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LOVE’S DEAREST MOMENT.
barest momont is not when the hands
Are clasped in marriage and the world looks on,
Nor yet when all the importunate world has
fone
And flamin'? passion like the arehansrp] stands
Jtctween two souls and welds with fire the hands
(»f impotent j^nnian law, nor when alone
Upon the nuititw they and love are one,
Triune and chrisrned pure, as (Jod commands;
3t as not in the many morrows’ track
While love by loving grows more rich and wi«e
Till age counts up love’s wondrous, wondrous
sum.
dearest moment is far back, far back—
When first they looked within each other’s eyes
And in the silence knew that love was come.
—Harper’s Magazine.
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*‘A gentleman—a Mr. Port man—to
see you, sir,” said my landlady, looking
5n at iny door.
“Show him up, Mrs. Jennings,” I re- '
idled without glancing up from my
manuscript. ,
A few moments later Mr. Portman,
an entire stranger to me, was ushered
into my room. He came forward—a
man of large build, some 40 years of
age. with a slight stoop and, fixing a
pair of dreamy dark eves upon me, he
Inquired in a low, earnest tone:
“Mr. Cecil Lawrence, I believe?”
“Yes. Be seated a moment, will
you?” I replied, indicating a eiiair.
He accepted the offer silently and
waited my leisure, his eyes fixed upon
(lie crackling logs in the grate and his
chin resting upon his hands.
“Wliat can I do for you, Mr.—Mr.
Tollman?” I asked presently, putting
down my pen and turning round upon
my visitor.
“You are Mr. Cecil Lawrence, the
author, are you not?” lie returned. j
"Yes.”
“The author of ’A Romance In Blue j
Dye?’ ”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind telling me how you
came by the plot for that story?” he
said, his dreamy eyes lighting up for I
an instant.
formation "I’m afraid I cannot that matter,” give you 1 replied. any in- j
i«pon ;
“Authors do not generally eonimuni
cate their methods of work and thought
to strangers, and my time is at present !
so much occupied that unless you real
ly have some important business with
me I really" —
“I have important business with
you!" he exclaimed almost angrily.
“Do you fancy that I have come down
all the way from Lancashire to ask a
mere slip of an author his methods of
work ?”
. “From Lancashire?” I said iu sur
prise, "indeed, i,o, no ©l uo man would,
But please state your business.”
“Will you answer mv question?” be
cried rising Impatiently and folding
lds hands behind Ids back. “How did
you come by the facts in your story?”
“Since you attach such undue im
portnnee to the matter,” I replied cold
lv. “I can only say (hat 1 owe some of
tho plot of my ‘Romance In Blue Dye’
to a newspaper paragraph 1 chanced !
upon some 18 months ago.”
"Can you show me this paragraph?” j
"Really, unless you can tell me in
wliat way tills matter Is of so much
Importance to you, 1 fear I must do
dine to continue tliis interview, for, as
I have already told you, 1 am exceed¬
ingly busy.”
He looked at me steadily for a mo¬
ment in silence, and the light came in
to liis eyes again.
"My name is Portman—John Port
man of Portman & Stayle, dyers and
cleaners, Rochdale,” lie said in a pecul- !
inr tone I could not understand. “Do
you understand?”
“No. I may bo very dense, but 1
don’t understand in what way the
statement of your i '.entity proves the
importance of your visit,” l responded,
Becoming annoyed with him, his man
tiers and ids tone.
“You don't, eh?” he blurted out.
“Well. Stayle, my late partner, was
the man who was found in the vat of
dye. Y'ou are a picturesque liar, you
know!”
1 started—not at the fellow’s insult, 1
But .at the germ of an idea that was
dawning upon me. This man, then,
was the actual being whom I had ere
sited, as I thought, in the person of
Janies Saxon, the murderer of bis part
nor. I fully understood now l ow
greatly this man. whose actual exist¬
ence 1 had never suspected, must have
Been annoyed By my book, for doubt¬
less persons who had read it ami knew
of tiie manner in which my vi m>r’s
unfortunate partner bad met Ids death
liad commented upon tiie matter un¬
pleasantly to my visitor.
