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J. H. DEYEAUZ. Maxauo >
VOL. 111.
Misprized.
When Joy and I were used to spend
The days together,
We missed not Sympathy as friend;
She doth be dumb; she doth not lend
Her voice to fill the song-some weather.
We need none else, blithe Joy and I;
We are content together,
When Grief and I acquainted grew
With one another,
Ah! many voices echoed new,
But not one brought the comfort true
That did the silence of that other,
Who reconciled pale Grief and me,
With tears to one another.
—Julie M. Lippmann.
ROSE MARIE,
“Oh, if you want fine embroidery
1 done,” said my friend,Mrs. Ross, “I can
show you such work as isn’t to be seen
out of Limoges, and the brodcries there
are works of high art. Never saw any
thing in this country to compete with
them until I happened, by the merest
chance, to stumble upon Rose Marie.”
“Rose Marie?” I repeated. “What a
pretty name! The owner of it ought to
be fresh, sweet and lovely as the eg
lantine, a kind of wild simplicity, you
know.”
Mrs. Ross laughed.
“Fresh, no,” she said. “She is only
twenty-two, but she has had too much
trouble to retain much freshness; sweet
and lovely arc hardly applicable to one
of the women of Arles, who look more
like stately Junos than peasants. Yes,
she is simple enough, and beautiful too,
if you will, but she will never remind
you of the eglantine—poor Rose Marie!
It isn’t often that her sad lips curve into
a smile. I will not tell you her story
until you have seen her; it will make
you more sympathetic. Come, and we
will go to her house.”
We drove to Revere street, a narrow
thoroughfare, and stopped before a
small house set back in the yard. The
borders were gay with verbenas, pinks
and pansies, those old-fashioned virtues
of patience and hardihood, giving their
best color and perfume to the most un
congenial surroundings. Mrs. Ross
knocked at the white-curtained door.
“Entrez,” said a deep voice from
within.
The room we entered was sparsely
furnished, but everything in it was
shining with cleanliness. A tall, ema
ciated old woman sat in an old arm
chair by the window, with a piece of
work in her hands. She nodded to
Mrs. Ross, and looked inquiringly at
me with her hollow black eyes.
“She is paralyzed,” Mrs. Ross said to
me in English. “All her lower limbs
are numb. Ah, Madame Breaux,” in
French, “this is my friend, Mrs. L- ,
who has come to see Rose Marie about
some work.”
“Take seats, mesdames,” with a
courteous gesture. “Rose Marie will be
in directly. She has gone out on some
, business. She left Henri to take care
of me,” pointing with a smile to a beau
tiful little boy of four years old, who
was peeping at us from the back of her
chair.
“I would like my friend to see that
robe Rose Marie is embroidering for
v Madame Ducros,” said Mrs. Ross.
“It is there, in a napkin on the bed,”
the old woman replied, “if you will take
the trouble to get it, inadame. Ah, it
is so hard to be’ half alive, not able to
move from my seat!”
Mrs. Ross unfolded the shining folds,
and held them before me.
A pale maize-colored silk, with ten
drils of the blue and white convolvulus
embroidered exquisitely on it. The
grouping of the flowers was a work of
art, and the finish was perfect.
“ The poor girl has cried her eyes
out,” Mrs. Ross said to me in a low
voice; “at least, I believe her tears
have as much to do with her failing
vision as the work. While we are wait
ing for her, I will tell you a story. The
old woman there does not understand
one word of English.
“ She married, immediately after the
last war between France and Germany,
against her mother’s wish. The old
woman was a, rabid French partisan,
and Rosa Marie’s lover was a sergeant
SAVANNAH. GA., SATURDAY. FEBRUARY 25.1888.
in the Prussian army. They had known '
each other from childhood, and were
betrothed before the war broke out;
but the mother, who has a furious tem
per, tried to separate them.
“After their marriage she made it so
unpleasant for the Prussian that he de
termined to come to America. He said
he would settle somewhere West, and
then send for his wife and child; but on
no account was the mother to come.
She must choose between them; but if
she elected to remain in France, then
little Henri must come to him.
“I think Satan got into the old
woman, for she acknowledged that she
destroyed the husband’s letters to her
daughter, and told her nothing about
it. As she could not read herself, she
knew nothing of the contents, nor
where Karl was.
“A year ago she had a stroke of paral
ysis, and, thinking she was going to
die, confessed the wrong she had done
to the unhappy wife, who believed her
husband had deserted her. What to do
she did not know. In that great wide
America wfliere was she to find Karl,
where write to him:
“At last she determined to come
over, bringing her mother with her.
