Newspaper Page Text
OFFICIAL okgan
— OP —
FRANKLIN county.
VOL II. NO. 46.
Telling the Bees. ■Sf'
Out of the house where the stumberer lay
Grandfather came one summer day,
And under the ploasant orchard trees
He spake this wise to the slumbering bees:
••The clover bloom that kissed her feet
And the posie bed where she used to
play
Have honey store, but none so sweet
As ere our little one went away.
0 bees, sing soft, and bees sing low,
For she is gone who loved you so!”
A wonder fell on the listening bees
Under those pleasant orchard trees,
Ami in their toil that summer day
Ever their murmuring seemed to say t
eChild, 0 child, the grass is cool
And the posies arc waking to hear the
song
Of the bird that sings by the shaded pool,
Waiting for one that tarrieth long!”
t'fiyas so they called to the little one then,
As if to call her back again.
0 gentle bees, X have come to say
That grandfather fell asleep today.
And we know by the smile on grandfather’s
face
lie has found bis dear one's hiding place.
So bees, sing soft, and bees, sing low,
As over the honey fields you sweep;
To the trees abloom and the (lowers ablow
Sing of grandfather fast asleep.
And ever beneath these orchard trees
Uind cheer and shelter, gentle bees.
—[Eugene Field in Chicago News.
ALDA,
“I never was so flabbergasted in my
life!” said Miss Miriam Mills.
“So—what?” queried the deacon.
Alias Miriam laughed.
“Yes, I know,” said she, “I don’t
s'pose you can find the word in the
dictionary. But it expresses just ex¬
actly my moanin’. I'm puzzled—driv
to my wit’s end.” 3
The deacon laid down the whetstone
wherewith lie was sharpening .his
scyihe blade.
“Wliat about, Miriam?” said lie.
“About Alda. There’s her name,
to begin with!”
“It is sort of a queer name,” ad¬
mitted the deacon, smiling.
He was not a young man, but when
he smiled his whole rugged face
lighted up, like a beam of sunshine
on a rough rock, and his dark-gray
eyes sparkle J.
Opposito him stood Miss Miriam,
tail and lean, like a bean-pole, dressed
in lilac calico, and topped off with a
kuob of sandy hair.
She was fully ten years older than
the deacon, aud by virtue of those ten
years ruled him as au indulgent
mother rules * little boy.
“But I could get along with that,”
Said Miriam. “She didn’t name her¬
self, an’ I don’t s’pose she’s to blame
for the ontlandishness of the thing.
But I can’t do nothin’ with her. That’s
why I’m flabbergasted!”
“You picked her out yourself,
didn’t you, at the Home for Homeless
Girls?”
“Of course I did. But she don’t
'pear like the same girl now that she
did then. She was a little downcast
thing,* as pale as a sheet, and quiver¬
ing all over, if you did but look at
her, ku’ ’twas all you could do to get
‘Yes’ an’ ‘No’ out of her. But now—”
“Well, ain’t she quiet enough
how?”
“Quiet! I heord the greatest
screechin’ yesterday, an’ I ran to tlie
ten-acre medder, makiii’ sure tlie
black hull had broke loose, an’ there
Was Alda on the very tiptop of Bal¬
loon Rock, with her hands clasped
)ver her head, hollerin’.
*< ( Mercy me!’ says I, ‘what’s the
matter?’
*< i Nothin’,’ says she, lookin’ sheep¬
ish. ‘But the sun shone an’ the birds
Was whistlin’, an’ I felt just like
ringin’. Mother used to sing,’ says
‘Where?’ says I.
“ ‘On tlie stage,’ says she.
(• i An omnibus stage?’ says I.
“ ‘No,’ says she; ‘where the people
and the footlights are. But mother
died o’ consumption,’ says site.
“And last week i went out to the
barn to git some eggs, aud there sho
was curled up in the haymow, readin’.
“Alda, says I, ‘why ain’t you to
work? I set you to weedin’ them
young beets.
“ *1 did weed 'em’ says she, Hill I
was ti cd; and I’m goin’ back to work
when I’m rested.’
“‘Look here,’ says 1, ‘this won’t
Jo! You can’t come and go as you
Dioose. You’re my girl now, and
you’ve got to do as I say.’
“And she never answered a word,
but just threw down the book and
flashed out like a streak o’ lightnin’.
