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HomeMy WebLinkAboutExeter Advocate, 1906-10-25, Page 7AAvw.AAAANNAAAAAAAAAA The Accusing Eye nOnenoneeninineWentenenonAnaneWOW, "My dear doctor, your theory is as tounding." "I toll you, Ballinger I have gone be- yond theory); I have established my dis- covery as an actual fact. I have com- pleted my apex:nu and tested my dis- covery a doeen times with varying suc- cess, but In all ray experiments 1 here not had else actual Return After all ls it so very wonderful? You look into my eyes—wh.at do you ,see? A reflectien of yourself, The human ewe is a photo- • graphic plate, only it, million Mises more sensitive than any we can manufacture. tAs we open our eyes the objects im- mediately In our line of vision are pho- tographed On to the retina and flashed to the brain. Turn your eyes else- where, and the last scene is instantly wiped out and another one takes its place. When we grow older this wiping • out process dens not act with such ra- pinity—that is la say, it takes the retina a few eeconds longer to receive the new vision with distinctness." "And you maintain, Dr, Schemil, that when, a person dies the last object seen fn retained in the retina of tile eye?" "I assert it is a fact, that for some tours after death the eyes of a deceased persbn retain an impression cif the last Piew taken In before death; and; more •,than that, the apparatus I have invent- ed will photograph the eye and reveal the last object ,seen by the deceased." "And how longnefter deathedoes the eye retain tne pieturer "It depends a great deal upon how the person dies. If death comes very slow- ly, the picture on tne retina fades slow - • me in considerable peeuniary lees, 0,14 tlie chief factor in this ne(ariOuS scheme is eoine designing woman with who'll. my nephew) is said to be infatuated," "But surely you ought to be obliged to Mr, Caspar! for giving you the infor- mation,?" • "I tell You, Ballinget, that I was grelefun, end I expre,ssed my indebten- ass to him, but when he supplemented his news with. the information that Ms the object of a. silly vendetta I lost lily temper." "A venclette?" "Yes' you know the old story of how 1 saved My wife from mariwing this Caspari's father. My life was threaten- ed in the old days, and it appears the elder Caspari has been 'nursing his wrath to keep It warm,' and has now sent a man to England to kill me." "But this is serious, sir." "RubbiSlit When 1 married Marietta Saront 1 'lived in • Italy for twelve mantas, surrounded by the whole fam- ily of Caspari. I was not afraid then,. although I had many narrow escapes. Do they thinle to terrify me now? I told this young man what I thought of him and his family and ordered him out of the house, or I would give him in charge of the police." After spending an hour or two in the !company of his sweetheart, Ballinger returned to his studio In that blissful state of mind Only. known to lovers. On the following morning •he superin- tended the packing of the portrait and dispatched it to John Roble's house. He spent a busy day with his sitters, and in the evening wenneto dine with some friends, and it Nos. nearly :eleven o'clock when 'he returned to the studio. The house.in which he lived was let out M three suites,, and Ballinger occupied tho top one. As he went to, open tlin door Snuffing to his staircase he found, to his astonishment, that it was already unlocked, At the door of his studio ..he listened, and although there was tin light show- ly with every breath, and then the pie- ing. he heard someone moving about tures 1 get are 'very indistinct; but I.h He entered the room quickly; the moon- light was streaming through the roof - window, and crouching in front ofan empty easel was the figure .of a man. As Ballinger switched on the light the man turned, and revealed the face of Ciprian Caspari. • "What are you doing here?' asked Ballinger. ' "Ahl the portrait, the portrait—where is It?" "Which portrait do ,you mean?" Caspari rose to his feet. HIS hair was dishevelied and there was a wild, mad glare in his eyes. "Which portrait?' Ahl you know, there is only one in.the world. The portrait of Miss Mary Robie. I carne to