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GET You/ii
JOB, Pa ”TING
‘ AT fig/HE .
GAZETTE OFFICE.
GOOD WORK... l1 PRICES RIGHT.
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N'ew Di eel: Fast Line
BETWEEN
’ New York a d the Mediterranean
assenger Service
BETWEEN——
Regular
5
New York Naples and Genoa.
' Dur'ng Entire Year.
'OUTWARDS PREPAIDS.
To Naples $18 From Naples $17
.“ Genoa 18 . .. “ Genoa I7
“ Messina 20 “ Messina 16
‘6‘
“ Palermo 20 Palermo 19
TICKETS CA BE OBTAINED AT THIS OFFICE.
l'
Beautiful Chased Holder. |$L00
You may think it cac-not possess merit or durability, the price is so low ; bu!
the “Lincoln” is a $_2.50 en reduced to $1.00. It is. durable, always ready to ”go"
but never'drips, the ink owing steadily and‘uniformly. Thev are in use in tin:-
oflice. 'gjvmg the best of atisfaction, and they are in use ,in the ba 5, insurance
and busrness offices and : mong all classes of users of pens in Norwalk and vicmitx
Orders are received from all parts of the country. - . '
Samples to be seen and orders received at the GAZETTE OFFICE.
-il . c ’
,,
' NEW EVERY MORNING.
Every day is afresh beginning; .
Every morn is! the world made new.
You who are weary of the world and. sin-
ning, “
Here is a beautiful hope for you—
A hope'for me and a hope for you.
All the past things are past and over;
The tasks are done, and the tears are
shed.
Yesterday’s errors let yesterday cover;
Yesterday’s wounds, which smarted an
bled, ‘ " a
Are healed with the healing which nigh
has shed.
Yesterday Is now a part of forever,
Bound up in a sheaf, which God hol'ls
' tight, '
With glad days and sad days and bad
days, which never
Shall visit us more, with their bloom and
their blight,
Their fullness of sunsnine or sorrowfu‘
night.
Let them go, since we cannot re-live then:
Cannot undo and cannot atone.
God in his mercy receive, forgive them!
Only the new days are our own;
To-day is out, and to-day alone.
Here are the skies, all burnished brightly.
Here is the spent earth all reborn.
Here are the tired limbs springing lightly
To face the sun and to share the morn
In the chrism of dew and the cool of
dawn.
Every day is a fresh beginning.
Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,
And, in spite of old sorrow and older sin-
ning,
And puzzles forcasted and possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin
again.
BLOOD WILL TELL.
It was rapidly growing dusk on the
wide prairie, and thestars were just
beginning to show like glittering dia-
mond pionts. Just the suggestion of
the autumn was in the cool night air.
The stillness as Jim and Miss War-
ing drove along over the silent plain
was broken now and then by a sharp,
startling rattle, a sound once heard
never to be forgotten, the danger sig
nal of the deadly rattlesnake, coiled
up on the long, brown grass.
“Hit appearsto me,” Jim was say-
ing, “that that air wind don’t bode
any gobd to the settlers round about
these here parts.”
".“Why so, Jim?” ,
‘Guess you hain’t ever been on one
of our Dakoty peraries afore, Miss
Waring, or you wouldn’t have asked
such a question. There’s two things
out hyar that’s more feared than the
Old Nick himself—one on ’em’s a pera-
rie fire, and another’s a perarie fire
with the wind a-blowin’ a. forty-mile-
an-hour gale.”
They rode on again in silence. Alice
Waring had come from the far great
city to visit her brother on his west-
ern ranch. Jim, the man-of-all-work,
was driving her from the station,
fifteen miles from the ranch.
“By the long-horned spoons!” said
Jim, suddenly, rising in his seat and
stopping the horses with a tremendous
jerk, “look over there, will you?
