Newspaper Page Text
J. W. ANDERSON, Editor and Proprietor
VER SIFICA TION,
iglit as the golden June weather
1110 Itose with her prayer-book and fan
tlio church door, and homeward to
■ | talked, gellier and wooing began.
my
■ chatted of anthem and sermon—
j Sky; Tt'ionsrht of her lips and blue eyes—
■ier light dainty step in the German—
■jl vaguer became my replies,
■ vainly endeavored to fashion
mo phrase that should fitly express,
lint of, that burden of passion
hioh riio, alas! seemed not to guess.
we paused on the bridge, whose gray
arches
30k down on the bridge in the brook,
there in the shade of the larches
er little gloved fingers I took.
said: “Rose, you’ve been kissed in a
Bounet
Ji which I my emotions rehearse,”
cn a voice ’ueath the pretty pink bonnet
ilunuured: “Darling, I am not a-verse.”
-Life.
The Letter.
‘Any letters?” asked the Widow
ulsworth, turning from the grocery
inter of tho “store” of Kornhill to the
rner by the window over which swung
Iplacard bearing the legend “Post of
le” upon it, and glancing through her
kctacles at the small row of candy jars
hiek wero made to do duty as letter
fillers. “Any letters for our house
k Bristol?”
Mr. Bristol, the senior of that name—
ho was too rheumatic to weigh grocer
b or measure calico, was as deaf as a
list, had, perhaps, the least natura]
Bent for the reading of dubious script
iat could be found in the person of any
ling man; and, besides this, could
iver find his spectacles—roused himself
bin a nap in which he had been iu
lulgiug, looked bewildered, aud seemed
hr a moment dubious as to what he
hould do next; but seeing that Mrs.
fudsworth’s eyes were fixed upon the
Udy ^tter, jars, decided that she wanted a
and, reaching up, slowly took two
Jf them down and, with much delibera
■on, spread them before her like a pack
If cards.
I “I’ve put my specks some’rs,” he said,
■‘but where I dunno. Look ’em over
Ind sort out what’s yoorn, Mrs. Wads¬
worth.” I
This was old Mr. Bristol’s usual style
If performing the business of postmaster,
knd as it was an honest place, little
liarm came of it. Often people carried
Iheir neighbors’ letters to them when
Ikey happened to pass their gates, aud
Ihe las only registered letter that ever yet
been sent to Kornhill was consid¬
ered an insult to the community at large.
I “They might ha’ known no one would
la’ meddled with it,” said the post
paster.
Aud tho farmers talked the matter
per as they jogged home side by side in
llieir wagons, and the summer boarder
fsvho (feci did the strange thing was made to
the indignation of her hostess. But
that was long after the evening on which
Mrs. Wadsworth asked if there were any
fetters for “her house.”
Peering over the little row spread be¬
fore her, she saw that there was one—a
.small envelope—addressed in a delicate
[lady’s |E q.” hand to “James Wadsworth.
“That’s Jim,” said the old lady
“Who can have writ to him ?”
[ There were no more. She put hei
leingle epistle in her pocket, pushed the
|rest him. toward Mr. Bristol aud nodded at
Mr. Bristol nodded in reply, re¬
jarred the letters, perched himself upon
a 6tool and went to sleep again. Then
the younger Bristol helped the old lady
into her wagon, handed in her basket of
groceries, and she drove away,
with the letter in her pocket, and a
queer feeling, half fear and half anger,
at her heart as she said over and over
again, talking aloud to herself, as the
old white horse plodded along the lonely
road:
“Who lia3 writ to Jim, I wonder?”
Maggie, the “help,” came out to
carry iu the basket, when Mrs. Wads¬
worth stopped at her own gate, and she
herself walked into the kitchen. There
was a great stove there, and on it the
kettle was boiling, steam rushing from
its spout in one long stream, and creep¬
ing iu a flat sheet from under the cover.
Before this stove Mrs. Wadsworth stood
and warmed her hands.
“I wonder who lias writ to Jim,” Bhe
said. “If I thought it was that girl I’d
throw it into the fire.”
