HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe East Huron Gazette, 1892-01-07, Page 2Theft
e Story of a Year.
A little Child in raiment white
toes sent to me one day
With message from the King of Light:
°• Ihy care I will repay,
If thou wilt keep her garment bright
Along the narrow way.'
We wandered forth, the Child and I :
But poll, ail careless grown.
I heed'ud n t her plaintive sigh,
As. hurt by thorns and stone,
Or chilled by snowdrifts piled on high,
She uttered weary moan.
We wandered on ; more fair the land,
Sweeter the fragrance round.
1 clasped again her little hand,
And sped o'er dewy ground,
Heedless of clouds the sky that spanned,
Or wild beasts lurking round.
Still on we vent, through gorgeous ways,
O'er sunny isle and hill,
While all too taiviiftly passed my days
By gleaming brook and rill,
And I forgot us noontide's blaze
To guard the Ladd from ill.
Still on we went. Cold blew the blast
In autumn's morning gray ;
My longing gaze behind was cast
Where floweryo'er meadows broods �nvanished
past,
I took my careless way.
° Farewell. farewell ; I e'en must go,'
A voice said in my ear;
The distant hills are white with snow ;
My last dawn draweth near.
With garments torn and brow of woe
1 go—a wasted Year.'
Startled, T turned, and looked around :
No Child's form met my gaze ;
But one, low bending to thepground,
Weth weht of da
Whosepscou d utter forth no sound
Of thankfulness or praise.
Ah me! how could I meet the King
Who gave her to my care
Lost were the gifts she came to bring,
And soiled her raiment fair.
Here with the Old Year vanishing,
I could but kne I in prayer.
JESSIE C. DENT.
A STORY TOLD ON NEW YEAR'S EVE.
Christmas evergreens still hang on the
walls of my home, a brigh b fire burns cheer-
ily in the polished grate, and peace and
happiness brighten each dear face gathered
around me. Outside, the snow lies cold and
white ; the bitter north-east wind is wail-
ing and moaning with strange, weird cries,
that rise above the music of the pealing
bells.
My heart is full of grateful joy as I sit this
New Year's Eve in the warmth and shelter
of home. My wife's beautiful countenance
smiles at me ; little children climb my knee
and= ask me to tell them the story of Uncle
Lance, whose picture hangs on the wall,
with a wreath of green ivy round it.
The firelight falls upon a noble face—the
face of a brave and chivalrous young man ;
upon a broad brow- and a careless wave of
fair brown hair ; upon clear eyes, with some
mysterious shadow in their depths ; upon
erm, well -closed lips, with a shade of melan-
choly in them.
My gaze follows the children's glances,
and a rush of tears makes all dire ; the
drawing -room with its Christmas evergreens
en_tehe bright glow of the lamps, all fades ; and
stand once more hand in hand with the
dearest and truest friend ever given to man.
He will never be with us on New Year's
Eve again ; the brave, eindly face will
never more brighten at words of mine ; but
his memory lives with us, and will never
die.
Taking my children in my arms, I tell
them the story of Lancelot Eyrle's love and
life.
My uncle, Sir Marmaduke Eyrie, adopted
me at my mother's death. My mother, his
only sister, married, it was thought, much
beneath her, My father was a poor, strug-
gling artist, who had nothing but his tal-
ents, his handsome face, and gifted mind to
depend upon. Miss Eyrie, of Lipton Hall,
might have married well ; as it was she
gave the rich dowry of her love and beauty
to Gerald Leige. As might be expected,
misery and poverty followed the unequal
marriage, and in a few years Gerald Leigh
died, less of actual disease, than of a broken
heart..
Even then, my mother was not,allowed to
return home. A small annuity was settled
upon her, which she expended principally
in my education. But when her father
died, and her brother, Sir Marmaduke, suc-
ceeded, he sent for us both to Lipton Hall,
and said I should take his name and be his
heir. Sir Marmaduke had another brother
away in India, reputed be to a millionaire.
I am glad to look down the long vista of
years, and know that my mother was happy
before she died—happy in the love of her
brother, in the enjoyment of her home—
happy above all, in the thought that her
son would one day be master of Lipton
Hall.
She had been dead more than five years
when a letter came from Philip Eyrie, writ-
ten on his death -bed, telling Sir Marma-
duke his once large fortune was all lost ;
and beseeching him to adopt and bring up
as his own child, Lancelot, his only son.
My uncle read the letter with an expres-
sion of deep gravity.
" What shall I do with two adopted
nephews?" he said. "Mind, Rupert, I shall
keep my word to yen. I will do my best for
your cousin Lance but you must be heir of
Lipton, My sister_ was dearer to me than
all the world. Besides, my brother never
cared much for me, or I for him. My sister's
eon must succeed me, although, in the eyes
of the law, Lancelot Eyrie is my heir."
