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r "CRUEL" THEjivE The Secret of Dunravei Castle. BY ANNIE ASHMORE, Author of "FalthTUI Margaret/' Etc., Et . > CHAPTER V?(Contlmtefl/J "Yon never mean me to believe thi yon would have liked to let them drowi po you?" cried she straightening herse and looking down upon him with tw flashing, Incredulous eyes. . Up to this, Edgar had listened as 1 an Idle colloquy, for the mere delight < hearing Ulva's voice, but now a moi personal Interest chained him to tt ppoi What lover could withstand tl temptation or Hearing ms iauy epcu about him while ignorant of his pro; JmltyP it; And by the dawning rose in her chee ana the keener gaze of the old man, h knew his name was coining. t ^*There was but one life especially 1 danger?and it was not I who saved ii It wps my lady's will that sent me thre limes down alter him?and it was m lady's ain proud hands that pulled hii / Irom the wave." it-?,Hu6hI'' whispered Ulva, blushin ecarlet, and darting unea>y glance around; while Edgar turned cold an nini 'noath the shock of delight?fc Ul18 ho had not heard till now. S*"Who said that?" demanded Ulvs fleflantly; "certainly you were in n Condition to know what happened; poc fellow, you did your duty Jike a orav man then, and I won't believe you regrc It now." ft "Weel, then, Mr. Slrcombe said It," 'i- Ulva looked astonished; then dis missed the point as trivial, and attacke the main one. i "And Is it Mr. Edgar you are warn In me against?" ; "'Deed It la, Lady Oolava; and an i day for Dunraven when the soft an npple Lowlander won in. " "Kenmore, you are wicked. Wha possible harm could he or any othe Stranger" (Oh, IJlval) "do to my father' daughter?" "When the day comes the deed wil be done. 'Twas your ain hand laid i Upon him as his weird. He will neve die until he has paid ye for his life wit woe and wrong. Ah, lady, ye Wane ' an' falter?listen, there may yet be tim to turn the doom aside, if ye wad spea! the word." Ulva was silent, however. Edgar sa\ that her sweet face was wan an< troubled. "One word," urged Kenmore, eagerly "and the Englishman will be on th< main land before this son goes down?" "Nonsense!" exclaimed Ulva, indig nantly. "Is Lord Inchcape's danghte to drivo forth a *uest from her father' roof like a village boor, out of respec to a barbarous superstition?" *Ohone! woe worth the day!" lamented Kenmore, "the glamour's upon you a) feady, he's cast his spell over you, you'v taken that first step on that fatal roa i when your maiden heart goes out to hir In pity * - "Silence!" cried Ulva Imperiouslj pride and shame crimsoning her cheek and flashing from her eyes. "You ovei step respoct; I perrhit no such liberty. She descended the mossy steps, wai\ lng him out of her path with a roya gesture, but ho still 6tcod before he With clasped hands and beseeching face "Oh, my bonny mistress, whom I hav borne In my arms a bairn, it's not in heart so leal to you to let you pass o ? ~ 1- ? 14- inno uuw&iubu UU Cfe WU1UA jw>u. iu nas uj like that brought the cursc on Inchcap< and parted?God forgive me, am I ma to tome over it to her? Mind you this Lady Oolav.v Hearts as proud an pure as your own havo been made Summer toy by comely Englishmen, an Hung under the heel when tired of. An I warn you?I warn you?as sure a death I'll do it?upon that day whe Captafu Edgar puts forth his hand t tako your heart, a- Highland dirk wi find a sheath in his own if all Englan should cry murder!" Kenmore spoke quietly, but with fierce mcnace In his manner; but th My did not flinch. Her form towere haughtily, her line nostrils quiverec her dark eyes shot forth wrathful light flings. "And I warn you, Kenmore, that 1 you ever again betray a sign of thi brutal superstition?or meddle with th guest who is under this roof?if he wer Satan himself?I shall banish you froz my presence, and never look upon you faco again." Eavine thus passed judc ment, ehe swept past him with Incun parable dignity, and left the garden. Kenmore gazed sadly after her. "Ah, ay!" mnrmured ho, with a plain' Ive lengthening of tho word, "there y fang, prond an' disdainful as a queer ut It'9 a maiden's heart ye carry 1 your bonny broast, an' maidens' heart \ can aye be won an' broken. Ohon< Ohonol black fall the day whon I eteere the Cursed Guest to Sleat-na-Vrecken! Edgar same down in his place with h! bead between his hands. A tumult c thoughts whirled through his brain Sain?hop?? and new-born dread of th ature. ' Lappod in luxurious weakness sine bis convalescence began, he had don nothing but think of her and let hi heart drift on to adoration, uneheckc oy one doubt. Now conscience prlckc him and bade him consider to what mi: ery he might bind her future, should h rcain the prayer of his heart and awak her iOto. a gmi or unknown ?3opx separated him from Lord Inchcape dauehtor: the 6ccrot which had spoilc Lord Inchcape's life, parted him froi his wife, and sent Ulva to share her e: He?this was the gulf that divided then and until he had fathomed it he had n Tight in honor to lay one thought of loi V at her foot. True, he might nev< W awake her heart; still he know that i v #ure as he permitted his own to go 01 Irrevocably to her, he could never kec out of her life until he had /ought h best to win her. "I must fly from this place," groan* he In sudden anguish; "it Is not only peace that I risk?it might be here." And then a (treat flood of passi( jwept over him?He scorned at that vl: taons resolve. Why should he not figl It nnt,. And nerhana win her. and sav Ler from the mysterious life of unnatun ieclusion which seemed to await he; "w?