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rr-w? 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.