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Um? Ipit’jt d’fiuniii HMtly.
VOL. 111.
Advertising Kates.
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Each subsequent insertion 50
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One square six months 10 00
One square twelve months 15 00
Quarter column twelve months... 30 00
Half column six months 40 00
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NEWSPAPER DECISIONS.
1. Any person who takes a paper regu
larly from the post office—whether directed
ta his name or another’s, or whether he has
subscribed or not—is responsible for the
payment.
2. If a person ordeis his paper discontin
ued, he must pay all arrearages, or the pub
lisher may continue to send it until payment
is made, and collect the whole amount,
whether the paper Is taken from the office or
n )t.
3. The courts Lave decided that refusing
to take newspapers and periodicals from the
postoffice, or removing and leaving them un
called for, is •p'rima facie evidence of inten
tional fraud.
TOWN DIRECTORY.
Mayor— Thomas G. Barnett.
Commissioners— W. W. rurnipseed.D. B.
Biviriß, E. G. Harris, E. R. James.
Clerk —E. G. Harris.
Treasurer —W. S. Shell.
Marshals —S. A. Belding, Marshal.
J. W. Johnson,Deputy.
JUDICIARY.
A. M. f'PRER, - Judge.
F. D. Dismukb, - - Solicitor General.
Butts —Second Mondays in March and
September.
Henry—TTuttf Mondays in April and Oc
tober.
Monroe—Fourth Mondays in February,
and August.
Newton—Third Mondays in March and
September.
Pike—Second Mondays in April and Octo
ber.
Rockdale—Monday after fourth Mondays in
March and September
Spalding—First Mondays in February
and August.
Upson—First Mondays in May and No
vember.
CHURCH DIRECTORY.
Methodist Episcopal Chcrch, (South.)
Rev. Wesley F. Smith, Pastor Fourth
Sabbath in each -month. Sunday-school 3
r.M. Prayer meeting Wednesday evening.
Methodist Protestant Church. First
Sabbath in„each mouth. Sunday-school 9
a. a.
Christian Church, W. S. Fears, Pastor.
Second Sabbath in each month.
Baptist Church, Rev. J. P. Lyon, Pas
tor. Third Sabbath in each month.
CIVIC SOCIETIES.
Pink Grove Lodge, No. 177, F. A. M
Stated communications, lourth Saturday in
eaeh month.
DOCTORS.
DR. J. C.TURNJPSEED will attend to
all calls day or night. Office i resi
dence, Hampton, Ga.
j\R. W. H. PEEBLES treats all dis
■l * eases, and will attend to all calls day
and night. Office at the Drug Store,
Broad Street, Hampton, Ga.
DR. N. T. BARNETT tenders bis profes
sional services to the citizens of Henry
and adjoining counties, and will answer calls
day or night. Treats all diseases, of what
ever nature. Office at Nipper’s Drug Store,
Hampton, Ga. Night calls eau be made at
my residence, opposite Berea church. apr26
JF. PONDER, Dentist, has located in
• Hampton, Oa., and invites the public to
eali at his room, upstairs in the Bivins
House, where he will be fonnd at all hours.
Warrants all work for twelve months.
LAWYERS.
JNO. G. COLDWELL, Attorney at F,aw,
Brooks Station, Ga. Will practice in
the counties composing the Coweta and Flint
River Circuits. Prompt attention giveD to
commercial and other collections.
TC. NOLAN, Attorney at Law, Mc
• Donougb, Georgia: Will practice in
the counties composing the Flint Circuit ;
the Supreme Court of Georgia, and the
United States District Court.
WM. T. DICKEN, Attorney at Law, Mc
.Donougb, Ga, Will practice in the
counties composing the Flint Judicial Cir
cuit, the Supreme Court of Georgia, and the
United States 'District Court. (Office op
stairs over W. O. Sloan’s.) apr27-ly
SEO. M. NOLAN, Attorney at Law.
McDonough,Ga. (Officein Court house)
Will practice in Henry and adjoining conn
ties, and in the Supreme and District Courts
of Georgia. Prompt attention given to col
lections. . mch23-6m
JF. WALL, Attorney at Law, //amp
. ton,Ga Will practice in the connties
composing the Flint Judicial Circuit, and
the Supreme and District Courts of Georgia.
Prompt attention given to collect ions. ocs
EDWARD J. REAGAN, Attorney at
law. Office on Broad Street, opposite
the Railroad depot, Hampton, Georgia.
