The Exeter Advocate, 1895-8-30, Page 6CONN' THROTHE RYE
la HELEN IL :ii.i.THERS.
Inowristl1t1i.1
No, no, honey I Maybe 40's busy oe
bothered; 'tie net the man alto loves
warmest that is the best hand at writing;
mealy mau as is a hue fkelt»v at his peu
le a poor imnd at courting. There was a
young follow one., emote courting, my slater
Susan; his letters wore beautiful, a perfect
show, and when he ea= to see her. he
was a miserable little sparrow of 0 ereature
that it'd make you smile to look at. Some
does it wen on paper and some does it well
on their tongues, and I think your lover, '
Miss Noll, is one of them litsb."
•` Nurse, I say," watehing her as she sits
darning the boys' souks, "do you rement-
ber, you used to say I was certain to have a
deal of trouble some day, because I ant
a ways so merry and laugh so much?"
' Did I?" he asks, peering anxiously at
me over her spectacles "L eaa't call it to
mind, Mss Nell. Why should you be
worse off than other folk? Rain and sun --
Shine COMO pretty much alike to all, ana
you've got sueh a spirit 'twould take a
great deal to make you give in. You're
terrible fond et Mr. Vasher," she says,
shaking her bead, " ether used to say
'Mats wonderful the difference there wae
in people when they fell in love; with some
it went to the head and was safe, for pride
proteeted it; with others it went to the
stomach, and, if things earned out con-
trary, gut dangerous, and sometimcs kill-
ed. Now, I think yours is the last Miss
Nell. Not that you' ve any call to look out
for sorrow that way ; things'll go straight
enough, never fear, for he loves you as the
very apple of his eye."
"Does love keep off misfortune?" I ask,
as I got up front my seat; "it seems to
me that those who love least come off
best."
Ma• restless feet have brought MO into
the nursery, and now they carry me out
again. All day lung I wander hither and
thither, to and fro, and can settle to noth-
ing, save Paul. I go down -stairs and
search the newspapers of the past week
through, and through those useless, papers
that come every day regular as the clock-,
while my eagerly -looked -for letter COnleS
never. How I dread the sound of the post-
man's knock and ring, how I shiver as
Simpkins places the bag upon the table be-
side me. how plainly I see his alert look at
me as be leaves the room the knows w.hat
I am looking for as well as I know my-
self)! How my heart sinks as I unlock it
and take out the letters smuttier another,
one or two for me, welcome enough at any
other time, but a hateful mockery to me
now! Other people's letters come safely
enough—why should not his? In to -day's
paper I come upon the account of an Eng-
lishman murdered at Florence. Perchance
some woman looked out long and vainly
for news of him as I am looking now.
Perhaps her soul. sickened within her with
dread, just as mine does, only God grant
the awakening from my night of dread
may not be even as hers I
I fetch my hat and jacket and go out
into the garden, leafless, sodden, miser-
able, that looked almost cheerful when
Paul and I walked in it a week ago. Round.
and. round. I go visiting every haunt in
which ho andIhave sat together, pausing
to recall the memories that hang about
every nook and. corner, standing still. at
last in the place where he stood that day
Donley came upon us with his untimely
nosegay. Yes, it was just here, and I hold
out my arms to the empty air, with a bit-
ter yearning of body and soul. He was
here only a few days ago, but where is he
now? How lovely it is!
Steps corn e along the gravel path behind
me. I know whose they are—George
Tempest's.
"You have heard?" he asks, eagerly.
I shako my head.
"Then he must be on his way back, "he
says. walking by my side. "No doubt
the business has been concluded more
quickly than he expected, and he did not
think it worth while to write."
"It could not have been that, George,for
he would not have known at Marseilles,
and he promised to aerite from there."
"Do you know, Nell," he says, looking
down into 0.7 wan face, "that you are
making a mountain ont of a mole -hill?
Because you have had a dream, and because
you have not received a letter, you have
made up your mind that something dread-
ful has happneed. I wonder what Vasher
will say, when he walks in and finds you
hare been fretting yourself into a sha-
dow?"
When Vasher walks in !--how eomfott-
able and sea° the words sound!
"I'll try and not be foolish," I say, my
spirits rising as they always do when I
have someone to speak to; "but, oh 1 George,
this past week has been so wretched I think
if I had such another I should go mad. I
have learned the length and breadth, and
depth and height of that ugly word 'en-
dure.' "
"Have you. dear?'' he says, mad brave
man that he is, he does not add: "and so
have I."
It is a strange hap that makes my old
lover my friend and consoler in the ab-
sence of my new one. Are there nanny men,
I wonder,who could fill the post with such
unselfishness, dignity, and single -hearted-
ness, as he does?
