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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1888-7-12, Page 2LWOW FIRST PIIBLISHED.1 (ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] uNT KF a,z,...pllyughroepv0erszee, is not quite the weret4" rep led Adrian, laying clown the ow Quer- I IKE terly. "/ wonder that Valentine does not see though she is her sister," said Lady Belfield, the danger of such an asseciatien," "Dange By M. E. .BRADDON. .T oat use no other, The beautiful Mrs. r is an alarming ,worcie Adrieu." ' AUTHOR OF "LADY AIIDLEY'S Seenew, WI'LLARD $ WEIRD, ETC., Deo. CHAPTER XXIII.—(Coranengtea Adrian hada geoid meny opportunities for observing his sister.indaw after that even - big et Lady Glandore's, and every new meeting only convinced him the more that all was not well with her. Se. Anstell'a ehadow followed her like a blight; and yet .A.drien had never seen anything in her conolunt which would justify him in remon- strating with her, or even in twaning her against Lord St, Austell. She could hardly refuse to know her sister's friends, while he was ohaperoned by her sister ; and St. Austell was an old friend of Major and Mrs. Beddeleyee He took the opportunity of a tete-a-tete lunch with Valentine at the Junior Carlton, to speak of his married life. " You are quite happy, Val?" he asked. "Your marriage has realized all your hopes?" "Well, yes, I suppose it has. I don't know very exactly what my hopes were, I only know that I was desperately in love, and that you were a good fellow to give rne the field, and are a still better fellow for forgiving me as you have done." He stretched his hand across the table to *tiliake hands with his brother, with more feeling than he was wont to exhilsie "Time has been very good to me, Val. I am heart -whole again, and I oan think of Helen as my ale ter, and love laer as a sister • should be loved. 1 can never forget that she is the first Nyman. I ever cared for." "How about the second, Adrian?" "There is no second yet. I will not say of myself that I shall never love again. Life means mutability, and so long as a man lives he may change. 1 can't help wishing, Val, that you and _Helen were a little less fashionable. I don't like your semi-detached way of living." ".My dear soul, we live as most of our fellow -creatures live," answered Valentine, lightly. "1 am not the kind of man to be tied to any woman ' s apron string, wire or mistress. To stand in doorways while my wife dances; to sit out plays I am sick of while my wife looks on, or to jog up and down the Row at her side. If Helen and I are to hang together for the rest of our lives we must be free to enjoy ourselves after our own ideas. She has an excelleat chaperon, and I am letting her sow her wild oats. She will be tired of gadding about- in a season or two." "And when she is tired of gadding about, is she to sit by the fire—alone?" "My dear Adrian, don't lecture. Who knows? By that time I may be tired of knocking about London, said may sit by the fire and smoke—or take to books like you. In the meantime, Helen and I get on capi- tally." "Yes, and she gets on capitally with men who are ever so much more attentive to her than you are—men who don't mind locking on when she dances a.nd don't mind jogging up and down the Row. Se Austell, for in- • stance." • Valentine frowned, and then shrugged his' shoulders. • "Yon don't suppose you Call make me jealous ?" hesaid. I am not that kind of person. My wife may accept as much ad- miration as she likes from .other men. I • know her heart is mine.. He smiled, recalling his slave's devotion; her delight at a kind word, her blushing pleasure at a casual kiss. He forgot that those things belonged to his experience of • last year. He had not even noticed the growing olaange in his wife's manner, so completely was he absorbed in himself and his own pleasures. "Indeed, Valentine, I have never doubt- ed Helen's affection for you ; but I think she deserves a little more of your couteeany —a little more of your care. She is too young and too beautiful to stand alone in London society." "Bosh ! A good woman always knows how to take care of herself. It is only bad ones that want looking after." Adrain was silent. He felt that he had • sold as much as he could safely say to Valen- tine; but there was something which he meant to say to Helen before he went back to Devonshire. • He rode in the Row the day before he left • London, to try a saddle horse which he had bought at Tattersall's on the previous after- • noon. He rode early, and was surprised. to meet his sister -in -lave coming in at the Ken- sington Gate, quite alone, as the clocks were striking nine. "1 heard you wereto be at two dances last night, Helen so I hendly expected to see you out so early," he said. "1 couldn't sleep," she answered; "so it was just as well to have my ride before the herd came out." She had flushed suddenly as he rode up to her, but the colour faded as quickly as