{ title: 'The Columbia Republican. (Hudson, N.Y.) 1881-1923, March 03, 1887, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn89071100/1887-03-03/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn89071100/1887-03-03/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn89071100/1887-03-03/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn89071100/1887-03-03/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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iB I e trica l. The First Sign e of General Weariness Appetite, should suggest the use of Ayer’s Sarsaparilla. This preparation is most effective for giving tone and strength to the enfeebled system, promoting the digestion and assimilation o f food, restor ing the nervous forces to their nonmil condition, and for purifying, enriching, and vitalizing the blood. Failing Health. N e r v o ^ niedles presc , but becau taken faithfully, that it will thoroughly eradi. ate this terrible disease. I liave also pre.serilu'd it as a tonic, as well as an alter am e, and must say that I bouostly beliet a It to he the Ii.'st l)!ood mediefne ever \•> Dyspepsia Cured. It would be imi>osMble for me to d - Foribc what I siuloiod from liulise=-tioM !iiiii Headache up to the time I began lakinr Aji-r's flai-sai>ai-illa. I was under the eare of various physicians and tried a great many kinds of medieiiies, but i:-e r (.btamed more than temporary re- hef. After taking Ayer's Sarsaparilia for a siinrt lime, my headuelie disappeared, padely restored.—IJIary Hurley, Spring- r ha', e Iioeii groativ h.-neCted bv the prompt u-e of Ayer's .Sarsap.irilla. I t uml vitalizes the blood. It is. \N.tliout doubt, the most reliable blood Ayer's Sarsaparilla, I*n-] ttiv.l l-\ Dr. .1. C. Ayer .'c ('o , T.oweil, Maas. Prici- S»l; yi\ boi.I. .. Infants a n d Children Farew^ then to Morphine Syrups, Castor Oil and Paregoric, and HailCastoria. cine tnown to me.’’—H. A. A kcuee , M. D. I l l So. Oxfopd St., Brooklyn, 2T. T . “ Caitorla is a safe, reliable and agreeabla medicine for Children. In seitin m y practice^ and take pleasnre in recommending it to the profession.”—A les . E obeetsos , M. D., 1057 Second Avenue, Hew Xork City. T he C ehtauk C ompany , 182 Pulton St., N. Y. 1 SYRUP 6 disease. Price 25 SSo^’^ M ’|g f e « t S g ^ a 1 ^ « ,S L ^ PA R K E R ^S HAIR BALSAM the j^pular fav^te for dres^i; HINDERCORNS. Thesafest, surestndestenreor a b f Coma, Stops all Hilcox &^o ^ N V KEELER’S HOrEl k RlSTiUBiOfT a e . M AIDEN LANE. dllfSX OIPTSIDE X B E VNIOBT DEPOX, ALBANY. NEW YORK. .niiysn. ' dam r R E M O V A L STEPeENJJlLLEE R B - O P E N E D ! 290 Warren Street, (Three Doors below the Old Stand), with a loll stock of Books, .School material, Siatlonerx' A ri THji.tj^rla.1. A!C* ' V hbftjilt novl.Vdaw ®m. Sott, Affinal of % Coimtg. C^rms: $ 1.50 in V O L T J M E 6 8 . H U D S O N , N . Y . , T H U R S D A Y , H A K C H 3 , 1 8 8 7 . N U M B E R 9 A DETEOTIYE YICAE. By m iss M. K. BBABBOX. CHAPTER I. BY THE NIGHT MAIL, were butut fiveve minutesinutes lefteft before the \ from tho 0 b fi m l I I’ting of the night mail great central terminus in the bi mercial city of Grandchestoi’, and George Caulfield, with a traveling 1 hand and - ’ ------------------------ u - —y hand a a comfortable railwa rug over bis arm, was walking slowly along tho plat form, peering into the first-class carriages as he went by, in quest of ease and solitude. He was a man of reserved temper, bookish beyond his years, and he had a horror of finding himself imprisoned among five noisy spirits, cottony, horsey, and of that boister ous and coarsely spoken temperament which the refined and gentle parson would have characterized as rowdy. The reverend Gsorge was a Christian gentleman, but so far as it possible for his mild nature to hate any he hated fast yovmg men. He w ^ not ove their it i l l the itarting, hope of securing for himself the luxury of privacy, but as the'long-hand: o f the station clock marked the third minute before eleven he espied an empty carriage, and was in the espied an empty carriage, of entering i t when a han gently on his sleeve, “Pardon me, sir,” said a soi tated voice, “are you a medical i Caulfield turned andeonfronled j figure and middle height. iwhat agi- of slight figure and middle years younger than himself—a man with a pale face, delicate features, and soft black eyes; a very interesting countenance, thought the curate. The stranger looked anxious and hurrieA “Ifo.” answi clergyman.\ “That is all )st as gooA My dear sir great favor? My sister, an ing by this train, alone, but chest complaint, poor g; ford her the privilege only as far as Milldalo, you will oblige me enormously.” There was no time for hesitation, the bell was ringing clamorously, people were hur rying to their seats. ‘‘■With pleasure,” said the good-natured curate, sorry to lose the delight of loneli- mbarrassed at the idea of an un- I.,.*- kind to shrink from doing an act of mercy. The young man ran to the second-class waiting room, the door of which was just opposite, and returned almost immediately, carrying a muflled figure in his small, fragile form, which he ci easily as if it had been thattofach slender figure, half bm-ied Roy shawl, he ph lich he carried as la ild. This talf bm-ied in a large Rob laced with infinite care in of the seats farthest from thi door; then •an back to the waiting room for more wraps, a pillow and a foot warmer. He ad ministered with womanly tenderness to the comfort of the invalid, who reclined mo tionless and siient in her corner, and then, hurried and agitated in the imminent depart ure o f the mail, he stood at the door o f the carriage talkiug to Mr. Caulflo’d, who had taken his seat in the opposite corner to that occur iod by the invaliA “You are more than good,” said the stranger. “Don’t talk to her; she is low and ervous, and you will agitato her painfully you force her to talk. I dare say she will doze all the way. It is only an hour from bottle, and if she should turn faint or giddy on the way give her a few drops of the con tents. There goes the flag. W ill you allow me to offer you my card. I am deeply in debted, Good-night.” \K indly take this bottle.'’ All this had been said hurriedly. G.'orgo Caulfield had hardly time to t ake the proffered card when the engine puffed itself laboriously cut of the great, ghastly terminus, a wilder ness of iron work, a labyrinth of tunnels and sidings and incomprehensible platforms, very gloomy on this ocifd winter night. For the first few minutes Mr. Caulfield felt so confused and disturbed by the sud denness of the charge that had been forced upon him that he hardly knew what ho was doing. Then he glanced at the lady, and saw with a feeling oC relief that her bead was reposing comfortably against the padded division of the carriage, and that her face was hidden by a blue gauze veil, which she nore over a small, brown straw hat. She was breathing somewhat heavily, he thought, but that was to be expected in a sufferei from chest complaint. “I hope her heart is all right,” thought George, with a sudden sense of the awful ness of his position were his invalid charge to expire while in his care. He looked at the stranger’s card; M h . E lsden , Briargate. The address looked well. Briargate was one of the most respectable business streets in Grandchester. Doubtless it had once been a rustic lane, where briers and roses grew abundantly, and the bees and butter flies and village lads and lasses made merry amid odors of new-mown hay. Nowadays Briargate was a narrow street of lofty warehouses, tall enough to shut out the sun, a street that smelled of machine oiL The express had cleared Grandchester by this time, tearing along a viaduct above a forest of tall chimneys, and then, with a sweeping curve, away to the windy open country, a land as wild and fresh and free as if there were no such things as factories and smoky chimneys in the world. Mr. Caulfield had, for the first ten minutes or so, felt relieved by his inability to see his companion’s faca It had been a comfort to him to behold her placidly asleep yonder, requiring no attention, leaving him free to dip into Tennyson’s last idyl, which he car ried uncut in his traveling bag. But so- variable is tha human mind, so fanciful and altogether irrational at time.'!, that now Mr. Caulfield began to feel vaguely curious about the face hidden under the blue gauze veiL He began to wonder about it. \Was. it SO very pale, so deadly white, as it seemed to him under that gauze veil, in the dim light of the oil lamp? No, it was the blue gauze, no doubt, which gave that ghastly pallor to the shai’ply-cut features, the. sunken cheeks. The young la ly’s eyes were altogether hid den l.y the shadow of her hat, bat Mr. Caid- fiffd felt sure that she was asleep. She was breathing so quietly that he could scarce^ see any indication of the faint breath that must be stirring her breast in gentle undtt- lations. Sometimes he fancied he saw the folds of the Rob Roy shawl rise and fall in regular pulsations. Sometimes it seemed to him that nothing stirred save the shadows that quiet figure in : his eyes away now at tho dark land He sat and watched the comer, only taking and then to look out through which they m cozy village, lit by h rushUgl' . ............. ing Tennyson wretched lam]»1 . TTseless by the sickly gleam of that , Ho curled himself up in his warm rug; he closed bis eyes, and tried to sleep. In vain. He was thinking of tho face under the blue veiL He 'was broad awake—hopelessly awake. He could do nothing but sit and contemplate the figure reposing so quietly in the opposite comer. How he longed for Miildale Junction I! He looked at his watch. The inexorable dial told him that it was only half-an honr since he left Grandchester. His own sensations told him that it was a long night of a illy a nervous man, to-nigt irow back that veil—if she would only speak to me—if she would only stir; or make some little sign of life! It is like traveling with Death personified. Were she to lift ' ■ it I should expect to see a iiction lis'ftistant I should :ull underneath.” d been told not to sj was every instant intensifying. Yet, if she were sleeping ns placidly as she seemed to Bleep, It would be cruel to disturb her; and he was a man overflowing with tho milk of human kindness. He took out his Tennyson and cut tho leaves, puzzling out a few lines here and there by the uncertain lamplight. This helped him to while away a quarter of an hour. He looked at his watch. God be praised! fifteen minutes more and the train was due at Miildale. What bliss to deliver that poor creature Into the keeping of her friends—to have done with that muffled figure and that unseen face forever! The train was fast approaching the Junc tion ; seven minutes more alone remained of the hour, and this night mail was famed for its punctuality. Just at the last that feeling of morbid curiosity which had been tormenting tho curate for the greater part of the journey became an irresistible impulse. He changed his seat to that directly opposite his silent' companion. Here he could see the form of the delicate fea'-m'es under the blue veill How cruelly illness had sharpened that out line. The girl’s ungloved hand hung list lessly over tho morocco-covered arm which divided her seat from the next Such a pallid hand, so nerveless in its attitude I Something, he knew not what, prompted Mr. Caulfield to touch those pale fingers. He bent over and laid his hand lightly upon Great God, what an icy hand! He had felt the touch of death on many a sad oc casion in the path of duty, but this was colder than death itself. A cry of horror burst from his lips. Ho snatched aside the gauze veU, and saw a face purpled by the awful shadow of death. “MiUdale Junctlonl Change here for Broughborough, MuJford, Middlebridge, Sloughcombe—” and a string of names that dwindled into silence far away along the platform. George Caulfield spvimg out of the rail way carriage like a man distraught. He seized upon the nearest guard. “For God’s sake, tell me what to dol” ha cried. “There is a lady in that can-iage dead or dying. Indeed, I fear she is ac tually dead. She was placed in my charge by a stranger at Grandchester. She is to be met by friends here. It will be an awful shook for them—^near relatives, perhaps. How am I to find them? How am I to break the sad news to them?” He was pale to tho lips, cold drops of sweat were on his brow. All the peiit-up excitement of the last hour burst from him now with uncontrollable force. The guard was as calm as a man of li-on. “Fetch the station master here, will you?” he said to a passing porter. “Sad thing, sir.” he said to the curate; “but y ou’d better keep yourself quiet. Such misfortunes will happen. 