Newspaper Page Text
CHAS. CK MOREAU, Editor and Publisher.
VOL. 11. A PRAIRIE HEROINE. slip were scch a white ’n' soft 'n' fluffy ultilc thing, so kind of hy 'n' skenry, 1 hot when she settled down Into our stuffy 'Jld schoolhouse to teach the kids last spring, 1 could n’ liken her to any other thing, Only jest to one of them thcr leary t4UJc weak old chickens. Hed n’ no sand. Very lust day dim’ on the dest ’n’ hollered Like a pup kl-ote,*’cause a Jorby mouse Oame a gallivantin’ round about the house, N’ fainted dead away when a flannel-collared fllow-snake poked his head up through a crack In the shaky ♦oor, ’n’ could n’ wriggle back, so when ther’ rolled a flood of prairie Are I’het teched high-water mark, ’n’, swellln’ higher. Washed through the bloomin’ plain a dreary, black Death ’n’ destruction littered racln’-lrack— Thout warnin’ caught the schoolhouse In Its hand, Tossed It about, ’n’ swept It from the land— Wo knowed the little ma’am ’u’d'lose her head, ’B’ dasen't even hope the hull school wasn’t dead. Wo can t be blamed fer feelln’ purtygay Thet evenin’ when a worrit neighbor found her Out on the plowin’ more’n a mile away— A little sco ohed by teasin’ flames in play, But with our nestlln’s huddled safe around her. —Doano Robinson, In Century, MONTMORENCY CRANE. A Lost Opportunity That Brought „ Him Happiness. Montmorency Crane had been brought up to believe that he was to “come into his property” when his majority was attained. But on the morning of that eventful day his mother had revealed to him, in a long and serious interview, that his “property” existed nowhere but in his own imagination. ''l have done everything for the best,” Mrs. Crane had said in conclusion. “In stead of scraping and pinching to save you a few pitiful thousands, I have, on the Contrary, brought you up with the most expensive habits, and to associate with only the richest people. I have not spared any pains to turn you out a gentleman; in fact, the last" of my ready money has gone for your initia tion at the Howling Exclusives’ club, and to set you up with your horse and trap, with just sufficient in reserve to pay your expenses at Saratoga for the summer. I have kept back absolutely nothing for myself, and now have only my small annuity to live on, which, as you know, dies with me. It is true that I have accustomed you to look forward to a brilliant future, but that future now depends entirely upon yourself." Montmorency moved uneasily. “But what do you expect me to do?” he asked, after a short pause. “You must marry money, of course,” was his mother’s reply. Montmorency changed color, and, while he played with his eye-glass in a helpless sort of way, a vision of pretty Jennie, the lodging-house keeper’s daughter, down th* street, rose sud denly before him. “But suppose—l should prefer— er— going into business?” he ventured, ten tatively, “That would never do, Montmoren cyl’ Mrs. Crane said, decisively. “You haven’t brains enough for anything in the world but to be a gentleman! You are all Crane, my dear hoy; and there “ever was such a fool about money matters as your poor dear father!” Late that same afternoon, as Mont morency drove in his neat turnout down the street, he was still revolving in his mind all that his mother had said dur ing that fateful interview; and he could not help acknowledging a certain jus tice in her conclusions. Indeed, he was in so deep a study that he forgot to look up at Jennie’s window until after he had passed by. Then, glancing back over his shoulder and catching sight of her pretty, smiling face, he groaned in the anguish of his spirit. But by evening, when he gave a dinner to a party of his intimates at the club, in honor of the occasion, he had himself in hand so well that he was able to respond to their toasts with even a feeble show of wit, and to dodge their most searching questions relative to his "property”" and his future plans. “You see, hoys, I really haven’t de cided anything yet,” he said at last, with a fine assumption of candor, “ex cept that I shall spend my summer in Saratoga.” Without his mother’s assistance, Montmorency would never have been able to make his choice among all the rich and pretty girls he met at the springs. But Mrs. Crane was too wise to let her son run the risk of a, refusal, and soon she had settled upon a handsome and spirited young woman from the west. “There’s your opportunity, Mont morency,” she said. “Pork-packers, with enormous wealth! The old peo ple are good-hearted, but common. They have come east on purpose to marry their only child to a gentleman, and they don’t care what it costs them. You can’t afford to be too particular, and the girl has sjyle and spirit. Be sides, a wife always rises to the rank of her husband. Montmorency, your path lies clear before you. ust do as I tell you, and as soon as you get things settled 1 shall go home with an easy mind.” J Notwithstanding that Montmorency had come of age, he apparently had no will apart from his mother’s; and, hav ing followed her instructions to the let ter,it was not long before he found him self the accepted suitor of the handsome Edna Barlow,' of Chicago. But, in spite of his enviable position as prospective son-in-law to one of the richest men ' n the west, Montmorency was 16w-spirited and miserable, and his avoidance of his lonmjr associates gav ®te Sea iwl fell. color to the story, that was generally circulated, that “Monty had been caught by a couple of old schemers for their handsome daughter.” For all Montmorency knew, his fair fiancee might be a charming young woman; but somehow—poor fellow!