Newspaper Page Text
EIGHTH PAGE
THE SUNNY SOUTH
AUGUST 30, 1902
IN THE LITERARY WORLD
Edited by LUCIAN LKNIGHT
CCORDING to the literary
forecast of The Xew York
Times Review, the outlook
for the new author of fic
tion this fall is not very
promising. There is hard
ly a New York publisher
who is willing to place
much confidence in hup.
On the other hand, a sea
son cannot be recalled
which seemed so promising
in abundance and distinc
tion in regard to forthcom
ing novels by well-known authors. There
is scarcely a conspicuous norm* among the
story tellers—American and English—of
today which does not appear on the fall
lists. Howells. Crawford, Hope. James.
Merrlman. Corelli. Jerome. Miss Chol-
moadelv. Miss Fowler, Mrs. Cragie. Sir
Gilbert Parker. Max Pemberton. Frank T.
Bullen. chambers and many other equally
well-known writers all have contributions.
It almost seems as though “arrived” au
thors had formed a trust, with the inten
tion of controlling the output of fiction
The same. too. may be said of belles let-
tres of poetry, of travel, of history, and
of miscellaneous critical works. There
has never been a more formidable year
In the history of American literature than
1902-1903 promises to be.
And what has become of the literary
prodigy and his first babe of lightning
growth? Apparently the public is sick of
him, his multiple editions, and his fan
tastic contortions to keep his name in
prominence, and the publishers have tak
en the hint. He will now have plenty of
time to studv grammatical usage, and
English composition, and learn that af
ter all Messrs. Howells. Crawford, James,
at ah hav*» certain staying qualities which
he has not.
Thomas Dixon, Jr., whose first novel,
“The Leopard’s Spots,” is reported as
having jeached a sale of over 40.000 in
the past few months, will begin an ex
tended lecture tour next month that will
rake him across the continent. Mr. Dix
on is the owner of the steam yacht Dixie,
which lies in the harbor of Elmington,"
his -state in Virginia.
Miss Alice MacGowan, whose novel,
“The Last Word." L. C- Page & Co. will
publish in September, began her literary
career by contributing a series of arti
cles to The Chattanooga Times during
a j ear's stay in Texas. The success of
these letters inspired a more extended
trip through the Tennessee mountains,
which resulted in a series of letters syn
dicated with a list of Sunday news
papers. Miss MaoGowan’s trip through
the mountains included a thousand-mile
horseback ride through the wildest por
tions, the remote coves and southern Ap
palachians. After this Miss MacGowan
went again to Txas. Her cattle country
work from this locality proved so suc
cessful that she wls encouraged to go to
New York and work for the United Press
Syndicate and Lie Bacheller & Johnson
Syndicate, of which Trving Bacheller, au
thor of “Eben Holden,” was the head.
In “The Last 'Word” she has drawn
largely upon her journalistic experiences
as a newcomer frorr. the southwest in New
York, and the story is, to that extent,
autobiographical.
Mr. Aldrich’s “The ^White Feather.” in
the September Atlantic, has a certain
superficial resemblance to Miss Elizabeth
G. Jordan's “The Wife of a Hero.” In
both an officer almost idolized by his
men is convicted before their eyes of
cowardice, but the treatment which the
incident receives from the two authors is
so widely diverse as to furnish a means
of comparison between writers of two
schools, working by methods as unlike
as those of Du Maurier and Nast. Mr.
Aldrich's hero is a gallant figure to the
last, and dies behind the scenes like the
victim of the fates in a Greek tragedy.
Miss Jordan’s fairly grovels and dies in
the most flagrantly inglorious fashion.
Justice is rendered in both cases, but the
old school preferred to render Justice to
the good; the new prefers to inflict It
upon the evil. Mr. Aldrich’s work Is
done by delicate strokes and touches;
Miss Jordan’s is heavily outlined with no
intermediate light shades. Which school
will hold the field the longer?
Miss Beulah Marie Dix, who, in col
laboration with Miss Carrie A. Harper,
wrote “The Beau’s Comedy,” will be in
New York this month to attend the
rehearsals of her play, ‘The Rose of
Plymouth Town." which is promised for
production in Washington September 8.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, author of
“Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” and
“The Hound of the Baskervilles,” said at
a dinner of the Authors* Club In London
recently that he received the first intima
tion of the news of his knighthood
through a bill from his gunsmith, which
was addressed to “Sir Sherlock Holmes.”
The clerk who sent the bill did not mean
it as a joke, but wrote the superscription
because he had heard that men who are
knighted adopt a new name, and that Dr.
Conan Doyle would naturally take the
name of his famous detective.
Ellen Glasgow, author of “The Battle
ground,” is spending part of the summer
at an Adirondack camp, where she has
become an expert golf player. A new
illustrated edition of her “Voice of the
People” will be issued by Doubledav,
Page & Co., together with a small vol
ume of her poems, to be printed by De
Vinne. Some of these poems have ap
peared in The Atlantic Monthly and other
magazines.
Home building books bid fair to rival
the “Garden” books in popularity. Mrs.
Grace MacGowan Cooke’s series of pa
pers, “The House That Jack and Jill
Built,” now’ running in The Delineator,
has been asked for by a publisher to be
brought out in book form. The story
will be a worthy addition to literature
of this sort. Mr. Mowbray's “Making of
a Country Home,” which had a good
success last year, describes the matter
entirely from a man’s point of view.
Woman is the natural home-builder and
home-maker, and in “The House That
Jack and Jill Built” we have the ideal
arrangement—a husband and wife work
ing harmoniously to create, with little
means, an ideal home.
