Evening Star Newspaper, June 27, 1896, Page 21

eee Pa “As to tellin’ a stery of moor men an’ Sich-I'ke, things happen out ‘pon this auld &r:y an’ brown world same as in other Blances, but they bant o° much account ‘eept to ourselves. I can call home wan tale, though, as I'll tell ‘e, if you mind to hear it. ‘Tis ‘bout the courtin’ of a chap by the rame o° Voxwell “Bill was a writer of signs an’ sich-like, an’ a chap of his hands most ways wi’ a gencral sense In gwaine through the world Which doant come to-many as young as it comed to him. He was always surprisin’ clever or else 'mazin’ fulish. Theer wern't no holf measures "bout un. He lved wi’ his faither in the last house o’ Merivale, an’ because sign-writin’ wasn't enough to keep him, he built ten bee-butts, an’ strawed ‘em so clever as a reg’lar datcher, an’ Sawled pure heather honey at a shillin’ a pound an’ did braave "pon it. His faither Weern't 0’ no account, though a gude man. Fuzz-cuttin’ was his job—tuzz-cuttin’, an’ | fern-cuttin’ in autumn time. “Then comed the matter o’ paintin’ that sign, an’ Maaster Applebird, who could fling’s money about like a duke when he'd @ mind to, beg was ‘bout wance in a month o” Sundays, gived Billey the offer to paint a gert picter on wood, an’ frame it | an’ hang it awyr the inn faace. I mind just | what Applebird said, for I was theer an’ heard. I'll give ‘e ten shillin’ for the job. | i ‘tis done so as all folks can see what's | meant by un. Applebird done it really he knawed John Comer, of the ‘Red rv’ Inn, Princeton, had just got a fine sign drawed by a Plymouth chap; an’ Ap- plebird would have sooner gived up bu: Ress altogether than let Comer best him anywheer. “So Bill Vogwell got his brushes an’ paints an ‘iles together an’ made a square o° boards, an’ done out the huntsman wi’ a carpenter's pencil, copyin’ the same from a butivul almanac what a grocer to Tavi- Stock had gived away to's customers the Winter previous. Maaster Applebird or- dained as the picter should be done in a fallet outside the inn: an’ theer Bill worked day by till the thing was done. An’ Polly Applebird watched un’ drawin’ an Paintin’; which is wheer this tale staarts Proper. She was a maiden of sebenteen- Year old, so brown as the moor in autumn, wi Ss wheer you cude ‘ardly see the pu. | Pils separate from the blackness of the | Paart which is brown or blue or gray in dif- | a i} ferent folks. Her ha ‘as jack-daw color, if you knaws that. Ted’n zactly black, nor yet blue, but betwix’ an’ between, wi’ a dancin’ light as gaws from wan to ‘tother. Her lips 4 be quarrender apple Just a thot open. You'd a swored a French furriner or some sich ut ‘tweer't so at ail. thick as thieves afore cd, an’ he dawdled awyver the paintin’ am allus that ‘tw t part of a month ‘fore he | the hour he'd sawld the rick what Bill had allowed dene. An’, poor | saved for a fi’ pun note more'n he'd reckon- Applebird weer | ed to gete for t. But it made it harder for ign board, they ; Bill ina manner o’ speakin’, because before in’ pleased with | he'd got time to bring out ‘his bit of noo: . ny un- | Applebird ‘Ah, Bill Vogwell, you uwst to matter 0’ three | come at the right moment, my son. Here's S or more. ‘twas that bent, | five shillin’ for "e along o’ saving the crockel limb 0” name Benjamin | wheat stack awhile since.” tle game, an’ | “Hill, he spawk theer an’ then, wi'out *. Yole hadn't | takin’ the money. ring pensioned | “What you sez be righter than you works awin’ to brekin’ his | knaws, master. I be your son. Me an Jent. But he crept about | Polly was of a mind, an’ us married each * his wicked ears flappin’ for | other in sterday marnin’. Us bant thing a: ght happin. rawed clat- | on for years arter the cat was out of cht ‘long an’ spoke theer was ferocious right om his side a use his gal was under but for all that Bill stuck to ft, an’ i "t gwaine to take ‘no’ for bag. Bin went a ou marries her, you'll go to prison though IT pay every lawyer in aid the landlord o’ the zncin® wi’ wrath. ‘*Tis against von’ suffer for it;| He waited tll evening, but no pliceman an’ whil cink, the gal shali| comed. Next day he went to see Maaster f » now you knaws wheer you | Applebird again; an’ the auld man tawld never you darken my door d—n neck myself.’ ‘ake much stock in him. pri ” he sez, ‘an’ I'd ‘ tomorrow an’ do ten years for Polly werful 28 a tadpole. Do ‘e think us another like two orenry folks? cut her hand off for me, and I'd s for her. An’ us be gwaine to Applebird, sir, so wheer’s " talkin’? “Then the auld man, who'd never heard the likes 0” sich sarce since his own son | Went about his business, an’ kep' away Went svleierin’, fallei back be'ind the bar | from the ‘Huntsman’s Rest,’ as though Wheer he stood ,an’ ‘peared doubtful wheth- er he should fly a hisself dign “You poor bee-keepin’ twoad of a bwoy.’ scornful, ‘you gert silly gaby, to n’ think my darter gude enough for likes of you.’ I never did think so, an’ I doan’t now, pint pot at Bill, or keep Maaster Applebird, but facts de facts; she'm gwaine to marry me, an’ I'll bear the pu ent like 2 man, an’ so all's said.’ pourse all weern’t said, by a darned long way, but the rest 0° the discoourse fell "pon the ears of them in the bar, for Bill he went off so haughty as a turkey cock wi his nose tip-tilted an’ his tips curlin’ like a pe . “Not even that snake Yole, though he limped many a gude mile for no other pur- pose. ever seed them two together again, but they met purty continuous for all that. An’ Bill axed her ff she'd judge it a terri- ble evil carcumstarce if he done six weeks in clink (for six weeks ft was, an’ no more, as Blanchard, the policeman, tawld un), an’ Polly said that so leng as they was mar- ried fust, and she knawed she could’n be tokened by her faither to no other, she'd let un and think {t no shame. “Meantime, arter the trouble wi’ her falther an’ before the firal coorious hap- pening. there was a fire in a croft of auld Applebird’s, an’ a linhay, as didn't matter, was burne! down, and a huge gert wheat stack, as did matter a lot, was saved by Bill Vogwell an’ two other chaps—chiefty through Bill's long headedness. For Bill, though a hot-headed fule of a lad In some waye, yet had a braave sight o’ common sense, with as gude a nerve in un as you might see "teen Exeter an’ Plymouth. Auld Applebird thanked Bill for what he'd done, wi a face same as though he was chewi of a lemon all the time. Then days passed, an’ ‘twas known that Polly Applebird weer gwaine up to her aunt as lived to Exeter. An’ so she weer; but theer was more in the trip than met the eye. ‘cause Bill he'd or- dained to meet her theer quiet and marry her ‘fore the registrar. The plan was her'n an’ what was to follow ccmed out o' Bill's own nodd'—a purty darred silly notion, tu, for Bill, you see, was half a janious and half a idiot, an’ them two halves got mixed now an’ again. “Off went Polly innercent seemin'ly as a gusechi and Bill had a job that tuke him out Merivale same day. “All went merry os need be. They met as planned the next day, an’ off they traapsed, an’ theer weern't no sort o° diffi- culty about the job, for marryin’s easy as lyin’ if you get two of a mind. Then comed the darn rum thing what Bill done. He and the gel, as was bis lawful wife, walk- ed straight away to the prison, an’ as they went her grawed tearful an’ cuddled of his arm closer’n closer, an’ shivered all over when she seed the gert walls o’ chink a- towerin’ afore "em. ““They won't hurt ‘e® she said, sobbin" guiet. | OGWELLS (tener EDEN PHILLPOTTS “Net them,’ he sald. ‘The time’ll pass like a dream alcng o’ thinkin’ you’m my awn wife by law, what none short 0’ God A’mighty couldn't take from me.” “Wi that he ringed the goal bell, an’ a braave noise is made; an’ a chap opes a little bit ot a gate in the middle of a big wan, an’ axes Bill his business. ‘I wants to see the head p’liceman,’ sez Bin. “<P'raps you'd like to talk wi’ the gov- ernor hisself?’ sez the man. : “*Ess, I lay he'll do,’ sez Bill, not seein’ the man was larfin’. “Well, you caan't, for he’m away today; but p'raps, when all's said, I might sarve "e?" sez tk = man. “And Vogwell seein’ the chap was a officer of sume sort, reckoued he would do, an’ set out his business short and plain. “'Tis like the 'ere,’ he said. ‘I be new come from marryin’ this maiden against the wish of her lawful faither, her bein’ under age. The law be on her faither’s side like, so to save trouble an’ gete the jeb out o’ hand, I’ve comed right along, an’ if you'm ready for me, I'm ready for you. "Tis a six weeks’ job an’ the day bein’ Monday, an’ the hour noon, maybe you cude make a note of it in wan 0’ your prison books.” “If Bill had axed that man to hang un he couldn't a looked more surprised. “If this bant the rummest staart ever I heard tell on,’ sez the man. Then he laughs continous for ‘bout five minutes, an’ sez, ‘Sorry enough to disoblige you, my but you caan't come in here for the . You must be took up ‘cordin’ to then tried ‘cordin’ to law, then sen- ‘d_‘cordin’ to law, "fore you comes here. You see,’ he continnys, ‘us caan’t be tu careful "bout visitors in'a place like this, "cause theer’s so many bad caraters about now-a-days, an’ we don’t want our morals upset by strangers!" “But bless your life, Bill couldn't see the cove was gettin’ at him. “I thot to come here quiet, an’ do the time, an’ then go home along, an’ nobody any the worse,” he sez. ““Caan't be’ sez the man. ‘I wish I could take ’e in, for I'm sure you'd do us all a power o' good, but you must get the usual introductions, I daresay the maid’s faither’ll manage all that for ’e right an’ reg'lar when you go home an’ tell un what you've done.” “Ess, he will, sure "nough,’ answers Bill, wnly I'd hoped to save un the trouble. Us was gwaine to keep the wedding secret till I'd took the punishment of the law on it. ‘Then, when th’ auld man up an’ said as he'd send me to chink, I should up and said back as I'd bin.’ Never heard tell o’ nothin’ afore,’ said the prison man. ‘You’m wan o’ the Lard’s awn chosen fules, if ever there was sich. Never mind. Gude-bye. “That was the end of Bill's notion. He tramped it home to Merivale an’ rext day marched off to see the innkeeper an’ tell un how matters ‘stood. Applebird was in @ sweet mood. luckily enough, for wi'in like it in no hurry, as you'm so set again it: but OL as theer weern't no harm in the future sariin, so us was mar- Auld Applebird sat back behind the bar, an’ he was tu surprised to be angry for a while. Then, arter he grasped hold o’ what Bill had said, he sent a stable boy for the policeman an’ tongued Bill proper. ants | ‘Eb I knawed you'd do that,’ sez axed to see landlord theer , While he waited an’ Applebird drawed tind you, Applebird had thot | breath. ‘I knawed you'd have the law of h of the young chap, for Bill| me, an’ when I was to Exeter arter we was I up an” y in the eye, and | married, Polly an’ me went down to the folks straight in the faace; but | goal, an’ I was for gwaine in theer an he heard theer was courtin’ gwaine | then to save ‘e trouble, but they wouldnt n the two, Yole hisself had | take me. You've got to summons me fust, together in the | an’ ther I'm brought up in due coourse ird let go awful, an’ | afore a justice, an’ he sentences me to six fewn that night as | weeks for mar ryin’ a gal under age. I tho’t to have saved ‘e all that confusion, but it can't be, they towld me. So you'll bave to go through wi’ it, an’ I get six weeks.” “Six weeks, you d——n young rip,’ bust out Applebird, sweatin’ wi raage. ‘I'll have ‘e theer for six years hard labour, if lawyers can work They can't,” sez Bill. ‘Six weeks I'll | Set—then I'll come back to Merivale.’ “It happened that the p'liceman couldn't be found just then, an’ Bill, sayin’ as he would be at his faither’s house, went off. un to get out the bar, but he sald nothin’ “bout the p'liceman.’ An’ four followin’ marnins he went to knaw when the p’lice- man was comin’. Then Polly comed home an’ faced the moosic; but you see,Polly was Wound too tight around her faither’s heart for un to cast her off or anythin’ out- Tageous like that. He stormed steady for a fortnight, then the doctor from Princeto: gave un a brace o' pills for his vitals, an tawld un that anger turned the blood ‘sour if persisted in too long. Meanwhile Bill "twas the gaic to perdition. That's wheer the janious o’ Bill comed in—almost con- trary to human nachur. Then in the spring Bill's faither died an’ ‘twas found he'd saved a matter of eighty-three pounds in silver, which had took fifty year o’ fuzz- cuttin’ to do. But theer it was, an’ when auld Applebird heard as Bill meant buyin’ fraish paper for the cottage walls an’ im- previn’ the plaace general he was interest- ed; an’ when he heard Bill was ‘specially axed to paint a gert elephant on a sign at Tavistock for two pounds ten he was *mazed with wonder. “Eighteen months dawdled by, an’ then comed the tail to the story, as I said. Wan day Applebird sees his darter helpin’ the servant gal down stairs with two boxes, an’ he also sees a bwoy wi’ a barrow ‘fore the inn door, waitin’. “““Wheer be gwaine?’ he sez to Polly. “Down long o’ my husband, Bill ‘Vog- well’s house,” sez Polly. ““‘Never—not while I can stop ’e,’ he an- swers back, but rather tame like, for theer was many things in his mind by that time. “God bless ‘e, faither,’ she sez, ‘God bless ‘e, but you caan't stop me. Do 'e kn: the day?’ she sez. “ ‘No,’ he sez. “‘ ‘My birthday,’ she sez, ‘I be of comed age, an’ I loves 'e so dear as ever, an’ Bill no Jess than I did when us was married. ‘Tis my bounden dooty, dear faither,’ she sez. “The auld man answered never a word, but he stood at the door with his gert dou- ble chins all rumpled up as he put his head down like a bull snortin’ an’ puffin’. So he Watched her go, an’ then went in the door. fobody seed un all that arternoon, but when evenin’ came an’ the lights twinkled out o° Merivale, like a row o' glow worms climbin’ the black hill, Applebird he put on the velveteen coat he uses for rabbit shoot- in’, an’ brushed his white hair till it shone, an’ counted out a tidy little"pile of sover- eigns from a bag, an’ took his stick, an’ tawld the stable boy, as also served in the bar, he'd be back in an honr or less. Then he sneaked down the hill as though he was gwaine poachin’; but he stopped at the last cot, an’ looked at a light in.the kitchen winder’ gn’ seed two heads close together eatin’ supper at a little noo table. Then he tramped up the pathway soft, but Polly heard an’ knawed the step; an’ ‘fore he rezched the door ’twas epen. — Baking Paus for Small Crusty Loaves From the New ,York Times. A low, narrow pan is sold at some shops which is called the “crusty bread” pan and is much like those in which the French leaves are baked. The village housekeeper must not forget that in default of any- thing better a section of new tin stove pipe of small diameter, which tfe general store of the community will furnish, provides a Xery 8000 baking pan for small crusty loaves. THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 189¢~TWENTY-FOUR PAGES, = IT WAS THE FOURTH And an Unfortunate One for the Confederates, AS GRAPHICALLY TOLD BY ONE OF THEM Old Glory Waved in Triumph Over Bloody Fields. LOADED TO KILL HESE ARE soUu- venirs of the one Fourth of July I shall never forget,” said a confederate veteran whom I met in this city on his way to the reunion at Richmond. He held up in evidence a pair of empty sleeves which showed both arms cut off just be- low the elbows so evenly that it might have been done by a stroke from a butch- er’s cleaver. ‘‘And I didn’t lose them burn- ing powder for fun, either. I knew that everything we toyed with that day was loaded; loaded to kill. The same with the enemy. It was a Yankee shell at Helena, fired from the gunboat Tyler, which placed me on the retired list, where I have been since July 4, 1863. “I was an officer in Fagan's Arkansas brigade, and I never enjoyed a picnic be- forehand in my life as I did that stealthy 100-mile march from Little Rock to give the Yankees in their works at Helena a Fourth of July surprise party. You see, we had teen lying idle all summer in Ar- kansas, while Grant closed the coils around cur people at Vicksburg. We numbered about 8,000 men, consisting of our brigade, T and leave the horses with free use of limb, barely made their way through the labyrinth of obstructions in time to meet the engagement. We were the first.to open the bell, and as soon as the straggling line cot pull itself together it moved forward in battle order. Here a gorge intervened; "a