it came and lefb her very pale. "Von look as if you wanted sleep, more than an early ride," he said, gravely, shocked at her waxen pallor, but still more at the startled guilty look with which she had re- cognised him. "1 dai Ow I do,' she answered, careless. ly. "We were dancing the ootillon at five o'clook. I had no idea you rode in the • Park." "1 am only here because of my purchase yesterday,. How do you like him ?" Helen looked critically at the handsome upstanding bay. "Very much. • He leeks every inch a hunter." "Isn't it a pitythat I only want him for a hack !geld Adrian, with eetouch of bitter - nest, remembering those days, when his be- trothed had lamented his deficiencies as a sportsman. "Never mind, Helen, you can hunt hint in the autumn when you come to the Abbey. You will oome, of cotirse " I don't know." • "Oh, but you must come, Helen. You must come and stay with my mother, and take your fill of test, and dulness, and country air, ghee the whirl and wear of London life. There is nothing in the world so good aei perfect rest in a quiet old orein. try house. Valentino will have the shoot. ing in September and, October, and you can hive plenty of cub -hunting. I will get one • of the Miss Treduceyat to look after you. They never Idea a morning." And the, bending over her her horse's neck, he sad, with gentle earnestneze : "Remember, Helen, the Abbey is your nattral home, and my mother rottr natural prot6oter, second only to your husband. In the hour Of doubt or trouble thet home ought to be your haven of reflige. Never fear to fly there; neer fear to confide in my mother's love." " You are wry good, Lady Iielfield is the cleared Woman in the World. Of course I shall be charmed to Op to the Abbey if Valentine will take the, and, 1 daresay he Will MO o g6 there for the Sheeting," re-. plied Helen, hurriedly, with a troubled manner, Sedrian thought, net as one whose mind was as ease. Y , our horse hag more breed than mine,' he said, by way of changing the converser - tion, "He is a verybeautiful creature. Waere did Valentine pick him. up ?" "He was bought at Tatters sll's. It was not 'Valentine wile chose him. It was Mr. Beeohing—or Lord St. Austell—I am net euro which of them really bought him. They are both oonsidered good judges." "No doubt. But Val paid ler the hone, of course ?" "0? course," answered Helen, reddening at the question. "Who else should pay for him?" "He must have given a high figure, I take it ?" the horse was a bargain. When I told him I wapted a horse, Valentine said he would only give eixty guineas --that was all he could afford—end 1 believe Ravioli was bought for that money—oe e little less." "Then there is something wrong with him, I suppose. I hope he is not a danger- ous horse." " Dangerous ! Not in the least. He has perfect manners." "Aad he is not a whistler, nor a roarer ?" " Certain19 not," "Then I congratulate you on having se - cored a wonderful bargain. Anyone would give you creche for riding a three hundred guinea horse. I gave very nearly two hun- dred for this fellow, and he is not half so handsome as yours. Ah, here conies St. Austell. Was he in your ootillon last night ?" " Yes : he is devoted to the ootillon." Lord St. Austell met them both with the easiest air. He, too,complained of sleepless - nese. "These late parties are killing us," he said. "One loses the capacity for sleep. I shall have to go to a hydropethic in the wilds of Scotland or Ireland for a month or two,just to pull myself together." "1 should hardly have given you credit for leeine out so early" said Adrian. "Wouldn't you? Oh, I am better than my. reputation, I assure you. I hate the Row when the mob are out, and the band, and the talk, and the nonsense. Good day." He saluted Haien and cantered away, as if he had no other purpose in his ride than healthful exercise, and Adrian and his com- panion saw no more of him. • They rode up and down tor an hour, Adrian trying the paces of his new horse, which behaved in the "new broom "manner of horses that have been nourished in a dealer's yard for a space, to the subjugation of their original sin. After that quiet hour's ride and quiet talk, Adrian escorted his sister-in-law back to her door, where the man fronecthe livery yard was chewing his customery straw; and here they parted. "My mother and I go back to Devonshire to -morrow morning, _Helen. You'll not for- get ?" "No, Adrian. Good-bye." And so they parted. She said not a word about going to see LadyBelfield that after. noon, and Adrian did not ask her. He heard afterwards that she and Mrs. Baddeley were at Reatelagh, dined there, and drove home late in the evening to dress for a ball. • The beautiful Mrs. Belfield was asked everywhere this season, and fresh young beE try had opened many doors which had hitherto been dosed against Mrs. Beadeley. There was an awkward story about that lady's diamonds, the particulars of which had been only correctly known to a select few, but which