Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

ww?a^^ & ■ w .?o 6)/'/' > W 0 ywjjmwlO^tW?« <-. ,'• WWw tfe ®O ; '?’ v ; üb?SIK FltfiOftW -< bBJ : f b® «a we<Kis<A »litHR VOL. XIX. WORGENILEMN? By Wallace P. Reed. For The c institution. Undoubtedly he was a tramp. The solitary marshal, whose business it was to represent the majesty of the law in the little village of Blue Rock, spotted the stranger as Boon as he entered the place. The visitor was shabbily dressed. His coat was ragged, and his trousers were patched. His hat was without a brim, and his shoes let his fee touch the ground. “I’ll shadow him,’’ said the marshal to him self. The tramp slouched along down the shady side of the street until he reached the depot. Here lie paused and took a seat on the plat form. ‘■Hi*Jo. there V’ said the marshal as he came up. ‘‘You must move on.” The man thus rudely spoken to turned a weary face toward the officer. It was not a very clean face, and it bore traces of care. But it was not a bad face, nor a very o’.d face. On the contrary, it was rather frank and youthful. All this the marshal took in. but he had bis order- and he had to carry them out. Blue Rock had passed an ordinance subjecting all tramp-i to thirty days’ imprisonment at hard labor. “What are you doing here?” asked the offi cer roughly. “I am looking for work.” was the reply. “Who are you, and where are you from ?” “I am a gentleman,” said the tramp, wea rily. “A gentleman!” shouted the marshal. “Yon look like one. What is your name, and where are you from?” The wayfarer put his hand to his head, and a puzzled look came over his face. “I would give anything to be able to answer your questions,” he said, “but I cau’t answer, for 1 do not know.” At this astounding reply the marshal raised his ba■ -n. “None of your chaff,” he growled. “Now, I’ll give you" one chance. You must march out of town or I’ll run you in.” The stranger evidently understood the full inean’mg of the threat. IFt* leaped from his Seat with a frightened look, and without a word walked off down the railroad track. “He’s been arrested before,” said the officer thoughtfully. “No doubt he has been in ado en jails. Well, so he leaves here it is all right.” Two hours later the guardian of the peace found hi? tramp occupying his former seat on the depot platform. “Now. you must come with me,” said the Xnaishn’, angrily. Ho seized the lounger by one arm and jerked him up. The prisoner made no resistance. He looked reproachfully at his captor, and start ed off with him without a word, At Blue Rock justice was always swift, although perhaps it was a little crude. 1 n les than an hour the tramp was convicted and loci- M up in the stockade, where he was set to work breaking rock. Tim pi i’-ouor’s obstinacy in asserting that he ii.ui . . --v*! his i.u v..G hl3 f.umcrpime of abode made the petty village otticials very mad. and the poor fellow was put to work at harder tasks than usual. As the. weeks rolled on it was noticed that the prisoner displayed no resentment or impa tience. He went about his work cheerfully and without a complaint. When the prisoner’s term was out the first man he met after his release was the marshal. “Get out of the town right away,” was the officer's advice. “But T want to stay here,” said the tranfp. C ‘l want work, and I like the place.” “You are a blank fool to want to stay in this town.” replied the other, “and it will be my duty to a:rest you again if you don’t leave. So march!” The- unfortunate wretch imide no further appeal. He limped off slowly, and was soon Out of ?»!ght. Later in the day the marshal passed by the depot and -aw a spectacle that made him open his eyes. The tramp was on the pintform, and the Superintendent was talking to him. “Conn* here,” said the superintendent to the marshal, “and take this vagabond off!” There was nothing to do b it to make the arrest. A speedy conviction followed, and the lucklc s victim was again sent to the stockade for thirty days. At !n.< the month came to an end and the prison*t was turned out. This time the mar shal tn arched him beyond the town limits and left him. lie ha - got too much sense to come back,” reported the marshal to the mayor. “We may have been too hard on him,” re sponded th- mayor. “I sometimes think he is wrong in the head.” “Well, it is too late to talk about it,” said the other, and the conversation ended. The tramp did not turn up again that day, nor the next. The worthy marshal begen to be worried, ami the mayor was a little uneasy. Blue Rock ■was such a small place that a sensation was alw.i s welcome, and the unknown prisoner had been the talk of the town for sixty days. “He's hiding in the woods, and will slip in here some night and burn the town,” said one. This id“a found great favor, ami that night the vil ig-'u-s found it difficult to sleep. On the following day there was a railway excursion to a point of interest forty miles away, and everybody of any consequence in the t<>'\ n wont along. The mayor and council, the u ’rintemient of the depot, and even the inar.,l.-1. joined the party. The r turn trip was made after dark, and the train ,rd along a. a fearful rate of' need. The exc mist. 4 were all in a jolly humor and weio at the height of thc’*r festivities when the frig . ?.i shrieking of the locomotive whistle Startled everybody. The train came to a full Stop, ami among those who rushed out were the mayor and marshal of Blue Rock. At the head of the train they found the en gineer ;nd conductor talking with a man who held one* hand to his side from which the blood was streaming. “Great God’ It is our tramp!” exclaimed the mat dial. “You are right,” said the mayor, “My poor fellow, what is the matter?” Tie tramp fell in a faintingfit before he Could an. v.