Newspaper Page Text
Q A, TUESDAY MORNING. MAY 24,1892.-8 PAGES.
ONE OLLAR A YEAR
WOMAN'S WAY.
"I will clve you," ho murmured.
*j li |„. 1 | ami i*he Klnx>k her head.
••I w ill carve it aloft ou the iilllars of fame.
In bh>o<l red lottont, enscrolled in flame,"
••But l/>ve cannot rend It," she naid.
••I will make you," ho pleaded, “a statesman's
bride"-
rihe llniened and turned her head.
“I will nit in the halls where the (treat abide;
Where Ambition feasts and Is satisfied"—
-Hut Love cannot share It," she said.
“1 will sing you a song such as poets prlsso"—
She blushed and she drooped her head.
“1 will woo soft chords from the muse, whose
eyes
Illumine the portals of Love's Paradise"—
“Hut Love cannot slug them," she said.
"1 give you tny love then -'tis all 1 can do"—
Low droo|ied her womanly head.
I love you, oh, love, with a love so true.
There is nothing else in my life for you.”
“Hut Love wants nothing else,” she said.
—T. H. Cannon.
THE BROKEN HARP.
about him at each beloved object with
tears of joy and spolte with certainty of
’« warrior’s ^ ie n * n th hour as his last upon earth.
The fatal moment drew near. He said
farewell to all who were gathered
around him and asked to be left alone
with the physician.
Nine hollow strokes groaned forth
from the castle tower, and Sellner’s face
shone with a heavenly light.
“Josephe!” he cried with ineffable joy,
as if God’s hand had tonched him, “Jo
sephe, greet me once more ere I go, that
1 may know thou art near, and may
overcome death by thy love!”
Then tho harp strings vibrated in splen
did, triumphant strains, like pteans.
“I come, 1 come!” he cried, and sink
ing back, struggled with life. The harp
tones grew soft and gentle, bnt lost no
sweetness nor clearness. Suddenly Sell
ner’s struggle ended, and the strings
snapped asunder. Were they torn by a
supernatural hand?
Tho physician was bowed down in an
ecstasy of awe. He closed the eyes of his
friend and left the house. After years
of silence concerning Sellner’s death—a
silence which he dreaded to break—he
communicated these things to a few
trusted friends, and showed the harp,
which he had been unwilling to leave to
the mercy of rude hands.—Translated
HER OWN WORK.
The secretary and his yonng wife were
vet in the glamor of their honeymoon.
No considerations of convenience, no
passing inclination, had united them.
ardent and proved by years of
patient waiting, was the seal of their, .*
1 They had known each other as 1 fro “ the G * r “ an . of Tl « !Qd ° r Korner by
union. They
mtle children, and their hopes and
plans had grown together, hut Sellner’s
uncertain position forced him to post-
jKttie for a long time the fulfillment of
Ins hopes. At last he received his ap
pointment, and on the following Sunday
lie led his bride into their n*w home.
When the long, tiresome days of con
gratulations und family feasts were
ended, how gladly they spent the beau
tiful evenings together, with no third
person to claim any share in their joy!
plans for coming days filled the hours.
They were both of them fine musicians,
and Sellner’s flute and Josepho’s harp
made sweet music during the enchanted
evenings, which sped all tot) quickly.
The deep harmony of their instruments
was an anspicions omen for their future.
One evening, after they had played
long together, Josephe complained of a
violent headache. It had begun in the
morning, and the day’s work and the
evening's pleasure had wrought serious
ly upon her delicate uerves. Sellner sent
at once for a physician; he came, treat
ed the matter as a trifle and assured
them that she would bo quite recovered
hi the morning. Bnt afror an extremely
l est less night, during which she raved
incessantly, the doctor found poor Jo-
M*phe with the symptoms of a nervous
lever. He devoted him >elf zealously to
the case, hut Josephe grew worse daily.
Sellner was beside himself. On the ninth
liny the physician lost hope, and Josephe
hr: self felt that she coniil not live much
longer. She awaited the end with gen
tle ivsigni’tKin.
••Dear Edward,” she said to her hns
imiol. "with deep sorrow I leave* this
beautiful earth, \yhere I have found tliep
niul highest blessedness; but though 1
may not linger longer in thine arms,
./oseplie's love shall lie round about thee
until we meet again, above/'
bhe s..rk back an ! fell asleqp. It was
in the evening at the ninth hoiif.
Sellner’s sorrow was unspeakable,
lie struggled long with life. Ilia grief
destroyed his health, nml when, after
many weeks, he arose from his sick lied,
lie was without a vestige of liis former
youthful vigor.
