Corvallis gazette., February 11, 1902, Image 1

GAZETTE.
CORVA
SEA1I-WEHKJUV.
?E22zSNiVA. Consolidated Feb., 1899.
COItVALLIS, BENTOK COUNTY, OREGON, TUESDAY, FEBBFAEY 11, 1902. V
YOIi. II. NO. 42.
CHAPTER VI i
The last stroke of eight dies out from
the old clock in the halMs Seaton Dysart :
enters she drawing rolhiik The extreme (
diuginess and gloom ofctfiat melancholy:
apartment sinks into hn3 as he moves j
rather discontentedly, but with a manrsiuysart opens -the door for her. As
unfailing instinct, toward the hearth-rug.
It is not all gloom, however, as he pres
ently discovers, in this dreary place. Some
one rises languidly from a low chair-,
girl, a lovely girl, as-be instantly admits
and advances abotft the eighth part of
an ordiuarv foot toward him
They are wonderfully- alike, the father
and son, and yet how wonderfully un
like. It seems impossible that with ex
pressions so utterly at variance so strong
a resemblance can exist, yet it is there.
The one, the old face. mea cringi
suspicions, wicked; the otherLjld, honor
able, earnest and beautifuLThe girl,
watching him with distrust in her eyes,
reluctantly acknowledged this last fact.
"I'm extremely sorry if I've kept you
waiting for dinner," he says, advancing
at a quicker pace, once he sees the pretty
girl in white, and holding out his hand.
"But the fact is I wag dreadfully tired
when 1 arrived, and I'm rather afraid I
fell asleep."
"The day is warm," says she, coldly.
The likeness to his father seems clearer
to her as he speaks, and kills for her all
the charm of his face.
"Very; but I don't fancy my absurd fit
of laziness arose from that. Rather from
the fact that I haven't had a wink of
sleep for the last two nights."
"Two nights!" says she with a faint
' accession of interest. "Toothache? Sick
.friend T
"Oh, no. Ball cards," return he, con
cisely. "Ah:" says she, this time rather short
ly. "You are Griselda, I suppose?" says
he, pleasantly.
"Why should you suppose it?" aska she,
with a faint smile.
"True. Why should I?" returns he,
laughing. "Perhaps because," with a
steady look at her, "I have been told that
my cousin Griselda is a person posaeseed
of a 'considerable amount of of charac
ter." "By that you mean that you have heard
Griselda is self-willed," says she, calmly.
"And as it is evident you think I look the
part also, I am afraid you must prepare
Jourself to meet two self-willed cousins
am not Griselda."
If she had fancied that this announce
ment would have put him out, she is un
deceived in a moment.
"No?" says he, looking distinctly amus
ed. "There is comfort iu the thought that
I cannot again fall into error, because you
must be Vera."
"Yes, I am Vera," slowly.
"1 fear you will find it very dull down
here."
"Your father has been very good to us;
more thap kind," interrupts she, gently,
but with decision. "He has given us a
ht-ir.e."
I should think he would be very glad
to get you here," says he. At this mo
ment Griselda enters the room. A charm
ing Griselda, in white, like her sister, and
with a flower in her sunny hair. She
trips up to Seaton aud gives him her hand
and a frank smile, that has just the cor
rect amount of coquettish shyness in It.
A man, to Griselda, no matter out of
what obnoxious tribe he may have
sprung, is always a creature to be gently
treated, smiled upon and encouraged.
"So you've come at last to this Castle
of Despair," says she, saucily. "I must
ay, you took time to look us up. But 1
don't blame you; life down her is too live
ly for most. It has quite done up Vera
and me."
The dismal sound of a cracked old din
ner gong breaks in at this instant on ( Gri
selda 's speech. They all rise and cross
the hall to the dining room, but just in
side it a momentary hesitation takes
place. Dysart going to the foot of the
table. Vera stops short, as if in some
surprise, to look at him, i nest ion in her
eyes.
"You will take the head of the table,
I hope," says he, in a low tone, divining
her perplexity.
"But " quickly, and then a pause.
"If you wish it, of course," she says, with
swift uplifting of the brows and an al
most imperceptible shrug.
Her manner somehow irritates him.
"1 wish it, certainly," says he, coldly.
"But I wish still more to see you do only
that which you like."
