Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, October 13, 1886, Image 1
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VOL. 33. YORKVILLE, S. C., "WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1886. NO. 41.
- -- ? ; - i
J, ferial Jfotg.
FIFE MILLION P01D!
By T. WEMYSS KEID.
CHAPTER VII?Continued.
THE HAUNTED ROOM.
1 stood, candle in hand, by the side of tl
bed, asking myself these questions, and as
did so my eye suddenly lighted upon som
thing which was lying, apparently where
had slipped from the sloping pillow, on tl
sheet below. It was a scrap of papernote
1 I seized it with eager hands, and :
an instant all the craven fears that had be<
creeping into my heart vanished. 1 forg
ghosts and nightmares, and even the hatef
Flinter himself with his deadly knife, ai
W1U1 a low orjr U1 uni^uv x duo u?v
note to my lips, for 1 saw that it bore n
name in the handwriting of my darling.
With a trembling hand 1 opened it ai
read the message which it conveyed to me
a message written hurriedly in pencil.
"Oh, my darling," she said, "it is ban
hard; but we most part, just when I hat
found you. I knew how it would be if
was discovered. I knew we should never 1
allowed to meet again if they could help i
You must leave this place to-morrow?f
your own sake even more than for min
But do not suppose I shall forget you.
shall be free some day, I hope. God grant
may come soon I Whenever it comes y<
may depend upon me. Do not go far awa
dearest, if you still care for ma If you j
to Scarborough I shall know where you ar
and that at least will be some comfoi
Good-by, darling, for I shall not be allowi
to say it by word of mouth. But rememb
that I shall always be true to you. DAist."
There was a postscript written in cha
acters so straggling that it was clear thi
they had been penned under the influence
some intense agitation. "1 have had a ten
ble scene with my uncle He came t~ n
when be left you. I could never have thougl
that he would have been so cruel."
How the long remainder of that nigl
passed I cannot telL I was almost stupefic
by this crowning misfortune Thy secrets i
the haunted chamber no longer troubled m
nay, I cared nothing now for Flinter's hard
concealed animosity. The thought th
overbore all others was that, as Daisy be
relf had put it, I had found her but to lo
her. In comparison with this, all nigh
mare visions, secret visitations of my be
room, and even portents like th9 rusty knif
which had so mysteriously Deen piacea upc
my bed, seemed of 110 consequence. I dress*
and sat in dreary suffering, waiting for tl
* coming of the morn.
Much sooner than might have been e:
pec ted in the ordinary course of things
heard a servant moving in the outer root
I was aware that a fire was being lights
and by and by the rattle of cups az
saucers told me that a table was being la:
in the room. I was somewhat surprised, i
I had been given to understand on the pi
vious night we would all breakfast togethi
in the hall below. 1 waited impatiently 1
learn my fate.
I was not very long in suspense. Long b
fore eight o'clock there was a tap at thedoo
and I opened it to admit the servant wl
came laden with hot water and the nece
saries for my bath. He stared in amazemei
when be saw that I was up and dressed,
may have been that part of his astonishmei
was due to my appear an oe. I was conscioi
of the fact that the experiences of that terr
ble night bad given me a face so haggar
and worn that I might have been years old*
than I looked when I retired to rest.
He made a few inquiries as to the servio
I required, and then, in a somewhat hes
tating manner, as though he were awai
that he had unpleasant news to commun
cate. he said:
"Your breakfast, sir, will be served 1
your own sitting room in half an hour, <
sooner, if you wish it; and my master hi
ordered me to tell you that you will find
letter from him on the breakfast table."
Then be retired respectfully.
Too well I knew what the letter would sa;
I was utterly jaded and dispirited by thi
night of agony. And yet, when I thougl
that I was about to be expelled from tl
house which sheltered the woman I love*
and that I should be compelled to leave h<
in the society of such a man as Flinter,
felt ready to do anything and defy ever;
body if I might but be with her.
I bathed and redressed wearily, and the
in the sitting room 1 read the letfc
addressed to me from Mr. Mauleverer.
was very courteous, but very cold and en
phatic. The writer said that he had learne
with surprise and pain that I had bee
guilty of conduct,which he would never ba^
thought of attributing to ma 1 had, in e
feet, made love to his niece?his adopte
daughter?the lady who was, as everybod
knew, his destined heiress. He could hai
forgiven this conduct on my part?strong]
as be must have objected to any marriaf
between me and Miss Stancliffe?if I hs
acted openly, as he should certainly hai
expected me to da But in seeking su
reptitiously to win the affections of h
niece I had adopted a course which he r
framed from characterizing, because he he
no wish to wound my feelings by the use <
strong language, but which, he regretted 1
say, made it impossible that he should coi
tinue to receive me as his guest. Orders ha
been given for the brougham to be read
for me at nine o'clock precisely, and
would take me to Lorton station in time f(
the express train. He concluded by wishii]
me a polite but very formal farewelL
In my rage, humiliation and bitterness
sat down and dashed off one of those in
petuous letters which ere only penned b
young men in love. In it I repudiated wit
scorn the notion that the wealth of which I
was unhappily possessed?so I put it?ha
anything to do with my love for his nieo
and while expressing my regret that I ha
not secured his approval of my suit before
spoke to Daisy, 1 declared emphatically tha
loving her as I did with my whole heart,
should never willingly relinquish the hope c
making her my wife.
Possibly tuere might be other phrases i
this letter that were calculated to wound th
natural pride of a man like Mauleverer.
hardly know whether this was so or not, fc
it was written wnue my mmu was agitate
by a whirlwind of passion and grief. I
this as it may, however, when by an
by I was taking my seat in tl
brougham. prepared to leave Gret
Lorton Hall with crestfallen head an
heart, I received a letter from 01
of the servants, on opening which I four
that my own letter ha i been returned to n
without a word. In my rage and indigni
tion at this insult I tore the unlucky epist
to pieces, and, as I stamped upon the fra<
ments where they lay upon the terrace,
literally shook the dust of Great Lorton Ha
from off my feet.
One long, lingering look back I gave whc
the brougham mounted the hill I cod
not see the house, inclosed within its rt
brick walls. But there were the great el:
trees, among which the rooks were circlir
in the clear morning air. I thought tbi
Daisy perchance heard their hoarse crie
iVhen should wo be so near to each othi
again! My heart was filled with a dead!
sense of pain, and I felt my eyes, too, filliii
with unbidden tears.
Two souvenirs I took with me from m
visit to the halL One was the rusty, ol<
fashioned knife I had found upon my be<
the other, the precious note in which Dai?
confessed her love for me.
CHAPTER VIIL
MR. FLI.NTER AGAIN.
