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V ABILENE BEFLECIM
VUBUSHED BY
EEFLECTOfi PUBLISHING C0MPA1IY
THE PILGRIMAGE.
Lonj years a?o the heart of a kin
Was carried in state, like a royal thins.
To the Iloly Land, where he longed to go.
Did living desires round his dead heart cling;
And could they be satisfied so!
Flow strange it seems that kings in their pride
Have lived thwarted lives like ours, and have
died
With the thin? that they longed to do undone,
rill, unconquered, some from the grave have
cried
For their hearts to be carried on!
iet never a king had such a stake
As I. in the journey I long to make
To a land, alas, where 1 may not go;
But my heart must be carried there or break,
Whether living or dead, I know.
Tome, yellow-hatred little boy of mine:
Let me see your face, where your young hopes
shine.
You're loving, my darling, and strong and
true:
Tou'll journey, while I vainly long and pine.
So my heart I will send with you.
For I yearn to follow your life, my sweet;
Ti a long hard way for your eager feet.
And I can go only a little part;
But, dear, till jour pilgrimage is complete.
Will you carry your mother's heart!
li'ttit ChawlUr, in Harper' Bazar.
ONE OF THE MANY.
Pathetic Story of a Terrible Strag
gle with Poverty.
They had been married for rather more
than a year Jim Carrol and Ins pretty little
wife and their baby daughter was two
months old.
He was a fine fellow, was Jim well set
up, and pood to look at; chivalrous, upright,
and honest as the day. But though he came
-of a good old stock of which he was the
last he was only a clerk in a London
architect's office, with a miserable salary of
100 a year, which, of course, lie might
loso with his situation any day. It will be
clear, I hope, to the meanest understanding
that under these circumstances he had uot
the smallest right to think of matrimony,
-so when he had the audacity to propose for
Marjory Linton niece and ward of the
pompous and wealthy old Joseph Linton, of
Manchester that gentleman gave him a
very short shrift, and promptly showed him
the door. And when, a month later, pretty
independent Marjory ran away with this
same handsome, impecunious Jim Carrol,
her irate uncle to use his own expression
"washed his hands of her and closed his
door against her and her husband forever."
At this terrible sentence llnrjory did not
trouble herself very much, nor did her
husband suffer it to affect his peace of mind.
He was too happy to care whether all the
rich old men in Europe closed their doors
against him or otherwise.
They lived in a tiny house in a red-bricked.
pointed-gabled terrace at Camberwell; and
they had enough to do to pay the rent and to
make ends meet generally, especially after
the baby came. But they loved each other
passionately, and that made things easier.
Marjory was the most sunny-hearted and
hopeful of little women; and she was quite
sure that some day Dornton & Cox awak
ening to a sense of Jim's abilities would
take him into partnership and make his for
tune. But alas! for Marjory's dreams, on the
particular evening on which this story
opens Carrol was wending his way home
Avard dejectedly enough, for Dornton & Cox.
having had heavy losses lately, were reduc
ing their staff of clerks, and among those
dismissed to-day was James Carrol. Jim
jfelt stunned and bewildered ; for situations
were not as plentiful as blackberries in Lon--don
in 1SS4, any more than they are now.
'O Jim, how late you arc!" cried little
Mrs. Carroll as she flew to the door to meet
her husband. "1 thought you were never
coming! I had to put baby to bed at last."
"Uad you, dear?" he answered, absently,
as he followed her into the small but cosy sit
ting room.
He looked depressed and out of sorts,
"Marjory thought. Perhaps he has one of
his bad headaches. But like a wise little
-woman asked no questions; only poured out
"his tea, and gave him his slippers. He did
not eat any thing, she noticed; but sent up
his cup to be filled again and again, draining
it each time feverishly.
He was very silent, too.
"Is any thing the matter, dear" his wife
said at last, in anxious tones.
"Yes, Marjory," ho answered, with an
effort. Then, after a pause he told her.
For a moment her sunny face was clouded ;
this was a contingency which they never
contemplated. Then sho said, bravely:
'Never mind, Jim. It will not bo difficult
for you to get another situation. I see
scores of advertisements in the papers every
day!"
But Carrol was not so sanguine. He was
of a more gloomy temperament than Mar
jory, and would not be cheered, not even
when baby woke up and smiled and cooed
in his face as was her wont.
"You see, Jim," said Marjory, cheerily,
;,we still have a good part left of your last
salary. It is not quarter-day yet for a good
while, and we can economize in little things.
We might let Ann go." (Ann was the small
maid-of-al!-work,) "sho is really getting
very careless; she broke three plates yes
terday. If I have a chairwoman to come in
Saturdays I can easily manage the work
myself. Baby is so good, and requires so
little attention."
Jim put his arm aronnd her as she knelt
beside him.
"Dear little woman," he said, "I couldn't
let you do that. Not yet, at least."
They studied the paper diligently day after
day. Carrol answered innumerable adver
tisements, both by post and personally, but
in vain, though he spent an alarming sum in
postage stamps, and returned night after
night weary, heartsick and footsore.
