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THE ARIZONA REPUBLICAN: SUNDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 7, 1894. Hardware. SFBL A Full Stock of Hard ware at EZRA W. THAYER'S. Is now here. He sells that new smokeless Ammunition and rents a good Gun fo 50 cts, a day. OPPOSITE CITY HALL. " - - " - - M PERSONAL. Miss Addine Bury ia spending today with friends in Tempe. Major U. H. Knapp left on Friday evening for Los Angeles. Dr. L. C. Toney and wife of the south side were in the city yesterday. E. J. Bennitt returned yesterday from a California bnpiness trip. E. 8. Waddles, a St. Joseph, Mo., commercial traveler is in the city. Lloyd Christy returned yesterday from an extended trip through Mexico. E. A. Tovrea came od from Gila Bend yeBterday morning and began button holing the voter. Colonel Ellsworth left yesterday to visit some mining properties in the vi cinity of the Phcenix mine. Prof. C. 0. Case, principal of the Mesa Bchools, came down last night and will spend today in the city. The most accomodating landlord in the world. Perry Williams, came over from Maricopa yesterday morning. Mrs. Goldberg, accompanied by her daughter Becca, will reach Phoenix to morrow morning on a visit to her eons, Dave and Aaron. C. A. Clark, an advance man of the Syndicate shows, was in town yester day disseminating information con cerning his attraction. Judge Baker will leave tonight for Yuma where he will open court tomor row. He 'will be accompanied by Court Stenographer Holmes. Mr. and Mrs. T. J. Traek returned yesterday from San Diego, Cal., where they have passed the summer on ac count of Mr. Trask'a ill health. Charles Goldman and family and Mrs. Leo Goldman and children will return this morning from a long visit with friends at San Francisco. Willis J. Huling after spending the Bummer at his former home, Oil City, Pa., returned to Pbcenix yesterday morning. He was accompanied by a sister. Miss Daisy Randal left Prescott last Monday for Boston, Mass., to attend Emerson college. She will make a spe cial study of elocution and will com plete the course in two years. Commercial hotel guests yesterday were E. S. Waddles, St. Joseph, Mo. ; Morris Juda, San Francisco, Willis J. Hulings and Miss Hulings, Oil Citv, Pa.; J. T. Tindsley, St. Louis; J. Henry, Kentucky ; C. A. Clark of the Syndicate shows; L. F. Patterson, Gila Bend ; L. C. Toney and wife, Mesa ; H. O.Ellison, Prescott; Perry Williams, Maricopa; E. A. Tovrea, Gila Bend. WHEN IT ENDS. The Close of the Registration Sea - son Here. A Phoenix paper purports in two separate editorial paragraphs to give voters information on the subject of registration. In the first it says : "The time for registering expires on October 15, 1892," and urges the voter to register pronto. It would 6trike the average reader who has kept a tab on the flight of time that his day of grace expired about two years ago and that he could only vote this year by running a risk of going to Yuma. In the other paragraph the voter is informed that "November 16 will be the last day you can register." What Awarded Highest Honors World's Fair. MOST PERFECT MADE. A pure Grape Cream of Tartar Powder. Freo from Ammonia, Alum or any other adulterant. O YEARS THE STANDARD. DE earthly purpose any man can have in registering ten days after the polls are closed and the who'e business is set tled for the next two years, is conjact urable. The real last opportunity to register in this territory this year is October 15. An Old Man Suicides. Flobesce, Ala., Oct. 6. In a lonely house in South Florence, Luke Lavend er blew the greater part of his head off last night with a shotgun. Levender was nearly 80 years old. He came here from St. Louis about five weeks ago and had been living in a deserted house in South Florence with a boy who came with him. Several days ago he made his will and had evidently contemplat ed the act for some time. Levender claimed Broken Bow, Neb., as his home, and said that he was once very wealthy. He was in destitute circumstances here and had been sick for Beveral weeks be fore killing himself. TANDY'S TRIUMPH. After Many Years It Was Hers I for a Moment. It wss a summer afternoon. The rich, red gold of the sunshine was broken only by a few fluttering' leaf shadows as a light breeze stirred the trees. A mockinsr-bird overhead riot ed and reveled in showers of ecstatic song. It was a day when life seemed to burn and tingle everywhere. Except at the little cabin near the spring1. There was no sound, no sign of any occupant until the sun was low, and the long shadows almost touched the doorstep with pointing fingers. At last a woman entered hurriedly, push ing off her sun-bonnet, and showing a pretty, coquettish face, flushed with excitement and ready to break into smiles. She began to get supper, kindling the fire with fat pine knots that blazed quickly. As she brought out the inevitable frying-pan of the south she sang short snatches of song, often breaking off abruptly and glanc ing over her shoulder at the open door. Suddenly