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She .Cinvnnnuh (tvibnnc.
Published by the Tnnttnts Publish tag Oo.)
J. H. DEVRAIiX. Mamigms r
VOL. 111.
Missing.
Have you seen my sailor boy, as you came
across the sea?
Have you seen my sailor boy, with the
laughing eyes of blue,
With the sunlight on his hair, and his face
ao young and fair,
And the smile he used to wear, brave and
true?
Oh, he kissed me on the cheek as he sailed
away to sea,
Sailed away from Gloster Town, and I
never saw him more.
But the ships they come and go, and the
tides they ebb and flow,
And the waves are moaning low on the
shore.
Ah! they told me he was dead, but I know it
is not true;
For he comes to me at night, when the
world is all asleep,
And he speaks to me by day, when the tem
pests sweep the bay.
And the billows are at play on the deep.
For he said he would come back, and he
never brdke his word—
Have you seen my sailor boy? He is com
ing soon, 1 know,
I would go to him to-day, if I only knew the
way,
Though the grave before me lay I would go.
—[James Roche in Independent.
THE WRONG COAT.
She had promised that she would
mend the lining of his overcoat, if he
would wear another and leave that at
home, and so, as he had left it she took
it from the hall and carried it into her
sewing room. Mis. Wilton had been
married five years and never during that
time had had one unhappy moment.
Mr. Wilton had been very attentive,
very kind, very generous, and never
ma le her jealoui. She often said she
was the happiest woman living.
Now, as she looked at the lining and
compared the silk with which she was
about to replace the torn portion, she
was thinking these thoughts.
They had never had any children, but
when people are all in all to each other
that is no very great grief; all her care
was for him.—all his for her.
“And he is just the dearest, best,
truest fellow in the world,” said Eve
Wilton to herself. “I'm not half good
enough for linn. I wonder what this is
in his pocket. It bulges it all out of
shape.”
She put her hand into the breast
pocket as she spoke and drew out a lit
tle package, wrapped up in silver paper
and tied with blue ribbon.
“Something he had bought for me, I
expected,” said Eve. “I wonder what
it is. I think I won’t open it until he
comes home.”
“Then she laid the silk across the hole
and cut it out and basted it down.
“I wonder what it is,” said she. “It
doesn’t seem like a book. It might be
lace wound on a card—real lace”—-
She looked at the package again.
“I do wonder what it is,” said she,
hemming the patch down.
“There wasn’t much to mend, after
all,” she said; “I thought the tear much
longer. lie caught it on a nail at the
office, I know. Now Ido wonder what
. there can be in that package.”
Eve put the coat over a chair and took
up the little parcel.
“Tom wouldn't mind,” she said; “I
will just take a peep. I'm sure it is for
me.”
Then she undid the ribbon,' unfolded
the paper, and saw letters.
“Dear Tom," said she. “He must
keep my old letters next his heart, and
he never his told me."
Bui the writing was not hers; she
naw,that at a glance.
“His mother’s letters,” she said. “He
loved his mother so.”
Then she began to tremble a little,
for the letters did not begin “My dear
son,” nor anything like it. She cast
her eyes over them
They were love-letters.
“Tom has loved some other woman
before he met me,” she said, beginning
to cry. “Oh, what shall 1 do?"
Then she cried out:
“Oh, foolish, foolish creature that 1
am! Os course she died, and ho only
loves me now. It war all over before
we met. I must not mind——”
But there she paused, gave a scream
and threw the letter from her as though
it had been a serpent and had bitten
her.
It was dated the past week.
It was not four days old.
“Oh!” cried Eve, “oh, what shall I
do? Oh, where shall I go?"
At every cry a thought pierced her
breast like an actual stab.
“Tom—my Tom! What shall I do?
Tom! to be false—Tom! Ob, I have
gone mad! No, there they are; they
are really there, those letters. Why do
I not die—why do I not die? Do people
live through such things as these?’’
Then she knerc down on the floor and
gathered up the letters and steadily
read them through.
There were ten of them. Such love
letters!
No other interpretation could be put
upon them.
They were absurd love-letters, such
as are always produced in court in cases
of breach of promise, and they were all
signed, “Your own Nellie.”
“It is all true,” said poor Evo wring
ing her hands, “and it is worse than
anything I ever heard of. I trusted him
so; I believed in him so.”
Then she wiped her eyes, gathered
up the Jotters, packed them up,
wrapped the silver paper about them,
tied the blue ribbon, put them back in
the breast pocket of that dreadful over
coat and hung it in the hall again.
“Tom shall never know,” she said.
‘l’ll not reproach him. I will never
see him again. When he comes home I
shall be dead. I will not live to bear
this.”
Then she sat down to think over the
best means of suicide.
She could hang herself to the chan
delier with a window-blind cord, but
then she would be black in the face and
hideous.
