Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, July 12, 1893, Image 1
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VOL. 39. YOBKVILLR, S. C? WEDNESDAY. .JLTLY 12, 1893. 3STO. 28.
? THE WIST"
RD SEELY.
Co. Published by special arningeinents ,
them.]
The moonbeams, stealing through the j
barred grating of the roof, were falling
almost vertically upon the 6tcne pavement
at his feet when his quick ear
caught the sound of voices. Drawing a
narrow slide in the outer door, ho peered
through its semicircular guard. A
crowd of men were collected in front i f
the jail. They were conversing together
in low tones. In the light of tho moon
the sheriff recognized several of the most
desperate of Foraker's men. One burly
fellow held in his hand a coil of rope.
Closing the slide cautiously, he roused Ins
companion and examined his pistols. A
second later the jail door vibrated with
a blow struck upon it by some heavy object
from without.
Who's there?" demanded Mosely at
the slide. , ? ...
"Come, couie, Ike Mosely, replied a
loud voice, hicli the sheriff instantly
recognized rs tho sergeant of Forakers
men; "this ain't 110 game of bluff. We're
here for bizness. and we want you to open
up."
"P'raps you'll state your reasons for
gittin in before I give ye the privilege,
responded Mosely.
"Waal, yes, we don't mind, seein we re
! corain in, whether you're willin or not."
responded the voice. "Were going to
hang that d d tenderfoot you've got 111
there to the highest tree in the post. That's
what we're going to dol So we tell you
to open up!" .
"Oh, ye are?" said Ike tauntingly.
! "Mebbe you reckon thet I'll set quietly
by and see you do all thet? Now, 1111
givin it to you straight what you kin expect
ef you try on anything of the kind.
Thar's two of us here, and we'll kill every
mother's son of ye thet gets in ez sure ez
there's a living God!"
A blow from the outsido was the only
response.
"Thet's right!" shouted Ike as a second
blow caused the door to spring 011 its j
hinges. "Tho sooner ye make a hole
through thet partition, the more likely
I am to reach ye!"
He emphasized the remark by craving
tho slide and discharging his revolver
through the aperture. A yell and a sudden
shuffling of feet without greeted tho
i shot. . , .
For a time all was quiet. Mosely drew
the slide again and reconnoitered. The
result was apparently not satisfactoij.
He snapped the catch back suddenly and
turned sharply upon Humly Jim.
"It's jest ez I reckoned," ho said quietly.
"They're comin back agin, and this
time they've got a timber with em, and
thet door is goin in. I reckon we'll make
j a division of forces."
i He drew the bolts on the inner door as
he spoke.
"Call him," he whispered.
Humly Jim complied. A second later
! Bruce stepped through tho opening. Tli?
deputy grasped his revolvers and disai>'
peared within. Ike Mosely turned and
faced the ranchman in the moonlight.
"Pardner," he said, placing his hands
upon his shoulders and gazing into his
eyes, "ye don't need me to tell ye tin t
j this'll be a close call for you and iae j
and mebbe one or both of us is goin ,
home. But, by the living God, I'm hero
to tell ye thet thar's no man I'd rather
i fight for or die alongside!"
He pressed a pair of 0-sliooters into his
companion's hands as he spoke.
"Now, then," he said, setting his square
shoulder against the shoulder of Bruce, 1
0*,^ ln'c nictr>1? "let. 'em rnnio
ture conversing in low tunes ?uu t-.\citedly
running from window to window.
As they moved to and fro the rays
of the moon flashed upon muskets and
accouterments. They were the soldiers
of Foraker's company, ripe for insurrection
over the death of their chief, and
the building about which they were gathered
was the military jail of Bradford
post.
Trouble had been brewing since early
morning. With the arrival of Sheriff
Mosely and his prisoners, the news of the
tragedy at San Marcus had spread like
wildfire through the camp. Foraker's
men received the intelligence sullenly,
but with evident suspicion of foul play.
The dead captain had been popular with
his company, which included the most
reckless and desperate of the soldiers at
the fort. There were among them certain
dissipafed spirits who cherished a
lively admiration for the hardihood and
notorious reputation of their leader.
Considerable curiosity had been expressed
in regard to the man who had
seen fit to abbreviate so enviable a career.
There had been trips to the jail in
consequence, and throughout the day u
crowd of eager faces had beset the windows.
In consequence of the absence of the
presiding justice, the time for a hearing
* in the case had been set down for the
following day. In the present state of
popular feeling Sheriff Mosely had
thought best to confine the body of Bruce
during the interval. He had been obliged,
therefore, to incarcerate him in the single
room of the jail in company with
Lemuel Wickson. Through the heavily
barred windows the forms of the men
A could be dimly seen, and even conversar
tion interchanged through an occasional
broken pane.
The soldiers had been in doubt at first
as to which of the two was responsible
for the death of the captain. Some vigorous
personal criticism and animated
invective ddivered through the windows
elicited the information required. Bruce
had kept his own counsel while Mr.
Lemuel Wickson had replied cheerfully
to this genial badinage. Being free to
move about, he gratified his resentment
against Bruce for his capture by going
to the window and giving whispered and
startling accounts of the killing of Foraker.
It appeared from these vfvid
word pictures that the ex-horse thief had
been an eyewitness to the tragedy.
His imagination was entirely responsible
for his facts. Yet so cleverly did he
work upon the excited sympathies of the
indignant company that by nightfall it
? was generally believed that Foraker had
been butchered in cold blood while drunk
and asleep. It was doubtful whether
during the interval Mr. Wickson, by the
invention of local color and realistic detail,
had not persuaded himself of the
truth of his statements. Sheriff Mosely
and one deputy mounted guard during
the day and inteiposed a spirited but in1
effectual denial to this version of the affair.
Some local disturbance in the town
of Joaquin had unfortunately necessitated
the absence of Jake Sharp.
As the afternoon wore away the feeling
of animosity against Bruce grew
more expressive and violent The crowd
of loungers about the jail increased. Personal
abuse of the prisoner was indulged
in at the windows, and even threats of
violence were openly heard. Some of the
boldest went so far as to counsel Wickson
to kill Bruce, declaring, with a mob's
ready acceptance or responsibility, that
they would "stand by him."
Mr. Wickson had expressed in words
a cordial willingness to comply with
these requests, but when it came to
deeds had shown a singular reluctance.
He alleged as the reason for this deluy
the fact that he had no weapon, but as
Bruce himself was unarmed this statement
was hardly pertinent. How far
he was influence^ by a certain cold glit
ter in the latter's eye did not transpire.
The fact remain* that he listened quietly
to the urgent but impracticable advice
of the soldiers to "cut the tenderfoot's
heart out," to "throw the stove on him"
and other unconsidered suggestions that
were rained upon him all the afternoon.
But at nightfall Mr. Wickson was still
conspicuously doing nothing.
Then came a lull. The men dispersed
for supper. Sheriff Mosely availed himself
of the interval to send a message of
the state of things to the colonel at the
fort, a message which that worthy unaccountably
saw fit to disregard.
Aftet this he loaded his extra pistols
and withdrew with Humly Jim to the
little guardroom behind the outer door.
Here he had recourse to his pocket flask
and philosophically awaited developments.
