Dick’s eyes take in all of this with
one sweep, and then become magne
tized by the central figure. There
stands Miss Pauline of New York,
with a small revolver in her hand; her
attitude is really superb—it breathes
defiance. Dick likens her to statues
he has seen of Diana—he has loved
her before as a beautiful woman, he
adores her now as a brave one.
When her eyes meet his, the star
tled, almost desperate look vanishes
from the face of the girl who dares,
the girl whom New York’s upper Pour
Hundred have bowed down to as their
oueen for one whole season.
“Oh, Mr. Denver, you have come!
. thank Heaven, you have come to take
| ub out of this!"
Tjt Although so brave in the face of
T danger, she trembles when it has gone
1 —that is generally the way with worn
| en who possess more daring than the
K generality of their sex.
She passes to his side instantly,
while Dora, in the exuberance of her
intense delight, actually puts her
arms around her deliverer.
“Take us out of this, Mr. Denver, I
beg—these sights and sounds are mak
ing me crazy. I knpw in a short time
I'd be as bad as the worst one here.
Take us out. please. I shall never
speak again to the one who failed to
come to our relief—that odious Colo
nel Bob.”
"Who is close at hand, keeping
guard over the owner of the estab
lishment," says Dick, passing an arm
gently around Miss Pauline, who
seems to be very weak, the reaction
having set in.
“Then I beg his pardon—I will tell
him so. Let us hasten and leave
here!" cries Dora, drawing up her
lovely shoulders in a shudder.
“You did not sign the paper. Miss
Pauline?’ asks Dick, in some suspense.
“No, never!” answers the prompt
Dora, just as though she were respon
sible for the senor’s defeat.
“It will come in time—I have you
still!” cries a harsh voice.
Dick catches a glimpse of the Mexi
can's face at the door—he springs for
ward, but Dora'B clasp detains him.
The door slams shut, the key is
turned, and they are prisoners!
“See, I bear the key away with me,”
calls Senor Lopez, through the wicket
“Adios, buenos noches, all!”
CHAPTER IX.
Dick Has a Secret.
Dora is again seized with a spasm
of alarm, and allows gurgling cries to
escape from her throat—she has gone
through much and this new catastro
phe, happening just when deliverance
has seemed assured, gives the finish
ing stroke.
“Dora, be still—look at Mr. Denver
—he shows no signs of being discour
aged.” comes from Miss Pauline in a
Quiet, reproving voice.
The lamentations of the maid cease
and as she turns her head in the direc
tion of Dick, and sees him advancing
upon the door with a bunch of keys
in his hand, she knows all hope is
not yet gone, and again her expres
sion is one of expectancy.
Dick knows he has a comrade near
by who will not desert him, at any
rate; he tries the keys, to see whether
any one among them will accomplish
the object he has in view.
"Eureka!” he exclaims, as the door
flies back, and they see the open cor
ridor beyond.
“Delay is dangerous, ladies. Come!
In half an hour you will be at the
Grand Continental.” is the cheering
news he gives.
They tane new inspiration irom ms
manner, and both immediately don
their wraps, as the night air must be
chilly.
Dick takes Miss Pauline on his left
arm, and begs Dora to go on the other
side of her mistress, for he must keep
his right arm free in order to meet any
difficulty that may arise.
Thus they pass along the corridor;
the ugly faces leer at them from each
side, and hideous sounds arise that
cause even brave Miss Pauline to
creep closer to the side of the man
who can and will protect her from all
dangers. Thank heaven for the pres
ence of such a man at this time.
The end of the passage is reached,
and they have seen nothing of the
Mexican, who, upon discovering that a
guard has been stationed beyond,
must have darted into some empi/
cell.
Colonel Bob is greatly pleased at
sight of the girl he adores; he takes
off his hat and gives a genuine West
ern war whoop that causes silence
to ensue for almost a full minute
among the denizens of Lost Hope Cor
ridor.
, At the same time Colonel Bob dis
“Gentlemen, I will leave vou here—
my work In this quarter is done,”
says the secret agent.
Both Dick and Bob have taken a
great fancy to M. Francois, Number
Eleven, and at parting they wring his
hand earnestly.
"We shall meet again.” says Dick.