Special attention given to commercial and
other collections, and cases iD Bankruptcy.
BF. McCOLLUM, Attorney and Coun
• sellor at L»w, Hampton, Ga. Will
practice in Henry, Clayton. Fayette, Coweta,
Pike, Meriwether, Spalding and Butts Supe
rior Courts, and in the Supreme aDd United
States Courts Collecting claims a specialty.
Office uo stairs in the Mein loch Building.
THE LOST, LOST DAYS.
Ay, happy are the nodding flowets
That, tasseled, hang from yonder tree ;
Their lives, all beauty, wear thfeir gold
In Summer crowns of purity;
But man, O man. what costly tears
Bedew thy cradle, as thy grave;
What griels enseam thy course Of years
And break the rest we vainly crave;
I fain would be the nodding flower
Which one bright Summer morn arrays,
Than in a Wintry noon of life
Sit down to count the lost, lost days!
Pause, listen to that singing bird,
He trills not for a vague applause;
He but obeys bis Master, God,
And sings in cadence with Ilis laws.
I hate the bitter lies of art,
Melod ; ous fraud that fills our ears,
The servile school where men are taught
To mould in song pretended fears.
I fain would be the bird who sings
With fearless throat bis honest Jays,
Nor heeds, nor knows to-morrow’s dawu,
Nor yet regrets the lost, lost days.
Ay, happy are the bursting buds,
Ay, happy are the birds of song ;
Tis only man whose discontent
Disturbs the earth with railing tongue ;
He mourns for childhood’s artless joys,
And youth’s and manhood’s vision fled ;
While, by the embers of old age,
He mumbles only of the dead.
Whence is it that frail man alone
Should fill the earth with grievous lays,
Always a story of regret,
And wasted life, the lost, lost days 1
Mothers-in-Law.
How fashionable it has become to laugh
at raothers-in-law! It is enough for a
woman to have a married daughter to render
her a walking witticism. Just bring up one
girl; educate ber as well as you can ; watch
over ber with that care no one knows save a
mother ; marry ber to somebody’s good for
nothing son, and yon will find yourself the
subject of every stale joke that every news
paper man can make oo you. Every time
be is short of an item, he will have a fling at
the mothere-in-law.
Now, this ts all very fine, but at times and
seasons Fannie’s mother-in-law is the most
welcome guest that can come into tbe bouse.
Don’t you remember that winter when Tom
had tbe long fit of sickness; when nothing
looked bright, and the only certain things in
tbe future were doctors, grocers, and gas-
Dills ; when tbe honse-rent and taxes loomed
darkly up in the distance? Who was it
that used to come in on a frosty morning,
with a rosy old face full of sunshine, crowned
with silver locks? Who stepped softly in
the dim sick-room, where the recollection of
last night’s sufferings still lingered, and lay
ing aside her dear old shawl, that Fannie
could remember ever since she.cut her tee'h,
laid a soft, cool band upon tbe hot brow,
and coaxed a spoonful of tea between the
cracked lips, and after awhile tbe whole
room found itself put to rights, and all the
sticky cups and spoons gone, and the fire
bomiug brightly, and just a touch of sweet,
pale winter sunshine lying on tbe carpet ?
Who was it that brought the basin, and
coaxed the sore, fretful, big. unmanageable
baby to have his face washed and his tum
bled hair smoothed down with a gentle
touch, that soothed instead of irritatiug the
bead sick with want of sleep? Who under
stood Tom so well, and knew why he was
cross—because of Fannie and little Tom aod
that last bald-headed incumbent? Did any
one know so well as the much-abused
mother-in-law how the big man felt to lie
there and be helpless, while the busy, hard
world spuo on, and every one who was not
up aod doing had to go to tbe wall? Bless
her heart I she feoew just how be felt, and
did just wbat was oest for him. She brought
the fat tyrant who screamed so whenever he
ought not, and sat close to the bedside while
baby took tbe wasted fioger of tbe sick man
in his own soft grasp, and cooed out a morn
ing hymn of praise to Him who looks after
tbe birds of the air aod will not suffer one
of His little ones to perish. No one laughed
at tbe moth r-ki-law then; no, nor years
after, when the curly-baired boy of four
bright years went out to play, full of youth
ful bealtlfcand dancing with joy, and was
brought in an hour after, a mangled morsel
of human suffering. Wbo eame first when
heart-broken words traced by the hands of
ber daughter reached ber : “Dear Mother—
Johnnie bas been knocked down by a cart,
aod tbe doctor says he wiH die ?” Yes, she
was there—to wet the ashy lips; to kiss tbe
little, chubby, unconscious bands, struggling
against tbe hard fate that bad so early over
taken them. Her arms raised the head, and
placed the ice upon it, to still tbe throbbiog ;
her bands strove ail through the long day
and night of agony that followed to ease tbe
HAMPTON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, JUNE 20, 1879.