'We’ll get a medical man here presently. I dare say there’s one in the train. Perhaps the lady has only fainted. Hadn’t you better step inside and sit with They were standing at the door of the car riage. George Caulfield glanced with a shudder at that muffled figure in tho farthest “No,” be answered, profoundly agitated, i cotUd do no good. I fear there is no hope. I fear she is dead.” “No relation of yours, sir, the lady?” asked the guard, scrutinizing the curate rather curiously. “Here comes the station master,” said tlte guard, without vouchsafing any ermme-nt on the curate’s story. The station master was a business-like man, of commanding presence, and Mr. Caulfield turned to him as if for protection. “■What am I to do?” he asked, when the guard had briefly stated.the case. “Nothing, I should think,” answered the station master, shortly; “but you’d better stay to see tho upshot of the business. Where the lady’s friends, I wonder? They htt too haveave turnedurned up byy thishis time.me. ough t h t up b t ti .Johnson, just you go along the platform to inquire for anybody waiting to meet a lady from Grandchester, and send some one el^ along the line to inquire for a doctor.” The guard departed on his errand; the station master stayed. In three minutes a porter came, followed by an elderly man, bearded and spectacled. “Medical gentle man, sir,” said the porter. The doctor got into the carriage and looked at the lady. “Bring me a better light,” he asked, and a lamp was brought. A crowd was collecting by this time, trav elers who scented some excitement, and ■bought they coul iheir remaining fi 3ut all about i t “You’d better the doctor, reappi rriage. “This i s : ‘How do you mean?” inquired the station master. “I mean that this poor creature has died from the effects of a narcotic poison.\ “Great heaven!” cried the curate; “I had a presentiment there was something wrong.” The doctor and a porter lifted the muffled figure out of the carriage and conveyed it to the nearest waiting room. Three minutes more and tho train would be moving. A police constable appeared as if by magic, and planted himself at the curate’s side. The guard came back. “Nobody here to meet the lady,” he said. “There must be a mistake somewhere.” “Wbat am I to dol” demanded Georg© Caulfield, looking helplessly from the station master to the doctor. “Keep yourself as quiet as you can, I should say,” answered tlfe station master. “But, good heavens! I may be suspected of being concerned in this poor creature’s death unless her friends appear to verify my statement. Ah, by tho by, her brother gave me his card. I can tell you her name, at any rate.” He took the card from his breast pocket and handed it to the station master. “Mr. Elsden, Briargate,” the man road “Elsden,” said the doctor. n. of Bi-iarcate—a big mai he interrogat young man; pale, dark,, don’t know who he can be. There’ll be an inquest to-morrow morning,, and the best thing we can do is to telegraph to Elsden, of Briargate, directly the office is open. Very strange that the lady’s friends should not have appeared.” shall lose my tra °“No, tfflt* w 50 od-lookinj “Ah, I don e m y train.” cried George Caul- ^ the last lingerers hurrying to their pieces. “Here’s my card, handing one to the doctor. “You can communicate to b that address. Any assistance that I “Yes, sir; most likely, sir. It Tfill be m y duty to detain you. Better not talk too freely, sir. Any statement you now make you no- may be used agidnst you later on,” “ ■e ■ ) looked at him freely, sir. may be used Th curate looked _ “Do you mean to say that I am your pris oner—that yon want to lock mo up?” “Well, yes, sir. Very suspicious case, yon see. 'Young lady poisoned—friends not forthcoming. No doubt yon’il bo able to ex plain matters to-morrow; but for to-night you must consider yourself in custody.” “Yes, of course, I shall bo able to ex- 'n,” said Cteorge Caulfield, calm and for me.” « “Yon had better hold your tongue,” said ;t without George yed in a cab to , ------------.._s subjected to the ignominious process of ha-ving his pockets searched by a jailer. In one of them was found tho little bottle given him by the gen tleman at Grandchester, and this, together with a few other trifles, was handed over to the authorities for investigation. ■ CHAPTER II. m DUBANOE VIML Instead of making any vain attempt at sleep, 0eorge Caulfield asked for pens, ink and paper, and a lamp that would last him for the best part of tho night; and on these luxuries being conceded he sat down to write a long letter to his m 3r to his mother, relating i !s of his miserable jonrm and entreating her not to take alarm at 1 __ situation, whatever she might read about him in the newspapers. This letter, which would travel by the morning post, could be preceded by a telegram informing the old lady that her son was safe, and detained at Miildale on business. Some hours of a n xiety. the spn could not sparfe that beloved mother; and it was more painful to him to think of her trouble, when five o’clock came and brought no returning traveler, than to con template his own position. “Dear old lady! I can fancy her and all her neat and careful arrangements for my comfort,” mused Mr. Caulfield. “I know how distrustful she will be of the maids, and how she will insist upon getting up at four o’clock in order to see about my break fast. And then when the time comes, and no hansom drives up to the gate, what agonies she will suffer, for I have never accustomed her to disappointments. I have never broken my word to her in my life.” The curate fretted and fumed at tho thought of his mother’s anxiety. He was an only and an adoring son—at thirty-two years of age a confirmed bachelor, loving no one on earth as well as he loved the widowed mother whose cherished companion he had been from childhood upward. Had she not removed her dearly loved goods and chat tels to Eton, and lived in a small house in 'the High street all the time her boy was at school there? Had she not followed him to Cambridge as faithfully as a sutler follows a camp? And now she had one of the pret tiest houses In South Kensington, and ' son -was first curate at the most Inten He had been assisting at a choral festival a t a small to-wn near Grandchester, where an old college friend of his father’s was vicar, and had been only three days away from the d ainty little nest at South Kensington, where blue china plates had just broken out, like pimples, on the sage-green walls, and where the Queen Anne mania showed itself modestly in divers inexpensive detaila “Poor mother!” sighed George; “a tele gram can hardly roach her before nine o’clock at the earliest.” He read his Teimyson; ha dozed a little; he got rid of the night somehow, and at seven o’clock ho had -written and dispatched two telegrams. The first was to his mother; the second was to tho vicar, from whom ho had parted at eleven o’clock the previous morning, and to -ivhom he was inclined to look for succor, as one of the cleverest and most energetic men ho knew. This latter message was brief: “From George Caulfield, Miildale jail, to Edward Leworthy, Freshmead vicarage: Come to me at once, for God’s