traits of Ills labor. Capital is Drain, and Labor Is 
muscle, but the brain has as much to do with the 
creation of wealth as muscle; more, for It can 
invent machines and do without muscle, while 
muscle cannot do without brain. You can't, alter 
human nature, Mr. Bailey. It you had a Com¬ 
mune, every man would be for himself there as 
lie Is here; the weak would have less protection 
than even now, for alt the restraints of morality, 
which are bound up mseperably with rights of 
property, would have been thrown aside. Marx 
and Lasalles and Bradlaugli, clever as they are, 
can’d prevent the 3 umv. 1 i of the attest. You 
knock your head against a stone wall, Mr. Bailey, 
when you fight society. You have been knocking 
It all your life, and now you are angry because 
your head Is hurt. If you had never tiled to 
strip other men of their earnings because you 
fancied you ought to have more, as skillful a 
blacksmith as you would have saved money and 
been a capitalist himself. Supposing you give It 
up ? Our firm will give you a chance to make 
ploughshares and earn twenty dollars a week If 
you will only promise not to to strike us In return 
the Bi-si chance you get.” 
The workingman had listened with a curling 
lip. “Do you mean that for an offer?” he said, 
in a smothered voice. 
“I mean it for an offer, certainly.” 
“Oh, William!" cried his wife, turning appeal¬ 
ing eyes up to his face. 
He grew suddenly white, and brought his 
clenched hand heavily down on the table. The 
dishes rattled with the Jar, and the baby, seared 
at the noise, began to scream. “ Then,” said Bai¬ 
ley, "you may Just understand that a man ain’t 
always a sneak if he is poor; and you can be glad 
you ain’t a man that’s templing me to turn 
traitor.” 
“I am sure my friend didn’t mean to hurt your 
feelings,” Mis. Greymer explained quickly, giving 
the countess that expressive side-glance which 
much more plainly’than words says, “Now you 
haeedone It!" Mrs. Bailey was walking up and 
down soothing the baby: the II itle boy looked on 
open-eyed. 
“! am sorry If I have said anything which has 
seemed like au insult,” said the countess: " I cer¬ 
tainly didn't Intend one. Perhaps after you have 
thought It all over you win feel differently. You 
know where to nod me. Good-evening.” 
She held out her hand, which Bailey did not 
seem to see, smiled on the little boy and went 
out, leaving Mrs. Greymer behind. 
A little girl with pretty brown curls and deep- 
blue eyes was making sand-caves on tne shore. 
The countess spoke to her In passing, and left 
her staring at her two hands, which were full of 
silver coin. At the bridge the countess pausad to 
wait for her friend. She saw her come out, at¬ 
tended by Mrs. Bailey: she saw Mrs. Bailey 
watch Uer, saw the little girl give her mother the 
money, and then saw the woman, still carrying 
her baby In her arms, walk slowly down the 
rlver-bauk to where a boat lay keel uppermost 
like a groat black arrowhead on the sand. Here 
she sat down, and, clasping the child closer, hid 
her face In Its white hair. 
On Monday, Mrs. Greymer proposed asking lit¬ 
tle Willie Bailey to spend a week with them. 
The countess assented, merely saying, “You 
must take the little fellow to drive every day, 
and send the livery-bills to me.” 
“Then I shall drive over this afternoon II Fred¬ 
dy’s sore throat Is better,” said Mrs. Greymer. 
But she did not go: Freddy’s sore throat was 
worse instead of better, and Ms sister had enough 
to do for some days fighting off diphtheria. So It 
happened that It was a week before she was able 
to go to D—. She found the Baileys’door swing¬ 
ing on Its biuges, and a high-stepping hen of In¬ 
quisitive disposition investigating the front room: 
the Baileys had gone. 