the select few had not for- gotten, while even the vulgar herd knew there was a story of some kind, nos alto. other creditable to the wearer of the gems. Belfield, the latest faehion its heauty, ought not te be meet everywhere in London without her husband, end with such a woman as Mrs. Baddeley for her chaperon; a woman who prides herself ia goiug everywhere with three or four thea in in her train." "It is all very sad, Adrian." It was all very sad, and it was sadder that Lady Belfield and her sou could do nothing to stop this headlong progress of reokleis husband and foolish wife, drifting towards ruin, Constance Belfield felt that it was worse than useless to dwell upon the sub- ject in her conversation with her elder son. She wished on his return home, that all things should be made bright and plea- sant to him, ancl yet her own uneasy fears , about that other son weighed upon her spirits and made happiness impossible. She was aurprised and somewhat agitated one morning within a week d her return, at reoeiving a letter from Helen, hurriedly written, and with uurnistalreable signs of agi- tat'i'°e'll'ou told me there were silence and rest for me at the Abbey, and that you wanted me soon," Helen wrote. "May I go to you at once? 1 am tired to death of London and the season, snd I think aleepleasness would kill me if I were to hold out much longer. Valentine has Goodwood • and half a dozen other race meetings coming on, so he eally does not want me here since he can hardly ever be here himself. lefity I go to you to -morrow, dear mother? I shall not wait for a letter, but shall start by the 11 45 tram, unless I reee ve a telegram to forbel me." The telegramsent in response to this letter was of loving welcome. "Ask Valentine to come with you if only for a few days," was the last sentence an the message. CHAPTER XXIV. —" IT Ceeneom BE." Lady Belfield went back to Devonshire disspirited at having seen very little of her younger son during her stay in London, and not altogether satisfied as to the aspect of his domestic affairs. That marriage which was no union, that laborious pursuit of pleasure which husband and wife were carrying on in opposite directions, filled her with anxiety. Those darker clouds which, Adrian has perceived on the horizon had not revealed themselves to the matron's innocent eyes. Her experience of life had not familiarised her with the idea of false wives art& deceived husbands. These too had married for love, she knew, casting all other considerations to the winds, in order to belong to each other; and it never occurred to her that such lovers could weary of each other. She saw that they were leading frivolous lives, and living very much apart; she saw many tokens of folly and extravagance on both sides; and she left Loudon full of vague fears for the future. But those fears were only vague, E4nd there was no forecast of sin or ignominy in her mind, When she bade Helen good-bye in the little Japanese drawing -room, just before she drove to Paddington. It was within an hour of noon, and Helen came out of her bedroom, pale and wan, in her white muslin wrapper. "You haVe had a very short night, I fear," said Lady Belfield. "Oh, I wouldn't mind how short it was If I could only sleep," answered Helen, patiently. "My nights are always too long. The birds were singing when we came home, and I thought if I could only sleep for a couple of hours I should be as fresh as they were ; but I lay awake till the birds changed to the milkman, and the milkman to the postman, and then came the tradesmen's carts." "Von must come to the Abbey, Helen; there will be silence and rest for you in your old roome." "ph, I love those old rooms, though I have had mune sad thoughts in them. Yes, Val says he will be delighted to go to you for the pheasant shooting." " 13ut that is a long time for me to wait. I want youvery soon, Helen. • A quarter past elevett. I must go, love, our train starts at a quarter to twelve. Good-bye." And so they parted with kisses, and not without tears on Helen's part, The door had scarcely elosed when she flung herself on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions to stifle her sobs, Valentine was fast asleep after a late night at the olub. He had the happy temperament of the man who oan live hard, and slumber after a night of riot as serenely as a ploughman sleepe after his placid labours. Adrian thet his mother at Paddington, and they went clown to bevonshire to, gether in the seclusion of a reserved coupe, with books and newspapers, fruit and flow, era, and all the things that can !Mike a long jeureey endurable on a hot summer day. "Imefraid Ma. Baddeley 18 not quite the hest companion Helen, emild have, al. Lady Belfield drove to meet her daughter in-law. She stood on the platform as the train from Exeter came slowly into the sta- tion, and the first glimpse of Helen's face startled and shocked her. That pale wan look which she had noticed en the morning after