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YOL. I.
THE CALL.
The clouds grew dark as c.h i people paused,
A people there of peace and toil,
Aud came a cry from all the sky:
“Come, children of mart aud soil,
Your mother needs you—hear her voice;
Though she has not a son to spare.
She has spoken the word that ye all have
heard.
Come, answer ye everywhere!”
They need no urging to stir them on,
They yearn for no battle-cry. calls for
At the word that their country men
They throw dowu hammor and scythe and
pen.
And are ready to servo and die!
From the North, from the South, from East,
Hear from West, drum?
the thrill of the rumbling
Under one Hag they march along,
With their voices swelling a single song.
Here they come, they come, they come!
List! the North men cheer the men from
the South,
And the South returns the cheer.
There Is no question of East or West,
Eot hearts are atune lu every breast,
’Tls a nation answering here.
It is elbow to elbow and knee to knee,
One land for each and for all,
And th6 veterans’ eyes see their children
rise
To answer their country's call.
They have not lot-gotten— God grant not so!
(Ah, we know of the graves on the hill),
But these eager feet make the old hearts
bent.
And the o!d eyes dim and All!
The Past sweeps out and the Present comes,
A Present that all have wrought,
And the sous of these sires, at the same
Cheer camp iires, their fought!
one flag where fathers
Yes. we know of the graves on the Southern
hills
That are filled with the Blue and tho
Gray. they
We know how they fought and how
died,.
We honor them both there side by side,
And they’re brothers again today.
Brothers again—thank God on high!
( Here's a hund-clasp all around).
The On'one sons of one race now take their place
one common and holy ground.
—Iliehard Barry, in Harper’s Weekly.
A Soldier’s Cap.
The western city where Minnie Til-
fovd lived with her mother,
and sister was full of excitement. Its
boys were goiug to war. Minnie’s
father had been one of the boys in the
old war, aud 15-year-old Minnie, the
oldest of the three children, was
thinking about it while the drums
beat and the flags waved.
“How old was papa when he went,
mamma?”
“Barely 18, dear.”
“Did you know him then?”
i i No; I was a baby then. The war
had been over fifteen years when I
first met your father.”
Mrs. Tilford had not paused in her
sewing as she answered her daughter’s
questions. She was sewing to earn
money to pay the rent.
“Were we always’poor. J ” went on
Minnie.
“Ncf, dear. We had plenty while
your father lived.”
It seemed to Minnie that her father
had been dead a long while. Eleven
years. Just as many years as her
younger brother, Allan, was old.
“I can’t seem to remember what
plenty is like, mamma,” she said at
last. And she looked around the
small and faded room.
Mrs. Tilford thought of the poor
advisers she had had, who had
squandered her all iu bad invest¬
ments, and said nothing. She could
remember what plenty was like, aud
the contrast between .her former and
her present circumstances was painful
to her.
“When I’m a man,” said 13-year-
old Bert, “I’m going to Washington
and get you a pension. That’s the
thing to do. Then you won’t have to
sew, I guess. I was talking to George
Hooper about it and he suid that was
the thing to do. His auut gets a pen¬
sion, and she don’t have to sew. 11
“I should like to buvo a pension,
certainly,” said Mrs. Tilford.
“Well, I’m goiug to get you one,”
declared Bert grandly. Then he seized
his hat and rushed out, attached by a
noise in the street.
There had never been any talk of a
pension in Mrs. Tilford’s flat of two
rooms until now. Aud Minnie turned
curiously to her mother. “Can Bert
do it, mamma?” she asked.
“No, dear,I am afraid he can’t. But
there is no need to discourage him.
He isn’t a man yet, you know,” aud
she smiled.
“But why,' mamma? Why can’t
he?”
“Because your father’s papers are
lost,” answered Mrs. Tilford, gravely.
“I knew nothing about business when
your father died. His army papers
may have been among his other
papers. I do not know. But four or
THE TRIBUNE it
“Don’t Giv*o Uid tlxo Slxip.”
