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ATHENS. OA
ONE DOLLAR A YEAR
THE TENTH ANNIVERSARY OFITHE
ESTABLISHMENT
The History of a Firm That Haa Dona
Much 'Towards Advancing the Dry
Goods Trade of Athens—The in
crease In Business Phenom-
LIBERTY
Wirrr ronsjrcsa mot and freedom flung
Our Mursj' bauriGr to the broceo
RKultlnKly Us Iron tongue
iliro" tlmt sumtaer morning sung
Our uowtxirn liberties.
It told tb«ending »f the night,'-
The happy diiwn of freedom’s day,
And overland there Unshed a light
Of lu-otherhood aied human right.
The end of kingly sway.
Ok. how the good eld bell told out
s oil
The joyous tale of freedom’s birth!.
Inii oist to west, from north'to south,
in*, message of its brazen mouth
Kolled all aroaud the earth) ±
II »mig the birthright of the race,
tjie glory of thu brave and free.
Ami pealing from its sacred placo
u set the whole silt world ablaze
With dreams of liberty.
Tin old, and utters now no sountl^
Hut yet its echoes ring sublime!
It* resting place is holy ground .
To freedom's wherever fohnd.
Until the end of time.
—L. S. Amonsou iu Youth’s Gdtnpiuiios.
GENIE'S CASE.
In the fall of 18—, after thay had had
6Ufli gay times and so much company at
their country hotno, Mrs. Alfonl began to
look over her box of homeopathic rem
edies for “something that would salt
Genie’s case.”
By degrees she made the girl take
ujio’n Iter tongue or in two glasses of
water, alternately crossed by the spoon
if one made no mistake, samples of most
of her nice white medicines. But some
how Genie kept on looking pale and
growing thin and being depressed, and
that unmistakable symptom of having
red eyelids of a morning continued.
••Genie always used to look go fresh
when she came to breakfast,” Mrs. A1
ford said. "And I give you my word,
her face was quite swollen yesterday
when I went to cafl her.”
It never occurred to Mrs. Alford that
the mysterious symptom of pink eyelids
in the morning might be occasioned by
shedding tears during the night.
• Why on earth should Genie weep?"
she v.vnnld have said had this been sug
gested. She lmd no trouble. But even
mothers do not always know everything,
ami “Genie's eass" was really^tbis.
William Ritchie, their next door
neighbor’s son, with whom Genie had
always been “very friendly,” who had
walked to school, and gathered nut-
wit)i her. uid pnllfel her about on his
•ln4 ami xlmte.4 with her on tbo pond
in meir cbHdkaofl. had, after a two
yrnva' absence fwan home, returned to
filial Genie quite gtown up and wonder
fully pretty. Por her part she saw in
him tho pink and perfection of mau-
hood, and their eyes confessed their
mutual admiration. Nouneelsodreaiued
of any change of feeling between the
lifelong friends. But it was net Ion;
before William said things tit Genie that
made her happy when she thought oi
them, and had rejoiced her soul by gifts
of flowers and volumes of poetry and al*
manner of delicate attentions, and a
iast had proposed to her and been ae
cepted. <- •'
They had not made tho fact pnldic
yet, however, when Major Standish cam.
to them from tho west to pay them n
visit and brought his daughter with
him.
The major had married Mrs. Alford's
sister years before, and Cora was their
only child. **•
She was a belle in army society, and
if there is anything calculated to in
crease a young lady’s satisfaction with
herself it is that.
She made no secret of her conquests,
but spoke openly of the bleeding hearts
she left behind her. She might if she
chose he Mrs. General That, or Mrs
Colonel This. Captain So-and-so war
ready to die for her sake, and she bad s
long string of lieutenants to laugh about
—even the chaplain was really very fai
gone.
With all these adorers watching for
her return to the fort it seemed hard to
Genie that she should instantly make a
dead set at William Ritchie and know
no peace until she had stolen her one
ewo lamb from her. But this is jnsl
what Cora did, and it seemed to Genie
that William met her half way.
Innocent Genie had never seen a fine,
well managed, genuine flirtation before.
Her wonder was almost as great as her
grief to find man fco treacherous, and
one evening, when there was a gay par
ty at the house and Cora and William
seemed to have vauisued mysteriously,
she hid herself in the honeysuckle arbor
—a place just then plunged in deepest
shadow—and flung herself down on a
corner of tho bench to indulge unseen in
a few tears.
And while she lingered there Cora
and William came softly in, and sitting
down where the moonlight drifted in
upon their faces began a most senti
mental and dramatic conversation.
lie compared her to a rose and a
nightingale. He told her what a star
tling effect she had upon his heart when
first he saw her, and he alluded mys
teriously to “bends that bound” him
and to what he would do were he free.