steep hillside loomed before us, and the thicket and trenches in front were alive with sharp- shooting riflemen. ‘The three eee brigade charg- ed, on both sides road, and soon after daylight had carried four lines of rifle pits. But there had been no attack at any other point. The day was fright- fully hot and our poor fellows soon began to drop frem heat and exhaustion, as well as from Yankee bullet: The guns on Graveyard Hill were st of us “and poured their shots ameng our scattered men. It was with relief that we saw Price's line march to the assault of that battery, and as they did so we rallied for one more charge on the last remaining rifle pits on Hindman Hill. That we car- ried, and the enemy fled to the shelter of Fort Curtis. On abandoning the guns to us, the Missouri novices had the cunning to spike the pieces or we would have turned them upon the walls of Fort Curtis. It was while attempting to drill out one of the guns for a shot at the old flag that I lost my arms by a shell from the gunboat. My hands were together in a line, and all at once I wondered why 1 could not twist the worm I had held a second before. Men who saw me said I stared and grinned like a madman, not knowing what had happened. No Hope but Surrender. “When at last I realized what had hap- pened I ran forward in the charge with our men toward the ditch of the fort. Not only the gunboat fire but that of the fort itself, which was bastioned, raked the walls and our men were terribly repulsed. There was no hope but surrender, and our sharp- shooters, back in the rear, shot down every man who attempted to go into the enemy's lines. So we were between two fires. We might have been saved yet had not Price's men made a terrible blunder. They were ordered to carry Graveyard Hill, which they did most gallantly, and instead of pressing on in our flank and rear to sup- port us in the assault of Fort Curtis, they passed on to the -town Itself. Seeing no way of escape to the rear of our column I Joined them and lay for three hours in a house by the wayside, where my wounds were dressed by a surgeon. “Meantime the gunbeat firing and the fusilade from Fort Curtis sweeping the ground cver which we had charged, re- treat over the same line was out of the question. I made my way toward the out- posts on the north and had the good luck end our men, | SUMNER’S PHYSICAL COWARDICE. How He Made the Massachusetts Delegation Sit Up With Him. From the Chicago Record. Ex-Senator Dawes of chusetts be- ing in a reminiscent mood the other even- ing, related an anecdote of Charles Sumner that has never found its way into print, but illustrated a remarkable characteristic of that great statesman. After he recov- ered from the effects of the attack of Preston Brooks Mr. Sumner went to Eu- rope and remained for several months. Many people predicted that he would not dare return to the Senate chamber, and al- most everybody was willing to concede that if he did so he would make no more speeches on the slave question, for several southern fire-eaters had threatened to kill him if he did. Mr. Sumner’ intimate friends were well aware that he, like many other men of great intellect, was born a Physical coward, and the assault of Brooks had upset his nerves so completely that he would jump whenever he was startled by an unexpected sound. Mr. Sumner came back to Washington at the beginning of the next session, resumed his seat in the Senate, and although it was notorious that several ruffians intended to attack him if he did so, renewed his war against the slave power, and at the first opportunity delivered a’ speech that was even more radical and merciless than that which provoked the anger of Preston Brooks. The night after the delivery of that speech Mr. Dawes, who was a Representa- tive from Massachusetts, was just going to bed when Mr. Sumner’s butler rushed into his room at his boarding house, breath- less with excitement, and said that Mr. Sumner wanted to see him immediately. Mr. Dawes put on his clothes again, and taking a stout hickory which he always carried, went to Mr. Sumner’s residence, which was then on F street between 14th and 15th, and only a few steps from the treasury. He found the great man in his brary drawing up a memorandum of in- structions to his friends in case he should be killed, and he coolly informed Mr. Dawes that he expected to die that night. He had been visited, he said, by a committee of three, representing the slave-holding ele- ment in the south, who warned him that his hour was fast approaching, and that the penalty of his last speech was likely to be visited upon him at any time. “I sent for you, Mr. Dawes,” he ccn- tinued, “with the hope and expectation that you will summon the Representatives from Massachusetts and remain with me through the night. Your society will be a consolation, and I should like to have you From Life. & ALL the world’s a rink,, And alt the men and women merely bikerss, They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his course breaks many parts, At first the Novice, Wobbling and trembling in the instructor's arms; And then the groaning Layman, with his sling And bruiséd mourning face, creeping like snail, Unwillingly to bed} And then the Enthusiast, Panting tike Cerebus, with a bicycle expression, But bound to get there.. Then a Scorcher, Full of strange oaths and clothed with many checks, Jealous of others; sudden and quick in falling, Seeking the biking reputation even in the ambulance. And then the Justice, his fair round body iw good tweed clothes arrayed, With eyes severe and nose and brow much cut, Full of wise rules and wheeling instances, * And so he plays his part, ‘Che sixth age shifts Into the lean and gaitered Pantaloon, : With spectacles on nose and sprain on side; His youthful hose weil saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big; manly voice, Turning again to childish treble. pipes and_ whistles Th its sound. Last Scene o/’all that ends this strange eventful’ history, To second childishness in pure enthusiasm, Sens teeth, sans eyes sans legs, thingy - two brigades of ‘Pap’ Price's Missourians and Marmaduke’s cavalry, ‘Joe’ Shelby’s brigade counted in. Holmes was our com- mander, and one day he telegraphed to army headquarters, ‘I believe we oan take Helena. Please let me attack it.’ The re- ply was, ‘Go ahead and do it!’ Should we take Helena, why, Grant would simply have to call off his dogs at Vicksburg and ‘sick’ them on us, for, don’t you see, we could shut off Yankee navigation in the Missis- sippi and starve the enemy out at Vicks- burg. Oh, we erjoyed the prospect, for we outnumbered the garrison at Helena two to one. “The city of Helena lies in the lowlands on the Arkansas shore. Its water front was guarded by the gunboat Tyler, famous at Fort Henry and Donelson. On the land side there was an unbroken chain of forti- fications extending from the river bank above the town to the bank below. The western front of the city was about half a mile in length and just outside the limits, nearly opposite the center, was a heavy earth@ork, mounting siege guns. Half a mile further inland was a semi-circular range of hills, on the crests of which lay the outer line of fortifications. This line comprised four redoubts, mounting field pleces and connected by breastworks. The large central work was Fort Curtis; two batteries on the north and northwest age? on Righter's Hill. On the west ther @ battery on Graveyard Hill and on Hind- mand Hill, southwest, the fourth battery was located. I made the acquaintance of the Hindman Hill battery, intimately, as you will learn later on. A Mot Fight om a Hot Day. “«] give you these details to show that the contract was a good-sized one. Yet there was a heap in our favor. The Yankees had but 4,000 men in Helena, and although they had plenty of cannon they lacked the trained artillerists to handle them. The gunners that day were green hands detailed from the 33d Missouri In- fantry, and the way they handled the pieces made us wish we had met another kind. But we knew very little of the actual situation until we struck it all of a sudden about daylight on Independence day. Our three columns, Marmaduke’s, Price's and Fagan’s, told cff in storming parties and reserves, moved against the -batteries and intrenchments lying across our paths. There were six roads from the interfor to the town and the defenders, being ignorant as to the particular one or ones we would use, were compelled to watch them ail. Our brigade attempted to take along some field artillery, but.about a mile out from the lines we found the road obstructed, and on both sides of it the country was cut up into ravines, making it impassable for can- non. Our officers were obliged to dismount Sans everys to fall in with Marmaduke's cavairy, which had charged upon the battery north of the tewn. I struck Shelby’s brigade and that ended my adventures that terrible Fourth of July, but as I have talked chiefly of my deeds and those of my own command I wish to add a little incident to show that heroes were all over the field that day. Shelby had with him that famous battery of flying artillery, manned by ‘Dick’ Col- lins, and known on all the border for the spirit with which it entered a fight. Col- lin's guns always went in on a charge with the squadrens. Reeling in His Saddle. “On moving out that day toward the bat- tery assigned him to capture Battery A, Shelby found the road barricaded and Col- lins quickly cut loose the teams and his gtmners hauled the pieces around the ob- structions by hand, letting the horses pick thelr way. Shelby Advanced too far with- out support and the guns of a field battery, as well as those of Fort Curtis and the gunboat Tyler, opened on his brigade. A counter charge followed; Shelby was wounded and the sldughter around Collins’ guns was awful. General officers and aids helped to work the; pieges. Finally the horses were all shot down and the line was compelled to retreat urder the withering fire. Shelby, reeling jn Ms saddle from the loss of blood throug§ an‘artery severed at the wrist, called for vplunteers to save Collins’ guns. At the cry “The battery is in danger,” hundreds of ffie troopers turned back. Shelby said: “ , only fifty! Bring the battery back ain yourselves.” Collins and his lieufgnanis were still fight- ing* bravely but sly. The dead horses were cut away, attached and the guns dragged back safely to the lines. Fifteen only of those’ fifty volunteers got out unscathed and twenty ‘remained’ where they fell. “Since that day at Helena I tell the boys I would rather buck against a hoodoo than try to down Old Glory on the Fourth of July. That is the day the goddess of liber- ty tacked the red, white and blue high up on the Union mast arid don’t anybody for- get it, or they may get hurt. Just think of it, while we were charging through fire and brimstone at Helena only to figure in the Ust of casualties like the Fourth of July idiots who don’t know the guns and pistols are loaded, Grant's men were in Vicks- burg hurrahing themselves