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lewis m. grist, pi-opi-ietoi-.' ^n Jndepeiidciit Jf'amilu Jlrirapapcr: >t'or flic promotion of flic folitiqal, Social, Spricnltiiral and (Commercial J liferents of the Eolith. j TERMS?$2.00 A YEAR IN ADVANCE. VOT,. 86. ! ~ ~~~ YORKYILLE, S. C? WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 14, 1891. ^O. 49. MYSTERY OF1 . 'I? '* \ \ < t ,*??'* r? f ' , BY 73SRG-UC CHAPTER XDL rax moior or ras -nrer. It to needless to mj thatffae court next morning was crowded, and numbers wars unable to gain edmtoetoo. Tib newe that Sal Rawlins, who alone oooid prove the tnno oenoe of the prisoner, had been found, and would appear in court that' morning, had spread Uke wildfire, and the Acquittal of the prtooocr was ooofldentfy expected by a large number of sympathising friends, who eeemed to have sprung up on all sides, like msab rooms, in a single night. When the prtoooer was brought In a murmur of sympathyren through the crowded oourt, so ill and worn out he looked, but Caltou was passed to aooount for the expression of his face, so different from that of -a man whose life had been saved, or, rather, was going to be saved, for in truth it was a ton gone ooodusfcrn. "You know who stole tboee papers," he " ? ntamreld ireaniv WWiyny ma w iuu?w ? . ? ., "mad the oimn who did to to the murderer of Whyta." The judge having enrarsi &nd?be ocrort S=S?-F~~J5' He woafcl fir* call Albert Dandy, a watob> maker, to prove that on Thursday night, at 8 o'clock in the evening, be called at the prisoner's lodginga while tha landlady was out, aad while than had pot the kitchen dock right and had regulated the same He would also call Felix Rolleston, a (Head of the pris oner's, to prove that the prisoner was not in the habit of wearing rings, and frequently ezpreaeed his detestation of, each a custom. Sebastian Brown, a waiter at the Melbourne dub, would beoahed to prove that on Thursday night a letter was delivered to the prisoner at the dub by one Saimb Bawling, and that the prisoner left the dub shortly before 1 o'clock on Friday morning. He would also saB Sarah Rawlins to prove that she bad delivered a note to Sebastian Brown tor the prisoner, at the Melbourne dub, at a quarter to 13 on Thursday night, end that at a few minutes past 1 o'clock on Friday morning she bad conducted the primner to a alum off . Little Rourke street, and that he was there between 1 and 3 on Friday morning, the boor at which the murder was alleged to have taken place. This bting his defense to the charge brought against the prisoner, be would cali Albert bendy Albert Dandy, dulyswcfn, stated: 1 am a watchmaker, and carry on hnshuwv In Fitaroy I remember Thursday, the 90th of July last On the evening of that day 1 called at Powtoct street, But Melbourne, to sea my aunt, who is the landlady of the prisoner She was out at the time I oalled, and 1 waited in the kitchen till bar return. I looked at the kitcbeo clock to see if it was too icte to wait, and tbeo at mj watch. 1 (bond that the dock was tea minutes Cast, upon Which 1 pot it right, and regulated it 4* wbat time did yoo put it rlghtt Witness- About 8 o'clock. Chitoo?Between that lime and 9 in the morning, was it poaribie Cor the dock to gain tea minutesf Witneee-NflhJUlfc8BU??to?. Caltoo? Would it gain at all? Wttnees?Rich Mtiresn I and 3 o'clock?the time was not long enough U&ttoo?Did yon see year aunt that night! Witness Yea, i waited till tite came in. Caltoo?And did yoo tell her yoo had pat the clock rightl Witness?No, I did not; I forgot all about it Chiton?Then she was still under the impression that it was tec thinntae fast! Witness?Yea,T suppose so. After Dendy had been cross-examined Felix Rollestoo was called, and depoeed as follows: 1 am an Intimate friend at the prisoner. 1 nave known him for fire or six years, and 1 never saw him wearing a ring daring that Hhu Ha has frannastlT tnH ma ha rflrf not oars for rings, and would oarer wear them, la crow aiamtnattom j? ? Crown Prosecutor?Ycc bare nerer seen the prisoner wearing a aaaaood ringf Witness?No, never. ; Crown Prosecutor? Hare you ever eeea any each ring in bis possession? Witness So, 1 haressen him buying rings tor ladies, bat I nerer saw him with any ring each as a gentleman woald wear _ Crown Prosecute*?Not even a seal ring? Witness?No. not eves a seal ring. Sarah Kawlins was then placed in the wit nass box. and, after being sworn, deposed: 1 know tbe prisoner. 1 delivered a letter ' addressed to him at theMelbourne club, at a ' quarter to IS o'clock ott Thursday, 36th July. ^ '1 did not know what hit name wax He met Ube Shortly after I, at fee ooraer of Russell And iBoorke streets, where 1 bad been told to wait for him. 1 took him to my grandmother's place. In a late off Little Bourke street There was a tying woman there, who bad sent for him. !He went in and saw her for about twenty minutes, and then 1 took Urn back to the corner of Boarke and Russell streets, i heaid the tbrewqoarters strike shortly after 1 left him. Crown Prosecutor?ton are quite certain that tbe prisoner was the man you met on that night? Witness?Quite certftr, s"elp me G?. Crown Prosecotor-Jpd he met you a few minutes past 1 o'clock* Witness?Yes, 'boot give minutes; ! "eard the clock a-etrifcio' 1 jfefc afore be came down tbe street, and when, I leaves 1m agin, it were about twenty-fivstoS, 'cause it took me ten minutes to git 'oma and 1 "eard the clock go three-quarters justs* 1 gets to the door. Crowu Prosecutor?How do you know it was exactly twenty-fife to 2 when you left him) I ' Wfeneee?''Cause 1 awr tbe clocks. 1 left 1m a? the corner of Resell street, and oomes down Bourke street, sal oould see tbe postorifice dock as plain m day, an' when i gets into Sw&nton street, nooks at the town 'all premiscus like, and set the same time there. Crown Prosecutor-And yon never lost tight of tbe prisoner fee whole time? Witness?No; there was only out door by tbe room, au' I was 6-dtUn' outside It, an' when be oomes out befalls over ma Crown Prosecutor?Were yon asleep? Witness?Not a bleced wink Col ton then directed Sebastian Brown to be called, who deposed. 1 know the prisoner He is a member of tbe Melbourne elub, u which 1 am a waiter. 1 remember Thursday, 36tb July. On that night tbe last witness came with a letter to tbe prisoner It wasabout a quarter to 12. She just gave tt to Be, and went away. 1 delivered it to Mr. fitzgerald. He left tbe ciujD at auoui ten mantes to L This closed the evidence for the defense, and after the crown prosecutor bad made his speech, in which be pointed out the strong svfcienoe against theprisoner, Calton arose to address the Jury He was a fine speaker, and made a splendid defense. Not a single point escaped him. and that brilliant piece of oratory is still remembered and spoken of admiringly in the purlieus of Temple court and Chancery lane. Be began by giving a vivid description of the circumstances of the murder?of the meeting of the murderer and his victim in OoUins street Hast?the cab driving down to St. ?ilda?the gettiig out of the cab of the murderer after committing the crime?and the way in which be bad secured himself against pursuit Having thus enchained the attention of the jury by the graphic manner in which be deecribt) the crime, be pointed oat that tbe evidence brought forward by the prosecution wis purely circumstantial and that they had utterly failed to identify the man who enteral the cab with the prisoner in tbe dock. The supposition that the prisoner and the man in the light coat being one and tbe came person rested solely upon the evidence of the cabman, Royston. who, though cot intoxicated, was, judging from his own statemen^ not in a fit state to di* tinguiab between the man who bailed tbe cab and tbe man wfco got in. The crime was committed by means of chloroform, there ton, it tbe prisoner was guilty, be must have purchased the chloroform In some shop or obtained it from some friends. At all events, the prosecution had not brought forward a ingle piece of evidence to show bow and where the chloroform was obtained. With regard to the glpve belonging to tbe mar dered man found hi tbe prisoner's pocket, be picked it up off tbe ground at tbe time when he first met Whyfe, when the deceased was lying drunk near the Sdotcb church. Certainly there was ao evidence to show that the prisoner bad picked tt up before tbe deoeased entered the cab. but, on tbe other hand, there was |o evidence to show that it bad been picked in the cab. It was far store likely that tbe glove, and especially a white glove, would be picked up under the light of the lamp near the Scotch church, where it was easily noticeable, than in the darkness of a cal^ where there was very little room, and wbereit would be quite dark, as the blinds were drawn down. The cabman, koyston, swore positively that the man who got out of his cab on the St Kilda road wore a diamond ring cn the forfinger of bis right hand, and tbe cabman, Rankin, swore to the pnu? thing about the who got out at Fowlettstreet Against thisoould be placed l HANSOM CAB. 9 W. HUME. r? the evidence of one of the prisonermost | intimate friends?one who had seen him almost daily for the last 'five years, and he bad sworn positively that the prisoner never was In the habit of wearing rings. Tlie cab, man. Rankin, bad also sworn that the mas who entered his cab on the St Kild/i road alighted at Powlett street Bast Melbourne, at 8 o'clock on Friday morning, as be beard that hour strike from the postoSoe clock, whereas the evidence of the prisoner^ land: lady showed plainly that he enter id the bouse five minutes previously, and bar evi. dence was further supported by that of the watchmaker, Dendy Mrs. Sampson saw the ! hand of her kitchen clock point to flv? min utea to 8, and, thinking it was ten ndnutea j slow. cold the detective toe prisoner cia not enter the boose till five minutes past 8, which would just give the man who alighted from the cab, presuming him to have bean the. , prisoner, sufficient time to walk np to his lodgings The evidence of the watchmaker, I Dendy. however, showed clearly that he had pot the clock right at the boor of 8 on Thursday night, that it was Impossible for it to gain ten minutes before 8 on Fri~Oay morning, and. therefore, the time, Ire minutes to S, seen by the landlady, was tbe correct one. and the prisoner was in the bouse five minutes before the other manalighted from the cab in Powlett street ibese points in themselves wen sufficient to j show that tbe prisoner was innocent, but the evidence of the woman Rawlins must prove 1 conclusively to the Jury that tbe prisoner was not tbe man wbo committed tbe crime. The witness Brown bad proved that the woman Rawlins had delivered a letter to Mm, wMcb be gave to tbe prisoner, and that the prisoner left tbe club, personally, to keep tbe appointment spoken of in the letter, j which letter, or rather tbe remains of it, had ' been put in evidence. The woman Rawlins > swore that the prisoner met her at the corner of Russell and Bourke streets, and had gone ; with her to one of the back alums, there to see tbe writer of the letter She also proved that : at tbe time of the committal of the crime tbe prisoner was still in tbe back slum, by the bed of the dying woman, and, there being only one door to the room, could not possibly bave left without tbe witness seeing him. Tbe woman Rawlins further proved that she left tbe prisoner at Che corner of Russell and Bourke streets at twenty-five minutes to 2 o'clock, which was five minutes before Roy ston drove bis cab up to the tit. Kilda police station, with tbe dead body Inside Finally, tbf woman Rawlins proved her words by * staring that she saw both tbe postoffioe and town hail clocks, and supposing ti.e prisoner started from tbe corner of Bourke and Russell streets, as she says he did, he would reach Bast Melbourne In twenty minutes, which made it tlve minutes to 3 on Friday morning, the time at which, aocording to the landlady's statement, be entered the boose. All i the evidence given by the different witneane agreed completely, and formed a chain which showed the whole of the prisoner's movements at the time of the committal of the murder Therefore, it was absolutely imposi sible that the murder could have been committed by the man in the dock. The strong| est piece of evidence brought forward by the the prosecution was that of the witness Habieton, who swore that the prisoner used threats against the life of the deoaased. Hut the language was merely the outcome of a passionate Irish nature, and was not sufficient to prove the crime to have been committed by the prisoner. The defense which the prisoner set up was that of an alibi, and the evidence of the witnesses for the deietisa proved conclusively that the i prisoner could not, and did not, commit the murder Finally, Calton wound up his elaborate and exhaustive speech, wbish lasted for over two honre, by a brilliant peroration, calling upon the jury to base their verdict upon the plain facts of the case, and if they did so they could hardly fail in bringing in a verdict of 'mot guilty." When Calton sat down a subdued murmur' of applause was heard, which was instantly ' suppressed, and the judge began to sum up, which be did strongly in favor of Fitzgerald. The jury then retired, and immediately there was a dead silence in the crowded court an unnatural silence, such as most havs fallen on the blood loving Roman populace when they saw the Christian martyrs kneeling on the hot yellow sands of the arena, and watched the long, lithe forms of lion and panther creeping stealthily toward their prey The boor DOlQg lata, uw gas ana usw lighted, and there wu a sickly glare through the wide ball, which added to the singularity i of the scene. Fitzgerald had been taken oat of ooart on the retiring of the Jar r, bat the spectators stared steadily at the er pty dock, which seemed to enchain them by some indescribable fascination. They conversed among themselves only in whispers, until even the whispering ceased, and nothing ooald be beard but the steady ticking of the clock, and now and then the quick drawn breath of tome timid onlooker. Suddenly a woman, whose nerves were overstrung, shrieked, and the cry rang weirdly through I the crowded hall. She was taken out, and again there was silence, every eye being now fixed on the door throngh which the jury would reissue with their verdict of life or death. The hands of the clock moved slowly round?a quarter?a half?three quarters? and then the hour sounded with a silvery ring which startled every ona Madge, sitting with her hands tightly clasped together, began to fear that her highly strung nervee: would give way "My God," she mutteredi softly to berseu, "wuj una sunpum* uovw ' end**" Just then the door opened, and the jury re-entered. The prisoner was again placed. in the dock, and the judge again resumed his eat, this time with the black cap in his pocket, as every one guessed The usual formalities were gore through, and when the foreman of the jury stood up every neck was craned forward, and every ear was on the alert to catch the words that fell from bis lips. The prisoner flushed a : little, and then grew pale as death, giving a quick, nervous glance at the qrnet figure in black, of which he could just catch a glimpse Then came in the verdict, sharp and decisive,' } "Not guilty." On bearing this a cheer went up from every one in the court, so strong was th 3 sympathy I with Brian. in vain the crier of the court yelled, i "Order 1" until he was red in the face. In ! rain the judge threatened to commit all present for contempt of court?his voice being in audible. It did not matter much?the enthusiasm could not be restrained, and it was five minutes before order was obtained. The judge, having recovered bis composure, delivered bis judgment and discharged the prisoner in accordance with the verdict, Calton had won many cases, but it is questionable if be had ever beard a verdict which gave him so much satisfaction as that which proclaimed Fitzgerald innocent 'I knew thnt God would sc.ve you." And Brian, stopping down from the dock a free man, passed through a crowd of congratulating friends to a small room off the court, where a woman was waiting for him ?a woman who clung round his neck, and sobbed out: "My darling! My darling! I knew that God would sure you." CHAPTER XX. THB ARGUS GrVES ITS OPIKIOW. The morning after the trial was concluded the following article in reference to the matter appeared in The Argus: "During the past three months we have frequently in our columns commented on the extraordinary case which is now so widely known as 'The Hansom Cab Tragedy.' We nan safely say that it is the most remarkable case whidh has ever come under the notice of our criminal court, and the verdict given by the jury yesterday has enveloped the matter In a still deeper mystery. By a train of itrange coincidences, Mr. Bria a Fitzgerald, a young squatter, was suspected of having murdered Whyte, and had it rot been for the timely appearance of the woman Rawlins, I who turned up at the eleventh hour, we feel sure that a verdict of guilty would have been ! given, and an innocent man would have suffered punishment for the crime of another. Fortunately for the prisoner, and for the in-' terests of justloe, his counsel, Mr. Calton, by unwearied diligence, was able to discover the last witness and prove an alibi. Had it' not been for this, in spite of the remarks made by the learned counsel in his brilliant speech yesterday, which resulted in the acquittal of the prisoner, we question very much if the rest of the evidenoe in favor of the accused would have been sufficient to persuade the jury that he was an innocent man. The only points in favor of Mr. Fitzgerald were the inability of the cabman Royston to swear to him as the man who had got into the cab with Whyte, the wearing of a diamond ring on the forefinger of the right hand (whereas Mr. Fitzgerald wears no rings), and the difference in time sworn to by the cabman Rankin and the landlady. Against these points, however, the prosecution placed a mass of evidence, which seemed to conclnsively prove the guilt of the prisoner; but the appearance of Sal Rawlins in the witness box put