The daily morning journal and courier., 1895-06-21

WOfk come cfOWQlnB DaCh upon AIIlolu
 Thoughts of Champlain and bloody
 Saratoga.
 My name will be associated forever
 with the Hudson and the --," he mur-
 mers. 70 my God" as the terrible
 thought strikes him, will 1t be with in-
 famyp
 They have parted, Andre having gone
 on his perilous journey while Arnold
 sits breakfasting with his guests. A
 horse dashes up, its rider bearing let
 ter. Andre had been captured,
 Calmly Arnold receives the news, ex-
 cuses himself from his guests, and re-
 veals the awful truth to his wife
 He springs upon his horse, gallops
 down the steep and reaches the British ship.
 Wife, country, glory, fame, he has left
 behind him, and only black dishonor
 faces him.
 It Is June, and the world is full of
 sweetness, but into one sad home none
 of the bright sunshine and gladness penetrates. Dark and silent 1t stands
 on a little back street in the lower part
 of London. The tightly closed blinds
 and the awful stiffness betoken that
 deaths angel is near. In this mean little dwelling Benedict Arnold lies dy-
 ing. Few would recognize in that ema-
 ciated form stretched on a rough bed l the hero of Saratoga, once the idol of America. His eyes are dull and sunk en; there is a wild, haunted look in his | face and the bitter lines about his
 mouth bespeak life of sorrow and un- rest. Only his wife is beside him. No | friend comes to soothe his last hour Utterly deserted, utterly forgotten,
 he is dying in foreign land! A ter rible delirium is upon him. He losses l from side to side, but finds rest for neither soul nor body. He raves, he | shrieks; he tears himself in his mad ness. Then for a moment he is still. l His consciousness is returning. His 1 eye brightens. He raises himself in his ] bed, and there is a deep eagerness in
 his face. Bring me the epaulettes l and sword knots which Washington gave me-" he says. "Let me die in my old American uniform; the uniform I fought my battles in"
 Gently and tenderly he is clothed in his old soldier suit. With a sigh of deep satisfaction he sinks back upon the pillow, and with his last dying breath murmurs, God forgive me for ever put ting on any other"
 A musical selection, Morning is Nigh" Danube Waltz Song), was then very excellently rendered by the class. Mir. William Bloomfield Starkweather then delivered an oration entitled "The Stuarts." It was as follows:
 1.-THE STUARTs,'' BY w. B. STARK
 WEATHER.
 It is the fate of most of us, to die in wholesome obscurity. Of all the millions who have lived upon the earth but small number have left any trace in history For few centuries our ancestors, the commonplace ancestors of commonplace people, are remem- bered by their descendants, but then their memory gradually fades away, as our portraits of them darken with age, until finally they are as effectually erased from the mind as are their fea- lures from the canvas.
 There are some, however, whose names will live, the details of the lives familiar facts to every schoolboy, their career an influence upon all that follow. Either by the unprecedented amount of some great quality which they possessed, by the beauty of their goodness, or the audacity of their wick edness they startled the world into an eternal remembrance of them. Others owe their position in history merely to the accident of birth Undistinguish- ed personally, but born to sit upon a throne, m&ay long and dreary line of royal mediocrities has thus been forced into history.
 There is one royal race, however, in which all were distinguished in which all were personally interesting, fascin- ating the student even to-day across the dry pages of history, with that fat al and bewitchingpower which belonged l to them as a family.
 This race Is the Stuarts. Of all fam flies in history this has the most tragic l interest. With them misfortune was hereditary for centuries. from their use 1 in turbulent Scotland, down to the bit | ter end when the last of the Stuarts l died penniless, rejected and despised in | a foreign country. In that fierce light | WHICH UedLp dpOut d lLFOuea there are | few actions of any monarch which can | go unrecorded. Flattered and adulat- | ed as they may have been in life, there | will surely come a time of reckoning | when their true motives and character | will be revealed. History to-day is be- | ginning to see under the dazzling fig | ure of Napoleon, the general, the em- 1 peror, the man of destiny, the outline of | the selfish Corsican adventurer. His | tory can see in the Stuarts the bigotry, | the selhshness, the superstition, which the race; but it can also | see that series of misfortunes which | made them unfortunate beyond exam pie, which stamped them like a seal with that melancholy, that fatality of 1 air peculiar to their house.
 Not only were they themselves ruined, | but it was perhaps their greatest mis- fortune to carry down to ruin all that came near them. Whole families and whole clans, who, although they might not and could not approve of the Stu art policy, could not help loving them, lost their lives and fortunes in their de- fense. Their fascination, their ele- gance and grace, their beauty ruined thousands even when they saw the the perfidy behind it all
 Of the family origin and tha ear1ier