"Kew near Christmas is I" I say, look-
ing at the flaming scarlet berries that close
round the green stalks with such print,
glossy precision. "Only think that to -mor-
row week is the 25th! He is sure to be
back then, is he not, George?"
"Quite sure!" says the young man; "he
may come any clay now.'
"We meant to have such a merry Christ-
mas -eve, "I say, half aloud—"snap-dragon
with the children, and—George, what are
you going to do this Christmas? Will you
be dull at the Chase? Come and spend it
With 118,01" I add laying my hand on his
arm.
"No, no,dear I" he says looking down on
me with no hidden bitterness of worcl and
tone; "you will not want Inc. After all,"
he says, looking up at tho sullen sky that
has given over raining but gives ample
promise of plenty more chopping, "I am
afraid we shall not have what you are
gond of, a white Chtistraas
CHATPER 313131.
a loraletter from hiM, 1 bave, flung all
my foolish fears away Math:Male t =nes-.
have crept back to may nrouth„ lightness to
my foot -fall. Does not George say that.
Paul may come in any day, • and wonld
like to find Inc pale and wretehod-looking?
For the first time sine° he went away X
have made myself looir smart: 31 NM pet
on the ge\V11 he liked me in best—Quaker
gray, with crlinson ribbons; taid- a cap
which he liked too, though it -neve): was
straight Wheu be was With met: and One •
day (we had. both fOrgotten it) I gavo.
aimpkins some orders with it perched rak-
ishly ou one side, and, alas! his breeding
was not equal to the mousier), and he dirs7
gteeed himself by a sinilo.,
At present 11 15 stadght enough, bat
when he collies back-eI can laughing soft-
ly to myself when Simpkins comes in,
bringing lay breakfast, the post -bag and
the Times.
There are two letters, ono from Alice,
ono from Dolly, botb for another. I send
them upstairs, and begin my Inealcfaet.
Then—for I have fallen into heal ways
during my lonely morning meta, day after
day—I open the paper, and proceed to look
at the "Births, Marriages„ and Deaths:"
not that I know anybody who is likely to
be married or dead,but because they inter-
est me. Many a sad story is told here in
three lines: many a bitter tragedy' (troll -
ivied that moves me far more than the
fletitions woes of an imaginary 1.11011 and
Geerge's, but of course he Could, ilot believe
it. I wonder who wrote it? We aave no
friends, we A.dairs, to trouble themselves
about our affairs, or to play as Welts' and
no enemies, that I know of, who 1164 us
heartily onotigh to try aml do us misehief.
A thought suddenly strikes me: Silvia!
And yet why should she? How eau this
absnrd ruse lament lier in any way? My
being married to George, even if itr wore
true, could bHng ben no nearer to Paul.
And yet how can It be Silvio, who lute
never been hone in her life? How does she
know about George Tempest, or Mn, Skip -
worth, and all the names? The traitor
must be some one in our midst.,
Well, I most go onci tell mother; and
have just moiled the door, when it opens,
and George comes in.
"Good -morning!" I say, making him
a colutesy. "And do you know that you
are my bridegroom?"
But he does not smile; he ' looks very
grave. He does not seem to see the joice in
quite the same light that I do. '
"Noll," he says quickly, "this is a very
serious matter. Call yon gness at all who
i at the bottom of it?" '
"Serious!" I echo. "Pray how oan it
be that? Some one bas taken a most in-
solent liberty with oar names; Init seri-
ous—''
"Vasbor will probably see it," says
George, uneasily, "an,C1.—''
"I thought," I say, indignantly, "that
woman, whose misery lasts throutth the you said he was sato to be on his way
regulation three voluinot of a novel. home—that he might walk in any rain -
I glance through the agony eolumn,and ate. He may come this morning, even,
find it in my heart to smile tit its fustian and probably he won't see the paper until
pathos I wonder is it true that most of I show it to him !"
these heart -broken maanderlogs are sig- "I did think he was on his way book; I
mils from the greatest thieves in London think so still," says George; "but sup -
to each otherposing that he has been delayed, and he
Turning to the births (for I am reading does see this announcement, of oourse he
in a purposeless desultory fashion), I see will believe it"
that Lady Fatacres has a daughter, and the ' ' You mean to say, George, that he would.
Rev. James Poorman a son. I observe that really suppose you and I had got married
most of the happy fathers are either clergy- the minute his back was turned?"
men or officers, and I wonder for the Ma- "I don't know. Tell me, Nell, Was
oth time why Providence sends such an Vasher ever in the lease jealous of me?
abundance of children to the men who can God knows he need not not have been," he
barely fill their own mouths, and. with- adds, halt to himself.
holds them altogether from those who "Yes'he was," I say, promptly, "and. I
could bring up a dozen handsomely, and. always laughed at the idea."
never feel the shoe pineh. "Did you?"
