Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

W. B. JinrCKY, Editor. VOL. 11. There is no present prospect that work will bo renewed on the Panama Canal. The New York Telegram concludes that the Cherokee Nation is not likely to sell its lands. It has been calculated that tho rail¬ roads of the world are worth nearly $300,000,000,000. The Louisiana lottery has offered to assume the State debt of $12,000,000 for an extension of its license for fifty years. The balance of trade against Canada during the last fiscal year was $17,000,- 000, or $6,000,000 worse than tlie previous year. • The New York Sun is startled at dis¬ covering that the internal revenue of the United States is increasing more rapidly than the customs revenue. The Massachusetts Legislature has done well, thinks the New York Com¬ mercial Advertiser , in making it a penal offence to dock the tails of horses. The startling and highly important in¬ formation that the Shah of Persia has taken to wearing a silk hat instead of a jeweled turban has recently been cabled from Europe to America. i Before the recent Presbyterian General Assembly in New York the Rev. L. L. Coffin said that 2700 brakemen were killed and 20,000 injured every year - od the railroads of this country. Tho Alaskan seal fisheries must be protected, declares the New Orleans Times-Democrat, or they will be totally destroyed within a few brief years, and thus a great and unique industry anni¬ hilated. Dogs are to he enrolled and trained in the British Army. They are to act as auxiliary sentinels, as scouts on the march, as despatch carriers, as searchers for the wounded and as auxiliary ammuni¬ tion carriers. The New Haven (Conn.) Register will give $100 for a properly authenticated case wherein the cucumber ever did any¬ one harm, “The vegetable has been shamefully maligned and insulted,” this champion claims. ‘ ‘If some museum man wants a chamber of horrors, ” says the Minneapolis Tribune, “why doesn’t he hire Chicago?” Or if he wants a deserted village, retorts the Chicago Times, why doesn’t he make a date with Minneapolis? President Carnot, of France, is very fond of Americans, and is cultivating sedulously the society of our countrymen now in Paris. At his receptions more Americans are to be found than in any drawing-room in Europe. Various bodies have petitioned the Pennsylvania Legislature lor so many legal holidays that, according to the Detroit Free Press, each day in the week, including Sunday, would have been a holiday had the petitions been granted. Dr. Rosenberg, a New York chiropo¬ dist,tells the Epoch of a little patient that he was called upon to treat. It is a year aud a hail’ old and has three corns and two in-growing nails, although it has never walked. By the aid of cocaine the operation on its tiny feet was rendered roiil1 s3 - •ing the last sixteen months,” says pondent of the London Times ‘ ‘only £ (jfj^ves were imported . ■ ■ "have been only n veqn private per- ’ Aie reckoned tici [ number of irivate fami- Kiks to the It effectual ibis class of learncst lorce of [for ins the 8 Com- iugh to the a if E d - (ell sum JASPER, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, AUGUST 2, 188!). TWO SONGS. i. So sweet, so sweet, sho sang, is love, Lifting the cup to lips that laughed, Drinking the deep enchantment off, Fire, spice, and honey in tho draught. n. So sad, so sad, she sighed, is love, Bitter tho lees, and black the art That from the deep enchantment wrings A spell to break a woman’s heart! —Harriet P. Spofford, in Harper. FOUND AT DRURY’S RLUFF. by rniLip JAKVIS. “Phil, my boy, wish me good luck! I’m going to ask Mildred Graves to marry me before I go. ” My God! I wish him luck in winning the woman who was all the world to me! The one woman whom I had loved from my boyhood’s days! All the savage in my nature was aroused into fury at the thought that he dared to aspire to what was mine, by the right of long years de¬ votion. I could have throttled him as he stood there—so handsome and debonair —so self-reliant and confident of success. Yet what claims had I upon her affec¬ tions? The hot blood grew cold; my fierce wrath died out. How could I be ' sure she might not love him best? Was he not finer-looking, more agreeable than I, a man in every respect better calculated to win a girl’s fancy? Mildred and I had been friends from our school days, the most intimate friends; and on my part that friendship had grown into a part of life itself. I had no hopes, no ambitions, which had not her happi¬ ness for their object. Yet no word or token of love had passed between us. I was shy and reticent on this one subject that lay so near my heart. I shrank from declaring myself her lover, doubtless feel¬ ing that if she could not return my love, I should destroy forever our friendly re¬ lations. So matters stood between us, when she was twenty, and I twenty-one, in the fall of ’60 when Carl Maxam came to our village. He and I were associated in business and soon became friends, as friendly intimacy goes between men. He was five years my senior, and had read and traveled much, and had acquired the ease and polish of a man of the world, while I was shy and reticent in society, I felt he had every advantage in his favor, in his intercourse with Mildred, but until to-day I had never had la. jealous feeling. In the spring of ’61, came the fall of Sumter, aud the declaration of war. We both enlisted, though in different regiments, and were ready to leave for Washington. We had returned to our homes for the final leave takings with friends, I in my plain suit with only a Sergeant’s chevrons on my sleeve, he in the gilt and epaulettes of a Lieutenant, looking handsomer than ever in his fine uniform. On the morrow we were to rejoin our regiments, and on this last afternoon had met for a final friendly chat. We had talked on other matters of mutual interest and at the last moment, as we stood at the gate, he had said: “And now comes the toughest part of it. I’m going to ask Mildred Graves to marry me before I go. Phil, my boy, wish me good luclc, can’t you?” Filled with surprise and anger I could make no reply; but it passed unnoticed as he went on without looking at me. ‘ ‘I have been half in love with her ever since I first met her, and long ago de¬ cided she should be my wife if I ever got ready to marry, that is, of course,” with a nervous laugh, “if she’d have me. I don’t know, she always seemed to like me, and I fancy I’ve the inside track there; at all events I’m going to make sure; I’m not going off for a year or two and leave her for some other fellow to win. If she’ll promise to marry me, I can trust her to wait my return, if it were ever so long.” At that moment, to my great relief,the Captain of his company drove by and stopped to take Carl in. “Well, good-by, old fellow, hope to see you later,” and with a wave of his hand he was gone. “He shall never have her,” I said savagely to myself, as he was driving away; “at least, I will know first if there is any chance for me,” and I hurried off to Mildred’s home. But when once in her presence—fool that I was—I talked of everything else, past, present and future, all save the one subject that lay nearest my heart; my tongue seemed tied whenever I ap¬ proached that. A half-hour passed, other visitors came and I rose to leave. Mildred fol¬ lowed me to the gate. “I shall miss you so much,” she said, as she held out her hand at parting. There were tears in her eyes, and a tremor in her voice. My heart leaped; surely she must love me a little, and the words I had tried so hard to utter came to my lips; but she added: “you have always been a brother to me,” and I felt as if a cup of cold water had been dashed in my face. Ah! yes, a brother! she had never thought of me as a lover; could I declare myself one and lose all this friendly re¬ gard? I hesitated—others joined us, and the opportunity to speak was lost forever. I said “good-by,” and went home, inwardly raging at my own stu¬ pidity. it •‘But perhaps is better so,” I thought at last; “she would remember me as a friend, love me as such, which a3 a rejected lover, she could never do.” Then I thought of all her kindness “WE 8EEK THE REWARD OF HONE8T LABOR." during the long years of our intimate friendship; underneath might it not sisterly be possible that all this regard there might lie the germs of a deeper love? And could I not awaken it to life by long uud careful wooing? 1 would be so pa¬ tient if there was only one spark of hope that she would ever love me. I would, like Jacob of old, serve seven years, oh, so willingly, could I but win her. Was 1 not a coward, after all, tojqeld my own chance of success to another, by not put¬ ting my fate to the test) Under the influence of this feeling I dashed off an ardent, impulsive letter. All the love I could never speak, found expression now. “Can you not, dearest Millie,” I con¬ cluded, “find down deep in your heart, underneath all this sisterly- regard you have given me, one spark of something dearer, sweeter than a sister'#iove? Will you not give me just one worn of hope that, in time, you may learn vo love me better than a brother or friend?” I sent the letter by a sure messenger, and waited impatiently for a reply. Now it was done, and I had risked all on one throw of the dice, I felt all tfte gambler’s unrest. My blood was alternately at fever heat or ice cold. The moments seemed hours. Hopes and fears