hoarse and Lee's battalions, thrashed into frazales,were unlocking horns with Meade at Gettys- burg, mighty glad to be let off so easfly. Yes, the Union is good enough for me on the Fourth of July and every other day in cy the year, and I don’t regret the price I tell her a paid for finding it out.” GEORGE L. KILMER. witness my death if I am attacked in such a manner that it will be impossible for you to defend and protect me.” Mr. Dawes remained with Mr. Sumner while the servants of the household were sent for the other members of the delega- tion. When they arrived Mr. Sumner re- peated to them what he had said to Mr. Dawes about the warning he had received and his expectation of an early death by violence. Then going to his library he took from the shelves a history of Rome, turn- ed to the pages which relate the story of the assassination of Caius and Tiberius Gracchus, the Roman tribunes, who were assassinated because of their efforts in be- half of the peasantry of Rome, and solemn- ly announced his intention to die as they had died, with the same composure and the same resignation, which he said was justified by his confidence that his fate, like theirs, was the penalty of his devotion to the poor and the oppressed. Mr. Sum- ner put a mark in the book in order that the delegation might refer to it after the expected dced of blood was accomplished, laid it away upon the shelf in its proper place, and then sat down calmly to await the end. The Massachusetts members remained with him through the night. One of them had a revolver; the remainder had no bet- ter arms than walking sticks, but Mr. Sumner refused to allow them to go after guns and ammunition, and seemed rather to covet martyrdom than to avoid it. The night was Icng and nothing ocourred to disturb its solemnity. At daylight it wat decidel that the guard should be con: tinued, but that the delegation might go to their homes by installments to advise their familes of thelr safety and change their linen. One of the first to leave boarded at Wil- lard’s Hotel, which was merely across the street, and he had not been gone more than fifteen or twenty minutes when he returned with sh astonishing story he had heard in the office of the hotel about three young southern bloods who had called upon Mr. Sumner the evening before and nearly frightened him to death with a story that his assassination was intended. They had conceived this idea of a practical joke over their cups, and after their return from Mr. Sumner’s house had made the hotel merry with descriptions of the manner in which he recelved their. warning. The delegation shook hands with each other, and con- gratulated Mr. Sumner that the danger was not serious, but they were never able to convince him that he was the victim of a Jest. Precaution. From the Indisnapolts Journal. Briggs—“Does your wife laugh when you funny story?” ‘Brages—‘Oh, yes. I always tell her be- forehand that it is funny.” | The other ev WITH BUTLER IN NEW ORLEANS. Experiences of a Youthfal Soldier Thirty Years Age in New Orleans. From the Buffalo News. Col. C. G. Johnston, head of the Buffalo Encampment of the Union Veteran Legion, was younger when he went to war. He was fm. the 13th Maine, and enlisted when six- teen years old. The famous Neal Dow was the colonel of his regiment. Col. Johnston was under Gen. Butler in the famous campaigns around New Orieans, as he, a young man, passed through the streets of the crescent city and was reviled by the haughty dames of the confederacy. The troops were spat upon by these women, and subjected to every kind of humiliating treatment. It was at this time that Gen. Butler issued his famous order which put a decisive stop to these petty annoyances. The order was to the effect that any wo- men who were disrespectful to the Union soldiers would be treated as women of the town by the troops. Needless to say, a More courteous demeanor was observed after this. Col. Johnston affirms that the poorer class of people in New Orleans respected and ad- mired Gen. Butler. “It was Butler who made New Orleans,” says Col. Johnston. “He introduced sanitary measures and built up the place.” Gen. Butler's way of treating prisoners was exemplified by his punishment of an obstreperous gardener. This gardener had Publicly said that he was going to burn a certain hospital Butler had put up. Butler, on hearing of it, sent for him. He asked him if the report was true. The gardener admitted that he had threat- ened to burn the hospital. “You are « gardener, are you not?” asked Butler, sagely. - “Yes,” said the man, “Well, there 1s a fine garden down at Fort Jackson,” said the general. “It needs a Mire man to care for it. I guess you had tter put in the next ninety-nine years in fixing it up. It certainly needs a good man.” A part of his‘punishment besides this con- sisted in pumping cold water on him for five minutes every day. Col. Johnston was frequently detailed to assist at this unique Proceeding. While in New Orieans in 1567 Col. Johnston met with the same gardener, somewhat humbled in spirit, but still vigor- ous. He bore no Ml feeling, and the two talked it over again. Col. Johnston tells of an incident that nearly frightened him to death. It was at Ship's Island. He was detailed to “lay out” @ man who had recently died. He was very young at the time, and, together with two others, he carried the body to a dead hou As they entered this house they were ju: placing the body at one end when they heard a slight noise. The room was very dark and