^hen a story she had heard of some
one who had feloniously opened an en¬
velope by holding it over the steam of
a tea-kettle occurred to her mind,
“I wonder whether it would open that
Wa y,” she said. “It couldn’t be any
great harm just to satisfy myself that it
i»n t from her. Jim is but a boy, aud I
am his mother. I guess, according to
law, J j have a right. I ought to, sdv
how.”
Ihen .the hand which held the letter
outstretched itself. The stream of steam
beat against the flap of the envelope.
Iu a moment or so, it hung loose and
iim P and wet in her hands.”
‘‘Ill go and put my bonnet away,”
J. e Pa id, in an unnatural sort of tone,
hurried upstairs.
T am hrn mother,” she said again, as
‘ ae Ea * down iu her rocking-chair and
'“ ew the letter from the envelope, “It’s
tight I should know,”
X. twmss satmk. 9 e-t
Then she cast her eye over the writ¬
ing. There was not much of it. Just
this:
“Dear James: I know, after my con¬
duct, it is my place to write first. I was
naughty. Please forgive me. Isn’t that
humble enough? And if you do, come
and take me to the picnic to-morrow.
“Tour own
“Nelly.”
“It is from that girl/' said Mrs.
Wadsworth. “It’s from her. Aud
things have gone so far, and he hasn't
tohl his mother a word! Oh, how hard
it is to bear ! That girl I don’t want
Jim to marry; but of all girls, that one ! ’
and she rocked herself to and fro.
“There’s been a quarrel,” she said at
last, “and she’s written this to make up.
If he never got it, he’d [never speak. I
know his pride. She come of a pool |
lot. I hate her; she’s a bad wife foi
Jim. I think it“s my duty not to give it
to him. I’ll think it over.” Then she
opened the drawer of her bureau in
which she kept valuables and money
and thrust the letter in and locked it up.
She had time to think the matter over
before Jim came in, for he was late, and
“that girl” grew more distasteful to her
every moment.
“Going to the picnic, Jim?” she
asked, as they eat over their tea. And
Jim answered that he hadn’t thought of
it.
“I'd go if I was you, and take your
Cousin Miranda,” said the old lady.
“She expects it, I guess.” And Jim,
only moved by the remembrance of Nel¬
lie Barlow, aud a wish to make her jeal¬
ous, agreed to tho proposition. He took
Miranda to the picnic next day, and Nel¬
lie was there, and saw them together;
and remembering her note, written in a
moment of softness,when the wish tore
call certain angry words she had said to
Jim, was strong upon her, she grew sick
wHli shame. She had held out her hand
ia reconciliation, and he had not taken
it. Could anything make a woman more
indignant? After that she never even
looked at him.
Old Mrs. Wadsworth having kept
Jim’s letter a few days, felt that too
much explanation would be necessary
were she to give it to him after so long
a delay. Besides it would be well for
her son that he should not see t. He
would, of course, marry his cousin Mi¬
randa—only a second cousin—a girl she
liked, aud who would never set herself
up above her mother-in-law—a girl who
did not, like poor Nellie, look aggrava
tingly stylish.
But Jim did not marry Miranda. No
one will ever know now whether Miranda
would have accepted him or not. After
awhile she married a Mr. Wiseman, who
was better off than Jim, and old enough
to bo his father; and Nelly, too, mar¬
ried. While her heart burnt with re
sentment against her old lover, she
chose a new one, a dark, moody, silent
sort of man, who carried her away to
the city, whence there came rumors now
and then that she was not happy, that ;
her husband led a wild life. Once j
some one declared that ho was a very j
in madman her room in his at jealousy, times. and Lut locked no her one j
knew whether it was true or not. Her ,
parents would never say anything about j
her. |
As for James Wadsworth, lie had j
gone to church to see her married anu
lmd gone home with a headache. The
next day ho was delirious; a braiu fever
had set in and the dootors shook their
heads over him. What he said in his
delirium only his mother understood
out if she could have undone the deed
that she had done, she would have
thanked Heaven. For weeks he lay at
death’s door, and then a pale shadow
crept about the house—the wreck of |
bright, handsome Jim Wadsworth. His
beauty was gone, aud no one felt quite
sure about his mind. He answered
sensibly enough when he was spoken to,
but voluntarily he never spoke.