Deep melancholy fastened upon him
He had loft .Josephe’s room as it was lie
tore her death, and every evening he
made a pilgrimage to this sanctuary of
his love. Hither on a clear moonlight
night lie came and stood as in the time
of ins happiness, leaning upon her win
dow. Into the sweet tones of a flute he
breathed his yearnings toward her who
.. el gone. Suddenly from a neighbor
ing tower the watchman cried tho ninth
hour. As if struck by u light spirit
hand the harp answered to his flute.
Overcome with awe. Sellner censed
playing upon the flute; the strains of
the harp also ceased. With deep emo
tion he now *>egau Josephe’s favorite
song, and the strings sent forth strop
loud notes in accompaniment to his mel
ody. He sank to the floor with a shud
der of joy. and stretched out his arms
to embrace the beloved shadow. Ho
felt himself breathed upon as by the
warmth of spring, and a pale, shimmer
ing light shone around him.
•I know thee, blessed shadow of my
sainted Josephe!” he cried. “Thou didst
promise iu lov' to be round about me!
Thou dost keep thy word! 1 feel thy
breath: thy kisses upon my lipsl Thy
glory shines upon me!"
Again he took the flute, nnd the harp
again sounded forth, but more and more
gently, until its whisperings were lost
in one long, final chord
Sellner cast himself upon his couch.
In all his heated dreams he heard the
whispering of the harp. He awoke late
and wearied from the emotion of the
night. He felt the touch of a supemat-
riharino P. McAssey for Romance.
How to Encourage Music in America.
What we need is American opera
given under American influences. This
can be brought about only by an elab
orate and well organized system of mn-1 Y es » I know.
Kitty looked at me with grieved, in
dignant eyes—great, brown eyes with a
golden light in,their depths which made
the small, colorless-Xace at times posi
tively radiant.
We were sitting on the stairs at Mrs.
Crampton’e last ball. There was always
a crush at the Cnunpton mansion, and
Kitty and I had made our way out of
the whirling vortex of danoern at immi
nent risk of life and limb, and had glad
ly sought this last refuge. Every other
corner, every room, every niche seemed
overflowing with gayly dressed people
in groups, bnt more often in pairs,
laughing, chatting, flirting. And sit
ting here, just behind the marble statue
of Psyche, 1 had accused Kitty Hath
away of being a flirt.
Well, it looked like it, I must confess,
for she was always surrounded by an ad
miring group, upon whom she lavished
impartial sweetness, looking all the time
so demure and innocent as to almost de
ceive me. 1, Alan Gordon, aged twenty-
five, had never been in love in my life.
If I were one of the crowd of cavaliers
who knelt at Bweet Kitty Hathaway’s
feet it was only because she was so alto
gether bewitching that I had no choice
in the matter. Tonight her flirtations
bad exceeded their usual limit.
Miss Kitty”—I assumed my moet
magisterial expression—“don’t you know
that it is wrong to flirt?”
Is it?” with a swift glance, quickly
withdrawn. “Who—who flirts? Oh,
You are referring to Annie
uiM into Suvuce. * •»>««- , .
“Pardon me, Miss Craqjpton,” I he- j
gan, striving hard to ho calm and cour
teous; “I have Mias Hathaway’s orchids,
and must return them to her. Orchids
BACHELOR BARTON.
When we were first married we bought
are too valuable to ho lightiy thrown a litUe cottage in the midst of a pretty
sipal education. We have plenty of good
material for the making of musicians,
but this material js buried beneath the
army of foreign artists wbp come annu
ally to our shores, and whom Americans
have formed the habit of encouraging—
often simply because they are foreign
ers. In order to bring out this latent
material a school for opera should be
established here. If conducted on the
best principles it would be of inestima
ble advantage. It would beep at home
those young musicians who annnally go
abroad to study, sometimes under the
greatest disadvantages, and it would en
courage those to undertake a musical
education who are deterred from it by
the expense which they would incur by
European training.
The school should not only train sing
ers, but also young men who are am
bitions to become orchestra players and
orchestra leaders. There should be in
connection with it a theater in which
operas might be prodpped. The insti
tution would thus l>e a practical school
for opera. The first year after its es
tablishment should he spent in funda
mental training. Private performances
cf opera might lie giveu, bnt no public
ones until the artists had been thorough
ly trained.—Anton Seidl in Fortun.
. Tbe Vagaries of Fame.
Sitting np late tonight, “while rook
ing winds were piping loud," 1 took
down an old anthology and turned over
its leaves with a wonder often felt be
fore, at the number of men who survive
in it by virtue of doing small things . ,, . . , _... TT .,
well. Sometimes in fact, one thing hL ***** Kitty Hathaway.
Merton. I must confess she does, or
rather tries, to flirt successfully; but 1
don’t believes she understands the art.”
