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SHEPHERD 0OY.
Through o tangle of purple hr
Where u wimbling burn r»i:i
A l.id in In* II.' .hltiiirt bonnet
fhuun wrivin;: a floek »..iw|
l her.
....
ALBANV WEEKLY HERALD: SATURDAY, APRIL 3!
I
I
; . •
But ere (hey Ind t* rt 'i» , lir*l I-* border, '
Half bidden In i.h1»*ln*r i <?■*'.
WUcro (lie sheep walk nlopjd u> the shal
lows
At which they .were u».ed to cross—
The flock, tu lludi* »l|ly shyness,
Turned suddenly startled back.
Because in the path before them.
Right over tho beaten track,
A skotoher sat with her easel,
So busy sho had not stirred;
And the noise of the hoofs that pattered
Behind her she bad not heard.
*Hand oot o' my tho shepherd
Brawled lustily from tho steep-
“Haud oot o’ my gattl ye scatter
And frighten iitvn’ tho sheep.”
From the coppice a liveried gillie
v Stopped suddenly to his side—
“To whom do ye speak sao rudely?”
With a toue of rebuke lie cried.
"Why, sure, to tho loddy yonder,
Who has im* tho hcuho to know
She’s bldcklu the sheep walk nulrly—
An, sir, ye tuuuu tell her sb.”
”1 tell herV -Why, lad, yon lady
Is the grandest you’ve ever soon;
Her honu- Is IJubnorut rustic.
And she Is the English queenP’
” Wool, how could I ken her?”—queried
The boy with a captious frown;
•’Why dlnna she hold hor skepter-
Why could na* she woar hor crown?”
—Margaret J. Preston lu Youth’s Companion.
THE DEEP CUT.
It vras a beautiful May morning.
I uncurled my legs (I had, still have
a habit of curling myself up when I
want to enjoy a good novel), tossod
my. boqk asido, stretched myself
wearily and looked down the road
toward Woodburn. Although I had
done nothing but road all morning, I
was hungry. Youth and high health
always combine to strengthen tho
demand tor breodstuffs. It was time
my dinner had come, I said to my
self, glancing at tho clock in my
cagoliko room. Just thon a familiar
sound caused me to rise and open
tho door.
There, on tho path bosldo the rail
way, stood Tim Ferris. His golden
ourls were blowing across his blue
oyos, dancing up and down in the
May wind, bobbing like olover lieiuh
before the breozo. Ho was pattering
along barefooted on the clay path
made by tho workmen who made
the deep cut and the bridge. Tlr
basket on hU arm seemed a trifk
heavy. He was puffing energetically
when I called to him:
"What’s your hurry, Tim?”
He hurried on until he stood at the
bottom of tho steps leading up to my
Btation, looked up at me with spark
ling eyes and answored:
“I couldn't help it. I’m to go to
Woqdburn to see the circus, and
there's a real live elephant, and a os-
trichus, and lions and whales and a
unicorn”—
Hero Tim, relieved of his basket
and bucket, drew a long breath,
looked nt his feet, at his ragged
clothes, then up at me, wistfully, and
added: "1 don’t know how many
things there is, hut Jim Stacy says
there never was nothin like it.
And mam said I can go—but I’ve got
to bo quiuk, ‘cos Jim Stacy’s goin to
take me in his wagon, and he's mor’n
rattlin things to git ready.”
"In that euse, Tim,” said I, “you’d
host uot wait for the tilings, I’ll
take them home myself. You just
hasten homo, young man, and-
hero.”
Tim's eyes grew as big ns two
saucers as he looked at the coin in
his palm, then up into my face. His
bright blue eyes were moist; the lit
tle fellow was crying with joy al
ready. He opened his mouth to
thank me, but I cut him short.
"Thnt’s all right, Tim. You cut
right back home, and tell your
mothor 1 will mnko tho damage good
if anything happens your new suit:
It won't do to go shabby, Tim. You
muBt blacken your shoes and put a
ribbon on your hat.”
"Math won’t have no time.”
"You listen to me. You can go
home through the deep cut”
"Through the tunnel, Mr. Moore?”
“I said through the tunnel. It
will save more than half a mile, and
you will be ready before Stacy calls
for you."
