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“Hew to the Line, Let the Chips Fall Where They May.”
JOHN E, HOWELL, Editor and Proprietor.
er. ii.'!.T-—— tt- —
VOL. XI f. NO. JO
VIENNA.'GA* TUESDAY". FEBRUARY 13, 1891.
PUBLISHED WEEKLY.
BETRAYED
A DARK MARRIAGE
MORN,
Romance of Loue, Intrigue and
Crime.
B" MRS. ALICE P. CARRI8TON.
cil.WTEK XXII.-(Continue!.)
He admired lior like a rare plant,
beautiful object, an exquisite work, in
which nature had combined physical and
moral grace with perfect proportion and
harmony. His deportment as slave noai
bet was not long a performance.
Our fa r raiders haro, doubtless
markod an odd fact, which ib, that wlieri
a reciprocal sent meat of two feeble hu
man beings has reached a ceitain point
of maturity, chance never fails to furnish
a fatal occasion which betrays the secret
of the two hearts, and suddenly lannchei
the thunderbolt which has been gradually
gathering in the clouds.
This is the crisis of all lo\o.
This occasion presented itself to Cl-ri
Denton and Warren Lei and in tho forn
of an unpoet'c incidont. with which the
rag-picker and his little grandchildren
were intimately connected.
It wns the end ox the month. Lelnnc
had gone out after dinner to take a ride
iu the neighborhood. Night had already
fallen, clear and cool; but ns he conic
not see Mrs. Denton that evening, he be
gan to think only of being near her, and
felt that unwillingness to work common
to lovers, striving to kill time, which
hung heavy on his hands.
He hoped also that violent exercise
might calm his spirit, which had never
been more profoundly agitated. Still
young and unprncticed in his pitiless sys
tem, ho was troubled at tho thought of a
victim so pure os Clara Donton. Tc
trample on the life, tho repose, : nd the
henrt of such a woman, as the horse
tramples on the grass of theroad, with ae
little care or pity, was hard for a novice.
As stiaugo us it may appear, tho idet
of marrying her had occurred to him
Then he said to himself that this weak
ness was in direct contr idiction to hit
principles, and that she would causa him
to lose forever the mastery over himself
and throw him back into the nothingness
of his pnst Mo. Yet, with the corrupt
inspirations of his depraved soul, he fore
saw that the moment he touched hci
hands with tho lips of a lover, a now
sentiment would spring np in her soul.
As he abandoned himself to these pas
sionate imaginings, tho recollection oi
Amy Brownell came back suddenly to his
memory.
He grow pale iu the darkness.
At this moment he was passing by th<
edgo of a pieco of woods a portion o!
which had boon cleared.
It wns not dunce alone that had di
reeled him to this point. Clara Denton
loved this spot and had frequently taken
him there, and on tho preceding evening
accompanied by her daughter and Mil
dred Lestor, liad vi- ited it with him.
The site was a peculiar one. Although
not far from houses, tho woods were very
wild, ns though a thousand miles distant
from any other place.
You would have said it was a virgii
forest, untouched by tho ax of tho pio
neer. Enormous stumps without bark
trunks of giguutic treos, coverod poli-
inell tho declivity of the hill, and barri
caded hero and there, in a picturesque
maun r, tho current of ihe brook whicl
ran into tho valley.
A little higher nil the dense wood oi
tufted trees contributed to diffuse thal
religious lignt half over tho rocks, the
brushwood, and the fertile soil, and or
the limpid water, which is the charm anc
horror of eld, neglected woods.
, In this solitude, and on quite a space
.. clflarod ground, rose a poor cottage,
ahii was Jennie’s home, and here hei
children and her father lived with her.
The old rag-picker interested Clare
Denton greatly, probably because, like
Leland, ho had n bad reputation. She
loved tho children, too, who, though
dirty, were beautiful as angels, and she
pitied their mother.
The little ones had been quite ill.
Clara had helpod to uurso them, and ap
parently they had recovered; indeed, only
the evening before, Leland and the party
with him had met them wandering in the
woods, careless and happy as children
ought to be.
Leland slowly walked his horse ovei
the rocky and winding path on the slope
of tho hillock. This was the moment
when the ghost of Amy Brownell had, ae
it were, risen before him, and he believed
he could almost hoar her cry.
All at once (his illusion gave place to s
strange reality. Tho voice of a womai
plainly called him by name, in accents oi
distress:
"Mr. Leland, Mr. Leland!”
Stopping his horse on tho instant, he
felt nn icy shudder pass through Me
frame.
The doctor approached Warren quickly.
“Mr. Leland, said he, “what can this
bo? I believe it to be poisoning, but can
letect nd definite symptoms; otherwise,
file mother should know—but she knows
aothing! A sunstroke, perhaps; but as
both were struck at the same time—and
:hen at this season—ah. my dear sir, oui
irofession is very useless sometimes.”
“Isn't it a telapse?”
“No, no! nothing at all like the recen'
llnesfl.”
Leland made further and rapid inqni
■ies.
They had sought the doetdr, who wai
lining with Mr. Metcalf's family an hom
lefore. He had hastened, and found thi
ihildren in a state of fearful congestion
It appeared they had fallen into thii
=tate when first attacked, and became de
lrious.
Leland conceived an idea.
He asked to see the clothes (he children
lad vi om during the day.
The mother gave them to him.
The doctor touched his forehead, and
:nmed over with a feverish hand thi
rough waistcoasts, the knee-breeches,
searched tho pockets, and found dozeni
if a small fruit like cherries, hall
(rushed.
