Fisherman & farmer. [volume], March 16, 1888, Image 2

About Fisherman & farmer. [volume] (Edenton, N.C.) 1887-19??

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UNREST.
The farther you jonrney and wander
From the sweet simple faith of your youth,
The more you peer into the yonder
And search for the root of all truth,
Ho matter what secrets uncover
Their veiled mystic brows in your quest,
Or close on your astral sight hover,
Still, still shall you walk with unrest.
If jou seek for strange things you can find
them,
But the finding shall bring you to grief;
The dead lock the-portals behind them.
And he who breaks through is a thief.
The soul with such ill-gotten plunder,
With its pemature knowledge oppressed,
Shall erope in unsatisfied wonder
Alway by the shores of unrest.
Though bold hands lift up the thin curtain
That hides the unkown from our sight;
Though a shadowy faith becomes certain
Of the new life that follows death's night;
Though miracles past comprehending
Shall startle the heart in your breast,
Still, stiJl will your thirst be unending,
And your soul will be sad with unrest.
There are truths too sublime and too holy
To grasp with a mortal mind's touch.
We are happier far to be lowly;
Content means not knowing too much.
Peace dwells not with hearts that are yearn
ing To fathom all labyrinths unguessed,
And the soul that is bent on vast learning
Khali fini with its knowledge unrest.
Ella Wheeler-Wilcox, in LippincolVs.
CHILD AND CLOWN.
A STORY EROM TIIE FRKXCH.
r.
The child lay on his little white bed
deathly pale, and looked, with eyes
made all the bigger by fever, straight
before him, steadjJy, and with the strange
fixedness of the sick, who already per
ceive what those who are well cannot
see. The mother, at the foot of the bed,
biting her lingers so as not to cry out,
anxious and tormented with her suffer
ing, watched the pi ogress of the disease
over the poor, thin face of her little boy,
and the father, a tine fellow, though he
was only a workingman, held back in his
eyes the tears that burned on their lids.
And the first light of the dawn, clear,
gentle, the light of a fair morning in
June, came into the narrow bedroom on
the Hue des Abbesses, where lay dying
the little Francois, son of Jacqes Legrand.
And of 31adelene Legrand, his wife.
He was a boy of seven years. A blonde
and rosy little chap, who, not three
weeks before, had been as lively and as
chipper as a sparrow. But a fever had
seized him, and they had brought him
home ono evening from school with his
head so heavy and his hands so hot. And
ever since he had been there on his bed,
and sometimes in his delirium he would
ay, looking at the nicely polished shoes
that his mother had carefully set in the
corner: "You can throw them away
now little Francois's shoes. Little
Francois will not wear them any more.
Little Francois will not go to school
igain never, never."
Then the father would cry out: "Will
you be quiet?" and the mother would go
and hide her fat e in her pillow, so that
little Francois would not hear her weep.
Through the night that had just passed
the child had had no delirium, but for
two days he had bothered the doctor by
a strange sort of despondency, which re
sembled a surrender to death as if,
though but seven years old, the sick bey
had always experienced the weariness of
life. He was tired out, apparently, si
lent, sad, tossing his weak head back
ward and forward on the pillow, un
willing to take anything, having no
longer a smile on his poor, thin lips, and
with his haggard eyes searching, seeing
no one knew what, far off, far away.
"There, above us, perhaps," thought
Madeleine, who shivered at the thought.
When they wanted him to take his med
icine, some syrup maybe, or a little beef
tea, he refused everything.
"Do you want anything, Francois?"
"No, I want nothing."
"You must get him out of this," said
the doctor. "This torpor alarms me.
You are his parents; you should know
your child. Think ef something which
may animate this little fellow, bring j
back to earth the mind winch is roam
ing among the clouds." And then he
Tvent away.
"Think of something?" Oh, yes, be
yond a doubt they knew him well their
Francois, these good people. They knew
how much he was amused, the little fel
low, when on Sunday he would forage in
the hedges, and would come back to
Paris on his father's shoulder loaded
with hawthorn. Jacques Legrand had
bought for Francois all sorts of im
ages, and he put them on the child's bed !
and made them dance before the wander
ing eyes of the little fellow and.all ready
to cry, tried to make him laugh. "Now,
do you see. 'tis the broken bridge. Tra-la-la.
And here is a General. You re
member we saw a General once in the
Bois de Boulogne? If you will take
your medicine I will buy a real Gen
eral for you, with a cloth' coat and gold
epaulettes. Do you want him the Gen
eral? Tell me."
