New York dispatch. [volume], February 08, 1885, Page 7, Image 7

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

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OVER THE CARDEN TWO WEE FEET.
BY MRS. JOHN W. SCHENCK.
Over the garde* two wee feet strayed*;
Just five years old was the dainty pot.
A thoughtful, roguish, and brown-haired maid,
Whose beauty a strsuger ceuld not forget.
She laughed as over the flowers ehe bent,
A rippling laugh full of blithesome glee;
To brightest of all her fingers went ,
My love was piekiag a bunch for me.
By purple pabslm sho murmured low.
“ These pretty flowers are tne nicest dressed,
.Angels have kissed them, I very well know.
These gold spots show where their lips were
pressed/’
The child sat down on the grass plot green.
To fashion the bunch in her baby way;
A pansy and Jaaf, w4th a bud between —
A thing of boaaty she formed that day.
When finished she held the flowers on high.
Then ran to my side in eager glee;
w These flowers angels kissed in the sky,
Then threw them down for mamma to see.
I wound my arms ’round the little thing.
After carefully putting her gift away;
They are faded now, yet to mind bring
Her pansy m tVcf looked that day.’
OofeiiTled her seen ea alone I stand
Beside the grave where her form doth lie,
Bbt angels I know in the better land
Kiss the Beautiful lips for which I sigh I
When purple pansies 1 chance to see,
I look for the gold on each petal fair,
■And think hew she fancied the marks to ba
Imprints of kisses angels left there.
O, darling I as years are rolling on,
And I in my loneliness older grow,
I think that as swiftly as each hath gone.
So swift to ray loved ones I shall go;
When awestruck by the pearly gates I stand.
Will my o.wn appear as a loving guide ?
•Will she clasp in hers iny trembling hand,
An.d lead to bliss at the Savior's side ?
THE STORY OF A WOMAN'S JEALOUSY.
“ Just as your pa thinks best, my dear,” said
*Mrs. Rossiter, as she folded her graceful morn
ing robe indolently about her, and leaned back
Among the soft cushions with a languid air.
It was very evident Mrs. Rossiter was not in
a mood for active exertion or remonstrance of
any kind. If her pretty daughter, Alice, kneel
ing there on the carpot, with her curly head on
her mother’s knee, her blue eyes seconding the
motion of her coaxing cherry-red mouth, her
little hands, so soft and white aud delicately
♦shaped, clasped in playful supplication; if she,
I say, had proposed a voyage to the South Sea
Islands on a mission of charity, instead of a
pleasure trip to the country, Mrs. Rossiter
would scarcely have found the strength of will
to oppose her. As it was, the bright lace of the
kneeling giri grew brighter still, as she sprang
up with a musieal “Thank you, mamma,” ana
exchanged her seat on the fioor for one on the
knee of a portly, pleasant-featured old gentle
man, who sat in a loungiug-ehair before the
Window, reading.
»* With a quick movement, aa graceful as it was
iacious, she palled hie morning paper away
from him, and dropping it on the floor, set her
pretty little loot upon it firmly.
VYhat do yes sav, papa ?” sho asked.
« Well, is it. «y net ?”
Th? old gehtleLFh dicTnol SMtflfoUch out of
temper for the liberties she had taken, but, put
ting his arms about her, drew her toward him
and kissed her over and over again. Anyone,
with t half a glance at the pair, would have
known that Alice Ressiter was the pride and
’darling of her father’s heart.
Well, you see, papa, instead of going to
Brighton with Helen and Marion, I want to visit
Auntie Russell, ler a sis weeks’ rustication. It
has been so long since I inhaled a real country
breeze, that actually I have forgotten what one
is like. Buttercups and daisies would be
greater luxuries than jewels to me, and for the
lite of me I don’t believe I eould tell to a cer
tainty whether potatoes grow on vines or
bushes. Then I overheard Dr. Andrews telling
gran’ma yesterday how shockingly thin and
sallow I was getting. He said I needed air and
exercise more than physio—that a few weeks in
the country, with plenty of romping, pudding
and milk, fresh air, and a flirtation with a rus
tic lover, would sot me up in roses and dimples
for a whole year. Beside, papa ”
“ Hush, you rattle-headed pussy cat! Your
reasons are forcible ones, and so plentiful and
well arranged that I think you must have made
out a list of them and learned them by heart.
But what about Brighton ? I don’t understand
how the belle of its last season—the vain miss
who came home again with her giddy Utile head
quite turned with her numerous conquests—
oan relinquish thus the chance to repeat her
triumphs.”
Alice curled her scarlet lip disdainfully. Her
father*smiled. That question was disposed 01.
“But Ally, it woa’t bo prudent for you to ge
alone. What with fenee-chmbing, hunting for
new-laid eggs and similar propensities which
would develop themselves in you, I should be
in continual fear of sprained wrists, dislocated
ankles, a bruised head or a broken neck. You
would need some eno to keep continual watch
and guard over yen. We could not spare any
of the servants, and as for hiring a private com
panion ”
“That was just what I was going to say
when you interrupted me,” Alice broke in
eagerly. “ There is Miss Dunbar, Hattie’s gov
erness, who could be spared as well as not, and
I am sure she would be willing to oblige me.”
“ Very well, just as yen and she can agree.
You have my consent to anything reasonable.
And now be off, gypsy. Here is something to
defray expenses. Pick up that paper under
your toes and don’t smother me with kisses,
pussy.” And placing a bank-note in her hand,
Mr. Rossiter unseated her from his knee, and
following her graceful figure for a moment with
a glance of pardonable fatherly pride, resumed
his reading.
Dear, sweet, unselfish Ally Rossiter 1 How
from my heart el hearts I thanked her, when
she came into nay room a few minutes afterward
and told me ei her success. The day before,
when she was chatting gayly with me of the
coming season at the fashionable watering
place—for I was more her confidant than were
either of her haughty older sisters—l had acci
dentally let fall a wish that I might have a few
weeks' vacation from my duties as governess to
pass in the coolness and quiet of the country.
Ever since the Spring I had been longing for the
green fields, the singing birds, the smell of tbe
young meadow elover and the sight of the grow
ing corn; for I was born and bred a country
maiden and the old tastes and instincts were
strong within me. The het breath of town stifled
me, and so I told her with wistful tears in
my eyes. A shadow came ever her fair face
while I was speaking and I checked myself
involuntarily. I had, without meaning it,
stirred her generous impulsive nature to pity.
Blessed darling 1 She did not know that
I saw through her affectionate little stratagem,
when she came to me the next morning, and
asked me it I should be willing to accompany
her on a visit te her country relatives. Her air
was anxio.us and inquiring—for ths preferred
to seem soliciting rather than conferring a favor
—as though she did not mistrust how my very
soul leaped up with delight at her question. At
first I refused, confronting her with a knowl
edge of her self-denial and tender sacrifice; but
sho adhered co steadily to her resolution, de
claring that if I did net accompany her, she
would stay at home entirely, that she would not
go anywhere if ehe eould not go to Suffolk,
coaxing me with kisses, and holding up before
mo the very picture that I had painted the day
before in my yearning sadness, that at last I
yielded a half-pleased, half-reluctant, but inex
pressibly gratelul consent.
A week from that morning wo were on our
journey, and Alice entertained me with graphic
descriptions of the places and persons I should
see. She had net visited there before for years,
not since she was a little girl in short frocks and
trousersjibut 1 anew her memory must boa
faithful one, so life-like were tbe pictures she
drew. I could almost see the low, brown farm
house nestled down in tbb valley, with the
smooth plat of grass-green meadow land in
front, and the broad hillside orchard behind; al
most see the clinging roses and vines that
tangled their scarlet and green beauties over
the narrow windows; and the pleasant sitting
room, with its striped earpet, its pretty chin tz
curtains, the old-fashioned brass candlesticks
on the mantel-shelf, the three simple pictures
on the wall—one a mourning piece, where a fat,
red-cheeked widow held a primly-folded hand
kerchief to her eyes, to catch the pea-like tears
that rolled into it; called up no doubt by the
sight of the very straight, very green weeping
willow that stood guard over a purple tomb,
and whoso tassels almost brushed the chubby,
beet-colored cheeks of the fatherless little boy
and girl that clung to her side.
And then she told me of her homely kind
hearted Aunt Mary—her rough, bluut-spokea
Uncle James—her eldest cousin Edgar (away at
school, and Frank, two years younger, whom
she remembereias a wild, mischievous, bright
eyed boy full oitspirit, but generous and impul
sive to a fault.
“ But, dear me 1” sho said in conclusion, “ I’ll
wager by this time he is a verdant, gawky, over
grown follow—a veritable country elowu. By
the way, Catherine, do you know I mean to try
my arts on him ? A whelo Summer without a
conquest will be intolerably stupid, and such a
triumph would boa novelty in the flirting
world, worth scheming for. Imagine a sun
burned, shock-headed Tenth standing bolero
me, grinning with bashful simplicity, hoisting
first one foot aud then the other m sheepish
embarrassment, and stammering out his ardent
love-avowal something alter thia fashion: “ W
w-w-ill y-y-you hare m-ra-rae, Cousin Alice ?’ ”
I laughed in spite at myself at h»r comical
picture, but bade her havo a ear®; for coquet
tish games were always dangerous ones, and
aha might baths smitten one attar all. She
shook her head at rue with a morrv, sceptical
laugh, but made mo no reply in words. She
did not speak again till wo had reached the end
of our journey.
