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** m II P ?3» ? ',P: : V m P m v TIMES.
> ’
*■ Vi Cft n.riotor
Tbisl tt^ ® I h 1,lRl,<nine *
€ V iA^H^tefnc lighu itfilmp^y night,
And palls its load by day;
And he who seeks Us prizes.
^l£S!fSSr Ti f 8 ains >
! .. ,h->
iRigl^fewn^'the wS&S2L^S, whizz
ringing; grooves of change"
The blnziag cgujserstreams;
Thau watch yoar chance snd jump aboard,
Throw off yojir heavy chains,
' And stir the lfghtnibg hv your blood,
And mix It in your brains.
—rs. W. Eos*, WP' in Yankee Blade.
(i BOGUE-A t: m| HERO.
* i. t#«■ ■ • am.*! - ■,
BY OSCAR K. DAVIS.
; * | y, ; ,'J: y .\ t
“It’s a curious thing,” said the
Doctor, “how the friendships of our
boyhood occasionally come hack to us
in later years.”, •
We were sitting in his offied enjoy
I ilng a quiet little chat over Wafer old college
‘days. Sometmng if hts told
me that he had a good story, so I an
, swered with a tentative. “Yes? What
suggested that jo you?”
“Oh, the queer ending one ot
has just ha I f I’ll tell you about it.
“I was a boy when my father first
came tflthis tfwn. As boys will, I
soon made my friends and my enemies
—more enemies than friends, perhaps;
ibut airiong, the friends was one of the
ibest-naturod little fellows you ever
$aw- Somewhere he had picked up
jra «%lost nickname I had ever heard.
,Everybody in town knew him as
"Bogin:.’ Why, nobody could tell.
His real name was John Sanderson,
aud ho lived with his widowed mother
Who kept the country post-office
“Bogue was a jolly youngster,
k was bright, shrewd and happy; al
ready mtinually to go occupied a friend a with good turn, of
one
Hil Mts, l schemes he had for making
^eanied. or iu spending those pre
lie had tw6 brothers,
Wm afe.'W,C-' -XO tho SHU
-
mki both sober young
lard at their trades,
*v9e any time or money
Q to speud for pleasure.
v 1 - “But Bogue was their exact oppo¬
site. Volatilo and free, he had no
thought for the day or the morrow,
lie made the bestdie could of his life,
and tad ho complaint’ because exis
teuce was not a bed of thornless roses.
IDs bright, winsome ways made him
scores of friends. Men pre-occupied
t with business cares would go out of
their wily to do him a kindness, for
there was a phase of his life which the
brave little fellow never mentioned,
* hot Which half the town knew and
^pitied. Favorite that he was else¬
where, at borne lie was disliked. To
dhe mother, so ^refill of the other
( jjta Was unwelcome. ot j#
“The sweet, sunny nature, so much
5n need of the tender care of a mother’s
dove, was hurt and darkened at the be.
Hunbig ibid of its development; left to
■ ; grow crooked if it would;
Bjrn into paths the mother-love
■ carefully guard.
then; :-ln)uld
A days in his life? Tho
* 'jflever li
. ruined, and that :1m
fii' ■ 1 v. ;11ii:i liiin i rimnnlied.
B#ehoo! ggNioys lived he a.ul grew to..
was the bright
BH^^vorst of the lot. What
mischief he could not; devise was not
fcolhering wqrth attempting; what plans for
' his teachers be could not
■formulate were beyond the rest of us.
But with alt his daro.deviltry aud mis¬
chief, tliat reckless, merry hearted boy
carried in ids manly bosom the very
soul of honor. Generous to a fault,
he would willingly take the blame of
any prank if thereby his
should escupe. But there were
-things neither persuasion nor
• could iadaco him to do. And one
,;the master called on him for one
tthem.
l “There had been a prank of 'oi^ m
than usual magnitude played
waster: his desk had been 'lli open^M
Ms text-hboks hhldjm. ere
ominous gleam in his gray
*■
to
fcS!
sir,’ answered th
““Come up here.’
a
SPRUNG PLACE. GA.. THURSDAY. 0 !R 16, 1890.
wo $4 settle the ivno'.e trouble; but
A *Who'was. with you?’asked tho
toaster.