But honor! honor! He would break
no sweet girl’s heart
"Never for my sake,” Cora declared.
"Better that 1 should suffer than one in
nocoat."
i‘ was quite like a chapter from a sen
sational novel. Ike gave him her hand
10 kiss, neither of them guessing that
the deep shadow in the corner was
Genie, and he quoted poetry by the
yard. They evidently considered them
selves very noble and self sacrificing,
wonderful, suffering, glorious beings.
And how the little maiden sat quietly
two feet from them until they rose and
'vent away arm in arm she never knew,
neither how she lived through the night.
But the next day found her very strong.
Early in the morning she went to the
garden fence and beckoned William
Ri tcliie to eoroe to her, and took his arm
a laugh, and made him walk with
“er out of hearing. Then she said:
•’TV..,'* _
finger and gave it back to him. Then
she left him aul walked away, and oa,
how gay she was all that day! Site had
never believed that she could act so
welL Her heart was full of burning
pain, and she wished that she were death
But her pride upheld her, and no one
guessed how she suffered.
She was so glad that she had never
told any one of her engagement to Wil
liam Ritchie, and could join in all thair
merry talk when it was publicly knowii
that Mr. Ritchie had cut out the gen
erals and majors aud captains and cols-
nels of army society.
As for William, he was greatly con
gratulated, and when the major went
back to his quarters with his daughter,
in something of a hurry, there was talk
of trouble with the Indians. It was un
derstood that William Ritchie was to go
ont in six months’ time to claim his
bride and bear her away before the very
eyes of all those envious warriors.
Tho major did not profess to be pleased.
That a girl who could marry in army
society should choose “a civilian”
amazed him, he openly confessed. But
“a willful woman must have her way.”
Cora was of age—full five and twcuty.
“William Ritchie is very nice,” Mis.
Alford said.
“No doubt,” the major assented. “But
Cora might have had a general.”
How glad Genie was when they were
gone! How soon she left off her acting.
Her mother opined that she had been
too gay that summer. Mrs. Ritchie,
who was broken hearted at her Wil
liam’s choice, came in sometimes aud
was apt to wish herself in the tomb of
her forefathers. But William never
came. He corresponded voluminously
with Miss Cora Standish, who made him
jealous of no'll one officer aud now an
other, and he felt that he received little
sympathy at home.
At last the time arrived when he was
to go to claim his bride. Betweeu a hor
ror of having her brought home, “to
ride over her head,” as she expressed it,
and a fear that they would induce “her
William” to take np his residence among
them, Mrs. Ritchie was quite distracted
“She is your oousin,” she said to the
girl one day, “or I’d say what I think of
that creature. She might have kept
herself with her own kind. Why should
she carry off my boy?”
Then Genie felt so much sympathy
for the bereaved mother that they min
gled their tears.
Mrs. Ritchie would not go to Will’s
wedding—not she. indeed!
She went eo far as to hope that whoa
he returned he would find her doad of a
broken heart. But she packed his trunk
for him and put i:i a new Bible as he:
wedding gift to Cora. Then Will de
parted.
What with Will’s popularity, his moth
er’s despair aud the doubt as to whether
the young couple would come back to
live or settle down at the fort, this wed
ding made a great deal of talk, and when
time passed on and neither telegram,
letters, nor anything else in the shape of
news arrived, there was some excite
ment. Had there been “trouble with
the Indians” tha newspapers would have
revealed the fact. This silence was very
strange.
Old Mrs. Ritchie was sure that Will
was “weaned from her already," and
consigned herself to despair. Genie read
over and over again a poem wh :h began •
Married, married, and ont In me!
Is it a dream or can it be?
and pasted it in her scrapbook. and was
reading it in the honeysuckle arbor
I when an expressman paused at old Mrs
Ritchie’s gate and hauled from his
I wagon one solitary trunk with “W. R.”
upon it. Later Will himself walked np
the road alone, with his portmanteau in
his hand, and stood at his mother’s door.
Something had happened. Genie
would have been an angel if she had
grieved over the fact. As it was sh-
felt that her little bit of revenge was
ready for her. and revenge was sweet
and with a merry langb she skipped
over to the fence that divided the gar
dens and called ont:
“Why, how do yon do. Will? When-
is Cousin Cora?”
Will tnrned and looked at het, and
came straight toward her.
“When 1 reached the major’s resi
dence yonr cousin Cora had just eloped
with Colonel O’Shaunessy,” ho said.
