Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, January 13, 1892, Image 1

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" " ' ^^ _ * _ ~~ lewis sr. grist, proprietor.j gin Jiulrptndcnt Jfamili! IJcirapapcr: Joi[ thi; |)romofion of lite folitiqal, Social, Sgijirulturl. aiul (ffommcptl Jntcrcsts of tltij jsouflt. |tebms?$2.00 a teak inadtance. ; vol. 38. yorkville, s. c., wednesday, january 13", 1892. no. 2. i ? A- J JOHN I BY THEODOK [Copyright, 1891, by Ami CHAPTER VL A MORMON CARAVAN. Still, as wo rode along, the same rich, tranquil days of October; tuo air always potable gold, and every breath nepenthe. Early on one of the fairest of afternoons when all were fairest we reached Port Bridger. Bridger had been an old hunter, trapper, and by and by that forlorn hope of civilization, the holder of an Indian trading post. The spot is better known now. It was there that that j miserable bangle and blander of an ad- j ministration, more fool, if that be possi- i ble, than knave?the Mormon expedi tion in 1858?took refnge after its disasr.. - tecs oil the Sweetwater. At the moment of bar arrival Bridgets fort had just suffered capture. Its owner was missing. The old fellow had deemed himself the squatter sovereign of that bleak and sear region. He had bnilt an adobe mad fort, with a palisade, on a sweep of plain a degree less desert than the deserts hard by. That oasis was his oasis, so he fondly hoped; that mud fort, his mad fort; those willows and alders, his thickets; and that trade, his trade. Bat Bridger was one man, and he had powerful neighbors. It was a case of "O si angolas isteP'?a Noboth's vineyard case. The Mormons did not love the ragged mountaineer; that worthy Gentile, in turn, thought the saints no better than so many of the ungodly. The Mormons coveted oasis, fort, thicket and trade. They accused the old fellow of selling powder and ball to hostile Indians?to Walker, chief of the Utes, a scion, no doabt, of the Hookey Walker branch of that family. Very likely he had done so. At all events, it was a good pretext. So in the name of the prophet, and Brigham, successor of the prophet, the Latter-day Saints had made a raid upon the post Bridger escaped to the mountains. The captors occupied the Gentile's property, and spoiled his goods. Drcnt caught him by the collar and gave him a shake. 'Tin sorry old Bridger has come to! griefsaid Brent to me as we rode' over j the plain toward the fort. "He was a rough, but worth all the Latter-day j Saints this side of Armageddon. Biddnlph and I staid a week with him last snmmer, when we came from the moantains about Luggernel alley." Jake and the main party stopped at th6 fort We rode on a quarter of n mile farther, and camped near a stream, where the grass was plenteous. We left our little caballada nibbling daintily at the sweetest spires of seli cured hay, and walked back to the fort. We stood there chatting with the garrison. Presently Brent's quick eye caught some white spots far away on the slope of the prairie, like sails on the edge of a dreamy, sunny sea. "Look!" said he, "there comes a Salt Lake immigration train." "Yes," said a Mormon of the garrison, "that's Elder Sizzum's train. Their forerunner came in this morning to choose the camping spot. There they be! two hnndred ox teams, a thousand saints, bonnd for the Promised Land." He walked off to announce the arrival, ; whistling,' "Jordan is a hard road to travel." I I knew of Sizzum as the most seductive orator and foreign propagandist of Mormouism. He had been in England some time, very succv^ful at the good work. The caravar.3 v. e had already met were of his proselytes. He himself was coining on with the last train, the one now > in view, and steering for Fort Bridger. As we stood watching, the Jengtheningfile of white hooded wagons crept slowly into sight. They came forward diagonally to our line of view, traveling apart at regular intervals, like the vessels of a well ordered convoy. Now the whole fleet dipped into a long hollow, and presently the leader rose slowly up over the ridge and then slid over the slope, like a sail winging down the broad back of a surge. So they made their way along over the rolling sweep of the distance. "This is Sizzum's last train; if the women here are no more fascinating than their shabby sisters of its forerunners, we shall carry our hearts safe ; home." Larrap and Murker here joined us, and, overhearing the last remarks, began to speak in a very disgusting tone of the women we had seen in previous I trains. "I don't wish to hear that kind of stuff," said Brent, turning sternly upon Larrap. "It's a free country, and I shall say j what I blame please," the fellow said, i with a grin. "Then say it by yourself and away from me." "You're blame squimmidge," said Lar- i rap, and added a beastly remark. Brent caught him by the collar and gave him a shake. Murker put his hand to a pistol and looked "Murder, if I dared!" "None of that," said I, stepping before him. Jake Shainberlain, seeing "the quarrel, came running up. "Now, Brother Brent," said Jake, "no shindies in thie here Garden of Paradise. If the gent, has made a remark what teches you j apologies is in order, an he'll make all i far and squar." Brent gave the greasy man a fling. He went down. Then he got up, with I a trace of Bridgets claim on his red | shirt. "Yer needn't be so blame harsh with a ieiier," saiu ne. "i uian c mean no i offense." "Very well. Learn to talk like .1 man and not like a brute!" said Brent. The two men walked off together with j black looks. "You look disappointed, Shamberlain." j said I. "Did you expect a battle?" "There's no fight in them fellers," said : Jake; "but ef they can6erveyou a mean ' trick they'll do it; and they're ambushin i now to look in the dixonary and see I what it is. You'd better keep the larin :s | of that black and that gray tied rom d : your legs tonight, and every good houe I thief night while they're along. Thr-y j may be jolly dogs and let their chances I slide at cards, but my notion is they're lavin low for bigger hauls." "Good advice, Jake; and so we will." By this time the head wagons of Elue- . Sizzuin's train had crept down upon th? level near us. For the length of a long mile behind, the serpentine line held its way. On the yellow rim of the world, with softened outlines against the ha sy ( horizon, the rear wagons were still climbing up into view. The caravan lay like a Hlowly writhing hydra over the land. Along its snaky bends, where 3RENT. ?f E WINTHROP. orlean Press Association.] dragon wings should be, were herds of cattle, plodding beside the "trailing footed" teams, and little companies of saints lounging leisurely toward their evening's goal, their unbuilt hostelry on the plain. Presently the hydra became a two hea led monster. The foremost wagon ben: to the right, the second led off to the left. Each successor, as it came to the point of divergence, filed to the right or left alternately. The split creature expanded itself. The two wings moved on >ver a broad grassy level north of the fori, describing in regular curve a great ellipse, a third of a mile long, half as much across. On either flank the march was timed and ordered wit hi lie precision of practice. This same maneuver ha<l been repeated every day of the long journey. Precisely as the foremost teams met at the upper enu or ine carve, rue twu muuiuust ncm parting at flie lower. The ellipse was complete. It locked itself top and bottom. The train came to a halt. Every wt.gon of the two hundred stopped close upon the heels of its file leader. A tall man, half pioneer, half deacon, in dress and mien, galloped up and down the ring. This was Sizzum, 60 the bystanders informed us. At a signal from him the oxen, two and three yoke to a wagon, were unyoked, herded and driven off to wash the dust from their protestant nostrils and graze over the ro.jset prairie. They hnddled along, a gujat army, a thousand strong. Their br^wn flanks grew ruddy with the low sunshine. A cloud of golden dust rose at d hung over them. The air was loud with their lowing. Relieved from their ?V?.