After awhile he grew strong enough to
do favm work, and did what his mother
suggested, and she grew used to his al¬
tered ways. And so matters rested
when, ten years from her wedding-day,
Nelly came back to her father’s home in
a widow’s cap. Aud the people of
Kornhill learnt that her husband was
dead, and began to wonder whether he
had left her money.
Jim, plowing in tho adjoining field,
saw her as she sat upon the old home¬
stead porch, and stood, for a moment, j
staring at her. Then he left his plow in
in the furrow, his horses standing
where they were, and went home. His i
mother saw him coming. He tramped
over the beds of vegetables, and trod
down the young corn, He sought no
path. As the bee flies he sought the
doorway at which his mother stood
staring at him, and walked into the
kitchen past her without a look.
“Jim, my boy,” said the old woman,
“what is it?”
He made her no answer; but went to
his room and straight to bed. For
hours he never spoke to her. Then he
began to babble. He uttered Nelly’s j
nana; he reproached her with incon
stancy; he called her tender names in
one breath aud cursed her in tho next.
Then he gave one wild cry and sprang
up in his bed and dropped back again, j
with his eyes staring toward heaven.
He was dead; the mother knew that be- I
fore they told her so.
The next day a coffin stood in the
low-ceiled parlor, and in it lay * pal® i
COVINGTON, GEORGIA, MARCH & 1885 .
statue with olosed eyes—all that was
left of Jim Wadsworth. One by one
the friends and neighbors came softly in
to look at him, and went away more
softly, often in tears. At last came one
woman—a fair woman, in a widow’s
cap and veil who stood longer than the
rest looking at the still, white face, and
at her own request was left alone with
it, while curious people in the other
room wondered whether it was true that
Nelly and Jim were once engaged and
had quarreled. For this was Nelly, in
her widow’s weeds, who had come to
look at Jim for the last time.
As she stood there, with thoughts for
Which there was no words trooping
through her mind, an inner door opened
and an old woman crept in. It was
Mrs. Wadsworth, broken down at last,
and with tho strange, restless light of
an unsettled intellect in her light blue
eyes.
She held an old letter in her hand,
and it rustled as she slowly crossed tho
room and stood beside the coffin.
“Jim,” said she, “here’s vour letter.
I’ve been thinking it over, and since
you take it so hard, you’d better have
it. I only kep’ it for your own good,
Jim. She ain’t the girl for you; but you
take it so hard. Wake u\, Jim; here’s
your letter.”
But the whito, froze? hand* lay still
upon the breast, and -dher small, living
woman’s hands grasped it instead.
Nelly knew all the story now,
“Here is your letter, Jim,” she whis¬
pered. “Oh, Jim, Jim,” and she laid
it softly under the white flowers upon
the bosom, and, stooping, kissed the
waxen hands and brow. “Oh, Jim,
Jim!” she said again, and let her black
veil down over her face, and went her
way; and the gossips who stared after
her as she passed down the village,
street, wondered again if she had ever
been engaged to Jim Wadsworth, but
none of them ever knew. The grave
keeps its secret, so also does a woman’s
heart.
An Editor’s Peregrinations.
Last week the tired editor, after la¬
boring hard in the vineyard, concluded
that lie would go out among the brethren.
While down iu the Dry Fork neighbor¬
hood we preached at Ebenezer, and ac¬
companied Brother Sam Havfoot home
to dinner. There wero several brethren
present, and among them we were
pleased to notice old Brother Shopwell.
He is an old servant of ihe Lord, and,
had the smallpox kept out of his way,
wo think that his countenance would
have escaped a great wrong. Old Sister
Hayfoot, kind reader, knows how to get
up a good dinner. She has our idea of
cooking cabbage, for, like us, she thinks
that they should be boiled until all of
their brittleness melts into the everlast¬
ing pot. After having served tho inner
man we again assembled in the sitting
room, where Sister Stoveali favored us
with a hymn and 75 cents, for which
gke sauted six months’ subscription,
One ( ] 0 ji ar would have struck us with a
little more warmth, but in these days
0 f g j a ant j hard times a half loaf is much
better than a Boston cracker. Brother
g m ithfield, a good old soul as ever lived,
(pdares that he will take the paper
when he sells his red steer. Gentle
do y 0U know of anyone who
an t s t 0 g U y a ateer?— Arkansas Chris
tian Weekly.
