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TA2EWELL GO. DIRECTORY.
Robert C. Jackson, judge; H. BaneHar
manjclerk. Terms of court?1st Monday
in Af?r-,!, 4th Monday in August and 1st
Monday in December.
J. H. Stuart, judge; T. E. George, clerk.
Tern^of court?Tuesday after 3d Monday
in eacn month.
J no. T. Darns.Com'th. Atty.
Jno. W. Crockett.Sheriff.
James Bandy,.Deputy Sheriff.
R. K. Gillespic,.Treasurer.
H, P. Brittain and
H. G. McCall.Deputies.
R. S. Williams,.County Surveyor,
Address, Pounding Mill, Va.
P. H. Williams,.County Supt. Schools,
Address, Snapps, Va.
Methodist Episcopal Church South.
Public worship of God on the 1st and
3rd Sundays at 11 A M.,on the 2nd and
4th at 7:30 P. M.
Meeting for prayer. Wednesday at / :30.
P. M. Sabbath School at V>:30 A. M.
Meeting of Epworth League each Sun
dav at 3 p. m., the third Monday
night of each montn being devoted to
A most cordial welcome is extended to all.
J. S. FrbscHi Pastor.
Preaching 1st and 3rd Sundays at 7 p.
m. and 2nd and 4th Sundays at 11 a. m.
Praver meeting Saturday night at 7
o'clock. Etauday cchoo! every Sunday at
9:30 a. in.
PniLiP Johnson, Pastor.
Rev. Mowbray's Appointments.
Preaching at Pleasant Hill Church 1st
Sabbath in the month at 11 a. m. ; and at
White Church the same day at 3 p. m.
Preaching the Third Sabbath at White
Church 11 a. m.; in the afternoon at 3
o,clock at Pleasant Hill Church.
COM MAN DE RY, NO. 20,
Meets first Monday in each month.
JAMES O'KEEFFE, E. C.
V G. YOUNG, Recorder.
Meets second Monday in each
O. G. Kmrsciiwii.i.Ktt, H. P.
W. G. YOUNG,
ft TAZEWELL LODGE,
^J\f NO. 62, A. F. & A. M.
Meets the third Monday in each
O. G. EMPSCBWILLER, VV. M.
W. G. YOUNG, Sec'y.
Meets 4th Monday in each month.
JAMES O'KEEFFE, Chief.
W. G. YOUNG, Sec'y.
BLUEGRASS LODGE, NO. 142, LO.O.F.
Meets every Tuesday night. Lodge
room over Pobst's store. i
C. A. Steele, N. G.
M. J. Hankixs. V. G.
C. C, Lose, Sec'y._
W. D. B?ckner, C. P.
A. S. HieaiNBOTHAM,
A. W. Laniox, 1?. C. P. Scribe.
TAZEWELL LODGE NO. 100 K. OF P.
Meats every Thursday night in Odd
R. M. Steele, C. C.
J. B. CRAWFORD, K. of R. &. S.
AJ.A?. D.MAY. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, IW
w?J, Va. Practice in the courts of Tazewell
county and in the Court of Appeals at Wvthcville.
Va. Particular attention paid to the collection ol
CHAPMAN & GILLESPIE, ATTORNEYS aT
LAW, Tazewell, Va. Practice in all the courts
of Tazewell county and Court of Appeals at
Wytheville. J. W. Chapman A. P. Gillespie.
fULTON & COULLING, ATTORNEYS AT LAW
I Tazewell, Va. Practice in the courts of Taze?
well county. S. M. B. Couling wilt continue his
vractice in all the courts of Buchanan county. J.
JU Fulton, Wytheville, Va. 8. M. B. Couling,
6REEVER & GILLESPIE, LAWYERS, Tazewell
Va. Pra<.v;ctl n the courts of Tazewell aud ad
oining counties. Office--Stras building. Edgar
Jj. Greever. Barns Gillespie.
GEO. W. ST CLAIR, ATTORNEY AT LAW
Tazewell, Va. Practices in tue courts of Taze
wall and adjoining counties and in the Supreme
Court of Appeals at Wytheville Panicula. at?
tention paid to th? collection oi claims. Office
II C. ALDERSON, ATTORNEY AT LAW, Taze
fl i well, Va. W ill practice in the courts of Taze?
well county and the Court of Appeals at Wythe?
ville. Collecting a specialty.
VINCENT L. SEXTON, ATTORNEY AT LAW
Tazewell, Va. Will practice In the courts ol
JTazewell and adjoining counties. Particular at?
tention paid to the collection of claims. Office in
WB. SPRATT, ATTORNEY AT LAW, Rich
i lands, Va. PracUces in the courts of Taze?
well and adjoining counties. Prompt attention
paid to the collection of claims.
JH. STUART, ATTORNEY AT LAW, Ta< well
i Va. Land titles in McDowell and Logan coun?
ties, West Virginia, a specialty. Office in Stra>
HENRY & GRAHAM, LAWYERS, Tazewell, Va
Office in building near Court House. R. R
Henry. S. C Graham. B. W. Stras.
