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THE
Walckaaa. Cu. IM4 I Consolidated with the
Cb e^cltt Kat. 1877. | Athene Banner, Eat. 1832.
ATHENS, GA., TUESDAY MORNING. JANUARY 26.1892
CARNATIONS.
Carnation* that around ma shed.
Tonight, a perTime passioned,
Aa with the tncenae rising o'er
The altars where dear Lore doth poor
Hla wine and break hla bread.
You wreathe the portals of that door
That entered once I pass no more!
What wonder that I lore, yet dread.
Carnations?
I dread yon, yet I lore yon more,
Though Danger’s in each crimson core!
On HcnutySlireaxt you're made your bed.
From Beauty’s lips you're riled your red;
I think that Cleopatra wore
Carnations!
-Boston Globe.
GIVE ME SLEEP.
A morrow must nme on
When 1 shall wake te <
But just tor some short hours,
God. give me sleep!
I aek not nape's return.
Aa I hare sowed I reap;
Grief must awake with dawn,
v eU oh. to sleep!
No dreams, dear God. no dreamn
Merealumber.doU and deep.
Such as thou girent brutes—
Bleep, only sleep!
—Anno Beers Aldrich In Scribnertk
A FAMILY FEUD.
Those two rival families repeated od a
small scale thediscords of the Montagues
and (Japnlete; only, with dne regard to
tint civilization of the times, instead of
spilling blood they spilled money. In
stead of dead relatives there had been
many lawsnits, long and entangled: they
went to law for spite, for resentment,
for anger; they kept at law with that
obstinate delight in litigation which is
one of the joys of provincial life. As
usual it was a question of trifles—a
stream of water that had taken a wrong
direction, an nnrnly goat that had
Jea|H'i| from the field of oue into the field
of the other; some ohsenre and stnpid
potatoes which, spreading themselves
underground, had disregarded the boun
daries.
U jam this showered legal documents.
The lawyers toiled to write in that style
of theirs the last relic of barbarous in
vasions. Judgments ware multiplied.
Lawsuits grew complicated. The two
advocates rubbed their hands for joy, and
from the aspect of things were sure of
transmitting as a valuable inheritance
those quarrels to their sons. How the
enmity between the Pasqoali and the
Dericea families had lieen canscd conld
not ts? clearly learned. Affirmations va
ried on one and the other side. But it
was a deep and declared enmity. Being
neigh Imrs in town an<l in the conntry.
they frequently met. looking askance at
each other. The women heard mass in
two different churches. If the Dericca
girls were bine gowns, the Pasquali girls
at once put on jiiuk ones. In the munici
pal council the Pasqnali were always
conservative and the Dericca naturally
radical That which one did the other
would not have done for a thousand
sendi Where oue went the other did
not appear.
And then gossip, evil speaking, com
plaints, eagerness for scandal, malignity:
in short, all that outfit of pleasing things
which take place in provincial towns be
tween two rival families. On ton of all
this. Carlo, the eldest son of the Pas
quali. and Maria, the second daughter of
the Dericca thought it best to fall in
love with each other
Love in a small town has not much
variety: usually it begins in childhood
continues amid games of blindnian's
buff, is apt to manifest il«clf in social
dancing parties and round games, and is
always ratified by the parish priest and
the mayor. These loves are recognized
sujierinfended, established, registered in
th > household comings and goings, pro
tected by grumbling grandfathers and
by priestly nnclqp; loves withont nerves,
without tears, without tendernesses ami
fancies, something extremely calm and
slow, the crystallization of love.
But Carlo Pasqnali bad had the in
comparable fortune to pass, odcc, a fort
night at Naples, which made him (ook
with scorn upon provincial customs; and
Maria Dericca, at night by feeble lamp,
hail wept over the hapless heroines of
Mastriani, and had envied them in their
fantastic passions; therefore for these
two was required an exceptional love.
First it was a furtive glance, a softly
murmured word, yet heard with singu
lar perception by her who should beat
it: a carnation pink fallen from a bal
cony by reason of the wind, of course; a
sudden pallor of his, a sudden blnsh of
hers; then, by the armed intervention of
a rogue of a fifteen-year-old girl who
came with a flatiron to smooth Maria's
linen and the course of true love at the
same time—a note and a brief reply; a
little letter, a long letter and finally
those voluminous epistles of eight or ten
sheets of note paper which mark the
highest point of the folly of love.
Alas! The joy of the young people
was brief and sorrow rapidly arrived to
destroy it They were seen, spied, the
news reached their respective papas and
all the thunderbolts of paternal wrath,
embittered by eleven lawsuita, fell upon
the heads of the poor lovers. The bal
cony windows were closed, the bolts
were fastened on the terrace door, the
carnation pinks on the bush were count
ed, walks were forbidden, or at least
made without previous notice, the hour
of going to inass varied each Sunday—
but those two continued to love each
other. Rebuffs, exhortations, prohibi
tions, difficulties availed only to inflame
their love; at night, in the winter. Maria
arose, dressed herself, wrapped herself
in a shawl, and in slippers, with bated
breath, trembling for fear, descended
the stairs to a window of the first floor:
the young friend was in the street, lean
ing against the wall.
