Corvallis gazette. (Corvallis, Benton County, Or.) 1900-1909, February 10, 1905, Image 6

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goaud by
Judith was quite right: although her
words filled me with fear, they could
not destroy, or even weaken, the fasci
nation she exercised over me. Our mar
riage day was fixed. How distinctly I
remember every aspect and event of that
day. The ceremony was, of course, to
be celebrated at Little Bethlehem by
the bribe's father. All the principal
members of. the congregation were to be
of the party, and the Rev. Obadiah Por
ter provided the entertainment with no
niggardly hand.
When I entered the parlor I found it
full of people. Of these two solemn
looking young men, whom I had often
een at chapel, represented the grooms
men; and two remarkably sonr-lookin?
girls, daughters of Mrs. Hmnphries,the
Two or three dark-looking enbs were
at the gate, and when all was ready we
sallied forth. Martha was standing in
the hall, holding the house door in her
hand. I had never exchanged a word
with her since that night when she way
laid me upon the landing; indeed, bad
never seen her, except when she waited
at meal times. How sorrowfully she
looked at me that morning! As I passed
out into the garden with Miss Hum
phries upon my arm, she threw an old
shoe after me. The young lady was
astounded, and I heard her master pause
for a moment to rebuke her for such a
"heathenish" act, as he was pleased to
style it.
Although in the height of summer. It
was a most . miserable morning. From
edge to e'dge of the horizon, the sky was
one of uniform leaden hue; there was a
fine, soaking rain, that blurred and blot
ted to the eye every more distant ob
ject; Hie saturated trees kept up a con
stant drip, drip; the calyx of every flow
er was a miniature lake; and on the
point of every leaf and blade of grass
quivered globules of water. Large pools
lay in the graveled path, and the earth
was soddened.
The little chapel was chill and gloomy
as a vault, and the damp atmosphere
clung upon every object, dimming the
windows, and half-veiling the cold, gray
light that struggled through them.
"Not a pleasant day or a marriage,"
remarked Miss Humphries, solemnly; it
was the first remark she had addressed
to me.
"More fitting for a funeral," I answer
ed drearily.
She looked at me rather strangely, and
It certainly must have sounded a some
what strange remark in the mouth of a
The ceremony, according to the tenets
of these people, commenced; and as I
took her hand, I looked at Judith for the
first time that morning. She seemed
unconscious of iny glance. Her face was
deathly pale, and very rigid, like one
who bad nerved herself to a terrible and
repulsive task, as indeed she bad. . The
touch of my hand awoke her from her
reverie. She shuddered; but I thought
there was less of hardness and scorn
in her manner, as Well I might, for
her tears were falling fast.
Mr. Porter also was not quite ; him
self; he seemed agitated and nervous. To
my morbid fancy his prayers sounded
like a service for the dead. At last,
, It was all over. The whole party was
gathered near the door preparatory to
leaving. Judith and her father had gone,
into a little room that stood near the
entrance, where she had left her wrap
pings. I was the last. Moodily I was
jV'owing the rest, when my eyes bap
pened to fall upon a small glittering
object. It was a golden locket. In pick
ing it up my finger pressed the spring
and opened it. What a thrill ran through
me! It contained the 'Portrait of a girl
of about 14. It was the face of the
child I had met in the Norman gateway!
Who had dropped it: or how had it
come here? Puting it into my pockel, I
resolved to carefully note any person
who should appear to or speak of having
lost anything.
The cabs conveyed us home again, and
the dinner-was waiting. Towards even
ing the company dispersed, but; no r-er-son
spoke of a loss, and the mystery
of the locket remained an inscrutable
mjstery. I would not make any in
quiries for the owner, as I had resolved
not 10 part witn it. 1 nngged it is a
treasure: and, somehow, amidst the mis
ery of that day, it fell upon my heart
like a gleam of hope.
While waiting at table Martha con
trived to slip a piece of paper into my
-hend. My fingers instinctively grasped
It. Our visitors had gone. Judith had
retired to her room to change her dress.'
and Mr. Porter was in his storeroom. I
seized the opportnnity to examine the
paper. It was a note, but written in a
crawl almost illegible. It ran thus:
"This is my last day here. I leave
to-morrow. , Always to be heard of at
No. 3 Rackstraw's building, Camden
Town. Take care of yourself. God
- bless you. MARTHA."