“Perhaps you may be sorry to see
me,” remarks the other, in a voice
they do not fully understand, but
take it that he is humble by nature,
and endeavors to make out that he Is
rvot an important personage.
The four enter the carriage.
“To the Grand Continental,” is the
order given by M. Francois, and as
the vehicle rolls away he waves his
hat to the men who lean out.
That is the last they see of M. Gir
ard and his famous institution, nor do
the thoughts of any among them ever
go hack with pleasure to the scenes
that occurred under thtit roof.
Dora never hears the name mention
ed without a feeling of horror.
On the way to the hotel the gentle
men hear the story of how the trap
was sprung, and they more than ever
realize how desperately in earnest
Is the man who thus manipulates the
wires. Senor Lopez will not be crush
ed—accustomed to lording It In his
own country, be cannot submit to
dictation in foreign lands.
All is very simple; by hard luck
the man they engaged to take them
to a certain famous old building they j
wished to see was already in the em- !
ploy of the Mexican and the plan was i
quickly formed. How near it came
to being a success we have already
seen.
The hotel Is reached at last, and it
| may be set down as certain that the
ladies are very glad to see It. Al
j though comparatively only a few
hours have elapsed since they quitted
; the hospitable caravansary, what they
have passed through makes the time
j appear doubly long.
ThuB they part again for the night—
j it is not far from Thursday morning
j now, and two more days will see their
; stay in Paris come to a close.
The stirring event of this night has
j had considerable effect in causing our
I characters to understand each other
better.
With Bob and Dora the matter
i seems settled beyond all dispute, and
little Professor John will find he has
1 fought his ridiculous duel to no avail.
In Miss Pauline’s case, she finds
her admiration for Dick advancing
with great bounds—though not yet ;
ready to confess that she loves him,
she nevertheless is willing to admit
j that her admiration for his manly
: poses of the keeper whom he has been
guarding, starting him down the pas
sage, and accelerating his speed with
several kicks.
“Dora—safe—my darling!” he cries,
and the girl, without thinking, flies to
his outstretched arms and snuggles
there. After all, what is the need of a
formal declaration or acceptance
when heart has long since spoken to
heart?
Francois stands like a sphinx—his
eyes are never once taken from his
charge, though no doubt he manages
to see what is going on.
“Shall we go?” asks Dick.
“Whenever monsieur is ready. I am
afraid the doctor will soon have a fit
unless we relieve him of our pree
ence,” for M. Girard's face is both
black and scowling.
“We will go now.”
Girard would hold back, but he feels
the tap of the secret agent on his arm,
and moves off.
The asylum is in an uproar, inmates
and keepers vieing with each other in
making noise, for all of them under
stand that something out of the usual
run has happened.
Several keepers are seen ahead—
the doctor makes earnest motions for
them to advance and rescue him, as
he likes not this business of being
made a prisoner in his own house;
but the fellow whom Bob assisted in
his flight has already spread the in
formation that one of the intruders is
an agent of the prefect, for whom they
all have a great respect, and besides,
the sight of the weapons in the hands
of the three men causes M. Girard's
hirelings to hang back
Thus they reach and pass through
the office; the door lies just beyond.
“One minute, messieurs—do I speak
vour mind, gentlemen, ladies, when I
say that if M. Girard consents to let
the matter drop here and now. you
will not prosecute him, but consider
| it all a great mistake?”
The secret agent knows it is our
; friends' desire to leave Paris in forty
: eight hours or less, and hence sup
poses, rightly enough, that they will
not care to remain in order to make
[ things warm for this man.
“Is it a bargain, M. Girard?” asks
Dick.
“I willingly agree,” cries the doctor,
the black look leaving his face as his
j hopes arise.
“Then consider it done. Now for
the carriage.”
They pass outside—the vehicle is
at the door, just as it was left.
qualities goes far ahead of anything,
she has hitherto experienced.
Nor can she feel anything for Jua
nita Lopez save commiseration—the
held is free to all. and unless Dick has
declared his love for the Mexican girl,
she has no claim upon him. At the
same time, whenever she thinks of
Juanita, who confessed that she never
had the training of a mother, as her
parent died while she was a babe,
Pauline’s heart grows tender.
