The Gazette, 1893-09-07, Page 6e
NOT WISELY, BUT TOO WELL
CHAPTER XX.
"AFTER LONG YEARS."
"The old place is just the same, isn't it?"
says
o
they onetall
I at the bearded
windowt another,
of the Naval
and Military Club, and look out at the
lighted streets in the grey November dusk:
The man addressed turns his keen dark
eyes on his companion's face. "The same
—yes, I suppose it is. It's only people
who change, you know. Places and things
haven't their excuse."
"We11, changed or not, I'm glad to be
back again," says Major Trentermain of the
Twelfth. He and his friend, Colonel Car-
lisle, have just returned from Burmah, and
are enjoying the comforts of club -life, the
reunion with old friends, the hundred -and -
one things that, familiar enough once, have
" A " sighs Vane, pityingly. " It is all
new and strange to you, eEstheticism, as
interpreted by modern hierophants, is, of
course, essentially different from the Hel-
lenic school ; but its aim and object is the
same—to beautify the common things of
life, to ennoble the soul, as well as please
the eye and elevate the senses."
Well, I am not sufficiently up in the
subject to understand or argue about it,"
laughed the Colonel. " Perhaps after to-
night--"
" Ah, yes ! Wait till you see her !"
cries Vane, enthusiastically. "She who
has converts by the hundred, whose intell-
ect is as beautiful as the body which is its
temple ; to whom not only the worship but
the perception of art is a natural and ex-
quisite impulse ; whose grace, whose mind,
whose movements--"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake spare me ar,y
become of double value since sacrificed for more `serpentine' descriptions !" entreats
the exigencies of foreign service, and lost Carlisle. " I am quite ready to believe in
through years of hard work and fierce war- this wonderful high priestess of yours. Is
fare, and the myriad discomforts of climate she anything like Ellen Terry?"
and life abroad. - - --
"London is the best place in the world
to enjoy life in," continues Trentermain.
"I've been looking up old friends to -day.
Such welcomes ! Didn't expect to find so
many in town. But the country's bea:,tly
just now; even the hunting's spoilt by the
weather."
"Old friends," echoes his companion,
somewhat drearily. "I wonder if I've got
any left. I feel like a Methuselah come
back; it seems a lifetime since I went
abroad,"
He passes his hand over his short-cut iron -
grey hair, and half sighs., He is a splendid -
looking man. Tall, erect, powerful, with
keen dark eyes and a heavy drcoping
moustache, dark still in contrast to his hair
—a man who carries his forty-five years
lightly enough, despite hard service and
trying climate.
His eyes gaze out on the darkening streets
where the lamps are shining, and his
thoughts -go back to some thirteen years
before, to a time of fierce joy and fiercer
suffering.
" I wonder where she is now ?" he thinks
to himself. " Pshaw ! married, of course,
long ago. I wonder I have not forgotten
her. Thirteen years of such a life as mine
ought to knock all memories and all rom-
ance out of one."
He laughs a little bitterly and impatient-
ly, and then plunges into a discussion with
his friend, which resolves itself into an ar-
rangement to dine and go to the theatre to-
gether afterwards.
"I have promised to look in at Vane's
rooms," says Major Trentermain. You'll
come too, won't you? He is full of some
new craze—aestheticism, he calls it. All his
people have gone in for it extensively, and
he seems to be bitten with the same mania.
You really should see his rooms. Quite a
study."
"Oh, yes; I'll come," answers Carlisle,
indifferent. He is rarely anything else but -
indifferent now. Nothing rouses or inter-
ests him except, perhaps, "big game" or
Bard fighting.
They go to the Gaiety. To Carlisle the
performance seems idiotic in the extreme.
He is not educated up to appreciating "leg"
pieces, or to calling the balderdash of bad
puns and coarse jokes "wit."
" Do come away. I can't stand this -
trash," he mutters, impatiently.
" But that's Belle Burton singing," re-
monstrates Trentermain, who is more up
to the goings on of London as it is, than
his friend. -
" What of that ?" demands Carlisle.
