Newspaper Page Text
VOL. 1.
THE PERSIMMONS.
Oh,a little persimmon grew high oi tree—
On a tree—ou a tali, tall tree!
And a little boy said: "It is growirfor me,
But I haven't a pole that can reaett,” said
he—
The persimmon that grew on three.
Oh, a little persimmon grew high , a tree—
On a tree—on a tall, tall treo!
And And when another I boy said: “It is rightverhead, it,’’ he
grow big I can roa
said—
The persimmon that grew on tltree.
And while they were talking aither boy
came
To the tree—to the tall, tall tn
And he jerked his short jacket A climbed
to the top,
Vvhile they shouted below: “H<will drop!
He will drop!
He was foud of persimmons; hcollareilthe
Of crop tree!
persimmons that grew onie
Mercy Feme's Rficomclii. <
•
A rug pathway meandenl from the
kitchen doefr to the pf.rlorfloor, with
ramifications on either sid to chairs
and sola and table. Squae rugs and
round rugs and oblong, oiigonal,oval
rugs filled up all the chiks. There
was scarcely a square inc of the car-
pet visible anywhere.
The two or three amrotypes and
steel engravings in solem black wal-
nut frames were befogge behind veils
of able-lookiug mosquito-netting. Che draped comfort-
lounge us in
crisp, clean newspapersto protect the
new covering underneah- The face
of the clock on the ma te! looked out
coyly through its veil <f netting.
It was dim and coo! » tie big, clean
room—and empty. Tiey \at in the
kitchen or, on especially liol evenings,
out on the porch. There wi^ so much
danger of flies in the sittingV.oom,and
dust and sun-fading and all sorts of
dreadful things, especially in dog-
days. It was dog-days now.
Mercy Foote was upstairs in the
unfinished chamber, “resting;’ but it
was so hot aud so close that e eu to
rest was hard work, She never
dreamed of going into one of tb spot¬
less, speckless chambers and ‘muss¬
ing up” one of the white, plump beds,
Mercy Foote was a very neat wman—
some of the neighbors openly called
her “p’ison neat.”
About midway of the afernoon
Nathan Foote came up through the
orchard from the hay-field. He wal lied
very slowley, as if it hurt him Every
minute or two he mopped lis bald,
shiny head with his haudkerciief and
drew long, Herd breaths. Nataan was
almost an old man—a good cbal older
than Mercy.
He had been working hard all day,
and every individual old miscle felt
strained aud sore;, and how his back
ached! It was a rather long way, too,
up to the house. * L
Mercy put’her-lips to the' window-
screen and called sharply to him when
be came into sight round tie corn-
house.
“Nathan,go in through the stable,”
she called, “aud miud you slide the
door to real quick behind ycu! I’ve
been out there fly-po\tdering. I don’t
want to have flies following you in.
Shut it.the instant!”
“Yes, Mercy,” Nathau said,wearily,
It looked like a long, circuitous route
into the house, and fie vas very tired.
• He slid into a narrow cievice in thb
door, rubbing his a;hiug bones
against the edges. Thea he braced
himself and slid back the heavy
door.
In the sudden transition from the
hot glare outside to the dusky interior
he felt dizzy aud blinded, and had to
sit down on a wagon-thill! a minute.
Then he shuffled up the steep stairs
and through the “shop” and wood-
house to the kitchen, opening and
shutting all the doors with conscien¬
tious despatch. Mercy’s voice drifted
down to him, muffled but incisive.
“Don’t wash in the best wash-dish,
Natb’an. I’ve got - it all scoured up.
You get the old one over the tubs in
the woodrhouse, and mind ycu empty
the water, out in the asparagus bed. I
don’t like to have the sink all wet
up.”
“Yes, Mercy.”
He got the old basin and filled it
and set it on a chair with the soft-soap
crock. Some of the drops splashed to
the shining floor, and stooping with
evident pain, he wiped them up care¬
fully.
“I declare,” he murmured, “I don’t
know as I W tfiis 0 (S ever more beat out
than I am afternoon! I don’t
know as I was ever! I guess I’ve got
to lie down a spell.”