Now for the marriages. Row jolly the There is a. pause, in which my short,
first one looks—two sisters xnarried on the blessed.. span, of two days' content slips
same day to two brothers! Douglas marreis away from me,and the old presentiments,
Ruby, and Donald marries Violet, What doubts, and feats, creep upon me like lir-
a big wedding it must have made, and tam cruel shapes, grown rational by the
what fun the four young people will have sustenance of fact—for he has been gone
when they meet (as I dare say they will) neasly ten days; he has sent me no word
on their wadding soma Rather awkward, ox tidings,good or bad, since he sot out; if
though, if the sisters ever quarrel; there ' he was alive and well and my own true
will be a scriminage,husbanZts and wives, :: lover, he would never hey° left me to watch
all in a lump. This one looks niore sober, and wait like this. God. only knows what
plain John James marries Eliza Ann; her treachery has been worked between us -
00100 is Prodgers, his Trimmins. Here ' yes, I see it all now, it is Silvia's doing.
is a male Brom married to a female I
, "Do you remember my telling you that
Brown, which must have been very eon- i
; he would never come book?" I say, trem-
venient in the matter of marking her bling violently. "He never will!"
clothes, though ono would have thought ; "Nonsense I" says George, hastily. "In
that, when she did change her name, she all probability he is on his way back; but
would take a prettier one. in case he has been detained. in Rome, I
I wonder why a familiar word, lying be- shall set out at onee—or at least as soon as
fore one in a newspaper, always catches ' I can get off."
the eye so smartly, seeming to leap Up "You will go?" I ask, taking his hand
into one's face? Tbus, "Silverbridge," between bosh naine. "0, George! but you
and the "Ram'. Thomas Skipworth," look will be too late. Something tells me that
up at me in larger type, seemingly, than itis all OVEfr 110W. If you do flad him, and
any of tho other words. Who on earth he asks who did it all. tell him 'Silvia.'"
could have been married in Silverbridge e Impossible !" exclaimed George, start -
without my knowing it, or considered their " Can she be such a wretch as that?"
admission into the holy state of matri-
mony sufficiently important to demand an "She loves him. Women will do a &eat
advertisexnent of the same? deal to get a man they love, will they
not?"
A scuffle in the court outside makes me
turn my head. Larry andWalter are snow- "Of a very afferent sort to you, dear.
ballint each other with admirable vigor 'Will you give mo Vasher's address?"
I write it down for him—yes, I can ac -
and skill. No quarter is given or taken;
and I watch them for some time with keen than° write,—and in no hour of my life
interesaremembering the days when Jack have I known the breathless agony that I
and I indulged in the same recreation, al- know in this one.
though we were not so fortunate in getting "If he arriwes here in the next three
the court; we had to walk a mile or two (Inas you will teleg,raph to me, Nell?"
"Yes. And if you come back—if you
before we got a nice quiet corner to shout
both come backI mean—when will it
in to our heart's content. Presently they ,
be?"
vanish in a whirlwind of snow and laugh-
ter, and I pick up my paper and sit down "I cannot be quite sure, but I should
think about Christmas morning."
to read this naarriage comfortably. It was
near the Browns. Here it is: "On the "Do not come back without him," I
leth instant, at the parish church, Silver- say, in my selfish misery; ::only if he is
bridge,—shire, by the Rev. Thomas Skip- decti:d you camfot bring him."
woth,Gearge Dalrymple Tempest, only son Only he is nothing of the kind," says
oGeorge, cheerfully. "Keep up your spirits,
f Lawrence Tempest, Esq., of the Chase,
to Helen, third daughter of Colonel Adair dear, and and put all those fancies out of
of the Manor House Silvarletidge—shire. your head. As to that Silvia,he's no more
No cards " likely to fall in love with her than I am. "
tine for In another minute he is gone, and I am
Yes, there it is, word or word, l
line, and for a full minutI sit staring at e standing at the window looking after him
the paper. The words are there, but any as he strides over the snow. This is his de.-
brain does not seem to be able to grasp its aw
pa_r?ture. I wonder what will his return
meaning; no, not even when my tongue
repeats the announcement aloud as though As in a dream, I go and. tell mother;
the sound of my voice might re -assure and hear her exclamations of horror and anger,
read the letter she writes to the editor of
convince me. I am married,
riaarrie—AI the Times asking by whose authority the
advertisement was inserted; as in a dream,
fetch my hat and jacket, and wander out
ovqr the fields and meadows, walking
'stiffly and slowly through the deep snow-
fall, on and on for miles and miles, my
feet carrying ma where they will. Why
did I let him go without:a warning? Why
was I so mad as to leave him ignorant of
Silvia's threats and vow to work him evil?