the ball, had intensified to an almost ghastly pallor. Helen looked wretchedly ill, and there was an expression of misery in that pallid countenance which was more alarming than any physical decay. • Constance Belfield had too much tact to remark that appoiliug change as she and Helen clasped hands on the platform, or during the drive to the Abbey. She did not even ask what had brought about the change in the young wife's plans. "1 am very glad to have you here, my dearest," she said, and that was all. Helen was curiously anent and offered no explanation of her sudden visit.. She nestl- ed affectionately against Lady Belfield's shoulder, resting her weary head there, smilnig faintly, with a smile that was sadder than tears. "1 feel so much happier here than in London," she said. "1 feel so safe with You, mother." Slte had hitherto refrained shyly from that familiar. name, but in her yesterday's letter and in her talk to -day, the word mother seemed to come naturally from her yearning heart, "Yes, dear, you are safe with Adrian and me. He has forgotten and forgiven elle past, and you are to him as a deer sister." "That is so good. of hizn. But how poor- ly he must think of me. Yes, I know he must despise me for the past, and for the foolish, frivolous present, tor all my life this last season." "The season is over now, Helen, with all its frivolities. It is not even worth think. ing about." • "No, it is all over now," answered Helen, with a faint sigh. "I don't suppose I have been. much worse than other people. I know I have not been half so bad as some women—and' yet I hate myself for my folly." • "As long as it has left no sting behind it, dearest, the folly may so easily be for- gotten." "Oh, but there is always a a bing, the sting of self-contempt."., • "1 will not hear you talk of self-contempt. You are coming to the Abbey to be happy, and to get back your roses and lilies. Adrian has a horse that he says will suit you admir- ably. You will enjoy riding on the moor in the early mornings." " Adrian is too kind ; hue I don't care much for riding now." "Don't you think riding would brace you up after your long spell •of late hours and hot rooms ? At any rate there will be oub-hunting for you in a month or six weeks, and that you are sure to enjoy. Helen only 'answered with a sigh, which sounded like an expression of doubt, and wan silent foe the rest of the drive, as if too weary for speech. Adrian was in the porch ready to receive his sieter-in-law with a brotherly welcome; and he too Was startled at the change for the worse which the last week had Made in Helenaappearance. That deterioration gave strength to those fears which had troubled him when he left London. Helen's rooms were in the southern wing, immediately over the library. There was a large bedroom with a wide Tudor window, and an oriel at the southwestern corner; and there was a spacious dressing -room ad- joining, whioh served also as a boudoir, and was provided with all luxurious appliances for reading and writing, or repose. There was a secondary dressing room on the other side of the bedroom, which Valentine had used on forrner visite, and where there were still some of his hunting and riding whips in the rack, and some of his hunting gear in the drawere. The casements were open, and the ocent of tea roses and honeysuckle came in with the eofe breath of summer winds. The view from that wide old window was of the loveli- est, a wooded valley through which the broad full river ran eparkling in the wes- tern sun, and across the vale rose the bold dark outline of the moor, like a wall that shut off the outer world. Helen sat at the broad window seat after Lady Belfield left her, looking out at the (take and beeches, the thickets of havethorn and holly, and the river flowing behind them at the foot of the hill, looking and not seeing any of those things which showed themselves with such exceeding loveliness in the golden haze of after- noon. She was seeing another scene, far less fair, yet not unbeautiful, A • lawn eloping to the Thames, with fine old trees here and there, and in the background a white larneelit homes, with classic portico and long reench windows. Across the river other lamps, shining in many windows and tall chimneys and dark roofs, and a large barge sailing by tipple the moceilit stream and on the rustic bench beside her, itt the ehadow of a veteran elm, aka a men whose voice ehrille her like music, a man who pleads 10 her, who dwells with eVer intensi- fying urgeney Upon hiS Oft nalseryihoW lato be doortted to live 4E40 frenl her, 11 ,he im. plores her to pity and to bless his despairing love, to let hint be the sharer et her life , the guardian of her happiness, since without her Bee is ilAtelerable for him. He pleads ae poor laumapity iseight plead to the angels, ije reveria he honoura her in tenderest phrase, in aweetly flatterieg speech, while he exeroisee every art he know e to bring her down to the level of the