“I’m glad you told me."
And Tim was off like a bird.
What a happy little fellow he was,
so brave ami manly, and the soul of
truth. It shone in his bright blue
eyes: illuminated his whole face.
Nobody could look nt Tim Ferris,
ragged, dirty, aunbrowued as he
was, without seeing and appreciating
all that was most to lie admired and
loved in a child of eight. That was
the sum'total of Tim’s life.
_As his yellow curls glinted in the
sunshine, I gave him a parting glance,
then put my foot on the steps to
mount to my station, when the clat
tering of a horse's hoofs on the road
fell on my ear.
It was Bob Somers going home
from Woodburn with the morning
mail for his father’s mill. I knew
Bob and Bob’s horse well. He reined
up, dismounted leisurely, os was bis
wont, and sat down on my steps to
talk about the last frolic over at
’ Siddley’s barn raising. Meantime! I
was absorbing Mrs. Ferris’ warm
meat, biacnit oies and milk os fast
as a hungry man could, talking be
tween bites. The office was as quiet
os a churchyard. Bob was describ
ing, in strict confidence, the young
lady who was to bo Mrs. Bob Somers
some day. when Rockford called me.
I paused in the act of nipping a
and inclined an ear. Rockford was
twelve miles west of my station.
Usually I called Rockford, and then
only to communicate matters of mo
ment sent me from tho east. Other
wise I was not to meddle with Rock
ford. The call from Rockford sound
ed sharper oven than usual. It was
so imperative that evon Bob Somers
remarked it.
“Sounds like as if they were in an
all fired hurry, whoever it is.”
I bounded up tho steps and an
swered promptly. Rockford respond
ed in return. Short, clear and sharp
came the message:
IlrtdKO flown nt llukor'. Run. Construction
trnln duo Woodburn nt 12:15. Advtsu Wood-
burn.
Such a shock 1 never experienced
before, and I hope I never ma;
again. A cold chill ran over me.
suppose it was imagination, but 1
thought my heart coased to beat for
half a minute, and then it gave a
mighty throb as I signaled Wood :
burn, sharply, again and again.
Woodburn responded crustily. I re
peated tho message, then stood just
long enough to receive tho O. K. In
the meantime I hud decided upon
my course.
I leaped—1 did not run-down the
short flight of stairs in front of my,
station, sprang upon Bob Somers'
horse, spurred him with my heels
viciously and galloped along tho rail
way as fast us tho horse would carry
me. 1 did not pause to explain; I
did not spenk: all my energies cen
tered on one object. A human life -
a precious human life—was at stake,
and that life wus the light of n
household.
I lmd unwittingly sont littlo Tim
Forris to his deutli.
To explain. The Woodburn con
nection was now. Months must
elapse buforo travel and traffic of con
siderable volume would bo directed
over tho new branch. In the mean
time one passenger and one freight
train moved east and west past Stan
ley every morning and evening.
Tho rouil between Rockford and
Woodburn was so silent the greater
part of tho time that the birds made
nests noar the ties, and squirrel::
frisked along the rails in the sun
shine undisturbed.
I imagined, ns I galloped madly
along tho railway, now on ono track,
now between the tracks, now on the
other, 1 could hear tho roar of the
construction train thundering around
the curves near tho rivor. Onco-
twice 1 checkoff the horse, and
listened with throbbing heart. Tho
deep cut uchoud the sound of thu
horse’s hoofs. I fancied I hoard the
chug I chug I chug I of tho locomotive,
but 1 was not sure. All the while I
was in the agony of apprehension.
The deep cut was a dangerous place
for an adult. There wero place::
wbero tho crumbling bank of soft
earth and sand sloped down to the
track. Unless a man or woman had
the presence of mind to lie down on
the bank, u train passing would grind
them to piecos. There were other
plocos whore tho jutting roekft woro
so close to the track that not ono
man in a thousand could have mau-
tainod his place while a train thun
dered past him, and Inst—worst of
all—there was the tunnel. Short ns
it is, more than one poor life had
beon lost in it.
And I sent little Tim through the
deep cut to certain death. I felt liko
a murderer. My thoughtlessness
would cost a human life. I, and 1
alone, was responsible.
