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NOTHIN’ TO SAY.
Nothin’ to say, my daughter ! Nothin at all to saj !
Girls that’s in love, I’ve noticed, generally have
their way!
A es, mother did, afore you, when her folks objected
to me—
Yit here I am, and here you air ! and yer mother—
where is she ?
You look lots like your mother: Purty much same
in size;
And about the same complected; and favor about
the eyes.
Like her, too. ’bout livin’ here, because she couldn’t
stay;
It’ll most ’seem like you was dead like her ! but I
hain’t got nothin’ to say !
She left her little Bible—writ your name acrost the
page/-
And left her ear-bobs fer you, es ever you come of
age.
I’ve alius kep’ em and gyarded ’em but if you’re
goin’ away—
Nothin’ to say, my daughter ! Nothin’ at all to say ?
You don’t rikollect her, I reckon ? No ; you wasn’t
a year old then !
And now yer—how old air you ? Why, child, not
“ twenty ! ” When ?
And your nex’ birthday’s in Aprile ? and you want
to git married that day ?
. . . I wisht yer mother was livin ’ !—but —
I hain’t got nothin’ to say !
Twenty years ! and as good a gyri as parent ever
found !
There’s a straw ketched onto yer dress there—
I’ll brush it off—turn round.
(Her mother was just twenty when us two run
away ! )
Nothin’ to say, my daughter ! Nothin’ at all to say !
AN ODD MISTAKE.
BY MRS. E. BURKE COLLINS.
“ Miss Ethel Thurston.—Your motiler is very
ill. Come at once, Dr. Thorpe will m(aet you at
train.
Marion Thorpe.”
I sat staring at the telegram in my hands—short
and terse as such messages usually are ; my brain a
whirl, my heart full of grief and terror. Mother was
all that I had upon earth to love and care for, and
my father’s death had left us alone and poor. I was
employed as type-writer in a large commercial
house, and earned our daily bread and a little to
spare.
So when poor mother’s health began to fail, and
that tired, patient look deepened in her eyes, and
her face was always pale and thoughtful, I was en
abled through my little savings, to propose a trip
for the benefit of her health.
How proud I was that morning when I placed a
little purse in her hand, and told her to choose some
pleasant retreat away from the heat and bustle and
din of the crowded city; somewhere among the
mountains or upon the seashore —any place that
would not take her too far from me. At first she
flatly refused to leave me alone.
“I cannot consent to go, Ethel,” she said; “I
must not leave you alone in this great city, and you
compelled to earn our daily bread. I could not
have the heart to leave you hard at work while I
idled away my time and —”
But I stopped all these objections with a tender
kiss.
“ Mamma, you had better go,” I said seriously,
“ Irinsist upon it. And, dear, if you take no care of
your health, we may be forced to part —a long, long
parting, mamma.”
She sat buried in thought for a time; then she
kissed me tenderly, and I could see that there were
tears in her soft eyes. But the matter was settled ;
she would go to the mountains, a few hours’ journey
upon the railroad, where some old friends lived.
Dr. Thorpe and his good wife would gladly wel
come her, and she would have the best of care. So
she had gone; the weeks had rolled by very slowly,
for I missed her so, and then this clear September
morning, all unexpected, this telegram smote down
on me like a blow.
I was all alone in the office, it happened, when the
telegram arrived. I bowed my head upon the desk
before me, and gave way to bitter grief. Could I
live without my mother ? I was not like other girls.
I had no lover, few friends. The lonely future
stretched out before me was appalling. For a time
I wept and sobbed bitterly ; then I was recalled to
duty by the entrance of Mr. Renshawe, my em-
train.
THE NEW WESTERN RAILWAY GUIDE.
ployer. I laid the telegram in his hand. He
glanced it over, and a look of compassion came into
his kindly eyes.
“Dear! dear! How unfortunate !” he exclaimed,
“ You must go, Miss. Ethel, of course; first train—
no delay. Ah, that is it. Train leaves at noon pre
cicely; It is now ten. Go right home, Miss. Ethel,
and make your preparations. Stay. You had bet
ter write a reply to this telegram.”