an end to all doubt. In language that could not be mistaken for anything else than the truth, she positively swore that Mr. Fitzgerald was in one of the slums off Bourke street between the hours of 1 and 2 on Friday morning, at which time the murder was committed. Dnder these circumstances, the jury unanimously agreed in the verdict, "Not guilty," and the prisoner was forthwith acquitted. We have to congratulate his counsel, Mr Calton, for the able speech he made for the defense, and also Mr. Fitzgerald, for his providential escape from a dishonorable and undeserved punishment. He leaves tbe court without a stain on hi* character, and with the respect and sympathy of all Australian*, for tbe courage and dignity with wbicb be comported himself throughout, while resting under the shadow of such a serious charge. "But now that it ho* been conclusively proved that be Is innocent, tbe question arise* in every one1* mind, 'Who U the murderer of Oliver Wbytef The man who committed this dastardly crime is still at large, and, for all we know, may be in our midst. "There seems to be no possible clew discoverable at present which can lead to the discovery of the real murderer. The man in the light coat who got out of Rankin's cab at Powlett struct. Rest Melbourne (designedly, as it uow appears, in order to throw suspicion on Fitzgerald), has vanished as completely as the witches in 'Macbeth,' and left no trace behind It was 'i o'clock in tbe morning when he left tbe cab. and, in a quiet suburb Uke East Melbourne, no one would be about, so that he could easily escape unseen. There seems to be only one chance of ever tracing him, and that is to be found In the papers which were stolen from the pocket of tbe dead man. What they were, only two per sons knew, and one knows now The first two were Wbyte and the woman who was called 'The Queen,'and both of them are now dead The other who knows now is the man who committed the crima There can be no donbt in the minds of our readers that these papers were the motive of tbe crime, as no money was taken from the pockets of the d? ceased. The fact, also, that tbe papers were carried In a pocket made inside the waist-coat of the deceased shows that they were of valua "Now, the reason we think that the dead f y,abo r\anow WULLUU1 Uicn ui lud cauwuwj v is simply this: It appears that she came oat from England with Wbyte as his mistress, and after staying some time in Sydney came on to Melbourne, Bow she came into such a foul and squalid den as that she died in, we are unable to say, unless, seeing that she was given to drink, she was taken up drank by some Samaritan of the slums and carried to Mrs. Rawlins1 humble abode Whyto visited her there frequently, but appears to have made no attempt to remove her to a better place, alleging, as his reason, that the doctor said she would die if taken into the air. Our reporter learned from one of the detectives that the dead woman was in the habit of talking to Whyte about certain papers, and on one occasion was overheard to say to him: They'll make your fortune If you play your cards well' This was told to the detective by the woman Rawlins, to whose providential appearance Mr. Fitzgerald owes his ee| cape. From this it can be gathered that the papers?whatever they might be?were of value, and sufficient to tempt another to oommit a murder in order to obtain them. Whyte, therefore, being dead, and his murderer escaped, the only way of discovering the secret which lies at the root of this tree of crime is to find out the history of the woman who died in the slum. Traced bock for some years, circumstances may be discov wed which will reveal what these papers contained, and once that is found, we can confidently say that the murderer will soon be discovered This is the only chanoe of finding out the cause and the author of this mysterious murder; and if it fails, we fear the hansom cab tragedy will have to be rele gated to the list of those undiscovered crimes, and the assassin of Whyte will have no other punishment than the remorse of his own conscience." CHAPTER XXL TffREF MONTHS AJTEBWJLRD. A hot December day, with a cloudless blue sky and a bud blazing down on tbe earth, clothed in all the beauty of summer gar ments. 8uch a description of snowy Deoember must sound strange to English ears, and a hot Christmas day must strike them as being as fantastic as the play in a "Midsummer's Night Dream" did to Demetrius, when be remarked of it: "This is hot ice and wondrous cold fire." But here in Australia is the realm of topsy turvydom, and many things, like dreams, go by contraries. The Frettlby homestead of Yabba Yallook station was a long low house, with no up stairs, and with a wide veranda running nearly round it Cool green blinds were hung between the pillars to keep out the sun, and all along were scattered lounging chairs of basket work, with rugs, novels, empty soda bottlea and all the other evidences that Mr. Frettlby's guests had been wise and stayed inside during the noonday heat Madge was seated in one of these comfortable chairs, and divided her attention between the glowing beauty of the world outside, which she could 1 i see through a narrow slit in the blind, and a i ' new novel from Mullen's lying open on her ' knee. She was not looking well, for the trial f through which she had passed had been very | great and had left its impress of sorrow on her beautiful face. In her eyes, too, usually I so calm, there was a troubled look, as, lean' i??vnn Uom lian/1a eha fKaiia# ?ll^ UOl UCOU U^VU UOi OUO UUOU^Uk Vi the bitterness of the past year. After Brian's acquittal of the murder of j Oliver Whyte she had been taken by her \ father up to the station, in the hope that it { would restore her to health. The mental ' strain which had been on her during the trial ! had nearly brought on an attack of brain j fever, but here, far from the excitement of i town life, in the quiet seclusion of the coun- j try, she hod recovered her health, but not ! I her spirits. VV omen are more impressionable than men, and it is perhaps for this reason I that they age quicker. A trouble which would pass lightly over a man leaves an in- J delible mark on a woman, both physically . and mentally, and the terrible episode of | VThyte's murder had changed Madge from a i i bright and merry girl into a grave and beautiful woman. And Brian, he also had undergono a change, for there were a few white hairs now amid bis curly, chestnut locks, and his character, from being gay and j bright, had become moody and irritable i After the trial he had left town immediately, j In order to avoid meeting with his friends, : and had gone up to his station, which was ' next to that of the Frettlbys. There he j worked hard all day, and smoked hard all | night, thinking over the cursed secret which | the dead woman had told him, und which ; threatened to overshadow his life. Every ! now and then he rode over and saw Madge, : but only when he knew her father was away ' in-Melbourne, for he seemed to have taken j n dislike to the millionaire, which Madge j could not help condemning as unjust, i remembering how her father had stood beI side him in his trouble. But there was another reason why Brian kept aloof from Yabba Yullook station, and that was he did I not wish to meet any of the gay society which ' was there, knowing that since his trial he was an object of curiosity and sympathy to every ' one?a position which was very galling to his ' proud nature. At Christinas time Mr. Frettlby hail asked a lot of people up from Mel j bourne, and though Madge would rather I have been left alone, yet sho could not refuse her father, and had to play hostess with a J smiling brow und aching heart. Felix Hoileston. who a month since joined the noble urmy of benedicts, was thero with Mrs. Rolleston. who ruled him with a rod of iron. Huving bought Felix with her money, she i had determined to make good use of him. and. being umbitious to shine in Melbourne society, had insisted upon Felix studying j politics, so that when the next general eleo s?nttiA nrmmH ha r*nnl<i piifpr imrliftmont. ! Felix ha<i rebelled ut first, but ultimately | gave way, as be found that when he had a good novel concealed among his parliamentary papeis time passed quite pleasantly, and he got the reputation of a hard worker nt little cost They had brought up Julia, Mrs. Kolleston's sister, with them, ami this youi g |>erson had made up her mind to become the second Mi's. Frettlby. She had not received much encouragement, but, like the English at Waterloo, did not itiiow wneu 8tie was beaten, and carried on the siege of Mr Frettlby's heart In an nndaanted manner. Dr. Chinston bad come up for a little relaxation, and never gave a thought to his anxious patients or the many lick rooms he was in the habit of visiting. A young fclngiwb tebow, called feiereou, who amused himself by traveling, an old colonist, fall of reminiscences of the old day*, when, "by gad, sir. we badnl a ga> lamp in the whole of Melbourne," and several other people completed the party They had all gone off to the billiard room, and left Madge tn her