The Physical Year.
There continues to be a great deal of
among tho department peo¬
about changes, says a Washington
writer. Perhaps there is no class
employees in the departments who
are more disturbed than the colored
people. The colored employees of the
Government are the aristocrats of theii
society. Some of them have accumu
lated fine properties. I know of on
colored messenger who has four or fiv
sous in the departments. The family
all live together in one house. Theii
aggregate salaries must reach ove
86,000 a year. The ancient cook o
Gen. Sheridan well illustrates this pan*
ieky feeling among the members of bei
race. “Aunt Mary” has been Sheri.
dan’s cook for a long period. When he
left Chicago he set her up in a small
shop there. Her daughter married one
of the messengers in the War Depart¬
ment. She recently came on to visit hei
married daughter. She has been in
Washington now about two weeks. The
other day she expressed her opinion on
the situation to a lady friend of Gen.
Sheridan’s. Aunt Mary said: "Gen,
Sheridan, he is all right and I was pow¬
erful glad of it. Dese yer Democrats
can’t get him c* h no how, but all d<
odder niggers will i ave to go by de end
of de physical year.”
What the Poor Pay.
It has been estimated that the poor
buying in small quantities incur un
necessary expense in the following ratio:
p*or an ounce of washing soda the poor
i rad i n g at small shops in New York
pay i cent; a grocer will deliver it
f or 3 cen t s a pound. For flour by the
pouud they pay a sum equal to 89 80 a
barre l for a ?5 article. They buy butter
at j[ ie ra t e of 85 a tub, while would
cost 33 50. A half pound of sugar cosfs
th£m5cents, while a pound would be
but 2 cents more. For a 25-cent tea
they pay 40 cents, For I5-eeat coffee l
they pay 30,
LIFE IN THE SOUDAN.
THE HEAVE Til A l)K ANO TOE MANNER
IN WHICH IT is CAItIUED ON.
A Speculation that Gave Khartoum it*
Notable Importance.
Throughout tho Soudan, says Sir
Samuel Baker, in his narrative, money
is exceptionally scarce and the rate of
interest exorbitant, varying according
to the securities, from thirty-six to
eighty per cent. This faot proves
general poverty and dishonesty, and acts
as a preventive to all improvement. So
high and fatal a rate deters all honest
enterprise, and the country must lie in
ruin under such a system. The wild
speculator borrows upon such terms, to
rise suddenly like a rocket, or to fall
like its exhausted stick. Thus, houest
enterprise being impossible, dishonesty
takes the lead, and a successful expe¬
dition to the White Nile is supposed to
overcome all charges. There are two
classes of White Nile traders, the one
possessing capital, the other being pen¬
niless adventurers. The same system
of operations is pursued by both, but
that of the former will be evident from
the description of the latter.
A man without means forms an expe¬
dition, and borrows money for this pur¬
pose at 100 per cent, after this fashion:
he agrees to repay tho lender in ivory
at one-half its market value. Having
obtained the required sum, he hires
several vessels aud engages from 100 to
300 men, composed of Arabs and run
away villains from distant countries,
who have found an asylum from justice
in the obscurity of Khartoum. He pur¬
chases guns and large quantities of am¬
munition for his men, together with a few
hundred pounds of-glass beads. The
piratical expedition being complete, he
pays his men five months’ wages in ad¬
vance, at the rate of forty-five piastres
(nine shillings) per month, and he
agrees to give them eighty piastres pei
month for any period exceeding the five
months for which they are paid. Hii
men receive their advance partly in
cash and partly in cotton stuffs fer
clothes at an exorbitant price. Every
man has a strip of paper, upon which is
written, by the clerk of the expedition,
the amount he has received both in ,
goods and money, and this paper ho
must produce at the final settlement.
The vessels sail about December, and
on arrival at the desired locality the
party disembark and proceed into the
interior, until they arrive at the village
of some negro chief, with whom they es¬
tablish an intimacy.