"I allow," he said quietly to his only
remaining deputy after participating
with him in this refreshment, "thet we
don't get through this night's bizness
natch'ally without suthin of a row, but
whatever happens, Jim, Ike Mosely don't
reckon on bein either euc hred or bluffed.
I don't propose to let Lein thar git out,
and they can't have Henry Bruce except
over my dead body. Savey thet?"
The deputy did.
"Now, what I expect of you, Jim,"
continued Ike, "is what I allers get?
cl'ar grit and nothin else."
He leaned forward and gripped his ill
favored comrade's hand as he said this.
The two men exchanged glances.
"Ef they start to break in here tonight
I'll draw them fastenings," pointing to
the iron door that led into the room
where the prisoners were confined, "and
call on Henry Bruce. We two'll keep
this place against all comers or die together,
you can take my word for thet!
Your bizness'll be to go in thar and hold
thet tarrier, Wickson, and prevent his
gittin out. Ef ho makes a break or acts
anyway obstrep'rous, shoot him jest the
same ez ye would a jack rabbit. Thar
ain't no other way with sicli cattle. He's
more'n half responsible for the trouble
we're goin to git tonight, and I only wish
my G-shooter lied sorter gone off by ac'
cident on the way up here. It would
have saved my conscience consider'ble
wear and tear. Ez it is now I'm about
eat up with remorse."
As the shadows of evening drew
around the jail the sheriff's forebodings
seemed at first without foundation.
With the beating of "taps" lights vanished
at the fort, the sounds of frontier
discipline were hushed, and the camp apparently
sank to repose. Deceived by
this absence of hostilities, the solitary
deputy dozed on a bench of the low corridor.
Only Ike Mosely remained alert
and vigilant.
ft IfUPiiflf
? ?BY
HOWA
[Copyrighted, lSJtt, by I). Appleton A
with
CHAPTER XII.
The full moon in meridian splendor
shone calmly down on Bradford post.
T?ie little plateau on which the frontier
fort was placed stood out above the outlying
country with all the distinctness
of day. The moonlight flooded everything
within The Post itself, steeping the
three sides of the level square, illuminating
the low barracks of the soldiers
and the adobe dwellings of the officers
opposite, and slipping ghostlike from the
A ? A 2* !_ _l_
wmie nagsian, wmcu swuicu iu sucivu
a spectral finger to the stars. It wanted
yet two hours of midnight, but the
lights were out which, earlier in the
evening, had flickered in the various
quarters. So gracious was the night it
seemed to breathe a benison upon the
slumbers of the quiet garrison.
Yet there was commotion at Bradford
post?not within the confines of the fort
itself, nor in the moonlight spaces of the
level square, but far in the rear of the
soldiers' barracks, where a small, low
Btone building stood with barred door
and grated windows. A crowd of 50 or
80 men were collected about this struc
| on, d 'em! They'll find they've got
! more than they bargained for, or else I've
! forgotten how to shoot!"
A rush from without drowned his
words as a blow delivered with the
force of a battering ram caused the door
to leap inwa-d. A shower of dust and
plaster fell to the floor. A second rush
and shock followed. The door fell from
j its lunges with a crash, and the moon
shone boldly in and streamed upon the
stone pavement. Bruce and Mosely retreated
into the shadows of the doorway,
j Here, unseen by those without, they covered
the entrance with their cocked revolvers.
The moonlight flashed coldly
on the glistening barrels full in sight of
an excited crowd of men poising a heavy
beam.
A moment's pause ensued. The soldiers,
thinking that the weapons were
those of the sheriff and his deputy and
that Bruce was in the interior of the jail,
j were averse to unnecessary bloodshed I
At this instant there was u crash of mus
Ketry m tne rear, accompumeu uy iuu
jingling of glass and the whistling of
! bullets. The leader of the party held up
J his hand to parley.
"I reckon you hear that. Ike Mosely,"
| he said, with an oath. "The boys are
rakin your lockup from the windows.
You might ez well hand that feller over
quiet and peaceable before they take
him out a corpse. We've sworn to string
him up, and ez we're ten to your ono ye
might as well bo sensible and give in."
"You think so, do you?" retorted the J
sheriff through his set teeth. "I'll let (
you know I think different! I'll allow 1
thet me and Jim kin hold only ono end |
of this jail, .but thet's about what we
calculate to do. Of course of you kill
him in the meantime I ain't responsi
ble, but the first man of you thet steps
across thet doorsill is gone in?I give
you thet flat!"
The sheriff had hardly spoken when
the door of the inner room swung quickly
back and HumlyJim appeared. Ho
was not visible to the throng without.
Closing the door behind him, ho leaned
against it. His voice came distinctly to
to the ears of Mosely and Bruce.
"Thar ain't no use l'or me to put in
any more time in tliar." he said slowly.
"Thar ain't no prisoner to guard. Leastwise
nono thet's likely to git away.
Thet last volley settled Lem's account
for good and all. I reckon. The durned
idgits killed tin; wrong man. P'raps thet
bein the case you've got moro use for me
here in front."
Mosely wasabout to whisper somohurried
command to his deputy when a second
volley crashed through the inner
room, splintering the woodwork and j
beams. The sounds of this terrific fusillade
had not entirely ceased beforo a sud- j
den noise borne on the night wind came
to their ears from without. A low ruin- I
ble as of distant thunder shook the earth,
and the windows of the jail rattled with
a strong vibratory tremor. The crowd
about the shattered door turned in surprise.
A clear, ringing cheer burst suddenly
upon the still night. There was a
sound of galloping hoofs and a murmur
of many voLes, and with a sudden rush
and tumult a mounted cavalcade swept
round the j..il, the moonlight flashing
upon their brandished rifles. In an instant
the building was surrounded.
The leader oi tno party cnargcu iae
group of soldiers before the doorway at
a gallop, reining up his horse so fiercely
that the hoofs of the animal struck fire
in the resisting gravel.
"Fall back!" shouted the imperative
voice of Colonel Hunt. "Fall back, now.
all of you, and disperse! This business
has gone far enough."
At tho sharp command Foraker's men
realizing they were now between two
fires, scattered in all directions. The
soldiers in tho rear of the jail were as
quickly routed. Hardly three minutes
elapsed before the horseman threw himself
from the saddle and striding over
the fallen door entered the corridor.
"Just in time, Ike, to put a stop to this
yer foolishness," he remarked, grasping
the sheriff by the hand.
"Not much too early, Dill, thet'sa fact,'
replied Mosely, returning tho greeting.
" 'Pon my word, colonel, I rather looked
for somethin of a scrimmage, but this
; sudden freak o' yours for a moonlight
pasear sorter took tho sand out o' them
Cynthia Dallas stayycrcd trcmblUnj to
the doorway.
sojors, uatcluilly, didn't it? What angel
sent you down our way at this hour o
the night?"
Colonel William Hunt removed his
hat, and the moonlight shono full u|h?h
his serious face.
"You've struck it, Alosely," lie said
solemnly. ' "An out and out angel ui:d
no mistake. 1 ain't no call to take t?
myself any credit for this yer night'*
l?>nncQ It nil liflloiiL's to a woman?a
. littlo gal cz galloped 10 miles to brim;
mo word, and notwithstanding lie/, rid
with us every step of the way and put
the blush to every man in my troop?a
gal ez I'd bank on ag'in half the men I
ever see and who's too good a durned
sight for tho best man in the state."