comfortable chair, half asleep. Suddenly, she started as she beard a step behind her, and turning, saw Sal Rawlins, in the neatest of black gowns, with a coquettish white cap and apron, and an open book. The ftuit Is, Madge had been so delighted with Sal for saving Brian's life that she had taken her Into her service as maid. Mr Prettlby bad offered strong opposition at first that a fallen woman like Sal sbonid be near bis daughter, nut Madge determined to rescue the unhappy girl from the life of sin she was leading, and so at last be reluctantly consented. Brian, too, had objected, bat ultimately yielded, as be saw that Madge bad set ber heart on it Mother Guttersnipe objected at first characterising the whole affair as "Diamea umoug, out sue, ino?u?, gi><? in, and Sal became maid to Miss Prettify, who immediately set to work to remedy Baft defective education by teaching ber to read. The book she held in ber band was a spelling book, and this she handed to Madga ""I think 1 knows it now, miss." she said, respectfully, as Madge looked up with a smile. "Do you. IndeedT said Madge, gayly. "Yon will be able to read in no time, 8aL" "Read thisf said Sal, touching * Tristan i A Romance, by Zoe." " Hardly I" said Madge, picking it up with a look of contempt "I want you to leant English, and not a confusion of tongues like this thing. But it's too hot to do lessons, 8al,n she went on, leaning back in her seat, "so get a chair aqd talk to ma" Sal complied, and Madge looked oat on the brilliant flower beds, and at the black shadow of the tall witch elm wbicb grew on one side oftbe lawn. She wanted to ask a certain question of Sal, and did not know bow to do it The moodiness and irritability of Brian bad troubled ber very much of late, and, with the quick Instinct of ber sex, she ascribed it indirectly to the woman who had died in the back slum. Anxious to share hie troubles and lighten his burden, she determined to ask Sal about this mysterious woman, and find out, if possible, what secret hod been told to Brian, which affected him so deeply "H?1 " aha miri ftftar a short nanaa. turn tng her clear gray eyes on the woman, "I vant to ask you something." The other shivered and turned pala "About?about thatf" Madge nodded. She hesitated for a moment, and then Hung herself at the feet of her mistress. 'I will tell yno."she cried. "Yon have been kind to me. an' have a right to know. I will tell you all I know." "Then." asked Madge, firmly, as she clasped her hands tightly together, "who was this woman whom Mr Fitzgerald went to see, and where did she come fromP 'Gran' an' me found her one evenin'tn Little Bourke street," answered Sal, "Just near the theatre She was quite drank an* we took her home with us." "How kind of you." said Madge "Oh, it wasnt that," replied the other dryly "Gran* wanted her clothes; she was awful swell dressed." "And she took the clothes?how wickedP "Any one would have done it down oar way," answered Sal. Indifferently; "bat Gran* changed her mind wbti. she got her home I went out to get some gin for Gran', and when 1 came back the was hoggin* and klssin' the woman." "She recognized herP "Yes, 1 s'pose so," replied Sal, "an* nszt mornin', when the lady got square, she made a grab at Gran1, an' hollered oat, '1 was oomin* to see you.'" "And thenP "Gran* chucked me out of the room, an' they had a long jaw; and then, when 1 ooms back, Gran' tells me the lady (a a-goin' to stay with as 'cause she was til, and sent ma for Mr. WTiyte." * "And he earner "Oh, yes?often," said SaL "He kicked up a row when be first turned op, but when he found she was 111, sent a doctor; but it warnt no good. She was two weeks with us, and then died the mornin' she saw Mr. Fitzgerald." "I suppose Mr. Whyte was In the habit at talking to this woman P "Lots," returned 8al; "but be always turned Gran' an' 1 out of the room afore he started." "And"?hesitating?"did you ever overhear one of these ocmversationsr "Yes?one," answered the other, with a nod. "1 got riled at the way be cleared us out of our room; and once, when he shut the door and Gran' went off to get some gin, I sat down at the door and listened. He wanted her to give up some papers, and she wouldn't She said she'd die first But at last he got 'em, and took "em away with LI? ? "Did you see them!" asked Madge, as the assertion of Gorby that Whyte bad been murdered for certain papers flashed across her mind. "Rather," said Sal; "I was looking through a hole izt the door, an' she takes 'em from under her piller, an' to takes 'em to a table, where the candle was, an' looks at 'em?they were in a large blue envelope, with writing on it in red ink?then be puts torn In his pocket, and she sings out: 'You'll lose 'em.' an' to says-. 'No, I'll always have 'em witb me, an' if to wants 'em toll have to kill me fust afore he gits 'em.'" "And you did not know who the man was to whom the papers were of rich Imporancef "No, 1 didn't; they never said no names." "And when was it JYhyte got th? papers!" "About a week before be was murdered," said Sal after a moment's thought "An1 after that he never turned up again. She keDt watching for him night an' day, an' 'cause he didnt come get mad at him. I bear her sayin', 'You think you've done with me, my gentleman, an' leaves me here to die. bat I'll spoil your little game,' an' then she wrote that letter to Mr. Fitzgerald and 1 brought him to her, as you know." "Yes, yes," said Madge, rather impatiently. "I heard all that at the trial, but what conversation passed between Mr. Fitzgerald and this woman? Did vou hear itf "Bits of it," replied the other. "I didnt split in court, 'cause I thought the lawyer would be down on me for listening. The fast thing 1 heard Mr. Fitzgerald sayin' was, 'You're mad?it ain't true,' an' she ses, 'S'eJp me God, it is; WhyteV got the proof,' an' then he sings out. 'My poor girl,' an' she ses, Will you marry her nowf and ses he, '1 will; 1 love her more than ever,' and then she makes a grab at bun, and ses, 'Spile his game if you can,' and ses he, 'What's yar nameP an' she ses" "Wbuti" asked Madge, breathlessly. "Roeunua Moore I" There was a sharp exclamation as 8al said the name, and turning around quickly Madge found Brian standing beside her, pale as death, with his eyes fixed on the woman, who had risen to her feet. "Go on!" he said sharply. "That's all 1 know," she replied in a sullen tone. Brian gave a sigh of relief. "You can go," he said, slowly; "I wish to speak with Miss Frettlby alone." 8al looked at him for a moment, and then glanced at her mistress, who nodded to her as a sign that she might withdraw. She picked up her book, and with another sharp inquiring look at Brian, turned and walked slowly into the house. CHAPTER XXII. A DAUGHTER OF EVE. After Sal had vanished into the house, Brian sank into a chair beside Madge, with a weary sigh. He was in riding dress, which became his stalwart figure well, and looked remarkably handsome?but 111 and worried. "What on earth were you asking that girl about?" he said abruptly, taking his hat off, and tossing it and his gloves on the floor. Madge flushed crimson for a moment, and then taking Brian's two strong hands in her own, looked steadily into ms iruwuwg iawu, "Why don't you trust mo?" she nsked in a quiet tone. "But it is not necessary that I should," he answered moodily. "The secret that Rosanna Moore told me on her deathbed is nothing that would benefit you to know." "Is it about me?" she persisted. "It is, and it is not," he answered epigrammatically. "I suppose that means that it is about a third person and concerns me," sho said calmly, releasing his hands. "Well, yes," impatiently striking his boot with his riding whip. "But it is nothing that can harm you as long as you do not know it, but God help you should any one tell it to you, for it would embitter your life." "My life being so very sweet now," ana wo red Matjjge, with a light sneer. "You are trying to put out a fire by pouring oil 011 it, and what you say only makes me more determined to lean what it is." "Madge, I implore you not to persist in this foolish curiosity. I tell you candidly that I did learn something from Rosauna Moore, and it concerns you, but only indirectly through a third .person. But it would do no good to reveal it, and would ruin both our lives." > She did not answer, but looked straight before her into the glowing sunshine. Brian fell on his knees beside her, and stretched out his hands with an entreating gesture. "Oh, my darling," hq cried, Badly, "cannot you trust me? The lovujwbich has stood such a test as yours cannot: tail like this. Let me bear the misery of knofring it alone, without blighting your young fife with the knowledge of it I would telfyou if I could, but, God help me, 1 cannotr-1 cannot," and he buried his face in his hqnds, Madge closed her *mouth firmly, and touched his comely head with her cool, white fingers. There ^ras a struggle going on iu her breast between her feminine i curiosity and her love for the man at her feet?the latter conquered, and she bowed her head over his, "Brian," she whispered softly, "let it be as you wish. 1 will never