Short 'Reviews of Latest New Books
Augusta Evans Wilson has broken the
silence of more than sixteen years in the
publication of her latest book entitled “A
Spe kled Bird.” which is
**A Speckled just out from the press
Bird.” by of the G. W. Dillingham
Augusta company, of New York,
i vans Mrs. Wilson fully in-
Wiison tended that "At the
Mercy of Tiberius”
should be her last romantic production,
but finding that her love of literary work
instead of diminishing with her strength
grew apace with her years, she has been
prevailed upon -bv her friends to enter
the lists again and the result Is the
publication under review. None of the
admirers of this gifted southern author
will be disappointed in her latest work,
which is really one of her best, since it
not only possesses all of the charms
which have made her former works
household favorites, but is marked by
an added mellowness of style which the
autumn of life has brought to her pen.
In the strong and vigorous portrayals of
'character which this latest story em
bodies Mrs. Wilson shows that the mar
velous powers of authorship which first
brought he r fame and fortune years ago
still abide with her, and “A Speckled
Bird” will no doubt prove as refreshing
to readers of the present generation as
were “Beulah” and “Vashti” to those
of the last.
As In all of Mrs. Wilson’s novels, the
Scenes are laid mainly in the south, and
in this case during the period of recon
struction after the civil war. still bit
ter and irreconcilable. Eglah Kent is
brought up by her grandmother. Mrs.
Egbert Mr.nrice. widow of a confed
erate general. ' who never forgave her
dead daught /• s elopement with Allison
Kent, a New England lawyer, who rises
to fame as a judge and a United States
senator.
Senator Kent remarries, but eventually
Is again left a widow. His second wife’s
?on by her first marriage is the hero
of the romance. Noel TIerriott, a New
Yorker, is wealthy, athletic, handsome, a
paragon of virtue and honor, and Eg-
lah’s' senior by several years. He asks
her to be his wife, but she refuses, for
while she entertains the highest regard
for him, she does not love him. Finally,
however, having discovered a terrible se
cret. she does become his bride, as he is
• bout to set off on an expedition in
search of the elusive north poie—“sells”
herself to him with the sole purpose, of
saving from ruin and disgrace her fa
ther. who had been mixed up in some
•xceedingly shady speculative transac
tions. and had been compelled to resign
from the senate.
On the night of the wedding she re
veals to her unsuspecting husband the
reason why she married him, and they
part, never, they believe, to meet again.
He goes to the frozen north, and during
his absence Eglah discovers that she not
only loves him. but yearns for him with
all her heart and soul. Her solicitous
foster mother divines the state of her
mind, and succeeds In effecting the in
evitable and much-to-be-desired recon
ciliation.
Quite otherwise Is it with Nona Tem
ple. alias Mrs. Dane. Vernon Temple, a
cousin of Eglah. when a youth, nail
secretly wedded in the west a teamster s
daughter as young as himself. A son
was born to them, but in a manner inci
dental to the safeguarding of the clan
destine union Temple loses track of both
wife and child, and all efforts to find
them prove futile. Filled with chagrin
and remorse, he joins an American Epis-
ccpal order and takes vows of celibacy.
Year* afterwards, through the agency of
Herriott. Father Temple and his wife
are brought face to face in New York.
She meantime, however, thinking she
had been heartlessly abandoned, had be
come a rabid socialist, and leader of the
anarchical element. Despite his entrea
ties and explanations, she refuses to
have anything to do with him. and it is
r.ot until too late, when their son is dead,
a victim of consumption, and she is dy
ing from injuries received from the ex
plosion of a bomb thrown during a
strike of street railroad men while she
was urging them to refrain from vio
lence. that she takes him back into her
heart. (G. W. Dillingham Company, New
York.)
“The Way of a Man.” by Morlev Rob
erts. may bo cautiously characterized as
good literature for light summer reading.
Though not original, it is
•<rtie Way breezy and diverting and
Of a Man,” helps us to ferget the
By upward bound of the
Morley mercury. As the way of
Roberts a man is usually in the
direction of a maid. It
may be taken for granted there is a
heroine, and in this case the heroine mo
nopolizes the story. Meta is by no means
conventional. She Is forceful and Inde
pendent and compel* her indolent lover
to fare forih like an up-to-date Don
Quixote in search of adventure. His
first mission carries him out one stormy
night in a life boat to rescue a steamer’s
crew. The storm prevents his reaching
the ship and eventually he Is stranded
in South America. The girl learns his
whereabouts and sets out to tescue him.
Not finding him. she comes upon what is
fpr better—a swarm of heroes of the
most virulent kind and from all parts of
the globe—clever reprobates, Spanish pi
rates. desperate villains. Meta can have
her choice. It falls upon a deserter from
the United States army and now engaged
as leader in a civil war In one of the
republics. Acquaintance with him intro
duces her to the president of the new re
public and her portable affections are
transferred to him. Meanwhile Jack ap
pears. He Is not dismayed by the new
role his betrothed Is playing. He is
heroic enough to believe that if he once
! marries n^r the miracle would be aocom-
1 plished and the audacious girl would
gently settle into peaceful domestic life.
How it ended is for the reader to find
cut in the closing pages.—(D. Appleton &
Co., New' York.)
This book, designed for high schools
and academies, covers all the topics in
algebra usually required by colleges for
entrance. It combines
Ealley’s simplicity with scientific
High rigor, and contains a
School number of assumptions
Algebra to be proved which, al
though far from self-
evident, are taken for
granted in many books. The path of pro- i
tredure is always from the known to the
related unknown; the solution of every
example is traced to its source in «#ne
of the fundamental principles; definitions
are placed in alphabetical order at the
end of fhe book; the pupil is never al
lowed to grope In the dark, but is taught
to keep constantly in mind, the end, to
consider carefully the means, and to ex
ercise his judgment. The pupil who has
mastered this treatise has gained a power
in close discrimination and logical analy
sis that will stand him in good stead in
practical life, or that will enable him
to follow with profit a more advanced
course in the science of algebra. (Amer
ican Book Company, New York.)