pain that knew no easing, until the gray
shadow of the wings of death’s angel lay
over the waxen face of little Johnnie. On
that beautiful baby brow fell soft, Rilent
tears from a grandmother’s eyes; and she
alone marked the deepening of tbe purple
tiut under the large clear eyes, the easing of
the muscles stiffened by pain, the relaxing of
•the round young limbs and tbe fainter beat
ing of tbe little heart. What need to call
the poor mother to watch those last mo
ments ; to see the breath come more and
more slowly I "Johnnie has gone home,
dear Fannie," said the tireless watcher.
‘•Come and see him.” All painful traces
had been removed. He lay, a little form of
snowy marble, in his own cat, his pure white
night-gown wrapping him for the sleep that
knows no waking. White lilies lay about
him, and his soft curls just stirred in the soil
breeze that waited in between the while cur
tains. Birds sang outside among the green
elms, and as tbeir brunches swept against
the windows they peeped in and whispered
to each other: “There is a new angel in
Heaven to-day.”
Let us laugh at our mother-in-law, by all
means. She wants to regulate ns free-born
citizens ; and very badly some of us need it.
She has an interest in her own daughter. Is
that so very extraordinary ? If she is a lit
tle bard to please sometimes, can we not for
give her ? Think bow fall yoar bands have
been ever since you got dear Fannie, a
grown-up young lady ; and just imagine
what a time there was with ber before she
reached that state of perfection. Have a
little patience with the dear old lady, and
don’t sneer at her little failings. What if
she does talk about when “your father and I
were young,” and the great things they ac
complished. They have provided you with
a wife, and once on a time you thought thit
was a great thing. When they were making
up their minds to give Fannie to you, you
did not sleep much. Yon thought more of
their good opiuion then than anything in the
whole world. Don’t you remember how yon
used to sit Sunday evening, and listen to
“when your lather and I were young” with
out a murmor? Certainly you did. Think
of the days that have passed away and the
days that are coming, when strangers will
come to stop with you, and tbe best bed
room will be darkened and tbe old nurse
will show you a bundle of pink flannel ar.d
telf you it is the image of you ; think of
nights when herb tea and youthful appeals
against the hardships of this life will make
your house seem almost too little to live in.
All these things in tbe pust, and lots more
of the same kied in the future, ought to
make us tolerant of our mother-in-law’s
little failings. After all, she has bad all our
trials, and some more we won’t know übont
till Fannie Junior begins to have young men
see her home. When you begin to ask what
keeps “that Tompson banging around so
much,” then you will begin to tbink. Yes,
indeed. Does not the poet tell us :
“ Thus it is our dau.hters leave us,
Those we love and those who love us.
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers,
Beckons to the fairest maiden,
And she follows where he leads her, leaving
all for the stranger ?”
That is how it is ; and now-a-days the
youth does not have even the “flannting
feathers," and sometimes, alas I has very
little to make up for their absence.
The Sort of Place lle Wanted. —A
tramp applied lor food at tbe house of a
suburban agriculturist recently, and while he
was eating tbe rations that had bpen furnish
ed at his solicitation, be was asked :
“Why do you not go to work?”
“1 have looked long fora place that would
suit me,” he replied, “bat have uever found
it!”
“Is there not plenty work at farming?”
asked tbe interrogator.
“Oh, yes,” said the tramp, “plenty of it ;
but you see,.sir, I want to find a vineyard
where tbe man who goes in at the eleventh
hour is tbe first to come out and to draw a
full day’s wages. In the olden time they
dealt fairly by a man. That is New Testa
ment treatment, and that is what I am look
ing for.”
At the close of bis meal he started again
iD pursnit of that coveted agricultural op
portunity.
A Noeth Carolina man got tired of life
and went out in tbe stable and hung himself
with a blind bridle. Just as be was bring
ing bis last gasp, a neighbor opportunely
passed, and seeing his peril, promptly rescued
him.
“Ah,” said the would-be suicide, “why
didn’t you let me alooe ; in two minutes I
would have been in heaven.”
