PERCY H. YAH DYKE, PublUbtr tnd EAltW.
NEWPORT. - - ARKANSAS.
THE HERMIT THRUSH.
When twilight’s hush
Falls on secluded wood and lonely hill,
It is the thrush
Whose song, calm as the night, rings
heavenward,
And dies away along the dewy sward.
It rises free.
And bears serenely down the darkening
day
Life’s rhapsody,
The mingling light and shadow of the
years.
Too sad for Joyousness, too sweet for
tears.
A vesper song-bird singing.
The calm forgetfulness of joy, too sweet
For wild-wood voices to repeat,
Is rising skyward with thy song
Whose liquid sweetness lingers long
Upon the night air ringing.
The night Is nigh;
The woodland sighs for thee, the breezes
call—
Again thy cry
Floats out across the dusk that waits for
thee,
And the rapt strains of thy rare min
strelsy.
No more thou slngest,
To some dark tangle of the forest depths
Thy flight thou wlngest;
Where vaulted arches echo to thy tones,
The pine tree shivers and the night wind
moans.
—Julia E. Goodwin, In Springfield (Mass.)
Republican.
—
THE new country physician, Dmi
try Starzey, sat one. day in his
Turkin’s drawing- room and listened
first to the hostess reading aloud her
own novel, and later to her daughter,
Catherine, who played the piano very
noisily. Then the Turkins and the
doctor stepped into the dining-room,
where they drank tea, while the host
entertained them with amusing anec
dotes.
Suddenly the bell at the entrance
door rang. The host and the hostess
rose to receive the new visitor, and
Starzey, seizing the opportunity, said
to Catherine in a whisper quivering
with emotion:
“For God’s sake, I implore you,
don’t torture me....Let’s go into the
garden....”
Catherine shrugged her shoulders,
but rose nevertheless and walked out
of (he room.
rirsr you piay rue piano ior inrre
or four hours at a stretch,” he said,
following her; “then you sit close to
your mother, and I can’t say a word
to you alone... .Grant me a quarter
of an hour, I beseech you!”
Autumn was approaching. All was
quiet and melancholy in the garden,
and the alleys were covered with
withered leaves. It was near sundown.
“I haven’t seen you for a whole
week,” went on Stnrzey. “How I suf
fered during all this time! Be seated,
pray, and listen.” Both of them had
a favorite spot in the garden—the
bench beneath the old spreading
maple tree. They now seated them
selves upon this bench.
“Well, what is it you wish?” asked
Catherine in u matter-of-fact tone.
“I haven’t seen you for a whole week;
I haven’t heard your voice so long.
I am madly anxious to hear you
speak.”
He was bewitched by the naive ex
pression of her eyes, and the unusual
simplicity which marked her bearing
appealed to him strongly. Notwith
standing her naivete, she seemed to
him extremely clever. With her he
could speak about literature, art and
life.
“I must speak to you, I must ex
plain myself," he muttered emotion
ally.
Khe rose from the bench and looked
at him ns though she wanted to say
something. Then, all of a sudden, she
awkardly thrust a note into his hand,
rushed back into the house und seated
herself by the piano.
“To-night, at 11 o’clock,”—rend the
note—“meet me in the cemetery—
near the statue of Demetti.”
“Well, I call this lunacy,” he
thought, when lie came to himself at
last. “What has the cemetery to do
with all this?”
He felt certain that she was not
in earnest, that she was jesting. For
what sane person would think of
making an appointment in the ceme
tery at night, since it was so con
venient to meet in some public park?
And, besides, how unbecoming it was
for so solid and sensible man as Dr.
Starzey to sigh, and receive love let
ters, and go to the cemetery to meet
his beloved! What would be the re
sult of this love affair? What would
his colleagues say if they had learned
of it?
Thus thought Starzey as he walked
about in the clubrooms excitedly; but
just at half past ten he called his
coachman, Panteleimon, and ordered
him to drive to the cemetery. It
Was quite warm for an autumn night.
The moon was shining and the dogs
were barking in the distance. Star
zey alighted on one of the deserted
streets and started off towards the
cemetery on foot.
“Every person has his own pecu
liarities,” thought he. “Catherine
is a rather peculiar girl—and who
knows? Perhaps she was in earnest
and she may come after all.”
