*0* ' r
NEWPORT DAILY INDEPENDENT'
Pl*ICY H. VAN DYKE, Publiahcr and Editor.
NEWPORT, - - ARKANSAS.
A MOMENT OR SO.
I would like to go back for a moment or
so,
Back to the fancy-hung Long Ago—
To the old-fashioned house In the dusty
lane
And be for a moment a boy again.
I would like to go back where the fields
are green
And wander across to the old creek's
flow—
I would like to stand In the Joy serene
Of the shadowy peace of the Long Ago.
I would like just one glance at the even
tide
Of the misty mornings with dew aglow
At the spot where the sparrows were
wont to hide.
And the fields Where the wild-flowers
tysed to grow.
—I>fotfltnTRc Just one drink from the old
- fashioned well—
I would feel if I could the mystic spell
That ever clings round what we call Long
Ago—
I would like to go back for a moment or
so.
_Harry T. Fee, In Overland Monthly.
8 Domestic Dorothy. §
fi By Catherine Stoneman Long. W
O9O9OOO9O9OOO0O
ALL the members "of the Winters
family, with one exception, were
literary. This exception was Dorothy.
Mr. Winters was editor-in-chief of one
of fhe large city papers, Clarence was
reporter for another, sister Mary was
a school-teacher, and sister Lucia
wrote for the magazines. As for Mrs.
Winters, she was president of the
Browning club, secretary of the Wo
man's club, and an active member of
a variety of other clubs too numerous
to mention.
It would seem rather strange that
in a family so steeped in the atmos
phere of books and newspapers there
should be one black sheep; although
to call Dorothy a black sheep were
certainly a libel, for if there ever was
a white, sweet, dearly loved lamb in
any flock, she could lay claim to that
distinction. The term is only used to
convey the idea that she was different
from the others. While they were
all studious, thoughtful and serious
in their tastes, she was the gayest,
most careless, and, so they all de
clared, the most frivolous little body
In existence. Even in her personal
appearance she presented a striking
contrast to her older sisters. Mary
and Lucia were tall and slight, with
bid black eyes that seemed to be al
ways looking over everybody's bead
" TO <^ietlii:ig JarynrtY and mysteri
ous. The daughter, on the
other hand, was plump and blondaf
with laughing blue eyes and rosj
dimpled cheeks. \ y
Dorothy’s best friend 'would never
have contended that she was clever
at books. When she graduated from
the high school it must be owned that
it was nearer the foot than the head
of her clnss. It was fortunate that
she had other qualities to endear her
to her teachers and mates. Everyone
loved pretty Dolly. She was so sweet
natured, so generous, so full of vital
ity and sprightliness, that it was im
possible to do otherwise.
This admiration was shared by her
own family. They all united in
praising her beauty, and in petting
ana caressing ner, as wen uiiiwiig
tender little jokes at her expense in
regard to her intellectual short com"
ings, in which she joined so mirth
fully and good-naturedly that it
' never occurred to anyone that she
could possibly be sensitive about it,
or have any aspirations beyond the
domestic career which they had
-'-agt'fced in mapping out for her.
"How nice it is, Dolly darling, that
you are> to be at home after this, *
said her mother, as Dorothy was
helping her to pack her valise to go
to the biennial meeting of the State
Federation of Women’s clubs. “Now
J shall not need to worry about the
house while 1 am gone. Nora is so
cross and sullen with everyone else.
The home is quite a different place
when you are looking after things."
"You sweet child,’’ said sister Mary,
coming in from school, tired and
headaehey. to find Dorothy ready to
pull off her muddy boots and to serve
her with u cup of hot tea and a sand
wich on a dainty tray. "You always
Ihink of everyone. What should wc
do without someone to cheer us up
when we are cross and discouraged?
It’s a very fortunate thing that one
of the Winters family turned out tc
be domestic.” '
It never happened that anyone ever
questioned the domestic talents and
* inclinations of Dorothy. It bud beer
settled when she was quite a sinal
child 1 hat Nature had intended hei
for a little housewife. She couli
make the most delicious desserts am
the most toothsome confectionery;
she had such beautiful taste in ur
ranging the diningroom table am
kept the house so fresh and swed
and orderly that no one suspecte<
that she abhorred the dish pan, hatec
to make beds, or was made faint am
• sick by the sight of raw meat whet
fk she went to market to select hei
[na father’s favorite cuts. Dolly nevei
j said anything about it. Naturally
no one could be supposed to know.