And there in the barn chamber, when
I went into it, was the biggest lot o’
(ixins! She had partitioned it off
with the horse blankets, and there-was
Die wooden settee in one, and a lot o’
posies in no handled pitcher in an.
other, and a lot of old picture-papers
in another.
“AUlal’ says T, callin' out of the
window, -what’s all this?’
i « ‘It’s home,’says she.
“‘Fiddlesticks!’says 1. ‘Come and
THE ENTERPRISE.
clear It alt right out. I xvaut this
room to stoic thiugs in.’
“Ami then she bogan to cry,
“ ‘I never had a home before,’ says
she. ‘Can’t l keep this one?’ ’’
“Poor child!” said the deacon, fcel-
ing the odge of his scythe to sec if
it \vn9 sharp enough. “It was ’most
a pity to disturb tho place, wau't it?”
“Child!” echoed Alias Miriam.
“Why, she’s sixteen—old enough not
to want a play-place like a baby.”
The deacon was silent. IIow could
he make his practical, level-headed
sister comprehend the sentiment of
the tiling?
“Slio’s a pretty good worker, ain’t
she?” said lie.
“Vos—by fits and starts. But you
can’t never depend on her. I tell you,
William, that play-actin’ blood’s in
hor, and there's no gettin’ it out. Sho
dances and sings and flics around like
all possessed as long as she feels like
it, and then she seems to think that
‘boiu’ tired’ is a sufficient excuse for
anything. I asked her t'ither day why
she was so different now from what I
noticed at tbo Home, and says she,
‘Oh, I was struck dumb for fear you
wouldn’t take me! I was so tired of
that place! And if you hadn't took
me, I should have run away.’
u i Alda,’ says l, ‘you mustn’t talk
so.
“ ‘Well, I should,’ says she.”
“Poor little girlsaid Mr. Millis.
“There she comes now, with her
apron full o’ wild red plums!” said
Miss Miriam, with a start. “And I
left her washin’ down by the brook.
Why can’t she slick to her work?”
For Miss Mills, like many another
good housekeeper, had made an out¬
door laundry in the summer time in a
sliady nook by the brook, where a
huge kettle boiled under a gipsy crotch
and the water supply bubbled past
over a bed of stones.
Alda Black came slowly up the path.
She was auburn-haired, with one of
those radiant complexions that are
slightly marred by freckles, and red¬
dish hazel' eyes full of weird lights—
a strauge-look ing girl, yet singularly
attractive.
“See what I found iu the woods,
she said composedly.
Miss Miriam pushed aside her
trophies with such abruptness that
Die red plums flew this way and that.
“I don’t care what you found,”
said she. “What business had you iu
the woods?” Hare you finished tlie
washing?”
“1 couldn’t,” shivered Alda. “It
made my arms ache so. I never
washed before.”
“Then it's high time you learned,
said Miss Miriam. “Go back to your
tubs, and don’t let mo see vour face
again till the wash is all done. It’s
not a heavy one, and I’ve told you just
how to do it.”
Alda’s countenance fell,
“Am I to work all (he time?” said
she passionately.
“That’s what we’re put into this
world for,” said Miss Mills, clidac i-
cally.
‘T don’t like to work,” pleaded
Aida. “Not all the time, I mean."
“It don’t matter what you like or
what you don’t like,” said Miss
Miriam, sternly. “Go back and finish
that washing at once!”
Alda looked at her mistress with
slant red lights in those wonderful
haze! eyes of hors. For a second it
seemed as if downright rebellion were
impending.
The deacon, still polishing the glit¬
tering scyihe blade, awaited the cli¬
max, not without interest.
But finally the girl turned around
and went back to the shady spot where
the kettles boiled and the water went
singing by.
And there, as afterward transpired,
she sat, reading an old story paper,
and eating late blackberries, until the
horn blew for dinner.
“I was tired,” she said indifferently.
“I eoutd’nt work any more.”
Miss Miriam’s slender thread of
patience gave way, at this last trans¬
gression.
“William,” said she to her brother,
“I’ve made up my mind at last. Aunt
Dorcas Keep wants a ‘help’ up in the
Black Woods. Aunt Dorcas is a wo¬
man who won’t stand no nonsense.
She was matron in the penitentiary
for ten years. If there’s any work in
Alda, Aunt Dorcas Keep ’ll got it out
of her. I'll send Alda there instead
o’going myself, this harvest time! ’
“Amt it a pretty rough place to
send the child, asked De.tcou Mills,
dubiously.