And even at this moment pale, breathless
and disheveled Cynthia Dallas staggered
trembling to the doorway and sank
fainting on tho threshold.
CHAPTER XIII. '
With the arrival of tho rangers and
their armed investment of tho jail at
Bradford post tho open animosity agains*
Henry Bruce vanished. Such was the
awe inspired by these frontier police that
no further attempt at outbreak followed.
At 9 o'clock on tho following day a
mounted" escort accompanied Bruce to
tho courthouse, and a preliminary examination
was held. Phil Kernochan had '
arrived during the night, bringing with
him Judge Natchez, the ablest lawyer of
the circuit. The prisoner found himself
surrounded by influential counsel and
friends.
The presiding justice conducted the
proceedings with that perfect impartiality
and absence of judicial dignity for
which he was noted. With his hat on
the back of his head, a short black pipe
in his mouth and untrammeled by coat,
cravat or collar, he lent himself seriously
to the gravity of tho occasion.
How far tho judicial mind may have
been influenced by the sullen presence
of tho more disaffected of Foraker's men
in the courtroom and by the armed
demonstration of the night before it is
impossible to determine. Judge Peraberton
smoked alike impassively through
the eloquent argument pf the prisoner's
counsel and the fiery appeal of tho state's
representative. But on motion of Judge
Natchez to release Bruce on bail he
cheerfully acquiesced. He further agreed
to the application for a change of venue,
holding that the present state of populur
feeling was hardly conducive to that
calmness of deliberation which the law
prescribes.
His honor's phraseology is necessarily
lost in the above paraphrase. IIo said,
I believe, that he "wasn't tryin 110 case
in 110 place where everybody was dead !
6ot on hangin the prisoner first and hold- j
in court arterward." But doubtless the
legal principle of abstract justice was
j&plied in this Lone Star dictum. Tho
trial was set down for the first week in
September at the neighboring county
seat of Oskaloo.
Sheriff Mosely was overjoyed at this
decision.
"Why, thet's right whar I was born
and brought up," lie said to Bruce, slapping
him on the back as they left the
courtroom. "I own tket place. Yer
hand, parducv; I congratulate you 011 yer
luck. When the timo comes round, I'll
run down thar and see ef I.can't scare up
a reasonable, fa'r minded and onprejudiced
jury ez'll view this business in a
true and holy light."
The confidence of Bruce in his eventual
acquittal was naturally increased
by this reassuring statement.
None the less did Phil Kernochan relax
his exertions in his partner's behalf.
Ho consulted earnestly with Colonel
Hunt, who with a party of his men conducted
them back to tho Mesquite valley
ranch. Judgo Natchez?a man of
wide experience in Texan practice and
pleading?outlined several modes of action,
but was inclined to lay great stress
upon Sheriff Mosely's co-operation and
suggested that Mr. Buck Jerrold be
approached as a possible valuable ally.
Accordingly a few days later Kernochan
rode over to the latter's ranch and held
a conference with that gentleman.
Mr. Jerrold had been already importuned
in behalf of Henry Bruce. lie
had paid a visit to the Dallas ranch the
previous evening and had heard from
Cynthia's own lips an account of the
storming of tho jail at Bradford post
and tho rescue that followed. So pathetically
had Cynthia wrought upon
tho sympathies of her auditor that Jerrold
had been unablo to resist the appeal.
It was perhaps proof positive of
the cowman's lovo for Miss Dallas and
his own generosity of soul that he promised
his assistance, although in giving it
ho was nwaro that ho stood in his own
light.
Ho received Kernochan with that gravity
of demeanor for which I10 was noted,
tempered possibly with a certain resignation
which under tho circumstances
increased the latter's good opinion. Kernochan
unfolded his errand in a few
words. Buck Jerrold filled his pipe,
lighted it, and seating himself 011 a nail
keg in tho dooryard reviewed tho sit mi
tion solemnly us follows:
"Thar ain'c but ono argyment to bring
to bear on the town of Oskaloo," lie said,
deliberately crossing his legs, "and thet's
whisky! I'vo been down thar, oil' and
on, for the last 10 years, and 1 never
knew anythin elso to carry conviction
in thct thrivin settlement?onlcss it was
a 6-shooter. and even then I reckon
whisky'd stand the best show. Ye see,"
he said, pulling at the straps of his heavy
boots and glancing at them as if for inspiration.
"the poppylation is thct rigid
and narrer minded that it needs suthin
of thet nature to get tlio milk o' human
kindness to flow. They want suthin lo
start'em!
"Ef I could go down thar now in the interests
of justice and jest float the town,
jest play the millionaire and do the
generous thing?it might cost you sutliin
?"but I reckon?I reckon," said Mr. Jerrold
cautiously, "wo might get an honorable
and squar deal, even in thet benighted
settlement.
"It's ag'in the natur u' things," continued
Mr. Jerrold, "to look for fuvorablo
results on any other ground. Them
fellers down that way, 1 reckon, are
what Parson Centrcfitt calls 'pestimists'
?they're malarial in their tastes, ami
they'd get things crooked on get) in)
principles. Accordin to their view, ev
erything is crossgraiued from the start.
They jest natch'ally look at things on
the bias?so to speak.
"They'd allow, for instance, thet Henry
Bruco laid all night for Foraker out
on the San Morcus road; that he round- '
ed him up and started him on the 'long
trail' because ho was stampedin his
plans and prospects. Thet's what they'd
'a' done, and thet's the way they'd look
at it. You and mo knows different?
thet it was dono in self defense. Hut
it'll need judicious manipcrlatin tomake
them liberal minded and to git 'em at
all charitabiy disposed. They must
elevated to thet p'int. Then ye ll git
justice. Tlieir moral liatur sorter leaveoff
-where the rest of us begin."
He paused and looked seriously atKornochan
to noto the effect of his words.
Evidently gathering that, from his vis
iter's previous opinion of the town of O
kaloo, his logic was beginning to tell on
him, he summed up his position in a few
words:
"Ef I rec'lect, I was a leetle onsettled
myself that night in San Marcus, and 1
ain't no way sartin thet Henry Bruce
didn't take a gratifyin contract off my
hands. You go to work, Mr. Kernochan.
and engage the best lawyers and argifj
ersthe state can produce. Them'll bo
necessary, as the prosecuting attorney is
dead ag'in ye from the tust, but ez for
the Oskaloo part of tho bizness, mo and
Ike Mosely'll run thet. And I reckon."
concluded Mr. Jerrold, rising and permitting
a grim smilo to relax the corners
of his mouth, "1 reckon the jury at thet
trial will be in compytent hands."
Phil Kernochan rode back to his ranch
under the impression that the difficulty
of combating local prejudice at Oskaloo
was materially lessening. But Mr. Buck
.Torrold was cloomv and disnirited all tho
afternoon.