The days went on; quarter-day drew near
and passed, and the Carrols' little store of
money melted away. For the baby had been
ill, and several tradesmen's bills, small but
imperative, had had to bo paid. The weather
was oppressively hot and enervating, and
Marjory's little face began to look pinched
and worn, for tho baby was peevish and
f retrul, requiring constant nursing and at
tention, and the servant had been dismissed
some time ago.
Another week passed. Jim felt almost
desperate, for he could obtain no employ
ment, and, to make matters worse, the
baby fell ill again. It seemed a kind of
wasting, nameless illness. She cried and
wailed night and day and grew almost
hourly more shadowy looking. The doctor,
whom Carrol at last called in, shook his
head, asked a few questions, advised change
of air, and ordered the young mother to
take "plenty of nourishing food." "With a
-view to furthering the latter object change
of air being out of the question Jim
pawned his watch and chain. Poor fellow
he felt shamefaced and embarrassed enough
as he took the ticket and buttoned his coat
over his now chainless waistcoat. But the
money so obtained kept them going for
some little time; and Carroll, meanwhile,
did not for a day relax his efforts to obtain
employment He searched with anxious
diligence in each evening's paper the column
devoted to "vacant situations," and an
swered various advertisements which
seemed singularly suitable. But those
-who have studied that column not for
amusement or curiosity, but for dear life
know that of these advertisements only too
many are simply swindles, and that the com
paratively few which are bonalide are
Bpeeddysscared by those who have either
he influence or the experience, which Jim
Carrol had not He set off everv moroin
for the city, neglected no opportunity, left
no stone unturned, but in vain.
Housed to "dine in town," he told his
wife; but in reality nothing passed his lips
from the time he went out in the morning
until he returned, unsuccessful, hopeless
and exhausted in the evening. Majory
never guessed this, and she herself did
without absolute necessaries, silently, and
with uncomplaining cheerfulness. It was a
terrible time for them both; perhaps it was
hardest on Jim, for he had not Marjory's
elastic, hopeful nature, her happy, almost
childlike faith and trust that things would
be better by and by. He felt, too, that he
had brought her to this life of poverty and
privation, which he seemed so powerless to
avert; and as he thought of the future
grim and black, and uncheered by any gleam
of hope his heart sickened an! died within
him.
In September they moved out of their
pretty home to a very small and dingy cot
tage which stoed alone, a little way back
from a side street, behind a timber yard. It
was not an attractive dwelling, but it was
very cheap, and the rent of their former
house was now out of the question. To de
fray the various inevitable expenses con
nected with the removal, and one or two
other necessary outlays, they sold some of
their furniture and a few other things be
sides.
Marjory's jewelry had all gone long ago.
One aay, in walking westward along
Fleet street, Carrol met an old fellow-clerk
by name Archie Lyle.
"Hello, Carrol!" Lyle exclaimed, grasp
ing the former's hand heartily and turning
to walk alongside. "Howareyou? Haven't
seen you for a month of Sundays. Why,
you look down in the mouth, old man,
What's up, eh I"
"Nothing particular," replied the other
coldly enough, "except that I have been out
of a situation since I left Dornton & Cox.
Inspecting public buildings when you have
a wife and child to keep on nothing is not
a particularly exhilarating or lively occupa
tion," he continued bitterly.
"By Jove, no !" said the other in serious
tones, lie was a good-natured, easy-going
fellow, who had rarely known the want of
a live-pound note, and who, as a rule, had
only to sit still and let things come to him.
"I'm awfully sorry, old fellow," he went
on, awkwardly. "You know I'll never for
get the lift you gave me two years' ago. I'm
awfully sorry," he continued, with less tact
than good nature; "upon my soul, I don't
know when I was so hard up as I am this
month. Until I get my next "
"Confound you! What are you talking
about J" interrupted Carrol haughtily. "Do
you take me for a beggar!"
Lyle murmured some confused apology.
"I don't want your money," Carrol went
on in brusque tones. "Can you tell me of
any thin;; I can get to do I Any thing. I am
not proud," with a short laugh.
The other cogitated, then shook his head.
"By the way," ho s aid suddenly, when
they had crossed several streets in compara
tive silence, "you are a good draughtsman,
are you not! You have a good idea of plans
and that!"
"I ought to have," returned Carrol,
dryly, "seeing that I have been a clerk in
an architect's office for the last three
years."
"Ah, ye3, to be sure. Well, I know de
signs aro wanted for a new hospital some
where near Manchester. The premium is a
hundred pounds. Now "
"For God's sake, tell me," interrupted tho
other eagerly and hoarsely, "do you think
I have any chance!"
"Well," said Lyle, "I was going to have
a try. My father has an idea I ought to dis
tinguish myself in that line; but I'm an aw
ful duffer on plans always was. So, if you
care to go in for it it's a goodish premium
it might bo worth your while. And, by
the way, Carrol, don't signyourown name;
for I believe old Lintou, your wife's uncle,
is to be one of the judges. He is still no end
down on you; and it might make a differ
ence. See! Sign it oh, any thing you
like, and send it under cover to me. You
can trust me not to father it" he added,
laughing. "I'll send you all the particulars
to-morrow, and let you know whenever the
thing's decided."
