My (freat-souled woman soon to rise
C". And tip-toe up and loose her hair—
Tip-toe and take from all the skies
God's stars and glorious moon to wear.
The broad magnolia's blooms are white,
Her blooms are large, as if the moon
Had lost'her way some lazy nitrht
And lodged there till the afternoon.
Oh, vast white bosoms, breathing love,
White bosoms of my lady dead,
In your white heaven overhead
I look, and learn to look above.
How soft the moonlight of the South!
How sweet the South in sweet moonlight!
I want to kiss her warm, sheet mouth
As she is sleeping here to-night.
How still! I do not hear a mouse,
1 see some bursting buds appear,
I hear God in his garden—hear
Him trim some flowers for his house.
I hear stars singing. And the mouth
Of my vast river sings and sings.
And pipes on reeds of pleasant things—
Of promise, for God's splendid South.
BT JULIA. K. WETHEKILL.
"The houn' is a mighty funny bens',"
remarked 'Lisher Whetstone, in a slow,
deliberate tone, as if reading aloud from
a primer. "Ef yer kick him he'll set
right down an' yowl fer an hour."
This clay-colored philosopher was
seated on the front steps, his elbows on
his knees and his head between his
hands, staring fixedly at the dog be
"Why don't you give hiiu sumpin to
growl fer, then?" remarked Spanish
Jack, who was swaggering restlessly
up and down in front of his friend and
host, 'Lisher Whetstone.
It was just before sunset on a chilly
autumn day, and the locality was Sink
emsank, a settlement in the heart of
the piny woods. There was not much
to be seen except brown pine ridges
and infertile fields, full of stumps and
broken by red washes.
The house in question was a rickety
frame building, standing on long legs,
which gave it the air of having come
merely to pay the surrounding laud
scape a morning call. A great blaze of
smoky firelight flared through the win
A reply was prevented by the voice
of Mr. Whetstone's mother from within:
'•You, 'Lisher! hain't y' had 'nough
o' setfcin' on them air steps? Git up, 'n
come in to supper," adding with start
ling suddenness, 'Plague take th' frv
As the two men entered the illumin
ated cavern, a tall girl rose out ot the
darkness like a revelation. In tlu un
certain light, her countenance waver
ed between beautiful and horrible un
til a clearer-leaping flame disclosed a
wild, soft mass of dusk hair, and
features somewhat Egyptian in cast,
but according well with the warm
brown of her cheeks and warm red of
The gentlemen of Sinkemsank did
not lind Suze Ann Whetstone hand
some. They 'lowed she had a mighty
finie figure but added that she was too
"Hullo, Suze Ann!" said Spanish
Jack, jocosely, "when'd you comb your
hair las' time? It looks like the devil
A remark that Suze Ann could not
altogether grasp, always turned her
sullen. She was not nimble-witted, so
she merely remarked, as she seated her
self at the table, "I duntio what you're
She raised to his face a pair of eyes so
dark that it seemed as if they must al
most cast a shadow on anything they
regarded. They had the look like the
eyes of a person slightly under the in
fluence of an opiate, giving the impres
sion that the next stage of the trance
might prove startling.
She did not seem as if she belonged
to the Whetstone family. 'Lisher him
self was tall, but of a weedy growth,
with an aquiline nose, and a general
sallowness of coloring—a frequently
recurring type in the piny woods. He
"favored" his mother, except that her
eyes had an evil expression, while his
were merely fishy and she had long,
fang-like yellow teeth that reminded
one of a row of forgotten tombstones.
"Ole Lissy Whetstone" was much
feared by her neighbors. "I met up
with Cory-don Oolam, yes'day," re
marked'Lisher, presently, "'n' he axed
me to give him that air bridle liangin'
in the shed. I hain't no use fer't."
"You're gittin' mighty givey in yer
ole age, 'Lisher," was Lissy's comment.
"That Cory-don Oolam ain't never gone
to do you no good turn. He's small po
taters, 'n' not many o' them. But you
always was a fool. "Lislier."
"Well—hem!" said'Lisher, waiving a
discussion—"he tole me there's camp
meetin' gone to be hilt nex' week."
"Where'bouts?" asked Spanish Jack.
"Same ole place. That's whar Bob
Hanson fit with Simon Blacksmith, 'n'
ot his broke, but he went on a
'n' knowed his jaw was
broke till 'twas all over. Y' can't beat
the rozzum-beels of ole Mississip' fer
"Spunk!" echoed Spanish Jack,
laughing contemptuously. "You folks
dofrt know the meanin' o' spunk.