“A species of deadly nightshade!” hi
ixclaimed. “That idea struck me sev-
iral limes; but how could I be snre? Yor
;annot find it within sixty milea of here,
sxcept in the vicinity of this cursed spo'
—that I am snre of.
“Do you think there is yet time?” asked
Le’and, in a low voice. “The childrei
seem to me to be very ill.”
“Lost, 1 am afraid; but everything de
pends on tho time which has passed, thi
juantity they have taken, and the reme-
lies I can procure.”
The good physician consulted quickb
irith Clara, who found that she had no'i
:u her country pharmacy the necessan
•c-medies, or counter-irritants, which th(
lrgency of the case demanded.
He was obliged to content himself witl
;he essence of coffee, which Jennie pro
pared in ha to, and to send to Now Mil-
lord for the other things needed.
“To New Milford!” exclaimed Clara
“Good heavens! it is more than ten miles
—it is night, and we shall have to waif
probably three or four hours!”
Leland heard this.
"Doctor, write your prescription,” h<
said; “my horse is at the door, and witl
him I can do the twenty miles in m
hour; in one hour I promise to be heri
again.”
"Oh, thanks!” exclaimed Clara.
He took the proscription which thi
loctor had traced on a leaf of his pad
mounted his horse and departed.
The highway was, fortunately, not fa:
disi ant.
When he reached it he put spurs to hii
horse, and rode like the phantom horse
man.
It was D o’clock when Clara Dentoi
witnessed his departure; it was a fev
moments after 10 when she heard thi
tramp of his horse at the foot of the hill
and ran to tho door of the cottage ti
greet him.
The condition of the two childrex
seemed to have grown worse in thi
interval, but tho doctor had great hopei
in the remedies which Leland was tt
bring.
She waited with^impatience, and re
ceived him like the dawn of the las:
hope.
She contented herself with pressinj
his hand, when, breathless be descender
from his horse. But, womanlike, sh<
threw herself on the animal, who wai
covered with foam, and steaming like t
stove.
“Poor Sultan," she said, embracing
him in her two arms—“dear Sultan—
good Snltau! Y’on are half dead, an
yon not? But I love you well. Go ii
quickly, Mr. Leland. I will attend tt
Sultan.”
And while the young man entered thi
rottnge, she confided Sultan to the farn
hand, with orders to take him to the sta
ble, and a thousand minute directions tc
rake good care of him after his nobli
jonduct.
The doctor had to obtain the aid o!
Leland to pass the new medicine througl
;ho clenched teeth of the unfortuuati
Jhildren. While both were engaged ii
this work, Clara was sitting on a stool
with her head resting against the wall.
The doctor suddenly raised his eyei
ind fixed them on her.
“But, my dear Mrs. Denton,” he said
‘yon are ill. Y’ou have had too much ex
citement, nnd the air in this poor plaoi
is very bad. You must go home.”
“I really do not feel very well,” uh<
murmured.
“Yon must go at once. We Jshall sene
you the news. Yonr father’s hired max
will take you home."
She raised herself, trembling; but om
look from Jemie arrested her. For thii
poor woman, it seemed that Providenci
deserted her with Clara Denton.
“No!" Bhe said, with a divine sweet
ness; “I will not go. I shall only breathi
i little fresh air. I will remain until the;
are safe, I promise yon,” and left thi
CHAPTER XXIII.
AT THE BAG-PICKERS’ COTTAGE.
The same voice rose higher and callec
him again.
lie recognized it as the voice of Clari
Denton.
Looking around him in the obscnri
litht with a rapid glance, ho saw a. lighl
shining through the foliage in the direc
tion of Jennie's cottage.
Guided by this, lie put spurs to hit
horse, crossed the cleared ground up the
hillside, and found himself face to face
with Clara.
She was standing on the threshold ol
tho cottage, her head bare, and her beau
tiful hair disheveled under a long black
veil. She was giving a farm hand some
hasty orders.
When she saw l eland approaching shi
came toward him.
“Pardon me,” she said, “but I though:
I recognized you, and so I called you. 1
am so greatly distressed—so distressed!
,s.The two childron of this poor woman are
sick again—they are dying! What is tc
be done? Come in—come iu, I beg of
you!”
Ho leaped to tho ground, secured his
horse, and followed Clara into the cottage.
The two children weie lying side by
fido on a little bed. immovable, rigid.
theiT eves open and their pupils strangely
dilated, their faces red and agitated by
stiaugo convulsions.
They seemed to be in the agony of
death.
A doctor was leaning over them, look
ing at them with fixed, anxious anc
despairing eyes.
The mother was on her knees, her heac
clasped in her hands, and weeping bit
ierly.
At the foot of the bod stood the rag
picket, with his savage mien—his armi
crossed and his eyes dry. He shudderec
p.t intervals, and murmured in a hoarse
hollow voice:
“Both of them! Both of them;" Thei
ho roJaiised info bis mnnmfnl nt.l-.itnA»
room smiling upon the poor woman.
After a few moments the doctor said tt
L-sland:
“My dear sir, I thank yon; but I real];
have no further need of your services; s<
you, too, may go and rest yourself, fo:
you are growing pale also."
Leland, exhausted by his long ride
felt suffocated by the atmosphere of thi
Jottage, and consented to the suggestioi
at the physician, telling him he woulc
aot go far.
As he put his foot outside of the cot
rage, Clara, who was sitting before thi
door, quickly rose and threr? over hit
lis shoulders a cloak which liad beer
nought for her. She then reseated her-
t If without speaking.
“But you cannot remain here ail night, 1
be said.
“I should le too uneasy at home.”
“But the night is damp and cold. Shal
i make you a tire?"
