Newspaper Page Text
VOL.
ATLANTA, GA., JANUARY 13, 1894
FRICE: $2.00 A YEAR.
Look Up.
Have you a lesson hard to learn,
Hook up.
If trials meet you at every turn.
Hook up.
If men vour friendly offers spurn,
If sorrow oft to you return.
If low your lamp of life doth burn,
Hook up.
Our Father offers you his aid,
Look up.
The victory’s yours, though long delayed,
Look up.
Whate’er your business or your trade,
In poverty or fortune made,
Through all that is ’gainst you arrayed,
Look up.
S. C. Bond,
A". Louis, Ml.
Closest Shave of Them AH.
Most of the New Hampshire men
now visiting here, says the Capital of
Washington, had an honorable record
of serviee in the civil war, and when
they meet their ' reminiscences are
often highly interesting. A group ot
them were telling recently of “close
calls.” One said:
“1 was talking with a comrade dur
ing an engagement, when he suddenly
felt of his side, saying: ‘I’m shot.’ I
advised him togoto the rear. He soon
returned, holding the baitered rem-
nmtsofa silver watch on the stump
of his second finger, bewailing its di
lapidated condition—and the fact that
the day before be had paid twenty-five
dollars for the watch. The man had
been standing with his finger over the
watch pocket in his trousers, when
along came the bullet and cut off the
linger and spent its force in the works
of the watch.
“Later in the day,” continued the
narrator, “I lay down during 9ome
heavy Firing, with my forehead touch
ing the butt of two elder brushes, when
a bullet buried itself directly opposite
my forehead.”
“The closest call I ever saw,” said a
man of forty-five years’ experience in
the navy, who was with Porter during
the civil war, “was when a shell came
along and took off the head of the
man next to me and stunned me for
fifteen minutes. And yet, while these
escapes were constantly occurring,
other men seemed to be followed by a
fatality, to be wounded at every en
gagement.”
“I think I had the closest shave of
you all,” came from another of the
group. “The governor of Maryland,
who was my friend, offered me the
lieutenancy of a regiment then form
ing. I told him as I had but one good
eye, I couldn’t see to dodge the bullets
well enough. The friend who ac
cepted the offer was killed in the first
engagement of the regiment.”
Romance of a Walflower.
Helen Walflower was thirty-six, and
Fie had been a hunk of disappoint
ments to her. She had never known
the delights of having a beau to
squander his substance on her in the
shapn of theatre tickets or ice cream.
s he had never had a lover, tall and
handsome, to draw her to him in the
^mt moonlight and whisper his dev<>-
1 ' 0n into her all-too-willing ears.
" hen she went to the theatre it was
with her pa; when she had ice cream
she paid for it herself, and when she
spoke to her lover it was in dreams,
. slle was but talking through her
night cap, as it were.
r ,' 1a ^ s anf i parties young men who
nok her out did it with an air of self-
s-'Miu'e that subtracted all pleisure
oin the circumstance. Her fa’her
ll Pon hpr as a burden he was
j aj f to hear, and her mother looked
nitV i r , as an unfortunate more to be
lovit i t lan lau ghed at. If she was
from « A° an Y social entertainment,
she wi, ra w ride to a donkey party,
own ao- resJ:lr,lt “(L even by those of her
more H <ha perou,and as nothing
act and t iL slle Was ex P HCted to look,
dated t-b , HS if she knew and appre-
Hread e ‘ avor of being invited at all.
laughed -if"i*' Gutter school misses
callow Y,, , as an ol d maid, and
her ar l,^ nut ls shuddered at sight of
arUa P year parties.
Such were the circumstances up to
date, when Helen Walflower took a
gigantic tumble. She lived in Brook
lyn, bur Helen Walflower was nobody’s
fool. A great thought came to her.
The next thing her friend-* knew
she had forsworn all frivolity and was
a teacher in a Chinese Sunday school.
Then a rumor fl-w around and fat
tened as it fled.
The rumor was that Helen Walflower
was to marry WahSing in her Sunday-
school class!
The friends who had conde^ended to
notice her came now and iried to dis-
uade her from her course. The callow
youths aforesaid gazed upon her with
awe and admiration. Her sayings and
doings were quoted far and near, and
her portrait appeared in the daily pa
pers. Her father, to win her from her
purpose, fell and set, gave her half his
fortune. And the catch of the year
wood and won her away from her ori
ental lover, and, as her husband, now
flatters himself on having secured a
jewel for a wife.
