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About The weekly banner. (Athens, Ga.) 1891-1921 | View Entire Issue (March 29, 1892)
gg'SSw" «S?««?. I Aiken* Banner, Bet. 1882. ATHENS, GA., TUESDAY MORNING, MARCH 29,1892.-8 PAGES. ONE DOLLAR A YEAR. A MAN’S REPLY. I stnn<l at the bar of yoar pore woman's soul Condemned in the cause that you plead: My only defense is the simple request That you’ll judeo me by motive, not deed, handkerchief, smiled gently, raised his hand to his ear and said in a soft, mild voice: “Hey! please sneak a little louder. I’m quite < j g Thereur«> ~l_? • e 5 - > / $ people who are unaccustomed to talk WITH ORANGE BLOSSOMS. For remember that man’s but a child in the dark i!®? the deaf, roared loudly and rapidly, Though formed by the hand from above; He will tall many times, but shalA walk forth at last In tlie suushine of inlinito love. ’• prefacing his former inquiry with “I Tbon’lt never know! I sent the blossoms white And perfect ns an earthly tree may bear. Wet with fresh rains and odorous as fair. So pure, so fresh, they need not dreud the light Of thino eyes on them. Happier than l, I sent my blossoms where I nmy not go. And close beneath the petals pertained snow And sheltering leaves, safe hid, my heart doth lie. Tliou’lt never knowl ugggttoi S.) I'm Imldened to answer your q> lair. And give yon “A Man’s Reply;? 1 ' That for the prize of a true woman's love 1 am ready to live or die. >n so kSy," conscious that he was making a .spectacle of himself, and that in all probability the whole neighborhood ! . ... .... heard him. , Poor heart! I Uud it there Still the old gentleman shook his head despairingly and said: “Come into the house. My daughter will make me understand; you talk too rapidly and You say that the man wj*> gains yonr love Must be brave, and true and good; 1 answer that she who wins my heart Must be a type of true womanhood. You say that you look for a “man and a king,” A very prince of the race; 1 look for a kind and a generous heart. And not for a queenly face. You require “all things that are good and . true. All things that a man should be;” 1 ask for a woman, with all that implies. And that is sutlicicul fur uie. Yon a.sk for a umn without a fault. To live with here on earth; I ask for a woman, faults and all. For by faults I may judge of worth. J ask for a woman made a, of old, A higher form of limn: llis comforter, helper, adviser and friend. As iu the original plan. A woman who has nn aim in life. Who tinds life worth the living, W ho makes the world he; ter f.q-being here. Anil for others her life is gi ving. I will not require all that 1 ImvJ asked In these lines so |x«>r and fewy, 1 only pray that you may l>e all That Hod can make id you. -w For your heart and life and love ’ Are sacred tilings to me. And "I’ll stake my life” that I'll he to you WhuleVer 1 ought lo lie. —Good Housekeeping.- A WEATHER PROPHET Miss Sophia Nichols was a lady of grout modesty and of a very retiring dis position, and as she had passed the age of "fair, fat and forty,” wasted few glances on men. She had lately established herself in a suite of rooms on the southeast comer . <-f Laurel street, facing the lovely little Beech park. It was just the place for a quiet spinster who loved nature and re tirement, and she enjoyed it with unal loyed quiet for a few days. Opposite her new abode was a quiet old house with four immense windows, wherein were set tiny panes of glass, to each room. The inhabitants seemed very quiet persons, and she seldom saw i them except iu the evening. After she lmd been domiciled about a | week in her new place her attention was attracted hv a very queer action of an old geiilleinan who lived iu the quaint house. ■ After finishing her l o’clock dinner j she always established herself cosily j with work or book at her front window, j and the old gentleman would as regular- , ly ap[>ear in his yard and, drawing out of his pocket a red bandanna, raise it solemnly high in air! He did mil seem to wave it, but let it go at its own sweet . will, or the wind's will. On moonlight nights, always about 10 i o’clock, lie repeated this mysterious rite. ! or whatever it was. His eyes were j nearly always turned toward her win dow. and stared fixedly. Sometimes he did not use the handkerchief at all, but gazed steadfastly at her window. This performance lie kept up every day, until Miss Sophia began to be fear fully nervous. She was really afraid it would draw down the gossip of the neighborhood on her. So she tried in many mild, well bred ways to let the old gentleman understand that she did not like his very open attentions. She pulled down her blind, and o.. popping out to see