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THE TRIBUNE.
YOL. I.
SPIN CHEERFULLY.
Spin cheerfully,
Not tearfully, plod.
Though wenrily you
Spin carefully
Spin prayerfully, God.
But leave the thread to
The shuttle of His purpose move
To carry out His own design,
Seek not too soon to disapprove
His work, nor yet assign
Dark motives, when with silent dread
You view each sombre fold;
For lo, within each darker thread,
There shines a thread of gold.
Spin cheerfully,
Not tearfully, plod;
He knows the wav you
Spin carefully,
Spin prayerfully. with God.
But leave the thread
Clint Lorlng’s NeiggBor
BY JENNY WHEN.
Clint Loring had fallen almost
asleep in his chair on that warm Sep¬
tember evening. He had been bend¬
ing over his easel all day, and was
worn out in mind and body.
Painting for amusement and paint¬
ing to keep the wolf from the door he
found to be a totally different matter.
In days gone by his studio had been
constantly thronged, not with buyers
(he had no need to foster his genius),
but with friends and admirers—those
who smoked his cigars and drank his
wine, as they dilated on the merits of
his pictures.
He had neither the one nor the
other now to offer them, and the pic¬
tures seemed to have lost their charm.
Fortunately, there were a few dealers
who cared more for art than the artist,
aud so when Clint one morning
wakened to find himself practically
beggared, he determined to make his
talents available, and so he quietly
moved away from the large and expen¬
sive quarters he had so luxuriously
furnished to the plain upper room
where we now find him dreaming,
perhaps, of the past, when suddenly
a woman’s voice,rich, sweet and clear,
breaks upon his reverie.
He starts, awakened in an instant,
and listens to the end.
It is in the very room next his own.
Nothing but a thin partition divides
the two. Only last night a man’s
tread, heavy and somewhat uncertain,
denoted its occupant. Tonight all
had been silence, until the pure notes
rang out upon the evening air.
Somehow they lingered in Clint
Loring’s dreams that night,again with
an echo of the dim past, when he had
stalls at the opera by the season, and
could gratify the very passion for
music which possessed him.
The room had had many tenants
since he had occupied his own; but,
with the next morning’s dawning, his
first thoughts flew to his neighbor,
with a regretful wonder whether she,
too, would be fleeing like the rest.
It seemed not, for, as the days
merged into weeks, there were many
moments when Clint would forget his
palette and brush, and listen en¬
tranced.
He grew to feel a strange interest
in his unknown neighbor. Never yet
had he been able to catch a glimpse of
her face. Sometimes a light, quick
step would pass his door, but, let
him turn his head howsoever quickly,
it had disappeared.
One night, returning home, rather
later than usual, he caught sight, just
ahead, entering the door, of a stylish,
girlish figure, which ran lightly and
swiftly ahead of him up the stairway.
The figure was graceful, the dress
plain, but he had little time to observe
either as she hurried into her room
and closed the door.
A sudden impulse caused him to re¬
trace his steps, and when next he ap¬
peared, he bore carefully in his arms
a rosebush full of blossoms. He
neither paused nor hesitated until he
stood at his neighbor’3 threshold, when
he knocked, A moment later the door
opened, and the owner of the room
stood revealed before him.
It was a face worthy the voice. A
little worn, a little pale, perhaps, for
beauty, but with its wondering blue
eyes aud framework of Titian hair,
one could easily imagine how perfect
would be the picture, with here aud
there an added dash of color.
Both stood in silence, she inquir¬
ingly, he wondering how he should
begin, when he spoke: •
“You will pardon my intrusion, I
hope,but I fear if I leave these flowers
in my room they will fade and wither.
I have not much time to give attention
to such things. May I leave them with
you?” how lovely! Indeed, indeed
“Oh,
you may! Thank you, very much,”
stooping to kiss one of the blossoms
“Don’t Give Up tile Sliip.”
GA., FRIDAY, APRIL 29. 1898.
of the plant she held in her hands.
“But how came you to think of me, a
stranger?”