“Nathan!’’.
THE TRIBUNE C ■ #
“Don’t Givo Up tlxo Sliip.”
BUCHANAN. GA., FRIDAY, JULY 29, 1898,
“Yes, Mercy.”
“If you’re thirsty, you’d better
draw some water out of the well; the
pump’s all dry and clean. I gave it
a hard cleaning today,the last thing.”
Nathan took the basin of watercut
through the stable door gad emptied
it over the asparagus-bed. He made
a second journey over the same toil¬
some route for a drink of water.
“I’ve got to lie down somewhere
right away!” he muttered, “I’m all
beat out!”
. “Natlnfu!” Morey called.
“Yes, Mercy,”
“Did you rub your feet on the mat
in the porch and the scraper?”
“The scraper’s out to the kitchen
door, Mercy!” Nathan called back,
raising his voice with an effort.
“Did you rub ’em on the porch
mat?”
“Yes. I don’t know as I did all the
times. I did once.”
A groan,muffled but clearly audible,
descended to Nathan.
“I can’t help it!” ho muttered. “I
guess I’ll go lie down on the sitting-
room sofa a minute. I’ll have to; I
can q stand up.”
took oft' ki 3 boots and paddled
softly along the rug pathway. It was
so dim iu there that not till he got
c i 09e to the lounge did he notice the
newspapers covering it. He lifted one
! , () f them off with a little determined
twitch of his lips, but replaced it
hastily, and padded softly back to the
kitchen. He went to the door,
“Mercy,” he called up, “where’s
tLe last paper? I don’t see it any-
where.”*
i i Goodness, Nathan Foote, shut
that door! You’ll let in a mess of
flies!”
“Wlier’s the last paper, Mercy?”
Nathan’s diminished voice rose, patient
and tired, to Mercy’s ears through the
closed door.
“It’s all piled up nice, Nathan. You
don’t want it now. You take the
alinauac over the kitchen table and
read the jokes!” she called back. He
got the almanac and put on his boots.
Then he dragged them wearily, step
by step, out to the stable. His griz¬
zled, seamy face was drawn with ex-
hauston and pain.
Mercy Foote came down-stairs at
precisely five o’clock to get supper.
Just as she stepped over the kitchen
threshold the last stroke of the clock
was clanging. That was her rule.
Mercy was as methodical as she w as
neat.
“Goodness,” she exclaimed, “there’s
a fly!—there’s two flies!” She caught
up one of the deftly folded news¬
papers that she kept hidden in handy
uooks aud proceeded to wage war.
“Nathan’s so careless!” she fretted.
“But I didu’t think they’d find their
way clear in from the stable!”
She peered into the sitting-room,
aud noticed that one of the papers ou
the lounge was awry, “Nathan’s
been in there—yes, there’s a wisp of
hay on the speckled rug! Now I
s.’pose, I’ve got to go to sweeping!”
It was quarter of six before supper
was ready on the kitchen table. Mercy
had arranged the dishes precisely,but
there seemed very few of them. “It’s
too hot to light the fire, and ’twould
muss up dreadfully—the shavings and
all. We’ll have just a cold luuch.
Nathan oughtn’t to eat hearty victuals
after haying and getting all heated
up.
“Nathan! Nathan!” she called from
the porch door, which she warily
opened only a crack. He was not out
there. She could not find him any¬
where.
She went all over the house, and
peered from all the tightly screened
windows. She put on her sunbonnet
and blew the dinner-horn. She always
put ou her sunbonnet when she blew
the horn, nobody knew why. Mercy
didn’t know herself.
There was a little circular hole in
the upper part of the kitchen door,
protected by a filow swinging disk of wood.
It '• was to the dinner-horn
through. Nathan made it for her so
that she need not open the door and
run the risk of the entrance of flies.
She slid away the wooden cover and
quickly inserted the end of the horn
into the hole, and blew long, resonant
blasts. They .echoed back to her
lonesomely.
The clock struck six—seven. Still
Nathan did not come. Mercy went
out to the hay-field and all over the
little farm. Her heart grew heavy
with new, umSoknowledged dread.