"Lyle, I can not thank you sufficiently,"
said Carrol, unsteadily, "though I fear
there is very little chance for me."
"Pooh !" replied the other, in airy tones,
"you've as good a chance as any of the
rest"
"How soon must it go in!" asked Carrol
feverishly.
"Ah, let's see I think in a fortnight
but I'll let you know."
They were in the Strand by this time,
and Lyle stopped at the nearest restaurant,
for it was past two o'clock.
Carrol declined his companion's invita
tion to accompany him, aud with a grasp of
the hand the two men parted. Jim turned
down a side street, and thence through the
Embankment Gardens to the river. Ho did
not feel very hopeful, for when the body is
weak, tho spirit is apt to bo weak too; and
big, stalwart-looking fellow a3 ho was, Car
rol had but little stamina; and the past
months of ceaseless anxiety and lately, of
almost starvation had told on him terribly.
He walked slowly along the Embankment
and across Westminster bridge, and so
home.
Majory met him with her usual cheery
smile; but he fancied her sweet face was
paler and more worn-looking than ever; and
the baby's eyes unnaturally large and
bright seemed to follow him reproachfully.
His wife clapped her little hand3 joyfully
when ho told her of Lylc's proposal; and she
was so merry and hopeful all eveuing that
Jim felt his spirits rise. She prepared a
nice little supper for him, too; aud Jim did
notuotice for a wonder that one or two
of their cherished books had disappeared.
Baby was very good to-night, she did not
cry at all; and the oveniug was the most
cheerful they had passed for some time.
In the evening of tho following day came
the promised letter from Lyle, and as soon
as it was light next morning Carrol began
his task. He worked hard and patiently,
but he suffered terribly from nervous head
aches; he took even less food than usual, and
the baby's constant monotonous wail made
him sometimes half crazy.
At last tho drawing was finished. Carrol
signed it " 'Isola,' care of A. Lyle, Esq.,"
as his friend had suggested. Marjory
thought it beautiful and had no doubt of its
being successful. But Carrol was not so
sanguine. However, he sent it off at ouce,
and Marjory already began to calculate how
long a time must elapse before its fate
would be decided.
It was weary waiting though; and to Jim
aye, aud to Marjory too the once-dreaded
pawnshop became sadly and painfully famil
iar. Meanwhile their baby was slowly but
surely fading away from them.
One afternoon Carrol returned somewhat
earlier than usual from the city, whither he
had been in answer to some luring will-o'-the-wisp
advertisement It was a dull, wet
day; and as he turned up the narrow street
which led to his home, his heart sajik with
a curious undefined dread. They had been
up with the baby all night; but she had
seemed better and brighter when Jim left
in tho morning.
Marjory met him, as she always did, at
the door. At a glance his fears were
quickened.
"What is it!" ho said, hastily. "The
child is she worse!"
"Jim," she answered, looking up at him,
with dry, grief-stricken eyes; "Jim baby
is dead I"
Ho followed her silently to the room
where the tiny creature, with waxen feat
ures so like hu own, lay cold, and still, and
smiling.
"When!" ho asked in a choked voice.
"Just three hours ago," she replied, mo
notonously. Carrol stood loking down on all that was
left to him of his baby daughter, and
smoothed the short, fluffy hair with s,
strange wistful look in his dark sunken
eyes.
"Poor little thing!" he said, sadly and
brokenly. "God knows what she is spared!"
There was a silence, for Marjory could not
speak. The rain dripped on the window I
sill outside, the wind shook the casement
and moaned in the chimney. Then, with a
quick, dry sob Carrol took his wife in his
arms and they mingled their tears together.
A few more davs passed and the baby was
buried. Even that was a struggle to the
poverty-stricken father and mother. It
was wonderful how thoy missed the tiny
thing theirs for so shortatime herfunny,
winning baby way3, and even her fretful,
peevish cries. To Marjory, during the long
hours when her husband was absent, the
houso seemed horribly, unnaturally still
and desolate.
The weather was wet and chilly, and Jim
caught a cold which ended in a sharp at
tack of bronchitis and left him mora spirit
less and haggard-looking than ever. So the
autumn dragged on.
At last one dreadful day when even
Marjory broke down, and when Jim looked
so weak and ill as he set off on his weary
and fruitless quest for work that it almost
broke his wife'3 heart to see him at last,
privately, and with many pangs of humbled
pride, Mrs. Carrol wrote to her uncle. She
did not tell her husband, for she knew that
if sho did nothing would induce him to let
the letter go. The answer came soon
enough; and it so chanced that Carrol met
the postman at the door and took the letter
from him. He gave it to his wife and
waited while she read it; then, seeing hsr
face blanch, took it from her trembling
hands and with compressed lips glanced at
the few words it contained. It was short
and to the point
"Dear Marjory: If you like to leave your
husband I will take you back to your old home.
On no other terms, and in no other way will I
help you. You took your own way and now
you may take the consequences.
"Joseph Linton."
It said much for Jim's utter heart-sickness
that he did not even show any dis
pleasure at Marjory's having written. He
only said gently:
"You should not have asked him, dear."