“I had heard you sing, and I knew
yon were a woman, and all women
love flowers. May I come iu and tell
yon more about it? My name is Clint
Loring, and I am your next-door
neighbor. If I wait to be formally
presented, I fear I shall never know
you.” hesitated, then
For a minute she a
bright smile lit up her face, as she
looked into the honest eyes awaiting
au answer to his question. Handsome
eyes they were, too, which had found
their way to many a woman’s heart.
So she answered:
“Yes, you may come in. It seems
strange to receive visitors, but I bid
you welcome. I am Mrs. Andrews.”
Did his ears deceive him? Was
that young girl a wife? Perhaps a
"widow, he thought, with a glance at
her black dress, since she seems alone
and desolate.
Yet 'she was not alone; for, as he
crossed the threshold, he noticed iu
the corner an old woman knitting.
“It is my aunt,” she explained.
“She is growing very old, but I dread
the time when she will leave me alone.
Aunt, this is a friend of mine, Mr.
Loring.”
The old woman looked up only for
a moment, as though nothing could
longer detain her from her work.
“It’s not Henry,” she muttered.
“Henry will never come again.”
In other days, many women had
smiled at Clint Loring, drawing him,
they hoped, to their feet, but all had
failed. He had gone on in his bright,
happy, careless way, until the crash
came, and then, without even a fare¬
well word, he had taken his pride and
his poverty out of their sight, lost in
the great city.
But a strange, sweet intimacy
sprung up between him and his next-
door neighbor. The rose he had
taken her blossomed as no rose had
ever done before, and it grew to be a
nightly occurrence that he should
leave a little offering of flowers or
fruit at her door.
All day, when she was absent giving
the vocal lessons by which she lived,
and he hard at work over his easel, his
thoughts were with her.
She had told him something of her
early life—her girlhood-—but nothing
of her marriage; from that she shrank
as from a blow. But still the old
woman in the corner muttered of
“Henry.” She never heeded what
they said, nor seemed to have a
thought beyond her knitting, save the
utterance of that one name.
So the weeks sped into months, and
winter was upon them, when Clint’s
heart called out against further silence,
and demanded food for its hunger.
He never doubted its answer, as he
entered Edna Andrews’s to ask her to
be his wife. Their intercourse had
been one of purest friendship—no talk
of love had ever entered in; but still
he felt she loved him, even as he knew
he had given her the worship of his
soul.
Her patient endurance—her noble
courage—her true womanhood—had
first aroused the feeling; hut it had
grown and strengthened, until it
formed part of himself.
So, in the winter twilight, he told
his story, and, in the shadow, did not
note the great start his listener gave
—how ashy white grew her face.
A moment’s silence fell between
them, as he told the story of his love.
Then she spoke, but her voice was
harsh, as though struggling to choke
down unbidden sobs:
“From you, Mr. Loring, I did not
expect this. I had grown to regard
you really as a friend—to feel I had in
you a protector—to lean upon the
rock you seem to have afforded me—
aud, lo! I find it all quicksand. How
could you? how could you?” and the
slight frame shook with the passion
of sods which at last overcame her.
“Edna, what do you mean? Have
I, then, judged you so wrongly that
the mention of my love thus agitates
you? Au honest man’s love is no re¬
proach. Forgive me, if I have erred
and startled you from your repose. In
my hope of taking you from this life of
toil, in sharing with you all I have—
which, thank God, is enough for both
—I forgot to break it gently. I am
not a rich man, Edna, as you know;
but I am succeeding in my art beyond
my anticipations, and I could have
offered you a home more w’orthy of
you, my darling. Do you so shrink
from the thought of becoming my
wife?”
“Your wife?” she almost gasped.
“What else, Edna, could I offer the
w'oman who has opened my eyes to a
perfect womanhood?”
“Your wife? yours? Am I not a
wife already—desorted and betrayed,
it is true, but bound, hand and foot,
by the fetters he has forged?”
“Yes, yes, Henry will come back!”
muttered the old woman, iu her
corner.
“You hear her? It is he of whom
she speaks—Henry, my husband.