It was not long before the delight with
which Miss Stafford greeted the release
of Henry Bruce gavo place to a very different
state of mind. In tho enthusiasm
of his return to the Mesquite valley
ranch, she had detected no change in
his manner toward her. Accustomed
from infancy to her own way, the idea
of a rival in the regard she unquestionably
manifested for tho young ranchman
had probably never seriously crossed her
mind.
Sho had accepted the interest of
Bruce complacently, laid claim to his attentions
as if by a species of divine
right and exhibited toward him a certain
air of proprietorship with tho presumption
of her sex when conscious of
its attractions. To quote "tho words of
Judge Natchez, who was for professional
reasons somo time a guest at the
Mesquite valley ranch, the young lady's
attitudo toward Henry Bruce was that
of the "holder of a first mortgage bond
wherein the equity was decidedly microscopic."
Miss Stafford very soon awoke to an
intelligent distrust of her position, and
then to a conviction that her power was
011 tho wane. Her mortification and
chagrin to find herself supplanted by
one whom her pride in 110 sense recognized
as an equal can well bo imagined.
Perhaps tho first intimation that Edith
received of a change in Bruce was in his
manner of receiving her slighting allusions
and half contemptuous mention of
Miss Dallas. Originally I10 had passed
these over with tho good humored cynicism
of a man of the world. But now
anything of the sort plainly irritated
him, and persistence in the matter provoked
a retort or possibly a sudden sarcasm.
With singular infelicity of epithet
Miss Stafford had characterized
Cynthia's devotion to Bruce during his
imprisonment as "kind"?"really qui: e
what one would have expected a girl of
her surroundings to have done."
It will be understood that Bruce cherished
a different sentiment.
His old interest in Cynthia?the interest
that he had felt since that first day
? ? 1
WHeil SUt) uuu pvuptu uu\\ u upi.ii >11
the gloomy chasm with her fragrant
suggestions of hemlock and pine?woke
anew in his heart, and with it a cense of
gratitude from which, I trust, mankind,
in the rarity of feminine constancy, is
not entirely exempt. This interest deepened
as the spring advanced and the
season slipped into summer. He grew
quite in the habit of riding over to the
Dallas ranch and passing the morning
in Cynthia's society. Here, although lie
persuaded himself that his attitude toward
tho young lady was merely such
as a brother might hold toward an affectionate
sister, he was often astounded
to discover with what winged feet the
hours flew overhead, and that familiar
objects took on a sudden association and
charm from tho witchery of her company.
It was doubtless this brotherly interest
in Miss Dallas that prompted Henry
Bruce to instruct her upon the guita ?
an instrument singularly calculated to
overcome shyness and restraint between
persons of tho opposite sex, and as such
to be commended. If while thus employed
Cynthia found herself sitting at
times very near Bruce and their finge-s
dangerously involved in compelling melody
from tho refractory strings, it was
unquestionably duo to her anxiety tobecomo
a proficient performer, and if
while playing some chord or explaining
some accompaniment there stole into t! e
gentleman's face an expression so winuing
and tender that the girl's sweet eyes
grew downcast and tremulous it was the
zeal of the instructor doubtless that
prompted this. Certainly for its opportunities
and possibilities the light guitar
has reason to bo appreciated, and there
slumbers in its strings a sympathy that
proves a powerful ally to sentiment.
Howbcit, whatever may have been the
experience of her companion, Cynthia
learned little from the instrument of
which her heart had not been eloquent
beforo. But sho acquired a certain dainty
dexterity, and as this musical intercourse
gave rise to much conversation and confidential
disclosure it was not long beforo
Bruce was well acquainted with all
her girlish dreams and fancies?except
one, in regard to which Cynthia said
nothing, but preserved the evasive silence
of womankind.
It shono in her eyes that kindled at his
coming, in tho quick color that mounted
to her cheek at his approach, in the sudden
delicious tremor that seized her
when ho drew near, and the indescribable
thrill that set her heart to throbbing
whenever his hand touched he-s.
In place of that dejection that once oppressed
her. a glad gayety and light
heartedncss attended all hermovemei -a.
Joy laughed in tho sunlight, and mirth
came to her on tho wings of tho wind.
rpi,? iflm Irnr. fnnu nf
J.I1U UI liiilb A UCXVtU U1U UVV KVJ/W V*
her bower, letting slip bright shafts of
light to stray within, set her all unco ieeiously
to singing.
Old man Dallas noted the change and
glow reserved and thoughtful. After
Cynthia's daring ride to Bradford post
ho had taken occasion to read his charming
daughter a long homily on the "danger
of young women sliowin all to onct
how much store they set by any young
feller." According to Alcides, it was the
duty of the sex to "set back and let things
hump themselves according to their
natch'ral course." Cynthia had accepted
this rebuke meekly. She was now uniformly
affectionate to her father.
"I reckon them new bonnets she was
talkin about must have got up to San
Marcus," remarked this cautious skeptic,
who was inclined to refer all feminine
advances to mercenary motives. Finding,
however, that his daughter's caresses
were quite gratuitous, he shook his head
gravely with renewed distrust. It was
only after a doleful rehearsal upon his
fiddle of his symphony to "Married Life"
that ho appeared to have pierced the
heart of the mystery.
It was about this time that Miss Stafford
ceased to allude to tho frequency of
tho visits paid Miss Dallas by Henry
Bruce; it was about this time that she
became apparently unaware that any
Bucbfyoung woman existed; it was about
this time that she began to drop stray
hints in regard to certain admirers at the
north, for whom she cherished an extravagant
interest?an interest which
speedily began to manifest itself in correspondence.
it was about this time that
she gave out that those parties wore ini'
portuning her greatly to return homo,
I*..*. elm mo/I i .111?<1 o /?r?nn
Ulib UL*1U1U VIV'iu^ cw nuv iiivvumuu
d'etat by which she trusted to wring the
heart of her rival, and if ])ossible "lure
this tassel gentle back again."
And so the summer days passed by
until September came and with it the
momentous trial at Oskaloo.
| To UK ro.NCM' OKI' NKXT W K K K. ]
President Cleveland, it is said,
uses the smallest of stub pens stuck into
a massive holder, and his handwriting
is small and very distinct. Mrs. Cleveland
writes in large characters.
| ?
REV. THOMA
THE POPULAR NEW \
THE POWER OP MONEY
REV. THOMAS DIXON'S SERMON ON
THE ALMIGHTY DOLLAR.
riie Real Capital of the United States Im
Not Washington, hut Wall Street, New
York?Money OneHtlons to rrcdoininate
For Many Years?An Awful Force.
Cape Charles, Vn., July 2.?Rev.
Thomas Dixon, Jr., has closed his cottage
here for July and August and removed,
with his family, to Cobb's island,
on the seaside. Cobb's island is
the next island to the south from Broadwater,
the favorite resort of President
Cleveland 011 the Virginia coast. It is
merely a strip of sand, with the ocean on
one sido and Broadwater bay on the othi
or. It has been a famous resort for a
long number of years for hunters and
for fishermen. It is the center of the
hunting and fishing district of the eastern
shore of Virginia.
Mr. Dixon began today a series of seri
mons, to be continued through July and
August, on the question of "Money and
Christianity; or, The Modern Problem of
the Almighty Dollar." The introduction
to the series was delivered this morning
I in the Methodist church at Cobb's island.
