THE FUTURE YEARS.
BY OECIL LORRAINE.
In all, the future years, my sweet,
(Now roses blossom at thy feet,
And time flies by with footsteps fleet)
But in the future years.
What lives for us, or joy or grief,
A happiness beyond belief.
Bright smiles or bitter tears ?
In all the future years, my own,
Shall one of us be left alone,
Missing the other’s loving tone.
Throughout the future years ?
Or shall we be together, where
Together we may gladly share
Each other's hopes and fears?
The future years—ah, who can say
Which of us two will pass away
From earthly hope and love for aye,
From all that faith endures ?
I only breathe a prayer for thee.
That where I am, there thou may st be
Thro’ all the future years.
DRUHKr oa mniSG.
BY OLIVE BELL.
When I went down to Elderwood to spend &
few weeks with my old college friend Basil Mur
doch, I little thought I was going to meet the
greatest danger that could befall a man in my
position. For I was a poor man, just beginning
the world—many said experience would make a
famous lawyer of me—and I was young, healthv,
and hopeful, and best of all, heart-free. Basil
iMurdoch was just my opposite. He was my so-
Eiior by a decade of years, rich, high-born, but a
email, swarthy-faced delicate man, with a won
derful amount of magnetic fire, and persuasive
force in his composition. I had been strangely
Attracted toward him the first time we met, and
months of separation had not deadened his
•power over me, as I found when we stood to
gether on the smooth lawn that sloped down to
A wide, willow-fringed river.
“ Why, Frank,” he was saying, as he held my
hands in his warm clasp, “ you are a splendid
specimen of manhood. What would I not give
tor a tithe of your strength and beauty ?”
He sighed softly, and I am afraid I showed
Borne of the pity I felt for him in my face, for
naturally I was too ingenuous to hide my feel
ings. For his dark brows contracted slightly,
and his thin lip curled just a little as he went
on: “ Well, if I am a pigmy in size, I am not in
intellect. 1 think you will own that, Frank ?”
” Glady,” was mv hearty response, as I drew
his hand—as small and tender as a woman’s,
through my arm, “ you were always head and
shoulders above me, in scholarly attainments.
What a Paradise you have here, Basil—a
modern Garden of Eden.”
“ Aye, without the Eve, for mother is past
tempting any man to sin,” he said with a short
nervous laugh. I looked down at him. There
Was something about him, a strange, vague,
suppression of some strong emotion, that I
could not understand. His small, wiry body
Was thinner than ever, there were purple cir
cles under the large pathetic black eyes, as if
his nights were sleepless, and his days un
happy, and when he removed his hat
and pushed the heavy curls of dark hair
from his broad, high brow, I saw it was
deeply seamed with lines of care. 1 had a
strong vein of human tenderness in my nature,
and as we strolled down to the blue river, shining
in the sunlight of that June morning, I stroked
the small soit hand lying on my arm as tenderly
as if it had been a woman’s.
1 “Is your health no better, Basil ?” I said
I gently, for he had always been a great sufferer.
f “ Well ” he paused, as if reflecting,
*' sometimes I think 1 am going to live my
three score and ten, but many a night I think I
Will not live to see the morning break.”
•* Poor Basil!” I looked up at the fine old
mansion, embowered in its trailing roses, just
now clothed with masses of odorous bloom, at
the smooth green lawn with its fountains and
flowers, the fertile fields and wooded uplands
that Basil Murdoch could call his own, and
sighed, a trifle enviously, I must confess.
•‘You have everything earthly to make you
happy—everything the heart could desire, but
health.”
•* And a women’s love,” he added, in a low
tense voice, while I stopped stone-still and
fitared at him, for Basil Murdoch had never
heen an admirer of womenkind.
“ Basil Murdoch 1”
“ Basil Murdoch,” he mimicked— " yes, even
cynical Basil Murdoch, who never cared a
straw for any woman, has suddenly found that
life is not worth the living without the love of
some pure, good woman.”
“ Why, Basil, a man in your position might
Imirry any woman he fancied,” I laughingly
Baid, amused at his earnestness.
“Ah, but that’s where the trouble lies—l
cannpt find, one that comes up to my ideal.”
“ Pooh! Nobody marries their ideal nowa
days. Women are too intensely practical to
look beyond a man’s yearly income, and men—
■well, the majority of them want something that
looks well in fine clothes. Poor sinners like
myself must take what you lucky fellows leave
or nothing.”
“We ‘lucky fellows’ do not stand as good a
chance in the matrimonial market as you think
—that is, with the kind of women I would like
to marry. A sensible girl would rather marry
some handsome young Samson like yourself
than any half-dead-and-alive creature like me.”
He paused seemingly lor want of breath, for I
noticed that he was easily fatigued and his
difficult.
“ But,” he added, shutting his white, even
teeth, “ if 1 ever do find a woman I can love, no
power on earth shall prevent me marrying
tier.”
I am an old man now—white-haired, deso
late, homeless, with the brand of Cain in my
heart, if not on my brow—yet I can look back at
shat morning, odorous with June’s fragance,
.TunA’a annshine. as we two, broth-
Wn soul, u 12!?. lood : stood un '
der the tall junipers by the river’s willow-
Iringed edge and silently watched two ladies
" coming toward us, and say in all truth and loy
alty that I was glad and thankful when Basil
Murdoch laid his thin fingers on my arm and
paid, in that deep voice of his:
“ Look, Francis -that young girl at my moth
er’s side has the face of my ideal! Eve has en
tered my Paradise 1”
There are faces and faces, but the charm of
that face, drawing all eyes toward it by an at
triveness all its own, was simply intoxicating.
•A creamy skin, tinted with the rarest carmine;
deep, thoughtful, long-lashed gray eyes; lips
full and crimson, while low on the forehead lay
natural waves of chestnut hair; a face not per
fect with artistic coloring or faultless features,
fcut a face that reflected the grandeur of a no
’ file mind and guileless soul. Her large Gains
borough hat, with its snow-white plumes, was
taste itself, and the plain morning dress of
White India mull, with its knots of scarlet rib
tons at throat and girdle, was a model of sim
plicity.
“ Basil,” said his mother, her fine old face
beaming with delight, “ this is Adela North-
Gote, the daughter of a dear old friend, who has
k arrived. Welcome her to Elder-
J wod.”
And Basil did welcome her, in a few well
fchosen words, which bespoke the scholar and
but I fancied she shrank a little
from the earnestness in the pathetic eyes.
After introducing me, Francis Connor, as his
friend, almost brother, I adroitly engaged Mrs.
attention, and we allowed them to
(precede us to the house, for I saw by the fever
ish flush on Basil’s swarthy cheek, that he was
strongly agitated. His mother, one of those
Adorable old ladies who know how to grow old
• was a charming companion.
“Adela’s mother was a superior woman,” she
explained, “ and we have always been staunch
friends. lam rejoiced to see her child. And,”
■with a little motherly sigh, “ I hope, between
you, you will brighten poor Basil’s life a lit
tle.”
“ For days after Basil Murdoch was a changed
■man. He was continually at Adela Northcote’s
®ide, and as his mind was well stored with all
kinds of knowledge, he made her visit very
■pleasant. She was a noble woman, generous,
truthful, and charitable to a fault, yet I could
cee she was often weary of Basil’s attentions. I
watched them, first from pity for him, then for
love of the beautiful face that flushed to a richer
carmine, if her sweet eyes chanced to meet
mine. Basil loved her ; there was no disguis
ing that fact, although he had never put it into
J words. He seemed to forget everything but
• the wild, mad passion that enthralled him, and
was so completely wrapped up in his idol, that
his worship could find no outlet in human
speech. I pitied him, although I was as much
to be pitied myself, for I loved her just as well,
and with a depth of feeling that such men as
ISasil Murdoch could never fathom; but if he
won her, I must bear my pain in silence. I
would give him a fair field, and I am tellipg you
the solemn truth when I say that until he lost
her she never saw the least sign of love in my
demeanor toward her. I believed him to be the
soul of honor, and as such I intended to further
his wooing all that lay in my power.
