Newspaper Page Text
V
APRIL 4, 1903
THE SUNNY SOUTH
FIFTH "PAGE
$ Shakespeare and Provincial Kentucky'f?
^ and England
English and Kentucky Architecture—See curious contrast In four views given.
A mountain home.
By CLIFFORD SMYTH.
Wtu.cn or TThtr tSaaar .TotafS
JJ^F there is truth in the theory
that the southern moun
taineer is the living- repre
sentative in manner, cus
tom and speech of condi
tions that obtained in the
Europe of the early colo
nial times, resemblances
between him as he is to
day and the dwellers in the
primitive places of the land
of his fathers should not be
lacking. Assuming, what
all who know him readily
admit, that he separated himself from
the first colonists who reached Virginia
and the Carolinas and hewed out a home
in a region whose wildness and inacces
sibility have practically isolated him from
the subsequent emigrations westward, it
is altogether likely that he retains many
of the characteristics that; he had ac
quired in :ho old world before he became
a colonist in the new. Other American
colonies inevitably have lost that tlrst
individuality that proclaimed their kin
ship with certain European localities.
Emigration for the past century has
been so vast and overwhelming, and the
conditions surrounding American life
have become so complex and all-em
bracing, that the old landmarks that
once showed the racial connection be
tween certain settlements here and their
source across the sea have become
largely obliterated. The man who would
hunt for indications of the ease-loving,
phlegmatic knickerbocker in the streets
of Xevs York, or the straight, uncom
promising Puritan in Boston would
follow a hopeless quest. These old kin
ships have been swept away by the ris
ing tide of American civilization, and
there is little left to remind one of the
picturesque past in the bewildering maze
of the present.
But in the mountains they live in the
same primitive cabins that their fathers
did, they eat the same food (how those
old fellows must have! longed at times
for a change of diet, the newest “break
fast food,” for instance, or some of
our many “pre-digested” arrangements;)
they follow the same occupations, they
are hemmed in by the same contracted
horizon of mountain peaks. For two
centuries they have been subjected to
few outside influences, and thus have had
no reason to change the customs and
habits they brought with them from Eu
rope. The traveler through the moun
tains. therefore, has good reason to sup
pose that he is in the midst of a human
environment that reproduces more or
less accurately a primitive old world
past. Nor is there much doubt as to
what part of the old world the moun
taineer comes from.
One may travel from end to end of the
southe.n Apalachians and scarce find a
roads, the traveler still takes his midday
rest in the old peaked fireplace of the
pricipal living room as his grandfathers
did before him; there is the same simple
hospitality from the “good Woman” of
the house, the same homely fare, not
forgetting the flagon of home-brewed ale
in place of the flask of moonshine of our
own mountaineers. I never happened to
catch one of these good matrons spinning
and weaving as I have caught them in
the Kentucky mountains, but .judging by
the clothes they wear the same taste for
homespun prevails in one country as-in
the other.
As for speech, incredible though it may
seem, there are more dialects in England
alone than in all the United States—a fact
that speaks loudly for
More the Anglo-Saxon’s ten-
Dialects dency to isolation, in this
in country there are a few 7
England dialects spreading over
Than large territories, dialfects
In The such as the negro, the
United yankee, the mountaineer,
States with the numerous varia
tions springing 1191 be
tween these. But in England every shire
1 has its peculiarity of speech, some of
them so marked as to be practically un
intelligible except to the initiated, while
in parts of Ireland, Scotland and YYaies
the people still use the ancient gaelic.
There are districts, also, in no less a
place than London itself where there are
dialects in vogue, such as the coster pa
tois, that have twisted themselves into
the semblance of a new language, for
which, unfortunately, there is lacking, as
yet, grammar or dictionary. IVhen this
subject of dialect becomes more of a
science than it is now it will be of in
terest to compare the colloquialisms of
the two countries. In the meantime
there is frequently discernible, even with
our present merely surface knowledge of
the problem, similarities between some
of the English dialects and that prevail
ing in our southern mountains, as, for
instance, in the occasional dropping or
adding of the letter (h). But the most
marked analogies arise from the charac
ter of the people themselves.