MRS. R. J. LEWIS,
Fashionable Milliner and Dress?
?V^<t M da Street, - T.i/.e vell, Va.
A fdl line o Miiiitiery and Trimming*
j Stephana's Travels in Trousers I
By W. J. Henderson.
STEPHANA sat on the great stone
under the old willow and gazed into
the brook. Her eyes were big and
round and had a far-away look, for Ste?
phana was thinking very hard about
the book she had been reuding. It was
a book of grent deeds by great men, and
Stephana wished to do such deeds, but
could not see her way to them because
she was a girl. The ripples in the brook
danced and sang in the twinkling sun?
light that slipped between the leaves
of the old willow, and many little fishes,
with soft, gray backs and bright silver
sides, flashed in und out among the long
grasses that grew on the bottom. But
Stephana's eyes were full of the smoke
of battles and spray of stormy oceans,
and so she did not sec them.
"I just wish I was a boy!" she said,
"And why, I should like to know?"
The far-away look went out of Ste?
phana's eyes, and she started up, drop
ping the book, at the sound of a strange
voice. She saw a little old woman in a
black gown and a red tippet standing
"Why do you wish to be a boy ?" asked
the old woman.
"Because I should like to be a great
man und do great deeds, and be valued
by the world," answered Stephana;
"but 1 am only a girl."
The old woman gazed earnestly at the
girl and shook her baud. Then she
walked away a short distance, plucked
some leaves and came back.
"Have you ever eaten any of these
leaves?" she asked.
"Jfo," said Stephana.
Try them; they are very refreshing."
Stephana hardly knew what to think
of this curious old woman, who seemed
to have d ropped out of the skies, but she j
felt impelled to take the leaves and
eat some of them. Straightway she
grew exceedingly drowsy; and, lying
down beside the tree, went fast asleep.
When she awoke she was lost in amaze?
ment, for she saw that her feet had
grown large and were shod with heavy-,
hob-nailed boots; that her limbs had
lost their graceful roundness and be?
come long and muscular, and were en?
cased in trousers; that her arms were
thin and wiry, her shoulders sinewy
and her chest broad and flat, and that
her whole body was covered with a
blue shirt; that her hands had become
large, rough and bony; that her huir
had turned short and stubby; in fine?
that 6he was a boy! Beside her lay a
boy's cap, a little bundle of clothing and
a stout stafE.
"I must set out upon my travels," she
said to herself; "1 must go in search of
my great deeds, so that tlie world may
So, setting the cap on her head and
shouldering the stall' and bundle, Ste?
phana set forth with an eager heart.
She walked a long distance before noon,
and then she paused at the farm house
to get a glass of milk and a piece of
bread. The farmer's boy slapped her
; shoulder so that it stung and said:
"Well, my young buck, where do you
"I go in search of great deeds," she
"Well, if you'll stop here," said the
boy, "and ride our bay stallion that has
killed three men, I'll warrant it's a
greater deed than ever you did before."
But Stephana shook her head,
thanked the farmer's wife and pressed
on. When she had gone a mile she saw
a man silting by the roadside, under a
tree, writing. As she came up to him
he paused in his work and smiled so
kindly that she was emblodened to ask
him what he wrote.
"1 am writing a poem," he said.
"Are you a poet?" she asked.
"Men have said so."
"What is your poem about?"
"It is about woman's love."
"I don't think that a fine subject,"
said Stephana, about to depart.
".My dear lad," said the poet, wKh
sweet solemnity, "it is the finest of all
subjects. Believe me when I tell you,
though perchance you are yet too
young to understand me, that without
the love of woman?mother, sister or
wife?life would be a miserable doom,
and no man would do a great or gener?
ous deed. Will it please you to hear my
"No, it will not," answered Stephana.
"1 would rather hear a soldier tell of his
great triumphs, or a sailor of his vic?
tories over the angered sea."
That night the new boy slept in a
barn and set forth aeain at sunrise.
Alter walking some miles SteDnana
saw a magnificent mansion standing in
the midst of a beautiful park. At the
lodge gate stood the porter.
"Is the master of the place very
rich ?" slit- asked.
"He has millions of money, and ho
made it all by his own genius," said the
"I must see this man," thought Ste?
phana, and then she said to the porter:
"Do you think I might go to the man?
sion and ask for bread and milk?"
"Surely." answered the porter, "for
the master is very good."
"Rich, great and good!" reflected Ste?
phana, as she walked up the beautiful
path leading to the house. "How happy
he must be, and how the world must ad?
Presently she saw a man sitting In a
targe chair in the shade of a fine tree,
which grew before the house. His
hands hung idly by his sides, and hh?
head was bowed. His whole attitude
betrayed depression, and when Ste?
phana had drawn near to him she per?
ceived that there was a deep sadness
upon his countenance. So she Baid to
"Sir, I am told that you are rich and
good. Why are you sad?"