For I know as surely as I am living that
It is she who has done this thing. I was
so confident, so sure, when he was with
me, it was so impossible to fear. I should.
have spoken when he went away. Did not
my good angel call upon me to speak
when I wished him good -by? Supposing
George has an accident on the road! sup-
posing Paul is not at Rome when he gets
there! Somehow I feel in my heart that
anyway he will get there too late. It was
a sure hand and a strong that struck that
bold and open blow through the newspaper.
That the same hand has reachel him in
Rome in SOmo different way I cannot
doubt. And. Paul was always a little jeal-
ous of Geogre. Bat here I stand still to haask
myself if it is likely that he will credit so
monstrous a story. Granted that id
payed him false, could I be so horribly
quick in my treachery? In the drawing -
room I find mother, and standing before
her With a perturbed countenance is Simp-
kins.
"You should have told me this before,"
she is saying, with an risusucti severity in
het voice; and I cat down, idly wondering
what that foolish old man has been doing
now. '
"I km
now it, a'am,f, he stammers.
"When I caught the young woman med-
dling with the post bag, she said she only
wanted to get out a letter of her own she
had. waitten, but did not wish to have post-
ed. • I belieVed the story, ma'am, and did
not
'' Wtehllat"istiO"11 this Ibout?' I ask. "Mother,
who has been tampering with the post-
bag?"
"Jane, the under -housemaid," says
mother. "It seems she ran away from here
this morning without a Word, and Simp-
t"She—' ° must
kins tells me that he oatight her meddling
t11
have meddled with it more
than oboe," X say, putting my hand te my
head. "Why did. you not Speak of this be-
fore?" 1 ery, turning upon the mart in a
fury. "Do you know what you have done?
Go Mit of nay sight."
He stares at ole for a taolnent; then, tia
X stamp my foot, he turret and flees,
"Wither! mother!" I eay, groping my
way across tlte roota to her, "1.1 see It all
no, . lie never got Infletters. I never got
his, The YV0111311 W:i S
"Poor little daughter!" she says, and
her tears fall fast and heavy on 10.7 unitet-
cd L000 If only X vould weep 1 If only tins
terrible tightness about my heart Would
relax
"Mr, Skipworth, " annonnees Simpkins,
tremblingly, half an hour later: and I es-
cape by ono door, as he enters by another:
He hos come to talk about my marriage,
no doubt. In Iny present state V mind,
his voice would send Me straight into Ded-
George'S prophecies prove as failacieus
ae those of most other people here on earth,
and the night after his asstirances of dirty
weather the snow conies doyen, silently
and delicately coveting the face of the
earth with a gleaming white Mantle, that
rnates niy eyes prick arid burn with its ex-
ceeding' purityaes X look out at it front the
dining -room window.. The postman is
tenting up the earring° driVe. How slowly
he walks, rind what ugly marks he makes
Ort ottr sol less, dazzling carpet! X do not
Wateh him with any interest: fer it isnot
a letter 31 010 looking for now, bat the
Sound of a step in the hall, the sound Of
vole° in my ear. Will. they not be better 0
htinclred-fold than a feta hasty *or& on
,paper. And yet 31sliotild haVe hatred to WPM
and here I give my head an impressive
little nod as much as to say "You are a
poor creature, Helen Adair, and you don't
seem to know exactly what you are about;
but one thing you may be sure of—you are
married." 1 feel something like the old
woman who loft it to her Male dog to de-
cide whether she was herself or somebody
else. The little flog decided agcanst her;
the river decides against me. Here I sit,
without the ghost of wedding -ring on
rny finger, and yet I am George Tempest's
wife; clearly there must be a slight hitch
somewhere. My stiff hand relaxes'and
the paper flutters to the ground. If it
were only out of sight, I might get my
breath back, but with its respectable,
commonplace front facing mine, how can
I possibly treat it as a myth? I take my
eyes away from it, and glance round the
room. There is the breakfast table; there
are the °entities pecking at each other from
contiguous cages; there is the old family
prayer -book, high and dry, among Blair's
sermons, on the book -case; there is tho cat
asleep on the hearth -rug. It all looks fa-
miliar and real enough, but nevertheless I
am asleep and I know it just OS one may
have a dream within a dream and. in the
last one believe that one is awake, I lift
my sleeve and give my arm a good nipping,
rousing pinch (1),* that people under the
infbience of bad dreams usually have the
sense to bethink themselves of that home-
ly remedy), and expect to see all any sur-
roundings dissolve; but no, there they are
still, and here am X. in a gray gown, not a
robe de nett. That I am broad awake
there Can be no reasonable doubt, but that
the paper is a very evident fa,.t them can
be no doubt either. Oddly enough the first
idea that enters my head is, "What will the
governor say?" The Times is read in New
Zealand, X suppose; and it visiot of his
dumbfounded face, as he comes across the
intelligete, tickles mo into sudden laugh-
ter. I have heard of such tricks being
played before, practical jokes people call
them, but X never believed any one could
do anything so foolith ; where could be the
good of it? Why did they do %these tither
people? For hint A, sorrier jesa surely,
neither man nor 'women ever perpetrated.
