Plymouth Tribune, Volume 3, Number 51, Plymouth, Marshall County, 22 September 1904 — Page 3

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CHAPTER VIII. Jud!:h was quite right; although her words filled me with fear, they could not destroy, or even weaken, the fascination she exercised over me. Our marriage day was fixed. How distinctly I remember every aspect and event of that day. The ceremony was, of course, to be celebrated at Little Bethlehem by the bride's father. All the principal members of the congregation were tn be of the party, and the Rev. Obadinh Porter provided the entertainment with no nigsrardly hand. When I entered the parlor I found it full of people. Of these two solemnlooking young men, whom I had often Been at chapel, represented the groomsmen; and two remarkably sour-lookinf girls, daughters of Mrs. Ilimphries. the bridesmaids. Two or three dark-looking cabs were at the gate, and when all was ready w'e sallied forth. Martha was standing in ths hall, holding the house door in her hacd. I had never exchanged a word with her since that night when she waylaid ns upon the landing; Indeed., had never veen her, except when -she waited at meal times. How sorrowfully she looked at me that morning! As I passed out into the. garden with Miss Humphries upon my arm, she threw an o.'l shoe after me. The young lady was astounded, and I heard her master pause for a moment to rebuke her for such a "heathenish' act, as he was pleased to style It. Although in the height of summer, it was a most miserable morning. From edge to edge of the horizon, the sky was one of uniform leaden hue; there was a fine, soaking rain, that blurred and blotted to the eye every more distant object; the saturated trees kept up a constant drip, drip; the calyx of every f.ower was a miniature lake; and on the point of every leaf and blade of grass quivered globules of wtter. Large pools lay in the graveled path, and the earth was soddened. y The little chapel was chill and gloomy as a vault, and the damp atmosphere clung upon every object, dimming the windows, and half-veiling the cold, gray light that straggled through them. "Not a pleasant day for a marriage," remarked Miss Humphries, solemnly: It was the first remark she had addressed to me. "More fitting for a funeral, I answered drearily. She looked at me rather strangely, and It certainly must have sounded a somewhat strange remark in the m uth of a bridegroom. The ceremony, according to the tenets of these people, commenced; and as I took her hand, I looked at Judith for the first time that morning. She seemed unconscious of my glance. Her face was deathly pale, and Tery rigid, like one who had nerved herself to a terrible and repulsive task, as indeed she had. The touch of my hand awoke her from 'her reverie. She shuddered: but I thought there was less of hardness and scorn In her manner, as well I might, for her tears were falling fast. Mr. Porter also was not quite himself; he seemed agitated and nervous. To my morbid fancy his prayers sounded like a service for the dead. At last. It was all over. The whole party .vas gathered near the door preparatory to leaving. Judith and her father had gone into a little room that stood near the entran?e. where she had left her wrappings. I was the last. Moodily I was foMowing the rest, when my eyes happened to fall upon a small glittering object. It was a golden locket. Iu picking it up my finger pressed the spring and opened it. What a thrill ran thruitgh mel It contained the portrait of a girl of about 14. It was the face of the child I had met in the Norman gateway! Who had dropped it, or how had it eome h?re? Puting it into my pocket, I resolved to carefully note any rerson who should appear to or speak of having lost anything. The cabs conveyed us home again, nnd the dinner was waiting. Towards evening the company dispersed, but no person spoke of a lpss, and the mystery of the locket remained an inscrutcble mjstery. I would not make any inquiries for the owner, as I had resolved not to part with it. I hugged it ?s a treasure: and. somehow, amidst the misery of that day, it fell upon my heart like a gleam of hope. While waiting at table Martha contrived to slip a piece of paper into my hend. My fingers instinctively grasped It. Our visitors had gone. Judith had retired to her room to change her dress, and Mr. Porter was in his storeroom. I ieized the opportunity to examine the paper. It was a note, but written in a crawl almost illegible. It ran thus: "This is my last day here. .1 leave to-morrow. Always to be heard of at No. 3 Rackstraw's building, Camden Town. Take care of yourself. God bless yoo. MARTHA." So I was deprived of my only friend. I was now utterly alone in the lion's den. A new feeling of fear and desolation fell upon my heart. CHAPTER IX. I could endure it no longer, and .- I fled. One month after my wedding night I left that roof forever.' Upon what passed during that month my lips are sealed. To no living being shall I eer reveal the story of my sufferings during those thirty-one days. On the night of the 31st of August, I crept out of my chamber, ascended to the boys' room and, unseen and unheard by them, opened their window and' descended to the garden by means of the pear tree. Vividly did my frightful dream come back upon me at that moment, and I almost expected to see the red snake with his glittering eyes writhing round some leafy branch. But I reach'.-d the ground In safety, without encountering any object, fanciful or ral. In less than three minutes more I was fn tht high road, a vagabond, a homeless utcast but a free man. All my worldly nossesions 'vere tie suit of clothes I wore, and my wedding suit and a changv of linen that I carried tied up in a bundle. It was a bright moonlight nigfat. I cast one farewell glance upon the only home I had ever known aud walled swiftly onward. I made towards Bury. I passed LitJ? Eethlehem, and thought, with a shudder, of my marriage day. Then I entered the town, and took the street that led me past the old Abbey ruins. I had never seen ' them since that October ni-ht I stopped at the old Norman gateway, and peered into its ehadowB, almost expecting to encounter the sweet, pale face again. But all "was silent and deserted not a soul was in ijht. ' Whither was I going? I was going to Hartha. I had carefully preserved her jesta. I knew she would give me a shelf ? until I could obtain tone kind cf c '-zzz- When I reached Ca czzt

