Newspaper Page Text
THE MONROE
VOL XXXIX.
THE DAYS THAT NEVER RETURN
Over (lie strimr® of my harp to- luj*
Float* a son/ that is half a sigh,
1Ak<> the sound of leaves when the wind
sweeps by,
Like the *oun 1 of breakers far away,
As they beat and so'-.
As they l/eat and thro'»,
fill I hear a voic® In the distant roar
On that lonely stretch of sandy shore.
Over the strings of my heart to-day
Float* a song for the dying year,
A song that thrills with an unshod te-.r
Giro’ the winter twilight, cold and grav,
As the breakers
As the breakers throb,
And I hear the voleo with ita old rofrniu.
For the days that never eoui< hack again.
Overt lie strings of my harp to-lay
Floats a song-for my sweet lost youth,
For, oh, I would give in very truth,
Ilehoa and fame an 1 power away
To dream one® more
Those bright dreams o'er —
*lt is vain regret, ” sighs that old refrain,
For the days that never come back again.
• ver the strings of my harp to day
Floats a song for the dying year,
A song that thrills with an unshed fear
•Ik® the sound of breakers far away—
How they heat and sob !
How they boat an 1 throb !
And I hear that vole t with its old refrain,
For tho days that never corn® back again.
Isabel! Hot oh kiss.
AT CHONS I’UBPOSES.
ELIA was wholly to
blame.
If it hadn’t been
for her it would
never have oc
cur red to me to
quarrel with Jack ;
it would never have
hi occurred to me that
u any quarrel was
IK necessary to prove
the strength of his
. ..... fcsilq love ; I should have
taken it for grant¬
ed, and been happy
still.
T detest Celia. .< •
Wo were so happy till H ho came to
stay with Jack’s people and told mo I
was spoiling hint. Of course it was
no business of hers if I were, she ad¬
mitted that; but she was so fond of
me that she felt she must speak, being
older and more experienced than I,
aud implore me to remember that it
wasn’t only my lover I WHS spoiling,
but my future husband; and if I let
him have his own way iu everything
now’. I should never be able to have
ipino by Stic and 1 ,vli w» were mar
rted. snotto «w about it
♦hat 1 couldn ♦ help being a .ftiie iui
pr< I, though of course I didu’t let
her know that, and I wouldn't have
told her for tho world that I intended
to ask her advice on the first oppor¬
tunity that offered. For it was oue
thing to quarrel privately with Jack,
but quite another to tell Celia that I
was going to do it, and take her iuto
my confidence against him.
Bo Jack and I quarreled at the
Hornes’ dance last night.
I hardly know what it w’as about in
tho first instance, but it grow and
grew until it seemed to me there was
nothing we weren’t quarreling earnest.' about,
and Jack was soon terribly in
Though we had been engaged for three
weeks, I’d no idea ho bad it in him to
be so angry; and, of course, I lost my
head, and got angry, too—really
angry and said horrid tilings; and—
and- I told him our engagement was
broken off, and there must be an end
of everything between us;
Jaok took me at my word. I never
thought of his doing that.
“As you please,” he said, speaking
quite quietly all of a suddeu. We
were in the conservator v and the dance
music iti the drawing-room must have
drowned the sound of our voices half
a dozen yards away. “You wish our
engagement to eml, Maud? Bo be it.
Your letters shall be returned to you
to-morrow, and I will at once leave
you free to resume * vour flirtation with
Frank Horne.”
“But -Jack ”
His face was set and white. He
never even looked at me. Th: music
ceased. Celia and several other
dancers strolled into the conservatory
and left me.
Yes, he went away and danced with
other girls; and lie never spoke one
word to me or came near me again the
whole evening.
Of course 1 danced, too— what else
could I do under the circumstances?
I danced with Frank Horne, and I
flirted with him a little—not as Jack
flirted with Mollie and Kate aud Celia,
am! half a dozen more but just
enough to show him that I could
amuse myself verv well without him,
»nd that*I wasn’t taking our quarrel
to heart.
I was acting a lie, and l did it very
creditablv.
Ob, how miserable lam!
It is a dull November afternoon,
•ud mamma has gone out. so I sit
•lone in the fire-lit dining-room, and
think over all that had happened last
night, ami wonder what Jack's next
move will be. Surely—surely, he can¬
not mean —
He has not returned my letters yet;
surely that is a aopeful sigu.
