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Wiitrli aaan Cat. I 1 Caaoalidated with th«
Chr^Jclr. Kal. 1STT. J Athena Bauer, Bat. 1S8*.
ATHENS, GA„ TUESDAY MORNING, JANUARY 19.1892.
ONE DOLLAR A YEAR
THAT CITY CHAP.
How.He Rescued a Girl * ho
Fellow.
Married Another
FOR A FRIEND’S BIRTHDAY.
Woul'l I hriiiK y<»u wmir neautlftil gift,
Sumet limit to gladden you, someLhing to
eliarrn,
A blnwing In brighten, to cheer, to uplift,
A bhield to protect you from shadow of
lutrml
I" wined very ridiculous to Maria
Alnijii.il Tookins that her mother—“Mu.*
its slit* called her—would not let her
AoirJi.il. go to the party at naigbhoi
Watkins'. It seemed not only riilicn
Ions, hut unjust, for during the two
weeks preceding the eventfttl party
mu lit. mil had not only approved of her
going, hut had even helped her make a
new dress for the occasion, and now the
night having arrived, for no apiutrent
reason she had declared that Abby must
stay at home.
Tins was Ahby’s side of the story, and
tins she kept repeatiug to herself as she
sal. in her own room late that afternoon,
looking mournfully at the new dress
spread out on the lied before her. and oc
casionally dashing the hack of her hand
across her eyes to wipe away those tears
which, do what she would, persisted in
rising reiiellumsly.
Hut Mother Tonkins’ tale was very
dillereni. As she told her good friend.
Mrs. Hupping, who hail just stopped in
for a moment's chat, she had a very
good reason for keeping her daughter at
home that night.
••Now. I'll tell you, Mrs. Hopping, be
cause I know yon won t ever let it reach
any of the Watkinses" (the good lady
knew this to lie the quickest and most
reliable way to get the story to netghlxir
Watkins family). “I'll tell you why I’m
keeping Abhv to home. You see. Tom
Watkins has hen keepin company with
ini' girl for most a six month, aud he’s
awful hard hit. If 1 let Abby go ter-
night tilers no telliu what'll happen.
Shes jest's likens not to get struck with
that city feller that's coiuiu dowu to
s;tend the summer over to the Watkins'.
They do say. them that see him before,
tnat lie’s mighty pleasant. Now. then,
v.-here'II poor Tom he? Itellyouwhat
l.is. Mrs. Huppin'" mud here Mrs. Took-
ins heaved a deep sigh and leaned a very
sotimin face over the pan of naif peeled
jiot<uhqH). “I tell yon twonld tiedowu-
rigK^wWnjg wicked, for me to let that
joungYBLMg^NjP'l I ust p’rliaps ruin that
jMior Toiinliuft?*iqr him, now wouldn't
"Yes. indeed. Mrs' Teokins.” the other
woman replied, "if you iet her do sec.h a
llung you wouldn't desarve salvation
nohow:” aud the pious Mrs. Hopiiitig
I'olk'd her horror stricken eyes toward
the rafters. Soon after she took her
leu v«.
As Mrs. Tookins. standing on her
doorstep, watched her friend waddle
slowly down the road, she thought to
herself: "Now, Hhe'll only lie real
(puck hu tell the Watkinses. I know it'll
bnug Tom 'round. When he thinks he
may lose Abby I guess he'll look alive."
Mrs. Hopping, on the other hand, as
she turned at the bend of the roiwl to
wave a last good by to her neighlsir
said to herself: "1 know she thinks that
doll faced little Abby of bers has got
ahead of my Sarah, tint we'll see. I cal
kerlate Hannah Watkins won't 1>e over
jiertirnlar pleased if I let her think
Susan Tookins' lookin for higher game
than her Tom for Aiiby; don't'care to
have 'em together much while that city
teller's 'round: I guess it’ll gall her a
bit.' And Mrs. bopping chuckled to
herself as she tried to hurry along the
road.
So the story was told half an hour
later at the Watkinses. Mrs. Hopping
•‘jest hapiieued to he passiti their way,
and thought she'd jest stop in to let
them know Abby Tookins couldn't come
that night. Too bad. wasn’t it? But
tiieu Mrs. Tookins was always kinder
stuck lip." etc., until tbe rest of the story,
ns conceived by Mrs. Hopping, bad been
told.
Meanwhile the poor girl on whose ac
count these good ladies troubled them
selves so much sat lonely in her room,
thinking of the dance that she was to
miss, which all the others were to enjoy
aud—of Tola.
"He would see them all bnt her. and
Sarah Hopping, she knew she would he
extra nice to Tom touight, and would
look so pretty, and—oh, if Tom would
only say whether he cared most for her.