“The Mystery of the Sea,” by Bram
Stoker, is not so grewsome and gory as
his earlier w*ork, “Deacula,” but it has
as many marvels and
impossible adventures’.
The time Is modern,
since it includes ques
tions relating to our re
cent war with Spain The
■hero is an Englishman
gifted with second sight, who discovers
documents that have been hidden since
the days of the Spanish armada. With
the aid of his sweetheart, an American
lady, whom he has rescued from Impos
sible jeopardy, he deciphers the strange
looking characters. He finds that they
reveal the spot where Spanish treasure
is buried—money that the pope had sent
three centuries earlier to assist against
the enemy of Spain.
The question comes up as to whom
the money belongs, although there is
really no question since by the terms of
the document it is plainly evident the
money belongs to Spain. The conscien
tious lady, however, is not disposed to
pass the money into Spanish hands and
assist the enemy of her country, espe
cially as she herself from her own pri
vate purse—the American lady is always
rich—has fitted out two ships to fight
the Spanish.
The book has a weary length, 500 close
ly written pages. There is variety, and
the imagination often runs rampant
enough to suit the most ardent lover of
the maivelous. but the story is not con
vincing. and the reader finds half the
book better than the whole. (Doubleday,
Page & Co., New York.)
This is another of Mr. Stoddard's “his-
toricals" for boys, an intensely martial
story, full of action. life, incident and
deeds of courage—the
Errand Boy Of kind to enlist every
Andrew Jackson, wholesome boy’s stten-
by W. C. tion and hold it to
Stoddard. "finis.” The tale is of
the war of 1812. and de
scribes the events of the
brilliant campaign which closed the war,
the only land campaign of 1S12-14 in
which the Americans were entirely suc
cessful. The story tells of a Tennessee '
boy, Dan Martin, who enlists in Jack
son's army for the defense of the Mis
sissippi river, serves at Mobile and New
Orleans and ia wounded In the victory
••The
Mystery
of the Sea,”
By
Bram Stoker.
at the latter place At the outset cf the
story Dan attracts the attention of Gen
eral Jackson and is sent as messenger
and aide in some delicate and danger
ous transactions, displaying real cour-
j age, shrewdness and boyish pluck, lead- 1
ing “Old Hickory” to cry. “God bless
the boys of America!”
Jean Lafitte and the Baratarian pirates
play a oorspicuous part in the story. It
is spirited, finely written and true to the
facts of history. From first to last it
Is an excellent lesson in patriotism as
well as a superb story. Lorthrop Pub-
j llshing Company, Boston.)
Lovers cf romance will find in this story
a study of the social life that has devel
oped in the historic and picturesque re
gion of northern Virgin-
A Waiting ia. In clever and easy
R**G6, vein and with rapid
by movement, amusing yet j
Alice Ashmore real contrasts are drawn
Rogers. between two young men
of high position with
equal advantages of education, but of
wide differences in character and men
tal caliber as well as In tastes and ideals.
The dair.ty and charming heroine is a
high-bred southern girl, whose beauty of
mind and person And ah appropriate set
ting In the romantic scenery of the Shen
andoah. (The Abbey Press, New York.)
"The Romance of Leonardo da Vinci,
the Forerunner," the second volume of
the historical trilogy entitled "Christ and
Anti-Christ,'’ by Dmitri
"The Romance Merejkowski, is at hand
of Leonardo da Jn the form of an au-
Vlnel,” thorlzed translation by
by Dmitri Herbert Trench. The
Merejkowski. first volume, it will be
remembered. - was "The
Death of the Gods.” and dealt with the
times of the Emperor Julian. The pres
ent story of jhe Italian Renaissance has
been published in Russia under the title
"The Resurrection of the Gods." The
third volume, in preparation, is "The
Anti-Christ (Peter the Great and
Alexis).’’
"The Romance of Leonardl da Vinci”
Is not so much a novel as it is a study of
Italian society In his time. Indeed, it
is not a romance at all, except in the
sense that the life of the hero was a ro
mance of the most intens# interest. Strict
ly speaking, there is no plot, and, while
*here is plenty of action. It is Introduced
for the purpose of illustration. Never
theless. the volume has its charms of
narrative. Florence, Milan and other
places in turn are shown and fascinating
historical personages step In and out of
the pages. G. F. Putnam's Sons, New
York.)
’ The Bridge of the Gods,” by F. H.
Balch, was first published in 1S90. Since
the book that six editk
“The Bridge have been exhausted. 1
of the publishers, A. C. 5
Gods.” Clurg & Co., Chica
by have just placed the si
F. H. Balclt. enth edition on the mi
ket.
Many of the Incidents narrated In I
story have come under the author’s per
sonal observations; others have been told
him by aged pioneers or gleaned from old
books of northwestern travel. The au
thor affirms the "bridge of the gods.”
a great natural bridge over the Columbia,
once spanned the river .where the cas
cades are now. It Is the spot which the
young minister from New England who
went to convert the Indians chose for
his field of labor. Unlike most Indian
stories, this tale has an air of realtiy
about it and the book deserves to pass
through as many more editions.
L. Maynard Dixon, a western artist i
who has made a special study of Indian
types, furnishes eight full-page illustra
tions.
Bearded Men Must Mot Milk.