"I have few likes and dislikes." replies
she, still in that utterly emotionless tone;
and sweeping past him, she seats herself
t the head of the table.
As for l!r:se!da, rhe little jar in the so
cial atmosphere around her goes by un
noticed, so overcome is she by the un
wouted magnificence of the sight before
her. a decent dinner table at Greycourt.
She looks round her and loses herself a
tittle iu the touch of fairyland the room
presents. It is, as it were, an echo from
the past, a glimpse into the old life wheu
her father still lived, that she hardly
knew was dear to her until she had lost
it. The glitter of the silver, the glass,
the intense perfume of the glowing dow
ers, the rich tint of the fruits, ail seem
part of a dream; a sweet oue. too.
Mr. Dysart is wondering why both girls
should have taken so instantaneous a dis
like to him. As a rule, women were civil
enough; yet hire were two to whom he
was an utter stranger, and aggressive
was the only word he could apply to their
looks and words, though both were stu
diously polite.
"Io you stay long?" asks Griselda pres
ently, looking at her cousin.
"I don't know how you may view it.
I return to town the day after to-morrow
very early on that day. Whether
I must or must not work for my living
Is a thing that does not concern me. I
work you will hardly believe it in this
prosaic age but I actually seek after
fame. I should like to get on in my pro
fession; to be more than a mere trifler."
"You axe charming." says Griselda,
saucily. "Yon talk like a book a blae ;
book. But you have not told me why
your fa'her will not let us see anyone,
why " . .
"riselda!" aavi Misa Dysart, a little
sharply. Shgmpt as she speaks, and
'Griselda passes him he says, easily:
"I cannot tell you everything at once,
you see; bnt I dare say there will be time
given dw. As .for my father, he is ec-
!' centric, and, I fear, hard to live with.
But if ever I can help you, call on me,
Griselda gives him a smile for this, and
fallows her sister into the drawing room.
"After all, he isn't half bad," she says,
with a little nod.
"I was right, however. Did you ever
sec a father and son so like?" asks Vera,
coldly.
CHAPTER VII.
"Well, I'm off," says Griselda, poking
her pretty head into the summer house,
where Vera sits reading. It is next day,
and a very lovely day, too."
"For your ramble," says Vera, laying
down her book. "So yon won't take my
advice? Very good. Go on, and you'll
see that you won't prosper." Her tone is
half gay, half serious. "And don't be
long," entreats Vera, with a sudden rush
of anxiety. "Don't, now. Yes, I'm in
deadly earnest. There is that man all
over the place, let loose, as it- were, for
my discomfiture, and if he turns up in
this part of the world I suppose I shall
have to talk to him."
"What a calamity!" says Griselda, with
a little feigned drooping of her mouth.
"In this barren wilderness even manna
may be regarded with rapture even Sea
ton! Better any man than no man,
say I."
"So say not I, then," with great spirit.
She has leaned forward upon her elbow,
and her eyes are brilliant with a little
suspicion of anger. "Give me a desert
Island rather than the society of a man
whom I know it will require only time to
teach me to detest. And how you can
call him so familiarly 'Seaton,' passes
my "
A pause! An awful pause. Who is it
that has turned the corner of the summer
house, and is looking in at them with a
curious expression round his mouth? Gri
selda is the first to recover. -
"Isn't it absurd?" she says, smiling
rather lamely. "But I assure you, Sea
ton, your sudden appearance quite took
away my breath. You should stamp when
you come to a house like this. The grass
all round is so thick."
"Too thick!" says Dysart, with a swift
glance at Vera, who has lost all her color.
"For the future I shall try to remember.
I am very sorry I startled you." He has
addressed himself entirely to Griselda,
unless that one lightning glance of con
temptuous reproach cast at Vera could
be counted. "But I was on my way to
one of the farms, and this is the lowest,
the nearest path to it. I shall never cease
to regret" here he stops dead short, and
turns his eyes unreservedly on Vera
"that I did not take the upper one."
He makes both girls a slight bow, and
walks swiftly onward on the unlucky
path he had chosen.
"Oh, Vera, do something!' cries Grisel
da, in a small agony of consternation,
clasping her hands. Vera, thus admon
ished, springs to her feet, and, driven
half by honest shame and half by im
pulse, rushes out of the summer house
and runs after Dysart as he is fast dis
appearing through the shrubs. Reaching
him, panting and pale with agitation, she
lays her hand timidly upon his arm.
