HomeMy WebLinkAboutLucknow Sentinel, 1907-09-25, Page 2P. k».4P4-:ai»4^4^^4»4-C'><>’H>><>4><>4-o-4K><H>> o>o+<>
4- jOt“ THE SACRIFICE ; I
I»II>
>
£
•4-
«
y
«
KW « 4 ft HX4'#4B4»f B4«4 o->o ^ox> 4- c-<Po4-o^o •> o4-o* $
OR
FOR HER FAMILY’S SAKE.
CHAPTER VII.
The next morning Katie was walking
toward the station; she hud her little
leather bag with her school exercise
books on her arm. In the early morn
ing, Lora had come into her sisters
room, and in a weary voice had beg
ged her to do her the one favor of put
ting her note into Dr. Schonbergs
hands; unfortunately, she could nd
fulfil her promise, for papa was not at
all well, in iconsequence, probably, of
slaying up so long and (drinking punch
the night before; she must go up to
him at once, Io bind up his leg. Katie
knew very well that he would never
allow any one else to do it.
Katie had absolutely snatched the
open note out of her hand, but she did
not speak a word. But Lora knew the
letter would be delivered. Katie was
trustworthy, and her motto was “Faith-
In' and true.”
The young girl went to the station
by side streets. Her face wore a rigid
expression, which made her irregular
features almost ugly. There was some
thing stern, almost cruel, in her dark
eyes, which were .surrounded by dark
blue rings. She held Lora’s letter in
ter hand, and scarcely seemed to no
tice that she had almost crushed it.
At length she slopped in a narrow
street, which ran between garden hedg
es It was ou'side the town: the gar
dens belonged to people who lived in
the cdy, and here and there was a
simple country house.
The leaf.ess loughs of the fruit trees
lowered up above the bare hedges;
otherwise the landscape was like a sea,
so thick was the mist; it Concealed the
ok. walls of the city to the left and the
fields lound about it. No one was vis
ible on the lonely, narrow path which
sir etched before her.
Katie looked at the letter and bit her
lips. In it were words of love addressed'
to him, and—Lora had written them!
She gazed at the white paper, as if
she would pierce it with her glance.
She could have taken the note out of
its envelope, but she did not do it. She
would not have done it for all the
world.
It was not honorable to read other
people’s letters, even when they were
open; and she would not do it, when
sdic knew that every word contained
tn it would pierce her heart like a stab
from a knife.
Katie had ceased to be a child since
yesterday. She was no longer a
thoughtless school-girl. She had devel
oped suddenly into a woman. She
did not comprehend, herself, how she
bad hitherto lived. Shy had been awake
ail night, thinking and crying, and
she had come to the conclusion that
she should go mad if—yes. if——
To “go m<ad” was a favorite resource
of hers, when her passionate tempera
ment was opposed in any way.
She suddenly crushed up the letter
in her hand, and clenched her hand
over it. Why should she, she of all
persons, be employed as. this lover's
messenger?
Three strokes of the clock sounded
through the mist. She raised her head.
“Quarter of eight,” she murmured. At
eight o’clock, precisely, he would go!
She turned suddenly about, and walked
toward home; behind her, in the dis
tance, a train was thundering along;
there lay the station. She sauntered
along for awhile, then she stopped and
picked a half frozen seed-vessel from a
wild-rose bush, whose thorny briers
straggled tlirough the hedge. She
broke open the red fruit, and began
to count the hard seeds. Iler gauze
v'-il was damp from the heavy fog.
Stie must have' been very cold, for she
was excessively pale.
Aft. r awhile she turned back in the
direction of the station, and now she
walked fast, still carrying the crushed-
up note in her hand. Just below her
a red-tiled roof rose out of the mist.
Aga'n there was a dull, rumbling sound;
it came nearer and nearer; .she knew
it was 'the Hamburg train, which left
■at eight o’clock, bv which he would
travel. Al! at once she began to run;
hc-i face was deeply flushed, and her
eyes were wet with tears. She stopped,
Lroathless, just at the end of the stret.
A shrill whistle, and the train mov
ed out of the station; .she could see it
rush away into I he silvery sea of mist.
Did some one look out of the carriage
window? Was it he?
Just thin the town clock struck eight.
“Too la'e!” she murmured, and turn-
id slowly to the left toward the Buchow
gate. The train had gone too soon—
[much loo soon!