“We are rivals—fate has made us
so, not any inclination on my part,"
she says to herself, as she sits alone
before retiring, in a lovely dressing
gown, before the grate of red coals;
“but I could not hate her, even if he
was won by her dark beauty, her
wonderful coal black eyes. I would
we might be friends, but by the nature
of things that cannot be.”
Wearied by the excitement of the
day, she sleeps soundly, only in the
middle of the last watch Dora is
aroused by hearing her mistress in
the next room talking in her sleep,
and laughs softly to herself when
she catches the words, “dearest
Dick.”
Morning at last.
Another day has begun in Paris, and
as the October weather is simply de
lightful, it is apt to be but a repeti
tion of those gone before.
Dick and Colonel Bob have numer
ous duties to perform, since they
leave Paris so soon, and this morning
is devoted to them. In the afternoon
comes a message from the prefect,
which calls for Dick’s presence, so he
again visits that peculiar office, and
has a short intervnew with the man
who virtually rules Paris.
The prefect has had the report of
M. Francois, and he desires Monsieur
Denver to read it over, and add what
may have been omitted.
Dick finds that the other has allud
ed to him in terms of great praise.
“That is the only thing I object to—
the merit of our success should be
placed upon his shoulders, not mine,”
he Exclaims, when he had finished.
"’Tis ever thus with brave men,”
murmurs the prefect smiling, “and
knowing you both as 1 do, I am con
tent to believe that each had a share
in the final result.”
A few more general questions, from
the prefect, and the interview is end
ed. Dick places a check on a Paris
bank in the official’s hands.
“For M. Francois, with all our com
pliments,” he says, and as the prefect
catches the amount, one thousand
francs, he smiles pleasantly.
“You Americans are generous to a
fault.”
“At any rate, we appreciate bravery
and fidelity, even in the officers of a
great city,” remarks Dick, bowing
himself out.
(To be continued.)
WORSE THAN ALCOHOL SLAVERY
Clay Eaters Unable to Give Up De
grading Habit.
Clay ea*ers are found in the West
Indies. Honduras and some of the re
gions round the Orinoco. They are
not necessarily of any particular
tribe, for even whites have fallen vic
tims to this degrading and fatal hab
it. The habit is contratced at as ear
ly an age as 12 years, and the crav
ing once acquired appears to be irre
sistible. Confirmed clay eaters will
lie down and lick the earth where
the edible clay is found.
They suffer from chronic dyspepsia
and emaciation; but. in spite of the
pain and weakness, they cannot do
without the clay any more than the
confirmed drunkard can do without
his alcohol. In some localities this
clay is whitish gray, sometimes yel
lowish-pink. There appears to be
lime in it, and also the remains of
minute organisms. It is sometimes
eaten baked and sometimes raw.
A confirmed clay eater will take
four, five or even six pounds a day.
Water is drunk with it. At length
the habit seems to give an aversion
not only to other kinds of food but
also to alcoholic drinks. As soon as
this stage is reached the eating of
clay invariably causes death.
Made the Marriage Sure.
An amusing story is told of a mar
riage celebrated in the Glasgow (Scot
land) southern police court some time
ago. A man and woman were being
tried on a charge of riotous conduct
in Main street. Glasgow. In the in
dictment they were described as man
and wife, but from the evidence of
fered to the court it was more than
doubtful whether they were actually
married. The presiding bailie, evi
dently suspicious that there was no
such relationship between the pair,
asked the woman, “Is this man (point
ing to the male prisoner) your hus
band?" "Yes,” was the answer. “And,”
turning to the man, “is this woman
your wife?” “Yes.” “Well, then,”
said his honor, who was well versed
in the Scots law of marriage, "wheth
er you were married before or not,
you are now.”
Remarkable Memories.
There is a story that is more than
tradition that Wolfgang Mozart “set
down the whole of the ‘Sistine Miser
ere' from memory,” and that, too.
from hearing it but twice. Sir Wil
liam Hamilton, in his “Lectures on
Metaphysics and Logis,” gives Mure
tus as authority for the statement that
a young Corsican could repeat in
either direct or reverse order, or begin
at any point and repeat both ways, a
list of 36,0(10 names.
