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m
OM) FIS. ! I-POXI>.
,,. n nr wlli§ of moMes drip aDtl Land
li .mi I t!i« grmite brink;
j n ,j 'twixt the lies of Water we; d
Tie wonl bird. dip and drink ;
,» efH about ill i edges sleep;
jwift darting water dies
. i. o on the surface; down tliO deep
Park iirilies gloom and rise.
II, r l Moiiar. li there, by right of might—
A-d ageless Autocrat,
jynos • good old r le’’ is “Appetite,
And subjects fresh and fat;
Wl.il- they—poor things—in wan despair
still hope for years in him,
A il, dying, li»u 1 from heir to heir
fiie "day iiiidawned and dim.
Who kn ws what lurks beneath the tide 1
Who knows what talo ? Belike
j li. se “an*rn« vast" and shadows hide
fonts patriarchal pike—
gome tough old tyrant, wrinklo-jawed,
for whom the Bky, the earth,
Uave hut for him to look on awed,
And watch him wax iu girth—
When the pond’s terror too must go;
Or, c rcepiug in by stealth,
A holder race, at one fell blow,
Shall found a commonwealth.
Who knows ? Meanwhile the mosses bead
Ar und the gran'te brink,
And ’twixt tbo isles of water-weed
Tim wood-birds dip and drink.
—Good Words.
A Fit EE SEAT;
from the Index and Baptist.]
lie war old and poor, ami a stranger
In tho great metropolis
As lie bent his footsteps thitherward
To a stately edifice.
Outside lie inquires “What Church is this t"
“Church of Christ” lie hears them say,
-‘All ! just the place I am looking for,
1 trust Ue is in to-day,”
lie passed thro' the spacious columned door
And up the carpeted aisles,
And as lie passed, on many a face
lie saw surprise aud a smile.
From pew to pew up one ontlro side,
Then across the broad front space.
From pew to pew down the ether aide
ifu walked with the same slow pace.
Not a friendly voice had hid him sit
To listen to gospel truth.
Not a sigu of deference had been paid
To the aged one by youth.
No door was open’d by geuorous hand,
The pews were paid for, rented,
A ml h<- was a stranger, old aud poor,
Not a heart to him relented.
Hi p lined outside a moment to think,
Then again passed into the street,
Vj. to hisshou'der lilted a stone
That lay in tho dust at his feet;
And boro it np the broad, grand aisle
In front of tho rank of pews,
Choosing a place to see and to hear,
lie made a seat for his nse.
Calmly sitting upon the Lugo stone,
Folding his hands on his kneos,
Slowly reviewing the worshippers
A gloat confudim lie soos.
Many a cheek is crimson’d with shame,
Home whisper together low,
Ami wish they had b'-en more courtoous
To the stranger, old and poor.
As If by magic some fifty doors
Open instantaneously.
Arid as many seats, and books aud hands
Are proffered hastily.
Changing his stone for a cusliiouod pew.
Anil wiping a tour away,
IIo thinks it was just a mistake after all,
Aud that Christ came late that day.
The preacher’s discourse was eloquent,
The organ In finest tone,
Ilut the most impressive sermon heard,
Was preached by a humldo stone,
’Twasa lesson of lowliness and worth
That lodged in many a heart,
An.l the church pre orves tho sacred stone
That the truth may not depart.
Extra - Hazardous,
BY EDWAUD BELLAMY.
From Apple ton’s Journal.]
Tho hop that evening was to be quite
tho event of the season at the House,
one of tho most fashionable summer re
sorts among tbo hills of New England.
Most of tho yonng ladies were getting up
their complexions in, their rooms, and
Miss Antoinette Livingston was just
starting forth to refresh hers where she
had originally obtained it—out in the
sun and breezes; not that its delicate tint
looked in particular need of refreshment,
as she stood on the piazziarrayed in blue-
cloth walking-suit that fitted well to the
full yet plaint lines of her rather tall
figure. A little white plume was stuok in
the jaunty blue hat, the shining yellow
hair, the envy of the other gir’s, fell in a
loose knot down her shoulders, and the
dark-blue eyos with which she scanned
the surrounding peaks of^the lordly
mountains, were as wide-opened, clear,
and confident, as a child’s—a child’s who
has never boeu frightened. And why,
indeed, should they not, seeing that no
child was ever more sedulously protected
from all that could shock, pain, or grieve,
in the harsh realities of the world. The
pet of a family that had been wealthy for
generations, the flattered queen of the
circle her beauty had drawn around her,
the walls and angels of life were indeed
all upholstered for her, and the Providence
she said her prayers to was a very polite
and gentlemanly deity.
Miss Livingston finally finished her in
spection of the mountains aud started off
briskly for her walk, drawing after her to
the next turn of the road a skein of
admiring glances from the groups of
ladies and gentlemen on tho piazza, as one
pulls out a ball of molasses-candy. An
hour's walk, seasoned with botanizing,
was her usual afternoon recreation, and
she had not intended that tho programme
to-day should diff er from tho customary
ono. But, yielding to the seductions of
an old wood-road, half overgrown with
hushes and young trees, she was beguiled
on from one fork and turn to another,
until she finally found herself fairly in
the woods, the road having passed by in*
Benisble gradations into the forest. At
first she was not much disturbed, having
no doubt that she could easily re
gain the road and go out as she came in.
But. after walking vigorously for half an
hour without coming to anything, a lump
began to come up in her throat, and she
was forced to admit that she was lost.