The season was beginning to wane i
Scarborough. Harding bad left the Gran
hotel some time before I paid my stranf
visit to Great Lorton, and I knew none <
the persons who were staying there. M
'position was not an enviable one, now that
was back again in the big house. It wj
bad enough to be oppressed by that sense <
mystery which enveloped everything coi
nected with the hall and with Maulevere;
It was still worse to be reminded by ever;
thing around me of those happy days whe
Daisy and I had been together, and whe
she had first learned to love me. There v/i
the very spot in the hall of the hotel where
used to take my stand each morning, awai
ing the appearance of her and her uncle o
their way to the saloon. There were tt
seats, occupied by strangers now, where w
had spent so many never-to-be-forgotte
boors together; and there, quietly riding e
anchor in the bay, was the beautiful yacl
which T had learned to hate as one of tl
tangible proofs of that wealth which divide
me from the niece of the millionaire. I '
waited with an impatience that I could i
hardly control for news of my darling. j i
? It came sooner than I expected, in the 1
S shape of a letter from Dr. Branksome, on- 1
closing oue for me from Daisy herself. Need : ]
1 I say that I read the latter first!
"My dearest friend," she wrote, "I must 1
send you a few words, if it were only to tell i
you that I am well. I must not say much, ; 1
for I feel that I am doing wrong even in ! <
sending you this short message. But Dr. j <
be Brankiome has told me that he thinks I may ]
, I do so, and much as I have loved my uncle
e. I cannot yield mysslf comoletely to his will ]
it in this. Ah, you cannot tell what a change
ie there is in him since this has happened. I I 1
.a cannot account for it He is so different 1 i
[q irurn wuai> ut? uos ever uocu uoivio??v
)n utterly unlike his own self?that it almost
ot seems to me that something has happened
ul to transform his whole character and to i
id change the love he once profaned forme 1
le into hate. I am trying to bear it patiently, <
iy for I owe so much to him. But sometimes
it is very hard. Dr. Branksome hss been ]
id my friend through it all, though even he is
_ compelled, when my uncle is present, to ]
hide bis sympathy with us both. I i
^ don't know how it will all end, but I 1
re do want you to feel that you can trust me. 1
it I shall be true to you through everything,
be P.ease, dearest, do not believe any evil !
it you may h.^ar of me. I know- I have my 1
or enemies, ani I can't help thinking that they <
,e. are your enemies also. If you hear tales I
I about me, rest assured that if I have erred
it at all, it is from my love for you, and that i
>u nothing, neither lifj nor death, shall ever
yf make me false to you. I cannot write
jo more; I am ashamed to send you this; but I
e, think I know you well enough to be sure
& that you will understand all that I want to
?d say to you, even though I have not the
or power of saying it aright, and that you will
believe in your heart of hearts that I love
r. you above anything and everything else in
at this world."
of I was touched and consoled by the frank
i. and outspoken language of my darling. It
no was what 1 should have expected from one
ht so full of noble impu's?s, so little given to
consider the mere conventionalities of everybt
day life I felt that she must indeed love
)d me with all her soul, or she could not have
of addressed me in such a strain as this,
oj Branksome's letter, tro, brought me some
|y consolation, though it also caused me uneasiat
ness regarding Daisy. It was as follows:
,|W "Dear Mr. Festox: You will forgive me
for writing to you on a subject which I have
?" no doubt you regard as too sacred to permit
of any intrusion by a stranger. But I have
myself loved?once; and I trust that it is
>n At A ..rmn nr,a
iiuis as a (iraagci uiau juu iwa u^a/u vmw
** who so long stood in the place of a father to
30 Daisy. I was grieved beyond measure, my
dear friend, by the manner in which your
x" visit to this place terminated. It was, in*
deed, an unexpected blow. As an older man
?* than yourself, you will, I know, forgive me i
if I say that I cannot but feel that it would
have been better if, before speaking to Daisy,
you had taken me?or, still better, Mr.
13 Mauleverer?into your confidence. But I (
^ acquit you entirely of any worse fault than j
* that of having acted, as yonng lov- t
10 ere are so apt to do, upon im- {
pulse. I fear, however, that our .
good host takes a much darker view of your
r? conduct I have reasoned with him and j
10 expostulated with him warmly on the sub- j
"7 ject; but so far without effect I tried to
speak a word to you on the morning when f
' you left us, but I had been forestalled by the c
" steps taken to hasten your departure. I can {
13 only say that you may count on me as a friend, .
and that I shall try, for Daisy's sake as well B
as for your own, to put a-i end to the c
;r present distressing state of affairs. She is a
bright girl, but she is a very proud and a }
? very passionate one also; and I sometimes r
l~ tremble when I think what may be the consequences
of the cmel and incessant persecu- [
tion to which she is just now being subjected p
by a man who seems to have forgotten that
11 she is the only creature left in this world .
)r who is bound to him by the ties of con13
sanguinity. t
a "I sha 1 hope to see you before many days ^
have passed, and then I can tell you more. ]
You, will, I suppose, be staying at the ?
T' Grand hotel. I shall find you out there be- ^
fore long. In the mean time, believe me, ?
" yours most sincerely, g
36 Francis Branksome."
p Another week passed without my hearing J
I anything directly or indirectly of the occu- 8
p. pants of Great Lorton HalL My mind, t
which had been soothed by the contents of c
,n Daisy's letter, was again becoming agitated 1
Jr by the fever of impatience and uncertainty, t
it I had sent, a letter?a long letter, in which my f
a_ whole heart was poured out?to Daisy, ad- <
^ dressed under cover to Dr. Branksome; but I
)a no reply had come, and I was meditating
re some further steps for tie purpose of gain- c
ing tidings of her. 8
One morning, however, a servant brought 1
[y me word that a person had called to see me c
TQ on particular business and was waiting in the *
ly hall of the hoteL I went down and found *
? one of the crew of the Golden Hawk await- ^
^ ing my appearance. He saluted me respect- 3
re full}', and placed in my hand a note. It was I
p. unsigued, and I did not know the hand- 8
Ig writing, but it wa3 written on a sheet of 8
g. notepaper stamped with the name of the c
^ yacht. It contained only a simple message:
"If you wish to see Dr. B., corns on board 1
q the yacht at once." ?
j. The man waited a moment after I read the 1
^ note, and then said: t
_ "Ihe captain's gig is on the beach, sir, II
you mean to go on board."
)r "Who gave you this note?" I asked.
lJC "The captain himself, sir," was the immediate
reply. "And I was told that you would
j return with me."
a. "When did Dr. Brankome arrive?"
iy *1 don't know, sir. I have not seen him.
a. He mu<t have come on board when I was
ie below."
d Of course I did not hesitate a moment I
9 hardly stopped to light a cigar before I
^ started for tin beach, walking with a brisker
j step and a gayer heart than I had known
t since I left Great Lorton?for was I not
j about to get news of D.-isyt
It was a somewhat bosterous October day;
but the wind was from the northwest, and
[n the sea in the bay was therefore almost
10 calm. In the rfflng I saw that the passing
j steamers were making heavy weather of It;
)r but on shore there was nothing threatening
d in the appearance of the skies. Two men
jg were waiting in the gig, and with the help
[d of one of the local boatmen we bad soon
ie pushed off and were making our way to the
it Tacht*
[d How well I remembered my former visit
w to her when 1 wa3 in the company of Daisyl
ld 1 looked eagerly as we neared the stately
1Q vessel for the friendly face of Branksomo;
lm but I looked in vain. He was evidently
j0 below, probably sheltering himself from the
_ keen autumn air.
As I stepped on board one of the stewards
q came up to me and, touching his hat, said,
"This way, sir, if you please."