-er the question. on see,” said the engineer, “this man Was tramping through the. woods when lie cam*? to the track and found two train wreck ers tampering with the rails. Well, this tramp, m-whatever he is. lumped <-n tlm two bc< undr Is like a tiger. He disabled one of th an, but the other stabbed him in the side and ran .way. So he built a fire on the track, and as soon as I sav it I stopped the train. J then several passengers came up with the w ended wreck i , who Lail lx en serious ly in J ’ i 1 the I’. amp. The -. illain evidently thought that be was mortal y wounded, for he made a full confer Bi >n “I th k,” said the Bh?p Rock mayor, “that v • I • u.’ to <ut i >•• * r er. Many i .-minbls fix would not have turned O’ cr a h ind to save m.” Tbo tramp opened his eyes and smiled faintly. “Hut you know wo wcro on the train?” fisk< It’. C mar-I.al. “Uh, yes, I saw you when you went up tbo road this morning, and I hung about here be cause I saw those two chaps acting suspi ciously on the track.” “Come, now, who arc you, and where is your home?” asked the marshal. “I am a gentlemen. I have forgotten my name, and all about things that happened years ago. 1 can tell you nothing more.” “By George!” said the mayor, “1 believe he tells the truth.” “Wo must take him to Blue Rock and care for him,” said one of the party. “He shall have the freedom of the town, and the best there is in it.” “Thank you,” said the tramp, with a smile. “I am satisfied now.” A spasm of pain contracted his features. A gasp, a fluttering of the breath, and the unknown was dead! Tramp or gentleman? Who was and what lay back of his misfortunes? These were the questions the Blue Rock ex cursionists asked each other on their way home. Cigars and Cancer. From the Washington Star: “Is it true that smek’ng cigars causereftneer? ‘ “Hardly. Excessive sunk ng, as excessive eating, drinking or any other dissipation will promote cancer if the person is already predisposed to it. There is no reason to suppose that smoking wil cause cancer. Many people smoke at a frightful rate and get uo cancer. Many never use tobacco and die with cancer. Women have cancer of the bieast and thn at. They are uot caused by.-mok ing. If a person is predisjosod to cancer it may be brought out by any sort of violence against nature. ‘•Late hours, too much eating, too much drinking, irregular habits of any sort may develop it. It may be developed by a hard blow. Sullivan might hit a man in the neck and develop a cancer tor him. A long continued sore throat, breathing bad air fora I long time, anything irritating the throat, might de velop a cancerthat vas trying to come into exist ence. There is a theory that cancer is licriditary, but the heriditary line is not strongly marked. lh r.ditament in it cannot be traced with any cer tainty. < ’ancers are not common. “There arc many throat troubles not cancerous that are very common and annoying. The throat is affected by the climate and atmosphere. Pad air will cause continuous throi t irritation. The bad air in simc of* the public buildings here makes many t’.r. H's suffer, jin-l might remotely as.-ist the devel opment of cancer. The bureau of eivgraving and printing and the printing office arc frightful on the throats of those employed in them.’’ GARI 15A LDI AND ANIT A. From life Forthcoming Autobiography. 1 had need of some human being who would love mo. Without such a one near mo existence was becoming insupportable. Although not old, I knew,men well enough to know how diflkult it is to find a real friend. But a woman! Yes, a woman: fori had always considered tliem the most perfect ofbe ingsand whatever men may say. it is infinitely easier to find a really loving heart among them. J was walk ing on the quarter deck of the Itaparica, wrapped in my sad thoughts, and, having reasoned the matter in all ways, finally concluded to seek a wife for my self who would draw me out of this depressing and insupportable state ol things. My glance fell by chance upon the houses of the Barra, a li tie hill thus called at the entrance of the Laguna (of St. Catherine in B azii,) on which are some simple but pictures*juc dwellings. With Hie t'id of my glass, which I habitually hold in my •tcrl >A- I saw a young girl* 1 o-dcred il - Vic L : m Mrc in that due? lion, and aisembaX. \frtid made for the hcu<e which cental: cd die or»/cct of my voyage; but could not find it. when I encountered a person of the place whom I had known on my first arrival. He invited me to take coffee at his house. Wo entered, and the first person on whom my gaze fell was the one who had caused my coming on shore. It was Anita; Ti e mother of my children. The companion of my life in good and evil fortune. Ti e woman whose courage I have so often desired. We both icmained in an ecstatic silence, gazing at each other like two persons who do not meet for the first time, and who seek in each other s lineaments something which shall revive remembrance. At last I sainted her, ami I said: “You must be mine.’’ I spoke but.little Portuguese,and I spoke these auda cious words iu Italian. However, 1 seemed to have some magnetic power in my insolence. I bud tied a knot which death alone could break. A JAPANESE GENESIS. From the Overland Monthly. In the beginning all things were in chaos. Heaven aud earth were not separated. 