* ott'QV with TIT!.. U. ogo MIO ilClU Aiionvu M"?v '* * w.eldy gamboling. We turned to the camp, that improvised city in the wilderness. Nothing could be more systematic than its arrangement. Order is welcome in the world. Order is only second to beauty. It is, indeed, the skeleton of beauty. Beauty seeks order, and becomes its raiment. Every great white hooded, picturesque wagon of the Mormon caravan was in its place. The tongu? of each rested on the axle of its forerunner, or was arranged upon the grass beneath. The ellipse became a fort and a corral. Within, the cattle could be safely herded. Marauding redskins would gallop about in vain. ICothing stampedable there. Scalping rklskins, too, would be baffled. They could not make a dash through the camp, whisk off a scalp and vanish untouched. March and encampment both had been marshaled with masterly skill. "Sizzum," Brent vowed to me, sotto Tv.ce, "may be a blind guide with ditchward tendencies in faith. He certainly knows how to handle his heretics in the field. I have seen old tacticians, Marochales and Feldzeugmeisters, in Europe, '.nth El Dorado on each shoulder, and l.k)lconda on tjbe left breast, who would Lave tied up that train into knots that none of them would be Alexander i-nough to cut." CHAPTER Vn. SIZZUM AND HIT. HERETICS. They were nosing about, prying Into the wagon. %.T L..J enf. IN O SOOUt'f IIHU UIIO lluiunu lunu Jv-ir tied itself quietly for the night thau a town meeting collected in the open of the amphitheater. "Now, brethren," says Sham ber lain to us, "ef you want to hear exhortirt as runs without stoppin. step up and listen to the Apossle of the Gentiles. Prehaps," and- here Jake winked perceptibly, "you'll be teched, and want to jine, and prehaps you won't. Ef you're docyle you'll be teched; ef you're bulls of Ba6han you won't be teched." "How did you happeu to be converted yourself, Jake?" Brent asked. "You've never told me." "Why, you see i was naturally of a religious nater, and I've tried 'em all, but I never fell foul of a religion that | had real proved miracles till I seed a man, born dumb, what was cured by j the Prophet Joseph looking down his | throat and tellin his palate to speak up; | and it did speak up, did that there : palate, and went on talkin most oncom- j mon. It's onbeknown tongues it talks, j suthin like gibberidge, but Joseph said j that was how the tongues sounded in j the apossles' time to them sis hadn't got I the interruption of tongues. I struck I my flag to that there miracle. I'd seen j 'em gettin up the sham kind, when I ! was to the Italian convent, and I kuowed i the fourth proof article. I may talk j rough about this business, but Brother j Brent knows I'm honest about it." Jake led us forward and stationed us in poets of honor before the crowd of i auditors. Presently Sizzum appeared. He had j taken time to tone down the pioneer and ' develop the deacon in his style, and a j very sleek personage he had made of himself. He was clean shaved; clean Bhaving is a favorite coxcombry of the deacon class. His long black hair, growing rank from a muddy skin, was sleekly put behind his ears. A large white blosBom of cravat expanded under his nude, beefy chin, and he wore a black dress coat, creaseu wiin ius recem pucmug. Except that his pantaloons were thrust into his boots he was in correct go-tomeetin costume?a Chadband of the plains. He took his stand and began to fulmine over the assemblage. His manner was coarse and overbearing, with intervals of oily persuasiveness. He was a big, powerful man, without one atom of delicacy in him?a fellow who never could take a flower or a gentle heart into his hand without crushing it by a, brutal instinct. A creature with such an amorphous beak of a nose, with such a heavy lipped mouth and such wilderness of jaw, could never perceive the fine savor of any delicate thing. Coarse joys were the only joys for such a body; coarse emotions, the pleasures of force and domination the only emotions crude enough for such a soul. His voice was as repulsive as his mien and manuer. That badly modeled nose had an important office in his oratory. Through it he hailed his auditors to open their hearts, as a canal boatman hails the locks with a canal horn of bassoon caliber. But sometimes, when he wished to be seductive, his sentences took the channel of his mouth and his great lips rolled the words over like fat morsels. Pah! how the recollection of the fellow disgusts me! And yet he had an unwholesome fascination which compelled ns to listen. I could easily understand how he might overbear feeble minds, and wheedle those that loved flattery. He had some education. Travel had polished his base metal so that it shono well enough to deceive the vulgt.r or the | credulous. Ho did not often allow himI self the broad coarseness of his brother i preachers in the church. * * * Bodily food had been prepared by the women while the men listened to Siz; zum's grace before meat. A fragrance j of baking bread had pervaded the air. I A thousand slices of fat pork sizzled in | two hundred frying pans, and water j boiled for two hundred coffee or tea : pots. Saints cannot solely live on serI mons. Brent and I walked about to survey the camp. We stopped wherever we fouud the emigrants sociable, and chatted with them. They were all eager to know how much length of journey rej mained. 1 "We're comin to believe, some of us," ; said an old crone, with a wrinkle for j every grumble of her life, "that we're to j be forty year in the wilderness, like the old Izzerullites. I wouldn't have come, | Sam well, if I'd known what you was j bringin me to." "There's a many of us wouldn't have | come, mother," rejoined Samwell a I cowed man of anxious look, "if we'd ! known as much as we do now." Samwell glanced sadly at his dirty, travel worn children, at work at mud pies j and dust vol an vents. His dowdy wife ! broke off the colloquy by announcing, in ' a tone that she must have learned from i a rattlesnake, that the loaf wjis baked, I the bacon was fried and supper shouldn't I wait for anybody's talking. All the emigrants were English. Lancashire their accent and dialect announced, and Lancashire they told us was their home in the old stepmother country. Stepmother, indeed, to these her children! No wonder that they found life at home intolerable! They were the noorest class of townspeople from the great manufacturing towns?penny tradesmen, indoor craftsmen, factory operatives?a puny, withered set of beings; hardly meu, if man means strength; hardly women, if woman means beauty. Their faces told of long years passed in j the foul air of close shops, or work- ! rooms, or steamy, oily, flocculent mills. | All work and 710 play had been their history. VWe have not seen," said Brent, "one hearty John Bull or buxom Betsy Bull in the whole caravan." "They look as if husks and slops had been their meat and drink, instead of beef and beer." "Beef and beer belong to fellows that j have red in their cheeks and guffaws in ! their throats, not to these lean, pale, ! dreary wretches." "The saints' robes seem as sorry as ! their persons," said I. "No watchman j on the hilltops of 'their Zion will hail, 'Who are these in bright array? when j they heave in sight!" "They have a right to be' way worn j after their summer of plodding over these dusty wastes." "Here comes a group in gayer trim. ' Seel?actually flounces and parasols!" Several