She had now come into an open, rocky
Place, whore the trees had grown infre
quent and stunted, and the sun fell hotly
on slabs of granite scattered around and
interspersed with tindery mosses and
whortleberry-bushes. With the feeling
that she was lost, the strength suddenly
kft her limbs, and she sat down on the
shady side of a mass of rock, feeling very
umck like crying, and with considerable
ado to keep that lump in her throat from
growing unmanageable. Although the
ovely color had somewhat left her faoe, I
now well the old rock had never borne a
prottier flower on its rugged bosom. It
would not do (o give way to her feelings,
owever; she must keep her wits about
,. ’ and 80 8h e bit her lips to prevent
em from trembling, and sought, by an
°rt of the will, to still the beating of
6r heart. Bat these praiseworthy efforts
control were suddenly nullified by •
a sight (hat for a moment stopped her
heart entirely.
A big, rough-looking man wa3 walking
with a swinging gait across one end of the
openiug. The slouched hat, the coatless
fl iunel shirt,the]broczed faca'.and unkempt
beard, the bundle on a stick across his
shoulders, left no sort of doubt in her
mind that he was a genuine, unadulterat
ed, aud unusually formidable example of
the species tramp—that variety of wild
beast that has succeeded the bears and
wolves in the undisturbed possession of
American fields and forests. A hundred
tales of the violent and bloody doings
which have made the tramp the terror of
women and children the country through,
with the sense of her utterly helpless po
sition, flashed through Mms
Livingston’s mind. Apparently, he had
not yet seen her. Scarcely daj-ing to
breathe, she rose to a crouching posture,
and, without taking her eyes from the
tramp, silently stepped backward around
tho rock, in whose shadow she had been
sitting, and, to her intense relief, found
herself at length withdrawn from his pos
sible view.
How loud that cricket sang ! There it
was again; in spite of her pre-occupatioa,
she could not help noticing that it did not
sound exactly like a cricket, either. It
was more like the rattle of dried peas in
a pod. She glanced down to the spot
whence it proceeded. Her eyes froze with
horror. A second more and a huge rat
tlesnake sprang like lightning upon her.
Instinctively throwing out her arms to
defend herself, she shriekod at the top of
her voice. In stepping around tho rock,
without looking where sho was going, she
had probably brushed across the reptile
as it lay basking in the sun, and thu3 en
raged it. In a moment the tramp, the
idea of whose existence had been shocked
out of her mind, came running up. She
was too much under the horror of the
snake to think of him, except as a human
helper. Sho pointed to the creature which
was coiling itself iu readiness for another
stroke if necessary; and the tramp, seizing
a fragment of rock, hurled it with such
force and precision that the reptile was
stretched crushed and writhing. Then he
turned and stared at hor with an expres
sion indicating his profound astonish
ment at happening on a fashionably-
dressed young lady in such a locality.
“Are you better ?” ha finally asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
In her excitement she had not been
conscious of a sting, but now, as she
directed her mind to tho question, she
felt an odd sensation near the elbow of
Lor right arm. There was also a wet spot
on her sleeve. It fitted tight to her arm,
and would not come up. Tho tramp
opened his pocket-knife and gave to her,
saying, peremptorily:
“Rip it up !”
She hesitated, and then, apparently
recognizing that it was no time for pru
dery, began to cut and haggle at the
sleeve, making such poor work that he
was evidently on the point of taking the
knife out of her hand and doing it for her
but refrained. As she raised the severed
sleeve above the round, white flash, she
turned aside a little so that he could not
see. There, on the outside of the arm,
just above the elbow, were two red puno-
tures in tho flesh, from which a few drops
of blood had exuded.
“Let's see,” said tho tramp, aud she
showed him. She wasn't thinking of the
proprieties any more.
“Ah '. that’s bad,” said he, shaking his
head and looking concerned.
“It’s fatal, isn’t it ?” she asked, faintly.
He did not reply in words, but his
countenance indicated that he had nothiog
to say to tho contrary. She sat down on
a rock, for her limbs trembled under her.
She was very pale and her face was sot in
rigid lines.
“We must try to get you home at once,”
said the tramp, who was standing before
her looking down on her compassionately
from his six-feet attitude. “Where do
you live ?”
“I'm staying at the House in ,
but I came out to walk, and lost my way,
and I've no idea which way is home,” she
replied, piteously.”
“That's unlucky,” said he, “for I’m on a
tramp from tho North, and I don’t know
the country. I expected to pull up at the
hotel by night, but I don’t know j ust
where it lies.”
“But what can I do ? I can’t die here
all alone !” she cried, hysterically, a con
viction of the unmitigated cruelty of her
fate beginning to overcome the incredul
ity with which Nature interposes to pre
vent the first shook of a horrible reality
from crushing the mind.
To her, even her, Antoinette Livings
ton, the belle of her avenue at home, and
the petted queen of a circle of wealth and
culture, it was apparently appointed to
die of a snake’s-bite in a desert place,
with a tramp to close her eyes. A wave
of self-pity overwhelmed her ; her eyes
flooded with tears, and she began to sob.
And then, growing calmer, she found
herself wondering when they would miss
her at the hotel, and begin to send out
searching-parties, nnd how long it would
bo before they would find hor,aud whether
she would bo very much disfigured ! She
had read such horrible stories about tho
effects of rattlesnako-bites ! How would
her father feel when he arrived at the
hotel from tho city iu tho morning and
found her missing ? Or, perhaps she
would have been brought home by then.
What a commotion it would make among
the guests at the botol, and how pretty
Belle Stacy would look in toars—she al
ways did. Mr. Heywood would undoubt
edly admire her, aud it might lead to
something. Tho tramp was speaking ;
she had nearly forgotten him.