“If you wish, she said.
“Let us see where we can make thii
little fire. In the midst of the woodi
aero it is impossible; we should have i
lonflagration to finish the picture. Car
you walk? Then take my arm and wi
will go and search for a place for onr en-
lampment. ”
She leaned lightly on his arm and madi
i few steps with him toward the forest.
“Do you think they are saved?” shi
isked.
“I hope so," he replied. “The doctor’i
’ace is more cheerful.”
“Oh! how glad I am!”
Both of them stumbled over a root anc
rommenced laughing like two children fo:
several minutes.
“We shall soon be in the woods," saic
Clara; “and I declare I can go no farther.
Good or bad, I shall choose this spot.”
They were still quite close to the cot-
;age, but the branches of tho old treei
which had been spared by the axe spread
ike a somber dome over their heads.
S’ear by was a large rock, slightly cov-
;red with moss and a number of ole
trunks of trees, on which Clara took hei
seat.
“Nothing could be better,” said Leland
gayly. “I must collect my materials.”
A moment after he reappeared, bring
ing in his arms brushwood, and also i,
heavy blanket which he had found some-.
were.
Ho oni on his knees in front of the
rock, prepared the fuel, and lighted
with, a match. When the llame began
flicker On the rustic hearth, Clara trem
bled with joy and held out both hands
the blaze. *
“Heavens! how nice it Is!” she said
“and then this Is amnsing; one wonld say
we had been shipwrecked. Now, Mr.
Leland, if you wonld be perfect, go and
iee what the doctor says.”
He ran to the cottage, and quickl
returned:
“Well!” she exclaimed.
“A great deal of hope,"
“Oh! hoot glad I am!”
She pressed his hand.
“ Sit down there, ” she said.
He sat down on a rock near her, and
replied to her eager questions. He re
peatecl in detail his conversation with th«
i doctor: She listened at first with inter
est, but little by little, wrapping her heac
in her Veil, and resting it dn the bough
interlaced behind her. she seemed to be
uncomfortably resting from fatigue.
“You are likely to fall asleep there,” he
said, laughing.
“Quite so,” she murmured—smiled, anc
went to sleep.
Her sleep resembled death, it was
profound, and so calm was the beatiDg
of her heart, SO regular her breathing.
Leland knelt down again by the hearth
to listen breathlessly and to gaze up or
her.
From time to time he seemed to medi
tate, and the solitude was only disturbed
by the rustling of the leaves.
His eyes followed the flickering of the
flame, sometimes resting on the whiti
rock, sometimes on the woods, sometimes
on the arches of the high trees, as thongt
he wished to fix in his memory all the
details of this sweet scene. Then hi:
gaze wonld rest on the young woman,
clothed in her beauty, grace and confiding
repose.
What heavenly thoughts descended
that moment on thi3 somber soul—wha’
hesitation,-what doubt assailed it? Wha
images of peace, truth, virtue, and hap
piness prssed into that brain full oi
storm, and cUased away phantoms of the
sophistries he cherished? He himseli
knew, but never told.
The brisk crackling or the wood awak.
ened her. She opened her eyes in sur
prise, and as she saw the young mat
Imeeling before her, aadressod him:
“How are they now, Mr. Leland?”
He did not know how to tell her tha.
for the last hour he had but one thought
and that was of her.
The doctor appeared suddenly befon
them.
“They are saved, Mrs. Denton,” hi
said, abruptly; “come and see for your
self, nnd then return home, or we shal
have to cure you to-morrow. Y’ou art
very imprudent to have remained in thesi
damp woods, and it was foolish of Mr
Leland to let you do so,”
She took the doctor’s arm and re-enter
ed the cottage. The two children, nov
roused from the dangerous torpor, bn
who seemed still terrified by the threat
ened death, raised their little heads. Shi
made them a sign to keep quiet, anc
leaning over their pillow, kissed them.
“To-morrow, my darlings,” she said.
But the mother, hulf laughing, half cry
ing, followed Clan) step by step, speak
ing to her, and kissing her hand.
“Let her alone,” cried the doctor, qner
nlously. “Go home, Mrs. Denton. Mr.
Leland, take her there.”
She was going out, whon the old rag
picker, who had not before spoken, aud
who was sitting in the comer of the room
is if stupefied, rose suddenly, seized the
irm of Mrs. Denton, who, slightly terri
aed, turned round, for the gesture of the
man was so violent as to seem menacing,
lis eyes, hard and dry, were fixed upon
her, and he continued to squeeze hei
irm with a contracted hand.
“My friend,” she said, although rathei
ancertain.
“Yes. your friend,” muttered the ole
ag-picker, with a hollow voice; “yes, re.
nember! whatever comes, your friendl’
He could not continue; his mouth
worked as if in a convulsion, his fright
ful weeping shook*his frame; he ther
-hrow himself on his knees, and they sav
i shower of tears force themsolvei
hrough the hands clasped oyer his face
“Take her away, sir,” said the doctor
Leland gently pushed her out of the
loltage and followed her. She took hit
irm nnd descended the rugged path whicl
ed to her home.
CHAPTER XXIV.
AS ASTOUNDING PROPOSITION.
It was a walk of fifteen minutes from
;he woods. Half the distance was passed
jver without interchanging a word.
Once or twice, when the rays of the
moon pierced through the clouds, Leland
bought he saw her wipe away a tear.
He guided her cautiously in the dark
less, although the light step of the
fonrg lady was scarcely slower in the
jbscurity.
Her springy step pressed noiselessly
the fallen leaves—avoided without assist
ance the ruts and marshes, aB though en
dowed with a magical clairvoyance.
