Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 35, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 September 1889 — Page 2

THS HUaKIKO. BY j. b. u. The bumblebee's frolic was ended at last, It had died in the corn in the ear; But Mattie Molholiand knew not it was dead, And so when she found the first ear that was red, "With the bumblebee on it, she dropped it instead Of claiming the kiss and the cheer. But Mattie's fair rival, Miss Nettie Mahono, Had an eye on the prize-winning grain. And jumping across the barn floor in a trice, Ske grasped it and held it as firm as a vise, And swung it around by the husk once or twice. While shouting again and again. Brave Jasper McTutter sat chewing his gum, The other boys chewed at some straws, Each man cast an eye at the nubbin, and then Took a look nt the other big six-footed men, And wondered who of them would kiss for her then The sweet rosy lipia of her jaws. The doubting grow deeper, its thunder grew loud, The golden ears flew thick and fast, The ghost of the bee touched the butt of its sting, It wiped its ghost nose on the nap of its wing, And Nettie learned there were new songs yet to sing. Of joys that were fleeting and past. The poor littlo girl fell a heap on tho floor, And there she lay writhing in pain, Until Mattie’s beau, brave Jasper McTutter, And other men took her home on a shutter. While Mattio’s dear heart was all in a flutter, For fear she would try it again. Bellevue, Ohio.

CHASED BY GUERRILLAS.

A Story of tlie \Var.

BY A. H. GIBSON.

now sufficiently convalescent to mount his jet-black war horse and ride about the cam)) for exercise. He hoped

soon to pot himself into fighting trim again. He was a zealous, courageous young soldier, and lie could not endure with patience his enforced inactivity. Hearing that excellent wild fruit abounded in the woods about one mile and a half from the Federal camp, Hartwell determined to ride over and enjoy a delicious treat. While riding leisurely along through a large canebrake, midway between the camp and the woods to which he ■was bound, he was surprised and captured by a band of rough guerrillas who had been reconnoitering the enemy’s position from a safe distance. The Union spies had reported only that morning that there were no enemies within ten miles of their own lines. So Hartwell had ridden off alone, never dreaming of what was to befall him. He had been riding carelessly along, inadvertently whistling some little tune heard at camp, and thinking of the dear old mother far away in her cabin on the Kansas line.

Suddenly his horse was stopped, his arms were pinioned to liis sides by brawny hands, while villainous, hardened countenances leered upon him. “Don’t yer chip nary woid, or bv tlier holy smokin’ powers o’ t’other world, I’ll send a bullet clean through yer durned Yankee carcass,” said one robust guerrilla, holding an old musket threateningly near the captive’s handsome head. Hartwell was too completely surprised to frame an answer. .The guerrillas surged about him wild with glee over then 1 great capture. A Yankee officer -was not picked up every day. Their rejoicing, uncouth and profane, rendered them for a short time incautious. The tramp, tramp of coming horsemen threw the jubilant band of four guerrillas into considerable excitement. In a moment every man was quiet and on his guard. Instinctively, each rough fellow ’ sought musket or carbine, the rifled property of some dead soldier. Every eve was turned in the direction of the approaching riders. That there were not more than two or three could easily be told from the sounds that the horses' feet made on the hard, clay-baked road by the canes. Lieutenant Hartwell was for the moment forgotten. Were those riders wearers of the blue or the gray ? The tall, dense, intervening canes prevented an answer to that mute question. Three guerrillas had stationed themselves behind clumps of vegetation, while the fourth held Hartxvell’s horse with his left hand, his right grasping a •carbine. It was a favorable moment for Lieutenant Hartwell. He recognized it as such. While the short absorption of the guerrillas’ attention lasted, Hartwell, quick as a wink, slipped from the saddle, and, ere his captors were aware, with far more agility than his weak physical condition would seem to warrant, he had darted off through the towering canes, where a horse could not lolloxv. The guerrillas, so absorbed in awaiting the approach, of the invisible horsemen, did not for a moment observe the empty saddle. Then, with a smothered oath, the one holding the officer’s norse struck him a severe blow to make him stand aside. The spirited animal resented the blow, and with a savage lunge the bridle-rein was jerked from the grasp of the irate man who was thrown hardly to the ground, where lie lay half stunned as the Lieutenant’s fiery horse went tearing away down the road.