She was an only child, and she would
not desert the helpless creature who
had wrought her so much woe. She
came first to New Orleans, as Karl had
sailed for that port, but could hear
nothing of him.”
“Mamma! mamma!” cried the little
boy joyously, rushing to the door. “Ah,
but you have stayed so long, so long !”
She bent and took him up in her
arms, and as she smiled lovingly at
him, I thought I had never seen a more
beautiful creature. It was a grand,
calm beauty, wdiich made her look old
er than she really was.
“We are here before you,Rose Marie,”
said Mrs. Ross. “We came to see you on
business.”
“Ah, pardon, madame, but I did not
see you,” she said, advancing slowly
toward us. “I do not know what has
come to my eyes, pressing her hand on
the lids. A mist is before them, and I
see not clearly.”
Her mother gazed at her as she spoke
with a startled look.
“Are they worse, then, Rose Marie?
Ah, my poor child, did you go to a
doctor?”
“You should do so without delay,”
Mrs. Rose added. “Your eyesight is too
precious to you to be neglected.”
“Ah, yes, yes, madame, they are my
bread-winners; but I will go, positively,
tomorrow. Have you seen Madame Du
cros’ robe? Do you like it?”
“It is exquisite. She ought to pay you
a good round sum for such work as
that.”
“She offered me fifteen dollars and I
accepted it.”
“Fifteen dollars!” Mrs. Ross threw
up her hands in surprise. “Do you
mean to tell me a rich woman like her,
who knows the value of such work, and
can well afford to pay it, has offered
you the pitiful sum of fifteen dollars for
what is worth fifty? Don’t take it.”
“I have promised,” Rose Marie said
in her quiet voice. “Besides we are
strangers here, and our work must be
known before we can command prices.
Fifteen dollars will keep us a longtime,
we eat so little.”
“Mrs. L had come here to give
you some work, but, of course, under
the circumstances, you cannot take it.”
“No, madam", not now,” —a dis
tressed look came to her face, “but I
may get better soon. I may hear of
Karl. If he knew, ah, if he only knew!
But he thinKS of me as so wicked, never
having written to him.”
“And here I am, a poor, worthless
log, weighing thee down!” cried the
poor old woman passionately. “Ab,
good ladies, persuade her to let me go
to some charitable asylum! There are so
many in this city. It is too much on
her, and she owes ire no duty, none. I
was bad to her and her busband when I
was strong and well, and 1 separated
them, sinner that I am!” beating her
breast violently. “She will not desert
me, and she is breaking her heart. Ah.
yes, day by day she is paler and thin-
ner, and I say to myself, ‘You wicked
woman who have done this, why do you
not die?’ and I cannot die!” She burst
into a storm of sobs.
Rose Marie moved swiftly to her
mother’s side, and laid a hand on her
shoulder.
“Don’t, mamma,” she said tremu
lously. “You shall not go to any hospi
tal or asylum while I can work. I love
Karl and he loves me, and if ho is alive
he will find me. Ah, mamma, do you
want to make me a bad daughter that
would desert a helpless mother? Then,
indeed, the good Lord would not listen
to my prayer. We must do our duty,
and trust God for the rest. Is it not so,
madame?” to Mrs. Ross.
It was a simple faith, but it sustained
Rose Marie during the weeks that fol
lowed—weary weeks when slowly, but
surely, the blurred vision grew more and
more indistinct. There was an emi
nent oculist in the city, a good, humane
man and an old friend of mine. I in
terested him in the case, and he ex
amined her eyes, but refused to give a
final verdict until his return from
Shreveport, where he was going the
next day.
One fine morning I had taken Rose
Marie and her child to one of the city
squares where a fine band was playing.
She loved music passionately, and in
her darkened life it seemed to speak to
her as no human voice could do. They
were playing the “Soldaten Lieder,”
and as I looked at her, I saw that her
hands were clasped together, and the
tears were rolling down her white
cheeks.
“He used to play it,” she murmured,
“my Karl, ah, he played so beauti
fully.”
I did not notice that little Henri, in
playing about, had slipped through the
gate of the square into the street. Sud
denly I heard confused cries. “Ah, the
little boy. He will be killed!” and look
ing up, my heart stood still as I saw the
little follow almost under the wheels of
a press of wagons going and coming.