She took the note and began to tear
fl up in little pieces. They fluttered in
the air. behind her, like snow-flakes,
for awhile, and then lay like little
white flowers on the wet grass by the
side of the road. She hardly knew
what, she (lid; she only kept thinking
that she should go mad if—yes, if----
CHAPTER VIII.
About noon a servant from the Bech
er villa left <d the door a note for the
Herr Major von Tollen, with a hare
and Frau Becher’s compliments. Herr
Becher had sh d il that morning. Frau
von Tollen had taken them both from
the messenger.
The major was in a bad temper to
day; he was vexed about, his son, who
showed Jess consideration for him than
ever, and the ladies of the house had
Io bear the consequences.. Rudi had
sieved out ogain till one o’clock at
night. and this morning he was com
plaining of headache, and was. in con-
seqin nee, in a very irritable frame of
mind.
“What can it be about?” said Frau
von Tollen anxiously, when she had
dismissed the servant. As she spoke
sin looked anxiously at the elegant
note.
“Mamma,” said Lora gently, “if you
co not know, I cannot enb’ghton you;
but. it . is probably only about the
game.”
Her 'mother’s worn face was flushed
wilh embarrassment.
“Oh, heavens!” she cried, “if only
Frau Becher does not-----”
“Want to propose for me for her
■Adalbert, mamma? I should not be
surprised.”
“And do you consider it an insult
that a mother who loves, her son should
I- y to win for him the girl of his
choice ” cried Frau von Tollen.
“Mamma, you must keep to th? point
—please, mamma. It is an insolence if
she dares do it after I-----”
Lora stopped. She saw, by her mo
ther’s expression, that she would not
understand.
“I must carry up the note,” said Frau
von Tollen resolutely, laying the hare
down on the table.
“Why should we talk about it? We
shall know soon enough what she
wants.”
Lora smiled involuntarily; she knew
very well what a mountain of courage
her mother needed, to put a note like
that into her husband’s hands. Her
courage did not quite hold out: the
Frau Majorin came back into the
kitchen.
“Ricker she called out of the window
into the garden, “comei here.” She
pul the letter on a plate and gave it
t- the 'little maid. "Carry it up to the
Ilerr Major; but first put on a clean
apron—so—it has just come.”
She sat down in a chair by the kit
chen table, at which Lora was standing,
peeling apples quite mechanically. Her
thoughts were already far, far’away,
on the road to Mainz.
“Oh, Lora,” sighed the old lady. The
daughter turned her pale face toward
hf r.
“You ore so indifferent. Lora.”
“About Rudi, mamma? No, indeed. I
am not,” asseverated the young girl.
“I cannot sleep at night- I feel oppress
ed as if be fore a thunder-storm; but
there is nothing to do but wait. And
then—” She tent tenderly over her
mother, and kissed her on the forehead,
“then we will bear the trial together,
motherkin, as we have so often done
b’ I ire.”
"But what if it is too heavy; if my
old shoulders should bend beneath the
burden?”
“1 will help you, mamma. Have
faith; a sunbeam will surely shine, in
the midst of it; only wait!” There was
a smile in her eyes for a moment; she
knew well what the sunbeam was.
And, as if this consciousness gave her
now courage, she inquired, “Has Ru
dolph heard nothing from Herr Ben-
berg to-day?”
“Oh. yes, replied her mother;
“he- gives the poor boy no peace. Two
letters, yesterday, and! another one
just now; but Rudi put it into his pock
et. unread. And what good can. it do?”
“Where is Rudi, then?”
“With papa.”
The little maid just then clattered
downstairs again in her wooden shoes,
and ran out into the garden.
“Now he has got the letter.” whisper
ed Frau von Tollen, “and Rudolph is
coming down, now.”
A moment, later the young officer came
into the kitchen, to his mother and
sister.
“Thank Heaven!” he murmured, “his
temper is too much to be borne. It. is to
be hoped the letter will give him some
thing else to think about, for 1 have
teen buffeted about enough. Did Bech-
ei send the hare?” he added; “he was
going out this morning, I know.”
Lora replied in the affirmative.
“Well, <at. any rate we shan’t have
that everlasting veal for Sunday,” he
grumbled.
"My love. I can’t buy partridges and
that sort of thing for you,” said Frau
von Tollen absently.
“Why, of course not, mamma! Good
heavens! you take offence at everything
I say.”
“Oh, no, Rudi; 1 have long got over
that——”
She suddenly started up from her
chair; the major was calling her in a
voice of thunder.