To contrast thje latter it has been my
good fortune to tramp through what
might be called primitive America (the
Appalachian system from New York to
Georgia) and primitive Brito.n (the
Scotch, Welsh and English mountain dis
tricts and the midland counties of Eng
land). In former articles in this series
I have attempted to describe the moun
taineer, the primitive American, as 1 have
found him; hospitable, careless of the
movements of civilization on either side
of him, tenacious'of his old ways and
ideals, fond of his “likker,” jealous of his
honor, vindictive, passionately fond of
politics, scornful of the ordinary “book
lamin’ ” methods of education. Between
him and the primitive Briton of todav
•there are undoubtedly many differences;
Stratford church. East End,
with charnel-house.
minder of the Latin race. Neither in
ipearance or dialect is there a sugges-
tn of the south of Europe among these
■opie. Nor are there traces of German
irentage. Of the pure Anglo-Saxon
pe, however, there is an abundance of
;amples, not only in the matter of dia-
ct and physical appearance, but in
ental peculiarities and customs._ In the
lestion of mountaineer family names
one, the universal derivation of these
>m well-known British and Irish sources
tu'.d satisfy the philologist without
rther argument of the racial unity and
igin of the people themselves. It is to
e Great Britain of two or three cen-
lies ago. whose spirit he still keeps,
at the mountaineer must therefore
ik for his ancestral history.
-lappily, outside of the great cities, the
imitive has not disappeared altogether
>m Great Britain. One may walk for
les over there among the Scotch high-
ids, the mountains of Wales or the
le region of England; without seeing
ything of human habitations outside
> scattered huts of the peasantry,
rail though the area of the British
?s may be, there are great tracts of
,ste land in their midst as lonely and
Id as anything to be found in our
ithefn mountains. Of course, these
i not the sections familiar to the tour-
who, after all. is piloted through a
mtry that is more or less on dress
rade, conscious of its merits and hiding
shortcomings. But once leave the
iten path of travel and this intensely
dern flavor grows fainter, the human
>e becomes simpler, -less self-conscious,
til one imagines that ho is at last in
itact with some remnant of the pri-
tfve Britain of the past. Far back in
, m ^» r tains, or down the country
Anne Hathaway’s cottage
at Shottery.
but there are also sufficient resem
blances to egjphasize the relationship ex
isting between them, as well as to sug
gest that both are cherishing in their
manner of living a picture of the England
of our forefathers.
In no less a place than what is called
the “heart of England,” Warwickshire,
the England of Shakespeare, I was struck
with this primitive simplicity of charac
ter. Naturally, one imagines that in a
region so closely identified with the great
est name in literature every one would
be able to talk learnedly of Shakes
peare’s plays, if not of other literary sub
jects. But the reverse is true. A true
Warwickshireman scarcely knows that
Shakespeare wrote plays. Walking
across the fields and through the mea
dows from the old town of Warwick to
Stratford I met many of the farmers and
sat In the little wayside inns questioning
them about this former fellow-country
men of theirs. Over their mugs of ale_.
In the expansive humor that generally
seizes an Englishman in the inn that is
to him his castle, they were very will
ing to impart whatever information they
might have on the subject about which I
sought enlightenment.
“Shaickspere?” they would say. “Ay.
ay. ’im as was the p!ay-hactor. I 'mind
’im. 'E was a cute ’and. was Shaicks
pere! ’E lived in this ’ere county, ’e
did. My hold man ’as told me habont
’im many a time. ’E was the rummest
man in this 'ere bloomin’ , plaice, was
Shaickspere. But ’e‘s dead now. I
never seen 'im, but I’ve ’eerd a plenty
from the old man. Why, that Shaicks
pere was the 'ardest man with 'is drink
1 heven knowed. E could drink any o’ us
chaps blind noad. ’e could, an' go ’ome
to 'is wife ant kids an’ never show th‘
fust sign o’ tIT toddy ’e'd been himbib-
A mountain churcti.