alternately held sway, until I could scarcely endure the suspense. At last the answer came. Hur¬ rying to my room, I tore open the enve¬ lope. There in Millie’s handwriting, I had learned to love so well, were the words: “Dear Friend;” a cold hand seemed to clutch my heart as I read: “Your letter was a great surprise to me. I have always regarded you its a friend, and as such, you will ever have my high¬ est esteem, but my love has long been given to another. Forgive me if I give you pain by this avowal, and I pray God may bless and keep you, in the danger into which you are going. Sincerely your friend, Mildred Graves.” The letter fell from my hands, my head dropped upon the table beside me. The worst had come! All the hopes and fears, the sweet dreams of a lifetime were over. Carl had won her, and I had lost all that made life endurable. The memory of every hour of sweet companionship—every gracious kindly smile word, she had ever given me—every came back with redoubled sweetness,now that she was lost to me forever. Through all the years of youth and manhood, she had been interwoven with every hope and plan; it seemed like gi ving up life itself to lose her. Tint, it was Jpver now, over forever! If I met her again it must be as the betrothed, or the wife of an¬ other. Could I live and bear that! Thank God, I could go away in a few hours, and perhaps death on the battlefield would end all this dreary heartlone- liness. On the morrow I rejoined my regiment, and within twenty-four hours we were marched to the front. In the change from home to the stir¬ ring scenes of army life I tried to forget; but by the camp-fire, on lonely picket duty, or in the rush and roar of battle, thoughts of Mildred would intrude. I shrank frefm no exposure, feared no danger. Men called me brave; I was simply reckless. I had no flread of death; why should I have? Life had lost all charm for me. Months rolled away, one, two, nearly three years passed. I never heard from Mildred, except an occasional word in my mother's letters. She was still un¬ married. I did not wonder at this for I knew Carl was in the army, and fre¬ quently near me. But I never sought him, even when our regiments were side by side. I mo longer felt hatred toward him—I could not do that, if Mildred loved him; but I had not reached a point where I could meet him calmly, and I preferred not to see him at all; and, strange as it seemed to me at times, he never sought me. until, Step by step I advanced in rank, when the battle of Drury’s Bluff was fought, I held a Captain's commission. All night we had lain on our arms,and with the first gray dawn the enemy were upon us. Our regiment w as in the thick¬ est of the fight. Again and again the Confederates hurled their forces against us and were met by the fiercest resistance of our men. Charge succeeded charge, volley returned volley, repulse followed repulse; back¬ ward and forward surged the huge col¬ umns of men; broken, charing rallying, retreat¬ ing, advancing, for victory one moment, and beate 1 back by the foe the next. The dead, the wo unc ? ct L the dying lay in heaps. The wheels of the guns could not be moved until the windrows of dead were removed. Then* were few wounded, nearly all wore killed outright. Carefully wc removed those few' and bore them to the hospital tent in tJ e rear - I was di¬ recting my men in tl ie work, when sud¬ denly from among th8 piles of dead, a face was upturned, a face I knew only too well. Carl Maxan' and I had met at last. He was horribly m ln gle<L and I saw could only live a few foments unless the flow of blood was checked. For an in¬ stant the thought flashed across my brain, “If he died Millie wou?d be free!” But I crushed back the ti»itorous thought, and hastily improvising torniquets I stopped the bleeding arteries as best I could, and, with the hUP of one of my men, bore him to the hospital tent. him He opened his eyes as we laid down. One glance a K ? I knew I was recognized. He raiser Li* hand feebly, and tried to reach his l rcast pocket. “A package—ray pocket!” he gasped. I slipped my hand into an inside breast pocket and drew forth a small package, carefully enclosed. “Mildred,” he said, with great effort, looking at me wistfully, and vainly try¬ ing to say moro. His lips moved for a moment but no sound came from them; then the jaws relaxed, an ashen pallor spread over his face, and with a few short gasps he was dead. I placed the package in my breast pocket, and just at that moment the call sounded to re-form in line of battle, and we were hurried away to another part of the field. In half an hour wc were again in the thickest of the fight. At the first charge a hall passed through my leg, and the battle of Dru¬ ry’s