what effect it had found it had none; he still waved. Or s would retreat to the farthest corner o lie room, out of his range of vision, ut llier mirror told her he still gazed. i 'naily her nephew came to make her a week's visit. Every spinster has a fa vorite niece or nephew, and Jack Brown was Miss Sophia’s. She admired his youth (he was only twenty-four), his courage, his well shaped body, and even his impetuous (to put it mildly) temper, j He was rather good looking, too, al though his hair was auburn and his mustache, such as it was, undeniably red. The first day of his visit Miss Sopbhia kept him engaged by showing him her photograph albums, of which she had half a dozen. But she couldn’t keep this up a whole week, so the second day Jack remarked as the bandanna and its owner appeared: “What a queer old chap! What’s he loudly.” Just as he said it a door opened softly 1 and a girl’s voice, trembling with laugh ter, said: “What is it, father? Does the gentleman want something?” “I think he does, Bertha, bnt I cannot ! understand what.” i After one glance at the girl’s face Jack “sized himself up as an asa,” as he would have expressed it, and he knew she had overheard the whole interview. He really hqd not the courage to tell her outright that her father was accused of flirting with his Aunt Sophia, or el36 he was a lunatic, and that neither he nor his aunt approved of his conduct. : The girl let him flounder and get red in the face for about ten minutes, enjoy ing the situation as only a mischievous girl can, but he managed to convey his meaning. | Then she said: “I understand you perfectly, and can perhaps explain it satisfactorily to both yon and yonr aunt. Father keeps a weather record, and he has ns long as 1 can remember. He takes observations three times a day—at 2 in the afternoon, at 7 in the evening and early in the morning, probably before your aunt gets up.” Here two irre pressible dimples broke out and hinted that laughter was not far liehind. Jack, who had recovered his equanimity, ad mired them immensely, but lie was not to be diverted from his puiqtose, so he said judicially': “But why does he use a handker chief?’ “For the very simple reason that if there is a light wind stirring he cannot tell its direction any other way.” “Well, why does he stare so at my aunt as she sits at her window?” “1 think it is not at her but"—here she paused long enough to make impressive what should follow—“at the smoke stack from the furnace. The smoke that comes from it makes a first rate weather vane." This explanation was made so demure ly and with such evident enjoyment ai the ludicrousness of the situation that Jack was slightly provoked at her and said rather sharply: “Well, you must admit that it looks queer to a fellow not accustomed to it.” “I’ve no doubt it does,” 6lie replied with a smile, “but we have always lived here, and father has always taken observations just in this way, and every body knows his peculiarities, so of course it awakens no comment.” As Jack had no reply ready, she said: “Please make my apologies to yonr aunt for any annoyance she may have felt,” and as the comical side came up permost again she broke into a laugh and said: ‘■ Poor old father! The idea of him lining accused of flirting!” Jack joined in the laugh, and the innocent cause of all the trouble and fun sat star ing out of the window as mild and placid as though no such charge lay at his door, As yet he did not even know the reason of the visit of the erstwhile angry but now smiling young man. Jack apologized-humbly, but he had no idea of letting the story get out on him, so he tried in an elegant manner, which turned out a flat failure, to inti- rnato to the girl that it should be a secret between themselves, as he said: “l hope you will not—I mean, ah,er- bnt yon won’t” “Won’t tell it on you,” she said, with unfeeling lilnntness. “Father would be avenged rather more than the case calls for if the students should get. hold of the story." Then taking pity on him she stiid sweetly, “I will never mention it again of course, and will not even tell father. Jack asked her to call on his aunt, which she promised to do, and he took his departure to explain to Miss Sophia that she had only made the same blun der that many another woman had dotie —jumped at a conclusion too readily. Jack visited his aunt with great regu larity, but spent the major portion of his time at the weather prophet’s across the way, so that the neighbors concluded he was taking a postgraduate course in meteorology—or something.—Rochester Times. wet through with tears. Trampled and torn and stained, unfit for thee. Unfit!