Newspaper Page Text
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 <