“The boy’s big eyes grew round
with astonishment and flashed with
'Doyo. ,M. t
I would fell yon that? You don’t
know rae -’
“tor an instant there was a silence
there like tho breathless hush ofQppalli. The pupils sat
and eager. The mas¬
ter Jl# grew ghastly pale; then his voice,
aid quivering with rage: ‘San¬
derson, I command you to tell me who
was with you.’
“ ‘I say I command you
“ ,‘l refuse to tel.l.’ \
“That was nineteen years ago, but
it seems as if but yesterday, so vivklly
do I recall the scene that followed.
The master stepped to his closet and
took down a long, green rawhide,
such as are used for riding-wifi;*
Tliere was a single cry, ‘For sliame;’
bu|he silenced it with a look of such
terrible malignity as I have never seen
iu another man’s eyes. The boy stood
waiting what he knew would be the
most awfn! beating the master could
inflict; but lie never flinched.
musclcs of his mouth assumed a set,
rigid expression, and the big biown
eyes blazed with indignation. That
war all.
“The master raised his whip- He
shook with uncontrollable passion.
‘I’ll teach yon to refuse' to obeyrne.’
Again aud again the lithe lash felL
With strength inspired by his terrible
auger the master swung his stinging
whip. It cut the voiceless air of the
school-room with shrill^hissing sounds,
and fell upon the back, tho shoulders,
tho limbs, the head, of the boy with
resounding, malignant vigor. For
fifteen minutes the pitiless whip fell,
The boy neither moved nor criqd out;
hut in his face was plainly .portrayed
the depths to which his soul was
stirred. . The boy was changing to the
man. That quarter of an hour marked
the transition period of his life. Tho
old. free spirit was cttrbbd*,:.'Theiraa*
terlul will became domipant.
“The little town rang with tho story
of tho wrong. Everybody was enlist¬
ed for the boy except the ones whose
sympathy aud help he had tho right to
demand. They alone turned against
him. Three days afterward he came
to me and, with tears in his eyes, bade
me good-by. He was going away—
where, he did not know; how, ho did
not care. His mother, lie said, had
discredited him; his brothers said lie
was wrong and deserved tho beating.
That night he went. Tho iron had
entered his soul, and he never for¬
got it.
“Gradually the affair was forgotten.
In a little country town like this such
things are not 'long remembered.
The boys grow up and scattered; and,
save an occasional chat over old times,
Bogae’s name was rarely mentioned.
“So eighteen years passed. One
day when I returned from a profes¬
sional call I found a man iu my office.
He was worn and seedy and ragged,
and he hod been drinking; he was
lying on the sofa, aud the fumes of
liquor filled the room.
“‘"What do you want?’ I asked
sharply.
“He sat up and gave me a quick,
startled glance from his brown eyes in
which there was something strangely
familiar. But I did not recognize him
until he said: ‘I didn’t think you’d re¬
member me, Dave. I’m Bogue.’
“ ‘My dear fellow, wi re have you
been?’
“Oh. I don’t snow. Nobody does;
sg flmg^kcarcs. I’m a tramp. Have
cr three
cares.’
got the opportunity and learned te!eg*
rapby. He lwd been gone fourteen
years and was grown to manhood,
when he was given a country station.
Tlicro the old, old story Was told
again. He fell in love with the
daughter of a business man, and be¬
came engaged to her.
‘“It was queer,’ ho went on, ‘how
the old longing for a home of my own
came back over me. How we planned
and arranged! Everything was ready,
and the wedding day was almost come.
I never dreamed of trouble; but,
Dave—the day we were to liavo been
married—she ran away with another
fellow. He had seemed a good friend
of mine, and had been helping me
with the arrangements.
“ ‘That uight I was wild. For the
first time in my life I got drunk. I
don’t know how it was, but when I
got her note it seemed as if I was on
fire. I went dawn to the office drunk.
Tho boys were astonished to see mo
so, but they had heard tho story and
understood. But, as if it were not
enough to have the dream of my life
ruined, I made a mistake in taking a
train order,and the train was wrecked.
A man was killed and a woman crip
pled for life. That night I went away,
I started out to walk, and I have
walked ever since. That was almost
three years ago.
“ ‘And here I am. You’re the first
man in all that time who has had a
good word for me. I went to see
the boys—my brothers, when I got
hero. You know how it used to be
with us. They would not speak to
me. No, there's no use of my trying
to brace up. I've tried it till I’m sick,
and it’s no go, so I guess I liad better
move on.’