see it and it is gone." "It has been sent to Mr. Robie's house. Why do you wish to see it?" "Why does one wish to look upon the face of the woman he loves? Ahl you need not start and clench your fists. You surely de not think that you are the only one with a heart to be affected by her beauty and loveliness? No, no; do not be afraid. Once I hoped, I dreamed, and oh, heavans, how sweet a dream! You had won, yet still I dreamed. Then 1 thought to kill, you, and then as time went on I learnt what your death would mean to her. 1 would not cause her one pang even though it brought me happiness." "You are upset, Caspari; sit down." "No; I am going now; but 1 want to tell you something first. Do you Icnew why I came to England?" "I cannot say." "I came to England to kill John Ro- ble. Do I alarm you? Ahl you do not know us of the South. John Robie wronged my father by stealing his bride and my father swore a vendetta. From my earliest youth I was taught to hate John Roble, and my father's vengeance was deputed to me. Yes, I came here to kill him, and then—" "And then?" "I saw Mary Roble. She is the liv- ing image of her mother, the beautiful Marietta Saroni, and when I saw her I understood my father's hatred of John -Roble. Yes, I saw her, and I -loved her with an adoration that turned me from my purpose. Johns Roble is safe. I go now." • And before Ballinger could put out a hand to stop him the Italian had glided out of the room. Much disturbed at this strange inter-. view, Ballinger thought for some time as to what wae best to be done, and then decided .that, late as the hour was, be would call round and tell John Roble what had happened. • It ,was just half -past eleven when he reached Wilmington Square. The louse was in darkness save for a light in the, drawing -room. Ballinger rang the bell and waited, but no answer came, and then he noticed that the door was open. Presuming on his intimacy with the family, he entered, and went to the drawing -room. Turning the handle of the door- he entered, then suddenly his feet gave way upon some slippery substance and he fell headlong into the room, crash- ing his forehead against a cabinet and snapping his left arm. He lay there motionless for a few minutes and then slowly recOnered. Raising himself up he saw ihat his shirt -front was covered with blood; there as he looked around him he gave a try of horror. A few feet away lay the body of a map. Bal- linger looked at him, and then he knew that he had slipped on the life -blood of Ciprian Caspari. ' • Fascinated with horror, Ballinger knelt by the body. A keen -bladed Bur- mese dagger lay onnthe floor, and as le picked it up mechanically he recogniz- ed it as one belonging to himself which used to hang over the mantelpiece in his studio. And as he knelt there, with Ole knife in his band and the dead mann blood staining his fingers, to sud- denly looked up and found a policeman staring at him. Ballinger had but a dim recollection of what followed. tle awoke the follow- ing morning to find ,bis head bandaged, his left arm in splints, and a policemcm. sitting' by his nedside. Then remem- brances erowdad thick upon Ilan, enel he Was just &vitt to speak' when the door opened and Dr. Schemil entered the room, "Alt Dellinger, you are awake! This is a had business, My boy." • "I Mustwarn you, sir," pun in the pa- liGenitth, "that you are in custody' upon suspicion of having murdered Cipriab greatest successes I have had have been with those who have died violent deaths." "How do you account for that?" "It is slinple enough. A man Is in full possession of his faculties; say that he Is shot through the heart, and deathis instantaneous, 'then the retina retains a full, clear picture, and my apparatus will photograph that picture from the eye as distinotly as if I had focused my camera on the object itself." "Then if a man was murdered?" "I should Immediately photograph the eye of the victim, and if I did not ob- tain a. picture at the criminal himself I should get an eye -scene of the crime • which would prove invaluable. But, babt I have talked enough about Illy - eon, I am becoming an egotist. Show me your portrait of Miss Mary Roble." The two friends