fallen and the lost panting her eex. He blinds and dazzles her by the glitter a artful phrases, by the lurid light of a phantasmagoric vision—the fanoy picture of the future they two would live together, once having broken the bondage of conventionality. " Conventionality 1" That is the word by which Lord Se Auseell defines duty to her husband, respect for the world's laws, and fear of God, Convention- ality alone is to be sacrificed. So he pleads to her, hdf in moonlight, half in ehadow, in that quiet corner of Hurl. Inghani lawn, far away from the bustle and the racket of the club -house and the terrace, where frivolity chatters and saunters in the moonshine. • Here there is no frivolity. Here is deep. est purpose. He pleads, and she answers weakly, falteringly. No, again and again no —it cannot be. But for that night at least he can win no other answer than that despairing refusal. They part eater the drive home, on her sis- ter's threshold, where they have driven in a party of four, the inevitable Beeching in at- tendance upon hie liege lady, albeit resent- ful of ill-treatment. They part in silence, but even the clasp of St. Austell's hand at parting is a prayer, scarcely Rita insistent than those spoken prayers in the Hurling- ham garden. This was the night before last, and she has not seen him since, and she has sworn to herself that she will never see hint again. • What shall she do with her life without him ? That is the question which she asks herself despairingly now, in the golden light of afternoon, sitting statue -like, with her hands clasped above her head, leaning against the deep embrasure of the good old window. What is to become of her without love, or mirth, or hope, or expectancy? All things that gave color to her life have van- ished with tied fatal lover, who came as suddenly into her existence as a rainbow, glorifies the horizon. (To BE CONTINUED.) • What the Girls Thought of. Evelina is engaged. Indeed, she is shortly to be married. Her "set," of whom she is the firet to takethis important step, are great- ly fluttered by the approaching event, and talk it over on every possible occasion. One of them says it is dreadful for an unknown man to come from away out West and carry off one of their girls. They will never see her again—never 1 She will come home to visit, probably; but a girl who is married tells him " everything, and has lost interest in people, and isn't the same at alt; and they may as well make up their minds to losing her, once for all. i Here there s a chorus of sighs and groans, and another nice girl says he 'isn't much to look at, either; she has seen his photograph. He has pale eyes, and a ridiculous little moustache that she knows by his looks he is extremely proud of. Why Evelina wants him, she can't imagine. • He isn't handsome, or rich, or heroic, or anything else interesting. He is just a commonplace young man. „ Some one here timidly ventures to remark that Evelina is nothing very extraordinary herself, mad, perhaps, a commonplace young enan will exisetly suit her. ' Silence follows this observation, and the perstin who at length breaks it, discreetly selects another branch of the inexhaustible subject : Does anybody know anything about the trousseau? 15 appears that they -all do, but the information 'possessed by one ex- actly agrees with that of no one else, and it is half an hour before they have sifted out the probable truth from amass of conflicting accounts, all given at once and very loud. - When this most important point has been debated and settled, they take tenother half hour to express their atnusement at the idea of Evelina s actual ly keeping houte; they say it is nearly as absurd as it will be to call her Mrs. They then diecuse the coming ceremony, a.nd each gives at length a description of the man- ner in which her own wedding should be con- ducted, were she to marry. • Several of the girls say they should like to merry just to sho v their friends what a wedding ought to be. Oae remarks that she too, would like it, that she might demonstrate to everybody that a bride need not be pale, and can say "1 will," loud enough to be heard beyond the first three pews, if she will only make up her mind beforehand to do it. When Eveline.'s marriage really takes place, she is very pale indeed, and too ner- vous to attend properly to her train. But her friends forgive her these little errors of conduct, and admit that on the whole she did very well. Oae of them who steps down to the abation, and stands behind a pillar to see her start off with her husband for their new home, even says afterwards that she has almost forgiven her for choosing Mm. • He looked as commonplace as ever, she de- clares ; only, whentwo people seem as happy as they did, somehow you have to forgive them everything; and she hopes the 'other girls will stay single for a longtime to come; but as to Mrs.,Evelina, she wishes her good hick with all her heart. This is about the way