— he had never felt quite at his ease in her presence since the day she had pas sively allowed him to slip the brilliant solitaire, still unpaid for, upon the slim third finger of her small left hand. One afternoon, however, it chanced that the two were sitting alone togeth er, side by side, and Montmorency was emboldened to let his arm slip down from the back of the sofa upon which it had been resting, and, encircling her slender waist, he bent forward to press a lover-like salute upon the tempting cheek. The first attempt at gallantry was met by a sudden and stinging repulse. With the vigorous box which fell upon his ear it seemed, for moment, that the room had turned upside down. Then, as things righted themselves and his scattered wits returned, Montmorency saw his fiancee erect before him with angry eyes and flaming face. “Don’t dare to touch me! Do you hear?” she cried. “Oh, I hate you! I hate you! What shall 1 do?” “You hate me,” Montmorency echoed, in a slow, puzzled way, “and yet you’re going to marry me! Why, what does it all mean?” Her slim fingers were interlacing nervously. “I cannot help it,” she said, half defi antly, half in desperation. "They will have it so! But, until then—until then, at least—you shall not touch me! I will not permit it!” A great light broke in upon Montmo rency’s slow intelligence, and with it all shadow of resentment died away. “Poor girl! I’m sorry,” he said, simply. “You see, there are—two of us in this fix. Come, let’s talk it over reasonably. Isn’t there something we can do?” After this breezy little episode, to which, fortunately, there had been no witnesses, tranquillity was restored. Nay, more, a certain cordial under standing seemed to exist between the engaged couple, which the fond parents of the bride-elect regarded with evident delight. Instead of avoiding Montmorency, as she had done at first, Edna now actual ly betrayed impatience if he failed to come at the accustomed hour. .Myste rious letters frequently passed between them; and the girl no longer invented impossible excuses to avoid the tete-a tete drives with her betrothed in his jaunty turnout. One beautiful, bright September morning, however, Montmorency, ap pearing rather earlier than usual, re ceived the intelligence that a sudden indisposition would prevent his fair fifincee from accompanying him upon his drive. After expressing much re gret and promising to return in the hope of seeing her later in the day, Montmorency drove away alone. Once out of sight of the hotel, he whipped up his horse and fairly flew along the level road, until, just beyond a turning, Edna herself appeared, all smiles and sudden blushes, lie paused then, but only long enough to help her up beside him, and, more swiftly than ever, they spun away, until he drew up at last before a quiet country church, where a good-looking young stranger from the west was awaiting them with hardly repressed impatience. A hurried, ecstatic conversation fol lowed, and then the trio hastened up the aisle together to where the fore warned minister, with his witnesses, stood in readiness. The mamage service was begun, and at the question: “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” Montmorency stepped forward, and, with an elegant air of importance and satisfaction, he placed the hand of his beautiful betrothed into that of the other fellow. The brief ceremony was ended, and when they were again in the vestibule, the smiling bride turned to Montmor ency with outstretched hands. “You are more than a gentleman, you’re a perfect angel!” she cried. “We never could have done it without you; and—and—and—you may kiss me now, if you like! “It’s awfully hard on the dear old people,” she continued, regretfully, after the short pause caused by Montmor ency’s now permitted salute. “But they can’t help forgiving their only child by and by, for, after all, their greatest desire was for my happiness. Only they wanted to see it accomplished in their own way, and they couldn’t be lieve that I’d never be happy with any one but John, the dearest fellow in all the world,” smiling up at the radiant bridegroom, “though 1 must say, Mont morency, you do come next!” John’s outburst of hearty gratitude was cut short by Montmorency’s ob servation that train time v*as fast ap proaching. So, having seated them in the dog-cart side by side, Montmorency sprang up in the groom’s place behind, and they drove away gayly to the near est railroad station. At the very last minute Edna slipped something into Montmorency’s hand. “I’m so sorry, I almost forgot it,” she said, “but here it is, and I’m sure