‘‘H’» just the sort of place she
needs!” retorted his sisler. “I wish
you’d harness up and take her over
right away. I must get rid of Akin
somehow.” j
But (he house seemed slrangely j
lonesome when piercing Alda Black voice, was caroling gone, j
The sweet, !
out the refrain of old ballads, the mer-J
Equal Rights to ail, Special Privileges to None.
OARNESVILLF, FllANKUN CO.. GA„ FRIDAY, NOYFMRHR 20.1891.
ry laugh, the glancing to and fro of
the shining red-brown head, tho
masses of wild-flowers which the girl
was wont to put everywhere, worn
missed beyond all Miriam Mills’ cal¬
culation. Still she scorned to com
plain.
Put one April day the deacon cams
in and found her oil the calico cush¬
ioned settoe, witli a white, drawn
face.
“It’s that old rheumatic pain again.
William,” said she. “I—1 guess you’d
better go arter Alda again. 1 need some-
one to help me, and I somehow think
Alda would suit me. Aunt Dorcas
will spare her, I know.”
“Miriam,” said the deacon, soberly,
I wasn’t meanin’ to tell yon, but
Alda ain’t over in the B ack Woods
any more. Aunt Dorcas Keep she
worked the girl pretty hard, and Alda
ran away.”
“Han away! Oh, I hope she ain't
fell into no bad hands!” gasped Miss
Miriam.
“She went (o the pastor's house.
Tho pastor's wife took her ill, and sho
writ to me—Alda wanted her to write
—that she'd make a good home for tho
child. They wero educatin’ her up,
and trainin’ that sweet voice of liers
for the choir, odd times, when she
wasn't workin’ about (lie house. And
I’ve hcerd tell sho was engaged to
tho organist, a likely young lelier that
owned a good farm there.”
Miss Miriam uttered a groan.
“Then,” said she, “she won’t
come!”
“We might try,” said the deacon.
And he wont fer Neighbor Dailey’s
wife to slay with Miriam while lie
hitched up the horse and drove to Put-
ney Parsonage.
Alda ran joyously out to meet him.
How she had changed 1 How tho good
pastoress had trained and civilized
her! To the deacon, who had not
seen a woman under sixty, except on
Sundays, all winter long, her beauty
seemed fairly dazzling. Yes, she
would go to take care of Miss Miriam.
Of course she would go 1 Wasn’t it
Miss Miriam that first released her
from tho bondage of tlie unhomelike
“Home?” Did Miss Miriam really
want to see her? Oh, if Miss Miriam
only knew how she, Alda, had longed
to see the farm again and the wash-
place by the brook and the Balloon
Rook!
Yes, of course she would go! And
George Ailee, fhe young organist,
himself helped carry her trunk out to
the deacon’s wagon.
But not until they were well out
upon the road did Alda look up into
tho deacon’s face with brimming eyes,
and say:
“Oli, 1 have been so homesick—so
deadly homesick to see Miss Miriam
again—and you!”
“Me!” repeated the deacon; and
every drop iu his voins seemed turned
to little tingling prickles. “Me,
Alda?”
Miss Miriam received Alda with
open arms.
“Child,” said she, “I never knew
how much I should miss you. After
this you must never go and leave me
any more—unless,” cheeking herself
abruptly, “it is true about Mr. Atlee.
Arc you really engaged, Alda?”
Alda colored rosy-red.
“Oh, Miss Miriam, I am married!”
she confessed.
•‘Married! Oh, Alda!” groaned
Miss Mills. “Then you never can
stay here—”
“Yos, sho can, loo!” broke in the
deacon, his countenance all one broad
beam. “It’s me that she’s married to.
It come to me all of a sudden on tlie
way home that I loved the girl, that J
couldn’t noways do without lier. And
she said she loved me—”
“Yes, 1 did!” broke out Alda, with
shining eyes.
“And we jest stopped at tho Meth-
odist minister’s and got married. So
Alda will stay and nurse you after
all.”
“And she’s welcome as flowers in
May?” said the spinster, [after a mo¬
ment of bewilderment. “But I do
declare, I ncror thought o’ that way
out of it!”—[Saturday Night.
(Jnite Delicate.
Mrs. Gabo (hostess)—Your little
son does not appear to have much ap-
petite.
