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The Kootenai herald. [volume] (Kootenai, Idaho) 1891-1904, November 21, 1891, Image 8

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn86091083/1891-11-21/ed-1/seq-8/

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William Eaton
J
-DEALER IN
GENERAL MERCHANDISE
Pioneer Store of the Kootenai Valley. Will continue to carry a well
assorted stock of
M iners'and Ranchers'Supplies
AND
MEET ALL COMPETITION.
Eaton, Idaho, Near Bonner's Ferry.
THE v PORTLAND v HOUSE.
C. S. KENYON & CO., Proprietors.
A Restaurant and Short-Order House.
Newly opened and fitted up in first-class style. Table supplied with
the best the market affords. Furnished rooms.
HUNTER'S OLD STAND, KOOTENAI.
<<1THE KOOTENAI!*
Harness 7 Shop
—CARRIES—
Harne.-?, Saddles, Robes, Blankets, Whips, Etc.
J. M. TOWNSEND,
Kootenai, l<laho*
The Inland Line
—CARRIES—
PASSENGERS, EXPRESS AND FREIGHT
—BETWEEN—
Kootenai,
BONNER'S FERRY.
Crossport
a I
AND—
Stages Connect with Steamer at Bonner's
Ferry to and from Brltisb Columbia.
Skinner- & Co.,
KOOTENAI, IDAHO.
FROM TERMINAL OR INTERIOR POINTS
-THE
-IS THE EINE TO TA K E TO
All Points East and South
It Is the Dining-Car Route.
II rum through vestihuled train« t*?ery day m the year
St. Paul and Chicago,
Cl.aiiK** »f Car*),
(N
—COMPOSED OF
Dining Cars Unsurpassed,
Pullman Drawing-Room Sleepers of Latest!
Equipment,
TODK18T SI.KKPINO CARS,
Rent ? iiAt o*i• It« ctmsfcr noted and iu which accommoda
tion« aro both free and furninhed for holders of first or
»coni da«« tickets, and
Elegant Day Coaches.
continuous Hue connecting with «11 lines, affording
direct and uninterrupted serrice. Pullman
sleeper reservations can lie secured
cut of the
through any a g
THROUCH TICKETS
To and from all point* in America, England and Korop»
based at any ticket office of this cuu # any
f trains,
routes and other details furnished on upnlicatiou to any
agent, or A. D CHARLTON,
Assistant (ieneral Passenger Agent, No. 121 First street,
corner of Washington, Portland. Or.
TINE TABLE.
can be pure
Fall information concerning rates, time
The following Mme card indicates the time of
arrival of traitis at Kootenai etatiou:
BART- BOUND.
.9:31 A. M.
.2:28 A. M.
6:05 F. M.
Atlantic Mall
Atlantic Kxpre*«
Accommodation
WKHT-BOUNP.
.2:37 a. m.
.2:10 r. m.
.8:03 a M.
Pacific Mail
Pacific Kxpre»».
Accommodation
H. A. MINIHLV, Agent,
Kootenai, Idaho.
SMITH'S
Passenger, Hxpess
—AND
Fast Freight Line
—■
—BETWEEN—
Kootenai, Bonner's Ferry and
Crossport.
Tlil» I* the route for all point« on the Kootenai
river and lake. 8. w. SMITH. Proprietor.
°<ithe kootenaii*
Meat v Market.
J. J. LUNZ, Proprrieto,
i
i
WHOLKSALB AND ItUf.UI, I>K A I.KKsi IN
Fresh and Salt Meats.
Hides and Furs Bought.
DAVE'S
Concert and Dancing Every Evening.
<KITHE PALACES
I» the place to »pend a pleasant hour, or to ret
Kood
Wines, Liquors and Cigars
I
We arc prepared to do all kiuds of commercial
j job priming at the
Lowestv Living': Rates.
,
;
1
'
t
OUR OFFICE IS FITTED OUT
—WITH—
j
All New Material
I
W« do oar own work, with new typ« aad
pré»»»« , and therefore have better facllitie* than
auy other office in Kootenai county.
ACROSS THE DUNES.
Arrow the mousing ocean aca fog« roll
To ktae once more to life tlie hud pare lied hills;
The breaker» roar aloud: the tog bel]» toll;
A lonely sea cun'» cry the cold air 1111».
A croon the Randy dunes where lupin», »weet
With golden glory, utorm and wiud defy,
And bunch graes ware« and tangles 'ueath the
feet,
A man plods wearily and «tope to aigli,
And look» with hungry eye« beyond the haze.
The veil of mist be tries to penetrate.
