The Forrest City times. [volume], August 31, 1894, Image 1

About The Forrest City times. [volume] (Forrest City, Ark.) 1871-1919

Image provided by: Arkansas State Archives

                
VOL. XXIII._FORREST CITY, ARK., FRIDAY AFTERNOON, AUGUST 31. 1894. _NO. 47.
PROFESSIONAL CAROS.
W. H. ALLEY,
PHYSICIAN and SURGEON
Forrest Cltr* Ark.
J. R. CASON, M. D.
PHYSICIAN and SURGEON
Forreet Olty, Ark,
Ippcialtibb:—Diseases of the Eve, Ear, Ifoes
auU Throat.
OitiC*:—Over L. Roll wage & Co.’s Store,
g. W. HOHTOW. J. M PREWETT.
NORTON <fc PREWETT,
Attorneys at Law,
Will practice In the First and Second Judi
cial Circuits and In the Federal and
Supreme Courts.
jrrcx m bouwaox btosiot, kbbzst citt, asi
WILLIAMS & IZARD,
Attorneys at Law,
FORREST CITY, : : ARKANSAS.
J. B. RECK,
Carpenter & Builder,
FORRKST CITY, - ARK.
All work Intrusted to him will have his pee
tonal attention. Satisfaction guaranteed,
Qive him a call.
fotimatfs Furnished on all Kinds Brick VI eri
C. W. WELCH,
CONTRACTOR ANB BUILDEF
WYNNE, ARK.
E^*Brick for Sale. Correspondence Solicited
I Write for Illustrated Catalogue!
PREBi i
i. N. Mnlford, Jeweler, Memphis, Tmj
A SCHEDULE
ONE HOUR QUICKER
Between LITTLE ROCK and MEM
PHIS than Competitor.
Q HAS O
-THE
Little Rock & Memphis R. R.
SHORT LINE
Making dose and direct connectiona at
Memphis without bus transfer.
Through sleepers for all Eastern points.
»iv' is Hours to Birmingham. Ala.
(
Sleepers.
Tor further Information, tickets and reser
vation, both '.from Little Rock and Mem
phis, call on or address.
H. F. BERKLEY. R- B. COURTNEY,
Ticket A,~ent, Passenger Agent
H. W. MORRISON, O P. * T. A .
Little Rock. Ark.
Iron Mountain Route
-TIIE—
Direct aafl Papular Rente to St. Loais
Where Connection* are Made for All Point*
NORTH EAST WEST
THROUGH PULLMAN BUFFET
SLEEPING CARS BETWEEN
Memphis and St. Louis.
3-DAILY TRAINS !-3
_bet w e en
ST. LOUIS and the SOUTHWEST
H. C. TOWNSEND,
G IV->a. and Ticket Aft..
8T. LOURS MO
the old schoolmaster.
The master's face Is wrinkled now.
His thin, dark hair la turning gray;
Deep furrows of the unseen plow
Are on his forehead. Who can stay
The clock of time and make It slow
And lengthen out his holiday’
His ears are dull, his eyes are dim.
He bends beneath a load of years;
With feeble step and faltering limb.
He gropes along a vale of tears.
And soon the bell will ring for him
A summons from the heavenly spheres.
He Is a good old. faithful man,
Worn with hard study, toll and care.
His head was ever sound to plan.
His heart another's grief could shar*.
" Each one should do the best he can."
He wrote in copy round and fair.
The old schoolhouse Is standing now.
O'ererown vr'.th moss, upon tne green.
And the Inhospitable bough
That furnished rods, looks Ijpar and lean—
It shivers in the winds that blow.
And whispers of things that have been.
A fountain sparkles from the hill,
Adown the rocks the waters race.
And fancy deems the trickling rill
A tear stream on Dame Nature's face.
For school is out. and some are still.
And this Is a deserted place.
We who survive arc pupils yet
How many teacher- we have had;
Prosperity and scathing debt
Masters that made us poor and sad;
Affliction, that made faces wet
And hope and joy. that made us gla 1.
—George W. Bungay, in N. Y. Ledger.
SISTER MARION.
Why She Wished That She Might !
Be Beautiful.
"The lover is always selfish, especial
ly if it be a woman. She would kill
her lover with her own hand rather
than see him happy with another
woman.”
The man in the corner by the fire dic
tated these words slowly and earelul
ly. and the girl at the table wrote
them dovvu. Then there was a silence
and the girl looked across at the man
expectantly.
"Is it getting dark?" he asked, after a !
few minutes.
For Lewis Carrington had been blind
for nearly six months. That was why
he had engaged .Marion Norman as his
secretary.
"Yes. I can scarcely see," answered
the girl. "Shall 1 get the lamp?”
