of tbe country
wblcb had smiled and bestowed upon him
a great portion of ber blessings needed
bis aid. He immediately offered his ser
vices to the Confederacy. President Davis
commissioned him superintendent of
transportation over all the roads in tbe
Confederacy, with the rank of colonel
and headquarters at Richmond. Ya.
With what skill and promptness he filled
this all-important position let tbe thou
sands of surviving soldiers of tbe lost
Yfcuse bear witness. In all that gigantic
confusion, at a time when the coolest of
all cool men almost lost their wits, YV. M
Wadley stood like the immovable oak of
tbe forest, and without even a single tre
mor braved the onslaught of a gale which
tbe country had never felt before, and
God grant may never see again.
After returning home from the war he
found his railroad in ruins and his
friends, all or a great majority of them,
gone. He took his little family and went
to a secluded country spot and opened a
blacksmith shop, and there, where the
sweet and always welcome music of tbe
anvil drowued the chirping mel
odies of the birds, he went to
work to patch up his broken for
tune. It was here that Mr.
Courvoisie, the treasurer of the Central
railroad at that time, who bad been dep
utized by tbe directors of the .Central to
search for Col. ^Wadley, found
bun. Mr. Conrvoisie’s business was to
request Col. Wadley to return to Georgia
and take cbqge of the Central railroad.
Col. Wadley oonsented to return. After
straightening up his affairs they both
started for Savannah, but Mr. Courvoisie
never reached home alive; be died on
tbe way aud was buried by bis friend,
Col. Wadley. After returning to Savan
nah Col. Wadley met tbe directors of tbe
Central and there was a disposition
among some of them to make Col. Wad
ley superintendent, and some favored
him for president. At this time
Col. Wadley received an offer
from the Georgia railroad from
Atiauta to Augusta. The directors of
that road wanted him for president of
their corporation. Having a preference
for the Central, Colonel Wadley informed
the directors that if thev wished his ser
vices, he would acceit tbe pofiiUm of
president of their road; If not, he would
go to tbe Georgia road. He was chosen
president of tbe Central by a unanimous
vote of the directors. He bad almost to
rebuild tbe road. In a few years he had
it in fine trim. Then it was that, in or
der to enhance the value of the stock ot
the Central, he went to work and bought
or leased several roads, the first being
the Southwestern from Macon, Ga., to
Eufauia, Ala., which gave him all the
anthweslern Georgia aud lower Alabama
usiuess. Next, lia obtained possession
of the Macon and Western railroad from
Atlanta to Macon, which is known as tbe
neck of the bottle, as all matter for south
west, middle Georgia and Florida from
the West has to come over this line. Next
was the Muscogee road from
Macon to Columbus. Then he ob
tained possession of tbe Western road
of Alabama, from West Point, Ga., to
Selma, Ala, via Montgomery, Ala. With
that he also got the Opelika, Ala., aud
Columbus, Ga, road, which is a branch
of tho Western, thereby opening a direct
route from Macou and Savannah to New
Orleans, La, and the fewer part of Texas.
His next move was the baying of tbe
Montgomery and Eufauia, Ala, road,
which runs from Montgomery to Eufauia
and cmnects at Eufauia with th? South
western roa£ This was considered one
of tho biggest cards that Col. Wadley
ever played. By this purchase he ent tbe
Louisville and Nasbvi'le railroad, which
was a dangerous adversary, entirely off.