’la* - Now, it frequently happens tha
mot careers laid out for us by our friend:
veyart are not always the ones we shouh
jhter o select if left to ourselves. This wu
the case with Dorothy. Secretly, shi
11 longed to be literary, like the rest
133© instead of domestic. She listenec
with the jjrofoundest awe when he
'' - ' •¥**■■* \
mother discussed im^o Stflt club mat
ters with her friem.r. and her eyes
were large with wonder when the
great author complimented Lucia on
her last story. Oh, that she, too.
might do something to make the big
world pause to admire and commend
her!
Sometimes these secret aspirations
were not kept, altogether to herself,
but were vaguely hinted at in con-^
versation. “Why, Dolly, we don tv
want, you to be literary,” her father
would say on such occasions. "We
like you better just as you are.” And
Mr. Winters seemed to think that set
tled it. If they didn’t want her to be
literary, why in the world need she be
ambitions to be anything of the sort
Nevertheless, she did try to write
sometimes, just as the others did. and
worked hard over some extremely in
different little stories which were des
tined to travel many weary miles be
tween herself and various publishers.
These articles were the subject of
much sport in the family. They were
in the habit of inquiring in a face
tious manner about the health of her
“Wandering Willies,” as Clarence
dubbed her rejected manuscripts.
Clarence did love to get hold of one
of those self-addressed envelopes
when the postman brought it back,
and make her guess which one it
might be. She looked so pretty hang
ing on his arm and teasing for it,
that he felt compelled to give her a
kiss anil a squeeze, while Lucia
watched them with a languid, indul
gent smile. Yet Clarence and Lucia
loved her dearly, and would have
been shocked at the thought of griev
ing her tender heart.
Dorothy knew well enough that her
writing was very poor, and soon
ceased to nope to oisTingmsn nersen
in this way. As a matter of fact,
she did not like to write at all. and
only did so because she hated to be a
drone in this literary beehive. It was
simply a bore to her, and she spent
much of her time making sketches
on the margin of her paper, as Tom
my Traddles did in David Copper
Held; only instead of drawing skele
tons, she made curious brownies and
grotesque animals that il certainly
would have been no sin to worship,
for they were like nothing- on the
earth or in the waters beneath the
earth. The family called them Do
rothy's “queer cows.”
At hist, she despaired altogether,
anti when the rejected manuscripts
had all come back she tumbled them
in a heap into it drawer, which she
never opened without a very down
in-the-mouth sort of a feeling. It is
to be feared that just the least little
bit of a grain of bitterness was in
Dorothy’s heart when she thought of
the position of household director to
which she had been so summarily rel
egated by her affectionate friends.
Still the old longing to do something
and be something kept pulling away
at her, and when she began to beg to
be allowed to take drawing lessons
at the Art institute, her mother said:
“Why not let her do it? The dear
' grri h as a good many lonesome hours
when we are all away or busy, even
if she is so domestic. Looking after
the house doesn’t take all her time.”
“Why, of course,” said Mr. Winters.
“If there’s anything in the world that
I can do to give Dorothy a pleasure
I’m only too glad.”
“Oh, certainly,” said sister Lucia.
“It will give her something to think
of, even if she doesn’ accomplish
much with it.”
And so Dorothy was entered in one
of the classes of the Art institute,
and then the family, absorbed in its
own move important affairs, at once
proceeded to forget Jill about it. No
body ever thought to inquire about
her work except Air. Winters, to
whom it occurred once in awhile in ji
vague fashion.
" A ml liitw in*P flu* r*n\VS.’
daughter?” he would ask, pinching
her soft, round cheek.
“Oh, they’re just as bad a* ever,”
Dorothy woidd say with an answer
ing smile. “They pop out on the easts
and still life exactly as they did on
the manuscript.” She was a brave
little soul, and if she felt hurt by
this indulgent neglect she kept it to
herself.
When she had been in the Art insti
tute for about a year without having
ever seemed to accomplish anything
to attract, attention in the least, Mr.
Winters began to talk very much
about a new artist who had of late
been sending in drawings as illustra
tions of current events. They were
humorous in character, and a good
many of them appeared in his paper.
Everyone said they were remarkably
clever, indeed quite superior to any
furnished by the staff artists. The
family all enjoyed the pictures great
ly, and they were the subject of much
favorable comment after every issue
of Mr. Winter’s paper.