Bo they talked for two or three hours
without caring for the cold, the rain, or
the loss of sleep: they talked withont
seeing each other from a distance of five
meters of altitude, becoming silent at
every sound of a passer, then cautiously
resuming their discourse, with the con
tmual fear that Maria’s parents might
•rouse and find her in that aerial collo
quy. Bttt what did it all matter to
them? They had within their hearts
sunshine, light, springtime, courage, en
thusiasm. If the king had come they
would not have moved. Instead the
brother of Maria. one right when he
Wild not sleep, arose from his bed and
found the door ajar, «*ou. W ,. M
etarrs, heard a murmur, and caught hi*
Ester in the act He unceremoniously
barred the sbntters in the face of Carlo
gave Maria a resounding box on the ear
and brought her to her room. Next
morning Hie small window on the first
floor was walled in.
Oh, all ye faithful lovers, who grieve
amid the pains of thwarted love, imagine
the despair of those two I Their letters
were no longer legible, for tears (dotted
the words, rows of exclamation points,
that looked like Prussian soldiers, under
anus, followed the daily imprecations
against fortune, destiny, fate and othei
Impersonal beings incapable of resent
ing them; a thousand fantastic plans
were created, discussed, and tlien re
jected. Carlo would have liked to elope
with Maria, but bis father allowed him
no money, and it would have been diffi
cult to put together the nine lire and
fifty centesimi for two tickets for the
journey to Naples; they thought for a
moment of snicide. but found that it
would not solve the difficulty Then, in
the long run, their love became syste
matic. the imprecations were always the
tame, and they could not go to their
beds withont having ’poured forth upon
the faithful paper the fullness of their
grief.”
In the town nothing was talked of but
their unshakable love and their tor
ments; they were the objects of genera)
interest, if a Neapolitan arrived, the
townsfolk took him to see the mins of
the amphitheater and related the case of
Carlo and Maria. Therefore the young
people, flattered in their amonr propre,
assumed the behavior fitting to the cir
cumstances. Maria was always pale,
with a melancholy air, never smiling,
always talking to her girl friends abont
her joy lees days, refusing to amuse her
self. content to resemble in all respects
one of Mastriani’s heroines.
Carlo took lonely walks, was always
deeply depressed; at balls he never
moved out of a comer, content that they
niiiruiored aronnd him. “Poor young
man, that unfortunate love affair sad
dens his lifer In society, at small fes
tivities. in visits, with the unwearying
monotony of the province, the discourse
always returned upon the subject of the
two lovers. Carlo and Maria bore with
dignity the burden of their popularity.
Finally, after 1 don’t know how rnany
years— four or five, it seems to me—of
this continual struggle, of daily weep
ing. of long, long love maintained alive
by dissensions, the aspect of things
changed. There was a worthy person—
there still are such—who with many ef
forts of eloquence persuaded the parents
that by the lawsuits they were losing
property, and much of it, as witness the
two advocates who had grown rich at
the expense of their clients; that those
two young people were pining and would
go into a decline because of that thwart
ed love: the houses were side by side
and the estates contiguous; Christ for
gave and they must forgive, if they
wished to find forgiveness. He said so
much and so many other persons, moved
by the example, interposed, that the
questions came to a compromise which'
had, as its first chapter, the marriage of
Carlo and Maria.
Here, surely, every one will suppose
that the young people were greatly con
soled, and will suppose truly—but my
obligation as a sincere story teller con
strains me to say that in their first free
colloquy reigned a great embarrassment
They were accustomed to see each other
at a distance, by stealth: to speak from
a first floor window down to the street
in the darkness, disguising or smother
ing their voices; they fonnd themselves
quite different, perhaps a little ridicu
lous; they had no subjects of conversa
tion. they were often silent, hastening
in their thonghts the hour when they
should qnit each other. There were no
more imprecations and tears to be
mingled with the ink: they no longer
wrote to each other.
Everything was free, smooth, easy for
their affection; they were not obliged to
think of subtleties by which to evade the
vigilance of their elders; they took no
more pleasure in murmuring a few words
in secret; they made no more daring
projects for the future. They would he
married prosaically, without obstacles,
like so many other silly couples. The
townsfolk no longer took thought of
them; the wonder and the comments on
the marriage onceover, Carlo and Maria
no longer awoke attention; were no
longer talked about; their behavior was
noted no more: they ceased to be pointed
nut as an example of fidelity. Now all
syes were fixed upon the wife of the
pretor, who was accused of too groat
partiality for the vice attorney—a serious
piece of business.
The two lovers felt themselves for
saken; a great coolness arose between
them. Carlo found that the virtues of
bis fiancee, those virtues which Bhoue in
her letters, were dimmed by the atmos
phere of home; Maria frequently thought
that Carlo was rather commonplace in
his tastes, and that to end with a stupid
marriage, so tempestuous a love was un
worthy of a reader of Mastriani A few
lively remarks passed between them in
regard to “illusions contradicted by the
reality,” about “mirages,” “optical de
lusions" and aimilarpin pricks; aquarrel
ensued, then two. then they became a
daily occurrence. One evening Maria
said with an irritated tone:
“Carlo, let us leave it off.”