'J he world | floated in the cosmic mass like a fish in the water, l or the yelk in an egg. The ethereal matter sublimed j ami formed the heavens, while the residuum fo:m --| eJ the present earth, from the mould of which a germ sprouted and began a self-aidmate being, from which sprang all the gods. On the floating b idge of heaven appeared a man and woman of celestial origin. The male plunged his jeweleil spear into tlie unstable waters beneath them, and withdrawing it, the trickling drops formed an island open which they dosccn led. The creative pair, or divine man and woman, de-igiiing to malke this island a pillar foraconli n nt. se| aruted, the male lo the left, the fcm.de- to the riglit, to make a journey around the island. When they met the woman spake first, saying, “How joyful to meet a lovely man’.” The man, oflende 1 that the fir.-t use of the tongue I bad been by a woman, demand'. <i that the journey be repeated, after which he cried out exidtingly, “How joyful to meet a lovely woman!" Thus ensued the proper subjection; and this, ac cording to the ancient lore of Japan, was the origin of the human race and the art of love. Homo Bible Fuels. From Chambers’ {Journal. Ver.-cs in the Old Testament, 21’,J11. Verses in the New Te t. rnent, T/jS!). The books of the Old 'les anient. The Looks of the New Testament, 27. Words in the Old 'I - t ment, YL*. jgo. Lettcis in the Nev. i< lament, 83M20. Wordsl th ! 1 inent, 181,253. i C mpt in th-< * 'J tme 9». Leiters in th'* < dd 'lc-tament, 1 f a;<ters in the New Testament, 2fX). The word “Jehovah occurs 6.-o', times. | 'J he middle Look of the Old Testament is Pro i vxrbs. Tne middle cbapterlof the Oi l Testament Is Job ' XXiX. i 'J he middle vene of the New Testament is Acts xxii. 17. Ti e shortest verse in the New Testament Is John j JI he longest verse in the Old Te 1 - ’ament Is Esther 1 . n. 1 lie book of the New Testament Is Second Th< buionmns. • The middle chapter and short-’A in the Bible Is !• a m vxvil. ———— ——— A Tough btory. 1 io.:* tl.e Jacksonville News He aid. We never saw the equal of the following bit ol vivid end intricate mendacity: Ja k Smith's old r >un I.* n luu e ontly developed ( • d*r..bh mercautilo ability. ’He ctlicr day ■ J i*le. 1 Yon.c n >! >. iu the chicken Lonsc, and 1 v. ui i wn to Investigate. In one corner of the jar I toe roan lieu I * the was standing by a match ’ br. lull of bug-. H.cc she v.as peddling out to Im tl.- r fov. h, ab i 5 lor four fiTahib of coin. 'I he . b a r <s’-u Jim was stan«flng by ti c- fair I p; iy. 'I i.c way th< rount was made was laughable. ; Th; ; • 1 h i • . g fowl would pia< ■ a g.ain of com Lyt-.i hos Fettletoes. Bettie would examine it ' ( ih.uL, .r .’:' tto on* sh e and then pass out the . bug. When Jack tot there she bad only two bugs 1 I.f' The corn lec.-ivcl would have filled a pint lu ome from tl'.o columns of our c teemed con | t*?:n;-orniy, the Eustis L ke Region, and suggests i tl.e thought tbi t an enterprising Loy. small in ■ s u ’.i’-, but big in enterprise. Ux>k charge of things j during the cdituFs Uiuporury ab.-.euce. ATLANTA. GA., TUESDAY, EEyBITAIiY 14,1888. FROIfI THE (WE. From the Philadelphia News. Traveling through Spain I never failed to stop at the picturesque liille town of Palo. It was there T first became interested in the inn keeper’s daughter, Antonia, and her lover. Pedro, who were engaged to marrietL On my;return visit, when I asked about the pair, the old innkeeper told me that they would never marry now. Pedro was dead. Ho was forced to become a soldier and theq fell in battle. Since that day Antonin had done nothing butWy and moan for her dead lover. While the old man was telling me about the unfortunate lovers his daughter entered. I had left her a bright-eyed girl, bnt I found her worn and wasted from sorrow. “How do you feel Antonio?” her father asked. “Clara Portijo is dead, papa, and she was only five years old. lam nineteen and am not dead yet. Is it not strange?” “And your father,” I said, “is more than nineteen and still hopes to live a good while.” “But why,” turning her eyes pathetically on mo, “do some people have so little to endure while others’ hearts break from sorrow ?” “You musn’t talk so,” I said, gently. “We all have our sorrows; they' arc given us by God for a test.” “Senor,” she said, “if you know how much I have endeavored to overcome my grief and banish the melancholy which overwhelms me. you would not speak thus to me. For my dear father’s sake, 1 should dearly love to live: but it cannot be. Even the doctors say my heart is weak, but they little know how reaily weak it is. Perhaps even today, senor, the end may come, I seem to feel it near me.” “Antonia.” wailed her unhappy father, “do not say that ! If you die I shall die also, for 1 cannot live when you are gone.” “Do you really think you would die, father,” said tlio young girl, fixing her bright eyes upon the old man as he stood weeping before 1 her, “if 1 were to leave you and go to heaven “Ayo; I should, Antonia! hi -iced 1 should.” “Then, can you wonder at my dying, since Pedro too is dead ?” The young girl buried her face in her hands and wept aloud. Her father turned and quitted the room suddenly, whereupon Anto nia. making a great effort, over herself, hastily brushed her tears away and followed down. Lawyer Herrera entered the house soon after, and over