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WRITTEN IN RED
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-OR-
THE CONSPIRACY IN THE NORTH CASE,
(A Story of Boston.)
BY CHAS. HOWARD MONTAGUE AND G* W. DYAR.
CHAPTER X, CONTINUED.
Mr. Thomas walked toward Beollaj
Square in deep reflection.
“Servant or some one in hiding,” he
querrled. “One or the other, assuredly.
If aeservant, we must look for another
motive than any Lamm and I have con
sidered. If some one in hiding, protected
at the house by so me other person know
ing of the crime, then it is all the more
necessary that Swairpsoott should be
watched. I may have to leave town. If
so, Lamm most be kept informed.”
By this time Mr. Thomas had reached
the borders of the district where life is
stirring, night as well as day.
It was late, bnt not so late that the
hackmen, always inclined to social pro
pinquity, were not still to be found in
their accustomed haunts.
By all the groups gathered in smoky
“all night” restaurants, or talking over
the merits and demerits of their respec
tlve teams, Thomas was welcomed by a
friend of long standing.
He toot their chaffing about the out
ward end visible signs of his wetting
with charactej istic good humor; and be
tween repartees that brought a broad,
grin to the faces of his associates
managed to intioduce certain terse ques
tlons as to the matter in hand.
‘ Eastern depot? Why Big Jim had a
faro from there to night. Here, Big Jim,
leave oil your palaver with ths dames at
that table a moment and come and see
Thomas!’’
Ubedieht to the summons, with ready
good will, Big Jim nodded to the re
porter, and was presently seated with
him at a conference carried on by both
parties in an undertone.
“The fare was a woman, Thomas.”
“A woman is what I'm looking for.”
“Well, this one was so wrapped up I
couldn’t make much of her looks; bnt I
will say this, she wasn’t old, and she was
scared at something or other almost to
death.”
“Where did yon take her, Jim?”
“To the Albany.”
“To the Albany!” Thomas's face fell.
•‘Yes, sir; jest there. She said to me in
aqnick sort of a way, like as if fright
ened at something, ‘Hackman,won’t yon
please take this money and buy me a
ticket for Hartford?’ To be sure 1 would,
and did, old man. The woman was all
ot a tremble when I put the ticket and
change in her hand. She mumbled out
something or other—thank you, 1 sop-
post—and ran to the train, although she
bad iittesn minutes to spare: that eleven
o’clock express, you know. Something
wrong with her, of course?”
“I don’t know that, Jim,” answered
Thomas, cautiously. “I guess she can't
be tbe pars >n 1 wanted after all.”
“The two parted excellent friends as
always. For an hour or more the re
porter worked at bis desk. Then he curled
up in his chair for a nap, impressing upon
one of the “Dight owls” there on duty to
wake him at 4 45 without fail.
When the gong clashed at Albany sta
tion at five tbe next morning, among the
passengers on that early train — well-
named “accommodation” — was Mr.
Tnomas. In one haDd be held a copy of
lbs city edition of the morning Boston
Globe. The other held a ticket to Hart
ford.
It was 10 30 before the Charier Oak city
was rescued. Mr. Thomas's first efforts
brought him into contact with the Jehus
of the Connecticut capital.
It was not at ail a difficult matter to
find tbe whereabouts of tbe solitary hack
driver who waited for a chance passenger
on the night train; bat Tom Ludlow was
asleep, and tbe reporter found the time
on his hauds tunil noon.
“How are you, sir?” said Ludlow,
stretching himself and yawning as be
met the enquirer who bad been waiting
for his awakening. Both were at the
door of the hotel stable. “A lady fair?
Yes. She’s safe enough. Friend of
yours—relative?”
Mr. Thomas thereupon set forth, with
much earnestness, that he had missed the
young woman through an unavoidable
accident, that they were going to a
friend in Hartford, and that he had been
much disturbed over tbe fact that she
had been obliged to make the journey at
night alone.
“Naturally,” be said in closing, “I am
anxious enough about her. she’s a timid
S lrl; too young to be out alone like this.
,ut I couldn’t help it. I hope you be
stowed her safely somewhere. At her
friend's, I suppose?”
The coachman flicked a fly off the post
near which he was stauding with great
accuracy. ,
‘•You are wrong there. Her friends
were out of town. The girl did not know
what to do: cried and took on. Course I
felt sorrv for her, and I drove her to the
hotel. linowlDg the night clerk, 1 just
said a word in ms ear that the lady was
all right, and he gave her a room. Cu
rlous, though, why she’d wrap herself up
so! I didn't get a peep at her face at
fell.”
“She’s not been well at all recently.
Fact Is, the journey was partly taken on
account of her health,” answered the re
porter. “Bnt I am greatly indebted to
you for the kindness jou nave shown her
under these unfortunate circumstances.
Here's a two dollar hill to prove it. Take
it, man; it’s ail right. And now where is
the lady?”
low,
tered — _ .
The clerk will Hod ou. for you whether
she Is up yet. She looked tired enough
when she went to her room, 1 can tell
yOU.'*
The City Hotel register bore the name
and tbe clerk listened with professional
courtesy to Mr. Thomas’s statement of
tbe case .. , .
“We’ve not seen her yet,” he said.
‘•Very likely, however, she may be up
and dressed by this time. I will send up
your card if you wish. Front! ’
Mr Thomas, taking a blank card from
the pigeon hole, wrote hurriedly the fol
lowing name, which a bell boy soon car
ried to room X:
Mb. Willi am G. Waterson.
“Whoever she may be, she will be
frightened, I suppose, » t .
elaborate name,” Tnomas thought. But
1 mutt see her at all hazards.”
In a moment the boy had returned,
bearing the card In hie band.
“I knocked two or three times, sir,
nrettv loud, but couldn’t make any one
answer,” he said. “There wasn’t a sound
In the room that I could hear. ’
The sudden look of alarm on Thomas s
face wee not lost upon theclerk. He
danced at tbe clock, and noted that the
hands pointed at half past twelve.