,n I followed him down the gangway and
ld paising through the dining saloon I found
myself in a passage leading, as I rememm
bered, to the chief saloon and to the lovely
little boudoir which had been prepared for
Daisy's special use. To my surprise it was
^ to the latter apartment that I was conducted.
3r It was rather dark within, but some one was
ly awaiting me and I entered with outstretched
,g hand.
"How kind of you?" I began, and
y stopped suddenly. It was not Bratiksotne's
commanding figure that I saw before me.
j. It was the short, powerful form of Fiinter.
(y I was more startled than I should have
liked to admit: but I recovered myself as .
well as I could.
"I beg your pardon." I said, "I came on
boai d to see Dr. Branksome, who has sent
for me."
"Just so!" replied Flinter in a dry tone,
l(j beneath which I fancied that I detected a
,e touch of irony.
"Will you be kind enough to tell me where
y I shall find him?"
j He looked at mo for a moment, and in the
^3 semi-gloom of the cabin, the windows of
which were curtained, I detected a smile
a. upon his hard, bad fac . There was scalers
thing that irritated me in his manner. I j
had seen that, despite the evident confidence
,n which Mauleverer evidently reposed in him,
Q hs was not treated either by the millionaire
jg or by Branksome himself on a footing of
j social equality, and I knew enough of him
j. to be aware that he had none of the convenn
tional claims to be regarded as a gentleman.
[0 Annoyed at his silence and his insolent beare
ing, I addressed him in a different tone from
n that which I had usei at first
lt "Come, sir!" I Baid, "I do not wish to
keep Dr. Branksome waiting and I know he
la expects me. Have thd goodness to let me F
see him at once." t
"Uh, certainly. Come this way." He
;poke still in the tone of veiled irony which
irritated me so much, but he no longer stood
like a statue. He placed his powerful hand
lightly on my arm and led me along a
passage and through an open doorway
which gave access to another short passage,
rhere was an open door at the end of it, and
almost before I was aware I had passed
through it and was standing in the middle
pf the strange apartment which the Duke of
Cairngorm had caused to be prepared as a
punishment cell when the yacht was built.
My first impression was th^t Flinter was
playing some rough jest at my expense.
"What do you mean by bringing me to
this place?" I asked. "Dr. Branksome is
not here."
Flinter stood in the narrow doorway,
which his powerful figure completely filled,
"You are quite right, young man," he
jaid. "The doctor is not here; out you'll
find very comfortable quarters here until he
:omes?quite as good as you deserve."
"You insolent fool," I cried hotly, "let me
pass!"
I was strong, and had plenty of mere
physical pluck. I did not hesitate a moment
as I advanced to push him on one side. But
before I could lay a finger on the ruffian I
Tound myself seized by the collar in a grip
which was like that of a giant It was all
in vain that I struggled and struck out I
was flung with violence upon the floor of the
:abin, and before I could regain my feet I
heard the door close with a sharp snap, and
1 knew that I was alone in the gloomy apart
//////11
I found myself seized by the collar.
Almost Instantaneously, however, a small
rap in the door, like that which is used for
he purpose of handing food to prisoners in
heir cells, and which for aught I knew to
he contrary was intended to serve the same
jurpose here, was opened, and I saw Flintir's
hateful eyes peering at me, while a
loarse chuckle of malicious pleasure broke
rom his throat
"Well," he said, after he had surveyed me
or a moment, "I hope you will like your
luartera Your hot blood will have time to
ool here. Make yourself comfortable,
roung man, and don't feel afraid of being
tarved. You'll And plenty of good victuals
in the table in the corner."
"If this is an impudent joke," I cried, "it
lad better be ended at once unless you wish
ne to report your conduct to your master."
"Oh, ves, it is a joke," he retorted, with a
>rutal laugh, "and it seems to me it is a very
;ood one. too."
"Open the door instantly, or you shall
?y dearly for your shameful misbehavior."
"Pay! yes. I'll pay you in good time," he
eplied; and then suddenly the little traploor
closed with a click, and he was gone.
; heard his retreating footsteps in the pasage,
and shouted to him at the top of my
roice. But even as I did so I heard a heavy
ron door noisily shut, and then all was
ilence.
I shook the door of my prison, I shouted,
[ stamped upon the door; I made noise
inough, as I thought, to be heard not only
houghoutthe vessel but for a great distance
in the sea. But I might as well have
>een crying to the winds. Either by some
:unning contrivance all sounds proceeding
rom the cell were stifled forthwith, or those
>n board the Golden Hawk were taught to
>ay no heed to them.
Exhausted, even more by rage and inlignation
than by any physical exertion, I
at down at last upon the cushioned bench,
vhich was evidently meant to serve the
louble purpose of a bed and a seat, and
ried to collect my bewildered senses and
ake a calm view of my position. What
vas the meaning of the stratagem of which
I had been made the victim? Could it be
wesible that it was really intended to make
k prisoner of me in this violent fashion?
ind if so, with what object was such a
rime committed?
These were the questions which I rapidly
evolved in my mind. Incredible as it
eemed, I was nevertholes j forced to admit
hat I must answer in the affirmative. In
>road daylight, and in an English watering
>lace, I had been trapped and imprisoned,
vith as little regard for my personal rights,
>r for the claims of the law, as could have
teen shown by the worst desperadoes in the
vildest parte of the earth. And what was
vorse, it was at once apparent to me that I
vas utterly helpless. The fatal folly of the
)uke of Cairngorm had provided a prison
or me from which I could hardly hope to
scape unless with the connivance of my
ailers. And then I thought with despair of
be fuct that my abduction had been maniged
in such a fashion that no one on snore
could have anv reason to suspect foul play. I
cad lef tthe hotel openly, and as I now rememt>ered
bitterly, with so cheerful an air that
;here could certainly have been nothing in
ny appearance to arouse the suspicions of
;he people there. I would be missed, of
jourse, and probably my disappearance
night be a brief wonder for the people of
;he house; but who could attribute it to atayhing
more than some sudden freak? There
vas no one in Scarborough who took any inerest
in me, or who would feel called upon
o make any inquiry into my whereabouts. I
emembered how on that very morning I
lad looked out from my bedroom window
ind seen the Golden Hawk at anchor at the
pot where she had lain ever since her
irrival Many a man would look out tonorrow
morning and see the beautiful ship,
is I had done, without dreaming for a monent
that it was associated with such an
rntrage as that of which I was the victim.
But what could be the purpose of such a
xime as this? Only one conclusion was
possible. The letters both of Daisy and Dr.
3ranksome bad hinted at some extraordintry
change in the character of Mauleverer?
omething approaching, in fact, to a fit of
nadness. I was conscious of having offended
10 man but the millionaire. Nobody else
ind any interest in keeping me at a distance
'rom Daisy. And it was on bis yacht that I
vas now a captive, and in the hands of a
uffian against whom not merely iny own
nstincts, and the strange dream I had had
n the haunted chamber, but my darling's
voids, had warned me as a man with whom
my dealiugs must be dangerous. I could
lot resist the conviction that Mauleverer,
:arried away by some fit of insane passion,
jossibly on making the discovery that let?rs
had passed between me and his niece,
lad caused me to be seized in this violent
oronfnwa Tvlm WOO ll 1C TTIAcf.
