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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