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Hiiimr iflhi
ICMMlUainiwilhUe
! *U— . *•«. tan.
ATHENS. GA, TUESDAY MORNING. JURE 28,1892.
T0 A LADY IN A PICTURE.
Sitting In that plotnin.
Smiling night and day,
IH> yon never weary,
I zing to weep or pray?
Though yonr dress ti velvet.
And yonr hair is gold,
I sue something In your eyes
That you hare not told.
—Louise Chi
ANGELS.
ft^jgpin
••Never heard how we got religion to
Angels, stranger? I thought nv cottroo
everybody'll heerd that yarn. Tell yer?
Why, sure; but lot’s liquor again, *n I’ll
reminisce.
••Yer sec, ’twas afore Angels got to be
secli a big camp ns Ywaa later on, but It
was a rich camp ’n a mighty wicked
one. There were lots nv chaps there
who'll jest ns soon die in their boots as
eat, 'n every other house was a dance-
house or a saloon or gambling hell.
p r ,.ttv Pete ’n his pardner. Five Ace
13,>h, was reckoned the wickedest men
in the state, ’n old Bill Jones, what
kept the Golden West hotel, had a na
tional reputation for cussin.
••Tho idea of a parson striking the
camp never was thought uv, but one
,hiy 1 wns playing bank into Pate’s
game, when Five Aco came runnin in
'n sez: ‘Boys, I'll be , but there's an
ornery cuss of a parson jest rU up to
Jones'. He’a got a pardner with him,
’n ho 'lows lie’s goin to convert the
camp-’ ‘The he is,’ sez Pete, Til
liuish tho deal ’n go down and see about
that'
••So we all walked down to Jones’,
’n thar, sure 'miff, in the bar, talking
with Old Bill, wuz thaparson, black coat
'n white tie '» all,. He was a big, squar’
shouldered chap, with a black beard
'a keen eyes that looked right through
yer. llis pardner was only a boy of
twenty or so, with yuller curly li’ar, pink
•n white gal's face, 'n big blue eyes.
Wo nil walked in,.’n Pete ho stands to
tho bar ’n shouts for all hands ter drink,
'ii to our surprise the parson 'n the kid
both stepped up ’n called for red licker
'll driuik it.
"After the drink was finished’ the
parson sez: ‘Gents, as yer see, I’m a
minister of tbo Gospel; but I see no
h.inti Hi a miiu drinking ez long ez he
ain't tm drunkard. 1 drank just now
becatMB 1 want yon to see that I am not
aslunned to do before yer face what I’d
do behind yer back.’ ‘Right yer are,
parson,' says Pete; ‘put it thar;’ 'n they
shook hands, ‘n then Pete he up and
called off tho hull gang—Five Ace ’n
Lucky Barnes ’n Dirty Smith ’n one Y
all iho rest nv ’em. Tho parsui. shook
haiuls with all nv ns, ’n said he was
going to have a meotin in Shifty' Sal’s
dam i house that night, ez’twas the big
gist room in camp, ’n ast ns all to come
’n wo sed we would.
"When we got outside Pete sez, ‘Boys,
yen mind mo, that devil dodger’ll cap
ture tho camp,’ ’n ho did. That nigjjl
we all wont along down to Shifty’s ’n
found tho parson ’n tho kid on tho
platform where the fiddlers ust to sit
’n every man in camp wni in tho au
dience. Tiie parson spoke first. Honed:
‘Gents, 1 want to tell yer first off 1 don’t
want nny uv yer dust. I’ve got enuff
fer myself ’u my young friend, ’n there
won't be no rakeoff in this yer meetin
house, ’n I’m not here to preach against
any man's way o’ making a livin. 1 wii :
preach ag’in’ drunkenness, 'n 1 shall
speak privately with the gamblers; but.
1 want to keep you men in mind nv yer
homes 'n yer mother ’u yer wives *r
yer sweethearts, ’n get yer to lead
cleaner lives, so's when yer meet ’em
gin yer'11 not hov to be ’shamed,
n then he sed we’d hev a song, *n the
youngster lie started in *n played a
concertina ’n sang ‘Yes, We Will
Gather at tho River'; ’n there wt&n’t
one of us that it didn't remind uv how.
our mothers ust to dress ns np Sundays
'n send us to Sunday school, 'n stand
at tiie door to watch us down street ’n
cal! us be k to ust if we were sure we
had our clean pocket handkerchur, ’n 1
tell yer mister, thar wiizn’t a mail with
dry eyes in tho crowd when he’d finished.
That young fuller had a v’ice like a
angel. Pete he sed it wuz a tenner v’ice,
hut Five Ace offered to bet him a hun
dred to lifty it wuz more like a fifteener
or a twenty. Pete told Five Ace he wuz
a — old fool ’n didn't know what ho
Ft* talkin about.
