HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Gazette, 1893-07-27, Page 2- • '
•
•
• te
•
•
•
• :
•
NOT WISELY,_BUT TOO WELL
CHAPTER XII.
FORGETS, REMEMBERS, GRIEVES, AND IS
NOT SAD."
Falcon's Chase is apt to be considered
somewhat dreary and dull by those mem-
hers of tbe fashionable world who only exist
to kill time and see no beauty in Nature's'
• handiwork.
But to Lauraine the whole place is beau-
tiful beyond words. The great dark forest
lands that shelter the deer in their coverts,.
the old. bridle -paths, Where the boughs
meet overhead, the solemn, stately old man-
sion itself, shut in by elm woods and
mighty oaks of centenarian growth, the
stillness ad solitudeand repose that breathe
everywhere these have for her an exceeding
t charm, an ever -varied delight. For days
and days she does nothingbut wander about,
• sometimes alone, sometimes with Lady Et-
wynde.
The weather is mild and the sky grey and
soft. The keen, salt air of the sea braces
and refreshes her tired frame, and languid
spirits. Her friend is enchanted with the
place, and throws stheticism to the winds,
and goes about in a neat tailor-made gown
• of homespun, and abolishes the niinbus
round her fair head, and evinces an energy
and alertness that would astonish her ad-
mirers of the " lilies -and -languor" class.
One closing evening they stand on the
t summit of the great cliffs, at whose base a
wild sea is breaking tempestuously. A wild-
er sky is above their heads,one that foretells
a storm close at hand.
Lauraine turns her face seaward, and the
fierce wind and dashing spray seem to give
it a new and wonderful beauty.
" It is glorious !" she murmurs, as she
stands there in a sort of rapture. "It seems
' as if one could move, breathe, be free in a
1 place like this."
" Free?" says Lady Etwynde. "Is any-
one that ? As long as life shackles our souls,
so long does bondage curb our wishes. I
never met a single person, man or woman,
who could do exactly as they wished."
" Well, you have not much to complain
of," laughs Lauraine. " You live as you
like, do what you like, go where you like,
and have no domestic responsibilities."
"True," says her friend, with sudden
gravity, yet for all that I have felt a pang
I of envy sometimes when I have seen a poor
'misunderstood, eyenif-etiticorned, andoot
ridiculed." - •-•*- •
"What makes you think lam romantic?"
asks Lauraine.
" A thousand things. Your love of nat-
ure and solitude your artistic farcies your
emotional capacity, your 'extreme sensitive._
nem. I have a weakness for Studying char-
acter. When. I first saw you I said to
myself . She is not happy.' She is fail
of idealities.' She cares nothing f or the
-world.' She wilt not be content only to—
live.' Am right, or not ?"
Can one ever know oneself quite ?"
murmurs Lanraine, colouring softly. " Do
you really think I am not—happy."
" Think ! It scarcely needs considera-
tion, But I am not going to encourage you
in morbid sentiment. I do not think you
are a weak woman. I hope not. But I
fancy you will need all your strength at
some time in your life."
" You talk like a ethyl. Do you possess
the gift of second sight in addition to your
other aecoMplishments ?" laughs Likuraine.
" I don't think so. It only needs a little
thought, a mental trick of putting two and -
two together, to read most characters. Of
course there is a great deal of mediocrity
to be met with, and yet it is surprising
how widely even mediocrities differ when
you give yourself the trouble of annalysing
them. Human nature is like a musical in-
strument—there are but few notes, seven
in all—but look at what volumes of melody
have been written on tleise notes."
" And, to pursue your metaphor, what a
difference in the sound of the keys to each
individual touch ; some give back but a dull
thud ; others a rich, full, resonant sound;
full of life and melody."
"True, and therein lies the danger
for many natures. Th8 master -hand that
produces the highest order of melody
perhaps too often that of some passing,
stranger who goes carelessly by. -and who
so to speak, finds the instrument open—
runs his hands lightly over the keys,
awakens brilliance, life, beauty, where
others have •produced but dull, prosaic
sounds, and then goes away and—forgets."