GA., FRIDAY, OCTOBER 21. 1898.
five years ago I made a search for
them and could not find them. If I
could find them—” she paused aud
looked dreamily out of the window
while a vision of good food aud com¬
fortable clothing for her children
passed before her.
“Could you get the pension if you
found them?’’ asked Minnie eagerly.
“Yes, I am sure of it.”
“I wish I could help more!” ex¬
claimed the girl, looking up from the
bastings she was patiently pulling out.
“We are poor.”
“You help all you are able,’’answer¬
ed the mother, fondly, "Mother ap¬
preciates her big girl who helps sew
and wash dishes aud cook and scrub
and wash and iron for us all. It is
because you help so much that I have
the good chance I have to earn.”
“Where did you look, mamma?”
she asked, presently.
“Everywhere,” uuswered Mrs. Til-
ford, briefly. “Don’t think any more
about it, daughter. It will only make
you unhappy. ”
“But I must think of it, mamma.
We need it so.
The next day there came a letter
and a package to Minnie. Her New
York cousin, Willie Applebee, was
going to war. “And as a parting re¬
membrance, my dear little cousin,”
the letter ran, “I send you a soldier’s
cap. ”
Hastily Minnie opened the small
package and took therefrom a bon-
bonniere, which was the “soldier’s
cap,” and it was filled with chocolate
creams. “How lovely!'’ cried Minnie,
passing the candy to her mother.
“Isn’t it a dear little soldier’s cap,
mamma?”
And without waiting to hear her
mother’s reply she went on with her
letter. “The shops are full of pretty
conceits in bonbonnieres,” wrote
the cousin. “Knapsacks, sailor hats,
shells,shield-shaped boxes, tents with
a soldier on guard at the door. But I
chose to take off my hat, as it were,to
my western cousin—” So the letter
ran on.
For two or three days Minnie’s
thoughts were in a whirl. Now she
thought of Willie off for the south,
now of the dainty boubonniere, and
now of her father’s papers. And out
of the chaos at last darted an idea.
“Mamina!” she cried. “Come!”
“Come! Where?” asked the mother
in astonishment.
But Minnie held out her hand al-
most impatiently, her eyes shining
with excitement. “I’ve a thought,
mamma. Come!” she repeated.
Without a word Mrs. Tilford laid
down her sewing and rose to follow
her daughter into their tiny sleeping
room. Dowu dropped Minnie on the
floor, and groping under the bed
brought out a long flat box.
“What do you menu, Minnie?” de¬
manded Mrs. Tilford. • “That is your
father’s old uniform.”
“I know it, mamma. Open the box;
open it quick!”
“The child has been too much ex¬
cited the last few days,” thought Mrs.
Tilford, glancing at her daughter’s ;
flushed cheeks. I will humor her.
She opened the box.
Impatienty Minnie reached past her
mother and picked up her lather’s
cap. Her sensitive lingers felt of
the crown. “They are!” she cried.
“They are here! Feel, mamma! Don’t
yon feel paper in the crown?”
A few moments’ careful work took
out the lining, and out fell the papers.
“Your father was wise,” said the
mother, brokenly. “He knew I was
careless and young. And, he knew,
too, that I loved him and would never
part with his uniform.”
She said no more, but her heart
went out in gratitude to that Higher
Power that had directed her through
means to this piece of good fortune.
“How came you to think of it?”
asked the mother, when the papers
had been placed in the hands of an
agent and the pension and back pay
assured.
“I thought,” said Minnie, “if a
soldier’s cap would hold chocolates
why not a soldier’s cap hold papers?
It was Cousin Willie’s bonbouniere. ”
—Gulieleua Zollinger in Chicago
Record.
An Historical Quilt,
One of the exhibits which attracted
widespread attention at an historical
exhibition given in Saugerties recent-
ly was a quilt, the property of Mrs.
Richard Lewis of that village, who is a
descendant of the Rev. Thomas Jud-
son, a clergyman, who came over on
the Mayflower. The figures on the
quilt were colored au indigo bine, with
a die pot, in vogue at that period,
The colors in the quilt are iu a good
state of preservation.
TRAGEDY OF CAT ISLAND.
A Chapter From Karly Missouri ltlver
Steamboatius History.