"No, I am tired,” answered Carring
ton. “Let us stop and talk.”
Marion put together the sheets in ,
their proper order, tidied up the table
and came over to the fire, by which
she stood, leaning against the mantel
piece and watching her companion.
She was no older than Carrington,
thirty-five or thereabouts, but she
looked older than he did. A woman
who has lived her life out of the sun
shine—which is love—fades early. For
the sunshine is good, even though it
scorch at times.
"Is that true, do you think?” asked !
Carrington, lifting his head.
Marion blushed a little, and then j
she remembered that the eyes which |
met her own could see uothing.
"Is what true?”
"That sentence about love and sel-'
fishness. Men know so little of J
women.”
Marian Norman sat down in a chair J
by the fire and leaned her chin upon
her hand as she watched Carrington.
"I hardly know;" she replied slowly.
"I hope not. I think—no. indeed, I
am sure of it."
"How do you know? asked tarring- :
ton quickly. "Ah: forgive me. I :
should not have asked that."
In their four months daily compan
ionship, begun as a matter of business, ;
they ha 1 grown into the habit of talk
ing over many things together, and
Marion looked forward to the ten min
utes or so between the close of work
and her departure as the pleasantest
time of the day. The turned her eyes
from Carrington's face to the fire.
• • t i __ Ln.l mt* in r» P i'P ” she i
replied’, and then she told him her
storv. It was a poor, feeble little ro
mance. dead almost before it was born,
ten years ago, when Marion was a
nurse at the London hospital. Merely
a voting doctor who was poor, a few
flowers and a note, which Marion still
kept in her workbox, though she did
not tell Carrington that. Some girls
would scarcely bare noticed it at the
time, and would have forgotten all i
about it in a fortnight. Bat Marion (
cherished its memory, for it stood be
tween her and the certainty that she j
had never found favor in the eves of
men. ,. i
-You know that I lost more than mj
sight when my eyes went." said < ar
riugton. after a pause. "That is why
I am so anxious about the operation
next week. m
• •Yes. You mean—
••1 was just engaged, and her people
would not let her marry a. blind man.
They were quite right, wereu t they .
-An.l she?' *
“She cried and obeyed her people.”
“If 1 had been she"—.Marion began
quickly.
“Well?”
“Nothing. Only I never had any
people.”
“You were a nurse once, Miss Nor
man, were you not?" said Carrington
presently.
“Yes. It is still strange to hear m}'
self called Miss Norman. I was Sister
Marion until a year ago. Ilut my
health broke down and 1 had to give
it-up."
“Would you mind very much going
back to it for a time—a week or so?"
“A111 You would like me to—?"
“I must have a nurse, and I would
rather have some one I know "
His hand went out in the vague way
peculiar to the blind. Marion met it
and held it a moment in her own.
"1 will come." she said, cfuietly.
Marion rose to go.
“And when—when it is all over, you
won’t require me any more," she said
with a laugh that only just escaped
being a sigh.
“Say. rather, when it is all over I
shall be able to see you," said Carring
ton. “You remember, though we have
grown to know one another so well, I
have never seen you.”
There was a small pier glass over the
mantelpiece, ami Marion was face to
face with her own reflection. She had
known ail her life that she was plain.
Hut now, in the light of a new hope
that had dawned in the past .month,
she appeared plainer and more com
monplace than ever.
"If he never saw me, perhaps—”
The thought had forced itself more
than once into her mind, but she had
beaten it back and prayed that Lewis
Carrington might see again.
Marion went her way home and
climbed up three flights of stairs to
her room. It looked dark and cold—
almost as cold as the streets outside,
where the sleet was falling. She lit
the gas stove and made herself a cup
of tea. Then she looked out at the
nurse’s clothes which she used to wear.
The aprons wanted a stitch here and
there. This occupied her for some
time. By eight o’clock all was fin
ished. The sleet was still beating
against the window. Even if she had
had anywhere to go, she could not
have gone. But it was having no
where to go that made her feel so
lonely. There was nothing to do but
sit still and think. Marion was gen
erally too busy for this, but to-night
she could not help thinking a little
bitterly of the loveless life she led.
And then she fell to wondering what
that other one was like. Of course she
was pretty’. There was a photograph
of a girl upon Carrington’s mantel
piece. with "Nora Thurston” scrawled
across the foot. Doubtless that was
she.
"Oh, if I might be just a little beau
tiful, just for a little while!” she
sighed to herself. Then, reflecting
that the wish was absurd, she had her
supper—a couple of biscuits and a
glass of milk —and went to bed.
