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IN m YEAR
HAT changrw have come to us all In a year! How many have an swered the call Of death's angel— whose whisper we hear With a shock of sur pr se on the ear— In a year! How many who loved us have changed In a year! How m a n y close friendships es tranged. Affections we cher ished as dear! Ah: how differently all things ajpear In a year! Can the heart to its love be untrue In a year? Once I thought myself cherished by yon. You seemed happy whene'er I was near; Can it be you've grown cold, as 1 fear. In a year? My love has become but more strong In a year; While yours could endure not that long. All were well, could I see my way clear In my heart not to hold you so dear, Iti a year. George Birdseye. AT CAMP NOGOOD. The Story of One Christmas in a Mining Camp. ^Written for this paper.] AN’T you bear up just a little longer, father*” The speaker Win a small, trimly built woman, with a bright, intelligent fare, and though site tried to speak cheer fully, there was a wailing undertone of grief, almost of despair, in the tone of her voice. “I’m af cured 1 can’t, Nell. ’Pears like I’m almost gone,” and the answer came huski ly from the lips of a sick man stretched in the bottom of a long emigrant wagon, drawn by a pair of patient mules, who were driven over the trail by the woman. "If there was only a parson to say a bit of a prayer, Nell, seems like I could go more comfortable, fur I’ve been a rough man, not like the quiet hum body I was when 1 left you, wife. Hut you see ther’s nobody but men at Camp Ncgood; haint seen a pettieut in nigh two year, jest til nk o’ that, Nell, and you’ll never know how per fectly lovely you an’ the kids looked to mo when you stepped off the train, an’ now I’ve got ter go an’ leave ye,” and a sharp spasm of pain convulsed ttie white face. “ Oh! father, don’t talk of dying,” and the w fc turned her head away as the hot tears trickled down her i heeks. “ We’ll soon be at the camp, and then, may be, something can be done for you." “ Say, poppy, poppy, I see a house away off yender,” and a little boy of eight eager ly strained his eyes over the long stretch of road before them to the spot where the faint i utline of a rude shanty was visible in the dist ince. “ That’s Tim Con way’s cabin, half a mile from the camp,” said the sick man, fee bly, ‘‘but I shan’t live to git there, fur it's five miles away an’ night a coinin’ on.” “ No, no, Hradly, it’s real light yet If y■ u can stand it to ride so far may be we can make it. Don’t give up, father, don’t, j now.” and a gleam of hope mingled with , her tears at the welcome thought that a human habitation was in sight, and better still, that the camp, the objective point of their journey, was almost in sight also. “Drive on, Nell, I’ll try an’bear t.” A gray shadow was stealing over the sick man’s face already, but he did not know it; he only knew that a cold hand was touch ing at his heart, chill ng him through and • through. He thought it was the wind which ! bl< w down the trail with a shivering sug gestion of winter, but it was a stronger j breath than that of Boreas which was freezing his life-blood and stopping its free current through his veins. The mules plodded along their way and | the children watebe 1 the little speck in the j 0 stance as it came steadily nearer with childish interest. Besides the boy of eight, there was a little girl of live, and the baby, Nell, aged three, so wrapped in shawls that she looked more like a mummy than a living child, and the mother’s tears chilled i on tier checks as she dr ve the mules for ward with the hope that succor might be near. It was not au enviable situation. The husband two years lie fore had started away from a comfortable home in Illinois, imbued with the spirit of advent ure aud with a longing for wealth which the plodding farm life did not satisfy. A neighbor had come home from the mount ains with marvelous tales of wealth to be acquired in the mines, and after selling the farm and dividing the proceeds with bis wife for her support while ho was gone, he had taken hisshareatid gone hack with his comrade. U s claim had not panned out as he had hoped, but not feeling willing to abandon bis enterprise, he had sent for his wife and chddreu to come out to him, promising to meet them at Denver. Qu-tc unknown to him an insidious dis ease had been creeping upon him for the past year, weakening him slotviy but surely, and his wife was shocked when she saw his drawn and alterei face when lie met her ;.t the train, and when they w -re about ten miles from the city he I hau been taken wiSi an acute attack of bis disease, and the affrighted wife had pursued the journey which had been