Listen and I will tell you all. It is
your due. I married him when I was
but sixteen, attracted by a handsome
face, a few loving words. Well, he
won me, no matter how. I had not
beedi his bride three weeks before he
told me he had married me for my
dowry—that he needed money, and
must have more. Then I obtained it;
but my father, a rieh farmer, grew
tired of my repeated demands, and
refused me more. When I told him
this, he struck me, in his anger, and
left the house. I have never seen him
since. He forged my father’s name
for a large amount, obtained the
money, and fled the country. It is
his anut, not mine, of whom I have
the care. She is always looking for
his return. My parents died soon
after, and my father was so incensed
that he left me'penniless. Yet, thank
God, I have youth and strength, and
though I never again can listen to
your words of love, though we must
part today, perhaps never again to
meet on life’s highway,I shall remem¬
ber that one true man has loved me.”
With an ashy face he heard her to
the end. Her eyes, looking into his
with a great despair, told him what
her lips dared not utter, but in them
was a resolution as well, which ho
dared not combat.
He rose like one stricken,turned to¬
ward the door, then retraced his steps,
and opening his arms, clasped her in
au embrace she was powerless to
resist, rained passionate kisses upon
cheek, brow and lip, then, without
another word,went out into the night.
The next morning found him tossing
in Jiigh fever, unconscious and delir¬
ious. The long excitement, constant
work, with this last shock, had been
more than even his strong frame could
endure, and it had given way at last,
and cast him adrift and helpless in the
fever’s strong hold.
For weeks he lay hovering between
life and death; but when he opened
his heavy eyes, it was on the pale,
worn face of the woman whom he
loved, who had mingled in all his
dreams, that rested, and his first ques¬
tion was:
“Why did you not leave me ? Why
return for a second parting?”
* ‘Because—because, ’’she whispered,
iu answer, while a wondrous light
beamed in her eyes, “I need never
leave you, Clint, if you will keep me.
I am free, dear. The news of my re¬
lease came to me after you were taken
ill. My husband died a year ago—
died as wretchedly as he has lived.
The disappointment was more than his
aunt could bear, and she, too, lies
under the sod. I am alone in the
world today. Clint, have you room
for me?”
With a wonder if it were not still
delirium, and a prayer that it might
last forever, Clint Loring opened his
arms, and the weary, storm-tossed
woman had found rest at last—rest
and love. Clint lost his neighbor—he
found his wife.—Saturday Night.
The Swan and the Pike.
The following accident was de¬
scribed to me by a friend who heard
it from the lips of the man who saw
it. My friend’s informant, a labor¬
ing man, passed on his way to work
every morning a pond on which were
swans. One morning he saw a swan
with its head under water—no un¬
usual thing, so he thought nothing of
it. The next morning it was in ex¬
actly the same place and position.
Still, that was not remarkable, aud he
passed on. On the third morning,
seeing the swan in the same position,
he called the attention of the keeper
to it. The keeper proceeded to ex¬
amine, and found that the swan’s
head had been swallowed by a large
pike. Both, of course, were dead.—
Letter in London Spectator.
A Silent Partner.
Henpeck—I have troubles of my
own.
Mrs. Peck—But you are the partner
of my woes.
Henpeck—Yes, silent, as in every¬
thing else.— Cincinnati Times-Star.
Degeribed If Not Defined.
Teacher—What is velocity?
Pupil—Velocity is what a man puts
a hot plate down with.—Philadelphia
Call.
HIGH PRICES FOR LAND.
More Than 8IKH) Per Square Foot Paid
for a Lot in New York.
The most valuable plat of ground in
this country, at least, the one that has
commanded the highest price, is lo¬
cated at the corner of Broad and W T all
streets, New York city, in the heart of
the great financial district. Several
years ago, says the Washington Star
Mr. Wilkes established a record for
high-priced realty by paying $168,000
for 508 square feet of ground on this
site, or $330.70 per square foot.