“Tell the chambermaid of the floor to
open the room,” he said.
While the order was being carried out,
Thomas stood motionless at the desk, the
P 7t , w«^X P m P ^™S?d°her.elfwho
came to the office with the key of room
^‘•Thero’s'no’ one in the roo™.”£|> e <1®
with eagerness. “The bed dm
SSbmm Meptin, and tbe woman must
have stolen away daring the night.
Mr Thomas looked blankly into the
clerk’s face. A very alight lifting of the
shoulders was the only oomment of that
^Tne reporter caught its meaning,
“The poor girl must be out of her head,
and is wandering about somewh«ure,” he
■aid. “Permit me to pay the bill for her
Earing.”
“Should she chance to return while I
-«■« away,” he added, "you wiU detain
wg. i am sue, oourtooualy, bat firmly.
How unfortunate! How very unfortun-
<s barely possible that the lady may
have been frightened away, if she was
In a state of nervous prostrUlon as you
intimate*” remarked the clerk, more cor-
SatamaEneTnow that the Utflem®
count tor the night’s lodging had been
settled. “Bnt upon my word, I cannot
understand wby. There were only five
or six other guests on the floor, and they
^ moWr!"fn^mls^k hlmrolf
to the neighborhood of the etaWe, end
was fortunate enough to find Ludlow
then, making ready tor his accustomed
call at the railway depot.
«who wen In the office when yon left
tbe young lady last night?” he asked.
* Can yon recollect? 1
Ludlow pondered a moment.
“Let me see. The night clerk. The
njght porter.”
• Of course. Anybody else?”
“Why, yes. Stern was there—Officer
Stern. A policeman, yon know. Merely
having a friendly ebst with the clerk.”
“Da you think tbe lady noticed him?’
“May be so— nay be. Anyhow, Stern
noticed her. We all did. How could we
beip it? Muffled op, nervous, hurrying
off to her room.”
Quite certain that in this unexpected
apparition of the policeman, he had
found the cause of the disappearance of
the fugitive, Tnomas S9tout ones more
on bis search.
Toe first trace of what might perchance
prove to be the fugitive was found, half
an hour later, at a little restaurant much
frequented by early markebnen not far
from tbe wa'orside.
“Ye., a woman like yon describe came
here about four o'clock this morning,”
answered, to Thomas’ inquiries, the old
man who kept the place. “She took a
cup i f coffse and a sandwich and asked
me the road to Windsor Locks. Avery
pleasant spoken female. She thankeu
me kindly through her veil when I
showed her. I told her she had better sit
down and rest awhile; that the streets
and roads were no place for a woman at
till: t hour. Then, if you’li believe it, she
started np and ran away. She took that
street yonder towards East Hartford
bridge. 1 had half a mind to call after
her mat she wai golne the wrong way if
she wanted to get to Windsor Locks, but
she was ont of sight before a cat could
wink, and 1 couldn’t leave the shop. Out
of her head, yon tell me? Poor creetur!”
Tue street which the reporter now fol
lowed led directly tn the river and tbe
bridge separating the busy capital from
the quiet village of East Hanford.
A sudden thought as he approached the
stream sent a chili to hiB heart. He
stopped at the boathouse to ask if any
body had been seen to pass during the
night, but no watch bad been kept. After
most perplexing uncertainty for several
moments, Thomas decided to cross the
river and seek for developments in tbe
little town beyond.
A milk wagon was jogging on to the
accompaniment of jlugiiag cans, as
Tnomas turned into tne broad main
street. It halted at a pleasant farm
house not far from tbe river.
Just hack from tbe city?” asked
Thomas of tbe pleasant loosing man,
with sun tanned, hairy face, as he laid
the reins over the back of his well-fed
bay.
Yes, sir. It takes a goodish while to
make my rounds.”
Pardon my question, but it is one of
great Interest and importance to me.-
When did you set out?”
‘A little after four.”
‘And did you chance to meet a woman
all wrapped up ii a cloak, on your way
over?”
Ah!” answered the milkman, inter
ested at ouce ‘‘I told Jim there was
something queer about her. Yes, I did
see her, and stopped her, too, just about
where you are standing now, sir.”
“Tbe poor woman is not responsible
for wbat she is doing,” said Thomas. “I
am seareniug for her now.”
Ah!” Tue milkman smacked his lips
in bis eagerness. “Take her in charge,
eh?”
Thomas nodded.
“Wed, sir, Hbe is as quick a traveler
afoot as I ever see, mau or woman; and
goodness only knoWB where she n.s got
lo by th:s time. It was so uncommon to
see suen a figure that I took a pretty
close note of ner harrying along from the
bridge, and I pat myself right in tne way
alio: a sudden on purpose. She gave a
little frightened scream, and put out her
hand to me appealing line. It was a s
wbite a hand as 1 ever see, sir; she’s
never had any rough work to do, I’ll be
bound, poor thing! ’
“ ‘I’m not meaning you any harm,’ I
says to her, wmle Jim, like an idiot,
stood staring at her over the gate with
his month open. ‘But for a young woman
like you to be racing along mad like at
this nour of tbe night, it isn’t exactly the
right thing, is It, raise? I. pee It to you
frankly, you know.’ She clasped her
hands despairingly, and said, ‘You don't
know! You can’t know! Do not try to
stop me, for mercy’s sake!’ But I see tbe
joor thing was wellnign togged out, and
i just took her arm and walked her into
the kitchen, where my good woman stood
quite dumbfounded. ‘ Sit you down
mere,’ 1 says, putting her into a chair at
the table. Breakfast hadn’t been cleared
away, as good luck would have it.
‘Wife,’ says 1, ‘give the girl as good a
warm meal as yon’ve got. Now you must
eat and drink; you must make out a good
breakfast,’ I says, shaking my bead at
the girl, ‘or 1 shan’t let you go. . If you
don’t want us to look ai you, all right;
we'll keep away. But whatever your
errand, you need strength to carry it
out.’ ”
Thomas was listening with impatient
eagerness, bat he could not forbear a
word of sincere thanks.