At the urgent request of mother and son, I
prolonged my visit into months. As for Adela
TJorthcote, Mr. Murdoch absolutely refused to
part with her; and as Mr. Northcote was not
one of the fortunate many who could afford to
/•jgive his daughter a summer at some fashion
x ‘able resort, Adela was nothing loth to linger in
Ibis lovely and hospitable home. Ido not think
she ever once aspired to be its mistress, for
there was nothing mercenary in her mature,
and I had seen enough to know that she would
never marry Basil Murdoch from love. She
was clever at keeping him at bay, and steadily
avoided being alone with him. I pitied him,
for he was really calculated to make any woman
happy. He grew thinner, his sallow face was
growing pinched and drawn, and I could see the
smoldering fire was burning up what little
■ Strength he had.
One night in midsummer I accidentally
fought matters to a climax between them.
. AVe had all lingered on the lawn until the har
dest moo> came up from behind the eastern
hills and flooded field and river with its lam
bent light. It was a glorious scene, the silvery
Shadows flickering over the smooth turf, the
White lilies, tall and stately, lifting their pure
faces to the opaline sky, their heavy, sickening
filling the slumbrous air with a pungent
>' 086.
? ow beautiful the world is, to-night I” said
lifting her rapt face heavenward, then
&■ Burning her soft gray eyes toward the river,
and the river is like a sheet of silver I Come,
£et us go down 1”
She went slowly down the lawn, Basil follow-
W her, and heedless of her call, 1 slipped back
to the house, and into the darkened drawing
room, and left them alone. What was eaid 1
cannot tell, but when they came up from the
river, Adela went quietly and swiftly to her
room, and Basil came into the drawing-room
alone. , .
“ Frank,” he called, and I started up from
the couch whereon I had been lying, watching
the heaven’s, “ are you here ?” He turned on
the gas, and I think I never saw a more hag
gard face. His eyes were burning with the
fever of excitement, and as they met mine, a
swarthy bloom rushed into his cheeks, and his
thin fingers closed tightly over the back of a
chair, as if to brace himself up, for he was
tr ‘•’well/’ I said, expectantly, and with a wild
throb of the heart, for what was his loss, might
be my gain.
“ Well,” he echoed, in the saddest of ail sad
voices, a voice full of unshed tears, “it is all
over I”
I did not ask what was all over, for too well I
knew.
“ Adela Northcote has refused me ! Did I
not tell you, that some strong young Samson
like yourself, would have more chance than I,
with such women as her ?” he said, with a bitter,
mirthless laugh, that set every nerve in my
body tingling.
“ Hush, Basil,” I said, soothingly, going to his
side, and taking one of the soft hot hands in
mine, “women are strange creatures; Miss
Northcote may think bettor of your proposal,
alter a nights cool reflection."
“Never!" he cried, as he flung my hand
from him, “ she is no common woman; she
knows her own mind. But ,” and my heart
quailed before the tempestuous wrath in his
mournful eyes, “ I will have her yet, by lair
means, or foul1”
He hurried from the room. Ah! the field
was open to me now, but I was too loyal to my
friend, to think of entering the lists, until his
wound had healed—if indeed, the sore heart
would over cease to bleed.
And I tell you honestly, that I had no thought
of betraying my feelings, when a few evenings
later, I joined Miss Northcote on the lawn.
Basil was smoking on the verandah, but later,
as we strolled down toward the shelter of the
willow copse, I fancied I saw the glimmer of his
cigar in the shrubberies, and now, after the
lapse of so many years I know he followed us.
“ This is my last night at Elderwood,” I said,
as I switched the heads of some late violets,
with a willow withe, “ 1 have played idler long
enough; I must go back to the city to-morrow.”
She looked up, startled. Was it the blood
red glow of the sunset that dyed her face, or a
conscious blush ? The next instant, the long
lashes had hidden the tell-tale eyes, and she
was as white as one of the mid-summer lilies.
“ Come I” she laid her hand on my arm, and
at her bidding, I went down to the river’s brim.
She looked down at a little pool—clear as
crystal—at the foot of a great rock, a little
distance away, and I saw some fragrant masses
of water-lilies floating on the water. “ Could
you get me one spray before you go—you are
so strong and supple—and I will keep them to
remember the pleasant hours wo have spent
together.”
“Do you care to remember them?”
She blushed to the roots of her hair.
“I certainly do."
“ Then you shall have them.”
I swung myself down, clinging to the roots of
a strong young sapling, and came up laden
with the perfumed blossoms.
“ How good you are,” she said, with downcast
eyes, as she held out her hands for the lilies,
but I held them back.
“I must have my pay for them,” I laughed,
“one—two—three. Well, three kisses will do.”
She blushsd crimson, but did not shrink from
me, and throwing reason and loyalty to Basil
Murdoch to the winds, I drew her to me and
kissed her passionately on the warm, red lips.
“ Adela,” I cried, intoxicated with the wino of
love, “ I love you; it’s no use hiding it any
longer, for I love you as I never loved any other
woman.” f
“ And I”—she nestled in my arms like a little
child, “ have loved you since the first night we
met.”
For many minutes the water-lilies were for
gotten. It heaven’s gates had suddenly opened
and let out some of the supernal glory, I do not
think it would have rivaled our bliss. For,
from the first, we had been mutually attracted
to each other, and I found that Adela had suf
fered quite as much as I had.
‘‘Poor Basil I” I said, as I gathered up the
lilies, “you might have been mistress of this
beautiful home, Adela.”
“Ah!” with one of her rare smiles, “but I
did not love the master.”
“ He must know nothing of our engagement
for the present, Adela, as he feels his disap
pointment keenly. You are tho only woman he
ever loved.”
“ Strange! But do you know, Francis, I
would not feel quite satisfied if you had ever
loved another as you love me.”
“ I never have loved any woman but yon, and
I never will love another. You shall be my
first and last, Adela,” I said, emphatically and
truly.
“I hope so,” she remarked, with a faint sigh,
“for your faithlessness would either kill my
love or kill me.”
Fatal prophecy! Ah ! what a blessing the
future is a sealed book to us. We repeated our
vows of fidelity, made arrangements for our
future, and then I kissed her “ good-bye, ’’
never dreaming that when I again laid my lips
to hers, they would not kiss me back.
Basil seemed watching us intently for the re
mainder of that evening, and, somehow, 1 fan
cied that ho blamed me for being the indirect
cause of his failure, and I felt just the shadow
of distrust rising between us—the little cloud
not bigger than a man’s hand.
“ Frank,” he said, with a gayety I know ho
did not feel, “do you remember your old
flame, Crystal Meredith?"
I felt the hot blood mounting to my temples ;
yet what had Ito blush for ? Crystal Meredith
and I had been dear friends, nothing more.
“ Yes, I remember her,” I replied.
“ Well, the last time I was in New York she
was inquiring very tenderly about you. She is I
a beauty, and rich. You will bsN lucky fellow
if you win her Frank.”
He laughed that odd, mirthless laugh again,
and I glanced at Adela’s passive face. If she
heard him—and I know she did—she made no
sign.
I left Elderwood the next morning, and for
several weeks, fortunately for me, was very
busy. Some very profitable clients turned up,
and I worked as I had never worked before.
About the middle of September I was sent to
New York to work up some intricate business
in a case, and, before I left home I wrote Adela
a long, loving letter, assuring her of my life
long faithfulness and devotion. I have her re
ply yet, a true woman’s loving answer to the
man she loves.
Well, day and night, for a week, my mind
was almost completely submerged with the dif
ficulties I encountered. One day I had been
unusually busy, and that evening—a clear, mel
low September evening—l entered my room at
the hotel, where I was stopping, in a preoccu
pied way. It was eight o’clock—l remember
yet, the slow solemn strokes of thg {lock that
Chimed out the hgur—and fjaclng the windows,
I skw between me and the fading light, what?
Was I drunk or dreaming? To this IjojU I
cannot tell. For there was Adela Nbrihcote in
her white flowing draperies, her hands clutch
ing a newspaper in their set clasp, and her
beautiful face the picture of reproachful dis
tress. x-- '-I
“ Adela !” I throw out my hands in a gesture
of entreaty, “ how ” then a sudden faintness
overpowered me, and I closed my eyes for an
instant. When I reopened them, the vision, op
tical illusion, or whatever you choose to call it,
was gone, and I was alone with my bewildered
thoughts. But I had seen her—of that lam
positive—and with a restlessness that never
flagged, I paced the room until daybreak.