in’! Th’ swells from Lunnon useter come
hout to see hif they could drink with
'im; but, Lord bless you! ’e’d send 'em
all ’ome groggy 'afore ’e 'ad ’is ’and hin,
as you might saiy! Honly once 'e took
hon more than ’e could 'old. That was
when 'im an' two bother hof ’is plaiy-
hactor friends started on a bloomin’ walk
through tli’ county. They stopped hat
seven towns, they did. beginnin’ with
Wickford, an' at hevery town they took
on a load o’ yale. Well, sir. hafter th’
fifth town, Waterford, this ’e_re Shaicks
pere was the honly one o’ the play-
hactors as 'ad ’is legs. The hother two
was hall a slumberin’ in the 'otels along
the road. But what did this 'ere Shaicks
pere do at Waterford? Bless you! 'e
took on more yale. an' more at th’ next
town, until 'e got to Stratford again; an'
then I've ’eerd say as ’ow ’e couldn't
'old no more. Hit was the first time in ’is
life ’e got so mussed, an’ they do say as
'ow is wife made things hunpleasant for
'im when 'e come to. Shaickspere? 'Im
as shot the deer in Lucy’s Park? Of
course I've 'eerd o' 'im! They hain't
a man hin the plaice as hain't 'eerd o’
'im. 'E was great, 'e was. an’ they hain't
none like 'im now."
This was p sample of the traditions re
garding Shakespeare that I gathered
from his fellow-townsmen in Warwick
shire. They vary but lit-
The Insu> tie in the picture drawn.
lar Idea All conceded the bard’s
Concernin?greatness, but this great-
immortal ness consisted, according
Bard . to these imaginative
countrymen of his. in a
gargantuan capacity for liquor and an
amazing fondness for lawless pranks. In
repeating these semi-miraculous tales
the narrators, of course, build up a pure
ly fictitious picture of no value to the
Shakespeareian student, but of interest
as .showing the popular idea of a hero
in vogue today among the people whose
ancestors wore Shakespeare’s friends and
neighbors. To these guileless farmers he
was a "plaiy-hactor,” and they are proud
to see so many people coming from all
parts of the world to hear about him.
But first and foremost, he was a mas
terful drinker and a jolly good fellow,
"pccorhpfishtyi’ents~ that they love to dwell
on more than his doubtful proficiency as
an exponent of the drama. Had Shakes
peare been born in the mountains of Ken
tucky. the land of moonshine, it is not
improbable that his mountaineer neigh
bors would have painted his character
for posterity in much the same colors as
the Warwickshire yeomen have done—
with the addition, possibly, of a feud or
two to keep company with his own Mon
tague and Capuiet “meanness,” the pro
totype of all Kentucky feuds!
But this indifference to the literary
glory sin rounding them is not confined
to the farmer folk of Warwickshire. In
the town of Stanford, in no less a per
sonage than the mighty beadle, of Trin
ity church, I found a sample of as lu
dicrous ignorance as the most primitive
places of the earth could produce.
It was on “Bank holiday” that I con
cluded my walk from Warwick, reaching
Stratford in the afternoon when the mer
ry making was at its height. The streets
were crowded with people, the village
green aglow with dancing country gills
and their gaping admirers. But to all
devotees of the ''plaiy-hactor.” there is
no stopping anywhere until the church
has been visited, and the grave of the
greatest of men has received its meed
01 respectful homage. Therefore, still
clad in my knickerbockers, my knapsack
on my back, my brogans on my feet,
J sought out Trinty church. Inside there
was. of course, a great concourse of peo
ple. and as I gave my shilling to the
pompous beadle at the door that worthy
looked me over with ill-concealed dis
gust. He restrained his feelings, how
ever. and marshaled me up through (iie
main body of the church into the choir.
Then with a lordly gesture he pointed to
a stone in the floor on the other side of
the chancel rail and signified that thi3
was Shakespeare's grave.