The pleasant, blue-cyad little woman„who
’same down to the wooden gate to meet us" was
very like the portrait Alice bad drawn of’her;
and the motherly way in which she smoothed’
back the brown curie ef her niece and kissed
her white forehead, her kindly reive, and above
all, tha cordial manner in which she clasped
my hand at introduction, quite won my heart.
While we were directing "the coachman about
sur baggage, a gentleman and lady on horse
back galloped gaily down the valley road, aud
nodded to Mrs. itaeseil as they swept past.
“My son Frank,” she said in an explanatory
way, as they went by. “ We were not expecting
you until to-morrow, or lie would have remain
ed at home tills atteruoou.”
I turned and looked atter the retreating pair,
mentally comparing that tall, elegantly-formed
man, carrying his handsome head so proudly,
STld minaging his spirited stood with that grace
ful, easy skill, which is the beauty of horseman
ship, to the shock-headed, bashful youth of
Alice’s fancy. I think sho recalled her own
words, too, for her glance followed mine, and
the look of pleased surprise that brightened
her whole face did not vanish till the dust of
their horses’ hoots had settled in the distance.
Deliciously cool and sweet was the little spare
chamber assigned to us, and after a bath and a
change of apparel, I seated myself by the low,
open window, and leaned out through the
climbing net-work of roses to enjoy the beauti
ful freshness of the Summer scenery spread out
before my gaze. Alice was—l knew not where,
though a snatch of gay song, warbled in the
clearest of voices, or a trill of merry laughter,
occasionally betrayed to me her whereabouts.
All at once I saw her emerging from the barn
one foot slipperless, a groat rent in her frock,
her curls tangled with bits of bay, her gay silk
apron filled w.th eggs. She was laughing and
singing all in a breath; but as sho danced along,
het foot slipped on a pebble and she fell. 1
heard the crash of the eggs in her apron and
saw tho broken yolks and whites trickling out
upon the ground in little rills of gold and
pearls. Just as I was going to her assistance, I
caught the sound of an amused mirthful laugh
by the gate and the next moment Frank Bussell
was assisting her to rise.
“ What carelessness I Six new-laid eggs ever
lastingly ruined I How shall wo remedy such a
loss ?” ho said, in a merry, mocking voice.
“ This is my cousin Alice, lam sure. Even if
I had not been anticipating your arrival, I
should have known tire face among a thousand.
You arc very little changed—so little, indeed,
that I dare greet you just as I used to years
ago,” and stopping he kissed her blushing
cheek gallantly.
They came into tha house together, chatting
like old friends, and pretty soon Alice camo up
to change her dross lor tea. She lingered
longer than usual at her glass and I smiled, in
spite of myself, at the painstaking care which
she maniiested in dressing. That evening, as
we sat together in the porch, Alice asked her
aunt, with a mischievous glance at Frank, who
the young lady might be whom we had seen
on horseback that afternoon.
“ Oh, sho was Annie Carter,” was the reply.
“ I expect in a year from now you will be able
to call her cousin. She has been engaged to
my son this long while.” And the old lady
smiled good-naturedly over her knitting.
I saw a shadow come over Alice’s face—very
faint, but still a shadow—and noticing that, a
sudden pain struck coldly to my heart—an in
stinctive fear of what the next lew weeks would
bring about. Frank was smiling, but there
was not the slightest visible touch of embarrass
ment in his manner, ns ha composedly pulled
off handful after handful ot leaves, and rolled
them up into balls to polt tha big Newfound
land dog lying at his feet.
The events of the next two months (for our
visit had been indefinitely prolonged) wars but
a realization of that prophptio deegd that fell
like a qlppd oyer my spirit the first night of my
stay in that house. Alice Rossiter’s heart was
singularly simple in its affoctionateness and
child-like confidence, and I noticed with a feel
ing akin to pity the mastery wlricli. her fasci
nating cousin was gaining over it. They were
issepjrablp companions. There were morning
rambles, on The rivers banks-long prome
nade’s under tha Summer moonlight—that
white, magnetic flame in which Cupid so often
dips his arrows. Now Alice would want wild
flowers for a wreath; only Frank cojildshow her
where the fineet grew. Again it was moss for a
basket, or water lilies for her favorite vase; only
Frank could procure them for her. Once she
sprained her ankle in descending a bill. Frank
brought her home in his arms, and I could but
notice how tenderly ho held her—how closely
her white face nestled down against his breast,
as though it would never ask to rise. A day or
two alter she was stung by a malicious bee.
Frank must bandage the white, swollen arm,
and then (did ho realize what be was doing, do
you think?) cover the smarting- wound with
kisses, saying, with an audacious look into tho
halt-averted eyes, that he knew as well as the
bees where sweets were to be found. Annie
Carter seemed to bo forgotten, or if remem
bered, to be held in secondary consideration to
his guest. With growing pain I witnessed their
evident liking for each other’s society—their in
timacy, ripening every day into something
more deep and tender. I couIU notinterfere or
warn them—tho matter was too delicate for my
skill to manage, and yot who could fail to know
what tbe result would be ? One heart must
bleed, whether Alice's, or that of the fickle
Frank’s betrothed, I could not say. My selfish
love would have chosen the latter.
Ono night wo sat together, Alice and I, by
our chamber window. Her chair was drawn up
close to mine, and sho half leaned against mo,
her bead lying on my bosom, her arms clasped
loosely across my shoulders. We had been very
silent, neither of us speaking for nearly an
hour, and I was wondering what had brought
such a pensive shade to Alice’s face, when she
spoke abruptly. Her question gave me the
clow to the Long reverie she had bean indulging
in.
“You saw Miss Carter yesterday, did you
not, Catherine ?”
“ Yes,” I replied.
“ Am I as pretty as she is ?” eho asked.
“A thousand times prettier, my darling,”
said I. “ Why, her face is no more to be com
pared with yours than a wax flower is to those
roses in your hair—fresh, dewy, and sweet with
perfume.”
“Do you think so ?” said Alice. “I am glad,
though I don’t know that I ever cared much
for being pretty until lately. I suppose Frank
likes—loves her very much—don’t you ?”
There was something more than a careless
curiosity to hear my opinion in that question.
Had I answered her frankly, I should have
given a decided negative. But, with a nature
like hers, I dared run no unnecessary risk. I
would not encourage the latent hope that I saw
slumbering in her heart.
“ Of course,” I answered.
She sighed- -a long, dismal sigh, that smote
my heart to the quick. Just then we heard
voices underneath the window. Her ear was
quicker than mine, for she lifted herself up ea
gerly, bent her head a moment, as if to listen,
and then I saw a quick color, like the flush of a
rose, ripple into her cheek. Wo leaned togeth
er out of tho window. Beneath us were Frank
Russell and Annie Carter, pacing backward and
forward on tha grassy lawn, her hand on his
arm—his handsome face bant down, till his
dark locks almost brushed hie forehead.
I saw Alice’s eyelids droop to crush back the
tears she would not have me see, and instinct
ively I put my arm about her and drew her
away from the window. I could feel her heart
beating stormily under her bodies, and when,
with a long, low, sobbing cry, sho threw herself
into my arms and buried her face convulsively
is my bosom, I knew sho was conscious that
her secret had passed into my possession.
The next day and the next passed dismally
enough, but I saw, with a sensation of relief,
that Alice shunned Frank’s attentions. Once
rousei to a sense ef her danger, the evil was
half remedied, X thought.
On the afternoon of the third- day I went out
for the solitary ramble I was accustomed ta
take after dinner. I walked down to the river,
and, to my surprise, as I neared my favorite
seat—a little clearing among tho willows that
thickly shirted tho bank—l saw Ally’s white
sun-bennet lying on the grass, and a little far
ther o», herself thrown down on the ground, her
arms crossed on the cool grass, and her face
buried in them. Her very attitude was one of
hopeless, passionate grief, and I should have
known she was weeking, even if I had not heard
her stifled sobs.
While I stood hesitating, undecided whether
to go forward and speak with her, or leave her
te conquer her sorrow alone, Frank Russell
earns eut from among the willows opposite mo.
He, too, noticed the weeping giri, and, spring
ing quickly forward, knelt by her side. Evi
dently he did not know what to say to comfort
her, fer he only smoothed her hair silently, ap
parently unconscious of my close proximity.
For once, Ally’s heart misled her. She thought
tha intruder was myself.
“Do not blame me, Catherine,” said she, “I
cannot help it—indeed, I cannot. Ho was so
good—so handsome—so kind to me, that I was
loving him before I thought of the cansequences.
Wo will go away from here to-morrew—will we
not, dear, good Catherine ?—where I shall never
see Frank again. Oh, my heart will break I”
she sobbed out, in broken accents, without lift
ing her head.