“Do you understand me now?” my
visitor demanded, seeing 1 was not pre
Pared to say anything about ids previ
ous speech.
“Y'es. 1 fear so. 1 replied with a sick
ly smile. "But if you have come here
•with the intention of bullying me you
made an error in the address. My so
lieitors. Messrs. Wright & Wright, Ely
place, are the people to call upon.”
He looked at me and frowned. Then
he crossed the room, locked the door
and put the key iu his pocket.
“What the deuce do you mcau?” 1
cried, starting up indignantly. "You
are presuming unpardoiiably. Replace
file key and unlock tin* door!” and 1
went over to him as I spoke.
•‘Gently, gently, my good sir,” he
i said. "I am not nearly satisfied with
our chat yet. Look at this and sit
I down quietly.”
“This.” which lie held in my face,
was a revolver. Was I at the mercy of
Jl nifltllllHll V
“You are at the wrong end of it, you
knoyv. so sit down and be civil,”
I shrugged my shoulders and return
ed to my chair, having the unpleasant
sensation that he was “covering” me
all the time.
When I had seated myself, lie came
and sat down at the other side of my
table, laid his revolver in front of him
and began to bite at. his nails. I waited
nis pleasure silently, wondering what i
could best do.
“it’s like this” lie said, so suddenly
j], a ^ j ie startled me out of my tliougnts.
"I had a partner. That partner gets
drowned ai our works in a butt of pur
pie—not blue, mind you—dye. You see
tiie bare facts mentioned in the papers
(tins is what you say) and write a story
about it. You make me, John Saxon
of your accursed book, murder my part¬
ner, and you bring me to justice, eh?”
‘Acs, that's it, I replied as easily as
I could. "1 offer you my sineerest apoi
ogies for the unpleasantness it must
have caused you, but 1 assure you, on
my honor, I never dreamed that you
i’«>nlly existed, or I should not have
list'd such a plot.”
“But you must have known! You
most have seen!” he cried, loaning over
the table and hissing li is words into
my face.
Wliat would have happened if the
meaning of his words had flashed in
stead of dawning slowly upon me 1
cannot think, 1 never want to know,
But, coining upon my worried brain
slowly, the meaning did not make me
start, and my visitor, who evidently
realized he had spoken without think¬
ing how lie spoke, probably trusted I
had missed Ids second sentence.
To help him to that belief I an
swered:
’d low could I have known the un
fortunate dyer had a partner? I realize
my horrible mistake now, of course. I
ought never to have written the book
without first inquiring whether my
plot would encroach too much upon
actual facts.”
lie did not seem to hear me. lie was
staring over my shoulder, deep in
thought, like a man who dreams Lis
thoughts.
“Bah!” he said suddenly, with great
passion. “How did you learn all you
know, eli? You could not have guess¬
ed wliat uo or.e else had suspected!”
“1 fear 1 do not understand you,” 1
said, with a smile.
“You lie! You know you lie! Do i
you think I have come here to be
suckled cn such prevarications? Do I
jou think I biought tn.s '• itli me foi :
any reason but to get from you an ac
count of how you discovered the pur- I
pie spot on my shirt; how you saw
how it happened, ns you must have
done, though you don’t say %o in your
accursed srory? Can’t you see. in
gonious puppy, that I mean to know
and when 1 know to send you where
. vt> " cannot run a man down by novel
writing nor put the law upon him?
^t s your life or mine!
“itL all your threats, I said,
"you re a big bit of a fool, Mr. Port
uinu, or else your mind is unhinged,
Nio book was mainly written upon the
merest conception of my own. suggest
ed to me by a short paragraph. I have
already told you that. The manner in
which my murderer, John Saxon, was
brought to justice for his crime was
pure fiction work. Now are you satis
lied?”
