The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 12, Number 21, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 18 September 1919 — Page 2

Imi I\ •!* -/\ By RANDALL PARRISH |g I lhe Devils Uwn <=®~-“li |§k ILLUSTRATIONS g K 2 A Romance of Ike Black Hawk War BWDOCYBRS |R I E Ovpyri<btby A.C.MeCl»rr*C* * gSb

-IS YER REALLY AWAKE AGIN. HONEY?" Synopsis.—ln 1832 Lieutenant Knox of the regular army Is on duty at Fort Armstrong, Rock Island. 111., in territory threatened by disaffected Indians. The commandant sends him with dispatches to St. Louis. He takes passage on the steamer Warrior and makes the acquaintance of Judge Beaucaire, rich planter, and of Joe Kirby (the Devil's Own), notorious gambler. Knox learns Judge Beaucaire has a daughter, Eloise, and a granddaughter, Rene, offspring of a son whom the Judge has disowned. Rene’s mother is a negress, and she and her daughter, never having been freed, are slaves under the law, although the girls have been brought up as sisters. Kirby Induces the judge to stake his plantation and negro servants on a poker hand unfairly dealt by Joe Carver, Kirby’s partner. The two hands contain five aces, and Kirby accuses the Judge of cheating. Beaucaire, infuriated, arises to attack Kirby, and drops dead. In the confusion Kirby and Carver are enabled to steal away. Knox plans to induce Kirby to give up his stolen winnings.

CHAPTER IV—Continued. Unarmed, never once dreaming of attack, I advanced alone along the dark, narrow strip of deck, leading toward the ladder which mounted to the wheelhouse. There were no lights, and I was practically compelled to feel my way by keeping one hand upon the rail. I had reached the foot of the ladder, my fingers blindly seeking the iron rungs in the gloom, when a figure, vague, suddenly emerged from some denser shadow and confronted me. Indeed the earliest realization I had of any other presence was a sharp pressure against my breast, and a low voice breathing a menacing threat in my ear. “I advise you not to move, you young fool. This is a cocked pistol tickling your ribs. Where were you going?” The black night veiled his face, but language and voice, in spite of its low grumble, told me the speaker was Kirby. The very coldness of his tone served to send a chill through me. “To have a word with Throckmorton,” I answered, angered at my own fear, and rendered reckless by that burst of passion. “What do you mean by your threat? Haven’t you robbed enough men already with cards without resorting to a gun?” “This is not fobhery,” and I knew by the sharpness of his reply my words had stung, “and it might be well for you to keep a civil tongue in your head. I overheard what you said to those men in the cabin. So you are going to take care of me, are you?” There was a touch of steel in the low voice. “Now listen, you brainless meddler. Joe Kirby knows exactly what . he is doing when he plays any game. I had nothing to do with Beaucalre’s death, but those stakes are mine. I hold them, and I will kill any man who dares to interfere with me.” “You mean you refuse to return any of this property?” “Every cent, every nigger, every acre—that’s my business. Beaucaire was no child; he knew what he was betting, and he lost.” “That may be true, Kirby. I am not defending his action, but surely this is no reason, now that he Is dead, why you should not show some degree of mercy to others totally innocent of "I Advise You Not to Move, You Young Fool.” any wrong. The man left two daughters, both young girls, who will now be homeless and penniless.” He laughed, .and, the sound of that laugh was more cruel than the accompanying words. “Two daughters’” he sneered. “According to my information that strains the relationship a trifle, friend Knox—at least the late judge never took the trouble to acknowledge the fact. Permit me to correct your statement. I happen to know more about Beaueaire’s private affairs than you do. He leaves one daughter only. I have never met the. young lady, but I understand from excellent authority that site possesses independent means tht'iiVgh the death s:-me years ago of her mother.-1 shall therefore not worry about her. loss — and, indeed, she need meet with none, for if she only prove equal to all I have heard I may yet be induced to make her a proposition.” “A proposition?" “To remain op the plantation as its mistress—plainly, t-n offer of marriage, If you please. Not such a bad idea, is it?” 1 stood speechless, held motionless July by the pressing muzzle of his pistol, the cold-blooded villainy of the>&an striking me dumb. Tills then had ' probdbly been- his real purpose from the start. He had followed Beaucaire deliberately with this final end in view —of ruining him, and thus compelling his daughter to yield herself. ‘•‘And you actually mean that you propose now to force Judge Beaucaire’s daughter to marry you?” “Well, hardly that, although I shall use whatever means I possess. 1 intend to win her if I can, fair means, or foul.” 1 drew a deep breath, comprehending now the full Iniquity of his plot, jmd bracing myself to fight IL

