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BANNE
Wntr' m m. Pul. 1*54 I Consolidated with the
CbrMlcle, Bet. ISTT. ] Athene Wanner. Big. 1SS*.
ATHENS, GA„ TUESDAY MOKwiNQ, FEBRUARY 9,1892.
ONE DOLLAR A YEAR
CISSIE AND CARRY.
Seymour Gladbrook was a yonng man
of great promise. He had just com
menced his third year at Oxford, and
every one expected him to take a high
place among the cleverest men of his
year when he went in for his tripos.
But young (Jladbrook was no book
worm and owed his superiority in knowl- I had given her in their dainty morocco
ion nave run ui«m ilie rocs
whirlpool, bui the sea give* up its dead.
Inclosed please rind all jcviols, etc., which
you have given me, and which 1 now return,
together with two-thirds of all moneys spent
by you in entertain men to. etc.
Trusting that you will And the accompany
ing statement of accounts correct, I remain
unwillingly. Rcyula.
P. S. ~ You may thank my sister for getting
your money back.
Half dazed and hardly knowing what
he was doing, he hastily opened the box
and took out one by one the trinkets he
MET HALF WAY.
A STOLEN DIAMOND.
edge more to the brilliancy of his intel
lect than to studious application. At
the ago of twenty-one he found himself
his own master, with an income suffi
cient to keep a bachelor in every luxury.
This would have led many young men
| into excesses, but Gladbrook was steady
as a rock, and above all things pridfed
himself upon being adamant to the fair
sex—a fatal mistake in most cases, and
suggestive of the Scriptural warning,
"Let him who thinketh he standetli be
ware lest he fall.” On the night of the
university boat race, in the year 18—,
| Gladbrook was sitting in a certain stall
at the Vampire Music hall. In the
next stall to him sat his greatest friend,
H oruce Morton. On the stage the Sis
ters Pool were delighting their many
admirers with their most fascinating
dance.
••By Jove." said yonng Morton, whoso
head was slightly swimming, "‘by Jove,
bow those two i>oor girls whirl!”
“Yes." replied Gladbrook, “they're
perfect whirlpools. In fact they ought
to be christened 'Scylla and Charybdis,
for they are whirlpools in which many a
raft has gone to destruction.”
Morton was not too drunk to remember
E his and not so dishonorable as to try and
lalm it off as his own joke. Consequent-
ly next day all Seymour Gladbrook’s
•lends were talkiug about his latest wit-
ctsm.
Now Gladbrook was perhaps the only
lan of his set who was not more ot J
;ss intimately acquainted with (Jissie
ml Carry Pool, so the whole story was
arned direct to them, together with the
mine of the originator.
Henceforth Oissie and Carry were
nowu far and wide only as Scylla and
Jharybdis. and they pretended tc appre-
tate the jest, hut in their innermost
mis they (especially the elder) cherished
longing tor revenge against their in
dices defatner.
Cisste (Scylla) expressed a strong de-
Hfre to meet the young wag who had
ftilgiven her this Homeric nickname, and
^Kk her lightest wish was law to her ad
^nirers the meeting soon took place.
■Bu'tcr this Gladbrook seemed to find
thee sisters everywhere he went. If he
on a race course they were sure to
the guests of a friend of iiis. If he
nt out to supper they were always
vited, until lie quite unconsciously
fled into the friendliest relations with
iem.
t was quite evident to every one hut
mlbrook that he was under very heavy
from the batteries of Scylla. a lire
ich no man had withstood for long
was then m the first Rush of youth,
ltlessly beautiful in form and feature,
inning in manner and such a master
the arts of fascination that they ap
ired to be part of her nature. GLul-
tok's friends first chaffed and then
rued him. Ho laughed at them and
led himself a misogynist. At first it
med as if he would prove invulner-
ilo to the fusillade to which the lady
tiuuallv subjected him. He trusted
Ins armor of indifference and was too
•ml to retreat from danger. His pride
led to his fall. He fell as only brave
^■ii do. utterly and hopelessly defeated,
he capitulation of young Seymour
1 brook, which caused so much diver-
i and amusement to his friends, was
sad to behold. The fact of his bavin;
t« fcii indifferent to other women all his
made him give himself heart ami
I to this one. Cissie Pool was jubi
cases—hearts, darts, anchors for hope,
serpents for eternity; at the bottom he
found another letter, just like the
former, only more bulky. With a sink
ing heart he tore it open. It contained
X long bill, stretching over several sheets
of uote paper, setting forth every item of
He was the man who came last to
ship as seaman aboard the Warrior, as
| she lay in the harbor. A fine two mast-
: ed schooner was the vessel, and Captain
| Scudder was properly proud of her as
! she lay alongside the wharf receiving
; cargo and passengers. She was to sail
! with twenty souls upon her—seventeen
tnen, two women and a lady’s maid. At
the last moment the captain decided to
augment his crew by oue man more.