The's a fellah up our way used to be
always talkin' 'n' braggin' he could
whip his weight in wildcats. Him 'n'
me got into a sorter fuss swappin'
bosses 'n' he sneaked up behin' me in
Rigbter's saloon, 'n' stabbed me in the
side with his knife. Then we clinched,
'n' if they hadn't pulled me oft'n him
I'd a tore him to pieces, though I didn't
hare no weapon. I wish they'n 'a' let
as be. I'd 'a' liked to killed him dry
so! Reckon I weighed him out one too
many pounds o' wildcats that time," he
concluded with a laugh of reminiscential
Suze Ann'sheavily-lashedeyes bright
ened as they fixed themselves upon the
Spanish Jack—or, to be exact, John
Jones, the former title being merely an
affectionate nickname—was a splendid
specimen of the lyj-river desperado,
with a handsome face and figure, who
had retired to the piny woods in the
evasion of some slight difficulty at
He was Suze Ann's ideal. There was
nothing he would not dare or do—ay!
or brag about, afterward. Her strong,
vivid nature luxuriated in the contrast
he presented to the flaccid types that
rarronnded her. They were narrow
chested, weak-kneed and loose-jointed
faded hi color thin of voice. They
shaHed as tbey walked. When they
lunil an opportunity to sit down they
ftrfM. Jack, on the contrary, was
quiescent As be talked he made
WKifUf and swaggered up and down
£|s eyes flashed, the color leaped to his
Atfk chert. The tones of his deep
ftfat were so Afferent from their reedy
ghia Most of the men she knew were
Sntetjr hi their way as he was, bat
it was tne sticaKing attacK of the cur
compared with the ferocity of the blood
Nature had intended Suze Ann to be
a robber queen or a gypsy princess.
She hated most people, especially her
father and grandmother, because they
had beaten her in her defenseless child
hood and she had a good memory. Not
one kindness did she ever forget—no!
not one wrong. She had "learned
nothing and forgotten nothing." There
was a blind tumult in her mind. Be
yond Sinkemsank stretched a vast plain
of conjecture, in the darkness of which
her poor imagination groped and stum
She grew among these people as a
palmetto springs on the bare side of a
Spanish Jack pushed back his chair
from the table, and stretched himself
like a tiger after feeding. Then he
sauntered to the lire, and drove his
spurred and booted heel into the smol
dering log to quicken the flames.
A shuffling of footsteps was heard
outside, and Eunice and William Gunn
entered. They were the children of a
local dignitary known as "Poorhouse
Ginn." William was not ill-looking
except that his eyes and hair were too
light for his sunburnt face, and Eunice
was a buxom, fresh-colored young wo
man, rather loosely built, with prom
inent blue eyes and her shining dark
hair tucked up with a gilt comb.
She betrayed a simpering conscious
ness of Spanish Jack's presence, as she
explained her errand: "Aunt Lissy,
maw say will you loan her your combin'
evards—say she'll bring 'em back. Say
when you wan't 'em agin."
"Dunno's I keer to loan 'em. but—
well, 1 reckon." said Mrs. Whetstone
ungraciously, acknowledging William's
salutation by a sort of a growl.
This cold reception seemed to embar
rass William. and he backed hastily to
ward a chair with three legs, and trying
to sit in it failed signally.
"I should 'a' thought Willyim," Mrs.
Whetstone remarked severely "you'd
'a' suspici'nd that air cheer hain't ben
sot oa this ten years."
Spanish Jack's bold and wandering
glance had tixed itself upon the vulgar
prettiness of Eunice's face. He sat down
beside her. It was his fancy of the mo
ment to "devil Suze Ann." as he ex
pressed it to himself, just as he would
have delighted in tormenting a chained
and ferocious dog to the limit of mad
Suze Ann. while this was going on,
sat in the chimney corner with her
arms sung around her knees and her
brows depressed. Eunice was another
of her hatreds. As children they had
quarreled and fought, always to Eu
Suze Ann was a slow moving body,
but circumstances acted strongly upon
her. The force of inertia might have
made her dangerous.
"Come 'long. Sissy," remarked Wil
liam, rising slowly. "Hit's gittin'
night!" Spanish Jack followed them
out of doors.
"Well. I got the cvards." said Eunice.
"Didn't suppose I would, neither. I'm
mightlv skeered of old Aunt Lissy.
They do say she went oncet to see a
'oman that had a sore foot, 'n Lissy she
took holter it. 'n' the foot came right
off in her han.' 'Clare to gracious!
they do say that."
"You better not let her get holter
your'n" suggested Spanish Jack.
"Hit's little 'nough. a'ready.
"Go 'way!" remarked Eunice, coyly.
"Suze Ann. don't you forgit to fetch
that pail o' water 'fore night," said her
grandmother, and Suze Ann sullenly
snatched up the pail from the corner,
and went out. Spanish Jack was lean
ing by the bars that served for a gate,
anu she brushed past him.
"Where you goin'?" he demanded,
catching at her arm.
"Mind out!" she cried, freeing her
"Well, I reckon I'll go with you,any
She said nothing, and presently he
remarked, "Eunice Ginn's a mightv
Suze Ann remained silent.
"Don't you think so?"
"No, 1 don't she replied slowly.
"Ha, ha! and he laughed a deep
chested laugh of amusement. Then, as
they walked down the hilly pathway he
put his arm around her.
••Go 'way to Eunice Ginn." she said,
in a muffled voice, as she struggled to
break away from him.
"I reckon I'm a little stronger'n you
are—hey, Suze Ann?"
••Let loose! you don't keer for me,"
He laughed still louder, and pressed
her dusky head down upon his shoulder
with one powerful hand.