young women of the Blowsalind order, dressed in very incongruous toggery of stained and faded silks, passed us. They seemed to be on a round of evening visits, and sheltered their tanned faces against the October sunshine with ancient fringed parasols. Tneir costume had a queer effect in the cauip of a Mormon caravan at Fort Bridger. They were in good spirits, and went into little panics when they saw Brent in his Indian rig, and then into "Lor me!" and "Bless us!" when the supposed Pawnee was discovered to be a handsome paleface. "Perhaps we waste sympathy," said Brent, "on theso people. Why are not they better off here, and likely to be more comfortable in Utah than in the slums of Manchester?" "Drudgery for drudgery, slavery for slavery, barren as the Salt Lake country is, and rough the lot of pioneers, I have no doubt they will be. But then the religion!" "I do not defend that; but what has England done for them to make them regret it? Of what use to these poor proletaires have the cathedrals been, or the sweet country churches, or the quiet cloisters of Oxford and Cambridge?" We had by this time approached the upper end of the ellipse. Sizzum, as quartermaster, had done his duty well. The great blue land arks, each roofed with its hood of white canvas stretched on hoops, were in stout, serviceable order?wheels, axles and bodies. Near the head of the train stood a small, neat wagon. We might have merely glanced at it and passed by, as we had done elsewhere along the line; but as we approached our attention was caught by Murker and Larrup. They were nosing about, prying into the wagon from a little distance. When they caught sight of us they turned and skulked away. "What are those vermin about?" said Brent. "Selecting, perhaps, a Mormoness to kidnap tonight or planning a burglary." "I hate to loathe any one as I loathe those fellows. I have known brutes enough in my life to have become hardened or indifferent by this timo, but these freshen my disgust every time I see them." "I thought we had come to a crisis with them this afternoon, when you collared Larrap." "You remember my presentment about them the night they joined us. 1 am afraid they will yet serve lis a shabby trick. Their 'dixonarv,' as Shamberlain called it, of rascality is an unabridged edition." "Such carrion creatures should not be allowed about such a pretty cage." "It is, indeed, a pietty cage. Some neater handed Phyllis than we havoseen has had the arranging of the household gear within." "Yes; the mistress of this rolling mansion has not lost her domestic ambition. This is quite the model wagon of the train. Refinement does not disdain Sizzum's pilgrims; as ecce signum here!" "The pretty cage has its bird?pretty, too, perhaps. See! there is some one behind that shawl screen at the back of the wagon." "The bird h;us divined Murker and Larrap, and is hiding, probably." "Come; we have stared long enough; let us walk on." CHAPTER VIII. "KI.I.FN! KJ.lkx!" !>he saluted lis quietly. We were turning iiwny from the pretty ! cage iu order not to frighten the bird, t pretty or not, when an oldish man, tendI ing his fire at the farther side of the wagon, gave us ''Good evening!" j There is a small but ancient fraternity in the world known as the Order of Gentlemen. It is a grand old order. A poet has said that Christ founded it; that ho was "the first true gentleman that ever lived." I cannot but distinguish some personi ages of far off antiquity as worthy memi hers of this fellowship. I believe it coeval with man. But Christ stated the precept of the order, when ho gave the i whole moral law in two clauses?love j to God and love to the neighbor. WhoI ever lnis tills precept so by heart that it shines through into his life enters without question into the inner circles of the order. John Brent and I, not to be deemed intruders, were walking away from the neat wagon at the upper end of the Mormon camp, when an oldish man beside the wagon gave us "Good evening." "Good evening, gentlemen," said the wan, gray haired, shadowy man before us. And that was all. It was enough. We knew each other; we him and he us. Men of the same order, and so brothers and friends. Here was improbability that made interest at once. Greater to us than to him. We were not out of place. Ho was, and in the wrong company. Brent and I looked at each other. We had half divined our new brother's character at the first glance. I will not now anticipate the unfinished, melancholy story we read in this new face. An Englishman, an unmistakable gentleman, and in a Morman camp ? there was tragedy enough. Enough to whisper us both to depart, ; and not grieve ourselves with vain pity; i enough to imperatively command us to ! stay and see whether we, as true knights, foes of wroug, succorers of feebleness, 1 had any business here. ' The same in| stinct that revealed to us one of our orI rlfir where he ousrht not to be. warned us I that he might have claims on us and wo ! duties toward him. | Wo returned his salutation. We were about to continue the con| versation, when he opened a fresh page ! of the tragedy. He called, iti a voice I too sad to be qnerulc us?a flickering voice, never to be fed vigorous again by any lusty hope: "Ellen! Ellen!" "What, father dear?" "The water boils. Please bring tho tea, my child." "Yes, father dear." The answers came from within the wagon. It was a sad, sweet voice that answered the old gentleman's call. A lady's voice?the voice -of a high bred woman, i - * * ' *" ' - . J rm_.. i. j delicate, distinct, seit possessed. xuat sound itself was tragedy in sucli a spot. In an instant the lady so sweetly heralded stepped from beneath the hood of the wagon, and sprang to the ground in more busy and cheerful guise than her voice had promised. Again the same subtle magnetism between her and us. We could not have been more convinced of her right to absolute respect and consideration if she had entered to us in the dusky light of a rich drawing room, or if wo had been presented in due form at a picnic of the grandest world, with far other scenery than this of a "desart idle," tenanted for the moment by a Mormon caravan. Tho lady, like her father, felt that we were gentlemen, and therefore would comprehend her. She saluted us quietly. Thero was in her manner a tacit and involuntary protest against circumstances, just enough for dignity. A vulgar woman would have snatched up and put on clumsily a have-seen-better-days air. This lad)' knew herself, and knew that she could not be mistaken for other than she was. Her b;iso background only made her nobility more salient. She did not need any such background, nor the contrast of the drudges and meretricious frights of the caravan. She could have borne full light without any shade. A woman fit to stand peer among the peerless. We could not be astonished at this apparition. We had divined her father rightly, as it afterward proved. Her voice has already half disclosed her character. A mature woman; beyond girlhood, body and soul. With all her grave demeanor, she could not keep down tho wiles of gracefulness that ever bubbled to the surface. If she could but be her happy self, what a fair world she would suddenly creato about her! She was dressed in rough gray cloth, as any lady might bo for a journey. She was evidently one whose resolute neatness repels travel stains. After the tawdry, draggled silks of the young women we had just seen, her simplicity was charmingly fresh. Could she and they be of tho same race of beings? They were apart as far as coarse from fino aa ailvprn frnm httlZfin. To see her here among this horde was a horror in itself. No horror the less that she could not blind herself to her position and her fate. She could not fail to see what a bane was beauty here. That she had done so was evident. She had essayed by severe plainness of dress to erase the lady from her appearance. A very idle attempt! There she was, do what she would, her beauty triumphing over all the wrong she did to it for duty's sake. All these observations I made with one glance. Description seems idle wl?..n one remembers how eyes can see at a flash what it took eons to prepare for and a lifetime to form. Brent and I exchanged looks. This ' was the result of ouY fanciful presentiments. Here was visible the woman we had been dreading to find. It still seemed an impossible vision. I almost believed that the old gentleman's blanket would rise with him and his daughter, j like the carpet of Fortunatus, and transport them suddenly away, leaving tis beside a Mormon wagon in Sizzum's camp and in the presence of a frowzy family cooking a supper of pork. I looked again and again. It was all real. There was the neat, coinfortablo wagon; there was the feeble, timid old ! gentleman pottering about; there w;is this beautiful girl, busy with her tea and smiling tenderly over her father. CHAPTER IX. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. "Come, gentlemen," said the father in a lively way. "We are all campaigners. Sit down and take a cup of tea with us. No ceremony. A la guerre, comme a la guerre. I cannot give yon Sevres ]>o:rce- i lain. I am afraid even my delf is a littlo j cracked; bnt we'll fancy it whole and j painted with roses. Now plenty of tea, ' Ellen dear. Guests are too rare not to ! | be welcomed with our very best. Be- J 6ide3,1 expect Brother Sizzum after his i ! camp duties are over." It was inexpressibly dreary, this feeble j ! conviviality. In the old gentleman's | j heart it was plain that disappointment | i and despondency were the permanent I j tenants. His gayety seemed only a j | mockery?a vain essay to delude him- [ j self into the thought that he could be j | happy even for a moment. His voice, j ! even while he jested, was hollow and i sorrowful. There was a trepidation in j J his manner, half hope, half fear, as if he , dreaded that some one would presently ' announce to him a dcsp -rate disaster or fancied that some sudden piece of good 1 luck was about to befall him, and he j must be all attention lest it pass to an- i other. Nothing of the anxiety of a j guilty man about him?of one who hears pursuit in the hum of a cricket or the ; buzz of a bee; only the uneasiness of j one flying forever from himself and hopi ing that some chance bliss will hold his | iliglit and give him a moment's forget- j fulness. We of course accepted the kindly invitation. Civilization was the novelty | to ns. Tea with a gentleman and lady i ! was a privilege quite unheard of. We 1 should both have lieen ready to devote I ourselves to a woman far less charming f j than our hostess. But here was a pair ?the beautiful daughter, the father ! astray?whom we must know more of. ! | I felt myself taking a very tender iuter! est in their welfare, revolving plans in j my mind to learn their history, and, if ' : it might be done, to persuade the father J out of his delusion. "Now, gentlemen," said our friend, i playing his part with mild gracefulness, i like an accomplished host, "sit down on i the blankets. I cannot give you grand armchairs, as I might have done once in old England, and hope to do if you ever come to see me at my house in Deseret. But really wo are forgetting something very important. We have not been for- J rnally introduced. Bless me! tout will never do. Allow me, gentlemen, to present myself, Mr. Hugh ClitherOe, late of Clitheroe Hall, Clitheroe, Lancashire?a good old name, you see. And this is my daughter, Miss Ellen Clitheroe. These gentlemen, my dear, will take the liberty to present themselves to you." "Mr. Richard Wade, late of California; Mr. John Brent, a roving Yankee. Pray let me aid you, Miss Clitheroe." Brent took the teakettle from her hand and filled the teapot. This little domestic office opened the way ^o other civil services. * ~ 7 It was like a viasrpicr<ullng seem.. It wa? like a masquerading scene. My ! handsome f riend and the elegant young j lady bending together over four cracked cups and as many plates of coarse earthenware spread upon the shawl on tho j dry grass. The circle of wagom., the i i groups of saints about their supper fires, the cattle and the fort in th j dis- i tance, made a strangely unreal background to a woman whose proper place, for open air, was in tho ancient avenue of some ancestral park, or standing on the terrace to receive groups of brilliant ladies coining up tho lawn. But character is superior to circumstance, and Miss Clitheroe's self possession controlled her scenery. Her place, wherever if was, becaui i her right place. The prairie, i and the wagons, and the rough iccessories, gave force to her refinement. Mr. Olitheroe regarded the pair with a j dreamy pleasure. I "Quite patriarchal, is it not?" said ho j . to me. "1 could fancy myself Laban and my daughter Rachel. There is a j ; trace of tho oriental in her looks. We , ] only need camels, and this would be a | scene worthy of the times of the eastern ; i patriarchs and the plaius of the old tioiy : Land. We of the Latter-day church ] think much of such associations, more I ; suppose than you world's people." j l And here the old gentleman looked at 1 i mo uneasily, as if he dreaded lest I I ] should fling in a word to disturb his I ] illusion, or perhaps ridicule his faith. i j "I have often been reminded hero of j j the landscape of Palestine," said I ; i "and those bare regions of the orient. ! Your friends in Utah, too, refresh : i the association by their choice of Biblical I ] names." j j "Yes; we love to recall those early j , days when Jehovah was near to his peo- 1 pie, a chosen people, who suffered for ! faith's sake, as we have done. In fact, ; j our new faith and new revelation are | only revivals and continuations of the j old. Our founder and our prophets give ! i us the doctrines of the earliest church, with a larger light and a surer confidence," He said this with the manner of one who is repeating for the thousandth ; time a lesson, a formula which be must j keep constantly before him or its effects j will t>e gone. In fact, his T^fclute asser- I tion of his creed showed the weak belief. As he paused he looked at me again, J . hoping, as I thought, that I would i dispute or differ, and so he might talk I < against contradiction, a far less subtle ; < enemy than doubt. As I did not imme- J i diately take up the discussion, he passed 1 lightly, and with the air of one whose j mind, does not love to be consecutive, to I j another subject. I ] "Hunters,, are you not?" said he, turn- < ing to Brent. "I am astonished that j i more of you American gentlemen do not i ( profit by this great buffalo preserve and j i deer park. We send you a good shot i j occasionally from England." j i "Yes," said my friend. "I had a capital shot and a capital fellow, too, for comrade this summer in the mountains. A countryman of yours, Sir Biron Biddulnh. He was wretchedly out of sortSj i poor fellow, wltsn we started. Fresh I j air and bold lifh quite set him up. A mor.th's galloping- with the buffalo and j a fortnight over the cliffs after the big | horn would 'put a soul under the ribs of I death.' Biddulph left me to go home, a . new man. I find that he has staid in ' Utah, for more hunting, I suppose." Brent was kneeling at Miss Clitheroe's feet, holding a cup for her to fill. Ho turned toward her father as ho spoke. At the name of Biddulph I saw that her rod lips' promise of passible blushes was no false one. "AhI" thought I, "here i>erhap3 is the romance of the baronet's history. No wonder he found England too narrow , for him if this noble woman would not , smile! Perhaps he has stopped in Utah to renew his suit or volunteer his serv- j ices. A strange drama, with new ele- j ments of interest coming in." I could not refrain irom studying Miss Clitheroo with some curiosity as I thought thus. She perceived my inquisitive look, j She made some excuse and stepped into the wagon. "Biddulph!" said the father. "Ellen j dear, Mr. Brent knows our old neighbor, Biron Biddulph. Oh, she has disappeared, 'on hospitable thoughts intent.' I shall be delighted to meet an old friend j in Deseret. We knew him intimately at i homo in better days?no! in those days I blindly deemed better, before I was ill u- { mined with the glories of the new faith, and saw the New Jerusalem with eyes of hope." Miss Clitheroe rejoined us. She had been absent only a moment, but, ;is I could see, long enough for tears, and the repression of tears. I should have pitied her more; but she seemed, in her stout j hearted womanhood, above pity, asking j no more than the sympathy the bravo have always ready for the sorrowful brave. Evidently to change the subject, sho j engaged Brent again in his tea table of- I iices. I looked at that passionate fellow j with sonu? anxiety. IIo was putting a largo share of earnestness in liis manner of holding cups and distributing hard- j hick. Mr. Clithoroo grew more and more genial as wo became better acquainted. He praised the sunshine and the climate. ! England had nothing like it, so our host 1 asserted. The atmosphere of England i crushed tin? body, as its moral atmos- j plicre repressed perfect freedom of thought and action. "Yes. gentlemen," said he, "I have os- 1 caped at last into the region I liavu longed for. I mean to renew my youth in the Promised Land?to have my life over again, with a store of the wisdom of age." Then he talked pleasantly of the incidents of his journey?an impressible living, taking easily the color of the moment, like a child. "Think of it, sir," he said, "I have seen real Indians, splendid fellows, all in their war paint; just such as I used to read of with delight in your Mr. Fenimore's tales. And these prairies, too? I seem to have visited them already in the works of your charming Mr. Irving ?a very pleasant author, vary pleasant indeed, and quite reminding me of out best essayists; though lie has an American savor too. Mr. Irving, I think, did i not come out so far as this. This region has never been described by any one with a poetic eye. My brethren in the Church of the Latter-day have their duties of stern apostleship; t hey cannot turn aside to the right hand nor to the left. Hut when the saiuts are gathered ( iii they will begin to see the artistic features of their land. "Those Wind Riv;er mountains?fine name, by the way?that I saw from the South puss?they seem to mo quite an ideal Sierra. Their blue edges and gleaming snow peaks were great society for us as wo came by. We are very fond of scenery, sir, my daughter and I, and tbis breadth of effect is very impressive after England. England, you know, sir, is taifee?a snug little place, but quite a prison for people of scope. Lancashire, my old home, is very pretty, but not grand; quite the contrary. I have grown really quite tired of green grass and j well kept lawns and the shaved, beardless, effeminate look of my native coun- ; try. This rough nature is masculine. It reminds me of the youth of the world. I ; like to bo in the presence of strong I forces. I am not afraid of tho Orson : feeling. "Besides, in Lancashire, particularly, we never see the sun: we see smoke; we breathe smoke; smoke Rpoils the fragrance and darkens the hue of all our life. I hate chimneys, sir; I have seen great fortuniis go up them. I might perhaps tell you something Df my own experience in looking up a certain tall chimney not-a hundred miles from Clitheroe, and seeing ancestral acres fly up it, and ancestral pictures and c. splendid old mansion all nrrv??r# r\ff in om alro Unf. vAii !irn ?i af.rn.n bU,"b ^ W? % ger and do not care about hairing my old gossip. Besides, what is the loss of houses and lauds if one finds the pearl of great price, and wins the prophet's crown and the saint's throne?" And here the gray haired, pale, dreamy old gentleman paused, and a half quenched fire glimmered in his eye. His childish, fanatical ambition stirred hira, and he smiled with a look of triumph. I was silent in speechless pity. His daughter turned and smiled with almost tearful tenderness upon her father. "I have not heard you so animated foi a long time, dear father," shosaid. "Mr. Wade seems quite to inspire you." "Yes, my dear: ho has been talking on many very interesting topics." I had really done nothing but to bow and utter those civil monosyllables which are the "Hear! hear!" of conversation. If I had been silent, Brent had not. While the garrulous old gentleman was prattling on at full speed, I had heard all the time my friend's low, melodious voico as ho talked to the lady. He was a trained artist in the fine art of sympathy. His own early sorrows had tnido him infinitely tender with all that 3uffer. To their hearts he came as one that had a right to enter, as one that Know tneir inaiauy, and was commuuueu to lay a gentle touch of soothing there, [t is a great power to have known the vorst and bitterest that can befall the mman life, and yet not be hardened. No sufferer can resist the fine magnet.sm of a wise and unintrusive pity. It s as mild and healing jis music by night to fevered sleeplessness. The lady's protective armor of sternaess was presently thrown iiside. She perceived that she need not wear it against a man who was brother to every desolate soul?sisterly indeed, so delicate was his comprehension of the wants of a woman's nature. In fact, both father and daughter, as soon as they discovered that wo were ready to bo their friends, met us frankly. It was easy to see, poor souls! that it was long since they had found any one fit company for them, any one whose presence could excite the care beguiling exhilaration of worthy society. 'They savored the aroma of good breeding with appetite. [to be continued next week.] ?? Simple Precautions against Fire and Rats.?One could not contrive a more perfect system of arranging a quantity of lumber to have it burn tjuickly than by using it to construct x modern house. The open spaces in the outside walls between the boarding and plastering, and in the pnritions, and between the floor timbers, form a perfect network of fines. If a fire starts in the lowest nart of the house, those Hues, with the shavings and chips usually left there, carry the fire to the attic and roof instantly; or if it starts above, the coals and fragments of fire fall down through those flues, thus spreading the lire very rapidly. The suggestions that I have to offer as improvements in house building are simply to Let the lining Hoors in each story extend to the outside boardings, and lay one course of brick in mortar on the floor between the studding; refuse or broken brick or small stones will answer; fill inside the partitions in the same way if necessary, not forgetting to stop all openings around steam and other pipes and every other place where a mouse would be liable to go or gnaw through. A little care and eight to twelve dollars will cover the cost in an ordinary house. At a greater expeuse more might be done as a protection rgainst fire. If the house is plastered before the finish is put on, it is a good idea to plaster down to the lining floor on the outside walls, and, in fact, nil of the walls, instead of plastering' to grounds six or seven inches from the floor.?A. W. l'age, N. Y. Evening Post. How ::o Mark Money.?A man who is wise, careful and conservative, energetic, persevering