Ere he made a move to engage one, he
heard a man’s voice saying:
“Please tell me where the captain
is?”
He turned and faced the speaker, who
Passengers ana cien, un^,.
labor and loss of sleep, assailed by a
biting wind, at last succumbed to chill
and numbness, and made no more effort.
Then arose one of their number, a In Tronville, near Havre, about the
tall, gatuit fellow, whom the captain end of August, three people were as-
his expenditure at Richmond, at Green- ! was a ^ t felU;W of £ irty year8
at R1 urvihonro uf Koftnof’a ot . . . . . J J
She paraded her tame lover on
ry possible occasion, in order that all
and womajj might see how com
ber victory had been. He lavished
puts and jewels upon her until she
j^^Bkled from brow to waist with dia-
*tomi ds. and people wondered how much
Ion er young Gladbrook’s money would
Hold out. But in proportion as the
its of the elder Miss Pool rose those
of I ler sister seemed to give out. She
m i ,lle depressed and dull. The few
lirers she had dropped off one by one,
ng that it was as hopeless for them
y and win her affections as it was
foflher to exjiect one tender glance from
H^nau she worshiped. Seymour Glad
is not the only man who has de-
tlie substance to pursue the
aw. and. blinded by the beauty of
prtn, has ignored the purity of the
Carry’s nature was as perfect as
luster's figure, while in Scylla’s
rter there was scarcely a redeem
feature. All men who make this
1 error suffer for it either in fortune
’ respect.
day of reckoning came at last.
[ jennesse doree of Loudon was
i into the depths of despair by the
I that the divinities at whose shrines
it bBl worshiped so long were going to
ela fresh devotees in America, and
make a lengthy tour through the
States. This blow fell like a thunder-
iboltfyi young Gladbrook. He was (lis-
She was far away, and he had
(ie means of following her. Every
of his modest patrimony had
plundered upon his enslaver, and
no security on which to raise
aoney.
las the night before the sisters were
I, and he was sitting in his chain
plunking dejectedly over the situa-
vlien his servant brought him a
emewhat bulky parcel, which had been
eft
wich, at Blanchard’s, at Kettner’s, at
Epsom, Ascot, Sandown and Kempton
Park; for ices and exhibitions; for car
riages, rail and cab; all that he had
spent from start to finish in entertaining
the Bisters Pool. And with this lengthy
list of expenses were hank notes for £66
18s. 4d. per cent., of the total.
He was allowed to pay for his own en
tertainment. but was recouped for all
his outlay upon the two ladies. The ad
justment of accounts was on the strict
est “Yorkshire.”
Was ever a man so humiliated? He
had fancied himself beloved, and he dis
covered that he was despised. What
could he do? Send her back the money
so insolently returned to him? Useless!
The thing was too deliberately done on
her part to admit the possibility of un
doing. She meant to insult him—had
been meaning it all the time she was
leading him on with every fascination
she could command. He must stomach
the affront, but he could not pocket that
money, hard up though he was.
In an advertisement in the second col
umn of The Times the treasurer of a
well known hospital for women and
children acknowledged the gift of £879
13s. 7d. from the Sisters Pool.
The people who praised the munifi
cence of the gift wondered at the odd
ness of the amount, which was the exact
total of the sisters’ restitution to their
entertainer.
A week later a relative, who was a
city merchant, offered Gladbrook a part
nership in a business which eventually
opened up the dazzling pathway to
wealth.
He liought an estate in his own county,
stood for his division of Cragshire and
entered parliament.
The American tour of the Sisters Pool
was one succession of triumphs. Before
they had been in the country three
months Cissie had married a rich stock
broker. Aftor two years’ domestic un
happiness he lost his entire fortune in a
single day and committed suicide before
night. Carry remained single. They
returned to England to find other god
desses reigning in their stead and a new
race of fanatics worshiping at new
shrinos. Scylla and Charybdis were
never again the attraction they had
been. Even their old admirers found
them wanting. They said, “The elder
one is coarse and vulgar, while the
younger is doleful and uninteresting.”
Life is short, but fame shorter. That is
the history of the celebrated Sisters
Pool, as told mo by Gladbrook himself,
now M. P. from Cragshire, in his study,
where we sat iu reminiscent chat one
evening, pieced together with much
which Carry told me long afterward.
They sank lower and lower in public es
timation until Scylla fell a victim to
alcoholic paralysis, nursed in her last ill
ness by the faithful Carry, who left the
stage after her sister's death and sup
ported herself for the vest of her life by
giving elementary music lessons to the
children of the lower middle class. She
made a little money in this way, and
with this and the interest on some
money left her by an unknown friend,
kept herself comfortably for the rest of
her days. She always read the political
news when she returned home after her
day's work. Gladbrook never gave up
his stall at the Vampire until the Sisters
Pool retired from the boards, and then
he never entered a music hall again,
He never knew that while the elder
sister had pursued him with a relentless
hate the younger had fondly loved him,
and for his sake had refused more than
one advantageous offer on “the othei
6ide.”—New York Press.
