Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

THE MAJORITY. How fare they all, they of the pallid faces, Beyond our power to-beckon their return? How is it with them in the shadow places? How shall we learn Their solemn secret? How can we discover. By any earnest seeking, the true way Unto the knowing in what realm they hover, In what high day, Or in what sombre shadows of the night, They are forever hidden from our sight? We question vainly. Yet it somehow pleases, When they have spoken the last sad good-by, It somehow half the pain of parting eases, That in the sky, In the vast solitudes of stars and spaces, There may be consciousness and life and hope. And that when we must yield to death’s em¬ braces. There may be seope For the unfolding of the better powers, So sadly stifled in this life of ours. — Tracy' Robinson, in Boston Transcript. THE CANNON'S MOUTH. BY P. A. MITCHEL. First, They said it was a forced march. some soldiers on horseback went tearing by with a terrible clatter, leaving -a cloud of dust behind them, then it was all quiet for an hour. I hoard a tramp ing, and looking up to the crest of rising ground to the north, saw the road packed with soldiers on foot. They came quickly what up, and I scarcely had time to see they looked like before those in front had passed. They didn’t march like soldiers I had seen in the city on a gala hurried day, when I was a little girl; they liked. I along, each man walking as he wondered how they could go They so fast, they were loaded down so. carried great heavy knapsacks and blaukets, and tin pans and canteens, be¬ sides their muskets. 'They look more as if they were going to set up house-keep¬ ing than to war. While I was leaning on the widow sill, looking out and watching them, I saw a young officer ride into the yard, just as if he belonged to the place—or, rather, as if the place belonged to him— and back toward the barn. Two soldiers rode close behind him, and they got down off their horses and went into the barn. I thought at once they were after •our horses. My pony was there, and I made up my mind they shouldn’t take him without walking over my dead barn. body. I ran down stairs and out to the If I had been making a forced march myself I couldn’t have gone faster. Before I got there they had two horses •out, and were harnessing them to the farm wagon. I marched straight up to the officer and asked him what he was •doing. He was a trifle startled at seeing a girl • intended standing before him, looking as if she to make a resistance. “We’re ’pressing all the horses and wagons we find along the road,” he said. “What do you mean by ’pressing -them?” “We’re ’pressing them into the ser vice. ” “What for?” “To carry the men’s knapsacks. They -can march faster.” “Do you think it makes it any more respectable to call it 'pressing?" The officer’s face was flushed. I thought it was because he was ashamed of his work; but I soon noticed that he was in a burning fever. “You shan’t take my pony, anyway,” I cried, going to a man who was leading him out of the baril and seiz’ng the halter. “Nevermind that horse,” said the of¬ ficer ; ‘ ‘ it’s only a pony. Take it back into the stable.” The man obeyed at once. They har¬ nessed two horses to the wagon, and led the team into the road. As the soldiers marched past it they threw their knapsacks on the wagon, and it was soon loaded, and one of the negroes drove it away. Just then an officer came along with a number of other officers and a train of horsemen following him. 1 noticed that he had stars on his shoulders, and wore a straight sword instead of a crooked one like the rest. “Captain,” who he said, looking at the of¬ ficer had taken our horses and wagon, “you’d better not try to go any farther.” “I can go on, general. It’s only in¬ termittent.” The general cut him short with, “Stop where you are.” He spoke so sharp that J thought he was going to bite the cap- nin's head ofT. I wished the captain had the comage to answer him, but he hadn’t. The general and those who were with him rode on, leaving the sick man them, sitting on his horse looking after to take care of himself as best he could. I noticed he wore the same orna¬ ment on his cap as those about the gen¬ eral—a wreath—and I concluded he was one of them. There was an interval in the passing regiments, and no one was near but the captain and me. “What are you going to do?” I asked him. I was sitting on the fence, with my feet dangliug. It wasn’t a very graceful position, but I was only a country girl then, and didn’t know any better. “I don’t know,” be said, wearily; “I suppose I must ride back to N-. There’s a hospital there.” If he hadn’t been a Yankee and a rob¬ ber, or a ’presser, which is the same thing, I’d have asked him to come into the house at once, he looked so sick. . “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself,” J said, “to take horses that don’t belong to you?” He did look ashamed. “It isn’t a pleasant business,” he said. “Y'ou’d better get that pony of yours out of the way; there’ll be more troops along here by-and-bv.” When he said this liis voice sounded so pleasant, and he looked so sick, that I made up my mind to ask him in. But I couldn’t bring myseif to speak kindly to him. I couldn’t forget that he was a Yankee soldier. “Come into the house,” I said, sharply. He looked at me out of his melancholy, feverish eyes. “No, I thank you. I’ll ride back to N-and he turned his horse's head to ride away. I called to him to stop. He obeyed me, and I went out into the road and took hold of his bridle. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, surprised. “I going to ’press your horse.” “What for?” “To keep for the safe return of those you’vo taken.” He looked at me sort o’ dazed. He put his hand to his head, and didn’t seem to know what to do. I led his horse up to the veranda. He dismount¬ ed and walked feebly up the steps and sat down on a bench, while I took his horse round to the barn. Well, the captain was put to bed. He had typhoid fever, and a very bad case it was. Occasionally, when troops would come into the neighborhood, I wound mount my pony, and ride over to their camp and ask to have a surgeon come and see him. Between the sur¬ geons and my nursing we got him through the crisis. I. nursed him for six weeks. Then he became con¬ valescent, and it was very nice to have him sitting up in an arm-chair on the veranda looking so pale and handsome. I used to sit by him with my work, and he seemed so gentle and so patient—not at all like he appeared to me when I first saw him riding back to the barn to ’press the horses—that I began to feel sorry he wasn’t one of our own men in¬ stead of being nothing but a detestable Yankee. One day while I was sitting on the veranda beside him, sewing, he said : “Miss Molly, are you still holding my horse as a hostage?” “Yes. Ours haven’t come back yet.” “Don’t you think you could let me take him when I get well, if I should promise to go and find your horses, and have them returned ?” “I’ll see about that when you get well.” He’d been talking already about going on to join the army, but I din’t think him well enough, arid didn’t mean to let him go. He couldn’t very well go without his horse, so I wouldn’t let hint have it. “VVhathoslage do you require in token of my appreciation of your kindness since I’ve been sick?” he asked. “Y’ou haven’t anything to leave. Be¬ sides, I’ve'done very little, I'm sure.” He thought, a moment. Then he said, somewhat sadly: “Yes; there’s one thing with I can leave— only one. I’ll leave that you.” I couldn’t think of 'anything he had except his revolver, and 1 was sure he wouldn’t leave that. It wasn't appro pi iate. I Waited for him to tell me, but he raid nothing about it then. At last he was well enough to go. At least he thought so; I didn’t. lie was still as weak as a kitten, but I saw how anxious he was, and I didn’t oppose him any longer. So one pleasant morning, when the air was soft and the roads were dry, I told one of the colored boys to bring the captain’s horse round from the barn. The captain stood on the veranda ready to mount and ride away. His blanket and rubber poncho were strapped behind the saddle, just as he had left them, and his horse was so anxious to be olf that the boy could hardly hold him. The cap tain took my hand in his to say good-by, and looked straight into my eyes. 1 lowered them to his spurs. “You’re a good girl,” he said. “I’ll not “Oh, forget your kindness.” I would have done the same for any one.” “Any one:” Then “Any one.” I asked myself: “What did I want to say that for.” “I leave you the hostage I spoke of,” he said, “bnt it is a very poor return for so much kindiess—a mere bagatelle.” I could have bitten my tongue off. He what was going had to make a return—to pay for 1 done for him. “Y’on will find it,” he added, “if you have the shrewdness to guess where it is.” With that he gave my hand apressure, and looked long and steadily into my eyes. Then he mounted his horse and rode away without ouce looking back. As soon as lie had gone 1 commenced to think what lie could mean about leav¬ ing a hostage. I was sure he wouldn’t offer anything very valuable. He must know I wouldn’t like that; but I thought he might leave some little trinket for me to remember him by. I ransacked the room he had occupied, looking into bureau drawers, into closets, any place the ingenuity of man could find to hide anything. hanging I even looked behind the pictures on the wall. Then I went all over the house from attic to cellar. Not a thing could 1 find. Then I recalled his words: “Ii yo t are shrewd enough to guess where it is,” and went all over my search again. At last I gave it up. “A pretty way to treat me,” I grumbled, “after takingcare of him so long!” I vowed that if ever I should see him again he should tell me whether he had really left anything, and what it was. News came of terrible fighting at the front. Stragglers, broken-down horses, wagons, ambulances from which now and then a ghastly face would look out, kept days. going by day after day for several full The yard, the They barn, the kitchen, were of men. first day they drank up all the water in the well. Then regiments when inarched by almost as fast as they were making their forced march South. They passed on by the house, but stopped on the crest of the hill up the road. There they began to dig with spades and shovels, and the next morniug when I looked out there was flying a long line of forts, and, and the Yankee flag above them, great heav¬ ens ! the black mouths of cannon frown¬ ing directly down at us. thing While rattle I was far looking down I the heard road. some¬ It sounded like emptying a barrel of stones into