“And what about the other girl, Kirby? for there is another girl.” “Yes,” rather Indifferently, “there is another.” “Os course you know who she Is?” “Certainly—a nigger, a white nigger; the supposed illegitimate daughter of Adelbert Beaucaire, and a- slave woman. There is no reason why I should fret about her, is there? She is my property already by law." He laughed again, the same ugly sneering laugh of triumph. “That was why I was so particular about the wording of that bill of sale—l would rather have her than the whole bunch of field hands.” “You believe then the girl has never been freed —either she, or her mother?” “Believe? I know. I tell you I never play any game with my eyes shut.” “And you actually intend to—to hold her as a slave?” “Well, I’ll look her over first before I decide—she would be worth a pot full of money down the river.” The contemptuous, utterly indifferent manner in which he voiced his villainous purpose, would have crazed any man. To me this utterance was the last straw, breaking down every restraint, and leaving me hot, and furious with anger. I forgot the muzzle of the pistol pressed against my side, and the menacing threat In Kirby’s low voice. The face of the man was indistinct, a mere outline, but the swift impulse to strike at it was irresistible, and I let him have the blow—a straight-arm jab to the jaw. My clinched knuckles crunched against the flesh, and he reeled back, kept from falling only by the support of the deckhouse. There was. no report of a weapon, no outcry, yet,' before I could strike again, I was suddenly gripped from behind by a pair of arms, which closed about my throat like a vise, throttling me instantly into silent helplessness. I struggled madly to break free, straining with qll the art df a wrestler, exerting every ounce of strength, but the grasp which held me was unyielding, robbing me of breath, and defeating every effort to call for help. Kirby, dazed yet by my sudden blow*, grew eager to take a hand in the affray, struck me a cowardly blow in the face, and swung his undischarged pistol to a level w'lth my eyes. “D you!” he ejaculated, and for the first time his voice really exhibited temper. “I’d kill you with this, but for the noise. No, by God I there is a safer way than that to settle with you. Have you got the skunk, Carver?” “You can bet I have, Joe. I kin choke the life out o’ him —shall I?” “No; let up a bit—just enough so ne i can answer me first. I want to find I out what all this means. Now look j here, Knox,' what is all this to you ? I Why are you butting in on my game? Was Beaucaire a friend of yours?" “I can hardly claim that,” I admitted. “We never met until I came aboard this steamer. All I am interested in is justice to others.” “To others? Oh, I suppose you mean those girls—you know them then?” “I have never even seen them,” I said. “I see; a self-appointed squire of dames; actuated merely by a romantic desire to serve beauty in distress. Extremely interesting, my dear boy. But, see here, Knox,” and his tone changed to seriousness. “Let the romance go, and talk sense a minute. You are not going to get very far fighting me alone. You haven’t even got the law with you. Even if I cheated Beaucaire, which I do not for a moment admit, there is no proof. The money is mine, and so is the land and the niggers. You can be- ugly, of course, but you cannot overturn the facts. Now, yoft acknowledge that what has occurred is personally nothing to you; Beaucaire was no special friend, and you don't even know the two girls—all right then, drop the whole matter. I hold- no grudge on account df your striking me, and am even willing to share up with you to avoid trouble.” “And if I refuse?” “Then, of course, we shall be compelled to shut your mouth for you. Serf-preservation is the first law’.” I looked about at them both, scarcely able to. distinguish clearly even their outlines in the dense gloom. The seriousness of the situation, coupled ■ with my helplessness, and inability to achieve the object proposed, was very evident. It might, under the circumstances, have been the part of wisdom for me to have sought some means of compromise, but I was young, and hot, fiery blood swept through my veins. The words of Kirby stung me with their breath of insult —his sneering, insolent offer to pay me to remain still. “You must rank me as one of your own kind.” I burst forth. “Now you listen to a plain -word from me. If that was intended as an offer, I refuse it. You, and your confederate, have coolly robbed Beaucaire, and propose to get away with the spoils. Perhaps you will, but that end will not be accomplished through any assistance of mine. At first I only felt a slight interest in the affair, but from now on I am "going to fight you fellows with every weapon I possess.” Kirby chuckled, apparently greatly amused.