Thar’s biznes's for us, sure’s you’re a
foot high! Git up there!" he yelled to
the horses, and, giving one of them
a stinging blow with his whip, they
sprung into a run. Across the level
plain shone a light, the light at the
ranch headquarters, nearly a mile
away. To the left of it a dull, red-
dish glow had come up, and now and
then, at the horizon line, where the
darker part of the sky was lost in
the prairie, sharp flames were darts
ing up. 3
“Don’t be skeered!” Jim ejaculated,E
as he whipped the horses into a yet
more furious‘pace; “there ain’t any
danger—leastwise for us!"
Alice was a self-possessed city girl
with a generous stock of old-fashioned
common sense, but she was startled
’at Jim’s actions and her face had
grown pale.
“Everything’s all right,” said Jim,
as reasuringly as he could under the
circumstances. “Don’t you be skeer-
ed.”
He had seized the reins between his
firm, strong teeth, and now with one
hand, now with the other, now with
both, he was whipping the horses into
still greater speed._ Hate ter lick a
team like this,” as the wagon bounced
and rattled along; “hate ter do it—bnt
hit can’t be helped—when there’s life
——depends——on -it!” -
A few moments more and the
horses dasehd up to the big, ranch
headquarters house. Jim threw the
lines to the ground, and, seizing Alice
by the wrist, jumped with her.
“Sorry ter be so unperlite, but there
ain’t any time ter wait—kin you ride
hossback?”
Barely waiting for an aflirmative
answer from the girl, who was pas-
sionately fond ..,0f riding, and W110
modestly owned the gold medal for
superior horsewomanship in her city
riding club, Jim ran to the barn, flung
I1 man’s saddle on a beautiful- horse,
and before Alice had time to recover
from her surprise at this novel intro-
duction to ,her brother’s establish—
ment, the horse was before her.
“You say you kin ride; wa’al here’s
the best chance to show hit you ever
and in your life. Thar’s the best hoss
in McLeod county—racin’ blood for
Five generations; there ain’t nothin’
but a perarie fire kin ketch him. Jump
him, Miss Waring, ride straight to-\
ward the fire yonder; thar ain’t no
danger now till you git 'ter Mule
crick. - Jest over the crick, a quarter
of a mile or so, thar's a Russian wo-
rnan an’ her six weeks’ 'old baby. She
is all alone, fer I saw her husband in
town when we left. They. hain’t
back-fired an inch, and you’ve got to
git the woman and her baby over the
irick, see? I’d go myself. but the wind
is shifted, and this hull rancli‘ll be in
longer afore long. You'll pass your
brother and a parcel of men backfirin’
ilong the line; don’t stop ter any ex-
planations, but, ride fer the crick, an’
ride as if the Old Harry was on yer
track. You been’t afeered, be you?”
.,
‘ .
"You say there’s little danger of my
losing my life, Jim?” _ . ,
“Not a b'it—ef you only git the wo-
man across the crick in time; but
don’t wait—jump quick, for the Lord’s
sake, or you’ll be too late! ’ V
With a rude toss he threw her into
the saddle as if she had been a child,
and handed her the reins. As he’did
so he thrust a short, cruel rawhide
into her hand.
“Don’t hit him with that unless you
have to—he’s never been licked in his
life, but he kin outrun a cyclone. Ef
you have ter hit him, give it ter him
red hot.”
It is long sometimes before a horse
and its rider become acquainted with
one another, but it seemed but a few
seconds to Alice before she and the
noble animal were old friends. Jim
was right. Prince Hal could run. and
after the first few tremendous jumps
and Alice had steadied herself in the
saddle, the thrilling excitement stirred
her blood like an intoxicant, and she
realized that Jim had told the truth; =
it promised to be the race of her life.
“Je-ho-sa-phat!” exclaimed a man
who was ploughing a fire furrow along
the edge of the ranch where the men
were at work. “Mr;Waring. look, will
you? Look at Prince Hal!"