Mrs. Gadd—No, he’s quite delicate.
Mrs. Gabb—Can’t you think of any¬
thing yon would like, my little man ?
I>iuIe Man-No, 'm. You see, mom
ma( j e me *eat a hull lot before we start-
ed, so I wouldn’t make a pig of my-
gelf ,_^Good News.
“-*----
L’ouldn’t See.
“Why don’t you look and see where
you are going?" said the needle to the
pin.
“How ean 1, when I haven’t an eye
-n my head?” was the pin’s meek ro-
I'ly-
'
TUB PURSER.
:
a Steamship Official Wlxose
Duties are Many.
Takes tho Tickets, Keeps the
Log and Hunts Stowaways.
Tho purser ou an Atlantic liner
wears one gold stripe, on a black
,
velvet band. He is one of tho most
important officers of the ship, and lie
has all sorts of things to do. llo is
I in charge of the passenger dopavt-
i mont and all stores, and signs nil
requisitions with the chief steward.
j J llo is tho financial agent collects of the own- tbo
ers aboard ship. Ho
! tickets from the passengers, secs tlmt
they are all properly berthed, and
acts as a general business manager,
j All malls are in Ids charge, transmission and any is
j specie on the ship in
in Ids personal care, and while it is
J on board he must not leave the ship.
The purser’s work at sea begins
1 with (he muster of the crew before
the passengers come aboard. After tho
muster of Hie crow is dismissed all
the steerage and second cabin passen¬
gers are mustered, and have to pass
the ship’s doctor and a Board of Trade
man. After that the purser receives
tlie saloon passengers and settles them
in their rooms. That generally takes
the time of the tirsfc day. There are
’ disputes
always in tho busy season
about rooms mid berths which lie must
settle. Everybody who wants to know
anything about the ship asks tho pur-
scr. lie is expected to run a bunk for
the accommodation of the passengers
| ami to decide bets in spoiling events.
People who want to change their
berths have to see him, and those who
do not want anything come to see 1dm
because they don’t want anything,
llis offico bell rings all the time. Bills
for storage, cartage ami such tilings,
incurred through the office, are brought
! to him to be paid and then disputed.
i All in all, his life is about as pleasant
as the chief steward’s.
; The morning after leaving port lie
j takes the steerage and second cabin
; tickets. The steerage passengers arc
all mustered at one end of the ship
and the other end is carefully searched.
Then the tickets are taken and the
passengers allowed to go to tho end
of tlie ship which has been searched,
while the other end is searched. In
this way nobody escapes and stow¬
aways are caught. The second cabin
passengers are mustered in the saloon
and their tickets taken. They are then
sent on deck and (he cabin searched.
The saloon passengers givo their
tickets to the bedroom stewards, who
when ho has gathered all tho tickets
for his section turns them over to his
purser. There are several lists which
the purser must make out while at sea.
On west-bound passages he makes out
three passenger manifests, one for the
.State Board of Immigration and two
for the custom officers. These lists
I give the name, age, sex, residence,
| nativity, and and occupation number of of each pieces pas¬ of
senger, tlie
his bnggage. The cargo manifest for
the custom officers is a complete list
of all pieces of cargo, the names of
i the shipper and consignee, tho marks
on tlie boxes and a description of the
goods. All packages of freight of
! value are taken in personal charge
by the purser and licked in specie
vaults.
Every morning at 10 1-2 o’clock he
goes witli the doctor and chief officer
I on an inspection of the ship. Four
or five other times during the day he
| makes the rounds, and always the last
thing ho does at night before turning
in is to make an inspection. There
are a hundred little things for him to
do, such as changing money and mak-
; ing the Associated Press abstract of
the log. He is the only one author-
ized to send lel'ers and telegrams
ashore by the pilot at Sandy Hook or
at Queenstown, lie keeps the crew
list and the articles and makes up tlie
official log of the ship, in which is
kept Die record and of all occurrences by of j
interest of all offences tho j
crow. This is done for the Board of I
Trade, so that when the men are paid
off iu Liverpool by the purser, for
every tine or deduction from their
wages lie must show the entry of the
occurrence of the offence in his official
tog book. —[New York Sun.
How a ,Spanish Nobleman Won a
Hazardous Wager,
A wealthy gentleman of B isque
descent lived in (he city of Mexico,
He was a good deal of a madcap and
noted f or i,j s daring eccentricities.