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a Spdl town I would sell the bundle of clothes, ! and the money would provide me with food and lodging on the way. I had no conception of the road, but I resolved that I would take the one down which : I had seen her disappear. She said that she understood that to Li the right one. 1 would follow in her steps. The day was just dawning when I came upon a large, old-fashioned vilhige. Unused to violent exercise, and exhaust ed for want of food, for . had eaten nothing since dinner time the day before, my steps began to flag. I looked round j some place to rest; there was no fign of life in any of the houses! all seemed buried in sleep. I walked slowly on until I came to a little swing gate, which led to the village church an ancient looking building, .embossed in trees. Here, I thought, is a quiet spot where I can rest a little while. I opened the gatft. aüd passed through. It was a pretty, quiet spot. I. could not have found ä better for an hour's rest. There was a heavy dew upon the long giass, so I stretched myself upon a high, flat tombstone, and placed my bundle beneath my head. I was very Arenry, and in spite of the cold air of the dawn, that made me shiver, I foil fast asleep, with the twittering of the waking birds sounding in my ears. When I awoke the sun was shining brightly, and the birds were in full song. For a moment I could not comprehend my position. I sat up and looked round, but my doubts were only of a second. Then I knelt down against my stone bed and offered up a thanksgiving for my deliverance, and a fervent prayer for my future safety. When I rose from my knees I became conscious that I was not alone. Seated rpon a tomb a little distance from me, and attentively watching me, was an old gentleman dressed like a respectable farmer. "Good morning, young man," he said, in a cheery voice; "you've had rather a cold bed, I'm thinking. I suppose you've been traveling all night?" "Yes, sir." I answered. "From Bury." "Why, that isn't more than ten miles! You should have had a little more sleep in your bed, my lad, and have started about this time. Enough to give you your death of cold to lie out here and go to sleep in the dew. You don't look very strong, either. Wherever you're going, you won't get on now till you've had a bit of breakfast." . I colored up at the mention of breakfast. I had not a farthing of money, and until I could dispose of the contents of my bundle, I could not procure a mouthful. I thanked him, took up my bundle, wished him good morning and turned to go. "Stop, stop! come here a minute," he callt-d out.. I advanced a few steps ne.arer to him. He scrutinized me more carefully than ever, with the expression of a man who was about to make a proposition of doubtful prudence. "Here, here! you shall come and breakfast with me," he said, after a minute's pause. "I like the look of you, and I don't think you're a tramp." I thanked him very much for his kindness, which, under the circumstances. I certainly had not strength of mind enough to decline. We left the churchyard and proceeded down a lovely green lane canopied with trees. . "I always rise at five," said the old gentleman, as we walked along; "and, unless it is very bad weather, take a walk as far as the churchyard. It's been my custom for many years, and, I suppose, will continue to be so until some morning I am carried there, never to come back again. Nothing like exercise, however, and the early morning air, to delay that litle, event; but not sleeping on tombstones," he added, with a laugh. Alter aoout ten minutes walk we stopped before a dor in a high garden wall, which my conductor opened with a key, and facing us at the end of a gar den path was the prettiest cottage I had ever seen, very old-fashioned, arid entirely covered with roses and woodbines, that loaded the whole air with Jcdicious perfume. The garden was beautifully laid out in flower beds; on one. side was a grape house, on the other a conservatory, filled with the most brilliant colored plants. The rays of the morning sun were slanting brightly across the scene, and imparting to it the wo.it joyously cheerful air. "How - different to the house I have just left!" I thought "Pretty place, isn't it?" said the old gentleman. "Sweetly pretty," I murmured. He led the way into a little lowrocfed room, darkened by the overhanging blossoms that hnng thickly over the latticed window. It was comfortably, indeed, handsomely, furnished. The table was laid for breakfast. A second cup and saucer and plate were soon produced by a kind-lo?kiug, middle-aged woman, and I was soon sitting before a substantial meal of eggs and bacon, and cold beef, to be washed down by plenty of strong coffee. Never had food been so grateful to me before, and I certainly lid ample justice to it. I could per.eive that my host every now and -then .ast a curious glance at me, as though I presented something of a puzzle to him. "Now, if I might be permitted to hazard a guess, I should fancy you were something in the parson line," ha said, leaning back in his chair. I disclaimed the honor. "Well, it was the long hair and the queer-looking black clothes that put that idea into my head; and you look so sen on? for a lad cf your years. I hare it! You're a school usher." I confessed that his last guess was correct. "Ah, poor fellow! No wonder you look so miserable!" he said, compassionately. "It must be a hard life, and a badJv paid one; and I suppose you've left your place? Where are you fcoing now?" "I am going to th city." "You've friends there. I suppose?" "I lve one, sir, who I think will help me. He must have thought me very close and churlish, to be so sparing of my an swers after his kindness; but the fact is, that I was undecided at the moment whether I should make a clean breast of all my troubles to him; he seemed so kindly hearted that I felt sure he would pity me. But the natural reticence of my .disposition, rather than any feeling of mistrust, prevented me. "But you're not going to walk?" he questioned. ."Yes, sir. I have no other means cf getting there. I have a suit of clothes in this bundle, that I intend to sell as soon as I come to a town," I faltered. The old gentleman paused, and looked very hard at me seemed, for a mcmst. to rrrclva ca , llzz zzl Cca ci!