- ' through no galJt of hers? And again honor spoke, and he r< Called the love and duty which he owe : klB kinsman, and the entire faith whic he bad always felt io his nobility. ; "Be could never' Eave acted unjust! ... aor cruelly toward his child. . U v Edgar bowed-tiepeath these conflictfr It *' gusts'of passion; his soul was in dee waters. During his illness Lady Dunraven ha been much with him; he could not di iissociate ner constant, novering prcs- j ence from the lone, burning, restless j nights of delirium; nor her eager, spirit- ! like face from his death-like slumbers, ! J when at first sleep came back to him. ! | As ho grew stronger, she still sat with j ( him hour by hour; a pale, burning-eyed j I nreaonw. that, Sftltlnm snoke. but fol- I I i lowed her own brooding thoughts by ! the hour; yet_ always ready wjth ,her i fiweet Kina same, If "hs sought ?er eye; ! f or with her small, doft, nervous hands : j when ho wanted help. Others served j his material wants; Mr. Sircombe, my | lord's bookish secretary, amiably sacri- i ficed many hours by his pillow, reading I 1 to or conversing with him; but he felt I as if unhapuy Encelonde had been so j very close to him In spirit through all the mystic labyrinth of fever, that he | could never regard her with the imper- | sonal interest he might havo given an- j other woman. His unacknowledged acquaintance , with her secret had also lent such a pe- , o culiar, tender sweetness to his manner, i that Lady Dunraven unconsciously j vielded herself to its fascinations, and 1 gradually turned her starved affections i toward him, with that loveliest of sentl- J it ments, the love a woman gives her a> young brother. The romance of her I If heart had all been lavished upon her ! ro husband?she could never take It back; j but she had yet some deep emotions. J to left, and Edgar Arden had set them j jf towing. - ? e "Sheiiad always found a strange pleas- j ! ie ore In co&templating his features, from I ie that first night when he lay unconscious ! k before her; she still Indulged In these j [. long meditative studies; he would wake In the dead of night, when nothing k seemed to live around them save the te roaring sea, to find hor brilliantly spiritual face bending toward him out of n the darkness, with such a yearning look t. that, knowing her secret sorrow, his e whole soul would respond to the mute j y cry for sympathy, and he would feel a | 11 wild impulse to offer her the service of a j true knight if mortal could bring herde- I g liverance from her grief. !3 Edgar had not conquered himself so i d far as to resolv6 upon leaving the Island I | ir and Ulva immediately, when an invita- ! tion came from Lady Dunraveu to join ! b, the ladies in her parlor if he was feeling j 1 * o? i , 0 capaoie OI me exertion. ir Mr. Slrcombe was good enough to | e visit him while he was still conning over > ;t the welcome note, with sparkling eyes j and bounding heart He came upon j ' him, gray and haggard, with some pricklng discontent fresh upon him, a shade i 1 j upon the lover's exultation. "Ah, that Is right; you have forsaken j _ your Invalid habits!" said be, affecting j | genial interest. He shook hands rrith ! U Edgar, touched his pulse a moment, and ! ! ^ shook his head with a rallying smile. I j "But you must not overdo it, Mr. Edgar, j t No new exertion to day. I am not quite ; r satisfied with that pulse. You are too 3 easily excited, and excitement is special- J ly to be avoided, if you mean to escape ] U from your captivity this week." ' t "I feel capitally," said Edtrar, unaus- j ] r plciously; "I mean to make my first deh but In the ladies' parlors. Lady Dun- i b raven has asked me to try It to-day." Q Sircombe's hardening face showed that j ^ he had already learned this item, and felt 1 no elation at the prospect. j ; 9 He hesitated a little, then looked slg- ' i ^ nificently at Edgar, and said: "I would advise you not to try It to- I day." I J "Indeed!" exclaimed Edgar, dryly. "Nor ever I" proceeded the director in ! a toneless voice. i r "Sorry to disoblige you," retorted Ed- j g gar, his blood rising at the man's cool I t assumption of authority, "but I feel I that I will accept Lady Dunraven's kind ' ,j invitation. Oh, don't suffer from anxiety | i. on my account. I am far stronger than ; e you imagine," he added, ironically, (j Mr. Slrcombe walked about a little, q kniting his brow and gnawing his lip. He made an abrupt pause in front of j Edgar, astonishing him by the intense j '* animosity be betrayed in his face. 3 "I warn you," said he, quietly; "a3one ~ who has for many years been intimate with the interests of this house. I warn TI you not to take advantage of the accl11 dent which has thrust you in our midst. Ketire, as you came, a stranger; in no !* other way can you so worthily repay 0 the kindness which has been shown you a 1 here." n Edgar's own conscience echoed these 13 words; but Mr. Sircombe's Involuntary glare of hatred multiplcd them In his a mouth. What personal stake had hje In the matter, that he should Indulge in ( u personal emotions. ? "Pardon, but I am quite content to . J* submit to Lady Dunraven's will in the \ a matter," said Edgar, calmly; "1 should , 13 be sorry, indeed, to cross you in any- ( n thing that concerued yourself." "Sir, sir, I would have you understand I | that this matter concerns me nearly," cried Sircombe in great heat; "my lord ! J placed me in this house as his own rep- ! , a resfifltatlve?I am sole director here.