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I f . ^ ISSUED SEItX'WBBBL^^ l. *. grist's sons, Pnbu.her., } ' % Jfamilg Jjerospaper: 4or till! promotion of the political, jJoqial. Sgricultucal and Commercial Interests o( the people. ( terb?nol^2?pVfivec?|} VANCIS' ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKytLLK. W. C.. KIM DATT, XOVEMnRIt 8,1907. . N~Q. 90. , Brothe BY ETTA CHAPTER I?Continued. The next day I did not so much as look toward the lake. I minded my tasks and was so sober and thoughtful that Mehltable wondered. Two days passed. The third dawned, wet and ^ dreary. Sister Sarah, our old henwife. had fallen ill of rheumatism and MeW hitable and I were sent In her stead to look after the poultry. The henhouse stood under a hill. near the border of the lake. I lighted a Are beneath an Iron pot. In which Mehitable had placed a great mess of meal and potatoes for the fowls, and together we fed and counted the noisy broods. "The old gray turkey's not here!" cried Mehitable, suddenly; "that ungracious bird Is always on the go. She's got six little ones with her. You must And them, Esther. Even If the hawks don't gobble them up they'll be drenched in this rain, and a wet turkey wilts like a rag." I left her in the long, low house and hurried off In search of the missing brood. Here, there and everywhere I looked, but found It not. A great depression stole over me as 'I went on. How I hated this dull, monotonous life! How the shadow of these changeless hills pressed upon my heart! I wished . myself at the bottom of the lake. * I wished that I had died with my mother. It was frightful to think of * -" a a a ofli-on fv living lo .ueimuuir a o?c?oe<vu./ years?In this place. I sat down upon a stone under the garden wall, forgetting the turkeys, forgetting everytlng In my own misery, and, as I did so, a man came hurriedly out from among the beet and onion beds and stood by my side. "Sister Esther, why do you waste your time in vain Imaginings?" demanded the voice of Brother Silas? "longings after the fleshpots of Egypt ?the vanities of the world? You need not deny it?you are not a true daughter of Mother Ann?you are not even a believer. You must be watched. There is no love for the brethren and sisters in your heart." I leaped to my feet. I was very angry; but I would have turned from him without a word, had he not caught ine by my gown. "Release me!" I cried. "Nay, not till you hear me, Esther. You want to go out into the world, where men will see and praise your beauty. You want to leave this godly life. I can read you like an open book. Vou are no Shakeress. Do you think I cov.ld endure your loss and live on here without you? Nay! My very nioovoa to von I Atronize over you in spirit. You have drawn all my thoughts from heaven. I loved the creed until I began to look at you. Now I, too, hate it. Your beauty has cost me my soul!" With a wild light in his deep-set eyes, he bent my head backward and kissed me fiercely, suddenly, on the lips. Shall I ever forget the fear, the shame, the horror, the wrath of that moment? I was young and strong. I wrenched myself free and flung him from me so violently that he reeled and fell in the long grass. "I wish I could kill you!" I hissed, and then I turned and fled down the hill, through the orchard trees, sinking. at last, under the willows by the lake, with my breath coming in gasps and the angry tears drenching my ^ white face. At that instant a determination as strong as death leaped into life within me. I would leave the community? how. I did not knowr-but I would do it. and at once! I tossed off the hideous Shaker bonnet from my head and the stiff muslin cap. I was a Shakeress no more?I would never be one again; and even as I said these words to myself the willows were thrust aside, some one bent over me and lifted the face which I had hidden on my knees. "My dear child," said the voice of Hallam Kirke, "what is the matter? You are crying!" Yes. there he stood, close by my side, looking down upon me with perplexed eyes. "I am going away!" I cried, wildly. "I shall die if I stay here longer." "Going away?whither?" I wrung my brown, childish hands. "I do not know?I do not care." "Be calm and tell me what you mean ?tell me as you would tell a brother. Who has been troubling you?" I did not hesitate a moment. This it-'- -'v- mo tho man?tills stranger, sevmeu iv only friend that I had in the whole world. I told him everything as fast as my tongue could utter the words. "I am going away!" I repeated. "I loathe Brother Silas! I will not longer breathe the same air with him. 1 can earn my living somehow?somewhere in the world. At any rate, I will not stay here." "1 wish to heaven that I could choke Brother Silas!" said my companion, between his teeth. "Esther!" he lifted my drooping chin, "look me in the face and tell me if you can trust me?" I raised my wet eyes. Ah. what a I face it was?young and strong and I beautiful, all aglow, too, with deep pity and Indignation. "Trust you? Yea!" I answered. "Dare you place yours* If entirely in my hands?" "Yea!" He grew very grave. "You precious little girl! Reverently, solemnly I say it, may God deal by me as I deal by you! I am not a person much given to unselfish deeds; I do not remember that I ever before attempted the role of benefactor, but you need help, and, by my soul, you shall have it! Now listen: I will take you from this place at once. I will put you at a school where you will be educated like a lady; where your exquisite voice will be trained, and all your wants provided for?a school