THE ROANOKE NEWS, THURSDAY, JANUARY 12, 1893.
ON THE WIDE PBAIKIE.
A Lonely Lifo That Finally Broughl
Domestic Happiness
Oh, thn dreariness of the prairie
How vast it was; never ending it seemec
to Clare, us she stood in the doorway
of their adobe cottage and gazed sadlj
off toward the northwest where a here
of sheep could be seen.
"llow can they live on the dry grass,
;and how can Charlie even pretend tc
like it. the horrible, lonely life in such
desolation and isolation! Hush! baby
dear, I am cominjj; how the mosquitoes
and flies do tease and torment him,
poor little withering- blossom for even
he has felt the blight."
The sun rose higher, the wind blew
harder and it seemed to have a touch ol
fire.
"I wonder why baby's cheeks arc sc
red; can ' he be seriously ill? Papa
won't bo in until evening, darliug;
mamma will do the best she can."
Charlie Dean wondered why no wife
was visible as he approached hornet
wondered why no smoke issued from
the chimney as was usual at supper
timc. Had anything happened, he
'wondered, hastening his natufally
Blow steps.
The scene that met his gazo as he en
tered Ids home was one never to be
forgotten.
His wife, his pretty, little, giriisli
wife he had brought from her city
home, lay back in the wooden rockei
white and still, while tho baby, the
little sis-months-old Walter, was mo
tionless within her arms, and the sweet
jfaee wore a look the horrified fathet
understood.
"Clare! Clare!" he cried, brokenly.
"Baby oh, my loved ones!"
Then Clare opened her arms and per--mittcd
him to place the child in its
cradle a cradle he had made out of a
'woodea bos.
In a voice he scarcely recognized she
said:
"You knew the life I was to share
out here, why did you not tell me?"
"But he seemed well this morning
well as he has been lately, I mean. Oh,
.1 never expeetea this! Ihe ranch is no
lonelier than hundreds of others. 1
never thought"
"No, but you have had to think now.
,'He died an hour ago. I could not leave
him to seek you it did not matter
after that. " I'll nver forgive you for
bringing me out to this."
"Clara! You knew I owned tho ranch.
You knew 1 was poor."
"1 never guessed what it'would be,
especially in a case like this," pointing
to her child. "I little realized what it
Was to be a woman."
After that Charlie Dean was a
changed man. He felt cross and mean,
and found the cold creature he called
wife anything but a cheerful coin
panion. "Let her sulk," he said; "she enjoys
'it Anyway, I'll And other friends."
And he did. He secured the servicer
of a boy in whose care ho left the
sheep, and went off almost daily to a
little town, a pleasant ride for him of
only about fifteen miles. When there,
his place of lounging can easily be
guessed.
"It's Clare's doings," he mused;
"women like to send men to the dogs."
If Clare saw anything more than
usual she remained silent Sometimes,
when he came home almost too stupid
to talk, he caught a glimpse of con
tempt in the cold eye of his wife. Ilci
silence was fairly maddening.
"Why don't she howl and storm like
other wornen?" he muttered. "She
never even wept over the baby. I'd
(five a good deal to see her cry just
once.
The summer had gone and winter
had come; as usual on Saturday morn
ing, Charlie had ridden away in the di
rection of the town, without a word of
farewell
"Two years ago," said Clare, bitter
ly, "he sought me in that cozy home
of my aunt's, with its soft carpets, its
loving friends, and he persuaded me to
marry him and come out to this dreary
place, where he has even forgotten to
be humane."
Then gltncing toward the northwest
she saw a mass of black clouds lying;
a threatening aspect growing over all
the sky.
"There's a storm coming and I'm
glad; one of the freaks in my make up
is that I like storms, particularly now.
Bad 1 been a timid lass I would long
since have died of fright I have felt
sometimes even a bear coming in at
the door would be a change," and
Clare smiled sadly, as the masses of
black clouds increased and the wind
tore around the little mud ranch with
frightful violence. '
"Don't detain me, boys, 1 must go
home!"