She could drown herself, but then
her body would go floating down the
river to the sea, and the drowned peo
ple looked even worse than strangled
ones.
She was too much afraid of firearms to
shoot herself, even in this strait.
Yes, that would be best; and, though
she would never see Tom again, he
would see her, and remorse would sting
him.
Here she made a great mistake.
A man who is coolly treacherous to
women never has any remorse.
Remorse in love affairs is a purely
feminine quality, and even the worst of
the sex are not without it.
However, it is natural to believe that
remorse is possible to a man whom one
has heretofore believed to be an angel in
human form, and Eve took a little mis
rable comfort in the thought that Tom
would kneel beside her coffin, and burst
into tears and passionate exclamations
of regret, which she, perhaps, might sec
from some spiritual post of observation.
So, having put on a hat and a thick
veii, Eve betook herself down the street
and around the corner to the nearest
druggist.
The druggist was an old man, a be
nevolent-looking one, with red cheeks
and a smiling mouth; and when she
asked for “poison for rats” he said,
“So!” and beamed mildly upon her.
“I want it very strong,” said Eve.
“So!" said the druggist.
“But not to give more pain than is
necessary,” said Eve.
“To the rats?” asked the druggist.
“Yes,” sail Eve, “of course; and it
must be quick and not marc: one black
in the face.” •
“So!” said the druggist, slowly.
“Well, what shall I give you that will
not make a rat black in the iace?"
And with a grave countenance he
compounded a powder an ’ handed it
acres, the counter.
Eve took it, paid tho few j>ence ho
asked and walked away.
Once home, she went directly to her
room and retired to bed, taking the
powder with her.
Once or twice she tasted it with the
tip of her tongue, hoping it was not very
disagreeable.
Then finding it sweet, she bravely
swallowed it.
SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY. MARCH 17.1888.
“It is over,” she said. “O Heaven,
forgive me, and forgive Tom.”
And then she laid herself down upon
her pillow.
Just as she did so, the familiar sound
of a latchkey in the door below startled
her.
Tom never came home at noon—but
there he was now.
No one else but Tom c mid walk in in
that cool way.
And now he was calling her.
“Eve, Eve, Eve! Where are you!
Never before had she refused to
answer that voice.
Why had he come to torture ucr dying
moments?
Hark!
Now he was bounding upstairs.
He was in the room.
“What is the matter—arc you ill,
Eve?” he cried.
“No,” said she faintly; “only tired.”
“Ah, you look tired, little one,” said
he. “I came home to get the overcoat.
I suppose you have found out by this
time that that in the hall is not mine.
1 wore Johnson’s overcoat home from
the office last night by mistake, and he
is anxious about it. He asked if there
was any one in the house who would be
apt to meddle with papers or anything
in the pockets. I said I thought not.
1 hadn’t a jealous wife—eh? Why,
what’s the matter. Eve?”
“Oh, Tom,” cried Eve, hysterically;
“oh, Tom, say it again. It was not
your coat? Oh, Tom, kiss me.”
“What is the matter, Eve?” cried
Tom. “You must be ill!”
Then Eve remembered all.
“Oh, lam a wicked woman, Tom!”
she cried. “There were letters in the
pocket —love-letters. I read them—l
thought you false to me— -I--1 took
poison, Tom—-I’m going to die-- and I
long to live so! Oh, Tom, save me!”
“Yes, yes!” cried Tom. “Oh, good
I heaven! what poison?”
I “Mr. Hoffman will know. 1 bought
it of him.’ Perhaps he can save me,”
cried Eve, in piteous tones.
And away went Tom, white as death,
I to the druggist around the corner,
j He burst into the shop something like
I a whirlwi d.
“The lady,” he gasped, “the lady
who bought poison here an hour ago—
she took it by mistake! Can you save
her—have you an antidote? She is
dying.”
“No, no,” said the old man; “be
calm—-be at rest. No, no, she cannot
die of that. When a lady asks me for
poison, I say to myself-—‘So!’ and I give
her in the paper a little sugar and some
thing. She could eat a pound. Go
| home and tell her so. 1 never sell
! poison to women; so be salm.”
So Tom flew home again, and Eve
! rejoiced; and hearing that Johnson was
! a single man, who admitted himself to
be engaged, she did not rip the patch
off his coat as she at first intended.
, ---[New York World.
Sheet Iron Mail Bags.
Quite as suspicious means arc cm
; ployed in collecting the mails as in con
! trolling the sale of cigars in Russian
I cities. A letter posted in a steeet box
lis no more likely to come into the
hands of the mail carrier or collector
than cigars are to pass through the
! hands of the vender. The men who
collect the mail have sacks of sheet iron,
which they first fasten under the street
box. Then they unlock the side of the
box sufficiently to crowd in a small
sheet iron cas". The latter crowds
down and out the ca-.e containing the
deposited mail and it is locked. When
the mail gets into the bag there is dou
ble lock, and double security against
theft by the collector. -[Kansas City
Journal. X
Magic Ston ■ Fount! in ( .'dorado.