CULUl/11 <JV bUO UCHbUiO MUV >'Us> u?? Maw* I
rusted agent
The jnore I thought over the subject the I
nore ciearly convinced I became that this
vas the real interpretation of Fiinter's conluct
and as I reflected upon it I felt that
ny only hope lay in the early appearance of
3ranksonie. I was convince 1 now that he
vas not on board the yacht, and that his
lame ha I been merely used for the purpose
>f luring me i:ito the cunning trip. But he
ind promi-cd to see me scon. He had said
le was coining to Scarb iro igh. It was cerain
that business would bring him on board
he Golden Hawk, and then I might hope
hat he would hear of the outrage which had
>63U committed upon me and would come to
ny rescue.
It is needless to speak of the unutterable
edium of the first hours which I spent in my
jlootny prison. When I had to some extent
ecovered my equanimity I made a careful
inspection of the place, hoping that I might
>erbaps find, if not some way of escape, at
ill events the means of communicating with
ho e on board the yacht. I
The cabin was about nine feet square, anc
almost the first thing I discovered was thai
the walls were lined with sheet-iron. It wai
lighted by means of a funnel some four feel
in length, which ran upwards at a sharp
angle, and at the end of which was a thick
circular plate of glass. It was clear, therefore,
that my cell wall was at some distance
from the side of the ship. Thi? little window,
which shed the dimmest of light intc
the cabin, was fixed, but the air in the place
was by no means bad, and it was clear, therefore,
that it was ventilated in some fashion
which I could not discover.
For a moment my heart beat more quickly
when 1 found that there was a second dooi
tn th? nnartment. in addition to that by
which I had entered it I opened this dooi
and found that it led into a small bath room,
provide 1, I presumed, for the use of the
duke's sons when his grace found it necessary
to subj ct thpm to the discipline of the punishment
cell. This little bath room, which
was plainly but completely fitted, lay between
my prison and the side of the vessel,
and it was dimly lighted from the passage
by means of which entrance to the place
was ob ained. When I made this discovery
Irememb?red having noticed on my first
visit to the yacht that the walls of thit
passage also were lined with iron. It was
clear to me at once that there was no escape
in that direction.
Everything appeared to be scrupulously
clean: nor could it be said that?allowing
for deficiency of light?my quarters would
have been at all bad if I had occupied them
voluntarily. I had seen many an officer's
cabin in our big ironclads which was not tc
be compared to this either in spaciousness or
in the convenience of its furnishing. For
when my eyes had become accustome 1 to the
prevailing twilight gloom, I had ascertained
that very fair provision had been made for
the comfort of the unlucky wight who was
destined to occupy the placa The couch
which occupied one side of the room was
capacious enough to form a commodious
bed, and though the cushion was no doubt
hard, it was not harder than many on
which 1 had slept voluntarily in the past
A small chest of drawers, above which hung
a glas< in which, when I looked into it, 1
saw nothing but a ghastly blur of white?
the indistinguishable reflection of my facestood
near the door; while at the opposite
end was a folding stool and the table tc
which Flinterhad drawn my attcntioa
He bad not deceived me in one respect.
There was, as he had said, an abundsinl
supply of "good victuals" on this tabla H
was covered with a white tablecloth, and 1
could see a loaf of bread, a dish on which
were neatly arranged a number of slices oi
co:a i>eeit a uuiuo ul i;iaruu, auutuor ui
water, together with salt and o'.her ordinary
accessories of the table. It was at
least evident that ray captors had no thought
of starving me. Nay, 1 made a discovery
that positively caused me for a moment tc
think less bitterly even of the ruffian Flinter.
On a small shelf above the table there was a
well-filled box of cigars?Larranagas of the
finest brand.
Clearly, then, though I was a prisoner,
there was no intention of subjecting me tc
any ill-treatment beyond that which was
needful to keep me in close confinement
This conviction finally satisfied me that 1
had been correct in my conclusion as to the
real reason of my abduction. I was the
captive of the millionaire; but I was alsc
his guest, and be had not forgotten some, at
least, of the laws of hospitality in his treatment
of me.
I sat down upon my bench after this long
and careful survey of my prison and again
tried to think steadily, calmly and clearly
of my situation. My investigation had satisfied
me that there was no means of escape
from within and little if any chance of being
able to communicate with those persons on
the yacht?if such there were?who were
not privy to my abduction. I was struck
by the almost entire absence of sounds from
without, and was more than ever convinced
that some special means hod been taken foi
the purpose of procuring the isolation of the
cell. No sound of trampling feet on deck,
no cries from the sailors, no whistle of wind
in the rigging reached my ears. I might
have been at the bottom of a coal mine so
far as any knowledge, either by sight 01
sound, of what was passing in the outei
world was concerned.
How long^had remained buried in gloomy
thought, wondering how and when this
strange adventure was to end, and what
good purpose Mauleverer really hoped tc
serve by treating me in this lawless fashion, 1
cannot say Suddenly, however, I heard e
sound whic'i made me start to my feet
trembling from head to foot with a new
excitement I was fond of the sea, and hac
made many a voyage in my father's com
? T /) J "A'lJ 4-UAAA//v?A f/\ AI/^
paujr, X U1U UUU UUOU| IUD1 DiUi c, bv uo IV*V
what was the meaning of the noise which
now penetrated even the dreary silence of mj
celL It was that deep, muffled throb which
marks the first revolution of the engine or
board a steamer.
I listenod with all my senses on the alert,
and very quickly I found that my ears had
not deceived me. Slowly at first, and thei
with increasing speed, the dull throbbing ol
the engines was continued, and almost sim
ultanoous'y I heard the rattle of the cap
stan, and knew that the anchor was being
weighed. I hardly dared to allow my owi
mind to grasp the real significance of the
soundi I stood there, almost breathless,
my ear fixed to the door of my cell, during
minutes which seemed hours. But only toe
soon there was the fullest confirmation ol
my fears. To the throb of the engine wai
now added the harsher gjrinding of the shafl
of the screw, while very soon other evi
dences convinced me that we were putting
out to sea.
Once more I raised mv voice in loud cries
It had been terrible before, when I knev
exactly where I was, and when I could ai
least feel that we were lying at anchor in ai
English bay. But now, when I found thai
wo were steaming away across the waves, ir
a direction which I was absolutely unable t<
determine, bound, it might be, for some porl
where civilized laws had no effect, and wher
1 remembered, too. that I was absolutely ir
the power of a ruffian whom I believed t<
be capable of any crime, fresh terror
seized upon my imagination. I exhausted
myself utterly in vain attempts to attrac'
the attention of the crew.
Soon, indeed, I realized the fact that if 1
had not been able to make them hear before
there was not the faintest chance of mj
doing so now. The yacht had passed beyond
the shelter of the Castle cliff and was breast
ing the waves, which ever and anon brok<
upon its quivering sides with a roar thai
must have drowned all other sounds. Thi
motion of the vessel increased so much thai
if I bad not been an exceptionally gooc
sailor I should soon have been placed hors d<
combat; and my past experience of the sec
enabled me even in my gloomy prison hous(
to perceive that we were laboring through ?
heavy gale from the nor'west.