our coffee 1 told him the story of Antonia and her ]o\ er. To my surprise, my ’ companion seemed very much startled and taken aback at hearing of the young man s death. He called for the landlord to come in. “Is it true,” ho asked, “that Pedro Alcazara. the priest’s nephew, is dead? I called around to the house, but the clergyyian was from home.” “It is too true, senor. He died in the Carlist war, nearly eighteen months ago.” “Poor lad—poor lad!” repeated the lawyer several times. “And I was bringing him such good news. .His uncle—a brother of his mother’s—has just died, leaving him a very handsome fortune. Ami he is really dea, ?” “ \ve. Le|fe!" replied ?he old man. 1 u it was when I^e w for 1 fear ILjat my • poOi\ nltonia will soon ib.'low him.' The ventero rose and left the room to hide I the tears he was unable to restrain. About I half an hour later, as the young men and boys | were dancing on the green to the merry sound ; of the guitar. Lawyer Herrera ami myself both sat at tlie open window looking out upon that ; scene of mirth and gaiety. Antonia sat apart . from the rest with a piece of needlework in her hands which she watered with tears. But a new personage, unnoticed by ah’ except the lawyer and myself, now appeared upon the green. It was a young soldier, tall and hand some, though his uniform was shabby and covered with dust and his face was pale and thin. He stood a little behind one of the oak trees, gazing earnestly upon the dancers, as if trying to recognize some one he was seeking, it struck me that J hail seen his face before, but I could not remember where or when. However, the ventero happening to enter the room just then, I asked him who the soldier might be, al the same time pointing to where lie stood concealed from the dancers behind the tree. The old man looked, and then sud denly screamed aloud : “Good lieavens I It is Pedro Alcazara come back to life!” The young man, hearing himself called, and seeing that lie had l>een recognized, came a lew steps forward ami looked around him. Tho dancing and music ceased, and Antonia, who had heard her father cry, rose from her seat, ami rushing forward flung her .elf with a wild scream of joy into her lover’s arms. “Thank heaven! My daughter will now live, for Pedro has come back!” said the ven tero, hurrying out to the green where, the pe.asants, with the most lively manifestations of joy. stood aiound the. youthful pair. “Stand back, friends!” cried Pedro. “Anto nia has fainted.” My companion and I went out, for we scare I ; this might bo something worse than a mere I shock, remembering what the doctor had said I about a sudden shock. Pedro had placed the ; young girl upon the grass, and held her head upon ins knee. Her father knelt by her side ami rubbed herwusted hands between his own 'The first glam e at that pale, cold face showed u.s instantly that Antonia was dead, wrecked, as it were., in sight of shore; dead. nov. that her lover Lad returned to bring her all tie* love and joy her heart had so long craved for. The old man saw our looks of pity and ;y. “bhe is very ill, is she nol,senoi : iu .»->ked me. “Alas, yes’.” I answered; “very ill in deed.” Pedro seemed to understand the fearful ’ meaning of my words. He hunt <!o.vn and i looked earnestly into the still, awfully pah? face i of tho gill he loved, laid his hand upon her | heart, am! then shrieked wildly: “Great heavens, she is dead!” “What?” cried the ventero. “What do • you say, Pedro?” And lie, in his turn, laid life band upon bis ; i daughter’s heart. There was an awful silence i fur a few seconds, and then the poor old man I ro.-e slowly' from bis knees, and coming aci -> i to m<! asked nu-calmly too calmly, for ih.it | unnatural calmness startled me if I thought ’ ■ it true that bis daughter was dead. “Yes,” I answered; “1 feu- so.” “Ami will she never more s< e the blue sky, j nor the bright sun, nov the green trees V’ “No,” I answered. “And shall I never more hear her sweet voice, never more take her in my arms, never ! more kfes her loving lips?” “No, never,” 1 umwered. “Then,” said the ventero, turning round and ‘ gazing with a look of iearfiil hatied upon the ’ yu uig soldi'r, “Pedro Alcazara, you are the ' murderer of my unhappy daughter!” The young man start' d to his feet, astoniih- . ' menl and horror depicted upon his handsome ! face * What do you mean, Done .lose?” he < tied ; ‘1 the niurderei of Antonia?” The old man did not ansv. rr, but ph king up ■ fi'im the ground the gun whu h tlu* -> ddi< r had ! h.d fall, he s\s ung it in the air, ami b‘ fore any . one l.a i firm* to heavily njion the inicovcred head of the uu- • happy Pedro. The young man fell to the I i ground beside the corpse of his betrothed. ' Without a sob, without a moan, he died. Be i j had gone to join his lost bride in leaven, and i I his murderer stood smiling grimly over the i i bodies of the two he had loved. 