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ESTABLISHEP1871. -“Fear God^Tell theTnithan^Make Money." ~ ~By~ LANPyoiGT & VAD/.KIN. VOL^XXrV . FORREST CITY, ARK., FRIDA V AFTERNOON, AUGUST 23. 1895. NO 46. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. s=::.- ■ ~-~^=saamm W. II, ALLEY, PHYSICIAN and SURGEON Forrest CUT* Ark. J.It. CASON, M.D. PHYSICIAN and SURGEON Forrest City, Ark. friciALTiBB:—Disease* of the Eve, Ear, Korn aud To rout. drricic:—Over L. Roll wage & Co.'s Store, g. W. ROKTOR. J. M. PREWKTT NORTON <fe PREWETT, Attorneys at Law, Will praotloe In the First and Second Judl elal Circuit* and In the Federal and Supreme Courta. | jrrn or mllvam mum, rczurr cm, in B. F. Flersheim Mercantile Ct. WHOLESALE LIQUORS. Fine Whiskies, Wines, and Bottled Goods, Barrel Lots a Specialty. Delaware St. Kansas City. Mb j. b. beckT Carpenter & Builder, F0RRK8T CITY, - ARK. an work Intrusted to him will have his per looal attention. Satisfaction guaranteed, •ire him a oaU. D. V. RIEGER, PresL HENRY a KL'MPF, V. PrvtL R. D COVINGTON, Cutler. Missouri National +^BANK.^+ KANSAS CITY, - - MISSOURI. I Write for Illustrated Catalogue PRBB. J. N. Mnlford, Jeweler, Memphis, Tenn A SCHEDULE ONE HOUR QUICKER Between LITTLE ROCK and MEM PHIS than Competitors Q HAS Q —THK— Little Rock & Memphis R. R. SHORT LINE Mike close and direct connections at Memphis without bus transfer, Through sleepers for all Eastern points. Only 1H Hours to Birmingham,Ala, nly 22 Hours to Atlanta, Ga. nly 41 Hours to Washington.D.O. illy' 41 Hours to New York city, nly 22 Hours to I.oiilsvillo. Ky. nly 27 Hours to Cincinnati. Ohio, Elegant Woodruff and Pullman Buffet Sleepers. Eor further information, tickets and re servation, call ou or address. J. II. BAHD. Agent. Forrest City, Ark. H. W. MORRISON, G. P. A T. A. LitUe Rock, Ark. Iron Mountain Route -THE Direct and Popnlar Rente to St Louis Where Connection* are Made for All Point* NORTH, EAST, WEST. THROUGH PULLMAN BUFFET SLEEPING CARS BETWEEN Memphis and St. Louis. 3-DAILY TRAINS !-3 -BETWEEN ST. LOUIS anfl tie SOUTHWEST U. O. TOWNSEND, G Paw. and Ticket Aft, ST. LOUIS. MO THE STEPMOTHER. Dh! Mother Toil, stepmother true and sweet, L*ad in the narrow path, my wandering feet, And though I miss the milder Joys of life. Teach me to gird my heart for noble strife While I was still a wayward, fretful child, Uow didst thou lure me to thy bosom mild; With what quaint qulbs and with what Jocund ways Thou didst beguile me in those far off days. Holding a mask before thy solemn face. And hiding years beneath a youthful grace Now drop thy mask: I know thee as thou art, 3rave and severe, teaching tha harder part, With worn and knotted hands, and weary eyes. Vet thou alone canst teach where Heaven lies —Katharine Pyle, In X. Y. Independent, A HOLIDAY TRAGEDY. All my life I have been—well, not exactly a woman hater, but a firm be liever in the idea that man is the lord of creation, and that woman is not an absolute necessity. For many years it was my proud boast that I was able to dispense with feminine aid and yet live a very eujoya ble life, as, with clockwork regularity, I went from my bachelor lodgings to business each morning, re turning in the afternoon, and spend ing the evening at the club or some place of amusement. The idea of hav ing a lady companion in my rambles never entered my head. True, my landlady (good old soul!) prepared my meals and cleaned my rooms, but that was because I had not time to do it myself, and a man-serv ant was beyond iny means. But in all else I dispensed with woman's aid. Boot cleaning, sewing buttons on, lighting the fire, etc., were all done with my own hands—nay, at a pinch, 1 have even washed a pocket handker chief. I desired to stand forth as a living example of the original Adam, and a proof of the superfluity of the modern Eve. But my misguided companions refused to profit by my teachings or to follow my example. One by one they fell under female influence, one by one they married, and then—I cut them dead. Ah, me! Those free Bohemian days were happy ones, as year after year I pursued my adopted course, in spite of the continual falling off of my comrades. Then came a time when my circle of acquaintances had de creased so considerably that I began to feel lonely. Bachelor chums were more difficult to find than ever. To loneliness succeeded melancholy, and I grew miserable and pessimistic. One friend, to whom I laid bare my woes, said: "You keep to yourself too much. What you ought to do is to lodge with some family where there are two or three grown-up daughters. They would wake you up a bit.*’ This, to me, the hitherto ideal ad vocate of an Eveless Eden! And yet, after the advice had been tendered several times, I began to think that such a change might be beneficial. Such a course need not involve the ren dering up of my tenets; but, as woman still formed a part of the world, she might at least contribute to my amusement. So, after very serious consideration, I decided to seek fresh apartments, with light society thrown in. Now m3* troubles commenced. I could not make the direct inquiry: "Have you an3’ grown up daughters?” 