He walked about half a mite
through the field. All was hushed in
deathlike silence. The stars twinkled
meekiy and mournfully in the sky,
and Starzey’s heavy footfalls sounded
rather strange and out of place.
Nobody was near the statue of De
metti. But Starzey came to halt and
waited. He sat near the statue for
some time, then he rose to his feet
and, walking through the alleys,
holding his hat in his hand, he
thought of the numerous beautiful
and fascinating women buried in the
graves about him. Starzey felt like
crying out that his soul was now
thirsting for love at any cost—and
soon the marble stones somehow
seemed to assume the forms of liv
ing beings, modestly hiding in the
shade of the trees.
Suddenly the moon disappeared be
hind the clouds, and all was plunged
into darkness. Starzey worked hard
to find the wmy out, and when he
reached his carriage it was about two
o’clock in the morning.
On the next day Starzey directed
his steps to the Turltins to propose
to Catherine. But this proved impos
sible, as she was? in her room dress
ing her hair. She was preparing to
go to a ball.
Starzey had to wait long in the
dining-room and listen to her father’s
jokes and anecdotes, which bored and
irritated him painfully. After a sleep
less night, he now felt as though in
toxicated with something sweet and
pleasant. He waited for Catherine
with bated breath. Finally, when she
appeared, charming and graceful, in
her evening dress, Starzey was so
overjoyed that he could not utter a
word—he only gazed at her and
laughed. “It is so late already,” she
remarked, looking at the clock, and
she bade him “good night.” But
Starzey followed her, saying that it
was time for him to go home, as pa
tients were waiting for him there.
“The club is on my way—may I take
you over there in my carriage?” he
asked timidly.
“Very well,” consented Catherine.
It was a dreary, rainy night. Cath
erine and the doctor boarded the car
riage and started off to the club.
“I w'as at the cemetery last night,”
began Starzey. “It wasn’t at all kind
of you to-”
“Were you really there?”
“Of course I was there, and waited
till two o’clock in the morning—I suf
fered—”
“It serves you right—you may suf
fer if you can’t understand a joke.”
Satisfied that she played such a
fine trick on the doctor, and that she
was loved so passionately, Catherine
burst into laughter, and suddenly
screamed with fright as the horses
made a sharp turn into the gates
of the club. When Catherine leaned
slightly toward Starkey, he clasped
his arms around her waist and kissed
her on the lips and on the chin, and
then held her in a firmer grasp.
“Enough!” said Catherine dryly.
A moment later she was out of the
carriage. Starzey hurried home, but
returned within half an hour. Dressed
in a hired frock coat and a white
tie, which was for ever getting the
best of his collar, he sat in the club
at midnight and spoke to Catherine
with all the fiery passion he could
muster. “Oh, how little they know
who never loved! Tt seems to me that
no one has ever properly described
love—it is indeed impossible to de
scribe that gentle, joyous, sweet, yet
often painful feeling, but he who has
experienced it will not venture to de
scribe it. But what is the use of su
perfluous eloquence! My love is lim
itless_T beg, 1 implore you,” he ex
claimed, “be my wife!”
“Mr. Starzey,” said Catherine, after
a brief pause, a very serious expres
sion on her face—“Mr. Starzey, lam
very thankful to you for the honor;
I respect you, but....” She rose,
and resumed, standing, “but you must
pardon me, 1 cannot be your wife.
Let us speak seriously. Mr. Starzey,
you know' that I love art above all
else in' life; 1 love, I adore music, I
have devoted all my life to it. I
want to be an artist; I want fame,
triumphs, and you would like me to
live in this provincial town, to con
tinue this empty, useless life which
has become unbearble to me. To be
your wife—oh, no, I beg your par
don! One should always strive to at
tain the highest and most brilliant
goal, while married life would only
bind me forever. Mr. Starzey, yo\i
are a kind, noble, sensible man, you
are better than any one I know-”
Tears gathered in her eyes. “I sym
pathize with you,....but you under
stand me; I cannot.” And in order
not to burst into tears, she turned
and walked away from him.
Starzey’s heart was beating fast.
