Newspaper Page Text
two houses, and Mr. English, as a mem
ber of that committee, submitted a bill
which provided for the submission of
the question of the admission of Kansas
under the Lecompton constitutio to a
vote of the people of Kansas. The bill
was accepted by both branches of Con
gress, and it became a law.
This aet referred the question back to
the people of Kansas, and they voted
against admission under the Lecompton
constitution. After the passage of this
bill President Buchanan :offered Mr.
English an important position in his ad
ministration, and a similar offer was
made by President Johnson, with whom
Mr. English had been in the House of
Representatives; but both offers wcre
.declined. Of the two Senators and
eleven Representatives constituting the
Indiana delegation in the Thirty-third
Congress, only Mr. English and Thomas
A. Hendricks are living.
5 His election for the fourth time, in
1858, was by a larger majority than
ever, although few Democratic Con
gressmen were elected in the North in
that campaign. He attended the Charles
ton convention, not as a delegate, but
in the capacity of a peacemaker. Be
fore the close of the convention he re
turned to Washington. discouraged by
the poor prospect for harmony.
In 1863 he founded the First National
bank of Indianapolis, one of the first to
be organized under the national bank
ing system, and the first to get its issue
in circulation, and became its president,
bolding that office till July, 1877, when
he retired from active business. His
position in regard to the question of the
national finances is sufficiently set forth
in an interview which he gave while he
was president of the Indianapolis bank.
" I want our money to rank with the
same standard recognized b all the
great commercial interests of the world
I want no depreciated or unredeemable
paper forced upon our people. I want
the laboring man when pay day, comes
to be paid in real dollars that will pur
ehase just as much of the necessaries of
life as the dollars paid to the bondhold
ers or officeholders, and with as great
purchasing power as the best money in
the best markets of the world. Honesty,
in my judgment, is the best policy, in
finance and politics, as well as in morals
generally, and, if politicians would take
balf as much trouble to instruct and en
lighten the masses, as they do take ad
vantage of their supposed prejudices, it
would be far better.".
Mr- English is a first cousin of Mrs.
Norvin Green, wife of the president of
the WesternUnion Telegraph Company.
Remains of a(Giant Race in Ohio.
A correspondent of the Cincinnati
Enguirer, witing about the remains of
a giant race found in Musitingum
cotunty, Ohio, says: 'The mound in
which these remarkable discoveries
were made was about sixty-four feet
long and thirty-five feet wide, top
measurement, and gently sloped down
to the bill where it was situated. A
number of stumps of trees were found on
the slope, standing in two rows, and on
the top of the mound were an oak and a
hickory stump, all of which bore marks
of great age. All the skeletons werei
found on a level with the hill, and about
ght feet from the top of the mound.1
-Now to a more particular description of
these antiquama remains:
In one grave there were two skeletons:
one male and one fema.le. The female
face was looking downward, the male:
being immediate,y on top, with the face]
icoking upward. The male .skeleton
measured nine feet in length, and the
female eight feet.1
In anoter grave were also found two:
skeletons-maile and female-with the
female face looking upward and the.
the male face looking downward. The2
male frame in this case was nine feet:
four inches in length and the female
another grave was found a female
skeleton which was incased in a clayi
cofin, holding in her arms the skeleton
of a child three feet and a half long, by
the side of which was an image, which,
upon being exposed to the atmosphere,
The remaining seven were found min
single graves, and were lying on their
sides. The smallest of the seven was<
nine feet in lengtp, and the largest ten I
One single ci-cumstance connected with]
this discovery was the fact that not at
single tooth was found in either mouth
except in the one inc.ised in the clayi
On the south end of the mound was ]
erected a stone altar, four feet and a ha]; J
wide and twelve feet long, built on anc
earthen foundation nearly four feet high,
having in the middle two large flag-.