afforded a marked contrast an they stood in the fading light of the studio. Dr. Sohemil, shore and burly, with thick features, and a huge head covered with a mat of hair; and Geoffrey Ballinger, the rising young artist, a slim, athletic figure, with hand- some, clear-cut features and that inde- scribable air only to be met with in the circles of the artistic and deep -thinking. Geoffrey Ballinger drew an easel into the night and uncovered the picture. It was the portrait of a young girl painted in evening dress. The features were small, but beautifully modelled; the nose short but perfect, the mouth •exquisitely curved, the dark hair over the low fore- • head, the warm tint of the skin, and the delightful expression of the face formed at once a picture most beauti- fulend artistic. "Alit she is beautiful—exquisite. Miss Roble is of Southern extraction, is she not?" "Yes; her mother was an Italian—the beautiful Marietta Sarni. . There was some romance attached to the marriage, I believe. When John noble met her some twenty years ago she was en- gaged to a man named Caspari, but John flohie was so desperately in love— an affection which the recfprocated— that in spite'of all obstacles he carried her off." "Casparil Then the Ciprlan Caspari whom I have met here—" nIs the. son of the Caspari who was • John RObie's rival." "Ahl a fine young fellow, but mad, an enthusiast, a fanatic. I have notic- ed him when Miss Mary RObie's Mime is mentioned; his eyes light up with enthusiasm and. gleam •with love, then he looks at you and the fierce look cf hate transfigures his . face. He is a. dangerous man, Ballinger; I should be- ware of him." • "Oh, I am not afraid," answered 13a1- • linger, with a laugh, "and I 'am not jea- lous. Well, doctor, take your last look; • the picture goes to Mr. Rolne's house 'to -morrow, and you won't see it here egain." "Ah! then I will say good-bye to n and also to you, unless you are walk- ing nay way." "Yes; we may as well go to -gather. I am going to call upon the Robles." They walked together for some dis- tance, and before they parted Dr: Sche- mil gave his friend a Anal warning. "Remember what I said about Ciprian Capri—do not trust nim," , • Pull of amusement at the earnestnese of the doctor, Bellinger pursued his way to Wilmington Square, Where John Ro- ,bie and his daughter lived with every 'appearance of -Wealth and prosperity. As .he approached the house the doer opened and a gentleman came rapidly down the steps and hurried away in the opposite direction, and Ballinger recog- ' lined alpiran Caspar]. Gordon, the staid and rotund butler ,and general factotum of the establish- ment, kept the door open when he saw Ballinger, "Me. Caspari seems ta be in a hurry, Gordon." • "Yes, sir; some little difference .with • the master—Sgh words in the library, sir," answered Gordon, in a discreet Whisper. • t And when Geoffrey Balliriger Went in le greet his future father-in-law he found, John flebie In a towering passion. "You seem upset, Mr. noble."' "I am upset, Ballinger, and by that fellow Cespari. I have, as you know, great Interests in Italy, where they are •nbly looked after* by my nephew. This . tee alien) Hoban , has just acquainted lam with a one:It:noted against my busi- ness, which, if suenessfun will inneelve Gaspar!, and anything you say now tnay be used In evidence ageinst you." "Tbat is all right, ()Meer; I have no- thing to conceal." And he gave Dr, Schema a detailed ccount of what ben happened. "Ann when you went to Wilmington Square you did not see M. Roble or his daughter?" • "I &Inv- nobody. Have you seen Mary? How does she bear the news?" "The strange part of It is, Ballinger, that, although Mr. Rotate andhis daugh- ter Mr0 at home last night until nine o'clock, their present whereabouts can- not be diseovered; and another strange fact is that Gordon, the butler, is mis- sing." "Good heavens! What does it all mean?" ' "I cannot say just now; but the cook and housemaid were given pernits,sion Lo go out, and they left the house at nine and returned at a little after elev- en -thirty. The front door was open and the bouse was empty, save for you and Caspari" • "Ma, Schemil, you don't suspect--" • "I