So I was deprived of my only friend.
I was now utterly alone in the iion's
den. A new feeling of fear and deso
lation fell upon my heart.
I could endure it no longer, and so I
fled. One month after my wedding night
I left that roof forever. Upon what
passed during that month my lips are
sealed. To no living' being shall I ever
reveal the story of my sufferings during
those thirty-one days.
On the night of the 31st of August, I
crept out of my chamber, ascended to
the boys' room and, nnseen and unheard
by them, opened their window and de
scended to the garden by means of the
pear tree. Vividly did my frightful
dream come back upon me at that mo
ment, and I almost expected to sea the
red snake with his glittering eyes writh
ing round some leafy branch. Bat 1
reached the ground In safety, without
encountering any object, fanciful or real
In less than three minutes more I was
In the high road, a vagabond, a homeless
'utcast, but a free man. All my worldly
possessions were the suit of clothes
wore, and my wedding snit and a change
of linen that I carried tied np in a ban
die. It was a bright moonlight night
a Spell
I cast one farewell glance upon the only
hpme I had ever known and .walled
swiftly onward.
I made towards Bury. I passed Lit
tle Bethlehem, and thought, with a shud
der, of my marriage day. Then I en
tered the town, and took the street that
led me past the old Abbey ruins. I had
never seen them since that October
night. I stopped at the, old Norman gate
way, and peered into its shadows, almost
expecting to encounter the sweet, pole
face again. But all was silent and
deserted not a soul was in sight.
Whither was I going? I was going to
Martha. I had carefully preserved her
note. I knew she would give me a shel
ter until I could obtain some kind of
employment.- When I reached the next
town I would sell the bundle of clothes,
and the money would provide me with
food and lodging on the way. I had no
conception of the road, but I resolved
that I would take the one down which
I had seen her disappear. She said that
she understood that to be the right one.
I would follow in her steps.
The day . was just dawning when I
came upon a large, old-fashioned village.
Unused to violent exercise, and exhaust
ed for want of food, for i had eaten
nothing since dinner time the day before,
my steps began to flag. I looked round
some place to rest; there was no Mgn
of life in any of the houses all seemed
buried in sleep. I walked slowly on
until I came to a little swing gate, which
led to the village church an anc i"nt
looking building, embossed in trees.
Here, I thought, is a quiet spot whore
I can rest a little while. I opened the
gate, and passed through.
It was a pretty, quiet spot. I could
not have found a better for an hour's
rest. There was a heavy dew upon the
long grass, so I stretched myself upon a
hih, flat tombstone, and placed my bun
dle beneath my head. I was very weary,
and in spite of the cold air of the dawn,
that made me shiver, I fell fast asleep,
with the twittering of the waking birds
sounding in my ears.
When 1 awoke the sun was shining
brightly, and the birds were in full song.
For a moment I could not comprehend
my position. I sat up and looked round,
but my doubts were only of a second.
Then I knelt down against my stone
bed and offered up a thanksgiving for
my deliverance, and a fervent prayer
for my future safety.
When I rose from my knees I became
conscious that 1 was not alone. Seated
upon a tomb a little distance from me,
and attentively watching me, was an
old gentleman dressed like a ' respecta
ble farmer.
"Good morning, young man," he said,
in a cheery voice; "you've had rather a
cold bed, I'm thinking. I suppose you've
been traveling all night?"
''Yes, sir," I answered. "From Bury."
"Why, that isn't more than ten miles!
You should have had a little more sleep
in your bed, my lad, and have started
about this time. Enough to give yon
your death of cold to lie out here and go
to sleep in the dew. You don't look
very strong, either. Wherever you're
going, you won't get on now till you've
had a bit of breakfast."
I colored np at the mention of break
fast. I had not a farthing of money,
and until I could dispose of the con
tents of my bundle, I could not procure
a mouthful. I .thanked him, took up my
bundle, wished him good morning and
turned to go.
"Stop, stop! come here a minute," he
called out
I advanced a few steps nearer to him.
He scrutinized me more carefully than
ever, with the expression of a man who
was about to make a proposition of
doubtful prudence.
"Here, here! you shall come and break
fast with me," he said,' after a minute's
pause. "I like the look of you, and I
don't think you're a tramp."