I am still wearing the ring he gave
me. I suppose if he returns my let
ters I shall have to—
No—no. I can’t part with it. He
could not be so cruel, so unreasonable,
His letters, too. Must I give
up? 1 turn them over in my hand—
such a little bundle of them*as there
is, and so very hard to read till one
learns to know the writing, or to love
the writer, which is it?—and remem
her the pleasure with which I first re
ceived them, and the j ride with which
1 have often poured over them siuce.
Hark! some one is crossing
FORSYTH, MONROE COUNTY, GA-, TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE •*>. 1894.
hall. Surely Jane won't be so foolish
as to show any one in here now.
In another moment “Mr. Dayton”
is announced, and Jack himself stands
! before me.
“Jack!” I started to my feet, and
jail ! rustling these to treasured the floor, but documents I think fall,
never
j of them. Who thinks of love letters
in the presence of the writer? Jack
is here, my Jack, and—
But is he indeed my Jack?
The first glance at his face recalls
I me to myself, and reminds me that be
j is no longer my Jack, or Jack at all to
me. I told him I wished our engage
incut to end, and he remembered it,
evidently, though T, for one brief mo
ment, have forgotten. Oh, Jack—
Jack ?”
I He waits till the servant has left the
J room, the breast then pocket takes a of small his coat packet and turns from
to me.
“This must be my apology for dis
turbiug you,” he says, very formally,
“f thought I had better bring it my
self, in case of accidents.”
“For me?” I speak vaguely, and
without tillering to take it. I want to
gam time.
“Yes—your letters. I have no right
to them now”.”
j j “How beautifully you have packed
tb im !”
He tarns away with an impatient
gesture and lays them on the table.
“I need not detain you any longer,
now my errand is done,” he says,
quietly.
“But - there is something else. Oh,
you forget!” as he looks at mo qnes
tioningly.
“You have returned my letters
promptly enough—how can I thank
you for such promptness?—but you
forget your own. As you say, I have
no right to them now.”
“You wish me to take them? Very
well.”
But I do not wish him to take them
— anything but that! I want to post
pone the moment of parting, that isall.
“ A’ill you be good enough to fetch
them?”
“They are here, oufhe floor. Will
you be good enough to help mo pick
them up?”
H ■ does so without a word. To¬
gether we stoop and collect them ; to¬
gether we lay them on the table. To¬
gether for the last time !
1 bring pa er and string, and pro¬
ceed to pack them up, while he
watches me in silence.
“I fear this will not be such a neat
parcel as yours,” I say, speaking as
steadily as lean, aud bending over tho
table to hide my troubled face. “You
know I’m never good at this sort of
thing.”
“I know,’ shortly, •
“I ’t it it!” and a crent- I t •«*>
splashes ou pno&6b. * m very
y
sorry, but—
“Don’t bother about it,” and he
la/B his baud on mine suddenly, “No
need for such a fuss. Give them to
me as t iey are.”
“What are you going to do with
them?” as he takes them from my
^
trembling hands.
“Put them in the fire !” and he turns
to do so.
“No, uo, no!” I cry, springing for
ward, and laying a detaining hand ou
bis “Ob, don’t, Jack! ’
arm.
“Why not?” pausing. You don’t
want them, and I’m sure I don’t.”
“I-I do ! Please give them back
to mo! ’
“What for?”
“To keep. To remind me—”
“Of my folly?
* ; Of my own. I—”
“Your folly is over and done with!
Guv engagement is brokeu off,” he says
moodily. “Better forget it ever ex
isted.’
j j pressible “I cannot little do sob. that,” “I with au waiting irre
am
f OI ‘ those letters.
“Take them, then, aud ho throws
them down ou the table. “Keep them
to compare with Horne’s, if you like,
I ‘hm't care !'
“How can you insult me so? What
! right have yon to think me so mean,
^ so heartless?”I cry indignantly. “And
you cared for me once—or pretended
to!”
“I did care; I care now, though I
know I’m only a fool for my pains?”
—bitterly. * “Heartless, do vou say?
How can I help thinking you heartless
after your conduct last night?”
“My conduct? And what of yours?
If I danced with Frank, and—yes,
flirted with him a little, you were
flirting all the time with Celia and.
Mollie, and- oh. there wasn’t a girl in
the room that vou didn't flirt with!
You know there wasn't!”
