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SOME DAY OF DAYS.
Some day, some day of days, thread
ing the street
With idle, heedless pace, A
Unlooking for such grace,
I shall behold your face!
Some day, some day of days, thus
may we meet.
Perchance the sun mey shine from
skies of May,
Or Winter's icy chill
Touch whitely vale and hill;
What matter? 1 shall thrill
Through every vein with Summer on
that day. -
Once more life’s perfect youth will all
come back,
And for a moment there
I shall stand fresh and fair
And drop the garment, care;
Once more my perfect youth shall
nothing lack.
I shut my eyes now, thinking how
'twill be,
How, face to face, each soul
Will slip its long control,
Forget the dismal dole
Of dreary fate’s dark, separating sea;
And glance to glance, and hand to
hand in greeting,
The past, with all its fears,
Its silence and its tears,
Its lonely, yearning vears,
Shall vanish in the moment of that
meeting.
—New Orleans Picayune.
A WEIRD GLUB,
On a dark, sultry night in the
early summer, Frank Holland, a
young tourist, was making his way
along the outskirts of o vast morass
in one of the widest parts of the South
of Ireland.
Presently he stopped to listen. He
thought he heard a cry for heip; nor
was he mistaken, for again the cry
rang out, this time more distinctly.
Frank snrang over the ground in
the direction from which the voice
had proceeded. It was a perilous ac
tion, because his feet sank deeply in
the marshy ground as he went; but
he could not hear that cry in vain.
“Where are you?” he shouted.
“Here! Here! Help! lam sinking
to an awful death!”
Frank soon reached the spot. He
was knee-deep in the mire, and sink
ing further. Kxtending his stick to a
man who was gradually being drawn
into the awful depths, he helped him
on the firmer ground, and together
ti~v scrambled from the treacherous
bog.
“This ‘cre's a blooming fine coun
try, and no errer!” he growled. “Wish
I'd never come to it. I'd have gone
under if it hadn't been for you, mate.”
“You are not an Irishman, then?”
exclaimed Frank. ‘“What's ‘your
name?"”
i “Jones.”
“Well, Jones, I expect we are much
in the same boat. Lost our way. Do
you know of any place where we can
sleep?’
“There’s only the Glen-—about a
mile from here. Somehow, I'd rather
sleep outside.”
“Any shelter is better than none,”
answered Frank. “It is coming on to
rain. Is the Glen uninhabited?”
“It is so. Leastwise, the old man
who lived there disappeared, and
ain’t never been heard of again. Some
says there was foul play, 'cos a lot
of his valuables was missing. But, to
my mind, he's just took hisself off.
He was always a rummy old chap.
Well, that's the show.”
The place was little better than a
ruin; but it would at least afford them
shelter from the rain, which was now
pouring down in torrents.
Jones led the way round to the back
door, which was not locked.
“L.ook, here, mate,” he said, “I'm
going to sleep in yon shed. I ain’t
going into that show!”
“Well, I am. So good-night.”
And Frank groped his way along
the dark passage until he gained the
sitting room. .
The place was intensely dark, the
shutters of the window being closed;
neither had he a light. However, he
was too tired to trouble about ghosts
or the darkness, so, closing the door,
and lying down in front of it—in case
Jones might have any evil intentions
—he soon fell asleep.
When he awoke the rain had ceased
and there was a death-like silence
in the place. Frank was by no means
nervous or superstitious, but now the
intense darkness and loneliness of the
place filled him with an awe for which
he could not account. :
He sat up and peered into the black
ness, then that uncanny feeling deep
ened.
A light was in the room! A faint,
blue light, which moved to and fro in
the blackness, yet revealing nothing
in the apartment.
“Who is there?’ demanded Frank,
rubbing his eyes to make sure he was
not drsaming.
No answer was given. The light
remained, sometimes it was station
ary, and at others it moved slowly
ahout.
treir little feet, so the never-enytttil
“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, at last.
“It’s the marsh gas oozing through
the floor. It can be nothing else, un
legs———
He paused. A horrible idea oc
curred to him. He had hzard of ~uch
lights appearing over graves in old
churchyards. Could the old man have
been murdered and buried there?
That thought kept sleep from
Frank’s eyes for the remainder of the
night, and for many hours he watched
the flickering blue flame with a
strange fascination.