Through the months of July and August
the hotel and cottages aro crowded with
! guests from every part of the country.
Tlio audienco was a representative one.
, composed of men of every class and sta!
tion in life, but included a large number
of country peoplo in Northampton county
who have grown to know Mr. Dixon
during his residence on the cape through
the past spring months.
Tho text chosen was Exodus xxxii, 3,
4: "And all tho peoplo brako off the
I golden rings which wero in their ears
1 and brought them unto Aaron. And I10
received them at their hand and fashioned
it with a graving tool and made it a
molten calf, and they said, These be thy
gods, 0 Israel, which brought thee up
out of the land of Egypt."
modern israelites.
The children of Israel, if they were tho
1 first to make a golden calf and worship
it, certainly have not been the last peoplo
guilty of this deserti<^i of the true
God for tho image made with human
hands. Tho problem of money is the
problem of the latter days of the nineteenth
century. The problem of money
is in fact tho problem of modern life. It
is the 0110 question with which we arc all
intimately concerned from the very beginning
of lifo to its close. It costs
j ' * - - - a ? 11 . 1j 1
money to uo uorn into ine wuriu, uuu
under present tariff schedules it costs
! more to die. From the beginning to the
end it is this everlasting money question
with which mortal man is confronted.
Tho money issue is the one magnet
around which all other problems at last
j do center. Man's interest in money
seems to be the power by which he can
' bo tested both physically and morally.
The French government uses this magnet
as tho power by which man's capacity fov
the army is frequently tested. When men
aro summoned to enter tho army, they
are often afflicted with various diseases
of sudden development. Men aro stricken
dumb and deaf in most unaccountable
ways. A deaf man appears before the
French tribunal as a possible army recruit.
Ho of course can hear nothing.
Tho loudest word of command makes no
impression on him. He declares through
signs that ho cannot hear it thunder.
After tho examination is completed and
ho has been discharged as unfit for service,
as he departs from the tribunal an
officer follows him to tho street and
drops a gold coin behind him ou the
pavement. Instantly ho turns, attracted
by tho magic ring of the coin, to pick it
up. Ho is at onco arrested and forced
into tho army ranks. It is a test of man's
character in a thousand ways. It is a
test of a nation's character. It is the test
of tho naturo of society us well as of individuals
and nations.
farmers' alliance.
Our own nation is most intimately
concerned just now with this tremendous
problem and its possible developments.
Wo are in the throes of a possible
panic that will bo an epoch making
event in our history. Men aro studying
tho money problem as never before, and
they aro studying it from tho bottom to
the top. The question of money involved
in tho problem of gold or of silver as a
standard opens finally tho broader question
of the right of money to exist. We
are brought faco to faco with the theories
promulgated by tho great French
and German socialists of tho past century.
In tho theories of the Farmers'
Alliance and its allied parties we aro
brought faco to face with tho reincarnated
doctrines of Karl Marx and Rodbertus.
These problems of a money standard
and of the question of intrinsic value go
to tho very heart of the social problem of
tho century. They will not bo settled in
a day. They will not be settled in one
administration or in two. This money
problem is destined to make and unmake
? C XI. ^ ^ ..X
parties ami statesmen iui mo nc.vi, quarter
of a century. It is the problem of
tlio hour. In the world of politics it is
the problem of the future for the profoundest
statesman. In our introduction
to this study we do not propose to enter
upon tho discussion of these profound aspects
of the money problem. We shall
discuss rather money as the unit of commercial
value, and therefore the standard
of measurement for economic power?or,
in other words, the standard of
measurement for wealth.
Personally I do not decry wealth or
its accumulation. I do believe that it is
a crime for any man to rear a family in
the world and not provide for them. )
b?. lieve that there is a sin which a man
may be guilty of that is worse than th?
attempt to get money?it is tho vice of
the spendthrift, and it is a vice of which
tho preacher is often most guilty. 1
1 confess that it is one of my sins. With
,S DIXON, JR.
rORK PULPIT ORATOR.
me, pcrsonitlly, the money problem has
been always about the same. Six years
ago I was pastor of a little church in
North Carolina, and I had a salary of $f0
a month. At the end of the month, as
you may well imagine, I had nothing, i
Now, in New York, I have a salary of i
about ijtfOO a month, and at the end of
tho month I am in debt. I do not believe
that this is right. I have never believed
it to bo right. I havo promised and
promised to reform. I am trying to j
study the subject that I may lead my- I
self into tho light, certainly in this aspect
of the case.
GREATEST POWER ON EARTH.
Wealth, in fact, has its deep spiritual
significance when accumulated by proper
miva jiikI sniicht in the nroner stiirit.
The fact of wealth does not signify the
material and tho brutal. As a nation
we are the richest people in the world.
We are not therefore for that reason the
coarsest. We have vast piles of build- !
ings, vast systems of railroads, whose
very vastness, our foreign critics have
told us, indicate a coarse view of life.
The greatest piles of brick and mortar, '
stone and cement and iron and steel
i have back of the matter we see their
deeper spiritual meaning. They are tho
incarnation of great hopes, noble faiths.
| They may bo crude efforts. They are j
! great, not for what they are, but for j
1 what they promise, for the ideal of
which they are the dim outline.
As a nation wo should study the money
problem, and we should be among
the first, if not tho first, to solve it.
God has given wealth to us as to no other
peoplo born on tho earth. By the
census of 1880 America had more money
than Great Britain, on whos?, empire the
sun never sets, whose flag floats in every
sea and whoso ships ride proudly at
their anchors in every harbor of the
world. We had in 1880 wealth enough
to buy one-half tho known world?lands, !
houses, kingdoms, scepters, empires.
But after wo had bought a hemisphere
and paid for it we would have money
enough to carve a new nation out of the
undeveloped west.
One of the first things that strikes the ,
student of economics and of the relation
of religion to the great social problem
is the fact that money is the mightiest
power that moves today upon the sur- j
face of modern civilization. We observe
this fact:
WASHINGTON NOT THE NATION'S CAPITAL.
First?In the power manifested in tho
making and unmaking of the history of
governments. The center of government
of this century is not the jiolitical
capital. It is the commercial, the money
capital. If we imagine that the capital
of America is at Washington, we 1
make a sad mistake. Washington is a
' very beautiful town. It is handsomely
laid off. It has some grand boulevards,
somo beautiful streets. It has acres of
beautiful homes. It is pleasing to the
eye. We have located there some
elegant buildings. We have a very
handsome capitol building, of which
some very excellent photographs have
been made by various photographers.
It has a handsome dome, with the figure
of Liberty on its summit. We have some
other exceedingly handsome buildings
that cost millions of dollars. We have j
an executive mansion in which the presi- 1
dent of tho United States lives. It is
commonly supposed that the seat of government
is at Washington or thereabouts.
This is a popular superstition. As a matter
of fact the center of government is
not at Washington. If you wish to find
the center of government in America,
you should walk down Broadway until
you reach Trinity church and turn into
a narrow lano to tho left. Walk down
this narrow lane, between those mountainous
buildings that rise toward tho i
sky, and as you walk the length of Wall
street you have traversed the main corridor
of this nation's capital. Wall street
is the center of the government of Amer- 1
ica. It has been so for a generation,
and tliero never was a time that it was i
more so than today.
