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BAXTER SPRINGS NEWS. M. H. GARDNER, Publisher. BAXTER SPRINGS, - - KANSAS THE FIRST VIOLET. Thar tt was: a little, sany Pinch o' blue! Down amongst tbe weedy, grassy Tblnifs thet springtime coaxes through, When tbe froze ground sorttih mcller. An' them towhead crocus fellers Winks at you! Tootles' things fer m tbet grows Is These byer shy Xrinin" bits o' squint-eyed posies, KnlOtn' at the (ur-ollsky Like they said: -you, up thar! youjirs Mlphty big. but sometbln's bluer When wt'rt by!" When I see this first one, btntin' tipring was 'round, Nodriln' "Howdy," plain cr. prlntin', Down I went upon tbe ground! Ore't big strappln' six foot gtlly Kaly looked a little silly- I'U be bound! Curyuis what a sing'lar feclln' Teured to go 'Throo me, ex I stooped tbur Uneelln', Clost above tbet vl'let blow ! .Bomethln' says: "Ef Jest a blossom Uout kin grab your thorts an' tons 'aia To an fro "How'd it be ef Higglns' darter Tbet thar' girl Tbut your mind keeps taggln arW Pooty thing with locks 'et curl How'd it be ef she would take ye Up fer goodr Why, sho ! it makes ma Fahly whirl 1 Kyes like these blue buds to greet me Every nlghtT Little smllln' face to meet me. liltrapsln' from a mop o' bright Y viler hairt I almost lnow she Wouldn't hev me yit, now, oh, she Jcf.4y-mlgbt! Eva Wilder McGlamwn, in Puck. said THOSE PESKY BEES. His Policy of Like Cures Like Worked Charmingly. It was a still, frosty evening In Oc tober, with tbe moon just old enough to - . M . 3 .cast a ruddy light on tne ieai-carpoiea path, and the ancient stone wall all broidered over with lichens and moss. Tho air was instinct with sweet aro matic scents, and one red light burned like a beacon star In the cottage wmaow .on the hill. Look!" said Fleda Fenwick. "Mam ma has lighted the lamp! It's high time we were home. "And you haven't said yes!" mourn .fully uttered Jack Trevelyn. "And I don't mean to say yes! Jack seated himself on the stone wall inst. where the bars had been taken down. He was a handsome, sunburned fellow, with sparkling, black eyes and , rich, dark comnlexion. as if, in his far back ancestry, there had been some .olive-browed Spaniard. Fleda leaned against the bars, the moon turning her fair hair to gold and lingering like blue sparks in the deeps of her laughing eyes. If ever opposites existea in nai tire, thev existed there, and then. "I've a great mind to go away to vsea," said Jack, slowly ana vengeiuuy. "Do," saucily retorted Fleda. "And never come back again!" Oh. Jack!" "The idea.11 he cried, raislne both 'hands as if to invoke the fair moon her self by way of audience, "of a girl re fusing to be married simply because she ; hasn't got some particular sort of a wedding gown to stand up in. "If 1 can't be married like other girls. I won't be married at all," declared VWa. coumressinir her rosv lips. 'The idea of keeping a man waiting for tkatr groaned JacK. "It won't be long," coaxed Fleda. 'But, look here, Fleda, why can't we go quietly to church ana be married :any day, and get' the gown afterwards?" pleaded Jack. Hut. Jack, it wouldn't be the same thing at alL A girl gets married but .once in her life, and she wants to look .decent then." "My own darling, you would look an .angel in any thing: "Now. fi ult that. Jack!" laujrhed jFloda. "It's what my school-children call taffy.' " "I hate your school-children," said .Jack, venomously. "I hate your school. I despise the trustees, and I should like to see tbe building burn down. Ihen you would have to come to me." "No. shouldn't." averred Fleda. "I should take in -millinery and dress making until I had earned enough for the white silk dress. 1 never would Oh! Jack! Who's that?" A tramn? I'll soon settle him with my blackthorn!" cried Trevelyn, spring- ring up. "No, don't," whispered Fleda, shrink ing close to bim, "if s Mr. Mingden. .He's on bis own premises; these woods :belong to him. It's -we that are tres passers. "Walt! .Stand still until he has -gone by. He's very acar-slghtcd and he will never see us!" "And who," breathed Jack, as a stout, -elderly person trotted slowly across the -patch of moonlight, and vanished be .kind the stiff Jaurel hedge, "is lie Mingdenr "Don't yon know? Our neighbor. Tbe ?new gentleman .who has bought Smoke JlalL" "The old cove whe is always quar eellng with