I did not think much of those matters
then. It was pleasant enough to be welcom-
ed and feted as the heir of Lipton Hall; but
if my uncle had changed his mind, it would
not have been a very great trouble to met
Lancelot Eyrie came ; and from that day
until the day he died, I loved him better
than any other person on earth, save one.
Sir Marmaduke thought highly of him, too.
" Let there be no mistake, Lance,' 'he
used to say ; " Rupert must be my- heir.
You shall have the same education, go to
the same college, and, when of age, I will
give �
vee you your commission and five thousand
There never was any rivalry between us.
No brothers were ever more truly or sin-
cerely attached to each other. Time passed
on. We left college, and both came home
to live, for a time, with Sir Marmaduke.
Lance kept up a correspondence with some
Indian friends. From them he learned that
the children of Mr. and Mr's. Arle, old friends
of his father's,, were in. England for their
education. Edgar Arle I may dismiss in a
few words. 13e nevercame into our story,
but retuned tolndia=when his college career
ended, and lives there now.
Of his sister, Beatrice Arle, 1 have more
to tell. When her echoer days were ended,
ehe-game-to Denby, a town three miles from
CTafi, to stay with a relative of her
in -other's. She was to remain there two
Sears, before returning to India. When
ir:Marmaduke heard this,_ he,_ ted upon
La i%e_ andsme-going over to Denby, and
mite respects to the young lady in
I can see again the gentle, tender eyes,
so clear and true ; the sweet pure counten-
ance, and fair hair ; the graceful, girlish
figure ; the pretty blush that crimsoned the
white brow, as we advanced into the room,
and welcomed us with half -wistful smiles.,
In that moment, children, I laid my heart
at her feet. I gave her the love that has
never failed, never grown weak or cold—
the love that, in death, will not change. I
could not say much—her grace and -beauty
awed me ; but Lance talked like one inspir-
ed.
During our ride home, he spoke of noth-
ing else. " Beatrice Arle " was the one sole
theme.
" I have seen her, uncle," he cried, when
we caught sight of Sir Marmaduke, " and
she is so beautiful ! I mean to be a hero,
and fight until I win -her."
The Baronet smiled grimly ; but there was
no mistake about it, Lance had lost his
heart.
I wonder if you can guess the rest; how,
day by day, I loved her more dearly, until
life was all blank to me, except it could be
shared with her; how, in silence and sorrow,
I worshipped the pure, beautiful maiden,
letting my hungry, craving heart feed upon
words and smiles that were all the world to
me.
It is given to every man, once in life, to
know such love ; some trifle with the treas-
ure, others fling it away. I garnered mine
in my heart, and it lives there now. When
I was twenty-three, and Lance a few months
older, a terrible tragedy happened at Lip-
ton Hall. Our uncle, the good, kind old
Baronet, died suddenly °
One afternoon he bade me take a note to
Mr. Burton, his=oliciter, telling him to come
over on the day following, as he wished par-
ticularly to see him. He sat all the evening
over the fire in his old dressing -gown, refus-
ing, for the first time, tc dress for dinner ;
talking incoherently about Lance's commis-
sion, and my succeeding him. In the night
his valet found him dead, with a smile upon
his face.
We were heartily grieved ; no unkind
word had ever crossed his lips ; in him, we
lost our best friend.
I need not tell you all the details of that
most sorrowful week when Lipton Hall was
in darkness and mourning for its kind and
indulgent master. When the funeral was
over, and we assembled in the library for
the reading of the will, there was great con-
sternation and distress. No will could be
found. Mr, Burton said he had made it;
my uncle's old friends Squire Thornbury
and Mr. Dale, had both signed it. The
dismay was uniyersal, for every old servant
had been remembered, Mr Burton said.
All search was in vain. Lawyers,friends,
servants, every one joined in it ; no nook or
corner of the old Hall was forgotten, but
there was no trace of Sir Marmaduke's will.
The belief that the. Baronet had changed his
mind, and destroyed hes will, grew upon us;
my note, written at his request, strengthen-
ed the impression. The end of the matter
was that, as heir at law, Lance succeeded to
Sir Marmaduke's estate and fortune ; the
title was not hereditary,and I was left with-
out one shilling to call my own. Lance
resolutely refused to agree to anything of
the kind ; his fair face flushed crimsom,
and he spoke eloquently but of what avail ?
He stoutly maintained his resolution for
many days, until Mr. Burton declared the
whole estate would get into chancery ; then
unwillingly enough, he took possession.
Honestly speaking, I did not care very
much about it. My loss was Lance's gain.
He was my -other self. I took, willingly
enough, the money set aside as his portion.
After all, we had merely changed places. It
was arranged that I should continue to live
at Lipton Hall for a year or two at least.
Every one roved the fair-haired, Handsome
stripling who took the old Baronet'. place—
I best of ell I have known no other so true
or so brave.
That chivalrous, close friendship between
men, is, perhaps, out of date now. I re-
member no other instance of it. I know
that boy's honour, happiness, and fair name
were dearer to me than my own.