Charmed with his new friends, the
power of whose weapons ho acknowl¬
edges, the negro chief does not neglect
the opportunity of seeking their alliance
to attack a hostile neighbor. Marching
throughout the night, guided by their
negro hosts, they bivouac within an
hour’s march of the unsuspecting village
doomed to an attack about half an hour
before break of day. The time arrives,
and quietly surrounding the village
while its occupants are still sleeping,
they fire the grass huts in all directions,
and pour volleys of musketry through
the flaming thatch. Panic-stricken, the
unfortunate victims rush from their
burning dwellings, and the men are shot
down like pheasants in a battue, while
the women and children, bewildered in
the danger and confusion, are kidnapped
aud secured. The herds of cattle, still
within Ihe kraal or “zareaba,” are easily
disposed of, and are driven off with
great rejoicing, as the prize of victory.
The women and children are then fast¬
ened together, aud the former secured
an instrument called a sheba, made
of a forked pole, the neek of the prisoner
fitting into the fork and secured by a
lashed behind, while the
wrists, brought together in advance of
the body, are tied to the pole. The
are then fastened by their
necks with a rope attached to the wo¬
men, aud thus form a living chain, In
which they are marched to the head¬
in company with the captured
herds.
This is the commencement of busi
ness. Should there be ivory in any of
the huts not destroyed by fire, it is ap¬
propriated. A general plunder takes
place. The trader’s party dig up the
floors of the huts to search for iron
hoes, which are generaily thus con¬
cealed, as the greatest treasure of the
negroes; granaries are overturned and
wantonly destroyed, and the hands are
cut off the bodies of the slain, the more
easily to detach the copper or iron
bracelets that are usually worn. With
this booty the traders return to their
negro ally. They have thrashed and
discomfited his enemy, which delights
him; they present him with thirty or
forty head of cattle, which intoxicates
him with joy, and a present of a pretty
little captive girl of about fourteen com¬
pletes his happiness.
An attack or razzia, such as de¬
scribed, generally leads to a quarrel
with the negro ally, who in his turn is
murdered and plundered by the trader—
his women and children naturally be
coining slaves.
“On, hum ! I wish I had married Mr.
Gladstone,’ sighed Mrs. Bascom, throw¬
ing down her newspaper, “What!” ex
claimed her husband, starting oat of an
incipient nap—“rather than me?”
“Yes,” reiterated Mrs. Bascom, “Mr.
Gladstone chops all his owa wood.
Burlington Free Preti.
THE SUN AND THE HORSE.
Tests .it Mpecd lletvreea tho Two—The
.Man Ahead.
As regards speed for a mile or two, or
even several miles, there can be no com¬
ps? rison between the paco of a horse
ai*i that of a man on a bicycle. Tho
horse is far and away tho speedier; but
after about twenty or twenty-five miles
thi horse, it seems, begins to oomo back
to the man. The relative speed of horse
and man, quite unincumbered by weight,
lias never been tried, as it is always
necessary either to ride or drive a horse
when he is being tried. But in compar¬
ing Ihe best times on record of a trotting
hoi so driven in a light gig, as is the
fashion in America, aud a man riding
and propelling a twenty-soven-pound bi¬
cycle, the conditions, taking the relative
strength of the contestants into consid¬
eration, may be thought tolerably equal.
Maud S., Mr. Vanderbilt’s celebrated
horse, trotted one mile in 2:09; tho
champion time for a bicycle is 2:39.
Leaving out intermediate distances, I
find that Lady Mack did five miles in
33:00; Mr. Hillier has ridden it on a bi¬
cycle in 14:18. Controller did ten miles
iu 27:23’; Mr. English accomplished
that distance in 29:19 3-5. Twenty
miles was done by the horse Captain
McGowan in 58:25; Mr. English, who
holds the record for twenty miles, ac¬
complished it 59;0G'3-5. Twenty miles
well within the hour must surely be
looked on as a wonderful performance.