With the dawn of day it vanished,
and now Frank examined carefully
the floor boards, which were crum
bling away with dry rot. They bore
the appearance of having been remov
ed; and determined to satisfy him
gelf on the point, Franx left the build
ing and made his way to the shed in
which Jones was still slaeping. Here
he found a spade, and getting posses
sion of it so noiselessly that he did
not arounse the sleeper, Frank re
turned to the room. g
It was an easy matter to wrench up
the floor boards, then he commenced
digging. The ground was quite soft,
apparenily it had been lately removed.
A few feet beneath the surface he was
horrified to find the body of the old
man,
At that moment a cry of terror
caused him to turn. The man whose
life he had saved the previcus night
stood at his back.
“Do you know anything about this
vile work?” demanded Frank, stern
6\'.
“Me?’ gasped the man. “What
should T know about it! Them as
hides can find.”
“Look here, fellow!” exclaimed
Frank, “I have my suspicions about
you.”
“And I've got mine about you,
young fellow. *What_made you dig at
T
that very spot, unless you knowed as
old Maurice Rodgers was buried
there?”
“SBo you knew his name?” retorted
Frank. “You will have to accompany
me to the police station.”
Jones seized the spade which the
young fellow had dropped.
“I.isten here, you demon,” the ruf
fian cried. “If you don’t stand out of
my road I'll brain you.”
Frank made no reply, but watched
his adversary closely.
“Are you going to let me pass?”
“No!"” answered Frank, feeling con
fident now of the man’s guilt.
Uttering a savage imprecation, the
ruffian sprang at him, dealing a mur
derous blow, whicih rendered the
young man unconscious.
At that moment he heard a shout.
Some one was coming toward the
house. %Uttering a ery of terror, he
sprang from the room and bounded
across the marshy country, owver
which a dense fog hung—a fog that
rendered pursuit a matter of impos
sibility.
When Frank regained conscious
ness he found a constable bending
over him. -
“Has the ruffian escaped?” he ir
quired. :
“l saw some one rush from the
place,” answered the constable; “but
couldn’t follow in this fog. Besides,
I didn’t like to leave you in this state.
Can you tell me what has happened,
Mr. Holland?” 7
“You know my name, then?’ ex
claimed Frank, in surprise.
“Faith, sir, I looked in your pocket
book. I made sure you were dead at
first.” ;
“It's all right,” exclaimed Frank,
rising.
Then in a few words he told all that
he knew, giving an exact description
of the ruffian.
“I'm thinking he’s the man we have
had our eyes on,” said the constable.
“If so, his name is fkaife. We'd best
lock this room up.
A few minutes later they left the
building, and, with the aid of the
constable’'s lantern, made their way
round the great morass.
“He’s sure to come this way, sir. 1
think this fog is lifting a bit. You
must mind how you step, for the
ground is treacherous. Hark! Did
you hear anything?”
‘Bedad! There it is again. Come
on. We'll cateh the scoundrel yet.”
The next moment they were racing
across the ground, their feet sending
up spurts of mud as they ran.
Now through the lifting mist they
caught a glimpse of the fugitive. He
had evidently lost his way, but when
ne saw his pursuers, he dashed madly
on in spite of the awful peril.
“Come back! Ycu are going to your
death,” shouted the constable.
“He’s trying to make for yonder
solid ground,” exclaimed Frank, point
ing to a patch of green which ap
peared on the surface of the black
quagmire.
“That’s not solid ground,” answered
the constable. “If he steps on that
his death is sure. Come back, man.”
But the terrified ruffian tock no
heed of the warning. On he floun
dered. He gained the treacherous
spot, then a shriek of terror rang out.
A gust of wind swent over the great
morass. It seemed to clear away the
remaining fog. They saw the wretch
ed man distinctly now, and his face
was awful to behold.
Frantically he shrieked for the help
that could never come to him, as inch
by inch he sank into the awful depths,
until only his agonized face was above
the seething quagmire.
One last wild cry, then his voice
was hushed for all time, and only
black bubbles marked the snot where
the murderer had sunk to his fearful
doom.—New York News.
Waterloo’s FPensions.