“Don’t mention it,” said the farmer.
“Who could 'a done different? Weil, to
make a long story short, 1 watched ber
eat, bnt 1 must Bay a canary bird might
have made out a oigger breakfast than
did this frightened, trembling creature.
We begged ner to stay and rest, wife aud
I, but sne woudn’t hear of it; and, after
thaukiog us both like a lady, she set out
Burnside way, and Jim ana 1 wont over
t’ the city. Poor girl I Oat of her bead?
Well, well, tell yon what: better get a
team somewhere. Stte’a far ahead, you
know.” - , ,
No better advice could be offered or fol
lowed. In a few momenta Thomas was
driving tbe fastest borne the village liv
ery stable afforded; and clouds of reddish
dust marked his rapid progress east
ward.
He heard of the fugitive twice.
Once she had stopped to drink at a
wayalde well, and a group of children
bad watched her as she rested a moment
and then went on, closely cloaked and
veiled, though the morning was sultry.
Once she had stopped at a farmer's
door for a glass ot milk—for a sick trav
eler in the road above, she had said, in
hurried explanation—bringing the glass
back after a moment with faintly-spoken
yet earnest thanks.
As his horse slackened his pace just as
_ difficult sandy hill was being Bur-
mounted, Thomas’ glance, taking in the
broad expanse of landscape, brilliant
under the rays of tbe westering sun
caught sight of a solitary woman's figure
on a slope to the left.
Tne roads crossed just at the summit of
the bill; and, urging his horse to the ut
most, Tnomas soon came within view of
the figure again; this time not far away.
Dta the unknown Journeyer have some
premonition that she was pursued? It
would seem so, for she started like a
hunted creature as the sound of rapidly
roiling wheels drew nearer, and ran Into
tho thick wood that skirted one side of
the road aa if In desperate search of
refuge.
Thomas leaped from his carriage and
was at her side in an Instant. His touch
on her shoulder seemed to paralize all
power of motion.
She gave a stifled cry. The long cloak,
already tangled in the thicket, fell to her
feet. With a last vain effort to go on,
she staggered and reeled.
As she fell, fainting and worn, in his
arms, the veil that had concealed her
features for so many a weary hoar be
came freed from its fastenings and
drifted away.
“Good heavensl” Thomas almost gave
way himself in the shock of discovery
and the following revulsion of feeling.
“Stalls North!”
CHAPTER XL
Reporter Thomas had no time to oon
struct theories to account tor what had
happened. For whatever reason, Stella
North was the woman ha had unwitting
ly followed, and Stella North was the wo
man who now lay In his 'arms, as devoid
of life, to all appearances, aa the twigs
upon which her dainty tost wars drag
ging. He looked into her face for the
moment with helpless irresolution. Tho
dictates of common humanity would
have impelled him to pity her, bnt it
no ordinary pity that filled his soul on
this occasion. Ha had been aware ever
alneethedayshe flashed upon him that
appealing glanoe as her sister was lead-
lag bar from the room at Swspipeoott, of
a peculiar Interest more romantic and
tender, perhaps, than be as a matter-of-
fact man waa free to admit to himself.
Bnt tho present emergency demanded
prompt action. He could sea plainly
enough that it waa not merely fright that
had caused ter to lose consciousness.
Nature had bestowed upon her a face
charming in its natural roundness of out
line and ready alwsys to break into dim
pled smiles; but, alas! horror and depri
vation of sleep and food had wrought a
wicked change in a few days.
As she lay with her head thrown back,
ber lioa parted, her eyes cloaed, her hair
straying recklessly about her temples,
she looked as if she had just died after a
g ainful illness. Thomas hastened with
er out of the sight of possible cariosity.
A few steps brought him deep enough
into a protecting wood tbat fringed the
roadside, and here, in tbe leaves beneath
the trees where tbe biros were singing,
he laid her gently down. His experience
ia tbe art of restoring fainting women to
consciousness bad been extremely lim
ited, but he believed in the efficacious
ness or alcohol, and always carried when
traveling for use in an emergency a flask
of brandy. A little of this strong remedy
poured down the throat halt strangled
tne victim, but it awoke her. Her eyes
opened and ahe regarded him languidly.
He had seen a dying bird look just that
way.
“Come, Min North, yon feel better
now, don’t you?” he said, awkwardly, as
he supported her head upon his arm.
And then when a sodden betrayal of fear
and shame surged Into her wbite cheeks
he hastened to add: “There, now, tbeie a
nothing to be afraid of. Not tbe least in
the world.”
She made an effort to disengage herself
and to arise, but she was very weak, and
she only sank biok again with apathetic
sigh.' The teats came into her eyes at
once, and she was unable to conceal her
weakness or to check it. Faster and fast
er they chased each other down her
cheeks. Her face was wet with them.
Tnomas watched hor with increasing
consternation. He who had time and
again passed, apparently unmoved,
through the most terrible and beartreud
ing of scenes, had now to make a gr as
eliort to retain control o! himself. But
as a matter ot fact it is improbable thrt
the girl detected any evidences or agita
tioa in his naturally imperturbable coun
tenance.
“Come, Miss North,” he murmured,
“this will never do. You mnst not give
way like this. Don't despair. If there
is anything wrong, you may depend upon
me to help you &U 1 can.”
“Oh, it s not 1 who need the help,” she
moaued, quite light-headed by reason of
her long sutt'eriugs; aDd grasping bur
sleeve with her little hano she exclaimed
Wltn suddOD, passionate intensity, “Oh,
don’t let them arrest ner. Don't let them
bang her. Marlon never could have done
it in her right mind. She was out of her
nend, you know. You are sure she was,
are you not?”