Sucking the poison out of the wound
sometimes cures persons. We can at least
try that.”
She caught at the suggestion with an
eagerness almost convulsive, and raised
her arm to her mouth. But, because the
wound was on the outside of it, she could
not, try as she might, quite touch it with
her lips.
Her efforts, as 6he twisted her mouth
and pinched her arm, would have been
laughable had the emergency been any
less serious.
“You had better let me do it.”
She looked at him in involuntary
amazement at the unparalleled audacity
of the suggestion.
“It’s no time to be notional. It’s life
or death 1” said the tramp, rather impa
tiently.
The logic of the situation was indeed ,
inexorable : she extended her arm. He
knelt before her and took the snowy
treasare in his big, rough, brown fingers.
The slender, blue-veined wrist he held as
tenderly as if it had been an egg shell.
The dimpled elbow rested in the palm of
the other hand. Miss Livingston, de
spite her terrified preoccupation, could
not help starting as he put his mouth to
the flesh. She had not thonght that the
lips of bo rough a man could be soft, or
that their touch would be so like a kiss.
There was something at once laughable
aud pathetic in the attitude of the
strangely sssorted couple during the next
few minutes. Miss Livingston kept her
face resolutely averted, and looked in
tently at a distant mountain top, but her
eyes were really in her arm. Her occa
sional furtive glances at the face so close
ly pressed to it were a study in their mix
ture of repugnance, ?even to loathing,
with intense anxiety to have him go on.
And yet, if she had been in a mood to
take a dispassionate inventory of her
tramp’s appearance, she must have ad
mitted that, although formidably big and
brawny, he would not have been at all a
bad-looking fellow if he were once well
shaved and had better clothes. He
had been kneeling before her on both
knees, but now 'changed his posture to
one knee, and almost instantly thereafter
sprang to his feet, crying with an excite
ment that showed how strong had. been
his repressed feeling:
“Thank God! I’ve got something that
will save you. What a fool I was not to
think of it before!” and he pulled a flask
out of his hip-pocket, and shook it exult-
ingly in her face. His heel, as he chang
ed his posture, had touched the flask and
reminded him of its existence. Miss
Livingston looked at him apprehensively.
What was he going to do to her? He
speedily made it clear.
“That’s full of whiskey, a good pint.
Whiskey is the only sure euro for rattle
snake poison. All you’ve got to do is to
drink this till you are intoxicated, and
then you are cured.”
She had been through'somo very novel
experiences that afternoon, and done
things which she would never have
thought it possible she should be brought
to do; but this was rather too much. If
sho had heard this brawny vagabond
aright, he coolly proposed that she should
drink herself into a state of insensibility,
alone with him iu this remote spot, ne
poured some liquor into the tin cup
which ho took from the bottom of the
flask, and extended it to her. She shook
her head and merely said:
“Thank you, I won’t try it.”
What was the use of arguing a ques
tion of propriety with a tramp?
“I see you’re afraid of me,” he said;
“I can’t wonder at that, but it is a case
of necessity. If you don’t drink you
are dead in'an hour! There’s at least a
bare chance that I’m an honorable fellow
but there’s no chance at all if you don’t
take the whiskey. This is the time of
year when tho poison is strongest, and
that was a big fellow. Your arm is swell
ing already.”
She glanced at the still writhing rep
tile with a shudder, and then at her arm.
It was indeed swelling, and the faDg-
marks had grown black. Pitiful Heavens!
must sho choose between thi3 imminent,
horrible death, and an absolute surrender
of herself to this vagrant’s mercy? She
rose and turned her back on him, look
ing away to the mountain tops. She
walked a few steps to and fro, and then
turned and asked him in a strained voice:
“But won’t this that you’ve been doing
draw out the poison?”
“There’s [not much chance, because
you see the bite is among the big veins,
and the poison got at once into the blood.
I only did it because it was better than
doing nothing.
She looked at the cup which he held
toward her as if almost decided to take it
and then turned away again and stood a
long timo. What thoughts were in her
mind any woman can guess. It is not
for me to desoribe them. Finally she
turned slowly around once more and
looked fixedly into his face, as if studying
it for her life—as indeed she was. The
dark blue eyes rested on the brown ones
of the man with a gaze in which inquiry,
entreaty, fear, doubt, and piteous appeal,
were most affectingly mingled.
“I assure you that you will be safe. I
am a gentleman—I am indeed, although
I’m not dressed like one. ”
He spoke with an air of sincerity. Still,
those were but words, and her eyes still
questioned his, though as if hopeless of
obtaining the assurance they sought.
“I am so sorry for you,” he said at
last, and as he spoke his eyes suffused
with moisture.
“Give me the cup—I will drink it
now!” she exclaimed.
However it might be with her own
sex, she felt that she might trust the wet
eyes of a man. Ho explained to her how
to take as much as possible at one gulp
and swallow it without breathing, so as
to avoid the smart of the raw liquor. Still
she strangled and spluttered so that half
the first draft was wasted, and her eyes
were filled with water. After that he gave
her smaller drinks and she got on better.
“Don’t you begin to feel it?"’ he asked,
after she had in this way taken nearly
half a pint.
“Not at all,” she replied, .beginning to
think that, after all, it was not going to
be snch a dreadful thing.
“That shows the strength of the poison
it has to counteract," he said.
“Why, you talk like an educated man 1”
she exolaimed impulsively.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he replied, in sur
prise, and then added as if to himself,
with an amused smile, “Oh, yes, I forgot
—it’s the clothes.”
She failed to see what the joke was.