When Col. wadley came into possession
of the UYestern Road of Alabama he
made Gen. Alexander, who is now gen
eral manager of the Louisville and Nash
ville, superintendent, thereby starting his
(Alexander’s) railroad career. Col. Wad
ley’s next move was to obtain control of
the Georgia road from Atlanta to Au-
X uta, and with it the Macon and
ugusta read, from Macon to r»~-
ack, connecting ^ CaaUck "day
» _ day
aud night vrliL on Georgia road
for Atlanta and Ailgitfta. Also (he Athens
branch from Union Point to Athens, trains
making same connections at Union Point
as the trains outlie Macon and Augusta
road. Hero Gen. Alexander obtained an
other lift toward the peak of railroad
fame, aud that too by tbe hand of his
friend, Col. Wadley. He (Alexander)
was made president of the Georgia rail
road. Then Col. Wadley got control of
the Port Royal road from Augusta, Ga, to
Port Royal S. C., connecting at Port
Royal with boats. This was tiie last gem
gathered about the more brilliant jewel
(the Central) that shines iu the beloved
coronet which crowns Georgia the lead
ing progressive State of the South. From
tbe auvil to the president’s chair. That
was Col. Wadley’s route, and on his way
be ascertained what a man’s labor was
worth, and when be reached tho end,
which was the president’s chair, he saw
that a laborer was properly compen
sated for bis work. To-day William
M. Wadley pays the highest salaries
that are paid by any corporation to
my knowledge in the United
States, thereby not only greatly benefit
ing tho poor, but giving encouragement to
the laboring class under him, who leel a
pleasure, as well as a necessity, in per
forming their duties with care and dis
patch. Col. Wadley is abused on all
s'.dcs, ana for what ? I reply for the strict
compliance with a solemn duty that any
person is compelled by honor to perform
in obedience to an agreement between
employe and employer. I dely any per
son to endeavor to show where Col,
Wadley ever committed an act of any
description in his official life that did not
tend to benefit the corporation ho repre
sented. If they should I submit tbe
assertion that they will regret the effort.
At times he has inflicted wounds, and no
one felt it more sensitively than he. They
were only commuted when his choico lay
between wounding and unfaithfulness to
trust. In that' case, as the great man
that he is, who guards bis honor as be
does bis life, bis duty was plain. I
trust tbe rumor is not true,
and that Col. Wadley will remain in bis
present position until he is called upon to
ex-
sooncr or
of which will go
the unlimited prayers of thousands, en
treating that his tripjnav not be encoun
tered by any “hot bsxes” or “broken
links” or “misplaced switches,” but
when be reaches tbe great depot beyond
tbe stars and comes face to face with the
superintendent of all superintendents,
that bis report shall be, “On time with a
full connection.” “Cat»”
Pen Picture of Gen. Skobeleff.—
In connection with General Skobeleff the
Pail Mall Gazette reproduces some inter
esting reminiscences of his career. The
story of bis exploits in the Bulgarian
campaign includes all that was most ex
citing in the war which brought tbe Rus
sian army within sight of the minarets of
Stambonl. From the day when, “to
show the stuff he was made of," he swam
his horse acrors the Danube while Gener
al Dragommoff was forcing the passage at
Simnilza to the time when he could with
difficulty be restrained from marching
into Constantinople as soon-as the British
fleet entered the Sea oi Marmora, be was
tbo most prominent actor in the
drama. He became tbe legendary hero
of the campaign, and in the minds of
the common piople he almost monopo-
llzsd its glories. He was always in tbe
forefront of the hottest battle; four 1 horses
were shot uuder him in ten days, but lie
was once wounded and after being iu
constant expectation of death for monlbs,
he returned home safe and sound. His
while uniform was lo his soldier* as the
plume of Henry Qnartz at the bailie of
Ivry. “I have heard tbe soldiers speak of
him,” says Lieutenant Greene, “as a gen
eral under whom they had
rather fight and die than fight and
iva under another. They had often to
die—sometimes fifty per cent, of his com
mand perished; but he spared no exertion
to minister to their wants and to supply
their needs. His division was the best
fed and best clothed and best armed in
tbe army. He was always with them in
tbe most exposed positions of the fight,
sleeping with them in the trenches and
looking after sll their nececssities iu the
camp. In short,” ssys Lieutenant Greene,
“he succeeded so thoroughly in making
himself one with the division that tbe men
responded to his thoughts as readily as the
muscles obey the wilt. I doubt it a more
thoroughly ideal relation iietween a gen
eral and bis men has existed since the
days of Cromwell.”