“Annie Merton, indeed 1” I feel my
self getting indignant. “An old maid
of forty at least! You know perfectly
well that I am referring to a certain
brown eyed maiden surnaraed Hatha
way. Miss Kitty, it is a shame for yon
to break all these loving hearts.”
She laughed a clear, ringing laugh.
“Bah! Nonsense! Yon men have no
hearts to break. Your hearts are petri
fied, ossified, fossilized, and all the rest
of it. You do not know what it is to
love a woman truly, steadfastly.
Kitty, stop! You are wrong, and yon
know it. Yon kuow that 1 am not a
foolish, flirting fellow. Yon know—or
yon ought to know—that I love”
Miss Kittyl 1 beg ten thousand par
dons, Gordon, hut this is my dance.
The Manola, Miss Kitty; and yon did
promise it to me;
1 felt like annihilating the tall yonng
man who had made his way with diffi
oalty tq pur secluded corner. Bnt there
was no hope; she most go. She rose,
and I fancied a regretful look in the
lovely brown eyes as she turned to me
and deposited her bouquet—a magnifi
cent collection of orchids—in my hand.
“Keep it until I return,” she whis
pered. “If I survive this waltz I will
be back here; so don’t go away.
My eyes met hers; I smiled and nodded
—and then she was gone. And all at
pnee it occurred to me how dark and
dreary the place had grown—what a dull
affair the Crampton ball had become
been enough to give a man his world
wide fame, and send him down to pos
terity hand in hand with the greatest.
At the names of Carew and Colonel
Lovelace, Sir Henry Wotton and Sir
John Suckling, we stop to read once
more their thrice familiar lines; hut,
too often, the sad word “Unknown"
makes the tribute thus paid an indirect
one
What would not one give to know
who wrote “The Two Corbies," for in
stance. or that song of which “Love
wil 1 find out the way” is the burden?
Things go much by names nowadays,
and good anonymous poets of our own
time are few and far between. But
fame laughs at titles, and choosing
leaves that fall neglected binds them
into her immortal garland whether their
rightful owner will or no,—Scribner’s.
Silk Easy to Dye.
Next to wool, silk is the easiest thing
to dye, and it runs riot in the whole
gamut of color. The aniline dyes evolved
by German chemists from coal tar give
many of the most delightful tints. For
the rest there is madder and Brazil
wood, tumeric and cochineal, indigo,
logwood, fustic. Prussian blue and
hundred more.
There is no shade, no tint, no cloud of
color hut may be caught and repeated
in order that beauty may he adorned like
unto the king’s daughter in “vesture of
gold wrought about with divers colors.’’
—Chicago Tribune.
How a Snake Sheds Its Skin.
The human skin is shed in such minute
I pieces that it ordinarily comes away on-
noticed. Bnt the skin of a snake comes
away whole two or three times a year,
and is drawn off inside ont, from the
the head backward, as the creature
And then something else occurred to
me also—something that came crushing
down upon me with sodden force, near
ly depriving me of my senses. I awoke
all at once to the fact that I loved her-
I. Alan Gordon, who had long looked
upon love and marriage as a remote con
tingency—an accident which must be
fall me some time, hut not now. Oh, nol
J was my own master; a fortune of
half a million had fallen to me a year
ago, and I was quite alone in the world
save for my mothor. She had given np
the hope of my falling ’in love, for not
the slightest fancy had ever troubled
the peaceful waters of my existence.
Bnt I was awake at last to the know!
edge that while I had been dreaming
love had stolen in at the door of my
heart, and 1 aronsed myself to a realiza
tion of the truth when it was too late to
bar the intruder ont.
While I sat there, with Kitty’s or
chids iq roy hand, my eyes dreamily
watching tho floating white robed fig
ure—she was all in white, a fleecy,
gauzy, diaphanous material striped with
silver threads—and occasionally inter
cepting a sly glance from the merry
brown eyes from over her partner’s
shoulder, Mrs. Crampton, with her
daughter Clara in tow, made her way
with difficulty to my side.
“Dear me, Alan, what a place to sit,
to be sure!” Mrs. Crampton had known
me all my life, and always addressed ilj
by my given name. “Yon have not met
Clara since her return from school. My
dear,” with a swift glance into Miss
Clara’s face, “this is your old school
mate and playfellow, Alan Gordon.
You are five years her senior, Alan.
Now I am going to leave yon two to re
new old friendship, while I go to Mrs.
Marcy yonder. I declare, the old lady
is looking faint and ill!”
“No wonder; the atmosphere is sti-
. _
at List.
He had adored Miss Nancy, he told
| me, and she had returned his affection,
and they had become engaged to each
other with the consent of the mother,
and all went merry as a marriage bell
nntil, in some manner, he offended the
object of his adoration.
I judge he made her jealous, having
been in his day a beau of the first water,
and much admired by the ladies; bnt ho
was too modest to say so outright. But
at all events she would not forgive him.