80 I generally viewed the rooms, listen ing to the landlad3r's verbiage, settled the rent, and then casual^' asked: "Have 3’ou any children?*’ and the re ply would lie: "Yes, ‘four,’ ‘five’ or ‘six’” (as the case might be); “the eldest is ten 3’ears old and the young est two months. But they are as good as gold, and never make a bit of noise.” The numberless journeys I made and the many desultory conversations I listened to were all to no purpose. No one appeared to possess grown-up daughters—the eldest was always ten. Just when I was about to abandon my search fortuue—or was it fate?—led me to Myrtle Villa, Paradise Hardens, Upper Dulwich. The door was opened by a vision of loveliness, faultlessly dressed, and with bright blue eyes and golden hair. “Newly married,” thought I. “Well, here at least, the oldest won't be ten!" She invited me in and then disappeared; a middle aged lady entering directly after, we proceeded to discuss terms. Then came the inevitable inquiry as to chil dren. “I have two grown-up daughters, the younger of whom opened the door to you.” At last! Need I say that within a we$k I was installed in Myrtle Villa? The landlady (a widow) was a genial, homely woman, and the youngest daughter, Annie, aged twenty-five. I have already described, but the other daughter, Julia, did not impress me fa vorably. bbe was neither good looking nor pleasing, and, without being ex actly bad-tempered, always insisted upon having her own way. I now seemed to be in a new world. My boots bore a brilliant luster each morning without my aid, and my slip pers were laid ready for me in the evening, and, as for lending me a nee dle and cotton—the idea!—if 1 would only leave them outside they would ^ only be too happy. I no longer needed to seek relaxa tion at the club after the labors of the • day. Julia played the piano well (her | only accomplishment), while Annie I sang divinely, and thus the evenings i passed altogether too quickly. Male acquaintances they did not seem to possess—yet, stay, there was one—a Mr. Malcolm, whose name I frequently heard mentioned, but as his calls were alwaj's made in the daj-time I never saw him. 1 had rapidly passed into that condition of mind which raised a feeling of jealousy on his account, so one day I questioned my landlady on the subject. “Oh, he’s a very old friend of ours. Once we thought he would have pro posed to Julia, but nothing came of it.” What a relief! Only Julia! So time went pleasantly on. and then—how can I can confess it?—my lifelong creed was thrown to the winds, my proud ambition humbled in the dust, and I became a willing slave to the sex I had so long despised and ignored. My only thought now was how and in what words I should be seech my darling Annie to become my wife. Time after time I was on the point of speaking, but Julia always turned up at the critical moment One evening Julia announced that a week thence she had an engagement to play at a concert. Then burst upon i me a brilliant inspiration. I pur- ! chased two stall tickets for the Ly ceum for that same evening; and, making pretense that I had them given to me, 1 persuaded Annie to promise to accompany me. This time Julia would not be able to intrude, and I should know my fate. In two months' time I should l>e taking my summer holiday, which would tit in jtus nicely for the honeymoon. On the eventful day 1 hastened home ward with a queer fluttering in my heart and a flower-spray for Annie in my hat. Julia opened the door, and hardly permitted me to enter before she informed me that Annie had been out in the hot sun and had been obliged to go to bed with a very bad sick headache. My fluttering heart gave one huge bound and then seemed to stand still. However, to disguise my feelings I said: “I am sorry; and you have to play at the concert?” “No,” she replied, “the concert has j been postponed.” “Then may I beg the pleasure of your company? I did not ask you be fore because of the concert engage ment.” “Thanks. I shall enjoy it immense ly” What a miserable failure that even ing proved to be. I do not even know what the play was called. I was think ingall the time of my poor sick darling, and not of the acting or the woman who sat by my side wearing the flower spray that was meant for Annie. The words were still unspoken when my holidays arrived, and tearing my self away from the two sisters, who stood at the gate and waved their handkerchiefs as long as I remained in sight, it was with no feelings of joyful anticipation that I betook myself to Hastings for rest and recreation. Rest! Where could I find it? Not on the parade or pier, amid hundreds of couples promenading, as I had pic tured Annie and myself doing; not on the