“Yes; and you should know that
there is safety in numbers, ” he retorts,
fixing his dark eves on mine reproach
fully. “But vou, Maud, you flirted
with Frank all the time; and‘with no
one but Frank. A verv different
*
thing!”
“And what was I to do when vou
deserted me? Sit still and look mis
erable? Thanks, no. Really, you are
unreasonable.”
“You forget that I did not desert
you, as you call it, till after you gave
me to understand that I wasn’t
You told me to go, and I went.”
“You did—on the instant !”
“Aud vou blame me for that now !
Did you not meau me to take you at
your word?”
1 look at him as he stands, very tall
and erect, on the other side of the
fireplace, his brown eyes, with a cer
tain defiance in them, watching me in
tently, and I feel thankful that at least
we are not going to part in silence,
His love may not be strong enough to
stand the test of our quarrel, but still
—he loves me. Oh, if I only—
“Did you not meau me to take you
at your word?” he repeats.
“Not like that,” slowly. “You went
—oh, yes—as if you were glad to go.
I dare say you were, but yon needn’t
have betrayed your feelings quite so
plainly.”
~ ‘ 516‘ Lg?) m x ( J:
‘ 7 ( "7‘
*‘I haven’t the smallest intention oi
betraying my feelings for your g*uti
. fication,” he says with some warmth,
“Yon have treated me shamefully,
but I see little use iu discussing it
now. I don’t want to reproach you
for jilting me; you've done it, am’
that’s enough.”
“Jilted yon! Oh, Jack!”
“Call it what you please,” and
turns away wearily. We won’t quarrel
about that. Celia was right, 1 see.”
“Celia?”
! “Yes; she said it would only makt
j matters believe her, worse but—” if I saw you. I didn’
j “Celia tried coming?”
to stop your
j “If yon like to put it in that wav,
yes,” with a look of surprise. “But 1
thought I ought to bring those letters
myself, 60 I came.”
“From a bitter sense of duty; I tin
derstand. ”
“Not altogether that. ” He hesitates
a moment and then adds quickly: “1
as well tell you all since I am
here. I thought—that is, I hoped—
there might have been some misunder
standing, and you have said more that
you really meant. It all seems so sud¬
den to me, you know, for I had noi
grown tired of our engagement, what
ever you may have done. But since
you evidently wish to quarrel with me
I won’t stand in your way. You might
have trusted me, though, as you have
trusted Celia.”
Celia again! I begin to hate the
sound of her name !
“Celia seems to have been unwar¬
rantably busy with my affairs,” I say
coldly. “I don’t know, of course,
what she may or may not have tolo
you; but this I do know, that I have
never trusted her, and that I trust her
less than ever now.”
“You are ungrateful, surely. She
tried to spare you this interview.”
“Had it not been for her it would
never have been necessary. But go to
her, since you’d rather take her word
than mine,” passionately, “Go to
her, aud tell her that she has suc
ceeded, thanks to mv folly and
your—
I break oft’, unable to speak for the
rising sobs that choke my utterance,
and turn away abruptly to the win¬
dow.
“Succeeded? Celia?” he repeatt
more to himself than to me. “Maud,
what is the meaning of all this? Is it
possible that Celia misunderstood—”
“She misunderstood nothing.” I
speak in a dull, expressionless way,
and without turning round. “She is
far too clever for that. It is you who
misunderstood, and L”
“What have I misunderstood? Oh,
if vou xvon’t tell me I must go to Celia
♦ •
“Yes, go to her. What are you
staying here for uov?, and he walks to
*iutuiug will
the door. Iu another instant he
be gone.
Can I let him go like this? No, 8
thousand times, no.
“Wait,” and I turn impulsively;
“you—you have forgotten something.’
“Havel? And what?”
“Your ring. I have no right to it
now, as you say.”
“I never said so, but—” he checks
himself. “Give it to me, then. ’
“Come and take it.”
I cannot, I will not take it off. i
try in a feeble, purposeless sort of
way, conscious that his eyes are upon
me all the time. Then I desist and
look at him, laughing' nervously,
“I can’t do it, Jack, if you want it
you must take it off yourself,” and I
hold out my baud,
He takes it in silence, but he makes
uo effort to remove the ring. Insteac
of that he looks at me for a moment
and shakes his head.
“No, dear, I don t want it. If it it
to come off at all you must take it.” ^
“It seems almost a pity, doesn't it?”
I say softly, and my voice is scaicely
as steady as it might be. He makes
no reply, but passes his aim around
my waist and his hold on my hand
tightens.
