' so mysterious. " the tone. DAYS LOST ”AND WON. " If we sit down at set of sun. And coat the things that we have done, And counting flnd One self- denying act, one word That eased the heart of him who heard; One glance most kind, That fell like sunshine where it went, Then we may count that day well spent. " But it, through all the livelong day, We’ve eased no heart by yea or nay; If through it all We’ve done no thing that we can trace That brought the sunshine to a face; No act most small, ‘ That helped some soul and nothing cost. Then count that day as worse than lost. " HIS FIRST WIFE. Cynthia regarded the flashing little circlet with evident delight. It was one of many that sparkled on her deli- cate white hand, but it bore a signifi- cance beyond the others. It meant the clipping of butterfly wings; the waning of the homage due to a beautiful and marriageabl eiress, and which, though often made subject of scornful wit, ,- was ever accepted and acceptable; it meant the ratification. of a sweet and. binding contract with the chosen one— the man to whom wealth was no ob- ject, and rank no allurement, and, for that reason, it dazzled eyes familiar with the radian'ce of gems. The fingers that had just bestowed the gift still clasped hers with tender premure, and, for the first time, she noticed their single ornament—an oddly shaped gold ring, that found fault in hafastidious eyes. “Why do you wear this?” she asked, with a curl of the lip. “Because Ivalue it,” replied her lover, secretly resenting the little sneer. Her curiosity was roused. Though she felt that for some reason he would prefer not to talk about it, she per- sisted. “‘Did you buy it?” “No; it was given to me,” “By a friend?” "By the best friend I ever had.” The laconic replies annoyed her. She dropped his hand, saying: “Well, I don’t admire it.” ‘ He accepted the dismissal of the sub- ject without a word, and the conversa- tion drifted into another channel—one of the winding tributaries of love. Fu- ture plans were discussed, and dates were fixed, to a running accompaniment of jest and laughter. Suddenly the ring caught her careless glance again... “There,” she said, pointing to it im- patiently; “it fascinates me. I am sure it has a history. Tell me.” She spoke as one who is used to com- mand, and certain of compliance. Lean- ing back she closedlier eyes languidly and waited. “Go on,” she said at last with some surprise. And still he hesitated. “Is its sad one. You would not care to know it.” She sat erect, intensely curious. “Indeed I would, now that you are Does it contain poison? Is it a Masonic symbol? Or perhaps some weird sign of witchery?” For once her gayety janed on him, and he was unable to answer in the same bantering strain. “My dear,” he said, gently, it was given to me by one who is dead." She was momentarily silent, then be gan again. ‘ I have never noticed it before.” . “And yet I always wear it.” ££Why6235 “Oh, Cynthia, you asked me that once. Because I value it more than anything I poSsess.” "Well, I will give you one, quite as quaint, and with an original inscription -—will you wear it for me?” Her pretty eagerness made him smile. “Of course 1 will. ” She flushed a little. “I mean, will you wear it instead of this?” "No; I cannot promise that.” His answer startled her; it was so grave and resolute. She renewed the attack: “But. don’t you see, if I gave it you, it would be your most precious possession. Don’t you care for me bet- ter than any one in the world?” He drew her to him fondly. “Yes; I can answer that with truth but you would not hays me break my promise?” “What promise?” ‘ I vowed to wear it as long as I live. If it be possible, it shall be buried with me”, “The dying have no right to extort such promises from the living,” she re- marked, sententiously. “Your friend was extremely selfish. ” “Oh, Cynthia, she was an angel!” There was more sorrow than anger in He did not look for much depth of feeling in Cynthia—she had been too spoilt, It was his task to bring out the lovable pomts in her natun that her luxurious life had left undo veloped, and in- which his love-dimmed eyes had foreseengreat and noble possi bilities. She was—your first wife?’ asked Cy nthia, sww1y, and showing no dis position to retract her former opinion “Yes; the ring had been in her family for many generations. She considered it a. kind of talisman, and wore it al- ways, till, dying, she bequeathed it to me. There is my story.” "It seems impossible that you can fail ' me in so small a sacrifice,” she rejoined, with a bitter little laugh; “still, you see, such things may happen.” " Her air of calm resolution was mad dening. yet he felt instinctively that no word of reproach or anger would help. ' Assent was dishonorable, denial was difficult; theie was no way out of the . dilemma. “A little t1me,”,.he pleaded. ' “Till to-night,” she said, hurriedly. “You must let me know your decision by then. Remember, nothing can alter mine. I only claim my right. But, " she added, persuasively, “you can easily decide now. Let me have my way. Ah, do, and end our first and last quar- rel!” . There was a subtle fondneSs in her tone, an undefinable power in her swift, .I ..