: .4..< THE BEST FOR‘ THE uOUNTRY. Let’s hope for the best for the country, what ever the powers may he; - The birds still will sing in the blossoms—tht river dash on to the sea: The storm feel the flush of line rainbow how. ever the thunder may fall: The same sun is shining in splendor—the same God over us all! Let us hope for the best for the country; there is joy for the night and the rlay; The ringing of bells in the cities and dolls— sweet-singing our sorrows away; There are stars for the gloom of the midnight however the shadows may fall; The same skies are bending al‘loe'e us—the same God is over us all i liet's hope for the best for the country; here‘s spring with her banners unfurled— The breath of the showoring blossoms that are blown by the wind o‘er the World; The seed that climbs high to the harvest. and musical voices that call; one world's in the light of the glory of the God that is over us all! -—Atlanta Cons: fiction. - A PECULIAR CASE. "Adams is a good man,” said the chief of the detective bureau. “lie is persistent, and has ideas of his own. \‘fe’ve about given up the Foster mur- der, but Adams still stays on it." “Where did you get Adams?” asked the police marshal. “Volunteered; said he’d just come out of the hospital after a spell of sick- ness—was a stranger, and had nothing , to do; had been reading accounts of the murder, and wanted to try for the reward, so I let him go ahead. He claims to have two clues—~a broken iron seal and a torn piece of coat lin- ing. Here he is now." A man of about thirty-five entered the room where the two officials were sitting. “Anything new, Adams?” chief. “Yes, sir,” replied the newcomer, em- phatically. “How could we have miss- ed it? Look at that!” ' carefully he took from his pocket a large, white envelope, stamped and postmarked. It was partly torn, but this much of the superscription re- mained: Mr. William Dryden, Fairli— The chief examined it curiously, and then said, rather contemptuously,—- “Why, Adkins, we found a bushel of old‘ envelopes in the dead lawyer’s of- ficer: You haven’t abandoned the seal slew?” The chief winked merrily at the po- lice marshal, but a moment later he hit his .lip with vexation at his own stu- stupidity. , “I have abandoned nothing, sir,” re- plied Adams, with some heat. We have accounted for every person we know of who entered the lawyer's 'oflice the morning of the" murder. We have missed this man -Dryden. Examine the postmarks on the other, thatrof Fairfield of August fifteenth. Dryden received that envelope on the morning of the murder, came straight to the city: and went to Foster’s office with it. How else- would-‘it have "gotten there? ' Dryden killed him, and I am going to get Dryden. He was on the train the following morning for the suburban town of Fairfield. During the long, sleepless hours of the night the name of Dryden h‘ad haunted him. He [had tried his best to recollect who it was of that name he had once known, but at last he gave it up with a gesture of wear- ied resignation. Notwithstanding his loss of sleep he was feverishly awake. He was on the eve of solving the great murder mystery. There was no one to divide with him either the honor or the reward, not even Jackson, his envi- ous brother detective. What better av- ocation could he have chosen, and at a time, when the future had seemed so hopelessl .. .. - It; was but a short ride to Fairfield. Adams went at once to the little coun- try hotel. As he registered he looked up at the portly landlord and casually asked,— “Any city people here?” "A few, sir. The Bradbury’s, the Gillespies, old Mr. Dundon and young Mos. Dryden, poor thing!" “Why ‘poor thing?’ ” He tried to conceal his anxiety on the question, and felt he had failed. But the landlord was stupid and 10- spacious. “Didn’t ye hear of it, sir? Her hus- band left here the middle of August and, has never been heard of since. Some thinks he’s dead, but his wife don’t. He was only here once—I was away at the time. She never leaves her room now, except to go to the post- oflice every day." Adams was at the postofiice the next day at the time the morning mail was being distributed. He kept in the background, for he wished to see without being seen. Already he felt ashamed of himself. The idea of spy- ing upon a broken-hearted woman and laying a trap for the one she loved was something more than merely distaste- ful to him. ‘ She came at last, a fair, golden-hair- ed woman. Even .at a distance he knew it was she before he made an in- quiry.As she drew near he retired be- hind an alcove in the, postoflice and watched her with staring eyes. Slowly and