"No," replied the. child, in the dry
voice which fever, produces.
"Do you want a pistol, some marbles,
a bow and arrows?"
"No," answered the little voice, almost
cruel in its distinctness.
And to all that they said to him, to
&W the jumping jacks, to all the balloons
that they promised him, the little voice
the parents all the while looking at
each other in despair answered: "No!
no! no!"
"But what do you want, then, my
Francois?" asked the mother. "Come,
now, there mut be something that you
would like to have. What is it? Tell
it to me, your mamma?" And she laid
ex clicdt d'-YA qh the pillow of tfce
sick boy, and she whispered her request
in his ear, as if it were a secret between
them. Then the child, rising in his bed
and stretching out toward something in
visible an eager hand, replied suddenly,
with a strange accent and in ,an earnest
tone, that was at once supplicating and
imperative:
"I want Boum-Boum!"
II.
Boum-Boum.
The poor Madeleine threw a frightened
look at her husband. What did the lit
tle one say? Wa it the delirium, the
terrible delirium come back?
Boum-Boum!
She did not know what it meant, and
she was frightened at those queer words,
which the child now repeated with the
wilfulness of a sick person, as if, not
having dared until then to formulate his
dream, he would cling to it with an in
vincible obstinacy.
"Yes, Boum-Boum! Boum-Boum! I
want Boum-Boum!"
The mother had seized in her nervous
ness Jacques's hand, and said in a low
voice, a3 though she were out of her
wits: "What does that mean, Jacques?
Oh, it' is all over with him."
But the father had on his rough face
a smile that was almost happy. And a
bewildered smile also the smile of a
condemned man who detects a possible
chance for liberty. Boum-Boum! lie
well remembered" the Easter morning
when he had taken Francois to the cir
cus. He had still in his ears the child's
great burst of joy, his hearty laugh the
laugh of an amused youngster when
the clown, the splendid clown, all spot
ted with gold, with a sparkling, many
colored dress, on the back of which was
set a b'g brown butterfly, performed his
antics in the ring, played tricks on the
riding master, or held himself motionless
on the ground, his hpad down and his
feet in the air, or threw up to the chan
delier his soft felt hat and cauht it
adroitly on his head, and where the men
formed a pyramid; and at each trick,
like the refrain of a song, lighting up
his big, droll, bright face, the clown ut
tered the same cry, repeated the same
word, accompanied sometimes by a roll
of drums Boum-Boum!
Boum-Uoum! and every time that it
came round, Boum-Boum! the whole cir
cus burst out in bravos, and the little
one laughed his heartie-t Boum-Boum!
It was this Boum-Boum, the clown of the
circus, the man who entertained a good
part of the city, that he wanted to see,
the little Francois, and that he might
not have and might not see, because he
was there, sick and weak, in his white
bed!
That evening Jacques Legrand brought
to the child a jointed clown with span
gles sewed on all over, that he had
bought at a high price, the price, in fact,,
of four days' work. But he would have
given twenty, thirty days', a year's labor
to bring back a smile to the pale lips of
the sick boy. The child looked for a
minute at the toy as it shone on the white
bedclothes, then, sadly:
"It is not Boum-Boum! I want to see
Boum-Boum !"
Ah! if Jacques could have wrapped
him in his ouilt. carried h m off, taken
him to the circus, shown him
dancing under the lighted
and said to him: "There
Bourn!" '
He did better than that,
Jacques. He went to the
the clown
chandelier
is Bouni-
this
good
circus, he
asked for the clown's address, and tim
idly, with limbs weakened by emotion,
he mounted step by step the staircase
that led to the home of the artist at
Montmartre. It was very bold wThat he
had come to do there, this man Jacques !
But after all actors are willing to go and
play,to recite monologues in the drawing
rooms of fire people. Perhaps the clown
oh, if he only would! maybe willing
to come and say good morning to Fran
cois. WThat mattered it how they re
ceived him, Jacques Legrand, at Boum
Boum's home?
It was no longer Boum-Boum ! It was
M. Moraine, who, in the rooms of an
artist, among books, engravings, an
artistic elegance making a choice back
ground to a charming man, who received
Jacuues in his office like that of a physi
cian. Jacques stared, did not recognize
the clown, and turned his soft hat over
and over in his hands. The other waited.
Then the father excused himself. It was
surprising what he had just asked it
could not be done pardon, excuse me
but in fact it related to the little boy.