\‘. .' m.pfirnn EVENINc GAZETTE upward glance that swayed his waver- ing heart, but the golden token on his finger pressed him under her clinging hand, and he shook his head.' “No, dear, such a vow is not to be lightly broken. I must earnestly con- sider your request. .I wish you had asked me anything but this,” he went on, wistfully, seeking sympathy in her soft, dark eyes. But Cynthia’ s tenderness had vanished. She drew back, piqued, ill at ease, in her suppliant attitude; an ominous frown darkening her fair forehead as she turned away. “As you will,” she said, coldly. Memories that Cynthia’s presence had chased for many months crowded vivid- 1y into the widower’ s mind as he strolled on, headless of din or traffic or the di- rection to be pursued. Her words of, anger and opposition‘ had invested the ring he had almost grown to regard with the unthinking gaze of custom with new and startling significance. It simply riveted him to the past. He -might discard it, still holding its pur- pose in his heart; but the thought was a base one, he knew that his dead wife would have borne such a vow to the gates of Heaven, and that no sacrifice would have abated the strength and endurance of the love which he dared not weigh with Cynthia’s impulsive passion. He had hardly dwelt on it since she had been taken from him—at first because it meant hopeless heart- ache, latterly because it Seemed disloyal to hisbetrothed; but now, at this turn- ing point, he realized his loss afresh and wondered that the remembrance had faded ever so little in the radiance of Cynthia’s smiles. Yet allegiance to the beloved dead meant the facing of the old homeless life, the return of that morbid depres- sion which Cynthia‘s infectious gayety and pretty, petulant ways alone had power to dispel. . ‘ He had walked on, dreaming, far be- , pond his original destination—the cosey set of rooms presided over by 'his faith- ful valet. Suddenly he stopped, with an involuntary exclamation, for he stood at the very threshold of his old home. What impulse had led his unconscious footsteps along the often traversed road he knew not, or how he came to look upon the house he had shunned since. the day of mourning. But having come, he was glad, for the wrench of parting was not the present pain; he was able to recall the grim old'mansion’s joyful, as well as sorrowful, associations. For the first time since his bereavement he felt the desire and strength to seek the room within that had been hers. unal- teredfas she had left it, till Cynthia, resolute in her banishment of rivalling recollections, should carelessly scatter and rearrange. The old housekeeper, started from her lethargy of idle c'aretaking, answered his summons with clumsy alacrity, and moon lie stood" at the: bedside} where- some years ago he had flung himself in an agony of grief and sobbed out a last. farewell. A melancholy light struggled through the curtained window, revealing the dainty, familiar furniture; the knick- knacks they had purchased together in odd corners of the world; the pictures she had chosen; her favorite chair; the couch on which she had lain to please him, with a thought of recovery. He saw through a mist of tears, for a gnaw- ing hunger had crept into his heart in the chill and utter loneliness of the room once brightened by her dear presence. How happy they had been! There was ‘no death for such a love as theirs.- It walked and throbbed in him again in this room, Where she had breathed out her blameless life, and all that had come between them seemed to him like a dream. , Cynthia was right; he‘must always be making useless comparisons, for some- thing must ever be wanting in his life placed. His brimming eyes Sought the spot where the comn:3 rested. He could see her now, lying there, as he had looked for the last time, white and serene, her iolded hands full of flowers: the eyes that had reflected his loving gaze piti. l‘essly sealed; a strange smile on the lips that often met his in yielding sweet- ness. Ah! if he might hear that low and gentle voice again; if he might pil- low that weary,’ golden head on his breast, 'and, asking forgiveness for a fleeting fancy, repeat his vow with all the fervor of the past! He sat down, hiding his face in his hands. With the reopening of this un- healed wound came a revulsion of feel- . ing, reproach for the self- sought forget- fulness his want of fortitude had made desirable, remorse for the shrinking from pain that made him swerve from. so dear a memory, and for the wrong he did Cynthia in clinging to it. But he hesitated no longer. Thesileni hour of retrospect ' had brought. him very near to his first love, and with the bitter ache oflonging came a strange sense of security ‘and rest. Unchanged she awaited him, fair and lovely as he had known her, this dear angel. speaking through