Abby, sitting here alone, thinking of
him. He had said everything else, and yet
- He was so nice to the other girls, and
touight he would see them all but her."
A thought seemed to strike her; slowly
she went down stairs into the kitchen.
"Mu, can 1 help yon get the supper?"
“No. Abby. child, supper's all ready,"
the mother replied. "Now, you just sit
down, and pa'll be in in a minit. and
we'll hev a real good eveuin together—1
wouldn't mind the old party."
Abby said nothing, and soon, as Mrs.
Tookins had predicted, Ha came in.
Then they set down to table, and after a
long grace, during which Abby’s eyes
would wander toward the clock, snpper
began. They didn't talk much. Ma was
thinking. "Now* I’m sure, ef Tom Wat-
fcms hears I’m keepin Abby away from
that city feller on his account, he’ll speak
ngbt up soou. or W ain't the honest chap
J took him fer. He ain’t goiu to lose
her. I don’t think, but oh. my! he is slow,
to lie sure. in cornin to the pint." As for
Ha Too Inns, he was utterly bewildered,
and so held his peace. Ma had said
Abby was goin to the party and then
that she wasn’t goin. ..Pa Tookins oe-
lieved these facts and asked no questions.
A bby, too, was silent. She was listening
to the occasional rumble of wheels and
the sound of merry voices, as some of
the village folks drove by on their way
out to the Watkinses; besides. Abby was
thinking.
At H'o’clock that evening, after Pa
Tookins bad read the prayers and Moth-
sr Tookins had Haid a load "Arnen,^
Abby bade them good night. “Yes,
•he knew' it was early, bnt she was tired,
*> off shu went to her Uttle room over
the best parlor, leaving her father and
mother comfortably ensconced in Hie
big kitchen armchairs. For awhile
they talked and nodded, nodded and
talked, till finally both fell into a doze.
Half an hour later a light step on the
f \ . , . •— nnldnm imwl in
that some one had gone ont into the
night.
It was Abby, dressed in all her finery,
going to the party. She would not let
ill the other girls have Tom. when she
ll!'. she knew how pretty she looked as
she stood liefore the little glass in her
room. This she had not forgotten to do.
in spite of her hurry—in spite of the
dread of being discovered. So here she
was. walking alone ou this dark, clondy
night the mile between her own house
and Neighbor Watkins’.
For awhile all went well as she har
ried along the well known road. Then,
as she left the oiien country and entered
the wood, a gentle sighing of the trees
overhead and the occasional sound of a
dead limb failing told this country girl
♦hat a storui was coming up.
She hurried on. breathless, excited,
thinking now of bnt one object; of that
one purpose which for a week had tilled
her whole soul—of seeing Tom that
night aud having him see her: of liav-
him look at her, know how beauti
ful she was. and then—of having him
tell her that be loved her; that Hhe was
the only one he loved. And now the
wind was howling through the trees and
beating her liack with terriiie force.
Fiercer and fiercer it blew, until it
seemed as if the great trees were doing
batt le, swaying, bending their mighty
trunks aud |ieltiug each other with their
shattered branches. Ou the girl went
through the storm; on, on. wild now.
hardly heeding the fury abont her. de
termined.
Crash! a falling limb struck her full
upon the forehead. She sank with a
cry, and then lay upon the road, qniet,
insensible to the furions blasts of wind
and fearful sounds that tilled the forest.
Soon after, during a lnll in the storm,
a rumble of wheels sonnded up the
road: a wagon drove np; in it were two
men. As they reached the dark form
lying so still, they stopped. One of
them, leaping to the grouud, bent over
the yonng girl and lifted her head.
“Here, driver." he said, “get ont and
help me lift this girl into the wagon;
she's hurt. Thank heaven 1 didn't
wait in the village all night! How
much farther is it to this Watkins
farm?" he added impatiisitly, as he
tried to make the girl comfortable.
"Quarter of a mile, sir." ihe driver re
plied. aud once more they started on.
Five minutes later the wagon drew np
before the Watkins house. The merry
company within was disturbed by a loud
knocking on the door. Mrs. Watkins
opened it. and seeing who her visitor
was said hospitably:
"Oh. you've come, sir! Why. we
thought yon mast ha’ missed the night
train. Come right.in out of the” —
•‘There’s trouble out here,” he inter
rupted her.
"What!” a young than coming from
the inner room exclaimed, and, without
waiting for coat aud hat. be went out
with the stranger to the wagon.