—and yet, poor heart, so tilled with prayers For pardon, passionate grief and parer love 1 dared to send! Wilt thou receive? Ah, me! I heaped the heavy flowers so close above TUou’ll never know! —Grace Kllery Chunniug in Homemaker. CLAIRVOYANCE. The light of the lamp had grown dim, bnt neither of them had noticed it. Arthur was gazing fixedly at a vivi<’ ardent flame in tlm fireplace; Helen co tern plating a vacillating flame near by, now blue, now rose, that escaped like a capricious tvill-o’-the-wisp from a pai- tially consumed log. At length Arthur Broke the silence. “Did you have many visitors today?” he asked. — “Quite a number—there were Mrs. Schuyler, Henry Farrington, uid Mr. Cfieyne, Bessie Murray” sortinent of every Tuesday, hut Bes sie”— ‘Well, what about Bessie?’ ‘She was peculiar—pale, seemingly ill anil agitated, bnt iu spite of all pret- doinj To which’Miss Sophia tremulously re plied, "1 don’t know,” which was liter ally true, for she had her back carefully turned to the window. The next day Jack observed the same performance and said: "Confound the old scoundrel! Aunt Sophia, 1 really believe he’s trying to flirt with you or else he’s a lunatic.’’ Jack was a senior at college and had taken his degree in the art of flirting. The following day Jack's ire reached 11 climax as the old gentleman appeared as usual, and not only waved the offend ing rod rag (Jack was a fiery Republi can). but actually gazed fixedly at Miss Sophia’s windotv for fully five minutes. He grabbed up his hat and said to his aunt, "fn know the meaning of his con founded impudence or my name’s not Jack Brown!" He dashed down stairs, paying no at tention to his aunt’s pleadings, “Don’t, Jack, don’t! you will only make matters 'corse!” She pulled down her curtain and peeped from behind it to see what Jack would do. He was striding angrily across the toeet, and in a few moments was at the gentleman’s side. With a wrathful •ace and sternly determined manner, he ■aid; “Sir, what is the meaning of yonr in fernal impudence? It is a nice tlnnc that a auiet i.ihr«t War win- speaks to her of Arthur, their neighbor in the country; of Arthur, who had al ready found favor in her sight and to whom she is soon married. She sees him then her devoted lover, with no thought save hers, adoring her youthful ignorances and her belief in goodness. “It is you,” he says, “who are right, and my past life seems to me now an evil dream, but you will make me 1 .. ter, and together we shall find happi ness, a happiness that will last forever.” The months pass by. She is in their new city home, in the midst of the fash ionable world. Several of its audackns frequenters pay court to her. Now be fore Helen passes the face of Bessie, and the words she spoke resound strangely in her tired brain: “Do yon- believe that a woman who has been deeply loved can live without love?” It seems to Helen many long days since yesterday, and even that her sur roundings have undergone a change. To escape from her illusion and return to reality, she whispers: “Arthur—Arthur”—i— “Well?” But that voice that used to reassure her only augments her uneasiness, for she no longer recognizes it. Again she takes refuge in Kfr thoughts. Why does he not wish her to consult the clairvoy ant? Why? Why? | Her heart heats violently and a sharp 1 pang assails it; doubt is entering therein | If Arthur were false? If he were like Bessie’s husband? If all that seemed ‘And who else?’ “No one particularly—the usual as- j Impossible were/? 1 possible, the whole world infamous? How she suffers! It must be jealousy t that she feels. It is a terrible malady, and she knows it will hereafter torture her every hour. Who can have stolen Arthur from tier even than usual. W bile speaking I her? She is trying to think. Can it be on indifferent topics; she feverishly tore I Ethel Goddard, or is it that little Mrs. bits off the lace on her dress; then, alL Warburton? She is suffocating, her Indiana Bny Meat fnr the Brand A dealer down on the desert on his last trip to the city for supplies found a new brand of canned meat which bore high colored designation of two lions rampant, in token that it was of the “lion brand.” This, he thought, would lie just the thing for his Iudian custom ers, and he laid in a large supply, fancy ing that the gaudy labels would induce an immense demand. At first he sold quite a quantity of the meat, but soon noticed that there was no further de mand therefor. No Indian who had bought a can ever called for another. He was puzzled to account for this, and he opened and ate several cans him self to ascertain whether there was any thing the matter with the contents. But the meat proved to be of good quality, and.finally, after vainly trying to per suade