This unexpected entreaty was a sur
prise, but it was a most welcome oue to
Tnomas. He bad not had an opportuni
ty for deliberate tuought sines he had
recognised who it was that had thrown
away the uncompromising weapon with
tne suspicious sinuogd upon it, and fled
from the North vi.la in the most damag
ing of circumstance!; but in a vague,
general way, his h< art had been con
scious of the weight of the accepted theo
ry that she was in some way Implicated
in the dark work of the tragedy. Aud
now these wild, hysterical words, deliver
ed undcT the pressure of her overstrung
emotions, gave him more than a hope
tuat she was Innocent of any part in the
hideous crime.
Innocent! How coaid anybody look
upon tnis child and doubt her innocence?
Reporter Tnomas certainly could not,
anu he gave up trying to, with a feverish
alacrity that was not entirely character
istic of cim. Comprehending enough of
the situation to enable him to act intelli
gently, he began at once a long attempt
to 8co.be her. And bebolu anotber
miracle! This Btern mau, whose stoicism
was the wonder of bis associates, had
suddenly become as patient, as gentle,
and as delicate as a woman. He smoothed
her hair. He wiped away her tears. He
lndnctd her to take a little more of tne
branjy. By repeatedly assuring her tbat
her sister was lu no danger, and atter-
waros, by turning her attention to other
things, he brougnt her once more into a
condition of sanity. Sue was not per
nutted to test her strength upon her feet,
but sue sat up against a tree, and began
to regard ber companion with great,
round, wistful eyes, with an air of min
gled timidity aud impulsive confidence.
“And now, Miss North,” said Tnomas,
at last, “It is absolutely necessary tbat 1
should leave you lor a few minutes. Will
; rou promise me not to stir till 1 return?
! will be gone just as short a time rs poa-
elole.” f »
“You are so kind,” she said, faintly.
If it is for me you are going, I hope,
really, you won’t trouble yourself. In a
tew minutes I snail be stronger and can
go on.”
“We’ll talk about that after I come
back,” he said, cheerfully. “And mean
time I have your promise not to stir?”
' Since you are so good I can refute yon
nothing,” she returned, wearily, and
closed ner eyes.
Thomas was off at an energetic pace.
He flrst tied his horse to a tree, and then
ran ou to tbe nearest farmhouse. A weli-
to do-looking woman, with a sunny face,
appeared at the door in answer to nls
knock.
‘Madam,” said Thomas, hastily, “I
have to apologise for my unexpected call.
Due, tne fact is, I am iu great need of
food—the best you have and plenty of it.
i’ll pa>—anything. Only let me have it
at once.”
But I can’t,” said the woman; “I
haven't a thing in the house to eat!”
“But 1 mast have something,” exclaim
ed Thomas; “if it is nothing but milk
and water. Tbe case is veiy urgent.
Here, do what you can for me.”
He thrust a five dollar bill in to the good
woman’s hand. She thrust it back
promptly.
“Here, I don’t want your money,” she
said, rather stiffly. “Such as 1 have
you’re welcome to. Com« in.”
She led the astonished Thomas into an
ample pantry, whlcn was in a condition
of neatness that waa almost painful.
But it needed no power of divination to
oelermine that it was the pride of the
good woman’s life, and the shelves fairly
groaned wltfi good things. Not a thing
iu the house to eatl Thomas was dumb
with delighted amazement.
“Well,” said the housewife, evidently
enjoying the condition of stupefaction to
which she had j educed him, ‘ do yon see
anything yon’d like? If so, yon are wel
come.”
The—the fact is,” stammered Thomas,
“I wish you’d let me pay for it. I—I—
you see I might carry away a little more
than I’d like to; for the fact is I’ve got a
friend just back here in the woods; and
she—he’s starving to deatn.”
The woman laughed outright. Of
course, she did not believe that anybody
was dying for tbe want of food in this
land of plenty. Tbe best Thomas could
do was to effect a compromise. The wo
man accepted “a dollar for the heathen.”
Thomas took away ail he could well
carry.
(To be Continued.)
The Hat of a Century.
TOR A HUNDRED YEARS THE “PLUG”
HAS BEEN THE STYLE.
It Owes Its Existence to Philosopher
Beniamin Franklin—Some of the Fa-
' nous Men Who Have Sported the Bea-
v«r and Stovepipe.
When Benjamin Franklin arrived in
Paris as commissioner of the American
colonies his plain Quaker hat with its
broad brim and low crown mnst have
seemed strange to the men he met- at
the gay French court, over which the
THESE HATS WERE PICTURESQUE,
unfortunate Austrian queen presided
while her good natured, if weak, hus
band played childishly with the seeth
ing fires cf the groat volcano under his
feet. For round about the American
were the cocked hats, bordered with lace
and sometimes trimmed ‘.vith softly
waving plumes, which swept aud waved
as tlie courtiers greeted and flattered
eaclf other. Yet Franklin’s hat, a sur
vival as it was of those Puritan hats
which were a protest against the follies
and fashions of a court as foolish and as
fashionable as that of. Louis XVI, was
destined to furnish the idea from which
w;is elaborated a hat wb-ivii has now
been in use for a century and which will
probably be worn so long as men shall
remain as t hey are now. The silk, the
plug, the high, tho beaver, or the dress
hat, for it is called by all these names,
may fairly be said to celebrate its cen
tennial in this year of 1890.
The popularity of Franklin, and still
more that of the country he represent
ed, was indicated by the style of hat
which was seen during the early part of
the French revolution. But, curiously
enough, it was in England that th9
heaver hat was to find its true home. It
was at first looked upon as indicating
revolutionary tastes in its owner, and on
this account Catharino II of Russia
would have none of it among her sub
jects. When, however, Napoleon I de
clared Rimself emperor of the French
and trampled out under the feet of his
guards the last embers of the Terror his
enmity to England caused a hat which
had at one time been popular among the
sans culottes to be at once adopted. Na
poleon himself wore tile cocked hat,
which thereby became especially French
and added to the English desire to wear
something radically different.