sake! I am in a great difficulty.” Mr. Caulfield’s janitor brought him a com fortable breakfast by and by, and was in clined to sympathize. He know a gentle man when he saw one, he told the curate, though he had had to deal with a tough lot in this beastly hole. Ho had seen a good many murderers in his time, and the possi bility of his prisoner’s guilt made very little diffiereuce to his feelings. Guilty or not guilty, a man who was free-handed with half-crown pieces was entitled to respect. The difference between a half-crown and a florin was just the difference between your real gentleman and the spurious article. The actual amount was not much, but that odd sixpence marked the distinction. This functionary informed Mr. Caulfield that tho Inquest was to take place at four o’clock that afternoon. “\Which gives you time to oommunica with your solicitor,” he added, grandly. “But I haven’t any solicitor,” ans-vs-en the prisoner. “I never have had any la business in my life.” “So much the better for you, sir,” responded the jailer, sententiously; “but you must have a lawyer to watch this here case for you.” “I’ll wait till m y friend the vicar of Fresh- mead comes, and take his advice about it,” said George, “I know he’ll come as soon as the rail can bring him.” His confidence was not ill-placed. Soon after noon Mr. Leworthy was ushered Into his room. He was between fifty and sixty— a man -with a countenance full of vivid in telligence, bright brown eyes and gray hair, worn longer than the fashion. It was alto gether a poetic head, but the man’s tempera ment fitted him for action and effort as thoroughly as his intellect gave him mas tery in brain work. Such a friend as this was verily a friend in n e e i The two men clasped hands, and for the first minute George Caulfield was speech- “Teil me all about it, said the vicar, sitting m b y his friend’s side with as cheerful an ■\ were a common thing for him ud a friend in prison. George Caulfield related his dreadful ad venture of the previous night, the -vicar lis tening intently, with knitted brow.s, “It looks like murder,” he said at last. “The poor creature was carried to the sta tion in a dying state, and that stertorous raght to the station in some kind of vehicle—cab, bath chair—something. The first thing to be done is to have inquiries made among the cabmen and cab proprie tors. The police will do all that; but I shall have to watch your interests in the matter. You must have a clever lawyer, too, to watch the case. Brookbank, of Grandohes- fer, will be the man—always about tho criminal court there, up to every mova I’U telegraph to him instantly. The Inquest is lobe at four, you say. I must get it put off till fiva” “How good you are I” exclaimed George, n of {he_world, that’s all. Some , ____ r--.. - a patsofi has no right to bo a man of tho world, forgetting who it was that told us to be wise as serpents. I’m not thoo popularopular ideadea off a parson,rson, p i o a pa you know, by any moans; but I can serve a friend as well as your straight-laced specimen of the breed.” He was a man of abounding cheerfulness and infinite capacity for work, as prone to embellish his conversation with occasional flowers of inodem slang now as he had been forty years ago at Eton. He was just the man George Caulfield -wanted in this crisis of his life. He telegraphed to the Grandchester at torney, and got the Inquest postponed from four till flva He saw tho medical man, he talked to the police. A police officer had started for Grandchester by an early train to hunt up tho o-wner of the card, and de tain as much information as could be got in a few hours. . ■ The inquest was held a t the chief hotel in MlUdale, in a large dining room, which was only used on civic and particular occasions. Hero, under a blaze of gas, the curate of _Bt. argravo, M. R. C. S.', gene titioner at Miildale, declared thai ceased, name unkno-svn, had died from the effects of a large dose of laudanum. The had been no post mortem, and he saw no necessity for one. Tho color of the face, tho odor of the lips, tho abnormal coldness ‘ -------- — 1 sufficient er’-^ -------- '‘- Sensatlon I The railway guard aod station master stated all they knew about the arrival of the deceased a t Miildale Junction. Both de scrib e the prisoner as v i o l e n t agitated. The constable who hod been sent to Grand chester was n ext examined. He had found Mr. Elsden, of Briargate—a man of sixty, stout, gray, bald, in every at tribute unlike the man described so graph ically by Mr. Caulfield. Mr. Elsden had been able to offer no suggestion as to the stranger who had made such a shameful use of his card. it tho de- from t Xno cuuabamo uau uiterwaru gone to no less than four cab yards, where he had m de allill inquiriesquiries possiblessible inn a limited time. Ho ■ ' ' ^ - ^ - cabman who statioB in po i a li lad been unable to find talidt lady to the station on ling.ing. Hee hadad next hunted hod driven an inv tho previous even H h next bun out the only hath chair proprietor to found in Grandchester, with the same re sult. Time had not allowed him to visit the numerous chemists’ shops in that thriving city, and that remained to bo done. There was no evidence on Mr. Caulfield's behalf, except the vicar of Freshmead’s evidence as to his character and ante cedents, and to the fact that ho only parted with him at eleven o ’clock on the previous morning at the Freshmend Bo^d station. Preshmead was .seven miles from Grand- choster. di-al and 1 joing to look at the cathe- V courts, and to spend an hour • two in the Oldbury library “He was to dine soi ■o dine somewhere, I suppose?\ He meant to dine at a restaurant. There ig places in Grand- coroner serious a are a good many Chester; he could After this -witnes.5 had been examined the inquiry was adjourned for a week. At the close of the proceedings, Mr. Brookbank, the la-wyer, asked if bis client might be released on bail, the vicar of Freshmead'being prepared to offer hi as security to any amount, but the replied that the case was of too sc nature to admit of bail. So Mr. Caui field went back to tho stony place whence he had come, where the utmost privilege that could bo accorded him was the liberty to see his friends at stated hours, and to have his meals supplied from an adjacent hotel. His spirits would have assuredly gone down to the point of utter despondency on that gloomy winter evening, when the moldy fly that had conveyed him to the George hotel carried him back to the jail, had he not been supported and sustained b y the in domitable cheerfulness of his friend the '“■RTiat do you think of the case now?” he ^^“Thinkl” cried