The brother and sister were now
alone.
‘There’ll bo a pretty row, now,” said
the lieutenant, taking his mother’s seat.
“Oh, I don’t think so. Why should
there be?” said Lora, without pausing in
her occupation.
“H’m! You can imagine what the
lady wants.”
“To some extent; but. it takes two
for that, sort of thing. Rudolph. She
might have spared herself the trouble.”
“I don’t care; il is all the same to
me,” he replied crossly, as he rose
from his chair. He turned round again,
when he reached the low door. “They
are having it hot and heavy up there,
do you hear?” lie remarked, with a
shrug of his shoulders. They could
hear the major’s voice, hoarse with
anger.
“Everything comes to an end some
lime,’’ said Lora, though she had grown
a shade paler. “I am only sorry for
mamma. Papa, I think, is of my opin
ion.”
After awhile she went upstairs. As
she was passing her father’s door, the
major was exclaiming: “My daughters
may marry whom they like; but they
.shall not be forced into a marriage.
When the girl tells me herself that
she wants him, (hen I will believe it,
but not before—and that is all I have
(<■ say. Bu't if Melitta shows her face
here, I will throw her downstairs, as
sure as there is a God in heaven, even
though I should be the murderer of
my own sister. I won’t stand her gos
sip.”
“Oh, Tollen!” cried his weeping wife.
“Be silent! I will answer that old
gypsy, that Becher woman, myself, do
you hear? A fine fellow that, to hide
himself under bis mother’s apron!
Can’t llku iclxl try his luck himself? No:
‘My son, who is too modest to 'approach
the daughter behind the. father’s back,
twould be glad to know whether it
'would be agreeable to the esteemed
Hen* Major and amiable wife, if he
isould ask for the hand of Fraulein Leo
nore.’ Confounded women’s nonsense-
The fellow has never worn uniform,
or ho would have come frankly, and
said to me, ‘I love your daughter—can
I have her or not?’ and then—then I
would just as frankly have flung him
downstairs, so he would have had td
pick up his bones separately, the
scented dandy!”
Lora’s lovdy face grew suddenly ra
diant. She ran hastily upstairs into
hci room. Iler dear, good old papa!
She 'would like to throw her arms
around his neck. She-lookcd across Io
the gymnasium, and then off into the
distance that spread before her, veiled
in mist. Dear, good papa- Never again
would she murmur when he scalded
■and grumbled, never again. And. she
would go to hun this very day '.and
say: “Papa, I love some one, who'will
come to you and ask you plainly whe
ther he may be your son. And he is
a true man. a good and wise man—
Doctor Ernest Schonberg.”
She caught herself singing in a low
tone. If Kiitie would only come ! She
must bring her a message; she must
1>- able to tell her whether he was very
much dirapixfinted because she could
not come herself. And this afternoon,
in the twilight, she would slip across
io his mother. She flushed crimson at
the thought, and her heart beat ra
pidly. It- is a critical moment for a
young girl when she, comes before her
future mother-in-law for the first time.
iShe knew that the old Frau Patorin
irm.de an idol of her son. and she would
ob ei've her sharply, as the one on
whom her son’s happiness and well
being depended. If she might only
p ease her! She went, to her flower
pots, where the last monthly roses
were blooming, and bent down each
one. to look at it closely. She meant
to tut them for Frau Schonberg.
If Katie would only come! But
Katie did not come. When the family
was seated al dinner, the boy who act
ed as page to Fraulein Melitta appear
ed. and announced that Fraulein Katie
would dine with Fraulein von Tollen
and they need not wail for her. This
was something so unheard of that- it
excited universal amazement, for Katie
and Aunt- Melitta avoided one another
like sun and moon.
“What has the gracious lady for din
ner to-day?” asked the lieutenant, with
a spice of humor, pouring some of his
father’s wine into his soup to make
the “dish-water” tolerable, as he said
to himself.
“Dumplings and stewed fruit,’'’ re
plied the servant lad, with a grin.
Lora wondered inwardly, for Katie
usually cel esled dumplings and stewed
fru’l.
The loy was dismissed. The major
sat in silent fury at the waste of his
wine, and no one spoke a word. Lora
endeavored, in her pleasant way. to
bieak the oppressive silence, but in
vain. The major ate his dinner hu/'-
nedly, and wore his grimmest countefi-
ance, and Frau von Tollen was male:
her son played with his knife and fork,
and was excessively polite in passing
the dishes, or in declining those offer
ed Io him. Al length Ids father folded
up his napkin before he had finished,
and, muttering a short “Mahlzeit!” he
limped out of the door.