Everything went on as usual ; only one
change came—that was in Lance. He took
me out one day for a stroll through the
shrubbery ; in reality, it was to open his
heart to me on the subject of his love. What
bright, beautiful, poetical love ! What
pictures he drew of the sun -lit future ? 1
was always in them. Only, at times, would
a halt -shadow fall over his countenance, as
he said, " You think she cares for me. Do
you not, Rubert?" -
What could I say? Calmly and deliber-
ately I gave up my own hopes .to him,
trampled then under foot, as I could do
again, if his face were looking into mine.
I could not influence her. He drew all the
hope possible from her manner. She was al-
ways kind and gentle ; She talked more to
Lance than to me. Her eyes met his frank-
ly, and she gave him her kindest smiles.
She rarely met my glance, avoided me,
seemed unusually quiet and timid with me ;
therefore I, in my blindness, concluded she
loved Lance best.
Seven months . after Sir Marmaduke's
death, he resolved to try his fate. Shall I
ever forget the bright spring morning when
he came to me in his affectionate way, and
said, " Rupert wish me God speed ; I am
going to ask Beatrice Arle if she will be my
wife."
Though his words pierced my heart like
a sharp sword, I bade him God speed,"
and watched him as he walked dawn the
broad avenue of chesnut trees. Think how.
I lovedhim, wheel I could hear from his own
lips that he wished to make the girl I loved,
his wife ? He never knew my treasured
secret. - He was gone many hours and my sore,
jealous heart wore itselfhalf away;
I pictured Beatrice and Lance together.
both so young and beautiful. For the
first and only time, something like
envy came into my mind. He had erery-
thing; I nothing.
Dinner hour came and went but it brought
no Lancelot. The bright summer day gave
place to the evening glooming, and there
was no sign of him. I stood watching at the
library window, when he suddenly laid one
hand upon my shoulder. When I turned and
saw his face I knew his story, without any
need of words. He was white even to the
very lips, with a shadow in his clear, honest
eyes, that never left them again.
"Rupert," he said, gently, she does not
love me. I believe she loves some one, but
it is not me."
" Is there no hope ?" I asked.
"No," he replied, wistfully. " She was
kind ; but she does not love -me, and never
will."
He went away from me then, and sat mus-
ing for some time.
" I must always love her," he said "She
is the noblest and truest, as she is the fair-
est maiden that ever lived. It was like a
death -blow to me Rupert, when she said
she did not love me. It was many minutes
before 1 could"e again. And I have
trfor t the -t t>fir g we -been :in the µPower - since,. trying to
u
ndes ng hear at "
„{
�� _x�tlg=-.
' 2
{tidy -then, and Ieaning
hands lie wept pas__
stool ave him, too . erieved„
for words. I would have laid down my lite
to have given him his love.
" I am ashamed of myself," he said, pre -
sently ; " but I thought she loved me. I
shall.go away,Rnpert ; I°will go.toemor'row.
and not look into her sweet face again until
I have forgotten its charm."
That very evening he began packing and
arranging. As it seemed to divert his
thoughts, I raised no objection.
" I wish to heaven,Rupert the place were
yours !" he said. " I do not know what to
do with it. I shall never live in it now.
Stay here while I am away, and manage it
for me."
•
I promised to do so ; it seems to me now
like a dream. We went together into the
room that had been Sir Marmaduke's. Lance
opened the presses, that were still full of
clothes.
" Give these away, " he said.
" Beep anything you like." Just
as he spoke, the old dressing -gown
fell from the wardrobe to the floor.
" I shall keep this myself," he added ;
and folding it over his arm, carried it
away.
It was long after midnight, when I heard
a rap at my door,
"Let me in Rupert," said Lance ; "I want
you at once."
" So it seems," was my reply but when
the door opened, and my cousin stood. before
me, I saw that no light matter had brought
him.
" ft is not every one who loses his love
and his fortune on the same day !" he said.
"See what I have found, Rupert ! God
bless you, and make you happier than I
am !"
" What do you mean?" I asked.
But for all answer, he held out to me a
large parchment, tied and sealed. On it was
written, " The last will and testiment of
Sir Marmaduke Eyrle, Knight, of Lipton
Hall, Masley."
°` This is the lost will," said Lance ; " and
of course it gives you back what was always to
have been yours. We looked in desks, cup-
boards, and bureau : no one ever thought of
the old dressing -gown pocket. That is where
I found it."
I stood, too surprised for speech.
"I understand how it happened," he cot:-
tinued. " Poor Sir Marmaduke intended
having some little alteration made took
the will from the safe where Mr. Burton says
it was kept, and and put it in the pocket
of his dressing -gown, meaning to have it
ready when Barton came in compliance
with your note. It is strange none of us ever
thought of that !"
"How did you find it?" I asked.
" I was packing up. When it came to
the turn of the dressing -gown, I rolled it up,
and then felt something hard in the pocket.