"Leave the clothes with me. I on't want to look at them! I will lend you five dollars. That will take yon to your friend, and leave some money to boot in ypur pocket. Any time you bring me or send me the money you shall have your clothes back again. A mile and a half from here is the railway station. In half an hour a train will stop there. You will be able to catch that comfortably. I will walk a little distance with you. and put you in the right path. Stop a minute, and I'll bring you the money." Without waiting to listen to my fer vent thanks, he left the room. Nevei in my life had I felt so light-hearted and hopeful. I rose from the chair to take the clothes out . of the handkerchief and smooth them, as they must have been somewhat crumpled by doing service as a pillow; also to take out the change ol linen which I could not do without In doing so, my eyes fell upon a portrait, hung in a dark corner of the room. It was that of a woman, with bright auburn hair, transparently fair complevion, blue eyes, a very beautiful, pensive face, with something In it that came back upon me like a memory. It seemed to me that I had seen that face somewhere. While I stood trying to remember, the old gentleman re-entered the room. "Ah; you're looking at my poor girl'i portrait," he said, in a sad voice. "Your daughter's, sir?" - - "Yes my only one." "Is she .still living?" I asked, somewhat hesitatingly. "She has been dead these eighteen years," he answered, sorrowfully. "I must be mistaken; I was only as infant in arms at that. time," I thought He gave me the money, but would not listen to my thanks. Tut tut!" he said; "that's nothing. I'd give you more, if I really knew you were all right; but I have been so often taken in that I'm doubtful of- everybody now. But I like your looks; but I've liked others that have been the property of great vagabond." (To be continued.)