But after twenty miles the man rapidly
begins to go to the front. The best fifty
miles on record has been done by Ariel
in 3:55:40J; but Ion Keith-Falconer
rode that distance on a bicycle iu 2:43:58
3-5. Conqueror traveled one hun¬
dred miles in 8:35:53; F. R. Fry, on a
bicycle, did one hundred miles in 5:50:05
2-5. The same distance, one hun
dred miles, was done on tho high road
by George Smith in 7:11:10. Tho other
times mentioned were performed on the
cinder-path. No trial has been recorded
for a horse beyond one hundred miles.
But a tricyclist has ridden 2’22j miles in
twenty-four hours; and a few weeks ago
a performer on a newly invented little
two-wheeled machine of strange appear,
once, called a kangaroo, traveled 2GG
mhig within the same time. It is there¬
fore plain that in staying power a man
on a bicycle, or even a tricycle, which is
a much heavier machine, not primarily
adapted for racing, is infinitely superior
to a horse. Probably up to twenty-five
miles the best horse would beat (he b:si
bicyclist; but after that distance the
horse would, in yacht-racing phrase,
never see the way his adversary went.—
Viscount Bury, in the Nineteenth Cen¬
tury.
A Young Woman Buried Alive.
THE BODY EXHUMED AND TnE COFFIN
SHOWING EVIDENCES OF A TERRIBLE
STRUGGLE.
Mary Cox, a well known and popular
young lady who lived near the mouth of
the Little Capon River, near Springfield )
W. Va., was taken violently ill. The
physician from decided that she wa3 suffering
neuralgia of the stomach and pre¬
scribed morphia. A dose was adminis¬
tered at once, and another left with in¬
structions to give it iu twenty-four
hours. For some reason the second
dose was given in a very short time. An
hour or two afterward the death of Miss
Cox was announced, and two days later
tho body was buried. At the funeral
one lady insisted that Miss Cox was not
dead, and begged that a physician be
sent for. That night the dogs of a man
living near the graveyard stationed
themselves near the tomb and kept up a
persistent howling. The next day the
grave was opened, and, to the horror of
all, it was found that the girl had been
buried alive. The lining was torn from
the sides of the casket and the pillow
was in shreds. The poor girl had liter
ally stripped the clothes from her body, i
Her hands and arms were torn and
bleeding, the lips were bitten through,
and handfuls of hair were torn from her
head. The girl had come to life, and
had evidently made a fearful struggle to
escape. The awful affair fills the com¬
munity with horror.
The New Orleans Exposition.
The President has transmitted to Con¬
gress the report of the Board of Manage¬
ment of the Exposition at New Orleans,
and also a memorial of the United States
Commissioners requesting an additional
appropriation to extinguish a deficit in
its accounts. The President in his
message of transmittal says that a fail¬
ure on the part of the management to
carry out the original intent in regard to
the Exposition might reflect upon the
honor of the United States Government,
since twenty-one foreign nations
and forty-six States and Territories have
joiued the enterprise through faith in
the sanction of the Government. He
recommenJs the favorable consideration
of Congress.
This is the thing which I know—and
which, if you labor faithfully, you shall
know also—that in reverence is the chief
joy aud power of life. Reverence for
what is pure and bright in ycur own
life; reverence for what is true and hied
in the lives of others; for all that is gra¬
cious among the living, great among the
dead and marvelous in the Powers that
cannot die,
VOL. XI, NO 18 .
A GENEROUS OFFICER
SAVES A YOUNG MAN FROM RUIN
AND IN HIS OWN PECULIAR WAY.
•Story o! a Rnllrond Clerk who Took a
Folse Step, but was Keclnimed by Kind
Treatment.
Some ten or twelve years ago there
was employed in the office of the late S.
S. Merrill, the General Manager of the
St. Paul Railroad Company, a clerk in
whom complete confidence was reposed.
He was entrusted with many of the cor¬
poration’s secrets, and given the hand¬
ling of funds in large amounts. Unfor¬
tunately, the young man began sowing
his wild oats, found his salary insuffi¬
cient to support his extravagance, and
frequently abstracted small amounts
from the railway company’s funds to
meet the deficiency. These amounts
gradually increased in size until tho
young man, realizing the position ho
was in, made one grand haul and left
for parts unknown. His departure led
to a discovery of all his peculations,
The information was communicated to
Mr. Merrill, who, after a moment’s re¬
flection, sent for the company’s special
agent, and ordered that official to insti¬
tute a search for the absent clerk.
