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XBSWED SEMI-WEEKL^ l. m. grist's sons, PubUshers. i % <^amilg Detcsgaper: <jfor the promotion off the fjolitol, Social, ^gritttltural, and flommgitrial gwtywls o( the fjeople. { TERMssINoli^?coiTy5:^IcinS8^ 8, ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C., FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 1904. NO. 79. I The Substi Copyright. 1903, by n = CHAPTER XXXII. IN the afternoon of the next da] I / II Ilillyer returned. Leaving bii II II horse at the door, he went u{ I i to George's room. His trousen were bespattered with mud and cov ered with the white hairs of his shed ding horse. "I've had a trip of it, George," hi said, his face glowing, "but I was wel repaid. You couldn't guess whar I'vi been." "How could I?" said Buckley, with t smile. "I've got a heap to tell you." the olc man ran on, with enthusiasm. He sal down on the edge of the woundec man's bed. "Trabue's death worriec the life mighty nigh out o' me tell 1 tuck a notion all at once that the bit* o* the dog couldn't be any wuss'n tht bark, an' that I'd better go see thai old woman myself an' tell 'er the plalr truth. I reckon I prayed a prayer fei every mile o' the way, my boy. I didn'1 know whar she lived an' had to go bj directions to find 'er. I got to the fool o' Bald mountain Jest about dark last night, an' a feller that lived on the sloe o' the road give me directions how to reach her house. I thought they was nioin onmich hut nurtv soon it got as dark as pitch, an' I was as bad as a blind.man on a blind boss. One thing the man said, though, was that as soon as 1 got a mile or two up the road I'd see the light from her kitchen fire. lie Bald it could be seed fer miles?that the never was knowod to sbe? 'er door this time o' year. "Well, sir, 1 got then to prayin' fer a sight o' the light. I begged the Almighty to let it shine out as a sign I was forgiven fer my crime, but it was Blow a-comin', an' when it did come I said to myself that a man was a I'ool to ask the Lord to muke a sign out o' some'n' that wasn't any more'n natural, so I wasn't much comforted over that. Howsomever, I did feel a little mite better. It seemed so steady an' bright an* peaceful away up thar among the stars, above them rough rocks an' deep gullies. I started right fer it The road got so bad I had to git down an' lead my boss. Sometimes we'd have to step over trees that lay across the way, an' then thar ud be a branch oi a creek to ford an' fences to let down an' briers an' rocks an' steep places, But I kept up my heart. Sometimes the light ud be out o' sight completely, an' then ag'in it ud blaze up steady an' strong like a promise writ in fire. ^ "I got to prayin' more hopeful. E.er' time the light ud flare up out o" the gloom my sperits ud rise, till aftei t fait nc u?rht nq n feather. 1 sung an' shouted an' prayed an* hugged my hoss. It seemed like I was climbin up to God. The light on the mountair was his presence. Once I fell down s steep bank in the dark, but I wasn'l hurt, an' then ag'in I slipped on somt rocks while I was crossin' a branch an got wet to the waist but when I scram bled out the light was a-shinin' bright er than ever. Finally I crossed a old field an' seed the open door of hei house. A dog run out barkin', but 1 wasn't no more afeard of 'im than th< apostles was o' snakes. I walked straight at 'im, called to 'im in a firm friendly voice, an' patted 'im on the head, an' be licked my hand an' prancec about in front o' me like I was a old acquaintance he was glad to see. Mrs Hambright was at the fireplace cookln some'n't' eat when I got thar, an' sh< invited me in. I went in an' shool hands an' set down in the chair sh< give me, an* she put more wood on th< fire, fer she seed I was wet. " 'You don't know me, Mrs. Ham bright,' says I. " 'No,' says she, 'I don't know you cir* tint that don't make no difference I take in a lots o' folks that git be nlgkted up here. Nobody would b( mean enough to rob ur harm a womai as old as I am.' " 'That's so,' says I. Her head wai as white as cotton, an' she was all ben over, but she had the sweetest, mos patient face I ever seed. It made m' feel easier about tellin' 'er who I wa: an' what I'd come fer, but I acknowl edge I was afeard. Then she propose* to set the table, fer she said she know ed I was famished, but I wouldn't le 'er. " 'No; wait,' says I, 'wait till I'v< told you who I am, Mrs. Hambrlgbt, says I, an' I couldn't look at 'er then 'I'm Hiram Hillyer, the man who tucl yore pore boy's life.' "I seed 'er sorter jump a little, ar then she got as still as a grave rock I was afeared to look at 'er. All m; new found hope seemed to be leakir out o' me. I bowed my head au' wai) ed fer 'er verdict. God knows I wa miserable, but I was prayln'?praylr fer pardon?prayin' both to her an' Got She was still a long time. I reckoi she was studyin' up what to say t me. Then she spoke. 