The man raised his head and gazaA.
Intently at Stephana,
"My bay," he said, kindly, "have you
"No," said Stephana, with a little
?tart; "but I have a brother."
"That is very well," said the owner
of the mansion, "but a sister is bet?
ter for a boy. I had a sister; but she
is gone now. I am, indeed, rich in this
world's goods; but if I could give them
all away and have my sister back, I
should be infinitely richer. You are
very young, and you are just setting
out upon life's journey; therefore,
listenl Many years ago my parents
died, leaving me a great fortune and
my little sister. T was not able to with?
stand the temptations thrown in my
way by the possession of so much
wealth. I spent my idle days in riot?
ous living, surrounded by dissolute
? companions, who sought me only be?
cause I could purchase folly for theil
amusement. Every night when I wenl
home I paused to look at my sleeping
sister. No matter how late the hour,
Bhe always awoke and said to me:
'Brother, I prayed for you to-night.*
In a few years she grew to be a young
woman, and I found that the fortune
which had been left me was reduced to
I a few thousands. But my sister set
' herself to work to chance my manner
of life. By her unfailing sweetness und
devotion she gradually won nie away
from my idleness and dissipation
Then she induced me to embark in com?
mercial enterprise with my few ie
maining thousands, while she devoted
herself to the beautiful task of mak?
ing my home a paradise for me. My
ventures prospered and I grew rich
and uns tempted again. But my sis?
ter led mc to spend my money and my
leisure in doing good deeds, und so she
won for me what I never had before,
the love and respect of good men and
women. AU my life she surrounded
with the glory of her love. She gave up
the world for me und saved nie from
myself. She was a noble woman. And
now she is gone. Do you wonder that
I am sad?"
Stej)hana was much touched by the
story of the devoted sister, and went
upon her way, thinking that any girl
who had the opportunity to leud so
beautiful a life need not be so greatly
discontented with her lot. Neverthe?
less, Stephana reflected that, as she
had no such opportunity, she would
prefer to remain a boy. In an hour
she was quite as eager us ever to find
great deeds to do. So she walked brisk?
ly along the road until presently she
heard the sound of surf beating upon
rocks, and, turning a sharp bend, she
came upon a wide prospect of the sea.
Bagged cliffs sti etched away before
her. save where an opening led to a
pretty little bay, in which the waves
sang gently upon a beach of silvery
sand. Beyond the beach stood a hand?
some house, while just outside the
bay rode at anchor a splendid steel j
battleship. Beside a little pier in front
of the house lay a barge, which had i
evidently brought ashore some officer j
of high rank. Stephana descended to
the beach and walked to the pier.
"Whose house is this?" she asked a
"That is the home of our great ad?
miral," was the reply, "and we have
brought him ashore to see his wife, who
"Has he done great deeds?" asked
"The greatest on the sea," answered
the sailor. "If you live to do but one
such deed, my boy, you will have the
world at your feet."
Stephana, full of desire to meet such
a man and hear of his deeds, walked
towards the house. In a little grove
beside it she saw a man walking up
and down in great agitation. She
judged by his unform that he was nn
"Sir," she said, "I wish to hear about
the admiral's great deeds."
"My boy," said the man, "I am the
admiral. I do not know what great
deeds I have done, for to-day my life
is empty. My wife is dying."
"But," said Stephana, "those we love
must die, but noble deeds live forever."
"Boy," said the admiral, sadly, "you
speak like a child. When you arc a
man with gray hair you will know
that riches, fame, wealth aud rank arc
empty and worthless; and that the I
only thing worth living for is the love
of a good wife. It is better for a man
to be a poor laborer and to have his
wife by his side, than to be a king and
be alone. I was a poor lieutenant when
I married her, and I had no ambition,
no energy, no courage. But she used
to sit by my side in the evenings und
read to me from the histories of navies
the achievements of good officers.
Finally I said: 'I wish I could be like
those men.' 'So you shall,' she said.
'But I am only a poor lieutenant,' said
I, 'and they were all commanders, or
captains, or admirals.' 'But they were
all lieutenants lirst,' she said. And
then one by one she read to me the
books that told the story of their lives
and aroused within me the desire to
study and prepare myself for posts of
Command. Then u.ere came a war, and
my wife said to me: '(Jo and win your
fame. I will keep the home sweet till
you return.' I went, and when I was
amid the smoke and flame of battle,
I realized that I had left the greater
hero at home to fight a silent battle
against her anxiety and dread. At last
I was wounded and sent to n naval hos?
pital. My courage was gone, and 1
was quite ready to give up the strug?
gle and die. But she came to me, and,
though she was overwhelmed with
grief, she thought only of my honor,
and she sustained me through all that
trial and brought mc out of it, praise
(Jod, a better man. Boy, I tell you now,
from the experience of 30 years, that
men are weak, impatient, cross, nn
heroic, and that nearly every one of
them owes his so-called greatness to
the far higher nobility of some dear
woman, whose bravcrv and *????