When they reached a cross-road and
Leland seemed uncertain, she wonld indi
cate the way by a slight pressure of the
arm.
Both were no doubt embarrassed by
the long silence—it was Clara who first
broke it.
“You have been very good this evenin:
Mr. Leland,” she said, in a low and
slightly agitated voice.
“Ahfl love you so!" said the young
man.
He pronounced these words in such a
deep, impassioned tone that Clara Denton
trembled and stood still in the road.
' Mr. Leland!” the exclaimed.
“Well?” be demanded, iri a strange tone
“Great heavens! What is this? But—
but it can be nothing. \ must have mis-
inderstood you!"
“You did not, madam But I have said
iither too much or too little. I will en-
leavor to explain the error.”
His voice was calm, bnt she recoiled a
itep or two and stood trembling before
aim.
“What I said just now,” he went on, “is
no more nor lesB than the truth. I love
fou—love you as you deserve to be loved,
with, all my soul and might and strength.
[ never knew what love was before.”
Clara stood there trembling, but made
ao sign.
“But don’t fear that I would take ad
vantage of this solitude—of your loneli
ness. Believe me, you are sacred to me.”
“I have no fear,” she whispered.
“Oh. no! have no fear!” be repeated, iu
i tone of voice infinitely softened and
:ender. “It is I who am afraid—it is I
vho tremble—you see it; for since I have
ipoken, all is over. I expect nothing more
—I hope for nothing; this night has nc
possible to-morrow. I know it. You:
husbandl daienotbe—yonrlovorl should
not wish to be. I ask nothing of you—
anderstaud well! I should like to"bum
my heart at your feet, os on an altar—
this is all.
“Do you believe me? Answer! Are
yon calm? Are you confident? Will yon
hear me? May I tell you what image I
carry of you in the secret recesses of my
aeart?
“Dear creature that you are, yen do not
—ah, you do not know how great is ; om
worth, and 1 fear to tell yon, so mucl
am I afraid of stripping you of you:
charms, or one. of yonr virtues. If yot
had been proud of yourself, as you have •
right to be, you would be less perfee*,
.nd I should love you less.
“Bnt I wish to tell you how lovable and
low charming you are. You alone do not
mow it. Y’ou alone do not see the soft
lame of your large eyes—the reflection ol
rour heroic soul on your young hut seren6
jrow,
“Your charm is over everything you dc
—your slightest gesture is engraven on
ne. Into ths most ordinary duties oi
ivery-day life you carry a peculiar grace,
ike a young priestess who recites hei
laily devotions. Y’our hand, yonr touch,
rour breath purifies everything—even the
nost humble and the most t licked beings
-and myself first of all!
"Oh, how I am astonished at the word*
shich I pronounce, and the sentiments
vhich animate ms, to whom yon have
nade clear new truths. Yes, all the
rhapsodies of the poets, all the loves cl
ihe martyrs. I comprehend in yonr prfis-
ince. This is truth itself. I-Understand
those who died for their faith by torture
—because I should like to suffer for you
—because I believe in you—because I re-
ipect you—I cherish you—I adore you!”
He stopped, shivering, and half pros-
■rating himself before her, seized the end
>f her veil and kissed it.
“Now,” continued he. with a kind of
grave sadness, “go, Mrs. Denton; I have
forgotten too long you require repose.
Pardon . me—proceed. I shall follow
fou at a distance, until you reach youi
some, to protect you—but fear nothing
from me.”
Clara Denton had listened, without
once interrupting him even by a sign.
Words wonld only excite the young man
more.
Probably she understood, for the first
time in her life, one of those songs of
love—one of those hymns living with pas-
lion, which every, woman wishes to heai
aefore she dies.
Should sue die because 6he had heard
4?
She remained witnout speaking, as
though just awakening from a dream, and
let fall these words, soft and feeble, like
a sigh:
“My God!”
After another pause, she advanced a
few steps on the road.
“Give me your arm as far as my house,
Mr. Leland," she said.
He obeyed her, and .they continued
their walk toward the house, the light of
which they soon saw.
They did not exchange a word—only en
they reached the gate, Mrs. Denton
turned and made him a slight gesture
with htr hand, in sign of adien.
In return, Leland bowed low, and with
Irew.
This man had been sincere.
When time passion surprises the human
soul, it breaks down all resolves, sweeps
»way all logic, and crushes all calcula
tions.
In this lies its grandeur, and also its
danger. .
When this sublime folly possesses you,
it elevates you—it transfigures you. It
can suddenly convert a common man into
i poet, a coward into a hero, an egotist
into a martyr, and Don Juan himself into
in angel of purity.
W’ith women—and it is to their honoi
this metamorphosis can be durable, but
it is rarely so with men.
Once transported to this stormy sky,
women frankly accept their proper home,
nnd the vicinity of the thunder does not
disquiet them.
Passion is their element—they feel at
homo there. There are few women
worthy of the name who are not ready tc
put in action all the words which passion
ias caused to bubble np from their lips.
If they speak of flignt, they are ready
for exile. If they talk of dying, they arc
eady for death. Men are far lesscon.
iistent in their ideas.
It was not until late the next morning
hat Leland regretted his outbreak oi
sincerity; for, during the remainder of
the night, still filled with his excitement,
agitated and shaken by the passage of the
god, sunk into a confused and feverish
reverie, he was incapable of reflection.
But when, on awakening, ho surveyed
ho situation calmly and by the plain
ight of day, and thought over the preced
ing evening and its events, he could not
‘ail to recognize the fact that he had been
iruelly duped by his owu nervous system.
