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srap SSI ** 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.”