" Everyone's talking of her. She's--"
(Then comes a mysterious whisper.) Colonel
Carlisle frowns and tugs his heatiy mou-
stache.
"g Vice idealised as `celebrity.' Umph !
That's a modern definition ? Suppose fern
old-fashioned enough to look upon it as
it is. Come, you can't really care for
such rubbish, Trent. It's an insult to -com-
mon sense, I think. And look at that raw -
of vapid ithots grinning from ear -. to ear—
boys with the blase faces of men, and limbs
like thread -paper. Fine stuff for soldiers
there !" -
"That's a detachment of the Crutch and
Toothpick Brigade," laughs Trentermain-;
-"also a new importation of society since we
bade farewell to Albion's shores. British
youth don't seem to have much backbone,
eh?"
They laugh and rise and go out, to the
intense disgust of a bevy of fair ones who
have been directing Parthian glances at the
two magnificent -looking men in the steps,
and drawing comparisons between them and
the "Brigade" in no way complimentary to
the latter. - - -
"Once free of the theatre, they hail as
hansom and are driven to the rooms of
Valentine Vane, an old comrade of their
own who has retired from the service, and
is cultivating artistic tastes with praise-
worthy assiduity. _
" Ellen Terry is sublime also," says
Vane, rebukingly. " There's not another
actress on the stage could walk in those
clinging draperies - of hers. Is she not a
poem?"
"She acted one," says the Colonel, dryly.
"I saw her in The Cup.' I am not edu-
cated up to the appreciation of subtleties
yet." -
" I have met at least a dozen fair-haired
girls who have all told me they were consid-
ered ' so like Ellen Terry,' " puts in Trent-
ermain. " I began to think she .must be a
priestess' also,"
" Ah, there are a good many changes
since I was in London lest, says the
Colonel. " But there, I see you are im-
patient to be off. You—you don't ,-mean
to say you are going to wear that flower,
Vane ?"
He points to a gardenia in his button -hole
as he speaks.
" Yes ; why not?" demands his friend in
surprise. -
"Oh ! I thought" the sunflower or the lily
was only admissible," says Carlisle, gravely,
" I was going to ask if it would be possible
to procure one each for Trent and myself
before entering the Temple of Art and
lEstheticism."
It is simply out of idle curiosity that Car.
lisle has accompanied Vane and Tren termain.
He expects to be terribly bored ; but when
they alight at the famous house in Kensing-
ton, and everywhere he sees the delicate,
subdued hues, the softly -shaded lights, the
gracefully -arranged ferns and shrubs and
hot house blossoms, the artistic yet suitable
dresses of the attendants, who move about
so unobtrusively(there is not a man -servant
anywhere), the strange hush and quietude,
broken by no loud voices or discordant
laughter, he begins to think the new school
is not so bad after all.
" And new for the priestess," he says in
a whisper to Trent, as they follow their
friend from the tea-room, which is simply
gem. His tall figure passes through the
curtained doorway. A light like moonlight
fills all the room into which he enters. His
head towers above Vane's and straight be-
fore him he sees a woman with a halo of
golden hair loose about her brow, with a
a soft, languid, serious smile, with—
Their eyes m eet. After thirteen long
years of absence and separation, Cyril Car-
lisle finds himself once again in the presence
of the only woman he has ever really loved.
" Colonel Carlisle, Lady Etwynde Fits -
Herbert."
He bends over her hand as she gives it.
In that moment she is calmer, more self•
possessed than himself.
" I—I hope—I beg," he stammers,confus-
edly. " I mean; I had no idea when Vane
asked me to come here that I should find
myself in your house."
"-You are very welcome," she says, and
the low, tender music of her voice thrills
him with exquisite pain. " I—I saw your
regiment had returned. You have been
away a great'many years."
But Valentine Vane, or V.V., as his -
friends call him, is in a state of pleasant ex-
citement. He has been invited to a recep-
tion at the house of one of the most famous
leaders of the new school; and he insists
upon carrying the two officers off with him
despite their remonstrances.