She refused him the miniature which
THE SCHEDULES
ON ALL THE RAILROADS ENTERING
THE CITY ARE ADVANTAGEOUS.
away.” i garden—a cottage that had just four
Mim Clara bowed, bnt there was a : rooms and a garret in all, bnt we want-
look of displeasure upon her thin face. I ed no more.
1 made my way slowly from these-! “Once the property of the late Miss
eluded niche back to the ballroom, to Nancy Free.” the real estate dealer said
Kitty Hathaway’s, side. I laid the * his circu]ar .
°T’They are°too & valuahle to lose,” I sug-1 We did not thinb much about Mis3
gested. ° I Free, however, only that her old fash-
They are hideonsr she cried, t/wring' ioned furniture—just what every one had been painted for him; .she took hack
them upon a table near. “I never could was going wild over—went with the I her lock of hair and sent him back his
understand the beauty of, an orchid any t house, and that we could make it the
more than I can appreciate the beauty ; prettiest little nest in the world. Wa
of a mushroom. But Mr. Granger sent I were beginning the world. Why should
them, and I” t j we think of those who had done with it?
bowed. | Why should Jack and Lottie Deane,
“I understand. He is the last favored . . , .. . . . „
suitor,” I cut in, harshly.* ! 3°* “arr:e<l, ask what had been the
Kitty lifted her eyes to my face again ' an ' a 8™ ‘ 3 of Nancy Free, spinster,
with that same indignant glance, but: some tuuo herd? We live for ourselves
full of pathos too. : in this world.
Will you get my cloak?” she asked j Jack bought the house; we moved in.
softly—“and please find mamma. I The place hr.fi been very carefully kept
clean by the agent, and I began to ar
range and rearrange, to tie ribbon bows
on chairs, to loop fresh muslin curtains
at the window panes, to fill the old china
vases with flowers, thinking of Jack the
while, as a bride would be apt to do,
when looking ont of the window I saw
a quaint old figure coming np the road
—that of a man very old in years, and
TWELVE PASSENGER TRAINS
letters, and in all sorts of ways wreaked
vengeance upon him for his evil do
ing. Yet I believe she intended to re
lent and forgive; and he also thought so.
I am sure. He made every possible
apology and overture, but she yielded
not one inch.
At last her mother died. That great
sorrow, it seemed to him, must bow her
Arrive and Depart Dally—Our Rail
road Advantages—The “Old. Relia
ble,” G,, C, & N„ Macon &
Northern and R. & D— Let the
People Know That Athens
as a Market Has No
Superior—Business
Men Push Your
Claims.
think I shall go home.”
With secret satisfaction I obeyed her,
and when the carriage had driven away
went hack to bid the hostess good
night, and took my departure also.
I had made up my mind to ask Kitty
1 Hathaway to be my wiffc. j loved her.
i Jood heavens! ofwhathsd I been think
ing all these months, not to have found
out the truth before?
The schedules on all the railroads en
tering the city are good for Athens.
On either of the roads passengers can
come into Athens, do their shopping
pride, and she must more than ever need | and return the same day, with the lea'-fc
a comforter, a consoler, a protector. I inconvenience.
Allowing time for the first burst of | This is great
grief, he wrote to her, asking her to re
ply, whatever her fiat might he, begging
her to forgive him, and once more prom
ise to be his wife.
“She never answered me,” he said
She never gave me one word in reply.'
It was on iny tongue to say she hai.
been very vindictive, but 1 saw that that
would not do. Miss Nancy was sainted
in his memory, and could he suspected
I rang the bell at the pretty little home who . had not chan S ed his 8arb with the of no wrong whatever.
of the Hathaways the next evening.
Kitty and her mother lived in a retired
street, in a neat cottage which, with a
small income, constituted their entire
wealth.
She came into the cozy parlor where 1
awaited her. She was all in black, and
her face was very pale. 1 arose and
took her hand in mine a£ once. I would I P°j“ted in love.
fashions of the times.
His hat had a bell crown and rolling I
rim; his collar and coat and neckerchief
were of the s.'.-t we see in our grand
fathers’ portraits. I had had him point- ]
ed out to me as “Bachelor Barton,” and
been told that he was rich and of a good
old family, and had once been disap-1
I erred beyond forgiveness, swee;
angel,” he said—"1 erred beyond for
giveness;” and Bachelor Barton could
not have been moved from this opinion
by the whisper of an angel.
ural hand upon his life, and within him I tofore it hi ehefithe akin I fling," Ithought, as I made way for Miss
because their outer skin is cast with the Kitty had waited,
rest. The snake emerges very brightly I ^ slendoiq pain ^ ’ y . ?
colored from its old skin and its mark- was Miss Clara Crwnpttm, "With
ffigsTre then most distincti-Quarterly | V** blue eyesjand pale yellow hair, and
strange
sied the speedy victory of the soul over
the tiody.