stoncs, upon wbich sacrifices were un
doubtedly made, for upon them were
found charred bones, cinders y'nd ashes.c
This was covered by about three feet of
earth. This excavation was made un
der 'the direction of the Muskingum
CountyHistorical s-ciety, and thethings
alluded'to in this letter, or dispatch, can
be verified by a number of witnessess
who were present and watched the
work as it progressed. It was pu. sued
with great intercst and diligence, there I
being the strongest incentive to prose
cute the investigation, for such remar k i
able developments in mound-opening I
are very rae andi are therefore fasci
nating in the extreme. Their future 1
labors were also rewarded with ad- I
ditional developments, which, if they I
do not throw additional light upon
this giant race olpeople that once in
habited this country, will at least
What is now a profound mystery the
result of the excavation may in time
become the key to unlock still further
ir.ysteries thv't centuries ago were com:
mnonplace affairs. I refer to a. stone
thait was found resting against the head
of the clay coffin above described. It is
an ir'regular-stiaped red sandstone,
weagI' ng about eighteen pounds. being 1
str ndy impregnated with oxide of
iron, and bearing upon one side two
James Fisk, of Brattleboro, Vermont,
the f:ther of James Fisk, Jr., has gone
toN~i.ian to osrt'r the show business.
is~ ad~ is a u;nn faflr, combining
a gorden chairiot and a tent for holding 5
1ig >u~ mtips:L-'d for exhibiting a
Jy Little Woman.
A homely cottage, quaint and old,$
Its thatch grown thick with ,green and gold
And wind-sown grasses;
Unchanged it stands in sun and rain,
And seldom through the quiet lane
A idoistep passes.
Yet here my little woman dwelt,
And saw the shroud of winter melt
From meads and fallows;
And heard the yellow-hammer sing
A tiny welcome to the spring
From budding salows.I
She saw the early morning sky
Blush with a tender wild-rose dye
Above the larches;
And watched the crimson sunset burn
Behind the summer plumes of fern
i n woodland arches.
h li e woman gone away
Io u ai tar land which knows, they say,
.No more sun-setting!
I wcnder it her gentle soul,
Securely resting at the goal,
Has learnt forgetting!
My heart wakes up and cries in vain,
She gave me love, I gave her pain
While she was living;
I know not when her spirit fled,
But those who stood beside her said
She died forgiving.
My dove has found a better rest,
And yet I love the empty nest
She left neglected;
I tread the very path she trod,
And ask-in her new home with God,
Am I expected?
If it were but the Father's will,
ro let me know she loves me still,
This aching sorrow
Would turn to hope, and I could say,
Perchance she whispers, day by day,
" He comes to-morrow."
Ilinger in the silent lane,
And high above the clover plain
The clouds are riven;
Across t,. fields she used to know
The light breaks, and the wind sighs low,
" Loved and forgiven."
TMP, OR ANGEL?
My aunt Urania is a woman of great
eergy and penetration. If she sets her
sef to discover a secret, she never rests
util she has enlightened herself down
Oits inmost recesses. When my pretty
frend Elizabeth Terry was holding us
1llin suspense as to her intentions with
rgard to the interesting widower who
>w speaks of her so affectionately as
"my present wife" (significant not only
ofa certain past, hut of a possible
fture), Aunt Urania invited the wary
Lizabeth to take a long country drive.
And, my dear, Ihil have it out of her,
ifwe don't get back till midnight," she
id. They were gone only two hours,
d my aunt entered with a triumphant
m, the grays all in a lather from the
ctorious haste of her return, while in
song contrast was Elizabeth's serene
" How did you do it?" I inquired, at
e first possible moment. "Did she
nfess it all?"
"Confess! my dear, not a word. She
an't an idea that she has betrayed
rself. I only asked her, quite casu
ay, how ma.ny children Mr. Willi as
s, and she answered "Three," with
cla a look, such a sigh !"
The event proved my aunt's acute
ss, and made her more than ever to us
i an object of admiration and terror.
It was rather unfortunate for me that
aant Urania put off her projected jour
y to Europe for six months-the six
onths which decided my fate in life.
[hould have erjoyed them much more,
d manged may affairs much more
;ootly, uninspected by her keen eyes,
.advised by her keener tongue. I
al always believe it showed a very
rsistent state of feeling both in Harry
d me not to retire discomfited from
~watchful a sentinel.