She is settled now in life, but she is
too wise a woman to let herself be for
gotten. Her name heads the list for
Chinese missions. Her pamphlet,
“The Heathen in Our Midst,” has run
through four editions. Her husband
adores her. All Brooklyn looks up to
her as one to know, and an invitation
to her Thursday evenings makes each
recipient proud.
This is the case of Helen Walflower
that was. The moral is that the differ
ence between notoriety and fame is so
slight in these degenerate modern days
that few can distinguish between the
one and the other.—Pack
Early Rising;.
Early rising was a frequent subject
of contention between Nahum Briggs
and his wife. One night, when it
seemed to Mrs. Briggs as if her tired
eyes had but just closed, Nahum spoke
up briskly : “Come, L'icy, come; time
ter git up. It’s all habit, sleepin* so
much.”
His wife rubbed her heavy lids and
rose reluctanfly. The clock had
stopp°d, but Nahum said “it was nearly
six, for there was a light in Bunker's
shop,” and he usually opened the store
at that time. Soon the kettle was
steaming cheerily, and while breakfast
was being prepared, Nahum took his
lantern and went out to “do the chores.”
He watered and fed his stock, and re
turned to eat a hearty morning meal.
Then they sat down to wait the first
streak of dawn; but after an hour it
seemed, if anything, darker than be
fore.
“Ain’t it terrible long cornin’ light,
think?” asked Mrs. Briggs, as to the
carping judge.
“Oh, I’m u-ed ter bein’ up to greet
the day,” sniffed Nahum; “I guess the
sun will be round on time.” Soon his
wife looked out again. “For the love
of John Turner!” she exclaimed;
“Banker has put out his light an’ is
goin’ home. Do go out an’ hail him,
an’ find what time it is.”
“It’s daytime, I tell ye” said Nahum,
but he went out and “hailed” his neigh
bor.
“I dunno exactly,” said Mr. Bunker,
with some moderation; “but when 1
shut up shop I think it was ’bout ten
o’clock*”
Then Nahum came in and shut the
door. While Mrs. Brigg prepared for
a second night’s rest, he wound the
clock and set it. She noticed that he
took a decided comfort in winding it
more vigorously than seemed quite
necessary.
The Predominance of Athletics.
The public has now a pretty fair ink
ling of the predominance of athletics in
colleges, but a full perception of the
truth can be had only by one actually on
the inside. What the public sees is the
few great spectacular games, but it knows
little or nothing of the long preparation
for them going on through months, or of
the absorption of undergraduate atten
tion in them both before and after the
event. Football has been well m evidence
for two months past, and everybody has
seen how impossible it was for the mem
bers of the principal teams to give thought
to anything but the game. We have per
fectly authentic evidence that one Yale
player, from the opening of the term late
in September up to Thanksgiving, could
give no more than an hour a day to his
studies, after attending to his main duty
of training and practicing. And it should
be understood that this thing is no longer
confined to the Fall months. . . .
logically, there is no room for stopping
at any time, and if the thing keeps on, the
team will not go “out of training” at all,
but will begin immediately after the
Thanksgiving game to make a new start
for glory. . . .
Before any objector charges this ac
count with exaggeration, let him note
that we predicate it only of the average
student. We know that there are many
exceptions, and that the professors and
writers and successful professional men
of the future are ia college for study, just
as their fathers were before them. But
we also know that the scholastic ideal
now gives the first place to the athletic
ideal, that the true college hero of the
present, in college and out, is the college
athlete. We do not know, but we fear,
that college faculties are not acting up to
their convictions in the matter of regulat
ing athletics, that they make the rivalry
of colleges an excuse for not doing what
they really believe ought to be done.—
The Evening Post, New York.
The Newsies.
A WITCH OF TO-DAY.
By MARY E. BRYAN.
[Copyright.]
[COMMENCED IN CHRISTMAS NUMBER
CHAPTER VI.
A DISCOVERY.