I siezed a pencil and scribbled hastily;
“ Shall start at noon. Meet me at train without
fail. E. T!”
I decided to send the telegram to Dr. Thorpe
himself; which, having been done, I hurried home
to the neat cottage where mother and I lived with a
good old woman who kept the house home-like for
us; and I there told my sad story, and hastily
packing a trunk and a small valise.
I was in readiness when the carriage which Mr.
Renshawe kindly sent for me drove up; and in a
short time I was on board the eastern train, and
going as fast as steam could bear me to my poor
mother’s side.
Would I find her worse, or —I could not finish;
my thoughts could go no further; I nestled in a cor
ner of the seat and watched the flying panorama
without with weary, listless eyes.
The hours flew by; the sun set in the midst of
picturesque surroundings.
* I knew that in three or four hours I would reach
Cranstown, the little station nestling at the very
foot of the great mountains.
And then I began to reflect upon the situation,
and wonder what Dr. Thorpe was like.
I had never met him or his wife, though they were
dear friends of my mothers; but at that small stop
ping place I could have no difficulty in indentifying
my expected escort.
With my thoughts busy, and an unspoken prayer
in my heart that I would find mother better. I
waited, and the train rolled on.
After a time it began to slacken speed. “ Crans
town” was shouted lustily; I gathered my few be
longings together and rose to my feet.
It was a dark night—an exceedingly dark night.
My watch, at which I had just glanced, told the
hour of ten.
I was faint and weary, and scarcely knew what I
was doing as I followed the corteous conductor out
upon the platform; I was deposited upon the
ground, bag and baggage, and with a muffled roar
the train sped on its way. -* /
I peered about me through the darkness. I was
standing near the railroad track, with the platform of
a country depot close at hand.
A lantern swung from the front of the low wood
en building, and threw a sickly yellow glare for a
few feet around.
A strange feeling of loneliness crept over my
heart. I turned to enter the depot. Just then a
tall form arose before me so suddenly that I started
and uttered a low cry, and a man’s voice spoke
softly; a high-bred, well-modulated voice.
“I knew you would come. All the others declared
you would not; but ”
“Would not, indeed!” I interrupted him indig
nantly. “Good heavens! what do you mean, Dr.
Thorpe? I suppose this is Dr. Thorpe.”
By the dim light I could see him bow.
“Os course. You’re up to your old jokes, I see.
Come, Ethel, the carriage is waiting, and we have
a tearful drive before us; ten long miles. Do you
think you can endure it ? ”
I felt my face flush as I turned angrily.
I could endure tortures to reach her,” I cried ve
hemently. “How is she, Doctor. I have not dared
to ask before.”
“Oh, she’s all right—all right,” he cried lightly.
“Really, Ethel, you need feel no anxiety.”
By this time we had reached the carriage—a
roomy phaeton:
Dr. Thorpe assisted me to a seat, and deposited
himself at my side with all my belongings; he gath
ered up the reins, touched the horse lightlv with the
whip, and we were off with the wind.
A strange feeling crept into my heart; a doubt of
the wisnom of my own proceedings; a fear of which
I was even then heartily ashamed.
We flew onward, and Dr. Thorpe grew' quite con
fidential.
“I don’t mind telling you,” he said, as we drove
along over a road which gradually grew more steep
and rocky, and bore witness to his testimony of “a
fearful drive.” “I don’t mind confessing to you that
I am done for at last. And what do you think,cous
in?—”l was not his cousin, but thought best to make
no demur —“I have fallen in love, head over heels,
with a picture. A photograph, Ethel; one which I
have boldy and maliciously purloined from its own
er, who is a near relative of the fair original. Wish
me success in my wooing, for though I have never
seen her. 1 have sworn to win her some day, if it
lies within human power.”
“I wish you success, I am sure,” I ventured.
“Let me show you the picture,” he went on per
suasively. “I know lam a wretch to steal it, but
the good old lady who owns it will never miss ft,
and I Here it is.”
And the audacious fellow drew a card photograph
from his vest pocket, the one right over his heart,
too, and lighting a wax taper which he produced
from some unknown region,held the photograph up
before my eyes.