These thoughts occupied my mind
to tho exclusion of everything elso
os I rode through the cut. No 11 re
alized my own danger; the risk I
subjected Bob Somers' horse to. If I
failed to emerge from the cut in
time, horse and rider would bo
ground down by the construction
train. Evuu if tho engineer should
boo me before I entered the tunnel,
the craves were so short he would
he unable to lessen the speed of tho
train, and once I entered the tunnel,
with tho locomotive following me,
no power on earth could save me.
And uow. os I realized how much
depended on my coolness and pres
ence of mind, the confused fooling
gave place to a coolness and self pos
session that surprised me. There
was no doubt about it, I could hear
the construction train rounding the
curves near the river's edge. The
scream of tho locomotive sounded in
my ears like a warning of death.
At the same instant I beheld little
Tim's golden curls waving from side
to ride as he trotted, all unconscious
of peril, homeward. Back of mo
thundered tho locomotive. I likened
it to the angel of death: the sub
dued roar of the train was like the
sound of the angel's wings. My life
—little Tim's life—ail depended on
the distance tho train was from us.
Two plans presented themselves
clearly to me. I might spring from
tho horse, leave it to take its chances
galloping through the tunnel, and.
groaning Tim. hold him against the
ynsittmg.s.1..a ...:rouuUui
oast happily. Or I might lift him
ap and urge the horse to his utmost
through the tunnel.
As I thought of Boli Somers’ florae
of the horrors that might ensue in
the tunnel in case the horse threw
the train off tho track, my course
was decided on tho instant.
I galloped down to Tim’s side; he
lgui turned on hearing tho horse's
hoofs clattering over tho ties and
roadbed, and stood looking up at me
with a smiling face. Leaning to
ward him. calling to him to givo me
grasping him in a fierce sweep,and
held him close before me as I urged
the horse onward.
Tim’s face, as no looked into mino,
displayed terror. Ho civ. ig to mo in
stinctively. closing his lips firmly. I
No sound escaped him. The iron
steed followed fast along at tny back
with a dull roar. I; was ft race be
tween Boh Somers’steed and tho iron
borao. Bob Somers' steed fairly
bounded when tho roar of the iron
horso swelled into a warning volume.
On, on lie sped, until Buddenly tho
light of day was excluded. The sul
len roar was silenced for a time. 1
breathed freer. The danger was not
so imminent after all.
Suddenly an awful sound struck
terror to my heart. Bob Somers'
horse snorted, trembled, snorted
again, then shot forward so suddenly
as almost to unseat me. The loco-
motivo had entered the tunnel 1
Have you over realized the simi
larity the tread that heavy iron
wheels bear to the steady trot of a
thoroughbred? Stand on a railway
bridge in the silence of the night and
listen to the rush and roar of the lo
comotive going and coming, and you
will understand n.e clearly.
The awe inspiring tread of thu
lightning footed steed following me
obliterated all other feelings for a
lime. Tlie earth reeled and rocked
beneath me. I pictured to myself an
atmosphere charged with the heat
and glare of the panting iron mon
ster as it rushed down upon horsu
and ridors; saw in my mind man,
boy and steed hurled to the Bide oi
tho tunnel, ground remorselessly un
der the wheels. Among all the vivid
experiences of my life—and I have
survived a battle charge, shipwreck
and railroad horrors—none ever im
pressed me with the horror I felt in
the short space of time I was in that
tunnel listening to the murderous
wheels rolling down upon us.
I recalled the horrors of a calamity
that stunned the nation—a railway
disaster where scores were sacrificed.
Then ns now the earth seemed fair
ly to yawn before me as I clapped
my hands to my cars to shut out thu
screninB of tny follows. In a flash oi
time tho lights in the crowded
coaches woro extinguished; there
was n shock as of worlds coming to
gether, a cyash and a roar of escap
ing Bteam, followed by the snapping
anil cracking of timbers, the grind
ing of iron and stone and wood in in
describable confusion. Such a scone
as tho stars shone on that winter's
night I trust human' eye may never
witness again. Shapeless limbs
scorched beyond recognition; faces
blackened, ghastly, headless trunks;
isolated limbs, a woman’s long tresses
waving here, a hand thrust up there:
the crackling, seething flames licking
up, devouring, overpowering all.