Mr. Leworthy. “\Why that I shall have so much to do in Grand chester ferreting out this mystery of yours during the next six days that I don’t know how the deuce my parish work is to get “\Won’t you employ the polica?” “Of course I shall; but I shall employ my self, too. Don’t you be down hearted, George. I mean to see you safely through this business, and I shall do it right away, ^ they say on the other side of the At- George Caulfield’s confidence in his father’s old friend was unbounded. Ho had seen In if they had been eating white bait at Green wich or turtle in Aldersgate street under the most exhilarating circumstances; and stimulated by the force of example, George, who had scarcely broken his fast since be left Grandchester, found himself enjoying the tavern steak and the tavern claret. His friend left him soon after dinner to go back to Grandchester by the nine o’clock train, and then came a dreary interval until ten, when the prisoner lay do-wn on his pal let bed and slept soundly, exhausted by the bewildering emotions of the lost twenty-four houra Ho was very downhearted, now that he had before him the prospect of a week's solitude in that miserable cell, for Mr. Le worthy had told him that ho should not re turn to Miildale until the day fixed for the adjourned inquiry, by which time he hoped to have unearthed the man who had used Mr. Elsden’s carA ion tea and dry toast, the I in to ten him tude-came r wished to see him. 1\ cried the < '^*iady'l’ show of to gratify any one’s curate. “There m ust don’t know a creature be made a* )rbld curi- ‘Lord love you, sir, as if we should do 3h a thing! It’s all right; the lady’s got order. She’s a relative, no doubt ” The'man withdrew into the stony passage outside; then came a rustling sound George Caulfield knew well—a sweeping, stately step, and an elderly lady, \gray and tall and slim, came quickly in and threw her arms round his neck. “Mother,” cried thej curate, “how could u doo suchch a thing?”ng? you d su a thi “How could I do anythin) mother, striving heroicallyoioally “Doyoulyou supposeppose 1 waas anything else?\ said his r to be cheerful. inn Lon-n- su 1 w g oing to stay i Lo after I received your letter. Tho post man brought tho letter a t seven, Sophia had my trunk packed by halt-past, and Jane had a cab att thehe door—suchor—such goodood girls,irls, andnd so t do g g a so IS about you! I was at Euston by ten minutes past eight, and caught the train that leaves at a quarter past eight. I was at Miildale half an hour after midnight—too late to come here, of course, so I went to tho nearest hotel The chambermaid told me they were sending you your meala I felt quite interested in them, and at borne with them directly.” She was a wonderful old lady, carried her self so bravely, spoke so brightly, looked at her son with eyes so fall of confidence and hope. He would have been tmworthy of such a mother had he not faced his position unfalteringly. They sat down side by side Ijon tho prison bench, and he told her all that his letter to To be Continued. Everyday Paris. I have seen Paris in the height of its imperial splendor, all gilt and tin sel, sawdust and spangles, when the court was a debauch and the govern ment was a stock jobber, and fashion was a strife who could live the fastest; I have seen it in the dust and ashes of national disaster, newly come out of the valley of death, yet wet with blood and tears ; and I have seen it a young republic, struggling for exist ence against every kind of enemy, exterior and interior ; and with every change in its fortune it has been the same old seven-and-sixpence, happy- go-lucky, don’t-care-a-cent-for-expen- ses, now-you see-it-and-now-you-don’t always ready to see company, and just as self-satisfied and lively in one lone chicken leather as in an ostrich plume, singing, laughing, dancing, cheating and courtesying, cajoling and flatter ing, lending and spending, swearing, fighting, crying, and, in short, enjoy ing itself; not so rich, perhaps, as it has been, but not a whit diminished in the wondrous shine and flow of its animal spirit. It reveres nobody and venerates nothing. — Henry W a ttersorr. Where the Money Conies From. Detroit Tribune: Secretary Whitney has spoilt large sums of money for so cial purposes since he entered the Cabinet, but it all came from the Standard Oil Company’s wallet, to which the people of the country paying large tribute every day. He is -merely spending a small per cent of a great steal, that’s all. He can afford to set out terrapin suppers and seven kinds of wine^ as long as be rides on the band wagon of the biggest mo nopoly in the country. National Greatness. WIic Tsmorance tba.(. Prevails In Europe in Begard To Va, An American is not a born egotist. When be is abroad he speaks of his country with an honest pride, and as he meets many persona who know little about it he finds himself often obliged to tell something of its extent, its pop ulation, its means of transit and its resources. The ignorance that pre- vails in Europe in regard to us is astonishing. The London Times is really the only European newspaper that has an American correspondence worthy of the name. The cablegrams of the other London newspapers are the briefest possible paragraphs, en tirely unsatisfactory to the American abroad who desires to keep himself au courant with what passes at home. There is not a Parisian journal that maintains a correspondent in America, though some of them have an occasion al letter from New York. They gen erally translate the meager dispatches to London, often with the unpleasant result not only that the information contained is brief, but that they often take with them from the British edito rial writers an unfriendly tone and This is not a fault of ^hich French journals alone are guilty, because able foreign correspondents of American papers residing in London and deriv ing their knowledge of continental pol itics from the journals of that metrop oHs, lapse often into British prejudices. The American on the continent has to supplement the scanty information of the newspapers and correct the bad impression he finds made by the inac curate statements of travelers. The German newspapers maintain no cor- londents in America, though like 16 of Paris, they have occasional letters. Still, the German element be ing so large in America, private means of information are not wanting, and now and then some disgruntled Ger man writes to his home paper some malicious letter about our politics which is sure to be copied freely by the journals of the principal German and Austrian cities. What idea can a European have of the size