“Well, things run Along for about a
w <*k, ’n one day PeWi come to me and
* l ; ‘hook here, Ralfyra, this yer camp
*) nt no jay camp, ^Jve’ve got to hev a
‘ H6’sa jimdandy,
. me - Pete said he was a high toned
Christian gentleman himself, hed been
I born *n raised a Christian *h was a senior
• church warden to boot, ’n that he’d
make a Christian of Ah Foo or spoil a
Chinaman.
“Waal, stranger, things ran along
nice ’n smooth fer a couple nv months et
so till Chris’mus comes nigh. The boys
in mighty straight; there
in camp that drunked
inllsome fer him; there
hedn’t bin a shootin Scrap fer weeks.
Pete sed things wuz giltin so allfired
ca’am ’n peaceful that he wouldn’t be at
all surprised to git up sum fine day ’n
find Ah Foo with wings ’n feathers on
his legs like a Bramah hen. Nary a man
packed a gun, ’n when a gent ’ud forglt
’n drop a cuss word he’d beg parding.
The parson was thick with all the boys.
He writ letters for us, advised ns about
all our biznns,’n knew all about every
body’s affairs. Lots uv’em gave kkn
their dust sack to keep fer ’em, ’n he
knowed where every nuau->hed his
cached.
“Along jest afore Chris’mas cum Pete
called a meetin nv the deacons ’n church
wardens down to his place, 'n after the
sexton (Ah Foo) hed brought in a round
of drinks he said: ‘Gents, ez chairman
exofficer in this yer layout 1 move that
we give the parson a little present fer
Chris’mus. Yer know he won’t take d
dnru cent from ns, ’n never has. Uv
course he has taken a few thousand
from time to time to send to orfings *n
things uv that kind, butjiot a red for
hisself or pard, ’n 1 move th£t jye'ffiake
him a little present on Chris’mus day;
'n it needn’t be 60- little either.
ANNIE.
Coal black are the tresses of Fannie;
Bat never a mortal conlU see
Tho coal colored tresses of Annie,
And be as a body could be.
White, white Is her forehead and bonnle;
Aud-wben she gets down to the well;
The bent of the footsteps of Annie s
The wrath of a tiger would quell.
Red. rod are her round cheeks, and bonnle;
And when she is knitting, her tone—
The charm of the accents of Annie—
Would ravish the heart of a stone.
Nay, rare are her.graces and many.
Bat nothing whatever can be
Compared to l he sweet gbuiee of Annie,
The glance she has given to mel
—Joseph Skipsey in New York Tribune.
ADELAIDE.
better way for yon to assert yonr au
thority than by giving a ‘stag* dinner
party.” ■
The old gentleman was astounded.
“My dear boy, that’s impossible,” said
he. “If I were to invite a lot of men
here to dine, Mrs. Sandford would drive |
them out of the house.”
“Then,” I suggested, “do it when she
is away. Yon know she is going to {
spend tbtse days ne*t week with her
sister in Littletown. This is yonr time.
Manage the hpuse to Spit yourself while I
she is away, and when she comes back ]
and finds fault settle".the ’matter by in
sisting on having things yonr own way.
The days passed with leaden feet, bat j
finally Mrs. Sandfordiook "her departure
HOPE.
Blithe poetees at the gateways of the soldi
Dear sycophant, that dost so fqndly cling
To even oar worst of sorrows! Bark whose
wing
Daantiessly voyages to illusion’s goal.
Heedless if it he shadow, if rock and sboaU
White bird that caroleet thine unwearyir
Trebles of song, like those by newborn i
Lured heavenward from some blossom t
knoll!
Ah, Hope, thou art sweet when mad eeae gli
wild skies.
When war, pest, earthquake riots in bitter
glee.
Or yet when tyranny tortures apd enslaves;
But sweetest when thy shape phantasmal files,
A luminous dream named Imiportality,
Over the darkness of earth's myriad graves!
—Edgar Fawcett In Cosmopolitan.
chnrch to which she came with her
father and other friends, and they were
made one and went off together. There
was some talk of the count himself be
coming an actor, but, whatever hap
pened, the old nobleman, his father,
could do nothing now.
ally, the family held connsel that
they would forgive their son if his wife
wonld leave the stage.
Now, the beautiful Adelaide was a
born actress, but at the moment love
dominated, her soul. Her husband was
all in all to her. She yielded to his per
suasions and retired from the profession
she adorned.
She went to live with the great fam
ily, who were very - kind to her. She
tasted all the sweets of idleness and lux-
And Enjovlng Themselves—They En
tertain the Ladies-Some Good
Jokes on the Boys—Com
ing Home This Week
church fer the
“ti won’t ask for thing. He’d jest
“«tehelly go on prawA and*preachin ’n
• Vlu to save a couplf |of whisky soaked
l ? n J 9 liko youm ’n>3ill Jones’, which
“o t wuth powder dr blow ’em to
“you'd let him go aoin it in that old
.. wk °f Sal s ‘n greyer make a move.