and tireless, need have no fear of his future. Hut there is one thing. lie must have a steady head, one that can weather the rough sea of reverses from which no life is altogether free, and one that will not become too big when successes attends his efforts. Keep out of the way of speculators. Take your money, whether it he much or little, to one whose reputation will insure you good counsel. Invest your money where the principal is safe and you will get along. But don't forget the acorns. It is from little acorns that great oaks grow. See that you begin aright early in life. Save your money with regularity. By so doing, you will more than save your money; you will make money.?Henry Clews in Ladies' Home Journal. fi&y An enthusiastic fisherman in Connecticut enjoys the sport without sacrificing any of his home comforts. His residence is on the Willimantie river. Prom a hack window lie has strung a wire across to the top of a tree. Just over a very good "fishing hole" he has blocked the wire, and with a carrier and a reel he slides his baited hook, sinker and line down the wire to the block. The contact releases me reel, and as it unwinds, the baited hook drops into the water, and "fishing" begins. Sitting at home, he can feel the nibbles and bites, and a quick motion secures his prey and pulls it along the wires to the house. fit/;"' You think that your children arc stubborn, thoughtless: and, perhaps, ungrateful. When this thought come* to you, it will he well for you to relied on your own youth. Were you a model son or daughter? Did you always obey without hesitation? Did your conduct never bring the hot tears to the eyes of your parents Are you entitled to receive more attention and respect from your ollspriiijj than you gave to your father and mother ? Anon* Lkap Ykak.? February, 1X1)2, will have twenty-nine days; it other words, I Sill! is a leap year The rule is that is all years whose tig urcs, or date numbers, are divisahh without remainder by four are leaj years, excepting the century years which are divisahh' without remaindci by-100. For instance, IStiO was not i leap year, and ltlOO will not be, bu 2,(10(1 will he.?New York Sun. Jtlecietl ffldnt. DON'T GIVE UP. If you tried and have not won, Never stop for crying; All that's great ami good is done Just by patient trying, Though young birds, in Hying, full, Still their wings grow stronger; I And the next time they can keep Up a little longer. Though the sturdy oak has known Many a blast that bowed her, ( Sho has risen again, and grown Loflier and prouder. If by easy work you beat, Who the more will prize you? Gaining victory from defeat, That's the test that tries you! There's magic in the power Of an unbended will ; That makes us stronger every hour For greater efforts still; Then banish from you every "can't," And show yourself a man, And nothing will your purposo daunt Led by the brave, "I can." YORKVILLE BAPTISTS. Tlie Story of Their Trials, Struggles and Success. i Written for the Yorkvillo Enquirer. Although there was preaching by : | Baptist ministers around Yorkville as j early as the year 1837, 110 effort was 1 made to organize a church in the town 1 until the year 1852. At this time the Broad River association, of which the J Baptist churches of York county were 1 then members, held a meeting at Antioch church, and Rev. Wm. Curtis, D. D., of Limestone Springs, was appoint- 1 ed to preach in Yorkville with a view to orgauizing a church. In pursuance i of this action of the association, Dr. Curtis preached statedly during the year 1852, but though his labors were attended with a good measure of success, and his ministry was appreciated by the community, no church was organized. From 1853 to 1866 there was no regular preaching in the town by Baptist ministers. For a few months in the early part of the year 1866, Rev. Tillman R. Gaines, at that time a Baptist preacher, edited and had printed in the Yorkville Enquirer office, a monthly publication known as "The Baptist Church and Sunday-School Messenger." After a few months it was discontinued under that title and was published weekly as "The Working Christian." It is worthy of mention that here began the publication of the paper which afterwards took the name of The Baptist Courier, and which is now the organ of South Carolina Baptists. There were a few Baptists residing in Yorkville at this time, some of them refugees from the low country, and as there was a Baptist minister located in the place, they decided to organize themselves into a church. A presbytery was called, consisting of Revs. J. C. Burge, T. R. Gaines and others, and on the second Sunday in May, 1866, a meeting was held in the old Methodist house of worship for the purpose of effecting the organization. A sermon was preached by Rev. J. C. Burge from Psalms xlviii, 2, after which the church was organized with the following members: Frances Y. Grist, Samuel McCants, Susan L. Poole, S. R. Poole, E. 0. Poole, Julia Ann Sparks, Sarah Lawrence, Tillman R. Gaines, Julia E. Gaines, S. J. Lindsay, H. H. Lindsay, J. T. Lindsay, A. E. Lindsay, Peter Crenshaw and wife?the two latter colored. Of those who were in the organization of the church only Mrs. Frances V. Grist is now a member, the rest having died or removed from the place. A church covenant was adopted, and the organization was completed by the election of Rev. Tillman R. Gaines, pustor, and Messrs. Samuel McCants, J. T. Lindsay and S. J. Lindsay, deannns. Rev. T. R. Gaines served the church as pastor continuously from this date until January, 1870, when he resigned. During the period of his ministry the membership was greatly increased, and the old house .of worship was erected, the funds being contributed by the denomination, and others, in this and other States. On account of the small membership aud the financial status of the members, it was found difficult to keep a pastor from 1870 to 1880. This decade forms the darkest period of the history of the church. Upon the resignation of Rev. T. R. Gaines, Rev. J. C. Burge was chosen as his successor, and the records show that, during the one year of his ministry, earnest and acceptable service was rendered. Rev. W. A. Gaines was the next pastor, who entered upon his duties in February, 1871, but though he labored faithfully, the church made no progress in consequence of the removal of several of the members from the place. Ilcncc the church retrogratcd in numbers and financial strength. On the first Sunday in January, 1873, Rev. T. J. Taylor accepted the pastoral care of the church and continued his labors for two years, preaching twice each month. There were few accessions and many losses, so that the membership continued to grow weaker. Rev. Mr. Taylor, seeing the weakness of the church, agreed to preach once each month without any stated salary. From this time to the year 1883 there was very little regular preaching at the church. For one whole year the church was closed, and no services were held, and the old building, which was always an inferior one, became terribly dilapidated. In 1877 Rev. A. W. Jjumnr, then corresponding secretary and treasurer of the State Mission board, arranged to send a supply for the church. Accordingly, Rev. A. J. McCoy began preaching under the appointments of the board, but this arrangement was discontinued after three months. In 187!) Rev. J. II. Booth, of Dallas, N. C., preached once a month for a short period, but nothing worthy of mention was accomplished. Again in : 1882 an effort was made to keep up j regular preaching, and Rev. W. L. i Brown, who was then serving Uuion ; church, preached to the church for sev1 nmil months For several years there had heen I no resident pastor, and little regular preaching, consequently the membership