”1 believe,” he himself said one
day, “that this Henry Page Esmond
has the making of a great artist in
hint. Those sketches of his are just
bubbling over with fun, and his wit
is keen and delicate. 1 believe bis art
will find expression in something
higher than caricature, too.” And
with that Mr. Winters launched forth
into a long and learned discussion of
the principles of true art in general
and Mr. Henry Page Esmond’s draw
ings in particular, with which the
[ family were much edified, although
i no one pretended to understand it.
i least of all Dorothy, who listened re
• spect fully with her head on one side
■ and a curious twinkle in her bright
, eyes.
“I’ll tell you what, Dot,” continued
her father, “I’m going to invite him
; to dinner some day.I’ve never met
I him myself yet—and then you can
i show him some of those ’queer cows’
! you used to draw-.”
, The idea of Inflicting these erudi
1 ties upou the artistic vision of thijs
; rising man was excruciatingly funny,
laughed loud and long,
most heartily of all.
do invite him, father.’Vntreat
ter Lucia. “1 m just dying to
him. Everyone is talking about
s in the Argus. Judge
tman told me lie thought they
re the funniest, most original
gs he ever saw. And after we
become acquainted with him,
don't you think it would be nice to
give a small company of our most
distinguished friends to meet him?”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely? Do,
father!” exclaimed Mary, quite en
chanted with the idea of introducing
1 his new star into the literary world.
And so it was agreed that Mr.
Henry Page Esmond should be in
vited the coming week Wednesday
for dinner. Mr. Winters wrote him
an imitation to meet him at his of
fice on that date, in response to
which the young man—everyone
seemed to take it for granted that
he was young—sent a very polite
note of acceptance.
There was cdhsidernble excite
ment on this eventful day in the
Winters family. Dorothy had been
reminded to see that an exceptional
ly tempting little dinner should he
prepared, and Mrs. Winters went out
into the dining room herself to be
sure that nothing had been forgot
ten. Judge and Mrs. Whitman had
been invited also, and sister Mary
was to wear her new tailor-made,
while sister Lucia, had her book,
which had just come out, lying care
lessly on the parlor table, where Mr.
Esmond could not fail to see it.
The day’s business was over, and
Mr. Winters sat in his office await
ing the arrival of the young artist.
He was just saying to himself that
Mu ITcnvinn/l iv'iu tn lfltf>
when the office boy brought in a
card bearing, in the familiar hand
writing of that gentleman, his name,
“Show him in at once,” said Mr.
Winters in his most abrupt and edi
torial 1ones.
When he heard footsteps in 1lie
outer room he arose to his feet and
made haste to arrange his features
in their most cordial and engaging
expression. The door flew open in
a theatrical manner under the hand
of the office boy, who announced, in
a somewhat muffled tone, “Mr. Es
mond,’* and in walked—Dorothy!
Air. Winter’s countenance was in
deed a study to gaze upon. He
looked at bis daughter with eyes as
round as moons, and opened his
mouth several times without making
a sound. In short, in* was completely
bewildered until Dorothy, her sweet
face all flushed and quivering, half
laughing, half sobbing, rushed into
his arms, exclaiming:
“Oh, papa dear, don’t you under
stand? I am Air. Henry Page Es
mond!’
When her father had got her home
at last, and they had managed to ex
plain matters to the assembled com
pany, the commotion which arose was
wonderful to experience. Dolly was
laughed over, cried over and passed
around to be kissed until she was
quite breathless, while the parlor
fairly bristled with exclamations.
Clarence whirled her around and
around in a wild dance, and her
mother ecu Vi not stop asking ques
tions. Lucia looked at her rather
reproachfully as she slyly tucked her
book out of sight; but Judge Whit
man made her a most courtly and
ceremonious bow, saying: “I con
gratulate you, my dear.”
At last the heroine of this ovation
escaped to her room to adjust her
hair and gown, which had become
sadly rumpled with embraces, leav
ing her friends to chatter and ex
claim, and talk at the top of their
voices all together. It was the
proudest moment of her life. Matur
er years brought other triumphs,
but never one so glorious as this.
And thus it happened that Dorothy,
while she by no means ceased to be
domestic, did become an artist, and
carved out for herself a career which
had its beginning in the “queer
cows.”—Ladies’ World, New York.
A]>i>lie<l Religion.