in which my own sisters are pupils. At eight r Silas. V. PIERCE. o'clock tonight you will find me wait- , ing here with my boat. Can you elude | the female elders and meet me on this spot at that hour?" I "Yea?yea!" , Leave all other matters to me. I will t arrange everything for your escape. Be sure you do not fail me, Esther." , "I will not, if I live." s He picked up my Shaker cap. , "Then put this on again and be pa- i tlent for a few hours longer. You j must not excite the suspicions of Me- f hitable or Brother Silas. At eight sharp I shall be here. You have a long t Journey before you, and the train by t which we must leave Hadham is due , at half-past eight. Trust me and all , will be well. Now go, dear child, ana j I good-by." , He held my hand for a moment in f a firm, encouraging way, then let it fall. I crushed my cap again over my j curly, dark hair and ran back to the v henhouse, and, under a rock by the garden wall, found the old gray turkey and all her brood. With a heart brimful of joy and glad a wonder at my strange good fortune, I g drove the stupid things to Mehltable, j singing secretly to myself all the way: j "Tonight I shall be free! Oh, thank v heaven! Tonight I shall be free!" t CHAPTER II. fi v Miss Johnsbury Speaks. f On our way to the White Moun- f tains we stopped for a week at Had- c! ham Springs. Hallam Klrke and Ada > both wished it?he, because his old tu- >' tor, Professor Hallock, was boarding there: she, because her physician had c told her that the mineral water was good for shattered nerves. * ? We found the Applebys of Boston, ? and the Redstones at the Spring Ho- 1< tel. That Grace Appleby is a design- I Ing creature: everybody knows that a she did her best at Newport last sum- a mer to ensnare Hallam. However, as h I could make no reasonable objections, c I consented to tarry for a spac6 in the c odious little town. s "Watch Hallam!" These were Aunt Qnmorcof'e nflrtlnc wnrHs ivhpn I hftriP her good-by in Golden Square. v How like an unamiable bag of bones r she looked, shivering in her invalid chair over a roaring Are, and the ther- r mometer at ninety in the shade! "A man's fancy is prone to wander, 0 especially when his fiance is ill-tempered. Jealous and passe. Keep him * out of the society of younger and prettier girls. At your age you cannot afford to lose a rich lover." P Spiteful old thing! How I do hate Aunt Somerset, and how I fawn upon 11 her, and flatter and obey her?all be- c cause she is a childless, decrepit old woman, with no end of money! Ada, as the widow of a tolerably ll rich man, has an income of her own, n but 1 am quite dependent upon Aunt I Somerset's bounty. I could never in- a dulge in Paris dresses and new dia- 4 monds but for the quarterly checks ^ which she gives me. a Sometime I shall be her heiress. When?oh, when will that happy day v dawn? Invalids?rheumatic invalids? > are distressingly tough. c I date the beginning of my vexations from the Sabbath morning when Hallam induced me to attend service at I the Shaker church on the opposite a shore of Hadham Lake, and when we s first saw and heard that girl Estner c In the midst of the praying and sing- v ing and general antics of the brothers r and sisters. fc I observed at once that Hallam was ? greatly struck with the beauty of the a detestable little creature, and the re- r markable sweetness and compass of t her voice. s She was a beauty. In spite of her v abominable dress. Her skin was like a r peach and wonderful lashes shaded her r great gypsy eyes. 1 Hallam watched her Incessantly. My blood was boiling by the time the g meeting closed, and we started home- t ward In a little steamer that puffs up and down the lake. I kept a serene countenance, however, and a cool e voice. I must bear everything. I sup- * pose until I am his wife. i ' Well," he said, carelessly, "what did t you think of it. Marcla?" t "Oh, it was immense?almost as good as a third-rate theater," I an- f swered. cheerfully; "those creatures in 1 the caps were very unique." 1 He looked displeased. He wants a woman to respect all kinds of religion. ' "The service seemed to me very r earnest and pathetic." said he. "I saw nothing theatrical about it. By Jove! did you notice the little girl who 1 sang?" r "Yes. I also observed that you never took your eyes from her face." 1 He colored. 1 "She was well worth looking at," he > answered, carelessly, and we never 1 spoke another word till we reached the 3 hotel. How Is it that I do not feel quite sure of Hallam-Kirke, although our engagement was published to the world six 1 months ago? He is not, he has never < been, an ardent lover. I met him at < Newport last season, where he was ' onsldered a most desirable parti. 1 Ada and Aunt Somerset were wild ' for the match, and I, with my six-andtwenty years staring me in the face, left no stone unturned to secure him. He was young, almost a boy?I was a ' veteran belle. Verily, I did my best. He struggled in my net for a long time, I thm proposed in orthodox form and 1 placed a superb diamond on my hand. We sat upon the piazza at the Spring House that night, and he was very si- i lent and abstracted. At the piano in- i side Grace Appleby played sacred mel- : odics in a mournful, minor key. The moon shone on the lake and on the round peak of Moose Mountain. I had made an exquisite toilet of black and cnam-color, but my fiance did not ; give it a glance. His chair was tilted ( back against a pillar of the piazza, and 1 Ills handsome eyes were fixed on the big, white moon. "Let us go over to the Shaker village tomorrow