Bluff was over for me, and the war, also, it proved, for after several weeks in the liospstnl I was discharged from the service and returned home. All this time I had carefully kept the package Carl had given me. I had a morbid desire to give it to Mildred in person, and waited my return home, which I knew from the first must soon come. The day after my return I lay on the large, old fashioned lounge in the living room of my father's house when Mildred came to me. Wun and wasted with suf¬ fering, with one leg gone, I was scarcely more than the wreck of my former self. She had changed almost as much as I; all the girlish freshness and bloom had faded, and the grave, quiet manner seemed more befitting a woman of fifty than u girl of twenty-three; yet to me eho seemed dearer and sweeter than ever. “I am so glad to see you home once more!”she said, as she grasped my out¬ stretched hand. There were tears in her eyes, aud her voice trembled. How good it seemed to look into her face to hear the sound of her voice, and feel the pressure of her band once more! Could she—could she care for me, now Carl was dead! I found myself so eager, even now, for her love, that I would be only too thankful for even a small part she had given him. But Carl’s letter must be delivered first, thought it might he the means of separat¬ ing us still more widely. After a few mutual inquiries and re¬ plies, I drew the package from my pocket. “I found Carl on the battle field of Drury’s Bluff, and he gave me this for you as he was dying,” I said, holding it out to her, and immediately turning away my head that I might not sec her emotion. “For me?” she said in tones of sur¬ prise. “I don’t understand.” I “It probably explains itself,” I said, wondering why she should think it straDge that Carl should send a dying message to her. I heard the rustle of paper as she un¬ did the package, and in another instant, with a strange cry, she dropped on her knees beside the lounge. “OPhilip, Philip! what does it mean?” she said, her face as white as the letter she held out to me with trembling hands. I took it, and the first line brought me to a sitting position, with an astonish¬ ment great as her own. I read in her handwriting the words: “Dear Phil: There is no need that you ■should teach me to love you. I learned that lesson long ago. You have been dearest of all in tho world to me since our childhood’s days. will Come to Four me at eight this evening Millie.” and you find, own love, Faint and giddy with tho surging tide of emotions that swept over me, I caught both her hands in mine. “You wrote that, Millie, wrote it to me?” I said, scarcely believing such good news truo. “I wrote it in answer to your letter tho day you went away; and you never came —I heard nothing from you until I knew you were gone next day. I could not understand it.” “But I received an answer,” I said in bewilderment; ‘ ‘you wrote you had never thought of me except as a friend—that loved another." “Oh, no, no! I wrote that to Carl in answer to one I received from him at al¬ most the same time as yours. And I must have enclosed them in the wrong envelopes. O Philip, to think of all these years of sorrow to us both, for such a stupid me?” mistake! How can you ever for¬ give “There is nothing forgive, if to you only love me now,” I said eagerly. “I never loved any one else, I never could; you seemed a part of my life, and I’ve been so wretched, so very wretched! It’s like heaven itself to have you back once more!” “Oh, thank God! thank God!” was all I could say as I caught her in my arms. Oh, the delirious joy of the moment, af¬ ter all those years of sorrow, to know she loved me, had always loved me; could heaven hold any rapture to equal this? All the wretchedness of the past seemed to vanish as a dream, in the glad joy of the present. Then, suddenly there came a reaction of feeling. What was I now? Broken In health, crippled, helpless! What woman would take such a wreck of manhood as I? “O Millie, darling!” I said, despair¬ ingly, “I’ve loved you, God only knows how well, but, I’m only a wreck at best; I cannot ask you to marry me now.” “You need not ask me at all,” she said archly, between smiles and tears, “I shall take you anyway. O Phil, you can¬ not think I love you less for this? So long as there is enough of the body left to hold the heart of my dear old Philip you’ll be just the same to me. No, not same, but a hundred fold dearer for you have suffered, You will be strong well soon, dear, and your lost let is an honor, not a blemish.” Was not this the acme of all earthly Shall I shame my manhood when I $1*00 Per Annum, In Advance. say the tears were running down my face, as I caught the dear girl to my heart, and