nice girls behave when one a their numberma.kes a common- place young man happy. A Humble Apology. Rev. G. • H. Pendleton, of Worcester, Mato., has written a personal letter to President Cleveland apologizing for his" the. " in talking too freely about what he knew were •idle rumours concerning the Presiderits domestic life, Me makes in his letter to the President a most hunible ttpol ogy for having been the instrument of dis- seminating private scandal, and gays he re. garde a man who would alo this to be quite capable of any crime. • He adds at that upon investigation since the publication of hie interview and the articles greeting out f it, he has found that he Was entirely wrong, Esnd he is now convinced that there is no happier married pair alive than the Presi, dent and his young wife, and no more virtu- ous' and loving husband in the land to.day than Grover Cleveland.—[Philadelphia Led. ger. Arms. Pipes for Anybody. Citizen (th stranger) --What are your politics, my friend? Stranger—I have no politics this year ; I'M leader of, a brass band, Miss Saratoga—" Is Mr. 0. Shaw any re, letive of yours" Mts Wanka Shaw— "45 yes, he's a dieted relative." "Hos distant ?" °' He's My brother, but he itl the youngest of nine children, end Ini theaold- est. NORTR-WEST INDIANS, turned to Jerry and asked him' whet the chief was Raying, Jerry, however, vouch - White Wolfers and their lianits—The First Trader—A. Visit to an indta Iteserve —dh !Adieu. Trade -The hed • Kates Flow:moue. To apeak of a Canadian republic will seem like the anticipetion of history ; on the ()ea- u -eery it is, so far as one portion of the North- West is concerned, only the recording of it. These territories ono naturally supposes to be a new country in every respect—a coun- try without a history, without inonuments, above all vvithout romance. There is, however, a fine chapter of romance to be written about It, although, unfortunately, thei e are only about 'half a. dozed people living who loan write it, end three or four of those have told me that they have no in- tention of attemptipg the task, • For ex- empla, to take one aspect only, the Canadian Northev Weetas a lawless republic edmin- ietered by an irresponeible and self -appoint- ing provisional Government probably never even heard of in Euglend, and yet this state qf things existed no longer ago than 1868. At that time the conntry was inhabited Chiefly by Indians, a,nd the principal white industry, consisted oi the oeoupation of " Wolfer," the men who shot buffaloes, poisoned their carcasses with etrychnine, and collected and sold the skins of the hordes of wolves which they thus destroyed. These "wailers," a set 01 men with habits and in- stincts of the modern cowboy, but infinitely more desperate, formed themselves After a while into a community and organizetion known as the " SPITSEE CAVALRY," a name taken from the Blackfoot word " Speed:tea," meaning high bluff. They ap- pointed a capthin or , president who was practically dictator of the whole of the vast extent of country given over to the buffeloes ancl tlse red men, and they executed their dedrees mercilessly and with impunity. The names of half a dozen of the leaders atill eoho occasionally around camp fires or drinking saloons. a sok Healy, Jack Evans, Van Hale and Tom Hardwick, who was afterwards lynched, by his own crowd, Jack Hedy was, perhaps, the most noted of them all, and an authenticated incident of his variegated career will show what the Spitsee Cavalry was and the character of the men with whom it had to deal. At the junction of the Belly and, Old Man Rivers there is a place called Whoop Upso, called from the faot that in still earlier days the whole crowd of whites were driven together there for mutual protection against a furi- ous India* onslaught ; or, in other words, whooped up by the war whoops of the sav- ages—and there jack Healy kept a miscel- laneous store for trading. He was the first man who ever sold or bartered with the Indians modern rifles and fixed ammunition. Before this it had. been an unwritten but strictly obeerved custom to sell no fire arms to the red men except old-fashioned flint lock muskets ; and Healy's innovation ren- dered the Indians much more dangerous enemies and THE LIFE OF THE WOLFER AND WHISKEY TRADER. proportionally more dangerous and less ir. responsible. • Many were the protests made to Healy, and many the threats, of all of vehich he took no notice. The Spitsee Cav- alry are all gone now, with two exceptions, one of whom is a respectable member of the Dominion Parliament, while the other keeps a whiskey den at Fort Macleod, The Indians, in spite of their. ,fieed- am- munition and their Winchester's, are not faring much better. Oe my Sunday in Cal- gary I was driven out to visit Mrs. Moore at her cattle ranch, and strange enough it was to find in a small prairie home in thie far off country Miss Ethel Moore, one of the two young ladies of whose successes at Cam- bridge, in