“Let ps,” be replied without hesita
tion.
And the next day he set off on a jour
ney for the improvement of his mind,
Maria went to Naples, to the boose of a
cousin, to fish for a heroic husband.
The families had a new falling out;
Maria's father had an opening made for
a window which overlooked his neigh
bor’s courtyard; the latter, in order to
annoy him. built a dovecote of which
the doves ran about everywhere: imme
diately there was a summons, a second,
a third, the lawsuits began again, and
this time, the advocates said, smiling,
without hope of any compromise.—
Translated from the Italian of E. Ca-
vazza for Short Stories.
One Way.
Teacher—Supposing 1 should cut a
fish weighing nine pounds into .throe
parts, keeping one myself and giving
one each to you and Freddie, what would
yon each get?
Dick Hicks—Ho would get the tail
“ ’a Bazar.
71 AND 72.
They met at the Mont de Piete. This
•Sice of pledges and redemptions—this
Parisian shrine of poverty and central
altar of official usury—was crowded. A
long line like a torjridly winding serpent
stretched itself lazily far ont into the
Rue des Blancs-Manteanx. For several
hours the clerk behind his grated win
dow has droned out the numbers as he
beat his worn face above the greasy
book in wjjich he is busy inscribing
names and addresses.
“Again? So soon? And still pretty?"
with a vicious smile. “Lace pin—with
small diamond—hum! Twenty francs
for 71. Pass on qnickly! Next! Well!
And you? A carved crucifix. Ivory? No.
Five francs for 72.”
“No more?”
“No more. Take or leave. Ton detain
ethers. Decide.”
No. 72 hesitates. Suddenly a rough
hand tugs at her shabby shawl. She
turns. It is No. 71. A moment later
the two girls stand side by side in the
street.
“Here! Take this,” matters 71. “1
Insist. 1 stole your luck by my odd
number. Besides—it is to cheat the
devil. No? Why? What a little fool r
No. 72 has a face like a pale flame.
Her lips are blue, and much shivering
has rounded her thin shoulders. 71 is
ready, facile, a feminine gamin. She
thrives on Paris as a dandelion flaunts
from the crevico of a paving stone. The
one is smiling, yet dumb with amaze
ment The other talks, laughs, yet will
never smile again.
“Tut! A few francs! What are they
to me? And 1 shall redeem my pin to
morrow, while you”— a glance com
pleted the sentence.
“And 1—it was that I might celebrate
Paul’s fete day.”
“You live”
“At No. —, an attic in the Rue Sointe
Marguerite. He—Paul—works at the
theater. It is a good position, bat u re
quires that ho appear well to keep it.
This eats his earnings as a moth eats
feathers. We are from the south—Paul
and L He is happy here—but I”
“Amuse yourself by starving that he
may—oh! 1 comprehend. Here!”—and
the draws her into a wine shop. “Waiter!
A basket! Now fill it! First—a bottle
of wine, then a sugared loaf—then ».
pate—some of those. Tis 1 who shall
supply Paul’s feast.- But on one con
dition. my friend—that you eat your
half. And the wine is for you.” Paying
the waiter, 71 drops the change into the
hxuled basket
•And 1 who accept this—do not yet
know your name!” No. 72 is grateful
but there are no tears. Tears are a lux
ury with the poor.
“Call me—No. 71.”
“1 shall call you—my saint”
“Anything but that, my girL Well-
72—I shall see you again.” And she
watches her stagger away beneath her
burden.
“Mademoiselle is generous I” ventures
the waiter, who has followed them out
side the shop.
“Nonsense! It is my caprice! She is
dying—that girL It is written. And
her Paul? A fine, selfish scamp, Ill war
rant" And with a langh and a whir)
on her heel she harries away.
One year in a Parisian garret Ov-
year of green country quiet exchanged
for the lullaby of Paris—that mother
who too often sings her babies to their
deaths. To be sure, there has always
been Paul, and looking in his eyes
Jeanne could forget her homesickness.
And with his arm for a pillow, her
straw had not seemed a hard bed. But
he was forced to be at the theater early
and late. And nowadays his absences
were growing longer. Jeanne fancied
at times that he was less tender. Paul
was tired—tired of being poor. Was it
that Poverty was pinching Love to
death? She did not know—bat felt a
chill abont her heart—a dangerous thing
when the body is also cold.
Some one else would beat the ragout
on Paul’s next fete day. But Paul came
and went and noticed nothing.
One night in his sleep Jeanne heard
him utter a name.
She leaned to listen, but he said no
more, only smiling in his sleep. She
thought it was “Susanne.” In the morn
ing she questioned him.
“1 was dreaming. What of itT said
he, staring fioorward.
Before he went away that morning he
drew her fondly toward him and ten
derly kissed her rough and reddened
Blender hands. It was a revival of love.