thanked God, for such a treasure. After our emotions had calmed down somewhat, we examined the package moro closely, and found a letter from Carl tell¬ ing how he had received the note in an¬ swer to his letter, that he had rightly con- jectured that in her envelopes, agitation, Millie had misdirected the that his must have been a rejection and had been sent me. In his chagrin and disappointment that I had been preferred to him, he had kept the note, hoping that the one sent me might have no name in it, and thinking I had been rejected I would leave without an explanation. Then followed an ac¬ count of the upbraidings of conscience, the strivings of his better nature, until ho had written this explanation to givo me, in case of our meeting or of Uis death. “I have been a coward and a villain,” he wrote in conclusion, “not to have re¬ turned the note long ago. I cannot hope for your forgiveness. ” But in the supreme happiness of our re¬ union could < find in hearts we no room our for enmity toward tlie dead, even though he had wronged us so bitterly.— Yankee Blade. WISE WORDS. Be honest and then be generous. Mockery never degrades the just. Let none wish for unearned gold. Whose credit is suspected is not safe to be trusted. A true man never frets about his place in this world. Something is wrong when a man is afraid of himself. Honesty is better capital than a sharper’s cunning. Leave your business unduly and your business will leave you. It would be a shame if your mind should falter and give in before your body. No longer talk at all about the kind of man that a good man ought to be, but be such. We ought not to judge of men’s merits by their qualifications, but by the use they make of them. Usually speaking, the worst-bred per¬ son in company is a young traveler just returned from abroad. There is a transcendant power in ex¬ ample. We reform others unconsciously, when wc walk uprightly. There are many that hr 1 ' - “4, world; but if there be uu_, that the whole of it, it is because the other half despises them. Women famed for their valor, their skill in politics or their learning, leave the duties of their own sex jn order to in¬ vade tho privileges of males. Farming Land Getting Scarce. The Farm and Home says: The time when “Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm” is nearing its end. Nearly every acre of desirable Government land open to settlement under the homestead act is now taken. This fact explains the extraordinary rush for Oklahoma, which, under the President’s proclamation, was “opened up” April 22. The most which any settler could securo was a quarter- section (160 acres), and as there are only 3,000,000 of acres in the proposed new ter¬ ritory, a little figuring will show that less than 13,000 quarter-sections were availa¬ For this amount of land there was grand scrarablo by at least 30,000 would-be settlers, boomers and specula¬ The territory was open for settle¬ ment at noon, and within a few hours from that time the proposed city of Guth¬ was laid out, a daily paper started, a postoffice opened, a bank set a-going,and a municipal election held. In other parts of the “promised land” similar scenes were enacted, the whole being a state of affairs peculiarly American and such as could not be paralleled in any other na¬ tion on the globe—a territory as large as Rhode Island and Delaware together set¬ tled in half a day. The new territory is a part of that formerly ceded to the In¬ dians, who again have to move on before the tide of civilization. This results from the craze, started nearly half a century nvo,>to empty the surplus population of Europe on the pub¬ lic lands of the United States—to give away these lands ns soon os possible and leave American posterity to paddle their own canoe, and let most of them do with¬ out lands. Then there was a craze among railroad companies and politicians to bring landlords and land kings from Europe and sell them tens of millions of acres of land, Then great cattle trusts absorbed minions of acres, and bonanza wheat farmers millions moro. When their is no moro land for sale, what next? Uncle Sam will soon bo landless; not rich enough to give us all a farm. A Mongolian Napoleon of Finance. Not many years ago more than fifteen million mackerel came to New York in a single week. More than half-a-million were thrown back into the water, and good fish could be bought at retail for less than a cent apiece. There was a golden opportunity, and Moy Shoen Bak, a twenty-year-old Chinaman, saw it and seized it. He formed a syndicate among his fellow-countrymen and bought two million mackerel. These he took to the Chinese quarter, and employing all the help he could, he speedily had them pre¬ served in varioug ways in vogue among the Celestials. The syndicate cleared a fortune in two weeks, and Moy Shoen Bak is now rich.