The reigning ” especially Viceroy, a Spanish noble-
nia „ w g objectionable to
him, and one day when (he Basque
gentleman was among some lively and
,. on g e „; a | friends, talk fell on the law ;
w hieli provided that no one other than
the Viceroy might drive about with
spotted horses. This was a privilege
which tho Viceroys wero very zealous
in maintaining.
As a result of tho discussion tho
Basque gentleman, something of a
“ealavera,” as they say in Spanish—
a wild fellow ns wo would put it—
wagered with a Mexican marquis that
he would himself hitch four spotted
horses into his coach,and drivo through
tho principal streets of Mexico. Twon-
by thousand dollars was tho amount
of the wager.
In a few days a handsome coach,
with four spotted horses, was driven
up the main avenue of the city past
the present Iturbido llotol to tho very
gates of tho vicoregal palnco. The
coach was driven several times up and
down in front of the palace, while
sentries presented arms, thinking it to
be tbo viceregal coach. Some one ran
up stairs and informed the Viceroy
himself of the presence in tho stroct
of a coach with spotted horses, and
out went the pompous Spanish vice-
king to a balcony to see, with his own
eves, tho defiance of his privilege and
infraction of the law.
The Basquo gentleman leaned out
of the window, saluted the A’iceroy
most graciously, and then ordered the
coachman to enter tho main courtyard
of the palace. Oil reaching the very
heart of the viceregal authority the
Basque alighted, passed gravely up
the staircase to the viceregal apart¬
ments, and, to the astonished and
dazed functionary, said: “Knowing
how fond you were of horses, I have
come to present you with a coacli and
four as an expression of my sincere
admiration!”
Tho Viceroy, perforce, had to nc-
copt (lie handsome gift, and could say
nothing.
The coacli and horses cost $3000,
and the clever Basquo pocketed $17,-
000 profit when tho wager was set-
tlod. — [Boston Herald.
Fibre From Palmetto Leaves.
Near Jacksonville, Fla., a company
1ms commenced the business of con¬
verting tho leaves of the common
scrub palmetto iuto a fibre fit for com.
morcial purposes. The process oi
transformation is not at all compli.
cated. The work is done by a machine
so simple in construction that a boy
can manipulate it. The leaves of the
palmetto arc placed between washers
and are carried by them into a box
furnished with two revolving cylin¬
ders, each having teeth that tear the
leaves lengthwise into long strips.
This process finally divosts them of
tho soft vegetable parts which enter
into their composition, nothing re¬
maining but the tough fibre. This is
then forced down a chute to a lower
floor, where It is dried and packed in
bales ready for shipment, Although
the industry is yet in its infancy,many
uses have bceu already found for the
fibre, tlie principal demand at the
present time being for stuffing mat¬
tresses and upholstered furniture. It
costs only about one-fourth as much
as moss. — [Carpet and Upholstery
Trade Review.
Horse .Superstitions in Arabia.
The horse is involved in tlie most
ancient superstitions of the people oi
Arabia. They believed him to be en¬
dowed with a nature superior, not in
degree only, but in kind, to that of alt
other animals, and to have been
framed by the Almighty with a special
regard to the convenience of man.
One of their oldest proverbs tells them
that the horse is the most eminent of
dumb brutes, and that the most meri¬
torious of domestic actions is that of
feeding him. Mohamet liimsclf incul¬
cated a lesson of kindness to the horse
when ho said; “As many grains of
barley as are contained in the food we
give a horse, so many indulgences do
we daily gain by giving it.” Tho be¬
lief is widespread in the East that all
pure Arabian horses arc descended
from Mohamet’s five favorilo mares,
upon one of which the prophet lied
from Mecca to Medina.—[St. Louis
Republic.
A Fun-Loving Seal.
The mother seal at the /oo got
rather gay last Sunday afternoon
while a big crowd of ladies, gentle -
men and children was standing around
eagerly watching the baby seal. The
mother seal would watch and see
where the crowd was thickest, slide
quietly under the water, come up
close as possible to where the crowd
was, and then, with seemingly pure
deviltry, jump up andsplash the water
in such a way as to cover anti wet
every one within twenty feet. And
it kept this sort of fun up all the
afternoon. No matter on which side
of the tank the crowd got, the seal
would make a quiet sneak under the
water, a,l(1 Dion, quick as lightning,
sll0w "P ,,ear t,lC clow ‘l and get in its
Hinny business.—[Cincinnati En-
quirer,
CHILDREN’S COLUMN.