“They went to Chicago four days ago," an 
amiable neighbor explained: "they didn’t say 
what lor. The little boy he cried ’cause he want¬ 
ed to go on the island fust. Guess lie ain't like to 
live long: he’s a weak, pinin’ little chap.” 
only once did Therese hear from Mrs. Bailey. 
The letter eanie a few days after her useless 
drive to D-. It was dated Chicago, and ex¬ 
pressed simply but fervently her gratitude for 
all Mrs Greymer's kindness. Inclosed were three 
oue-dollar bills, part payment, the writer said, 
“ of my debt to Mrs. von Arno, and I hope she 
won't think 1 meant to run away from it because 
I can’t just now send more.” There was no al¬ 
lusion to her present condition or her prospects 
for the future. Mrs. Greymer read the letter 
aloud, then held out the bills to the countess. 
She pushed them aside as if they stung her, 
“Whatdoes the woman think I am made otf?" 
Blie exclaimed. “Why, It’s hideous, Theresei 
Write and tell her I never meant her to pay me." 
••I am afraid the letter won’t reach her,” said 
Mrs. Greymer. 
Nor did it: In <i« course of time Therese re¬ 
ceived her own tetter hack from the Dead-Letter 
Office. The words Of Interest and sympathy, the 
plans and encouragement, sounded very oddly to 
her then, for, as far as they were concerned, Mar¬ 
tha Bailey’s history was ended. It was In July 
the counless had met them again. She was In 
Chicago. Otto Von Arno was dead. He had 
given back to his wife by his will the property 
which had come to him through her; whether be¬ 
cause of a late sense of Justice or a dislike to Ms 
heir, a distant cousin who wrote theological 
works and ate with his knife, the countess never 
ventured to decide. The condition of part of this 
property, which was In Chicago, had obliged her 
to go there. She arrived on the evening of the 
Bftoonth of July—a clay Chicago people remem¬ 
ber because the great railroad strike of 1STT 
reached the city that day. 
The countess found the air full of wild rumors. 
Stories of shops closed by armed men, of vast 
gatherings of Communists on the North Side, of 
robbery, bloodshed and to a Chicago ear most 
blood-curdling whisper of all—of a contemplated 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
second burning of the city, flew like prairle-flre 
through the streets. 
The countess’ lawyer, whom she had visited 
very early on Thursday morning, Insisted on ac¬ 
companying her from Ms office to her friend’s 
house on the North Side. On Halsted street their 
carriage suddenly stopped. Putting her head out 
ol the window, the countess perceived that the 
coachman had drawn up close to the curbstone 
to avoid the onset of a yelling mob of boys and 
men armed with every description of weapon, 
from laths and brickbats to old muskets. The 
boys appeared to regard the whole affair as 
merely a gigantic “spree,” aud shouted “Bread 
or Blood!” with the heartiest enthusiasm; but 
the men marched closer, in silence and with set 
faces. The gleaming black eyes, sharp features 
and tangled black hair of half of them showed 
their Polish or Bohemian blood. The others were 
Norwegians and Germans, with a sprinkling of 
Irish and Americans. Their leader was a tall 
man whom the countess knew. He had turned to 
give an order wbeu she saw him. At that same 
Instant a shabby' woman ran swiftly from ft side 
street and tried to throw her arms about the 
man’s neck. He pushed her aside, and the crowd 
swept them botu out of sight. 
“I think I have seen a woman 1 know,” said 
the countess composedly; “aud do you know, 
Mr. Wilder, that our horses have gone? Our 
Communist friends prefer riding to walking, It 
seems.” They were obliged to get out of the car¬ 
riage. The counteas looked up and down the 
street, but saw no trace of the woman. Appa¬ 
rently, she had followed the mob. 
By this time some small boys, inspired by the 
occasion, had begua to show thoir sympathy with 
oppressed labor by pelting the two well-dressed 
strangers with potatoes and radishes, which they 
confiscated from a bloated capitalist of a grocer 
on the corner. The shower was so thick t hat Mr. 