“Papa dots not feel well,” said his
mother, in excuse. “You mustn't mind
him.”
She was scarcely conscious that she
spoke-—-ha had long known this excuse
bi' heart. For years she had had oc
casion to use it. daily, and she did fl
with unwearying patience.
The lieutenant arose, and whi-tlcd a
few notes, took his cigar case out of
his pocket, and seated himself by the
window.
“It is a mystery to me how you man
ege to bear il,” he remarked, and
buried himself in his paper, while the
little maid cleared the table.
Lora took a thin shawl and went in
to the garden. The sky was full of
clouds, but the air was still, and al
most warm. She walked up and down
the narrmv paths, and at length turned
her steps toward the iron gate in the
eld wall, and opening it, went out..
Outside, she stopped, and looked down
al a certain spot- in the wet grass.
Was it. very wicked of her that (he
jars and discords of her home did not
oppress her so heavily to-day as usual?
She could not help it; her heart was
so full of sunshine, that she felt as if
everything must come right, at last.
She felt, like a wanderer, walking
through crooked paths, in night and
darkness-; but who knows that at. the
end of this path there lies a shining j
goal, and that after the night the morn
ing will dawn in golden sunlight. She
threw her arm round the stern of a
birch tree, which, standing close, to
the water. Still kept all its foliage,
though dyed a brilliant yellow, as if
every leaf was gilded.
'1 he tree shone, out. in its splendor
in the gray autumn afternoon as gold.-
en as the hopes of the young creature
standing beneath it, in the gloomy
present. She was so deep in thought,
that she did not perceive how slowly
leaf after leaf fell to the ground; she
did not perceive how ’the little maid
■suddenly shot out of the door with a
disturbed countenance, and eyes star
ing with terror.
“Fraulein Lora! Fraulein Lora!” she
shrieked, grasping her young mistress
by the shoulder. “Good land! Come
in—the gracious lady-----”
Lora asked no questions; .she stared
al the girl in terror, and then she ran
into the house.
“Downsitairs,” the girl called after
her, “in the salon!”
Lora Hung open the door of the par-
loi. for the first few .seconds she saw
nothing but her brother, standing mo-
ti mle.s.s in the window, with his hands
in his pockets.
"What has happened?” she tried to
ask., but her voice died away. There,
on the floor, in front of the sofa, lay
her mother; her head resting on the
cushions, her hands clutching her gray
hair.
“Mamma!’ cried Lora, “dear mamma,
do speak to me.”
Frau von Tollen raised her head.
Izrr started us she looked into her
mother’s changed countenance—she
loked like a mad-womun.
"This is what. I get!” she shrieked.
“I have deserved this of my children!
They, for whojn I have given up my
life, now trample me into the dust! Oh,
why did I not die, at least?”
As she spoke she dropped into a chair
and covered her face with her trembling
hands.
(To be Continued.)
NAGGING MOTHER WORSE.
Children Shrijik From Continual Fault
1 Hilding.
When anybody talks, of a nagging
wife it is generally to refer in pitying
'terms to the man whom she. has mar
ried. Much more to be pitied, how
ever, are the children. .A man can
endure much and find a remedy in re-
'1 alia Lion, but sensitive children shri nk
I 'from continual faultfinding and suffer
'in silence.
In fairness, to mothers il must be said
■that they unwittingly fall into the ha
lm of nagging their children. The
Tiresome ways of the latter seem more
•than they can bear at times, and the
result is that they are apt to ibrgel
•themiselvcs.
"Don’t do this,” and “Don’t do that,”
and so forth are remarks calculated
to reduce children to a state of sulky
irritability. Unless the rights of the
Tittle people are carefully kept in view
by Hhe grown-up ones, it is small won
der that they sometimes rebel openly
■against an authority whose pressure
they feel in galling jerks and unrea-
•Jonable restrictions.
MAN-OF-WAR AS A PRISON
LIFE IN THE CELLS OF A BRITISH
BATTLESHIP.
The Most Trifi’ng Offence £n II^s Ma
jesty’s Navy j|s PuniislJpd Wijli
Great Severity.