‘ °w 1 m goin to ruAtlb ’round ’n dig np
ust ennff from the bdys, and we’ll jest
m him a meetir I house as’U be a
- meetiii.
T*®* to G>e camp;’ ’nrin a few days the
5 s ucd a good log meetin house built,
°wed ’n benches in it *n everythin.
A Hie parsoi i was tickled most to
iTt 1 ' they built him a house, 'n
n t$s pardm^ morad into it. Then
^hl tho gala urtat go; sed it wtus a
. 7 “udo game to work on the
Non ter hov to go down street ’n be
him W l hem Husains (*n they did guy
»viul sometimes, too); so the gals
ij ** at> Then P©te sed the chnrch
htv a 1)0 P r °Periy 'organized; hed to
oeacons ’n cliurph wardens ’n sex-
'ga; so oid Bill Jones ’n Ala-
•n
Gents in favor ’ll say so ’n gents wot
ain’t kin keep mum. Carried, ’n that
settles it. Five Ace ’n me’U take in con
tributions, ’n we won’t take any less
than fifty cases.’
“That wnz two days afore Chns’mns
day, ’n when it cum Pete ’n Five Ace
bed about five thousand in dust ’n nug
gets fer the parson’s present. Pete as-
scssed Ah Foo a month’s pay, ’n he
kicked bard accordin, but ’twer’n’t no
use.
The day was bright ’n clear, ’n at
leven o’clock every man in camp wnz at
church. The little buildin looked mighty
tasty—all fixed off with pine tassels ’n
red berries we’d got in the woods,’n
every man wuz dressed out in his
best duds. At ’leven exact tho par
son *n the kid, who hed bin standin dt
the door shakin hands ’n wishiu every
body what enm in Merry Chris’mus,
cum in ’n took their seats on the plat
form. Poto ’n Five Ace ’n Bill Jones *n
Alabam ’n me sot on a bench jest in
front o’ the platform. We wuz all
togged ont in onr best fixiu's, ’n Pete ’n
Five Ac© they sported diamons till yer
couldn't rest. Waal, ez usual, the per-
oeedin’s opened np with er prayer from
the parson, 'n then we hed singin, ’n it
seemed ter me ez if 1 never hed heerd
sich singin in my lifo afore ez thet kid
let ont o’ him thet day.
“Then the parson ho started in ter
jaw, ’n 1 must ellow he giv us a great
jgBconme. I never see him so long
winded afore, tho’, ’n Pete was begin-
nin’ to get mighty restless ’n oneasy,
when all nv a snddint we heerd the
door open *n shet quick ’n sharp, ’n
every one turned around to find a great
big black bearded enss at the door a
coverin the hull gang nv us with a
double bar’led shotgun, ’u jest a stand-
in thar cool ’n silent. ‘Face around
bero, yer fools,’ yelled some
body in a sharp, qnick, biznns rneanin
v’ice, 'n all hands faced around to find
the parson holding ’em np w <• another
shotgnu—own brother to the one the
other cuss bed.
1 don’t want a word ont er yer,’ he
sed. ‘Yer see my game now, don’t yer?
Thar ain’t a gun in the house 'cept tho
ones you see, ’n if any gent makes any
row in tins yer meetin 111 fill his hide so
plum full o’ holes’t won’t hold his bones.
The kid will now take up the collection,
’n ez it’s the first one we ever hev taken
np yer mnst make it a liber! one, see?
The kid started ont with a gunnysack,
a went through the very last man in
the crowd. He took everything, even
to the rings on onr fingers. The parson
hed the drop, 'n we knew it ’n never
kicked, bnt jest giv* up onr stuff like"
lambs.
“After the kid hed finished, be took
the sack outside, ’n that’s the last we
eWr seed o’ him. Then the parson he
a **N now, gents, I mnst say adoo, ez
ist be a travelin, fo^A hev another
tin to attend this I want to
say tbo’ afore 1 go thet ^3Re the orner-
iest gang of fobls 1 ever played
for suckers. A few friends of mine hev
taken the liberty, while yer’ve been to
meetin this blessed Chris’mus day, nv
goin through yer cabins ’n diggin up yer
little caches nv dust ’n other val'ablee.
Yer stock hez all been stampeded, ’n yer
gans yer’11 find somewhar at the bottom
of the crick. My friend at the door will
hold yer level while I walk ont, *n we
will then keep yer quiet fer a few min
utes longer through ther winder jest so
•s we can git a nice enmf table start;’ *n
so they did. What c’u’d we do? The
parson walked out, grinning all over
himself, ’n he ’n his pals they nailed up
the door ’n the winders (thar wuz only
two), *n very soon after they hed finished
we heerd the clatter o’ huffs ’n knowed
wuz made deacon*, ’a
Aco was chnrch wardens.