and look through the place a bit," he said, suddenly. I started in feigned surprise. "Crood heaven, I thought you were asleep! No thank you. I have had enough of the Shakers. I find them very tiresome." "Then Professor Hallock and I will go alone," he answered, coolly. "He :an collect specimens and I will make sketches." I was not mad enough to allow that. The next day our entire Jbarty visited the Shaker village, dawdled about the buildings, looked at everything, ask?d meaningless questions, but, thank aeaven, saw nothing of that girl. I vas delighted and Hallam, I know, mffered grievous disappointment. For the next three days my lover vas out upon the lake, early and late, shooting, fishing and sketching. He neglected me shamefully. I wrote to \unt Somerset, telling her of my troujles, and asking advice regarding the tame. On the fourth morning mist trailed lown the black side of Moose Mounain, and rain fell persistently. Hallam remained beside me until dinner. - I did ny, best to amuse him?played Schu>ert's sonatas, and allowed him to hold ny pug lap dog, and yet he did not icem happy. "Is not this Hadham a painfully slow dace?" said Ada, with a yawn. "Let is go on tomorrow to the mountains." "With all my heart!" I cried briskly. Hallam said not a word. After dinner he went out to smoke i cigar under the wet trees and forfot to return. An hour or two passed. U last he appeared. I chanced to be n the parlor alone. He came up to me vith a grand, important air. < "Marcla, 1 want to talk with you," he ?egan. dashing down his hat like some Teat school boy. "I am, and have always been, a very careless, easy-going ellow, you know, but now, for the Irst time in my life, I am bent upon ] loing a really good deed. I am sure ] ou will aid me in it. I depend upon our aid, Marcla." I "What do you mean?" I demanded, , rossly. I "I mean that the young girl called lister Esther is anxious to leave the ihakei community?indeed, she must | eave It?she cannot stay there longer, ( loor little thing! She is but sixteen ] nd utterly friendless and forlorn. I ,m going to take her away and place ( ler at school. Why should I not?" | oloring and looking very uneasy. I ( ertainly have money enough and to ( pare, and thus far in life I have spent , i only upon myself." j I was ready to scream aloud in my . I'rath and amazement, but I controlled ] r.yself bravely. "Is this a jest. Hallam, or do you | eally mean what you say?" " 'Pon my soul. I am in dead earn st. Marcia." "It seems that you have employed ] he last three days in making the ac- , luaintance of Sister Esther?" He reddened again to his blond tern- , iles. "I swear to you that I have seen her J iut twice. Marcia, and then quite by hance. I "The usual way!" I laughed, quickly. , "This afternoon I stumbled upon her ( iy the lake shore and she confided to ne her troubles (brazen creature!) and ^ promised to stand to her. Tonight, , ,t eight o'clock. I am to meet her at he foot of the Shaker garden and help ( ler to escape. By Jove! it sounds like ( three-volume novel, does it not?" ( "It does, indeed! May I ask how you rlsh me to aid you? What part have | ou assigned to me in your charming ( omedy?" He looked nettled. "The Boston train passes through | ladham at half-past eight tonignt, , ?? * 1 iU.i r\fi .nd sne win leave oy uiui. ui wui?, he must have an escort to the city. I . annot go alone with her?everybody j could be sure to talk?by Jove! they night call it an elopement. Will you . ;indly persuade Ada?she is always ;ood-natured?to bear me company ind take charge of Miss Fox until tonorrow; then I will place her with the eachers at the school. Ada is your ( ister and chaperon, and you see that . could give the right look to the whole natter. I must also ask you to loan ne some suitable outer garment for diss Fox to wear upon her journey." I answered not a word. I simply flared at him. What a part to assign o Ada?what a plan to confide to me! "Marcie, I appeal to your kind heart -to your womanly feeling." he said, arnestly; "the girl cannot remain vhere she is; she is persecuted in an jnbearable manner by one of the mothers; she is without a friend in he world; she is"? "As pretty as a pink!" I interrupt?d. "Would you interest yourself in ler case if she were cross-eyed and >ock-marked, Hallam?" "Don't be absurd," he said, frowning, "but tell me at once, will you assist ne or not?" "And if not?" He arose to his feet. In spite of all lis good breeding, there is something eally mulish about Hallam. "My word is pledged," he said, firmy; "and in honor I cannot withhold he help which I have promised. I vas sure you would approve of my ac:lon, Marcia. I am disappointed in rou." I also arose. "Hallam, I was jesting," I laughed; 'count upon me. I will go and talk vith Ada?no doubt she will be charmid to help you?oh, certainly, quite iharmed!" His countenance changed at once. He kissed my hands with fervor. It is ?o easy to deceive a man! "A thousands thanks, my dear, good Marcia!" I gave him one parting shot as I turned to leave the room. "That girl Esther ought to be very grateful to you for taking such pains to make her appear respectable." "Marcia!" I fled to my own chamber. Ada was there, reading the last new novel. She is ten years my senior, a widow, as I have said before, and a deep woman. I told her all. "Marcia," she said, calmly, "if he makes that girl his protege, good-by to all your hopes of being his wife. Mark my words, his benevolence can pnd only in one way?sooner or later he will break with you and marry her. ., ^Kjpr 7 ( ^ la HON. WILLIAM