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THE STARKVILLE NEWS.
VOLUME IV. . . ■-"■3lb Gretel’s Letter and Its Unlocked For Consequences $ $ HERE are plenty of letters to | day, gnadige Frau,” smiled the little lady’s maul as she held out to her mistress a tray piled high with New Year’s greetings. Six weeks before the Grafin von Wartenburg had brought to the city the daughter of one of her farmers in order to train her, as a maid, but Gretel was not yet very proficient. “Haw many times must I tell you, child, when you hand me anything, to do it quietly and not talk,” said her mistress as she glanced hastily over the letters. “Wait a moment; here is one for you. Now you can tell me how your parents are.” It was a very wonderful letter and smelled like a whole perfumery shop. Within a brilliant garland of exceed ingly red roses with equally vivid green leaves, among which sported tender white doves, was the address, a masterpiece of elegant penmanship; For Frau’.eln Gretel Schmitt ladies maid to the gracious Grafin von War- Venburg and residing 342 Lindenstrasse. Ber.in, Uermany. For lack of room the middle line disappeared over onto the back of the envelope, but the general effect was very impressive, and justified the eag erness with which Gretel seized her treasure and carried it off to enjoy at her leisure, her plump, rosy face shining with smiles. But presently, the smiles gone and her blue eyes shining with tears, Gretel reappeared at the door of the morning room. “Oh, oh! Mein Himmel, what a ter rible affliction, gracious lady!” “What has happened. Gretel?” asked the grafiu, looking up kindly. “My mother, my dearly beloved mother, is dead,” sobbed the little lady’s maid. “Ach. can it be possible! I received a letter from your father a week ago, and he said that all were well.” “But she is dead; my poor, dear mother is dead! If the gracious lady will only read. Oh, oh, I shall never see her again!” The Grafin, much concerned, took the letter. The fatal epistle left no room to doubt the sad event, although, strange ly enough, it gave no details. Gretel’s brother had been so ill-judged as to choose, on which to write the un happy news, a sheet of paper as bright and gaudy as the envelope, and his filial sorrow was divulged at length between hed and white roses, turtle doves and linked hearts. “My Dear Sister: My letter is about to fill with sorrow your tender heart. Pitiless death has just torn from us her who, after giving us our being, held it a sacred duty to watch and guard us and furnish us. not only with sustenance for the material body, but also for the imperishable soul. “Oh, cruel Death! why did thy cold scythe touch in fury the heart of our beloved, venerated mother? Could not the and love with which we surrounded her have been r. safeguard against, that blow? But our tears are of no avail, and our mother has departed for that re gion of the blessed where she will .receive the reward of her many vir tues. She drew her last breath at midnight, and her parting words were a blessing upon her children. “Be brave in this hour of trial. The burial will take place day after to morrow, and we hope that nothing will prevent you from mingling your tears with ours. “In the deepest sorrow, your brother for life, MAX SCHMITT. “Poor Dame Schmitt!” thought the Grafin. “She deserves a different fu neral oration than this. I did not suppose that our schoolmaster was so idiotic as to dictate such rigamarole to his pupils.” “Well. Gretel, I am very sorry for what has happened,” she said aloud, “and now we must see about getting you started as soon as possible.” Accordingly, it was not long before the little lady’s maid, swathed from head to foot in a long black veil, took her seat in the railway carriage, where her grief was somewhat assuaged by the deep respect paid by her fellow travelers to her elegant mourning. Early In the morning she left the train for the stage coach. Two peasant women with their big market baskets already filled nearly the whole place. “Can I be mistaken,” said one, “Are you not Gretel Schmitt?” “Yes, indeed, it is I, Frau Lopie.” “But what are you doing here? I thought you had gone to the city.” “Have you not heard? My poor dear mother is dead.” “Ach Himmel! Is that true? I saw her at the fair on Thursday, we talked together, and she was perfectly well then.” “Dear me!” said her companion, one of those who know everything before it has happened. “Yes, they told me today that poo r Frau Schmitt was gone. A good woman she was, too.” “Indeed she was.