you'll want it again very soon for—you know whom!” The train came rushing down its iron pathway, paused a moment, and then rolled on its way, carrying into their new life these two so newly bound to gether for better or for worse, and Montmorency was left standing on the platform, twirling a sparkling ring be- “I’EA.riX.IISS XJNT AT.T. THINGS.” BAY ST. LOUIS, MISS., SATURDAY, JULY 29, 1893, tween his fingers, while, with a peculiar smile upon his.lips, he thought of the jeweler’s unpaid bill and of how he had deliberately thrown away h s golden “opportunity,” and had thereby shat tered mother's fondest hopes. The storm which broke with the dis covery of Edna's runaway marriage with her old western lover was an un pleasant one to weather, even although her parents never dreamed of the part Montmorency had played in their daughter’s elopement. His position now, at best, was an awkward one, and he was glad to make his exit from the scene at Saratoga as speedily as possi ble. But at home he found it even worse, for there he had to face his mother’s bitter disappointment, and her con stant lamentations and reproaches made his life miserable. So one fine morning, having actually succeeded in persuading pretty Jennie into following Edna's example, he bold ly presented his blushing bride to his astounded mother. This, then, was the ending of her ambitious dreams! That Montmorency should have risen in such open rebel lion, after submitting himself to her authority so long, was a cruel and crush ing blow to the elder Mrs. Crane. She gave no voice to her anguish now, for this grief was too deep for tears; but she packed up her most cherished be longings and without delay went over to Italy, where she had been told that she could not only live comfortably on her annuity, but with even a semblance of luxury, determined to end her days a voluntary exile from the country where her ungrateful son had fallen a victim to his own short-sighted folly. “Montmorency has had his opportu nity and missed it!” she said, bitterly. "But I might have known how it would be, for he’s Crane to the backbone, and the Cranes are all soft-hearted and ob stinate and perfect fools wherever money is concerned!” Montmorency’s first care, after hia fall from grace, had been to dispose of his jaunty turnout and to resign from the Howling Exclusives’ club; and by so doing he had dropped out of sight, nay, had sunk fathoms beneath the no tice of his old set of acquaintances and chums. All this Mrs. Crane the elder had foreseen, but worse was yet to come; and when she learned that her fallen idol had actually accepted the situation of clerk in a fashionable dry goods shop, which was the only position which offered itself to his limited capa bilities when Montmorency set out to fight the battle of life for Jennie’s sup port and his own, she felt that, though the ocean rolled between them, she could never hold up her head again. But when, a year later, Montmorency wrote of his unexpected good fortune, and how a fine and lucrative position in one of the largest pork-packing' houses of the country had been given him, through the influence of his former fiancee, now happily reconciled with her parents, her motherly fondness be gan to get the better of her anger. And now she is actually contemplat ing a trip to her native land next sum mer, ostensibly to visit the Columbian exposition, but, in reality, because, hidden deep in the recesses of her fond though foolish heart is a great longing to sec Montmorency again and to make the acquaintance of his infant son.— Judith Spencer, in N. Y. Ledger. A FORGETFUL WOMAN. She Seemed to Have Occasional Fits ol Remembering. “It’s cur’ous how fergitful some folks are, now aint it?” inquired Mr. Jakes, the village plumber, carpenter and sheriff, in a ruminative tone. "There’s people that’ll fergit arrants an’ jobs an’ bills an’ days o’ the week an’ so on; an’ I’ve even heard tell of folks that would fergit their own names, now an’ agin.” “Yes, I’ve heard mention made of jest sech cases,” said Abijah Snow, whe was watching Mr. Jakes solder a good-sized hole in the bottom of the Snow tea kettle. “Well, I h'lieve there’s a woman in this town beats 'em all for fergittin’,” said Mr. Jakes. 1\ ho’s that?” inquired his customer, with mild interest. "It's Mis’ Willard Franklin,” replied Mr. Jakes. “She’s got inter the habit of cornin' over to our house twice a week, or sometimes oftener, as ’t hap pens. An’ it’s a queer thing, but if you’ll h’lieve me, she sets an’ sets, an’ fergits all about Willard till we’ve had a good square dinner; an’ within ten minutes after we’ve cleared everythin’ off’n the table she’ll rec’llect him, an’ start for home.” Mr. Jakes shot one glance at Mr. Snow, and Mr. Snow returned it, as he said slowly: “S’pose the fact of Willard’s bein’ sech a scanty pervider an’ your spread in' a lib'ral table could hev anythin’ to do with it?” “They say you can’t ever tell what doos affect folks’ memory—or fergit- Wj’) ’ said Mr. Jakes, in a non-commit tal tone; and then he blew out his light and he and Mr. Snow indulged in a couple of dry chuckles as the kettle changed hands.