“As the major and Mrs. Colonel O’Shau-
nessy’s brother are ont hunting the
colonel, I thought I wonld return home,
though kindly invited to join the sport.”
“Oh!” cried Genie, with all the hor
ror of an innocent girl. “A married
man? Is she like that—as bad as that?”
“It is pretty bad,” said William.
“But I’m glad I found her out so soon.
Later would have made it a tragedy for
me—and all yonr fault, Genie!”
“Mine?" cried the girl.
“Yes," said Will. “When you gave me
back my ring you threw me into her
hands. Before that it was only a flirta
tion. I never intended it to he anything
else, for my part But when you used
me so”
“I used you so!” said Genie. “Why,
William, I heard you talking to Cora in
the arbor the night before I gave yon
back my ring!”
“No man ever talks that way to the
woman he loves,” said William.
Then they turned away from each
other, but though Mrs. Alford wept over
the awful conduct of her sister’s daugh
ter, Genie was happier than she had
been for many moons.
. Yon and I may wonder whether Wil
liam Ritchie told the truth, or whether
he told half of it, but Genie believed
film.
Before long the gossips of the place
whispered that she intended “to take
pity on him,” and this was Genie’s view
of the matter.
Her petulant conduct she said had
driven him into the meshes Cora spread
for all men. She was to blame. It was
her duty to atone as far as she could.
The clouds have thrown long golden anchors
ont -
To reach the fastnesses among the bills
TTiat pnrple rise nml hem the blue eea im --
Upon Us azure tablets has the sun
Writ Ms last message. Birds forget their
• quest, .
And hearts their trouble; flowers cease to fade:
Feaf Has been lost and the keen sense of hope
Been dtilled a little tbroti^lnrhat promise i
To bo the era of a fulfillment sweeu
Sleep draws the curtains of that other land.
Then works a charm to bAuft the vision there:
While, like a ghost of the departed sun.
The moon stoils spiritlike upon the world.
And Just as silently the attire sea
To silver turns, and the tired earth forgets
It ever whs, sr it must be again.
—Mary A. Mason in Boston Transcript.
HOLLOWAY HOUSE.
Arthur Severn raised his head from
the book which he had been poring over
the greater part of the afternoon and
gazed despondently at the dingy walls
of the room. Finally he arose, and go
ing to the window peered out through
the cracked and grimy panes of glass,
now streaked with rain, which was driv
ing violently from the east. From early
morning the rain bad been falling, inces
santly, and as darkness began To close
around the village the wind blew more
violently than ever and tho rain feU in
heavier torrents. A large brown patch
appeared On the ceiling above and the
water began to drip down and form lit
tle puddles on the uncarpeted floor. It
was a melancholy day and Severn felt
that it accorded well with his own evil
fortune. He occupied the only habit
able room. 4n a large, old, tumble
down house that stood off at one side of
the village near the river and hod been
falling to decay for years.
Severn was striving to make his way
through college, and when the land
lord’s agent suggested his taking a
room in the “old Holloway house” at
a much lower figure than he could ob
tain lodging for elsewhere he felt con
strained on account of his poverty to
accept the offer. His parents were
poor, and, moreover, adverse to hi*
taking a college course, so that he wa:
unable to receive any aid from them.
For some time' past he had found him
self inextricably involved in financial
embarrassment, and he had often been
on the point of giving np the whole
thing, hut the letters which came from
Mary Eldridge fall of encouragement
and loving sympathy always induced
him to take a brighter view of the cir
cumstances.
He had met Mary at the academy at
MelviUe, and a mutual admiration for
each other’s scholarly attainments had
been flic first step in the formation of a
friendship that ripened into love. Mary
had gone to WeUesley to complete her ed
ucation, and Severn was in his sophomore
year in college. Miss Eldridge came of
wealthy parents, and had always been
surrounded with the comforts of a well
ordered home. Severn knew that her
unselfish disposition wonld exact no con
ditions to their engagement, but he was
fnlly determined never to let her share
his lot until he had completed his edn
cation and secured a competent income
During the last year a series of mi»
fortunes had overtaken him. A friend to
whom he had loaned the money with
which he expected to meet the bnlk o (
his expenses suddenly died, leaving his
debts wholly unliquidated. Severn him
6elf had undergone a severe illness dur
ing the fall, and to satisfy his numerous
obligations he secured a few hundred
dollars from Mr. Holloway, who was
always ready to make loans at usnriou:
interest, hut remorseless in exacting his
claims. Finally lie began to receive let
ters from home urging him to return to
the farm. “Unless ho could give some
aid they wonld lose the old place,” hi.-
mother wrote.