with seeming reluctance she left the delivery window after her futile er- rand. In her face there was an ex- pression of infinite sadness, yet in her eyes still flickered the light of hope. Adams stood there long after she had disappeared—stood there knowing well thathis mission was at an end. Never through his efforts would her husband he captured. Short as was the time he had'seen her, he knew that he loved her. In his heart he felt there had always been just such an image of a gentle face. Out of the postofilce he drifted aim- lessly. A crowd of people were com- ing from the railroad station, where a said the _ 'train had just arrived. Suddenly his lscefius-hedin snares he recognized w EEKLY — ao’RwiiLg . GAgET among the number his fellow detectivc Jackson. In a sort of frenzy he rushed at him and grasped "him tightly by both arms. “What are you doing here?” be de- manded. “I came at the request—" “Go back at once. I am going. There is nothing in it. Foster requested that the. letter be returned to him immedi- ately. That“ is the explanation of the enve10pe. I have seen Dryden and inn vestigated everything. The man had nothing to do with the murder. Are you going?” “Yes, but—-” himself with impatient rage. “I will join you at the station. A train will . be due shortly. Stay there, or I‘ll —etrangle you.” Jackson looked at him in amaze- ment, hesitated a moment, and then turned and walked back to the station. “Then go!” screamed Adams, beside enter the building, when he wheeled around and strode rapidly to the hotel. .He would see her again—perhaps speak to her. He entered the room which served the double purpose of an office and a sitting-room. There was no one there. He walked to the desk and the little dog-cared hotel register caught his eye. With an exclamation of impa- tience at not having thought of it be- fore, he was at once engrossed in the register. Page after page he went back over the names with his fin- gers until suddenly he stopped as if checked by an electric shock. The lit- tle clock on the wall above him ticked off five minutes, but still he stood there his eyes glued to the page and his fin- ger at a name. The door of another room opened and he heard the voices of the landlord and Jackson. In an instant he had torn the leaf from the register and crushed it into his pocket. Jackson entered the office and start- ed back when he saw Adams. But in the latter’s eye there was no longer any anger. ”Instead, he regarded the other detective calmly, but steadfastly. Jack- son felt reassured. “Adams, old man," he began, “what is the matter with you? I’m not here on your assignment; I’m here on an- other matter altogehter. Show me up, landlord.” ‘ ' ‘ " The two left the room and ascended the stairs. Adams waited awhile and then followed them. At the first land- ing he found himself in front of the ho- tel parlor, the door of which stood ajar. It was impossible not to have seen within, and he saw there‘the woman to whom his heart had gone out convers- ing with Jackson. Within one hour he was in his apart- ments in the city. He got out the bro- ken seal and the torn piece of coat-lin- lng and placed them upon a table. Then - he sent for his physician. The doctor found him in a state of excitement, bordering on fever. But he was surprised to learn that he had not been sent for to prescribe for his patient. ' “Doctor,” said Adams, endeavoring to control himself, “when you treated me for my wound at the hospital, was there any scar left after it had healed ?" “Why, how did you learn it?” the doctor broke out involuntarily. “It is impossible for you to see it yourself without artificial means.” “I understand that. Was there any- thing peculiar about the scar?" “There was, Mr. Adams, although I have never mentioned it before. The scar is in the shape of a Maltese cross. But you must (not think of it.” The doctor never knew how it hap- pened, exactly, but he had hardly dis- closed his secret when he found himself ushered out of the house and dismiss- ed. - ' " ' ' ' " Adams went back to his room tremb- ling, his forehead damp with perspira- tion. “God!" he exclaimed, “what made, me think of it! What made me exam- lne it!" Then he snatched up the detached broken arm of the seal and brought it down heavily upon a pad of paper. The impression formed was a Maltese cross. “Here! Here is ‘where it is,” cried the districted man as his hand clutched the back of his head. He staggered back as if to fall in a faint when his distended eyes rested for a second on the piece of lining. A newly bornxunnatural en- ergy siezed him. With the piece of lining in his hand he bounded to