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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j An Jndfpcndcnt <Jamiltj $trirapaprr: <Jfoi[ the |proiiiofion of the folifical, jSoqial, Aririniltiiral and ((ommtpial Jntercsts of tin; ?oufh. JTERMS?$2.00 A TEAR IN ADVANCE. VOT, 39. YORKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, .JANUARY 11, 1893. NO. ???i?i? ? ? i^???^^ _ " ? i ? BY F. A. MITCHE Copyright, 1892, by An SYNOPSIS. Private Mark Maynard is sent by General Thomas from the Union camps in central Tennessee scouting toward Chattanooga and barely escapes capture by the Confederates through the cunning of a native girl?Souri Slack. IIo gets a suit of citizen's clothes at Slack's, and Jakey Slack, a lad of thirteen, goes with him to help disguise his character. Souri gives Mark a silk handkerchief as a parting memento. Mark and the boy beg supper and lodging at the house of Mrs. Fain, a southern woman married to a northern man who is absent in the Union lines. Captain Fitz Hugh, C. 8. A., a sunoroi Laura Fain's, dn>ps in and suspects that the strangers may be Union spies, but Laura wards off investigation, and the! travelers resume their journey undisturbed. Mark reaches Chattanooga. CHAPTER VTIL PASSING A PICKET. He turned to look at the sentinel Going down to the ferryboat they found a boat which had all it conld do ' to carry the soldiers and citizens who oral*! / fAcoinop Mark tfiancht he would try what assurance would do in getting across without a pass. He found the guard more watchful than he expected. "Can't y' pass me 'n my leetle brother, lieutenant?" he asked. "We beUi doen some traden in Chattanoogy and want ter git home. We be'n buyen some caliker for the women folks." "Old Bragg himself couldn't go over without a pass," responded the officer. "Whar mought 1 git one?' asked Mark. "At headquarters, I reckon." Mark turned away. He considered the expediency of going to headquarters and asking for a pass, but regarded this course fraught with too much risk. He determined to make an attempt to get out of town and across the river by the route over which he had entered. He knew the ground by this route, and that was a great advantage. If he could steal his way beyond the picket he could doubtless find a method of crossing. Perhaps he might make his way down the river and across at Shell mound, or, still lower, to the mouth of Battle creek, held by the Union forces. Mark skirted the town on the west, and then took a course directly south till he came to the railroad. This he followed to a point near where he had bivouacked the night before. Crawling to a rise in the ground 'and motioning Jakey to keep back, he laid down on his stomach to make a survey. ' It was nearly dark. Silhouettes of figures were passing between him and a campfire beside the railroad track. Beyond, the pyigsdes of Lookout mountain stood ofhy&oldly against a streak of twilight in the west Between the track and tiie river was an open space, over which he must pass to get by the picket The river bank would afford some protection. Near where he was it was steep, and the current set directly against it, but lower down by the picket there appeared to be places where a man could walk under lue low bluff. The moon was about three-quarters full, and the night was clear except for clouds that would float lazily over Lookout mountain and across the moon's face, so that at times her light was partly obscured. Mark thought of waiting till she had set, bat this would not be till after daylight He made up his mind to make the attempt at once. A?1Unf* lul/ov ho traro Viim an flfwinnt VW*?**?5 **W QW ? V ?? I of what he iutended to try for, and told him that if it should be necessary to run under fire the boy was to lie down, and, if necessary, give himself up, bnt on no account to risk being shut. Jakey only half promised, and Mark was obliged to be satisfied with this. Then, waiting for a little while longer for the twilight to entirely disappear and a clond to obscure the moon, he lay on the ground gathering his forces and getting his mind into that cool state requisite for one who is about to make a very hazardous attempt. Presently the conditions were favorable, and he got up and led the way to the river bank, which he proposed to skirt He left his bundle, but took Jakey's gun, loaded and capped, in his hand. They soon gained the point where they had landed the night before?nearly opposite where Mark had seen the silhouettes on i the railroad. Treading as noiselessly as ' possible, they passed along the river margin under the overhanging bank till I they came to a place where the bank was low. Stooping, they proceeded for | a short distance till they reached the root of a tree that had been felled long ' before. Here they paused and listened. Suddenly they heard what sounded like a musket brought from a shoulder down to the hollow of a hand, and a voice: "Who comes thar?" "Corporal of the guard, with relief." "Advance, corporal, and give the countersign." Then there was some muttering and footsteps tramping away. Mark peeped between the roots of the j stump toward the point from which the ! sounds had come. He saw, not a hundred feet away, a man sitting on a log with ttis musket resting against his shoulder, the butt on the ground. He was looking listlessly up at tho sky. Presently he took a clay pipe out of his pocket, which he filled, and touching a match lighted it. "He's the river picket." said Mark to himself. The sentinel sat smoking while Mark meditated. His first thought was, Why ' did 1 bring this boy? The situation was perilous enough without an encumbrance. The guard was facing the space over which they would have to pass to escape; there might be a slight chance for life to make a dash were he alone, but with the boy it was not to be thought of, and Mark was unwilling to leave him. He looked back with a view to retracing the route over which he had come. He was horrified to see a sentinel pacing a hundred yards above. He had been placed there by the relief. The only hope was to wait for the man nearest him to relax his watchfulness, and attempt to pass him. The sentinel up the river was not to be feared except by going back, for from the nature of the ground the fugitives would be hidden from him if tliey should go forward, j Mark resolved to wait and watch. The minutes seemed hours, the hours days. The soldier still sat on the log, though now and then lie would get up, and leaving his musket leaning on it saunter back and forth on his beat. He well knew there was no enemy to fear: his duty was little more than a form. He began to hum a few strains of "The Suwanee River." / Poor devil." said Mark to himself, , SL, (LATE U. S. A.) icrican Press Association. I "he, too, is thinking of home. What a cursed thing war is! If ever 1 get out of this I'll do no more such duty. Give me an enemy f^ce to face, bullets before me and no gibbet behind me." But he had said this many a time before. "My good man," talking to the soldier, but without making any sound, "if you will go far enough from that musket you'll never get back to your Suwanee river." "Nonsense, Mark," the sentinel seemed to say to him; "a shot would arouse the whole picket post. Besides, if that's your game, why don t yon name me with Jakey's shotgun?" Then the stillness was broken by the sound of oars out on the river. How Mark longed for the boat to come and take him from his terrible position! But whoever was working those oars pulled on. unmindful of the man who so keenly envied the oarsman's freedom. The sounds became fainter and fainter till Mark could hear them no more. He sighed as if he had lost a dear friend. "Jakey's comfortable