- How did nt hap pen—an accident, perhaps?” inquired Dame Lopie, feelingly. “I do not know,” sobbed Gretel. “I heard the news to-day, in Berlin, and I started home immediately.” At half-past nine she left the coach and hastened her way over the two miles which still separated her from the farm. The bright moon shone full on the road, turning the soft snow to silver and throwing into strong relief the black skeleton of the trees, despoiled of their leaves. Alone for the first time since she had read the sad news, Gretel thought of her mother. Before her the lonely road stretched across the white fields like a dark ribbon, and disappeared into the shadow' of the forest. The poor little lady’s maid thought longingly of the coach she had left, of the compartment full of people, and the noise and bustle of Berlin. Oh, and the still more fearful noises! As she drew near the woods her heart began to beat like a trip-ham mer. It seemed as though voices were whispering in her ears and white forms pointed through the bushes at her side. Suddenly, overcome with terror, Gretel began to run. running until she was out of breath and her flying veil caught on the bushes and bram bles, leaving each clothed in mourn ing. At length she emerged into the moonlight once more, and in another moment was safe in the familiar court yard of her father’s farm. Out of breath, she paused for an in stant on the threshold. At the same moment the door op ened. and Gretel, terror stricken, saw the figure of her mother standing be fore her! The little lady’s maid gave a pierc ing shriek, and fell back, crying: “Go away, go away, mamma! You make me afraid, for you are dead!” Dame Schmitt was equally startled, but, drawing her daughter within the warm cottage, she said, soothingly: “But I am not dead. Gretel. You are crazy. Why should I be dead? Come, drink this warm milk, and then you will feel better.” The next day. when Max came home from school, he bounded toward his sister, whom he had not yet seen, cry ing: “Tell me. Gretel. wasn’t that a fine letter that I wrote you for New Year’s day? Don’t you think you ought to give me a little present for my trouble?” “Naughty boy!” cried Getel. indig nantly. “You ought to be given a fine spanking, that’s what!” “But why?” protested the boy. “I promised I would write you a letter on New Year’s day, and 1 did. Why were you not pleased?” “Do you know what you wrote me, stupid?” “Of course I know'! Here, I will show you.” And. fumbling in his bag of books, Max drew out a little volume worn by much use. “Look yourself, here are the models for New Year’s letters, and there w'as only one w’hich began ‘my dear sis ter.’ Don’t throw the book on the floor, Gretel. for big Maurice lent it to me, and he might thrash me.” “And what did it say. this fine let ter?” demanded Dame Schmitt. “It said that you were dead and that I must come home to the funeral. Here it is.” added Gretel. taking the unfor tunate epistle from her pocket. Dame Schmitt shuddered at the thought of her funeral, but, as she unfolded the beautiful sheets of pa per, with its roses and doves and hearts, she was filled with a deep re spect. “I don’t know what it says,” she remarked, as she held it upside down, “but it is easy to see that It is a fine letter." STARKVILLE, MISS., FRIDAY, JUNE 2, 1905. Then, turning to Max. she con tin ned: “But I’m afraid, my son, that for poor people like us you are getting to be much too clever. Too much knowl edge is a dangerous thing!”—From the German, in N. Y. Sun. HE STOPPED THE PAPER. That Is His Copy of It, But the Met ropolitan Daily Continued Publication. An acquaintance met Horace Greeley one day, and said: “Mr. Greeley, I’ve stopped your paper.” “Have you?” said the editor. “Well, that’s too bad.” And he went his w r ay. The next morning Mr. Greeley met his subscriber again, aid said; “I thought you had stopped the Tribune. * “So I did.” “Then there must be some mistake.’* said Mr. Greeley, “for 1 just came from the office and the presses were running, the clerks were as busy as ever, the compositors were hard at w'ork, and the business was going on the same as yesterday and the day before.” “Oh.” ejaculated the subscribed, “I didn’t mean that I had stopped the paper; I stopped only my copy of it, because I didn’t like your editorials.” “Pshaw r I” retorted Mr. Greeley. “It wasn’t worth taking up my time to te 1 ! me such a tritle as that. My dear sir. if you expect to control the utterance of the Tribune by the purchase of one copy a day, or if you think to find any newspaper or magazine worth reading that will never express con victions at right angles with your own, you are doomed to disappoint ment.” FALL OF A BEAU BRUMMEL. High School Graduate Comes Back to Town as One Legged Beggar, Seeking Alms. Appleton. Wis. —A beggar, in rags, unshaven, hobbling about on one leg, asking for alms from store to store— Clayton Woodward, who was once the only young man in the Ryan high school who w'ore tailor made clothes. Woodward hobbled about, begging for enough money, he said, “To buy a wooden leg. mister.” He was a mem ber of the class of 1880 of Ryan high school, and it w r as by a member of that class that he was recognized. Woodward's parents w r ere. in his boyhood days, wealthy residents