'Did you com away out here jest to see me, Mr. Hil! yer?' she axed in a trembly voice, ar I nodded, still afeard to meet her ey< 'I come to make a coniession an in. Dlore you to pardon me,' I said. " 'Pardon you?' she said, slowlike ar saft. " 'Squire Trabue's dead,' I told 'ei 'He died two days ago.' " 'I heard he was low,' she said, 'ai I was sorry to hear it, fer he was good man, but is that all you wante to tell me?' " 'No,' says I, * 'twasn't. Mrs. Ham bright, the pension he's been payii y WILL N. HARBEN, Author off "Abner Din* iel," "The . Lend of the YtfYYY* Changing HI I IfJi Sun." "The % V% North Walk Hyalerjr," Etc. HARPER ? BROTHERS you all these years never come from f the government. It was from me.' i " 'Hiram Hillyer,' says she in her ??. '-Ainn 'j'vo tnnwpd that fer ) BVYCTk Viu ? Wivv, .v ? ) twenty-five years. Squire Trabue told . me an' axed me never to let on to you, . fer he'd promised you never to let me know; but, Hiram, ef I've prayed God i to bless you fer It once I have ten 1 thousand times. I couldn't 'a' lived 3 without that allowance. It has kept me in comfort an' enabled me to help i my neighbors in time o' sufferin'. I've wanted to tell you how grateful I felt I but the squire wouldu't let me an' said t you never wanted that old trouble 1 mentioned, an' so I couldn't do it' 1 "Then, George, I broke down coml pletely. I couldn't hold in. I set thar i an' cried like a child. I told 'er how i long an' hard I'd suffered an' how I t had tried in all manner o' ways to git i forgiveness an' feel right, an' I never ' seed sech a look on a human face as t was on her'n. She actually set down ' on the bare floor before the fire an' t laid 'er thin, bony hands on my knee, t " 'Hiram, my boy, my pore boy!' says she. 'Shorely you hain't been fill that time thinkin' yore God was that sort of a God. Why, he's all goodness, all glory, all infinite perfection. You've been blamln' yoreself fer some'n' an' other man done. It was a man you hain't seed in thirty odd year that shot my son in a hasty passion. God don't hold you?the new man?accountable fer that, but he's been holdin' you accountable fer thinkin' so ill of him, fer all yore worry has come from wrongly nccusin' yore Holy Maker!' "Oh. George, she made it as clear to me as daylight. She was right?she was right. God don't hold a new, repentant man accountable fer what his .O.I oolf /tnno Shf? thought I I'lU Ut UU OWii UVMVi - ? ? _ _ wasn't convinced, I reckon, fer she got down on her knees an' sent up a prayer that ripped the roof off the house an' showed the glorious way clean to God's , throne above the stars. " 'Lord, Lord o' Hosts!' I kin remember e\?ery word the old saint said. 'Show this pore, deluded man the truth. Tear away the mist o' doubt an' inis| understandin' that's clouded his con\ ception an' dampened the ardor of his great soul. Give 'im peace right now, 1 this minute. Pity him. Lord, an' don't | let 'im cling to his old self. Show him , the new soul that dwells In the old , shell o' mortality, an' let 'im walk with bare head unburdened in the sunshine , o' thy heavenly smile.' An,' George Buckley, when she riz to her feet I ; did see an' comprehend. I laughed an' sobbed an' shouted. My fear was all | gone?all?an' It will never, never re, turn, fer 1 understand now. She showed me. Jest think o' that?Lynn Hambrigbt's mother was the one ap^ pointed to show me the truth?the old woman I was fearin' more than every; body else. She cooked me a good supper. an' after eatin' it I laid down in Lynn's bed?the dead boy's bed, mind | you?an' slept as sweet a sleep as I , ever slept in my life, the fust fer thlr^ ty years. She come to me a^ay in t the night, pitapat, pitapat over the | puncheon floor, jest like she used to go to Lynn. 1 reckon, an' spread more | cover on me. It reminded me of my | dead mother. I retched out an' kissed . her hand an' drifted away In sweet L | 11 I ii 11 I ii ' *111 I II i*>T i' ? > "She yfit down on her knees an' sent up s ? prayer that ripped the roof off. 1 dreams. This mornin* when I woke ' the sun was shiuin' in my room, an' n I smelt some good meat a-fryin' an' 0 good coffee a-boiliu' an' seed that old v woman a-uiovin' about the big, blazin* fire. George, George, God is good! 1 She didn't want to let me continue the - allowance, but when she seed how I felt l" she agreed to do it an' to come straight to me for it in future. Now I'm goin' down an' tell Marthy all about It. All these years I've been afraid to mention [" the subject to her, but I cau talk about it now to anybody. I wish I could >' reach the ears o' all the men on the a face o' the earth who are afflicted as I d have been. Ef they only knowed, as I now know, that God don't hold them - accountable fer what the'r old selves i* done, they wouldn't suffer needlessly." CHAPTER XXXIII. [?