For misehief. Xis could not work any.
Lot me try anti think. I do net; seem to
be able to follow up any ono thought. Did
those other pecnale evet do it—not in sense-
less wantonnesso fonnbut to try to Work
a girl ham? When her lover was away
front her, was itever clone that he might
see the paper,and believe her false to him?
He would only laugh at it; it leeks like a
lie; he would knote it IS a lib, Ho Weald
be angry at my natio being eetipled with
lam.
All night long X lie awake, hearin g ghest-
ly steps coming up the earriage-drive ;
hearing ghostly hands beating against my
window- panc—ghostly voices th0t whisper
in my ear. My oars aro strained to the
faintest collo of sound in the world without.
Shall I not hear hint toward the morning
coming lightly over the snow. to tell me
he has returned? I know that he is not
dead or he wouial have come to me in that
supremo wrtn.bing of 8001 from body, as I
should go to him straight if I died to-
n. gilt.
'eho morning breaks, gray and chill.
"How shall 1 boar it!" I cry alma, as I
it up in my bed, and rock myself to and
Inc in 017 restless agoey—"with all these
ling days and nights to live through before
Christmas morning. comes!"
CHAPTER IV.
311 19 Christmas morning, and I run lean-
ing out of the open window of the dininc...
room into the cold, clear air, looking at the
(Ocala white world, that during the night
has been covered over ft °slily, so that she is
fair and spotless for the great, high festi-
val, as a bride coming out of her chambai
to net her bridegroom. It is splendid
enongh, but a little cruel, perhaps, if one
happens to notice that little dead robin
yonder, whose crimson breast shows pret-
tily enough against the saow. He has
struggled gallantly through the bleak days
and bitter nights, but to-day—on Christ-
mas morning, the time of feasting and
plonty—his poor, slender, starved little
body has foiled death!
Behind me the house is all alive and
merry with bustle and 1101Se. They are all
at home now, save Jack; and they have
decorated the whole place with holly and
mistletoe. which gleams brightly red., and
white from every corner and cranny. The
church clock strikes ten; in another tour
church will begin, but I shall not go with
the rest.
What a noise the boys are making I I shall
never be able to hear the sound of the ear-
ring° coming over the snow Hark! What
is that? My heart stands still, every pulse
p ,uses, then bounds madly on, as a sound, a
certain dulled, muffled sound, comes to my
ears from a distance. It is the sound of
wbeels—it is coming this way. Is that a
carriage coming toward mo? Tho snow has
blinded my oyes, 1 cannot see— I look up
seeing, ancl bore see George, alone. I do
not move or speak as lie comes over to me
anti looks into my face.
"He is dead?' say I gently, looking away
from him to a bird perched on a bough
near, who is singing, absolutely singing—
starved and bitter cold as he is. Why do I
not sing too?
"He is not dead," says George.
"Not dead!" I shriek, recoiling from
him with parted lips anti wide eyes—"not
dead, did you say? Thank God!"
And the frozen blood in my body stirs
nimbly in my veins, and circulates once
again; and, whereas a minute ago I was a
dead woamn, noW I am quick.
"But why did you not bring him?" I
ask. "There could be nothing to detain
him."
"He is here," says George; "he bode me
tell you," he goes on blowly and painfully,
"that ho was waiting for you at the old
place—yes, at the old place, and you were to
go at once, he said."
"He will have to wait a little, then," I
say, with a delicious, happy laughter bub-
bling straight up frOM my heart to my
lips. "Oh, be has kept me waiting for him
long enough! I don't seem to be able to
take it all in at once," I add, putting my
hand to my, head; "but by and by, yes, by
and by I shall be perfectly happy. How
tired you look, George, how pale. How
can I ever thank you enough for bringing
him back ?tome! We shall never forget it,
George—Paul and I --when we are so happy
we shall never forgot that we owe it all to
you, for if you had not gone to Rome in
time--"
"1 know, "he says, shivering. "Vasher
is waiting for you, Nell."
"What a hurry you are in!" I say, as I
tie the strings of my cloak. "Now do you
know that I Mean to scold him—perhaps he
was afraid I should, so didnot come up
to the house? Perhaps I And I shall be able
to see him wherever I please now, you
know, for he has come to stay."
George groans.
"Are you ill?" 1 ask, turning round
from the looking -glass, where I am putting
on my hat. "I must try and. make my-
self look nice now Paul has corn° back."