My heart leaped to toy throat with a suffocat
ing bound. I would have died rather than that
my beautiful, sensitive darling should so un
consciously have opened her heart to the man
who, ef all persons, ought to ba blinded to its
Boorets. It would kill her when, she knew what
she had done.
But I was unprepared for the revelation of the
next few minutes. Nor till I noticed the sudden
stai-t that Frank Russell gave, the flush that
same over his face, the tenderness that leaped
into his hazel eyes; not fill I saw him gather
her np in his arms, with passionate caresses,
pouring a vehement story of love into her ears
—love that had not dared to hope, and that, but
fer that unexpected revelation, would never
hare found utterance—did I realize that Ally,
after all, was to be happier than I had dared to
wish sho might be.
But I was startled when I saw her struggle
from hie embrace with a frightened cry, looking
alternately from him to me, as if trying to com
prohend her humiliating mistake—a hot flame
ef Mortification blazing across her face, her blue
eyes darkened by a look of pitiful distress.
“Ma, no! don’t come near me, Frank Rus
sell,” she almost sereamed, when he would
have taken her hands. “ I see how it is—what
I have said—what I have done—what you would
say to me to save my pride. But do not mock
mo so I Let me boar this disgraee as my pun
ishment-only respect my seoret, for its own
sake. Come, Catherine, let us go 1” and she
staggered toward mo with both hands pressed
hard over her burning taco.
Moved by her suffering—her shame—scarce
ly knowing what I did, in my great pity for her
humiliation, I said bitter, harsh things to Frank
Russell, taunting him with fickleness, mean
ness, falsity, and concluding by bidding him to
seek Miss Carter and rehearse the part ho had
been playing. Ho listened in indignant sur
prise, but at that namo a new light ssenjod io
break across his mind.
“ &iss Carter 1” said ho. “Is it possible that
yon have labored under such a mistake as
: that? She has been engaged to my brother
Edgar for these two years ’“
The next moment Alice wae in hie arms, sob-
I eiug, laughing and blushing ail at once.
NEW YORK DISPATCH, FEBRUARY 8, 1885.
I left them together by the river, but not un
til I bad whispered maliciously to Alios:
“ W-w-will y-y-you have m-mo-me, Cousin
Alice?” _ _
AN ODD MISTAKE.
BUI "ALL’S WELL THAT EWS WELL.”
Mr. Grey was a man who had committed a
great blunder. He had retired 1 And now
time hung heavily on his hands, and he knew
not what to do with himself. So, for lack of
better occupation, ha took to calling on a cer
tain plump widow of his acquaintance, who had
a remarkably pretty daughter.
Bessie Peplos was a younger edition of her
mother. They had the same black eyes, rosy
cheeks and wavy hair, and truth compels us to
add, the same quick temper.
“ I’ll never marry old Grey,” Bessie told Mrs.
Peploe, defiantly, alter tho manner of the young
lady who refused a man before he “ axed her,”
for Mr. Grey had not yot proposed, although
every evening he presented himself at the wid
ow’s dwelling, and sat by the fireside in the
most comfortable chair in the room.
“ We shall see,” returned the elder lady, and
her bright eyes flashed, for sho had set her
mind upon the marriage, and already regarded
Bessto SB the mistress of Mr. Grey’s comforta
ble house in toohigh street of the little town in
which they resideu.
“ Yes, wo shall see,” muttered Bessie, and,
putting on her hat, slipped out to have a walk
with her admirer, Jack Wilkins, to whom sho
confided her trouble.
Jack was poor, and for that reason had re
frained from offering his hand to pretty Bessie;
but when she told him that old Grey was alter
her, he could no longer disguise his feelings,
and before they parted the girl ho loved had
consented to be his wife.
“ What will mother say ?” thought Bessie,
with a sigh, as they parted at the gate of Mrs.
Peploe’s little cottage. “ That horrid man will
be there.”
That horrid man was there, in an arm-chair,
opposite Mrs. Peploe.
He smiled at Bessie as she entered, but Bessie
frowned at him in return, and his face fell.
That evening the giri was absolutely sullen;
she spoke in monosyllables, and ill-temper de
prived her pretty face of half its beauty.
“ I am afraid her mind is set against it,” Mr.
Grey told himself, with a sigh, “ and we might
all be so happy, if she could only look at tho
matter in a proper light; but I suppose it’s
natural.”
And he redoubled his efforts to be agreeable
poor little man I for he had an affectionate heart,
and his big house was dull and lonely.
But Bessie’s face never relaxed its set expres
sion.
She hated the man, and meant to let him see
it, in defiance of her mother’s angry glances.
What business had a man old enough to be her
father to come courting her ?
“You have behaved disgracefully,” her mo
ther said, when Mr. Grey had taken his depart
ure. “Itis so wicked to trifle with the love of
any man.”
“I have never trifled with his love,” retorted
her daughter; “he must know that I hate him.
I have never attempted to disguise it—now,
M»vp I, mother ?”
“ You are a fool,” said her mother, bluntly.
“ Mr. Grey is tho best chance you have ever
had, or ever will have, and I insist on your say
ing yes when he asks you to be his wife.”
“ Mother,” cried Bessie, impulsively, throw
ing her arms round her mother’s waist, hiding
her face in her bosom. “ Mother, I have al
ready said yes to somebody else—somebody I
love very dearly.”
“ What!” gasped Mrs. Peploe, freeing herself
from her daughter’s embrace. “ What 1”
“It is true enough,” said. Bessie, in a falter
ing voice. “ Jack has asked me to marry him,
and I have said yes.”
“ Without consulting me 1” exclaimed her
mother angrily; looking at her with a stern, re
proachful face.
I love him,” returned Bessie. “Ho is the
•nly man in the world I could over care tor.”
Stuff and nonsense!” cried Mrs. Peploe.
“ Even if I liked tho young man—which 1 don't
—your marrying would ba out of tho question.
Ho ean’t afford to keep you.”
“I am not afraid of poverty,” said Bessie,
bravely; “ beside wo aro not going to marry in
haste. Wo oan wait.”
“ Poor fool 1” and Mrs. Peploe’s lips curled.
“ I know what this waiting means for tho wo
man. She goes on trusting and believing in
his promises, and then when her beauty has
faded, he turns round and marries some one
else. That’s how it ends.”
“ Even then,” said Bessie, “ the woman is
better off than if she had tied herself to some
body she could not love.”
“ Oh, yes, you aro mad,” return
ed Mrs. Peploe; “ but, thank goodness, you
have a mother who won’t allow you to make an
idiot of yourself. You will marry Mr. Grey,
and forget all about that misguided young man
who ought to be ashamed of himself.”
“ What for?” asked Bessie, with resentment.
“ For proposing to a girl whom he has no
moans of keeping in comfort,” returned Mrs.
Peploe. “ A straight waistcoat is what he wants.
You aro a pair of lunatics ; but, fortunately. I’ve
some eoiise left, and 1 woa’t stand by and see
my daughter ruined for life.”
And she flounced off to bed without giving
Bessie tho usual good-night’s kiss. Poor girl!
she missed it sorely, and sobbed herself to
steep ; but sho meant to be true to Jack all tbe
same. Not oven her mother's anger would in
duce her to give him up and consent to marry
old Grey.
bhe treated the object of her dislike with the
greatest coldness on his next visit, and suc
ceeded in makisg him thoroughly miserable.
But he brightened considerably when Mrs.
Peploe, te atone for her daughter’s rudeness,
sought to engage him in conversation. Indeed
tho grateful little man ventured to give the
elder lady’s hand a gentle squeeze when he rose
to take bis departure ; aud, to his surprise and
joy, it was warmly returned.
Now, if Miss Peploe would only got over her
objection, how happy and comfortable we should
all be,” he thought, as he trudged home. ’• Hol
loa 1” coming suddenly face to faea with a hand
some young fellow iu a rather shabby ulster.
“ How are you, Jack Watkins ?”
“ Oh, I am all right, thank yon,” said Jack,
sulkily, and strode on without another word,
while little Mr. Grey stood -gazing after him,
with a look of comprehension on his face.
“I suppose she has been telling him all about
it,” he said to himself, with a sign. “It’s natu
ral, I suppose, but it’s selfish, too. Yes, it is a
little bit selfish of them.” And shaking his
head, the old gentleman knocked at the door ef
his house in the High street—that large, gloomy
house that had never seemed homelike sines
tiro death of that sister who had been his right
hand.
When wo think we are going ■te make people
happy, it is hard to find that we aro regarded as
an enemy, and Mr. Grey retired to rest in rather
dismal spirits.
He arose tho next morning with the determin
ation of putting an end to his suspense by offer
ing himself and his homo in the High street to
the object of his attachment; he could bear tho
suspense no longer.
When he arrived at the widow’s cottage that
evening Bessie was not at home. She had gone
out to tea with some friends, Mrs. Peploe said,
but failed to add that she had willfully absented
herself because tho sight of Mr. Grey was dis
tasteful to her.
“I’m glad ehe is not at home, dear Mrs. Pep
loo,” said Mr. Grey, looking very red and nerv
ous. “I am glad she is not at home, because it
gives me an opportunity of saying something
that is very near my heart.”
