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VOL. I.
LOVE.
Oh, Love Is not a summer tho mood, brain.
Nor flying phantom of blood,
Nor youthful fever of the
Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance.
Love is not born of blinded chance,
Nor bred In simple ignorance.
But Love hath winter in her blood,
And love is fruit of holy pain,
And perfect flower of maidenhood.
True love is steadfast as the skies,
And, once alight, she never flies;
And love is strong and still and wise.
—Richard Watson Gilder.
J
FACULTY. «
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t
There was a great commotion in
Foxville when old Parson Fox died.
It was not only because he was the
pioneer of the plsRie, haying come
there when the woods Jwe're due pri¬
meval mass of green,and himself hav¬
ing erected the old stone parsonage,
around which the thriving village had
grown with almost incredible rapidity.
It was not that he had preached the
gos pel to them for four-and-forty-yqars;
it was not that his footsteps Bad been
install, on every threshold wlie^esick¬
ness came or sorrow brooded. - ^
All this had been received as a ‘mat¬
ter of course, and forgotten as sOon
as the necessities were past. But yt
was beeanse Foxville curiosity was on*
the qui vive about Joanna, his grand¬
child, the sole remaining blossom on
the gnarled old family tree, who was
left quite unprovided for.
“I declare to goodness, ” said Mrs.
Emmons, “I don’t know what is to
become of that giil!”
“She liaiu’t no faculty,’’said Sabina
Sexton, the village dressmaker; “and
never had.”
“Books possessed no charms for
her!” sighed Miss Dodge, who taught
the Foxville district school. “She al¬
ways cried over her parsing and rhe¬
toric, and I n-sver could make lrer
understand cube root.”
“There’s no denyin’ that the old
minister was as near a saint as we
often see in this world,” said Mrs.
Luke Lockedge, piously. “But he
hadn’t ought to let Joanna run loose
in the woods and tieids the way she
did. Why, I don’t s’pose she ever
made a shirt or fried a batch o’ fritters
in her life!”
“Is it true,” said Miss Dodge,peer¬
ing inquisitively up under her spec¬
tacle glasses, “that she is engaged to
your Simon, Mrs. Lockedge?”
Mrs. Lockedge closed her mouth,
shook her head and knitted away until
her needles shone like forked light¬
ning.
“Simon’s like all other young men.
Miss Dodge, ” said she—“took by a
pretty face and a pair o’ bright eyes.
And they sat on the same bench at,
school. And as long as we s’posed
Parson Fox had, left property, why,
there wasn’t no objection. But there
wasn’t nothing—not even a life iusiir-
ance. So I’ve talked to Simon, and
made him hear reason. There can’t
nobody live on air!”
“But that’s ruther hard on Joanna,
ain’t it?” said Mrs. Emmons, with a
little sympathetic wheeze.
“Keasou is reason!” Mrs. Lock-
edge answered. “My Simon will have
property, and the girl he marries must
have STithin’ to match it.”
So that Joanna Fox, sitting listlessly
in her black dress by the window,
where the scent of Juue honeysuckles
floated sweetly in, and trying to real¬
ize that she was alone in the world,
had divers and sundry visitors that day.
The first was Simon Lockedge, look¬
ing as if his errand were somewhat
connected with grand larceny.
Joanna started up, her wan face
brightening. She was only sixteen —
a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl.
“Oh, Simon,” she, cried, “I knew
you would come when you heard!”
Simon Lockedge wriggled uneasily
into a seat, instead, of advancing to
clasp her outstretched hand.
“Yes,” said he, - “Of course it’s
very sad, Joanna, aiid I’m awfully
for you. But—”
Joanna stbod ^till,,her face harden¬
ing into a cold, white mask, her hands
falling to her sidg.
“Yes,” said she. “You were say¬
ing—”
“It’s mother!” guiltily confessed
Simon. “A fellow can’t go agaiust his
own mother, you know. She says it’s
all nonsense, our engagement and we
shouldn’t have anything to live on!
And so,” with a final twist,“we’d bet¬
ter consider it all over. That’s the
sense of the matter—now ain’t it,
She did not answer. • - • • .