1A policeman, who happened to have been a witness of the scene, now stepped forward and J laid his hand upon tbo murderer’s shdulder. The imikyoper turned and quietly followed him without once looking back or uttering a single word. The belies of Antonia and Pedro w ere brought into the inn. While the villagers were still praying and weeping, two little birds perched upon the oak tree just outside the window and sang charm ingly. “Hush!” said a little girl, rising from her knees. “They arc the souks of Pedro and An tonia come to bid us rejoice, lor they are happy in heaven.” Not Jong ago I most unexpectedly met Lawyer Herrera in the Grand opera bouse al Paris, ami as we sat in the glittering foyer ho related to me in a very few words the sequel of the feariul tragedy wo had both witnessed in the Venta dcl.Pcrro. Pedro and Antonia were buried the day after their death, in the same grave, over which a splendid marble cross has been raised by tho sorrowing villagers. Thu ventero was con demned to death. After tho night of the murder ho never uttered a word. Silently, and with a calm look, lie heard his sentence; but, before it could be carried into effect, he was found dead in the prison. Ho had opened a vein with a pin which he had kept concealed, and thus, in tho silence of the night, and alone, he went to meet, his Maker and answered tho double crime of murder and suicide. A STRANGE AFFLICTION. One of tho Most Remarkable Cases of a I’e culiar Disease. From the C.'ncinnati Enquirer. A large, middle aged lady, dressed in deep black, stepped into central station about ten o'clock ia>t night. She seemed '<» b* suffering, and shook like n 1. as. Lieut *niint SjhniitUrtoeing tier evident distress and embarrassment, invited her into tbo office and iii<]uii*cd what she wished. • I want to know my name and where I live.” vas the startling reply. “I know that my first name is Louisa, and that 1 live somewhere on Eighth street, near a bridge. For the life of mo I can’t remember my husband’s name or the number of the house.’* The lady began to cry hysterically, and soon was so far overcome by nervous prostration that the wagon was called and took her to the city hospital. It was thought at first that tho woman had been drinking, and that Uquor had caused her lack of memory. Such proved not to be the fact. At the hospital she was attended b.\ Hr. Hussey and the matron, who questioned her closely, and, finally, got from her that during the evening she had cal ed on a family named Behr, living at r»o’> Vine street. She also said that the first two letters of her hiiKi.aivl's name were Fr, but not another E tter could she remember. Their young cnihl had ded Saturday, and on this account s ie was in mourning. The little ones name uus Eiminna, but again she utterly broke down w hen she tried to re call the last name. She was sent to the ward and treated for nervous prostration. Later inquiry at the residence of the Behr ftunily, developed that the patient was Mrs. Louisa Fries, whose husband, Joseph, is manager of the Queen City Di-infccl iut company, 'ihey live on Eighth street, near the Millcreek bridge. ■‘ I’hese cases.” sa d Dr. Hussey, ‘ arc very rare. In several years there have been a few at tins hos pital, probably two or three. MrX. I’ries’S affliction is one of the most remarkable that has c m • ifp in my experience. The medical twin for the /disease >a^u.tic.aphasia, which meahs loss of memory for words t>r date. It is caused by hemorrhage or the p’nrging of an artery, and mo V often comes from a sudden shock. Medically Hom Uni’, ills a lOH'Aii of the third Irontal convolusion on the left side of the brain and the Island of Keil or fifth lolmj of the Ltain. Mrs. Fries, from tho marks on her cl thing, seems tc have fallen, and probi bly the shock has placed her in this con dition. 11 i« state is most often found wh< n a per sou is suffering from paralysis, and the renuirkuble feature of Mrs. Fries’s case is that it is not attended by this paralysis. It may come upon her, however, tomorrow. Mis. Fries’s husband calle<l at the central shortly after one o’clock this morning, and was directed to the hospital. He thought that perhaps grief over the 10-s of their child had ailc< ted his wife’s brain. THE MAN UP A TREft. Eccentric John Haywood and Jlis Unique Washington Domicile. From the Brooklyn Standard Union. No ntoro nest, but live or six largo rooms up a tall oak, is the way quiet John Haywood, the om* armed veteran soldier, clerk in (lie tieasury depart ment. credited from Vermont, hit a new thing ati-1 made himself famous. There is no mistake about it, that his name is forever linked in the galaxy of distinguished people of history, and, 100, quite as accidental us they. He has two hous a up in the (r.'Of, the one he I ’ t built comisting of three large looms an I u balcony us large us a roan, and in uuolher < lump *.! u»>s a new and larger house higher up in the tree?, con tain three jstoriis a dancing pavilion, a well furni-.be 1 kl* hen. belrootn, lub ony library nil w i •rni..h< d, ":«l even an upright j»iauo. Tin s • hou e u.e i o’. I uilt upon or attache-1 to lli* lijus; ti.iy j-tand on high trestles, so that the topmost branches Os the tall ts- s pier* e in their natural directions through all the room . giving, in ail the dillurciit (Casons within the c .m partmciJtß, the exact flora of nature. ’ unvus is ( io ely l it* *i m- und the liml s of th* se trees w I.ere they pirns* the ruoftthd flooisaiul walls of the room to make th-in water-tight and prevent the sound ofabimion. One cun sit iu his IP rar? or ki'x hcq and plrck "ii.eii c ave ;or a-onia v, mi< liujri squhrds have left them. Li lb ; dea lof w inter, while the limbs ar * ' are without and the snows’are flying, Hay wood can sit in his carp le I r rnn v ftb Ids l.ook«, and feet at his oil stove, an l r l his head and arms upon a limb sproiitiu ; with \<*f<lure, while without that same Hee is denuded in tb»- rom.i of winter. 'Deo ho*.-.