Fancy my consternation to find that it was a pho
tograph of my own face.
I uttered a cry. He turned the taper’s light full
upon me, and a wild ejaculation passed his Ifps.
“Good heavens, what an egregious fool I am, to
be sure ! I came to the station to meet my cousin,
Ethel Thorpe, and you—and—you —”
“Am Ethel Thurston,” I faltered, My mother is
very ill at Dr. Thorpe’s house near Cranstown.
did not know there was another Dr. Thorpe.”
•• I am Dr. Edgar Thorpe, his nephew,” cried
the young physician eagerly. (And then I per
ceived by the light of the flickering taper how
handsome he was, and not a day over thirty.) “And
you left the train at East Cranstown,” he went on
regretfully, “full twenty miles from Uncle Ed
ward’s. I thought you were my cousin Ethel —
Mrs. Ethel Thorpe —whose little child is’slightly ill
at my mother’s. It was so awfully dark there
at the station. Cousin Ethel insisted on coming
over from the city, though I assured her that there
was nothing wrong with Daisy save a slight cold,
and the little one is all right now. But, by Jove,
Miss Thurston, this is too bad. Will you ever for
give me for my blunder. You see, your telegram
was delivered to me at my office instead of Uncle
Edward’s. Your initials are the same as my cous
in’s, even your first name is the same. Quite a co
incidence,” he added, in a tone which brought the
blood to my cheeks.
There was no help for it but to drive those twen
ty miles. Shall I ever fonget that drive ?
One thing is certain: Long before its close Edgar
Thorpe and I felt that we had known each other
for years ; only no further reference was made
by my escort to the photograph which I held tight
ly clasped in my hand.
At a very late hour we drove up before a hand
some cottage, with lights gleaming faintly through
the dusk, and a little later we were standing in a
cozy drawing-room, while Dr. Thorpe told the sto
ry to his aunt, a sweet-faced motherly old lady,who
listened and laughed so heartily that I knew without
asking a question that mother was better. And so
she was. $ ■,
She soon recovered her health entirely, but I did
not return to the city and the work that there await
ed me. For Mr. Renshaw kindly proposed that I
take a long vecation, and recuperate among the
great purple mountains.
I found it so delightful there that the thought of
going away was unendurable. /Ind when Edgar
Thorpe begged me to remain forever as his wife, I
did not hesitate. So he won the original of the pic
ture, and I became Ethel Thorpe indeed. And we
have enjoyed many a hearty laugh over that strange
coincidence and Dr. Thorpe’s odd mistake.
Not as I Will.
Blindfolded and alone I stand,
With unknown thresholds on each hand;
The darkness deepens as I grope,
Afraid so fear, afraid to hope;
Yet this one thing I learn to know,
Each day more surely as I go,
That doors are opened, ways are made,
Burdens are lifted or are laid
By some great law unseen and still,
Unfathomed purpose to fulfill
“Not as I will.”
Blindfolded and alone I wait;
Loss seems too bitter, gain too late;
Too heavy burdens in the load,
And too few helpers on the road ;
And joy is weak, and grief is strong,
And years and days so long, so long;
Yet this one thing I learn to know,
Each day more surely as I go,
That I am glad that good and ill
By changeless law are ordered still,
“Not as I will.”
“Not as I will ’’ —the sound grows sweet
Each time my lips the words repeat;
“Not as 1 will ” —the darkness feels
More safe than light when this thought steals
Like whispered voice to calm and bless
All unrest and all loneliness.
“Not as I will,” because the One
Who loved us first and best has gone
Before us on the road, and still
For us must all his love fulfill—
“ Not as we will.”
Helen Hunt Jackson.
HER NAME WAS SMITH.
The Monotony of a Railway Ride Relieved
By an Inquisitive Traveler.
He boarded the train at Rochester, and came to
the only vacant seat in the car, beside a young lady.
“This seat taken, ma’am? ”
“No.”
“Waal, then, I guess I’ll set down.”
Two minutes’silence.
“Have some peanuts* ma’am? ”
“No, I thank you.”