"Impossible in such a storm as this.
You'd be dead in less than an hour.
Take things coolly, Charlie. Why, it's
the first time I ever saw you anxious.
Your wife's all right; being snowed in
a few days don't surprise folks in these
parts."
"But she's out of flour; she made
biscuits this morning, and there were
only enough and she "
"Oh, ho, she's got other things, trust
a woman for that; there's canned
fruit, dried corn, there's beans and
no danger of her suffering. Anyway
you can't help her; an army could not
iorce its way ov;r those miles."
"God forgive me!" thought Charlie
Dean, his face ia his hands, "and Ood
help her, for I know how precious lit
tle the small house contains. I've seen
her hunting ' among the weeds for
something green to help out the salt
pork and bread. ; I know how she's
tried to cook something we could eat
when I brought her home almost noth
ing. She may have something fqr din
ner after that Oh, heavens, boysl I
must got home!" he cried, aloud.
"You'Unot go n quarter of a mile be
fore you'll bo dead, and then your wife
will have no help from you, and by and
by the expense of burying you if the
woives aon't find you."
Such a storm hid not been known
for years, even In that country where
xngauui storms were common.
Four days from the time Charlu
Dean had left home, he slowly and per
sistently forced his way back, througl
heavy snow-dri;ts, until, with tron
bling fingers, he raised the latcli of hi:
door and entered.
Blinded by the snow, he could sec
nothing at iirst, but by and by he be
came conscious of tho cold hearth, th
awful silence and that the little house
was empty. It did not even hold
corpse.
The wearied man sank down upon
uhair and gazed about him blankly
despairingly.
The bed was neatly made, tho llooi
swept, everthing was placed in its usua
orderly fashion, and her dress hung
upon the wall near him the old browr
calico she had worn the last time he
had seen her.
"Gone," he said, dazedly, "cone."
Just then one of the boys, who had
felt strange misgivings and had fol
lowed lum, entered.
"What did you say, Charlie? is stie
gone? Why, that couldn't lie, she'ii
never bo such a fool us to venture out
in that storm. If she did poor fellow,
nc s fainted!
It was some time before Charlie Dear
revived; he was very weary, and the
awfulness of what had been, through
nis neglect, quitooverpowcrcd him.
"There, you're better, now," said hi
friend. "H'hnt do you think couli!
have caused her to leave the house.
and where did she go?"
"I don't know, unless to the stable.
I had left a little corn there."
"Charlie!" said his friend, sternly,
"you never left your wife in buch
condition?"
But Charlie only nodded.
"I expected to be home, you know-
but don t look at mo like that. I'm
punished enough. She's dead some
where under the snow, my poor little
Clare!
They failed to find her; no corn was
missing, it is true, but tliey found
nothing to so much as point the way
wnitncr she had gone.
Charlie Dean was a changed man
once more. To his boon companions he
saidgood-by, and many of them never
forgot tho silent pain in his eye, the
anguish that his whole face expressed.
"It's not going to kill him," said the
friend who had been watching him to
see that he did nothing rash. "Xo, it's
going to make such a man out of him
as we never dreamed of; the one thing
that now has rossessin of him is
work, in order that he may forget. It's
a good medicine. I think I'll try some
myself.
Ihree years later, well-to-do, with
money to spare, for none of it was ever
squandered now, Charlie Dean ones
more sought the far away city where
he had first met and won his wife.
A st::; : longing came over him to
once mo o sec that place, and travel
stained and bronzed, he walked by the
house, almost expecting to hear her
touch upon the piano, and the sound of
her sweet voice.
Bewildered, amazed, half believing
himself out of his head, he did hear
her voice once more.
"There's a mau drunk leaning on the
fence," he heard a strange voice ex
claim. Then tho playing ceased, and a voice
that almost caused him to faint a sec
ond lime replied:
"Drunken men are only too common.
Let him alone; some policeman will be
along presently."
Then the music struck up again, this
time into a wild galop as if the nlavcr'a
thoughts were running away with her.