THE SYRACUSE AKD LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

“Quite glad, I am sura for the declaration of war. Fightini has always agreed with me. Might Bask the nature of those weapons?” “That remains for you to discover,” I ejaculated sharply, exasperated by his evident contempt. “Carver, take your dirty hands off of me.” In spite of the fact of their threat the ready pistol pressing against my ribs, the grip of Carver’s fingers at my throat, I did not anticipate any actual assault That either would really dare injure me seemed preposterous. Indeed my impression was, that Kirby felt such indifference toward my attempt to block his plan, that he would permit me to pass without opposition —certainly without the slightest resort to violence. The action of the two was so swift, so concerted, as though at some secret signal, that, almost before I realized their purpose, they held me helplessly struggling, and had forced me back against the low rail. Here I endeavored to break away, to shout an alarm, but was already too late. Carver’s hands closed remorselessly on my throat, and, when I managed to strike out madly with one free fist, the butt of Kirby’s pistol descended on my head, so lacerating my scalp the dripping blood blinded my eyes. The blow partially stunned me, and I half fell, clutching at the rail, yet dimly conscious that the, tw’o straining men were uplifting my useless body, Carver swearing viciously as he helped to thrust me outward over the wooden bar. The next instant I fell, the sneering cackle of Kirby’s laugh of triumph echoing in my ears until drowned in the splash as I struck the blftck water below. I came back to the surface dazed and weakened, yet sufficiently conscious to make an intelligent struggle for life. The over-hang of the rapidly passing boat still concealed me from the observation of those above on the deck, and the advantage of permitting them to believe that the blow on my head had resulted in drowning, together with the knowledge that I must swiftly get beyond the stroke of that deadly wheel, flashed instantly through my brain. It was like a tonic, reviving every energy. Waiting only to inhale 1 one deep breath of air, I plunged back once more Into the depths, and swam strongly under water. The effort proved successful, for when I again ventured to emerge, gasping and exhausted, the little Warrior had swept past, and become merely a shapeless outline, barely visible above the surface of the river. Slowly treading water, my lips held barely above the surface, I drew iff deep draughts of cool night air, my mind becoming more active as hope returned. The blow I had received was a savage one, and pained dully, but the cold water in which I had been immersed had caused the bleeding to cease, and likewise revived all my faculties. The very fact that no effort was made to stop was sufficient proof that Throckmorton in the wheelhouse remained unconscious of what had occurred on the deok below. My fate might never be discovered, or suspected. I was alone, submerged in the great river, the stars overhead alone piercing the night shadows. A log swept by me, white bursts of spray illuminating its sides, and I grappled it gratefully, my fingers finding grip on the sodden bark. Using this for partial support, and ceasing to battle so desperately against the down-sweep of the current, I managed finally to work my way Into an eddy, struggling onward until my feet at last touched bottom at the end of a low, out-crop-ping point of sand. This proved to be a mere spit, but I waded ashore, water streaming from my clothing, conscious now of such complete exhaustion that I sank instantly outstretched upon the sand, gasping painfully for breath, every muscle and nerve throbbing. The night was intensely still, black, impenetrable. It seemed as though no human being could inhabit that desolate region. I lifted my head to listen for the slightest sound of life, and strained my eyes to detect the distant glimmer of a light in any direction. Nothing rewarded the effort. Yet surely here on this long-settled west bank ; of the Mississippi I could not be far ! removed from those of my race, for I ‘ knew that all along this river shore were cultivated plantations and little I frontier towns irregularly served by i passing steamboats. The night air increased in chilliness ; as the hours approached dawn, andvl ■ shivered in my wet clothes, although this ohly served to arouse me into im- j mediate action. Realizing more than i ever as I again attempted to move my I weakness and exhaustion from the ; struggle, I succeeded in gaining my feet, I and stumbled forward along the nar- j row spit of sand, until I attained a! bank of firm dhrth, up which I crept! i painfully, emerging at last upon a fair-; ly level spot,• softly ca .toted with; grass, and surrounded by a