If duty called him home he wonld go,
but he felt if he did his prospects were
gone. An idea struck him. If he could
induce Mr. Holloway to give him time
on his loan and trast him for his rent
until he could get to earn something he
wonld send the money home which he
had been accumulating for the payment
of the debt. He went to see Mr. Hollo
way, but the response to bis request was
so chilly that ho felt almost guilty of
some heinous crime.
It is not business,” said Mr. Hollo
way, “not business. Wonld like to
oblige yon, bnt must have some method,
you know.”
A dunning letter from the agent, fol
lowing conspicuously close upon his
visit to Mr. HoUoway, filled his son!
with bitterness. The way ont of bis
difficulties seemed as dark as the day on
which we find him brooding over his
evil fortune in tlie “old Holloway
House.” The water fell in torrents and
the river in the rear was so swollen by
the rain that it had overflowed its banks
and was washing the foundation stones
of the shaky old structure. The room
was chilly and wet, bnt he built no lire,
and thongh darkness came on early he
hardly observed the change, bnt sat
pondering over the hopeless outlook
without even the ghostly light from
the seams in the rickety stove to reveal
the outlines of the room.
The wind-continued to rise and the
rain to fall faster, until the old shell
quivered and quaked, but Severn paid
no attention. His seal was shaken by
storm also. There was as much dark
ness within as without. He knew his
own disposition too well to attempt to
study until he could quiet his nerves, so
be sat in the darkness until long after
midnight, listening to the howling wind
and the roar of the swollen river.
Suddenly there came a crash; there
was a heavy fall of plastering, and for a
minute Severn thought that the old
house was about to give way. To have
its walls fall upon him he knew wonld
nerouty to atone be almost certain death, but with a
She felt sure of that, an . . thrill of melancholy pleasure he hoped
gate the injury to the room. A large
patch of plastering had fallen from the
wall and lay scattered over tire floor.
After the investigation he felt calmer
and went to bed for the night.
The next morning, contrary to his
osnal neatness, he left this' broom in its
corner and the room continued to pre
sent a very dilapidated appearance. In
the afternoon after returning from class
he seated himself in his chair and gazed
listlessly at the heap of rnbbish on the
floor. Stooping forward t he took np a
bit of broken plastering and slowly
picked it to pieces, thinking of Mary
and wondering if the day wonld ever
brighten.
He had been pursuing this aimless oc
cupation for some time when suddenly
he observed that the face of the piece
which he held in his hand was less dis
colored than that which ■surrounded the
edge of the broken patch. ^ He drew his
chair closer to the wall, and on examin
ing fonnd that a hole had once been
made through the lathing about a foot
square. The pieces had afterward been
spliced and a new coat of plastering
overlaid. His curiosity was now excited
to know the object of the Opening, so he
brought a hammer from a chest and pro
ceeded to draw the nails. After remov
ing the pieces he reached in and began
to explore. There was nothing to be
found; however, so he washed his hands
and began to clear away the debris.
As he was about to replace the pieces
of lath he thought he saw (^string hang
ing down into the cavity. ’ He reached
his hand again into the opening, took
hold of the filament and pulled, but it
promptly broke. He. examined the
fibers and discovered that R was an old
piece of silk cord, nowextfemely rotten
and discolored. He became more curi
ous and resolved to trace the mystery to
Its source. He reached his hand into
the cavity as far as he conld, followinj
the cord. Again he pulled, and this
time it resisted and he felt something
at the other end move slightly. He
gave a stronger pull, bnt the cord broke,
this time at its point of attachment.
He improvised a hook by driving a
nail into the end of a piece of board,
and with this succeeded in drawing
something toward him. Finally he was
able to reach tho object. He drew it in
front of the opening, and with both
hands lifted an old mahogany box out
upon the floor. For Borne time he sat
staring at it in curionB suspense.
“Well, yon are a queer fish in queer
waters,” said Severn to himself with
suppressed excitement. “I guess you
must have lost your bearings or you
would never have been swallowed by
this shark of a wall. TO find ont what’s
inside of you at any rate,” and taking
np a hammer he struck the old lock a
heavy blow. He struck it again and
again, hut finally it broke and the lid
flew open.
Severn drew back in astonishment and
wonder, for his eyes rested upon a large
leathern bag, and beside it were two
bars of gold. With trembling hands he
loosened the strings. of the sack and
opened it to find it full of gold coins.
There were several compartments in the
chest. Iu one he fount, a sparkling row
of rings, and as he held them up to th.
light ho saw by their brilliancy that
they were diamonds of rare value. He
found some papers that purported pos
session of a large amount of English
property in one Cyrus Holloway, great
grandfather of the present landlord.