pf rivers who has seen only the Seine, the Thames, the Loire, and possibly the Rhine, the Elbe, and the Danube? The Thames is a pretty pastoral stream above London. Below it is a part of the sea. The French know nothing of inland navigation ex cept from the Loire, on which small steamers would run in certain stages of the water if the railroads had not taken all the business, or from the Seine, with its little passenger steam ers, which are one of the means of local transit at Paris, and the tugs and barges that come up from the channel and suggest that there is a sea some where. The “ Yellow Tiber” has just about the same commercial capacity. Little steamboats, or tugs, come up from Ostia to the mouth of the ancient Oioaea Maximi, into which they might enter at certain stages of the water if they see fit. The Rhine is a shallow stream with boats not so large as those that run on the Mississippi river above St. Paul. The Elbe cannot be navigated to any great distance with out locks and dams. Boats like those used in American canals can ascend the Spree to Berlin. The Spanish rivers are useless for commercial pur poses, The Danube is navigable to some point considerably above Vienna, but the entire distance to which boats can ascend it is considerably, less than that of boat navigation on the Ohio and not much greater than that of sev eral of the rivers of the gulf states, while the boats are small and inconven ient. Such boats as are found on the Hudson and Connecticut, among our smallest navigable streams, would- as tonish Europe, not alone by their grace of model and beauty of finish, but by their size and the idea that we had rivers large enough to float them. The Arkansas and the Red rivers have a commercial availability incomprehen sible in Europe, while to tell a foreign er that you can travel 5,000 miles on the same stream, from the mouth of the Mississippi tp the sources of the Missouri, makes him open his eyes and mouth with unfeigned astonishment. He never beard of it before. The extent of our railroad system is to a European as surprising as any thing that can be told him. It seems strange to hear that we have more miles of railroad than all the countries of Europe combined, and more mar velous still to hear that it takes six days and nighis of cpnstant travel to from New York to San Francisco, the American this long trip sug gests a great deal of comfort and some luxury. To the Frenchman, not know ing how many means are supplied for making the American traveler comfort able, it means six days and nights of prolonged misery. A tourist depart ing from John O’Groat’s can, in less time than that, find himself on the Nile, in Siberia or on the Caspian’ The traveler leaving Paris is in t’ days and a half in St. Petersburg. A single day enables him to reach Berlin, and a trifle more time to get to Vienna, Rome or Madrid. It required nearly as much time to go by rail from the northern boundary of the country to the southern, though if railroads were everywhere in existence the whole of Europe might be spanned at any point within leas time. Thus do we com pare with Europe in respect to area or quantity. As to quality, it is a matter for separate consideration. Territo rially considered, such countries aa Germany, France, Spain and Austria do not differ greatly in size from sev eral of our larger states. As to the Bmalier, they can only be compared as regards area with the larger counties of California. The Netherlands would be lost in the basin of the San Joaquin, Greece in the valley of the Sacramento. Diligent search would have to be made for Italy if it were transferred bodily to the Missiesippi valley. Yet to a European his ordinary dis tances seem great. He is used only to railroad journeys that can be made in a few hours. Though Belgium is so near Paris, five or six hours only being required to make the trip, com paratively few Belgians have visited the great French metropolis. The average Parisian has never visited Lon- , don. The average Londoner has never, been in Paris. The distance can be accomplished in eight hours, but that is a long trip in Europe. Few Ameri cans who have lived within eight hours of New York are able to say they have never visited it. Familiarity with magnii^cent distances makes travel easy to our countrymen. Another sign of our greatness and prosperity is the number of our large cities. We have no one city as large as London or Paris, but no country in Europe has so many of over 300,000 inhabitants. We have over 300 cities that number nearly 10,000. France has not to exceed 170 of the same size, and many of these rather represent medieeval decay than modern prosper ity. France has not half a dozen cities that exceed 100,000. The state of New York alone has as many. The Austrian empire has only four—^Vienna, Buda-Pesth, Trieste and Prague. Italy has a few more. We have in fact nearly as many that exceed this number as the whole of Europe, and every one has grown naturally to sup ply the wants of the surrounding pop ulation None of them have been founded by kings, or have behind them ages upon ages of lost opportunities When it comes to cities of 50,000 or 60,000, or those of 25,000, the com- irison is. still more in our favor.— Z7i Francisco Chronicle. sity, idea Restlessness that Ruins Homes. Thousands of farmers every year leave pleasant homes in the older set tled states and make long and tedious pilgrimages to newer states and terri tories, not driven to it by necessif; but by a chronic restlessness—an that it is possible somewhere else to get on a little faster in the world. In nine cases out of ten the man would be really better off to stay where he is, but he is never satisfied until be has made at least one or two decided changes. Homes are destroyed in the most ruthless manner in pursuit of this phantom of bettering one’s self— homes which can never really be re stored to the family, for home is some thing \more than the roof tvhieh shelters us. The associations of childhood, the friends of early days, the memories of the past, the ancestral graves upon the hillside—at# these nothing ? It will take more years than most of us can ifford to give to build a new home and get into it the feeling v regard our present one, humble .