-tvutxiLiiy uuffn towarci tue oeacn.
When she reached it the waves were
still singing tnesand, the barge lay
at the landing place, and the great
battleship's brasswork glittered like
polished gold in the sunlight. Hut
Stephana thought only of the noble
woman whose face she had never seen,
but whose life had glorified her borne
and her husband and laid up for' her
treasures in heaven.
"Somehow," she reflected, "these men
all seem to think they owe a great deal
to us women. Oh, I forgot! I'm a boy
She smiled as she climbed up the
cliff again and set out along the high?
way once more. In good time she came
to another fine mansion, and saw the
porter sitting at the gates.
"And who lives in this fine place?"
'The famous Gen. Power," answered
the porter, as if proud to serve so not?
able a master.
Stephana entered the gate and passed
up the handsome drive that led toward
the house. On the veranda she saw a
noble-looking man, who, she had no
doubt, was the general. So she went
up and saluted him with much respect,
so that he smiled and asked her to enter
"What do you seek?" he asked.
"Knowledge of your great deeds,"
"Oh," said he, "I never did any. My
men did them all. But I will show you
So saying, he led Stephana into a
great hall, where there were many
chairs and a large table, and fine pic?
tures upon the walls.
"This is the banqueting hall," he
"And yonder beautiful chair with the
silken cushions is your chair?" she
"No," he answered briefly, "that is
my mother's chair. I sit on this."
And he pointed to n plain wooder
seat. Next he led her into a magnifi?
cent drawing room, where refined taste
contributed wholly to comfort.
"This is my mother's parlor," he said,
They passed now into a beautiful
apartment of glass, filled with the
rarest plants and most exquisite flow?
"This is my mother's conservatory,'
The general mounted a marble stair
way, followed by the wondering Steph?
ana, and threw open the door of a rooir
which was the embodiment of comforl
"This is my mother's sitting1 rnnm '
said the general.
"Hut," said Stephana, timidly, "I
should like to see your own rooms."
The general led her up another night
of stairs and showed her a severely
plain little room, in which an iron bed?
stead and many books were the chief
objects that, met the eye.
"That is my room," said the general,
briefly, turning away and leading
Stephana down the stairs again. At
their foot he paused and said:
"1 shall now take you to my mother's
boudoir, where yuu will see her."
He pronounced the last word with a
solemn tone. Then he opened a door,
and at the further end of a beautiful
chamber Stephana saw, seated in a
large chair, a wonderful old lady, whose
hair looked like spun silver, and whose
cheeks looked like wax.
"Mother," said the general, "here Is
a boy, who has set out on his travels,
and who has come to learn about my
great deeds. I have shown him my
Stephana looked up in wonder and
"You have shown me only a splendid
home, which you seem to have made all
for your mother."
"And that is the best deed I ever
did," replied the general,,warmly; "for
I can never do enough for the mother
who gave up all her young life to teach?
ing me h. w to be a man."
"But," said the wonderful old lady
in a sweet voice, "a good son is a
"But a good mother is a son's life,"
said the general. And, after a mo?
ment's pause, he added:
"My boy, women are the mothers of
men, and, therefore, they are greater,
nobler and more beautiful than men,
who owe to them all that they are. Ir.
all ages men have sung the praises of
women, and in the world to come they
will hymn the honor of their mothers
before the throne oi Him who doeth all
The general's voice became round and
solemn as he spoke the last words, and
Steohana passed out of the room, leav?
ing h\m kneeling beside his mother as
he must have done in boyhood. Steph?
en* soon found herself once more on
the highway, and now she discovered
that she was indeed very weary, for she
had walked many miles. So she lay
down under an oak, and in a few min?
utes went fast asleep. And she
dreamed that she saw the little old
woman in the black gown and the red
tippet. And the little old woman said
"Are you satisfied?"
And Stephana answered: "Yes."
Straightway she awoke, and saw that
she was lying under the old willow be?
side the brook. She also discovered
that the feet had become small and
were shod with her own pretty red
shoes; that her limbs had got their
graceful roundness again, and that her
skirts were about them; that her arms
were round and dimpled, her shoulders
and her chest plump, and her hands
smooth and white.
"Oh," she cried, springing Joyfully
to her feet, "I'm not a boy! I'm a girl!
And I'm going to be a good sister to
Joseph. And some day I may have also
a husband and a son. And maybe, if 1
do right, I shall be the light of their
lives, like the sister of the merchant
the wife of the admiral and the mother
.< the general."
So she went home and made the
bouse merry with her singing:.?N. Y.
IDIDXT catch her name when Cousin
Edith introduced us at the garden
party, but she was unquestionably In?
teresting. We ran through art and mu?
sic and drama in half an hour. Then
we came to philosophy.
"There is such a difference," said she,
"between practice and theory*."
I conceded the poiuL She was so
charming, in fact, that I wished it had
been a larger point to concede. "But,"
I ventured to remark, "that doesn't
make the theory wrong."