his wardrobe and tore down his clothes like a madman. He was not long in finding lt—an overcoat, with a part of the lin— ing gone, which the piece matched and fitted. With clenched hands he raised himself to his full height and then fell upon the bed in a heap. They found him there the next day at noon—Jackson and the lady from Fairfleld. When they entered the room his eyes were like those of a man suddenly killed. At the sight of her, life seemed slowly to kindle in them —the eagerness—then struggling rec- ognition—and then the light of a joy- ful awakening. As the wife threw her- self into the arms of her husband the veil lifted through which his memory had so long and vainly tried to peer. In the fraction of a second it all came back to him: His visit to the lawyer who had tried to ruin him; the seizure of the papers which had been stolen from him; the murderous pistol in the hands of the other and his successful struggle to secure it; the cruel blow from behind with the broken seal; the renewed attack by the infuriated Scoundrel; himself dazed and lapsing into unconsciousness, yet battling for his life, and finally the indistinct vis- on of a man beneath him, whose throat be grasped with tightly closed hands. Often again the hideous vision came before him, but he told no man or no .voman what he saw. For’ his con~ selence had acquitted him—Short Stories. ,_ ,_ . -_ 9 THE WAY OF A MAID. " ' a She was a maid of notions strange Concerning man. ‘ 0 Her fancies took a. goodly range. As woman‘s can. 4. She said she loved an eye of gray— j . My own are blue. . a I would i could in any way .‘ Have changed their hue. The sort of hair that pleased her best Was brown, she said. Which Caused me oft supreme unrest- My own is red! Her taste in “nose" was aquiline; ' Oh. cruel rub l ‘13» In vulgar parlance one like mine i .- Is termed a snubl ' w. She liked a stately man and tall— Alusi my fate l ' Bus blessed me with a stature small. “ - Not five feet eight. _,, She doted on a figure slim: ,_ - ‘3' Without a doubt. a I- could not satisfy that whim— . For i (llll stout. And. knowing this. how could ldare E (A lmnl‘ like me) To ask that maid her life to share—4‘ _ My wile to be ? .. And yet ididl egregious ass. ..._ 11 ‘ i must con fess; I popped the question—and, alas! She answered, “Yes." —Sydney Bulletin. “BILLY” MACINTYRE. William MacIntyre was a nice little boy; at least he looked a nice little boy ‘ - when you first saw him, and he wasn’l such a bad boy when you got to know him thoroughly: the drawback to him was that he took a lot of knowing just at the intermediary stage. So, when I first made his acquaint- ance at the age of ten in his happy home in the Australian bush, I must say I regarded him as the kind 01 “Tommy" that dies young to slow music. The intermediary knowledge of him only began to dawn on me when, on an occasion on which he was helping the milk boy to persuade. a re- fractory cow to put her head in the pail, I was an unobserved and unsus. pected witness to what was then up- permost in his mind and in his lan guage. ' Up to that hour indeed, though I had. seen many men’and cities, I had never understood what swearing meant. Then I heard it as a classic in which perfect fluency was united to a. careful choice of expression, which, under the great- est provocation, never repeated itself. When I next met him after the stocks yard incident he had grown a good deal, and had reached the mature age- of twelve. I then happened to be trav- eling in the same steamer with him. His mother ,kepther cabin a good deal, but Billy made up for it by being all over the ship. Some of us, and I was one, barred him altogether, but there was a contingent who were amused at the precocity of the child, and in spite of the protests of the senior passengers would have him in the smoking room to enjoy the edifying spectacle of see- lng’him smoke a. cigarette and drink a sherry cobbler through a straw. It was just as he was engaged in such a delaissement so suitable for his years that our Bishop (we had :3. Bishop on board) unbent so far as for the first time to look into the smoking room. What the Bishop said does not mat- ter much; the words were probably well chosen, and the reproof was cer- tainly severe and deserved. What Billy replied at the end of the lecture amused us by its audacity, in spite of our feeling how entirely the Bishop was in the right. I can’t set. it down in full, and if I dared I could not give the languid drawl of the child. Hardly looking up from his straw, he invited his lordship to “go to h—.” And yet a third time I had to do with Billy—Billy. the