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'jiivnnnnh ®ribtme. Pnbluhed by the Tbimhoi Publiihiaj Oo.) 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.