But George does not anwser.
"And I have been so wretched," I say,
laughiog softly, "though you always told
mne thee was nothing in that presenti-
ment, or the dream! Do you know you
have not wished me a merry Christmas,
sir? But never mind,you have brought me
the best Christmas -gift of all."
He has turned his back to me, and is
looking out of the window.
"Good -by," I say, pausing at the door.
"I shall not go to church this morning."
In the hall Dolly and the children crowd
about me; but I just toll them Paul has
cona.e back, and break. away from them
all.
I wave any hand to George through the
window How terribly pale and strange he
looks! Then I go away over the snow with
hurrying, claiming feet. Have I got my
Christmas -morning at last—real, golden,
perfect? In the whole wide world does
there beat such a happy heart as mine? I
have not asked George how it happened
that Pant never wrote: he shall tell me
that hintsela and I shall be so angry with
him, lazy, naughty, oareless fellow 1 AS I
turn the corner of the meadow, I see him
standing with his back to an ctleaning over
the stile; and for a moment I stand still—
the abeolete delight of seeing him in the
old familial(' place is so keen, that it leaves
me no immediate longing to touch his
hand or hear his voice, Then T walk quick-
ly on. He does not tam his head, and
he Used to hear any footfall quickly enough.
Perhaps the snow dulls it I am °loge upon'
him when he looks round and facies me.
"You have mite back," I satathrusting
both my eager hands into his; "and I
have been so frightened, so miserable—L"
He does not answer, only, as I lay my
head down on Ilia 511 ouldor, he lifts his arms
and folds them about mapreSsing my head
close against his breast.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
LORD TENNYSON'S HOME
THE PROPOSED MEMORIAL TO THE
DSAD POET.
Deseoptiou of the Island Beautiful waere
Ile Great mottenth is to be Erected—
Another Monument to the Decay Of
Nuilonui Prejudices.
The wedge-shaped western ond of the
Isle of "Wight is 1'01'1110a lay a long anejes-
tic ridge of turf-eovorod chalk 'hills term-
inating 10 a row of jagged white rooks
whieh stand in the sea, and which are
known to all rnatiners and voyagers as
"The Noodles." The noblest of these
hills, or Clowns, is marked on the °rain -
mace maps as "High Down," but it is
popularly known as ''Tennyson's Down; "
because it is a part of the Tennyson es-
tate, and it is a place where the poet loved
to take his daily wallcs.
Tho seaward faeo of this groat down is
a bold, white cliff, dazzling white when
the sun shines upon it. The cliff extends
from the Needles of Freshwater bay, a
distance of three miles or more. At the
eastern end of this stretch the downs
slope gently to tho sea and make room for
the little bay, whion is only deep enough
for catboats. Then the downs rise again
and ea:rota through the island like a
backbone, and presenting everywhere to
the sea a rugged cliff -line.
Their only break is at Freshwater bay,
and from that pretty little cove which
the hintgry sea has gnawed, and into
which it still eats during hard winters,.
you 000 without difficulty olimb the long
slope of Tennyson's Down and attain its
smooth, rounded sulurnit nearly 700 feet
above high water mark.
There, on the highest place, and within
a few yards of the precipitous cliff front,
is to be erected by the English and Am-
erican lovers of the laureate a memorial
monolitb of great beauty, dignity and
strength. There, in full view of every
ship that passes up and down the most
crowded waterway of tho world, and visi-
ble, too, from many points in various
counties of southern England, will stand
a great cross carved in tough Cornish
granite, and inscribed to the memory of
Tennyson. It will stand whore the poet
often stood, whore he looked forth upon
it view of sparkling sea and rolling coun-
try unsurpassed ie. beauty by any ,other
prospeot on earth.
Americans who come to Europe by the
ohannol routes—and that means most
Americans who come to the old world—
will see the Tennyson beacon as their
steamers pass the Needles and make up
tho Solent to Southampton, or as they
pass outside the island on French, Bel-
gian or German vessels. English ships
bound to or from Africa, the Mediterran-
ean ports, India or Australia, will sight
the cross on its lofty hill. To the navies
of the world it will be a landmark. And
the Euglish-speaking people on both sides
of the Atlantic will have made this uni-
que memorial possible.
It is significant that persons of very
humble means contributed quite as readi-
ly as did those of ample fortupe. Wage-
earners sent their half -dollars and accom-
panied them with little notes of aduair-
ation for the poet to whose memory they
cheerfully paid tribute. It was evident
that the memorial project would not lack
for support among those of our people
who believed that a great poet belongs
not merely to his parish and his native
land, but to the world. Not a few of the
contributors expressed their pleasure in
assisting an undertaking which would
not only testify to the affection with
wnich Tennyson's memory is held, hit
which would also be another monument
to the decay of national prejudices.