“No!" he replied, throwing himself
hack in ids chair. “What you say may
lie true. 1 don’t know. In any ease,
your story has put me under the suspi
cion of the police and the people of
Rochdale. 1 am a marked man, 1 don’t
doubt. Probably the police are bunting
me down now—now! But they won’t
find the shirt!"
“Probably you overrate the interest
the police and people of Rochdale take
in my novels and the death of your
partner," I said, with an effort at calm
ness not too easy to assume.
“Possibly 1 do!” be replied, in a
hoarse voice, with a furtive glance at
the door. “But there is you to reckon
with now!”
"Me?”
“Yes, you! Do you think if I knew I
was as safe from suspicion as before
your book was written I could leave
you after what I’ve said to you to¬
night?"
“What do you propose to do, thou?
Give yourself over to t’ae police, eh?" I
asked ironically, for I was weary of
the terrible nervous strain.
"It is you or me. and, by my soul, I
will seal your lips!”
sudden‘dash To my uttermost surprise lie made a
round the table at me, but
in the moment of his heightened pas
sion he forgot ids revolver. I thrust
out my arm and snatched it from the
table as 1 quickly dodged my assailant.
and stepping back I held the barrel iu
his face.
"Stand back, John Saxon, or I lire!"
1 criod.
He staggered back and leaned against
the wall.
“Give me the key, John Saxon ” I
t
said sternly,
With ids wild eyes fixed upon the re
volver, lie took the key from his pocket
and threw it upon the table. I took it
up and drew toward the door.
As if he realized that the door would
op°n only to let him pass out to the
gallows, he made a desperate, sudden
spring at me as. with my left hand, I
slipped the key into the lock.
“Stand back!” I cried and pushed the
revolver into the hollow of his ashy
cheek.
“Stop!” he ejaculated hoarsely as
with an impetuous gesture lie pushed
his lank hair off his moistened brow
with both liis hands. “What are you
going to do. old man? A price, price,
p'-iee! A price—my life! I'll buy my
life! A price/
11° ( ’ re l>t toward me, shaking his
trembling arms above his head. Sud
denly lie stopped, and his ey es staited
from their sockets. He threw bis chin
forward as if trying to swallow some
lump rising in Ills throat. Then, as I
sprang to him. he twisted on his heel
and fell in u heap upon the floor.
A price! Nemesis had refused his
price for life.—Chicago Herald.
ANTIDOTE FOR LIQUOR.
Fresli Fruit Overcomes the Desire
For Strong Drink.
A writer in a European temperance
journal calls attention to the value of
fruit as an antidote to the craving for
liquor. He says: “in Germany, a na¬
tion greatly in advance of other coun
tries in matters relating to hygiene, al¬
coholie disease lias been successfully
coped with by the adoption of pure
diet and natural curative agencies. 1
have said that the use of fresh fruit
is an antidote for the drink crave, and
this is true. 1 have met men who
have told me that fruit has often taken
away the craving for drink. It may be
asked, IIow can fruit and pure diet do
all this? The explanation is simple.
“Fruit may be called nature’s medi¬
cine. Every apple, every orange, ev¬
ery plum and every grape is a bottle of
medicine. An orange is three parts
water—distilled in nature’s laborato¬
ry—but this water is rich in peculiar ,
fruit acids medicinally balanced, which
are specially cooling to the thirst of
the drunkard and soothing to the dis¬
eased state of his stomach. An apple
or an orange eaten when the desire for
liquor arises would generally take
away that desire. and every victory
would make less strong each recurring
temptation. The function of fresh
fruits and succulent vegetables is not
so much to provide sol’d nourishment
as to supply the needful acids and
salines for the purification of the
blood. Once get the blood pure, every
time its pure nutrient stream bathes j
the several tissues of the body it will
bring away some impurity and leave
behind an atom of healthy tissue until
in time the drunkard shall stand up
purified rue] in his’right mind.”—Chris- j
tiau Work.
