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ffw SiYedtln tfopiahau JOHN F. VANCE,. . . S. F. MASSENGU.L. BY YARI K & MAS8EKGII.L. Tkhms. Per annum in advance, 50. Advertisements per square (ten lines or less) firstinsertioiffl, each continuance 50 cents. Liberal arrangements made with yearly and quarterly advertisers. IU ATT IE HARDEN. ‘Do not turn away so cold ly, Mattie; you have a noble lieart, and I know you love me. If I were rich you would not /efuse my request. I have vour heart, none can gain that from me; but I had hoped you would give me same word of love and en cor ragement before I leave my native land for five long years.’ ‘You ask quite too much, Jerome; you are a dearfriend, and I admit that I shall miss you, but my mother is a very proud, ambitious woman,and my father—’ ‘Yes Mattie, I understand all that ; our positions, as re gards wealth, are vastly dif ferent; all I have hoped or asked is that if, after years of ‘oil and waiting, I shall have amassed a fortune, retained an untarnished reputation you will then grant me a recipro cation of the truest love man ever offered to woman. May 1 not hope, my darling?’ ‘Really, Jciomc, I do not choose to bind myself; as 1 said before,youaskt')o much.’ And the proud, beautiful heiress turned coldly from the pure-hearted, noble minded young man who was inferior only in that false estimation of equality which measures its subjects according to rep uted wealth. Thus, without receivingone word ot love or kindness, Je rome left the palatial roof which sheltered the dearest object of 3iis Iifot Mattie sought her own room to shed hitter, burning tears over an idol which she had sacrificed at the altar of pride. Like Heredias’ daughter, she had been ‘before insti noted by her mot her;’ had been forbidden to unite her destiny with that of a poor man. ‘Wealth is happiness,’ her proud mother often averred. ‘Never marry a man beneath your station, mv dear. Tour exceeding beauty must raise you in the social scale. Cu pid’s arrows should he well tipped with gold, as well as leathered with affection — Love is well enough in its place, but really it is only a secondary considerxt i o n.— Make your choice first, my thrling, and love will come in its course.’ Stili, with all this injudi cious training,Mattie Harden was a noble girl. She had known and loved Jerome Moon from childhood; he had been her hem ideal of man liness ever since she could remember; some of the hap piest hours she could recol lect was spent in leaning on his arm while he taught her to guide her inexperienced feet, on skates, over fields of ice. Then when snjnmercame they had their rambles tlire’ the park together gathering llowers,feeding the fishes and young birds in their nests or shooting pretty little arrows high in air from tho trusty little ash tree bows which Je rome fashioned with much skill. Then when childhood had blossomed into youth, they had their studies together,and long, hard, but loving strifes for the highest scholarship. Thus, from intuition, two congenial minds and souls had unconsciously learned to love; but time flics and brings its changes. Jerome was sent early to a distant academy to take a thorough course,while Mattie entered a seminary for ladies in their native town. It was upon this separation that Mrs. Harden first notic ed and feared the result of thisattachment. She contriv ed to send her daughter away during the occurring vaca tions, till at last three years had passed in which the young friends had never met. Even the pleasant little let ters -which Jerome had sent to his ‘dear school-mate’ had been withheld, and during all this time, her mother’s coun sel, and a consciousness of neglect from Jerome, served to weaken and lessen Mattie’s regard for one who h i l been dear us a brother. But an ardent lover does not easily relinquish his ob ject; and when he returned to ids home it was only to re new his acquaintance with i Mattie, and as we have seen | at the opening of our story,1 t»» declare himself a constant i lovei, and to ask for a few words of hope and love ere lie left his native land to seek his fortune across the wide sea. ‘Faithful in life or death I i shall ever be,’ resolved Je roine as he went! with a sad heart from Mattie. ‘Sheloves me-^I know it; she will nev er marry another. But why must 1 always suffer so? Why | could she not have uttered some word of hope to cheer me in this struggle from pov erty to wealth? May heaven bless me in my honest, earn est efforts. Farewell, Mattie, Mattie!’ k01i, wlmt deceitful things are lips!’ gasped Mattie,when alone. ‘How we women school ourselves to hide our hearts and every noble,generous im pulse of our natures! Ho'.v cold and cruel my lover seesj me, while within my heart is burning, breaking’ AVdiat would 1 not give to redeem the past hour! Oh, wealth, how' I hate it! and position — w hat a falsity! Nobler far art thou, Jerome, than 1 who am so false. Mav ’heaven grant me some opportunity in life to make reparation for this sad hour.’ If Mattie had not been ful ly conscious of her great love before, she surely was now'. But it was too late! too late! * * * * * * Five years! How long (lie time looks to the youth and maiden, yet how quickly it flies! and who can foretell the changes? % I had been married two years to a rising young law yei, when wc removed to London. Among the vonng ladies whom I met was Miss Harden, who had foi a year been engaged as a preceptress of the public school in our neighborhood. I had never seen the lady before, hut I disliked her, for I had heard her history from my husband. He bad told me of bis cousin —Jerome Moon—of bis love for thebsautifu! Miss Harden and of theliauteur with which she met his offer of love. I had known Jerome some years, and loved him as a brother. I therefore under stood his worthy, sensitive nature, and realized the pain he had for years suffered cn her account, and still suffered daily. Then how could I but hate her who had so dee ply wronged my husband’s cou sin? Why could not he des pise her as I did? What was she to him that he should still be entranced by her? XI - 1 1 _ J. _ 1 A 1 I had determined to he a constant ‘thorn in her side,’ but when I saw tint face so sad, and beheld the most striking beauty, and noticed the superior intellect, then, and not till then, could I un derstand Jerome’s devotion to her shrine. I instintly lost iny hate, while admiration for a time took its place. In stinctively I knew that she was suffering keenly and deeply. I was prepared to meet a seriou voting lady,Mr not a year previous, she had lost both her parents and wealth by a single stroke.— Had she not been obliged.to give up a life of ease and lux ury for one of toil and de pendence? Ifohly had she taken up her thorny cross, and faithfully labored, gaining much credit for her ability as an instruc tress. But I was surprised to find a young lady who never smiled even in her most pleas ing moods. A deep gloom overshadowed her young life. My interest soon deepened into friendship, and. as time passed, I was surprised to find how deeply we loved each other, and it was conse quently arranged that she should take up her abode with us. One day my dear husband, returning from his office bro’t ^ letter. ‘It is from Cousin Jerome,’, he explained, placing it in my hands, ‘lie is well, and | is succeeding even better! than be anticipated.’ I turned to Miss Harden, who sat reading at the win-! dow, and said: ‘It is a letter from India from the worthiest youngman ! I know. He is my husband’s cousin—Jerome Moon. How 1 wish yon might know him!’i ‘Is Jerome Moon your con- j * sin?’ she exclaimed, with sud den wonder. Then tlie thin lips grew white and bloodless, and wo tenderly lifted the fainting form and laid it upon the nearest sofa, summoning the nearest medical assistance.— An hour later she opened her beautiful brown eyes, but her strength did not return for many days. Intuitively I knew the secret of her sad life. She loved Jerome Moon even as he loved her. * * * * * * Two years later. Jerome Moon had returned from In dia a wealthy man. H is bright talents were acknowledge when be was poor, but now that fortune bad lent her smiles, bis entree upen life was thoroughly successful.— Courted in the first and old est eirel.es, and by the most intriguing mammas, and flut tered about by all the butter ties of fashion, still bis occa sional visits to our pleasant home were bis only hours of real enjoyment. Miss Harden was still a fe teller in the same school; but Jerome’s devotion to her was unavailing. ‘I ran never be your wife, Jerome,’ she said upon the day be returned from India, when we bad entrea'ted her to give up her life of toil and share bis affluence. ‘We might have been happy bad it not been for my false pride. We have now changed spheres; you are wealthy and courted, while I am almost penniless. My pride is now a more for midable enemy than ever. I c tnnot insult j’our manhood by presuming upon your love. It you were only poor, it might be different; but now there is no hope. I shall nev er bo your wife.’ ‘My darling,do not say that. Eightyearswe have now been separated, during which time Mattie, I surely have learned iny own hem. I have found uiyself thinking constantly of yon. You have been my in spiration all these long years, in every project of my life. I have hoped against fear, all flies? years, that yon. still lov ed me as you did when a lit tle girl. Oh, those years of happy, innocent childhood! Shall I never know peace and joy again in reciprocated love? Must my life plan prove a failure? Oh, Mattie, do not doom the man who loves you thus faithfully to a life-long despai'!’ ‘Hush, Jerome; you break down every support to self control. Never speak in those tones to me again,I pray you. I have marked out my path through life,and I must tread it alone. Should I marry you, Jerome, I should forevei hate myself, and ere long yon,too, wwild learn to hate. Mj- very love forbids this union, fov when I refused to love you because you were poor, I be came unworthy of your love. Seek in another what you have forever lost in me.’ ‘Mattie, your false pride— your decision in this matter— does poor justice to your su perior intellect. Be my wife, and a lifetime of love and de votion to you alone shall prove to you that not the slightest degree of blame to ward you shall attach itself to my memory of the past. I have suffered through your pride, but I shall never forget that you have suffered also.’ ‘Jerome, these sentiments must cease. Do not let them rise to yourlips again. Crush this unfortunate love from I your heart. Let us be the [friends we were in childhood [ if you will, but do not sue for more, Your happiness and mine depend upon this reso tion ’ Long hours Mattie sat at the south bay-window,watch ing the progress of the grand mansion they were erecting close by. The beauty of its architecture and the grandeur of its proportions attracted every one, but to Mattie it had a deeper interest. It was Jerome’s mansion, and do signed for her; but as she watched its growth the saiuej old look of determination would steal over the sad, pale j face, and the lips become compressed by a more settled firmness. After its comple tion, came the costly, elegant furniture, and then Mr. and Mrs. Hays took possession of j their respective spheres, as j gardener and housekeeper, j and Jerome removed his per-1 serial effects to thisgrand,new home. All the hellesof his acquain tance smiled more sweetly j than ever,and fathers as well as mothers of marriageable daughters grew more cordial j and attentive. Though many bright stars shone,he saw but j one—one alone held his des tiny, although it shed a faint, cold light. Yet still he hoped that he might gain power to climb into its more directand warmer radiance. This was his only hope—hisone desire. TV TV TV It was a pleasant but warm afternoon, when Mattie and I were returning from along ride. Our errand had been a charitable one, obtaining sub scriptions for the new orphan asylum. Our list well tilled with the names of the best people of our acquaintance, and summed uptohighei tig ures than we had anticipated. ‘One more call,' said I, ‘we will get Jerome’s subscription and then rest for to-day.’ ‘No, I do not want to go there; you know I havo never been, and to-day my bead aches from our long, warm rule. I)o let us go home. Yon can run down after tea.’ ‘Nonsense, Mattie! Weave here now, and you arc going in with me. Do not succumb to a slight headache,’ said 1, gaily, unwilling to recognize any other motive for her un willingness. Mechanically she followed mo to the house. I rang the bell. ‘Is Mr Moon ini’ I asked of Mrs Hays, who instantly appeared. ‘Yes, ladies; he is in his room. Be seated and I will call him.’ ‘No,we will go to his room; we are in a hurry, as .ve are on a business errand.’ Then I took Mattie’s arm and escorted her up the long, winding staircase, along the wide hall, and to the room which I knew was Jerome’s private apartment. I tapped at the door, but no answer came. Then I opened it and stepped in,inviting Miss Har den to a seat with the com plaisance of a hostess. But she did not enter. Still she stood in the doorway, ga zing with astonishment to ward the other end of the room. I followed the direc tion of her gaze, and beheld the most, life-like portrait that I had ever seen. It was the life-size portrait of a la dy with clear, transparent complexion, glorious brown eyes, tasteful braids of soft, dark hair, and a most perfect forehead, mouth and chin,the whole imbued with the rare coldness and hauteur of ex I pression thatl had never seen in the original, Mattie Har den herself. Then I heard a low cry of pain, and turning quickly, beheld Mattie sink ing. pale and lifeless, to the • floor. | Before I could reach her, ' stronger arms than mine sjup I ported her. Then Jerome,who ! had appeared from an adjoin ing room, carried her gently p below stairs, and laid herup ! on the sofa in the parlor.