I rodo blindly, dazed, into daylight,
with all my senses Btrained to their
utmost tension. Woodburn lay peace
fully in tho bright sunlight off to the
right. I could boo the church spires
and court house across the top of the
bank. There was one chance in a
thousand, a chance for Tim and me.
I shook my feet free of tho stirrups,
swung Tim around suddenly to tho
left, nt the same time swinging my
right log over the pommel of tho
saddle, and plunged rather thon
leaped into the bonk of sand and fine
gravel. Our plunge set the sand in
motion; but I hold Tim’s face down
ward; held my head downward while
the train thunderld past. Then 1
slid and staggered upon my feet',
rubbed the sand out of my eyes, now
blurred with tears, and hugged Tim
in a delirium of delight over our
miraculous escape.
As the construction train disap
peared from view, and I urged Tim
forward to a place of safety, he
WROTE BIG STORIlfe.
REPORTER WHO WAS
MANCER OF GREAT
ability:!
A Young Man Who Had A Pen-
chiin t for Turning Out Special New a
That Startled I*f ople—The Pioneer of n
Cl am ii That U More Common Today.
of one of Ml'S. Ferris’ pies, bo® hands. I lifted him up suddenly.
pointed to an object below us, where
I beheld a qui vering mass—all that
remained of the gallant horse.
Bob Somers’ horse was crushed into
a yielding, pulpy, inanimate luiflp,
lying there beside the rails, his head
twisted back under his neck, shorn
of his fore feet, bleeding, bruised and
buffeted beyond recognition.
‘We beat toe railroad, didn’t we?"
said little Tim, looking up at me with
a face whose pallor contrasted
strangely with the stains of sand and
gravel. It wus toe first word he ut
tered from the moment I picked him
up.
"Yes, Tim, by God’s mercy."
“But we’d caught what toe horse
got if we hadn’t jumped." Then,
after a short pause, "I’m most afraid
to go to see toe unicorn and toe
lion."
"Oh, but you will, Tim 1 and you
must toll me how many bears and
monkeys von see at toe circus. " I’ll
go borne with you and sec that your
mother gets you ready in time for
Stacy."
And I did, and Tim saw enough at
the circus that afternoon to furnish
bun with speculations that lasted as
long os I was on duty at Stanley sta
tion.
Tho company paid Bob Somers a
handsome sum for his horse, but if
you’d toss all the laud lying on either
side of toe Woodburn branch, and
the branch itself into one lump, I’d
not go through one minute of that
day’s experience for it.—David Lowry
in Pittsburg Bulletin.
Nearly a thousand people committed
suicide ia Paris during the year 1891.
The favorite method was by drowning,
by which 281 ended their existence. ■
The most eminent r ' ptologers place
the date of the first of glass at a
perio l too remote to he given in years.
Crowley was a redheaded, freckled
faced Irishman, He had the greatest
imagination that I ever knew of, and
could express himself fluently and grace
fully. He turned the quiet city of Roch
ester npside down more than once by
his imaginary storieB. He worked along
about 1880, perhaps a little before.
When ho came to work he was pnt on
the regular apprentice lines, but soon
showed that he was too good a man to
be kept dubbing around after mortuary
notices and other truck of that kind.
He had a genius for writing imaginary
stories and locating them somewhere,
With the invariable effect of causing
people to flock to the place where his
fairy tale was alleged to have happened.
One night, when news was dull, the
city editor told Crowley to write a Btory
of some kind about a column in length
to help fill up. Crowley sat down at his
desk and ground out a tale about a thrill
ing experience that he had in the north
ern part of the city which ran like this:
He was walking down in that part of
the city when he heard the hell in one
of the steeples near by clang. It waB
late at night, and he wondered at it and
straightway proceeded to investigate.
He found the door of the church stand
ing wide open and went in.
Just os he entored the boll rang again,
and he heard a noise up in the Bteeplo.
He started to climb up, and when he
neared the top an enormous rook came
crashing down through tho stairway
and nearly struck him. He climbed far
ther, and another rock came down. At
lost lie reached tho top, where he found
an escaped maniac, and after a desper
ate struggle overpowered him. Absurd
as that story was, thousands of people
wont down to that church on the'next
morning prompted by that insane curi
osity that makes people flock to the
scene of any crime or casualty.