A crime which in civilian life is pun
ishable by a fine of half-a-crowip is,
m our gallant “figuling Navy,’’’ "’dis
missed with a trifling “Fourteen days’
cells!'’ Surely it is foolish to thus treat
the men on whom our national safety
depends, and reforms are bound to fol
low w’hen the general public know all
the facts, says London Answers.
On the sacred quarter-deck, the pris
oner’s sentence is read out by the stern
captain to the assembled company of
sympathizing Bluejackets and Marines.
The culprit stands bareheaded between
the escort, of sturdy .Marines; then, (lie
sentence having been passed., the
man’s, cap is replaced, and, in obedi-
cn'ce to the sharp command of “Left
turn! Quick march!” the prisoner and
; escort march off to the cells, ’which are
situated in the foremost part of the ves
sel.
Before entering the cell allotted to
him, the prisoner removes his uniform,
which he is supposed to have disgrac
ed, and dons a coarse white, duck suit,
stamped prominently with the number
of the cell in which the man is to be
cm fined. His cap is of the-same ma
terial. but shaped somewhat like a
smoking-cap. The massive iron door
then clangs noisily upon him. the key
grates in the groat brass padlock, ana
the prisoner is alone in the tiny,
SILENT COMPARTMENT.
The cell is about eight feet long ny
four feet wide, with a height of about
six feet. The furniture, or fittings,
comprise a woden bed, a tin plate, and
a basin of the same unbreakable ma
terial. The walls of the cell are white
washed, and the compartment is well
lighted.
Al night tire cell is illuminated by a
single electric globe, which sheds its
welcome rays through a square of plate
glass, the light being switched on and
off from the outside,. In the door a
tiny glass is let in, of the size of a
fifty cent piece, through which an ob
servant eye occasionally takes a fur
tive peep at the prisoner.
Early in the morning the tin plate
is piled up with hard ship’s biscuit,
which supply has to last the prisoner
fur the whole day, without any other
variety of food. Occasionally, however,
when the incarcerated sailor conducts
himself in a praiseworthy manner, he's
allowed the luxury of a few boiled po
tatoes at. dinner-time.
All prisoners are allowed about two
hours’ exercise per day—one hour in
the forenoon and one hour in the af
ternoon. An escort of two Marines and
one coi’pcval arrives outside the cells,
and the great doors are swung back.
The prisoners then step forth, and.
flanked by the armed-escort, make their
way up the iron companion-ladder to
lb- breezy fo’c’s’le above. The escort
is .stationed at the taffrail in the form
of a triangle, while the prisoners walk
briskly round and iround the deck,
eagerly breathing in the pure,
REFRESHING SALT BREEZES.
The hardest part, of cell-life is the
daily task which tne prisoners are set.
Each man is forced to pick two pounds
cl oakum per day—by no means an
easy task. Old. tarred rope is cut into
lengths of about six inches each, and
two pounds of the material weighed
uo. This rope, being almost as hard
and as tough as iron, the prisoner finds
il necessairy to spend the greater part
of the day in patiently untwisting the
many strands, and picking them until
Die material has been reduced to a fine,
soft hairy mass.
AVTTcn the day for release arrives,
th-- .ship’s corporal enters the cell with
a bucket of steaming water and a scrub
ber, with which the man is ordered to
scrub the cell. Then, to the delight of
the prisoner, his old familiar suit of
Navy-blue is tossed in to him. which
suit he quickly dons, kicking the old
prison duds contemptuously into the
furthest corner. At last the great door
swings backward, and the prisoner
pale, tired, unshaven, but childishly
happy in his release—steps from the
cell a free man.
“Why did you leave your last place?”
"Sure. 1 worr discharged for doin’ well,
mum.” “Discharged for doing well
Why, where Were you?” “1 worr in the
horspital, mum.”
WHIMS OF WILL-MAKERS
LEGACIES THAT DROVE SOME
PEOPLE MAD.
Vindictiveness Instead of Generosity Is
Shown In Some Men’s
Wills.
“The true index of a man’s character
is contained in his last will and testa
ment,” somebody has written. If this is
so, then the late Lord Grimthorpe must
have been a peculiar and eccentric man;
for it has taken nearly two years to ob
tain probate of his. will on account of the
fact that it extended to 11.070 words, no
fewer than twenty-live codicils being at
tached, each contradictory of the other
and of the will. These codicils were
written on odd scraps of paper—circu
lars, bills, and envelopes—and alto
gether form a remarkable and miscel
laneous collection of testamentary pa
pers, says London Til-Bits.