"A fine little boy, monsieur! and so in
telligent! Always the first in his class,
excepting in arithmetic, which he did
not understand. A dreamer, this little
fellow, do you see? Yes, a dreamer.
And the proof there, the proof " and
Jaques hesitated, stammered, and then
plucked up courage and abruptly said :
"The proof is that he wants to see you,
that he thinks only of you, and if you
were there before him, like a star that he
would like to have, and if he looked"
and the father, whose face was wan and
sallow with his great care, stopped, and
great drops of sweat stood on his brow.
He did not dare to look at the clown,
who stood there with his eyes fixed on
the workman.
And what would Boum-Boum say to
him? Would he send him away, take
him for a fool, put him out of the house?
"You live?" asked Boum-Boum.
"Oh, very near. Rue des Abbesses."
"Very well," said the other. "He
wants to see Boum-Boum, you say ? All
rijrht, he shall see Boum-Boum!"
III.
When the door opened before the
clown, Jaques Legrand cried out cheer
ingly to h:s boy: "Now, Francois, be
satisfied, you rogue! See, there is
Boum-Boum!"
And into the child's face there came a
happy light. He raised himself in h:s
mother's arms and turned his head
toward the two men, looked for a mo
ment to see who was this gentleman in
the frock coat at his father' side, the
gentleman whose good, jolly face was
tfcCU smiling on hima and whom he did
not know; and when they said to him:
"That is Boum-Boum!" he fell back
slowly, sadly, with his head turned to
the pillow and lay there with his eyes
fixed, his big blue eyes that saw beyond
the walls of the little bedroom and that
looked for, that were always looking for
Boum-Boum's spangles and butterfly as
a lover pursues his dreams.
"No," replied the child, with a voice
no longer dry, but distressed; 'no
that is not Boum-Boum !"
The clowu, standing near the little
bed, bent a profound gaze on the face of
the sick little man, a grave look, but of
an infinite sweetness. He shook h's
head, looked at the anxious father and
broken down mother and said, smiling:
"He is right; it i3 not Boum-Boum!"
and he went out.
"I shall not see; I shall never see him
again, Boum-Boum!" now repeated the
child, whose voice seemed to be already
whispering to the angels. "Perhaps
Bourn Boum is over there yonder, where
little Francois will soon go!"
And suddenly he had not been gone
half an hour the door was rudely
opened and in his black and spang'ed
suit, with a yellow topknot on his head,
a golden butterfly on his breast and
another on his back, his mouth opened
into an expansive grin, his good face all
chalked, Boum-Boum, the real Boum
Boum, the Boum-Boum of the circus,
the Boum-Boum of the little Francois,
Boum-Boum himself appealed. And on
his little white bed, with a lively exul
tation in his eyes, laughing, crying,
happy, saved, the child clapped his lit
tle thin hands, shouted bravo ! and cried
with all the joyfulness of a seven-year-old,
bursting out suddenly like a lighted
rocket: "Boum-Boum! 'Tis he, 'tis he
this time. This is Boum-Boum, sure!
Hurrah for Boum-Boum! Good morn
ing, Boum-Boum!"
IV.
When the doctor came that day he
found, seated at the bedside of the little
Francois, a white-faced clown who kept
the littte fellow laughing all the time
and who said to the sick boy, stirring a
lump of sugar in the bottom of a cup of
medicine:
" You know if you do not drink it,
little Francois, that Boum-Boum will
not come to see you again."
"And the child drank it.
"Isn't it nice?"
"Very nice, thank you, Boum-Boum."
"Doctor," said the clown to the physi
cian, "do not be jealous. It seems to me,
however, that my antics do him as much
good as your prescription."
The father and mother wept, ' but this
time it was because of .their happiness.
And every day until little Francois was
able to leave his bed a carriage stopped
before the workman's home on the Kue
des Abbesses, and there stepped from it
a man wrapped in a heavy overcoat with
the cape turned up, and beneath, dressed
for the circus and with jolly, chalked
face.
"What do I owe you, sir," said Jacques
Legrand to the clown at the end of his
visits, when the boy went out for the
first time; "because in fact, you see, I
owe you something."
The clown offered to the
two big hands, the hands of
parents his
a sweet and
amiable Hercules.
"A good shake of
. Then kissing both
your hands," he said
of the child's cheeks, which had recov
ered some of their rosiness, he added,
laughing: "The permission to print on
my visiting cards: 'Boum-Boum, acro
batic doctor, Physician in Ordinary to
the Little Francois. "Boston Transcript.
A Texas Enoch Arden.