was scattered, the building went to ruin, the interest declined, and the outlook for the continuance of the ' church was very gloomy. So dark were these days in the history of the church, that many despaired of ever having a church of this faith in Yorki ville; hut there were a few faithful ones who held on, believing that in due time the way woidd he opened, , and that brighter days were in the i future. ! About this time, ISM, Key. It. H. . (irillith, I). I)., then corresponding seei rotary of the State Misssioti hoard, visi , itetl the town, and after talking with I the members, and receiving much encouragement from their earnestness, i I and from some prominent citizens of . other denominations, he was successful r in getting an appropriation from the I hoard, sufficient to carry on the work. It is not too much to say that the present prosperity of the Yorkville Haptisl church is due to tin; untiring cllorts of i Dr. (irillith in its behalf. In May, lSS.'t, Hev. .1. K. Covington was chosen pastor of Yorkville and I'nion churches, and entered upon his > duties with great enthusiasm. The church was reorganized with seven r , members, as follows: John <i. Fergut son, Mrs. Frances Y. (Jrist, Miss Susan I Hart, Mrs. Mary F. (Jrist, Abner l'orj ter, and II. J. Alexander and wife. The pastorate tof Mr. Covington was the beginning of brighter days. During bis three years' pastorate the church ivas well organized, the membership increased to more than sixty, and progress in every direction was made. Rigid church discipline was maintained, and the church was developed in benevolence to a wonderful degree. Rev. F. C. Hickson succeeded Mr. Covington in January, 1887, and served the church acceptably for one year, during which time the high standard of church discipline and Christian benevolence .was maintained. The present pastor, Rev. Robert G. Patrick, began his labors on the sec; ond Sunday in June, 1888. During the three years and a huf of his pastorate, more than 100 have been received into the fellowship of the church, and the handsome brick building has been erected at a cost of $4,000. By death, removals and exclusion, the membership, in spite of the numerous accessions, is ninety. With the new building, the outlook for the church is perhaps more encouraging than ever in its history. CAPTURING A VlLD HORSE. One of the most terrific experiences ever known in Central Kansas was related a few days ago by Dick Ingman, now of Oklahoma, but who was stopping here looking after some real estate. Dick was a hunter, and also one of the original cowboys of the r..tnniiD Tnvno Anil VnncnQ Pflttlfi frnils. and knows almost every foot of the 3oil between the Brazos and Smoky Hill rivers. "'Twaslong in the 70s," said he to a little party, including the writer, "when we had come up from the feeding grounds with a big herd of cattle. We had sold 'em mighty well and the boss give us drivers an extra week to rest up before going back to the ranch. We, of course, had a fine time, and were not a great while in getting rid of the little pile of money we got when we were paid off. In fact, I was pretty nigh busted myself, and was cursing luck with the pasteboards when a chance come to get even. "A man came into town one night with a terrible story of seeing the ghost of a horse careering over the prairie. He said it flew by him like an engine, and the poor fellow was about scared to death. In a day or two it was seen again. This time it was by daylight; and the rich cattleman who saw it said it was the handsomest piece of horse flesh he ever laid eyes on, and he was from Ken tucky, too. Jie onerea *i,uuu 10 me chap who'd capture the horse alive and sound, and ray chum Nat and I started out in the morning to see if we couldn't win the prize. "We followed the river about eight miles to where the Solomon river makes a junction with it, and then went up on a bluff to take bearings. Finally we separated, and I went up a little canyon along the Solomon. I followed it about eighty rods, when I came to a narrow pass and saw beyond that a pretty inclosure, nearly circular and covered with grass. And in there was the white horse. He was a beauty, white as milk and with a mane that was down to his knees, while his tail swept the ground. He had beautiful action, too, and being all alone was prancing and pawing tbo ground as if in play. How he could have got there was a wonder, for there were no wild horses nearer than Fort Reno in those days. He might have wandered away from the herd and gotten lost,'hut there was no'other explanation that seemed reasonable. "When he saw me he stopped prancing and glared at me frightened like, stamping the earth with his forefoot like a sheep that's scared. The place he was in was a kind of a cul-de-sac, and I stood at the entrance with the river 011 the right. I watched him a minute, and then taking my lariat from the saddle, I tied one end to a sapling, and, standing 011 the ground, sent my pony in to scare the wild horse. The pony, with a big saddle, made a strange looking object enough, and the horse ran from him in fright. After taking one or two turns around the circle he set out straight for me, and I knew the tug of war was coming. "With queer little jumps he. came toward me, and then, running faster and faster, prepared for a rush between me and the side of the canyon. I coiled the lariat and was ready to let it fly. "As the horse came nearer and nearer I swung the rawhide rope around my head, and sending it through the air it uncurled just right and dropped exactly over his head and flying mane. As he came to the end, the sapling couldn't no more hold him than a thread, and it was jerked out, catching me in the limbs, and both of us went whirling along the canyon after the mad and frightened beast. It would have been all day with me if my partner hadn't just then come in sight and, throwing up his hands, checked the critter's race. The horse whirled and came back 011 his tracks before I could get 011 my feet. I yelled at the top of my voice, and he just reared up 011 his hind legs until he seemed to stand straight in the air. In a pickle as I was, I could't help admiring the creature, and I think still it was the handsomest picture I ever saw out of doors. Well, the horse came down 011 his fore feet again and made a lunge toward me, and then, as I dodged, jumped straight oil' the ten-foot bank into the river. I hadn't prepared for that move, and being all tangled up so in the lariat, I didn't hardly know what to do. Rcfore I could do anything, and before Nat could get to me, I was jerked into the water, too, and was fighting hard to keep my head above water. Steady and fust the horse swam straight for a little island in the middle of the stream. The minute lie struck the beach he stopped and stood shakimr his white mane at me. The current was mighty swift and 1 couldn't keep my footing, so just lei my body sprawl out on the water am! hung on to the rope, hoping Nat would have sense enough to help me out. 1 didn't know where lie was, and was too scared and bewildered to loot around. "Hut Nat wasn't asleep, and in i minute I saw him crossing the stream above on his pony. He touched tin upper end of the island, and leaving his cay use, he crept steady and slow toward the horse that was holding me Strange the creature didn't hear oi smell him, but probably his atteutioi was too much taken up. Nat finally got up ou a stump of a tree, and ty ing his lariat as [ had done mine, onlj to a heavier tree, he made ready t< throw it. ' Mebbe I wasn't glad to see some tiling done! The lariat bad got s< tangled around me that I couldn't sti easy, and it was a question of minute when I'd drown if I staid there. "Hut Nat's aim was good, and th loop came down