his copper colored customers to purchase more of the delicacy, he asked one solemn looking buck who understood English what the trouble was. The buck put his finger on the picture of the lions, shrugged his shoulders and re marked: “Huh! Indian no like-um dog meat!” Ahd no amount of talk could persuade him or his companions that the trader had not laid in a supply of canned dog! Ban Francisco Chronicle. rHvitnH of a sudden, she drew closer to me and took tny bauds in hers, “ ‘Do you lielieve,’ she asked, ‘that a woman who has been deeply loved can live without love? ” “What did you answer?" “Nothing — astonishment kept me mnte; and even now I am still striving to find out just what Bessie meant.” Her meaning is evident enough. Your friend is neglected by her husband and greatly courted in society. She is yet innocent, but has reached that point where a wt man needs a confidant to hold her hac k from the edge of the abyss or to excuse her if she slips thereon.” ‘Poor Bob le—poor Bessie,” and Helen returned to hercontcmx>lation of the red and blue flames on the hearth. Then, bestowing on her husband u look of in effable tenderness, she went on, “How happy 1 am, my Arthur, for yor.r love for me is still unchanged.” “Yes. my Jarling.” “They say. though, that happiness is : myth, yet it -eerus to me that God must have given ii to all, only we do not know how to keep it—and generally in a family it is Tie husband who is its guar dian. Arthur, you have nothing to suyV” Because 1 agree with you. my dear Helen Y-iv talk like a good book.” Then I b- < you—so much the worse. I shall ioiki.:Uo: if Bessie's Lapoaud had remained fa:third to her, they would both still be nappy. Why have his feel ings change-., for one so lovely and so good? Ex:il in to me what it is that makes a has >and cease to love l.is wife.” What r. c lild you are!” Truly? AH 1 see and hear around me in wxn-ity astonishes me more and more each day. and often I regret hav ing left, my country home. There Bessie would not have been neglected.” Still harping on Bessie. Did you re ceive no other visitors as interesting? It is one of 1 he world to view, ar in a magic lantern, the eccentric typos of humanity.” I saw Marie, who told me something extraordinary, almost incredible, and yet it seems it is true." “Tell me what it was.” “It is a clairvoyant story. I laughed over it at first, a.i you are doing now, but 1 ended by trembling.” “We shaU see if i am as impression able.” “The clair voyant of whom I speak—a woman—lives in an obscure quarter of the city, and it appears can read your thoughts acc irately, and even those of persons not present if she is given a lock of their hair.” “Bosh!” “She told Marie how to find some lace that had been stolen from her” “Mere chance!” “And spoke to her of a secret known only to herself.” “A woman never possesses a secret known only to herself.” “She revealed to her those of her hus band”— “Often there are mysteries that are such for none save those most directly interested.” “Iu spite of what you say I quite long to go and consult that woman. Suppose l take her a lock of your hair?’ “Oh, nonsense!” “Please let me, dear Arthur. It would be such fun. I’ll tell you everything she says.” “No; 1 don’t desire any fan of that sort.” “Why not?” “Because.” “ ‘Because,’ is not an answer. It is throat tightens, her lips are dry ami burning. The light of the lamp vacil lates. The old tapestries are of a sudden clearly shown, then fall again into shadow. The chairs, brightened here and there by gleams that fall on the gilding of their frames, seem to move queerly around Helen, whose brain is reeling, She is frightened at herself, for while thinking of a rival she feels herself no longer a responsible being, capable even of a crime. It is thus, then, that one becomes criminal through excessive srtfferii; But is she crazy? What proves that Arthur is false? She cannot live wit) such a doubt. She must know and wil know. Why uot consult the clairvoy ant? Sho rises, supports herself by the fur uiture to keep from falling and looks earnestly at Arthur, who, plunged u brown study, does not see her. O* whom is he thinking? Of that other woman. She walks softly over the thick carpet and looks for her scissors in her workbox. Now she draws nearer to the young man, her gaze riveted on a lock of his hair. She could so quickly cut that lock were it uot for the loud beating of her heart. It makes more nrise than the c lock. Arthur will hear it and turn quickly around. No; lie to mains motionless—still thinking. Suddenly ne st arts and utters a cry, Helen runs off, the lock of hair bet.wt her fingers. Her eye3 look defiant, hu she tries to laugh. He does not laugh