Jeanne thought, and sang softly to her
self all of that day. Life was easier
after this. Paul grew more kind, and a
new pleasure was also here.
She did not knew that it is a man’s
way when he loves one to kiss the other
dumb.
And every day at noon her “saint’
came for an hour. Every day, in some
small way, Jeanne’s small wants grew
smaller. Every day 71 sat by 72 upon
the low straw pallet and laughed and
jested until Jeanne grew merry from
sheer contagion.
“We will thank her together—when
you are well again, my Jeanne, and find
cut also her real name,” Pool would
say in his nbsentminded way.
When Jeanne was well again!
One morning she seemed suddenly so
weak that Paul found it impossible to
leave her. For the first time be became
uneasy. She did not complain, merely
remaining strangely quiet And her
«yee shone as on that night beneath the
lindens long ago. The night they first
spoke of a marriage—their own.
“Bat it is nothing,” she murmured
while her starry eyes looked post him
across the glaring roofB so coldly bright
in the wintry sunlight It was brood
day in Paris, but in Jeanne’s life candle
time had come.
“Paul!"
“My Jeanne I"
“You love me?”
“My little one! How can yon ask?
Yon break my heart!”
“As dearly as ever, Pauli”
“As dearly as ever.” And Paul softly
stroked a very happy face.
Just then, above the lullaby with which
Paris was singing Jeanne to sleep, some
rollicking, distant bells rang ont the
hour. Jeanno raised herself upon her
elbow, and with one hand threw bac&
the drooping locks from her little white
ear.
“Hark!”
As they listened they heard a merry
clatter of high heels on the bare stair
way.
“It is—No. 71 r
As she spoke a piquant figure stood
framed within the low doorway.
“Paul!—my saint!”
And then two stood alone in the little
sunny garret, for just at that moment
Jeanr e's soul fled.
“Susanne! Yon—her saint!" and with
a hoarse cry Paul dropped the dead hand
on the straw.
“And bo—to her, yon were Paul! My
God!”
And Jeanne?
A little smile stole softly about her
lips. It was Death, who,in joke had
tricked Life out of one sorrow.—Johanna
Staats in Romance.
Send Farm* of the United State*.
The first report ever made through the
census office of the statistics of the seed
farms of the United States affords these
figure*. Only such farms as are devoted
to seed growing as a business are in
cluded: There is a total of 690 farms
in the United States devoted exclusively
to seed production. These farms occupy
169,851 acres of land, of which 96.587
acres were reported as devoted to seed
production during the censns year. This
industry represents a total value of
farms, implements and buildings of
$18,325,935, and emploved in 1890, 13,500
men and 1,541 women.
Of the 596 seed farms in the United
States, 258. or nearly one-half, are in the
North Atlantic division, the original
center of seed production. These farms
have an acreage of 47,813, or an average
of 185 acres per farm, while in the north
central division there are 157 farms, with
an acreage of 87,096, or* an average of
555 acres per farm. The seed farms of
Massuchnsetts and Connecticut average
142 acres per farm, while those of Iowa
and Nebraska are 695 acres in extent,
and are prodneing seeds on a scale of
equal magnitude to the other products
of that section of the country.
So far as reported there were but 2
seed farms in the country previous to
1860 (one of these was established in
Philadelphia in 1784. and the'other at
Enfield, N. H., in 1795), only 3 in 1820,
6 in 1830, 19 in 1840, 34 in 1850. 53 in
1860,100 in 1870, 207 in 1880 and 200 more
were established between 1880 and 1890,
leaving 189 unaccounted for as to date
of establishment.
Workingmen's Coflee House.
The Temperance league, of Toronto,
haserected a thre*“»to-y substantial build
ing on Elm street, which will be a.coffee
house for workingmen. A company has
been formed to carry on this idea. The
object of the company is to establish and
operate coffee houses in places frequented
by workingmen and to supply them with
a cup of good coffee or tea for two cents
and meals at moderate prices. Friends
of this movement will be asked to take
up stock at five dollars per share, and ns
it is expected that the work will be
largely self sustaining the stock will
probably be worth par.
Dog* on the Sea.
It is a strange fact that sea life changes
the character of domestic creatures.
After a few voyages they become as dif
ferent from the lubberly land creatures
of their respective species as the sailor is
unlike the landsman. The ship’s dog
may be quite properly classed as “non-
sportir g." Its life is usually free from
excitement. It is obliged to confine its
strolls to narrow limits. It is fonder of
the foremast hands than of the cabin
people, probably because it finds the
former' more affectionate and indulgent
—London Tit-Bits.
Hi* Idea of Angels.
A little five-year-old of my acquaint
ance interviewed his mother the other
day upon the subject of angels having
wings, and on being told that there was
reason to believe that they were no
equipped, exclaimed, “Oh, mamma,
how funny they must look when asleep
roosting Like turkeys.”—London Truth.
Japanese Archer*.
In Japan archers test their arrows by
balancing them on the nails of the sec
ond and third fingers of the left hand
and rapidly twirling them by the feath
ered end with the fingers of the right
hand. If the arrow makes a whirring
sound it is crooked and must be straight
ened.—Philadelphia Ledger.