R. HEARST. Whose Independence League went C( down In overwhelming defeat In New York last Tuesday. ??????? w Now, two women ought to be more than a match for any man living. We j, will checkmate him. my dear, and dlspose of the girl ourselves." . "Let us Inform the Shaker elders of her intended flight," I cried, vindictive- ^ ly, "and have her severely punished. ^ "My dear Marcia, nothing could be j. grained by that. Hallam would be sure ^ to see her again. She must be placed w beyond his reach. We will send her to 8.1 Aunt Somerset. She drew a letter from her pocket ^ bearing the motto and crest of her an- ^ ;ient relative and read from it these p lines: "Should you, in your travels among the mountains, chance to find a wait- ^ Ing maid who does not mind a box on the ear or the rap of a cane, and who 3an hold her tongue on all occasions, u' pou may send her to me, for today I ef bave packed that French baggage, cl Zephine, out of the house, and will ~ - - - - - . .... h# have no more of Her Kind in u." I started at Ada for a moment, then n< hurst Into a fit of laughter. w In ten minutes our plot was laid. We wrote a letter of explanation to Aunt Somerset, then sent my maid, Felice, to Invite Hallam to drink tea ivith us in our private parlor. m He came promptly. Ada had put on (i traveling dress In preparation for her w Journey. She met him with a gay m smile. tr "You dear, good fellow, I am de- al lighted to help you!" she cried. "Iam P' sure the affair does you credit. See, I im quite ready to bear you company." n( He thanked her in a pleased, sur- b< prised way: it was plain that he had Cf no suspicion of treachery. We all talked in the most amiable ai manner and Hallam drank two cups di nf Ada's strong tea. I drew back the 1 :urtain from the window. "The clouds are breaking," I said. lightly. "After all, you will have a n< fair evening for your Journey." d< Presently Hallam looked at his P' watch. It was seven o'clock. With a (-' heavy sigh he flung himself down up- c( r>n Ada's sofa. P1 "My head aches abominably," he bsaid. "I'm afraid your tea was too tfl strong." " "Strong tea is good for headache," P( smiled Ada. After a while we ceased talking, Ada w and I, and looked at each other. He et was lying against the arm of the sofa C( ?silent, motionless. I touched him P( gently. He did not move?he was fast fil asleep. e( (To be Continued. R< LONDON THE LITTLE. ei Such It Seems to Many Who Stick to 'j. Localities. Blindfold a Londoner of the centre, 'l put him down in the Caledonian road ^ or on Brook Green or at Herne Hill, ' then take off the bandage and ask him n' where he is. The chances are ten to one he will have no notion at all, says cf the London World. They are not in- 'r habited by Londoners in the true hi sense, but by people whom accident or necessity has brought within the w metropolitan area and who would be w Just as happy 200 miles away. Their atmosphere is not metropolitan. They T are not of the centre. They are on the ni fringe. w That is why London has so little lo- ir cal pride. It is not a community. It Ir is a congeries of suburbs, each with 01 its separate narrow interests, grouped around a little city whose citizens y, have so wide a horizon that they can u spare next to no attention for local af- 0 fairs. How can civic patriotism be S{ expected from a man who spends all a his week-ends at a house in the country, the spring on the Riviera, the ^ autumn in Scotland or the Mediterra- jr nean? London is to him only an inci- ol dent with boundaries probably small- pi er even than those which I have sug- n C?A/1 gl'SlCU. The real Londoners are those who would not consider life worth living e) anywhere else. The real London Is the small space wherein are to be ^ fcund the interests which fill their t) lives. Hundreds of thousands of sub- _ IT urbans have never seen a picture in ^ London, never been to the opera or ^ the play, could not tell St. Paul's from ^ the Abbey or distinguish between St. n James's and Orosvenor Square. Per contra, few real Londoners know anything about the regions on the p fringe. ' The Immensity of London is the ' constant subject of bewildered comment. It Is the littleness of London si which astonishes me. ? fi 'tfc'It is as great an error to think a that every bachelor has been disappointed in love as to think that every married man hasn't been. a ^istfllancous 5radi?(|. DECLINE OF MORAL SUASION. 'hilosopher Red Buck Wrestle# With Problem#. "Is moral suasion' a power of the ast?" asked a thoughtful man when e saw that Bishop Hall of Vermont, ad said In a sermon at Raleigh, last tinday, that prohibition Is a failure nd moral suasion the only remedy for trong drink. "The average man," asks himself the ?me question every day. He wants to now If times are changing. When he links of thp rinvs of his vonth?of his raining: at home, at school and at fiurch and compares it with that of Way?he wants to know If the times re changing or If he Is getting old. [oral suasion was a great force twenr years ago. Boys and girls were night that certain things were wrong hether the laws said so or not. This octrlne, except In the country*, seems > have died out. The man who goes with the crowd -swims with saints and sinners? :udying all sorts and conditions of len sees certain unmistakable signs rnt promise 111 for the future. He >alizes that influences for good are at as effective as they once were. The sverence for woman, gray hair and le man of piety is not as pronounced i the south as It was two decades ago. ldlfference to the preachings of the ilnister of