Thero was an inventory of the contents
of the box, and the amount counted np
into the hundreds of thousands.
He was overw helmed by the discov
ery and sat down to collect his thoughts
He remembered now of having once
heard that Mr. Holloway had come of
wealthy ancestry, but that daring the
Revolutionary war the largest part of
the property bud been lost, and that the
fortune of the present Mr. Holloway
was mostly of his own acquisition
There could be no doubt hut that the
box belonged by right to his landlord,
but the temptation was terrible. There
was no chance of discovery if he kept it
himself, find besides it could add no
material happiness to its legitimate
owner, for he already had a sufficiency.
To Severn it represented all the com
forts of life. He conld pay all his debts
free his father’s farm from the mortgage,
complete bis education and afterward
provide a home for Mary.
The perspiration stood in beads on
bis forehead as he struggled against the
tempter. Finally he rose and with com
pressed Ups donned his hat, and locking
the door behind him he turned his steps
toward Mr. Holloway s.
“Of course it’s mine, every cent of
it,” said Mr. Holloway, when an hour
later fie stood before the opened box -
His eyes,gleamed with satisfaction as
he beheld the contents. He tucked the
box under his coat and left the house
with an admonition to Severn to keep
quiet for a few weeks.
Severn •- felt intensely relieved,
have been saved froin'a worse fate than
poverty,” he thought as he sat down to
his books.
That evening Mr. Holloway’s agent
called to announce that Severn wonld
he allowed time on his loan and that be
might have a much better room in one
of his new houses, with unlimited time
for the payment of rent
Severn was overjoyed; he sent the
money to his mother, moved into his
new quarters and afterward, by mys
terious good lack, secured lucrative
work, by means of which he completed
bis course in college very comfortably.
On the day of graduation Mr. Holloway
met him at the door of the chnrch, and
after grunting him a congratulation in
vited him to call the next morning at
his office.
At the appointed time he was cm hand.
“I need an honest man to attend to
my business, and if yon wish to take the
position I offer you will be able to pay
JUNETIME
With twining rosea, red and white, I made.
When Juno w-ih hot.H pleasaut bower tor abode.
A gracious place it seemed, by night or day.
Where one might wake or sleep, give thanks
or pray.
.Upon it fell the dew and rose tho moon;
There nightingales made glad the nights of
June.
But ar one eve I listened to their song
It seemed to me my very heart was stung
With sharp, swift pain; whereon I searched,
and lol
Lithe snakes with murderous eyes wound to
and fro.
Thereon I left m-r bower, nor may It be
That it again in June shall shelter me.
Bnt when its leaves have withered one by one.
When nightingales have fled, and pales the
sun;
When in deep snows snakes may not breed or
house,
I will go bock, and ’ncath the hare rose bought
Dream of the summer and the leaves that made,
When June was hot, my pleasant place of shads.
—Philip Murston in New York Independent.
TWO PAINTED DOORS.
Therefore she one day
Don’t you thtok that when people
have made a great mistake the best
ni ^« possible is to confess it?”
1 And when he answered, “I suppose
po> she simply took her ring trom her
ed upon it also,
married ' i ' m -
In their case marriage has not proved
a mistake, for they make a very com
fortable couple, and no one was happier
on the wedding day than old Mrs.
Ritchie.—Mary Kyle Dallas in Fireside
Companion.
melancholy pleasure he hoped
for a moment that it might happen.
The old building creaked and strained,
bnt there came a loll in the storm and
it finally settled hank to its normal con
dition.
what you owe me,” said Mr. Holloway.
A year later Severn went away for a
few weeks and when he returned Alary
came with him. Mr. Holloway proved
a good friend in his way, and when he
died a goodly share of the proceeds of
the old chest passed as a legacy to
Severn lighted the lamp to see if his 1 Mr. Arthur Severn.—Chicago Evening
books had been damaged and to investi- JJewa.
Mr. Milner hoarded at 3 Simpson ter
race (there was no terrace, but the
squire thought tho name sounded so
norous and pleasant, so he had chris
tened his five little cottages “Simpson’s
terrace”). He boarded with Mrs. Chip-
ley and her two daughters, Maud and
Marian, who felt it a great distinction
to he of any service, however slight, to
the pastor.
Maud gathered fresh flowers for the
study table every day. Marian sat up
late nights to iron and mend table linen
so that the good man might have a clean
napkin every day, and to darn his stock
ings so that you could not' tell mended
pieces from the whole, aud the little
widow herself exhausted every culinary
resource to humor his dyspepsia and to
contrive dainty dishes ont of the least
possible foundation. To these three
simple women Rev. Milo Milner was
like an embodied saint.