There was a throng of people in front
of me and I could not see at first what
the great man wished to show me. But
heavy brogans and a club are excellent
tilings for helping one through a crowd
even in a church, and it was not long
before 1 was looking down at the mys
terious stone. Then, as I read it, I be
came disappointed. I felt I was being
defrauded. There was nothing about
Shakespeare on it. Instead there was only
some very poor doggerel:
“Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear
To dig the dust enclosed here;
Blest lie the man that spares these stones.
But cursed be he that moves my bones.”
Almost any one could do as well as
that. On the wall was a bust of Shakes
peare with some Latin underneath assur
ing us that he was dead, and declaring
that before his death he had robbed Nes
tor. Virgil and Socrates of pretty much
everything they had. There were also
some English verses. But the question
remained, where was Shakespeare burled?
It worried me. and I beckoned to the
beadle.
'‘Do you say that Shakespeare is buried
under this stone,?” I asked him.
”'E his,” he said with an air as if he
himself had been the undertaker.
“How do you know?”
“ Ow do I know?”
“Yes. Yon see. there is no label on
this stone. It doesn’t say anything about.
Shakespeare. How am I to know that
Shakespeare is buried here?”
“What?”
Then I read him those frightful rhymes
and complained that they proved noth
ing except that, their author was not
much on poetry. He glared at the stone
as if he had never seen it before (he had
been exhibiting it for thirty years) and
then turned to me triumphantly.
“But Ili say as 'ow ’e his buried ’ere!”
lie announced
“That may be all right,” I said, “but
how am I—”
1 l did not -finish my sentence, There'was
a titter in the crowd about us. I am «•*-
talh that If the beadle had been born In
Kentucky there would have been tome
pretty pistol practice at this Juncture.
As It was he menaced me with noth
ing more dangerous than his staff, and
seising me by my knapsack dragged me
through the church and shoved me out
into the cemetery.
"When HI says as ’ow ’e his burled ere,
why, ’e his,” he called after me. An
hit you comes haround han’ makes hany
more disturbance Hi’H settle your ash
hartother way.”
But the incident, as fhey say tn diplo
macy, was not closed, although I had
seen the last of the pugnacious beadle.
Wandering about disconsolate in the cem
etery. I was met by a young St rat ford-
ite who had heard the controversy in the
church,
“Saiy,” he said, ”hif you wants to
know hall habout that ’ere graive. Hi
can taike you to a man wot understands
the 'ole bloomin' thing, I can."
Then we elbowed onr way through the
crowded streets, plunging up and do\Vn
little back alleys, my guide needing sev
eral doses of "yale” to keep him on his
feet, and at last we found him, the man
we were after, at the back of a little
century-old cobbler's shop, taking his
supper of bread and milk. He was bent
and small, white-haired arid venerable,
with a black velvet cap on his head
that made him look for ail the world
like some old savant who has passed his
days in musty garrets inhaling the fumes
from fantastic crucibles.
“ 'Ere you har, grandpa,” said my
guide: “this 'ere gent wants to know
habout Shalckspere's graive, 'e do. 'Im
and the beadle ad a tiff this hafternoon
because the gent didn’t believe Shaicks
pere was buried where ’e said 'e was.”
The little old man nodded his head,
keeping on with his bowl of bread and
milk until he had finished it. and then
vouchsafing the prom-
Jk New ised explanation, which,
And Vary so far * s t have been
Platasiltla able to learn, is a new
Explans* one and perhaps the most
tioa reasonable of any that
have been advanced in
regard to the mysterious grave in Strat
ford's Trinity.
He first pointed out. what I had no
ticed in the church, that on either side
of the stone bearing the famous dog
gerel, and extending from wall to wall
of the chancel, was a row of tombstones
inscribed with the names of different
members of Shakespeare's family, while
just above them was the bust with the
Batin and English verses. Then he told
me that sixty years ago, when he was a
boy, some repairs were being made in
the .floor of the church right next to the
chancel. During this work a part of
the floor fell in, leaving an open breach
that extended under the stone with the
doggerel on it. At that time, as now.
the grave was regarded as one of Eng
land's most sacred treasures, and a guard
was placed over it, night and day, until
the breach could be properly filled in.