suspect nothing that 1 can put into words just now. • I want to warn you, though, that In a few hours' time there will be an inquest. I now go to take a photograph of the dead man's eye, and see if Caspari himself will not reveal to us the secret of his death." A lew hours later Ballinger was tak- en to the coroner's court, and in the course of the • proceedings related all that he knew to the coroner and jury. He told of the quarrel between John Roble and Caspar', and how he found Caspar' in his studio where he vowed his love, for Mery Roliie, and stated that he had come to England to kill John liable. Then the visit to Wilmington Square, the finding of Bre open door and the body of the deceased man. Although he told his story straight- forwardly the facts seemed very much against him. The acknowledged quarrel, the act of following Caspari when he left the studio the ownership of the dagger, .and the fact that the man had been dead but a few minutes when the police came upon the scene all conduc- ed to prejudice the jury. After Ballinger had given his evidence the coroner, commenting upon the ab- sence of John Roble, his daughter, and Gordon, the butler, decided to adjourn the inquiry for two days, and, while directing that Ballinger should be de- tained in custody, informed him that every facility would be afforded him for seeing his friends. During the afternoon, while he was b,rpoding over his position, Dr. Schemil was announced, and Ballinger sprang up gladly to greet bis old friend. -- "Ah, doctor, you bring me news?" e • ,440: About the House SOME DAINTY DISIIES. Indian Kidney Disb.—Skin and out Some kidneys, say foul for a small dish, lightly brown in a little butter, then cook in some well -flavored etirry eauen When tender dish with, the sauce and Si good border of boiled rice. Veal Mould.—Boil n knuckle of veal very gently in six quarts of water, When tender remove the bones, chop •the meat, • and add the liquor (freed fro ta Int and greatly reduced). Stir in two tceicupfuls of breadcrumbs and 0. seasoning of pepper, salt, and allepice. Place in a wetted mould and serve cold With salad. _Lemon Puffs.—Beat the juice of a large lemon with half a pound of finely pow- dered sugar, adding as you beat It the white of an egg whipped to a stiff froth. When thoroughly mixed, add three eggs and the grated rind .of a lemon. Beat again till well mined - Strew some sheets of rice paper with sugar, drop the mixture on them, sift a little sugar over, and bake in a brisk oven. . Mutton Fritters. --This Is a useful way of using up -the remains of a leg of mutton. Cut the meat into pieces -the length of •one's finger. Flavor some salad oil with onion juice, lemon juice, and pepper. Brush Over the meat with the mixture. Mix a pinch of ground all- spice with a beaten egg, dip the fritters into this, then shake them in bread - crumbs. Fry in deep fat till a golden coler, drain, and serve very lot. Opaque Jelly.—One pini of new milk, 'one tablespoonful of brandy, three ot '-four lumps ef sugar, and half an ounce ,of „best gelatine In an enamelled sauce- -pan and stir over a &ow fire ,till the gelatine is dissolved, taking great care that the milk does not boil. When a little cool add the brandy and a few drops of lemon juice. Pour into a wet mould and stand in a cool plate. To serve garnish with stewed fruit. Good Breakfast Cakes. — Melt one ounce and a half of butter in a little warm milk, with which make a. leaven, using half an ounce of good yeast; add half an ounce of caster sugar, and after It has risen two yolks of eggs. Beat the mixture thoroughly together and stand for half an hour. Then make up into cakes and let them rise for twenty-five "Yes, my dear Mend; but -whether minutes before putting in the oven. you will welcome me after you have heard it I am in doubt." "It is bad news, then. You took the photograph?" "Yes; and the result is the greatest success I have yet obtained." "Do not keep me in suspense; tell me at once." "Casparl had been dead but a few minutes when you found him, and my photograph shows distinctly tile last person he saw before he met his death." "Who was it? Tell me—tell me!" Dr. Schemil took an envelope