Itorn In Gront Britain.
Drunkenness is said lo be on the in¬
crease in Scotland. Last year there
were 5.000 more committals by the
courts than the average for the five
previous years. In Ireland the num¬
ber of licensed liquor shops has great¬
ly increased, but a royal commission
which investigated the question was
unable to determine whether or not
drunkenness had increased. In Eng
land there lias been a large increase in
tiie consumption of beer, but as to
drunkenness there are no facts on j
t0 base a conclusion. There has
been no improvement apparently, and
: that is leaving the case iu a bad light,
Legislation in the interest of temper-
1 does not seem to meet with much
favor Sir John Austin, a Liberal,
who voted in parliament against local
option, was called to account by some
of his constituents. As a result lie re
signed and was then re-elected by an
Increased majority. The opposition of
certain temperance advocates seemed
to help rather than hurt him.—Phila
delphia Press.
The Drinks of Nations.
France drinks more wine than any
European country, the annual quantity
per head being 29V. gallons. English
people drink only 1V4 gills of wine a
year, while our cousins in the United
States drink rather more than half
that quantity. Peer is the drink most
largely taken. The Bavarians are the
world’s champion beer drinkers, for
they absorb no loss than 50 gallons a
head a year. The Belgians drink 43
and English people 30 gallons of beer
every 12 mouths. Uncle Sam only
drinks 12 and M. Frogee five gallons
of beer a head. The average for the
whole of Germany is 25H gallons of
beer.—Exchange.
Jtnkes Pxrpers r.nil tnxaties.
In a recent treatise cn alcoholism by
Trull it is stated that in England 75
per cent of all eases of pauperism are
due to drink and in Germany 90 per
cent. In Germany drink leads to 1,600
cases of suicide a year ami supplies
the insane ayslums with 3,000 victims.
—Selected.
The Beer Gmilen.
Out of every 100 gallons of beer
drank throughout the world Germany
supplies 2S. ,W United Kingdom ST.
the United States IS and Russia, with
all its millions of people, only 2^
Union Signal.
MARSYAS.
Tq hp;|r Apo1 , 0 p . av upon hia lyre;
To struggle bravely, and, not least, to know |
It was a pod that caused our overthrow,
•To feel within us the immortal fire;
What more, forsooth, might earth bom bard de
sire. niggard, bestow.
What more has life, the to
What fate diviner waits us here below
Than this—to live, to strive and to expire?
Thrice happy Marsyas! In the cruel death
The pod, ungenerous in his triumph, pave; |
Didst thou not smile within thy heart to know
That since he hushed thy music laden breath ,
And hid thy gold voiced lute within the grave,
Apollo knew thee for no paltry foe?
—Elizabeth C. Caniozo in Lippincott’s.
g ** FOLLY OF FE8RISI
4
S By Axnos Dunning;.
^ Copyright b-j A:nos Dunning. ^
A dash of crimson, a flash of amber,
a glint of snow—were there ever such
lips, eyes and shoulders?
“Clever, you say? -Most pretty worn
en”—
“Are not?—decidedly—law of compen¬
sation. of course. Dea has too much—
quite unfair—beauty, brain, blood.”
“Brain for what—art?”
Canning tilted his head; the light
searched his keen, tired face: two ugly,
curving wrinkles that bracketed bis
nose deepened into furrows as he
laughed.
“Art—bah—men! It takes brain to
bag birds. That’s Cayns dancing with
her. He’s the latest and got money.
She’ll give him a week at least.”
A waltz wave had swept her close to
them. A swish of foamy skirt, a waft
from a rose, a laugh like a flute, and
the gorgeous, writhing current drew
her in.
Ferris got upon his feet quickly, look¬
ing after her. lie did not know that
he had moved till he heard Canning’s
laugh. He sat down and tried to copy
it, but failed.
“See here,” said Canning.