CHAPTER IX
A STRANGE VOYAGE.
I looked at my watch. To my surprise 1
found that it was only one o'cjock in ine airernoon.
I had heard the church clocks strik
ing ten when I first stood on the deck of the
yacht. My imprisonment, which seemed tc
have lasted for an age, had really so far con
tinued for rather less than three hours. Th<
panic?for I can call it nothing else, thougt
it is with shame that I make the confession?
into which I had been thrown when I firsl
knew that we were putting out to sea sub
sided with a suddenness that surprised ever
myself. Perhaps it was the calm of despaii
that took possession of my breast At al
events I succeeded for the moment in driving
all agitating ideas out of my mind. I as
sumed the airs of a philosopher. I could noi
help myself, it was certain; and why, therefore,
should I continue to expend my strengtl
in fruitless attempts to baffle my fate/ Foi
the present, at least, no bodily harm was in
tended to me. It would bo wiser, therefore,
to accept the situation and await events.
Full of this new composure, I began tc
take notice of the fact that I was hungry,
and that food was at my elbow. I turned
to the table and observed there for the first
time that which I ought to have seen before.
Guards had been put upon the table before
the food was to have been placed on it, sc
that even the bottles were kept in their
places despite the heavy rolling of the
vessel.
I satisfied my hunger, and then?why,
then I remembered the cigar box. I remembered,
too, that I had in my pocket a
box of wax matches. In another minute 1
was lying on the couch, in as easy a position
as it was possible to maintain under the
motion of the vessel, enjoying one of the
very best cigars I had ever smoked.
I shall not inflict upon my readers all the
phases of the long, deep reverie in which I
indulged while one cigar after another van
I ished in smoka At times I awoke a3 from
S dream to a sense of the extraordinary ai
i alarming position in which I found my so
; and then I rose and rushing to the do
> shook it violently, to see whether by ai
: accident it might have been opened as I li
in silence on my couch. But for the mc
i part I maintained the composure which fi
upon me after I knew that we wore fair
> out at sea, and allowed my fancy to run ri
> in those imaginary meetings with my da;
ing which form the solace of all absent lo
i ers.
By and by the gloom of my room gre
deeper and I knew that night wa3 stealii
on. I struck a match and looked at n
' watch. It was five o'clock. These four hou
had passed more quickly, and despite t
, gale which the ship was encountering, f
> more comfortably than the three hours th
' had olapsed between my capture and t
commencement of our voyage. 1 was thin
i insr somewhat wofullv of the lone hours*
. darkness which now lay before nia, wh
noiselessly a flood of silvery light lllled t
i cabin. Startled by its sudden appearance,
> looked up, only to discover that an electi
light was shining above my head in its pee
; shaped glass. It was only when this ha
i pened and when I felt all the comfort of I
i ing at last ab'.e to survey my abode at case
t for th* artificial light was far brighter thi
the natural one had been?that I realized t
striking apprehension with which I had 1
; garded the prospect of a night spent in a
1 solute darkness in such a place,
i "If I only had a book now," I said to m
i self, "and?why yes, I should really enjoy
i cup of tea. Surely the millionaire wou
not begru ige me that if he knew how mui
I shou.d relish it!"
i Hardly had the words passed my lips thi
1 I heard the click of a key, and then I sa
that tho little trap in the door had be<
i opened and that Flinter was regarding r
i with a sardonic smile upon his ugly fac
i All authorities on the subject are agreed
i to the surprising effect which solitary co
flnement has in taming a man's spirits.
l found now that the authorities were rigt
Instead of making a wild dash at the sp
; where the ill-omened countenance of n
[ captor was visible, I sat still and merely i
dulged myaelf with a silent stare of disda
. in return for his grin of derision.
i He sniffed audibly, inhaling the fumes
> tobacco with which my little room w
filled.
"Enjoying yourself pretty well, it seet
; tome. You do right. No good in kickii
; when you can only hurt yourself by it ]
[ civil and quiet and you won't be kept
i long perhaps as you suppose where you a
! now. I came to see if you would like sor
! dinner."
"Dinner!" I said. "I thought the me
; you left for me was intended for my dinne
i and I really found it very good." Seeii
that I had given up for the present t
i thought of trying violence, I felt it better
keep up in his presence the air of philosopt
, co lness which I had adopted for my ov
i comfort
"No; lunch," he replied, sententiousl
"You'll have good victuals here if you on
behave yourself. If you give me your proi
ise to keep quiet, I'll bring you your dinn
as soon as it is ready."
I hesitated for a moment, troubled by t
thought of keeping any terms with such
ruffian, but then 1 somewhat sullenly ga
him the promise he asked. He immediate
disappeared.
In about half an hour he returned, ar
throwing open the door, entered with a tra
which he balanced es the ship rolled
cleverly as a steward on board a Cuna
liner could have done. In a surprising
short space of time he had cleared away t
remains of my morning meal, and had la
upon the table a dinner such as few captivi
I venture to say, are indulged with.
"Ship's rolling too much for me to bri:
BAim. Kltf. fhorn'c flaVl onH Pnf.lfit.q fl'
i partridge, cheese and celery, and a pint
[ champagne. It's as good a dinner, I bet,
you would have got in Scarborough."
> "Very good, indeed, I am sure. It is
, no use, I suppose, asking you, Mr. Flint<
i why lam here;" be shook his head; "but
; least you might tell me where I am going."
i "No use asking questions." he responde
shortly. "Because why: I never answ
'em. So that's plain. But if you keep qui
as I've told you already, you shall be as w
' served with food and drink as if you wt
i the old man himself. Now is there anythi:
I more you want?"
"I should like a book to read."
[ "A book! Oh, yes; if that is all, you sb
t soon have a book. Biess me, I'll bring y
, an armful the next time I come, if only
r will keep you quiet"
I He left me to partake of my dinner in so
tude. I did justice to it, and despite my u
1 pleasant situation and my dislike, not to s
t dread, of the ruffian who was responsible i
r my imprisonment, I felt alir">st cheerl
i when he presently returned, carr; ing neat
t a dozen volumes in his arms, in addition
some blanket* for my use during the nigl
, "There's books for you!" ho said, tumbli
I them in a pile on the chest of drawe
i "Make what you can of them; they're nothi
t in my line."
And right eagerly did I avail myself of 1
invitation to do so when I was once mo
; left alone. It was true that I was diss
t pointed with Mr. Fiinter's choice in litera
i matters. One of his volumes was a list
i the Royal Yacht Squadron, two more we
; works relating to the art of navigation,
) fourth was nothing more than a series
t tables of logarithms, a fifth was an old v
J ume of that venerable work, "Russell's H
t tory of Modern Europe;" then there was
well-thumbed copy of "Buchan's Domesl
I Medicine," a dictionary, a copy of Thorn
Moore's poems, and. last of all in the pi
Guy and Ferrier's "Forensic Medicine."
t It was this book which, though it was
t the bottom of th? heap, attracted me fli
It did so partly becausj it was the only wo
t which had a modern appearance in the c
L lection, an I partly because my own medi<
) studies had given me an interest in it. T
t rest of the books were old and battered.
i could not imagine how they had been inti
i duced into such a palace as the Gold
) Hawk. The copy of "Forensic Medicin
3 was in good preservation, and was evidcnl
I the latest edition of that standard work,
t I took it inlo my hands and turned to t
title page. It was the edition, I saw,
[ 1875. The binding was quite new, and t
, pages were clean. The book apparently h
r hardly been opened. 1 was holding it light
I in my hand while P speculated as to b<
such a volume chanced to have come hei
3 when I found that it had opened, almost,
t it seemed to me, of its own accord, at a pi
i ticular page. I knew in a moment what h
t happened. When the volume was fit
1 1.4. ! M. 1- 1 V. /irtM nf !