— H a rtford Times. new home e with which be it ever so Only Wanted Five Minutes. ‘‘You were speaking of Stephen Field as a grave and sedate Justice now that he is full of years and honor, and occupies a seat in one of the great- est judicial bodies in the world,” said another of the party, “but I remember him when he was as gay and rollicking a lad as the best of us. “When the mining camp at what is now Nevada City was first organized young Lawyer Field was elected a Jus tice of the Peace. Probably the toughest member of the cam] iperado, i One day Rei noted desj name. Ids by ^It ip i irado. Jack Reynoh lay Reynolds was je of horse-stealing, was a trial by jury, v;ifh Justice Field presiding. The evidence was not strong enough to convict, but as every body was anxious to get rid of Rey nolds the “verdict was, ‘W( prisoner at the bar not guil he is wise he will leave th( ‘We find not guilty, but if he 18 wise he will leave the camp in thirty minutes.’ The verdict amused the voungoung Justiceustice immensely,mmensely, butut hee y J i b h aated it to Reynolds with due sol- enanity. “Revj Jnryi trousf jynolds, whose sense of the ridicu- was quite as keen as those of the I calmly replied. :een as those of I, as he gave his ousers an extra hitch: “ ‘Gents, if the mule don’t buck I ’ll I out in five.’ ”— IVashington Tetter. A Tolcano in Japan. A recent number .of The Japan Weekly M a il contains a short account' of a night ascent of the active volcano Asamayama. The party left Karnisawa in the afternoon, and commenced the ascent from the eastern side about sun set. The skjrwas perfectly clear, and the summit was reached an hour be fore midnight. The wind, blowing from the south, carried the sulphurous v^por away to the northward, and thus the ascent was made less uncom fortable. The party saw quite to the bottom of the crater, which presented the appearance of a furnace filled ■with glowing coals. The sound of the roaring, hissing and bubbling is des cribed as loud and awful. The walls of the crater are of a light brown col or, and are composed of successive layers marked out with striking regu larity, like the seats in an ampitheatre. Allowing ten of these layers to each interval of twenty feet, the depth from the surface to the inoaudesceut matter would appear to be 200 feet. The per iphery of the crater is about half a mile, although the Japanese calculate; it at two miles and Boston Transcript, A New View of Sing Sing. W a r d e n Bruhia C liats A b o u t H I n P r is- .o n e r s j a e b n e m id W a r d . Ferdinand Ward is not as good a prisoner as ex-Aid. Henry W. Jaehne. Warden Brush of Sing Sing says so, and he ought to know. A reporter for the M a il who went up the river last week bad a chat with Mr. Brush upon his important charges. He says Jaehne .is one of the best men he ever had for a prisoner. From the very beginning of his sentence he has obeyed every ru le to th e letter. “ In fact,” said the warden, “ he seemed anxious to learn exactly what he ought to do, and to-day he is exactly like clock-work. His health has im proved with the regular living, and his appetite is something pleasant to be- hqld. He punishes prison fare as if he had been accustoined to it all his life. ‘ That is the only way for a man to get along in prison. He must look at the situation from the standpoint of a phi losopher and say to himself: “ lam here* and might as well make the best of a bad bargain.” Jaehne seems to be that sort of a man. I understiind that he was an inveterate smoker of good cigars before coming here. Still he enjoys a pipe which we allow him in the evening with as much gusto as if it were a Eeina. But Ferdinand Ward, he is the most persistent worker for trifling privileges which we cannot allow him that you ever heard of. If he wants a cigar he will try to get it, although it is against the rules and any keeper showing favor in this re spect would be dealt with summarily. Ward will resort to all little schemes in order to accomplish an object. He will not accept defeat. Of course he is treated the same as any other con vict, but he is not willing to be as Jaehne is. Prisoners are allowed to read books and magazines, and we have quite a large libfary here, but newspapers are not allowed. Some of the prisoners will get them, however. A wife will send her husband a book. Well, inside the cover, perhaps, she has concealed a newspaper, or a por tion of one, and when she hands it to him at her visit, which we allow every two months, he is ready to understand the slightest sign from her, although a keeper stands right by in the room with them. “You would be surprised at the memory of an intelligent prisoner. When not at work and not rending, they have nothing to do but think, and they are ever on the alert for news from the outside world. I really be lieve that every one knew that ex Aid. McQuade was to arrive here on Monday. How tbs news get in there is no telling, but with their wits sharpened, and craving for news such as only a man locked up bad, he is able to grasp at a word and work o’jt the situation himself. If a convict were to pass through this hall now, for in stance, and hear you let drop a word, he would be able to guess at the whole conversation and tell his friends about it. It is instinct. Jaehne knew that McQuade’s motion for a stay had been denied, for be spoke to me about it. He spoke very feelingly too, was really sorry that some one else had to follow him to prison. We rarely have trouble with men of intelligence. They readily understand the rules and know that the best way to get along is to follow them. It is the tough that, usually tries to kick over the traces, but he never sueceeda in this institution. Buddensiek, the man who w ^ sent here for building mud houses, was an exception. He was so sure that he would get out in a little while that be tried to carry on bis business. This we could not allow. He was always wanting to see some of his iriends about his building enterprise, and I have no doubt that if he had been al lowed to give orders to his foreman every morning as he desired his busi ness would have continued to prosper. He would not put it in any one else’s hands until the court of appeals de cided that the verdict must stand. Now he is resigned.” While the warden was talking three prisoners came through the doorway from below. They were no longer prisoners when they entered the war den’s office. Their terms had just ex. pired. They were dressed in clothing cut by a Fifth avenue tailor, and felt as proud as could be. They bowed to the warden and walked out into tho world free men. “It looks queer for a prisoner with out money or friends to leave here with a hundred-dollar suit on his back, but occasionally they do. When a man comes here his clothing is confis cated. It is renovated and, if need be, repaired, and hung up for future in spection. The first prisoner dischaig- ed is entitled to pick out any suit of clothes he takes a fancy to. If there is nothing to fit him we furnish him Thei nhne’s spring