“But I stopped hhn and made him
stay with me. That was about a year
ago. He stayed six weeks, aud grad
ually got back into something like fcis
old self. Bnt I could see that his treart
was gone, and that it was a stra
effort he was making. In those rix
weeks his brothers never spoke to him
ouce. Some: of Hie oltl friends wlio
were still here were really glad to see
him; bnt ho was very reticent, and
spent all the time with me.
“One day he said he was ready to
go to work again if ho could get the
chance. I had some influence in rail¬
road circles, and wo went down to
headquarters together. He was a fine
workman and thoroughly competent,
so thero was not much difficulty in
getting him a place. I went with him
out to liis station, and saw him fairly
installed before I came back, The
morning that I left him he gave me a
hearty hand-shake, and, [looking me
straight in the eyes, said, with quiver¬
ing lips: ‘Dave, old fellow, I’ll be a
man now.’ So I left him.
“He never wrote to me but I heard
of him occasionally* and always the re¬
port was a good one. He was keep,
ing steadily at his work—lost in it, it
seemed, for he never associated with
tho young men of the town. His
secret w$s bis own and he kept it.
“So it wont until, ten days ago, 1
got a message from him. He had been
hurt in an accident and wanted me. I
went nt once, hut there was no hope,
Tho poor boy w« beyond all human
Help, and it was merely a question of
time. He knew it, and was not afraid.
The old strength that I had seen in his
face when th# master so cruelly beat
him came back again. The promise of
his boyhood was f ulillled.
“I sat dqwn beside him, and he told
me how it happened. ‘I kept my
word, Dave,’ ho said. ‘Sometimes it
was pretty hard; but it’s over now.
It was a little lonesome out here at
times, too; hut that’s all right. I
went up to Brady’s station the other
day to see the agent there. We stood
platform, talking, while we
■Mtthe passenger to come in.
- ftlsj through special
passenger.
. ■fesi'nple ||k
.
mt until,
a prair; RE.
Graphic Description of the On
cominf of a Wall of Flame.
\ Fiery Ordeal Once Common
in a-^W-L
We alt sprung up to see one of the
saddle horses—a veteran In years and
experience—standing with his head
high in the air and pointed due west
While he looks as fixedly as if his; eyes
lmd lost their power to turn, his nos
trills quiver and dilate with excite¬
ment. iWe watch him a full minute.
He was,!the first to cxbihitjpWm, r\n- ' but
now one horse after anpt'.K 5 ows
up his head and looks to the west.
“It’sfire, boys!” , ,
Had'(t tlnj been night we Hadj^Pbce sliouM have
seen reflection. n a
strong wind tho odor w liave come
to us s<loner. There i gentle
breezoylanguishi ug, < wilder the
-•_» ■
fierce spn, but resurre hd given a
new 1) of life at intervalVhj' an un¬
known!power, siilokc Bnt now we can see
the driving heavenward and
shutting the blue of the west from our
visionyiiow the houses -show signs
that n; man could mistake. A groat
wall o | flame fifty miles in length is
rolling towards ns, fanned and driven
by a b eeze of its own creation, but
comma twij slowly and grandly. It takes
me or three minutes to climb to
tbs top of one of tho trees, and from
my derated position 1 can get a grand
view <r£ the wave of fire which is
drivir before It everything that lives,
? We work fast. Blankets are wet at
the spjing and hung up between the
trees <i> make a bulwark against the
spark/! secunh, and smoke, tho horses doublv
camp equipage piled up and
cover#, live aiid before we aiyi through
we visitors. Ten Ur twelve
buffaloes -JL...... come th —Jfc iftW* the
•* inlt and return, to its shelter,
' traps as
and sbowditg no fcai? rft one
present e. Next come three W four
antclof ;s, their bright eVcs bulging
out wil i fear, and their uostj jjs blow¬
ing ou the heavy odor with sharp
snorts. One rubs nguiust me aud licks
my hat d.
Yclri! Yelp! Here arc half a
dozen tvolves, which crowd among tho
buffalo :s aud trcmblo with terror, and
a scon of serpents raoo oyer the open
ground to seek a wet ditch which car¬
ries off’ the overflow of tho spring.
Last to come, and only u mile ahead
of the wave, which is licking up every¬
thing in its path, is a mustang—a sin¬
gle animal which has somehow been
separated from his herd.
He comes from the north, racing to
reach tho grove before the fire shall
cut him off, and ho runs for his life.