again try to lg?rn this secret since you do not desire It" - * " Li. t??. --J ?In hia XI? fU"US? W 0121 lWi/( auu wtu^uu uw tw utu strong arms, with a glad smile. "My dearest!" he said, kissing her passionately, and then for a few moments neither of them spoke. "We will begin a new life," he said, at length. "We will put the sad past away from us, and only think of it as a dream." "But tho secret will still fret you," she murmured. "It will woor awjfy"vrfth tlmft.and with change of 9cene," he answered sadly. "Change of scene!" she repeated in a startled tone. "Are you going away?" "Yes; I have sold my station, and will leave Australia forever during the next three months." "And where are you going?" asked the girl, rather bewildered. "Anywhere," he said, a little bitterly. "I am going to follow the example of Cain, and be a wanderer on the face of the earth." "Alone?" "That is what I have come to see yon ; about," said Brian, looking steadily at her. | "I have come to ask you if you will marry ; me at once, and we will leave Australia toI gether." She hesitated. "I know it is asking a great deal," he said, I hurriedly, "to leave your friends, your poj sition, and"?with hesitation?"your father; I but think of my life without you?think how ' lonely I shall be wandering round the world by myself; but you will not desert me now I ' j have so much ueod of you?you will come I with me and be my good angel in the future ; as you have been in the pastf i Bhe put her hand on bis arm, and looking i at him with her clear, gray eyes, said? j "Yes!" "Thank God for that," said Brian, reverI ently, and there was again silence. Then they sat down and talked about their , plans, and bBilt castles in the air, after the j fashion of lovers. "I wonder what papa will sayf" observed ' Madge, idly twisting her engagement ring I round and round. Brian frowned, and a dark look passed over his face. "I suppose I must speak to him about itf" he said at length, reluctantly. | "Yes, of coorsel" she replied, lightly. "It is merely a formality; still, one that must be observed" "And where is Mr. Frettlbyf" asked Fitsgerald, rising. "In the billiard room," she answered, as she followed his example. "Nol" she continued, as she saw her father step on to the j j veranda "Here he is." Brian had not Been Mark Frettlby for some i time, and was astonished at the change : which had taken place in his appearance, j Formerly, be had been as straight as an ar- I ; lyw, with a stern, fresh colored face; but ! now he had a slight stoop, and his face looked old and withered His thick, black hair was streaked here and there with white, and the j only thing unchanged about him were his eyes, which were as keen and bright as ever. Remembering how old his own face looked, and how altered Madge was, now seeing her j father, be wondered if this sudden change I was traceable to the same source, namely, | the murder of Oliver Whyte. Mr. Frettlby's I face looked sad and thoughtful as he came ?ong; but, catching sight of his daughter, a smile of affection broke-over it "My dear Fitzgerald," be said, holding out i his hand; "this is indeed a surprise 1 When < did you come overT' "About half an hour ago," replied Brian, i reluctantly taking the extended bond of the millionaire. "1 came to see Madge, and have a talk with you." "Ah! that's right," said the other, putting his arm round his daughter's waist "So that's what has brought the roses to your i face, young ladyf' he went on, pinching her cheek playfully. "You will stay to dinner, of course, Fitzgerald?" "Thank you, no!" answered Brian, hastily, "my dress" "Nonsense," interrupted Frettlby, hospitably; "we ure not in Melbourne, and I am 1 sure Madge will excuse your dross. You I must stay." "Yes, do," said Madge, in a beseeching tone, touching his hand lightly. "1 don't see so'much of you that I can let you off with half an hour's conversation." Brian seemed to be making a violent effort. "Very well," he said, in a low voice; "I will stay." "And now," said Frettlby, in a brisk tone, as he sat down, "the important question of dinner being settled, what is it you want to see me ubout? Your station?" "No!" answered Brian, leaning against the veranda jnist, while Madge slipped her hand through his arm, "1 have sold it." "Sold it!" echoed Frettlby, aghast. "What for?" "I felt restless and wanted a change." "Ah! n rolling stone," said the millionaire, shaking his head, "gathers no moss, you know." slswuit. at fKolr nwn A/vnrrl.*1 re OlIUIIC3 uvu w v?a Vft vuvt* V .. w ? , plied Brian, in a gloomy tone. "The* are impelled by a force over which tbey have no control." "Oh, indeed!" said the millionaire, in a joking tone. "And may I ask what is your propelling forcer Brian looked at the old man's face with such a steady gaze that the latter's eyes dropped after an uneasy attempt to return it "Well," he said impatiently, looking at the two tall young i>eoplo standing before him, "what do you want to see me about*" "Mudge has ugreed to marry me at once and I want your consent." "Iui|H>ssiblel" said Frettlby, curtly. "There is no such word as impossible," retorted Briau coolly, thinking of the famous remark in "Richelieu." "Why should you refuse? I am rich now." "Pshaw I" said Frettlby. rising impatiently. "It's not money I'm thtiffiing about?I've got enough for both of you; but I cannot live without Madge." "Then come with usl" said the daughter, kissing him. ML ^ H' 1%<t at***' "Then come with us!" j Her lover, however, did not second the inI vitntion, but stood moodily twisting ^fiis tawny mustache, and staring out into the j garden in an absent sort of way. | "What do you say, Fitzgerald 1" said FretI tlby, who was eyeing him keenly. "Oh, delighted, of course," answered Brian 1 confusedly. i "In that case," returned the other, coolly, "I will toll you what we will do. I have 1 bought a steam yacht, and sho will be ready j for sea about tho end of January. You will i marry my daughter at once, and go round New Zealand for your honeymoon. When | you return, if I feel inclined, and you two turtle doves don't object, I will join you, and I wo will make a tour of the world." "Oh, how delightful," cried Madge, clasp! ing her hands. "I am so fond of the ocean : ?with a companion, of course," she added, j with a saucy glance at her lover. Brian's face bad brightened considerably, for he was a born sailor, and a pleasing yachting voyage in the blue waters of the Pacific, with Madge as his companion, was, to his I mind, as near paradise as any mortal could get. "And what is the name of the yachtr he l asked, with deep interest. "Her name," repeated Mr. Frettlby, hastily. "Oh, a very ugly name, and which j I intend to change. At present sho is called I the Rosunna." j "Rosanna!" Brian and his betrothed both started at this, and the formeFatarttl curiously at the old man, wondering at the coincidence between the name of the yacht and that of the woman who died in the Melbourne slum. Mr. Frettlby flushed a little when he saw Brian's eye fixed on him with an inquiring gaze, and arose with an embarrassed laugh, j "You are a pair of moonstruck lovers," he | said gayly, taking an arm of each and leading them into the house; "but you forget dinner will soon be ready." CHAPTER XXIIL cross thi wALinrrs awd thi win. Mark Frettlby had an excellent cook, and his wines were irreproachable, so that Brian, in spite of his worries, was glad that he had accepted the invitation. The bright gleam of the silver, the glitter of 1 glass and the perfume of flowers, all collected under tho crimson glow of a pink globed lamp which hung from the ceiling, j could not but give him a pleasurable aensa- ' tion. On one side of the dining room there were Frenoh windows opening onto the veranda, and beyond appeared the vivid green of the trees, and the dazzling colors of the flowers, somewhat tempered by the soft, hazy glow of the twilight Brian bad made himself as | respectable as possible, under the odd cir- I cumstances of dining in his riding dress, and sat next to Madge, contentedly sipping his wine and listening to the pleasant chatter which was going on around him, Felix Rol- ' baton was in great spirits, the more'so as ! Mrs. Rolleston was at the further end of the | table, hidden from his view by an epergne of ; | fruit and flowers. Julia FeatberVeight sat near Mr. Frettlby, and chatted to him so " persistently that he wished she would become possessed of a dumb devil. Dr. Chinston and Paterson were seated on the other side of the table, and the old colonist, whose ! name was Valpy, had the post of honor on i Mr. Frettlby's right hand. The conversation ; had turned onto the subject, ever green and i fascinating, of politics, and Mr. Rolleston ! thonght it a good opportunity to air his j viows as oo me govoruiuouc ui iuo cuiuujr, and to show bis wife that he meant to obey her wish and become a power in the political i world. j 'By Jove, you know," he said, with a wave his hand, as though he were addressing I ...o house; "the country is going to the dogs, mid all that sort of thing. What wo want is ' | a man like Beacons field." "Ah I but you can't pick