You may say that we elected Mr.
Cleveland president of the United States
by a majority commonly termed a political
cyclone. True enough. All that
happened, and Mr. Cleveland is in tho
presidential chair, with his cabinet, and
the government is running along its usual
course. That does not alter the situation.
If Mr. Cleveland hud dared to
stand up before tho world before tho i
election and say in so many words that
he was opposed to the money policy of
the governing kings of Wall street, ho
would now be practicing law in tho
Mills building, in the city of New York,
as a private citizen, and the onerous burdens
of the executive office would now
bo on other shoulders. No president has
been elected in this nation within a generation
who has not been in perfect accord
with the kings of Wall street on tho
money question. Any man who knows
anything about the history of this nation
knows enough not to discuss that
proposition.
I'ANIC IN WALL STREET.
A short time ago there was an approach
to a serious panic in Wall street.
Money ruse to 183 per cent. You felt it
here. It was felt throughout the nation
and felt instantaneously. What was the
matter? There was nothing the matter
with the government at Washington.
The secretary of tho treasury was there.
The money was all there in the treasury.
'Nobody had broken open the strongbox
Tho gold reservo was untouched. Tho
secretary of the treasury came over to
Wall street, spluttered around for a few
days like a bee in a tar bucket and went
back to Washington. Tho government j
was all rigl \ It was running with its
usual regularity. The fact is, it could
not do otherwise. We have an astronomical
government. It is wound up to
run four years. It cannot stop. It runs '
by the moon, and the sun, and the stars
When tho four seasons have passed, tin
four years are complete, there is a change |
of administration, not before.
Our government was in perfect run
ning order, but the government had ' t
nothing in creation to do with the real ! i
life of the people at that time. Finan- t
cial ruin stared the nation in the face, i
and for 21 hours we held our breath to t
know if the crash would come. What t
was the trouble? Simply that a firm of f
private bankers in London were about t
to fail. It was whispered in Wall street 1
on the day of this panic that Baring (
Bros, in London, a firm of private i
bankers, were about to collapse. The (
money market at once was in a state
of wild delirium. That night in
the lobby of the Windsor hotel a J!
group of excited money brokers a
gathered and were discussing the situa
tion. A man rushed up and had news
direct from London that the failure of
Baring Bros, would be announced next
day. A man leaped from the group, the
ofnn/linrr in rrrnof 1\rta/1a All
D|J11 UtAWil Oiunvuii^ *IA ?..
his forehead, his fuce livid with excitement,
while ho fairly shrieked in reply:
"My God, man, it is impossible! Baring |
Bros, fail? If they fail, the Bunk of Eng- 1
land goes down, and the financial world
must collapse." He could not believe it.
It meant with him life and death. And
yet the rumor was confirmed the next
day. How were we saved from financial
ruin? It wus announced with the
announcement of their failure that the
Bank of England?that is, the government
of Great Britain?with all its
matchless resources, had come to the
rescue of Baring Bros, and saved them c
from collapse. Thus was the greatest c
financial disaster of this century averted
by the interposition of all the resources I
of the next greatest money empire to ( f
ours in the world. !
Wo were threatened with ruin in our a
financial center by whom, by what? | s
England was threatened by whom? A c
firm of private bankers had been specu- '
lating in Argentine securities in South
America. The money speculations of a s
firm of private bankers had brought the ! i
English speaking world to the verge of r
financial ruin. The only thing that po- \
litical government was in for in that \
hour was simply to bring the resources I (!
of the empire of Great Britain'to the rescue
of this private firm of bankers. 1
THE SOUTHERN* CONFEDERACY. j
The money center is the center of n
government. It has been so through a
the past centuries. It is more true to- y
day than at any time within a hundred j v
years. The southern confederacy failed i c
long before Appomattox. The south- y
em confederacy failed long before a c
single brigadier general had surren- c
dered. The southern confederacy had [
already failed when it cost $100 to [
buy a pair of cowhide boots. The south- c
em confederacy failed for a very t
simple reason?not because they liad ^
not soldiers, had not generals, had not c
fighting geniuT and were not desperate.
They had all these powers. They had r
the inspiration of home, society?the rj
very foundation of the social life at <
stake. The south failed in its attempt ^
to establish a nution because they had *
no money. The center of a nation's t
government in this age is its money r
center. This is the one resistless power e
of the closing clays of the nineteenth ^
century. i ^
Second?Money is the greatest power
that moves upon the surface of the social ,,
world today. There was a time when \
ancestry counted, when the pride of ancestry
was the basis of organization of
so called high society." Today that power j
is money. The power that makes social
prestige?the power that organizes
social cliques and classes?is the money *
power. Money can buy its way into any '
social order of this century?from the *
honors at the disposal of the queen of
England down to an entree into Ward
McAllister's Four Hundred. It does not *
matter where a man made his money or j
how he made it so he has it. The spirit !
of this social struggle has as its standard 3
of measurement the question of posses- J
sion, the question of brutal success. '
Nothing succeeds like success is one of 3
their vital mottoes. The whisky manu- I
facturer, tlio brewer, the ward politician c
who has stolen his money, the Napoleon s
of finance who has wrecked a thousand |
homes by his gambling schemes, the man s
who kills pigs in Chicago and the man ^
who owns real estate in New York, all fJ
take their seat in the same banquet hall. 1
There is no aristocracy of brains and of t
moral worth today in the regnant circles t
of modern society. Money is the magic c
power that dominates the social sets of ; 1
the present century. ?
TIIE MAGIC WAND.
Third?Money, when properly used, is t
today one of the mightiest powers for r
good in the world of philanthropy and t
of real charity in our century. Money .
is tho magic king whose wand opens to c
the human raco new empires, new king- ' a
doms. It is tho power that explores un- a
known seas und gives to humanity the
results for an inheritance even for gen- ?
orations yet unborn. It is the power ?
that tunnels tho mountains, opens uuex- t
plored continents, crosses unknown r
seas and binds the nations of the earth ?
in the bands of commercial if not fra- j
ternal unity. It is the pioneer power ^
in this age which leads the vanguard t
in tho army of human progress. t
It is tho power that develops and
gives to the world thousands of in- t
ventions anu that has stimulated inventions
to a point at which the progress of j .
the race is the miracle before which tin
philosopher stands in increasing wonder
It is tho power today that is being us
by a thousand ready hands for the s...- j *
vation of the race. It is the power that 1
crosses the seas with thousands of ma- c
chines as messengers of light to worlds c
that sit in darkness. It is tho power that j I
prints millions of Bibles and sends them 11
around the world upon their mission of
truth and of life. It is the power that ?
builds our churches and orphan asylums, i
hospitals and homes, that builds our pal- i
aces for the poor, and the lame, and tho ?
halt, and th? blind, and crowns the civili- t ?
zation of the century with its real honors
'rum E MILLION DOLLARS. y
A man passing along the streets of f
Baltimore hears the cry of a sick child j
and draws his check for $3,000,000 and
builds the great hospital and university, t
with its 32 magnificent buildings, whose ( f
central dome is set with a coronet as , i
though God had blessed it with his own ; t
hands from tho skies. Last summer as c
I went out of tho city on a hot July , t
night I heard the patter of hundreds of c
children's feet in the great ferryhouse. , t
I heard their prattle, and their boister- j j
ous laughter filled the building. I asked j
what it meant. The people in chargr j >
suid they were taking tho little waifs j j
from thu back alleys and crowded tene- I ,
meats out into tho mountains of Penn- 1 j.
sylvania for two weeks of life, for two u
weeks of field and meadow, of sunlight, I
of nature and of nature's God. It meant t
.\t llt+lau-nti fanoa (rrnwn '
lllilb IlUUUltUD Ul libitu ?? cm* *i?vvu|0*v.. .. j,
pale ami wrinkled with bad air and with
bad food and insufficient clothing and *
hard tasks, would grow young and child- t
like again; that they would be given life 1 ^
instead of death, strength for weakness, '
health instead of disease. I saw them
with the great bundles of tickets. It i .
costs hundreds, even thousands, of dol- j .
lars to do this work of love.