But passionate little Marjory tore up the
letter and threw it into the fire-place.
It haunted Jim, though. If it were not
for him, ho thought, wretchedly, his Mar
jory would be cared for again as she ought
to be. He knew her too well to think sho
would leave him. No word had come of his
drawinghe had almost given up hope; a
deadly, horrible depression seemed to have
taken possession of him. Every way seemed
closed to him save one.
"Dear," he said one night with an "effort
thoy had been sitting silent for a long
time in the dismantled little sitting room
"would you not like to go back to Man
chester!" "What, without you, Jim!" she cried,
with incredulous amazement in her tired
little voice.
"Yes," very steadily.
"Ah, Jim," in tones of keen reproach, "do
you wan't me to go!"
"My darling, you need not ask mo that,"
and Jim's voice shook slightly. "But it
would be better for you."
"Ah, my dear," she said, with an attempt
at her old sauciness, "you need not hint:
you can't get rid of me. Don't think of it."
Then she suddenly laid her curly head on
his knee and began to cry.
"O, Jim," she said, "don't send mo
away! How can you speak so! You
break my heart ! Ah, darling, you could not
do without mo, could you!"
"God forgive mo, no," he answered,
hoarsely. "You aro all 1 have!" As he
spoke he drew her into his arms and hold
her against his breast. She clung to him,
sobbing passionately, for a long time.
"Marjory," he said, suddenty, have you
had any thing to eat to-day! For you ate
nothing this morning."
"Yes, dear, of course I have," sho an
swered, sitting up and drying her tears.
"What had you!" noting with a pang how
wan and weak she looked, and what heavy
shadows layuuder her sweet brown eyes.
"O, all I wanted.-'
"I know what that means," he said, in
low, agitated tones. "Child, you are starv
ing yourself to death I lam killing you
you, my little Marjory, who are dearer to
me than my own soul ! You are dying be
fore my eyes as pur baby did and I can
do nothing nothing! O, my God this is
torture 1" And laying his head down on his
arms on tho table, he, too, sobbed a man's
heavy, heart-rending sobs, tearless and bit
ter. In an instant Majory's arms were around
his neck, her lips resting on his dark bent
head.
"Hush, dear boy, hush," she said, in her
quaint little motherly way. "You aro talk
ing nonsense, dear. I haven't the slightest
thought of dying, you foolish Jim. Don't,
my dear, don't!" she went on, imploringly.
But Carrol's self-control seemed to have
deserted him utterly; and for a timo his
agitation was terrible.
Then there was a long silence, broken at
last by Marjory's voice, in anxious tones :
"You have eaten nothing to-day, Jim, I
am quite sure; and you are quito faint and
worn out."
"My darling, I could not eat," he answored
wearily, raising his head and leaning back
in his chair. (There were only two chair
in the room now, and very little else.)
Marjory's soft brown eyes fi.led again
with tears; but she resolutely winked them
away, and said, trying to smile: "Wo will
make up for lost time and have some sup
per. Then things will look brighter. I
have an idea, do you know, that our luck is
going to take a turn."
Jim smiled faintly; his ideas pointed in a
diametrically opposite direction.
"And therefore," Marjory went on, with
a gayety the more touching, to Jim, because
he knew it was assumed for his sake, "we
will go out and buy something for supper,
my dear Jim. A great fellow like you can
not possibly live on bread and tea and not
much of that as you have been doing.
Now I wonder,"- looking round the room
meditatively, "if there is nothing moro wo
can put away!" (They always called it
'putting away.")
Carrol did not speak. He could not, just
then. Marjory stole softly up stairs to her
bedroom, and slowly opened a small box
which stood there. It contained nothing of
much value, seemingly. Only a. few baby
clothes and a tarnished silver rattle, of
which latter the tiny bells tinkled merrily as
Marjory lifted it Her tears fell thick and
fast as she rubbed the pretty toy with an old
glove until it shone quite brightly in the
dim candlelight Then she went down
stairs. Jim was sitting where sho
had left him, but he turned as she came in
and shivered slightly; for the night was
chilly, and a fire was a luxury not to be
thought of. She held the rattle out to him
silently.
"O, Marjory, not that I can't!" he said,
hoarsely, hiding his face in his hands.
"Yes, dear," said the sweet, unsteady,
little voice. "We we " She stopped
uncertainly, and, to her husband's terror
and dismay, fainted suddenly and quietly
away in his arms.
The next day Carrol h imself wrote to old
Joseph Linton. His letter was returned
unopened.
Tost these letters for me. King will
your' said Archie L yle, one October fore
noon. "Fm off in a tearing hurry to catch
a train. Don't fo rget them, there's a good
fellow."
"All right," said the you ng man addressed ;
and he put the letters carelessly into the
breast pocket of his overcoat
"Hang it all," King said to himself the
next day, "I've forgotten to post Lyle's let
ters. However, I dou' suppose it matters
much. He'll be none the wiser." Hedropped
them into the first pillar box he came to,
and lighting a cigar, sau ntered on his way.