the siience‘of Heaven, to hold him to his vow.' For Cynthia -he had no fears. That she had been able to make their engag- ment condition on this breach of trust led him to‘ hope its dissolution would cause her little sufiering. A parting pang' assailed him as he penned the brief message of farewell, a dread of the creeping, gloomy years be- yond Which his brightest hope beckon- ed, but he lifted the talisman that wed- ded him to his dead bride, pressing it softly to his lips, and the shadow fled. Cynthia crushed the note in her hand. She was hurt; she was indignant, she was scornful; a hundred sensations, mingled with no thoughts of surrender, struggled for mastery in her breast. But the faint, unconfessed regret that struggled beneath the angry tumult, the feeling that lies so deep' in some souls that only agony may wring it forth, the deadened wailing of love that will .not be stilled—these were among the bitter est tears she~ shed—Hilda Neszln, in Madame. . , . —something that never could be 1e—' CLOUDLANI) rams : THE ROTHHORN MOUNTAIN RAIL; WAY AMID LOFTY PEAK§. . It Climbs 1,500 Feet Among the Molt Pic- turesque ,Mountains of Switzerland; . But It Doesn’t Get Much Custom Al- though It's Fares are Cheap. Brienz, at the upper end of the lake of that name, is one of the quaintest and prettiest villages in all Switzerland. From this point, Interlaken, on a level with the lake, starts the Rothhorn Mountain Railway, which, the pro prietor claims, is the highest mountain railway' in the world. It is a curious thing that if a man in- vests his money in an enterprise just a little out of the beaten line of travel he runs a great chance of losing it. This is what has happened to the projectors of the Rotthrn Railway. People stop at Lucerne, and, therefore, the Rigi and Mount Pilatus cog-wheel paths are paying investments. They stop at In- terlaken and La‘uterbrunnen, and so the Scheinige. Platte and the Murren and the Wengern Alp railways all pay large dividends, but Brienz, situated between Lucerne and Interlaken. is not a stop- ping point for the .tourist, and so the Rothhorn Railway, starting at Brienz, bankrupted its first promoters. The present proprietor of the road has re- duced fares. It costs now only $2 for the round trip—up and down this rail- way. The hotel at the top is marvel- ously cheap. One can get a room there for '70 cents, including service. and everything else. Breakfast costs 30 .cents and dinner 70 cents—with wine. ' The trip is magnificent. First the ancient" town of Brienz, with its quaint wooden houses, sinks gradually down' then we get a view of the whole Lake of Brienz, and by and by. we look over the tops of the high mountains that, surround it, and the still higher peaks of the Bernese Oberland begin to ap- pear. Part way up there is a. magnifi- cent waterfall, tumbling down a. depth of 656 feet; but perhaps the most-re- markable sight is where a person gets a' glimpse of a dizzy precipice through the openings of the tunnel. The geo- logical formation is very striking. The mountains appear to be built of bricks. Every stone seems to have. been squared by a mason. The scene from the top is most im- pressive. The, mountains around Lake Brienz on the north terminate in a range as sharp as a knife, falling away on each side in tremendous precipices. The region has been at one time a most dangerous part of the country to live in. Everywhere about ,is seen the ct fects of great landslides that have car- ried all before them. Overhanging the town of Brienz there is nowa cliff which will, doubtless, some time come down. and when it does the people of Brienz lgwill undoubtedly wish they were some where else. Biltmore as a Refuge. A breezy writer for the New York Journal has this to say of George «'W. Vanderbilt’s famous palace in North Carolina: In alluding to Biltmore being a. place of refuge to discontented scions. I was rather thinking of young Shepard, who has been laboring under a case of stem parent for some time, and. who, after a— straightly guarded visit abroad, sought refuge in Cambridge with his brother in-law, John Hennen Morris, who en- joys the distinction of being the only undergraduate of Harvard who is mar- ried, and keeps an establishment there. Mr. Shepard» took up. certain studies at Harvard, but unfortunately he devel- oped an eye trouble and. spent many. months recuperating under the broad and hOSpitable roof of stately Bilt more. ' I think, apropos of Mr. Shepard, that it was he who remarked anent the sporting proclivities of the Morris fam- ily, when the tempest in a teapot even his sister's marriage to Mr. Morris was brewing: ' é‘If piety produces the beasts that draw the Fifth avenue stages, and the other thing results in the Morris string of thoroughbreds, give me the other thing.” . Three Names in Three Minutes The Indianapolis Journal publishes a despatchzfi om Kokomo, which says: A lightning matrimonial act was per formed here to- day that “is believed to break the record. The feat of changing her