With unutterable longing he waited
for the evening. At twilight he betook
himself to Josephe’s room. Playing
upon his flute, he lulled himself into
still dreams until the ninth hour. Hard
ly had the last clock stroke ceased, be
fore the harp again sent forth its strains
to meet and blend with the flute tones
iu perfect accord. Again the pale,
shimmering light shone around him.
Again he cried out to his loved one:
"Josephe, Josephe! Take me with
thee!” Again the harp strains took
leave of him iu geutle whisperings.
Sellner tottered back to his room. His
looks terrified his faithful servant, who
hastened in spite of hia master’s prohi
bitions to the physician, who was also a
lifelong friend of Sellner. The physician
fouud him in a fever, with the very
Review.
an air of languor.
make no prelude or preparation, but
would go directly to the point.
Kitty,” I whispored, “I have come
to ask you to be my wife. I think I
have always loved you. Kitty, Kitty,
what is your answer?”
The sweet, pale face drooped.
“1—I am sorry,” she murmured faint
ly, “hut I—I cannot. 1 * All my pride
was up in arms in a moment.
You refuse me, then?" 1 cried bit
terly “And oh, how 1 lovo you,
Kitty!”
She was trembling like a leaf, but
she turned away with oalm composure
l snatched np my hat and turned to the
door, angry, hurt, my pride stung.
Goodby!” I cried wildly. “I hope 1
may never see you again! Yon are a
flirt and not worthy a good man’s
lovel” and then I dashed out of the
house like a madman, and went home to
my owp rooms and locked myself in.
alone with my dreary thoughts.
The next day I started on a journey,
deciding to make a tour of the far west
—visit California, Colorado and explore
the Rocky mountains. Time passed and
I found myself so occupied and interest
ed with the strange sights and the new
scenes whither my Unquiet spirit led
me that the wound in my heart began
to heaL In the meantime I had kept np
a correspondence v itb Clara Crampton.
How I had drifted into it i can hardly
say, but I found her a pleasant, chatty
writer, and was glad to receive her let
ters. I had just replied to a long epistle,
when news connected with some real
estate of mine at home made me decide
to return, und 1 started upon the very
next train for the east.
1 found my mother well, and having
attended to my business turned my
steps in the direction of the Crampton
mansion. 1 rang the hell and was
nshered into a small reception room,
which was separated from Miss Clara’s
boudoir by heavy azure velvet portieres
I seated myself to await Miss Clara’s
coming. 1 learned afterward that the
servant was new and untrained, and
having shewn me into the reception
room straightway forgot to announce
my arrival to the ladies. And sitting
there, my presence unsuspected, I heard
these words:
Mamma”—it was Clara Crompton’s
voice—“do you think that he will ever
propose? Alan Gordon I mean of course.
Whom else have I been angling for ever
since that night when I told him that
Kit Hathaway had determined to marry
a fortune? And then, yon know, I made
Kit believe that he had told me—didn't
I ever tell you about it, mamma?—that
he would never marry a girl without a
fortune, and above all a girl who loves
to flirt In short, 1 made her believe
that he was only amusing himself with
her, and Kit is horribly proud, yon
know, so that accounts for Gordon go
ing away so suddenly. I am determined
to be Mrs. Alan Gordon myself, for he
is worth a half million or more.”
I started to my feet in utter conster
nation, and then the strangest thing oc
curred. Out from the embrasure of the
long window at the other end of the
room, where she had sat, hidden from
my view by the heavy window curtains,
came Kitty Hathaway. She had also
been a victim to the blundering servant,
and we two caged there together had
heard our own story with all the wrong
set right.
I put out both hands with a swift
Australian Trees.
Kansi is known to be among the most
valuable and generally useful of the
many excellent timbers produced in the
forests of Australia, and it has man} _
giants that approach those of the Yoaem- I while the dancers danced and the sweet
ite. One felled had a trank that rose | waltz music surged upon the perfumed
"Just see Kitty Hathaway!” ejaculat
ed that yonng lady; “how overdressed
she is, and she dances all the time! See,
she is flirting with yonng Granger!”
1 looked; how could 1 help it? Had
not been looking at every opportunity
84 feet to the lowermost branch, was
over 8 feet in diameter and its cubical
contents were about 13,600 feet.—New
York Times.
air? Yes, it looked like flirting, for Kit
ty’s eyes were uplifted to Granger's
hands. * *c face, and the very manner of
the lime witch convinced me that there
was mischief brewing. Ah, well! she
1 had no right to dictate
Avoid Sudden Change* of Air. I was not mine.