I thanked him very much for his kind
ness, which, under the circumstances. I
certainly had not strength of mind
enough to decline. We left the church
yard and proceeded down a lovejy green
lane canopied with trees.
"I always rise at five," said the' old
gentleman, as we walked along: "and,
unless it is very bad weather, take a
walk as far as the churchyard. It's
been my custom for many years, and, I
suppose, will continue to be so until some
morning I am carried there, never to
come back again. Nothing like exercise,
however, and the early morning air,
to delay that litle event; but not sleep
ing on tomostones, ne aaaed, witn a
After about ten minutes walk we
stopped before a dor in a high garden
wall, which my conductor opened with a
key, and facing us at the end of a gar
den path was the prettiest cottage I had
ever seen, very old-fashioned, and on
tirely covered, with roses and woodbines,
that loaded the whole air with delicious
perfume: The garden was beautifully
laid oat in flower beds; on one side was
a grape house, on the other a conserva
tory, filled with the most brilliant col
ored plants. The rays of the morning
sun were slanting brightly across the
scene, and imparting to it . the most
joyously cheerful air.
"How different to the house I have
just left!". I thought.
Pretty place, isn't it? said the old
"Sweetly pretty," I murmured.
He led the way into a little low-
roofed room, darkened by the overhang
ing blossoms that hung thickly over the
latticed window. It was comfortably
indeed, handsomely; furnished. The table
was .laid for breakfast. A second cup
and saucer and plate were soon produced
by a kind-looking, middle-aged woman,
and I was soon kitting before a substan
tial meal of eggs and bacon, and cold
beef, to be washed down by plenty of
strong coffee. Never had food been so
grateful to me before, and .1 .certainly
lid ample ; justice to it I could per
ceive that my host every now and then
-ast a curious glance at me, as though
presented something of a puzzle to him,
"Now, if I might be permitted to haz
ard a guess, I should fancy yon were
something in the parson line, - he said,
waning back in his chair.
I disclaimed the honor.
"Well, it was the long hair- and the
queer-looking black clothes that put that
idea into my head; and you look so seri
ous for a lad of 'your years. I have it!
You're a school usher." '
. I confessed that his last guess was
"Ah, poor fellow! No wonder you
look so miserable!" he said, compassion
ately. "It must be a hard life, and a
badly paid one; and I suppose you've
left your place?. Where are you icoiug
"I am going to the city."
"You've friends there, I suppose?"
"I have one, sir, who I think will help
He must have thought me very close
and churlish, to be so sparing of my un
swers after his kindness; but the fact is,
that I was undecided at the moment
whether I should make a clean breast of
all my troubles to him; he seemed so
kindly hearted that I felt sure ho. would
pity me. But the natural reticence of
niy disposition, rather than any feeling
of mistrust, prevented me.
"But jou're not gong to walk?" he
questioned. ..... . .
"Yes, sir. I have no other means of
getting there. 1 have a suit of clothes
in this bundle, that I intend to sell as
soon as I come to a town," I faltered.
The old gentleman paused, and looked
very hard at me seemed, for a moment,
to revolve an idea and then . said,
"Leave the clothes with me. I don't
want to look at them. I will lend you
five dollars. That will take yon to your
friend, and leave some money to boot
in your1 pocket. Any time you bring me
or send me the money you shall have
your clothes back again. A mile and a
half from here is the railway station.
In half an hour a train will stop there.
Yon -will be able to catch that comfort
ably. I will walk a little distance with
you, and put you in the right path. Stop
a minute, and I'll bring you the money."
Without waiting to listen to my fer
vent thanks, he left the room. Never
in my life had I felt so light-hearted and
I rose from the chair to take the
clothes out of the handkerchief and
smooth them, as they mast have been
somewhat crumpled by doing service as
a pillow; also to take out the change of
linen which I could not do without In
doing so, my eyes fell upon a portrait,
hang in a dark corner of the room. It
was that of a woman, with bright au
burn hair, transparently fair complevion,
blue eyes, a very beautiful, pensive face,
with something in it that came back
upon me like a memory. It seemed to
me that I had seen that face somewhere.
While I stood trying to remember, the
old gentleman re-entered' the room.
"Ah, you're looking at my poor girls
portrait, he said, in a sad voice.