4 ‘I’m awfully sorry,’’stuttered Simon.
THE TRIBUNE.
"Don’t Give Up tHe Sliip.”
BUCHANAN, GA„ FRIDAY, MAY 20. 1898.
“I always set a deal of store by you,
Joanna. ”
“Did you?” she said bitterly. “One
would scarcely have thought it.”
“And you know, Joanna,” he added
awkwardly, mindful of his mother’s
drill, “when poverty comes in at the
door, love flies out at the window!”
Joanna smiled scornfully.
“It seems,” said she, “that love
does not always wait for that.”
And she turned and walked into the
adjoining apartment; while Simon,
slinking out of the door, muttered to
himself:
“It’s the hardest job o’ work that
ever I did in my life. Splitting stumps
is nothing to it. But mother says it
must be done—and mother rules the
roost in our house!”
Next came Mrs. Emmons.
“Joanna,” said she, “I’m deeply
grieved at this ’ere affliction that’s be¬
fell you!”
i i Thank you, Mrs. Emmons!” said
the girl, mechanically.
“I’ve come to ask you about your
plans,’’added the plump widow. “Be¬
cause, if you have no other intentions,
I’ll be glad to have you help me with
the housework. I’m goin’ to have a
house full o’ summer boarders, and
there’ll be a deal more work than me
au.l Elviry can manage. Of course
you won’t expect no pay, but a good
home is what you need most.”
“Stop a minute!” said Joanna. “Am
I to understand that you exjiect me to
assume the position and duties of a
servant, without servant’s wages?”
“You’ll be a member of the family, ”
said Mrs. Emmons; “and you’ll set at
the same table with me and Elviry.”
“I am much obliged to you,” said
Joanna, “but I must decline your kind
offer.” •
And Mrs. Emmons departed in
wrath, audibly declaring her convic¬
tion that pride was certain, sooner or
later, to have a fall.
“I have plenty of friends,” said
Joanna, courageously, or rather dear
grandpapa had. I am sure to be pro¬
vided for. ”
But Squire Barton looked harder
than any flint when the orphan came
to him.
“Something to do, the Miss Fox?” said
he. “Well, that’s very problem
of the age—woman’s work, you know;
and I ain’t smart enough to solve it.
Copying? No, our firm don’t need
that sort of work. Do I know of any
one that does? N-no, I can’t say I do;
but if I should hear of an opening,
I’ll be sure to let you know. Ahem!
—I’m a little busy this morning, Miss
Fox; sorry I can’t devote more time
to you. John, the door. Good morn¬
ing, my dear Miss Fox! I assure you,
you have mine and Mrs. Barton’s
piayecs in this sad visitation of an in¬
scrutable Providence. ”
Old Miss Gringe, who had fifty
thousand dollars at interest, and who
had always declared that she loved
dear Joanna Fox like a daughter, sent
down word that she wasn’t very well,
and couldn’t see
Doctor Wentworth, in visiting
whose invalid daughter poor old Par¬
son Fox had contracted the illness
which carried him to his grave, was
brusque and short. The doctor was
sorry for Miss Joanna, of course, but
he didn’t know of any way in which
ho could be useful. He understood
there was a kid-glove factory to be
opened oil Walling Fiver soon.
“No doubt Miss Fox could get a
place there; or there could be no ob¬
jection to her going out to domestic
service. There was a great deal of
false sentiment on this subject,and he
thought—”
But Joanna, without waiting for the
result of his cogitations, excused her¬
self. She would detain him no longer,
she said; and she went away, with
flaming cheeks and resolutely re¬
pressed tears.
When she got home, she found one
of the trustees of the church awaiting
her. He didn’t wish to hurry her, he
said, but the clergyman didn’t want to
live in such a ruinous old and
it was their calculation, as the parson¬
age was mortgaged much beyond its
real value, td sell it out, and buy a
new frame house, near the railroad
station, with all the modern conveni¬
ences, for the use of the Rev. Silas
Speakwell.
“Am I to he turned out of my
home?” said Joanna, indignantly.