com menced so hopefully, for she was a cheer ful little body, and had formed many wifely jilans fur the n< w mountain home, winch was ending with heart-sickness and O read. There had been quite an excitement in the oinii when the letter had come an m uucing that the little woman and her children were on the way. “Yer ter quit ver swearin’. Bill Nevins, w! eu there’s a womint’round,” said Dick t;< w iy. “bakes, 1 hain’t seen awomint in ! *o i"Ug 1 .’v-*st forgot how they look.” “Some o’ you fel.ers'd better shave up a | bit er she’ll lie ske red at the ii . ht <>f such ! Hottentot*.” Burt ilac .in her was the j V dandy ot the camp, au I rude as the je longings of th»3 miners were, they would have been more so had it not been for !.u refining taste. He had once ventured to carry a rane, but his comrades ) ercmptordy drew tt.e line of prohibition at canes, and he was force 1 to discard the obnoxious article. A roug.i but kin t-hoarted set of men, they had made quite a bustle of prepara tion through the day on which they had calculated the travelers would return. Dan Voorliees had scrubbed h s shanty, and Sam Collins, wh > kept the long, board house which answered for a hotel, had partitioned off an apartment for the tired mother and her children with a curtain of sacking roughly sewn together, and in an unusual freak of taste had manufactured an apology for a window curtain from the remains of an old white shirt which had long since been packed away in his trunk as unnecessary lubbish. "Wimmin like sich truck,” he explained apologetically as a comrade stared in sur prise at the unwonted luxury hanging over the little window. All this time tho mules were toiling wearily up the trail toward the speck of a cabin. They had almost reached it when the little boy cried out: "Oh, mamma! 1’oppy looks so queer”’ and the wife with a fast beating heart, climbed over the seat to the rear of the wagon, where her hus band lay. The last great change for h m was com ing fast an l lie whispered: "Pray, Nell!" as his beseeching eyes looked up into her pale face and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. The poor woman had prayed in her Illi nois home, prayed for the husband leaving her so utterly and unexpectedly alone, but she could not pr.iy now. Still, she tried her best and her whole heart went out in her despairing invocation: "Oh. Gol! Oh, God, draw near!” and then words died on her tongue and great sobs choked her. "Oood-bye, Nell, toll the boys to be kind to you an’ —" and tbe.fluttering breath ceased, and the wife was a widow and his children fatherless. "Mamma, I’ll run to the shanty an’ toll the man how sick poppy is," said the little boy, and climbing down over the wheel of the wagon he s| ed away as fast as his lit tle legs would carry him. Ho had never seen death, and the mother was too absorbe l in her grief to explain to him that papa would never be sick any more. He came back soon with wide open eyes and a quivering lip. “There ain't any one there, mamma. I peeked in the window an’ hollered all around.’’ Tim Conway had gone up to the camp, and tiie widow’s heart sank lower still at the thought of the long, lonely ride with that still, motionless form behind her. He had seemed a protection even in his weak ness while the breath of lifo lastt-d, but now she was desolate indeed, and she took up the reins with a sense of horrible lone liness, which she had never before ex perienced. Wash Jackson, the black cook at the Collins house, was preparing to fry grid dle cakes, a favorite dish with the men, when the rumble of wheels was heard. "That’s Brad, I’ll bet ye,” cried Dick dowdy, throwing down the cards with which he was playing, and rising hastily. "Hello, pard, ye’re jest in time for flap jacks,” and Sam Collins threw open the door and strode out with a welcome. A stifled sob was the only reply, and he stepped back. "Beg parding, who ever ’tis.” It was quite dark and the mules and the long white covered wagon were alone visible. ■We're expect n’ Brad Newell, an' I'll he dratted ef this ere don’t match his team to a dot” "Poppy’s sick,” said the little boy’s small vo ce; the widow’s sobs still choked her. "And who’s pop!” asked the miner, kindly. "I'm Willie Newell, and mamma’s here.” “’Tis Brad’s team arter all. I thought I couldn’t be mistook. He lo, old feller! Cheer up, man, we’ll soon have you well again,” and the miner walked around to the rear of the wagon. "He'll never be well any more. He’s dead, friends,” said the widow in a choked voice. "Dead! Well, now, that’s rough, ma’am. Blest ef ’taint,” and one of the bystanders went into the house to carry tho news. "She, now, yer don’t say?” and Wash Jackson turned a griddle cake over onto ’/ t// * Vfc ~F- 4 Y. c t l ^ “POPPY’S SICK,” 8A11 > THE I.ITTLE HOT. the floor instead of upon the griddle in his surprise, “an’ his widder an’ do little cifil leu am at de do’ vvid de corpse. Sho, sho, now, dat am awful ’scouraging.” ‘ Shot up, yer black yawp, an’ get ’em something to eat,” said one of the men, roughly; “they must be clean tuckered out.” The rough, toil worn hands of the miners helped the widow from the wagon as reverentially as if she had been a prin cess, and the children were taken to warm hearts and tenderly cared for, while the father’s cold form was prepared for burial in another shanty—toe one which Dan Vi orliees has so recently scrubbed, little thinking for whose reception he was inuk ing it clean. Three duvs after the funeral the widow was waited on by a deputation from the camp. "We wanted to ask ye, ma’am, what ye was goin’ ter do,” said the biug bis bearskin cap re spectfully. “Indeed, sirs, I do not know, replied the wid"W. Si e had shed all her tears and could speak of her trouble with dry eyes “An i nave is here, uua w.uter is coming on.” "Titol’s what we was a thin Icin’, ma’am,” said Dan Voorheen, eagerly, '‘an a hopin’ yon would consent to stay at the camp. We’re a roug i set o’ men, ma’am, but you can feel jest us safe wetli us as ef yer own mother was a rockin’ yo. Ef ary man says a word o’ sass to ye we’ll run him out o’ camp at the pint of a shot gun.” “But what can I do for support.” fal tered the widow. She had been tenderly brought up, and the idea of spending the winter with these rough men was appall ing, deprived of the protecting presence of her husband. “We've wrastled it all out for ye,” re plied Sam Collins. “Ye see, we’d all on us calkylated a pile on havin' Brad’s womau an’ kids among us. an’ we’re all sort o’ rattled like at bein’ disappointed, an’ we’re willin’ to do the square thing by ye. “Brad’s claim aint a pannin’ outnogreat, : but it’s enough to make ye comfortable, an I we’ll all chip in and do our share toward workin’ it, and pay over the proceeds to ye j jest as regular as if be war here. Dan’ll 1 give up las shanty, an’ we want ter make ' j ye jest ez happy an’ comfortable as wo I can, for we sot a heap o’ store by Brad.” The widow’s lip quivered; the kindness | of these strangers touched her deeply, and j she replied in a Trembling voice: “And what am 1 going to do to repay you gentle men for all this unexpected kindnessi" She used the word advisably, for in her estimation they were gentlemen of the , truest s rt “That's all right. Don’t you worrit | about payin’, ma’am. We’re a sorter rough set an’ we need a woman around to kinder pare us down, an’ef you’ll sing us a song onot in awhile—Brad said you was a mas ter hand losing—an’ let us hev the kids ter love and cuddle a little, we’ll call it squar. We’ve all on us had homes an’ it comes rough on us, this kind ’o life year in an' year out, an’ if you’ll live among u.s an’ make a home fur us ter kinder look at, as ’twere, we shell feel well paid.” She couldn't refuse such a request. com ing as it did from those who hud been her husband's friends and companions for the two years past, and so it was settled, and the few things she had brought with her were moved into Dan Yoorhees’ shanty, and with her woman’s skill she made such a homelike pla ’e of it that Bradley would have thought it an earthly paradise could he have live 1 to see it. The children took to the kindly miners wonderfully, and W.Hie and golden-haired Katie were as contented as kittens when Ham Collins or Dick Dowdy entertained them with stories or “yarns,” as they called them, of their earlier days, or whit- ' tied out the curious woodeu toys which they were experts m fashioning. Baby Nell’s preference was for Black j Wash, and it was no uncommon sight to' see her little pink hood peeping up over his battered old hat, as she perched on his shoulder, her chubby arms clinging 1 close around bis neck as he went to the spring for water or out to the timber lor faggots for his culinary operations. Burt Macomber had an old violin which i hud seen its best days, and he often broug.it it over to the widow’s cabin, and as he l was quite a creditable performer, many an evening which would otherwise have been spent in drinking and dice playing was whiled away in listening to the squeaky j fiddle and the widow's really fine voice, us | she sang church music and the Gospel hymns which had been sung in her Illinois home until they were old and threadbare, but which were entirely new in the mount ain-!. “I tell you.boys,that air tears mo all ter pieces,” said Dick Dowdy, as Mrs. Newell sang “The Ninety and Mine” to her audi ence; “ ther haint no -hepherd a goiti' ter do very much