up a man like that j every day," said Frettlby, who was listening j with an amused smile to Rolleston's disquisi- ; tiona. "Rather a good thing, too," observed Dr. Cbinston, dryly. "Genius would become too j common." "Well, when I am elected," said Felix, who had his own views, which modesty forbade ! him to publish, on the subject of the coming colonial Disraeli, "I will probably form a I | party." "To advocate what?" asked Patersou, curiously. "Oh, well, you see," hesitated Felix, "I haven't drawn up a programme yet, so can't i suy at piuseut" "Yes, you can hardly givea performance J without a programme," said the doctor, tak- , lug a sip of wine, and then everybody | iaughed. "But yon have never gone in for politics, ' Mr. Frettlby?" said Rolleeton. "Who??I?no," said the host, rousing him- j self out of the brown study into which bo j had fallen. "I'm afraid I'm not sufficiently i patriotic, and my business did not permit me." ! "And now?" "Now," echoed Mr. Frettlby, glancing at his daughter, "1 am going to travel." "The jolliest thing out," Raid Paterson, eagerly. "One never gets tired of seeing the queer things there are in the world." "I've seen queer enough things in Melbourne in the early days," said the old col- | onist, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. "Oh I" cried Julia, putting her hands up to | her ears, "don't tell me them, for I'm sure they're naughty." "We weren't saints then," said Old Valpy, I with a senile chuckle. "Ah, then, we haven't changed much in | that respect," retorted Frettlby, dryly, i "You talk of your theatres uow," went on j J Valpy, with the garrulousness of old age; "why, you haven't got a dancer like Ro- ! I aanna" Brian started on hearing this name again, and he felt Madge's cold hand touch his. | "And who was Rosannaf' asked Felix, ; curiously, looking up. "A dancer and burlesque actress," replied I Valpy, vivaciously nodding his old head. | "Such a beauty; we were all mad about her : ?such hair and eyes. You remember her, 1 Frettlby I" j "Yes," ajjawerei the host, in a curioslydry j voice. i As the conversation seemed to be getting 1 too much of the after dinner style, Mudge I arose and all the other ladies followed her ox- : ample. The ever polite Felix held the door j , open for them, and received a bright smile ' * -? *M~ * -*...4 -I IWa ! irom Q1S Wlje i or vyuuu duc wiuiucic^ u? ( , brilliant talk at the dinner table. Brian cat still and wondered why Frettlby changed j colon on hearing the name?he supposed thqfc j the millionaire had been mixed up with tuo I actress and did not care about being rej minded of his early indiscretions?and, after all, who does? I "She was light as a fairy," said Valpy, i with a wicked chuckle, j "What became of her?" asked Brian, ab- ! i rnptly. j Mark Frettlby looked up suddenly as Fitr! gerald asked this question. "She went to England in 1858," said the I aged one. "I'm not quite sure if it was July ' j or August, but it was in 1858." "You will excuse me, Valpy. bat I hardly j , think that these reminiscences of a ballet , dancer are amusing," said Frettlby, curtly, j pouring himself out a glass of wine. "Let us drop the subject." When a mun expresses a wish at his own j table it is hurdly the proper thing for any I one to go contrary to it, but Brian felt | strongly inclined to pursue the conversation. Politeness, however, forbade him to make any further remark, and he consoled himself i with the reflection that, after dinner, he would ask old Valpy about the ballet dancer whose name caused Mark Frettlby to exhibit ' such strong emotion. But, to his annoyance, when the gentlemen went into the drawing room,- Frettlby took the old colonist off to his study, where he sat with him the * whole evening talking over old times. [to hk continuko next wekk.] The Bowie Knife.?Much has been ' written regarding the origin of the Bowie knife. The fact is that Re/in P. j Bowie, not James, conceived the idea j of the knife. The invention was the result of an accident. Col. Kezin P. j Bowie was a planter in Opelousas. La. While hunting wild cattle, he attacked a young steer, which in throwing up ! its head struck his hunting knife with j his horn in such a way as to knock it through his hand, making an ugly cut between the thumb and forefinger. On returning from the hunt, he repaired to tht* blacksmith shop on his plantation, : determined to have a knife which i would be a protection against such ac: cidcuts. Picking up an old tile, lie ori dered the blacksmith to make a knife j of it having a cross-piece betwixt hilt and blade, so that it would be impossible to be entirely driven through a man's hand. In tills way did the How ic knife originate, and it was never intended for other than a hunting knife; but James Howie improved the original { weapon and brought his own knife so | prominently into notice by the use lie made of it in personal encounters, that the improved weapon became known as the Howie knife. IvicKKD Into Pkominknck.?Some, at lyast. of our old citizens recollect the Cris,p Theatrical Company that visited this city early in the seventies. The trouji) at that time was composed of the Ct-isp family, father, daughter and sons. Martin (ridden and John (1. Stuttz.'- then young men. were also mcmbcits of the company. Some will also recollect that on one occasion old man (Tijsp kicked his son C. F. out of the their. Commercial hotel, where they were stipppiiig. The young man then went toi(Seorgia and commenced work as a porter in the olliec of a prominent lawyer. Finding that he was a young man ofljiiio mind, the lawyer advised him to I'cad law. which he did: succeeded liiiiclyaml married the lawyer'* datighlciY This is the well known trcorgia ipongrcssman. ('. F. Crisp, who isstrongky spoken of for the next speakership aim! whose name is also prominently linen tinned for the next Tinted States y.enator from that State.?Jefferson jfiinpleeutc. 0Von can't promote a Christian. The highest station in this life is to be a sohlricr in Cod's army. j i i gttisccltancous Reading. THE FARMERS' ALLIANCE. In his sermon u few Sundays ago, j Rev. Thomas Dickson, of New York, but formerly of Shelby, N. C., had the < following to say of the Farmers' AJ- i liance: , The real sensation of the year 1890 i is the advent of the National Farmers' Alliance and Industrial Union. It is the resistless movement of millions un- ; Amt fliA Arvnrocainnc nf PPnturip.4. Tts UCi bUC vc??vi?M W? -WW- ? - motive power i3 social, economic, re- , ligious and political. The advent of , these embattled hosts is the most preg- ! nant event of this generation. It is the beginning of a revolution that will shake this continent and move the world. The first time they gathered round the ballot box was the 4th day of last November. They polled between two and three million votes, elected the governor of three States, sent forty men to congress and scared the life out of hundreds they did not send. What is the moral meaning of this ; great movmeptfc ?-,-J 1. It is the protest of the patient burden bearers of the world, who have toiled through weary years struggling beneath superstitious. In America the farmers have literally become the beasts of burden of the nation. Their business has been to feed over 65,000,000 people, together with the hosts of the old world, with the products of the year's work, and through the winter eke out a miserable existence wrestling with their mortgages, cyclones and floods. While they are doing this, we laugh and grow fat, dance and make merry in the city, and bet how much they will make next year, buy and sell their crops fifty timefe before they are planted, and charge old "Hayseeds" with all our losses. The question is whether these men, the freest of the free, the authors of the country's liberty, shall assert their rights and obtain justice or degenerate into the condition of tenants and serft. The condition of labor in all other industries have undergone marvelous development and changes in the past hundred years. The farmer w6rks under the same stern conditions, perishinorin the midst of boundless nrosperi ty, for others. He has determined to effect a change in these conditions, and readjust himself on a living basis to the new civilization. 