'Your daughter s, sirr
'Yes my only one."
'Is she still living?" I asked, some
what hesitatingly. "
She has been dead these eighteen
years, ne answerea, sorrowiuny.
I must be mistaken; I was only an
infant in arms at that time," I thought
He gave me the money, but would
not listen to my thanks.
Tut, tut!" he said; "that's nothing.
I'd give you more, if I really knew you
were all right; but I have been so often
taken in that I'm doubtful of everybody
now. But I like your looks; but I've
liked others that have been the property
of great vagabonds."
(To' be continued.)
Animal Does the Work of the Donkey
in the Low Countries.
In Holland and Belgium the dog oc
cupies the place Which the donkey
does in several other countries. In
the former the sight of a couple of
dogs dragging along a pushcart loaded
with vegetables, flowers or shining
milk cans is a familiar one. They
trot along underneath the cart, with
in easy reach of the blunt toe of the
sabot of the woman, who walks be
hind it to guide it by the handles at
tached at that point
In Belgium the -dogs are hitched in
front, as the Russians attach their
horses to their droskies, three abreast,
and are guided by a pair of rope reins
fastened to a muzzle about the nose
of the dog in the middle.
Recently the National Cart Dog As
sociation, organized to regenerate the
original race of Belgian mastiffs, held
its first exhibition of eart dogs. The
Flemish breeders have found that in
crossing the Belgian mastiffs with the
Great Danes, with the idea of increas
ing the size of the cart dogs, and so
securing additional strength, they
made a mistake. ' The result proved
to be animals with weak hindquarters
and disproportionate limbs. Now they
are endeavoring to revive the original
The women and dogs of these two
little countries are another evidence
that human and canine nature are the
same the world over. When onf sees
the white-capped Belgian milk woman
with her dogs standing near a well,
the woman having a battered can
slung on her forearm, one instinctive
ly becomes suspicious. The suspicion
is confirmed when one discovers a po
liceman detaining at the roadside a
pair of sulky-faced milkmaids, with
their dog team and cart laden with
slender-necked milk cans, while he
jots their names in his little book
against a charge of watering milk.
When the cart comes to a standstill
the dogs are no longer draught ani
mals, but dogs. They sit or He com
placently down and loll their tongues
from their open mouths. , Apparently
they have forgotten that they are ani
mals Intended for human companion
ship, but condemned to hard labor for
life. '':.. i
"I',came very near freezing
night," raid the mosquito.
I "But it wasn't cold," protested the
fly. - ,
; : "No," rejoined the mosquito, "but I
tackled a Boston man by mistake." '
j J English is taught in the 'public
schools of Japan. The Japanese youths
in the towns and cities are all eager to
learn Etaglish, as a passport to wealth.
' position and -employment, ; .
Bad Fate of a Tonne Woman Who Had
It All Fixed Up.
There was once a young lady of ten
der feelings but firm resolves who
was inflexibly determined to live un
married, even at the risk of living an
old maid, but who wished so much to
spare the susceptibilities of her po
tential admirers that she long made It
her study how to refuse them with
out wounding them. To this end she
read all the novels she could lay her
hands on and as much poetry as she
could bear. She went constantly to
the theater, and in the intervals of her
social duties she took serious books,
like biographies and memoirs, out of
the libraries, and informed, herself of
the methods and manners of the he
roines, who declined offers from high
She was, upon the whole, a good
deal disappointed, especially with the
novels. These manuals of the Im
passioned emotions seemed to render
In almost every case a blind allegiance
to the law of ending well, which In
the low conception of the author was
getting the hero and heroine married,
and then dropping them; in the very,
very few cases where they suffered a
girl to refuse a lover 'It was that she
might leave him to some other girl
who secretly loved him and who would
probably pine away, or partly away,
if she did not have him. This the
young lady thought simply disgusting
and Idiotic; she was a young lady of
strong expressions as well as tender
feelings and fixed resolves, and she
found the poets not much, if any, more
Instructive than the novelists.
They gave examples enough of girls
who did not marry, but it was because
their lovers died," or did not ask them;
when their lovers both survived and
proposed the girls refused them from
pride or from shame or from want of
presence of mind and bitterly regretted
it ever afterward. The personal his
tories were largely those of women
distinguished in the arts, letters and
sciences, whose courtships ana mar
riages were dismissed in a few cold
and indifferent phrases, as incidental
of small consequence in their several
careers. Where they did not marry
they seemed not to have been courted,
and where they were loved it was in
a vague, tentative sort that never ar
rived at passion.