Deacon Blydenburg hemmed and
hawed. He didn’t want to hurt no
one’s feelings; but as to her home, it
was well known that to all intents and
purposes the old place had long ago
passed out of Parson Fox’s owner¬
ship; and they were willing to accord
her any reasonable length of time to
pack up and take leave of her friends
—say a week. tJ
So Joanna, who could think of no
remaining friend but her old gover¬
ness, who had long ago gone to New
York to fight the great world for her¬
self, went down to the city, and ap¬
pealed to Miss Woodin in her extrem¬
ity; and Miss Woodin cried over her,
and kissed her and caressed her, like
an old maiden aunt.
“What am I to do?” said poor, pale
Joanna. “I cannot starve!”
“There’s no necessity for any one
starving in this great, busy world,”
said Miss Woodin, cheerfully. “All
one wants is faculty!”
Joanna shrank a little from the har'd,
stereotyped word, which she had so
often heard from the lips of Mrs.
Emmons, Miss Sabina Sexton, and
that sisterhood.
“But how do you live?” said she.
“Do you see that tiling there in the
corner?” said Miss Woodin.
“Yes,” answered Joanna. “It is a
sewing machine?”
“It’s a typewriter,’’announced Miss
Woodin. “And I earn my living on it.”
“Butt what do you write?” said
Joanna.
“Anything I can get,” said Miss
Woodin.
And thus, in the heart of the great
wilderness of New Y'ork, Joanna Fox
commenced her pilgrimage of toil.
First on the typewriter, then pro¬
moted to a compiler’s desk in the
“Fashion Department”of a prominent
weekly journal; then, by means of a
striking, original sketch, slipped into
the letter box of the Ladies’ Weekly
with fear and trembling, to a place on
the contributor’s list; then gradually
rising to the rank of a spirited young
novelist; until she had her pretty
“flat,” iurnished like a miniature
palace, with Miss Woodin and her
typewriter snugly installed in one cor¬
ner.
“Because I owe everything to her,”
said the young authoress, gratefully.
And, one day, glancing over the ex¬
changes in the sanctum of the Ladies’
Weekly, to whose columns she still
contributed,she came across a copy of
the Foxville Gazette.
“Hester,” she said, hurrying home
to Miss Woodin, “the old parsonage
is to be sold at auction tomorrow, and
I mean to go up and buy it. For I am
quite—quite sure that I could write
there better than anywhere else in the
world.”
Miss Woodin agreed with Joanna,
Miss Woodin believed more firmly in
whatever Joanna believed. In her
loving eyes, the successful young
writer was always right.
So Joanna Fox and Miss Woodin,
dressed in black and closely veiled,
went up to Foxville to attend the auc¬
tion sale.
Everybody was there. They didn’t
have an auction sale at Foxville every
day in the week.
Squire Barton was there, with a
vague idea of purchasing the old place
for a public garden.
“It would be attractive, ” said the
squire. “These open-air concert-gar¬
dens are making no end of money in
the cities. I don’t see why the Ger¬
mans need pocket all the money that
there is going.”
Mrs. Emmons came because every¬
body else did. Miss Dodge, who had
saved a little money, thought that if
the place went cheap, she would pay
down a part and give a moatgage for
the remainder.
“And my sister could keep board¬
ers,” she considered, “and I could
always have a home there.”
But Simon Lockedge was most de¬
termined of all to have the old parson¬
age for his own.
“I could fix it up,” said he to him¬
self, “and live there real comfortable.
It’s a dreadful pretty location, and I’m
bound to have it—especially since
mother’s investments have turned out
bad, and since we’ve got to sell the
farm. Nothing hasn’t gone right with
us since I broke off with the old par¬
son’s grand-daughter. It wasn’t quite
the square thing to do, but there
seemed no other way. But, let mother
say what she will, it brought bad luck
to us. ”
And tho rustic crowd surged in and
out, and the auctioneer mounted to his
platform on an old kitchen table, and
the bidding began at five hundred dol¬
lars, and “hung fire” for some time.
“Six!” said cautious Simon Lock-
edge, as last.
'‘Seven !”peeped Miss Dodge faintly
“Eight!” said Simon, resolutely.