The hydrophone or magic stone lately
found in Colorado has the curious prop
erty of changing from thick whiteness
to perfect transparency under water;
hence it is purposed to use it in rings,
Icckcts and other sentimental >auvenir«,
to mask a flower, lock of hair or photo
graph. w hich can be made visible at the
owner's pleasure, though bidden secure
ly from prying eyes.—[Times-Democrat.
The Problem of London.
j For three centuries one of the great
I feats of thinking persons has been the
enormous growth of London; and yet,
, till about a hundred years ago, neither
' its population nor its urea were what we
i should now call abnormal. But since
; the last hundred years it has advanced
I by leaps and bounds, increasing its
| population fourfold within this century,
I and iXs area at least ten or fifteen fold.
Even in my own lifetime the area of
' London has increased at least fivefold
lyind its* population between two and
■ threefold. So that now' we have a con
tinuous population of some four mil
lions, packed in an area not far off 100
square miles, with nearly 2,000 miles of
streets, hardly anywhere less than ten or
eleven miles in a straight line.
! Every year 70,000 souls, roughly
' speaking, arc added by immigration and
j births; every year more square miles arc
added to the area. Year by year some
. 20,000 immigrants press into this city;
| that is the population of a fair county
j town, so that every ten years there is
I added to London by immigration alone
I a city as large as Bristol or Lisbon; and
j by the entire series of causes, a new
j city as large as St. Petersburg or
Vienna. And thus, already, in this
I corner of the Thames there is
1 huddled together about one-sixth
of the entire population of England.
| From Charing Cross or the Royal Ex-
■ change a man has to walk some fiv ■or
l six miles before he can see the blessed
meadows or breathe the country air.
Few of us ever saw more than half of
the city we live in, and some of us never
j saw nine-tenths of it. We all
s i live more or less in soot and
I fog, in smoky, dusty, contaminated
air, in which trees will no longer
! grow to full size and the sulphurous
i vapor of which eats away the surface of
I stone. The beautiful river, our once
' silver Thames, is a turbid, muddy re
ceptacle of refuse; at times indescriba
bly nasty and unwholesome. The water
we drink is continually polluted with
; drainage, and at times comes perilously
' near to being injurious to health. Our
burying places, old aud new, are a per-
■ petual anxiety . and danger.
I Our sewers pour forth 5,501),-
000 tons of sewerage per
■ week, almost all of it wastefully and
dangerously discharged. An immense
proportion of our working population
are insufficiently housed in cheerless,
comfortless and even unhealthy lodg
ings. Not a few of these are miserable
dens or squalid cabins, unfit for human
dwelling place. Every few' years some
epidemic breaks out, which carrier off
its thousands. In some four-fifths of
London the conditions of life are sadly
depressing and sordid, with none of the
advantages which city life affords.
[Pall Mall Gazette.
Better Wait.
It is always advisable to hear the end
,of a sentence. A literary man, for in
stance, once said to one of his lady
friends: “Will you accept my hand”
, Gushing maiden : ‘Why, er—so sudden
—so unexpected.” Literary man, (pre
i ceeding, unmoved)— ■ “book on political
’ economy?”
Somewhat similar is a story told of
j another couple. He: “How bright the
stars arc tonight! They are almost as
bright as”—She (expecting “your eyes:”)
“Oh, you flatter me!" He (proceeding)
“they were last night.”—[Chamber’s
Journal.
Quinine.
The beginning, we are told, ot the
enormous incn.a-e in the supply of cin
chona —from which quinine is made
was in 1875, in which year the Ceylon
products appeared on the market to the
extent of 16,000 pounds. In 187!) it
had increased to 370,000 pounds; in
1886, to 15,000,000 pounds.
The Kight Build.
Lank individual to hotel proprietor ••
“Can you give me employment, sir?”
Proprietor—“ Yes, you’re just the sort
of a man we rvant to crawl through lamp
chimneys and clean, ’em.”—[tiurlingt.D
| Free Press.
(•1.95 Per Annum; 75 cents for Six Months;
<■ 50 cents Three Months; Single Copies
( 5 cents*-In Advance.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
Sin may be clasped so close we cannot
see its face.
Absence destroys trifling intimacies,
but it invigorates strong ones.
Fame comes only when deserved, and
then it is as inevitable ns destiny.
Holiness is love welling up in the heart,
and pouring fourth crystal streams.
The’innocence of the intention abates
nothing of the mischief of the example.
There is nothing that so refines the
face and mind as the presence of great
thoughts.
Idleness is the hot-bed of temptation,
the cradle of disease, the waster of time,
the canker-worm of felicity.