In spite of all,- however, the young
lady did evolve, though from the ob
servation of life rather than her ac
quaintance with literature, a formula
of sympathetic rejection which entire
ly suited her. "We will not reveal it
because it was so charming that if put
in the possession of young girls gener
ally it would tempt them to its use in
the case of every offer of marriage.
But we may confide that the young
lady, having lived to witness the com
parative failure of marriage among
her friends, and always liking her
friends' husbands better than her
friends themselves, though she blamed
them for her friends unhappiness,
made such a study of their varying
temperaments that she knew just
where men's sensibilities would suffer
most, and so contrived a form of re
fusal that would justly natter their
vanity and console their affections,
and at last leave them grateful foe
having been rejected.
The only difficulty she experienced
was in the application of her formula.
It happened that the very first man
who offered himself was one whom
she had long secretly loved, and she
instantly accepted him, without, as it
were, thinking. She did not even ap
pear chagrined at the waste of the
time she had spent in acquiring the
useless information stored up for a
contrary eventuality. Unless she
should become a widow hers must
ever remain the most signal instance
of misspent research that we could
offer. Harper's Magazine.
A Desert Lighthouse.
There is at least one lighthouse in
the world that is not placed on any
mariner's chart. It is away out on
the Arizona Desert, and marks the
spot where a well supplies pure, fresh
water to travelers. It is the only
place that water may be had for at
least thirty miles in any direction.
The "house" consists of a tall cotton-
wood pole ,to the top of which a lan
tern is hoisted every night The light
can be seen for miles across the plain
in every direction.
A Little in Doubt.
. A district visitor once went to see
an old Scotchwoman who was dying.
Noticing that her talk was all about
herself and the minister, he said:
'"Well, really, Jeannle, I believe you
think there will be nobody in heaven
but yourself and the minister."
"Ah, weel," said the old man, "an1
I'm no' sae sure aboot the minister!'
London Telegraph.
Coolie Power Car Line. -
A curious street car line is that be
tween Atami and xoshlhoma, two
coast towns in the province of Izie,
Japan. The line is seven miles long,
the rolling-stock consists of a single
car, and the motive power is furnished
by a couple of muscular coolies, -who
push the car along wherever power la
! "Pa," said little Willie, who wai
struggling over Tils lessons,, "what ii
an obtuse angler ' -
i "An obtuse angle, replied - his fa
ther, "i an Englishman1 to whom you
try -to explain a Joke." Philadelphia
Anything; but That. "
; The Lawyer Do you want a di
vorce without publicity ? '
:: The Lady Sir, ' you seem to have
forgotten that I am an actress.
- :'WK
When some future historian writes the story of the siege of Port Arthur
many will be the graphic and thrilling scenes he will be called upon to
depict. One such scene deals with the deadly struggle on the slopes of
Ojikeishan, where Jap and Muscovite struggled with ropes, rocks, clubbed
rifles and bullets for supremacy. During this particular combat, saye the
Illustrated London News, from which we reproduce the accompanying pic
ture, the Japanese stormed a position so steep that they could obtain cover
only by standing with their backs to the rocks and firing their rifles over
their heads. The Russians finding they could not reach their adversaries so
sheltered lowered ropes with running nooses and tried to lasso their assail
ants. As soon as they had caught a man they pulled him from cover and
disposed of him. One Russian was dragged down by his own rope and
broke both legs.- The hurling of huge boulders also played a prominent part
in the struggle.
James Gillespie Found Guilty of the
Murder of His Sister.
The conviction of James Gillespie,
on the charge of murdering his sister,
Miss Elizabeth Gillespie, in Rising
Sun, Ind., on Dec. 8, 1903, and his sen
tence to life imprisonment for the
crime, meets with the approval of all
persons who are familiar with the de
tails of this tragedy which, at the
time of its occurrence, awakened in
terest all over the United States. This
was James Gillespie's second trial. A
year, ago Ge, With his sister, Mrs. Belle
Seward, and Mr. and Mrs. Myron Bar
bour, were tried together for the mur
der and the jury disagreed. When the
case came into court again, Gillespie
demanded to be tried alone. His re-
quest was granted and after trial the
jury, after three hours' deliberation,
brought in a verdict of guilty.