— Argonaut. Jay Gould says that he made every cent of his money by hard work. NO. 41. LOVE ROMANTIC. YET MOST TRUE. Three men, who were good and groat, Favored by fortune and fate, Loved one woman; but sho Loved nono of tho three. They wore friends and they lovod each other As friend loves friend, or brother brother; : But no one aver spoke I Tho name his heart awoke. ■ Tho first his love to the woman told, ; In passion’s words, by hops made bold; j Moro “Better than than life fame itsolf, or wealth, 1 * you!" said, ove y°“i * k>ve he listened, but she shook her heat And answered, low and true; • “I love not; love not you.” The second said: “I love you well, Moro than through life my lips can tell.. Living, I'll love but you, In death to you be true.” Why, she did not understand, But she laid in his her hand; Aud throughout all her life She lived his faithful wife. Of his love for her, the third ■ Spoke never a single word; Yet was his love’s degree The highest of the three? Ho watched her life and saw her die, But his heart never voiced a cry. Somehow, when her life was past, He knew she was his at last. —Gertrude Garrison , in Dress. IIUMOR OF THE DAY. A rash intruder—Measles. Not a religious stick—The post chap¬ lain. Well-made men—The oleo-million- aires. “Bound for Europe”—The tourists’ guide. When a man is ‘ ‘taken in” he is usually “put out.” Silence is golden, but it doesn’t make a mute rich. Dressed beef should be dressed as cool as possible this weather__ New Orleans Picayune. There is nothing in the language of flowers so eloquent as a pair of pressed tulips .—New York Herald. It may be of some consequence To some one if we say, The man has certainly horse sense Who knows when to say neigh! Customer—“May I use your tele¬ phone?” Merchant—“Very sorry, but we do not handle hollowarc .”—Omaha World. Mealtime Caller—“When do you dine?” Precocious Little Daughter— “We always have to wait till callers go. Pm getting awful hungry.” Says a New York paragrapher: “A majority of our rich men arc not educated men.” This will also read just as truly the other way.— Home Sentinel. Paterfamilias—“Clara, I see that tho front gate is down this morning.” Clara (shyly)—“Yes, papa, you know love levels all things.”— Burlington Free Press. Husband (on his wedding tour)—“I want rooms for myself and wife. ” Hotel Clerk—“Suite?” Husband—“Of course she is—perfectly lovely. The sweetest girl in the world.” Bashful Young Man—“Ahem—Sally— ahem.” Sally—(encouragingly)—‘Well, George?” “Sally, do, you suppose your ma would be willing to be my mother-in- law?”— Boston Gazette. The interest with which a young man watches the growth of hair on his upper lip is only equaled by that with which the man of forty watches its disap¬ pearance from the top of his head.— New York Herald. First Omahan—“Going to have any plumbing done this spring?” Second Omahan—“Did think I’d have a pipe re¬ soldered, but changed my mind and will buy a farm with the money, instead.”— Omaha World. Young Husband—“What? You are twenty-five years old to-day? Why, you told me a year ago, just before the wed¬ ding, that you were only twenty.” Young Wife (wearily)—“I have aged rapidly since I married .”—Yankee Blade. I ani'lying, Egypt, lying in my own peculiar I acquired’the day habit lately, hut I do it every Every repair morning to the river with my tackle I To beguile tho speckled troutlet from his In tho deep, pellucid lu Ir; victim’s evening, on returning, I describe my size. And I am roaming, Egypt, roaming in a wilderness of lies. —Nebraska State Journal The City Dog Catcher. The humble office of the meek and lowly dog catcher is an industry not to be despised from a pecuniary standpoint. The City Marshal, who is the official head of this branch of commerce, re¬ ceives $4000 a year in salary for doing practically nothing. His allowance of deputies and office expenses is ample. The dog pound revenue is one of the political secrets, but it is estimated by those who have been in the confidence of the Administration as $7000. That repre¬ sents dogs caught and killed in St. Louis, and costs in case animals are re¬ claimed. Then there is another alleged source of revenue, the value of which nobody but the incumbent knows, and that is the price annually received for dog carcasses from the East St. Louis Govern¬ ment, It is said that every day a wagon-; load of dead dogs, that have just suffered! the sulphuretting process at the St. Louis dog pound, goes across the bridge, and is there redeemed at the price of twenty- five cents per head.— St. Louis Star-Say¬ ings. ........ -____ — J