Beyond this there was no conversation
between them. She simply drank, and
gasped, and wiped her mouth and tearful
eyes with an embroidered handkerchief,
of whieh the effective part was a centre
half an inch square, the rest being lace
border; while her odd Ganymede was
kept busy replenishing the cup as fast as
she finished it. At intervals of a few
minutes she took two more drinks. She
would still have said that Bhe felt no ef
fects from the liquor, but she was con
scious of taking a more generally san
guine view of the situation than a few
minutes before. Her painful fears and
apprehensions had disappeared. There
was evidently nothing so formidable
about tramps, if they were properly man
aged. Her timidity about this one bad
wholly gone, aud she felt qaite inclined
to patronize him. It struck her that it
would be a shrewd idea to clinch the
fellow’s fidelity with pecuniary motives;
so she said, with a fine air of condescen
sion:
“I want you to understand that I am
very much obliged to you for your assis
tance, and intend to reward you hand
somely if you continue to behave well, as J
I have no doubt you will do. I have J
nothing with me to give you but my
watch, which is not worth much; but on !
returning to the hotel I will see that you
have a hundred dollars in greenbacks.”
The effect of this very neat little
speech was, however, rather disappoint
ing. The tramp at first looked astonish
ed, and then the perception of something
extremely fanny appeared to break on
him. He grinned from ear to ear, and
his eyes twinkled as he replied:
“Yon are certainly very kind, young
lady; but I think you put your valuation
too low. I am not much of a judge of
such asticles, but I should say you would
be very cheap at a hundred dollars, even
iu these hard times. Couldn’t you put it
higher—say two hundred or three hun
dred dollars, now? That would still be
cheap; and maybe you would (hrow in
watch.”
Was he chuckling over her approach
ing state of helplessness? Sho turned
pale, end her eyes, a moment before so
confident, were unsteady with fear.
What had he 6aid? Had he insulted
her? Had he threatened her? She could
not exactly remember his words: there
was beginning to be such a confused
feeling in her bead. But he was laubging
at her. In some way, sho thought, he
meant her harm.
A sudden recollection flashed across
her mind. A gentleman had once given
her in joke a little pearl-handled, gold-
mouuted pistol, and her mother had in
sisted on her carrying it when she went
walking in the country. It was always
in the pocket of this dress, although she
did not generally think of it once a week.
She put her hand in her pocket and drew
it. Cocking it was an idea quite beyond
her, but she held it in front of her, and
looked steadily at the tramp, or rather
tried to, for somehow she could not see
him quite distinctly. It seemed as if she
had to summon all her energies to articu
late, and what she said sounded like this:
“I wan’ you t' lead mo 'ome dreckly.”
Sho forgot, in the increasing bewild
erment of her brain, that he was as igno
rant of the direction as herself. She
could not hear distinctly what he said in
reply. Her brain appeared to be all
afloat, dragging anchor, and drifting
away somewhere. She now only saw
him through a mist, though she made the
utmost efforts to keep her eyes fixed on
his face in spite of the odd manner in
whieh ha seemed to be bobbing about,
trying to dodge her gaze. Had another
tramp come up? There seemed to be two
of them dancing around and making up
faces. And the rock3 and trees—what
were they all flying around for in such
an extraordinary manner? She had a dim
sense of being caught and lifted and laid
on something soft, of faintly resisting
and muttering, “Pleezsh lemma 'lone.
Pleezsh g’way,” and then by being over-
powertd by a drowsiness that made the
recumbent posture a luxury that was ir
resistible.
Perhaps it was throe hours later whea
waking out of a dream that she was at
boarding school on one of those hor
rid mattresses, she opened her eye3 and
rubbed them. There was nothing but
blue sky overhead. After an instant or
two of wonder if she might not be an
angel waking from a nap on a cloud, she
turned on her elbow and saw a big, rough
looking man, who nevertheless produced
a strange effect of familiarity on her
mind, sitting ten or fifteen feet away,and
looking at her with an expression of
amusement and interest. Then she
jumped up quickly enough, as may be
inferred.
“How do you feel after the whiskey?”
he asked.
Then it all came back to her.
“I’m all right, except a little giddy.”
“It’s a pity so hard ahead should have
boon wasted on a young lady. It would
would have been a pearl of great price to
a toper,” he remarked dryly. “How i8
your arm ?”
“Nothing but a little itching is left,”
she said, looking at it; and th9n, feeling
of it, added, “The swelling has pretty
much gone down, too.”
In sleep the mind falls back into old
ruts, and a recent experience is always
fresh at waking. She looked around and
saw, a3 if for the first time, the wild
spot, the dead snake yonder, the empty
flask, the bundle on which her head had
been placed, her hat, which he must have
taken off, aud by its side the pistol, then
she turned to the man who stood there,
watching her with a smile of amused
sympathy.
“You have saved my life.”
She felt like making some sort of fer
vent acknowledgement, perhaps of gush
ing. But tho tramp gave her no chance,
for he replied, glancing toward the pistol
with a comical look of mock terror:
“And you have spared mine.”
Miss Livingston followed his glance,
turned red with shame at thought of the
generosity with which he had repaid her
suspicion, and, stepping to where the
pretty trifle lay, flung it as far as sho
could. That was all the acknowledge
ment she made. This odd tramp certain
ly possessed that most desirable knack in
a gentleman, of dispensing gracefully
with the verbal tributes of those he has
benefited.
“Dear me! how late it is,” cried Miss
Livingston, as the western tree top3 drew
their oool shadows over her face, and the
sun sack out of sight. “What are we
going to do about getting home? My
friends will be crazy.”
It seemed as if hor perplexities that
day were never going to end.