At first, I passed it over ; but a few minutes
afterwards a feeling of wonder came over
me as to what it could be. Imagine my sur-
prise when the lost will appeared ! We will
not open it until Mr. Burton comes tomor-
row ; then you will have your own again ;
and I am heartily glad, Rupert. Lipton
could never give me any pleesure now."
He gave the will carelessly into my hand
—carelessly as he would have passed a
newspaper. It is not every man who volun-
tarily yields three thousand per annum; and
a fine estate, with cheerful words. Lance
wept when Beatrice sent him away, but he
had no tears for the loss of Lipton. I cried
out to him that I would never take it, but
he laughed, and said it was a relief to him.
On the day following, Mr. Burt -n and
the two friends who had witnessed the
signing of the will were summoned :
the servants were ali assembled. Little
surprise was expressed ; every one expected
thee. sooner or later, something of the kind
must happen. The legacies were alt satis-
factory, and I was formally installed master
of Lipton Hall.
Despite all that Lance could say, I make
the five thousand ten ; and a few days after-
wards be went riot abroad: as originally in-
tended, but with a college friend to Scot-
land, where he remained more than a year.
I tried to forget those words of his—
"She loves some one, but it is not me."
Yet at times, a gleam of hope came to my
heart. Could it be that she, so beautiful,
so fair and true, loved me ? The very day
on which I made up my mind to try my
fate, there came a note and parcel from
Denby. The parcel contained some books I
had lent Beatrice Arle and the note was a
few kind words of farewell. In consequence
of her mother's illness, her father had.writ-
ten to request her immediate return ; and
she was leaving England by the mail, which
went so soon, there was no time to see me.
It seemed like a gloomy dream—Lance
and Beatrice both gone ! My days were
one long dream of pain : everything was
dreary and distasteful. At length, 1 slim-
mon'-' up courage and wrote to Miss
Arte. Her reply was kind and friendly.
At brief intervals, we exchanged letters
but there was nothing in hers which gave
me any hope.
Lance had been gone more than a year
when I resolved to go to India, and ask the
question I dare not write. He returned to
Lipton; and I, who loved him so well, was
startled at the change. The bright young
features bad grown white and haggard ; the
music had gone from his voice.
Almost the first words he said were, " I
musto to India, Rupert. gp t, I cannot rest.
If love and truth can win her, she may yet
e mine. Do not try to stop me, old friend.
I most look upon her face once more, and
listen to her voice, even if to hear my hope
estroyed again."
I would have remonstrated; but he looked
so worn and dispirited, I could not. Once
again I yielded the dearest wish of my heart,
and bade him God speed
He left Lipton one bright June morning.
As I saw him then, I see him now—with
a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes, and a
smile tender as a woman's on his lips.
"Good-bye, Rupert,"he said. "Yon have
been the truest and best of friends to me!"
I am always happy when I' think of those
his last words.
I must tell you briefly all that passed
when he reached India ; it was to find the
terrible mutiny at its height, and English-
men flying for life.
The Arles lived near the town of Bunder-
bad, on . the Ganges ; they had a pretty
dwelling -place, built more after the fashion
of an English house than an Indian bunga-
low. Mrs. Arle died soon after Beatrice
reached home ; and she was mistress, then,
of the establishment.
Lancelot Eyrie reached their house only
just in time to hear of the terrible uprising
of a cruel race. It was no time to speak of
love. The old merchant clung to him, im-
ploring of him to devise some means of sav-
ing his daughter. It was not for thelives
of the ladies they loved and honoured that
Englishmen cared in those fearful days ;
death was -a boon and blessing compared to
what delicate and refined, pure; and noble
women endured at the hands of those for
whom death
was too mild a punishment.
The mutiny had not reached Bunderbad ;
bat the few English scattered here and there
lived in mortal periL When Lancelot Eyrie
enc
_ hed_the home se soon to be desolate, he
found all confusion and dismay.
As they sat together that evening, talking
of England, Mr. Arle said he had resolved
upon leaving his house on the day following,
and taking his daughter to Bunderbad. The
English residents were all assembled in the
fort, and watched over by a few of those
brave soldiers to whom England owes so
much.
There she would be safe—nowhere else.
Even as he spoke, the old man grew pale
with fear as he thought what would happen
if that beautiful, graceful girl fell into the
hand of the Sepoys. His plans were made.
Early on the morrow he was to start, taking
Beatrice with him, and Lance promised his
escort. - -
I wish it were a different story to tell. As
they sat there, Lance gazing with loving
worship on the one being he ever loved,
there came on the quiet evening air a long,
horrible cry. Even as it broke the silence,
three terrified servants rushed in, saying,
The Sepoys were coming !"
For one moment, Mr. Arle seemed para-
lyzed ; then a cry, such as comes at times
from a dying man, came from him. He held
Beatrice in his arms, and hid her face on
his breast.
Lance went to the window. It was true.