she uttered a little cry. In the shadow of the doorway stood a man a dark, rugged figure with a child asleep in his arms. When he saw she had noticed him he walked in and laid the child softly on a low couch, then sat down by the rough pine table. He did not once look at her or speak. She had held out her arms to the child, but seeing him so sound asleep, went back to her cooking. Presently she looked at her husband and said timidly, but in a probitiatory tone: "Yo're late to-night, Nathan." He gave her so harsh a look that she drew back as if afraid, and beDt over the child to see if he had awakened. Presently she looked again toward her husband, as if she fancied she had misunderstood him and said: "Yo seem out o' sorts, Nathan. Did the child pester yo' while yo' wur workin'? Yo'd better leave him with me nex' time." He laughed sneeringly. "Yo' wanted him, didn't yo'?" He paused a moment and went on as if with difficulty. "I was plowin' on the ridge, an' I seen yo' an' that feller tergether. I ain't no need ter say mo'." "Why, Nathan!" her voice was raised a little, as if with excitement. He broke in roughly "Stop. Don't tell no lie. I seen yo' both, an' thet man'd been dead, but I ain't kearin' ter tell the neighborhood. Henceforward yo' ain't no wife of mine." "I don't suppose yo' ever keared fur me, anyhow. Yo' never said yo' loved me since the day we was married." There was a half passionate ring in her childish voice. "Ther' warn't no call fur me to say anything. I wus yo' husband." She began again eagerly, this time returning to his accusation. "Yo' don't understan', Nathan" He stopped ner, ner whole face work ing convulsively. "I do understan' well enuf, an' I don't want no lies." Her face changed its pink to white, its soft contours hardening into a curious rigidity. She made no at tempt to speak again. She took the little shawl down that hung on a nail, and spread it over the child's bare feet. He was a pretty boy of four and his long dark lashes lay without a quiver against his rosy cheeks. She caught her breath quickly, but she made no appeal. Her sunbonnet had fallen on the floor a sign pregnant with tragedy in this rude life she picked it up, and moved toward the door as her husband repeated huskily: "Yo' ain't no wife o' mine." Out of doors it was very dark. The cabin stood in the clearing, and close arouud were the woods, black, full of strange sounds, full of moving shadoxvs cast by one knew not what. Inside, the circle of light thrown by the pine knots, and the child's soft breathing promised safety at least. For one sec ond she stood, irresolute, on the thres nold. Her lips were set, but her mem ory conjured up distorted images, "ha'nts" and wolves, or "painters," which was it cried like a child? The' man spoke sternly: "Yo' seem ter forgit the baby and yo' duty ter him. If yo' ain't my wife, yo' can't un do bein' his mother." Mandy's head drooped, the bonnet fell from her hand, and she turned back to the hearth. Was it a rescue? Was she guilty? one did not utter another word. Primi tive natures are like children; the spring of confidence once broken it is impossible to restore it. Question, re proach, accusation, elicit nothing; thenceforth they are dumb. The man who had told her good-by was gone. The uneventful mountain lifa closed over him as still water over a stone. He was a confederate soldier with a wounded leg, who had asked shelter until he was able to rejoin his regiment. Mandy knew nothing more of him except that he was young like herself, and ready to jest, and the cabin for the first time was lively. But Nathan had quickly disliked him. Mandy felt as if life had closed over her also. Nathan did not speak to her, nor in anywise notice her. She fan cied herself like a ghost, un seen, unheard, by the living except when the child was with her. Before this he had run after his father all day over the fields, or staid by him at his work for hours; but now either Man dy's imperious need for human affec tion unconsciously drew him, or he was not so well. At any rate, he could not be induced to leave her. One day in the ea.ly fall she had taken him to the ridge to look for chestnuts. It was clear weather and there was a sparkle of frost in the air; the dry leaves rustled under their feet. She was surprised that he seemed drowsy and tired so quickly of the search, but she took him up, and his head drooped on her shoulder. Presently he raised his head, and listened intently. "Boom, boom! Mammy, big guns!" It was the distant sound of cannon, dull, heavy, intermittent a battle was going on. So serene and bright a day for men to mutilate and kill on another! but Mandy listened vacantly, although the firing increased. It meant nothing to her. Life was so dreadful, so strange, that it had left no room for comprehension of the dread ful tidings of death. "Bo room! Bo room!" cried the child, laughing aloud, and trying to imitate the deep, sullen reverberation of the guns. v' '.. "What for, .'mammy, what for?" he asked, eagerly. "I don't know," she