“And now that Mr. Milner is safely
gone for the day,” said Mrs. Chipley
“we’ll clean the sitting room and white
wash the walls. Run to Dixey’s, Maud
for a lump of unslacked lime; and—oh.
by tlie way, bring some cornmeal, dear.
We’ll have hasty pudding for dinner
and eat at the kitchen table. Some
hasty pudding and milk will do for us
women.”
“Of course it will do, mamma,” said
Maud.
“I just like pndding and milk!” cried
Marian, jumping gleefully up and down,
“and, although Mr. Milner is such a
dear, good man, yet it is a sort of. relief
to have him gone once in awhile, so that
we can clean house and eat hasty pud
ding and milk. Oh, Maud!” Bhe whis
pered to her aesthetic sister, ns Mrs
Chipley went ont to hang the big kettle
over the fire, “I’ve such an idea in my
head! If you’ll only get a little graao
green paint, ready mixed, when you arc
at Dixey’s, and a medium sized brush!”
“Green paint, Marian! What for?”
“Hush! don’t let mamma hear!. I’m
so tired of hearing this called the house
with the b>ue dodr.” ■*,
Maud obeyed. Although the eflder in
point of years, she had long been accus
torned to he domineered over by pretty,
positive Marian.
But it is the strangest thing,
Marian,” she said, as fifteen or twenty-
minutes later she handed over a mys
terious tin can and an oblong paper par
cel to her sister; “Joe Dean is out now
painting his door blue.”
“Tastes differ,” said Marian, shrug
ging her shoulders, now invested in a
preternaturally shabby old calico gown,
suitable only to the extremest exigen
cies of housecleaning time.
“Blue is a lovely color, but as applied
to a house door I am heartily sick of it.
Joe Dean has no more taste than a New
fonndland dog.”
The Deans are expecting city com
pany to luncheon,” said Mand. “They
sent to borrow the butterfly china plates
this morning.”
It must be nice to have city com
pany,” sighed Marian.
Oh, bnt to think of the work of it!”
said Mand, lifting both her hands.
Mrs. Chipley came in at that moment
also clad in what Marian called her
scrubbing regimentals,” and wearing
an olive silk handkerchief tied around
her still bright and glossy hair, and the
three set themselves determinedly to
work.
Rev. Milo Milner, on reaching the
railway station, received a telegram
that his friend, Professor Klingenbnrg,
conld not possibly meet him that day.
Very good,” said Mr. Milker, “TO
just step hack home and get a-mouthful
of luncheon, and then TO go to look over
those ancient manuscripts with Dr.
Hodges. He has been nrging me to do
so for some time past, and 1 may never
have a better opportunity than this.’
Mr. Milner tacked the umbrella under
his arm, tipped his black, wide rimmed
hat over his eyes and set off on a swift
swinging stride back to Simpson terrace.
The bine door stood wide opGhl So he
walked in without the least ceremony.
“Fresh paint!” he said to himself, ele
vating his thin nostrils. “If there’s any
thing on the face of the earth Idetest it
is fresh paint. And I’ve got it aJl over
the skirts of my best coat toot Where
is Mrs. Chipley? What has become ef
the girls? Nobody ever shems.to he
the way when they’re wanted. Bat
fortunately, here’s luncheon ready
spread. I wonder now how it hap
pened. How conld they know I was
coming back. Cold roast grouse, with
current jelly—chicken salad, pickled
oysters—really* now, this is something
quite beyond ..the ordinary run of our
bills of fare!”
The pastor sat down and ate with an
excellent appetite. He made a big hole
in the chicken salad mound; he picked
the bones of a crisp, brown grouse with
genuine satisfaction; he battered a flaky
biscuit and added to its flavor by. so vend
spoonfuls of~amber quince preserve.
“All the same,” said he to himself, as
he wiped his month with a damask nap
kin and rose from his chair, with an
other glance at the vegetable shaped
watch, “this sort of thing is quite be
yond Mrs. Chipley’s means. I thought
she had better sense. 1 most really
speak to her abont it. In the meantime
I must make good speed if I expect to
have mUch time at my friend Hodge’s
place.”
Away be trudged, much comfe-ted
and sustained as regarded his inner man.
Joe! Joe!” shrieked Miss Francesca
Dean, coming into the room a few min
utes later, “what have you done? Eaten
np all the company luncheon? Oh, you
greedy”
1 didn’t do no snch thing,” shouted
Jbe from an upper room, where he was
transforming himself frouj an amateur
journeyman painter to a modern tennis
player. “What are yon talking about?”