"Yes, of course, your attachment to
e child is very natural, my dear," she
>uld say, "as I said to Mrs. Dubois
)ly yesterday. 'Nothing,' I said, 'can
emore natural. Susan Bardmore,
mlery Bent's first wife, was like a sister
omy niece; no friends could be more
timate; and of course she feels very
uch for the little bo.'
"I wish you wouldn't talk so, aunty!"
xclaimed. "Henry Bent's first wife!
never beard that he had more than
"Oh, no, not as yet, my dear, but it
only a question of time; and pretty
aeraly a very abrupt question, and
ort space allowed for an answer. Of
urse he must have somebody to iook
:r that child; I never saw in all my
e a child that needed it more. The
a~t saucy, spoiled little wretch-a per
c little imp!"
'Aunty! He is a perfect little angel,"
u I. "As fcr care, Coralie keeps him
beautiful order, and he is entirely
d'thy and happy here in the country.
m'i it is all very well to say, 'Of couvie
emust have somebody to take care of
e child, of course he must marry,'
hen you know that if he had no child
ao would say, 'Of course he must
narry, poor fellow! he is all alone; if
ehad even a child to care for, it would
ediffert.L" For my part," I added,
Imue second mairriages."
Oh, you do," said Aunt Urania;
fd then ensued a pause, broken by
bumping at my door with little closed
uw/ me i, let me in, Nora," said
Ie dour little voice, in just his mother's
sweet, imperative way. And the
ncirg eyes that laugh up at me out of
iat fair little face are Susie's very eyes.
1want you, my own Nora," said the
rling. " There is a little calf in the
)rn, and papa'says I can go to see it,
d on must take me."
"ioity-toity!" said Aunt Urania.
1iat is a pretty way to talk to a lady.
ist take you, indeed."
"Papa didn't say just that, did he
Bardie?" I asked, annoyed to feel my
ti coloring under aunty's keen eye.
"lHe said I mustn't go unless I had
h best of care; and I know he meant
u because Coralie is very careless; he
ad she was yesterday, when I got my
oots wet. And the old cow butts at
eif I go nar her. So you mnst:
come, Nora darling; Bardie wants you
Who could resist those eyes?-that
coaxing voice? I had followed just
such eyes and voice all my life, and I
followed them now.
So did Aunt Urania, with her most
investigating spectacles perched on her
" Well, Bardie," she remarked, cheer
fully, "if you say we must, and papa
s s we must, why, we must."
Bardie stood stock-still, with an evil
look on his face.
"I didn't mean you," he said.
" Oh, my dear little boy, that wasn't
polite," I whispered; but he only gave
me a hug, and turned to aunt with a
"You'd better not go. The cow is
quite a dangerous one," he said, in a
very civil tone. " And she doesn't like
red things; they make her furious.
She just runs right at them and tosses
" What is the ch d talking about,
oss what? I'm not a red thing, I
"About your legs," s. . dBardie," yery
distinctly. " You hol1 ., our dress up so
high that the cow will get mad. I
shouldn't wonder if she killed you."
Aunty vouchsafed no reply, but strode
majes-ically on, scorning to veil by one
half inch the somewha unnecessary
conspicuousness of her long scarlet
stockings. Bardie looked at her very
" A very cross dog lives in the barn,"
he remarked. "He bites people. Not
young ladies, Nora darling, nor children
-he i s real good to little b:ys, but
other people he bites."
I could not speak, and I did not dare
to laugh. Auntie's face was awful.
" I am going to the barn," she said,
We made our way through the ducks
and hens, skii tino perilously a yard full
of pigs, and tremilingly passing a small
window in a shed, where protruded a
great head, with short horns and soft
beautiful eyes, but a low rumbling note
proclaimed that it was the bull, the ter
ror of our field walks and grove picnics.
Not that we had reafly encountered him
in the body, but in the spirit he always
seemed to haunt the next field or be
screened by the shadiest tree.
" Oh, Bardie, I don't like the looks of
him," I whispered.