“A thousand!” uttered the voice of
a quiet, veiled lady, in the corner.
Every one stared in that direction.
n > Taint worth that, ’’said the squire,
in an undertone. “All run down—
fences gone to nothing.”
But Simon Lockedge wanted it very
much.
“E—le—ven hundred!” said he,
slowly and unwillingly.
“Fifteen hundred!” spoke the soft
voice, decidedly.
“Fifteen hundred!” bawled the auc¬
tioneer. “I’m offered •fifteen hundred
dollars for this very desirable prop¬
erty. Fifteen hundred, once —fifteen
hundred,twice—fifteen hundred,three
times and gone! What name, ma’am,
if you please?”
And the lady, throwing aside her
veil, answered calmly:
“Joanna Fox!”
The old parsonage was rebuilt, and
studded with bay windows and medi¬
eval porches, Laurels and rhodo-
dendrons were set out in the grounds;
the little brook was bridged over with
rustic cedarwood; and Joanna Fox
and Miss Woodin came there to live,in
modest comfort.
But Mrs. Lockedge and her son
Simon moved out of Foxville when
the mortgage on their old place was
foreclosed, and the places that had
known them once knew them no
more.
And Mrs. Emmons said:
“She’s done real well, Joanna has.
I always knew there was something
in her!”
And Mrs. Wentworth and the Misses
Barton tried desperately to become in¬
timate with the young authoress, but
without avail.
For there is nothing in all the wide
world so successful as success, and it
is a fetich which lias many worshipers.
—Saturday Fight.
The Spaniards of Gibraltar.
Your Spaniard born in Gibraltar is
quick to call himself an Englishman,
though his actions may “Briton, belie bis pre-
tentions. Your true with a
long line of cockney ancestors, looks
down upon the whole Spanish nation
as an inferior race.
The English soldier who conducted
ns through the Moorish galleries in
the fortifications interspersed his
local description with information re¬
garding regimental regulations. He
told of the schools where a man might
learn everything, particularly the
languages. “Of course nobody ever
learns Spanish; it’s no good after you
leave here, and while you are here the
Spnniards have to learn English if
they expect us to have anything to do
with them”—this in a tone of careless
contempt, quite impossible to convey
in words.
As another bit of interesting in-
formation, he told us one man out
of every four was allowed a wife,
“and very useful she is in making
money for her husband; for she takes
inofficers’ washing and does any other
little thing that comes handy.”
“I suppose you choose your wives
among the pretty Andalusians,” com-
men-ted some one.
Tho fellow stiffened himself to his
full height, thus emphasizing at once
his scorn and the cut of his trim
jacket: “Beg pardon, ma’am, but a
British soldier wouldn’t lower himself
by marrying with a dirty, lazy
Spaniard!”—New York Independent.
Valuable Almanacs.
The most valuable almanac ever
made is that- now- in the British
museum, which is priceless. It is be¬
lieved to be at least 3000 ‘years old.
<The days are written in red ink on
papyrus, in columns, and under each
is a figure, followed by three charac¬
ters signifying the probable state of
the weather for that day. The most
elaborate almanac in the world is that
issued by the Chinese government ill
twelve thick volumes, which gives
full information as to lucky times and
places for performing the acts of
every day life, which is considered an
essential of success by every good
Chinaman. The Nautical almanac
costs the British nation £3942 a year.
At its office, No. 3 Vemlam buildings,
Cray’s Inn, London, the superintend¬
ent, A. M. Downing,doctor of science
and fellow of the Royal society,
receives £600. Edward Roberts, fel¬
low of the Royal Astronomical and
Statistical societies, the chief assist-
aut, receives £450, and there are
eleven other assistants, several of
whom are graduates of universities or
members of learned societies, who are
paid from £100 to £3000 each. The
most curious calendar at present in
use is that of the natives of Central
America, where the months are only
twenty days, and these are named
after animals. Among most modern
European ones the “Almanac de
Gotha” has been longest in continuous
circulation, upward of 135 years.—
Boston Transcript.
NO. 24.
DOCILITY OF THE CAMEL.