My heart aches for the newsies,
writes Sue De Nyinn in the Minneapo
lis Tribune. If I were rich I’d build a
permanent home for them and make it
comfortable, then set about the work of
getting them to appreciate its decen
cies. Often \vh tt n I go home in the
morning, and bitter cold it is, too, at 2
a. m., I find a half dozen of them
stretched around the big radiator or
lying just above it <>n the big window
seat in the Tribune vestibule It’s a
warm spot, but not cosy, for there are
no cushions for tired, and I must say
dirty, head*, and mes-*eng- rs keep the
donrs swinging all night long, so that
if they sleep at all it’s because they’re
weary indeed. But they enjoy them
selves with cigarettes and other delica
cies, and one bluff young customer
handles a curve bowl pipe like a burgo
master. One of the regular sleepers
is a wee mite of about seven with
a shrill lit r le voice and handsome
eyes; then there’s another, a bigger
one, about sixteen I would say, whose
voice is like unto a fog-horn, and his
eyes aren’t handsome, either. But I
saw him give the little one a chew of
tobacco, so I suppose he’s kind hearted.
The Fate of the Whale.
The whale is destined to disappear
from the North Pacific much more
speedily than he was driven from the
eastern approaches to the arctic. The
whale fleet sailing out of the port of
San Francisco has this year caught in
arctic regions no less than 353 whales.
The product of this season’s catch would
have been represented by about $2,000,-
0 K) had prices remained the same as
they were about three years ago. When
one small steamer takes sixty-two
whales in a single season, and a still
smaller one kills sixty-four, there is a
striking illustration of what steam is
doing for the extermination of the
whale in the Pacific. There will he no
profitable. What the sailing craft could
not do in a life time of years, the steam
whaler will pretty effectually accom
plish in a very few years.—American Cut
tivator.
A Moscow physician, Prof. Von
Stein, has, according to his own repre
sentations, succeeded in treating vari
ous forms of rheumatism with electric
light in a highly satisfactory manner.
The light used is a small incandescent
lamp, whose ra^s and heat are applied
to the affected part through a funnel.
The length of the treatment depends
on the ability of-the patient to endure
the heat.
He went hack to the bedroom. It was
a cosy nest—a bedstead of rosewood,
quaintly carved, with a light, half canopy
of open-carved wood, from which floated
curtains of dull red India silk, drawn
back with silken cords. The coverlid of
pale-brown India damask, lined with
coral-red silk, was turned back, showing
the pile of downy-looking pillows and
sheets, soft and white as magnolia leaves.
“My double is a luxurious chap,” York
said.
He threw himself into an easy chair
before the desk in the sitting-room and
looked over the pile of envelopes. He
would not break their seals, of course,
but it was diverting to speculate on their
contents. A number of these were com
mon business envelopes bearing the
stamp of tradesmen. These, no doubt,
contained bills. Others were of dainty
French paper and fashionable shape,
with the superscription in the large free
hand that women now affect.
It was odd to be reading his own un
common name on a lot of letters that
were not for him. Here he was literally
and figuratively wearing somebody else’s
shoes. His double’s chum, his double’s
fiancee, and even his serving man had
taken him to be that York Van Zandt
who had shaken the dust of Gotham
from his feet more than a year ago, sud
denly departing almost on the eve of his
wedding, leaving gossip busy with his
name and conjecture ripe with specula
tion as to the reason of his sudden
flight.
During his absence be seemed to have
kept nobody informed of his movements
—not even liis mother or his business
manager.
“An erratic chap,” mused Van Zandt,
resuming his cigar and leaning hack to
reflect more profoundly. “He seems to
have been a genius for getting into
scrapes, and yet, somehow, to have a
a lovable side to his character. Let me
see if I can put together the odd bits of
his story and his present status as I have
gathered it from different ones to-day.
He is a young man of my own age, my
own name, and my own appearance.
There the resemblance ends. He is rich;
the only son of a widowed mother; he
belongs to a fashionable set, to a fash
ionable club; he was engaged to an heir
ess, as proud as she is handsome. Some
thing—nobody seems to know what—
caused a sudden rupture of the tender
tie, and the young man went abroad.
The young woman remained good friends
with his mothsr, and seems to have kept
his ring, for here it is, fallen by a strange
coincidence into the hands of your hum
ble servant.”
He took the ring from the pocketjof his
vest and held it up, turning it so that
the light flashed from the centre dia
mond.
“Does she still care for him, I wonder?