TIIESE COVERINGS ARE COMFORTABLE.
Tlie bearer hat, so called because the
body after being made of felted rabbit
fnr was covered with the fur of the flat
tailed dam builders, was iu general out
line like the silk hat of today: that is,
it possessed a brim and A crown. Bnt
the variations demavde Jg v faction pro
duced wonderful ,i:e appear
ance of tlie hat as v tlie Vim was made
wider or less wide, the crown was given a
fuller or smaller bell. The constitutional
convention whose centennial we all cele
brated last year was attended by men
who wore hats looking something like
square topped Derby bodies placed on the
brims of exaggerated Texan sombreros.
These were not beavers, but may be
numbered among tlie grandfathers of
those hats which sheltered the heads of
the men who volunteered for the war of
1813. Gen. Jackson in private life wore
a hat with a bell crown and a rolling and
rather narrow brim, on which the beaver
fur made a long, brownish nap. This
nap, by the way, was believed to bo of
sovereign benefit when one had cut one s
finger and was applied as lint to stop the
flow of blood.
This particular form of hat is familiar
enough to us iu the cartoons of the day,
for it is the “Grandfather's Hat” so of
ten associated with President Harrison,
it was a good, solid article, warranted
to wear well if properly made. Strange
as it looks now it was fashionable
enoflgli then, and doubtless the “bloods,”
as the “dudes” of the early part of the
century were called, were well enough
satisfied with their appearance.
When Bolivar struck the blow which
liberated the South American countries
from the control of Spain the fashiona-
Sparrows Tlo Up a Clock,
It is an old and rather exaggerated
assertion that some people are “ugly
enough to stop a clock.” While this re
mains to he proved it is an established
fact that the ingenious little sparrow
has performed the feat. The town clock
at Sarnia, Ont., stopped the other morn
ing and a man on going to ascertain the
cause, fonnd that the hands had been
securely tied down by strands of twine
and grass. . The mischief had been done
by a pair of English sparrows, who had
selected the angle formed by the hands
&s a site for a nest. The movements of
the hauds interfered with their plans,
and the birds put their wits to work to
devise a remedy that would secure the
stability of the nest.
Their first scheme was to wind the
shaft on which the hands are pivoted
round and round with grass and cords.
That failing, they tied the hands to each
other and to the framework in such a
manner that it took considerable time
and a great deal of labor to remove the
obstructions. The engineering skill dis
played -by the birds in accomplishing
their object showed that tjjey possessed
reasoning power of no mean order, be
sides an amount of industry and perse
verance in gathering the material within
the few hours at their disposal ..that is
almost incredible.
Throe-fourths of your ailments arise
from liver troubles which Simmons
Liver Regulator corns. i
covering with it a body or musnn stur-
ened with shellac varnish. The silk hat
speedily drove out the beaver from - gen
eral use, although the latter has not been
set aside yet and is sometimes seen in
our streets worn by a very old man who
is conservative or a very young man
who is loud.
The “Charge of the Light Brigade”
during that war which Louis Napoleon,
or rather the Duke de Morny, provoked,
in order to consolidate-the Second Em
pire, was made by men, many of whom
when at home wore hats which have
fixed the nickname of “stovepipes” on
high hats for the generation now passing
away. Perfectly straight up and down,
high and perfectly flat in the brim, they
K
CUT THESE ARE IN STYLE,
ble liat was something like that which
we wear today; that is, in shape, for
the material was still beaver fur. In
fact, the shapes worn by those bygone
dandies were to all intents and purposes
those of last year, this or next. But
beaver skins became more and more ex
pensive, and to take their place the cot
ton plush—called Angora plush—was in
vented somewhere about the year 1825.
As this was cheap the purchase of high
hats became far more common, and the
plush did not look badly for a few
months. The fur hat, however, was the
fashionable hat still; such a hat, for ex
ample, as that given to Henry Clay by
the hat makers of Brooklyn, with a nar
row brim and a tremendously high
crown having a wide bell at the top.
This hat was black, and when it was
presented to Mr. Clay was believed to be
as perfect as a hat could be made.
Calhoun wore a Panama, as did many
of the southern gentlemen of his time,
wide brimmed and having yean of wear
in it. But when he cam# to a Washing
ton he gave way to tho power of the
high hat and added a beaver to his col
lection. Daniel Webster always wore a
beaver except during his vacation days
at Marshfield, and the pattern of his hat
is still preserved. It was wide and flat
in the brim with a moderately high
crown and but little hell in tho shape.
Webster’s hat was of silk, the material
now used, and the style was first shown
in a hat made by Townsend in London
in 1839. He utilised the silk plush
which had heed tovojdted in Prance,
llJETinBllIgmiWWBgHW.
EVOLUTION OF THE SALOON PLUG HAT.
resembled nothing so much as a section
of sheet iron pipe. But the young men
who left the drawing rooms and rushed
to India as fast as transport or troop
ships could carry them when the news
of the mutiny set tha civilized world in
flame, wore hats which were almost
curiously unlike those of 1834. Brims
that rolled until they touched the hand
and hells that overshadowed the hrims,
with long front and rear pieces, were
the style then. In some of tho old prints
of the Relief of Lucknow hats like these
are seen on the heads of as gallant men
as ever howed. Havelock wore a cap
with a fluttering cape of linen, still
called by his name, hanging down be
hind to protect tho neck.
The civil war in this country came at
a time when the “stovepipe'’ hat was
once more popular. Tho style seems odd
as one looks at the old pictures of Lin
coln and Seward and Stanton and
Chase, those giants who carried on the
government during that period of trial.
Lincoln wore a hat which was rather
high, with a straight brim and crown:
at the beginning of tho war when all
the days of trial were before him, and
when the great news caine of peace at
last the hat was the same. Twice during
the four years the fashion had changed,
but we may well believe that the war
president had no time to notice tho style.