Wilder was relieved when they reached the Hal¬ 
sted street police-station, where they sought ref¬ 
uge. Hero they passed a sufficiently exciting 
hour. They could hear plainly the sharp crack 
of revolvers and the yells and shouts of the angry 
mob blending in ono Indistinguishable roar. 
Once a barefooted boy ran by,screaming that the 
police were driven back and the Communists 
were coming. Then a troop of cavalry rode up 
the street on a sharp trot, their bridles Jingling 
and horses’ hoofs clattering. The roar grew 
louder, ebbed, swelled again, then broke lnw a 
multitude of sounds—screams, shouts and the tu¬ 
multuous rush of many feet. 
A polite sergeant opened the door of the little 
room where the countess was sitting to Inform 
her the riot was over. They were Just bringing 
In some prisoners: he was very sorry, but one of 
them would have to come in there. He was a 
prominent rioter whom they had captured trying 
to bring off the body of his wife, who had been 
killed by a ctianwe shot. It would be only for a 
short time: the gentleman had gone for a car¬ 
riage. He hoped the lady wouldn’t mind. 
The lady, who had changed color slightly, said 
she should not mind. Tuo sergeant held the 
door back, and some men brought in something 
over which had been flung an old blue-and-white 
shawl. They carried It on a shutter, and the 
folds of a calico dress, torn and trampied, hung 
down over the side. 
Then came two policemen, pushing, after the 
official manner, a man covered with dust and 
blood. 
“ Bailey!" exclaimed the countess. Their eyes 
met. 
Bailey bent Ms head toward the table where 
the men had laid their burden. “Lift that,” he 
said hoarsely. 
The countess lifted the shawl with a steady 
hand. There was au old white straw bonnet flat¬ 
tened down over the forehead; a wisp of blue 
ribbon string was blown across the lace and over 
the red smear between the eyebrow and the hair; 
the eyes stared wide and glassy. But It was the 
same soft brown hair. The countess knew Mar¬ 
tha Bailey. 
“ There was women and children on the side¬ 
walk, hut they flred right into us," said Bailey. 
He spoke In a monotonous, dragglug voice, us 
though every word were an effort. “ They killed 
her. 1 asked you to give me work In your skop» 
and you wouldn't do It. Here’s the end of It. 
Now you can go home and say your prayers.” 
“ Ain’t, you satisfied with what you have done 
already 7” continued Bailey. "Leave me alone: 
you’d better.” 
“Gently now!” said one of the policemen. 
“Whatever you may think of me,” said the 
countess, quietly, “ you know Mrs. Greymer was 
always your wife’s friend. We only wanted to 
help her.” 
Bailey shook off the grasp of the policemen as 
though It had been a feather: with one great 
stride he reached the countess and caught her 
roughly by the wrist. " Look at her, will you?” 
he cried: “you and the likes of you, with your 
smooth cant, have killed her! You crush us 
and starve us till we tuna, and then you shoot us 
down like dogs. Leave my children alone.” 
“ None ol that, my man!” said the sergeant. 
The two policemen would have pulled Bailey 
away, out the countess stopped them. She had 
turned pale even to her lips, but she did not 
wlnco. 
“ Curse you!” groaned the Communist, flinging 
his arms above his head; “ curse a society wMch 
lets such things be! curse a religion-” 
Tne policemen dragged him back. “ You’d bet¬ 
ter go, I think, ma’am,” said the sergeant; “ the 
man’s half crazy with the sun and lighting and 
grief.” 
“ You are right,” said the countess. She stop¬ 
ped at the station-door to put a bill In the police¬ 
man’s hands: “ You will And out about the chil¬ 
dren and let me know, please.” 
Mr. Wilder, who had been standing In the door¬ 
way, an amazed witness or the whole Beene, led 
her out to the carriage. “ He’s a bad fellow, that 
rioter,” he said, aB they drove along. 