his face has grown pale; fear and i beset him. “1 order you immediately to return me that hair," says he. “No; I will not obey.” “Then I will use force." He strives to grasp Helen; she escapes him.'runmng around chairs and tables, A BUILDER’S LESSON. “now slu>!l I a habit break?" As you -lid that liahit make. As you gathered you must lose,- As you yielded now refuse. Thread by thread the strands we twist Till they bind us neck and wrist; Thread lv thread the patient hand .Mn.it tin: vine ere free we stand. As we bu lded, stone by stone. We must toil, un helped, alone. Till the wall is overthrown. Hut renumber, as v-e try. Lighter • ,-ery test goes by; Wading in, the stream grows deep Toward the ci nter's downward sweep; Backwar 1 turn, eiw h step ashore Shallower is tian that before. Ah, the precious yeors % we waste Leveling what we raised in haste; Doing what must he undone Ere content or love be wont First across the gulf wo cast Kite borne threads, till lines are fast And habit builds the bridge at last. —John Boyle O'Reilly. A FATHER’S DREAD Then she takes a jewel casket, locks the pleasures of people of the i hair within, and flinging the key far ’ away tries to tty to her bedroom. But an iron hand falls upon her and a frightful face approaches her. The wrists of the young wife are pressed as in a vise; the pain is intolerable there— jnst the place where Arthur had always put his lips. Then the casket slips to the floor; the husband seizes it, breaks it open with a kick of his boot, takes out the stolen lock of hair and throws it into the fire. Helen, half senseless, sees it burn. “What does it matter, now,” she sadly murmurs; “the clairvoyanthasspoken.” —Adapted for Argonaut from the French of B. de Riviere. He Voted as She Desired. Mrs. Seymour-Howells tells a story of a woman who had a husband in deadly fear of her. He was a member of the legislature, and his wife had insisted upon his voting for a woman suffrage bill. He had promised to do so, but his better half was afraid to trust him, and so on the day the bill was to come np she hied herself to the gallery in the leg islative hall. The roll was being called, and when the husband’s name was reached he got np and said: “Mr. Speaker, I regret to cast my vote against this bill, bnt” At this instant a tall woman, with a penetrating voice, leaned over Hie gal lery rail and said: “Wilbert!” And then Wilbert’s knees began to shake. He said in a trembling voice: “Mr. Speaker, I vote aye.”—Kansas City Times. How Bay Bum Is Made. what we reply to children whose curios- ^ y ^ried “S^f PtoenteTn^ *y 1not wl fk. 8atlsfy ’ „ ! Bay rum is procured by distillation, and “What you ask is unproper. fhi« in a very simple manner. The “Improper! For what reason? I do not j eave8 ^ picked from the trees and understand you. then dried. In this state they are placed “You understand nothing! It seems . q ^ retort> which is then filled with to me, though, that three years of ci 7 ^ ^ the process of distillation is life ougtffto have somewhat sharpened ; Qn T j/, e vapor is then con- ' deused in the usual way and forms what Oh, Arthur! .Jour wor^ wound too ^ M ., bay 0 il,” a V ery small deeply. .No, I do not understand how auall tity of which is required for each two persons who love each other can J nnCi . of mm. The manufacture of have anything tofear from clairvoyants. ^ m , 8Carried on at the northern y «w - evei - n ^ eln ' t ? e ?'i. t end of Dommica and proves a very lu- Ibelievetn the credulity of women. cra ti ve business to those engaged in it, Arthur, l imy you, let me cut a tbe ar e plentiful in this dis- lock of your hair.’ toct-Gardi and‘Forest. a quiet lady cannot sit flow without heintf f— The old Guillotined at School. Coalton, O., March 26.—At a country school house near here little' Mattie Oney, a pupil in the school, attempted to climb into the house through a win dow. The window-sash fell like a “I forbid you.’ Silence reigns in the drawing room. Helen is deeply distressed. Mechanic ally she looks toward the fire, but its flames are gone, it is almost out, and from the midst of its ashes rise images and voices that remind her of the past. As one' her nock and killed I First i that The when aw could consumptiy tirely rn'ie syrup. 25o of Rip Van Winkle his long sl imh-tr not haj-e beer greater than fi.j upo fi idiugt inriS' lf un- d by Dr. Bull’s Cough “Why is she still unmarried, if she has so many admirers—is she a man- hater?” Not in the least. Her affability to ward them clearly proves her apprecia tion of men. The difficulty i3 all with her father, who appears to suffer untold torments every time he tees a man near her.” “How very extraordinary! And is she beautiful?’ Decidedly so. Beautiful, young, charming in manner, rich. What more could be asked?’ ‘Nothing. It is quite sufficient. 1 am going to go presently and pay most devoted court to her, despite the can tankerous antics of her father.” “Are you speaking of Miss Tulking- ham?” asked another youthful clubman, who was sitting in the same alcove. We are.” Then 1 advise you to lower your voices. Young Greenwood over yonder is very desperate about her, and he is the sort of fellow who could be trouble some if the occasion required it.” The person designated, though deli cately featured, was so tall and brawny that he looked as if he could indeed be troublesome in the broadest sense of the term. He was oblivious to the conversation, however, and to all other present things if the expression on his face was a true index to his feelings. He was holding a newspaper in his hands, but it was up side down, and though he was mechan ically sucking on his cigar, it had been out several minutes. At. length be pulled himself together with a start, dropping both paper and cigar. A hasty glance about the room satisfied him that no one had witnessed Ids abstraction. Presently he loft the clubhouse, saun tering up Fifth avenue till he reached Thirty-fourth street, where for a mo ment lie paused to eye the wavering shadows of his colossal self which flickering electric light cast upon the crosswalk. A few minutes later he was cn a ferry, journeying 1 award an elegant but quiet Lung Island residence quarter. Exactly tv.o hours after leaving the club he was standing before a handsome house ringing fur admittance, but with a baud whos 1 shakiness betokened sadly unsettle^ nerves. The face of Use man into whose pres ence li£ was shown bore the stamp of premature old age. Aside from the deep furrows in an otherwise fresh, fair skin, his beard and hair were of nearly snowy whiteness. He arose with considerable difficulty, when his library door was thrown open, and a twinge of pain drew down the corners of his mouth when he saw who his visitor was. “Again!” he said reproachfully. “Yes: I am here now for the truth.” “It has already been’told you.” “Only a portion of it. I want the rest.” “But” “Mr. Tulkingham, yon have refused me your daughter’s hdnd in marriage.” “Yes.” “You have also done me the honor to say that that refusal is in no sense a personal reflection upon me.” “Certainly, and I can go much further. I can also add that not only have I no fault to find with you, but that so far as you are personally concerned 1 am alto gether predisposed in your favor/ “Sir, 1 speak plainly because it is a time for plain speech,” continued Green wood. “I believe Miss Tulkingham to be all that there is of chaste and holy spotlessness; but 1 shall wed her just the same were she corruption personified. Mr. Tulkingham, I love yonr daughter, and that love is great enough to excuse and obliterate everything, no matter what, which yon might think it natural for me to consider. Aside from my own feelings in the affair, it is my delight to know that 1 am not altogether indiffer ent to her, and so, whatever yonr objec tion, sooner or later 1 shall marry her.” The old man brushed one hand swiftly across his brow. “There is no other way than to he •plain with you,” ho said, “though what will force re to destroy your peace of mind forever. Will you not waive this thing, which I can solemnly assure you thatyou will repent hearing?’ Greenwood gave one hand an impa tient flirt. “Go on,” he Sitid coldly. “Twenty-live years ago, then,” said Tulkingham, “I was one of a party of seven gold seekers in the California Sierras. That year at the beginning of winter we pushed northward into the mountains of Douner lake. “The weather was severe, and for several days the aides were laden and ominous. “Then it began snowing. Lightly, at first, but more and more heavily as the dajrs wore o.t. No person who was not there ever s w such snow. Soon it had so changed the appearance, of both mountains nrflfcvalloys that but for our compa.ss we should h ive been hopeless ly confused.. Ac last even that guide to direction fa cd U3. It was accidentally dropped by the man who carried it, and —never recovered. “Still we were strong hearted, and permanent encampment till the storm was over. "After wp had been in camp ten days we had to content ourselves with but one meal, and that a small one, each twenty-fonr hours. A few days more and even that gave out. “Then wo had nothing with which to satisfy our hanger but the moss which we dug down through the snow and tore from the rocks, and the bark from the branches of dead trees. "Soon, so awful was it all, a great dis trust grew up among us. Each man feared