I DCUgUb lb IIUU C YIUtJULI) I.cua u^uni o? bi
) page, and the reader, whoever he might 1
i wishing to keep it open there, had bent t
> stiff now back in such a way as to ma
i something like a spring of it?a spri
which, when the volume was held in a c<
tain way, caused it always to open at o
particular place. Any of my readers w
cares to destroy the outward appearance
[ a new book may by a -implo experime
satisfy himself of tho possibility of doii
this.
What was the subject which the perse
who had apparently looked at no other pa
of tho volume, had been studying?
I glanced careless'y down at the print
page, and the first word I saw was "Stryo
nia." Strychnia, poison! Wild thougl
, coursed instantaneously through my brai
I saw that the chapter which soi
one had been studying with the clos<
. care?for the pages were well thumbed?w
I that in which the whole subject of poisonii
r by means of strychnia, the symptoms, t
| dose, the fatal period, and the post mortc
k appearances are treated with masterly pi
' cision.
What did it mean? Let my reader pla
himself in my position, a prisoner absolute
at the mercy of a man whom I honestly I
lieved to be capable of any crime, if
1 wishes to undei-stand the dark and terril
> fancies which forthwith took possession
my brain. Who could have bought tl
book merely in order to study the subject
I oisoning by strychnia with an innocent i
' tention? That was the first question I ask
myself. Once more I remembered the awl
1 J- -? r> \\T?
worus Ul VJ1 egauu. iim ik Jjuaaiuio iU
murder was really about to be done at Gre
( Lorton Hall? Nay, as the man whom
know to be the only one likely to comn
such a crime was on board the Golden Ha\
at this moment, might it not be the case tb
the crime had already been committed, ui
that while he was flying from justice he h
carried me with him to prevent my being
( any service to Daisy or her uncle f And
, there had been murder, who was the victii
Was it the millionaire? Or was it?could
, be?my darling?
I sat dazed and helpless for a time und
the horror of this new tram of thought. B
i a ; I was now face to face with a problem which
id ! demanded the full use of all my faculties. If
If, I were to deal with it to any useful purpose, I
or must treat it with ail the coolness and deliberiy
ation of which I was capable. Gently closing
iy the book, I flung my cigar aside, and going
>st to the bath room bathed my head in the
3n The first word 1 saw was "Strychnia."
110 coo], refreshing water of which there was
:e* apparently an unlimited supply. Then I
03 came back to my seat and carefully tried an
n" experiment which had occurred to me.
* Laying the closed book on its back on the
lfc- palm of my hand I allowed it again to fall
ot open at its own will. Once more it opened
at pags 536, and again I read that first seun"
tence of the page, which describes how "The
*n patient complains of a choking sensation,
and of thirst and dryness of the throat; but
the effort to drink often occasions rigid
08 spasms of the muscles of the jaw. Sometimes
there is foaming at the mouth, and the
03 froth may be tinged with blood," eta, eta
"5 I repeated the experiment in another man?e
ner; the result was the same. I tried it again
80 and again, and always the volume opened at
re the same page. Yes, it was quite clear to me
ne ii--. .l e .i-1_ i 1.1?i
uuw lli it mtj owner ui buia uwn. uau la^u^uu
it for tho simple purpose of studying the
at subject of poisoning by means of strychnia.
>r' All the pages of this volume, it is true, were
cut open, but it was only at this part of it
a0 that there were any of those unmistakable
V5 signs which showed that it had been read
llc and studied with care again and again.
en I read the whole chapter through with attention,
and it says something, I think, for my
j command over my own nerves that I did not
y forthwith fancy that I was myself suffering
from that "feeling of suffocation^ which is
6 described as the earliest symptom after the
poison has been swallowed. For I could not
drive out of my mind the possibility that this
ye accidental discovery might have the deepest
,j personal interest for myself. If I had fallen
y into the hands of a murderer, what assurance
j had I that he might not try his frightful
' arts upon me? Tho thought was one that it
^ was difficult to face with composura I ber(j
gan to realize what is the lot of the captive
,jv who lies ia peril of his life, and who is powerhe
'ess defend himself against the unknown
id doom which may be hanging over him.
gg Terrible was the long night through
' which I now passed. Tfce gale had eving
dently risen to a great height; and the mon(j
tion of t he vessel was such as to be distress0j
ing even to the most experienced of sailors.
^ In place of the dead silence of the morning
my prison cell was now filled with that in0f
describible tumult of sound that marks the
;r progress of a battle between a good vessel
and a raging sea I could hear the shriek
i of the wind and the roar of the waves, while,
even above these sounds ro-e that constant
.0p groaning and creaking of the straining timsj.
bers which showed how hardly the ship was
ejj beset by the storm. I could feel too the
,re fury of the blows which each successive
n_ wave delivered against the side of the yacht.
A storm at sea is an awful thing to the
landsman at the be*t of times. Let my
reader try if he can conceive what this
ou storm was to me?held like a rat in a trap in
the middle of the laboring vessel.
Yet despite my fears and tho iumult all
around me, I slept, and my sleep was
jn_ strangely free from those hideous dreams of
which I had been apprehensive. "When I
or awoke at last the bright light of the electric
>uj lamp had disappe ?re 1, and some faint rays
from the outer sky were entering my cabin
^ through the funnel which served the purpose
of a window. I looked at my watch
1J(T and discovered that it was nine o'clock. To
? my great joy, too, I found that the sea had
nz fallen, and that the yacht was making comparatively
steady progress through the
,jg waters.
~re It is no part of my purpose to inflict the
whole story of my imorisonment upon the
ry reader. Nothing, indeed, could be more
monotonoror more terrible in its monot)re
ony?than the manner in which my days
a were passed. Thrice during this second day
I was visited by Fiinter, bringing food I
0j. hardly spoke to him, and he made no attempt
to open a conversation with me. I
a was still absorbed in an attempt to put to,jc
gether the var'ous pieces of that strange
puzzle, the first bit of which that had been
l0 put into my hands was my meeting with
' Daisy and Gregson at the York railway stat
tion. and the last the discovery of tho paspas?
on strychnia in the work on forensic
rjj medicine. That there was some strange
0I_ unity of significance in all that had hap,aj
pened to me since I first saw my darling was
he a conviction that was slowly forcing itself
j upon my mind. Never before in my peaceful
,0_ life had I been even remotely associated with
en anything in the nature ot a mystery, but now
e? for some weeks I had been literally dwelling
. iy in the midst of mysteries. Hour after hour
parsed while I tried to hit upon s-omo key
ke which should make the whole strange and
Qf jumbled story plaia But I labored in vain,
jjg There was only ono point of which in my
aj heart of hearts I was as certain as of my
lv own existence. That was that, come what
might, nothing could ever be revealed which
re would cast a shadow of shame upon the
Qg name of the girl whom I loved.
ir_ Day after day went by in tho same paina(j
ful and hopeless round, and I began to
,st; despair of ever again being released from
3j3 my hateful prison hoase. It was more than
)e a week since we had left Scarborough.
