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About Conyers weekly. (Conyers, GA.) 1895-1901 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 21, 1895)
The tendency in modern building in England is toward the abolition of stairs in favor of inclined planes. Milwaukee contains 21J square miles of territory—probably the smallest area of any city in the United States of equal size. The spread of the bicycle fever has had a marked effect on the rubber trade. A well known rubber dealer states that in the past eighteen months $5,000,000 worth of crude rubber has teen purchased by tire makers. Here are some of the little things, enumerated by the New York Com¬ mercial Advertiser, that Great Britain has on her hands at present: Turkey, China, Ashantee, South Africa, Vene¬ zuela, the Alaskan border question and Ireland. These are enough to make every day a working day for the new Prime Minister. Bays the Baltimore American: Wo¬ men reformers have their partisans, hut there is generally a party against them. But there is one woman refor¬ mer in New York who will not have a dissenting voice raised against her crusade from Maine to Mexico. She is trying to teach the women of the land how to make good, digestible pie. Harold Frederic, who isn’t given to circulating reports of a purely sensa¬ tional character, cables over to the New York Times that “Queen Victoria is passing again through one of those phases of semi-insanity which recall that she is George Ill’s grand-daughter. Bumors began to circulate in London a week ago that things were wrong, and a modified form of them has been printed in Dublin, but nowhere else, although private letters from Scotland show that it is a common knowledge there. It seems to have had its origin in the death of a young nephew of John Brown, who had some obscure post about Balmoral, but for whom the Queen burst forth in a vehement mourning which took all by surprise. Since then she has been going to his grave and to Brown’s in all weathers, and doing other extraordinary things, which it is impossible any longer to ignore. ”_ The Macon (Ga.) Telegraph is credited with the story, now going tho rounds, that a terrapin about the size of a silver dollar came down in a rainstorm at Valdosta, the other day; and since that curious occurrence the people in that section believe firmly all tho reports they have heard relat¬ ing to showers of frogs and fish. In a land so justly noted as this for mis¬ cellaneous weather and climatic freaks, the most credulous person may come to believe firmly in the gastronomic and epicurean conditions of the ele¬ ments. Pink snow is not unknown, and it is quite possible that hailstorms of two-grain quinine pills will shortly break our parlor glass, and play a weird tattoo upon the roof, When such things come to pass, the com - munity will demand a new kind of weather prophet, that economic householders may not be put to the expense ot laying in a cube of corned beef on the approach of a terrapin shower, or a fish cyclone, which would be rare blessings during the season of Lent. A weather report of the future would then read something like this: Scallops fell yesterday on the Atlantic coast from South Carolina northward, in whioh region they were greatly needed. Frogs are falling in Michi¬ gan and tho Lake regions; a trifle over three inches are reported from Marquette. A cold wave of fresh mackerel is moving . rapidly ... eastward . , from the Dakotas. Then tho weather forecast will be: For New England, N„. York, Eastern Peneejlv.aia Jl New Kpit Jersey, Twsnr fair weather, with oeca sional showers of oysters and clams in the afternoon. Then will the French man hie him forth to gather the hin¬ der members of the batraohia so dear to his heart. Umbrellas will be used to protect heads against the descend¬ ing porgie or soft-crab. During a drought farmers will pray for showers of fish to fertilize their land, and re¬ plenish their depleted larders. When that time shall arrive, people who are now sceptical on the subject of plain frog and fish falls, will only look with grave doubt upon the report that makes known to the world a shower of canned salmon or a hailstorm of •iiicken