On leaving the club he first of all
tore off and flung the cravat which
was choking him. He felt ashamed
because his self-respect had thus
been humiliated; he did not expect,
rejection, and he could not believe
that all his dreams and torments
and hopes led up to so ridiculous an
ending. And he was so sorry for
his wasted love that he felt like cry
ing.
For three days he could do nothing
—he could not eat or sleep—but when
he learned that Catherine had gone
to Moscow to study music, he calmed
down and his life flowed on peace
fully.
Four years went by. Starzey was
by this time a very popular physi
cian, with a large practice in the city.
One beautiful morning he received
a letter from the Turkins. in which
he was requested to call without fail
in the evening. There was a post
cript in the note which read: “1 also
invite you to come, Catherine.”
In the evening Starzey went up to
their house.
“You never come to see me, doc
tor,” said the hostess with a re
proachful smile. “Of course. I am too
old to interest you, hut my daughter
may be more fortunate. She has just
returned from Moscow.”
Though Catherine had grown thin
ner and paler, she still looked beauti
ful and graceful. But the doctor no
ticed that the former expression of
childish naivete was no more. There
was something timid and guilty about
her manners, as though she felt, her
self out of place here in her own
home.
“How do you do?” she said, shaking
his hand and regarding him stead
fastly and eagerly. “How stout you
have grown, how manly! But on the
whole you seem to have changed
but little.”
Starzey was silent. Somehow the
pallor and the expresison of her face,
the faint smile, and her voice—all
these did not appeal to him now, and
soon he found fault with the dress
she wore, with the very arm-chair
in which she was seated. He re
called his love for her—the dreams
and hopes which stirred his soul four
years ago—and he felt ashamed of
himself.
They drank tea with sweet cakes.
Then the hostess read aloud a story
of her own, after which Catherine
played the piano as noisily as ever.
“It is a good thing that I didn’t
marry her,” thought Starzey.
Catherine ceased playing and looked
at him, evidently waiting that he
should ask her to go with him to the
garden, hut he kept silent.
“Let us speak,” said she, advancing
towards him. “Tell me, how are you
getting along? 1 have been thinking
of you all these days,” she went on
nervously. “I was going to write
won T hnvA wnitpd for von so imna
tiently to-day. For God’s sake, come
into the garden.”
They walked out in the garden and
seated themselves on the bench be
neath the maple tree. It was a dark
night.
“Well, tell me, how are you get
ting along?” asked Catherine.
“As usual,” replied Starzey.
And he could not think of any
thing else to say. They sat in si
lence for a while.
“I am nervous,” said Catherine,
covering her face with her hands,
“but don’t pay any attention to that.
I feel so good at home; I am so glad
to see everybody here. How many
happy recollections. It seemed to me
that we would keep on speaking here
all night long, until daybreak.”
She now gazed at him with naive
curiosity as though she wanted to
scrutinize, the better to comprehend
the man who once loved her so ten
derly and passionately, and her eyes
seemed to thank him for that love.
At this time Starzey recalled how
he roamed about the cemetery and
how he escorted her to the club on
the next day, and he felt sorry for
the past. A new light was kindled
in his soul.
“Do you remember the evening I
took you to the club?” he asked. “It
was raining... .dark....”
He was growing enthusiastic, he
wanted to unburden himself, to com
plain of life in general.
“Eh,” said he, with a sigh. “You
ask me how 1 am getting along. I am
getting older, stouter, weaker. Life
passes gloomily, without leaving any
impressions, without inspiring any
thoughts... .The days are devoted to
money-making, and the evenings spent
in the club amid gamblers and alco
holics whom I detest from the depth
of my heart. What good is there in
such a life as this?”
“But you work—your noble aim in
life. You were always so fond of
speaking about your hospital. I was
then a queer girl. I imagined myself
a great pianist. Now I know that
my piano p'laving and my mother’s
novel writing are of a kind. I did not
understand you then, but later, in
Moscow, I often thought of you. I
thought of you alone. What happi
ness it is to be a country doctor, to
be able to help suffering humanity, to
serve the people! What happiness!”
repeated Catherine enthusiastically.
“When I thought of you in Moscow,
yoxi seemed to me so ideal, so sub
lime. ...”