. lEUT. ARTHUR t Hartwell of tlieUn2ion army had regceived a wound in Han engagement Ufought by two \ skirmishing parties | that had surprised 3 each other on the v White River in Arf ltansas. ► However, the young officer was

Then the horsemen rode into view. An exclamation of rude pleasure fell from the lips of the guerrillas. The grips on the carbines loosened. They recognized in the newcomers two of their own men, who were deserters from Van Dorn’s ranks, although they still wore the gray. These men were soon informed of the capture and sndden escape of tho Federal officer. “Jes’ plum like a blamed Yankee,” remarked one of the newcomers. “They’re all slicker’n a eel; they’ll any of em squeeze through a kuot-hole es they’re gin half a chance.” “Waal, I sartain believe yer,” said the leader, who had menaced Hartwell ; “but he kain’t be fur off, boys. Them Yankees kain’t ruu through a cane-patch no better’n a city gal kin. Let’s be on his trail, an’ not stall’ hyer a-givin’ sich chances ter beat we ’uns.” After a hasty consultation it was decided to conceal the horses in a grove hard by, and every man enter the pursuit, which they felt sure would lead to the recapture of their escaped prisoner. Striking into the cane-brake, they were soon on the Lieutenant’s track, which led through the intricacies of the thicket.

Meanwhile, Arthur Hartwell was making gigantic strides through the bosky brake, stumbling over clinging vines, which were densely entangled about the canes; splashing and dashing into hidden pools of stagnant water; then out again and into another worse than the first, despoiling the polish of his No. 7’s and flicking with clayey splashes his spotless uniform. His physical strength was not adequate to the demaftd which his really desperate effort to escape enforced. Still, on he hurried. The early autumn day was intensely hot. The sun seemed to bear a particular spite toward that spot, and poured down mercilessly upon pursued and pursuers. The huge canes defied the admission of any cooling breeze which might be astir without. Ere Lieutenant Hartwell had reached the southern border of the thicket he was almost exhausted. Great beads of sweat stood on his face, and his limbs trembled from fatigue. He stood irresolute as to what course to pursue next. He had been forced to fiee in an opposite direction from the Union camp. Where would he seek refuge ? His strength was failing. He could not keep up the flight any longer. Then he dared not hide among the canes. Already, in nearing pursuit, he could hear the heavy boots of the guerrillas crushing canes and brambles, leaving no nook unsearched.

Just before liim, through a grove of walnut, and hickory, all tinged with autumn’s russet gold, he caught sight of a handsome southern home, built of red sandstone, with clambering vines half veiling the front and roof, and beautiful flowers of every variety surrounding it, lending to tlie entire place the splendid glow and beauty of tropical aspect, it was the home of some abettor of the Southern cause. Hartwell knew this, and he felt quite sure that if he sought refuge there he would be handed over to his rough captors, who, if they did not belong to tlie Confederate service, favored it, while they bitterly opposed the Federal army. But haste, not debate, Avas necessary. He could hear the guerrillas drawing nearer; their curses, too, reached him, as non-success at every turn baffled them. They had expected to find it no task at all to run him down. But the end Avas not yet. Hartwell, hoAvever, knew that they would soon reach the southern limit of the canebrake; then escape Avould be impossible. Not pausing to think again that it might prove “out of the frying-pan into the fire,” the hunted officer dashed forAvard toward the house. He leaped over the loav, Avell-trimmed hedge that surrounded the attractive grounds of the lovely Southern home, then he stood motionless and gazed in evident admiration at the sAveet picture which confronted his vision. A beautiful girl, with plump, graceful figure, Avonderful masses of dusky golden tresses flOAving iu luxuriant rip-

"SINGING IN A CLEAR, BIRD-KIJE, SOPRANO VOICE."

pies ail over Her proud little head, and Avine-dark eyes starry with mirth and intelligence, Avas at work in the yard near the house. She was singing in a clear, bird-like soprano voice something about a brave lover wearing the gray. Her deft, snowy fingers unpinned fi’om a clothes-line, stretched from an Indian peach-ti-ee near the house to a stout cheiTy in the corner of the yard, miscellaneous articles of muslin. These she deposited into a large, old-fashioned clothes-basket that rested on the soft, velvety grass at her feet. In another moment Lieut. Hartwell stood uncovered before this fair Southern girl, boxving xvitli the urbanity of a perfect gentleman. . The song ceased, and Elma Staiiton