Where was-Nathan.. {
“I’m beginning to get scared,’’poor
Mercy confessed to herself. Why was
it that she kept remembering the
sharp words she had said to Nathan?
Why tliil she remember how old und
tired out he had looked at dinner.
Why,when she went into the dreary
little porch-room, should the wooden
chairs still - and uncomfortable, remind
her so insistently of their sitting out
there together—she anil Nathan—to
save “mussing” the sitting-room? She
could see just bow uneasily Nathan
sat on the edge of his,chair, without
any resting place for his shirt-sleeved
old arms—Goodness \vhere was
Nathan?
Terrible things she nail read of
and heard of kept recurring
to her mind with dark insin¬
uation. Could it be possible that
weary old men with fussy, scolding
wives ever—ever—Oh no! But where
could Nathan be? Eight o’clock—one,
two, three, four, five, six, seveu, eight
slow, solemn, significant clangs!
Mercy went out into the wood-shed—
into the stable—anywhere, away from
the sound of the clock’s voice that
scolded her incessantly.
The hungry old horse in his stall
was whinnying and pawing for his
supper. Mercy stroked his nose.
“I’ll go get you some hay, poney,”
she said. She went upstairs to throw
it down to him, and there was Nathan,
asleep in the hay! He lay in the pro¬
found, relaxed slumber of utter weari¬
ness. The yellow almanac bad fallen
from his fingers and lay beside him.
She knew he was tired, and not very
well. He had been driven to take bis
rest in the barn!
Mercy tiptoed back into- the house,
breathing long, free breaths all the
way, and forgetting to shut the doors,
She built a fire and filled the tea-
kettle and made many trips to the
pantry, coming back with sundry
dishes that Nathan liked, and crowd-
iugthe table, with them. She took a
lighted lamp into the sitting-room and
set it on the table. With a vigorous
sweep of the arui she bundled together
the newspapers ou the lounge, aud
carried them out.
“Tliere f ” she said, “now I’ll fetch
a pillow' arid put a paper handy. ”
A few minutes later she stood in
the porch door and blew long, steady,
penetrating calls ou the horn. Nathan
heard them aud came in, looking
guilty.
“I guess I weut to sleep, Mercy,”
lie said. “I must have. I was all
beat out when I came iu. ”
They sat down together to the
savory little supper. The pungent,
pleasant odor of steaming tea filled
the room. Nathan ate with the hearty
relish of a well-rested man, and Mercy
watched him with delight.
Suddenly Nathan suspended his
knife aud fork and looked across at
Mercy, troubled.
“If there ain’t two pesky flies!” ho
said, ruefully.
Mercy’s eyes were glued with
dogged heroism to her plate.
“Where?” she- said, cheerfully. “I
don’t see ’em Nathan.”—Youth’s Com-
paniou.
Pedestrian Feats.
It is true that the Greek soldier, who
ran all the way from Marathon to
Athens to bear the news of victory
and dropped dead when he had deliv¬
ered the message, had covered only
twenty-six miles, yet he may have
been worn with fighting when he
started.
On the other hand, Deerfoot, the
Indian runner of the Cattaraugus res¬
ervation, who once held the record in
England and America, ran .twelve
miles in fifty-six minutes in London in
1861, and extraordinary stories of his
long-distance running are told. Cap¬
tain Barclay of England walked a
thousand miles in a thousand hours,
and W. S. George, the world’s great¬
est amateur distance runner, followed
the hounds on foot. Henry Schmel,
in June, 1894, walked from Spring-
field, Ill., to Chicago, 188 miles, iu
sixty-nine hours and fifty minutes. In
1892 Sclnieideit, an Austrian printer,
finding himself in Calcutta without
means, walked all the way home from
his native town, Rathenow, traveling
ou foot for two years across India,
Afghanistan, Persia, Turkey, southern
Russia, Bulgaria, Roumania and Hun-
gary, and thence into Austria.