DRAUGHT DOGS IN HOLLAND. Animal Does the Work of the Donkey in the Low Countries. In Holland and Belgium the dog occupies the place which the donkey does In several other countries. In the former the sight of a couple of dogs dragging along a pushcart loaded with vegetables, flowers or shining milk cans is a familiar one. They trot along underneath the cart, within easy reach of the blunt . toe of the salot of the woman, who walks behind it to guide It by the handles attached at that point In Belgium the dogs are hitched In front, as the Russians attach their horses to their droskies, three abreast, and are guided by a pair of rope reins fastened to a muzzle about the nose of the dog in the middle. Recently the National Cart Dog As sociation, organized to regenerate the original rape of Belgian mastiffs, held J Its first exhibition of cart dogs. The Flemish breeders have found that in crossing the Belgian mastiffs with the Great Danes, with the idea of increasing the size of the cart dogs, and so securing additional strength," they made a mistake. The result proved to be animals with weak hindquarters and disproportionate limbs. Now they are endeavoring to revive the original stock. The women and dogs of these two little countries are another evidence that human and canine nature are the same the world over. When one sees the white-capped Belgian milk woman with her dogs standing near a well, the woman having a battered can slung on her forearm, one instinctively becomes suspicious. The suspicion is confirmed when one discovers a po liceman 'detaining at the roadside a pair of sulky-faced milkmaids, with. their dog team and cart laden with slender-necked milk, cans, while he iots their names In his little book against a charge of watering milk. When the cart comes to a standstill the dogs are no longer draught animals, but dogs. They sit or lie complacently down and loll their tongues from their open mouths. Apparently they have forgotten that they are ani mals intended for human companionship, but condemned to hard labor for life. CHEATING SWEETMEAT VENDO Oriental Story with a Moral Told at a Recent Sapper. The Sahebzada Nasir All Khan spent several weeks in New York in December, the guest of Jeffrey Duveen. The Sahebzada is a graduate of the University of Oxford. On New Year's eve, at a supper party in his honor, the talk turned to the subject of .cheating and deception, and thereupon the young man said: "I suppose that our old Rampur story of the cheating sweetmeat vendor la new here. It is a story with a good moral, and therefore I will tell it to joy. "There lived in Rampur a vendor of sweetmeats whose wife had weak eyes. One day this man went to see a friend at the (bazaar, and he left his stall In the woman's charge. '"Be careful, mind you, about the change he said to her; but nevertheless, when he returned home he found that she had taken In a bad rupee piece. "He could hardly sleep that night for rage and sorrow. In the morning he rose early, and, determined to get rid of the bad rupee, he set out through the town. v "Soon he met a boy. "'Boy he said, 'do you know the sweetmeat shop of Ali? (All was a rival vendor.) Well, take this rupee, go to All's shop and spend a pice for sweetmeats there. The sweetmeats yotl may keep I want the change.' . "The boy departed merrily, and in a little while returned with his month full. " So you got the change without trouble, eh?' taid the man, as he count ed it. 'And did Ali make no examina tien of the rupee? " 'Oh said the boy, I didn't go as far as All's. I got the sweetmeats at your shop.' " Cold-Blood ed. "I came very near freezing last nicht" raid the mosquito. "Rut it wasn't cold," protested the fly. ' "No," rejoined the mosquito, "but I tackled" a Boston man by mistake." The average man derives a lot d pleasure from cpolllng some ether tiV

NOW COME THE CAPES THEY WILL BE VERY STYLISH THIS WINTER.

Shapes of Sleeves Shows Symptoms of Preparing for Radical Change, but Form that Will Finally Find Favor Is Not Tet Discernable. ' New York correspondence: V E It Y T HING points toward stylishness for capes during winter. Not the smallest indication, by any means, is the change that IS comm: over dress sleeves. This change Is not co evident as such changes sometimes are, for in the considerably diversity in new sleeves there remain many strong traces of the styles that were current In summer. Then the newer models are much unlike, one to another, and the consequence is that it is not easy to find features that are common to alL But the general trend becomes plainer day by day, and is - in the direction of puffs about the shoulders, with more or less of tightness below. 'Already the sleeves, so abundant recently, whose - fullness seemed excessively droopy, are missed. Droop there may be, but it doesn't go now to weeping willow extremes. Less often, too, Is this droop about the elbow.

