Newspaper Page Text
bosses,jon ht il.-~-Coui- e, i e state mt}\ ,VP0' "1 feeling h( adheiyrr .-.'•i tifl the s„t -1 •nmont. .1 usda.v w|, ident of tt "chela, wt as reelect# vus distasit «.y •ount of 1: e for act against foj afternoon ddenly 1 and operiff t-refary, ,\ iUed. Th -nvri after, ^olutiunist both sides San/.o, one VV iv- amon» tat this is a arza. I'],, 8 In 1 in ,')0 itimilting point of ilonterej lias ap or more on. -4 ».ye* Quit 'event th* 11. -The owned up l»y a s joined, i.y morn and 1.1MJ issued inpUtves ladies 3atI1i7.es!. MlSCs Of after- LTS and such as| his ritvi 1 NTti. and or-. 1 at the i in^rtoii (i come it wa 0 cur led bvl tat inn vl ig tlieC *ed bv: oilier! em en thmjr rnoon an flEBALD- ADVANCE. W. W. DOWNIE. Editor and I'ublis< •^fllLBANK, S. D. HIDE-AN'-SEEK. a stttin' here a Iistenin' to the rattle of the sleet, As it hummers 'gainst the winders broad an' high 0 the hum o' trade an' traffic sweepin' in from of? the street, As the heavy vans an' wagons rumble by •jpAii the whirligig o' mem'ry as it goes a bobbin' 2T 'round, S Hnngs some mighty welcome pictures into I view, the harp o' recollection has a sweet an' sooth in' sound, sar An chela. I Fer its music somehow makes me think o' I you. vjiow we ust to play at hide-an'-seek among the $ straw au' hay, 'Bout the stacks an' sheds an' hay-mows, on a sleepy summer day I Bright an' early Sunday morning we 'ud start for Sabbath school. Dressed in gingham shirts an' suits o' cotton ade With our bare feet kissed an' fondled by the breezes Ir?sh an' cool, Where the cherry trees In blossom spread I the'r shade. reporter °ps are or ik- In the the posse* bloodshed 11. -Tli, I 'n brougli: I'icdra a. genera of Di lia an maleor and wi. ar/.a. 0 lahua th( revoltec We ud chase the yellow butterflies along the dusty road. With our hats we'd fight the sassy bumble bees, •Till your freckled face was redder than the hollyhocks that growed In the churchyard, 'mong the feathered cedar trees We'd recite our Bible verses in a manner mild an' meek— Then we'd hurry home for dinner an' a game o' hide-an'-seek. There was Torniry Black played with us, an' his hair like tangled tow Streamed about a pair o' gray an' sober eyes: There was Jimmy White, whose head was black as any livin' crow, An' with features sort o' pucltered-like an' wise. Yes. an' little Polly Sadler, with 'er wavy chestnut curls, Ust, to stand around an' watch us as we played Seemed she'd ruther be with us than playin long-with other girls, Tho' we didn't like to have 'er, I'm afraid Au' I've seen 'er slyly wipin' tricklin' tears from off er cheek. When she thought no one was lookin'-~as we played at hide-an'-seeli. Up where the beneath the gloomy rafters, wasps ad built the'r nest An' the spider webs was reachin wide— Stretched upon a dusty timber—snugly from all the rest- far an' hid Was the place where me an'you'ud of'en hide. There the swailers sailin' 'round us screamed the'r anger in our ears. As they fanned the chaffy cobwebs in a gale Au tne youngsters couldn't find us, cause they had sech ouby fears 'Bout the wasps, an' cause the boards looked kind o' frail: but they'd st and upon the ladders, an" they'd strain the'r necks an' peek 'Till we'd nearly die a laflln' at 'em playin' hide-an'-seek. Ah. we've drifted an' we've scattered to the four winds of the earth! Tomniv bit the dust on Shiloh's bloody sod You a re still engaged at farmin' on the place thiil gave you birth Jimmy's over there in India servin' liod. 'ave raado a little money an' 'ave settled down at last, In the city fer to lead a quiet life: *Canse my childern's grown an' married—all my workin" days 're past. An' I've no one left to carc fer but my wife. Yes. an' little Polly Sadler sweeps 'er gray hair 'cross my cheek. As she watches mc a wrltin'—kind o' playin' hide-an'-seek! "S. Q. Lapius," in Ohio Farmer. I'MPH, here's a nice go, I'm sure," Joe No land muttered, as he emerged from a business building and turned down the street at an angry pace. "Here I've been led to believe all along that I was to inherit a fortune on my twenty-first birth day. and that 1 was tt) step into it without anything to do whatever and now it transpires that the fortune is mine only on conditions, and such conditions as I can't accept. In short, if I step into the fortune my uncle left I must step into matrimony at the same time, and with a woman of my uncle's choosing. Well, it's all over with me. so far as the fortune is concerned, for I positively will not marry for money." Joe tore along the streets, busy with his thoughts and blind to everything around him. until, in turning a corner he ran square into a pair of outstretched arms. lie looked up to find