"I am so grieved," she says, her bann
ing face very pained, her lips white!
"There are moments when one hardly
knows What one says, and "
"There are such moments, certainly,"
says he, interrupting her remorselessly.
"But they can hardly be classed with
those in which the calm confidences of
one sister are exchanged with the other.
And why should you apologize? I assure
you, you need not. I do not seek for or
desire anything of the kind."
It almost seems to her that he has
Shaken her hand from his aim. -Drawing
back, she sees him proceed upon his
way, and then returns to Griselda.
"I really think I hate him," says Vera,
vehemently. The recollection of his con
temptuous glance, the way in which he
had disdained her apology above all,
that slight he had offered her when he
had displaced her hand from his arm all
rankle in her breast, and a hot flow of
shame renders her usually pale face bril
liant. 'jThore, never mind him," she says,
with a little frown. "He is not staying
loug, fortunately, and this episode will
bear good fruit of one sort at least. He
will not trouble me with his society while
you are away. Now hurry, Griselda. do."
Griselda, with a light laugh, drawn ir
resistibly by the gorgeous loveliness of
the lights and shadows of the land bi-low,
runs down the pathway and is soon lost
to view.
When she returns over an hour later
she discovers to her amazement, that
Vera is still in it. j
"You are miserable about that wretch-
ed affair of the morning," cries Griselda. J
"Never mind it. If you will come to diu- ;
ner I promise you to do all the talking,
and as it has to be endured I do entreat
you to keep up your spirits."
"Oh, yes. There isn't a decent chance
of escape," says Vera, wearily.
" 'Sh!" cries Griselda, softly, putting
up her hand; the sound of coming foot
steps, slow, deliberate footsteps purpose
ly made heavier, smites upon their ears.
"oGod heavens! Here he is," says
Griselda, and indeed they have barely
time to put on a carefully unconscious
demeanor, when Seaton Dysart darkens
the door of the summer house, and looks
coldly down on them.
"They told me I should find you here,"
he says, speaking to Vera. "I have come
to say good-by."
"But surely you are not going so soon
not before dinner, not to-night !" cries
Griselda, thunderstruck by this solution
of their difficulty, and a little sorry, too.
"I am going now. Good-by," holding
oat his hand to her with a determination
not to be changed. . Griselda takes it am4
shakes it genially, nay, warmly. His hu
mor "is decidedly hostile, and if he ac
quaints the old father of their incivility
Anything to propitiate him, she tells her
self, will be the correct thing, and she
grows positively friendly toward him,
and beams upon him with gentle entreaty
In her eye. " .' -
"If you mast go, do as on service
first," she says. "Do you see that rose?"
a rather unkempt and straggling Speci
men of its kind that trails in unadmired
disorder just outside the door. "It has
baffled me many a time, but yon are tail,
oh, taller than most; will you lift these
awkward tendrils, and press them back
into shape?" "
She is smiling divinely at him, a smils
that Tom Peyton would have given sev
eral years of his life to possess; but Dy
sart is disgracefully unmoved by it, and,
refusing to return it, steps outside, and,
with a decidedly on willing air, proceeds
to lift the drooping tendrils and redues
them to order.
Griselda, naturally a girl of great re
source, seizes the opportunity she has
herself provided. Catching Vera's arm,
she draws her back out of .sight.
"Now'i your time!" she says! "Say
something. Do something. It doesn't
matter what, but for heaven's sake
smooth him down one way or another! If
yon don't you'll have the old man down
upon as like
"I can't," gasps Vera, fearfully.
"Yon must," insists Griselda, sternly.
"It's impossible to know what sort of
man he is. If revengeful, he can play
old Harry with us!"
Without waiting to explain what par
ticular game this may mean, or the full
significance thereof, she steps lightly out
side and gazes with undisguised rapture
upon Dysart's work.
Dysart returns to the summer house
with all the manner of one in mad haste
to be gone. It is merely a part of an un
pleasant whole, he tells himself, that he
must first say a chillingly courteous word
or two of farewell to the girl who has
openly declared toward him such an un
dying animosity.