‘ 111 a month
Pete
every lant man in camp
orry m ’bout his future state. Old
Mv came into mqetin one night
hLv ,**,, aco ’ n hands wanhei *n an old
fca, ™ 0L . 'n sot down on the anx-
Th» r° Cu *n ast to b^ prayed fer.
ifcJrf? 51 knelt down "a pot his arm
fcrshL.V 11 ^' he ^ trey. "Be-
b»m throufeh Lucky Barnes, Ala-
they wnz gone.
“I must draw a veil over the rest of
The
that day’s proceedin’s, stranger,
langwidge used by ther boys wnz too
awful to repeat, but ’twas jest ez this
parson sed, when we got out o’ thet
mw »«n house we found every animal on
the location gone, *n the only arms left
wnz knives *n clubs, yet we’d hev gone
after’em with nothin bnt onr hands,
bnt we couldn’t follow afoot How
much did they get? 1 dont nghtly
know, bnt not fur from fifty thousand.
The hull camp wnz stone broke, all excep
Ah Foo, *n he wnz tLs only one nv ns as
hed sense enuff not. to tell thet durnai
parson wliar he cached his stuff. Fete
’n Five Ace wuz so everlast hurt at tne
hull biznns that they shat up thei Bird
o’ Prey, borrowed Ah Foo’s sack n mrt
for the bay to try 'n find thet parson,
but thoy never did find him, *n no
It is now a long while since the man
ager of a theatrical .company, then re
hearsing “The New Year’s Present” in
the town of Cividale, near Udine, de
clared that no stiff doll should be used
to represent the infant introduced into
the piece, bnt that a real baby most be
fonnd at onco.
“Hasn’t somebody a baby?" he cried.
A good looking actor Who was stand
ing at one side of the stage instantly
nudged his wife with his elbow. She
laughed and blushed.
“Mine is only two months old, mon
sieur,” she said. “Bnt I can promise
yon that she shall know her part, since
I can prompt her when it is time for her
to cry."
“That matter is settled then," the
manager remarked, with a sigh of con
tent; and the name of.another actress
was placed upon tiie list, and its par
ents drew a tiny salary for its services
in addition to their own. Afterward
people said that the baby really cried
and cooed in the right places, and was
evidently a born actress.
There was after this no want of a
baby in the company with which its
parents were connected, and at the age
of five the little girl had a speaking part
of her own.
Little Signorina Adelaide created quite
a furore in this part. She went to Ven
ice, to Milan, and to Rome; and at an
age when most young actresses are seek
ing an opportunity to appear was well
established in her profession.
It was at the Royal theater of Turin
that a young nobleman fee Count Ca-
pranica Della Griila, first saw her.
The part she played was one that
called forth all the powers of her genius
and demanded the costHeet and most
elegant costumes anil the most bril
liant display of jewels: Her dark
beauty, wonderful even in the simplest
dress, was enhanced by this magnifi
cence, so that it seemed actually super
human.
The young count leaned from his box
with his eyes fixed upon her. His ad
miration was so evident that the whole
house remarked it.
The admiration of a nobleman for a
beautiful actreSswns nofruncommon. It
generally ended in one way. The noble
man won the lady’s smiles, surrounded
her with luxury and for awhile adored
her.. Then they quarreled.
When tho count’s devotion became
manifest, as it did shortly, all the world
expected this history to be repeated.
They were disappointed. The Signorina
Adelaide had wise parents, and was
dignified as well as a beautiful girl.
The count’s love was tinctured with re
spect. Shortly he made an offer of mar
riage to the fair Adelaide and was ac
cepted.
After this he confided to his parents
the fact that ho was about to marry the
best, the loveliest and the greatest genius
among women—in fact, the most in
comparable creature upon earth—and
asked them to congratulate and bless
him,
They did no such thing. Parents are
seldom to be calculated on in this par
ticular, and the young count’s were no
exception to the general rale. Instead
of rejoicing, the ladies of the fam
ily bemoaned themselves with the
energy only possible to Italians. The
father, instead of blessing, uttered
curses loud and deep. The daughter of
a poor nobody! “An actress!”
The son of their ancient family should
not so cast himself away. He might be
troth himself as much as he pleased, but
he should never marry the girl.
The old count went to see Signorina
Adelaide’s father, bnt was treated with
little reverence. He commanded his son
to give np his mad idea, and set ^before | ner.
him the fact that he was about to dis
grace his family. The son declared that
the alliance he was about to make would
honor it.
The old count prayed his son to re
member his mother’s grief, his sister’s
tears. The young count declared that
they were not to be pitied, since they
wept when they should rejoice.