What secret drear 1« In that famished gaze?
What yearning burns that soul insatiate f
A solitary bouse the landscape break».
And at it« door stand» one with sorrow worn.
In solitude »he wait« for death, and aches
Her heart and soul, with grief and longing torn.
What fate has made their pathways cross again?
And yet, though near, their eyes may never
meet.
One step he takes. Ah, God 1 the cry restrain !
Hi» face is turned away—liis step« from her re
treat.
Bbe sees him not, nor knows he is so near.
Although her soul is fainting for his touch.
Oh, hoartlew fate that will not heed nor hear.
At time« inethioks you ask of us too much !
—West Shore.
and in Florence. The sunset rays lin
gered lovingly it seemed on the broad i
valley of the Arno, touching in a rosy
kiss the spurs of the Apennines and the |
hills on its banks. The quiet, too,—for
the work of the day was over—lent ito :
charm,impressing in particular a traveler
who was walking toward an unpreten
tious inn not far from the river. The
stranger, an Englishman liis dress pro
claimed him, was pleasant to look at in
a way. He was tall and well formed,
with very blonde hair and blue eyes, and \
his features, too, unusually good, but
the mouth, which a light mustache al- j
most concealed, was a selfish one when j
seen without its smile of almost effemi- .
nate sweetness. Is it not Dr. Holmes who f
tells us that God made all the features
but the mouth, and we alone are respou- i
sible for that."
The hahd bag he carried bore the name
Paul Courtland, but let us take a cur- j
sory glance at the owner's early history
and see what has brought him to Flor
ence - - I
Though ill-starred in being bom a
younger sou in an English family of
rank, nevertheless on attaining his ma
iority he came into a goodly fortune left
nim by a relative for whom he was
named. This (lid not last -long. Paul
Courtland was weak and in Paris most
of the time, hut for a while all went
THE FLOWER GIRL
It was a fair evening of early summer
well; his winning smile earned him many j
friends. The men courted his society
for his ready wit, and the women, whose
hearts he so easily won, pitied his mis- !
fortunes. At last, however, the day i
came when he awoke to the fact that he
must work for liis daily bread. He was j
gifted with much talent and an almost I
insane love for painting, so he concluded 1
to set out for Florence, the cradle and
grave of so many of our great masters; 1
there, far away from his old wild life, he j
would start afresh; the teachings of his
dead mother occurred to him and a
touch of holy shame crept into his heart,
He would reform, and, in fact, he be
gan already to look upon himself in that
light; it pleased him from its very nov
elty. 1
Arriving there, as we have said, just
at dusk, liis eye was charmed with the
simple grandeur of the city. To the
north of the river Arno the reader may
remember the picturesque bits of ruin
that are standing, remains of once mighty j
walls. As he approached one of these
he paused. Was it the glory of the
southern sky that pleased him? Was he
dazzled by those wondrous ruby tints?
His glance was not toward the heavens,
but rested on an Italian girl leaning j
against the crumbling gray stones. A
rarely beautiful face it was, shadowed
by the heavy black hair; her lips were
slightly parted in a smile, and the warm
glow of the sunset lighting up the clear
olive skin fairly made him tremble lest
this lovely vision should fade away,
leaving only the ruin in the background,
Cautiously, almost reverently, Paul
Courtland advanced, but still the girl did
not move. Across her scarlet peasant
dress fell a trailing vino of ivy, and in
one little brown hand she held loosely a
bunch of drooping water lilies. As the
j young stranger drew nearer he saw that
I
the child was fast asleep.
"Who is she?" he asked in Italian of a
j
" 'Tis Beatrice Gonzani, our little
j flower girl. Surely, signor, you have
I not been in Florence long? Ah, naughty
child! see, she has fallen asleep! What
will the poor old grandmother he think
ing? Beatrice! Beatrice Mia, wake up,"
and before Courtland could prevent him
he had caught her by the arm.
The young man turned away ; he want
ed to remember the picture as he had
first seen it, toned into wondrous har
mony by the setting sun. Securing a
room at the iun he retired early, not to
sleep peacefully, though, but to dream
of Beatrice. The artist had found his
ideal, he would paint a great work, one
that would make him famous not only
in Florence but throughout Europe. 1
Early the next morning he once more
directed his steps toward the ruin in the
hope of again seeing the beautiful flower
girl. Whose fate was it that led bim,
Beatrice s oi his own?
She was m her usual place, and as the
artist approached he raised his hat cour- ;
teously. I
"Good morning, signorina," he said in :
her native tongue, "I have come to buy
eome of your pretty flowers."