anyway," he said, looking down at the boy. He had dropped asleep, and Mark for the first time in his life envied a human being the protection of weakness. There was innocent childhood, unconscious of danger, sleeping sweetly, the boyish face lighted by the moon. At last Mark heard the relief coming. The sentinel took his gun and began to pace his beat. The usual form was proceeded with, and the relief marched to the sentinel up the river. Mark observed the man that had been left on post. "1 hope this fellow will be more inclined to rest," he mused. But he was disappointed to see the man begin to pace his beat energetically. He seemed to fear that if he did not keep moving he would get drowsy. A half hour passed with scarcely a rest, then another half hour. It was tramp, tramp in one direction, turn and tramp, tramp back again. The clouds which continued to pass over the moon became heavier. If the sentinel would only relax his vigilance, these periods of comparative darkness would be favorable to flight. But if the soldier was to keep a proper watch the clouds might die away. Then there was " i a- IC--1. U 4-~ ine morning iu guuie. mam ucgau iu lose that coolness which thus far had characterized him. It was the waiting that was wearing him out In perhaps an hour after the sentinel came on picket he yawned. This was the first 6ign of hope for Mark. After awhile he sat down on the log and yawned several times at intervals. He got up and paced for awhile, but at last sat down again. This time he sat longer and his chin sank on his breast He roused himself and sank away again. He would not go to sleep comfortably in accordance with Mark's muttered prayer, but took short naps. Mark considered the feasibility of an attempt to escape between these naps. Without Jakey he would do it: with Jakey it was too hazardous. At last the soldier slid down on to the ground, stretched out his legs and rested his back against the log. Mark's heart went up into his throat with a sudden joy. As near, as he could guess there remained a quarter of an hour till the next relief would come. He looked at the moon, which was now shining with provoking brightness; he looked at the man and tried to make sure that he was asleep. It was impossible to tell with any certainty. "T'U m'rIt it." he Raid. He took Jakey up in his arms very carefully, hoping not to waken him, filing the boy's limp body in the hollow of his left arm. In the right hand he took the squirrel gun, cocked and capped, using the arm at the same time to hold the child. When all was ready he rose slowly and fixed his eyes on the soldier. The man did not stir. Mark moved 6lowly forward, his eyes riveted on the sentinel. A few steps I convinced him that the man really slept. Mark turned his back on him and walked a dozen steps noiselessly, picking a place to plant his foot at each step. Haiti Was it the soldier's voice? Should he turn and shoot him? No, only an explosion of a burning brand in the campfire at the picket j guard on the railroad track. His heart, which had stood still, began thumping like a drumstick. He turned to look at the sentinel. The man sat there gazing straight at him; at least so he appeared to Mark. The figure was as plain as day in the moonlight, though too far for Mark to see the eyes. He cast a quick glance dowu into.lakey's face. He. too. was sleeping peacefully. While these two were in slumberland Mark felt himself suspended between heaven and hell. Aud how still it whs. Even the hum of insects would have been a relief. All this occupied but a moment. Mark turned his back again and moved can tiously forward. His imagination had never served him snch tricks. Surely he heard the sol* I dier move. He was getting up ou hi>? I feet. His musket was leveled at an "aim." A sharp sting under the shoul* I der blade, and a warm stream flowing ; down his side. Certainly he had been \ shot. Nonsensel Away with such freaks of fancy! Suddenly he trod on a rotten branch. It cracked with a sound which ] seemed to him like the report of a pistol Again he paused and turned. He saw the sentinel motionless. He had slipped farther down, and his hat had fallen farther over his forehead. Thank God! He moved backward, his eyes fixed on his sleeping enemy, occasionally turning to see where he stepped. He was getting near to cover. In this way he passed to within a few steps of conceal- ! ment. How he coveted the overhanging bank near to him, yet far enough to be useless should the sentinel awake too soon! Cachew! This sound was real; it was a sneeze from the picbet. Mark knew that it was a signal of awakening. He darted behind the bank and was out of sight. He heard the sentinel get up. shake himself, give a yawn, a grunt, as if chilled, and begin to pace his beat. Mark moved away cautiously, a great flood of joy and thankfulness welling up through his whole nature. Af ter going a sufficient distance to be out of heariug, he awakened Jakey. "Jakey! Wake up!" The boy opened his eyes. "We're beyond the picket." "Wliar's my gun?" "Oh, blessed childhood," thought * ' i 1 I, a mara, "mat in uiuwcma ui juiu wn w interested in such trifling things!" "I have your gun here in my hand. It's safe. Stand on your legs, my boy We're going on." Jakey stood on the ground and rubbed his eyes with his fists. Once awake he was awake all over. They moved on down the river toward the base of Lookout mountain, soon leaving the river margin and strikinginland behind some rising ground. Finding a convenient nook in a clump of bushes wherein to leave Jakey, Mark told him to lie down and stay there while he reconnoitered to find a way to get down the river and to cross it. Mark hunted nearly n41 night. He could find no practicable route. Ho did not know how to proceed around Look I out mountain, and could find no means j of crossing the Tennessee near where he j was. At last, looking down from a ' ! knoll, he could see the margiu of the i river at a place where the bank concealed 1 the ohore between the base of the bank j and the verge of the water. But what he saw especially, and which gladdened his heart, was a boat moored to the ' shore and in it a pair of oars. Going back to the place where he had left Jakey he wakened him, and together they returned to the knoll. The boat I was still where he had seen it. Leading ! the way Mark descended to the bank. So intent was he upon seizing the boat j 1 that he did not think to approach cau- i | tiously. He forgot that where there j was a boat with oars in it the oarsman i would likely not be far away. He jumped down to the slanting i I ground below and landed in the midst of i a party of Confederate soldiers. CHAPTER IX. A despkratk SITUATION. "My hanchikufl," he whined. i Never was there a more surprised look on any man's face than on Mark's | at the moment he discovered the men j ! into whose midst he had fallen. He i knew the range of the Confederate I picket line, and was unable to underi 6tand how this party could be a part of j ' it. The men looked equally surprised at his appearance. Indeed they seemed ! I more disconcerted at his sudden coming i j than he was at their being there. When : he made his leap among them they I I were about to get into the boat, and one of them held the painter in his hand. ; Mark in a twinkling made np his mind j that they were not pleased at his ap. pearance. He determined to play a bold | game. He had no defined plan when he began to speak to them?it came to him as he proceeded. "What are you men doing here?" he asked in a tone that none but a soldier licnows how to assume. No one answered. "What regiment do you belong to?" No answer. "Is there a noncommissioned officer ; among you?" There was so much of authority in 1 Mark's tone that it compelled an answer. ; and a respectful one. "No, sir." "You men are away from your com- ! mands without permission. 