"But he's still there," continued the
strange voice. "He's peculiar looking;
do look out, Clare. 1 declare I feel
acrvous."
Charlie stood up squarely now,
pushed his hat back slightly and looked
full and straight into the eyes of his
wife.
She fell back with a cry, the place
was empty, and scarcely knowing what
he did Charlio was turning away when
some one came flying down those steps
and and, yes, had her hand in his, and
in a tearful voice was saying: "Char
lie, oh! Charlie! You've como at last!"
"I want to know," he said, when ia
the cozy parlor, still clinging to her
hand, "I want to know how you got
away from tho ranch during that awful
storm."
Clare flushed but answered unhesi
tatingly: "I was a good walker. I felt no fear
of the storm. You had left me almost
nothing to cat, and I really thought I
should lose my mind if I remained there
many more days a!l alone.
"1 took the little money I still pos
sessed, and started soon after you did,
only I went in an opposite direction. I
had scarcely reached the main trail
when a two-horse wagon came dashing
up, the man a stranger, but God bless
him, for he saved my life jumped out
and snatched me up before I could sav
'by your leave,' and away we tore like
mad. Ihe horses were very strong
and swift and we seemed to outride
the storm. Wo reached shelter at last,
just before its fury broke, and I
thanked him as best I could: then,
when the roads were clear, I started
for my old home, but I had to stop and
work awhile before I got here. Aunt
has never heard all the story; I couldn't
talk of some things."
"I thought you dead," said Charlie.
"I-if you could know how 1 have suf
fered. Oh, Clare, I don't suppose you
could forgive."
"I forgave you long ago. I was some
to blame. I ought to have tried to have
been happier; I wrote to your old home,
but they told me you had gone away."
"Shall we begin over, Clara for
when you were gone I found out how I
loved you."
"Oh, yes, and wherever you go I'll
try to make that home happy."
"And I'll see that it is a home in
which to bo happy," answered Charlie,
with a tremble in bis voice. A. C Mc
Keevar, in Yankee Blade.
They Won't Harmonise. "Why,
Matilda," said the caller, "your baby is
just too sweet for anything, and the
rery picture of his father." "Yes. I
know," sobbed the young mother,
"but but he has got red hair, and I
Just had the nursery decorated in pink."
Brooklyn Eagle.
PLACING THE ORCHESTRA.
Wlud Instruments of Wood and Jlratw Di
rectly in l-'ront of the Leader.
The orchestra is now arranged so
that the wind instruments of wood and
brass with the pulsatile instruments
form a solid body directly in front of
the leader. The strings stretch to the
left, and the right, and the double
basses divided fringe the back of the
stage and its further sides. The group
ing is commended by th? Boston Jour
nal, ltwr.s thought in the eighteenth
century that the double basses, 'cellos
and bassoons should be dispersed
throughout the orchestra. As Hosseau
quaintly expressed it: "It is the bass
that should regula te and sustain all the
other parts, and all the players should
hear it equally." We know how the
celebrated orchestra of the Dresden
opera under Ilesse was arranged. The
conductor was in the middle of the
railed rpace, seated before a clavier.
Behind h'm was a violoncello as well as
a double bass. Tho first violins were
at his right hand in a line. The sec
ond violins were on the same side, but
nearer the stage. The other 'cellos and
double ba il's v -re at the extreme
ends. The violas were between the
first and second violins. All of the
wind instruments, with the exception
of the trumpets, were on the left of
the conduc tor. The obeos were near
est the stage, and the busiiKins were
close to tho eoiuluct-ir. The drums
and the trumpets were on the raised
platforms at the si les.