" fake hold of my hand; I'll take care
of you," said the little knight; and we
passed the monster that looked yearn
ingly at us in our freedom, and gave a
resounding bellow that shuddered
through and through me.
Bardie laughed at my fears.
"What are you'fraid of, Nora sweet?
He has got a big ring in his nose, and
can't do anything. Anybody can lead
him about. Papa said once that if you
ould only put a ring on a person, you
could lead him by his nose.''
"What's that?" said Aunt Urania,
We entered the barn, full to overflow
ing with sweet new hay, and fragrant
with its perfume, and with the breath
f the patient cow that lay contentedly
in her corner, with her head raised in
watchful care of her little weak-legged
scrawny offspring. I had never seen a
ery young calf before, and was disap
"Veal!" pronounced Aunt Urania.
And not particularly good at that. I
Bardie did not understand the
"Isn't it lovely?" he cried. " I wish
apa would buy it for me, the dearest
ittle thing! What makes it look so
fnny and wet?"
" It's mother has been giving it some
hing which is 'rood for all little chi]
ren, Bardie," said my aunt. "Par
ticularly for little boys. A good lick
Bardie understood this time, and
ooked vengefully at her. Then snap
ping the fingers of his minute hand to
the old dog, that lay near flapping a
eavy good-natured tail against the
ard boards, he uttered a low but per
fectly distinct " St, bo-yt"
Up jumped the obedient Bruce with a
lumsy leap, and ran, barking loudly,
to the door, where he supposed the un
seen enemy to be lurking. A unt Urania
" Did you do~ that, you little rascal?"
she asked, not quite sure, however, for
she had been watching my successful
effort to climb to the top of a great
ountain of hay, where I now sat amid
the fragrance of dried clover leaves, and
felt in paradise.
It was an admirable point of view,
but not a convenient place to render as
sistance in an emergency. And thus it
happened that I could see the cow,
growing uneasy at the hubbuh, rising
to her feet, and finally, with a threaten
ng look, advanced a step or two with
lowerea horns. I could see it all, but
was powerless to help, and could only
" Aunty ! Bardie! the cow! the cow !"
Quick as a wink Baraie slipped past
the angry animal, and, as he expressed
t, "shinned up" the haymow, where
he perched himself triumphantly beside
me. Dignity and age alike forbade the
execise of shinning to aunty, notwith
standing Bardie's opinion of her length
of limb. She wavered, tried for one
brief moment to "look the animal in
he eye," but a forward movement on
he cow's part put that idea to flight,
and she turned and fled, pursued only a
ew steps by the disturbed mother, who
saw her to the door," with a loud
moo of dismissal, echoed in distant
hunder from the small window wherein
gleamed the bull's excited eye; pursued
also, I am ashamed to say, by a derisive
agh from Bardie, who stood on one
leg, baancing himself with a pitchfork,
and shriekeai out: "I told you she
hated red things. Isn't it fun!"
We snuggled down in the hay and
lt the cow quiet herself by a vigorous
return to her nursery duties, and then I
whispered a little adw'onition toBardie
on the subject of his behavior to aunty.
it was by no means the first time I had
rebuked my small charge, and he took
tvery penitently; though when I
found myself saying, "It isn't like
mamma's little boy to act so," I camne
o a full stop, with a sudden remem
brance of Susie's inveterate naughti
ness when Aunt Urania was in the
He liked to hear about mamma, the
sweet bibt, unknown image, whom
oy b.it f had ever brought to his
mind, and L.e lay with his head in my
lap. istening to my stories of our child
ih play and adventures, until the
pleased smile grew vaguer and softer,
and the lcng lashes drooped lower, anal
he slept, looking more than ever like
wandering cherub of heavenly rear
hn,as I sat, doubly prisoned by the
foe beneath and the friend above, I
ard anqui1, nexpected fovotsteanid
Henry Bent entered the barn with
amused and perturbed face.