grove of.! forest trees. The shadows here were I dense, but my feet encou nered a de-j presslcn in the soil, which I soon iden-' tilled as a rather well-d 'fined path i leading inland. Assured that this must j pdint the way to some d;> as it was evidently no wiki animal trail, I felt my way forward cautiously, eager to attain shelter, and the comfort of a fire. 1 came, suddenly to a patch-of cultivated laud, bisected by a small stream, the path I was following leading along its bank. Holding to this for guidance, within less than a hundred yards I came to the house I was seeking, a small, log structure, overshadowed by a gigantic oak, and standing isolated and alone. Believing the place to be occupied by a slave, or possibly some white squatter, I advanced directly to the door, and called loudly to whoever might be within. ,

There was no response, and. believing the occupant asleep. I rapped sharply. Still no voice answered, although I felt convinced of some movement inside, leading me to believe that the sleeper had slipped from his bed and was approaching the door. Again I rapped, this time with greater impatience over the delay, but not the slightest sound rewarded the effort. Shivering there in my wet clothes, the stubborn obduracy of the fellow awakened my anger. “Open up, there,” I called commandingly, “or else I’ll break down your door." In the darkness I had been unobservant of a narrow slide in the upper panel, but had scarcely uttered these words of threat when the flare of a discharge almost in my very face fairly blinded me, and I fell backward, aware of a burning sensation in one shoulder. The next instant I lay outstretched on the ground, and It seemed to me that life was fast ebbing from my body. Twice I endeavored vainly to rise, but at the second attempt my brain reeled dizzily and I sank back unconscious. CHAPTER V. Picking Up the Threads. I turned my head slightly on the hard shuck pillow and gazed curiously about. When my eyes had first opened all I could perceive was the section of log wall against which I rested, but now, after painfully turning over, the entire Interior of the single-room Cabin was revealed. It was humble enough in all Its appointments, the walls quite bare, the few chairs fashioned from half-barrels, a packing box for a table, and the narrow bed on which I lay constructed from saplings lashed together, covered with a coarse ticking, packed with straw. I surveyed the entire circuit of the room wonderlngly, a vague memory of what had lately occurred returning slowly to mind. To all appearances I was there alone, although close beside me stood a low stool, 11111 l “Is Yer Really Awake Agin, Honey?” supporting a tin basin partially filled with water. As I moved I became conscious of a rfuir pain In my left shoulder, which I also discovered to be tightly bandaged. I presume it was not long, yet my thoughts were so busy it seemed as if I must have been lying there undisturbed for some time, before the door opened quietly and I became aware of another occupant of the room. Paying no attention to me, he crossed to the fireplace, stirred the few smoldering embers into flame, placing upon these some bits of dried wood, and then idly watched as they caught fire. The newcomer was a negro, grayhaired but still vigorous, evidently a powerful fellow judging from his breadth of shoulder, and possessing a face denoting considerable intelligence. Finally he straightened up and faced me, his eyes widening with I interest as he caught mine fastened upon him, his thick lips instantly parting in a good-natured grin. “De good Lord be praised 1” he ejaculated, in undisguised delight. “Is yer really awake agin, honey? De doctah say he done thought ye’d cum round by terday sure, sah.” “The doctor?” I questioned in surprise, my voice sounding strange and far away. “Have I been here long?” “Goin’ on ’bout ten days, sah. Yer was powerful bad hurt an’ out o’ yer head. I reckon.” “What was it that, happened? Did someone shoot me?” The negro scratched his head, shuffling his bare feet uneasily on the dirt floor. “Yas. sah, Mr J Knox,” he admitted with reluctance. “I’s sure powerful sorry, sah, but I was de boy whut i plugged yer. Yer see, sah, it done ! happened clis-a-way,” and his black ! face registered • genuine distress. | “Thar’s a mean gang o’ white folks J 'round yere thet’s took it inter their i heads ter lick every free nigger, an’ when yer done come up ter my door I in de middle ob de night, a-cussin’, ! an’ a-threatenin’ fer ter break in. I ; just nat'arlly didb’t wauter be licked, i an’ —an’ so I biased away. I’s pow- • erful sorry ’bout it now, sah.” I “No doubt it was more my fault •than yours. You are a free, negro, I then?” . • j “Yas, sah. I done belong onct ter > Colonul Silas Carlton, sah, but afore [ he died, just because I done saved his ; boy