“After the battle of Waterlos the
Duke of Wellington was created
Prince of Waterlco, and four pensions
were conferred on him and his des
cendants. A Belgian paper states
that in the Great Book of the Belgian
Public Debt there are four entries
every vear of payments to the Prince
of Waterloo. They are 80,106 fr 14c,
492 fr, 35fr 89¢, and 3fr 47c, or a tota)l
of more than £3,000.
Lord Justice’'s Shops.
Lord Justice Vaughn Williams, of
England, owns many flourishing butch
er shops in the kingdom. This opens
a broad field for speculating as to just
what judicial action he might take
were a few labor strikes of the mod
ern American type brought before
him for violent interference with the
meat output and the right of other la
horers to work.
Two Chefs.
I.iberal publicity is given to the fact
that George Gould's chef has raturnad
from a tour, while ours has been back
from Lynchburg for a wezk and noth
ing has been said about it.—Washing
ton Poct.
HOW JAPANESE MOURN.
fhe Young Widows Voluntarily Des:
troy Their Greatest Charm.
Foreigners in Japan disagree as to
the attractiveness of the Japanese wo
men. They disagree ngt a whit, how
ever, as to the heauty of the hair
which adorns the head of the homeliest
little woman of Japan. Dark, lustrous,
of a length to fall to the knees or the
heels when free, but arranged always
with the exquisite orderliness and the
artistic effectiveness which shows the
pride of a woman in her supreme
adornment, it crowns the lady and the
coolie’s wife alike with the coiffure of
a princess. Throughout Japan today,
a sight so unusual as to seize and hold
attention is to be seen. Young-native
women on the street, some with € pir
tiny brown babies on their backs, b 0 i
head: which are completely shorn OL'S
their beauty. Sometimes, standing be
fore a temple of the god of war, you
will see a Japanese woman attaching
to the bamboo pcle supporting a ban
ner, a black and glossy streamer. Itis
her hair. The banner commemorates
the departure of her husband for the
front. It was carried by his friends
and neighbors in procession to the sta
tion from which he departed to t}le
war. Then it was placed with the ban
ners of other soldiers before the tem
ple door, alone or with his babes, to
gaze upon the lettering which announ
ces his glory and her pain. Some day
word comes that the hushand has fal
len upon the field. Then the young
widow, young because Japan sent only
the flower of her youth to the front,
shears off her hair and carries it to
the banner, to which she attaches it,
a mourning drape.
This dusky veiling on a soldier's
banner means that he will not come
back. It means that the banner will
rest before the temple till it is worn
and beaten to nothing by the weath
er. For, if a soldier returns victorious,
the banner is carried to the station
to meet him, by the friends who saw
him away, and by a young Japanese
wife with her hair rolling back from
her brow like a crown of ebony. The
voung widows of Japan who thus vol
untarily desiroy their greatest charm
by this act cut themselves off from
the gayety of the world and vow fidel
itv to the memory of their dead sol
dier husbands for the rest of their
lives. The act is not symbolical only.
The shorn woman in Japan is marked.
She has sacrificed all, and lives but to
cherish in silence the memory of one
who esteemed his country above all
things—who died for it.—San Fran
cisco Chroniele.
The Modern Specizalist.
Mrs. Bell :zat rocking comfortably
on her piazza while the children, four
of them, worked below in the garden
beds. Mrs. Primrose, '‘who had come
to make a call, fanned herself with
her bat, and noted the industrious lit
tle figures.
“What on earth are those children
doing?” she asked.
“Weeding,” said Mrs. Bell.
“But can you trust them?” ,
“Perfectly.”
“I couldn’t trust my Nell and Grace,
and they're older than years.”
“You mean they wouldn’t know the
weeds from the seedlings?”
“Precisely.”
Mrs. Bell leaned forward impres
sively. She had on her intelligent
look—th= one she assumed when she
addressed a club on civie rights.
“My dear,” said she, “this is the age
of specialists. Each man, each wom
an, is, cr should be, devo‘ed to one
department. Children may not be
capable of learning to distinguish all
weeds, but any child can learn one.
I have taught Kate pigweed, Annie
pusley, Gladys chickweed, and Tom
gorrel. Each goes through a bed and
selects his or her speeialty. I sit here
on -the piazza and rock.”—Youths
Companion.
The power of an engine in India is
sometimes given in elephant instead
of horse-power, an elephnant-power be
ing equal to twentytwo horse-power.