Finally the indignant and terrified
father had his son seized upon and car
ried away in a fashion quite possible in
Italy and confined in an old castle which
he possessed in Campagna, there to re
main until he promised to give np his
lovely Adelaide forever and take for a
wife some high born madame of his
mother’s choosing.
Thus parted from eaoh ether, the lov
ers grieved and yearned, apd watched
the moon, and counted the hours as lov
ers always do under such circumstances,
but did not despair.
The guard set at the gates wonld
never have allowed the young count to
pass through them or to climb the walls,
bnt when a wagon laden with provisions
entered no one thought of wgtehing the
wagoner’s hoy in his frock and slouch
bat, and so a little bribe bought the cos
tume of the fellow, and the young count
and left her husband master of the sit-
nation. : He immediate^ began his I A PTjAN THAT FAILED ^ an< * was !wlored by her husband.
— m-- az l_ t-2i- * *l She was for awhile perfectly happy.
Bnt slowly, surely, a nameless long
ing orept into her soul. She felt her lifo
preparations for the dinner party, whilo
I informed Fannie of what was -going
on.
At last, on the third day after Mrs.
Sandford had gone,'the dinner party
took place. Only young men were in
vited, and we sat down at 6 o’clock in
the evening, and were soon having a
merry time.
The solids of the feast gradually dis
appeared, and we soon found ourselves
telling funny stories over our wine and
cigars. Someone proposed Mr. Sand-
ford’s health, and we arose to drink it
standing.
At this moment the door was flnng
open with a bang, and who should stalk
into the room but Mrs. Sandford.
For a moment she stood as if thunder
struck, Then, flinging her satchel into
one corner of the room, she brought her
umbrella down with a tremendous
thump upon the floor and, after gasping
for breath once or twice, screamed in a
frightened tone:
What does this mean?”
“Now’s your time,” I whispered to
Sandford.
That gentleman drew himself np in a
dignified manner.
It means,” said he, “that when I wish
to invite a party of my friends to this
house I’m goiug to do it. It means that
I am going so have my own way.”
What-t-t?” cried his wife. “Yon
have yonr own way! You wouldn’t
know what to do with it if yon had it.
Here, yon yonng scapegraces, ont of my
house, every one of you!”
Silence, Maria!” said the old man,
endeavoring to look brave, bnt trembling
liko a leaf.
Silence yourself!” she cried, dealing
him a blow with the umbrella that ef
fectually destroyed bis equilibrium.
Then seizing an empty wine bottle she
brandished it aloft.
“Clear ont,” she cried, every mother’s
son of you!”
Robbins jumped through the open
window. Tho other fellows scattered
like leaves before a hurricane, while
Mrs. Sandford raged about the field of
battle like a new Joan of
I quietly slipped in tiie next room,
hoping to return and smooth matters
over when the crowd had gone.
1 saw that the splendid plan was a
partial failure, but I was not going to
desert my ally in this extremity. Pres
ently I saw Sandford arise from his un
dignified position among the empty bot
tles, and I entered the room with a smile
to help him face his wife.
“Now, then,” she said, “what does all
this mean?’
Mr. Sandford was as white as a sheet,
and he looked from one side of the room
to the other till he caught sight of me.
There,” he said, “that’s the wretch.
It was all his fault!”
Mrs. Sandford turned and, seeing me,
uttered a cry of rage,
“Yon, is it? I knew you would brew
mischief in this house. Out of it—out
of it, I say?”
And seizing her umbrella again she
began to belabor me lustily about the
head, shouting: “Go, go; leave! Go and
don’t come back!”
It is almost needless to say that I did
leave.
The next day I lay abed late, with a
braised and discolored eye and a general
feeling of soreness in my muscles, when
a knock sounded upon my door and
Enoch Robbins, with his eyes cast down
and his hands folded as usual, entered
the room.
Good morning,” he said softly, study
ing the seams in the carpet; “I am sor
ry to see you ill Have you heard the
news?”
No,” replied I; “what news?”
'Fanny Harry
Burton last night while we were at din-
I thought ■yon might not have
heard of it and dropped in to tell you/'
This was a portion of Harry’s scheme,
which I had not known before. It was a
splendid plan, however, and worked to
a charm.—A. Q. B. in Boston Globe.
At the age of twenty-five a man has,
without doubt, many things to learn.
Therefore, for the warning of all con
fiding yonng men, I mean to tell a plain,
unvarnished tale. Let him who reads
construct his own moral.
At the beginning of the year 1870 1
was nominally a lawyer in the town of
Rockport.
I had successfully engineered my way
through the .academic department of
Yale by dint of hard cramming during
examination weeks, and by the assist
ance of well stored shirt enffs.
