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St‘~*’'!f :''-ZM II ... ■MHWye<ni<|iiM to Seal with a kiss. 1 as , ~;, I -t, ~ rain of MMMMW 11 ' I\ ■ • tie ■> aoMhown - hie jtnodel inatriinmi .il pair. BHBHH —Detroit Free. Press. HBr how he was cured. ;§gß TT whs not "afiT medial prescription BB that diil the work; his difliculty was be ■Myond that. It had shown itself in troublesome aeute attacks front hi* boy hood tip. and since marriage had settled down into a slow chronic annoyance; |||B but, as I said, he was cured at la-t. The beginning of the end happened in this ■r wise. Delia Gray and Mrs. Russell were hav- B ,n n j us t the coziest time possible one B wqjumer afternoon, one on the sofaread- B ing aloud from Pickwick Papers, the B other in an easy chair with her feet on a B divan, knitting and chatting be- the lines; for they v. ere old BOSMffTrffnia'es, and perfectly al home with Bach >ihei '.dr. Benjamin Russell came |BB <! ffi.il> the oiliee and foun 1 them so. in- that he must put a cushion under B' each head >o make them thetery picture ■ of comfort, then seated himself between L them and treated them to a basket ■ ? of cherries and an amusing account of his day’s.ad ventures. He did his very B* prettiest, Mnd that was no small thing. lie Might have written three volumes Br «‘3ii the Art of Pleasing,” added an ap- Itendix equal to the original, and still tad a <fqw facts too choice to waste on the public deft over for his own private use. And just now there was a particular reason. Miss Delia had said “No” to him once. Mrs. Benjamin more than half suspected the fact, Mr. Benjamin was still very much aware of it; and now that she and Jennie proved to be old friends, and she was at his home for the first time, prettier and saucier than ever, it was policy in him to show that scorn ful young damsel how much she had v missed. After the cherries were gone, and he had duly apologized for interrupting L them (although lie knew they would Us fifty times rather have his chat than their reading) he betook himself to the back with a cigar and a newspaper.. just as he was going he caught sight HBf the blue yarn. B “Great Jupiter! why you will tire your |W fingersover that coarse stuff? I'd rather wear ragged stockings to the day of my B death than to have you! I protest I ' had, and with that he was gone. The smile that tried to come into the i wife’s face died away in the corners of k her lip to a scornful curve. She did not 1 ntend it should, but she had heard a P great deal of such trash— when other * people listening. He never wasted on her at any other time. ®M«r''“Het- just an angel!” Delia said, HHBHtden he was almost out of hearing. -On tin wheels," her friend added and flu v went on with the iJV.-NO. 41, Dolton Slrqusß once, half bitterly-she had been digging in the garden at the tune of year when l ’ throe "great white worms turn into beetles, and was crawling a little at the loathsome half-developed things—“ Just like marriage, for all the world. They don’t live any kind of a life down in the ground, not a quarter of a life, but once out of it they run the risk of thumping their brains out against a wall, of being e eaten by the fowls, or of getting a needle through their hearts.” That was the worst”she was ever known to say. f She was not blind. She knew just as well as if she had been told that all those evenings when her husband said he had “pressing business with Mr. Darwin— had to wait four hours to see him and then attend to the business after e wards,” he had been quietly playing chess with pretty Miss Darwin all the time, while the unconscious papa dreamed of bonds and per cent. When f the same thing took him away half the evenings in the month, she despised him that he could look her in the face and 3 say, “business.” She did not care about the chess. She had never im n agined that when he promised “leaving ail others to cleave to her alone” it 1 meant a vow to forego all social privi leges; but “it was sneaking make-be , lieve” she said to herself. And then to come home and, if his mother was there, t says he was “so sorry that pesky tor e menting business kept him away and left her at home to prose over the mend ing and never have a good time!” The , soft lying was what she did wish he could be broken of. It exasperated her ’ so! But, as I said, she never blasphemed marriage because her own had found as many thorns as roses. She knew it was 1 not the State but the people. If Mr. and Mrs. Grey, over at the 1 corner, believed, as they seemed to, that r wedlock on earth was inferno enough to preclude the need of any hereafter, that was only one side of it. There was sweet Mrs. Marshall who made her home a paradise, and whose husband grew deep er in love with her every day of his life with an