The Wife’* Stratagem.
“Why do you go out in this horrible
rein withont an umbrella?”
“My husband said yesterday 1 h«A no
need to buy a new hat. as the one 1 am
wearing was good enough. I’ll teach
him different by tomorrow."—Dorfbar
bier.
There is said to be a secret society in
China, with millions of members, whose
motto is “China for the Chinese,” and
whose principal aim is to prevent for
eigners from living in that conntry.
Victoria’s granddaughters outnumber
her majesty’s grandsons by almost three
to one.
Seventy women have licenses for sell
ing beer and liquor in New York city.
Agreed with HI* Papa.
One day when abont to undergo cor
poral punishment for one of his misde
meanors, a small boy pleaded in arrest
of judgment that he had heard papa say
that be was against all violence, and the
proper way to settle all disputes was by
ar-ar- bitration I—London Truth.
A LOG CABIN SONG.
I know dm de weather is chilly and oole-
Be In time* Be in timet
Yet de jen'mine flower’s bright aa got*—
In tta prime! In tie prime!
Hit bluomln bright, hit blonmtn light—
In Its prime! In Its prime!
Fer 1 plant it on a moonlight night;
See it climb! Bee it climb!
1 brought it from de darkly swamp—
See it ellrabl See It climb!
1 brought it from de chilly damp—
Be in time! Be in Snai
1 plant an name it fbr my bean—
Be in timel Be in timel
Hit wtnd anion my cabin do’—
Bee It ollmbl Bee It climbl
If be should cease to love me true—
Re in time! Be in timel
Dat jen’mine hit would wither too—
In Its prime! In Ms prime!
—til Sheppard In New Orleans Timce-Demo
crat.
A TENDERFOOT.
Want* Pay fo" HI* Work.
Tiffin, O., Jan. 25.—Willis Bacon, an
attorney ol! this city, has brought suit
against W. L Squire, chairman of the
Republican state league, for services in
organizing Republican clubs through
out the state daring the late campaign.
He tramped pretty faithfully over the
corn fields of his district nearly three
month-*, and until lately thought he
was getting pay at the rate of $100 a
mouth. He asks for $71.55, and finding
that republicans, like republics, are un
grateful, has brought his claim before
the courts.
“Speakin—of—tenderfoot,” said Jim
Harden, as with a critical air he ]tacked
the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe, pre
paratory to relighting that artiele-
“speakin of tenderfeet reminds me of
one l knowed oucot, sence which time 1
bev be’n a whole lot more respective in
speakin of ’em.
“Twas in the summer of 18—. 1 was
then workin fer Ole Harvey Skerrett,
who kep’ store an run a ranch down at
Three Forks, in th’ foothills.
“Near Skewed, "bout two miles away.
Ole Si Hendershott bed a ranch. He
likewise hed ’bout th’ pnrtiest an incest
darter thet ever wore millinery, an Si.
he was proper proud of her. you bet.
Moreovennore. all of us galoots ’round
Three Forks was up to our back hair in
love with her—plumb, tearin, wide
awake mashed, as I’ve heard say. But
it didn’t do none of us no good—least-
ways, only one of ns. That war Perry
Roane, a young rancher from down th’
lreek ’bout ten mile. Perry,- he cut us
all out, 'thout half tryin, ’cause he was
a big, han’some cuss an well fixed, be
sides havin been t’ school lots when a
kid. So he went in an winned—almost.
That is t' say, he froze us out an kep'
reg’lar comp’ny with Hetty.
“1 guess ’twas all settled that they
was t’ be hitched some time or other,
when ’bout May along come a feller
from Boston with a letter to Ole Si from
some relation o’ his’n, an jes* camped
right at Si’s fer th’summer. He was
one of these here artist chnmps—not a
real, genooine fottygrapher, but one of
th’ sort that carries a lot of paper an
pencils an colors in little lead squirt
guns, an draws red, white an bine son-
sets, • likewise funny loo kin trees od
bowlders. He talked like a book an
called all th’ boys ’Mister,’ besides say
ing ‘Beg parding’ if he didn’t hear what
ye said first time.
“Sure ’nough, we guyed th’ chap lots
at first, but Spenceley—that wuz th’
tenderfoot’s name—was so doggo'ned
nice an pleasant an took a joke so easy,
we all got t’likin him tiptop. All ’xcept
Perry Roane He hated him Jots soon’s
he seen him. ’Cause why? Jest ’cause
Spenceley was under th’ same roof with
Hetty, an he knowed that it might turn
ont kind of bad fer him, ’specially as he
knowed right then—which nobody else
did—that Hetty wa’n’t much stack on
him, anyhow, an had only promised t
marry him t’ please th’ ole man. Ye see
Perry was a good deal of a bully, an
drank considerable, an then there was
an ole story "bout his havin’ skipped ont
from th' states, leavin a wife that died a
little later. Bnt this didn’t cat no figger
with Si. He had his eye on Perry’s pile
an was willin t’ take chances on makin
Perry treat Hetty first rate, ’cause th
ole man was a toler’ble dangerous cuss
himself.