"$he bade me bring any friend I pleas-
ed," he says enthusiastically. " Ah, when
you see her! Such grace, such languor,
such divine indolence ! , Every attitude a
poem ; every look a revelation of subtle
meaning ! '.Ah !----"
"Sounds. serpentine, I think," says
Carlisle, sotto voce. " Gives you the im-
pression of a snake gliding about. Can't
say I appreciate the prospect."
i4Of course you are -as- yet Philistines,"
continues V. V., pouring some scent over
Ms handkerchief as he speaks, and gently
waving the delicate cambric to disperse the.
fragrance. "Ah, yon have much to learn!
"My dear fellow," says Carlisle, good-
humoredly, "do shut up that nonsense, and
talk like a rational being."
" Rational ?" echoes Vane,in surprise.
"AmJ not that? What is there irrational
in finding delight in all that is beautiful, in
wishing to beasurrounded by sweet sounds
nnd, fair objects, in striving . to revive the
--e of=the Hellenic age, in __worshipping
art at the glorious and ennobling thing it
Ise?" ---.
" Lam not going to say anything against
art," answers Colo»e, Carlisle ed" " but I -
don't think.there rs anything of the Greek
type abetEnglishmen, either physically
or iintellectuallg; leaving out of -the question
the depress=.?ig in uenees til cl gate.''
" A great many," he answers, his eyes
sweeping over the lovely face and fig-
ure of the queenly woman, who is so
like and yet so different to the radiant,
happy girl he had left. -
" You—yon are very little altered," she
says, presently, and the great fan of pea.
cock's feathers -in her hand trembles as she
meets his, glance.
" Am I ?" he says, bitterly. " I should
have thought the reverse I feel changed
enough, Heaven knows."
She is silent. Her heart is beating fast,
the colour comes and goes in her face, She
is thinking how glad she is she did not_ put
on that terra-cotta. gown with its huge
puffs and frills, but discarded it at the last
moment for this soft creamy robe of Indian
silk, that seems to float about her like a
mist, and show all the lovely curves of her
perfect figure as she moves or stands. Cyril
Carlisle thinks her more lovely than ever.
The old pain so long buried and fought
against comas back all too vividly. He
knows he has never forgotten, never ceased
to love this woman ; but she—how calm,haw
changed she is ! - -
Again, as in the past, comes back the
thought of all his love for her had meant,
of all they might have been but for his own
folly, his own sin.
A man's passions are ever their own
Nemesis," he thinks weaiily and then her
voice fails on his ear again. -'She is intro-
ducing him tosomeone. A limp and lack-
lustre " damosel," as she loves to be called,-
attired in pale sage -green that makes him
billions to contemplate ; -and he is fain to
give this maiden his, arm, and conduct her
through the rooms, and listen to her mono-
tonous tattle of art jargon, which seems to
him the most idiotic compound of nonsense
and ignorance ever filtered through the lips
of a woman—and -he has heard a good
deal.
His thoughts will goeback to this strange_
meeting. -
She is not married, she is -free still Was
it faithfulness to him or He thrusts the
thought aside contemptuously: What folly
it seems! What woman could remember for.
thirteen years? Besides,had they not_ parted
in _anger ? Had she not cast him aside with
contempt and fierce scorn, and bitterwords
that had stabbed himeto'the heart ?
j-_- He r.eamsaboutthe beautiful rooms. He
hears her name on every tongug. He
knows that men of science and learning are
here—men of note in the highest circles of
art and literature. He - is . glad that her
tastes are- so -pure and elevated, glad that
the does not find her a mere woman of
fashion, a frivolous nonentity.
Again and again he finds himself watch-
ing- that fair, serene face, that exquisite .
figure, which is a living embodiment of
ace that may well drive all women des-
perate with envy.
How calm she is ! How passionless, how
changed ! Men speak of her beauty, the
beauty that lends itself so perfectly to this
fantastic- fashion of which all her guests
seem devotees, and the words turn his blood
to fire. Yet, after all, why should he miud?
She is nothing to him—nothing.
He is beside her again. She does not ap-
pear to notice his presence, but she is well
enough aware of it. It lends warmth and
colour and animation to her face, it lights.
her great grey eyes, and brings smiles to
her lips. His heart grows - bitter within
him. She must have long ago grown callous
and forgotten. Does she really forget how
passionately she loved him once ! Does
she think of him no more than if he were
the veriest stranger in her crowded rooms ?