“There used to be a place in the
river north of here that was called Cat
island,” said Billy Alford to a St.
Joseph, (Mo.) Nows man the other
day. He is an old time engineer, and
many years ago was familiar with
every mile of the Missouri river. He
was assured that an island bearing
the same name is still in existence.
“It may be the same place,aud it may
not,” said . Alford, “The river is
so treacherous that it may have
washed that island away and formed
another one in its place since I knew
anything about it. There was a big
tree on'the island as I remembered it,
aud we used i,t once to hang the rank¬
est gambler on the river. Wo
tolerated that man three seasons, be¬
cause the river men did not want to
resort to violence. At first he seemed
to be square, but we began to hear
whispers about him. It was iu 1858
that he fleeced a young fellow out of
$5000—just a plain case of robbery.
He bad let the young fellow win just
to get him interested, and then aimed
to rake iu the whole thing. Some¬
how the young fellow got hold qf the
wrong cards when there was $9000 in
the pot.
The youth reached for all the money
on the board, but the gambler made a
grab for it, and took as much as his
hand would hold. Stuffing it into his
pocket as he ran,he jumped overboard
and made for the shore. By the time
we realized what was going on he was
far astern; but the captain sent a
boat after him, loaded with armed
men. They had to shoot him an3
break his ajm before he would stop.
That was near the place known as Cat
island, and we headed the Henrietta—
that was the name of the boat—for
the shore. The mate aud a dozen men
did the job, and the inexperienced
young man from the east got his
money back. The young fellow left the
boat at Omaha and came back down the
river ahead of us. When we returned
the body of the gambler was still
bagging to the tree. The other young
man, who had been fleeced, had come
to St. Joseph and committed suicide
on account of remorse. His body and
money was sent back to his father,
and I heard afterward that the old
man said that the boy was worth more
dead than he was alive. He said the
youth M left , borne with -.1 §10 ftn/Y aud i a new
sui o c o es.
“It seems that he knew the cards
himself, and that he had got the best
of the man we hanged iu a former
game at Cincinnati. We used to feel
mighty queer after that when we
passed Cat island iu the night. I
never knew why it was called Cat is-
land, but imagined it was given the
name because it was inhabited only
by cats. I know I could hear their
cries every time we passed the place
after that hanging, and it made the
cold shivers run down my back. There
is a close connection between cgts and
murders and ghosts, anyway. I have
wondered a. thousand times who the
mau wa8 we hanged on the island that
night with such little cetfemouy. He
was not a young man, but he was a
handsome fellow, and might have had
a family somewhere. I have wondered
}f som e woman and little children did
no k years and years for him to
come back, and wonder what had be-
come of 1 ^, They an* might have be-
lieved him to be honest man, en-
gaged in a legitimate business, and
might have loved him just as well. I
don’t believe the body was ever taken
off the island, but I don’t really
know what became of it. I never
heard anything more about it.”
The Proofreader’s Nemesis.
* 1 as^he 'entered th^sanctmn
foreman, foreman as he enteieii tno sanctum
for copy aud noted the editor’s bleed-
mg; nose, swollen forehead, coal. puned ™ i red -»
eye, and tattered, dusty “Fall
downstairs?” “No-only-that, ‘I ” re-
plied t the editor, pointing with 1; his fin-
gev to a paragraph in the paper be-
fore him. “It’s in our account of the
Crapley-Smith wedding. It ought to
read, ‘Miss Smith’s dimpled, shining
face formed a pleasing contrast with
MY. Crapley’s strong, bold pbysiog-
nomy.’ But see how it was printed.”
And the foreman read, “Miss Smith’s
pimpled, skinny face formed a pleas-
ing contrast with Mr. Crapley’s stony,
bald physiognomy.” “Craplev was
just iu here,” continned the editor,
throwing one blood-streaked handier-
chief into the wastebasket and feeling
in his pockets for a clean one, “and
he—but just seud that fodl of a proof-
reader in here! There’s light left in
me yet.”—Glasgow Evening Times.
ALMOST A TRAGEDY.