New York Sun: Hereafter only smo-th
faced men will be allowed to milk cows
and deliver milk to the milk depots in
this part of the state. In a recent report
the milk commission of New York sug
gested the innovation on the ground that
a man with whiskers milking a cow
was liable to impregnate the milk with
germs, because whiskers are or may be
microbe collectors. The various mana
gers of the milk depots have decided that
the suggestion was a sood one. and will
issue an order that all milk delivered
to them must be drawn by beardless
men. They say that with ordinary clean
liness the dust from th<- stable is liable
to infect the beard, anc' that rhe whis
kered man must go as tar as they are
concerned.
! HOW KIPLING MADE A SPEECH.
1 Here are my impressions—first impres
sions. as it happens—of Mr. Rudyard
Kipling, apostle of the gospel of national
“fitness,' who blossomed forth a« an
orator when he opened a new range at
Sydenham the other day. The period of
waiting was broken by two snaps from
the rifle gallery. These were shots fired
j by Mr. Kipling, the first, a “sighter.”
i scoring an “outer,” the second an “in-
! ner.” No doubt the cardboard target.
' with the minute but ligible signature,
“R. Kipling,” will long be a cherished
j possession of the Jaeger Rifle Club
Enter the Maker of “Mulvaney.* ,
j Then Mr. Kipling appeared, accora-
yarned fcy Mr. Tomalin and Sir Albert
Rollit. and mounted the platform. Some
how Mr. Kipling’s photographs had not
prepared me for the fact that he Is dis
tinctly a little man. Had he lived a
less active and healthy life he would
have been puny. As it is. he is just a
little man, with a little man’s thews and
sinews, neither fat nor thin, neither over
nrr under developed. A brewer’s lorrv-
I man could pick him up and walk away
with him under one arm—but I don’t
know that he would go very far. Al
though he is obviously “fit," there is no
ruddiness in Mr. Kipling’s cheeks. His
complexion has been tanned and bronzed
into a healthy, clear, light mahogany.
To a physiognomist the face is rather
baffling. The eyes, “the windows of the
soul,” are obscured by the gold-rimmed
spectacles, whilst the thick, dark mous
tache masks that other sure guide to
character, the mouth. Nor is the nose
particularly distinctive. But from the
eyebrows much may be gleaned. Black
as night, immensely tfhiok, straight, and
lying very close to the eyes, they seem
to indicate strength and will, determina
tion of character, fire, productive activ
ity. With ordinary eyebrows he might
be commonplace-looking, but those he
has lift him out of the ruck as regards
appearance. When one adds to the-Ri
brows a forehead, in its lower lobe that
of a mathematician, in its upper that of
an idealist, and the jaws and chin of a
man of action, one begins to understand
something of the bewildering complexity
of Kipling’s character, in which the poet
jostles the mechanic, the soldier, the
philosopher, the traveler, the recluse.
The (Xuler Man.
As regards the outer man, Mr. Kipling
dresses as only the very rich or very
famous can afford to do. On this occa
sion he wore a dark gray flannel suit,
obviously not cut In the vicinity of
Bond street, a striped linen shirt, and—
horresco referenes—a very low striped
turned down collar, of which about an
eighth of an inch was visible above the
coat. Round this was a large black tie—
not a-bow—of the kind worn chiefly by
elderly city clerks. Other “items” were
a straw hat, new, and probably pur
chased most reluctantly for the occasion,
a gold band round the third finger of
the left hand, and black shoes, untidily
laced.
Mr. Kipling- Takes the Floor.
Whilst the chairman was speaking Mr.
Kipling fidgetted, clasping and unclasp
ing his hands and drumming on the
boards with a restless foot. Not that
he was inattentive, for a spasm contract
ed his features when the chairman was
guilty of that very common solecism,
“under circumstances which,” and more
over. he was quick to mark his approval
of the speaker’s points. When the time
arrived, he Jumped up. came forward with
curious, awkward gait, and stood peer
ing at us through his glasses. “Gentle
men,” he began, only to correct himself
and substitute "Ladies and gentlemen”
in response to an audible reminder from
the rear. It may only have been a slip,
but it struck me as characteristic of the
man. He had come to talk to men of
men’s work, and, although there were
many ladies present, including the dowa
ger duchess of Sutherland, in a sense he
saw them not. Kipling.’s speech has been
so fully reported that I need not refer
to its substance here. As regards its de
livery. Mr. Kipling has none of the arts
of the born or practiced orator. At the
same time, the conditions were unfa
vorable. Trains rattled past close by,
forcing the speaker to pause in t’#» mid
dle <■/ a sentence till the clatter had
ceased. I should not like to say that S.
*E. R. was trying to avenge Kipling’s
elaborate satire on our railways which
appeared in The Contemporary, I think,
but certainly more trains seemed to pass
during the ceremony than after It.
What struck me most was the speaker’s
earnestness. There was no lack of hu
mor. and I discovered a certain boyish
ness in Kipling when he joined in the
laughter evoked by his jokes, but one felt
all the time that here was a man in cool,
deadly earnest, determined to leave no
stone unturii^d to gain his object, ’’'a na
tion broke to the matter of war,” to para
phrase one of his lines, and convinced
ahke of the necessity and feasibility of his
object. As I have said. Killing Is no
orator, but he neither mumbled nor fal
tered. despite trains and the sudden whirr
of the biograph. He made himself heard,
and he .said what he meant to say. He
has a peculiar voice, and one difficult to
describe. “Academic” almost hits it, but
it would puzzle one to say precisely why
or how. In certain tones it sounds almost
effeminate, yet it has a penetrating qual
ity, and carries well.
An “Absent-TSIinded” Ending.
Mr. Kipling ended as absent-mindedly
as he began, for he plumped down with
out declaring the range open. The omis
sion. of course, was speedily remedied,
but again it was characteristic of the
man’s concentration. He had come to ex
hort young men to the use of the rifle,
and that occupied his mind to the exclu
sion of everything else. M. A. P.
Sousa Outclassed.