another barrel. Then another rat¬ tle, ing. mingled the with a constant sounds dull doom¬ All morning the kept coming tinctly nearer, till loud at last I could dis¬ hear the reports of cannon and of muskets all fired at once. I no¬ ticed a great stir in the forts above. Horsemen were galloping back and forth; new guns were every moment thrusting out marching their and ugly countermaich- mouths, and men were ing. I could hear their officers shout¬ ing gibberish at them, which they must have been Indian or Chinese to under¬ stand. Then more soldiers tired, passed the house from the South, dusty, grimed, wounded some and of them along running, slowly. some tottering behind All passed in a steady stream the forts. Suddenly a hosreman dashed up to the house—he was all dust and dirt, and his horse was covered with foam. He throw himself from the saddle and came up on to the veranda. Good gracious! the captain. he “Come away from here at once,” said: “our men are retreating; we are going to make a stand behind the works. You are directly in range. Be quick! the fire is liable to open at any moment.” Then there was a scramble to snatch a few things. One took a lamp, another a pitcher, another everybody a photograph the album. It seemed as if took most useless thing to be found. All except me were hurrying down the walk to the gate; I stayed behind. The captain stamping tried £o make me hurry. He was up and down on the veranda and through the hall, almost crazy at my delay. ‘‘Come, be quick!” he said, as sharp as if he were the general h mself. “Captain—” “What I said, hesitating, is it?” he asked, impatiently, “The hostage.” “What hostage?” “That you left when you went away, I couldn’t find it. Must we leave it.” He looked at me a moment as if he thought I had lost my senses; then he burst into a laugh. I never could stand to be laughed at, and just then it was particularly obnox¬ ious. I made up my mind that he should tell me what I had hunted for, and tell me there and then. “Never mind that,” he said, seeing that I was irritated. “Save yourself and it will be in no especial danger. “ “I’ll not leave it, whatever it is,” I said, resolutely. field “Come, come! this will be a battle¬ in a few minutes.” “I won’t stir a step till you tell me what I want to know.” “Nonsense!” he said, severely. The more severe his tone, the more resolute I became. I stood stock-still. “For Heaven’s sake!” he urged, be¬ coming really frightened; “the gunners hands are standing ready with the lanyards in their to fire.” “Let them fire!” I folded my arms. A volley sounded a short distance down the line of forts to the west. The captain tried to seize my wrist. “Ho come," he pleaded. ‘STell me what was the hostage,” I said, stubbornly. “Here?” “Here.” “No, no; this is not a fit place to veil you that.. For the love of Heaven do come away !” I vowed I would conquer him or die on the fie'.d. “You shall either tell me or I will stay here till the battle is over.” He looked at the frowning forts anxiously, then back at me. “You must know?” “Yes.” “Now?” “Now.” “'Well, then, Molly dear, I left you my heart.” “I stood as one who sees an engine coming straight down on him, and whose limbs are ; aralyzed from the sud¬ denness of the discovery. Merciful Heaven! what had I done? What stu¬ pidity! The blood rushed in a torrent to my cheeks; I covered my face with my hands. “And now, sweetheart” taking one of my bauds from my burning cheek and leading me hostage, av.ay—“if you’re satisfied about file we won’t stay here any longer.” he spoke there explosion in As was an the forts, and it seemed as if a dozen shrieking heads, cats wished were whirling of over would our I almost one them strike child me dead. the The captain through led me like a toward forts smoke and noise and confusion. I didn’t think of the battle that was opening; I only thought how immodest he must think me, and that he never would believe I could be so stupid as not to know what he meant by leaving a hostage. 1 have had to suffer all my life for that one mistake. I never can .have my way about anything; for wh/u my husband finds all other expedient? inv/.ibly for governing to be failures, he taunts me with having forced hj t secret at the can¬ non’s mouth.— Harper's Weekly. Training Athletes. It is well known that pugilists, pe¬ destrians and others who perform in public feats requiring great strength and endurance undergo beforehand severe training to develop their powers to the utmost. The rules laid down by their trainers arc very strict and rigidly with en¬ forced. The following are a few regard to diet: Little salt. No coarse vegetable. No pork or veal. Two meals a day—breakfast at 8 and dinner at J. If supper is allowed at a!!, it must be a very light and simple one several hours before bedtime, and is not recommended. It is reckoned much against a man's wind to go to bed with a full stomach. No fat meat is ever given, and no butter and cheese, both of which are considered indigestible. Pies and pastry are not allowed. Meal must always be taken fresh, and not seasoned, halt meats are not allowed. Puddings and hard dumplings are considered unfit to lie eaten. The trainers say “people into may their as well take earthenware stomachs.” A correspondent writes: “How long He can a man walk without a rest?” can walk without arrest just so long a&. he behaves himself.