When going from a warm atmosphere I or interfere,
into a cooler one always keep the mouth “And yon know”—Miss Clara’s voice
closed so the air may be warmed floated.across my reverie like a chill east
symptoms which bad appeared in Fran I b its ’ through the nose ere it wind—“that the Hathaways are in re-
Sellaer’s malady. The fever increased th « lungs.—New York Journal. | duced circumstances, and Kitty
during the night. He raved ever of
Josephe and the harp.
In the morning he was quieter; the
struggle was over; he felt assured of
speedy release. He revealed to the
physician the occurrences of both even
ings, and no arguments of cold reason
could dissuade him from his belief. As
evening came on he grew weaker, and
asked at last to be taken to Josephe’s
They dM hia bidding Hie looked
' ** sii * *■
CONSIGNED TO MOTHER EARTH
Yesterday ™ernto^ »t 10 o’clock^^the | what ^ thQ mttnr
bound to marry a rich man. Dear me
she told me eoj Mr. Gordon. She de
clares that she mqpt marry a fortune.
funeral of Mrs. C. B \ J er< V 1 con-1 I had started np with an involuntary
at Emmanuel church. A large r
gregation of sorrowing relatives and exclamation which I could not
friends were present. After the eer- the girl know—or care—that die
vices at the church a large concourse driving me mad? And just at that
of friends followed the remains to uco- j with a broken wail, the music
nee cemetery where they were consign* • »—»—i
ed to Mother Earth.
Ibid myself behind the curtain and
watched him curiously as he came on,
wondering if he were once a handsome
yonng fellow like my Jack, and if he
had loved some one as Jack loved me,
and how it was that youth could change
to age and golden locks to gray, and
why it need to be, when to my surprise
he paused at the gate of my garden and
entered.
Perhaps his old fashioned politeness
led him to call upon the “strangers,”
after the good old custom so rapidly
dying ont.
A moment more my little maid brought
me his card, and with a glance at the
mirror, 1 hurried down to greet him.
Close at hand Bacheler Barton was
older than he had seemed from my upper
window, and frailer, hut his face had a
sweet expression still.
Pardon my intrusion, madam,” he
said. “I saw the house open for the first
time for years and could not restrain
myself from approaching the door. 1
knew it well in bygone days, when Miss
Nancy Freo aol hor mother lived here.
1 came here tnten then. I was a very
intimate friend. 1 wanted to 6ee the
dear old rooms once again. Miss Free
was eighty when she died; 1 am eighty-
five. But we were very yonng people
when we first met—twenty-one and
twenty-six. You think me an eccentric
old creature no donbt, but I want to see
the house once before I die, for old times'
sake.”
Come in, sir,” I said. “I shall be
happy to ehow you every corner of it. 1
think 1 understand”
As yonng people understand such
things,” he said. “Happily they can
not quite knov.* how the old feel. Not
quite—uot quite.”
Ho held his quaint old hat in his hand
as he speko, ar d gave me a sad smile
that drew his face into a hundred tiny
crow’s feet, and as 1 motioned the way,
he followed me into our little parlor
and sat down.
“Nothing .Jvered,” he said. “This is
old Mrs. Free’s furniture, that had been
her grandmother’s in Revolutionary
days. They say it is the fad of the time
to buy it up or have imitations of it.
The brass andirons, the shovels and
tongs, the carved chairs, the escritoire
—I remember them all. This is a Turk
ish carpet—there are hardly any of
them to be fonnd now. Yes, Mrs. Free
sat here, and Nancy played the guitar,
and I sang—you would not think that 1
sang—or, 1 remember, she worked at
her tambour frame while 1 read aloud
from the poets.
Auntie,” cried my little nephew
‘there’s something in the crow’s nest."
1 was sitting in the garden and th-.
voice sounded above my head. I lookeo
up with a start. In the road outside
arose a tall pole, and from time imme
morial a great crow's nest had crowned
it. How little Billy had managed to
reach its apex I cannot say, hut there hi
was, and speechless with horror 1 could
only implore him, in dumb show, to de
scend.
He answered with a langh, flung some
thing to the ground and came sliding
down after it.
'You naughty boy!” I cried, as 1
caught him in my arms.
“It’s not a bit like a nest, auntie,” he
said. “It’s all ugly and muddy. There
were some feathers in it, black, and
there was a (load bird, a**d there was
that cap—a queer cr.p. i uc\ er saw such
a funny thing.”
He picked from the grass the object
he had cast down. It looked like a
crushed leather box, and had been melt
ed by the sun and soaked by the rain
nntil it was shapeless; but it certain.,
proved to be a queer, old fashioned cap,
with a peak and lined with oiled silk, and
as Billy tossed it about and turned it
inside out, a square, white packag
dropped from some secret spot beneath
this lining, which had kept it from de
struction adown the years.