She Paid the Paint Bill.
In Brookline, Mass., a short time
ago. a woman was brought into court,
charged with intoxication. She was
fined 510, and as she arose she said
to the judge: “Well, I suppose you
need this 510 to help paint your
house.”
"Oh, yes,” said his honor; “I think
you had better give me 55 more, and
I guess 111 paint the blinds.” The
fine was promptly made |15.
Unfamiliar Language.
A barrister once pleaded with great
ability the cause of his client for near
ly an hour. When he had finished,
his learned friend on the other side,
with a supercillious sneer, remarked
that he did not understand a word the
other had said.
“I believe it, for I was expound
ing law!” said the first speaker.—Ex
change.
——-—
Winter Prices for Milk.
The price for milk in -the winter
is generally very much higher than in
the summer. The difference for the
whole country is about the difference
between 50 cents and $1.50. This dif
ference, however, is extreme. In the
West, some of the milk will sell as
low as 90 cents per hundred pounds
in summer and $1.40 in winter, this
difference being about 50 cents. There
is very little excuse for this great
difference in price, especially for the
small price in summer. It can only
be explained on the supposition that
farmers have not yet learned how to
dispose of their milk in the summer
time. We believe that, all things con
sidered, and on a well equipped farm,
milk can be produced as cheaply, or
nearly as cheaply, in winter as sum
mer.
In the summer, often the question
of milking is a serious one, because
all the people on the farm are en
gaged in looking after the crops that
are then being grown. In the winter
time, labor is more abundant and the
people who are doing the work on
the farm are less pressed for time.
Milking, therefore, should cost less in
the winter than in the summer. We
said, “on the farm that is well
equipped.” This, of course, means the
farm that has a silo and where a
great amount of silage has been put
up in the fall. On some of our great
est dairy farms the cows are not
turned out at all during the summer
time, so far as pasturing is concerned;
but they are fed in the stalls, summer
and winter, in such cases winter leed
costing practically the same as sum
mer feed.
The price for winter milk in north
ern Illinois should be $1.40 or $1.50
per hundred pounds, on the basis of
the present price of feed. We believe,
at such prices, it is possible for the
farmer to make money, providing he
so arranges his breeding operations
that about half of his cows will come
in fresh in the fall.
Feeding for Milk.
Taking it lor granted that the dairy
man has warm and comfortable win
ter quarters for his milch cows, a
good flow of milk is readily produced
with proper feed and management. If
the farmer has com silage, he is able
to put up the best and cheapest dairy
ration obtainable. We feed cows on
full flow of milk from 20 to 25 pounds
of silage twice a day, morning and
night. At noon, bright, clean clover or
millet hay is given, in such quantities
as will be eaten up clean. About three
pounds of bran is given with silage
to there on full flow of milk, while
others receive proportionately less.
The feeder must constantly watch his
animals, as to how they respond to
liberal feeding, and vary his methods
with different animals. With silage
that has an abundance of com in it
there is no need of feeding ground
com.
Salt the cows about every other
day, giving a smali handful on feed.
This will keep their bowels ope' and
prevent disorders of the digestive
organs, which occur quite frequently
with animals highly fed. Where no
siiage is obtainab.e, a good flow can
be maintained by feeding good clover
or millet hay in the morning and
bright shredded corn fodder at night.
For the grain ration, feed about four
pounds of bran and two pounds of
corn-meal, or four pounds of corn and
cob-meai, twice a day. Although not
as good as the silage ration, still, in
the absence of a silo, it will prove
very satisfactory. Feed, water and
milk the cows regularly; see to their
every comfort, treat them kindly at
milking time, and rest assured that
you will receive your reward in a
good flow of milk.—H. Pfaender,
Brown Co., Minn., in Farmers’ Re
view.
So-Called "Wonder” Churns.
Many of the churns being offered up
on the market with “wonder” attached
to their name in some form or other are
good things for the farmer to let alone
We have just heard of a new churn
of this kind being manufactured in
Massachusetts. It makes a pound of
butter from a quart of milk, which
has been the form of fraud most com
monly practiced in the sale of such
churns. It is easy enough, by the use
of pepsin, to collect the butter-fat and
the casein in milk into one mass that
looks very much like butter. The
mass, however, is not butter, but a
very rich, soft cheese. The men that
sell these cnurns depend upon this de
ception for making their s..ies, and
we are sorry to believe that they find
altogether too many buyers.