To love Clara Denton was perfectly
proper, and he loved her still—for she
was a person to be loved and desired; but
elevate that love or any other, asrih*.
master of his life, instead of- its play
thing, was one of those weaknesses in-
;erdicted by his system more than anj
ither.
In fact, he felt he had spoken and act-
sd'like a schoolboy on a holiday. He had
uttered words, made promises, and taken
ngagements on himself which no one
demanded of him. No conduct could
aave been more ridiculous.
Happily nothing was lost. He had yet
;ime to give his love that subordinate
place which this sort of phantasy should
jeeupy in the life of man.
He had been imprudent, bnt this very
imprudence might finally prove of ser
vice to him. All that remained of this
scene was a declaration—gracefully made
spontaneous, natural—wh : ch subjected
lara Denton to the double charm of a
aiystic idolatry which pleased her sex,
and to that manly violence which could
uot disp’case her.
He had, therefore, nothing to regret,
although he certainly would have pre
ferred, taking tho point .of view from his
principles, tn have displayed less child
ish weakness.
But what course should he now adopt?
Nothing could be more simple. Ha
would go to Airs. Denton, implore her for
giveness, throw himselr again at her feet,
promising eternal respect, and succeed.
Consequently, at about ten o'clock
Leland wrote the following note:
Dear Madam: I cannot leave with.
Jilt bidding yon adieu, and once moro de
manding your forgivenoss.
“Will you permit me?
“W. Leland.
This letter he was about sending, when
he received one containing the following
words:
I shall be happy, sir, if you will call
upon me to-day, about four o’clock.
“Clara Denton.
Upon which Leland threw his own note
into the fire, as entirely superfluous.
No matter what interpretation he put
upon this note, it was an evident sign
that love had triumphed, aud that virtue
was defeated: for, after what had passed
the previous evening Detween Clara Den-
on and himself, there was only one
ourse for a virtuous woman to take, and
hat was never to see him again.
He soliloquized on the weakness oi
woman.
pro EE CONTINUED. |
EI01EI1 SMI n
ADVERTISE
IN THIS
PAPER
IT WILL PAY
He Had to Exp’aiii.
Madam,” said a dude, as he hob
bled up to the kitchen door of a farm
'emso, ’ your butter’s awful strong.”
“What- do you mean, sir?” shriekea
the farmer’s wife, as she flourished the
churn-dasher.
“Oh, excuse me! I meant to say
that your goat hit me a thundering
bump just as I attempted to pump a
drink of water. No offense intended,
madam, ’pon honah.”—Areola Record.
YOU.)
Yaillant Executed.
Auguste Yaillant, the anarchist who
threw the bomb in the chamber of
deputies on December 9th, was guillo
tined at 7:10 o’clock Monday morning
at the prison De LaRoquette, Paris.
Yaillant’s last words, as he was led to
rhe guillotine were, “Death to the
Bourgeois.” “Long live anarchy!”
About 1,200 people were present. There
was no disturbance.
Over one million letters were collected
from the World's Fair post office in Au
gust.
Interesting Cuttings tor tie Perusal ot
the Casual Reader.
Pension Agent Carpenter, with head
quarters at Knoxville, Tenu., has begun
the task of paying out over $1,500,000
to about 55,000 people in the southern
states. Of this number 3,017 are Geor
gians and they -will draw $366,000.
* * *
The governor has designated the
Greenville Banking company’s place in
Greenville as a state depository, and
has approved the bond of $50,000
given by the Planters’ Bank of Ameri
cas and the bond for a like amount
given by the bank of Fort Gaines.
Thomas W. Lamb, the newly-aq>-
pointed collector of customs of Bruns-
wicks, assumed control of his office
last Monday morning. For deputy he
appointed Captain Mallory P. King,
who was agreed upon as deputy in a
.compromise. As inspector, Collector
Lamb appointed C. W. Deming. Bich
ard Walter Grubb, editor of the Da
rien Gazette, will be appointed as dep
uty collector at Darien.
* * *
At a meeting of O. M. Mitchel post,
G. A. B., at Atlanta, a committee was
appointed to act with a similar com
mittee of the city council in extending
to the Grand Army of the Bepublic
Atlanta’s invitation to hold the nation
al encampment of 1895 in that city.
The local post is enthusiastic in this
movement, as are the citizens of At
lanta, and it is believed that Atlanta
has an excellent chance of securing the
encampment.
* * *
The bondholders of the Tybee rail
road have already found the idea of
another popular subscription for the
purpose of rebuilding the road an un
popular one and they hare abont
decided to abandon it. The bondhol
ders have another scheme on foot and
bids will be asked on the work, the
amount to be paid in receiver’s certif
icates. Beceiver Comer advertises for
bids to do the work to be paid for in
receiver’s certificates, and the right is
reserved, in case the court is willing,
to issue $13,000 certificates more to re
pay the Central for money expended
on the road.
John Johnson, one of Madison’s
colored citizens, is rather a curiosity
in his general makeup, though few
people would believe it. Seeing him
walking along the streets Johnson ap
pears to be a common, everyday black
negro, but divest him of his clothing
and a wonderful change appears.
Certain parts of hie body are perfectly
white, aud he is a living, personified
figurehead of the fifteenth amendment.
JohnsoD has won many bets by wager
ing money that he was half white and
proving it. He claimes that he was
born that way, and is truly a curiosity
of the first water.