close. Col. Jchnston, then a mere boy, lighted his lan- tern and peered into the further corner, where two other “laid out” corpses were resting. He observed one of the forms nove. Almost frozen with terror, he watched and saw the shroud rise, and from under the white sheet a face appeared. A griz- zled head loomed in the yellow light of the lantern and ponderous jaws opened in a wide yawn. It was too much for the young boy, and with a seream he ran from the dead house into the night. As he ran he fell over a tent guy holding up a hospital tent, and he thought surely some ghost had grabbed him. it was his worst fright of the war. ———__+«-_____ WATTERSON IN THE RED MILL. The Kentacky Editer Sees a Famous Resort in the French Capital, From thé ‘Courler-Journal. By the Tight of day the that is its name in English, is but a poor affair: squatty, squalid, with nothing to signalize it except the elevated open in which it stands. Like some horrid mon- | ster, recumbent and asleep from dawn to | twilight, no sooner does the sun go out of | the heavens and the stars begin to shine than it yawns, rears, and with a g howl springs to its feet, its eves fia Red Mill, for ng and its jaws agape, eager for its prey. As your carriage moumts the hill through a leng, dark avenue, you become conscious of a lurid glare. You iook ahead. Ref you is a place, or square, brilliantly ed only at the furt hold a gorgeous of white and above th the wings of a slowly turning—for the m false godd d slow urse, of t wind: even of sur Moulin Ro. ei red c myriads of ‘The effect, though sinister, is pictures and novel You pay your two francs and enter. | There are a garden, a theater and a Gance hall, all opening one into another, when you have tired of the indiff cert proceeding upon the stage, you can go as you please, and need not sip your beer alone, either, in the garden or upon the balconies on either side of the dance hall, band a. where an excellent good music of its ki varied and often pretty. the wearers the better. For liquors both ladies and gentlemen may and do come here with impunity. One gets wo swed to the demi-monde in Paris that its agglomeration presently ceases to shock, or even to be particularly observed. ng old man and an old woman, probabiy from Green county, were sitting at a table looking on the fanta scene, the old woman with a sort of fas: nated delight. At last the old man rose suddeniy, and says he: “Come along, ‘Mandy, this ain't no fitten place for sich as we,” and reluctantly the old woman did as she was bid. I have observed that women are :nore impressed by what they see and hear at Moulin Rouge than the men who come here, Perhaps it is that there is, in the case of the women, an appeai to the im nation which in the case of the men wanting; for a man musi be callow, who finds anything in a place like arouse other than his disgust. Indeed, the woman, particularly the good American Woman, does not realize the full meaning or the extent of all this depravity. Her sense is lured by the fantastic. The music, the lights, the color, the novelty, catch her fanc: it is the thoughtful man who, knowing all, looks on with pity and horror. discourses very |. The costumes are y. The less said cf is indeed, this to A RIDE TO DEATH. A Wheelman Ta’ Chioral and Rides Until He Falls Of Dying. Los Angeles Corr. of the San Francisco Examiner. It was left to Roy Woodcock, a young San Francisco wheelman, to evolve a fear- some bicycling novelty—voluniarily spend- ing one’s dying moments on a wheel. Mr. Woodcock was thirty-two years old. He came kere from San Franciscé ten mcnths ago, and being a clever wheelman easily got employment with the Pacific Cycle Company, on South Broadway. He was a finely educated fellow, a graduate of the universities of New York and Heidel- berg, was a finished musician and gentle- man in all his instincts. But he was a drunkard. The Rev. E. B. Brainerd of 911 West 11th street became interested im him, tock him into his own home and sought to break him of intemperance. Medicinal ad- vice was sought and chloral was prescribed to brace the patient’s broken nerves. The young man sought to bear almself man- fully and to abandon the cup, but his will had been so far weakened that could not resist the craving for intoxicants. As this was borne in upon him he grew more and more despondeni, and lately he announced a determination to make one more resolute eYort in the right direction, staking his life on the result. He made the eilort and fail- ed. Next morning, after dressing, he swal- lowed the conterts of his boitle of chloral and rode off to a drug store and had the vial refilled. He immediately drank all the second lot, and then mounting his wheel hastened down Figueroa street, the favorite scorching resort of the city. At the corner of 32d street his wheel was scen to give a lurch and he fell off, strik- ing the curbstone and badly cutting his forehead. He lay there unconscious ani some bystanders summoned the patrol wagon, but when the police arrived he was found to be dead. It was ascertained that he had taken about thirty grains of chloral, notwith- standing which, at the coroner's inquest, the jury returned a verdict of accidental death. : —_+e-—____ A Change of Heart. From the New York Herald. “The minister looked so feeble this mors ing when he began to preach that I was afrafd he would break down.” “Well?” “After he began his sermon I was afraid he wouldn't.” i CV EUp sd Gladness Comes Wiha better understanding of the transient nature of the many phys- ical