Tho success of this story gave Crow
ley a cue, and it wasn’t long until toe
community was shocked beyond meas
ure by the dotails of a horrible murder
committed on a canal boat tied up at
Fnirport, which is a little village ten
miles from Rochester and on the Erie
canal. The crime was described with a
minutoness and the names of the boat
and tho man murdered and everything
given with such apparent candor that
the police officers of Rochester wero
amazed next morning to think that they
had not heard of it before, and a detail
of men was sent to the spot to investi
gate. When they got there there was
nothing to investigate, and Crowley got
out of the scrape in Borne way or other
best known to himBelf.
His most f unions Btory was tho next
one: that is to say, the next big one, for
he was continually writing special arti
cles. Forepaugh's circus came to Roches
ter one summer, and on the night of the
show a brilliant idea struck Crowley.
He went to work, and in a couple of
hours evolved a story about the escape
of the rhinoceros from the circus. He
told graphically how it broke out of its
cage, gored a couple of keopers and
started for Lake Ontario. Ho located
this story on the Blinker form, which
was then a comparatively littlo settled
portion of the city down in the north
ern part. He told of the chase that the
circns men and residents of that section
made after tlie animal, and described its
actions. He wrote a paragraph or two
on the daraago that the immense beast
had done to property and eloquently por
trayed the sufferings of a number of
horses that it ripped up.
The whole story was over two oolumns
long and made a great sensation. People
flocked down to the Brinker farm to see
the ground on which tho brute did its
bloody v/ork, and while they found noth
ing, Crowley squared himself by print
ing another story the next day telling of
its capture, and as the circns was miles
away nobody knew whether it was true
or not. This story was copied into every
paper in the country, uud it gavo old
Adam Forepn.ugh o tremendous amount
of freo advertising. Tho. old man was
immensely tickled with it and deter
mined to make use of Crowley,
One night tho re llieaded youth sailed
into the office aftei his ovening assign
ment mid was told to do something or
other by tho city editor. He started
I down st-ivs to tho street and was met
by a inessengor boy, wlio handed him a
telegram. It read, ,! Come to Philadel
phia at once to go ahead of my show
around tho world," and was signed by
Adam Forepaugh. Crowley started im
mediately for Philadelphia, without
even waiting to go hack into the office
and resign. He went around the world
ahead of the show, was gone three years
or more, and one afternoon walked into
the city room and said to the city editor,
“If you don’t mind. I'll go out and finish
that assignment now.”
Bright as ho was, Crowley was dissi
pated and died within a comparatively
short time after his return from his trip
around the world. As a writer of purely
imaginary stories that read like Uospel
truth and as the inventor of schemes to
fill up a paper with sensational matter,
Crowley has never been equaled in this
state to my knowledge. If he had
taken care of himself he would have
been earning big money today on some
metropolitan paper.—Interview in Buf
falo Express.
O HELEN, HELEN DEAR!
How lightly up tho winding stair
Wo ran together, sho and I;
And still 1 see hor lovely face
Look downward from the landing place;
For oho outsped mo. Through tho glooiq
Df tho groat hall. Into her room,
3he led mo on that summer day.
In years that fled too quickly by.
I pray yon, If you over pass
This sunken grave within the grass.
Touch tenderly tho crumbling stone,
And say, for mo, In undcrumo—
. “O Helen, Helen dear!"
How fair sho was, how straight ami tall.
My Helen in that far off day!
Llko lliing things that longed to go,
Tho curtains fluttered to and fro.
As up nud down the room wii walked.
Perhaps of love and lovers talked.
As girls have always done, and will.
And nothing whispered "yea" nr "nay."
I pray you, If you over pass
This sunken grave within the grass.
Touch tenderly the crumbling stone.
And suy, for me, in undertone—
"0 Helen, Helen dear!"
What trifling lldngs the heart will keep!
They seem ttsi simple to he told.
That day aho lifted from Us place
A dainty thing or flowers uud lace,
And held it up that I might see.
Oh, little bonnet, plain to me.
Your ribbon streams across tho mist,
A shadowy streak of palest gold!
