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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.