PWCYH. VAN DYKE, Publisher md Editor.
NEWPORT. - - ARKANSAS
HER VACANT CHAIR.
Though twain, our lives for years tan on
as-' one;
But. now 1 sit beside her vacant chair
And wonder if it’s true that site is gone.
Or if I'm dreaming in some stifling air.
I might persuade myself it is a dream;
But, when I look across the table there
To ask her thought on some engaging
theme,
M.v eye falls on her lonely vacant chair.
But as I sit composed and think of her,
And" try to pray: “Thy will, O God, be
done,”
The air so still about me seems to stir.
And something tells1 me 1 am not alone.
1 feel what must be truth 1 cannot prove.
Faith bids me upward look and not de
spair.
1 cannot fathom Ilim, but "God is love"—
A star of hope shines o’er her vacant
chair.
The mortal body cannot love and trust.
'Tis soul that loves and soul is more
than clod.
And, though the body molders back to
dust,
The soul lives on for evermore with God.
—E. Alfred Coil, in Christian Register.
THAT SABLE CLOAK.
BY E. F. IPBKCB.
Jlrs. Chambers was a charming
woman, a really charming woman; ev -
eryone said so—al least, everone save
ery one said so—al least every one
save one, which happened to be ill’.
Chambers, who had ceased to say so,
did not seem to think so, and, indeed,
fey his conduct, appeared toassert that
l. h tv a c n f
The philosopher has observed that,
in live eases out of six, the man who
abandons his wife goes from the fry
ing pan into the lire, and, of course,
burns his lingers. This was ihe ease
with Mr. Chambers, lie met bis lire,
or rather, his flame, at the Park lane
palace. She was a Mrs. Wallace, who,
after a brilliant career, as a profes
sional beauty, bad gone upon the
stage.
it was at Kempton park that the
awakening came. Mrs. Chambers bad
tamely accepted her husband’s ex
planation that he was too poor to buy
her good furs tit for her to wear.
. When she was lookingat—at what
ladies generally study during a race
—she said breathlessly to her friend
Mrs. Gover: “Look at that, dear;
look at that, cloak! it must have cost
1,000 guineas!” It had—and a bit
more. __— ^
“Why,” said Gover, in a whis
** TllJIalkce.
“O, she acts!” exclaimed Mrs.
Chambers.
“The critics deny that,” replied her
friend, with a hard laugh.
A moment later, Mrs. Chambers
gave a cry. Ernest—her Ernest—
was talking to the sables, or rather to
the woman in them, and she was
smirking at him impudently; Ernest,
• whom she believed to be in the office
working at wonderful plans for a
dock on a difficult coast.
“Since you have seen that,*’ said
Mrs. Gover, “you may as well know
that your husband paid for those
» \ *«
AUie, lit:
“I don't believe it!" interrupted
Mrs. Chambers, fiercely.
“I know it. You see, they were
bought at Priviletsky’s. 1 was there
_ the other day about a trumpery lit
's -Klftmiff—and 0110 of the ‘hands’ came
in carrying that fur, and this i~ what
I heard: The manager said: ‘You
must be sure to pack that up very care
fully and send it off to Mrs. Wal
lace/ ”
“That does not prove that my hus
band paid for it.”
“Quite true, dear; but, a minute or
two later, a clerk came up to the man
ager and said: ‘What about (lie bill
for that fur cloak?’ and he was told
to. send a copy to Mrs. Wallace, since
ihe wished to have some record of the
cost, but to forward the bill itself to
the office of Mr. Chambers, Queen
Victoria street. Pull yourself to
gether, dear,” she added hastily, and
not too soon, for Mrs. Chambers wa
very pale and rather plain in cense- i
quence.
Now, Mrs. Chambers amiably in
vited Ernest to take her to the ball,
but lie declined, for the reasons well
known to every husband.
It was about 11 o'clock when Mr. j
Chambers and Mrs. Wallace arrived
at the ball. Passing along the corri
dor both of them were startled by the
tragic appearance of a masked wom
an in a black domino, who was pacing
up and down like a “zoo" tiger over
looked in the distribution of daily
food.
“1 am sorry,” said Mrs. Wallace—
not usually a sympathetic woman—
“for him when he arrives.”
But the woman in the black dom
ino was not waiting for any “him.”
It was a bitterly cold night and for
a moment Mrs. Wallace discussed the
question of marching into the bail*
'focm in her famous sable cloak, of
which she was as proud as Samuel
Popys the first time he received a
letter with the word “Esquire"’after
his name; but Mr. Chambers laughed
her out of it, so she walked to the
cloak room closely followed by the
woman in the black domino.
