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THE MAJORITY.
How fare they all, they of the pallid faces,
Beyond our power to-beckon their return?
How is it with them in the shadow places?
How shall we learn
Their solemn secret? How can we discover.
By any earnest seeking, the true way
Unto the knowing in what realm they hover,
In what high day,
Or in what sombre shadows of the night,
They are forever hidden from our sight?
We question vainly. Yet it somehow pleases,
When they have spoken the last sad good-by,
It somehow half the pain of parting eases,
That in the sky,
In the vast solitudes of stars and spaces,
There may be consciousness and life and
hope.
And that when we must yield to death’s em¬
braces.
There may be seope
For the unfolding of the better powers,
So sadly stifled in this life of ours.
— Tracy' Robinson, in Boston Transcript.
THE CANNON'S MOUTH.
BY P. A. MITCHEL.
First, They said it was a forced march.
some soldiers on horseback went
tearing by with a terrible clatter, leaving
-a cloud of dust behind them, then it was
all quiet for an hour. I hoard a tramp
ing, and looking up to the crest of rising
ground to the north, saw the road
packed with soldiers on foot. They
came quickly what up, and I scarcely had time
to see they looked like before those
in front had passed. They didn’t march
like soldiers I had seen in the city on a
gala hurried day, when I was a little girl; they
liked. I along, each man walking as he
wondered how they could
go They so fast, they were loaded down so.
carried great heavy knapsacks and
blaukets, and tin pans and canteens, be¬
sides their muskets. 'They look more as
if they were going to set up house-keep¬
ing than to war.
While I was leaning on the widow
sill, looking out and watching them, I
saw a young officer ride into the yard,
just as if he belonged to the place—or,
rather, as if the place belonged to him—
and back toward the barn. Two soldiers
rode close behind him, and they got
down off their horses and went into the
barn. I thought at once they were after
•our horses. My pony was there, and
I made up my mind they shouldn’t
take him without walking over my dead
barn. body. I ran down stairs and out to the
If I had been making a forced
march myself I couldn’t have gone faster.
Before I got there they had two horses
•out, and were harnessing them to the
farm wagon. I marched straight up to
the officer and asked him what he was
•doing.
He was a trifle startled at seeing a girl
• intended standing before him, looking as if she
to make a resistance.
“We’re ’pressing all the horses and
wagons we find along the road,” he
said.
“What do you mean by ’pressing
-them?”
“We’re ’pressing them into the ser
vice. ”
“What for?”
“To carry the men’s knapsacks. They
-can march faster.”
“Do you think it makes it any more
respectable to call it 'pressing?"
The officer’s face was flushed. I
thought it was because he was ashamed
of his work; but I soon noticed that he
was in a burning fever.
“You shan’t take my pony, anyway,”
I cried, going to a man who was leading
him out of the baril and seiz’ng the
halter.
“Nevermind that horse,” said the of¬
ficer ; ‘ ‘ it’s only a pony. Take it back
into the stable.”
The man obeyed at once. They har¬
nessed two horses to the wagon, and
led the team into the road. As the
soldiers marched past it they threw their
knapsacks on the wagon, and it was
soon loaded, and one of the negroes
drove it away.
Just then an officer came along with
a number of other officers and a train of
horsemen following him. 1 noticed that
he had stars on his shoulders, and wore
a straight sword instead of a crooked one
like the rest.
“Captain,” who he said, looking at the of¬
ficer had taken our horses and
wagon, “you’d better not try to go any
farther.”
“I can go on, general. It’s only in¬
termittent.”
The general cut him short with, “Stop
where you are.” He spoke so sharp that
J thought he was going to bite the cap-
nin's head ofT. I wished the captain
had the comage to answer him, but he
hadn’t. The general and those who
were with him rode on, leaving the sick
man them, sitting on his horse looking after
to take care of himself as best he
could. I noticed he wore the same orna¬
ment on his cap as those about the gen¬
eral—a wreath—and I concluded he was
one of them.
There was an interval in the passing
regiments, and no one was near but the
captain and me.
“What are you going to do?” I asked
him.
I was sitting on the fence, with my
feet dangliug. It wasn’t a very graceful
position, but I was only a country girl
then, and didn’t know any better.
“I don’t know,” be said, wearily; “I
suppose I must ride back to N-.
There’s a hospital there.”
If he hadn’t been a Yankee and a rob¬
ber, or a ’presser, which is the same
thing, I’d have asked him to come into
the house at once, he looked so sick.
. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself,” J
said, “to take horses that don’t belong
to you?”
He did look ashamed. “It isn’t a
pleasant business,” he said. “Y'ou’d
better get that pony of yours out of the
way; there’ll be more troops along here
by-and-bv.”
When he said this liis voice sounded
so pleasant, and he looked so sick, that
I made up my mind to ask him in. But
I couldn’t bring myseif to speak kindly
to him. I couldn’t forget that he was a
Yankee soldier.
“Come into the house,” I said, sharply.
He looked at me out of his melancholy,
feverish eyes.