When Russia sat in her starving hovels
and stretched her helpless hands ?
across her cold waters, it was rich Amer- j 1
ica that loaded her vessels to the water's .
line with bread and grain, and on swift '
wings, with tireless lungs of steel driven j
by steain, wo sent our messengers on j
their mission of love and mercy. And it
took thousands uppn thousands of dollars j j
IU KIIU U..O o ^
Money properly used is the king whose I *
magic wand transforms tho desert into c
the garden, clothes tho orphan, feeds the
poor, dries the tear of tho widow and j
makes tho world a place for man to live '
in. It is this power, properly used, that c
has made sorao names an inspiration to i '
the raco in this latter end of tho nine- j '
teenth century. There aro millionaires '
today who are making tho history of
human society by preaching in life >
through tho sacrifice of their wealth in I 1
tho cause of humanity tho real gospel I t
)f .Jesus (Jurist. I Know millionaires
vlio are giving their entire income to
lie rauso .of humanity. And as the
nultitmlo passed before the birr of Peter
hooper, with tear stained eyes, and as
hey cherish his memory today as the
riend of humanity, so will they cherish
ho possession of men of money who
lave learned its jiower and have conse:rated
that power to tho cause of liunanity,
which is tho highest service of
3od.
U?Tlie sermon on "The I.ove of Money,"
rhleh was delivered by Itev. Dickson on last
iiinday, is published on the fourth pajje of tills j
<SI1C of Til K KNuriKKIt.
JUisccltancous pending.
THE ARABIAN HORSE.
On the edges of the desert of Arabia
ire large cities, such as Damascus on
he west and Bagdad 011 the east shore.
These towns are famous horse
narkets, and many horses falsely called
'Arabian" are sold there every year ;
?ut one does not find in every city
he true Arabian horse, the courser of
he desert, the lite' and faithful animal
mown to poetry and romance.
He is to be seen only among those
vandering tribes of Arabs or Bedouins
vho would scorn to live in towns.
To understand the Arabian horse,
me must have some idea of the Bedmiti
who raises him.
They are simple, active, hardy peo>le,
living a life as natural as thut of a
ox or a deer. They despise luxury and ;
lispluy, drink no intoxicating liquors
aid eat sparingly. They are short,
light men, but muscular, wiry and
apable of great endurance.
Their horses are like them.
The Arabiau is a small horse with
lim legs, but his legs are as if made of
ron, and he will gallop a hundred
nilesin a day without tiring. He gets
ery little grain; lie can go wiinoui
rater, as sometimes he is obliged to
lo so for days at a time.
One peculiarity of the Arabs is this : ;
They think a great deal of good manter
and of good breeding both in men
ind horses. They are poor people,
ind do not value a man for his wealth ;
>ut they have a great respect for one \
vhose father and grand father?whose
mcestors for a long way back?were 1
lonorable men, kind and courteous to
thers and self-respecting?what we
all gentlemen in short. The Arabs i
lelieve that good manners are apt to i
ie inherited, and when a man comes ;
?f good stock and has proved simple, |
ourteous and honest himself he is '
rery likely to be chosen sheikh or
hief of the tribe.
The pedigree of the Arabian horses j
uns back for hundreds of years,
rhey are not written or printed. The
trabs have few books, and they are I
lot given to reading and writing, but
he ancestry of their horses is a mater
of common knowledge. Every :
uember of a tribe knows just how j
ivery horse belonging to the tribe is j
ired?what horse wus his father's,
vhat one was his grandfather's, and
o on for many generations back.
They take the greatest pains to preerve
the purity of the breed.
Another, and perhaps the most im- I
lortant peculiarity of the Arabs, so ?
ar as their horses are concerned, is
his: They are exceedingly good-tem- '
lered and patient. It is said that no
>ther people in the world are so kind i
o their children as are the Arabs, and
hey treat their horses like children. j
The horse is the most sensitive of all
inimals, and he is also by nature play'ul
and affectionate. If you make a
labit of speaking harshly to him, if
;ou give him a culF or a blow or a
:ick whenever you lose patience with '
lim, or when he fails to understand
ou, then he is sure to become unliap>y
and stupid, and perhaps vicious
ind dangerous. The Arabs never
trike a horse.
The Arabs have neither whips, nor
purs, nor bits. They ride on a pad,
vithout saddle, stirrups or bridle.
Hie horse is restrained by halter,
laving a slight chain passing around j
he nose, and the halter-rope, which
he rider holds in his hand, is attachid
to the chain. And yet the Arabian
lorses are exceedingly high-spirited
ind courageous.
The secret of their good behavior is
hat they love their masters and no ;
nore think of rebelling against* them
lian a dog would.
As soon as the foal is born he is tied
ilose to his master's tent by a cord
iround his neck or sometimes around
i hind leg.
In a month's time he is weaned i
md his mother goes out to pasture
ivery day while he remains by the
ent and is fed with camel's milk.
The children play with him; he be- .
:omes one of the family, and when he '
s a year old his playmates get on his
lack and ride him about a little, lty
he time he is two years old, he is able
o carry a half-grown boy, and six
nonths later he is ridden on an expelition
with older horses.
The Arabs never tie their horses by
he head. *
The common way of securing them
s to put an iron clasp around one of
he hind ankles and fasten it with a*
ladlock and key, and to this clasp is
Lttached a long chain, tho other end
?f which is rivited to one of the tent
legs. Then the horse is free to rove '
ibout and he cannot be stolen.
The Arabs are great robbers of hors's,
but they steal only from their enenies.
There is with them no sneakng
into the stable on a dark night
md softly leading out a horse after
nutiling his feet.
: ,,, ],.> llt
*Mje iriuc in tiij 14a m .-v- ... .....
tli another, and ghazus or raids are
requently undertaken for the express
lurpose of capturing liorses.
Far of! in the desert is seen a little
loud on' the horizon like a man's
land: rapidly it grows bigger and
ligger and spreads out; a few minutes
uore and it has become a group
?f horsemen galloping swiftly toward
he enemy's camp. The picturesque
:loaks of the Arabs stream out behind
hem in the wind : each man carries a
ong lance in his right and loosely
lohls the halter rope in his left hand.