* * *
Prof. W. M. Slaton, of Atlanta, has
succeeded iu getting Dr. J. M. Bice,
the famous New York educator, to
come to that city to lecture to the
school teachers, aud the friends of
higher education on “Scientific Teach
ing.” At the last meeting of the coun
ty school teachers of Fulton county it
was decided to invite Dr. Bice to come
to Atlanta to deliver his famous lecture
along this line, and Prof. Slaton is
much elated at the idea of succeeding
in the plan. Dr. Bice is the man who
has become famous recently for the
able articles he wrote for The Forum
on school teaching.
* * *
“The trial of the Hinkles,” says
Judge Bichard Clark, of Atlanta, “re
calls that more than forty yeaTs ago
James H. Macon, a lawyer, was killed
by Dr. Monroe in Lee county, which
adjoins Sumter, where Dr. Worsham
was killed by the Hinkles. Dr, Wor
sham’s father was his cousin. Mrs.
Macon was a lovely woman, both in
mind and person. She married twice
after the death of Macon and now she
and each of her husbands are dead.
Again, Macon was a cousin to Gus and
Willis Alston, and both were killed.
Bobert Martin, who waB killed in At
lanta, was a son of WilliR, and two of
his sons met with a violent death. ”
net earnings of the Montgomery
and Eufanla were $6,592. Of
the Savannah and Western sys
tem, $87,151.79. Of the Augusta and
Savannah, $18,178.16. Of the South
western, $175,181.81. The total net
earnings of the Southwestern for the
six months ending December 31, 1893,
were in round numbers $242,000, show
ing that this road during that time has
done better than any other road in the
system, comparatively speaking. The
total net earnings of the Central sys
tem for the three months were $740,-
601.09. Of the two steamship com
panies, $135,436.53. Of the Centra]
Bailroad bank, $2,554.91. Of the Up
son county railroad, $647.26, making
the total net earnings of the property
$876,266.89. The deficit of the Chat
tanooga, Borne and Columbus, a part
of the Savannah and Western, was
$19,550,71. ‘
EUROPEAN ROADS.
Magnificent Highways Across the
Atlantic.
How They are Constructed and
Kept in Repair.
31 list Ask the Court.
A Savannah special says: The re
ceiver of the Central railroad somehow
or other got wind of the fact that an
attempt was being made by the officers
of the Georgia railroad to have the
1,198 shares of stock of the Southwest
ern railroad, which belonged to the Cen
tral, bnt which have been hypothecated
as security for the rental of tho Geor
gia road, transferred to the Georgia
railroad, in order, for some reason or
other, to prevent the Central from
voting the stock without first
getting a power of attorney
from the Georgia railroad. The
stock now stands on the books in the
name of the Central railroad, but
President Phinizy, of the Georgia
road, has a power of attorney to have
the stock transferred in the case the
Central defaults. It is understood that
he asked qiresident ^Baxter, of the
Southwestern to have the stock trans
ferred to tho Georgia road, although
there has been no default. This
would prevent the Central voting the
stock at the annual meeting on Febru
ary the 8th, but on a petition from
receiver Comer, Judge Speer has grant
ed an injunction restraining President
Baxter from transferring the stock to
the Georgia road until further orders
of the court.
* * *
Dr. Hinkle Found <*uiity.
The famous Hinkle trial at Americus
came to end by the jury finding the
defendant, Dr. J. B. Hinkle, guilty of
mnrder, with a recommendation to
life imprisonment, which saves him
from hanging. Thus partially ends a
murder case which has been for a long
time one of the greatest sensations in
Americus and Sumter county. It will
be remembered that some months ago
Dr. Worsham, a prominent and popu
lar dentist, was shot to death in front
of the office of Dr. Hinkle nnd his son.
Feeling ran high and all that sav
ed the two Hinkles from lynch
ing was their incarceration in the
jail. The trouble grow out of
a case in court in which Dr. Wor
sham had been a witness against the
Hinkles. From the first Dr. J. B.
Hinkle, an old man, assumed the re
sponsibility, but the evidence went to
show that more than one party was
implicated in the murder, and now
that the father has been convicted, the
son, Dr. A. B. Hinkle, will be tried.
The most eminent council in the state
was engaged in the defense. It is
thought by many that the elder Dr.
Hinkle, being an old man, assumed
the responsibility to shield his son.
They claimed that the shooting was
done in self-defense. The shooting
was done at such close quarters that
Dr. Worsham’s clothes were burned
by the discharge of the weapon. The
trial has been a bitterly contested one,
and as a result Dr. Hinkle will be sent
to the penitentiary for life. The son
is vet to be tried.
Colonel B. J. Bedding, director of
the experiment station, has issued
through the press the following an
nouncement: “My notice, “Seeds for
Testing,” of a week ago has over
whelmed me with applications The
director of the office of the experiment
station at Washington, D. C., notifies
me that his supply of seeds is limited.
I must now withdraw the request for
names and addresses of farmers who
desire to test seed. All names that
have been received up to this date, Feb
ruary 4th, will be forwarded to Wash
ington, D. C., at once and the seeds
will be sent from there. Please don’t
send any more names.
B. J. Bedding, Director.
Georgia’s old seat of state and the
new capita', of the commonwealth are
now connected by tbe steel boud of
railway. Milledgeville and Atlanta are
now only a little more than a hundred
miles apart. The completion only a few
dayB since of the Middle Georgia and
Atlantic railroad from Eatonton to
Covington filled the gap between the
ancient capital and the Gate City,
which railroad men have long known
absolutely compelled the construetiou
of a line of road. A through car will
be placed on the train of the Georgia
railroad, and a few hours ride will
bring the passenger to Milledgeville,
which has hitherto been a day’s jour
ney away. The section opened up is
the richest in the st: le.
Three 3I«nths Earning*.