“Yes,” dryly exclaimed the other, “you’d
play thunder in heaven with a blind bridle
ou, wouldn’t you.”
Ineligible Men.
The eligible man, says a writer in Lip
pincott’s, is generally a gentleman of good
connections and seme small fixed income,
which is sufficient to serve as a narcotic to
ambition, but which from its incapacity to
provide for more than one person, puts mat
rimony out of reach. “Oh, I’m no marrying
man,'’ he says, and is conscious of his freedom
and of his privileges. The best of every
thin seems to be oflered to him ; he is ami
de la motion among all his old set ol friends,
both masculine and feminine, who have mar
ried and settled down ; he may drop in any
where to dinner, and is a favorite guest at
ladies’ luncheons ; be has invitations to par
ties of all kinds, and never has to buy more
than an entrance ticket at the opera.
The ineligible man is in no way to be con
founded with “detrimentals,” ineligible al
though the detrimental may be. Tbe dis
tinction is so bread that a radical difference
may be perceived at once. Tbe ‘ detrimen
tal” is considered “so dangerous”—the “in
eligible” is “so safe.” The “detrimental” is
regarded as an open foe by parents and
chaperone the “ineligible” on the other
hand, is the friend of both, and stands, by
some gift of nature, even at an early age,
toward young ladies in loco parent is, and is
himself a capital chaperon. “Let me go,
mamma—its only wuh Mr. Smith,” the girls
urge. “Only Mr. Smith” is a plea in exten
uation of anything unconventional. “No
body but Mr. Smith” makes a partiecarree, a
hand at whist—fills the odd corner every
where. In fact, a man who is known to be dis
tinctly not a marrying man has his hay to
make in a long spell of pleasant weather.
He is confidential friend to a dozen sets of
debutantes, who enter society as it were under
his auspices; he criticises them, counsels
them, aids them, does everything except in
terfere with their lovers. The moment a
lover comes forward tbe ineligible man un
derstands,*if he is bright—or is forced to
understand if he is dull—that his claims
must give way. He has, however, the priv
ilege of taking the place of nsher or grooms
man at tbe weddings which follow; he
dandles the babies on his knees if so inclined,
and may have a few named after him ; he
enjoys a sort of hereditary friendship for tbe
oflspring of the marriages he himself pro
moted. It may seem for a long stretch of
years that he has roses without thorns, the
sparkle of the wine without the dregs, all
the comforts of life without any drawbacks.
He has his little income, which he knows
how to spend in such a way as to get the
utmost out of it for himself; he has pleasant
rooms in a pleasant quarter of the town, and
makes his meals at clubs or goes out to his
dinner, breaklast and luncheon. Whereas
his married friends endure tbe miseries of
domestic annoyances—bills, wretched ser
vants, sick wives, troablesome children—he
has his quiet room, his luxurious meals, bis
ease and leisure in all the daily habits of bis
life. No skeletons lurk in his copboard ;he
has nothing to hope, and may calmly sit on
shore and count tbe wrecks among the barks
which pat oat to sea.
All this may be very pleasant while a
man is tolerably young. Then follows the
time when life becomes a sort of Barmecide
feast for him. Ou every hand there is beauty,
love and duty, but not for him. Hitherto
he has an idea—vague, yet still actual
enough to throw a little roselight over his
futare—that when the right time came, and
before it was too late, be, too, should marry.
He remembers with a bachelor’s unspoiled
vanity all the half triumphs of bis youth,
and makes an effort to wio, perhaps, the
daughter of one of his old friends. To her,
however, and to all her friends, nothing can
be so frankly prosaic, so flatly antique, as
be. ’Tis as if December tried to enjoy tbe
apple blossoms ol June.
It is a blank moment of disenchantment
and disappointment, and when the “ineligible
man” discovers that he is not now-a-days
ineligible because he has chosen a career
without checks and encumbrances, but be
cause be is too old, because the freshness and
power of real manhood have left him.
He who wili not when he may,
When be will he shall have nay.
He has disregarded the poetry and romance
of youth ; he has been satisfied with the
mere shell of existence, without reality of
feeliog or truth of passion. Au uncom
promising egotist, he has closed bis heart to
the appeals which actuate less selfish men ;
he has wanted no wife and children to work
and plan for; he has waited until bis power
of amusing himself is past before he has
aspirations for the calm comforts of the fire
side. After play-at being eligible all through
the years when he had a chance of making
what be wanted of his life, it ia only fair that
in bis age be should suddAly find himself
confronted with the idea of bis actual ineligi-
Paris by Night.