New York Sun: An acrobatic exhibi
tion with Wagner's “Tannhauser” as a
musical accompaniment made a number
In the new vaudeville bill at Paradise
Garden last night that stirred an audience
so that it arose and cheered. The princi
pal performer was an Italian named
Creatore, leader of a military bftnd of
sixty. The music, was incidental. An
auditor who loudly declared he had Sou
sa ~skinned to death” expressed a re
gret that none of the selections was In
ragtime. The certain to*9 to reveal the
sixty men. Then the lights were lower
ed and a white calcium flittered about
a doorway in the rear. The musicians
arose and saluted.
Creatore appeared!
He is very tall, dark, with long, black
shaggy hair. He stood as only geniuses
stand, a languid, tire£. poetic look ex
tending from his eyes down through his
entire form to his gracefully bent knees. |
He strolled to the footlights, which were
unused, so that the greenish white cal
cium made his face more conspicuous.
To describe the harlequinade that he
danced to the sextet from “Lucia’’ would
be impossible. It must be seen. .Occa
sionally he swept his hand over his loose,
waving hair. As the selection progressed
he became more excited, mopping his hair
more frequently. At times his body
tumbled all over and his gestures, were
extremely comical. With mad rushes he
ran at "his musicians. With sudden vio
lence he once or twice dived at the sec
ond trombene. But that vitally impor
tant player didn’t mind a bit. Indeed, all
of the musicians were self-possessed men
and took no he?d of Creatore. They
didn't mind a bit when he dramatically j
urged them on to a climax that they had
reached four or five x bars before.* But!
Creatore kept faithfully to the part as he ;
had rehearsed it. Mopping of the hair j
and dives among his musicians finally
reached the great climax at the end of \
the selection, when, with arms held high i
and trembling, he leaned far back as i
though rapt in intense insanity.
J? SISTER JANE. ^
By Joel Chandler Harris
(Copyright, 1S96.)
CHAPTER TWENTY.
MEMORIES OF CLARENCE BULLARD.
WAS impossible to say
whether Mary was angry
or no. ’Twas impossible
for me to fathom her
moods, but that my self-
humiliation might be made
more complete, I chose to
torment myself with the
belief that some thought of
Mr. Cowardin had evoked
the sigh. I did now, as I
had done many a time be
fore: I went to my room,
locked the doors, seized my
other self by his ears, dragged him to
light, and asked him by what right of
possession, hope or expectation he had
reason to feel anything but pleasure
when Mary Bullard gave a friendly or
even a fond .smile to any human being
who seemed to be worthy of it. As
usual on such occasions, the miserable
Ego tried to take refuge in all sorts of
lame and paltry excuses, but I gave him
a lesson that he would long remember,
and finally tucked him under my waist
coat out of sight again. To do him jus
tice it should be said that he went to sleep
and slept comfortably for some time,
not daring to intrude on me with his
troubles.
When Mrs. Beshears came as usual the
night following the lad's display of horse
manship. sister Jane described it with all
those little exaggerations of adjectives
and gestures that a woman instinctively
employs. Nor was she sparing in crit
icism of the carelessness that prompted
Mr. Cowardin and myself to place the
child on the vicious horse, though she
knew I had no more to do with it than
a person who had never heard of it.
“Well! that puts me more in mind of
some cf the deviltries of Clarence Bul
lard than anything that’s come to my
ears in many’s the long day,” remarked
Mrs. Beshears.
Mr. Cowardin turned half around In
his chair and looked hard at Mrs. Be
shears! “Did you know Clarence Bul
lard?” he asked.
“What I didn’t know of him I heard
| about him,” remarked Mrs. Beshears,
nodding her head in a self-satisfied
way. “Not that I ever blamed him for
anything I know’d or heard. No, bless
you! His daddy named him a name out’n
a book, an’ the poor child couldn’t help
that. He was tetotally ruined before
his eyes was open, as you may say.”
Mr. Cowardin laughed heartily, al
most gleefully. “Did Clarence ever do any
serious harm? Did he ever rob or kill
anybody? It has been many a day since
I’ve heard his name mentioned. I had
come to the conclusion that he had been
forgotten by everybody in the land of
the living.”
“No, he never done any rank harm that
I know of.” said Mrs. Beshears. “He
was jest full of devilment an’ he used
to go ridin’ aroun’ from post to pillar,
whoopin’ an’ yellin’. Come down to The
pinch, he had more harm done to him
than he ever done to anybody. So I’ve
heard an’ so I believe. If you want to
know all about It Jest ax Cephas Bullard.
Bless your heart! he knows. Did you
ever strike up with Clarence Bujlard in
his travels?”
Mr. Cowardin was looking hard at Mrs.
Beshears and her question seemed to take
him by surprise—so much so. that he
rose from his chair, straightened him
self to his fullest height, and then sat ,
down again.”
“Why. yes,” he replied. “I knew Clar
ence Bullard very well. I was with him
In California. In fact, we w r ent there
together. He was one of my partners.”
’’Did he get rich, too, like the rest
of you?” Mrs. Beshears inquired.
“He was comfortably well off when I
bade him good'by,” said Mrs. Cowardin.
“Well, I’m glad of that from the bottom
of my heart!” Mrs. Beshears exclaimed.
“He won’t miss what’s been filched from
him.”
“I never heard him complain of any
thing of that kind.” said Mr. Cowardin.
“If he had any such trouble he kept it
to himself.”
“I believe everv word of that,” cried
sifter Jane. “You needn’t mind Sally. She
says a heap more than she means. She
talks about how wild Clarence Bullard
was, and yet I’ve heard her siqg his
praises to the skies.”
“That’s a fact. Jane,” said Mrs. Be
shears. with a smile. “I say what t’ other
folks said. Clarence Bullard was as hand
some a young man as the Lord ever
made.”