the gospel is growing. The w Is appealed to now to do what loral suasion once did. The man of nbiased mind will find, If he studies tndltlons, that this Is true here. "If the fakirs had known that they ere going to get such a send-off they ould have asked the preachers to derer their sermons before the fair in- ^ ead of after It," said a wag, last onday, when he heard of the hot 1 >asts handed out to the parting iests_ How many people In this communl- ^ ' believe that the scoring the midway lows got here would have Increased 1 leir crowds and swelled their coffers? here are" many who believe that here one man would have remained J vay ten would have gone out to see ' hat the preachers were talking about. ' certain ministers of the city, in their ' oquent way, were to criticise a rench novel, calling It by name, it 1 ould require a car or two to bring a ' ifflcient supply to town to meet the >mand. I Preaching Is not as effective as It | ?ed to be. The law has been resort- , I to. While the learned divines proaim about the curse of the midway the shame of the city?such things | jccme more popular. It Is argued, ( vwadays, by fair people that the mid- , ay brings the crowd and the livelier ] le sideshow the larger the gate re(Jpts. The contention must be true; ie evidence appears to favor the ( iklr. It is a fact that the largest and | ost piebald midway ever seen In , harlotte was the one here two eeks ago, and the crowds were tre- , endous: the weather had something , i do with them but if the midway, In ( 1 of its glory, had not been there the , jmpkin and the cow would have >ne unseen by thousands. There have )t been such throngs in Charlotte ?fore. Did the midway, with the >mmon, disgusting women and the iscally fakir, attract the crowd? Can ly one say positively that it did or d not? I can answer for myself. ] lack much of being a preacher, but ie midwav hath no charms for me; , has never appealed to me and it ] >ver will, but there are others who , > like it or it would not exist. I deore the depravity of a person who , 'lights in seeing common men and , immon women, and, if I were a ( reacher, I should try to elevate him | r making my appeals to him and not i the laws. The trouble is not with , le show, but with those who make it ( jssible. The midway woman disgusts le right-thinking person, and the one | ho is attracted by her must be reach1 through the heart and not the ( jurt. When William R. Hearst's pa?r. the Journal, the American now, rst appeared conservative people call1 It yellow and said it would not rosper for the reason that It gratied a morbid curiosity. The paper is lived because of its ability to unirth and hold before the public dirty nen; it met a popular demand, and the American is ever discontinued will be because the desire for such iases. If the midway passes it will . when the people quit patronizing It id when it fails to be profitable. This is a peculiar age; the law is illed upon to exert moral force, and i resorting to it the preacher admits Is weakness. Remove the midway by w and the person who patronizes It 111 gratify low desire In some other ay. This Is an age of lust and hypocrisy. : he man who sins and covers It up Is r?t contemptible In the sight of the orld. A thief who steals without beig exposed to the public, may remain i society; the sin is in being found Lit. Common honesty was at a premium pars ago, but very little stress Is put pon it now: the man who dodges an bligation is not considered in the ime class with the fellow who takes drink. "Living beyond one's income is the reatest sin in Charlotte," said a leadig merchant of the old school to me ne day not long ago. "You have no lea how many young people are six lonths ahead of their salaries." This comes from a lust for somedng that one cannot have by honest (Tort. Why not preach to the poor girl or nor boy who has just come to town lat honesty, virtue and sobriety are lore to be desired than gold and fine lothes? The desire to wear fine clothes i damning more people here than is trong drink. Look about you! How lany young men make $40 a month nd spend $75! Go to the opera house and cast your ye over the audience and make menil note of the $40 men occupying l.r>0 seats. Watch the grand daily roce.salon on the streets and you will ee French heel shoes, silk hose and ne gowns on strange people. The lust after position is growing 11 the while. What becomes of the man who trots head of his means? He rolls high for a while, but soon disappears, leaving' a bad record behind him. How lon& has it been since a young man was caught stealing from his employer? This occurs almost daily, but the public never knows why the guilty one left the city. I have been here but a little more than a decade and I can't count the respectable thieves on my fingers. The negro goes to the road to beat rock, but the well-connected white thief goes to another community to prey on Innocent people. How me iv young women have disappeared for eallng? It has not been a year sinco a handsome, well-dressed young woman left Charlotte, without giving her friends warning, and, after she had gone, those who were close to her shook their heads when asked about her. The fine clothes that she wore were purchased "with stolen money. That girl was the envy of her associates until her real character was ( known. She had a pretty face and ( wore costly dresses. She would have ( been beautiful in calico, but the lust for tine clothes ruined her. She was not a thief at heart, but, being poor and too ambitious, she stole to wear silks and