He edged a little nearer te tho widow as he
spoke, aud sho smiled at him in an encouraging
way.
She was a handsome woman, and. her smile
revealed the whitest teeth in tho world.
“Fray, go on, Mr. Grey,” she said. “I am all
attention.”
Mr. Grey coughed, and looked excessively
uncomfortable.
He wished that the widow would avert hef
bright eyes from his face; her steady gaze con
fused him, and he scarcely knew what he was
going to say.
Ho hardly liked to risk popping the question,
for a refusal would mean banishment from the
cheerful fireside where he had spent so many
pleasant hours.
But the widow was waiting for him to speak,
and he eould not back out now; ho had gone too
far.
Poor little man ! His heart wm boating like a
sledge-hammer.
How still the room was. He started as tho
ashes dropped upon tho hearth. This awful si
lence must bo broken, or what would the
widow think of him ? He must say something.
“ You must have known my object in coming
here so often,” he blurted out at last.
“ Well, I think I have guessed it," returned
Mrs. Peploe, continuing tho stitches in the
stocking she was knitting.
“ I thought you would,” observed Mr. Grev,
consifierably embarrassed by her reply, but re
lieved at tha same time, for it saved him from
the erdeal of a long explanation. “ Well, sines
you have guessed my secret, oan you give »««
hope ?"
The widow was silent for a few moments, and
Mr. Grey gazed at her in tha deepest anxietv,
his heart throbbing with rainglad jey and fear.
Tha house ;iu the High street would seem
mere lonely than ever, if he returned toil a dis
appointed man.
“ I will bo frank with you,” she said pres
ently. “As far as I am concerned, there is no
passible objection to the marriage; but Bessie
is so young and foolish feat
“Ah 1 yes 1 I thought ehe would object, said
Mr. Grey, rubbing his face with a red' silk
poeket-handkerehief. “ But don’t you think
yen could bring her round? Pd b® so kind to
her, that I’m sure she’d gat over her dislike of
the idea. Now, couldn’t you indues her te be
more reasonable ?”
“ I have tried my best,” said the widow,
with a deep sigh. “ But fee girl is wild and
headstrong. I seem to have lost all influence
orer her.”
“ Thon, alter all, there is no hope for me,”
said Mr. Grey, looking terribly erastfalion. “ I
thought we should be such a happy tamsily—wo
four.
“ We four I” repeated Mrs. Peploe, staring at
him as if she thought that ho had taken leave of
his senses.
“Yes!—wo four! Why not?” asked Mr.
Grey. “ I know Jack Watkins is vary fond of
Bessie, aud I fancied we should all be happy
together, if I eould only induce you to say
“ Then it is not Bessie you want,” said the
widow, dropping stitches in her stocking, and
blushing like a girl, as the truth flashed through
her mind.
“Bessie!” exclaimed Mr. Gr,ey laughing
heartily. “What should I want with a child
like that? Didn’t you know,” hero he grew sud
denly grave, “that it was you I wanted, Janet?”
“Wb all thought it was Bessie, stammered
Mrs. Peploe. “Oh ! what a fool I have been 1”
“Don t say that,”returned Mr. Grey, in a sad
tone of voice. “Itis I who have been a fool to
think you could over care for me.”
The widow made no reply to this, but gave
him a glance that spoke volumes. In another
moment bis arm was around her waist and he
had stolen a kiss.
And you think that Bessie won’t object ?” ho
said, anxiously.
“I am sure she won’t,” returned Mrs. Pep
loe, with a twinge of conscience, as sho thought
of tbe way in which she had received Bessie’s
confession of love for Jack Watkins.
“ 1 don’t know so ranch about that,” said a
merry voice from the doorway, and Mr. Grey
hastily drew bis arm from the widow’s waist as
Bessie entered the room.
That kiss had opened the young lady’s eyes as
to the real state of affairs, and she knew in a
moment that her mother had been the real ob
ject of Mr. Grey’s affections. But, why had she
not seen it before ? Sho was angry with herself
for being such au idiot.
,ne World would
Would ho bo pleased to find that Mr Grey was
an imaginary rival ?
Bessie pulled aside the blind and looked ou4
to see Jack, who had escorted her home, stand
ing on the opposite pavement with his eyes fixed
on the cottage. Mr. Grey followed her, and,
alter peering over her shoulder, vanished
the room, while at the same moment her mother
called her away from tbe window.
“ Bessie,” said Mrs. Peploe, between laugh
ing and crying, “forgive me for all the hard
things I said to you.”
” I will, indeed,” returned Bessie, heartily, as
she kieaed her mother; “ but what fools we have
been ! We must have been as blind as bats not
to see that it was you he wanted all the time.”
“Who would dream that he would have
looked at me when you wore near,” returned
Mr. Pep’oe, stroking her daughter’s rosy cheek.
“ Oh, mother !” began Bessie, but paused
abruptly as tbe door opened and Mr. Grey en
tered accompanied by Jack Watkins.
The four looked at each other in silence for a
few moments and then, tickled by the absurd
ity of the situation, Jack went into convulsions
of laughter. Hisjnirth was contagious and all
laughed merrily, although Bessie tried to look
indignant.
“ All’s well that ends well,” observed Mr.
Grey, rubbing hia hands, and then be bent for
ward and audaciously kisaed Mrs. Peploe right
before the eyes of the young people.
It was not long before a double wedding waa
celebrated, Mr. Grey having lent Jack the
money to start in business lor himself, and
from that day to thia the couple in the big
house and tho couple in the cottage—a wedding
present from Mr. Grey—have never regretted
their choice.
A YORKSHIRE ODDITY.
BY BARING GOULD.
The subject of thia memoir has been dead
only a few years. He was a tall, red-faced, jo
vial man, with a merry twinkle in his small
eyas—a man who could tell a good story with
incomparable drollery, and withal was the gen
tlest, kindest-hearted man, who wou'd never
wonnd the most sensitive feelings by ridicule.
This worthy butcher thus narrated his court
ship :
“ It’s a queer thing, sir, boo things turn oot
sometimes. Noo, it war a queer thing hoo I
chanced to get wed. I war i’ Leeds once, and
I’d na mair thowts aboot marrying na mair
un’ nowt, and I war just going doon i* street,
tha knaws, sir, when I met wi’ my wife—that’s
her at’s my wife noo, tha knaws. I’d kenned
her afore, a piece back; eoa shoe comes oop to
on an’ shoo see, ‘ Why, James, lad, is that
thoo?’ ‘Ay,’ I ses, ‘it is awevor.’ ‘Weel,
James,’ ses she, ‘ what’s ta doing wi’ thysen
noo?’ ‘ Why,’ I ses, ‘ I’s joost gotten me a new
boose.’ Boa wf that, she ses, ‘Then I lay,
James, it ilia’s getting a new boose, tha’H bo
wanting a new hoosekeeper.’ Soa I sea to ’er,
ses I, ‘ Tha ma’ coom and be t’ wife if ta likes ;
tha mawn’t be i’ hoosekeeper, tha knaws, but
tha ma’ coom and be t’ wife.’ And soa shoo ses,
‘I aint partikier. I don’t mind if I do.’ Sows
never had na mair to do about t’ job.”
I asked him if he had ever found occasion to
regret such an expeditious way of settling the
matter. He shook his head and skid:
“No, sir, never. Shoo’s made a rare good
wife. But shoos her mawgrums a’ times. But
what woman ain’t got ’em ? They’ve all on ’em
maggots i’ their heads or tempers. Tha sees,
sir, when a bone were took out o’ t’ side o’
Adam, to male a wife for’m, twere hot weather,
an’ a blew-bottle settled on t’ rib. When shoo’s
i’ her tantrums, ses I to her, •Ma dear,’ ses !,■
‘I wish thy great-great-grand ancestors bad
chanced to be made i’ Winter.’ ”
When ho was married ho took his wife a trip
to Bolton, and spent a week on his honeymoon
tour. As soon as he returned home, the first
thing be dtd was to put his wile into tlie scales
and Weigh her. Then the butcher took out his
aceount-book and divided the expenses of the
marriaga and wedding-tour by the weight of hie
wile.
“Eh, lass,’’ said ho, “thou’st cost me four
teenpence ha’penny a pound. Thou’st tho dear
est piece o’ meat that iver I bought.”
lie had a barometer. The glass stood at set
fair, and for a whole week the rain had been
pouring down. On the eighth day the glass
was still telling the same tale, and the rain was
still falling. Our friend lost his patience, and
holding the barometer up. to the window he
said, “ Sithere, lass, thou’st been tolling loss.
Dost thou see how its pouring? I’ll teach theo
to tell lees again !” Aud ho smashed the glass.
Ho was laid up with gont. The doctor had
tried all sorts of medicine, but nothing seemed
te profit him. At last the medical man said,
“ Try smoking. I daresay smoking would do
you a deal of good.”
“ Ah,” said the wife, “it’s possible it might.
But thou seest, doctor, ehimleys is made so
narrow nowadays that one cannot hang un up
i’t’ reek [smoko] as one did wi’ one’s bacon i’
bygone days.”