“I supposed if I did not find the way
home for you, you would probably shoot
me at sundown,” replied the tramp, with
his quizzical expression, “so I stirred
about while you were taking your nap,
and think I have the directions about
right. It will be nearly an hour’s walk.
"We will start at once if you feel strong
enough.”
“Yes, indeed; let us not wait a mo
ment!” and, gathering up her skirts, she
followed his lead straight into the forest.
The “great companion” was sinking in
the west and sending only occasional
faint,level rays through the dusky woods.
She felt lonley and fearsome, but no more
scared than if she had been with her father
or brother. She needed all her breath for
walking, and they did not talk, nor did
he even turn to her, sa* g once or twice
when he had to lift her over fallen trees,
which he did with the utmost strength
and delicacy.
“Here’s the road,” he said at last, and
clambering over a stone fence, they stood
in it at a point which Miss Livingston
recognized.
They now walked along side by side.
She would not have liked to be alone on
that road at that time of night, and it
was with a sense of beiDg protected that
she glanced now and then at the big fig
ure by her side, making small step3 to
keep pace with her. Either he was very
reticent, or a-very deferential person, for
he did not once offer to enter into con
versation. His quiet self-sufficiency be
gan actually to pique her, which showed
that she had come to recognize him as a
man and social being. Finally, she broke
out:
“Are you really a tramp? I’m sure
you are not in the least like any I ever
heard of.”
“Certainly I am a tramp,” he replied,
gravely. “It may be a matter of opinion
whether I am a gentleman or not. At
least you don’t seem inclined to believe
it; but, if tramping makes a tramp I am
undoubtedly a tramp.”
“But how can you make up your mind
to such a life?’’ she cried, impulsively;
“a man of education, I am sure, of hon
orable feelings, like you.”
“I think you do our guild injustice,”
he replied, with an air of mild reproaoh.
“Surely, as a physical exercise the doc
tors recognize nothing as better than
tramping. That it is favorable to taste
and spirituality is shown by the fact that
bards and apostles were of old famous
tramps.”
“But, excuse me, you know you have
to beg—that is, you have to ask people,
you know, for food, don’t yon?” said Miss
Livingston.
“You mean we b6g our bread?” he
amended, “Yes, and that is (he main
argument for the tramper’s way of life.
What title is so clear, so sweet, so beyond
question, as (hat by free eharily? He
who trades in his goods or his wits must
often feel himself a cheat, always a cheat
or cheated, and his bread must be sour
aud bitter. But the bread that is given
is as sweet as the uubought blessings of
God. The old monks weie right. Ue
who would keep his conscience clear
must beg his living. I am sick at heart
of this lying sham of mine and thine. I
know not, no man can know for certain,
in the war of equities, what or how
much is rightly his and rightly another’s.
I leave such controversies to others. I
am tired of this grab etiquette at the ta
ble of life. I do not ask for a great por
tion, but what I do have I want to be
able to eat with a good conscience, with
assurance that it is mine. To that end
I would gladly concede that everything
of right belongs to others, so that my
claim to at least what they freely give me
might be clear. Often enough, where I
get perplexed over tbo refinements and
hopeless obscurity of vieiim and tuum, I
half resolve to become a tramp myself.”
“But I thought you said you were a
tramp?” said Miss Livingston quickly.
“Why, so I am,” replied ho. At this
moment they turned a corner of tho road
and the lights of the hotel gleamed right
ahead. “Here I leave you,” said the
tramp.
“Ob, no!” cried Miss LivingstoD, al
most laying her hand on his sleeve. “You
must come to the hotel and take some of
those sweet gifts you talk of from me,
although they will not be gifts indeed,
but rather a scrimped payment for a great
service,” and her voice trembled.
“Exactly,” he replied; “I don’t want
anything from you, because it would be
too much like a trade, so I’ll just jog
along a bit and beg my supper from
somebody I haven’t benefited. When
people exohange gifts, you know, they
lose the flavor of both.”
“Do stop a moment,” she exclaimed, as
he turned away. “My father can get you
work, any nice sort you would like—as a
clerk, or a policeman, or at anything.
That would be so much better than
tramping, in spite of all you say. Do
please, let him.”
“I’m too lazy to work, I fear.”
“But I can’t bear to think that, after
all you've done for me, you should be
kicked and abused at back-doors as
tramps are.”
“You are a very kind young lady,” re
plied the tramp, while his voice trem
bled either with tears or other emotion,
“but yon needn’t fret. As for the abase,
that is nothing but a symptom of the
moral dyspepsia which well-to-do people
get for eating bread which they are sure
is rightly theirs; and as for kicks, I don’t
get e’m—I’m too big.”
“You must let me do something for
you. It’s mean not to,” she cried, almost
angrily, her whole generous little soul
boiling over in indignant gralilnde.
“Well, if you put it on that ground,”
said the tramp, turning Equarely around
to her, “there is one thing I would like.
I’m afraid you’ll think it too much,
but it would be a greater comfort, and
stay by me longer than anything else I
can think of.”
“What is it?” she demanded in a tone
that was a promise.
“Its desirableness oocurred to me when
you were lying asleep there this after-
nooD,” pursued the tramp in his grave
way. “Will you let me kiss you?”
For sole reply Miss Livingston turned
her cheek. The tramp kissed it, turned
aud disappeared with swift steps in the
darkness, and she went on to the hotel
with her feelings all topsy-turvey.