Kindent and Most Humane of Animal* ami
It lightly Called “The Ship of the Desert.**
The operations in Egypt and the
Kalat region give a peculiar interest
to camel lore at this moment. It is
strange to see a camel going down on
his knees to allow an Arab to get on
board the “ship of the desert.” First,
the big,shambling animal, in answer
to a tap from its driver,suddenly flops
down on its knees, then its hind legs
collapse, and it finally deposits itself
flat on tho ground. The rider then
seats himself astride on the extreme
back of the big, soft wicker basket that
does duty ns saddle, touches up the
patient beast, who then drags himself
onto his feet again with many an liu-
wieldy lurch and plunge,which would
jjrolmbly prove disastrous to an inex-
perienced rider, as there is no way of
holding on except by plunging your
fingers into the basket. However,
Arabs seem to be born circus riders
and can stick on to anything in a way
that is little short of marvelous.
Camels very frequently wear muz¬
zles made of rope, and this leads to a
misconception. It is merely to pre¬
vent them snatching at the trees along
the wayside and not on account of vi-
ciousness, for they are the kindest a ml
most humane of animals and, I feel
convinced, could not find it in their
hearts to hurt a fly. They are, more¬
over, not half so conceited and over¬
bearing as they look. Two great dis¬
likes they have. One is to people
wearing black clothes and the other
is to being jostled in the streets or
even touched. I once went to call on
a beautiful white camel, and,as it was
Sunday, I put on a black coat. The
camel looked at me, edged away and
finally turned his back on me. Not
understanding, I insisted on patting
Wm, whereupon he repeated the same
antics and gave a deep growl, and the
driver explained that a camel detests
sombre raiment, probably because he
becomes accustomed to the white bur¬
nouses of the Arabs.—London Sketch,
Formation of Anthracite and Bituminous
Coals.
There are several articles on the
Pennsylvania Coal Regions in the
Century. Mr. Edward Atkinson writes
°* The Advantage of England and
United States in the World s Com-
nierce. Mr. Atkinson says:
Tt will be remarked that the depos-
its of anthracite are found in very
mountainous regions. The difierence
between this hard and what are ca n sd
the soft co.ils was explaiue 1 to me by
the late Professor William B. Rogers,
When the contraction of the earth’s
surface took piace by which the moun-
tain regions of Pennsylvania, and a
few other parts of the Carboniferous
series were formed, these mountains
" ere thrown up, turned over, and
twisted in such a manner as to cause
the materials of vegetable origin of
"bicli coal is formed to become coked,
or partly coked, under extreme pres¬
sure. it is due to that pressure, and
accompanying heat, that the anthra¬
cite coals are hard and virtually free
from bitumen; while, under other
conditions, the bituminous or semi-
bituminous coals are soft and more
friable, containing more bituminous
element. In some other parts of tho
earth’s surface where coal is found,
the .so-cftlled brown coals and lignites
have not been subjected to the meas¬
ure of heat under pressure sufficient
to convert them into true coal.
It tincd Hojjs in tt Tree.
W. T. Harmon, living on the Days
Mill turnpike, near Tilton, has in use
a very curious but convenient hogpen.
The pen is nothing more or less than
a huge sycamore tree, which is hollow
and furnishes sleeping quarters for at
least 20 large-sized porkers. The tree
has been used for its present purpose
for over ten years, and during that
time over a thousand hogs have been
raised in it.—Flemingsburg (Ky.) Ga¬
zette.
The Oldest Cricketer.
The oldest living cricketer in Eng¬
land is Mr. Herbert Jenner-Fust, who
is bearing lightly tho burden of ninety-
one years. As Herbert Jenner (the
Fust was a subsequent addition) he
appeared at Lord’s for Eton against
Harrow in 1822, fifteen years before
the queen came to. the throne, and
five years later played for Cambridge
agaiust Oxford.
Foiuil Fuel,
It is said that the earliest mention
made of the use of coal as a fuel is in
the records of the Abbey of Peter¬
borough, in the year 850 A. D.,where
is found an entry of twelve cart loada
of “fossil fuel.”