Was there not a tiny bit of tenderness
under the haughty snubbing she gave me
at the railroad smash-up? I wonder if
the estrangement was any way referable
to the daughter of the beery, battered
sweet. He was her companion, friend,
adorer. He was like a daughter in his
thoughtful devotion. She had leaned on
his strong good sense as he upon her
ideal sweetness. Tears sprung to his
eyes as he thought of her in her grave
on the lonely ranch. He threw his eigar
behind the grate, opened the piano,
touched some minor chords and sung
very low:
Sweet one, I have loved and lost;
Thou the mystic hound has crossed!
Art thou happy, dear, afar
In some ever-radiant star?
No, thou art hpside me still,
On my brow rhy lingers thrill;
Tho’ aeath’s boundary thou hast crossed,
Thou to me cannot be lost!
restriction. The whale fisheiy by party who Martin said was threaten
ing vessels has for some time been uif j n £ gue me — sue m y ( j on ^ ) i ej j mean?
That gilded youth evidently tried to cut
a good many Gordon knots of difficulty
by taking French leave of the town he
had succeeded in painting slightly red.
Unpaid bills, a shaky business, an en
gagement with an heiress, a probable
intrigue with a low-born d»rasel, an es
trangement from his motufcr. By the
way, I wonder what sort oF woman his
mother is and whether she would take
me to be her son?”
His eyes grew misty. Mother-love
was 'the only love this fine, broad-should
ered young fellow had ever known. The
relations between him and his gentle
little mother had been very close and
It was his way of saying his prayers.
After he had closed the piano he un
dressed and got into the cosy bed. As
his brown curly head sunk among the
pillows, he said to himself:
“I will go down to that broker’s office
to-morrow by nine o’clock—the earliest
hour for business, I believe—and with
draw my order for the buying of the
fifty shares of Bellingham mining stock.
I’ll tell him, too,.the joke I played on
him—unconsciously, at first—while I
thought he was trying to cheat me or to
guy me—I being a stranger. I’ll drop
the king’s robe, and take up the beggar’s
cloak. It would be nice to feed on the
roses and lie in the lilies of this sort of
life, but it’s not for me, and I sha’n’t
worry because it isn’t. I’d grow tired
of it, I don’t doubt. What 1 hate worse
is dropping my assumed identity before
I have had an opportunity to fathom
some of the mysteries that seem to
gather about my double’s star just at
present. I’d like to try my hand at
straightening the kinks in the young
fellow’s fortune—if I had only a few
thousands to help me. I feel a real in
terest in my double. Ah, what’s that?”
He started half out of bed. He had
caught sight of a face among a cloud of
thin silken drapery on the opposite wall
—the face of a portrait—he now saw it
was—though for a minute as seen in the
light erf the single jet he had left dimly
burning in the next room he thought it
was a ghost—his father’s ghost. It was
the image of the portrait of his father he
had cut from its old-fashioned frame
and brought with him.
He jumped out of bed and turned the
gas higher, and looked at the picture.
Yes, it was wonderfully like the face on
the canvas lying now at the bottom of
his trunk. There was only this differ
ence, that the face was younger--the
face of a man not yet^ thirty. This was
the portrait of a man about ten years
older. Suddenly he saw that there was
a name under the picture. He came
nearer and read; “Eckhart Van Zandt.”
He cried out in strong emotion.
“It is my uncle—my father’s twin
brother,” he said. “Now the whole
thing is plain. My double is my cousin.
We are alike, because we are each the
image of our fathers, who were twin
brothers, and so much alike their dear
est friends could scarcely distinguish
them apart. He was not killed in the
war, as my mother thought he must
have been. He** i tnarried in the South,
no doubt, as his widow is said to have
gone there to see her relations. He
came to New York, made a fortune here,
probably in manufacturing. Martin
spoke of ‘works’ in Meriden. He died
and left his money to his son York,
named, like myself, after our mutual
grandfather. That’s the solution of the
riddle. It is my cousin’s shoes I have
stepped into.. I’ll not wear them longer
than to-morrow. I’ll go down to Wall
street and tell Harvey the truth about
it. He can explain to Mrs. Lancey. Miss
Danforth shall have her ring as soon as
she arrives. I wish I knew if she has
grieved over its loss? I think I told Mrs.
Lancey the truth when I said the breach
could not be healed so easily. I d hate