that it was Dick llerrington who had stopped him. "Hello, here, old boy!" Dick cried. "I want to know what's come over you? Are you fleeing from the police, or have you an important appointment to meet'.'" "Neither, Dick," Joe replied, with a grim smile. "Then, what's the ocasion of all this liaste? By George." eying- Joe closely, "you haven't been having a scene with some one, have you? You look all broke up from som« cause." "I've not been having a scene, exact ly." Joe replied, "butsomething rather similar." "Fact? Let's hear the particulars. old man, so I may tender my sympa thies. "I've just been up to see old Lawyer lily—mv guardian, you know." •Yes.'' "Well, I went tip to see about that fortune my uncle left, and which 1 supposed was to be mine." '•Was to be yours! Isn't it to be yours?" "No, it seems that it is not There is one provision in the will that knocks me clear out." "What is that, Joe?" "Why, it is a provision to the effect that before 1 can claim the fortune I must marry a second cousin by the name of Brown, a woman I have never seen and of whom I know absolutely nothing."1 Dick whistled, then laughed. "Well," he said directly, "is that all?" "All!"' Joe echoed half angrily. "Isn't that enough "l'erhaps. Ilut sav. I fail to see any thing very terrible in that provision. There's no need of your losing the fortune, I'm sure.'' "There isn't? I fail to see why." "IIuinph. man, what's to hinder your marrying the cousin? Hunt her up, j— o bo-V' and milke her your wlfe' Never!" cried Joe, emphatically. "When I marry 1 propose to choose my own wife. I'll never have a woman forced on me." "But the fortune, Joe!" Dick ex claimed. "They can do with that what they please." Joe replied. "I give it up." "And you don't propose to see Miss Brown at all?" "No." "Well, if I were in your place I would, Joe. She may be good-loolang and young and all th at. I'd see her, and if she isn't positively hideous I'd try and compromise with my con science a little and marry her, even if I didn't love her." "I won't do it," Joe replied. "If I ever marry it will be for love." "Well, you might learn to love her." "No, I should do no such thing.'' For a little while the two young men walked on in silence. Finally Dick Herrington renewed the conversation by remarking "Wonder what Miss Brown's first name is?" "Mary," Joe replied. In ease you don't marry her what becomes of the fortune?" "She gets it." "She does? The whole fifty thou sand dollars?" "Yes." "By George! she'll be well fixed," Dick said, half musingly. "Wonder where she is to be found?" "1 have no idea." "I suppose Illy knows?" "Yes, I presume so." "Say, Joe." Dick went on. after a short pause. "I believe I'll look Miss Brown up m.yself. I believe I might make myself solid with her, and a wife with fifty thousand dollars would be a right comfortable thing to have around." Dick spoke jestingly, but there was an air of seriousness about his speech and manner that Joe could not help noting, and which caused him to say: "Dick, you wouldn't marry the lady for money simply, would you?" "No. of course not. If I married her it would be for love, but that much money might have its weight in win ning my affections. Fifty thousand dollars is a charm that every woman doesn't possess, and when it is added to the usual female charms the possessor of it is likely to wield a powerful in fluence over a man's heart." "It might be so with some men's hearts," Joe answered, impatiently, "but not with mine." "Well, all mankind are not provided with the same idea, I suppose. Here is where I leave you, Joe. Good-by." Joe hurried to his lodgings, where he shut himself in his room and for a long time considered his situation seriously. He was a newspaper reporter, poor and hard-worked, and it was hard to take up the pencil again and return to the ceaseless grind of news-gathering when a fortune had been almost in his I»1CK MKKK1NGTON AND A LAi»Y. grasp, and he had considered himself rich. "Confound it all!" he mused. "I wish I had never heard of that fifty thousand dollars. Last week I was satisfied with my work ami perfectly contented to live on what. I earned. But now it is differ ent. It is cruelty to animals to fool people as I have been fooled, and any one who does it ought to be prosecuted. Two hours ago I went out of this room considering myself rich and planning all kinds of enjoyment, and now I come back as poor as I ever was. Well, thank goodness, I've got the nerve to stand it. I'm no worse off than I was only it makes a fellow feel kind of sold out to wake up :-ui lenly after thinking him self rich and find that it's all moon shine. Well, such is life." Joe felt his disappointment deeply, for