And then he saw who it was that lay
there. Taking her in bis strong arms,
he carried her gently into the bouse. As
the warmth and light touched her, Abby
opened her eyes. For a moment she
looked lovingly into the young man’s
face, and then said half dreamily:
"Oh. Tom! is it yon? 1 came to see
you through the storm, and now—I'm
happy." The little head fell upon his
shoulder, and again the girl became un
conscious.
The next day Mrs. Tookins. her face
lighted with a happy smile, said to Mrs.
Hopping, who came in to inquire after
that dear child, Abby. “And to think
that it should all hev b’en brought ’bout
by that city chap.”—H. De W. in Har
vard Advocate.
[or ran
good and of fair.
All things to comfort you—frtenda that are
true.
Joys that are purest and pleasures must rare.
These at your feet on your birthday I'd lay,
.Fill its swift momenta with quiet delight.
Make it divine from its earliest ray.
From l he gleam of Its morn to the dusk of
its night.
Empty my hands, hut my hAart holds for you
All the good wishes of heaven and earth.
Fragrant aa roses al (lawn in the dew -
With t hese let me crown the glad day of
your iiirthl
—Celia limiter in Ladies’ Home Journal.
HOLY LAND.
This Is the earth be walked on; not alone
That Asian country keeps the sacred stain:
Tis not aloue the far Jndtean plain.
Mountain and riverl Lo, the sun that shone
On him shines now on us: when day la gone
The moon of Galilee comes forth again
And lights our path as his; an emlless chain
Of years and sorrows makes the round world
one.
The air we breathe, be breathed—the very air
That took the mold and music of his high
And godlike speech. Since then shall mortal
dare
With l>a.«e thought front the ever sacred sky—
Soil with foul deed the ground whereon he
laid
In holy death his pale, immortal head!
-liicbard Watson Gilder.
THE GLADSTONE BAG.
Nearly All Gone, but Not Forgotten.
in a quaint little churchyard near
Portland, Me., is a handsome headstone
bearing the inscription. "(Tone, but not
forgotten." The story connected with
this stone is a trifle odd.
Under it was laid away, not a body,
bnt a shin hone covered with a red woolen
stocking. The man of whom it is sup
posed the bone was a part went off fish
ing one day and never returned. Daj>
passed by. aud tbe wife and friends grew
anxious. Neighbors in whispers sug
gested that John Anderson, grown tiled
of Annie's Bhrewisb ways aud high tem
per. might have committed snicide or
left for parts unknown. Bnt Annie felt
assured that John was drowned.
Finally, one morning several years
ago, there was cast np on the shore the
shinbone covered with the stocking.
This stocking Annie vowed that she had
knitted with her own lingers. In spite
of opposition the town hearse was
brought ont and the shinbone, stocking
and ell. was carefully placed in a box.
With due ceremony it was buried, pray
ers were prayed over it, hymns were
sang over it. and above it was placed
the headstone bearing the inscriptioi
••Gone, bnt not forgotten.”—Uor. St
Louis Republic.
front stair.-'that stair so seldom used in
the old farmhouse, and an ominous
creaking of the front door, opened hardly
When to Try on New Shoes.
There is a time for everything in this
world, aud so it is that the best time to
get fitted to shoes is in the latter part cl
the day. Tbe feet are then at their
maximnm of size. Activity naturally
enlarges them. Much standing tends
also to enlarge the feet New shoes
1 had breakfasted with the colonel at
his club, one of those dreary, large es
tablishments which remind you of an
overcrowded cemetery, where the [own
ers of the land get rich on their divi
dends. Outside it was rainy, damp and
misty: inside the members were regard
ing each other with disdain and calcu
lating what effect the humidity of the
atmosphere would have on the varnish
of their patent leather boots.
"Suppose we get out of this,” said the
Colonel briefly as he regarded the street
from the broad club window.
“Where to?" said 1.
“Paris,” he said laconically.
“Done.” said L
And then the bag was ordered to be
packed and the journey began.
We left Waterloo station and we were
trying, like old sailors, to transform a
railroad compartment into a comforta
ble smoking divan. It was then i first
noticed the colouel’s Gladstone bag. It
had been reposing peacefully iu the rack
above my head, and 1 threw it down in
hopes of using it for a pillow. Some
how it slipped and fell to the floor.
“Look out!” said the colonel. “If
yon dropped that bag a year ago that
way l wouldn’t have given much for
your chances of living; no, nor mine
either.”
1 saw then there was a history in the
bag, and said, “Why?"
“It isn’t a long story, but may keep
you awake. I'll tell you about it. When
1 left the army aud returned home from
India 1 was not very well off. 1 had
studied explosives in the east and some
one at-the club recommended me to a
French company which had beeu formed
about the same time to perfect a new ex
plosive which, they were assured, would
be favorably considered by the war
office. The salary was good aud the
subject interesting, so 1 accepted their
offer.