"I am afraid," says Vera, speaking
with cold precision, as one delivering her
self of an unloved lesson, "that you are
going away thus abruptly because of
what you heard me say this morning."
"You are right. That is why I am go
irig," replies Dysart, calmly.
"Yes?" in a chilling tone, and with
faintly lifted brows. "I regret exceed
ingly that I should have so unfortunately
offend you, but to go for that it all
sounds a little trivial, don't you think?"
"Not by going, I think. I don't see how
I can do otherwise. Why should I make
you uncomfortable? But you may call
it trivial if you like, to talk of detesting
a man you have only seen for an hour
or two, and who in those hours " He
pauses. "Did I make myself so specially
objectionable?" demands he,- abruptly,
turning to her with something that is
surely anger, but as -surely entreaty, la
his eyes. -
'1: "As I told' yon bef ore,- Indifferently,'
"one says foolish things now and then."
"Would you have me believe you did
not really mean what you said?"
"I would not have you believe any
thing," returns she, haughtily. "I only
think it a pity that you should curtail
your visit to your father because a
chance remark of mine that cannot pos
sibly affect you in any way."
"Is that how you look at it?"
"Is there any other way? Why should
you care whether or not I detest you I,
whom you saw for the first time yester
day?" "Why, indeed!" He regards her ab
sently, as if trying to work out in his
own mind the answer to this question,
and then, suddenly:
"Nevertheless, I do care," he says,
with a touch of vehemence. "It is the
injustice of it to which I object. You
had evidently determined beforehand to
show me no grace. I defy you to 'deny
it! Come, can you?"
Miss Dysart is silent. . The very im
petuosity of his accusation has deadened
her power to reply, and besides, is there
not truth in it? Had she not prejudged?
"By the bye," he says, "I am afraid
you will have to put up with me for a
few hours every week. I shall promise
to make them as short as I possibly can.
But my father likes to see me every sev
en days or so, and I like to see him. Do
you think," a slight smile crossing his
face, "you will be able to live through
it?"
"I have lived through a good many
things," says Vera, her dark eyes aflame.
"That gives you a chance here; prac
tice makes perfect. I am sorry to be
obliged to inconvenience you so far, but
if I stayed away, I am afraid my father
might want to know why. He might
even be so absurd as to miss me."
"Why should you take it for granted
that I desire your absence?" cries Vera,
her voice vibrating with anger. "Come,
remain, or stay away forever what is it
to me?"
And it was thus that they parted.
(To be continued.)
Not to Be Br.lh.ed.
A comparison made by an old car
penter twenty years ago may be ap
plied in a much wider sense than he
bad In mind. He was speaking of two
boys, brothers, who bad been sent to
him to learn the trade. They were
bright boys, and their father, In telling
the carpenter of his pleasure at their
progress In their work, said he could
not see but one hand had done just as
well as the other.
"I'm-m!" sa'd the carpenter. "I pre
sume to say their work looks about ot
a piece, but I'll tell you the difference
betwixt those two boys. You give Ed
Just the right tools, and he'll do a real
good job; but Cy. if he hasn't got what
be needs, be'll make his own tools, and
say nothing about it.
"If I was casted on a desert island
and wanted a box opened, I should
know there'd be no use asking Ed to do
It, without I could point him out a
hammer.
"But Cy!" added the old carpenter,
with a snap of his fingers. "The lack
of a hammer wouldn't stump that boy!
He'd have something rigged up and
that box opened, if there was any open
to It! I expect Cy's going to march
ahead of Ed all his life."
Twenty years have proved the truth
of the words, fox while the boy who
"made his own tools" is rich, his broth
er is still an ordinary workman.
CTT$ HE man who avenged the assas
Jp sination of Lincoln by hanging four
ti of the conspirators, Mrs. Mary E.
Surratt, David E. Herroid, Lewis Payne
Powell and George A. Atzerott, now lives
in Jackson, Mich. He is Col. fris. Rath.
Ever since that 7th day at uly, 1865.
when these four were execut in Wash
ington, Col. Rath has been it, possession
of information which settles beyond dis
pute that Booth was killed and that Mrs.
Surratt was guilty of the t!rime with
which she was charged conspiring to
take the President's life. Both of these
facts have been doubted by": many per
sons. - - ' .: .'