Vs they approach, one can see the
link glow within the quivering nosmstrils
of the horses; their beautiful
leads are outstretched, their soft eyes
ire now fired with excitement.
On they come, the enemy have
nounted to meet them, there is one
nad rush as the two bands come tojether.
Some of the horsemen ure disnembercd
: some are wounded ; it sellom
happens that one is killed, and vicory
is quickly won or lost, for these
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l,HU VIIWM.HV.W MV ..V. ? oIf
the invaders are victorious, they
ake the horses of the enemy, which
s all they care for, and start homevard.
The only property of any
,'alue which the Bedouins, ever luue
s their horses.
Perhaps re-enforcements are secured
>y the beaten party and a long pursuit !
>f the victors begins.
And now come into play those qual
ties of endurance which the Arab eseems
in his horse, for mile after mile j
lour after hour he gallops, with short
itops for rest, and with very little food
>r water.
If a halt is made at noonday and
he sun is hot, the rider, dismounting,
iesdown under his horse's belly?the
mly shade procurable for perhaps a
lundred miles around?"and the faithul
animal stands still with drooping
lead.
Sometimes a gale of cold wind, drivtig
the sand in clouds before it, springs
lp?what we call a blizzard, except j
hat the sand takes the place of snow. |
.No croaturc can lace sucn a sionn.
The Arab makes his horse lie down
with his hack to the wind and then the
rider, wrapping himself in his cloak,
curls up for protection between the
four legs of the steed.
The Aral) horses are small, as I have
said, about the size and very much the
same shape as the famous trotter Flora
TempTe. Flora Temple was a little
hay marc and she had some Arabian
blood in her veins.
The best Arabs are apt to he hay in
color, some are chestnut, a few are
gray, occasionally one is pure white,
or coal black. There are,no roan, piebald,
dun, or "calico"' horses among
them.
Their backs are slightly and gracefully
curved, their bodies round and
swelling, and they carry themselves
proudly as if they said (as wrote an
English traveler): "Look at me! am I
not pretty?"
Their heads are their great beauty.
The forehead is large and swells out in
the middle in a graceful curve, and the
eyes are large, soft and intelligent.
The ears are delicate, finely shaped,
and when they are pricked forward
the noiuts almost touch. The nose is
narrow running down to a point, and
it is an old saying that an Arabian
horse might drink out of a teacup.
Such is the thoroughbred of the desert.
Horses are what men make them,
and the Arabian horse is hardy, courageous,
gentle, intelligent and beautiful,
because his master, the Bedouin, is
active and enduring, because he is kind
and patient, because he values good
birth and breeding.
THK SOUTHKRN XKUKU.
Ella Evalyn Conner, an a educated
colored girl, went to Chattanooga last
year to teach in the public schools
and encountered a very strong prejudice
against Northern negroes among
her own race. They disliked her very
much, and charged her "with improper
relations with the school commissioner,
a white man of family, for which
she was tried and acquitted. On returning
to her home in Ohio, she wrote
the following scorching letter to the
Chattanooga Times:
Ski.ma, O., June 10.
I heartily agree with the ''Northern
man 011 the Negro," whose comment
in your columns of a few weeks since
was taken from a Memphis paper. I
was reared in a pure, (Quaker community,
and have been surrounded by
good Christian influences from chilhood
and had known very few colored people
before I went South. I, too, went
South prejudiced against the whites
for the cruel treatment imposed upon
the colored people by them. I could
not see why the color of a man's
skin would subject him to the
treatment he received. I taught in
your community three successive
years and of course came in contact
with the negro as he is, and am almost
ready to add, he is treated too well.
It is useless for the average Negro*
(of course we have some noble exceptions)
to talk of emigrating North or to
~ 11 it t i 1 Itn 1ont?nc tn an.
UU) UIUU1 UIIVI1 iav IVUIII0 iw i*|/
predate the pure and the good, and it
will be no better in the North than in
the South, for wherever the Negro is
found in large numbers he is treated
badly, and in most cases he deserves
to be treated so. I have lived North
and East and have taught South,
three years, and I shall quit howling
about "Negro suffrage," for the average
Negro is morally so low that no
intelligent, upright, sensible colored
person can censure a well-equipped,
refined class of people for ostracising
such cattle.
We know we have some of our race
who will compare with those of any
other race in education, culture and
refinement, whose characters are as
good as gold; but comparatively speaking,
how few, aud the few suifer for
what the masses do.
Since I have seen so much of the
Negroes in the past six weeks, I can
see why the children in the schools are
so dishonest and treacherous. It is
wholly impossible to get the truth from
them in any form. They will steal
anything they can get their hands on,
and the sad part of it all is, when they
are caught in a wrong they are not
sorry that they have committed the
wrong, but that they have been caught.
As a class the Negroes are so vile
and degraded that they put the wrong
construction on everything their leaders
do, and see only the bad side of
things. The "Negro problem" to me
is no longer why the whites impose
such treatment on them, but why they
are cast in such a mold.
I heartily endorse the sentiment of
the "Northern man on the Negro." I
believe he told the exact truth. I am
often asked when I come North by
both white and colored what I think
of the way in which the Negro is
treated. I shall answer them henceforth
that he is treated too well, for I
have found that when a colored person
tries to do right the white people will
give him a helping hand fifty?yea, a
hundred?times where members of his
own race will try to pull him down.
They need not expect to prosper, for
they make their own way narci.
I have no race pride. I lost it in
Chattanooga.
Now, of course, the colored people
who do not do these things will take
this letter to heart. Let him who the
shoe fits, put it 011.
Ella Kvai.yn Conxkr.
THE HKKiilT OF MAN.
A French statiscian has been studying
the average heights of men at different
periods of the world's history,
and lias reached some alarming conclusions.
The recorded facts extend over
nearly three centuries. It is found
that in 1010 the average height of men
in Europe was nearly five feet, six
inches. I11 17!)0 it was five feet, six
inches. In lS'JO it was five feet five
inches and a fraction. At the present
time it is five feet, three and threefourth
inches. It is easy to deduct
from these figures a rate of regular and
gradual decline in human stature, and
then apply this, working backward
and forward, to the past and to the future.
By this calculation, it is determined
that the stature of the first men attained
the surprising average of sixteen
feet, nine incites. The race had
already deteriorated in the days of Og,
and (ioliath was quite a degenerate
offspring of the giants.
Coming down to later times, we find
that, at the beginning of our era, the
average height of a man was nine feet,
and in the time of Charlemagne it was
eight feet, eight inches.
But the most astonishing result of
this man's study comes from the appli'
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canon oi ine .sumo iiiw ui uiiiiuiuuuii.
It is conclusively shown that in 4,0t)0
A. 1)., the height of the average man
will be but fifteen inches, ami in a few
thousand years more the end of the
world will come, for men will get so
short that there will be nothing left of
them.
This is altogether the most comfortable
solution of the end-of-theworld
problem that has been presented,
remarks the Buffalo Express. It
will be so much more pleasant for the
comiug man to diminish out of existence
than to be burned off the earth.
fisaT A day or two ago, relates a London
weekly, a woman applied for a
lost umbrella at the Lost Property
Office, Scotland Yard. When it was
restored to her she went away, leaving
behind her another umbrella and a
brown-paper parcel.