" Ah, if we were only wood and leather,
and had wire for our strings, not hearts and
souls,we should not miss the player,
or sigh
for the vanished music," says Lauraine
"Unfortunately, forgetfulness is not always
beggar -woman in the streets press her child
to her breast, and look with real love at its
poor, pale, wizened face." •
" What a confession for a disciple of
Culture—one who has • educated her eyes
and taste to such perfection that a criante
bit of turniture, a false tone of colour, a
mistaken arrangement of draperies, will
torture her as a discordant note tortures the
ear of a musician ! • So you haven't outlived
feoinine weakness yet, my dear ?" _
possible for us, desire it as we may.
I
" Have you ever desired it ?" asks, Lady
Etwynde,quickly. "Pardon me," she adds
as she notices the sudden whiteness of the
beautiful face. " I should not have asked.
But you will not misjudge me,idle curiosity
had nothing to do with the question."" I know that," says Lanraine, quickly.
" Yes, if there is one thing I desire on
earth it is the possibility of forgetfulness."
" The one thing that never comes for try-
ing—or seeking—or praying," murmurs
" I suppose Nature always exacts her LadyEtwynde,dreamily. Alas, those
rights from us st some period or another," melodies! A sad day indeed it is for the
answers Lady Etwynde. " I have become woman who confesses—
accustomed to hear I am passionless
"Thees
faceof the world is changed, I think.
siac
and cold, and find it less trouble to t I heard the footsteps of thy soul.'
live up to the character than to deny
It is a beautiful idea, is it not? That is one
it. People are always so sure they
advantage of poetry—it clothes a thought
know us better than we know ourselves.
in grace so exquisite that we feel as if con -
Being a single woman, it is rather a comfort
versing with a being fronlaynother world. I
to have such a reputation, and as I dislike
never can understand people saying they
men, and patronise fools, I am pretty safe."
don't like, or can't comprehend it. Sense,
"But you are not cold-hearted at all,
memory, love, pleasure, epee pain, all that
says Lauraine, turning her face, with its
is sensitive, emotional, purest, best, is
beautiful sea kissed bloom, to that lovely
acted upon and intensified by poetry.
languid one of her zesthetic friend. "Den%
A word, a line will thrill us to
you really care to marry ?"
" wynde, tranquilly. "Le mieux est Cennemi t
" What should I gain ?" asks Lady Et- the very core and center of our beings
—will make joy more sweet—pain less bit-
er—love more exquisite and life less hard,
du been, you know. I am very well off. I
can do pretty much—not exactly—as 1 even beneath its burden of regrets."
" YOU love poetry so much ?" questions
please. I have no one to control me, or
Lauraine with growing interest.
,eonsult. I can follow my own whims and
vagaries. Am I not well enough?" " More than anything. But by poetry
I don't mean merely beautiful verses.. I
'1- "And yet yon envied the beggar -woman?" include all grand and noble thoughts that
4 , "That was in one of those moments when- imagination has coloured, and that are
4 _Nature was whispering at my heart. Noth- read as ,prose. A really poetic nature is
ing touches me like a child's sorrow, or a one that sees beauty in the simplest of
child's love. I have often longed to adopt created things as well as in the grandest ;
one, but —well, I suppose the feeling would that is humble and yet great ; that drinks
not be there?" at every fountain of nature; that steeps itself
"Von might marry for—love," suggests in the enchantment of a scene, not measuring
Lanraine, thhidly. merely the height of a mountain from the sea
-
"My dear," murmurs her friend, withlevel, or dwelling on the possible discern -
e te scorn and faint reproach, "at fort of a storm at a particular altitude ;
-, that knows its mind to be full of longings
--s fTiaat is not old for a beautiful woman,' and yet can only partially satisfy them ;
-
Lauraine, with unconsious but most that would fain be glorified, filled, enriched;
_ flattery. "And it is our natures and, alas ! knows only too well that the
make- lie old, I think, more than actual wings CI the mind are beaten against the
prison -bars of a stem and hard* existence,
ady _Etwynde smiles her pensive, moon- from -which escape is only possible in
e. dreains or—death !"
liail
-,,never love," she says, calmly. "Do you not think such a nature mast
fele uninteresting ; and, besides, be hatenselytinhappy'?"