his struggle for existence had been a long, hard one and he had planned out many things that he would do with his wealth to bring him pleasure and enjoyment. After a little while, how ever, he recovered his usual spirits, and, leaving his room with his old jaunty air, he repaired at once to the office of the morning paper for which he worked. The managing editor received him cordially and immediately gave him an assignment to one of the famous pleasure resorts near town. Joe ac cepted the position gladly, since it was a great relief to get away, even for a short time, from the hot streets and crowded thorougnfares of the metrop olis. In his new position Joe found much pleasure, for, although he was com pelled to work hard, there was an ex hilaration in the sea breezes and nov elty in his surroundings. It was far belter, at least, than the city, with its heat and dust and endless noise. About a week after his arrival Joe was one evening walking on the beach, and in passing around a point where a small path led he catne face to face with Dick Herrington and a la iy. lie was surprised to meet Dick there, and Dick was equally as much surprised to meet him, and each remarked some thing to that effect as they shook hands. Of course Dick introduced Joe to his companion, though he plainly pre ferred not to do so. Joe ilushed and started when he heard the lady's name, for instantly it occurred to him that she was the person his uncle had selected for him to marry. There were many Miss Browns, to be sure, but he felt confident that this was that special one, his cousin, and that Dick Herrington had indeed hunted her and with the intention of securing that fifty thousand dollars. His surmises were correct, as he learned from Herrington later. She was indeed Mary Brown, and Dick was laying siege to her heart with the purpose of winning her to his bosom. "You see," said Dick, "old Bly in formed me that Miss Brown was down here, and as I happened to be coming this way I thought I'd get acquainted with her. I met her to-day for the first time, and I must say that I am charmed with her already. But, by the bye, how came you here, old fellow?" "I have been here for a few days," replied Joe, "reporting for the—" "Ah!" exclaimed Dick, in a tone of relief. "You thought, like yourself, I had come in quest of Miss Brown, eh?" "Well, I didn't know. I thought per haps there might be something of that kind." "No. 1 shall not enter the field against you, Dick. Go in and win if you can." "Thanks. That's just what 1 shall do, and I believe I shall succeed. Miss Brown is charming, and, though she is not quite as young as I had imagined her to be, she is very handsome and exceedingly intellectual. 1 like intel lectual women, Joe." When Joe was alone that night he laughed as he had not laughed for weeks, and all at the remembrance of Miss Brown's appearance. That lady was at least forty years old, and as homely as a woman could be and live. She might be intellectual, but it so she didn't show it "Well," he remarked to« himself, "Dick has gone in for that S.jO,000, and if he's willing to marry Miss Brown to get it he certainly should have it She's far less desirable than I had supposed possible." Tho next day Miss Brown left for another resort, and Dick followed her, so Joe saw no more of them during his stay on the Beaeli. Two or three weeks passed and then one day there was an accident in which Joe. figured as a hero. A gentleman and two ladies were out in a boat, and from some cause they were capsized. The gentleman grasped one of the ladies and kept lier and himself out of the water, but he could not reach the other and she was left to her fate. There was no boat at hand and the crowd of spectators who gathered on the shore could do nothing but look oft and wait for the end. Joe Noland took in the situation at a glance, and, plunging into the water, swam to the rescue of the perishing lady. It was a hard struggle, but he battled with the waves and at last reached her just as her hands loosened their hold on the upturned boat He supported her until a boat was brought, thus saving her life. On reaching the shore Joe repaired directly to his room, wishing to avoid the thanks of the lady and her friends, but he had not been there long before he received an invitation to call at Mr. and Mrs. Elmore's room. Indeed, Mr. Elmore came himself to present the in vitation and to urge its acceptance. There was no help for it, so Joe went. He was introduced to Mrs. El more then Mr. Elmore said, turning to a young lady: "Miss Brown, this is Mr. Noland, your rescuer." Miss Brown extended her hand and attempted to pour out her gratitude to her deliverer, but she