frum drownin’ in de ribber, de ol’ j colonul he" set me free; an’ give me a ' patch o’ lan’ ter raise corn on.” j “What is your name?” I “Pete, stir. Free Pete is whut mostly !de white folks call me.” He laughed, ' v htte teeth showing and the whites iof his eyes. “Yer see thar am a powerful lot o’ Petes round ’bout yere, sah.” I drew a deep breath, conscious of weakness as I endeavored to change position. “All right. Pete: now I want to understand things clearly. You shot me, supposing I was making an assault on you. Your bullet lodged in my shoulder. What happened then?” “Well, after a while, sah, thar wan’t no mor’ noise, an’ I reckoned I’d either done hit yer er else ye’d run away. An’ thar ye wus, sah, a-lyin’ on yer t)aek like ye wus dead. Just so soon as I saw ye I know’d as how ye never was no nigger-hunter but a stranger in dese yere parts. So

dragged ye inside de cabin, an’ washed up yer hurts. But ye never got no bettah, so I got skeered, an’ went hoofin’ it down fer de doctah at Beaucaire Landin’, sah, an’ when he cum back along wid me he dug the bullet outer yer shoulder, an* left some truck fer me ter giv’ yer. He’s done been yere three times, sah." “From Beaucaire Landing—is that a town?” “A sorter town, sah; ’bout four miles down ribber.” The mentioning of this familiar word brought back instantly to my darkened understanding all those main events leading up to my presence in this neighborhood. Complete memory returned, every separate incident sweeping through my brain— Kirby, Carver, the fateful game of cards in the cabin of the Warrior, the sudden death of the judge, the mob anger I sought to curb, the struggle on deck, my being thrown overboard, and the danger threatening the two innocent daughters of Beaucaire. And I had actually been lying in this negro hut, burning up with fever, helplessly delirious, for ten days. What had already occurred in that space of time? What villainy had been concocted and carried out?” “Now see here, Pete,” I began earnestly. “How did you learn what my name was?” “De doctah he foun’ dat out, sah. He done looked through yer pockets, sah, an’ he took two papers whut he foun’ dar away wid him. He done tol’ me as how yer wus an offercer in de army—a leftenant er sumthin’ —an* thet dem papers ought fer ter be sint ter de gov’ner at onct. De las’ time he wus yere he tol’ me thet he wint down ter St. Louee hisself, an’ done gif bof dem papers ter Gov’ner Clark. So yer don’t need worry none ’bout dem no mor’.” I sank back onto the hard pillow, greatly relieved by this information. The burden of official duty had been taken from me. I was now on furlough and free to act as I pleased. “Have you picked up any news lately from Beaucaire plantation?” “I heerd dcy done brought de body ob de ol’ jedge home, sah —he died mighty sudden sumwhar up de ribber, Thet’s ’bout all I know.” “When was this?” — Knox to the rescue of the Beaucaire women. (TO BE CONTINUED.) FLYERS TO HUNT OUTLAWS Cotton Plantations Planted in Defiance of Authority Seen Easily From the Air. The department of agriculture has adapted the airplane to its needs, and plans to have a large fleet of machines to serve the farmer, lumberman and orchardist during the next six months, according to an announcement from Washington recently, says the San Francisco Chronicle. The machines will be used to find forest fires, map out forest and other surveys and to act as detectives to find outlaw cotton planters in Texas, Arizona and southern California. Lieutenant Compere at Ellington a year ago investigated the cotton situation. Owing to danger of an invasion of pink bollworm from Mexico it was necessary to create restricted safety zones where no cotton could be grown. Certain outlaw planters in land surrounded by heavy forests have defied the government and planted in these districts, which are difficult to find. The young Californian took a camera with him. cruised over the forests at a 7.000-foot altitude, and snapped seven outlaw fields. The fields were destroyed. Compere has been released from service and will soon return to California to organize the agricultural aviation scout work on this coast. “Farm” That Raises Jewels. The island of the Holy Ghost, Lower California, has the only farm in the world which sows and reaps a crop of jewels. Through artificial propagation and care pearls are actually raised there in the San Gabriel cove. In their natural condition ?be pearl beds are scattered and the oysters are i»rey to many submarine foes, but on,this farm they are protected by a substantihi masonry dike which walls off a portion of the bays, reaching above high-water mark. Openings admit the free passage of the sea water, hut are guarded by heavy screens. The bottom of this segregated area was cleared of all growth and,paved with rock brought from the mainland and laid by divers. Here the pearl oysters are cultivated just as edible oysters are. P.?