She leaned her cheek thoughtfully
upon one gloved finger, possibly to dls
play the smallnessof her hand, possibly
because the pose suited her, probably
for both reasons.
"When you say that the regeneration
of the universe can only be accom?
plished by white men marrying black
"And biack men, white women."
"Xo, thank you!" She shrugged her
shoulders. "Well, as a matter of fact,
you do not care anything about the
regeneration of the universe?"
"I don't believe I do," I laughed.
"Xor contemplate marrying a negress
"Unfortunately my personal taste
lies so strongly in the direction of the
blonde." Edith had remembered this,
with her usual discretion.
"If I were black you would Eay you
preferred ebony- to ivory."
I raised my hands in protest. "I as?
sure you," I averred, solemnly, "I pre?
fer you as ysu are."
"But you haven't seen me any?other
"1 am clear that improvement is Im?
She laughed a delightfully saucy
"What a stock in trade of compli?
ments you keep! I can understand
why your cousin described you as a
tonic for a diffident young person?like
There Is not," I declared, "another
like you so far as my experience goes."
"You are putting me In a glow of
satisfaction with myself. Please go on.
There ought to be one or two nice
points remaining in me."
I regarded her with calm scrutiny.
"An appearance of impudence becomes
j'ou," I said, "but?"
"So do all appearances."
"Pray don't think that you have ex?
hausted my appearances." She sank
back in another attitude. "Why,
you've barely known me an hour!"
"An hour," I said, feelingly, "of ex?
"An hour." she suggested, "which
should rightfully have been devoted to
a black woman." She looked as if she
would like to add something, but re?
"You were going to say??"
"Poor black woman 1" Iler eyes
sparkled wickedly. "I don't mean it,"
she hastened to add.
"According to my theory," I ex?
plained, "you should have been delight?
ing the eyes and eara of some dusky
"Poor black man!" I never saw such
a girl to laugh.
"On the contrary. If you were to
??" ? my theory 1 should paint myself
"But you wouldn't be so black as you
"Stop, stop! I'll assume that you've
paid me all possible compliments. Let
us get down to the bedrock of serious
"Umph! One so rarely gets there
that I doubt if I have any serious con?
versation. You are not a missionary
We are sure you do u?,
Nobody wants it. But it comes
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throat is raw, and the lining
membranes of the lungs are
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does so because it is a sooth?
ing and healing remedy of great
est preventive to consumption.
Put one of
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Plasters over your iungs
A whole Mod leal
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Address, OK. J. C. A YE It, <
In disguise, are you?"
She didn't answer for a minute. It
was curious to watch her face change
from merriment, through thought, to
seriousness. First, the laughter died
gradually in her eyes; then the little
curls and turns went out of her lips;
then the dimples in the cheeks smooth?
ed themselves out like ripples widening
into nothingness on the sea; then she
lifted up her head, a little on one side,
and looked at me with solemn child
"Sometimes," she said, sadiy, "I wish
I were. Sometimes I wish a missionary
. would come to me. I get tired of
making fun of things, and think that
perhi-os the.y are serious after ail."
I twirled my mustache and felt my
own smile fading out. "They are se?
rious enough," I said, "if you look at
them in that way. It isn't a good way
ito look at things?things in general?
"Hut one looks sometimes," she said
absently, "at things in particular, and
feels very, very serious."
"Then," I said, leaning forwurd, "one
doesn't talk about them much. There
is rarely anyone to whom one cares to
talk about them."
"I don't think," she went on, with a
little catch in her voice, "there is ever
any single person to whom anyone
would like to tell them all?the 'serious
particulars,' I mean."
"I don't think there is, so usually one
doesn't tell them."
"Or unburdens oneself In install?
ments, as opportunity offers." She
"Exactly. That is why there are such
odd confidences now and then. The
critics lashed a scene in my last book
because he told her one of his secrets
in the first half hour of their acquaint?
ance. It was natural enough, really."
"He was bound to tell some one," she
assented, "and she was the fitting con?
fidante for that particular secret."
"Quite so. She was the response to
that one item of his nature."
"The worst of it," said my fair ac?
quaintance, "is when one's nature is
many-sided; because?well, you know
what I mean."
"Society expects us to find a single
kindred spirit which is to respond to
all the calls, and it cannot."
"Xo, it cannot," she spoke with sud?
den energy; "though it may answer so
well?so very well?to some." Her
hands trembled ia her lap.
"Wherefore," said I, speaking half to
myself, "we find it a sound theory not
to expect too much frem anyone, to
be- thankful for what i.s given and com
passionate to what is mis-sing."
"Von look at the matter more calmly
than I," she cried, passionately, with
her lips quivering.
"Perhaps," 1 told her, "I have looked
at it ofti ner or longer ago."
She studied the floor for a time, and
I studied her. She certainly was very
"What percentage of one, do you
think, Mr. Nugent," she asked at
length, "ought to meet with a response
In a ?a friend
"Well. I'm hardly prepared for ex?
amination in the mathematics of the
subject. It depends***!) the 'o.ie' and
the 'friend' and the kind of demand."