Starzey thought of the money he
so eagerly counted every eveniug on
his return from the pati?nts. and the
fire in his soul died out.
Me rose, ready to leave. ( atherine
took him by the arm.
“You are the best of all men 1 ever
knew in my life,” she continued.
“Call again. We must meet, we must
speak to each other. T am not a
pianist, I am perfectly clear on this
point; I’ll never play again in your
presence—I’ll never speak to you
about music.”
When Starzey entered the house
and saw her agitated face by lamp
light, and her sad, grateful, search
ing eyes, which were fixed on him,
he became restless.
“It is a good thing I didn’t marry
her at that time”—this thought again
flashed through his mind.
Starzey bade her “goodby,” and de
parted.
Three days later a messenger
brought him a note from Catherine.
“You did not come to see us.
Why?” she wrote. “The very thought
that you have changed makes me
shudder. Come, reassure me by telling
me that everything is right. I must
speak to you about some important
matter. Your Catherine.”
“'Pell her,” said the doctor to the
messenger—“tell her that I cannot
come to-day. I am very busy. Tell
her that I’ll come about three days
later.”
Three days passed, n whole week
wrent by, and Starzey did not call on
Catherine. In fact, he never visited
the Turkins again.—From the Rus
sian, by Herman Bernstein, in Boston
Budget.
THE USUAL WAY.
A Proposed Lawsuit in Which the
Lawyer Was to Receive the
“Bone of Contention.”
One morning Charles Bonaparte,
the celebrated lawyer of Baltimore,
was surprised to learn that the ten
year old son of one of his friends de
sired to see him. The New York
Times tells the boy’s errand:
As the boy walked into the private
office, Mr. Bonaparte said. “Good
morning, Charley! What can I do for
you this morning?”
“Well, Mr. Bonaparte,” said Charley,
“I went out to the country Saturday
and caught a tadpole, but as 1 was
coming back I lost him on the Balti
more & Ohio railroad, and—” But
here Charley stopped, satisfied that
he bad plainly stated his case.
“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Bonaparte;
"and you want me to sue the rail
road. do you?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Charley.
Mr. Bonaparte smothered a smile,
and continued with his most pro
fessional manner: “Well, Charley, do
you want return in kiiiu ui in v<uuci
“1 want my tadpole’” said Charley,
with emphasis.
“All right,” said the lawyer, “that’s
settled. But now look here; what am
1 to get for my trouble? Suppose
I make the railroads give you your
tadpole, what will you give me?”
“Why, Mr. Bonaparte,” promptly
responded the boy, “I thought. I
would just give you the tadpole.”
SUSPECTED BOODLE.
1.1 Hiitik Clin hit Dili Not Give Credit
to an Olilclal Working lor
Nothing;.
When Mr. Ure was lord provost of
Glasgow, Scotland, Li Hung Chang
was on his tour of the world. The
great Chinese statesman was the
guest of the Scottish metropolis and
was taken for a sail down the Clyde,
so that he might see the shipping and
the docks of that famous water
way. It fell to Mr. Ure as the dep
uty chairman of the Clyde harbor
trust to conduct the Illustrious stran
ger and show him all the works of the
trust, and the works are many, for
the old saying is true enough, “The
Clyde has made Glasgow and Glas
gow' has made the Clyde.”
“How much,” asked Li, “do you get
for managing all this?”
He w'as told in reply that there was
no salary and that the chairmanship
w'as a position of much honor and
dignity. An incredulous look passed
over the oriental’s face and his keen
eye fastened on a magnificent dia
mond pin Mr. Ure w'as wearing. Ad
vancing toward that gentleman, he
put his finger on it with a look of
triumph: “Where, then, did you get
that?”
Whut Some Name* Mean.
The following gives the meaning of
the names of the principal Highland
clans in Scotland;
McIntosh, the son of the First.
McDonald, the son of Brown Eyes.
McDougall, the son of Black Eyes.
McOnnechy or Duncan, the son of
Brown Head.
McGregor, the son of a Greek Man.
McCuithbert, the son of the Arch
Druid.
McKay, the son of the Prophet.
Campbell, Crooked Mouth.
Cameron, Crooked Nose.
Stewart, His Stay or Support.