I pray you, if you over pass, ■
ThlB sunken gravo within tho grass.
Touch tenderly the crumbling Htonc,
And soy, for mo, In undertoue—
"O Helen, Helen deart"
—Ellen M, H. Gatos In Youth's Companion.
THE FORCE OF HABIT.
A Story Which Illustrates the Conse
quences of dotting Into a Hut.
“It’s strange what creatures of linbit
some of us are,” said Mr. Staybolt,
"There’s my friend, Walter Graiebar.
Exumplary man, capable aud efficient
under ordinury conditions, but lost if he
departs from his daily routine. His wife
Is just like him, methodical iu every
thing. They have roast beef for dinner
on the same day each week. There is a
breakfast hill of fore for each day in tho
week, and it never-varies. Mr. Gratebar
doesn’t remember toe time, for instance,
when they didn’t havo picked tip codfish
on Tuesdays.
“He is so accustomed to those things
that ills sense of taste now runs in waves,
which recur with absolute regularity.
It is probable that if picked up canvas-
back was set before him on a Tuesday
moming it would taste to him more like
picked up codfish, for that’s his codfirh
morning, and his taste is set for codfisn.
As a matter of fact, he ate smoked beef
for breakfast last Tuesday morning and
didn’t know it until niglit. It seemed to
him that there was something wrong
about that broalcfast, hut he didn’t make
out wlmt it was.
“He went to his business at toe usmil
time und began his work in the usual
way, hut everything went wrong. Wlier
noon came he went to tho same restaurant
that he had always beon to, stood in tho
same place at the lunch counter, ate the
same lunch that he hod eaten for years,
and was back at work in twenty min
utes, as usual, but nothing seemed t(
go right, and as the afternoon woro on
there was added to his other woes a
feeling of physical discomfort. Hi
work dragged and he was late home.
“ ‘I don’t see what can be the matter
with mo,’ lie raid to Mrs. Gratebar. 'It
can’t bo anything I’ve eaten, can itf J
ate very littlo of the codfish tliia morn
ing’—
“ ‘‘Walter’
“There was a Btrange tone in her
voice, and hor methodical, but usually
very pleasant and cheerful, face now
wore a look of self reproach.
" ‘Walter,’ sho said, ‘you didn’t have
codfish for breakfast; you had smoked
beef.’
" ‘Why, how’s that,’ he said, with n
calm face, but with a lighter heart, for
it was a relief to him to know what was
the mattor with him.
“ ‘We were out of codfish,' said Mrs.
Gratebar, ‘and Mary forgot to order it
of the grocer.'
“And so they had had to eat Wednes
day’s smoked beef on Tuesday, the cod
fish day. But they are running accord
ing to schedule now, and Mi'. Gratebar
is himself again.”—New York Sun.
1 ' Five Young Ruler*.
The five youngest sovereigns in
Europe are William II of Germany,
thirty-two years; Carlos I of Por
tugal, twenty-eight years; Alexander
I of Servia, fifteen years: Wilhel-
mina of Holland, eleven years, and
Alphonse XIII of Spain, five years.
—Exchange. .
Inflamed Eye* from a Lamp.
Eyes are sometimes inflamed by
being held too near toe heat of a
lamp, and relief may bo obtained by
shading toe eyes with any old scrap,
of green paper, such as handbills are
sometimes printed on.—Hall's Jour
nal of Health.
ADVEnTMID J.ETTKItM. ^
List of letters remaining in the po^t-
office nt Albany, Qa., for the w(ek
ending April 27, 1892. If not oalled
for in fifteen days will be sent to the
Dead Letter office:
A—Adam Adamson. - r
B—Miss Crecy Barns, Prof. D. N. Bald
ing, Rolilint Ball, Miss Mattie Bell,
Mollie Bozliman, W. L. Braswell*
Co., Mrs. Melinda Brown, Sam
Bragg.
C—Miss Mary Carter, Miss Chariot
Crawford. M
D—Mrs. Louiny Dannil.
E—Snrah Edwards, Aik Ealing. 5
F—Lee Farmleedp, Miss J. Fuller.