But these instances, which might
be multiplied, are for the most part
feats accomplished under special con¬
ditions or stress of circumstances or
by picked men. In Apache laud every
Indian is a runner, asking no odds of
earth or weather, and whether it be
the peaceful Pueblo, trudging to his
irrigated lands, forty miles aud back,
or the venomous' Ohiracahua, tamed
to do service for Uncle Sain, the Man
on Horseback may welj regard him
with amazement.—Lippiucott’s Maga¬
zine.
NAMING OF THE MONTEREY.
Story of the Manner In Which the Mon¬
itor Received Its Christening.
The story of the naming of the big
coast defense monitor Monterey, has
never been told iu print. When prep¬
arations for her launching were being
made at San Francisco, Irving M.
Scott, general manager of the Union
Iron works, w as at Washington, aud a
number of Californians wired him to
use his influence with Benjamin F.
Tracy, then secretary of the navy, to
have the ship named for some Califor¬
nia town, and Scott hit upon Monte¬
rey as a name that appealed to him as
appropriate and the request was ac¬
cordingly preferred.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said the
amiable secretary and, ringing a bell,
he summoned the head of the war de¬
partment having the matter iu charge.
When the matter was explained the
chief of bureau replied:
“B # ut you know, Mr. Secretary, Hie
rules require that ships of that class
shall be named iu honor of some naval
battle in which the Americans have
participated. So far as I know there
has never been a battle of Monterey.”
This rule has been changed since,
but Mr. Scott, seeing ttie corner he
was in ns the matter stood, retorted
promptly.
“Yes, it is true that there has never
ceen a battle at Monterey, but let me
toll you a story. Iu 1846, when we
Were having our little unpleasantness
with Mexico, an American man-of-war
i Near was lying in the harbor of Mazatlan.
her lay an Englishman, who
j had an uncomfortable way of keeping
| her guns' pointed in the direction of
i the American. Now, the Yankee
skipper, who was typical of his class,
got it into his head 'to raise his flag at
Monterey, Cal., which was the capital
iof that territory, and" it so happened
that the Englishman got the same no¬
tion just about the. same time. The
Yankee suspected something of the
kind and made up his mind not to be
outwitted.
“Late that afternoon he sent a lot
of his men ashore and when the boats
returned to the ship without them the
Britisher made up liis mind that they
would not be back until the following
day. Satisfied with this conclusion,
he sat down to wait. But the Yankee
. was a hustler, as Yankee sailors always
are. The night was as dark as a stack
of black cats, and along about 10
o’clock the American boats with muf-
fled oars rowed the crew back to the
'ship, and in the inky darkness that
Yankee skipper slipped his cables and
warped his ship out of the harbor
without the fact even being suspected
by the Englishman. When day broke
he was fifty miles up the coast, scud¬
ding along before a ten-knot breeze.
“The other fellow saw he had been
outgeneraled, but he made an effort to
rectify his blunder. He had a smart
crew and a fast ship. There was no
reason, he figured, why he might not
overtake his rival and beat him to
Monterey. He tried it aud came very
nearly making a success of it. He
sailed into Monterey harbor just
two hours behind the American and
dropped his anchor in time to see the
stars and stripes rise to the head of
the flagstaff in the plaza and flutter to
the breeze. Monterey and California
were ours,"
“Don’t say another word, Scott,”
said Secretary Tracy. “Phat shija shall
be the Monterey.”
And Monterey she is.
Watch a* a Compass.
Very few people are aware of the
fact that in a watch they are always
provided with a compass, with which,
when the sun is shining, the cardinal
points can be determined, All one
bas to do is to point the hour hand to
the sun, and south is exactly half-way
between the hour* and the figure
twelve on the watch. This may seem
strange to the average reader, but it
is easily explained. While the sun is
passing over 180 degrees (east to
west) the hour hand of the watch
passes over 360 degrees (from six
o’clock to six o’clock )t Therefore the
angular movement of the sun in one
corresponds to the angular movement
of the hour in half an hour; hence, if
we point the hour toward the suu the
linejfrom the point midway between the
hour hand and twelve o’clock to the
pivot of the hands will point to tha
south.—San Francisco Chronicle.
. Earnest Effort.
Hax—What’s the matter with that
man? St. Vitus’ dance?