Paris by night! What a falry-like pic
ture, what ElysiaS* dream! There are many
with a simple rustic mind who, idealizing
this city, conjure up an immense town solely
composed 6f ifiarble palaces, with gilt ba!«
conies overlooking magnificent and spacious
streets. And when these good people urrive
in broad-daylight at either of ihe great de
pots, be it at that of Orleans, or Lyons, or
the North, they experience a very na'oral
disappointment, for in order to appreciate
Puris one must have made it a long and se
rious study. Its artistic marvels or its in
dustrial splendors must be sought for either
in the monuments, promenades, museums,
warehouses—anywhere, in fact—and very
frequently where you leust expect to find
them.
Y\ ere all onr lynx-eyed compatriots who
come to Paris gifted with \be keen glance of
that great and national bird whose spread
iness we are forever vaunting, they could not
take in with their most searching vision the
vast ex tout of houses and the incomparably
beautiful bits of architecture which are the
glory of Paris, end which are overflowing
with themes. 1 hey see well-paved streets,
sumptuous dwellings, admirable gardens,
grave and impudent statues, all which things
they may have seen at home after a fashion.
But, supposing the reader who has not yet
been to this city arrives at the Orleans depot
alter dark, and on his way to the quarter of
hotels passes over the Pont Royal, he stops
instinctively his cab, and then looking on
one side towards Notre Dame, und on the
other towards tbe Trocadero, he will see a
sight unrqnaled in any other city. Magical
Paris, the enchanted city of their imagina
tion, is now before them in its very best
The gleams of a whole avenue of electric
light brightens the sky above; immense
gasaliers supplement this brilliancy in i very
quarter; fully a score of bridges, which
meet the eye, present the passing glitter of
countless colored lights; the windows glisten,
the great shops sparkle, and, to quote a
Parisian poet whom I know, the sky Beems
to have relinqnisbed all its stars to grace tbe
banks of the Seine. Tbe river flows through
quave on either side unequaled in any other
capital, and Paris by night is a metropolitan
picture no one should fail to see.
Midnight has passed ; the theatres have
given forth their thousands of guests, and by
degioes a solitude, relatively speaking, is
created. The Rue de Rivoli, lately swarm
ing witli coronated chariots, is now disturb
ed simply by the long string of market carts
going t« the Halles Certrules. Individuals
of suspicious mien, manners and morality are
seen and heard on their way homewards ; a
sergeant de idle here and there steps rcgti -
larly and monotonously on bis beat, and soon
the gas pales before tbe coining rosy dawn
Men with wan faces, tired of their orgies,
totter homewards, having changed day into
night and night into day. Faded fair ones
in every sense of the term, with sorrowful,
sinfhl and sometimes gleeful faces, can
also be seen in couples or one by one wend
ing their way to that locality that knows no
such word as “home ” Those who but an
hour before entertained the theatrical world
of Paris as cavaliers or Dagss to Emperors
and as ladies-in-waiting to Queens, are now,
after tbeir scanty and democratic suppers,
returning to their girrets, anmindfnl of the
canvass palaces they here have recently left
behind. Now the sky grows more colored,
and warmer tones, on wbieh you see clearly
drawn the sharp vignettes of tbe great build
ings, begin to clothe the horizon. Squads
of street sweepers, chiefly women from Au
vergne and Eastern France, take possession
of tbe footpaths; the early letter-carriers
are hurrying to tbe general office io Rue
Jean Jacques Rousaeau, and, finally, the
blouse-clad workman smoking bis pipe is
seen hastening to his daily labor, while tbe
toil-worn type-setter, pale and meagre, hur
riedly seeks the nearest rendezvous of refresh
ments. —Paris Corr. Baltimore Sun.
Tbe Parisian, Painted by One
of Themselvea.