It was late that evening when she en
tered the hotel parlors. Had she follow
ed her inclinations, she wonld not have
gone at all. Her nerves were all on edge,
and she wanted to be alone. The events
of the afternoon demanded to be thought
over alone and at length. That morning
6he had counted on the hop as a great
event; to-night it seemed tame. She
knew all the gentlemen who wonld be
there. They were well enough, and no
doubt she should find them quite suffi
cient when in a less exacting mood; but
to-night, Bomehow, as compared with the
almost majestic impression of generous,
strong, antrammeled, unconventional life
and character which the tramp had left
on her mind, they seemed small, pale,
artificial, and characterless. Not that
she was sentimental about her deliverer.
How could she be that about a man who
however noble and grand, was doubtless
even now eating broken victuals at some
kitchen-door under the eye of the ser
vant-girl, or possibly, stealing into a
farmer’s barn for a night's sleep in the
haymow!
And yet, if not exactly sentimental, her
feeling was remarkably like it. At first
she wished that he would have taken
money, for then he would have taken
himself out of her mind; and then she
was glad he had not, and proud that he
had not, and called herself absurd to
have urged it on him, or thought that he
was the kind of man to take it. How
strange it was, their walking along to
gether, and talking like old acquaint
ances, she and a tramp! She had never
in her life been brought so near to any
man as to this tramp. Tramp! No, this
knight and gentleman—this Nature’s no
bleman, rather! It will be seen that Miss
Livingston’s caste-distinction had been a
good deal overturned since morning.
How oonld she have let him go in the way
she did? And yet what else could she
have done? At any rate, she was glad
she had given him that kiss. She should
always be glad of that, aud sho blushed
—yes, blushed—at the thonght, and not
wholly with shame either.
When she entered the parlors her ac
quaintances flocked about her with eager
inquiries as to her adventure, rumors of
whioh had already got abroad. But she
was very short in her replies. It was
really not worth making so much fuss
about, she said. She had been lost in
the woods, and had found her way out
again, aud that was all. About tho rat
tlesnake adventure she was entirely si
lent, having no notion of exposing her
tramp to the coarse comments of ordina
ry people, by which, in this case, she
meant her polite friends in general.
Declining to dance, sho fonnd a seat by
a retired window’, where she could in
dulge her pensive mood without disturb
ance, and whence she observed Bell Sta
cy monopolizing Mr. Haywood with a
complacency of whioh she certainly
would not have been capable an evening
before. An acquaintance, a Mr. Ellis,
came np and asked leave to introduce a
friend of his, Mr. Kennard, of Boston,
who had arrived that night, and who
wanted to make her acquaintance. “Who
is he?” asked Miss Livingston, who had
no desire to be obliged to entertain any
body to-night. “He’s a fiist-rata fellow,”
Mr. Ellis assured her, “a lawyer in Bos
ton. Excellent family. Something of a
poet, too, I believe. I met him last year
in the Tyrol. He was taking it afoot. He
has a great fancy for that sort of thing. I
believe he has been walking through the
mountains this lime sending his baggage
ahead.”
Mr. Ellis went in quest of his friend,
and Miss Livington sat looking out of the
window at a bright spot in the distant
landscape made by the moonlight on the
newly shingled roof of a farmer’s barn.
“I wonder if he is sleeping there to
night,” she was thinking, when Mr. El
lis’s voice recalled her attention.
“Miss LiviDgston, let me introduce
you to Mr. Kennard.
In evening dress, his face shaved, but
as big and bronzed as ever, with the
same quizzical smile in his brown eyes,
her tramp stood before her !
CHILDREN’S COLUMN.
CEZZLES FOR TOE CHILDREN.
For the Sunday Enquirer.
Oq the Bay Shore Bertha lhea.
What Is “holy M.” pussy.
Askil, I (Manjaoo) do assert my truth.
What a border that is.
John B. dough—author of temperance.
Do stop, Hiram, for it is unkind.
In pronunciation cut a Roman, off short.
Who made that punch? I, Hi Borazo.
Out in Macon Caguala lived.
The cow hit Ella with her horn.
Water is God’s gift to man,
I ate vernon and blanc mango.
I saw Rica Mel’s hump backed child.
Did yon bite Jack’s ears, Argentine?
For 0, Ena, it was dreadful.
The rebU9 was oapitol. %
This car dust chokes mo.
Is the snow done falling!
Did you meet Nannie?
The clam waa not well cooked.
I shill ever esteem Mr. Townsend.
Ilis name Was Gervln D. Hyalpa.
It was quartz shell or cine ore.
Miss Mataur used to visit urn.
He sang an Argentine ballad.
ANSWERS.
Answer to numerical enigma No. I, of last Sun
day,by Mattia B.rry—“A soft answer turuetii
away wrath.”
Auswer to numerical enigm i No. 2, of last Sun
day, by W.—“Philadelphia.”
Auswer to cross-word puzzle—“Trout.”
Answer t j diamond puzzle by W.t
S
MAP
SEKAU
PAN
H Belle.
DAISY AND I.
STEAM PLANING MILLS
-AND-
Our Daisy lay dowa
In her little nightgown,
And kissed me again and again,
On forehead and cheek,,
Oil lips that wouid.speak,
But found themselves shut to their gain,
1 lien , foolish, absurd,
To utter a word,
I ask her the question so old,
That wife and that lover
Ask over and over,
As if they were surer when told.
Tlioro, close at hor side,
“Do you love me?” I oried;
Sho lifted her golden-crowned head;
A puzzled surprise
Shone in lier gray eyes—
“Why, that’s why I kiss you!” alio said.
To Cleanse a Quilting Frame.—Wash
it well with hot water, made soft with bo
rax.
No. 2.—Take a sponge bath jnst before
retiring; have pUnty of pulverized bo
rax in the water; rub well with a coarse
towel to get up a circulation.