Some one has eaten his fill!” cried
Miss Francesca. “Just look at the
table!” \
Then it’s some tramp sneaked in
through the door that I left open to dry
the paint,” bawled Joe, smiting his leg.
And While the Dean family were en
deavoring to repair damages the task of
housecleaning went swimmingly on at
the Chipley domicile, only two doors
away, the girls and their mother scarce
ly taking time to sit down and eat their
hasty pudding, which, by the way, got
scorched through Maud’s ouerdevotion
to putting the chintz curtains at the
pastor’s study windows.
But hasten as they weuld, the newly
whitewashed walls were scarcely dry,
and the furniture not yet rearranged,
when dusk descended on the scene and
Rev. Milo Milner came in.
“Oh, take care, Mr. Milner!” ex
claimed Maud, “the door—the paint is
fresh.”
Mr. Milner solemnly advanced into
the area of the lamplight, and twist
ing himself around to get at the skirts
of his coat eyed them disconsolately.
“More paint,” said he. “Blue paint”’
“No,” said Marion. “Green.”
The two colors were ludicrously alike
by lamplight. The green might he mis
taken for a lively blue—the blue for a
dull green.
“Blue!” said the pastor firmly. “Do
yon think I haven’t the use of my eyes?"
“Green,” persisted Marian. “I know,
because I put it on myself.”
“It is not well,” said Rev. Milner,
“for the young to he too positive.”
“But truth is truth,” said Maud.
“And while I’m about it,” said Mr.
Milner, now thoroughly exasperated, “1
deem it my duty to remonstrate with
you cesteeming tho extravagant and un
warranted style of ’iet in which yon in
dulge during my absence!”
“I don’t know what yon mean,” said
Mrs. Chipley, feebly catching her breath.
“Hasty padding and milk can’t be
called extravagance,” hazarded Maud.
Scorched at that,” murmured Ma
rian.
Roast grouse and currant jelly,” said
the pastor. “Chicken salad and sponge
cake. And—here again I trust to the
evidence of my eyesight—all set ont on
your old butterfly pattern china. 1
know, because 1 ate of it myself.”
You—you got into the wrong house,”
gasped Maud.
It was the house with the bine door,”
serenely uttered Mr. Milner, as if this
were an incontrovertible argument.
Marian clapped her hands hyster
ically.
Mamma,” she cried; “Mand, Mr.
Milner was the tramp who ate np Miss
Dean’s company luncheon. That was
just what Francesca Dean told me they
hod prepared! And on oar butterfly
china tool”
It was the house with the bine door,”
stubbornly replied Mr. Milner.
But Joe Dean painted their door blue
today 1” exclaimed Marian. “And I
painted ours green.”
The pastor sank limply into a chair.
“Then,” he said, ‘Tve got green and
blue paint both on the skirts of my coat,
and I have made a dreadful blonder in
the bargain! And I most go at once and
apologize to the Dean family; bnt not
until yon, my kind friends, have for
given me for my meddling interfer
ence.”
“But really,” said mischievous Maud,
‘hasty pudding isn’t an extravagance.”
Mrs. Chipley and Marian hastened to
deprecate the pastor’s humility, and he
went sadly to make his peace with Miss
Francesca Dean.
“It is kind o’ queer,” said Deacon
Philpott, talking the matter over some
days afterward. “The dominie, he
plumb admits that he’s sort o’ absent-
minded, and needs a wife to keep him
straight. And TO bet even on pretty
Miss Mand and Francesca Dean.”
The deacon, however, was wrong for
once in his life. Pastor Milner did get
married, bnt it was neither to bine eyed
Francesca nor dark orbed Maud. Like
a sensible man he proposed to Widow
Chipley herself, and was accepted at
once.
“Bnt if Mrs. Milner does not object,”
he said, with dne courtesy, “I should
like to have the front door painted blue
once more.”—Home Queen.
OF MICHAEL BROS.
Goods
crease In Business
enal.
One of tbe most poshing and progres
sive firms In this city is Michael Bros.
And tomorrow will be the tenth
Adversary of their establishment here.
The history of that ten years of busi
ness and of the brothers who constitute
the firm is at once interesting and
derful.*
The firm as it started and as It is to
day consists of Messrs. Simon Michael
and M.G. Michael, two of the most sol
id and prosperous business men of the
city.
Mr. S. Michael was born in Chicago,
July 29, 1309, and after obtaining*
common school education started in
business as a clerk for the grocery es
tablishment of Mr. A. S. Dorsey where,
he evidenced true worth as an energet
ic and faithful business man.