blushed and stammered, and did not say at all what she wished to say. She said quite enough to satisfy Joe, however, and before he left the room he felt that the debt was his. and that it was a blessed privilege to risk his life to save a crea ture so divine. Miss Brown was young and beautiful, not in the least like his cousin, and he was madly in love with her. He felt ihai he would a thousand times rather have her for his wife even if he had to live on bread and water than to have his cousin with a hundred times fifty thousand dollars. A month passed, and then one day Joe Noland ventured to breathe his love to Miss Brown. She listened, blushed, but did not repulse him. They became engaged. Shortly after that Joe made a discovery. His Miss Brown was his cousin, and the other was— well, few people knew anything of MISS BROWN KXTKNDKD HHK HAXD. her save that she was a husband hunter. Dick Herrington had come down in quest of Miss Mary Brown, and he had taken to the lady he fir.-,t met, never stopping to consider that there might be a dozen women of that name in a place so populous. So Joe Noland, although he refused to marry for money, got the fortune after all, while Dick Herrington, who was willing to sacrifice everything for money got—left—Thomas I*. Mont fort, in Chicago News. A MUSICAL WELL. Th® yu«er Natural Curiosity ot l'acoma. Wash. One of the most curious wells in the west is on the place of Henry M. Hen derson on Oakes avenue. This well can play a tune on a dozen different musical instruments at the same time, and has done it, which is an accom plishment that no human being is known to possess. The well is about four hundred feet deep. At nearly all hours of the day or night a wind blows up from the bottom of it, and whistles through the eracks of the tight board covering. When the wind does not blow out it seems to be sucked in by the well. An abundant supply of good water is in the well at all times, and where the wind comes from or where it goes is a mystery which Mr. Henderson has not solved. One day not long ago Mr. Hen derson collected all the musical instru ments he could—amounting to eight— from his neighbors and friends. He bored holes in the boards covering the well, and at one aperture placed a cor net, at another a bass horn, at another a clarionet, then a fife, an immense tin horn abont three yards long, which he had made, a mouth organ and other in struments, up to the number men tioned. One after another they began tc blow as he put them in. The hoarse growl of the bass horn mingled with the clarion tones cf the cornet and clarionet etc. When all were going the din was terrible, and there did not eeem to be a good note sounded. The wind does not come up from the well in a steady blow, but in gusts ol more or less force, and it was amusing as well as astonishing to hear the old bass and the nine-foot tin tube snort together.—Tacoma Herald. Yankee Notion* In Asia. A correspondent, giving an account of his experience while traveling through Asia, says: "I saw advertise ments for the sale of American watches filling whole columns in newspapers and large spaces on the outer walls of buildings in all the great cities of India. 1 heard the hum of the Ameri can sewing machine in the byways and broad streets of Bombay and Calcutta and Rangoon. I saw American lamps for burning American petroleum hawked about the streets on wheelbar rows for sale in Yokohama and Tokio and Shanghai. I heard the clatter of the American typewriter in Chefti and Tientsin and Swalow and Aintab. I saw American tram cars running in Tokio, and the American windmill pumping water on the bluffs of Yoko hama. I was glad when I heard the click of Connecticut clocks keeping good time for orientals, who are al ways behind. California canned fruits and Oregon salmon and Boston baked bean^ in hotels all over the east made me feel that home was not so very far away."—American Mail. —Fair Damsel (to our artist whoisex* plaining the, beauties of his picture)— "Charming! Charming! But, oh, Mr. FitzMadder, what a delightful room this would be for a dance— with the musicians in the gallery and all the easels and pictures and things cleared away!"—1'uneh. —The result of too much Greek—First classic—"By the way, hadn't Dante got another name?" Second classic—"Yes, Alfleri, I think—or else Alighieri. First classic—"Ah,perhaps you're right. I had a notion it was Gabriel Ilosset.ti or something!"