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T] HE VIENNA PROGB m8. :> V f TERMS, $1. Per Annum. “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