^iHE next morning George's mothII I er returned to Darley and came | | directly from the station to big I J room. As she entered he stared at her in surprise, for she was dressed in black, even to her sunbonnet "Mother," he asked wonderingly, "what has happened?" She did not answer for a moment, 8 but sat down near his bed and folded her bonnet in her lap. ? "When I heard how you was hurt an' laid up," she said presently, "I writ Mr. Hillyer not to let you know about _ yore pa. He was a sight wuss when i got to lm, an iney aicm t see uu chance fer 'im to live. He's dead, g George; yore pore pa's dead an' buried. All his trouble is over. He's In God's charge now." They were both silent for a moment; a then Buckley said comfortingly: "Well, li you must not grieve over it too much, It mother. After all, it may be better as w it is." al "That's so, George," she answered, w "but my heart aches fer 'lm. He wasn't rr treated right, my boy. It turned out 01 Jest like I thought it mought The doctors up thar said his crim'nal acts n all come from that old hurt in his 01 head. After his death they made an G examination. They found 'at a splin- hi ter o' the skull bad been workin' into b* his brain all them years since his fall a off'n the wagon. It finally formed a di abscess that killed 'lm. Oh, the doc- k tors raised a big fuss about it! They hi told me yore pa had been treated r( wuss'n a dog. They said what he done T In violation o' the law was caused by a the hurt in his head an' that he'd nev- w er 'a' touched a thing that wasn't his 'c but fer that, an' when I told 'em how si honorable all yore pa's folks had al- it ways been away back as fur as any- P< body could trace an' how hard you R was strlviu' to live the disgrace down w they all got together un' writ an' sign- p' od n paper?Mr. Hillyer's got it?testi- d; fyln* under oath that yore pa wasn't ft naturally a dishonest man. They say, w George?an' Mr. Hillyer says he'll put it through right away?that they are ei a-goin* to git the legislature to exhon- bl orate yore pa. fl "Judge Moore was in the warehouse as I come by, talkin' to Mr. Hillyer, an' 1 he come out an* tuck me by the hand, u an' says he. 'Mrs. Buckley, me 'n' them S twelve men made a awful mistake. 11 An',' says he, 'ef a case like that had el come up in a community whar doctors ci an' lawyers was up to the latest notch r< in new discoveries a plea of insanity would 'a' been made an' sustained. e< > novo ho 'the twelva iurors will nr sign a paper with me. an' yore hus- di bund's name will be cleared.' Ob. ai George, It mighty nigh breaks my tl heart. I 'lowed all them years that is yore pa was jest mean an' stubborn an' ir had old Nick in 'im. while the truth v: was he couldn't help bisse'f. It's goin' c< to be In all the newspapers tomorrow. r< Are you glad to hear it, George?" ti "More than anything," was the reply rr in a low, husky tone. w "I hain't through yet." went on the ai old woman, wiping her eyes. "They le all read Mr. Hillyer's letter to me about ai how you refused the combination to the safe, preferrin' to die ruther than give in, because you wanted to show the world you was honest, an' how you ^ was shot down an' lay hoverin' betwixt this life an' the next, an' I never seed a set o' men more anxious to be kind to ei a woman in affliction: They got the d idea we was needy, an' started In to w collect a lot o' money, but I stopped fi 'em. I told 'em you wouldn't like that" "No, I wouldn't," said George; "but h I am glad they wanted to do it" b "When I got to yore pa he was too h fur gone to know me," went on Mrs. si Buckley. "I jest wish he had. I was N so sorry fer him when I seed how thin d an' wasted he was, with the prints on si his pore ankles whar"? t< She broke down and began to sob. c< George Buckley sat up more erectly, h "It's the way God, Providence or what- si ever it is that rules over all has of e: managing matters," he said, his eyes v flnciiini* rphelliouslv. "and. for my part h I'm tired trying to do right What's a the use? Why should that poor man t< fall from his wagon while honestly en- n deavorlng to earn a living for his fam- tl ily, and through that accident end his e life in a prison? That's his fate, while u such men as Telfare"? is "Don't, don't, George!" The old 0 woman dried her eyes. "It may all S; seem wrong, but it hain't?it hain'tl p My faith in my heavenly father is