huntin’ fer us ef we don’t take better keer of ourselves,” and it was noticeable that he left of? swearing for nearly a week, and in many ways the pres ence of the little family, so helpless in their bereavement,was a refining and soft- • ening influence. “Mm, now, fellahs, Christmas am coinin' in about fo’ weeks,” sai-i Wash Jackson, as he was lighting the evening lamps. •‘l'il clean done fo’got till dat ar little Katie war a tollin’ whatter fine Christmas tree dey had las’ yeah. Tell j;<#« it inus’ be mignty dull fo’ dem cbillens up heah, w d nottin’ but us grown folksqp ter Tnu-e em. ” “That’s so,” and Dick Dowdy drummed j on the table thoughtfully. “Taint one worn an in a thousand that’d come up here an’ i be as pleased an’ chipper as tli.t little | widder is with her trouble to bear, an’ 1 move that—” and the »| eaker’s voice was lowered, and a consultation followed which was strictly confidential. There were none of these men who did not have a memory of innocent pleasures at Christmas time in their childhood, yet the sweetest and best of holidays liad been spent the year previous in unusual conviviality, which had ended in the nearest approach tj a rough and tumble fight that the camp had ever known. There was something in the presence of the widow, the touch of the innocent childish hands which had met theirs with confiding trust, which made such a cele brat on of the day repugnant to them, and Sam Coll ns brought his fist down on the table with a whack as he said: ”1 tell you, boys, money’s no objic, an’ ef the thing’s diil at all it’s got to be did up brown, an’ them little kids an’ ther ma shell hev a Christmas worth hevin’, ef they air up in the mountings!" slapping fifty dollars’ worth of gold dust upon the table as be spoke. A stingy miner is an anomaly seldom seen, and the pile rapidly increased as each added his contribution. There were sounds of hammering and sawing going on in a spot far enough from the camp to beshclterod from its rudeness, yet near enough for purposes of protec tion, ami some one was evidently going to have a new cabin, and built in a style no tieeabiy superior to the r«-st of the shan ties in siz>' and convenience. Nelly Newell stitched away at her scanty preparations for the fast-coming winter with scarcely a thought of the matter, and if she bad speculated upon the subject at all si,e would have thought that Dan Voor tiees was rcplu ing the one he bad so gen erously given up to her. As the miners had said, she had borne her troubles with patience and sweetness, and she fully appr 'dated the kindness, rough and uncouth though it was, which these men had shown her, but she would prob ably never know v* hat her presence and that of Her innocent children was doing toward making the camp as yuiet and or derly as it was. There was a town twenty miles away. : and a week before Christmas Ham Collins and Burt Mac under drove off in a big wagon drawn by four mules in its direc tion. Burt had been chosen for th s ex cursion because, as they all agreed, tie j “ knew more about wimmin’s chicken fix- ' ius’ than ary man in the camp." "Don’t ye spar the money,” was Dick , Dowdy’s parting admonition. " Ef that ! pile don't hold out, run yer face, an’ the rest kin foller arterward.” The wagon came back the next even ing heavily laden, and the me 1 unloaded it at the door of the new cabin, which was now completed, and th re were busy hands at work putting it in order for occupancy. ^'eliie Newell was putting away the re mains of her little supper on Christmas Eve when a smart rap sounded at her door. She had been unusually despondent all day. as she contrasted th s Christmas with previous ones spent in the Illinois home. True, Bradl.y had been away, but lie had sent her money to make the day a happy BOM 3 SWEET HOME GUIV.TfD IT Ell EAUS. one for the children, with a long letter for herself, and many times during the day tears had iiiled her eyes at the thong it, of the loving heart and hand forever still in the mountain grave. Dan Yoorhees was at the door ns she went to oi en it, an i his honest foe ; wore a curious expression as lie said: “The boys wante 1 ye to step over 'a see the new house we’ve been puttin’ up. I'll take the babby an’ the kids kin fuller.” (Had of any change in her monotonous life Nelly put on her hood, wrapped up the little ones and wont out with him. The house was lighted, ami the sound of Hurt's vi din sawing away on "Home, Sweet Home” greeted her ear as she stepped in at the do r "Wish ye merry Christmas, ma’am,” called out Sara Collins as she was ushered into the room which answer d for a par lor. There was a real "store carpet” upon the tloor, a set of cane-seat chairs, a table and couch, and through Hurt's