intense unspeakable loyalty; there were Mr. and Mrs. Hall, who had been married fifteen years and whose honeymoon was still in the first quarter. Mrs. Russell was too sensible to blame the condition, if it did prove uncomforta ble for her. And the discomfort went on. He came home one noon and found her roasting on every gridiron in her kitchen, in a stifling atmosphere, tired and flushed, with an odor of soups and des serts about her. Miss Delia was grace fully swinging in a hammock in a con veniently near bay window, and it w r as too good an occasion to be lost. So, with his habitual company-gallantry and a few extra grains thrown in for spice, he said: “ My darling; it’s a shame to have you sweltering in this Nebuchadnezar’s fur nace on such a fiendish day, getting din ner for us brutes. By Jove! I’d rather come home every day and find you sit ting in the big rocking chair with a palm leaf fan, and eat a cold crust of bread, on my soul I had.” And he lifted a ket tle for her byway of emphasis, and left a huge black mark on his clean white vest. After which mishap he betook himself to Delia, still protesting about the cold crust. And Mrs. Benjamin said a pieasant word, flushed a little redder, and kept up a prodigious thinking. Their guest went away on the evening train. She came down radiant in ultramarine ash ribbons and cheeks that glowed as nat ural a pink as if it all came from fresh emotions, and not from ten min utes’ application of fresh mullein leaves. Mr. Russell went with her, of course, to see that she had a seat, and to get her some oranges and magazines with which to shorten the ride. Mrs. Russell stayed at home to wash the dishes, as any duti ful wife would, but still kept up the prodigious thinking. The next noon he came home to din , ner hungry as a bear, opened the dining room door, saw the chairs set up, the dishes as usual, and two crusts of cold bread the only edible thing in sight. He stared in the greatest astonishment; not a hint of anything else. He opened the kitchen door; perfect order rpigned there, not a kettle in sight, no odor of fresh meat, no sign of dinner! He was getting angry. “What is all this blast ed business about? Jennie! Jen-n-i-e!” he called, but no answer came. J-e-n --n-i-e!” in prolonged indignation as he neared the parlor. “J-a-n-e!” He was very angry, or he would never have used that name. There in the coolness of the bay-win dow she sat in the easiest chair, wasting her time. No knitting or mending in her hands, not even a*tiovel, only an enormous fan that she was using as if all the leisure of eternity was at her dispo sal. He was indignant in every nerve. “Confound it, Jane, what does al/this ■mn?” he siJd L sternly. J J DALTON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MAY 27, 1882. ; Os course, once in a great while his old. i habit returns, but he soon recollects him > self. He never said to her in so many i words that he should like to pull up t stakes and begin over again, but he acted it. She is not the woman ever to hint i cold crusts to him, but all the more his i conscience seems to do it. Her respect ; for him grows. People say: “Poor man! she did not encourage or appreci ate his devotion. She was so cold he has given up in despair.” She smiles softly to herself, and likes the present sincerer way a great deal better.— Woman's Journal. A Flood Sufferer. “Do you attend to out of town mat ters,” asked a tall, carelessly dressed individual, walking into the city editor’s room and assuming a “stained glass” attitude against one of the tapestry hung walls. “Now and then,” said the city editor, “what is your trouble?” “Well, you see, 1 just arrived from the South,” said the visitor, helping him self to an Eastlake chair, and stretching his feet out comfortablv on one of the Turkish rugs. “I own—that is, I used to own—a plantation not far from New Orleans. Now, I own a lake ” “Then you come from the flooded dis tricts?” said the editor, growing inter ested. “Right from the very middle of ’em,” said the visitor, curling one long, thin limb over the other; and proceeding to shave off a chew of tobacco from a very black looking piece of plug. “I tell you, sir, it’s dreadful down there, and the thing came on us so sudden like. Why, I w r oke up one morning and found ducks sailing around my bed and our pet hog perched on the mantelpiece puff ing like a steamboat on a mud bank. How that hog ever got up there lays ’em out. Well, the water was arising and a rising, and before long we had to take to the roof and there we stayed for fifteen days.” “Fifteen days!” said the editor, in surprise. “ Yes, sir; fifteen days, and we couldn’t get anything to eat for the last five, except the moss that sprouted up atween the shingles. Well, my wife got awful thin like and so