unrepentant, Billy the unfathomable; and this time «he was a man of thirteen. . Tall for his age, as becomes a. col- onial, he regarded himself as ready and fitted at any time to undertake a man’s work. A man of few words, he would answer an inquiry with laconic simplicity—without reverence certain- ly, but with sufficient civility, as of one equal to another. If I am asked how his education had been so neglected—- being, as he was, the son (though not the only one) of educated parents—I should have to go into details quite foreign to my short story. Billy was the outcome of such education—or want of it—as his parents had bestow- ed on him. Born and bred fifty miles from the nearest possible school, and utterly neglected if judged by an Eng- lish standard, (let us admit it at once,) the habits of a ’possum, or the make and shape of a stock-whip handle, had caused him much more anxiety than had ever the rule of’three or the mul- tiplication table. Thus for some time he had been doing a man’s work, nor was he ever happier than when at a "muster” his “swag" was rolled up and stowed. with those of the other men on the heavily-laden pack-horse. » I knew about these things, for I was a neighbor. I can’t say I was attracted by the child—rather the reverse; but I regarded it‘always‘as much more of his parents’ fault than of his own that he was “born blind,” nor had we ever had any passage of arms such as pass. ed between him and the Bishop; for, however much my tongue longed and my fingers itched to administer a re- proof, I always felt Billy was too old for it, and, besides, at that time I was‘ not often brought into contact with him. This much has been necessary as explanatory of the incident that fol- lows. I was on my way to the coast, and the morning‘s run. of twenty-five miles had considerably ctrzhausted my too-fat horses. It was a hot, (lusty day, and the big twenzy-mile plain lay under thetropical an in all the sweltering heat of midday in midsummer. Both I 'and my horses knew we should find in the timbeted country we 'n l were about to enter a well belonging to old Maclntyre, where unlimited wa- ter and well-earned rest awaited us. And now the first trees of the forest country began to give us their scanty. intermitten, but welcome, shade. Slow. ly up the opposing sand ridge the weary horses dragged the light buck- board, the tires shining like silver as they emerged from the tawny sand. We were just within hearing of the well though the hut prevented one from see. ing it, when Billy’s not easily to be forgotten voice was borne along the still air in accents which would have made the Bishop’s hair stand upright, and me, I must confess, perhaps only to smile, had they not contained, quite apart from the words employed, a tone which caused my heart to stand still. That Billy was once more swearing it required no Webster to predicate; bul I was in a pitch of such anguish as i hope I may never again know. Sure that there was something gravely wrong, I lashed the surprised horses In a moment I was in sight of the well and there was poor Billy lying jammed under a coupling of the iron bar oi the horse power, of which the connect- ing pin had half-severed his thigh. Tc leap from the buggy, to rush to his side, to remove him ,with all the care I could into the but, were things i must have done mechanically, for ] scarcely remember the action. But the sight of what had happened when I looked at the injury was to a layman’s eye so awful that at the first look i should have fainted but for the reas- suring and composed voice of the child. He began to explain—more than that, the uppermost thought in his mind wasn’to excuse himself from any stigma that he had been clumsy or inefficient. He had come to the well, but the Chinaman whose duty it was to'keep the tank full was gone and the tank'empty; he had taken his own horse—” “Billy, old man,” I interposed, “don’t tell me about this; let us see what I can do for you." Lproceeded with such simple surgical treatment as I knew and as the re- sources of the place permitted. These were indeed simple. A needle and cot— ton belonging to the absent Chinaman were brought to light, and with them I sewed up the awful wound. Billy suggested kerosene as an antiseptic, which, being the only medicament that there seemed to he in the hut, I applied it and bound the poor little leg in such cotton bandages as my own torn shirt would make. All ths time the little hero was boil- ing over with the explanation that. it was not his fault. He seemed to re« gard his leg as the leg of some one .else, to be prescribed for and treated to whatever there was that was likely to do it good. I would spare you any needlessly terrible description, but; the blunt pin of the coupling rod had miss.