ays seem so unhappy when they o
- '
eide" . I said so at the beginning of our con-
' . venation. But still it holds the tero ex-
'enotourshotty, and her eyes turn tremes that make up life—happinesa and
rd again( misery ; it gets more out of each than inn
eeth
excitement, benefit, i all-ieelitY thinks of !
now. It has laid -its-demands on each re-
spective cycle—birth or heroism, or refined
manners, or even mind. But he our age it
worships the golden calf alone. You don't
I know, and I don't ; hut all our reward is
to be wondered, at, and never to gee on
with people. It is. Lady Jean Saloinans
who 'gets on.But then she knows her age
and neeepteit, and goes with it. I dare,
say;:being a clever woman, she laughs in
her nieitye at one set, and yawns after a pro-
Icinged'ilose of the other ; but she's the most
popular woman in London,and there's some-
thing in that more satisfactory nowadays
than in saying am the Queen of Eng-
land.' You and I will never be popular
in her sense,Lauraine, because we don't take
the trouble, or perhaps appreciate the re-
ward. As for you, my dear, you are too
transparent for Society. You show wheth-
er you are bored or pleased, or happy or sad,
That doesn't do. You should always go
about masked, or you are sure to offend
someone or other. You are young, and have
been very much admixed, and have a splen-
did position. Socially you might take the
lead of Lady Jean, but you never will. You
don'tcare enough for the 'honour and glory'
Of social success."
" No ; it seems to me unutterably weari-
some.
" Exactly, and you show that yon feel it
to be so. I have done the same for long,
but then I covered my dereliction with the
cloak of eccentricity. You simply do noth-
ing but look like a martyr." •
"Why will people live and act as if this
life was the be-all and end-all of existence,
I wonder ?" murmurs Lauraine. "Fancy
fretting one's soul away in the petty worries
of social distinction, the wretched little
triumphs -of Fashion. To me it seems such
an awfully humiliating waste of time."
"You laugh at my enthusiasm for Culture,"
answers Lady Etwynde; "but that is the
only way to reform the abuses that disfigure
an age so advanced and refined as ours.
Invention and science have never done EO
much for any period as for this, and yet
men and women shut themselves out from
intellectual pleasures, and demand scarce
anything but... frivolity, excitement, and
anensement—not even well-bred amuse-
ments either. The gold of the millionaire
gilds his vulgarity, and lifts him to the level
of princes. Good birth and refinement, and
purity sod simplicity, are treated as old-
fashioned prejudices. We are all push-
ing and scrimbling in a noisy bewilder-
ing race. We .don't want. to think
or to reason, or to be told of our follies in
the present, or of retribution in the future.
Gilt and gloss is all we ask for, no harsh
names for sins, no unpleasant questioning
about our actions. Ah me 1 it is very sad,
hat it is also very true. Society is a body
whose members are all at variance as to -the
good, and agreed as to the evil. Thepassions,
the absurdities, the interests, the relations
of lifeare either selfishly gratified, or equally
selfishly ignored. It is not of the great-
est good to the greatest number that a man
or woman thinks now ; but just the greatest
amount of possible gratification to their re-
spective selves. With much that should
make this age the most highly -cultured the
world has known, there is, alas ! much
More that renders it hopelessly and vulgarly
abased."
" And there is no remedy ?"
"My dear there are many. But Society
hugs its disease, and cries out at the physic.
It knows of the cancer, but will not hear of
the operator's knife. Perhaps, after all, it
is- right. Think of the trouble of being
highly bred, highly educated, pure in
thought and tone, sparkling and not vulgar,
amusing and yet refined, dignified yet never
offending, proud yet never contemptuous.
Why, it would be a complete revolution.
Fancy forsaking artifice, living in a real
Palace of Truth, where everything was
honest, definite, straight forward ! Think
of our poor, pretty painted butterflies, for-
saking their rose gardens and beaten by the
storms and cold winds of stern prejudices
and honestly -upheld faiths. Ah, no ! It is
simply preaching a crusade against infidels,
who are all the more vindictive in oppo-
sition because civilization, instinct, and
reason tell them they are in the wrong.