1 can see i that plainly." The men looked guilty, but said noth- ' ing. "You evidently don't know me. I am an officer of General Bragg's staff on an : r * ?? |. important unsbiou ui He waited a moment to discover the* effect of his words and then proceeded: "It is a matter of the greatest moment [ that 1 get across the river at once. I want you men to pull me over and then report immediately to your colonel. Give me your names." Without appearing to doubt for a moment that he would be obeyed, he called on the men successively, and each man Responded with his name. There were five men, and as each answered he sainted respectfully. "Now what regiment do' you belong to?' "The th Tennessee." "The old story," said Mark severely, j "You men are doubtless from east Ten- j nessee. You are deserters, trying to get | back to where you came from." Mark had hit the nail on the head. j The men looked terror stricken. He j knew, when he ordered them to pull j across the river, that they would obey J him gladly. And if he should leave j them to report to their colonel, they would attempt to make their way north j instead. "Get into the boat, every one of yon." j Every man got into the boat,<md one of them took the oars. "Now if you will get me over quickly j I'll see what 1 can do for you with your j commanding officer when I return." Jakey was standing on the bank with his eyes wide open at this scene. Mark had been a hero with him; now he was a little less than a god. "Do<you want to get across the river, : my little man?" asked Mark, as if he had never seen the boy before. "Does 1 want ter? Course 1 does." "Jump in then, quick. I've no time to lose." Jakey came down and got in with the ! rest. " fl.a VJTIVC ?ttj, Clicu luaia, uuu i/tiv wuv shot out from the shore. Wot a dozen strokes had been taken before Mark, who was delighted at the success of his assurance, saw a sight that made his heart sink within him. A boat shot around Moccasin point from the eastward. God in heaven! It was full of anned men. As soon as they saw the skiff with | Mark and the deserters in it?for such I they were?they pulled straight for them. In five minutes they were alongside. "1 reckon you're the men we're looking for," said an officer seated in the 6teru. "Who are you looking for?" asked j Mark, with as much coolness as he could assume. "Deserters from the th Tennessee." Mark knew it was all up with him. His assumption of being on General Bragg's staff, which had been so successful a ruse, suddenly appeared to him a halter about his neck. "Hand over your guns." said the offi- j cer. The guns were handed into the boat, all except Jakey's shotgun, j "That other one too." 1 "That's only a shotgun, captain," said Mark. ! "Well, never mind the popgun." Every moment the deserters looked i for Mark to declare his exalted position on General Bragg's staff, but no such ' declaration came. It seemed possible to them that perhaps he would not wish to i I disclose his identity to so many. At any j rate they said nothing. Had it not been : i for his assumption Mark would have applied to the captain to let a poorcoun| tryman and his little brother pass. Had he done so it is quite possible that the men he had deceived, surmising that ho was a refugee like themselvss, would not have betrayed him; but Mark knew i that besides this danger the officers, having found him in such company, would j not let him go. Mark's heart was heavy as the boat in which he sat was pulled slowly against the current to Chattanooga. Ho realized that there was now no opportunity for his wits, on which he usually j relied, to work. Ho was in the hands j of the enemy; ho would not bo released i without a thorough questioning, and he could say nothing that would not tell against him. On landing all were taken to the pro- j vost marshal's office. The soldiers ac- ! knowledged that they were members of the tli Tennessee regiment, but stoutly denied that they were deserters. They j were Union men, some of the norlhern| ers who had been impressed into the Confederate service, or had enlisted for j I the purpose of flying to the stars and i stripes as soon as they could get near 1 enough to warrant an attempt. They were sent to their regiment under guard. As they were leaving one of them said to Mark: "I hope you'll keep your promise." Mark did not reply; he had cherished a hope that they would be taken away ; before anything would come out as to his assumption of authority. "What promise?" asked the provost marshal quickly "He's an officer on General Bragg's staff. lTou ought to know him, colonel." j "The devil!" exclaimed the colonel. "Oh, I saw the men were doing some- ; thing they were ashamed of, and I bluffed 'em to row me across," said Mark with assumed carelessness. "Who are you?" "I belong in east Tennessee." "You don't belong to any such place, i You're not southern born at all. You're j a Yankee. I thought you were only ! 'frying to get north with these men; now j i believe you are a spy." "I'm a southern man, sarten," said j Mark, with such coolness that the officer | was for a moment in doubt as to his sur- ; inise. "Let me hear you say New York." "New York." "New York," repeated the colonel ironically. "If you were a southern man you'd say Niew Yawk. I shall have to hold you for further information." "I would like to go to my home in Tennessee. I came here to buy a gun | for my brother. But if you won't let j me I'll have to stay with you, 1 suppose. Only I hope you won't separate | us. Jakey's very young, and I don't 1 want to turn him adrift alone in a strange town." "I shall have to hold you till 1 can re- I port the case to headquarters," said the j officer, and Mark and Jakey were led away to a room in the house occupied by the provost marshal for prisoners 1 temporarily passing through his hands. ; The reply that came to the announce- j ment of the capture of the citizen and ! the boy wee to hold them under vigilant ' guard. It waa reported that Mark had ; been personating an officer of the staff, and this looked very suspicious; indeed j quite enough so to warrant their trying ! him for a spy by drumhead court martial and executing him the nex t morning. Mark was searched and everything of value taken from him. They went through Jakey's pockets and felt of the j lining of his coat, but as he was a child I the search was not very thorough, or j they would have found the bills in his j boot. They took his gun, but by this ! time Jakey realized that there was 6ome- j thing more momentous than a squirrel j gun at stake, and parted with it without showing any great reluctance. He real- | ized that Mark, for whom he had by this time conceived a regard little short j of idolatry, was1 in danger, and the boy j for the first time began to feel that his i friend could not accomplish everything. Jakey stood looking on stolidly as Mark was searched till he saw a soldier take ! Sonri's red silk handkerchief. He had ; produced the impression on the searchers he had at first produced upon Mark?that I he was 6tupid beyond his years. As the man grasped the handkerchief and was about to put it in his pocket Jakey set j up a howl. "What's the matter, sonny?" asked one ?f the soldiers. "My hanchikuff," he whined. "Is it yours?" "Yas." "Give the boy his wipe," said the man to the would be appropriator. "Don't rob a child." So Jakey preserved his handkerchier. Then they were marched away together to a small building used for a negro jail. It was two stories high, though the lower story had no windows. The upper part was