SHARED.
I said it In the meadow path,
I say it «u the mountain stairs—
The best things any mortal hath
Are those which every mortal shares.
The air we breathe, the sky, the breeze.
The light without us and within—
Life, with its unlocked treasuries,
God’s riches—are for us to win.
The grass Is softer to my tread.
For rest it yields unuumbcicd feet:
Sweeter to me the wild rose red.
Because she makes the whole world
sweet.
Into your heavenly loneliness
Ye welcomed me, O solemn peaksl
And me in every guest you bless
Who reverently your mystery seeks.
And up the radiant peopled way
That opens Into worlds unknown.
It will be life’s delight to say,
’’Heaven Is not heaven for me alone.”
Rich through my brethren’s poverty—
Such wealth were hideous! I am blest
Only In what they share with me.
In whul 1 share with all the rest.
—Lucy Larcom.
A Porous Soli for Corn.
Professor Roberta in a paper on corn
culture, read at the annual convention of
New York dairymen, said:
A great point is gained i n corn culture
if the corn is planted while the ground
the" door'by a''young ladyina | * °P° U I 1or ‘ ,U8 > allowing the heat to
. . .. .si ontnr arm warni tn« (Util tmm fltflrtinor
lie parcel was placed on the table enter and war “J the f° l1 ’ th “ starting
■ left for some time unnoticed by the seed quickly and so get a start of
■mil he caught sight of the writ- I the weeds From five to ten days after
the brown paper cover as he plantmg the corn may be cultivated, and
^np and down the room. In that tar closer to the raw and far more rapid
glance he recognized the pattes l y than could be done after the corn has
iclio of his enchantress. He tore appeared above the ground. All cnlti-
:el open in a fever of excitement va tors -hould have many fine teeth, in
>nd a good sized wooden box, on order that the surface of the land may
of which lav a letter addressed be fined and leveled. When moisture la
n the same ‘hand. He tore open somewhat deficient, cultivating with
lope and devoured its contents, i Rue toothed implements is indispensable,
’s letter was brief and eminent- j 8hould ** cultivated five times
i during the season and the last time as
.,. ’ . I the corn begins to silk. The roots should
Idle boast aud a cruel jest- You be- i be broken as little as possible, and every
‘ii’.raelf Invulnerable and sneer.* at succeeding cultivation should be shal-
women about whom you knew ‘ lower and ftsther from the row than the
"W sunk in the preceding ona <* .
or thereabout, with such diffidence of
manner as required some courage in
him to look the captain squarely in the
face, when the latter gruffly said:
“I’m the captain.”
The man stood still in an awkward
attitude under the captain’s stern gaze
as if unable to find speech before so
fierce a glance. He dropped his dull gray
eyes to the deck and doffed his now
shapeless hat, aud spoke, after a gulp,
in a low voice that slightly trembled:
“If you please, may I work my passage
out?”
The captain was moved by this speech
to a faint facial demonstration of amuse
ment. A pretty sailor this big, shame
faced man would make! The captain
studied the applicant's appearance in de
tail. A homely fellow he was, with an
unhealthy brown hue to his skin, a fore
head into which some lines of sorrow
had been wrought, roving eyes that met
one’s glance with a slightly startled look,
a haggard face without whiskers, a re
ceding chin, bent shoulders and a grace
less way of wearing his faded and fray
ed attire. Red hands an(\ long wrists
protruded from the two short sleeves of
his wornout blouse.
“What do you know about sailing?”
asked the captain in a tone of ridicule.
Not much, sir. I’ve worked with
fishermen, and 1 know a little about
handling a smack.
‘1 reckon we don’t need you. Ever
been on a schooner before at all.”
Often as a passenger, sir. I know
I’m not a seaman, but I'll do anything.
I want to get back to my people.”
“You look strong enough; but why do
you hang your head like that? One
would think you were a coward.”
1 am,” said the man, in a low voice.
What! and yqu admit it?”
Yes. Why not? I’ve fought hard
against it. but 1 can’t help it. 1 make
up my mind to lie brave' enough, but
wheu the time comes for it I'm afraid.”
The captain had never met such i
character as this before, and he was in
terested. A few other loungers on the
wharf stopped to overhear the conversa
tion, their attention first beiug attracted
by the great height of the man.
“Afraid of what?” asked the captain,
“1 don't know. - Of death, 1 suppose.