The' circumstances surrounding the
murder of Elizabeth Gillespie and the
social prominence in Indiana of all
the actors in the tragedy, attracted
widespread attention to the case. The
Gillespie family was one of the oldest
and proudest in Indiana. James Gil
lespie and his sister, Elizabeth, were
twins. They were inseparable as chil
dren and young people. The girl be
en me engaged at the age of 20, but on
her brother's account broke the en
gagement Though no word of trouble
leaked out this beautiful society wo
man from that time grew in appear
ance from a young girl to an aged
woman, her hair turning almost snowy
white within a year. She never mar
ried nor did her brother. James.
Elizabeth devoted herself to the care
of her widowed mother and threw her
self heart and soul into plans which
afforded pleasure to others. She was
a leader in the social world and in
church work. Then came trouble be
tween her and her brother, and a fam
ily feud was brought on which culmi
nated in murder. '; James Gillespie left
bis mother's house and went to live
with his other sister, Mrs. Belle Sew
ard, across the street Dr. William
Gillespie had married a niece of Dr.
Thad Reamy, a noted Cincinnati phy
sician, and had moved to that city.
His wife's sister married Myron Bar
bour, and they lived directly across
the street from the ' Gillespie home
stead,' adjoining the Seward residence.
-. On the evening of Dec. 8, 1903,' Eliz
abeth Gillespie was preparing to re
ceive at her home the' Women's Lit
erary Club, ' of Rising Sun. ' As she
passed7 a window looking into the
street from her parlor the report of a
gun rang out in the darkness and Miss
Gillespie fell to the floor, blood stream
ing from a jagged wound in her head.
She died the day following. Suspicion
at once fastened upon James . Gillespie
and he with the others named above
were, arrested and indicted for mur
der. It was shown at the trial that
Elizabeth Gillespie lived in mortal ter
ror of her brother. On the other hand,
members of the family from all over
the State, all of whom are wealthy.,
made a strong effort to save the fami
ly name and to free James Gillespie.
The two trials were bitterly contested
and thousands of dollars were lavish
ed on lawyers by the defense. The
State, however, won.
The High Art that Flourished Over
Forty Centuries Ago.
The glassblowers of ancient Thebes
are known to have been equally as pro
ficient in that particular art as is the
most scientific craftsman of the same
trade of the present day, after a lapse
of over forty centuries of so called
progress." They were well acquaint-'
ed with the art of staining glass and
are known to have produced that com
modity in great profusion and perfec
tion. Rosseliini gives an illustration
of a piece of stained glass known to
be 4,000 years old which displayed ar
tistic taste of high order, both in tint
and design.
In this case the color is struck
through the vitrified structure, and he
mentions designs struck entirely in
pieces from, a half to three-quarters of
an inch thick, the color being perfectly
incorporated with the structure of the
piece and exactly the same on both
the obverse and reverse sidos.
The priests of P'tah at Memphis
were adepts in the glassmaker's art,
and not only did they have factories
for manufacturing the common crystal
variety, but they had learned the vitri
fying of the different colors and of im
itating precious stones to perfection.
Their imitations of the amethyst and
of the various other colored gems were
so true to nature that even now, after
they have lain in the desert sands
from 2,000 to 4,000 years, it -takes an
expert to distinguish the genuine arti
cles from the spurious. It has been
shown that, besides being experts in
glassmaking and coloring, they also
used the diamond in cutting and en
graving. In the British museum there
is a beautiful piece of stained glass
with an engraved emblazonment of
the monarch Thothmes III., who lived
3,400 years ago.
" Kuture of the Indians.
James Mooney, attached to the
Smithsonian bureau of ethnology,' sees
a hopeless future for the Indians,
among whom he has spent the greater
portion of his life. He believes that
it is practically impossible to civilize
the Indian; that, having no ambition
for improvement or progress, they will
continue in their present state, dying
out in numbers till they become sim
ply roving bands.
. Strong Love.1
' Patience How do you know her
love for him was strong? ' ' ; .
;. Patrice Because it broke him.. , , '
' If genius and egotism always! went
together ' there would be a lot" mora
genius. .'