Well Said.
“Here’s where I fall to work,"
said the well digger when the rope
broke.—Indianapolis News.
MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS. I
In South Australia there exists a lan.
gnage test for intending immigrants.
Unless a man can speak or write Eng
lish he is not permitted to land.
In the Canaries the banana is neier
cut With a knife, because the fruit
when cut through exhibits what is re
garded as a representation of the cru
cifixion.
Experiments in Dublin recently dem
onstrated to the satisfaction of the ex
perimenters that bacteria could be car
ried a great distance by the wind, de
spite a heavy rainfall.
Chicago originated the system of
steel frames and the use of isolated
foundations which made possible a 20
storv building, and revolutionized
American commercial architecture.
In signing his name to the plans
and specifications of the world’, fair
art palace in St. Louis, which will cost
$945,000, the contractor had to sign his
name 2,400 times.. It was. a hard day s
work.
It is reported that an oil spring oi
.rood quality has been discovered in
the southeastern district of South Aus
tralia. The spring is near tlie lakes
at the mouth of the Murray river. The
existence of petroleum in this desert
region lias been known for years. 1 lie
oil exudes from the banks of Lake
Coorong, and also from the more
southern coast line. The quantity oi
the supply and the purity of the oil
are not yet determined.
According to reports made bv the
government geologists of ^ ictoria and
Queensland, there are no less than 02,
000 square miles of coal-bearing coun
try in the eastern states of Australia.
The probable quantity of coal avail
able (after deducting one-third for
loss), in seams rang-ing from two to
seventeen feet in thickness., is not less
than 240.448,053,000 tons. In Victoria
there are beds of tertiary coal over
200 feet thick, and extensive seams of
oil-bearing shale exist in. New South
Wales and Tasmania.
CUT FLOWERS GIVEN FREE.
The White Home and Conjrreimnien
Are Supplied from the Public
Greenhouse*.
Cut flowers are supplied gratuitous
ly to congressmen and their families
from the greenhouses and gardens at
tached to the public institutions in
Washington and if not the most profit
able they are among the most desirable
perquisites of official position. The
greenhouses from which the flowers in
question come are maintained prin
cipally to supply the city parks with
the plants which make them such a
feature of the city’s beauty through
out the greater part of the year. In
the cutting of the flowers in these
greenhouses, much of which is done
for the improvement, of the plants, Hie
white house supply of flowers is aug
mented. After the white house is
supplied the hospitals and other pub
lic institutions receive flowers. Many
other worthy causes also share in the
distribution. Families of members of
the cabinet, the supreme court and
legislative members come next. This
custom which has prevailed for years
of distributing cut flowers is still fol
lowed, says a Washington exchange.
Besides the greenhouses in charge of
the superintendent of public buildings
and grounds and the white house con
servatory other gardens are those of
the agricultural department and the
botanic gardens. The latter are under
the direction of the senate committee
on library. The gardens of the depart
ment of agriculture are devoted largely
to the growing of plants other than
floral. The flowers from the white
house conservatories are used for
daily decorations of the executive man
sion, and it is for state functions and
all other ordinary occasions that, 1he
supply of the park greenhouses is
drawn upon. Through this source of
supply not an inconsiderable amount
that would otherwise have to be spent
for flowers is saved. The value of
flowers for many state dinners runs
well up into the hundreds, and some
times even thousands, of dollars. The
floral decorations for the Prince Henry
dinner, which were most elaborate,
would have cost $4,000 if purchased in
the flower market. As it was, the real
expenditure in the floral decorations
was only a few hundred.
He Waited.
“What were you doing at the time
of your arrest?” asked the magistrate
of the prisoner.
“I was waiting.”
“Waiting for whom?”
“Just waiting.”
“What were you waiting for?”
“To get my money.”
“Who from?”
“The man I was waiting for.”
“What did he owe it toyoufor?"
“For waiting.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Ex*
plain yourself.”
“I thought you knew I was a waiter
in a restaurant.”
“Oh!” gasped the magistrate.—
Montreal Herald.
World’s Record Apple.
British Columbia grew the world's
record apple last year. It was 10
inches in circumference and weighed
one pound and three ounces.—Chicago
Inter Ocean.