* s are npj r-h hed by an inclined plniiof plank from the higln r portions of the hili up to the lower story, when- there is a door securely locked and bo!l< , 'l and v h n »• lie mounts by fguhir eucloscl stairways to the apartments. There wore suvci.ri visitors, Indies and gentlemen, w ;ri l-a i com** into the inclosure to see tho "mon ster," and limy regarded him distantly, with curi o-ity un i a • . He politely waved them away, say ing he w:u “not receiving today;” “IHiz/ard” in the Dictionary. From li.e New York Sun. The new Vhilogicabli ,‘ionary (the only Mnn ilar«l dictionary m which the v.oi'l ‘ biizzaid ’ is mem oa 'l/bays Part 111 pa“» “Jiuzz.i;d. I S. [A nuxlciu wo:d prob, more or ’• oiiom dop -i- if"-*'-: ;ve . o.d ale blow, i-hi t bi; ,t t, bit; ‘“i the Fr. bfi --cr, to wound has also bumi conh cWiiu l. but thee - iioHnng to induatea i’;ench urixiu. A-appii'd’Ou ‘snow s-piHil.’ the wo -J becanie gemoai in the Am' i.c.ri i. i during the sevo: • w nter of fXKj -I. but, hcum In to the Milwaukee P.cpublu an, 1 March. Hsl, it iia * Ix -'H so appib din the Kortbein Viiidica'o: iE aci Vi'le, Hi., b IW '*'ii H.Oaul I -.70 ] ‘2. A fu.ioi - /a t of fro t, wind tui-l blinding Mi >w. in ! i mini nn I b rtf- . ulv H Hen ' tlha ■ ' A I lugulHtic I’.li/za <». From tbo Mj -1, I bdio, Erdrrpi Os all the Ix-aatJ, . oiitr iej ouH. . u tin ' unnat ral, de» ••;>< do, dean med, ol o ' u m cou ' I' -i'l. unlawful, illegitimate, -!'ab-4'< ,d, iijpo, cbondrhuai, iiic-mg, uo-.s, ena’u al, rion-c-n a! hetero.O'ueous, heUTociiticul, *1 mgh h ,'adcd, braln iipavitied, idiotic, unidfeh, IncomprcbunHibln con glomeration of typography al bulla over perpetrated ti|xm an inncccut aud unoffending jmi-Hclhe In indew ribtibk ma.-s appealing in the F. ( !y p.u pubheau of a rvceut dulc takes ’.bt%a »e THE LITTLE DRUMMER. MARIE B. V/1 Lf.l AMS. From Youth’s Companion. It was n scorching hot July day in AJgiors. Under that fiery sky, where while dazzles,yel low gleams like molten gold, and the reds blind by exceas of light, a spot of shaile is a cool oasis in this oven of beat and color. Colonel Prosper Hautocourt thought this, as he pasted groups of yawning Fnmch soldiers on his way to a clump of tn»es growing on a slight elevation, w here there was at least a promise of some breeze. When he reached the spot, he saw a lad laying asleep under the trees, with his right arm thrown around a drum which lay beside him. “Ha, Jules, what dost thou here?” ciled tho colonel. The boy sprang up in-.tanilv. A delicato stripling he was, with a pale face, but bright, intelligent eyes. “1 believe I was half sleep, mon colonel,” ho said, with a laugh. “We had a sharp time last night with the Arabs, yon know, and the • men somehow suatted. I beat my drum till my arms were numb. I lay down in camp, but, ofl.f! it was a hot oven.” Colonel ilautccom t. smiled kindly at the lad. but the next moment his face clmidid, “1 have wished to speak to thee, Jules, for some time,” he said. “Sit down tlicHe and answer me. Dost thou know 1 have heard strange stories in camp about thee. The men say that in action there is (me of them so frightened that he almost loses liis.-enses. that ho crou< lies I ehind his bru\e comrades and when he bents tho drum, the strokes are so tremulous that it .sounds more like a shame ful retreat than a gallant (barge. Dost thou know who the coward is. Jules’.”’ As the colonel spoke, tin* boy’s head had sunk lower ami lower, till his face was bidden. As he raised it ohicer, it was white as duath, and his lips quivered. “1 suppose they mean me, mon colonel,” he answerid. “Yes. they mean thee, my poor boy! Look bore. Jules. I have known thee from an infant in l.a Vendee. Thy good, lumust father would die w'ith shame if thou slmuidost disgrace him. ami a coward is a disgrace,not only to his lamily but to his country. A Vendcan and a coward ! Bah! they do not go together. I warn thee that till my influence cannot go far where any in fraction of military discipline is concerned. I have done my best, but thou art getting tube a by-word among tho men.” “Look here, num colonel!” the boy said, a faint flush creeping into his pule check. “1 am not always afraid. Sometimes I helasbold ns a lion; but then another time 1 don’t know w hat comes to me. My hands and lent get ns c,old as ice. 1 tremble, my eyes are dim, and whc.n I see my comrades falling right ami left, something tells *qe to run away I "if I have .never run, no, never!” he added with spirit. “Not yel," Colonel Haute* vurt “but someo’ iy that cowardice, which c itjest somei/pig. will lead thee to kticvd on tlr ? votlin, ami have a tile of thy Zwtave com raue.»> shoot thie through the heart A epward is a traitor.” The boy shuddered, but did not speak. “Why didst thou beg so hard to be allowed to b»*come a diumnu rin the army,if thy cour age is so uncertain?” a ked the colonel mourn iully. “My father is poor, as you know, mon colo nel—-bad harvest ami sickness in the family. Ami I wanted to conn*; it was grand to light lor i’Tam .0, and I could l»« at the drum well even then. <), I love my drum!” car< dug it. “li talks to me like a living voii u.” “Let it tel! you. tl.en.’l’f bravo!’ my boy. Don't yourself ami l.a Vomleu any more,” the coioiu‘l said. The boy started to his feet, ami his (ye bi ightuned. “Do not four, mon colonel! I l< ll you lum nocoward, though ’ st em so sometimeH is Ixxlilv weakness only, ami I will die In f .re it ■ shall conquer me again.” But the colonel, as ho Walke d thoi'v.htfully toward his t< nt, di«l not share in Il.e boy N « on -li*l<*n< e. T’he father ol Jules was a farmer on the BeaiiVi .r exiai , of which the Marquis <F Haute* otirt. hi.