—Youth’s Companion. —lntuitive Knowledge.—“ Now, Bob bie.” said the teacher in natural his tory, “what is a panther?” “A man that makthe panth,” lisped Bobbie.— Puck. —lf happiness in this life is your ob ject, don’t try too hard to get rich.— Gam’s Horn. CAPTURED A THIEF. Btory of a Bear Who Win a Successful Detective. Not a bear that went around with a policeman’s hat upon his head and a club stuck in a belt at his waist; but he captured a thief as easily as though he did. Ilis name was Bruin, and he be longed to an Italian who traveled from town to town, making Bruin dance for a living for them both. Late one afternoon he stopped at a farmhouse and begged to stay all night, lie ordered Bruin to dance for the chil dren and then shut him up in the barn for safekeeping. During the night the family were aroused by a great noise coming from the barn, someone cry ing; “Help! Help!” The farmer ran to the spot, followed by Bruin’s master. They found the bear with his arms around a man’s neck, hugging him tightly. The bear was muzzled so he could do the man no great harm, although he was terri bly frightened. He proved to be a dishonest neigh bor who had come to the barn to steal a fine calf. In the darkness he had stumbled over the bear, who hud seized him and held him fast. His master, learning how matter? stood, called out: “Hug him, Bruin!" The bear continued to hug him until the farmer, thinking ho had been pun ished enough, told the Italian to make the bear release him. Bruin was given a great piece of honey-comb ns a re ward, and no doubt he wished that he could catch a thief every day.—Louise Thrush Brooks, in Our Little Ones. PETER, THE MINT BIRD. An Eagle Who Was a Ward of the Amer ican Government. If you have a silver dollar of 1830, 1838 or 183!), or one of the first nickel cents coined in 1858, you will find upon it the true portrait of an American eagle that was for many years a fa miliar sight in the streets of Philadel phia. “Peter,” one of the finest eagles ever captured alive, was the pet of the Philadelphia mint, and was generally known as the “mint bird.” Not only did he have free access to every part of the mint, going without hindrance into the treasure vaults where even the treasurer of the United States would not go alone, but he used his own pleasure in going about the city, flying over houses, sometimes perching upon lamp-posts in the streets. Everybody knew him and admired him and oven the street boys treated him with re spect. The government provided his daily fare, and he was as much a part of the mint establishment as the su perintendent or the chief coiner. He was so kindly treated that he had no fear of anybody or anything, and ho might be in the mint yet if he had not sat down to rest upon one of the great fly-wheels. The wheel started without warning, and Peter was caught in the machinery. One of his wings was broken, and he died a few days later. The superintendent had his body beau tifully mounted, with the wings spread to their fullest extent; and to this day Peter stands in a glass case in the mint’s cabinet, where you may see him whenever you go there. An exact por trait of him as he stands in the case was put upon the coins named. CAUSE FOB THANKS, j| Boy—Father sent me up to say that he would bo very thankful if you wouldn’t lay any more carpets to-night — he can’t sleep— B Flat—Go down and tell your father not to let m3* hammering pre vent him from feeling thankful; tell him to be thankful his carpets are laid —and, above all, to be thankful he sent you up instead of coming himself. Git out!—Puck. She Saw. Husband—You'll have to discharge Dinah, and do the cooking yourself. Wife—Mercy on usl Are you losing your money? Husband—No, but I’m losing my ■health. Wife—Oh, f see. Husband —Yes. The doctor says I sat to rjuch.— N. Y. Weekly. A BIRD’S WAY. "O robins on the a;>p;e bonghal Come down come flown to tea." Cried Dolly by the garden wall; “there's quite enough for ihree OI sugar lumps and macaroons. But as lor cups and silver spoon* Only enough lor me. “Come down upon the garden wall, dear robin* do:" she plead, "And take a sip of cambric tea." But, ere th( words were said, Those, towns vanished—every one— And, on a tree top in the sun, They took a worm Instead. —Mary A. Lathbury, in Wide Awake. AFRICAN MEERKATS. They Make Interesting Family Pets Whei Well Trained. The meerkat of South Africa ro sembles in its habits and character!