did the children, and I kinder fell away myself.” “Well, I should remark,” said the editor, grind j. “Yes, you see a moss diet ain’t no way fillin’,” said the visitor. “ AVhy didn’t you swim out?” asked the editor. “ There was the trouble,” said the visitor. “You see there ain’t no plan tation nigh onto ten mile from ours, and I calculated that would be too much of a pull for me. I reckon I’m a good swimmer, but I didn’t care to tackle that ten mile. Well, we’d got down to our last shingle, and there wasn’t a smitch o’ moss on that roof big ’nongh to wad a shotgun with. Our youngest had been given the last bit, and he set there on the chimney chewing it up and lookin’ like a hand-organ monkey down in his luck, when I see a little cloud way across the the water. I didn’t say nothin’ for a moment, but knew pretty well what that could meant, and I watched it like a nigger would a coon. Well, she grew larger, and I made sure it were a steamboat. Then I kinder whispered it quiet like to the old woman. Well, she took one look and then flopped over in a dead faint, and afore I could grab her she rolled down the roof into the water. Well, that was the last of her.” “You don’t mean to say you let her drown?” said the editor. “ Well, you see, boss,” said the visitor, “ I was so weak I knew it was death for both on us for me to go after her, and to make matters worse she pulled in our youngster with her. 1 tell you we we’re having tough times down our way’. At last somebody on the steamboat saw us and they took as aboard, but Host every thing, not to say nothin’ about part of my family. Well, they took us up to New Orleans and I scraped up cash enough to come North, and here I am.” “ But what did you come North for?” asked the editor. “ Well, you see they put me on a Re lief Committee, and I’m on here to raise funds for the sufferers.” “ O, you are,” said the editor, edging his chair back and looking sharp at the visitor. “Yes, I see you newspaper fellows was throwin’ out lots of sympathy for us, and I just thought I’d tackle the press first, and then work down through the other professions.” “ Very thoughtful in you,” said the editor. “ Yes, after I’ve got your contributions I’ll just see whether the churches are good for anything,” said the visitor. “ AVait a moment,” said the editor, walking over to the telephone, and then he called the instrument “ Connect Eatfe with police headquarters,” but the relief committee didn’t wait for the repl Brooklyn Eagle. a recent meeting of the French • ru'f, the chatty- wiiii-h ie-' lfi French , - The District School. Twenty-six years ago a young girl was employed by the directors of a country district school to teach the school for the winter. The girl was so young, and withal so frail in appearance, that there were many misgivings as to her success in teaching. But it was soon found that her slight frame was but the support of a mind so pure and earnest, coupled with a will so strong, that what had been a disorderly school was at once reduced to obedience—an obedience born of love and respect, and therefore far more com plete than the most stringent rule of an iron hand could have compelled, anti which, under the clear-headed guidance of the teacher, resulted in such an ad vancement in the path of knowledge as that school had never known. . With a prayerful conscientiousness the young girl returned to her task each day, and there bent every energy to the faithful performance of her duties, total ly forgetting herself in her work, and doing it with only one thought—that of earning a deserved “well done” from a higher than any human court; and daily the children met her to gather from her lips fresh lessons of love and truth lessons taught as only the pure and true can teach them. For once the childrens’ parents proved to be not wholly indifferent; the enthusi asm of the school room was carried home; a meeting of the Board of Di rectors was called, the condition of the school thoroughly examined, and the teacher—in her inexperience, trembling for fear she had left some duty unper formed—was notified that her salary was increased by a half ! Well, did her energy slacken,* now that her probation was past? Not in the least. On the contrary, while she worked no harder than before, for that was impossible, yet her work was better done on account both of the experience gained and of the steady and united support of her patrons; and when the term closed, the tears of teacher and pupils were mingled in that sorrow at separation which only youth and childhood know. But this term was not to be the last. As the young girl grew into womanhood she was repeatedly recalled to this coun try school, and the children which had gathered round her as boys and girls of ten and twelve, grew under her care to the age