taking academic honors over the heads of all the men, England had been talking a few months before. Another young ranehman, also an Eaglishmen, had driven over to'spend Sunday, and both teams were hitched up together to what is called a "bob -sleigh," a simple avian box on run- ners and covered with 'hay and rugs; and we were driven across the prairie with this original lour horse team, to the Indian Re- serve, half •a dozen miles away. • I have spoken before of the endurance of those horses, and, singe then, Colonel Herahmer, She Chief of the Mounted Police has told me that once, without pressing Police, horses, and including several idle days, he drove 2405 miles in 50 days with a pair of broncos. In summer the Indians live in their wig- wams, but in winter they have warm log huts heated by the tnodern cast iron stove, e,nd known as "shacks." The reserve COVERS A GREAT MANY SQUARE MILES and is given up entirely to the Indians who are in charge of the Government Agent and to whom rations of meat and flour are dis- tributed two or three' times a week. Leav- ing the team at the agent's house and starting across on foot we were immediate- ly met by the usual self-appointed escort of visitors to the Indian lodges, consisting of some fifty dogs, big and little, of the most impossible breeds, but chiefly yellow and all extremely, savage. To get along at all it was necessary to place the ladies in the mid- dle and for each man of the party to arm himself with a dub and keep a very sharp eye on the ours who prowled at his heels. The Indians themselves are fairly good looking whep not disfigured by disease; and, partly -by the sale of the articles they make, partly by the liberality of the government, are very well off—so well off, indeed, that it is eamoet impossible to strike a bargain with them for anything without paying more than two or three times, the yalue of the things one wishes. A French halfbreed acted as our interpreter and, in the shack of the chief, whose name was Bull Head, I tried to buy a buckskin dress elaborately and gorgeously worked with beetle. Thia the chief odd was worth a horse, an Indian horee being .commonly valued at thirty dollars, After 5 while he came down to fifteen dollars, at which sum I agreed to purohase it and the interpreter folded it up and took it un- der his arm. I produced a twenty dollar bill and asked if any of the party had change. . As soon as the Indian family saw the bill they requested the interpreter with a word to hand the dress back and then calm. ly nodded that THE PRICE OP IT WAS TWENTY DOLLARS, and not a cent less Would they take' after seeing the bill. To hold a oonversetion with them is almost impossible, for the interpreter iS only one degree leas laconic than the Indians themeelvea, A funny story is told to illustrate this. When Colonel 'Macleod was firt negotiating terms of support be. tween the ttheernment and the Indians he a Ina long palaver yrith an Indian ehief named Standing tuffalo. The Ooloeel, through the interpreter, explained briefly the terms he had to offer,, Standing Buffalo then arose and addreesed him with soletnn tones and impassioned oratory and reiter- ated gestures for BO atlY twenty athletes, The interpreter, a famons halfbreed named jerry Potts, stood silently by., Several times during the harangee Colonel Medved eafed reply gutil Standing 13uffalo had /seated himself in his blankets again. Then the Colonel turned te him, and said, "Now, Jerry, tell me exactly whet he said." He say he d—e-- glad," was Jerry's reply, and all that Colonel Macleod ever know a Standing Buffalo's eloquenee. When Lore Lorne was taken once to the Indian B,eserve at Fort 9e'Appelle, the In- dian address was translated first from Sieux into Oreo, front Ore into half-breed Freeeh --French patois—and from French into English, The general management of the Indians in the Dominion is extremely good and re- flects great credit on everybody concerned, especially when compared with the mis- government of the Indian eeservittions in the United States. The ohs excepgion is that of the Metlakehtla Indians in 'pritish Columbia which looks discreditable to everybody concerned in it. There are 84 Irdian reservations in the North-West, con- taining 17,000 Indians, These Indians have 8511 acres of land under cultivation. They have 1767 houses, 7637 head of cattle. There are 36 Indian schools and three in- dustrial schools. The calculated average income of each Indian family is sixty-nine dollars, to which is added an average Gov- ernment aid of $185. These are the figures given:by Lietenant-Governor Dewdney ab the banquet given to him on his retirement from dace, by the citizens of Calgary. OF THE OLD INDIAN LIVE little remains and that little is discourag- ed by the authorities. Of the war- path and the ecalping knite are only memories and the tomahawk is no longer ever raised against a white man. • The only danger dem outbreak in reoent years was when Riot