Robbie belonged to a severely or
thodox family. He was taught to fear
nothing, and trust God. lie often
heard his grandfather remark that
he “trembled for sinners,” and this
expression saved Robbie in an hour of
need.
One night Hie re was a terrific
thunderstorm. Robbie stood it as
long as possible, then fled to his
mother’s room.
“Robbie, are you afraid?” asked
she.
“No, ma’am.”
“You know God can take care of
you as well in the storm as at other
times?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Then what are you shaking for?”
“Mother, 1 was thinking of sinners,
and 1 thought that I would come
down and tremble with you for
them.”—-Brooklyn Li fe.
Only One Wellington.
That was a graceful compliment
which was paid to the duke of Wel
lington by Queen Victoria. Not every
one recalls the fact that a certain
style of high boots, not commonly
worn nowadays, bore the name of
Wellington.
When the duke was prime minister
he once visited Windsor castle to con
sult with the queen on an important
state matter. The day was damp,
following a heavy rain, and ns the
duke left the castle her majesty re
marked, “I hope your grace is well
shod?”
“Oh,” said the duke, “[ have on a
pair of Wellingtons, and am proof
a gains* dam p ne ss. ”
The queen retorted: “Your grace
must be mistaken. There could not
be a pair of Wellingtons.”—Yonth’s
Companion.
I
\
PTOMAIN-POISONING.
Frequently Canned by Satlnq Food?
Containing the Germs—Syn>i>
tomM and Remedies.
This is a term used popularly tf
designate the symptoms due to poi
soning by damaged food. Like mant
other popular terms—and not a fev
scientific ones—it is not strictly cor
reet. for in the great majority of oases
of blood-poisoning the offending mat
ter is not a ptomain at all, but a poisor
elaborated by certain bacteria presen'
in tbe food. 'Phis poison may already
exist in the food, or it may be produce!
in tbe sufferer’s body after tbe bac
teria have been admitted. In othe
cases the food has not begun to putre
fy. nor has it been contaminated vvitl
poison-producing bacilli, but is in it sel
poisonous. This happens in mnshroon
poisoning and in poisoning by certaii
kinds of fish, says Youth’s Companion
Preserved foods—canned, cold-stor
age, pickled—are those most common
ly responsible for poisoning, since tin
bacteria which make tbe poison or in
duce ptomain formation have their i
longer time in which to develop. Tin
bacteria of putrefaction in spoilei
fresh meat are often of a comparative
ly harmless kind, so far as their effeo
upon the living organism is concerned
and by their rapid growth they choki
the other and more noxious kinds, am
prevent their development.
When the food contains ready
formed poisons the symptoms come 01
soon after eating, and usually disap
pear rapidly if a fatal ending is avert
ed; but when the food contains noxion
bacteria which are. as it were, dormant
and need the conditions found in tb
living body in order to multiply, a cer
tain period elapses, from several hour
to a day or more, before the danger
ous symptoms declare themselves.
Tlip-svnmtnms nf fnnd-nnistoning nat
urally vary in intensity according ti
the nature of its amount, the suscep
tibility of the individual, and so on
There may be only an acute indigestion
marked by nausea,, vomiting, and per
haps diarrhea, or the poison may over
whelm the nervous system, causiiij
collapse, convulsions, unconsciousness
paralysis, and then death.
The first thing in the way of treat
ment is to get rid of the offending ma
terial by emetics and purgatives, al
though nature generally attends t'
that with the first sign of poisoning
After that a cleansing of the-in testina
tract from the disease germs may b
called for, and stimulants for the flag
ging heart and the oppressed nervou
system.
ABOUT KEEPING BUTTER.
Some PO'IiiIm "Which May Contain i
Suggestion for the Careful
Housewife.
The flavor and aroma of sweet pur'
butter are very pleasing to the senses
and due to the growth of organisms!]
the cream during the ripening proces
it undergoes when butter is made ii
the plain orthodox way. Pasteurizei
cream produces butter devoid of flavoi
A trace of casein remains in all but
ter, and this is a matter to be consul
ered by the housewife, and in keepin:
butter any great len'gth of time thi
undergoes decomposition and the but
ter may become rancid. As butter con
tains from 12 to 15 per cent, watc
this facilitates the change. Well
worked and dried butter will kee
longer than that carelessly made, say
the Washington Star.