t] brighter 'an it ever was. I don't know ? exactly what it 'ud be fer, but I feel p like drappin' on my knees an' thankin' w 'im at this minute. My heart is full n o' sadness of a certain sort, but thar's 0 another feelin' that I can't describe. f] As I was comin' on in the train I got p to imaginin' seein' yore pore pa up in l5 heaven, whar I know he is, an' the fan- w cy struck me that our Saviour helt the f( highest place up thar, beca'se he suf- ( fered the most to help others along, an' fj then the thought come that maybe up j thar with the'r keen, spiritual eyes the angels bad seed all the good that's jc growed out o' yore pa's suirerin', an' tj was glvin' 'im credit fer bis life down rj. here. Thar's no tellin* what the good may be. Yore pa's trouble is at the ^ bottom of all Mr. Hillyer's done fer you, all the kindness o' them men at w the prison an' the sympathy that'a u floodin' this town right now, beca'se 0 one man was so wrongly judged. Why, George, it may make the courts more t( careful in the future, it may make n doctors study diseases better, an' it a will make some folks ashamed fer? a fer ever sneerin' at the brave son o' b such a man. George, thar's one heart a *l.ln Wn hnt'a flnwin' over with S ILL kliiO lUlt u luu Mvtf.M - joy?ef the news has reached her"? s "Do you think so, mother?" 1 "Ob. I know it, George?I know itl r I'd give anything to see her face when 1 it's told to 'er. She's led by them folks r o' hor'n to some extent, but below all that she's jest a good, strong, sufferin' woman." George made no answer. They were h both silent for several minutes, then ilrs. Buckley rose to leave. 'T want o go out home," she said. "It will be ad, too, lookin' round the old place y| vhar he used to be. Now he's gone, don't seem to remember anything tut the good, sweet things he used to lo an' say before his affliction. He'B * mrled up thar, George, but after he's cl Indicated, we'll bring him down here ln n' put '1m away whar he belongs." TO BE CONTINUED. pI ? ??- n< Iflisttflanrous grading. " P? CARAVAN ROAD 5,000 YEARS. th cenes Along One of the Most Ancient ln Highways in the World. ^ The road from Horns to Hama runs y? lmost due north, a straight white ne cutting across the green fields. ; is one of the oldest routes in the af orld. Caravans have been passing ]e long it for at least 5,000 years, Just as s| e saw them?long strings of slow loving camels with their bright col- n? red bags of wheat. th One could almost imagine that Pha- nj loh was again calling down the corn er r Hamath to fill his granaries against w le seven years of famine. But even ere the old things 'fcre passing. Just ^ eyond the long line of camels was h longer line of fellah women, their ^ Irty blue robes kilted above their nees, carrying upon their shoulders askets of earth and stone for the j )adbed of the new French railway. ^ he carriage road is French, too;and very good road it is. Some men w ere repairing it with a most ingenius roller. It was a great round ^ :one, drawn by two oxen, and having f s axle prolonged by a twenty foot ole, at the end of which a bare legsd Arab was fastened to balance the Jt) hole affair. If the stone had top- st led oyer, the picture of the Arab angling at the top of the slender agstaff would have been worth q atching. th All along the ride we were remind- j0 3 of the past. It is a fertile soil; S|, ut the very wheat fields are different sa om ours. Only a few yards in width, Sl ley are often of tremendous length. yl hesitate to commit myself to fig- er res; but it is certain that the thin, D( reen fields would stretch away In ft le distance until lost over some little levation. At One place the road was t,i at through a hill honeycombed with or :ck tombs, which the haj said were c0 ewish. Every now and then we passi a tell, or great hemispherical lound, built up of the rubbish of a as ozen ruined towns; for even as late jn 3 Roman times this was a well cul- pf vated and populous country. There fe \ now no lumber available for build- thi ig purposes, and in a number of the c< lllages the houses are all built with at Dnical roofs of stone. Where the ^ >ck happens to be of a reddish tinge, le houses remind one of nothing so iuch as a collection of Indian wig- tj, ams; where the stone is white,m as pi t Tell el-Blseh, it glitters and spark- or (S like a fairy city cut out of loaf sug- ]e r.?Scribner's Magazine. hi PET TERRORS. it neasy Feeling That Is Familiar to All. ,n "Has it ever struck you that most evrybody has a pet terror," said a stuent of human nature. "Men who ould not be afraid on the battlesi eld will faint if a cat comes near T iem. I know of cases In which men . ave gone through life having a deadr terror of