- i 6 ? J (j "Do you then wish to Inform me that ] I; Lord Dunraven would object to my pay- ] l'. Ing my grateful devoirs to the ladies of this house, to whom I owe my life?" < If cried Edgar. . j Is Ajrain Sircombe walked about the ] Q room, lowering and pondering, at a loss j e how to annihilate this persistent antag- j n on 1st. ] r Again he halted before Edgar, giving } P. h!m a bitter look. [. "It 111 becomes either you or me to discuss the concerns of this family," said | he; Myou are an utter stranger; you must t- accept my wonl as authorized by my po- j Q sition. Lord Dunraven does not intend 1 i; to accept a husband for Lady Ulva. n Wore a prince of England to sue for her ;g hand, It would be denied him. Bank, or ?! genius, or worth?they are all alike, d Lady Ulva may never marry." ? This statement, aa It dropped slowly is And deliberately from his lips, 6eemed to ,f fiickon speaker and hearer alike. j In passionate incredulity Edgar held i q his eyos with his own?Sircombe never I winced, but watched his shocked and I e troubled face with gloomy satisfaction. I e "I need not apologize for offering you j is officious information," said he presently, j d "Your face betrays the interest with j d which you already regard the young lady. I ^ It afflicts you to learn that sho is never to ! e be yours. Think, then, what affliction j o might be hers, if with such a sentiment ,D in, your heart you associated with her j 'e in the Informal and Intimate relations d natural to her present situation? Could n you deny yourself the luxury of feeding j i- your lover-eyes upon her?of showing j 3. your best side to her; of doing all that j io lovers do to stir her fancy and awake ! re her heart? You could not?you could : it not. Then be generous, I implore youl ! 19 Her father, who adores her, is not here i it to Guard her; but I, to whom he confided j :d both wife and child?I will guard her , ia happiness against the worldl I entreat i: ?I command?you, to leave this home !. jd before you bring sorrow and a broken I, )y heart into it," Without waiting to be questioned, the i ' >n director bowed and departed, leaving r- Edsar overwhelmed. ? . rr?/low I aw A vtu muiuiu^s ill uuo uajr. 6 " ii ! r? CHAPTER VI. ( THE KNIGHT ERRANT APPEAlf. |(j Alas for the perversity of human ntt?' ^ tare! These obstacles set In tho way of < the youthiul pair's interest in each 1 , other had ihe effect of instantly in- | 7 creasiqg it tenfold. i Lady Ulva'8 proud spirit resented * hotly the interference of even so es? i :p teemed a personage as Kenmoro, and < his parting threat had the power of in- i L<* vesting the handsome stranger with a j ? new and romantic interest She hgd j. naturally thought oftiira much while 1 lay in the great state-bed In the gue chamber, battling for the life that s] had saved from the waves, hut now s loosed upon his imago with very diffc ent -eyes. Poor blundering Kenmor He had with his own hand unsealed t fountain cf the maiden's romance, ai made Edgar the hero of it As for Edgar, the secretary's Jntf ferenca had thoroughly roused his o position. The more ho pondered ov the extraordinary statement he hi made concerning Ulva, the more fiarce he doubted it A deep distrust of S; combo's character and motives began haunt him; he felt it almost as a nece sity laid upon him to stay and watch t man Inntr nnnnirh to learn something his nature, and. 8,1ms. . Evidently Lo Inchcape trusted him fully, or he'wou never have placed him in such a positii in his household; but then, Lord Inc cape never came to Dunraven, ai knew no more than was reported to hi ?probably by Sircombe himself. As a near connection of the famil Edgar reasoned that he had a right remain with them if he chose, or coul and though'he did not quite close 1: eyes to the fact that love had a gre deal to do with his decision, he won not allow this to daunt him. Ho joined the ladies as he had be' invited, and found Mr. Sircombe 1 stalled beside Uiva by a distant windo and Lady Dunravcn seated apart by little" werk-ta'ble."" But she" was n working; like some antique statue sorrow 6ho leaned forward with bo arms outstretched across the table, ai listless hands dropping from the edg her face all pale and rapt, her bright bright eyea fixed upon the heaving was of waters which stretcned between b and the world. No mortal, spending sickness cou have spread such a hasgard shadow ov that beautiful countenance; there w tlio very abandon of hopeless, agonizi: misery in her attitude. Never befo Iio/^ "EMrrnr an fn Ooa hpr t.Vll when, supposing herself quite uno served, she had forgotten all aroui Lor, and given herself up to herdespa Silently as a shadow he was at h side before ono of the three noticed h entrance; heart-wrung and sore d mayed a9 he was, it was an ungovern ble impulse that made him grasp t! band that hung so lifeless, and hold close between his two palms, wh lie gazed at her with devotion In 1 eye9. She was not startled?her though had been too far off for fliat Si slowly came back to the present, ai looked at him with recognitionstrange glaDce, that seemed to appeal liim like a murmur of pain; not askli liim for help, but needing it as 1 Jrowning mute needs rescue. Then, with a faint quivering sign, s! re'eased her hand and signed hija to place oh a couch, luxuriously cushlone which had evidently been prepared f him. "Ah, you are not strong yet; be docl ind reclino here beside me," she sa svith sweetest solicitude. And then s] ? * a 1 4 ? ? J J YTl? ? 