"I keer a heap for you." he asserted.
'No. you don't" she cried, with an
guish in her eyes.
"Ain't I tellin' you so?"
"Yes.yes," with a restless movement,
"but not the same as me. Folks is dif
"That's so. I might take a turn 'n'
set up to Eunice (jinn. Where*d you
The slumberous light in her eyes
broke into sudden lire.
"You to talk o' goin' off to any other
gal when there's that 'tween us when
I've got that secret o' j'our'n! Remem
ber—I'm the only one that knows it."
How the old story repeats itself! This
was the same wild outcry of the scorn
ed and forsaken Medea of her "niar
rtage solemnized in blood."
"I ain't skeered you'll tell," he re
"I'd kill you," Suze Ann went on,
slowly. "I'd rather—I'd rather—than
let any other gal have you."
"I b'lieve you would, you darn little
wild cat!" he said, admiringly. "You're
the spunkies' thing!" and he bestowed
a rough caress upon her. "You're
the only gal I ever knew that wasn't a
"Well, lemme git the water now,"
said Suze Ann, reassured and suddenly
relapsing into commonplaces—"'n'
don't pitch rocks in it. You're mak
ing it druggy."
As they returned—Suze Ann some
what heavily weighted and Spanish
Jack with his hands in his pockets
there was a young moon sailing in the
clear sky before them, and a red light,
faint and distant, streamed up through
the vistas of the forest.
"They've be'n burnin' brush, 'n' set
the woods afire over to 'Possum Cor
ner," remarked Suze Ann.
'N'! then fust thing you know we'll
all have to turn out 'n' save the fences,"
Spanish Jack said.
This was prophetic, for by the follow
ing evening the fire had crept up the
pine hills, and theatened the little set
tlement of which Mr. Whetstone was a
Well, folks," said Mr. Whetstone,
dolorously, rumpling up his hay-co
lored hair, "we 11 have to beat it out
with pine brushes, 'n' keep it off* the
fences, I reckon."
"Well, make 'aste. then," growled
his mother. "Hit iun't goin? to wait
They found most of tneir neighbors
assembled on the hillside, Eunice and
William Ginn among others. Eunice
called to Spanish Jack to help her, and
after that he stayed by her side.
A wild red light flared through the
dusk, and swathed the trees in clouds
of lurid smoke. Narrow lines of fire
ran, serpent-wise, along the pine straw,
leaping the little stream by the aid of
its fringing grasses. Sometimes an ad
venturous flame would rush to the top
of a sapling, flicker there for an instant
and go out. The canebrake beyond
was in a blaze, and the continual pop
ping of the joints sounded like volleys
of musketry. Fiery balls of pith shot
up into the air and fell like showers of
falling stars. A hum of voices arose,
accompanying the swish—swish—swish
of the pine brushes that left darkness
in their track.
Suze Ann made no pretence of help
ing. The others had passed on, follow
ing the fire, and she stood motionless in
the seared and blackened space behind
the ruined thicket, trailing her pino
brush in the ashes.
"Look at that gal o' Whetstone's,"
whispered a neighbor. 'There's goin'
to be vengen*, shore!"
"I wouldn't trust none o' ole Lissy's
breed," replied the other and then they
moved on and saw Suze Ann no more.
Toward daylight, when the fire was
nearly under control, and they were
thinking of returning home, she was
seen again. Her dress was torn by the
briars, and she drew her breath hard,
like one who has traveled far and fast.
There was blood upon her mouth, where
the sharp white teeth were set upon the
red underlip. Her eyes were wild and
When Spanish .Jack saw her he called
out. "Hullo, Suze Ann! where you be'n
The words were scarcely spoken,
when a troop of horsemen dashed upon
the scene, with pistols drawn.
"The sheriff's posse!" cried 'Lisher
"Spanish Jack, you arc my prisoner.
I arrest you in the name of the law,"
said the leader of the posse.
The murder Spanish Jack had com
mitted. of which Suze Ann had been
the only witness, had found him out.
Mad with jealously, she had trudged
all the way to the neighboring country
town and given up his secret.
"No, you don't. By God, I'll die
fust!" Spanish Jack cried, quickly
drawing his revolver and firing. It
was all over in a moment, and Spanish
Jack lay dead, with half-a-dozen bullets
through his body.
Then a tumult of outcries and excla
mations arose. Willirn Ginn lifted
the dead man's hand with a cautious
movement, and let it fall again heav
This was the end of his magnificent
strength and brute courage.
The sight seemed to startle Suze Ann.
"But he's dead," she said, in a low
shuddering voice—"he's dead."
And the murnier rose to a shriek.
She fell upon the ground beside him,
beating wild hands upon her breast and
head: as the wounded snake, in the
anguish of its poison, stings and stings
itself to death.—Sew Orleans Times
Traps for Americans.
An American gentleman, who for
many years past has been established in
business in Paris, received one day a
call from a handsomely dressed female
in whom he recognized a notorious
American member of the demimonde of
Paris. She came, she said, to propose
to him a lucrative business transaction.