This is how it is: 1 came from home
with a comrade; 1 go back alone. One
day when we were out in a little sloop a
storm came up, and in a sudden iurcb of
the boat my partner was knocked over
board by the boom. In half a minute
the boat was several fathoms away from
him. He couldn’t swim.”
“Why didn't you throw him a line?”
asked a bystander.
“Because I was afraid for my own
coward's life! 1 didn’t dare to let go
the tiller for a moment. I stood there
stupid with fear, afraid to leave the tiller
for an instant, afraid of death. I felt
like a man paralyzed. As the boat rose
and fell on the waves I watched my
friend struggle in the sea. 1 saw him
throw up his arms; 1 saw his face white
with terror; I heard him cry out ‘Save
me!’ and then he must have read what
was in my scared face, for he shouted
•Coward!’ aud sent me a look of hate as
the waters covered him up. 1 don’t
know how I made land, but I got in safe
after six hours of tossing, when the gale
fell. I'd give my life, if 1 only could, to
know that 1 wasn’t a coward, but when
the time comes to show it I haven’t the
power. You don’t know the shame of
it, sir, but you would if you could see
that look on my comrade’s face, and if
his last cry rang in your ears day and
night. Cowardice is upon me like a
curse. It’s the blight of my life, sir.'
Such evident shame and grief were
npon the man’s face that all who heard,
including the captain, were moved to
some pity of his state, and so much curi
osity had he excited in the captain’s
mind that he was employed for the voy
age.
When the Warrior hoisted sail an hour
later shb had twenty-one souls aboard.
The captain classified them thus: Seven
teen men, two ladies, a maid and a cow
ard.
The Warrior had good winds at the
start of her voyage. But one night
wind rose and at daylight there was a
heavy gale. Whitecaps danced wildly
npon the waters of the sound. The per-
turbatk»n of the sea was becoming fright
ful. Tne vessel was driving straight on
to a vocky coast. The passengers, pale
with dread of the coining catastrophe,
lashed themselves to <he deck or clung
to the rigging. Captain Scudder shouted
the warning of the doom of the Warrior
above the sound of the sea.
“Nothing under heaven can change
her courser
Yet he and his crew strove neverthe
less to the last. Every one on board
knew that the vessel was drifting rapid
ly, that soon she must strike and be
dashed to pieces.
The sea swept her deck and broke
over her masts. Seven men hung to the
rigging for life. They looked ashore.
Only 150 yards away stood a group of
islanders, as helpless to succor those in
't>eril as the latter were to save them
selves.
Now the position of the vessel was
this: Where Sandy point dropa beneath
the sea it does not end. but it is pro
longed under the water, making thus a
perilous sandbar. Out npon this bar
was the Warrior. The island tide from
the east and from the west meet here.
There is no more terrible place in a gale
than that where two seas collide.
TJie storm grew. Such was the work
of wind and sea that times were when
the sandbar-from the shore to the vessel
was swept 1 naked. But its nudity was
speedily buried under heavier seas.
— with
had called a coward in harbor, and he
proceeded to belabor them and to keep
them active, that they might not perish
from the cold. -
There’s hope yet!” he cried. “Keep
alive, men!”
And one after another did he awaken
by rude shaking and warm by his
rough chafings.
Some caught his spirit, and by the
labors of their weary muscles they set
their frozen blood in quicker motion.
But what use?” cried one. “The end
must come.”
Aye, but there’s one chance,” shouted
the coward, who now loomed up large
and resolute. “Look! the sea has rolled
back and left the bar uncovered. A
man could run ashore on that, maybe,
while the sea held back.”
Two men laughed madly.
“Aye, maybe! Look now!” said one,
with savage sarcasm.
The coward looked. The sea had
swelled up and hidden the bar far be
neath its foaming waters.
“Yet one may try!” cried the coward.
“Try you then!” shouted the other.
Now it is hard to meet death half way.
It is against man’s nature to walk to
destruction. Even though he knows it
be coming he has the hope or the cow
ardice to shrink from it to the last.
Therefore no sailor of them would leap,
into that sea or dare the deed suggested
by the coward.
If 1 succeed, will you follow at the
next fall of the sea?” he asked.
“What one man can do another can,”
was the reply.
The coward looked ashore. Siillenly
the waters rolled apart. The sand bar
was naked. The man jumped from the
gunwale and ran.
The people on the vessel watched him
with waking hope and cessation of
breath. The hundreds of islanders on
shore stood silent, thrilled, eager. No
word was 6aid; only the sea spoke.
The mau ran shoreward, with shoul
ders and head bent forward and eyes
set. The sea rose on both sides of him.
The huge waves walled his roadway.
The roadway began to narrow. A
turbulent high sea moved in pursuit of
him. He lengthened and quickened his
steps. It was a race between so small a
thing as a man and so great a thing as
the storm impelled ocean.