To work after that was simply impossible.
Impelled by some power to me unknown, I
packed my valise and started home, leaving
my business unfinished, for 1 must assure my
self of Adela’s safety and happiness. By six
o’clock that evening I was in my own room at
my lodging-house. Travel stained, anxious,
weary, 1 sat down to rest a moment and drink
a cup of coffee before I would go on to Elder
wood. The daily papers had been laid on my
table as usual, and accidentally glancing over
one, I was astonished to see my own name;
read that I, Francis Conner, of P , had mar-
ried Crystal Meredith of New York, two days
previous.
For one second I was stunned. Then the
words Adela had uttered by the river side—
“ yonr faithlessness would either kill my love
or kill me,” the vision, and the wild, mad folly
of whoever had forged this monstrous lie all
flashed through my brain, and dashing my cup
of hot coffee on the table, I rushed out of the
room like a man in a nightmare.
1 strode through the streets, crowded with
evening loungers, blind to all eights, deaf to all
sounds. Men looked curiously into my white
set face, women and children gazed pitifully at
me, but nothing moved me. If 1 had ever taken
time for rational reflection I might have gone to
the paper that published this spurious marriage
notice, and found who was the author of it. But
sense and reason seemed swallowed up in a
strange horror of the supernatural; for had not
my promised wife appeared to me, when bodily
I knew she was hundreds of miles distant? I
feel it all yet—as keenly as if it was yesterday—
and but for this galling load of remorse that I
will carry to the grave, I would say I was
drunk or dreaming.
At eight o’clock precisely, I walked up to the
door of the Elderwood mansion. I heard the
hour chimed out again in slow solemn strokes,
as I had heard it twenty-four hours before. A
weird, unnatural stillness filled the house—no
human being was visible—and slowly, almost
stealthily, I entered the darkened hall. An
overpowering fragrance of tube roses and white
lilies smote my nostrils, and instantly some
subtle knowledge ot what I should find in that
shadowy drawing-room, brought a keen alert
ness to my numbed senses.
Well, I entered that room, bare-headed, rev
erentially, just as if I were going to stand in the
presence of the dead; and there, under the low
ered gas jets of the chandelier, white-robed for
tho grave, covered with blossoms as pure as
her spotless soul, the face perfect in death as it
had been in lite, lay the woman I loved—Adela
Northcote.
A calmness born of my deep sorrow fell on
me—a calmness that might have soothed and
comforted me had; not Basil Murdoch, ashen
faced, wild-eyed, despairing, came from behind
the fleecy curtains of a window and stood with
folded arms at the foot of the coffin.
He did not observe me, and lor a moment I
saw his lips work convulsively, then, with the
tears streaming down his sallow cheeks, and in
NEW YORK DISPATCH, JUNE 21. 1885.
a voico between a cry and a moan, he sobbed
out:
“ Adela—my lost Adela—l did not think it
would kill you—aa God is my witness, I did
not! I only meant to destroy your faith in
him!”
In those few sobbing words he made his con
fession. All the evil passions in my nature—
and there is evil in all natures—rose up in re
bellion against him.
“ So,” my voice was hoarse with misery as I
faced him,* “it was you—you, Basil Murdoch,
the man whom I loved and honored above all
men—who invented this vile falsehood I Shame
on the man who could stoop so low ! Shame
on the man who would stab a friend in the dark
and break an innocent woman’s heart!”
I paused, breathless and almost panting,
while he cowered before my blazing eyes. His
own face, disturbed as it was by conflicting feel
ings, was more deathly than his victim’s. Had he
shown either sympathy or penitence, I might
have had some mercy on him, but my words
cut too deep, and with a sneer he hissed:
“ Her fa th in you was easily shaken, for ”
He never finished that sentence, for with one
blow of my clenched hand I stretched him at
Adela’s feet. Then pressing kiss after kiss on
the beloved face of my dead, on mute lips that
would not kiss me back, I went out into the
perfumed dusk of the September night.
Months after, while resting in a little chalet
among the Swiss mountains, I read in an Amer
ican paper how Adela Nortncote had died of
heart disease while reading the daily paper,
and that twenty-four hours after Basil Mur
doch was found dead at her feet. But God
knows—and I know—that Adela Northdbte died
for love ot me, and that the hand that sent
Basil Murdoch’s soul into eternity was mine.
I hold up my hand, stained with the invisible
signs ot his blood, and ask myself—was I drunk
or dreaming?
Ah I why did I not leave his punishment to a
higher Judge?—for vengeance is mine, saith
the Lord.
THE WgIeACHER.
BY ALFRED CRAYON.
It was the evening of the commencement ex
ercises at Mrs. Weston’s large boarding-school.
All was noise and excitement. The pupils were
flying about in a flutter of anxiety, and in vari
ous stages of incompleted toilet.
“ What have you done with my flowers, Nell?
There—how provoking I You have tipped over
my powder. Your elbows are always in the
wrong place 1” quoth Miss Lydia Holoamp, one
of the older girls, her temper getting the better
of her. “Dear me ! There, I’m ready at last.
I wonder where that Miss Barker is. I want
her to give me another drilling in that recita
tion. I dressed early on purpose, and now I
suppose eha will be awav prinking her dollified
self 1”
“ Dear me, Lydia, you have had more instruc
tions on your recitation than any of the rest
have had on theirs. I should think it would be
better to study by yourself, and let Miss Barker
have a little rest. The poor thing is over
worked."
“ Oh, pshaw 1” exclaimed Miss Holcamp with
a sneer; “ sbe likes to show off, that is all. If
she didn't like it, she wouldn’t be a teacher of
elocution.”
Thus speaking, Lydia Holcamp departed to
seek her instructress in elocution—an art upon
which the young lady prided herself.
Lydia was especially anxious to distinguish
hersell to-night, for the reason that among
those present she expected that there would be
a certain Mr. Harry Quintard, a member ot a
wealthy family whom she had visited during
her vacation.
Her own father was a rich man, and the fam
ilies had always been on terms of friendship.
Harry and his sister she knew would come,
and failure was not to be thought of.
But Miss Barker’s services were not to be se
cured; she was engaged with some of the
younger pupils.
“ You cannot see Miss Barker,” remarked the
preceptress. “You will have no difficulty with
your piece, Miss Holoamp, unless you fail to
remember certain passages. If I recollect cor
rectly, Miss Barker advised you to make sure
of those points. Have you done so ?”
“Oh, I remember it perfectly I” answered
Miss Holcamp with confidence. “But I wished
Miss Barker to show me how to fall into that
dramatic attitude which I like so much.”
“Think of what you are saying, Miss Hol
camp, and that will aid you to the expression.
Miss Barker cannot give all her time to one.”
Lydia went pouting away.
The evening advanced, the guests assembled,
and at last Lydia’s turn to recite arrived.
She was a girl of most remarkable assurance,
and she went fearlessly on until suddenly her
memory failed her.
• It was what the teachers had feared.
Miss Holcamp had soma ability, they said,
but no application. She was no student.
She glanced helplessly toward Miss Barker,
who prompted her. Again she went on. Again
she stopped for want of words.
At last, alter several promptings, she came to
the end ot her selection.
Miss Barker had retreated behind the drape
ries, sore and disappointed that one of her most
promising pupils had thus failed.
“It was all your fault,” burst forth Lydia,
“ you hateful, disagreeable thing ! I believe
you were jealous, and meant I should fail, when
you went and hid yourself away with those
children to-night. You knew I needed another
lesson.”
The fair little teacher turned pale and trem
bled. She was not accustomed to such lau-
Suage. Most of her pupils were kind and obe
ient.
She was slim, and young, and pretty, this
teacher, and a great student and worker. All
the teachers respected and liked her.
“ You have made ma fail, and I hope I may
never see your face again 1” concluded Lydia as
she flounced away.
Just nntsidaot the draperies stood a hand
som" ”oung man. He heard the abuse lavished
upon the young teacher, ana tna up enrwu.