something with which they ' ave never come In contact. For intanoe, I know a man who lived in 'ew York City all his life. His one S read was that he would some day ov tep on a rattlesnake. He confessed er > me that the idea bothered him ontinually, although he had never in ^ is life been in a region where rattle nakes abounded and did not have any , ( xpectations of going to such a place. Ve all know that most every person as a certain kind of nightmare, which ^ t perturbed moments of life will come ) bother sleep. Whatever form this ightmare may take, and probably in ' tie case of no two persons Is the form )a xactly alike, it Invariably excites the ^ ncanny, overmastering terror which > to my mind the most uncomfortable ppression that may affect the human pirit. A great many persons will ex- ^ erience this sensation of terror if j. iiey happen to be awakened by the loonlight shining in their faces. The ersistent nightmare with me is one hich I think is remarkable in many espects. It has come to me in perl- ^ ds of my life when I have suffered om high fever, or after I have ex- ^ erienced much mental worry, which i a species of fever. As a nightmare ^ hich by cumulative stages leads up h j a state of horror, it Is particularr effective and extremely simple. The ream begins by an imagination that m have wakened in a dark room, and tiat some vague presence in the dark i threatening me. I rise in trepldaIon. and In the dark seek the mantel. t 'he matches are hard to find; I rope all over the mantelpiece; over t lie washstand, the bureau and finally L hen the suspense is becoming almost nbearable, I find the box. Taking ut a match, I strike it in feverish ^ aste. It flickers, and before I get it o the gas jet, goes out. I try another , latch. The sulphur refuses to give a] ny light. Another match, and just s I am about to make the jet, it, too, eeomes dark. This goes on, one match o1 fter another. I begin to believe that ^ omething in the room intends that I p] hall never have a light. The sensaion is maddening, and when I finally Si eally awake, it is some time before ] can shake off the sensation of ter- C( or that has dominated me."?New Or- tl ?ans Times-Democrat. w V; fcsT The preacher who is all blow deals rr a no blows. U S3 Aspiration always seeks service. nr EXPERIENCES OF REPORTERS. v tl hey Include Knowledge of Happenings Both Gloomv and Gay. Leaving aside the consideration of ^ le personal equation, perhaps no ass of men furnish a more interestg group than reporters, owing to the iture of their profession. Recruited om all walks of life, the cardinal p inciple they follow is to get the a :ws, the pursuit of which not only a kes them into the most complex sit- p itions, sometimes dangerous as often ithetic as humorous, and always more 11 less exciting; but they daily run " ie gamut of human nature in delvg beneath the surface. What they 81 irn up does not always possess a ^ irrent news value, and, In fact, the p trious personal experiences of re>rters seldom find their way into a int. for the simple reason that they e too busy with the Joys and troub- e s of other persons, their own being ? mply incidental to the business. Not long since a number of news- a iper men, all of whom have been in B e business long enough to lose their ^ n feathers, happened to drift togethand got to talking "shop," out of hich came some interesting expert- h ices. After considerable urging John u . Finn, who can Justly lay claim to ,j ;ing a veteran, was induced to relate j >w he came to adopt the newspaper ofession for his life's work. h "Ouess it must have been my voca- (1 m." said "Mickey," blushing, "but it j ure as a blessing unexpected. In 84 I was studying at Notre Dame. ^ hen I had a row with one of the o ofessors. So I quit and went to fiicago. The World's Fair was about start in New Orleans, and as I had b ire money I decided to take it in. radually my financial condition forced s attention on me, and I was in sore v raits to discover how I was going to ake out, having neither a trade, prossion or any business experience. ^ ne day I was sitting in a little park inking how close I was to the cush- jj n, when a young fellow sat down bede me and we struck up a conver- y tion. When he learned my plight he c< ' - ? . 