The expression blaokguard originally
halicated the Spullions, kitchen boys and
pot -washers, who brought up the rear
-When a great, man's household was =eV -
big from place to place. As these pcirsons
were by no tneanS choice in their Mug.
nage or elegant in their deportment, the
word Was SOM3 applied to those who in
:mead) or cibttoti resembled them, '
BACILLI IN POSTAGE STAMPS.
KIPLING ONCE A TRAMP.
taa _
Story which Clip Voulous Author 'Vold
or ito tecerehing. Experience..
Hudyn rd Kipling, during his -first visit
to California. was the hero of a tale whiell
be has never \MOOD, I can youth for
the truth of limo ad Vallture, for it was told
me by Kipli Ili; bin:self.
He found himself in Lower California
-
penniless. How that, happened be did net
tell me, but he dwelt with etnphasis on
the facit: of bis writhe poverty. In Whab
manner to gain telief he did not know:
Whether or not be woe ashamed to beg
the sequel will show, but he certainly did
not dig. While he ruminated on his mis-
fortunes and schemed for a remedy he
mane upon a fellow sufferer. Thigaecond
victim vats of venerable years, uncouth
and wretched to appearance, and alto-
gether without money. Misery loves
company, and Kipling associated himself
with the stranger. Tbey lammed togeth-
er and finally determined to taamp to
San Fianeisco, where Kipling had re-
sources.
They started on foot to travel the 200
miles, slept in barns or in the open fields
beneath a friendly hedge. They mur-
mured indistinct Spanish at Groasers''
doors, socking a crust of broad. They
pilfered from friendly fruit trees, they did
without all the luxuries ot life and some
of the necessities. Their one luxury was.
scenery.
Hipling descanted on the generally ob-
noxious natuto of their undertaking end.
upbraided the evil necessity that had
converted him into a tramp. Ho dwelt
at length on the painful contrast afford-
ed by ais.present position to the luxuries
with which he had been surtounded in
other and happier tours. Ile deseribed
the stealthy sway of the howdah as the
elephant bore him through the jungle -
and he told of the lurching ricochet of the
camel's hump. But his companion said
never a word of complaint. He accepted
stolidly all the vicissitudes of their
course. He bowed humbly when cursed
In Spanish patois of a lordly Greaser. He
suffered without rebuke the gibes Of
haughty urchins. Rd contemplated with-
out remark the open advance of his toes
from out his boota So meek, so silent,
so phlegmatic was his manner that Kip-
ling came to look upon him with some-
thiog of contempt, as one who, unknow-
ing any better fortune, humbly accepted.
the worst with indifference. However,
he was some one to talk to, and for that.
reason Kipling loved him just then.
The twain bad no espeoially thrilling
adventures. On one occasion the ancient
tramp fell into a hole filled with mud
and water. Kipling watched him for:a few
-
minutes and then pillled him out, and
the victim said, wattnit you," which
was a long speech for bina. His frag-
ments. of trousers were hopelessly fouled,.
and to Kipling's astonishment he took
them off. laipling's emotion became.
amazement, . mixed with admiration,
when he saw his companionclad in a.
Sound pair which he had worn concealed.
• This afforded Kipling ground for reflec-
tion. Had the other inherited that sec-
ond pair of trousers? No. Certain quali-
ties in their appearance forbade ascribing
to them great antiquity. Had he stolen
them? Dismal thought! What if he,
Kipling, shoud be robbed!
Once Kipling complained that he was
having a great deal of trouble , with his
feet. His sententious companion replied:
"You would have a great deal more_
trouble without them."
Finally the tramps reached San Fran-
cisco. Kipling hailed it as his Mecca.
His companion made no comments. Kip-
ling wished to seek friends at once, bull
he was embarrassed by his companion.
Be hardly wished to present him to others,.
and he could not suddenly desert him.
So Kipling inquired of him his destina-
tion. "The wharf," was the answer. As
that was but a little out of Kipling's way,
he accompanied his fellow traveler to sat-
isfy his conscience.
Arriving at the wharf, they found a.
very neat boat waiting and half a dozen
sailors lounging about, who sprang up
and saluted respectfully at sight of the
ancient tramp. Kipling was astounded,
nor was his emotion lessened when his
taciturn and tattered wanderer stepped
into the boat, seated himself, nodded to
Kipling, and said "Shove off."
The men bent to their oars, theboat
sped swiftly away from the gaping Kip-
ling, who stood and stared at it until it
reached a remarkable handsome yach1.
that lay at anchor in the harbor and ther
remained.