Jax—Na; he has the ague, and he’s
trying to shake it off. —Philadelphia
Record.
NO. 34,
THE ATMOSPHERE OF LONDON.
It Contains More Tilings Than Any Ottar
City—Oust Enough for Food.
Only by degrees are the marvelous
qualities of our Loudon atmosphere
becoming known. No city in the
world ohn boast such n peculiar aerial
composition as that which the inhabi¬
tants of the metropolis have served to
them daily aud nightly, without money
and without price—for neither tha
government, comity council nor ves¬
tries have yet attempted to tax the
highly nutritive air which we breathe.
Most people think that our atmos¬
phere consists of practically nothing.
Quite a mistake. It is both meat aud
drink. A paper contributed to the
“Transactions” of the British Insti¬
tute of Preventive Medicine states
that even in a suburb the dust parti¬
cles number 20,000 per cubic centime¬
ter in the open air, aud -14,000 in a
quiet room; while in the city—O for-
tunatos nimium !—the.totals per cubic
centimeter were 500,000 when taken
from a roof, 300,000 in a court, and
about 400,000 in a room. In other-
words, the air of the square mile is
900 per cent, thicker than in the
suburbs, which is in accord with the
general experience that fogs are both,
more dense and more frequent over
the centre than iu the outskirts. But
what is especially interesting is to
learn that although dust is the great
carrier of micro-organisms, there
is only one of these Articles per 38,-
000,000 atoms of dust. Thus it is
calculated a man could live in the
metropolis for several years and only
absorb 25,000,000 microbes into his
system from the air, or about the
same number as he drinks in half a
pint of unboiled milk. Of course,
there are other serious objections to
dust; but it is something to know
that there is only one microbe to
many millions of motes.—Loudon Tel¬
j egraph.
After All These Years..
The falling of a baru door on an
aged minister at Macetlon Centre, New
York, a few weeks ago, has brought to
light information which a Canisteo
couple have for nearly half a century
tried to gaiu, and the accident with
the baru door has played one of the
most important parts of their lives.
Forty-seven years ago there were
married in Penn Yan Mr. and Mrs. V.
Beimann. The ceremony was per¬
formed by a Rev. Mr. Kellogg. Cer¬
tificates were not granted in those
days unless asked for, aud although
the couple asked for a certificate, they
never got it, as it was neglected by
the couple, and finally forgotten by
the couple, who moved to Cauisteo,
where they now reside.
Subsequently the Rev. Mr. Kellogg
moved front Penn Yan and all trace of
him was lost. Ever since that time
Mr. and Mrs. Reimanu have been look¬
ing for the minister who made them
as one, but failed to leave written
proof to that effect. Recently they
read an account in a Buffalo paper of
a barn door falling on an aged minis¬
ter named Kellogg, aged eighty-four
years, of Macedon Centre. The couple
talked the matter over and decided he
must be the same minister who had
married them. An examination of
Mr. Kellogg’s records was asked for
and made. Their theory was correct,'
and they found that forty-seven years
ago the records announced that they
were made man and wife. The wit¬
nesses of the marriage were W. L.
Sutton and sister, of Horuellsville,
N. Y., and as they are still living, the
certificate of forty-seven years’ stand¬
ing has been duly signed and received
by Mr. and Mrs. Reimanu, who have
placed it in a frame on the wall of
their home.
Unique Blotters.
A Philadelphia man owns a most
unique assortment of pieces of blotting
paper, collected by his father, who
was long an official of the White
House, each of which bears, reversed,
the signature of a president, from Gen¬
eral Harrison, who died a mouth after
his election in 1841 to Garfield, On
one sheet, the most highly prized of
the lot, the last official letter signed
by President Lincoln was blotted be¬
fore be was assassinated by Booth.—-
Memphis (Tenn.) Scimitar.
Plainly Impossible.
Alys—Here is a novel I found our
maid reading about a lord who
married a shop girl. How ridiculous!
Gladys—Very. As if any one did
not know that; a shop girl’s salary is
very small.—Cincinnati Enquirer.
Violet perfume cannot be extracted,
from the flower. It is made artificially.