Long years they must have been, for
the letter had been written before the
days when envelopes were used, wai
curiously folded and sealed with a large
seal on which was the letter “F.” it
was addressed in a delicate, running
hand, to “Alwyn Barton, Esq., The
Oaks,” etc. In fact it had evidently
been intended for the old gentleman w<
called Bachelor Barton, and to him 1 at
once dispatched it with a note of expla
nation.
Hia answer was a request that 1 and
my husband wonld do him the honor of
calling, as Mr. Barton was nnwell and
there was much to explain. And of
course we went.
Bachelor Barton, bolstered np with
pillows, lay upon a lounge, pale as yel
low wax, his eyes shining under his gray
brows,
for Athens. As
market thtre is no superior
in the South, and all that is needed is
to let the pecple know and realize this
fact.
“tue’old reliable.”
The schedules on the Georgia road
are to Athens’ advantage, and the trains
arrive and depart as follows: An ao-
ommodation from Union Point arrives
at 10:40 a. m, and leaves at
4:10 p. m., giving passengers five
hours and twenty minutes in the city.
Then the express fiom iSigusta, Wash-
ingtou and White Plains arrives at
12:10.p. m., and leaves at 4:20 p. m.,
givii g four hours and ten minutes in
he city. The mail train from Atlanta,
Augusta and Macon arrives at 4:45 p.
m., and leaves at 9:10 a. m. Express
fiom Atlanta and White Plains arrives
at 7:35 p. m. and leaves at 8:66 a. m.
the o., c. a N.
This road is destined to be a splendid
r eeder for Athens. The wholesale and
retail trade wilt share in the advantages
of this road The schedules are conven
ient for Athens and their trains arrive
oddepart as follows: Through pas
nenger mail and express arrives from
Charlotte at 7:21, a. m., and returning
leaves for Elberton and Charlotte at
8:32, p. m., giving nearly twelve hours
in the oity. Then the passenger train
arrives from Elbcrton at 4:32, p. m^
Blowing the passengers to return at
3:32, giving four hours.
Then on the other hand, trains com
ing from Atlanta, arrive and depart as
follows: Through passenger mail and
express arrives at S :32, p. m.. and leaves
at 7:21, a. m. The regular passenger
Grains arrive at 11:35 a. in., and leaves
at 4 :32 p. m., giving passengers five
hours in which to do shopping and re
turn same day.
THE M. AND N.
Here’s the benefit to Athens given by
the M. & N. schedules. An accommo
dation from Madison and way stations
arrives at 7 :lo a. m , and leaves at 12:55
p. m , more than five hours in Athens. ~~
The accommodation from Macon and
way stations reaches Athens at 5:50p.
m., and leaves at 6:00 a. m.
THE K. AND D.
The Richmond and Danville, or what
was a few weeks ago, known as the
northern end of the M. & N., has the
following schedules in effect. Express
from all points east and west ar
rives at 12:50 a. m., and passengers
can return at 0:50 p. in., allowing six
hours for passengers in the city. An-
‘Dear friends, you have told me that I other express train comes down at 10:45
the letter you sent me was in the linin'* I p. m., and passengers can return at 7:15
of an old leather cap in the crow’s I a. m.
nest,” he said. “1 remember seeing the
cap thrown away. Miss Free’s little
negro servant, Cato, wore it. A car
penter who was mending the ham had
snatched it and flung it in the air. Ap
parently it never came down again. It
was searched for, and 1 watched the
search from the window, but never
Thus it will be seen that twelve
trains arrive and depart from the city
daily on the different roads. These
trains come from all directions, and
bring an immense amount of traffic to
the city.
TO ENTEBPRISIHG ATHENIANS.
Everybody in Athens knows that
dteamed that it was in the nest. The u
He moved Ms head slowly about, I C ap was old. Cato had a new one, and I good » can’be bought here at home as
noting every dotml-the peacock feather | that was the end of it. But now I re-1 * heap as any whe “ e in the 80uth< au
our citizens recognize the
fans, the cut glass decanters and glasses,
the painted china in the corner cup
board, the footstool like a melon, the
lampmat like a rose. Nothing had worn
ont or grown shabby in the spinster’s
little home.
‘Once,” he said, “Miss Nancy sat for
a minature to a painter then well known.
It was a speaking likeness. Does it by
chance remain in the house?”
“1 think it does,” i said. “The heir,
a nephew, a rich man, who lives in New
Orleans, wrote orders that the house
should be sold with all its belongings,
and 1 think the miniatnre yon mean is
here.”
1 went to the escritoire and drew from
one of the drawers the likeness of a lady
painted on ivory and set in a narrow
gold frame. I donbt if it really resem-
glance toward the portieres—a glance bled any living being.
which Kitty interpreted to mean silence.,
She laid her white hands in mine, and 1
without a word I stooped and kissed
her.