Dairying in Argentina.
The dairy industry is rapidly ad
vancing in Argentina. This is shown
by figures recently published by the
government of that country. Eleven
years ago the export of butter amount
ed to less than twenty tons. The fol
lowing year, 1905, t’ae figures were 494
tons; in 1901 they had reached a total
of 1,510 tons; in 1902 the total exports
of butter were 4,125 tonS; In 1903 the
exports were 5,520 tons. Of these last
Great Britain bought 4.114 tons and
Africa 1,213 tons. We have no later
statistics than those of 1903. The num
ber of cows in the republic devoted
largely to the production of milk for
human consumption is about 2,000,000.
Feeding Farm Horses.
L. A. Merrill, Utah, speaking to a con
course of farmers, said the amount of
hay fed on the ordinary farm may be
greatly reduced, so far as horses are
concerned. This, he said, would be a
saving to the farmers and would re
sult in reducing the digestive disor
ders to which the horses are subject.
Horses should receive most of the hay
at night, very little in the morning
and none at all for the noon meal.
Always water before feeding. Oats
make the best grain feed for horses,
but these can be replaced by bran or
shorts or supplemented by the use of
corn. Carrots and sugar-beet pulp
have a marked beneficial effect in
horse feeding, serving as a laxative
and tonic, as well as enabling the
horse to digest the hay and grain more
effectively. Horses may eat as much
as 40 pounds of sugar beet pulp dally.
Foundation of the New Poultry House.
After building a number of poultry
houses one has certain important factB
impressed upon him. One of these
that comes home with a good deal of
force to the writer 1s the matter of
foundation. If he builds another poul
trj house he will see that the founda
tion is perfect and that it will be more
than strong enough. A poultry house
pr°Per'y built in this re
ways a nuisance in several
It is customary to build poultry
ouses on slopes where It can be done,
and that Is proper, as It gives good
rainage. But in case the foundation
proves to be poor and needs to be
supported it will generally be found
very difficult to do anything without
raising the house by means of Jack
screws. The writer has had a very
vexatious task of this kind. The trou
ble is that one end of the house is
set so close to the ground that one
cannot get under It or even get at
the parts that need to be supported.
When a poultry house has to be
erected that Is twelve feet or more
wide there should be a row of sup
ports running the length of the house
under the very middle. Almost all
amateurs make tbe mistake of sup
porting the house only on the sides
and ends. The twelve-foot joists, even
though they be six Inches deep and
two thick, have a very great amount
of vibration and It is unpleasant to
walk over a floor laid on such joists.
But If the time ever comes that the
house baB to be used for another pur
pose than poultry keeping, this kind
of a floor will be found to be unendur
able. This possibility should be borne
in mind, for numerous poultry houses
become transformed in time into
bouses for other purposes, especially
if they are of good size.
A fault that Is very noticeable In
the building of most of the bouses
used by our poultry is that they are
merely set on posts stuck In the
ground for perhaps two feet. In a few
years some of these posts rot and
others get a lean on them out of
plumn due to the ground on one side
of the poultry house belrv softer than
on the other side. The iTlin gets Into
tbe boles and tbe soil there becomes
softer than at any other point, and
this does not Improve as the years
go by. Settling goes on year after
year. I have in mind a poultry house
that cost nearly a hundred dollars. It
was set on cedar posts and the posts
are badly rotted now in spite of the
fact that cedar Is supposed to be re
sistent to rot. Some of the cedar
posts have also got out of plumb, and
the house has moved over several
inches to accommodate the posts.
What the end will be nobody knows.
Build the foundations strong in the
first place. If the building is to rest
on supports of any kind dig deep boles
in the ground and put in brick or
stone duly cemented. Have a big
timber running the length of the
building and also resting on tbe s^itnc
kind of piers. This will cost a little
more than the posts, but It will be
more satisfactory, and years afterward
the owner will be glad that he so
invested the money that the good foun
dations cost.
Cost of Transporting Fowls.