“I’ve got used to it, you see, and I
should miss it. May I keep it, Jack?’
“On one condition.”
“And that is— ?
“That you keep me, too.”
“Oh, Jack, how gladly.”
He is my Jack once more, and I tell
k* . m my head on his shoulder.
Our quarrel is over and we both de¬ be
test Celia. She can never come
tween us any more. —All the Yeaj
Round,
A Dog YVitli a Wooden Leg.
J™ e J* r , hear °/ . a dog, . . havm 4
ft wooden leg. inquired B. P. Old way,
of Logansport, ud. mow a man
ueai ^ eie I live who has a &ma t og,
one of whose front legs was crus ei
® orue tmm ago by a wagon wheel. Be¬
1U » something of a suigeon, his mas
[ er carefully amputate^ the crushes
leg. Mid when the wound was healec
provided the dog with a light and
strong wooden leg In the course of
time the dog, which is a very intelli¬
gent little animal, became aware that
he could rest his weight upon this
wooden leg and use it for all ordinary
purposes. Iu walking or trotting the
dog always uses his artificial limb, but
if he has occasion to do any fast run¬
ning or leaping, he will gracefully
hold up the wooden leg and depend
solely upon the other three for the
service required. ”—St. Louis Globe
Democrat.
Vitality ot Disease Germs.
As an evidence of the phenomenal
vitality of disease germs, Dr. Koch,
of Germany, and Drs. Ewart and Car
! penter, of England, declare that the
blood of animals and men dying of
contagions may be dried and kept for
years, and that they will then pro
duce the class of infections to which
they belong; this even after having
been pulverized in a mortar and sub
. ject-ed to the lowest degree of natural
, and artificial cold.—St. Louis Repub
■ lie.
CHASE OF THESLAY ERCORA
THE LAST SLAVE-SHIP CAPTURED
BY THE UNITED STATES.
.. >he „ Fell „ „ Prize . to . the steamer C
im on
stellation, and W« * w, en n
Charge by a Mere
O NE ryat, best the of sea efforts those a Fenimore that true of put a Captaiu to romances Cooper blush Mar- the of
or a
Clark Russell, was the chase and cap
ture of the American slace-ship Cora,
by the United States steamer Constel
lation.
The Cora was a 8 nch bark,
freighted with no less tli 720 slaves,
aud she was command®; y a bold,
resolute aud resourceful n. At the
time of the capture ptain gave
his name as Campbell,* and claimed
that he was an English subject, and
merely a passenger on fch . bark. By
masSnic friendship he managed to es¬
cape from the Constellation at St.
Paul de Loando, and in ; fter years he
met the young naval of# ter who was
detailed to command the irize. Then
he was the painted and tngled per
former in a circus, celebrated
clown, William B. Don on, and he
confessed that this was real name.
Bays his captor: “He ht \ been sailor,
lounger, and pseudo-g itletnan of
leisure on Broadway, n& to minstrel,
clown, slave-captain—p'r, haps the list
had better be closed; /b it he had a
faithful, generous heart ' He was a
brave man, even though, a statutory
pirate.” •
The Cora was the «lave-ship
captured by the Unit#! States, and
the young officer who p • ved so prom¬
inent a part in the affai ip was Lieuten¬
ant Wilburn Hall. ,oon as Lieu¬
tenant Hall, who was hisl m command of
the Cora, landed jyjae in New
York, he cast his iQM&wd ffopqj; with the
Confederacy. After "beenm through
the Civil War he one of the
American officers on staff of the
Khedive of Egypt. d is now the
American Consul at N
Major Hall has written 4 a graphic
account of the chase et vir capture of
the from Cora his for the follows CentjbjAjMt {*|6j extract
story Y
“In President MonrotfsJfcdxuinistra
Britain tion, the by treaty United agreetlpj$L StatdjBjjiftd maintain Great
each a squadron OHraJmg: at least
eighty guns, slave-trad^-|jfcJBfa.To on the coast, to
suppress the that
time had received nr check,
Each nation could sea W ; might
capture proof the merchant which sati&fd ^&iftpKtaither, the naval
upon
officer of the violation Wws. In
point of fact, while brlfejftgect thl. a*
casiontfl].-.used jf against
American vessels, aud it became al
most the rule that American men-of
war should perform the duty. This
fact came about because the slave
trade was largely carried on by Ameri
can vessels. And strange as it may
seem, by way of parenthesis, the
American vessels were invariably fitted
out and despatched from Northern
one iu inline-
diately preceding the, war, having
Soutbern ownership—the schooner
Wanderer, which landed slaves on the
coast of Georgia; but these slaves
were at once gathered in by the United
States Government, and sent back to
Africa on the steam-frigate Niagara,
"Engaged in this duty the Constel
lation was cruising on' the African
coast, the men finding relaxation only
at long intervals in a short rest at
Madeira, or the Canaries; or perhaps
on one of the islands in the Bight of
Benin. After one of these cruises,
when off the Ambriz River, near the
Congo, in August, 1860, the calm gave
way to a refreshing breeze, and the
Constellation, with all squaresail to
royals, had just shaped her course for
St. Paul de Loando. It was about 7
p. m., the sea was as smooth as a
floor and a beautiful moon lit the
waters with a splendor rarely seen.
