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    leading to Fort Henry, came in and reported that no signs of the enemy had been discovered. That same night, however, four hundred Indians, led by a few whites, succeeded in placing themselves in ambush near the fort. They lay in two lines concealed by a corn field. Between these lines, along a road leading through the corn field, were stationed six Indians who could be seen by any one entering the road from the fort, and who were placed in that position for the purpose of decoying some of the whites within the line. The next morning—September 1—two men going out after some horses walked along the road and passed some of the concealed Indians, unaware of their presence. They had proceeded but a few steps when, to their great surprise, they discovered the six Indians standing not far ahead. The two men turned and ran for the fort. One of them was shot, but the other was permitted to escape that he might give the alarm.

    "But I am not afraid of being poor," said Polly, with tears in her eyes.


    The moth-er, Nan-cy Hanks, when she came to be the wife of Thom-as Lin-coln, was a score and three years old. She was tall, had dark hair, good looks, much grace, and a kind heart. It is said that at times she had a far off look in her eyes as if she could see what oth-ers did not see. She had been at school in her Vir-gin-ia home, could read and write, and had great love for books. She knew much of the Bi-ble by heart, and it made her glad to tell her dear ones of it. The brave young wife did all she could to help in that poor home.




    Not all of them, of course. A middle-aged architect with a note-book full of bits of gothic, and a reputation for suburban churches, or full of bits of “Queen Anne” and a connexion among villa builders, or an engineer

    Dr. Hopkins, of Fort Branch, Ind., offers something worth the money. In fact The Home of Bert Onward has some very attractive bargains—not the marked-down kind, but horses worth the money.


    And look below in the sluggish tide,

    . . . . . . . .




    He raised many celebrated racers for himself and others, and so judicious was his system that, at the age of two, they had almost the maturity of three-year-olds. His last thoroughbred was a chestnut filly, foaled in 1859, by Lexington, dam Sally Roper (the dam of Berry), which was entered in a stake for three-year-olds, 0 entrance, two mile heats, to come off over the Albion course, near Gallatin, in the fall of 1862. This filly was, of course, a great favorite with Uncle Berry. She never associated with any quadruped after she was weaned, her master being her only companion. At two years old she was large and muscular and very promising, and in the summer of 1861 I urged Uncle Berry to send her to the race course (where I had Fannie McAlister, dam of Muggins, and several other animals in training), that she might be gentled and broken to ride. His reply was: “I have been thinking of your kind offer—I know she ought to be broke, but, poor thing! she don’t know anything; she has never been anywhere, and has never even been mounted. I am afraid she will tear herself all to pieces.” But he finally consented for my colored trainer, Jack Richlieu, to take her to the track. On meeting Mrs. Williams a few days afterwards, I inquired for Uncle Berry. Her reply was: “He is well enough as to health, but he is mighty lonesome since the filly went away.”

    Vanderhoef broke off. Grabo knew he had been going to say something improper but from the heart, such as, "For God's sake don't blow this game out of nervousness now that you have a win in sight"—and this sympathy somehow made the Hungarian furious.

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