reached by a long flight of steps outside the building. The lower part was a dungeon, and though used to confine negroes there had been a number of east Tennesseeans imprisoned there. The place was kept by an old man and his wife named Triggs. Mark was put into a room in the upper story. A guard was stationed at the door, and the only window was barred. Had Mark been arrested with definite proof that he was a spy, he would doubtless have been put in the dungeon. As it was, he was only guarded with ordinary caution. This, however, seemed quite sufficient to prevent his escape. Jakey was put into a room by himself, but he was not required to stay there. He was suffered to go and come at will, except that the guard at the gate was ; ordered not to let him leave the yard, j He asked the jailer's wife to permit him to go in to Mark so often the first morn- I ing of his arrival that at last the guard at the door was instructed to pass him J in and out at will. "Well, Jakey," said Mark, when they j were together in their new quarters, I "this looks pretty blue." "Reckon it does." "You'd better not stay here. Go out j in the yard and I'll try to think up some | plan. But I must confess 1 don't see any way out," and Mark rested his elbows on his knees, and putting his face in his hands thought upon his perilous situation. "Jest you don't worrit," said Jakey. j "sumep'n'll turn up slio." "Well, go out into the sunlight. Don't ' stay here. If they sentence me to hang I'll try to get them to send you home." CHAPTER X. THE RED SILK HANDKERCHIEF. flf ill The men clasped hands, and Mark was j led away between two soldiers. Greatness underlying an uninviting exterior is often called out by circumstances. President Lincoln would not have been the "great emancipator" had j he not been born in the nick of time, i General Grant would not have become J prominent as a soldier had the civil war ' occurred before or after he was of fit ago : to lead the Union armies, and Jakey ; Slack?well, Jakey would not have de- j veloped his ability as a strategist had it j not been for his friend, Mark Malone, ! and the negro jail at Chattanooga. Jakey was as incompetent to sit down | and think out a plan for his friend's es- i cape as ho was to demonstrate a proposition of Euclid. Ho could neither add columns of two figures nor spell words of one syllable; indeed he could neither read, write nor cipher, the want of an ability to read or write being a great disadvantage to him in his present responsible position. But the desire to help his fx-iend out of a bad fix having got into his brain, from the nature of the case it simmered there, and then boiled a little, and simmered and boiled again. Like most people of genius, Jukey was unconscious of his own powers, but there was one person in whom, next to Mark, he had great confidence; that was his sister Souri. Then came the thought that if Souri were only there "she niought do a heap." This led Jakey up to the problem how to get her there. The problem was too difiicult for his young brain to solve, so ho got no further until circumstances came to his aid, or may he not have had the germs of reason within him to go further without being definitely conscious of them? When he left Mark he went out into the jailyard and began to. stroll about with his hands in his pockets. To a | casual observer he was simply a boy i with no playmates, who did not know what to do with himself. If any one had been near him he would have seen his littlo eyes continually watching for some means of communication with the outside world. Occasionally he would wander near the fence, tirst casting a sly glance at the jail. There were cracks between the boards, and Jakey was looking out for a good wide crack to spy through. At last he found a place to suit him and hovered about it listening for a footstep, and occasionally getting a quick glance through the opening by putting his eye to it. But Jakey knew well thatif caught at this he would be called into the jail and forced to stay there, so he preferred to rely on his sense of hearing rather than on his sense of sight. The jail was in an unfrequented place, and he was not soon rewarded. A man went by, but he was too far; then another man, but Jakey H.uJied his face on.i w iotiv i?,i wHiioiifc '.iijoinr biin. ! W1JU *VV M'"** O" "V*""'- 4**' v " <p At last an old negro woman passed with a basket on her arm, smoking a short clay pipe. "Auntie!" called the boy. "Lo'd a massy! Is de angel ob de Lo'd speaken to his sarvent from de j clouds?" said the old woman, starting . and dropping her basket. "Auntie, byar at the crack!" "Who is yo' callen? Yo' mus' be a chile from yo' voice." "Put yer eye close up to de fence and : y' can see me at the crack." The woman drew near and put her | eye to the crack. Jakey stood off j a little way, and she could see him ! plainly. Meanwhile he pretended to ; have lost something on the ground. "Why bress my po' ole heart, honey, ! ef y'ain't nothen but a leetle boyinde j jailyard. 'T'aught t' be huff to keep ! dem po' misable po' white east Tennes- ! sans dar what dey had in de cellar wid- j out keepen a chile." "My brother's a prisoner, 'n so air I," i said Jakey in a melancholy voice. "Climb ober de fence, honey, and run j away." i "The fence air too high, 'u 1 ain't a goen fur to leave my brother anyway. , See liyar, aunty, air you niggers Union j or secesh?" "Why, honey, do you t'iuk we turn ag'in ou' own folks! Ain't de Yankee sojers comen down fur to gib us liberation?" "Ef y' c'd save a Union sojer from hangen, w'd y' do it?" "Fo' de Lo'd I would!" "Then send this hancliikuff to Souri Slack." "Who Souri Slack!" "sue s my sister, one uvea ut v uruiu i Slack's." "Whar dat?" "On the Anderson road, close onter i the Sequatchie river." While this conversation was going on : Jakey continued his efforts to find some- j thing at his feet. He picked up a stone, i rolled in the handkerchief and threw ; them over the fence. "What good dat do?" asked the colored woman, picking up the missile of war. "When Souri gits it she'll know." "Will dat sabe de Union sojer's neck?" "Mebbe 't mought, 'n mebbe 't moughtn't." "I cain't go myself?I'm too ole?but I'll start hit along. Reckon de darkies'll tote it." She picked tip hei^, basket and was moving away when Jakey called to her. "Auntie!" "What, honey?" "Yer mought git some un to tote hit ; ter an old nigger named Jefferson Ran- j dolph, ez lives up a creek 'bout five mile i from hyar, near the pike runnen that j a-way. Mebbe he'll pass hit on." "Shonuff." "Yo' boy, thar!" The jailer's wife was standing in an j open window regarding Jakey severely. "Come away from that ar fence!" Jakey skipped along toward her, do- j ing a little waltzing as he went. "Ef that ar boy wasn't sicli a chile, { I'd think he'd b'en up to sumep'n." "What war yer a-doen by that ar j fence?" she asked when he came up. "Nuthen." . j "What war that y' throwed over!" "Oh, I war only thro wen stones." "What yer throwen stones that a-way fur?" "Fur fun." "Well, y' just keep away from tli' ! fence er y' shan't play in th' yard at all. I'll Bliet y' up with thet big brother o' yourn." "Waal, I won'tgotharnomore." And Jakey took a top out of his trousers pocket and began plugging imaginary tops on the ground. Mark hoped that the preparations the Confederates were making for the expected move would cause them to forget him. He was not destined to be so fortunate. The second day after his capture he was taken before a court martial held in a house occupied by the staff department, to be tried on the charge of being a spy. The court was assembled and ready to proceed with the case. An officer had been detailed to defend the