There are two kinds of women—
those who offer sacrifice and those who
demand it. The latter must have some
thing to lean upon; the former must
have some one to support, somebody to
feed or fondle or convert. It may be
a husband, it may be a curate or a cat
or a cannibal. Now. Marion Norman
was one of those women who long
vaguely for some one for whose sake
they shall have a right to sacrifice
themselves.
A fortnight had passed, and the op
eration was over. For some days Lewis
Carrington had lain upon liis sofa in a
darkened room with a bandage across
his eyes and a terrible dread at his
heart. He was waiting for the remov
al of the bandage to know whether he
was to see or be blind for the rest of
his life. Marion had been witl^ him
all the time, waiting upon him and
reading to him. She had not been so
happy for years, for Lewis Carrington
depended entirely upon her. Every
day she had been downstairs to answer
the inquiries of a fair-haired girl. It
was the girl whose photograph stood
upon the mantelpiece. Every day she
had been able to tell her that Lewis
was going on well, and that there was
every hope that he would see as soon
as his eyes were strong enough to bear
the light.
The evening before the day on which j
the question was to be deeided, Car- |
rington was restless and nervous. Ma
rion read aloud to him to keep his
thoughts from the morrow. Hut she
saw his fingers twitch upon the arm of i
his chair and kuew of what he was
thinking. At 10 o'clock she insisted
on his going to bed. Hut for more
than an hour Marion, who was listen
ing by his half-open door, heard hirn
tossing from side to side. She had de
cided to give him a soothing draught
when his breathing became more regu
lar, and at last settled down into tho
rhythmic respiration of the sleeper.
So Marion lay down on the sofa in the
sitting room.
She had been asleep, as it seemed,
but a little while when something
awoke her, and from where she lay
she saw Carrington standing in the
doorway between the sitting room and
his bed room.
“Mr. Carringtonl What is the mat
ter? Can I get anything for you?” she
said, starting up in alarm.
He did not reply, but walked slowly,
without turning his head, straight
across the room to the window, over
which a heavy pair of curtains hung.
"Mr. Carrington,” she said again.
Rut he did not answer. And then
she understood that he was asleep.
For the moment, in her half-awak
ened state, she could not think of the
right thing to do. She watched him
pull one of the curtains aside. The
light from a gas lamp in the street be
low fell full upon his face. And by
the light she saw that his hands were
pulling and tugging at something up
on the back of his head. He was try
ing to take off the bandage from his
eyes, in another moment if he suc
ceeded, tiie glare of the gas lamp
would meet them and extinguish for
ever the feeble glimmer of sight. Her
senses, half dazed with fatigue and
sleep, Marion, in that instant of
startled comprehension, saw but one
thing, that Lewis Carrington would be
blind, and being blind—
Her heart gave a great leap of exul
tation. Motionless she sat, watching
him as he still fumbled with the band
age.
“ I he lover is always selfish, espe
cially if it be a woman.”
The words broke in a flash across
her mind the last sentence she had
taken down from Carrington’s lips.
In an instant she was by his side,
wide awake, every nerve tingling with
shame.
"Come—come with me,” she whis
pered in his ear, laying her hand upon
his arm and gently drawing him away
from the window.
With a sigh he turned, and suffered
himself to be led back to his room.
For a minute or two Marion watched
him as he settled again into a peaceful
sleep. Then she bent down and hast
ily touched his forehead with her lips,
and returned to her sofa. But not to
sleep. She was crying, first because
she was wicked enough to be tempted,
and then because she was not wicked
enough to yield to temptation.
The next morning Lewis Carrington,
knowing nothing of his narrow escape
during the night, was waiting for his
eyes to be uncovered. The doctor had
just arrived when the servant opened
the door and whispered something to
Marion. Without saying anything
Marion left the room and ran down
stairs. Nora Thurston was there.
"Come up.” said Marion. "You are
just in time. 1 think he can see you.”
Thejf went up the stairs together.
"(io in there, dear—quietly. One
moment,” Marion took the girl’s face
between her hands and kissed her.
"Oh. is my hat on straight? Do I look
all right? I want to look nice if he
does see me.”
Marion stood by the door listening.
There was silence for some moments.
Then she heard the doctor's voice.
"Nora -ah. it is good to see you!”
A few minutes afterward the doctor
came into the sitting-room.
"What, nurse! Broken down, eh?”
For Marion was lying upon the sofa,
her face hidden in the cushions.
"Oh, 1 am glad! I am glad!" she
sobbed. "Oh, God, make me glad!”—
Clarence Rock, in N. Y. Advertiser.
% Stub Knd< of Thought.
An artificial man is a misfit.
Idleness is first lieutenant to temp
tation.
We could use most of the advice we
give away.
Good impulses may spring from very
bad soil.
A lie is the hardest thing in the world
to keep within bounds.
There is a deal more in a dollar
sometimes than a hundred cents.