G—Miss Sarah Grimes, IV. A. Gray. ,
H—Miss Maggie Hampton (col.), Miss
Mary Harris, Mrs. Aniine Harris,
L, A. Hanson, Miss llicmi Hill,
Miss Sharlard Iloetli, Mrs. Carrie
Iluges.
J—Mrs. Henry C. Johnson,, J. L. Jen
kins.
I,—Mr. Charles W. Lee, Ha
Locket.
M—Bill Mathews, Mrs.-E. 9. Mill
E. J. Miller, Minnie Mygrant (:
Henry Morris, Miss Tempy Mui’T’
sey. , .
O—Miss Jane Oliver, Mrs. Ellen Oliver,
Miss Delln Owen (3).
P—.Ino. Paye, Allen Peters, Tom
Powell.
R—W. W. Hoylaml.
S—Miss Barbear Sprol, Mrs. G. I*. Sto-
val, C. H. Stnoy, Mrs. Alloe Bull van.
T—David Tarlton, Frank Thonotn,
W—Lula B. Walters, Mrs. Savannah
Watson, David E. Ward, A. M.
Watson, Daniel Washington,David
•Washington, B. W. Walker, Mrs.
M. E. Wells (2), MissLiserWoqJgy.
Z—Fletcher Zackrle.
In calling for above letters please
say “advertised” and give date.
B. F. Bkimiikiuiy, P. M.
The news from the different coun
ties of the Second Congressional dis
trict with reference to Demoopatio or
ganization and the prospects of Col.
C. B. Wooten's nomination by the pat
ty is getting tn be more nnd more eu,
oouraging every day.
Bishop Nelson confirmed seven?
five persons in Savannah Sunday.
Michigan has liopeB of shoving Alg
to the front again nt Minneapolis
June. Jlut Alger nnd Hill are both
“way out of sight.” :<>
TnK oholera Is spreading in India.
LITTLE
'Liven
! PILLS
DO SOT GHIPE SOB SICKEN.
Boro car* for.
ACHE, imp?'
potion, torpid _
vital organ*, nn
ilneai. Mack*}
loo
complexion
E.T VxaSTAOU.
‘ .to atilt <
The do*e i* nicely ijdluitj
nerarbatoo much. Etchyl
purlfri^C
Band *-c*nt*t*mp. tong*t 81 p*ge book withlample.
DR. HARTER MEDICINE CO., St. UouU, Mo,
POWEll OF ATrOBNBY’J MAIit
A Peculiar’Well.
A phenomenon is observed in an
artesian well near Edensburg, Mass.
Tlie well spoken of is down about 200
feet, but tlie water in it is still 1 GO
feet below tlie surface. The pecul
iarity consists in the fact that when
there is no wind the water is that,
distance below the curbing; when
there is a high wind flowing water,
oours out of the pipe.—Philadelphia
ledger.
GEORGIA, Douonr.nTV County;
By virtue of n power of attorney, irrevocable,
made nnd executed by Margaret Murray, on
tho 80th day of Mnroh, 1888, by whloh the said
Margaret Murray authorized and empowered
the undersigned to sell at public outcry tho lots
and parcels of land hereinafter set forth, before
the Court House door of Dougherty oounty,
I will sell on the first Tuesday in June next,
befovp the Court House door of .said coupty ot
Dougherty, the following lot or parcel of land,
to-vflt*.
All that lot or parcol of land lying and being
in the First district of tho county of DokghRrty,
nnd Stnte of Georgia, and knowh as foirr(4)
news of lot of land (number not known) in the 4
said First district, described us follows: Com
mencing on the southwest corner of the lot
formerly owned and occupied by Willis BJEIar-
vis, nnd owned in February, 1870, by A inti a C.
Westbrook; said lot running east and jKmtU
from tlie above southwest corner,until thcsStd
four acres arc included, nnd beta*, known afe
tho lot lying on the oust side of the road run
ning south of tho city of Albany, and sold by
Alatia C. Westbrook to Enoch I* Hudson and
purchased by said Margaret Murray from said
Enoch Hudson. Terms cash.
CORNELIUS COFFEY.
Albany, Ga n April 8,1892. ap80-td
HARDWARE!
THE BEST AND CHEAPEST'PLOW ON EARTH!
w.
bell;
■Mil li