The fai:i ills chorus and orchestra of
the Paris conservatory are arranged us
follows: Sixteen first i-.ipranos und six
teen second sopranos are ntthe left of
the conductor; at his right are ten iirst
tenors :.nd ten second tenors. Directly
in front of him lire ten first basses and
ten second bases. To the left of th.
basses, as the hearer faces the stage,
nre fifteen first violins: to the right
fourteen second violins. The first und
the second violins face each other. Be
hind the basses is the harp. Then come
ten violas facing the conductor. The
next line is made up of two clarinets,
two oboes, two flutes, piccolo, four 'cel-
!i-'S and two double basics.. Behind this
line are four horns, four bassoons and
four 'cellos. Behind them are twe
trumpets, three double basses, four 'cel
los and two double basses. Three trom
bones and two double basses are next
in order, and the tuba and pulsatile ij
struments bring up the rear.
A MANIAC MILLIONAIRE.
A Lifetime of 'usirieH Sucre ICndlufr In
Sudtte i I'nsettlcineut of Ileanon.
A curious story conies from Londor
of a man who founded a great and suc
cessful dry goods house, who became a
millionaire in wealth, and who now
wanders through his own warehouse
shabby, comfortless and anxious, think
ing he is a mere employe and that he
may be at any moment discharged. Few
of the customers know him, but he is
down daily at the opening of the place
and he stays till it closes at night. He
is paid seven dollars and a half u week.
which he hoards like a miser lest hi
should be sent to the poorhousu or be
buried at his death in the potter's field.
rifty years ago too world lav bei.jre
this man fresh, untrodden and full ol
promise, and he determined to make a
fortune. He was young, strong anc
clear-headed and he succeeded. In mid
dle life he had achieved his purpose. lit
associated his sons with him in the busi
ness and might have retired but for hit
desire to make his house the first in thai
line of trade. To the accomplishment
of this object he resolved to devote hit
energies for five years more. One daj
he had a fit in Ilia counting-house anc
was carried to his west end mansion it
the city. When he recovered his mine
was gone. He had an insane dread of
poverty and his sons, to humor his
whim, were obliged to employ him anc
pay the paltry weekly wages which he
carefully saves.
There surely can be no sadder fate tc
contemplate than that of a man whe
has failed, as it were, through his suc
cess, who, struggling long for golden
fruit, finds at last only the apples oi
Sodom, and who, straining every nerve
for the supposed means of happiness, it
at length oppressed with an overwhelm
ing sense of unrelievable and perpetual
misery. The Washington Post thinks
this story from London has a moral for
all our energetic, ambitious and push
ing business men in all departments.
In affairs as well as in dissipation there
is the pace that kills. Worst of all re
sults is a living body with a dead mind.
The picture of a millionaire in fact
though a pauper :'a reality, is fitted tc
be a saddening and impressive object
lesson.
GEMS THAT ARE NOT JEWELS.
llesatiful Specimen! of the Kara Sphene
Fount! l l Jicw York.
Recently a pocket, or cluster of cry.v '
tills of titanitc, or sphenc, was found at j
the Tilly Foster iron mine, near Brew
sters, N. Y. It was promptly exhaust
ed, ahd nothing has been found since.
Sphene cuts into one of the handsom
est gems in the world, says the New
York Sun, and though the stones are
too soft to put into jewelry, they are
prized by oollectors, Borne of those
from the Tilly Foster mine being val
ued at one hundred dollars, though the
largest of them is not more than three
carats in weigh. They are cqu.il to the
sphenos of Piedmont, Italy, which have
become unaccountably rare of late
years, and the crystals are among the
largest clear ones ever found.
They are of wedge shape, sometimes
as large us a boy's thumb, more or less
ilewed and spotted, and thinly coated
with a mossy looking green chlorite.
Their color is honey yellow, with a
faint green tinge, but when cut by a
skillful lapidary they exhibit the play
pi a diamond, only there is less flash
and more glow.
In Canada crystals have been mined
that weigh About ten pounds, but they
are of clove-brown and entirely
opaque, the prismatic hues being seen
only along the edges of fracture. So
rare is tho sphene in its gem form that
the American museum of natural his
tory has but one specimen, and that a
poor one, but it was acquired before
the discovery of the Tilly Foster mine.
111
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ATTORN EY-AT-LAW. AND
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