Beceiver Comer’s second .quarterly
report of the operations of the Central
railroad was filed with the United
States circuit court at Savannah last
Monday. It covers the months of
October, November and December.
1893, and shows a good net earning
during these months for every road
in the system, with the exception of
the Chattanooga, Borne and Columbus.
The gross earnings of the Central main-
stem for that time were $843,894.71
and the net earnings $426,227.17. The
DESTRUCTIVE OCCUPATIONS.
Poisons That Lurk for Flax and Arti
ficial Flower Workers.
Very little is known of the danger to
life and health that exists in many occu
pations where women are largely em
ployed. In England a league hag been
formed to call attention to the facts of
the case, and Mrs. C. Mollet has made
extensive investigations.
In the linen trade, the flax has to be
left to soak in the water, and rheuma
tism, bronchitis and pneumonia seize
upon the women who have to deal with It
in this stage. Iu the flax carding de
partment, the fine dust produces lung
disease and kills its victims at thirty.
In fur cape making, the odor and the
fine fluff are both extremely injurious.
A singular injury is caused to artificial-
flower makers, especially those em
ployed in making white flowers by gas
light. The dry dust causes inflamed
eyelids, and the work is so trying that
women are worn out long before middle
age. In the china trade, the clay dust
settles year by year in the luugs until
consumption results.
In tbe white-lead trade, horrors are
found quite “qual to those of the phos
phorus match trade. Lead is in itself
highly poisonous, and the most danger
ous parts of the process of making the
ordinary blue pigs of lead into the deadly
white carbonate is carried on by women,
because it requires less mnscular strength
than the rest. Cakes of lead are put to
ferment in tan and acetic acid fer three
months, and then the cakes have to be
grubbed out of the mixture by hand, the
poison getting under the finger nails.
After being ground to powder nnder
water, the dishes of damp lead have to
be placed in a stove to dry for a fort
night. The worst part is when these
poor women have to take away the dry,
hot, white carbonate of lead from the
stoves. Even the muffled heads, the
woolen respirators, the sack overalls
fail to keep out the deadly dust. They
rarely live maDy years; sometimes a few
weeks or months bring on the symptoms
of'acute lead poisoning, to which they
rapidly succumb. This white carbonate
of lead is used for glazing china and
enamel advertisements. Tne ouly safe
guard would be in prohibiting the manu*
facture, and it would be possible to do
so, for varions substitutes are already in
the market.—[New York Sun.
Is the courtyard of the palace of Ver
sailles is a clock with one hand called
“L'Horloge de la Mort du Boi.” It
contains no works, but consists merely
of a face in the form of a sun surrounded
by rays. On the death of a king the
hand is set to the moment of his demise
and remains unaltered till his successor
has joined him in the grave. This cus
tom originated under Louis XIII. and
continued till the revolution. It was re
vived cn the deaih t?f Louis XVIII. and
the hand still continues fixed on the pre
cise moment of that monarch’s death.
Latin literature bears testimony to
the value placed by the Bomans on
good roads, and among othei heir
looms handed down by the Boman
empire to modern Europe, the Bo
man roads constitute one which the
experience of 1500 years has shown
the wisdom of preserving and im
proving. The desirability, indeed
tbe necessity, of maintaining the best
possible means of communication, not
only between important centres, bnt
between such centres and all parts of
the land, Is recognized by European
governments, and the Strassenbau; or
care of the highways, is an important
department, which receives the care
ful attention of government officials,
Boads in Europe are not mere strips
of land set apart for public use and
left to be worn into tracks as the
necessities of communication may oc
casion. They are structures just at
truly as are public buildings, scientifi
cally planned and built, and sharply
differentiated from the surrounding
country. The roadway has its given
width, on levels is usually raised some
♦hat above the adjacent land, ii
bordered on both sides by deep
trenches or canals for proper drainage
and where necessary is supported by
solid masonry. The sides are planted
with fruit, poplar, basswood and other
trees, or protected by stone walls at
dangerous points, as the case may
be. All ditches, brooks and small
watercourses are spanned by stone
culverts, often of elaborate construc
tion, while projecting spurs of rock
on the mountain-slopes are pierced by
tunnels. Slanting sides are usually
covered with grass which is kept neatly
trimmed. This prevents warping by
rains and adds permanency to tbe
structure. Many roads, especially in
the mountain regions, with their wind
ings, buttresses, culverts, walls and
tunnels, are monuments of tbe highest
engineering skill.
Tbe materials out of which roads
are made in Europe may be classed
nnder three varieties- -trap or basalt,
granites, including some of the harder
sedimentary rocks and limestones.
Where the first two are easily obtain
able they are exclusively used, trap
being preferred to the granites. In
many regions limestone, being the
only material at hand, has to be em
ployed. Trap, having the densest and
hardest structure, makes tbe most du
rable road. Being more resistant to
crushing force and least affected by-
frost, it is particularly adapted to
roads which are used for heavy team
ing, outwearing granite for this pur
pose. Tbe harder rocks of the granite
series make very serviceable roads even
for teaming, and excellent ones fox-
driving.
Limestone roads at their best are
the finest of all for driving and riding
purposes. Not so hard as the trap
and granite roads, they possess a cer
tain degree of elasticity, iu virtue of
which the carriage or bicycle rolls
over them with less jar anal with a pe
culiar ease of motion which exerts a
most pleasing eft'ect, the nearest- ap
proach to which is ihat ex-perienced
in riding on a good asphalt pavement.