. . . Why here we are almost at the
lodge, and here comes baby to meet us. Ah,
Lauraine, thank God, after all, that we
are women. Would a child's smile and
broken prattle be a volume of such exquis-
ite poetry to any other living creature ?"
Two little eager feet are toddling to meet
Lauraine, two tiny arms clasp her neck as
she runs forward and snatches up the little
figure.
A thrill of sweet, pure joy flies through
her heart. "Heaven has not left me com-
for fleas," she -thinks.
(TO uz ooreererume.)
y years of age?"
' says in a low voice. " The tures more placid and commonplace and
fknow and meet-ain Society.
marriage has been chiefly
tete'• • a stagnate content. it realleelives, and 'the others—
Otiriangement, or convenience. !"
'' b often any heart in it." "You must -have read a great deal, and
h ht a great deal,"says Lauraine look -
ci,t,54F
were it evould not last," t
-Eftwynde. "Sentiment is ing admiringly up at her friend's thought-
; yon 8annot reduce it to ful face. "Do you know I think you are
1,
night be possible,' says Laur-
- "Even fashion and the
II:feeling. If people would
olo tharifi-
. always talk of things ; women who *are
-"AgAN:
.‘•
" -
a a
5 ,
.q•-•••14 t -
the only woman I have ever met who talks
about other things besides dress and fash-
ion ? I don't think I ever heard yon say a
scandalous word of anybody. You put me
emselves—less s
in mind of something a friend of mine
rated—they wotdd•be much once said, Women who are intellectual
d far feag_ comfortable I shallow, of persons.' There is a great deal
=
• • • .
• e• -e ' --`•
baiety suits its age, and
It is no use wishing
tLauraine.
romantic,'continueg
hey turn ck from the
and Move towards the
ads into the woods of
It 33E41Ullati
an -u 0
nan
o -r woman.
They
ins or things as they
rWiflelehe, and invest, the
jth evert, attribute they
possess,: and which,.
•
,them. Tb
. ,
-
in that if you come to think o(it. Hew
wearisome_ it is to hear of nothing but
names' in a. conversation • and yet I know
heaps of men and women who are considered
brilliant and witty and amusing, and whose
whole conversation turns upon nothing else
but gossip respecting other men or women."
i
"I quite understand you. Society s
eminently artificial, and objects to strong
eamtionse and would rather not be called
upon to feel anything. Why will people
go on writing?' said a lady- to me 0110 day.
4 -Everything has been said that can be said -
Literature is only repetition.'
thronr a *"'Mv dear niadani::!iS•t, told - her, "light
udevev headethat alwajs light? but Isuppose you will ac-
7e-1974:ak Series Via* 444 is re
WARDING OFF SEASICK/11M -
Keep Moving and Don't Kat Much the
• First DayAfter Sailing. '
There.are countless remediee suggested. to
the seasick traveller by means efe whit*
hope of speedy recovery is. held out, and to
the intending traveler by sea it is sate to
say that there are given any number of
supposed -to -be sure preventives of this
troublesome but never dangerous illness.
The Philadelphia Times does not believe
that there is any known herb, drug or line
of action that will prevent sea,siekness if
once you start, in on that dieagreeable path,
but there are many things thothelpto ward
off an attack which will indeed prove of
value to those who dread so much the °roes-
ing of the great Atlantic or Pacific ferries.
It is advisable before one starts. OU such a
voyage to be particularly careful as to their
diet. On the first day out keep as much
upon the feet as possible and do not be
tempted to eat too heavily of the numerous
palatable dishes that will be set before you.
Walking up and down the deckcontinuous-
ly is advised by many by arguing that one
more quickly becomes used ti the motion
of the vessel in this exercise, and the fa-
tigue which itinduces brings the much need-
ed sleep. But it is useless to wear one's
self out hoping to stave ofl the feeling of
nausea if it once attacks ;you. Lemons are
most grateful to pereons in this stage; and
there is no better settler of an unruly
stomach than iced champagne. If you do
not feel inclined to eat do not force your-
self to go to the table, for it is ten to one
that the very. sight of food will make you
retire igniminiously_from the festive board.