on when ho came here, and some other ex-convict selected his trousers. An other took the Prince Albert coat and some one else chose the vest of the ex-alderman. They were all of the finest quality. Money and jewelry are always returned to a prisoner at the expiration of his term.. It fre quently happei sent here the iens that when a second man is he will bring along all his money and jewelry, knowing that the State is responsible responsibl Sing Sing is not such a bai for ther SxxasiB J v sn boa seen the women o t all na- tiom^ aad has made up her mind that Amer’* can women stand at tbe bead for health, oom- plerioD, taste, and; good temper. SJie be- lievea that Amerioah men abonld home enterprlM, I \patronize W h y She Should be ThanhfaL Here is a story of Glouster which it may be necessary to preface with the fact, familiar enough -to* people who live on the coast, but not so familiar to inlanders, that when a sea faring man dies away from home a point is made of packing his effects in his chesl promptly and returning them to his family: A lady, dressed in deep mourning, was riding in a Glouster street car, when another lady, sharp of feature and inquisitive of gaze, came in and sat down by her side. The sharp featured woman figeted about for a minute or so and tben began catechiz ing the woman in mourning: “Be you mourning the loss of relatives, ma’am ?” “ Yes.” “ Husband or brother?” “Both.” “Law sakes! Was they lost at sea?” “They died at New Orleans of yellow fever.’’ “Dear me, suz! Both on ’em died ’o the yellow fever, eh?” “Yes.” The inquisitive woman wiped away a tear, paused for an in stant, and then resumed: “Was they hopefully pious, ma’am 1 ” “Yes, they were.” “And (eagerly) did ye git their chists?’.’ “I did.” “Oh, well,” said tbe sharp featured woman, with a sigh of satisfaction, ‘‘if they died hopefully pious and you got their‘chists you’ve got a great deal to be th a n k f u l for !”— JBosion Record. getical point of view, is the famous ' stronghold of Gibraltar. It occupies The Biggest Things. From the Philadelphia Times. The largest theatre in the world is the hew opera house in Paris. It cov ers nearly three acres of ground; Its cubic mass is 4,287,000 feet; it cost about 100,000,000 francs. The largest suspension bridge is the one between New York city and Brooklyn; the length of the main span is 1.595 feet six inches; the entire length of the bridge is 5,980 feet. The Icftieat ac tive volcano is Popocatapetl—“Smok ing mountain”—thirty-five miles south west of Puebla, Mexico ; it is 17,748 feet above the sea level and has a cra ter three miles in circumference and 1.000 feet deep. The longest span of wire in the world is used for a tele graph in India over the river Kistnah. It is more than 6,000 feet in length and is 1,200 feet high. The largest .ship in world is the Great Eastern. She is 680 feet long, eighty-three feet broad and sixty feet deep, being 28,- 627 tons burden, 18,915 gross and 13,- 344 net register. The greatest fortress, from a stra- ;hold a rocky peninsular jutting oat into the sea, about three miles long and three- quarters of a mile wide. One central rock rise.s to a height of 1,435 feet above the sea level. Its northern face ia almost perpendicular, while its east side is full of tremendous precipices. On the south it terminates in what is called Eui'opa point. The west side is less steep than the east, and between its base and the sea is the narrow, al most level span on which the town of Gibraltar is built. The forlr'jss is con sidered impregnable to military assault. The regular garrison in time of peace numbers about 7,000. The biggest cavc-rn is the Mammoth ,ve in Edmonson count}’, Kentucky. It is near Green river, about six miles from Cave City and twenty-eight from Bowling Green. The base consists of a succession of irregular ehambera, some of which are large, situated on ' different levels. Some of these are traversed by navigable branches of the subterrauea’u Echo river. Blind fish are found in its waters. Tho longest tunnel in the world ia that of the St Gothard, on the lino of railroad between Lucerne and Milan. The summit of the tunnel is 900 feet below tbe surfaci^ at Aadermatt and 6,600 feet beneath the peak of Kaslle- horn, of the St. Gothard group. The . tunnel is 26^ feet wide and is i ighteen feet ton inches from tbe floor to the crown of the arched roof. It is nine and pne-half miles long, one and five- eighths miles longer than the Mount Genis tunnel. The biggest trees in the world—atfi-- tbe mammoth trees of California. One of a grove in Tulare county, according t-J measurements made by members of the state geological survey, was shown to be 276 feet in height, 108 feet in circumference at base and seventy-six feet at a point twelve feet above ground. high the largest that have been felled indi cate an age of from 2,000 to 2,500 The largest library is the Biblio- theque Nationale in Paris, founded by Louis XIV. It contains 1,400,000 vol umes, 300,000 pamphlets, 175,000 man uscripts, 300,000 maps and charts and 150.000 coins and medals. Tbe collec tion of engravings exceeds 1,300,000, contained in some 10,000 volumes. The portraits number about 100,0c The largest desert is that of Sf\’ a vast region of northern Africa, tending from the Atlantic ocean on th^ west to the valley of the Nile on Ihe east. The length from east to west is about 3,000 miles, its average breadth about 900 miles and its area about 2,- 000,000 square miles. Rain falls in torrents in Sahara at intervals of five, ten and twenty years. In summer the beat during the day is excessive, but the nights are often cold. In winter the temperature is sometimes below freezing point. The greatest pyramid amids forming tho uatod on a plateau about 137 feet Some of the trees are 376 feet high and thirty-four feet in diameter. Some of :ng point. Xhe greatest pyra is that of Cheops, one of the three pyr- tho Memphis group, sit- above the level of the highest rise in the Nile. Its dimensions have been reduced by the removal of the outer portions to furnish stone for the city of Cairo. Its masonry consisted orig inally of 89,028,000 cubic feet, and still amounts to 82,111,000 feet. The present vertical height is 450 feet, agsinst 479 feet originally. The total weight of the stone is estimated at 6,316,000 tons. The largest bell in the world is the great bell of Moscow, at the foot of the Kremlin. -Its oircam- ference at the bottom is nearly sixty- eight feet and its height more than twenty-one feet. In its stoutest ;^ati it is twenty-three inches fhick, and its weight has been computed to be 443,- 722 pounds. It has never been bong, • 4 #