"Take yourself, for example," she
"All right," said I, shrugging my
shoulders; "if it pleases you I'll dis?
sect myself. My esthetic demands upon
'the friend' I have already formulated;
they are approximately satisfied by
several people whom I know?for ex?
"Your aesthetic requirements are
evidently very reasonable, but they are
a minor matter after all."
'Theoretically they may be; prac?
tical)' they are all-important. Then
my intellectual demands I hardly know
?some people satisfy SO per cent, of
them. You would answer to quite 03
per cent., 1 imagine."
She laughed again. As I have stated,
she had a charming laugh.
"Most people's intellectual demands
are small," she said. "The emotional
demands are the difficulty."
"Ah, yes! A general answer is im?
possible there. You can never tell with?
out trial, and when you try the demand
changes, and when you fail you pay
a price. It is always a risk."
"Is there no way of forecasting?"
she inquired, eagerly. "Cannot even
an author with a reputation for analysis
of character"?I wish I had?"make
an estimate?" I shook my head.
"Scarcely, I think. He might make a
good guess. Do you want me to sum
up someone for you?"
"Xo?o. I merely wanted an exam?
"Well," I said, smiling, "I'll take my
unworthy self again, and my emotional
needs. . You would, I judge, answer to
yj per cent, or them:"
"But, you see," she objected, "I am
"For the matter of that," said I, "so
Then we gave way to laughter?
which is the practical philosophy! ?
Black and White.
GENTLENESS IN WAR.
* Singular Characteristic of the
War is savage in its very nature, and
one looks for war among savages to be
peculiarly barbarous. That such is not
always the case among the people of
Samoa is attested by a letter sent from
Samoa by an American gentleman who
recently visited Apia, and who gives a
description of Mataafa's army in camp
after a battle between the rival claim?
ants to the throne, says Youth's Com?
"We went all r.bout among the huts
where the savages were resting after
the battle and making preparations for
the next fight. It was a very peaceful
scene, for their arms were all concealed
under the mats where the men sat, and
many of the soldiers were accompanied
by their wives and children. They
were amusing themselves by smoking
and beating tom-toms.
"The Samoans are a most amiable
race of Ha vages, and white people are al?
ways perfectly safe among them.
Everywhere we were greeted with
smiles and friendly nods and the saluta?
tion, 'Talofa,' which means 'Love to
you,' from men, women and children.
"One instance of their friendly feel?
ing occurred during the big battle. A
white man, who lived in the street
where they were fighting, saw that two
of his horses had strayed out between
the hostile lines. He did not want to
lose them, and he did not want to ven?
ture out in the line of fire. So he stuck
e white flag out of his window. Upon
seeing it, both chiefs ordered their men
to stop firing, and hostilities were sus?
pended while the white man went out
ond drove his horses to a place of shel?
ter. Then the combatants went at it
Elg-ht Months Out of Twelve They
Are Dry and Drifts of Sand
Mark Their Connie.
It is a distinguishing feature of most
African rivers that they contain no
water for at least eight months of the
year. It is true that water can almost
always be found In a river bed by dig?
ging for ft, but In outward appearances
a river is usually a broad belt of sand
lying between high and precipitous
hanks. Many and many a coach has
been upset in one of these drifts, as
they are called. The descent is always
steep, frequently so steep that the
brakes cannot hold the coach, says
They start going down at a crawl,
and then the coach gathers way and
goes on with a rush, the mules are
driven into a heap anyhow, and one
wonders that they do not get their legs
broken; but they usually land all right,
while the coach, practically unmanage?
able, goes down like a sort of toboggan,
jumping from stone to stone, and sway?
ing like a ship in a sudden squall, and
nay or may not nrrivc right side upper?
most at the bottom. In fact, the pas?
senger who has gathered his ideas of
coaching from a trip to Brighton or a
drive to Virginin Water, finds that he
has a lot to learn about the subject
when he gets to South Africa. Still, on
tiie whole, it was wonderful how few
accidents did occur, and if one consid?
ers that the coaches ran night and day,
and that when there was no moon it
?vould sometimes be too dark to see
the mules from off the coach, it reflects
great credit on the drivers.
HER MOTHER'S STOCKINGS.
The Hride Thought ol Them at Every
Step During Her Mnr
r l iure.
A good story is being whispered
around about one of the beautiful
brides of the other week. She was mar?
ried in a big church with the usual ac
eompnuiments of flowers and pretty
bridesmaids. Everyone remarked how
perfectly beautiful the bride looked as
the walked up the aisle on the arm of
her father to meet the bridegroom wait?
ing at the altar.