satins. "There goes a good looking girl," said a policeman to me one day, "but she Is crooked; those fine clothes do not come In an honest way." I knew that he spoke the truth. The , woman worked for $30 a month and dressed as well as the best. Lust for ( fine clothes ruined her character. Jshe ( Is not a bad woman, but her desire | Is for better things than she can af- , ford to have. How do 75 street hacks live In the town of Charlotte? Off of : young women of this type; the hack- ( man finds the gay Lothario with the money. Car better would It be for that poor girl to realize that a plain, gingham dress and virtue Is better, more | beautiful, more elegant, than silk and . a bad name. I "There goes a woman?a married ( woman?the daughter of a minister of ( the gospel?not a resident of this city but of one not many hundred miles , away, who Is just as bad," continued the officer. "Her husband Is worthless, but I be- | lleve she could make an honest living. , She has made herself common. But , look at her fine clothes! She has many ( ?lad rags. I know her ways." ( Who are the best-dressed women on the streets today? .Those who know ( them by sight will say that the women of questionable character are. When the weak young woman sees , this, she debates in her mind whether , It Is better to be a slave to labor or rice, and take the chances on the hereafter. These sins are spreading In Char- . lotte. The man of piety may not see It, for this is a day of underground wickedness, but it is true. There is . more drinking among the sober class, more lewdness among the better people, and more dishonesty generally, ( than ever before, and this, in compar- . Ison to the population. Honesty, and , virtue are not held In as high esteem as they were ten years ago. Marriage vows are not as binding. There are women in Charlotte who spend more . jn clothes than their husbands make. This class Is on the increase.?Red Buck in Charlotte Observer. SQUARED ACCOUNTS. Also Won a Reputation and Saved Himself Further Trouble. Press agents, like other Individuals, have their troubles, but there Is one In Philadelphia who has fewer of them than the ordinary man. Asked one day how he managed so well to get along with everybody, he explained: "Well, I won a reputation. You see, when a press agent Is able to give a man heart disease from which he actually dies his troubles cease If persons have a proper regard for their lives, I was the press agent for a German singing fest. I naturally used the German papers. "There was one editor who had the Idea that he wasn't getting all that was due. Nevertheless he published column after column of type and pictures. "Afterward the managers of the show received a bill for $820 'for advertising.' They were In a rage. 'What shall we do?' they demanded. 'Don't get excited,' I cautioned 'em. 'I'll fix that all right.' "I went to the office of a friend, and, , going to the type cases, I stuck the koikioo.i vnn ?vpr laid eves on. I printed It In two Inks. It read, 'The , Two Continents Engraving: Company: John Smith, manager.' Next I wrote this account, 'To Peter Jacob Schmld- , thelser. Dr., to cuts for Oerman festival. $890/ ! "When Schmidthelser received the bill he fainted. He revived and sent for me. " 'Ker vot Is it you scharge me fer der cuts vot I could puy fer 40 cents abiece, yet?' he demanded. " 'That's all right, old man,' I assured him. Tou might buy those cuts from anybody else for 40 cents apiece, but not of me.' "He refused to pay the bill, but not long afterward he was stricken with heart disease and died. His executors found the bill, with Its balance of $70 in my favor. They asked me what I'd take to settle, and I told them $50. They paid It cheerfully, and since then T haven't had any trouble."?San Francisco Chronicle. "In Goo We Truot."?This Is the motto which is stamped on all our silver and gold coins. Yet it was not until 1864 that it became a custom, and the first coin which bore the motto was a copper two cent piece which was coined on April 22, 1864, especially to have this motto stamped upon It. The Idea was originally suggested by a man from Maryland, who said that as we were a Christian people it was only meet that we should make proper recognition of the fact In our coinage. The motton was taken from the national hymn. "The Star Spangled Banner." About 1886 the London Tlt-Blts offered a prize for the best definition of money. The following definition by Henry Beggs was awarded the decision: "Money is an article which may be used as a universal passport to everywhere except Heaven, and as a universal provider of everything except happiness." Few men thank heaven that they have more than they deserve. GOLD ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. Conditions of Transportation Now Compared With Thosa of Olden Times. New York Sun, Monday. When Francis Drake, the greatest of the Elizabethan "gentlemen adventurers," brought to a triumphant climax his attacks on the Spanish galleons In the New World by the capture of the "great Lima treasure ship," the whole civilized world marvelled at the Incomparable richness of his spoil.. Never before, said the old chroniclers, i naci so great a store 01 ireaaure ocr;u taken or yet borne by ships. He had secured .the most famous prize known to history and added to his already swollen fortunes, in the account of Lopez Vaz, bars of virgin gold, "pearls, precious stones, reals of plate and other things of great worth"?the whole amounting to 1,189,000 Spanish ducats, or about $1,634,875 in present day money. But this was In the good year 1572. On FYiday of this week when the Lusitanla makes her way up the Ambrose channel she will be holding safe in the depths of her steel vaults a treasure five times as great as that for which Drake paid with the lives of half his crew and years of privation and hardship. In ironbound cases of 100 pounds each she will bring $10,000,000 in gold. By far the greatest part of her precious cargo is In bars, gold brought from the South African mines and unloaded In London last Monday, in addition to this are gold eagles used s.