Where we now were I could not form the
jje faintest conception. I knew that we had
n once stopped for an hour or more, and I
, ? guessed from the perfect stillness of the vesn0
sel that we bad entered some harbor. I was
conscious, too, of the fact that it was now
~r much colder than it had been when we left
nt England, and I had been thankful for the
additional rugs with which my jailer had
supplied nie. But Flinter evaded all mv at,n
tempts to elicit from him any information
Lr[ as to our whereabouts. Nor would he give
me the faintest hint of when I might hope to
e(j be released from my captivity.
;h_ Ten days of an imprisonment, so close as
lts mine was, began to tell not merely upon my
n spirits but upon my physical health. My
ll0 appetite failed utterly, and I hardly touched
!st the delicacies with which Flinter, to do him
a? justice, kept my table abundantly supplied.
tlg I found myself daily growing weaker, and
he the victim of an apathy which was alto,,n
gether alien to my nature, in plain English,
I was cowed and broken by th3 treatment
to which I had been subjected. I no
c0 longer even spoke to F.inter on his periodical
,jy visits to my cell.
jg. It was when 1 was in the midst of one of
jje my worst fits of dejection that the event
(]e which I had so ardently longed lor took
0f place. I was aroused one moruing, shortly
lis before noon, by the noisy opening of the
of great iron door which barred the entrance
[n_ to the passage leading to my place of conod
flnement, and for the fir-t time sinco I had
?1 entered tho accursed hole I heard the sound
a[ of voices outside. They were speaking in
at quick, excited and even angry tonos.
j Before 1 had time to reulize what was
jjt coming, the door of my room was thrown
Vk open, and, to my intense amazement, I saw
at Dr. Branksome standing before me.
Qd [to bk continued next week.]
ud ^
?[ ffiaf A Williamsport youth sent fif"
ty cents to a New York firm to learn
it how to keep from swearing:, and received
in reply: "Don't open your
er mouth!" he has sworn ever since.?
ut IViffiamxpnrf (Pa.) (Irif.
IpsccHattcouiS gUading.
something"to lhavk.
[Neu> York Journal of Commerce.]
We heard a very suggestive conversation
the other day between two gentlemen
who were discussing the controversy
before the Surrogate about the probate
of a will. One declared that the best
method after all was to make no testament
and let the estate of a decedent be
settled and divided according to the statute.
The other asked how then any provision
could be made for bequests of a
i...o rru? .1 : i,1Mn
unm iuiuit; uiiiuic ; i nc uiscuwiuu tuui- |
ed at once upon various testamentary
projects which had collapsed owing to the
vagueness and insufficiency of the terms
in which the bequests were made. In
conclusion one of them said: "I know
what I would do it I had anything to
leave, but I have nothing worth bequeathing
to anybody."
The reference was undoubtedly to such
material estates as have a financial value.
And it is true that there is a growing uncertainty
in regard to the disposition of
these estates by last will and testament.
If the document is carefully drawn, and
the provision inserted without a legal flaw
in the language or execution, there is always
the question of mental soundness,
and beyond this of "undue influence" on
the part of some one who is benefitted by
it at the expense of the greedy kinsman.
The temptati.on to contest the probate is
always very great if the estate is large,
since if the will can be broken the gain
to the contestants is likely to be considerable,
and if it is so constructed as to stand
on the last appeal, they hope for a compromise
in the course of the struggle that
will add something to their coffers.
The absolute right of one who has accumulated
an estate to dispose of it as he
will, which was once wholly unquestioned,
even when he is fully competent to
express his wishes in such a testament,
has been restricted in various ways by
statute for many years, and the tendency
both in law and public opinion is in
favor of still further interference with arbitrary
bequests. If a man really has his
heart set on doing some particular work
of benevolence with his earnings, he cannot
be sure that his purpose will prove
effectual unless he appropriates it in his
lifetime. The common feeling seems to
be that after the owner of an estate has
no further use for it himself, he has no
right to follow it to the next generation
with any directions concerning it. When
his hands are forced to drop the wealth he
has held with so tight a grasp, his natural
heiis are ready to clutch it for themselves,
and believe that nothing should come between
them and its enjoyment.
We are not justifying this sentiment,
but describing it as something which actually
exists and which has great influonno
in unupttlimr nnv nrnvisions made
by the owner of property for the uses to
which it shall he applied after they have
left it. Instead of any improvement in
thestability of wills, especially of such as
divert a large portion of the estate from
the natural channels of descent, this tendency
to render void such bequests is
likely to increase, and we shall not be
surprised in the near luture to see further
restrictions on these acts of testamentary
bounty.
But we intended to say something in regard
to that which all men may leave behind
them for the benefit of survivors.
There are, alas, too many like the one we
have quoted who have literally nothing
worth a bequest. It is not especially sad to
leave a meagre bank account and empty
Ijockets, where itis not the resultof thriftessness
and dissipation. The Model of the
race left no material property save the raiment
he wore to his death, which was divided
at the seams into four pieces by his
executioners ; and his vesture woven
whole, for which they cast lots. But He
left a name, a character, an influence,
which is the world's greatest treasure today,
and will be increasingly valuable as
the centuries come and go to the end of
time.
We see from this that he who is poorest
in the world's goods may still have something
to leave of inestimable value to
those who follow him. Elijah's mantle
dropping from his shoulders as he entered
the celestial chariot, became in the hands
of his successor a' mighty instrument for
working wonders, although it seemed but
a worn piece of cloth. This is a parable
to us of the value of a noble life that has
gone before, in its influence on successive
generations. The frail casket in which
it rendered such loving service to God
and humanity is all that to sensual eyes
remains of the departed, and even this is
soon to be buried out of sight. But the
unseen presence is a mighty power for
good, renewing itself in the building up
| of character transmitted from one toanoth
er, and multiplying without any loss in
such division, until the progeny of one
illustrious example becomes an innumerable
host bound by an invisible but common
tie, here and beyond the grave.
The poorest man who has not where to
lay his head may leave such a legacy to
those who come after him. The true heirs
cannot be kept out of the estate. Nor can
there be a strife over the multiplying
shares, as each, drawing from the same
pattern, may take in the whole of the
canvas, and reproduce in his own life the
completed picture. It is a noble ambition
to make such a bequest to the ages. They
who are disappointed in their efforts to
accumulate the millions of cash assets
which comprise the whole of some men's
wealth, may make their own lives so
radiant with whatever blesses and brightens
the world, that they shall be copied in
all the succeeding years. Their names
may soon be forgotten in earthly annals,
perhaps before their bodies shall crumble
to the final dust. But the halo that surrounded
them while intent on this loving
service is part of the great volume of light
that enriches the world, and is rekindled
for all who come under the same sweet
influence and follow their bright example.