On the morniiig of this same day Carrol
and his wife were standing, pale and silent,
at the window of their sitting-room. They
were watching for the postman. They had
watched for him nnspokenly, feverishly,
despairingly, for many days. Soon they
heard the sharp rat-tat on the doors in the
distance. He came nearer. He knocked at
the door of the ho use nearest theirs. Then
.he passed on!
O, Jim I" said the little wife despairingly.
Carrol was white to "his very lips
"Nevermind, chlldie," he Bald, patting
his arm round her, and trying to speak
steadily.
"O.my dear, I can't help it," she sobbed.
'There was a long pause; then Marjory
said, almost cheerily: "Perhaps if-you went
to Mr. Lyle, he could tell you, Jim "
"I did go, Marjory", yesterday, he inter
rupted her quietly, "but he has gone from
home for a fortnight If my drawing had
been successful he would have written be
fore he left Try not to grieve, darling; it
can't be helped," Jim went on, with a sickly
smile. "We must try something else. I
may hear of something t-day."
"Perhaps there will be a letter to-night"
said Marjory with renewed hope, as she bid
her husband good-bye at the door.
Jim came home about six, looking terri
bly weary and depressed. He had been un
successful once more.
"No letters yet, dear," said his wife,
hastening to answer the unspoken question
in his eyes. As she spoke they heard the
postman's knock in the distance; it came
nearer and died away.
"Perhaps there will be one in the morn
ing," Marjory went on; but her voice fal
tered. In the morning! Another long, awful,
sleepless night of hoping against hope, of
maddening, steadily-growing despair! Jim
shuddered. He was worn out, physically
and mentally; and he felt as though he could
not stand the sickening suspense longer. As
he looked at his wife, her wan, chanced
little face, with its pale ghost of a smile,
seemed to pierce his heart
A strange, terrible, determined look set
tled round his mouth, bat Marjory was
leaning her curly head against his arm, and
did not see his face.
The room was quite dark now, but they
were still standing at the window. For a
time Carrol was very still. Then he said:
"I am very tired, Marjory, darling. I will
lie down for a while. Don't disturb me. I I
didn't sleep last night" (nor for many nights,
he might have added.)
"But won't you have a cup of tea first
Jim!"
"No, I don't care for any."
"A long sleep will do you good, dear," she
said, anxiously and caressingly. 'You look
dreadfui."
"Yes," he answered, in a strangely quiet
voice, "a long sleep will do me good." Then
suddenly: "Kiss me, Marjory!"
"Ah, my own dear disappointed boy!"
she cried, throwing her arms round him.
He held her to him tightly, and kissed her
again and again.
"My darling!" ho said, hoarsely. "My
own darling!"
Then he let her go, and went away. Sha
heard him go up stairs and his footsteps
echo in the room above.
Marjory sat at the window for a long,
long time; and watched the stars grow
brighter and clearer in the soft dark sky.
Somewhere in tho distance a street organ
was wailing out an old hackneyed waltz tune.
It stirred her heart strangely. She remem
bered dancing that waltz with Jim, so very,
very long ago it seemed long ago, like
every thing else that was bright and hope
ful. Even Marjory's brave little heart was
heavy to-night What would become of
them, sho wondered! God only knew.
The clock in a neighboring church tower
boomed out on tho night air, and as the last
stroke died away there was a sharp knock
at the door. It was the postman. Marjory
took tho one letter he held out to her, and
closing the door again she went back to the
sitting room. With trembling fingers siio
lighted tho candle and examined tho en
velope eagerly. Yes, it was Mr. Lyle's hand
writing! Marjory recognized it without
difficulty, for it was a peculiar hand. With
a beating heart she stole softly up stairs
she did not take the candle, for fear of
waking Jim, should he be asleep and
peeped into the bedroom. All was still. In
the pale starlight she could just make out
the dim outline of his figure on the bed.
"Jim !" she whispered.
No answer. He was evidently asleep.
Ah! it seemed a pity to wake him, she
thought; and perhaps, after all, tho letter
held bad news. She softly laid a shawl
over him in the semi-darkness, and crept
down stairs agaiu.
After lookiDgat the fateful envelope for
some time she slowly opened it She could
not wait, and sho knew Jim would not mind.
In another moment she uttered a littlo glad
involuntary cry, and her lips parted in a
joyful, half-incredulous smile. Could it be
possible! Yes Jim's design had been
selected as the best; tho premium would be
his! And this was not the only good news
the letter contained; for Lyle went on to
say that he had heard of a vacant appoint
ment, which he thought hs could through
his father's influence secure for Carrol.
Majory hid her face in her hands; for a
moment tho revulsion of feeling was almost
too much. Then, in a passion of tears and
thankfulness, she fell upon her knees. But
she could only say: "Thank God! Thank
God!"
An hour passed. The moon was drifting
among the stars and streaming in through
the uncurtained window on Marjory's face
wet with happy tears. The candle had
burned itself out
Ah, what a joyous waking Jim's would
bo! Should she lay the letter on his pillow
to surprise him when he awoke? Or should
she rouse him! Perhaps he was already
awake.
Sho lit a fresh bit of candle, and, still
holding the precious letter, went up staira.
She laid the candle down just outside the
bedroom door and entered very gently.