you?" Yes the very man who bates bees so Intolerably, and wants mamma to itake away all those loveiy hives, down by the south fence. He says he can't tUVo his constitutional la peace; be cause bo's always afraid of being stung!" "Why don't he . take it somewhere else, then? . "That's the very question," Floda. "Mlngden, eh? I believe he must be Harry Mingden's uncle It's not such a very common name," said Jack, re flectively. "And Harry's my college chum and I'm going to ask him to be my best man at the wedding." "Ob, Jack! I hope be isn't as disa greeable as his uncle!" cried Elfleda. "He's a trump!" "Besides, I don't believe bis undo will let him come!" added the girl. "Not let him come? Why shouldn't be?" "Because be hates us so!" On account of the bees?" "Yes, on account of the bees." "It's a regular Montague and Capulet business, is it, eb?" "Rather so, I'm afraid," sighed Fleda. "But I say, Fleda!" cried the young man, "this complicates matters. I prom ised to go and see Harry Mingden when I was down here." "Go and Bee him, then, but don't men tion the name of Fenwick, for your life." "Indeed I shall. Isn't it tho name of all others in which I take the most pride?" "Oh! Jack, you will only make more trouble! It'll be worse than bees. Prom ise me, Jack, or 111 never, never speak to you again." And Jack had to promise, aftor some unwilling fashion, Mrs. Fenwick,. a pretty, faded little widow, was full charged with indigna tion when Fleda returned from her stroll in the woods. "Mamma, what is the matter?" said Fleda, "One of the hives was t-tippod over to-night," sobbed Mrs. Fenwick; "and I'm -r he did it." "It was the wind, mamma." "No wind ever did that, Fleda. But I set It up again. 1 will never, never sacrifice my apiary to his absurd preju dices." "Dear mamma, if you would only have the hires moved to tbe other side of the garden!" pleaded Floda, caress ingly. "And sacrifice a question of principle! Never!" declared the widow. Mrs. Fenwick, ordinarily the most amiable of women, was roused on this subject to an obstinacy which could only be characterized as vindictive. And Mr. Ezra Mingden was ten times as bad as his neighbor. "That woman is a dragonesR, Hal,' he said to his nephew. "She keeps those bees simply to annoy me. I hate bees. Bees hate me. Every time I walk there I get stung." "But, uncle, you shouldn't brandish your cane about so," reasoned Harry. "It's sure to enrage 'em.". "I don'c brandish it on the woman's side of the fence. If her abominable, buzzing insects persist in trespassing in my garden, am I not bound to protect myself?" sputtered Mr. Mingden. "Can't you walk somewhere else?" "Can't she put her bees somewhere else?" "But, uncle, all this seems such a trivial affair." "Trivial, indeed! If you'd been stung on your nose and your ear and your eyeiids, and everywhere else, would you call it trivial? I never eat honey, and I've always considered bees to be an absurdly overrated section of en tomology. What business have her bees to be devouring all my flowers? How would she like it herself ?" Harry Mingden smiled to see the de gree of fury to which the old gentle man was gradually working himself up. He was already in Jack Trevelyn's confidence, and thus, to a certain ex tent, enjoyed the unusual opportunity of seeing both sides of the question. "Look here, sir," said he, "did you ever bear of the doctrine of timilia nimilibu curanturP "Eh?" said Mr. Minsrden. "Why don't you Bet up a colony of bee-hives, yourself? If her bees rifle your flowers, let yours go foraging into her garden. Let her see. as you sug gest, how she would like it herself. Put a row of hives as close to your side of the fence as you can get it. If they fight let 'em fight. Bees are an uncom monly war-like race, I'm told; if they agree, what's to prevent 'em bringing half the honey into your hives?" "By Jove," said Mr. Mingden, starting to his feet, "I never thought of that I'll do it! I wonder where the deuce they sell bees! There isn't a moment to be lost." "I think I know of a place where I could buy half a dozen hives," said Harry. "Tbe gentleman wants to buy some bees," said Fleda. "Dear mamma, do sell yours; we can easily get all the honey we want" "But I've kept bees all my life," said Mrs. Fenwick, plteously. "Yes, but they're such a care, mamma. now that you are no