beach, where the Ethiopian musi cians were eternally playing “Annie Laurie,” “Sweet Annie Rooney" and “Annie. Dear, I’m Called Away.” For a whole week I wandered aim lessly hither and thither. Then I could stand it no longer. So I wrote a long letter commencing “Darling.” and pouring out the impassioned, pent-up love that comes but once in a man’s lifetime. I besought and beseeehed her to take pity upon me, or my life less body should surge in the billows •hat beat relentlessly on ihe rocks of .Beaehy Head. When I had finished I happened to catch sight of a photograph which I had purchased the previous day, repre senting one of the .yachts preparing to start on her morning trip, with my own figure in a prominent position in the bows. “Ah!” thought I, "I’ll send that to Julia.” If it were possible I had now less rest than before, night or day, while waiting for the answer. Rising in the morning with haggard looks and burn- ! ing brow, the other boarders would i remark that the sea air did not seem to agree with me, while under the mask i of assumed indifference there rag* within me the fiercest volcano tha ever burned in the heart of man. At last the reply came, and bound ing up to the privacy of my own room with trembling fingers 1 tore open the envelope which hid from me—life or death? “Dearest, I am yours forever. I cannot say your proposal was unex pected, for 1 have felt that you could mean nothing less, ever since that evening when you so openly expressed 1 your preference by taking me to the theater—” What! whew!! where!!! I looked at the signature—“Julia.” Oh. heavens! I saw it all. I had placed them in the i wrong envelopes, and sent the letter to Julia and the photograph to Annie! How I raged and fumed and tore my hair, until at last, in sheer exhaustion, I sank into a chair and endeavored to finish reading the letter. “Annie thanks you very much for the photo., and she desires me to tell you that yesterday Mr. Malcolm pro posed to her and was accepted. We will have the two weddings on the same day. Won’t that be nice, dear?” Nice? This was the last straw. Nice, indeed, for me to be married to a wom an 1 did not care for, and at the same time to see the one I loved given to another man. I cannot remember what I did for the next hour or two beyond cursing my foolishness, and swearing I wouldn’t marry Julia. Then, when I became calmer, I saw an action for breach of promise looming. I thought of all my hard-earned savings of years being swept away by a sympathetic jury to heal Julia’s broken hgart. There was no escape for me. She had my letter which simply commenced: “Darling,” and as no name was mentioned in it from beginning to end, was it possible that any body of intelligent men could be brought to believe that I intended it for Annie when I addressed the envelope to Julia? No, no. I must go through with it—I would marry Julia. Yes, and I would teach her that man ia the lord of creation, and that woman is but a helpmate but not an equal, and so, in my married life, triumphantly assert those principles which I had held so long. Julia married me at the same time and place as Annie became Mrs. Mal colm. I now spend my evenings en deavoring to solve a difficult problem, and that is—why do they call woman the weaker sex?—Tit-liits. GIANT CORN OF PERU. Efforts to Introduce the Grain Into This Country. Samples of corn of a giant species have been obtained from Peru by the department of agriculture. The grains are four times the size of those of ordi nary maize, and Secretary Morton be lieves that the plant may be turned to most valuable account in this country. ' It is very prolific and bears ears of huge dimensions. The species is quite distinct from any known in North America, and the name "zea amylacea" has been given to it. All of our corn comes under the head of "zea rnais.” j Prof. E. L. Sturt' ant is now making j a study of this uarkable Peruvian cereal, with a view to finding out how it may be cultivated most advanta geously. The grains are extraordinarily starchy, even for corn, hence the name "amylacea." Already ten distinct va rieties of the species have been ascer- j tained. One of them would probably be excellent for canning, inasmuch as it contains an unusual percentage of sugar. It has been named "zeaamylacea saccharata." Undoubtedly the species is derived from the same source as the maize of the United States. Hope of the discovery of a new and valuable cereal has been raised by the fruiting this season of the common cane of the southern canebrakes. This is an extraordinary event. Only very rarely does the cane produce seed, its ordinary method of propagation being like that of the sugarcane—by under ground root stalks. This year farmers in the south have gathered thousands of bushels of the seed for fodder. It is likely that they would serve excellent ly for human food, if the plant could be induced to bear annually. Whether or not it could be persuaded by culti vation to alter its habits in this regard is an open question. The farmers claim that the seed will notgerminate, but experiments made by the depart ment of agriculture prove that they do sprout, though they are very slow about it. Ihe root sent out by the seed is enormously long comparea with the little green shoot. — Washington Star. —Remember you have not a sinew whose law of strength is not action; not a faculty of body, mind or soul, whose law of improvement is not en ergy.