The immensity of this rate of valua¬
tion can bast be appreciated by meas¬
uring off a square foot of space and
then comparing its dimensions with
those of $330 in money. Such a com¬
parison will show that if Mr. Wilkes
had paid for his property in one-dol-
lar bills he would have been able to
cover . his . entire i lot l with ... on j layeis of ,
greenbacks, or he could have paved it
with four tiers of silver dollars placed
,. lg e to „dge .. closely „ ,U„v would
lie. Doubtless if the worthy Dutch
burghers of New Amsterdam could
return to earth they would he as¬
tounded to learn the value of the land
on which they pastured their cows 200
years ago.
Though no other piece of ground
has commanded an equal price per
foot, there are several other plats in
New York city which are quite equal
to the Wilkes property in value. For
example, a considerably larger lot on
the northwest corner of Nassau and
Pine streets, one block above the
Wilkes property, was sold last year
for $250 per square foot, and the op¬
posite corner of the same streets, in¬
cluding 6043 feet, was bought by the
Hanover National bank for $.1,350,000.
The lot on the corner of Broadway
and Maiden lane, and the site of the
Commercial Cable company’s build¬
ing in Broad street, are also properties
that could be covered fifty deep with
dollar bills out of their purchase price.
Probably the largest amount ever
paid for the site of a single building
was that given by the Broadway Realty
company for the lot on which the
Bowling Green building has been
erected. This sky-scraper, which is
the largest in the city, extends from
Broadway through to Greenwich street,
and covers 29,152 feet of ground, for
which $3,000,000 was paid. This is
$102.90 per foot, and though the price
per foot is less than has been paid for
several other plats, the total represents
an enormous sum to pay merely for
the ground on which to erect one
building. One peculiar effect in real
estate values that has followed the
sky-scraper era is the extraordinary
price which has been put upon sites
that are suitable for very high build¬
ings. Spots with open surroundings,
on which other lofty structures are
not likely to be built, are, of course,
the most desirable for this purpose,
and such places are few in the city of
New York. The result is that many
buildings which are already very prof¬
itable are being torn down to make
room for the erection of sky-scrapers.
Monkey Deaih Masks.
Chicago’s colony of monkeys is be¬
ing rapidly depopulated as the result
of the terrific climate. As many as
twenty-five promising simians have
succumbed and the survivors now in
the Lincoln park “Zoo” are looking
very tired and weary of life.
But what the little Chicago hoys and
girls have lost bv the extinction of
their monkey pets science has gained,
for a fine collection of monkey death
masks has been secured with many
additions in sight.
The most notable contribution of
this kind which has come into the
hands ot Professor Woodruff is the
face of Tess, the famous chimpanzee.
As he was preparing the body for
mounting he said:
“When this epidemic began the
idea came to me that a series of simian
death masks would be of no little
scientific interest and value, to say
nothing of the novelty of such a col¬
lection. Accordingly, I at once bo¬
gan making the casts, and the results
are even better than 1 had expected.
In pursuing this work I have been im¬
pressed with two facts: The pro¬
nounced individuality of the faces and
the varied degrees of suffering indi¬
cated in the expressions of the pathetic
little countenances. In the face of
Tess, undoubtedly the most wonder¬
ful and intelligent creature of her
kind ever know n to civilized man, may
be traced the lines of .calm and pa¬
tient resignation.—New York Journal.
There are said to be fewer suicides
among miners than among any other
clasB of workmen.
NO. 21.
A Mean Trawl.
Mother—Why, what grieves you,
Willie?
Willie—I asked pa if he could spell
hippopotamus.
Mother—And what did he do?
Willie (sobhiug)—He thought hard
a ininnit au’ then got mad au’ said
he’d lick me ef I bothered him again
when he was readin’.—Judge.
Buncoed Again.
Employer—John, after this, when
anyone calls hand him the silver tray
and bring the card back on it.
John—Bat’s what I fought, boss-
hut dot gemman kep’ de tray.—Har¬
per’s Bazar.
Deanty Is Blood Deep.
Clean blood means a clean Bkin. No
beauty without it. Cascarcts, Candy Cathar-
tic clean your blood and keen it clean, by
stirring up the lazy liver and driving all im-
purities Danish pimples, from the boils, bod CP< . Begin to day to
.......—, —-— 5WSS? ----
gists, satisfaction guaranteed, 10c, 25c, 50c.