“1 established my laboratory outside
of V ersailles and went to work with a
will. In my experiments, however, 1
found myself all at once ont of nitro
glycerin. which 1 needed absolutely,
wrote to the company. No dynamite to
be had. Then 1 went np to the French
war office and saw the secretary. He
was sorry, so very sorry, but at the
present time, in the disturbed state of
the country, etc., he regretted that it
would not be in his power to furnish
nitroglycerin to private persons. How
ever, be would do what he could, and he
gave me a letter to Colonel Majendie
chief of explosives in London, who, he
said, would surely honor my request.
"That night 1 took the club train to
London, aud next morning at 10 o'clock
found me at the chiefs office. I pre
sented my letter and stated what
wanted. The chief regarded me with
suspicion (yon must remember it was
during the dynamite scare in England),
and the more l explained the less he be
lieved me. Various officers were intro
duced, oue after the other, for no other
purpose. 1 believe, than to take down
my personal characteristics as a profes
sional dynamiter.
"At last the chief said that, in accord
ance with articles so and so, sections
this and that of the office rales, he would
be reluctantly compelled to refuse my
request.
“Then 1 got tired.
“1 told the chief I wanted the explo
sive and meant to get it. ‘But yon
can’t,’ said he. T will." said 1, ‘and
carry it through London too. whether
yon like it or no.’ *WeTl see,’ said Ma
jendie. ‘You will see,’ said 1. and 1 left
him.
“That night when 1 walked home to
my chambers I felt rather discouraged.
There was ten pounds of nitroglycerin
which 1 must have, and Lord only knows
how many people Majendie might put
in the way of my securing it. 1 wan
dered abont London aimlessly for
week, and at last, when just abont to
despair, luck turned. Near Birmingham
1 heard a company had been formed to
work a mine and used explosives.
1 took tbe uext train from London and
went there. There was a little village
near the place, and from it 1 drove ont
locked the. door and slept ontside. tor
1 knew the fumes of the nitric acid
would escape through the bag. In the
morning. 1 got up early and took the
train for Loudou with my precious
cargo. At Loudon it took but a short
time to rash into a compartment of the
Paris express, which was just departing.
Here my real trouble began. 1 put
my precious bag ou the frame in front
of me. The carriage was crowded, and
began to doze after the train started.
Suddenly 1 looked up. A fellow pas
senger had seized the bag and was
abont to throw it to the floor to make
room for some of his own luggage.
Luckily 1 seized it in time. If 1 hadn't
—well. 1 wouldn't have been here now
to tell the story.
After the train had progressed half
way to Dover oue man in the compart
ment said: ‘D—n this railway service.
Here 1 got a headache, the first in my
life, through the ventilation.' Anotbei
also complained of a headache, and by
the time we reached Dover there were
seven very ill men in the compartmenL
1 was ill, too. bnt 1 knew file cause.
It was the fumes of nitroglycerin.
At Dover as we got on the boat there
was another narrow escape. A stupid
porter seized the Gladstone bag and
tried to balance it on his head. 1 res
cued it in time.
“We got aboard the boat at Calais all
right, and 1 sat pensively watching that
infernal bag, which rested qnietiy. as if
it had not been tilled with dynamite
enongh to blow np the ship, within ten
feet of me. The passage, thank heaven
was smooth, but 1 felt pretty well done
up. I left the bag and walked down into
the cabin thinking of the custom house
officers who were awaiting us ou the
other side. At last 1 saw a man—an in
terpreter, a Frenchman—and 1 decided
to make him help me. 1 sat down iu
the cabin and began to weep—it isn’t
hard if you know how. He said, 'Does
monsieur require anything? 1 looked
np. wiped away my tears and told him
my sorrow.
“It was to the effect that my wife was
dying in Paris. She had telegraphed
me. and 1 was about to soothe her last
moments by my presence. He became
immediately interested and begged me
to cheer np. 1 agreed to do so on condi
tion that he wonld join me in a bottle of
champagne, which he did gladly. As
we walked I slipped two Napoleons into
his hand and said:
“Now, 1 waut to get away quick ou
the first train. I’ve nothing but a satchel,
and don’t want to be detained by the
customs house at Calais. Can you a r
range matters? He swore that he woi|3
and kept his word. When the boa,
landed my satchel was carried trium.
phantly ashore on the shoulders Of my
friend, the interpreter, and 1 passed the
customs house without a moment’s de
lay.