.At the time of the assassination of
President Lincoln, Capt Rath, as he
then ranked, was doing provost duty in
Dinwiddie County. Va., under 3ol. O. P.
Wilcox." "Immediately after i the death
of the President Capt, Rath was or
dered to report at Washington. He
was placed in charge of the District of
Columbia penitentiary and arsenal, un
der Gen. Hartranft. In the arsenal were
confined .the Lincoln conspirators the
four above named,- together '" with Ada
Spangler, Dr. Mudd, Arnold and
O'Laughlin, and several persons, who
were held as witnesses. It : will be re
membered that the four last named were
sentenced to life imprisonment and were
sent to the Dry Tortugas. t-
Col. Rath, who has held his peace here:
tofore, for fear of being misquoted, on
being finally persuaded to tell what he
knew of the Lincoln conspiracy, said;
"I want to set at rest forever, so far
as I can, the senseless stories that Booth
THE HANGING OF
was not killed and that Mrs. Surratt was
!;n innocent victim of the law. Neither
s true. Take Booth's case first,
Death of Booth Corroborated.
"David E. Herroid attempted to escape
with Booth. He was afterward under
my care in the arsenal, and he told me
more than once that Booth had met an
untimely end. He said he felt bad about
the way the man had died. He detailed
the story of his efforts to escape the
officers, of the law. He had not read the
papers, nor communicated with any one
beside myself, so he could not have learn
ed the story from outside sources. In
asmuch as his story tallied with the ver
sion given by the ofllcers,. there can be
no doubt about the matter. Mrs. Surratt
was just as guilty as the rest. They
were all guilty. After they returned
from the court room they would discuss
the testimony adduced, and, with the
exception of such matters as dates and
names, they did not enter a denial to the
witnesses' statements.
"Then the fact that Mrs. Surratt prac
tically acknowledged that she left guns
and ammunition and provisions at her
hotel in Surrattville the day before the
assassination, with instructions to her
help to deliver the stuff to whomsoever
called for it, strengthens my contention.
This stuff was called for by Booth and
Herroid. Isn't that evidence enough of
her guilt?
"Mrs. Surratt was unusually self
willed. She could control herself admira
'bly. It will be remembered that her
only daughter, Annie, was held as a
witness for a time. Some weeks after
she was discharged she returned to the
arsenal to see her mother. The inter
view was granted on condition that I be
allowed to overhear their conversation.
The daughter was ushered into the moth
er's presence, and although the girl threw
herself into her arms and sobbed herself
weary. Mrs- Surratt hardly changed
countenance.
Wanted to Save Mrs. Surratt.
"I do not believe that it was ever in
tended that Mrs. Surratt should haug.
If the government could have found any
pretext on which to grant her a reprieve
I believe it would have been done.
"Ou the evening before the execution,
atfer the death warrants had been read,
Powell asked to have me visit him in
his cell. I did so. He then told me that
he felt sorry for Mrs. Surratt, as she
was an innocent woman, and had it not
been for him she would not have got
into trouble. He informed me that if
he could suffer two deaths . he would
gladly do so if Mrs. Surratt might be
freed. He deplored the fact that he was
captured in the basement of her house,
and that he had boarded with her for
three months before the consummation of
the awful plot to which he was a party.
"I told Maj. Eckert, assistant Secre
tary, of Powell's recital to me. The fol
lowing morning as early as 5 o'clock I
was called before Secretary Seward. I
repeated my story. I believe that if
there had been sufficient proof of the
i rr i ' -mKeta i 7v?i i rv in n-MU via , - i 7 x - txar
truth of Powell's tale Mrs. Srtrratt would
have been reprieved even atthat' late
hour. I am firmly convinced' that the
government wanted an excuse to suspend
sentence. -The minor officials thought
this would be done, even up to the hour
of the execution.
1 Hinging of the Conspirators.
"I had been ordered to have everything
ready for the execution at 2 o'clock- of
that memorable 7th of July. 1865. I was
prepared at that time. Gen. W. S. Scott,
who was to represent the government at
the execution, was an hour late. When
he appeared be said; :
" 'Captain, go on with the. execution.'
"'How about Mrs. Surratt?' I inquir
ed. '. 'Mrs. Surratt goes with the rest of
them.' he said.