-s the Salt! Two reporters were boasting of the speed of their shorthand writing. “Whenever I am reporting at a meeting on a warm evening, all the people try to get near to my table. “Why?” asked the other. “Because,” said the pen pusher, “my hand goes so fast that It creates a current of air like a fan.” “A mere nothing,” said number two. “I always have to report on wet paper, or else the current of air caused by the movement of my hand would blow it away. Besides the paper has to be wetted every few minutes, I- •- cause the friction caused by the rapklji movements of my arm would ’set fire to it in no time.” First Maine Post Office. In 1715 the first post offices m Maine were established at Kennebunk, Falmouth and Bath. The mails were carried by carriers on foot or on horseback and the average week’s mail difl not amount to five letters at each office. t The rates were high, 6%, 12%, 18%, 25 and 37% cents, I according to the distance the letter had to be carried, and double the rate when the letter was on more than one sheet of paper. Paws Here for Reflection. Said the facetious feller, “The main difference between valuable city prop- » erty and valuable dogs is that the w c. p. is sold by the-front foot, while the dog Is jest charged for all over." ' . v ) -A- _

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Thrive, Too. Joseph Hergesheimer was talking at the Authors’ club in New York about the copyright law, which deprives a writer and his heirs of any remuneration from his work 58 years after its copyright. “We authors,” said Mr. Hergesheimer, “have little to fear from the bolsheviks. Our work has always been treated as under bolshevik regime. “But, then, literary artists,” added the talented writer whimsically, “have the consolation that their work lives after them. Look at Rubens! He painted a thousand pictures, yet there are something like four thousand in existence today!” Found. Colonel Breckinridge of the Navy League was talking in New York about a stern father. “He’s stern, entirely too stern,” he said. “In fact, the old boy’s raving 3 now—raving mad against his son. “He sent his son off to New York last week you know, and told him to find an opening. Well ” Colonel Breckinridge chuckled. “The boy ’ telephoned yesterday to wire S2OO, as he was in a hole.” Done to a Crisp. A few friends of mine were over to spend tlie afternoon. I had a cake in the oven baking, as I was keeping house while mother was out of town. During the conversation I told them what a good cook I made, and bow I had never wasted or burnt anything. We were busily talking one-half an hour later when one guest exclaimed: “I smell your cake!” Needless to say. it was burned to a crisp.—Exchange. An Irish Opinion. During March, 1918, we were camped In northern France. It was the rainy season, and our clothes were always damp. Qne morning a big Irishman, ns he thumped the water from his hobnails, said in a husky voice: “If a guy doin’t get pneumonia here there Is something the matter with his lungs!” —Everybody’s Magazine.

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Father's Little Joke. I was absent from high school one day. The next day 1 asked my father, who loves a joke,-to write an excuse for me. He did so, and in my" hurry 1 forgot to look at it before handing it to my teacher. She took the note, read » it, looked at me, and read it again. I began to feel that something was wrong. Finally she handed me the note. It read: “Please turn Betty over your checkered apron. She needs it.” —Exchange. Somewhat Slighted. “After all,” remarked Methuselah, “my long life has been a good deal of a failure.” T “Merely because you kept out of politics?” “No. But it does seem to me that I’ve been at least entitled to an occasional interview as to whether or not i I attribute my longevity to abstinence from strong drink and tobacco.” An Apology. Whether the following excerpt from the Williamsville (N. D.) Item is « bona fide apology, or only the work of the office humorist, it has originality “We wish to apologize to Mrs. Orville Overholt. In our paper last week we had as a headline ‘Mrs. Overholt’s Big Feet.’ The word we dught to have used is a French word, pronounced the same way, but spelled *fete.’ It means a celebration, and is considered a very tony word.” Keeping Up the Good Work. “My friend,” remarked the practical man, “you can’t reform the world by passing resolutions.” “But we don’t stop there,” answered the professional uplifter. “You have « no idea of how a set of good, strong resolutions inspires the rank and file with new confidence to tackle the problems of the day. Particularly after we get them published in the newspapers^”—Birmingham Age-Herald. It is no crime to be poor unless the word is applied to singers.