gave a start when she discovered the handsome Union officer bowing so politely before her. “Pardon me,” he uttered rapidly; “I did not wish to startle you.” Then he briefly mentioned his capture by the guerrillas and how he had escaped, ending by entreating her to show him, if possible, some secure hid-ing-place. Would she heed his importunity ? Elma Starlton had two brothers and a father in the Confederate service. This man was an enemy to the dear Southern cause. Would* it be right to assist him in his efforts to avoid recapture? Would it not be the very height of disloyalty in her to hide this Federal officer on the Starlton premises? The girl thought rapidly, one hand, beautiful and shapely, resting on the elothes-line, the other dropped at her side. She glanced up into the pale but firm face of the man who had applied to her for aid. His eyes were so blue and manly, his whole countenance so noble, her warm heart felt a throb of pity. His captors were not soldiers but swamp guerrillas—a bold, evildisposed band. She had quite forgotten that he had told her that. Elma Starlton was not in sympathy w ith the guerrillas infesting the swamps and

"AWAITTNG HIS DOOM OR HIS SALVATION."

cane Drakes round about her home. But, had she been, the manly face before her Avould have been sufficient to shake it. The autumn breeze lifted the sheets on the line, giving Elma a glimpse of several roughly clad men, halted in the adjacent grove, evidently at a loss which Avay to turn to find the retreat of the Yankee officer. They were the guerrillas. A scornful flash lit up the Avine-dark eyes of the girl as she turned to the man, avlio seemed to be aAvaiting his doom or his salvation at her fair hands. Yes; she Avould save him. But how ? Ah! it is surely too late to help him to escape recapture. See! two of the guerrillas have started toward the house, leaving the others in consultation at the border cf the grove. In another moment they will have seen the hunted man, screened by the clothes on the line. On they stalk toward tho house. Elma is a girl of ingenuity, one accustomed to acting in emergencies. She will foil those rough outlaAvs yet. It is not too late. “Here,” she said, in a very loav voice, and she quickly lifted the clothes which she had thrown into the capacious basket, “if you will lie down in my old clothes-basket I think I shall be* able to hide you securely.” Very obediently, very quickly Arthur Hartwell coiled himself up in Elma Starlton’s clothes-basket, and very skillfully she covered him completely with the clothes she held. Then she Avent on unpinning clothes from the line, Avliich she threw loosely upon the basket. No one Avould have guessed tliei'e Avas a man beneath that mass of clean clothes.

Elma was again singing as merrily as a lark when the guerrillas drew near. One of them bounded over the hedge. He approached the girl, who gave a well-feigned start, greeting him thus: “Ike Carter! What do you mean by startling a body this way?” She knew him well, as his home was not far from the Starltons’. “Didn’t go ter startle yer, Miss Elmy; I’m on ther hunt of a blamed Yankee off’cer what’s escaped us.” “Wall, Ike, we’re not in the habit of entertaining Yankee officers here unless Ave are obliged to. It is not a good place to hunt for them on the Starlton premises.” “I know hit ain’t, Elmy,” said the fellow; “but we tracked him this away, ” he explained. “How did he escape you, Ike?” she asked, trying to show an interest in the subject, hoping thereby to allay any suspicion that might have been formed in the guerrillas’ minds. The guerrilla launched out a full account of the captux-e and escape of Lieutenant Hartwell. Elma listened as attentively as if it were all a new story to her. “As we-uns was consultin’ in yon grove, Pete Jarvis ’lowed he done seed a blue uniform, or somethin’ thet looked mighty like one, over hyar by these clothes. Thet’s why I come hyar a botherin’ you-uns.” A musical laugh followed this announcement. Then Elma said: “An optical illusion. I suppose it was mother’s blue muslin curtains that Jarvis took fora Yankee uniform.” And Elma held up to view a pair of pretty blue curtains. Ike Carter eyed them closely, then glanced at the overladen bse>_oi on the grass, then back at the girl who was smoothing the azur« curtains.