About'seven years ago in Lamar county
David Pierce had occasion to go to the
southern part of the State, and, bidding
his family, which consisted of his wTife
and daughter, an affectiouate adieu, he
took his departure. The weeks length
ened into months, and finally a year had
gone by without any tidings from Pierce,
until one day a little over five yea s ago
word was received from a friend of the
family that Dave had died somewhere
in the lower part of the State.
Mrs. Pierce mourned the death of her
husband, but after a year she was per
suaded to abandon her widowT's weeds
and wed another. The man she married
was worthy, and happiness reigned in
the family until the other day, when
the man mourned as dead appeared. On
being informed of his wife's marriage
Pierce first became blindly enraged and
threatened vengeance, but finally calmed
down and called on his wife. She fainted
at the sight of him, but finally rallied
and listened to explanations. Pierce,
on going South, suddenly became in
sane and wa3 placed in the lunatic asy
lum in Austin.
The friend that sent the word to Mrs.
Pierce thought he was doing a humane
act, and that she would rather know he
was dead than to think him insane.
After having been cured of his malady
Pierce returned home with the result as
stated. Finding his wife married to
another man, with two or three small
children and, realizing the unhappiness
he would cause if he remained and
claimed his wife, he silently and tear
fully turned his back on all that was dear
to him and bid a last farewell to his
home. Ch icago Times.
A Railroad Juggernaut
A yard employe informs the Harris
burg (Penn.) Call that car No. 1313 of
the 'Green Line is "the evil one's wasjon
on eight ill-fated wheels." To his own
knowledge that car has killed sixteen or
eighteen people who were braking upon
it,and has maimed half a dozen more.
He affirms there is a streak of bad luck
connected with that car, and no one who
knows anything about it will go near it.
He would rather take his chances on the
cow-catcher of an engine all night than
stay by the brakes of No. 1313. It has
"ot a bad name, and railroaders have, to
some extent, become superstitious oo
accoui of it.
A Jlodern Woolly Ilorse.
Louis J. Wyman, of Roxbury, Mass.,
owrs a horse which is dressed in a full
suit of wool instead of being clothed in
i oat of hair like the ordinary everyday
hon-e. . The wool is an inch Jong and of
a reddish brown shade! The owner
shows a bundle of yarn made from it
and says he has enough to make a suit of
clothes for the man who will exhibit the
horse. Mr. Wvrnan boi.'ght the animal
from E. B. Rhodes, a planter and stck
raiser of Spartanburg. S. C. The horse
was bred by thoroughbred Kentircky
hores and is perfect in form, 141 hands
high and weighs from S-0 to Topounds.
It arrived on the Gate City from" Savan
nah, Georgia, last week, and has since
been recuperating from the effects of his
sea voyage. The covering of the animal
seems to be veritable wool, and has so
been pronouueed by a number of wool
dealers in Boston. The horse has no
foretop or mane only a somewhat
thicker growth of wool where these ap
pendages should be. His tail, as well as
the rest of him, is covered with the wool,
and, singularly enough, hangs limply
down between the legs, exactly as a
sheep's tail does. Another mark of the
sheep is the horse's disposition to butt,
inoffensive operation which he resorts
to frequently. Hartford Times.
"When Shakespeare wrote, there were
jnly 5,000,000 English speaking people;
ind, barring a few stragglers, they were
confined to the British Isles. Excluding
tndia and the East, English is now
ipoken over an area of more than 10,
)00 square miles; that is more than one
3fth of the inhabitable globe.
The Handsomest J,ndy in Town
Remarked to a friend the other day that she
cnew Kemp's Balsam for the Throat and
Lung3 was a superior remedy, as it stopped her
iough instantly when other remedies had no
sffect whatever. So to prove this and con
rince you of its merit, any druggist will give
'ou a Sample Bottle Free. Large bottles 50
;ents and $L
The brave man is an inspiration to the
veak, and compels them, as it were, to follow
lim.
Hairclh April
Are the months In which to purify the blood, for at
no other season is the body so susceptible to benefit
from medicine. The peculiar purifying and reviv
ing qualities of Hood's Sarsaparilla are need 1 to ex
pel disease and fortify the system against the debili
tating effects of mild weather. Every year increases
the popularity of Hood's Sarsaparilla, for It is just
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Hood's Sarsaparilla
Tor many months I suff red greatly. My whole
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937 Atlantic Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.