And so we went to Paris—the Glad
stone bag, tilled with nitroglycerin, and
myself—and in course of time arrived
at the Gare de Nord. 1 hailed a passing
cab and directed the driver to my ad
dress, but cautioned him to avoid the
rough streets on the journey. Like all
Parisian hacktnen, he did jnst thJHopo-
site till 1 stopped him. *My friend.' said
l, ‘do you know what’s in that satchel
you have between your legs on the box?
Well. sir. there’s enough dynamite to
blow your whole outfit to the devil, and
if you don’t drive quieter the chances
are against you.’ Yon never saw a
more careful driver after that in your
life.
Finally. 1 arrived at my rooms, and
the next day got up early (for 1 was l>e-
ginning to get afraid of that infernal
satchel by this time myself) and went to
Versailles, where l stored the stuff safe
ly in my laboratory and exploded it at
my leisure. **
1 wrote to Majendie in London after
ward, telling of my success, and re
ceived a short reply saying that 1 ought
to be in jail this minute.
“Funny, isn’t it, these English of
ficials have no sense of humor?”
And here the colonel lit another cigar,
while I watched the Gladstone bag re
flectively.—Philadelphia Times.
should always be tried on over mod
erately thick stockings. Then yon have
a margin of room by putting on thinner J ^ y, e W orks. 1 shall never forget it
Whittier’s Prose Works.
Said the man at a bookstore: “The
other day a customer came in and asked
for Whittier’s prose works, and a young
man who was present langhed when the
customer had gone out. 1 asked him why
and he said that the man was one of
many who thought that because Whit
tier wrote poetry he must have written
prose. Then it was my turn to laugh
But 1 am of the opinion that there are
many like the yonng man who langhed
Whittier is an essayist, and his essays
are in volumes as numerous as those of
his poems, in 1838—1 think it was about
that year—he wrote a stirring pamphlet
entitled ‘Justice and Expediency.’ The
same was a discussion of the slavery
question. When the Antislavery party
or society was formed in Philadelphia be
wp c one of the delegates, and he wrote an
account of the proceedings of that soci
ety which is still quoted. 1 call to mind
some of the old Quaker poet’s prose sto
ries: ‘The Fish 1 Didn’t Catch.’ *Paw
tucket Falls," ’Yankee Gjrpsies,’ *My
Summer with Dr. Singletary,’ ‘The City
of a Day.’ ’The Heroine of Long Point
•Agency of EviL' There are others 1 do
not jnst at t ds moment think of. Bnt
Whittier was as great in prose as in verse.
He belonged to the school which was
composed of Emerson, Longfellow, Low
ell and Holmes. There are not many of
them left when yon come to think of it.
—Chicago Tribune.
stockings if the shoes feel ill at ease.—
Ladies’ Home Journal.
Meaning of Animal Engravings.
The turtle and the snail meant domes
tic inclination. A serpent indicated
wisdom, and with its tail in its mouth it
symbolized eternity. The owl was re
flection—not wisdom, as is commonly
When I got to the mine 1 met a hungry
looking man, who asked me roughly
what 1 wanted. 1 saw he was the per
son I was after.
“ ‘Come one side,* 1 said.
** ’You use dynamite here?
“ ‘Yes. for explosives.’
,“ ‘Do you want £30?
•• ‘Yes.*
“ ‘Then get me ten pounds of nitro
glycerin if yon can.’
How Good Lark la Won.
Walking np Main street the other day
a good looking, well dressed and intelli
gent appearing yonng man was observed
to stoop down and pick np a pin.
“What did you do that for?" inquired
an aqcoaintauce. suspecting some miser
ly trait.
“That.” replied the yonng man, “was
done to insure good lack for the rest of
the day. If yon find a pin with the head
toward yon. be sure and pick it up aud
carry it abont your clothes, and you will
then be assured of good Inck daring the
rest of that day. The day, of course,
ends at midnight. But in order to have
thought Bacchus engraved on a gem
was often a^mpanied by a parrot rep- " :, l e ^ fl^~ money ^ he put it the charm work yon must be sure and
resenting the loquacious disposition of m his pocket P wear the pin somewhere abont your
the inebriate. Women commonly wore , .. ^^ h ^ clothesZ-Buffalo Express.
stems engraved wifc scorpions, spiders | ey { ^ , ——
or other poisonous things as a proteo- hotel with m/treasurefa Miss May Ivey is visiting the Misse*
TBE GOVERNESS.
Charming Story for a Winter
Heading.
Evening’s
tion against like objectionable creatures.
yen re and to the other, told —Jewelers’ Weekly.
the Gladstone bag.. I put it in the room, Upson, on Prince avenue.
The train shot ont of sight in the
blackness of the night; a pencil of light
from the station lamp, shimmering npou
the wet platform, dimly outlined the
figure of a yonng girl clad in a water
proof. A carriage drove up. with tbe
curtains closely drawn, and a load bat
not unpleasant voice called out:
“This way. please.” .