She had in her possession a list of sun
dry high-born ami titled gentlemen who
wished to marry rich American girls,
and she displayed such a list inscribed
with some of the proudest names of the
French aristocracy. If my countryman
would inform her of the arrival in Paris
of any wealthy American ladies, and ot
the presumed amount of their fortunes,
she would, on the accomplishment of a
marriage between any one of these and
one of her clients, at once pay over to
him half of her stipulated percentage on
the dowry, which in her case was to
amount to 10 per cent. It is needless
to say tiiat the woman's oftVr was re
fused. But the very fact of its being
made showed how widespread is the
system of the matrimonial agency in
Paris, and liovv extensive and elaborate
must be its arrangements for obtaining
There is an Austrian gentleman mov
ing in the best society of Paris whom I
strongly suspect- of being one of the se
cret and accredited agents of one of
these establishments. II" tried hard,
but in vain, some years ago. to bring
about a mate!- between the daughter
and only chil-1 of a wealthy American
gentleman then visiting this city and a
French duke of ancient family. The
duke turned out finally to be an impos
tor, and was forced to take flight from
Paris. Employes of these agencies are
also to be found at the principal hotels
here. They are usually women, gener
ally bear high-sounding titles, and are
pleasant of manner and afl'able of bear
ing. Their business is to make acquain
tance with rich Americans who have
daughters, so that the daughters afore
said may be presented to impecunious
adventurers on the lookout to repair
their fortunes by marriage. The mat
ter is very adroitly managed, an opera
or a theater party or a little dance be
ing gotten up by the amiable French
lady to amuse her sweet, new young
friend, the luckless damsel whose dol
lars, real or rumored, have caused her
to be selected as a fitting victim. At
the dance or at the theater the intro
duction takes place, and the fascina
tions of the gentleman are supposed to
do the rest. Very often, indeed, the
promoter of the whole series of maneu
vers is not connected with any agency
whatever, but is acting on her owu ac
count. —Philadelphia Telegraph.
"Playing for Keeps."
A small boy having highly respect
able parents brought home a bag of
marbles, and on being asked how he
came by them replied that he had
played "for keeps." He was lectured
on the sin of gambling and forced to
return his ill-gotten gains. A night or
two later a progressive euchre party
was in order, and the prizes bought for
the occasion stirred the family pride a
considerable degree. The small boy
duly admired them, and then went to
bed previons to the guests' arrival. In
the morning the prizes were no where
to be seen, and on inquiry as to their
disposition he was told that the people
who won them had carried them away.
Then he naturally asked: "Isn't that
playing for keeps?"—tiprvxgfitld Re
Less than twenty-five years ago Americans
imported their carpets. Now more carpeting
is manufactured in Philadelphia and vicinity
than ia ail Great Britain.
ASrOSY OF THtA&UKt TROVE.
Jiistlcc's t'ortiinntf Hecojriiltlon by
a Tramp—Incident of the Mliei-miiii
Campaign—Hurled Money Suc
A Lockport, N. Y., correspondent of
The -Y.•?./? York Keening Post writes:
The veterans of the G. A. R. in this
county have been greatly interested of
late in one of the strangest stories, con
nected with incidents growing out of
the late war. that have ever been re
corded. The facts—for they are facts
—were related by an officer who stood
high in the list of our country's de
fenders, and who is personally acquaint
ed with the persons named, as indeed
are very many of our citizens.
A young man named Charles Hall,
of this (Niagara) county, having been
admitted to the bar as an attorney, left
home in 1883 in search of his fortune,
and at length concluded to "hang up
his shingle," in Exeter, Luzerne county
Pa. He was a bright, energetic young
man, with a faculty for making friends
and was quite successful in his new
field, being at length elected justice of
the peace. It was while acting in this
capacity that an old weather and world
beaten tramp was brought before him
on a charge of vagrancy. With such a
clear case made out in his ragged habil
iments and significantly marked fea
tures, there was little need of other
witnesses for the prosecution.
Justice Hall was in some way, how
ever, moved by a feeling of pity for the
forlorn old man. and instead of the
usual commitment to the county jail,
made the sentence out to the almshouse.
As the man turned to depart with the
constable, he stopped suddenly, and
looking back at the justice, said: "You
look very much like an old friend of
mine, a comrade in the army, who is
now dead. What is vour name?"
"My name is Hall.''
"Is that possible?" said the prisoner.
"Why that was his name, too, and we
both enlisted in'G1 at Lockport, New
It was now the justice's turn to grow
interested, and he exclaimed: "Why,
that was where I was born, and my
father's first name was lleuben. He
was killed or at least died in the army
of Sherman in front of Savannah!"
"Then." said the old tramp, with
much feeling manifested in his coun
tenance. "1 have something to say to
you of more than common importance
if we can be alone for a few minutes."
The squire at first hesitated, but becom
ing impressed with the conviction that
the prisoner was deeply in earnest by
the evidently genuine pleasure exhib
ited in his features, he led the way into
his private ofiice, and closing the door
listened to the veteran's story, which,
in brief, is as follows: "My name is
Eben Pratt," said lie. "I was born and
raised on a farm in Niagara county.