> own fiither, w.i theowiur. lie h:ul always !»••< n fond of .Jules, and his t imidity ui a child us< d to aim -• him: but v, bun he came under liis command a> a. <Mier, { lu*. found the boy’s weakness furn; hed occa i sion lor tlu* gravest f*-ars, i “I miu-l get' his di-cha.-go upon some pre ; (<•«:.” t lie colonel thought. “T lat lay. in one i of his panics, is sure lo di-seit, and then no j pow< r< an save him. It would be too cruel to i see him shot in that way, ami a . .nn* as I am heic, that will be his t.itc. But va dom with nch tli<>". Til ' ll' i- today, gone ’ morrow ; .ind, bc;oie Jiilci <h art 1 na y -i*- lying on the desert, sands, spitted through and through i by an A lab lance.” 1 It wa . sometime after Inal before the next I engagement with the “Soin (it llu* D< oil.'' A portion <d tho French army ha-! move d <,n I some iabstmigliold, ami ’ »k* nit .'in r a nay i hard lighting. The man h had b< eu a Jud ami toiJ.soin one,ami the soldicis weiu utierly ex- i j handed. “They mu j ha\ e rest ‘ o.i.- it," .mid ( -<*m ral ! B< iiipre. “Tim Arab--ure tluuo hl , routed, | ami they wilJ not. venture to <<<me mar ns | again lor many a day. T he dogs !:.u. *• got (lieir j !uson now, from a to z, and lin yiellc.iN ion i e.noiigli behind them to feed an army of buz- I z.ards. <). mi danger from them!” ! CoJomd I! auto* omt shook his load. i “i have been in tins country many’ years,” I l.e nd. “and I have seen strange thiig s. You ,ha fought and wiiippcd the (-uumy. Yon j look around tlie dcs**rt horizon, mid *> and miles j distant. ami yon sec mit a spi’ck ; but tn a inin -1 nt< , s ii it i oh* i roni tlio <*ai tit an army is upon j you, ami you liear tliat shrill “Allah!’ from nor-li, soiitli, cast ami west, till your cars are deafened. ’ “TT.<‘ -.ofilier, ti.itsl i e t(.'<jj ral Beaupre ! repca-i il. “<)| roni-c there’s no prote< Hon left I in these *lialt* r» , <l walls: but po t b* ntiie-, at 1 I every weak point, I have no fear of an attack ' tonight, or Indore, wo lea*, e lie:< it v.a.t black, !• , iilght« The m ' of the wind as it swept over the divert .aml, ! and tlu 1 < 1 -u*b <1 ski*' , Leiol'.em-'l on ■ ol tLooj . rar* 1 D*mp*'sls whu h ‘*>m "times visit the Aiti- j * in <l< »-rs. Jules, with hi * love of the outer ; ;*ir. had laid himself down mar omi of tho I bre uh* in the di'mantled wall, holme which 1 • a ini m l was monotonously pacing. T ic-cool . -md was ph'.is.int to tlu? Loy's I *‘atc*l chet.u and, a > h*" lay there, he thought over th- * ■•nt of th*- day. H*'ha*i Imcii frighum* *l, oh horribly fright- , *'L <l. when the lig'ifin .• began, but Im rcmcni lr ;*'*| what his edomd had ;..tid to him. about Lit <li uni having a v oi> *•. Ami tlieii h arm i gue.v trong* r. ami hi i drum sremc-t to ay to • itini, •Beb’ a- *•, .1 i»l ■ ! Nhanm on a roward !” AH it oiu e “ ii* 1 f- ii i-"ft him, und Im frit a i ! jI.M • - any of m > omi eh Aud it was hu J dear drum’s doing JiM Jules time 'lit that, he di* w bdrum to v. ii*l him ami act: illy hugged and ki->,e«l it. Perhaps th* ie wa-> a good spirit iu it. Tim I Veiideiuis have mauvsupf i titions.find among them the existem e <»i' good or evil tjplihfj in in anhnate obje< ts, and ns far ai kuja rstitton w< t Jules was a true p. a-aint 61 Lu Vendee. i Then his thoughts Fu *k hjpi Luck Loiue. Ho I saw the interior frt tho tu’.’.ago, Ida futhux PRICE FIVE CENTS. sneaking his pipe, his mother mending by the firelight, his biother, “grand Jean,” coining in from stable and cow-yard, and Pierro and lit tle Louise playing on the wide hearth. Yea, they wore all there but himself, ami he could see his mother’s eyes full of sadness for her [»oor little soldier boy. !!•• closed hi.; eyes, for tears wcro streaming down his cheeks. lie was startled by a strange, muffl 'd sound just outside the breach in the wall. He raised himself on elbow and looked out. but he could no longer distingush tho figure of the sentry pacing his round. There was not much light, though the clouds w ere dispersing, but, as ha strained his eyes through tho gloom, ho could make out several dusky figures stealing through the breach, and with a quick heart* tliiob he understood that the sentry bad been killed, and the Arabs would surprise tho camp. If he uttered a cry it would be too feeble to bo lieai<l by those heavy' sleepers, ami it would bring the Arabs upon him in a second. Again the old panic seized him, and ho crouched down in the long grass ami weedo. When the Arabs had passed him it would bo <»asy enough to make his escape ami rejoin tho main army, he thought: but then, rould he, a !