taste the windows had been curt lined with white lace, all cheap, but absolutely iuxuri ms for that region, and giving the room a really home-like appearance, with possi bilities for future impr vement from her woman’s touch. They had decorated the walls with ever greens and in one coi ner a small Christ mas tree bore acceptable fruit for the ch ldren, wooden toys, elm ip picture books, such as the primitive mountain store afforded, and a bag of real cm ly, which had been distr.buted so as to make all the show possible. Mrs. Newell looked about her in the most perfect astonishment as H m Collins, who had appointed himself spokesman fur the occasion, called out heartily: "This is a Christmas present fi r ye. ma’am, from Camp N 'gool, an' we hopes ye 11 take as much comfort a livin’ in’t as we hev in a Uxin’ it for ye.” It was a most surpris'ng state of affairs, and Mrs. Newell couid hardly Hud her voice to thank them, and especially when Hurt threw open the lid of a small melo deon and invited her to accompany him with his violin upon it. True, it was ricketty in the joints and si|ueaky m tone, but it was still capable of giving sincere.st pleasure as the miners crowded around it while Mrs. Newell pi ivod her simple airs upon it, not daring to trust her voice to sing. The children took the opportunity to explore the rest of the house while she was playing, and came back proclaiming: “Oh, mamma, there’s a cupboard in the other room with lots o’ vittles in it an’ a great big turkey;” and so it came about that, in s| ite of in auspicious circumstances, there was a merry Christmas for the widow and the fattn rli ss even at ('amp Nngood. M:ts. F. M. Howard. How to Choose a Husband. Don’t bo afraid to marry a poor man; but be sure that tie has something' besides pov erty to coinmend him. He sure that ho has two strong hands, not only skillful, 1 but ready for hard work. He sure that tie has an occupation or a position, which may reasonably be depended upon to yield a pood, comfortable living. He sure that ho is industrious, and not self-indulgent; be sun* that be is steady, working six days in the week and about tifty-two weeks in the year. A good, true, faithful young worn- I an ought to have no “Yes” for answer to | a proposal of marriage from a lfi/y man or a man who has no fixed occupation, or a man who tins lived half his life otT the hard earnings of his mother or s ster, I going about the streets meanwhile with his cane and his cigarette and his fine clothes, playing ttie splendid gentleman. The girl who will marry such a creature is one of the silliest beings on the earth. He will never be any coinfort to her. He will only drag her down into wretched poverty, and into helpless, hopeless de pondenee, in which she can no longer care for herself Let no self respecting young woman ever put her head into such a halter as that for the sake of having a hus band If she does, the time will come when she will wish she hud no husband.— J. Ji Miller, D. D. 'ini: man whose eyes are wide open in seeing the faults of others, and scarcely open at all in seeing ids own faults, is very sure t> commit two mistakes—one in not correctly judging of others and the other in not correctly judging of himself. Hindi a man Is apt to be a sort, of nuisance n every circle in which he moves. A". F. IndlirnuU nl. ANOTHER TRAIN ROBBERY An Illinois Central Train lid • Up N>ar Duck II ill, Min, — Tim Ivipri1* i Our KoIiIkmI of Three Thousand Dollars—A Passenger, Who Attacked the llobbrn with a Kill'1, Shot ami Killed—The Bob ber* lvseape to the Mviiirp. New Ort.eans, Dec. 17.—A special from Grenada, Miss., to the Picayune says that two white men stopped passenger train No. 2 on the Illinois Central railroad near Duck Hill, Saturday night, robbed the ex press car of Sl.iMH) and shot and killed Chas. Hughes, of Jackson, Teun.. a pas senger, who attacked the robb *rs with a t itle. When the train was leaving Duck Hill, two men hoarded th ? engiuo anil commanded Eagiueer A. J. Law to run fast and not stop until told. The engineer and fireman U-eo. Evans were covered by navy revolvers and had to obey. When a mile north of the station th*‘ m *n ordered the train stopped and the engineer and fireman were made to dismount and were marched to the express car. One of th» robbers knocked on the car door, and Messenger Hill opened it. Three shots were fired at Hill, and the men then en tered the ear and took all the money there was—>.'1.00(1. Conductor l’. H. Wilkinson, who rushed out on hearing th * tiring and to see why the train stopped, was fire l oil, and being unarme l, returne 1 to the train. Charles Hughes, of Jackson, Tenn., a passenger, then ran out with a Winchester rifle. As he