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About The weekly banner. (Athens, Ga.) 1891-1921 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 16, 1892)
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 ■ *% -4 'jmftirari EiL .^50