In contrast to this elaborate and puz
zling will it is interesting to note that
Lord Inverclyde disposed of more than
500,000 on a sheet of notepaper; Lord
Mansfield found half a sheet sufficient,
while a dozen lines served to dispose of
Lord Russell of Killowen’s estate of
nearly $750,000. The will of the late Mr.
Justice Stephen was a model of brevity,
for it began and ended in the thirteen
words, “I give all my property to my
wife, whom I appoint sole executrix.’’
Tire shortest will ever made, however,
was that of a well-known resident of
Slreatham, who died last year worth
$42,250. On the back of an old envelope
he wrote in his last moments
“ALL FOR MOTHER. C. T..”
This was witnessed by his two sons.
Bequests to a wife, however, are some
times marked by vindictiveness instead
of generosity. Some years ago, for in
stance, the will was proved of a man
who left his wife the .sum of one far
tlung, and ordered that it should be sent
to her by post in an unslamped enve
lope. He complained that she had called
him an old pig and other names. His
will had been made two years before his
death.
Equally spiteful was the man who left
$?.5Cd to his widow, “which she is only
to come into tire enjoyment of after her
death, in order that she may be buried
suitably a.s my widow.” 'this bequest
the judges set asidA, and a similar fate
befell that of a man who left a legacy
to a relative on condition that the legatee
drank up all the water in the sea. Coun
sel on both sides argued the question
very learnedly for several days, and the
judge reserved his judgment, until the
following term. He then declared that
“a.s apparently the condition could not
be performed, the Inquest was void.”
Mention of vindictive wills reminds
the writer of a will which was proved
last year at Somerset House, in which a
man left, all his goods to his daughters,
with instructions that^ the residuary
legatee pay seven cents to a certain
gentleman for the purchase of
A HEMPEN CORD OR HALTER
for the use’ of his “dear” wife, with a
recommendation that that lady should |
make use of the same without delay ! j
Particulars of a $40,000 legacy which !
has already driven one man mad come I
from Paris. Two years ago a Russian I
lady, who had led a mysterious cxis-1
fence in Paris, died, and bequeathed a ■
sum of $40,000 on the following strange;
conditions. A mausoleum was to be
erected over her grave at. the cemetery j
of Pere Lachai.se, and inside was to be
a small chamber, or cell, in which the
aspirant for the legacy of $40,000 was to
take up his residence nighkand day for
twelve months and watch by her tomb.
Whoever should undertake the vigil was
to hold no communication with anyone
except the person wild should supply
him with meals from a neighboring res
taurant.
A candidate duly came forward, and
during the first few months all went
well. At the end of six months, how
ever, the man became very morose, and
at the end of eight months the local po
lice magistrate was obliged to interfere,
for the man had lost his reason. He is
now in the lunatic asylum, and the $40,-
000. so far as. the writer has been able
to learn, is still waiting to be claimed
by someone who will fulfil the conditions
required by the legacy.
WANT TO BE CREMATED.
It is curious how many people are
afraid of being buried alive. Some rea
ders may remember that when Miss
Francis Power Cobbe. the well-known
authoress and social reformer, died two
years ago, the will contained an injunc
tion to her medical adviser to “complete
ly and thoroughly sever the main arter
ies of the head altogether, so as to ren-
dei my revival in the grave absolutely
impossible. If this operation be not per
formed, and its completion witnessed by
one or other of my executors and testi
fied by same, I pronounce all the be
quests in this will to be null and void.”
Mr. Henry Thomas Elwes, a wealthy-
bachelor of Sussex, who died recently
at the age of seventy and directed that
his remains should be cremated and ihe,
ashes afterwards .scattered on the lawn j
of the house in which he had resided for;
many years, is one of the many men I
and women who have made equally re-!
markable arrangements for the disposal;
of their mortal remains.His instructions remind one of the late!
Mr T. Bevan, one time M.P. for Graves-j
end, who directed in his will that his
bedy should be cremated, and “the asgk^
residue ground to powder and againi
burnt and dissipated in the air.” Evetn
this request, however, was not .so markable as that of an angler who I.
directed that his ashes should .’?* carried I'
in a bait-can and scattered from a boat;
over the surface of his favorite stream.)
---------------------
FIGHT WITH JACKALS.
Settler in South Africa Ilalp Narrow
> Escape hi Encountter.
While he was on a shooting trip
■about, 'fourteen miles from iris homo-
•al Beaufort West, Cape: Colony, this
week, A. E. Clarke Kuir, a British set
tier, had a terrible fight* with jackals.