Late In the fall or early in the
winter is the best time for the farmei
to buy poultry to replenish his stock
or to give him a high quality oi
breeders. These should be mated early
in February. ^ think it is better foi
him to buy male birds, but be can do
much by buying both kinds. He need
not be afraid to buy birds at a con
siderable distance irom him, as they
can be shipped long distances without
deterioration Tbe cost of shipping
birds is not great when we consider
the bulk of the bird and the trouble
any living thing is to the transporta
tion companies. 1 shipped one bird
to Cripple Creek, Col., for $1.25, cost
of transportation. On one shipped tc
Los Angeles the cost of transportation
was $1.50. I have shipped several to
Kansas at tbe rate of 80 cents each,
i find that birds can be shipped in
winter without being in danger oi
taking cold, if they are boxed right.
Whether the birds are taken care of
on the railroads is a thing we cannot
know, as that depends on the em
ployes. Some are careful of such
things and some are not. Some farm
ers are afraid to buy from flocks at
a distance because they are afraid of
roup and other contagious diseases. I
can only say to that, that it is neces
sary to deal with a reputable dealer,
and that is true whether he lives near
by or far away. The only way that a
farmer can know that he 16 getting
good birds and not scrubs when he
buys poultry is to educate himself
along the line of poultry, Judging all
he buys by a book called the Ameri
can Standard of Perfection, which de
scribes all the classes of poultry now
in general use, with the exception of
a tew breeds brought out recently,
which the American Association of
Poultry Raisers do not yet admit as
standard breeds. If a man pays for a
first-class bird and when it arrives
finds It is not what he paid for, the
remedy Is 'or him to ship it back u.
once.—Marcian f. beavey, Cook O.
111.
Incubator in Cold Weather.
Below 1 give my methods of incuba
tion. I mate my birds in January and
begin to set the eggs some time in Feb
ruary. Frequently I begin about the
lath. I find the fowls hatched in March
and April are the best winter layers
and also make the best s'n-jw birds the
coming winter. They Cr not need te
be pushed forward bj high feeding
as do those that are hatched later
in the spring. I place 15 eggs under
each hen. But we use only a few
hens, so I have f*o incubators. Each
cf these hole* loO eggs. I only atart
one at a tic*. ->nd then ten days after
wards atari >be other and I keep them
going. That gives me a hatch every
ten days. If 1 have a hen that wants
to set, I w-t her in the basement if the
weather is cold.—C. W. Brehn, Clay
Co., Neb.
The farmer's cow should be the best
cow in the country.
Evenfall.
Come, heap the logs, and send the blaze
up higher.
And make good cheer about the roaring
fire—
Nay, but the bluebird's here! Or, stay,
I think
I heard the laughing of the bobolink!
Was that the ash upon the coal took
shape.
Or is 't the blue bloom of a pulpy grape?
Within my chimney corner’s happy gleam
A cloud of wizard sprites the seasons
seem,
And all the year a many-colored dream!
Can I mistake, or was’t hut vester-eve
1 saw the firefly dance the fairies weave?
Was it this morn that from the sphere of
flame
Love stooped deiflc. uttering my name?
Surely no music or of flutes or bird
Like child's voice this afternoon I heard!
Through what meridians of light you fare.
Oh, lovely Life, and through what stress
you bear
My wandering soul to this serener air!
—Harriet Prescott Spofford, In the
January Century.
The Last Days of the War.
When we read of the fearful slaugh
ter of the Russian and Japanese forces
in the late war. little do we. who nev
er came into contact with such terri
ble realities, know of their meaning,
says a writer in the Boston Post.
In hunting for an old diary yester
day I came across a journal kept dur
ing the War of the Rebellion by a
captain of Company I, the Fifty-eighth
Massachusetts Volunteers.
I have taken from the record of this
soldier two pen pictures, and will let
the faded pages of the diary tell the
story for him, which, though old in
years perhaps, never fails in fascina
tion.
Perhaps I should give his name. It
is Capt. Nahum Leonard, and if alive
I should be very glad to hear from
him. for I hold in my keeping his story
of the Fifty-eight's part in the war
between one brave army and another:
“On the 10th of April we arrived at
Farmville and went into camp near
the city.