To Make Yeast Cakes.—Drain all
liquid from yeast; press through cloth,
and spread out on cloth to dry in sun or
in a heated room; ent in pieces conven
ient to turn to facilitate drying.
To Wash White Silk Stockings.—One
tablespoonful of lemon juice to a quart
of tepid water; wash thoroughly, using
no soap; dry quickly in tho shade; the
flesh tint will be preserved.
To Kill Moths.—Pour plenty of odor
less naptha over your furniture-; set the
furniture out doors some bright windy
day and the naptha will soon evaporate.
Spring and full are good times to try it.
To Prevent Moths.—Dust the garment
well; fold it nicely; spriukla plenty of
pulverized borax on the bottom of tho
trunk or packing box, also over tho gar
ment; on the top of nil plaee brown pa
per; stick it down well around the edges.
A Remedy for Cold Feet.—Every
night on going to bed dip the feet into
shallow cold water two or three times
quickly, then rub briskly with a coarse
towoll till dry; then take hold of each
end of tho towel and draw it back and
forth through tho hollow of the foot un
til a glow is excited.
To Preserve Leaves.—Autumn leaves
can bo perfectly preserved by rubbing
wax on a medium hot iron and ironing
the loaves on both sides. Autumn leaves
that retain their color best are those
which are guthered when frost comes
early in September. Frost is rather late
this year for handsome leaves.
Yeast Cakes from one Cake.—Dissolve
the cake in two cupfuls of water; when
dissolved stir in flour enough for thick
batter, and set in a warm place to rise;
when risen well, which will be in from
three to nine hours, mix it stiff enough
to roll out with white Indian mea!; roll
thin, cut in sqaare cakes, and dry on
your bread board.
For Cough and Consumption.—Melt
some resin at night on going to bed and
let the smoke from it fill the room. In
haling the smoke heals the inflammation
and sleep is often produced when one
could not sleep before for much coughing.
Persevere until a cure is effected. A
change for the better shoald be felt with
in a week.
Oyster Stew.—Set over tho fire a
quart of oysters in their juice; bring
quickly to a boil; skim thoroughly; add
white pepper, a little salt, an ounce of
butter and half pint of boiling thin
cream; send to table at once with crack
ers and pickles.
LUMBER YARD.
T. *J. DUDLEY,
Manufacturer and Dealer In Building Material,
Keeps constantly on hand all Regular Sites
Sash, Doors, Blinds and Monldinaja.
F LOORING AND CEILING drw*ed and matched and all ktndt of roujrt and
LUMBER, DOOR AND WINDOW FRAMES, PICKETS AND LATTICE, *«■.
out to order.
All work done, and matorit) furnished, at bottom prices.
ONliY ’iwTTTvnr OP XT i
8x10 Window, 12 Lights, Primed and Glazed, for juet
SI oo
I 99
I OO
9 OO
I OO
8x10 “ 15
8x10 “ 18 “ “ “
10x12 “ 18 “
4-Panel Doors as low a*
Moulding a specialty at half the usual price.
AGENTS FOR THE
Ooutormial Patent Saali Balance.
It is simple convenient and cheap; can be applied to old window* without change of frame*
answers every purpose of the weighted sash, and can be had for le** taan
one-fourth the usual cost. Call and examine.
**-OFFICE and MILLS on Mercer Street,near General PaBsangeMJepoj. 0eanfU
ocitSK’y
L. L. COWDERY.
(Established 1844.)
L. L. COWDERY, J*.
Theories about Mar*.
The land regions of Mars can be dis
tinguished from the seas by their ruddy
color, the seas being Rreenish. But here,
perhaps, jou will be disposed to ask how
astonomers can be sure that the greenish
regions aro seas, the ruddy regions land,
the white spots either snow or olond.
Might not materials altogether unlike any
we are acquainted with exist upon that re
mote planet?
The spectroscope answers this ques«
lion in the clearest way. You know that
the astronomers have learned that the
vapor of water exists iu the atmosphere
of Venus. The same method has been
applied, even more satisfactorily, to the
planet of war, and it has been fonnd that
he also has his atmosphere at times laden
with moisture. This being so, it is clear
we have not to do with a planet made of
materials utterly unlike those forming
onr earth. To suppose so when we find
that the air of Mars, formed like our own
(for if it contained other gases the spec
troscope would tell us), contains often
large quantities cf the vapor of water,
would be as absurd as to believe in the
green cheese theory of the moon, or in
another equally preposterous, advanced
lately by an English artist—Mr. J. Brett
—to the effect that the atmosphere of
Venus is formed of glass.
There is another theory about Mars,
ceriainly not so absurd as either of those
just named, but scarcely supported by
evidence at present—the idea, namely,
advanced by a French astronomer, that
the ruddy color of the lands and seas of
Mars is due to red trees and a generally
scarlet vegetation. Your poet Holmes
refers to this in those lines of his, “Star-
clouds and Wind-clouds” (to my mind,
among the moat charming of his many
charming poems):
“The snows that glittered on the disc of Mars
Have melted, and the planet’s fiery orb
Rolls In the crimson snmmer of its yoar.”
It is quite possible, of course, that such
colors as are often Been in American
woods in the autnmn time may prevail in
the forests and vegetation of Mars during
the fullness of the Martian summer. The
fact that during this season the planet
looks ruddier than usual, in some degree
corresponds with this theory. But it is
much better explained, to my mind, by
the greater clearness of tho Martian air in
the summer time. That wonld enable ns
to see the color of the soil better. If onr
earth were looked at from Venus during
tho winter-time, the snows covering large
parts of her surface, and the clouds and
mists common in the winter months,
wonld hide the tints of the surface,
whereas these would be very distinct in
clear summer weather.