—Punch. PERSONAL AND LITERARY". —The late king of Wurtemburg wa# very stout, as was his grandfather, the first king of the Wurtemburg family, who had so great a girth at the waist coat that he could not reach his plate when at dinner. —Sir Edwin Arnold says he has writ ten R.OOO editorial leaders, each of them averaging over half a column in length. He enjoys editorial work greatly, and i^ never happier, he says, than when pegging away with a pen. He always smokes a pipe when writing. —A noted character 111 the Sac and Fox nation in Nebraska is George E. iormelo, who for twenty years has teen an interpreter in the employ of the government. He speaks fourteen Indian dialects, and, though now sev enty years old and blind, has not out lived his usefulness. —A committee has been formed in Home of which Signor Cavalotti, Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Gladstone. Signor Amici, Signor Botighi and Signor Me notti Garibaldi are members, for the purpose of erecting a monument to Percy Shelley, the English poet who was drowned in lsi:]. -Emperor Wilhelm was very anxious to know, while visiting a certain corps, whether the officers had any nicknames for him. After being pressed, one of the young men modestly replied that because of the emperor's great enthu siasm about naval matters they usually alluded to him as "Gondola Willie." —The countess of Aberdeen, it is said, edits a monthly maga/.in-e entitled Onward and Fpward, of which her hus band is sub-editor and publisher. It is conducted in the interest of working girls. and is already a financial success. Their little nine-year-old daughter also edits and her father publishes a little monthly magazine entitled Wee Willie Winkle. —A strange figure on the streets of Washington is that of Josephine J. Ja roeki, a Polish countess and a grand niece of Count Pulaski, of revolution ary fame. She is described as a "hu man dried apple," poor to indigence and shabbily dressed, and she is about fifty years old. For twenty-five years nhe has been fighting for a fortune left by Count Pulaski. —The growth of periodical literature in France is shown by the following figures: In 1S*S() only ),07r periodicals were published in that co intry. while in 1890 the number had increased t-o .,011. Of the latter number 499 were conservative, 1.U54 republican and :,448 pursued no political tendency. Paris had 499 conservative and 1,164 repub lican publications. HUMOROUS. Martyr —"What is the tune you are whistling?" Whistler—"That's what I am trying to find out." Wagg—"Smith, the baker, is a very scholary person'" Quigley—"Why so?" Wagg—"He has a sign over his pie counter: 'Such stuff as dreams are made of.' "—Harper's Bazar. —Mrs. Kawler—"So your son is a doctor! Has he been in the business long?" Mrs. Backlotte—"Oh, yes, he must have been, for he wrote that he is n veterinary at it."—Boston News. —She doesn't tell ma. either. Ho tells her hew wicked he used to be, Till she shudders and softly crie»"La!" Bnt never, not ever, no. never does ho Tell any such yarns to her ma. -Indianapolis Journal. —"Mr. Van Arndt is a remarkable man. Actually, he can't dance!" "Nothing remarkable about that. Lots of fellows can't dance." "Yes but Mr. Arndt knowns he can't and uever even tries."—Truth. —Might Be Worse.—Gussie—"Don't you think 'The Man Without a Country' is just as sad as it can be?" Tessie— "Ye-es, it's very sad indeed. But I think the countt y without a man would be a good deal sadder, don't you?"— Boston Post. —Tom De Witt—"Vassar can not take the same rank among the colleges as Yale or Harvard." Kitty Winslow —"Why not?" Tom De Witt—"Well, for one thing, she never publishes in the newspapers the name of her oldest living graduate."—Kate Field's Wash ington. —Brown—"Do you believe there's such a thing in married life as perfect love? A case where both are of the same mind?" Fogg—"Oh, yes there are the Googleys, for instance. She thinks there never was a man in the world like her husband, and so does he."—Boston Transcript-. —Sappy- "I say,•Chappy. I've wather got the ideali that I uevah could be an actali, don tcher know?" Chappy— "What's the weason. deali boy?" Sappy "Why,old fellah,-donteher see. there's a wule I've wead someweah that weads, 'think twice befoali you ahct' That would wuin me it's more than a fellah can do now to think wonth, and 1 should just expiah if I had to think twice, ba jove."—Boston Courier. —Good Cause for Complaint.— Maj. Murgatroyd—"No, sir I do not like the newspaper of to-day! Let me give you an illustration. Last week I met a re porter of the Moon—casually, you un derstand—and told him casually—a good story about Judge Buugstarter's visit to my house and the time we had. Made him promise he wouldn't publish it. See?" —Pompano—"Yes. He prom ised?" Maj. M. "He did. Then what do you suppose?" Pompano (wearily)— "D' no."* Maj. M. (savagely) —"lia didn't publish it Not a line, sir not a liua!"— Smith, Gray & Co.'s Monthly.