“There we received the joyful news
that Lee had surrendered. The terms
had been arranged the day before at
Appomattox Courthouse, but the for
mal surrender of Lee’s army did not
take place until the 11th.
“We did not have the opportunity
of seeing the ceremony. It was joy
enough to know that the war was vir
♦ nollv /-.v-rvv
“The enthusiasm of the soldiers
knew no bounds. Cheer after cheer
rent the air and a general handshak
ing took place.
“The stout hearted and the weak
alike wept tears of joy.
“There were a few old soldiers that
were mute—perhaps the fact that the
end had come was too mighty to be
comprehended all at once.
“A detail from the Fifth Corps had
the honor to receive the arms of the
defeated army. Amidst breathless
silence (it was said) the vanquished
veterans stacked their arms and
marched away. Nothing like a jeer
or a taunt was heard, nor did a word
of exultation escape the lips of the
Union soldiers.
"It was natural that respect and
even pity should be felt for this brave
but fallen foe, and as they passed
along in front of our camp the words
‘Good-by, Yank, and ‘Good-by, John
ny’ were frequently exchanged.
“The news of the assassination of
President Lincoln was received while
the soldiers were yet rejoicing over
the surrender of Gen. Lee.
"One evening at dress parade a
communication announcing the dread
ful news was read to the officers by
Col. Whiton.
"We were cautioned not to give the
information publicity immediate^,
through fear that trouble might en
sue.
“Before sundown, however, the
news was known throughout the camp
and a state of wild excitement pre
vailed.
“Troopers were at once detailed to
guard the buildings and other proper
ty about the town and to protect fami
lies from molestation.
“It was a thankless work. The
families consisted mostly of women
most of whom were bitter secession
ists, and they indulged in remarks
about the assassination which the
soldiers could hardly endure.”
Then comes the story of the home
ward march and the meeting at
Petersburg of many of the company
JuBt released from prisons of the
South. “Some of whose stories were
full of sadness and gave a picture of
the suffering and starvation of the
Union soldiers that we had never be
lieved to be possible.”
At Alexandria wives, sweethearts
and other female friends of the sol
diers now appeared upon the scene,
making camp life at last a positive
delight.
One Sunday a party attended
church at Alexandria. It was said to
be the church where Washington used
to worship and they were conducted
to the very pew (as they supposed)
which Washington used to occupy.
But the charm of the adventure faded
when they were told that the church
had been remodeled several times
since Washington's death and that
his pew had long ago been removed
to Independence Hall at Philadelphia.
Others became highly enthusiastic
and while visiting the tomb of Wash
ington displayed great zeal in collect
ing pebble stones from the inclosure.
But their enthusiasm abated some
what when told that a cartload of
these stones was every day emptied
into the inclosure in order to supply
visitors with relics.
Gen. Wheeler in the '60s.
"I am sorry about Joe Wheeler.’
said the Sergeant. “At one time I re
garded him as the most pestiferous
officer in the Confederate army. This
was because he captured our supply
trains when we were hungry and rail
road trains that carried our money
North. According to the stories told
about our camp-fires, he was generally
in about five different places at one
and the same time. He was a sort
of a bugaboo to the foragers and strag
glers of the Army of the Cumberland
If we went-out in advance of the army
he was there. If wc foraged in the
rear he was there.
"He used his cavalry to prevent us
from living off the country in our
front and to scare up out of the coun
try in our rear. He was nearly al
ways just where we didn't want him
to be, and had no mercy on wagons
loaded with provisions or with the
mules drawing the wagons. His men
burned the wagons and sabered the
mules, and a good many teamsters
lived in the hope that in after years
they might tell Wheeler just what
they thought of him. I was on the
point of meeting him about the time
of the Stone River battle, but I had
no remarks to make. I had been
slightly wounded at Lavergne as we
were moving on Murfreesboro, and
was in the wagon train for transporta
tion to Nashville when Wheeler’s cav
alry interfered.
“I always believed that I received
my wound from one of Wheeler's men
that night at Lavergne. We had driv
en the enemy from the town and were
establishing a line of outposts along a
stream, in pitch darkness. The stream
was the only landmark to tie to, and
the pickets formed along the northern
bank, with reserves a little to the rear.