“Hain’t Pete Jarvis a good un ter sight Y'anks? No wonder we-uns done los’ his trail with sich a leader as Pete. I’m plumb sorry, Miss Elmv, thet he insulted them curtains thet away, by takiu’ ’em fur a Yank’s trousers.” And Ike Carter laughed at what he considered a clever joke. “I should think,” the girl remarked dryly. “Ike, tell your party, with my compliments, that I think their eyes must be full of cobwebs brushed from the canes. Tell them to wash them out and make another investigation of the thicket,” she called to him as he strode away, looking rather crestfallen; for Ike had seen what Jarvis had, and both had decided it must be Hartwell’s uniform. But Jarvis being absent had to bear the ridicule. Ike Carter could not stand it to have the bright Southern girl laugh at his blunders. Dear reader, you and I know that it was a glimpse of a blue uniform that those guerrillas had caught. But we can smile over the cleverness of Elma Starlton in turning it off so nicely, and heave a deep sigh of fullfgladness that her mother had those blue curtains, and that they happened to be in the wash that week. The guerillas went off, and evidently felt too sheepish over their mistake to venture within range of those mocking, dancing, wine-dark eyes, for they did not return. When the coast was clear, Elma uncovered the queerly hidden Lieutenant, who crawled out, with real thankfulness to his lovely deliverer, though his limbs were so stiff that she had to assist him to the little closet, where he remained effectually concealed during the rest of the afternoon. Here she brought him every refreshment that her home afforded. Under cover of the night, brave Elma Starlton escorted Lieutenant Hartwell safe within the Union lines. Ere he parted from her, he pressed her soft hand, saying: “If I survive the war, I shall return to thank you, as I am unable to do now.” Arthur Hartwell did not forget his promise. When peace reigned gloriously over a grief-bowed nation, he occupied a lucrative position in public life; but somehow a pair of wine-dark eyes ever haunted him. He took a trip to the balmy South. He found Elma lovely as of yore, but living sad and alone in her flower-decked Southern home. Her father and brothers slept Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day. Elma did not refuse to become the loved wife of the man whom she once hid in her old clothes-basket.

A High Life Chinese Wedding in Chicago.

It was a solemn but strange wedding. The parties to the contract were Moy Sing, a disciple of Confucius, and Miss Ida Wagner, a comely German girl from Streator. The ceremony was pei-formed in a room richly hung in Oriental trappings, near Hip Lung’s Hotel. There were present a score or more Chinese, a few of whom had wives of Anglo-Saxon blood. All wei-e in holiday attire, and when the marital knot was tied there was a general rejoicing. The rites were pronounced after the manner set forth in the statute books of the State of Illinois. The performance was soon over, and then the friends gathered about to congratulate the nexvlv wedded pair, just as Americans do. Then a queer little orchestra, consisting of four Celestials, performed on several oddlooking stringed instruments and a tom-tom or gong, producing a weird kind of music. There was nothing elaborate in the dress either of the bride or groom. Moy Sing wore a royal purple silk robe, with the usual flowing sleeves and wide skirt, while his bride appeared in a suit of India silk. At the conclusion the groom led his bride to Hip Lung’s hotel, at 223 South Clark street, where he has rented a suite of rooms. It is an eminently respectable house, and is known to the Chinese from San Francisco to New York as the resort of the silk stocking element of Mongolian society in Chicago. In this hotel two other Chinamen with American wives occupy apartments, and the advent of a third white woman was duly celebrated. The groom, Moy Sing, is a native of Canton, and is 23 veai-s of age. He is a cigarmaker in the employ of Sam Moy. It is said that Mr. Sing met Miss Wagner in Streator some years ago while he was conducting a laundry there. —Chicago Inter Ocean

A Bright Youth!

A young man named George, of Exeter, Pa., was sent on an errand across the river several days ago, and the bridge being so far off lie went to the riverside and found a boat. It had no oars, however, so he decided to swim, leaving his clothes in the boat. On getting across he realized that he Avas not properly attired to go shopping, and he was too exhausted to swim back. He therefore lay in the shrubbery to rest. Five hours later he was found there fast asleep by a searching party, who had found his clothes and startled the town with a report that he was drowned. A seedt individual being told that his coat “looked as if it hadn’t had a nap in a dozen years,” replied: “I beg your pardon, but this coat has been lying in my wardrope two and twenty years till to-day, and that’s time enough to have had a good long nap.” The doctors are doing their best to convince the public that ice-water is dangerous. Perhaps it is, but then so are whisky and toy pistols and matrimony, and lots of things.—Washington Critic.

STUFF AND NONSENSE.