stepped to the ground he was shot at. One ball struck hi> left arm, an other went through hi> stomach, iut’.i -ting a fatal wound. Til' d *ath of the yr.t’Ui man was very sad, as lie was the only support of Ids widowed mother. He nmo to Lexington, M;ss_, Saturd ty, to meet his sister’s family and a younger brother, all of whom were on the train, and wera greatly distressed at hi- uutim dy death. The robbery was done in the regular highway style. Nine shots were fired bv Coiidti'tor Wilkinson and Passenger Kuban, three by Hughes and four or five by the rubl ■ cs. Tlie following description of tie' robbers is furnished by Engineer Law: Doth were white men. t >ne was tail and slen der, and the other was of ordinary size. Doth were poorly dressed, and showed themselves to be hard character'. Tito tall one wore sandy chin whiskers, and Law is in doubt as t > whether he had a lit Usiaehe. Express Messenger Hill gin s tl>e fol lowing description of the robber who en tered tlie ear: lie was a tall mail, and wore a whits* slouch hat. He had no beard on the side of hi- 1 o >. Th" mask covered his f.a> e be low the nose. He ha l a larg" nickel-plate I pistol, which looke l unusually lou r. Th" bore was ver. ! vrge, and the barrel was round, apparently for neap and ball. Th** man had dark hair cut Very short. It lo >ked as if it had been cut by a country barber. He wore a gray suit of ordinary clothes. He put th® stolen money in a -a<-k larger than th® one used on tin- express ear, but of th® same material* Hotli the robbers wera masked. Tlie p, tin where the robbery occurred is an open low marsh, fifty yards from the woods. The men fled eastward into tlie swamp. A posse p, being organized at I»rensde to job; in the cha>e iff":' tlienn Kloodhounds will he put on the ti iek. The description of the tall man with sandy whiskers would answer for that of tho man who recently robbed a train on th® Northeastern r<>ad. DABY IRENE. Hmllnj of tin* l!o I v of linuinppr If Y«> 11 iiv* i* ■* t ( litlil in tli** 1 ;»!:»• ;«f llirinin^ liitm, \ *:i- II i\v»« Inhibits N .» Cniot ion \VI»» ii InformtMl Public sen t t Ke t liming to it Nornr.il ( o ml it ion. Bihminoham, Ala.. !)>'.•. in. — Mont eleven oVlork yestiuduy tie- uTleers who have been fur a \v»*.«k >■ arching ’ >r the body of little Irene H:r.vio, found it at thw bottom of the lake, only a few t: * * t from the spot wii U'e th>* bO iy of M rs. IIawes was found olio Week ago. It was WeigfU eil down with about fifty pounds of rail road iron, but bon* no marks ot viol,-nee. The finding of the body caused no excite ment. No further attempt at lynching Have ■ is ant ieijiated. When told of taw finding of hi- baby’s body, II -.wo.- i •:a-ed to ta Ik 'When Hawes was informed at tin* jail that the body of his little daughter Irenw had been found In* looked up with ju-t thw slighte-t show of interest, ami, slowly arising from his < of, inquired. .without thw slightest tremor in hi-* voice ; "Where did they find her?” He was told, and without making any reply, or showing tin* slightest emotion, he resumed his scat, and, bowing hi.s head, sat for some tim • a if in deep thought. He was asked if he would ! ke to see the hody, but be made no reply. Sev eral other questions elicited no answer except that he lla l no statement to make. Fannie Hr;, mt, tin* negro woman held as an accomplice. was next seen. Shw stated that sic- had already been informed by her lawyer that Irene’s body had been found, and that lie cautioned her not to say anything, and refused to further con verse on the subject. before the reporter left the jail, strin gent orders were issued to admit no one to Hawes’ cell. The news of the finding of the body created no excitement iu the city. No crowds have gathered ou the street, and very few have visited the undertaker’s shop where the hody lies. While no repetition of last Saturday’s terrible affray is feared, every precaution has been taken to guard against any at tack on the jail. An extra force of deputy sheriffs are guarding the approaches thereto. No one is allowed to go near thw jail without au order from the sheriff. The Coroner’s jury, investigating the shooting of last Saturday night, held only a short session yesterday. A number of witnesses were examined, but their testi mony was unimportant. Public feeling is rapidly assuming its normal condition, and the belief is gaining ground that the Sheriff only did his duty. Suit for Divorce. Cincinnati, Her. 1<!. Mrs. .lane Hess, proprietress of the Royal Hotel, corner of Court and Walnut streets, has filed suit for divorce from her husband, John Hess, charging eauelty, non-support and deser tion. Mrs. lies- is the mother of tlia well kuowu at tress. Julia Marlowe.