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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