New York. When the war commenced
I enlisted in Capt. Cothran's battery of
light artillery at Lockport, for three
years or during the war. The company
numbered about 1G0 men. mostly from
that county, and after we got to the
front we were joined to the First New
York light artillery regiment and were
designated as Battery 15. I Was a can
noneer. and my chum in my mess was a
young Niagara county boy named Reu
ben Hall. We were very intimate
friends, and as time wore on our friend
ship for each other increased, and we
shared each other's confidences. He
told me that he had left a young wife
and child at home who were well cared
for by his father, the patriotic spirit
aroused by the call to arms being too
much for him to withstand.
"Well, to make a long story short,
battery parsed through the terrible
battles of the Army of the Potomac,
most of the time with the Twelfth army
corps, under Gen. Sloeum. When Sher
man's advance through Georgia wa de
cided upon, the Eleventh and Twelfth
corps were consolidated into what was
called the Twentieth corps, and. si ill
under Sloeum, participated in that fa
mous 'march to the sea.' There is no
use of my detailing the particulars of
it is history. While death
dealt sad havoc in the ranks of battery
B. until we reached Atlanta and rested
there, my chum 'Rube' and myself es
caped it all.
••It was while we were at Atlanta
that Sherman's army of I'O.OUU men
were paid off. Many of the boys had
re-enlisted again in 1864. and received
big bounties. There was scarcely an
enlisted man in the Twentieth corps
that had not then a thousand dollars in
his pocket, and there was no possible
way of sending it home, and no sutlers
or stores where luxuries could pro
cured. The sequel showed that a great
mistake had been made in paying the
men at Atlanta. At the least calcula
tion there were $5,000,000 in Sherman's
army at that time, most of it in the pos
session of enlisted men. A furore of
gambling set in, and raged with unpre
cedented violence. Old men, beardless
youths, and in fact everybody, gambled,
and groups of soldiers gathered around
the camp fires far into the night to bar
ter money and health in games of
chance. Both my chum and myself had
caught the gambling fever, passing
many sleepless nights at the cards, and
he had been quite successful, but in do
ing so his health had suffered and I no
ticed that he seemed to be gradually
failing. I did not consider his illness
dangerous, however, until when we
reached the Savannah river his con
dition grew alarming. One night about
midnight, when I sat by his side in the
tent alone, he said to me, 'Eb, I have a
favor to ask of you,' and he took from
his knapsack a*bundle of greenbacks
done up in paper saying: -Here are
the profits of the march from Atlanta.
I want you to take this and see that it
reaches my family. Go bury it to
night, where you can mark the spot if
you pull through, and—' here he was
seized with a terrible fit of coughing. 1
ran for the doctor, but when I returned
blood was gushing from his mouth, and
he died in a few minutes.
"I took the money and afterward
planted it by a peculiar tree far above
our camp on the river bank. I did not
know the value of the package, as he
never told me. He was buried the
next day. I put up a head-board made
of a cracker-box nailed to a tree over
his grave, and marked his name on it.
When the army reached Raleigh, N. C.,
and learned of the capture of Rich
mond and the end of the war, I was
taken sick, laid in the hospital over
three months more dead than alive, fin
ally recovered, and when I received my
pay and discharge, instead of going
home like a man, I entered upon a life
of dissipation, and have been drifting
around ever since, sinking lower all the
time. I should have gone as I intended
to Lockport to hunt up my old chum's
family, or at least should have written
to them, but neglected it, as you see.
Now," said the old veteran, in conclud
ing, "I solemnly declare that I hare
never told a man of the whereabouts ot
that money, and have uever been near
it since, -licve I can take you to it,
if you want, to go, and iw I belicv you
are its proper owner 1 want you to have
After thinking the matter over a lit
tle, Justice llall concluded to accept the
old mail's oiler, and together they made
the trip. They had very little difficulty
in finding the money in a fair state of
preservation, all of it redeemable, in
fact, and on counting it Hall found him
self the possessor of $11,000 in green
backs. The justice took old Eben Pratt
back to Luzerne, whore he now lives,
and has actually become a sober and in
dustrious, and, as lie always was, an
What Low Interest Means.
It is an exceedingly short-sighted
view of the situation which attributes
the low rate of interest at which Ohio
has just been able to borrow money to
any improvement in the credit? of that
state or anytihing in the political com
plexion of its government. The credit
of a great state like Ohio is on too
stable a foundation to be varied by any
oscillation of majorities to one side or
the other. The security which such a
state oilers is absolute and the rate of
interest it is called upon to pay demands
wholly upon the relation borne by the
amount of money seeking investment
to the opportunities for safe and re
munerative in es men t.
The real cause of the low rates of
interest on Ohio bonds and other secu
rities of unquestionable soundness ami
value is the lack of opportunity for safe
investment in enterprises which pro
duce abetter return. The unsettlement
of the. industries of the country has
made capital exceedingly cautious. No
one cares to put money into an enter
prise, no matter how promising on
paper, with the chauce that a strike
will block the wheels before they have
wcil begun to turn, or that an advance
in wages will make contracts, profit
able when taken, only performable at
a loss. And this is the condition very
largely of industry all over the country.