Davis, of the Confederacy, wears a soft
felt in many of the pictures which are
extant of him at the time. And when
the German army corps drove the
French before them and girdled Paris
as with an ever tightening belt of steel
the mode had run once more to the ex
treme bell with the rolled brim.
Steadily since its first introduction
the high hat lias made its way until now
it holds a place from which it cannot lie
lightly shaken. It is tho “dress hat,”
and, more than that, it is the respectable
hat. Solid men like it and, oddly
enough, fashionable men are not willing
to give it up. Many judges of headgear
hold that it is after all the best hat in
the world, and declare that it will never
be supplanted. But while the man of
the town admires the “silk” his liking for
it is as nothing to the devotion felt by the
ragamuffin for the “plug hat.” This is
indeed calculated to create joy in the
heart of the thirsty, for it is a glass
which will hold a qu:»t and a half of
beer. Promise a “plug hat” to one of
the sleepers on the park benches, and
you shall see an amazing interest de
veloped at once. Alfred Balch.
THE KREUTZER SONATA.
wbkt I- ,1. Kdwar.lt Um to Say of Tol-
atoi'a Latest Production.
ISpecial Correspondence.]
New York, Aug. 12.—The action of the
government respecting the “Kreutzer Sona
ta” makes that book the topic of the week.
It has seemed well for s6me one in author
ity in the postoffiee department to prohibit
this book from the mails. Had it not been
for this action the work would have been
forgotten, and by the great mass of read
ers would have been wholly ignored.
Nothing hut the great repute of Tolstoi as
a realistic writer brought any attention
whatever to the book when it appeared.
When the critics examined it the best of
them at once pronounced it a revelation of
what had before been suspected, and that
was that Tolstoi’s great intellect is clouded
and his mental faculties disordered.
It is true that occasionally in this little
work lines appear which suggest the
author of “Anua Karenina” and of “Peace
and War;” but these hints of genius are
infrequent. The story as a work of liter
ary art would have attracted no attention
whatever had not Tolstoi written it. It
may also be said that this great realist
would have despised himself in his best
days had he believed that his pen would
ever commit such a thing as this to paper.
In saying this tho literary art, the power
of realistic reproduction and the great
virility which have heretofore character
ized Tolstoi are referred to.
Those persons who buy the book expect
ing to be delighted with it as they were, for
instance, with that exquisite short story of
his which he called “The Cossacks,” wlL
be- bitterly disappointed. On the other
hand, those who have purchased it expect
ing to find therein something which will
give delight to a diseased imagination and
to a fondness for the snggestive and for
bidden, will also be disappointed and re
gret that they spent a penny for the book.
Tho subject which Tolstoi treats in the
story is the marriage relations, but it is
treated with the brutality of a dissecting
knife, and a dull one, too, at that, rather
than the passionate warmth and romantic
imaginings which characterize some of tho
French writers. It is more like a medical
work than a novel, and therefore it will
give but little delight to those who have
found pleasure in “The Qnick and the
Dead,” "A Modem Marriage,” “The Pace
That Kills,” and other novels of the sen
sual school. It tends to kill warmth rather
than to create it, and it is safe to say that
readers will throw the book down, not
only disgusted, but wearied by it.
In the view of many of the critics his
story of “The Cossacks,” which is an ex
quisitely voluptuous book, is far more rep
rehensible than “The Kreutzer Sonata.”
For “The Cossacks” is a magnificent exhi
bition of Tolstoi’s powers, a supreme work
of art, and vivid and delightful in the per
fection with which the characters are ma
terialized. In all modern fiction there is
not a more perfect, truly flesh and blood
creature than the Cossack girl whom Tol
stoi painted, nor is there a more taking
scene for the voluptuary than one which is
described in this little noveL It is, how
ever, such a great work of genius and its
art is so superior that it is not regarded as
reprehensible at all.
Some effort has been made to take ad
vantage of the notoriety given to “The
Kreutzer Sonata” by the postoffice authori
ties, but it is safe to predict that this repu
tation will be shortlived, and the work will
be consigned to the flames by every one
who buys it as wearisome, nauseating and
untrue. For Tolstoi’s argument in it is
that the marriage relation is all wrong,
and that the perfect life for men and wom
en to lead is practically one of celibacy.
One aspect of the work, however, has oc
curred to some of Tolstoi's worshipers. It
is that the author is not striving to teach a
lesson, but is simply portraying the mental
disease which jealousy causes. If that was
his purpose then it must be said that he
was realistic as he had never been before,
and from that point of view his art is per
fect. Tolstoi, however, has destroyed this
hope of his admirers by declaring that he
wrote the book to teach a monstrous Ice-
X J Rnwanns.
Then and Now.
Bight charmj-nge ys the maytle who walked
Adown the glade and glen;
And charmynge were the thynges she talked-
Then. %
Alack! How chaunged that mayden derel
She says but “Ouch!” and “WowI”
The fearful caterpillar’s here
Now.
—Washington Post.
Which ?
Miss Flutter (who has been admitted to
Miss Hititity’s dressing room)—Oh, Bess,
I haven’t seen you for so long, and I’ve got
so many things to talk about! News of
your engagement never reached me, do you
know, till I got to Berlin, and, oh—oh!
what a lovely switch that is, Bess!—and—
oh, by the way when is it going to come off.
Miss Hititity (bewildered)—What? the
wedding or the switch?—Burlington Free
Press.
lie Thought They Could.
“Mary, I love you deeply. Will you be
my wife?”
“I don’t know, George. Can you support
me?”
“I think so. You have a little something,
haven’t you?”
“Yes; I have $1.800 a year.
“Why, then, it’s perfectly easy. I am
sure we could live on $2,000 a year.”—Har
per’s Bazar.
Her Plight.
Upon the steps she stood alone—
A vision wondrous fair.
Just who she was could ne’er be known,
Nor what she wanted there.
A finger sore she had—such woe
No mortal understands.