The cow had settled to a comfortal
nap, the flies droned in the sunshiu
and in the quiet noon hush he wot
have turned away without discoveri
us, but that a low girlish giggle,
which I instantly felt ashamed, reveal
He looked up, laughing. "Oh, the
you are, safe enough; but where is r
" Here, too, I said, in a very lc
tone, and he vaulted upon the hay, a:
saw the pretty sleeping boy; and 1
face softened into the mingled sadn<
and brightness which I often notic
upon it as he looked at her child.
"I met Miss Scudamore just nc
with a horrible tale of danger and in
behavior. It is all right, I see. B
what does possess the child to behave
badly to her? He is a perfect lamb wi
"He has it by inheritance," I sai
with a smile that ended in a sigh. " 1
never looks so like his mother as wh
the irresistible naughtiness comes ov
him, which Aunt Urania has the unfc
tunate talent for evoking."
The same smile was reflected in I
face. the same sigh in his voice.
" True," he said, "you see, as Id
the wonderful likeness in everything
" Why do you never talk to him
Susie?" I said, with a desperate plun
into the difficult subject, for I had nev
before mentioned her name to him sin
the baby was left motherless. " It
not right, Harry, to let him -row up
ignorance of that sweetest of creatun
He is, as you say, her living image;
ought to know and love her, yet
hardly knew what the word motl
meant until he came here to me."
"I could not, I could not," he a
swered, much moved. " I am glad y
do. I knew you would do him go
this sumrer. I cannot tell you t
comfort it is to me to have him in t
country, and with you. I knew y
must love the little fellow, for you by
his mother well."
"Loved her, yes," I said, my tes
suddenly bursting forth. " I can't g
used to doing without her, Hiarry;
can't get over it."
"I see," he said. "We are felloi
The little head stirred; one or two
my tears had fallen on the sweet bal
face and wakened him. He sat up ax
rubbed his eyes, amazed.
"What a funny place ! what longico
webs!" he said. "Oh, I rememb
now, the cow. Is she all right agaii
Why, papa, where did you come from
" I came from the city, Bardie. Wh(
I reached there this morning I foux
the man I wanted to s?e was ill, ax
wouldn't come to town for three day
and so I posted back to you."
"That was right," said Bardie. "'I
me and No"a."
"Yes, to you and Nora," said Harr
with a kind smile at me. " But, Bardi
the first person I met was Miss Scud
more, who told me a very sad tale.
am afraid my little boy was very sau<
"Oh, papa, it was too funny to e
her run withi her red stockings. I to:
her not to come. I told her the co
might kill her. But Miss Scudamnor
why, she scudded more than ever," at
he went into a fit of mirth at his fir
attempt at a pun.
I responded to the sa.ly with a weal
minded laugh, but his father 'ooke
"No more of this, sir," he said, in
voice of strong displeasure. "If yc
can not behave properly to the ladies,
this house, I will send you away wit
your nurse, and not let you come hei
again. I will not expose them to ti
prtness of a naughty little boy."
Bardie cowered under the sevex
glance, and clung to me. I looke
"Do not encourage him, Ellinor,
said Harry, in a softer tone. "It is
great misfortune to a motherless chi]
to grow up among strangers and sei
vants, who spoil him, and then dislik
him because he is spoiled." But 13
stroked the little penitent head, an
then suggested that a hay-rick was nc
the coolest place on a summer noox
and that dinner must be nearly ready.
"Yes, papa; but first I want to as
you something. Wil] you take us, in
and Nora, to drive this afternoon? Th
horses aren't haying to-day, and ~w
want to go so much. Please do."
Harry laughed, and stole a glance a
my face which I dare say revealed azt
oyance as well as amusement.
"Not to-day, Bardie. I am going t
take you over to the hotel to p.lay crc
quet with the little Temples."
" Will you come, too, Nora?" aske
" No, dear; I called there last night,
Isaid, and I drew a long breath at th
idea of a quiet afternoon. Bardie saf
nd Harry away-away for the lon
evening, my heart whispered. Soph
emple and tea at the hotel, and a lon
evening walk, and who ca:: tell wha
else? And with a jealous pang fo
Susie, I thouxght, " If only 1 might hay
Bardie, I wouldn't care."