! passer by.
j
"Thank you, signor, which will you
have, roses or lilies?"
"I prefer the lilies, bnt what is the
matter with them, their heads droop?"
" 'Tis because they are sleeping, sig
nor; when the sun comes out brighter
they will open their little golden eyes.
See what a fine bunch this is; that in the
center I call the queen and the others are
paying court to her."
"A pretty idea, Beatrice; I will take
the lilies and the roses also; can you not
tell me some story about them?"
And so Paul Courtland talked 'n; it
was not the face nor the passionate
beauty of the great Italian eyes that
charmed him now; in their place he felt
the influence of the low, musical voice
and the childlike artlessness of her ways.
This was but one of the many visits he
paid her; nearly every morning he would
meet her at the old ruined wall, and grad
ually Beatrice began to look for his com
ing—it. made the day seem lees long.
When at last he asked her to pose as a
model for him she did not think of refus
ing: she was glad to please the signor, who
had been so kind to her. Ho wanted to
paint the flower girl as he had first seen
her on that summer evening, asleep
der a wondrous southern sky. So each
morning she would come to his studio
for a while, wearing the pretty scarlet
peasant dress with some green ivy trail
ing across the skirt. The young English
man worked harder than he had ever
done before; perhaps the great beauty of
his model inspired him, for when the
picture that was to bring him fame and
fortune stood at last completed the
painter felt he could say of his own work
that it was good.
"Come here, Beatrice," he said, "and
tell what you think of it."
"If you like it, signor, then it pleases
me; but what will become of it now that
it is all finished? It is really very fine,
that picture of ours," and she nodded her
head in solemn approval,
He smiled a little at the evident pride
she took in "that picture of ours," and
then he answered her question,
The world shall have it, Cara Mia, if
it pays a good round price, but the little
model—she looked so pretty he could not
resist saying it—will belong to me?" and
he held his hand out to her as he spoke.
Trustingly, confidingly, the young
Italian gave him hers, and Paul Court
land raised it to his lips,
"Very well," he said, "remember you
promised," and then, changing his tone,
"it is time for you to go now, Beatrice,
but first let me give yon a present for
being such a good child and holding so
still."
un
He went to a cabinet and, taking out
a tiny sapphire frame, x - eplaced the por
trait it contained of a French ladj r with
one of liis own.
"This," and he laughed as he gave it
to her, "is a poor exchange for yours,
Adio till to-morrow."
"How kind you are, signor. I can
never thank you enough," and the dark
eyes shone with pleasure as she left the
studio.
"It is only the jewels that delight
her," he said comfortably to himself
he closed the door, "but she is a dear,
good little thing, and I must be careful
for her sake as well as my own. How
foolish I have been for the last few days,
I came to Florence to make my fortune,
not to fall in love with the first pretty
face I met. Beautiful Beatrice! I would
not like to make her unhappy, and she
trusts me so. ' But as yet there's no harm
done; she is only a child and
more for me than I for her." He felt
very noble as he leaned out of the win
dow and called after the retreating fig
ure once more, "Adio." This time,
though, he did not add "till to-morrow."
but "forever." The flower girl heard
the first word only,
The next morning Beatrice went to
the ruin at the accustomed hour to sell
her lilies. Noon passed and made way
for eveniug, but Paul Courtland did not
come. The next day and the next, and
finally a whole month, crept by; still her
young English lover came not, and the
pretty face grew paler as the weeks
wore on.
She knew nothing had happened to
him, for her sharp eyes had described
him once or twice in the distance. Sure
fy he had not tired of her? No! he had
told her once that he loved her and be
was too noble, too good, to utter a false
hood. Perhaps he had lieen very busy
and had not found time to come; Beatrice
as
cares no
caught at this as a last hope.
One sultry afternoon the weary girl
slipped in through the open doorway of
the graud Cathedral of Florence to find
consolation in prayer; tired out with
watching and waiting she fell asleep,
The mighty peal of the organ at last
aroused her, and looking up she saw a
wedding was about to be celebrated,
myriads of candles were burning on the
altar in front of which stood a stately
lady dressed in the purest white. Bea
trice recognized her as the Signorina
Rinezza, the richest heiress in all Flor
ence. Beside her was a distinguished
looking man, very tall and very fair,
Something in his attitude as he stood
there struck sudden terror to Beatrice's
heart; she tried to disjjel the wild fear
and leaned forward the better to see his
face. Just then the service began, she
heard his voice and all doubt was at an j
end—this was Paul Courtiand's wedding ;
day. !
With tightly folded hands and a face
that was terribly white the flower girl ,
heard the service through, heard the
priest pronounce the benediction and
then knew no more. !