# often for transactions In foreign excha nge. But before the Lusitanla arrives in New York the Kronprinzessin Cecille, which left Bremen on Oct 29, will have landed in this port her. own consignment of $7,500,000 worth of gold bullion, and the White Star liner Teutonic coming on Thursday will bring $1,000,300 more. The total value of these three consignments has never been equalled by any fleet In the world, though history Is full of great treasures that have braved the dangers of the sea. Unrivaled swiftness of movement and wire less telegraphy nave done away viui the need for convoys, and Insurance rates make even the third-rate pirates >f the China Sea anachronisms in these times, but certes, the romancers ire not' the only ones to think with a 3lgh of the days when, cutlass in teeth ind a brace of pistols within reach, Intrepid adventurers swarmed over the sides of rich merchantmen In search jf booty. And perhaps the dlsapprovil of many men of grave mood would turn tb surprise when they learned that many of the merchants whose names ire remembered on the streets signs of New York today were stockholders in pirate ships. Not all the famous treasure fleets if history were despoiled by pirates, but few good chances at rich hauls were left unnoted by the sea robbers, ind it Is because from Biblical times till the middle of the last century their exploits mark the record of over sea treasure-carrying that galleons and pieces of eight doubloons and gold rnoldores, argosies and other picturesque terms of ancient days so irresistible connote corsairs and buccaneers and "rakish low-lying craft" flying the Jolly Roger or high-pooped pinnaces with the great banner of England. In ancient times it was the ships of Solomon retturnlng every three years from the mines of Ophir that were the ibject of the raiders' attack, and later than these the Roman vessels sailing with the rich stuffs of Persia and India to barter for the sliver of the decadent and luxury loving empire. Pompey made an expedition against the Ciliclan pirates, vho preyed on Lhls commerce, but failed to stamp them out. Bv the time of the Middle Ages they were attacking the Venetian argosies such as Shakespeare's Antonio awaited in "The Merchant of Venice." They were laden with "Turkey, Persian and Indian merchandise," but notwithstanding the exorbitant prices paid for such commodities the value of a whole fleet of argosies would be lost in the ten millions of the Lusitania. It was not until the battle of Lepanto, when Don John of Austria and the Venetian galleys crushed the Turkish fleet, that the first authentic record of a considerable amount of wealth heme on the high seas was made. The booty in that engagement taken from the Turkish galleys was not less than $500,000 in present day money, and a tradition that many times that amount In Jewels and gold sequins went to the bottom with the sunken craft is so generally credited in Europe that only a few months ago the latest of an uncounted number of expeditions set out for Its recovery. Of such sunken treasures there are many. Sometimes a portion of one or another is brought up In weed grown chests, barnacle covered and with the 'quaint coins that fill them stained with the action of the sea water. But most of them have been buried in the shifting sand or scattered by the tide. A few whose situation Is well known are inaccessible because of the opposition of the elements. Such a one is the treasure fleet of Vigo. Two hundred and five years ago, almost to the day, the French and Spanish fleets lay in the roadstead of Vigo liay in Spain, their guns and the carronades of the forts encircling them trained on the harbor entrance. Back of the fighting line of French ships weie anchored, fore and stern against the lifting tide, the seventeen Spanish ships with their rich cargo. Between the two lines of ships and the expected English attackers was stretched a boom that left open no passage into the harbor. But boom, forts and hostile ships made no difference to the English and their allies, the Dutch, once their prey was in sight. Led by Sir George Rooke and Capt. Hardy a landing party stormed the forts, while Vice Admiral Hobson in the Torbay rammed the boom. Inside of an hour there was not a ship left in the harbor that had flown the yellow flag of Spain or the French fleur-de-lis. And thirty fathoms under the green water lay two-thirds of the treasure. Thirteen million pieces of eight remained to reward the victors. Of the romantic story of the Lutine, sunk in the North Sea with ?200,000 in her hold?how her ship's bell, hang ing in the underwriting? room of Lloyds in London, rings the knell of each new loss by sea?the most has already been told In the Evening Sun. And to the list of other vessels going to the bottom with valuable cargoes under their hatches no year has gone by without adding at least one new name. Jules Verne told of the innumerable wrecks that strew the ocean floor, when w. Arcunax went down for him in the "Nautilus," and history bears out