The old man’s father was sexton of
the church at that period, and it fell
to his lot with two other men to watch
the grave at night. My informant, also,
sat up with the men, who appear to have
tired of the monotony of their vigil and
proposed a gtewsorae exploit for their
own amusement.
“Let's put Jimmy (the sexton’s son)
where no one ’as hever oeen before,” said
one.
Accordingly “Jimmy” was hoisted up
by the waistband of his little trousers
and let down into the hole under the
Shakespeare gravestone.
“Hit was dark down there,” said the
aged hero of this strange adventure,
“and Hi couldn’t see much. But with
the light o’ the lantern a flamin' habove
Hi could just make out ’at Hi was hin
a big room, like, an’ hit was filled with
nothlnk but dust an' rubbitch. Han
1 that's th<? Whole se-ret im hain't a
reg'lar graive hat hall, but hit’s a vault,
an’ the plaiy hactor an' hall o’ ’is family
his buried hin hit.”
Thus do they occupy themselves, these
primitive souls, in the mountains of Ken
tucky or the heart of old England, their
kinship still extending across the sea,
and proclaiming itself, not only in their
simple manner of living, but in their
disdain of the modern forces that en
viron them, and in the homely wisdom
mixed with boyish pranks with which,
at times, they solve a problem that has
nettled the brains of literary scholar
ship.
^ Jamesy ^
CONTINUED FROM THIRD PAGE.
on.” while the boy looked at me signifi
cantly and took up a position near the
“stand.”
"So this is Sis?” I said, with rever-
ence.
The little, haggard face I bent above
was beautiful. The eyes were dark and
tender—very tender, and though deeply
sunken were most childish In expression
and star pure and luminous. She reached
a wasted little hand out to me, saying
simply; “It was mighty good in you to
give them things to Jamesy, and send
me that mo—that—that little box. you
know—on'y I guess I—I won't need it."
As she spoke a smile pf perfect sweetness
lested on the face, and the hand within
my own nestled in dove-like peace.
The boy bent over the white face from
behind and whispered something in her
ear. trailing the little laughing lips across
her brow as he looked up.
“Not now, Jamesy; wait awhile.”
“Ah!” said I, shaking my head' with
feigned merriment, “don't you two go to
‘plotting about me!”
“Oh. hello, no, Cap!” exclaimed the boy,
assuringly. “I was on’y jist a-tellin’ Sis
to ast you If she mightn’t open that box
now—honest! And you jfst ask her If you
dont’ believe me—I won't listen.” And
the little fellow gave me a look of the
most penetrative suggestiveness; and
when a moment later the glad words,
“Christmas Gift! Jamesy,” rang out quav-
eringly in the thin voice, the little fellow
snatched the sack up, In a paroxysm of
delight, and before the girl had time
to lift the long dark lashes once upon
his merry face, he had emptied Its con
tents out tumultuously upon the bed.
“You got it onto me, Sis!” cried the
little fellow, dancing wildly round the
room; “got it onto me this time but I’m
game, don’t you fergit, and don’t put
up nothin’ snide! How’ll them shoes
there ketch you? and how's this fer a
cloak?—is them enough beads to suit
you? And how’s this fer a hat—feather
and all? And how’s this fer a dress-
made and ever’thing and I’d a-got a
corsik with it If he’d a only had any
little enough. You won’t look fly ner
nothin' when you throw all that style on
you in the morning!—Guess not!” And
the delighted boy went off upon another
wild excursion round the room.
"Lean dowrt here,” said the girl, a great
light in her eyes and the other slendci*
hand sliding from beneath the covering.