Has she ever wept, prayed, suffered for
him ? .
God help us, men and women both, if we
could not in some way mask our faces and
conceal our feelings ! Because the world sees
no tears in our eyes it does not follow they
are never shed; because there are smiles on
our lips it is not a necessity that our hearts
are without suffering. When the curtain
is down, when the theatre is empty and
'dark, then, perhaps, the real play begins ;
the play that no audience sees, that is only
acted out to our own breaking, beating
hearts, unsuspected and unknown to the
world around !
CHAPTER XXI.
"TWO THAT HAVE PARTED LONG."
The crowd has lessened ; the rooms are
thinning now. A great actor stands up to
give a recitation. He selects one of Brown-
ing's poems. Lady Etwynde, having heard
it often before, withdraws into one of the
smaller rooms, a dainty little place, with
the exquisite colouring and artistic finish
of a cameo, and with only that sort of
moonlight haze shed about it that she loved
so much better than the garish brilliancy of_
gas, or candles. -
To this retreat saunters also the tall fig-
ure, on whose magnificent proportion even
the eyes of the feminine msthetes have rest-
ed with an admiration contrary to all the
tenets of their school.
He seats himself beside Lady Etwynde.
" What a charming retreat," he says,
softly. " Do you know I wish you would
give me a little information about this
�stheticisni,' of which you seem a high
priestess ? I confess I feel quite bewilder-
ed."
She smiles. She does not look up.
" Yes, I suppose it is new to you," she
answers. " The worst of it is that, like
-
all new doctrines, it is being ruined by ex-
aggeration. Genuine - aestheticism is, as
of course you - know, the science of
beauty, and its true perception and
pursuit. Our school - has its canons, its
doctrines, its schemes and projects, on which
oceans of ridicule have been poured and yet
left it unharmed. It has dote much good ;
it has taught the poetry of colour and ar-
rangement to a class whose dress and abodes
were simply appalling to people of taste. If
you have ever suffered from the gilded abom-
inations of a millionaire's drawing -room
Colonel Carlisle moves a little impatient-
ly.
is this craze to regulate our lives,
to be the great 'all' of our existence? Are
men and women to go about longhaired,
straight -gowned, tousled ; jabbering 'in-
tense' nonsense and gushing over blue china
and sunflowers ; and is such an existence
considered elevating, manly, et useful? To
me it seems as if I were looking on at a
pantomime." -
"You are not educated yet," says Lady
Etwynde, with a demure smile, "Every-
thingnew has, of course, its opponents. You
have read Plato ?"
"W hen I -was at school," answers the
Colonel, surprised.
" Ah !" sighs Lady Etwynde. " And
you have forgotten all he says about artis-
tic excellence and beauty ; the relations of
all physical and moral and intellectual life
should be filled withgrace and dignity, the
mind cultured to its utmost capability, the
body beautified 'by vital activity and en-
nobled by a healthy and carefully taught
appreciation of all that is conducive to
physical and mental perfection."
" Has it taken you thirteen years to
learn all this ?" asks Colonel Carlisle softly,
as he leans forward and looks into her eyes
in the silver haze of the lamplight.
She starts a little. ,
" You think I am so—changed?" she says,
in her natural voice, and discarding aesthe-
tic languor.
"I•think you are ten thousand times more
beautiful, more captivating; than when I
knew you first. But—changed ? Well
yes. Is your life devoted -only to the study
of the Beautiful now ?"
She colours softly.
" I think you do not quite understand,"
she says. "When a woman's life is empty,
she rnust do something to fill- up the void.
And I do not think this pursuit is so very
foolish as you seem to suppose."
" Only that` John Bull has not much of
the Hellenic- type about him," says the
Colonel, sotto' voce.
this seemed to me, I must confess, a series
of absurdities suoh as no sensible mind could
entertain." --
"Those are the zealots and the exagger-
ators," smiles Lady Etwynde, amusedly.