There is enough salt in the sea to cover 7,000
square miles with a layer 1 mile in thickness.
Chew Star Tobacco—The Best.
Smoke Sledge Cigarettes.
Among birds arc few hotter fighters than a
goose, or a gander, more particularity.
Edncnto Vonr noweU YFIth Cancaret*.
10c. Cnndy Cathnrtie, cure constipation forever.
25c. If C. C. C. fail, druggists refund money.
It has been demonstrated that African ele¬
phants can be domesticated.
troubles Dyspepsia, Indigestion Taber’s and all Stomach
cured by I’epsin Compound.
Sample bottle mailed free. Write Dr. Taber
Mfg. Co.. Savannah. Ga.
The Southern Saw Works are the loaders in
the South. See their advertisement In this is¬
sue. Their saws will suit you.
Lyon & Co’s “Pick Deaf” Smoking Tobacco
stands at the top for its delicious aroma.
Good as can be made. Try it.
world. Bombay is the leading pearl mart of the
To Care Constipation Forever.
II G. C. 9? C. scarets fail to cure, Candy druggists Cathartic. refund lOocrJSe.
money.
An attempt to cross the Ains in a balloon,
starting from Italian side, will be made soon.
Boilers, Engines, Etc.
Read the advertisement of Avery & McMillan
In another column of this paper.
Fits permanently cured. No fits or nervous¬
ness after first day’s use of I)r. Kline's Great
Nerve Restorer. S3 trial bottleand treatlsefree.
Du. K. H. Kline. Ltd., SI 1 Arch St.. Phila., Pa.
Hall’s Catarrh Cure is a liquid and is taken
internally, and acts directly upon the blood
and mucous surfaces of the system. Send for
testimonials, free. Sold by Druggist^lfc.
F. J. Cheney & Co., Props., TofTOo.'W.
YOUNG AT SIXTY.
Serene comfort and happiness in ad¬
vanced years arc realized by compara*
tively few women.
Their hard lives, their liability to se¬
rious troubles on account of their pecu¬
liar organism and their profound igno¬
rance concerning themselves, all com¬
bine to shorten the period of usefulness
and fill their later years with suffering.
Mrs. Pinkham has done much to make
women strong. She has given advice
to many that has shown them how to
guard against disease and retain vigor¬
ous health in old age. From every cor¬
ner of the earth there is constantly com¬
ing the most convinciug statements
from women, showing the efficacy of
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com¬
pound in overcoming female ills. Here
is a letter from Mrs. J. C. Orms, of 220
Horner St., Johnstown, Pa., which i3
earnest and straight to the point:
“ Deaf. Mrs. Pinkham: —I feel it my
duty to tell all suffering women that I
think your remedies arc wonderful. I
had trouble with my head, dizzy spells
and hot flashes. Feet and hands were
cold, was very nervous, could not sleep
well, had kidney trouble, pain in
ovaries and congestion of the womb.
Smce taking your remedies I am better
every way My head trouble is all
gone, have no pain in ovaries, and am
cured of womb trouble. I can cat and
sleep well and am gaining in flesh. I
consider your medicine the best to be
had for female troubles.”
The present Mrs. Pinkham’s experi¬
ence in treating female ills is unparal¬
lelled, for years she worked sido by
side with Mrs. Lydia E. Pinkham, and
for sometime past has had sole charge
of the correspondence department of
her great business, treating by letter
as many as a hundred thousand ailing
women during a single year.
WKUmmM
ss A MONTH IS ALL for consultation, ex¬
amination aiul medicine. What a small sum to
insu’e cood hoaltti and happiness. Write for free
symptom book. COl’EI.ANl) MEDICAL
INSTITUTE, 315-316 Kisor Bldg., Atlanta Ga.
If afflicted with \ Thompson’s Eye Wafer
sore eyes, use
MENTION THIS PAPER In tisers. writing ANC08-17 to adver¬