The ocean won. With a great roar it
came down npon the man. But he
would not be taken in flank, with his
back to his enemy. He turned and
faced the sea. He leaped into it head
foremost. Afterward his body was cast
upon the beach. The ocean had toyed
with it, and had then thrown it back to
its own kind.
Those on the island saw that when the
man turned to meet death a smile was
on his face. He had discovered he was
not afraid to die.—True Flag.
A Riddle Making Epoch.
There have been epochs at which rid
dle making has been more especially in
vogue, and such epochs would appear to
occur at seasons of fresh intellectual
awakening. Such an epoch there was
at tho first glimmering of new intel
lectual light in the second half of the
Seventh century. This was the age of
Aldhelm, bishop of Sherborne, the first
in the roll of Anglo-Latin poets. He
left a considerable number of enigmas in
Latin hexameters, and they have been
repeatedly printed.
Aldhelm died in 709. Before his time
there was a collection of Latin riddles
that bore the name of Symphosius. Of
this work the uate is unknown; we only
know that Aldhelm used it, and we may
infer that it was then a recent product.
The riddles of Symphosius were uniform
in shape, consisting each of three hex
ameter lines.—Cornhill Magazine.
Girls Will Re Girls.
At a boarding school girls will do any
thing to see and speak with a repre
sentative of the sterner sex, especially if
it is forbidden to do so. A novel way of
becoming acquainted with the boys, as
practiced in the school mentioned, is to
have some girl who is acquainted with
the boys make an appointment with them
at a certain place “out of bounds,” or, in
other words, on forbidden grounds.
Then the crowds of schoolgirls will
march down to the place where the
academy boys are and be formally in
troduced to the young men. When the
prim young ladies return home their
mammas cannot object to their acquaint
ance, as they were formally introduced
at college.—Buffalo Times.
Wire as F^ne as Hair.
Wires as fine as a human hair—.003
inch in diameter—and even finer, can be
gauged by instruments termed “micro
meters.” These instruments are beauti
ful pieces of workmanship.—Mechani
cal News.
sembled in a pleasant room overlooking
beautiful garden. They seemed to be
discussing a subject of importance;
they were a young man of about twenty-
five, a girl of twenty, and the father of
the latter, a man of about fifty.
“Why do we need riches?" asked
Theodore, the young man. “Can they
by chance maintain our happiness?
Anna and 1 would live very happily in
cottage, and the bread earned by my
labor would be for us both sweet as am
brosia.” Anna replied with a tender
glance, which seemed very eloquent to
Theodore, because it openly repeated
that which the girl’s heart had secretly
told him many times. The father, who
had a kind face, turned his head aside
to hide a smile; then he errclaiined:
“My children, 1 might tell you many
things which you would only use to re
peat in your turu in vain to your chil
dren twenty years from now; till then
you would neither believe them nor
understand them; but as l love my
daughter more than my life and esteem
him who desires to be her husband
enough to confide her happiness to his
care, 1 cannot consent to yonr union till
Theodore returns from the voyage that
he is obliged to make under his employ
er's orders.”
Theodore spoke slightingly of the profit
which he would derive from this voyage,
whose sole motive was commercial rea
sons; but Anna’s father was inflexible,
and the lovers were obliged to yield to
what they considered an old man’s whim.
“Goodby, Theodore,” said Anna; “I
shall pray heaven, not that you return
rich, but constant.”
Theodore assured Anna with a loving
glance that her wish would be granted,
and a few days later he embarked.
******
During the long voyage Theodore
thought of the places which he was to
visit, which were entirely new to him.
The splendors of the orient evoked by
his imagination offered marvelous pic
tures; and little by little he formed an
idea of the extraordinary luxury of the
east.
But when they arrived in Constanti
nople his disenchantment was intense.
In disgust at the difference between the
reality and the descriptions, he resolved
to think only of his beloved; and as the
merchant whom he accompanied was to
share the profits with him, he calcu
lated about what he should receive and
exclaimed: “Anna's father will be sat
isfied. I am now certain that nothing
will interfere with our happinessl”
One evening, seated in his modest
room with his elbows on the table and
his head in his hands, he amused him
self by arranging the expenses of his fu
ture home, discussed the grave question
of servants, formed an interminable list
of furniture which he considered neces
sary to adorn his house, and not content
with all this even thought of how his
beloved would look at the wedding,
when suddenly two knocks at the door
interrupted his agreeable task. He
opened the door, and was not a little
surprised at the entrance of a man who,
after glancing around the room, turned
and locked the door. Before Theodore
could speak the unknown said:
Sir, we have only ten minutes to
make a bargain, on which depends your
fortune aud my life.”
“1 do not understand you.”