name three times in three minutes was successfully accomplished by Clive Smith. At 2:55 o’clock she went into court and obtained a. divorce from Fran- cis M. Trader; from there she repaired to the clerk’s office and secured a li- cense to marry Joseph N. Tyler, and before “the ink was dry on either the di- vorce or license Squire ' Loop was pro nouncing the ceremony that made her Mrs. Tyler. In the divorce her maiden name of Smith was restored, giving her the three names in three minutes. Bloomers in Alaska. Bloomers have invaded the Yukon country, Alaska; at least they are now en route there. Half a dozen women attired in bifurcated garments. and armed with- rifles left Tacoma for the- Yukon Friday'on the City of Tacoma They expect to make high wages by cooking and sewing at Circle City an. Forty Mile. Three of them take 23:11:" ing machines with them. The may: prominent woman to go to the. Yukon _ is' Mrs. W. A. Kennedy, who has b'e1 prominent in “society, She accompai: her husband to Circle City, leaving 1. week. She will. don bloomers, and '...-. been practicing with her rifle.~——Deser3. Evening ‘News. Nature as a Restorer. The big copper cross 011 St. J osep. Catholic Church at Eastport has 4.111. _. unusual experience With the v lane 1'). destiny this winter. A few weeks 1131: it was badly bent during a gale, an"é hadn’t been replaced when the last big blow came. the opposite quarter, and it put t- cross back to its original position as we . as the most skilled workman could 1111.. done it. .——Lewiston Journal. 7' ' .l‘hat, luckily, was fm' 1 __ 41: Main Stre at, -V, I . BUSKIN'S PROTEGE. ' s I A Child of Eleven When the Poet \Vna . , ’Attracted by Her. _' England has a young poet whose claim : to distinction,lies no't ‘aldne‘ in the fact ' that she has printed a volume'of :poems or more than usual merit, but also that she has enjoyed the friendship and lit- er'ary direction of John Ruskin since she was a child of 11. Her sister com- piled the Ruskin birthday book, and in this way the friendship with the family was begun. . Mr. Ruskin' s attention was drawn to the little girl of the family from the fact that she had won a prize of $5 for a little story in “Wide Awake” when she was only a little past 7. She Was not sent to school, but was taught at home by her father, and naturally her. educa- tion was quite out of the common way, and she knew many things of which children of her age were usually igno- rant. She had read Spenser and Shakespeare. ' quite intelligently, and, with her natural love for poetry, this reading helped to form her tastes, which were remarkably pure and true. MnRuskin induced her to take up Scott and study him, to be- ginItalian, and to'love it. She wrote always to him concerning the books she read, and thus gained her first lesson in criticism. He also taught her to “really love stories,” and opened the pages of the wonderful science of geology to her young and enthusiastic eyes. He used to send her. all sorts 'of odd‘ specimens, and wrote her the choicest, quaintest and most delicious little letters of- de- scription. . His influence shows itself markedly in this little book of hers, in the purity of her literary style, as well as in the artistic feeling. Only 81 and Beginning to Fall. In a small town about eight miles from Boston there lives an old gentle- man who is hale and hearty at the age of 81, and whose erect carriage would put many a younger man to shame. Within the last year, nevertheless, he has found that his favorite exercise, walking, while still giving him pleas- ure, must be pursued with more caution than formerly. ,Not long ago he had a visit from an old school friend,afew years his junior, who exclaimed at the old gentleman’s strength'and youthful appearance. “I may look fairly young for my age,” was the reply, made with some sad-V ness. “but I am not what Iwas. Why last Week I made one of my monthly trips to Boston, and I had to take to tho cars coming home.” “Take to the cars coming home?” re- peated his! friend. “You don’t mean to say you’ re in the habit of walking any such distance. "Why, man alive, I’m only 81, ” cried the old gentleman, testily. “Of course, I’ve always walked to Boston and back: and I can tell you, sir, that when I took those cars to come home I said to my- self, ‘If this thing’s going on, Martin Foster. you might just as well take to. your bed and be done with it 1’ That’s the way I felt, sir! Only 81, and obliged to take the cars home from Boston. ”’— Youth’s Companion. Kissing of Hands Taboocd. . It has hitherto been the custom of children attending the public schools in Austria and Hungary to kiss the hands of the teacher on arrival and departure. This has now been forbidden by an or- der from the Imperial Board of Educa- tion, which bases its action on the fact that sanitary investigation has shown that kissing' 1s unhealthful and should not be practiced except when abso- lutely necessary. —New Orleans Pi cayuns. 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