The sleepy young woman in. the
cloak room handed a ticket, to Mrs.
Wallace. “No. 373.” sV said, drowsi
ly, and then she bundled together the
sable coat as though it were the vilest
“Japanese” and stuffed it into a pi
geon hole, at which Mrs. \\ allace gave
a gasp and then a sigh of happiness at
the thought that its very quality
would save it from injury. The wom
an in the black domino and mask
stood by and disappeared a few mo
ments later.
It was about four o’clock before
M rs. Wallace had had enough of it and
walked with him toward the exit. He
was half way into his coat when Mrs.
Wallace, reckless of decorum, rushed
into the men’s’ cloak room.
“Come with me!” she screamed;
“my sables have been stolen!”
The sleepy attendant was wide
awake and the other young lady to
whom -lie referred as her colleague
was blinking in a corner.
“I tell you,” said the girl, tearful
ly, “the lady came in at about mid
night, she said she was ‘313,’ gave me
the ticket and 1 gave her the beastly
cloak.”
Mrs. Wallace stormed. “She could
n’t have given you the ticket! I’ve
got it, look here!” and she produced
the slip of paper with“373 ’printed
on it.
“I can’t help it, madam,” replied
the girl; “I’m sure she gave me the
number.”
“Show it me!" shrieked Mrs. Wal
lace; “show me the ticket! ’
“J can't, madam: 1 can’t! I sup
pose it’s on the floor among all the
others. You can look for it if you
like.”
M rs. Wallace began to push her
way through the gaping little crowd
to the end of the barrier.
“What’s the good?” interrupted
Chambers, furiously; “the thing’s
gone and the ticket won’t help you.”
Next day. just before dinner time,
the engineer reached home. On his
way, to his surprise, he found himself
imagining with quite a glow of pleas
ure the embrace that he would re
ceive on his arrival from his simple
minded wife.
This evening he once more felt ag
grieved that the cab drove slowly and
the footman wasted much time.
When he reached the drawing room
his wife was sitting down, nor did she
move.
“You are ill. dear,” he said, hasten
ing forward, anxiously.
“Not a bit,” she answered. “Why
do you ask?”
And he blushed, embarrassed. He
tried to kiss her lips; she offered her
cheek coldly, and then a<ked him
questions about his journey, and there
was something in her manner that
caused him to lie very clumsily.
All of a sudden she jumped up.
“Do you know anything about
furs?” she asked
JNo/ ne replied, stammering.
‘‘Do you know good sable from
bad ?”
“IIow should J ?'" he answered.
“I've got a cloak very cheaply. You
know you said. dear, you couldn't af
ford furs this year; but I thought you
wouldn't mind a great bargain. Come
this way.”
And she took him to the end of the
drawing-room and showed him, lying
on a table, the missing fur cloak.
For a moment he gasped, bewil
dered, then the thought came
that the thief might have sold it to
his wife, lie took it up, handled it,
and said, timidly: “It seems very
tine.”
He had recognized it in a moment.
There were few like it in London, and
th maker's name was on it, as well
as a barbaric golden jeweled chain
that Mrs. Wallace had fastened to it,
as a means by which it could be hung
up.
“\\ hat do you think 1 gave for it? ’
said the wife.
“How can I guess?” And he tried
to speak playfully. “I suppose
something much less than its value—
you're such a clever little woman, and,
of late so careful about—”
“1 gave nothing; at least, l gave a
lie—a ticket with a live altered into
a three, well enough to deceive a
sleepy girl. 1 stole it.”
Mr. Chambers stood still, aghast.
“0, I dare say it was disgraceful,”
.-lie continued. “Why don't you go
and tell her and let her prosecute me?
You could be a witness, couldn’t you?
Or if you can't be a witness against
your wife, i'll write down a confes
sion.”
“i hardly know you in this mood,”
answered Mr. Chambers,gravely.
“Have you ever known me in any
.. 11 1 .'
mood? Have you ever thought me
anything up to now but an uninter
esting doll—except at the first, dear,
except at the first-—wiihnoeharacter
—not even bad. 0! but when I saw
her at the races 1 swore 1 would
have furs as good as hers; and 1 have,
but I can’t wear them. I carried them
out over my arm, and 1 wouldn’t put
them on for—for—”
Ami she suddenly hurst into tears,
very becoming tears, since she was
one of the rare creatures able to cry
gracefully. “How could i, after that
creature?”
There was a long pause.
“I can’t wear them, and—and they
won’t burn; but I can—” And she
picked up a big pair of scissors.