prisoner, but he had not arrived and the court waited. Presently a clatter of horse's hoofs was heard outside. It stopped before the <lonr nf tlift house, and in another mo ment Mark's counsel entered the room. Mark looked at him with astonishment. In the tall, straight soldier, with black hair and eyes, mustache and goatee, bearing about him that something which indicates "to the manor born," he recognized the officer who had called at the Fains' on the morning he had left them?Captain Cameron Fitz Hugh. As soon as he entered he beckoned the prisoner to follow him to a corner of the room apart from the others for consultation. It was not a convenient place for such an important interview, but one charged with being a spy was not likely , to get many favors, and the exigencies of the case did not admit of aught except the bare forms of justice. "Will you give me your confidence, my man, or shall I proceed at random?" "At random." "If you think it best to trust me, 1 give you the word of a Virginia gentleman that I will not betray you, and 1 will do all I can for you. I am a Fitz Hugh." Ho said this unconscious of how it would sound to a northerner. To him to be a Fitz Hugh was to be incapable of a dishonorable act. Mark understood him perfectly; indeed his counsel in?? 1 1.; ;u. spireu iiiiii wuu i/uunutin,v. "I would explain everything to you, captain, but my secret is not all my own. I would be perfectly willing to trust my i fate in your hands if 1 could honorably do so. You will doubtless fail in your defense, but I thank you for the effort you will make." The trial was of brief duration. The soldiers in whose company Mark was taken were called and testified to his having masqueraded as a staff officer, i Kiibwing now that he was probably a | Union spy, they would have shielded i him, but they had already given up the I secret. Mark was asked where he lived. | He had entered his name at the hotel 1 j as coming from Jasper, so he gave that j place as his residence, but when asked I what county Jasper was in he could not j tell. The maps he had studied, being | military maps, did not give the coun| ties. Then some Tennessee soldiers wero j brought in?the town swarmed with them?who testified that they lived at Jasper and had never seen the prisoner there. The closing evidence against Mark was given by the recruiting officer with whom he had promised to enlist. Hearing that a spy had been taken, and suspecting it might be his promised recruit, he went to the courtroom and there recognized the prisoner. His testimony was sufficient. The court had made up its mind before the prisoner's counsel had said a word. Captain Fitz Hugh seemed distressed at not being able to bring forth any evidence in behalf of the prisoner. When he arose to speak in Mark's defense the court listened to him with marked attention and respect?indeed they were as favorably impressed with the accused's counsel as they were unfavorably disposed toward the accused. The captain was obliged to content himself with warning the court against convicting a m^n of being a spy because his identity was not satisfactorily explained and on circumstantial evidence. He asked that the prisoner might have more time than had been given him in which to gather evidence in his behalf. The court denied this request and proceeded with a verdict. In forty minutes after Mark entered the courtroom he was found guilty of being a spy. "Have you anything to say why the sentence of the court should not be passed upon you?" "No, sir." Captain Fitz Hugh interposed once -more for delay. "1 would suggest/," he said, "that inasmuch as some explanation may come to hand bearing on the case the court fix my client's punishment to take place on a day not nearer than a week from today." "1 had intended to fix it for tomorrow morning at sunrise," said the president, "but? in deference to the prisoner's counsel I will compromise with him midway between a week, as he desires, and tomorrrow, or allowing three days. The sentence of the court is that the prisoner be hanged by the neck until he is dead on the twenty-seventh day of August, eighteen hundred and sixty-two, or three days from today." Before Mark was led out of the courtroom his counsel approached him. Considering the prejudice against the prisoner, another man would have suffered him to go without a word. Not so Captain Fitz Hugh. He strode up to Mark, the officers and soldiers present making a way for him, leaving him alone with the prisoner by withdrawing to another part of the room, and extended his hand. "One thing is plain to me," he said, "whoever you are, you are a gentleman, and I believe you have sacrificed your life to your sense of duty. I am sorry that you did not trust me with your secret. Then I might have done something for you. As it is, I have done nothing." "It would have availed nothing," said Mark. "You have done all you could under any circumstances. Besides, had I told you who I am, you might have felt it your bounden duty to your cause to make known the facts." "Never," said Fitz Hugh proudly. "1 owe more to myself, more to my sense of honor, more to my birth and breeding, more even to my state than to the Confederacy." "CaDtain Fitz Hugh," said Mark with a voice in which there was a slight tremble, "you are of too fine grain. You are too frank, too truthful. Do not feel a moment's regret at not having been able to save me. Mine is but one of thousands of lives that must go out in this great struggle for human liberty. Mine is an ordinary nature. You are fitted for nobler work than war. I trust you will be spared to become an honor to your state and a reunited country. From the bottom of my heart I thank you." The men clasped hands, and Mark was led away between two soldiers. [to iik continued next week.] Proper Care of Cats.?Opinions differ as to the best food for a cat, but the best authorities agree upon raw beef cut very small, bones to pick, fish of all sorts, milk, boiled rice or oatmeal with milk or without it, brown bread and milk, some boiled vegetables, stalks of asparagus, cabbage and even carrots. It is a good plan to mix rice or oatmeal with fish. Raw meat is generally considered the best and most natural food for cats. Cooked meats, mashed potatoes, raw eggs and and clams can be added to the list above. Great carc should be taken in removing all the bones from fish before it is given to the cat. The chill should be taken from milk in cold weather, and fresh water should he left where a cat can find it at all times. Good authorities condemn liver as a food for cats; it should only be p-ivpn necasionallv. C ' ? V Give u cat now and then a square inch of fresh butter. It is very necessary for a cat to have grass. In the country she will lind it herself, but in the town it should be given to her. In the winter keep a sod of grcw'ng grass in the house where she can get at it. Give her catnip often. Cats should be fed regularly. It is a great mistake to suppose that because a cat catches mice and birds occasionally she needs no other food. Some people feed their cats so little that they arc compelled to help themselves, and then they are called thieves. A cat that is well cared for will be a better mouser than one that is not. ? Slkkp ix Sickness.?Concerning sleep, in connection with sickness, there is a good deal of heresy regarding the matter, among otherwise well informed people. ''Don't let her sleep too long!'