His wife was dying. She was long ill, and
during her sickness was always exclaiming,
“Eh I I’m born to dee. It win’t be long afore
I dee. I shan't bo tong here,” and the like.
Our jolly butcher heard these exclamations day
atter day, and said nothing. At last ho got a
little impatient over them, and said one day, as
she was exclaiming as usual, “ Oh, dear ! I’m
goin’ to dee,” “ Why, lass, thou’st said that
ower and ower again a mony times. Why doaa’t
thee set a time, and stick to it?”
Qn another occasion feis wife slightly varied
ths tune to “Eh ! the poor bairns ! What will
become o’ t’ bairns when I dee ? Who will mind
t’ bairns when their mother is dead ?”
“Never thee trouble thy head aboot that,”
said her husband. “Go on wi’thy deoiu’. I’ll
mind t’ bairns.”
He was going to York with his son—a boy of
eighteen. He took a ticket tor himself and a
half one for his boy. When the train drew near
to York, the tisket-coilector came round and
exclaimed at this half-ticket. “ Where’s the
child ?”
° Hero, said the butcher, pointing to the tall,
awkward youth.
“ What do yon mean?” asked the indignant
ticket-coiieetor. “Ho ain’t a child; he’s a
young man 1”
“Ah ! so be is now,” answered the butcher,
“ but that’s thy fault, not mine. I know when
we got in at Wakefield ho were nobbut a bairn,
but tha’stboon going so confounded slow that
he’sgrowed sin’ we started t”
gaily years ago, oh a rare occasion, James
took a glass tad much. It was the last time
such a misfortune took place with him. His
clergyman was obliged te speak to him about
it, and ia so doing said: “ You knew, James,
beasts do not got drunk,”
“There’s a deal o’ things belonging to all
thing?,” answered tho worthy butcher, who
never suffered himsdbt te be cornered. “If a
horse were o’ one side o' a and another
op t’ other side, and t’ first horse ses to V other,
‘Jim, 1 looks toward ye !’ and the t’ ether ses to
the first, ‘ Thank y’ kindly, Tom; I catches your
eye.’ And tha first horse see again, ‘ Tha’lj tak
auother sup, lad, and drink ma health;’ the
second will ba sewer te say, ‘ I will, and I’ll
drink to lota o’ your healths.’ Why, air, them
two horses wi;l be uobbin to one another iver so
long. Lor bless ye, them two horses win’t part
till they’sa as drunk as Christians.”— Uca ing
douiei.’s Yorkshire
THE ZOLA oFmOBERN ART.
A YOUNG FRENCH WOMAN WHO
GOE3 IN FOR REALISM.
Nothing that is very common is elegant. We
go in for high art now. That reminds me of an
oxperieneo of mins with a sculptress. She
shocked me. Her name is Mlle. Yeldo. She is
French by birth and in ideas. For soma tima
she had a studio a|t tho Eden Museo, where her
“Temptation of St. Anthony” still attracts a
great deal of attention. The other day a little
perfumed note reminded me of bar existence and
begged ma to eall on her at tire Hotel Bruns
wiefc, where she has established her studio.
She received me in an artistic robe of white
satin, trimmed with lace. 0n a table iu tha
centre ef the room steed seme thing wrapped ia
damn cloths. “ I have something to show
you," she said in reply te my look ef inquiry.
“I want to iutrodnea yea to my latest creation
—Nana.”
With these words she whisked off tha clothes
and displayed a clay image ot Zola’s famsus
type of Parisian life. I looked in wonder, first
at the figure and then at the woman Who had
dared to make it.
“ leu find it a little risque, perhaps ?” she
said, smilingly.
I should rather think I did, end I frankly
told her as mueh. The statue waa that of a
voluptuous, beautiful woman, seated in a chair
in a roaklesa lack of c’otbing, her garments ly
ing seatiered about her feet. Her attitude and
face indicated profound roiaetion. The upper
part of her figure was nude. A loose peignoir
draped the lower park just revealinc a pair of
high-hegjed, sharp-pointed Froneh shoes. Ths
faoo, afthough beautiful, wore a Ipok al wanton
cruelty thoroughly in Beeping with th® charac
ter which tha master of modern Branch realism
has drawn with so mush skill and license.
“ Well, tell me what you think of it,” said tho
artist.
Then, without waiting for my reply, she went
on In the voluble French: “I know what you
think, oi course; vou think there’s no parlor in
the city that would have such a statue as that in
it. Well, I didn’t make it for parlors. I made
it entirely to please the mon. I know something
of masouline taste in such matters, and I rather
think I have hit it off pretty well in ‘ Nana.*
Don’t you agree with me ? Now, I intend to ex
hibit that statue as soon as it is completed, in
some club, or, perhaps, in one of your gorgooua
American saloons; at any rate, m some place
frequented exclusively by those of the other
sex. If ‘Nana* pleases them, I shall make
other statues of the same kind and sell them.
Don’t you think I shall be able to combine art
with business Ctara Belle.
BY REV. SYDNEY SMITH.
1 have a contempt for persons who destroy
themselves. Live on, and look evil in the face;
walk up to it, and you will find it less than you
imagined, and often you will not Jind it at all;
for it will recede as you advance. Any fool may
be a suicide. When you are in a melancholy
fit, first suspect the body, appeal to rhubarb
and calomel, and send for the apothecary; a
little bit of gristle sticking in the wrong place,
an untimely consumption of custard, excessive
gooseberries, often cover the mind with clouds
and bring'on the most distressing views of
human life. I start up at two o’clock in the
morning, alter my first sleep, in an agony of
terror, and feel ail the weight of life upon my
soul. It is impossible that 1 can bring up such
a family of children, my sons and daughters
will be beggars; I shall live to see those whom
I love exposed to the scorn and contumely of
the world 1
But stop, thou child of sorrow, and humble
imitator of Job, and tell me on what you dined.
Was not there soup and salmon, and then a
plate of beef, and then dues, blanc-mango,
cream-cheese, diluted with beer, claret, cham
pagne, hock, tea, coffee, and noyeau ? And after
all this, you talk of the mind and the evils of
life I These kind of cases do not need medita
tion, but magnesia. Take short views of life.
What am I to do in these times with such a fam
ily of children ? So I argued, and lived dejected
and with little hope ; but the difficulty vanished
as life went on. An uncle died, and loft me
some money; an aunt died, and left mo more ;
my daughter married well; I had two or three
appointments, and before life was halt over be
came a prosperous man. And so will you.
Every one has uncles and aunts who are mor
tal. Time brings a thousand chances in your
favor. Nothing so absurd as to sit down and
wring your hands because all the good which
may happen to you in twenty years has not
taken place at this precise moment. Nothing
contributes more certainly to the animal spirits
than benevolence.
Servants and common people are always
about you; make moderate attempts to please
everybody, and the effort will insensibly lead
you to a more happy state of mind. Pleasure
is very reflective, and if you give it you will
feel it. The pleasure you give by kindness of
manner returns to you, and olton with com
pound interest. The receipt for cheerfulnes is
not to have one motive only in the day for liv
idg, but a number of little motives; a man who,
from the time he rises till bedtime, conducts
himself like a gentleman, who throws some lit
tle condescension into his manner to superiors,
and who is always contriving to soften the dis
tance between himself and the poor and ignor
ant, is always Improving his animal spirits, and
adding to his happiness.
She wouldn’t have been a young lady of
much spirit if Charlie’s stupidity hadn’t
MADE HER REAL MAD.
Twe young ladies were overheard talking glibly
and confidentially on a suburban train.
••Now, Mary,” said one, “ tell me why you and
Charlie quarreled.
•* Because he’s a ninny—that's the reason. You
knew he’s been coming to see me for two years, and
I could sea just as plain as anybody else that he
was head over heels in love with me. But he didn’t
seem to have any snap in him, and I got real impa
tient, just as any girl would have done. A few
"frights before Christmas he called to sea me, and be
fore he went away I said: 'Charlie, I want to make
you a Christmas present, but I want to be sure it
will suit you. It is something real nice, warm, use
ful and ornamental, and will always stay with you.'
‘A scarf,’ ho said. 'No, no,t a scarf,’ I said, though
it might embrace you. It weighs about a hundred
pounds, and I’ve heard you say you thought it
very precious.’ ‘Oh, 1 know,’he said;'a bicycle!'
By this time I was nearly mad, but I made one
more effort. * Not a bicycle,’ I said; ‘ but it can
walk, has a mouth, eyes, pretty hair, and is very
affectionate.’ ‘Now I know,’ be said, and what do
yen think the ninny guessed that time ? ' A big
Newfoundland dog!’ I was never so disgusted in
my life, and have not seen Charlie since. He’s
treated me real mean, and now leap year is gone,
and I just hate him j Oh, thare he is now, at the
other end of the car! Ain’t he sweet? I wish he
would come and talk to us I”
Th® youngsters imitate their parents in many
ef their social unveracities. Sometimes they
are
HAPPY IN THEIR HITS.
Scene—Two little girls playing that they are
grown up people.
“You must accept this ring as a present.”
npi I wouldn’t thjqk it.”