Ills custom of wearing white, as if to
court the bullets of bis enemies, his reck
less personal bravery aud the strange cus
tom of his of always “ going into battle
m bis cieangst uniform aud fresh under
clothing, covered with perfume and wear
ing a diamond-hilted sword, in order that,
as he said, he might die with his brat
clothes on,” gained him tbo reputation of
a wild daredevil, which somewhat ob
scured hif real capacity »s a general. In
reality they only show how thoroughly he
bad divined that secret ol power which
lies in fascinating the imagination as well
ot appealing to tne reason of men.
Attendants an the Sick
should frequently rub a few crops of Dar
by’s Prophylactic Fuid on their fscc and
bands, especially when nursing tlioae sick
with infectious dUeasss. Articles used on
or about tbe sick should be disinfected
and the atmosphere ot tbe sick room puri
fied and vitalized by using the Fluid. Its
effect it marTeioos in checking tbe spread
of contagious diseases.
The Tims* of India.
-Veto Tori Timet Allahabad Letter.
Having finished my inspection of the
indus’rial school. I cross over to the
Thug colony, still attended by tbe oblig
ing custodians. Here agsiu the contrast
between the outward appearance aud real
character of the place is absolutely
startling. Third-rate novelists,when crea
ting villains of tbo deepest dye, Kindly
offer their victims a chance of escape by
labeling every miscreant with a “MepbU-
topheles eye’’ and sinister expression
which say plainer lhau any words, “I am
a villain.” But Iu real life sach conven
ient dancer signals are tar less fre
quent. Nero’s cast of feature was mild
and somewhat pleasant. The fresh,
cliild-llke face of Marie de Brin-
villiers might bave suited one of Ra
phael’s cherubim. ItfcNaua Sahib's hand
some, Indolent, somewhat sensual counte
nance, tbe men who trusted 1dm could
read no warning of tbo nameless borrora
of Cawnporc. One of the brightest and
most attractive young fellows that I have
ever met was a Circassian murderer, in
whose company I crossed the Caspian sea,
aud who was thou on his way to life-king
exile iu Siberia for a crime too hideous to
bear description. So, too, with the Thug
village and its people. Men are cooking
their food, women washing their clothes,
children playing iu front of the lmls.fcoats
aud bullocks grazing quietly arouud them,
just as yon may see them in any Hindu
village from the Himalayas to Cape Como
rin. Who cau realize in such a
scene or peaceful and harmless domes
ticity that lie is standing among
tbe priests of a religion of cold blooded
murder, men who prayed daily in ail sin
cerity for success iu their work of blood,
took Ibeir allotted parts in tbe strangling
of some helpless victim as gravel 1 '
methodically as “ engaged in a rehglous
service, made an equitablo division of the
plunder, and went home fresh from this
sacrament of hell to embrace their wives,
fondle their children, and eujoy their
evening meal with just the same feeling
of honest satisfaction with which a man
of busiuess returns to his home circle
after a good day’s work.
Suddeuly three tall, gaunt, gray-haired
men come slowly forward from the
huts on our left, and my guide whispers
that these are veteran Thugs, the last
survivors of the original colony. I look
at the nearest of the three, and recognize 9
the living likeness of Juma the Strangler,
in Lord Lyiton’s “Strauge Story.” Tiie
spare, elastic figure, the white robe, the
blank, expressionless face, the sharp,
fleshless, vulture-like profile, are all there. 9
To the custodian’s question of how many
men he has murdered, he answers, with
the nearest approach to a laugh which a
Hindu can make, that lie caunoi tell,
having long sinco lost count of them. 1
bare my wrist and, giving him a handker
chief, tell him to show me how the* fatal
twist was given. The fierce joy that ln-
stautly lights np the old savage’s lean,
wulfish face and those of his two com
rades is hideous to see. He clutches
eagerly at the handkerchief, aud, making
a knot m ft to givo him a belter hold,
twists it around my arm with a sudden
wrench that seems to snap tbe very bone.
