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w 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