— ed, as I learned afterward, the main artery by no more than a hair’s breadth. Returning now to the cause of the accident, Billy explained that he had put the horse he was riding. into the horse power; that,‘being unused to the work, it had given him a great deal of trouble; that at the moment when he had finally got him started, as he was running behind, the pin of the coupling caught his trousers, and, dragging him below the‘ rod, had on each revolution cut into his leg, while the horse had only just stopped of his. own accord as I came up. With the cool of the evening. and with poor Billy stretched on the tray of my buggy, I began my slow journey to his home.’ What the motion must have meant to him I could only gather from my imagination and those tight- ly compressed lips, which uttered no sound during all those weary fourteen miles; each jolt seemed to vibrate through my nerves in the anxiety for the boy. The rest is soon told, and what the end was is worth telling. Whatever I thought of Billy before, whatever—if“ he lived—he might grow up to be af— terward, he became from the moment of our meeting at the well—my child. I gave up the business I had in hand, and staid to take my share of nursing him in his home. , Fever, and then fever and delirium, followed quickly on one another, and then symptoms worse than either, and I felt sure Billy's days were numbered. It was Christmas Eve, and I had just lain down on my mattress on the floor, while the hot night air, disturbed only by the noise of the bull-frog in the swamp, failed to relieve the sick cham— ber of the latent heat which its walls were even then giving out. Presently a great silence fell on everything; the frog ceased to creek, and the night in- sects to “cheep"; the restless tossings of the little sufferer had ceased, and even his breathing could not be heard from where I was reclining. But as I rose and noiselessly approached his bed, wondering whether the end had come, his voice rang out loud and clear. To my fancy, in the stillness that was reigning around, it seemed something else than human, and awoke in me such feelings as the impassioned minor chords of a great funeral march when some young, loved, and honored soldier is being taken to his resting place. - Without preface it commenced: “Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done-—” Here he hesitated; then be repeated: “Thy will be done, Thy—Thy—Thy—There, God, that must do!” And the great silence seemed even more intense than before he .spoke. My hand sought his heart, which was beating calmly and evenly; a. soft moisture had taken the place on his skin of this fire that had been burning before. He was sleeping peacefully. In the Place where these” things are order- ed, it was decreed that Billy should i loot die this lime-mBlack and 'v'liite. '1‘ E "f -_ . NEW YORK FASHIONS. Braiding in vermicelli, French ara- besque, Greek key, trefoil, clover, flor- al, and purely conventional devices, appears on many of the very stylish imported costumes, redingotes, jack- ets, and small pelerines just brought to view; and the new effects produced by this graceful form of decoration arouse quite as great a degree of ad- miration as if this were the initial sea- son of its vogue. Net and tulle gowns are again with us and very dressy garments they make for theater and reception wear. The dainty dress here pictured” is of black tulle ornamented with black lace applique and mounted on a white satin foundation. The plain bodice is cov- ered with tulle to match. The long transparent sleeves are shirred and trimmed with full epaulettes at the top. The hat to accompany this gown is of black basket straw turned up slightly on the left side and trimmed with tulle and violets, a black ostrich plume on the side. The newest shape in hats this season will be the “Shepherdsss,” with the drooping brim back and front. and will be the form most in use by those who can wear it. In Dotted Challle. A simple and becoming blouse for home wear is of cadet blue dotted chal~ lie. This waist is made over a. fitted lining. The front edge is turned in and slip stitched to edge of lining, which hooks lnvisibly, then on to the right side the rovers is Joined. The rovers is of the material, trimmed with three rows of lace. Tight fitting sleeve with a. small puff at the top. Celnturd any collar of cadet blue velvet. While the real Russian blouse is now a thing of the past, the poucbed effecl in front will long remain with us. Tlu blouses may be