1 had gone through the law depart
ment of the same institution, and had
dull and uninteresting. The artist with
in her got the better of her. Her one
great longing was to act once'more, to
tread the stage as of yore, to live the
life for which she was born. She
The Clarke Rifles li^ve been at
Camp Nortben nearly a week
and while there the boys have mado
many friends and are justly regarded as
the pride of the camp. The following
from Griffin tells how the boys are get
ting along: .
Griffin, Ga.,f June 15—[Special.]—
The Bannkr reporter arrived in this
place a few days siucc, a: d was at
once taken in charge by the Clarke
dreamed of it at night, she dreamed of R ^ 09 ’ aEd made t0 fiave a &°° d tim «-
it by day, but she never spoke of it I _ Gn arriving at the camp, which is an
Her word had been pledged and she I ideal spot for an encampment, one of
mnst keep it.
Society had ceased to charm her. All
occupation was wearisome. She turned
her attention to the poor and was boun
tiful to them. Among other wretclw
people, she gave alms to the poor crea
tures in the debtors’ prison. It was in
the first persons met was Col. G . H.
I Yancey, commandant of tho battalion.
| Col. Yancey is a favorite with every
body and is receiving the commenda
tion of all. At the Colonel’s headquar
ters, the reporter was met by Lieuten-
passed a year in the office of aNew York the year 1847. At that day, in the place) ant Ad ^ m8 > of the Clarke Rifles, who
city counsellor.
I was then admitted to the bar, and
began to practice in the town before
mentioned. For several months 1 prac
ticed principally patience. 4tt length
my reward came in the shape oil my first
client.
One warm day in June I was sitting
in my office, in front of which an ugly
tin sign hung to tell the passerby that
John Luther Abingdon, attorney at
law, was its occupant.
My law library, the food of my aspir
ing intellect, had been fairly large when
I left the university, but it bad gradually
succumbed to the argent needs of my
physical nature, and its volumes were in
tho possession of the solitary Hebrew
who gave temporary assistance to the
rising youth of Rockport,
An elderly gentleman stopped in front
of my office, looked at sign .and
ascended the steps. Ikne
sight; he was Mr. Albert Si*>dSDriL qpe
of the most respected evizeuk of the
town, and well provided wjth the goods
which moth and rust do corrupt.
He was moreover the father Of a be
witching daughter named Fannie, whose
seraphic eyes and rosebud mouth had
been the principal objects of my wor
ship every Sunday at church. He en
tered the room and I arose to receive
him,
This,” he said, “is Mr. Abingdon:, 1
suppose?”
Yes, sir,” I answered; “at yonr serv
ice. Sit down, sir.”
I waited in silence for him to con
tinue, which he presently did.
There is,” said he, “a man in this
town who owes me $400. 1 don’t think
1 shall ever be able to get it, though he
is abundantly able to pay it. Now, if
yon can get the money yon are welcome
to one-fourth. Will you take the case?'
‘Certainly,” I answered, my heart
leaping at the bare possibility of grasp
ing $100.
As this has little to do with my story,
let it be' at once known that I seoured
payment of the debt and in dae time be
came the happy possessor of the afore
said one-fonrth.
During the progress of the case I be
came quite friendly with my client, and
he promised to give me what further le
gal business he might have. More than
this, he invited me to visit his house,
which 1, with my secret admiration for
the beautiful Fannie, lost no time In do
ing,
To hasten toward myorisis, let me
tell yon that in three weeks I was mad
ly in love with Miss Sandford.
It did not take me long to discover
that Mr. Sandford looked upon my de
votion to his daughter without disfavor.
Bnt I had one antagonist—her mother;
and Mrs. Sandford was a foe not to be
despised.
where she abode, a creditor who chose
could cast his debtor into a foul prison
and let him rot there.
There was, 1 believe, some law which
made it compulsory to give the man who
owed money which he could not pay
bread and water. For all else lie had to
depend on charity, and there were bars
in his cage behind which he could sit
thrusting out his hand for whatever
pitiful strangers chose to give.
The Countess Adelaide had often
spoken to one unfortunate man, a gen
tleman whose debt was very lai-ge, and
one day it came into her mind that there
was a way in which he might be deliv
ered- from his bonds and restored to his
helpless wife and children. Accord
ingly, she spoke of it to her husband.
er idea was to give an. entertainment
to the public, the object being specified
the public prints and in private letters.
}e tickets sold at high prices; actors of
portion would be implored to offer their
services, and she herself would take tho
principal part.
To this the count gave his consent.
His parents, after some demur, agreed
that acting for a charity, and to snch an
audience, was not objectionable, and
one night the play was . ^-at upon the
boards of a magnificent tueater.
escorted him through Home School and
Lucy Cobb Avenues to tho Ri
fles’ tents. The tent3 were in
perfect order and tho grounds well
swept and attended to.