A drive over a rough road brought
them to a commodious residence, sur
rounded by grounds ample enough for a
park. As it was late she was shown at
once to a room.
She arose early the next morning,
awakened by tbe brightness of the at
mosphere and the sweet singing of the
birds.
She had given her name as Kate Con
over, and had come to accept the posi
tion of governess in the family.
Presently the iady of the house
knocked and entered the room. Evi
dently she was much pleased with the
new arrival, for her eyes rested upon a
sweet, frank face, a graceful, compact
form and an attire as neat as it was
sensible.
1 hardly expected to find you so
young,” Mrs. Cameron said.
No?' asked Miss Conover, “still-
yon will find me proficient."
Oh. to be sure,” Mrs. Cameron hur
riedly said. “Please walk down to
breakfast.” ,
The breakfast room reached, she said:
Miss Conover—Brice Rutherford, my
nephew.”
The name startled the yonng lady so
much that her self possession almost
failed her. She bowed in recognition of
the introduction, and then turned her
attention to the two children who were
to be under her charge.
During the morning meal she cast sev
eral furtive glances at Brice Ruther
ford, not quite sure whether he was the
man who had driven her from the sta
tion or not. He was reticent then—he
seemed to be reticent now. He was
young, handsome, refined, with per
haps rather an exalted opinion of him
self.
It was not remarkable that daring the
summer he began to take considerable
interest in the pretty little governess.
He was thrown almost daily in her so
ciety, and her frankness was especially
charming to him, because he was not
much disposed to be frank himself.
His interest at last assumed a more
fervent shape, and finally led him to
make a declaration of love. A look of
triumph crossed her face but it escaped
his notice, for she was seated in the
shadow.
“This isn’t unexpected,” she replied,
but”
Brice Rutherford frowned at the re
mark and waited for her to conclude it.
“Yon see, yon don^LJaxow anything
abont me,” she said, starting in afresh.
Oh, but 1 flatter myself 1 do." was
his reply. "1 never act without proper
consideration.”
“1 mean as to my—my—antecendents,"
Miss Conover said. “As to my—my—
purposes"
“1 don’t care abour your antecedents.’
he interrupted. “And as for your pur
poses, 1 hope one of them will be to make
me as happy as you can!”
"Oh. to be sure," replied she.
“Well. 1 am glad that we understand
each other, aud”
But l don’t know that we do,” inter
rupted she. in turn. "1 know that you
promised to me, bnt I cannot recall that
I accepted you.”
Oh!" he ejaculated, with a crest
fallen look.
Miss Conover laughed softly and said.
“I am willing to hold your offer under
advisement."
Tnat will not satisfy me.” he re
plied.
But it must,” rejoined she. “I think
1 am according you a great deaL"
“Well, maybe you are.” he said, with
grimace. “1 can’t say that I’m ex
cessively grateful." **"
•I’ll give you my answer in Septem
ber.” Miss Conover replied. “Thatisn”
far off, yon know.”
Well, no. it isn’t/ assented he, and
that closed the conversation.
In the early part of September busi
ness took him into the city, and he was
absent a week. When he returned to
his aunt’s country seat he found that
the pretty little governess was no longer
there. He was almost dumfounded.
“Where is she?’ he asked.
“1 don’t know.” replied Mrs. Cameron.
“Among her friends, no doubt.”
“She is coming back?”
“No. innch to my regret and tbe dis
appointment of the children.”
Brice Rutherford stared at the carpet.
“Did she leave a message for me?’ he
asked.
“A letter, at least,” replied Mrs. Cam
eron. “1 notice that there is one on her
bureau directed to you”
He hurried np stairs in a manner not
in keeping with his habitual dignity.
When he opened the envelope he was
surprised to find one of his own letters
in it. although he had never written to
her. A look of consternation spread
over his face as he read it.
In his boyhood he liad had a little
sweetheart, named Rose Ralston. It was
stipulated between the parents of both
that the two should be married when
they were old enongh.
He was sent to school on the Continent,
where he staid until he had attained
his majority. He then wrote home de
clining u> renew the attachment of his
boyhood, or to carry ont the stipulations.
Indeed, so emphatic was he. that one or
twosenteuces were unkind, because un
called for.
He stared at the letter in a dazed way.
“How did Miss Conover get hold of it?”
he asked himself. “And what was her
object in redirecting it to me? She prom
ised to give me her decision”
He broke the line of his thought with
a sharp exclamation.
“I’ve solved the mystery,” he mattered.