HAltOT.D AND THK MOOS.
Harold, our darling 2-year-old,
Awaking suddenly last night,
Was very restless till mamma
Showed him tho heavens sparkling bright
Then, looking straight up at the moon,
He gave a merry little shout
Am' said, "Oh, what ft g’ate big lamp
An’ me’a a-goiti’ to blow it out.”
Ills blue eyes shining and his mouth
Looking like rosebud red in June,
He blew and blow and lo! a cloud
That moment passing, hid the moon.
“Me did it,” cried lie as ho turned
And tiling his dimpled arms about
His mother’s neck. “Mo said me would.
Me blowed so bard me blowcd it out.”
—[Detroit Free Press,
Tllli LETTER M.
It is a curious fact that the sound of
the letter M is, in almost all tho known
languages, to bo found in tho word
which stands for mother and muse.
Perhaps this comes from the fact that
it represents u sound existing in nonrly
every spoken speech, ntul has tho same
pronunciation in them all; and being
exceedingly easy to utter, ulmost
speaking itself, as it wore, it is one of
the first sounds that children make,
und naturally becomes mamma.
THU KAIi OF cottx.
A farmer went into his Hold with
his little son to see whether tho corn
would soon be ripe.
“Father, how is it,” said the boy,
that some stalks bend so low and oth¬
ers hold their heads so high?”
The father plucked oft' two ears
and said: “See, this ear which bent
modestly if full of the finest corn,
hut that which stretched upward
proudly is quite barren and empty.”
* ‘To carry one’s bend very high,
Is often the sign of vanity."
a hi:n takes cake of a kitten.
Tho little 8-yoar-old son of Ilarrv
Alexander has a hen at his home in
Now Berne that is taking*caro of a
young kitten in the place of a brood
of chickens, and it is apparently as
fond and proud of it as though it were
a young chick. The boy found Bidilie
sitting on her nost in tho barn, and
putting his hand beneath her to seo
what she was hovering was surprised
to find tlio kitten, The foster rnothor
was very indignant and vexed wheu
her little charge was temporarily re¬
moved, and picked viciously at the
boy’s band when lie removed it. It
was returned to the nost. It was sup¬
posed some cat had taken her young
offspring to the nost for safety, and
the female gallus domestiens insisted
on taking it in charge. There is no
accounting for the strange freak taken
now and then by some animals in
adopting ami caring for the young of
sonio other species. —[Now Orleans
Picayune.
swallows and chows.
Among the courageous small birds
may be counted the family of swab
lows. The writer lias often seen burn
swallows fly downward and peek at
the cat and dog, and more than once
a sharp twitter, a whir of wings and u
peck on the liat has romlnded lier,
when standing in the barn door, that
sho was intruding on tlie swnllows’
precincts.
About a half-mile from the house is
a high bank which is the homo of a
colony of bank swallows. The earth
for some distance is thickly perfo¬
rated with the roundish holes leading
into their nests.
Not far from this batik a quantity
of corn was one day scattered by acci¬
dent upon the ground. Tho crows
were quick to discover what had Imp.
pened, and swooped down and began
to dovour the windfall.
Homo of the swallows spied Xlicin at
once and gave the alarm. I chanced
to be setting beneath a tree in full
view of the scene. In less than a
minute after the crows had settled to
feeding, more than a hundred of the
bank swallows had darted from their
holes, and with angry twitters fell
upon the intruders.
The attack was a complete surprise
to tho big black fellows, and, as if
realizing tho futility of trying to
cope with their small assailants, they
rose from tlie ground in a body and
took flight.
The swallows pursued them darting,
diving, striking at thorn, above, below
and from both sides. The crows were
routed completely ami took refuge in
a dense piece of woods a quarter of a
mile away, Then the triumphant
swallows turned about and sailed
homeward, uttering many chirps and
twitters of satisfaction as they flew.
For tlie hour or more that I re¬
mained in the field not a crow was to
be seen near the corn. The swallows
were masters of the field.— [Youth’s
Companion.
Teacher—What is the capital of Cal¬
ifornia? Freddy Fangle—Its glorious
climate.