Mr. M. G. Michael was born in Jeffer
son, Jackson county, Ga., and is proud
of his native county and section. At
the early age of thirteen he entered the
Sophomore class of the University of
Georgia, from which institution he
graduated at sixteen years of age in the
class of 1878, bearing off high honors. *
In 1SS2, Messrs. Simon and M. G.
Michael determined to start
business for themselves and accordingly
on August 15th of that year formed the
firm of Michal Bros, which is a great
credit to the city today.
They started business in the old
building that used to stand where their
elegant new building is now. The
space was limited but they didn’t mind
that. Behind them was the calaboose
and customers making purchases in the
store were frequently serenaded by the
lovely music which usually proceeds
from the throats of eaged jailed birds.
As business increased the firm
pushed the calaboose away and then
the council room and finally got pos
session of the second floor of the build
ing.
This would not suffice however, and
Mrs. Bishop, who owned the building
erected in 18S9 the handsome three-
story building now occupied by this
firm, and stacked with as complete and
splendid a line of dry goods and mer
chandise as is to be seen in Georgia.
The growth of the business of Michael
Bros, for the last ten years has boon
phenomenal. In the first year tbe bus
iness amounted to about thirty thous
and dollars; the year that has just -
gone, despite the stringency
of the' times, show a business
transacted of‘over a quarter of a million
dollars. Such progress cannot fail to
elicit the admiration of the citizens of
Athens.
The fame of Michael Bros, and their
superb establishment has gone forth
over the entire South, and they merit
the many kind words said of them at
| hundreds of places.
This firm does a heavy wholesale and
retail business, employing thirty-four
| assistants to do the work.
Mr. Simon Michael has charge of the
retail department and tbe ladies of
Athens can attest the care and attention
he gives to it, rendering it & pleasure
indeed to make a visit to this beautifully
arranged store.
Mr. M. G. Michael is in common ver
nacular “a hustler” and the immense
sales of the wholesale department, over
which he has charge, show what kind of
a business man he is. Both of the
Messrs. Michael are regarded abroad as
well as at home as financiers and bus
iness men of snperior merit. Mr. H,
E. Choate, who has been in the employ
of the firm for two years, handles the
books sod manages the clerical feroe in
a masterly-manner.
To have built up suoh a business in
the brief space of ten years is a work of
which any man, or set of men might
feel proud, and hence it is that on to
morrow Michael Bros, can celebrate the
tenth anniversary of their business
with a consciousness of duty well per
formed, and of the confidence and es
teem ef their fellow citizens.
New York from the Outside.
New Yorkers and persons who come
here frequently do not realize the strong
desire to see the city that exists in small i y v °“" ;u .”°i i ““ , s . ■■ j"!> "S»
and distant communities—a desire which I “ 10k “eddatehe, and adapted to any cU-
Be sure and pnt a box of Ayer’s Pills
in yonr satchel before traveling, either
by land or sea. You will find them
convient, efficacious, and safe. The best
remedy for costiveness, indigestion, and
often amounts to the ambition of a life
time. A few summers ago, in a little
village in a remote corner of one of the
middle states, was encountered a woman
of forty, a spinster, who, when She found
her new acquaintance was from New
York, began a spirited conversation
about the city, reciting streets glibly,
indicating localities and betraying so
much accurate knowledge of the place
mate.
AT.THE BAPTIST CHURCH.
| The
Funeral of Dr. C- D. Campbell
. WIU be Conducted.
The remains of Dr. C. D. Campbell
reached the city Saturday on the North
eastern, train and were met by quite a
number of friends at the depot, from
, whence they were carried to the reai-
that her listener finally asked her how l dence of Mr. A. J. Cobb on Milledge
long since she had left it. [ avenue.
“Oh, I’ve never been in New York," I The funeral
was the reply. “I’ve wanted to always,
and I’m hoping to go this fall; Tve got
two maps of the city, thongh, and I’ve
worn them ont studying the places. I
believe I could go wilh^my eyes shut
from the Battery to Central park.”
It is gratifying to record that her
ambition was realized the following
autumn, and it was little short of-mar
velous to see how completely this coun
try woman had New York at her fingers’ .
ends.—New York Times, |] and w - L -
services will he
held this morning at ten o’clock
at the First Baptist church and
will be conducted by Rev. H. R. Ber
nard.
The following gentlemen will be the -
pall bearers, and are requested to meet
at nine o’clock at the residence of Mr.
A. J. Cobb:
Messrs. R. K. Reaves, C. W. Baldwin,
G. H.Hulme, W. B. Jackson, Macon
Johnson, W. P, Vondorau, E. L. John-
“in, W. B. Barnett, S. M. Herrington. s «
id W.-L. Dobbs. ™
i ■ vT
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