A well-known medical man declares that
fifteen grains of sulphate of quinine taken
from two to four hours before sailing will
• prevent all feeling of seasickness, even to a
most sensitive au ject. Whether this ap-
plies mall cases we have no way of ascer-
taining, but it is simple enough to be fol-
lowed out, and if it proves helpful is worth
all of the confidence such an authority
places in it.
lionse-boats at Henley.
A Steam Muer.
Among those who have long maintained
that digging by steamwas not only advisa-
ble but possible, is en old Somersetshire
farmer, who has freely spent both time and
money in converting his ideas into practic e.
The digging apparatus is fixed at the back
of the machine, which consists of a porta-
ble engine of eight -horse power, mounted
on a pair steering wheels at the front
end and broad travelling wheels at thebsok
end. To the rear of these wheels are four
sets of steel digging tines, six to the set,
driven from a four -throw crank shaft, so
that no two sets of tines enter the ground
at the same moment. Jest beyond the mov-
able digging tines is a bar caerying set
of thin teen fixed tines and covering fourteen
feet, that being the working width of the
machine. As the digging tines throw -up
the earth the -clods are projected against
the fixed tines and- are thereby broken up.
The tines are driven at an average speed of
334 strokes per minute, the working steam
Treasure being 120 pounds per square inch.
The digging apparatus is raised and lower-
ed by means - of a small independent steamdylinder,
iylinder, while the depth of cut is regulat-
ed by a screeh and hand*heel arrangement.
The superior value of steam digging is said
Via conitistefethe exposure of much greater
surfaces eifeolf tithe action_ of the atmos
phere tban-iinn.;ilse effected by any other
mode of cultivation,and this advantage is
gained_ without pressure being brought on
GAWKING. BIRDS 3N ENGLAND.
Professional Snaring of Chatlinebes in
• Lonalon. Suburbs at Daybreak.
A bench was handy, and on this the
materials for snaring were laid out and
Made ready, says a - London eorreepondent.
They were few said simple. Each man had
a staffed male chaffinch in full plumage
mounted on a short length of stick in one
end of which w. a :sharp spike. Be-
sides this the only tools of the craft were
half a dozen pieces of whale -bone of about
the thickness of an umbrella rib and nine
inches long, and these, like the stuffed bird's
mounting, were provided at one end with a
spike. A little stone tar containibg hied
lime completed the outfit.
These preliminaries completed, we made
astart for the forest, ' which was close at
hand, Bob the Butcher who, had won the
toss for first try) keeping weli in advance of
the rest of our party. It could not, however,
be, said that chaffinches were plentifta,
though all round about use there was an
abundance of bird music. of almost every
other kind. It was not the fault of the
valiant peggers. Their cages all the time
envelped in the handkerchiefs, they seemed
to know exaetly what was required of them,
and fired off their challenge loud and ringing,
at the rate of at least three within the min-
ute.. But presently .Bob the Butcher, who
was some twentyyards- ahead, held up
his had in token that he bad at last " found
something." On that the sailor boy was
placed for the time being under a furze
bush, and we all hurried .npetosee the fun.
A cruel sport is chaffinch pegging. Net
that any actual pain is inflicted on the poor
birds in the act of capture, thbugh no doubt
they are meet -terribly frightened, The vil-
lainyof theleusiness lies lathe unfortunate
finch being made the victim orhis jealous
regard for the welfare of neatmate—the
wife of his bosom. ., -So nice are his ideas of
domestic felicity that, though his house is
no larger than the hollow ofone's hand he
insists on hiehingA tree all, to KUIS011 for
accommodation. NO other pals of chathuchs
may build there, nor must. any male of the
tribe came loafingeround. Sure as he does
a fight ensues and the interloper .ie driven
away. It is on the cbaffirich's nown objec-
tion to visitors of lib own species that the
rascally bird cateher founds his hopes of
success, as was speedily lnade manifest by
Bob the Butcher's maoceliveing atthe trunk
of the poplar tree, aniongthe -upper boughs
of which a wild finch *ea alt the tune an
-
gray responding to the hidden caged bird's
challepse. -
Producing his slips of whalebone the
butcher smeared-theMPlentifittly with the
bird lime, and by means of the spiked ends
stuck them kereand there in the tree trunk,
and immediately. beneath he fixed the
stuffed bird. It was not tilLthen that he
placed the decoy 'fineh—its cage still tied
up in the handkerchief --at the foot of :the
tree, and covered itover with a handful or
two of grass. This,was the "pitch," and
on the instanta watch was produced and
the exact time noted, and we all withdrew
to the screening of a hedge close at hand,
peeping through the -openings of which we
could see what was taking place in the
poplar tree. The hidden bird continuing
his "challenge," the wild bird—always
answering, and each succeeding time more
fiercely—was presently eieeneagerly flutter-
ing this way in search of the intruder. At
bat, green eyed—and en that account pur-
blird probably—it caught sight of the
harmless dummy down below, and, with a
shriek of rage, was down on it, swift seem-
ingly as a stone from a• sling. Bat the
treacherous limed twigs intercepted the
savage pounce, and the next moment, with
its outstretched wings held by the detach-
ed smeared sticks, it fell helpless to the
ground.