— j When consciousness returned j to the girl Jerome was still ! bending over her and aduiin j istering restoratives. She wa 1 ved him aside and attempted to rise, but her strength was insufficient and she sank back helplessly among the velvet cushions. ‘Lie stiH, Mattie, till you are better,’ I advised. Then her eves wandered a i round the room and from one object to another; the room, furniture,carpets, mantle and ornaments, were so very sim ilar to those in her own lost girlhood home that tears fill ed her eyes, and for the first time in her life she realized the vastness of Jerome’s en during love for her. •Jlow do yon like my home?’ questioned Jerome, when at last her eyes sought bis, ‘Oh, it is all tike a beautiful dream, was her reply. ‘Then whv, Mattie, may I •jot in the future say our home? Stay with me always, will you not, my love?’ Then he hont lovingly and impressed a kiss upon the white forehead, while a vel vety arm for the first time stole around his neck,and she buried her face on bis shoul der and sobbed aloud. ‘Thank heaven!’ came from my heart, as I extended a hand to each of them. ‘How T have longed to see this day! Mattie, I shall superintend everything to suit myself,and you must not interfere. Ke member, your opinions are only a secondary matter. Jerome gave a grateful smile and Mattie did not speakeven to remonstrate. With as little delay as pos sible all the necessary prepa rations were made, and truly can T say, that of all the hap py weddings T have ever at tended this was the most su preme—the most truly spir itual. Of course,the disappointed fashionable world was shock ed, and talked wildly of Je rome's capture by a beautiful face, and bow that the poor teacher had at last sacrificed her principle by marrying a man whom sbo bad despised and rejected for years,for (be mere consideration of wealth and position, lint we who know them both, love and re verence them for their real worth, and think with loving indulgence even of Mattie’s fal se pride, for surely hersuf feringsshou’d pi ove sufficient atonement. Therefore, O, cruel world ! grow charitable,for thoucanst not read hearts. Appearan ces, at best, are a vain delu sion. PAY AS YOU GO. New York Observer: Mr. Stewart, fifty years ago,had a little money; he bought a lot of dry goods with it,sold them at a profit; bought more,paid forthem.sold I hem at a profit; and so on till he had fifty millions of dollars and died. That is his biography. It is not great, I grant. Buf it proves that patience, prud ence, perseverance, paying as you go, may be just a« profit able as the most rapid, haz ardous, enterprising credit system can be. The most suc cessful merchant in the world bought for cash. In the year 1857, when com mercial houses were falling in the pfelnic as if an earthquake shook the city, I heard that a business firm of large capital had failed. I rushed to their counting rooiri and asked what it meant. ‘I hear you have suspended payment?’ ‘Certainly,wo owe nothing; why should we pay anything?’ And sure enough,their im mense establishment,employ ing hundreds of men, had been carried on for years without giving a note to any 1. I __ A ' 1 .1._1_?__ body. And when business be came so dull that it was bet ter to suspend doing than to go oij,tbey lay still 6 months, | and continue to pay wages to all their men who could not get employment elsewhere.— They bought forcash,and now they use their millions for the good of their fellow-men. A'flourishing concern, do | ing a large business,took in a new partner who found the plan of buying on six months : was the rule of the house. He prevailed on his partners to . alter the practice, and grad ually to work in a better. In I two or three years’ time eve i rything was paid for when bought; the firm never gives its note to anybody for any thing, and stai.ds A No. Ion all the meicantile agencies' lists. Let me not be misrepresen ! ted as saying that it is wrong to incur debt. I say thateuc j cess in businessdoesnot make ; it necessary. Slow and sure is a ve*-v unfashionable mot * i to, and quite antiquated, but it is good nevertheless. And ■ as it is right to pay as you go, j so it is right to insist thatev ! ery customer shall pay you i when he promised to pay. If i that rule is in harmony with the will of God, on which the law of love is founded, then the law of love does not re quire me to reloase my debtor from his promise to pay. I do unto him as I would wish to he done by in thesamecir cumstanees. This application of the law would work a I l < i n 1 t . • • . • healthful revolution in the business world. It is in the line of the greatest commer cial prosperity that pecuniary obligations should be held sa cred as personal honor. There was a time, in London and Frankfort and New York, when to let a note go unpaid at the hour it was due was a stain that no water could wash out. But