A man is either a fool or a knave who
spends more than he makes.
Cupid ought to throw away his ar
rows and fill his quiver with cash.
One good woman can turn more
steps Heavenward than forty preach
er- can.
Only one man can take a woman’s
heart away from her, whether or no; if
another gets it, it is of her own giving.
The man who thinks he can do any
thing finds it difficult to do something,
and generally winds up by doing noth
ing.—Detroit Free Press.
—A typical southern African house
hold described by Olive Schreiner had
an English father, a half Dutch moth
er with a French name, a Scotch gov
erness. a Zulu cook, a Hottentot house
maid and a Kaffir stable boy, while
the little girl who waited on the table
was a itasulo.
FUNERAL FLORAL TRIBUTES.
Knormom Display In the Prorraalon Whlnk
Did Not Include Carnot'* Body.
In none of the accounts describing
the procession which I have seen waa
justice done to the display of flowers.
There were tons of them, not only
piled upon the ten special cars built
for the purpose and each of which con
tained at least two tons, but there
were thousands of wreaths carried up
on the shoulders of bearers in front of
special delegations. Every public body
and every society and delegation tak
ing part had its wreath. Despite the
oppressive heat and tremendous crowds
one could not help feeling refreshed as
these sweet-scented and generally ar
tistic emblems were borne past. It is
estimated that [six hundred thousand
dollars was spent in this way, while
only twenty thousand dollars was
voted by parliament for the remainder
of the funeral arrangements. The
most striking fact in connection with
the funeral cortege, however, was this:
The cottin which- was borne along
with so much pomp and ceremony
from the lilysee to the Pantheon did
not contain the remains of President
Carnot. Only two or three persons were
aware of this fact on Sunday. As a
matter of fact, the remains of M. Car
not were removed to the Pantheon
Thursday in the dead of night. It will
be remembered that Mine. Carnot re
fused to have the remains of her hus
band embalmed. The consequence was
that, owing to the very hot weather,
decomposition set in much sooner than
would otherwise have been the case.
On Thursday morning the body had
swelled so much as to break the sides
or the oaken coffin, and another and a
larger one was substituted. But later
in the day those whose duty it was to
remain constantly in the Chapelle Ar
dente became very forcibly aware of
the presence of odors of the most un
pleasant and dangerous description,
and it was then decided to remove the
remains and substitute another coffin
in the chapelle. The consequence was
that the thousands of patriotic French
men and sympathetic friends who tiled
through the ehaml>er on Friday and
Saturday actually made their homage
to an empty coffin, or, ratTier, one
weighted with lead.—London Figaro.
THE ROSES OF PERSIA.
Thin Name Should He Applied to Her
Heautlful Women.
Persian women, generally speaking,
are usually bright ami shrewd, as well
as very beautiful.
The climate that develops a rich and
lovely vegetation moulds also the hu
man beings that ladong to the land,
and the typical Persian lady, with her
delicate frame, her flower-like skin,
her great, dark eyes aflame with intel
ligence. and her soft ami graceful man
ners, is as much a product of her clear
climate as are the masses of blossoms
that surround Persian homes and
hearts, and that have so naturally per
vaded some of their domestic decora
tion as to condemn it, according to the
strict art canons. Speaking as a lover
of flowers, 1 should say the roses of
Persia is not more out of place peeping
in efligy from tile or painted page than
in the English garden, which owes its
boasted rosery to Persia. The rose is
I never out of place. Hut the real rose
of Persia is the Persian woman!
She is a very different creature fronew
I the Turkish, the Cairene, and especial
I ly the Tangerine woman. The Per
! sian woman is naturally active-minded,
with a strongly-poetic temperament
and a liking forart. letters and politics
themselves when she can get them.
She has considerable power with her
men-folk, and in most affairs of mo
ment her linger may be traced.
The harem 1 iff prevails, no doubl
and all the insipidities and heart-burn
ings are present, of course, as in ail
Moslem countries. Nevertheless the
Persian woman has always held an ele
vated legal position above her Moslem
sisters—a position indeed which has
sometimes been quoted as superior to
that of European women. At least s“fie
lias long been permitted to enter trades
on her own account, to possess inde
pendent property, to appear as witness
in the courts, attest documents, etc.
She is also responsible for her debts,
and m divorce lias a right to her own
children.—N'. Y. Journal.
Mlwonitrord.
His was the desperation of a love
that had been growing for more than a
week.
“Will you be mine?" he demanded.
“You bet," she faltered.
“An enemy has betrayed me?' he
shrieked.
Seizing his hat and the best umbrella
in the hall, he rushed from the place,
nor paused till he reached the pool
room, where he pluuged more madly
than ever into his besetting sin.—De
troit Tribune.