“ Who is the tall fair girl in gray I” he had in
quired during the evening,
“Miss Barker, the teacher of elocution,” had
been the reply.
He started.
“Is it possible?” said he. “She appears as
young as the pupils.”
Not one word came from Miss Barker’s lips
now, but he heard teachers and scholars ex
claiming that it was a Siame after the attention
she had lavished upon Miss Holcamp during
the past term.
Mr. Harry Quintard (tor he it was who had
overheard Miss Holcamp) made his way to the
preceptress when the exercises were over, and
asked her for an introduction to Miss Barker.
“ Ah, you mustn’t be making love to mv pet
teacher, Mr. Quintard,” said the lady, with an
arch glance and an admonitory tap of her fan.
Nevertheless, Mr. Harry Quintard was pres
ently seated by the side of “ pretty Miss Bar
ker,” as nearly all called her in the school.
She looked a little pale and wearied, and
Harry noticed that her hajjds tfSmbled,
“No wonder,” hg thought. '
<"11 ff .tl'JabsJtog work, teaching
all tiieau great girls,” he said. “ I should dearly
like to hear you recite something yourself.”
The eyes which looked into “ pretty
Barker’s,” were frank and admiring.
At this moment his sister came up to them.
She looked cold, and drew the brother aside.
Sha had left Lydia, Cvho had recently joined her,
and wanted her frother to come to them.
“Lyd said she is only a teacher in the school,
Hal. Come with us.
“You will have to excuse me for the pres
ent,” said Hal, who saw that others were mak
ing their way to Miss Barker's seat, “ unless
you and Lydia will join us, for I like Miss Bark
er very much. She is a perfect lady.”
And Hal kept his word. He kept by the little
teacher’s side for the rest of the evening, much
to Lydia’s chagrin.
“ tell me, where will you spend your vaca
tion ?” he asked at parting.
She colored as she replied :
“lam going to a very lonely place in the
country, and shall spend the time in working
very hard.”
“But why not rest ?” he asked; “you need
rest, surely. Tell me then,” he added, “where
you will go, that I may hope to see you again?”
She shook her head.
“It is best not,” she said.
“What I” he exclaimed, “have I then treated
you so badly that you will never see me again?”
Miss Barker’s eyes fell, and again the warm
color came over cheek and forehead.
“ There is a lady who was once very kind to
me,” she said, “ who lives very humbly among
the mountains of Cumberland, and I am going
to spend my Summer with her. In the Autumn
I hope to begin a new phase of my art. You
see I am poor, Mr. Quintard, and depend upon
my exertions for a living.”
She looked straight into her companion’s eyes
as she spoke, and Harry Quintard read there
both determination and pride. The expression
included something else, too. It said, “You
know now my circumstances, and also that I
wish you to know them.”
Harry’s eyes, however, never faltered be
neath hers. They grew earnest and ardent.
“Will you give me the name of the place ?” he
asked, gravely, and yet in a pleading voice.
She wrote the address upon a small card and
gave it to him.
*****
It was a month later that Harry Quintard en
tered the parlor of one of the most fashionable
hotels in Keswick.
It was a popular resort among the lake tour
ists, and to-night there was a grand reception
going on.
Music and recitations were to be followed by
dancing in the ball-room.
Some one was singing as he went in, and pres
ently a murmur ran through the throng as a lady
—young, fair as the morn, and graceful as a wil
low—was led forward and received with a greet
ing of warm applause.
What was there about this charming vision
that sent Harry’s blood tingling through his
veins with a wild, pleasurable thrill ?
Sleeping or waking, he had scarcely once lost
this fair face from his mental sight since last
they had met.
Yet, what could this mean—this brilliant en
tree among people of wealth and position ? He
had thought again and again of their meeting.
He had fancied all kinds of rural scenes—places
isolated and beautiful, yet wild withal—with
none but himself to admire the charming face
and form that had so bewitched him ; but to
meet her thus, surrounded by an eulogistic
crowd—this, indeed, he had never thought of.
Later he made his way to her side. She had
not forgotten him—that was plain. Nay, more ;
Harry saw that the surprise was also a pleasure.
The rosebud face, with its spirituelle light,
was lifted to his, above her raiment of pale
blue, and Harry knew that the excitement of
her success made her radiant, yet under all
that the young man felt there lurked a deeper
pleasure at their meeting.
“ I gave some recitations in the town near
where I was stopping?” said Linda Barker, in
explanation; “ I saw tho minister there, and he
arranged to give me the church.” The form of
the young artist grew dignified and grave as
she thus recorded her business proceedings.
“ The people who heard me were so kind as to
invito me to recite lor them, and so it happens I
am hero. I shall be kept very busy, I trust,
this Summer.”
Mr. Quintard looked down in open admira
tion of this daring young girl, with her baby
face.
“Then I am to be cheated out of those coveted
woodland rambles. I have been counting upon
them ever since we parted.”
Linda smiled.
“ If you knew my history, Mr. Quintard, you
would say that I was not, indeed, born for my
present surroundings.”
“ They become you so well that I could never
think that,” he replied.
They were now away from the crowd.
“ Linda,” he said, “ before I leave you to
night I want you to promise me something. I
want you to promise you will marry me in tho
Autumn."
“But how could that be, Mr. Quintard?
Even were you not the affianced of another,
your family would never regard me as a suita
ble mate for you.”
“ Affianced to another I” Harry was so be
wildered that he could only repeat her words.
“What do you mean?”
Before she could reply, a voice sounded at
their side. They had thought themselves alone.
“ Yes, Harry Quintard—dare you deny it ?’’
It was Lydia Holcamp who stood there before
them, and thus accused him.
Had Harry Quintard not once heard Lydia’s
abuse of her teacher, he would, indeed, have
been dumbfounded. As it was, he read th?
game in a trice.
“ Yes, madam, I do deny it,” he ejaculated,
looking Lydia straight in the face.
He had heard his sister say that Miss Hol
oamp was sojourning in the mountains, but he
had not troubled himself to inquire where.
Lydia, however, was not to be thwarted in her
purpose.
“ Do you deny this, too ?” and she coolly read
a portion of a le'tter containing vows of affection,
and having for signature his own name.
“It is a base forgery, and you know it, wo
man I” cried Harry, almost beside himself at
her persistency. “And let me tell you at once,
before you go any further, that I can very
easily prove it to Miss Barker, if in no other
way, through my own writing.”
He had taken the letter from her hand.
“There is a very palpable difference between
this writing and my own—see 1”
He showed Linda one that he look from his
pocket as he spoke.
Linda turned toward him a pale but trusting
face.
He was trembling from head to feet with in
dignation. She laid her hand on his arm and
whispered:
“ Come, I believe you,” and while the girl’s
mocking laugh followed them they left the
room.
Once away from her, Harry clasped Linda to
his breast.
“Tell me,” he cried, “do you really trust
me ? Do you know that girl fabricated that
story because she hates you ?”
“And loves you,” murmured Linda, with
downcast lids.
“And in your eyes does that excuse her?
Tell me, do you love me, Linda—darling, an
swer me ?”
“ I cannot answer you until you hear my
story,” faltered Linda, drawing away from him
and sinking into a seat.
She had grown pale, and her eyes were suf
fused with tears.
“ Hear the blunt truth. lam the daughter of
a coal-miner.”
Harry heard with profound astonishment, it
is true, but he did not start from her—a smile,
indeed, dawned upon his face.
“You remind me of something which, per
haps, I ought to have told you,” he said. “My
grandfather was a poor carpenter, my father
began his career in my grandfathers shop.
From that he became a builder, and is now, to
be sure, a rich contractor. So you see lam not
much in advance of you in that respect.”
Both laughed, but Linda said:
“Ah, but with you all has been different.
You have been well educated, and your wealth
would enable you to make a rich match. I have
had to earn money while striving to educate
myself. I worked in a iactory for two years,
When father died. He was killed in a mine,
and as my mother was also dead, I was left
alone. I had attended the common school, and
was there encouraged to recite. I saved money
and went to Manchester, and worked tor one
year in a factory there. While in that city I
attended every free entertainment, and studied
much at night. At last I applied for a position
to teach, and secured it. Then you met me,”
“My noble girl,” cried Harry, “ I would ra
ther have you for my wffe to-day than any pet
ted, idle darling ot luxury that I ever heard
of!”