of Marinette. Later they moved here and purchased the finest farm in the coun ty. He ran away from home one day. When he came back there was a quar rel with his father. In his anger his father kicked him, striking his leg. The limb stiffened, though he could still use it. One day. while catching on a freight car. the stiff leg caused him to slip, and the boy fell beneath the wheels of the car. The leg was severed. Then things began going from bad to worse. THE DREAM. Would you come again, my dream — There was nothing in all the world like you— To laugh beside me In summers’ beam, To glad my hearthstone the winter through. You made my blood as a spring-fieed stream That mirrored the sun and held the blue. Would you couid come again, my dream — There was nothing in ali the world Ilka you. You were the roseate glow and gleam. Between my e>es and the world s dull hue The clearer sight shows a sorry scheme. Ah! What matters it? False or true Would you couid come again, my dream— There was nothing in all the world like you. —Theodosia Garrison, In Reader Magazine. Sheep Breaks All Records. William Potratz, a farmer near Sumner, la., owns a sheep that recent ly broke all records by giving birth to six lambs at once. Three of them died soon afterw T ard. despite efforts to raise them by the bottle process. Mr. Po tratz is raising the other three success fully. The litter is said to break all records. The smallest of the surviving lambs is being fed from a bottle. The largest is much heavier than an ordi nary lamb. , . Disarming Suspicion. “How’s this?” said Cumso to Cawker. as they sat dowm to the annual banquet of the Allied Sons of Liberty. 'There’s no wine on the menu, but half a dozen glasses are at each plate?” “The menu is io lake home to our wives.” was the satisfactory explana tion. —Smart Set, WILL REMOVE INDIAN DEAD Cemetery in the Heart of Kansas City to Be Cleared of Red Men’s Remains. More than 500 bodies of Wyandotte Indians are to be exhumed in Huron cemetery, one of the oldest Indian burying grounds in Kansas, located in the center of the business district ol Kansas City, Kan., and are to be taken to various places in Kansas and the Indian territory for final repose. The old burying ground, consisting of two acres, says a report from that city, is desired for a business block. It is valuer! at more than SIOO,OOO. The sale of Huron cemetery was finally determined upon at a meeting of the descendants of the Wyandotte Indians held in Kansas City, Kan., re cently. It has been held in trust by the United States government since 1853, and the cemetery lands will be sold under the direction of the secre tary of the inferior. Many noted Indian chiefs and lead ers are buried there. More than 300 members of the tribe, now located in the Indian territory, will attend elab orate ceremonies to be arranged for the removal of the bodies. The Indians will return to their old hunting ground and personally supervise the exhuming of the bodies of their ancestors. Some of the bodies will be taken to an old Indian cemetery at Quindaro, Kan. The people of Kansas City, Kan., have long been trying to persuade the Indians to remove their dead from the center of the business district. The graves have been neglected, fences torn down and paths made across un marked graves. This has much to do with inducing the Indians to remove their dead to a more quiet resting place. CALLED THE “FIXED IDEA.” Men of Morbid Tendencies Brood Over Troubles That Are Often 4 Imaginary. A curious mental malady is that which arises from what is known as the “fixed idea.” A rich man. of morbid inclination, may, for instance, take to brooding over the fear of losing his wealth, says Cassell’s Journal. Month after month, and year after year, he may nourish the idea, until one day the thought becomes “fixed,” and the victim is firmly convinced that he is a pauper. Sometimes the disease takes a fan tastic form. A man, for example, may ue walking along the street, thinking about Japan. Suddenly the malady seizes him. He appears to himself to be in Japan, the houses and streets present to him all the peculiarities of Japanese architecture, as he has read of it or seen it in pictures. The people around him appear to be natives, and he thinks himself one of them. He no longer speaks English, but utters a meaningless jargon, believing it to be the Japanese language. Cases of this kind —and there have been many—are generally due to some temporary disorder of the nervous system, and the patient recovers his mind after a pei lod of quiet and rest. Where the delusion results from >*earu of brooding over an idea, however, it is generally much more serious, anJ may lead to permanent insanity. Bull-Fighting- an Art. A curious question has been stirring Spanish feeling, and strong agitation has only been avoided by popular cus tom being permitted to have its own way. The cortes recently passed