that he would be slain and eaten by his neighbor. After that none of us dared^leep. “For two nights and days we stood and sat around that roaring fire with unclosed, glaring eyes. Then the end came. One after an other our overstrained minds succumbed. We yelled and laughed and danced about like the maniacs we were, curs ing the gold which had lured us into our trouble, the mountains which shut ns off from our fellow beings, the snow, the fire, God and each other. “That night, from sheer exhaustion, we fell like stricken beeves in the snow around the fire, and while the others slept, I arose and took an ax and slew them—all of them—my six poor com rades. “And then, having killed them, I cut great chunks of flesh from their dead, helpless bodies, which I cooked and ate. “How long this fearful feast was kept up I do not know, hut it must have been for a considerable time, for it was many weeks after the storui had ended before some settlers found me, in a valley to the westward, prone upon the ground and breathing heavily. “I tvas picked up and nursed through a terrible fever, which followed, every moment of which I made hideous with muttered disclosures of my doubts and fears and orgies around that awful camp fire. “Two months later, as soon as I was well enough, 1 came back east to my young wife, but without any knowledge of my crimes. I had no recollection whatever of the period l described to you. Those to whom 1 recited its par ticulars at the time of my illness re garded everything 1 disclosed as mere mad ravings—the hallucinations of fever and weakness. And so it was not till my return to California, a year later, that i was told of my sickbed con fessions. “No sooner djd 1 hear them, though than it all came baCk- to irio with the most fearful clearness—the mucking snow, the maddening hunger, the dis trust mv comrades and I bore each other, the murders, the cannibalism— everything, “Well, Mr. Greenwood, after I was told of my fever ravings, I went to Don- ner lake and searched till l found that valley of death beyond it. I still had hope that 1 might have been only deliri ous after all. But at the site of that wretched camp fire was evidence beyond doubting, the bones of my murdered comrades, our arms, tools, all the famil iar and damning array/ It was more than conclusive. I surrendered myself to the authorities, who thought me labor ing, under a delusion. They instituted a private investigation, bnt were con fronted with so many elements of doubt that they soou dismissed me with the opinion that it was a case in which the Almighty alone had jurisdiction. So I left my merciful judges and came home. “But a terrifying fear had seized me in that Californian courtroom which my subsequent studies satisfied me was only too well grounded. Mr. Green wood, l have.consulted every obtainable authority on the subject of heredity, ami substituting other names and places have laid the matter before the most eminent specialists. The result in each and every instance is the same. Not one ray of hope offers itself from any source. My daughter cannot marry, because sooner or later either she or her children will inherit from me an appe tite for human flesh!” For a brief interval, perhaps a minute, Kenneth Greenwood sat staring at Tul kingham in horrified silence. The sig nificance of what he had heard was so overwhelming that he coaid not grasp it all at once. Presently his lungs filled with a gasp, and then, stifling into a moan the impulse to shriek out his de spair, he ran out of the house and rushed swiftly away in the darkness, unmanned, hopeless, wrecked, fleeing from the un knowable and unseen. — Pittsburg Leader. WHY IT’S POLITICS, OP COURSE, AND LOTS OF IT. pretty pimurr— A »unny-haircd N-wtourd’and’s cut plunged WHAT IS IT? THE GOSSIP OF THE DAY. Col. Peek Says the Third Party Will Capture all the Offlces-Demo- orate Organizing all Over Georgia—The Campaign Well Opened. Getting lively ? Well, rather. Politics, an always ictareiting sub ject, are now becoming very interest ing. National p dittos are discussed pretty generally in Athens and this section. The eyes of the people are turned to ward Congress and the actions of that body are watched eagerly. * A great many of the citizens of Athens have taken great interest in th-y paech of Hon. William J. Bryan, of Nebrask->,on the reduction of the tar ff. Many of them haveinquirsdforacopy, and the few copies «-f the Congressional Record that find their way to Athens have been read to pieces nearly. Truly it was a great speech ai d well worthy of close study. The debate on silver in the House has been watched closely. The speech of Mr. Ltvngston was roundly applauded aswastbatof