and qualifications necessary for their admittance to college, and to-day those of that little band who are left— for many, very many, have passed from earth forever—look back upon those school-days of childhood with the feel ing that the whole of life—aye, the whole of eternity—has been sweetened and purified by the unselfish labors of that noble woman. Ah, what would we not give if we could assure to the little ones who are now gathering around our hearthstones such loving care in the school-room as we then received! Teacher, parent, employer, will it not be richly worth your while to so live and act that the embryo men and women now under your charge shall, in the future, look back upon your labors of to-day with similar feelings? But will they thus look back if you treat this business of school-teaching as simply so much work to be done in the easiest manner for so much money to be grudgingly paid.— Louisville Farm and The Little Shoes Did It. A young man who had been reclaimed from the vice of intemperance was cal led upon to tell how he was led to give up drinking. He arose, but looked for a moment very confused. All he could say was: “The little shoes they did it?” With a thick voice; as if his heart was in his throat he kept repeating this. There was a stare of perplexity on every face, and at length some thoughtless youno people began to titter. The man, in all his embarrassment heard the sound, and rallied at once. The light came into his eyes with a flash; lie drew himself up, and the choking went from his throat, “Yes, friends,” he said, in a voice that cut its way as clear as a deep-toned bell, whatever you may think of it I’ve told you the truth—the little shoes did it. I was a brute and a fool; strong drink had made me both, and starved me into the bargain. I suffered—l deserved to suffer but 1 did not suffer alone—no man does who has a wife and children—for the women get the worst share. But 1 am no speaker to enlarge on that; I’ll stick to the little shoes I saw one night when I was all but done for—the saloon-keepers child holding out her feet to look at her fine, new shoes. It was a simple thing, but my friends, no list ever struck ine such a blow as those little new shoes. They kicked reason into me. reason had 1 to clothe others with and provide rr>l eyen coarse ' r, ‘ r ‘v w:,s . ■lni' (’.idled child, on a ' <”-i'"na- i ; (l , lk i, ci : ii.. ■ ■J a ■ War Telegraphing. Gabriel N. P. Gale, a gentleman wide ly known through his hotel connections, and brother of the present proprietor of the Hotel Lafayette, narrated to a Press reporter Saturday three interesting sto ries of war telegraphing. Mr. Gale served during the rebellion as First Lieutenant of the Eleventh New York Battery, and, like every other old soldier, loves to fight over again the battles of the past. The experiences he told yes terday are striking examples of how Confederate cunning was out Hanked by Yankee wit. The Union army in 1862 lay encamped on the nort h bank of the Rappahannock, opposite what was to be the disastrous field of Fredericksburg. On the bank of the river, in the extreme front of the Union line, stood the house of Mrs. Gray, a long, rambling stone building, whose front of three stories faced the river. The roof sloped steeply toward the rear, where the stone side was but one story high. Mrs. Gray herself, an elderly widow, had received the Union advance with every demonstration of welcome, and her house soon became a favorite rendezvous • for young officers. A prime cause of this, besides Mrs. Gray’s cheerful hearth and good fare, was the beauty of her daughter Sallie, a brunette of perhaps twenty years, with glossy black hair and deep blue eyes. A young Lieutenant was badly wounded by these batteries, and«pent all his spare time at the feet of this fair Southerner, who professed such sympathy with the Union cause. Late one rainy night a sentinel pacing back and forth before the stone front of the Gray house heard a faint but sharp noise cutting the still air. It sounded like the click of a telegraph instrument, and it seemed to come from beneath his feet. Greatly perplexed, he called the Sergeant of the guard. They listened carefully, and were presently joined by the gallant lover of Sallie Gray. Con victions of treachery smote his heart, and with the Sergeant he unceremon iously entered the Gray dwelling. Sallie and her mother, despite the late hour, were busily sewing by a table in the sit ting-room. The ladies rose in apparent surprise and indignation at the intrusion. “ Step aside, if you please,” said the Sergeant. “What does this mean?” asked Mrs. Gray, sharply. “ Frank, I appeal to you for protec tion,” cried the young lady to the Lieu tenant. That officer could only shake his head and sternly wave her aside. “ You are false. You have deceived me,” he said, hoarsely, as the girl who had promised to be his bride, sank sob bing upon a sofa. The soldiers could hear the ticking more plainly now. They moved the table, lifted the carpet, and discovered a trap door leading to a cellar of whose exist ence they had no suspicion. A light be- , low was instantly quenched, but they fearlessly descended and discovered a telegraph instrument, with an insulated wire running through the cellar wall amt evidently passing beneath the river to the enemy on the other side. Crouching in a corner was the operator, a young and handsome man, who had never be fore been seen about the house, having lived for days in the cellar. “You are my prisoner” from the Sergeant brought the distressed wail from poor Sallie of “Mvjiusband, oh, my husband!” The hea® of the Union Lieutenant went back once more to the girl he left behind him. But, notwithstanding the detection of this line of communication the enemy seemed to know of every movement of the Union troops. It was a mystery to the officers how they gained their knowledge. There were no more tele graph wires, ami there was no passing across the river. At last the mystery was solved. Within the Union lines, but in sight of the enemy, there stood a low frame house, occupied by a negro, who did washing for the soldiers. He hung his clothing to dry in the front yard; but it is noticed that in the porch there always hung three flannel shirts, one red, one white and one blue. The negro said that they were his Union colors. But the shirts were not always in the same position, and a suspicious Sergeant finally became convinced that the negro used them to signal across the Rappahannock. The arrest of the negro and the effectual use of the shirts to de ceive, instead of to inform, the enemy followed. — Philadelphia Press. A Tree of Iron. The Iron Palmetto is the I work of art in the State House yard \ This is a wholly of iron, com- | the death of many of Cp.ro slain, whose names are fou&l ia g|fl. >u o. on two brass kin- -u< TERMS: SI.OO 1 Sl'illlH. AMI \ ; ' ' '■ • fl institution. in twenty-five fl calls on all - 1 ' 1 ' ; th? y afl «fl ■ J fl fl • < a:: | I": : ' fl ' 1 fl ’ tin; divine. I I I ■ ’ •• I - >- ; fl|||i|||||| 1 : . o! : ,■< - L enpi! [ by pion . j i y , ;1 , will .. ; | :i b’er i .T'klflflflfll i i. . 1 :• 1 ■ ~:is (• - Ils ■civifl ■ ■ fl !'■"< popiih;- than their predeciflfl Chii-aj') Tribane. jfl !’■ efIHH >L> a :i At pb-iAn of ,\[ l :i!oi)!i>< ill Edinburgh: d I ha- had t > own that Moody in the footsteps of his Master, no other force in the world, least qf the force of scepticism, ever shows sflfl a spirit or engages iti such laborsfl love.” jfl| -The following shows the nnmberfl® pupils enrolled last year in ten of ji' iding cities, and the cost per cafl' for their education: New York, 267-flßl pupil-, $10.35 c >st p r capita; Chicifl - $18.57; 80-ton. 50,543, 7 St. Louis, 47,030, $11.66; CiwJflfll 35,750, $21.07; San $18.45; Pittsburgh, $13.76; Buf falo, 18,606, $lJj.9O; Washington, 26,419, $18.17; Newark, N. J., 19,806, $10.49; Detroit, 15,719, $12.36.—aV. F. Herald. —That was a pleasant way in which a newly-settled Methodist minister dis armed the criticism of the people in the congregation to which he had been sent. Instead of getting angry-atair* complaining that they had hurt life feel ings, he remarked from the pulpit, “I hear that you say fam not much of a preacher; well, I know it; and I know that if I could preach first rate 1 wouldn't have been sent here to preach to such a lot of ignoramuses as you.”— Chicago Herald. PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS. —A little boy came to his mother re cently and said: “I should think that if I was ipadeof dust I would get muddy inside when I drink.” —“Whatfljd you say the conductor’s name was?” —Mr. Glass” “O no!” “But it is.” “Impossible—it can’t be,” “And why not, pray?” “Because, sir, Glass is a non-conductor.” [Deafening applause from the scientific passengers.] —Rose McWhortleberry hoard her master remark that “Kismet” meant “fate,” and this is the reason why she so astonished her mistress by remarking the next day to Belinda, the chamber •maid: “O, Blindy, I can scarcely walk wid the chilblains all over my two kis mets.” —A fashion writer of the female sex says: “In dress we are nothing but monkeys.” The writer may be an ex ception; but who ever saw a monkey attired in a corset, a twenty-doll* r hat, seventeen-button gloves, a lot of false hair, and several hundred dollars’ worth of dry goods.— Norristown Herald. —Strive, endeavor, it profits m:ro To flffbtand tall, than on Time’s dull To sit hi ? r oy fl i ■ . ii 1 " ' ..f ; flffißaagff •■And ! > what was lb" i ‘p‘ :.ted the A 111 ■' ‘ BBH|| 1 11 di'an • -.A t'A p’ . . •