So, after Aunt Urania had settled her
self for her afternoo~n nap, I changed m:
dress and rested awhile, watching fron
y window until I saw Harry and Bar
die walking across the fields; Corali
followed, and I said to myself: ".
thought so; he will be untrammeled !
nd 1 carried my water-color box an<
sketchin z stool uut to a beautiful spo
at the end of a rambling old garden
where a low stone wall divided th<
straggling flower borders from the pas
Lure beyond. There were shady tree:
and soft overgrown clumps of bushe!
and undergrowth, so that the retreat
though not very tar from the house, wa:
entirely seclu:ded, and it commanded
lovely little glimpse of wood and river
with soft blue hills beyond, and in th<
foreground the white spire of the vil.
lage church shooting up through thi<
Such a qjuiet afternoon to sketch ani
paint! No little tormenting fingers tc
meddle and "joggle," no .perpetual
ittle tongue to ask unceasing ques.
ions; only the silence, and the sum
mer music sweeter than silence; th(
soft whispers in the trees, the droning
bees, the chirp of a bird; even thc
spring of the grasshopper in the grass al
my feet was distinct in the golden hush.
Yes, that hazy light was beautiful, the
>portunity perfect. Why could I not
make use of it? Why could I not paini
instead of sinking back, after a few list
less efforts, with a heavy heart and
clasped hands, and let the full weight oj
my lonely life fall on my spirit? M3
father, always away, glad to be free
from any charge of me; Aunt Urania
well she meant kindly, and was good
to me, but what a bore! Susie, my
hosen friend, my heart's sister, whc
gad led arLd loved me from childhood,
tone into the land of shadows, and none
m0tae her ace in my life forever.
n Even her sweet little boy would be
taken from me no doubt before long,
le and given to some other woman-some
Le, Sophy Temple! And Harry- But
Id just at that stage of my reverie, when I e
ag felt the choking in my throat, and the
of hot tears in my eyes, I heard the same be
ad well-known step close beside me,,and ro
Harry Bent, flushed and breathless,
re threw himself on the ground at my
"I thought I should find you in this e
w lovely spot. May I not come too?" he
ad entreated. s
ts "I thought you had gone with tl
ed "Yes, I left him there playing with is
the little Temples. I made a brief call a
w on the ladies, and then gave Bardie the
is- slip. I wanted to get back, and only i
at hope he will not discover my retreat. b
so Everybody is lazy to-day except you,
th Nora. You have yrour work laid out in
a very notable way, though after all I gl
d, I do not see that you have doue much." n
le J "Some days are unlucky," I an
n swered. I did not feel in the mood. w
er 1 But I will sketch now," and I began to sl
r- work in earnest, partly to get ~J of the fo
searching eyes which seemed read my
tis troubled thoughts.
" Rest instead, Ellinor, and let us talk pa
" "Yes, talk: but I can work too. I
of want to make this picture; the view is
ge so lovely, it haunts me."
er " Ah!." said Harry, "thereis a picture $
ce which haunts me-a pieture I lately si:
is saw, and I can think of nothing else; a
in woman, young, fair, and with the is
s. sweetest mother face; and a little pe
ae child." sE
he " A Madonna?"
er "Perhaps so. The child was asleep. be
Such repose, such confidence in his hc
n. whole attitude and expression! Evi
>u dently the one right spot on earth to
>d him was his place in her arms. And
be she looked like a brooding dove. Nora, ar
ae I can never tell you what I felt when t
>u I came upon you so suddenly to-day hi
ad with my little sleeping boy, nor what a d
revelation from heaven came to my
rs heart that thus it might be-must be. I
et I said we were fellow-mourners; can th
I we not be fellow-comforters?"
I could not speak; the sobs I had Pe
suppressed, the trouble I had been fight- ov
ing, had their own way now. ha
of He looked at me in doubt and distress. ma
)y "What is it, dear Ellinor? Do I hurt fa
d you? do I shock you? Have you no
heart to give me? No, I- will not ask in
b. anything now. Calm yourself, sweet 2,(
er chiid; rely upon me. I will not say wl
another word, if it distresses you like pr
) this." IS:
n "I must speak," I cried, with a des
d perate effort. " Harry, Harry, how can
Ad you ask such things of me, when you
s, know that you can never care for any
body again as you did for Susie?" n
'o "I know," he answered.