1 misbu utr voice auu caieu uiva, yvi turned round with a little bright cry surprise, and caino swiftly down the loi room, smiling welcome. She wore a dark-blue transpare: Iress, lucid as the mountain mists, at threaded here and there with gold; h slender waist was also girded with gol md her blue-black hair, dressed for t] jvening, was fastenod by a comb pretty gold filagreo. His whole hea went out to h^r as she came smiling ivolcome him. Not only beauty had sh jut sucn moaesty and truth, and gent ivomanlicod, that all that was noblest lim bowed down beforo her. This fair woman doomed to a lovele solitude? By thai; nobility which he had ev< 'ound In Inchcape?nol Yonder dark-lined, lowering face b onged to a traitor, that was easier jolleve. "Now you shall soon be well," sa L'lva, giving him her hand while b ustrous eyes beamed pure friendline jpon him. "The worst is passed wh? fou can leave tho sick room; beforo tl ivcoii Is out I prophesy that you will 1 1?s? a-. ^ :xpiurjng an unu uuuuuis ui buis u rortrcss with Mr. Sircombe, who is i :ntbusiast.ic archaeologist" Mr. Sircombe, from his distant vantai rround, bowed here as Edgar glanced iiim; and a queer smile, just the end jug, flickered about his mouth. "And are you also archaeological isked Edgar covetously, as a vision that charming girl wandering by hissii through gloomy dungeons and ha :hoked corridors rose before his mine sye. She had seated herself close to Lac Dunraven, and was spreading out tl meshes of some exquisite bit of needl work she had been busy over, on n lady's knee. Edgar watchcd the fai. nimbleness of hor fingers, small ai pointed as a Spaniard's, but ivory whit ivith rosy nails; not a ring marred the Jelicacy, not a bracelet spoiled the pe feet arch of hor wrists; her gau oodice clung about her warm pear shoulders like tho diaphanous veiling ? chiselled water-nymph. He watchc her with tho feeding gaze of enrapture id nitration, a hectic fire kindling in eai wan chook. It was the beautiful hour of first lov poor Edgar's tioart was at her feet "I am nothing so severely intellectual replied she lightly to his last questio "though of course I am interested in t that belongs to my father's race, and believe this ancient sea-tower has bee in our hands 300 years. I have bee in all the holas and corners that Id Sircombe would allow me to ezplor jut the best are sealed mysteries to in rhere are chambers cut In the solid ro< jeneath the tower?below the level .he high tide mark; In old days v imothered our enemies there. "I should like to explore them," sa Edgar, thinking less of the death-tra than of the ruby lips that spoke .hem. Mr. Sircombe abruptly stepped throuj the window beside him, and leaned ov :he broad stone balustrade, gazing Ihe glittering waves which lapp* igainst the base of the cliff below. The conversation proceeded betwe* tho youthful pair, Lady Dunraven lea ing back in her carved chair, and liste ing or seeming to listen les9 than si looked at each animated face. Som times she roused herself to take pai and men Jfcdgar, wiin mourniui regrt could trace the signs of a onco brillia md accomplished mind, now smolde Ing down to dull indifference. Ho hi beard mi.ch of this unhappy lady's spii and fascination in the days when si reigned as queen of the social circle the Inchcape Fosse; like so many of h countrywomen, she had created a fur by her intollectual_ gntSfiSL aa much by her refined and spirituelle typo beauty. No women in the world a more fervently admired than Americi women of culture when they come Bhine in English circles. They wie the peculiar power of sonl, and the delicacy and vivacity are rare charms Btately England. Edgar wbs quickly adding links to tl chain which bound him to Dunrav< Tower. Love attracted him, but a mo generous sentiment subjugated him this wronged lady needed help. That strange glance of hers whii seemed to follow him like a low murmi jf pain, how could be check it? SI isked no help, she onlypined and su fered for lack of it To this chain, fastened upon, him 1 ba fits own'TecTTng* aToneVfhe couig oppc ist no considerations of selfish caution, be Sitting there between the girl he n< he boldly acknowledged to himself that ir- adored, and the woman who had roua e] all that was most generous in his natu: ha he said to himself: Qd "I must, I will do my best to bri back her happiness." ir. Glancing upward with the fire of th _ Inspiring resolve In his eyes, he met t gaze of Mr. Slrcombe fastened upon hi Caught unawares, Siroombe had let 1 j- very soul look ont through those wi lr^, dows, his eyes, and Edgar started t(J pure amazement It was like a glimi (9. through the windows of hell. But even as he stared the expressl chanced to a natural one, and Mr. S r(j combe sauntered along the balcony c of sight I ooking into the garden wh he came to the corner of the tower, , saw old Kenmore training up his you rid lady's roses upon their trellis. " Mr. Bircomoe enierea me Dujjamg a summer portal upon the balcony, a , very 600n sauntered into the garden a ll came to a halt by Kenmore. He h f something in bis mind to say to tl .7! superstitious person. * He said it by degrees )(j Edgar looked about Lady