"The four criminals were marched to
the gallows, single file; each accompanied
by a soldier, with a minister of the gos
pel following. The four stood the strain
nobly. " Even though they were to" suffer
death for participation in an awful crime,
one could not but admire their bravery.
Mrs. Surratt and Payne-Powell were
dropped into eternity from one gallows
and Atzerott and Herroid , from the oth
er. They died instantly, the doctors
said.
. "The graves had been dug near the
scaffolds. The bodies were put in these
and with each was a sealed bottle .con
taining their respective names. This was
done so that if the remains were ever, re
interred there would be no trouble about
identification." -
MRS. SURRATT.. PAYNE, . HERQLD
(From an Old: print.)
Phil's Queer 7
Valentine.
i
FHIL was 10. years old when he
found his queer valentine, but he
was only 6 when gruff Jake Atkins
said to his wife: "Well, ef you are so
set on takin' the boy ter raise, why, take
him, but it's mighty hard diggin fer ns
now, an' when the youngster; gits , older
an' needs schoolin' an' books an' a sight
o' clothes, then'U come the scrimpin' fer
you."
Mrs. Atkins had sent Phil out with his
sled, well knowing that she had not un
dertaken ah easy task when she had'de
cided to urge her husband to allow her
to adopt the handsome little boy, whose
mother had died two days before. Now
she answered: "Yes, I am set on takin'
him, an", - Jake, he won't cost us any.
more than our own Phil would, an he's
justvthe same age.". '
That settled it, and when the little boy
came in" from his play, he found two lov
ing hearts -waiting to help him forget
that his mother was not .there to kiss
him good-night.
Jake Atkins' was .a miner, and' luck
had been against him during these four
years-that had passed since Phil came
into his home, but they had managed to
live in a poor fashion. During the sum
mer the garden yielded rich supplies, and
there was always some wild meat to be
had for the going in search of it. Then
some logging and 'In the winter the sale
of Christmas trees and trimmings added
a little to the household purse. The bare
necessities they could always have, bnt
none of the luxuries came into their
home, and here was the-source of Phil's
greatest sorrow. He cared little that he
had never in his life .worn a new pair
of trousefs; those made from his father's
old ones themselves home made were
comfortable enough. . Neither did he envy
the city boys their skates in winter nor
their bicycles in the summer. Those were
not to be thought of any more than were
stiff collars or tailor-made suits; but . one
thing he longed for and planned for. and
even one day asked for.
It was the -week before Christmas and
he and Jake were taking a load of ever
greens to the city, forty miles away. Jake
and he had climbed off the sled and were
trudging along beside the horses, thrash
ing their arms together in an effort to
warm themselves. -
Presently the man spoke: "Phil, boy, ef
ever we strike it rich, yon an your moth
er'll have the greatest Chris'mas you ever
dremp of. What'd you takfle, Phil, ef we
could celebrate" same's other' folks?" '
"Books, Daddy, -stacks of em, tellin'
'bout animals an' birds. I wouldn't want
another thipg but books. Do you think
the time'll ever come when you can buy
me a few books?"
"It ain't here aow, son; there's shoes
fer'ysof raotbrr an" a b'.nnKet for your t
bed. an P reckon some socks fer me. ter
come out o -this load o" greens. But
don't git discouraged Mebbe ' we kin j
spare a dollar, come spring, fer that book '
you was tellin about What's the name
yon called it by?"" ' ' -
"Smith's Natural History, and a bar
gain it'll be; tut like's not the man'll sell
"it before spring." - r
"Like's not," assented Jake "Whoa,
there," he called to the horses.-which
stopped willingly enough. The two climb
ed to the seat of the sled and as the
horses started off; Jake gave Phil's shoul
der an. encouraging pat.
"You know my old say la': the first dol
lar you find in a htirseshoe track, you kin
spend fer the book."
Phil's face lost its shadow as he an
swered: "I ought to be ashamed to bother
you, when yon an mother could have lots
more, if you hadn't taken me."
Jake's answer was gruff, but Phil knew
that it was. tender, too. "Don't be silly,
boy. Talk sense."
One morning in February, Jake said to
his wife: "Put up a snack fer Phil an
me. I've got ter go up ter the mine an'
put some-props in the shaft an' I'll take
the boy fer.'comp'ny. It's kinder lone
some an cold,; goin' np into the moun
tains alone, jest about now."