What impresses you most about Henley is
the way in which every one contributes to
make it what it is. It is not divided into
those who are looked at and those who look
on. Everyone -helps, from the young man
in the blue coat and the red ribbon of the
Leander Club, who lounge*, on the house-
boat, to the perspiring witerman, with his
brass shield and red coat, who fel ries you
from one bank- to the other. The chance
spectator givesjust as much to the scene as
does the winner of the Diamond
Every one and every boatdoad is part of a
great panorama of color -and movement,
some giving more than others.
• Letty Lind, of the Gaiety Theatre, for in-
stance, under her lace parasol in the Gaiety
enclosure, is more pleasing to look at thaw'
the stout gentleman who is bumping every-
thing within reach of his punt, and who is
kept busy begging pardons from one end of
the course to the other ; but even he makes
you smile lazily, and so contributes to the
whole.
You are impressed, as you are at so many
of the big English out-of-door meetings,
with the system and the order of the thing,
and with the rules which govern your pleas
the-
ure, and the fact that the rates which con-
trol Henley week areasertrictly in force
as those which govern the Bank of England
and are quite as excellent. There is no
scrambling for places, nor mixture _of the
good with the bad, and the speculator, who
does all he can to spoil every successful
meeting in America, from the foot -ball
matches and the Horse Show to a Paderew-
ski recital, is unknown. A governing com-
mittee, or board -of trustees, or some such
important body, Sit in, conclave long before
Henley week, and receive applications from
clubs for places along the bank, and from
families for portions of the lawns, and from
the owners of house -boats for positions on
the course. And the board of trustees de-
cide who shall go where and which shall
have what, and the lordly house -boat and
the humble fakir who asks room en -the
opposite bank for his cocoanut -stand are
treated with equal consideration. And so
when you come down from town in your
flannels, prepared to be pleased and to en-
joy yourself, you find the scene set, and the
ushers in • their places, and your seat re-
served for you. That is the great thing
about England—its law and order, which
keeps the hired carriages out of the Row,
which arrest you for throwing an envelope
out of a hansom -cab, 4and which controls
the position of your canoe at Henley.
The racingis a very small part of Henley.
It must necessarily be so when two boats
only can row at the same time, and when
the advantage of position means an
advantage of two lengths to the crew
which pull under shelter of the house -boats.
An arrangement so absurd as that cannot
be considered as coming under the head of
serious sport. Henley is a great water pic-
nic, not a sporting event ; it is the out-of-
door life, the sight of the thousands of peo-
ple in white colors, all on pleasure bent,
and the green trees and beautiful flowers of
the house -boats, and the colored lanterns
at night and the fireworks, which make
Henley an institution. It strikes one at
first as being very small, as it really is
m uchamaller- than the name and fame of
the race and place lead one to. expeet.—
[Harper's Magazine foraInly.
rnethe soil •
- _
glee: --."DE)f--EtZGE1!-'1#11tEGiii4tad with -
nee :ureehittwo aterrsroa Itie,:,41.41,
• : _.