“Well, th’ artist feller got ti feelin
sort of soft on Hetty himself, an 'most
ev’ry day they’d go wanderin ’round th
conntry. drawin, an fishin. an so on, an
in th' ovenin when Perry come over t
set awhile he'd find Mister Artist there
in th’ nettin room, cool as a cucumber
an polite us polite, him not knowin that
Perry had a first filin on th’ calico. An
Hetty, jest like any woman, ’njoyed it
all immense.
“ But Perry wasn’t th’ chap ti stand this
very long; so one mornin, happenin f
be at th’ store an meetin Spenceley there,
he walks up an says t’ him; ‘See here
my pale faced an weak eyed consump
tive. D’ye know whose toes you’ve been
steppin on?*'
“Spenceley looked at him kind of
queer, bat said he didn't know as he'd
hurt anybody.
“ ‘Well,’ says Perry, fit’s my toes, and
it’ll pay yon ti climb from under, Tore
something drops on ye. D’ye know who
has th’ first claim on Miss Hendershott's
company?. Better find ont and take care
of yourself.’ And Perry started ti go out,
swaggering, bat th* artist says, real
sharp, ’Mr. Roane, 1 wasn't aware that 1
was interfering with yon. If I am, how
ever, and yon don’t like it. Pm sorry; but
1 wish you t’ understand that nytber you
n’r any other rowdy can bluff me one bit
D’ye understand?
“Perry turned like he’d ben kicked
It was th' first time we’d ever heerd him
sussed and we was looking fer th’ artist
feller t' get bruised a whole lot But he
wasn’t—not any. Perry looked at him
a whole minute and seen there was no
scare there, so he jest turned and walked
out, grumbling and cursing.
“Somebody hid. took a shot at Spence
ley a few nights later, but he never
kicked none, only come up t’ th’ store an
bio wed hisself in fer a forty-four an
took shots at a mark ev’ry day—jes’ fer
sport, he sez; but 1 kinder s’mised he
was 'xpectin Mister Roane an him’d hev
trouble in th' near foochur, which was
cTect
••One day not longer arter this some
galoot brung word thet th’ Taches was
ont fihon muzzles, an was chawin every
thin in sight—an, moreovennore, comin
our way. an not fur off, nntber. Nope,
we didn’t wait none. Me*n an the ole
inon jes’ tuk ail th’ dust in th' box, hid
all th’ stock we conld, nailed np th
shop— Twas stone—an lit out fer Hen
dershott's t tell them. Thar Skerrett
leaves me, him havin th' fastest little
mustang in the ken try. an goes on ti
tell folks, oz many ez he kin
“Wa-nl. Bendersiiotfs '"folks was
ready, real sudden, only Old Si, he
wouldn’t go. Sez he: *1 hain’t goin one
foot. This here’s all I’ve got, ’cept th’
oLy Lady an Hetty, an I’m gain ti stay
right here in hob? tt. rT fheffi wffniiien
Led me an uo ranch they'd be wnss off
nor nothin Ag thar Ole Si staid, on
bundled me "a th' artist an the women
folks off fer Chloride quick. Th’ wiin-
ineu was in a light waggin, little Jose,
a Greaser kid, drivin. an two Greaser
girls on th’ back seat. Me Ti Spenceley
rid the bronco bock ’longside.
” TiOng in th’ arternoon, "boat 3, w®
looked over south, an here come a feller
on boss back, like a streak o' greased
lightain, thro win dust like th’ very
dooce—an back o' him, ’bout two ’r three
miles, come ’bout a dozen r fifteen fel
lers—near as we c’d guees—also kidrin
up a big cloud.
“ Twas a good ten mils t* Chloride
and we thought we was goners, fer of
course we didn’t s’pose them last fellers
was nothin hut Injuns.
"Spenceley set his teeth an looked at
his guns, an so did L Then he rid np t'
th" waggin, give Hetty a six shooter,
savin somethin 1 didn't hear, and told
tn' boy t’ make them mules fly. Then
he come back whar 1 wnx an sez real
quiet, ’D’ye think we kin hold ’em off
long ’nough Mr. Harden? 1 guessed
yes, but great Scott! didn’t 1 wish 1 was
outer that!
“Th' lone chap come racin up. Twa*
Perry Roane, whiter’n a gravestone. He
didn’t stop, only yelled ’Injuns!' an kep
on going, not stoppin ti say ‘Hellor t
Hetty in th’ waggin—jes’ kep’ on, headed
fer Chloride. Th’ artist turned t’ me in
a minute, wiv.h his mouth curled up an
sez, ‘Stampeded f
“We waited, all ready for them In
juns, bnt when they come up th* blood
sort of come back t* my heart agen, r
’cause we c’<l see a mile off thet they
was white—sirveyora an cowboys; some
stampeded thsirselves, we foon ont.
“ThingB got quiet in a day T so. fer it
happened thet Uncle Sam bed a lot o'
sojers lyin in camp near Chloride, on tb'
way they kep them Injuns inovin back
south was real lively.