croquettes. THE SINGING IN GOC'3 ACRE. Dut yonder in the moonlight, wherein God's Acre lies, do angels walking to and fro, singing their lullabies. Their radiant wings are folded, and their eyes are bendiDg low, its they sing among the beds wherein the flowers delight to grow— “Sleep, oh, sleep! The Shepherd guardeth His sheep. Fast speedeth the night away, Soon cometh the glorious day; Sleep, weary ones, while ye may— Sleep, oh, sleep!” The flowers within God’s Acre see that fair and wondrous sight. And hear the angels singing to the sleepers through the night; And, lo! throughout the hours of day those gentle flowers prolong The music of the angels in that tender slum¬ ber song— “Sleep, oh, sleep! The ShephetJ loveth His sheep. He that guardeth His flock best Hath them to His loving breast, So sleep ye now, and take your rest— Sleep, oh, sleep!” From angel and from flower the years have learned that soothing song, And with its heavenly music speed the days and nights along; So through all time, whose flight the Shep¬ herd’s vigils glorify, God’s Acre slumbereth in the grace of that sweet lullaby— “Sleep, oh, sleep! The Shepherd loveth His sheep. Fast speedeth the night away,' Soon cometh the glorious day; Sleep, weary ones, while ye may—. Sleep, oh, sleep!” —Eugene Field. THE WANDERING HEIR. Vfii 7/J\ Hai Wrn a rose ' 8 haded corner off the i§l, fwa r ball-room ^’‘P* Lady ow reclined ~ and twittered. It was such an ad WrnmP (f sssri £fi M “ u rose-shaded cor ner. “Yes, we leave to-morrow—leave thiB wicked London, with its arti¬ ficialities and its weary treadmill, and yield ourselves to complete rest, to a life more approved by nature, surrounded by innocent pleasures.” Lady Tiplow sighed a fluttering lit¬ tle sigh, and languidly leaned her scheming little head, the curls of which had no right to be amber-tint¬ ed, against the velvet curtains, smil¬ ing archly up at Sidney Fielding with a thin-lipped mouth, and tapping in a caressing but cautious manner her rosy cheek, which was a protest against the mellow tinting of her throat. But she mentioned no ad¬ dress. It was at this moment that Helen Seaton came in sight, and, dismissing her partner with a friendly smile, came to join the group in the shaded c or ner. Lady Tiplow waved her im periously to a vacant half yard of cushion. “Ah, Mr. Fielding,” she continued, “I am serious when I call this London a wicked city.” “I fear you may be right,” hazarded Mr. Fielding. “What is society? A fraud! Per¬ haps for the very rich and tor the— the really common classes it is easy to be sincere and good; easy for th^se who are able to keep up appearances, and for those who have none to keep up. But for the others!” • • “You were ever candid, dear mamma,” remarked the frigid Miss Tiplow, with a curl of her lip. “Ah, Alicia, you are one of the fav ored; it is easy for you to be good.” The Honorable Alicia Tiplow’s small fortune was tightly secured to her, thanks to the foresight of an old aunt of saving tastes and Philistinish no tions; a fact which inconveniences Lady Tiplow not a little. Miss Alicia curled her lip yet more scornfully. “Poor society seems fairly happy in spite ot its sins,” she remarked, with a scarcely perceptible wave of her fan towards the ballroom. Fielding followed her eyes to the scene of light and color, beautiful wo men and comely men, rich gowns, sa » hn 3 «- ves au l f “ der §. la nce! h ^ Uea hl *'own eyes ell on “2 . U P n e of ' “Yes, they , look , happy enough, , „ , he said, with a sigh, “perhaps they are ail of the first class named by Lady low ’ * “Perhaps so,” assented the Honor able Alicia, carelessly. “That would be the most sensible way of settling matters—let the rich enjoy their their riches, and let the poor keep away.” Miss Tiplow knew of her own moth¬ er's struggles—as a paid chaperone— to keep pace in any way with the so¬ ciety whi 'h was very life to her; she bad also decide t that poverty was the lot of Sidney Fielding, her would-be admirer, as she ueerned him. But Miss Tiplow, being somewhat inde¬ pendent and insolent, spoke as she chose. “Then you do not approve of a di¬ vision of benefits,” Fielding inquired. “of the meeting of the poor and the