now it is not so here or there. It is not considered dishonorable even for a church to wipe out a debt by selling its property tor what it will bring. For a church, or a railroad compa ny, or any association or in dividual to do so, is a sin and a shame. Misfortunes may overtake the best of men, and make it impossible for them to pay I their debts. Of them I am i not speaking, but only of I those who, boingable, are yet ! unwilling to be honest. T4* 4 1... _1... £» _ j If the merchants of New i York would set their faces a j gainst debt,and pi notice upon i the principle of paying as 1 they go; if all donations for I building churches and colle !ges were made on the condi tion that no debt is to remain j when the building is comple ted—if this principle were j made active and universal bv j the firm adherence to it of men who are in trade, and men who give of their wealth to works of Christian benev olence,there would be an im mediate revival of honesty that would he of more advan tage to the business of this country than the discovery ot a thousand gold mines richer than all of Peru or Califor nia. He is a philanthropist who aids in maintaining sound commercial integrity between man and man And be does not feel the first clement of Christian charact’i who wants liis debts discharged in any other way than by paying them. To shirk them,to wrig gle out of them, to comprom ise them, is not to get rid of the obligation to pay them. It is God who says: ‘With hold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thy hand to do it.’ The law of love requires you to pay your debt when you have the ability, and no bankrupt law that human wisdom or folly ever devised can release“you from the law of God. A country curate, a letter to Blackwood’s Magazine, ■ says that on one occasion he | baptised achild named ‘Acts.’ | Alterward in the vestry he j asked the good woman what | made herchunfed such a name. | Her answer was this? ‘Why, : sir, we be religious people; we’ve got four on ’em alrea dy, and they be call’d Mattb S ew, Mark, Luke and John,so iroy husband thought he’d i compliment the apostles abit’ He has no doubt she will go i on to Revelation, they being I particularly religions people. ! A the editor of the Chicago Tunes has been discovered in a Rhode Island , roan who has been lying in one position for I nine years. i * THE GRANGE. Waco (Texas) Examiner: To any one who is a close reader of our Grange corres pondence. it is plain that the great drawback to the useful ness of the Order, is the habit of members absenting them selves from the regular meet ings of the grange. It is as tonishing how rapidly one looses interest when two or three meetings are successive ly missed. The aims and pur poses, hopes and plans of the local grange are dropped,and soon one beginsto teach him self that its general princi ples are not so vital as to re quire a sacrifice of one night’s attendanceduring the month. This evil is, as yet, in its in fancy, and can be eradicated promptly if the proper means are used; to this end we would urge the importance of the discussion of interesting qties tions—and what a wide range ofsnbjects presentthemselves in this connection—the tarm and its thousand and one in terests, social life and i*s many interesting problems, HKtiii y IIIIUlUiHlIlg wmuun, busmessand its varied claims, and last, but no means least, those innocent amusements so appropriate to the season upon which we are just en tering, and which constitute a bond of vast importance besides infusing into old and young alike the taste for healthful and rational enjoy m jut which is at perpetual warfare with vice and all the distractions which come in baleful light in its glittering train. Tho farmers of Aumrica, and especially of the west and south cannot afford to suffer interest in the Order to lag. It wilibcan evil day for them when it is announced that the Order no longer exists.~ All the bright hopes and great possibilities which were born with its birth must be forgone, and they now cry out to the old men and ma trons, to the young men and maidens, to gather to the monthly meetings with the regularity that tho Mussle man turns his face to Mecoa every morning to pray. It is with the grange like it. is with every other human institution,thesnrest evidence of decay lies in the loss of in terest.. When men and wo men absent themselves from the deliberations and enjoy ments of the regular month ly meeting, it is a sure evi dence that the great princi ples of tho Order, are looked upon coldly, and holds them by but a frail grasn. Wc hope soon to have the pleasure of hearing of all those pleasant re-unions, pic nicsand excursions which are the sure evidences of a revi val of