Coming down the road -yelling, screaming,
frantic with cruelty, and the prospect of an-
other English home to destroy—he saw a
crowd of Sepoys. With the rapidit y
of lightning, a plan suggested itself
to his mind by which she could be saved.
The only means of entrance was through a
long, narrow passage that led to what might
be called the front of the house. If those
men bent on massacre could be brought to
bay there while father and daughter, fav-
oured by the darkness of night, escaped
from one of the lower windows at the back
of the house, all would be well. They might
hide in the jungle for a time, then make
their escape to Bunderbad. To resolve with
him was to do. In few clear words he ex-
plained to Mr. Arle his plan.
" If they could be kept at bay for ten
minutes," he said, " we might escape. If
we should be caught in the jungle, Beatrice,
my loved child, I would almost rather slay
you myself, than let you fall into their
bands."
There was no faltering in the clear voice
that said, in reply to him, " I am not afraid
of death, father i"
" Let it be done, then," said Lance. " I
will take those pistols, and stand at the
entrance of the passage. They can only
assail me one at a time. Surely an English-
man, armed, can keep that passage for ten
minutes ?"
" But," said Beatrice Arle, turning her
sweet, but anxious face towards him, " you
will lose your life !"
" Yes," he replied, quietly. " I shall give
it for you !"
"Oh ! reflect for a moment upon what
you would do !" she urged.
"I have reflected," he calmly replied ;
"my purpose is unalterable."
Then he went to her, and for one half -
minute held her in his arms.
"I love you so dearly," he said, "that
life has no charms without you. Let me
die for you Beatrice !"
Tears started to her eyes, and her lips
quivered.
" Time presses," said Lancelot. " Bea-
trice, touch my face once with your lips—
kiss me in death, beloved.
She bent over him for a moment, and kiss-
ed his noble brow.
" God reward you, Lance," she said.
"You are a brave man."
With the yells of the Sepoys drawing
nearer, the three descended into the lower
rooms ; cautiously and silently the window
was opened, and Mr. Arle with Beatrice,
left the house so soon to be destroyed. They
had but to cross a tangled wilderness of
garden ; the jungle ran close by. Once
there, they were safe. There was no time
for words. When the window was
closed and the two figures had
vanished into the night -darkness, Lance-
lot Eyrle went to his post, to fight for the
honour and life of her be loved. They had
drawn near now, and stood in more orderly
array before the house.
Something like a shout of derision arose
from that ferocious crowd, as suddenly be-
fore the narrow entrance there stood the
slight figure of the young Englishman. The
lurid light from many torches fell upon his
calm face.
The first who attemped to enter the nar-
row door -way fell dead ; another and an-
other followed. Those who had laughed in
derision, now shouted in anger. Never did
hero fight as Lance fought then for the life
and honour of his love.
They hurled themselves against him, wild
with rage. One aimed at the fair, dauntless
brow, and where Beatrice Arle's lips had so
recently pressed, was a deep, crimson
wound. Still he fought on, like a lion at
bay—fought, knowing that each minute was
priceless : and they who wished him slain,
could not help admiring his courage.
No one knows how he died ; they over-
powered him at last, and wreaked foul ven-
geance on the young hero, who saved his
lady's life and honour. As he lay there,
they trampled him under -foot : but even
then his soul was bright with the beauty
angels wear.
His purpose was fulfilled ; Beatrice Arle
was saved. She, with her father, lay hidden
in theark
d depths of the jungle Ie for
one
whole night and day. When the house was
destroyed, they saw the reflection of the
flames in the sky. During the second night
they escaped to Bunderbad.
It is many years since,_ but the sorrow
and pain are with us still. Beatrice Arle
and her father escaped the mutiny, and
were among the few who returned home.
Then I found courage to ask the question I
I would never ask while Lancelot Eyrie
lived. 1 knew all then. Beatrice loved
nie, and had loved me alone from the first
day she had seen me, just as I loved her.
We were married after a time, and came to
live at Lipton Hall.
See, children ; there are tears in your
mother's eyes. Even now at times, she
dreams that she is lying in the dark, damp
jungle, while Lancelot Eyrie stands alone,
fighting for her deliverance from a terrible
fate.
No wonder we value his picture, and love
his memory better than the memory of any
other man. Whoever did a deed more gal-
lant and brave than his? I can wish nothing
better for you,children, on New Year's Eve
than that you maybe as heroic, as noble,
and brave as Lancelot Eyrie. -
Plenty of Time to R3psnt.
He—And you won't marry me?
She—Well, I—but just think, I've scarce-
ly known you three weeks, and am hardly
acquainted with you yet. -
He -0, that's all right ! Think of - the
opportunity to $et better acquainted with
me you'll have when we get married.
A man is never so on trialin
as the-
mo-
ment - -of excessive good fortune.—[Lew
Wallace.
Winter. —Widow(meditating over the late
lamented •)—" The poor, dear man! How he
did like good fires. I hope 'he's .gone where
they keep good fires."