With hia ears laid baek, nose pointing,
and his eyes fixed on the gcal, hia pace
is that of a thunderbolt. He leaps
square over ono pile of camp outfit
and goes ten rods beyond before he
can check himself, Then fee comes
trotting hack and crowds between two
of our horses with a low whinny.
There is a roar like Niagara. The
smoke drives over us in a pall like,
jmidnight, .The ftir seems to he one
sheet of flame. The wave has swept
up to the edge of the bare ground, and
is dividing to pass us by. We are in
an oven. The horses snort, and cough
and plunge, the wolves howl and moan
as the heat becomes intolerable, Thus
for five minutes, and then relief
comes. Tho flamo has passed, and the
smoke is driving away. In this path
is a breeze, every whiff of which is an
elixir.
In ten minutes the grove is so clear
of smoke that we can see every foot of
earth again. A queer sight it is. It
has been tho haven of refuge for
snakes, lizards, gophers, prairie dogs,
rabbits, coyotes, wolves, antelopes,
deer, buffaloes, horses and men—
enmitr, antipathy anil hunger sup¬
pressed for the nonce that gll plight
live—that each might escapo the fiend
pursuit, r
half an hour nothing moves.
10 nustang flings up hJ s bead,
last of tho smoke from his
|d l. starts The buffaloes of with ft flourish
go next,
| the autelopo left follow, and
■to we are alone.
■ miles to the north, west
■Ke is nothing but biack
Hi>9 of despair. Away
§§|®Wl of fire is still mov-
Vol. X. New Series. NO. 37
mg on and on, implacable, relentless,
a fiend whose harvest is death, and
whose trail is destruction and desola¬
tion.—[Detroit Free Press.
How the Dog Found the Handkerchief,
Can anyone match the following as
an instance of canine intelligence? A
party of children had spent the fore¬
noon in a huckleberry pasture. A dog
belonging to a Mr. Prindle, father of
one of the children, had been with
them. (It he was like a dog I know,
he had hunted out a patch of black¬
berries, and had gone into business,
picking and eating on his own account.)
Upon their reaching home, it appeared
that the Prindle girl had lost her pock¬
et handkerchief. The dog, being a
remarkable animal, and up to such
tricks, was sent back to find it. He
came home after a while, dispirited
and without the missing article. As
it wonld never do to allow a prece¬
dent like this to become established,
the owner went back with tiio animal
to the held, and waited to see that he
properly performed his task.
He was at first reluctant, and sat on
his haunches for several minutes in a
state of evident mental dejection.
Suddenly he started up, all alert, with
tho air of having solved the problem,
and what he did was this; He took his
position a rod or so from the outside
wall, and mado a swift circuit of tho
entire field, keeping that distance from
its boundaries. Returning to bis start
ipg point, ho took ft new course a rod
or two iusido his former one, and sur¬
rounded the field again as before. His
next course was at the same distance
inside that, and so kept on, till, as
must in time inevitably happen, ho
found the handkerchief and gave it to
his master.
I have to confess that there is an
element of tradition about tho story of
Mr. JMndlc’s dog, in this respect, that
it belonged to a former generation,
and that, while my informant—him¬
self of that generation, and acquaint
cd with ^pth master and dog—held it
as an 'qliguestionable fact, I cannot
now absolutely verily.—[Christian
Union.
Making Bottles by Machinery.
It is stated that a new process for
making all classes of glass bottles by
machinery has recently been perfected
and patented by Mr. Samuel Washing¬
ton of Harpurhey, Manchester. The
patentee claims that bottles are by this
propess of manufacture finely to be
produced at onc-quartor tho cost of la¬
bor, besides a better finished article
being the result. Tho bottle is made
completely in one operation, in place
of two, as formerly. Thus the delicate
operation of putting on the neck,
which'requires considerable skill and
lengthy experience, will bo obviated,
and must of necessity result in au im¬
mense saving in its cost. It is claimed
to effect a suving in this respect of
from 50 to 70 per ceut. Small articles,
such as medicals and that class
wares which are imported from the
Continent, will ho produced at a cost
which will meet Continental competi¬
tion.
Harvesting Slam’s Chief Crop.
When the vine is ready for cutting
in Siam it looks very much like an
American oat or wheat field. If tho
land is dry it is cut with sickles, and
stacked similar to American wheat.