from his Pocket and laid a photograph be- fore Ballinger. He looked at it for an instant, then buried his face on his arm. "Oh, Heaven! Not that—not that." For the photograph that lay before him he saw the face of Mary Roble. "Bear up my friend. The photograph proves nothing; all may be- well. "But she must have seen him the in- stant before he died, and then her sud- den disappearance with her father and Gordon, the only other persons who were in the house. What does it mean?" "We cannot say just at present, Bal- linger, but en the meantime I will keep this evidence to myself; perhaps in an hour or two the mystery may be cleared Left to himself, Ballinger was plunged into despair; to be under suspicion him- self was bad enough, but to even hint that, Mary Roble' eves in any way guilty was torture, and • yet—the photograph. • An hour later Dr. Schemil dame to see him again, "Good news, my friend—a telegram from Robie. Read it—read it." With trembling hand Ballinger seized the missive:— sliave just heard dreadful news. We will be with yott as soon as Possible:— R°41hea."nk goodness; there must be some mistake, or they would not be comaig back." • "I hope so, my friend, I hope so; any- way, I will meet the train and brieg them here at once." It is impossible to describe the impatt ence with which Ballinger counted tbe minutes until the nobles could arrive, hut all things opine no an end, and at THE GUEST ROOM. last the door opened, and Mary wee sob- bing on his breast. • The name carries wills it visions of "My poor, poor love. What horrible old-time hospitality, and wherever it is mistake is al) Ihis; what does it -mean?" possible to preserve tbis relic of bygone "I cannot tell you yet, darling, except clays it should be done. It emphasizes that it is anniistake; but why you the fact that the whole world is kin, leave Wilmington Square .so hurrionnis and that like King Arthur's round table, "I can explain that," said John no- bie; "the news that fellow C".asp,iri ove me was true,. and I received a telegram t:this moment an officer entered the asking me to go to Italy without de.iay. room. •- We had just time to catch tee. tram "I am glad to tell you that Gordon has to Dover, and I left Gordon a letter. of been found. Ile is in hospital, badly in - explanation to post to you" jured. He was knocked down by a mo - "I have not received it; and where Is tamer while going to post tsvo letters Gordon now?" ' ••On the night of the tragedy. The letters "Ahl that is a mystery.' were found on him, and both"are ad - "One Moment," said Dr. Sherrill; "you dressed to' Mr. Ballinger. We have op - have both heard of my dienevery nbeet cried them, but it may relieve you to photographing the eyes of n dead per- see them." son? Good; now you left the Moine at One NVOS the letter written by Mary nine -thirty, and Caspari died scene after Roble to explain their absence, but the elevernthiety. I have photogrepbed the other was in the hand of Caspari him - retina, of one of his eyes, and tins is self. the result. HoW do you aceount for it?" "I oame.to your studio to -night to die • I4e laid the photograph in trent of in front of her portrait. Gordon is go - Mary noble, who.looked at it in \veneer ing to post this for me, and when he is tor a moment. gone I will carry out thy intention. May "This is my ,pnoto, certainly, bat it is you be happy with her. Farewell. — lealnin in Ole same iress• that I wore Ciprian Cuspate." . • when Geoffrey was painting my pen All is well that ends well, and at the iron, and I have not bad it on 0:ince." adjourned inquest „the jury had no hest - "Alt a light breaks in upon me. tation in bringing in a verdict of "Sul - Where IS the portrait, notv?" cede while of unsonnd mind' and an "In the drawing -room et Wilmington though Dr, Sehemil has startled the Square."• . world with his Wonderful dieeovery of "I see it; f have it. Caspari 81.010 the post-morterti photography, he is alenaye dagger from your studio, and with. it VOrY :artful' to make no mistake in committed suicide in front of your per. bringing forth the evidente of the ac. trait." •ctIsing eye a • • With a small brush rub over the tops with while of egeesand bake. in a steady oven Bread and Apple Pudding.