«• Really you will obligd Eno if yoh will take it; you
know it doesn’t become my complexion.”
“Thanks, and in return I beg you will receiva
this pockotboos.”
“I believe I must decline.”
“ Please don’t; I was just about to throw it in the
ash barrel.”
Ho had much causa for sorrow when ho wit
nessed the
GREAT WASTE OF CRACKED ICE.
There was once a New York barkeeper who fell
into a decline, lost bia appetite, couldn't sleep, and
so on. His doctor advised him to try a change of
air, and recommended the Maine woods. Ho started
for the woods, and on hia way halted ever night at
Portland. During the evening there was a terrible
hail-storm. Standing at one of the windows of the
office of his hotel, the barkeeper watched the fall of
1 the hail-stones —many of them nearly as large as a
hen’s egg. While thus engaged, he was observed by
1 the hotel-keeper to sued a flood of scalding, passion
ate tears. The hotel-keeper was a tender-hearted
person, ever mindful of the comfort of hia guests;
so, softly approaching weeping barkeeper, he
1 begged leave to inquire the occasion of his sorrow.
“Oh, it's nothing. I'll feel all right again pres
ently,” said the barkeeper; " but (with a glance at
the descending hail) it pains me to see so muoh
> cracked ice wasted on a prohibition State.”
Wa have here aoma
• NEW REVELATIONS ABOUT MARTIN LUTHER.
5 “ Who was Martin Luther ?” asked a Newman
Sunday-school teacher.
1 “One ef the early reformers,” said the good boy,
at the head of the class.
I '• Where did he go ?”
•‘To the Diet of Worms.”
• “Correct,” said the teacher. “Now, then, why
did be go to the Diet of Worms ?”
“ ’Cause ho was tired of the tough beef he had at
f his boarding-house,” said the bad boy at the foot of
J the class.
It cannot well be denied but that thia M drum
-1 mer” waa
WORTHY THE LA»t Off HIS LOVE.
Once upon a time there was a drummer who met
a lovely girl. She belonged to a family who had
. everything they wanted, and she was the one
b woman to whom he never wanted to sail anything.
k She returned his affection. So novel was the sensa
tion of meeting a force he could not eopo with, so
, entirely strange the feeling of being conquered and
l subdned, that he could not tell the old gentleman
anything about it. It was a case where he conld
, not combat opposition, and even his ingenious
brain could not fashion any plot which should over
whelm the evident predilection the family had
’ against him. But she loved him, and that was all.
’ She told her father. The old gentlumftu's hgir rose
‘ Iju wnUh. Ho storgiec},
’ “WBat! Let you marry that blow-pipe, that
> swivel-tongued, brass-cheeked thing ! Never! You
may die au old maid. You may select a husband
[ irom xfre utiue but this copper gas gouer-
> ator, never!”
'•But. pa, I want to marry him.’*
“ Look nera, child ! If that fellow over comes in
to talk to me about you, 111 throw him out of the
Window; I’P—l’ll— Why, oonfonnd it, girl, haven’t
I W.d my ear talked off by him about bis darned
sample* and stock? Don’t I know him? Don’t
you let him come and talk to me. If he can talk
> like that about business, I don’t know what he’ll do
about love.”
! “But, pa, I will marry him. You may as well let
, him ask you.”
“ All right. I’ll listen to htm as long as I can,
and when I get worn out I’ll kill him.”
She tofft her lover of the interview, and he only
rem ar feed:
“Never mind; I’ll fix him.”
So the drummer went into the old man’s library.
The irate father sat in an easy-chair, waved his
hand to the drummer, and fixed himself in au attfc.
tude of despairing resignation. The drummer had
his hat in his hand. There was silence. The old
xnan was astonished. Still the drummer spoke not.
“ Well ?" said the old follow.
No response.
The drummer twirled his hat in his hands and
kept his eyas on the floor.
“ Aren’t yon going to speak to me at all F* yelled
the old fellow.
Never a word from the drummer.
After a few minutes* silence, the old fellow said,
meekly:
“Look here, young man—yeu want to marry my
daughter. Take her. If you arc capable of keeping
your mouth shut so long for her sake, you must
love her. But—well You’ve got ma. Take her
and bo happy.”
“ Thank you,” eaid the drummer “ Good morn
ing.”
On Alexander Pope’s priuoiple, •* Who drives
fet oxen shoald himself be fat,” a lady naturally
thought that
FROM HARD APPLES HARD OIDEB IS MAD 3.
A fashionable society girl married a man who
lived in a country town, and as she really lovod her
husband, she wanted to do all ska could to please
him. Ono day she told him she was going to make
some nice homo-made eider for him, and when he
eame home ths had about two bushels of Httle hard
apples piled up ra the kitchen.
♦•Why, Maude!” he exclaimed when ho saw them,
“what have you got hers?”
. “Apples, darling,” she replied, with a smiling
face.
“Where did you get them?”
"Bought them, of course, love.”
“But what did you get such hard ones forF*
"Bida't you say you wanted ma to make you some
home-made eider?” ehe asked, with the trade of a
quiver in her voice.
dear, but these are not good cider apples,”
“Why—why—” shejissltated, “you said you liked
hard cider, and of course I had to have hard appfes
to make it with, didn’t I?”
The husband kissed the wife and never said a
word. Young husbands are not like old ones.
BOINTILLATION3.
Owed to Winter—plumbers’ bills.
A man is called a confirmed liar when
nothing that he says is confirmed.
The present Winter tells the farmer
who has steers to shed to shed them now.
“We keep the world in good spirits,”
is the trademark of the Kentucky distillers.
An Illinois epitaph speaks of “ the
groves of Time.” If Timo has groves Eternity will
be a picnic,
“Your wife dead. Please return home
and live in happiness,” is a “personal” in a St.
Louis paper.
The Boston girls must not bo consid
ered hard drinkers because they take to their
glasses early.
It has been remarked that some mon
give according to their means, and some according
to their meanness.
Mrs. Ingalls says that woman is a si
lent power in the laud. This will bo news to thou
sands of husbands.
A littlo girl suffering with the mumps
declared that she " felt as though a headache had
slipped down into her nock.”
Mamma—Yes, my child, we shall
know each other in Heaven. Edith—But, mamma,
wo can make believe out when some of them call,
can t wo 1
Tin and brass do not go well together,
says ft scientific paper. Mr. Science, you’re away
off. It's always the fallow with brass that gets the
girl with tin.
Beecher can’t see wiry a clergyman
hasn’t as many political rights as anybody else.
Neither can we. But nobody else has a pulpit fur
nished him to talk politics out of.
When four men get together and begin
to tell how cold it was when they got up, the man
who speaks last is pretty sure to have a thermome
ter which registers from one to throe degrees lower
than any other.
Since that Connecticut woman left her
husband because the latter joined the Salvationists,
that organization reports the largest accession of
married men to its ranks ever known in the history
of the “ army.”
“Mamma, will my shoes go to
Heaven?” “ Why, no, Jdhhny; what put such a
ridiculous thought into your head*?” “ Oh, noth
ing; only you said last night that everything that
had a soul goes to Heaven if they are good, and my
shoes have soles, and are good.”
Bobby stubbed his toe and came in
crying to his mother. “There, there, Bobby,” she
said, after she had ascertained that the injury was
trifling; “you are too big a boy to cry over a little
thing like that.” “B-but what a-am Ito do, mam
ma?” he asked, eobbingly. “I ain’t b-big enough to
swear.”
Jan. I.—“ No. Thanks. I’ve sworn
off.” Jan. 2.—“ You really must excuse me, I've
sworn off, you know. Well, a little soda, then.”
Jan. 3.—-Put a dash of angostnra in that soda, will
you?” Jan. 4—“ They say claret’s as harmless as
water. I’ll try a little claret, barkeeper.” Jan. 5.—
“I’m sick. I've got a sort of a colic. Gimme
some Jamaica ginger in a glass. Put a little brandy
in it to kill the tante.” Jun. 6.—“ Gimme some whis
ky. I’ve been taking quinine.” Jan. 7.—“ Whoop!
Setemupagainl”
“ What a incomprehensibla Mirandy’s
got to be since she want to ther ’cademy,” remarked
Mrs. Homespun to her husband. “W’y, wot’s the
gal been doin’ now ?” asked Daniel. •’ Doin’ 1” ex
claimed Mrs. Homespun, “w’y she said she must
go to her room to disrobe, as she wished to retire
early.” “Disrobe and retire ?” murmured Daniel,
»• wot’s them, ma?” "I dunno,” replied ma; “but
she didn't do nothin’ •’ the sort. She only un
diseased and went to bed. Did ya ever hear o’ Rich
p'evarioation ?” Judging from the groan that came
from Daniel it is safe te presume that he never did.
An old Texan, being asked to describe
a norther, said: “ I’ll tell you what it is, stranger, a
norther puts in the quickest work of anything yen
ever saw. You see that lake down there (pointing
to a beautiful lake about a mile distant). Last
Spring, in the latter part of March. I was fishing in
the a iter noon; the sun was shining, aad it was as
warm almost as the middle of Summer. The fish
were jumping up all ever the lake, and they were
biting splendidly. A shade came suddenly over the
lake, and I thought I smelt a strange smell that oft
en precedes a norther. I immediately turned away
from the lake and looked toward the northwest, and
I saw a small dark dond passing like lightning, and
I knew I must hurry home. After looking a short
time at the cloud, I turned and looked at the lake,
when, to my astonishment, the lake was frozen
over, and many fish were lyipg on top of the ice.