2. This movement means the education of the masses, as masses?of the farmer as a farmer. It means the assertion of the manhood of the Nation. This is real education. The accent of our educaton has hitherto been to get on, "to rise." We have been taught to get out of thff humble sphere in which we were born into some so called higher sphere. The smith learns to despise his anvil, and the clodhopper to look with contempt upon the plow. They rise to "higher" things. They become lawyers, and doctors, and preachers, and bankers, railroad men and politicians. We now have fully eight million men in this country educated to be president of the United States. We only need about a dozen presidents in a hundred years?an awful waste of raw material! The farmers are learning and teaching it to their children, in this organization, that the farm is as sacred, as noble, as honorable as that of any sphere in life. Women too are admitted to the order. Well they may. There are more farmers' wives in the insane asylums of America than any other class. They have actually recognized the fact that women are human beings. A reporter once asked an old farmer in the West what he thought about the question. "Is marriage a failure?" He replied: "What, marriage? Well,let's see. There's Lueindy gits up in the mornin', kindles the tire, milks six cows, starts four children off to school, tends to three others, skims twenty pans o' milk, feeds the hens, likewise the hogs, looks after some motherless sheep, gits breakfust, washes up the dishes, gets dinner, etcetera?why, man, do you think I could hire anybody to do all that for what she gits ? Not much. It's a great success, sir!" Ah! these patient, sad faced, w'eary millions of women! The pathos of their lives. They have entered this organization with cheeks flushed with hope, many of them for the first time in life. May God lead and bless them. 3. This movement means co-operation as against competition. It is in this principle of socialism that the order has its strongest foundation. They are pledged to co-operate with each other in tire production of economic goods, and hot only so, but to co-operate in the distribution of these goods. The Alliance sjRfekfor supplies are a prominent feaflMkof their work. These stores contunl^^k germ idea of the great Industrinl^^J operative societies of Workingmen^H Great Britain. They are asserting W life the principle, that it is better forj men to fight for each other than uguinst one another. They are learning the secret of associated powers that in union there is strength. It is in the light of this fact that we solve the apparent paradox, that while they cry out against trusts and monopolies, in the same breath demand that the government press its functions to the very verge of State socialism. These cries are not inconsistent. They are the assertion of fundamental principles. They recognize the important fact that government is not something separate from the people, but when normally administered, is simply the people governing themselves?that it is not a power to be forced, but a power to be utilized for the happiness of all. 4. The organization means brotherhood. It is a fraternal and benevolent order with principles of love and fraternity, wide as the world, universal us the rose. The 5th and (5th articles in their St. Louis declaration of purposes, a second delaration of independence, read thus: ' 5. To constantly strive to secure constant harmony and good will to all mankind, and brotherly love among ourselves. (5. To suppress personal, local, sectional and national prejudices, all unhealthful rivalry, and selfish ambition. An ideal as high as Heaven?an echo of the life of Jesus of Nazareth. They have determined to 'bear one another's burdens and so fulfil the law oft'hrist.' They pledge themselves to alleviate sufl'ering and pain, to care for the widows and educate the orphans of their dead. This is climbing the heights of life. This is pure religion, undeliled. They have gone into polities not hecause they arc a political organization. They have been forced to go into poli tics because their principles were social, economic and religions. All social ami economic questions have become political questions.and all political questions arc religious. The political arena is where all tin- great questions of to-day and to-morrow must he fought and settled. Let no man deceive himself by believing that this organization is but a passing episode in politics. Remember its foundation is not primarily political. but social and economic. It is the embodiment of grand moral ideas ?it is the movement of a revolution. It will not go backward. May <Jod give its leaders wisdom. TlIK <>u?kst klssino Stmky.?'The oldest kissing story is probably that of the Hindoo herdsman who was walking along the road with an iron kettle on his back, a live goose in one hand. and in the other a cane and a rope Dy j which he was leading a goat. Present- ; ly a woman joined him and they walk- j ed along together until they reached i a dark ravine, when she shrank back, declaring she was afraid he might kiss i her by force there in the dark. The man explained that by reason of his burdens he could not possible do so. "Yes,." said the woman, "but what is to hinder you from sticking the cane in the ground and tying the goat to it, and then laying the goose on the ground and covering it with the kettle ? And how could I help myself if you wickedly persisted in kissing me ?" "Many thanks," said the man. "I never should have thought of all that. You are an ingenious woman. May your ingenuity always succeed." 80 they went on until they reached the darkest part of the ravine. Then he stuck the cone in the ground and tied the goat to it, and put the goose under the kettle by the cane, and then wickedly kissed the woman in spite of her great resistance. ABSENT-MINDEDNESS. "Never was absent-minded in my life," said the little "But my father was one of the worst cases I ever heard of. He was a man who used the good old-fashioned birch generously. To add to the good effect of the punishment he used to send us out to cut the switch. If it was not a good one he sent us back for another. Once he sent me on one of these melancholy errands, and as my offense had been playing 'hookey' from school for three days, I was in no hurry to return to my punishment. When I came in he was pacing thoughtfully up and down | the room. " 'James,' he said, 'I am glad you have come. I wanted you for some| thing, but it has slipped my mind. I will recall it in a moment.' "And I discreetly backed out of the room with my birch behind me, and tossed it oyer the fence. That was the last I heard of that switching." "Case of sfcpended judgment," said some one, softly. "My brother," continued the first speaker, "was as bad as my father. He lives in a New England town, and i he came to Boston ouce to transact some business.which would occupy two days. At the end of four days he had not returned. His wife's anxiety was relieved on that* day by a telegram, which read: 'What did I come to Boaton for'? Have been trying to rememi ber for three days:' I " 'Real estate,' telegraphed his wife. " 'Of course,' came back the answer." "That reminds me," said one of the party, "of a friend of mine. He was a lawyer in a small town, and frequently after working late at night at his office would sleep on a comfortable lounge which he had in a back room. When he wus married there was a wedding breakfast at the bride's home, and the j couple were to start on an evening i train for a wedding trip. H. had to 1 run around to his office for a few moments, having forgotten some little thing which had to be attended to. The hours went on, and H. failed to , return to his bride. When train time came and no bridegroom appeared, every one was thrown into a panic. The bride fainted and the news spread like wildfire in the little town that H. had abandoned his bride and fled the town. The only one who seemed not to suspect him was the bride. , She, however, only shed tears, refusing to listen to any condemnation of her missing husband, but declining to offer ( any suggestions. Finally she could stand the strain no longer, and posted her father to H.'s office. H. had gotten deep into his work, and was just on the point of going to sleep on his lounge. He was so 'broken up' over his cruel blunder that he'was ashamed I to face any one but his wife, and ex| tended his two months' wedding trip i over a year. They made one of the happiest couples in the world, but to this day his wife has to remind hit* ; what he wants to do when he lwives j the house." THORUl'GH-BRED HOUSES. Senator Wade Hampton is reported . as saying: "When I went to the war I in 1861, I took with me three thorough bred stallions that were worth a j prince's ransom. One was as black as uight, one was a dark chestnut, and the other was a chestnut sorrel. You are perhaps aware that my lather was J not only a noted importer of running j horses, but u famous breeder of the : thoroughbred as well. I rode the black ; stallion at the first Bull Run battle, j where I commanded the Hampton Lemon, comprised of infantry cavalry and artillery. At the famous cavalry fight i at Brandy Station with Pleasanton, in 1803, I rode the chestnut. He was a hard horse to control in a churge, and he nearly carried me into the enemy's ^ines on that day, twice. I rode the ?