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INELABORATE WINTER GARMENTS.

than from the shoulder. In not a few sleeves there is a puff at both shoulder and elbow. In a great many of the nw models is interlining of the crinoline order. As yet thiä is employed in moderate fashion, but it is a medium that easily can he carried to extremes and that usually is whenever it comes into style. Mo3t of. these sleeves,- especially those that give promise of numerous adopters, are better suited to capes than to coats with sleeves like those now provided. And as capes are more numerous than at any time in several years, their adoption may. be counted on. Evening capes are so far in two distinct grades, the simple and the elaborate. The one is usually of some. fine quality of cloth in white or very light shade. The cut and finish are of the simplest. Such a garment must have a look of absolute im'maculateness at all times. The other sort Is complex of cut and fancifully trimmed, some models appearing like so many mediums for the display of fine laces, the material being in large degree hidden. The first of these types is illustrated here In the middle of the second illustration, in a garment of white cloth hirred and bonded with white corded silk. Coats present much the same contrast though in general coats are simFREE FROM pier than they were last winter, and comparatively few of the coats meant to keep the wearer warm are trimmed lavishly. When it comes to the coats that are mor accessory than garment, the sort sales folk , speak -of as ".ffairs," elaborateness is unlimited. The Irish lace wrap of the accompanying initial is indicative of what rules. Samples of eendble coats appear "In the next picture. Cne was tan cloth and brown Velvet, ths csr diri brovm cheviot and ctitctV3

bands. A yet there Is no' Indication -cf a run of those "coldest of chilly garments, the brief shoulder cape Most of the cape models are warm, and not a few coats have cape finish. Considerable variety appears in this, -the range being from coats topped by capes of penwiper proportions, to those in the dolman grade. Smooth cloths or rough cloths, that is a question. It would seem to be one that manufacturers had been unable to answer to their satisfaction, for it seems as If they had provided both. Dressmakers announce that broadcloths are to come in again. It would seem as if they were due, and certainly there is a splendid offering of such materials. On the other hand are many rough coated fabrics. And not only are there some of these that were not done to, death at the time of the last zibeline craze, but there are others which plainly are brand new. Such hardly can get the go-by altogether. It is noticeable that the newer of these rough stuffs are soft and that is their best characteristic, for softness is to be a feature of the winter fabrics. This would seem greatly to favor the goods of broadcloth grade, and likely they will come out in the lead. Silks are to have a fine Inning, anyway, eo perhaps the present tmcertalnty In cloths needn't be considered as of great importance. The softer silks will be preferred, so there are to be more of peau desole and louisines. Failles are among the leaders, too, and various silks iu small figures and faint stri pings make the shops supplies of interest. Evening silks run a good deal to brocades, and some of the newer of these are held at tremendous prices. The very start of the last century is to be the period from which designers are to draw most freely this winter. The styles of 1830 remain only in suggestions seen here and there, and fashions of a still earlier day are replacing them. From the latter time, for instance, are most of the surplice bodices now in revival, and likewise the deeply pointed bodice Is

drawn from them. Tailor gowns and all simple street dress are little affected by this delving in the bygone, but once the field of dressy get-ups is reached, the fashions of a century ago are drawn on very freely. Not a little quaintness results, and not infrequently there is attained that suggestion of simplicity that requires the expenditure of much time and money. A gown marked by quaintness has the central place in the next picture. It was brown cloth and Irish lace. On either side are less striking models in which the ornamentation is freer, yet Is kept clear of all look of complexity. The left hand one was dotted blue silk, with trimming of plain blue silk and lace medallions. The other was dark violet cloth. It was embroidered In darker shade, and had a yoke of point de Paris lace. fashion Notes. Coiffure nets are seen. Coarse meshes rule in veils. Silk or satin sashes are cut on the bias. Shirred "nun's tucks" make an effective and stylish garniture. All sorts of rosettes are made of handsome double-face ribbons. For small bonnets, and in spite of all the teachings of the bird lovers, the milliCOMPLEITIES. ners are to persist in ornithological trimmings. , IUobon bows and 6asb.es add a pretty touch to most thin gowns. . Guimpes will play an important part in the small girl's wardrob . Fine tacks in body depth ere a feature of the gowns of little girb. 1 a viwr&u Avrv.& vuuuio Aiifii tm ,jtylish cellars and deep bcrtfcaa ca cirla'