Mr. \Varing had not‘more than time
to look up before he saw his choicest
mount pass by him like the wind, :1
girl with hair flying behind her on
his back, the horse flying at a pace
that not his fastest Kentucky ances-
tors ever matched.
On the horse went, as if he, too,
knew of the life-saving mission of the
hour. The foam came back from his
teeth and his flanks were white. Alice
leaned forward in the saddle as she
urged him on, and' stroked his neck.
A moment more and they were at
the creek, a shallow stream. Beyond.
Alice could see a low house silhouet-
ted agiiirst a great red bank of flame.
The fire was coming. Already she
could feel the intense heat. A leap
and a bound and they were over the
stream and on again with still swifter
flight. It was a matter of seconds now
until the low sod house was reached.
In front of it was the Russian woman,
frantically trying to save some of her
household goods by dragging them
with one hand further from the course
of the fire, while in one arm she
clutched the baby. around which she
had thrown a wet shawl to protect it
from the heat. '
“Why don’t you run?" cried Alice,
as she jumped from the horse; “don't
you see the fire is almost on you ?~-You
can’t save your things; run for the
creek! Run, I say, or you’ll be burn-
ed to death!”
Alice grabbed the Child from the
woman’s arms and sprang up into the
saddle as best she could. The woman
stood as if stupefled. the red glow
from the coming flames lighting up
her stolid face. The fire was coming
on faster now; theycould hear the
roar and crackle as it swept through
the long. man-high grass of the swale
beyon dthe fence.
“Quick! Quick, I say! No, you
can't run fast enough now to get to
the creek; jump up behind me. Quick!
Quick, or we shall all be burned! I
can‘t leave you here to die!"
The woman‘s stolid nature was
roused at last by the animal fear of
danger, and while the heat grew more
intense every instant she clanibered
up behind Alice.
... .. .-, .. n4-u~
‘Prince Hal’s face was toward the
fire. He had not 'moved since
reached the spot. He seemed like
some ‘bcautlful statue, his body mo-
tionless, his ears sharp ,erect; his nos-
trils distended; the awful fascination
of the fire was upon him.
Alice.pulled at the bit to turn him.
He paid no attention. She spoke
sharply, but he only moved uneasily;
he would not stir from the spot.
Swi‘fter than an electric shock came
the thought to her mind that horses
in burning buildings would stay and
die in the flames before they would
be led out. It would be impossible to
reach the'creek on foot. In half a
minute more the flames would be on
them. Grabbing the wet shawl from
the baby with one hand and swinging
the child backward to its mother with
the other, she threw the shawl over
the horse's head. With the sight of
the fire shut out he quivered, turned
-iS iha bit gave him a sharp twist. and
inst as the flames were leaping over
ilii‘ sheds hard by the house he sprung
away.
It was a race for life now-~for three
ives—for the wind had increased to a
gale and there is nothing more. terri-
ble in this world ihan such a relent-
r-ss ocean of flame as‘ was rolling over
the gross grown plain.
Alice thought of Jim's parting ad-
vice. .
“He’s never been licked in his life,
but if yer have ter, give it ter him
'ed hot!”
With a sharp cry. urging the horse
721 under his heavy burden, she struck
him with all her strength on the
Juivering flank, not once, but many
times. He jumped as if stung by a.
rattlesnake, and, seizing the bit in his
:eeth, sprung away as if shot from
ionic mighty catapult.
Alice had lost all control of him
now. She could neither guide, nor
:heck, nor urge him. The blood of a
noble ancestry, the blood of “a racer,
was on fire in his veins. Down the
short hill. over the brook. up the farth-
er side. on over the plain, like some
wild spirit of the nighz‘he ran. A
:heer that you could have zeal-d a
mic, and that mayhap was heard
:iear up to the stars of heaven, rang
)ut as Prince Hal, white with foam,
iew by the crowd of men.
“Wa'al. of you ain’t the pluckiest
gal,” said Jim, as he helped Alice from
:he saddle. ”An’ you ain‘t a-gom ter
faint. nuther, I kin tell it by yer eye.