The countess pulled her cuff over a black mark 
on her wrist. “No, he la not halt a bad fellow," 
she answered, “ but for all that he has murdered 
his wife.” 
Nor has she ever changed heroplolon on that 
point; neither, fo far as Is known, has William 
Bailey changed his.— LippineoU'sfor October. 
■- » ♦» — 
SUTTEE. 
The position of widows among the Hindoos Is 
one which, even at the present day, and with all 
the modlflcatious Introduced by European In¬ 
fluence, Is far from being a pleasant one. When 
the early age at which children are married In 
India Is remembered, It will be seen that It Is 
quite possible for a little girl seven or eight years 
old to be a widow. Until a very recent period a 
poor child, upon whom this affliction had fallen, 
had not the remotest chance of ever, during her 
life, leading anything but the most uncomforta¬ 
ble kind of existence. Rc-marrlage was quite 
out of the question; and tuo poor creature, dur¬ 
ing her whole life, could neither enjoy nor look 
forward to any of the pleasures or consideration 
accorded to a Hindoo woman. The barest sub¬ 
sistence was accorded to her, she was expected 
during her whole life to “efface” herself, and, 
when she was 111 , was left to die alone and un¬ 
tended- That such a state of things Is now only 
too prevalent In Hlndoostan Is unfortunately 
true, for the few rc-marrlageB of widows of which 
we hear, take place In families that have much 
modified their religious beliefs, and that may be 
said to have outgrown In a great measure the 
power of old prejudice. Custom, which was so 
severe In the case of children left widows, was 
and is no less so m the case or women who have, 
as adults, heen wives for many years. To them, 
the fall from the position of wife to that of widow 
was more painful than even that of the child, 
who had scarcely known what It was not to bo In 
the widowed condition. 
The old practice was—the hair of widows was 
cutoff; they were not allowed to touch betel, to 
wear precious stones, or to marry again; they 
were incapacitated from enjoying even the small¬ 
est trifle; they were not allowed to have even the 
least honor paid to them; they inherited nothing 
of their husband s property, nut were at the 
mercy of their eldest son (If they had one), or at 
that of their husband's brother, who was only 
obliged to afford then) a hare maintenance. Is it 
to he wondered at that, while suttee was allowed 
In Hlndoostan, a very large number of Hindoo 
women Hhould avail themselves ol what was a 
painful, but at least a rapid mode of getting rid 
of their miseries? or that every now and then we 
hear of an instance In which, even at the present 
day, suttee la attempt 3d or perhaps carried out ? 
The practice of suttee was formally abolished In 
the year 1S29 In all those parts of Hlndoostan over 
which England has power; and, as that Is so 
great an area, people have almost begun to look 
upon the Institution as & tMng of the past. 
It, therefore, comes upon the ordinary reader 
with something of a shock to read of the suttee 
of three ladles, at the time of the burning of the 
body of the late Sir Jung Bahadoor. A warm 
friend and staunch ally of England, a Knight of 
the Order of the Star of India, a man In many 
ways far above the prejudices of Ms nation, the 
real h\ad of the Nepaulese State, which still 
Jealously maintains its independence, Jung Ba¬ 
hadoor had been made much of in England and 
by English people. Nothing can give a more 
vivid Idea of the vast differences that separate 
Hindoos from Euglish people than the fact that 
at the performance of the last rites of such a 
man, suttee snoula have heen made a part. 
The whole account Is just like thatwMchwe 
have read over and over again. The three prin¬ 
cipal ranees, his brother and son, arrived, and 
the ranees expressed their desire to sacrifice 
themselves. The brother tried to dissuade them, 
but he railed, ana the funeral pyre was prepared 
with sandal-wood, resin and a large quantity of 
ghee. When the arrangements had been made, 
the ladles bathed, performed poojah, and made 
presents to the Brahmins. The next slop was, 
they took measures for the government of the 
country and to maintain peace; then general 
directions were given to the brotlicr-la-law. 