"Handsome Is as handsome does,” sug
gested Mr. Cowardin.
“That’s so.” assented sister Jane, “but
I mind how Sally and me went to camp-
meetin’ once on a time. She was married
and I was done past the marryin’ age,
but we went with a crowd, and when we
got there, we was like two fish out of
water. We stood around with our mouths
open, a-feeling like two fools that didn’t
know where to go nor what to do.
Clarence Bullard was there, dressed up
fit to kill, and he had a crowd of gfggling
gals around him. When his eye fell on
us, he made his excuses to the gals, and
come a-running with his hat off. He
wasn't nothing in the world but a boy
in looks, but he know’d what to say. and
’twasn’t a minnit before we was a-feeling
at home and a-having jest as much fun
as the next one, and maybe more. He
brought us water, and he took ur- to din
ner. Make me believe Clarence Bullard
was mean! Why, all the*lawyers in Phil-
adelphy couldn’t do it.”
“And vet it was a very small thing
to do,” said Mr. Cowardin.
“You may think it’s a little thing for
a young man to make two lone wimmen
feel like they ain’t lost, but I don’t.”
remarked sister Jane with kindling Indig
nation.
“No. ner T.*’ cried Mrs. Beshears.
Mr. Cowardin rose from his chair.
“Well, if Clarence Bullard knew that he
was so kindly remembered for one small }
act of politeness he would be very grate
ful to you,” he said, and turned to go
from the room.
“Wait!” cried Mrs. Beshears; “come
here and le’ me look at you right close.”
With that she limped across the room,
took Mr. Cowardin by the arm. and
led him closer to the candle-stand, where
she scrutinized his face closely, much
to his embarrassment, as it seemed. “I
jest wanted to see if my old eyes fooled
me,” she explained. "Now you can go.”
He went out laughing, followed by the
lad.
“That’s so about Clarence Bullard,*’
Mrs. Beshears remarked, after she and
sister Jane had exchanged glances. “I’ve
had so many ups and downs sence then
that I h=d clean forgot it. The Lord
knows, old folks like me hear so much
an’ know so little that it’s mighty nigh
onposslble to keep from doin' harm wi'
the tongue.”
“I’ve had ups and downs myself”—
“But not like me. Jane—not like me. Oh,
no. Jane! not anyway.c like me. X de
clare. I'm so nigh fagged out that I’m
right on the p'int of givin’ up. That’s
the truth If ever I spoke it.”
“I’ve had my ups an’, downs.” sister
Jane went on. “but that ain’t hindered
me from recollecting how Clarence Bul
lard done that day at the camp-meetin’.”
“’Well, you know. Jane,” explained Mrs.
Beshears. “I was married, an’ I didn’t set
so much store by what Clarence Bullard
done as you did. But he treated us migh
ty nice, an’ I’m glad—truly glad—that he's
got money of his own an’ ain't beholding
to none of his kinnery.”
The lad came back in a little while, told
us all goodnight (placing his arms around
sister Jane's neck in a way that pleased
her mightily), and went to bed. Some
how the conversation lagged. Mrs. Be- j
shears was not as lively as usual, and
she started home earlier than was her
habit.
“I’m not feelin’ well. Jane.” she said, as
she bade us goodnight. “I’m not well at
all. I’m right on the p’int of givin’ out.
If .I ain’t feelin’ no better tomorrow night
than I am tonight you needn’t look for
me. My room’s better’n my company,
I reckon, an’ you won’t miss me much;
but I declare! I’ve been a-comin’ so reg
ular that I'll have to git some of the
nigger to watch me in the forepart of
the night for fear I’ll git up an’ try to
come in my sleep." Mrs. Beshears laugh
ed at the thought, but the laugh was
neither strong nor gay.
“Do as I do," remarked sister Tane. al
most sternly. “Don’t give up to your sick
whims and fancies.”
“Lord! I’ve been a-holdln’ of ’em at
arm’s length for so long that I’m a-gittin
‘weak. The feelin’ that I’ve got now ain't
no fancy. I wish it was. But Im a-gittin’
old and tired.’’
And it was even so. Never again did
Mrs. Beshears come limping to our gate.
We thought little of the matter the next
night when she failed to come, but when
two nights passed without bringing her,
sister Jane began to grow un?asv, and
the next day she sent Mandy Satterlee
to see what the matter could be. Mandy
could hardly have arrived there before
Mose, the negro foreman on Mis. Be
shears’ place, came to inform us that
his mistress was very ill indeed, and to
beg that Miss Jane be so good as to see
what the trouble was.
“Has a doctor been called in?” sister
Jane asked.
“No’m, dey ain’t.” answered Mose,
scratching his head. “Miss Sally so sot
ag’in doctors an’ doctor truck dat I skeer-
ed fer ter fetch one dar, kaze dey ain’t
no telljn’ but what she’d bounce out’n
bed an’ lam’ me an de doctor too.”
Sister Jane was truly indignant, and no
wonder. “Well, the Lord ’a' mercy!”
she cried; “do you mean to stand up and
tell me that you’ve been setting at
home, letting your mistress die without
calling in a doctor, you trifling, good-for-
nothing rascal?”
Mose seemed to be very much alarmed
at sister Jane's display of anger. He
moved about on his feet uneasily, and
pulled at his hat, which he held in his
hand, in a way that showed his embar
rassment.
“Wellum, you know how Miss Sally
is, yo’se’f, ma’am. She ain’t make mu%*h
complaints. She des lay dar an’ not say
much, an’ wee-all ain’t know how sick
she is twel I hear her runnin’ on like
she out’n her head, an’ den I come atter
you hard ez I kin, kaze I know’d you’d
te.Il us what ter do.”