Phil did not wait to hear Mrs. Atkins
answer. He knew that she might dread
to have them take the dangerous trip, but
he also knew that the patient look on
her face must have come with the years
of anxious endurance that she had known
since she became the miner's wife, . and
he scrambled up to. the loft of the cabin
and began to hunt out' the thick gloves
and leggings, made from the good parts
of an. old blanket, and to get guns and
'ammunition ready, for bears and wild
cats were plentiful in the mountains.
The trip to the mine was made in safe
ty, the props were put in and on the
morning of the. next day the two were
at the foot of the mountain, ready to
start home, only to find that the horses
AND ATZERODT.
had broken loose and had probably start
ed for home, ahead of them.
Nothing was left for them to do but to
walk 'the fifteen miles to the cabin, and
they started out. The snow had been
well packed when they came over the
road on the previous day, but during the
night an inch of new snow had fallen
and so it was easy to track the horses
through the canyon. . It was nearing noon
when they came out of the canyon into
the open valley, and the road "began to
show signs ot travel, so that it was im
possible to track them farther.' They
felt no uneasiness about the animals,
however, being sure that they had gono
home.
"This is Valentine's day, Daddy, an' 1
wrote a valentine on a piece of pink paper,
an left it Where tnotheV would- find it,
8o's she'd not be so lonesome , with us
gone. Did you, . ever wci te her one; be
fore you Were married?"
"That's what I did, er leastways I
never was no hand with the pencil, bat I
got the teacher ter write it. It said
suthin' like this:
"On the fourteenth of February
'Twos onr lot ter be merry.
Lots was cast an' tickets drew:
Kind Fortune said It should be you!
Ef you love me as I love yon "
No knife kin cut our love In two.
Round Is this ring. -It's got no end;
So is my love fer you, my friend.
Ef these few lines you do refuse,
-1 shall expect (tint are, "you'll choose.
Ef these few lines you dojeject.
That me you'll choose, I-shall eipect!" "
. "I got ber efther way, you see -"
Phil did not hear the last words. Ahead
of them something glistened and he 'tras
sure.-it was'not the. sun shining on the
snow. ; He. hurried, forward - a step' and
6tooping ' down, turned the . object over
with his -finger."' Then he' raised his
beaming face to Jake and exclaimed:
"See, Daddy? a dollar, 'an' I found it
in a horseshoe track!" . ...
"Blessed ef you ain't right,;' the man
answered. "An-' Bill Stone's goin' ter the
city ter-morrerso you-kin -send by hirh
an git that' book tellin' about animals."
' Phil is pnofessor.-of. natural history 'n
a large-western college" now,' and Jrtke
and his wife live comfortably in his pleas
ant home.;- There is one large room in
the. house, called the library. Here Phil
has many valuable books, but the one
in which be takes the greatest pride is
an old. well-worn copy of the hook on
natural history, - bought with the dollar
that he found in a . horseshoe track on
the 14th of February. -lSSQe'-his "queer
valentine."
Down in Dixie. -Wish
yon write me a valentine
Lak de ones on de book sto' shelf,
'Bout de vi-let blue, en so Is you, -
En I feelin' blue myself 1
Wish -fou say dat I hope' en pray
Fer ter win dat gal er mine.
En sho' ez de vine grow roun' de stum
I'se tangled up Id de vine!
Put It strong, dat 1 weep en long
Fer ter see her face each day;
En ef she love me lak I love she
De preacher'll be ter pay I
Atlanta Constitution.
TRYING TO SELL A "BUGGY."
fcaatUan Traveler Sid Not Btem to Af
" predate American Perseverance
An English traveller In America re
lates, in Travel, certain experiences
which he had with the Yankee "drum
mer." to whom he gives full credit for
seal and enterprise. The' perseverance
of Robert Brace's spider seemed to
him insignlflcant'beside the tenacity of
this "gentleman of the road."
A hollow-cheeked, nervous man. with
thin hair on the top of his head, got '
Into conversation with us.
"Guess you don't have buggies In En
gland?" he volunteered.
"No."
"Don't you think they're nice and
handy to drive round the country In?"
"Splendid."