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"After the . battle of Missionary Ridge' said Sergeant Sam Grimshaw, "our division, with others, was ordered to Knoxvllle toYeiieve Burnslde. We were long on ammunition and short on rations and clothes, but, as the boys put it, we marched so darned fast we had little time to enjoy our misery. And we didn't feel any better when we learned, only ten miles from Knoxvllle, that Burnslde had licked Longstreet, and that we were to return at once to Chattanooga. "We were shorter than ever on rations, and weighted down with ammunition, and going back was worse than going forward, with the prospect of a fight In front But, much to our relief, we turned," after we had recrossed the Clinch river Into the" Connesauga 'valley, aur brigade taking possession of a large grist mill. Volunteer millers were called for, and a dozen responded. Heavy detachments went Into the farming districts near, and gathered all the wheat and corn available. This was ground into flour and meal, and bread and corn pones and sinkers were baked to take us back to Chattanooga. We remained at the mill about a week, eating up nearly everything that was get-atable, but resumed the march with full stomachs, at least "Before we were out two days on the return trip we were again short on rations, and were compelled to reBort to parched corn. We were shorter than ever on clothes, and as this was in December, and the weather was cold, there was much suffering. Many of the boys had no shoes, and the line of march of our brigade could be traced by the blood on the frozen ground from sockless and almost shoeless feet To save our feet we made rough moccasins of blankets and pieces of clothing, or made soles of two or three thicknesses of cloth, and tied them on with strings. Some of the boys, however, were barefoot and swore that their feet got so tough and hard they could strike fire out of the flinty rocks along the road. "But hard or not the feet bled, and as we could not fall out we let them I bleed, and plodded on. There was in clination, however, to find the softest spots on the road or In the fields near the road, and this brings me to my messmate, Haynes. One day, as we were passing through a piece of timber land, Ilaynes and others went about 200 yards to our right into an open field that flanked the timber. A company of cavalry in blue uniforms rode in among the stragglers without exciting much attention until It was discovered the cavalrymen were rebs in Yankee dress. . Many of the stragglers made a rush back to our line of march, but Haynes and a score of others were carried off as prisoners. "The rebs hurried their prisoners off as quietly as possible three or four miles to an old log house in a sheep hollow or gorge. Late in the evening they took all the prisoners away except Ilaynes and a Unionist civilian, who had been marching back with our army. They bound the hands of these two, and left them in charge of one guard. During the night they were permitted to go outside, and Haynes, Itooping down, worked his hands loose, caught up a club, and, springing suddenly on the guard, knocked him down. The refugee finished the business, and he and Haynes made a bee-line for the Tennessee river, aiming to strike it Just above Cleveland. "The refugee knew the country well and where to find Union people. The first night they were hidden in a house which was searched early the next morning from top to bottom by rebel cavalry, but the East Tenncsseeans of those days knew how to hide a fellow, and Haynes and his friend were not found. The next night they were lucky enough to get across the river and worked their way cautiously toward Chattanooga. In the meantime our brigade had marched back to the camp on the North Chickamauga, which we had occupied before the battle of Missionary Ridge. The day after our arrival Bob, Lou and Dave made a scout up the creek about eight miles and located a calf, which they intended to return for that night cut his throat and carry the carcass quietly Into camp. "This was the plan, but It didn't work. The boys came to camp, went back at night and found the calf in a pen. . But when one of them jumped In to cut the calfs throat without making any noise, the little beast set up such a bleating that the farmer came ' out and ordered the boys off. They told him to go to blazes,, when he declared that he had a guard and jvould send him out Dave thought this was a bluff, and had just killed the calf when the guard came out and ordered that nothing on the place be touched. "No sooner had the guard spoken than the boys recognized the voice as that of Haynes, who had been taken In and cared for that night by the true blue Unionist The boys were so overJoyed to find Haynes alive that they Cave themselves away and made no attempt to conceal their identity. After making much of Haynes they brought the calf into camp, but the next day the farmer came down. proved his standing by Haynes, Iden tified the calf thieves, and they were required to pay the owner 3, the captain lending them the money. When they learned how the old farmer had treated Ilaynes they were not ccrry they thought the calf was worth the noney. "I am glad to hear from Sergeant Grimshaw," said the Colonel "He T7as awarded, a, medal of honor for bravery at the battle of Jonesboro, Georgia, where he captured a rebel Czs. In that charge our brigade Iczt

1S3 men, killed and wounded, but w captured General ' Govah's brigade, entire, with battery and fort, commander and staff. Early In October we guarded the prisoners back to Atlanta, and marched them Into the prison pens which General Johnston had prepared for 'we uns. I made the acquaintance of General Govan on that march, and It was renewed after the war, under very pleasant circumstances." Chicago Inter Ocean.

