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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. « > 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.”