After the wedding breakfast, and
just as the bride was preparing to start
for the depot to catch the afternoon
train for her honeymoon, an old school
friend of her mother came to her,
kissed her on both cheeks, and said:
"My dear child, you were the most
perfectly lovely bride that 1 have seen
this winter! As you walked up the aisle
to meet the man who was so soon to be
your husband, everyone coukl see from
the half-frightened yet trustful look
upon your face uud the lirm yet tender
smile about your mouth that you were
thinking of the serious importance of
the step that you were taking. Your
very look seemed to say: 'I am leaving
my girlhood behind me and going forth
upon an untried sea, but so great is my
trust in him whom I have chosen that 1
step forward without fear and in per?
fect confidence.' Tell me, my dear, just
what the thoughts were which brought
that lovely expression upon your face
"Very well, I will tell you," said the
bride, "exactly what my thoughts were
as I walked up the aisle. My mother,
who, as you know, is a much smaller
woman than I am, for some sentimental
reason insisted upon my wearing at the
altar the very silken hose in which she
was married to my father 20 years ago.
They were so tight for me that at each
step I kept repeating to myself: 'This
time they will surely split! This time
they will surely split!' And when I
reached the altar without accident I
was so much relieved that I probably
did wear the look of b'iss which every?
body mentioned."?Washington Times.
Storekeeper?What kind of chewing
gum do you want, my little boy? We
have peppermint, sassafras, winter
green, lilac, heliotrope and attar of
Small Boy?Wal, gimme lilac! I want
some kind dat'U look like plug-terback
er juice when yer spits!?Puck.
WHO OF US KNOW?
Who of us know
Tn* heartaches of the men we meet
Each day In passing on the busy street.
The woes and cares that press them,
Forebodings that distress them?
Who of us know?
Who of us think
Of how ho;, tears have chased the smiling
Of some we meet who would not dare to
The pangs they feel, thfe burdens that they
Each hour that passes through the solemn
Who of us thlnkT
Who of us care
To try and think and know their pain and
And help to bring to breaking hearts relief.
To help to bear the burdens of their care
By tender word and loving look and
Who of us care?
?--S. C. Allen, In N. W. Christian AdvocaU.
NEVER TOO OLD
SU !?3 ?roaf DlQCCinrr tfl A?e doe9 not necessarily mean
? Oi Oi 10 fJ UlCdl DIOOdlllg ill feebleness and ill health, and
nearly all of the sickness among
niH Ponnla If ?lUOC Thorn older people can be avoided. Moat elderly
UIU rOUpiOi ll UllOd IIIOIII people are very susceptible to illness,
but it is wholly unnecessary. By keep
Mow Rlnnrl snri I ifo in& their olood pure thejr can fortify themselves
nCif UlUUU Ullu LllDi so as to escape three-fourths of the ailments
from which they suffer so generally. S. 8. S. is
the remedy which will keep their systems young, by purifying the blood,
thoroughly removing all waste accumulations, and impart?
ing new strength and life to the whole body. It increases
the appetite, builds up the energies, and sends new life
giving blood throughout the entire system
Mrs. Sarah Pike. -177 Broadway, South Boston, writes:
"I am seventy years old, and had not enjoyed good health
for twenty years. I was sick in different ways, and in
addition, had Eczema terribly on one of my legs. The
doctor said that on account of my age, I would never be
well again. I took a dozen bottles of S. S. S. and it cured me
completely, and I am happy to say that
I feel as well as I ever did in my life."
Mr. J. W. Loving, of Colquitt, Ga., says: "For eight?
een years I suffered tortures from a fiery eruption on
my skin. I tried almost every known remedy, but they
failed one by one, and I was told that my age, which is
sixty six, was against me, and that I could never hope
to be well again. I finally took S. S. 9., and it cleansed
my blood thoroughly, and now I am in perfect health."
S. S. 8. FOR THE BLOOD
is the only remedy which can build up and strengthen
old people, because it is the only one which is guaranteed
free from potash, mercury, arsenic and other damaging
minerals. It is made from roots and herbs, and has no chemicals whatever
in it. S S S. cures the worst cases of Scrofula, Cancer, Eczema, Rheumatism,
Tetter, Open Sores, Chronic Ulcers, Boils, or any other disease of the blood.
Books cn these diseases will be sent free by Swift Specific Co., Atlanta. Ga.
A TALK ABOUT DE WEY
Mauaers and Habits of America's
Some of (Iic Distinguishing Trnlt? of
One of the Most I niqac Charac?
ters in the World's Xa
Exacting- in the performance of ofti
cial duties, courteous in manner,quiet
in deportment, immaculate in Iiis attire
and fond of society and club life, were
the leading traits with which Admiral
Dewey impressed his associates during
his years of shore duty in Washington.
When Admiral Dewey remarked re?
cently that there was no occasion for
lionizing him, and added: "As a mat?
ter of fact, I was nervous from drink?
ing poor coffee, just before the battle
of Manila," his old naval friends smiled
admiringly. Their comment was that
it was exactly like Dewey's modesty.
They recalled how difficult it had been
always to induce him to refer to his
naval exploits in the CO's, preferring al?
ways to change the topic to anything
of current interest
In his characteristics the hero of Ma?
nila bay differs but little from his broth?
er officers. George Dewey might, in?
deed, be called a fair type of the Amer?
ican naval officer, who, as a rule, is
genial, approachable, fond of the con?
ventional gcod things of life, and not
at all assertive of his most distinguish?
ing trait, which is readiness for duty,
whenever and wherever it may be.