RUSSIAN ATROCITIES.
How the Jews Were Cleared
Muscovite Town.
The story of the clearing of Marina Rost-
scha is perhaps the most cruel and repellant
episode in the whole record of last spring's
barbarities, says a London correspondent.
As I have said, the Jews living here were of
the lowest class=artisans, petty traders,
and street hawkers, porters, and day laborers.
They had congregated here, it is true, to
avoid the police, but this involves no sug-
gestion of wrongdoing on their part. Their
object in getting as far away as possible
from the police was not that they were
criminals, but that they could not raise the
money to pay them for permission to live
unmolested in the town. There is no record
of an arrest ever having been made among
the Jews of Marina Rostscha for a criminal
offence. The beads of families—all the men
in fact—went daily to Moscow to work, re-
turning in' the evening to their hones. Some
of their children came into the technical or
handicraft school maintained by the Jewish
community of Moscow. Most of them, how-
ever, studied their primers and elementary
books at home.
Of a sudden, without warning, on an in-
clement wintry night, a troop of police and
Cossacks surrounded this out-of-the-way
country suburb, and, forming an engirding
cordon, proceeded to carry out Prince Go-
litzyn's written order to expel the entire
community. This order was executed with
what even Russians regarded as incredible
brutality. The lights had been extinguished
in almost every house, and the unsuspecting
people were asleep. They were wakened by
the crash of their doors being broken open,
and the boisterous entrance of Cossacks with
torches and drawn swords. The terrified
inmates were routed out, and driven with
blows and curses into the night, without he-
ing given time even to dress. They snatch-
ed such garments as they could and ran.
The tales that are told are too harrow-
ing to dwell upon. At least 300 famil-
ies were thus dragged from their beds
and chased out into the wintry dark-
ness on this first night's raid. Bare-
footed, half -naked, frightened out of their.
senses, these outcasts wandered helplessly
through the black woods, moaning in their
misery or raising shouts in the effort to keep
together. Some of theta, at least, were
able to build fires in the forest, and gather
around these the old and the infirm, and
the women with nursing babies at their
breasts, or little children, who had made
their way thus far with bare feet over the
snow and frozen ground. The soldiers pur-
sued them hither and stamped out these
fires. Others did not stop in their flight
until they reached the cemeteries lying
just outside the town. Here they found
refu h f h l
Out of a
ge, an , crouc mg or e e ter among
the tombstones, waited for morning.
No allusion to this amazing event has
ever appeared in any Russian paper. There
was no editor who dared so much as to
mention it. Although many deaths result-
ed, directly and indirectly, from the terrible
shock and exposure of that night, there
were no inquests, no investigations, no of-
ffeial reports.
Curious Showers -
Showers of snow and earth have been nu
merous ; but showers of flesh, fish , frogs
&c., of which every sailor can tell stories,
are worth noticing, as being of more infre-
quent occurrence. The flesh was recognized
as a distinct substance by Schenchezer,
about the beginning of the last century,
and its true animal nature was shewii by
Lemounier, in 1747. It is said to have
borne a greater resemblance to mucus than
to gelatine or tannin ; but it does not ex-
actly agree with any of these. It is unctu-
ous, greyish,white, and when cold, inodor-
ous and tasteless ; it is soluble in warm
water, and toren resembles thin beef -tea.
In South A.nerica an area of country
forty-three miles square was, on one occa-
sion, found strewed with fish ; and on an-
other occasion, in England, at a considera-
ble distance from the sea, a pasture field
was found scattered over with about a
bushel of small fish.
Herrings fell in 1828 in Kinross -shire ; and
instances of other similar falls are legion.
At Ham, in France, a M. Peltier, after a
heavy rain had fallen, found the square be-
fore him covered with toads. "Astonished
at this," he tells us, " I stretched out my
hand, which was struck by many of tbese
animals as they fell. The yard of the house
was also full of them. I saw them fall on
the roof of a house, and rebound from thence
o the pavement. They all went off by the
channels which the rain formed, and were
carried out of the town."
There is something of an apocryphal air
about the latter part of this experience ; but
the phenomena of flesh, fish and fishbone
showers are reasonable enough. The fish are
taken up into the air in a waterspout, borne
alonbthe currents, and di
ropped
g y
tmay
be, some hundreds of miles away, just as
dust, containing small animals and plants,
is gathered up near the Amazon and dropp-
ed on some vessel passing the Madeira or the
Cape de Verde Islands.
In the Orkney Islands, in 1878, hailstones
were gathered as large as a goose's egg; and
in 1823 men and animals were killed by them
on the banks
of the Rhine.
The most extraordinary hailstone on re-
cord, however, is that said by Heyde to
have descended nen Serigapatam, towards
the close of Tipoo Sultan' s reign ; it was as
large as an elephannt.
Uses For 1,3 mons.