A man who has health and brains and
can’t find a livelihood in the world,
doesn’t deserve to stay here.
The best part of our knowledge is that
which teaches us where knowledge leaves
off and ignorance begins.
One of the greatest causes ot trouble
in this world is the habit people have of
talking faster than they think.
Energy will do anything that can be
done in this world, and no talents, no
circumstances, no opportunities will
make a man without it. Go<tln.
It is idleness that creates impossibili
ties; and when men care not to do a
thing, they shelter themselves under a
persuasion that, it cannot be done.
Conversation opens our views, and
gives our faculties n more vigorous play;
it puts us upon turning our notions on
every side, and holds them up to a light
that discovers latent flaws. M hnoth.
Some critics are like chimney sweeps;
they put out the fire below, or frighten
the swallows from their nests above;
they scrape a long time in the chimney,
cover themselves with soot, and bring
nothing away but ti bug of chiders, and
then sing from the top of the hou-e as if
they had built it
Work lor Congo Natives.
When Stanley began his work on the
Congo it was with the gieatest difficulty
that he procured the services of fifty
natives to help him open the road
around the Cataracts to Stanley Book
The growth of the Congo ent' 'prise and
the changes for the better in th ■ habits
ami disposition of the natives are shown
by the fact that during the three months
beginning last June s,s‘i; porters left
Matadi, nt the head of navigation on the
lower river, with louis destim'd for
Stanley Pool. The larger part of their
freight was two row -t< amboats. one be
longing to the Congo State and theother
to the company that is now surveying a
route for the railroad. All the-e porters
were hired al Liikuiigu and Manynnga,
the two largest places on the road tc
Stanley Pool. Recruiting o Leers are
kept there to engage porter-, ami men
come in from all the country around to
enlist in the work ami get some of the
white men’s merchandise. The work
for porters to do has outgrown the pro
visions thus far made for supplying car
riers, and that is the reason that Bishop
Taylor's steamboat was at last accounts
lying on the banks of the lower Congo
for lack of transportation facilities.
The porters are pauLfor their set vices
largely in cotton goods and hardware,
for which there is a constantly growing
demand. Among the natives who are
in the service of the Congo State as
soldiers or workmen around the stations
are quite a number of Cass res from South
Africa, ami thus far they excel any of
the Congo natives in industry aud
obedience. TheCongoese are, however,
improving, and it is thought probable
that the great work of building the rail
road will be done largely by them and
Caffres brought from Cape < vlony.—
Ckieago ll'-ruhi.
Through remonstrancee circulated by the
W. C. T. U. of Houtzdale, i’enn., nine out ot
fourteen applications for licenses have been
refused.
To dream or a |>on<lerou» whale.
Erect on tin- I ip of fib tail,
1S t he sign of a storm
1 1! llii- went her i- warm.)
Cnl«--s it should happen to fail.
Dreams don’t amount to much,
Some signs, however, are Inf■Biota. if you
are ton-tip:.) Th no appt-lite. tortured
with « ! Pk h<:. i.ai d bilious ■'luptorhK,
the-»-->gns iridi i<-r , you t.. <d Dr.
Plea-ata Pur..- '.v<- j>, ii< t~. They •.■■ ill cure
you. All druggists.
Mri. V.’. II Vanderbilt's expen-r-s are‘hid to
_ year.
Mtwy People refuse to Hike Cod
Liver Oil on account of its unpleasant taste.
This ditliculty has hr-i-n overcome in Scon's
i’.MCt.slOs of < od Lwer Oil with Hypoohoa
pbites. I’ I-ing a-pa Mabie as milk x and the
most valuable ■■.•i:>-d. known for the treatment
of Coiisumt ' mm scrofula and Bion< Uitis,Gen
.-ral i). hint . U'm: Dl»ea-.< a of Children,
bronit Co . _•).« and t old*, haq ca>i-ed phyai
' iansin all i■arts of tI»S world to use it. Physi-
■ ism-D-y ■ r little patients take it with ;
i iieasiti Try scott’s Emulsion and lie con
j vineed.
Never n I: a crusl f a crusty man. Ask him
i for ii.< At for LeTl give you a cold shoulder.
< <>n«iiiiiplloi> Surely Cured.
T«> lb' hi’-r. I'!eii-e Inform youi reattenf
that I han a positive remedy for the above
miiio-ildi" io. B> ij» timely u»e rhou-ands of
|,o]n i< , have la-eri pcrinuneiitly > ured. I
i-liull I» ,ad Io send two ImHU<m of rt -uedy
nu.i: to am. of your leader* who tiave <«n
taiuipiiou if they will send me their ExprnM
and P. O. address Respect fully,
T. A. SLOCUM. M. C., Vil I'tur, M 4., Y.
NO. 22.