But at that moment I saw one of the
cornet players dash down Ins instru
ment, leap over the barrier and snatch
Henri from his perilous situation and
bear him aloft in his arms. I had been
too much terrified to utter a sound dur
ing this drama, and Rose Marie, sitting
by my side, was utterly unconscious of
her child’s danger.
“What is the noise about? Why has
the music stopped suddenly?” she
asked; but I did not answer, for I saw
Henri’s rescuer, with the child in his
arms, looking around the square, the
little boy pointing to us and talking-
As he approached, I saw a tall, hand
some, soldierly young fellow with yel
low hair and smiling blue eyes. I rose
from my seat as he came up.
“I bring your little boy safe, mad
ame,” he said to me with a bow.
There was a loud cry. At the sound
of his voice Rose Marie had sprung to
her feet and, with outstretched arms,
blindly staggered forward, I heard an
answering cry.
“My Rose Marie! my wife! my be
loved!” and then I understood that
Karl was before me.
I will passover that meeting, and the
one at the house with the repentant old
mother. Karl had made a home at the
West, and frightened at his wife’s
silence, was then on his way to France
for her. None of his letters of inquiry
to his old neighbors had been answered,
and he began to fear her death. He
said to me:
“I knew she was true tome, but I did
not think she lived. Ah, it was with a
heavy heart when my old comrade,
Franz Myers, persuaded me to join his
band for to-day, that I played. And it
was my own boy I saved! Strange!
strange!”
All this happened more than ten years
ago, but the rest of the story is short.
Rose Marie recovered her sight, and I
spent a week last summer with her and
her husband at their pleasant Western
home. The old mother died a year ago,
tenderly cared for by her good, dutiful
daughter. Henri is a fine, tall boy who
bids fair to be a comfort to Lis good
parents. —|M. B. Williams iu Youth’s
Companion.
A Chinese Farce.
The hero, a sea captain, comes in and
seats himself at a table to write; but ho
is heavy with sleep, his head soon
droops, and he falls into a peaceful
slumber. But scarcely has his nap be
gun when ho is disturbed by the hasty
entrance of a breathless fellow, who be
gins with an air of great consequence,
to pant out a long tale of not the
slightest importance. The captain
listens for a time with wide-opened
eyes, but when he finds that the story
has settled down into an uninterrupted
sing-song which shows no prospect of
reaching an early conclusion, he tries to
break the thread of the narrative. All
in vain, for the tedious fellow represses
his interruptions with a deprecatory
wave of his hand, and goes on in his
monotonous way, with head thrown
back and eyes half closed, iu an ecstacy
of delight at having secured a listener.
After a time the captain, submitting to
the inevitable, adopts the wisest course in
the circumstances, and dozes oil to sleep
again. The bore is so satisfied with
himself and so engrossed in his tale
that he. never notices this, and still goes
on, see-saw, sing-song, with never a
stop,till the audience, or at least half of
them, grows as weary as the captain.
But a mysterious avenger is at hand. A
limping ghost of horrible experience,
who remembers his own sufferings on
earth, happens in unseen to befriend
the captain. He squats silently behind
the chair of the story teller, holding the
club he carries in readiness to strike,
while that worthy is still jabbering his
interminable nonsense. Once the club
is raised threateningly over him, twice,
and yet he goes on; then a thundering
stroke descends on his shoulders,
which stops his voice so suddenly that
it leaves him with an open mouth in the
middle of a word. In comical terror he
gazes about in vain attempts to find out
whence the blow came, then, in amaze
ment, seizes the sleeper and afbusei him
to tell of this terrible new affair. But
the captain listens with hazy inattention,
evidently thinking it some more of the
same tale, and dozes off again imme
diately. The bore, abandoned now to
the tender mercies of the spectre, runs
hither and thither m horror, adopting
first one plan and then another, ■ to dis
cover his invisible assailant; but the
ghost crawls after him wherever he goes,
now clubbing, now clutching him, until
at last the poor wretch makes his es
cape half dead with fright, and the
captain is left to sleep in peace, while
the ghost curls up by his side like a
faithful dog whose labors are done.—
Cured by Fear.
The VolkbZeitung of the city of Til
sit, Prussia, reports: A girl twenty-two
had been left blind and paralyzed by a
fever. She had consulted a number of
physicians, and had been under treat
ment at the hospital of the University
at Koenigsberg. But it was all to no
avail. Ono day the poor patient was
sitting alone in her room, just above the
living-room of her parents, when an
unknown individual entered the room,
stepped up to her and seized both her
hands. She was frightened, and
attempted to knock with her chair to
call for her family, when tho intruder
made her feel a broad knife, telling her
he would stab her if she made the
slightest noise. How long he held the
patient in that manner is not stated.