Harry Quintard meant what he said, and
Linda Barker knew it.
He stooped his face till his lips met hers in a
long kiss.
Thus the daughter of a miner and the grand
son of a carpenter betrothed themselves in true
modern fashion.
And among the circles of fashion and art to
day there walks no more perfect lady than Mrs.
Harry Quintard.— Cincinnati I'imes-Star,
HE FOUGHT DEATH.
HE WANTED TO LIVE LONG
ENOUGH TO SEE HIS WIFE.
(From the Greenville Fanner.)
Conductor Trazef, Of thß International and
Great Northern Bailroad, tried to fight off death
a few hours in order that he might see his wife
once more. He had been shot by a tramp and
had been taken to Tyler, Texas, in a dying
condition.
“Help me to fight back this cruel death, boys,
until my wife gets here,” said the dying man,
cheerilv.
The doctors had already told him he could
live but a few hours. With a calm courage he
heard the verdict and called all of his wonder
ful force to his aid in the struggle to live until
his wife arrived.
“ Tell me exciting stories,” he said to the
boys around his bed, “for I must make this
run till she comes !” ... »-
And the boys did laugh and tell big stories,
poor fellows, whqjy fheir stout hearts were
tilled with saj tSgret. The hotirs sped rapidly
by; the laSrry voice of the conductor grew
iaintoj ’and fainter, but big courage never
raliefed.
■A telegram from his wife in answer to one
sent to her some hours before was brought in
to the room and read. She Was coming on a
feecial train, the ioad was cleared for her pas
sage, and With lightning speed her train was
annihilating distance. What a race ! A young
woman in the full flush of love and a new life,
pitted against the king of terrors. The news
nerved I’razer for a moment, and his efforts to
keep up were renewed. A little Inter another
telegram. T.
“ Old boy,” whispered a brakeman, “she will
be here in an hour.”
Good God 1 But one short hour to wait—to
live!
“ Turn me over, boys,” he said.
It was done. He whispered to an attendant:
“ Charley, I cannot run on this schedule
good-by !”
He was dead in an instant.
Just thirty-one minutes later a beautiful
young woman bent over the prostrate form,
and finding no life there, broke out in one of
those wild wails which tell all too well thftt
hope in life is dead. “
WOULD-BEDETEC-TIVEB.
Men and Women who Want to Follow
Criminals —Their Ridiculous Methods.
(From the San Francisco Chronicle.)
Do you have many applications for positions
on your force ?”
“So many,” was the reply, “ that I some
times think that half the population is anxious
to place itself in a position to ferret out the
crimes of the other half. These self-recom
mended candidates for the empty honors of
detective life are chiefly from the country.
Some of them have read the thrilling tales to
which the name of Allan Pinkerton has been
attached by unknown disseminators of blood
and-thunder literature, and have become in
fatuated by the glamor thrown around the
heroes of bank burglary captures, the shadow
ing of suspected murderers, and their detec
tion by means of a button or suspender-buckle.
I receive a good many letters from the rural
districts.
“ Here is one from a man'at Woodland, who
says he has been schooling himself in shadow
ing people up there, and his success has been
so flattering that he has come to the conclusion
that he is possessed of detective ability of no
mean order. He is anxious to try his hand at
the real business. If there are any safe rob
beries or murders on hand to work up, he
would gladly accept a position on my force at
a nominal salary. I have written hack inform
ing him that I am very sorry not to be able to
avail myself of his valuable services, but there
is no vacancy in my force at present. I have
several letters from youths of from 12 to 18
years, who are impressed with the idea that
they are young Hawkshaws of the first grade.
Some of them have visited the office and urged
me to give them a trial, but I have never yet
considered it wise to encourage them in becom
ing detectives.
“Some people have what I call attacks of de
tective fever. They hear of some robbery or
other crime, and proceed to work up the case
without the knowledge of the officers or the reg
ular detectives. These cranks often shadow
some innocent person for days at a time, mak
ing a careful note of every suspicious action.
This class of would-be detectives are harmless
enough. I never yet heard of one of them being
of the slightest use in a case or affording the
least clew, although they sometimes offer volu
minous reports of the comings and goings of
their suspects. Nothing, however, can make
people on whom the detective mania has fixed
its hold believe that they are not endowed by
nature with a special qualification, inspirational
or otherwise, for hunting down criminals,”
“Is employment ever given to the applicants
from the country ?”
“Not very often. Sometimes I send one of
these verdant customers out on some trivial
case, and then detail another man to watch his
proceedings. I have gone out myself, and it is
often as good as a circus. The follow will hunt
up his man and shadow him up and down the
street, dodging behind corners and posts, and
sometimes attracting a great deal of attention
from people along the way, if not from the man
he is shadowing. Occasionally, however, the
apprentice detective will take hold of a case in
good shape, and work it up with such dispatch
as to create surprise among the older men on
the force.
“Probably the worst cranks of the class of
which I am speaking, are women, who often get
the detective fever in its worst form. I have
often had as many as six applications a day
from ladies who were sure they could be of
great service in hunting up female criminals
and restoring stolen property, but I have never
yet employed one. They are a constant source
of annoyance, and will not be put off as readily
as the men. As a rule, however, a woman of
any delicacy will not insist on becoming a de
tective when she is given to understand the
dangers of the position, the kind of company
she is likely to meet, and the sort of places she
must visit.
“ Some of the applicants have the queerest
notions of what is required of a detective when
on active duty. One follow, who evidently
thought that in detective life insomnia was ono
of the most important qualifications, wrote from
Santa Eosa that he was sure he could live up to
the motto of the detectives, ‘We never sleep,’
as his nervous system was such as to prevent
him from taking any rest at night. I some
times, too, have applications from ex-convicts,
who tell me with a great air of mystery that
they are acquainted with the ways of burglars
and other criminals, and are capable of first
class work in the detective line. It is perhaps
unnecessary to say that I have never intrusted,
a case with a"j Of these gentry.”
MARY EASTON.
A ROMANCE OF THE WHITE
HOUSE.
I heard this romance, writes a Washington
correspondent, last week in connection with a
young lady who was an occupant of the White
House during Jackson’s time, and who was
married in the great East Eoom. Mary Easton
was the daughter of a sister of Gen. Jackson’s
wife. She went to live with her aunt for a time
in the Executive Mansion. At her home in Ten
nessee she had played when a child with a boy
companion named Pope. The two became
warmly attached to each other, and as they
grew the attachment became strong affection.
While it was apparent to both that they loved
each other, young Popo did not ask his compan
ion to become his wife.
Miss Easton came to Washington. Her posi
tion and her intelligence and accomplishments
made her doubly attractive in society. Young
officers in the army and in the navy were beside
her at every opportunity. Capt. Finch took the
lead. He pressed his suit, proposed, and was
accepted. He was possessed of considerable
means and gave her handsome presents. The
wedding day approached. Invitations were
sent to the friends of the young people, asking
them to come to the White House to witness the
ceremony. The prospective bridegroom went
to Now York to get his prospective bride her
wedding present.
Of the invitations sent to Tennessee, one fell
into the hands of young Pope. It fanned the
smouldering love within his bosom into a flame.
He wrote to Miss Easton, told her of his love
since childhood for her. He said that time and
again he had been at the point of asking her to
be his wife, but on each occasion his modesty
had prevented him. Now he repeated his love,
and begged her to become his bride.
Miss Easton read the letter and immediately
replied, accepting his offer.
Capt. Finch returned from. New York, bring
ing with him a costly diamond ornament. He
called at the White House to see the young lady
occupant. She was in her room with a com
panion who was to be her bridesmaid, when his
card reached her.
“ Tell him I can not see him,” she said to her
companion.
The latter went to the private parlor where
Capt. Finch was seated, and, after some hesi
tancy, said that Miss Easton was indisposed.
The captain was alarmed, begged for more in
formation of the indisposition, and asked that
the present he had brought be taken to the
invalid. The young lady carried the diamond
ornament to her companion. When Miss Easton
received it she turned to her companion and
said:
“Go take it back to him, and tell him all.