"They have spoilt much by carrying into
extremes what is only tolerable in moder-
ation ; by dragging in without warning
what really requires delicate and gradual
preparation."
" I am glad that you are only moderate
then," says her companion. " Someone
once said that there was a sphinx in our
souls who was perpetually asking us riddles
I confess I thought there was one in mine
when I met you to -night under such chang-
ed auspices."
"And what was the riddle?" asks Lady
Etwynde.
He bends a little closer. " The reason,
of course ! You told me a few moments ago
that when a woman's life was empty she
must do something to fill up the void.
Was yours so empty ?"
It is a bold question : he wonders he has
dared ask it. She turns pale with—anger.
Of course it is anger, and her eyes are flash-
ing under their long lashes, and words
won't come because her heart is hot and in-
dignant. teo he interprets her silence and
murmurs at last apologetically : " Forgive
me ; 1 had no right to make such a remark:
only, I have been such a miserable man
since you sent me from your side, that it
seemed in some way to console me that you
had not been quite—happy, either."
" I suppose no one is that," she says,with
a suspicious tremor in her voice. "Some-
thing, or someone, is sure to spoil our lives
for us."
He draws back. The shaft has hit home.
He remembers only too well who has spoilt
the life of this woman beside him.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
CHASED BY A BABIA HORSE.
AL Nebraska Ranelinian's Hard Ride for -
Life and His Rescue by a Cowboy.
A stockman named Thompson, owning
the Happy Jack cattle ranch in Nebraska,
a few days ago was the hero of a most
startling adventure, in which he barely es-
caped with his life. "Thompson was on his
Way to the Platte River, south of Anselmo, -
with a herd of several hundred cattle, in
search of water, the smaller streams having
proven inadequate in supplying the vast
droves of the neighborhood. He was assist-
ed by seven or eight cowboys, a small num-
ber, scarcely sufficient for so large a herd,
and when one flank of the moving body of
animals wandered off in the night from the
corral looking for the water wherewith to
allay their thirst, it was necessary for fully
half of the herders to go after them, thus
scattering the party. Thompson himself
rode east, following the tracks of cattle
which he took for his own, but which proved
to be those of a herd from lower down, also
going to the Platte.
He had gotten out of sight of his assist-
ants and had dismounted to examine the
trail, which he was beginning to suspect
was a day or two old, when he observed a
horse running toward him at a rapid gallop.
The animal was not saddled, but showed
marks of being in recent use, and Mr.
Thompson concluded that he had probably
broken loose from his owner, and that the
latter would soon be out looking tor him,sa
resolved to catch hint. Advancing, the
cattleman held out his hand to the strang-
er,but the animal snapped at him and made
a dart for the other horse,trying to bite and
kicking out with his heels. Thompson now
saw that the runaway was foaming in a
manner that meant more than heat from his
gallop, and thinking that the animal was
mad hastened to Ms horse's help.
Flinging himself into the saddle he clap.
ped spurs to him, and made a break for the
place where he had left the still corralled
herd. - The frenzied horse gave chase and
then began a break -neck race for life over
the prairie. Thompson possessed the advan-
tage of -having the animal he bestrode fresh
and under perfect control, while the pursuer
was able to run only by spurts, with the
irregularity of madness, and half blindly,
but in spite of this he was sufficiently near
to render the chase one of great excitement
and danger, for, from the furious creature's
belligerence displayed at first, it was easy to
see what would be the fate of animal or man
who fell before him.