“No, I thank you. I’ll ride back to
N-and he turned his horse's head
to ride away.
I called to him to stop. He obeyed
me, and I went out into the road and
took hold of his bridle.
“What do you mean by that?” he
asked, surprised.
“I going to ’press your horse.”
“What for?”
“To keep for the safe return of those
you’vo taken.”
He looked at me sort o’ dazed. He
put his hand to his head, and didn’t
seem to know what to do. I led his
horse up to the veranda. He dismount¬
ed and walked feebly up the steps and
sat down on a bench, while I took his
horse round to the barn.
Well, the captain was put to bed. He
had typhoid fever, and a very bad case
it was. Occasionally, when troops
would come into the neighborhood, I
wound mount my pony, and ride over
to their camp and ask to have a surgeon
come and see him. Between the sur¬
geons and my nursing we got him
through the crisis. I. nursed him for
six weeks. Then he became con¬
valescent, and it was very nice to have
him sitting up in an arm-chair on the
veranda looking so pale and handsome.
I used to sit by him with my work, and
he seemed so gentle and so patient—not
at all like he appeared to me when I
first saw him riding back to the barn to
’press the horses—that I began to feel
sorry he wasn’t one of our own men in¬
stead of being nothing but a detestable
Yankee.
One day while I was sitting on the
veranda beside him, sewing, he said :
“Miss Molly, are you still holding my
horse as a hostage?”
“Yes. Ours haven’t come back yet.”
“Don’t you think you could let me
take him when I get well, if I should
promise to go and find your horses, and
have them returned ?”
“I’ll see about that when you get
well.”
He’d been talking already about going
on to join the army, but I din’t think
him well enough, arid didn’t mean to let
him go. He couldn’t very well go
without his horse, so I wouldn’t let hint
have it.
“VVhathoslage do you require in token
of my appreciation of your kindness since
I’ve been sick?” he asked.
“Y’ou haven’t anything to leave. Be¬
sides, I’ve'done very little, I'm sure.”
He thought, a moment. Then he said,
somewhat sadly:
“Yes; there’s one thing with I can leave—
only one. I’ll leave that you.”
I couldn’t think of 'anything he had
except his revolver, and 1 was sure he
wouldn’t leave that. It wasn't appro
pi iate. I Waited for him to tell me, but
he raid nothing about it then.
At last he was well enough to go. At
least he thought so; I didn’t. lie was
still as weak as a kitten, but I saw how
anxious he was, and I didn’t oppose him
any longer. So one pleasant morning,
when the air was soft and the roads were
dry, I told one of the colored boys to
bring the captain’s horse round from the
barn.
The captain stood on the veranda ready
to mount and ride away. His blanket and
rubber poncho were strapped behind the
saddle, just as he had left them, and his
horse was so anxious to be olf that the
boy could hardly hold him. The cap
tain took my hand in his to say good-by,
and looked straight into my eyes. 1
lowered them to his spurs.
“You’re a good girl,” he said. “I’ll
not “Oh, forget your kindness.”
I would have done the same for
any one.”
“Any one:”
Then “Any one.”
I asked myself: “What did I
want to say that for.”
“I leave you the hostage I spoke of,”
he said, “bnt it is a very poor return for
so much kindiess—a mere bagatelle.”
I could have bitten my tongue off. He
what was going had to make a return—to pay for
1 done for him.
“Y’on will find it,” he added, “if you
have the shrewdness to guess where it
is.”
With that he gave my hand apressure,
and looked long and steadily into my
eyes. Then he mounted his horse and
rode away without ouce looking back.
As soon as lie had gone 1 commenced
to think what lie could mean about leav¬
ing a hostage. I was sure he wouldn’t
offer anything very valuable. He must
know I wouldn’t like that; but I thought
he might leave some little trinket for me
to remember him by. I ransacked the
room he had occupied, looking into
bureau drawers, into closets, any place
the ingenuity of man could find to hide
anything. hanging I even looked behind the
pictures on the wall. Then I
went all over the house from attic
to cellar. Not a thing could 1 find.
Then I recalled his words: “Ii yo t are
shrewd enough to guess where it is,” and
went all over my search again. At last I
gave it up. “A pretty way to treat me,”
I grumbled, “after takingcare of him so
long!” I vowed that if ever I should
see him again he should tell me whether
he had really left anything, and what it
was.
News came of terrible fighting at the
front. Stragglers, broken-down horses,
wagons, ambulances from which now
and then a ghastly face would look out,
kept days. going by day after day for several
full The yard, the They barn, the kitchen,
were of men. first day they
drank up all the water in the well. Then
regiments when inarched by almost as fast as
they were making their forced
march South. They passed on by the
house, but stopped on the crest of the
hill up the road. There they began to
dig with spades and shovels, and the
next morniug when I looked out there
was flying a long line of forts, and, and the Yankee
flag above them, great heav¬
ens ! the black mouths of cannon frown¬
ing directly down at us.
thing While rattle I was far looking down I the heard road. some¬
It
sounded like emptying a barrel of stones
into another barrel. Then another rat¬
tle, ing. mingled the with a constant sounds dull doom¬
All morning the kept
coming tinctly nearer, till loud at last I could dis¬
hear the reports of cannon
and of muskets all fired at once. I no¬
ticed a great stir in the forts above.