1. .1 TlUn P iggesiea mat i go up tu me x-icaine and apply for a position as report- p ; telling me that they wanted ex- 0 irienced men on account of the fair. did not appeal to me, as I knew ^ isolutely nothing about the business, it he insisted that I would be kept ^ ) for a week, and as I never had to insult a nerve specialist I decided to y it on. *' "The first question the city editor ( iked me was where I had been workg, and I named a prominent Chicago iper. This satisfied him, and in a 1 w minutes he assigned me to go to e St. Charles Hotel and interview a alonel Bob Ingersoll, who was then 0 the zenith of his fame. I knew " lat I was up against it, but Colonel gersoll received me in a kindly way. istead of making a bluff I told him at I had secured the job under false etences, but that I wanted to hang v l for a week. This evidently tick- w d him, for he said: "You're pretty w ird up, my boy. Well, I'll give you a better interview than anyone else is ever had.' He did, too, dictating 3 to his stenographer, and I copied it my own handwriting. That interew created a sensation and I was n le biggest man from the north that 11 id struck New Orleans for some time. ^ hung on for six months as they as- fl gned me to the Parish Prison beat. p he fellow that covered that beat for le opposition paper was named Kel, who helped me out. That's the way got tarred with the stick, and I have g ?en in the business ever since." Training enables newspaper men to ,a an(9 nafnh mnnv thlne-a that would ) unnoticed by the ordinary observ- c , and while constant contact with ^ issing events might seem to dull leir sen?ibilities, startling happengs in which they have part are sel- c )m forgotten. "The most pathetic incident I ever v id anything to do with," said a we!llown newspaper man, "occurred some n ;ars ago in Chicago. The very first s isignment I received was to write up ~ le suicide of a girl who had tajcen " udanum. The surroundings were ^ riking, but it seems that suicides v ere frequent, and I was told to let 1 go with four or five lines. That p ime evening I was sent outtoafashnable quarter of the city to write up * te coming-out ball of the daughter of ^ wealthy merchant. She was a girl " ' eighteen years, handsome and sur- 1 tunded with all the luxuries that 0 ealth could give her. My instruc- n ons were to spread, and I remained c ng enough to get saturated with the :mosphere. After I had left the house id was walking to the car a detecve from the central office, who had ^ ?en on duty there, joined me. "I noticed that you covered the suide of that girl this morning,' he rearked. "'Yes,' I replied; 'a sad case.' " 'Sadder than vou could ever sus ?ct,' said he. 'Those two girls are ^ rin sisters.' It took my breath away, but the n atement was true. The dead girl id run away with a waiter a yearbeire and her father disowned her. As ?unl, the man deserted her and she rifted down the primrose path. To . lis day I often think of those two t Iris, one surrounded by the glitter rid gayety of fashionable society, while t le other was lying on a slab at the iorgue. It was the sharpest drawing f lights and shadows one could well leet with, but the facts were never "p rinted. h "When I was considerably younger." s lid another member of the party, ? [ was fired with the ambition to be- e ime a dramatic critic. The oppor- b inity preseniea useu uuc une u?*j, hen I was assigned to write up a r audeville performance, so I was on my lettle. It was the first year that 11istrated songs came Into vogue, one t lember of the team doing the singing' h rhlle the other worked the stereopIcon, but I learned that afterward. Ot his occasion a man and his wife wer? own for some Illustrated songs. Th? lan came out and sang all right, bul ie lady failed to make her appear nee. This worried me, but I did nol rant to appear green, so when I wrots lie notice I accounted for her nonapearance by stating that she was unble to sing on account of illness. As matter of fact, she could not sing, hei art being to operate the stereoptlcor rom the gallery, but you know that wt ve to learn, and newspaper men have lany a fag end to catch up with." "Here's one on John L. Sullivan,' lid a sporting writer, "that has nevsi een published. When the famous rize fighter was on the down grade ii: is fistic career he toured the country s the hero of a theatrical comblnaion. He was still a sensation, as avry now and then he would start out n a campaign to drink up all the corr lice In his Immediate vicinity. Om fternoon I started to round him uptc et his opinion regarding a fight that as going to be pulled off. I found hltr 1 a saloon surrounded by a score ol dmirers. He was well satisfied witt he liquid that caused his downfall, anc e was busily engaged in pounding tht ible with his huge fist and bellowing: 3arkeeper, bring us another drink, ohn was ugly when he was In this ^ood and there was no telling what Is befuddled fancy might lead him t( o, but I had to get something, and st started In between bellows to .1at uestions at him. For a time it nevet iased him, and he continued his clamrings for more drinks. Finally mj ersistence was