HloocFs Sarsaparilla
Bold by all druggists. $1; six for $3. Prepared only
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IOO Doses One Dollar
J J J s tfr tS J J
The man who has invested lroui three
to five dollars in a Kubber Coat, and
at his first half hour's experience in
a sterol finds to his sorrow that it is
hardly a better protection than a mos
quito netting, not only feeds chagrined
at being so badiy taken in, but also
feels if he does not look exactly like
Ask tor the 'Tisi nilTNirrSLiCKER
WET
H
does not hare the fish brand, send for descriptive
j 2s j j j j j j I I I I
CHAPPED hands result from two causes. . Too much alkali in the
soap, which draws the natural oil from the skin, leaving it harsh,
dry, and liable to crack, or the fats, from which the soap is made,
are not properly combined with the alkali, so, from its greasy nature,
it is impossible to rinse off the soap after washing. Prof. Leeds,
Ph. D., Stevens Institution of Technology, says: "The Ivory Soap,
while strongly cleansing, leaves the skin soft and pleasant to the
touch, instead of harsh, uncomfortabe, and liable to chap."
A WORD OF WARNING.
There are many white soaps, each represented to be "just as good as the 1 Ivory';"
they ARE NOT, but like all counterfeits, lack the peculiar and remarkable qualities of
the genuine. Ask for "Ivory" Soap and insist upon getting it.
. Copyright use, by Procter ft GwaMe. . -
Happy flamr.
Much haa ben written and Mid abmt hmr
to make home happy. The moralist and the
Treacher have hackneyed this theme nntsl it
would seem nothing more remained to bajd
But the philosopher have srone far ont f the r
way to account for the prevalence of ill-aon,
couple and uuhappr homeland have ovf-r.
looked the chif cause. Most of the nnhar-v.
nessof married lifo can I traced direct! yY.j
thos- functional derangement to which w.w
men are suject. In nine cne out of tent1.
irritable. diAati?fiei and unhappy wife i .
sufferer from some "female complaint,' v
trial of Dr. lierces Favorite Inscription
produce more domestic happiness than a n-.iii.
ion sermons or philosophical treat It urvi
all thoe jeculiar weaknesses ar.d ailment' in
cident to women. It is the only medicine (;,j
by drusrvrists. under a iositive g-aarantce f r..'n
the manufacturers, that it will pive s.4tif ir.
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See euarantee printed ou wrapper encl-r'
bottle.
Moderation is the ?ilken string runnir. '
through the pearl chainof all virtues, '
Man w.nts but little here below.
Hut wan's that little strong.
This is especially true of a puree. The a
ver.
acre man or woman uh-s not prc:siv h.i
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be prompt, sure and effective. I)r. i'ier
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A nANPFCX of common sense is worth a
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Its thousands of cures aretl-e Wst advert;,
ment for Dr. Safe's Catarrh Ketnedv.
He is nly a well made man who hta a v-I
deterniina'ion.
Itching Piles.
Symptom Moisture: i-itense itchinc ml
stinging: worse by scratching. If allowed to
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ment stops the itching and bleeding, heals n.
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Sent by mail for TQcts. Also sohl bv druKs.
Consumption Siirelv Cared.
To the Editor: Please inform your re:!.rs
that 1 have a positive remedy for the awv.
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hopeless cases have been iermanently cured. I
shall be glad to send two Imttles of mv remedy
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and 1'. O. address. Kespectfullv,
T. A. SLOCUM.M.C. 1M Pearl SL. N. V.
"Necessity is the Mother of Invention," c.i
tarrli is not an invention, but it makes T.
lor's Hospital Cure a necessity. Free pam
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Bronchit's is cured by frequent small do es
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X Y N U-U "
ay
Hood's Sarsaparilla Is prepared fro-n Sarsa-.arl.'lt
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Purifies the Blood
"Seven years ag , while my little boy was plavlng
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entere I his blood, and sores soon broke out aixHit
his body; they itched terribly an 1 caused him int-n
suffering. Several times we succeeded in healing th
sores up, but in spite of all wo could do they woul 1
soon break out again Finally we tried Hood's s.ira
parllla, and he took one bottle and one th rd of an
other, when the sores disappeared. He has not a Hm
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cured." Wm. H. B. Ward, Downlngtou, Peuu.
Sold by all druggists. $1 ; six for $". Prepared only
by C. I. HOOD it CO., Apothecaries, Lowell. Mas.
IOO Doses One Dollar
i i i i x i x" v "i." i i
Ve ofler the ni;ui who want MTvice
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ami take no other. If y;iir storekeeper
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i I T" T T T T V
catalogue. A.
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