Tell him I am engaged to another.”
The young lady did as requested. When she
had finished her errand Capt. Finch arose, and,
without uttering a word, left the parlor.
Gen. Jackson was angry when he heard of his
wife’s relation’s action toward his friend Finch.
He had favored the match. In speaking to Miss
Easton ho said:
“This action of yours, Mary, has caused me
to lose faith in woman.”
He insisted that Capt. Finch should be invited
to her marriage with Pope.
The wedding came off. The rejected lover
was present. He stood directly in front of the
bride during the ceremony, and never took his
eyes off her until with her husband she left the
room. Shortly afterward he went to Europe.
When he returned he bore the name of an un
cle—a wealthy Englishman. Mrs. Pope moved
to Tennessee. She is said to be living there
now, happy, with her children. |
THE DIRECTIONS FOLLOWED.
A DOCTOR’S STORY OF A PRE
SOREPTION.
(Fbom the Medical World.)
About the middle of January, an old German,
by the name of Nunsen, called at my office for
treatment for an ill-conditioned ulcer on the leg.
I prescribed carbolic acid, % oz. in 1 qt. water;
bathe ulcer twice daily. The druggist, W. L.
Leland, who filled the prescription, attached to
the bottle the customary poison label, which
read as follows:
■ o abbolio a cii>, :
: poison. :
Antidote.— Emetic made by mixing one table
spoonful of mustard in warm water, of grease
in warm water. Afterward whisky or other
stimulants.
W. L, Leland, Good Luck Dbug Stork,
Caliope, Jo.
In about two weeks the patient, who lives with
his not over-wise son-in-law, Sent the bottle
back by Jus Son-in-law to have the bottle refilled.
When it Was presented the following conversa
tion ensued: . .
“I ffant a pint of fiskey,” said the son-in-law.
“We don’t sell it,” replied the druggist.
“What do you want it for?”
“ Vhell, I guess it don’t make some differ
ence. Vhat you dinks about dot ?”
“ What do you want it for ?”
“Vy, Dr. Quigley’s directions said to use it.”
“ No, you must be mistaken, for the direc
tions don’t mention it.”
Pointing to tlie antidote on the label: “You.
read dpt.”
“ Did you do as this reads ?”
“ Yaw; ve gif him der grease und der mus
tard, but don’t haf der fiskey.”
“ I should have thought it would have made
him sick.”
“ Yaw, it make him sick enough, but we don’t
haf der fiskey to gif him.”
“ How often did you give him the mustard
and the grease ?”
“ Efery time we vash the leg—two times a
day.”
MOSES ABBaHAISON.
A CLEVER TRICK PLAYED ON A
CELEBRATED DOCTOR,
Dr. Hauffe, the celebrated physician of
Vienna, one day received a telegram from Cra
cow, requesting him to repair thither with all
haste, as Moses Abrahamson was very ill and
required advice. This Moses was known to be
one of the richest men of his tribe. The doctor,
who had an enormous practice and was very
busy at the time, wired back:
“ My fee will be two thousand florins.”
A second dispatch urged him to come with
out delay, but added that he might surely do it
for less.
“Not a kreutzer less than two thousand
florins,” was the reply from Vienna, whereupon
a final telegram came to hand directing the
physician to start at once.
It was in the depth of Winter and bitterly
cold, so that the medical man was anything but
pleased at the prospect of the long journey.
But what was his disgust on being met at the
Cracow railway-station by a deputation of long
coated Polish Jews, bringing the tidings that
he camb too late, as Moses Abrahamson had
died a few hours before.
As there was no train back to Vienna that
day, he was perforce compelled to put up for
the night at a hotel. Meanwhile the news of the
great doctor’s arrival had spread through the
town, and sick people of every description,
both Jews and Christians, besieged his door.
So many afflicted persons touched his compas
sionate heart, and he freely gave them the ad
vice they needed. When at last he got to the
station, and was about to step into the carriage,
a Polish Jew came siding up to him with a
knowing smile on his face, and whispered in hie
ear:
“I say, doctor, I only wanted to tell you that
Moses Abranamson isn’t dead. Not a bit of it;
he was among those patients whom you cured
for nothing.”
HOW A TREATY WaFmaDE.
ANECDOTE OF THE MAGICIAN
HOUDIN.
During the French conquest of Algeria nego
tiations for peace were entered upon with the
sheiks of certain Arab tribes, and a meeting for
the settlement of terms was arranged to take
place at the French headquarters. The French
officers received their guests of the desert with
great hospitality, and a banquet was given in
their honor. At this the utmost splendor was
unfolded, in order to dazzle their eyes and cap
tivate their simple minds. At its conclusion
an adjournment to a large hall was proposed.
Here M. Houdin, the celebrated conjuror, who
accompanied the French forces, was to give
them an exhibition of his skill, which to them
seemed supernatural. They stared in open
mouthed wonder at all the tricks that were per
formed, and a feeling of awe orent over them as
they saw the mysterious appearance and dis
appearance of various objects.
But the greatest marvel to them was the ap
parent manufacture of cannon-balls. The con
jurer passed around among them a high hat.
This they examined very carefully, but without
being able to discover anything unusual in
either its make or appearance. When it was re
turned to him, M. Houdin placed it on the floor
in the middle of the stage, in full view of his
audience. Ho then proceeded to Jtake from the
hat cannon-balls, apparently without number,
and rolled them across the floor into the wings.
This terminated • the performance. The chiefs
consulted among themselves, and came to the
conclusion that it was useless to oppose an
army that could turn out its ammunition in so
easy a manner. They therefore signed the re
quired treaty, and departed to tell their friends
in the desert of the wonderful power of the in
vaders.
Our poet relates a neat way of
GIVING AN ANSWER BY CARD.
We were playin’ at euchre last evenin';
There were four of us in the game;
Mollie was Ned’s fair partner;
Mine was—l won’t tell her name, j
You see, I had kept her company
For quite a good long time past,
An’ that night I’d made resolution
To ask her to have me at last.
Guess she saw what I was a thinkin*,
An’ tried not to be too hard,
’Cause she took up the game we wuz playin’,
An’ settled the matter by card.
She dealt. an’ hearts were the frumperfi;
Ned had passed, Ah’ it was my say;
I’d a good hand, and thought that she had,
She was smilin’ in such a pleased way.
Moll an’ Ned were a chattin’ right gayly;
So says I, in a low, meanin’ tone;
•• Shall we play it together, forever ?”
Says she, “No ! I'll go it alone.”
The Talbotton (Ga.) JVew Era revives this
amusing incident of the days when there exist
ed but the Whig and Democratic parties. There
was then
NO CIVIL SERVICE REFORM.
Uncle Rube Claiborne, of Upatolo, was in town
Saturday. He is a jolly old bachelor, and always
has his body full of fun when he comes to this town,
where he was brought up. In a street conversation
on Saturday the talk turned upon the Administra
tion of Cleveland, and something was said about the
delay in turning out Republican office-holders.
Uncle Rube said : “Well, they ought to do like we
old Whigs did when we beat the Democrats. There
was no waiting. When the Whigs got in, It wasn’t
five days before every Democrat went out. And as
to the post offices, why, we just took ’em: no wait
ing for a commission; we walked in and took pos
session.”
Capt. James McNeil smiled, and said: “Yes. You
remember how Uncle Billy Walker did Uncle Dick
Rolfe about the Talbotton Post Office in 1840 ?
Uncle Billy Walker was a great Whig, and quite
a popular old gentleman here, as well as a good
joker. Uncle Dick Rolfe then held the Post Office
as a Democrat. Uncle Billy had an old Negro serv
ant, Neddy by name, whom everybody knew, and
whom, in physique, was said to have resembled
Henry Clay. The night after the election of Harri
son, in 1840, Uncle Billy was sitting in front of his
hotel in Talbotton—for he was the keeper of the ho
tel—and he called Neddy and said:
*• ‘Neddy, take that large hamper basket of mine
and go over yonder and tell your mars’ Dicky Rolfe
to send me the Post Office.'
“Neddy presently appeared at the Post-Office.