“Here’s the box you sent me, and I’ve
opened it—It wasn’t right, you know, but
eomepln’ kindo’ said to open It 'fore
morning—and—and I opened It.” And
the eyes seemed asking my foregiveness.
yet filled with great bewilderment. “You
see,” she went on, the thin voice falling
in a fainter tone. “I knowed that money
in the box—that is, the bills—I knowed
them bills, ’cause one of ’em had a ink-
spot on it, and the other ones had been
pinned with it—they wasn’t pinned to
gether when you sent ’em, but the holes
was in where they had been pinned, and
they, was all pinned together .when Jame- J
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The result of the use of your Catarrh Cure in
my rase is that I am cured and do not have
the least symptom of catarrh. I can recom
mend your catarrhal cigarettes as the best
remedy I ever used for catarrh and colds.
Yours very truly, W. H. FULLER.
Am Entirely Weil.
VICARA SWITCH, Va., May 25. 1902.—Dear
Sirs: After suffering for several years. I used
some of your Catarrh Cure, and am entirely
well. Enclosed find $2.00, for which please
send me two more boxes of your Catarrh rem
edy. This Is for a couple of my friends, to
whom I have recommended it. Yours very
tru i r> C. F. HORNBARGBR.
Have Had No Symptoms For a Year,
PATRICK, Ark., May 1. 1902.—Dear Friends:
I will write you a few lines in regard to my
case. I feel that I am well now, as I haven’t
had any symptoms of the catarrh for a year.
I cannot praise your remedy too highly, as I
feel so much better than I did when I com
menced the treatment. Yours gratefully,
MRS. MARGARET COPELAND.
Catarrh Cured.
FORKLAND. Va., July 3, 10C2.—Dear Sirs:
My mother has used your medicine and is en
tirely cured of catarrh. Enclosed find $1.00,
for \*hich send me one more box of Dr. Blos-
ser’s Catarrh Cure. Very sincerely,
MISS DAISY POWELL.
A Very Bad Case of Catarrh.
MOXONGAHELA, Pa.. March 25, 1902.—R.
D. No. 28. Dear Sirs: After using two boxes
of your Catarrh Cure I was entirely cured of
a very bad case of catarrh. Before I used
your remedy scabs would form in my head at
night, and when they were removed my nose
would bleed. I have no trouble like that now,
and shall do all I can to recommend your rem
edy. Respectfully yours,
ALMA GREENLEE.
Obstruction to Breathing.
KAYCEE, Wyo., Sept. 4, 1902.—Dear Sirs:
Your last letter received. I can say that I am
now a free man from catarrh, owing to your
wonderful medicine. Let me thank you one
thousand times, for I do not know what this
stubborn and annoying disease would have
done with me. Before I began smoking your
Catarrh Cure, mv nose was so obstructed that
it was impossible for me to breathe through it.
which caused my sleep to be disturbed. I
have recommended your medicine to several
people out here. Accept, sirs, my best
thanks. JOSEPH CHABOT.
Spent Hundreds of Dollars.
LOS LUNAS, N. M., March 26. 1902.—Dear
Sirs: I herewith enclose $3.00, for which please
send me three boxes of your Catarrh Cure for
three of my friends. I firmly believe I owe my
life to you. For years I have suffered with
catarrh, and my hearing was affected very
badly, and I could find no relief anywhere. I
spent hundreds of dollars on doctors, special
ists and patent medicines. Some would give
temporary relief, but others none whatever.
I tried your medicine as a last resort, and
only wish I had ordered It many years ago.
It Is the only thing that has helped me at all.
Yours very truly,
MRS. SOLOMON LUNA.
DR. BLOSSER COMPANY, 5 5 Walton St., Atlanta, Ca.
THE FARMERS’ MANUAL ™ R J?. 0KS
BOOK 1.
Business Department.
It tells all about how to write
CONTRACTS,
MORTGAGES,
DEEDS,
BOOK-KEEPING, Etc.
BOOK 2.
Veterinarian Department.
This is a treatise on the
HORSE, COW, SHEEP, HOG,
POULTRY, ETC.
Latest, most practical and up-to-date
methods of treating diseases of stock.
BOOK 3.—A Complete Insect Department.—New and scientific methods of their extermination,
with over 300 appropriate illustrations. In this department you learn all about how to protect from vermin and
successfully raise all kinds of fruit and vegetables.