Ferris looked down. A tiny fluff of
lace lay at his feet.
“One of her tricks,” sneered Can¬
ning.
Ferris picked it up. A morsel of
lawn and lace, with a quaint little
crest in the corner, and a fragrance as
fresh as a shower.
"Not a ballroom breath,” mused Fer
ris. Canning was right—it took brain,
“I’ve tliis two step with her,” said
Canning. “I'll return the tiling if you ■
like.”
Ferris’ hand closed over it. The otli
er saw it and smiled. Ilis smile was
more unpleasant than his laugh, and
Ferris tossed the handkerchief toward
him awkwardly—so awkwardly that it
fell to tin' floor. Canning smiled again
and picked it up.
“Full yourself together, man,” he
said.
lie touched her hand an hour later in
the cotillon. Canning was her partner
again. Ilis pale, close lips curved
slightly as Ferris colored warmly at
the touch. Her heavily scored card of¬
fered nothing, but he took her to a
draft for three minutes and talked
about himself, lie generally talked
about the women.
Slie was gowned in some French cre¬
ation that changed tint like a cloud at
sunset. A big topaz at the waist line
blazed like an evening star. Tiny
swirls of hair were matted upon her j
moist forehead. lie had seen just such
on the damp brows of children when
they were asleep. Her eyes he found
bewildering. They were younger than
lie had expected, with a certain dawn
like look, but the mouth was that of a
woman, with the haughty upper lip of
the well born English girl.
They were guests at the same hotel.
He saw her every day for awhile; then
every hour. Blessed or cursed with a
nature of romance and tire, he loved
her as such men love. As unreasona
hie as vehement, he claimed her very
breath, He winced when Canning 1
spoke to her. He suffered horribly '
when be saw them in the waltz. Cayns
made him jealous; Canning drove him
mad.
“Why do you dance with him?” lie
said to her one evening, crushing her
warm fingers in a cold, unyielding
grasp.
She laughed; her amber colored eyes
sparkled like drops of champagne,
“Othello, you hurt my hands!”
“I believe you used to care for that
fellow,” he said sullenly. “Swear to i
me, Dea. you did not.” :
She tore her hands away and raised
one tragically. “I swear,” she cried,
“Hamlet, this time!”
“So she's giving you a fortnight,”
said Canning one morning,
Ferris l’a d him quickly; he was n
trike pale about the mouth. *‘I don't
undeistand you,” lie said.
"If you understand Dea it's suffi
eient.” He smiled his inscrutable
smile, “My room’s at your service,”
he added, “I’m off for more royal
spoit. Its cooler. I believe, than your
quarters; better snap it up while you
cau -
lie left the next evining. Ferris
drew a long, free breath. Absurd, too.
Ws jealousy of Canning! What had he
e\ er dene / Danced with Dea as much
» otbm. loved her not as well.
t0 liave a sort cf friendly
feeling for the fellow as he entered the
loom just made vacant^ by his depar-
ture and hastily dropped his trans
The night was intensely warm,
place stifling. Ha crossed to an
window and pulled back o
blind. flood a <> a ^
A of silvery fl ame str
ed in as from a searchlight-heated
white heat, it seemed to him, f
hot. or
very moon was He turned
from sunlight, then all a
at once stop]
Midwaj in the shining path across
carpet a small, snowy object like a tfl
<j r ift 0 f moonlight catlgllt his eye.
one dizzy, numbing moment he std
dully gazing at it; still, as if the ma
of the moonlight had turned instni] him!
blanching stone. The next
with fatal acuteness, his eye had d
voured each proof; the quaint curve <
the wavy lace border, the curious litt
crest.
He took a rigid step or two forwrJ I
and picked the handkerchief up. hel
was hours to him till he reached
She was peering over the baleonl ljgj
alone and gowned for a ball. The
that had darkened him wholly wJ
making of her a dream. Never beautiful befoJ
had she looked to him so
never before had lie wanted to seenid kill
She smiled like lost angels, it
to him. The white roses on her breua
were red as wine. I j
“I’ve waited so long!” she said.