answered, slowly. Very soon his interest slackened, and he put his head again wearily on her shoulder. "Mammy, I se so po ly. She tried eagerly enough now to arouse him, but he slept heavily as if fever had already drugged his veins with its red poppy juice. It ran its course quickly! The last night she watched by him the rain dripped slow ly through the leaks in the roof. Now and then came a gust of wind. Nathan sat by the hearth and his wet coat and hat, hung on a chair, dripped upon the floor. His eyes were fixed on the boy. "That man's dead." He spoke rough ly, but he had not spoken to her before for weeks. "Shot in battle."' Mandy started; her face quivered, as if she were about to explain protest. But her husband was not looking at her. Mandy tunderstood the motive; he was sorry for her and for that! If lie had insulted her it would have been easier to bear. Her face hardened again, and she answered sullenly: "What do it matter? Nothing mat ters. Hush, hush " For the child had begun to speak. His mind wandered and he fancied himself again on the ridge. His mother, bending over him, could hear him feebly imitate the guns "boom, boom." The land was so full of war that even to this poor baby the wind of death blew across old battlefields. Nathan's kin came to the funeral. Mandy's people lived further off "cross the mounting" and it was hard to send a message through the federal outposts. The men talked of crops and of the late fights, of Harriman and Bragg. They treated Nathan with respect; William was the "best off" of the brothers, but Nathan was the old est. "Nathan's wife," with her still ness and reserve, impressed them with awe. William watched her closely and took Nathan aside for a talk as the norses were being hitched to the big wagon. "I don't like Mandy's looks," he said. "Taint natural fur a woman to be so still. She oughter hev change." Nathan waited. "Send her back with us," he urged, "Morgan's men hev fairly tored up the bridge, but there's a good ferry, and Naney'll be proper glad ter see her. Let her stay a spell; it'll do her good, an' she'll come back spry ez ever." Nathan turned away. "She kin go ef she pleases," he said, but when the plan was broached to Mandy herself, sne wouiu not near oi it. The other women ciied when they left; Mandy's eyes were still dry and hard. "'Pear's like- she couldn't forgive providence, no how," said Aunt Jane after they were out of sight. "Why, sister," said William cheer fully he had done all he could and was inclined to shake off any further responsibility "she's young enough ter hev a dozen mo' children." Aunt Jane shook her head. Neither she nor any of tlie others had seen signs of what they would have called a "falling out," but the whole atmos phere had been unnatural. It would have seemed still more so, could she have seen Mandy after she was left alone. With feverish energy she cleaned the cabin, and mended Nathan's Sunday coat and vest, and various pairs of half-worn socks. Then she cooked supper, though it was an hour or so before sundown. Nathan, coming in for an old bucket of tar that stood in a corner of the shed, was amazed. She took up her sunbonnet, and as if by a flash, he divined her meaning. "Yo' ain't got no call ter go." Once more she hesitated. "The child don't need me now," she murmured. She was starving for a word of himself. "I dunno," he answered, slowly, "ef he knowed it'd be kind o' lonesome fur the little feller" he paused. For the first time Mandy put her hands before her face and wept Things were not very different in the next three or four years. Nathan did not talk; he had fallen into a habit of silence, but he watched her; he was restless if, by any chance, she were away a new thing; he even tried to save her from rough work or exposure to rough weather. She needed care, though she did not say so. A pain often came in her left side, her breath was short, she had a cough. She was, however, not unhap py, for she began to suspect that Na than was fond of her. Had he come to think her innocent or had he for given her guilt? He gave no sign either way. One day she tried to lift a heavy log and fainted. She was slowly regain ing consciousness when Nathan found her, but her eyelids did not quiver or her lips move as he carried her in and put her on the bed. He stooped down and gave her a long kiss. Presently somebody was bathing her forehead and rubbing her cold hands. It stopped, for there was an unfamiliar call outside. "I can't rightly say she's noticed anything, doctor," said her husband. '"Pears like she's too fur gone " The sentence broke abruptly as the speaker turned away. The doctor found her weak and pale, but with dilated eyes of ecstacy. Her faded lips wore a smil ing rapture, for she still felt her hus band's kiss. . It was Mandy's hour of triumph only she was dying. Ella F. Mosby, in Springfield (Mass.) Republican. There is no prettier flower for gar den or window than the geranium. FAD FOR ENGLISH MAIDS. The Flirtatious and Pilfering Pauline Be ing: Displaced by Slow-Goinff Susan. The