Uncle Dick was sitting quietly in front with a party
of friends feeling sore over their defeat and dis
cussing the incidents and result of the hot cantest
through which the country had just passed, and he
was really in the midst of a very fiery denunciation
of the Whig party when Neddy appeared with a
large hamper basket on his head. The Democratic
Postmaster suddenly stopped and asked:
“ * What do you want, sir ?*
“ ‘Mars Billy Walker son’t ma ober an’ er ho say
fer yer to sen’ 'imjdat 'ar poss offis in dis 'ere baskit,
and 'e wants yer to sen’ it ter 'im rite away.'
“ You black Whig rascal, if you don’t got away
from here I’ll smash you to the earth,” said Uncle
Dick, full of spirit.
“ • Well, boss, Mars Billy sen't me fer de pos offis
in this baskit. and ’e told me not ter cum back dar
’dout it neoder. An* boss Use got tar hab it, shore.
Now don, boss, doan do de ole nigger datter way.
Doan fool longer de ol© darkey datter way. Des git
up dar and go fetch it ter me, won’t yer, boss ?”
“ Uncle Dick arose in silent wrath. ”
“ ‘ You old scoundrel, if you stay here another
instant I will kill you with this chair !’
“ ' Well, boss, Mars Billy sen't’ .’
“ ’ Git out! Git out!’ shouted Uncle Dick, at the
same time starting for Neddy with his chair. Ned
dropped his Whig basket and left his hat, and
skedaddled in double-quick time back to ‘ Mars
Billy ’ and a large crowd of exultant and happy
Whigs, who had been witnessing the fun at a safe
distance.”
Here is a satirical skit at our musical critics,
and it is not altogether undeserved. Many of
our musical critics
WRITE SO THAT THEY CAN’T BE UNDERSTOOD.
The new musical critic of the Cranberry Clarion
was a great card. Nobody who gazed upon his gos
samer limbs, his spectacled orbs, or the airline
crease which divided the hyacinth locks into equi
sections on either side of his bulging brow, could
doubt this for an instant. The managing editor, an
earthly creature, however, had his doubts about
the ethereal young man, but, as the musical critic
had come well recommended, the managing editor
stifled his doubts, and showed the young man to
his desk. The first job thje young man was to do
was the opera on the opening night. He sallied
forth in evening dress with a full score under his
arm. and his ear bulging with melodious anticipa
tions. Returning, and having finished his critique,
he took it to the managing editor, who bade him
sit down and read the stuff aloud. The young
man’s soul was terribly shocked that his splendid
composition should be called “stuff.” However,
ho began, with as good grace as he could under the
circumstances, as follows :
“ The tuneful sweetness of the maestro’s cA/ff
-d'auvre was never interpreted with more engaging
esprit de eorps than by the artists in this melodious
aggregation. The chromatic tints were laid on with
a prodigality of ferver that sublimated the appog
giatura and apotheosized the contrapuntal tone
waves ’’
“Hold up!” exclaimed the managing editor.
“ What do you mean by all that ?”
“Mean !” ejaculated the musical critic. “How
do you suppose I know I I’ve done work for the
great dailies, and nobody ever asked what I meant.
Shall I go on ?”
The managing editor nodded, and the young man
proceeded, “ and apotheosized the contrapuntal
tone-waves with dynamic expulsion. Signora
Screechowl, the primest prima donna, was in her
best voice, improved as it was by a slightly
catarrhal shading, which eradicated those incisiy§
murmurs which tickle only the ears of Hxe amateur
lover Qf the warbling muse* Her embonpoint was
grandly effective ana no words can hope to depict
the
bfiVura passage in the seventh bar.”
“ I can’t make it out a bit," sadly murmured the
managing editor; “but as you have worked on the
great dailies I suppose it’s all right.”
“ The young man said ‘yes,’ and went on, ‘ Signor
Macaroni, the tenor assoluta, attacked with con
summate aplomb, advanced in column by flivifliQa.
closed in mass, and carried the Works of the great
maestro by an adroit movement in echelon.’ ”
“ Was theijo a tattle scene in the opera ?” inno
ce fitly inquired thp managing editor.
“Battle scene I” exclaimed the young man, con
temptuously. “ No, sir, no battle other than the
forceful conflict of lyrical acoustics.”
“Ah j” said the managing editor, “I understand.
Proceed.”
“ But the climax of melliflrous grandeur was at
tained when Mlle. Lotoni, the ultra-contralto en
tered the lists. The coolish freshness of
ful tongue was something aston- ' ia »
divan effects. The ohL.rosfuro df axidauto
adagio was coin ciemented perfectly by the middle
Ox her Adagio-andante, and the two achieve
ments together coruscated through the house with
all the grace and witchery of the gemini of astro
nomjcal familiarity.”
“Iguess that will do,” said the managing editor.
“I don’t care to hear any more to-night. I’m not
feeling very well, and a few more lines might send
me ipto a hrayj f?vsr. Your cHtiqao is a splendid
one-Lthe best by rar I ever heard, of the kind.”
la there man or woman with soul so dead
who will deny that the wife here spoken of was
RIGHT IN COMMENCING HOSTILITIES ?
“I do not like the new version of the Old Testa
ment,” said Smith, “particularly passages in
“ What is the matter with it ?” asked Mrs. Smith.
“It don’t render it correctly. For instance, take
this passage: ‘He was afflicted, yet he opened not
his mouth.’ That is incorrect.”
“Well, John, how should it read?”
“ Why, it should read: • He was afflicted because
he could not make his wife shut her mouth.’ ”
Hostilities began immediately.
It isn’t often that gentlemen in the clothing
business are more affected by feeling than
profit, but this is
ONE OF THE RARE INSTANCES.
“ What’s the price of this coat ?” he asked, hold
ing up a garment.
“ Vat Ish your name, front ?” sniffled Helfenstein,
taking him by the arm.
“ Wiggins, sir, Mr. Wiggins, of Kentucky.”
“Ah, my tear Mr. Viggins, I am ferry glad to see
you, inteet. My poor brudder sphoke oaf you ven
he vas tying,” and Helfenstein wiped his eyes.
“Indeed,” replied Mr. Wiggins, in astonishment.
“Yes, Mr. Viggins, ven Moses vas trawing his
lasht breat, he calt me to his site, und vhispering
ferry low, he sait, ‘My brudder, I am koing avay
from der cloding pizziness forefer, unt I have bud
onerekwvest to make of you;’ den Moses kasped
once or twice, unt I pud my ear kwite close to his
het unt caught dese vorts, ‘dot rekwest, my brud
der, is dot ven Meester Viggins oaf Kentugky,
comes to der sthore, you will sell him goots at the
ferry sheepest brices.’ Dose vere his lasht vords,
Mr. Viggins, unt ven I dells you you can haf dot
goat at ten tollar unt sixty-fife cents, you vxll know
I am selling eet for affection, and not for money
falue. Mr. Viggins.”
Wiggins had to take the coat.
This story is seasonable, and contains a mora i
to which young men who are sweet on a girl
should listen. The moral is,
DON’T ADVISE A WOMAN ABOUT DRESS.
“ Now,” said she, with a bright smile, “ how do
you like my bathing-suit ?”
“Well,” said ho, as he held it up before him, ‘“l
think it might be improved by a little trimming.”
“Certainly, my dear; I am willing to oblige you,
and perhaps it would make it all the prettier. What
do you think I should trim it with—red or white
braid ?”
“I think,” said he, as he cast his eyes over its
proportions, “ that it would be a good thing to trim
it with an overskirt.”
Qhe hajßQ’t spoken to him oluce.
This is a progressive age, according to tho
ideas of some people, but
WE DON’T WANT CHILDREN TO PROGRESS IN
PUNS.
Mattie is the bright little daughter of a fireman,
and her mother is a woman very careful of her
speech. The other day the kid came in with her
shoe gone and the whole toe of her stocking out.
“My, my!” exclaimed the lady, “what is the
matter with your hose ?”
“ Nothing, mamma,” replied Mattie, gazing up at
the ceiling.
“ Yes, there is, too; just look at the toes 1”
“Oh,” she said, in a complacent way, sticking out
first one foot, then the other, “ I guess they’ve lost
their nozzles.”
Spare the child and spoil the pun.