*
- -
„tot
----an
rft
• Ti•
0.0 •-
alltet
v_et, •
the n n re C _ceut
don,- Ouid_
-
of
atdonan
e
ave
gathering,an sm wh
re -than perhaps- au 0
Oda -Bronhton, yourself 7" s _
lielenaeatek
- - His wife asked
.4a
An African ling Ankci to " Go to Sleep."
The mail ,from West Africa brings from •
Ile Stemmed the Tide.
"Those who read about the runs on
banks," said George M. Shelly, "think only
of the excitement on one side of the counter,
and have little idea of what goes on on the
other side of it. Some fifteen years ago I
was a clerk in se small bank in Montreal
upon which there \Wm a steady run. Be-
yond saying with the Scriptures, 'An en-
emy hath done this,' we could give no ex-
planation for the attaek, because the bank,
although small, was in a healthy condition.
Every large depositor, however, wanted
his money out at once, and an hour before
closing time it became evident that we
could not possibly hold out unless a large
amount of currency and coin could be ob-
tained right away. The cashier mingled
with the crowd and assured the loudest
talkers that the bank would pay dollar for
dollar, and other means were adopted to
allay suspicion. These, however, were of
no avail, and the entire staff, which was
not very large, realized that the end was
near. Just as we did this. relief occurred
in a very remarkable manner.
"Our president, who was a man of very
high standing in the community, was not
at the bank that day, but, hearing of the
run, came in. He was 'one of those men
who were evidently cat out for leaders or
rulers, for his influence was felt in a mo-
ment Addressing the crowd, he absolute-
ly ignored the danger of suspension, and
told those in the rear, who were in a hurry,
to bring up their checks to him and he
would exchange them for his own personal
checks 'on another and larger bank in the
city. Two or three accepted his offer, but
the balaXice of the crowd was so impressed
with his coolness and evident good faith
that they seemed rather ashamed of them-
- of -the death of the Blogen, or selves and *cut away. We closed up that
Lagos news
King of lbadan, Under remarkable circum- night with a nOmmal balance in the safe,'
but
stances. The Madan people had been at ampubneftoroef msoprenciniefe andsehad
-seehreda
several who largehad
war many years, and the strife was brought
to -a termination - by the visit of Governor drawn out the afternoon previous paid in
their money again. The bank is still in
Carter, who induced both armies to --return
ernedthe country while the army was at small batik in the country. "—{Detroit Free
existence, and is probably as sal,3 as any
Bologna' Ajui had g ov-
to their countries.
Press.
eanipatIairtin, and when the chiefsreturned
a dispute arose between the son of the late
King and Ajui. • The people ma6 a charge
against Ajui that he had exercised a most
deer otic sway over them,. and that he had
Sold many of the people - as slaves. As a re -
salt Bologna Alan was - asked "to go to
---idelny!' which, according to native rules and
Custom, meant to puts an end_ to.his own
_life. The -Belem, knowing that non -corn -
plianes witlathis eider meant igoomine
Repairs Would ba Wasted -
"Say, mister, don't you want your front
gate fixed I"
" What's the matter with it ?" asked the
Georgetown man.
"It sags like everything.."
• " It does sag a httle bit.' But -there's
no use of fixing it now."
•. .-J
911
an Oneida -ions' death,- committed suicide by -taking " Becaus. e," and he looked tholyelatfully
e at wee, Tolson. up at the big shade tree, 's I havethree
- - daughters all over seventeen years old and
r11., . . .
Id you
rather be - the engagement season is Just opening..
ay auaiield_ s3i: -
what -a coming g 7p — answered
1
11
lime good, 1
The New Bedrord, Maso., Mercury esti-
reply to the 01#;40-4114t 1;601,010 words were telegraph. The secret ofi
many va nciguisi
edfreni_that-tity dnring,-0e- * trial. the worldresides n _ nto: the
Your genond Tal4#PtItawas
tao-tleast
$
Ihenehwer5P07.a.arthem.
a -inodes, aiialdst441. deaiu
aio
, leeeeeeeeeeeees-
•
nee-
•••-'•
eat „
erarie
-G-rai
of every
BEST
We at
MOB unE
LY REDD
It wiU
your ord
cal
Or ca
Dr.
n
c
0
Or a
Or a