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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.