When the waters are slow in going
down the farmer* sometimes move
the fields in boats and cut off
the heads of the rice and put them in¬
baskets. The thrashing is done by
or oxen, A dry place is first
out for a thrashing floor. The
is out off and the ground is made
and level, a coat of plaster of
manure and water being spread
aver it to make it solid.
He Is Better Off.
'Father (at the breakfast table to
Henry)—9q, even roast veal is
good enough for you! When I
a little boy like you I had to be
with soup meat and potatoes
Little Henry—Well, then, pa, you
certainly bo glad that you are
with WS and better off—[Wasp.
The Widest Plaak on Earth.
“The widest plank on earth," is on
exhibition at the railroad depot in this
city. It was cut at the Elk River mill
and is sixteen feet in width. It will
be among the Humboldt exhibits at
the world’s fair iu Chicago—[Hum¬
boldt (Oregon - ) Standard.
In the M oods,
How calm and cool
This sylvan pool,
Where water lilies bloom and tremble;
The men'in green
Must oft, I ween,
Tor merry mischief here assemble 1
Gay scarlet crests
Above brown nests
Are through the branches pertly peeping,
Lost aught should dare
To venture where
Their warmly nestled young are sleeptug.
The southern breeze
Sighs through the trees
To those who idly sit aud listen;
The forest flowers
With summer showers
So softly in the sunlight glisten.
The hazy air
With per.umes rare
Steals to the senses faintly blended;
Dame Nature may
This perfect day
1 or Tan s delight have sole intended.
—[New Orleans Picayune.
HUMOROUS.
‘Ladies in waiting”—Old maids.
An ocean greyhound should bo hark
rigged.
A Plain Dealer—A seller of prairie
real estate.
Song of the woodehopper—“He’s a
Jolly Good Feller."
It is having tho wind blow them up
that makes the waves so wild.
V
The laborer with the crowbar gener¬
ally takes pried in his business.
It requires no self-denial for a
pawn-broker to keep the pledge.
All things come to him who waits,
if the hungry man is patient aud tips
the waiter.
“Our band was in a smashup last
night.” “Any bonos broken?” “Two
trombones,”
If a husband and wife are one, is
the man beside himself when ho stands
by his wife?
If delays are dangerous, the legal
profession contains the pluckiest men
iu the world.
The best naturod man down town is
the man who has women folks at home
to grumble at.
Others dislike to be frightened; hut
the lion enjoys it when his hart comes
up to his mouth.
Sunday school teacher—“Is youi
fathor aChristain?” New pupil—“No,
m’am. He ia aa ice dealer.”
“Why do you call that group of
middle-aged ladies on the piazza an
atomists?” “Because they are always
cutting up pooplo.” I
He—“Wonld you like to hear mo
‘In the Sweet By and By,’ Miss
She (sweetly)—“Yes Hen.
but not before.”
“You are looking pretty hard this
said the lettuce to the egg.
“Yes,” answered the egg. “I am just
gettiug over a boil.” *
“IIow does yonr girl treat you,
John?” asked tho mother. ‘‘She
doesn’t treat me at all, mother; I am
obliged to treat her every time.”
Every man should have an aim in
lifts, hut ho shouldn’t spend too mueb
time aiming. The quick shot gets the
clay pigeon when the trap is sprung.
Enlisted—“I understand you are en.
to Miss Long?” “Yes; my
first engagement”. “Your first?”
“Yes; I never smelled powder be
fore.”
A young lady sent to a newspaper a
poem entitled, “I cannot make Mm
smile.” The editor ventured to ex
press an opinion that she would hare
succeeded had she shown Mm the
poem.
“Oh. look at those big waves,” said
the girl at the seashore; “those are
breakers,aren’t they,pa?” “Yes,” said
the old gentleman, as he gazed at the
hotel bill, “they are breakers.”
Dumpsey—“I say, Blobson, who is
the closest personal friend you have
in the world?” Blobson—“Shycash.
is so close that I have never sue.
in borrowing a red cent from
him.”
She—“Don’t you think you had beb*
ter have a shine? Yonr shoes are very
dingy.” He—“Why, they don’t need
it—they are patent leather.” Bho—
“The patent must have expired; you
had better get it renewed.”
American millionaire (in Paris,
proudly)—“My daughter is being
waited upon by a duke.” Old
Traveler—“Well, dukes
lent waiters. There are
them in our restaurant, too.”