Dunravei usual living room with sympathetic terest It was crammed with articles _ beauty or for amusement?but all we jj" for Ulva. ' There stood the piano, of dark a . lustrous wood, in a niche arched wi j pink-veined marble, the white ke 5^ smiling out of the darkness. A tang ^ of brier roots and heather lay across t top and dropped upon the key-boa: ,e' and Ulva's blue velvet Scotch cap w\ 7* its single feather nestled among t . odorous heaD The gloomy duskiness of the antiqi paneled room bad been brightened Id voluminous draperies of palest blui er rose and palest sky color; against tl as background Ulva's harp stood c prettily upon its gilded pedestal. ir0 Bright cabinets, gilt and carven, fill is. in the alcoves; the carpet was li '*> palest moss, the very tenderest, eai Qd green, dashed with flower petals; Iuj ir- ri.oiis. lounges and ottomans were pi 9' vided for the relief oT~ changing at lia tudes to the poor captive wife; iov< Is* figura-plctures hung thickly upon 1 a* waTisP-rio landscapes', to wake the" mi dening thirst for freedom. it The windows were modern in sha >i? and size, and were filled in with ma 115 exquisite flowers, over which the suns glory was now streaming Into the roo *s turning it into a grotto in cloud-land. he A large picture was suspended o\ the fireplace, but nothing of it was v _a ible but a corner of the richly gild to frame; the painting was entirely cc 38 cealed by a heavy ro?e-velvet curta! he "EVIeror (tiiosqpH rlirht.lw that Tjfirrl Tn< o-vwh,vw --o?*?r ?? - ?? cape's features might be Been behl he those shrouding folds, and that the bi a Isbed wife had veiled them from t d. 6tranger. A snddcn burning Impatience of tl misery and mystery beset him. ile Why, why must these two fair worn Id live Isolated, and conceal their identl be from all comers? bo [to be continued.! of 3 * TEMPERANCE. id er d, my pobitiox. ae My motto is "Dare to do right! of 'Gainst strong drink I mean to flght r| Every day; For it really is no good For jnusi'le. brain or food, - Anywnv. Te in ?? m rppos.id to beer and wine; Tbpy ar? deadly foes of mine, g. Foes that blight. And T to the bitter end Will my principles defend, ' They are right. e Ann I simply ask if you t0 "Will defend the good and truo I'rom Hi is hour? i j Vviil you help our growing ban.l The vile monster to withstand? er You have power. s3 in "VVili you do each day your mite? \xq Will you help us in the light? t)Q If go. join our band. Id H,IP_ us with heart and hand. Drive this evil from the land. n Beginning now. to-night! ?Youth's Temperance Banner. ?e at b3in0s out detravitt. of Tears ago an agod and eminent mar. sa "If there is a particle of depravity in a mai ?" heart, a glass of brandy will find it out a of stir it up." And this is true of alcohol flg every shape. From the time of Noah t this day its effects have shown that it has , affinity for the worst parts of our natu 1 3 Hence wo cannot he too careful in guardi young people against it. Strong drink ly everywhere and always a poison. Let ae firmly resolve that we will have nothing to e- with it. ay h tkomas terreiwi.v's r.mnio.:. Th? h.iMit of nsimr fe^denr ; liritr. bv ni-'-n A public office hat c:'.ja.';;e:K*a rr.are injury sir the public service r.r.d .nore trouble to * r- than any other circumstance which has o zy curred in the internal concerns of the cou jy try (lories my Administration; and were I 0? commence my Administration again, \vi the knowledge which, from experience, have acquired, the first question which should ask with regard to every candidate f -h office would bo. Is he addicted to the use, ardent spirits??Thomas Jefferson, Preside e; 1801 to 1809. n AP.CHBISHOP IRELAND'S FIGURES. n; f am told there are about 7000 saloons ,jj' your city of Chicago. Now. allowing $25 I t the average daily receipts of every one these places, the average daily income of t in 7000 would be $175.000, and the amount money spent in a year iii these vario X. drinking places would reach the enormo Of Hum of 310 times $175,000, or about $55,001 oj 000; and in this calculation I suppose, wfc ,i. is hardly a fact, that your saloons are clos ' j on Sundays, .fifty-five millions of dolla And where does all this money come froi For the most part, from the pockets of o laboring men. Where does it come froi Id Aye, it comes in too many cases, alas, frc p9 the comforts and necessities of their wiv of and children. And yet we see labor troubl everywhere, and strikes of men for high . wages. 1,0 I sympathize and always will sympatic er with the proper efforts of our laboring m at to increase their wages and better their cc ed dition, but I cannot sympathize with t strenuous and persistent efforts of so ma of them to degrade themselves and thi condition, and to ruin all their prospei n_ both for this life and for the next. be _ MURDERED. A iU'O Donri T.nmlnn .1 ??rl fnrfv-fTvn >c J '-sample of the power of drink. Over > ^ months ago tier husband died, leaving ii n" an.l her family of two sons amply provid T' for. Before she was a widow she" was giv id to intemperance, and when left a widow s it drank more heavily than before. Her t [je cesses drove her soils to lodgings, but th jn visited her almost daily. Her medical ; er tendunt entreated ;ind implored her to gi over, but she told him "it was no us'J tal in^. she could not give it up." At last ui raged n:tture could not stand her excesses, a rj she was found dead on the iioor of her roo * dying aione and unattended. No food in t "? house; but there was a half bottle of brand *2 that, last resort of the drink suicide. T to liquor had ravaged her heart, her liver, a; ild kidneys, and simply killed her. One c sir hardly uelieve that such a .sacrifice to t in liberty of the subject should be permitted this country, or that a publican could ue found to sell hiB murderous drug to such excess to one who must in the locality hu 3n been by habit and repute so great a victim ro inebriety. But the coroner admitted th ? such was the case, and that the friends ai J relatives of a person may stand and look c and see one for whom the Saviour died <] ur liberately slain before their eyes, and th ie powerless, without the consent ol the ma j dened drinker, to interfere. Nothing, in-o opinion, should so rouse a Chri?tian coi munity as so sad a case as that of Alice Dea ?? ?The Scottish llelormer. 1 ' " MOUNT VERNON. 53 e(j WHERE GEORGE WASHINGTC re,' | LIVED AND DIED. Hundreds Visit the Historic Hon &l' stead Daily?The First Preslden he Was an Extensive Farmer? m. Relics of the Revolution. llal In-j in , ^ | y1 HE new and popular ay )Se j I i making the great Americ I pilgrimage to the home a ?.? I tomb of Washington is ' way of the ancient and quaint old to en ! of Alexandria, Ya. For more thai he | century the only means of commu ng cation with Mount Vernon by pub ; conveyance haa been by the riv b? Steamboats have carried their hi j dreds of thousands of pilgrims to 1 sacred spot, and though that route v ia1) I pleasant enough, it was slow, and to a recent date expensive. The new route is by way of Alext n'a dria and the new electric railway whi In- lands passengers in twenty minutes of; the very gates of Mount Vernon. A ir? it is a beautiful and novel ride fr< J the quaint old town. The line lei out of Alexandria on Fairfax str< y3 and follows closely the river bank x r]e til it crosses Hunting Creek, at o ,he time the northern boundary of 1 rd, rast Mount Vernon estate. Then 'th cuts across the broad acres whi k0 Washington cultivated before the Re1 3e> lution, and here and there crosses 8 by reorosses the old Richmond turnpil 3b- which in Colonial and Revolutions lis days was the main artery of travel 1 >ut tween the North and South. Fri the electrio car windows the eye c ollow the old road for miles by 1 ,e rows of ancient poplars planted 2 either side. rO: A HISTORIC ROADWAY. jjy Ov6r this road the Revolution! jr,Q armies marched south; by this bi| ij; way the Northern cities of Baltimo: Philadelphia, New York and Bosl pe were brought into communicati Qy with Richmond, Charleston and Savi nah. Over this ancient turnpike rn m' bled the coach and four of Gene ,e_ Washington when he set out upon Is M0U3 varions pilgrimages to attend eesei* of Coneress in Philadelphia*or t{ the oath of office as President. T highway, too, used to resound \ hoof-beats of his thoroughbreds wl he made his tri-weekly visits to Al andria to attend church or look af his business affairs. In later ye; the old road resounded the tramp other hoofs, for it was over this th< oughfare that the panic-stricken s diery fled from Bull Run in 1861, a rushed pell-mell, horse, foot, dragoc and unmounted across Long Brio into Washington. The last gr< spectacle the old turnpike ever s was the march of Sherman's arn ;<! whioh followed it on the march fr< a s the South to Washington for the view in 1865. Since that day the < 111 .... .. . J ;iH turnpike has borne notmng more < an citing or sensational than the fa: re- -wagons and hayricks of old Virgin To the right, as the "trolle us crosses the bridge over Great Hunti do Creek, is Fort Lyons, the strongest all that great cordon which protecl Washington in the war days. N< Fort Lyons is the old home, still stai J;1 ing, of the seventh Lord Fairfaa ^ Rev. Brian Fairfax, who in Washii ton's day was rector of Christ Chui n- at Alexandria, of which Washingt was a vestryman. The old churcl I still one of the cherished landmarks I Alexandria, and the edifice with Wai or ington's big square pew is carefu preserved intact. Lord Fairfax's hoi "tit BOOM AND BED WHERE WASHINGTON Dn >m ^ was called Mount Eagle, and ie still ier excellent preservation. A mile 1 yond the bridge and the road ent< ao the "old Mount Vernon estate in_ which in Washington's day comprie ho 8000 acres of as fine land as was e\ ny known in Virginia. The estate v ?|jj divided into five farms, known RivorFarm, Dogue Run Farm, Ms eion House Farm, Union Farm a Muddy Hole Farm. River Far au which the railway strikes first a >i:: formerly known as Clinton's Neck, v '^1 bought by Washington in 17(50 lor |,J, an acre. It consisted of 2000 acres. EriLT BT WASHINGTON*. The first landmark of Revolutiona interest that is reached after entcri Ik- upou the old estate is Wellington Ha it- It stands about four miles from Alt JJ(* anclria, on tne rotomac ouuk, uuu < l?! cupies a site almost as beautiful iv, Mount Vernon. Wellington Hall w built by Washington in 17G8 on a pi "y tion of the estate comprising 6 he, acres, and during his life it wa6 occ in pied by Colonel Tobias Lear, who li> ,,H in history as Washington's milita 've secretary and life-long friend. Coloi of Lear was also tutor to the Curtis ch IHt dren and for more than thirty yei was a member of Washington's famil I(.1 It is said the first President bu o'y Wellington Hall for Colonel Lea use, bnt whether this be true or n< he certainly