added to his abandonesi dimes the absolutely unpardonable one of trying to helmet the Indians to take the warpath against the whites ; but very few of them responded. The One ceremony vvhioh still may be seen ocoagonally—and even this will be extinct in two or three years is the " Sun Dance "—that is, the cere- mony at which the braves are made by torture. Some of the .photographers of Calgary have succeeded in photograph. ing this savage ceremony. Thepictures show the medicine campover among the' trees„ i the medicine pole n the centre, the crowd. of Indians—men,iwomen and children— gathered around n awe and antioipation, and the unfortunate Indian buck to be made into a brave standing tied to the pole by a leather rope attached to the two enda of a skewer driven through the muscles of each side of his breast. A large tom tom, or medicine drum, is • attached in a similar way to a skewer driven through the muscles of his back; and, to an accompaniment ot the beating of many drums and frantic yells and -Moons of the whole camp, he is supposed to dance, at first quietly, and then with gradually in- creasing excitement to lash himself into a semi -insane paroxysm, the climax of which is reached when the drum is flung off from his bleeding back, and he rbleases himself frOm the pole to fall. fainting, but a brave, ab its foot, the skewers having beeiretorn out of the solid muscle. The photogr4hp was talmen just at the commencement of Ithe deuce, and was only with great difficulty, owing to the buck trembling so much with exoStement that it was almost impossible to secure a picture of him at all. ' THE CONCLUSION LEFT ON ONE'S MIND by a few,days spent among the Indians 'la. e'e the cynical one that, in spite' of all Ona'a convictions about the desirability of philan- thropy and good treatment to the dispos- sessed owners of these boundless lands, the old Indian fighters are not far wrong when they say that there is no good Indian ex- cept a dead one. • The red man is dirty, idle, brutal in all his instinota, and of any earthly use to the community he never will be, and the sooner he disappears drone the face of the earth And leaves behind only the idealized portraits of Marryat and Mayne Reid, the better for everybody concerned. —Henry Norman in Montreal Star. Married While Dying. Miss Mary Stauffer, an attractive young woman, 18 years of age, was married the other day to Luke Fisher, at Schuylkill. In less than five minuteafter the ceremony had been performed the bride died, sur- rounded by her weeping husband and family. An hour or two previous she had been walk- ing in a field near the house, and her dress caught fire from a heap of burning brush. She ran screaming , and her cries brought to her aid a party o(farm laborers, among them Luke Fisher, to whom she was to have been married next week. • There was nothing at hand with which to put out the fire, and Fisher picked her up and carried her to a hogshead of water and plunged her into it. He himself was scorched, and the young woman sustained frightful injuries. Alba Stauffer was carried into the house, and, though suffering the moat exoruciating agony, she expressed a wish to be married before she died. • The Rev, Mr. Feger was called in and had hardly pronounced the words that made her Mr. Firther's wife when she became unconscioue and soon expired. A Change of Treatment. • Young Sissy (to Crowley's gaurdian)—Aw —what do you give Mr. Crowley when he has a cold, aw ? Guardian—When it's not serious, sir, give him flaxseed tea, Young Sissy—Aw, I don't believe in that sort of treatment, a,w--flaxseed tea nevah did me any good. Guardian—That so? Then I won't give Crowley any more of it. . . The elementary stage of knowledge is to ni ake Self, and Self alone, thy study andethy world. From the yearly reports of the ba4ka it would appear that the businese o 'the country, though not "booming," is yet, aa a whole, in a sound, healthy condition, The sheet crop liet year of oourse made a great difference. The farmers, by the shortage, lost some seven or eight millionof dollars, and their purchasing power Wall accorclinEdy lessened by that amount, Still, With economy and care the country has been pulling through all right in epite of the in- famous failure of two or three banks. Of course, the Central Basco has afforded all the bank managers a text from Which to preach a solemn sermon of warning and re- proof. But then the Central, iit the long run, may do7good. The villainy hown by its managers and wreckers will read a lag- oon of earefulness and distrust for many years tO COMO, While, if the great sinner connected with it can be brought to justice and sem, to pick oakum in thepenitentiary i they may in some measure, n thie way, melte reparation ',for the desolation they have caused. The straightening out of the affairs of that wretched inetitution mo and more reveals a state of scandafism and imbecility that one could scarcely have be. Holed to be possible.