interest, and also of those cool, careful delibera tion? which are hut an indi cation of the vitality' of the Order. TOMATOES. Boston Globe: Burr tells us that, the French mode of rais ing tomatoes is as follows: As soon as a cluster of flow ers is visible they top the stem down to the cluster, so that the floweis terminate the stem. The effect is that the sap is immediately impelled into the two buds next below the cluster, which soon push strongly and produce another cluster of flowers each. When these are visible the branch to which they belong is also topped down to a level; and this is done five times succes sively. By this means the plants become stout dwarf bashes, not above eighteen inches high. In order to? pre vent their falling over, sticks or strings are stretched hori zontally along the rows, so as to keep the plants erect. In addition to this, all laterals that have no flowers, and, af ter the fifth toping, all late rals whatever are nipped off. In this way the ripe sap isdi rected into the fruit, which acquires a beauty, size and excellence unattainable by other means. Hepatine, a great dis covery for the liver, at S. P. Bloom & Co’s. 36 USEFUL HINTS. How to keep Lemons.— A splendid way to keep lemon ft in hot weather is to cut theiri in slices and mix whi*e sugar with them. ..Put in a glass jar, cover well with sugar,and paper the top air-tight. To prevent Moths.-A smalt piece of paper or linen,moist ened with the spirits of tur pentine and put into a bu reau or wardrobe for a single day, two or three times, is said to be a sufficient preser vative a^inst moths. Short Cake.—One enp of porridge, one cup of water, and one and a half cups of barley meal or wheat meal (Graham flour). Make into a cake not more than halt an inch thick and bake fifteen or twenty minutes in a hot oven till brown. Rye and Indian Mush.-Use two parts rather coarse cord meal and one part rye meal, stirring in the Corn meal first; and cooking awhile if desired then adding the rye meal, stirring very carefully; cover close and cook slowly one hour or more, if desired. To clean Tin-ware.—Rot-, tenstone, soft soap, and oil of turpentine, mixed to the con sistency of thick putty, will clean tinware very thorough ly. Mix the putty with the water, rub over the metal; then rub brisklv with a dry clean rag,or leather. A beau tiful polish will be obtained. Cheap Curtains.—One of the most agreeable materials for curtaining windows is coarse unbleached cotton.— The irregularity of the thread and the roughness of the sur face gives its soft folds much the charm of a Russian crash, and it warms the light of cool north-windows almost equally as well as the glow of sunshine. Meat and Rusk Pudding. Chop any kind of cold meat with salt pork or ham, season well with butter, pepper and salt, add two or three beaten eggs. Then make alternate layers of wet rusk crumbs with milk,or cold boiled hom inv or rice, and Rake half or three quarters of an hour.— Let the upper layer be crumbs, and cover with a plate while baking, and when nearly done take it oft to brown the top. One swallow does not al ways make a spring, but d dozen swallows sometimes' make one fall. Another domestic explo sion is imminent in an Iowai household. One of the boys accidentally swallowed a pis tol cartridge last week. Lace is what ruffles the men now-a-days.—Ex. You are wrong. Lace ruffles the wo men as usual It is the pay ing fo : it that ruffles the men. ‘Landlord, didn’t you ever have a gentleman to stop with you before?’ ‘Are you a gentleman?’ ‘Yes, lam one.1 ‘Then I never have had one to stop with mo before.’ At a recent election in Minneapolis, where women voted, they wreathed the bal lot-boxes with flow ers to cov er up the tobacco-juice deco rations of last year. An exchange asks: “what are our young men doing? We can’t answer for the rest of the country, but around here they are erfgagod mainly in. trying to lead a nine-dollar existence on a seven-dollar salary. Jones asked his young hope ful just from Sunday school why it was Pharaoh killed the boy babies and did not touch the girls. “’(Jause he wanted to get rid of the young He-brews but wanted to keep the She-brew'3,” the young hopeful replied. “How like its father is it!” said the nurse, on the occa sion of the christening of a baby whose father was more than seventy years of age, and who had married a young wifo. ‘Very like,’ said a sat irical lady; “bald, and not a tooth in its head.” How terrific must be the molecular action' in tho brain of a man who comes home at one o’clock in the morning Singing “Too ral, ’ooraloddy,' and mistakes his wife’s pat ent bustle, standing pale and rigid in the corner, for the spirit of his deoeased rnotlH er-in-law.