SCINTILLATIONS.
Tha mosquito begins to send in hia
bill as soon as the plumber leaves off.
There isn’t so much atmospheric de
pression when a pie is formed as there is whoa a
form is pied.
Hamlet was undoubtedly a baseball
player. He caught the conscience of the king by
some very good playing.
“ There’ll be no parting,” sang Me
linda, as she laid another handful of her husband’®
hair in the bureau drawer.
The Maharajah Dhuleep Singh owns
17,000 acres of land in England. He is going to split
his name into pickets and fence in his farm.
We would suggest that a good name
for a rainy day race horse would be “Striped
Stockings” because they run so when dampened.
Day breaks upon the world,
And people ris© from sloop,
Man goes off to his toil, >. s
A woman stays to-r-sweep.
A tremendous increase of population
is expected when the early cucumber comes in.
Because why 1 Because it will double the people
up,' — ' - -
Some people are trying to make thcm
selves’believe that "a cold May means a warm No
vember.’’ That isn’t consolation enough to pay for
a ton of coal,
“What is profanity ?” asks a newspa
per writer. It is the remarks made by a Democrat
when he is informed that the office he seeks has
been given to a Mugwump.
An up-country editor in Pennsylvania,
writing about Victor Hugo, said that he was the au
thor of “ Loe’s Miserables,” a very graphic account
of the surrender at Appomattox.
The baseball umpire now prepares
Himself against disaster,
And lays in quarts of arnica
And yards of sticking plaster.
“Now, then, John,” said tho restaur
ant keeper to his boy, “bring out those sandwiches
w© put up last winter. Here’s a big order come in
to supply the Sunday school picnic.”
First citizen—You always stay homo
in the evening now? Second citizen—Yes; my
wife’s father gave her SSOO for a birthday present,
and I’m teaching her now to play draw poker.
In an Ohio town the other day a wo
man went about insisting that she was mayor of
tho place. She declared also that she wanted to re
sign, and then everybody knew that she was
insane.
At what absurd ‘trifles some women
get angry. A female book agent, who had cornered
a poor dovil on a boat the other day, got as mad as
a hornet when somebody sang out, “Man over
board 1”
A curious habit prevails among the
Malays of always sitting down when speaking to •
superior. The same conversational peculiarity
prevails to a limited extent in the skating rinks of
this country.
“ Have you,” asked the Judge of a
recently convicted man, “ anything to offer tha
court before sentence is passed?” “No, Your
Honor,” replied the prisoner, lawyer took
my last cent.”
“Johnny, it would be a good thing
for you to remember in life that we never get any
thing in this world if we don’t ask for it.” “Yes,
we do, pa I” answered Johnny, promptly; “I got a
licking in school to-day, and you can bet I didn’t
ask for it.”
An absent-minded professor was sit
ting at his desk writing one evening, when one of
his children entered. " What do you want ? I can’t
be disturbed now.” “I only want to say good
night.” “Nover mind now, to-morrow morning
will do as well.”
One of them was just coming out of
the post-office. The other was going in. They
stopped, shook hands, smiled and the first one ob
served: “Quite a swell affair, that of Smith’s.'*
“Indeed! What was it?” “A boil.” And then
they separated without shaking hands.
A Massachusetts ship captain recently
died, and his chief claim to glory was that he had
“ rounded tho Horn ” thirty-three times. W© know
men in Kentucky who have rounded the horn
thirty-three millions of times, and their chief claim
to glory is that somebody els© set 'em up.
“We encourage the interchange of
visits with patrons of other resorts,” said the pro
prietor of a leading Summer hotel; “ when our peo
ple are away for the day they pay for the dinners
they don’t have, and when their friends return tho
call they pay fox’ the dinners they do have; so we
gain both ways.”
Two rival country editors, while at a
political meeting, were importuning an old farmer
to take their papers. “ Gentlemen, I don’t want
both,” said he. “ Well, take mine,” replied one of
the editors. “ Mine has twice as much original
matter as his.” “ That so ? Well, I b'l’eve I’U take
his. I always want the best.”
Scrofula.
Vanderbilt’s Money Couldn’t Buy It.
The Acworth News and Farmer, of this week, says: Mrs.
Elizabeth Baker, living within three miles of Acworth,
remarked that Vanderbilt’s fortune could not buy from
her what six bottles of Swift’S Specific has done for her.
Her statement is as follows: For thirty-one years I have
suffered almost death from that horrible disease, scrofula.
For years I was unable to do anything in keeping up my
domestic affairs. Last October I was Induced to try Swlit’g
Specific, and used two bottles, and was so much benefited
by it that I purchased four more from Messrs. Northcut A
Johnson, which hws almost entirely relieved me. I feel
like a new person, and can do all my own housework. Be
fore I took the S. B.JS. my life was a burden, as my entire
person was covered with sores, and in this miserable con
dition! did not care to live. I had tgrled every known
remedy, and my case was generally regarded as incur*,
bxe. I had been treated by the best physicians to no avail
I most heartily recommend Swift’s Specific to the
fileted.
Messrs. Northcut & Johnson, merchants at Acworth,
say: We know Mrs. Elizabeth Baker personally; we are
familiar with her case. §he is bigfcly esteemed IB thl®
community.
Rheumatism Twenty Years.
I have been a eufferer from rheumatism tor twenty
years, at times with almost intolerable pain. I had the
best medical treatment, and took all sorts of remediee,
but without relief Being reduced almost to a skeleton,
and not being able to walk even with crutches, I was in
duced to try Swift’s Specific, and it acted like a charm,
and I am to-day entirely relieved. Have thrown away
my crutches, and am in excellent health. I believ#
Swift’s {Specific will cure the worst cases of rheumatism.
Mrs. Ezra Msrshon, Macon, G>, Aug. 4, ’B4,
Wetumpka, Ala., Sept. 28, 1884.—About six years ago
I became afflicted with a very disagreeable skin disease,
with large, dry sores and many crusted pimples on my
face, hands and shoulder. The sore on my shoulder eat
out a hole nearly an inch deep, and the cancerous appear
ance of one of the sores near my eye alarmed me very
much. I tried all kinds of treatment, but found nothing
that seemed to affect the disease. I finally decided to try
S. S. S. on advice of a physician, and in a short time tho
scabs dropped from the so es and left my skin smooth and
well. I consider S. S. S. the greatest blood medicine
made, and the only thing that will cure the disease with
which I was afflicted. I think my trouble was the result
of a terrible attack of malarial fever, contracted while
farmingin the Tallapoosa river swamp. I can be found
at my office in the court house at Wetumpka. You can
refer to me.
J. L. Rhodes, Dep. Sheriff Elmore Co., Ala.
Treatise on Blood and Skin Diseases mailed free.
TBs Swift Specific Co., Drawer 3, Atlanta, Ga.
©Humphreys’
HOMEOPATHIC
Veterinary Specifics
Cure Diseases of
Horses, Cattle, Sheep
DOGS, hogs, poultry.
In nse for over 20 years by Farmers-
Stockbreeders, Horse B. 8., &o.
Used by U. S. Government.
*3-STABLE CHART-FA
Mounted on Rollers & Book Mailed Free.
Humphreys’ Med. Co., 109 Fulton St., N. YJ
Humphreys’ Homeopathic
Specific No.ZB
In fi übo 30 years. The onV successful remedy foe
Nervous Debility, Vital Weakness, <
Bnd Prostration, from* over-work or other causes,
•I per
Sold by Druggists, or sent postpaid on receipt of
price. Address, Humplireys’ Homeopathic)
hledicine Co., 109 Fulton St., NewYork*
BDAvtFArvi AVI A Strengthens, enlarges, and de-fel
|r eriezione rJ
Kjvigorating Pill, sl. All post-paid. Address
New England Medical Institute, ®
■ No. 24 Tremont Row, Boston, Mass,
Effi IS 8 9 those suffering from the
flT 5 c f b 8 l 9 ff et ‘ ts of youthful errors,
D seminal weakness, early de-
cay, lost manhood, etc., I will send you particulars of a
simple and certain means of self cure, free of
Send/Bur address to F. <J. FOWLER. Moodus. OoHfe.
7