Then, for tho first timo with the feeling
of that murderous grip, comes upon me
full horror of this ministry of death, which
has hovered for ages in the background of
the glorious Indian scenery, invisible, but
all-pervading, and r3ady at any moment
to' swoop on Us unsuspecting vic-
iinj. £veq here, amps; friends and
in pel fed safety, the visiou of such. *
death far in the depths of the lone jungle,'
with those merciless faces bent over him,
and tbe throttling grasp at his throat,
might well make the boldest man quail.
As I tarn away in disgust my guide points
to the half-effaced foundations of several
mud walls, and tells me, as easli Thug
dies, the hut in which he lived is destroy
ed. A fit end, indeed, to such a colony;
but there is a kind of grim poetry iu the
idea oi making the village itself waste
with tbs wasting numbers of inhabitants,
as if lo blot from tbe face of the earth all
vestige of a creed in which even tbe ber-
ror-bicediug East bas fairly surpassed it
self. •
FIuKUaF* Fcaermt,
Chicago Special Batten Herald.
Five minutes before tbe funeral started,
tbe dead Celestial was exhibited in tbe
undertaker’s wareroems. The coffin was
of fine rosewood. Within lay Ping Ling,
dressed precisely as he died, in his hands
a passport to Celestial eternity,and on the
lid were laid three wreaths of red flowers.
When all was ready a crimson damask
cloth was wrapped about tbe whole and
in that way the body was placed in tbe
hearse. The important moment was at
hand. Tbe band struck up a joyful air,
the hearse horses prancea gayiy, and the
funeral started. In the first carriage
were four members of the Buddhist order,
ho'ding a basketful of small brown papers,
on which were written, in Chinese char
acters, full and explicit directions to the
dead how to reach tbe Celettial heav
en, should' he happen to stray during
the journey. These papers were
distributed at every street intersection, so
that there could be no possibility ol Ping
Ling losing Ills way. The procession was
made up, tiie bani, hearse and twenty-
eight carriages, into which were loaded
150 Chinamen, with a wagon following
bearing tbe bedding, extra clothing, etc.,
of tho deceased. On to Rose UiU sped the
funeral, tbe “mourners” laughing and
dialling merrily. Arriving at the grave,
the imposing Buddhist rites were held.
The coffin, wrapped in crimson, was
placed in the box, and .hen lowered care
fully into the bottom of the pit. Then
assembled the Celestials in line, each iu
turn kneeling at the grave with head lifted
to the sun, hands clasped over the knees
and faces fixed and solemn. When ai! had
paid tiie last tribute of life to dea.h, incense
was burned about the grave and rice water
sprinkled on the earth with chop sticks.
Then a pile was built of Ping Ling's
old dolhes, his bedding, hats, shoes, um
brella, satchel, basket and comb, aud all
was burned to cinders. At tbe toot of the
grave another fire was built ou whisk tbo
living heaped chickens, pork aud rice, that
it might be cooked and provide feed tor
Ping Ling during bis journey of many
suns. That he might have extra clothing .
and bedding on the journey, bis effects
were burned, according to the Chinese
idea that these things were transformed
by fice into the spiritual form, and thus
be iu a state for use by the spirit. The
smoke of tbe tires bad hardly faded away
when the earth was noisily shovelled in,
the gra.e filled, and tiie Celestials regain
ed the carriagea and departed, then tbe
procession turned home, for each Ce
lestial must go to bis laundry, kneel
at the fire place and bow his head cloae to
the floor that he may see Ping Ling as be
passes on, and, it need be, give hint a
cheery word to make glad his uncertain,
tortuous way from the sintul earth to tbe
everlasting sreadia of the scented islands
and spiced groves beyond life’s river. On
the passport, pi seed in Ping LiDg’s folded
1 lands, were no written characters, for
they were cut out of tbe paper, that they
might be distinct and unmistakable wbut
presented along tbe routes hud tbe crim
son cloth wrapped about the coffin was to
be a sign from earth to heaven that Pin*
Ling died in the faith, and was worthy <*
‘ a reception to citizenship .to tad Uod
’ where blba is never-fadis®.