Now, Mr. Chambers had been
thinking, and at a very high pressure.
Mrs. Wallace, when angry about the
loss of the furs, had seemed horribly
vulgar and base; her beauty had dis
appeared in her vileness, while his
wife, though her conduct was barely
defensible, looked very handsome in
her wrath.
Memories surged up swiftly of the
early days, of the time when the
thought of the loving woman made
his blood dance through bis arteries,
and a great wonder filled him at the
idea he could have deserted this for
that—have abandoned gdTtTfor dross
—and a fear assailed him that he
might be too late.
“Don’t,” he said. “At the worst,
we could sell*the fur aWT'give the
money to the poor.”
She paused, surprised at the tone
of his voice.
iiuuua^ sm; itrpiitru, i:au w aim
a heart chilled by neglect.” *
“And can no regret cool a ilanie of
just anger?”
“Regret?”
“Regret, sorrow, repentance. 1
have no excuses, no explanation. 1
attempt none. What was, came, 1
don’t know how; what is, comes from
a true regeneration. The thought of
her seems like the recollection of a
nightmare. Is thereno hope?”
“Hope of what?”
“Of pardon, of more than pardon.”
“Sfcrely there is hope! Think what
fools we women are!”
“Your folly is our wisdom. I have
forfeited all that is dearest; I have
made an Esau bargain. Let me be
gin again. Try to think that all the
past never happened. Think of me
as a suitor, a humble suitor, and, on
my honor—no, for that is smirched,
and, indeed, I have nothing to
pledge—”
“Come, come!” she replied, tears
and smiles contradicting one another
on her face. “We have the furs to
pledge, and I make two conditions.
First, that we sell them and give the
money to the poor; and second, that
you never ask me to wear a fur again,
is that agreed?”
“Yes,” he answered, gravely.
“Then you may kiss my hand.”
And he did.—London Sketch.
JUDGES DIFFER.
Singular Situation in Melbourne Ove^
Sentencing of First Offenders.
A somewhat singular judicial sit
uation has avisen in Melbourne. At
the last session of the criminal court
the senior puisne judge, Sir Hartley
Williams, announced that after long
and serious thought he had come to
the conclusion that first offenders
should not be sent, to prison. He
therefore liberated half a dozen con
victs of that class on their own recog
nizances. This time, the chief jus
tice, Sir John Madden, is presiding
in criminal jurisdiction, and in sen
tencing a first offender to ten years’
imprisonment he indulged in some
sarcastic remarks about the senti
mentality of his learned brother.
There was never any love lost between
these two ermined dignitaries. Sir
Hartley publicly protested when Sir
John was taken from the bar and
placed over lib head. But respect for
the law suffers when it is a toss-up
whether a first offender gets off
scot-free or gets ten years.—London
Chronicle.
Quenching Thirst at Sea.
Many years ago Dr. Ding suggest
ed to ('apt. Kennedy that thirst
might be quenched by dipping the
clothing in salt water and putting
it on without wringing it out. The
captain, on being cast away, succeed
ed in persuading some of the men to
follow his example, and they all sur
vived. while the four who refused and
drank salt water became delirious
and died. (‘apt. Kennedy goes on
to say: “After those operations we
uniformly found that the violent
thirst went off and the parched
tongue was cured in a few minutes
when we had bathed and washed our
clothes, while we found ourselves as
much refreshed as if we had received
some actual nourishment.” I
fr -
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_^mmsm
are not great readers.
One Marvels at the Slender Libraries
of Literary Men.
Mr. Melrose, says Andrew Lang, in
Longman’s Magazine, tells ihe story
of the composition of the novel,
originally a tale of about the fifth of
the size of the ordinary romance, and
expanded on his suggestion. 1 he
author saw its obvious faults, but
found that it must go to the world as
it was. He thought it good enough.
“He was not humble about his book
and its success, but he remained prac
tically unaffected by it.” He had
wakened from a life of ordinary hack
work to find himself, in a sense, fa
mous; and it is most melancholy to
think how brief was the span in
which he had the pleasure of recogni
tion. He was no great reader, it
seems, except of Shakespeare; even
Carlyle he seems to have missed, that
idol of most young Scots, and he had
never opened Hawthorne. Somehow
many men of literary originality ap
pear to be the reverse of wide readers;
one marvels at their slcnd'er libraries,
their scantily tenanted shelves. The
bookworm is almost an extinct rep
tile. Cruising about the Highlands,
all through autumn, I met at a remote
in a lady who casually brought
down to the dinner table three books.