The* factories which are running dare
not look ahead in the matter of taking
orders: and the money which in a time
of business stability and certainty would
build other factories, lies unemployed
in the banks or comes eagerly forth to
snap up any security at whatever low
rate of interest which involves the
minimum of risk and uncertainty.
It is this general uncertainty as to
industrial investment which accounts
for the use of so much capital in real
estate and building. To the surface
observer it looks like evidence of ex
ceeding prosperity when men of wealth
are investing eargerly in land and
erecting buildings for which it is per
fectly clear there is no present demand.
But the thoughtful observer knows
that this does not mean prosperity.
He knows that such an investment has
only one thing to recommend it its
absolute safety aud knowing this lie
knows that it means the very reverse
of prosperity. If productive industry
were offering any certain promise of
profit the money which is being sunk in
buildings which will pay little more
than the taxes and insurance for the
next five years—and possibly not as
much as that—would bo invested in
These considerations lend force and
strength to the views which the more
conservative leaders of the labor organ
izations, and especially of the Knights
of Labor, are taking in respect to
strikes and labor disturbances. They
see clearly—the Powderlys and men of
like stamp—that labor is just :is much
interested in business stability as capi
tal possibly can be: that capital can do
as much injury to labor by sluggishness
and inactivity as in any othen fashion
and that any settlement of the labor
question which does not promise rea
sonable security for investment in in
dustrial enterprise must be disastrous to
labor. Capital can be crippled there
is nothing easier. But to cripple capi
tal is to cripple labor: and they are the
true friends of labor who are urging
upon it a wise conservative use of its
powers in the place of a wasteful exhibi
tion of those powers.—Detroit Free
Not a Rooster.
An old negro who had succeeded in
securing an appointment as deputy
sheriff and who was placed on guard
near a machine shop to guard the prop
erty, called on the sheriff.
"Why, Anderson, I thought you were
"What made you come away?"
"Wall. I 'eluded dat 1 didn' need dat
two dollars an' er ha'f er day. Mighty
good money an' all dat but I must git
criming widout it."
"You are not afraid, are you?"
"Oh, nor. sail, ain't erfecred. but
somehow l'se got too much jedgement
ter progic roun' dar. While ergo some
men da conn erlaung an' tole me dat
ef 1 wanted er appetite fur brcckfus
ter-mor' dat I'd better drap dat
gun an' g'wav frum dar. My brabery
tole meter stay but my jedgmcnt den
hopped up an* tole meter drap de gun
an' I drapped it. Lemme tell yer, boss,
I'd ruther hab er ha'fer peck o' jedg
nient den er wagin load o' brabery.
Brabery gits er man inter trouble but
jedgiuent keeps him out. Brabery
'longs ter de rooster but judgment is
de property o' de floserfer. l'se er
floserfcr. Thought I wuz er rooster
but I ain't, so now yer ken keep yer
two dollars an' er ha'f er day. l'se
gwine off' down in de swamp an' ketch
some fish."—Arkansaw Traveler.
An Innocent Man.
The trial of a man for murder had
just commenced in a Dakota court
when the attorney for the defense arose
"If the court please, we have no fear
as to the outcome of this trial. In the
testimony we shall prove that the mur
der was committed four miles from
town at 2 o'clock in the afternoon.
We shall also establish the fact that
there was a circus in town that day."
"Hold on," said the judge excitedly,
"you say there was a circus in town?"
"Yes, sir the Anti-European Con
glomeration showed there that day."
"Yes, I've seen it,—two rings, a
spotted grave-digging hyena, and seven
lady bareback riders. You say the
man was killed about 2 o'clock?"
"Yes, your honor."
"Just the time of the ring parade?"
"The same time."
'•While the elephant and double
humped camels were going around?"
"The prisoner is discharged. Try
ing to prove that a man was four miles
away from town on such an occasion is
looked upon as malicious prosecution
by this court. The unfortunate gentle
man who was found dead without doubt
committed suicide when he relized
that he was in that kind of a position
himself."—Estellinc (Dakota) Dell.
THE ORIGIN OF ENGRAVING.