rewarded, as he beame conscious that he was being othered, and, turning to me, roarec ut: "Say, kid, are you a pencil?' "That was the extent of my Interlew." "Fires," said another member of th< arty, "have always had a fasclnatlor jr me. I never miss a big one now lough my interest nearly cost me mj fe at the foot of Bates street som< ears ago, owing to an explosion in t errent warehouse. In those days reorters were allowed to ride on the aparatus, and we always took advantagi f the opportunity. This evening I was n my way to make a call, when ! appened in an engine house. Whil< lere an alarm came in and I hoppet nto the hose reel. The company wai hort of men, so on reaching the fin le driver handed me the lines and h< .imped off to stretch the hose. I hat ) drive the team out on the dock t< irn around, but on driving back fount bat I could not get by, being hemmet 1 by a truck on one side and a coa in on the other, so I drew up righi cross from the building. It was th< nly reserved seat to watch the fireien at work, and I was taking everyling in, until the explosion took place ome firemen called me to Jump, ant did, just as a brick hit me on th< ead. I ran under the horses, ant as lucky, as the hose reel was buriet ith bricks. Half a dozen flremei ere caught under the falling wall, ant s one of them was being taken tt tie hospital in the ambulance he in Isted on me using his rubber boots was pretty badly cut on the head ant ?gs. and the cement had blown througl ly overcoat and suit of clothes, ruinig them. However, I wrote up th< re, but the accident was my owi iult, and I could not turn in an exense account."?Detroit Free Press FACTS ABOUT SNAKES. iome Reptiles Live Two Years Withou Feeding. Allen S. Williams, who nas Deei amping out all summer at Storn [ing Mountain, ti'here he captured i Ig collection of snakes, gave a lectun anight in Willard Hall. The lecture! arrled 100 snakes in paper bags an( uit cases and kept them on a pian< ?'hen he was not exhibiting them. Evidently the people of Mount Ver on are not interested in the subject o nakes, for the audience was verj llm. It was understood that Mr. Wil lams was only trying out his lecture owever. and that he Intends to de ote much time this winter talking t< he pupils of the New York Clt] ublic schools. "I will tell you some very quee hings about snakes," said he. "Th< tible begins with a snake and later oi t gives us to understand that a snak< an't hear. 'As deaf as an adder" is ai Id saying. It is true that snakes hav< o ears, but I have discovered that the] an hear through their tongues. "Another remarkable thing that s nake can do is to live for two yean ( ithout feeding. I have known casei . here snakes have come to life aftei hey had been frozen as stiff as walk ig sticks. Last January two of mj lacksnakes were frozen so hard that I ould have broken them in pieces. Mj rife put them on hot water bags, anc n an hour they began to show sign! f life. When about four inches o: heir bodies were thawed out she be an feeding them hot milk, and it wai ot long until they were wigglinj bout the parlor floor as good as new Mr. Williams saia tnai recently um f his snakes was suffering from indt estlon. He found that he had swal jwed a large hen's egg. and in ordei o cure htm he hit him on the back am rushed the egg. after which the rep lie recovered. Of the eleven kinds of snakes tha xist around New York Mr. Williami ays only two are poisonous, the cop erhead and the rattler. The others ie says, such as black snakes, mil nakes, garter snakes, king snakes ibbon snakes and spreading adder re harmless and should not be kill d, because they benefit the farmer y destroying bugs, moles, field mic nd angleworms, which prey on fruit nd vegetables.?Mount Vernon cor espondence New York Sun. VT There is generally an opening ii he hospital for the young man wh< las appendicitis. TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. i s Had By Officer Who Waa Held Cap; tive By a Tiger. t Major Rldan, of the Bengal Lancers, was hunting with a small party, and t one afternoon he wandered away from s camp a short distance and stretched out under a tree for a nap. He had not slept above a quarter of an hour i when he was aroused by what seemed * to be the purring of a cat, only the sound i was much louder. He had never beard > the purr of a tiger or a panther, but ; realized In an instant that one or the other had come creeping upon him as ' he slept. The tiger, as was alterwara ascertained, had his lair within a few hundred feet of where the soldier was lying. After a minute or two, a paw was placed on the officer's shoulder and he was turned over on the broad of his back. Through his eyewinkers he caught sight of