After paring the lemon very thin (as the
white part is bitter), and extracting the
juice, there are many ways for using the
"remains." Have you a tin, copper, o
brass sauce -pan? Do not waste your time
and muscle scouring it. Fill with cold
water, drop in some of that discarded pulp,
set it on the back of the stove, and let it
boil about ten or fifteen minutes ; then
wash, and it will be as bright as new. If
any spots remain, take some of the lemon,
dip it in salt, and rub thoroughly ; all stains
will disappear as by magic. Copper boilers
can be cleaned by rubbing with the lemon
and salt, in lesstime than by the old process,
and one is less liable to be poisoned. . For
those long, dark scratches which reveal that
some one has tried to light a matchby draw-
ing it aeioss the paint, take half a lemon
and rub briskly, then wash off with a cloth
moistened in water, then dipped in whiting
Rub well with this cloth, and in nine cases out
of ten the mark will vanish. These marks defy
soap and water; of Course,sometimes they are
burneMnso deeply that they can notbe eras-
ed. he pulp of lemon rubbed on the hands
will remove all stains. Drop a few drops of
lemon juice on a rust spot, sprinkle with
salt, and lay in the sun. The rust will dis-
appear.
The meanest man on record has now cer
tainly
been
discovered. ove
red. Dr.
Crai
gen
a
Maryland county: physician, yesterday sew-
ed up a gash on ; the leg of a man wounded
in a railroad accident, and because the poor
fellow couldn't pays -him $2, he cut the
stitches out again: 'The matter will be called
to -the attention of the state's attorney.
Some One known.
The gale had blown int with the
night, and seethe si ea out of the
g an
still heaving we down to the
beach to see what had happened to the old
wreck, • whose bones had been lying a
stone's -throw away for many a month,
There, -high up "on the sands, where a great
wave had flung, it just as the tide changed,
lay a body—the-body of a girl seventeen or
eighteen years old. We stood in awe for
a long time, and when we adsanced we
stepped as softly as if we feared to awaken
the dead. There she was, poor girl, her
fingers locked together, her eves half open,
her hair down about her shoulders, and on
her white face a look to call forth all your
pity. The waters had been kind to her
even in their savage fury.
Whilebeams and planks had been wrench-
ed from the old wreck and dashed in splin-
ters on the shore, she was not even bruised.
With tender hands we lifted the body
higher up on the sands, and, by and by,
when the Coroner came and the fishermen
gathered, we hoped to find out who she
was. Never a line nor a scrap to identify
her had she. carried with her to her death.
She had a face which must have been win-
some in life. She had a figure which had
brought her flattery. Her wealth of chest-
nut hair was alone enough to make her
proud. She had worn earrings but they
were missing ; she had worn rings on her
slender fingers, but t'iey had disappeared.
It was plain that she had gone about it in
a deliberate way to conceal the identity of
her corpse should the sea ever give it up.
- " The body of a girl to us unknown," was
our verdict, and the body was taken away
across to the mainland, to be buried in the
village cemetery.
And yet someone knows. There's a father
somewhere, who is searching—a mother
weeping and praying for her who will never
return. That was not the face of a wicked
girl. She had friends somewhere who loved
her. One night, three or four days before
the sea gave up the body, that girl leaped
to her death because she could no longer
face the world. There is a man somewhere
who drove her to the awful step—a roan
who knows that she is dead and who feels
safer for it. She cannot rise up to accuse
him—the law will not lay its hand upon him'
He may go about smiling and laughing. He
may even make himself believe that he had
nothing to do with her death. But there is
a hereafter, and some day that _dead girl is
to rise from her grave, though it he over-
grown and forgotten for generations, and
she will stand again in tl,e garments she
wore as the sea cast her up, her child -face
wearing that pitiful, despairing look which
filled our eyes with tears—and what word
can that man utter in defense?
A Futile.
Mr. Algernon Blancos was an exceptional
young man. In the comparative solitude
of his own soul he had thought out many
things, among others a life policy, which he
intended to pursue with the gravity befit-
ting a pian of high aims, serious convictions`
and twenty-two years,
Foremost among the " maxims " of this
modern Rochefoucauld was the following :
" To love is to be abject ; to marry is to in-
vite ennui ! " These sentiments enjoyed the
distinguished regard of their author, who
was a man of his word.
Her friends considered Elizabeth Fonueil
to be a unique young woman. The subject
of an expensive education and a cultured
environment, her acts were supposed to be
the result off cool reason and correct deduc-
tion. In the journal intime of this maiden
was written, in a chirography as chastens the
sentiment : " Love Man—not men ! "
This was at once her standard and her re-
ward.
t
Social obligations called Mr. Algernon
Blancose to Bar Harbor, whither he went
reluctantly, with a copy of " The Kreutzer
Sonata " in his pocket.
Hither also had fled Miss Elizabeth Fan-
ueil, whose devotion tc a Volapuk grammar
necessitated the restoration of her roses by
worldly recreation.
The exceptional young man and the
unique young woman sat on a narrow shelf
of rock, their faces toward the East.