The fish had jumped up, and the lake had frozen
over so quick they could not get back. Stranger,
maybe you think that is stretching things a little;
but I tell you a norther can beat anything but
lightning, and can hurry that up mightily.”
TOD MUCH OF A LIE.
Ths Truth Made Him Mad, but the Lio
Melted Hun.
(From the -Arkansaw Traveller.)
Presenca of mind not only assists a man in
time of danger, but, properly exercised, -will
sometimes keep him out of the penitentiary.
Old Mark Pulinaon was indicted for stealing a
cow. The high standing of the prisoner, the
prominent position whiali he held in the Dry
j?ork church, and his well-known ability in man
aging a distillery combined to make the trial
one of unusual interest. Tho proof was not
very direct, and the old man’s friends enter
tained strong hopes that ha would be acquitted.
■ Tho remarks of the prosecuting attorney were
scathing.
“ Judge,” said tho old man, when the “ Skin
ner” took his seat, “ I reckon you will allow us
te say a few words right here, won’t yon ?”
“Yes; proceed.”
“ I just wanter say this: I didn’t expect such
a slam irom that boy. Why, J edge, I almost
raised that feller. Many is the time I have
boosted him up in the ’simmon tree, when he
was too little to climb, an’ many is the biscuit
an’ hunk o’ co’nbread that ho has awallered at
my table. Now be comes ’round hero and
’cnees me o’ atoalm’ a cow. Jedge, mo an’ that
boy’s daddy was raised together, an’ I’ll bet
five dollars, an’ put up tho money right now,
that if the old man was alive he’d whup the de
ceit outen that boy fur talkin’ agin mo that
way.”
“ Tho young man is only doing his duty.”
“ Jedge, thatis a mighty quar sort o’ duty. I
bogged for him during the ’lection an’ made all
the niggers vote ior him. If I hadn’ter done all
that he woulder been beat Them thar votes
was got by fraud, an’ I wanter know if the
thing can’t be recounted an’ them ther dishon
est tickets flung out ?'•
“ Too late now, old mao.”
“Wall, it ain’t too late fur ms to hop on that
boy and whale him, is it?”
“ Your nersonal differences must be settled
outside of the court-room.”
“ Wall, can’t you ’journ this court for about
ten minutes. I won’t keep you waitin’ longer
than that. What do yon say, jedge ?”
“lour request is enWWr/l/*
“ Does teat mean that she goes r’
“ No, it means that you’d better take your
seat and behave yourself.”
“ Wall, as you’va got tho heels on mo, I reck
on I’ll have tomind what you say, but I’d ruth
er than a putty that yeu’d give mo a chance to
maul that chap.”
‘ ‘ Mr. Pulinson, yen have a lawyer to repres
ent you. He will do your t&lkiag.”
“That’s so, jedge. Now, boss,” turning to
his lawyer, "jee’ light into this thing, will yon,
like puttin’ out fire.”
The lawyer arose, bnt, instead of assailing the
prosecuting attorney, ho began an eloquent
eulogy of his client. '
‘JGontlemen yf thei® 7> - be g&idi « voa tll
know now npngnt and honorable our friend is.
We have all broken bread together—yoa, wo
have all been drunk with hiss, and what is it,
my feliow-citizons, that cap rival whisky in
bringing lass close together ? He never turned
a hungry man from his door. He has wept with
these who mourn, and has laughed with those
who were mirthful. Are you going to send
such a man as that to ths penitentiary ? Do
you believe that snob a man could steal a eow ?”
Ths old asa besamo more and more im
pressed as the lawyer proceeded. Tears rolled
down bis cheeks.
“ No, gentlemen of the jury,” continued tho
lawyer, “ seek a nssn as that might shod his
blood for a friend.- but he eould sever bo gutlty
of stealing a cowT’
The eld fellow, unable longer Io restrain him
self, sprang to his feet and exclaimed:
“ Boys, this man makes me feel like I didn’t
steal the eow shore unff I I am something e’ a
liar myself, but it makes mo weep to see a feller
tell such a lie as our friend is a-doin’. I’d a
blame sight rather go to the pen than te hear
such a lie. I did steal the a—d eow. Now,
Jedge, put on your elansps.”
BOApfaiJJAn A »>r»njti'ena enlarges, «nd dTs
HI ®1 ivaiwflu veleps say pan of -he bode, fu £
va iv^vuv; ljlrVQl ,, Bolr.ntr PiPa. Si In I
gvigoratiag-yin, SI. All pest-paid. g
Nkw Exglawp Mpoioai; Ixtssvn P
jg bo. 24 Tremont Soir, Beston, Warn. |
MAK H6B OSZSSS
cay, lost »ia»ko«<A, et®., I will send you particulars of a
Mmole and certain msanft of B®lf ®uro, free of ckargo.
Bend your afldrittttt® If. 0, FOWLER, Moodus, Conn.
MATO aw
Deed for ©ver 25 years; with great ffseeess by tka
physicians of Raris, Nevr Yerk aad London, and onpe-
Her to all eth&rs for the presspteore of all casos.ra®»4
ox ef Ion? standing. Put up in Giasa Betties
eentaining 64 Capsales each. PRIOR 73 CENTS,
MAKING THEM THE CHEAPEST CAPSULES
IN THE MARKET.
Man O»ly ; Blood Poisew, risia
diseases, liaiUmmauan; ®bH»uctious bladder, hid
and otb?r organ*; vreaknesiH, nervoxu aad general
Hy; mental, fray »i«al prostration, A®., succettfally
treated &ad racLiMHy cured; remßi’kalSla ceres porieuted
Isold eases whisk have bean neglected er
treated: no experacaant* er failures; it bcins relf-evident
that a physician who condaes hitnfisif exclusively te t-ke
study Of eertain eiassea of diseases, and who treats thou
sands every year, must acquire greater skill in those
branches than one in general practice Dr. GRINDLK
I Ecu 171 West l~tli st., betwean uta and 7th avenues.
*a* ************* <
****** * * * “ * * *
: : M ::
: :
** WrS*
• **
* » 4
• * £ * -
LYDIA E.
* VEGETABLE COMPOUND *
* * * * * IS A POSITIVE CUBE * . * , *
For all of those Painful Complnihns and
* * Weaknesses so common to onr best * *
* * * « »FEMALE POPULATION. * « * # •
It will otrk entirely the worst form or Fs»
male Complaints, all Ovarian troubles, In
flammation and Ulceration. Falling and Db
rLACBMENTS, AND THE CONSEQUENT SPINAL WEAK
NESS, AND IS PARTICULARLY ADAPTED TO TIPS
Change op Life. *«*** «*«
* It WILL DISSOLVE AND EXPEL TUMORS FROM THE
Uterus in an early stage op development. Tna
TENDENCYTO CANCEROUS HUMORS THERE IS OHEOKED
VERY SPEEDILY BY ITS USB. ■»*#*»*
* It removes Faintness, Flatulency, destroys
ALL CRAVING FOR STIMULANTS, AMD RELIEVES WEAK
NESS or the Stomach. It cubes Bloating, Head
ache, Nervous Prostration, General Debility/
Depression and Indigestion. *****
* That feeling op Bearing Down, causing Pain,
Weight and Backache, is Always permanently
curbd by its USB. ********
*lt will at all times and under all circum
stances ACT IN HARMONY WITH THE LAWS THAT
GOVERN TUB FEMALE SYSTEM. *****
* j&3“lts purpose is SOLELY for the legitimate
healing of disease and the relief of pain, and
THAT IT DOES ALL IT CLAIMS TO DO, THOUSANDS OP
LADIES CAN GLADLY TESTIFY. * * * *
* * For the curb op Kidney Complaints in
EITHER SEX THIS REMEDY IS UNSUBPASSED. * ♦
* LYDIA B. PSIKHAM’S VEGETABLE COMPOUND is
prepared at Lynn, Ma?s. Price sl. Six bottles for $5.
Sold by ail druggists. Sant by mail, postage paid, in fonfr
©f Pills or Loaengcs on receipt of price aa«above, Mrs.
Pinlcham’s "Guido to Health” will be mailed free to any
Lady sending stamp. Letters confidentially answered. *
* No family should be without LYDIA B. PINKHAM’S
LIVER PILLS. They cure Constipation, Biliousness and
Torpidity o£ the Livor. 25 cents per box. * ♦ • <
"ACinLDF
Talbotton, Ga., Sept. 12. 1834.—My little son, now sev
en years old, broke out when a babe of three weeks with
what the doctors called eczema, beginning on the head
and gradually spreading over his whole body. He wad
treated for five years or more by various physicians with,
•ut relief and tho little boy’s health was completely
broken down. About a yet.’ ago I was induced to use on
him Swift’s Specific, and two bottles cured him sound
and well, and there has been no sign of a return of the
dliease. p. o. Holmes.