None of the millions divided by authority
of the surrogate's Court can be wrought
into a memorial so enduring as the lesson
of right living, embodied in an illustrious
example, and thus perpetually transmitted
until the last of the race shall de summoned
from the earth.
TRAINING SCHOOLS IN THE SOUTH.
A recent letter from the late Governor
of South Carolina, Hon. Hugh S. Thompivm./irwi
Mtipution thtt best informed
| OW1J, l/VJ WHU ?
public man of the South on educational
matters, declares that the need of trained
teachers is now perhaps the most immediate
pressure on school affairs in that
section. While in a general way the
Southern people have great need of national
aid for establishing schools, the
quality of these schools depends, even
more than in the North, on the outfit of
the teacher. Especially in the rural
| realm, where nine-tenths of the SouthI
ern people live, the new school is often
| the most important agency of progress,
{ and the teacher has an opportunity superior
to all other officials for good. This
view has determined the policy of the
Peabody Educational Fund in appropriating
its income chiefly for the training of
teachers, and the Sla?er Fund is doing
something in the same direction. But
the yearly income of both these charities
for this purpose does not exceed the expenditures
of the city of Worcester, Mass.,
for her common schools.
Already a good beginninghas been made
in training teachers for the common school
work in all the sixteen Southern States.
Missouri leads with four good State normals,
and several city training schools?
that of St. Louis is not excelled anywhere.
Texas and Maryland have State schools
of established reputation. Virginia and
Louisiana have made an excellent beginning
for whites, and some of the best col
ored training schools in the South are
found at IJampton and New Orleans.
Tennessee co-operates with the Peabody
Fund in the support of the leading normal
college for whites of the South. Alabama
subsidizes half a dozen schools for
the training of white and colored teachers.
West Virginia supports two or three
State normals, and Kentucky, the Carolinas,
Arkansas, Delaware and Florida
attempt something in this connection in
their State universities. Mississippi has
established a normal school for white
girls. Georgia alone seems to be the exception,
although the colored colleges in
the State train teachers. Every State now
supports an institute asylum, more or less
effective.
But the most vital spot for training
teachers is the new graded school now
coming up in all the Southern towns.
This school offers special facilities for the
establishment of a proper training department
of the Oswego (N. Y.) pattern, giving
at least a year of instruction in the
science and method of teaching, with
practice in a real school. Every Southern
city (and all towns of a thousand people
and upwards in the South have the city
organization), is the centre of an extensive
rural district, generally poorly supplied
with school facilities. The academies
are too expensive for the majority,
especially of young women desiring to
teach, and seldom attempt proper training.
At a moderateannual cost these free
graded schools may be crowned with an
effective training class, which will not
only supply the home demand, but furnish
a central opportunity for numbers of young
people from the country, who can return
and afford to teach in the neighborhood
of their own homes. Only in this way
can the South, in town or country, build
up an effective system of public schools.
Every important graded school South of
Washington should make an effort in this
direction.?Neic England Journal of Education.
- - - ?
\V. H. BAILEY.
W. H. Bailey, of the Executive Board
of the Knights of Labor, an organization
750,000 strong, was born in Greenwich,
England, September 0th, 1840. His parents
removing to Northumberland. The
lad, at the age of ten, was placed at work
in the coal mines there. In 18G6 he came
to America and settled in the Monongahela
Valley where he remained until 1867
when he' went to Ohio. In 1860 he settled
in Wheeling, West Virginia, where he
was made foreman of the Central Glass
House Company's mine. When, in 1873
the great panic came, he was forced by the
want of work to return to Ohio. Two
years later, with his accumulated savings
he bought a tract of coal land and commenced
to operate it, but the land proving
worthless he lost his entire fortune. He
returned to West Virginia and worked in
the Kanawha Valley. In 1877 he joined
the Knights of Labor and a strike occurring
in West Virginia he was again forced
into Ohio. In Perry county, he reorganized
the scattered Knights and in 1881 was
elected District Master Workman and
labored so zealously that in two years his
district numbered 1,800 members. It was
during his first term as District Master
Workman that he succeded in organizing
the imported negro miners at Itendville
into an assembly and he also organized
fha Ciprmnns that had been brought
over by the O. C. Coal Co. In 1885, he
was re-elected District Master Workman.
In 1883 he was elected representative to
the General Assembly at Cincinnati, again
in 1884 at Philadelphia, and in 1885 in
Hamilton, Ontario. In fulfilling his duties
as a member of the Executive Board
he is almost always traveling. One of the
most signal victories of the Knig? ts was
gained atGloverville, which strike Messrs.
Bailey and Barry were instrumental in
raising.
.
THE EYES OF THE BEE.
There is the bee's eye, with its hundreds
of facets, each presenting the same image?
this is proved by separating the manysided
cornea and looking through it with
a microscope at a candle flame. The bee,
moreover, besides its pair of faceted eyes,
carries on the top its head three simple
eyes, very convex, for short-distance vision.
Then there are itsantenme, whereby
it feels its way in the dark hive, and
which give it moreover its exquisite power
of smell. Bees can hear, too, though
Sir John Lubbock thinks not. They seem
deaf because, like wise people, they only
attend to such as concern them; their own
hive's "roar" the stragglers can hear a
very long way off, and Mr. Cheshire thinks
that the old key and warming pan music
at swarming time is by no means exploded.
Their impassiveness under many
kinds of sounds he compares with that of
most human beings in a thunderstorm;
we are as if we heard not, whereas if a
child cries for help we wake into activity.
" j - ?a?v?a.
Bees are clearly not given 10 wnsic CUIUtion
or nerve force. They have a nervous
system with ganglions?i. e., knots or
lumps where the nerve thread meets. A
bee's brain is a larger ganglion placed in
its head, divided like ours?into two lobes.
In queens and drones the brain is small.
The worker has proportionately twice as
much as the* ant and more than twenty
times as much as the cockchafer. Intelhgentthough
it is, we need not suppose it to
be a high class mathematician because its
cells are hexagonal.
Mr. Cheshire says that if you put a soap
bubble on a bit of slate one side gets flattened.
Put another close to it and the
contiguous walls become quite flat, owing
to the equal tension on both sides. Now
add five more bubbles, so that the first oc- ?
cupies the center; a cross section of this
central bubble will now be perfectly hexagonal
all the contiguous walls of the seven
bubbles being flat, the free ones curved.
This is the case in the hive, the free
walls of the comb always running in a
sweep, and the hexagonality beingsimpiy
due to the pressure of oue bee against
another as they are working.?All the Year
Round.
5?"One of the most important rules in
the science of manners is that you preserve
an almost absolute silence concerning yourself.
Play the comedy, some day, of speaking
of your own interests to ordinary acquaintances,
and you will see feigned attention
swiftly followed by indifference
and then by weariness, until every one
has found a pretext for leaving you. But
if you wish to group about you the sympathies
of all and to be considered a charming
and agreeable fellow, talk to them of
themselves, seek some way of bringing
each of them into action in turn; then
they will smile at you, think well of you
and praise you when you are gone.?JYeio
Yorl; Herald,
A