How deadly still the room wasl
"Jim!" she said, sofly.
But Jim did not answer. How soundly
he slept!
Marjory came nearer and bent over him
in the throbbing darkness. Tho moon had
bidden herself behind one solitary cloud.
"Jim!" a little louder.
Still that strange weird hush. A vague
fear stirred her heart. She did not even
hear him breathe. What if he had fainted !
The moou sailed out again, illuminating
part of the room, but leaving the bed in
deep shadow.
"Jim, darling," leaning over him and lay
ing her arm across his neck, "a letter has
come! It is " With a sudden sickening
terror she stopped and raised herself, for
she felt-tbat her sleeve was wet!
Snatching up the candle she held it over
the bed, and by its flickering light sho saw
ah, dear Heaven what did she see J
Not her Jim, surely!
A white, dead face a dark, red stain on
the coverlet a ghastly wound and cold
nerveless fingers, still holding what!
Ah, cruel Jim!
A long, shuddering cry rang out on the
autumn night wild agonized despairing.
Again and again it echoed. Then all was
still.
In the asylum at S. there is a fair, slender
woman, with solemn child-like eyes and
sunny hair.
"Hush!" sho says to the doctors every
day, with lowered voice, and uplifted finger.
"Hush! Jim is asleep. I must not wake
him. He is so tired, poor Jim ! He does
not know that the letter has come. You
will take me to him, will you not! Not now
but when he awakes!" Curtis Yorke, in
Temple Bar.
Tom (a borrower "I say. Dick,
I've made a bet with Harry and you
are the only one who can keep it
Once upon a time, you know, Douglas
Jerrold was asked by an acquaintance
if he had the courage to lend him a
guinea, and Jerrold replied that he
had the courage but he hadn't the
guinea. Now, I have always believed
that you would give me a different an
swer if I should ask you the same
question, wouldn't you?" Dick 4Ye3,
I would." Tom "So, Tve won the
bet Can you accommodate mo with
the loan of a five?" Dick "My dear
boy, I've got the money, but I haven't
the courage. O yes, Jerrold and J
differ." Yankee Blade.
SOLDIEES DEPABTMENH
STORY OF SKEERY LUCY.
A, Noble Woman Who Risked Her Life
to Save Her Little Ones.
"Skeery Lucy!"
"That's what they called her," said
Plunkett, as he chunked the fire and
seated himself in the corner.
"As a little girl at school, the teach
er called her 'Timid Lucy,' but all the
scholars knowed her as 'Skeery Lucy,'
for she went by that name among all the
settlement folks, and her own daddy
and mammy said the name suited her
character.
"When she growed up and got mar
ried she was just the same, and when
John, her old man, would be a little
late in getting home at night he'd find
her shut up tight in the house, with tho
doors all locked and every table and
old bench piled up ergin them, and
when John would knock at the door
and tell her who it was he'd have to
stand and wait till 'she moved these
things away before ho could open the
door, and then he'd scold her for being
such a dunce, but she'd just laugh and
say:
" 'You knowed I was 'skeery1 'fore
you married me.'
"The name of 'Skeery Lucy' clung to
her for a long time, and I guess she de
served it, for she'd squeal at a lizard or
a frog and take a fit almost if she seed
a snake, but when old Sherman como
down here she done what most any man
would erbin erfraid to do. and they
quit calling her 'Skeery Lucy' after
that, and that's what I want to tell you
erbout
"She was left with four little children
to scuffle for when John went off to
Virginia, and it was mighty hard get
ting along at best, but as the armies got
nearer and nearer things got scarcer
and scarcer, and Lucy got scarier than
ever. The big guns could be heard for
a long time before we seed the Yankees,
and Lucy just looked like she couldn't
stand it, and the folks in the settlement
said she'd die some day, just from fright
and anxiety.
"But everybody had to scuffle, and
one morning Lucy waked up with not
a crust of bread in the houso, and the
children were swinging onto her dress
and apron crying for something to eat,
and there was no other way but for her
to start out and get a little meal for
'em. She shut up the children in tho
houso and put out across the field to
the mill, and they, poor little things,
had been taught by their mammy to be
afraid, and there they sat, all in a hud
dle, as scared as rabbits at every thing
that cracked or made a fuss, and whis
pered to each other.
!?
"Sherman's army was on the move
making for the railroad they'd got
down tho night before and Lucy didn't
know it
"Hardee's army was moving to meet
the Yankees and to keep them from
getting to the railroad, and Lucy didn't
know nothing erbout that
"Sho had just got to the mill and
stepped upon the platform when down
through tho woods came Hardee's line
of battle at a double quick and before
she had time to think they were past,
throwed out skirmishors and were ex
pecting every minute to meet the Yan
kees. "Sherman's line was coming towards
Hardee, and it was only a question of a
few minutes till the fight would begin
"Lucy thought of her little children
shut up in the house, and knowed how
scared they'd be when they heard so
many men marching. She didn't know
yet that it was a fight.
"She started in a run towards her
house, intending to get there before
Hardee's troops did. But old Sherman
was coming to meet them, and it would
only be a minute till there would be
warm times between Lucy and her
house.