On leaving her he said he would leave
an explanatory paper in the loft
upon which her room opened. Im
mediately after the girl heard a noise like
the cracking of burning wood, and
smelled smoke filling her room. She
gave the alarm and her parents ran up
stairs. They found a small fire in the
loft just before the door of their
daughter’s room. It was easily extin
guished. When they entered the room
they found the girl in great fright, but
were most joyfully surprised when she
opened her eyes and could see them.
She could also move her limbs a little,
and there is good hope now of her en
tire recovery. They found the paper
the strange visitor hail said he would
leave, but there was nothing written on
it hut a few unintelligible words.
(t 1.25 Per Annum; 76 cents for Six Months;
< 60 cents Three Mon the; Single Copies
( 6 cents'-In Advanoe.
Weighing the Eaby.
Dr. Chailie says in the New Orleans
Medical Journal: Since tho first year is
by far tho most critical period of life,
and since weight gives tho most reliable
evidence whether a baby is thriving
or not, sanitarians now teach
that parents should, through
out the first year, weigh their
babies and record the result every week,
as is now’ habitually done in tho best
hospitals and asylums for infants. Dur
ing tho first three days of life there is
always a loss of weight which should ba
fully regained by tho seventh day, by
which a baby ought to weigh fully as
much as at birth. During tho noxt throe
weeks there should boa gain of at least
from tw'o to four ounces every wook.
The greatest gain of weight throughout
life is during tho first five months, tho
maximum being usually attained during
the second month, that is, when a baby
is said to bo ono month (30 to 60
days) old. Tho increase during this
maximum month should bo from
four to seven ounces weekly, and during
the three succeeding months about five
ounces weekly. During tho remaining
seven months of the first year tho gain
should bo at least two to four ounces
weekly. Tho gain is loss than indi
cated at times when tho infant may
suffer, whether from toothing or other
cause. Finally the growth of tho head
containing th<s brain, on which man’s
superiority depends, deserves reference.
While from birth to full growth tho
body elongates three to four times, tha
head only doubles its length. Tho
greatest growth is during tho first two
years, and by tho seventh year its
growth is so nearly completed that Dr.
Hammond asserts that tho hat which
fits a boy seven years old will fit him
when a man.
Pioneer Telegraphy.
The talk of a new’ telegraph lino be
tween New York and San Francisco has
aroused the old-timers hero to lively
reminiscences of the building of the first
lino across the plains. One polo, 100
miles west of Laramie, was set up four
times, and each time hacked down by
Indian tomahawks. Each timo thero
was a bloody skirmish with the redskins
for temporary possession of tho stump.
At lust the polo was given to a young
man who is now high up in the manage
ment of the Western Union. Ho laid a
mine in the hole, set up a new pole,
trailed tho fuse to an ambush of rocka
close by and waited with two armed
friends. Then a band of eight Sioux
camo along and held a war dance around
the pole. When the mine was fired, all
but three were killed, and those threo
carried off Minio balls with them. The
powder blew up the polo again, but it
cleaned the hole out nicely for a new
one, which was thereafter lot alone.
This story was told with great eclat at
Delmonico’s, and was tho signal for
more bottles ami more stories. It is
curious what enthusiastic story tellers
are to be found among New Yorkers
who Lave seen lifo in the Rockies.—
[New York Sun.
Cleverly Caught.
Dobson--Hello, Jobson, old man,how
arc you? Oh, by the way, can you
change a twenty-dollar bill for me?
Jobson (pleased to be thought a cap
italist)—Certainly, my boy, certainly.
Dobson--Good, I’m glad to hear it.
Then you’ll certainly be able to pay me
that five dollars you borrowed last
year.
And Jobson had to pay.--[Somerville
Journal.
The Other Man’s Da,-,
Mr. Foster—ls Miss De Broganville at
home?
Servant girl—ls you Mr. Smith?
Mr. F.— I am Mr. Foster.
Servant girl—Well, she’s not at home,
sur; I was only to say she was at home
to Mr. Smith.—[Boston Budget.
Snakes and Fishing.
Johnny—“Pa, can you catch snakes
on a fish hook?”
Ukerdeck—“Certainly, my son, if
you take a few jugs along for bait.”—
[Detroit Free Preu.
NO. lit.