A striking tale—the whale’s. A place for lawyers—the Sioux Reservation. Grave diggers are said to do work that is beneath them. The tailor hopes to succeed by clothes attention to business. To lovers : Never put off till tomorrow what you can w oo to-day. The coal dealer sometimes, bv mistake, gives the cart driver a weigh. A bootless attempt—To get upstairs without being heard by your wife. The man with a boil ou his neck never borrows trouble. He has enough of it. Dick —Going on any fishing trips this summer? Jack—No; I swore off. Dick—Fishing? Jack—Drinking. The well-bred woman says “please” to her servants, and sometimes to her husband if there’s anybody around. A Texas cow has died from eating corn with a full grown beard. Men with a full grown beard have died before now from drinking it. Mrs. Socrface —l hear Mrs. De Sweet’s husband is just devoted to her. Mrs. Sliarptongue—He is? Well, well! There ain’t many such men. “Father,” said Willie, who had just been corrected, “that strap is hereditary, isn’t it ?” “I don’t know that it is.” “But it descends from father to son, doesn’t it?” Tommy (who has been forgotten until nearly eleven o’clock) —Paw, what is a jiffy? Father—lt’s just about the length of time you’ve got to get to bed without a licking. It is seriously stated that it takes a fly a two-billionth part of a second to wink. If a man’s wink was as sudden as a fly’s he would never get anything but plain soda at the fountain in a drug-store. A pertinent question: “I would like to ask you a question,” said a gentleman to a fellow who was spreading himself over four seats in a crowded railway car. “What is it?” “What brand of nerve food do you use?” Tramp —Will your ladysliip help a poor man who is afflicted* with a terrible disease which prevents him from working? Lady—Poor man, here’s a quarter. What is your disease ? Tramp (pocketing the money)—Laziness,mum, laziness. Mrs. Newmarried —Which one of your friends has had triplets born to him? Mr. Newmarried —None of them, my dear. Why ? Mrs. Newmarried— Nothing, only I heard you say in your sleep, “Got three of a kind, have you? Well, that beats me.” D.— That’s a very funny old cane you have got there. I’d like to buy it from you. E. Can’t sell it. It is an old family heirloom. I wouldn’t sell it for anything in the world. My great-grandfather used to maul my great-grandmother with it. First New-Yorker—So you saw the Paris Exposition. I suppose you are glad you saw it ? Second. New-Yorker —Yes, indeed. I was bled very much and had to put up with many impositions. In fact I am so happy to get home that I am glad I went. Cousin Jane —And doesn’t Peter stay at home any night of the week ? Why, he followed you over half the continent before you gave your consent. Young wife—l know it, my dear. Haven’t you heard before of a woman marrying a man to get rid of him ? The average man: Wife You missed the baby greatly while we were away, didn’t you? Husband—Yes; couldn’t sleep at all for a while, till I put a sawhorse and wheelbarrow iu the bed and hired a man to play the accordion in the room nights. —Memphis Avalanche. NEW TITLE FOB THE COCKTAIL. The man who was “out pretty late with the boys,” The advice of Ills better-half scorning, Whom a turbulent stomache and headach annoys, Goeth forth for his horn in the morning. But it is not a cocktail he calls for to-day; Addressing the “live-saver” mixer He says: “I feel thirsty; so hurry, I pray, And give me my morning elixir.”

Iowa’s Walled Lake.

The greatest w'onder in the State of lowa, and perhaps any State, is what is called the “Walled Lake,” in Wright County, twelve miles north of the l)ubuque and Pacific Railway, and 150 miles west of Dubuque city. The lake is from two to three feet higher than the earth’s surface. In some places the wall is ten feet high, fifteen feet wdde at the bottom, and five feet wide on top. The stones used in its construction vary in weight from three tons down to 100 pounds. There is an abundance of stones in Wright County, but surrounding the lake to the extent of five or ten miles there are none. No one can form an idea as to the means employed to bring them to the spot or who constructed it. Around the entire lake is a belt of woodland half a mile in width, composed of oak. The trees must have been planted there at the time of the building of the wall. In the spring of the year 1856 there was a great storm, and the ice on the lake broke the wall in several places, and the farmers in the vicinity were compelled to repair the damages to prevent inundation. The lake occupies a grand surface of 2,800 acres; depth ,of as great as twenty-five febt. The water is clear and cold, soil sandy and loamy. It is singula? that no "has been "able to ascertain where the water comes from nor where it goes, yet it is always clear and fresh.— Burlington {lowa) Hawkeye.