"Tho skirmishers began to pop their
guns up and down the line, and hero
como a battery dashing through a road
in the woods, and unlimbered in a
twinkling and let in, and then the fight
bad started.
"Lucy's house was between the two
fines. She seed a shell hit the chimney
and scattered the bricks and rocks. She
thought of her four little children that
were huddled up and couldn't get out
and she didn't stop.
"Tho balls were flying thick from
one lino of battle to tho other, but she
dashed through Hardee's line and went
up through the cotton patch the samo
as a deer. The soldiers screamed 'como
back, lay down; you'll be killed,' and
sich like, but through it all she went
and dashed ergin the door and fell in
ermong her little children.
i'Just then a bomb struck one corner
of the house and scattered splinters
everywhere. The children were cling
ing to her and er screaming at the top of
their, voices. Another shell hit the house
and took away one gable end, and the
minnie-balls were pattering the same as
hail. She grabbed the smallest chile
up on her left arm and made the rest
jine hands and then took hold of the
end child's hand and out they dashed
into the open field between the two
armies.
"The Yankee line was the first to see
them as they went stumbling, falling
and rolling over the cotton rows, and
they yelled like madmen:
" 'A truce, a truce, a truce!'
"Then Hardee's men seed what was
the matter and they waved their
caps and jumped up and down and
yelled:
"A truce, a truce, a tracer
"In less time than it takes to tell
you, the firing ceased and a hundred
men from Hardee's line rushed for the
children and Lucy, and the first ones to
them grabbed 'em in their arms and
were back over the hill in a minute and
the fight went on.
"She's never been called 'Skeery
Lucy' from that day to this, and old
Sherman said the next day that he
woulder lost the battle rather than to
have killed so brave a Tvoman, but there
are others who say that any mother
would erdone the same thing." Atlan
ta Constitution.
The Belief Corps has adopted a min
iature badge in the shape of a Maltese
cross to be worn at all times, like the
Grand Army comrade' lappel button.
POOR GEDDY'S BONES.-
A Good Story Recalling a Tragic Incident
of Modern Warfare.
In September, 1876, General Miles
sent four scouts, Sellew, Turner, Smith
and Geddy, down the Yellowstone with
dispatches to Colonel Moor, at Fort
Buford. During tho forenoon of the
second day out they saw many Indian
signs, and about four o'clock in the af
ternoon reached Bad Route creek.
When within one hundred yards or so
of the shallow stream a jack rabbit
hopped out, ran a few yards and then
stopped.
Scout Sellew exclaimed: "Meat in tho
pot," and dismounted to shoot it He
had no sooner touched the ground than
a volley fired by a band of ambushed
Sioux killed Geddy and all four of the
horses. The Sioux continued firing at
tho three scouts, who returned the fire
with interest whenever an Indian raised
his "old gold" face above the sage
brush. The three scouts crouched in
the grass for a while, but it becoming
too hot for them they broke and ran for
a ravine well lined with willows, where
it would be hard for the Sioux to rout,
and where they remained until mid
night, the Indians keeping up a desul
tory firo without effect
There was a cliff behind the ravine
where an Indian had ensconsced him
self out of sight He had picked up a
smattering of English at some agency,
and on this occasion he used it, but
without effect He would frequently
cry ont:
"How, John! Come out! Me good
Indian! Me love you! Heldam!"
Every time he said this tho Indians
would jeer in their devilish way, but
thoy took good care not to show their
faces to the scouts, who paid no atten
tion to the sarcastic savage's invitation.
Thero were about fifty Indians in the
party, and they made several attempts
to rout the determined whites from
their stronghold, but were met with
such a galling fire that they desisted in
their attempts.
About midnight the boys crawled, one
after the other, down tho ravine un
heard for about a mile and escaped.
After walking about twenty miles they
met Colonel Otis, with the Government
freight train, loaded with supplies,
bound for Tongue river. The scouts
secured horses from the Colonel and
proceeded to Fort Buford without fur
ther molestation.
When Colonel Otis' teams and escort
reached Bad Route creek they found
tUtUUJ O UUUJ abl4'VU, AX A4l.vt .. u.JUl.1
to a jelly, ana otnerwise mutiiaiea. .a.
shallow grave was dug, in which poor
Geddy was buried, but not to rest long.
Four days afterward another supply
train passing found that tho corpse had
been exhumed and shot full of arrows,
resembling somewhat a horrible human
porcupine. The body was again bur
ied. The following spring Major Pease,
who now lives at Livingston, and Matt
Black, of Bozeman, had the first mail
contract ever let on the Lower Yellow
stone. They engaged a queer charac
ter named Lem Smith to carry tho mail
on horseback. The old trail then led
around the head of Cedar creek, and
the distance to Fort Buford was about
175 miles, which had to bo made in two
days and a half.
The first day out Smith came to Bad
Route Creek and visited Geddy's grave.