Nowhere is the naval officer seen to
more pleasing advantage than in Wash?
ington. Here, after years of sea duty,
for promotion he is stationed for a pe?
riod as head of an important bureau of
the navy department. Men with rank
of rear admiral, commodore, or captain
serve here as bureau chiefs, and here
their characteristics are best made
known. It is a fact that the majority
I of them, almost t.11 of them, are found
to be not only officers of the highest or?
der of ability- and efficiency, but with
personal qualities most delightful in
public officials. It may be that follow?
ing the sea develops the character and j
broadens a man. Certain it is, as many
people must have observed, that the
average captain of an ocean liner is as
fine a gentleman as can be found in the
world.. Of much the same mold are the j
American naval officers. They arc men
of whom the country cannot be too
proud, not only for the manner in
which they uphold the honor of their
country in every portion of the world,
but for their great modesty and unas?
If one were to visit the bureau of
equipment in the navy department dur?
ing the time Commodore Dewey pre?
sided over it, he would find nothing in
the genial face of the slight man in the
chief's office to suggest service of the
most hazardous kind of a quarter of a
century earlier. He would scarcely be?
lieve that the seeming man of the
world, dressed with faultless taste, had
served as lieutenant on the small steam
sloop Mississippi until her destruction
by the confederate batteries, or that
he was the man selected to force the
passage up the Mississippi ahead of
Farragut, running so close to shore in
the work that the curses of union and
confederate gunners rang in each oth?
er's ears. But it was the same man, and
quite as alert as when hp won the high?
est commendation for bravery from
his admiral in the west gulf squadron.
And ten years later, at Manila bay, the
slight, courteous gentleman was des?
tined to add a new and brighter pnge
to Araericnn history than anj' of the
Still less would one recognize a man
of such qualities, seen of an evening in
the cozy smoking-room of the Metro?
politan club, but a stone's throw from
the navy department, where Dewey was
fond of going to chat with his friends
after the duties of the day, and where
he will be seen again, quite as modest
in his favorite evening dress, after he
returns to the capital, honored as few
men have been in any country or time.
In social affairs Admiral Dewey is the
most delightful and companionable of
men. nis wife, who was a daughter of
Gov. Godwin, the war governor of Ver?
mont, died in 1875, and much of the ad?
miral's home life since then has been
in the clubs. When stationed in Wash?
ington he had rooms at the Everett, a
modest apartment house, at 1730 H
street, within easy reach of the navy de?
partment, the Metropolitan and the
Army and Navy clubs.
So great now is the fame of the ad?
miral that travelers to the capital ask
generally to see these former resorts
of their hero. They ask to be shown
his favorite table in the club, the nook
where he smoked and chatted with
friends after dinner, and are still more
anxious to get a glimpse of his den and
bedroom in the Everett.
But his old associates in the club long
to see the admiral himself. They know
he will come back to them unaffected
by the honors showered upon him, his
genial face brighter at sight once more
of the old familiar places where he used
to love to rest, with cordiality and con?
tentment in his eyes, to be once more
J in the place he calls home.?St. Louis
41? If in need of any kinds of J$
t| Stamps, you rill profit by ob- ?
taining prices fromme. Iran Js
ftirnit-h Seals. Stencils, Burning a
g Brands, lioJibcr Band Daters, g
Kevenue Stamp Cancellom. and 2
? anything you may need in the ?
6? Stamp Line. For prices write 6
? to ?
g FREU W. FENDLETON,
Z* Tazewell, Va. 4]
Job Work. . .
Is complete in all kinds
of work done neatly and promptly.
and Special Joes.
Our prices will be as low as those
ot any first-class off ce.
Sch klein Effect
march 12, 1899.
TRAINS LEAVE TAZEWELL
?.O? p. m. daily, except Sunday.
10.i9 a. m. daily, except Sunday.
TIHKFT^ s0ld to
I IOr\t ! ? all points
ohio, indiana, illinois
WEST, NORTH-WEST, SOUTH-WEST.
FIRSTCLASS, SF 'OND CLASS
AND EMIGRAN TICKETS.
-the best rolte to the
North ai\d East.
Pullman Yestibuled Coaches,
Sleeping and Dining Cars.
8KB THAT YOUR TICKETS READ OVER THE
NORFOLK & WESON RAILROAD
cheapest, best an;?quickest line.
Write for Rates, Maps, Time-Tab'.ea
Descriptive Pamphlets to any Station
Agent, or to
w. b. bkvill, allen Ucll, m. f. Bkaco,
(Jen'l Pas? gt. Uiv. Pass. Agt.
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(Q?*GUTTERING a specialty. All kim's
of Repairing done. Prices reasonabi.- au?l
WORK GUARANTEED. 11-12-9&