So, without sparing whip or spur, Thomp-
son flew over the ground with the read horse
only a few dozen yards in the rear. The
danger was increased by the existence of
large cracks in the earth gaping for water,
which were often quite wide enough to ad-
mit of the horse he rode failing with one
foot in them and breaking a limb when he
would be at the mercy of the panting, rag-
ing animal close behind him, which allowed
no time for picking the way over those pit-
falls. But the fiery little Spanish mustang
ridden by. Thompson seemed to realize that
his fife and that of his rider depended on
his skill in avoiding these cracks, and flew
over them like a bird, redoubling his speed
whenever the horse following gave a shrill
shriek of warring. -
Once Thompson saw a rattlesnake leap
out at the mustang as he cleared a clump
of tall prairie grass and spring at his heels ;
but the snake failed and fastened itself on
the lower leg of the animal which came
after, but with the long, greenish body still
hanging to it, the mad horse did not stay
for a moment, and as the mustang paused
for a second to gather itself for a leap across
a yielding place in the earth, where a mole
had once excavated its home, gained some-
what on the flying pair. Looking back,
Thompson saw the beast not more than
thirty or thirty-five yards behind him, and
thinking the horse almost upon him, lashed
the mustang into a run that made the
ground seem to spin beneath his nimble
feet, and was rapidly outdistancing hir pur-
suer, when he felt the girth about his steed
give way and checked him only in time to
save himself a hard fall.
The saddle slid off the mustang's back,
and Thompson, with his feet still in the
stirrups, fell easily to the ground. He
picked himself up and scanned the prairie
with anxious eyes for help of some sort.
And to his relief he saw a horseman riding
across the plain a quarter of a mile away,
and standing up he helloed to this person.
But at first his cries seemed incapable of
reaching the man, who directed his course
in an oblique line from where Thompson
stood shouting to him.
At last, howevyer,-his attention appeared
to be attracted 1 y the behavior of the mad
horse, and following _ him with his
eyes he made out the ranchman mid caught
the latter's signals. Putting spur to his
horse, the stranger came eon at a gallop,
holding in one hand a gun, which Thompson
saw with relief and joy, and just as the
mad horse reached him and he felt the hot
breath from the open mouth flecked with
bloody foam, a shot whistled past his ear
and struck the maddened animal full in the
forehead. He staggered and fellalmostunder
the mustang's feet, biting and snapping
about him in blind fury, but the mustang,
hacking away from his fallen enemy, let
fly at him with his heels, and repeatedly
gave him rousing blows in the side, while
the man who had come to Thompson's res-
cue reached the group, and, throwing .his
gun down on the agonized creature, put an
end to its misery and its powers for mis-
chief.
This timely help was a cowboy from the
Reginald Blank ranch, who had been out
shooting mule -eared rabbits when he saw
Thompson's distress. _ He identified the
horse as one from a place near Broken Bow,
which had been bitten several days before
by a rabid dog, and had gotten out on- being
seized in turn with hydrophobic symptoms,
Word had been sent to all the neighboring
ranehmen to look out for him, for fear he
might get among the cattle and carry the
poison to them by biting them. The first
day, however, he had broken into a drove
of sheep and killed twenty or thirty of them,
besides biting as --man y more, necessitating
their slaughter,
Hawks, Owls and Farmers.
The Department of Agriculture at Wash-
ington has recently published a work pre-
pared by Dr. A. K. Fisher, assistant orni-
thologist of the department, under the
title, " The Hawks and Owls of the United
States in Their Relation to Agriculture."
It is the general belief of scientific men that
such birds --birds of prey, as they are called
—are, on the whole, of great service to far-
mers ; but this belief is directly opposed to
that which has commonly been held by
farmers themselves.
The ornithologists of the department have
therefore undertaken to ascertain who is
right, the farmer or the man of science. To
this end about twenty-seven hundred
stomachs of newly killed hawks and owls
have been critically examined. The result
may be summarized in a few words.
Of the seventy-three kinds of hawks and
owls found within they United States, only
six are, on the whole, injurious. Of these,
three are so extremely rare as hardly to
call for attention, and another—the fish
hawk—is only indirectly harmful ; so that
of only two—the sharp -shinned hawk and
Cooper's hawk—need any practical account
be taken.
taut this is only half the story. Not only
are the overwhelming majority of such birds
not injurious to the agriculturist --they
render him continual and extremely val-
uable service by the destruction of number-
less plant -destroying rodents and insects.
The red -shouldered hawk, for instance, is
the commonest large hawk in many parts of
the country, and is commonly known—as
is the red-tailed hawk also—as the "hen -
hawk." Of this hawk two hundred and
twenty stomachs were examined ; and of
the food found in them, less than two per
cent. was poultry. The remainder consist-
ed of mice, grasshoppers, and a great
variety ofother things. More than sixty -
Eve per cent. of the whole was made up of
noxious mammals—mice and shrews especi-
ally.