^<tnut-sorrel ut the great cavalry ^ ^n the rear of Meade's army on day at Gettysburg, and came the same fate as that I Brandy Station a few i My experience with thoroughbre?, is in time of war, that they are safer horses to get away from file enemy with than w hen you are going toward him. especially when on a gallop. But when it comes to endurance. one thoroughbred will kill three cold-blooded horses in a campaign. They will go farther with less food, go faster and show more courage in the face of danger. I have ridden the stallions I mention into Federal batteries, and they never once flinched. All of them were wounded three or four times, but they pulled through. I think a j body of men mounted on entire blooded horses, would prove much more formidable in a charge than the same force ' mounted on geldings of the same blood. Our ancestors in the ancient times always went to war on entire horses, and, in order that their presence might not lie betrayed to the enemy, their nostrils were slitted so they that could not neigh. The Arabs in their journey prefer entire horses, as they seem to have more courage, sense, srength and endurance than mares or geldings. The late John Morgan owed his success in the late war to the fact that in his raids his men weVe mounted on Kentucky thoroughbreds." An Overcrowded Field.?The Farmers' Advocate, of Williston, turned up its little toes and died last week. After an existence of twenty-seven weeks on this cold, cold sphere, it ceases to exist, l'robably lack of nourishment is the cause of its demise, as in his valedictory the editor says: It has not paid expenses so far." The publishing of a newspaper, like the running of a hotel, is one of the easiest things in the world to do?in the opinion of some people: and probably more failures are made in the effort to show the public how the thing is done, than in any other business. The law of the survival of the fittest works here as elsewhere, and while it seems as if at times a good paper has been allowed to give up the ghost and a poor one to continue on its careless, rollicking way, the end generally proves the wisdom of the public's choice. If a paper is started where there is 110 field for it. it is only a 'matter of time and money before its demise. The public may show its bad taste in failing to leave the established papers to support one of mushroom growth, but they cannot be blamed. Their heartstrings are attached to that paper that has grown to be liken member of the family: the paper that in its weekly visits has recorded the happy marriages, the sad deaths, the tips and downs of life in ineir community. n uy wvuiu they break their allegiance and take up with that they know not of? The Advocate was a bright and newsy paper, but it could not hope to sustain itself in the already overcrowded field of Barnwell county, hence it is not surprising that it has become a thing of the past.?Aiken Journal and Review. ABOUT LEAD PENCILS. "What does it cost to fnake a lead pencil ?" said the manufacturer, in reply to a New York Sun reporter's inquiry. "First, let me tell you how we make a pencil. See this fine black powder ? That's graphite. It costs twenty-five cents a pound. This white substance is German clay. It cornea across the ocean as ballast in sailing vessels, and all it costs us is freight. We mix this clay with this powder together and grind them in a mill, adding moisture during the process, until the two are thoroughly mixed, and are ? reduced to a paste about the consisten- , cy or putty, mis paste we press into these dies, each one of which is the size of a pencil lead except in length. There are four leads in one of these. mm* they uiir pusim turn into proper lengths, and bake them in 'an oven kept at a very high temperature. Then we have the lead made. Its hardness Is regulated by the greater or less amount of clay we mix with the graphite?the more clay we put in, the harder the lead. The cedar we use comes principally from Florida, and is obtained entirely from fallen trees that lie there. The wood is delivered to us in blocks sawed to pencil lengths, some of them thick to receive the lead, and some thin, for the piece that is to be glued over the lead. The blocks are sawed for four pencils each. They are grooved by a saw the entire ! length, the groove being the place where the lead is to lie. The leads are | kept in hot glue, and are placed in the I crooves as the blocks are ready. When that is done the thin piece is glued test to the thick one. When dry, the blocks are run through a machine that cute the pencils apart. Another machine shapes them, making them octagonal, or round, or flat, or three-cornered, as the case may be. The pencils are burnished by machinery, and are then ready to be tied in bunches, boxed and put out. The different grades in the value of a lead pencil are made by finer manipulation of the graphite and the use of better material. The average pencil in every day use costs about one-quarter of a cent to make. We are content with one hundred percent, profit on it when we sell it to the dealer. What his profit is youmay figure out for yourself if you have o*fi of the pencils about you that you paid five cents for. Of this grade of pencil an operator will turn out 2,600 in a day. The most valuable lead pencil that I know of is owned by a lawyer in this city. It is a cheap looking affair, but I don't think that it could be bought for $100. The wood in this pencil came from a cedar tree that was probably centuries old before any cedar tree now standing began to grow. It was taken from a marl bed in Orange county, at a depth of nearly 100 feet below the surface. Near it was found the remains of a mastodon. The knob of the end of the pencil was made from a piece of the mastodon's tooth. The pencil has never been sharpened, and probably never will be." FAULT FINDING Don't get in the habit of it. It's the easiest thing to do and the hardest thing to stop in the wide, wide world,. ' It ruins your temper and spoils shape of your mouth. Try and^e the good, rather than the disw^eable, in the people and your surroundings. You wouldn't go into a fuehd's house and find fault with wi<*t she does, and with what she b?* and her ways of living; what riurAt have you, then, to find fault with those who are more than friends to you?the people of your own blood ? If there is a grace that we are all stingy -with, it is that of giving praise, and yet it is one with which we ought to be lavish. Why should you tell your friend that her bonnet is becoming, when you have never said this to your sister ? Why should you go out to tea and praise your neighbor's muffins, when you have forgotten to tell mother how good hers were? Why should you announce how much Mr. Wilson, over the way knows, when father is a great deal better informed man, and it has never entered your little head to whisper quietly to him how much you appreciate his wisdom ? You keep your ability to discover faults for the home, while the eye that should look for virtues is closed tightly until you go out. Don't wait until some one has gone from you to tell of their virtues. Don't wait until sister is far away in another land to tell her how helpful, how pretty, how courteous she in; and don't wait until the weary hands are crossed and the long sleep has come, before you make mother know what a beautiful blue are her eyes, how tender is her heart, and how dear you love her. Tell it all now?no^y, when the walk through life is hard, and the sun; shine of praise is yearned for to brightI en it, and to wurm and encourage the j pilgrim by the wayside. No Third Party For the Alli| ance.?At the recent convention of the National Farmers' Alliance held at Ocala, an effort was made to run in a third party idea. The farmers of the Southern and Western States spoke out in meeting, and the result was that the movement fell through. This is proper and as it should be. The Farmers' Alliance is not a political organization. It is opposed to taking a hand in politics only in so far as the needs of the farmer require it, or his grievances demand redress. All who | really desire the good of the order, I recognize that it can always accomj plish more good by affiliation with a 1 party in sympathy with its movements, j than can be done by standing alone, ! pictured in bold relief against the poi litical horizon. The Democratic party j is the true and tried friend of the Alliance, and from it the Alliance has ; nothing to fear and everything to hope | for. J We congratulate the Alliance on : keeping in the straight path, which j alone can lead to success.?Southern j Farm. t)e&" A popular young man was brought ! before a justice in Natal, charged with j the offence of kissing a young lady "by i force and against her will." The I young lady, who was very hundsome, j gave her testimony in a modest and ; straightforward manner, after which I the judge gave the following decision: i "The court in this case sympathizes j with the defendant, and will therefore i discharge him with out fine, imprisoni ment, or reprimand, because the court, J whilst this case has been in progress, i has been obliged to hold on to both arms of his chair in order to keep from kissing complainant himself." ! VdT The wheat plant is one of the oldi est in cultivation, remains of wheat | seeds being found in the ruins of houses i of the lake dwellers. The Chinese recorded its culture as early as 2700 B. C. Bdf" It is said that rags saturated with kerosene and fastened to a split stick that has been driven into the squash, melon and cucumber hills will keep ; bugs oil". Cultivate a gentle, even temper. 1 The man who Hies into a passion upon . every provocation, is like a wasp, sense} less and exceedingly annoying.