Pretty soon cavalrymen came to the
south bank to water their horses, and,
supposing they were our own men. we
asked after the health of Joe Wheeler.
'l his gave us away, just as informa
tion cgme from headquarters that no
Union cavalry were south of the
stream.
“Meantime our sociable cavalrymen
in front were concentrating, and we
opened fire. They returned the fire,
and our reserves blazed away in reg
ular volleys. It was a beautiful little
fight, but I went down in the begin
ning, and two days later was in a
wagon turned rearward, while the ar
my was miles to the front, in contact
with Bragg’s army. My wound was
not serious, and I had just decided to
get out and sneak frontward, when
something happened. Wheeler’s cav
alry came down on the train like a
scurrying horde of Arabs, and in a few
minutes we were told we were pris
oners. This didn't suit me, and I
climbed out of the wagon to take ob
servations.
It was a wild scene I looked upon.
I soon saw there was no chance fot
escape. Gen. Wheeler sat on his horsd
not far from me. urging his men to
quick action, giving his main attention
to a larger train near us. in which
scores of wagons were burning H*>
rode off in that direction and in not
many minutes there was a diversion
Climbing into the wagon, I saw a line
of blue charging. It was magnificent
and before the wounded had been pa
roled the train had been recaptured.
“On other parts of the line our men
did not fare so well. Wheeler swe«t
j along the rear of our whole army and
; was in line with his command in time
for the battle of December 31. Hd
was a scorcher. Later I learned tc
like Joe Wheeler very much, and
was glad when he was honored Uv
President McKinley and Congress, bm
in December, 1862, and in Septembei
and October, 1863, 1 had no use foi
him. He was given too much to rush
ing in where he wasn’t wanted.”—Chi
cago Inter Ocean.
Mrs. Aiken’s Noble Work.
Mrs. Aiken began to be widelj
known when the war broke out. SLf
went to the front as a nurse, and
with Mrs. Mary Sturgis of Peoria, re
ported for duty at Camp Butler, ner.)
Springfield. This service was to Gov
Yates' legion, under command of Ma
jor Niglas. There was a plague o>
measles among the soldiers and, at
the surgeon showed the brave womer
their duties, he told the men to cal’
one of the woman "Aunt Lizzie” anc
the other "Mother.” The women ap
pealed to the women of Springfield
for assistance, and soon cots and
bed clothing were coming to the citj
to take the place of straw and wet
blankets. There were eighty patientf
but the two nurses took care of all
each working and sleeping at six houi
intervals.
Aunt Lizzie met the wounded
from Forts Henry and Donelson as the
boat landed at Shawneetown. She
went to Paducah, Ky., which had
eleven hospitals at that time, and
was practically in charge of St
Mark's, which was the Baptist church
under another name. It held 500
wounded men. The disabled from
the field of Shiloh were added to this
colony. The ship which brought them
down the river was so crowded the
men lay in solid rows, with scarcely
room for one to walk between the
rows. This brave woman was the first
on board, with her white cap hanging
from her belt and a pail of nourish
ment for the half famished heroes
The line of stretchers to her hospital
looked like a funeral procession.
There was work night and day, and,
to add to the fury of the situation, a
hurricane came up and Bwept away
the roof of the hospital. She was so
successful in this work that she was
in demand wherever there were
wounded, and this was nearly over the
entire South.
AJI Knew and Loved “Aunt Lizzie.”
When the last G. A. R. reunion took
place in Chicago, Aunt Lizzie Aiken
had a happy time, says a correspond
ent. She held a reception in the
church parlors, as her home was too
small to receive the host of grand
army men who wished to see her. As
I remember It. about 1,400 came to
the church, most of whom Aunt Lizzie
remembered readily and could call by
name. They were all “her boys.”
And those who attended the funeral
services at the church, which was
packed from pit to dome, could not
have failed to see the row of white
haired grand army veterans who came
to pay their last tribute over a flag
draped casket to the memory of
“Aunt Lizzie,” their old-time civil war
nurse, to whom they gave the sacred
name, “Angel of the Battlefield.”
Whole Family of Coons.
Eight coons were found hidden away
in a hollow tree which was felled
[ near West Rutland. Vb, the other day