stern fiat has been pronounced against the French maid. Paulines, Suzettes and Sophies by the score are, with their deft fingers, dainty ways, caressing voices and most pure of Parisian accents, vainly searching for comfortable situations known of yore, says Demorest's Magazine, and wrath fully discover they have been replaced by middle-aged English women. No one can exactly put her finger on the cause of the revolution, but everyone hears rather black accounts of the Parisian paragons. The New York mistress is mild and long-suffering, but Pauline evidently went a step too far in her quarrels below stairs, her flirta tions with the butler and the pilfering of petty trifles, and now her day is over. Her once devoted mistress vows she is glad and has at last found a true treasure in Hollis, her English maid. Hollis is quite all one ever read about in English novels. She is a staid and stately person, no longer in her first youth, and though she cannot em broider madam's filmy mouchoirs and underlinen, tie the sweetest bow-knot in a trice, chatter the gayest gossip in the most faultless accent and pay madam the neatest little compliments, she is a remarkably capable person. She has brought a recommendation from some titled English lady, who af firms that Hollis is a faultless traveler and does hair very well, also plain sew ing. The American mistress finds all that true. Hollis is not ill a day at sea, she is something of a masseuse, and she is worth an army of men on journeys. She is a stern but perfect chaperon, she knows all about getting tickets, checking luggag-e, booking at hotels, tipping other servants and get ting her rights. There is a class of English maids in New York who only attend ladies when traveling. Some of them have been all over the world, up the Nile, across Russia, and even to the Chinese wall; and once in the hands of one of these women one can travel in joy and peace. They are engaged to accompany young ladies as chaperons when trips are to be made, and rarely ask for employment in a settled posi tion. Of course they receive high wages and all their expenses paid. Relatives of Robespierre. The only male relatives of Robespierre living in France.according to a Paris pa per, are Maximilian de Robespierre, who owns a tile manufactory, and his son, now eighteen years old. He appeared in a Paris court the other day sponsor of one of his employes, who had run over a boy, and announced that he was a grandnephew of the notorious bearer of his name. He is an intelli gent man, forty-five years old, and a graduate of a school of mines. When asked regarding his family papers he said that his uncle, Henri de Robes pierre, had fled with them to America at the time of the Restoration and that nothing had been heard of him or them since then. Tallorine. MIHIMtHIMHWIWIMM PERSONAL The blonde lady accompanied by a little girl who sat behind a gen tleman in church last Sunday, is informed that he will sit in the same place every Sunday hereafter until further notice, and will wear the suit she admired so much and that it was made by NICHOLSON THE TAILOR. Itoiird In Happy and ConteDt are the Bonders at the IVY GREEN RESTAURANT. WHY? Because their appetites are first cul tivated to a condition of natural Healthfulness and then regularly nourished and satisfied by choice viands, fresh vegetables and all palatable and wholesome foods In season. MRS. A. WILLIAMSON, Adams Street, Between Center and First. Meat Market. 0. K. MARKET. CHOICE CUTS OF MEAT AT LOWEST PRICE. A. WEILER. PROPRIETOR. Corner Washington and Third Sts. Opp. Lemon Hotel. . PHCENIX, AEIZ. BEER And all kinds of Fresh and Cured Meats and Sausage. Kept in Cold Storage. Family orders promptly delivered. Chas. Kraft, Washington Market, Next the Dairy. Lund the Druggist Cor. Washington and Third Sts., Phcenix, Ariz. XL. NEW STORE, Tj FRESH DRUGS. PRESCRIPTIONS A. SPECIALTY. Dressmaking. MRS. M. FORBES, MnniQTIT Second Street, South of VUIOI t. Harwell's Photograph Gallery, is prepared to guar - - - - - - - antee style, fit and prices. Ladies wishing dressmaking, cutting and fit ting will make a mistake if they do not call. PHCENIX. ARIZONA. Till J PH(ENIX BAKEBY EDWARD E1SELE, Prop. This popular establishment has been refitted and renovated throughout. Every thing in the way of baking STRICTLY FIRST CLASS All orders attended to with promptness and to the utmost satis faction of our pat tons. Free delivery to any part of the city. PHOENIX BAKERY Porter Blk. E. b. BURLINGAME'S ASSAY OFFICES SSk Established in Colorado, 1866. Samples by mail or express will receive prompt and care ful attention. Gold and Silver Bullion bSJ5ESl Address. 1736 and 1138 Lawrence St.. Denr, Colo. Corral. Burger N. W. corner First Ave. and Adams St. 6. W- HEATH, Prop. Is the old reliable Corral feed corral where teams are well cared for and where every body receives fair and honest treatment. Iriit Htore. AT BRISLEY'S "Mountain City" DRUG STORE. Special attention is given to country orders. Try us! Send in by mail or otnerwise PRESCOTT, ARIZ.