ills, which vanish before proper ef- forts—gentle efforts—pleasantefforts— rightly directed. There is comfort in the knowledge, that so many forms of sickness are not due to any actual dis- ease, but simply to a constipated condi- tion of the system, which the pleasant family laxative, Syrup of Figs, prompt- ly removes. That is why it is the only remedy with millionsof families, andis everywhere esteemed so highly by all who value good health. Its beneficial effects are due to the fact, that itis the one remedy which promotes internal cleanliness without debilitating the organs on which it acts. It is therefére all important, in order to get its bene- ficial effects, to note when you pur- chase, that you have the genuine arti- cle, which is manufactured by the Cali- fornia Vig Syrup Co. only and sold by all reputable druggists. Jf in the enjoyment of good health, and the system is regular, laxatives or other remedies are then not needed. If afflicted with any actual disease, one may be commended to the most skillful physicians, but if in need of a laxative, one should have the best, and with the well-informed everywhere, Syrup of Figsstands highest aad is most largely used und gives most general satisfaction. = GooD — FOR JANE SMITH. She Made a Sneak Thief Give Up Hia Piun From the Post-Expr: Miss Jane Smith ts a plucky girl, Her mother keeps a boarding house at 122 South St. Paul street, while Jane is a clerk in one of the big dry goods stores. Mrs. Smith and the rest of the household were at dinner at 6:30 p.m. yesterday in the basement. The front door on the sec- ond floor was open and the door to the sit- ling room had been carelessly left unlock- ed. Jane returned from the store while the others were at dinner. She went in by the front door and was p: & on to her own apartment when she glanced into the sitting room. There was a strange man there. Such a sight is not unusual in a boarding house, but this particular strange man was in a peculiar attitude. He had pulled out a bureau drawer and was rap- idly inspecting its contents. Jane the situation at a glance and walked 4s the room. The strange man beard her s and turn from his work: the time Jane entered the room he y a table some feet distant from the bureau. pardon,” he “are you the landl. see about obtaining board “You don"t want to see i want you, and 1 want you to « ckeis of the stuff you took o} eau.” Alibough very nervous the fellow had bravado in his m r the “injured innocence t do you mean. tones, but miss?” he dared not look ye. She paid no at he began in the told him to she would think would-be sneak over two poi He pleaded y jane finally opened the front door a told the fellow to go. He needed no s a ion, but flew down the st . took off her hat nd gloves, then went down to the dining d told her mother she ought to be more careful in locking up the room when meals were on in the basement. From the Chicago ‘Times-Herald. “There is no—well, no unwise person like an old unwise person,” observed the girl in the pink gown. “i'm,” said the girl in the yellow sh waist, “that sounds as if you had come out second in an argument with your fa- ther. “One argument,” groaned the girl in the pink gown; “do you suppose that a sing’ argument settled it? Oh, no, my dear. Y see, my faiher has always expressed him- if as bitterly opposed to bicycles, and nen I decided to acquire one I knew that w 1, to say the least, would not get it with- cut a struggle.” “Of course not,” said the other. “What Kind of a wheel did you get? And have you" Well, when mamma went away on a trip 1 felt that my opportunity had come. You see, 1 had read that if you feed a man well first he is much more apt to ac- » 80 1" — cede to any reque: : you out to dine at a lade him take li restaurant; I s: othing of the kind; I wanted him to have money enough left to pay for the wheel. No, I got him up a perfectly love- ly dinner at home, then I led him into the library, arrranged the lights so they woulin't hurt his eyes, casually mentioned the fact that I meant, in the future, to devote my life to his comfort and then, apropos of comfort, 1 brought up the sub- ject of bicyel “And did h “He didn’t say a word and I was en- couraged to go on. I said that the price of a wheel often saved a doctor's bill, that no who rode one ever needed to buy any expensive dresses for the summer and that the exercise made them so content that they sekiom or never cared to open the piano in the evenings.” “That was a clever stroke; did”— “Just then a queer sound fell on my ear and, if you will believe me, he was fast asleep and didn't hear a word I had said.” “Oh, well, when he did wake, he “When he did awake, he said that the clerks in the office were all s0 bicycle crazy that they didn’t half do their work and the extra toil which devolvei on him made him so tured that he couldn't keep awake in the evenings. Well, I saw that plan wouldn't werk, so I met him at the door the next morning and asked him flatly if I might get a bicycle.” SOSrwTSSSCOSECEOOOCESOC COCO CGROFULA Miss Della Stevens of Boston, Mass, IT have always suffered from ditary Serofala, for which 1 tried vartous remedies, nna many rellable phy- sicians, Dat none relieved me. After taking 6 bottles of Tam now well, 7 am very gratefal qe in speaking Words of praise fur the wonfertal _med- icine, and in recommending it to all. z= CURED that it saved me Blood and Skin SWIFT SPECIFIC CO., Atlanta, Ge. oes from a life of an- told agony, and Diseases mailed free to any ad- dress. D2 SEDO90O099605: |