TJio Art Which Preserves Forjjottcn
There arc few chapters in the history
of art of greater interest than those
which unfold to us the discovery of for
gotten treasures, and revoal the exist
ence of works which had long ago pass
ed out of remembrance. The intimate
connection between the invention of
engraving and the art of the silver
smith, or rather that branch of the sil
versmith's work which consists of the
changing of an outline into a plate of
precious metal to be subsequently filled
up with dark-colored enamel, and so
called nello work, was never appre
ciated until, at t-liCjClose of the last cen
turv. the Abbe Zani found among some
old Italian engravings in the National
Library at Paris a ptint which he rec
ognized as similar in subject to the fa
mous pax, decorated with Niello work,
made by Maso Finiguerra for the bap
tistry of St. John, and paid for, as is
proved by the records, in 1452. This
pax or Assumption was subsequently
transferred fo the cabinet of bronzes in
the galler}' at Florence, where it it now
preserved, and it was proved on com
paring it. with the engraving that the
latter had actually been printed from
the silver plate before the enamel was
fused into the outline, prior, therefore,
to 1452. On the strength of this dis
covery Finiguerra has, ever since the
year 17%, been credited with the inven
tion of producing engravings on paper
from metal plates. There, seems little
reason to doubt, as has often been
pointed out, that many silversmiths of
the fifteenth century may have been in
the habit of obtaining trials of then
work in progress, as did Finiguerra,
perchance, when he produced this his
torical print, representing Christ crown
ing the virgin, from his work on the
Florentine pax. It may indeed have
been, together with the well-known
sulphur casts, a recognized mode of ob
taining a record of the niello work,
which had been practiced for many
years previous to the time, in question,
though no such paper impressions of
an earlier date than this have been
handed down to u«. It was a common
practice to take proofs of the work by
means of sulphur casts long previous to
1-152, as numerous specimens of such
casts ftwo sulphur casts of Finigucrra's
pax are still in existence,) have been
preserved to us, but it is difficult to say
who was the first bold innovator who
substituted a piece of paper for the sul
phur, ami thus originated the precious
art of engraving. The story of the
wet linen, which aecidently gave the
idea to Finiguerra, is generally treated
as fiction by those who have studied
this subject.—Art Journal.
Tom Corwin's Ready Repartee,
John C. Calhoun once pointed to a
drove of mules just from Ohio and said
to Corwin: "There go some of your
constituents." "Yes," said Tom,
gravely, "they are going down South
to teach school."' Governor Brough
was oncc matched against Corwin, and
in the midst of his speech said: "Gen
tlemen. my honored opponent himself,
while he preaches advocacy of home in
dustry. has a carriage at home which
he got in England—had it shipped
across the ocean to him. How is that
for supporting home industry and la
When Corwin came on the stand he
made a great show of embarrassment,
stammered, anil began slowly: "Well,
gentlemen, vou have heard what mv
friend Mr. brough has to say of my
carriage. I plead guilty to the charges,
and have only two things to say in my
defense. The first is that the carriage
came to me from an English ancestor
as an heirloom, and I had to take
it. Again, I have not used it for seven
years, and it lias been standing in my
back yard all that time, and the chick
ens have converted it into a roost.
"Now. gentlemen," with a steady look
at Brough, "I have nothing further to
say in my defense: but I would like to
know how Brough knows anything
about my carriage if he has not been
visiting my chicken roost."
One of the neatest rostrum retorts
ever recorded was made by Corwin to
Tom Hauler, who was also noted as a
wag and a stump speaker of great pow
er. It was in 1840. and a joint debate
was being held between the two in the
old market house in Columbus. Ilamer
was the leader of the Ohio Democrats
and a member of congress, and in the
course of his remarks denied the "hard
times" which the whigs claimed exist
ed, and said that he had not experi
enced any. As he was holding an ofiice
at a good salary, he opened the road for
Corwin's response. In making his re
ply, he said he would answer Mr.
Hamer's question by asking another.
Yankee fashion, and would take it from
holy writ: "Doth the wild ass bray
when he hath grass, or loweth the ox
over his fodder?" Mr. Ilamer would
take a joke as well as give one. and
laughed heartily with the rest.—Louis
ville Courier Journal.
An Executive Session.
She was the daughter of a senator,
and her sweetheart had been to see her
every evening since Lent had given
them time and opportunity. Her fath
er became somewhat alarmed, aud this
morning he called her into his study.
"Well, papa," she said sweetly, "vou
sent for me. What is it?"
"My dear daughter," he replied, "I
believe Mr. Blank has been to sec you
every night for some time past?"
"And he was here last night?"
"Well, daughter, I want to know
what occurred during your protracted
interview in the parlor. I ask it, my
child, because I have especial reasons
for wishing to know."
"Dear papa," replied the girl, with
tears in her eyes. "I do not doubt
your right to ask what occurred there
but, pada, it was an executive session
and, papa, you would not have me di
vulge the secrets of such a meeting,
The old man said never a word in
reply.— Washington Critic.
A Time For Everything.
Clergyman—I was disappointed not
to see you at prayer meeting last eve
Deacon—I wanted to come but, you
see. we are having a clearing-out sale,
and we kept the store open till 10
Clergyman (sadly)—Ah, my friend, I
am sorry to see you try to serve heaven
and mammon at the same time.
Deacon—I don't try. I never think
of serving heaven in my store. I am
not the man to mix my religion with
busi ness. —Puck.
A FREE LANCE.
Like the fearful shapes that throng
lonely roads on moonlight nights—ter
rible at a distance, but only harmless
shrubs or stumps when we come up to
them—so, nearly every trouble we see
on ahead will disappear before we reach
it, if we simply go bravely on our way
and do not notice it. And most of the
serious entanglements of life will clear
up and satisfactorily arrange them
selves if we will only do our duty and
refuse to worry over them.