on the horse's hea< right above mine, and as it struck, th horse rushed sidewise, pulling me on of the water. I "In a minute Nat was by my side am ! had pulled me out of the coils of th j rope, and then we put our weight 01 I the thing to choke the horse dowi It wasn't a very long job, and in a fe\ minutes he was panting for breatl Then we roped him well and starte I to get him to town. Nat bad his pom I but mine had skipped for the villagi j It was after dark when we got hii i across the water to dry land, and a j most morning when the ornery critic j could be pushed and drove and led t j the city. We put him in one of th cattle pens, leaving toe rope uruuuu bis neck, and hunted up the cattleman who wanted him. He was as good as hia word, and gave us $600 apiece for our work. He had the creature tamed and broken, and sold him for twice the money in an eastern city. GRIP AND ITS MICROBE. Something About the Dreaded Disease. The prevailing epidemic, grip, which is causing much misgiving and alarm in the North, has made its appearance in the South, though what is here is of such a mild type as not to cause any great alarm. The fact remains, however, that when the disease appeared in New York and Philadelphia, it was of the same mild form, and no great attention was paid to it. Now in New York it has been declared epidemic and the Philadelphia physicians are alarmed at the large number of cases which are developing. A physician, speaking of the grip last week, said: .... - ?1_ J!an ? 1?i-, .. "ADOU& me omy uiuereutc ucmnu grip and influenza is that the former is an epidemic disease and is independent of climatic conditions. It is as likely to attack in pleasant weather as in inclement weather. I don't think the disease will be very severe here this season. The history of the grip shows that it is always more severe the first season, less severe the second, and still less the third season. As this is the third season, the disease is not likely to be severe." "It is a climatic disease," he said, "and a severe cold spell may precipitate a number of cases." The grip is not as severe here as it is in the North. On account of the climate it is never very severe here, and fatal cases are few. One difference between grip and influenza is the after effects, extreme nervousness and a debilitated condition following the grip. Death seldom results from the grip itself, but from the after effects. Dr. Robert L. Watkins, a leading physician of New York, has at last succeeded in obtaining an excellent micro flashing negative of the grip after it had been absorbed into the blood through the mucous membrane of the nasal organs. Dr. Watkins, who, although not a member of the medical profession, recognized the importance of the results he has obtained and desires to impart the fact to the public in general. According to the statements made by this "public benefactor," the grip germ was photographed under the power of magnifying lenses of 1,000 magnitude, the flash light having the brilliancy of the ordinary incandescent light. The color of the germ as seen through the lens was white. Its sides and fibrous surface were covered with fine hairs?so that they could hardly be observed in the original micro-photograph. The germ bojjy seemed to be undergoing constant changes, and in the meantime to rotate rapidly, having for an axis the adjacent healthy blood corpuscles. A germ was subsequently taken, instead of from the blood, from the catarrhal discharge of a patient under the treatment of Dr. Watkins, and the same conditions as stated above were noticed. He had been afflicted four days with the grip. The successful examination of the germ under the miscroscope, aided by the flash light, proves conclusively, it is said, that the germ attacks rather the blood than the mucous membraue, as in influenza, and that the pain experienced in the various stages of the disease is caused by the wonderful activity of its minute body. Dr. Naggle, another New York physician, says: There is no mistaking tb? grip when it comes. Many cases of simply ordinary colds, which would pass away in a few days, arc exaggerated by persons who think that they have the grip and take all sorts of nostrums to cure themselves. When the grip strikes a person it comes like an avalanche, and something seems to be the matter with every part of the body and each part feels worse than the other. Chilly sensations chase each other up and down the back, there is often distressing dizziness, very severe headache in the frontal region, terrible muscular pains and pains in the joints and bones, and great prostration. The patient is hardly able to move, and the mental depression is so great that the patient loses courage and does not care whether he lives or dies. The tem| peraturc goes up \yith wonderful rapid1 ?Aftan fAO/lK i It}', Alia llie uicriuuiiicici uiku kiivu I es 105 degrees, and often goes higher. : In other diseases this would be eonsid| ered an almost fatal temperature, but i patients rally from the grip under propi er treatment in a few days, although ; the depression may last for months, j Persons who have any symptoms of j the grip are very foolish to try reme' dies and should consult a physician 1 at once. The Telegraph would be doing the : public a favor," said a Macon physi. I ciau yesterday, "if you would put the people on notice concerning this grip. "As in cases of yellow fever, the great trouble is before and after. When a mar. is particularly attacked by the ; grip he has the symptoms in a more or less marked degree, but persists to : himself that it is only a cold and that he will get over it without leaving his business. Here is where he makes his mistake. 'Penny wise and pound foolj ish' is a very apt and applicable say' ing in this case, for when lie does ge;t j laid on his back he will stay there nil j the longer because lie tried to tax liijnI self and do his work at the same time that the disease was preying on bis j system. j "Then when the worst part of the attack is over and he gets out of bed, ! lie thinks he cau go to work without j | any danger, (iocs out and to his businnvl jlnv is down with a re j UC33 *11414 41V?kV mw f, ' lapse, which often proves fatal. . "My advice is, when you lmvc the | j grip even in a mild form., go home and I i stay home until you are strong and f ! well. "It won't do to monkey with a buz/ , i saw, and I tell you that this disease? ' | the grip?is a buzz saw that will <e.ut i j strong men up just about as quickly t as any disease I know of."?Macon , | Telegraph. ; Mh. Vandkrbilt thk Richest 1 j Man.?One of the best of all authori ties on wealth, a gentleman who has 1 undoubtedly rubbed shoulders familiar| I ly with a greater number of millionaires than any other person living or " , dead, remarked to ine that Cornelius Vanderbilt had a larger fortune than } j any other tenant of this planet. He was entirely familiar with the riches ' of the Kothchild's, and knew some of J j them personally. None of them could v j match .Mr. Vanderbilt in plethora of s | millions. The scores of millions of Jay Could '' and John 1). Rockefeller did not equal i Cornelius F underbill's possessions. 0 This gentleman, however, did not ored* it the estimate of John 1). Rockefeller's . i wealth at $120,000,000. He thought j it would hardly exceed half that e amount.?Hlakely Hall in New York Truth. v j $100,000 for a Horse.?Charles i. Keed, of Fairview Farm, near (iallatin, d : Tenn., the other day paid $100,000 for *, | the famous racing stallion, St. Hlaize. . ! This is the highest price ever paid for n one horse in the history of the world, I- and it also aptly illustrates the truth r of that old adage we all used to write o in the old copy books: "A fool and e his money are soon parted."