Mr. WinD, also It is amazing s range how the larga free sil ver majority has dwindled away in the last week, but Georgians ean point with pride to her nine congressmen on the floor of the House who voted for silver throughout, the entire fight, and to her Speaker in the chair who saved it by tb.e strength of his vote. The fact that Hill is the choice of the Democracy of the Union for President- is becoming more and mere apparent every day in Georgia, but our people are caring little about this matter just now. They are looking to the matter of or ganization and are goieg at it with a will. Nearly every county organiza tion in the State will meet in the t ext two weeks and comuKtnae work in mm earnest. The old Free Sta'e will open the ball in this 8'ctitn in rtgaid to (election of delegates to the State convention. And they will be Democra ic to the very c >re. N" Third paity ta nt *b>ut old Madi-on. The Democrats hold their convention in Danielsville on Tuesday, '. April 5th. It is btlieved tbal Mad son is fi r Hill. The other counties will follow suit and Clarke »ill probably b 1 l e latest county in this s*.c Jon to se lect delegates. V Started on Time. When the railway was first opened in a new part of India it took a long time and many a bitter experience to con vince the natives that a train always started on time. Shortly after the open ing of the new line a deputy commis sioner sent his native servant with his letter bag to pnt on board the mail car. Presently the man returned with the bag, having missed the train. “Yon had not half a mile to go, and yon knew that the train left the station at 3 o’clock,” said the angry commis sioner. ' “Yes, truly,” answered the native, in an aggrieved tone; “bnt, sahib, when it strikes 3 here the train goes from there!” Such sharp practice the native had never known before, and he did not think it creditable to the company.— Temple Bar. Th.* Third party leaders are relive ir>d co- fident. Tuny ar*- (tump iig^riih^ S : ’U*’ from one end to th- other. Capt. D. C Olive'-, of ihH cicy, talk ing with C I W. I,. Peek, Pfe-idei.it of the Alliat c Exi-harge, a few (lays inw 0<1 Peek SAtiTtha’ tb.- t tir; parly would put out.a ful' *toU-- f r State an ' county offices, and t a ■ ec « d them to be elected. Peeke’s tidi ng around for the G iVernor. hip. ■mm At a meeting of the Peop! e’s part -, in WaltonDr.W.S B rr, tt was made c -air- tn&nand J. J. Nunnally secretary C. C Po-t made an address. The weather Sri @056! being unfavorable, the attendance did not, perhaps, exceed one bundnd, em bracing some Democrats. Paul W. Durham, President of the Oconee County Alliance has called tor metting of that body at Watkinsville, on Thursday, April 7tb at nine o’clock to discuss the platfarm adopted by the St. Louis convection. ____ „ The pot is boiling and the patty poli ticians as usual are scrambling to the ■ top of the liquid. The Democratic party will come along with a big ladle, how ever, and 8coop them out and throw 1/^^ them in the slop tub. That will he the last of them. The fight is on, and it will bared hot to the flnhb. TO GET BAIL. An Effort Win be Made to Releaee Farmer- A Superstitious Creature. He—You acknowledge that yon—er— like me, yet refuse. She (belle of the season)—Yes, I must. Thirteen is an unlucky number. “Eh?” O’d man Totp Drake, the father of Ira Drake, who was killed.Ust May by Jim Farmer, was apprehensive yesterday lest an effort be m:.de to release Farmer from the Sheriff before be succeed-d to landirg him iu the jail at Ji-ff-rsoi. Of course his fears w* re ground esa as Fa - mer could have no idea of escaping, having given himself up in New Turk. Nevertheless Mr. Drake was apprehen sive an to told several of bis friends. When Fanner g'tts back to Jackson county, an effort will be made by - his “You are the thirteenth man who has | proposed to me,and if we should become attorneys, Messrs. Thomas and Striok- wo®mpSn/' dreadfUl »fcV «> -cure bail for him. “Yon are foolishly superstitious. What The question of granting bail will could happen?’ entirely to the di cretton of WMkly 1118117 you ’”“ New York Hutchins. If by affidavits of the longer 1 “Fora long time I suffered with stomach and liver troubles, and could find no relief until I began to use Ayer’s Pills. I took them regularly for a few months, and my health was completely restored.”— D. W. Baine, New Bt rite, N. C. Wi»ed his i almost cut < 1, we finally de-1 YYai to go.into The Jester building on Clayton street Btion concerning ... ■ . - .L ferent witnesses, the mind of the ■ .is satisfied that bail should bo alio it will be givtn. J uAge Thoms Farmer, says tha case will be tried in. Farmer still p’rcte and utter ignorance <