—E. B. HaLL HIS SAD PREDICAMENT. A Would-It* Swell Iimm HU Sho«« «n4 HU t.lrl In k Rain-Storm. It was midnight—everything dread ful always happens at that time. The lightning was flashing and the thunder roared. It was raining everything but money. Charley, who was just returning from a swell ‘‘hop.” had climbed down from a North Clark street car and sought the shelter of an awning before dash ing around the corner to his boarding house. He stood for several minutes diicussing the weather, when suddenly he discovered directly across the street a dark object emerge from the alley, look cautiously about, and then glide over the street and in under the very same awning which was sheltering him. Then came a flash of lightning and the dark object took the form and features of one of Charley’s friends, who was also returning from the swell "hop.” ‘‘Hello, Jack! Is that you?” said Charley. “I see you’re working the allej’s now.” ‘‘Sh! not so loud,” was the reply. ‘‘Why? What’s up?” ‘‘Well, if I haven’t played to bloom in’ tough luck to-night,” growled Jack, ‘‘no mortal ever did,” and just then a flash of lightning revealed the fact that his shoes were missing. *‘I’ve got a cluster of stone bruises on my left hoof,” he continued, ‘‘and enough on the right one to drive a man to the hospital. For fear of being seen, I've limped it through the alleys all the way from my girl's house, and, blame it all, I wouldn’t care so much if they hadn’t dropped off while she was with! me.” “Dropped off! What do you mean?” “I mean just what I said—dropped off. You see I told the old gent the other day that our ball wasn't goin’ to be any hoe-down and that I’d have to have a pair of patent leathers in order to be in the push. So lie said I’d either wear the shoes I had or I'd stay at, home, and I just made up my mind toj fool him. You know he's a kind of a particular old guy, and he’s got a burial suit put away in a trunk, so as to liavp it ready when he goes to Fid dler’s Green.’ I just went to that trunk on the sly and dug up the shoes aud slid ’em on. They were ‘just what the doctor ordered,’ and had a luster on ’em to beat the band. I left ’em over in the next ward, or, rather, they left me, and if the old gent don’t miss ’em in time, he’ll pass out over the great divide in his stocking feet, and land on the sunny shore with a mess of stone bruises. "Well, anyway, things went all 0 K to-night till I started to take my girl home in the rain. She only lives a short way from the hall and it was nearer to walk than take a car, so we both hugged up tight in under my ‘shower stick’ am made a bee line for her home, didn’t know that burial shoes wer« made of paper, and we hadn’t gonefai before the right one sprung a leak and then the left one followed suit 1 tried to smile and look ple&saui when one of the blamed things quii me on the corner; a half a block fur ther and the other one got a divorce Then we passed a street lamp, and mj girl saw what was up, and she said ‘Oh, Jack, what ever lias become o your shoes?” I tried to act surprised but it wouldn’t go and she never sai< another word after that. When 1 sail ’good night’ at the gate she just stud up her nose and ducked into the house I never saw such luck in my life, al on account of those tissuepaper shoes Hut 1 must be going, old man, I’n catching cold already. So long!” Am Jack shook his friend’s hand, buttonei up his coat and disappeared in the al ley.—Chicago Inter-Ocean. W ruu| Conabln»‘<on. Willie Garvin always was a goo fellow; and in due course of time h got married, as all good fellows should He acquired his growth long ago; no so with his family. Whenever h makes his census returns he change the figures. Up to a year ago he ha accumulated “one little, two littlt three little Garvins,” three beautifu blooming sons. Each time, withov exception, it was a boy. Being school teacher, and not wishiug to g« rusty in his addition, multiplicatioi etc., he occasionally adds one to h list. The last addition came recentl' A friend at once telegraphed: “Ca him Lazarus on Scriptural authorit' the Lord said, ‘Lazarus,come fourth.' The answer went back: “Suggestic good, but combination won’t wori The fourth boy is a girl,”— Boat* Budget. , — “And now,” shouted the exhortfl “what is to be done, when inau9 rushing headlong with lightningspe9 along the road to destruction—9 Deacon Jones (between snores)—“H duce—size o’ ver—sprocket! She’s |9 ... 1