The crew and officers were all on deck
enjoying the refreshing change. Songs
were heard forward, messenger boys
were skylarking in the gangways, offi¬
cers were pacing the lee quarter-deck,
Suddenly from the foretopsail yard
rang out the cry. ‘Bail ho !’
“Instantly laughter ceased, songs
ended, men jumped to tbeir feet—all
was now expectancy. ‘Where away?’
came sharply through the speaking
trumpet from the officer of the deck.
‘About one point for’ard of the
weather beam, sir.’ Every eye caught
the direction indicated. Bure enough,
bright and glistening in the reflected
moonlight the sails of the stranger
were seen, hull dowD, with the upper
parts r of the courses in view.
“The slaver was well on our star
board bow. Mr. Fairfax called me to
go with him on the gun-deck, where
we ran two heavy 32’s out to oar
bridle-ports ready for a chase dead
ahead, which soon occurred. I was
directed to carry away the upper spars
and rigging, and under no circum
stances to hit the vessel’s bull! ‘Aim
high and make your mark,’ he con
tinned. I touched my cap and smiled ;
it was so like the admonition of an
ambitious mother to her son. Soon
one gun was sending round-shot
whirling through the rigging.
Suddenly our attention was attracted
by dark objects on the water ahead of
us. The slaver was lightening ship
by throwing overboard casks, spars,
and even spare masts. The sea ap
peared as if filled with wreckage in a
long line. All at once boats were
seen. ‘They are filled with negroes,’
I heard some one cry on deck. ‘Bteady
on your course,’ I heard the flag offi
cer shout on the forecastle just above
my head. Sure enough they were
boats, and as we sped the} seemed to
be coming swiftly to u My heart
beat with quick emotion as I thought
I saw them crowded with human
forms. Men on deck shouted that
ADVERTISER.
the J were crowded with people, but
The we swept by, passing them rapidly.
slaver hoped we would stop to
pick up his boats, aud thus gain more
time, but his ruse made us even more
our guns redoubled, ’, wo
anew +, the „ end „ , must . come soon, but ,
there seemed no way to stop the chase
without sinking her, and humanity
forbade a shot in her hull. Her cap
tain realized the situation, but even
then his courage was wonderful,
“On we went. Suddenly, I saw her
course begin to change; she was com
ing to windward—her studding sails
came fluttering down, her skysails and
royals were clewed up, her foresail
also, and as she rounded up to the
wind and backed her maintopsail, the
Constellation had barely time to get in
her canvas, and round to under her
maintopsail, scarcely two hundred
yards to windward. ‘Away there,first
cutters, away!’ called the boatswain’s
mates, as their shrill whistles ceased.
“I had barely time to get on deck,
after the guns had been secured, be*
fore I saw the first cutter, with our
gallant first-lieutenant himself as the
boarding officer, speeding like an ar¬
row to the vessel, her oars scattering
sparkling diamonds of phosphorescent
water as they rose and fell. Every of¬
ficer and man was leaning over our low
hammock-rails, breathlessly waiting
and watching. We saw the cuttei
round up to the gangway. ‘In bows;
way enough!’ we could hear Fairfax
say distinctly, though his orders wefe
low. Then came the rattling of the
oars as they were tossed, and the grat¬
ing of the cutter alongside.
“Fairfax’s active figure could be seen
quickly mounting the side, and thea
he disappeared as he leaped over the
gangway into the waist. For two or
three minutes the stillness was pain¬
ful. One could hear meu breathing
in their excited anxiety. Suddenly
there was a hail, in tones which I can
recall as if heard to-day—clear, dis¬
tinct, manly, ‘Constellation ahoy!