“Listen,” replied his mysterious inter
locutor. “I am a slave employed in the
mines. I have stolen a diamond and,
feigning illness, have succeeded in be
iug sent. here. No prince in the world
possesses a stone so precious as this; but
my diamond is a treasure useless to me,
because 1 am in need of money, and
without resources 1 cannot escape to sell
it. So you understand I cannot hope
for any benefit from it; and if you will
give me euough to escape the stone is
yours.”
“But”— stammered Theodore.
“Look at it and accept my proposition;
it will make you rich and me happy, be
cause it will assist me to return to the
bosom of my family.”
And the slave showed an enormous
diamond to Theodore, who contemplated
it with intense astonishment.
Certainly,” he said, “it is a mag
nificent stone. I have seen many of its
class, but none so perfect nor so large.
Any ruler would be proud to adorn his
crown with it.” »
“Do not lose time; by depriving your
self of a few pounds you will be a
millionaire and I will be happy.”
“And if they pursue me?” observed
Theodore.
“Pursue you! Who would suspect
you? And then you can escape.”
Theodore was iu doubt, but as the
slave was going he took the diamond
and gave for it what money he had, then
taking part of his portion from his em
ployer, he also fled.
After the First Daughter’s Wedding.
Mrs. Mary A. Livermore tells this story:
The daughter of a certain gentleman, who
was quite well off, was to be married. She
had purchased her trousseau, which was
gorgeous one, from the apartments of the
world’s most fashionable modiste. The
bill reached way up into the hundreds, and
was but a short step from a thousand.
The ceremony and reception in their turn
followed with all the brilliancy character
istic of a nuptial of the society world.
The fond parent looked anxiously on as he
thought of the immense number of bills
that would soon pour in for his sympathy,
and silently came to the conclusion that it
should be the last.
After the event bad passed and the
happy Mr. and Mrs. were speeding away
in a Pullman enjoying all of the pleasan
tries of a honeymoon, be called his other
daughter to him and surprised her some
what by inquiring if she had any serious
thoughts on matrimony.
“Why, papa.” she exclaimed, “you know
I haven’t left school yet!”
“I know that,” replied the father as he
thought of his diminished bank account,
“biit will you ever have?”
“Why, of course,” was the blushing
maiden’s reply; “yon know all girls ex
pect.”
“Then.” he answered, "when the final
point comes* just let me know in time and
I will give you <1,000 aud you and whoever
it is may run off. Anything to get away
from those trousseaus and receptions.”—
Washington Post.
uuuuuu
U<tv&. WUVM ..
peared, which he joined, and was thus
able to continue his journey.
Always worried aud suspicious he took
the poorest accommodations in the inns
and the cheapest food, so that no one
might suppose he possessed a treasure.
N6ar the end of his journey he wrote to
Anna’s father, and began his letter with
this phrase:
“1 am rich, immensely rich!”
This displeased Anna, who thought
that Theodore should have written of
more important things first: but she
silenced her misgivings, concluding that
his conduct was only another proof of
his love for her.
However, the thought of the immense
fortune of her lover robbed her of her
natural light heartedness; her father
also was very reserved—not to appear
covetous; and Theodore, considering
that he would be com'errirg a favor by
marrying Anna, gave himself the airs of
a protector.
As they thus mutually were deceived,
their first interview was cold and unsat
isfactory to both.
A few days later Anna said to Theo
dore:
“1 ;!o not know why, but yonr fortune
fright.-.is me; it destroys all our plans.”
“What does that matter?” Theodore
answered. “Thanks to my riches, we
can now go to Paris and live in one of
the finest palaces.”
“Oh, 1 should have preferred our dear
little house—our trees and our dreamed
of happiness—to all the palaces and
riches in the world!”
******
Theodore went to Paris to see the
royal jeweler, but the latter was absent
and would not return for eight or ten
days. So he employed the time in look
ing for a splendid house and furniture
and ornaments to correspond. He also
ordered a carriage and a pair of magnifi
cent horses. He soon found that he had
a multitude of relations who till now
had not troubled themselves about him.
When he entered the drawing room
his name caused a sensation and people
talked of the immense fortune he had
made in the east.
He was well received everywhere.
Mothers tried to attract him for their
daughters, and the daughters decided
that he was very eligible.
Poor Anna was running grave risks
of being forgotten. However, shortly
afterward the two lovers, now husband
and wife, were living in the same little
house of which Anna had so often
dreamed.
When the court jeweler examined
Theodore’s diamond, he said:
“Truly, it is admirable! However. 1
do not wish to possess it, for 1 do not
deal in false stones. This is a splendid
imitation, and it will not be difficult for
you to sell it. Any jeweller will give
yon ten francs for it.”
With those ten francs Theodore was
able to regain Havre on foot. Taere he
fortunately found a position with a
salary of 2,500 francs a year, and shortly
afterward he and Anna were married.