Why the Bungling; Bucksaw Was Itele-
gated to the Barn.
“What I want,” said the young
wife who is bravely starting to do liei
own work, “is a saw for general use
about a house. Hero I am chopping
away with a dull hatchet at this ham
bone,” and the vigor with which she
hacked expressed her feelings better
than words could have done,
“I can get yon just what you want,”
volunteered the man who was attach-
ing weights to the kitchen windows
so they could the more easily be man¬
ipulated, “and it won’t cost over
thirty cents.”
He received the commission and
the result was a bucksaw with a par¬
ticularly large frame, cost seventy-
five events.
“There’s a saw,” said the,-pur¬
chaser, “as is a saw. When your
trees blow down you can cut them up
into stove lengths, or yon can cut an
old broomstick in two with it to make
a clothes stick, or you can use it in
cutting a bone when it lias to be
That’s a great all around saw, mum.”
There was another ham bone to bo
cut, and she called her husband to
hold the ham while she did the saw-
ing. He laughed outrageously at her
purchase, but she stuck up for it aud
made plain the opinion that his judg-
ment in practical matters was very
undesirable. Of course the long,sharp
teeth of the saw struck too deep into
the bone and made it impossible for
him to hold the ham steadily.
“Give me that saw,” he said, testi-
“There are some things beside
throwing a stone that a woman can’t
do.” '
He tried and she tried, but results
were no different.
“If you’d just go away aud leave
the whole thing to me,” she said, “I
could get aloug nicely.”
He went as far as the door and
stood there laughing while she held
the ham with her left hand and made
frantic efforts to saw with her right,
When the ham made a dash from the
table aud slid clear across the
down the cellar way, he leaned
against the door sill and she began
making arrangements to go home to
her mother. When they seriously
talked the matter over half an hour
later the bucksaw was relegated to
the barn and he went down town to
buy a meat saw.
•
.
The summer logging camp ordina-
rily is not a picturesque place. It is
built beside the railroad, in order that
supplies need not be carried far by
hand, or by “dray, '■>•> aud whatever
beauty it has is gained from its envi-
ronment of heavy forest, The vnri-
ons buildings, or “shanties,” as they
are always called, are clustered in a
compact little village, Nearest the
railroad—it may be—is the “cook’s
shanty;” next it, perhaps, is the
“men’s shanty,” or sleeping quarters
of the crew; near them, again, is the
office where tho camp accounts? are
kept and where the foremau and scaler
sleep. The barn or “hovel,” is at
the end of the camp, with the granary
beside it. The blacksmith’s shop and
the workbench of the “handy-man”
are near by. The “root-cellar,” which
is both pantry ami cold storage room,
is built where the cook aud his assist-
ants have ready access to it.
The cook’s shautv is the diuiug-
room as well as kitchen, while the ol-
flee is also a storehouse from which
the timber-jacks can obtain tobacco
and suck principal articles of clothing
as they may need. All the chief
buildings are long and low, made of
rough boards or logs, aud roofed with
sheeting and tarpaper. The sleeping
bunks in the men’s shanty are along
the sides of the cabin in a tier two
deep; this shant J is thu loggers’ren-
d w . b * d j it
the smell H ot strong tobacco , coustant- , ,
^ lm ® erS ' a &uc i l l 18 • a 8 Ura l Tier 1 lo p lU &
camp, and, rough and 1 crude as it may
seem, £ it is no bad home for men
toug * ened by hard out-door labor.-
Li p * illcott -, Macazine 8 ■
A Physician's Opinion.
An eminent physician of St. Louis,
Mo., says that no person should be
permitted to drink tea or coffee until
lie or she has attained the age of 15
years. In the young those beverages
unduly excite the nervous system and
have an injurious effect upon the di¬
gestive organs.
A Generous Dentist,
A Toronto (Ontario) dentist grata-
itonsly cares for the teeth of children
whose parents are too .pyor to pay for
the service. La#f year he attended
over 2000 children.
NO. 47,
SLOW-BURNING POWDER.
Tlie Brown Prlgmnric-Powder and the
Way It I * Laiulctl in CharsM.