rich, that love may give them a chance of leveling matters?” He questioned Miss Tiplow, but it was at Miss Seaton he glanced the while; and he noted that her attention had returned to the conversation, and that her usually merry face was grave. “I do not recognize such leveling,” retorted Miss Tiplow, “it is impos¬ sible.” “You would not approve if a poor man should ask for the hand of a rich girl?” He pursued the subject with a smile upon his lips, but his eyes still rested anxiously upon Helen Seaton. Alicia turned her cold eyes on him slowly. contempti¬ “Such a man would be ble !” she replied. Tiplow, “Spare my feelings, Miss he pleaded ; “I may be such a man. “You?” she drawled in careless in¬ terrogation, as if Sidney Fielding, barrister, must be quite beyond the pale. “Yes, I. But of course I ought not to have come to such a rich and lofty sphere as this.” come?” “Then, why did you “The lowly are ever anxious to'gaze upon the lofty.” “You are lowly?” indifferently. “Oh, very.” A smile lay about his lips as he answered. “ ‘Lowly born’ is the term one would use, I suppose.” “Exactly,” he replied. “My par¬ ents were quite countrified people, what one may term ‘honest and re¬ spectable;’ they went in for horses and cows and such like, living, as Lady Tiplow would express it, ‘a life approved by nature, surrounded by innocent pleasures.’” “Indeed,” she remarked, languidly, scarcely repressing a yawn, “How extremely interesting for them and you.” The merry expression returned to Helen’s face, and she smiled at Field¬ ing with a daring smile. ^ “Our dance, I think,” he said soft¬ ly, holding his arm to her. it was no such thing, but Helen rose and went with him. “Do you want to dance?” he asked, as they walked away from the rosy shade.. “Not a bit,” she answered. “That’s all right. Now I want to know why you are so grave to-night. ” “Was I grave? Yes, I know I was. It is so odd,” frankly, “tofeel grave.” “Did my lowly origin surprise you ?” “I had never thought of yon as low¬ ly. But the passage at arms amused me. Alicia is so grand.” “Fielding laughed softly. “Yes; but before that you were grave. I think I had never seen you so before. Is it—are you—may I ask, are you sickening?” “For what?” “Love.” Helen’s laugh answered him. “Not in the least. It was not the grande passion which sobered me.” “That which has been sobering Lady Tiplow and myself is ‘money,’ or the lack of it,” he ventured. “Yes,” she exclaimed, “that is it. Shall X tell you a secret?” “I wish you would tell me one I very much want to know.” “What is it?” “Where aie you going when von leave town to morrow? Lady Tiplow hinted at Arcadia, but was careful to mention no fixed point. ” “Ah, I may not answer that. I’ve been commanded.” Fielding whistled long ' and low. Then he apologized. “Oh, I don’t mind,” declared Helen. “So I’m an ineligible.” “Dear me,” exclaimed Helen, struck by the remark; “then that’s it. You are supposed to admire Alicia.” “Oh, am I? Well, what is your se¬ cret?” She c i aspe d her hands in tragic f a8 hion to her breast. ,« My gecret is that this night ia my last in tbe gay WO rld. I have come to the end of my pleasuring. When t bese lights go out they will go out on my magnificence. To-morrow I shall be Cinderella at home. ” “What do you mean?” They had reached a little balcony - by tbl s time> and were looking into t be high-walled garden below. Helen’s wbite arms were i yiug bare upoD the dingy stucco. ttJ hay0 beeQ hollow sbftm for one I am /Tiplow poor,” she said, solemn j ^ .. and Lad is mad with f„ r the chances I have missed, and befiau6e j am 0Q ber handB till my ship So I » to children after to-morrow, and live thfl sehoolroom . and i C8n ’ t teach, knQw l doa > t know how .» „ Bat sure ; y) Lady Tiplow did not-” “No,” laughed Helen, “she certain lydid ....... not. It was godmother . ,. who , my said: ‘I will give her one season in town; let her have everything she wants, go where she will and get a rich husband.’ ” The girl’s unaffected frankness startled even Fielding. “And you—” “And I—have not done it.” “What does that entail?” “My transmission to an unknown uncle’s in India, who is not enchanted thereby.” “I imagined you a tremendous heir¬ ess, to whom the offer of a moderate income in thousands and a plain name would be an insult. Bat why did you not secure the rich husband?” “I couldn't bear the ones who came my way; they were horrid.” After a pause, “I beiieve I liked you better than any of them.” “Then marry me,” suggested Field¬ ing, quietly. Miss Seaton laughed whole-hearted at the joke, which she considered too trivial to require an answer. “So now you know why I was grave,” she said, after a few momont’s silence, during which she had contem¬ plated a white cat on the garden wail and Fielding had contemplated her. “But couldn’t you love any of them?” he asked. “No; I think if I had even liked one I would have said ‘yes,’ fer I al¬ ways thought I should rather like to marry first and fall in love afterwards. ” “Bisky, rather! but in that case do as I said before; marry me. You said yon liked me.” She looked at him this time with real interest. His voice was perfectly calm. “It’s awfully good of you to offer to help me out,” she began, hesitatingly, “and it really does sound better than India”—Fielding did not even wince — “but somehow, you’ve always been so jolly to me—I should feel a brute, a perfect brute, to take advantage of such an offer.” “But, really, you know,” said Field¬ ing pleasantly, “I should rather like it. I love you.” She Iookad at him steadily, and he looked at her ; then he laid his hand on her arm as it lay on the balcony. “I want you to dot, truly I do.” “How odd you are,” she said; “not a bit like the others.” “You are odd,” he answered, smil¬ ing; “not a bit like the others.” She placed her other hand on his as it lay there, and patted it in a friendly fashion. “I’ll think of it,” she promised; “give me time.” Then she turned to walk back to her chaperon. “And where is it?” he asked, per¬ emptorily. “Broadelms.” He colored swiftly and looked at her; but her face was frank as usual. “Coincidence!” he decided to him¬ self, as he escorted her to Lady Tip low’s corner. “It’s to be a masked ball.” Miss Seaton jumped from the stile as if she had been shot, and blushed scarlet. “Goodness! Mr. Fielding! Wher¬ ever did you come from?” “From Lady Tiplow; and it’s to be a masked ball.” “How do you know?” “Because she has promised me.” “Oh, do explain. How did you come to Broadelms? What do you mean by it all?” “If you continue asking questions, and I promptly answer, we shall soon get it straight.” “Well, what made you face Lady Tiplow?” “I had a message from my aunt for her. ” “Who is your auut?” “Mrs. Darrell, at the Ccurt. “Then you are!—” “Yes, I am the long-lost heir, or rather, the wandering heir.” Miss Seaton gave a long, soft whistle. “When I did that,” remarked Fielding, calmly, “I apologized to you.” Miss Seaton laughed. “Well!” she exclaimed. “Well! How astounding! And you are going to the ball?” “Yes; and what are you to wear? That is the right question to ask, isn’t it?” “I am not going.” “Not going?” “Of course not, I have not been in¬ vited. No one here knows me; I’ve been in the school-room, you know; and my ship sails the day after?” “For where?” “India.” “Ah I But you’re coming to the ball?” “I cannot. I have no dress. Lady Tiplow does not want me—” “Nonsense; I’m going!” “Yes, of course; you have been anxiously expected.” Helen’s eyes twinkled. “What did Lady Tiplow say?” “At first she would not believe in me ; but when I had proved my iden¬ tity, she playfully reproached me for my ‘tricks.’ But she did not seem angry, and even Miss Tiplow curved her lips and smiled upon me icily.” “You are a pleasant surprise, you know.” “Oh, ami? But you are coming to the ball?” “No!” “Yes!” Silence, “A costume of my great-grand¬ mother would look rather well,” meditatively. Miss Seaton paid no heed. “With a short waist, and sandalled shoes.” Miss Seaton grew mildly interested. “And to walk up under Lady Tip low’s very nose! —” Miss Seaton tittered—and suc combed. “Will it do?” The question came from a slim Old* World maiden, as she stepped from the oioak-room, clad in a narrow^ silk gown.short-sleeved and beau waited. of a contemporary The answer was given by t drew her away down the period, softly lighted corridor r u to » recess. “No,” he answered, slowly = % great-grandmother’ wedding ring. ” alwav CG \ s The maid CD n b: e “What nonsense ! As if I had “If you undertake one.” should be complete,” a costume it beau. protested the “I have.” She looked, and from his waists pocket he drew a tiny gold ring sef witn dazzling diamonds. “Oh!” she her^nf impulsively. Then he took tened hand in his and slipped the rinJ over her finger. “Turn the diamonds inward ” t commanded. let to make “Put on bows.” your mask Ja us go our himself out waiting to protest, he inad-J and led the way. In the ballroom ?f ere ^gkts and I music, wonderful , . . x toilets and merry laughter; and by the door stood Lady Tiplow, the only unmasked person smiling and twittering at her m y 8 ’ tenons guests. With stately tread the man and the maiden advanced to the hostess, and Lady Tiplow, smllm* still, bade them welcome, noting as she guises, did but so failing the details to of their°dis. masks. Miss Beaton, penetrate their with trembling fingers and an hysterical flutter at her throat, passed on into the ballroom Mr. Fielding following her. With eyes twinkling with merriment through her mask she looked at him and he placed his arm round her and drew her into the dance. “Under her very nose," laughed Helen, softly. “Her very nose,” he repeated, with something strangely like a chuckle. But when the dance was done fcfca Old-World beau led the white-gowned maiden through an open window to the lawn outside, where the air was cool, and the lanterns mimicked fairy, land. And then, as he removed hi,r mask, she saw his face was grave, an$ he halted beneath a swaying light ami stood facing her. “And now,” he began, “1 want hr know why you have served me so?" “What have I done?” she asked,, trembling. “You have treated me badly. When I parted from you in London I asked you to marry me. When I meet yon here you tell me the date of your ship’s departure. Was that eveit civil?" The blood rushed to her face; she tried to speak, but no words wef{> ready. “Am I not better than India, ait« all?” he pleaded. “You—you did—not come,” sh* faltered. “You asked m$ to give you time, K he declared. “That is why I did not come. I did as you bade me, and, meanwhile you made plans to escape from me.” “No, no,” she cried, “You did not come. I thought you had been laugh¬ ing at me. I was ashamed—” “Oh, Helen, Helen. Won’t you be¬ lieve that I love you, my darling?’' Helen was silent. “Once,” he pleaded, “you said that if you but liked a man yon would an¬ swer ‘yes;’ that you would marry him first and fall in love with him after¬ wards. Won’t you do even that for me?” Helen hid her face in her hands, but he saw that she shook her head. “Helen,” he drew her hands from her face, “my darling; say you will do that much for me.” “I cannot,” she whispered, “I can not.” “Why not?” he aaked, and his face was white with his eagerness. “Because—because”—she looked up suddenly, and he saw that though her lashes were wet her lips were smiling “Oh, Sidney, I had fallen in love with you already before.” with And the lantern looked down a winking eye on the little scene that followed. After a while the strains of the band came stealing across tbe lawn. “The old ‘Blue Danube,’ Helen; we must not miss that. Turn the ring round, my darling; who cares now —W oman. Three-Compartment Bicycle lire. A Chicago inventor has devised a three compartment pneumatic bicycle tire which, while not unpuncturable. still reduces the liability of injury a minimum, because if the rubber m one of tne compartments is sufficient puncture o > the other two are still carry the rider and keep the tire in cylindrical form. The partitions are arranged spirally. The tire is inna e through three separate tubes, eacn pnmping' . chamber requiring separate —Scientific American. An Operation ot a Great Financier. One of the stories told of Bussell Sage is that when a thief one da? dropped a bill near him in order o draw his attention from counting so 1 ? 3 he had drawn at the bank, - r ' money bill, than Sage put his foot on the his informant, finished bis couD ’ stowed his own money securely away, apd then smilingly put the thief s also in his pocket.—Detroit * Press.
