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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. 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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¬