“No,” said sister Jane, “you didn’t
want any doctor there. You and the rest
of the niggers out there have got It In
your heads that if Sally Beshears pegs
out you’ll be free. But you’ll be sold off’n
the court house block if I have to have
it done myself. Go and tell Dr. BIggers
to hurry out there as hard as he can. I
want to see you move now!” Mose, thor
oughly frightened, went off at a run.
Shortly afterwards. Free Betsey came,
and the word she brought from Mandy
Satterlee was that Mrs. Beshears was
very low indeed, that sister Jane was to
come at once, and that Free Betsey would
get dinner and attend to the baby if that
arrangement was satisfactory. It was th#
best that could be done, and when sister
Jane had called in one of her lady ac
quaintances to superintend affairs for her,
she was ready to go. For a wonder she
asked me to accompany her, and I was
more than willing, for I had a sincere
regard for Mrs. Beshears, albeit her
sharp tongue had fretted me many times.
When we arrived, the doctor, a jovial
old gentleman of great experience, was
already there. He was so accustomed to
such scenes that he smiled as he told us
that nothing could be done. An attack of
influenza had caused a general breaking
down of the system. That was all, and
yet it was enough. Dr. Biggers had met
us at the door on his way out to his
buggy, but he turned again and went
with us into the sick room. Through
force of habit he again felt the pulse of
Mrs. Beshears, and this seemed to fret
her, for she jerked her hand away with
a muttered exclamation of impatience.
“She has had a very strong constitu
tion,” remarked the doctor suavely, “but
you know. Miss Jane, the strongest con
stitution will break down after a while.”
His smile was blandly cute as he spoke.
“I have left something to be given from
time to time. The young woman there”—
pointing to Mandy—“knows what to do.
She was an old friend of yours, I believe,
Miss Jane?”
“She is yet,” replied sister Jane tartly.
“Of course—of course,” remarked the
doctor in a soothing tone. “I under
stand. I appreciate your feelings. Miss
Jand. They do you credit.”
He pulled on his gloves as he spoke,
smiling all the while, and then bade us
good day, still smiling. As he went out,
he slammed the door, quite by accident.
Th^ noise seemed to arouse Mrs. Beshears
from her stupor, and she began to talk.
“Howdy, Jane?—You well?—Weather
don’t bother me, does It? I jest c me
anyhow. If I have to paddle through mud
and wade through water.” There was a
pause, for Mrs. Beshears’ breath came
short and quick. “Where’s the baby?”
She reached forth her arm and felt
around until her hand rested on a pillow.
This she patted gently. “Don’t wake the
child up. Keep the cover on it. Where’s
Phyllis? Tell her to look after Polly and
Becky. Give ’em their coffee an put
plenty sugar In It—Heigh-ho! I'm that
tired I dont know what to do. There
ought to be a man to look after this
place. Oh. Lord!”
I chanced to look toward the fireplace
where Miss Polly and Miss Becky sat.
Miss Polly reached across and touched
Miss Becky on the knee.
“You hear her. Becky?”
“I hear * her. Polly.” replied Miss
Becky, shaking her head as solemnly as
her palsied condition would permit.
“Arter a man!” said Miss Polly grimly
“Yes.” replied Miss Becky, “allers arter
a man. She’ll git none of our money.”
“Not a thrip!” responded Miss Polly.
“They’ve been a-gwine on that a-way
ever sence I put my foot in the house,”
said Mandy to sister Jane in an awed,
tone.
“And before, too,” remarked sister
Jane. “Let ’em alone.”
“I must git up,” said Mrs. Beshears.
“Where's my shoes? Somebody's kicked
’em under the bed. I reckon. Git ’em out!
I've laid here long enough. I must go and
see Jane. I’m obleege to go. Why, if I
was to miss goin’ she’d think somethin’
terrible had happened.”
Miss Polly nudged Miss Becky again.
“Jest listen at her,” said Miss Polly.
“Wants to git out’n bed an’ go gaddin’
up town.”
“I’m a-iist’nln’, replied Miss Becky.
“Wants to go gaddin’ arter a man,” re
marked Miss Polly.
“Allers a-gaddin’ up town,” echoed Miss
Becky. "She shan’t have none of our
money.’’
“Not a thrip!” Miss Polly declared.
"While these two decrepit old women
were nodding their heads together like
two muscovv ducks, Mrs. Beshears was
growing more and more talkative. Her
mind wandered far afield, but it always
came back to thoughts of sister Jane,
and it seemed to me that she- was less
restless when she was talking about her
long-time friend.
Sister Jane tried to talk to her and to
soothe her. for she had a deft way with
sick people, but Mrs. Beshears was al
ways impatient at these attempts to call
her back to consciousness.
“Don’t pester me!” she railed out.
“Somebody’s all the time a-pesterln’ me
when I’m goin’ to see Jane, or when
I’m trvin’ to have a confab with her. Oh,
go ’way! Don’t pester me. You thought
I wa'n’t cornin’, didn’t you. Jane? But
here I am, as the flea said to the sick
kitten. How’ve you been since. I saw
you? And where's that great Mr. Some
body I saw t'other night?”
Again Miss Polly nudged Miss Becky.
"You hear that, don’t you?” she asked.
“Don't I?” said Miss Becky. "Arter a
man. She shanT have none .of our
money.”
“Not a tnrip,” Miss Polly assented. * Sha
couldn’t find it to save her life.”
In this way, Mrs. Beshears rambled in
her delirium, her sisters tracing every
thing she said to a desire to gad about
in order to find another husband. She
sank very rapidly. Her remarkable en
ergy and the manifold cares she bore on
her shoulders had worn out her nature,
and now she had come to rhe end of it.