A true Parisian, born at Paris, of parents
who were themselves Parisians, having grown
up there and having passed almost all bis
life there, is a very rare exception. Tbe
provincial imported into a new town will
find it agreeable and will remain there be
cause be is pursuing the object of bis ambi
tioD, because be satisfies there bis needs or
bis pleasures ; but io tbe bottom of bis heart
be will always regard it as a battle-field, an
inn, and a bad place ; and if be has any
trouble, if be feels fatigue, if be falls ill, it is
of bis native town, bis distant province that
be will go aod ask consolatioo, repose and
health. The true Parieiao, on the contrary,
will love Paris as bis fatberlaod. It is there
that the invisible change of the heart will
bind him, aod if he is constrained to exile
Vlme. de Siael, the nostalgie of the dear gut
ter of the Rue du Bar. He who now speaks
to you is one of tbos Parisians. In this
great city of which, as Alfred de Musset
complained he knows all the paving-stoned,
a memory awaits him at each turning A.
peaceful street in th“ Faubourg St Germain*
the silence of which is rarely disturbed by
the rattle of a landau or coupe, reminds him
of his childhood { he cannot pass before a
certain house in that street and look up there
at tbe balcony of the fifth floor without see
ing himself once more a little toddler seated
on a high chair at the family table, around
which there are now, alas! many vacant
places, but where still he ofteD sits opposite
his elder sister and speaks of the dear dead
and absent ones. He never stops at the
bookstalls in the open air around the Odeon
—which are, by the way, one of the most
pleasingly original things in Paris—without
recalling the time when, bis school-boy’s
satchel under Ws arm, he used to read, hasti
ly and gratis, in the interval between two
classes, the books of the poets that he al
ready loved. Finally, there is somewhere,
he will not say where, a little window that
he sees as he walks in a certain public gar
den, and tbnt he cannot look at it in autumn
about 5 o’clock in the afternoon, when the
setting sun casts upon it its fiery rays, with
out his heart beginning to palpitate, just as
he felt it beat long, long ago, but at the
same season and at the same hour, when he
was hurrying home with all the intoxication
of twenty summers, and when that little
window, opening all at once, showed, amidst
an uureoie of verdure and flowers, a smiling*
blonde head. Happy, ah t happy, be who
lives in the full openness of nature at that
delicious moment of life. It is a nest of
moss under the oak trees, it is the banks of
u little rivulet where the mill-full boils, it in
a deep lane in the valley, it is a meadow of
Hewers and ol butterflies, charming and dear
landscapes that will keep only to restore
them later, the first thought of his mind and
the first sentiments of his heart, and which
ofler him iu after life, when the illusion shall
have fled, an asylum of solitude, freshness
and peace. Tbe enfant de Paris, always de
prived of free air, of space and of horizon,
cun only frame his most delightful souvenirs
in paved streets and plastered houses ; if he
is truly a poet, he will nevertheless get poe
try out of them, und be will resume in the
green and rose gloaming seen at the end of a
faubourg, tbe morbid melancholy of autumn,
and in a sunny morning near tbe lilacs of the
Luxembourg gardens all tbe divine joy of
spring.— Francois Coppee.
An Afghan Amazon Queen.
A messenger having been ordered by his
master, the late Shere Ali, Ameer of Af
ghanistan, to fetch a supply ol dates from
Regi, a town some sixteen miles from
Herat, the man came across a district ruled
over by a woman, whose name was oever
allowed to be mentioned. In addition to
great personal attractions she claimed direct
descent from the hero, Rustam, nor did she
show much degeneracy from our reputed
an cast ry. For od one occasion General
Feramoiz Kuhn paid her a visit, with the
view of impressing cameis for the service of
Shere Ali. Jumping on her horse and car
rying a trusty speer in her hand the amazon
queen rode out to meet the general, whom
she informed that she was ready to fight
either the whole of his master’s forces or the
Ameer himself in single combat should he
prefer that alternative. Feramorz Kahn
was so scared by her warlike demeanor that
he took himself off without seizing a single
camel, and the plucky qneen was left un
troubled for the future. Perhaps it wasjast
as lucky for Shere AH that he did not ac
cept the challenge to personal combat, for
the dauntless lady was no mean proficient in
warlike arts, being accustomed to take a
prominent part at tent pegging and polo
among the nobles of her land. When the
Kafir was staying at her fort she was at
widow, baviDg lately put her husband to.
death by reason of bis being deficient in.
physical courage. It was understood, bow-,
ever, that she would be quite willing to.
change her condition, aod several of tba
neighboring chiefs bad made her offers of
marriage. But to oue aod all there was the
same fatal objection—they were oot brave
enough to come up to her idea of what a
husband should be. In addition to beiug a
feminine warrior, she cultivated the arts of
peace with a thoroughness not usually foaod
among Oriental rulers. Ad energetic mer
chant herself, with many thousands of camels
constantly carrying merchandise to aod from
the outside world, she encouraged her sub
jects to trade by suppressing dace it c« and
putting a stop to kidnapping, u favorite
weakness with the Afghans.
It does not follow that women are black-
NO. 50