The Rifles were amoDg the most
popular companies of the regiment.
Under tho command of Capt. Sledge,
his worthy assistants Lieut’s. Adams and
Buesse the company has won a name
for itself, and Athens may well be
pioud of it.
in speakirg of the
the Rifles and
Home Guards
companies in the
regiment. The inspection put up by
the Rifles was unusually fine. The
meals which are served by the Rifles
are the best in camp. Under the direc
tion of Quartermaster McCurdy the
commissary depaitment is excellent.
The boys are all in good spirits and are
enjoying themselves.
Friday was a red letter day day with
the Rifles. They gave an honorary din
ner to Misses Evlyn and Hessie Kell,
daughters of Adjutant Gen-
Ccl. Yancey
company said
the Madison
were the best
Once more Adelaide, in all the splendor j®** 1 ' KcU, . and Misses
of a queenly costume, walked the staga.. I Addle Kincaid, of Grifiiu, and Maude
And how
Once more she was happy,
she acted!
Applause rent the air. Her wonder
ful genius impressed all who listened.
The iold delight in it returned to her
husband, and none was more enthusiastic
than his relatives. I do not know what
the play was, or I would give its name
to my readers, but those who saw it
that night never forgot it.
How often did they call the beautiful
countess before the curtain! how often
did she smile and courtesy and kiss her
hands to them! She was happy for the
first time for long, long months. A good
deed had been done. The poor debtor
was happy, too, for his debt had been
paid, and he had money besides to begin
the world with on his day of, freedom.
His wife knelt to kiss the hand of the
benevolent countess, and the poor man
himself, bewildered by his unexpected
good fortune, could only weep. Happi
ness was restored to a home that had
been very miserable. As for Adelaide
herself, hope arose in her heart. The
sensation her acting had caused was so
tremendous that the whole feeling of
her husband’s family changed. Italians
are all artists enongh to feel pride in
enins like hers, and when she unbur-
ened her heart to them and told of her
longing to return to the stage they gave
their consent, and so that greatest of all
modern actresses, Adelaide Ristori, be
gan the triumphant career that has
made her name known in every country
In this, predicament I went to Henry I in the world as the greatest of all mod-
Burton, my tried friend, and her music I em tragic actresses.
A Prize Story.
One winter there was such an unusual
ran of salmon in the Sacramento rivet
that in forcing their way np jfcream
they ran against and broke several
piles that supported a railroad bridge,
and it sagged in the center, making it
unsafe for a train to pass over it. It
was near train time, and the salmon,
noticing the damage they had home, got
together, piled one on top of the other,
raised the bridge to its proper level and
hcJrt it np until the train passed over it
in safety.—Sacramento (Cal.) Record-
Union. -
teacher.
“Well, Jack,” said he, after a long si
lence, “I see only one thing to be done/
“Name it, my boy,” I replied, “and
HI do it.”
“Th9 old man likes you, yoti say?”
“Oh, beyond a doubt; I can count on
him; bnt he has no authority.”
“Then,” said Hairy, with a look of
deep canning,
with it”
“How?” I inquired.
“Show him that Mrs. S. is ruling him;
make him do something to acquire con
frol. When he has once established
that he can arrange yonr marriage to
suit himself.”
That very night I began with my cun
ning work. I told Mr. Sandford' that
his wife was a noble woman, but she was
too fond of having her own way.
I knew from the way he looked during
the evening that he was reflecting upon
my words. The next evening I ^as
th6re again. He came to me
“I’ve been thinking about wfiat you
Surely no one can say that truth may
not be as romantic as fiction.—Mary
Kyle Dallas in Fireside Companion.
Battle, of Texas. It was undoubtedly
one of the mos^ elfgant dinners ever
served, and Qu.4termaR.fcer McCurdy
deserves great credit for the manner in
which he entertained the Rifle guests.
The young ladies remained in camp
during the day.
In the review of the troops on Friday
by Gov. Nortben the Clarke Rifles
showed np finely.
Among the visitors to tho Rifles
on Friday were Adjutant General Kell,
Mrs. W. G. Kincaid, and Misses Kell,
Kincaid, Battle, Vincent, Camp, Ellis
and Pope, and Messrs. H. H. Smith,
Arthur Wrigley, Walker Glenn, E. M,
Drewry, O, C. Turner and others.
The boys are getting up quite a rep
utation in the musical line, and the best
singing in camp is with the Rifles.
Frank Herty, Charlie Nisbett, Tal-
madge, Maddox, Latimer, Reaves
and Sheppard are great as
serenardere.
Among the hardest workers in camp
are* Sergeants Dozier, Garebcld and
Talmadge. In the matter of target
practice, Dave McCurdy leads, with a
score of 38 out of 50, at two hundred
and three hundred yards. Guy Chand
ler is Sergeant Major, the highest non
commissioned officer in camp. Frank
Herty has the reputation of being the
best drupuner boy in caup.