When her thoughts flew away from sister
Jane, they went back to the days of her
youth, and in this way it pleased heaven
to lighten her last moments by permitting
her to live over again in the brief space
of a Tew hours the happiest years of her
life.
Sister Jane sat by the bed, and held one
of her old friend's hands, weeping softly
all the while. At the last. Mrs. Beshears
opened her eyes, half raised herself in
the bed, and cried out:
“Jane, yonder’s Sarah Ann! Wait,
honey, an’ tell me the news'.”
Her head sank back on the pillow, and
in a moment all was over. Mrs. Beshears
had joined her sister Sarah Ann, who
had died fifty years before.
By the terms of Mrs. Beshears’ will,
Mandy Satterlee was to take charge of
Miss Polly and Miss Becky and admin
ister to their wants, but, to my surprise,
Mandy refused to have anything to do
with them.
“Why, I wouldn’t live there an’ listen
at them two poor ol’ creeturs a-talkin’
about the’r money an’ about somebody
a-marryin’—I wouldn’t stay there an’
have all that kind of talk ding-dong d
Into my head eve’y day, not fer all the
land in the country, nor fer all the money
that could be scraped together betwixt
this an’ Kingdom Come.”
And nothing could change her. Sister
Jane tried to convince her that it was
to her interest to go, but Mandy disposed
of all arguments by falling into a fit of
weeping, saying that if she wasn't want
ed where she was, she could go some
where else, but never would she go
where “them poor oV creeturs was,” un
less somebody tied her and toted her
there, and even then she wouldn't s*iy.
I think sister Jane was secretly pleased
with Mandy’s decision.
Under the circumstances, there was but
one thing to be done. The Judge of the
Inferior Court had appointed me admin
istrator of the estate, and I felt it my
duty to send Miss Polly and Miss Becky
to the asylum at Mllledgeville, where, as
pay boarders, they would receive the
best of care and attention. This, in fact,
was the suggestion of the court, and I
lost no time in carrying it out I im
agined that the most difficult part of
my duty would be to get the two old
women to consent to make the journey.
But the way was smoothed by Free
Betsey, who, under pretense of telling
their fortunes, informed them that
would shortly go on a journey. For this,
strange to say, they were eager, and
gladly allowed Free Betsey to get out
their faded finery, shabby and long out of
date, and brush it up.
So completely had the idea of the jour
ney been impressed on their minds by
Free Betsey that they were for getting
ready every time they heard the wheels
of a buggy or carriage rolling by.
Free Retrey prepared them for the day,
and they w-ere ready and waiting when
Mr. Cowardin and myself went for them
in a carriage hired for the occasion. It
was thought best that I should go with
them, and Mr. Cowardin had volunteered
to go with me, and proposed to make
himself useful by driving the carriage.
I gladly accepted his offer, and found
that the journey, short as it was. would
have been Icr.elv indeed but for his genial
and interesting conversation. But some
times a silence fell between us, and then
it was pitiful in the extreme to hear the
worse than childish talk of Miss Polly
and Miss Becky.
“If Sally hadn’t been so sot on gaddin’
about she might ’a’ come wi’ us,” said
Miss Becky.
“We’re gittin’ ’long mighty well wi’out
her. I think,” Miss Polly declared.
“Lawsy, yes!” Miss Becky assented,
and then began to chuckle. “She’ll come
back an’ find us gone, an’ then what’ll
she do? Won’t she be took back when
they tell her we’ve gone a-travelin’? I
wouldn’t be as jealous as Sally Is, not for
the world. Oh, she’ll be sorry she went
a-gaddin’!”
“She won’t do a thing when she finds
out we’re outer sight an’ hearin* but go
a-huntin’ aroun’ for our money,” Miss
Becky declared.
■‘She'll dig under the house, an’ under
the trees, an' maybe under the bushes in
the yard."
"But she won't git it. It's hid wher’
she won't never look," said Miss Polly.
"Maybe we ought to a-brung it wf qs,"
suggested Miss Becky, taking alarm at
her own demented fancies.
"Don't you fret, Becky," said Miss
Polly, "it's hid wher' she ll never git it."
Poor Mrs. Beshears! She had devoted
herself to her sisters, and now they
didnt even know she was dead. They
had been told so, but they imagined it
part of a scheme to deceive them.
"She thought she was mighty eunnin*,"
remarked Miss Becky. "She told the
folks that come to s»e UR that she was
dead, an’ they didn't have no better sense
than to b'lieve her. She didn't fool us.
did she?'’
"Fool Who?" cried Miss Polly, with a
nne assumption of scorn. “I went an*
looked at her, an' thar she was, all laid
out- I looked at her right close, an'
she wa’n’t no more dead than I am. If
TP U ,^ a 83 ^ man or money to her,
she ( V,/ a opened her eyes an a’ jumped
up. She thought she was mighty sharp,
but she didn’t fool me!”
I was truly glad when the journey was
over, and the two demented old women
were safely placed in the state asylum.
\\ e gave the horses and ourselves a good
night s rest, and started back home,
which we reached in due time. though
an mciden* occurred that seemed to puz
zle and worry Mr. Cowardin.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
We Uns Too Poor To Name Him.
Cincinnati Enquirer: A young girl
about IT years old. giving her name a3
Luia Holland, went to Owensboro, Kv.,
the other morning and began to work the
court house, city hall and people general
ly for money, stating that she wanted tc
buy a cork leg for her little brother, an
11-vear-old boy, who was with her. She
got a good deal of money, put up at tra
best hotel and left in the afternoon f or
Louisville. She was pretty and peti’e.
wore a short skirt that revealed a pair of
dainty feet, and when asked the name
®1 her brother, said: "We uns waa too
poor to nano bin.”