a law ordaining general prohibition of Sun day labor. This lav/ having been se cured. opponents of the national pas time promptly sought its application to bull fighting, which almost always take place on Sundays. Instantly there arose an outburst of popular resentment, so strong that the council of state took the matter into its own hands, and by a series of special pleadings concluded that the law does not apply to “tauro machy.” which is not a labor, but an art, like the drama. —London Globe. No Apology Needed. Mrs. Puffer —My daughter is to wed i real English lord, Mrs. Lamb —O, well, I don’t think *-ou have any cause to apologize. Hus bands are not so plentiful these times hat a girl can afford to be too panic liar. —Boston Transcript. Time to Cut Weeds. She —When should a young widow dia. ',ard her weeds? He —Oh. I don’t know, but I suppose he should cut them just as soon as she vants to raise a second crop of orange blossoms. —Baltimore Herald. NUMBER 12. HOUSE THAT TURNS ROUND Domicile That Revolves Has Been In vented by French Doctor and Scientist. A French doctor and a French scientist have invented what they call a revolving house. A crank is pulled and the habitation turns around slow ly on its well-oiled bearings and the front door becomes the back door, and the western windows look toward the east, and the near-by neighbors who may be staring into the dining room find themselves confronted b> a blank wall. Of course the front of the house can follow the sun all the way round on his course, or the chill west wind can wreak its vengeance haim lessly on a* section of the house that is best calculated to rebuff it. These are several of the advantages of the domestic merry-go-round and it is quite unnecessary to add that there are others. The bill collector or the man with patent mouse traps who de mands to see the lady of the house may find themselves rudely turned down if they get in ihe way of the big revolver. The patient burglar who spends his valuable time in cutting out the panel of the front door may have his work all to do over again when a sudden whirl carries av/ay his center of operations and replaces it with the oaken surface of the stout side door. And the scheme mignt be made a very unpleasant one for the husband who comes home at three a. m. and finds that not only the keyhole but the door itself have both been feloniously re moved. VENICE A FLOATING CITY. Foundations Are But Water Pillows, Mud and Seaweed Built by the Centuries. Prof. Hermann Berdrow, one of the best living authorities on the geology of northern Italy, says Venice is un doubtedly sinking, and nothing can save it from its coming fate, says a Berlin dispatch to the New York World. He has just returned from a prolonged and careful examination of the ground, and has come to the con clusion that the decay will go on and increase, one building after another going, perhaps whole rows of buildings at once. The foundations on which Venice is built are, he says, not foundations at all, but water pillow’s, layers of earth and mud and seaweed, which hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years have formed. These layers are from 30 to 100 feet, thick, but under them is water, often deep water. The inevitable ten dency of these wmter pillows is to sink, t he builders of Venice drove piles deep into these layers, and on the piles built palaces* and churches, but knew nothing ut the treacherous depths below. HONG-KONG IS PREMIER. Takes the Lead of All Other Ports in the World in Total Tonnage. What are the ten greatest maritime cities of the world? How many could name them all. or even a few’ of them? How many could name the biggest of all? Ae report just issued by the de partment of commerce makes such a comparison possible and it involves some surprises, says the Wall Street Journal. The total vessel tonnage movement (entered and cleared) of the ten largest maritime cities, based upon the reports of either 1903 or 1004. was as follows; Hong-Kor.g- 19.204,589 London 19,063.629 Antwerp 17.177,296 ♦Now York 17,936,114 Hamburg 16,394.792 Liverpool 14.499.61S Rotterdam 13,579,620 Cardiff 13,170.156 Shanghai 12.342.535 Singapore 12,004,910 •1904: all others 1903. Tne vessel tonnage movement of these ten cities totals about one-half of the aggregate of the forty-two lead ing ports of the world. Old Quack Remedy. An old-time quack compounded his "sympathetic ointment” according to the following prescription: “Take mosse of a ded man’s hed two one,, man’s greace, one one., mummia, mart’s blood of each half one., linseed oyle 12 one., oyle of roses, bolearminlck of each an one. bet them together in a mortar till it be fine leeke an oint ment, keep it in a box.” Then all the sick person needed was the w r eapon with which a man had been stricken. This he anointed w’ith the oiLtinent, pressed to the w f ound, and was well again, or should have been.