—This is a delicious dish, and when yen have a good quantity of breadcrumbs prepared is the time to serve it. Butter the inside of a pie -dish, and line it with bread - crumbs to the depth of hell an inch. Fill with peeled and cored apples cut into nice pieces, 'scattering a little sugar 'between the fruit. If the dish is very deep, have another layer of bread - crumbs half way up it, and then apples. Cover with breadcrumbs, season with as little cinnamon, and dot bits of butter over. Bake in a steady oven till the apples Are thoroughly cooked. Serve hot. Lemon Cream Jelly.—Set in a stew - pan one pint of milk, six ounces of loaf sugar, the grated rind of three lemons and one ounce of gelatine previously soaked in cold,water. Dissolve these in- gredients over the fire, then let the mix- turq'cool for a short time and stir in the yolks of three eggs, which should' not be beaten; and set all on the fire to curdle. • Afterwards strain, and when cool add the juice of the three lemons andthe whites of the eggs beaten to a stiff froth. Stir all quickly and lightly together and _pour into a. wet mould. Turn out to serve. Sponge Roll.—Take a teacupful of flour and mix it with , a teacupful of daster sugar and a teaspoonful of baking pow- der. Break two eggs one at a time into a eup, and then slide into the mixture. Beat all well together for five minutes. Grease a pudding tin, spread this batter on it, and bake in a sharp oven for five minutes. • Railway Pudding.—Have a teacupful of self-raising flour and work into it one ounce and a half of good beef drip- ping or butter, add a good pinch of powdered ginger, arid a heaped table- spoonful of caster sugar. Beat up an egg with a little milk, and with it mix the dry ingredientninto a nice little bat- ter. Bake -in a greased pudding dish for three-quarters of an hour. Turn out to serve, and pour round a nice sweet sauce flavored with grated lemon rind. the famny ctrele IS capable of expan ing to Admit other* witinft the oharnie rinIg.nthe country home and that of the Mall town it Is the one important gleans of agreeable companionship and entertainment, and the kitting up of the guest chaMber should be a study in making a temporary home that will • breathe welcome to one's friends. Given the fundamentals of an agree- able sleeping apartment, there are cer- tain little toticlies that must be added that are a real necessity to the comfort of the gtest. In many cases these little additions are to be made just before the guest arrives and wita direct reference to her individual taste and habits. A small table furnished with pen and ink should be supplied; it will save her the annoyance of asking for those things, and feeling that she is causing extra steps. A visitor must write some letters, for she must keep in touch with her home. • ' A few books and late magazines should also be found in the Pest cham- ber. There are times during the day when the hostess will be occupied with household duties and errands and the guest can entertain herself if such things are placed convenient for her. A pitcher of water is another impor- tant adjunct to her room; there is no greater comfort than to find drinking water always within easy reach. It is by little thoughtful acts that the tactful hostess is distinguished, and it marks the difference between too much free- dom and too much- formality in enter- taining a house guest, It is possible to so overload a guest with attention. that shiewill feel thanehe nas upset complete- • the household regime and be un- comfortable in consequence. And a hostess may likewise be so lacking in iiUe,.attentions that the visitor will be conscious of the neglect. The nice point in entertaining house guests is to leave them enough freedom to make them feel that .they are one of the family circle for the time being and still give them all the attention that 15 necessary for their -comfort. A proper fitting up of the guest chant- ber will do much toward contributing to the little comforts of the guests with gut them being conscious that a special effort is being made in their behalf. dci SUICIDE'S WEIRD BURIAL HINTS FOR THE HOME. • A good beefsteak, however wen cooked, will not be at its best unless served directly it is cooked. Every saucepan that has been used and finished with should be filled with cold water, a lump of soda put into in and -set, to boil out. To Utilize Scraps of Lemons.