Their last act was to release some prisoners. 
They then entered the funeral pyro quite uncon¬ 
cernedly, muttering prayers. The corpse waB 
then laid on its back, and the eldest ranee took 
its head in her lap, and the two others took the 
feet. They were then surrounded by odorous 
oombuslltdes, and the ranees gazed upon the 
features of their husband, as If forgetful of every 
other consideration. The Are was then applied 
by the son, and, to a few minutes, all was over. 
To these pooi ladies life must have had a dreary 
outlook, and the sense of rulfllllng a high duty, 
both In expressing love for thoir deceased hus¬ 
band. and to performing what they had been 
taught to consider a religious act, doubtless sus¬ 
tained them to the end. 
May the time he not far distant when the ad¬ 
vent or a higher faith may direct the strong sense 
of duty and noble courage evinced by these Hin¬ 
doo women to a better cause l 
■ ■« + » ■ — 
EUROPEAN TRADE NOTES. 
The Frenoh finance minister Is about to refund 
a portion of the French debt at 9 per cent, leas 
than $ 100 , 000,000 however. It is difficult to And 
employment for capital, and a reduction la the 
current rates of Interest Is Inevitable. At the 
present moment the commercial situation is 
quite as favorable to Germany as to France. 
The German commercial spirit, so greatly de¬ 
veloped in the lust quarter of a century, has built 
up a great foreign market for German goods. 
The trade of Berlin to fine manufactures rivals 
that ol' Paris and London. The Berlin worsteds 
and hoffiery are now matched with collars and 
cuffs and entire suits of dress goods. Says one 
letter, “ retail shops to the west end of London 
are buying largely In Berlin and neglecting 
Paris." The German fine leathers have a steady 
-sale, although the superiority of American goods 
of a certain class is acknowledged. The Germans 
are prospecting actively for petroleum and la-I 
boring to utilize their Westphalian eoal deposits, 
so they will cease to lie dependent lu some meas - 1 
ure on England for coal. The French and Span-' 
lsh shipping interests are low. These countries 
are protected by a tariff, while the marine of 
Germany, which only touches the ocean on one 
side, has vastly expanded under free trade, and 
now carries her manufactures and products to 
every clime. The foreign commerce of Germany 
probably doea not approach in magnitude that 
of France, because the natural recources of the 
former country do not command the homage of 
those of France. Sweden, also, another free-trade 
country, Is growing vastly In her shipping and 
commercial Interests. The extension of railways 
la France, which la about to be undertaken un¬ 
der the supervision of the state, Is to be con¬ 
ducted with a prudent regard to the character 
of the roads as feeders and not main lines. They 
are to be of light structure, especially adapted to 
a small train service .—Springfald Rep. 
- * • » 
It Is now said that the memoirs which Talley¬ 
rand left behind him, to he published 30 years 
alter his death, will probably appear to Paris the 
coming winter, as It was determined to 1SGS that 
the period should be extended 10 years, to conse¬ 
quence of certain persons nearly related to the 
events still surviving at that time. 'This work 
has heen anxiously expected, aud It can hardly 
fall to he of extraordinary Interest, not to the 
French alone, but to Europe generally, and to 
America also. The limping devil, as the author 
has heen called, lived through so many years—he 
was over S4 when he died—and played so active a 
part to the memorable things that happened, that 
Ms observations and recollections will pique, 
while they gratify, Intellectual curiosity. He had, 
too, such a cool, deliberate, brilliant, bitter way 
of saying tMngs that his recital must be ma¬ 
terially enhanced. Nearly all French memoirs 
are more or less alluring, and Talleyrand’s ought 
to be particularly so. An ecclesiastic, a rake, a 
diplomat, a wit, a financier, a statesman, a Prince 
of the oldest blood, a brilliant conversationalist, 
and always a man of the world to the largest and 
worst sense, living under Louis XVI. through the 
revolut ion, under the Empire, under Louis XVllL, 
his mind became a storehouse of important facts 
and reflections. He was on Intimate terms with 
the Napoleon, with Voltaire, Rousseau, Mirabeau, 
Diderot, D’Alembert, Grimm, Mmes. Chatelet, 
Eplnay, stael, Reeamler, all the celebrated men 
and women, Indeed, of the eighteenth and the 
early part of the nineteenth century. 