occupied it for most ju. his life. By hie will General Was " in g ton made Colonel Lear a ten an for life, rent free, and he lived on th place until his death in 1816. His re )N mains now repose in the Congressiona Cemetery in Washington. After Tobias Lear's death Welling ie_ ton Hall passed into the hands of th t collateral branoh of the Washingto] family, the last oocrpant. beinj Charles A. Washington, a gTand nephew. He was a harnm-scarum sor of chap, very dissipated, and nnde of his management the estate soon t& an down. The old inhabitants tell funn n(j stories about "Charley" Washingto: by and his career* as a farmer. On on wn occasion he took some plowshares t a a Alexandria to be sharpened, wbici nj. were urgently neaded in the sprin; |jc plowing, but falling in with som er> eronieB he was induced to go off for in_ month's sojourn at the "springs," an ;lje never came back until the wheat oroj 7a8 had gone by default. "Charley Up Washington was a great theorist. H once read in a farm paper that th in. most profitable orop one could gro^ [cb was barley. So he planted ten acret When the barley ripened he had i n(j "flailed" out and loaded on a foui 3m horse wagon and started it for th ^ Alexandria market. "Charley" wen 2et on ahead on horseback to dispose c in_ the load. But barley he found was a ne unknown grain in the Alexandria mai ;jje ket and there was no sale for it; br it after a wholQ day's tramping he sue jch ceeded in trading the load of barley t vo_ a brewer for a barrel of beer, which h n(j sent home and stored in hi6 cellai Je The news of the transaction leaked oui ,rj and the same night a dozen of Chai he. ley's cronies in Alexandria paid a vis: om to Wellington Hall, where they mad an a night of it with the genial propria the tor. Before morning they had dii on posed of the entire crop of barley. Charley Washington died in 185 and the neglected farm passed int other, hands. Wellington Hall is iry frame dwelling, painted white, an ;h- with the outbuildings is in good r< re, pair. A lane, lined with poplart ton which the railroad crosses, conned ion it with the Richmond turnpike. Froi an- Wellington to Mount Vernon the dii m- tance is five miles, the last statio ral being Biverside Park, at Little Hum his ing JCreek, which stream divided tb V** ? Ji . OsTbt VERNON. ins old River Farm of Washington's ma; ike from the Mansion Honse Farm. . his mile beyond this creek the car stoj ;he at the gates of Monnt "Vernon. B ten this route there is no more climbin ex- the steep hill from the wharf, but th ter visitor enters the grounds at the foe ars of the western lawn and walks up of long flagged path through the trees t or- the near side of the old mansion. ol- MOUNT VERNON. Qd It is not given to the average visito ^18 /\ f \\T A aViin/v^AT> a a a a '"** bU IIIO JUUUIC U1 TT Q^UiU^ wu vv BW *?, l&? the beauties of the place. Much ies 3at can he know the details of the hom aw life of the great proprietor, or undei stand the splendor of his former ei Dm vironment. The visitor goes throng! re* the old mansion. He looks into th >ld little, stuffy rooms with their odd an 9*- incongruous mixture of old and up-to date furniture. He gazes at th itt- elegant and extremely modern tintc 'y" and gold frescoes, at the rich an n8 brilliant Persian rugs with which th ?f ladies of the association have oovere :ed the floors, and he finds it difficult t 3ar imagine this the home of the im 1(*- mortal Washington. To most visitor it seems a great pity that there ha been such an effort made to impres 'cb the public with the fact that Wash on ington led a luxurious life by means o 1 ifl the rich and modern trappings the; in have smuggled into the old mansion sh- The splendor of Washington's life a My Mount Vernon was reflected by hi ne broad acres, by his great farming ? - ? i * ? -1 - - J _1 n operations, Dy nis nunareas 01 siaves including artisans and mechanics o all kinds, by the wealth of hi hospitality and the magnificence o his military and official career. Ther were no frescoes of gilt and tints ii Washington's day?no wall paper even. There was nothing but white washed walls and ceilings. Nor wer there any Darghestan rngs or As minster carpets. There is an outbuilding on th< grounds, which should have given th< ;p' well-meaning ladies a hint a6 to whal the Father of His Country used to cov 3e_ er his floors. The building is callec 5re the "spinning-room," and in it is t ? great loom for weaving the good old gj fashioned rag carpets of our forefath rer ersras Aside from these incongruities, how ag ever, the old mansion is an interest in_ ing, almost a hallowed spot. Then I are not so many relics of "Washingtor m but what there are are full of interest, Tli'.: bed upon which he diet/, sent bj ,ftS the Lec family, and the other furni ture contributed by various families, have enabled the ladies in control t< lit up Washington's chamber verj needy as it was when its great occu ry paut passed away. There are a good Ug many other relies on view, but no( ,j] many that are, strictly speaking, rel ;x. ics of Washington. There is plentj >c_ ot Colonial furniture, but Washing fts ton never saw it. There are portraits, as I ?-ngravings, etc.. and a valuable col )r. lection of Washington's autograpl 00 letters, which are mounted in the for I ?