The boys tell a goed joke
on Jim I'Crane. The other day he
started up town and haled a passing
hack in which there were two young
ladies, he thinking it was a public hack.
After he had completed his ride, ho
asked the driver what he charged.
The driver replied, “nothing at all,”
A Parisian Recommendation.
A political critic of a former genera
tion was engaging an apartment in one
of the chief streets of Paris. The land
lady wishing, like all landladies, to make
we must furnish him | the best of ber rooms, led him to one of ] whereupon one of the beautiful young
the principal windows and, as she swung | ladies informed him that it was her car-
back the Venetian blinds, remarked,
“It is from this point, sir, that all of onr
revolutions pass.” The good woman
was no cynic, but spoke from her heart,
and just as an English landlady who
harps upon the splendid view of the sea
from the two pair front.
rioge and that he was perfectly welcome
to the rifle. Suffice it to say that Jim
has the most tender recollection of that
event.
The boys will return home next-
Wednesday.
Indians Who Wear Bangs.
The Eskimo men and women wear the
THE THIRD PARTY
is in onr domestic animals; for the most
part none at all. It makes me many a
sore hoar when 1 drive about the coun
try and see the lonely look of horses and
cows. Dogs fare better, bnt cows are
rarely petted and made much of as
They have in them a great ca-
unfretted with hot irons and crimping
pins. The distinguished mark of the
Pueblo Indian is also a “bang.” Their
flocks of long, wiry black hair are cut
said. I opposed my wife in one or taro | straight, across the forehead just above
small matters; but, my door bey, She | the eydbrows, and worn flowing in the
with a bright colored
bang, but it is a fringe of straight hair Was Organized at ;the Court House
------ - • • 1 Yesterday.
The Third party was permanently or
ganized in Clarke county Saturday.
Mr. T. N. Lester says that they have
tore to Domestic Animals. _ ]
We rarely call out all the love there J nearly took my head off. I shouldn’t | back, usually
dare do it again."
. _ friends. .
smacked his whip gayly as he drove over parity for gentleness and affection.—St.
tiie hill and got away withou being dia- | Louis Globe-Democrat,
covered, though the guard would exam
ine the wagon before he let it pass. J The Barren Portion of the Sea.
The count sat under a tree reading a I The forms of 6ea life in the upper por- l was on my. way home with the details
book for a long while afterward—that tion of the ocean waters may descend to of Harry’s^plendid plan buzzing through
“Ah,” said I, “bnt yon most, and that
so decidedly that she will be convinced
that yon are in earnest. Do that once
and yon will never have any trouble
again.”
“But how am I to do it?"
“Well, let me think it over, and to
morrow night I will tell you.”
When I left Mr. Sandford’B that night
scarf twisted turban fashion about the
head.—Washington Star.
A Horned Hid.
In the annals of the French academy
there is an account of one Pietro le
Diblo, or “Peter the Devil,” who had 1
three horns on his head; two as large as
those of a good sized ram, one behind
each ear, and one straight-one inches t . i _ iirTri . ^
I went to ste Harry, and in an hour I I long growing from his forehead.—Phil a- I state* convention“7n ~Atfanta, which
. •> *- delphiaPress. -----
eighty-four names on their list. There
were but twenty-six vote s represented
| in the meeting yesterday, however.
Mr. T. N. Lester was made temporary
I chairman, and Mr. J. W. Creighton
temporary secretary.
Mr. Geo. T. Murrell was- elected
chairman of the executive committee,
and Mr. D. Ol Smith was
elected secretary of the executive com-
I mittee.
Messrs. L. J. Hemerick and T. N.
Lester were elected delegates to the
is, the wagoner in the oounfs clothes— a depth of 1,200 feet or so from the sur-
and when the truth was discovered tho face, hut there then succeeds a barren
Consternation was so great that the con- zone, which continues to within 860 to
federate escaped scot free. - I 300 feet from the bottom, where the
my head, j Early the next evening I was
alone with Mr. Sandford on the trout
. Now, my boy,” said he, “what is the
By that time the young count was deep sea animals begin to appear,—Chi- plan?’
one over heard n? him again.”—Cali- parried. He had met Ms wife at a little «ago Herald. - ' '“ TTT "
‘Well, sir,” I replied. “I know of U9
A Useless Accomplishment.
Teacher—No living being can read
your writing. Why don’t yon try to
learn?
Little Boy—No use. Tm goin to be a
doctor, like papa.—Good News.
0 — ■—»
>- *
convenes on July 2uth.
Resolutions were passed pr<
for clubs to be organized in all
in the city and districts in the com
Messrs. W. A. McElhannon and
R. Yerby were elected delegates to