—Translated from the Spanish of Maria
del Pilar Sinnes by E. J. Faguudus for
Romance.
Proud of Their States.
Have you ever noticed how people
from the different parts of the country
register?” asked a hotel man yesterday.
“Kentucky and Texas people, for in
stance, have a peculiarity all their own.
They register simply from Kentucky or
Texas, as if it made no difference what
part of the state they are from, just so
they go down on the register as Ken
tuckians or Texans, it looks a little
peculiar, though, to see ‘A. B. Jones,
Ky.,’ or ‘X. Y. Smith, Texas,’ bnt such
inscriptions are seen every day. Some
times Messrs. Smith and Jones, of Texas
and Kentucky, inscribe their county.
There is something aristocratic abont
this; it conveys a sort of idea that Mr.
Jones, of Kentucky, is a legislator, or at
least so well known in his county that a
letter address to him in his county would
bo sent directly to his ancestral home,
r.c •! that Mr. Smith, of Texas, owns an
entire county, perhaps, and a letter sent
to that county could not possibly go to
any one else.”—Kansas City Times.
THE PULSE OF TRADE-
New York, Feb. 5.—The business
failures occuring throughout the coun
try during the la*t week, as reported to
R. G Dunn & Co , number for the Un
ited States 263, Canada 46, total 319:
against 297 last week,
iu spite of much dullness and oom-
Diamonds from Volcanoes.
It is frequently observed that some of
the most destructive and fearful agen
cies of nature are at the same time lavish
in their gifts for the benefit of man. A
volcano seems the very personification
of the power of devastation, and yet ac
cording to investigations it seems prob
able that we may owe our possession of
the gem that has in every age dazzled
the imagination more than any other,
the diamond, to the productive energy
of volcanoes.—Youth’s Companion.
The Boy Escaped.
Binkle—I had a great notion to lick
my hoy for getting to the bottom of his
geography class today.
Pinkie—Why didn’t you?
Binkle—Well, he put some of the
questions to me that the teacher put to
him, and as 1 couldn’t answer one of
’em I let him go and licked the teacher.
—Good News.
Jndge Biddle’s Wit.
Jndge Biddle, the wit of Court House
row, had before the bar of justice the other
day a woman who wept most bitterly over
her misfortunes. Her sobbing shook the
courtroom and her tears of no mean size
coursed in a great stream down her cheeks
and to the floor. While she wept thus pro
fusely a prominent lawyer chanced in,
who, seeing the prisoner and hearing her
cries, asked of the bench, “What’s the mat
ter with her?” “I’m sure I don’t know,”
was the judge’s reply. “Apparently she’s
waiting to be bailed out.”—Philadelphia
Theodore provided himself with a good
guide and traveled by the most rugged
paths, the more easily to escape any pur
suit.
However, one day they met a band of
thieving Arabs.
“Have yon money with yon?” they
asked.
“We have only enough for the Jon
ney,” Theodore answered.
“Then do not offer any resistance,
after eearching yon we will leave yon
enough to finish your journey.”
“That won’t do,” replied Theodore,
and raising his pistol he discharged it f
the first Arab, who fell.
Other thieves came to the aid of the
companions, and after a fierce strugg*
killed the guide aud took Theodore pris
oner, and notwithstanding the fierce re
sistance which he made, they took pos
session of the diamond.
His great grief at losing it made the
Arabs think that it- was an amnlet, and
one of their women gave the stone to her
child as a plaything.
After a time the Arab chief, becoming
fond of the prisoner, told him that when
his wounds were healed he would be
free to leave them with all that they had “Hole on, dar,” said a colored man, hail-
taken from him. lug an acquaintance. “Does yer cross der
So Theodore recovered with his health street ebery time yer sees me ter keep from
his diamond and his liberty. payin dat bill?”
Not knowing which way to go be con- j 1 doesn’t.”
cealed himself in a cave, where he re- A**~ t ien J , , .. „ _
-w. a caravan ap- ci ^ keep ^ beinaxedtarit.’»-Texas
the western business is largely met by
western distributing centers, aud that
alone is increasing heavily, while the
southern trade, which is more largely
met by distributions from the east, is
unusually dull. But the west is Bteadi-
ly increasing orders for manufactured
products and is likely to buy more
largely in the next five months than
ever before. The eastern consumption
is also fairly up to the maximum, as
laNrr is well employed.
OVKKPROPrCTION AND SPECULATION.
The stringency at the South owing to
the overpioduction of cotton and hurt
ful speculation in the past is at present
the oulv force retarding the general
improvement. In financial and specu
lative circles, nevertheless, some appre
hension appears because of the advance
in foreign exchange from 486 to 487, in
spite of enormous merchandise balances
in favor of this country. It is argued
that this shows a very heavy with
drawal of foreign capital from the
country, because silver legislation is
feared or for some other reason, and
that in effect Europe will pay for bread-
stuffs and cotton needed by surrender
ing titles to American property. If so
this country can fairly well afford to
own itself.