/lininor.rnnm There ar< ^es | U'oor three swords, suite of military ry J clothing, articles of camp eqaipagt )t'l and a brown suit of clothes, the clotb jj. of which was woven on the plaee whicl: irs the General wore at hia first inaugul_ ration as President. ilt WASHINGTON'S FARMING OPERATIONS. r's Washington inherited Mount Verjt, non in 1759 from his half-brother, of Lawrencc Washington, who died ii ih- 1757. This brother had a daughtei ' *?M - > v V sSg ' ^'AV ??????? ml ;J ^ t# t Sarah, who was heiress to the estate, 0 but she died two years later and the - property then reverted to George, 0 1 who was then just twenty-seven yearn . old. The estate then comprised leag : than 3000 acres, bnt soon after he e came into possession he added tc it a 5500 acres by purchase which gave ? him ten miles of river front Then , J; i- began the system of improvements % t and cultivation which subsequently zA r made Mount Yernon the most valuable D landed property in Virginia. He MARTHA WASHINGTON'S BEDCHAMBER. e v:;.:p e drained the land wherever needed, he ;V w rotated crops, got the beat farm im) plements then in existence, bnilt and t repaired fences, had his grist mill, hie . h own distillery, had his own smithy e for reparing tools, his own carpenter t shop, looms, and he bnilt scores of , ' i ?f honses and cabins for his slaves. His M n five farms ranged from 1000 to 2000 - acres, and each farm had its overseer ^ it and its allotment of slaves and stock. >- Some idea of the extent of Washingo ton's farming operations may b? e formed from the following facts: ' r. Abont the beginning of the Revolution .. t, he had one year 580 acres in grass, 400 - acres in oats, 700 acres in wheat, 800 ? it acres in corn, with several hundred le acres in beans, buckwheat, potatoes tf: y and tobacco. His live stock consisted jj ?- of 140 horses, 112 cows, 226 working Vr :?y oxen, steers ana neners, ouu sneep ygg 9 and over five hundred hogs running in o -woods and marshea He constantly a employed 250 negro slaves and kept a : .'-.vix d gang of plows going the entire year \ J- when the state of weather and ground '? would permit. One year he killed 150 -:[H ;b hogs for the use of his family and the , 11 slaves dependent upon him. All 3- these operations were carried on with ;: n a perfect method.. t- After the death of Washington in ? e 1799, followed two years later by the ,Y> - death of his widow, the estate began to go down. Washington had already / given 2000 acreH to his adopted daugh- , . .r.^ ter, Nellie Custis, upon which she and 1 v|j| her husband, Lawrence Lewis, after- if'jMB ward built the beautiful Woodlawn mansion, located three miles below the < ^ * mansion at Mount Vernon. " By hu > V will Washington left other large por- io-M tions of his estate to other relatives, ' . the homestead proper falling to the , - ^ share of Bnshrod Washington, his nephew, who afterward became an As- 1 sociated Justice of the Supreme Court. From Bnshrod Washington it descended to his grandson, John Angus- . , ' tine Washington, who, in July, 1859, : ^ sold the mansion and grounds to- 9 gether with 200 acres of land for the ^71 rather munificent sum of $200,000. It was a pretty hard bargain that Colonel Washington drove, but he got away .-J* with it. At the time the sale wae made the mansion and outbuildings . , ' Jj, were.sadly run down. There was evi? dence of neglsct on every side. The . ^ P broad acreage had diminished and ^ passed into other hands. The remain- " ,s der was largely given over to weeds .V -. 7 and nnderbrosh. The soil woe worn 8 out and no effort made to reolaim if. 10 Verily, the glory of Mount Vernon ^ had departed. About 1851 several -wtiB a colonies of thrifty farmers from New -' 0 Jersey, Pennsylvania, New York and t.TiA Naw Kncland States were formed to boy and reclaim these wornout lands. ,,, >r They bought tracts of from forty'to 11 three hundred acres to each family is and by very much the same methods . ' e that Washington used they have re- :< habilitated the land so that now, out m l- of the original acreage of Mount Verh non, there is very little that is not e highly improved and worth $50 to ?i d $300 per acre. ? . 7 ? George Washington's Birthday. 1.; : j It was George Washington's birth e asy. xne oeus were ringing auu me -m jj cannon were booming in commemora- ^ 0 tion of the Father of HisCountry. Lit[m tie Ethel, aged five, wise and thonght8 fal beyond her years, was gazing out s of the window, apparently in deep g thought. Suddenly she awoke from her reverie, and, turniug around to . y/jt f her father, said: "Papa, what are they going to give George Washington for his birthday?" t s Already Convicted. * Mother (wishing to draw a moral) J ?"And he said: 'Father, I cannot teli a lie.'" j Son?"Hump! Of course he couldn't ?standin' there with the hatchet in Q .hia hand and chips on his clothes?" ! Relies of Washington. s , At the Libby Prison War Museum, " i m Chicaco. there are an old brown velvet coat worn by Washington- at 3 hie second inauguration, a family um3 brella, much out of repair, two c\f his ^ swords, some tarnished epaulets, a ' rusty field-glass, a belt and a needle * case carried by Mrs. Washington. rr- .Mf <?c vtff mn i'i unMnroni fffHl Dlfca ' oenebal Washington's coat, umbrella ^ AND FIELD-GLASS. " j| In all there are enough Washington relies in Chicago to fit out a large museum. Most of them are well pre- v served and bear evidence to the fact of Washington's wealth and love of rich and beautiful clothing and art:? i cles of personal an^l household adorn* r ment.