* tics the pi-airio dog of America, bui it is much more cunning- and intelli gent and makes a charming pet, being easily tamed. In the south African karroo the meerkat lives in little col onics like the prairie dog, and travelers driving through the veldt will come across families of them sitting upright in the sun and maintaining their posi tions until they are approached quite closely,when they scatter like mice and run into their holes. They are very pretty, bright-eyed, nimble little crea tures, soft and furry, easily tamed and very fond of their captors. They arc so quaintly made and marked that one entertains the idea that they have been sewed into their skins by hand, and the curious scam which extends their entire length, and the neat way in which their dainty claws and small feet and ears are finished off, adds to this process of the Imagination. They arc very fond of dogs, of whom even of the largest they are not afraid, and the tame meerkat invariably chooses for a soft pillow the outstretched form of the skyc or coolie in the family, and burrows in the warm coat with great satisfaction. They love the sun and may be seen early in the morning, lurked Inwards in their THE MEEKKAT. peculiar manner and blinking with satisfaction as they feel the warm rays enveloping them. The meerkat follows its owner when adopted, much as a faithful dog docs, and is a more picturesque object. It is full of tricks, steals boldly anything it wants, and is brimful of mischief. Then, when it is scolded for its naugh tiness, it sits up and begs forgiveness in such a funny attitude of mock hu mility that the rogue is at once taken into favor and caressed like a naughty child. Thcoe little creatures have a natural faculty of changing into different shapes and postures with lightning-like rapidity. At one moment the meerkat is quite a formidable animal, sitting up and regarding you with large, serious eyes. Then it is as soft and limber as a bag of feathers, stretched out on the ground, and it can curl itself into a hall and roll into a corner, where its bits of ears and clusters of feet resem ble the ornaments on some decorative object. Indeed, to look pretty and be guile its owners with its mimic way* seems to be its sole object in life. Occasionally a docile and apparently happy tamo meerkat will suddenly go back to its wild life, which it can never again be induced to leave, not even by its chosen playmates, the dogs, with which it has been happily associated. Many <\t these little animals are taken to Europe by travelers, and domiciled among other household pets, where they are regarded as objects of curiosity and made much of in conse quence, for no matter how many larger or older pets may be in the family, the lordly meerkat at once assumes and keeps the egotistical attitude of a spoiled child.—Detroit Free Dress. Job's Comforter. First Dog—A had boy has tied a cracker to my tail. Second Dog—Never mind. It will Boon go off. TERMS: SI.OO Per Annum in Advance Deplorable Ignorance. “I think Samfire is the luckiest man I know anything about,” remarked Snooper. “What particular piece of luck haaj he struck now?” asked Skidmore. “He put up a 85,090 house on a lot which cost him 83,000, and sold the place for nearly 812,000.” “I don't see anything lucky in that.” “Don't you? Nothing lucky in a nnoflt of 84,000?” “You didn’t say ho made a profit of $4,000.” “Well, I thought you could add it up for yourself. Three thousand for the lot and five thousand for the house make eight thousand, and the sum of the two subtracted from twelve thou sand leaves four, don’t it?” “You poor deluded man.” “What’s the matter?” “I see that you never built a $5,000 house.”—Life. Didn't Know. " K I should steal a kiss from you, Pray, pretty maid, what would you do?” With eyelids drooped, she murmured: "Well, Until you do how can I tell?" —Brooklyn Life. J DAD TO DE LOUD. Penrose Pennington Mose, a in’ dat suit a little loud? Mose—Yes. It belonged to a man dat was deaf.—Judge. Caught In Her Own Trap. When she assured me that I might Look on her always as a sister, I exercised a brother’s right. And most affectionately kissed her. —Truth He Objected. “Since you are to be my sister,'’ sold he, “Instead of my wife, ns you say, You cannot object to bestowing on me A kiss In a sisterly way." Bhe smiled and replied with Ingenious air: "If a kiss you are wanting, dear brother. Just step right Into tho sitting-room there And affectionately kiss our mother.” —Kansas City Journal A Man of the People. Hungry Higgins—l tell you, old fel ler, this here man Gladstone is a fel ler I would like to meet and shake by the hand. Weary Watkins—Why? Hungry Higgins—This here paper says that he has wore the same collar for twenty years or more.—lndianapo lis Journal. Not Portable, Luckily. The Depositor—So Mr. SkipwithCash has left tho bank? The New Cashier—Yes, and it’s about all he did leave.—Truth. TO KRH 18 HUMAN. He (anxiously)—Do you think youi father would ever consent to our mar riage? She (carefully)— I don’t know. Papa Is just like all other men —so I suppose he makes mistakes sometimes.—Brook lyn Life. A Delicate Compliment. To be able to compliment without seeming to flatter is a rare gift, and probably no race of men are endowed with that gift more extensively than the French. An example of the Frenchman’s rare tact in matters of this sort is shown in that sweet little story of a man who had ventured to compliment a white haired old lady on her beaaty. “Ah,” said she, “I fear you flatter me. You call me pretty? Why, lam nn old woman, my hair is white, and, see, here is a wrinkle.” “A wrinkle?” he replied. "Never, madamc; that is not a wrinkle. It is but a smile that has drifted from its moo <ings.” NO. 29.