“Wal. in a week *t so up come Mister
Roane, jes ’z big ez life, an ez chipper,
an goes ti Hendershott’s when th’ old
folks was at th’ store and Spenceley ont
ridin. I reckon him *n Hetty jes’ hed a
real lovely row. He hed th’ gall ti tell
’er thet he wai jes’ ridin fer a doctor fer
a sick cowboy, an hadn't heard o’ no In
juns. Hetty was onto him, though, an
talked real rough ti the cuss, 1 reckon.
“’Bout 5 o’clock little Jose come ridin
ti th’ store in u hurry, an tolo us he hed
be’n Iistenin ti Hetty an Roane talkin.
an all of a sudden he heerd a little
scream. Nex’ thing he seen Roane
carryin Hetty outer th’ door an puttie
’er in his buggy—she lookin like she’d
fainted—an Roane druv off, an Jose lit
out fer th’ store, meetin Spenceley on tb
way, an tellin him.
“Th’ olo mi.n an I guessed th’ same
thing—he’d doped th’ girl with chlory
form, T somethin’, an lit ont for Mineral
Point, whar Eph Hines; a justice of th
peace, lived. I don’t know how we come
t’ think of it; but 1 hed read o’ sech
things, an so had Si, I reckon. Lord,
bnt th’ ole chap looked tur’ble! He
didn’t say nothin, but he looked like he
was thinkin lots, an it didn’t take men
him long ti git t’ Mineral Point, fifteen
mile—bad lrai!i too. When we got near
th’ burg Ole !>i loosened up. an ef he
didn't cuss fer fifteen minutes I’m a jay.
“We rid np ti Hines’, ready t’ shoot,
an Si kicked th’ door open, an there, on
th’ floor, lyin tied han’B an feet, was
Perry Roane—an Spenceley, kind of
flustrated. bnt smUin, riz up. an pointin
ti Hetty, who was settin in a cheer,
lookin kind of pale, sez, ‘Gentlemen, let
mo interjuce my wife.’
“Twas this way: Roano—he’s doin
time now—hedn’t drugged th’ gynrl.
only gagged ’er, an, between thar an th*
point, hed made ’er promise ti marry
him an make no fnss, *r else he’d kill
him an her both—an he meant it. Hines
was jest gettin ready fer th’ perform
ance when Sjienceley rid np. Perry
reached for hif; gun, but Spenceley was
too sadden, an caught ’im in th’ gnu
arm, an him an Hines, who tumbled at
oncet, tied th’ enss, arter which he ast
Hetty ti marry him on th’ spot, an she
done it.
“No, I don’t never play low on no ten
derfoot”—R. L. Ketchnm in Son Fran
cisco Argonaut
Cutting Wood.
A device has been patented in Eng
land by which till kinds ef wood can be
cut into veneers or boards. The logs are
cut into suitable lengths, steamed in a
close box through which a current of
electricity is sent, and finally placed in a
lathe, where they are rotated against a
knife. The thin sheets are afterward
nipped at the edges, and can be used to
make barrels, psals, etc., from one stave.
—New York Times.
Autograph* Cheaply Valued.
Only eleven shillings! That was all
that conld be obtained at a recent auc
tion sale of ante graphs in London for a
letter from Adelina Patti, in which she
■ays everybody madly loves her. At
the Bame sale documents signed by Rich
elieu, the great cardinal, .fetched bnt
two shillings each. So greatness fades
away, and, as the preacher says, “Van
ity, all is vanity!”
A H eavy Load.
Mrs. Fiveroome Flatte (to grocer's
boy)—How is it vhe elevator won’t come
np? Your bread most be fearfully
heavy!
Grocer’s Boy—Tain’t the bread that’s
on it, ma’am; itiu the bill for what yon
owe.—New York Sun.
The Fatal Three Month*.
Goluhbus. lad. Jan. 25.—The death
of Judge N. R. Keyes, of this city, has
recalled the singular fatality that has
overtaken his two immediate predeces
sors, Judges Hester and Care Hon.
James S. Hester was appointed in 1873,
and served three months, and was elect
ed for a six year term, but died three
mouths before hit term was out. Hon.
Nathan T. Can-, of this city, was ap
pointed to fill out bis three mouths,
■ and was elected ::or six years, bnt he,
; too, died three months before his term
expired, and Hou. Nelson R. Keys was
i appointed to fill out his three months’
unexpired term, end was elected for six
years, which ho served, and was re
elected for six years, but had only
served three months on his second term
when he, too, died.
A TRANSPORl/M ION SCHEME
Discussed by tb* Chicago Hallway Age
ef Interest te Vreapactlv* Visitor*.