Horsemen were galloping back and
forth; new guns were every moment
thrusting out marching their and ugly countermaich- mouths, and
men were
ing. I could hear their officers shout¬
ing gibberish at them, which they must
have been Indian or Chinese to under¬
stand. Then more soldiers tired, passed the
house from the South, dusty,
grimed, wounded some and of them along running, slowly. some
tottering behind
All passed in a steady stream the
forts.
Suddenly a hosreman dashed up to the
house—he was all dust and dirt, and his
horse was covered with foam. He throw
himself from the saddle and came up on
to the veranda.
Good gracious! the captain. he
“Come away from here at once,”
said: “our men are retreating; we are
going to make a stand behind the
works. You are directly in range. Be
quick! the fire is liable to open at any
moment.”
Then there was a scramble to snatch a
few things. One took a lamp, another
a pitcher, another everybody a photograph the album.
It seemed as if took most
useless thing to be found. All except
me were hurrying down the walk to the
gate; I stayed behind. The captain stamping tried
£o make me hurry. He was
up and down on the veranda and through
the hall, almost crazy at my delay.
‘‘Come, be quick!” he said, as sharp
as if he were the general h mself.
“Captain—” “What I said, hesitating,
is it?” he asked, impatiently,
“The hostage.”
“What hostage?”
“That you left when you went away,
I couldn’t find it. Must we leave it.”
He looked at me a moment as if he
thought I had lost my senses; then he
burst into a laugh.
I never could stand to be laughed at,
and just then it was particularly obnox¬
ious. I made up my mind that he
should tell me what I had hunted for,
and tell me there and then.
“Never mind that,” he said, seeing
that I was irritated. “Save yourself and
it will be in no especial danger. “
“I’ll not leave it, whatever it is,” I
said, resolutely.
field “Come, come! this will be a battle¬
in a few minutes.”
“I won’t stir a step till you tell me
what I want to know.”
“Nonsense!” he said, severely.
The more severe his tone, the more
resolute I became. I stood stock-still.
“For Heaven’s sake!” he urged, be¬
coming really frightened; “the gunners
hands are standing ready with the lanyards in their
to fire.”
“Let them fire!” I folded my arms.
A volley sounded a short distance
down the line of forts to the west. The
captain tried to seize my wrist.
“Ho come," he pleaded.
‘STell me what was the hostage,” I
said, stubbornly.
“Here?”
“Here.”
“No, no; this is not a fit place to veil
you that.. For the love of Heaven do
come away !”
I vowed I would conquer him or die on
the fie'.d.
“You shall either tell me or I will stay
here till the battle is over.”
He looked at the frowning forts
anxiously, then back at me.
“You must know?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“'Well, then, Molly dear, I left you my
heart.”
“I stood as one who sees an engine
coming straight down on him, and
whose limbs are ; aralyzed from the sud¬
denness of the discovery. Merciful
Heaven! what had I done? What stu¬
pidity! The blood rushed in a torrent
to my cheeks; I covered my face with
my hands.
“And now, sweetheart” taking one of
my bauds from my burning cheek and
leading me hostage, av.ay—“if you’re satisfied
about file we won’t stay here
any longer.” he spoke there explosion in
As was an
the forts, and it seemed as if a dozen
shrieking heads, cats wished were whirling of over would our
I almost one them
strike child me dead. the The captain through led me like
a toward forts smoke
and noise and confusion. I didn’t think
of the battle that was opening; I only
thought how immodest he must think
me, and that he never would believe I
could be so stupid as not to know what
he meant by leaving a hostage.
1 have had to suffer all my life for that
one mistake. I never can .have my way
about anything; for wh/u my husband
finds all other expedient? inv/.ibly for governing
to be failures, he taunts me
with having forced hj t secret at the can¬
non’s mouth.— Harper's Weekly.
Training Athletes.
It is well known that pugilists, pe¬
destrians and others who perform in
public feats requiring great strength and
endurance undergo beforehand severe
training to develop their powers to the
utmost. The rules laid down by their
trainers arc very strict and rigidly with en¬
forced. The following are a few
regard to diet: Little salt. No coarse
vegetable. No pork or veal. Two meals
a day—breakfast at 8 and dinner at J.
If supper is allowed at a!!, it must be a
very light and simple one several hours
before bedtime, and is not recommended.
It is reckoned much against a man's
wind to go to bed with a full stomach.
No fat meat is ever given, and no butter
and cheese, both of which are considered
indigestible. Pies and pastry are not
allowed. Meal must always be taken
fresh, and not seasoned, halt meats are
not allowed. Puddings and hard
dumplings are considered unfit to lie
eaten. The trainers say “people into may their as
well take earthenware
stomachs.”
A correspondent writes: “How long He
can a man walk without a rest?”
can walk without arrest just so long a&.
he behaves himself.
