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About The weekly banner. (Athens, Ga.) 1891-1921 | View Entire Issue (May 24, 1892)
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