—Having removed the, yellow rind and the 'juice for flavoring, the pulp should be dipped into salt, and used for cleanig copper pans. Make potatoes look white and floury by boiling in as little water as possible, strain, and take at once Lo an open door. Give the potatoes a vigorous snake in Ole pan, let it remain uncovered at the • side of the stove for five minutes before serving. Lamps should be filled daily and the chimneys polished at the same time. Once a month either wash and dry the wick, or have a new one, and you will find that your rejected lamp burns without smoking and gives a good light. When baking apples remember that they are dusty even before then are picked from the trees, and that if bought in a town they are sure to be dusty. Apples, therefore, should al- ways be rinsed before being cooked. Wipe the fruit dry carefully after wash- ing, and cook at once. To keep walnuts from becoming dry peck them while fresh in earthenware jars, sprinkle with salt, place some damp hay on the top, cover the jars, and keep them in a cool, dark place. Before using make a brine in the proportion of a teaspoonful of salt to a pint of water, soak the walnuts in this for twenty- four hours, then dry them in a cloth; walnuts may also be kept in damp sand in a cellar. Dry walnuts may always be freshened by soaking in brine. AS ORDERED. A web -known lnwyer, whom we may call John Jackson, because that is not Itis name, recently engaged a new office- -boy. Said Mr. Jackson to the lad the other morning:— "Who took away my waste -paper bas- ket?" "It was Mr. Reilly," said the boy. "Who is Mr. Reilly?" asked Mr. Jack- son. "The porter, sir." An hour later Mr. Jackson asked:— "Jimmie, who opened that window?" "Mr. Peters, sir." "And who is Mr. Peters?" • "The wiedow-cleaner, sir." Mr. Jackson wheeled about and looked at the boy. "Look here, ;Tames," he said, "we call men by their first names here. We don't 'mister' them in this office. Do you understand?" ' "Yes, sir." In ten minutes the door opened and a small shrill voice said:— "There's a man here as wants to see you,'• John." THE BURGLAR'S SEASONS. • Capt. Spencer, senior prisori missioner of the Chercli Anmy, of England, tells a story of a certain convict's philoso- phic view of his existence. "Wen, my man," asked Capt. Spencer, "what do you do when you are out of prison?" "Well," said the convict, "in snring does a bit of pea picking, and in the summer time 1 does a bit of fruit pick- ing, and in the autumn I does a bit of hop hpil'c'Idsnagi;I: the captain, "what hap- pe,r‘evenitit,ernotiNiva,m 1 ?" ieter," replied the con - vitt, "I may as well be home, and tell you that in the winter time 1 does 4 bit of pocket pielcing I" • The • missioner furrowed his brow in amazement, asking finally, "And What happens then?" The convict answered laconically, "Why, here 1 run doting a bit of Oakum picking," # Jim : "I wonder whether enyone will ever invent a silent typewriter?' Tim : "Not so long as WOrnen are employed." "TUE aaot, LAWS. OF !ENGLAND TAVIt BEEN 1EPti".1:0-NitallT." to the Dark PI Night Me Cain Wa Lowered in Dead Renee, A strange scone NVOS witnessed tri( Beaconsfield (England) churchyard at the burial of Frederick Child, who attacked Mrs. Gower, the wile of his employer,! and afterwards committed suicide. After tile verdict of suicide, the coro- ner gave the churchwaadens a buriai! order, but according to law it was neces-: sary for the Interment to take place be- tween 9 p.m. and midnight. In the ab-' sence of the rector, the curate, the Ravi W. D. Ilan -ken, who is greatly esteemed in the neighborhood, took charge of the, arrangements, doing everything posse.; hie in accordance with the laW to avoid hurting the feelings of the relatives. VERY DABK NIGHT. The hour of interment, was kept secret, but at nine on Friday evening a large crowd gathered, 'rhe coffin was Wheeled lo the extreme corner of the graveyard. It was a very dark night; and with the flickering lights of the larn terns, the scene was sombre and even weird. 