Ho found that the coyotes had dug up
the remains and gnawed the flesh from
the bones, which were scattered all
about At the time Geddy was shot he
wore a pair of heavy army shoes, which
tho Indians did not remove when they
mutilated the body. About twenty
yards from the grave Smith found one
of the shoes, in which was a skeleton
foot, the coyotes having been unable to
extricate it. Smith picked up the foot
and tied it to his saddle bow on reaching
Buford. Smith drank too much whisky,
and, having been worsted in a number
of games of billiards, handed to the bar
keeper, Fred Figley, the ghastly relic
of Bad Routo as payment It was ac
cepted, and was for a number of years
on exhibition at Figley's saloon.
Some good Samaritan passing the
grave where once had reposed Geddy's
remains, drove a stake in tho ground
at tho head, and nailing a board from a
cracker-box, thereon painted in large
letters:
AL GEDDY,
A GOOD FELLOW,
BUT OUT OF LUCK.
The bones of poor Al were never
buried. They were gathered in by the
buffalo bone hunters, thrown in with
the buffalo bones and shipped East.
They were perhaps utilized in refining
sugar or found their way to some fer
tilizing establishment N. T. Times.
A Story of General Lee.
Although John Minor Botts was a
strong Union man General Lee contin
ued his friend during the war. Just
before tho march into PennsylvaniaMr.
Botts said to General Lee: "You have
been fighting an army away from their
homes, but when you strike the North
ern fireside you will find it a different
matter. They will rally like blackbirds.
They are made of just as good stuff as
we are. and you will be defeated." The
General shook his head sadly. "I know
it," he said. "It is not my plan. I am
opposed to it I only obey orders."
Atlanta Constitution.
RANDOM SHOTS.
Neither the Grand Army nor any of
it's officers has any authority to inter
fere in any manner with the administra
tion of the affairs of the relief Corps.
Although recognized as an auxiliary of
the G. A. R., it is altogether independ
ent as regards the discipline of its
members and the control of its organ
ization. The Ladies' Aid Society, auxiliary to
the Sons of Veterans, TJ. S. A., has
four divisions Pennsylvania, Ohio,
Illinois and New York. The subordin
ate societies are located in the different
States, as follows: Ohio, 22; Pennsyl
vania, 19; Illinois, 12; Iowa, 6; New
York, 4; Connecticut, 3; Massachu
setts, 2; Michigan, 2; Maine, 2; Kansas,
2; California, 2; New Jersey, 2; In
diana, 2; Maryland, 2; Vermont S
Kentucky, 1; Montana, 1.
THOMAS EIEBl
Banker,
AMEXE, KASSAS.
TRANSACTS A
GENERAL BANKING BUSINESS
Gives Especial Attention to CoHectiecs
Bays and Sells Foreign and De
Biettic Exchange.
Negotiates Mortgage Loans
gyAll business prompt attended to. tly
CITIZENS' BANK
(Malott & Company.)
ABILENE, - - - KANSAS.
Transacts a general banting business-
No limit to our liability.
A. W. RICE, D. R. GORDE JOHJ
JOILNTZ, W. U. GILES AND
T. H. MALOTT.
T. H. MALOTT. Cashier.
c
JT. E. Bonebkakk, Pres. I Thio. Moshot, Cash;
HKST NATIONAL BAOTi
oar hi 1'iiiirwjai.
Capital, $75,000. Surplus, $15,00C
STAMBAUGH, HDRD & DEWEY,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
ABILENE, KANSAS.
CITY BAKERY.
T. S. BARTON, Prcp'r,
Bespestfally Iniites the citizens of Abh
lene to his Bakery, at the old Keller,
rtand, on Third street, where he has:
toostantlj a snpplj of the best
FEESH BREAD,
CAKES,
COOKIES,,
CANDIES,
PIES,
OTSTERS, &c
to be found in the city. Special order
For anything in my line promptly aft
tended to on short notice.
Respectfully,
T. S. BJMTOR.
LUMBER! LUMBER!
LUMBER!
M.T.G0SS&C0.
Respectfully inform all who intend
building in Manchester and vicinity
that they aie prepared to furnish
Lumber, Lath,
Sash, Doors,
Blinds and
Plastering :-: laterii
AS LOW AS THE LOWEST.
Call and get estimates beforf
purchasing.
M T. GOSS & CO
Manchester, Kansas.
In File
RAILWAY
X03
ST. IMS MB HE EAST.
S Daily Trains 3
Kansas City and St Xonis, Ho.
Bqalpped with Pullman Palace Sleeper
and Ballet Cars.
FBEE RECLINING CHAIR GARS
and Elegant Coaches.
THE MOST DrRBCX LINE TO
TEXAS and the SOUTH.
2 Daily Trains Q
to principal points In tho
LONE STAK STATE,
IRON MOUNTAIN E0UTE
Memphis, Mobile, Nott Orleans and principal
iiles in Tennessee, Mississippi, Ala
bam and Louisiana, offer'
In? the choice of
O ROUTES
TO NEW ORLEANS.
For Tickets, Bleeping- Car Borths and further
)af crraation, apply to nearest Ticket axent or
3. H. LYON, W. P. A 528 Mate street,
Kansas City, Mew
W. E. HKWHAtf. Gen. Traffic Manager,
a. a T0WK8S3S, O. P. Ajent,
V V J
r
L-rv ,-,.-