Poisoned by a Nurse.
Some eight years ago I was incsulated with poison by a
nurse who infected my babe ttfth blood taint. The little
child lingered along until it was about two years old,
when Its little life was yio’ded up to the fearful poison.
For six long years I have suffered untold misery. I wfts
covered with sores and ulcers from head to foot, and in
Kiy great extremity I prayed to die. No language can ec*
press my feelings of woe duri.Bg those long six yeara I
had the bed) medical treatment. Several physicians aao
•esssively treated me, but all to no purpose. The mer
cury and jrotash seemed to add fiiel to the awful flams
which was devouring me. About three months ago I was
advirdd te try hopeagainre-
vive in my
eifio. We did breast; bet
so, a»d I felt alas!
had spent go much for medical treatment that we were
too poor t© buy. Ch! the agony ef that moment! Health
tad happiness within your reach, but too poor te grasp lt»
I applied, however to those who were able and willing ta
help me, and I have taken Swift’s Specific, and am now
sound and well onco more. Swift’s Specific is the boot
bleed purifier in tho world, and is the greatest blessing <4
*he ogb, Mrs. T. W. Leb, Greenville, Ala.
A Druggist for 25 Years.
Ala., Sept. 8, 1884.—1 am an old pharmacist,
md have had to do largely with blood diseases for ovet
twenty-five years. I have dealt in all kinds of blood puri
fiers, and do not Iwsitato to say thfit Swift’s Specific is the
best and has given more general satisfaction than any
other I have ever handled. Last year a young student
came to my store emaciated and covered with sores. I
recommended S. S. 9. He took only three bottles, and tho
sores disappeared, his throat healed up, and I ll ® sWb
cleared off. His flesh was smooth and fresh as that of a
child, and he has gained ten pounds. I .<carOel/ kne\r
L bfi R aS»s£hc* of several weak®.
lie ciaiuieu to in flesh and spirit. A number
©f other cases less malignant have come under tpy
and all with the best results. .Sheoifi®
is an excellent tonic, and as aa auttlsic Kir iaalarla has
do shpetEg, it a tonic for gehi
er&l debany, and Qua it ths indAt satisfactck/ one fever
used. 1 nave been dealing in Swift’s Specifla for fiVe
years or more, and rdi satisfied that I do not nlace too
nigh an estimate upon its-merit s. Q. W, D£XON.
TreaAisb ba Blood and Skin Diseases mailed free.
The bwtvT swinfr r«».. Atlanta. g*
i+THE MILD POWER CURES.*-
Humphreys’
In use 39 years.—Special Prescriptions of
at Physician. Simple. Safe and Sure.
XJ/jr OF PRINCIPAL NOS- CURBS.
1 Fevers, Congestion, Inflammations..
& Worms, Worm Fever. Worm 00Uc... ..4-a
® Cry ins Colic, or Toething of Infants
4“□Siarriiaa of Children or AduluL .gs*
b Disentorv. Griping, EUiqusCoho....
6 Cholera. Nkorbas, VomitingJa
V Couslas, Cold. Bronchitis.
SWeuFuls-sa, Toothache, Facoacho. -.. .4-a
Headaches. Sick Headacne, Vertigo .2<a
Ifryspepcia. Bilious Stomach....
1 Swj?preas«xk or Fainfnt.l Fertods
S1 WHit es, too Profuse Periods
Croup, Cough, Difficult Breathing.... £
Salt Rltenm, Erysipelas, Eruptions .45
Blliewmatfsm,BkeumataoFains....
Fever and Aczx©, Chilis, Malaria.....
Pilea, Blind or Bloeding...
Cataxria, acuta or chromo; Influenza .59
WfioepinxCauLgJiL.Violen^Coughs .50
Gss.eral»eb£ljrty,Phys’lWeakness .50
Urinary Wealx»6S9. Wotting Bed .50
Diseases oftlio Heart, Palpitation 1.00
Sold by Druggists, or eent postpaid ou
receipt of price.— Sena for Dr.
Co. 3.0 V Etodtoja St., ISw'S wax.
BBANCH STOBB, NO. 523 BROADWAY.
UIL H. rß™X,‘
The Well-known Specialist,
and proprietor and consulting physician of the New York
Bttcazic Medical InntUnU, 513 3d ava., New York City, has
made the treatment of pjiTVATB BIS3ASEB ol MEN a
»po«<al stwdy and practice for many yeafs; Over 4,000
cases treated yearly. EecenJ ciusas of private cllseae.es
eared In a short time. Meers, Swnors and Blotches 6a
Fa-tf or Bo<iy cured without giving ‘mercary or pUier
palsens. MercKr>j the curce of the human race. “Your
children will suffer from IU effects. Avoid it as you would
any diseases ar3 being cured at this
without mertfury.
Dr. FRANZ is a graduate of a regular Medical College,
is well known over the Vetted States and Canada by
fehausands ef ohe and young men he has cured, and it is a
wen-known fact that tor years he has confined himself to
the study and treatment of Sexual and Chronie Diseases,
thes giving hia advantages that few possess. Dr.
FEAN'Z addresses himself particularly to those who have
already tried various physicians aad remedies from whom
they have received no benefits, and who. In fact, have
done them more harm than good. By a combination of
Ponaedies of great carative power, Dr. FRANZ has so
arranged hia treatment that it will afford not only Im
mediate relief, but permanent cures.
I w JrtU tHkn Who are sufferinsf worn the effect* of
yeutbfol jwdlFareticns shewing some of tno following
eynCp&ias: Mervotia FRygieal Debility?
incapacity), Lost Manliocd,
Abuses of tbe System, Exhausted Vitality,
Ccnfitsioix ©f Ideas, BrM ar nd Loss of Bril*
Uaney to tHe Eye, Aversion to Society, De
apenoy, Pimples on th.© Face, Doss of
Elwerjyy, and Frequeney of Urinating. You
may be in the first etage. but reraeraber yoa are fast ap
proaebißx rite hist. Many a bright and naturally gifted
yc uiig man. endowed w.tti genius, has permitted his case
to on uatil roßJor.’e bis intellect, aud finally
death claimed ita vietfm. 8o lay aside your pride, aud
consult ©»■* who taoroughly your aiimont
and vdio will know your ware, and oa3 permanent relief
fer an ailmopt that haa nsitf* day a drudgery and ni&hb
Th'vusan.te upon rtidu ands of wen, jn good
standing >n the «»aial world, are to-dejr suffering trona the
fe-uit?s of their d>’ua», the tesde ef rrhjih wore gown during
moments Of thou*Qxlosskom. Yoaag maa, turn an J gaze
uppH £hy eorapanipn, or seek tho utirrer for proofs to
otibstagaato this foot; so embrScf tho opportunity and
eiij»7 life and happiness fouxop- B eaa olai« to be a
Kx»n. a-st yo«r part manly, lip »®t eoafole yeui-self with
t&o that Nature will Eelp itMdfcr, for la doing sb
y6u not only fen the flam®, but wfock Nature aad yortr
seM. *‘ libita Uls gexqdnaU fatal d.saasos.”
ftaE-Afcß IO
•xeush’es or yaathftal fiSwfes. and who are troubled by too
ft-oquent evaouatixoM.si of th.® b!adder, often aocempaaied
By a alight smarting or burning istnaatiou, and finding a
deposit er r.vpy sediineut ha tho urine, ami somstimfiji
si-s&n p*rliotos of albcuton will appear, er teo coLw will
firatbe of a tain or milnleh hue, a;ut agi n changing to a
d»r.-i and torpid appearance, causing nervous debility
and l?sa of vitality. Remember, this 13 the
ef Sv ai is al Weasneia la all such cases a perfect cure' is
K-;; str an teed, aad a radfeal restoration, ©f the Genito
urinary eraans. All interviews and letters are saereHy
but all letters must have .tl inclosed for
w they will net be snswertd. Advice and ex
arainatton at Insfitato 5> without mejiolue. No ntsßl
btt:< basineae here, ner advice and mwdfelue for a
AH charges azeordinu to ease or men/hty. No physician
you treatmenteaa afford to give you
hia tame aad aiwonsedfeino ior a dollar. Investigate your
ro'.i and find your mistake- Cheap njedi&aes aad cheap
dseScss arc no ifaod. Medietaies packed fo as not to excite
cuej«t®igr, and sect by express, if foil deseriptkm of easa
Is an-en, but one personal iaterview in ail oosea preferred,
and avoid orwwdtag. Office hoers. 9A. M. to
4?.M,6t0 BP. M. Sundays, 19 A. M. to 2P. M. Pleaaa
Eoentioa in what paper yoa saw this notice.
TAPE WORMS REMOVED
IN TWO HOURS A PERMANENT CURB GUARAX
TEED IN EVERY CASk’. Prof. A. W. ADLRN. No. 084
GRAND STRIiHT, New York Gity. AL' EN’S SWEET
WO RM VVA FE KS, a posit h e cure ior BTOMAOH ftuU PIX
WURMS. All Druggists. PauioLlei hrto.
7