With the Ellsworth Zouaves. "The retired army officer," said the Captain, "is your prince of raconteurs. Two or three weeks ago I was thrown in company with Generals Schwan and Coates and Colonel Brayton, all of whom have grown gray In the regu lar army. I was interested in Coates because I had heard the boys here in Chicago speak of him as a member of the original Ellsworth zouaves. A ref erence to Ellsworth started him, aud he told many stories of the first weekJ of war in 1801, and of the years pre ceding the war. "Coates was one of the fifty-one men who made the celebrated tour with Ellsworth in 1SG0, and he laughed as he told of their experience in Albany, N. Y. The officer commanding the crack company in Albany that was to receive Ellsworth with his zouaves and escort them to quarters planned to put the guests at a disadvantage at the start He reasoned that as the zouaves came from a level country they would know little of the difficulties of marching up hill. Therefore he planned an up hill march to put the Chicago boys out of step and out of countenance before the crowd filling the streets. "Ellsworth, however, had trained his men to do all sorts of things well, and when the zouaves with their escort came to the hill they went up at a thirty-three inch cadence step, and never missed a note, and showed not the slightest sign of fatigue or confusion. The men of the escort however, lost, step or broke the cadence, and there was slight confusion in the ranks. To Ellsworth's men the march scemecL an everyday occurrence, and,taken by surprise, the oflicer of the company was so impressed by the bearing of the zouaves that he told the story on himself. "When Ellsworth organized the Eleventh New York infantry or Fire zouaves at the opening of the civil war, Coates was one of the six men of the old Chicago company given commissions in the New York regiment He went with Ellsworth to Alexandria, and just before the march through the streets suggested to his Colonel that he exchange the old cap' he was wearing for a new one in his quarters. Ellsworth demurred, saying he had a great liking for the old cap because of Its associations. However, he left the old cap in quarters and wore the new one. "When he saw the rebel flag on the hotel and heard the threat of the proprietor to shoot any man who dared to take It down, Ellsworth did not order any of his men to take the risk, but went to the roof to take the flag down himself. He came down the steps with the flag thrown across the left shoulder, and gathered in folds across to the right side. The bullet that killed him cut through the flag to his heart and the flag was literally.: stained or drenched with his heart's blood. "Coates was given charge of the body and went with it to Ellsworth's old home. When asked, after burial, what memento of the Colonel he would like he expressed a preference for the old cap which Ellsworth had said was so precious to him. The blood stained flag was given him, and he ha both to-day as reminders of his short but eventful service In the volunteer army. In August 1SC1, he was transferred to the regular army as Second Lieutenant In the Second cavalry, and was retired In 1900 after nearly forty years of active service. Colonel Brayton, by. the way, went into the regular service in May, 1SG1, as First Lieutenant in the Fifteenth infantry, and was retired after thirty years service la 1S91. Chicago Inter Ocean. Medal After Forty Tears. For nearly forty years a United States congressional medal of honor awarded to one John Hayes for distinguished services on the old frigate Kearsarge in her historic battle with the Confederate ship Alabama has been lying in a safe in the bureau of navigation waiting to be claimed by the man to whom it was awarded by. Congress, says the Philadelphia Ledger. Rusty, with its ribbon frayed and moth-eaten, this medal has at last been sent to its owner, who, after all these years of silence, recently wrote to the Navy Department claiming the medaL Its exlslence had been' forgotten until the arrival a few weeks ago of a lettec from Muscoda, Grant county. Wisconsin, from a man 70 years old, w2io wrote that he had just learned through the accidental reading of an old navy; general order, dated 1SG4, that John Hayes, cockswain of the frigate .Tearearge, had been awarded a med.il of honor for distinguished conduct In battle. He said in his letter to the department that he was the only John Hayes who served on the Kearsarge in the famous battle with the Alabama, and that it must be he who is entitled to the medal. -He forwarded his enlistment and discbarge papers, which showed conclusively that his claim was just An investigation was made by tha bureau of navigation and the old medal was found in the archives of the department It has been forwarded to Mr. Hayes with a letter from the Secrotary of the Navy, saying that he is entitled to $100 bounty, which he can have as soon as he forwards the proper affidavits. It is believed that this money will be quite acceptable, as the old eailcr wrote in his letter that he was physically unable to work and depended for his living solely on his pension of $12 a month. Exports of fruit from the United States in the fiscal year 1C01 will exceed $20,000,000 against less than $3.000,000 in 1834. Natives of Ugania, Africa, use American oil for anointing their ciicy black bcdicix