the scientist's testimony. But there were other vessels that did not sink under the waves until they had given up their wealth to their conquerors. It was the .taking of these that added the most brilliant chapter to English naval history and gave to fame such names as Hawkins and Frobisher and Drake. These were the galleons, rich with gold and silver and precious stones, that carried the spoils of the New World to the treasuries of Spain or brought them from the mines of Potosl to be carried overland to Nombre de Dios and Cartagena for the loading of the "ships of plate" when they arrived in April. Not content with intercepting the galleons, Drake sailed through the Straits of Magellan and attacked the Lima ship Itself on its way to Panama, besides capturing the greatest prize of all, the Acapulco galleon, that yearly brought to Peru from- Manila the tribute of the Philippines. The "gentlemen adventurers" were followed by others, in the course of time, who were more frankly buccaneers and pirates. Sir Henry Morgan, Flint?who gave the name to onelegged John Silver's parrot in Stevenson's "Treasure Island"?Van Horn, Jean Laffltte, Teach and Blackbeard? these were all famous, and a score besides, but because their concern was not so much with extraordinary treasure as with whatever sailed across their horizon they can only be barely mentioned. The history of piracy and famous pirates, even if condensed into dry-as-dust accounts, would make ten volumes quarto at the very least. Capt. Kidd, however, deserves better than to be forgotten, because as a citizen of New York he contributed so much to the resources of the town that in his time there is no record on the books of the corporation even of the necessity for issuing bonds to pay for public improvements. The captain, before he turned pirate, lived at 56 Wall street, in the respectable position of merchant While he was in the full enjoyment of this career the factors of the city who had, many of them, chartered vessels to carry arms and ammunition to the pirates of the Red Sea, found to their Indignation that the cargoes they were , sending out were being seized by other pirates not apparently aware or tne honor supposed to prevail among' thieves. Robert Livingston was one of the principal sufferers through the acts of these buccaneera, and his gorge rose. In the Intensity of his passion against all thieves he struck one of the pirate captains, who were open frequenters of the New York streets in those days. 4. fight ensued, and it was only a short time afterward that Livingston and others sent Ktdd out to exterminate the pirates. Many a comfortable householder mourned his China tea and spices from the East Indies, not to speak of the excellent rum for which Jamaica was even then famous. But the law had gone forth, and no longer did the pirates anchor their vessels In the lee of Staten Island while they bartered their goods. Strange stories meanwhile sprang up concerning Kidd. He no longer sent in prizes or made reports. The captain of more than one vessel that had been chased brought into New York a description of his pursuer that fitted too well the Adventure of Kidd. When at last the Quedalgh Merchant, a great East Indiaman, disappeared and ?40,000 with him, Kidd was publicly advertised as a pirate. Unconscious of the fate that awaited him, he appeared some time later in Boston and attempted to defend himself against the ehftrare. He was seized, however, and after a trial in England was hanged in chains at Execution Dock, and with him passed away the last of the famous pirates. PINEAPPLE8. A Time When They Sold For $10 Each In San Francisco. In 1861 pineaples were rare in San Francisco. One day in that year one of the passengers who had crossed the isthmus of Darien before leaving Panama purchased from one of the natives of that place a dozen pineapples for a quarter of a dollar, and when he landed In San Francisco he had six left. He was carrying these from the landing place at the foot of Vallsjo street, where there were boat steps at the end of a twenty foot wharf, which new arrivals approached by Whitehall boats from the steamers that In those days anchored in the stream 300 yards from shore. The man was accosted suddenly by a stranger who asked him what he wanted "for that lot of pineapples." "They are not for sale." "But I want them," said the Callfornlan. "I'll sell you three," said the new arrival, who on the voyage had heard that San Francisco people were liberal buyers, and he added, "but they'll cost you 35 each." "Take 'enf," was the curt reply, and the fruit changed owners, the resident passing over a Spanish coin known then as a gold "ounce," worth $16 in trade. Before the new purchaser had moved across Battery street, where the transaction had taken place, he was accosted by an acquaintance, who asked him to let him have the fruit. A dicker followed for two of them, the acquaintance paying $10 apiece for them. Later In the day the first purchaser was boasting of the rapid manner by which he had cleared $5 and still had a fine pineapple for supper,?San Francisco Call. - ? ? O" Austria's great salt mine at Wlellczka has 600 miles of galleries and employs 9,000 miners. It has been worked for over sixteen centuries. A paper published In France devoted to viticulture estimates the world's wine crop at 3,775,060,000, 95 per cent of which is made In Europe. fcy" Wedding rings were used by the ancients and placed upon the third finger of the left hand, because the vein In that finger was supposed to connect directly with the heart.