longer young, and you are hardly able to look after them in swarming time, and "(she dared not allude to the trouble they were making in neighborly relations, but glided swift ly on to tbe next vantage point) "it will be lust exactly the money I want to finish the sum for my wedding dress." Mrs. Fenwick s face softened; she kissed Fleda' s carmine cheek, with a deep sigh. "For yur sake, then, darling," said she, "But I wouldn't for the world have Mr. Mlngden think that I would concede a single inch to" MI don't know that it la any of Me. Mlngden' business," said Fleda, quiet ly. ; ' " ' ' The next day Mr. Mlngden trotted down to look at his new possessions. 'Too bad that Harry had to go back 'to town before be had a chance to see how tbe bce-hivos looked in their place," soliloquized be. "A capital idea, thatofhla 'tlimilto timtiibut etirantur,1 ha, ha, ha! Well, I guess it'll be pretty much thatl I wonder what the old lady will say when she sees the opposition apiaryt Won't she be furious! Ha, ha, ha!" He adjusted his spectacles as he hastened down towards the sunny south walk which had heretofore been the battle-ground.' Thero was the row of square, white hives on the side of the fence but lo! and beholdl the bench that bad extended on the other side was vacant and deserted. Why," be exclaimed, coming to an abrupt standstill; "what has she done with her bees?" "Sold 'em all to you, sir," said Jacob, the gardener. "And a fine lot they be; and not an unreasonable price, neither. Mr. Harry looked artcr that bisseif." "I hope you'll be very kind to them, sir!" uttered a soft, pleading little voice, and Elfleda Fenwick's golden bead appeared just above the pickets of the fence. "And 1 never knew until just now that it was you who bought them." "Humph!" said Mr. Mlngden. "But I hope, after this," kindly added Fleda, "that we shall never hare any more trouble as neighbors, I mean It. has made me very unhappy, and" The blue eyes, the faltering voice melted tbe old gentleman at last "Then don't let It make you unhappy any longer, my dear!" said he, reaching over the pickets to shake hands with tbe pretty special pleader. "Hang the bees! After all, what difference does it make which side of the fence they're on? So you're the little school-teacher, are you? I'm blessed If I don't wish I was young enough to go to school to you myself!" Fleda ran back to the house in secret glee. "I do believe," she thought, "tbe Montague and Capulet foud is healed at last! And I do believe (knitting her blonde brows), that Jack told young Mingden all about tho bees, and that that is the solution of this mystery!" But that evening there came a pres ent of white grapes from the Mingden green-houses to Mrs. Fenwick, with the old gentleman's card. "He must have been very much pleased to get the bees," thought the old lad "If I had only known he liked bees, I should have thought very differently of him. All this shows how slow we should be to believe servants' gossip and neighborhood tattle! If I had known he was the purchaser. I should have declined to negotiate; but perhaps every thing has happened for the best!" Jack Trevelyn thought so, when he stood up in the village church, a fort night from that time, beside a fair vision in glittering white silk, and a vail that was like crystallized frost work. And the strangest part of all was that old Mr. Mingden was there to give the bride away! "I take all the credit to myself," mischievously whispered Harry Ming den, the "best man." "But I'm afraid it is easier to set machinery in motion than to stop it afterwards! And it's just possible that 1 may have an aunt-in-law yet" "Stranger things have happened.' said tbe bridegroom. Amy Randolph, in N. Y. Lodger. The World Growing Batter. The refinement that ended vulgarity will end injustice. In the newBpapei and the magazine, daily and hourly tbe literature of the great mass of peo ple, radical and long-needed reform! are coming. Reverence for humanity will first reveal itself in increased re spect for woman's happiness. Honor able womanhood should not be made a subject for personality, of assumed wit, ridicule and of malicious laughter. Later ihls discrimination in taste and justice that shall reform much of tbe writing of to-day will tajke in the whole honorable public, and men able to write for tbe press will