“Kate Conover is Rose Ralston. She is
a little flirt, and fancies that she's got
even with me.”
He closed his conjectures with an ex
pression which was near profanity.
“Auut Rachel," he said, when he had
rejoined his aunt, “do you know that
Miss Conover is Rose Ralston?’
‘Impossible!" exclaimed Miss Cam
eron.
‘But, aunt, she is.”
‘Did she say so?”
‘No. Do you think her coming here
was—was—planned?"
“Why. no. Brice. It came abont by
accident. She didn’t know you were
here, or that 1 am your aunt.”
“Yon are sure of that?”
“Of course I am. What does she say
in the letter?'
“It Lsn't from her."
“Eh! Who then?"
“Why did she masquerade here under
another name?* evaded Brice. “Why
should she masquerade anywhere?'
“My dear boy. 1 can’t answer that."
Mrs. Cameron said. “1 am uot convinced
that she did."
“Well, it doesn’t matter much, any
how." Rutherford rejoined, which was a
bold falsehood, for he knew that it mat
tered a good deal to him.
A year later found Kate Conover
standing in a grove in the Yellowstone
park. She was looking down a long
vista of charming scenery, her face
bronzed, her form plump and the blue
in her eyes deeper and sweeter than
ever.
She heard footsteps behind her, and
on turning around beheld a handsome,
sun browned tourist. A second, and her
face grew very red, for .the man was
Brice Rutherford. She had punished
him, to be sure; but she had also pun
ished herself.
He relieved her of her embarrassment
by offering his hand with easy graceful-
THE HESSIAN FLY.
PmentltM and Remedies—Snzgastlon*
Concern ing the Seeding.
This is a small, dark colored, two
winged fly, abont one-eighth.of an inch
long and shaped much like the wheat
midge, both belonging to the same order
and family of insects. The male (Fig.
1) is more slender than the female (Fig.
2) . which, when full of eggs, slightly re
sembles a diminutive mosquito moder
ately full of blood. The life of the in
sect in the adult stage is short, the mala
dying soon after pairing and the female
soon after opposition. The egg (Fig.
3 a) is about one-fiftieth of an inch long,
of a dull reddish color. The larva or
maggot (Fig. 4 b) is, when first hatched,
of a nearly white color, with a tinge of
red. but later they are very light green,
clouded with white. The pupa (Fig.
4 d) is formed under cover of the pupa-
rinrn (Fig. 3 c). which last is known as
the "flaxseed" stage, on account of its
resemblance to a flaxseed in form and
color.
The eggs are deposited by the female
very soon after she hatches from the
-flaxseed." on the upper side of the leaf,
as a rale, as indicated in Fig. 5. This
task is finished in a few days, after which
she dies. The yonng hatching from the
egg works its way downward, beneath
the sheath to its base. In the fall this is
just above the roots below ground, aa
shown in cut 3 at A, but in spring they do
not go below ground, as a rale, but stop at
or near one of the lower joints. The ef
fect of the maggots on the young plants
in the fall is fully illustrated in the sec-
“I’ll now take your answer,” he said.
“What aaswer?” she asked, with re
newed blushes.
“This is September,” he reminded.
“Oh!” ejaculated she. “So it is, but I
named last September. 1 left you my
answer.”
“But there wasn’t anything in it for
me. or else 1 was too stupid to see it. 1
may have implied”
“Yes, it implied,” she interrupted,
with a charming little laugh.
“Oh. bother that idiotic letterl” Brice
cried.
“And your stumpy, romping, freckled
faced tomboy sweetheart, Rose Ralston,"
added she. quoting from the letter.
“1 meant nothing by it. and I’m sorry
I wrote it." replied Brice, getting red in
the face in turn. “1 could not foresee
that I'd afterward meet Rose Ralston in
Kate Conover, and fall in love with her.
Yon have two names, and you should
not be punctilious about assuming a
third. Mine is m Vr service. Please
give me the answer you promised."
“Well. Brice," she said, her blue eyes
dancing with fun, “1 am not able to re
call the question with much distinctness.
If you will repeat it, in the same atti
tude, with the same fervor and with the
same wild, waiting look in your eyes, per
haps 1 may be able”
“Oh, 1 couldn’t,” interrupted Brice,
laughing. “Oue such effort in a lifetime
is enough. 1 haven’t yet recovered the
energy which i expended on that occa
sion. You intend to accept me, but you
are too—too—modest to say so. 1 will
not insist, you know.”
“Oh. thank you.” she replied. “It is a
—a great relief to mo."
And, as they were married before the
close of the year, it is presumed that they
reached an understanding at last.—
Frank H. Stauffer in Boston Globe.
Cbineso Hats.