the paw, and then realized that he was in the clutch of a fullgrown tiger. For the moment he was rejoiced. A panther hasn't the good nature of a tiger, and is also more treacherous. A tiger will starve before he will feed on anything he has not killed with his own paws, while a panther will grab at anything that comes in his way. When the man had been turned on his back, the tiger sat up like a dog, and purred like the great cat he was. The beast was rolling and purring when one of the horses in camp uttered a neigh. The major was watching through half-closed lids, and the move the tiger made astonished him. He turned like a flash and bounded six feet into the air, to whirl again and stand head to camp. As the neigh was not repeated, the tiger Anally wheeled around and lay down with his head on his paws, and ; fastened his eyes on the soldier's face. i There was a long ten minutes, dur, Ing which the major lived a month for r every minute. Then the beast slow; ly rose up, and, with a touch of his i right paw turned the man over on - his face. After sniffing at the head, - he ran his nose down the leg clear i to the ankle. s One leg of the soldier's trousers i had been pulled up, leaving his ankle i bare', and the beast gave the flesh a 1 couple of licks with his tongue that i felt like a file. J The taste didn't seem to tickle his i palate for some reason, and he return1 ed to the playful mood. Once, as he > pawed at the Jacket, a claw caught I and ripped it down as a sharp knife 1 would have done. Once, too, he stood 1 with his paw on the man's hand, but t as his claws were sheathed the paw i felt like a ball of velvet The major was rolled over at least a dozen times by the tiger, and the . beast leaped over him back and forth i like a dog at play; and he seemed to ; get a good deal of amusement out of 1 it and to preserve his good nature. 1 He Anally fastened his teeth in the i man's hunting: belt, and lifted him 1 clear of the ground as easily as a man > might lift a kitten. If the soldier had not been told over and over again that i a tiger eats only what he kills, he 1 would have made sure that he was i to be carried off. He had a revolver in his belt, and i as his right hand fell down it i encountered the butt of the weapon. He might have drawn it and killed the beast, or a shot might have frightened him away, but it was hardly a chance in a hundred. It may be that the tiger was holdt lng the man up to see if there was life In him, and was hoping to feel him make a movement. If there had l been the stir of a hand, death would i have been swift and merciless, i After swinging the man pendulum t fashion for a full minute, the beast r laid him down as carefully as you 1 please,, gnawed the belt in two and ) pulled it off, and, carrying one end in his mouth, he frolicked away and was - hidden by the Jungle. f An hour later the major's party had ' formed a cordon around the tiger's lair - and sent in the beaters. At the flrst !, uproar the beast charged out with a - flesce-growl and killed a native with > one blow of the paw which had treated f the soldier so gently. Three minutes later he wheeled and r charged In the other direction, and 3 though he received bullets from two i different rifles, he sprang upon Capt. ? Wool ryf tko artuiorv and parried him i 300 feet before falling dead. The ofs fleer, who had been seized by the neck, r was dead long before the tiger gave up the ghost.?Pall Mall Gazette. 3 The Crescent.?The crescent sym3 bol of the Mohammedans has nothing r to do with their peculiar religious " opinions and" ceremonies. It was not ' originally a symbol of the followers of 1 Mohammed at all, but was first used r by the Byzantines. Thousands of 1 coins have been found In all parts of 3 Turkey which date back to the time when Constantinople was known as Byzantium, and on each of these the 3 symbol of the crescent appears, prov' ing conclusively that it was In use as ' an emblem among the people of that " region long before Byzantium was overthrown and its name changed to Constantinople. The story of the origin of the crescent symbol Is as follows: When Philip of Macedonia besieged Byzantium he had planned to storm the city on a certain cloudy night, but before his arrangements were completed the moon shone out i" and discovered his approach to the i besieged citizens, who accordingly marched out and repulsed his forces 3 ?something which would have been s impossible in the darkness. After that e event all Byzantium coins bore the s symbol of the crescent moon, which - was always alluded to as the "savior of Byzantium."?Boston Transcript. i The thermometer seems to be lm3 bued with the idea that there Is plenty of room at the top.