I fear my own conclusion about Mars
is that bis present condition is vory deso
late. I look on the ruddiness of tint to
which I have referred as one of tho signs
that the planet of war has long since
passed its prime. There are lands and
seas in Mars, the vapor of water is pre
sent in hia air, clouds form, rains and
snows fall npon his surface, and doubtless
brooks and rivers irrigate his soil, and
carry down the moisture collected on his
wide continents to the seas whence the
clonds had originally been formed, hut
I do not think there is much vegetation on
Mars, or that many living creatures of the
higher types of Martian life as it once
existed still remain. All that is known
abont the planet tends to show that the
time when it attained that stage of plane
tary existence through which our earth is
passing must bo Bet millions of years,
porhaps hundreds of millions of years,
ago. He has not yet, indeed, reached
that airless and waterless condition, that
ex tremity of internal cold, or in fact that
ntter unfitness to support any kind of life,
! which would seem to prevail in the moon.
5 The planet of war in some respects re-
i sembles a desolate battle-field, and I fan
cy that there is not a single region of the
earth now inhabited by man which is not
infinitely more comfortable as an abode
of life than the most favored regions of
Mars at the present time would be for
j creatures like ourselves.—[Prof. R. A.
! Proctor, Ht. Nicholas for November.
L. L. COWDERY & CO.
Importers of and Dealers in
Hit. GROKERY AND GLASS WARE!
French Forcelian from the best Manufacturers.
STAFFORDSHIRE FANCY GOODS
DECORATED TOILET AND DINNER WARE,
Majolica, Fancy Enameled Goods,
GERMAN AND FRENCH TOYS-A Large Variety.
GLASS WARE IN EVERY VARIETY,
English, French, Belgian Bohemian and Domestic
Silver - Plated. W are.
A VERY LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL ASSORTMENT
TABLE and POCKET CUTLERY.
Bronze Limps, Chandeliers,Brackets, German and French Baskets, etc.
No. 1 20 Broad Street, Columbus, Oa.
octll SKim
CLOTHING.
TSTow Pall dto Winter
CLOTHING.
HOFFLIN & BRO.,
88 Broad Street, Columbus, Ga.,
Have Just Received one of the Largest Stocks of
Men’s, Youths’ and Boys’ Clothing
EVER DR0UGJ1T TO COLUMBUS, WHICH WILL BE SOLD AT UN
PRECEDENTED LO W PPJ CES.
Men’s Suits from $5 to $35; Boys’ Suits from $2 to $18;
Men’s and Boys’ HATS from 50 cts. to $5.
Our Excelsior Unlaundried Shirt, all finished, the best
in the market, for $1*00. Business and Dress
made to order, and satisfaction gauranteed.
8epli >oala
CARRIAGES, WAGONS, Ac.
II. O. McKEE,
GUNBY BUILDING—St- Clair Street,
-DEALER IN-
Carriages, Buggies and Wagons
Of every description, at prices to suit the times!
W HAT you don’t see ask for, and he will exhibit cut* (from reliable builder*) of any Ye-
hicle manufactured, which he will furnish upon short notloe, at manufacturer’* price*.
All work gold and warranted will be protected. —
Has now in stock and will continue to receive fresh supplies of
Buggy, Carriage and other Harness; Gents’ and Ladies’ Sad*
dies in great variety; Cellars, Hames, Bridles, Ac.
Whips, Curry Combs, Horse Brushes, Ac.
H^AU will be sold, at close prices,^^
octlG d&wly H. C. McKEE.
SMITH & MURPHY,
COLUMBUS
City Carriage WoiTvs
Are prepared to
do ali kinds of
work that pertain
to the Carriage
business, in the
best style. W e
Gau. nntee our
work to bo ae
oheap and lotting
and have as ftno
finish as oan ba se
cured at any Man
ufactory in t b a
State or eteawbero.
Como to see us, and get the best bargain ever secured.
faepla iiataw&wflm]
MARK A. BRADFORD,
WHOLESALE & RETAIL
DEALER IN
Saddles and Harness.
To Cube Wakefulness.—Wrap cloths
dipped in cold water around the wrist
and sometimes lay a wet oloth on the top
of the head.
CARRIAGE,
BUOGY &. WAGON
HARNESS.
Hr MI 63, Collars,
Whips,
LsiIIab anil
Gents’ Trunks
and
SATCHELS.
MEN’S, HOYS’
—and—
LADIES'.SADDLES
Sole, Upper,
Haras**, tad
Dash Leather.
ENAMELED
OLOTH.
Saddles
Orders by Mail Promptly Attended To
and Harness Made to Order*
Mr. MiDDLEBROOKjs still with me, at his OLD STAND, 94 Broad Strati
octli esSm
WAREHOUS.ES
ALABAMA WAREHOUSE,
COLUMBUS, Gr A..
BLANCHARD, WILLIAMS & CO.
:o:
Largest and Host Complete Fire-Proof Waretase ii tit Snft.
ADVANCES MADE
ON
-:o:—
CONSIGNMENTS.
W E sell for the Manufacturers the Celebrated DANIEL PRATT
GIN. Since the introduction of the Patent Revolving Head, tab Mr
stands at the head of the list.
BEST LIVERPOOL SALT from first hands, in Car-load Lota.
BAGGING and TIES at Lowest Market Ratea.
Choice Western and Northern HAY el ways on hind
<£§* Terms liberal as any, and prompt attention to all buaineee entrusted to ua.
aac&nftwtt