You have captured a prize with over
seven hundred slaves.’
“For a second the quiet still prevailed,
and then the crew forward of the
mainmast spontaneously gave thrive
loud, ringing cheers. Only the sanp
tity of the quarter deck prevented the
officers from joining, but they shared
the feelings of the crew. Aside from
the natural feeling which success in a
chase brings, there was large prize
money in prospect, for in every such
capture the law divided among officers
and men a sum equal to half the value
of the ship and her outfit, and an ad
ditional sum of $25 for each slave cap
tured, amounting in this case to at
least $30,000. To a practical mind
UyHtu- 3 was reason for cheering. The
-Was Jjot sfiryepdcied
in terror of our guns hove to the vesse .
“It was about 2 a. ra. whe j, by order
of the flag officer, I went on board the
slaver with a prize crew, consisting of
nine men all told, one being a negrG
servant.
“The deck was covered with arti
cles of all kinds, which were to have
been cast overboard to lighten the
ship. The crew could only be seen as
called to me. They were a set of cut
throats—bearded, dark-looking, scowl
ing Spaniards and Portuguese, not a
native American among them. The
slaves were nearly all on the slave
deck, shouting and screaming in terror
and anxiety. I leaned over the main
hatchway holding a lantern, and the
writhing mass of humanity, with their
cries and struggles, can only be com¬
pared in one’s mind to the horrors of
hell as pictured in former days,”
IYTSE WORDS.
Cupid is not a calculator. >
Life is too short to get square.
No man can buy the sunshine.
Love is a spontaneous combustion.
The world is the tramp’s treadmill.
Economy was not born in the poor
house.
The fools do not say all tho silly
Many absurdities are accepted as
axioms.
A genuine holiday must be honestly
ear neck
The king can do no wrong without
everybody knowing it.
Pessimism is an evidence oi a sour
stomach or of inherited taint.
All things come to the way of him
^ho does not expect too much,
A house that is divided against itself
cannot stand outside interference,
He who has schooled himself to si
} ence has set his world wondering,
It never . be that ,, , everybody , . else .
can
is wrong and you alone are right.
Much harm is dons by people who
think they are doing what is right.
A man who really loves horses and
*l 0 o s l° ves women and children next,
It is pitiable to see a poor man
“gauged” wrong for a small income,
The man who is sometimes too busy
tet hear the whistle blow is seldom out
0 f work,
! People talk little ills into great
ones, but seldom talk little goods into
great ones.
T lx . hard , lines to , Wlth ...
ls win /
j 3011 ^ 0113 a N ear an ^ ^ er on
bread and butter for a lifetime.
j A Rhyme lor “Massachusetts.”
Referring to a statement in the Bos
j ton Globe that there is no rhyme for
Massachusetts, and the attempt of a
Massachusetts man to show that there
j is, a correspondent of the New York
; Tribune submits a rhyme which he
thinks wholly beyond criticism. It J3
as follows:
A man named Heath
Has. oT false teeth,
J list got him two oran t new set®.
Now. Tribune, dear.
Pray find just here
A rhvme to Massachusetts.
ERECTING A CIRCUS TENT '
WORK REQUIRING GREAT SYSTEM
AND CELERITY.
-
Marking Out the Points for Poles and
Tent Pins—Work of the Sledge
Gangs—Raising the Poles.
£ O skilled of big is the chief that eanvas- when
man a circus
J he arrives on the ground
where the tents are to be
pitched he can tell at a glance just how¬
to dispose of them. In the Barnum
show the practice is to put up the men¬
agerie and horse tents first. This is
usually done before breakfast, when¬
ever possible, aud then after a short
rest all hands turn in, aud with a rush
up goes ° the main tent. The
canvasman of , the ,, Barnum show- , is .
William Kelley. When ho determines
upon the location of the tents ho sends
for a lot of men with iron pins, to
some of which are attached pieces of
blue flannel and to others pieces of
red flannel. Kelley takes a long tape
line out of his pocket and fixes
the position of liis first pole
by a red pin. Then he measures off
the required distance for the second
pole, and then for thfT others, until
the places for all five poles of the
main tent are fixed.
Next Kelly goes to the end poles,
and with a tape swings a half circle
beyond each, At regular intervals of
about a dozen feet he orders a blue
pin stuck iu the ground until both
ends of the tent plan are marked.