"When you know that I am no more th
to be compared to her than this little.
e common flower at my feet is to be com- s
/ pared to an exquisite half-blown rose, tC
I petal after petal laden with sweetness,
down to its secret golden heart?" Sir
" Yes," he answered, picking the lit- bri
tle common flower and holding it to his ter
elips. "~It is not the rose. But it is ler
dheart's-ease. It has its own mission, its tot
,own perfume." ofBria"Icid
"Addo not speak oBade"D cried bei
ttemnpt me with him. I ihhe and I 3
.could go away together to some secret y
~j place, and I could have him always." dii
d "Dear, you may have him always. .
aNo other woman ever shall."th
a A long pause ensued. I determined an
u ogrow calmer before spea&king again- the
h It was so hushed that we could hear a
Sthe stirring of some little rabbits in the tha
ebushes behind. He looked at me en- a
etreatingly. 1 shook my head. an
e"No, no, Harry; do nor ask me, .do At
e not tempt me. I am not much of a girl, hu
dknow, but I am worth more than that-. do,
,, I ought to be first in the man's heart an
Iwho marries me. No, do not speak. soi
a'You know I cannot be first with you, r
Sand so Icannct marry you. Oh, dear!" gr,
~I sighed, " there is nobody on earth ey
e with whom I am first~ nobody who ev
eloves me best of all."
dThe stirring of the rabbit became
tvoety excited, and with a great P0
crushing of leaves and parting of tha
Sbranches, and rending of little blouse, The
Bardie tore himself irom his lair, and of
e flung himself upon me. " Yes, yes, my fan
edarling Nora," he cried, with tears, tici
C kissing my head and face and hands, " IBo
love you the best of all, my own Nora
tI want you. Go away, papa. Marry -
me-marry Bardie, Nora, dear!" and
be threw his arms around me and buried 9
his head in my neck.
"Yes, Nora," cried Harry, clasping
his armsround us both, " marry Bardie;
marry us both. We do want you; weA
can't possibly live without you. There
is nobody on earth, there never will be,l
a whom we love half so well. Sweeth
a Nora, say yes, and make Bardie and me
7 They had conquered. My heart
yielded to both father and child, and I
t made a full surrender, with my head on
r Harry's shoulder, and my arms around
a his child, and my tears all kissed away;
and a wonderful sense of home and be
- longings, and fullness and content,
i glowed through and: through me, and
1 felt as if Sussie's smile came down in
- the sunbeam, irradiating the whole
scene, and blessing the new part I was g
to take in the lives which her death had
left wrecked and stranded.
SAunt Urania came to meet us as we
returned to the farmnhoase, putting on
her spectacles of oiscovery as she came. |
But it needed no glasses to see what had
-happened. Dewy eyes, disheveled c
tresses, happy, agitated faces, told the ea
whole story, even without ibe help to
of the ecstatic child in a wofully torn Ta
blouse crowing over his victory, and gp
hardly waiting to get with!n earshot us
before proclaiming the secret in his clear or
high voice: an
" She's going to marry me, Miss Scud.
dymore; she promised she would!I
And then, as an afterthought, he added : th
" Oh, and papa, too."
The Philosophical1society, of Glassow ni
i to hold an exhibition of gas apparatus a
sn a large scale next autumn, and it is
intended also to make a display at the I
same time of the apparatus which willj ~
illustrate the progress made in electric i
lighting, in telephonic communication, c
in the manufacture of mineral oils, inm
water measurement and regulation, in
hydraulic engines, in heating and venti
lation, etc. There can be no doubt that
this exhibition, taking up, as it meansFv
to do some of the most important prob- P
lemns to which man's attention is given IT
at present, wili prove of great service toTA
those who have to deal practically with O
A rat poison is advertised that will
make rats go away to a neighbor's house
a die It fills a want long felt.
ITEMS OF INTEREST.