He halted where the moonlight eJ
keenest. He looked at her, but did u|
speak. She slowly approached, as [J 1
drawn by him, her eyes searching
face. “What is it?” she cried shrl |
in a
whisper. “Why do you look like towaJ that!
He thrust the handkerchief
her. It fell limply at her feet. stoppJ Deal
wounds make men brutal. He
for uo delicate sheath. 1
“You dropped this in Canning’s madl qua!
ters. He warned me. but I was
He turned upon bis heel. 1
Two years later, in southern Europ) ske|
he met Canning. Half mad, half ol
etou. he found him. with a grip
fleeing “I’m life like going death itself. die,” he tl j
not to said
Ferris. *Tve half a lung left yet a;i|
mean to live on it ten years. Tills isnl
deathbed talk, mind you. You cal
use me as you like. I don’t say it fol
your sake, either. It’s the woman I ll
thinking about. I played you a trie!
once, Ferris. It hurt her, too, howl id
ever. I didn’t think of that. You
member she dropped her handkerchief j
the night you saw her first. Well,
didn't give it back to her. I fanciel
the thing later. myself. An student idea occurred Shake! t]
me I'm a of
pea re, you know. I dropped it in mi
room on leaving. I knew most likell
you’d find it, and I knew well lioJ
you’d rage. The* trick would bars ski
failed if you’d deserved her, but
picked you from all the sound ones-l
stupid way women have.” A raucoil
cough stopped him. He went on witl
scanty breath. I
“Co to her, Ferris. It’s only twl
years. Women like that can’t forge!
Make it up, I say. It did little hand
It only put it off awhile. It only gar] fd
spice to the thing.” He reached
the railing with a clutch.
Ferris turned slowly. The ciga
within his grasp was a rag; his eye
were hollowed out like graves; he wa
gray to the neek.
"She married Cayns,” he said.—N oa
Y ork Press.
Garfield Renien»l>erc<l.
B. “When Fas hr, I "1 was 10 years old,” school said and W|
ran away from
enlisted in Garfield's regiment, t!i
Forty-second Ohio. Down in easterl
Kentucky, Garfield, who, altliougl
only a colonel, was brigade cod
mander. organized a raid on Pound
Gap, a strong position, and personal!]
selected a detachment from each coin
pany in the regiment to take part id
the attack. I wasn’t lucky enough tq
be selected for the work, but 1 wai
crazy to go, and when the cavalry
started out I borrowed a mule from
the quartermaster when lie wasn't
looking and went with the mountec
troops, who hid me. !
“la clue tied season mule I found and joined my regij tlnj
meat, my Tiled
ranks. Well, we took the place. madcj
I went back to my mule and
tracks fer the camp. It was dark, and
I lost my way and remained missing
five days. After 1 returned 1 was
marched up to Garfield, who examined
me, listened to what I had to say and
then sent me to my tent under arrest;
telling me I would be court inartiaiecj
Five minutes later a boat came dowi
the river carrying Garfield’s commas
sion as a brigadier general and order
ing him to join Thomas with his com
maud, and in the flurry my case v,a
forgotten. 1
“Yoars after the war I attended.
reunion of my regiment in Ashland!
and the first thing Garfield said wlieri
he saw me was, ’Look here. Fasig.
you never had that court martial 1
promised you.’”—Cleveland Plata
Dealer.
---I
-
Citation.
s*T ATE OF GEORGI \_ Dodge Count
ri.<\ Newman administrator of upo
the estate of Rosa Newman late
county, deceased, having filed his pea
tion for discharge. This is to cite
persons the anting concerned of ! to show ''' cause 'f' agni tj
gi .'j’YeTidottthe or dina
ti
• rw, eem ber 1899. This j
d Q f September 1809.
’ Jno. W. Bohannon, Ordinar ;