The angler's instinct: The eagle's
spirit when soaring over mountain crag
and sea, the lion-like ambition to over
come, the exultation that must fill the
spider's heart when a fly struggles in
his web, the emotion the rattlesnake
knows when lie throws his deadly length
at the careless foot treading too near.
I know all these! And in these only I
know life as worth living.
With his first taste of human blood
the tiger's fear of man vanishes for
ever. He becomes a man-eater, and
his fangs revel in human flesh. It is
just so with the mail-tiger—the desper
ado. Reared, perhaps under the re
straining power of a gentle mother's
teaching, and surrounded by kindly in
fluences, (he fire in his blood cools his
veins for years, but some day the
change comes. It may be a wicked
book, or a wicked companion. It may
be the one deadly ingredient that lurks
in the bottom of every social glass, and
so often combines with the latent nihil
istic spirit, in perhaps every man's
breast, that starts him upon his wicked
way. He soon finds himself at war
with all law, and, after awhile, the un
tramelled life acquires an irresistible
fascination. He becomes a man-tiger,
and. like his brother brute, dies at the
hands of the •world he hates.
It is better to be well-dead than ill
married. A man can, and generally
docs, make a fool of himself when he
marries but once dead he is safe—un
less they go behind the returns on the
poor fellow. At least, he can commit
no new mistakes. If a man must inar
ry, however, it is well to marry for
money, then, like the clown, he can
console himself with the thought that
he is a fool for pay.
The contempt of the world is nothing
to the terrible heart sickness a man
knows who feels a sincere, inexpressi
ble contempt for himself. A false step,
the work of a rash, unreasoning mo
ment, may place him where it is his
seeming duty to tread a lowly path
must grovel where once he soared must
know that every eye is bent upon him
in utter contempt. If a truly brave
man at heart, or a hypocrite, he can
assure himself that it is simply right to
go uncomplainingly on, as he becomes
day by day more surely the thing he
once despised—and it may be. But,day
and night, his self-contempt inflicts
merited punishment. Duty sinks out of
sight, and he can only writhe in impo
tent anguish, while he fritters his igno
ble life away on unworthy objects,
among unworthy companions. Thomas
Co I quit If in Peck's Sun.
She Paid Too Much.
Late on Friday evening a man about
40 years of age stood upon the Globe
bridge, at Woonsocket, with his wife
beside aim, threatening to commit sui
cide by jumping into the Blackstone
river if she did not give him 25 cents.
The wife pleaded and begged, saying
she needed the money to purchase food
with, and he would only spend it for
drink should she give it to him. Ho
placed his hand on the railing to the
bridge and again shouted to his better
half to give him the money or over he
would go. She implored the crowd of
people who had gathered near to save
him. but no one interfered. A voice
from the crowd sang out: "Let him
go," but she still clung to him. Final
ly she released her hold, and, putting
her hand in her pocket, brought forth
a silver quarter and placed it in his
hand. He seized it eagerly, and start
ed on a lively run for a saloon near by,
while the poor woman started for her
home to offer a prayer for him whose
life she thought she had saved for 25
A Plea tor the Cockroach.
Dr. J. L. Wood has written a
thoughtful article for the Youth's Com
panion.. upon "Training the Cock
roach." We are glad to see some at
tention attracted to this important but
comparatively neglected art. Hereto
fore all efforts to establish social rela
tions with the cockroach have been on
his side. If instead of coldly repelling
his advances, the right hand of fellow
ship was extended to the cockroach, it
is not unlikely that he would develop
qualities of head and heart that would
make him a valued and honored mem
ber of society. The cockroach has none
of the groveling instincts that charac
terize the bed-bug or the sly, disreputa
ble traits that bar the flea from the con
fidence of man. If he can be weaned
from his unnatural taste for paste and
morbid desire to utilize pies as mauso
leums for his dead there is apparently
no limit to the possibilities of his moral
and intellectual development. The
Nothing to Fear.
"Have you spoken to father, George,
dear?" she asked, and the voice which
came from under the lapel of his coat
fairly trembled with happiness. "Have
you begged his consent to
"No, I didn't think it was necessary,"
George replied, "because he has always
been so friendly and cordial with me.
Only yesterday he slapped me on the
back and gave me a good cigar, and
told me how well I was looking, and
that I must come up to the house as
often as I could, and that you would al
ways be glad to see me, and we could
have the parlor to ourselves every night
if we wanted it, and
"Dear father," interrupted the voice,
"perhaps I had better break the news
to him myself."—New York Sun.
It Will Take Time.
"Has your father got his affairs
wound up yet?" said a Cleveland man
to young Mr. Flatt. whose paternal par
ent, Flatt, the jeweler, recently made
an assignment. "No." answered the
youth, "an' he ain't likely to get 'em
wound up inside of twenty years."
"How so?" cried the astonished citizen.
"Why, his assets are mostly in Water
bury watches."—Cleveland Sun.
A New Mexico obituary closes witk the
words: "Her tired spirit was released frun
the pain-racked body and soared aloft to eter
nal rest in the realms of eeleatial glory at 4:80,
Blanche Willis Howard is said to be at work
on another novel. She is now ia German/.
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