! "lie sure to wake him when it is time to give the medicine: it will be a great deal better for him not to sleep too long at one time !'' How often we have heard the words to that effect, when, in fact, in nine eases out of ten, and very likely in ninety-nine eases out of the hundred, they arc the exactly opposite of the truth. Gentle, restful sleep is better than any medicine; and how often, even how almost invariably, docs the "change for the better," for which anxious friends are waiting so prayerfully, come during sleep?making its first manifestation when the patient awakes with brightened eye, stronger voice, a faint tinge of returning health mantling the features, iu place of the wan hue of threatening death! In the words of Sancho I'anza, we may well say, "Messed be the man who invented sleep !" There are, of course, critical situations in which a troubled, imperfect sleep may properly be broken to administer medicines: but in these latter days physicians, quite generally, give instructions that in case of restful sleep the patient is not be awakened for the administering of medicines. ' " ?i i? IIII.NOS i u.iir. in ?. ....._ ... see ;i man always talking about what a happy place heaven is. ami doing nothing to make his home resenilde it. I hate, to see a man with a suspicious hicatli hoast of temperance principles. I hate to see a man continually talkingaboul lmw much he loves everybody ami never doing anything to help anybody. I hale to see a prominent church member slipping into a butcher-shop to buy something lor breakfast on Sunday morning. i hale to see people overly particular about their clothes and underly particular about their morals. I hate to see a man remember everything the clown said twenty years aim and Ibrgrt every word the preacher said last Sunday morning, i 1 bate to see people giving all their : sweet to the world, and keep all their | sour for the lireside.? Ham's Horn. SUisccUiwMus Reading. | KID, THE BANDIT APACHE. .! PRIZE OR AD VA TE OF THE GOVERXMEXT SCHOOL. Once there was an Indian baby on ; the San Carlos Reservation who was | lucky enough to attract the attention I of the agent's wife. His Apache ; mother used to tilt his basket up 1 against a tree while she worked in the agent's house and leave him in charge of a certain yellow dog until it was I time to take him back to the tepee at | night. He had a name that meant j Yellow Wolf, or Eagle-that-Tears, or I something like that, but the Apache j sounds were too hard for the white I folks and he was soon plain Kid. He j was the smartest Indian baby ever on the reservation, and really noticed I the Eastern lady who watehed him 1 from the veranda and thought he was \ the funniest thing in that whole wild country. There was not much humor there j then. There was death in a hundred hideous shapes always threatening, for j every year had its uprising, and those ; nearest were most likely to'suffer when I the Apaches started away on their ! raids, says the San Francisco Examiner. But Kid's father had the fortune to i be killed during one bit of murdering ! and burning, and Kid, outgrowing his | basket of wicker and buckskin, trampI ed nakedly about the agency until he was quite a boy. : Then the agent and his wife decided i to do something for Kid. The people were getting tired of the regular spring overflow of devils from the reserva' tion, the soldiers killed many and j brought others back, but the Indians stayed only during the wet weather, and when out of doors became pleasi ant again away they went, fresh from j months of lazy living, with new blankets and a hunger for blood whetted by a season's abstinence. The governj ment in its wisdom decided that if j those benighted people could only he i shown the hopelessness of killing all ! the whites they would become discouraged and quit. So they determined to take away ofl ; to the East a number of the young 1 bucks, educate them up to the propel | appreciation of the value of a white man's life, and ultimately send .them back as missionaries to spread the knowledge they had bestowed upon them. It was a good idea and on othci j savages it had worked weir, j That was the chance to do something I for Kid. He was so bright, so different j from the other Apache spawn, that the agent picked him out for the govern; ment's pupil, and away he went to tlu i Indian University at Carlisle. From there came back all manner of good reports. He learned easily. He took ! to cultivation with as much readiness as any child of 20 generations of civilization. He came out of the Indian school an educated, finished gentleman i with a college training and all the rest of it. His native brightness and the culture he had come by so strangely made him a great favorite. Society took him up and he was a lion at receptions. His was a presence that would make anv such show a success. His strong Indian face and tall well-knit frame set off good clothes splendidly. Women particularly were interested in this reclaimed savage with a high mission, foi j he knew 4he purpose the government j that had done so much for him intended him for, and he spoke of it with enj enthusiasm. He lived the white man's life, said pretty things to the white I man's women in romantic conservato ' ries. Surely the education of Kid was a great success. There was a story of a prospectivt wedding with one of the fairest and gentlest of those who listened to his stories of his life on the desert reservation, but his mission called him back and he came to teach his fellows thai there was more in life than murder and theft. | His return was a triumph. The par I sons used him for a text in their ser; mons and pointed to him as the solu : tion of the Indian question. At last he reached the reservation and the whole country watched to set the result. It came quick enough One night Kid dolled his good clothes and his school-teaching manner, brain ed a squaw who would have betrayed i him, and at the head of half a hun i died others broke from the reservatior ! and tore through Arizona, killing, tor i turing and burning. Through thej ; went over the line and into Mexico driving before them cattle and horses i the spoil of the raid, and leaving be I hind them men and women and chil drcn dead in their blood, amid tin blazing ruins of their homes on tlx ranches. And at the head of the band rod< Kid, naked as the rest, with the blacl war-streaks 011 his cheeks and tlx white vengeance lines painted acros: his forehead. That was ten years ago, and evei since Kid has been the seourge ami the terror of the Southern mountains Scores of those who have ridden witl ? ? 1 him have been killed and capiureu 1 but they have never succeeded in put tin# back the bunds on Kid. He ha; slain a hundred white men and women. The soldiers of the United States and Mexico have hunted hin over thousands of miles, and turning back, lias time and time again crawlet into their camp and cut the throats o one or more. When Geronimo made his last raid Kid joined him among the rocks o the Sierra Madre. There were 200 o the liends on the warpath that time and the record of their awful crimes i: a long one. But at last they had t( quit, and General Crook brought then back to San Carlos, but not all o j them. Kid would not agree to the surrender and slipped away like t coyote into the brush. They sen I Geronimo and his chiefs back into tin Florida everglades, whence they coult never hope to come back to the 11101111 tains and deserts they knew so well One of these chiefs was Masse. H< escaped from the train in Kansas and savage though he was, he made his way back through the States unappre j bended into Arizona. He found Kit probably by the same instinct by wliicl a freed wolf finds the pack, and to get her they murdered through tin . ..... c vt intervals thev deseendct on the reservation and carried oil' wo men. These women do not come back Kid has an easier way of getting a di voree than through the courts. Less than a year ago the