“Follow him,” said Mr. Merrill, “to
China, if necessary, and bring him
back. Keep this matter quiet, and
spare no expense in bringing the young
man back to this office.”
The few other persons who know of
the embezzlement were enjoined to strict
secrecy, and very few ever learned of
the facts. Any inquiry whioh might
bo made regarding the young man’s ab¬
sence was met by the reply that he was
taking his summer vacation, but just
where was not known.
In tho meantime a diligent hunt for
the young man was in progress. He
was traced to Detroit, and from there
through Canada to the Atlantic coast,
where he sailed for Europe just twelve
hours iu advance of the special agent’B
arrival. Authorities on the other side
of the Atlantic were cabled, aud the
young mau’s arrest ordered. This was
successfully accomplished, the clerk
was returned to America and trans¬
ferred to the custody of the railway
company’s agent. To that official a full
confession was made, and finding him¬
self completely in the company’s power,
the young man calmly contemplated his
fate, expecting nothing less than a
State prison sentence.
Ho was quietly taken before Mr. Mer¬
rill, who, to his complete surprise, ap¬
proached him pleasantly, took him
warmly by tho hand and said: “Well,
back again, I see. Sorry you staid away
so long, as we needed yon. Had a good
time though, I hope. Now, G--,
your desk is just as yon left it. No one
has disturbed a paper, and you can get
to work at once. Here, look over these
accounts and see that they are properly
ohecked.”
The young man, dumfonncfed at this
reception, as in faot was the special
fully agent, realize burst into the situation, tears, and until could Mr. not j 1
what Merril are again you broko doing in there? with: Get “Come, into j
that chair as quick as you can and check
those accounts. And, by the way, 1
don’t waut to hear a word regarding cer
tain events of recent date, which you
perhaps know of. ”
The young man did go to work, be
gan a new life, attended to his duties as
he never had before, advanced himself
in rank as a railway employee, made
good to the company the amount he had
stolen, and several years later left the
company with as good a letter of reeom
mendation as auy man ever received.
He, to-day, occupies a prominent posi
tion with one of the leading railways ot
the conDtry, and for it thanks his old
employer, S. S. Merrill.
Colonna-Mackay.
TTIE wedding celebrated with pon¬
tifical HIGH MASS,
Miss Eva Mackay was married in
Paris to Don Ferdinand .Tulien Colonna,
Prince of Galatro. The ceremony was
private and was performed with pontif¬
ical high mass by Mgr. de Reude, the
Papal Nuncio, in the Nuncio’s Chapel in
Paris. The nuptial benediction was ad¬
ministered by Mrg. de Reude, who also
delivered the m r iage address. The
civil ceremony of marriage, which is re¬
quired by the French law, was per¬
formed the day before. The witnesses
to this were Prince Colonna Doria,
Prince Colonna, United States Minister
Morton and Duke Decazis.
After the celebration of the religions
rite Mrs. Mackay, the mother of the
bride, gave a grand bridal reception,
which in every respect must rank with
the most magnificent festival of French
history. The reception was especially
distinguished by the quality of the
guests, among whom were included
about every person of distinction and
worth in French society. Conspicuous
among these were General the Comte
Menabrea, Italian Ambassador to
France; Count Camondo and Mme.
Wyse-Bonaparte.
Guilty.—I t is more than suspected
that very many of the snake bites caus¬
ing death in India are caused by the
parents desiring to put an end to super¬
fluous offspring in a manner which de¬
fies discovery of guilt.
STRAY BITS OF HUMOR
FOUND IN THE HUMOROUS COLUMNS
OF OUR EXCHANGES.
A Present for Jltmnle—A [Hlsconnt-Nee.
leered IVork—It M as Time to Get Away
A Handy Husband. Etc., Etc.
A PRESENT FOB JIMMIE.
“Oh, Jimm-mee-ee-eo!”
“Wotcher want?”
“Yer comes yer daddy 1”
“Wet’s he doin’ ?”
“Lookin’ for yon !” >
“ Wot’s he want ?”
“He’s got somethin’ nice fur yo 1”
“Wot i3 it?”