Kipling shook himself, like Samson:
of old, and sought his friends, from whom
he learned that he had made his impe-
cunious journey alongside of a mart
whose private yacht is one of the most
luxurious ever seen in the bay, but who
enjoys an occasional walking tour Kipling
does not.
HOW A SWALLOW DIED.
A New Selentifin Discovery A'xplains
Stamp Collector's Illness.
According to the latest stories of medi-
cal scieuce, the power of the microbe is
daily becoming greater 'and greater. At
first -the item went around that the bean-
ies of disease lurked hi the kiss; then
that infinitesimal thousands of bacilli
were hidden within the dirt encrusting a
dollar bill. Lastly, it has come to be
known that an almost • equal danaor,
medically, lies in. the pages of:old bos.
A far more wondotful phase of micro-
laia, though, is told in the recent discov-
ery of a French physician.
This is that the innocent appearing arid
cleanly looking postage stamp is a vehicle
that eannot be surpassed as a microbe
transmitter. Ninety-nine out of every
hundred postage stamps are fastened on
their envelopes after being well moisten-
ed with the tongue. Saliva, as is well
known, is almost invariably, if not en-
tirely so, the headquarters, as it were, of
the bacilli of disease that infest any one
person. Upon the sticking on of each
postage stamp literally thousands of these
are carried away adhering to the gum,
and many, it is assured, find their way
in the course of handlibg directly into
other organisms.
Of course the danger most likely comes
to the man or woman who receives the
letter, particulary if he or she be a staanp
col lector. Fol lowing Out this French
theory, an interesting table of statistics
might be made upon the prevalence of
contagious diseases in families who have a
stamp collection in their midst In de-
fault ef this ever having been attempted,
one authent looted instance of the trans-
mission of disease germs has been given
out. A certain French gentleman was
made miserable quite recently by a para-
sitical malady which spread over his beard
and caused him intense distress. His
physician's aid having been invoked, it
was discovered, strange to say, that while
MI6 disease was well known to medical
science, it existed only in Colombia,
South America. The patient had ;',never
been to Colombia, however, nor had he
even crossed the wear at any time of his
life. The only poseible clue that the doc-
tor could get was that the young man
frequently•teceived letters from a comes-
'pondent or two residing within Colom-
bia's boundaries,
Quite suffieient Was this to cause the
doctor to make a further careful investi-
gation. He found, upon inquiry that the
young man WEIS niore or less an enthusi.
esti.° stamp collector, and that in the case
of these Colombian stamps he had firet
torn them off the envelope and soaked
them in water: It was quite conceivable,
the physician arguedthat 'While engaged
in tills pastime he might readily have
stroked his beard with his dripping or
even moist hands, and thus transferred
the bacilli imprisoned by the gum to his
face. --
The disease he Was affected with was
known as "piedra," and in the opinion
of French scientists there seems to be lit-
tle question that ho got it in the way
stated above.
,lapati had but one newspaper twenty -
'tee years ago. Now it has 2000.,
impaled ia Its Flight on the Sharp End
a Weather Vane.
This is the story of a curious mishap,
which befell a swallow near Cold Spring,
N.Y. W. L. Calver was standinglin a barn-
yard at that place. lb WaS a blustery day,
and the weather -vane on the barn was.
kept in constant motion by the shifting
wind. Mr. Calver looked at the vane.
He had looked at it twenty times before
during the day, but this time it was dif•
-
ferent. Evidently a bird had perched upon_
it. Mr. Calvet thought it the MOSt un-
stable perch possible. But the bird re-
mained there all day.
Towards evening the boys on the farm
tried to dislodge the bird by throwing
stones at it. It did not go away. Next
day it was still there, and then an inves-
tigation was made. One of the boys.
climbed out of the cupola window and,
looking up, found the bird was a swat -
low; that, far from being perched on the.
vane, it was impaled. The vane stuck
right through the bird's breast. The -
swallow was, of course, dead. Its
tion made reaching it an impossibility,
So it had te be left Where it woe. At last.
only the skeleton was left. Finally oven
that fell to pieces. It is thought that in
ono of the sudden downward swoops.
which swallows make in flight the laird
did not see the rapidly shifting vane, and
that the latter veered around just in time.
to impale the swallow through the breast.
Eggs in China
In China fresh eggs are not very Inn&
esteemed, but when an egg becomes 30 or
40 years old, 11 18 considered a great deli-
cacy, and at 100 it is a dish fit for a king.
They have a Way of burying the eggs, and
it takes aboat 30 days to render a pickled
egg 111 10 eat, Some of the old eggs haVe
become as black as ink, and one of the fa-
vorite Chinese dishes for invalids is made-
up of eggs, which are preserved in jare of '
red clay and salt and water,
It is said that the frigate bird can fl
at the rate of 100 miles an hour and live-
in the air a week at a Mane Without -
touching a roost.
Ati