Having disposed of each end of the
plan, he quickly passes down the
straight sides, and at the required
places has pit» placed for each stake
to which the guy ropes are to be at¬
tached, and in a few minutes the
whole place is thus staked off. All
the measurements are iu Kelley’s
memory, whether tho tent be big oi
little.
Then comes probably the most in¬
teresting part of putting up the tent.
Stalwart men have been unloading
stout hickory stakes from the three
stake wagons and these are distributed
in wheelbarrows over the grounds.
The sledge gangs then seize their
tools. There are eight men in a gang
and nine gangs to do the work. One
man iu each gang plunges a crowbar
into the ground and makes a prepara¬
tory hole for the stake. The head
sledgeman drives the stake in with one
or two smart blows, and the other six
gathered about in a circle. Then all
lift their sledges and each in turn
gives the stgike a slight tap, and thus
they catch the swing. The next turn
around the blow falls harder, and by
the time the third blow is struck the
whirling sledges rain down on the
one can count. One sledge uo sooner
strikes a stake and slips away than
another takes its place. As they go
whirling in the air the effect is like
the arms of a windmill in a brisk
breeze, and the sound of tho blows is
like the rattle of musketry. When
nine gangs aro at work at once the
sight is contusing, and one wonders
that th8 men don’t knock each other’s
heads off.
The stake itself goes plunging down
into the turf in a series of quick
jumps. One can see it jump; but it
never has a rest. On the average, it
takes about thirty seconds to drive
each stake home, and in a few minutes
the whole 250 stakes required for the
main tent are m the ground. Oppo
site each mam pole extra stakes are
driven, and then the ground is cleared,
The workmen carry in on tneir shoul
ders i the hfty-foot poles and place
them near their proper locations,
Then twenty-two quarter poles, each
thirty-one feet long- are carried in
and arranged in line, with their upper
ends fronting outward. Then thirty
four shorter quarter poles are brought
in and arranged i i the same way, but
further away from the main poles. It
requires a lot of unloading, but the
■wagons have been driven to places
within easy reach, and every econo¬
my in space and time is studied.
Two short stakes are then driven at
the foot of each main hole for bear
ers, against which it is to rise, and
with ropes attached each big pole is
pulled to a perpendicular and made
fast. A wood or iron ring has been
slipped over the foot of the pole be
fore it is drawn to the upright posi
tion.
The ground now seems a confused
mass of poles and stakes. Kelley goes
the round and then a raid is made ou
the three canvas w’agons. Six or eight
men carry on their shoulders a big
roll, and by its appearance Kelley or
one of his assistants knows exactly
where it belongs. The men stagger
along until they hear the words,
“Drop it, and then it falls to the
ground. A dozen or fifteen men seizi;
lt, unfold it and shan.e it out. Tin
two end straight- _
curving pieces are
ened out, and then the four pieces
that cross from one side to the other
are brought out and placed on the
ground. The poles always protrude
through the tent where two sections
join. The tent being laid out on the
ground the pieces are joined to the
hoods about the standing poles an I
thea the sections are laced together
by a series of short loops that link
one into the other. Haifa dozen men
gather under the caucus at each pole
to do the pulling, and the rest of the
men run to the edge of the tent,
They race around and shove 100 smalt
side"poles about fifteen feet tall under
the edge of the tent and slip their
tops in the holes made for them.
These arerthe little poles at the very
edge of the tent. At a signal the men
raise the edge of the tent, bring these
little poles to a perpendicular. The
tent now looks like an enormous
flattened white hat withtherim turned
up. Iu a little further the men dive,
and soon they begin to push the
quarter poles to an upright position,
The men at the main poles pull up,
NO. 22
I i 8 l°wly tho tout benins to assume
shape.
| Teams of horses are soon brought
into requisition ami they pull the bases
| The 0 f the quarter which poles reach to their from place. tho
! guy ropes
edge of the tent to the stakes tighten
' ft Ad soon the big tent is taut and firm.
The ropes that held the poles firm
while the tent was being pulled up aro
slackened and the canvas sways as it
feels the flexibility in the ropes. More
canvas is brought out and the “sido
walls” are put on, the workmen using
ladders to fasten them at the top. Tho
tent is now practically complete. It s
450 feet long and 190 feet wide, and it
is ready for the seats. These aro
rushed in section by section and in a.
twinkling the place seems ready fox*
the show. Of course, there is much
work , yet . to , , be done, , such , adjusting
as
Hags, ,, \ bringing . in . ami , putting up ap¬
paratus for athletes, preparing tho
track and the rings and the lights.