On the continent butter is kept al
most indefinitely by melting it dowi
and then boiling until all the wate
is evaporated or driven off. The case!
is then removed from the melted but
ter by straining through cheeseclot
or thin muslin; the oil poured int
wide-mouthed bottles or jars and a
lowed to cool; thrn corked up tigli
and kept in a cool, dry amospherc
wnen required 11 can oe useu same a
ordinary butter. This clarified butte
makes very light, delicate pastry an
cakes.
Butyric acid, from which butter d<
rives its name, may be said to be th
“hall mark” of butter. When butte
becomes the least rancid this acid i
liberated from the butyrin.and butyri
acid is a very decided irritant. W
can readily understand that with th
presenceof these two elements, butyri
acid and casein, in butter, one slioul
not use any but the freshest of buttei
unless it is preserved as directed, an
when fresh supplies are available thi
plan is ftot to be recommended altc
gel her.
Oranire Ciremn IMe.
Cream one-lialf cupful of butter wit
1% cupfuls of sugar (using the hand
instead of a spoon is considered b
many to be the better way), two thoi
ouglily beaten eggs, two-thirds cupfi
flour, sifted with two heaping tci
spoonfuls of baking powder. Bake i
Washington pie t ins. Filling—One pir
of milk, two eggs, two-tliirds cupfi
sugar. Stir together with the sugs
two tablespoonfuls of flour and ad
to the* milk as it begins to boil. 15o
a few minutes, stirring constantl;
When it is dkme remove from the tii
and flavor with the juice and a lift
grated rind of an orange. Let it co*
and spread between the layers of tl
p.e. Moisten confectioners’ sugar wit
orange juice and spread on the top.
Detroit Free Press.
Spanish PuiT*.
Beat the yolks of three eggs we
add two ounces of flour and a quart*
of a pint of milk; then beat in tv
ounces of caster sugar and two ounci
of butter. When these are well mixe
gradually add another quarter of
pint of milk till the whole is a srnool
batter. Whip the whites of three egj
till firm, lightly stir them in. pourim
buttered saucers and bake about
minutes. Turn them out, fold in tv
and sprinkle with sugar.” Serve hot.'
Washington Star.
”V
\_ _.
' W Lindley Pres. L."tTSlayden VkTphes. E. V. Holt Cashier,
BANK OF TUCKERMAN,
CAPITAL STOCK $20,000.00
We are open to the public for all business which constitutes bafe and re
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Your Patronage Is Solicited.
TUCKERHAN - - ARKANSAS.
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Repair Work Promts
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Eupion Oil
j---—
When buying illuminating
oil insist on having Eupion, the
family safety. This is a double
distilled process, oil that is
odorless and absolutely safe.
If you will use clean burners
and wicks and Eupion Oil you ^
will have best light obtainable.
! The only merchants in Newport
1 that sell this high-grade oil are
Wolff-Goldrnan Merc. Co., W.
B. Chastain, Wilmans Bros.,R.
D. Wilmans, Heiliger’s Union
Market Co., Martin Bros., Har
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Waters-Pierce Oil Comp’y
t
THE BANK OF NEWPORT —
i OFFICERS AND DIRECTORS.
^ G.W. Decker, President. A. D. Bailey, Vice-President.
I R. M. Johnson, Cashier. T. D. Kinman, Ass’t. Cashier.
■ V. Y Cook, Tbos. J. Graham, A. E. Siioffner.
' Jno. T. Flynn, J. W. Grubbs, Jos. M. Stayton.
r ■ "■ 1 ■ 1
' This Bank has an-authorized
CAPITAL of $100,000.00.
r
1 An authorized and subscribed Capital is a convenient thing—•
b good thing for advertising purposes, but to be perfectly liouest,
and tell our patrons the truth, it really counts for little. We
i could have had, just as easily, a Subscribed Capital of
r $500,000. It would not have cost us one cent more.
1 What our patrons are really interested in knowing is, this
Bank has invested 'in its 'business, of ITS OWN MONEY,
J $58,000.00 OF CASH] PAID IN CAPITAL and undivided
- profits. That is the reason this Bank is prepared to take good
t care of your business. And we assure you that MORE CAPI
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and profitably invested.
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h INDIAN TERRITORY, TEXAS, OLD MEXICO, ■ ■
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t -
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d To All Important Texas Points.
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e “
e GEO. H. LEE, Gen. Pass. & Ticket Agt. JAS. HARRIS, Dist. Pass. Agl.
>1 LITTLE ROCK, ARK.
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