Patience is the art of hoping.
Tea culture in Florida is receiving at
Samuel Johnson defined nonsense to
" bolting a door with a boiled car
The Territory of Montana has already
oduced upward of $147,000,000 in
d, and $6,000,000 in silver.
An English firm sold 8,000 fireproof
fes in Turkey before it was ascertained
Lat the filling was only sawdust.
A leading hotel in Dundee, Scotland,
furnished throughout with furniture
ade in Grand Rapids, Mich.
The average yield of potatoes in 1879
the United States is stated to have
en only sixty-nine bushels per acre.
Talk of fame and romance-all the
orv and adventure in the world are
)t worth one hour cf dcmcstic bliss.
The law should be to the sword
hat the handle is to the hatchet; it
iould direct the stroke and temper the
In Paris the fashionable shade is " sul
tur." There is one other place where,
o, it is fashionable.-New York Her
The deficit in the postoflice depart
ent for the fiscal year of 1879 was
,407,916, which is less than any year
An oatmeal factory in Dubuque, Ia.,
shipping over 45,000 pounds of meal
r week to Scotland at a cost of
venty-five cents a hundred.
It is wonderful how silent a man can
when he knows his cause is just, and
>w boisterous he becomes when he
Lows.he is in the wrong.
Two hundred and seventy-two trains
rive and depart from Chicago every
,enty-1our hours. Forty-four railroads
,ve offices in that city.
Grace-" I am going to see Clara to
,y. Have you any message?" Char
:te-" I wonder how you can visit
at dreadful girl? Give her my love.'
Missionaries report that a town near
kin, China, seems about to come
er en masse to Christianity. They
,e been reading Cyristian books, and
my families have destroyed their
Philadelphia has 472 public scuiools,
structing 103,567 pupils by means of
)70 teachers, only seventy-seven of
aom are men. The value of the school
operty owned and in use by the city
"Goods at half price," said the sign.
Tow much is that teapot?" asked the
I lady who had been attracted by the
nouncement. "Fifty cents, mum."
guess I'll take it then," she said,
cowing down a quarter. The dealer
her have the teapot, but took in his
n before another customer could
mue in.-Boston Transcript.
An exchange says that the king of
m lis coming to this country, an?d will
ng his suit with him. Wel he'd bet
,unless hie has a friend here who will
d him one. The weather is entirely
>changeable for a man to come so far
ay from home without his suit, and,
ides, people might mnake remarks
ut him.-Midletown Transcrizt.
Did you ever notice the little rag
iflin in the street with a supremefy
ty face ? Taffy, bread and butter
d mo,lasses form the groundwork for
e accumulation of dust and grime,
d his cheeks look like twin maps of
3 oceanic archipelago; his hands and
ists look like animated tree roots,
ey are so dirty, and his feet and
kles partake of the mud they contact
th. Of course you've noticed him.
td he is the lightest-hearted bu.nchi of
man nature you ever saw. Dirt
esn't strike any deeper than beauty,
d within his heart is as clean littlea
il, and a great deal treer one, as ever
w inside the neatest and slickest
ang devotee of soap and waetr that
r lived, washed and suffered.-New
Why is it," writes " Lilian Maud '
itingly to an exchange, "why is it
t all the nice men are engaged?"
3y're not, Lilian, they're not. Several
us are still in maiden meditation
cy free. Was there anything in par
il that you wanted to know for?
01 THE HOBSE
~ontaining an Index of Di
ss, which gives the Symp
m, Cause, and thie I3est
-eatment of each. A TIable
v'ing all the principal drugs
ed for the Horse, with the
dinary dose, efreets, and
tidote when a poison. A
.ble with an Engraying of
e Horse's 'Teeth at differ
t ages with Inules for tell
g the age. A -valuable 0o1
tion of Receipts and
ach other valuable infor
0-Pll OOpaid to
a ny ad
ess in the Unite d R tates or
eCopies - - - C 1.00
n Copies - - - 1.75
enty Copies - - 3.00
e Hundred Copies * 10.00
14 anWorth St..; N. Y.