■ conch soldier, fly and leave his comrades to bo ntasacreed without an attempt to warn them ? Numberless dark forms glided swiftly by him. In a few moments th«'y would be upon the sleepers Suddenly his colonel’s word’s came back to him. "A coward is a traitor!” Ah. never shall he say that of Julos! lie must *Ue* Farewell ntothvr. father, brothels and sisters, but ho will notjdiu a cow-ard ! With a linn hand hejdrew his drum toward liiin, and tin n upon tl.e silence of tin* night p**;dud forth the warning roll. Ho heat hia drum madly, fiercely, with the strength of ten num, but all at unco it ccasj'd, for an Ar».b'« lance had pierced the little drummer's heart. But the work was done. T he alarm had been given in time, and the Arabs found no sleeping foo to iiuu , ;i( r»*. The fight was a fierce but a short one, ami as usual the French were vic torious. “Where is Jules?” asked Colonel Haute conrt oagoilv. “T hat boy has Ihhti our . niva tion Bring him to me that I may thank him. Ciel! how* the li. t • fellow did bunt that drum! It . *>aml<*(l in my ars like the In■ t trump.” “11 was the In iruinp to him, mon colonel,'* said < no ol the soldiers, “though it did save us. W e. found him dead mi one side of the breach where the savages entered, his hand on his dram. Il was easy to read, that story was. lift s. the Arabs st*\d in, and tho only way to wain was by the drum. He beat it thougri he Knew he was beating his own dirge. Ah, he was I raw. our little drummer!” Colonel Ilaut< court turned asid, for. daring soldier as he was, he did not choose his men should sue tho tear.a in his eyes. In his native village you may still hear the story ho.v the little drummer saved the camp. < olomd Hautccom t erected a memorial pillar to him in the village square, telling, in few words, how and where lie died: and, while they lived, the old father and mother would gaze at it with dim eyes; it seemed to them ft nies-.nge from tho dead. It was us if he said, “Weep not. for it is glo rious to die as 1 did. to save others.” INTER ESTENtj A<SE FOR WOMEN. The J. ate st Fuel hi 1’0! ite Society in l*i»- t From the Buffalo News. “The latest f:id,” said a shre W'd old maid, wh«» k o- r n keen eye on nil that gees ou iipsocicty and has (lie. eiitrea every when*, “i» for the young men of twenty or twenty-five (o flirt with s me wo man ol thirty-five or lorty. I don t think there w anything wrong in Mie.se attachments—the friend ship is j urely iTatoidc. I aske l for an explnnation from my big brother, nu t i.e says a woman Is never fnfi'ivstiig until she is thirty. ‘Girls say yes to everything y<>u say,’ he said. ‘oreEs-- they arc so smart there »*• noun luring them.’ A woman, when she gets !o be twenty eight or thirty, finds out that if she holds her own she mud have something be yond a liHiidsome Ojcc, so she reads and trio • to l.e well inform*?-!. They learn to be tolerant of other's i lean and not to prefive every adjective with *s.‘ “Voiin : iiNtn of twenty to tiven’y live know more than their seniors in iitv'ary nmltu.rs, an 1 more i han th* y d.» tlu in-clve* later. TLey lire awfully Look Lamed, J (<*il y<Ai, and is !• -s slang but s reat d» nl more profi'.mty than we <!♦».' So 1 niipjmnw that is why (hey ■TU-h on the old yuls. You juat t. w ith a man of thirty five nnd you liml that all !>** think-of is busiiie s. Oh, veri Yon j si talk with u girl -one of our s•( mid it iMr-s-. dress, jiirl nothing e!se. Ol uoins* the Loys don’t marry the. c <»ld girb- M*'ii ei iii a'ra d ofa woman who knows enough to be u:i but s(u Ii a woman make- a very p ••a-m t companion f FfH tele a lete.’* ’I lie Lost K iss. 1 I put by the half v. .■ ;t'en po- in. While the pen. idiy trailed in my baud. Writes on, “Hivi I wonl to romj letc it, Who'd r,'iul U, oi w Lo‘*l under,'-hind"’ But the li t e lure ie*?! • n tl.e htmrway. Ami the rm'i.-i, -uh tocr* *! a '*;h in the hall Ami the emie-low h-pon the silence, < ry up to me over it all. -» I gather it up w here was broken I he loar fa<hd thtead on my theme, 'I • ling bow. n > <»;:*• nigl.t I hat writing, A fid' v broke in on my -h am, A little inquisitive faiiy - M v own ilti!« gi ! w ith (he gold Os (lie him in her hair, mid the dewy Blue eyes of the fairies o; old. ‘j was li;** dear litric uul that I olded— “For wash a mom-nt Ake thi',’’ 1 ni<l, “when she knew ! w ■> bu y, I o com romping in f-r it Coin-- rowdyiDg up from her mother And cjniuoring thereat my knee J “*Hu itifij kiss ior my doily Ami one ’it-le uzzer lot me.”' G >1 p ly the heart that ict-eL* *1 her A 'hi :!"• * old hum! that turrj' , l her awayt Au » lake ftoin th*? lips :imt •fi nii 1 her 'I Ins am w* flc. s prayer of today' Tiik*'. lo d from im*t:i iy foicver 'I imt pitiful sob of •!*•• pair, An l 11 e patiei und tr.p e tl;*- bare ’ Hie feet And the one piercing cry on the h a . I put by the half written t>ouni. While (he p*'ii. idly Hailed in niv Land, Writes <>n, “Hr.d i v.' r<l- to compute it, Who *1 lend it, or w Lo <1 i mlerrinnd But the little Laic f*:ei on the stairway, Ami th*- faiiil, sna thcicd l.iuyli in the hall. Ami the eerie-low ln-p on the silence, < ry up tu me over it all. - Jana s Whitcomb Riley. THE SEMMES .’MONUMENT. From tho Mobile R< gist* r What shall ye build to him oi; i.nd* His life wan on the sees, Hi‘i place wbe: or o*ir buttle th j •(n firiic ! high ii|«on lie brec/e; His vol*n wn- the lou I *nnnoii s peal Flout ng the waters o'er. And all the nations ouaked lo Lear The thumler of its tour. What shall vc build to him on land? Wiio j»w?| t the ocean w file'.’ In glory wh*w: know n annuls Hirill 'i Im Southern heart with pride” In ten, or twelve, or eighteen Let, <an ye curio? r i i him-- ’ Ot < !uve in on*" ; inaU epit iph The gr*. athc ■ ■ of h;-» name.’ Let <wran roar hi* re ttji- ni! lx»l Hie grjml billows roll - L' ( tii -■•)'(i:r %•*•!« the knightly deeds O! thi hcroi Boni Tl o i a’-li* i wroe./ht. t;r head that ruled. Ti <■ genius that »"om < iv»»<l. Lament, o wev * (hat *»i ?urh worth The w >i Id Miuu! I t>c boteaved. Yet biifld it • t hi- inatiiy form Ason that veahei sd a k, fit - «’e turn carve H-at l/nttle-flog Whi* h fluttered o er h- r;wreck, > And wr t upon th-‘gr::;- toot stone— •in ait to glory dear, i Who fought beii 'oth tho stat; and bM% No biaver Imtlled forth" * am*e Thau be Who ivakfih Uer<*