"Why don't you buy one? Here's my
catalogue. Number seventeen that's
a cute turnout; real elegant; polished
panels and green cloth cushions. Ill
tell you what. of course you're not In
the trade, but, you're a decent fellow,
I'll let you have one at wholesale price.
I wouldn't do that for everybody."
"But I ride a bicycle or use a han
som cab when I'm in London."
"I don't know what a hansom cab
is. But that don't cut any Ice. Every
body rides a wheel. There ain't any
distinction in that. Now a nice, smart
American buggy would let folks see
you were somebody; that you ain't like
other people; that you've got character
and Individuality. Mind, I'm offering
you a bargain."
"I don't want a buggy. And I've no
horse. I'm cycling from -here to New
York, so what would be the use of "
"Now look here, you're a man of
sense. Have a change. Ride the rest
of the way in a buggy. It's mighty
bad for a man to keep In one groove,
ain't . It? You can't ride your wheel
when it rains. If you have a buggy,
what does rain matter? You get mighty
tired pumping along all day. In a buggy
all you've got to do is to sit at your
ease, like a gentleman. Now I ain't a
philanthropist, but you look thin, and a
buggy would rest you. Your blcycle'i
nearly worn out, anyway. Now this
buggy, when you get to England, will
be "
2 don't want a buggy!"
"Now don't get curt and snappy. Ol
course you don't want one. Nobody
wants anything that's good for him;
that's human nature. But look here,
you might trade It when you get tc
England. You'd have the use of It from
here to New York, and then make a
profit on it. Don't that appeal to you?"
"No, it doesn't. I have my bike."
"Bicycles are all very well, but bicy
cles ain't buggies. Now I'll make you a
reduction of thirty-three per cent. Com
pare the price of a wheel. Reckon "
"I'm bad at figures. Do you mind my
reading my newspaper?"
"Not at alL I'll talk while you read
Now as I was saying "
RECENT JUDICIAL DECISIONS.
Ai ordinance limiting the height of
bill boards to sis feet unless permission
to exceed that height Is expressly given
by the common council Is held In
Rochester vs. West (N. Y.J, 53 L. B. A.
548, not to be unreasonable or an undua
restraint on a lawful trade or business,
or upon a lawful and beneficial use of
private property.
An ordinance forbidding the keeping
of any inclosure in or connected with
any room where intoxicating liquors
may be sold by a licensed dealer, which
is or can by any Ingenuity or pretense
be used as a lounging or drinking place
or for any immoral purpose, is held In
State vs. Bardage (Minn.), 53 L. R. A.
428, to be reasonable and valid.
Mere failure of an indorsee to pre
sent a check for payment for eleven
months, during which time the maker
paid the amount to the payee on his
assurance that the check was mislaid
and that he would return It when
found, -Is held In Bradley vs. Andrus
(C. C. A. 3d C), 53 L. R. A. 432. not to
estop him from enforcing payment, .
where the maker relied wholly on the
word of the payee In making his pay
ment. When a juror on his voirdlre admits
that he has formed and expressed an
opinion of the guilt or innocence of the
accused, and expresses any degree of
doubt as to whether such previously
formed opinion would affect his judg
ment in arriving at a just and proper
verdict in the case, the Supreme Court
of Appeals of West Virginia in the case
of State vs. Johnson (39 S. E. Rep.,
665) holds that it is error to admit him.
on the panel.
Where a partner dies the surviving
partner takes the legal title to the part
nership property, subject to the equita
ble right of the deceased partner to a
distribution of surplus after the pay
ment of debts, holds Forbes of the Su
preme Court, special term, Chemung
County, New York, In the case of Mc- '
Cann -vs. Hazard (72 N. Y., Supp., 45),
and where a surviving partner dies his
executor takes a legal title to the part
nership property for the purpose of set
tling his estate, but does not succeed
him as surviving partner.
Quite a Difference.
The department store is Useful and
convenient, but the multifarious na
ture of Its activities sometimes leads
to a dilemma.
"Where shall I find something nice
in oil for the dining-room?" asked a
stout, smiling woman of the floor-walker
in a Western department store.
"On the third " began the floor-
walker; then he paused and looked
doubtfully at the Inquirer. "Did you
mean a painting or something In the
sardine line?" he asked.
After falling to be a satisfactory
brother, a man has one chance left
with his sister, and that is to become
a satisfactory uncle to her children.