soldiers go Masse. They were pursuing the pai as they had often pursued them before and a lucky long shot knocked Inn from his horse, lie fought on tin ground until the life was gone, but Ki< got away. I'sually there are four or five rene gades with this evil spirit of the motin tains. Just now there arc supposed ti be six or seven, and for each one dea< a thousand dollars is olfered, and tin Kid's head is worth many thousands The great cattle ranches of Nev and Old Mexico liavc been his hunt ing grounds. lie has slaughters many men there. Within a few month no less than six vaqucros have fallei by his bullets, lie lies by a trail o near a water hole and waits for sonn man to come along. As the travele passes a shot in the back ends him From his victims Kid keeps supplie< with whatever lie needs. His horse I are the best in the two territories, fo he has all there are to choose from. His shrewdness surpasses belief. Every trick of the fugitive he knows. A squad of cavalry followed his trail for miles and finally found a dead horse that had given out under him and the horse's shoes were turned i wrong end foremost. They had followed a back trail. , When he is alone he covers his tracks behind him and no one can , trail him. They only know that be has passed from place to place by the bodies of his victims. Kid never touches food he finds in a camp. Even whisky he will not touch for fear of poison. Whenever he likes he goes into the towns. He speaks half dozen languages, thanks to his college education, aud no one knows him. He passes for a Mexican then and buys what he likes. Not long ago there was in the employ of one of the cattle companies down Dona Ana way, a splendid vaquero. He was a Mexican, but so exI tlio i-nno on/1 an mnrh of a pci l W 11/11 VUC 1U|/V I4UV* wv ? ? ? rider that even the tall Texans had to admit him as good as the best of them. He had worked along for some weeks when he was sent with another vaquero to round up some stock in one of the distant valleys. Neither of them came back. They found the body of the cowboy where they had camped. His throat had been cut while he slept. The expert vaquero was Kid. This was merely one of his grim surprises. ; After each outrage the soldiers have come out after the Apache. No one but the soldiers will hunt him. The cowboys, afraid of nothing on "earth, will not tempt fate by chasing this j one Indian, and a report that Kid is . ! in camp will stampede any cow outfit from the Gulf to the Panhandle. [ But so frequent have been this Apai | che's outrages of late that the two govj ernments have apparently determined , | to end them for always. Two troops ! of United States cavalry have been sent out for him and are now scouring the hills on the old Head rancho in New Mexico. > They have orders to hunt him down, j , no matter how long or how far they I j have to follow him. Just over the line 500 Mexican in- j fantrymen are on the same mission. I [ It would be a close place for most men, | r but Kid has been as badly beset before. ! ^ Many a wild ride has he given them . over the hills and deserts, his horse 1 tearing over the country unguided, j . | while the naked rider dealt death back i ! to them as they galloped wildly on. { MEN WHO HAVE NO PEAR. "Courage," he said, "has often struck : ; 1 uie as rather being the loss of some- ; ; j thing than the possession of some- i i ! thing. Of course, I kuow that a brave 1 | man will walk deliberaiely into death, ; i | knowing full well what he is doing, j i but having made up his mind to do it , I | at any cost. It is no sign of coward- I ! ice when a man sees that it is useless i ! to die when he might live with just as ' much credit and honor to himself, and i | so refuses to walk into the jaws of | , I death. : j "But there is the man who does not ' I know what fear is. I have seen in my : ! life a few such men?men who would ; i go into any danger for the simple rea- I > son that they did not seem to have the | 5 power to perceive that what they did | ' was likely to cost their lives. i "I remember once in the late sixties I was in a Wyoming town which was bad. There were some men in that town whose actions were never ques' tioned, and there were many lawless t deeds at which even the good citizens shrugged their shoulders?and that was all. > "A man came into the town who s ' had the mildest manuer of any one whom I ever saw. He was very tall, i j had broad shoulders and huge fists, but his eye was of a soft blue, and his | I smile was always friendly. I "One day two drunken outlaws had j | been riding about town, running | | things to suit themselves. Une ot j i j their tricks had been to ride into bar- j t I rooms and to scatter people there. | 1 They were let alone at this amusement | ' until they both got tired of it, for they ! were 'had men,' and no one cared to have them begin a savage attack on him. "When the two riders, inflamed with i whisky and brutality, found the bari j room charges too flat for their tastes, ; they looked around for other mischief ' ' ! to do. They found it in a little store, i j which was a notion shop, a drug store j 1 : and everything else. They charged it I on the trot, and with spurs jingling, 1 ! arms waving and hoofs clattering, in j j they went. An instant later two , ' screaming women rushed from the j , ! place, and ran down the street. When i : the outlaws rode out to the sidewalk j 1 they sat in their saddles and howled like savages. : I "Now the mild natured, blue-eyed - giant, coming down the street, had 1 seen enough of the affair to under- j > stand what had happened. He stop: ped and looked at the two whisky; | mad riders for a full minute. The 1 ' whole affair was over. The women i had disappeared and the horsemen i" were sitting there, still laughing. But I i the giant, walking close to one of them, ' reached up quickly and took him by 1 the coat near the throat. He pulled i the man from his saddle as if he had j been a sack of bran, and giving him a ' terrific shake, dashed him to the ground where he lay all in a crushed heap. I "The other rider had seen all this, at 1 first with a look of stupid astonishf ment, and then, with a savage light on \ his face, he whipped out his revolver; f but liofnrn hn could use it, the giant had snatched him from his saddle, and > with one hand around his throat and f one gathered up the fellow's clothes f low on his chest, he literally wrung i the strength out of him. ' " 'Better get out of this town as soon > as you can,' lie said, in a low voice, 1 and he Hung him into the street 011 top * of his companion. The two sneaks ! ; actually whimpered when they got up. 1 They had their revolvers, hut they t J climbed into their saddles as if they ; were half frightened to death, and ^ rode out of town. "Xow, my point is this: No man * . who had an idea of danger would have ' attacked those men when the peril of 1 ! the women was past. The chances ' were ten thousand to one that he * j would he killed. lie was absolutely ' ignorant of fear, for lie afterward bc1 came a deputy marshal, and while try* ing to arrest three desperate men in - this fearless way, was snoi iu pieces. 1 ?New York Tribune. l'KCt"LIAIMTIKS OK 'I'llK ]I?)KSK.? " There arc many odd tilings about the anatomical and physiological make-up t of the horse that are seldom noticed ' or mentioned, even by the so-called . i written "authorities" on such subjects, 1 or by veterinary surgeons themselves. 