possess as much kind ness as they will have of power. This reform can not come suddenly, but it will surely come, for that advance ct the soul .which has made our high standards of literature sweeter in spirit can not pause at that conquest It will move onward until the perishable writ ings of each day and week will be aa lofty as tbe poems of Whittler or the prose of Charles Sumner. Such a trans formation is too great for our age. It must bo assigned to tbe next century. It buds now; it will blossom to-morrow. Prof. Swing. The CrooU Ball. Her type of beauty is unique upon this continent She is distinctly an amalgamation of the pure Spanish and French settlers at New Orleans, tier complexion is that of tbe lily of the valley, with the faintest tinge or tne Marechal Neil rose. A subtle perfume pervades her person, gleaned from the powder of orris root and the blossom of the violet The ignorant imagine her despoiled by the blood of the African; let the libel die. She is graceful in every movement; ahe is Invariably beautiful, sometimes ravlshlngly beau tiful. Her manners are charming; she has due: ahe baa superb form; she has complete self-unconsciousness. Her con versation is low, sweet and magnetic; she fascinates, she provokes, she in vites, she stimulates she never simu lates. Onco a Week. A PROFESSIONAL FINDER. Study of a Curious Man with an Odd Occupation. Be Has for Years Live on towards Earned by Finding Lost Articles Gets Early Papers and Begins Work at Dawn of Day. . One of New York's peculiar men haunts the cafes and bar-rooms in the vicinity of Madison square, but so deft, ly conceals his identity that it remains a profound secret who he is or whenco he comes. He is called Domlnlck Burdell. He is tall and slender, with a sallow complexion and brown hair that borders closely on the golden hue. He is well dressed, says the New York World, and' Invariably wears a double-breasted sack coat. Black is the color of every gar ment, including his "four-in-hand" carf. This walking mystery is one of the few survivors of a class of men once numerous, but now nearly extinct, who were known to habitues of fashionable clubs and resorts, ss well as to the po lice, as "Finders" men who devoted all their time, energy and skill in seeking treasure trove for which a liberal re ward is offered. One after another the THE SPHIXX AT WORK. group has been decimated by death, re moval, or a lapse into crime, until the subject of this sketch stands alone, all bis companions scattered or in the grave. When the men about town linger in the famous bar-rooms to enjoy a parting "nightcap" before retiring the eccentric Finder is thero, seated in a chair and apparently wide awake. He sits con veniently close and listens to the con versation from neighboring groups oi people, but never obtrudes, never speaks. Harmless and Inoffensive, he is regarded with a friendly gaze, and the very mystery that shrouds his move ments creates a desire to cultivate him. He does not drink intoxicating liquors, and when invited to join in the festivi ties of the hour invariably, orders a cup of black coffee. Three cubes of sugar form its sweetening power, and 'quietly and surreptitiously this singular man places the remaining cubes in his pockets. This circumstance has earned for him a sobriquet "the sugar fiend." In the street he walks erect, but hie eyes wander from curb to store or house line, always on the pavement and nevei straight ahead. Early in the morning, when tbe streets are quiet, this profes sional "finder may be seen in Printing House square watching for the appearance of the first public issue J the newspapers. He scans the "Lost and Found" and "Re ward" advertise ments, and then starts on his daily quest. If a certain route is specified where money oi jewels are lost, the silent man is speed ing there, and hit years of experience aid him greatly in seeking out the hid den recesses where such an objeot might be concealed money or jewelry which may be con cealed In a hidden mass that soma pedestrian in the vast pushing and swinging tide of humanity may carer lossly have dropped. For over ten years this strange man has led the life of reo luse. He - has never been known to withhold a lost article his trained eye has discovered. The police speak of aim with the utmost respect As far aa IHE FIXDEIt PROME