“Jiminy, don’t you like peanuts ? Just like my
wife. My great holt is peanuts and bananers. Per
haps you would like a bananer, ma’am?”
“No, nothing, thank you.”
“Live up in Bufialo, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“P’raps you know my friend, Cap’n Jack Sloan,
lives down on Elk street?”
“No, I don’t know where Elk street is.”
“By gol, and you live in Buffalo ! Why, I’ve
sold butter on Elk street market nigh on to twenty
years. My name’s Johnson. Your name ain’t
Tones, is it? ”
“No.”
“Tain’t Williams, ©r anything of that kind ? ”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought. I don’t s’pose now it’s
Brown or any o’ them colors? ”
“No.”
“Been far ?”
“Not far.”
“Syracuse, mebbe, or Albany, eh ? ”
“No.”
“No? Gol! Hain’t been to New York ?”
“Yes.”
‘•Jiminy, I’ve never* been there, though I saw a
pretty slick feller from there once. Them New
Yorkers is regular goers, ain’t they? Any relations
there ?”
“Few!”
“Gosh! Wonder if they know my cousin Jake.
He’s getting ten dollars a week jest to walk around
in a store and look slick. Your folks ever speak of
Jake?”
“No.”
“Jake and me bought some land out west last
year. Ever buy any ?”
“No.”
“Don’t. Jake and me lost five hundred dollars. It
was way at the bottom of a river. Ever been west?”
“Chicago.”
“Joe! You hev traveled, ain’t you. Mother and
father living ?”
“Father.”
“Live in Buffalo ?”
“No.”
“Our folks all live together down to Rochester.
Jffy father and mother have been dead a long time.
My wife’s mother lives with us. Her name’s Mar
tin. That ain’t your name, eh ?” i
“No<” . i
“I was jest thinking that you lookedllike a man I
know in Buffalo named Waters. He ain’t your
brother ? ”
“No.”
“We must be coming pretty near Buffalo. That
there lot of tracks looks like it. You don’t happen
to live on Main street ?”
“No.”
“Then your name ain’t Robinson ?”
“No.”
“You must have a curious kind of a name. Sure
it ain’t Sanders ?”
“Sure.”
“Wai, here we be. Can I help you gittin’ off?”
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, is there a door plate on your house ? ”
“Y es.”
“Name on it ?”
‘,Yes.”
“P’raps you would’nt mind tellin’ what the name
on the plate is ? ”
“Smith.”
“Gol!”— Buffalo Courier.
NOTES.
The long and short haul clause of the Inter State
Commerce Bill is worrying the long lines to the
West, but the Memphis & Little Rock Railway is*
the shortest and best line to Arkansas, Texas and
California, and if your tickets read via this line you
will reach your destination from 12 to 24 hours,
quicker than via the long lines. Remember that the
Memphis & Little Rock Short Line has Through
Buffet Sleepers from Washington to Little Rock
without change and from Louisville to Little Rock
making only one change to Hot Springs, Ark.
♦
When passing through Chattanooga don’t fail to
visit the elegant dining rooms of Mr. and Mrs. Doug
herty in the Union Depot who have had several
years experience in catering to tee public taste with
admirable success. Traveling Passenger Agents and
Drummers never pass them by and they are connois
seurs in the Art. Our advice is to give them a call
and see if the New Western Railway Guide is
n©t correct.
*
A. Y. Stephens, proprietor of the Nicholson
House, who was formerly traveling passenger agent
for the Nashville, Chattanooga & St. Louis railway
well and favorably known throughout the country.
Neted for his geniality and cordial hospitality, having
been a traveling man, he knows how to cater to the
public taste on the best of style. He is ah q proprietor
of The Parlor Dining Room at the Nashv’le & Chat
tanooga R. R. depot, up stairs. All trains stop there
twenty minutes for meals, morning and evening
When you want a good hotel, mind you, boys, keep
your eyes on the wide-awake drummers, for they
are posted, and know where do and something good
to eat, and the Nicholson House is drummers’ head
quarters at Nashville, Tenn.
*
Eiseman Bros., Clothiers, have the finest store in
the city, centrally and conveniently located, and
veryjpleasant gentlemen to deal with.
3