OFFICIAL ORGAN
— OB’ THE—
FRANKLIN COUNTY ALLIANCE
$1.00 PER YEAR.
What, is Love?
Love Is joy, and love is sorrow,’
Love Is sweet and liittor, too
I.ovo Isold as all creation,
Yet is love forever new. ,
Love is deep, and love is cruel;
I,ove Is tender, love is kind;
Love will come not at. your bidding,
Yet no pluco but love will find.
I.ove will die unflinching for yon;
Love will kill as quick as bate;
Love will brave the wrath of thunders,
Yet will weep if barred by fate.
You that love can have my pity,
You that have not loved at all,
I will hope out of compassion,
Love will soon give you a call.
—[Llbbic C. Baer in Arkansaw Traveler,
HUMOROUS.
A tramp spends his life going to
dinner.
A new choirmaster in a church
ought to make everything just hum.
It is singular how a surgeon retains
his popularity when lie so often cuts
his friends.
First dude—1 say—aw—where did
you get your hair cut? Second dude—
On my head.
Man—Why don’t you follow somo
trade? Tramp—I did sorr; but I nivor
caught up wid it.
Mrs. Strong—The greatost thing is—
wliat you are! Hor Pretty Niece—
Wrong,auntio;tho great thing is, what
you wear.
“Oh, what a precious little money
bank,” exclaimed a visitor at the Jan¬
gles us sho examined Freddy’s birth¬
day gift. “Yes,” said Freddy, “and
thcro’s precious little money in it,
too. ”
He—“So you positively will not
give mo one kiss? And I had a ten-
dollar hot with Tom Bieklos that you
would.” She—“I am sorry for yon,
but I have a bet with him of a box of
gloves that I would not.”
“In those idyllic days,” began the
new boarder, “butterflies—” “In¬
deed it does,” interrupted the land¬
lady as she snatched the butter plate,
“but you’re tlie first one that had tho
consideration to speak of it.”
“Isn’t it a wonderful lesson for
man—tlie way a canary eaged for life
sings and sings and sings all the
time.” “Lesson? I think it is a bad
example. If a man were as vindic.
tivo as that he’d ho executed.”
Chief of Police—“Have you given
any work to that crack detective put
on by the board?” Captain—“JIo hnd
one job.” Chief—“Did ho eatcli
’em?” Captain—“Catch’em: Why,
say, chief, tiiat feller couldn’t catch
cold.”
Young Musliman—“Miss Clawa,
beg pawdon, but wccently your man-
nah, dontchor know, quite dislwosses
me. Perhaps you arc not awaah of it,
but you liavo acquiahcd u chwonio
habit of stawmg at vacancy.’’ Miss
Clara—“You silly boy! How cun I
help it without being inattentive to
you?"
Extraordinary Provision of Nature.
A wonderful place is Timijas, about
thirty miles soul Invest of Mission
Camp, Arizona. The mountains at
this point have one face of hard,
smo’oth granite. All tlie waters falling
on this entire basin are, by a most ex¬
traordinary provision of nature, com¬
bined with the efforts of primitive
man, made to (low through a succes¬
sion of nine wells or tanks, carved in
tlie solid granite of which tho moun¬
tain is composed. These remarkable
receptacles are placed or excavated,
one above the oilier, the upper tanks
being approachable only by a difficult
aud circuitous route through a perfect
chaos of gigantic deluchcd bowlders.
The lower tanks are easy of access,
and are often drained of (heir con¬
tents by men and animals traveling
between Yuma and Sonora. To one
standing at the foot of the mountain
on which Die upper tanks are situa¬
ted no indication of (heir existence is
afforded, nor does climbing the
smooth, steep mountain side seem
possible to one unacquainted with the
way. This latter fact is not deplora¬
ble, because Din upper tanks have
never been known to be dry. Within
two miles of these Arizonian wonders
are certainly L50 or 200 graves, each
marked by rows of stones laid in tlio
form of a cross. These are Die rest¬
ing places of men, famished for
water, who had expended their last
strength in reaching Timijas, only to
find the lower (auks dry, and, ignorant
of Die upper ones, had lain down in
despair to die. — [St. Louis Republic.
Encouraging.
Firs' Youlh (at Railway depot)—
Traveled far?
Second Youth—Not vet, but I ex¬
pect to before I stop. I am going
West to seek my fortune.
First Youth—I just got back. Lend
me a dime, will you?—(Good News-