'rho church itself was locked,: The curate stood at the open grave in! blunt cassock. In dead.silence the cofi fin was lewered, wben suddenly Child's sister, in a, voice broken with emotion, exclalined, "May God have mercy on his soul—more mercy -than he has had from „men)' A laboring man standing In ill crowd in a lane alongside the church- yard cried, "Hear, hear !" "GuD IIELP TH,E LAWS." The cry of the dead man's sister seemed to accentuate the feelings of, those present, and a well-dressed &rang ger by the graveside turned to the Rev.i W. D. Hawken and said "Aree.Tu a priest of the church?" 1ain "Have any prayers been. said?" "None," came the reply of the curaten "And you are one of the priests of thei church to which I belong?" "By what, right do you ask these) questions?" 1 "By the threefeld right of an English -I man, a professing Christian, and a! member of the Church of England," was the stranger's reply. In a calm voice the curate aald "The laws of England have been kept to -night, whatever you may say." "Then God help the laws of Englandr rejoined the stranger, who was then lost sight of. • CHURCH' FORBIDS. As the few mourners moved away there was an ugly rush by the crowd. Some ribald remarks were passed, and one woman narrowly escaped being puthed into the grave. A storm of wind and ram shortly afterwards swept over •the nameless—grave. No flowers Were • placed on it until Saturday, when mem- bers of the family deposited a cross and wreath of van -colored Dowers plucked from their humble cottage garden, The Rev. W. D. Ilawken was much pained at the occurrence, but explained to a London Daily Mail representative Ole. the order of the church is clear upon the matter. At the opening of the service for the burial of the dead occur these words :-- "Here is to be noted that the office ensuing is not to be used for any that die unbaptized or excommunicate or have laid violent bands upon them- eelves." "This mans" said the curate, "had for- feited bis right to Christian burial. II would have been a mockery to give such a man Christian bueial. What is Ole good of giving a heathen Christian burial?" WITH A MIND OF HIS OWN. The Sort of Man That Mr. Sagely Fan- cies Here Set Forth. "I like a man with 0 mind of hie own," said Mr. Stiggly. "Right or wrong, I like a man who knows what he thinks and who is not afraid to speak it. I hate a man who doesn't know what he thinks, or who Is afraid to say what he does think. "Now there's Jones. I say to Jones, on bowery morning: "'What do you think, Joneny ? 'Think I'd better take an umbrella?' "And Jones says; "'Take an =Arena? Why, within', twenty-two minutes it'll be raining blue, green and purple pitchforks; and if you haven't got a boiler -iron umbrella with nbcam rile you'll be speared to death and Men drowned. Sure you want an umbrella!' "Or suppose it had happened to be Robinson I asked ; another man who knows what he thinks, and nobinson says: 'Umbrella ? Foolish I In twenty minutes it'll be as clear as a bell. All blue sky.' "Now, of couese, 'lobes and Robinson couldn't bone be night, but I wouldi rtitlier lug, an umbrella uselessly, fon, lowing Jones., or get drenched following Robinson—be led by a man who had a) mind, of his own and wasn't, afraid to. speak ita-then le hear what I would get from Snibbly if I asked him : "'Better take an umbrella, hadn't I?", say to Snibbly, to hear him saying : "'Ye -es, I suppose A would be safer,' "Snibbly doesn't know what he thinks alma the weather. or 'about nnything else; and if he does knew what he thlotthi ho doesn't soy it. BO Sitlain with M$! he thinks It would ho safer 1 , "I like the 01511 Witli 0 mind of Ijis own, and he Is, everywhere; the inapt that manes the wheels go 'round." ' • . -."Thunder aed guns I" exelaiMed Rita Old gentleman, as he was given the ,biti for his only daughter's last gown, "but yon cost a pile of money." "Welt papa," site replied., der:surely, "if you wouldn't sit in the dining -room with tim door open When 1 am enteatelning Mr. Blinkley In , the draaailVottim,,,yOu'd, atom] a better dtatice of -getting rid tha- expense."