She could not ring the door bell, so
She stood and wrung her hands.
—Washington Post.
Excellent Advice.
Miss Kittenish—I wish to select a neck
tie.
Mr. Smilax—For your husband?
Miss Kittenish—No; the gentleman I am
engaged to.
Mr. Smilax—Well, I guess you’d better
let him come around and pick it out him
self. You might break off the match.—
Clothier and Furnisher.
At a Boarding School.
A servant comes in with an announce
ment:
“Ladies, there is a porter outside with a
letter for one of you. He does not mention
any name, but says it’s from the hand
somest gentleman in the city.”
All the girls in chorus: ‘.‘Oh, it’s from
my sweetheart!”—Philadelphia Times.
They Arc Strangers Now.
Miss Gushingway writes to her beau,
“Dear Charles, I have been ill;
And to prolong my life, I think
The doctor taxed his skill:
He said of nothing I must think,
And he might pull me through;
But, dearest, all the while I lay
And thought and thought of you.”
—Moses Gage Shirley in Yankee Blade.
Quite Excusable.
Pretty Young Lady (to middle aged gen
tleman as she falls against him on round
ing a curve on the “L”)—Excuse me, sir; I
hope I didn’t hurt you.
Middle Aged Gentleman—Not much! I
shall only feel hurt if you don’t do it
anoint .
Would Respect His Wishes.
Old Gentleman (from head of the stain
at a late hour)—Clara, I think you and
that young man have talked enough for
one evening.
Clara—All right, pa. We won’t say an
other word.—Lippincott’s.
My Best Girl.
From my love’s lips no flattery springs,
To show how much she’s caring;
She always says her sweetest things
When I am out of hearing.
—Judges
Severe but Timely.
Clever Young Village Clerk (to city girl
no a vacation)—Pardon me, but do you
chew tutti-frutti all day?
City Girl ona Vacation—No, I sometimes
stop to tell a fresh idiot to mind his own
business.—Boston Times.
Something Higher.
Daughter—Papa, I want a new dress.
Papa—Always dresses, dresses! You
don’t seem to have a thought for anything
higher than dresses!
Daughter—Yes, I have; 1 also want a
new hat.—West Shore.
A Chance.
“I can hardly hope to win your love,”
He cried, with hopeless sighing;
“No venture, no loss,” she coyly said,
“But what’s the matter with trying?”
—Washington Post.
What Wonder?
New York Man (in Chicago restaurant)
—/This is the toughest soft shell crab I ever
tackled, waiter.
Waiter—It's de influence o’ locality, sah;
yo’d be tough yo’se’f if you stayed here
long, sah.—Puck.
A Gentle Hint.
She—Oh, James, don’t you think that
the honeymoon is the most delightful time
in life?
Bashful James—Don’t know. Do you?
She—No, but I’d like to try it.—West
Shore.
The Fickle Maiden.
At seven o'clock she sits and sighs,
“Why doesn't he come ? Heigho!”
At twelve o’clock she sits and yawns,
“Dear mel Why doesn’t he go?”
—Munsey's Weekly.
Litigation to Follow.
•"That’s our court house up on the hilL”
“What! That little arbor!”
“Yes, there were seven engagements took
place there yesterday.—New York Herald.
What He Feared.
••Why are you so timid, John? Speak
•at.”
•*I am afraid the popping will awake
your papa.—Harper’s Bazar.
Many Are Galled.
Oh, rm engaged to Pete and John,
And Abner, James and Earl, *
And Henry, William, George and Dou,
For I'm a summer girl.
—Harper's Baaaa
Not Particular.
“I suppose you will be somewhat partly
alar in your choice of a wife, Mr. Jones?”
“Not a bit of it. WiU you marry
Ml— Smith?”—Boston Courier.
▲ Couplet Regurdiug u Couplet.
The perfect bliss of a birch canoe
lien in the fact there's but room for twm
—New York Hwald.
A NBW D1PAKTURB. *
Dr. Haile, an old and experienced physician
solicits correspondence from persons suffering
from chronic diseases of whatever name or
character.especially such as heretofore have been
considered incurable. All letters will receive
his careful consideration, an honest and candid
opinion given in every case. No pay for services
until cured—you pay only for medicine fur
nished each month. He gnsranteesa cure in all
cases undertaken or receives no pay for his ser
Vices.
Particular attention given to diseases peculiar
»young me ” ’ ‘ *
ud address
Mention this paper.
SUMMER RESORTS.
MO?TVALESPRiNGS,
Blount county, Tennessee.
Hotel open all the year for the reception of
guests. Apartments and table unexcelled.
Surroundings unsurpassed for beautv and
grandeur of scenery. Pure mountain air, free
from malaria. Visitors can be assured of com
fort and good attention. For rates address the
Proprietors lor circular.
753 3m. BIM9 A BIRK3
SWEETWATER PARK HOTEL
The Famous Southern Watering Place*
Uthla Springs Ga., Opens May 15, : 90
Snperb accommodations for 500 gnests
Seven hundred feet of wide porches. Table
service, beds and linen irreproachable. Only
twenty miles from Atlanta—fifty minute’s ride,
Three trains daily. Lighted by electricity. $12150
to$15perweck according to location.
752 E. W. Mabsh & Co., Proprietors.
n iwnvh au
I Lump, and
Blood Spavin,
ifcS’iSs:
Em ot am
— — —I
TO THE AFFLICTED.
A “ The Blood nod the S'omnrh is the Life—the ifl
^ derangement of either l< productive 'jm
^ of disrate.'’ J
% JDTRs. IKHHSTO-’S • a
j ROYAL GERMETUER 3
is thegreatest blood purifier and germ de- ^
tj stroyerof the age. It tones tlie stomach, 21
increases tin* appetite, purifies the sec re- J
Wi tions and quietly and permanently cures
^ all blood, stomach, kidney, bladder, liver, fv
fci and lenude diseases. Asa tonic it la with-
g out u rival in tlie whole range of materia ^
medlca. It is a sovereign remedy, and A
never fails toctire rheumatism, neuralgia, >2
^ paralysis, insomnia, dyspepsia, indiges-
jaj tion, debility palpitation, catarrh, etc.