All this work of putting up the main
tent and the three large auxiliary te t»
can be accomplished in good weather
in two hours and a half. It requires
the services of more than a hundred
trained men, not one of whom is slug¬
gish. It is a task where the only
watchword is “hustle.” The foreman
finds it necessary to use many other
words, some of them not iu any polito
category, but the canvasman, liko tho
Mississippi roustabout, expects vigor¬
ous urging to do his work, aud would
feel uneasy without it. In the outfit
of the tent department alone there are
three stake wagons, three property
wagons, five canvas wagons, three
stringer and four plank wagons for the
ordinary seats, four reserved seat
wagons, two jack -wagons, and three
pole wagons.
Tho tents are taken down mud
quicker than they are put up. Bis
jacks pull up the stakes, ropes arti
loosened, and with tho proper amo mt
of warning the whole falls to tho
ground. The canvas is unlaced and
folded, poles and seats are stowed,
and the wagons move away.—New
York Bud.
SELECT SIFTINGS.
Chicago has 384 churches.
Mongolia, Asia, has no hotels
The Chinese tramp is a rarity.
Carpet tacks are consumed at tho
rate of 50,000,000 a day.
A trunk line of railway frequently
has as many as 25,000 cars in use.
The average number of murders in
the United States is about 4000 a year.
Vineland, N. J., his a paper bottle
factory, which is said to bo the only
one in the United States.
There are several clerks in tlf *
4- ■>* \r f . .
One foundling asylum in \vv lDw,
Russia, receives 1200 infants every
year, The boys are trained for tho
navy.
The River Axe, England, has ita
source in a cavern known as Wokey
Hole, from which it emerges in full
volume.
Iu Siam aud Afghanistan, where the
elephant is the chief beast of burden,
au “elephant load” is reckoned at
two tons.
Doctors in France get in their bills
as soon as possible after a patient dies,
The law decrees that their bills are the
first to be paid.
Bosouifc > s late pamphlet, “Man ______- of
the Nineteenth Century,” says that
on i v one m m out of each 103 attains
a h ; ight of over six f ee t.
Honolulu, TT , , TT Hawaii, has the most . ex>
*’ ’
tensive , . and complete telephone , . . ser
V1 ce - In Proportion to its population,
of # aQ y l jlace m the world ’
The oldest engine is claimed to be
in operation in a Savannah (Ga.) rice
mill. It was built in 1815 by James
Watt, of Lancashire, England, aud
was brought to this country in tho
same year. who have
Bociety people in London
nothing else to do are learning “lip
language.” This means they try to
And out what silly things they aro
saying to each other, simply by tho
motion of the lips,
Old Dan, the only cavalry horso
surviving the Milk River expedition
and the Meeker massacre, died at Fort
Houston, after twenty-five years’ ser
vice in the Fifth Cavalry. He was
buried with military honors.
The African city Kong, although
scarcely known to he world, is a ver
itable kingdom in itself, being ruled
>y a King and a suite of grav-bearded
sages. The citizens are intelligent,
.hough pure-blooded Africans,
There must be a goa l many clerks
in New York City who go down town
m bicyefes in the morning, else thero
, V ould not be a cellar near Canal street
ia q Broadway which does a fair busi
u ess in storing machines “bvthe dav,”
;lg the si a reads>
There is a new style of peripatetic
x Ivertisement on upper Broadway,
New York, which has made a hit. It
is a sandwich man, wearing rather loud,
bat perfectly creased trousers, and
tbe signs on the boards read: “Your
trousers creased like mine for twenty
live cents at So-and-so’s.”
In China those who wish for an
hour’s rest, or for a quiet talk with a
friend, can secure both by entering
one of the large drinking halls, where
covered cups are at once brought to
them, each containing a measure of
tea, whereon the waiter dexterously
pours boiling water from a large ket
tie.
The Tyrians were the most expert
dyers of ancient times. The fabrics
dyed with the famous Tyrian purple
did not assume their proper color un
til after two days’ exposure to light
and air. During this time they passed
through a gradation of shades of yel
low, green, blue, violet an l red, which
the dyers understood bow to arrest
and fix it any moment.