" Dearest ! " exclaimed' the man.
" Mr. Blancos," answered the maiden,
" what have I ever done to be addressed so
—80—"
Algernon interrupted the adjective.
" Nothing ; but make me love you. Say
you will marry me and make me happy ! "
" If you really think I could, I guess,
perhaps,. I ought to try," the maiden mur-
mured.
Algernon Blancose said it was Destiny ;
Elizabeth said it was 3iumenity. They
were both wrong. It was Propinquity. —
[ Dorthea Lummis in Puck. -
London's Day Oensus.
The report of the day census of the city
of London was published to -day. The Int -
penial census shows a population of 37,694
only, and of inhabited houses 5,819. This
method of counting only the sleeping in-
habitants is not satisfactory to the civic
authorities who prefer to know the number
of persons actually carrying on business
during the day: These are found to be 301,-
384, of whom 29,520 are employers. In 1866
the number was 170,133, so that there is an
increase in twenty-five years of over 131,000.
No less than 27,827 separate tenancies were
found of the ratable value of £3,872,088.
Vehicles to the number of 92,372, and 1,186,-
094 passengers, either riding or on foot, en-
tered the city within twenty-four hours. As
regards population _the city has nearly as
many as the three largest metropolitan con-
stituencies added together, and it has more
people than twenty-six counties in England
and Wales. It has increased more rapidly
than any, of them with the exception of
Monmouthshire. Liverpool, Manchester,
Birmingham, Leeds, and Sheffield stand be-
fore it among the incorporated cities and
boroughs. Liverpool with £3,259,366 is
second in ratable value, but while the city
is only, 650 acres in extent, Liverpo of is
5,210 acres. -
How Alcohol Affects the Lungs.
Habitual • drinkers of ardent spirits are
always making vain efforts to obtain more
oxygen for their lungs. They frequently
take deep inspirations, in the form of sigh-
ing are apt to throw windows open on the
coldest days, and sleep with the chest
thinly covered, and with their hands clasp-
ed above their heads, in order to give more
play for the lungs.
The reason of this lies in the fact that
the constant presence of more or less alco-
hol in the system delays the conversion of
venous into arterial blood by interfering
with its power of absorbing oxygen. Thus
tissue degenerations are invited, as there
is insufficient oxygen to dissolve out the
insoluble substances, and their accumulation
causes mischief,. a t
Reversible -carpets, -which eau'be turned
first on one side and then 011 the other, will
outlast two of the ordinary 2 bad.
immommerali
SUM
11
b
BY MP
' • Tie, bea.
a place calle
history of J
who, knowi
session.:, to
the lowliest
if they were
teach their
He is the 1:
Himself ail
people how
He is the
deepest grie
rise out of i.
teaches how
while being
other word
If he, bei
sions to the
urc. If he,
healed a fr
lightened a
a failure as
condescends
Napes. A
poor peope
and medicin:
him that th
rive in pied
and nearly
Humbert w
like one of t
sick and lei
touched h
was richer t
This was
diflerenoe o
Now, if Km!
they might a:
fold more p
explained it
powerful an.
have been so
did.
He bore y
you the exa.
was offered
and kingdon
way of getti
able a finana
a ruler he w..
appear as a
world's wa
Cxsars.
He saw th
ers : that he
tricks of leg
et. It had
was wonder�
delicate pea
diamonds, a
All this wa-
young Jesus.
Fut he sai,
ness that wa
ledge of spi•
from (,od in
and not till
Father is in
of men will
earth.
" I believ:
do all things
think. I do
poor people
pie. I belie
is not good
ance. I do
believe in d
not necessar
tory way of I
monstrate
creature can j
And he di
affairs that d
bore and sal
overcome."
" The devil
"Keep m R
" My words
first the kno
things shall l�
sire."
He said Gd
was and is in,
each of us is
- wonderful wi
Him. He e:
common -plat
and get aid ii
He said he
stratian of Gc
upon the fact
as he did (bei;
him and -his p
A very pool
she heard the
within her
Christ." Sh
need help so
me pay my
mind never s.
own mind an.
same word ca
she had Iet th
her lips her ni
was blasphen�
said again,
you aie the h
able to do all
ply my rent ?
And again
station strop
of her own
that she had
ask what ve
According
have to ask a
tion to help y
it. Nut the
omnipotent J
uuud.
Jesus Chri.�
ust to listen
pens within y
It is not ri
not right for
for you to fai
unhappy. \\
Christ says :
all things. N
not look afar
spoken with]
in Me."
You esu do
is your chief
will not seem
Atlas with th
Jesus with th
whole busin
or to learn
thought wit
thought that
noblest thou
keep saying
son kept repe:
as 1f he were •
tics kept re
J esus Christ
you will of
wi not
as if the work'
will not beton°
ing my nam
inheritance of
The plaee of
cified Him. I
be located witl
is a great enen
aatura\rs' n re