Chicago, Jan. 25.—In its issue of this
week The Railway Age will make a vig
orous attack on some of the speculative
■ transportation schemes for the World’s ‘
Fair. It will say: "A favorite and
promising device for beguiling persons
of moderate means is that of organising
companies with high sounding
which invite people to make weekly or
monthly payments of a special amount
up to the time of the fair, in return for
which the company promises to fnrnish
transportation to and from Chicago,
with meals on the way. board for a cer
tain number of day* in the city and ad
mission to the fair. Inquiries have
been received from California in regard
to one of these concerns, the letters be
ing accoinnanined with circular*, tits
tom of which is sufficient to throw
doubts upon the scheme. ”
Quoting from the circulars, it eaye the
subscriber will pay $215, to say nothing
of the loss of Interest for twenty
months. The Age prove-, by figures
that any individual can avail himself of
everything offered by the association at
a cost not to exceed, $431. and this in
cludes excellent aec nnmodatkme at a
hotel at a much higher rate than the
economical traveler need pay. It also
calls attention to the fact that the cir
culars say nothing about the item ef
sleeping car fare, and then ends by sug
gesting that a better way to save money
for a visit to the World’s fair is to de
posit it in home savings bauks, where it
will draw interest and be at their com
mand in case, through misfortune, they
are compelled fo nse the money tor
other purposes.
THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
W » Large 9am of Money Belonging to
Colorado Miner*.
Denver, Jan. 25.—The English <tt- V
rectors of the Tarry all Creek Gold com
pany, limited, whose placer mines are
located in Park county, and whose office
is at Fairplay, Oolo., are trying to find
out where 5.090 ounces of gold, taken
from their mines, has gone to.. It was
supposed to have left Colorado for Lon
don, England, in September, 1896, and
should have arrived in England inside
of two weeks from the time of leaving
Col< rado.
Several meetings of the directors and
stockholders are said to have been held
for the purpose of ascertaining what
became of this large amount of gold,
but,, strange to shy, thns far no action
1 has been taken, although it has been
oyer a year since the disappearance of
this shipment. It is reportol that au
agent of the company has been sent to
Colorado to investigate the matter, but -
he has not yet been heard from in
Denver.
The records of the seoretary of state
show that the Tarryal Creek Mini'tg
company was incorporated August 7,
1884, with $100,000 capital, and the fol
lowing trusters: James SittrelL Charles
EL. Hall and Assyria Hall. The prop
erty consisted ef p'.aoer mines located
in Polk county, and the office of the
company was at Fairplay. ' It would
seem that the English company has
since obtained control of the property.
A MUCHLY MARRIED MAN
Gets Himself late a Peek of Trouble.
HI* Slz Wive*.
St. Louis, Jan. 25.—Ohio men, gen
erally speaking, have the reputation of
being satisfied with one wife, but Gor
don W. Green, whose name sounds
very much like that cf a gentleman of
color, but wlio is white, has stood in
front of the altar and lieen epltoed just
six times, and all ef the wives are alive
and kicking, No. 6 having the longest
reach and being the hardest kicker, as
she is the one who applied for a war
rant for Green’s arrest, she being de
sirous of placing him in a position
where matrimony is at least a stranger.
No. 6 married Green a few months
since in Normandy, a St. Louis suburb,
and he deserted her in less than nine
months. She says that he won a mem
ber of the Toledo, Columbus and St.
Louis police forces, but could not con
tinue as a copper on account of his ma
nia for marrying. He hails from New
Carlisle, O., where he now has a wifo
and several children. He haa a wifo
each in Litchfield, Bis.,'Belleville, Ills.,
and fonr in Whitehall, Ills. No. 6 says
that he never lived with any of his
wive* longer than a year at a time, bat
that h* will leave one fer awhile, go
and live with another.
A Mother** Ml*take.
Massillon, O., Jon. 25.—A shocking,"'
fatal accident occurred at the farm resi
dence of George Crise, a prominent
farmer living two miles west of the city.
Mrs. Crise went to a neighbor's for a
short time, leaving her 2}-year-old son
alone in the house. A box ef matches
was left within reaching distance. One
was secured, ignited, and the child’s
clothes set on fire. When the mother
returned, the little fellow was enveloped
in a mass of flame, and was so badly
burned that he died within throe hours.
They Took the Town.
WnjtKSBARBB, Pa., Jan. 25.—The
cold snap is hard on tramps. The town
of Danville has been Invaded by knights
of the road. Tramps made a house to
house canvas* for food. The residents
were greatly alarmed. At night tho
large army of strangers went to the
iron works. They crowded every de
partment and refused to leave when or
dered. Eighteen arrests have been
made, all able-bodied men. One hun
dred citizens are acting as constables,
and tramps are leaving the town fast.
A Southern Lady's Death.
Tiffin, O.. Jan. 25.—Sarah Eugenia,
wife of ’Sqnire Elias M. Rita, died of
erysipelas aiid la grippe, aged 47. Site
was the daughter of a wealthy Charles
ton, S. C„ family, the Gay era, and was
a lady of rare accomplishments and of
| most amiable character. Her marriage
with Ritz was the s< qnel to a war time
. wooing, he having been a Union officer
at Charleston, and instrumental in af
fording the Gayer family protection at
a. critical time. He was mayor of Ma
rion, O., from 1880 to 1882 previous to
his removal here. The remaius were
sent to Charleston for huriaL