Here, at last, was a kipdred book
worm; but Mr. Brown was none. I
presume that mankind is the book of
the novelist; Dickens was no reader;
the novelists of wide reading, I ven
ture to think, are but three, and they
are long dead. Fielding was the earli
est of the three; every one can guess
the names of the others. Perhaps we
should add Lord Lytton, who had
read a great deal that lay out of the
beaten tracks.
THE GRAY WOLF’S FINISH.
Was for Three Months the Terror of
Massachusetts Farmers.
William Henry H atch, better known
as “Dick” Hatch, who in Stephen
town shot the gray wolf which has
been running wild in that section for
the last three months, and killed or
maimed cattle, sheep and turkeys and
other live stock, has presented the
carcass of the animal to Dr. C. L.
Johnson, of Pittsfield, an intimate
friend, who brought it to that city,
says the Springfield (Mass.) Repub
lican. Dr. Johnson is now subjecting
the skin of the wolf to a tanning
process and when it is finished in a
few weeks will convert it into a rug.
The fur is about four inches long and
is in excellent condition. Mr. Hatch
says that some published accounts ol
the shooting of the wolf are errone
ous, and that there was no crowd
hunting the animal on the day in
question. He states that with his
cousin, John H. Woodward, of Kin
derhook, N. Y., he started from Ste
phentown that morning, and had
reached a point between that town
and Wuley’s crossing, on the Lebanon
Springs railroad, when the former’s
dog started the wolf from a cover.
The wild animal made good time,
with the canine a respectful distance
in the rear, and on “Will” Brown’s
hill, in the pine woods, the wolf was
cornered and shot. Mr. Hatch says
that only one charge of heavy buck
shot was necessary, and that the first
knowledge the residentsi of that
section or visiting hunters had that
the wild animal had been killed was
when Mr. Hatch and his cousin ap
peared in Stephentown with the car
cass in their wagon.
NOT MUCH DIFFERENCE NOW.
Both Coal and Diamonds Are Forms
of Carbon—A Schoolroom Incident.
A lesson had been given on the
composition of minerals of different
kinds, and after it was finished the
schoolmaster put a few questions to
the class, to test how far they had fol
lowed his teachings.
“Now, children,” he said, accord
ing to London Answers, “can any of
you tell me what a diamond is?”
"Carbon,” was the prompt reply
that issued from every throat in the
class.
“Yes,” the teacher explained, “a
diamond is pure carbon; but you must
remember that coal is also carbon.
That was taught in our lesson, wasn’t
it ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, how could you be
sure to tell the difference between the
two kinds of carbon!”
“Ask the price!” lustily piped a lit
tle fellow in the front seat, who will
most likely make his mark in business
some day.
A Long Time on Its Way.
A post card, ofliee stamped at Os
nabruck on March 12,1874, has only
during the past few days arrived at
Oldcndorf, whither it was addressed.
It had thus been “in the post” for 2S£
years. When delivered the sdressee
had been dead many years.
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~ i
--—-- 1 1
_ . I
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family safety. This is a double
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If you will use clean burners
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The only merchants in Newport
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Wolff-Goldman Merc. Co., W.
B. Chastain, Wilmans Bros.,R.
D. Wilmans, Heiliger’s Union
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-BY
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The Tailor on Front Street.
,.rr,
A Good Route
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It traverses a territory rich in
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traveling public excellent service and
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Full information as to route and
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DIRECT CONNECTION MADE AT Sr. -
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FOR INFORMATION CALL ON OR
ADDRESS
WM. M. GREGG, Agent,
NEWPORT. ARK.
C. Townsend, G. P. A.,
ST. LOUIS. MO.
THE BANK OF NEWPORT
CAPITAL $50,000
surplus, $25,000.
OFFICERS AND DIRECTORS.
G. W. Decker, President. A. I). Bailey, Vice-President.
R. M. Johnson, Cashier. T. D. Kinman, Ass’t. Cashier.
V. Y. Cook, Tiios. J. Graham, A. E. Shoffner
Jno. T. Flynn, J. \V. Gkubbs, Jos. M. Stayton.
- V
RIPF FXPFRIFNPF *8 an important factor in successful banking. With all
mi l lai liiii. iiul (jue Ben8e 0f modesty, we venture to direct your at
tention to a brief review of the long business career of the men who compos*
our Board of Directors and Officers.
FflllRTFFN YFARS Experience in tho affairs of Banking in this community
uuiiillii Lniio enables us to measure and meet the needs of our cus
tomers. We solicit your account, and promise proper help in time of need.
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