Didn’t I tell you he could outrun a cy-
alone? But there had ter be some-
oody a-top of him who knew how ter
' :ide.”—-The Independent.
'JHEEVENI N GeA Z ETT E f
l
LATEST, IN Bay's.
ince- of All Kinds More Fashionable
Than Ever.
(By special arrangement with the N.Y. Sun.)
Even if we do not always literalily
follow the rules laid down for us by the
oracles of fashion, we keep up a. per-
petual watch for the. possible novelties.
Simplicity of outline is the one thing for
which we must strive now if _we would
be quite up to date with the latest ad-
vices from Paris. Small sleeves, scant
skirts and the almost close fitting bod-
ice are in high favor. Three yards is
the prescribed limit of fullness for the
very latest skirt. One of the most pop-
ular models has a narrow front breadth,
he '
, and the remaining portion of the skirt
' is set on 3to a. yoke as if it were a
5 flounce. The yoke is narrow, falling
ljust below the hips.
Many of the smartest gowns for both
’morning and afternoon are made of
. fouiard. One special design, pretty for
morning wear, has a plain five-gored
skirt, measuring three yards and a half
‘ at the bottom, made with the lining at-
tached, and no trimming. The fouiard
is red and black, andath‘e guimpe waist,
which is supplied“ with sleeves, is of
[soft white batiste, finelywtuckedf The
gilk bodice over this Opens narrowly
iown the front to show the white;
«paulettes of silk adorn the tops of the
ieeves, square rovers turn down. on
ither side from the round out neck,
uffs of silk finish the batiste sleeves.
nd all the edges are simply finished
rith a narrow fold.
Laces of all kinds are more fashion—
ble than ever, and especially insertibns
which encircle the skints of our new
hln gowns. Venetian, Honiton, Gui,-
’ i‘$\‘\\:\
' .\\\‘.t‘~; 35?
we 3* re,,\h\\
pure, and thread laces are very popu-
lar, as well as Chantilly and blond
laces. A white lace called “Luxcule,”
made of braid and fine stitches, is very
gflective for boleros, yokes and any
Qortion of the dress .vnere flat trim-
ming is desired. Tambour patterns on
e new craquele mesh make a very
amiable novelty. There are many iri—
‘upensive laces in narrow widths to
' rm the little ruches-used so much,
(1 black Valenciennes'is one.
i. The latest thing in belts to Wear with
lhirt waists is a soft taffeta ribbon,'
five inches wide, made tight enough to
wrinkle into half that width, and fast-
ened with a pretty. sliver gilt buckle.
" ' RICH OSAGE INDIANS.
As a Community They Are the \Veal tiniest.
in the World.
The Osage Indians are the richest
community in the world. They num-
men and children; they own 1,500,000
acres of valuable land; have $9,000,000
in trust with the Government, which
pays '5 per cent. interest, and have
leases with cattlemen for the use of
their pasture lands, which bring them
between $40,000 and $50,000 a. year,
without counting the rent from the
agricultural lands and the proceeds of
their own labor. That, however, is‘
very small. They have so much mon—
ey that they are lazy, idle and in a
state of rapid degeneration.
There is no more striking example
of the corrupting influences .of wealth
and idleness. The Indians have no
incentive for education or labor, but
spend their time lasting and visiting
each others’ homes, where, as the agent
says, “they feast and gossip until one
might suppose their capacity for both
was exhausted; but each triflng occur-
rence serves as a. text, which is dis-
cussed from every possible point oi
view. ‘ The old men find: great pleas-
ure in recounting the past history of
the people, and have eager and inter-
ested listeners in the children. I find
against these tendencies to be ridicule
and moral suasion whereby I impress
upon them the necessity of looking for-
ward and of staying at their homes to
look more closely after their property
and the interests of their children.”
The entire tribe is composed of about
300 families, of which 1,170 are adults
and 559 are children of schdol age.