Exports of merchandise continue to
greatly exceed last year’s, for five
months at New York about 37 per cent,
while in the value of improvements the
incresse is very slight. There is con
siderable evidence that large blocks of
American securities are being sold here
by foreigners, but the market has taken
them without serious disturbance.
The Trades in the Staples.
At Pniladelphia more orders are seen
for manufactured iron, and increased
business in dry goods, especially in sta
ples, dress goods being sold far in ad
vance, while wool is quiet with a fair
volume of sales. Cigar manufacturers
are busy and trade in groceries and
chemicals unchanged. Speculations in
products has be<*n more active, but in
spite of the abundance of money the
temlencv of prices is lower. Wheat
fell to 99% cents here, but recovered
over a cent, and after sales of 33,000,000
bushels, is a cent lower than a week .
ago
Western receipts diminish, but ex
ports diminish still more. Corn closed
only an eighth higher, aud oats three
eighths higher, but pork products are a
shade lower. Cotton is a sixteenth
.ower for spot and February has sold be-
low 7 ceuts, receipts continuing enor
mous Coffee is a fraction stronger
• THK LOW PRICE FOR SILVER.
- Silver has also fallen to about the
lowest price ever quoted, 41.56 pence
per ounce, recovering slightly to 41 62
pence.
Great industries makes progress in
spite of low prices and production,
which seem to threaten a reaction.
Pig iron shows little concession at
Philadelphia, and some shading here by
southern concerns, and bar is as dull as
ever, at a light demand for plates.
S:ructural iron is unsettled by a col
lapse of the steel beam combination, and
the price has fallen to 2% cents. But
the coming expenditures ”by the great
railroads promise an unusual demand,
and news comes of the opening of addi
tional furnaces. At the highest price
demanded by agents, coal is exceeding
ly dull.
THE BOOT AND SHOE TRADE.
The boot and shoe business is getting
better, with more orders, but in some
casei prices are shaded a little; mor« /
activity is sten in dry goods and a large
number of western buyers are doing a
fair business. Demand for spring
goods is growing, but clothiers are still
iu the dark. Cottons are aff.cted by
poor southern trade, but prices of some
prints and sheetings have been advanc
ed, and orders for knit goods are fully
as large as a year ago.
HAPPY HOMES.
Thousands of sad and desolate homes
have been made happy by use of “Robb
Buds,” which have proven an absolute
cure for the following diseases and
their distressing symptoms. Ulcera
tion, Congestion, and Falling of the
Womb, Ovarian tumors, Dropsy of the
Womb, Suppressed Menstruation, Rup
ture at Childbirth, or aoy complaint
originating in diseases of the repro
ductive organs; whether from conta
gious diseases, hereditary, tight lacing,
overwork, excesses or miscarriages.
One lady writes us that after suffering
for ten years with Leucorrhea or
Whites, that one application entirely
cured her, and furthermore, she suf
fers no more pain during the menstrual
period. It is a wonderful regulator.
“Rose Buds” are a simple, harmless
preparation but wonderful in effect.
The patient can apply it herself. No
doctor's examination necessary, to
which all modest women, especially
voung unmarried ladies seriously ob
ject. From the first application you
will feel like a new woman. Price
$1 00 by mail, post-paid. The Lbvbb-
ette Specific Co., 339 Washington
St., Boston, Mass.
m ■—• wm\
Fixing Old Cisterns.—The city is
vith a
Quite Another Thing.
looking after the old cisterns w
view to fixing them up. Yesterday the
street force was digging in Broad street
near Wall street, looking for the old
cistern there. It will be placed in full
i epair and filled with water to be uBed
in case of fire.
Interruption.
Thom:i= Carlyle, though a great talker
on occasion. * I id not. talk with people who,
(n his opinion, were not worth bin talk.
A young American once called on the sage
of Chelsea with a letter of introduction
from a friend.
Mr. Carlyle talked with him long enough
to get the impression that the young man
had no ideas to exchange for his own. and
then relapsed into sullen silence, gazing
the while steadily into the fire.
The visitor, who was much awed by the
presence of the great, man, sat in similar
silence for several minutes. Tken -it oo-
curred to him that Uis host was waiting
far him to say something.
“Ah—Mr. Carlyle”— be hegan falter-
fcgly, “what a fine old neighborhood—ah
—Chelsea is”
“Don’t interrupt m*K* thundered Car
lyle, looking up angrily.
“Ah, bat Mr. Carlylel” said the young
man, in astonishment; "but yon weren’t
saying anything!”
“Saying anything? No, yon blockhead;
rou interrupted my silencel”—Youth’*
Companion.