E. B. Rogers of the United States
Navy in an article on “Big Guns aud
Armor of our Navy” iu the St. .Nicho¬
las says:
Black powder, with its glistening
grains, is unfitted for onr modern
guns, because it explodes too quick¬
ly, and when the charge is fired it
turns almost instantaneously into gas,
exerting immediately all its force,
which, of course, decreases when the
shot moves toward the muzzle, be¬
cause the gas has more room (that is,
the inside of the gun) to expand iu.
But nowadays what is called “slow-
burning” powder is used. When it is
ignited the projectile at first moves
slowly; but ns the powder contfhues
burning, the quantity of gas, and con¬
sequently the pressure, is constantly
increasing; thus the speed of the
shot becomes greater and greater as it
goes out of the guu. Some'hnes
grains of powder still burning are
thrown out when the gun is fired,
which shows how slowly it ignites.
This new powder is brown, and it
is made up into hexagonal, or six-
sided, pieces, with holes through
their centres. A mass of it looks ex-
nctly like a lot of rusty iron nuts.
Each of these grains or “prisms, ’ is
about the size of a large walnut, and
when the charge is made up the
prisms are nicely piled, and over the
P'lo is drawn a wliite serge bag. The
white bag is a “powder section, ’ and
contains one hundred and ten pounds
of brown powder; and live of these
make up the full or “service ’ charge
for the great thirteen-inch rifle,.whose
projectile is two-thirds as tali as au
ordinary man, aud is larger, and
weighs mere than many of the very
cannons themselves with which A li¬
mirnl Nelson fought the battle of iYa-
falgar in 1805.
Washing Streets for Diamonds.
Perhaps tho most interesting fact
in connection with Kimberley, South
Africa, the diamond city,is the “street
washing,” which has been a recog¬
nized industry for some time past,
)) pnn«pal tko exception thoroughfares U . 0 01 all the
” ie e !’ s * l ' e eeu Hn Jet u Je
. piocess and , some oi . the de- ,
^ Ah ® <vashin waa 1 l “ K 8 ” cousistTof Overhaul- °' eibRUl
. the earth f loi* f diamonds,
mg
At nearly every meeting of the bor-
ougli council applications for permis-
sion to wash streets or portions of
streets are received. The would-be
washer has to obtain the consent of
persons resident in the street or road,
to put the latter into sound repair
again and pay tithe to the municipal¬
ity in the shape of 10 per cent, on his
gross finds. Last year §4800 was paid
to tho municipality iu that way, a good
proportion of which represented com¬
mission on street finds.
In the early days of the diamond
fields the ground was washed in a very
primitive style, many diamonds being
thrown away in the debris, as it is
called. This debris was subsequently
used for street-making better purposes, and
now,years after, with machinery
at their disposal, people find it pays
to “wash the streets.”
Many houses built on “maideu” de-
bris are removed in order to wash the
latter, aud stones of comparatively
large size are frequently found by the
energetic debris washer, who literally
works from morn to night, from sun¬
rise till suuset.—Pearson’s Weekly.
Captain Sigsbee's I^ost. IMuner.
Somebody aboard the auxiliary
cruiser St. Paul got a tine dinner that
wasn’t intended for him, and Captain
Sigsbee was the loser, says the Phila¬
delphia Record. While the St. Paul
was making the run from Montank
Point to New York, the captain’s
cook prepared for him a fine pair of
mallard ducks, of which Captain Sigs¬
bee is especially fond. Orders had
been given to the cook to be par¬
ticularly careful in the roasting of the
birds, and be brought them forth from ;
the oven nicely browned. The cap-;
tain, upon the bridge, had had his
mouth set for them all morning, aud
occasionally fancied he could smell
them cooking. Just a few minutes
before dinner time, while the cook’s
hack was turned, somebody whisked
those two luscious birds out of the
galley, and disappeared with them.
The St. Paul is a big ship, and the
thief had ample opportunity to hide
himseif while he got on the outside
of the roast duck. At any rate, he
was never caught, nor was there any
clew to identity. Captain Sigsbee was
obliged to content himself with a can
of sardines.