This gives them over 5,000 acres of land
for each family, and more than 850
acres per capita, with $30,000 cash for
every family. - Including the “grass
money” as they call it, which is re
ceived from leasing the pastures, the
income of the .tribe will average $500,-
000 a year, which is about $300 per cap-
ita, or $1,600 per family, without any
labor Whatever. This enormous
wealth and the increasing values oi
the lands which lie justsouth of the
Kansas line and consists of valuable
timber and large tracts of rich citizen-
ship ot great value, and has caused
many dissolute white .men to marry
into the tribe, so that 829, mostly chil-
dren, are of mixed blood.
The “squaw men," as thewhites who
marry Indian women are called, are
not, enrolled, and receive nothing di:
rectly, but indirectly they control the
shares of their wives and children, and
{have been gaining more and more in-
fluence among the people. The tribe
is governed by a. chief and fifteen coun-
cillors, and at the last election the
cry and other influences succeeded in
electing their candidates for chief and
the council. This has caused a great
deal of discontent among the tullbloods
and it is probable that the government
will be compelled to interfere in or-
der to protect those who are really en-
titled to a share in therights of the
tribe—Chicago Record. ‘ fri-
.. . ' - t'
BELOVED AUTHORS! FAos.
Animals.
Charles Dickens had a curious ca-
price. ‘He professed that he could not
write with ease and pleasure unless
Certain quaint little bronzes were up—
on his desk.
the shujtles in the wonderfpl web of
fiction flew with magical rapidity. He
needed .three things—blue ink, quill
pens and his fetiches. ,
A lady who has visited ihe Norwe-
gian dramatist, Henrik Ibsen, at home,
has informed the world that in pre-3
cisely the same manner he uses a queer
collection of copper animals. They
crowd upon his table—grotesque cats
and rabbits and other bits of clever
modeling. Ibsen finds in their com-
panionship a help and spur, and he'is
emphatic in saying thatif they van-
ished he should produce no plays.
Jules Michelet, the French historian,
a tremendous toiler through a ’long
lifetime, had a strange love for the
coarse boxes in which he kept his pa-
pers. He preserved them with him
unchanged in his study for forty years.
However damaged and begrimed they
might become, and this was inevitable,
he would not have them changed.
~Possibly their presence seemed to as»-
sist his flow of ideas. He was equal-
ly faithful to an old dilapidated table
cover. Holes and ink stains were not
detrimental to its value in Michelet’s
eyes.
_In the case of Haydn, the composer,
a ring was the fetich. If he had it
, upon his finger “he could think bril-
liantl‘y; if he miss-ed it, all his skill
seemed gone. He often declared that
without this trinket he was curiously
dull. He might sit down to an instru-
ment, but all creative power, 'he would
find, had departed from him.——Tid-Bits.
Chinese Welcomefloi‘ Spring.
According to the Chinese almanac,
spring commenced on Feb. 4. It is
customary on the day previous for the
Canton ofl'icers to proceed to the place
named Tung-kao‘cheung to receive the
spring, which is regarded as the hap-
piest season. On Feb. 3, therefore, the
Prefect of Kwangchow and the Magis-
trates of Namhoi and Punu districts
proceeded with a. large guard to. Tung—
kaoacheung. When they arrived the
said ofllcers acted as farmer-s, one of
them taking charge of a paper cow,
one holding a paper ploughLaud one
performing the act .of sowing seed.
When the ceremonies were finished
thelarge assemblagetried to stone the
paper c0wto fragments. The people
are of thettvpinion that if the paper
cow is stoned to fragments the year
will be prosperous—Chinese Exchange.
her but 1,729 souls, all told—men, wo- ‘
the most efficient weapons I can use ,
mixed bloods, 0'.- “squaw men” by brib- 3'
1.,
Isben Has a Great Fondue-s for Copper '
When they were there -,
(J
5,, 2,17.
Norwalk Chronicler