MAGAZINE NOTES. 
Sunday Afternoon for October opens with A 
Workingman’s Story. It la both a graphic ac¬ 
count of personal experience as a tramp, and a 
forcible statement by an unemployed working¬ 
man of that problem which stareB so many of his 
fellow laborers to the lace now, viz: how to keep 
starvation from their families. It Is timely and 
suggestive, and also true. In the form of a sketch 
about Mrs. Barnard’s Church, Mary Wager-Fisher 
states the reason tor and against women as 
ministers. Will or Environment ? by Rev. Dr. j. 
T. Tucker or Boston, discusses In a readable way 
whether a person’s will or his surroundings have 
most Influence to shaping his character. The 
English Reformation Is treated by the competent 
pen of Rev. Lyman Abbott. Mrs. Clara B. Mar¬ 
tin of Boston, to Modecal Cohen and Emanuel 
Deutsch, sketches the original of the well-known 
Modecal In DaMel Deronda. He was a noble 
character. E. E. Hale’s serial, the Chips from a 
North-western Log, and Fishers of Men are con¬ 
tinued. Judith and Judlah, by the author of 
Tom’s Heathen, Is concluded. Mary A. P. 8tans- 
bury has a story, and there la another, Tramps 
and Agents. 
The poets of the number are Paul U. Hayne, 
i.ucy Larcorn, Caroline Leslie, and M, E. Bennett. 
In Preaching Honesty the editor urges the need 
that Thou shalt not Steal should be translated 
Into the terms of modern commercial life. Ho 
also talks about Work for the Unemployed, and 
Expounding Providences, and has the usual 
Notes on Current Events. 
The Domestic Monthly contains a large ar¬ 
ray of designs for oostumes and individual gar¬ 
ments, while an abundance of useful Informa¬ 
tion Is supplied to the articles on Seasonable 
Fabrics, Trimmings, Jewelry, Fashions, Domes¬ 
tic Art, etc. The colored plate Is, as usual, very 
handsome, and represents several stylish street, 
and house costumes. 
Thellterary contentsaro an Installment of Mary 
Cecil Hay’s charmtog serial, Her Three Lovers; 
a clever sketch, entitled Dr. Carnlgle’s Inheri¬ 
tance ; a second paper on household art by Mrs. 
Merlghl, which la Instructive, and No. l to a new 
series of Flower Talks, by Eben E. Rexford. In 
addition there Is some choice poetry, the usual 
enjoyable Mlsoellany, engaging small Talk, In¬ 
structive Household Department, Critiques o 
New BookB, and the always entertaining contri¬ 
butions of the Mosaics Man. 
appletons’ Journal for October leads off with 
an Illustrated paper under the Shakespearean 
title of The Multitudinous seas. A new American 
novelette Is begun to this number, written by 
Christian Reid, and bearing the title of A Hidden 
Treasure. A Leap-Year Romauce Is concluded. 
A story by Mrs. Stoddard, entitled The Swan- 
stream Match, and odo by Mrs. Amelia E. Barr, 
are given complete. There Is a graphic paper, 
entitled A Motley University; the Azores are de¬ 
scribed; so is the Coardas, a Hungarian dance; 
American ana Euglish housekeeping are com¬ 
pared by Mrs. Sheldon; and Dr. George M. Beard’s 
discourses on Consolation for the Nervous; Junius 
Henri Browne discusses French Memoirs; lastly, 
there aro poems by Nora Perry, Constance Fenl- 