worn with or without the basque, but the belt is universal and will be seen with all styles oi waists. Crepe do Chino Evening Want. The draped bodice with the material draped across the front in soft folds on one side, is seen again, and whether the back is full or plain it has no seams except the one under the arm. An effective model is of steel blm taffeta with yoke and sleeves of sill! crepe de chine. is finished at the edge with a ruffle or black velvet, headed by a large velvet rosette. The shlrred sleeves ox crepe de chine have epaulettes of thl material at the shoulder, edged with black velvet, velvet also outlining tin yoke, and finishing, the collar, belt and sleeves. The dainty hat worn with the cor- sage was of yellow straw, slightly dipped on the right side, while a. ros- ette of black velvet rested on the hall 0n the left. The crown was of mirror velvet, and a bunch of violets and an, aigrette completed the trimming. Where the Great Plagues Come From. There are three places in the world to which the great plagues of cholera and kindred epidemics that have swepi over the world may always be traced These are Hurduar in India, Mecca. in Arabia, and Nijni-Novgorod in Rus sia. Hurduar and Mecca are the meet ing-places of thousands of pilgrims every year, whilst Nijni-Novgorod is famous for its annual fair. . A Month Wash. ~ Half an ounce of salts of tartar, four ounces of honey aug. opt., thirty drops of oil of peppermint, thirty drops ol oil of wintergreen, two ounces of spir- i-s of wine, ten ounces of triple rose liquid cochineal tc water. sufficient ‘ color. Mix well. To be used morning and evening. Hm Milk no a Stimulant. \‘. he” overcome by bodily fatigue, or . .u lilsled by brain labor, no stimu- so called. serves so well the pur- El of refreshment and rest, both " ...ia;.- and mentally, as milk. When Lar'yd as hot as one can readily take .3 may be sipped slowly from a lumlw-r. and as it is easily digested. one feels very soon its beneficial ef- fects. Fer.- persons realize the stimu- lating qualities oilhis simple beverage l'r:_ Germ;.;; soldiers each carry a four- ounce ie‘gfous book with the rest oi their De, :1' :31 equipment. ‘ coming H. a finiss physxcian, a sun metrically mun peel and soli- m .;a‘-.e an e:.elgeiiC. faithful. \\:.; l, auced ctzu acter. The draped material . —r-v. r. SMALL HIPS THE PRESENT FANCY; ,‘r Flounccs Round Up in Front Instead of » at the Back of Skirts. (F.3- speuia? arrangement with tne N. Y. Sun.) The special variation in 's:.2rts which seems imminent, now that we are be- coming in the back, is the reverse order. There? , fore, if we would have the latest mode, ‘ we must point our skirt, trimming up in front and down in the back. It may round up to the waist with a panel front, but without this, if it reacnes a point just above the knee. 7 there is sufficient curve. But whether your flounce curves up or be trimmed. it must fit around the hips as if it were ~. moulded to the figure. Even this is not enough, for the hips must be coerced into as small a space as possible. Sylphlike and sinuous grace of outline ' is the motto of fashion this season, and : you must heed it at any cost if you Would be in the latest mode. Small epaul‘ets and tiny frills at the top of the sleeves are the accompany- ing feature of many of the new gowns, but they are gradually disappearing, and if‘ you would have the latest mode, discard this sort of sleeve-decoration entirely and apply all‘the trimming di- rectly: on. the sleeve itself. It may be; as elaborate as you like with tucks, in- sertions, braid or shirrings the entire length, but it'must be quite small, with '- no unnecessary fallness at ‘the top. ‘ " Among the many other odd fancies in dress trimming is the use of embroid- ered linen on a foulard gown. Such a gown in red and white has three ruf- accustomed to the circular . fiounce rounding down in front and up ‘ . 9'2» fies of linen across the front of the bodice. row yoke, and the ruffles, overlapping each other a trifle, fall below this, point enough so that the top one near-.. ly meets with the collar band of white silk striped with black velvet. The ruf- fles form a trimming which fails a. lit- tle below the ,bust, where a strap of black velvet ribbon an inch and a. half ‘- The silk is tucked into a nar- _ iii wide is fastened at either side and crosses in front just above the belt of ' ‘ the same velvet, which is completed usith a long bow of loops. at one side. it is a pretty general belief in China iat’ women who wear short hairfiwil i a future state be transformed ”into Jen. «-... . .> A~.. _._- p 77‘“ "Mme
Norwalk Chronicler