Some hours later a priest might hay_e
!
The scene was one of joy and brilliance;
been seen wslicing toward tu« ArnbT
wishing, perhaps, to escape from the
hum of the noisy city and be free to re
flect in peace, lulled by the rippling of
the water transformed to gleaming sil
ver in the moonlight. He paused awhile
on reaching the banks, everything was
so beautiful; he looked long at the starry
heavens, and then his gare wandered to
the shining river at his feet. Suddenly
he started, and a shiver ran through hi*
frame—on the shore he had discerned
something, a woman's form, which the
laughing, cruel waves had left there,
having tired of their prey. The priest
bent down the better to see her face.
Through the tangled black hair, falling
across her breast, shone a cold blue light
as though a tiny star had fallen there
from the sky. But it was not a star, it
was only a ray of moonlight reflected
from a sapphire locket. With
1
a gentle
hand he blushed back the hair and
looked earnestly at the girl; it was such
a serene face, for the passionate eyes
were closed fofever now, that at first he
hesitated as to who it might be. Then
in one hand he saw a bnnch of lilies—
"Yes," he said, " 'tis Beatrice Gonzani,
our little flower girl. May the good
God rest her soul!"—C. E. D. in Tele
ohone.
4
An Apt Kebuk«.
There is a Unitarian clergyman who
is not without a power of keen retort,
and who is none the less gifted with
the grace to command his tongue
rather than allow his tongue to com
mand him. He has in his congregation
one of those women who make a pre
tense of frankness an excuse for rude
ness, and who are given to boasting that
they are plain spoken, when the truth
is that they are simply ill bred and in
solent. This especial lady is wealthy,
and there are not many in the list of
her acquaintances who dare rebuke
her, albeit they do together console
each other for the wounds they suffer
from her tongue by abusing her
roundly.
It chanced that one evening the lady ^
and the clergyman were partners at
whist at the house of a common friend,
and so successful were they that they
won almost every game for the even
ing. Like people who are fond of hav
ing their own way, the lady was in high
humor over the success, and when the
play was over she pushed back her
chair from the table witli the char
aeteristic and graceful remark to her
partner:
"You do play a good game of whist,
Mr. Blank. If you only preached as
well ss you play whist it would be a
treat to go to church to hear you."
The clergyman was quite equal to
the occasion. He kept his temper and
his face under perfect control as he re
plied:
"Thank you. Miss Sharp; but you
know anybody can learn to play whist,
while genius and good breeding come
by grace of God.
Boston Courier.
V
New Circuit Transfer System.
A system has been designed to meet
a new but promising demand for the
use of private telephone and telegraph
facilities by subscribers whose business
with their correspondents at distant
points will not warrant the expense of
a wire for their own use exclusively.
The new system transfers a wire simul
taneously at both ends from one pair
of subscribers to another every live
minutes if desired. The service is di
vided into segments, and if a subscriber
and his correspondent are connected at
one segment they can communicate for
five minutes each hour by paying the
minimum fixed yearly rental for these
facilities.
Should they find that their busmess
required ten minutes each hour they
could be connected to two adjoining
segments, or, if preferred, to one seg
ment on each side of the segment cir
cle, which would enable them to com
municate for five minutes every half
hour. Other subscribers would have
the line for whatever portion of the
time they arranged for, the object be
ing to accommodate subscribers witli
whatever facilities they choose to pay
for.—New York Telegram.
to shout as loud as fifty other men.
cept to lie in it when he was dead.. The
piety of his wife, Artemisia, gave his
name to the tomb and immortality to
her husband's memory, because the
monument she built over his bodv
g ave a worr j t 0 i an guage. The mag
holia bears the name of Pierre Magnol
professor of medicine at Montpellier
ln the Seventeenth century'
j T-,.. , „ □.„„jou . , , ,v
', . , . , , ' 8 ' na *Jh* s
home embalmed In gie dahlia.-Har
1'®''* Youn g People.
V
How Son.« Word» Were Derived.
A stentorian voice is that of one like
the Grecian herald in the Trojan war,
whom Homer describes as ' 'great heart
ed, brazen voiced Stentor, accustomed
A raglan is a loose overcoat with
long sleeves, such as I,ord Raglan wore
In the Crimean war. Wellingtons
boots named after the Iron Duke.
Bluchers are also boots, named after
the commander of Wellington's Prus
sian allies at Waterloo.
are
Any magnificent tomb is called a
mausoleum.
Mausolus, the Carian
king whose name it bears, had nothing
whatever to do with the original
ex-

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