J Hon. II. W. Grady says: “ It is the Cl-
J? tima Thole of all remedies.'* jjfl
Ai Rev. Sam. P. Jones says: “T wish every
suffering wife had access to that medi- 3
kj cine.” %
gj Bev. J. B. Hawthorne says: 44 It has ^
§ brought certain and radical cures to hun-
jlreds in Oeorgia and other States.”
^ Mrs. Ella R.Tennont, Editor Tennent's
^ Home Magazine, says: “Its fame has ^
J spread like a prairie fire.” ^
S J»r. .Tas. Young, the great temperance
lecturer, says: “Oh! that every afflicted
U man and woman could get this grand rem-
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y Thousands of others attest its virtues r$
3 and sound its praise.
■3 If you are sick, do not despair till you
have tried Germetuer. It has performed
Sfj! cures that astonish tin* world. 3
y If you are suffering with disease and fail .fi
of a cure, send stamp for printed matter,
5 certificates of wonderful cures, etc.
K For sale by King’s Royal Germetuer
K Company, Atlanta, Ga., and by druggists, g
^ Price $1.50 per concentrated bottle, which cf
J makes one gallon of medicine as per di- ^
3 rections accompanying each bottle. Can Si
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ti>«, Any lady erd!
aad quickly !• *
la any style,
JMW l
♦ i<*r*a*
ay rataki malt fan dsanflgtiw
i«f NOODV^iU*
•system *f Dreaa Cat*
FREE circulatej>f IUOOJDY*
. evt and mare any gan&eMt,
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frtnnsntr ruaracteee tc fii perfect •unrajM* iryM#
m.- own***** CO..
I CURE FITS \
When I any core I do not mesa merely to stop them
for a time ana then have them return again. I moan a
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murant my remedy to c
PEEBLES* BYES
•183 Pearl St. Mew XaA
7346m
are tne MWfr%
ITHB GEORGIA RAILROAD.
1 Georgia Railroad Company i
Opfics Gkn’l Manager, >
Augusta, GA.,May 24 th, ’50. J
Commencing the 25th instant, the following
Passenger schedule will be operated:
NO. 27 WEST—DAILY.
|8aY»9G0bjtha
jHailid tht boi(HI
blsmlik euatotar kaowi. BoU by all
Leave Augusta
7 45 am
Leave Gainesville
Arrive Atlanta—j—
5 55 a m
No. 28 EAST—DAILY.
Leave Atlanta
Leave Gainesville
Arrive Athens
Arrive Washington
2 45pm
5 55 a m
7 20 p m
DAY PASSENGER TRAINS.
NO. 2 EAST DAILY.
NO. 1 WEST DAILY.
Lv Atlanta 8 00 a m l.v Augusta....11 0B am
Ar Gainesville..815pm : Lv Washington 1110am
Ar Athena 5 IS p m Lv Athens 8 40 am
Ar Washington.2 30 pm Ar Gainesville..? 25 pm
Ar Augusta.—3 15 p ml Ar Atlanta 5 45 pm
NO. 4 EAST—DAILY.
NO. 3 WEST—DAILY.
Lv Atlanta—1115 p m
Ar Augusta. ...6 35 a m
Lv Augusta—11 00 pm
Ar Atlanta 6 30 am
DECATUR TRAIN—Dally except Sunday.
Lv Atlanta 8 55 am,Lv Decatur 9 45 am
Ar Decatur 9 23 am Ar Atlanta 10 15 am
Lv Atlanta 3 25 pm Lv Clarkston... 4 10 pm
Ar Decatur 3 40 pmlLv Decatur 4 25 pm
Ar Clarkston 4 05 pmi Ar Atlanta 4 50 pm
COVINGTON ACCOM’N
—Doily except Sunday.
Lv Atlanta 6 20 pmlLv Covington.. .5 40 am
Lv Decatur 6 56 pm Lv Decatur......7 25am
Ar Covington.. .8 35 pmlAr Atlanta 7 55 am
MACON NIGHT EXPRESS—DAILY.
NO. 31 WESTWARD
NO. 32 EASTWARD.
Lv Camak - 1 30 a m
Ar. Macon - 730 a m
Lv. Macon - 8 00pm
Ar. Camak - 12 30 am
TTNION POINT * WHITE PLAINS K. B
Leave Union Point....
Arrive at Siloam
“ at White Plains
noioam *5 40pm
10 35 am 6 05 pm
Leave Wbite Plains—
“ Siloam
Arrive at Union Point.
*8 00 am *3 30 pm
8 35 am 6 05 pm
•Daily except Sunday.
No connection for Gainesville on Sunday.
Sleeping car to Charleston on Trains No 4
Trains Nos. 2,1,4 and S will, if signalled stop
at any regular schedule flag station.
I any regular schedule flag station.
Trains Nos. 27 and 28 will stop and receive
passengers to and from the following station!
only:' Grovetown, Harlem, Dearing, Thompson,
Norwood, Barnett, Crawfordville, union Point,
Greenesboro, Madison, Rutledge, Social Circle
Covington, Conyers, Lithonia. Stone Mountom
and Decatur. 27 makes cloae connections for ail
points north and northwest.
Trains 1 and 2, dinner at Union Point.
Train No. 28, rapper at Harlem.
J. W. GREEN. K-R- DORSET.
Gen’l Manager. Gen’l Panenger Eft
JOE W. WHITE, T. P A.. Anguata, Go.
CHICHESTER'S ENGLISH
> tawl to. Ml, mtobnjUi * '“*?■ faRm*
B Yon An (toil
llli) WANT LOW KATBSi ^
ssssrs
Sunddna^Aix. s. Ikwun, . „
—inasisv