“Dunno! Looks like somethin’ tc
ride on. Kind o’ long and slim and
slick-like, like as ef lie’d peeled the bark
off’n it.”
Jimmie dive3 into the creek with his
clothes on and strikes out for yondei
point accoutered as he was. He was
playing “hookey,” and he “had rode”
on one of them things before. It would
be a raw and gusty day when Jimmie
got left. — Burdette.
A HANDY HUSBAND.
Scene in the boudoir of a Hartford
belle :
Thoughtful Mamma — “Well, dear,
whioh gentleman have you selected for
your husband ?”
Dutiful Daughter—“Oh, I think I’ll
take Mr. Fatboy.”
“But, dear, Mr. Littleman is very
riob, while your choice is very poor.”
“Yes, my choice is very poor, it is
true; but he is so big and stout he will
be just splendid to sit on the Bible and
press winter leaves.”
“Oh, I see. You will not be influ¬
enced by a monetary consideration.”
“No; I marry for love alone.”— Hart¬
ford Sunday Journal.
FELT BOIt/iD WITH IT.
A lady mis singing at a concert, and
her voice was, to say the least, very thin
in places.
“Ah,” said her husband, who after the
manner of husbands who have musical
wives, thought her vocal powers wero
great, “what a fine voice she has 1”
“Very fine," replied a strange man at
his side.
“What timbre !” continued the hus¬
band.
“Considerable timber,” responded the
stranger again, “but too many cracks in
it for weather-boarding, and not quite
enough for a paling fence.”
The husband remained silent during
the concluding portions of the entertain¬
ment .— Cincinnati Merchant Traveler ,
TIME TO GET AWAY.
“Hello, back from New Orleans sc
quick?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t you find any quarters
there ?”
“No; and the quarters I took with mo
went so fast that I wouldn’t have had
one left to pay the Pullman porter if I
hadn’t left when I did.”— Arkansaw
Traveller.
BRINGING MATTERS TO A CRISIS.
A rich young man was courting a
poor young girl, but he was slow in
bringing matters to a crisis.
s 0 one day she complained of the
hardships of being poor,
“Poor f” he exclaimed gallantly. “A
young lady with your wealth of mind
aD( ] grace of person poor ? Why, such
charms as you possess are worth a mine
of money .>
“Well, I wish I had the mint and
somebody else had the charms,” she
Baid< and the cris i B came .
the expreSsage.
“I would be obliged to you,” said a
elosefisted old fellow to a country editor,
“jf you will express my thanks, through
your excellent paper, to the many
citizens whose timely aid last night saved
m y house from being destroyed by fire.”
“Certainly,” replied the editor, “I will
express your thanks, but it will be neces¬
sary for you to advance about a dollar
and a half to prepay the express age.”
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.
“Charley has an awful long arm,” saia
Bertha, in a musing mood at the break¬
fast table. “How do yon know ? ’ asked
her father, in man like simplicity.
“Why,” replied Bertha, "my waist belt
is a—’’ And then she caught a glimpse
of her mamma’s horrified face glaring
over the coffee urn, and sh6 thought she
would die, sure enough. But she didn’t.
She only said Charley told her so.
A MISCOUNT.
“Mamma,” cries little Edith, “dive
me anndder date, p’ease.”
“Well,” says mamma, “you go and
ask Bridget for one—only one, remem¬
ber—and you may get two for Mamie”
(an older sister).
Presently Edith comes back.
“Mamma,” she says, “I think Bridget
made a mistake and dave me two dates
for myself and o’lv one for Mamie.”—
Boston Transcript.
SOME NEGLECTED WOBK,
“You don’t cook like Sary Ann used
to, Matilda," he said in tones of gentle
exasperating reproof; "no it seems to
me you can’t eook like Sary Ann used
to." On another occasion it was :
“You’re not as smart in gettin’ round
as Sary Ann was, Matilda. You don’t
seem to catch on where she left off.”
About this time a heavy rolliug-pin came
iu contact with his head.
“What do you mean by that, yen
vixen ?” ho exclaimed in agony.
“I’m doing some of the work Sary
neglected," she replied, and there
much peace ia the family thereafter.