In China the retainers and guards wear
special hats to indicate their office. The
ensigns wear a wire structure resem
bling a sugar loaf and a rat trap. It is a
foot high and of no earthly protection
against sun or rain. The chair coolies
use a hat something like their employers',
bnt flatter, cheaper and without button
or feather. The boatmen have a storm
hat made of rattan and bamboo, which
is never less than a yard in diameter.
A servant who is scribe and valet com
bined is marked by something that looks
like a two storied or three storied cook's
cap of four sides. The prevailing color
of the structure i% vermilion. A mourner
wears a turban made by fastening a Ion;
cloth of grayish yellow hue around the
head and allowing the ends to fall down
behind to the small of the back. An
other style covers the head, temple, ears
and back of the neck, and is a caricature
upon the steel morions of the Middle
Ages, descendant of those tall hats upon
the heads of the captives that are drawn
upon the papyri and tombs of the Pha
raohs. Still another fanny shape is one
which looks as if it were the remnant of
a felt hat from which the brim had been
irregularly torn.—Hatter and Furrier.
Care In Drying Linen.
In these days of factory made linens
it is especially essential that the goods
should be carefully laundered. The
fiber of linen is easily cracked when it is
in a frozen state, and for this reason it
is much wiser to dry it in the house dur
ing the cold weather. Old fashioned
linen such as our great-grandmothers
wove could be easily hung outdoors in
winter and allowed to bleach in the frost
as well as in the dew; bnt when the
fiber has been weakened by the use of
bleachers it is impossible that it shonld
wear like the old time linens.—New
York Tribune.
r
VARIOUS STAGES OF TIIR HESSIAN FLY.
ond cut, an infested plant. This pest
suffers unich from the attacks of several
minute parusf&s. which attack and de
stroy it in both the egg and larval or
maggot stage. These are small, usually
dark colored, four winged insects, quite
well illustrated by Fig 6.
Professor Riley has during the past
year imported from England a foreign
species of these parasites, some of which
have, by his instruction, been turned \ ^
loose in the fields in the vicinity of Co
lumbus. with the hope that they will be
come established in the state. Prevent
ive measures may be noticed as follows:
Sowing at the proper time; burning the
stubble: rotation of crops; sowing long,
narrow plats in late Rummer as baits;
pplying quick acting fertilizers to seri
ally infested fields in the fall in order
to encourage attacked plants to throw
np fresh tillers, and to increase tbe vigor
of these that they may make sufficient
growth to withstand the winter.
After the fly has gained possession of
field. Entomologist Webster, of the
Ohio agriculture station, says, in the
bulletin from which the foregoing is an
extract, that he knows of no application
that can be made which will destroy it.
Donbtless pasturing the field, if early
sown, will often result in reducing the
numbers of the pest, besides giving to
the ground that compact, pulverized
nature which it shonld have had at the
first. No doubt many larvae and “flax-
\
He Kept StiU.
Mother—How did your face get that
strained, agonized look in your photo
graph? Did the light hurt your eyes?
Small Son—No, ma'am. The man tola
me to try to keep still, an 1 did.—Good
News.
YOUNG WHEAT PLANT INFESTED BY HES
SIAN FLY.
seeds” by this means would be crashed,
but very few would enter into the food
of the animals grazing thereon unless
the plants were pulled np, both stem and
roots.
Following are some suggestions as to
seeding. First, get good seed, the larg
est and best grain. Plow early; get a
compact, smooth, well pulverized seed
bed, so that the seed will be evenly cov
ered. Nothing will pay better than this.
With everything in readiness, wait pa
tiently until the fly has emerged, and,
largely at least, disappeared, then sow
your grain as •orefnlly and as well as
yon wonld if yon were planting yonr
last dollar. In ordinary seasons Hie sire
(seed), with the assistance of mother
earth, will give you a growth of sturdy,
hardy, thrifty plants that will have
dodged the fly. escaped the rust and will
go into winter in better condition than
if sown early and in a slipshod manner.
In the spring this grain will meet even a
quite severe attack of the fly and the
effect will partake more of that of the
pruning knife than the sickle. Rich soil
will .*f -Tonrse have the advantage, but
if not rich do not abuse it because it is
poor, as that is all the more reason for
good culture. • 8BMI
jsus *k„*2=2!se, S: ,u! B„K0E,3^'Ti7r^r b«,„i
Tnek left vpsterdav morning for his old BEING .rebuilt.—ine nnu^es uuiueu.
sHuSass? SKf-taj bi« 7^«a^a»gg’i’- , i5g
mother is quite rick. Her many friends of B ^' ad and Foundry streets are
wish her a speedy recovery. rmuilt.