2 Kinetics have no more effect upon a, 1 living sick representative of the genus equus than they would on a marble - representation of Alexander's famous - old Hueephalus. Do you know why a this is? It is because a horse is unpro1 vided with a galbbladder. When one i of the human family gets badly injured i. the gall bladder acts in sympathy, and v the result is a "deallily sickness," or a - fainting away entirely. With the horse 1 it is different, not because he is not s sensitive to pain, but for the reasons n given. Some authorities consider that r the most highly organized of the doe mcstic creatures. One even says: r "There is no living creature, not even i. a hysterical woman, so nervously scn1 j sitive as a horse : and,.as for the eons tention that a horse does not feel pain, r I think that he even suffers more from ] an injury tban a roan wouia irom a, hurt of the same magnitude." And yet this "nervously sensitive" creature has been known to eat a hearty meal when his entrails were trailing on the ground as a result of an encounter with a trained bull in the arena, or from gunshot wounds received in battle with human foes. < This for the reason that he could not possibly get "sick at his stomach" because there is no overflow of gall to cause such sensations. CHRIST'S MOTHER'S WEDDING RING. One of the famous "Myths of the Middle Ages," the account of which, by the way, Baring-Gould neglected to incorporate into his valuable work of the above quoted title, was the story of the "Miraculous Ring," supposed and believed to have been the identical circlet used in the marriage ceremonies which made the Virgin Mary and Joseph, the carpenter, man and wife. This wonder-worker was a homely little onyx or amethyst jewel, having a carved representation of the Budding Rod on the signet. It was discovered in the year 996 in this manner : Judith, the wife of Hugo, Marquis of Eituria, being a great lover of jewels, employed one Ranerious, a skilled lapidary of Clusinm, to go to Rome and make some purchases for her. While there he became acquainted with a jeweler who had just arrived from Jerusalem. This man soon became greatly attached to our friend Ranerius, and when the latter was on s the eve of departure presented him a very common-looking finger ring. Ranerius at first declined such a valueless gift, but upon being pressed to take it, ?1 - 0O01. ISatoninrr to ft Kjmy i/yuocuu^u uiw? ? marvelous story of the ring's history, which wound up with the declaration that it was the weddiugring of Joseph and Mary. Ranerius, still careless of what the other said, threw it in a chest, where it remained ten years. During this time Ranerius'sonly son, ten years of age, died. While the child was being carried out for burial he suddenly rose from his coffin and ordered the bearers to stop. Then calling to his father he told that individual a wonderful story of his trip to heaven and how sorrowful the Virgin Mary was , . because he (Ranerius) had allowed her precious jewel to lay neglected for ten long years. The resurrected boy had never heard of the ring before, but when the chest of trinkets was brought, soon selected the holy relic. After performing the miracle the child died again and was buried. But the ring became the relic of relics and was constantly surrounded by devotees and those who desired to have it applied to blind eyes, crippled limbs, etc. It was the greatest miracle worker of the times. Besides healing leprosy, curing blindness, sciataca and other ills, it reconciled entangled married people, drove out devils and performed many minor services. For many years it was at Clusium, but was finally stolen by one, Winthems and carried to Peruga. A long dispute arose over this, which was at last decided by Cardinal Piccolominaeus, who adjudged to it the last named place. The Face of a Clock.?An excellent way to test a man's powers of observation is to ask him to draw the dial of a clock. Most persons set down IV for four, instead of the four straight lines usual on dials, and few remember that all the letters of the dial stand with their bases toward the.-? centre. It has been demonstrated that all persons ordinarily read a clock dial by the position of the figures and disregard the figures themselves. ~ - 1 U1S Une ot me oest. Known puuuc umis in a provincial town has no mark save a straight line at each of the places usually occupied by the Roman nu- ^ merals, and the maker of the great clock of the houses of parliament made another great dial, upon which he indicated each hour by a single straight line. It has been found, bowever, that while most persons have no accurate knowledge of dials, any marked departure from the usual rule in the marking of watch faces or house clocks is easily detected. A dial bearing IV instead of four straight lines at once attracts attention. Beggars in Cold New York.? The number of beggars in the streets is appalling. It is impossible for any Z' one to resist their appeals, for the sufferings which many of those unfortunates go through is apparent from their wretched condition. Half of them are only partly clad, and in some instances the physical suffering must be intense. A day or two since a lady of my acr.itointnrwfl told me of a wornau and child who had taken up a position on the corner near her house, the woman turning a small organ,in an effort to ~ attract a few pennies. She was actually sitting in the snow and she remained there two hours, until one of the neighbors went out to her assistance. There was not a penny in the tin box on the organ and the woman was frozen almost into insensibility. The child was taken to a hospital, where it subsequently died. Thero was no romance about the matter. It was a simple illustration of the awful misery which has been the lot of the poor during the recent cold weather in New York.?Blakely Hall. Two Remarkable Epitaphs.? The two most remarkable epitaphs in the United States are those of Daniel Barrow, of Sacramento, Cal., and that of Ilank Monk, Horace Greeley's stage driver. The former reads as follows: "Here is laid Daniel Barrow, who was born in Sorrow and Borrowed little from nature except his name and his love to mankind and his hatred for redskins: Who was nevertheless a gentleman and a dead shot, who through __ r a long life never killed his man except in self-defense or by accident, and who when he at last went down under the ji bullets of his cowardly enemies in Jeff M Morris's saloon, did so in the sure and certain hope of a glorious and everlasting morrow." Hank Monk's epitaph reads thus: "Sacred to the memory of Hank Monk, the whitest, biggest-hearted and best-known stage driver of the West, who was kind to all and thought ill of none. He lived in a strange era and was a hero, and the wheels of his coach are now ringing on the Golden Streets." SB fit-#" Not long ago a citizen of Atlanta ^^^B had a house to let, and he got a paint brush and a board, and hung out a sign, reading, "To Wrent." Everybody who passed by smiled at the orthography, but it was three or four days before the owner ventured to ask of a neighbor, "Say, what on earth makes everybody grin at that sign ?" "Why it's the spelling that gets 'em!" It was explained that the word "Wrent" was not exactly in accordance with Webster's'latest,' and the speller went away mumbling, "Well, if they arc so particular about it, I can tiiomro if ' And be did. Within two V "U'lpv- ... hours there was a new sign reading "Two Let." fStif" Kx-U. ?S. Senator J. 15. Henderson. of Missouri, suggests through the Washington Post that the national banking system be so amended as to permit banking associations to deposit silver bullion in the treasury of the United States, in the same manner as government bonds are now deposited, and to receive bank notes therefor on some basis of value to be ascertained and fixed by law?the bullion to be held, as government bonds are held, for the redemption of such ciri diluting notes. -) J