BOOK 4*—Ready Reckoner Department. —It contains an up-to-date Cotton Calculator that gives
the value of a bale of cotton when sold at fractions of 1-16 or 1-20 part of the dollar. The book also has Cotton
Pickers’ Tables, Wage Tables, Common Ready Reckoner. 20,000 copies of tikis book was sold
lost year by unscrupulous agents at $6.90 to Negro farmers in the rich cotton growing counties of the delta.
We are now selling the same book through local agents at only $2.95. Just thinK of tike difference!
Just enough have been placed to advertise and create a demand for the book. Gentlemen, it goes like “wild fire”
at the new price. We poy well for your work. Write to-day. Who will be the first? Salesmen’s samples
mailed for 35c. Circulars free. Write to-day. O J- I». NICHOLS & CO., 8 Forsyth St., Atlanta, Ga.
This l<»ltllMse#l will ast i$$w again. It jrsn cannot accapt an agency new, cat this oat and preserve for future use.—J. L. NICHOLS & CO. 0)
L -*
sy had ’em—'cause Jamesy used to have
them very bills—he didn’t think I knowed,
—but onc’t when he was asleep, and
father was a-goin’ through his clothes, I
happened to find ’em In his coat ’fore
he did; and I counted ’em, and hid ’em
back ag’in, and father didn’t find ’em,
and Jamesy never knowed it.—I never
said nothin’, ’cans somepin’ kindo’ said
to me it was all right; and somepin’
kindo’ said I’d git all these things here,
too—on’y I won’t need ’em, ner the mon
ey. ner nothin’. How did you get the
money? That’s all!”
The boy had by this time approached
the bed, and was gazing curiously upon
the solemn little face.
What’s the matter with you. Sis?” he
asked in wonderment; “ain’t you glad?”
I’m mighty glad. Jamesy,” she said,
the little, thin hands reaching for bis
own. “Guess I’m too glad, ’cause I can’t
do nothin’ on’x jhk fool glad; and some
pin’ kindo' says that that’s the gladdest
lad in all the world, Jamesy!”
“Oh, shaw. Sis! Why don't you tell a
feller what's the matter?” said the boy,
uneasily.
.The white hands linked more closely.
with the brown, and the pure face lifted
to the grimy one till they were blent to
gether in a kiss.
“Be good to father, fer you know he
used to be so good to us.”
”0 Sis! Sis!”
“Molly!”
The squabby, red-faced woman threw
herself upon her knees and kissed the
thin hands wildly and with sobs.
“Molly, somepin’ kindo says that yo.u
must dress me in the morning—but I
won’t need the hat, and you must take
it home fer Nannie— Don’t—don’t cry so
loud; you’ll wake father.”
I bent my head down above the frowzy
one and moaned—moaned.
“And you. sir,” went on the failing
voice, reaching for my hand, “you—you
must take this money back—vou must
take it back, fer I don’t need it. You
must take it back and—and—give it—
give it to the poor.” And even*with the
utterance upon the gracious lips the glad
soul leaped and fluttered through the
open -gates* -- .
ROBIN BRILLIANT.
The striking note in this book by Mrs
Henry Dudeney lies in her conception ot
the fundamental nature of women. Ac
cording to this author, woman’s love is of
a dual nature—a struggle between two
opposing instincts. “Robin Brilliant,” the
heroine of the story, is a woman in whom
•the two instincts are at an equipoise—one
of those women who find a sort of sen
suous pleasure in prolonging indefinitely
the sweet suspense of courtship, presum
ably on the theory that pursuit brings a
diviner happiness than possession. The re
sult is, she holds her lover off month after
month, until the other woman comes and
she loses Ihim. In addition to the love
story, Mrs. Dudeney gives an admirabla
picture of village life. Dodd. Mead & Co.,
publishers. New York. Sold in Atlanta by
American Baptist Publication Society.
SPEUIAL OFFER—Full size picture of Bain
glecelia, prepaid, for 18c. Vm. Autry, Selma, Ala