Concerning Swainson's hawk, we are told
that it is particularly fond of grasshoppers.
Oue bird has been estimated to consume at
least two hundred grasshoppers in a day.
In the course of a month a flock of about
one hundred and sixty-five, "which is a
small estimate of the number actually seen
together in various localities feeding upon
grasshoppers," would destroy a million of
these pests.
Facts like these should be taken into
account by la v -makers ; but it is not many
years since the legislature of at least one of
the Western States—Colorado—passed a
bounty act, intended to encourage the kill-
ing of hawks, Swainson's hawk included,
and as a result thousands of grasshopper.
eating hawks were actually killed at the
state's expense !
Tropical Railways.
Apropos of the projected Pan American
Railway, it is to be noted that not only
is the first cost of railway construction in
tropical countries very heavy, but the
annual maintenance of way is expensive
to a degree which cannot be appreciated by
these who have had no experience in this
connection. The Antioquia Railroad, in
Colombia, says Charles P. Yeatman, in the
"Engineering Magazine," cost in a single
year for repairs of track and bridges two
thousand two hundred and sixty-six dollars
per mile. The Cauca Railroad, in the same
year,cost three thousand eight hundred and
thirty-seven dollars per mile. These two
roads -are in Colombia, and are sometimes
mentioned either as future feeders of
the Pan-American Railroads or parts of -
its main line. On the Antioquia Road, if
the undergrowth were cut at the beginning
of thery season, less than two months'
rain was sufficient to form an arch of green
trees thirty feet high, leaning over the
track so as to shade it completely.
The constant change from. dryness in the
day to soaking moisture at night, even in
the dry season, would soon rain the best of
timber, but nature furnishes a still quicker
means of getting rid of it, in the shape of
an ant or wood louse, which is careful not
to mar the outside of his domicile, but will
patiently honeycomb the inside, until what
Iooks like a solid twelve -by -twelve stick is
but a shelf from one-eighth to one-fourth
inch thick, filled with dust and ants. The
native timber suffered so much from the in-
roads of these pests that yellow pine was
used in Panama to avoid them, a trial of it
was made on the Antioquia Road. Georgia
" Yon see," she gnes on, with sweet
gravity, " moral beauty and physical
beauty have each their worshippers. We
would weld the two together, and so glorify
art, literature, mind, physique—all that is
about and around our daily lives. But as I
said before, like alt new creeds, it is spoil-
ed- by the over zealous, exaggerated by the
foolish, ridiculed by - the surface judges.
It is not the -cultivation of one thing only, .
but the cultivation of all that real msthetics
would teach : leading, subduing, elevating
the spiritual and .poetic capacity of our
nature, and subordinating the crude and
material."
" That sounds more sensible says Col-
onel Carlisle. " But when I heard in your
rooms of symphonies of colour, and 'tones '
of harmony, and worship of some specials -
make of china, and 'living up' to peacocks'
fails and feathers, I confess -I thought, the pine had to be shipped by way of New
people were all lunatics, to say the least of York at a cost of nearly one hundred dollars
it, and marvelled how you:conldhave shared per one thousand fe et, board measure
in such a lamentable creed and become a when put in place.Wh en I left there the
priestess of ' High Art,' as interpreted by first,of my yellow pine trestles was being re -
terra -cotta gowns, sage -green furniture,and placed. It had been built less than four
old china which seems to convert modern years,
drawing-s-aoms `into a memory of kitchen
dressers. Lite may be full of emotions and .
y - ontrol lies at the foundation of the
�h ed swag
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a
thrill _ y
g
explaining in a dying voice, but` such life as . character.
He Tilled- the Bill. -
She "I will never marry a :man vr%ose
fortune has not at least five ciphers in it."
He (triumphantly) "Oh, darling, mine
is all ciphers !„
&equest:ated.
Miss Fosdick (at the p o) :
ome D .
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sing b ay =
Mr.- Dolley {engaged to'herl
some day next ver."
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