What lie took to be a herd of buck
•apprCaching him turned out to be a.
pack of “Panne” jackals, the large va
riety .so much dreaded by farmers and
herdsmen^ Instead of allowing the-
pack to pass unmolested, he fired and
killed the leader.
The others advanced on him, and bc-
ifere they surrounded hihi tie killed threcr
’HiOre and wounded two-. Then a grim
•tight against overwhelming odds be
gan, for he was alope in the bush.
Using his rifle as a club. Mr. Kuir dis
posed of a few nfcre of the brutes, but
‘ids weapon broke and he was lef. with,
only the two barrels Io defend himself.
By this time he was fearfully torn and
•mauled about the neck, arms and
thighs, and was rapidly growing ex
hausted.
Just before he sank to the ground
unconscious one large j’Oickal sprang'
on his shoulders and buried its teeth
in his neck, and he remembered no
thing more. When he recovered hisf
senses he was in a sheep kraal with.
•f< ur friends, Who had -saved his life.
They came on the scene as he was-
•falling, and a.s the infuriated baasta
were rushing on lii.m to tear- him to
'pieces a few shots nnd a combined
rush scattered the animals in all
directions.
After taking him home. Mr. Kuir's-
rescucis rotlurned, and found twenty-
one dead jackals which they skinned.
They sent him half a dozen of the-
skins as mementos of the incident.
CHILD SUKHdTePIDEMIC
LI52 IN GERMANY DURING LAST
FEW YEARS.
Grave Concern Caused by (he Remark
able Increase of Terrible
Crimes.
The growing number of child suicides
in Germany—1,152 have occurred during
ttie last few years—is causing grave-
concern in that country.
“ihis- problem of child suicide,” says,
■a well-known Berlin doctor, “is. one
of the most fascinating, one Of the
most terrible and, at the same time,,
one of the most urgent of the present
Precise statistics are not 'easily
■obtainable, but it is safe to say that,.-
although our record is not so bad as
that of Russia—in which country 337
cases were registered during a limited
period recently—if is sufficiently dis
quieting.
“Why should boys and girls upon thee-
brink of life, so to speak, take their
own lives with a determination and a
debberalion often unequaled by sub
cides of mature years? Many ’clever
brains have confessed that
IT IS A PAINFUL RIDDLE.
Personally, I believe (hat a largo pro
portion of child suicides—quite apart,
from the admitted danger of mental
overstrain at school—are the direct re
sult of what I may call the disillusion
ment of life.’
“A young mind, when first brought
into touch with stern realities, invari
ably suffers a woeful disappointment..
Girls and boys alike 'cherish Quixotic,,
romantic ideas. The school girl thinks
she will meet her hero; the schoolboy
imagines that the world is at his feet-
At the first contact with the sordid
routine of life they recoil, and in this
recoil, which occurs as a rule between
(lie ages of 12 and 16, their minds—
which are in a delicate, half-formed
impressionable stage—may be easily
deranged Common sense has not yet
come to their aid, and the small "re
buffs of life sink deeply into their
minds.”
The following cases were cited:—
A boy of 12 hanged himself because
no was dussatisfied witb his duties in
a news-agent’s shop.
A lad of 16 poLsoned himself through
not being able to make headway as an
amateur playwright.
A little girl, aged 12. poisoned her
self because a childish love affair was-
CHECKED BY HER PARENTS.
A boy of 14 years of age threw him
self overboard from a vessel and was-
drowned because lie was dissatisfied
with sea life.
Because she was reprimanded- for
•stealing sweets, a 12-year-old girl
drowned herself in a pond.
Grieved at not winning a prize in a
school competition, a 15-year-old lad
shot himself with a revolver.'
What is- (lie remedy for child'suicide?'
Eminent authorities, although agreeing:
in the main, differ in detail. A parti
cular solicitude in the case of excit
able, imaginative children is recom
mended. and parents are advised te
study the temperaments of their chil
dren. Many a childish tragedy has
it is asserted, been prevented by an
overwrought toy or girl Icing..able ta
pour into sympathetic ears a story of
disillusionment and grief.
Consumption is less deadly than it used to
A Certain relief and usually complete recovery
J will result from the following treatment;
eg? Hope, rest, fresh air, and—Scoff9
ILm-alsion,
X ALL DRUGGISTS; 5Oc. AND SLOO.
«5»