KADI NO UltOADWAY. from the casual gaze of the average pe destrian, and the successful operation oi a single day realizes enough to make bis living secure for a week or more. On one occasion Burdell was seen in Trinity Church graveyard at five o'clock in the morning and his movements at tracted the attention of the policeman on that lonely post ne conoealed him telf behind a telegraph pole and watched the mysterious visitor in the abode of the dead. He saw him dodging behind tombstones, turning over the grass and even removing fallen leaves until in the glare of the electrio light there flashed from the long fingers of the shadowed man a scintillation which ihowed that a glittering diamond was the fruit of this search at a gloomy hour of the morning in such a ghoulish spot In a few hours the lady who had lost the ring was in the possession of her Tal uable souvenir, and Nick Burdell, Pro fessional Finder," was fifty dollars in pocket and happy in the reflection that he was an honest man. Dally he promenades Broadway and Fifth avenue as unconcerned as though he was a landed proprietor journeying m-t, th thrrn of wealthv ciMens en route to a luxurious home. His eyes are gazing downward, his step is set to slow measurement and no surrounding event however thilling, attracts his at tention. ne la bent upon one supreme object, the discovery of treasure la I THE FAMIUAB CniFFOXIER. it is known he is believed to be perfect ly honest He merely works for a re ward. . . There are other grades of "finders," but their game is of a very small order. Before tbe Btreet-cleaners have swept the refuse of the streets into piles of rubbish or in the gray of the morning ere the chiffoniers have started out with baskets and long hooka, the small-fry finder may be seen inspecting the store doors or scouring the gutters in search of articles which belated travelers have dropped in their haste to reach home or in their maudlin stages. And yet an Italian finder pays over 1,500 per week to this city for the privilege of sorting; over the street sweepings. Their rs ward is small and the mere question of seeking a rightful owner never enters JUKI mo WWU(UWVI wao vwftw vwmtmi derers. " Others haunt concert rooms, Sixth avenue dives and certain streets where gilded vice flaunts its gaudy colors in the face of men of wild and dissolute habits, and their "finds" generally con sist of money and jewelry. The latter finds its way, as a rule, to pawn shops or "fence" houses where purchases are made and no questions are asked. Still another class of these industrious people make the car tracks of the city their mines of wealth, but the fruits of their labor ere very meager, for the average car-driver claims this as his pre empted land, and he rakes over the ground between the iron rails so thor oughly that there is little left for any outsider. Theaters, ball-rooms and tbe "L" road trains are watched bo carefully by employes that the professional "finder's" occupation Is gone almost sn tirely. - Tho Art of Acting-. James Hullo, De Forest How's tbe world usln' ye, me boy? De Forest Now is the winter of our discontent Bad, bad, Jimmy. I'm playing Buckingham in Richard, at fif teen a week. But anon, what cheer with you? James Hippopotamus in the Tin Hip popotamus at two hundred. , Come and dine with me. Harper's Weekly. Sho Kntw Bias. Father Young Einstein has been de voted to you for two or three years, hasn't be? . Daughter Yes, papa. Father Isn't be very slow about pru posing? Daughter Yes, Jake is a little slow, but (confidently) he'll get there all the tame. Chatter. THE EFFECT OF PRACTICE. Doctor Cutts-Pretty bad lip you've got there, my bey; but I think we can fix it -i Patient Taln't th' lip, doc I play a fife in th ninth ward drum-corps. I called to see about a cough. Judge. A Good Thing, Altar AO. -I jes believe thefr feller Is jes as well off widout ddjoatlon." "Wall, I dunno. There's Bob Saw yer, he sent his son Bill to college an worked night an' dsy to do it BUI went to teoun, got a job in a bank and ho has jist sent Bob enough money from Canady to pay off all the mortgages on his farm and build a new barn.' Life. X Slow Crop. Three-Fingered Mike Ah, ti.c- Ceddj! Been away, hain't yex? -Jim the Penman Yep; been to Han- "Kansas were yer farm La'?" "Naw, not much raised a few cfcecia. thouffh." Lirht '