This elasticity is most marked at that
period after a rain when tho surface
has set thoroughly, but has not be
come dry enough to Vie rubbed into
dust. Unfortunately, owing to the
softness of the material, limestone
roads deteriorate rapidly and require
constant care to keep them iu good
order. They- also soften easily under
the action of frost and water, so that
in the spring and during rainy seasons
they are liable to become heavy.
Material for repairs is kept con
stantly- on hand at short intervals on
the sides of many highways, particu
larly in Germany. The rock is carted
to the desired spot in pieces twelve
to eighteen inches in diameter, and
these are broken up by the road-re
pairers into fragments one and a half
to two inches in diameter, and
piled in little heaps ready for
use.
The best roads have only gravel
enough mingled with and covering the
upper layer of small stones to bind
them firmly together and make a
smooth surface. Mare than this
amount serves to make dust and mud
and to impair the efficiency of the
road. Frequently the small stones,
well cemented together, appear as a
part of the surface, like those iu cer
tain kinds of concrete pavements.
Boads of the best construction do not
soften appreciably under rain, and
oan be used as comfortably in stormy
as in pleasant weather.—[New York
Post.
the productions of native sculptor*
Consequently, to make a living, Bush
was obliged to carve prowheads for
vessels, then in common use. By
1800 he had attained considerable rep
utation as a sculptor and carver in
wood, and time matured bis talents.
At an early date in bis career his fig
ureheads began to be noticed in for
eign ports. The figure of an Indian
trader on the ship of William Penu
was much admired in London. The
wood carvers there, it is reported,
would come in boats and lie near the
ship to sketch designs of the figure-
bead. This was but a few years after
the Bevolutionary War. Another
notable prowhead which Bush carved
was tbe figure of a river god for the
ship Ganges. So well known abroad
did his work at last become that the
house of Nicklin & Griffin of Philadel
phia received many- orders from Eng
land for figureheads to be made by
Bush to adorn ships built on the other
side of the Atlantic. One of the most
celebrated of these carvings was a fe
male figure of Commerce.
The Right of Way.
There was an Irishman who lived in
a small cottage on an estate, and who
was in the habit of crossing from it to
another through the gateway of a very
distinguished noble gentleman. He had
done this for twenty years, and when
the noble gentleman came into some
more money and hang two fine iron
gates betweon the posts, the Irish la
borer took a crowbar and broke the
hinges on which they hung and
tramped over them on his way. Ho
was put in jail for this for a month,
at the end of which time he went
after his crowbar and tore the gates
down again. When he had been in
jail five times in 6ix months, the peo
ple round about took np his cate, nnd
the right of way declared a just one,
and the gates came down forever.
The Englishman will go further than
this—he will not only fight for his
rights, but he will fight for some
other man’s rights; be will go out of
his road to tramp through a gentle
man’s property simply because the
people in the neighborhood are disput
ing for right of way with him. I heard
of three young barristers when I was
in London who went on a walking
tour, and who laid out their route en
tirely with the view of taking in all the
disputed rights of way in the counties
through which they passed, and who
cheerfully sacrificed themselves for the
good of others by forcing their way
into houses and across private grounds
and by tearing down hedges.—[Harp
er’s Weeklv.
Famous Figureheads.
William Bash’s father was a ship
carpenter, and from his youth the son
was fond of ships. Often when a boy
ho wonld cut out miniature vessels
from blocks of wood aud exercise his
-artistic talent in chalk and paints.
When he commenced work in this
country, says a writer in Lippincott’s
Magazine, there was no demand for
What a Man Is Made Of.
A curious exhibition in the National
Museum, Washington, is one which
shows the elemental ingredients which
go to make up the average man of 154
pounds. A large glass jar bolds the
96 pounds of water which his body
contains, while in other l-eceptacles
are 3 pounds of “white of egg,” a
little less than 10 pounds of pure
glue, 34J pounds of fat, 8j pounds of
phosphate of lime, 1 pound of carbon
ate of lime, 3 ounces of sugar and
starch, 7 ounees fluoride of calcium,
6 ounces of phosphate of magnesia
and a little ordinary table salt. The
same man is found to contain 97
pounds of oxygen, 15 pounds of hy
drogen, 3 pounds and 13 ounces of
nitrogen, and the carbon in such an
individual is represented by a foot
cube of coal. A row of bottles con
tain the other elements going to make
up the man, these being 4 ounces of
chlorine, 3j ounces fluorine, 8 ounces
phosphorus, 34 ounces brimstone, 24
ounces each of sodium and potassium,
l-10th of an ouuce of iron, 2 ounces
magnesium, 3 pounds and S ounces of
calcium.
A Sure Cure.
The merchant was rather blue and
bis wife noticing it asked what the
matter was.
“Matter enough,” he sighed. “I’ve
been looking over my books and I
find I’ve lost money every month for
tbe last year.”
“How did you lose it?” she in
quired.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said wear
ily, shaking his head.
“Nor where?”
“No.”
Then she thought a minute and re ■
me'nbered what she did when she lost
her pocket-book and her face bright
ened.
“Why don’t you advertise for it?”
she asked innocently.
“By George,” he exclaimed, “I
never thought of that,” and the next
day he had a big display ad. in the
paper and the next and the next, and
in three months’ time he was in clover
up to his chin.—[Detroit Free Fresa.
Days of Reckoning.
Wife—“When we go anywhere new
we have to walk. Before marriage
you always called a carriage. ”
Husband—“That’s why we have to
walk now.”—[New York Weekly.
Necessary For Sailing.
Charley Stasal—“I wish that we
might sail forever down the stream oi
life.”
Minnie Clipper—“So we can if yo’n
will raise the wind. [Puck.
The wedding ring has at one time
or other been worn on the thumb and
every fiagafc