At that very mome
aside the portieres, falling hack with a I
stifled shriek as her eyes fell upon the |
scene.
Mina Kitty is my promised wife,
Mina Crampton,” 1 said quietly, “and
It was a beautiful doll, all pink and
white, with bine eyes, little brown curls
penciled on the forehead and a white
frill about the neck, bnt as 1 put it inti
the hands of Bachelor Barton he gazed
upon it with rapture.
‘Miss Nancy’s very self,” he said, “as
she appeared at twenty-two. There are
no such women now.” He paused, and
with a low tr>w, added, “With the ex-
we thank yon from the bottom of our I ception of the fair lady in whose pres-
hearts for having set right the wrong I ence I now stand.”
that your own hands have wrought.” I I courtesied. I hope 1 did it properly.
Kitty has been my dear wife for many I It seemed the only thing to do under the
a long day, bnt we will neither of ns I circumstances.
ever forget the look of defeat, the hor- | After this 1 begged the old gentleman
ror, the consternation which rested upon
Clara Crampton’s - face. But it was all
her own work, and it was right that she
should bear the penalty.—Toronto MaiL
The Home School concert rn tie
to visit any portion of the house and
grounds he pleased, and when he went
away presented him with Miss Nancy’s
miniature, for which he kissed my hand,
standing at a long distance and touching
member that in that oiled silk lining
the boy put any letters with which he
was sent to the postofflee, in order to
keep them clean. I think it was made
with a sort of pocket on purpose, and in
that lining this letter had started on its
way to me, when a rude jest ended my
hopes of happiness for life. Cato forgot
or never told the fact of its being unde
livered.
‘The letter, dear friends, was an an
swer to my prayer for Miss Nancy Free's
pardon—a beautiful, forgiving, angelic
reply. Had I received it I should havp
flown to her. She should have been my
bride. These lonely years would have
been gladsome. 1 might not have been
the last leaf on a withered branch.
“It was fated not to be. 1 trust she
did not suffer also. 1—1 fear that is
possible. How discourteous she must
have deemed me. 1 never dreamed she
had written. I”
He paused. Tears filled his eyes.
“1 am sorry,” I began.
“Don’t say you are sorry you found
itU Bachelor Barton cried. “If 1 was
foolish enough to faint when the truth
burst upon me, 1 still rejoice. Up there
I think she waits for me—there, where
the truth is manifest without words;
and 1 thank yon—oh, so mucht"
We staid with him a little longer,
and he talked to us of Nancy and old
times. When 1 left him he kissed my
hand.
He died that night, and the letter and
Miss Nancy’s miniature repose upon his
bosom.—Mary Kyle Dallas in Saturday
Night.
The musical concert to be given by
ninth of June will be a most charming my ^ tseIS M wer ® Bacrea the pupils of Misses Ellen and Emma
entertainment Misses S’ a’ler and him „„ at tea time Jack Mel1 at the opera h0U8e °“ the night of
Wheeler are busy in their p eparations. 1 and , ^ u our ^ the 27th, promises to be a musical treat.
Some of tbe young lady pupUs of the been a tpitor of Nancy’s. The Misses Mellhave long been favorite
city will a- sist the young ladies of the I It was not a very difficult matter to instructors here and their many friends
Home School, and the oonoert will be a j guess that, and from that day he called I will fill the opera house to hear them
musics 1 treat. *—"*" aw He made ms Us qq^fidaiite and their pupils that night.
fact that as large and
assorted sticks of fancy goods can be
found here as elsewhere. The thing to
do is to advertise in the sections of
country from which tbe trains come.
Let the people all over this section of
the state know that for good goods and
low prices Athens can’t be beat. Keep
this fact before them, and you will reap
a harvest of trade.
People are going to trade where they
can get the best goods for the least
money. Many are under the impres
sion that they can drive better bar
gains in other cities, and this is because
Athens has never attempted to catch
their trade. Advertise
and advertise thoroughly all along the
line.
Athens is the logical point for all the
people in this section to come for their ^
goods. It is the trade centre of North- |
east Georgia.
We have better railroad facilities than g
we have ever heretofore enjoyed, and I
the trade from all these sections is legiti
mately ours.
The Banneb, daily and weekly cir
culates largely along the lines of all the
railroads. It has the larg
est circulation of any
paper in Northeast Georgia. It is read
by every class of citizens, and a stand
ing advertisement in Its columns would
be of incalculable benefit.
Convince the people that you are sell
ing the best goods at low prices, and the
trade is yours.
Business men act.
The Lucy Cobb commencement will
] begin this year on the evening of the
seventeenth of Juno.
r>*.
I I ,..;x
